#but I'm also scooped out hollow feeling

[sensitivegoblin]

Vent

[saltwaterburns]

Hi, hi can you please do SFW and NSFW ALPHABET for Wolverine/Logan???💕💕💕👹

NSFW alphabet for LOGAN HOWLETT/WOLVERINE

This contains 18+ content, read at your own risk

SFW alphabet (coming soon)

a/n: My take on what kind of a freak logan is, winkwink

A = Aftercare (what they're like after sex)

He comes inside you with a deep groan (could absolutely be mistaken for a growl) and I feel like what happens next depends on his mood. Sex with him is never just sweet and sensual, most of the time it's a primal fuck, so if it was angry/posessive or anything like that, he'd stay inside you until he's soft like butter again (I don't think he ever actually gets soft, though... this man has stamina), plugging you full of his cum so you won't waste a drop. He'll wrap his hands around you, pull you to his bare and so, so warm chest and hold you until you fall asleep. If it was a bit sweeter then he'd pull out, give you a forehead kiss and get a nice fluffy towel from the bathroom, wiping your trembling thighs clean. If he remembers he'll clean himself off too but i feel like he'll sometimes forget

B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partners)

He likes your hands. They're cute, they fit into his, they pull at his hair as he goes down on you, they play with his cock, they play with your clit, they claw at the sheets, they cover your mouth so you won't wake the whole building with your sounds, you get the gist. He really does like them for other stuff too - he likes how gentle they are with him.

As for himself, I'm having a bit of trouble. Maybe his arms? Dick? Jesus, this is a hard one. His arms cause they carry you and all the little things you buy but they can also protect you. (He has a love hate relationship with his claws, i shall dive into that someday but not now). His dick because he absolutely loves making you cock and pleasure drunk. What do you think?

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

He loves cumming on your tits and then seeing you scoop it up and feed it to yourself, cheeks hollowed like they were around his cock 10 minutes ago. Sometimes after a particularly intense session he just stares at your glistening heat and the way you're clenching and unclenching, his seed dripping out and he feels himself getting hard, again

D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

I don't think this man has dirty secrets, per se. His sex life to me at least is an open book. Because he's been around for a long time, he's probably experienced and experimented a lot. Maybe that he's into anal play? Because he so is.

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they're doing?)

I think he might be one of the most experienced men in the world. He has fucked his fair share of women over the years so he absolutely knows what he's doing and how to do it, he's an expert in pleasuring a woman. If you've been together for a while he will memorise your body like the palm of his hand

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)

Doggy 100%. He's so gripping your hips to the point that his handprints are almost permanently bruised onto your skin. He also loves spreading your ass cheeks and dipping his thumb into your other hole just to tease and watch you squirm (both from embarrassment and pleasure)

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

He's a grumpy, troubled old man, so sex will be intense. He'll only chuckle/grin/laugh just to mock you, and when you've done a particularly good job then he'll offer you a rare smile

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

He is so hairy but in a sexy way. Definitely not clean shaven down there, but trimmed. Very prominent happy trail, hairy pecs, hairy arms

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

He isn't a person who connects well with his own feelings so there won't be any of that mumbo jumbo as he's balls deep inside you, but he will press occasional kisses onto your skin before, during and after

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

As long as he's got you I don't think he really masturbates. The most I can see him doing is jacking off while you're on your knees so he can cum on your tits

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

From the top of my head - daddy kink, size kink, dirty talk, breeding kink, breath play, brat taming, (spit play), spanking !!!!

L = Location (favorite places to do the do)

Not necessarily at home, but on a bed/sofa/etc. (so you're comfy as he destroys your insides). In private because you're his and his only, no one needs to see you in compromising positions

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

You, honestly. You being a brat, you begging, you looking nice, you being domestic, you being kind, just you

N = No (something they wouldn't do, turn offs)

He doesn't really have turn offs, but an immediate no is hurting you with his claws. As much as you might beg him to indulge in knife (claw) play, the most he'll do is rip your clothes off with them. He is so, so scared of hurting you and seeing genuine fear in your eyes because you're too kind, too sweet for him anyway

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

He likes both. He loves eating pussy, he's a pussy eating champ, he'll pull you to sit on his face, burning your inner thighs with his scratchy beard but he'll also never say no to you gagging and slobbering all over his massive cock (mr. wolverine, the size kink is calling)

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

Fast. And. Rough. Primal. Carnal. Animalistic. Growling, biting, scratching.

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

No. Logan wants to take his time with you, really fuck you and claim you, bruise and mark you. It's either all out or nothing with him

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

As I mentioned before, he's experimented a lot during his lifetime, but if you want to try something new he'll most likely say yes (as long as it doesn't involve you hurting)

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

He might be old and salt & peppery and grumpy but oh my god can he fuck. 5 rounds straight at least, then maybe a cigar and then another 3. He usually comes right after you because the way your pussy clenches around his dick during your orgasm is enough to send any man jizzing their pants

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

This doesn't really go under toys but he might indulge in letting you tie his hands up to the bed frame with a silk tie but you know as well as i do that when things get serious, he won't even have to move a muscle to "break" free. As for toys like vibrators, wands and etc. he doesn't really know about them or care for them

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

Very. Teasing and edging you is his favourite hobby. Riling you up, teasing your cute little clit with his thick fingers or his mouth just to pull away right as you're about to reach the peak gives him serotonin

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

Fuck meeeeeee mister Wolverine. He's not that loud but definitely will give you a few sounds, he loves to dirty talk (read as: growl) but mostly he's just grunting and chuckling at you

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

I thought long and hard about this, so, here you go! He's lowkey into Wade, so he isn't particularly against having a threesome. If he's single, then he wouldn't exactly mind having a threesome with Wade and Wades girl, showing Wade how to properly pleasure a woman. If he finds himself achingly hard as you're jacking Wafe off, it's totally not because he's imagining himself doing that, absolutely not you freak !!!!

If Wade is the single one then he'd be slightly more reluctant but you will find yourself between the two men with Wades cock ramming into your pussy and Logans cock stretching your ass

X = X-ray (let's see what's going on under those clothes)

He's fucking packing. Long && thick. I don't really know penis sizes i'm so sorry so imagine like a borderline massive dick. Rock hard abs, of course. Deliciously hairy pecs, wide shoulders, big. Goddamn. Arms. Biteable thighs

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

Sex to him is an outlet, a massive one at that, so i'd say his sex drive is quite high. It isn't the answer to everything, though. He has good days and bad days, bad days mostly meaning that he's in a vicious mood and wants to punch rather than fuck

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

If we're being a bit humorous then he'll fuck you long and hard, clean you up, give you a kiss, smoke a ciggy and start snoring. But he's not sleeping!!!! He's resting his eyes, dummy. If we're being serious then because he's a mutant of immense power and regenerative abilities then realistically he wouldn't be tired out. If you can stay up for that long then he'll get you some water and just hold you, enjoying the moment of peace

- Thank you so much for reading! As always, this is just how I imagine him. I've been influenced by countless of works here on Tumblr and countless of super steamy tiktok edits, so you're absolutely entitled to your own ideas ❤️

[brbsoulnomming]

Heart On Your Sleeve Part 6

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5

written for steddiebigbang2024 and belatedly posting here!

-----

Steve keeps dropping his heart.

Somewhere buried deep inside him there's an edge of terror that he's going to damage it even worse - but it also makes a muffled schloop sound every time it hits the ground that is, objectively, the funniest sound he's heard all night.

Robin thinks so too, because she keeps giggling every time it happens - first these tiny little snorts, then somewhat hysterical giggles, then a full on bark of laughter, and then he's dropping it again because he's laughing, too, and she's so cute, how is he supposed to not be a little in love with her?

Dustin and Erica don't seem to find it that funny, though.

"Oh my God, Steve, put your heart in your chest!" Dustin hisses at him the next time they have to slow down to wait for him to scoop it back up.

The very idea sends a chill through him, and he makes a face at Dustin.

"No!" he retorts.

"No? Are you serious? It took me weeks to get you comfortable taking it out around me and now you want to wave it around? No, that's not what I - stop that," Dustin scolds him.

Which is rude, considering Dustin is the one who told him to wave it around in the first place.

But maybe he also has a point, because Steve's grip on his heart slips on a downward wave and this time he doesn't so much drop it as toss it, sending it skittering over the floor.

"Oops," Steve says.

Robin bursts into a sharp bray of laughter.

He loves her so much.

Dustin's gone chasing after his heart, and he flinches when the kid picks it up, expecting it to hurt, to feel wrong the way it had when -

But no.

It feels nice.

"Huh," Steve says, watching Dustin bring it back over.

"Why is it all wrapped up?" Erica asks, wrinkling her nose at it.

"So it doesn't explode," Steve replies, then giggles when Robin nods solemnly and mimes an explosion with her hands.

Dustin rolls his eyes, trying to shove it at him. "Put it away!"

Steve twists away. "Nooo," he protests. "I can't breathe."

Dustin's expression goes from frustrated to concerned so quickly it gives Steve whiplash. "Your ribs? Did they break something? Shit, Erica, can you-"

Erica's already at Steve's side, tugging up his uniform shirt and squinting at his ribs. "What am I supposed to be looking for?"

"Can't breathe with my heart inside," Steve clarifies, even though he's actually pretty sure he does have a broken rib or two. It doesn't hurt, so it's a way lower priority. "I hate it, it feels like it's trapped and hollow and alone."

Dustin and Erica look at each other. Steve doesn't think they look irritated, but he can't really tell.

"Steve," Dustin says softly. "Since when?"

"Since always," Steve replies.

There's silence in response, and he worries briefly that he's said the wrong thing. But then Dustin sighs and pops open his chest, nudging his own heart aside so he can drop Steve's next to it. He closes it up again before Steve's even managed to get a fully formed thought, let alone words, and -

His heart gives a little stutter, and it's weird to feel the emotion that causes it without feeling the corresponding pounding against his own chest.

Dustin apparently feels it, though, because he squints at Steve. “What was that?”

“What was what?” Steve returns.

“You felt something!” Dustin retorts.

“Wait, you can feel what I'm feeling?” Steve demands.

“Of course I can,” Dustin scoffs, like it should be obvious. “I have your heart, don't I?”

He looks over at Robin, to see if she knew that, too, but she's too busy snickering at something the light is doing in the fountain, and -

Oh.

Wow.

Okay, that's much better.

He feels so much better, and even when he's handed his heart again after he and Robin are deposited in the movie theater -

The feeling lingers.

—

In a too bright bathroom that smells like bleach and vomit, Robin holds out her hands for his heart.

“Let me see,” she insists, and Steve doesn't think twice about handing it over.

She might as well have just put her own heart in his hands, after what she just shared with him.

Still, he feels trepidation when she unwraps it, even more when she blanches at the sight of it. But -

“Hey,” Steve says, leaning in to look more closely at it. “It looks better.”

“Better?” she demands. “This is better?”

“I guess I should put it back in my chest if it makes it better,” he says reluctantly.

Robin frowns. “But it hasn't been in your chest. Just Dustin's.”

Wait.

That's right.

“I learned about this!” Steve snaps his fingers, trying to place it. “Science class. People survive things they shouldn't if they give away their hearts?”

Robin, bless her, either remembers it better or has figured out what he's trying to say. “Your heart heals better if someone's keeping it safe for you?”

There's barely a second before she's opening her own chest, taking out her heart and putting his in instead.

“Here,” she says, handing her heart to him almost carelessly. “Watch this for me.”

The moment it's settled in his chest, though, he can feel - how scared she is, how terrifying this all seems. The edges of it are still dulled by the drugs in both their systems, but it's there.

“I'm sorry,” he tells her quietly, guilt twisting from him to his heart in her chest.

“I'm not,” she replies, sharp and stubborn.

And the thing is -

She isn't.

—

The paramedics don't insist on keeping him.

Steve thinks they might, if they could hear his own heart, but it's Robin's heart beating strong and steady in his chest, so they assume that no matter how bad he looks, he must not be in any danger.

He doesn't know what his heart sounds like, but judging by the look on the guy checking over Robin - it's not good.

But she's physically unharmed, so they must assume it's more emotional damage than anything else. He and Robin are two halves, right now, but put them together and they make a somewhat stable whole.

God, he loves her.

She must pick up the echo of his love, because she looks up, meeting his gaze. Her smile is a little sad, and he feels a rush of affection so strong that it almost takes his breath away, even if it's a little bittersweet.

"It's not like that," he tells her, as soon as she and him can huddle together away from the paramedics.

She frowns at him, a clear prompt to continue.

"I don't know if I know how to love someone this much, if it's not like that," he admits. "But I'm learning. I'm going to learn."

For Robin, he'll learn how to love someone so much he doesn't want to know what life is like without them, in a way that isn't romantic at all.

—

Robin comes home with him that night, their hearts still in each other's chests.

Steve almost can't bear the thought of taking his back at this point, and what he can pick up from Robin tells him she feels the same way.

There's a blinking light on the answering machine, and when he presses play, he smiles a little at hearing Eddie's voice.

“Hey, Steve, it's, uh, Eddie. Know I haven't stopped by in a while, but I saw the news tonight about the mall, and - can you just let me know you're okay? Okay. Yeah, okay, bye.”

He sounds a little like he's trying not to panic, and Steve feels himself go soft and fond.

“...huh,” Robin says, clearly getting an echo of what he's feeling. “Steve?”

Steve shrugs, a little helpless. “I don't know,” he admits.

She considers for a moment. “Okay.”

“Okay?” he asks.

“You don't have to know,” she tells him.

“Okay,” he agrees.

He calls Eddie back while she showers, propped up against the bathroom door with the cordless phone in his hand.

“Hey,” Steve says when Eddie picks up. “It's Steve. Sorry, I know it's late.”

“No!” Eddie rushes to say. “No, it's okay, I was up. I saw - are you okay?”

“I've been better,” Steve admits. “There was some explosions, some rubble from the building collapsing. I've got cracked ribs and a concussion.”

“Jesus Christ,” Eddie mutters. “If you could stop getting beat up, it would really give my heart a break.”

Steve grins a little. “You worried about me? Thought it was my job to look out for you.”

He can't see him, but he's pretty sure Eddie's rolling his eyes. “Yeah, and who looks out for you, huh, asshole?”

Steve hums. “It's good to hear your voice. I missed you.”

Eddie's quiet for a moment. Then, “Do you want - do you need someone to come keep an eye on you, make sure you wake up every hour?”

He kind of wishes Eddie'd finished what he started to say, because yeah, he does want him, but that's not the question Eddie ended up asking.

“Robin's here,” Steve says. “She was caught in it, too, but she didn't get too injured. She's going to stay over tonight.”

There's a moment of silence.

“Right, of course,” Eddie mutters.

“Can you come over tomorrow?” Steve finds himself asking without really thinking about it. Eddie's never been over - he's technically never hung out with Eddie outside of school or work - but shit, he wants it. “I think the drugs'll be out of my system by then, so I won't be too annoying. You can meet Robin.”

“You do know I've met her, right?”

Steve makes a tsk noise. “You've met Robin from band, just like she's met Eddie from the lunch tables. But you don't really know each other, not like I-”

He cuts off, because he's not really sure he has the right to say that. Does he really know either of them like that?

Whatever. If he doesn't, he wants to.

“You do better as part of a trio, huh?” Eddie asks quietly.

“Well, yeah,” Steve agrees. “But this is different, this is better.”

Eddie snorts. “Sure, you're not the third wheel anymore.”

“It's not that,” Steve protests. It feels important for him to get this right, though he's not sure why. “I don’t care about being a third wheel, it never bothered me. But Tommy and Carol… there were always conditions, with their friendship. The older we got, the more there were. And I love Nancy and Jonathan-”

His heart spasms. He can't feel it, but he feels the emotions, and Robin's heartbeat in his own chest kicks up. He mutes the phone, for a moment, knocks on the bathroom door. “I’m okay!” he calls through it, feels a wave of relief coming from her, and lets himself feel simple, uncomplicated affection.

“But things are complicated with them,” he continues after he unmutes the phone. “I think they always will be.”

“And what, I'm uncomplicated?” Eddie asks, but he sounds more amused than anything else.

“You're something,” Steve agrees, not bothering to try not to sound warm and fond.

Eddie blows out a puff of air. “I have band practice tomorrow,” he says. “But I'll call you sometime later, okay?”

No, that doesn't sound okay.

“Is this one of those things where you're not really asking me if it's okay, you're just saying it so it sounds better?” Steve asks. “What would you do if I said it wasn't okay? If I said I really wanted you to come over?”

Eddie's quiet again. “Do you want me to come over?”

“Yes,” Steve replies immediately, because he's had it saved up since Eddie didn't finish asking him it in the first place.

If his heart were in his own chest, he's pretty sure it would be thumping in anticipation.

“Not tonight,” Eddie says finally. “But I do want to be friends with you, okay? I'll call you.”

He hangs up after that, and Steve stares at the phone until Robin comes out of the bathroom and finds him like that.

She doesn't have to ask what happened - probably because she felt what happened - she just sits next to him a while.

This is already written, and my plan is to post one part a day until it's all up here!

-----

Part 7

Taglist (always happy to add more to this if anyone wants): @fairytalesreality @lostonceandneverfound @wheneverfeasible @awkwardgravity1 @theintrovertedintrovert @thewickedkat @ravenfrog @scarlet-malfoy @missmagillicuddy @xxfiction-is-my-realityxx @ollyxar @cringe-culture-is-dead-99 @thedragonsaunt @makewavesandwar @cryptid-system @ajeff855 @mae-liz @the-fantastical-asexual @jettestar @warlordess @persnicketysquares @samsoble @my-love-of-books @mydysfunctionallife @dreamercec @holyangelstudentuniverse @breealtair @shunna @xtraordinarally

[the-case-book-of-fanfiction]

The Only Tally Mark

Ship: Steve Harrington x reader

Summary: The 'You Suck' tallies are getting pretty high, but there's a girl in Scoops Ahoy who knows Robin in wrong. If she can just get the courage to open her mouth, Steve's luck is about to change.

Word Count: 7,250 words

Warnings: Robin's a bit mean, she also has no filter, pining, Steve's failed flirting attempts, blatant staring/pining, implied confession, first kiss

Note: Set pre-s4 and the day Dustin comes back, before the Russian code is cracked.

☟ Continue below the fold ☟

July had only just begun in Hawkins, and you could already tell it was going to be a hot one. Less than twenty-four hours in, temperatures had already hit record-breaking highs—at least, that was according to the weatherman on the television you were sat in front of, sweating and feeling relief from the heat only when the fan beside you swiveled back toward you.

“Every July is this hot,” your father said from the kitchen, where he was drinking his second glass of water in five minutes.

“Oh, sure, but never this early,” your mother retorted. “It’s only the first, and already we’re melting out of the house.”

Sensing an irritable argument birthed from the nearly unbearable heat, you left the living room and headed up the stairs to your bedroom. You picked up the phone you’d begged your parents to let you have years ago, dialing the number of your best friend of four years: Robin Buckley, the band dweeb to your theatre kid.

It was her mom who answered the phone, several dial tones later. “Hello?”

“Hi, Mrs. Buckley—is Robin home?”

“Oh, hi, sweetie! She’s at work right now, her shift ends at seven.”

You stopped yourself from swearing. “Oh, right, I forgot. Thank you!”

“No problem, dear,” Mrs. Buckley said before hanging up.

You leaned against the wall. How could you have forgotten? Robin had been telling you about her new job in the mall—and the sailor’s uniform she had to wear. You’d seen her get ready for work once and had burst into giggles the moment she put the hat on her head.

You glanced at the digital clock next to your bed, checking the time. There was still several hours before the mall closed. You might as well visit Robin and abuse your friendship to get some free ice cream at the same time, right?

So you grabbed your wallet and shoved it in your pocket and bounded down the stairs.

"Hey, I'm going out!" you shouted to your parents.

"Where do you think you're going, young lady?" your father asked, appearing in the doorway between the living room and the kitchen.

"To the mall? Robin works there and I'm going to visit."

"Don't spend too much, dear!" your mother called.

"Sure, Mom!"

You hopped in your car and headed for the mall, following the thick cluster of traffic that always lined the streets leading to the mall, passing through the streets lined with empty, hollow shops.

~❊~

The mall was crowded, as busy as it had always been since the day it opened. You pushed your way through the crowds gathered around storefronts and display windows, trying to remember which floor Scoops Ahoy was on.

You took the escalator down to the first floor and scanned the shops surrounding you. When you spotted the sign for the ice cream store, you headed toward it, maneuvering past a group of pre-teens cackling about manipulating the store's workers into giving them free samples.

There was no one at the counter when you walked in. A majority of the tables were occupied by groups of teens. As you approached the register, you could hear faint bickering from behind the pebbled glass windows, Robin's distinct voice floating out to you.

"...do the job you're supposed to do, I've been scooping so much ice cream my hand's cramped," she was saying.

You stifled a giggle and tapped your hand lightly against the bell in front of you, wincing when it was a little louder than you had been expecting.

The swing door on the left opened with a bang, revealing the back of a boy who was gesturing at Robin, who was quite literally pushing him out the door. She disappeared before you could catch her attention, and the other attendant took up his place in front of the register.

"Ahoy, sailor! Would you like to set sail on this ocean of flavor with me? I'll be your captain, I'm Steve Harrington."

You blinked at him. "Is that company policy like the hat and the outfit?"

He stared at you. "I'm sorry, what?"

You shrugged. "I'm a friend of Robin's, she complains about the, and I quote, stupid company rules that make everyone look stupid."

He stared at you. You stared at him. Awkward silence settled between the two of you.

The introduction hadn't been necessary. You had spent most of your high school experience listening to Robin complain about Steve Harrington and his stupid perfect hair and his stupid easy charm and his stupid actual stupidity. The Steve she'd painted matched up perfectly with the kid you'd seen around in the halls, dressed in his ironed polo shirts and pleated khakis or that stupid basketball uniform and letterman jacket—and Nancy Wheeler on his arm.

You and Robin had watched his life crash and burn with malicious glee—and all the while you had tried to ignore that this was the very same boy you'd crushed on in middle school, and had been so shocked to find out had changed so much when you got to the high school, a year after he did.

Steve cleared his throat, his gaze dropping to the register, firmly away from you. "Um. What can I get you?"

"Uh..." Every ice cream flavor you had ever liked instantly disappeared from your head. It wasn't like the usual mind-blankness that came from being asked a question about your favorite anything. It was like your entire body had stopped, freezing in the pretty face of Steve Harrington, ridiculous as the uniform was. Especially with the hat, which Robin hadn't told you about.

The door swung open again. "Jesus, Steve, what's taking you so damn long?" Robin froze where she stood. A smile lit up her face. "What are you doing here?!"

You grinned. "Visiting!"

Robin hip-checked Steve out of the way. Steve glared at her while she grabbed the ice cream scoop from the pocket at his side.

"Jesus, do you have to be so brutal?" he snapped.

Clearly fighting the urge to roll her eyes, Robin turned back to Steve. "I'm sorry, would you please get out of the way so I can serve my best friend? Thanks," she said, her customer service smile plastered to her face.

