#like it doesn’t even land irony

[cansglasschrome]

where’s that post that’s like i gotta rewatch the show to cleanse my pallet

[jojoeyo]

I’m low key ruined for the comfort character thing, because the first one I ever saw was Bluey tell Buccellati they’ll have to kill someone, and it was so silly, nothing compares to it

[saltofmercury]

Sentimental

Pairing: Jason Todd x f!reader

Author's note: Writing feels so good!!! I'm so happy to be writing again :)

Summary: Jason holds onto things that make him emotional. That doesn’t make him emotional.

*

Jason Todd would never call himself emotional.

He prefers the term sentimental. Sentimental is what surrounds the items in his trinket box. There’s not many items inside —some personal information mostly. A death certificate, a watch, and more recently items from you. A scrunchie, a broken keychain, and notes.

He had noticed the bracelets, gold and silver trinkets decorating your arm, then something not as shiny, the weird black ribbon scrunchie. The scrunchie you never gave it to him.

He watched as you pushed your hair back, your hands guiding the elastic weaving through your hair, sitting on top of your head.

What was left was the red indent on your wrist. You seemed to pay no attention to it, but he did not like the idea of something leaving a mark on you. Red and indented. The angry mark kept being shown, often closed off by your other bracelets.

“Does this hurt?” He asked you later at night wondering how it hadn’t gone down since the afternoon. 

“No, I get these all the time.” You say, carefully gauging his reaction.

“But I don’t like the impression it leaves you with.” He scowled, rubbing his thumb along the indent. 

Impressed by the mark it did leave—He took the scrunchie the next day, wearing it for a total of five hours. He had come back to the apartment you two shared, showing you the indent of his own. Now he keeps your scrunchie on his arm, willing to hold it for you. You never really take it back though, you just let him hold onto it. Seeing how he fidgets and snaps it on his own. He doesn’t give it back either.

Sentimental over the keychain you bought him for the key to your apartment. A big step in your relationship, where he had been earning your trust, giving you space, waiting for you to take the next step — you just wanted some peace of mind from him entering through the balcony window.

It had been a small joke between you guys about how you wish you had a pocket sized “him” so you could tell him at any moment anything that happened during your work day.

It prompted the idea to make him into a Lego.

You carefully selected the top, bottom, and head, and even added a red cap on top as an inside joke for his mask.

Jason could hardly respond. It leaves him tongue tied at the little figurine placed in his hand. Your smile beaming at him, then, expressionless when he doesn’t say anything. 

“You don’t like it?” You pout, hoping you didn’t cause offense.

He stares back at you intensely, suddenly breathless.

“I love it.”

He does wish he were more careful with it. After falling from a two story building, he had landed on it causing the little figurine to crack into multiple pieces. He would have taken a dislocated shoulder over the broken keychain.

“You fell on it?” you ask, seeing it cracked in multiple pieces in your hands.

“The guy snuck up on me and kicked me off the ledge.”

“And you fell … on it? Didn’t that hurt?” You peer up from your hands concerned he’s not fused with any other Lego pieces on his leg.

He tries to glue it back together, seeing the irony in himself in the Lego pieces. It frustrates him, he places it in a bag and puts it away in the box. He just starts to keep the key around his neck. The next day he gets surprised by the different figurine.

“Don’t land on this one ok?” You smile up at him.

Sentimental over every note you’ve ever written him— which causes his small box to overflow with colors of

“I’ll be back with dinner”

“went to the market” 

“Ice cream in the freezer!”

And all the “I love you’s see you later”

Scribbled in your writing on blue, white, pink, and yellow scraps of paper, post-its, and notepads. 

What seemed like a small note was a reminder to him that someone does come back for him. 

Someone is there for him.

So no, Jason Todd isn’t emotional. He’s just sentimental.

[yuwuta]

JJK OLYMPICS OHHH YOURE A GENIUS

head spinning w sooooooo many athlete aus rn….. 

satoru honestly isn’t half as cocky as the media makes him out to be but he could be because you bring up world champion men’s freestyle swim times and it’s his name on the scoreboard ten times before someone else shows up. he’s faster than himself by fifteen seconds all around, he’s earned a bit of cockiness. mentioned in the last post that whenever he’s at a competition and he finishes a race, he looks at the camera and signs a little infinity sign and then blows a kiss to you. some bitter old coach always calls him out on it, and gets him fined for unsportsmanlike conduct, and he’s happy to pay the fees if it means getting a message home to you, but eventually you two come up with a new code; and at his next race, he places gold, turns to the camera, crosses his middle finger over his pointer finger and smiles. when he’s in his post-race interview, he makes sure to explain that he does it for you with the widest smile on his face.

megumi nepotism baby but not in the same sport. toji was a multi gold medalist back in his heyday for shooting, so it’s not really a surprise to anybody that megumi has scary good aim, but he takes to archery instead of shooting. actually the idea of megumi being an emo little kid and throwing rocks at a tree when his dad pissed him off his hilarious, and even funnier is toji watching him, slightly amused and a little scared because megumi is maybe six and hitting the exact same spot every single time. he grows to be very blase about it—it’s more of a release/hobby for him that he happens to be really good at, and well, now good enough to earn a few olympic medals. megumi is not a fan of having his dad ruffle his hair on international television after he’s won, but he supposes it can’t be helped.

i don’t know where to put yuuta…. tennis…. tempting….. him in his little white shorts…. little grunts after he serves…. cries….. a complete 180 in his personality when he’s playing vs doing anything else. so charming and sweet and kinda shy when he’s being interviewed, and the second he steps on the court his eyes are so cold it’s scary…. need him… extremely nerdy about his rackets, and shoes, and clothes, and rambles to you about aerodynamics and posture and torque whenever you ask him to teach you, and you always have to shutup him up with a kiss and remind him that yeah you sort of want to learn to play tennis for him, but mostly you came bc he looks hot doing it. once he got asked in an interview if he ever thinks about you while he’s playing and his response was very concise, “no, never. it would be a big distraction,” and did not realize the implications of his heavily televised words. 

also…. not to make this post 40% yuuta but we could pull from canon a bit and make his sport fencing. he doesn’t excel because he’s the strongest, it’s because he’s learned to treat the sword as an extension of himself and a good strategist… also because i like the image of him pulling the helmet/mask off and shaking his hair out………..

don’t even know where to put yuuji…. volleyball? basketball? track and field??? the irony of him easily being the most athletic but canonically does not want to play sports 😭 but i can see him playing a sport because someone scouts him and it turns out to be a way to make steady money to support himself and his grandpa :( by the time he’s qualified and made it to the olympics, wasuke is doing much better (thanks to yuuji having landed some preemptive sponsorships and being able to afford better medical care), but not so well enough that he can travel across the world to watch yuuji play. wasuke tells you that you should travel and be with yuuji, but yuuji is so touched by the idea that you would stay with his grandpa and be by his side when he’s away :(( he wins gold, of course, and he doesn’t even wait until the closing ceremony—which, he’d mentioned in all of his interviews, so nobody can be too upset. he’s on record saying, “i’m excited to play, but i’m even happier to be going home. my girlfriend and my grandpa are watching me and i miss them!” several times— he’s on the first flight home with flowers, and tears in his eyes. puts his gold medal on his grandpa’s neck as a thank you, and spends probably thirty minutes straight hugging you and kissing you and honestly don’t put it past him to propose now that he’s got nike ambassador money 

nanami started judo as a way to relieve the stress of his overbearing job, and someone at the gym/training center notices he seems to be a natural despite being a beginner. he starts to draw a crowd, which annoys him at first because the point of judo was discipline and release from having to deal with too many people at his office job, but nanami supposes he can’t be too mad when you introduce yourself as a talent scout and offer him professional training. there’s irony in him accepting your offer, because it was definitely not based in professionalism at all… quitting his job as a salaryman to become a professional athlete in his mid-twenties was not on his bingo chart, but if it means he will have met you, then so be it. you’re with him all the way, through his training, competitions, world championships, qualifiers, all the way until he’s on the podium. you’re the first to congratulate him, but he interjects by telling you he’s quitting. you ask him why—he just won at the olympics for crying out loud, but nanami just shakes his head, puts down his flowers and his medal so his hands are free to hold your face and tell you, “it would be unethical to kiss my manager, so i am quitting.” (later, when everything is said and done, and you two are cuddling, you mention to him that he could just hire a new manager, and not quit his new career, to which he blushes because yeah… that’s probably more rational, but rational was not in his train of thought at the time)

[azsazz]

Lost

Vampire!Azriel x Human!Reader

Summary: Azriel's worried he's drunk you dry.

Warnings: Angst

Word Count: 1,022

Notes: Woohoo, look at that. Finished it already. Directly follows Might Bite Back

_________________________________________

Azriel goes the only place he can think of.

He’s long since forgotten the feeling of cold. Of the wind spilling chills down his frail, human skin. Of the sting in his nose, the bite in his chest with every inhale of the crisp, winter air. Of the prickles of blood returning to frozen fingertips after spending too long in the snow.

But the night has always been his safe place, since even before he was turned. The familiarity of the moon looking over him would normally ease the knots in his stomach, the urge to flee in his veins.

 If he could feel right now, it’d be the rolling of his stomach with sickness. It’d be embarrassment, a white-hot lance of regret burning through his blood for the things he’s swore he’d never do to you, lying unconscious on his settee before the fire, your pulse slow and your breathing shallow, tow punctures in your neck.

It doesn’t take long to get where he’s going. It’s a path he’s taken many times, through the winding trees of the forest his home resides in. Deep in the thicket of the Night Court forest between the Steppes and Velaris, bordering the Prison. It’s up in the mountains where he belongs, the very same ones that house other wild beasts just like him; the ones who should never be let out of their cages.

He lost his cool tonight. Went too long without feeding because you hold his interest all too well. It’s been like that since day one, even though he keeps himself scarce for your safety.

Fucking fat lot it’s done tonight.

Azriel can still taste you in his mouth. Not your sweet little cunt, but your blood. He swipes his tongue over his lips, chasing the delectable flavor.

His marred hands shake, because with just one drop of you, he knows he’s addicted to you.

It settles in his bones just like it had when he had the realization that he’d become the very thing he swore he’d never become. Azriel has known that you are the very thing he’s been destined to find, and he’s been very strict on himself, keeping away from you, giving you nothing but the cold, empty shell he’s been for hundreds of centuries. He’s been addicted since you wandered into his senses, the thunder of your blood calling to him like a beacon, the unmoving heart in his chest rattling with a recognition only he seemed to feel.

Azriel’s not even had close to his fill. The nagahound he drained on the way hasn’t done anything to satiate his hunger, not like your blood had. He can’t stop thinking about it, about the warmth, its heady taste, it’s fruity scent. He’d felt like a man again, despite the irony of the situation.

He emerges from the trees, landing in the backyard of the towering home of his High Lord. Azriel stumbles on weak knees like an Illyrian babe just learning how to fly. Once he rights his footing, he sprints for the doors.

The warmth of the faelights spilling across the cobblestones are a welcoming view. They always are, especially when he feels like he’s spent years too long hiding away in his secluded home, away from the hustle and bustle of the City of Starlight. All of his other clan members reside here, but their company has never interested him. Not when they’ve all become respectable parts of the city of night.

Rhysand meets him at the door, the High Lord’s hearing keener than most. He already knows there’s something wrong by Azriel’s stature. The dilation of his pupils, eyes mostly black instead of the familiar and less-than-friendly hazel. The clear flush to his skin after a feeding, the pale glow of his skin golden with the obvious signs of ingesting human blood instead of animal blood and there’s a scent clinging to him that is utterly human.

“Azriel—”

“You have to help her.”

Rhysand startles at the rawness of Ariel’s request. His frantic gaze searches his High Lord’s, hands that he always hides reaching up to grasp onto Rhysand’s to drag him over the threshold. They hit the invisible barrier keeping him from moving into the house to shake his High Lord into action, having not have been invited into the house. Azriel bares his fangs, mind still a spinning loss of thoughts about you and your well-being.

“Help who?” Rhysand asks. He doesn’t bother inviting his friend inside. He stalks out into the night, joining his brother.

Azriel’s plea is broken. “Please.”

Rhysand has only seen Azriel like this one time. The night he was turned into the creature he is now. Pain fills his voice, tightening his throat, dark brows knitted together in a distressed manner. There are often instances where Rhysand wishes that his stoic friend would show some semblance of emotion, but this gut-wrenching one is not the one he wishes to see.

“Okay,” he consoles, using the way Azriel is clinging to him help with their trip back. His shadowsinger’s fingers are digging deeply into his skin, through his finely pressed jacket and nearly breaking his skin. There’s a pinch of pain when his blunt nail does break skin, but Rhysand refrains from saying anything. He will heal, and fast. The human Azriel is leading him to will not. “I will help you, Azriel.”

On a whisp of nighttime, the pair appear on Azriel’s porch.

Azriel growls at the magical powers that keep them from entering homes that they do not own.

“Get inside,” he spits, more to the house than his High Lord, leading the way through the door as quickly as he can. “She’s in the sitting room, before the hearth. She needs help,” he directs, leading the way to where he’s left you.

In Azriel’s haste to get inside, he’s failed to realize one very important thing. It’s the one thing Rhysand catches, halting in his tracks, trying to calm the hellhound that is his shadowsinger when he spins on his heel and snaps his fangs at him.

“Azriel, there is no one here.”

[luvergirl-866]

something like love

part - 5

pairing - paige bueckers x azzi fudd

word count - 3.0k

c/w - language

a/n - yall have been all up in my asks today, so i pumped this chapter out. gotta give the people what they want fr. sorry it’s a lil short, this chapter was kind of a filler tbh! also, did anyone catch the irl past references in the first scene? ;) as always, hope yall enjoy!! (also, this is unedited. like usual lol)

Azzi is woken bright and early the next morning by none other than her best friend, who seems awfully cheerful considering the night they just had.

