#THE CASE IS I HAVE NEVER MOVED ON FROM THIS GAME

[wandering-pirate]

Mouthwashing Crew Headcanon

Game Night: Hot Seat

Summary: What if the chef (you) hosted the Hot Seat game with the crew?

Pairings: Tulpar Crew x Reader

Day 156

One slow-ass day aboard the Tulpar, someone (probably you, possibly not) decided to shake things up. Enter: “The Hot Seat.”

Daisuke’s brilliant chaos brain kicks in: “Alright, everyone’s asses to the lounge!”

And by everyone, he means EVERYONE. Even poor Swansea, who, you can tell, was plotting your murder silently after his naptime was unashamedly snatched from him

Anyway! You explain the rules, yada-yada:

Take turns sitting in “The Seat” (a janky old pilot chair Jimmy swears is still operational—it’s not. It’s begging for retirement or a dignified death).

Everyone gets to throw questions at the victim-- I mean, participant.

Answer honestly or take a shot of Daisuke’s “mystery juice” (an ungodly concoction of random spices and liquid in the kitchen he found while he was cleaning - punishment by Swansea). He claims it's edible but aside from the glowing toxic green color, something's moving in the juice. Even Anya’s armed with antibiotics, just in case

Round 1: The Captain

Curly starts the game with the intention to stay honest and transparent, the way a captain should (hiswordsnotmine.) He takes a seat with the click of his cowboy boots, "I’ve got nothing to hide. Ask away!"

Question 1: "What’s the dumbest decision you’ve made as our captain?"

Curly's grin falters a bit before answering, "Okay, fine. There was this one time I insisted on manually navigating the Tulpar to impress someone... in my defense, those maps were outdated! And the the che-- I mean that someone was impressed… I think?"

Maybe it was the lighting, but you swear his forehead's starting to get shiny

Question 2: "What’s the real reason you became a captain?"

Caught off guard, Curly clears his throat, his composure slipping. "To lead. To inspire."

Jimmy raises an eyebrow. "C’mon, that’s the PR answer!"

"And… maybe I thought the uniform looked cool. Okay? Next question!"

Yeah no, his forehead was really reflecting light

Final Question: "Have you ever used your rank to get out of trouble?"

Curly’s face turns redder than a warning light, but he still holds his ground. "I… may have politely reminded a customs officer of my rank when they tried to confiscate my coffee stash. It wasn’t a bribe or anything!"

Curly is visibly flustered but still holding onto his Captain pride. "You’re all insufferable," he mutters, FINALLY wiping his sweaty forehead (it was dripping large drops atp). But when no one’s looking, you catch the smile tugging at his lips

Round 2: The Nurse

Anya walks in like she’s ready for surgery. Clipboard in hand, questions already prepped because no one’s catching her off guard

Question 1: "What’s the dumbest injury you’ve treated on this crew?"

Without missing a beat: “Someone tried to impress their crush, slipped on a banana peel, and sprained their wrist and their ego. I won't name names, they know who they are...”

Everyone looks at Jimmy

Question 2: "What’s the most non-standard thing in your med kit?"

“Glitter band-aids.”

"What!? But I never saw one of 'em on anyone."

"That's cause I secretly covered yours with normal bandaids, Swans."

Last Question: "Anya, what’s your guilty pleasure when you’re not in nurse mode? Something you’d never admit..."

In Anya's boyscout-ready clipboard of questions, that's one question that short-circuited her brain

"Uh, what do you mean by... guilty pleasure? I mean, I... definitely... DEFINITELY don’t spend my free time watching those... really bad reality shows, you know, like 90 Day Fiancé or The Kardashians... that’s just... so not me...heh..."

She pauses, realizing she’s digging herself deeper.

"And I definitely don’t have a secret stash of junk food next to me when I do... uh, when I watch those shows... because that would be... unhealthy... right?"

Her clipboard went straight at her face when you all snickered. The flustered nurse was something you weren't prepared to take in, but hey, you weren't complaining ;)

"It’s just for stress relief, okay?! It’s... it's not a habit or anything!"

Round 3: The Co-pilot

Jimmy struts up: attach all cocky gestures a man with an empire-rise-tall ego would do “Bring it. I’m unshakeable.”

First Question: "Do you have feelings for Y/N?"

Without missing a beat, Jimmy reaches for the juice… but instead of a shot, he downs the ENTIRE GLASS

Five minutes later: “I can feel it. IT’S REARRANGING MY PERSONALITY! That FUCKING JUICE is a CRIME to HUMANITY."

Ten minutes later: Trying his best to smile smugly despite the involuntary and random tremors that's hitting him every 5 seconds

Every time you look at him, he avoids eye contact

“It’s the juice, not me.”

Question 2: "If you had to kick someone off the crew, who’s it gonna be?"

“Oh, easy. Daisuke.”

Daisuke protests loudly, but Jimmy shrugs. “That juice deserves jail time.”

Jimmy spends the rest of the game poorly walking at a fine line between bravado and damage control, especially when anyone mentions you or the juice

Round 4: The Mechanic

Swansea reluctantly takes the seat, grumbling about how this whole game is a waste of time

"Just get this over with."

Question 1: "What do you think of Y/N’s cooking?"

He grunts. “Edible. Most of the time.”

“THAT’S THE NICEST THING YOU’VE EVER SAID ABOUT ME!”

“Y'right.”

Question 2: "Why do you always act like you don’t care?"

He scowls. "Because I don’t. Next question." But as the game goes on, his shoulders visibly relaxed, even had him smile when Daisuke roasted the co-pilot

When you teased him for enjoying the game, he went back at that grumpy (he thought it was intimidating, it wasn't) crossed-arms pose

"It's not the game. Yer all just idiots. Just like watching dogs catchin' their tails"

"Yeah and the Nile is a river."

Last Question: "Any sentimental moments with the crew?"

He clears his throat. "Sentimental, huh? Don’t think I’m the type to get all teary-eyed over people... but I’ll tell you, the day that Cap here, couldn’t even fix a damn lightbulb without asking me for help, well, that was... something. Made me feel like I still had some purpose 'round here."

He pauses for a second, almost looking like he was about to say more but after seeing all your expecting faces, the man just grunts and shakes his head

"That’s all yer gettin’ outta me. Don’t go thinkin’ I’m some softie."

All your mouths were collecting flies. That's the most emotional you could make Swansea be

Round 5: The Intern

Daisuke practically cartwheels to the chair... big mistake

Question 1: "Most immature thing you’ve done?"

“Immature? Me? NEVER.”

*Silence, t'was so silent that you could actually hear crickets despite free-floating in space*

“Okay, FINE. I might’ve accidentally stepped on the boss's face one night when I was aboutta pee. BUT I DIDN’T MEAN TO!”

"Oh, that explains the fishy smell. My bad Swans, thought it was your hair."

"Look who's talkin', as if I'm the one bathin' once a month."

Yeah, Jimmy's ego couldn't have been more trampled at this point

Question 2: "Most childish crew member?"

Rubs his hand like he's planning a complicated bank heist

"Easy... Jimmy. Why? Well, let me think… maybe it’s because the guy DRANK a juice just to dodge A QUESTION, might I add, that wasn’t even that BAD."

Daisuke crossed his arms and pouts like a disappointed girlfriend

"AND instead of owning up like a MAN, he KICKS ME outta the crew just for the heavenly potion I MADE. Yeah, Real mature, Jimmy."

Last Question: "Whose advice would you take: Swansea or Y/N?"

"Okay, this is seriously like one of those Resident Evil game choices, y’know? Like, who do you pick? Swansea’s all grumpy wisdom, and he’s got the whole... ‘I’ve seen it all’ vibe. I mean, boss is like the living manual for everything that can go wrong."

He glances over at you and grinned wider

"But then there’s Y/N, who’s always level-headed and knows when to just... chill and have fun. And your advice, like, it always has a twist of realness to it, right? You’re like... I don’t know, the sage with a spoon!... Or a butcher knife?"

Daisuke looks up at both of you, his expression is pure puppy-like distress.

"See? This is hard... I mean life and death situation hard."

"Well, the kid’s in trouble now. What’re you gonna do, Daisuke? Take the safe advice, or follow the one with sugar-coated truth?" Swansea bumps your side

"Ha! Mine's got pure truth and a sugary sweet with it, that's different, Swans."

Last Round: The Chef

Finally, you get forced into the seat (more like physically dragged by the men while screaming bloody murder) and everyone goes HARD on you

"What’s the weirdest thing you’ve fed us without telling us?"

"Weird is subjective, right? So if I thought the ingredient was normal, meh, does it still count as weird? Asking for a chef ;)"

"Are you the one who broke the coffee machine?"

"I mean, define ‘broke.’ If we’re being technical, it still turns on. It just, you know, sprays coffee sideways. That’s not broken, just... quirky."

"Do you actually like Curly's speeches, or are you just polite?"

You grinned

"Ah, well, they’re definitely… memorable. You know, it’s impressive how cap can make freighter maintenance sound like a call to arms. Like, one sec you’re zoning out, then next, you’re ready to fight a full Jedi council… for better fuel efficiency."

Who's the worst cook in all the Tulpar?

"Daisuke. Had the rare talent to almost burn the kitchen down, no, the whole Tulpar from just... boiling water. WATER!"

You succesfully dodged them all until you broke when Swansea narrows his eyes and growls:

"What happened to my tools last week?"

Visibly sweating but desperately clawing on the the little control you have left

"Swansea, listen… Those tools have been through a lot. They’ve seen things. I’ve seen things. The point is, they’ve served their purpose bravely. Now, about that wrench…"

At this point, You crumbled under Swansea’s intense dad stare and admit to using the wrench as a garlic crusher

The lounge area was filled with everyone laughing and whooping, and your reign of dodging questions comes to a dramatic (and pathetically hilarious end) after receiving a 20 push-up punishment from Swansea

a/n: second sem's been throwing me around like a ragdoll and it's been like two weeks... but yknow what, lemme make it a challenge. send some headcanon ideas cause all i can do is write at this point, not think :,)

[queenie-ofthe-void]