Muttering under his breath, Steve pushed away from the counter, leaning on the sill of the window behind him. He crossed his arms, still staring resolutely at the floor.

Robin grinned at you. "I wasn't expecting you to—"

"Be here?" you finished. "I called your house before I realized you were working, so I thought I might as well come visit."

"Glad you did," she said. "You would not believe how much of a headache it is working with dingus over there."

You glanced over her shoulder at Steve, his pink lips forming a pissy pout. Oh, yeah. Still pretty, still a bitch.

"You didn't tell me you worked with him," you said under your breath.

Robin shrugged, shooting you a knowing smile. "Yeah, well, I knew you'd show up and find out for yourself eventually." Her eyes slid to the corners, as if she could see Steve sulking behind her. "We'll talk about him later. What ice cream do you want? On us."

You giggled. "How did I know you'd say that?"

She snorted. "Oh, so you're abusing our friendship for free ice cream?"

"Maybe," you said. "Just this once."

Robin rolled her eyes and grabbed an ice cream cone. "Here—I'll grab your favorite."

And, without you needing to remind her, she lowered the scoop into the tub of ice cream that you got every time the two of you had gotten ice cream after going to see a movie, back before the mall. You wondered how you could have forgotten, until you looked over Robin's shoulder again and found Steve looking up, lips parted and eyes fixed on you. The minute you caught his gaze, he blushed and looked away.

You took advantage of his embarrassment, admiring the pink in his cheeks and how he awkwardly licked his lips. He toyed with the watch on his wrist, crossed and uncrossed his legs. Was he nervous? An even better question—had you ever seen Steve Harrington nervous before?

While you studied Steve, Robin made a second cone of ice cream, a different flavor than yours.

Robin looked behind her. "Hey—man the counter, will you? I'm going on break."

Steve spluttered. "You just came back from break!"

"No, we just finished our lunch break. I still have my federally-required thirty minutes to take. So I'm gonna take 'em." She shoved the scoop at Steve's chest and stepped out from behind the counter.

The pair of you took an unoccupied table near the counter, in case she was needed.

"Should you be leaving him to do it by himself?" you asked, glancing back at Steve one last time.

"What, are you worried about him? He'll be fine," Robin said. She shrugged with a sigh. "He's...he's not as bad as we thought he was in high school. He's less of a douche now, at least."

"Just a dingus?" you asked with a smile.

She nodded. "He's still as stupid as we always thought."

You turned your attention away from Steve at toward your ice cream. "Why didn't you tell me he worked with you?"

She rolled her eyes. "Let's not have that conversation while he's here, okay? For your dignity's sake. I know he's far away, but he's got impressive hearing." She shrugged. "Blame it on four years of listening for gossip, I guess."

Your gaze shifted back to Steve as he raked a hand through his hair, stretching enough for his shirt to lift. Heat rushed to your cheeks and you crossed your legs. Now that he wasn't surrounded by assholes who mocked you and Robin and your friends for their own personal entertainment, it was easier to appreciate how he'd grown into himself since middle school. Taking care of himself had made him a whole new level of handsome.

Robin giggled. "Yeah—that's why we're not gonna talk about this while he's around. You still have a thing for him, don't you?"

Steve relaxed against the countertop, fixing his hair and putting the hat back on with a scowl. You cleared your throat.

"I was hoping you'd forgotten about that."

"Me? Forget about you having the most embarrassing crush on him for years? Only to get to high school and find out he'd become a dick? Never."

You groaned. "Oh, stop rubbing it in!"

A gaggle of girls walked into the store, four of them giggling and talking and rolling their eyes. Immediately, Steve stood up a little straighter and fiddled with his uniform.

Robin snorted. "Oh, watch this. He's been failing catastrophically with every girl that walks in. I keep count."

"You keep count?"

She nodded gleeful, pointing with her chin in the direction of the counter.

"Ahoy, ladies!" Steve said, leaning on the counter. His attempt to be attractive failed dismally, however, when his hand slipped off the side and he lost both his balance and his composure for a moment.

One of the girls giggled with her friend. Steve's cheeks darkened.

"I'm Steve Harrington, I'll be your captain on this ocean of flavor. What can I get you lovely ladies today?"

You glanced at Robin. "I don't see what he's doing wrong."

"That's because this is scripted," Robin whispered back.

The first girl stepped forward. "One scoop of chocolate and one of vanilla, please."

Steve tried a debonaire smile. "Oooh, classic, I like it. I'm all for vanilla myself, you know, all the time."

You winced. "Was...was that supposed to be a double entendre?"

"Yep," Robin said, popping the p with a smirk.

"I see what you mean now," you said. The girl was making a face that said she caught Steve's drift and found it rude. Steve cleared his throat and moved on, scooping ice cream into a cone and handing it to her with a mortified whisper of "here you go." His gaze flicked over to you and Robin, at which point his mortification seemed to grow.

You watched the exchange grow steadily worse. Steve stumbled over his words and tripped over his feet and dropped an empty cone twice. Customers who had already gotten ice cream became onlookers who left, one by one, as the secondhand embarrassment grew.

"God, he's hopeless," you whispered. "Whatever happened to the Steve in high school?"

"You mean the one with a new girl on his arm every week? I'd say that stopping can be blamed on one Nancy Wheeler," Robin said.

You rolled your eyes. "While they were dating, obviously. But now? One relationship shouldn't make him incapable of flirting with a girl."

Robin watched the girls leave, snickering behind their hands. A moment later, Steve groaned, wiping a hand over his face. "You know what I think his problem is?"

"What?"

"He's trying to flirt all of them into submission, not just one girl he likes out of the group."

You nodded slowly. "Sounds about right. I mean...if he flirted with me one minute and then you the next, I don't think I'd want to jump his bones, exactly."

Robin rolled her eyes. "What are you talking about? You've always wanted to jump his bones."

"That was middle school, and that was before any of us gave a shit about sex."

"Yeah, keep telling yourself that," Robin teased. "I saw how you looked at him during gym class."

You shrugged, trying to hide your face behind your hair. Robin knew your expressions better than anyone; your embarrassment was going to be obvious the minute she caught sight of you. "It's gym class! Guys don't wear shirts ninety percent of the time, they practically invite girls to stare." Your gaze slid back to Steve, who was once again staring at the floor. His cheeks were still red, and that pretty mouth of his had once again formed a pout. "Jesus, I don't think I've ever seen him so...despondent."

"He's like that at least five times a shift," Robin said. She played with a small red plastic spoon she had pulled from her pocket. "You know... You could come work here with us. Then you'd get to see Steve every day."

"Robin, you're constantly complaining about how much you hate working your, and I quote, pitiful minimum wage job."

"Yeah, but you like Steve, and eye candy makes the day go by faster."

You swatted her arm discreetly. "Don't objectify him!"

She rolled her eyes. "Hey, Steve!"

Steve looked up so quickly you swore you heard his neck crack, even with some distance between your table and the counter. "What?"

"Come convince her to work with us!"

You glared at her. "Robin, I already have a summer job!" you protested, trying to stop your heart from racing as Steve approached the two of you. You looked anywhere but him, knowing a soft smile and a well-timed flutter of his eyelashes was all it would take for Steve to convince you to do anything he asked.

Steve pulled a chair from the other table for two next to you, spinning it unnecessarily in his hand and dragging it to the edge of your table. He straddled it, leaning his arms against the backrest. Your heart climbed into your throat.

Steve's eyes met yours and every thought melted from your brain. Brown had never been such a pretty color. Although his eyes weren't just brown, they were hazel, mottled with soft greens and blues and greys. You'd never seen such beautiful eyes before, so expressive and kind and interested and attentive and—

"Tell her why she should come work with us," Robin said, breaking your focus on Steve's eyes.

You rolled your eyes. "Robin, I already have a job," you repeated. "A job I like that pays well that I can work at year-round."

Steve snorted, shaking his head absentmindedly. "Then don't come here, that's for sure. The pay is shit, the job is just as bad, and nobody likes ice cream in the winter."

Robin glared at him. "What part of convincing her do you not understand?"

Steve shrugged, ignoring her. "But, then again, you'd get to work with Robin and you might alleviate my boredom from dealing with her all the time." He jerked his head toward Robin. "You wouldn't believe how mean to me she is."

You stifled a giggle as Robin huffed. An easy grin reminiscent of the king he once as slid across Steve's face. You felt slightly giddy, knowing you had been the one to put it there.

More people walked into the store and Robin shot to her feet. "Come on, dingus. We have a job to do." She dragged him to his feet, ignoring his hiss of complaint. He shot you an apologetic shrug as she pulled him behind the register again.

While the two of them got back to work, you sat back in your booth table and finished your ice cream. Once you were done, you discreetly snuck out of the store, leaving a note for Robin at the counter promising to call her after her shift.

As you wrote the note and taped it to the register, you failed to notice Steve pause where he was scooping ice cream to watch you, or that his gaze stayed on you until you left the store and Robin had to snap him out of his reverie.

~❊~

Though it seemed utterly impossible, the next day was even hotter than the last. You lasted all of two hours at the community pool before you got tired of the screaming children and moms flirting with Billy Hargrove and you went home.

You changed out of your bathing suit, dressing more consciously than you had since the eighth grade semi-formal. You selected your jewelry carefully before hopping in your car and heading to the mall for a second time that week.

Scoops Ahoy was significantly less busy when you walked in. Robin looked half-asleep where she stood at the counter, but she brightened when you walked in.

"You just couldn't stay away, could you?" she asked, leaning on the counter with a grin.

You shrugged. "It's hot, ice cream is a solution."

She studied you for a moment. "The pool didn't solve that?"

You scoffed. "Hell no. It's full of tiny children and middle-aged moms and girls who only go so they can take up space and stare at Billy."

"And there's no Steve there, is there?" Robin teased.

You rolled your eyes. "No," you admitted. "Or you."

Robin scooped your ice cream and passed it to you over the countertop. "He'll be back soon, his break ends in a minute. He went to go grab us food."

"He what?"

Robin shrugged. "Yeah, he does that a lot. I hate to say it, but he's actually a nice guy. I think we might have been wrong about him."

You grinned. "So I was right back in middle school! I told you."

Robin rolled her eyes. "Yeah, you did." She cleared her throat. "Behind you."

You heard Steve's footsteps approaching a split second before he said, "Hey, you're back! Applying?"

Turning to face him, you snorted. "Absolutely not. I'm here for ice cream and ice cream alone."

Steve frowned. "What are we, chopped liver?" he asked, gesturing between himself and Robin.

"I'm surprised you know that phrase," Robin said.

Steve made a face. "I do know some things, Robin." He turned back to you. "I told you she's mean to me."

You laughed. "She's mean to everyone sometimes, it's nothing personal."

"Yes it is, dingus," Robin said, and you remembered she had plenty of reasons aside from Steve's years mocking her and her friends to be angry with him.

You just shrugged at him when Steve looked at you for guidance. He copied your shrug and passed Robin a plastic bag that smelled heavenly.

"If I'd known you were coming to visit, I would have gotten you something," Steve said apologetically.

"Oh, it's fine," you promised. "I've got ice cream." He smiled at you, his laughter shining through. "Honestly, I'm surprised you two don't exist off of ice cream."

"We used to," Robin said.

Steve nodded. "It got pretty tiring after a week. It's like when they told us in health class that energy from sugar doesn't last very long. Or something like that."

Robin squinted at him. "You can't remember enough of high school to get to college, but you can remember health class?"

"I remembered enough to graduate," Steve mumbled, cheeks turning pink once again. You were starting to get used to Steve's embarrassment. It was as cute as he always was.

"Stay and eat with us," Robin said, turning back to you. "I'll split my fries with you. You did remember the fries, didn't you, dingus?"

"Of course I remembered the fries," Steve snorted. He dropped the Closed for lunch! sign on the counter and held the swinging door open for you. You thanked him as you walked by, aware of his eyes following you.

You sat in the seat Robin pulled out for you and finished your ice cream before stealing some of the previously offered fries.

"I think we're closing early, Robin," Steve said, glancing out the cracked window. "We've had, what, three people all day?"

"Four if you count the Radio Shack employee across the way," Robin said. "But I don't, because they get it for free."

You frowned. "Do I not count as a customer because you give me ice cream for free?"

Steve shook his head a bit too quickly. "No, you count, Robin just doesn't like the Radio Shack employees."

"Because they're rude," she complained. "They complain about everything and change their minds three times—but always after you've already started scooping, and even when you're done, they don't like it!"

"Sounds like a regular day in customer service," you said, feigning cheerfulness.

"Yeah, a shitty day," Robin said.

"Where do you work?" Steve asked. "I don't think I've ever asked."

"The record store down on Main," you said.

"You know, the one I said I had been planning on working at," Robin said. "But Scoops hired faster."

"Maybe we should switch jobs," Steve muttered.

Robin snorted. "Yeah, like that'll go over well."

"The store won't hire more people, anyway," you cut in. "It got rid of most of the staff, especially the new people, to cut costs because of the mall."

"Is there a record store in here?" Steve asked.

"No, but there is a Sam Goody and a Camelot Music in the mall. We used to have a partnership with the Sam Goody on Main, but then it closed due to the mall, and we started losing business to the one in the mall." You sighed. "I hear about it all the time. It's all the owner ever talks about these days."

Steve munched on a fry, staring at you as you spoke. His eyes were stuck firmly on you. You tried not to squirm under his intense gaze.

Robin leaned back in her chair. "One of these days, I'm gonna visit you at work instead."

You rolled your eyes. "If you ever have a day off," you said.

"Kinda hard to have a day off when we're the only two working here," Steve said.

You nodded. "The constant problem of being short staffed."

"That would be solved if you just came and worked here," Robin muttered into her wrap. You rolled your eyes again, stealing another one of her fries.

"No, Robin."

Robin harrumphed and took a bite of her sandwich more viciously than twas strictly required.

Steve faked a pout. "You just really don't like us, do you?"

"She doesn't," Robin agreed, smirking. You knew that smirk; she was going to do her best to guilt trip you—using Steve, which was perhaps the only way to guilt you into doing what she wanted.

You rolled your eyes. "It's got nothing to do with you, I promise."

"Ouch," they said in unison.

You frowned. "What are you, the same person?"

They both shrugged.

"Alright, that's just weird," you sighed. You glanced down at your watch. "How long does your lunch break last?"

"Thirty minutes. Why?" Steve asked.

You shrugged. "Wouldn't want you to get fired because I'm here distracting you."

Steve propped his head up on his hand. Stray curls of hair fell into his face. Your heart twisted in your chest. He was beautiful. How could he be so beautiful?

Robin watched as you and Steve stared at each other. You were aware of her gaze bouncing back and forth between the two of you, observing the way you were melting under his gaze, your lips parting the longer he looked at you, the barriers you'd put up slowly crumbling. Steve was no better, staring at you with open, asking eyes. He moistened his lower lip with his tongue and it took everything in you not to whimper.

Out of the corner of your eye, you saw the look on Robin's face—the look of disgust that crossed her face every time she was disgusted by public affection from straight couples. Your heart did flips at the sight of her expression.

"Would you guys stop that?" she groaned, getting up from her seat.

"Doing what?" Steve asked, still looking at you. You tore your eyes away from him and back to the half-empty container of fries.

"Making eyes at each other," she said. Steve spluttered, instantly losing the lovey look in his eyes.

"Making eyes— Robin, what are you talking about?"

You cleared your throat. "Hey, um, what's the board for?" You hoped your question would steer the conversation away from the feeling bubbling in your chest at the sight of Steve.

Steve groaned, hiding his face in his hands.

"I told you I was keeping score of Steve's failing dating life. This is my scoreboard."

You nearly choked. "You keep track of it on a whiteboard at work?!" You looked at the neatly drawn board, the 'You Rule' and 'You Suck' columns divided by a line.

"Actually, I have to put the one from yesterday on here."

Steve groaned again, cheeks burning very red. He looked like he wanted to crawl under the table and stay there.

You watched her add a line. "Robin..."

"She's right, I suck," Steve sighed. "My luck's been pretty shit recently."

"You don't suck, she's just being mean," you said. You sent her a look, shaking your head slightly. She just shrugged.

"You don't have to be nice about it," he said. "I know how bad I am at this. I haven't gotten laid in months."

"Okay, too much information, Steve," you said with a little laugh.

"Oh, so this suddenly isn't a safe place to talk about all our life troubles?" he teased.

You laughed fully. He smiled, and the room seemed to light up with the glow emanating from him.

"Get a room," Robin groaned.

Steve turned around. "I'm not flirting, Robin!"

"Yeah, right," Robin smirked. "It's just working this time."

You coughed. "I, um, I have to go."

They both turned back to you, as if they'd forgotten that you were even there.

"Shit, hang on," Steve started, but Robin cut him off.

"No, wait, I didn't mean it like that—" Robin said, realizing she'd practically told Steve you liked him.

"Yeah, right, I know, I just have, uh..." You fumbled for an excuse for a minute. "I have to go drive a friend home! I'll call you later, Robs!" You rushed out the swinging door just as the bell at the counter rang.

Steve pushed his hands through his hair. "Shit."

"Oh, no," Robin whispered. "Steve, ignore that, ignore all of that, I screwed up, I shouldn't have said anything, she's going to be so pissed. It's just that she's liked you since middle school and it's gotten worse now that you're not a douchebag—" Robin clapped a hand over her mouth.

"I won't tell her you said that," Steve said quietly. "Oh, Jesus, Robin..."

"I'm sorry—"

"Stop apologizing to me," Steve said. "If you hadn't said anything, I never would have realized."

Robin made a face. "See, that's why you suck, not because you're bad at flirting with girls. You've just been flirting with the wrong ones, because you're oblivious of the ones that actually like you."

Steve was quiet for a moment. "Yeah. Thanks for pointing that out." He peered out the window, watching you leave the mall, wiping at your eyes and pushing your hair out of your eyes.

Simultaneously, Steve and Robin whispered, "Shit."

At the counter, Erica Sinclair tapped the bell again. "Hello? I want some samples!"

They shouted, "Shut up!"

Steve slammed the glass doors shut.

~❊~

Steve unlocked his front door, stepped inside his house, and put his back to the closed door. He slid down the door with a heavy sigh.

"Jesus Christ," he muttered under his breath. All he had been able to see since you left Scoops was your stricken face, horrified and embarrassed that Robin had spilled your biggest secret. (Which Robin had told him after, in bits and pieces, while they closed up the store.)

Steve couldn't believe it. How had he never noticed? Granted, he hadn't been the most observant for, well, the majority of his life. And his middle school years had been fairly dull, unmemorable. But wouldn't have noticed if you—you, out of everyone in Hawkins Middle—had been crushing on him?

To his utter shame, the most Steve remembered of you in middle school was how you had been a good friend to him, long before any of his high school friends knew who he was, and that he'd ditched you once he got to high school. You'd helped him study a few times, too. He wasn't sure what year it was, but he knew you'd helped him pass both English and History in the same year.

He'd shared a handful of classes with you, too, when classes had been so small they'd mixed grades. Sixth grade science, when the two of you had worked on a minor chemical project together. In seventh grade, you'd had two classes together. Gym, which had been downright brutal so early in the morning, especially when the teachers split up the teams as boys against girls. He remembered you had gotten nailed in the head with a basketball once, and that he'd been asked by your teacher to take you to the nurse. Then there had been math class, where he'd sat behind you, asking you questions and begging you to explain the concepts he didn't understand—even though you didn't understand it much more than he did. Eighth grade history, where Steve had done a presentation on his grandfather's experience in the World War, and you had been the only to actually raise your hand to ask a question.

Steve got up from the door and went up to his bathroom, stripping out of his uniform to take a shower. While the water soaked his hair and skin, warming him up, Steve's mind turned back to you—not that it had ever really left you.

You had been his first crush. Well, his first real crush. You'd been pretty, even when you were young and curious and a year younger than he was. Most of his friends had said that the younger girls were cute, but embarrassing to like. So Steve hid that he liked you. It wasn't until Nancy in high school, when it became cool, that he dated anyone younger than himself.

He wished he'd said something to you then. Would it have saved him a world of hurt? Or would it just have been an even worse broken heart waiting for him?

Steve recalled the way you had looked at him earlier, your eyes practically sparkling and your lips stretching into a gorgeous, content smile. It had stopped his heart to know that he was the reason you looked so happy, that he had brought that smile to your lips and that he had made those smile lines around your eyes appear and that he had been the reason your pupils were blown wide.

Steve shut off the shower and pulled on a new pair of boxers, flopping onto his bed with a content sigh, which matched the happy smile on his face.

You liked him.

Feeling like a teenage girl, Steve rolled until he could hide an excited squeal in his pillow.

You liked him again.

Steve was certain that's what made him so giddy. You'd liked him before he'd become King Steve, before the popularity made him interesting—and you liked him again, now that he'd changed and learned and grown up. Now that he'd learned to be himself without a care in the world for anyone else's opinion.

It was like redemption, but it felt so much better than that.

A sudden feeling overwhelmed Steve.

The next time he saw you, he needed to tell you how he felt about you. He needed to make it clear that Robin's slip-up had not ruined the slow banter, the friendship the two of you had been dancing around.

Resolved, his thoughts stopped spinning. He turned off the lamp on his nightstand and shut his eyes.

Please come back tomorrow, he thought, before falling into a gentle sleep, full of dreams of romanticized meetings, confessions, and kisses.

~❊~

You avoided Scoops for several days, choosing to tough out the warm weather in the overcrowded community pool until your mortification subsided. Robin had called repeatedly to assure you Steve wasn't weirded out or annoyed or embarrassed by your crush on him. In fact, she almost made it sound as if he was pleased by it.

But you still couldn't make yourself go to Scoops Ahoy. Even the mental image of walking in and seeing Steve's face twist with some kind of disgust made your stomach twist.

But a girl could only take so much of Billy Hargrove. So, after nearly a week, you drove to the mall instead of the pool. It still took you nearly ten minutes to force yourself out of your car.

You had thought seeing Steve and Robin in their sailor uniforms had been strange, but there was a far stranger sight directly ahead of you: Robin at the counter, staring in absolute confusion, and Steve jumping with joy at the sight of the small child in the front of the store.

"Henderson!" Steve's smile was huge. The sight made you smile, albeit a bit more confused. "Henderson! He's back, he's back!"

"I'm back! You got the job!"

"I got the job!"

And then, just when you thought this strange scene could not get any weirder, Steve mimed playing a trumpet and both he and the child did a strange miming handshake, giggling all the while.

Robin leaned forward. "How many children are you friends with?"

Steve's overjoyed smile slipped from his face. He gestured to Robin with a strained look on his face, as if he were signaling See what I have to deal with?

"You mean there's more children?" you asked, walking up to them with a shy smile, almost embarrassed to make your return. Your stomach dipped as Steve turned to you, but his smile was back.

"Hey, you're back!" Steve said. "I thought we'd never see you again!"

You shrugged. "Yeah, well, I got tired of Billy flirting with me."

"Max's brother?" the child asked.

You stared at him. "I don't know who that is. Or who you are, actually."

"Oh, I'm—"

"This is Dustin," Steve interrupted. "Dustin Henderson. He's, uh, he's one of my friends." He went behind the counter and started making an ice cream sundae.

