#a middle schooler could figure this out! it's not that hard!

[paradoxlemonade]

When is it socially appropriate to throw your group mates in a college group project out of the airlock

[hijinxinprogress]

12 year old tim realizing robin’s not coming back to gotham and deciding that it’s Batman’s fault so he has to ruin the little bit of sanity and peace of mind Bruce has managed (read: struggled) to keep in his grasp:

[ash5monster01]

Cold Spring Harbor

Chapter One - She’s Got A Way 🎶

Pairing: Steve Harrington x FemReader

Warnings: fluff, instant attraction, invisible string theory, mentions of childhood trauma, mentions of death, coping mechanisms

Summary: Just when Steve figures he’s bound to be alone the rest of his life, somehow he finds you, and for some reason just being near you makes him feel much less alone in the world.

word count: 2k

→ Two

Masterlist

Spring 1985

She's got a way of showin', how I make her feel

Steve hated being sad. Yet for the last six months that was all he had felt. He should be over it by now. He wished he was over it, but everyday he went to school just to see Nancy with Johnathon and know everything that he lost. He had given up his friends for her, and when she gave him up for Johnathon, he had no one left. No happy family to come home to, and no friends to spend time with, especially no girlfriend to love. Maybe that was why it was so hard to get over her, because she was the only person he had left and she left him too.

So he woke up on the first day of spring break, no parents, no plans, no one at all. It didn’t matter that the first warm sun was shining through his window and the birds chirped happily outside. He figured he would always be alone and he was still just as miserable as before. The only person he did have was Dustin but how many times can you ask a middle schooler to hang out before it gets weird? Steve didn’t want to find out.

He wasn’t going to last all of spring break like this so he was going to do the only thing that made him feel better. The only thing that gave him enough motivation to get out of bed and get ready for the day. So it’s not long until he is walking out the front door and towards his car. Yet before he unlocked it he stopped, eyes glancing into the bright blue sky, and deciding against the drive. It was sunny and almost seventy, plus a walk would be good for him. So he stuffed the keys back in his pocket and started down the road.

Town was half empty once he got there, signs showing that the new mall being built was already taking away business. It was sad to see the town that once was so busy become a shell of nothing. Kind of like him he supposed. Yet the sight of the familiar blue door eased his mind as he pushed in the one place he hoped would be here forever.

“Hey man, long time no see” Ron, the owner smiles from behind the register. Steve matches the smile right back even though he doesn’t feel it. He wished he did.

“Hey Ron, how’s business been?” he asks, eyeing the various shelves throughout the room.

“I wish I could say busy, but ever since word got out that Sam Goody was being built in the mall, no one really cares about Ron’s Records anymore” he says and Steve nods, his throat tightening at the thought.

“I’m sorry about that man, you know I’ll be a customer for life” he tells him and Ron nods, smiling at the boys kindness.

“You and your Grandpa both” Ron says kindly and Steve has to look away before tears form in his eyes.

“I’m gonna check some records out” Steve tells him and Ron nods as he moves to the section he knows it will be at.

Finally reaching the B’s his fingers start skimming the records. It feels like he’s passed a hundred Barry Manilow records by the time he reaches exactly what he’s looking for. Smiling to himself he scans which ones are there, determined what would be the best to listen to. Something that for an entire forty minutes could make him feel much less lonely in this world.

“Billy Joel huh?” Steve looks up and nearly freezes. There you are, the prettiest girl he’s ever seen, and something about the world stops. He’s not one to be shy but it’s as if the words somehow can’t leave his mouth. There was just something about you. “Since when do boys your age listen to Billy Joel?”

“Hey, he’s still rock n’ roll to me” Steve defends, and it’s cheesy. He knows that, but it doesn’t stop you from laughing. You’re wearing the most perfect smile he’s ever seen and he wants to make you do it again.

“I’m not saying he isn’t, just most guys these days don’t know good music anymore” you say, pulling the record out of his hands and he almost gasps at the way your fingers feel against his.

“Well good music to me is just Billy, always has been” he says and you give him a small nod, smile still on your face. He briefly wonders what it could be about you that makes him suddenly so content.

“Cold Spring Harbor? I don’t think I’ve ever heard it” you say and Steve’s heart clenches.

“It’s his first album, he was only 22 when he wrote it. It’s one of my favorites” Steve tells you and the mischievous grin you give him makes his heart stutter in his chest.

“Well let’s listen to it” you tell him, hand grabbing his own, and leading him to the front of the building. In the front window there’s two chairs and small record player in between. They had been there for as long as Steve could remember, he had sat in them hundreds of times. He sits in his, the one chair he always sat in, and you sit, well in the other. His throat dries as he sees you sit across from him in the chair that had been empty for many years.

“What’s your favorite track?” you muse, hands delicately working to pull the record from its sleeve and place it on the player.

"The first one, She's Got A Way. It was my Grandpa's favorite, the first Billy song he ever played me" Steve says, looking off onto the rows and rows of records. Remembering a time when he was just short enough to be the same height as them. Rushing around and looking for the most colorful covers while his Grandpa went straight to the B's. Then he'd sit in the very chair he was now, ankles just barely hanging over the edge as his Grandpa played him song after song, in the very seat you were sitting in now.

"So that's where it comes from" you muse, the record spinning as you turn on the machine. Steve watches as you set the needle on the record, sratching till it finds its groove, and fills the silence between you both.

"Why is it his favorite?" you ask after a few moments, watching the boy as he let's the words sink in.

"He claimed it was the only song he ever heard that perfectly described how he felt about my Grandmother. How the right women could completley turn you around and heal you when you least expect it" Steve smiles fondly as he repeats those words he hadn't in a very long time.

"A charmer, I'm sure you are too" you say and the shocked look Steve wears has you laughing lightly. It takes Steve only a second to laugh along with you, realizing just how quickly you had revealed him. It's when your laughter calms he realizes the smile on your face has eased his heart more in the last six months than anything else.

"If you must know" Steve says and you giggle again which has Steve wanting to spend more and more time with you.

"Where is this Grandpa of yours, I have a few questions for him?" you ask and Steve freezes, not expecting the words to leave your mouth. It takes him a moment to respond and you sense the discomfort and place your hand on his own. Steve nearly jumps at the electric touch that comes from it.

"He passed away when I was fifteen, right before high school" he tells you, throat tightening around the admittance.

"I'm so sorry, that's awful" you try to comfort but Steve just smiles.

"You would have loved him though. Everyone did. He was my best friend, the only family I really had that spent time with me. Since my Grandma passed when I was ten, me and him made sure to spend all of middle school together" Steve isn't entirely sure why he is telling you this, he just knows your the first person he has been this comfortable around since his Grandpa and he didn't even know your name yet. He didn’t know what it was about you but he figured there didn't need to be a reason.

"That's so sweet, he sounds so special" you tell him and Steve nods, recalling memories he hadn't allowed himself to think about for years.

"He was, just wish he was still around. He was the only person to ever be there for me, front row at every swim meet and basketball game. Was hard going through highschool knowing he was no longer in the stands, but Billy. Well that's all me and him ever talked about. So sometimes, on days like today when I miss him a little extra, I find him in the lyrics of a song" and your heart soars for the boy in front of you. A boy with a deep sadness buried within him. A boy the world hadn't given a chance yet.

"Is he there right now?" you can't help but ask, the last few lines of the song coming through the speakers on the machine. Steve listens, can practically see his Grandpa yelling at him for not making a move. ‘At least ask her name’ he groans and Steve chuckles lightly to himself.

"Yeah he's here. He always is" Steve says and you give him a smile that somehow heals him. "I'm Steve by the way"

"Nice to meet you Steve" you tell him before offering your own name and Steve finds it rattling through his head, the most beautiful name in all of existence, and somehow it belongs to you. The very girl who showed up while he was feeling down and has inspired him without a sound. The beginning notes of You Can Make Me Free fill the silence between you both and Steve sits up, realizing your hand is still atop his own.

"Sorry for spilling my guts" Steve says and you shake your head, wanting him to know that he had done nothing wrong this entire time.

"Don't be, it actually happens a lot. I seem to make people very comfortable. Guess I just got a way about me" and Steve agrees because somehow in just this short exchange you have inspired him to keep on going, reminded him that this is not the end and it won't be all bad. It is like you have some bright light around you and it gives him the strength to keep going.

"Would you maybe want to go get something to eat?" Steve finds the confidence to ask and you beam a smile brightly back at him.

"I'd love to Steve" you tell him, using his name like it now somehow belongs to you and Steve wishes it does. A million dreams of love surrounding you and for the first time since Nancy he finds himself feeling something for a girl he never thought he'd feel again. He just knows he no longer wants to live without you.

"Have fun you two" Ron calls out as you both exit, the record still playing as you both leave it behind. You talk the whole way to the small diner in town, Steve just smiles and listens, loving how everything sounds the way it comes out your mouth. It's as if every word lifts him up as you are walking.

For the rest of the day Steve does his part getting to know you. Making you laugh and flirting where necessary which never fails to make you blush. The sight of your red cheeks alone make his heart soar for you. It's cute the way you show it, exactly how you feel about him. In return you do find yourself charmed by the very boy you couldn’t resist talking to. You wondered where a sweet boy like him had been your whole life and for the first time you aren't as embarassed by the blush on your cheeks as you normally would be.

"I really like you Rosy" he says matter of fact, the nickname falling easily from his lips. You blush at his words again, shaking your head at the boy you figure you aren't getting rid of anytime soon.

"I like you too Steve"

Taglist: @slvtforstve @keerygal @goosy-goose @livsters @blckburd @loveshotzz @ohwauwdoritos @superblysubpar @southereads @amataadriana @violet2022 @mxrcjqckspnchqsc @madaboutjoe @thunderstomp-and-tequila @justdamnpeachy @micheledawn1975 @fangfatale @kingstevesgf @notlilyyyy @eddiesguitarskills @palmtreesx3

Comment if you want to be added to the taglist :))

[defectiveporcelaindoll]

Chapter IV: The Prophecy

“Hand on the throttle. Thought I caught lightning in a bottle, oh– But it's gone again.”

series masterlist previous chapter

pairing: post-prison/ cm: evolution Spencer Reid x BAU AFAB!Reader (I like to think this is where Spencer is during the current seasons.) series synopsis: an unsub with a taste for couples and power imbalances leads Doctor Spencer Reid not only back into the classroom but down the hypothetical aisle with the BAU's newest Probie for an undercover assignment that may change his life. cw: age gap (Spencer is 42, reader is 24 in chapter 1), Use of y/n's (I'm sorry, I know I'm sick of it too.), fake marriage, romance romancing, kisses, and touches but no smut (yet…maybe); Reader is feisty and flirty; Spencer is anxious and has an aggressive outburst; female reader she/her pronouns, and mentions of typical CM violence. wc: 2.5k of conversation and world-building

The drive back to the university was nearly silent, with only the hum of the engine and the rhythmic tap of the rain breaking the tension that still hung in the air from Spencer’s outburst. When they finally arrived home, an unmarked car with government plates was waiting for them.

With a sigh, Y/N moved to open her door, only stopping when Spencer reached out, taking her hand in his. “Wait—” His voice was soft and timid, melting a part of her soul. Her gaze shifted from the waiting officer to Spencer. He cleared his throat, his grip on her hand tightening. “I’m really sorry that I snapped at you. We were having a great night, and I hate that I might’ve made you feel unsafe in my company…”

Y/N’s brows knit together as she shook her head, turning to better face Spencer. Her free hand cupped his cheek as she leaned in, her nose brushing gently against his before their lips connected. “Hey…I could never feel unsafe with you, okay? I understand it’s the job, it’s tough, and it can get to you…but we’ll figure it out. We’re in this together…till death do us part or whatever.” She teased, desperately trying to lighten Spencer’s somber mood.