A Girl and Her Boys

Platonic Stobin + Eddie || wc: 2.3k || rating: G || tags: platonic love, platonic fic, platonic stobie (steddin?), tooth-rotting fluff, humor || Robin's worried the boys have some shenanigans planned for her Spring Band Concert... and she's right

~~~

If Eddie Munson had just watched Steve’s basketball game like a normal person, instead of a nonconformist lunatic, everything would’ve been just fine. Robin really should’ve known better, shouldn’t have been surprised when he showed up carrying a giant sign with Steve’s name and player number on it that read ‘best ball shooter’ with a little devil on it. 

Whenever Steve had the ball, Eddie screamed louder than the most obnoxious dads. At some point, the man pulled a damn kazoo out of his pocket along with those stupid, plastic hand clappers to celebrate Steve’s first three-pointer. 

Everyone was staring, the boys on the bench turning to sneer at him. She could feel the people around them slowly scooching away and her face burned with embarrassment. Finally, after two rounds of the Star Spangled Banner via kazoo, she turned to beg him to sit down only to then catch Steve wave out of the corner of her eye. 

She could see the blush across his face, not from exertion, but from a smile so wide that it glistened in his eyes. Eddie waved, face on fire. Robin gave him a scathing side eye when he’d turned to her and said “What, I just wanted him to notice me,” with a mischievous glint to his smile.

Robin had assumed Steve would be the bigger person and move on. He never said anything after the game, only smiling ear to ear like a puppy dog after doing a particularly impressive trick. However, she greatly underestimated her soulmate’s ability to be an absolute shit head.

Which is how a typically casual Friday night at the Hideout for Eddie’s gig turned out to be exceptionally uncasual and supremely atypical. 

She was clad in head-to-toe pastels. Nancy hadn’t agreed to come to the show, but she allowed Robin to rummage through her closet, fully on board with her and Steve’s shenanigans. Robin had picked out a pair of white heels, lavender stockings, a frilly, pink dress, and– her piece de resistance– a white cowboy hat. 

Steve’s outfit was made up of his own clothes, just taken to new heights. He wore not one, but two polo shirts, the white collar underneath popped up over his pale pink polo on the outside. His acid washed jeans looked tighter than normal, and he’d paired them with shiny, white, Adidas high-tops. Robin had laughed as she dug through his glove box on the ride over, pulling out her favorite electric blue sunglasses for him to wear. They tied the entire outfit together.

Steve had suggested making signs, “In case he can’t hear us when he’s on stage,” and definitely not as payback. All in all, they were pretty impressive. Each one dripped glitter over the sticky bar floor, although the pink puff-paint held together nicely. Robin was particularly proud of her own sign, ‘rock and roll is for sinners and winners’. She was, however, surprised when she read Steve’s ‘I’ve got the devil in me’ sign. They’d made a bit of a spectacle of themselves, waving them high above their heads as they screamed along to the few lyrics they actually knew.

The band razzed Eddie about it, but none of it mattered in the long run. Robin remembers the embarrassed flush scrawled across Eddie’s face when he caught sight of them. He’d strutted across the stage, trying to move as far from them as possible. Much like the small crowd of confused regulars creating a wide, empty space around them. In the end, Eddie always came back, smile wide and genuine and full of love.

So here Robin sits, stewing with anxiety while trying to think of what they’ve got planned now that it’s her turn. She fiddles with the trumpet in her lap as she waits for the Spring Band and Orchestra Concert to start. Her black slacks from last year are uncomfortably tight around her hips, and the white blouse her mom picked out keeps snagging on the back of the too small plastic chair she’s perched on. The garbled mess of voices ringing through the gymnasium matches the zinging swarm of bees in her stomach.

She frantically scans the crowd in front of her, but doesn’t spot them anywhere. Robin’s parents and grandparents are going to be here and she knows the boys will have something obnoxious planned. They’ve been suspiciously nonchalant all week, almost sickeningly nice.

But when the freshman band starts playing, she still can’t find them, surprised they’re not sitting up front. She tries to look around but can’t find them in the crowd. Disappointed, she starts to wonder if they actually forgot. Robin did her best to bring up the concert as little as possible, not wanting to give them time to plan anything extravagant. She wonders now if that was a mistake.

When it’s finally time for the upperclassmen’s turn, she’s forced to give up her search. She plays her melodies, counts her bars, and tries to forget about how her boys aren’t here, knowing there must be a hell of a reason to miss it. 

The brass section dwindles down to the woodwinds. The notes fade out completely, leaving a one beat pause before the flutes are supposed to take off in a frenzy. Robin hates playing songs like this. It feels like a cheap trick, some kind of gimmick her music teacher comes up with to see if he can pull one over on unsuspecting families who think the song has finished. 

It works, like it always does. Soft, scattered applause breaks out in the crowd. Her teacher’s smug smile is wiped from his face as loud, obnoxious clapping echoes off the gymnasium walls. The kids are failing to contain faint giggles and snorts of laughter. Even though this happens almost every year, it’s definitely never this damn dramatic.

Robin sits up just a little bit higher to peek over the winds section and, sure enough, in the dead center of the crowd, there’s a head of frizzy, curly hair standing tall and proud. Aside from the outburst, Robin’s actually impressed Eddie managed to dress up a bit. He’s wearing what has to be one of Steve’s navy button down shirts along with his nicest pair of black skinny jeans, sans rips and holes.

Apparently being in a band doesn’t translate to understanding when a song is actually over. He glances around, red bursting over his cheeks as everyone stares back at him. Robin has to stand slightly to catch a glimpse of Steve sitting next to him. Her best friend is slowly sinking down into his chair in a fruitless attempt to hide. He’s wearing a light blue button up, most likely with his beige slacks. Steve’s flush is somehow an even brighter shade of red than Eddie’s. He’s hiding an awkward laugh behind his fist, and Robin can’t help but smile wide and unguarded at the mirth shining in his eyes. 

These two absolute idiots.

Eddie opens his mouth, but thankfully whatever he’s about to say is cut short by Steve grabbing a hold of his shirt sleeve and yanking him back down into his seat. Robin manages to catch Steve’s eye, and he breaks out into a stupid, adorable puppy-dog grin. He does his signature little finger wave. She snorts, matching his gesture.

Eddie leans in front of Steve’s face to look at her between rows of heads and waves manically back and forth. Robin’s fully laughing now as she waves back. There’s an elbow in her side and before she can snarl at the guy next to her, he nods towards where the conductor stands glaring at her, hands hanging in the air waiting to continue the piece. 

The flutes start up, but it’s still a few bars before her first note. So of course her eyes stray to the clarinets. Vickie’s already looking at her, smiling small but genuine. Beautiful and divine. Vickie rolls her eyes fondly and Robin only replies with a half-hearted shrug. 

The boys manage to make it through the rest of the concert without causing another scene. The conductor prompts the band to rise for a bow, and polite applause breaks out throughout the crowd once more. That’s when she hears it– hell, everyone in the school probably hears it. 

Eddie and Steve wolf whistle at the same time. It’s followed by an eruption of plastic clapper applause and shouts of ‘Go, Buck!’ and ‘Hell yeah that’s my Birdie!’ Robin can’t contain the bubbles of happiness bursting in her chest, leaving her light as air. 

She looks out and sees Steve holding another homemade sign covered in glitter that reads ‘Buckley blows the best horn’. Just as Eddie explodes a confetti popper– what Robin assumes is the first of many he has stashed in his pockets– the principal appears out of thin air to scruff them both by the neck and drag them out into the hallway. She can’t read his lips from this far away, but she can see Eddie yapping away, completely unbothered. 

Fuck, Robin truly loves these boys. Her goons, her dinguses, her schmucks.

The band leaves through the side door, heading straight to the music room to store their instruments before meeting their loved ones in the cafeteria. 

“Hey,” Vickie says, out of breath from jogging to catch up, “you did a really good job.” Robin doesn’t think Vickie could specifically pick her out from the rest of trumpets–at least hopefully not– but she takes the compliment anyway. 

“Thanks,” she shouts, a little too excited. And in typical Robin fashion, has zero follow up comments. So they walk down the hall together in silence, students around them buzzing with excitement. 

Vickie clears her throat, and bumps her shoulder against Robin’s. “It’s really nice your boyfriend came to watch you play.” Vickie sighs, deflating, “Wish mine had, anyways.” 

Robin doesn’t even process Vickie’s second statement before screeching, “I’m not dating Eddie Munson! We’re just friends.” 

“Oh,” Vickie smiles, emerald eyes wide and beautiful at Robin’s little outburst, “I guess I meant Steve Harrington. Everyone knows you’re dating. And, I mean, I see you two together in the morning sometimes– not that I’m stalking you or anything,” but her adorable stumbling doesn’t matter in the face of Robin’s blatant disgust. 

“Ugh gross absolutely not, he’s like my brother. My dingus, my very platonic soulmate. Like a long-lost twin separated at birth kind of thing, but also way more annoying.” 

“Oh good,” Vickie answers. Her eyes grow large, mouth falling open in shock as she stutters, “I’m sorry, I mean… It's not good. But it’s not, not good. You know?” 

Robin actually doesn’t know, so she just smiles, bumping shoulders again because the spot where their shoulders touched before is still tingling and she wants more. Vickie relaxes next to her. They’re quiet after that, but it’s a good quiet, filled with stolen glances and hidden smiles. It’s not until they’re both headed back towards the cafeteria when Robin finally realizes what Vickie said. 

“I’m sorry your boyfriend couldn’t make it,” Robin placates, hopefully drawing up enough of a fake smile to make it seem real. She does feel bad for Vickie, but she’s not sad about it. 

Vickie pulls her lips between her teeth into a thin, angry line. She groans in annoyance, and it’s the most Robin’s ever seen her complain, almost always a bubbly ray of sunshine. It reminds her of when Steve gets bitchy, and she love it. “He could’ve made it if he actually wanted to be here,” she huffs. “Apparently going to a party with his friends is a better way to spend his Saturday night.” 

Robin’s eyebrows are raised when Vickie turns to look at her, causing her to scoff out a laugh. “I know, I shouldn’t complain,” Vickie says, obviously not meaning a single word, “but the person you’re dating is supposed to watch your crappy, high school band concert, right?” 

Person. 

Vickie didn’t say boyfriend, she said ‘person’ you’re dating. It probably doesn’t mean anything… definitely, for sure doesn’t. It still doesn’t stop Robin from blushing like one of the hundreds of women Steve hits on every day at work. Fuck, she’s no better than one of Harrington’s bimbos. 

“They should definitely be here.” Robin smiles at her sympathetically, and Vickie thanks her before they walk into the noisy cafeteria. “I’ll see you Monday?” Vickie asks, heading off to visit her family. Robin nods, feeling the dark blush blossom on her cheeks as Vickie smiles, eyes shining with delight.

Robin finally spots her own family, and it’s standard procedure. Congratulations from her parents, telling her ‘Nice job’ and ‘You all sounded so good’ but it’s the comment from her grandmother, whispered in her ear in a tight hug, which catches her off guard.

“Your boy’s waiting for you,” she nods over Robin’s shoulder. She turns to find Steve grinning his dopey I love you smile at her. It’s her favorite, something special just for her. Lost in her soulmate’s gaze, her grandma gives Robin a soft elbow to the stomach to grab her attention. “I think you found yourself a good one.”

And honestly, Robin can’t find it in herself to spout her usual arguments of ‘he’s not my boy,’ because Steve is hers. He’ll always be hers just like she’ll always be his. They still love each other, still plan to spend the rest of their lives together. It’s just not the kind of love most people expect. 

It’s a kind of love that’s theirs, and theirs alone. 

Well, and Eddie’s too, of course.

Robin smiles back at her grandmother, a wet sheen to her eyes. “Yeah, I really did, didn’t I?”

[officialabortive]

bakugou x witch! reader

———

Bakugou dosen't believe in witches. Their just another bullshit story parents tell to scare their children in to behaving properly. Even as a child, he upfront refused to believe the whole "black cats are witches in disguise" crap.

If cats were really witches, they wouldn't be licking their own assholes to get clean

Currently passing through a creek side village. Katsuki, ever the clueless amiture when it comes to casually interacting with animals rather than hunting them, made an amiture mistake. Tossing a scrap peace of chicken breast in the direction of some random ally cat, before continuing on his previous path. The meat landed right beside long whiskers accentuated by tufts of surrounding black furr. Only to get chomped down after a single hasty sniff of inspection.

Eyes wearily followd his every move as Bakugou reached the town's center, where the open marketplace is held. Stands of freshly harvested crop and everyday trinkets scattered every which way. Not that he cares. That's usually the case. This is always the "welcome" given by isolated little villages such as this.