You gave Dustin your name and offered him your hand. "Pleasure to meet you."

"How do you know Steve?" Dustin asked.

At the same time, both you and Steve pointed to Robin. She waggled her fingers at him.

"I'm going on break," Steve said, handing the sundae to Dustin. "Your turn to man the counter. Come on, Dustin, my treat!"

The two of them slipped into a booth. You leaned against the countertop with a heavy sigh.

"There's like...five or six of them," Robin said. "Kids, I mean. That he's friends with."

"Jesus," you muttered. "How old are these kids?"

"Like...thirteen, maybe?"

"Oh, boy."

Robin giggled. "Looks like you gotta share your man with children now."

You choked. "He's— He's not my man, Robin!" you hissed, your entire body burning. You glanced at Steve, but he was too engrossed in whatever story Dustin was telling him.

"But that's why you're here, isn't it?" Robin asked. "You came back because you're ready to talk to him again, knowing that you like him and he likes you."

You glanced over at Steve. While you observed him, Robin slipped out from behind the counter, quietly humming to herself as she worked.

"Yeah, I mean, sure," he was saying to Dustin. "It's not really a good idea for me though, gotta keep in shape for the ladies." Was it just your imagination, or did his eye stray over toward you?

"Yeah, and how's that working out for you?" Robin teased.

"Ignore her," Steve said quickly.

"She seems cool," Dustin said.

"She's not," Steve said, even quicker. "But, uh, the girl you just met? She's cool. She's really cool." A smile tugged at your lips. You pushed it away as you looked down at the floor, completely missing Steve's lovestruck glance toward you.

Dustin, however, missed nothing, and raised his eyebrows. "Oh, really, Steve?"

Steve cleared his throat. "Anyway. So, uh, where are the other knuckleheads?"

"They ditched me yesterday," Dustin said.

"No," Steve said, his face falling. Your heart squeezed at the sight of his empathy. The Steve from high school never would have cared about a kid whose friends had abandoned him, but this Steve did.

"My first day back! Can you believe that shit?"

"Whoa, seriously?!" Steve demanded, incredulous. Your heart warmed once again.

You turned back to Robin. "In answer to your earlier question," you said under your breath, "yes, that is exactly what I'm here to do."

She giggled. "I knew it! I knew it, I knew it, I knew it!" She paused. "Was Billy Hargrove really flirting with you?"

You nodded. "I guess he doesn't really care about high school social status, as long as he gets laid." You shuddered. "I've never felt more objectified in my life, and I pranced around on stage in fishnets and a bodysuit in front of the entire school last year during Chicago!"

"I'm still convinced that was our best show," Robin said.

"I'd like to know how we got the rights to it," you snorted.

"I'd like to know how we convinced Principal Higgins to let us perform it."

You snorted. "Yeah. Has anybody heard anything about next year's shows?"

"Nothing yet," Robin said.

You harrumphed, your gaze sliding back to Steve and Dustin and found them talking in hushed tones. Steve's face was fixed into an expression of embarrassed confusion.

"Oh, got customers, hang on," Robin said, and served them while you moved off to the side, watching Dustin speak behind his hand. Steve just blinked at him and told him to speak up.

"I intercepted a secret Russian communication!" Dustin said, far too loudly.

The entire store went quiet. You and Robin exchanged a glance.

"Jesus, shhhh!" Steve hissed. "Yeah, okay, that's what I thought you said."

Business as normal resumed and Robin's customers headed for their own table.

You cleared your throat. "Well, I guess I should head out—"

"No, no, no, wait! What about Steve?"

"He's busy, Robs," you said, gesturing to him. Your stomach did flips at the cute, teasing little expression on his pretty face as you caught him saying American heroes. You weren't sure you wanted to know what mischief they were getting into. "I'll just...come back tomorrow."

Robin sighed. "Fine. As long as you let me play matchmaker!"

You rolled your eyes. "You've been doing that for the past, what, four years?"

"Yeah, but this time I might actually be successful!"

You shook your head with a smile. "Catch you later, Robin. Bye, Steve!" you added as you walked past.

Steve's head snapped up. He scrambled up from his seat at the booth. "Hey, wait, wait, where are you going?" He caught your arm and your eyes darted to his fingers on you. Every possible excuse was wiped from your head. "I thought you were gonna stay and...hang out for a little while."

You smiled apologetically. "Yeah, I was going to, but your friend just came back, so I figured I'd just come back another time. So you don't have to...divide your already divided attention, y'know?" You gestured back to the counter.

Though there was understanding in Steve's eyes, he still looked disappointed. "Oh...um... Would you—" He cleared his throat, his cheeks gaining a deep pink shade. "Would you maybe wanna hang out together—" He stopped again. "Would you wanna go on a date? With me? Sometime?"

You couldn't stop the smile that stretched across your face. "When?"

"Oh, you know, whenever you want? If you want to, I mean."

You stopped his rambling with a finger against his lips. His eyes widened. "I want to, Steve. I really, really want to. I always have."

He beamed. "Really?"

"Really," you promised. You patted his chest. "Even in this stupid little uniform."

He laughed. "What do you say to...two days from now? Meet me here at the end of my shift so Robin can make fun of us like always—" You laughed with him. "—and then we can go see a movie?" His thumb caressed the skin of your arm. That single touch alone sent butterflies through your stomach, not to mention the beautiful, sappy look in his eyes.

"I'd like that," you said. "I'd like that a lot."

"And, um, if you'd like, there's a little dinner about ten minutes from here with awesome milkshakes we could go to after."

You beamed. "Oh, Steve."

"Yeah?"

"You're absolutely perfect," you said to him, cupping his cheek and smoothing your fingers over his skin. He hummed happily. "Steve?"

"Hmm?"

"Can I... Do you... Can we kiss? I know it's soon, it's just... I've wanted this for a long time."

Steve beamed. He leaned in, cupping the back of your head and pulling you into him. His lips touched yours, and you swore your body crackled with electricity. A feeling similar to pins and needles, but far more pleasant, spread throughout you.

He made to pull away. You brought both your hands to his cheeks and held him to you, kissing him for all you were worth.

In the booth, Dustin's mouth dropped open. A grin spread across his face.

At the counter, Robin, who couldn't see the kiss but saw your hands slide into Steve's hair, pulled out her whiteboard and added a singular tally into the 'You Rule' column.

She glanced back at you and Steve. Steve had broken the kiss to tug you close to him, hugging you to his chest. You twisted your hand into his hair, smiling over his shoulder, your eyes closed against the rest of the world.

Robin grinned; she guessed the 'You Suck' tallies didn't matter anymore. Steve had found the one his charm worked on.

☞ ❊ ☜

Stranger Things // Steve Harrington

part 2 coming soon!

Taglist: {comment and let me know if you'd like to be added to the S.H. taglist!} @ohatropa@nix-rose@live-the-fangirl-life

[reddesires]

Birds of a feather. [Sunset Trio x Human!Reader]

Implied Noa x Human!Reader

Song fic.

Fandom: (Kingdom Of The) Planet Of The Apes

Rating: No Warning.

A/N: I just had to write this song fic. Birds of a feather just screamed out the Sunset Trio.

I want you to stay

'Til I'm in the grave

'Til I rot away, dead and buried

'Til I'm in the casket you carry

You had never thought that you would up in this kind of situation before, you knew of hardship and bitterness in the unforgiving world outside of the Eagle Clan but you were unfamiliar with the soft look in Noa's eyes as he extended his hand out to help you out of the darkness that shrouded you, you could feel a tingle in your fingertips as you yearned to reach out in return for him, you were wanted by him and you badly wanted him too. It was like him and his clan were the missing pieces that you were looking for. You knew you just may be with them till the day you died.

If you go, I'm going too, uh

'Cause it was always you, alright

And if I'm turning blue, please don't save me

Nothing left to lose without my baby

You're willing to follow Noa anywhere. He was the light source that led you exactly where you are today. He was more than deserving of your loyalty, and you promised yourself that wherever he went, you would go too. You were aware of the risks he was taking when he took you in and tended to you as you lost all the will to live, it was like you were a baby bird that fell from it's nest and Noa revived you just so you could live to see the skies.

Birds of a feather, we should stick together, I know

I said I'd never think I wasn't better alone

Can't change the weather, might not be forever

But if it's forever, it's even better

Seeing the relationship the trio had was something that you found yourself admiring, but it set an almost hollow aching in your chest. You've never bonded to others the way they have bonded with each other. A reserved expression settled on your face as you watched the teasing and happiness radiating of them, your thoughts engulfing you entirely. As your thoughts lured you away, an embrace pulls you back as you snap back to reality, Soona is gently leading you between them all with all the intention of you being one with them. Birds of a feather.

And I don't know what I'm crying for

I don't think I could love you more

It might not be long, but baby, I

In moments of seclusion you couldn't help the tears that refused to be held hostage in the depths of your eyes, your life wasn't an easy one and you've lost more than you've ever received. Being accepted into the Clan, into a tight-knit community of sorts, wasn't an expectation you could've had before, but now you're living in it. You obviously try not to get this emotional in front of the others. You don't want to throw them into a panicked frenzy.

I'll love you 'til the day that I die

'Til the day that I die

'Til the light leaves my eyes

'Til the day that I die

You ran in the opposite direction of the burly ape escaping his grasp, a breathless laugh escaping your lungs as you tried to keep away from the doom of being drenched into the river behind him. Noa was on all fours as he followed after you in another attempt to grab at you. Even though you weren't really fast, you were still very agile in your movements. You bobbed and weaved to your best abilities before he finally caught up to you, you playfully screaming in response to being scooped up by him. Anaya and Soona on the sidelines hooting and hollering at the scene before them, also running to the shallow river to join in on the splash out.

I want you to see, hm

How you look to me, hm

You wouldn't believe if I told ya

You would keep the compliments I throw ya

You watched as Soona easily weaved the twine between her dexterous yet thick fingers. You admired the way she eased the intricacies into the adornment she was invested in. She looked to you in between the process, she was amused by the wondrous look in your eyes as you watched her hands, your expression reminding her of a young chimp that was intrigued by something so mundane. "Soona, it looks so pretty!" You grinned seeing her obvious expertise in the craftsmanship, she preened at your compliment, happily indulging in your commendation.

But you're so full of shit, uh

Tell me it's a bit, oh

Say you don't see it, your mind's polluted

Say you wanna quit, don't be stupid

Noa would sometimes have to talk you down from your self-deprecating headspace. You felt less than deserving of the all good that's come into your life. He doesn't understand why you think that way, and he tells you that it's stupid and it makes you choke on your spit at the dubious tone he takes on in response to your conflicts. "Stupid. Echo belongs..with us." He says gruffly, a pout like expression overtaking his usually kind features. You can't help but shyly chuckle in response as you bump your shoulder with his fur covered one "Yeah, you're right. You're always right. "

And I don't know what I'm crying for

I don't think I could love you more

Might not be long, but baby, I

Don't wanna say goodbye

The tears slipped from your eyes as you looked into the communal fire that lay in front of you, Noa gaze was soft as he hesitantly wiped the stray tear with his calloused finger. You looked to him as he stared back at you wordlessly, you were uncertain if he completely understood the pain you carried but you knew for certain that he was willing to try as he searched your expression with his green irises. Your lips pulled back in a watery smile as you intertwined your smaller finger around his. He was recipient of that.

Birds of a feather, we should stick together, I know ('til the day that I die)

I said I'd never think I wasn't better alone ('til the light leaves my eyes)

Can't change the weather, might not be forever ('til the day that I die)

But if it's forever, it's even better

You laughed as you watched Anaya hang upside down with his feet gripping the branch of the tree, he was handing you a ripe apple and you gratefully accepted his kind gift of the fruit, he always happily shared with you since you ate in smaller portions compared to him. As he looked at you, he tilted his head as a thought crossed his mind. You curiously gazed up at him. "Echo up?" He asked. You smiled as you outstretched your arm for him to take. He hoisted you up with his upper body strength plopping you down on the nearest sturdy branch. "Now Echo can reach apples too!".

I knew you in another life

You had that same look in your eyes

I love you, don't act so surprised

You knew that you loved them. They've become the highlight of your life. You loved Anaya like he was your brother, you loved Soona like she was your sister, and you love Noa with something more and you were unsure what it could mean but you knew that they were all meant to be apart of you in one way or another. You were accepted by them, and you accepted them too.

Birds of a feather.

[atsadi-shenanigans]

What Shall We Become 41 - Lovers

In which the fic finally hits the explicit rating. Partial post on here, I'm afraid!

This is a bad idea. Probably your Worst idea, and that's saying a whole lot. But…

On AO3.

Y’all sail on for a time, on this underground, freshwater sea. Now that it’s done, y’all are safe (there weren’t no more boats on that beach), your body cuts all its strings. You slump down against the wall near the rudder and zone out for a while. Blink and come out of it as the hull scrapes over something.

“Huh?” you say.

You’re in another, smaller cave scooped out the side of the wall. The boat just passes through the mouth. It ain’t gonna hide y’all entire, but you ain’t gonna stick out like the only damn boat on this mill pond of a glass-ass surface, neither.

You reach out to the group chat, a casual swipe and not a request to like, merge. They’re all a lot closer. Most of them are grouped into one spot that feels like a planet tugging you out of orbit to join them.

You’re on the right track, then. The drow are dead. You’re pretty sure that birdshark ain’t gonna burrow through a lakebed.

There’s a small beach in the cave. Astarion has landed y’all onto it.

“We’ll set up camp for now,” he says, and good, you didn’t actually fall asleep and lose the last of your dirt potions.

“You sure?” you say.

“You need rest. And so do I, honestly. I have no idea how people do this all day.”

You smile. Just a little.

Y’all don’t got much to unhaul. Just the bags, his weapons, and the knife he returned to you.

“You wanna teleport down there?” you say, standing on the edge, gripping the rope railing and looking at the water you’ll need to wade through.

Astarion slips his necklace out. You only got a vague sense of a memory: horror and pain and writhing, and then he was suddenly gone. Gone totally, from all your senses, even the brainworm. And when you came out of it, when that spell sloughed off like a dead thing and you looked back, you realized he’d done magic. He’d fucking teleported. And you didn’t think there’s been enough time for him to filter through one of them scrolls?

He runs his thumb down one of the links spilling gemstones down his neckline.

“That was some hot shit,” you say. “And, uh, thank you.”

The man fucking preens. Gives a little bow, complete with a leg sweep. “My pleasure. And it was, wasn’t it?”

“Guess you was right about elves and magic.”

“As if there was a doubt. But to answer your question, no, I don’t think I will. Use it, I mean. It feels rather spent.”

And then he steps off the boat and splashes into the water. You lower yourself to slide down after him. And stagger.

He catches your hand in his. Steadies you.

You have to look away for some reason. “Thanks. You know, again.”

But he doesn’t let go. Just looks at you and your cheeks warm.

Everything that’s happened. All this shit. Part of you is still scraped raw, skin stretched too tight over your bones. It hollows out your insides. Starves you for something. And his hand in yours, something about that trickles into that hollow.

You pull away first. Give a tight smile and a nod, and slosh your way to shore.

There ain’t much camp to set up, neither. Though he does bust out the tent for the first time in a while. He starts securing one side, so you start on the other. But he finishes his portion faster than you, and you feel him standing behind you as you struggle to pull the tether tight enough while also trying to tie it off.

“Allow me,” he says. Kneels next to you.

You been closer than this to him. Hell, his lips have been on your neck, twice. Once when you was between the man’s legs. But there’s something different, now. His solid presence next to you. Strong legs, forearms wired with muscle and sinew. He’s…a man. You don’t normally think of people like that. They’re people, yeah. Coworkers. Friends. Cousins.

Astarion is still Astarion, but he’s also a man and you are suddenly, intensely aware of that for some reason. You feel weirdly empty and you want to lean into him, want—

He finishes up. Turns to you with that smarm-ass smirk. “There. All better.”

Your mouth is too dry. You make yourself nod and stand. Don’t got no provisions but what was in the drow’s bag, and the last time you ate from one of them, you tripped absolute balls.

“Should we start a fire?” you say. Look hopefully at the sand.

“Mmm,” he hums and why in the fuck does that sound shoot straight between your legs. “Best not.”

Y’all stand there, the both of you dripping lake water.

“We should probably change,” you say.

He blinks as if startled. Looks down at himself. “Oh, yes of course.”

Then eyeballs you. Seems to think for a long moment. Because your upper half is dry, but made out of ill-fitted drow armor and a tube top straining for its life not to burst at the seams, and your bottom half is a soaked-through hip wrap.

“I,” he starts. His lips press thin. “I do have a spare tunic. Just one. I haven't’ had the time to mend it, but it may fit you.”

Oh. Huh. That’s perfectly practical. You need to get into dry clothes, obviously. That’s just sensible. And of course it’s his shirt, as you don’t got no spares. It’s all straightforward. Got no reason to make your face fucking burn at the thought of wearing his fucking clothes. It’s for hypothermia, no cause for weird…weird heat flashes.

“Ah, and I do still have a blanket. For…” he waves vaguely at your legs.

Right. His blanket. To use as a skirt.

With no underwear on.

“Sure,” you say. You try to sound airy. You completely fail.

He sort of stands there a moment longer, and then straightens. “Right.”

Ducks into the tent and you listen to him rummage around. When he emerges, he holds a bundle out. Gestures for you to go inside the tent. He also holds his pack.

“Let me know once you’ve finished,” he says. Sets down his things. Starts unlacing and unclasping his own armor. Because he’s going to change out here. Because y’all are gonna be in states of almost-naked with nothing between y’all but a layer of tent canvas (so what’s the difference between a layer of tent and a layer of clothes) (oh no, no ma’am, you are not going there).

You change faster than you ever changed in your whole life. Damn near fling your shit off you and claw the new things back on—the shirt smells vaguely of him, but mostly like something that’s been left in a dresser drawer for a couple of years.

The blanket…

You wrap that sucker twice and tie it off. Consider looping it between your legs and tying that too, but then it looks too much like a fucking diaper and you cannot.

You definitely don’t listen to Astarion changing. Definitely don’t think about the way the air smells of him in here. Or the way it makes your skin feel more sensitive. The way the shirt is baggy along the shoulders and through the chest—you laced it up as tight as you could, but it still dips into a “V” into your cleavage—and the way it brushes over your chest lights up your brain.

This is adrenaline. This is that whole “coming down from a fight” thing you read about. That’s all. Just a chemical reaction. Nothing to it. You’ll calm down and get tired and probably fucking crash, and that’ll be that.

Then Astarion goes and says, “Are you finished, darling?”

The soul jar hangs between your breasts. That is entirely too distracting. You gotta take that off and set it right next to your things (against the back of the tent, away from the opening).

“Yeah,” you say. Keep your voice almost normal and give yourself a mental high five for that victory.

Astarion steps into his own tent. He’s back in his usual camp gear, with them tight pants and the high waist, his floofy shirt tucked in, and the chest unlaced enough you can see the dip of his pecs—

You turn away.

He’s been in the tent with you. He’s been in the tent with you wrapped in nothing but the blanket currently preserving your lower modesty. But he couldn’t see then. It shouldn’t make a difference. You’re more covered now than you was then. But now you gone and kissed him and imagined licking up his neck and you’re wearing his spare shirt.

You set your armor on the side opposite your gear. The ground slopes down, so any runoff shouldn’t soak into nothing else. The hip wrap, you duck outside to fling over the top (thank you Gale for waterproof enchanted tents) to let it drip sadly in the cool air. You hope it dries quick, and you find pants, so you can set the thing on fucking fire.

When you come back inside, Astarion has settled himself criss-cross applesauce at one end of the wooden plank he sleeps on. And there’s nothing for you to fuss with, no more. So you stand there. Like a normal person.

“Do you need a healing potion?” he says. “We have several, now.”

You got some scrapes. Some bruises. A goose egg on the back of your head from when you hit the deck after Bitch Queen mind-whammied you (goddamn, you want something, anything to soothe the scraped-thin feeling).

But Astarion got his ass beat by that shithouse of a drow.

“I’m good,” you say. “What about you? You need blood?”

You’re learning to read him better. Enough to catch the flash of want in his eyes before he smothers it away.

“Are you offering, darling?” There’s something strained about his smile. He’s aiming for his suave, offhand breeziness, you suspect. But something tugs along the edges. Something that thins the air in here.

Beside him sits the bedroll y’all pilfered. There’s enough space you can plonk yourself down opposite him and just be within spitting distance. But though he makes no movement, simply gazes up at you, he seems to take up all the empty space on his side of the tent. His long legs tucked in tight, his narrow hips. The way a tendon shows on his neck as he tilts his head to the side.

Goddamn, it’s warm in here. Are you getting sick?

(You’re not getting sick.)

“Darling,” he says. His voice soft, barely above a whisper. It makes your skin blaze.

You have to look at him. Look him in the eye. It’d be rude not to, huh?

His eyes are different. There’s a…heat, there. One you ain’t seen before.

“Your heart’s racing,” he says. Fucking vampire bullshit he can pick up on that.

You run a hand through your hair. Try to snort. It ain’t no big deal. Y’all’re awkward adults having a hot flash. “Yeah. ‘S warm in here. Maybe I should get some air.”

(You absolutely should not get some air.)

He only regards you a moment. Then lifts a hand, palm out. In that same, soft voice, he says, “Come here.”

You actually, literally gulp. A full on “yikes, Scoob” cartoon swallow. Because…you want to. You want to go to him. Be close to him. Let his proximity soothe the frazzle in you and balm the emotional fuckery all broken and shifting inside your chest.

You want to kiss him. You throb between your legs.

You know these signs in isolation. Have heard others describe them, and have experienced them yourself on your own. Just…never directed at somebody. Never in response to somebody lifting a hand, inviting you.

The tent flap is right there. You rejected him once—and he was a messy bitch about it—but you think he’d let you go. He’s been careful with you since that night, on the forest floor, when you spilled your guts. He’s being careful now. Stays where he is, hand lifted and waiting.

You can leave.

But.

You take a breath. Take a step. Your pulse drowns out all other noise, a hard whooshing in your ears. Your body seems made of warmed molasses. And suddenly, you’re right next to him. Staring at his hand.

And still, he waits. Don’t pressure. Don’t grab you. Don’t even say anything. He lets you stand there and shuffle around like the virginal dork you are.

You slide your hand into his. Hope the blush burning across your skin ain’t as visible as it feels (it is).

His palm is soft. Despite all the knife work, all the archery and picking locks and murder. It’s the first time you’ve touched his bare skin (aside from the fucked up hookup in the woods) that wasn’t running away, fighting somebody, examining a wound, or one of you falling somewhere. It ain’t a survival thing (it feels like one, though).

“It’ll be somewhat difficult to reach you up there, darling,” he says.

Right. Blood. That’s what this is. He needs to feed. You’re flailing around like a weirdo, and the man needs supper.

“How should I, uh,” you say. Intelligently.

His other hand comes up. On his other side. Because that’s where his arm is. So you take that hand in your other one. Which means he tugs you to his front.