He chuckled, nodding his head gently against hers. “Yeah…okay.” He kissed her quickly before letting her hand fall away, getting out of the car, and rushing to grab her door for her.

The pair looked a sight—clothes still dampened from their frolicking in the rain, wild curls, and kiss-bruised lips. They looked more like a pair of high schoolers than professionals.

“Looks like you two had a good night,” the agent called, slamming his car door. He looked annoyed, or maybe that was just his face, Y/N thought, observing the new file box securely under one of his arms. “The press finally caught wind of this one; it’ll be all over the 11 o’clock news if you two are too busy…socializing.”

The agent smirked, his eyes raking over Y/N’s body, catching the way her dress clung to her curves, leaving little to the imagination.

“I’m going to need you to apologize—” Spencer started, taking a protective step in front of Y/N. She had to admit, the role of husband looked good on him. Her hand gently gripped his bicep, trying desperately to ground him. “Spence—” Her warning tone begged him to stop.

“Come on, bro, be serious. I didn’t say anything that wasn’t true. I mean, good for you, honestly, bagging a newer model?” The agent threw Spencer a wink.

“Newer model—?” Spencer’s brows shot up in disbelief as Y/N snapped, her brows knitting together. Her feet carried her towards the agent, and her fist connected hard with his jaw before she even had time to register what she was doing. She snatched the box and stormed into the house.

“And I look unstable—

Gathered with a coven round a sorceress table.”

“Em, sorry, I punched him. If you get a call saying that one of your agents punched Agent Asshat or whatever his name was, I take full responsibility. Go ahead and write me up.”

Y/N all but yelled into the phone sitting in the middle of the table, a very tired Emily Prentiss on the other end.

There was a muffled yawn from the other end. “Did he deserve it?”

Y/N sighed, “Well—”

“Yes,” Spencer cut her off, returning from the kitchen with a makeshift bag of ice for her hand. “We may have looked less than professional, but that doesn’t excuse his blatant misogyny, nor the way he was practically eye-fucking Y/N on our front lawn.” He huffed, sinking onto the sofa.

“Sounds like he deserved it…” Much to Y/N’s surprise, Emily didn’t sound upset. If anything, their unit chief sounded amused.

“Should’ve seen it, Emily. She would’ve made Morgan proud. I think she might’ve broken his nose,” Spencer chuckled, glancing over at his literal blushing bride with a cheeky grin.

Prentiss laughed. “I don’t condone violence…but good on you, kid. I’ll let you know if I receive that call, but if he’s the jack-off you’ve made him out to be, I doubt he’ll admit to his superiors that a woman broke his nose. Regardless, I won't be writing you up for this.” There was a brief pause, the sound of shuffling papers and drawers closing on Emily’s end. The time difference between Seattle and the District meant it was past midnight.

“You should go home, get some rest, Em. We’ll look over the newest crime scene photos and see if anything stands out. If it does, we’ll let you know. The agent made the comment that the press had the story…so we’ll keep an eye on that as well…”

Emily, ever the workhorse, sighed. “Fine…I’m going to head out of the office now, but as always, call me if you need me or if there are any urgent developments.”

“Have a good night, Em…” Spencer sighed, his head lulling back against the cushion as the line went dead. “How’s your hand?” he muttered quietly as he started unpacking the newest box of evidence onto their coffee table.

“It hurts…” she shrugged, flexing her fingers under the ice pack, “but I hope his face hurts more.”

Spencer couldn’t help but laugh, a genuine smile tugging at the corners of his lips as he gazed at Y/N with pure admiration and pride. “Angel, I genuinely think you might’ve broken that idiot’s nose. I can almost—actually, no, statistically, I can guarantee his face will be hurting for a while, especially right now.”

“Pad around when I get home— I guess a lesser person would’ve lost hope.”

The night slipped by, the story was run, and the case stayed the same— unsolved. Nothing particularly groundbreaking was found at the crime scenes, and the MO and victimology were painfully consistent, which left little for Spencer or Y/N to analyze. It was driving Spencer crazy, how after nearly twenty years with the BAU, he found himself genuinely stumped.

In the coming days, everything suddenly became real. After their date, their kiss—it wasn’t just a cover story anymore. Spencer and Y/N no longer felt like characters in a tragic play. They were a couple, who kissed and held hands, who slept in the same bed and talked about their days.

Days turned to weeks, and before they knew it, August had slipped away like a bottle of wine. As the leaves began to change, the lines between reality and their cover began to blur. 

For the first time in a long time, Spencer was happy, and content in a life he had always imagined for himself—a wife, a home, a steady schedule. None of it was real, but if only for a moment, it was real to him. His classes ran smoothly, with students who weren’t just there because he had a pretty face—they cared, and it was groundbreaking. The university had even given him a TA to hopefully lighten his workload. She was sweet, not much older than Y/N, but working on a doctoral thesis in his field of expertise. All the pieces of this illusion had fallen perfectly into place.

"Still, I dream of her…"

Spencer woke with a start. He hadn’t had that particular nightmare in years, not since his brain had nearly bled out all those years ago, not since he saw Maeve that one last time. He couldn’t seem to catch his breath, his hands blindly searching for Y/N in the bed beside him… and then there she was, groggily furrowing her brows.

She wasn’t lying next to a psychopath in a pool of blood, cold and lifeless at his feet. She was in his bed, in his arms even, tangled in the sheets.

Memories and flashes of that night with Maeve, with Diane—the way she’d touched him, the way Maeve had looked. The cases were different, yes, but something felt very familiar to him. Reluctantly, he pulled himself out of bed, padding into the living room where the coffee table had been overrun by evidence from the newest murder. The body count was up to eight now, four couples, and the press was having a field day with this; they’d named the unsub The Albatross.

“Cautions issued, he stood shooting the messenger. They tried to warn him about her.”

The words danced across his mind, echoing in his ears as Spencer sat on the sofa, his eyes searching the crime scene photos desperately. The MO had shifted with the latest couple; the once precisely slit throats were no more, instead replaced by a single shot through the heart. The couple themselves were the same—an older man and a younger woman. However, with this couple, there had been an incident—a fatal shooting years back involving a stalker. Spencer shuddered at that information, his stomach twisting as he read the original case report.

“Shooting the messenger…” he scoffed, tossing the note back into the pile of evidence. He sat back, his head lolling tiredly against the back of the sofa as his mind worked overtime, assessing the words on the page as well as the previous notes left behind, trying to find any connection, any story or reason to the cryptic poem.

“What’re you doing up…?” Y/N’s sleepy voice caught him off guard. He turned to glance behind him at the half-asleep woman leaning against the hallway wall. “Rolled over and you weren’t there…” Y/N mumbled, trying to rub the sleep from her eyes.

“Couldn’t sleep…” he shrugged, trying to hide the fact that he’d been sleeping just fine—except for the haunting nightmare. He opened his arms for the younger woman, beckoning her to come and sit beside him on the couch. He needed to hold her, to know that she was real, but he wasn’t quite ready to get back in their bed just yet.

After a brief moment of contemplation, Y/N shuffled over, flopping down beside Spencer on the couch, her blurry eyes scanning the photos from the crime scene. She’d seen them earlier before they had inevitably decided to call it a night, but now, something she hadn’t noticed before caught her eye.

Without hesitation, she leaned forward, snatching up the evidence bag that held the latest note, her brow furrowing as she examined the reddish-brown splotches near the edge of the page. 

“Is that blood?” she asked, glancing back at Spencer as she handed it to him.

He stared blankly at the mess for a moment before reaching out for an evidence bag that held yet another cryptic poem—though this one was different—if only because he was fairly certain the unsub’s blood had dripped onto it, considering that when the lab had run it, there was no match to any victim. 

"Poisoned blood from the wound of the pricked hand."

“Oh—” Y/N shook her head, looking over the victim's hands…not a drop of blood.

“If it’s not from the victim, it’s sloppy…why not start over, why leave a trace behind?” she said softly, fighting a yawn as Spencer nodded slowly. 

“It’s almost like she's giving us a clue—”

“She?” Spencer asked, raising a brow. Dr. Spencer Reid was the king of picking out a female unsub, usually long before anyone else on their team. What had she seen that he’d missed? “How do you know it’s a woman? What stands out to you?” Spencer asked, leaning forward on the couch, observing the mess of case photos.

“Well, up until this last set…the husbands' throats are slit, and these notes are placed in their left palms. It’s brutal, but there’s an art to it.” She hummed, sinking back into the plush cushions of the sofa. “The wives, on the other hand, are laid out peacefully in bed with an albatross feather in their hands. It shows remorse—after the fact, the unsub is giving the women the respect that’s deserved…it's a different kind of death for the women."

“Okay, and what do you think the notes signify?” Spencer encouraged, slipping into teacher mode as his own mind raced a million miles a minute, putting together all of the points she’d made against the profile he’d been building in his mind.

“Well, they’ve always been in the left hand…ancient beliefs said the left hand was feminine, while the right was masculine. Other ancient stories point to your left hand being bad luck…which clearly…” she motioned to the gruesome photos before them with a sigh. “In some literary works, the left side symbolizes decay…death.”

Spencer nodded along. He’d already reached his conclusion, put the puzzle together, and built his profile. Now he was left to guide her, wait, and see if the younger agent would find her way to the same conclusion.

“Why slit their throats?” he asked softly, his eyes trained on the younger woman’s features, carefully analyzing every micro-expression he could find.

“Obviously, our unsub believes the husbands took something significant from their wives. The way our unsub is slitting their throats leads me to believe that she thinks it’s their voices or possibly their autonomy…I mean, we’re dealing with older men… I mean, it’s the history of man, right? To use women? Take something so simple but vital,” she said thoughtfully. “But it’s the albatross feather in the woman’s hand…such a heavy symbol, and you said before that the bird is associated with burden and guilt. It feels like the unsub is trying to release the wives from any guilt she believes they’re enduring…she’s just setting them free.”

Spencer nodded. “And this tells you what about our unsub?”

Y/N paused for a moment, thinking over the details before offering Spencer a small shrug and a heavy sigh, “Well, I would say that our unsub is a woman, and these men are surrogates…but she identifies with the wives and feels a need to avenge them.” She glanced up to meet Spencer’s eyes, desperate for the approval of the older agent, which he gave with a small nod, so she continued, “The careful way she arranges their bodies shows she has a sense of empathy… she sees herself in these women.”

“Exactly,” Spencer said with a warm smile. “Why do you think she targets older husbands?”

“She probably has a history with an older man—someone who dominated her or took away her voice. This is her way of reclaiming her power and avenging the other women she sees as victims.” Her voice trailed off, her eyes fluttering between Spencer’s eyes and his lips, as he leaned in to gently press a kiss to her forehead.

“Right…you are one hundred percent correct,” he sighed softly, his eyes raking over her delicate albeit exhausted frame with a frown. “And fortunately for us, this case will still be here when we wake up. Come on, let's get you back to bed…”

With a soft yawn, Y/N nodded, slowly rising to her feet, her hand outstretched for Spencer.

“Come on.”