“Wow, P,” Azzi grumbles once she’s sitting up in bed, watching Paige buzz around the room through bleary eyes. “It’s early for you.”

“Didn’t really sleep,” Paige says, slipping out of her pajamas so she’s only in boxers and a sports bra. (Azzi knows she should probably look away, but she doesn’t.) “We gotta run to the store, get up.”

“Okay,” Azzi yawns, blinking slowly while Paige slips into a pair of basketball shorts and a crop top that Azzi’s pretty sure belongs to her. “Be up in a sec.” But Paige disappears into the bathroom and Azzi can’t help but lay back down, snuggling under the warm sheets—if she’s being honest, she didn’t get much sleep last night, either. But where the lack of sleep is making Paige hyper, it’s making Azzi want nothing more than drift back off for just a few more minutes.

She’s barely fallen back asleep when something large and solid lands on top of her, and she buries her head into the pillow, groaning. “Ow, Paige, get off.”

“Get your ass outta bed,” Paige responds, but she is laying across the entire length of Azzi’s body like a warm, nice-smelling weighted blanket, and it only lulls Azzi back to sleep. She thinks about the irony of it, that their roles have switched this morning—usually Azzi is the one who has to drag Paige out of bed.

She’s only half-asleep but she swears she’s started snoring when Paige rolls of her and jabs her in the ribs. “Azzi!”

“No, Paige, please,” Azzi mumbles, throwing an arm over her face. “I’m tired.”

“Well I’m not going to the store by myself,” Paige says stubbornly, tugging on Azzi’s hand. “Come onnn.”

“We’ll go later,” Azzi tries to reason, but Paige won’t have that, pulling on her arm even harder.

“We gotta go now, Lauren’s gonna be here in a couple hours.”

Oh. Right. Paige’s siblings get back from their respective activities this morning, and of course Paige would never reunite with them empty-handed.

“Okay, okay,” Azzi concedes, finally sitting up once again, stretching out her arms. Paige, satisfied that Azzi is up now, gets back out of bed heads back to the bathroom.

“Get ready fast, I wanna give ourselves plenty of time,” she calls, and Azzi watches her as she washes her face in the sink, rubbing her face aggressively like she always does.

Yawning, Azzi finally gets out of bed, wincing when she finds her neatly packed suitcase next to Paige’s already disorganized one, her clothes strewn haphazardly across the floor. “Paige, we need to unpack today.”

Paige pokes her head out of the bathroom and looks down at the mess that is her suitcase, then shrugs. “Nah, it’s okay.”

“That wasn’t a suggestion,” Azzi says, kneeling down to move her suitcase away from Paige’s before she starts carefully rifling through the outfits she packed. “I dunno what to wear.”

“It’s warm out today,” Paige says, disappearing back into the bathroom. “You pack those lil jean shorts? With the flowers on them?”

“Yeah,” Azzi replies, instantly looking for those. “But my ass hangs out in them.”

There’s silence in the bathroom and Azzi thinks maybe Paige didn’t hear her, but a moment later she’s saying, “Yeah, wear those with your purple tank.”

It may raise her eyebrows, but it also makes her smirk, and Azzi does exactly as Paige says.

Thirty minutes later, the two of them—after successfully sneaking out of the house without running into Paige’s parents—are at the store, tossing anything they think her siblings will like into the basket. A new video game and snacks for Ryan, and some brand-name makeup and flowers for Lauren. (They also get energy drinks, even though Azzi doesn’t think Paige needs it.)

By the time they get back home, they should still have an hour until Lauren gets home—but as soon as they walk through the front door a young, strawberry-blonde girl is barreling into Paige’s arms, squealing.

Paige grunts dramatically, and then hands off the grocery bags to Azzi so she can wrap her arms around her little sister. “Whoa, what you doing home?” she asks, bending down to kiss her hair. “We were supposed to get here before you.”

“I couldn’t wait,” Lauren replies, muffled from where she’s buried in Paige’s chest. “So I came home early but you weren’t even here, and Mom and Dad said they didn’t know where you went to.”

“Sorry, Laur,” Paige responds, rubbing her sister’s back before pulling away. “We were out getting some stuff.”

Lauren waggles her eyebrows. “Gifts?”

“Mm. Maybe.” Paige smiles when Lauren giggles excitedly, and it’s only then that they address Azzi, who is standing somewhat awkwardly, trying to let the two sisters have their moment.

Lauren’s smile falters only a little when she sees Azzi. To her credit, she still sounds cheerful when she says, “Hi, Azzi, it’s good to see you.”

“Yeah, good to see you too,” Azzi responds, smiling as openly as she can. She’s only met Paige’s siblings a few times—not counting Drew, obviously—and so it’s a little uncomfortable when Lauren goes in for a hug. But this is a twelve-year-old girl, and Azzi is a grown adult, and she welcomes her with open arms, hugging her as well as possible with her groceries still in her arms. Paige takes them back from her after only a second of her struggling.

“You’ve gotten taller,” Azzi comments, because that’s something that you say to kids, right?

It seems to be a good thing to say because Lauren pulls back and beams up at her. “Mom says I’m almost as tall as Paige was at my age.” She looks back at Paige with a proud smile.

Paige grins back, ruffling her hair. “That mean you gonna start playin’ ball?”

“No way,” Lauren replies, playfully vehement. “Ryan keeps saying he wants to try, though.”

“I’ll convince him, for real,” Paige insists, and they all start moving to the kitchen so they can set the grocery bags down.

“Can I see my gift now?” Lauren asks, sliding into a bar stool.

Paige wags a finger at her. “Nuh-uh. We gotta wait for brother.”

Lauren groans dramatically, then giggles at herself and looks curiously at Azzi. “So, is Josh not here, then?”

Beside her, Paige freezes. Azzi glances cautiously at her, and she collects herself quickly, sharing a comforting look with Azzi. “Um,” she says, rounding the island to sit next to Lauren, “did Mom not tell you?”

Lauren wrinkles her eyebrows. “Tell me what?”

That’s enough of an answer, and Paige runs a hand over her face, clearly nervous to have to go through this all over again. It makes Azzi angry, for the millionth time, at her parents—of course they wouldn’t tell her younger siblings. Of course they’d make Paige do it.

“Well, uh,” Paige starts, “yeah, no, Josh isn’t coming. He and I, we actually broke up.”

“Oh.” Lauren frowns. “Sorry. Are you sad about it?”

“No, um, it’s okay. I realized I didn’t like him that much.”

“Why not?” Lauren asks.

“Well, because,” Paige looks to Azzi for help, and all Azzi can do is nod at her. “It’s because he’s a boy.”

Lauren’s frown deepens. “What do you mean?”

“I mean…” she looks down at her lap, then makes eye contact with her little sister, “I mean I don’t really like boys, Laur.”

Lauren stares at her sister, and then she glances at Azzi before looking at the countertop, eyebrows furrowed just like Paige’s do when she’s thinking. “So,” she begins slowly, looking back up to Paige, “you like girls? Like, you like like them?”

“Yeah,” Paige says, and she and Azzi share a look, unsure of where this is going. Azzi hasn’t even noticed until now that she’s holding her breath.

“And you wanna date them?” Lauren clarifies.

“Well, I actually am dating one already,” Paige says, and before she can finish her sentence Lauren looks back at Azzi and she can swear she sees the moment it clicks in her brain.

“So Azzi is your girlfriend?” she says.

Paige hesitates, then says, “Yeah, she is.”

Azzi was expecting a lot of reactions, but Lauren’s bright, proud smile wasn’t one of them. “I guessed!” she hops off her barstool to round the island and give Azzi yet another hug. “So that means I have a new sister!”

Sort of incredulously, Azzi laughs, rubbing the younger girl’s shoulder. Paige blinks once before saying, “That’s not how that works.”

“She’s my in-law now,” Lauren replies with a duh tone, like Paige is slow, and it makes Azzi laugh again.

“No, she’s not your in-law until we get—“ Paige cuts herself off, biting her lip and Azzi stops laughing. Because they’re going to ‘break up’ almost as soon as this trip is over and they can’t get Lauren’s hopes up too much about things like marriage.

Lauren doesn’t seem to notice. She shakes her head firmly. “She’s my sister. I don’t care what you say.” Smiling slyly up at Azzi, she says, “So, cooler older sister,”—Paige gasps, offended—“will you please convince your girlfriend to let me open my gifts now.”

Azzi falters, but then she’s looking over at Paige, who is staring at her little sister with something like awe, and she decides that for now, they should just enjoy the innocent, loving acceptance of 12-year-old girls.

——————————————

By the time Ryan gets home Paige’s parents have joined them in the kitchen, and even though it’s tense with them around, Lauren’s chatter lifts the tension significantly. When the front door opens, Ryan barrels into Paige in a similar fashion as his little sister did, and the three siblings reunite happily, all of them a bundle of teasing of arguing and catching up.

When Ryan catches sight of Azzi, nobody has time to be nervous or hold their breaths because Lauren wraps an arm around her waist and says, “Azzi is here because she’s Paigey’s girlfriend. Say hi.”

Ryan opens his mouth, then closes it, then glances at his parents—who are stubbornly avoiding anybody’s gaze—before looking at his older sister with a questionable expression. Paige nods, and so he turns back to Azzi and says, in classic teenage-boy fashion, “Hey.”

Azzi takes much satisfaction in the way his parents fumble over themselves, apparently shocked that their children are capable of so much more love and acceptance than they are.

After the kids open their gifts, they drag Paige and Azzi upstairs to give them the ‘grand tour’ of their rooms. “Mine has changed,” Lauren says once they arrive at the room across the hallway from Paige’s. “We painted it sage green because the pink was too babyish for me.”

Paige and Azzi nod in agreement.

“And I don’t have my unicorn blanket anymore,” Lauren continues, jumping onto her bed to showcase this fact.

Paige places a hand over her heart. “You got rid of blankie? You love that thing.”

Azzi smiles, knowing that exact feeling—being a big sister and watching your siblings grow up without your permission.

But then Lauren heads to her closet and rummages around inside before pulling out a tattered, pink baby blanket with unicorns sewn into the fabric. “Don’t tell Ryan, but I couldn’t actually get rid of it.”

Paige sighs in relief.

Ryan’s room is dark, lit only by red LED lights, and his bed is unmade. He’s got a PS5 set up in one corner of his room and a desk that looks widely unused in the other. There’s dirty clothes everywhere.

“It’s kinda messy,” he says, carelessly tossing a few clothes off his bed to sit in it, powering up his TV.

“You take after me,” Paige says proudly, and Azzi nudges her in the arm, rolling her eyes. Paige grins at her, wrapping an arm around her shoulders, and Ryan glances away from his TV at them.

“So, you guys are really dating?” he asks.

At the question, the both of them share a nervous glance—does he suspect something? But when Paige says, “Yeah, why?” he replies with a simple, “I figured.”

“Whatchu mean?” Paige asks.

He shrugs nonchalantly, looking back at his TV. “I could tell. Whenever we came to visit you were always texting Azzi or calling Azzi or talking about Azzi. It was all, Azzi this, Azzi that, my name’s Paige and I’m soooo in love with my little Azzi-Wazzi—“

“Yo, okay, bye!” Paige says loudly, going to shove Azzi out of the room, but she keeps her feet planted, amused and so, so curious.

“No, seriously, it was annoying.” Ryan sighs. “I remember the one time we came up and Azzi was staying with you and y’all kept playing footsies under the dinner table. It was gross.”

“We did not!” Paige exclaims as Azzi laughs loudly.

“Did too. And that night you dragged Azzi to your room and I heard you moaning really loud allll night.”

Azzi is cracking up now, and Paige puts her hands on her hips, having given up on trying to drag her away. “Okay, now you’re just making shit up. That’s inappropriate.”

Ryan shrugs again, a slight smirk on his face. “I wouldn’t be surprised if that actually happened, though.”

Paige puts her face in her hands. Azzi looks over at her, grinning widely, and knows it’s her duty to give her shit for this later.

——————————————

During the aforementioned later, while the two of them are getting ready for bed side-by-side in the bathroom, Azzi’s barely even opened her mouth before Paige says, “Don’t.”

The two of them didn’t get a second alone for the rest of the day, because Paige has a little sister and it’s kind of her job to follow them around everywhere and ask annoying questions. Or at least, annoying to Paige. Azzi was more than happy to let Lauren talk her ear off—she’s never had a little sister before.

And besides, she’s used to it considering who her best friend is.

Lunch was spent outside on the porch, soaking in the sun, and it was good because Paige’s parents opted to eat inside. But dinner was awkward, all of them sitting around the table, eating the roast beef Dean had made. Lauren still didn’t seem to pick up on the tension, but Ryan, being a little older, did—apparent in the way he looked curiously between the four adults at the table. He never asked about it, though, and when Paige held Azzi’s hand over the table her parents didn’t say a thing (though Dean looked a bit like he wanted to smack their hands apart) so that’s gotta be a good thing.

Now that they’re finally alone, Azzi is not going to miss out on her opportunity to tease the hell out of her best friend.

“So, you’ve always been a little obsessed with me, huh?” she grins, ignoring Paige’s warning.

Paige rolls her eyes, but Azzi swears her cheeks turn a little pink. “He was making that up.”

“Weird, because I believed him,” Azzi replies, watching as Paige starts brushing her teeth. “Seems like a trustworthy kid.”

“He’sh a fifteen-year-old boy, you can’t trusht none of those,” Paige says around the toothbrush in her mouth.

“Maybe it’s you I can’t trust.”

Paige spits and then gives her an offended look. “I wouldn’t lie to you.”

“Would you?” Azzi teases, and for some reason, it seems to actually make Paige nervous.

She turns away, wiping her mouth on a towel. “‘Course I wouldn’t.”

“Not even if you had a big, fat crush on me?” Azzi says, wish is super unfair because Azzi is the one lying about her big, fat crush, but it feels pretty good to project.

