#it's alluded to in the fic

[barblaz-arts]

Headcanon: one of the first things Vaggie did to reclaim an identity for herself outside of being heaven's soldier is to try more feminine clothing, something she never used to let herself wear because it's impractical for a fighter(like growing her hair). It was an awkward transition, but Charlie's very enthusiastic encouragement helped Vaggie love her new look.

[rafey-baby]

hidden 4

c/w: hostage/stockholm syndrome situation, outlaw!rafe being his usual self towards pogue!reader, mentions of murder & violence, a surprise in the grocery store, smut: dub-con (!), fingering, p-in-v, unprotected sex, size kink, 18+ mdni!

wc: 2.7k

it’s here! (one more part left!!) hope u enjoy xx

part 1 part 2 part 3 & part 5

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“A picture provided by a passer-by has led us to believe that Rafe Cameron, the suspect for the murder of a police officer is still on the island and has possibly been in contact with the witness who now wants to withdraw his statement, not wanting to testify in court due to personal reasons. However, the investigation is still ongoing and Cameron remains the main suspect, which means that if you have any information about his whereabouts, please do not hesitate—” 

Rafe twists the car radio off with a scoff.  

“The fuck they're gonna do with a blurry photo? Unless they find another witness or some actual proof, they don’t have shit on me,” he mutters more to himself than her as he yanks open the door and lets it slam closed; leaving her to scramble after his exasperated steps through the grocery store parking lot.  

She doesn’t know how Rafe managed to discover the name of the witness or why a few days ago she sat in his truck parked outside the poor guy’s home keeping watch, but at this point she’s decided that the universe simply must have something against her peace of mind.  

When she asked about his visit, he simply shrugged it off with a ’Don’t worry about it, s’all good. Just had a little talk with him’ which honestly made unease settle into the bottom of her stomach because it was most definitely not the entire truth.  

For the following days, she tried her very best to avoid his intimidating presence as to not give him a reason to get mad at her while he made several phone calls and took care of business. However, acting as if he wasn’t there wasn’t the easiest task since her house, despite the cozy atmosphere, isn’t very grand.  

Whenever she'd try to find sleep in her soft sheets, his heavy presence in the next room would send a shiver up her spine and erase any prospects of getting rest. And when she’d try to cook dinner, he’d be looming way too close for comfort and make her accidentally drop a pan on her kitchen floor. Therefore, she's not exactly feeling her best. 

As they step through the sliding doors, Rafe is hiding under black sunglasses and an old baseball cap he borrowed (stole) from her; trying to keep a low profile and appear as ordinary as any casual customer shopping for essentials since he’s practically emptied her fridge at this point. 

“Do you want red or green grapes?” She inquires as she peers down at the fruit. 

“Don't really give a shit. Just get both,” he grumbles out, seemingly all too aware of his surroundings; antsy to just get out of the store already. 

“That’s not very helpful,” she complains quietly as she decides on the green ones and pushes the shopping cart forward with Rafe close behind.  

And she’s all too preoccupied by picking out what she wants for breakfast when all of a sudden, he grabs her face in his big palms and presses his lips against hers.  

She lets out a surprised noise that gets swallowed up by him as he slots their mouths together while her entire body tenses up in response to him pushing her against the shelves that display different types of bagels. 

She’s momentarily disconcerted, doesn’t remember the last time she’s been kissed like this; all rough and inconsiderate. And maybe that’s why she’s beginning to feel light-headed; every coherent thought wiped away because him kissing her makes absolutely no sense. Therefore, she doesn’t even realize she’s reciprocating the kiss before her distracted mind stirs awake and soon enough, she’s pulling away with creased brows. 

“Rafe, what the—”  

However, she’s interrupted by the hollow of his hand plastering over her mouth.  

“Shut up,” he hisses lowly, eyes alarmed and shoulders tense.  

She’s about to protest before he nods towards a couple of officers a few feet away from them; apparently having just passed them. They’re strolling through the aisle leisurely, chatting freely and not paying them any mind because why would they do anything except roll their eyes at a lovey-dovey couple making out next to the organic whole wheat toast?  

Oh.  

She can’t believe she didn’t notice them; figuring that if she was the one running from the cops, she wouldn’t last a day. Before her brain has the chance to catch up and command her to scream for help though, she feels the barrel of his gun poking at her chest, forcing the desperate pleads to die out on her tongue.  

She stares into threatening larimar and blinks; too frightened to even inhale too loud. Neither of them move until the policemen have rounded the corner and leaving them the only people standing in the bread aisle.  

And he doesn’t think too much of the kiss, simply a means for him to stay under the radar but unfortunately her head turns into a blank piece of paper, not able to say a word until they’re walking the grass-covered steps to her threshold.  

“Why would you do that?” She’s fuming as he locks the front door. 

“Was just tryin’ not to blow my cover, calm down,” he grumbles out and sets down the grocery bags.  

“By kissing me?” She snaps in exasperation.  

“Yeah, well there wasn’t exactly time to think about anything else,” he seems so nonchalant about all this, as if he doesn’t care one bit. She figures he doesn’t because it seems that for him it’s the most tedious thing in the world to consider other people’s feelings for one second.  