"But I look to the sky and say

please…"

taglist : @olives-and-sunshine @iniyalovesall @suzysface @guiltyyassin @spencereidbasis @tatilolz @cherrycemeterry @hiireadstuff @r-3dlips @sweetpeterparker @catertotshitposts @purple-flower9 @wonderstruck4llthew4yhome @torturedpoetspsychward @skewedcherries @jackchampiongf13 @bouquetolegoflowers @pleasantwitchgarden @conrad4life13 @jdjwjdjjd @lilyn1909 @liquormoneysex @lynlin379 @imgublergirl

I hope i got everyone! if you’d like to be added to the taglist don’t hesitate to lemme know and as always i’d love to know the thoughts and feelings! So sorry this took so damn long

xo

[fbfh]

Could I request a drabble with Dave Lizewski and his best friend who has a major crush on Kick Ass and tells Dave all the dirty details?

OOOOOH SCRUMDIDDLYUMPTIOUS. aged up to 18+ obvs, give me a hoot or holler in the notes or my ask box if you want a fluffier version lol

Dave always wondered why girls never noticed him. he figured it was cause he's a quiet geeky nerd who likes comic books and superheroes. nope. it's because of you. when you first met Dave - however old you were, freshman, middle schoolers, kindergarteners - you latched the fuck onto this boy so fast. you've always been protective over him, always had that vibe that says you fuck with him, I'll fuck you up. besides, having a best friend as hot as you immediately made everyone assume he's totally off the market. like, it should be obvious. being "best friends" with someone as hot as you, spending all your time together - you have sleepovers for god's sake. EVERYONE at school fully believes you're fucking. the only ones unaware of this are Dave and Todd and Marty and possibly yourself.

it's at one of these infamous sleepovers that you finally spilled the beans. you've been obsessing over kickass for weeks, constantly talking about him and his exploits to Dave. you just got your hands on another grainy, horribly low quality picture of kickass stopping a purse snatching from someone's video doorbell. you're sitting at Dave's desk while he's flopped on his bed, finishing some homework.

"fuck I want him in my mouth so fucking bad..."

it just slips out, but Dave is instantly hard. he startles, sputtering and desperate to know who his best friend is practically moaning for.

"y-you want who?!" he demands in confusion at your sudden outburst, causing both of you to laugh. you turn the monitor towards him, and Dave sees himself looking back. his stomach does the thing, that flippy jerky oh shit thing from both anxiety and horniness. he is really, really hard now.

"k-kickass?" he asks, his voice getting all whiny and cracking in that way you've always found so cute.

"yes!" you exclaim with a laugh, looking at him incredulously. "come on Dave, you told me about a sex dream you had about our math teacher two days ago. he groans half heartedly at you bringing up.

"I already regret telling you about that." he protests playfully, his voice muffled into his duvet.

"just look at him," you sigh, already looking at the pictures of kickass. "look at his arms... I'd probably cum just from him putting me in a headlock."

Dave nearly chokes on his spit. He's really glad he's laying on his stomach so you can't see the way he's kind of rubbing against his mattress. it's not on purpose or anything, it's not like he's trying to get off to his best friend (even though he has before. like a lot. like he has to clear his porn search history because it's all descriptors of people who look like you) but when you're going on and on about how wet you'd get from being choked by a guy without realizing he's actually inches away from you... well, what is he supposed to do??

"christ, you can see his whole bulge in this one," you murmur, biting you lip. "I have never wanted to suck someone off so bad."

Dave lets out a choked noise, which you interpret as more playful disgust over your thirsting.

"I'm serious!" you exclaim. "I swear to god, he could keep me barefoot and pregnant and I'd thank him."

Dave's hips have started moving faster on their own as he grinds against his mattress. he knows he shouldn't prod for more details of what you'd do to kickass - to him - he knows you're his best friend and that you'd probably think he was some sick freak if you knew the truth, that he's kickass and he's getting off to you listening to you talk about him like that. Dave loves you, he respects you and admires you and cherishes your friendship so much, so why is feeling guilty and conflicted about about listening to you unintentionally dirty talk like this making it feel so good??

"literally, I would make sure his balls were always empty. like, always." you state.

each word that tumbles out of your mouth makes his blood burn with lust.

"U-uh huh," he chokes out, fighting for his LIFE not to moan in front of you right now.

"just one chance," you sigh, "I just know he's majorly packing. Bet he cums a lot too." you murmur.

you're pouting now. pouting over not being able to taste his cock. the same cock Dave is trying to discreetly jerk off just a few feet away from you. he whines softly, praying you won't notice as you continue to look through photos of him as kickass.

"I don't think I've ever been so down for someone," you whine, throwing your head back and sighing. "okay, you can't tell anyone about this-"

you start seriously.

"but I literally got off thinking about him last night, and I came so hard-"

and if that's not the straw that breaks the camel's back. Dave lets out a strangled, stifled whining moan as his hips rut and stutter against his mattress. his head swims as he cums in his pants, blinded by a raw, pure pleasure.

"O-oh god!" he pants, head spinning as he comes down from his high. his cheeks are flushed, and he can't fucking believe he just did that in front of you. he swallows thickly, terrified - and for some reason, a little thrilled by how you'll react.

you look over at him, eyes locked on him for a moment. it only takes you a second to realize what just happened - your horndog best friend got so turned on from listening to you thirst over kickass that he actually creamed his pants.

"You're so gross," you laugh playfully, throwing a pen at him. "I hope you know how lucky you are that I'm great at keeping secrets." you finish, an unspoken promise that tonight will stay between the two of you.

you turn back to what you're doing, unperturbed by the fact that your best friend just came in his pants from hearing you talk like that, chalking it up to Dave being Dave. this isn't the first time he's gotten hard at an awkward time, but usually he just sneaks off to the bathroom or something to take care of it himself. you had a hunch he might resort to something like this eventually, so you're not too surprised.

"Anyway, what do you think his type is?" you ask, swiveling around Dave's desk chair to look at him. your arms are crossed on the back of the chair, and you lean down on them as you look at him.

"Like, from an objective, guy perspective?"

"U-uh," Dave starts with a soft, nervous laugh, still unable to believe that just happened. "I- I don't know..." he shrugs.

he thinks that's the first time he's lied to you. he knows exactly what kickass's type is, because he's looking right at you.

[heartburriedinvenice]

the end is undeniably near (and i keep running towards it) - steve h.

(steve harrington x hopper!reader)

a part of my phoebe challenge 🎞🪐💌🕯

based on the song "i know the end" by phoebe bridgers

in which you always wanted to escape hawkins, indiana, until you didn't anymore.

or

in which the billboard said "the end is near"

content warning post season 3 (SO SPOILERS), mild cursing (maybe), ANGST like the whole time, unhealthy coping, and hawkins being hawkins, reader is an implied theater kid (im sorry not sorry)

a / n i disappeared on y’all, I’m sorry!! you know life is getting weird when i randomly return to tumblr.  just dipping my toes back in the water of all this so i apologize if i am a little rusty. this is just a piece of a hopper!reader show rewrite that has been in the works for a while so if anyone likes it enough, lmk, I’d be be happy to start posting the whole thing,starting from season 1! any feedback would be awesome (and also requests cause I need inspo back). okay enjoy some angst!

No one ever got out of Hawkins, Indiana. Like the town was somehow enclosed within some heavy-duty bubble, only a few people ever got the nerves to squeeze through. Until you did, until you did the one thing you believed was impossible. You packed your bags, loaded up your car, and left hell. And you did it without a goodbye because the only way to do the impossible was without one. And deep down you knew you were a coward, even after fighting monsters and otherworldly creatures, you were a coward. You could not face what was left behind or allow yourself to acknowledge it.

And it ate away at you in a way you could have never imagined. Too busy pretending like it never crossed your mind, like Hawkins never existed in the first place. Still, it chipped at you piece by piece until the guilt of escaping Hawkins, Indiana finally caught up with you. Until one day that guilt would sneak up and trip you, sending you tumbling all the way back down a hill to only land right back at the gates of Hawkins, at its green sign, Welcome to Hawkins! That warm welcome, the warmest welcome, with its murders and second dimensions and its people. Those people. Those people who worked their way so deep into your heart before you could even realize it. So deep that leaving felt like removing deeply grown roots from a garden, so impossible, so hard to tell where they even stopped growing.  You weren’t sure entirely when they grew so deep, you don’t really remember at all how they got there. When you let them? Why did you let them? After everything, you should have known better. You shouldn’t have let them.

You were fifteen when you knew you could never live in Hawkins, Indiana your whole life. It never felt real, artificial, fake. Mass-produced nuclear families and white picket fence houses and stale dead-end jobs. 

And then Steve Harrington needed an extra art credit and found his way as the lead in Hawkins High’s production of Romeo and Juliet. When rehearsing turned into giving Steve girl advice and driving with him to drop off flowers. When running lines became swinging a bat of nails and finding an alien in a fridge. When the day before the play performance had turned into icing Steve's bruises on your couch as you ran lines back and forth because neither of you could sleep. When a whole group of middle schoolers sat in the front row and your dad sat center with a bouquet of flowers. They were your family. Your strange and messy family all pretending to be interested in the gibberish mess of Shakespeare on stage. Them watching with stifled laughs as Steve stumbled through lines, as the balcony scene turned into him and you having a staring contest trying to figure out whose lines were next. And though your director would have your heads later, the two of you sat giggling during intermission and had to hold the laughter again when your director asked why you didn’t have time to be memorized to perfection. Because you had all the time in the world, didn’t you?. 

Unbelievable as it was, you began to question what you at fifteen had promised you would do. Because you had found more than stale every day Hawkins. You had found their odd-balls who taught you to play Dungeons and Dragons in their basement, who reminded you so much of your sister. And you had found Steve Harrington, a pretty boy with a heart of gold, who risked his life for his Juliet that night at the mall. Who held you tight when it all got too much.

When you moved back to Hawkins, Indiana, after Sara, after your parents split, you were sure life would never be the same again. You needed a fresh start, to completely reconfigure your life and pretend none of what had happened had happened. That you never had a sister, that your dad hadn’t completely changed, burrowing himself under alcohol and late shifts. That your mom wasn’t actively trying to forget and build another life over the one that had been left abandoned in that New York apartment. You were so sure you would have to move on, cut it all out the minute you graduated from high school. You were sure you had to escape on your rickety old bike right out of town.

Then things happened and somehow you found yourself again, found your father again as you sat together for your first Christmas dinner in years. Celebrating the return of the young Will Byers and the return of something else, something more, something familiar and warm. It wasn’t perfect, far from it, but it was yours. You saw your father again for the first time in years that night, Christmas Eve, sitting on the porch as light snow fell and hit your heads, bundled in warm jackets, pretending the coffee you made was not mediocre at best. The police chief and his daughter, a messy duo. And that was perfect to you.

And then things happened again and again and again and finally everything just shattered.

And you left. You did what you had always hoped to do. But you didn’t feel the pride you had thought you would feel when you dreamed it at fifteen. You weren’t heading towards a new life, you were sitting in a stuffy apartment in the city. You were stuck again at what felt like the beginning. Unable to go with the Byers, you immediately made other plans, back at the apartment you had spent so many nights trying to forget. 

No one ever got out of Hawkins, Indiana. Like the town was somehow enclosed within some heavy-duty bubble, only a few people ever got the nerves to squeeze through. Until you did, until you did the one thing you believed was impossible. You packed your bags, loaded up your car, and left hell. And you did it without a goodbye because the only way to do the impossible was without one. And deep down you knew you were a coward, even after fighting monsters and otherworldly creatures, you were a coward. You could not face what was left behind or allow yourself to acknowledge it.