Eyes naturally pin to the unknown. Anything unrecognized or out of the ordinary grasps attention, weather wanted or not. It's obvious these people have never have never seen a barbarian in their lifetime. It wouldn't be all so suprising if they've been told tall tales just as so many others have. Rumors of how people of barbarian tribes are just that; Barbarians. Wild, untamed, and uncivilized groups no better than animals living among trees and rolling in mud pools.

The hustle and bustle makes way once again as he approaches a weapons and blades vendor, no one wanting to be caught staring. The blacksmith behind the booth, a peppy teen boy with scruffy hair —presumably nothing more than an apprentice— tries to act nonchalant, albeit poorly. Bakugou stands unbothered by the way the boys shoulders slightly tense as he scans through the wide selections of hand crafted items. Onel dagger in particular catches the blonde's eye. Fine steel edges connecting to an intricately made hilt, depicting detailed images of dragons in flight. Its maker is undoubtedly a veteran of their craft.

Bakugou pulls a tightly woven burlap sack from the satchel connected to his belt, tugging at its drawstring.

The fact that he's being trailed and under watch of a wild animal irked him. Not due to the act itself, but fact that he feels such a tense squeeze of unsettlment underlying within his chest. It's simply a critical strike to his pride. Even if it caught him off guard —which would never happen — bakugou could take that thing down in a heartbeat; he knows that. Hours of walking were spent trying to simultaneously figure out why the hell is he put at such unease.

'This damn cat has been trailing me since I skipped town! The fuck does it want?'

Barbarians are taught to remain in a constant state of observation, subconsciously scanning their surroundings. It's a bit of a habit is habit for most of his people. It's common practice for the tribes to train all five senses from a young age. figure tailing close behind. It's presence hard to miss, especially come nightfall when it's stealth tactics were a bit... lacking

Those eyes. the way moonlight reflects from their surface made it as if they themselves were illuminated. Its probably just a figment of imagination due to fatigue, but bakugou notes the abnormal sheen of intelligence in that cat's stare. Its unsettling, really. The feeling of being observed by a fully sentient being.

"What?"

It came out as more of a snappy grumble than an actual question. Especially when its delivered with such a stone cold glare.

A furry little head popped up from within the grasses, prancing out of hiding with a perked tail in a manor couldn't be described as anything less then peppy. Kind of like a small child that's finally been found in a game of hide-and-seek.

It's probably just because Katsuki's ease in his travels as of late. A frisky little party member who takes claim of his cloak by sitting on it, and paws at the laces of his boots until they came untied. Bakugou getting circled and yelled at whenever he pulls out the slightest bit of food, which more often than not ends in trash talk.Though it never really escalates any farther for one reason or another A wave of grey clouds rolled about in the distance. If the thunder claps and harsh wind were anything to go by, it's was going to be a hell of a storm. The last thing bakugou needed was soaking travel gear, so he set up camp up wind in attempts to keep dry. But the storm ended changing course, bypassing him and his furball completely! X And the swarms of mosquitoes that are almost always in places such as these, just weren't there Only dragonflies and grasshoppers dodging the furry paws swinging at them with purpose Katsuki not being able to tread through mildly tall grass without somebody attacking on his boots

Unfinished

TBC?

[hotchspearl]

I See You (Aaron Hotchner x Fem!Bau!Reader)

Note: Guys, this is my first fanfiction EVER, so please be nice. Also, english is not only not my first language, but also not my second. It's my THIRD. So again, please consider this while reading. I also write just for fun and am new to the whole Tumblr Game. If you have any ideas/wishes/remarks/or any feedback please send it my way :) I also am planning on making it a series, but am not sure yet. Otherwise, enjoy 🩷

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x Fem!Bau!Reader

Summary: Y/N, a young profiler with a background in undercover work, joins the BAU after proving her exceptional ability to empathize with and read criminals. However, her time undercover has left her guarded, distrustful, and fiercely independent. From her very first case with the team, she butts heads with Aaron Hotchner, whose strict adherence to protocol clashes with her tendency to trust instinct over rules. What neither of them realize at first is how much they have in common—both carry unresolved grief and trauma, hide their vulnerabilities, and use work as a coping mechanism. Over time, their relationship forms an unspoken bond, with each seeing the other as a mirror of themselves, and maybe a little bit more.

WC: 2248

Warnings: none, I think? just general Criminal Minds violence, mention of a fictional case, just the beginning of an enemies to lovers trope :)), little argument

I See You - Chapter 1: TENSION

The office of the Behavioral Analysis Unit buzzed with the usual controlled chaos. SSA Hotchner sat as stoic as ever at his desk, scanning through the latest case file. His gaze occasionally flicked to the bullpen, where the newest team member, Agent Y/N, was now leaning over her desk. He watched her for a brief moment as she was jotting down a few notes with her usual focused intensity. Young, sharp and undeniably talented, that is how he would describe her. This is why she had not only caught the teams but also Strauss attention, leading to her transfer from her previous undercover work to the BAU. But, something about her grated him – maybe it was a mix of her eagerness, her unrelenting need to prove herself with every move she made or was it just simply the way she seemingly carried a weight she never spoke of?

-

It was your first case on the new job as the team gathered in the conference room like usual, where Garcia’s presentation filled the screen with crime scene photos. The victims posed in public places, each clutching a single red rose and a card with the phrase: ,Beauty in Death.’

“Four victims in two weeks,” Garcia began. “All found in suburban neighborhoods around Kansas City. No witnesses, no prints, and also no apparent pattern to the timing”.

You quickly rearranged yourself in your seat, reangling the crime scene pictures in front of you, trying to get a different look at them.

“The posing suggests the unsub sees this as a form of… art,” Reid chimed in and you nodded along, gathering your courage for your first contribution between the already seasoned team of profilers. 

“Possibly someone with a background in floral design or even photography.” 

The team nodded along with you, before Hotchner cleared his throat.

“Wheels up in thirty” he simply said, his voice steady and unwavering.

-

4 hours and more briefing on the jet later you all landed in Kansas City. You listened from the back of the jet as Hotchner gave the first orders.

“Our priority is identifying the unsub before he escalates even further. Morgan, Prentiss, you’ll canvas the neighborhoods where the bodies were found, try to ask around for some witnesses. JJ, talk to the families. Rossi, Reid head to the medical examiner. Agent Y/N, you and I will interview the guy who called about the second victim. He is a florist – it's not much, but we can go from there.”

You quickly nodded along, gathering your belongings as the jet came to a halt. 

The florist, a middle-aged man with a very nervous demeanor, sat across from Hotchner and you in the interrogation room. As Hotchner methodically questioned him, you had the time to do what you knew best, study every move he made, especially the unconscious ones. The man’s body language was easy to read, his hands trembled when asked about the roses, his right eyelid twitching every now and then - but no matter that, he answered Hotch’s questions in a consistent manner. When Hotch pressed him even further on his timeline of the night of the third murder, the man’s stutter grew worse, but you could not see any guilt nor pride in his expression – only fear. As it was your first interrogations, and especially one next to your new boss, you stayed quiet most of the time, keeping your thoughts to yourself for now. But afterwards, in the hallway, you quickly caught up to Hotch, wanting to share the thoughts you had kept to yourself for now.

“I don’t think he’s our guy” you simply stated, looking up to Hotchner as he slowly stopped, turning to face you, his gaze sharp.

“The profile fits. He’s socially isolated, has access to roses and his timeline is questionable. He couldn’t get it straight. What would make you think otherwise?”

As his sharp words left his mouth you had to internally recollect yourself to continue pushing your narrative in front of your boss.

“It’s his language” you stated, maybe a bit too simple, offering no explanation. Scared that it might come off as arrogant you added “When you asked about the roses, he, uhm, didn’t describe them the way someone obsessed with their craft or the idea of ,Beauty in Death’ would do.”

Hotchner’s head tilted just a tiny bit and you took it as your sign to go on. “He wasn’t fixated on the details – no mention of texture, scent, arrangement. He didn’t seem proud of his work, uhm, and, during the timeline questions I got the feeling that his defensiveness was stemming more from fear of being accused of something rather than from hiding guilt, pride, remorse.”

Hotch didn’t say anything for a second, the only reaction was him crossing his arms. You bit your lip, a nervous habit.

“And you think that’s enough to just rule him out?”

“No Sir, that is not what I was implying.” You admitted quickly. “I am just saying, it’s enough to look harder into the other suspects. The one Agent Prentiss called in. The gallery assistant who recently quit after an argument?” you continued, his gaze on you still unwavering.

“The poses just feel theatrical, like the unsub is making a statement. I just think whoever would do something like that would also feel a sense of pride – he doesn’t.”

Hotch stared at you for another moment, his expression unreadable. “Fine. We’ll check into it. But if it leads nowhere, you’ll be the one explaining to the families why we lost time.”

His words stung and you felt your heart beat in your chest wildly. As you watched him walk away, pulling out his phone and probably calling Agent Prentiss, you got an uneasy feeling in your stomach which you couldn’t quite place just yet.

Was he always that harsh? Was it just his modus operandi?

You let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding, as you walked back to the little kitchen area, wanting to grab another cup of tea to calm your nerves. Seconds later you poured hot water into a small cup, your mind still racing as you were slowly but surely starting to second-guess the little argument you just had with your new boss.

Was it worth it? Did I come off as too strong? Too arrogant? Too much?

Your thoughts and mind were focused on the case ahead, but also on the Unit Chief himself. You understood that the team, though having their reservations, would slowly but surely welcome you in with open arms and let you be part of their little family. However, Hotch, as they call him, would not be as eager with having you on the team. You knew that he first wanted you to prove yourself, prove your skills. At the end of the day, you knew that earning his approval, and someday maybe even trust, would be more like a marathon rather than a sprint, but nonetheless you were willing to take the bait.

-

The day went on and the team split up, each chasing separate threads. Meanwhile, you continued to quietly follow your own instincts about the gallery assistant. You swiped through his online presence and general social media activity while being on the phone with Penelope Garcia, the tech assistant (or goddess as she apparently calls herself). She seemed to be the most fun of them all to be around and you noticed right away that you liked her attitude. Not only because she was cracking jokes left and right, already testing your waters with light teasing, but also because she seemed to be non judgemental, just simply here to help out and make some inappropriate jokes along the way.

As you both finally found some things that were worth mentioning, you approached Hotchner.

“I think the assistant is more than just a connection. I think this is our major suspect”

“We’ve been through this. He has no violent history, no forensic evidence linking him to the crime scenes.”

“Well, uhm, maybe not directly, but with his behavior. It’s erratic. Look, he posted this online just a couple of weeks ago, right about the time the murders started.”

(You pull up a social media post made by the gallery assistant, showing a vague yet still concerning message: “They never understood my vision. Maybe they’ll finally see it.”)

Hotch is skeptical, but listens. “It’s circumstantial at best. We need more to bring him in.” he finally says, and you lick your lips briefly, exhaling in dissatisfaction about the whole situation.

“If we wait, we risk another victim. I’ll keep digging, trying to find something more… resolute, but, I think we need to press him before he escalates further”

Hotch’s frown deepened and you could see how he didn’t like nor approve of your way of speaking to him so… freely. 

“I’ll consider it. But I need you to focus on the task assigned to you first. Let’s not jump ahead without solid evidence.”

Your jaw tightens, but you nods curtly, leaving to continue your ,assigned’ work without saying anything else in return.

Hours later, Morgan and Prentiss report finding surveillance footage near one of the crime scenes. In the background the car of the gallery assistant can be clearly seen, Sam Nolan, parked just a block away from where the third body was discovered.

This gladly, is enough for Hotchner to bring him in for questioning. This time, Hotchner and Rossi lead the interrogation while you watch from the observation room with Reid.

Nolan denies any involvement, of course, but grows agitated quite quickly, when both Agents press him about the argument he had at the gallery, which resulted in him quitting his job.

You could see how Hotchners gaze becomes more doubtful of the person in front of him, slowly but surely catching on with his strange behavior and inconsistencies. 

“He’s treating the victims like they’re part of his ,art’. That’s why he’s so defensive. It’s not just simple murder to him – it’s his way of controlling how they’re remembered.”