Maybe she didn’t want him to kiss her, of all things. Didn’t want him to make the muddy thoughts brewing beneath the surface of her sanity any louder than they already were. Because despite how hard she’s trying to convince herself that him shoving her around and walking around her house as if he owns it doesn’t affect her, it wouldn’t change the fact that something about his dominating presence is slowly but surely making her grow curious.  

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” She drops her keys to the ceramic bowl in her hallway, walking towards the living room; wanting to put as much distance between them as possible in order to have some space to think.  

“I mean, it’s not like you seemed to mind too much, you did kiss me back,” he points out as heavy footsteps follow her.  

“I was just…in shock, okay?” She turns around and her voice is loud, tone frustrated. 

“Don’t fucking raise your voice at me,” he warns her, low and gravelly; making her shiver.  

“And if you were just in shock, then why are you blushing right now, hm?” He takes a step closer to inspect her, too close. 

“I’m— I’m not blushing,” she tries to deny. However, the cherry tint heating the apples of her cheeks gives her away.  

“You’re a shit liar, you know that?” He chuckles, amused. “Bet you liked me kissing you, hm? Just being too much of a stubborn Pogue to admit that.”  

Her dumbfounded eyes stare at him in silence because she doesn’t know what she’s supposed to say to that.  

“Usually not into whiny pups but should just fuck some sense into you so you’d wipe that stupid pout off your face, yeah?” He rasps out, looking at her with something devilish glimmering in the aquamarine of his eyes.  

“You’re a fucking psycho!” The accusation escapes past her lips before she has the chance to think about it.  

And at that, he harshly grabs her jaw between rough fingertips; mushing her cheeks together and making her teeth bite into the gummy walls of her mouth.  

“What did you just call me?”  

She realizes her mistake too late.  

“Didn’t— didn’t mean to, I’m sorry,” her frightened eyes are wide.  

“Yeah? You’re sorry?” He dryly laughs in her face, finding entertainment in her torment.  

“Yes, I don’t know why I—”  

“You gon’ make it up to me?” He asks as he feigns contemplation.  

“What?” 

“Cause I think this fucking psycho ordering you around like a puppy gets you wet, huh? You don’t think I’ve seen the way you look at me?” He lets go of her jaw, tall frame towering over her. 

“I don’t…what are you—” she’s unable to move, trepidation creeping up her spine along with an odd form of intrigue that makes her respiration grow arduous because he’s not exactly wrong.  

“Should we check?” He raises his brows. 

“What— what are you doing?” She tries to take a hesitant step back, albeit uselessly; her back thumping against the wall when he corners her into it. 

“That’s not a no,” he tilts his head at her, mocking her. And then he’s pushing his hand into her pants, past the waistband of her panties and feeling her out; fingertips finding the stickiness already present.   

She gasps, surprised by the sudden pressure against her attention-starved cunt.  

“Huh, look at that. Should’ve known you were a horny fucking girl when I first saw those stupid fake scared eyes, talking ’bout some ’Rafe I’m sorry please don’t hurt me I’ll do anything’ shit,” he raises his pitch to an overly extreme girlish squeak, meant to patronize her, yet somehow, it’s turning her on even more.  

“Bet you’d like that though, if I’d hurt you? Rough you up a little, hm?” His heady breaths tickling her lips is kindling a blaze deep in her tummy; arousing something novel, strange, unfamiliar. 

“Rafe…” she manages out since her head is spinning.  

“That’s right. Say my fucking name,” he’s chuckling as a digit slips down to prod at her opening and slowly pushing in; causing a faint whimper to leave the gaps of her teeth. 

“So fucking tight. Been a while, huh? Not gon’ lie been a while for me too. With all this shit with the cops haven’t exactly had the time to get my cock wet, you know? At this point s’getting a bit frustrating, if I’m being honest,” he rumbles mindlessly, too lost in examining her reactions to his fingers playing with her cunt to care about what he’s saying.  

She doesn’t respond, doesn’t think she’s physically able to form any kind of words at the moment, let alone coherent sentences. His thumb rubbing lazy circles against her swollen clit leaves her dazed and she knows this is wrong, it’s so wrong yet she can’t deny how good it feels to have him touch her like this.  

“Now that I’m thinking about it, haven’t tried Pogue pussy before, wanna help with that?” His low drawl is nearly hypnotizing; her morals turning more and more hazy by the second and evaporating into the tension-filled air surrounding them.  

“Rafe…I don’t—” 

“You’re soaked. When’s the last time you got fucked good?” He interrupts her.  

“I don’t...remember,” she mumbles out.  

“Don’t remember? Shit, Puppy,” there’s a condescending lilt to his pity and she whines when he drags his finger out and nudges it back in again.  

“The guy I was with wasn’t, um, the best so…didn’t really wanna do it again and stuff,” she timidly admits.  

“You’re letting a guy who can’t make you come between your legs? Such a shame. But not really a surprise those Pogue boys don’t know how to fuck. I mean, no wonder you’re so wound up,” the edges of his mouth curl.  

“I’ll take care of it though, make you feel so good, yeah?” His breathy promises try to coax her to give in. 

“Rafe, I don’t know…”  

“Listen, I’m just saying, probably gon’ be here for some time until everything settles and gotta kill the time somehow, no?”  