And it ate away at you in a way you could have never imagined or wanted to imagine. Too busy pretending like it never crossed your mind, like Hawkins never existed in the first place. Still, it chipped at you piece by piece until the guilt of escaping Hawkins, Indiana finally caught up with you. Until one day that guilt would sneak up and trip you, sending you tumbling all the way back down a hill to only land right back at the gates of Hawkins, at its green sign, Welcome to Hawkins! That warm welcome, the warmest welcome, with its murders and second dimensions and its people. Those people. Those people who worked their way so deep into your heart before you could even realize it. So deep that leaving felt like removing deeply grown roots from a garden, so impossible, so hard to tell where they even stopped growing.  You weren’t sure entirely when they grew so deep, you don’t really remember at all how they got there. When you let them? Why did you let them? After everything, you should have known better. You shouldn’t have let them.

You were fifteen when you knew you could never live in Hawkins, Indiana your whole life. It never felt real, artificial, fake. Mass-produced nuclear families and white picket fence houses and stale dead-end jobs. 

And then Steve Harrington needed an extra art credit and found his way as the lead in Hawkins High’s production of Romeo and Juliet. When rehearsing turned into giving Steve girl advice and driving with him to drop off flowers. When running lines became swinging a bat of nails and finding an alien in a fridge. Or jumping into a hole in the ground and lighting up never-ending tunnels of vines straight from those horror movies you used to watch with your sister. When the day before the play performance had turned into icing Steve's bruises on your couch as you ran lines back and forth because neither of you could sleep. When a whole group of middle schoolers sat in the front row and your dad sat center with a crumble bouquet of flowers. They were your family. Your strange and messy family all pretending to be interested in the gibberish mess of Shakespeare on stage. Them watching with stifled laughs as Steve stumbled through lines, as the balcony scene turned into him and you having a staring contest trying to figure out whose lines were next. And though your director would have your heads later, the two of you sat giggling during intermission and had to hold the laughter again when your director asked why you didn’t have time to be memorized to perfection. Because you had all the time in the world, didn’t you?. 

Unbelievable as it was, you began to question what you at fifteen had promised you would do. Because you had found more than stale every day Hawkins, you had found their odd-balls who taught you to play Dungeons and Dragons in their basement who reminded you so much of your sister. And you had found Steve Harrington, a pretty boy with a heart of gold, who risked his life for his Juliet that night at the mall, pulling you up when you twisted your ankle running up a flight of stairs and getting you out to paramedics when it was over. Icing your ankle and holding you when it all got too much. When you watched everyone exit the mall but the only real family you felt like you had left. When the police told you your fathers body couldn’t be found, buried under ash and grime in the mall fire. That he was the hero, that he saved your lives sacrificing himself. 

When you moved back to Hawkins, Indiana, after Sara, after your parents split, you were sure life would never be the same again. You needed a fresh start, to completely reconfigure your life and pretend none of what had happened had happened. That you never had a sister, that your dad hadn’t completely changed, burrowing himself under alcohol and late shifts. That your mom wasn’t actively trying to forget and build another life over the past one that had been left abandoned in that New York apartment, calling only for holidays and those important life events she was so sad she had to miss. You were so sure you would have to move on, cut it all out the minute you graduated from high school. You were sure you had to escape on your rickety old bike right out of town.

Then things happened and somehow you found yourself again, found your father again as you sat together for their first Christmas dinner in years. Celebrating the return of the young Will Byers and the return of something else, something more, something familiar and warm. It wasn’t perfect, far from it, but it was steps in a direction. You saw your father again for the first time in years that night, Christmas Eve, sitting on the porch as light snow fell and hit your heads, bundled in warm jackets, pretending the coffee you made was not mediocre at best. It wasn’t perfect, but it was something for the two of you. The police chief and his daughter, a messy duo. And that was perfect to you.

And then things happened again and again and again and finally everything just shattered.

And you left. You did what you had always hoped to do. But you didn’t feel the pride you had thought you would feel when you dreamed it at fifteen. You weren’t heading towards a new life, you were sitting in a stuffy apartment in the city. You were stuck again at what felt like the beginning. Unable to go with the Byers, you immediately made other plans, back at the apartment you had spent so many nights trying to forget. 

Spring of 1986, the New York apartment was driving you insane. You felt like you might start running up the walls if you didn’t get out soon. At least that would be ten times more interesting than sitting and watching your Step-Dad watch golf—a sport you didn't understand. Seeing how bored you were, he tried to explain it, but you didn't process a single word he was saying.

You didn’t want to have something with him, you didn’t want a thing you bonded over and you especially didn’t want that thing to be golf.

You debated moving, you debated being drastic and dying your hair to make your mom upset but what good would that do other than feed the part in yourself that no longer cared, no longer wanted to care. Everything you cared about had slipped from your grasp, had disappeared, no matter how tightly you clutched it was gone.

Fuck.

You stared at the wallpaper, one you knew your mom had probably gushed over at the store and chosen. And you glanced at the patterned carpet, and the family picture you were not in. And even though they all reassured you that you were family, deep down you knew you had uprooted their whole routine. You especially saw it in your moms eyes when she looked at you a little too long, a constant reminder of what she had lost all those years ago.  

You listened to the busy city traffic below the apartment and the sound of wailing sirens you had completely become ignorant of after you lived in Hawkins so long. You glanced at the kitchen, the sink with no dishes and a fridge actually filled with food that wasn’t leftover take-out, mediocre pasta you had cooked, or boxes of Eggos. And you looked at the man beside you, silent, watching golf. It was all so different.

Every day it remained that way, your mom got home from work late, your stepfather came home before you got back from school, and then Liam, your step brother would come home.

He made it all a little more bearable. The littlest but only because he reminded you of home. He reminded you of Dungeons and Dragons in Mike Wheeler's basement, and your found sister, and the party that always had you on your toes. But even you could not warm up to the boy because he would never be them. And it was unfair. It was cruel of you to make comparisons between Hawkins and New York, to allow that to shut out the only family you now had. But it was one habit you could not seem to break no matter how hard you tried.

Hawkins, Indiana was quiet, it was small. Hawkins, Indiana was both a breath of fresh air and a tightening grip that had you gasping, clawing for a second to breathe. New York was loud, so loud that the sounds of sirens and blaring car horns became only white noise in your head. It was big, not big in the welcoming and warming way. Not big in the feeling of catching sight of a friend in a crowded room. It was big in the way you could not point out a single person at school that you had seen more than once.  It was big in a way similar to that of being alone in the middle of a large party. It was so big that being alone in a quiet, dark, empty room would feel the same as walking amidst the large crowds on the street.

And New York didn’t have Steve Harrington. New York didn’t have crazy kids and weird aliens, New York didn’t have Robin Buckley or Nancy Wheeler or Jonathan Byers, New York didn’t have comforting hugs from Joyce, and New York didn’t have your dad and it never would again. The thought of it was enough to make you sick, nausea filling every inch of your body, barely able to swallow down the fact. But you would swallow it down like you always did, like you did everything else.

Your mom would always tell you you could talk to her if you needed to, that no matter how long you were a part she still cared about you. But you still remember the look on her face when you had turned up at the apartment after all those years. Finally back together face to face, the only words she was able to muster was, “you grew up”. 

You kept busy filling the days with nothing. On a good day Liam would show you some project he did in class that day, him seemingly the most unbothered by your move-in. And your stepdad, Bill, would ask you how school was to which you would reply fine. It was fine, it would always be just fine.

And you would stare at the phone on the wall in the kitchen. Dialing and hanging up and dialing and hanging up, hearing him pick up and then slamming the phone down, falling back into the chair at the kitchen table. Sometimes he would call back, you knew he caught on, you would just listen as the phone rang, head in your hands. You couldn’t face it, it was all too much and answering that call, hearing that voice would only throw it all back at you at once. It would knock you down and hold you there as you tried to gain control of the emotions you had locked up so tight once again. You felt sick to your stomach once again and the feeling spread, it spread all throughout your body, all the way to your fingertips and toes. For the first time in your life, you begged your body to just throw up, hoping the feelings would go along with it, until the pit in your stomach was completely washed away. 

It was this sinking feeling every time you heard the phone ring and as much as you wanted to convince yourself otherwise, you weren’t sure if you would ever pick up. Maybe you would just forget about it all. But it was hard when your mind was plagued with images of creatures you could only describe as otherworldly and when every time you looked at yourself in the mirror before a shower your eyes would draw focus to the deep cut scars that littered your body. You would never truly escape Hawkins, Indiana, it was impossible, and it would follow you around until you finally gave up and went back. But you refused to allow it to have that control, until you picked up the phone…by accident.

It was late, a Saturday evening of all things. Your mother was working late that weekend, your step dad was asleep on the couch, and your step brother had abandoned his books on the table and gone to bed. And the phone kept ringing and ringing and ringing, over and over in repeated increments. One call, two minutes passed, another call, three minutes had passed, and a third call with three minutes passing and on and on and on-

“Will you turn the damn thing off!” Yelled the man on the couch, whose deep sleeping was even disturbed by your past trying to creep back in. 

And it worried you, as you apologized and turned back to the phone, head aching from the noise. It worried you because every time before, the phone would ring one, maybe two times before the line went silent. But tonight, you had lost track of just how many times you had slammed the phone down to stop the ringing.

You looked up at the phone again, quiet for much too long, longer than before and RING. RING. RING.

The grunt of your step father filled the empty room and without a second thought, not wanting another lecture from your mom about not getting along with him, you reached for the phone line. Slowly placing it against your ear, you instantly pulled it back as a voice blasted through, louder than the ringing of the phone itself. “Goddammit! please pick up the phone-”

“Hey,” was all you said, it was faint and quiet in contrast, laced with guilt that had piled up from months of avoidance and pretending Hawkins didn’t exist. But it was loud enough to stop the yelling as murmurs and whispers filled the background of wherever your caller was calling from. 

Your Steve Harrington, your Romeo who deserved answers. After everything you had been through he deserved something from you that you had failed to deliver.

“Oh thank god, you don’t know how happy I am to hear your voice,” and what you expected to be anger was anything but, rather the clearest sound of overwhelming relief. Relief that all came crashing down the minute he spoke his next words. “You need to get back here, like... like-“

The sound of struggling came from their end of the phone and your heart rate sped up in a panic, only realizing how tightly you were holding the phone to your ear.

Dustin’s voice quickly came through the line, a complaining Steve evident in the back, “like right now, like ASAP, like as soon as possible.”

Dustin’s voice, his tone did nothing to loosen your grip on the phone, nothing to ease your panic and you almost slammed the phone down again. Back home, back in the familiar, back to memories of people that haunted your every thought. You wondered if they had called the Byers, your sister, you wondered if she was there too. 

“We can pay your bus ticket, but I can’t really explain like this and we just, we need your help,” Dustin practically cried. “We all need you. We can’t let anyone get hurt again.”

That was all you needed. Hawkins had a pull on you, a force you tried to ignore but eventually pulled you back anyways. Steve was back on the line soon after, you already scribbling a note to your mom, phone pressed against your ear by your shoulder. And when you heard his voice again your breath caught in your throat…it seemed to always do that with him.

“Steve, I-”

“You don’t have to say anything.”

“No, but, Steve I really, just…I don’t know where to start,” you tried to explain, losing any of the words you had planned to say while lying awake at night, staring at the ceiling. 

“You don’t have to,” he simply said. But you knew you would, you had too many words to speak. “Just show up, just be here. We need you, even if you don’t believe me. It’s getting crazy again.”

Hawkins would never not be.

“I will be,” you reassured, really reassured. “I will be, I promise.”