You try to breathe. There ain’t enough goddamn air. Did y’all find some kinda low oxygen pocket? You’re only grazing his palm with your fingers, but it feels like what you’d imagine sticking a fork into an electrical socket might be like. Except instead of frying your heart, everything shoots to your groin.

And still, he only looks up at you, face painted in shadows and soft, blue light.

You lower down. One knee on either side, until you straddle his goddamn lap.

“Is this alright?” he says.

It takes an awful lot to do the advanced work of “forming a coherent thought”. You do manage a nod, though.

He lets go of your hands. Your own fall into your lap. You ain’t never had less of an idea of what to do with your own limbs in your entire, corn-husking goddamn life.

Jesus lord, the way he’s looking at you. Different from that night. His eyes a little wider. Somehow warmer. All of it fixed on you and you barely manage not to duck your face to hide.

A touch on your chin. Just under your lower lip.

“May I kiss you?” he says.

Oh hey! You did get that translation right! Ain’t that a fucking treat. Cause if you can focus on that, and not how you can feel your blood pressure spiking in your fucking neck, you might not explode and die.

The whisper of demons past hiss up around your spine to fill your skull. Immodest. Draped over this man and thinking of kissing him? Slut. Whore. Sin.

Shame. SHAME.

All of it clashes together and your hands tremble when you twist your fingers together in your lap.

“Yes,” you say. It comes out a half-broken whisper.

You’re the one who has to lean down, this time. Match the soft tilt of his head and find his lips with your own.

It starts as gentle and chaste as that second time. Hell, you’re just gonna call that your first kiss, fuck it, that one was made with, like, full consent. “Enthusiastic” consent. And if that thought don’t make part of you want to curl up and wither away.

His scent fills your lungs. His touch makes your lips tingle, spreads out over your whole face until the soft exhale through his nose brushes your cheeks and you almost fucking moan.

It ain’t that kissing itself is so…so…this. It’s that it’s him. That y’all are doing this. That you get to touch somebody and feel them and you ain’t never been this close to nobody and your bones rattle together with the effort of not flailing around.

You saw a video one time of a baby trying ice cream for the first time. Scoop was as big as the little dude’s head. He got one taste, went full on feral, and dragged that blob to his face.

It’s that same feeling that brings your fingers up to curl into the frills of his shirt. He’s gotta feel that, because he makes a whole ass sound against your lips and that damn near sets your hair on fire. Then his tongue flicks out, brushes carefully over your upper lip.

You don’t even think. You want. You open your mouth.

He must’a swigged water at some point. You catch hints of metal on his tongue, clinging to the inside of his mouth, but also, like, him. You’re tasting him.

This time, you cannot stop the tiny noise that escapes you.

He pulls back at that. His eyes look darker, and it takes you a second to realize that’s cause his pupils is blown right out. He looks like a cat that wants to bite you.

Instead, he comes back in. But not at your mouth. Plants a peck on the corner of your lips and then moves down. To the underside of your jaw. Places cool, open-mouthed kisses down your neck and you gasp and arch in his lap. You can’t help it.

Oh god, you ain’t never made yourself feel like that.

More, more. The selfish gremlin part of you crawls outta the cave in your head, chanting and shrieking.

“Astarion,” you say. You ain’t sure what should come after that.

He hums against your skin and his arms come up to wrap around you. Draw you against him. Your legs is splayed wide, with only his blanket to cover you. You’re wide open above that.

He kisses down, down. Traces his tongue along your collarbone and damn, you could cut glass with your nipples right now. He pauses at the neckline of your tunic. The one that dips low. Looks up at you, and the man is lost in the sauce.

“May I?” he says.

Rest on AO3 to avoid any ban hammer.

[giveafike]

TLDR: Halloween with your boyfriend, Ben!

Word count + info: 4.8k. Dialogue (conversation and azzie commentary throughout).

Warnings + Content Ahead: SFW but also...lwky PG 13. Suggestive themes, but nothing too NSFW. Mention of a burn injury and gagging in between (in a SFW way) so if that's something to put you off, read cautiously!

Azzie Notes ✚: YAYY halloween post! I couldn't pick what kind of blurb to write so...I wrote a bunch of mini ones! I tried something new, idk if I fw this format or not, you guys lmk honestly how you feel about bulleted posts.

ALSO! Stay safe tonight guys! Idk about you guys but where I'm from, Halloween can get a bit crazy or out of control, so whatever you do tonight, be responsible and sensible for this weekend! And happy Diwali to anyone celebrating - diye jalein aur mithaiyan chalen 🤭 bas khushiyaan hi khushiyaan ho (someone send me ukadiche modak PUHLEASE) 🤍🪔

I'm literally writing this part on the train home from work lmao, I'm gonna get on my laptop and get the big story up too, idk why it didn't upload yday but it's not here in my drafts or scheduled anymore! I'll figure it out tho dw.

Socials + Updates: twitter ( @azziegivesafike)

————————————————————————

Halloween'ing - B.T.S.

It must've been the very first time Ben was home for a holiday that wasn't Christmas or New Year's and God, were you excited.

Sure, losing in Paris sucked but the amount of time you could spend and things you could do together was exhilarating. You were practically buzzing off of the walls with ideas.

Halloween wasn't something you had given much care or notice to since your childhood, but now there was a whole new rush of activities and warmth surrounding the beautiful season, something you welcomed warmly.

how many homemade treats you could make, pumpkin carving with Ben, maybe even dress up together as a couple...

Ben was more eager about the idea of candy (and you in a sexy Halloween costume)

You could drone on and on about how good those Trader Joe Pumpkin Spice cookies were, you never expected yourself to fall for the Pumpkin Spice craze but here you were, talking Ben's ear off.

He rolled his eyes pretending to be nonchalant

even though he'd be reaching for another cookie within a few minutes.

"Just need to check they're not poisoned...are these laced with sumn'?"

A couple of days later, when you and Ben got back from the pumpkin patch, you laid out your carving kit on the island, practically jumping to get stuck in.

Was far from picture-perfect though.

Ben's kryptonite was the damn pumpkin from the get-go.

His shoulders are up to his ears as he leans over his pumpkin, cautiously poking at the hollowed-out insides with a look of pure dread.

You’ve literally provided him with every scooper and tool imaginable, trying to make this as clean as possible, but he’s still staring into the pumpkin like it’s some kind of orange horror show.

He holds his breath, then takes a tentative scoop, immediately gagging at the smell.

“Oh my god…babe, it’s like-” he shudders, hand over his nose, “like mouldy socks and old food had a baby.”

His face scrunches up as he recoils, practically jumping back. “Nah, no way.”

The sight is so absurd you burst into laughter, doubling over as he waves his hands like he’s trying to shake off the memory. "It’s not that bad! See!” you say, holding up a slimy handful of seeds with a wicked grin.

He gags, shuddering and shuts his eyes.

You’re insane if you think this is normal. This pumpkin needs, like, a hazmat suit or something.”

He flinches again, rubbing his nose like he can’t get the smell out of it, even though he hasn’t touched it with his bare hands yet.

He's deadass wearing medical gloves for this.

“Ben,” you gasp between laughs, wiping a tear from your eye. “It’s just a pumpkin. You’re acting like it’s a dead possum or something!”

“Smells like one,” he mutters darkly, gingerly pushing the spoon back toward the orange insides, his hand shaking just enough to make you lose it all over again.

Took maybe like, an hour and a half for him to de-gut the pumpkin

each attempt is met with a new level of melodrama, and by the fourth scoop, you’re clutching your sides, actually having to pause because you can barely breathe from laughing so hard.

He manages to carve out some semblance of a face, albeit a lopsided one with stupid teeth and tiny eyes that look more befuddled than scary.

“See? Told you I could do it,” he says, though his voice is shaky as if he’s barely recovered from a traumatising experience.

Such a diva, oh my god bruh.

You take one look at the pumpkin’s wonky, wide-eyed expression and nearly snort.

It's giving that "dumb ahh pumpkin" TikTok trend.

It’s actually the most ridiculous thing you’ve ever seen.

“Ben, it’s adorable.”

“S’posed to be scary…”

You glance over at him, lips twitching as you pull out your phone, quietly queuing up that TikTok audio. You hold in your laughter as you film the pumpkin with the distorted “pumpkin!” sound blaring, then pan the camera up to Ben.

The look of stunned betrayal on his face as he realises what you’ve done is absolutely priceless, his jaw dropping before he tries to reach for the phone.

The video catches his reaction in perfect two-second glory, and you both watch it back, his stunned face paired with the ridiculous audio, unable to stop laughing.

As you clean up, (Ben finally taking off his surgical blue gloves and scrubbing his hands away like a surgeon) you set the pumpkins outside and place the tealight candles inside, smiling at your actually scary pumpkin and...

that dumb pumpkin Ben made.

It's cute though, side by side, in its own way.

But you can't spend forever admiring them, it's time to make the snacks for your movie marathon tonight!

It was Ben's idea, he had a list of candy to buy and was on popcorn duty but the real star of the show was gonna be the Halloween classic; candy apples.

You both set up in the kitchen, bowls and ingredients spread out, ready to take on the challenge together.

Ben eyes the setup, grinning and rolling up his sleeves like he’s ready to make a masterpiece, even if you’re still suspicious of his pumpkin-carving skills.

The air is still sweet from the pumpkin guts, but with the sugar and cinnamon in the mix now, the atmosphere feels a bit warmer and cozier.

"Just you watch,” he says, giving you a confident wink. “I can make these apples look better than anything you’d find at a fair.”

It's adorable seeing Ben so confident and yet so easy by your side, almost competitive in his ways but not actually challenging or pushing you.

As you dip the apples one by one into the pot of Ben's hot sugar syrup, the colours come out glossy and bright red.

He might be onto something, these are looking pretty good!

As you both move onto the 4th one, you hear a small sizzle, then a loud, sharp hiss.

“Oh—ow, ow! Damn, that’s hot as fuck!”

You grab his hand immediately, your fingers gently running over the reddening spot on his palm.

“Ben! I told you to be careful! Sugar burns like crazy.”

“I knowwwww, I know,” he whines, wincing.

You lead him over to the sink and run cool water over his hand. You can’t help but smile softly as you fuss over him, pressing a soft kiss to his knuckles while the cold water soothes his burn, holding his fingers in your hand as you focus on the pained spot.

“You’re such a disaster in the kitchen, you know that?”

“Hey, I was just…testing the temperature, tha's all.”

You roll your eyes and wrap his hand in a small ice pack for a bit, lingering there in the quiet, the coolness of the ice melting away any sting, until his hand feels better and you’re ready to tackle the apples again.

But no sooner than you start, he picks one up-

idiot

eyeing it as if he’s about to bite down without a second thought.

“BEN, ITS STILL SCALDING PUT IT DOW-”

You grab his wrist moving the semi-hardened apple away before he injures himself more.

"Just testin' your reflexes" he mumbles, laughing a bit.

"Sure."

Ben stepped out to light your pumpkins on the porch doorstep as the sun set, smiling and taking a quick photo, admiring the silly tradition spent together.

The house filled with the scent of caramel, you and Ben settle under a pile of blankets over you both, a bowl of popcorn wedged between your legs, and an assortment of snacks within easy reach for a spooky movie marathon.

He went out for a bit to "go grab something"

only to come back with some stupid clown mask, hiding behind the sofa to startle you.

After you screamed and he apologised with kisses and cuddles (after minutes of laughing and mocking you), you dimmed the lights and settled in, starting with a classic slasher that sets the spooky mood right from the start.

It doesn’t take long for the jump scares to start, and though you brace yourself, there’s one moment that catches you off guard, making you gasp and clutch his arm tightly. Ben laughs, his hand sliding around your shoulders, pulling you closer.

“Spooked already?”

“No! Not scared, just…caught off guard.”

Ben nestles his head against yours, finding himself kissing the top of your head, his arm around you as he rubs soothing circles on your arm.

He's doing all that to distract himself from the jumpscares btw.

Bc he's getting just as startled as you, if not more.

He completely zones out while watching and the jumpscares jolt through him, snapping him back to the movie plot, which then scares him even more - like, wdym there's a killer on the loose and he's literally right beside the main character?!?

But comforting you, in its odd way makes him feel comforted and safe too.

He can't help but find himself enthralled in all the silly traditions and festivities around Halloween just because it's by your side.

As the next one rolls in, he glances down at you and peppers kisses along your hairline, his lips warm and gentle.

Though you’re locked in and wrapped up in the tension of the movie, you feel safe and completely at ease in his arms.

Doesn't last long though.

As the hours creep into the deep of night it seems like the movies get spookier, creepier, and more disturbing, and his thumb rubs soft circles on your shoulder whenever a scene begins, almost instinctively comforting you as he whispers soft reassurances.

You can't even listen to what he's saying, your clammy hands gripping his arm as you squeal, failing to tear your eyes away.

"Oh my god, Be- BEN!! OH MY GOD!"

He just covers your eyes with his hand

"Ben, I can't see"

"Good, it's awful, don't watch this scene"

He feels super cool and smart for pulling that move out btw. “Just another day of protecting my girl”

By the time the credits roll on the last film, you’re tucked against him, drowsy, exhausted and a sugar crash hitting you as the remains of the candied apples and popcorn are strewn over the table.

He glances down, his fingers brushing your cheek, and tilts your chin up for a sweet, lingering kiss.

“Still scared?” he asks in a soft voice.

“Maybe a little,"

“Good,” he murmurs, his smile warm. “Means I get to hold you all night."

What an opportunist.

It's the night before Halloween before you know it, the excitement of pumpkin carving, candied apples, and scary movies behind you.

Ben suggests a late-night drive!

"Let's see the decorations, it's a trip down my memory lane"

He's got that :D face going on, how could you even resist?

The air is cool and crisp as you both pile into his car, wrapped in hoodies and each other’s warmth.

Ben reaches over, like he always does, lacing his fingers with yours as he pulls out of the driveway, his thumb brushing soft, slow circles over your hand.

The neighbourhood is dressed for the season, with yards filled with skeletons, giant spiders, and strings of orange and purple lights that flicker in the dark.

Some houses go all out, with life-size ghost projections, speakers, massive jumpscare decorations and fog machines casting an eerie glow across the lawns, while others keep it simple with a row of glowing pumpkins along the steps.

It’s like Halloween magic has taken over, and the streets are a soft blend of shadows and a warm, festive glow amidst the golden leaves scattered all over.

“See that one? That’s where the Johnsons live. They’ve been doin’ that witch since I was like, I dunno, 10? Never changes. Every year, same decorations.”

Ben points out more houses, telling you which ones hand out full-size candy bars, which houses skimped out and which ones used to scare him when he and Emma were kids.

“You’d be one of those kids who scoped out the best houses before Halloween, wouldn’t you?”

“Absolutely. Me, Emma and my buddies’d race for the full-sized bars, but if we made it to Mr. O’Malley’s house last? He’d run outta candy and give us IOU's for his store instead. That was the jackpot right there,” He laughs, squeezing your hand as he reminisces.

You nod, listening as he goes on, getting lost in the stories, the way his eyes sparkle a bit more with each memory. He talks about the high school haunted houses, how his friends would sneak around, trying to out-scare the actors, and the endless piles of candy that took him weeks to finish.

How Emma wouldn't let him tag along with her and her friends because he was embarrassing her.

His voice softens as he describes the little thrills and mischievous moments, almost as if Halloween itself has this permanent spot in his heart.

He drives slower, letting the headlights illuminate the way as you soak in the charm of it all and the softness of being alone together.

You rest your head against the window, his hand warm in yours, the night stretching on in the glow of the lights and the quiet roads.

“Hard to believe I get to spend it with the love of my life this year,” he says after a while, glancing over with a soft smile, his voice is barely above a whisper.

It's almost like he was saying it to himself, more than to you.

You kiss the back of his hand, holding it there, feeling the warmth of the moment entirely.

As you drive past another house, one with an elaborate ghost setup and an old-fashioned lamp swinging like a haunted porch light, he points, chuckling. “Man, they’d have the best haunted houses. I’d be scared stiff. Now? Not so much.”

"Uh-huh, sure, Ben. I reckon you'd still get scared."

"We can pretend like I’m the brave one.”

“Oh, so you’re brave now?” you tease, raising an eyebrow.

“Only when you’re here,” he says, brushing a soft kiss over your knuckles.

"So cheesy, Shelton"

"And you eat it up every time" he quips back, smiling.

The drive back is peaceful, almost like you’re kids again, wrapped in an innocent kind of wonder and admiration that the holiday brings.

When he finally pulls into his driveway, he parks but doesn’t make a move to get out.

Instead, he rests his head on the seat, just watching you, studying you.

The moonlight catches in his eyes, and he gives you that sweet, sleepy look that’s filled with all the warmth and happiness you could ask for, both of you bathed in the moonlight together.

The next day is Halloween, and no surprise, Ben forgot to mention something:

there's a party...

and he said you're going....

"Ben, what the FUCK are we gonna wear? I don't even have anything remotely close to a costume and-"

"Victoria's Secret model?"

He gets a punch to the arm for that quip. He had that ready and blurted it out wayyyy too quickly.

Once again, he's an opportunist!

Can't fault him! Don't hate the player, hate the game or whatever those finance bros say.

You both end up going to a costume warehouse, which, to no surprise (except Ben's), is practically ransacked and has just a small selection left.

"Wow! These racks and shelves are almost empty!"

"Yeah Ben, it's quite literally Halloween day..."

"Oh, yeah..."

"yep."

By the time you make your way to the ladies' section, Ben’s excitement is borderline overwhelming.

He's tossing costumes in your direction, with each pick, his grin only grows, that voice of his thickening with each comment.

Bet you can't guess what kind of costumes he's looking at!

“Alright, babe, here’s what I’m thinkin’.”

He hands you a bag with a red devil outfit...

...which is basically a glorified bodysuit.

“This, or-wait, wait, wait…”

He reaches back and pulls out a barely-there nurse outfit.

“Maybe this? C’mon, tell me you wouldn’t look hot as hell in it.”

"Oh my god, Catwoman?! Baby...Catwoman! You'd look so fuckin' good as...wait what's this one? Oh! Or, how about a cop? It comes with handcuffs!!!"

He's practically blushing with several skimpy costumes in his arms, a gummy smile wide, and eyes massive like a teenager looking at a Playboy magazine for the first time.

“I was actually thinking… Fiona, from Shrek. The green body paint, prosthetic nose and all.”

His face falls in sheer horror.

He just stands there, slackjawed, like you’ve crushed his biggest dreams.

“Fiona…as in an ogre? He says the word like it’s filthy like he’s never even wanted to say it out loud.

“Yep! I could even add some fake dirt on my body, really make it realistic…”

Ben’s just staring at you, his face still frozen in disbelief. “Naw…nah, you didn’t just say that.”

He waves a hand up and down in front of you like he’s trying to wipe the thought from his mind.

“Babe, we’re supposed to look good, not…swampy.”

With a grin, you roll your eyes and you eventually head toward the dressing room, pulling on the first costume in his pile that he gave you to throw on.

Of course, it's a flirty Snow White costume; a corset with puff sleeves and tiny skirt, knee-high socks and a headband. When you step out, Ben’s mouth drops again, but this time with a grin that spreads across his face.

“See now that is what I’m talkin’ about,” he drawls, sliding a hand around your waist, fingers tracing the fabric. “Got me forgettin’ my own name…”

You roll your eyes, swatting his hand away. “Ben, it’s just Snow White!”

“Just Snow White?” he repeats, shaking his head. “Nah, I’m thinkin’ you’re the finest Snow White.” His fingers drift just a bit too low, making you laugh as you smack his hand away again.

Back in the dressing room, you slip into the next one, a green Tinkerbell dress that’s even shorter and lined with sparkles.

You don’t even have to walk out fully before Ben’s already there, grinning like he’s been waiting for hours.

“Look at you, my lil’ pixie…” He wraps his arm around your waist and pulls you close, lips brushing your ear. “Darlin’, I don’t think I’m gonna let you wear this one outta my sight.”

“Are you even paying attention to the costumes or are you just looking for excuses?” you tease.

You're trying to ignore the butterflies in your stomach as his eyes practically undress you on the spot.

“Alright, alright.” He laughs, backing off as you return to the dressing room one more time to pull on the cop outfit.

His eyes roam over every inch, pausing at the handcuffs dangling from your fingers and the baton tucked into your belt, wrapped around your hips.

“Oh, hell yeah,” he mutters, his gaze darkening. He steps up, his hands back on your waist, fingers digging in a little tighter.

“You’re arrestin’ me, right? Pleaseeee say you’re here to arrest me.”

“You need to behave if we're gonna get out of this store with a costume for us,” you say, laughing as he tugs you closer, his eyes glued to the baton you’re tapping on his shoulder.

“Not a chance, babe.” He grins, leaning in. “Now, why don’t I go grab that badge of yours so I can behave just a lil worse…”

You shove him off with a scoff and an eye roll but that smile on your face deceived your annoyed expression.

You had a little plan schemed, all look you’d picked, your surprise masterpiece:

a head-to-toe roach costume with long, wiry legs, little antennae, and bug eyes on top.

You wriggle into the thick styrofoam costume, taking a deep breath before stepping out in all your creepy-crawly glory.

“Benny?” you call in a sing song voice, trying to keep a straight face. “Got the perfect costume.”

He turns, expecting another flirty outfit, and instead just stands there, blinking.

He’s completely silent.

A whole ten seconds pass before he finally clears his throat, rubbing the back of his neck.

“…Nah, babe,” he says, voice almost pitying. “Nah, this…this just ain’t right. Not right at all.”

You hold up your arms and wiggle the little roach legs at him, the same way you wiggled in the Snow White costume.

“What, it’s not cute?”

“I- baby, look- you know I love you…” he starts, trying and failing to keep from laughing as he waves at you. “But I just can’t- I can’t even look at you right now. That’s straight-up trauma in a costume.” He finally lets out a snort, covering his face with his hands.

Finally, after giving him a good laugh, you change into the last one, the one you’ve both been waiting for.

It’s an angel costume with a touch of elegance: a top made of shimmering gold metal feathers that shine under the store lights, a golden headpiece that makes you look almost ethereal, and long, graceful wings. The skirt flares out in layers of white and gold, making you look like you’ve stepped straight out of a dream.

When you step out, Ben’s quiet, the devilish grin on his face replaced by something a little softer, his breath hitching a bit, his gaze a little more serious as he takes you in.

“Now this,” he says, moving closer, reaching for your hand. “This is somethin’ else, darlin’. You look exactly what you are, an angel.”

“Good enough for Halloween?” you ask, giving a little twirl as the golden wings glint in the light.

“Oh, way better.” He nods, a wicked glint in his eyes. “Cause I’ll be right there as your devil.”

He hands you the bag for his costume, a black shirt, unbuttoned pretty low, black pants, and, of course, dark wings and horns.

“We’re gonna make one hell of a pair.” His gaze drifts over you again, taking in every detail.

“Angel like you with a devil like me might just be our best look yet.”

From the look in his eyes, you know this Halloween party is going to be a night to remember.

He paid for the costumes of course, btw.

Only after making a million innuendos about you being an angel.

"Y'know I thought angels were pure, you can get pretty nasty when you-"

"Shut it."