“But this is wrong, you— you threatened to kill me,” she reminds him and herself with the remnants of her determination.  

“Yeah, yeah, that wasn’t very…nice, but don’t be acting like you don’t want this. All I’m saying here is, you’re the one dripping down my hand right now and really, I’d be doing you a favor,” his crooked logic goes unnoticed by her as she slowly blinks up at him. 

“We really shouldn’t—” she’s interrupted by another digit squeezing into her achy cunt, making her moan out at the sudden stretch. 

“Don’t worry your little head over what we should and shouldn’t do, alright? If you’re worried what your pathetic Pogue friends might think, I don’t kiss and tell. Can be our little secret, yeah?” He grins down at her. 

“Rafe, I don’t think we should…” she tries again. 

“Shh. What did I just tell you, hm?” He hushes her with the expanse of his palm pressing against her clit making her suppress another whimper.  

“Promise to go slow?” She asks without a clue as to why she’s not trying to prevent this.  

What’s wrong with her? She tries to convince herself that she’s only allowing for this to happen because maybe then she’ll finally get him out of her system. 

“Of course,” his conformation doesn’t sound all too veracious when something hungry glints in his eyes.  

“You gon’ let a Kook show you what you’re missing, hm?” He rumbles before he’s pushing her onto the couch and following soon after; mouth sloppy as it molds over her own and tongue warm when it intrudes her mouth. Quick fingers toy with his belt until he’s tugging the zipper of his pants down and making her eyes flicker down when he takes himself out. 

“You’re so big,” her rounded eyes ogle at his cock, sinking her teeth into her bottom lip when she notices how it twitches in his hand in response to her words.  

“Shit, you think it’ll fit?” He wonders out loud, grabbing her hips and dragging her closer with strong arms. 

“I don’t know…” she trails off when he pulls down her shorts by the belt loops before the drippy tip is nudging at her entrance. 

“Don’t worry, I’ll make it fit,” he murmurs and then he’s tucking himself right into her weepy cunt.  

She cries out at the overwhelming stretch as she tries to accommodate to his size; thankful he’s not pushing all the way in yet because she already feels so full she’s not sure how she’s supposed to take any more of him.  

“Fuck, you really are a tight little thing, huh?” He grunts out.  

“Relax, yeah?” He coaxes before his mouth meets her neck; pasting wet kisses and letting the flat of his tongue lave over the sensitive skin there.  

He moves lower as his fingers pluck at the straps of her flimsy top before letting her tits out and taking a puffy nipple between his lips. They moan in tandem when his left hand reaches for the other, trying to loosen her up by pinching it between a thumb and an index finger. 

“Rafe…” 

“What? You want more? I’ll give you more, alright?” There’s almost a primal urge in the way he pushes in deeper; forcing a loud noise to tumble from the back of her throat when he begins to fill her up to the hilt. 

“There you go, taking it like a good fucking puppy, yeah?” He groans against her neck when her nails sink into his back muscles, scratching downwards and surely leaving marks.  

Then he’s flipping her over onto her stomach with one swift movement, pushing all the way in once more; fitting snugly inside as her walls flutter around him. 

She cries out at the new angle his cock is now poking at her insides as he shoves her face into the couch cushions with each jostle of his hips against her. And he’s not gentle, she’s not even sure he knows what the word means as he keeps stuffing her full over and over again; making her see stars when she can almost feel her orgasm on the tips of her fingers.  

“Such a filthy slut, aren’t ya? Letting a complete stranger fuck you like this in your own house?” A low chuckle rumbles from his chest as he keeps nudging at the spongy spot inside her; her loud moans echoing around the room and she feels so good she thinks she’s gonna pass out. 

“Should stay here for longer, yeah? Just fuck this tight little cunt whenever I get bored, hm?” He pants, mouthing at her neck as his thrusts begin to grow lazy. 

And she has half the mind to agree. 

[flashthescalesian-art]

Fox deserves a lot of good things, but one thing I never see anyone talk about is the fact that he deserves to be cared for by a sweet old lady who basically just treats him like her grandkid. Bonus points if the old lady is a wildly different species from a human.

[higgsbison]

Hahaa what if I told you I went sicko mode after realizing Dracula Daily is happening again and started writing the very obvious Discworld paralel in roughly the same style.

[achilles-rage]

♡ sweet as pie masterlist ♡

last updated: 12/27/24

♡ = smut

an older neighbour!donovan rocker drabble fic

series summary: when you move back to your parents’ house for the summer during college, you meet your handsome older neighbour. and he just can’t seem to keep his eyes off of the sweet, pretty daughter of his good friend; your father. it’s going to be a long summer if he keeps having to see you in your pretty pink dresses, but unable to do anything about it.

part one

part two

click here for my masterlist!

click here to be added to my taglist!

click here to read my request rules!

[lights-at-night]

hi everyone do any of you want to know more about the vaguely canon-compliant history i concocted in my head for the saint electric

[inquisimer]

before you can kill the monster (you have to say its name)

In which I lovingly work the nuance from Last Flight into Davrin's Veilguard arc 😌 I adored seeing the characters in the game, but this idea for a more fleshed out resolution for Isseya & Valya seized me as soon as I finished the quest.