And if everyone in Hawkins knew something, you never broke a promise, never. You got close sometimes, sometimes it seemed like you would, but you always met your end of the bargain. You said you would be back in Hawkins, Indiana and you would be. Setting the phone down back on it's holder with a quiet click, you jumped from your chair in the kitchen, as the wood chair quietly screeched against the floor. Open and close, open and close, the drawers in the kitchen were opening and closing until you found a tape role, cutting away a piece. Grabbing your note off the counter, you secured the piece to it and stuck it against the fridge where it would be noticed by your mom.

She would know what it meant, you knew she knew all along, that New York hadn’t been your home in a long time. That Hawkins had grown into something much deeper than you could have ever anticipated. And even then, in that kitchen, in that busy city…you knew, the end was near

[utterlyunawarewriter]

THE ONE THAT GOT AWAY~

Inspired by the Katy Perry song (if you couldn't tell -_-). Feedback appreciated :D

1. Summer after high-school when we first met

You woke up with an ache in your head and the sharp smell of antiseptic. Sunlight from an open window hit your eyes, causing you to shield them with your hand. Memories of your mom's car driving at a neck breaking speed, weird birds with golden beaks and the revelation of your fellow classmate being a half goat hit you as you sat up in bed.

Someone grabbed your arm, and you recoiled form the contact.

A voice coming from somewhere on your left said, "Hey, I'm not gonna hurt you."

You turned to face the voice. "That's something someone who's gonna hurt me would say."

You looked over, only to see a boy with bright blue eyes, wearing scrubs. He looked way too young to be in them.

"Welcome to Camp Half-Blood, a place for demigods. You-"

"Sorry to interrupt, but i know. Mum gave me the basics before I came here."

You got up, slowly blinking at your surroundings. You were in an infirmary filled with empty beds, except for one, occupied with a scowling girl. Another guy, who looked similar to the one next to you, seemed to be scolding her about something.

You stretch your arms above your head and let out a sigh. After being given a small rundown of how things worked, you left the infirmary and stepped out into the blazing sun. Around you camp bustled with life.

Kids of all ages--from young middle schoolers to people who looked like they belonged in college--rushed from one place to the other. Some stood in small groups, talking and laughing loudly. Golden weapons glinted in the sunlight from where they were kept. As you explore the camp, you saw fellow demigods practicing archery, engaging in sword fights and even participating in hand-to-hand combat.

Amidst the lively crowd, a figure stood out--a young man with striking features that seemed to effortlessly draw the gaze of onlookers. A sense of charm and grace seemed to surround him as he made his way through the crowd. With each step, his presence seemed to command attention, turning heads and causing whispers to emerge.

You saw quite a few people stop whatever they were doing when they saw him coming. Some girls let out high giggles. You watched the people part around him....till you realised he was walking toward you.

You quickly tried to hide the fact that you were staring, but unluckily, he noticed. A blush rose up your throat as you desperately tried to play it cool.

"Hey, I'm Luke", he said extending a hand toward you.

"(Name)."

***

2. We made out in your mustang to Radiohead

"Luke"

Kiss

"Luke-"

"I love you, but please shut up (name)."

You laughed as his lips met yours again.

Both of you had sneaked into one of the camp vans after lunch. Both of you had blown off camp duties. Luke had bribed Chris to teach a few sword fighting lessons, and you practically begged Michael to take your shift at the infirmary.

And now, after a week of not seeing Luke, you finally had your boyfriend all to yourself.

It still felt weird, calling him that. You had been a couple for only two months-despite the fact that you had been friends since the moment you stepped into camp-and you could still remember the moment when it happened.

Both of you laid on a blanket near the lake. Like had planned a picnic for just the two of you, and your nerves couldn't settle no matter how hard you tried. He was right next to you. Right there.

He had been doing things and planning cute little dates like this for quite sometime now, which often left you wondering if there was any meaning behind them, other than being friendly.

Your nervousness still wouldn't leave you, so you began pointing out various constellations in the night sky. "That's Hercules, and there's Ursa Major, and thats-" you turned to look at him, only to see his gaze already on you. If heart eyes were a real thing, that was probably the best way to describe the way he looked at you.

You stopped speaking and both of you just stared at each other. You didn't know who moved first, you or Luke. All you knew was that one moment he was next to you, and the other his lips were upon yours.

He pulled back a second later, an apology already leaving his mouth when you grabbed his shirt collar and kissed him again. He moved above you and rested his hands on your waist. Yours wove into his curls.

When you finally broke apart, he smiled. You laughed at that, and his smile got a little brighter.

The memory brought a smile on your face, and Luke noticed.

"What's on your mind, sunshine?"

The nickname caused a flush to rise on your face. "Thinkin' bout you."

"Oh really?"

"Mhmm."

He kissed the corner of you lips, before moving down your neck. You let out a content sigh and drew mindless patterns on the back of his shirt with your finger.

Just then somebody knocked on the van door.

"Guys, you might wanna hurry this up. Chiron's looking for the two of you."

***

3. And on my 18th birthday, we got matching tattoos

You stifled a laugh as you watched your boyfriend trip over a tree root because he was too busy looking at you.

His face held an expression on mock hurt as you grinned at his fall. You reached an arm out to help him up, and he took it, only to pull you down with him.

You landed on top of him, and winced. A wave of pain shot up from your upper arm, where underneath your shirt lay a brand new tattoo. Luke noticed your discomfort and moved. He also got one, but his was on his chest.

He lifted your shirt and pressed a soft kiss to the design. "Does that make it better, birthday girl?"

The corner of your mouth lifted. "Much better."

In honour of your 18th birthday today, the two of your snuck out of camp to get matching tattoos, something you always wanted. Now after successfully sneaking out of camp, reaching a tattoo parlor with running into trouble, getting a tattoo, and sneaking back into camp, you were on your way back to your respective cabins.

You looked at your watch. "Actually, my birthday ended, like two and a half hours ago."

"That doesn't count."

"I'm pretty sure it does.....We should get back, Luke. Someone might notice."

"Let them." He kissed you, making tremors run up and down your spine.

***

4. Used to steal you parents liquor, and climb to the roof. Talk about our future like we had a clue

The cheap whiskey burned as you downed it in one go. Luke watched you with amusement.

"What?"

"Nothing, nothing." He had that stupid look on his face, the one that made you want to kiss it off. He poured you another glass and you brought it to your lips again.

Empty bottles of gods-know-what lay on the roof of cabin 1, with empty glasses scattered around them.

"It can't be nothing, Luke." Your words slurred together as the alcohol took effect. You would definitely be regretting these desicions in the morning, but for now, you reveled in drunken glory.

"Okay, okay, hear me out," he waved his hands dramatically. "We should buy a van when we leave camp. Like, a big one. And travel the world. Just you, me, and the open road."

You giggled, your cheeks flushed from the wine. "A van? We’d look ridiculous!"

"Exactly!" Luke laughed, leaning closer. "We’d be the coolest couple ever. Imagine it—waking up on a beach, cooking breakfast in the back of our van, and just… living."

You bit your lip, your heart swelling at the thought. "That does sound amazing. But what about monsters? Money? You can’t just live off love and good vibes."

"We’ll figure it out! We can be like those mortal influencers or something. Post pictures of our adventures, and people will pay us to travel!"

You rolled your eyes playfully but couldn’t help the smile creeping onto your face. "And what if no one wants to pay us? What then, Mr. Influencer?"

"Then we’ll just sell the van and live in a treehouse!" he declared, raising his glass in a toast. "To treehouses and adventures!"

"To treehouses and adventures!" You echoed, clinking your glass against his. The warmth of the whiskey and the excitement of your dreams made everything feel possible.

As the two of two sipped, you leaned your head on Luke’s shoulder, feeling safe and content. "You know, I really like this idea. Just us against the world. But… what if we don’t want to live in a van forever?"

Luke paused, considering your words. "Then we’ll find a home. A cozy little place with a garden. We can grow our own vegetables and have a dog. Maybe a cat too. We can name them… uh, what’s a good name?"

"Definitely not 'van'," you teased, nudging him playfully. "But I like that idea. A home."

"Exactly!" he said, his eyes lighting up. "We’ll make it happen, (name). I can feel it."

You sat in comfortable silence, both lost in thoughts and away from the worries that came with being a demigod.

***

5. Never thought that one day, I'll be losing you...

"I-what?" You couldn't believe what you heard. You didn't want to believe what you heard.

"The gods are terrible people (name)! Think about all those unclaimed campers in cabin 11! They don't care about us. They never did and never will!"

"Luke, I know. Trust me, I know. But what you are suggesting...thats-thats crazy! The gods aren't perfect but-" the titan lord's name died on your tongue"-he'll be so much worse!"

You paced around the forest, leaves crunching under your feet. Luke brought you there being extremely secretive. You thought he might have planned a cute date, but you never expected this.

"(Name), just listen." He begged. You never saw him like this before. He looked at you with such desperation ypu didn't have any choice other than to hear him out.

"I know you're hesitant, but the Olympians have had they're chances so many damn times! And look where its gotten us! They treat us like pawns in their games!

"But with the Titans." He paused, and a hint of pride seeped into his voice. "We can forge our own path. Imagine a place where you’re not just a demigod, but a force to be reckoned with. You’d have the chance to prove yourself, to rise up and be part of something greater than any of us." Luke's voice softened slightly, as if sharing a secret. "I believe in you. I know you have what it takes to join us. Together, we can make a difference—one that will echo through history. (Name), will you stand with me and fight for our future?" His gaze held yours, waiting for your response, the weight of the decision heavy in the air.

"I...." You didn't know what to say. Luke said everything with such confidence that for a moment--but only a moment--you believed him. Your choice was already made.

Your hands found your blade, the one hidden inside your pocket. One moment, you stood infront of him defenceless, and the other you had pinned him against a tree, you dagger at his throat.

"Luke, please. You don't have to do this." Tears stung your eyes, but you didn't let them fall.

Luke's eyes hardened. "You know, Percy said the same thing."

Your eyes widened is shock. "Luke...what did you do?"

"He's near the creek. You should hurry, he doesn't have much time."

This time ypu couldn't stop your tears. A few escaped your eyes as you turned in the direction of the creek, leaving Luke Castellan to his fate. Whatever it would be.

____________________________________

My masterlist

[creativesaturn]

hey!! i absolutely love your writing style, and i have notifications specifically on so i don’t miss when you post :) i had an idea that literally just came to me but i don’t really have any plot to go with it 😭

so basically, any cm character (maybe hotch, emily or spence?) walking in on the reader drawing said character & the reader gets really embarrassed and tries to put it away, but the character actually really likes the drawing and asks to keep it and just something wholesome idk 😭🫶

absolutely don’t feel pressured to write this, just had an idea and thought i’d share <3

Summary: Hotch finds out about your drawing hobby.

Genre: Fluff

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x gn!reader

Warnings: None!

Word Count: 515

a/n: sorry this took so long to post! I wanted to scrap it and redo it but I decided not to. That's really sweet of you thank you so much!!! hope you enjoy 💞💞

Aaron knocked on your hotel door, not once, but twice.

You were too busy listening to music that filled your sense of hearing, and completely focusing on the pencil in your hand.

For the past few days you've been struggling to find something to draw. It was one of your hobbies that you genuinely enjoyed, but it was always hard finding motivation.

But today, on the jet. You burned the image of Aaron sitting by the window during the sunset, just so you could draw it later. It was a sight for sore eyes. You didn't care if he could notice you staring, you needed to keep every detail engraved in your mind.

So--as soon as you step foot in your hotel room, you knew exactly what you were going to do.

"y/n?" Aaron's voice startling you as he stood inches behind you.

You quickly turned around, looking up at the tall man. You pulled your headphones out your ears; mouth agape unsure what to say.