“Bro,” Paige groans, walking into their room, kicking off her basketball shorts on the way.

But Azzi isn’t going to let up. “He seemed pretty serious.”

“He said he heard us moaning,” Paige says, looking around on the floor for a pair of pajamas. (They did not, in fact, unpack today.)

“Okay, he might’ve lied about that,” Azzi admits. She watches, amused, as Paige mumbles to herself while pulling on a pair of PJ pants before she pulls her shirt over her head. “What’re you getting all nervous for?”

“You’re teaming up with my brother,” Paige replies, flopping onto her side of the bed.

“You apparently talk about me 24/7,” Azzi counters.

“Talked,” Paige immediately corrects, and when she sees the triumphant grin on Azzi’s face, she backtracks. “I mean, I didn’t! Obviously I didn’t, that’d be weird.”

“Uh-huh,” Azzi says, “super weird.”

“And I’on even think about you like that, you’re my best friend.”

“I know.”

“And you’re not even my type, for real.”

“Uh-huh.” A week ago, maybe even yesterday, that sentence would’ve been a dagger straight through Azzi’s heart, a harsh reminder of her unreciprocated feelings. But Paige says it like she’s trying to convince herself, and she’s clearly all flustered, her cheeks very evidently pink now, and Azzi wonders—

Slowly, she makes eye contact with Paige, unbuttons her little jean shorts, and shimmies out of them.

Paige averts her gaze, reaching onto the bedside table to take a drink of water.

Interesting. Taking it a little further, Azzi turns away from Paige and pulls her shirt off, letting Paige know two things at once: one, she is wearing a thong, and two, she has not had a bra on all day.

Behind her, a coughing fit starts and she can hear Paige thumping at her chest while her water goes down the wrong pipe.

She grins to herself, sauntering into the bathroom. “Imma take a shower. Don’t miss me too much while I’m gone.” And without a glance behind her, she closes the door.

Pressing her ear to it, she can hear Paige mumbling to herself. She can’t make out exactly what she’s saying, but she does make out a few strings of curse words.

Well. What an interesting development this is.

@azzibuckets @smiths-fan--13 @ch12334 @makethemhoesmad @the-other-half @rosemariiaa

[haselovesriki]

ᶻ 𝘇 𐰁 there’s nothing like doing nothing with you

bf!ni-ki x gn!reader

wc : 2165 (oops)

synopsis: after a week of stress following your exams, you can finally unwind and relax at home with your boyfriend.

warnings: kissing, skinship, swearing, fake argument, pet names (babe/baby), riki can carry reader, reader goes to school (college/highschool)

★ continue reading ↓

In all true honesty, the past week had fucking sucked.

Like, a lot.

Coming back from school absolutely and utterly drained was not an uncommon occurrence for you, being the overachiever and determined person you were.

Unfortunately, your despair had only amplified, especially after an entire week overflowing with exams after exams and endless studying.

The week had been anything but pleasant. Not a single day was left for you to rest; time overly consumed by either excess studying—consequently led by your perfectionism—, doing the fuckass exams themselves, or simply contemplating your horrible past decisions that landed you in a situation like this. All while being incredibly snappy and pissed at anyone that even dared to speak, look, or be in your presence…. including your horribly sweet and loving boyfriend.

So yeah, the past week had fucking sucked.

Thankfully, Friday eventually came around (despite having felt like a decade of suffering and unbearable psychological pain) accompanied by the sweet and warm promise of finally obtaining a sense of peace and tranquility with no more reasons to worry.

Preferably, by the side of your boyfriend who, unfortunately, had been the main victim of your impulsive and irritable attitude.

Now, finally being here in his presence cuddling in your warm comfortable bed after what felt like a lifetime of anguish, despair, sorrow and utter misery...

Well, you feel pretty damn good.

“I swear to god Riki, don’t leave me alone. It’s cold!” You exclaim dramatically as the boy decides to peel himself away from your clingy touch. He rolls his eyes playfully at your irony.

“Cold? You gotta be kidding me,” He lets out an incredulous scoff as he steps on the bedroom floor, though his mouth doesn’t hesitate to immediately form into an endeared grin as he watches you begin to sulk, before he continues;

“Baby, I’m sorry, but if I didn’t escape your death grip within the next 10 minutes I would’ve died from a heat stroke.” He sneers, but you don’t miss the gentle glint in his eyes and soft tone of voice.

To your over dramatic silent and sullen expression, he sighs defeatedly and turns around, facing his back to you.

“Fine, I’ll carry you on my back if you’re that adamant on me not leaving you alone.” As soon as the tempting offer leaves his mouth, your face immediately breaks into a bright beam and you waste no time to stand on the bed and piggyback onto him, wrapping your arms and legs around his figure.

You place a disgustingly wet smooch onto his cheek, snorting at his immediate recoil to the unexpected wet mark left.

“You’re so cute,” You mutter to him, happily placing your head above his shoulder and watching as he navigates his way to the kitchen while holding you.

“You’re cuter.” You hear him mutter, almost too quietly, nearly going unnoticed by you, but you catch it anyways and can’t help but break into a gentle smile at his shy compliment and kiss him once again on the cheek; this time softer, flowing with adoration.

Eventually, you both make it to the kitchen as he places you on the counter despite your initial objection. He pulls down the hood of your hoodie, placing an aggressive peck onto your forehead while holding your cheeks in his hands before opening the utensil drawer and pulling out two spoons.

You grin as you watch Riki navigate through your kitchen that he’s become all too familiar with, flailing your legs back and forth happily. As he grabs 2 bowls for you both, you think of how glad you are that no one in your family was home tonight to see you stare at him so lovingly, all too mushy and gushy, as they would probably call it. Of course they loved him, a lot, but it was still embarrassing when they could see how utterly down bad you were for the boy.

The boy takes out 2 ice cream flavours from the freezer and walks back to where you sit, scooping a delectable amount of vanilla ice cream into one bowl and cookie dough ice-cream into the other. Placing your bowl of ice cream between your legs propped up on the counter, he grabs his own bowl and shoves a spoonful of the cold, sweet treat into his mouth.

Out of impulse, instead of eating your ice cream, you pat his head, brushing your fingers through his soft yet messy strands of hair. He hums and subconsciously leans into your touch, not noticing your teasing yet warm smile.

The soft moment lasts for a few seconds, before you break the silent shell and ask quizzically, “Why are you having vanilla ice cream?”

“Huh?” He mumbles, snapping back into reality and raising an eyebrow at your question.

“No offense babe, but why the actual fuck would you choose vanilla ice cream over cookie dough.” You answer back, finally taking your own bowl and eating a spoonful before sighing with satisfaction at the taste.

“Well, no offence babe,” He mocks, “But vanilla is literally the best flavour. Why wouldn’t I?” He bites back, before adding;

“Full offence, by the way.”

“Vanilla is fine, at best, but it’s too bland compared to cookie dough.” You respond, rolling your eyes playfully and suppressing a smile that threatens to spill.

“Don’t yuck my yum, jackass,” He says, lips quivering as he holds in a cackle begging to escape. “Vanilla could never be bland. It’s a classic that could never go wrong.. wayyyy better than raw fucking cookie dough!” He exclaims.

“It tastes so much better than you say it does, I promise. Give it a chance, your whole world will transform. Promise!” You answer and place another spoon into your mouth, laughing at his unimpressed expression.

“Fine, let me taste some of yours then—“ Riki says, reaching for the bowl in your hands before you immediately pull away.

“Nuh uh! Get your own!” You exclaim as he lets out airy giggles, your voice muffled by the spoon still in your mouth and holding the bowl high above you so that he can’t reach.

Unfortunately, you hadn’t really thought about his height playing a factor. Which was, albeit, a really dumb move, because he is an absolute giant. Obviously, he would be able to reach the bowl in your grasp. Which is why, before you can even attempt to object, he has absolutely no problem grabbing the bowl from above you.

“Hey! Tha’s unfai—“ You exclaim once again with a voice muffled from the spoon in your mouth. Expecting him to eat from the bowl, you attempt to reach it from him, but to your surprise he places the bowl on the table. Suddenly, your face is barely half an inch away from his when he pulls the spoon out of your mouth and his lips touch yours.

You don’t react for the first few seconds, your lips completely still against his as you try to process what he was doing.

When it finally dawns on you, you can’t help but pull away from him, only to crash your lips back onto him harder. Shyly smiling into the kiss, Riki’s hands that were otherwise holding the bowl come to hold your head in his palm as he deepens the kiss.

His hands, as well as his lips, were cold against your own, due to him (luckily) having more time to indulge in the ice cream. You don’t really mind the numbing cold nonetheless, because a cozy warmth washes over you when you feel his lips on yours.

Your boyfriend detaches himself from the kiss momentarily to nestle himself between your legs and places his hands over your waist, laughing loudly when your lips chase his, wasting no time to crash back.

A content sigh leaves his mouth when you wrap your arms around his neck, fingers grazing at his nape gently and holding him close to you.

A moment like this felt like it couldn’t be broken; time cocooned in the warmth of your shared affection, each kiss a promise.

You gasp when you feel him slightly nibble on your lower lip, a cascade of tingles shooting down your spine when his tongue immediately comes after to ease and swipe against your lip.

Your grip around his shoulders tighten, legs wrapping around him tightly and trapping him as you feel his smile against yours at your clinginess.

Relaxing your shoulders, you tilt your head slightly and start feeling like your body is melting. Your mouths are still somewhat cold from the ice cream, but the warmth of the kiss is scalding from within, warming up to each other’s touch. Suddenly, interrupting the warm silence you both had been able to build, a cold and wet feeling of what seemed to be his tongue shoots way too far into your mouth, almost making you choke as you pull away quickly.

“‘Ki! What the hell was that?” You exclaim, watching as he hunches over in a fit of laughter at your reaction.

“What, don’t you like a little tongue?” He asks between huffs of laughter, holding himself up on the counter edge.

“Not if you shoot that far down my fucking throat! Seriously, were you trying to kill me?” You ask, struggling to contain your own laughter starting to bubble from your throat as you watch him struggle to catch his own breath.

“In my defence, I was just trying to taste your ice cream!” He admits, holding up his two hands and palms outstretched by his head as a sign of self defence.

Dramatically gasping, you gently kick him in the hip, huffing when he yells out an ‘ow!’.

“You kissed me to taste my ice-cream?!” You ask exasperated, before continuing; “Wow, I see how it is, you’re so cold-hearted Riki. I can’t believe I’m dating you.”

You let out a huff, looking away and crossing your arms and exaggeratedly rolling your eyes but not hiding your amused smile.

He coos at this, breaking out into a smile before pinching both your cheeks, peppering your face with brutal kisses all over while muttering small apologies.

“Sorry—“ kiss. “Baby—“ kiss. “Just wanted to—“ kiss. “See what the hype was about.” Finishing his sentence with a final kiss on the tip of your nose, you can’t help but let out an amused exhale.

When he leans in to kiss you on the lips once more, you lean away. He cocks an eyebrow at that, mouth pursing into an unamused expression.

“Not letting you kiss me again after that stunt you pulled.” You state, avoiding his disappointed gaze that you’re sure would make you give in.

“But—“ He tries to object, but you’re quick to shut it down.

“Absolutely not. It’s what you get for using me for ice-cream, and for attempting tongue slaughter.”

You expect him to silently grudge at that, or at least try to argue in his defence. What you don’t expect however, is for him to sweep you off the counter and hold you in his arms, spinning you around in bridal style.

“Wait— let me go!” You exclaim in surprise, flailing your limbs in an attempt to escape his hold.

“Nope! Not until you kiss me,” He yells, eyes crinkling as his mouth forms into his wide boxy smile. Boisterous laughter fills the kitchen as you try to liberate yourself, him running around the house with you in his arms.

Finally escaping from his grasp, you make a run for it, running to the living room.

Jumping on the couches, you try to avoid him as he tries to catch you. The moment is childish, but fond nonetheless as he chases you around.

“C’mon, leave me be!” You beg as you navigate the room while standing on furniture, but he simply shrugs his shoulders with a beam ear to ear, finally reaching you and tackling you down on the couch.

Laughter continues to fill the room as you both attempt to catch your breaths from the house chase. His arms are wrapped around you so as to not let you escape once again, but you don’t really try to leave his touch this time. Finally, after a few minutes of calming down, he smiles at you and you see his eyes flicker to your lips.

You decide to take matters in your own hands and you reach to kiss him gently on the lips, cradling his jaw in your palm as you do so. As you pull away, you watch his face morph into a sheepish grin and a light crimson dusts at his cheeks.

“See? That's better,” You hear him mutter before he decides to nestle his head in the junction of your neck and shoulder, relaxing his limbs over yours.

By now, the ice-cream is long forgotten, but neither of you really mind, now finally in each other’s presence.

So yeah, the week had fucking sucked. But today wasn’t too bad.

˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚



a/n : THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR READINGGGGGGGGGEBDJDNFKSNFKENF

this is my first time writing a fic (also just my first time writing something for the fun of it in general) so it’s like… really messy 😭😭😭 wasn’t really sure what i was doing but i promise i’ll try to improve in the near future!

also i barely proofread,,, just slightly skimmed through to make sure it was alright. sorry if there’s typos or anything that doesn’t make sense!

i really really hope you enjoyed :) comments would be appreciated! and i accept any sort of feedback or constructive criticism that could help me improve my writing.

again thank you!!! 💓💓 have a nice day

[formosusiniquis]

Robin's Guide to the Care and Feeding of Your Newly Adopted Former Mean Girl

Happy @stevieweek everybody! This is Day One: Stobin with none of the bonus prompts, but keep an eye out cause i've got a few more incoming this week.

Robin Buckley & Stevie Harrington; Pre-Stevie Harrington/Eddie Munson WC: 9483 | T | No Archive Warnings Apply | Tags/Themes: transfem!Steve Harrington; Platonic Soulmates Steve & Robin; Robin Buckley is the Stevie Harrington Defense Squad

AO3

On July 4th, 1985, Steven Joseph Harrington died in the Starcourt Mall Fire. 