"Yes, m'darlin' ".

As you approach the house party, the bass thumps in your chest, seeing all sorts of costumes around you, some faces familiar to Ben, childhood friends and college peers alike.

After a few shots, a couple of drinking games and slurred conversations, you and Ben melt into each other in the cramped living room, his arm wrapped tight around your waist, fingers dipping dangerously low.

His other hand slips along the curve of your hip, thumb grazing your bare skin, sending a thrill up your spine.

The dim lights reflect off your golden feathers, casting a halo around you, but Ben’s dark eyes are glued to yours, unrepentant, that devilish grin driving you insane.

How in character!

His lips brush your ear, his breath warm and his words slurred and heavy with a bit too much vodka.

“You’re… somethin' else tonight, y’know that?” he murmurs, words melting into the bass line, his drawl thicker, slow and dragging as he pulls you even closer.

“Got every guy in here starin' at my angel…”

You laugh, tipsy, rolling your eyes. “Pretty sure they’re all lookin’ at you, devil boy.”

He just smiles, his hands sliding lower, pressing you tight against him as he lets out a low laugh. “Naw, they’re jealous,” he mumbles, lips grazing your neck as he speaks. “Cause I’m the only one you’re gettin’ all worked up over…”

You feel the heat rising between you two, the music, the drinks, the dim lights casting everything in a hazy blur.

He pulls you in, tilting your face up, his lips finding yours, messy and rough as if he’s been waiting all night to feel your mouth on his.

His hand cradles your face, fingers slipping into your hair, holding your jaw, tugging you close as he kisses you like he’s been starving for it.

He tastes like dark liquor and something a little sweeter, and when you pull away, you can’t tell if it’s his lips that are wet or yours.

He’s breathing heavily, eyes locked on you, that stupid, sinful grin spreading wider.

“Wanna get outta here?” he whispers, voice barely louder than the music.

You don’t even hesitate, nodding as he takes your hand and tugs you through the crowd, your pulse racing.

His grip is tight, his eyes glinting with that familiar, heated look, and you can’t help but laugh as he leads you out of the house and into the warm Floridian night.

You barely make it to outside, stumbling onto the lawn, before his hands are on you again, pressing you against the trunk of a tree, his mouth crashing into yours. You moan into him, hands running over his chest, feeling the heat radiating off him even through his shirt.

“Oh, Ben…” you breathe, leaning back as he drags his mouth along your neck, nipping and teasing, his laughter low and husky against your skin.

“God, you’re perfect,” he slurs, mouth brushing up the line of your jaw as his hand slides around your waist.

You’re ready for him to take you right then and there, leaves crunching underfoot, your fingers slipping under his shirt, tugging it open just a little further when-

“Wait, wait, wait,” he mutters, pulling back suddenly.

His eyes are wide and hazy, his head perks up as he looks over his shoulder for a moment and blinks, his mouth twisting into a grin as he takes your hand again.

“Hold up. Got an even better idea.”

You blink, trying to catch your breath, utterly dazed. “Wha-…what are you talking about?”

He’s already leading you down the sidewalk, back towards the rows of decorated houses, each porch lit up with Halloween lights and pumpkins.

You stop dead in your tracks, your lips still swollen from his kisses, realising he’s actually serious.

“Ben, you’re not-no way, no shot.” You laugh, almost disbelieving as he walks up the first driveway, holding your hand and looking back with that same goofy smile.

No way.

“Trick or treatin'!” he says, completely earnest, already reaching for the doorbell.

He's looking at you all innocent, like he wasn't being handsy with you just 2 minutes ago.

You stare at him, utterly floored. “Ben, you’re seriously…you’re just gonna go trick-or-treating? Right now? Like this?”

“Hell yeah!” he says, as if this is the most normal thing in the world, shrugging.

“I’m in costume, you’re in costume…what’s stoppin’ us?”

Before you can even answer, the door swings open, revealing an elderly woman with a massive bowl of candy. She takes one look at Ben in his black wings, the gold feathers shining around you, and lets out a cackle of laughter.

“Now, I didn’t expect trick-or-treaters this age tonight!” she says, eyes bright with amusement as she holds the candy out. “You two are just adorable. D'ya need a bag, hun?”

Ben grins, holding his hand out. “Thank you, ma’am. I mean…Halloween’s all about free candy, right?”

His boyish cheeky charm works like a treat, even on the old ones. smh.

With a warm chuckle, she drops a couple of candy bars into his hands before handing him a bag before she waves goodbye.

Ben shoves the candy in, already heading down to the next house, practically skipping with that same childish grin.

“C’mon, m'angel, let’s go score some more!”

You can’t help but laugh, shaking your head as you trail along beside him.

The night takes on a new light, the alcohol still buzzing through you both as you hit every house on the block, each one adding more candy to Ben’s rapidly filling bag.

He grabs an empty trick-or-treat bag left on a stoop, offering it to you with a dramatic flourish, and before long, you’re both stumbling from house to house, holding hands and giggling like you’re kids again.

Ben feeds you chocolate in between houses, his eyes soft and a little drowsy, that irresistible grin plastered on his face.

The two of you wander holding hands, his devil horns slightly askew, his shirt still messily half-buttoned as you both talk in low, slurred voices.

Somewhere along the way, you both end up sitting on the curb since your feet hurt.

You both go digging through the bags like kids, surrounded by a mix of Reese’s, Milky Ways, and Twix bars.

“Still thinkin’ you’re too old for trick-or-treatin’?” he teases, popping a Snickers in his mouth.

“Fine,” you admit, laughing, leaning into his side. “Guess I can kinda see the appeal.”

He just grins, sliding his arm around your shoulders, pulling you in as the streetlights flicker above you, pressing soft kisses to your hair.

In the quiet night, surrounded by candy wrappers and the warm glow of Halloween night, you’re perfectly happy, just you, your devil, and a bag full of treats.

There was nothing sweeter than spending Halloween with Ben <33

[epicbuddieficrecs]

Weekly Recap | January 29th-February 4th 2024

Ao3 history still fucked :/

Repeating again: if I've ever reblogged one of your WIP fics, consider this my permission to tag me in them!!

Complete

🔥 Say You Were Made to Be Mine by ElvenSorceress/ @elvensorceress (Canon Divergent - Different First Meeting, Soulmarks AU | 11K | Teen): It's Valentine's Day 2018, and Eddie saves a man from choking to death in the middle of a restaurant. It's only after the man is rushed away by paramedics that Eddie realizes his hands are green. The man he saved is his soulmate. And he doesn't even know his name let alone how to find him.

For hope I'd give my everything by dragon_rider/ @evanbdiaz (Post S1, CW: Eating Disorders | 8K | Mature): After the disaster of his first date with Abby, Buck’s relationship with food changes rather dramatically.

where would you rather die by tempestaurora/ @tempestaurora (Pacific Rim AU | 4K | Teen): “Care to explain why you’ve brought a child to a military base?” Bobby asked when they returned. The base was alight with celebration; the day had been saved, the world was safe for a little longer. “Uh.” Buck glanced back at Christopher, currently talking to Karen Wilson from the research division. “He was an unaccompanied minor?” “So we leave him with the social workers, with first responders,” Bobby said, a pointedly raised eyebrow in his direction. “His dad’s a cadet at the PPDC,” Buck replied. “And his grandmother probably died in the attack, so it just felt… I don’t know, morally right?”

i've been dying to catch you dizzy by diazbegins/ @evanbegins (Esablished Buddie, Fluff | 2K | Teen): Eddie and Buck go ice-skating. Oh, and Chris is there too!

🔥 The Aftermath of Liberation and Love Confessions by ElvenSorceress/ @elvensorceress (Post-S5E9, Getting Together | 17K | Teen): Still, Buck says, “Yeah, Eddie. Why don’t you teach us. What would you say if you were professing your love?” You mean something besides, “In the event of my untimely death, I made you legal guardian of my child”? ~ In which Eddie comes out, sexuality is complicated but coffee is not, Buck makes an excessive salad and is also roasted, everyone has a love confession, and December is the most dramatic time of year.

let the choir bells sing by foxwatson/ @eddiediazes (Madney Wedding, Getting Together | 3K | Teen): All at once, Eddie has an idea. It’s definitely the stupidest idea he’s ever had in his entire life, but he has it all the same, and there’s no time to come up with a better one. He puts his hands on Buck’s elbows, tugs him in closer, and says, “Kiss me.”

When You Broke Her Heart, I'm Watching it Burn by ElvenSorceress/ @elvensorceress (Post-S5E11, Buck/Taylor Break-Up | 4K | General): When Buck confesses he kissed someone, Taylor makes an assumption about who. Eddie deals with what all of it means for his own future while picking up the pieces for both Buck and Taylor.

🔥Plus or Minus by ElvenSorceress/ @elvensorceress (S5 | 10K | General): “Why are you cleaning out the kitchen? Why is my stuff in boxes?” Eddie slows, then stops. “Figured you’d want it back.” It’s quieter. Pained. When he says it. “I haven’t decided anything. So unless you’re kicking me out—” “Buck. Come on.” He’s not angry or snapping. It’s still quiet, and somehow that hurts even more. He’s resigned and defeated, and Buck is a scooped out, gutted, hollow shell. “I know how this ends the same way you do. You want to be loved, you want to be married. You’re going to leave. Might as well…” His voice cracks before he can finish and get it under control. “Shouldn’t drag it out.” ~ Taylor is offered a job across the country and asks Buck to go with her. Buck has to figure out if he wants to start over or if he has a reason to stay right where he is.

Color Him Father, Color Him Love by ElvenSorceress/ @elvensorceress (Post-S6E12 | 3K | General): “Connor was worried he wouldn’t feel like it’s really his kid. But I put him back in Connor’s arms, and I could see the way his face changed. The way he lit up and teared up and might have cried because that is his son. And all I could think was that I know that feeling. I know what it feels like to hold a kid and care about them and want to protect them. But it’s so different when it feels like they’re yours. It’s so much more. Even if you didn’t— Even if it’s not biological and you’re not. You’re not really the father. Because I hold Chris— I hold him and I feel like he is part of me.” ~ Buck has a revelation about what he is to Chris. And to Eddie.

turns out freedom ain’t nothing but missing you by Daffi_990_ao3/ @daffi-990 (Post-S6, Getting Together | 4K | Not rated): To protect his heart, Eddie pulls away from Buck when he starts dating Natalia. When he decides to move to B-shift, Buck finally confronts him and certain feelings finally come to light.

with blood in my nose by hammersmiths/ @henswilsons (Canon Divergent, S4E14: Survivors | 9K | Teen): The spray of blood hits him, first. And then Buck drops like a fucking stone. or, Buck is the one who gets shot instead of Eddie.

🔥 3 Men 1 Baby by Tizniz/ @tizniz (Canon Divergent, Accidental Baby Acquisition | 21K | General): It’s a good thing the groceries have made it to the table, because the eggs would certainly have cracked from Eddie dropping the bags to the floor. Because Evan Buckley was standing there holding a baby. A baby. OR: Buck, Eddie, and Chim get a baby. Here's what happens.

you can see it with the lights out (you are in love) by wikiangela/ @wikiangela (Post-S6, Love Confessions | 5K | General): Turns out, Natalia does see Buck, though maybe not in the way he expected. In which Natalia realizes Buck's in love with Eddie and help him see it, too.

we could be corny by devirnis/ @devirnis (Established Buddie | 1,6K | General): Or, Chim and Maddie have Buck and Eddie over for their first official couples’ game night.

🔥 Facets of a Diamond by countrygirlsfun/ @acountrygirlsfun (Canon S1-S2 | 35K | Teen): Southern California is where Buck has spent the most time since leaving Pennsylvania. Of all the places he’s lived and worked over the last few years, this place is where he decided to stay. It’s why he picked LAFD: to put down some roots. It’s warm, has the ocean, and it’s the opposite coast of his parents. So if he’s going to be here for a while, he thinks he’ll need to make an effort to let people in.

a little of that human touch by devirnis/ @devirnis (Established Buddie, Secret relationship | 1,5K | General): Buck closes his book and places it on the coffee table, pushing himself up a little more as Eddie trudges over to him. “Couldn’t sleep either?” Buck asks quietly. He wanders over to the far end of the couch and Buck moves his feet out of the way so Eddie can sit down. “Woke up and you were gone,” Eddie murmurs, pulling Buck’s feet into his lap.

you kiss me in a way that's gonna screw me up forever by heartbeatdiaz/ @loserdiaz (Getting Together, Valentine's Day | 2K | Teen): The LAFD throws a Valentine's Day charity event, there's a kissing booth and Eddie is definitely not going insane with jealousy.

🔥 Winter Prayer by Daisies_and_Briars/ @cal-daisies-and-briars (Road Trip, Buck&Bobby&May | 18K | General): When a work conflict prevents Athena from accompanying Bobby to Minnesota for the ten year anniversary of his family dying, Buck and May offer to go instead. Over the course of the trip, they all learn more about each other, and Bobby faces his grief.

Fractals from the Lightning Bolt by letmetellyouaboutmyfeels/ @letmetellyouaboutmyfeels (One Shots Collection | 47/54 | 87K | Not Rated): A collection of oneshots, some originally posted on tumblr. Each chapter is individually rated.

47. But What if They Were Secret Dating (S4, Explicit)

You Can't Surprise Evan Buckley by Daisies_and_Briars/ @cal-daisies-and-briars (Established Buddie, Fluff | 5K | Mature): Ten months into their relationship, Eddie has not been able to execute a romantic surprise for Buck. But on Buck's birthday, things are about to change. (Part 2 of Birthday Surprises & Other Shenanigans)

WIP

because we'll all arrive in heaven alive by callmenewbie/ @puppyboybuckley (Post-S6, Disaster Fic | 1/9 | 7K | Explicit): During a search and rescue, Eddie disappears without a trace, leaving Buck to grapple with the sudden possibility of a life without him.

🔥 Things We're All Too Young to Know by Daisies_and_Briar / @cal-daisies-and-briars (Canon, S1 through S6 | 111/? | 315K | Mature): This is a love story. Even if it doesn’t always look like it. Even if it doesn’t always feel like it. A look back on Eddie and Buck's lives up to now, and what led them to each other, interpreted from the current 9-1-1 canon.

🔥 A Minor Delay by rainbow_nerds/ @rainbow-nerdss (Post-S6/S7 Spec | 6/11 | 21K | Mature): Almost a year after the bridge collapse, a lot has changed. The team are scattered—Bobby and Athena on their Honeymoon, Hen on adoptive parent's leave, and Buck and Eddie... They may still work together, still have movie nights with Chris whenever they can, but things have changed. With Maddie and Chimney's wedding around the corner, Buck tries to make it perfect. And maybe, along the way, he might figure out why everything still feels... wrong.

if i need to rearrange my particles — i will for you. by dylaesthetics (Post-S6, Social Media fic | 1/16 | 4K | Teen): OR Buck joins a support app for first responders and matches with a firefighter who has PTSD and a kid who likes giraffes, apparently.

[charmandabear]

Office Hours - Chapter Thirteen

Summary:

Astarion's reaction to your confession isn't at all what you expect.

Pairing: Astarion/f!Reader Rating: Explicit Word Count: 7.3k Tags/Warnings: slightly rough sex, piv, kink dynamics (honestly nothing new)

T_T When I tell y'all how emotional this has made me. Yes, this is the last chapter (for now.) I will almost immediately be starting on the sequel, a more slice-of-life exploration of their new relationship. I have far too many things planned to not keep going. Also, I know some people have mentioned that they appreciate the fact that Tav hasn't had any specific descriptions, and I do apologize, that will change. But on the bright side, it means I'm going to be able to continue to release my screenshots of the Professor and Rosalind.

Your support during all of this has meant so much to me, you have no idea. Any time I think that I feel like garbage, either about my writing or anything else, your comments really brighten my entire demeanor. So thank you, and thank you for your patience during this time. Now, onto the next one!

Read on AO3 ~ Masterlist

You keep your eyes glued to the screen for the last 14 minutes of Heathers without absorbing a second of it. You can feel Astarion stealing glances at you, but you steadfastly keep your head forward. When the show ends, you give Karlach and Shadowheart halfhearted goodbyes, purposefully avoiding Shadowheart’s suspicious stare. You busy yourself with picking up wine glasses and bringing them into the kitchen.

“You know, it was admittedly better than I thought it would be,” you say, trying to fill the awkward silence as you gather dishes. “It definitely made more of a pointed statement than I would have expected, and it’s thematically stronger than I initially realized.” You’re fully aware of the fact that you’re babbling but you can’t stop yourself. 

“Say it again,” you hear Astarion say behind you quietly. You freeze and slowly turn back to where he’s sitting on the couch. His expression is completely inscrutable.

“What?” Your mouth goes dry and a prickling heat crawls up the back of your neck. 

He stands and approaches you slowly, and you’ve never felt more like a trapped animal under his penetrating gaze.

“Say it again.” His voice is smooth as velvet and cold as ice. 

“Say what?” You know that your feigned innocence is unconvincing. He backs you up until you can feel the counter pressing into your spine. He stands close to you and tilts up your chin with his finger.

“You know what,” he whispers, and you feel like his eyes have never looked so red. You swallow thickly, working your jaw to try to regain use of your voice.

“I- I love you,” you choke out the words which ring hollow and almost meaningless in your ears. Astarion grabs your face, kissing you suddenly and roughly. You cling to him, your confusion doing nothing to abate the desperation and hunger with which you return his kiss. He twists his hands into your hair, almost bringing you up onto your toes with how forcefully he assaults your lips.

“Again,” he growls between breathless kisses, and your fists ball up into his shirt.

“I love you,” you gasp, and his hands tighten in your hair, pulling you impossibly closer. He scoops you up into his arms and your legs wrap tightly around his waist. He moves his lips to your jaw as he carries you to your bedroom.

“Again.” His voice is husky in your ear and suddenly the dam breaks, the words pouring out of you in a rush.

“I love you, Astarion,” you whimper into his neck as the two of you fall backwards onto your bed. “I love you so fucking much. I love you so much it hurts.” He peppers your neck and jaw with sloppy kisses as you cling to the back of his head.

“Again,” he groans, the word falling somewhere between a demand and a plea. He tears your tank top off you, making it the second piece of clothing today alone he’s destroyed. But you can hardly bring yourself to care – all that matters is your connection with him, his skin against yours, his breath in your ear. 

“I l-love you.” The words are breathy and uneven as you fumble at the button of your jeans, the wretched things only serving as a barrier between you. You paw hungrily at his waistband, unable to articulate your want. He pulls up onto his knees, eyes bright and wild as he unbuttons his pants.

“Say that you’re mine,” he snarls, and the possessive tone of his voice alone is enough to make you mewl like an animal in heat. 

“I’m yours, Astarion.” Your body writhes out of your control, a shiver running up your spine from the cool air caressing the slick lips of your pussy. “I’m your plaything, I belong to you.”

He dives back down onto you, his hungry kisses only increasing in fervor as the growing length of his cock presses against your cunt. You claw at his shoulders, desperate to feel every part of him, and his arms slide under your back, pulling you in even closer. 

“Good, yes, again.” He pushes your legs apart with his knee, grinding his cock against your cunt and your hips involuntarily buck up into him.

“I’m yours, I belong to you, I love you,” you babble, tears forming in the corners of your eyes as your heart beats loudly in your ears. He kisses your neck and you hold his head close, your fingers sliding through his silver curls.

“Don’t stop,” he grunts as he slides his cock into you and you cry out, the sting of the stretch elevated slightly from the lack of foreplay. 

“I love you.” You barely recognize the sound of your own voice anymore, you feel like a woman possessed. “Please, Astarion, please, I need you. I love you. I’m yours.”

“Fuck, yes, more, please,” he pleads, barely bothering to hide his desperation. He begins to fuck into you, slow and steady, and you pull his chest into yours. You wrap your arms around his back, across his scars, pressing the flat planes of his chest into your soft stomach and tits. 

“I love you.” Your voice cracks as sensations overwhelm your body. Astarion presses his forehead to yours and you grip the back of his neck, your two bodies moving in tandem. His cock drags along your walls as he presses your thighs up against your belly.

“Yes, Tav, say it again,” he huffs, picking up the pace and you let out a particularly high pitched whine at the sound of your name falling from his lips.

“I love you, Star. I love you, please don’t stop.” Your eyes well up with very real tears as your chest grows tight and you can feel your orgasm building in the depths of your core. You grind your hips up into him as he thrusts in and out of you, the wet sound of slapping skin almost drowning out your breathy repeated confessions. You pull him into you, your nails digging into his shoulders as you kiss him deeply, teetering on the edge.

“Tav, I–” He breaks the kiss just in time for a few final broken juts of his hips and he’s coming, setting off your own climax not long after. The pleasure ripples through your body as he clutches you close to him, your walls throbbing around the pulsing of his cock as he spills inside of you. 

The two of you stay connected, barely moving save for your heavy breathing as the waves of your orgasm finally settle. After what feels like both an eternity and far too soon, he pulls out of you and sits up, giving you the first chance to properly look at him. His hair is disheveled, and he had taken off his glasses at some point so you’re looking into those bright red eyes directly. He’s uncharacteristically flushed, something that usually only happens right after feeding, but you’re surprised to realize that he didn’t even try to bite you.

“Are you good?” you ask breathlessly, a little concerned by the slightly unhinged look in his eye. He pulls the mask back on quickly, but not before you’ve seen him without it.

“Yes darling, of course,” he flashes you a practiced smile and pulls you into a soft kiss. There’s still something gnawing at the back of your mind, but it quickly dissolves at the familiar feeling of his lips against yours. You melt into him, putty in his hands, his fingers in your hair giving you comfort and protection. “I’ll clean up. You sleep,” he murmurs into your skin. Your eyelids grow heavy almost against your will, and he kisses the top of your head. Your arm trails feebly after him as he stands and walks out of your bedroom. 

You crawl under the covers, too emotionally exhausted to even bother with brushing your teeth. You feel comforted by the casual domestic sounds of Astarion cleaning up outside your bedroom door. You’re almost fully asleep when you feel him slide into bed next to you. You snuggle back into him as he slips an arm around your waist and plants a soft kiss on your bare shoulder.

***

The sound of your alarm the next morning rattles through your skull, setting off your mild wine hangover. You swipe the alarm off and turn over to reach for Astarion only to find empty space. You sit up and blink yourself awake, listening closely to the ambient sounds in your apartment to see if he’s in the shower or making you breakfast, but all you can hear is the soft hum of your air filter. 

You try to quell your disappointment by reminding yourself that he spent the last 36 hours in your apartment and probably just needed to slip out before sunrise. Besides, he has class today, and he came to your apartment two days ago with absolutely nothing on him. It’s totally reasonable that he needed to leave early, and he probably just didn’t want to wake you.

The disappointment creeps up on you regardless.

You’re still not entirely sure how to process what happened last night. Did you really tell him that you love him? Did you mean it? His response was borderline feral. You weren’t particularly ready to say it, and he didn’t really seem ready to hear it. 

You shake your head and try to let the insecurity pass. Maybe it’s just a game he was playing again, like the night of Taming. Maybe when you see him today, you can just pretend it never happened.