He glances behind you to see what had your attention, his face had an expression you couldn't quite make out. So, you thought of the worst.

You quickly turned back, taking the piece of paper to turn over and hide.

"Is that me?" He asked, voice soft as he spoke.

"Uhm--Yeah.. Yeah, it-it is.." You stumbled over your own words, "It's totally stupid though, 's not even done yet." You mumbled, your voice so low he was unsure if he heard you.

"It's not stupid," He retorted, reaching for the paper. You quickly pulled back, watching his eyes as they widened.

"Let me see."

"No.."

"Please?"

You looked down at your hands, sighing as you slowly handed him the paper. You fidgeted with your fingers as you looked anywhere but his eyes, afraid of what you'll see in his expression.

"You're very good with details," He complimented you. "Where'd you learn how to do this?" He asked sincerely, looking up from the drawing to look at your face.

"Just something I learned over the years," You shrugged. "I get bored a lot." You looked up at him, profiling his reaction.

He had a soft smile, his eyebrows raised as if he was impressed and you swore his eyes glistened.

"Can I keep it?" Aaron asked.

"You--You want to keep it?" You asked, shocked at the question.

"Yeah, why wouldn't I?" He chuckled, bringing the page down to his side to show he had his attention on you.

"Because.. I don't know..." You shrugged, unable to hide the smile that he gave you.

"The team is waiting for us, by the way." Aaron laughed, seeing the bright pink that danced across your face.

"Okay." You nodded, making your exit out of the hotel.

Not many people knew you drew, at least well. When you'd tell people they expect stick figures and doodles you'd find on the side of a middle schoolers test. And every time they'd notice, it was always the same expression. It never failed to bring you joy and validation from others compliments.

reposts and comments are appreciated <3

[gabessquishytum]

Ever since he was a child, Dream has been in love with Hob. Only one problem: Hob was his babysitter and nextdoor neighbor.

Hob was in high school and he’d babysit middle schooler Dream sometimes and he had no idea the reason Dream was so surly was that he was deep in puppy love. And so jealous of hob’s boyfriend he could cry. Once he saw them making out in a car and he threw a rock at the windshield.

But years have passed. Dream is home from college with lots of experience under his belt, all of which he’s determined to use to finally seduce hob.

Hob married that highschool boyfriend but he’s gone to seed. They aren’t in love anymore and hob is in his late twenties feeling like his life is over. He’s tired of getting ignored unless his husband wants dinner, and getting fucked without any attention to his pleasure. Dream knows exactly how poorly hob’s husband fucks him. He’s watched from outside the window.

Hob is just as beautiful as dream remembers. His husband doesn’t appreciate him so he shouldn’t get to keep him. Dream jerks off just at the sight of hob, just imagining what it would be like if dream was the one fucking his perfect body. He knows he could give him all the pleasure he’ll ever need.

Hob will be so happy to see that little boy he was once fond of. But he isn’t prepared for dream to come at him like a heat seeking missile, determined to finally have hob to himself like he always wanted.

Preferably in hob’s bed while his stupid husband is at work.

Hnnnngngg yeah this is. Yeah.

Hob is trying his best out here, okay. He's trying to be a good husband. He cooks nice meals, he arranges nice dates, he tries to communicate and he's constantly trying to liven things up in the bedroom. But Will seems to have checked out of the marriage emotionally. He doesn't even have the decency to check whether Hob has even cum. And Hob doesn't want a failed marriage when he's barely halfway through his twenties, but that's how it is.

Dream's return is... opportune. To say the least. Suddenly Hob has someone to grab coffee with, someone to feed those nice meals to when Will doesn't bother coming home. Someone to talk to. Dream was always such a sweet boy and now he's handsome, too. Hob figures he deserves a little eye candy, under the circumstances.

But there's nothing sweet in the way Dream looks at Hob. Menacing, hungry, needy. Hob would be creeped out if he wasn't flattered. He knows that Dream has been watching, and maybe he's been putting on a bit of a show. He hasn't felt like he was even worth looking at for a while. Now he bends over in his bedroom and fucks himself with four fingers, in full view of the window. He knows that Dream is parked out in his car, watching and jerking off. He's been inside Dream’s car before, and he's sure he could smell his release.

It's not going to be long now. Hob’s self control is slipping. He answers the door to Dream shirtless, he allows those touches that skim down over his back and arse. He gets tipsy with Dream over dinner and rubs his foot up against Dream’s hard cock, through his jeans.

He really kind of hopes that Will comes home to see Dream fucking him in the middle of their loveless marital bed. The marriage is past saving, and the thought of having Dream’s cum inside him makes Hob ache. Dream will never ignore him or let him down, that's for sure.

And as for what Dream thinks? He knows that he'll get what he wants eventually. As soon as his pathetic husband is humiliated, Dream is taking Hob out of this shithole to somewhere he can shine.

Good things come to those who wait.

[purrassicjet]

Getting insanely emotional over cadets calling Sandra Lynn mom and her catching that. Local middle aged wood elf "fuck up" finds out people look up to her and she might actually be a good role model now. Watch me crying at eleven

Perfect. An opportunity to fully explain what I think the dynamic inside the Elmville Ranger base is.

When Sandra Lynn first joined, people were drawn to her natural talent and closed off attitude. The first person who broke her was a woman around the same age as her, but fully trained due to coming to the base straight out of High School. Slowly, she became a cool older sister like figure. The cadets (both actual Ranger cadets and high schoolers who came for the Solesian Ranger Experience Program) who came in after her had heard of her prowess, how she graduated early, they looked up to her from a distance. It's hard to stay so closed off when all these high schoolers are gasping when you walk by and talking excitedly to their friends when they get to go on patrol with you.

After she became a Captian, however, she got her own cadet to train (this was probably very soon after Fig was born. But that's a discussion for another headcanon post). Slowly, the gap in age between her and the new cadets became larger, and as she moved into the role of actual mentor, she found she quite enjoyed it. She always payed extra attention to her cadets, asking them about their lives at home. It helped her cope with her anxiety about being away from baby Fig for long periods of time (again, a discussion for another post).

Eventually, as she trained more and more cadets, became close with the other Rangers on the base, she became family. Cadets started calling her "Mom" accidently so many times that they set up the tally. One day, one of her Cadets accidently let slip that they were going to be alone for Moonar Yulenear and Sandra Lynn insisted that they join her family. The Cadet had a great time, playing with baby Fig and joking around with Gilear.

Having people at her base respect her made her feel like she was doing something good for the first time in years. So, she continued to treat her Cadets like family, inviting them over for dinner if they ever expressed that they missed having home cooked meals. She began to check up on all the other Rangers at the base, making sure they were eating properly, helping with paperwork, and slowly but surely, she became known as the "team Mom". You could go to Sandra Lynn with anything and everything, and she'd help you out

[viperrot]

⇁high school sweethearts | leon kennedy | pt. 4

resident evil 4 remake leon s. kennedy x fem!band-student!reader high school au

you have a sweet encounter with leon, and there's already talk of ada and leon being together despite the moment you shared.

pt.1 pt.2 pt.3

content contains: mild angst, is this even enemies to lovers? i dont know anymore., mean leon, cliches, story is told in first person, reader is a bit shy and is an oboe and trumpet player!, leon and reader are in their juniour year, fictional town set around 1980!

not proofread i am sleepy

2119 words

song rec: "dust in the wind" by kansas

Teaching the fundamentals of music was no easy feat.

As I sat in the center of my room, a felt a growing frustration sit in the pit of my stomach as my eyes darted from paper to paper, thinking of ways to teach dynamics and balancing to middle schoolers. My music books from years ago were scattered around me, terrorizing each cell in my brain as I painstakingly search for simpler ways to teach these techniques to my students, who'll be coming over for their first lesson tomorrow afternoon.

The night breeze flowed from my open window, making some of the scores flitter around. I sigh tiredly, flopping down to lay on my back in an attempt to calm my nerves. The carpet beneath me tickled my cheek as I turned to lay on my side, my hands fiddling with the white fabric as the cool air soothed me. Slowly, my eyes drooped closed as I succumbed to sleep.

But the moment is short lived.

Drifting to my ears was the sweet sound of a guitar, echoing from wall-to-wall in my bedroom. The tune was vaguely familiar, and I found myself crawling to my little window nook in curiosity. I plop myself up on the small seat, peeping out of the window to search for the source of the sound. The streetlights flickered outside, the road silent save for the sweet music playing in the distance. My eyes focus on the house across from my own, squinting at the window parallel from me.

A warm glow emanated from the opened glass, inviting me to take a look. I can't see too much save for a desk with the source of the light on top of it. I bite my lower lip anxiously as I stare from my own window, wondering if that's where I'm hearing the music from.

Suddenly, the strings stop playing, and feel a sense of sorrow as silence fills the night. As I get up to go back to my spot on the floor, a familiar figure makes way to the window across the street.

Leon slumps down into his desk chair, placing an ebony guitar on his desk with a thump!. Immediately, I notice a string dangling from the side of the lump of wood, and I realize that he had been the one playing tonight. The blonde ace digs through the drawers of his desk, fishing out a roll of string and some other tools I couldn't quite name. Curiously, I watch the boy change the string, carefully tuning his seemingly well-loved acoustic guitar as he pokes his tongue out in concentration. When he was satisfied with the way it sounded after playing a short practice tune, he went back to playing, relaxing in his desk chair.

It was mesmerizing.

The way his fingers effortlessly plucked at the strings made my brain buzz. Deftly, he played chords that went along with Kansas' "Dust in the Wind". The music whistled to me across the street, throwing me into a trance as I rest my head on the window sill.

If I focused hard enough, I could hear Leon singing the lyrics beneath his breath, as if muttering them were a sin. His blonde locks of hair framed his face perfectly, the yellow glow of his desk-light contouring the lines of his strong jaw. My heart fluttered oddly at the peaceful sight. The further into the song Leon got, the louder he would get. I eventually heard him clearly from across the street.

Completely enamored, I lost myself in the sickeningly sweet voice of his, humming along with the ace from my spot. As Leon sang, he looked up from his instrument, and we locked eyes.

His lips don't stop moving.

Leon continues to serenade me, seemingly unbothered by our recent issues. The ocean blue of his eyes hooked me in, and I could no longer focus on the way his voice sounded or how the pads of his fingers drifted across the fretboard of his guitar. His voice went through one ear and out the other, and I could feel my breath hitch in my parched throat. I'm completely unaware of how the song has ended, our stares never faltered.

His lips are pressed into a straight line as he looks at me from across the street, baby blues gazing into my own.

And then I wave.

I fucking wave at him.

In my awkward trance, my hand swings back and forth in front of me, greeting him with a cheesy smile from my window. Leon waves back, just as awkwardly, as he threads his other hand through his hair, his guitar tucked securely in his lap. I feel a blush creep up my neck, flushing the skin a soft pink as I bite the inside of my cheek. Suddenly, I get an idea.

I lift my index finger in the air, silently asking him to wait. I see his eyebrows knit together confusedly as I turn away from my window, rummaging around my room to find my old black board and a piece of chalk from my book bag. I sit on my knees on the nook of my window, scribbling my thoughts onto the board before showing it to Leon.

"You play beautifully," I wrote to him in neat letters. I see Leon squint, his eyes trying to adjust to the dim streetlights. Leon moves quickly to set his guitar to the side to then dig through his desk drawers, pulling out a spiral notebook and a ballpoint pen. In big, red, and sloppy penmanship, he writes back,

"THANKS I'M GLaD yOu LIKE THE sERenAdE."