The story Robin Marie Buckley tells, after two weeks of hospitalization and an additional month in Indianapolis for “personal reasons,” when she returns to her senior year at Hawkins High a full week after the first day of school is one of abject heroism on the part of Steve.

It’s true, even if it isn’t the whole story. Just like it isn’t hard for her to play morose and avoidant, because that’s how she feels. She might know Dustin, but it’s too hard to spend much time with him and she doesn’t want to be the weird friendless senior who only talks to freshmen. She’ll leave that to Eddie Munson, who snatched Steve’s weird little child friends up only a few weeks into the first semester. 

Nancy and Jonathan avoid her as much as she does them, she doesn’t think they know what to do with the new girl in the know. It paints a picture, well she realizes later that it paints a picture, but she doesn’t want to sit at a table and eat her peanut butter and jelly sandwich while Nancy Wheeler’s big beautiful eyes are staring at her like she’s an article that’s half an inch too long and needs to be dissected while Jonathan Byers is also there.

So she drifts through the halls of Hawkins High like a ghost, she’s Cathy on the moors. Avoiding anyone who might try to ask her too many questions about the final days of Steve Harrington and Starcourt Mall.

Until the day she spots a baby blue jeep pulled into the Henderson’s driveway, a tall brunette unloading a single suitcase from the back. She’s got her bike across the road before she can even think of a game plan. A noise that’s almost like a scream erupting from her mouth the entire time she coasts over.

“You’re here, you’re here, you’re here!” It’s an uncharacteristic bit of grace, that lets her drop her bike to the ground and use its momentum to catapult herself into the other girl’s arms. Too excited for a second to remember that she’s in a place where small town gossip exists, and a new neighbor can fuel the mill for days.

But she enjoys her hug for a second before settling into a more appropriate character. She extends a hand, ignoring the laugh it gets her, “Welcome to Hawkins, I’m Robin, occasional Dustin babysitter.”

The girl’s smile pulls lopsided at her mouth, kissed with a bit of irony and undeniably charmed. “It’s nice to meet you Robin,” her voice is soft, and a little unsure. Wavering like Becky Simpson’s tone deaf oboe playing, unsure of what pitch and timbre to land on. “I’m Stephanie Henderson, Dustin’s cousin.”

The bit crumbles immediately between Robin’s fingers.

“Stephanie? You went with Stephanie? Are you kidding? We workshopped so many names!”

“I liked my name! But it’s weird apparently to be a girl named Steve.” She distributes finger quotes randomly throughout the sentence like Robin hadn’t been the one to say she didn’t know any girls named Steve. “Stephanie is pretty!”

Robin looks her best friend dead in the eye, unsurprised that there’s not a hint of humor even underneath the drama. “Never mind that it sure would be strange for Steve Harrington to die just for girl Steve who looks like she could be his cousin to move to town.”

“Affair baby,” Stephanie presents the solution with a flick of her hand. Robin notices that her nails are still chewed short, more noticeable  after they talked about what it would be like for her to grow them out and manicure them.

“Give me the whole name right now,” Robin demands, “I wanna hear how it sounds.”

Steph, cause they’re going to have to figure out nicknames immediately they just aren’t the kind of friends that can go around being Robin and Stephanie, kicks the curb with her scuffed up Nike. Her arms crossed across her middle accentuates the way her body has already started changing, Robin feels like a creep for a second for noticing her friend’s boobs before deciding that they weren’t the kind of friends with those kinds of boundaries.

“Stephanie Marie Henderson.”

“Oh my god!”

“Shut up, don’t even.”

“Oh. My. God.”

“You’re already making a big deal out of it, which it’s not.” Stevie insists.

“You stole my middle name, you’re so obsessed with me.” It’s the best thing she’s ever heard actually, that Stevie might be as into this friendship as she is. She’s always the friend that’s too much.

Stevie’s smile is small, shier than she’s used to seeing it. “Yeah well whatever Stephanie Robin sounds like a straight to VHS Winnie the Pooh movie character or some shit.”

Dustin comes scrambling out of the house before Robin can make another joke. “You were supposed to call before you left! Ma isn’t finished setting up your room, and Tews is stuck under your bed.”

They share a look, and Robin thrills a little that she has a friend that she can share looks with. “Henderson,” Stevie shouts, sounding a little more like she did this summer. “Are you really going to make me carry my own bags in? I'm a fucking lady, dickhead.”

“Sure don't fucking talk like one,” Dustin hollers back from the door, already trudging out of the house.

“Gonna have to work on your feminism,” Robin says. wondering what kind of weird shit a person would have to sort through when they realized they were transsexual. “Just because you're on estrogen doesn't mean your arms are atrophied.”

The butter-wouldn't-melt smile is still the same, even though her face looks softer. She hands off her suitcase, patting Dustin on the head as he visibly stumbles under the weight. “Don't drag it on the sidewalk, it's new,” she directs. 

He can't flip them off when it takes both hands to lift the luggage in his hand, “How are you more of an asshole, oh my god.”

“Is that anyway to talk to your cousin, Dustbunny?”

Dustin doesn't answer directly, but he's muttering under his breath the whole way to the house. 

“My ribs still hurt some when I'm doing heavy lifting,” Stevie says when he's out of earshot. “Better to be a high maintenance girl all of a sudden than someone he doesn't think he can count on.”

“Don't love the way you used girl in that sentence, Dingus.” Robin shoves at her shoulder, “Let's go look at your room, we can plan how you want to decorate.”

“I'm not saying I'm upset we got the job, Rob, just that it's weird the way Keith was acting. He always hated me, you know that. Before all this,” she gestures down her striped top, well Robin supposes she’s actually gesturing down at the way it hugs her figure, “he hated me. I’m pretty sure he wouldn’t spit on me if I was on fire.”

“That seems a little dramatic, but welcome to your first workplace sexism.” Robin gives Stevie a comforting pat. Hopeful that it communicates a ‘welcome to the bad parts of everyone knowing you're a girl’ and not how she’d been prepared to work some of that sexism to their advantage. But apparently Keith was charmed by Stevie’s list of favorite films, he’d even laughed when she said her favorite Star Wars movie was the one with the teddy bears. When they’d gone to pick out movies last week she’d heard him lecture a guy for five minutes on how it was Episode VI not ‘the third one.’

Stevie flips her hair, sending Robin a playful glare, “I’ve experienced sexism, thank you, have you already forgotten what I used to look like.”

“I’m sure he’ll go back to hating you once he realizes you working here is going to mean this is one more place that Henderson and the brats are always hanging around.” She went with Stevie to the arcade once and she almost understood why Keith always hid in the back when they walked in. 

“Probably, but at least then I can stop being nice to him. He’s such a-” Robin can hear the way Stevie swallows the rest of the sentence. A frustrated, red blush flooding her cheeks as she bites down on her bottom lip. It’s confusing, the small shake of her head and how upset she suddenly seems to be with herself. “Sorry, sorry, never mind.”

Maybe it’s stupid, but for some reason that’s when Robin realizes that Stevie was about to say something mean. That Stevie stopped herself but she is, Robin supposes, frustrated that the instinct is still there. And it’s not like Robin doesn’t remember that they’ve talked about this before. Stevie with that eyepatch on from where they reattached her retina and Robin laying in the hospital bed next to her still under doctor’s supervision. Neither one of them were high anymore, it had been almost sixteen hours since Everything, they were only in the hospital at all because Robin’s mom had found them both passed out in her bed and panicked. When Mrs. Henderson had seen them both in Hawkins General and did what Stevie said was panicking and had them shipped to the city, her car speeding closely behind.

The only thing they could possibly be high on was the sudden crushing awareness of their own mortality, when Stevie’s one good eye locked with hers and she said, “I don’t want the first thing people think of when they remember me to be how I was a douche or an asshole. Or a bitch, I guess, if they actually let me change like they said they would.

“All the girls I know,” she paused and seemed to consider that, “all the girls that I still like, are good and kind and badass.”

“Including me?” Robin had teased, but she had remembered the way she had given Stevie such a hard time from the second they started working together until the moment they as the ‘adults’ realized they were going to have to protect Dustin and Erica from something that might kill them all.

“Especially you.”

So yeah, of course, when she catches herself about to verbally eviscerate Keith behind his back two weeks after being back in town she shuts down. But Robin isn’t about to let that happen. Stevie is good and kind and definitely a badass, if Keith were in trouble she would absolutely risk her life to save him -- as long as saving him didn’t keep her from saving one of the kids. 

Stevie was a good person who had some mean girl tendencies, Robin wasn’t going to make her feel bad about that. As long as she was using her powers for good, or like Claire in the Breakfast Club she was kind of Mean Girl lite.

“He’s kind of a slimy creep,” Robin admits. The kind of comment she thinks, but couldn’t ever really say with her last group of friends. It would break the loser code.

Stevie’s shoulders drop from around her ears. She’s still idly picking at the nail polish they just painted on her thumb, but she smiles over at Robin. A little sly, a little catty. “He touched my shoulder while we were leaving and I swear to god he left orange cheese puff residue behind.”

“Maybe half of your new clothes shouldn’t be dry clean only.”

“ Maybe he should help cover my dry cleaning bill if he’s going to put his hands on me in the workplace. I could call Family Video HR, probably. You know his dad owns like half of this strip mall, and people gave me shit about having money, I’m pretty sure they own the dry cleaning place too.”

“So why do these polyester nightmares smell like the BO of employees past?”

“That’s what I’m saying!”

With the job and Stevie back, Robin almost forgets that she spent the first three weeks of school sad and miserable. She’s maybe even a little distracted that they have plans tonight, and forgets that there are reasons other than the threat of bacterial infection to avoid the girl’s room in the language hallway. And more than any of that, it’s really hard to think about any of that when she can feel her bladder starting to pickle her brain.

The door to the bathroom swings open before she can exit the stall. Voices she recognizes as Patty Taylor and Molly Smith already mid-conversation filter in. “I mean she’s pretty, like really pretty, but I mean why would you even move to Hawkins.”

It’s definitely too late to leave.

“Carol said that she heard from Heather that she moved in with her aunt, she was from the city or something.”

The squelching sound of a lipgloss wand leaving the tube is punctuated by a bitchy hum, “Well, you know who spent all that time in the city this summer.”

“I mean yeah, but how would they have even met? I’ve heard like six different stories about why she was there.”

Patty’s voice echoes, through the crack in the stall door Robin can see her lean over top of the sink putting her face even closer to the water spotted mirror above it. “Well she was in that mall fire, but I heard she had to stay so long after initial treatment because she…”

There must be some facial expression she’s missing, Patty trails off like she’s dropped some grand secret. Robin isn’t a total loser, she hears gossip. She knows that Mrs. Click is going through a bitter divorce from her husband because he had that affair with the gas station attendant from the Chevron by the highway. She knows that Tim Morris got sent to military school after he put a cherry bomb in Mrs. O’Leary’s mailbox. She knows that Vickie is definitely a shoo-in for clarinet first chair even though Michael Lewis had it last year and he’s a senior this year.

And yeah okay two of those she had heard from Stevie.

But she thinks she should have had some clue that there was some kind of rumor going around about her. Molly wrinkles her forehead, maybe she isn’t the only one who has no clue about this rumor. “Because she what?”

“Because she lost the baby and they put her in the psych ward,” Patty says loud enough that it bounces off the tile walls of the bathroom. A hand covers her mouth and they both look around like they’ve just remembered that they’re in public. Robin pulls her feet up on the toilet seat with her.

“What baby?” Molly asks in a whisper that seems even louder with the way she forces it out.

“Come on, everyone knows the reason she was so upset that Steve died. He knocked her up while they were working together and with the stress she lost the baby. She was such a freak already, the new girl and her must have been in the same padded cell in the loony bin.”

“Really? I mean with Steve Harrington? ”

“I mean Carol said it so I’m pretty sure it has to be true, you know how close she used to be with Steve.” 

The bell rings, sending them both fleeing from the bathroom with muttered curses. Robin stays in the stall too stunned by what she’s heard to move. Stunned and filled with the thought that all she wants right now is to see Stevie.

She bumps into Eddie Munson on the way to the payphone. He gives her an unreadable look, mostly eyebrows that she can’t see beneath his bangs anyway, so she isn’t sure why he even bothers. Is he wondering why she’s skipping class? Or did he see her running from the bathroom and now he’s wondering if maybe the rumors were only partially true, that she’s still pregnant and she hadn’t lost the baby like apparently half the school thinks.

If a wet rat like Munson knows more about her status in the school than she does she really might have to go back and hurl.

She puts in her change and dials the increasingly familiar number for the Henderson place.

“Hen-”

“I need you to come pick me up, now.”

It isn’t hard to convince the school nurse, who’s more worried about when she can slip away to sneak her next cigarette than she is about doing any nursing, that she’s too sick to stay. So she’s waiting out front when Stevie’s new Jeep rockets into the parking lot, the woman of the hour flinging herself out of it before it’s fully in park. 

“What happened? What’s wrong? The kids are fine right?” She’s pressing the back of her hand to Robin’s forehead, the other at her side clenching into fists as she looks over Robin’s head for any creature or person that might need to be put down.

“Everything’s fine,” she lies, “I needed to see you.”

A single eyebrow raises, Robin helped her pluck that eyebrow into that arch and now it’s being used in disbelief at her own blatant lie. “Fine,” she relents, “I’ll tell you when we aren’t standing in the middle of the parking lot, okay?”

The radio is off but so are the doors, so even as Robin refuses to talk the sound of the wind rushing past them fills the silence of the car. With no destination in mind, Stevie seems to be driving a slow meandering circuit of Hawkins.

“I overheard Patty and Molly talking about us in the bathroom today.” She says only after they’ve passed Melvalds twice with no sign of parking.