It’s times like this that you really wish you had a pet. Your apartment isn’t very big, but it feels positively cavernous right now. At least if you had a dog, you’d be able to distract yourself with taking care of it. You throw on a robe and shoot Karlach a quick text as you head into the kitchen.

-Hey, where did you adopt Clive?

You see Astarion’s glasses on the kitchen counter and frown. Doesn’t he need those to see? You walk over and pick them up, noticing just how smudged they are. You clean them on the sleeve of your robe and hold them up to the light, and you’re surprised to realize that you can see right through them perfectly fine. You put them on and your vision doesn’t change at all.

He doesn’t need them to see, they’re completely cosmetic.

You burst out laughing, almost shocked that it took you this long to find out. You suspected it before you started dating, but you had chalked that up to your unreasonable bitterness towards him.

You take a selfie while wearing the glasses and sticking out your tongue. You look at the picture, delete it, take your hair out of its messy bun and tousle it around your face, then take the picture again. Good, much cuter. You send it to him along with the text:

-Caught you, you fucking liar.

Nice and casual, right? This will show him that nothing needs to change after last night, that it was just a scene that neither of you need to take too seriously. You take off Astarion’s glasses and fill the kettle with water for your coffee. You instinctively reach for the instant Folgers before remembering the fancy new stuff that he got for you. You had watched him make it, but frankly, you didn’t pay attention at all. How much are you supposed to grind? For how long? How much water?

You decide to just guess, grinding a tablespoon of beans until it looks like the instant coffee that you’re used to drinking. You pour the grinds into the French press and fill it about halfway with water. You sit on a barstool while it brews, staring at it impatiently.

Suddenly your phone buzzes, and your heart leaps thinking it’s a response to your glasses selfie. Instead, it’s from Karlach.

-omgggggggggggg soldier r u getting a dog? can i come????

Her enthusiasm makes you laugh. You lean forward on the kitchen island and reply.

-I’m thinking about it. You have tech at the end of this tenday, right?

-ah fuck. yea. what about the next fiveday break? we have a dark day before opening

-That’s perfect. I’ll text Shadowheart to see if she’s available.

Karlach’s response is instantaneous.

-she is

-🐶🦴🐾❤️‍🔥🎉🙌

Right, they’re practically living together at this point. You wonder vaguely if they’ve said it yet and your heart sinks. You might not be able to play it off as nonchalantly as you thought. 

You distract yourself by pouring your coffee. It’s a little more transparent than you’re used to seeing, but you figure that’s because they’re, like, golden beans or something. You could probably stand to learn more about coffee, especially if you’re going to start drinking the fancy stuff for Astarion, but that sounds like so much work. You pour a dollop of milk into your mug, trying to mimic the color of the coffee he made for you yesterday. You scoop in two teaspoons of sugar, stir it until it dissolves, and then take a sip.

It’s… not as good.

There are so many factors that you’re not sure which step you messed up. You compensate for the weak flavor with more milk, which makes it only slightly more tolerable. Regardless, it’s still better than the instant stuff, so you continue drinking it as you assemble a quick breakfast, making a mental note to get more specific instructions from Astarion. 

When you get to work, you pass his office in the hallway on the way to yours, and you’re surprised to find the door closed. You press your ear to the wood paneling, trying to hear if he’s talking to a student, but you’re met with silence on the other side. You knock, and there’s no answer. 

You frown to yourself. He’s probably just at a department meeting elsewhere in the building, right? Totally normal thing for ten o’clock in the morning. You check your texts with him, and it says that your message was sent, but not delivered. Maybe his phone died from spending so much time in your apartment, it’s not like he charged it or anything.

Yeah, that’s probably it.

You drop off your things at your desk and head to the main office to check your mail. You wonder if you’ll maybe see him in there, but it’s just Grace, clicking away at her computer. 

“Morning, Grace,” you say to her as you head to your mailbox. She waves at you cheerily.

“Morning Tav! Have you all decided on a season yet?” She leans forward in her chair, clearly fishing for gossip. You feel the heat rising in your neck as you remember Astarion’s suggestion of Romeo and Juliet.

“Uh, not quite, no. But fingers crossed that we’re close!” You smile at her awkwardly. Your eyes dart to the office door, hoping that he’ll just stroll in, but the doorway remains painfully empty. “Hey, uh, Grace, have you seen Ast– Dr. Ancunín yet today?”

She looks up as she tries to recall. “I don’t think so… But if he comes by, I can let you know you’re looking for him.”

“No, it’s fine,” you blurt quickly. Then, trying to play it cool, you add, “It’s not important, I’ll just tell him the next time we cross paths.” You don’t think you’d get in any sort of trouble with HR if people found out that the two of you are dating since you’re in different departments, but you’d still rather not deal with the rumor mill that is academia. You grab the fliers out of your mailbox, glancing at them briefly before tossing them in the trash and returning to your office. 

You lose yourself for a few hours in answering emails, organizing your notes on student scenes, and reading over your updated syllabus for the fall section of Classical Acting I. You almost jump in surprise when you hear a quiet knock on your open door. You look up to see an older tiefling gentleman hovering in the doorframe.

“Dr. Maier, hello!” you greet the chair of the English department politely. You’ve definitely seen him around, but you haven’t had much interaction with him other than a friendly wave in the hallway.

“Please, Zevlor is fine,” he says pleasantly. You breathe an internal sigh of relief – everyone in the theatre department just goes by their first name, and you find it impossible to keep up with the politics of honorifics in other departments. 

“Zevlor, yes, how can I help?” You close your laptop and gesture to the teal armchair across from your desk. He silently waves his hand as if to say, no, this will be quick.

“I’m terribly sorry to bother you, but is there any chance you’re free to cover English 340? Dr. Ancunín is nowhere to be found and his students are preparing for their final exam.” He wrings his hands nervously and you blink as you process what he’s telling you.

“Wait, what do you mean Dr. Ancunín is nowhere to be found?”

“No one has seen him since before the fiveday break, and none of his students received an email from him canceling class. He’s not answering any messages and his mobile is going straight to voicemail.” Zevlor rattles off the list on his fingers, unable to keep some of the snippiness out of his voice. You don’t blame him, honestly – Astarion isn’t exactly a team player, so it’s easy to imagine that he’s not the most pleasant colleague to work with.

“Um, sure, yeah. It’s in 110 downstairs, correct?” You pick up your laptop and your copy of the Bevington before briefly reconsidering and then pulling the Norton off your bookshelf. 

“Yes, it is. Thank you, you’re a lifesaver.” Zevlor clasps his hands and gives you a small bow before exiting your office. You jog downstairs and head towards 110. As you approach the door, you hear Mol’s brassy voice in the hallway.

“No, I swear, it’s in the department handbook and everything. If the teach’ don’t show up for fifteen minutes, you can leave!”

You laugh as you walk into the classroom. “Are students really still peddling that myth?”

“Oh hey, miss, you teachin’ us today? Where’s Ank-yunín?” She’s sitting backwards  atop her desk with her feet on the chair. 

“Dr. Ancunín had something come up.” You emphasize his name to correct her pronunciation. “And sit,” you add, pointing to the seat of her chair. 

“Will he be back before the final?” The girl you remember to be named Yenna asks anxiously. You hesitate, unsure how to answer.

“That… is the plan, yes,” you finally say, and she looks visibly relieved. Where the fuck did he go? And… this has nothing to do with last night, right?

Right?

***

The longer you don’t hear from him, the more worried you get. You keep checking the message with the selfie, but it still just reads ‘sent.’ Which means either his phone is off, or he’s gone somewhere that has no service.

Or he’s blocked you.

You shake off the thought, trying desperately to reassure yourself about his feelings for you, but the little insecurity gremlin grows louder with each passing day. And it keeps shouting one question louder than the rest.

“He didn’t say it back?” Karlach looks at you, mouth agape. You fiddle with the sleeves of your cardigan self consciously while Shadowheart just seethes. The three of you are walking down the street towards the Sword Coast Cafe, a pet cafe just outside the city. It’s been almost a tenday since you’ve seen or heard from Astarion, and seemingly no one in the English department has seen him, either.

“I didn’t realize it at first,” you admit sheepishly, “everything just happened so fast. Afterwards, I kept replaying what happened over and over and suddenly I realized that he didn’t say it.”

You open the door to the cafe and are greeted by a cheery-looking gnome with a mop of fiery red hair.

“Hello! Welcome to the Sword Coast Cafe! My name is Dringo, and I’ll be your docent,” he chuckles at his own joke. “Have you been here before, or is this your first time?”

“I have,” Karlach pipes up, then jabs her thumb over towards you. “My mate over here is the one looking for a new furry friend.” You give an awkward little wave.

“Fantastic! Why don’t you go ahead and fill out this questionnaire so we can try to match you with the perfect pet. Here are your potions of animal speaking,” he hands you a tray with three little shot glasses with a semi-viscous green liquid. “Those should last about an hour. Feel free to have a seat, the other animals might come up to you, they might not.” He gets very serious suddenly. “Please don’t approach any of the animals without their express consent. Sword Coast Cafe is not liable for any injuries that you may incur.”

You listen to his instructions, nodding along but only absorbing some of it. You look down at the questionnaire, and it’s filled with questions that you might find on a dating site. 

What are you looking for in a pet? Are you a morning or night person? Do you have any children? Are you outdoorsy or a homebody? Describe your perfect day off.

You down the shot of potion, and it tastes exactly the way a farm smells. You contort your face in disgust and Dringo looks at you sympathetically. But before long, the cacophony of meows, barks, and chirps slowly morphs into the sound of chatter, not unlike what it sounds like in a regular busy cafe. You make your way over to a cushy beanbag chair while Karlach plops herself on the floor and Shadowheart perches delicately on a pink wooden stool. They continue to pepper you with questions about Astarion while you fill out the form. 

“So he repeatedly demanded that you say it, but he never said it back,” Shadowheart deadpans, her eyes narrowing into a glare. “And then he disappears for a tenday without so much as a note?”

“He left his glasses,” you defend him in a very small voice.

“That he doesn’t really need to see!” she hisses, and a nearby calico gives her an indignant stare.

“Soldier, you sure that him disappearing even has anything to do with you? Maybe a family thing came up,” Karlach offers helpfully. You finish the questionnaire and hand it to Dringo to avoid answering her question.

“What family?” Shadowheart sneers. “There’s no way he has anyone left.”

Without the pen and paper to keep your hands busy, you start to fidget with your sweater again. “I only just started learning about his past, but I don’t get the sense that he’s in touch with any of his blood relatives, or even if they’re still alive,” you say quietly. You’re suddenly far more worried about his well-being than his feelings for you. “What if he’s hurt? What if his old master had some unknown ally and he’s been captured and–”

“Breathe, soldier. I’m sure nothing so drastic has happened,” Karlach reassures you with a hand on your knee, and you can feel her warmth through your tights. 

“A good dog will always find his way back home,” a voice from behind Karlach pipes up. You look over her shoulder and see a white dog with big brown eyes looking back at you. Karlach turns her head and gasps with delight.

“Well aren’t you just the most handsome fella?” she coos, and his tail starts wagging enthusiastically. 

“Hey buddy, what’s your name?” you ask, grateful for a distraction from the conversation about Astarion.

“They call me Scratch, here. You can call me that, too, friend,” he responds, and it’s only slightly jarring to hear his voice without his lips moving. But frankly, you’re pretty sure it would be more off putting if they did.

“Hiya, Scratch, it’s nice to meet you. I’m Tav, and these are my friends Shadowheart and Karlach,” you say, gesturing to each one in turn. He dips his head in a polite greeting.

“Did you have another good boy who ran away?” he asks, and Shadowheart snorts.

“I wouldn’t exactly call him a good boy,” she scoffs just as Karlach clarifies, “He didn’t exactly run away,” in the same cadence.

“Sort of,” you explain, “it’s a bit complicated.” He sniffs the air around you curiously.

“Well you smell very nice to me, so I’m sure he’ll come back soon,” he says with confidence. It’s only when your eyes start to well up that you realize just how much of a rollercoaster the past tenday has been.

“Scratch, may I pet you?” you ask, unable to keep your voice from cracking. His tail starts wagging again, and he bobs his head in an approximation of a nod. You reach out and give him scritches behind his ears as his head presses into your palm. You’re suddenly hit with a rush of emotions and your carefully built dam breaks, allowing the tears to flow freely. Scratch licks your face, making you laugh.

“Would you like me to keep you company while you’re waiting for your good boy to return?” he asks, and you press your forehead against his. 

“I’d like that a lot, buddy, thanks,” you say with only a mild tremor in your voice. You dabyour eyes on your sleeve to keep from smudging your makeup just as Dringo approaches you with a beautiful longhaired ginger cat.

“I think Malta here would be a great fit for you!” Dringo says excitedly, and the cat narrows his eyes suspiciously.

“The slightly less tall one had misunderstood the winds of fate. The cat and the taller one were not destined to become companions this day,” Malta narrates mysteriously, and you have to admit that you’re completely taken with this little weirdo.

“Wait, what?” Dringo looks at Malta, then back at you, before his eyes finally fall onto Scratch. “Oh! I didn’t realize that you were already in conversation with someone. I don’t think she’s the right choice for you, Scratch, she lives in a little apartment. You need a big house with a backyard, don’t you?”

Scratch looks at you expectantly. “Will you take me to the park?”

“Of course! As often as I can,” you assure him, and his tail wags again.

“Then I would like to go with Mistress,” he tells Dringo excitedly.

“The large, excitable white cat has already bonded with the tall one,” Malta notes. “Perhaps the tall one and the cat will meet in the future, but until that day comes, they were merely two ships passing in the night. When is that fateful day? Only Destiny could say.”

“Oh. My. Gods. I love him.” Karlach claps her hands over her mouth in excitement, and Malta looks at her appraisingly.

“The very, very warm one smelled of cinders and the musk of a stranger. The cat was far too cautious to make such a foolhardy mistake,” he says, turning his nose up at her. She nods along very seriously.

“The very warm one learned her lesson and decided to merely admire the cat from afar,” she narrates back to him, and his tail flicks in approval before he saunters off. Dringo blinks as though he’s trying to figure out how he got outsmarted by a cat.

“Well then,” he says, shaking his head, “I suppose I’ll draw up the paperwork for Scratch.” The dog dances on his front paws, his nails making happy little clacking noises on the wood floor.

You leave the cafe with an armful of supplies and Scratch padding happily behind you. You can feel the potion of animal speaking wearing off as his excited stream of consciousness fades into a series of quiet boofs and snuffs. 

You walk into the lobby of your building and Withers looks at you, then at Scratch, with narrowed eyes. He and the dog make eye contact for an uncomfortably long time, and you’re not sure if Withers is able to communicate telepathically. He finally looks back at you and nods solemnly. 

“The dog may stay,” he says in his gravelly voice. You’re fairly certain that your lease allows for up to two pets, but you appreciate getting his blessing regardless.

Once in your apartment, Scratch bounds happily around your living room as you put his food in the cabinet under the sink. You toss the bed Dringo gave you onto the floor under the window. You furrow your brow, trying to figure out the rules – you’ve never had a dog before.

“Am I supposed to… not let you on the couch or something?” you ask him hesitantly. He looks at you, his warm brown eyes sparkling. You look at your black faux-leather sofa, something you got for free off Craigslist, and shrug. It’s not like you’re super attached to it anyway. Besides, you don’t really mind cleaning, so if some of his white fur gets on it, you can just wipe it off.

Scratch continues to look at you, seemingly waiting for an answer. You look back at him, already missing the effects of the speak with animals potion. You’ll have to ask Astarion where he gets his.

Astarion.

It all comes crashing down on you at once. Accidentally saying ‘I love you,’ the deeply intense and overwhelming sex, and then him just… disappearing without a trace. Did he really run away? Just uproot himself and leave because… because what? Moved too fast? Revealed your past with Aradin? Probed too deep into his trauma? 

Or maybe it’s something else entirely. Maybe he’s dead in a ditch with a stake through his heart, or burnt to a crisp somewhere off the highway. Maybe he’s trapped in a dungeon somewhere being tortured at this very moment.

You try to take deep breaths, acknowledge your feelings without judgment, compartmentalize to deal with them later, reassure your various parts… but none of Jaheira’s techniques are working right now, and you collapse onto the couch, crying. Scratch hops up beside you and licks the tears from your face. You laugh in spite of yourself, an uncomfortable feeling as it mixes with the choking sobs. You pet him behind the ears and he drops his chin on your shoulder, almost like a dog version of a hug. You wrap your arms around his neck and continue to cry into his fur.

***

You’re curled up on your couch with your feet tucked underneath you, reading Dance Nation on your tablet while Scratch snoozes peacefully. The soft patter of rain on the window creates a pleasant ambient noise.

You’re startled out of your reverie when the intercom by your front door buzzes. You stare at it, confused because that almost never happens. Withers has some mysterious system for allowing visitors in that rarely requires any input from you. He just sort of knows who to let in and who not to.

You walk over to the intercom, not even a hundred percent sure how it works, but you press a button that you hope will allow him to hear you and say, “...yes?”

“Thou hast a visitor,” Withers’ voice crackles through the speaker, and your heart stops. “He is very wet,” he adds, and you slap a hand over your mouth to keep from laughing.

“I– Who is he? And why won’t you let him in?” You pause for a second before adding, “Is it… because he’s wet?”

“No, that is not my concern,” Withers clarifies. Then he pauses for a long moment. “His intentions… they are unclear,” he finally says.

“Will you please just let me in to see her, you batty old man!”

The voice is faint over the speaker, but it’s undeniably him. You scramble to press down the button to speak.

“Yes, Withers, please let him in, thank you,” you say in a rush. Your heart pounds as you quickly adjust your appearance, fixing your limp hair in the mirror next to your door. Then you wait. Is he taking the elevator or the stairs? How long would either option take? You grow antsy and you finally open the door to check the hallway only to find him standing on your welcome mat, fist raised mid-knock.

Without thinking, you grab his lapel and kiss him hard. Withers wasn’t lying when he said he’s wet. His lips are even colder than usual and the rain falls off his thin jacket in rivulets. You forcefully break the kiss and push him away, fuming.

“Astarion Ancunín, you did not just show up to my doorstep in the fucking rain like we live in some gods damned romcom!” you scold him, and he just stares at you with the most pathetic gleam in his wet, round eyes. 

“I don’t… sorry, what?” It seems like he was prepared for you to yell at him, but not about that specifically. You huff and roll your eyes, pulling him into your apartment dramatically.

“You’re getting water everywhere. Give me your jacket, take off your shoes, and tell me what the fuck happened,” you grumble, and his fingers fumble along his jacket buttons as he awkwardly kicks off his sopping shoes. You’re only taking a tiny bit of satisfaction at seeing him this flustered and uncomfortable. 

Scratch had hopped off the couch as soon as you opened the door, and now he trots up to Astarion, wagging his tail and lolling his tongue.

“You… got a dog?” he asks blankly, and you yank his jacket off his shoulders with maybe a little more force than necessary. 

“Yeah, I got lonely,” you spit, trying to sound angry, but just comes off as sad. He looks away from you, ashamed, and you sigh as you hang up his coat. “Please just… What happened? Did I cross a line, or something?” Your voice is very small, and he whirls on you suddenly.

“No!” he almost shouts, but he catches himself quickly. “No, please, I don’t want you to think that, not for a second. Can we sit?” He gestures to your couch and you follow his lead. Scratch jumps onto the couch between you, excited for double pets. You gently push him off and point to his bed.

“Not now, bud. Go lie down, me and… my good boy need to talk.” You smile to yourself and Astarion’s ears twitch self-consciously. You had planned to let him speak first but the words tumble out of you without any forethought. “Can I just say that I’m so sorry if I freaked you out, I never want to put you in an uncomfortable position like that, and I never even actually meant to say it in the first place.” 

Astarion looks ready to interrupt you but stops suddenly. “Oh, you– you didn’t? Well of course, I- obviously–” he splutters uncharacteristically before you clap your hands over your mouth, realizing your mistake.

“I mean, no, I did, like I wanted to say it, I just didn’t want to say it like that,” you clarify quickly, and Astarion visibly relaxes. He takes a deep breath and runs his hands through his wet hair, giving it an unusual slicked back look.

“For two centuries, my body did not belong to me. Not just as a thrall to Cazador,” he spits the name again, in almost the exact same tone as the last time. “But to his victims that I would need to… seduce in order to lure them back to his castle.” His eyes go unfocused and you’re not sure the best way to comfort him. After a moment’s hesitation, you settle your hand on his knee and rub small soothing circles with your thumb. He blinks as he returns to reality, his gaze shifting to you before the corners of his mouth turn up in the smallest hint of a smile.

“Astarion, I… I didn’t know. I’m so sorry,” you finally say, your voice breaking. He takes your hand and shakes his head.

“It’s hardly the worst thing that happened, and also not what I’m trying to say,” he says with a humorless laugh. “No, I mean after I gained my freedom, I grew very selfish. All that mattered was my comfort, my desires, my safety.”

“But that makes sense! You had everything ripped away from you, you deserved a little selfishness.” You get suddenly heated, almost like you’re defending Astarion against someone who isn’t there.

“Perhaps, but it was an easy way to grow lonely and bitter. After all, no one had ever looked out for me, so why should I waste my time caring about anyone else? I could harness my well-honed skills of seduction to get what I wanted with no regard to the consequences it might have on others. It was easy, and I was very good at it.” Astarion looks at you thoughtfully, his eyes roaming over every detail of your face, and you shrink back slightly under the intensity of his gaze.

“But you immediately saw right through me. That was a rare occurrence, and I was infatuated with the novelty. None of my old standbys worked on you. I needed to get creative in my methods to seduce you. Which led to perhaps my most ill-advised scheme yet.” He looks at you meaningfully, and you don’t need more than that to know that he’s talking about the night he took you to see Taming.

“When I realized my mistake, it should have been all too easy to move on, find a new mark. But I… simply didn’t want to. The thought of no longer spending time together felt awful. I felt awful.” He sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose like he’s fighting off a headache. You chew on your lip, trying to figure out where he’s going with all of this. You open your mouth several times to ask a question, but close it as the words die on your tongue. Finally, after what seems like an eternity, he continues.

“So when you said… what you said,” he murmurs, still unable to repeat the words, “something in me… broke, I suppose. Maybe it was something that needed to break. But whatever it was, I lost control of it, and I was embarrassed. And, frankly, terrified. So I left.”

You look at him, his brow furrowed, wringing his hands in discomfort, his eyes darting around the room, and suddenly the whole situation strikes you as hysterical. The laughter bubbles out of you before you can stop it, and Astarion looks at you with concern while you cover your mouth with your hand and your shoulders begin to silently shake. When you finally manage to get your giggles under control, you stare at him with wild eyes.