Reid nods along with you. “That aligns with the unsub’s need for public recognition. He wants to be acknowledged more than anything else, he wants to finally be seen for the great artist he is.”

Before you could think, you act out of impulse and find yourself stepping into the interrogation room. Hotch raises an eyebrow at you, but gives you room to speak. And you take it without missing a heartbeat.

“Sam, I understand. Really. They didn’t see your vision. They dismissed your work, I mean, how could they? But, now-, now, you finally found a way to make them look at it, didn’t you?”

Nolan shifted in his seat, visibly unsettled by the approach you had going on. “What are you talking about?”

“The roses, the poses – it all is so intentional, so theatrical, so beautiful” you forced the last word out of yourself “you weren't just killing them, you were preserving them, turning them into your own legacy” you continued as Nolan grew silent, his eyes focused on you, listening.

“This was your way of having control. Having control over how they will be remembered. Forever in the light that you put them in, as they took their last breath. That is why it is so beautiful. Beauty in Death.”

Hotch watched Nolan closely, internally very impressed by your boldness, strategy and also performance. Nolan slowly starts to falter, his need to be understood, seen and admired overriding all his defenses in a heartbeat.

“They never appreciated it. I had to show them…show everyone” he finally said, his voice breaking, before his façade crumbled completely and he confessed.

You breathed a collective sigh of relief, your eyes quickly locking with Agent Rossi’s, who gave you a satisfied and approving look, before you put your hand on the doorknob and exited the interrogation room just as quickly as you came.

-

Back home at the office, the team was scattered at their usual places (at least you supposed they were usual), chatting about something completely unrelated to the case you all just solved but rather personal stories they finally could catch each other up on. You sat at your desk, organizing your notes, when you heard footsteps approach you. With your next inhale his cologne filled your nose, you turned your head, watching Hotchner approach you.

“You followed your instincts on this one. Even when I wasn’t fully convinced.”

You looked up, surprised. “I just wanted to make sure we don’t miss anything.” You added simply.

“You didn’t. That was good work.” He finally said, his voice softer than usual.

You couldn’t hide a smile now. “Thank you”

Hotch hesitated for a moment, before speaking up again.

“You remind me of someone – someone who also couldn’t let things go until they were sure everything was accounted for.”

“And…is that a good thing?” you asked, feeling the tension in you relax a little bit.

He smiled faintly, before pressing his lips together, giving you a curt nod.

“See you tomorrow, Agent Y/N.” he finally said, before walking off, taking the stairs to his office. You watched him waving Morgan and Prentiss goodbye as they left for the day, as he disappeared behind his closed door seconds later. Through the little window you watched him take off his suit jacket and neatly hang it over his chair, sitting down at his desk and scanning through the latest case file. 

[el-bellanaris]

I find the fandom consensus that Solas and the Inquisitor going into the fade at the end of Veilguard being an eternal "banishment" really interesting because at least for me I feel like it ignores what the ending is supposed to mean for Solas overall. Solas in Veilguard is finally at the crossroads in his life that some other Inquisition companions and advisors were at in DAI. I mention Inquisition specifically because for me his journey is so much more reflected and connected with them, his journey might take two games but it narratively fits so well within the scope of Inquisition. 

Anyway as the player character, we are given the choice that will define the fate of these characters based on our emotions and logic and this will become the canon choice of that particular world state. For Solas, we aren’t told much information about his future and the results of his choice but we are shown it through visual motifs and more directly through the difference in the pair of remnants left behind by Mythal. We have the remnant that exists in the crossroads and has lived the last couple thousand years existing in a static state never leaving and never growing past her past. The other remnant existed inside Flemeth and we were told by Morrigan in Veilguard that this remnant was able to love and live many lives experiencing the world and living more fluidly.

Our choice is based on our opinion of Solas but the outcome is reflected in what it means for him and if your choice will have him continue the cycle and stay in a static existence without growth or go forward into a future full of new experiences, change and growth. If you fight him you are continuing the cycle of violence, leading to Solas to become as bad as the Evanuris and becoming static - stuck in his ways and as a result likely stuck in the prison of regret that he may never escape from because he refuses to grow. Thus Solas becomes like Elgar'nan and the other evanuris and Rook becomes like Solas in replaying the cycle of history of what happened when the veil was created. 

If you trick him and best him fairly in a battle of wits, Rook becomes his equal, his proper opponent on the chess board rather than just a piece on Solas's board. The cycle breaks because Solas has to come to terms with the fact that he has lost, this results in change that is confronting for Solas but he takes it with grace and falls into a brighter future. 

The last choice, the compassionate ending where Solas is able to confront his past but also be comforted towards the future by the Inquisitor, regardless of whether or not he romanced them will result in Solas actively and freely walking away from his plan and the game he has been playing against and with Rook. The cycle is broken, there are no winners or losers except the Inquisitor who vowed to change his mind and of course a Inquisitor who said that their love would endure. They are the winners here. (Obviously everyone has their opinions on if their love did endure for them personally so this is more so just me describing the facts presented in the game if that ending is chosen)

This ending is also representative of Solas finally reaching the moment that Cullen, Blackwall and the Iron Bull were able to reach where they could find themselves putting down their duty and moving forward with something new. All 4 of them are bound to some kind of organisation or duty be it the templars, the ben-hassarath, Blackwall’s duty to his lie and guilt or in Solas's case the revolutionary for his people. The other three in Inquisition were able to become something new, something in their heart they wanted to be but had to be confronted with the mortifying truth of facing themselves and following a new path. Solas doesn't get the exact clarity in his endings that these three characters get, however he does actively state that he will go to atone and then calm the anger of the blight.

He, like these other three and the remnant of Mythal that left their old lives behind, will now walk on a completely new path. So for me it felt incredibly clear that he would not be stuck in any way anymore because of this and being bound to the prison eternally would not even be an outcome on this path even if he is to go back there first. This ending is about completely forging something new for him, something that requires him to confront himself and accept himself entirely. And the Inquisitor is here as not a prisoner with him, but rather someone to join him on the path he is to take next.

So when people say the pair of them will make the prison into a home or just generally only seem to see a future for them in that prison by themselves I find myself compelled to ask why? Why would the ending that's about breaking the cycle and very visibly showing Solas making the choice for himself and freely walking into the future be one that leads to another eternal permanent state of being. It ignores the idea of what this ending means and I think focuses slightly too heavily on taking the ending slides just as face value. 

The choices you make as the person holding the controller/mouse happen in tandem with what you didn't choose. So they all exist as possible outcomes and you can occasionally get more information from viewing other choices then just focusing on the one you made. When you are given the ending slide for the romanced Inquisitor that follows him into the fade we are shown them hugging, with Solas who has shed his armour and is wearing an outfit akin to what he wore when he was at Skyhold. Aka when he is at home, at rest. This ending shows him at rest with the Inquisitor and we are told they are reunited and their story has come to an "end."

Now it's easy to get tunnel vision and only view this ending and think oh they're just in the fade forever, but if you view the others, especially the ones for where you trick or fight Solas they specifically show Solas falling into the fade. This is important because it shows the direct result of your choice through how he enters the fade and is indicative of the future that will follow for him. In one we see Solas falling into darkness because the cycle of violence continues and in the other Solas falls into a brighter future because he accepts defeat. So for the romanced ending it's not representing their permanent state of being but rather showing us the direct result of Solas entering the fade in the same way the other two I mentioned are. He doesn't fall; rather he finds himself stable, standing up and able to accept the Inquisitor's love in an embrace in a moment alone. That's what he does first, not what they do for an eternity. In the non-romanced option he is actively walking to a brighter future with his staff in hand and dressed ready to approach his next challenge. This is likely what he will do next in the other future too just with the Inquisitor at his side this time but after he gets his bearings and they are able to move forward together.

When I see people say well what about the Inquisitor's life, why is she throwing it away for a man or what about her friends and family deciding that it's absolutely certain she will never see them again I am again compelled to ask why. They are entering a bright future together, and that bright future is defined by you ultimately. For one thing, time in the fade serves to be convenient to the narrative it is in. Rook was in there for a couple hours but in the real world weeks had passed which I assumed was because that was how long the group needed to make the dagger and successfully be able to free Rook. For the Inquisitor they spend hours in the fade in a quest and return within minutes because they were needed in the real world to make a choice about the Wardens that evening. So if you believe wholeheartedly that your Inquisitor would never abandon the world right now there's no reason why the fade wouldn't let them out in whatever time is most convenient for the imagined future for your character. Maybe the two of them spend weeks healing the anger of the titan's dreams and then return to this world in an hour. Let's not forget these are two people who rarely sit on their ass and just wait for the world to fix itself. The minute Solas was out of the prison he was out there in Minrathous fighting Elgarn'arn and Ghila'nain whilst protecting the people of the city. The Inquisitor is helping lead the efforts against the blight in three different countries based on their letters so why wouldn't either of them join the forces to help the world heal. Neither of them understand rest truly, so this moment of love together with them is likely just a quick break in between making their next steps. 

In terms of where they end up, I personally believe any ending that shows Solas entering the golden part of the fade indicates both a brighter future for him but means he will not enter that prison again. There is no need to, the prison is figuratively a representation of Solas being trapped by his regrets and unable to move forward so when he walks forward into a new future this prison now has no hold on him. Even when he is tricked, I think accepting defeat is enough to free him. He would just need longer to find his bearings and move forward but still would not need the prison anymore. We see light in these endings and the only places that are bright and full of light in the fade are the Dread wolf’s crossroads and the lighthouse so most likely he is returning to one of those places. Especially when in the non-romanced compassion ending he is dressed differently and has his staff he would need to acquire from the lighthouse. The Black City is also the closest I’ve ever seen it when viewed from inside the crossroads so it would make sense for him to reach it from there.

To end this very long post I will say that even though we aren’t told exactly what happens to Solas and the Inquisitor in the end I will stand by the fact that this game isn’t telling us they are banished to be alone in a prison forever. The game doesn’t tell us everything in words, rather it frequently relies on themes, imagery, actions and our own interpretations to make up the rest however so much is said to us and I wanted to write it all out somewhere for my own sanity really.

[blushsturns]

perv!matt x innocent!reader ♡

continuation of this!

title: dial drunk

w/c: 1661

more of our faves here!

you were completely and utterly drunk. after a long night at the club and multiple drinks in your system, your head was spinning and you were ready to lay your head down and close your eyes.

matt had picked you up from the club after you were texting with him and he looked insanely worried about you. you kept reassuring him you were fine, although you knew you weren’t. your head was pounding, you felt incredibly nauseous, and you knew you looked like absolute shit. matt didn’t seem to think so, though. he kept stealing glances at you while he was driving to make sure you were okay. you were oblivious to this, your head tilted back against the seat and your eyes closed. matt had brought a water bottle for you in the car and you kept taking small sips of it.

luckily when you got back to matt’s house, everyone else was asleep and the house was quiet. matt helped lead you into the house with his hand against your lower back which would’ve made your stomach flutter with butterflies if you weren’t drunk out of your mind. you never usually get out of control like this, but you told yourself to let loose for once and have fun. you definitely should’ve cut yourself off after the third drink.