✨ read it on ao3 here ✨

Isseya & Valya, Caronel/Valya | Rated T | ch 1/10 | No Warnings When Davrin and Rook reach their final confrontation with the Gloom Howler, they're interrupted by the last person they'd expect. But Valya followed them for a reason, and she won't let them kill Isseya until they know the truth. The whole truth, this time.

[normal-about-the-dca]

Moon, bringing his favorite employee a new friend: they like me so much!!!! look how happy they are with their new pet!!! we are best friends :^]

Y/N, writing an incident report, covered in scratches because SOMEBODY decided to throw a live opossum at them: i hate my fucking job

[hana-no-seiiki]

I wonder how a himbo Yan would be like with a dense but super sociable/golden retriever reader. Like, the reader has a ton of friends and himbo yan is just confused why they feel so agitated whenever they see the reader with them. (Maybe it's their first time feeling jealous over their friends?? Like " no hang out with me >:((( " ) or like Yan himbo feels angry inside when reader calls all their friends their bff.

Sorry this is so long 😓😓 so many ideas

No please! Send more!! I love these ♥️

Bold of you to assume he’d let them even have other friends. You have to constantly reassure him that they’re just acquaintances and he’s your one and only bro. People just swarm around you like flies and he can’t fault either parties. You’re amazing and easy to talk to, of course they’d want a piece of you.

That’s why Yan! Himbo has to be the saran wrap to your tasty ass.

If you reciprocate his touchy, feely attitude then you’d prolly unintentionally ward off potential suitors now that I think about it. That and Yan! Himbo’s burning glare probably put them off.

Yan! Himbo with a black cat reader tho…

[kris-mage-fics]

Wintersun

A short Shepherds of Haven fic that takes place on Wintersun. Some vague spoilers for Chapter 4 and Blade's 5th day off in the Alpha build. Also there's a reference to this bit of a fic I haven't finished, but it's not necessary to understand what's going on.

| Ao3 | rated G | 628 words | Blade/Kyrahlise | under the cut for very light spoilers mentioned above |

"Happy Wintersun," Kyrahlise said as she handed Blade a slim package not much larger than her hand. Neither of them acknowledged the momentary brush of their fingertips.

The gift was neatly wrapped in paper she'd painted with winter berries and small swirls of gold. All tied off with a thin green ribbon salvaged from one of her old dresses. The design was overly flashy for his taste, but she had been too focused on making it pretty and was short on time to repaint something more austere.

Blade raised an eyebrow ever so slightly. "You didn't need to," he said, yet she could've sworn his face softened as his eyes traced the designs on the paper.

Kyrah smiled having anticipated he'd say something along those lines. "I'm aware. But I wanted to and thought you might enjoy it."

He looked up from the gift to meet her eyes. "Did you paint this?" Of course he remembered she painted. While in The Reach he'd fussed at her plenty to not paint outside. He trusted her judgment enough to promote her to Captain after a month, yet the cold was somehow too much. He made absolutely no sense.

"Yes," she said in a light tone.

"It's nice." Did Blade's compliment make her feel happy in a way it probably shouldn't? Yes. But she'd take that to her grave before admitting it to anyone.

"Thank you, though I hope you like what's inside more."

Blade's eyes went back to the present he held delicately. She ignored the strange little feeling in her chest when he untied the ribbon and slipped it into a pocket before carefully unfolding the paper. Underneath was a small book of poetry. "You remembered, thank you."

An unusual wave of nerves washed over Kyrahlise. What if he'd read this collection before and hated it? Well, there was no use worrying about it now that the book was in his hands. "Yes, by one of my favorite contemporary poets. Are you familiar with her work?"

"I'm not."

Her smile was tinted with relief. "I hope you find her poetry to your taste."

There was a upward tilt to his lips as he nodded. Kyrah gathered he was thanking her again, but reading his subtle expressions was like cracking a code.

Not that she needed to decipher anything to understand Blade's kindness. He'd always been considerate and respectful towards her. A sharp contrast to how many Norms treated her after she left the Circle. Like when he'd been livid because of what happened in that damned cave, it had filled her with so much warmth. She'd almost forgotten what it was like to have anyone care about her well-being. It was the catalyst for certain feelings towards him being stirred up. Feelings she accepted existed then politely ignored.

Though a recent incident in his room made her question if Blade was really as indifferent to her as he so often appeared.

When Kyrahlise glanced back up at Blade, his eyes were so gentle as they met hers it brought an instinctive smile to her lips. The first time he looked at her like that was when she learned black was the warmest color of all. The way his gaze slowly traced over her face almost felt like a sweet caress that seemed to stop briefly at her lips. But she was likely imagining things again.

A slight frown passed over his face as his free hand twitched, then clenched against his side. He looked at her another moment, gave a hint of a nod and another quick 'thank you' before turning and walking away. When he was out of earshot she sighed. Maybe one day she'd figure out what was really going on inside that inscrutable head of his.