“They were talking in the bathroom about us or they were talking about us in the bathroom.”

“That’s the same sentence twice.”

“No it’s not. In the bathroom or in the bathroom.” The emphasis is nonsensical, but after a second it clicks.

“They were in the bathroom. I guess I was also in the bathroom but it was definitely not about our bathroom conversation.”

“What were they saying?” Stevie noses out gossip like a search dog noses out missing kids.

Robin sticks her hand out the side of the car, dancing it up and down in the wind like a wave. Letting the force of it glide up and over her like she wishes she could just get over whatever it is that has her so upset. Gossip and rumor that she knows isn’t true.

“Technically you got to be two characters. They think we know each other from the psych ward because boy you got me pregnant and when you died I lost the baby and went crazy.”

Her seatbelt catches her hard against the chest, forcing the air out of her lungs. Stevie’s hit the brakes so hard that the smell of rubber is in the air, uncaring that they’re in the middle of a main road. She’s just looking at Robin with something, disbelief or outrage, maybe a little bit of that rage she gets when her people have been hurt.

“Patty said that? Patty Taylor? Patty with the retainer breath whose lipgloss makes it look like she’s always drooling on herself, Patty?”

A nod is enough answer for Stevie to let out a little humph, setting her eyes back to the road and easing them into drive like they’d just been caught by a stray redlight.

“What?” 

She shakes her head, gazing around the upcoming turn like they don’t both know it’ll be the rundown place that used to be Benny’s. It’s going to be something mean, something she’s worried will make her sound too much like the person she used to be.

As far as Robin is concerned whatever it is won’t be any different than when she swung that phone at that Russian guard. Or crashed that car into Billy’s. It’s all just different ways of helping to protect the people she loves that aren’t as good at protecting themselves.

“Tell me,” she insists, wheedles even. “Whatever it is I won’t tell anyone else. It’s time honored girl code you have to tell me.”

“Girl code?”

“I’ll mimeo you a copy of the handbook, tell me. It’ll make me feel better.”

Stevie’s sigh is audible over the wind rushing past them, her side eye not bad enough that Robin is at all worried about it. “I just think it’s funny that she’s passing judgment on you and your possible pregnancy when everyone knows she’s banned from the U of I campus because she went streaking to impress a guy that wasn’t even interested in her. The only reason she doesn’t have an arrest record for it is because her dad is a former professor or donor or something and threatened funding if the Dean pressed charges.”

“Oh my god, really?”

“Totally, the guy was on the basketball team. He came back and told everyone when he came home for the pre-season kegger.”

She grabs Stevie’s hand off the gearshift, holds it just because she can. Relishes in the closeness the two of them can have now that she’s back and everything is better again. “You are the strongest woman I know, all this knowledge and you just keep it to yourself all the time.”

She snorts, squeezing Robin’s hand, “I literally don’t, I just told you something. Pretty sure that’s like if I had the nuclear launch codes or something and I gave them out to just one person because they’re having a really bad day.”

“Oh! Do you remember doing those stupid duck and cover drills in elementary school?”

“Oh that's really nice of you, Mrs. Buckley, but Aunt Claudia is expecting me home for dinner.” Stevie's voice calls from outside the door, only a surprise because they didn't have plans to hang out today.

She scrambles from her bed, the wire on her headphones tangling around her neck until the weight of her walkman drags them off her. Flinging the door open she's just in time to save her best friend. “Thanks for bringing her up, Mom, we’re just gonna hang out in my room til Steph has to leave, okay?”

Shoving Stevie toward the bed before her Mom has a chance to say anything else, Robin at least smiles before she shuts the door in her mother’s face.

“What happened?”

Stevie is digging through her jewelry box, has a ring Robin picked up at a garage sale because it looked cool and didn’t think about trying on, and doesn’t bother looking ashamed at being caught snooping. “Why does something have to be wrong?”

She slips the ring on her finger, the gold band and mossy green stone looks better on her than it would have Robin. “You can keep it if you admit something happened.” Stevie starts to raise an eyebrow, but it halts half way up her forehead when Robin gives the Family Video vest she’s still wearing a tug.

Her smile goes lopsided, tilts too high on one side before she wanders over to flop down on the bed. “I, maybe, did something stupid.”

Flopping down beside her, Robin swears when she lands on her walkman first. “Stupid like when you put Re-Animator in the romance section or stupid like when you tripped into the Back to the Future cutout and apologized cause you weren't wearing your glasses.”

“Stupid like I don't know, Rob, you know how at first I was pretending that I didn't know anyone when they came in right, cause I'm supposed to be new in town.”

“Like bad witness protection because they put you right back where you left.”

“Right, well I kinda forgot to do that this morning when I was working by myself?”

Looking now she can tell this is something that has had Stevie really worked up. The strands of hair at the front of her face have lost some of their beachy wave from where she's been fussing with it, pushing it back, tugging at it. Waiting for when she saw Robin again.

Sitting up from the bed, she grabs Stevie's hand in a too tight grip. “What happened? You're okay right? They didn't recognize you and do anything shitty, right?”

“Well that's the thing,” she somehow looks even more distressed, it gives Robin another clue. Stevie is afraid she's broken some unspoken rule of girlhood by doing whatever it is she's done. Which means the story will be interesting.

“So Roger came in, you know Roger right? Second stringer on the basketball team, his footwork was too slow to ever actually be any good on the court but he had an amazing three pointer as long as no one was ever anywhere near him. So he'd make a great professional HORSE player but not really going anywhere with the actual game. He came in with his girlfriend-”

“Mindy Peterson.”

“Right, and when did they even get together?” She shakes her head. “Not the point, I was flipping through the Tiger Beat that Cindy left in the drawer after her shift, cause this months Car and Driver was a total waste of money. And he wanders up, surprising me cause the bell over the door still doesn't work and I thought I was alone in there. He starts talking to me like he already knows me.”

“He was flirting with you in front of his girlfriend!”

“That wasn't flirting, he was just being friendly; and I didn't know Mindy was there, she was back in the romance section picking something out.”

“So he's flirting with you while his girlfriend is picking out something for date night.”

Stevie rolls her eyes, shoving not so gently at Robin's shoulder. “He was talking to me like he already knew me, and I do know him so I did the same. I mentioned the last game he played in, well we played in. And then he starts looking at me and I realized what I look like.”

She gestures down at herself, and Robin isn't sure if this is a compliment time or a diffuse the situation time. Stevie really doesn't look that much like she used to. Her face has softened, her hair is longer, and she's leaned into the blonde highlights that she had in the summer.

“He's all ‘Do I know you?’” She continues, and Robin laughs, it's crazy how deep she can still get her voice and even though Roger does not have anything approaching the bass that Stevie has given him. It makes the situation feel even more bizarre. “it's not like I can say, ‘What you don't recognize me from all the times I gave you advice on how to keep yourself open on offense so you could actually get a hand on the ball?’”

Robin reaches for the nail polish on her bedside table, the robin's egg blue Stevie has taken to and the taupe brown that she likes but doesn't clash with Stevie's. They both pick at their nails when they get nervous, and Stevie has definitely been nervous.

“You could have said that,” she says just to be contrary, Stevie hand held in hers it means Robin avoids the smack that would have come.

She puts blue on every finger but one, letting Stevie think as she caps the polish and grabs the taupe to finish the hand. “Hi remember me, I faked my death so I could get boobies without getting murdered in the pumpkin patch I already avoided almost dying in once. Did you know they give you a new social security number for that?”

“So what did you actually do?”

“I lied, obviously.” She blinks twice, opens her eyes wider so she looks doe-eyed and vacant. “Oh gosh, well I guess you wouldn’t remember me. I used to only come to Hawkins during the holidays to babysit my little cousin, and I always try to catch a basketball game when I’m in town. Sometimes I’d sneak out and go to the parties, but I’m shy so...”

“Oh my god, like you’ve ever been shy in your life.”

“I’m going to have to be now!” She throws her hands up, fingers spread wide to avoid accidentally smudging her fresh nails. “It’s not like I can lie my way out of admitting to sharing homeroom with someone next. I’m just lucky Roger’s never took his eyes off the bottom button of my blouse.”

“Do you remember that movie I made you watch a couple months ago, the black and white one?”

“Oh yeah, that really narrows it down.”

“Gaslight, the one with the opera singer’s niece and her new husband tries to make her think she’s crazy. We just lie until everyone is convinced that it’s the truth.”

“The truth being that Stephanie Henderson always existed?”

Eye contact isn’t easy, unless it’s Stevie. They hold each other’s gaze as the excitement bubbles between them. “Exactly,” Robin says, “and that if they think anything else, they’re crazy.”

“You’re ridiculous.” She says, but it sounds like ‘you’re on.’

“Can I be a bitch for a second?” Stevie asks. She doesn’t look up from whatever magazine she was already flipping through when Robin walked through the door. It’s too casual, too calculated.

Progress has been slow but she’s slowly getting Stevie to the point where she doesn’t feel like she has to be nice all the time just because she’s a girl. Where she still acts like the bitchy dingus she'd been before, just a happier version.  

“Obviously, just let me clock in.”

When she gets back Stevie has a stack of returns that she’s working on rewinding. One thumb in her mouth as she chews at the cuticle. “So what’s-?

“If I hear one more word about Eddie the Freak, I’m going to lose it, Rob. I mean what’s he got that’s so great? I could have taken us to the All State Championships if I hadn’t gotten that last concussion saving the twerps. I’ve saved all those twerps’ lives at least two times! I was cool. I am cool! But all I get to hear these days is ‘Oh, Stevie, Eddie just did the coolest thing in the campaign today.’ ‘Thanks for the advice, Stevie, but I’m going to go with what Eddie said instead.’ ‘I know it’s your only day off, Stevie, but could you pick us up late after school? There's Hellfire today.’ ‘Stevie, since Keith actually likes you could you hold Ladyhawke for us. Oh, no we’re going to do a movie night with Eddie.’”

She’s panting slightly when she’s finished, like she’s been holding this in for weeks. With all the quotes she’s racked up she probably has been.

“You know he kicked my tray off the lunch table last week,” she encourages. She snags a box of Sour Patch Kids from the candy counter. Popping one in her mouth before waving the bag under Stevie’s frowning face. She doesn’t even have a movie turned on. Well she does, but it looks like it was one of the weekend returns Stevie wasn’t going to put on Watership Down.

“Well he’s inconsiderate,” Stevie says, digging around in the box until she finds a red one and popping it into her mouth. “Everything is all fuck the man until he’s the man in question and then he’s the only one anyone should listen to about anything. Lucas is going to make the basketball team, he’s been working really hard on it with Jay and some of the other guys on the team.”

She’s basically taken the whole box of candy at this point. Robin doesn’t even care, just watches as Stevie picks out her favorite colors and lines them up on her magazine on the counter like a sweet and sour army. Completely oblivious to the quiet devastation that’s playing out on her face. Her brow furrowed and tight when she talks about Lucas, basketball another thing Robin wonders if she’s being unintentionally left out of.

“I just know Munson’s going to turn it into some us or them thing, like it isn’t possible to like more than one thing.”

“Maybe you-”

“And maybe that’s why they’ve been so cool with all of this,” she shrugs her shoulder in place of gesturing down at herself, too busy tearing apart a lone sourpatch general, “like it was a send off before they moved on to an actual guy who can actually do something for them. That’s probably a better send off than I deserve even right, like I mean, the kind of person I used to be. Maybe I don’t get more than one happy thing.”

Robin flattens the little red and green army underneath the flat of her hand, “Absolutely not. You are not going to let a… a… a dumpster raccoon with Mrs. Goble’s mystery meat on the bottom of his stupid shoes make you think that you don’t deserve the entire world.”

“But-” Stevie tears at the cardboard of the box between her fingers, leaving little pieces of it on the floor between her feet.

“But nothing, your little shithead kids might have latched onto the first giant nerd that looked at them when they crossed through the doors of the high school like freshly hatched ducklings but you’re the coolest person they’ve ever had the chance to meet and it’s their loss if they don’t notice.”

“I mean they’re in high school so-”

“So they’ve decided to get all the stupid decisions out at the start. It’s a bold decision but maybe that will keep them from-”

“From crashing their dad’s truck into half the cars at prom?”

“I wish one of them had been yours,” she steals the last red Sour Patch from between Stevie’s fingers, popping it into her mouth before her best friend can do anything about it.

“You’re never going to pass your driver’s test, I hope you like the bus.”

“You’re going to drive me to work forever because you love me,” she drags love out as she dances away from Stevie’s slapping hands, snagging a stack of tapes to return to the shelves as she goes.

There’s no way Stevie isn’t rolling her eyes, but Robin also knows that she’ll look all soft and pleased. Knows because a yellow candy smacks hard against the copy of The Breakfast Club that’s right beside her head.

“What the hell is going on with that rabbit?”

“Pretty sure it’s proof that you should never be trusted to pick the shift movie.”

“Stevie’s being a total headcase this week, will you tell her to chill out,” Henderson delivers what Robin is going to generously call a request after cornering her between fourth and fifth periods. Cause if it isn’t a request then it’s an order or a demand, and her small friend is not going to be happy with what she has to say in that case.

“Well that depends, Dusty, why are you calling my best friend a headcase?”

He rolls his eyes at her, a trait that Stevie might put up with but Robin is not about to. “Because she’s being one, every time I try to talk to her it’s like…” he trails off. That’s probably for the best.

“It’s like all you can talk about is your new best friend Eddie? It’s like you aren’t interested in her now that you’ve got some new brother that you can hang out with instead? It’s like all she’s good for is a ride to see the boys? It’s like you can’t ask her how to talk to girls anymore or how you should do your hair because she’s not the same anymore.”

“I didn’t say that,” he shrieks, hands waving between them like he can swipe away the thousand bees that are her accusations. She feels stinging mad actually now that she’s started putting words out there for the things that she’s feeling.

“You don’t have to say it, it’s what you’ve been doing.”