your head was pounding as matt led you into his bedroom. it wasn’t the first time you were in here, but you don’t come into his bedroom often. you looked around his bedroom which was fairly neat despite some clothes on his gaming chair. a frustrated groan leaves your lips as you move your hand up to your forehead and throw your head back. “my head hurts so fucking bad.” you groan out in pain, your head feeling like it’s spinning as if you were on a rollercoaster.

matt frowned as he stared at you with a worried expression on his face. “you shouldn’t have had so much to drink, doll. especially not from a random ass stranger.”

you roll your eyes, despite your head feeling like it weighed a thousand pounds. “jealous. you’re just jealous.” your words were slurred as you hiccuped out a small laugh. you took one step forward and almost tripped from how wobbly your legs felt due to all the alcohol in your system, but immediately you landed into matt’s arms. you gasped at the sudden movement with his arms wrapped around your waist. your eyes lock together in an intense gaze, his facial features softening. your faces were inches apart, his breath lingering against your lips.

he looked down at your lips before back up into your eyes. “let’s get you to bed. wait here.” he carefully helped you sit down on his bed as he pulled away from you to walk over to his closet and grabbing one of his t-shirts before handing it to you. “here is the shirt i promised you. you can change in the bathroom. i’m going to get you some water and a trash bin in case you puke, okay?”

matt was being so generous to you, taking care of you because you didn’t feel well and if you were sober, you’d have the opportunity to let it all sink in. all you could focus on was your lingering, pounding migraine and how you needed to sleep it off before you puked. matt disappeared downstairs to grab you water so that gave you the chance to shimmy out of your party dress. he did say that you could use the bathroom, but you could hardly even move from how dizzy you were. you unclasped your bra, throwing it down onto the ground with your dress and grabbing onto the shirt matt gave you. it was one of his t-shirts that said “boston” on the front. your back faced the door as you slipped the shirt on when you heard footsteps stop dead in it’s tracks. matt stood by the doorway and unable to move, taking in your appearance.

he never thought he’d see the day where you wore one of his shirts, but here you were standing before him in only his t-shirt and your pair of lacy panties. the shirt was big enough to cover your body, but matt had to take in a deep breath to calm himself down. you were drunk and he had to make sure to keep his thoughts and hands to himself. “i got your water.” matt announced as he held it up to you. you smiled at him and grabbed the bottle from his hands. “thank you.” you took a sip before moving over to the opposite side of the bed from where matt sleeps.

“um, i can go sleep on the couch if that makes you feel more comfortable.” he said shyly, moving his hand up to rub at the back of his neck in a nervous manner.

you shook your head slowly, a slight pout forming onto your lips as you slid into his bed and motioned for him to come towards you. “no, please sleep with me.” you hiccuped another laugh as you realized how you worded that. you pulled your ponytail out and allowed your hair to fall loose over your shoulders. “please, matt? it’ll make me feel better.” you mustered up the most cutest puppy dog eyes you could possibly ever show him as you keep the pout on your face. “please?”

he let out a soft sigh, his shoulders relaxing as he moved over to get onto his side of the bed. “okay, fine. someone’s gotta make sure you’re safe, huh?”

you flash him a grin and immediately wrap your arms around him and squeeze him tight. you realize you’re being silly, but you’re drunk so you have a perfectly good excuse. plus, you don’t mind sleeping next to him. “my hero.” you giggle softly before pulling away to lay your head onto the pillow.

the entire night, matt noticed you moving closer and closer to him. your leg wrapped around his to try to be as close to him as possible. matt slept peacefully, but also made sure that you were okay and weren’t going to be sick in your sleep.

in the morning, you woke up with the worst hangover of your life. your head was pounding and your body was sore and you weren’t sure how that was possible. there was a bottle of water and medicine next to the nightstand. you quickly took it and rubbed your eyes to try and gain some consciousness. matt was no where to be seen, but suddenly the wafting smell of bacon and pancakes filled your nostrils and it immediately piqued your interest. they usually say carbs help soak up the alcohol from your system.

you slowly move your way out of bed, grabbing your hair tie and throwing your hair up into a messy bun. once you finish rinsing your mouth with matt’s mouthwash (to get the god awful taste of alcohol off your breath) you make your way downstairs and into the kitchen. matt stands by the stove as bacon is sizzling in the pan and pancakes are being made in the other pan. your stomach immediately growled just by the smell of it. “are you cooking me breakfast?”

matt didn’t expect to see or hear you awake so soon and jumps slightly at the sudden sound of your voice, turning around to look at you and taking in your appearance. your makeup was smudged from not removing it last night, your hair was unbrushed and thrown up in a bun, and you were still wearing matt’s shirt. only matt’s shirt and nothing else. he gulped as he scanned you up and down before averting his eyes back to yours, a smug grin appearing on his lips. “how do you feel, doll?” he couldn’t help but stare at you and how fucking sexy you looked in his t-shirt. god, you looked so fucking beautiful even if you were battling a hangover.

you groaned and moved over to sit onto the stool at the kitchen island, your hands moving over to cover your face as you groan into it. “ugh, don’t even.”

matt laughs as he turns off the stove and grabs two plates and utensils before placing it down before you. he places a couple strips of bacon and some pancakes on your plate and fills two cups of orange juice for the both of you. “bet you regret it now, huh?”

you nod your head as you begin nibbling onto the bacon, immediately licking over your lips at the immaculate taste. “more than anything. i do love waking up to breakfast being made though.”

you were reminded of when you invited matt over to your house and you were making breakfast and he ended up eating you out on the kitchen counter. the thought of it made your cheeks turn warm. you wondered if matt remembered it, too.

he shook his head as he moved over to the kitchen island to sit down next to you. “you don’t have to get drunk for me to make you breakfast. you know that.”

you don’t know why that made your cheeks a bit more warm, but it did and you didn’t mind it one bit. “well thanks for saving my ass last night. i mean it.”

your eyes locked together now, his facial expression turning more serious. “now that i know you don’t handle your liquor very well, next time, maybe bring me along with you on your next night out. you know, since you need supervision.”

“maybe i’ll take you up on that offer.” you flash him a wide grin before taking another bite of your bacon, your shoulder brushing up against his.

matt truly did save your ass last night. you were quite thankful for him and you really hoped he knew that.

you’d have to make it up to him somehow.

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love you guys!

-nessa ღ

[mooniedust]

Hii!! I recently read your prompts and when i tell u the emotion in ur writing is beautifully RAW i love it 😭😭

I had an idea for a bot like, user is somehow friends with Thanos before and during the games, and they're like complete opposites not relatable to eachother in any way other than possibly their dark humor 😭

like i can just imagine Thanos cracking the most horrible, terrifying and disgusting but also extremely funny joke that ur laughing with tears holding ur stomach 😭

i'd love seeing this on janitor bc c.ai is not even letting people ask a bot "hi how r u" 😭 btw this is just a suggestion u dont have to do it if u dont want to

I hope u have a good day or evening or night!! Byee!! 🩷🩷🩷

Note: So, I wrote the prompt (Still working on the bot) you wanted, but I made some changes. In my vision, Thanos wouldn’t be an open person, he wouldn’t be the type to let people into his life or be sentimental. Instead, I leaned heavily into his defense mechanism of gossiping and making a few jokes here and there. He’s not as clueless as he might seem, like in the series, because, in my view, all of that stems more from the effects of addiction and drugs. It’s his way of forgetting that his life is a complicated and that he got himself into a mess, thinking it would bring pride to the people he cares about.

He and you, in this case, are friends, but he doesn’t let you or anyone else in his group delve too deeply into sentimentality. He thinks sentimentality is something for weak people and has no place in his life, especially considering he’s a famous person and all the other yap yap yap-and his sense of humor is kind of…sorry if I strayed too far from what you wanted!!!!

TW: Graphic depictions of violence, death, gore, emotional manipulation, drug references, sychological tension and toxic behavio

With all my heart,

Moon Dust.

The echo of her laughter still lingered in the arena, cruel and taunting, as if it refused to fade, leaving behind a haunting reminder of what had been. The silence that followed was suffocating, broken only by the sharp mechanical whirr of the giant doll, its cold, unblinking eyes tracking every movement with deadly precision. The girl—number 196—lay sprawled on the ground, blood pooling from the gruesome wound in her head. The metallic scent of death mixed with the acrid smoke of gunpowder, the faint tremor of chaos still rippling through the air. The eerie lull of the children's music continued to play, as if this carnage were but a trivial side note in the twisted symphony of the game.

Thanos stood beside you, his eyes fixed on the fallen bodies and the growing pile of money. He wore a smile that bordered on boredom, an indifference so complete it seemed to define him. He exhaled slowly, almost in mockery of the death around him. The drugged haze of the moment blurred his sharp edges, making everything seem distant and detached. To him, this wasn’t a scene of violence; it was a waiting room for something more… interesting.

You stared at him, feeling a surge of anger and disbelief rising within you. His callousness was suffocating, his smile a twisted mockery of the lives lost. The fact that he seemed unshaken by the brutality unfolding before you made you sick. You opened your mouth, your voice trembling with both rage and helplessness.

"You flirted with her, made her move, for God's sake… and now she's dead. Don't you feel anything?"

Thanos blinked slowly, his smirk widening ever so slightly, amused by the intensity of your response. His eyes glinted with something dark, almost playful.

"Flirted? Oh, you know how it is, little mouse. I gave her a little attention… but she didn’t know how to play the game. Don’t blame me for that." He shrugged casually, his smile never fading. "I even thought she was cute, with that silly little grin and big ass, bro...the view was so hot, but, I don't know, you can't expect much from a head so empty. The game’s like that. If it wasn’t her, it would’ve been someone else. But hey, maybe she’s in a better place…or not."

You could feel your blood boil at his words, but before you could unleash the storm of anger brewing inside you, the doll's voice cut through the tension—sharp and unforgiving.

The room seemed to hold its breath as the scene unfolded, the stillness swallowing everything around you. The dim, oppressive air of the resting chamber felt like a prison. Thanos, however, was unbothered, his presence like a strange comfort in the chaos. He sprawled across the bed, as if the carnage had been nothing more than a dull distraction. His expression was one of disdain, boredom even, as though he were the king of a world that no longer held any mystery.

You moved closer, your emotions roiling within you, the instinct to confront him rising like a tidal wave. But his casual attitude, his detachment from the horror around you, made something inside you twist. You had never met someone so indifferent, so cold, yet so utterly magnetic. The way he took pleasure in life’s darkest games left you confused and disgusted, but also strangely drawn to him.

"Don’t you ever regret it, Thanos?" you demanded, your voice thick with frustration. "How can you be so… cold? You flirted with her, and now she’s dead, and you just—What? You don’t feel a thing?"

Thanos turned his head slowly, meeting your gaze with an intensity that sent a shiver down your spine. His smile was lazy, full of amusement, as if he found your outrage nothing more than an inconvenience. He tilted his head, as if your question were absurd, and spoke with an unsettling calm.

"I didn’t shoot her, did I?" His words were dripping with nonchalance, as if the point were far beneath him. "You wound me, little mouse. I’m just a guy who knows how to enjoy life, take what I want. Not my fault if she couldn’t play. The game is ruthless. If it wasn’t her, it would’ve been someone else. Maybe she’s just in a long line of…unfortunate soulmates."

Your chest tightened, your breath quickening, but before you could answer, the room seemed to shrink with the weight of his indifference. The violence, the blood, the suffering—everything felt like a backdrop to his sick amusement. He watched you, eyes twinkling with something like challenge, as though he were daring you to see it his way.

You leaned forward, trying to meet his cold gaze with something of your own, but his presence was overpowering, making you feel smaller than you wanted to be. You didn’t understand him, yet something about him called to you, like a fire that you couldn’t help but want to touch.

"You’re a monster," Your voice was steady now, though it trembled with the weight of your words. "But you’re a monster who knows how to hide it with that mouth filthy with acids."