[queenie-ofthe-void]

The Babysitter Chronicles - Mayfield pt 2

Steve POV 5+1 (immediately follows s2) || wc: 1.9k || cws: check tags || full fic ao3

Henderson || Mayfield pt 1 / Mayfield pt 2 || Sinclair || Wheeler || Byers || +1 Hopper

Steve’s standing in the middle of the driveway, just out of sight of the windows, when the deep rumble of a car engine rips down the street. Nausea floods his throat and he swallows against the taste of bile on the back of his tongue. The blue Camaro flies up the driveway, and Steve wills every muscle in his legs to stand his ground when it parks just before bumping against his knees.

Max sits frozen in the passenger seat, staring at Steve like she’s seen a ghost. Before he can move toward her side of the car, Billy’s slamming the door behind him, barreling towards Steve with a familiar manic grin on his face. Yet even with a smile as big and bright as that, there’s no light in Billy Hargrove’s eyes. Just a blank emptiness with a tint of rage.

“Well if it isn’t Steve goddamn Harrington!” Billy cackles, crowding in so close that Steve can feel the wet heat from his breath. He reeks of stale cigarettes like the inside of the house, a smell that’s most likely permanently soaked into his denim jacket. “Don’t look so much like a King anymore.”

This is the version of Billy that Steve can deal with. All loud, over the top showmanship, acting like the biggest asshole in the room. This is the version of Billy that Steve has coped with at school everyday since September, and in a way it’s a reflection of who he used to be. Except when Steve’s layers of bullshit were peeled away, he found someone who actually cares, willing to die to save the people around him. 

When everyone saw the core of Billy Hargrove exposed in the Byers’ house, all that was left was a monster. Cold, hollow, and deadly, uncaring in a way Steve’s only seen in his father when he had a full bottle of scotch.

Steve knows he has a long way to distance himself from the King Steve moniker, but he knows for a fact he’s not Billy Hargrove, and certainly not his father. One step at a time is another step away from turning into a monster.

He clears his throat. “I never was,” Steve replies. Even if everyone else saw him as King Steve, he sure as shit never did. Never wants to be again.

Billy smirks, but before he can respond, they hear a second car door slam closed. In his periphery, Steve can see Max storm towards them. She shouts, and the boy in front of Steve flinches at the snap in her voice. “I told you to leave him alone.”

He sneers at Steve before reluctantly taking a step backwards, and Steve feels like he can breathe again. Max stands next to him, so close that her arm brushes his elbow. Tension radiates from her like a pulled rubber band even though her command was sturdy and strong. It’s all just another sick reminder of how much these kids have to deal with on top of interdimensional monsters.

“Aww, come on Maxine,” Billy jeers, “King Steve and I were just having a friendly chat, man to man. Something you wouldn’t understand.”

“You aren’t friends,” she snaps back.

It’s just then Steve hears the front screen door close, Mrs. Hargrove’s voice calling out, “alright I’ve got my home and work contact info filled out, along with my work address and–” but Steve watches her pause and take in the sight before her. She moves closer and Billy’s entire demeanor changes. He moves his hands behind his back, legs spread in a military stance, as he softens the muscles in his face almost like he’s hiding himself. Another thing Steve wishes they didn’t have in common.

“What’s going on, Susan?” Billy asks, his voice laced with false sweetness. He gestures at Steve, and he feels all three sets of eyes on him at once. Mrs. Hargrove approaches slowly, standing at the point of Billy and Steve’s fucked up triangle, with Max still plastered to his side. Mrs. Hargrove hands Steve the note paper and Billy tracks it as Steve shoves it in his back pocket.

“Well,” Mrs. Hargrove draws the word out, assessing the situation, “Steve here came by asking to be Max’s new babysitter.”

“What?” Max and Billy ask simultaneously, turning towards her. Max’s eyes are bright with guarded hope, while Billy appears slightly panicked under his casual charade.

“That’s not possible,” Billy says. “I’m Max’s babysitter, Susan. That’s the way my dad wants it, and we don’t need some strange, older boy like Steve hanging around Maxine.” The implication leaves Steve disgusted, choking back the rising bile in his throat. Sharp points of pain bloom across his wrist as Max’s nails dig into him in a poorly concealed panic.

“Billy, if Steve starts watching Max before and after school, then you’ll have less to worry about.”

“No. No, Susan, if my dad wants me to watch Max, then that’s what’s going to happen.” Billy’s facade is starting to crack around the edges, and as he takes a step, the two girls step back, Max pulling Steve along with her. The careful choreography is keeping Steve on his toes. “How does dear old dad feel about this idea?”

He smiles wide again, the cat who got the canary. Steve sees the fight leave Mrs. Hargrove’s eyes as she glances towards the cold cement driveway, shoulders hiked up to her ears in defeat. Max’s grip on his wrist tightens again. He’s assuming he’ll find little bruises there in the morning. 

He’ll bear whatever bruises he needs to for these kids. Confronting Billy, taking the hits, it’s all worth it if he can spend every day knowing exactly where all of his kids are. And that sure as hell includes Max.

“What do you want, Billy?” Steve asks.

He scoffs, “what do I want?”

“Yeah,” Steve bitches back, “that’s what I said. Maybe my hits landed harder than I thought, because apparently you’re deaf now.” At school, this is the part where the people crowding him would laugh, back him up. Here in the Hargrove’s driveway, no one’s laughing. “I asked you, what do you want?”