“Astarion, I spent five years of my life with the worst fucking person imaginable. Never once did it feel like he cared about what I wanted. But I told him I loved him anyway, ‘cause I guess, I thought I was supposed to?” You grip his knee as your eyes begin to well with giddy tears. “And here you are, calling yourself selfish, when you care more about what I want than anyone else ever did.” You begin to laugh again, the absurdity overtaking you, and Astarion’s frown deepens. “You understood me so well that you crafted every single aspect of an entire evening and got the exact reaction that you expected. Was it fucked up? Yeah, completely! But it still showed me the lengths you were willing to go to give me something that I wanted. Something that I didn’t even know I wanted.”

You sit back and the tears begin to earnestly fall. Astarion stares at you helplessly as you laugh-cry uncontrollably, everything overtaking you at once. He finally decides to pull you into his lap and you bury your face into his chest, your tears falling onto his already damp shirt. 

You have no idea how long he holds you for, but eventually you regain control of your breath and mutter, “You idiot,” before pulling him into a kiss. You tangle your fingers into his wet hair, and his hands, unsteady at first, finally rest on your lower back. You break the kiss and hum against his lips, “You don’t need to say it back. And I’ll say it as much or as little as you want. Oh!” You suddenly leap off the couch and over to the kitchen to grab Astarion’s glasses which are still sitting on the counter, staring at you every morning as you gradually learn how to grind and press your own coffee.

You bring them over to him and straddle his lap as you awkwardly put them on his face, almost poking his eye out in the process. “Now why in the hells would a vampire with perfect vision need glasses?” Your tone is playfully accusatory.

“Would you believe me if I said that they make English academics take me more seriously?” he asks with a bashful grin. You brush your fingers through his hair, styling the front into his more standard swoop.

“I absolutely believe you, they’re weirdos.” You run a finger over the arm of his glasses and to his ear, and he shudders. “You used to wear your wire frame ones a lot more, what happened to those?”

“You told me that you liked these,” he replies like it’s the most obvious answer in the world, and your cheeks flush. “Why, do you like the other ones more?”

You wrap your arms around his neck and press your lips to his, letting your tongue swipe gently across his still chilled skin. “I like you,” you breathe, keeping your faces in close proximity. He rests his hands on your hips and pulls away, studying you carefully. Then, in a low voice, he says, “There’s a box in the lining of my jacket. Can you grab it for me, darling?”

Panic begins to set in. Box? Wait, no, hold on. You’ve barely gotten up the nerve to say I love you, you’re not ready for marriage, is he joking? Does he really think he’s in a romcom?

He watches your face cycle through emotions like a rolodex and he laughs. “It’s not a ring, don’t worry.”

“Gods above, Astarion, you can’t do that to me, I’m very fragile,” you say on a shaky exhale before standing up and retrieving his coat. You reach into the inner pocket and pull out a flat square box, around five or six inches in diameter. He stands and comes up behind you, resting his hands on your waist and peering over your shoulder.

You open the box and nestled in red satin is a thin leather choker with a dangling o-ring. You look back at him over your shoulder and his grin widens.

“Star, is this–” the words catch on your tongue as you turn back around to face him. He gently lifts the collar out of the box and slips it around your neck, his hands sliding into your hair once it’s fastened. He kisses you, softly at first, but soon you pull him into you, kissing him back hard. You deepen the kiss, slipping your tongue past his lips and puncturing it with his fang. A drop of blood mixes into your mouths and he tries to suppress a whimper, his hands tightening in your hair.

Then, almost as quickly as it escalated, he brings the kiss back to tender, cupping the back of your head gently. He turns you back around, facing the mirror for you to see your flushed and well-kissed face, your heavy-lidded eyes, and the thin strip of leather around your neck. You see your hair get brushed from your shoulder by a seemingly invisible force and feel his lips pressed against your ear.

“I love you, too.”

*~*~*

@viowolf @blueguildhunter @blissliz @genderearthquake @arianna-irwynarn @moochiepoo @duskrosecreatesstuff @imjiminiebean @queenofcarrotflowers-s @communistfries @0atcakes @alcidence @pursuitseternal @marlowethebard @preciouslittlebhaalbae @rigorssamsa @marvellover-12 @gylving @beepersteeper @wisteriaofthegraves

[novankenn]

Tenuous Partnership (10)

Glynda was not happy about what Peter had done. In particular exposing Jaune to such a potent stimulus. She carefully watched Jaune, as the young man continued to sip at his drink. She was certain Peter had seen what she was seeing now. Jaune's claws had unsheathed. The blood had affected him, causing him to unconsciously bare the vicious weapons.

Glynda sighed and drained the remains of her own liquid meal. This was going to be a conversation and a half with Jaune's mother in the morning. She was also going to have to speak to the Headmaster about Jaune not taking part in initiation as they had originally planned. There were too many risks, and she had so much more to instruct the poor lad in.

"Finish up, and then we'll head to bed." Glynda told her nephew, while standing up and moving to rinse out her canister. "It's been a long day."

Jaune said nothing, and proceeded to drain the rest of his own meal. He rose from his seat upon the couch, and suddenly felt faint. He weaved on his feet, dropping his canister. It hit the coffee table with a hollow plastic thunk.

"Jaune!" Glynda called out as she dashed from the kitchen sink to his side in a fraction of a second, catching him before he could fully collapse. "Jaune?"

"Dizzy. Tired." he mumbled, before becoming dead weight in his aunt's arms. Even the serpents of his hair lay about his face and head limp and listless.

"You shouldn't be this tired, after ingesting human blood." Glynda commented to herself as she scooped up her nephew and carried him into his room. She carefully placed him on the bed, and pulled the quilt his mother had made for him over his form.

"Sleep well, Jaune." she whispered before giving him a gentle kiss on the forehead and leaving the room, closing the door behind her. It was getting late, so she also retired for the night.

As Vale fell into slumber, Pyrrha Nikos was up as the sun began to rise into the air. Today was the day she would start the newest chapter in her life. It was the day she would leave for Beacon and start her the final stages of her training to become not only a Huntress but also a Slayer.

With so much nervous energy she was in your family's training facilities. Dressed in a thin and flimsy plain linen dress, cinched about her waist with a wide leather belt, she worked through a litany of stances. The kopis her mother had gifted to her flashing in the light of the rising sun that streamed through the floor to ceiling windows.

Once this warm up was complete she would move on to more strenuous exercises. Ones designed to really get her blood pumping. She wanted to feel a comforting burning ache through out her body as she rested during her trip to Vale and then Beacon.

"You're up early, sweetheart." came a chipper and amused feminine voice from the doorway. "Today is the day, isn't it?"

"Mother." Pyrrha greeted, as she paused in her exercises. "Yes, it is. I'm so excited!"

"It's good to be so, but remember..."

"This is not a holiday. It's about shaping my future."

"Very good." Athena commended. "But there is nothing wrong with having some fun at the same time. Maybe even finding a cute boy?"

"Mother!" Pyrrha blushed as she turned her back upon the matron of the Nikos family. "Is father up?"

"Yes. He's been up for awhile... in the kitchen."

"The kitchen?" Pyrrha asked once again turning to face her mother. "Why?"

"I think he's trying to make a special breakfast for you..." Athena giggled, "He is looing his little girl after all."

"No he's not. I'll be coming back during holiday's and term breaks."

"Yes, be that as it may, he's totally accepted the idea of you finding a boyfriend, getting married having kids, and never coming home to visit."

"Huh?"

"Don't question it, dear." Athena laughed lightly. "It's just how your father is."

"Should I be scared about what he's making?" Pyrrha asked while sheathing her kopis.

"No. I think it will be safe." Athena replied a mirthful smile still curling her lips. "Shall we see what you father is up to?"

Athena offered her daughter her arm, and Pyrrha laughed as she took it. The pair stepping out of the training room and heading towards the kitchen and dining room, for whatever special meal was being created for Pyrrha's last morning at home.

/==/

Additional Chapters can be found by following this link; Utter & Complete Insanity (2)

[exchangestudentnova]

Jushiro Ukitake first saw you when the whole squad 13 went out for picnic in celebration of their latest win. You, being one of the new recruits, did not feel much deserving to be celebrating a win where you only played a small role and did not confront the enemy at all. Nonetheless, you were there with your friends as you make flower crowns for everyone. "May I wear one as well?" You were startled and quickly rose to your feet and bowed, you did not expect the captain to come and talk to you personally. Ukitake smiled and let out a small laugh, telling you to drop the formalities for such an event and you proceeded to make a flower crown for him.

You noticed he talks to everyone with the same level of politeness and respect, with his fellow captains, with his immediate subordinates, with his squad members and even with newbies like yourself. But you felt something was....off. There was a glint in his eyes that seemed to be present only when he's having a conversation with you, but maybe you were imagining things. You interacting with him became a daily thing. He would call you in his office and give you a small chore and ask you questions about your life, which turned into hour long conversations.

You joined squad 13 because of its calm environment, but you still haven't had the chance to join the battlefield, the zanpakuto on your hip collecting dust. You decided to talk to the Captain, he'll surely help you right? Even killing a small hollow would be a big achievement for you. "Captain if I'm not interrupting, may I make a small request?" Ukitake looked up from the book in his hand. "Go ahead" "Captain I'll like to join my colleagues on the frontlines" He closed the book, making eye contact. "I see... so that's your request? I'll do something about it okay?" You were happy he listened to you, now you can finally put your academy training to work.

The squad was preparing to go the site where a huge hollow was spotted and during the preparations you got summoned to the captain's office. You hoped it would be about him allowing you to go there as well."Ah you're here. Please take a seat, I have important matters to discuss with you. I've also prepared tea and snacks for us" Ukitake ushered you to sit in front of him as the two of you created a strategy to approach the holllow. When the solid plan was completed you excused yourself, but as soon as you stood up you fell to your side, the last thing you saw was Ukitake's arms holding you before you hit the ground.

The sound of a man's cough woke you up. It was a dimly lit room, a room you've never set foot in before. " You're awake. That's good. Now let me help you sit up straight" You recognised the man's voice, of course you did, you've conversed with this man daily.

Ukitake held your hand in his as he spoke " I must apologise for my actions dearest, but what other option did I have? How else could I have kept you away from the pain? Don't worry the poison I add in your meal would not cause you any harm, just makes you a little weak. That's all. Being affected by a chronic illness has made me a bit educated in medicine, so you're in good hands. I'll take great care you. I will not let anything harm you."His hands reach out to the bowl kept at his side.

He scooped some soup into the spoon, bringing it near your mouth.

"Now say ahh..."

[exhausted-archivist]

Concept Art Moments and Ideas: What I Wish Was Kept

Pretty sure we've all been there. Seen some of the concept art and thought how cool it was and how much you wish it had made it in the final game. These are some of mine, I won't go too much into why they're not in the game, the answer is usually either one of the following or a combination of: they needed to narrow the scope of the project, frostbite was a new engine they were struggling to make do what they needed, time, they didn't feel it had enough narrative weight or purpose, or it would make the world states branch out far too much.

I'm not really wanting to discuss whether or not I agree with cutting them either. I just really think these are neat concept, ones I've thought out how they would fold in, possible ways they could have played out, and some that personally I have worked into my fic just to fully explore the ideas.

Most of the images that don't have a source link came from either the art book or the BioWare Stories and Secrets From 25 Years of Game Development (B25) book.

Now lets start with the most common one:

[Source]

I'm know others have said this, but I really wish that it had been feasible for you to become Divine. Though, honestly this only would have really worked as decision at the end of the series. While personally in my canon world state I don't have anyone I would want to put in that role. I do have an OC who I did design for that and would have been nice to see it play out. Especially come Trespasser.

These are story boards from the art book of the prologue walk through Haven. The voice lines for this are still in the game files even though they're cut. Something I always wanted in the prologue was something to actually motivate me. There is no real sense of danger, and the walk through Haven hold no real weight. It's mostly telling and no showing, it feels hollow after your first play-through where you aren't curious and uncertain. It honestly would have been interesting to me if this was in there and if there were non-standard ending option outside of combat. Provoking the scared survivors to where they mob you, a timer on the mark instead of just the one check point. If it started draining your health the longer you took to get to the Breach. Things that could easily be removed if you decreased the difficulty level and wouldn't impact the game overly much.

[Left Dragon Age Art Book, Right World of Thedas vol. 2 p. 245]

To continue on with my desire for the steaks in Inquisition to be more intense, for you to actually feel some type of risk or hostility from the world. These two are more of an expansion on the attack on Haven. I wish Corypheus was given a more dramatic entrance than being seen on the hill with his Commander. That when he arrived to scoop you up, that it was more ominous and threatening. Something to illustrate as him having this overwhelming presence and force.

In Hushed Whispers had the concept art of King Alistair going with you and honestly, I feel like it is a missed opportunity. Not only would it make sense but there is a sort of thematic element with Alistair once again having to save Redcliffe from a mage. I think this also could have worked if he was king or warden. If he was a warden, it would have been a very nice way to tie in the Warden plot for Alistair and even Loghain. Would have really given the Inquisitor a reason to care about choosing between them or Hawke in the Fade.

[Source]

Matt Rhodes labeled this as Anders in the tags, and I am really intrigued by this prospect. We know by the end of DA2 if he's alive he doesn't have many friends with the displaced mages of Kirkwall after awhile. It would have been nice for him to come back in that Warden role they were considering for the cancelled Exalted March DLC. But what really makes me curious, is why he's out in what we might think is the Western Approach/Hissing Wastes and what happened to his missing right arm.

Alternatively, another scenario I would have liked to see with Anders comes from the B25 book. We see they explored the idea of Anders, as a Grey Warden in the cancelled Exalted March DLC. Honestly, I feel as if he would return regardless of if you killed him or not because we know that Justice can and has prevented fatal injuries from killing Anders before. This could have been an interesting thread to not only pull his story to an end in dai, but also introduce the Warden contact instead of the ones we had. Because he was on the run and the Wardens would offer a degree of protection so he would be unwillingly forced to return, couple that with him knowing of Corypheus - which would likely be the thing that forced the Wardens to keep him alive once they found his prison empty.

[Source]

This is Western Approach concept art, specifically this was suppose to be Adamant. Matt Rhodes describes that it was suppose to be a monastery, self-sustaining, and a place where they could cultivate their own food, weave their own fabrics. It would have been interesting to be able to see it like this, to see the game use this to not only explore how the Wardens survived out here but also how they recovered the fortress after it was wrecked in Asunder. It would have tied in nicely with exploring the fact that the reversal of Tranquility was found here, a fact known to everyone in game at this point (they just didn't know the Seekers hid it from the Chantry and mages). It would have been an excellent way to fold in Rhys, Evangeline, flesh out Cole's backstory and personal quest, and even show another side of the mages - the ones who didn't want to be involved in the war and fled to the Wardens.

Two Words: Giant. Scorpion.

Look how massive that is. I love mega fauna so much. I want something massive to be living in the Hissing Wastes and I want this to be fighting dragons. It would have been amazing. Look at the boards they put out.

[Source]

I want to believe this is for the Western Approach given the ground type and the smoke in the background. If this thing was guarding the sulfur fields by Griffon Keep? It would have been epic. Or even if we saw it fighting the Abyssal dragon. Honestly, I think more areas should have had a competing predator for the dragons to be fighting. It would have been cooler if they kept great bears (previously known as Dragon Bears) at their massive size to fight a dragon in the Emerald Graves too.

[Source]

That said, this scorpion concept gets even better when you see the concept art for smaller versions being Venatori mounts.

How do you not get stabbed bud? How do you domesticate/train this? What is the intelligence of this little critter? I can just picture a play on the scorpion and the frog happening here. This would have been really cool as mini-bosses or something of that nature. Particularly around the ruins, Venatori operations, or raids against the keeps.

Another piece from B25, we see new concept art of the Inquisitor leaving Skyhold with the Inquisition as Skyhold is destroyed in the background. We learned from David Gaider that at one point Skyhold was actually suppose to be attacked by Corypheus, but it ended up being cut due to time/scope. This is something I wish they kept, having your second base attack, you home at the point where you felt the strongest and potentially after a recent victory.

It would have reminded the player that Corypheus and his commander, Calpernia or Samson, were a real and active threat. Something missing from Inquisition honestly. It would have been interesting to see if we had to find a new base of operations or if we had to rebuild. When first settling in Skyhold everyone mentions being able to see the enemy coming, about not retreating from Skyhold. They really built up an expectation that at the very least a scare of an attack would happen.

There would have been a sort of poetic sense to Skyhold being leveled. Considering it is of Fereldan make, built on top of a leveled elven site. To have the site once again leveled, the history brought back to its foundations. It would have been a thematic foreshadowing to what Solas plans to do as well.

These are clearly just things I found interesting, things I feel would have really added to the game, and some others might not agree with. There are other things I wish they hadn't cut, but I didn't want to include anything that has been post-humorously mentioned by the devs because I wanted to focus more on the concept art aspect. A lot of decisions were shaped by circumstances we'll never really know the full scope of, and sometimes I wonder if they had gotten more than the 3-4 years they had for Inquisition and maybe on an engine that wasn't so fickle and worked better for the style of game how different it would have been.

[dangerous-disposition]

Gerry's WIP Wedneseekend!

This was hugely helpful for me last week in just getting Words Down for the strap!verse which has now become an actual fic rather than a series of smutty one-shots oops so now I'm gonna do this to focus on my fics for Lex's Summer Challenge!

DISCLAIMER: I am only calling it WIP Wedneseekend because it stresses me out to "limit" myself to one day and I think it's fun!! Please do not feel like you also have to do a whole thing too if you're tagged or see this.

The Rules

I post the two prompts I claimed as a poll

Y'all vote in the poll and send me asks requesting a snippet of the fic of your choice

For every vote a fic receives, I will commit to writing 100 words on that fic. For every ask I receive, I will commit to writing an additional 100 words. (So if one gets 10 votes, and 5 asks, that's 1500 words)

At the end of the weekend, I will have completed fics to prepare for posting by the end of the month!

I will post a snippet of what I wrote and tag everyone who requested a snippet!

The Snippet - "Can I braid your hair?"

“Can I braid your hair?” Eddie blinked over at Steve, eyebrows high on his sweaty forehead while he held his hair up off the back of his neck. He could swear he felt heat pouring out of his head. Summer had descended on Hawkins with a vengeance, as if in retaliation for the brief handful of weeks in the Spring when the portals to a frigid hell dimension opened up and attempted to take over their world. Granted, summers in Hawkins tended to be hotter than Satan’s taint, especially around Independence Day, but Eddie figured he was allowed to be noisy and bitchy about it if he wanted. He almost died—first at the hands of a town full of angry, scared hicks, then by a swarm of demobats—and this was his first summer officially free of Hawkins High, the other frigid hell dimension in that shitty town. If Eddie had to spend the summer in the sweaty armpit of America because of dumb bullshit like “recovery” and “physical therapy” and “being under observation,” he was going to bitch and moan and throw all the tantrums he wanted. It helped that all the stupid bullshit (like recovery, and physical therapy, and being under observation) meant that Eddie got to spend a lot of time with Steve outside of the apocalypse. They were both lucky enough to be Under Observation together, courtesy of both of them being the favoured chew toys for the demobats. From there, Steve just started staying close to Eddie, taking him to and from physical therapy, helping him with his exercises at home, coming over when Eddie was in too much pain to get up to use the bathroom, let alone get up and locate painkillers and take them. It had been a while since Steve had to help him on a particularly bad pain day, at least one that extreme, but Steve still came over almost daily. Usually, they would just hang out and eat junk food, smoke a bit of pot sometimes, usually watch whatever movie Steve brought over from work. Sometimes, Steve would suggest they go for a drive and they would just do that, make like they would leave completely. “We could get out of here, never look back.” Worded like a comment, spoken like an oath. “You wanna run away with me, Stevie?” Tone teasing but lined with a hollow desperation. The air in the Beemer would change the moment that question fell from Eddie’s lips, the way Steve’s arms flexed as he squeezed the steering wheel captivating. Most of the time, Eddie doesn’t hear an answer from Steve, other times he hears a quiet but teasing, “Of course, Eds.”

The (no pressure) Tags

These are mostly just so people can vote if they want ;p

@scarcrossdlvrs @patchworkgargoyle @stobinesque @inairbinad @legitcookie @thefreakandthehair @sidekick-hero @yournowheregirl @judasofsuburbia @wynnyfryd @steddieas-shegoes @pizzaqueen @starryeyedjanai @starrystevie @scoops-stevie @lets-try-to-be-normal-otakus @xenon-demon

[sommerregenjuniluft]

@hpsaffics feb 3 - time loop - 1117words

aka fem bartylus in their bonnie and damon from season 5 of vampire diaries arc (i made myself cry with this but also i'm on my period so who knows ksfjf)

“Hey, look,” Barty says, her head popping up over one of the grocery store shelves, “The small, pickled corn cobs you like so much are on Sale.”

Regulus doesn’t have to look up to see the shit eating grin stretching her lips as she holds up the jars of pickled corn with the impossible to miss, red SALE stickers that have been there for every single day of the past 3 months. She simply rolls her eyes and turns to grab an OJ out of the cooler, like she does every Saturday morning. Regulus believes in keeping a weekly and daily schedule in favor of not going insane, thanks a lot.

There’s a noise across the empty store that sounds like Barty put two of the jars into the shopping cart.

Regulus sniffs, ignoring the flutter in her stomach as well as the sting deep inside her ribcage.

She goes about filling her own cart methodically, absentmindedly listening to Barty mucking about wherever she is. Humming under her breath, bags crinkling, the sounds of the cart clinking against stuff. Barty has great spatial awareness in any situation except for the grocery store. 

Regulus still feels last weekend in the tender bruises along her Achillies heel. If bruises stayed that long she’d have enough evidence from a year ago to build a real case. They do not, however, so Regulus is just left with the knowledge of it and that hollow feeling in her chest like someone had a big scoop and Regulus’ heart was a tub of Ben & Jerries.

She continues down the aisle in a bit of a daze. Eggs, oatmilk, protein bars, Earl Grey, Spaghetti and Fusilli because Barty is a fussy shithead that won’t eat other forms of pasta.

They meet again in the snack aisle, Regulus rounding the corner and finding Barty curled over her cart, studying the back of a honey puffs packet.

She’s gnawing on her bottom lips, rosy mouth pursed to the side and the line between her eyebrows deep and pulled low beneath her fringe and Regulus watches some of the longer brown hair slip over her shoulder and to the front. The round muscle is bare, freckled, and so are her arms because last week Barty made it her mission to go through Evan’s closet and cut off the sleeves of his every one of his t-shirts. 

Regulus had been furious. 

She misses him desperately. Pandora and Sirius, too. The very first night she’d slept in her best friend’s bed, clad in one of Sirius’ softest shirts. Regulus doesn’t remember a time she’d wept herself to sleep so harshly. 

Barty had come and gotten her after 32 hours of refusing to leave the room and dragged her into a shower before plopping her down on one of the kitchen bar stools and making pancakes for her. Whipped cream and blueberries on the side. And then she’d left to go wherever it is she goes every single morning after breakfast until she’s returning for lunch.

She slips the strand of silky straight hair behind her ear now and then glances up when Regulus advances farther into the aisle.

Their eyes meet for a moment, mint and blue gray, clashing, getting caught in each other. Hooks sinking in, ripping at the entangled spots, and when Regulus finds it in herself to break away she feels raw. Chafed. A hotly throbbing ache. Burning.