Thanos chuckled, a low, dark sound that seemed to vibrate through your bones. He stretched out on the bed, almost leisurely, the smile on his lips widening in satisfaction. He was enjoying this, enjoying you. There was a darkness in him that was both chilling and irresistible, and it made you question everything you thought you knew about him.

"A monster?" he repeated, the word tasting sweet on his tongue. "I guess that’s one way to put it. But let’s be real, mouse, I’m irresistible, aren’t I? You know it. Don’t deny it." His voice dropped to a low, dangerous whisper. "The question isn’t whether I’m a monster… it’s whether you’re strong enough to resist me. Or will you finally give in?"

You stepped back, your heart pounding in your chest. His words lingered in the air like a poisoned temptation, his gaze never leaving you. The pull of his presence was undeniable, magnetic, and for a moment, you wondered what it would be like to succumb to it, to lose yourself in the darkness he offered.

But you fought it, shaking off the unsettling thoughts.

"Don’t flatter yourself." You forced the words out, but even to you, they sounded hollow. "You’re just a dangerous game."

Thanos’s grin only grew, his eyes flashing with something deeper, darker. He knew exactly what effect he had on you. He knew you were already trapped, whether you admitted it or not.

"Fool you?" He shook his head, a smug smile on his face. "I don’t need to fool anyone. I am who I am, and you know it. The only question is: will you resist? Or will you give in? I swear, I’ll enjoy seeing what you decide."

You swallowed, the tension in the air thickening.

Thanos was still smiling, a mixture of fun and malice in his expression, his relaxed posture contrasting with the growing tension. The silence between you was heavy, and you felt the weight of unspoken words hanging in the air. But Thanos, always one step ahead, seemed to be enjoying your anxiety even more than anything else. He stretched his arm to the side, his fingers playing with the cross necklace hanging around his neck, the chain gleaming in the dim light. The cross seemed to have a very different meaning to him, something you were starting to understand.

"So, what’s it going to be, little mouse?" Thanos asked, his voice gently provocative. He leaned forward once more, his eyes glowing with a silent promise. "Will you stay there, resisting, or will you give in to the fun? I know what you’re thinking… And if you want to forget all this chaos for a while, well… I have some pills here on my necklace that can help."

He let the necklace drop slowly in front of him, the movement slow and deliberate, as if savoring every second. The small, colorful pills were tied to one end of the chain, gleaming with an unsettling intensity. It was hard to know exactly what he was offering, but the invitation was clear.

"Let’s stay together and make time slow down a bit, little mouse. Some fun…Just you and me, the pills, and the game."

You, sensing the weight of Thanos' offer, paused, yet the allure of unraveling the depths of this game proved irresistible. Finally, you spoke, your voice hushed, a tantalizing blend of simmering anger and unspoken curiosity:

"I’m not sure what you seek, But if this is some sort of test, know that I won’t fall so easily."

Thanos let out a soft chuckle, a low, velvety sound laced with amusement, as if the game had finally taken an enticing turn.

"It’s no test, little one." His voice was a smooth, almost melodic whisper, dripping with honeyed temptation. "Only an invitation to indulge in a bit of… pleasure. And trust me, I know how to make things… exquisite. Step into the world of Thanos, won’t you?" With deliberate grace, he held the pills between his fingers, letting them linger before placing them on his tongue, raising an eyebrow, his gaze smoldering with a suggestive glint that pierced through you.

[malk1ns]

january 12 vs lightning, 5-2 loss

smh.

i had another idea for this game but in retrospect considering how they played during it (and in the one after) i'm simply not interested in addressing the games so. a continuation of stud!geno. part one is here, part two is here.

Zhenya waits until Sid is fully asleep, snuffling wheezy snores into his pillow that are far more endearing than they should be, before he slips out of Sid’s bedroom.

Wandering down the hallway, Zhenya opens doors at random until he locates another full bathroom. It’s nicely-appointed, filled with expensive, generic guest products, and Zhenya turns the overhead fan on high and gets the shower going, hotter than is strictly comfortable.

As the bathroom starts to fill with steam, he kicks off his pants and groans as he takes himself in hand, bracing himself on the sink.

He doesn’t try to draw it out, working himself over until he comes in the sink with a grunt. Strictly business, clearing out the pipes so he’s ready for whenever Sid wakes him up tomorrow and they get going. Zhenya’s old hat at how this goes by now.

He rinses his hands and eyes himself in the mirror, clearing off the glass with his sleeve and narrowing his eyes at his crows feet, the way his hairline is a bit higher up than he’d like.

Sid looks so much younger. That’s not unusual for an omega no matter their age, and of course Sid is younger than Zhenya, but there’s something about the way he looks when Zhenya gets close, wide-eyed with an open mouth and pink cheeks—it’s practically virginal.

He’s not. Zhenya would be able to smell it on him, and frankly if that were the case he wouldn’t have accepted this contract; virgins are a lot of work. He’d doubted the repeated assurances the Penguins gave him over Sid’s untouched status when it came alphas, though, and he’s surprised at how much he likes that it’s turned out to be true.

Sid really does smell incredible. Zhenya’s never covered an omega who had a scent like that; it’s almost drugging in its intensity.

Hence the perfunctory masturbation and, now, a too-hot shower in the steam to clear any scent of arousal from the room so it doesn’t float through the house and wake Sid up. He’ll need all the sleep he can get.

Zhenya lingers under the water for longer than he normally would, luxuriating in the multiple shower heads and making liberal use of the pleasingly neutral products Sid has set out for whoever he invites to stay over.

Even the heat and the fading lassitude from his orgasm don’t have him ready for bed once he steps out, though, so Zhenya tiptoes past Sid’s room again and heads downstairs.

It’s a nice house. If Zhenya is expected to move in eventually, he wouldn’t mind living here. It was clearly professionally furnished, but there are personal touches everywhere—paintings of Sid and his teammates, knick-knacks and pictures for Zhenya to peruse.

He pauses at the entrance of what must be Sid’s office, staring at an old team photo of the Detroit Red Wings framed near the door. There’s Yzerman front and center, but to his right is Sergei Fedorov, the A over his heart bleeding scarlet even the faded photo.

Zhenya wonders when the Penguins will let him see the ice.

That’s part of this. He was happy with his life in Russia—it’s small, maybe, more limited than if he’d left as a teenager to take his chances in America, but he plays for his hometown team and they win more often than they don’t, he makes enough money to give himself and his parents a comfortable life, and he’s still in demand enough to have traveled the whole country, even into parts of Europe for teams interested in infusing their star breeders with some Russian talent.

The Penguins offered a lot of money. A lot of money, enough that Zhenya had to ask his agent if they were joking. But even that wouldn’t have been enough if they hadn’t let him play.

He’s not the player he once was, but he still has a lot to offer a team with Stanley Cup aspirations. And there’s a small part of Zhenya that wants that, the little boy that pored over newspapers to find pictures of the Russian Five raising the Cup and screaming and dreamed it would be him one day.

He won’t be allowed to play until he’s fulfilled his other obligations, which makes sense even though he chafes to be out on the ice making plays. Watching the Penguins throw up all over themselves tonight had been painful, even with the promise of Sid in his bed later. But Zhenya wouldn’t have signed, wouldn’t have left everything he’s ever known just for the privilege of fucking Sidney Crosby whenever the Penguins decide they want a new asset.

Zhenya wants to play until he can’t. And he intends to, even though it will be harder here.

The late hour catches up to him before he can do more than take a cursory look around Sid’s office, the adrenaline of Sid’s preheat finally starting to bleed from his muscles, so Zhenya heads upstairs, carefully closing the bedroom door behind him and sliding into Sid’s bed, holding his breath until he’s settled in without Sid so much as twitching in his sleep.

Zhenya carefully lays a palm over Sid’s hip. Sid’s warm, which is to be expected, but he’s not burning with heat yet, and Zhenya’s presence and touch should keep the peak at bay until Sid’s gotten enough rest to get him through what comes next.

As Zhenya drifts off, he thinks about babies, chubby toddlers with Sid’s curls and Zhenya’s own big eyes. He’s never been involved with any of his children before, barely even sees more than the update pictures that get added to his stud file. He wonders what it will be like.

--

There’s something special about waking up in bed with an omega in heat spread out next to you. 

It’s always been one of Zhenya’s favorite parts of studding. The whole process is enjoyable, but when that switch flips and his body comes alive before his brain has even fully registered what’s happening—it makes him feel like an alpha, fully and completely, and he relishes those dreamy few minutes before he gets to work. 

Omegas all react differently when they wake up in heat and there’s an alpha right there, smelling safe and secure and ready to give them a baby. Some fight, making Zhenya chase them down. Some have an attack of nerves and Zhenya talks to them sweetly until they relax enough to get started. Some climb on top of him and get started before Zhenya’s fully hard—he likes those, likes being able to swim to wakefulness with his hands clutching some omega’s hips as they pant and moan over him. 

A few, though, do what Sid is doing when Zhenya blinks sleep out of his eyes late the next morning—cling so tightly to him that they’re practically one, arms and legs tangled and not a breath of space between them. 

Zhenya can feel Sid’s heartbeat pressing into his own skin as Sid whines in his ear. It’s unbearably hot under the blankets, and Zhenya’s barely able to free one foot enough to kick them to the floor. 

This is a little unusual. When this happens, it’s normally an omega who’s been around Zhenya a lot more than Sid has. The last time he woke up to an omega winding themselves all over him, it was the daughter of a wealthy family in Moscow—someone high-up in the government, Zhenya always assumed but knew better than to ask—that had contracted him for the third time. She’d been skittish at the first covering, but the most recent time he’d woken up to her rubbing up against him and practically purring.

Zhenya’s not quite sure what to make of how easily Sid is yielding to him, but he can definitely work with it.

Sid’s moving a little, hitching his hips against Geno’s legs and making cranky, dissatisfied little sounds. His scent, normally buttery and sweet like the world’s most tempting dessert, is clarifying into pure sugar, burnt at the edges and threatening to smoke. Zhenya swallows the saliva building in his mouth and turns so that he and Sid are facing each other.

“Good morning, sweet boy,” he says, freeing an arm and cupping Sid’s chin. Sid’s eyes are huge, pupils blown and lashes spiky where he’s already sweating. Zhenya keeps his voice a soothing rumble, not all the way in alpha register but close enough that Sid stays calm. “You’re sleep okay, feeling okay?”

Sid mumbles something unintelligible, smearing his face against Zhenya’s chest. His scent spikes, so Zhenya murmurs to him more, sweet little endearments in English and Russian that Sid seems to like if his reactions are any indication.

Zhenya reaches down to feel between Sid’s legs. He’s wet already, but Zhenya’s big—a fact prominently featured in his stud file, to his embarrassed pride—and Zhenya doesn’t want Sid to feel a second of discomfort.

When he circles his finger around Sid’s hole Sid moans, and Zhenya carefully rolls him onto his back so Sid can spread his legs like his instincts are clearly begging him to do.

“Oh,” Sid gasps, turning his head to blink at Zhenya. “Geno, fuck, I need…” He trails off for a second, and Zhenya uses his distraction to slide a finger in. “Oh fffffuck. Oh my god. Why does that…Geno, it hurts.” He arches his back, pushing down onto Zhenya’s finger with a whine.

“Okay, sweet boy, hush, I take care,” Zhenya soothes, pressing another finger into Sid’s hole.

It slips in so easily, not a hint of resistance as Sid’s body makes room for him. He’s even wetter now, sweet-smelling, pheromone-laced slick dripping out onto Zhenya’s wrist.

Normally, Zhenya would take longer prepping his omega, just to be sure. But Sid’s smell is tapping into something in his hindbrain, urging him to mount, to breed.

Zhenya’s a professional. He’s covered dozens of omegas in his life. That muscle memory is what keeps him from succumbing entirely to his instincts.

When he pulls his fingers free, though, he does let himself suck them into his mouth, moaning at Sid’s taste, strong and heady and so, so sweet.

He needs to keep his head.

“Okay, lyubimyy,” Zhenya says, half to himself as he snags a pillow and tucks it under Sid’s hips. “You ready? It’s time now, I think.” He takes himself in hand and guides the tip of his dick to Sid’s hole, practically biting through his lip at the feel of Sid’s heat around him.

It takes every ounce of willpower Zhenya’s ever possessed to go slowly, to not just slam in and take. He sinks into Sid inch by agonizing inch, pausing when Sid tightens up around him and continuing when Sid’s fingers scrabble at his back and his vocalizations get high-pitched and desperate.

When he’s fully seated, Zhenya has to take a deep breath and count to three to keep himself from face-planting into Sid’s neck.

There was nothing in the contract he signed about making this a permanent arrangement, and Zhenya hadn’t pushed for it. A successful covering with Sidney Crosby would open up opportunities around the NHL, his agent had said, and anyway he’d be in Pittsburgh for at least two years once the child was born. Zhenya has never gotten attached to any of his omegas before, outside of a temporary chemical bond from knotting; there was nothing that said Sid would be any different.