He’s surprised when Billy snaps his mouth shut, seeming to take the offer seriously. After a few moments, he smirks again. “Alright, Harrington. You win. You can take little Maxine here off my hands. But I want your spot on the team, and I want to be captain.”

“Done.” Steve says.

Steve hasn’t been to school yet to tell the coach he’s dropping out. Once he turns in his doctor’s note, the coach won’t have anything to argue against. But he figures Billy doesn’t need to know that. It seems Mrs. Hargrove’s caught the same cue, as she side eye’s Steve but doesn’t say anything.

Billy’s staring at him, lips parted in shock. Leaving him speechless feels like a minor accomplishment. “And I still want my allowance, same as if I’m still watching her.”

“Done.” Mrs. Hargrove and Steve reply in unison. Billy looks back and forth between Max and Steve, a complicated expression passes behind his eyes Steve can’t quite place, something close to remorse. It’s gone before Steve can puzzle it out, replaced with his usual facade. 

“Max, get your shit out of my back seat.” He’s still smiling, but his voice is a cold void. She runs back to the car, ripping the passenger front and back door open. As she does, Billy storms off into the house and Mrs. Hargrove timidly watches him go, then turns back to Steve.

She crouches down to look her daughter in the eye, and Steve’s struck with how similar they appear with the same burning red hair, orange freckles. Max seems to soften slightly under her mother’s gaze, but she’s still holding herself strong and straight like Billy’s out here next to her. It sets Steve’s teeth on edge. He remembers learning at a similar age that his mom is just a person, a woman capable of mistakes instead of an all powerful Mom all kids think they have as a parent. He also thinks maybe kids should get to believe that longer than him and Max got to.

They work out the details, making sure Max has enough clothes in her backpack, along with her skateboard and homework, so she can stay the night at Steve’s. He’ll drop her at school in the morning, along with Henderson, and that’s two more kids he knows are safe.

The car ride to his place is quiet, radio volume on low. Max is fidgeting with the strap on the backpack on her lap, and Steve doesn’t know whether he should poke and prod, or let her come to him. In the end, he doesn’t have to wait long.

“You shouldn’t have done that.”

He hums. “Done what?”

“Given up basketball, being captain, just to– I don’t know. Be a babysitter. Especially my babysitter. It’s not like I need one.”

Warmth fills him up at the familiarity her words strike in him. He’ll prove to her how wrong she is eventually. How she’s a kid worth babysitting.

“Max, I already gave up the spot. Just haven’t told the coach yet.”

He doesn’t glance over to her when she turns, eyes focused on the road. Still, he can hear the smile in her voice, “but Billy–”

“Yeah,” Steve laughs, “he would’ve gotten it anyway.

She scoffs, delighted and surprised.

“Is this something you’re ok with?” He asks, only kind of afraid of the answer. “I should’ve asked you sooner, if you’re ok with me–”

“Totally,” she cuts him off, still smiling.

“And the whole, King Steve thing, doesn’t bother you?” He thinks about everything Dustin’s made passing comments about. How Mike throws it in his face at every opportunity and how he knows it’s all Jonathan and Nancy seem to see in him. How obsessed Billy was with him for so long, and that Max spends more time with all of them than anyone. When it comes right down to it, she barely knows Steve, yet is probably equipped with enough stories to make her own guesses. 

They ride the rest of the way in silence, waiting for an answer that doesn’t come until they’re parked in his empty driveway. When he finally turns to face her, Max’s eyes are earnest and clear, illuminated by the conviction on her brow.

“‘King Steve’ sounds like a stupid nickname,” she snarks. There’s fondness in her tone, and he smiles back at her. “I think I’ll just call you Steve until I can think of something better.”

A weight so heavy is lifted from his shoulders in that moment that he almost cries from the relief. He tips his head back to keep the overwhelming emotions contained just a little bit longer, and he laughs wetly to release some of the uncontained joy. 

“Is a nickname like Random Girl any better?”