My eyes crease as I giggle at him from across the road when I notice how horrendous his writing is, facing my blackboard to myself to reply to him.

"How long have you been playing?" I question him, trying to write large enough for him to read. Leon scribbles on a new page.

"LIKE ?? SINCE I waS 7?" He responds, his lettering bold and messy.

"That's interesting. You didn't strike me as a music person," I write. I see Leon's face burn a soft pink despite the gap between us. He flips to a new page, quickly jotting down his response.

"RUnS iN THE fAmILY. DAD LoVES MUSiC," he flashes the paper to me, the paper crinkling beneath his tight grip. I nod at him from my end, smiling softly. I smudge off the chalk on my board.

"Well, it was beautiful," I show him the board before writing another response. "You should sing more often."

"WiLL You LISTeN IF i DO?" He asks me, an odd look in his eyes as he stares at me from his desk. I gape at him slightly, unsure of how to respond to the ace. Hesitantly, I nod, and I see a sheepish grin paint across his face.

"Goodnight, Leon," I bid him farewell before setting my small blackboard down, shutting the window with a soft click!. I gaze at Leon from behind the glass, seeing him wave at me with his notebook in the other hand.

"NIGHTY-NiGHT," it says in the worst handwriting I've ever seen. I giggle softly before I draw the curtains closed.

That night, I had a sweet dream.

The next day, I'm walking through the halls with my Sony Walkman buzzing through my skull, blasting "Brandy (You're a Fine Girl)" by Looking Glass into my ears. I had thirty minutes before the first period bell rings, giving me enough time to hang out with the girls as I always do. Entering the lunch room, I immediately spot the group of girls at a round table tucked into a corner.

"Sweet pea~!!" Samantha practically shouts above the crowd from her seat atop the table, waving her arm in the air. I jog up to her and the rest of the girls, greeting them with a smile.

"Is that your new oboe?" Patti points her daintily manicured index finger at the thin, black case in my left hand.

"Yeah... I tried playing it over the weekend. It's a bit poor quality for the level I play at, but it'll last me until our concert season officially begins," I sigh, frowning softly.

"Man...!" Lucy sniffles. "This is terrible! I can't believe Leon would do that to you--I mean, one of our best players gets their signature instrument trashed? That's honestly a sin!!" The blonde shoved her face into her hands, and I was worried that she was about to cry. Samantha huffs at this.

"It's whatever. We're going to be starting our fundraiser when football season starts up here in a few weeks, so we'll get her a new oboe by then," the ravenette says confidently, rubbing her hand onto my shoulder. I squirm in my seat as I think of whether or not I should tell them about what happened last night.

"Speakin' of Kennedy, have you heard about him and Ada Wong?" Patti mentions, and I visibly perk up at the subject.

"Wong?? What about her?" Samantha quirked an eyebrow, her fingers lacing together under her chin as she looked at our friend curiously.

"Apparently, her and Leon are dating! They went on a date over the weekend, and even went to Hattie's!" Patti rambled excitedly, eager to share the new info that's probably spreading around the schools like wildfire. I hear Samantha scoff next to me, and I just know she's rolling her eyes.

"Of course, he's in cahoots with her of all people," she scowls. "Dami's girl—he's probably trying to spite the poor guy," Samantha audibly recalls my brother's past relationship with the class president. I pout slightly at her suggestion, praying that wasn't true.

For the sake of my brother or for the sake of myself, I'm unsure.

"Are you sure they're dating? I mean..." I tap my fingers against my bottom lip in thought. "Leon's only been in Everglade for less than a week... How could he jump into Ada's tits so quickly?" I question. Patti shrugs her shoulders.

"Ada's got that charm, I guess," she scoffs gently. I hum in response, not sure on how to respond. I look down at the charms on my oboe case, which I had transferred from my old case. The bunny stared back at me with its beady, black eyes, comforting me. I look back up at my group to tell them about what happened last night, but I'm stopped when I see the devil walk past our little table.

In a woody-brown Carhartt jacket, blue jeans, and worn-out Timberlands was Leon Scott Kennedy. In his hands was a carton of strawberry milk, tossed up and down as he sauntered past our table. I watched his face closely, noticing immediately how he took a quick peek at me from the corner of his eyes. When he's out of earshot, the girls all sigh at the same time, as if they held their breaths the entire time he was within 5 feet of us.

"His ass is so tight in those jea-"

"Patti!!!"

"Sorry, Sam..."

I stifle a giggle behind the palm of my hand, a blush painting my face red as Samantha scolds the poor brunette for ogling at the "new" guy. I ignore them as I watch Leon take a seat at a long table near the center of the lunchroom. He's cozy next to Ada Wong, who's sporting a scarlet-hued sweater over a black collared shirt. Her hair is perfectly styled, like always, and there's a soft red gloss on her lips. There's an odd feeling in the pit of my stomach as I watch Leon swing his arm over her shoulder, pulling her into a side-hug situation. The smile on his face is wide, and he looks at-ease in his table filled with sweat-rags and other jock freakazoids.

"You have to admit, they do look good together," my best friend hums, looking over at me. I give Samantha a small frown in return, nodding in agreement as we all stole glances at the terrible sight in front of us.

Leon looks up at me for a split second, but it feels like ages to me. I see his fingers twitch on Ada's shoulder, as if he was planning to wave at me, but he stops himself.

His attention returns to the woman in red.

"I guess we shouldn't have expected much from a Greenvale student," Patti yawns, turning her attention to the dirt between her nails. The table exchanges mumbles of agreement, and I feel the feeling in my tummy get worse for some reason. The girls chat among themselves as I lose myself in my thoughts.

Chemistry is going to be awful.

i wanted to make this chapter a little sweet as an apology for the lack of updates AND as a thank you for 100 followers! it means so much to me that you guys are all so supportive :,]

a little taglist: @bonnibuckets @umooooo74 @kurawooooooo @ilovemen1242

[jq37]

Little bittersweet that this might be Fig's swan song. There's like this "six seasons and a movie" mentality that makes me feel like Senior Year is the finish line, so just stick it out for one more. But, if creatively Emily doesn't feel like she can get any more out of the character, then that's that. It's best to move on rather than force it. Or not. It's the end of her time at Aguefort, doesn't mean it's the end of her time with the Bad Kids. The school part of these characters being high schoolers only really came into play this season, so let's wait and see. Emily considered retiring Fig at the start of this season and changed her mind. It could happen again.

On to the fun stuff:

-Gorgug didn't get a last hit on Porter, but he did get a clutch assist in with a narratively satisfying move that uses his Artificer class instead of his Barbarian class, helping drive the last nail in on Porters coffin. *chefs kiss* Going out of Rage while doing it was a perfect way to twist the knife.

-Riz's kill line on KP was stone cold.

-Everyone else's contributions were valuable but none more so than the newest Bad Kid, The Lava. Taking out five major threats during the battle. What a trooper and a strong candidate for Honor Roll.

-I came around on Mary Anne too. I get why some of the Intrepid Heroes were so obsessed with flipping her allegiances.

There's a lot this season that gives a strong finale vibe, but besides that hook at the end there's another thing that keeps going unresolved. Sol and his church keep fucking around and it's about damn time they find out. I don't think Senior Year will be a full-on religious crusade, but it doesn't feel like that plot point should be off the table. And what the fuck is Kalinas deal? So she was never loyal to Cass?

I hope we don't have to wait another 4 years for the next chapter of Fantasy High to get an answer to those questions.

Fig honestly would prob go to school more if she wasn't required to so it's absolutely an Emily decision more than it is a story decision. It's hard to picture FH without her but I'm sure she'll come up with something fun if she's still feeling like retiring Fig whenever they get around to Senior Year.

I think it's arguably MORE fitting that Gorgug didn't get the last hit in and instead got him with a gadget that didn't even do damage. It's like, he got Porter and not even in a way that Porter would respect because it wasn't rageful and violent. That's gotta suck more than if Gorgug had just punched him hard and KO'd him.

The lava was just so so good. It's like when you're a warlock and technically you could do other stuff but spamming Eldritch Blast just gets you the most bang for your buck so you keep doing it. Once they figured out the lava strat, they basically had to keep using it. Lava MVP for sure.

Mary Ann being so checked out for the whole evil plot even while participating in it is so funny. Honestly, queen shit.

I really think that if Kalina is actually bad then that's a retcon from Brennan because that's never been how familiars work and Kalina did try to help them consistently throughout the season with the Spy's Tongue Curse clue. She only attacked them when she got hit with a rage crystal and that was godly interference.

I agree that there are a lot of loose ends re: The Church of Sol (Buddy, Bobby and Sandra Lynn, Helio's lack of a chosen one, Bucky's whole deal, the Helioic pantheon shakeup--how crazy is it that Cass never talks to any of her celestial sibs?). I hope that if we explore that we get to see more about the actual people of the church rather than just the gods because there was a huge god focus in back to back seasons and, as I've mentioned before, if Spyre rules mean that gods are a reflection of their followers, their followers are honestly more interesting. I can't really be mad at Sol for being what he is when his chill level is determined by Bobby Dawn and co, you know? He has limited agency as an entity. Cut out the middle man and let's chase down Bobby directly.

[akatsuki-shin]

I always wonder how Yaga-sensei and Geto's first interaction would be when they meet each other again in that airport afterlife after Yaga died. :')

At the end of the day, no matter how strong and mature he carried himself, Geto was still a 17-18 years old student a.k.a. a teenager when he got hit full in the face with the whole Riko's assassination case. It was probably his first ever, yet extremely hard-hitting trauma.

He literally:

Saw his best friend got stabbed through the chest by an unexpected assassin and had to leave him for the sake of their mission (and later got told he was killed)

Saw the person he was supposed to protect, who had also become a dear friend to him, got shot right before his eyes just as he thought they finally made it, just as he decided they would stake everything in order to grant her wish to live normally as a normal human girl and not a Star Plasma vessel

Saw so many non-sorcerers clapping happily at the corpse of an innocent middle schooler due to their personal, cultist obsession, when he has been living his entire life by the principles that sorcerers should protect non-sorcerers

Continued to exorcise curse after curse by himself, swallowing that horrifying taste of absorbing curses times and again, in order to keep protecting the non sorcerers while already seeing their ugly side in the worst form possible, all the while falling deeper and deeper into the darkness while being left out by his best friend that he thought was once his equal

I think Geto's calmness and maturity is a double-edged sword for himself. Had he been a bit more childlike, maybe his stress and confusion would've shown more on his face and behavior, allowing others to notice and talk to him about it. Had he possessed a more candid or emotional personality, maybe the stress would've made him more impulsive, which will lead to others trying to rein him in and eventually look for the sources of his impulsiveness.

But no, because he is calm and mature, he kept everything bottled up to himself and he kept it hidden so perfectly. Nobody noticed his stress, nobody noticed his confusion, his dilemma, his depression. Nobody realized he was going through great turmoil for so many days and weeks, unable to find a solution. He thought about it by himself, he dwelled in his confusion by himself. Nobody realized he needed help until he was broken beyond repair and exploded — everything at the mere age of 17-18 years old.

And that became one of Yaga's biggest regrets in his life.

After all, he was Geto's teacher. He was one of the very few adults in Geto's life that Geto looked up to and could rely on (or perhaps the only one even).

Despite his scary and stern-looking appearance, we saw him sharing a close relationship with his students, that they have mutual trust toward each other, and that he cared about his students even though he was not someone who would put his honest feelings into words.