The contract also did not contain any language stopping Zhenya from mating Sid, though. Buried deep in Sid’s sweet hole, surrounded by their scents and rapidly losing all sense of control, Zhenya can’t come up with a single reason why he shouldn’t.

There’s a lot of science around breeding positions, but Zhenya doesn’t read any of it—he’s done it his way his whole life, and he’s never had any complaints. So he pulls at Sid’s legs until they’re resting on his shoulders and leans down, pushing Sid’s thighs back until his knees are practically at his ears. Their faces are close enough together that Zhenya can feel the puffs of Sid’s breath on his cheek.

When Zhenya pulls out, he closes the distance and kisses Sid, sliding his tongue into Sid’s mouth just as he fucks back into him.

Sid’s passive at first. Most omegas are, when they’re getting fucked by an alpha for the first time—Zhenya’s been told that it’s overwhelming, a shock to the system that freezes them up at first. It doesn’t take him long to kiss back, though, moving his plush lips against Zhenya’s mouth and clenching his thighs in an attempt to thrust.

He’s a good kisser, Zhenya notes in the small part of his brain that isn’t totally fogged over by Sid’s scent. 

Zhenya normally keeps count in his head, trying to draw out the time until he pops his knot to increase the amount of semen he pumps into his omegas, but his hips are rabbiting forward faster and faster. He pulls back from Sid to gasp in air, and when Sid whines he growls back, low and rumbling and alpha, designed to quiet an omega down and keep them in place.

Sid listens, and Zhenya’s growl changes over to a purr of approval. His omega is so sweet, so good for him.

His knot builds fast, and they both cry out when Zhenya forces it into Sid’s body and locks them together.

“Fuck,” Sid gasps as Zhenya lowers himself down, letting Sid’s legs free. “Oh my god, Geno.”

Zhenya hums, sliding his fingers into Sid’s hair and stroking. Now that they’re knotted together his head is starting to clear, and he ticks through what’s next—lots of contact still, and when his knot goes down more skin-on-skin to make sure Sid’s properly scented. This is the part where science gets murky, but Zhenya was raised to believe that the more an omega smells like their alpha, the more likely a breeding is to work.

It’s not like it’s a hardship, to lie in Sid’s bed tangled together after Zhenya’s finally able to pull out and pet over his skin. Zhenya can feel the muscles under his skin, evidence of hard work in pursuit of a goal they both share, and he lets himself grope at Sid’s body until Sid’s hard again.

“Geno, can you…” he starts, but Zhenya doesn’t make him ask; he takes Sid’s dick in hand and starts stroking. “Oh, harder, please, I need more.”

Zhenya doesn’t give it to him at first. There’s a part of him that’s loath to end this session, to break the bond Zhenya can feel tickling at his brain by leaving the bed and moving on to the more administrative parts of this. He’s never felt this way about any of his omegas before, and he’s afraid that once this ends, he won’t again.

Sid’s begging, though, and Zhenya finds that he wants to give Sid whatever he wants.

He tucks himself close to Sid’s side, looking down Sid’s torso as he strokes him harder and faster. It’s easier than it should be to put his mouth dangerously close to Sid’s glands to murmur more of those sweet endearments Sid likes so much into his ear, to work him up more and more as his hand brings Sid closer to the edge.

Sid’s orgasm practically bowls Zhenya over. He can feel Sid’s pleasure at the back of his mind, spiking their scents together in the enclosed space of the bedroom, and before he even realizes what he’s doing, Zhenya’s closing his teeth around Sid’s neck.

Biting into Sid’s glands is like a second orgasm, one that draws out so long it’s painful. It’s all in his head, though, and when Zhenya surfaces he and Sid are clinging to each other, gasping for air.

“Oh wow,” Sid says, sounding dazed and pleased.

Fuck, Zhenya means to say.

“Lyubimyy,” slips off of his tongue, though, and then “dorogoy, lyubov' moya.”

He’s still babbling nonsense when Sid kisses him silent.

[ladykailitha]

Share With Me One Love, One Lifetime Part 1

Here we go. The final story in the Boy with a Bat trilogy. It's certainly come a long way from when I first started writing for this fandom. Two years ago on this day, I put out Can Anybody See Me? because there was serious lack of season 2 AUs were Hellfire had taken Steve under their wing. And then it grew from one story into two with Never Hold Back Your Step... and I promised I would get Steddie all the way through season 4 to come out alive on the other side.

The goal is to get all the story out before season 5 premiers. So far of what I've written, we're about 2/3 of the way through season 4. We'll get to the end and then we'll have a short epilogue.

Thank you to everyone who cheered me on to complete this trilogy. But especially @bookworm0690, @kultiras, and @dreamercec.

The title like the previous two stories before it (here and here) comes from a musical. In this case, The Phantom of the Opera. RIP Eddie. You would have loved that musical.

In this we have our boys caught between a rock and hard place, Steve watches Lucas's game, and Eddie gets into some trouble.

~

Steve was going to murder someone. He just hadn’t decided on who yet. Though at the moment it was starting to look like Lucas.

“And you’re sure you can’t move it to another night?” he asked, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“Yeah,” Eddie murmured. “Mike leaves for California in the morning and most of the other guys have plans too. Then once spring break comes back...”

“You can’t use the drama room because the play is starting up,” Steve finished for him. “Shit. And I can’t have it here. My mom somehow found out about the movie nights and threatened to have my dad kick me out if it happened again.”

“Shit.”

“Yeah,” Steve said, nervously chewing on his lip. “And you know I’m gonna want to support Lucas.”

Eddie let out a long sigh. “Yeah I know. Dustin told me. I just wish Lucas had come to me instead of the flying monkeys you know?”

“Me too,” Steve said, closing his eyes. “He just got in with the boys on the basketball team and I’m worried he’s going to alienate himself from his friends if he continues to hang out with them.”

“I’m worried about that too,” Eddie huffed. “And my speech was aimed at Carver by the way. In the heat of the moment I had forgotten Lucas was on it. Got reminded afterwards though.”

Steve opened his eyes and let out answering sigh. The little bell above the door twinkled, heralding the arrival of customers. “Look, I’ve got to go, I have to actually work.”

“Booo,” Eddie hissed. “I’ve got that deal with Chrissy after the game, so I’ll be by after that, okay?”

“Okay, Eds,” Steve said. “Be safe.”

“Yup!”

Steve hung up the phone with another sigh. He straightened up and put on his best customer service smile. “Welcome to Family Video, how can I help you today?”

The rest of the day flew by in a flash and too soon he was picking up Brenda for the game. She had come into the store earlier and was talking about how she really wanted to go to the game because her brother was on the team but her parents didn’t want to go.

So Steve offered to take her. He was pretty sure she thought it was a date, but Steve kept trying to steer here away from that sort of talk. He’s not sure he succeeded.

~

“It’d be funny if we won the championship game the year after you graduated,” Brenda said with a smile.

Oh hell no.

“I wasn’t on the team my senior year,” he said with a bitchy expression. “You would know that if you actually watched us play. I was out with a concussion.”

Brenda smirked. “You know what I mean. I just mean that you were King Steve, we didn’t win the championship once.”

“Yes,” Steve cocking his head forward, “but I’m the one that got us to the championship my junior year. I sunk that last shot with nothing but net that got us into the final game. The other team was better. You can still do everything right and have the other team just be better.”

Then it looked they were going to lose, so they let Lucas play. After all what was the harm of letting him play for the last minute of the game.

And then a miracle happened.

Lucas was at the three-point line and he let go of the ball just as the buzzer went off. Steve rose to his feet as the shot sailed into the air and hit the basket dead on.

Lucas had won the championship game for the Tigers.

Steve was jumping up and down and just screaming. “Yes! Yes! Yes!!!”

~

After the players came back out from the locker rooms, Steve put his arm around Lucas.

“Looks like our hard work paid off,” he said with a teasing grin.

Lucas rolled his eyes. “Yeah, yeah. Thank you, Steve.”

Steve gave him a tight one-armed hug and then whispered in his ear, “If you feel uncomfortable for any reason, just give me a call and I’ll be there in a heartbeat. And don’t let anyone pressure you into something you don’t want to, okay?”

Lucas nodded and then hurried to catch up to Jason and his friends.

Steve shook his head and turned to Brenda. “Hey do you need me to take you home?”

She shook her head. “My brother is going to drop me off before heading the celebration.”

“You got it,” Steve said with a thumbs up. He stopped for a moment. “Which one did you say was your brother again?”

“I didn’t,” Brenda sneered. It’s Andy Snyder, number forty-three.”

Dread pooled in Steve stomach. Andy was the new Tommy H. A bully and a brute, on and off the court.

“He played good tonight,” he said with a fake smile smile firmly in place.

Her returning smile was even less sincere and she walked away. Steve put his hands on his hips and looked up, pressing him lips together.

He was now certain she thought they were on a date, but with Steve paying more attention to Robin then her and rooting for Lucas without even asking who her brother was... yeah. According to her the date was a failure, according to Steve, he dodged that fucking bullet.

~

Steve had barely kicked off his shoes when the walkie talkie he kept next to the door crackled to life.

“Code Red!” Eddie hissed. “I have a fucking Code Red! Is anyone there? Please god, please!”

Steve was on the line faster then from one breath to the next. “Eddie, this is Steve. Repeat, this is Steve. What’s your status?”

“Chrissy is dead, man,” Eddie whined. “She–she rose up into the air, like a puppet on a string and oh god!”

“Shit, shit, shit!” he cursed. “You’ve got to get out of there, now! Stash the van and run for Rick’s. After the game there are going to be too many eyes on my place. You keep your head down, you hear?”

“Yeah,” Eddie breathed. “Yeah. Oh god, it was so bad, Stevie. Why her? She was so nice to me. Why her?”

“We’ll find out,” Steve breathed. “I just don’t know who would be around right now. Everyone is out scattered because of the game, Nancy and Mike are getting ready to take him to the airport for him to fly out to California and everyone is out celebrating the win.”

“What about Dustin?” Eddie murmured. He hated bringing a kid into this, but if that was who they had...”

“I don’t know where he is,” Steve said chewing on his thumb nail. He should have picked up before he did.

“Shit!”

Steve let out a shuddering breath and pinched the bridge of his nose. “I’ve got work tomorrow, but as soon as I can, I’ll bring you clothes and food enough for you hide out there, okay?”

He had a lot of Eddie’s clothes over at his place, it wouldn’t be hard for him to pack a bag.

“Yeah, okay,” Eddie sighed. “You’ve got a handle on this. Just don’t forget about me, okay?”

“I’d never.”

~

“Hey,” Robin said after Steve pretty much blew up at a customer for not know if her boyfriend liked scary movies or not. “Are you okay?”

Steve grimaced. He had tried to get people on the walkies this morning but he couldn’t get anyone on the line and he didn’t have a chance to talk to Robin, because she had been running full steam about Vickie all morning.

But before he could even open his mouth to answer Dustin came storming in, with Max hot on his heels. “Turn on the news now!”

Robin turned over to the news and sure enough the breaking news was of a girl being murdered at the Forest Hills Trailer Park and the investigation was ongoing.

“That’s Eddie’s trailer!” Dustin cried.

“I saw Chrissy go into his trailer last night,” Max admitted, “and then he came running out screaming.”

“Why you didn’t get anyone on the walkies?” Steve growled. “That would have been great to know last night!”

“My mom sold them for more booze,” she snapped back.

Steve pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed heavily.

“We need to find him!” Dustin insisted. “He’s innocent! There is no way he did this! He couldn’t have!”

“Whoa!” Steve said sternly. “You think I don’t know that? I’m the one who introduced him to you do you forget!”

Dustin blinked at him for a moment and then nodded. “Sorry Steve, I freaked out when I found that my walkie talkie had been accidentally been turned to the wrong channel, but I couldn’t get him on it this morning and I was really worried.”

“Okay...” Robin said, raising an eyebrow, “and why are you here, specifically?”

“Oh, I was going to hack your system to find out where Eddie might have gone aground?” Dustin said with a grimace.

Steve buried his head in his hands. “Oh I am so getting fired.”

Max scoffed. “As if your peon bosses would be able to tell Dustin even touched it.”

Steve put his hands on his hips and rolled his eyes skyward. “No, that’s not why I’m getting fired.”

Everyone else looked at each other in confusion.

“Then why are you getting fired?” Dustin asked with one raised eyebrow.

“I’m guessing you’re going to want to hasten to Eddie’s rescue, yes?” he asked licking his bottom lip slowly.

Dustin rolled his eyes again. “Yes!”

“And how would you get there?” Steve pressed. “You bikes? Because that won’t draw attention to where Eddie might be hiding.”

“Well, no,” Max said, “we’d make you take us.”

“Which means I would be abandoning the job to go look for Eddie if we left now, yes?”

Dustin and Max eyes went wide and then they said together, “Oh.”

“Yeah,” Steve huffed, shaking his head. “You either wait until two when I’m off or I’m going to get fired.”

“Two, you said?” Max said with a wince.

“Mhmm.”

“That’s not too bad,” Dustin hedged. “After all it might take me that long to crack the system and find Eddie.”