She giggles, small and easy. “We’ll work on it.” And as she grabs her stuff from the back and makes her way towards the front door, Steve realizes they’ve got all the time in the world to work on it. Together.

~~~

I'm really enjoying this series, and this section in particular! I'm such a sucker for Steve and Max. <3 <3

[fuckingyrs]

The sound of a body throwing itself onto one of the infirmary cots echoed through the mostly empty room, followed closely behind with a dramatic, but melodic sigh. “Can I say something mean?” 

“Probably not in front of the baby.”

Will groaned, looking up from his pile of patient reports he had been sorting for the past… year. “I hardly think eleven still counts as being a baby.”

Lee, who had been refilling first aid kits for the past two hours, contemplated this for a moment. “Maybe, but that’s besides the point. I’m six years older than you. You’ll always be a baby.”

“I’m going to say something mean. Will, cover your ears.”

“I’m not covering my ears, Taylor. Unlike you, I’m working right now and I need my hands.”

“Oh,” Taylor dragged, a taunt evident in her voice, "someone's grumpy.”

“He’s mad I put him on infirmary duty during arts and crafts.”

“Will, you aren’t good at arts and crafts.” Lee slapped her arm. “And you like working in the infirmary, you are constantly taking my shifts. It’s why I love you.”

Lee slapped her arm again. “Taylor, what the heck.”

Taylor groaned, “Fuck. Just say fuck. I’m begging you.”

“That’s besides the point. I had it with Cecil. We were going to finish our board game.” Will turned to Lee, pointing an accusing finger at him, “You knew this.”

Lee let out a long-suffering sigh and Will almost felt bad for causing a fuss, but really, Lee brought this upon himself. “Taylor, stop pawning off your shifts to Will. Will, stop letting Taylor’s pawn off her shifts to you. Also: I’m sorry about arts and crafts. The last few days have been hectic and I needed your help. I’ll make sure to not schedule you over arts and crafts next week.”

“I’m going to be home next week! Mama is picking me up, remember?”

Lee had the decency to look ashamed when he said, “Heck. I forgot. I’m sorry, Will.”

Taylor got up from her self-designated cot and walked over to Will, ruffling his hair once she was close enough. “I’ll take over the rest of your shift, buddy. You go have fun.”

Will shook his head, “No, it’s okay. I’m already here. Arts and crafts is half-way done anyway. We wouldn’t be able to finish.”

“If you’re sure,” Taylor sighed as she pressed a kiss to his forehead and Will let out a cry of protest because he could feel the lipstick stain there. He tried rubbing it away with his fingers but by the look on Lee’s face and the snickers Taylor was making behind him, he only made it worse.

Lee graciously handed Will a wipe before glaring at their sister. “Taylor, what are you even doing here?”

“I think I made that pretty obvious when I threw myself onto a bed and stated I was gonna say something mean. I came to gossip.”

“You should be at archery right now.”

“Mike was being a piss-baby. He wouldn’t let Josh and I try to hit one another. What’s the point of being in advanced archery if you can’t shoot at your brother? Moving targets!”

“So you left?”

“Yep. I found Silena and she offered to do my nails before I came by.”

Lee pinched the bridge of his nose in a way that resembled an old man at the end of his rope. Will suppressed a giggle at his brother’s anguish as Lee said, “You can’t do that.”

“Do what? My nails?”

“Leave Michael like that.”

“Why? He’s not in charge of me.”

“But I am. And he’s my second in command, so yes he is.”

Taylor groaned, flopping back onto her cot. “One, he’s like three weeks older than me, unfair. And two, none of that is important right now. What is important is that our father was here and didn’t say hi to any of us. Who does that?”

“Our father, apparently.”

Taylor flipped Lee off, showing off her new manicure. It was baby pink, like her lipstick, with a little sun in the center. “He gives those kids a ride, none of them his, and has the audacity to leave before saying hi? Hell, Will over here has never met him. He has time to bring a group of kids to camp, but can’t spare a lousy minute to check in on us? And I can’t say this to Michael or he’ll claim I’m “on the other side”.” Taylor sighed, a faraway look in her eyes. Will had only seen this look on her face a few times before: every time Luke was mentioned. “I’m just tired of feeling abandoned and I’m sick of feeling like it’s bad to think that.”

Lee stepped towards her, a soft, “Tay–” passing through his lips, before she sat up and shook herself out of her stupor.

“Instead of saying hi, he just causes chaos and disappears! He brings Percy back, which is never a good sign. Thalia is driving the sun chariot, and crashes it! Oh, and he brought that new weird kid that keeps bombarding everyone with questions.”

Will saw through the change of topic, and Lee clearly had to as well, but he allowed it to happen. He slapped her on the arm for the third time, “He’s not weird. He’s, like, eight. The kid is just excited. You were excited about camp once upon a time.”

Taylor turned to Will, jerking her head at Lee, “I think he’s finally lost it. When have I ever been excited by anything ever?”

Will grinned, “Yesterday, you beat Madi at Josh’s song quiz and you danced around the cabin for ten minutes.”

Taylor gasped loud and dramatic, clutching at her chest as she fell back onto her cot, chestnut hair falling all over her face in her fall. “William! How dare you accuse me of such things!”

[vellichorom]

the most compelling tsp narrator x reader would be if it was implied you're actually cookie9

[thegreatyin]

And thus, with the passing of 24 hours, Caeru's ambition truly comes to an end. Major Nemesis spoilers below the cut- we're talking endgame ambition business here. Mostly on a character RP front.

The Doomed Scientist made quite a few... choice decisions, in the end. Killing Cups once and for all, recording his story as one of grief-

And sparing what little remained of Mr Mirrors, leaving it free to roam Parabola as it sees fit.

Some of them, he can explain. Others, he's still left to feel... discontent.

Cups needed to die. That much was certain from the start. It was a tyrant, as all Masters are, and complicit in the bargaining and eventual destruction of four (potentially five) cities, as all Masters are. It was an obstacle. A murderer. A petty monster that felt no remorse even on its deathbed, and it went out of its way to ruin multiple lives just because it felt owed its own sick and twisted idea of revenge.