“Did she say that?” Robin gently swings her locker door just shy of closed. Dustin looks younger than she thinks she’s seen him since the first time they met. Looks smaller than she’s seen him in her life. Looking up at her with big watery eyes, waiting for her to make it okay.

Stevie’s gonna be pissed if she doesn’t at least try to make it okay.

She picks each word carefully, not wanting him to feel completely off the hook, “She didn’t say it exactly like that.”

Dustin looks at the floor, his hat obscuring his face enough that she can’t tell if he’s followed through on the watery eyes to full crying. The ambiguity makes him easier to talk to for a second, now that she doesn’t have to worry about watching what his expression is doing.

“She’s still the same person who walked down the train tracks with a kid she barely knew looking for his runaway science experiment. She’s still the person who did your hair for the snowball. She’s the person who went hunting for Russian spies with you. She’s the person that would like to keep giving you terrible advice on how to date.”

His next breath is phlegmy and ragged. “It wasn’t terrible advice.”

“Right, right, your Moonchild Empress or whatever.”

Dustin hasn’t been quiet once in the entire time that she’s known him so Robin assumes the quiet means he’s done talking. Swinging her locker back open she goes back to what she was doing before he interrupted, which had, coincidentally been Stevie related. Deciding whether or not she was going to bring her copy Watership Down to work with her so Stevie could see what was up with the rabbits.

“They should meet.”

Robin had also been leaning toward introducing her to Fiver and Hazel, but she doesn't think that’s what Dustin means.

“Who should-”

“Stevie and Eddie,” he looks at her with a wide grin. An expression she recognizes from shortly before she found herself in an elevator to hell. Dustin thinks he's just had a good idea. “Stevie can see that Eddie's super cool, Eddie will stop- And once they know each other we can hang out all the time, why didn't I think of this before!”

It does occur to her that she could remind Dustin that Stevie existed before July of 1985. That she went to school here and definitely already knows Eddie, that's where half the problem comes from even. But then she thinks of how much fun their next sleepover will be, when Stevie has brand new things to hate and make fun of.

“Maybe you're right Dustin, maybe that is the problem.”

He pumps his fist in time with the warning bell. “This is going to be great, I can't believe I didn't already think of this.”

He's still talking to himself as he starts to scamper off to a class he's going to be late to. But she isn’t about to let him leave without making sure he took away the real lesson he was supposed to. “And pass along to your little friends that her new meds didn't lobotomize her brain or amputate her legs. She can still tell you how to talk to girls, she can still shoot a free throw, she can still show you how to change a tire after it's blown out on the interstate.”

Dustin's staying with the Wheelers, Claudia has the night shift which means she and Stevie have the whole house to themselves.

Robin is making herself at home in Stevie's room, moving extra quilts and pillows from the linen closet into a fort she's making on the floor. Because today is going to be the best bitch day in the world, once Stevie makes it home from playing chauffeur. Because today Stevie gave in and went to lunch and a movie with Dustin and his new best friend Eddie.

She keeps trying to imagine what Stevie will say. Maybe Munson dips his fries in syrup or something disgusting. Maybe he showed up to the movie in his nerd brigade shirt. Maybe he showed up thirty minutes late! And the Stevie in her head has devastating things to say about all of those things, but she knows none of them are right. She just can't manage the right amount of even toned bitchery that Stevie can, the clever double entendre that makes the person she's insulting look all the dumber for getting upset at the blatant quips.

“Did you really bike here, you weirdo? You know I would have picked you up.” Stevie's voice carries down the hallway, accented by the sound of her keys hitting the bowl by the door and her shoes getting picked up from the floor and set down in the shoe tree.

“You got that bike rack for the Jeep. I wanted to make sure it actually got some use.”

The answering laugh is the one Robin possessively thinks of as hers, a little ugly, high pitched and snorting. It makes it to the bedroom just a second before Stevies face. A face that's wearing the lipgloss with the glitter in it, the one she saves for when she's trying to impress someone or make them look at her mouth.

“You look nice?”

“Such a charmer, Rob, no wonder you've got so many girls banging down your door.” She eases herself down onto the floor beside Robin, smoothing out a buttery yellow skirt that has to be new. She knows every single item in Stevie's closet, except this skirt.

She isn't going to think about how Stevie went out shopping without her though. She'd rather focus her attention somewhere more entertaining. “How was lunch?”

Stevie fusses with the edge of her skirt, rolling the hem of it between two fingers. Her face pinking though under that she's smiling. “Ugh you wouldn't even believe Henderson was a twerp, as usual. Insisted that he had to have one side of the table to himself, ordered two milkshake flavors so he could mix them together, and of course I'm paying for the whole thing.”

“Dustin being a dweeb is old news, what else happened at lunch.”

“I mean,” she trails off, making a face Robin has never seen before. Which shouldn't be possible, she thinks she is supposed to have seen all of Stevie's faces.  “Munson was a total freak, obviously. Kept calling me ‘My Lady’ and all that nerd shit. You’d think I came in with a cast with the way he opened every door and kept pulling out my chair.” 

It all sounds decidedly unfreakish to Robin, in fact it sounds like Stevie finds the guy charming. She realizes with something close to horror that she does actually recognize the expression on Stevie’s face. Just not on her best friend. It’s the bashful, twitterpated expression of a girl at a sleepover trying not to admit she has a crush. An expression that might as well be a death knell, cause the only time she’s ever seen it is right before date night started beating girl’s night.

“Not that it matters, the guy doesn’t know how to take a joke,” Stevie goes on, her smile still too shy to fully bloom but no less in place. Even as she pretends that whatever this is is supposed to be some dealbreaker. “I asked him what he gets out of playing Halflings and Half-wits with the dweeb squad and I thought he was going to climb on the table right there. Ed-weird went on for like five minutes on how the gremlins are some of the best players he’s ever played with, and they're an endless fount of creativity that keeps him perpetually on his toes.”

Stevie never actually stood a chance. And if Robin had been paying attention she would have realized that. 

There wasn’t anyone who loved passionate, nerdy people as much as Stevie.

Eddie Munson wore his king of the loud mouthed nerds crown with pride. And he was as obsessed with the gremlins as Stevie was 

“Why are we talking about him?” She flops over until her head is in Robin’s lap, flopping one arm outside of the pillow fortress to reach under the bed. She crows, victorious, holding a jar that's pond scum brown like it’s treasure. “Had to hide this after Dust put it in his hair. Put this goop on your face and tell me about what Vickie said in band yesterday again. Cause I'm pretty sure she was dating Dan Summers last year, and he didn't really seem like the type of guy to stay with his high school girlfriend.”

It's coincidence, pure and simple, that puts her right outside O'Donnell's fourth period class. Thompson's study hall, her own fourth period, was technically across the building but everyone knew Mr. Thompson came to work on Mondays too hungover to care about attendance.

And study hall didn't have a certain wannabe friend-dater standing outside it, debating whether or not he was going to go inside.

She is still figuring out her angle of attack when it looks like he's decided he is actually going to class. Considering O’Donnell is the type to write office referral slips to kids who aren’t meant to be in her room for ‘being a distraction’ there isn’t really any time for subtlety. Still, she’s surprised by the tone of her own voice when she shouts, “Munson!”

Heads turn in the hallway, of course they do. Faces she only knows by virtue of twelve years of school watching on with a lust for future violence she recognizes from that concrete bunker. But if Munson is concerned that a girl he's never spoken to is yelling at him, he doesn't look it as he turns on both heels to face her.

He smiles first, benignly pleasant. But Stevie taught her that trick, smiling to diffuse anger or hide how she has no idea how the person talking to her actually knows her. Munson is doing both, they had two classes together last semester and she was in the orchestra for the last school musical.

The blankness eventually clears from his eyes, “Bye Bye Buckley!”

Not about to be distracted by the dumbest reference she's ever heard, and with the eyes of at least two people she can see on her, she drags Munson away from class. It's bound to be all around the school by the dismissal bell, but rumor is less important than the mission.

The girls room by the library is always abandoned. The mirrors are dingy or cracked and it always smells like cat piss for no discernable reason. “To what do I owe this pleasure?” He looks around the bathroom with an inquisitive eye like the grimy bluish tile is somehow more interesting than her. “I'm not actually carrying if you were-”

He doesn't have the decency to stumble when she shoves at his chest, trying to push him back into the stall doors.

“What are your intentions with Stevie?”

“Ah yes, the mysterious cousin Henderson. Who says I have intentions?” His only saving grace is that it takes her too long to get her thoughts in order. A miasma of rants at the tip of her tongue about Stevie and how she was too good for him and any thoughts he might be having about her. 

But in the time it takes to see through her friend based rage, she’s able to watch a transformation take place on Eddie’s face. The smug aloofness that had taken over his face from the moment she cornered him in the hallway washes away. Leaving behind something giddy and young, bright eyes and a flushed face. “Unless she was asking about me. You two are bosom friends, are you not Diana? That would make me Gilbert Blythe, hell of a role.”

“I’m sure there are plenty of people who wish they could break a slate over your head.”

“You’re probably right, doesn’t answer my question though. Was your dear Anne Shirley talking about me?” He scuffs a boot against the floor. Doing an impressive impression of a bashful school boy while standing in front of her in his ratted out, heavy metal glory. There are at least four chains that she can spot on his outfit right now but his face would be just as at home on Opie Taylor.

But she isn’t going to get fooled by some routine. She has something to say and she’s going to make sure she says it.

“She’s really special, Munson. She’s not some cheerleader you fuck in the woods because she wants to get back at her parents that are divorcing and you’re the scariest thing available that isn’t actually dangerous.”

“Tell me how you really feel, Buckley.” The retort seems to drag itself from his mouth on instinct. Cause the aw shucks routine he’d been giving is lying broken on the floor replaced by open mouthed shock.

“I am.” The bell rings, marking them both officially late for class. She glares him down, waiting to see if he’ll leave, effectively flinching first. He glares back. “She’s an athlete, likes sports.”

Maybe it’s wrong to list the things about Stevie that she knows Munson won’t like. But she also isn’t about to let her best friend water herself down for some stupid boy.

“Wayne will be thrilled to have someone who understands what he’s talking about. Go team.”

“She hates fantasy. Dustin loaned her his copy of Fellowship of the Ring and she gave it back when they kept singing.”

“I’m sure she’d like it if I sang them for her.”

“She isn’t going to become some demure, church mouse just because you’re around. She’s snarky and confident and, and…”

He sets a hand on her shoulder in a way that is so patronizing she wishes she were as good at being a bitch as Stevie was. But she suppresses her first instinct to bite him if only because she’s working at keeping up her record of 4578 days without biting a classmate.

“I don’t know what any of that means,” he says, “but it sounds like you and your hot best friend have been talking about me. So thanks for that intel, Bucks.”

People wearing leather and motorcycle boots shouldn’t be able to skip. The stupid hanky in his stupid pocket flaps behind him like a wagging tail as Munson leaves her in the girls room with the smell of ammonia.

Stevie has Breakfast at Tiffany’s playing on the TV when Robin makes it to work. Keith let them have most of their shifts together but drew the line at letting Stevie shut the store down to come pick her up after school. So on days where Stevie works a double, she’s stuck arriving to work sweaty and guessing at whatever movie will have ended up on the big TV.

And today she gets to catch Stevie standing in the middle of the floor, a stack of tapes in her arms, while she watches the party happening in Holly Golightly’s apartment. Audrey Hepburn swaying with her guest in the middle of the floor.

“Someone’s in a mood.” 

From over her shoulder, Stevie sends Robin a look. Something loaded with dry humor and a smugness that usually means something juicy happened in the time before Robin got there.

Usually.

There’s something about the look today that feels personally directed at her.

“Well it was this or Some Like it Hot, and the stay at home moms are weird about black and white movies that aren’t the first few minutes of Wizard of Oz.”

“That’s sepia.”

“Bless you.”

Making sure Stevie can see her rolling her eyes, she heads to the back to clock in. By the time she makes it back, Stevie has the volume turned down on Holly Golightly’s romantic disasters. She’s back behind the counter, head pillowed in her hands and Robin remembers why people used to be a little scared of her popular kid cabaret. Walking up the center aisle, she feels like she’s headed straight toward a tiger with its mouth open and she’s about to put her head in there. 

“So you’ll never believe what happened earlier,” Stevie taps her nail against her cheek.

“Paul Collins came in with his mistress to look at porn again?”

Humming, Stevie doesn’t say anything as Robin comes behind the counter with her. There’s a stack of tapes that need to be rewound and a roll of Be Kind Rewind stickers that need to be stuck to cases.

“Still time for that,” she says right as Robin started to think they were going to drop it. “Sally Tyler called from the payphone.”

“Sally from the basketball team?”

“Yeah,” that smile is even wider. This is almost certainly payback for the You Suck board. “I’m thinking about joining her rec team but we’ve played one-on-one in the park once or twice.”

“And she had a Family Video emergency that only you could solve?”

“Sorta. She was just really concerned, she’d heard a rumor that my best friend was dragging the guy she saw me having lunch with this weekend into the girls room.”

This is definitely payback for the You Suck board. Stevie’s looking a little too pleased with herself as she smiles at what can only be Robin’s slack jawed surprise.

“I get if you're mad,” she says and that’s all she can assume is happening, she isn’t sure how else to read what’s happening on Stevie’s face. “But-”

“Thank you.”

“I was just trying to- What?”

“Come on,” she rolls her eyes, swipes a half hearted smack to Robin’s shoulder. “I’ve been on the other side of that, you know. Well meaning friends pulling me aside to ask what my intentions are.”

“Oh my god, did she follow us in there?”

Delight makes Stevie’s eyes sparkle, “Did you actually? I love you. Did you give him hell?”

“I think he got the upperhand.”

“I think it’s all the playing pretend. The shitheads will run circles around the unprepared too.”

It seems a little too good to be true. “You really aren’t mad?”