(I mean, just look at this scene and try to tell me Yaga didn't love or care for these five dummies)

And yet despite being the only adult figure they could depend on, despite being their mentor and father-figure in that school, he let two of his students went through the worst experience in life:

Haibara getting killed for the most ridiculous reason that is the wrong mission brief

Geto succumbing to his trauma and depression, and ended up turning into a curse user

Granted, it wasn't Yaga's faults but more because of the flaws of the people governing the Jujutsu society from high above. But I'm 100% sure he felt regretful and responsible for what happened to Haibara and Geto.

He must be one of the first people who was informed about Geto massacring those villagers and I couldn't imagine how it felt for him, to hear his best-behaving student turning into a villain overnight. But he couldn't show it on his face because he needed to tell Gojo about it, and he couldn't possibly show any sign of weakness while Gojo was freaking out in front of him, knowing full well the relationship between those two.

"I wish I had paid more attention. I wished I had been more attentive. I wished I hadn't left them alone."

I think those words were constantly on Yaga's mind up until the moment of his death. In the first place, he didn't even get angry at Gojo for letting Geto go in Shinjuku, didn't tell him to look for him again or go by himself despite Geto's sentence already been announced, and expressed his understanding instead. And I think his "This time we'll completely exorcise the curse known as Geto Suguru!" in JJK 0 is more of the only way he could think of to free his former student from the cursed fate that he believed was caused, among others, by his negligence as his teacher — than a desire to execute a wanted criminal.

I don't think I need to write down anymore proofs of how Yaga was actually someone who thinks deeply about his students and cares about them more than he shows, because otherwise, that conversation between him and Principal Gakuganji in those screenshots above wouldn't even exist, and they wouldn't be showing Geto's face there (in both the anime and manga) while he was speaking about regrets.

So back to what I was saying in the beginning, I wonder how his reunion with Geto (and Haibara) would've gone in that airport afterworld.

Would Yaga apologize to them first before Geto could apologize for the troubles he caused and before Haibara could express his dismay over Yaga's death?

Or knowing him, he might not put it into words. Perhaps he'd just pat them both on the head before they could say anything and ruffled their hair with his big hands like they were kids.

And this was more than enough to convey his feelings to them, more than any of his words could.

[skeletonpunching]

Buddy Daddies extra materials: Kurusu Kazuki's Instagram archive (posts + stories)

I'm sure by now we're all aware of our good friend Kurusu Kazuki's Instagram account, where he posts endless food pics and chronicles the joys and struggles of parenting. I haven't been archiving/translating them so far, because Instagram makes posts easy enough to browse and auto-translate, but now that he's branched out into Instagram stories, I figured it would be best to have a convenient record.

As with the other extra materials (the diary entries and sticky notes), I'll be keeping all the Instagram content in a big central index post, which will be updated regularly (under the cut).

EDIT: There is now a part 2 for this post, which contains everything from ep 7 onwards. Please check that post for future updates.

This post contains the content associated with eps 1 to 6. (I split it out because this was getting so long and unwieldy that Tumblr glitched whenever I tried to edit it.)

@fantastic_sweeper0516 

Kazuki-papa here Papa to one child (in daycare) | Working hard to raise a child together with my partner. 👧 miri (4yrs) November 8

[Dates are mostly in my timezone, not Kazuki’s.]

January 1

It’s cooooold~~~ #happynewyear2023

January 3

There’s really no one around during New Year’s, huh

January 5

All set.

Heheheh. This is gonna be absolutely heavenly

January 6

Heading off to work~

January 7

Looks totally delish #mentaiko

#cooking

Done!

January 11

Another chilly day...

January 13

Can I do battle with these...?!

January 15

I’m making the world’s tastiest Hamburg steak~~ #japaneseblackbeef

January 16

Oh yeah, from yesterday. I cooked the greatest Hamburg steak...

January 18

Morning!

January 19

So tired...

January 20

Haven’t had this in ages, but it was good.

January 22

Apparently this is tastier.

January 23

If you’ve gotta banana, you’ll get by.

[writing: “Miri’s banana”]

January 24

They like it, and that’s the important thing...

January 29

WOW. Already so cheap, and there’s still a discount... #isthisheaven

January 31

Why are needle eyes so small~~~

February 1

What should I write in the daycare notebook...?

February 5

The low-malt beer life starts now.

February 7

Which do you prefer as a daycare outfit (for a girl): skirts or pants??

[results: 47% skirts, 53% pants]

February 10

The results from the other day. It was close... After surveying your opinions, I'll be buying more pants!

February 11

Mission complete.

When should I start preparing for my daughter to have a boyfriend or something?

For reference... 1. I think you'd better be ready by the time your daughter is in middle or high school...... 2. Kids these days start from elementary school, so... 3. Miri-chan is so cute, you should steel yourself now‼️‼️‼️ 4. Kids grow up quick these days, I figure you'd better be ready from age 4! 5. Probably when she's in upper elementary... 🤔💭 6. Miri-chan is a cutie, so... Looks like she might have a BF starting from the middle of elementary school 😅

Is that so.....?? 1. I hear it starts happening here and there in middle school 🐾 2. Miri-chan is totes adorbs so you gotta get used to it now🥺 she's probably super popular already... 3. Now. You should have started by now. 4. Lots of kids these days are mature for their age, so from daycare onwards... 🤔 5. Miri-chan could land a boyfriend anytime, so you'd better brace yourself now... 6. Age 9

For real??? 1. Right now! 2. Right now 3. It starts popping up once they get to upper elementary. Hang in there, Kazuki-papa! 4. I remember getting really into romance once I was in middle school. But in this day and age, even elementary schoolers would be totally into it... 5. They start dating in elementary school these days, don't they? And I guess the thinking about marriage starts in high school. 6. Around age 12? Sometime in middle school

February 12

After I made the bento, Rei and I ate the leftovers.

February 15

The fried chicken I put in the bento the other day. It got such rave reviews I made it again

Go to Part 2 (which contains everything else)

[ridiasfangirlings]

I'm sure you've been asked this, but imagine post-ROK, yata starts realizing with the help of other people that his feelings for fushimi mayy be more than just platonic. And then he asks fushimi out at the worst possible time like at his job and it totally catches fushimi off guard

I can totally see Yata just blurting it out at the worst possible time, like Fushimi is swamped with work and there are a bunch of witnesses and Munakata is probably there smiling and making everything worse XD I imagine Yata spends at least some time trying to convince himself that these feelings must just be platonic, he’s just happy to have his best friend back that’s all. Some of this could really be even just Yata having been actually crushing on Fushimi since middle school and so it really doesn’t occur to him that he’s in love because his feelings never changed, he’s been unaware for years now that he was in love. The other Homra guys can totally see it though, Yata coming back to the bar after going drinking with Fushimi and talking about what a great time he had with Saruhiko. Chitose laughs and shakes his head all you’re crushing hard huh, Yata’s like wait what crush no, it’s just that Saruhiko is so cool, that’s all. Akagi adds that it definitely sounds like a crush and the whole Homra alphabet agree, like come on Yata we know you’ve been in love with him since you guys joined up as snot-nosed middle schoolers. Yata doesn’t want to believe it, all but I’m a guy and he’s a guy and anyway we’re friends, and the Homra guys are just like that shouldn’t matter and anyway it’s so obvious to everyone that you’re in love.

Yata definitely wrestles with this for a bit, like he’s got the one two punch of discovering his sexuality and realizing that he’s been in love with his best friend for ages, and probably also worrying like what if those guys were wrong and this isn’t love and I screw things up just when me and Saru were becoming friends again. But eventually he has to admit it to himself, that when Fushimi’s rare smiles make his breath catch and his heart pound, he really is in love. So now he has to figure out how to tell Fushimi, he’s never confessed to anyone before and he doesn’t really know how to do it. He’s also still a little worried about getting rejected, like Yata thinks he’d be fine with it and would be friends with Fushimi anyway but what if Fushimi gets skittish about the whole thing and doesn’t want to be Yata’s friend anymore.

Maybe what spurs Yata on is he walks into the bar one day and Kusanagi tells him there was an incident at S4, Fushimi was injured. He’s okay but refusing to go to the hospital because there’s work to do and Awashima was wondering if Yata could help with that. Yata barely hears the last part, brain immediately latching on to ‘Saruhiko was injured’ and he grabs his skateboard and heads straight for S4. Imagine him rushing into the office where Fushimi is rebuffing Hidaka’s attempts to get him to lay down, complaining that it’s just a minor head wound and he needs to finish this paperwork first. Yata yells his name across the room and Fushimi freezes, looking up all ‘Misaki?’. Of course everyone is staring at them now as Yata rushes over to him and starts fussing, like you’re bleeding idiot why aren’t you resting what if something happened to you. Fushimi clicks his tongue, not sure why Yata is even here, and then Yata gives this relieved sigh as he says he was so worried and finally he just blurts out ‘I’m in love with you.’ 

The entire room goes dead silent and imagine Fushimi’s face getting red as he’s like what are talking about, Yata says he didn’t mean to just spit it out but he wasn’t lying either. Yata suddenly realizes that they are the center of attention and also Saruhiko’s King is smiling and he’s all awkward now, grabbing Fushimi by the wrist like come on let’s go to the infirmary and we can talk while you get your head bandaged. Fushimi’s brain is still rebooting so he lets himself be dragged off and he doesn’t even complain, staring at Yata like he’s seeing something entirely new for the first time.

[wawataka]

i binged watch the entirety of mob psycho in spanish and here are things i noticed (mostly, in regards to how formal and informal pronouns are used)

Under read more so it’s not annoying

obviously, most of the kids use the informal Tú when addressing each other

Mob actually uses the formal pronoun Usted when talking to/about Reigen. Which, at first, I thought odd but made sense when I thought about it (I’m not gonna address a teacher informally, no matter how long we’ve known each other)

(It also adds a layer of ouch when you think about it. despite the years they’ve known each other, Mob only views Reigen as an authoritative figure while Reigen sees Mob more as a reliable friend)

Hilariously, Ritsu does use tú when talking to Reigen (he does NOT care)

Strangely enough, from the get go, Mob used informal pronouns when talking to Dimple, even when he was still under the impression that the LOL (or. “Jajaja” as it’s called in spanish) cult leader was human

Also from the start, Reigen and Dimple use tú when talking to each other, which is funny. I guess all spirits automatically go by tú? since they’re dead?

Reigen also uses tú when addressing Serizawa, and Serizawa uses usted, im assuming because of their boss/employee dynamic but also Reigen addresses everyone with tú

When saying Hanazawa, they don’t keep the H silent (understandable, Anazawa doesn’t sound right). However when they say Kageyama, the g sounds like it would when saying something like gente. So it sounds like Kaheyama

When describing what Ritsu thought of dimple when they first met, they said “globo feo deformado.” I laughed so hard. Literally called him ugly, deformed, and weird. I don’t remember if they used that many descriptors in the other versions

And onto the voices themselves, i actually really like them.

Reigen’s va, Manuel Campuzano is an incredible match and it’s made even more hilarious when you know he also voiced Light Yagami in Death Note’s spanish dub

I’m also incredibly fond of Mob’s va, Carlos Siller. I don’t know how they got a grown man who sounds like a middle schooler, but they did and i love it

The rest of the boys sound alright. I do like them, they just sound. a little deep. but i think that’s because i’m comparing them to Mob, and he really sounds boyish compared to the others

They also changed them often? For characters who show up briefly, this would make sense. But they switch out va’s for Sho and Serizawa and even Teru. but not for minor characters? this doesn’t matter and you barely even notice but unfortunately for me i get oddly attached to a characters va (i was devasted when Kyle could no longer voice Mob)