He went to go leap over the counter when Steve grabbed him by the scruff of his neck.

“Oh hell no,” Steve snapped. “One I just sorted those tapes and I’m not doing it again, and two you don’t need to hack shit, because I know where he is without all the techno bullshit.”

“Techno is a genre a music,” Max supplied unhelpfully.

“And it’s not bullshit if it helps us find him!” Dustin growled.

“Did you even listen to the rest of Steve said?” Robin asked, knocking his hat off his head. “He knows where Eddie is.”

Dustin blinked at Steve for a moment. “How would you know that?”

Steve rolled his head and tilted his head back. “Because I was on the actual fucking walkie talkies you make us carry around everywhere we go and Eddie radioed the party last night. AND I was the only one who answered!”

Dustin and Max blinked at Steve’s outburst, shocked that he would yell at them. But with Eddie missing and a girl dead, it was forgivable.

“So where is he,” Dustin groused, picking up his hat and slamming it down on his head, “if you’re so smart?”

“Reefer Rick’s boathouse on Lover’s Lake?” Steve suggested with a half shrug.

Max folded her arms and glared at Steve. “And how would you know where that is?”

Steve threw his arms in the air with a huff of frustration. “We’d go there sometimes when my dad was being an ass, okay?” He looked down at his shoes and scuffed his shoe on the carpet. “It was a place no knew but us. Sometimes Rick would be there and we’d watch TV sometimes.”

Dustin looked at him disbelieving. “Yeah, sure...that’s all you did.”

“I hate to break it to you kid,” Steve said dryly, “but drug lords actually prefer that their dealers aren’t doing the drugs they’re selling. It’s bad for business.”

“Oh.”

~

Tag List: 10 SLOTS REMAINING

1- @itsall-taken @estrellami-1 @zerokrox-blog @sadisticaltarts @dolphincliffs

2- @gregre369 ​@a-little-unsteddie @irregular-child @cryptid-system @kultiras

3- @maya-custodios-dionach @goodolefashionedloverboi @val-from-lawrence @carlyv @wonderland-girl143-blog

4- @bookbinderbitch @bookworm0690 @forgottenkanji @dreamercec @blondie1006

5- @yikes-a-bee @awkwardgravity1 @genderless-spoon @fearieshadow @thesecondfate

6- @dragonmama76 @ellietheasexylibrarian @thedragonsaunt @useless-nb-bisexual @disrespectedgoatman

7- @counting-dollars-counting-stars @tinyplanet95 @ravenfrog @swimmingbirdrunningrock @lingeringmirth

8- @gutterflower77 @a-lovely-craziness @just-a-tiny-void @w1ll0wtr33 @beelze-the-bubkiss

[maybeitsalivescribbles]

A sequel to this. Recap: Sidekick ran away from Hero and went to a grumpy Detective.

*

Detective had given rides to a lot of weird people during the years.

Nervous clients, glancing by the windows to make sure they weren’t followed. Sinister minions dressed in black, pointing a gun at him from the backseat. Smug rich people condescendingly explaining the world to him and getting out wrinkling their noses. A sulking Supervillain who was great with gadgets but terrible against a good punch. A Hero reacting like a six-year-old because they never rode in a car before, courtesy of having super speed and good public transport in their previous town, both wonders unheard of here.

Somehow, none of them had made him as nervous as the huddled teen in the backseat. It was a whole kid! How was he supposed to take care of that? Patting their head and saying “there there, I’m sure Hero only barely wanted to use you until your death” ? Talking about video games? Kids still liked video games, right? Pity he’d never played them. No, this wasn’t good. He had to focus.

“Do you have some kind of power?”

The teen shrugged:

“I fly.”

“Do you like it?”

“I liked it before.”

“Where are your parents?”

“They live in another town. I told them I was going for a summer job. It was true. I thought it was true.”

“Hero told you that?”

“Yeah. They told me it would be only for a couple of months. And then, last week-”

“Last week?”

“They congratulated me and told me I got the job for good. Told them I didn’t want it, and-”

They waved:

“Well, here I am.”

“Here you are. Do your parents know?”

“No. They don’t even know the kind of job I had. I didn’t want to worry them. And I don’t want Hero going after them. They don’t have powers.”

Detective sighed, tapping on the wheel.

“Okay.”

“Where are we going?”

“To a friend. Healer.”

The teen relaxed:

“I think I know them.”

Detective nodded. A lot of people knew about Healer. When things looked bad, people went to Detective. When things looked bad for him, he went to Healer.

They were a weird one. Although they had the power that went with their job, and they had the gaudy clothes – in their case, a long white gown that matched their long silver hair – they weren’t a registered hero, but a regular doctor. The Hero association had approved at the condition that they only healed people with powers. Healer had agreed with a smile and kept healing whoever they wanted when the others were not looking. They were the very reason why Detective was alive in this crazy town. In fact, they were close to being friends. Healer wasn’t only competent -they needed to be – but they were nice. He needed the reminder that people sometimes were.

The door was wide open. Too many doors were today.

“Stay here.”

Detective got out of the car and stayed frozen on the doorway, looking at the body on the floor. Healer was wearing the same gaudy robe as usual, but it had been torn, enough to reveal a huge wound to their side. He didn’t have to force himself to fall on the floor, applying pressure until the blood stopped. With a shaking hand, he checked their pulse. They sighed. Something moved behind them and let out a strangled noise. He didn’t turn around. He should have known that Sidekick would have come inside anyway.

“What happened?”

Detective took off his jacket and folded it under Healer’s head, the only thing left to do for them.

“A very good question.”

Sidekick watched him rummage through the room with a kind of desperation, his hands clasping on anatomy books, notebooks, and the knob of a drawer that he opened feverishly to get one lollipop out of it. Sidekick tilted their head while he tore off the wrapping with teeth before putting the candy in his mouth like his life depended on it, but made no comment. During the last months, they’d learned not to ask questions and stay close to the nearest exit when an adult was getting worked up. They looked at the window, just in case.

“Detective…”

No answer. Just an adult flipping through the page of an agenda, mumbling to himself, then stopping suddenly.

“Supervillain? They made an appointment with Supervillain? What the hell?”

“Well, you have to give it to them,” said Sidekick with a voice that only slightly shivered, “they’re punctual.”

The adult and the teen looked at each other, looked for any kind of miracle exit, and found the same depressing number.

“Tell me everything you know,” whispered Detective between his teeth.

“Um...wears purple...has a torture room somewhere…”

“Not helping.”

“Super-strengh? Doesn’t understand the word “no”?”

There was no time to answer. The door opened. A cold wind that had nothing to do with the current weather settled in the room. A pair of eyes who rarely blinked glanced at the room, stopped for a whole minute on Healer, then went back on the only adult inside with the lollipop in his mouth. A hand grabbed his throat, propping him off the ground.

“Your death will be as slow and excruciating as possible.”

It’s not easy to talk when you have the double handicap of a candy between your teeth and being strangled to death. Detective, however, made a good attempt:

“Fdoza uill ever o oof.”

“If you do that, you will never know the truth,” translated Sidekick, who was good with languages.

“The truth?” repeated Supervillain. “It seems clear to me, child.”

“But we just got here,” mumbled the teen. “We don’t know what happened either.”

“Then what are you talking about?” snarled Supervillain to their prey.

Detective turned blue in answer. With a groan of disgust, Supervillain released him, letting him gracelessly collapse on the floor. After five minutes of coughing, spitting, and retching next to a sad lollipop, Detective could enunciate:

“Five minutes, only five... and we could have caught them.”

“Who, “them”?”

“Yeah, that doesn’t exclude a lot of people. Sometimes I think I’m the only not non-binary person in town. Well anyway,” he added quickly as Supervillain was turning another color themself, “it’s easy to understand. You’ve just proved that you liked Healer.”

“Everyone liked them.”

“So the killer obviously did it to spite you. Who could that be, if not Hero?”

“Hero wouldn’t-” began Supervillain.

“You sure?”

There was a moment of silence. Of deep, thoughtful silence. Supervillain’s eyes fell on Sidekick. In a quick move, Detective stood up and went through the room to throw an arm around the teen’s shoulders:

“Look at them, the poor kid. They ran away, crying in my office, telling that Hero was planning something terrible but they didn’t know what, we both risked our lives to come here, and this is what we found. The murderer is getting away right now, while we’re talking.”

Sidekick burst into tears. They didn’t have to force themself very much. That was the last step to convince Supervillain.

“This night, their head will be mine,” they said before leaving the room.

Sidekick kept crying, huddled against Detective.

“S-sorry,” they mumbled, sniffing.

Detective awkwardly patted their back, shaking his head in disgust:

“That’s one gullible shithead. I swear, the more they’re powerful, the more they’re complete idiots.”

Gently, he pulled away from the embrace, sitting once again in front of Healer.

“Do you think Hero will win?” whispered Sidekick.

“Don’t know, don’t care. These bozos deserve each other.”

“Should I call an ambulance for Healer?”

Detective held two cold hands in his own, gently massaging them with his thumbs.

“I don’t think so.”

“You don’t know who did that to them?”

“A bloody idiot,” snarled Detective. “Literally. You can open your eyes now, it’s safe.”

Sidekick repressed a move when Healer blinked and frowned.

“Sorry”, they whispered, their voice nearly inaudible. “I really didn’t want to deal with them.”

“Oh, and the only way was playing dead?”

As they were arguing, Sidekick noticed that blood wasn't coming out from the wound anymore. In fact, it had turned into a scratch. That was surprising how a stressful situation could prevent you from realizing that a Healer was, indeed, a healer. Detective shook his head and helped them to sit up.

“That was on the spur,” whispered Healer. “They wouldn’t leave me alone, so…”

“Since when?”

Healer shrugged. Detective groaned:

“You have my number. Why didn’t you tell me? That’s my job to...”

“You’re busy enough.”

Detective squeezed their shoulders, twisting his mouth and grunting:

“You think I’d rather see you dead? Do you see me bleeding to death before calling you ?”

“Many times.”

“Well, I’m not exactly a role model, am I ?”

Healer shrugged lightly, as if to give him this one, then gave the room a side-look:

“Who’s your friend?”

“That’s a long story. I suggest that everybody gets in a car first. And fast.”

*

Back to Hero x Villain Masterlist

[elegyofthemoon]

no one asked but the music in argenti's quest was driving insane for a while and i was wondering why only to realize that they both sound very ff13-esque.

"Cosmic Sacrifice for Love" sounds like "Giant's Fist" by Naoshi Mizuta

"A Gentleman's Fantasy"... I can't even pinpoint exactly which Masashi Hamauzu song it sounds like BUT IT USES A LOT OF SIMILAR HAMAUZU MOTIFS AND ITS REALLY GOOD LMAO just like listen to "Blinded by Light" :)

[darabeatha]

ㅤThen I heard your heart beating.ㅤ You were in the darkness too.ㅤ ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ ... So I stayed in the darkness with you.

[waywardsalt]

with my phantom hourglass replay, there are two things i noticed;

a possible theme you could glean from the game is action vs inaction, and i think it's especially prevalent before you even leave mercay the first time, with oshus frequently urging link to not go after the ghost ship, then to just wait until the broken bridge is fixed, and seems reluctant at every turn while link and ciela are more than eager to go and do something about this problem, and the people of mercay in general talking about things and their problems but never seeming to act on their fears or desires, as well as the mention that due to the ghost ship, very very few people are still sailing around, while linebeck is one of the only people we see in the game actively going after the ghost ship and still sailing around. i might make a longer post just talking more about the action vs inaction in phantom hourglass but i just noticed it a bit and thought it was a bit of an interesting sort of theme you could find in the game.

linebeck moves so fucking much. i think he moves more than any npc in the rest of the game. not just in his intro cutscene where he is very animated, just in how much he moves when just standing in his little idle post, it's damn near distracting when the camera is focused on him, he moves a lot. i don't think i've really acknowledged how much he moves, and it really gives the impression that he's antsy or eager to get going, both of which fit him pretty well with how he acts.

[always-a-joyful-note]

I think the reason I like the 5 Eccentrics so much is that it's just such a good depiction of the….variety of friendship. Because it was a group literally created to be destroyed. It was, in other words, a forced union of 5 people who might have never or barely interacted. Yet even with that, even knowing that, they all chose to have a meaningful friendship with each other - they chose to be friends and remain friends even if their union was forced, even if the very reason that they met was to be taken down. It's almost the arranged marriage trope but it wouldn't work as well like marriage because it really isn't that. It's like the family system (brought together by chance and a common identity) but it's still different. Because they didn't HAVE to be friends even if sharing the same label, because they didn't have to keep sticking around each other and become a real family. They chose to be friends in spite of all odds, chose to be grateful even amidst their destruction, and forged a precious bond that not even their predetermined fall could break and in this essay I will -

[cubot]

I get alone with my thoughts for one second and then my brain goes to the VN love interest route I beat yesterday and I go, "jesus fucking christ what the fuck."

[claitea]

finished the dlc! enjoyed it a lot :D