Someone abandoned The Breakfast Club at the scene where Ally Sheedy gets the makeover. It had seemed like a stupid scene when she’d seen it in theaters, now it makes something weird pit in the bottom of her stomach. She doesn’t get the chance to hit rewind, to send Allison back in time so she can be strange and herself again, because Stevie is flipping her around and pulling her into a bone crushing hug.

“First of all,” she says into the side of Robin’s hair, “the only thing I’m even a little miffed about is you thinking I couldn’t kick Munson’s ass myself. But no one’s ever done anything like that for me before so I’m cool with letting it slide.”

“But we are acknowledging that you definitely have a thing for the guy with the rattiest hair in the school. Probably even Roane county.” Robin says, face pressed into the meat of Stevie’s shoulder.

Stevie shoves her away with a groan that Robin’s laughter is already drowning out. “Yeah, alright. He’s kind of okay I guess.”

“Such sweet words for the father of your brood.”

“He’s not the father of my anything,” she flips her hair over one shoulder, “anyway I think he gets off on it so I’m gonna keep being mean to him.”

“That was more than I wanted to know about either of you.”

“No it wasn’t, you like that I’m mean too. You get all sad faced when you think I’m trying to bury my impulses.”

For the second time today Robin is left too surprised to say anything. She’s left gaping, not that Stevie is looking at her now; too busy picking at the nail polish left on her pinky. 

“I like it,” she says quietly after a moment. Robin has shut her mouth by the time Stevie looks up at her again, something soft but serious on her face. She reaches across the counter to grab Robin by the hand, melding what’s left of their coordinating manicures by linking their fingers. “You’re my number one. Even if Eddie does anything about anything, he’s going to have to compete with you.”

Neither of them move as the weight of the moment surrounds them like one of Mrs. Henderson’s quilts. Heavy and homey and right. But they are still at work and as the bell beside the door dings, and they break their silence to greet their new customer in tandem, they shrug off the heavy sincerity for something more functional. Stevie’s smile turns sly, and she tugs Robin closer while keeping an eye on the man now browsing the comedies. “You’ll never guess who came in earlier to ask if we had Nine and a Half Weeks yet.”

[missglaskin]

i feel like Otto would use Daemon and Rhaenyra’s secret wedding, mere days after their partners funerals, as the sole ammunition to have Rhaenyra disinherited and second-born!Reader named the Princess of Dragonstone after Otto reminds Viserys the sole reason Rhaenyra was chosen was to prevent Daemon from having the throne. and Alicent will begin planting the seeds of a doubt in Viserys mind that some may not want a the Reader on a throne because she’s adopted but if she married Aegon, the firstborn son, she wouldn’t be contested. that Aegon was better fitted as a consort anyways.

and the Velaryons have mixed feelings about the whole ordeal because Corlys really wanted his blood on the throne but Rhaenys believes the reader will be a much better ruler.

she’s kind of like the “peoples princess” if that makes sense. from a young age she began serving as the king’s cupbearer, allowing her the opportunity to watch the council work, and even there were times when she spoke up. advocating on behalf of the servants for better living conditions or pushing for repairs on the sewage system underneath the city.

not even Rhaenyra could deny that the reader would make a good queen but there’s some resentment directed to her father, angry he still won’t accept that she loves Daemon and there confusion as she watches Daemon wrap a beautiful necklace around the reader’s neck

I apologize for the long haitus, I wanted to return with something so here it is.

The plot just thickens

Before Daemon and Rhaenyra secret wedding, Alicent was already sowing seeds of doubt in Viserys's mind (the reader doesn't have any bastards, last she checked but even so it doesn’t count).And it would be a great irony if Viserys sent Otto away thinking he wanted Aegon to be king (which might be partially true), when in reality it’s the reader he desired to be in the throne. With Lyonel's death, and Rhaenyra's decision to move to Dragonstone with Laenor despite wanting to stay with her sister. Otto and Alicent are only given a better advantage to continue casting doubt on Rhaenyra. Rhaenyra and Daemon's marriage seals the deal, and soon after, they are summoned by a raven from King's Landing.

While the Velaryons may have mixed feelings, they are all in support of the reader in being the chosen heir. It’s Rhaenys who encourages Corlys’ decision to swear his fealty to her. It doesn’t help that Rhaenys believes Rhaenyra and Daemon are the cause for her son’s death and them marrying right after Laena’s death only adds salt to the wound. Rhaenys genuinely believes the reader will be a much better ruler. 

When the reader is named heir, there is one final step for both Alicent and Otto to ensure her position (or as they like to say). So it comes as little surprise when the reader is revealed to be wed to Aegon. She already has gained a great deal of knowledge regarding politics throughout the years she was compelled to relocate to accommodate the entire family, from Driftmark to King's Landing to Dragonstone. Alicent and Otto took a step further in letting the reader act as the king's cupbearer, and Viserys naturally agreed. Unlike Rhaenyra who felt undermined in the council, the reader isn't cut off when advocating for herself, rather, she's backed by the green council. 

As you mentioned, she has earned the title of the "people's princess” through her charity, her advocacy for improved living conditions for the castle's servants as well insistence on repairing the sewage systems and for better roads. Tales abound in the city about the princess who visits orphanages, escorted, of course, by the finest knights, among them Ser Criston Cole. With all of that, simply wedding the reader to Aegon, already wins him favor at king's landing, besides, it's evident to the court that it's the reader who holds all the power.

It's an internal struggle for Rhaenyra; she feels waves of resentment and anger, sometimes aimed at her father and other times at the reader. But, she can never take the reader's actions personally, not after she offers Rhaenyra dragonstone or when she vows to make her the hand when she ascends the iron throne. So how can she ever be genuinely upset at her beloved sister whom she also thinks would make a wonderful queen?

And for Daemon, whom she observes draping a beautiful necklace—akin to the one he gave her years ago—around her sister's neck. She observes as her ever naive sister turns to face him, beaming as thanks him for the gift.

And for Daemon who she watches wrapping a beautiful necklace around her sister’s neck, similar to the one he gifted her a long time ago. She watches as her sister turns to him, beaming and thanking him for the gift, her sister so naive and innocent. But it won’t be long before Viserys catches wind of it, and if not him, Otto and Alicent will and this is the last thing they ever wish to happen. For they know, no matter how many times they Banish Daemon, he will always find his way to return to your side.

[trendywaifus]

when you get injured during the dreamscape/memory zone quest with firefly and stelle. a lil something while i finish other works. cw: none. established relationship, poly, gn! reader.

air forcefully rushes out your lungs as you get thrown against a wall by an unexpected attack from one of the enemies. dizzy, you struggle to breathe, holding your aching back in extreme pain. you taste a strange liquid in your mouth that didn’t taste anything like blood.

“ (name)! “

“ no, (name)! “

stelle and firefly both screamed, staring at your hunched form in utter horror. they desperately want to come to your aid but they have to get rid of the enemies first. the taller girl angrily returns her attention back to the robots, gripping her baseball bat harshly until her knuckles turn ivory. “ you’re annoying, all of you! get out of our way! “

with blurred vision, you helplessly watch as the two girls fight the enemies before them. you were hoping to recover while they battle but the terrible pain doesn’t ease during your attempt to lift yourself off the floor. to think you can still feel pain even in the land of dreams. the irony. after they’ve dealt with the robots, stelle and firefly ran straight to you. firefly cradles your face with her soft, warm hands while she observes you for any visible injuries. the poor girl looked like she was about to burst into tears.

“ are you okay? are you able to stand? “ she asks in a shaky voice, rubbing your cheek with her thumb in a soothing manner. you attempt to stand up with the help of stelle but you were so wobbly and lightheaded that you immediately crumbled to your knees. “ i-i don’t think i can sweetheart. i didn’t expect that metal piece of junk to catch me off guard like that. i’m sorry for being careless, girls. “

“ don’t apologize, please. “ firefly says, intertwining your hand with hers, squeezing it. “ we just have to assist you until you’re able to walk on your own again.”

stelle nods, “ i can carry you until we can find a way out. “ she tosses her bat to the side to try and carry you but you swat her away with your free arm. stelle looks at you with a baffled look on her face.“ no, don’t. stelle, you need to be ready to fight, it won’t help if you have your hands full with me. “

“ then. .i’ll carry you, (name)! “ firefly insists, sending you a desperate look. you emit a strained giggle. “ that’s funny, sweetie. but no—“

“ then are you suggesting that we leave you behind? because i refuse to do that! “ firefly chimes, tears welling in her pretty eyes. you bring her hand to your lips and kissed it softly. “ don’t worry, i’ll just rest here for a bit then i’ll get up and find the two of you somehow. no biggie. “

stelle shakes her head, “ don’t give us that no biggie crap, you silly dingus. i’ve already decided that i’m going to carry you and you basically can’t do nothing about it anyways. “ she quickly snatches you up in her arms with surprising strength. you weakly tried to wiggle out of her arms but she only gripped you harder. “ you crazy girl, let me go! i told you that i’ll only wear you and firefly down like this! “

your protests fall on deaf ears. stelle adjusts you in her arms and kisses your forehead, you grow silent. “ i’m not letting go, don’t underestimate the power of love! we’ll find a way even if i have to fight with you in my arms, isn’t that right, my pretty lady? “ stelle glances over at firefly who nods with a determined smile on her face. “ y-yeah, i’ll do my best to cover you two so don’t you worry about a thing, (name)! “

ignoring the warm feeling blooming in your chest, you just sighed.

what are you going to do with these two girls?

[mirkhammett]

die, die my darling (vampire!kirk)

summary; recently, you’ve realised that your roommate kirk has been acting different, inhumane. and you soon find out why.

warnings; blood drinking, light gore?, smut <3, a teeny bit of angst, fingering, non-protective sex (though baes a vamp so i believe it doesn’t matter :3)

w/c; 3.9k

the vamp kirk isn’t my idea, inspired by a great writer, @orions-choker!! pls go check their work out, it’s sooo addictive :p (not yet proofread so expect mistakes!!)

to say your roommate had been acting different would be an understatement.

his timid responses were the first signals that something was off- and then it was the lack of eye contact. the boy you knew to be once so smiley, couldn’t even luster up a few seconds of direct contact as you bid him off on many on his nights out, that had become much more common recently. he never said were he was going, and you never asked, but you had an inkling that every time was the same- he’d go out for a smoke, and a walk to clear his head (most likely). that would explain the faint stench of tobacco that always seemed to arise in the early mornings.

some nights you wouldn’t even wave him off- but something was the same, every single time. not once had you ever heard him come back, nor even the sound of the heavy wood door of your shared apartment clashing closed. nothing. and it wasn’t you were an early sleeper either, no. most nights you spent up into the early hours, an opened book resting on your duvet covered lap, your head only hitting the pillows when your neighbours would finally stop arguing and hit the hay. (which was never before midnight on a good day.)

but sometimes, only sometimes, you’d wake up after feeling a harsh whoosh of air through your room, rubbing your eyes in confusion and glancing to locked window. weird. you’d always blame it on your cheap, hardly working fan, and in a daze, go back to the land of dreams.

it wasn’t the first time he had acted like this, though. every couple of weeks he’d slip out into the night for these walks, and you’d take no mind of it, until now.

it was different this time. in the many months since kirk had moved in with you, you kept him close and considered him a friend. so why was it that he would avoid physical contact with you like the plague, hell, why was he so hesitant to even have a conversation? why was he always fully covered, wearing long trousers and thick sleeves in this scorching heat? and why were his eye bags so prominent, so much that his reddened veins were peeking through the thin layer of skin?

still, your feelings for him never once faltered, neither did the immense concern you felt for his wellbeing. maybe tonight was the night, do to something. to just say something, make sure he’s not struggling too much.

tonight you hadn’t heard him leave, and you hadn’t been in the living room, so he must’ve felt no need to announce his whereabouts. you couldn’t deny it, the division you felt between you and him hurt. -and tonight, tonight you were restless. kirk, he plagued all of the thoughts in your brain like a disease.

you yawned, setting your book down onto your duvet covered lap, just like every other night. the (un-happily) married couple next door had finally decided to give it a rest, but your whole body felt an immense itch, that wouldn’t go away no matter how much you scratched it.

you sighed as you slipped from under the covers, using one hand to rub your eyes and the other to mindlessly clutch your book. just as every night before, you checked the window was closed and locked, the moon shaped like a fingernail, the cheshire cat grinning down at you in irony. in irony of what, you didn’t know yet. you made your way down the hallway, passing kirk’s empty bedroom, not even bothering to check. you knew if he was home, there was no way his light would be off, and his door would be open, not even by an inch. he appreciated his privacy, and you couldn’t be mad about that.

the couch was where you decided to reside- and you didn’t care if it took even mere minutes or hours, you were going to get to the bottom of this. the thin blanket you draped over yourself didn’t provide much comfort or warmth, the coolness of the brown leather beneath you overpowering the heat, the shitty air conditioner on blast.

not even a full hour had gone by before you starting to hear it. the clatter of heavy combat boots walking down the hallway, the noise getting louder and louder as they reached your door. his combat boots. you immediately sat up on the couch, wiping your drooping eyes as you twisted around on the couch, so your body was resting against the backrest, your eyes studied tightly on the door.

he opened it with the firm gentleness that would radiate off of him, the gentleness that you knew so well. he fumbled to shove his keys back into his book, kneeling down to untie his shoes.

you leaned further over the couch, watching him with your mouth open. “kirk?”

he immediately stilled, raising from his bent position and turning to slowly, slowly face you. so much looked wrong with him, with so little explanation. you felt yourself straightening your back up. “i..” he whispered, like a deer caught in headlights.

his once muscular arms now looked much more frail, with such prominent veins, like a red rash covering his whole body as they pulsed wildly, thrashing with a hunger for blood. the rash continued up his bare arms, up to his pale neck, and through to his lifeless face. he looked tired. so, so, tired.

and without thinking you rose from the couch, stepping towards him with pure concern and worry in your features. your voice came out a soft, comforting whisper, as you reached your arm towards him. “what’s wrong with you, kirk?”

he winced as soon as your soft skin came in contact with his arm, his expression a grimace as he shut his eyes as hard as you could, almost as if he could escape this situation. you were hurt by his sudden moment, and you didn’t fail to show it, no matter how hard you tried to mask it. “you look so sick,” your eyes trailed down to his figure, “is there something i don’t know about?”

he shock your arm off of him, wrapping his arms around himself in a protective manner. a low grunt of pain escaping from his lips.