Regulus looks around in the shelves but she isn’t really seeing any of the things. It takes a moment and then she’s taken aback when she genuinely can’t find the Ritter Sports party mix. It should be right in front of her, nestled between the Kinder stuff and the no name rows of chocolate bars. There’s an empty space on the shelf where they should sit and Regulus blinks at that spot in confusion.

Before she can do more about it the cold metal of a shopping cart grazes Regulus’ naked calf, jolting her and making her look up at Barty where she’s come closer, still lazily draped over the handle of her cart, now sporting an amused expression.

Her smirk is horribly smug and sitting a little lopsided on her unfairly beautiful face, “Lookin’ for something, Black?”

Regulus opens her mouth to respond but then Barty props her chin in one of her palms and cocks her head at an exaggerated angle, pointedly letting her gaze wander over the shelf Regulus is standing in front of numbly. And then up.

Regulus blinks again and then follows her line of sight automatically. She sweeps her gaze back around and up and then spots the chocolates where they’re perched on the very top of the shelf. Neatly set up over the row of Reezes there. 

All the way up there and impossible for Regulus to reach.

Her favorite chocolates.

Barty had taken the time to put every last of Regulus’ favorite chocolates on the top of that shelf with such care for order she’s never once applied to their pantry in the months they’d lived together back when they were a couple.

Regulus feels her browns knit, eyes burning with anger and when she looks over she watches the smile on Barty’s face turn wider. That’s about all Regulus is able to take.

Her chin starts crinkling and she feels her lips start to wobble despite the way she’s biting down on the inside of her lower one hard enough to draw blood. There’s nothing Regulus can do against the tears shooting into her eyes and the way her throat starts to clog up before, pathetically, a single sob escapes her. 

And then she’s crying. Full on, shoulders shaking with it and Barty’s smile falls.

She looks properly panicked and the cart gets shoved to the side, colliding loudly with the opposite shelf, and then she’s there to pull Regulus into a hug.

Her head hangs uselessly as she weeps into the crook of Barty’s arm and chest, deep heaving sobs as Barty cradles her head and holds her tight by the shoulders.

“Hey, hey,” Barty mumbles, voice strained, “I’m sorry, Reg, I’m sorry. I’ll get them back down.”

Regulus uselessly ruts her face into the naked skin, tasting salty shame in the corners of her lips.

“Every single one of them, I’ll get them all down, baby. I’m sorry,” she whispers, breath hot on the crown of Regulus curls.

Regulus finds her hands fisted into the material of Barty’s shirt, clutching at it numbly while she tries to swallow the sobs, “I hate you.”

Barty nods above her, “I know, baby,” and if Regulus didn’t know any better she'd think she hears shame and regret mixed into the words. “I know.”

[shads-shipposts]

Another small fight scene before Trevor once again gives Shadow a migraine. He really enjoys being a plot device as it gives him free rein to be a menace, honestly. But at least I got to wrestle with Allan a bit, as mutual ass-kicking really is a bonding activity for me lol. Also, at this point (2019) I wasn't aware of my gender dysphoria so there are red flags all over the place, plus its the reason I'm still going by she/her while in later books I go by they/them. 

If Tintin and Sakharine seem a bit shallow, there's actually an in-universe explanation. Given this story technically takes place in my fic universe, where I didn't even think about Sakharine and Tintin yet or even Haddock, they are pretty "basic" as far as characterizations go. The sailors are really the only ones that get complexity. As someone from my story discord put it, the sailors are origami while the other "main" movie characters are cardboard cutouts. But the main characters (Ivan, Haddock, and Tintin) have plenty of fics focused on them, so its all good. 

Hope you enjoyed, and as always leave a comment/like if you did!

Beginning: Here Previous: Here Next: Here Ao3: Here Masterlist:  Here

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A hiss and explosion of smoke thankfully disproved Neil’s initial theory, but it still left us all with sore throats and watery eyes.

Not that it stopped one sailor.

A shoulder slammed into my stomach, driving me back into the wall. I brought my elbow down, hitting the tender spot between the shoulder blade and neck, but the man grabbed me as he fell and we both went down. Arms tightened around my middle, whoever it was trying to pin me to the ground.

Allan, judging by the feel of rolled up sleeves.

He brought his full weight down, nearly knocking the breath from me and almost causing my arms to buckle. The man was heavy!

I said refrigerator as a joke!

I didn’t expect him to actually be as heavy as one!

The hell you eat?!

A hand grabbed one elbow, yanking it back, and down I went. I rolled as I fell, teeth aimed for his shoulder. I missed the bulk of it, but managed to at least catch the cloth.

Tasted and smelled heavily like tobacco and what I assumed was some time of smokey yet sweet alcohol. Bourbon, maybe?

Writer brain off, Fighter brain on!

“Damn it, kid, quit bitin’!” came the raspy yell, but I couldn’t tell if it was anger or smoke that caused his tone.

“Nien!” I growled through a mouthful of shirt.

He rolled us both out of the alley onto the sidewalk, out of the smoke. I ended up on top as we came to a stop right by the curb, but before I could strike, a hand snatched my arm and wrenched me away from Allan.

“Time to go, Shadow!”

“Trevor?!” I demanded, trying to look behind me. “Get off-!”

“Let’s go, let’s go, no time for slow!” Trevor sang, yanking me to my feet before turning to Allan. The hair all along my body stood on end just before Trevor hit him square in the chest with a small blast of lightning.

It sent Allan back to the sidewalk, and damn near sent me into shock.

“Trevor, are you tryin’ to fuckin’ kill him?!” I screamed, frozen as Allan laid groaning on the ground.

“Relax, he’s fine!” Trevor yanked me down the road, away from the alley and the docks. “C’mon!”

I still hesitated, not wanting to wake up with a hollow pit in my stomach after Allan died due to Trevor’s shenanigans.

“Ok!” Trevor chirped. “Plan B!”

“What are you- Trevor!” I screamed as he scooped me up and threw me over his shoulder.

“Roll out!”

No amount of wriggling or punching the back of his thick skull did any good, but thankfully I could see Allan get up, albeit slowly, before Trevor turned a corner and I lost sight of him.

I couldn’t see where Trevor was going, but with his random corner turns I wondered if he even had an end destination in mind.

At one turn, I saw the edge of the marketplace from the movie and filed it away for later as Trevor continued on.

Gotta admit, his runnin’ form is very smooth. Unless he’s just glidin’ across things like a glitched character model?

I looked down.

Nope, he’s running.

Eventually, he unceremoniously dumped me onto the sidewalk then stood proudly with his hands on his hips as he flashed me a grin.

“Ta da!”

I immediately jumped to my feet and slammed him against the wall. “You could have killed Allan!”

“But I didn’t! It was just a little zap, people in Star Wars survive that all the time!”

“We ain’t in Star Wars!”

“Eh, technically we are since your fanfiction did overlap fandoms.”

“Cut the shit!” I spat, slamming him against the wall again.

“I thought you wanted to get away from ‘em!”

“Not if it involved shootin’ lightnin’ at Allan! Trevor, that kills people!”

“He’s fine! Not the first time he survived gettin’ struck by lightning anyway.”

Wait, Allan’s been hit by lightning before?

That wasn’t in my fanfiction.

Guess that’s dream liberties.

I’ll have to use that though, and research any lasting effects of bein’ struck by lightnin’ because there’s gotta be some.

“That doesn’t mean you can just zap him!”

“We had to keep this plot rollin’ somehow!”

“Trevor, I swear to fuck-!”

The door opened to the store beside me and it was then I noticed the writing on the door, thankfully in English: Police.

Piss.

I let go of Trevor as a man with light skin in his mid forties stuck his head out the door.

“Is… everythin’ alright?”

I groaned. “Yeah, just a minor argument.”

He looked even more concerned, bushy eyebrows furrowing as he stepped outside with me. “Argument with…?”

“Trev-” I turned and found myself alone. “Or.” I inhaled deeply, letting it out through gritted teeth. “Of course he’d split.”

Why can he phase in and out of scenes? I should be able to do the same, it’s my head!

“Was there someone else here, son?”

“Son?” I glanced at my chest. “I know I’m flat but c’mon.”

His brows shifted up, and I found myself reminded of the fisherman dad from Cloudy with a Chance of Meatballs. “Oh, sorry, ma’am.”

I waved him off. “Eh, ain’t the first and won’t be the last. Besides, it’s deliberate. Attracts less trouble.”

“Speaking of trouble.”

Oh boy.

“Did you come from the docks, per chance?”

I stiffened. “Why?”

“Because I just received a report from a man that he nearly struck two dockworkers. One matched your…” His eyes drifted to my hair. “Description.”

I do like the color purple, but perhaps it gives me too strong of main character energy. At least I don’t have a tragic backstory. Just the typical emotional hangups that come from military parents who hail from the deep hills of Appalachia where mental illness like anxiety and ADD don’t exist and people would rather die than actually address their emotions.

“So the fucker can drag his fancy ass down ‘ere but can’t stop to say “sorry” when he almost runs someone over?” I scoffed. “What’s the world comin’ to?”

“What was a young lady such as yourself doin’ at the docks? It can be very dangerous there.”

“I was…”

Think think! Can’t get them in trouble, dream or not.

“Meetin’ some old friends.”

“Old friends?” he asked, frowning. “How does that lead to you being in the street?” He peered closer, brows shifting up again at the cut on the underside of my forearm. “And you’re cut?”

“Eh, we like to wrestle. Mutual asskickin’ is how I show affection.” I wiped my arm on my pants. “This is my bad, don’t worry about it.”

His frown shifted into a puzzled but amused smile. “Certainly unusual for a young lady, but not unheard of.”

Oh thank goodness this man ain’t sexist. Well, he kinda is, but for this time period I suppose he’s got a point.

“I take it you don’t want to file a report yourself, then?”

I quickly shook my head. “No no no, that isn’t necessary. It was just me and some old friends, that’s all.”

“Ah. In the future, I suggest keepin’ it at the docks. People get the wrong idea pretty easily, and I wouldn’t want a report filed if it doesn’t need to be.”

I’ll file that away for the next dream.

“I’ll keep it in mind. If that’s all, can I…?” I jerked my thumb down the street. “Go?”

He nodded. “As you were. I’ll take it off the books, miss…?”

“Call me Shadow.”

“Miss Shadow-“

“Just Shadow,” I corrected. “I don’t really like gendered terms, ya know?”

“Very well, Shadow. I’ll file it as resolved.”

I headed past him, back towards the marketplace. “Thanks!” I called over my shoulder before focusing forward again. As I walked away from the station, a frown dug into the corners of my mouth and my salt level rose.

First Trevor spooks me, then I smack poor Neil, then I had to leg it after making Allan all types of suspicious, then I got into a backalley brawl, and then I get stopped by a very persistent cop whom I have to lie to about the fight.

Reaching the edge of the marketplace and wading into the sea of people and knick-knacks, my irritation only grew.

And now I got fucking sensory overload!

“Some days it don’t pay to get outta bed,” I muttered through gritted teeth, trying to get through the crowded marketplace to Tintin before he and Sakharine split.

Because, maybe if I tempted Sakharine, he’d invite me to Marlinspike and I’d get to see the sailors again. For whatever reason, this dream hadn’t shifted yet and an inkling of hope had sparked in me that I still could get myself on that ship.

What the hell are we doing? We just escaped the sailors, why are we trying to worm our way back to them?

Because we didn’t willingly escape, Trevor dragged us away.

We were in the middle of fighting them!

Yes, and it’s the most fun I’ve had in a dream in forever.

What I’d say, I had no idea. Where they were, I had no idea. How I’d get a ticket to Marlinspike, I had no idea.

Why I was acting like a dumbass moth to flame, I had no idea.

But it’d been a long time since I had a dream this good of the boys. Perhaps most would be distraught at having to physically fight their favorite characters, but it wouldn’t be the first time my enjoyable dreams of characters involved throwing hands. Or wrestling. Or a good ol’ chase.

Mutual asskicking really was how I showed affection, and that was just the way the cookie crumbled when you grew up with mostly guy best friends.

Concern had started to gnaw at me, admittedly, the longer this dream continued in a linear fashion. Dreams… they didn’t flow this smoothly.

Ever.

Not for me at least.

By now I would either be on the ship, or the ship would have turned into a literal submarine like that one time, or Allan and co would have accepted me into their motley crew, or I’d be on some random ass adventure with Allan and Tom, or the bunch would have morphed into different characters entirely.

Or a convoluted mix of all of the above.

My dreams were just like that.

The alternative of course was I had literally, body and soul, been yeeted across realities and found myself in the actual middle of one of my earliest fanfiction timelines with the crew and was now stuck here.

Which just wasn’t possible.

Wasn’t probable.

Wasn’t comprehensible.

It’s inconceivable, and I’m pretty damn sure that word is used correctly in this case!

Luckily, I had a few saving graces that kept me grounded in the reality that it was just a very, very vivid dream.

The first of course was the utter lack of pain. Real life, even in other realities, had pain. Granted the movie had somewhat slapstick physics at times, but still. I should have felt something as I tumbled down those crates.

Trevor phasing in and out of existence like a glitchy Skyrim character on my old Xbox360 also banished any chance of this being my fanfiction. Because that was not something that happened in any sort of reality, and certainly not in Tintin’s canon or my alternate timelines.

Sure there were aliens, but this was… something else.

The third of course was the fact the sailors knew Scarlett. She was my creation through and through, and while I didn’t know exactly how they knew her, the fact they did at all convinced me this was a dream.

And so I calmed my nerves and focused on completing my task before I woke up, weaving through the markets and trying to play a demented game of geoguesser with the buildings and the near perfect memory I had of the movie.

Were it a VHS, I’d have worn it out with how much I watched it.

No questions asked.

VHS? Ugh, now I feel old too. I shouldn’t feel this old at 19.

Tell that to our sixty year old back pain.

We sit like a shrimp and sleep like one of those Family Guy fall animations. Of course we got back pain.

Finally, I spotted my target.

Good timing, too, for Tintin had the ship in hand and was squaring off against Sakharine.

I stopped a little ways away.

Am I really gonna throw myself at this Ruskie for the chance to grapple with the sailors again?

Tintin looked ready to march away, his grip tightening on the model ship.

Of course I am!

“Hey!” I called, cursing when my accent drew the attention of some market-goers.

Quitchyer gawkin’. What’s the matter, ain’t heard the result of Kentucky parents and a southern upbringing?

“Tintin, there you are!” I said, jogging up to him and Sakharine.

Tintin turned to face me, surprise in his blue eyes.

Why does everyone in this movie have blue eyes? Just like why the hell is everyone in this movie so aggressively British? Sakharine is supposed to be a Ruskie! Mister Ivan Ivanovic Sakharine, can’t get more Russian with that.

What do you have against Russians? Our first and only hardcore reader for years was Russian, she even sent you pictures of her snowy backyard.

Oh I got nothing against ‘em. I’m just an equal opportunity irritant. Like Looney Tunes. Everyone catching these verbal hands, I don’t discriminate.

“Shadow!” he exclaimed. “Where have you been?”

He knows us?

We had that info dump courtesy of Trevor this morning, of course he knows us.

Tintin looked me up and down as Snowy came close and circled me, sniffing at my leg.. “What happened?”

I looked down, frowning at the muddy hems of my pants, a ripped patch at the knee, my bloody forearm, and a streak of what must have been a mix of mud and oil up the side of my shirt.

“Hell, look like I’ve been to war,” I muttered. “No wonder the cop stopped me.”

Aside from me yelling at air.

“You were stopped by police?” Tintin asked. “What ever were you doing?”

“May or may not have run into some buds at the docks. And you know me!” I think. “It’s not a hello without a friendly bodyslam. We got a bit carried away and caused some issues for a driver that apparently tattled to the cops.” I shook my head. “But I’m fine!”

“Are you certain?”

“Aye, I’m good!” I gave him two thumbs up. “Fit as a fiddle!”

His brows furrowed. “What does that even mean?”

“Ya know, I ain’t sure.” I turned to Sakharine. “Sorry to interrupt.” Not. “But wanted to catch Tintin ‘fore he left.”

Sakharine looked me up and down, a noticeable twitch at the corners of his mouth like he wanted to frown distastefully but also wanted to save face. “You are quite brave, getting into scraps with dockworkers. Those types of men can be quite vulgar and dangerous to young ladies.”

Oh, you’re one of those aristocrats. Grand.

“Maybe ‘round ‘ere, but in the states we Tomboys are quite common,” I said with a shrug, then turned my attention to the model ship. “Oh, neat! Looks like the Unicorn from that old pirate tale.”

Both Tintin and Sakharine looked at me with more interest. Especially Sakharine.

“You know of this ship?” Tintin asked.

“Aye! Pirate and sailor nerd, remember?”

“I was just about to go to the library to research it. Could I borrow your notes instead?”

“Ah, sorry mate. It’s more of just passin’ stuff I know, ain’t got the main source.” I couldn’t help myself as Snowy yipped questioningly, and I knelt down to rub the little terrier’s ears. “The library’s a good start,” I said as Snowy leaned into my hand, his stubby tail wagging like mad.

Man you’re adorable and cute for a menace.

“Would you like to accompany me?” Tintin asked.

“Ah, actually think imma wander ‘round the market for a bit.”

“Are you certain?”

“Aye,” I said, watching Snowy scamped off in pursuit of something in the marketplace. I stood, smiling at Tintin. “I’ll catch up later!”

It didn’t take long after he left for Sakharine to clear his throat. “You said you knew of the Unicorn?”

I turned to him. “That I do. Bit of a tragedy, if not an interestin’ one. Pirates, fatal clashes, hidden treasures. Sounds like something out of an old comic book, don’t it?”

Should we really be teasing this man? He had a guy killed for getting too involved.

Yeah, but what’s the worst that could happen? We’re dreamin’. Gunfights, rabid monsters, apocalyptic fallouts. We’ve survived it all.

“You know of the treasure then?”

“Heard rumors, aye. Talk about fascinatin’! Reckoned there may be something at Marlinspike, it was the old estate of the Haddocks, but don’t think I’ll ever get the chance to rummage ‘round there.”

His eyes narrowed slightly. “What use would you have for such an archaic tale?”

“Writer stuff.”

His gaze sharpened. “You are a reporter?”

I shook my head. “I don’t like people nearly enough for that mess. Nah, I’m just a fiction writer. Pirates are my jam.” At his blank look, I added, “I have a few characters who are pirates. They’re just interestin’, and the sea? Man, what I wouldn’t give for a chance to get out there on the water.”

Take the bait. Take the bait. Take the bait. Take the bait.

The suspicion turned to a look of false friendliness. “Why, if it is Marlinspike you desire, might I offer a tour?”

I straightened up.

Fool, you fell victim to one of the classic blunders!

“You know the guy who owns it now?”

He smiled, but it was far from comforting. It was amiable, sure, but given I knew the intent behind it I wanted to scrub myself with a wire-brush and bleach. Or maybe even Drano.

Allan’s sly smile brought out a sly smile of my own, but Sakharine’s made me want to square up. After, of course, I fed the toilet like a mama bird.

“I myself do. Purchased it some time ago, my dear.”

It took everything in me to not grimace at the term.

Ew. No. Nah. Don’t like that. That shit will be dealt with as soon as I get to Marlinspike. You’re lucky I need you right now.

“Well, shoot! If you’re offerin’, I’ll take it!” I gestured behind me with a thumb. “Mind if I get a sketchbook and grab a bite to eat? I can meet you back ‘ere in about thirty minutes.”

Odd I feel hungry in a dream. Eh, it should pass.

“I myself have a matter to attend to, so perhaps three pm this evening would work better? It is about an hour’s drive.”

You’re gonna go get your boys to come along and yoink me, ain’t you? Fine by me. I could do with another tussle.

“See you back in a few,” I replied with a smile. “What’s your name, by the way?”

Wait, did he ever tell Tintin his name? Or did Tintin just know it? Because if so, plot hole???

“Mister Sakharine.”

“Well, Mister Sakharine.” I gave him a mock salute. “I’ll see you in a few.” 

[frostybearpaws]

I wrote something, it's not done, but I feel pretty good about this snippet

I'm trying to focus more on show and don't tell so... tell me how that goes pls <3

The set internal atmosphere of the Wo.Con.S. Heron reminds Rhea of Xaan-Ber when the vibrant grasses dried to stiff brown husks and Hadeena bore down, hot and unforgiving, onto the land below. She passes a few crew gathered together in the hall, mingling before take off. Cheeks pink and foreheads glistening, they pull at their uniform collars and fan themselves with their hands.

They pause to salute her as she passes, fluid, slumping bodies snapping taut as steel. One, a girl, curly redhead with more freckles than skin, looks ready to pass out.

She will have to get Ursa to recalibrate the ship’s temperature regulation. Perhaps sooner than later. Rhea tugs at the suddenly constricting collar of her uniform. Heat moves like fingers through her fur, pressing into her skin and drawing out sweat before the ship’s even left the dock. 

“Commander Youngstar,” One acknowledges. Rhea observes his young faced appearance, baby-fat cheeks and wide eyes that scoop up the stars and planets and holds them tight. Rhea returns the salute with a nod and continues onward. 

Quiet whispers and giggles break out among the group as Rhea turns a corner and crosses a corridor with considerably less traffic.

There is a sudden quiet to the air, even though the rest of the ship bustles back and forth behind her. The overhead lights glare down, reflecting off the newly polished floor. The shimmer ricochets from every surface turning the hallway into the hollowed out isoid shell she found when she was seven. Wet with pond water, the crystalline surface refracted Hadeena’s heated gaze in all directions.

Fractured by the light, Commander Youngstar peers back at her, from the floor, from the walls, from the ceiling with a stern expression. From every angle, sky blue eyes and dusky blossom fur stands, wrapped in her black uniform, square-shouldered and stiff.

Rhea continues towards the elevator stationed at the end of the hall. The doors open automatically and her stride does not slow as she steps aboard and turns to face the hall. “Haron,” Rhea addresses the voice automated system. “Bridge.” 

When the door closes she finally sees herself in the chrome interior. It is also at this moment that she takes notice of an unruly lock of mane which managed to avoid its trim. Sticking up like a zagging lightning bolt, it almost resembles a radio’s bent antenna from Earth’s twentieth century.

“Dammit.” She breathes as she peers at herself. Using the rippling reflection of the elevator’s interior Rhea approximates the lock’s location on her head. When she feels the ghost of coarse fiber against her hand she grumbles, brows knitting together. Rhea runs her hand over her head, the lock flattens then pops back up. Frowning, Rhea runs her fingers through her mane. This time the straggler is hidden.

At least for now.

Her tail flicking, Rhea wrings her hands. 

Then they smooth over her uniform. She looks at the white twine of which she had patched her uniform up. It's bumpy and uneven as she runs her palm over it again and again. Rhea bites her lips and picks at the string, the rough pads of her fingers causing the twine to fray. “No.” She mutters and lets her hands drop to her sides. 

Suddenly, in the reflection, the patchwork looks like the scars she hides on her back and torso.

Rhea pulls on her collar again, attempting to fight the fabric as it tightens around her jugular.