It killed his first love. It looked him in the eyes and he knew what it had done and he knew from the start it was going to die.

Perhaps, in the end, it knew too. And yet it still pleaded, and wanted to live, and-

It made a bargain.

A bargain Caeru didn't take.

Not because he didn't want to. Gods, he wanted to. He wanted it. He wanted it more than anything else in the world. To have Greylu back, to give him the gift of life, of love, to show him the wonders of the Neath and the beauty of the correspondence and all of the people Caeru has met and loved and found home with along the way-

But. He couldn't.

Because Cups was a monster. And no matter what, it deserved to die. And he could not, in good conscience, allow it to live.

Even if sparing it meant everything he's ever wanted.

So he's left here, now. With a bloodied traveling coat, and a bloodsoaked knife, and a favor finally fulfilled.

And nothing to live for. No resurrected lover, no charming visits to Helicon, no slow dances in the living room, no memories to rebuild and lives to live and he won't live again-

Nothing. All he has is a coat born of obligation, not to his love, but to people he's never even met. To lives he's never even touched. To a paramour, still alive, with hair of rose-pink, who doesn't even remember her own brother's existence.

Cups didn't die for Caeru's sake. Cups died for the sake of all who wanted it dead. For the revenger's court, and the ghost screaming in his ear, and the reckoning that will not be postponed indefinitely.

And Caeru, who acted as a tool to carry out their wills? Who all but betrayed his own lover, just to satisfy a cause he never knew existed?

All Caeru is left with, is regret. Regret-

-And grief.

[123itsbri]

i love getting fun ideas that i'm actually excited to work on just to be hit with the crushing boulder that is having to work on them

[still-breathing-au-p3r]

Despite the lengthy furlough since their last expedition into Tartarus, tonight’s undertaking had gone spectacularly well.

Morale was high, and everyone on the team had fought with newfound vigor. Akihiko, Amada, and Yamagishi seemed especially energized with their new Personas, this being the first time all three were able to fight with them. They had made excellent upward progress, defeated a Gatekeeper as handily as they ever had despite its considerable power, and found more than one piece of valuable equipment. 

When Arisato had made the call to return to the dorms for the night, the general mood on the journey back had been one of exhausted but satisfied good cheer. The Dark Hour ends almost as soon as they get back, and everyone trundles upstairs, following the siren call of their beds. 

Everyone, that is, except for Mitsuru. She knows she should retire as well, but her mind just won’t quiet. There’s so much to think about, so much to consider, especially now that their final battle is so close at hand. Going to bed and attempting to brute force her way to sleep would be a wasted effort, so instead she heads to the kitchen and pulls out the kettle and a tin of loose leaves. Hopefully some chamomile tea will help her relax enough that she can get some rest. 

The process of brewing tea is so familiar that she can surrender it to muscle memory and allow her thoughts to race freely. There’s an awful lot of ground to cover. 

Akihiko, Amada, and Yamagishi’s new Personas brought with them the additional boon of new Theurgies as well. And what marvels those Theurgies are! Yamagishi’s offers a level of recovery and amplification of their abilities that is entirely unprecedented. Akihiko’s new attack is incredibly powerful, almost to the point of absurdity. Tonight he had ended a battle with a formidable shadow within a matter of moments, practically vaporizing the thing under his flurry of blows. It had been a sight to behold.

As for Amada’s… Mitsuru can hardly find the words. The strength of his resolve shines as bright as the sun in his new Theurgy. Granting a full recovery to the entire team at once, even those who have been incapacitated– that’s the sort of power one would call miraculous. And to provide reflective shields? It would seem outright unfair, and perhaps it is, but she’s hardly inclined to complain about something being unfair in their favor for once.

This new development carries some fascinating implications for Koromaru’s Persona as well. He’s had two Theurgies from the start, after all. Had Cerberus been the result of a second awakening all along, from some point before he had even met them? That certainly seems to be what the evidence would suggest, at least. What had his initial Persona been? When and how had he awakened, and had he even been able to properly summon it before the attack on the shrine?

Perhaps Aigis might be able to assist her in interviewing Koromaru about it…

It’s almost a shame that she won’t get the chance to witness what new power might have been born of Aragaki’s second awakening. Given what he was capable of with his original Theurgy, she can’t imagine it would be anything less than incredible.

Dwelling on the topic of Aragaki’s abilities also reminds her of a question that she’s yet to learn the answer to–

She’s so lost in thought that the feeling of a hand alighting on her shoulder nearly has her jumping out of her skin. Mitsuru whirls as Akihiko snatches his hand back, looking startled and contrite.

Akihiko doesn’t respond, merely tilts his head and shifts his weight to lean slightly on the counter, settling in for the explanation that he now clearly expects.

She prepares their cups with practiced ease and they retreat from the kitchen, settling side by side on one of the couches.

They sip their tea in somber, contemplative silence for a moment before Akihiko speaks again, looking into his cup instead of at her. His voice is soft and uncharacteristically hesitant.

Akihiko shakes his head. It’s not the first time she’s lamented about that, and it’s also not the first time both Akihiko and Aragaki have brushed off her apology.

They lapse into silence again as they finish their tea, this one far more comfortable. Akihiko accompanies her back to the kitchen and helps her wash and put away the tea service. He hums thoughtfully as he dries his hands on a dishtowel, seeming to think of something.

Mitsuru makes a noncommittal sound and fails utterly to suppress a smile. Akihiko sighs, put-upon, but he has no more success fighting the grin that tugs at the corners of his own mouth than she had.