“i don’t want to hurt you, please..” it was the most you had heard him speak in days, and while you should’ve been happy, the tone of his voice was so heartbreaking, so shaky and frail.

you looked up at him, eyes full of concern, brows furrowed. he wouldn’t look at you, not fully. his eyes were either trained on the ground, or glued shut. he couldn’t bear to look at you, not at a time like this. he couldn’t bear to think of the consequences.

he had been putting of his weekly feed for a while now. infact, he hadn’t fed in weeks. whether it was the guilt or hurting another that consumed him, or self hatred, he didn’t know. all he knew was that he didn’t want to hurt you. the smell of tobacco was present on him, but you hadn’t even realised it. and if you had, you really couldn’t care less, not with the state of him.

his fingers were so pale, and the effect it took for him to press them against his own skin made you wince. even more so, did his response.

“why would you hurt me?” you slowly closed the gap between the both of you, bringing a gentle hand to burns against his cheek. “you could never hurt me.”

“but i could, y/n.” he spoke seriously. it took all of the strength in him to not just take everything he wanted from you, drain you dry. but with anyone else, he wouldn’t have even made it this far. your touch sent shivers through him, the strong scent of your sweet, warm blood rocking through him.

suddenly it all became too much, his chocolate brown orbs turning a dark, sinister shade of red, his mouth opening as he gasped out a grunt of pain, clutching his cheek.you flinched, pulling your hand away and stepping back away from him. if he was in a better state than he was know, he would’ve noticed your fear and reassured you. but he couldn’t, with the growing pains in his gums.

and once you recovered from the shock of his sudden harsh movement, you saw it. where two of his teeth once stood, were razor sharp canines, the gums around them enflamed and bloody- and that was when he finally looked up at you. with the look of horror in your eyes, he knew he couldn’t hide it anymore. “i…i’m not human, y/n.”

“you’re..a vampire?” you voiced wearily. he nodded, his exhausted eyes catching onto yours. “why do you look so…so ill?” you spoke with caution, fear in your voice, and kirk could tell, no matter how hard you tried to cover it. kirk felt his heart break at that.

“i haven’t fed..in a while,” his hand was still clutching his pale cheek, his voice filled with pain and despair. he coughed shakily, his legs buckling slightly. in a state of panic, you immediately held him up straight. he sucked in a harsh breath at your touch. “i can’t..i can’t risk hurting you.”

you shushed him, leading him to the couch, your book left discarded, the blanket now kicked to the floor. he sat slowly, still wincing his features at your gentle hands. your touch felt good, too good, and that was the problem. your touch had his undead body pulsing and throbbing, like his heart was really beating again, when he knew it.

that was how it always was with you, and he had no explanation for it, not until recently. why was it he felt so strongly for you, and no one else? it wasn’t just his heightened senses, no, no..that was for everyone else, too. it couldn’t have been his bloodlust, thought he found it so much harder to spend time around you when he was on a fast. it was more than that. there was no way for him to explain it, not truly, other than that when he was around you, he felt alive.

he didn’t even feel it when you sat down next to him, occupied by a whirlwind of thoughts circulating around his brain, going through to his empty lungs. all he breathed in was you.

“do you need blood?” how you still seemed to remain so concerned for him after what you had just found out, he couldn’t fathom. he continued to stare at the ground, and you know his answer. “okay,” you hummed, coming closer. “feed from me.”

his eyes widened, his hands coming to push you away, his voice a pained ramble, “no, no, please, i couldn’t..you’re the only person i don’t want to hurt.”

he looks like a kicked puppy, his eyes so wide you were afraid they could pop out of his head. he voiced pure denial, but you knew he couldn’t deny it for too much longer, the bloodlust taking over.

“it’s okay,” you bared your neck to him, your warm breathe sending shivers through you. “take what you need.”

he grimaced, though he leaned in, his guilt so clear on his face. you brought a hand up to his hair, ruffling it so gently he felt he could cry.

“i’m sorry,” he whispered, resting his cracked lips against your smooth skin. he hesitated for a couple seconds, until you tightened your grip on his black coils, and he lost it.

his sharp fangs broke the barrier of your gentle skin, your warm blood intoxicating and filling up all of his senses. he growled into your neck, your whimpers going unheard by him in his blood lustful state. he sucked your neck with force, a bruise already forming around, what would soon be, a bite scar.

he didn’t take much, because it was you. and if it wasn’t you, he feared he would’ve drained them dry, sucked them of all their life and soul, body turning paler, and paler, until their skin was tinted grey and he had no choice but to pull away, as they held no use to him anymore.

but it was you. so he pulled away, his mouth gone just as quick as it arrived. you whimpered as his fangs retracted, his rambled words drowning out the pain. “thank you, i’m sorry, i love you,” these words flowed from his boyish voice like a river, talking before he could even think properly again.

he wiped the loose droplets of blood from your neck with his thumb, which suddenly didn’t look so lifeless anymore. his eyes had returned to their normal shade of brown, his veins no longer visible. your body relaxed against the couch as it was now his turn to dance his hand through your hair, kissing your forehead lightly, and then pulling back.

“you love me?” you grinned, your eyes half shut, but still gazing upon him.

he returned a soft grin, his black curls bouncing as he nodded down at you, regaining his strength back. “how could i not?” he mumbled.

your body felt like a million fireworks had just gone off in your stomach, butterflies zooming around at the impact- and no, your giddiness was not from the blood loss, but kirk’s admission of love. their had been an undeniable tension between you and kirk for the many months you had lived together, confessions of love always wanted to be released, but remaining to hang lowly in the back of your minds.

for when you would grocery shop for your shared apartment together, and he’d go off and gather all of the snacks he knew you loved, without you even asking. or when you’d have a movie night, and he’d pick whatever movie he knew you were dictated on at the time. but neither of you ever said anything.

and now with his vampirism so clear to see, you knew things should have changed. you knew your feelings towards him should’ve changed. but they didn’t. “i love you too,” you whispered sweetly. you rolled your body closer to him on the couch, sitting up and using your hands to steady yourself, bringing your face towards his. “kiss me?”

he complies quicker than the speed of light, his hands gripping on your waist, softly, but firmly, his touch electrifying. he shuffles his hips, urging you to straddle his lap as his lips take place on yours.

he’s soft with it at first, becoming increasingly sloppier with time. “fuck, you’re so pretty.” he breathes heavily into the crook of your neck, his lips back on yours.

and then it’s happening all too quick. your hands are dragging down his back, clawing even as he dominates the kiss, one of his hands now on the back of your head, keeping you steady and pulling you into him. he’s much more vocal than he was before, your blood giving him more energy than he’s ever felt before. you tasted different to everyone else. sweeter, he thought.

he’s quick to reach for the buttons of your sleep shirt, his nimble fingers slipping the bonds between the buttons and the holes of the striped material, the silk shirt hanging loosely off your shoulders. he takes in the sight of your bare chest with widened eyes, your perky nipples hardening under the shitty cool air radiating off the fan, and kirk thinks you look perfect. he leans in, leaving soft, wet pecks all over the bare skin, leaving imprints in their tracks.

you giggle, shimmying yourself out of your matching pair of shorts that complete the set, the silk material easy and complaint to slip from your body without much hassle. you mentally thank yourself for choosing this set for tonight. he quickly rids himself of his own shirt, leaving nothing to the eye.

his chest is like a sculpture from the gods, and you wonder if his figure has always been this good, or improved when he became undead.

his hand trails down your thigh to lightly graze your panties, then he stills. he looks up at you with a serious expression, his eyes soft and thoughtful. “is this okay?”

you nod with urgency, grabbing his hand firmly and pushing it into your crotch. “more than okay.” you mutter, catching your own breath.

“someone’s eager,” he mumbles under his breath, chuckling softly. he doesn’t mind though, as he’s already lacing a finger under the lacy material of your thong, hooking it and yanking it down your legs. it bundles up around your ankles, and you kick it off with ease. “there’s my girl, so pretty.”

you whimper as he trails a finger over your bare pussy and he experiments, rubbing it lazily over your clit. he whispers praises that you can barely hear, adding another finger to the mix. he uses this one to rub up and down your slit skillfully, all your arousal accumulating up just from the touch of his gentle hand. he speaks again, this time loud enough so you can just about hear him. “tell me if it hurts, m’kay?” you hum and nod, squirming on his lap.

he pushes a finger into you at the arrival your consent, slowly and gently, as to not hurt you- once he’s fully sure that you’re okay, he slides another in, this time firmer with his movements. he doesn’t move them yet as he lets you adjust to the new intrusion, just curling them inside of you.

“more, more,” you whine breathlessly, and he complies wordlessly. without warning he starts to thrust them, not quite reaching a fast pace yet, but not slow either. he uses your whines and whimpers to his advantage, finding the pace that he’s figured you enjoy most, deep thrusts of in and out, in and out, the sounds of your wetness and his palm slapping against your pussy with each thrust creating a cacophony of passion.

and it’s not long before your muscles start to contract more often, your gushy walls tightening around his calloused fingers like a vice, when he knows your getting close, and without a second thought, slips his fingers out- with absolutely no struggle, even with your tightened walls, your arousal a perfect homemade lube.

he silences your whines before they even start with a messy kiss, and it’s right then when you realise- when did he take his pants off? you don’t spend much time pondering over it, instead over his muscled legs, and his, oh my god, perfect dick.

it’s not the longest, but it’s girth makes up for it, and you can hardly even think about it before his whispering into your ear, bouncing you on his lap. “can you lay down f’me, baby?”

“y-yes.” you manage to pull squeak out, trembling of off his lap as he arises to stand, getting comfortable with your head resting on the armrest of the worn out couch, you bought way before he even moved in. you never imagined in a thousand years it would be used in this way.

it’s not long before he’s back above you again, his face just above yours as his curls coil down to brush your skin, his front strands tickling your face, causing you to giggle. you smiles at your response, opening your legs apart with a single hand. he rubs your clit, holding his dick in the other, like he hasn’t prepared you enough already. and then he’s pushing in, and it’s oh so good, and it’s nothing like you’ve ever felt before, still feeling slightly dazed from the blood loss, the tingles from your wound sending signals all the way down through your stomach and electrifying the butterflies, down to your pussy.

it takes him a good minute to fully emerge himself, taking his time by looking at your facial expressions, waiting until the pain of the initial stretch has fully dismissed before continuing to push further in. he’s situated inside you comfortably, like the missing puzzle piece, and it’s so disgustingly loveable, the air thick with the stench of sex and cigarettes lingering from his discarded jacket laying on the side.

slowly he begins to thrust experimentally, whacking your face immensely for any signs of discomfort, to be greeted with none- so he continues, his thrusts gradually growing in speed and deepness. he uses one hand to hold himself up, propping it up beside your waist, shadowing over your figure. he uses the other hand to rub your overstimulated clit with agility, knowing all the ways to make you tingle in just mere minutes.

the way his balls slap against your smooth skin with every thrust is addictive, the way your hands grip loosely onto his forearms powering him on- just knowing how good he’s making you feel all the motivation he needs. “you’re so fucking perfect.”

“thank you.” you respond airily, your whole body bouncing with each thrust, your words changing in pitch, becoming higher as you move up and down. he lets out a small chuckle, his thrusts slowing just slightly, before returning to their normal pace.

he’s breathless himself, sweat beading up along his hairline, his chest covered in a thin pearly layer of sweat. not enough to drip onto you, but enough to show the effects you have on him. he’s grunting himself now, his thrusts becoming more and more erratic. that’s when he feels that familiar tighten of your wall as again- thought it feels so much better this time, so much warmer, so much tighter. he’s grunting softly, more and more with each and every thrust, becoming more wild by the second, your bodies moving up and down in unison.

“i’m, im close..” you manage to mutter out, thought there was no need, as he could already tell himself, your not so subtle tighten around his length giving you away. he nods repeatedly, his breathing heavy and heightened.

“i know, i know baby,” his thrusts are so sloppy, and it’s so addictive to both parties. you’re not sure if you could ever live without him. fuck, how did you go so long without him before? “are you gonna cum f’me?”

and all you can do is whine in response, a whiney and whimpering mess for him, all sprawled out on the couch, your hands no longer on his arms, but laying uselessly beside your body, to weak to grip onto anything. your walls contract even tighter now, and kirk knows it’s any minute now. your soft moans don’t stop though, no. infact, he’s almost sure they’ve gotten louder as you encounter release. “come for me, okay?”

it’s almost as if he’s controlling you like a puppet, for the way you release immediately after he’s told you too. he doesn’t stop yet, not until he’s reached his own peak- and when he does, he still doesn’t slow, riding his, and your orgasm out to its full extent. and then when you’re fully spent, that’s when he finally pulls out, his body relaxing on top of yours. he doesn’t still for long though, and after a minute he’s up again, rising from the couch to kneel beside your body.

“you tired, baby?” he peers out the window, seeing how the suns just barely, but still beggining to set, and he feels guilty for the long hours he made you wait for him earlier. you hum in response, causing him to smile softly. “okay, lemme carry you to bed.”

maybe feeding isn’t so bad after all.

[basicinstnct]

fairytale / leon kennedy

word count: 3323

tags: possessive behavior, abo dynamics, rut/heat cycles, knotting, breeding, hints at yandere, mentions of rape and abuse, alcohol, hazing, smut, fake dating, intimidation

ao3 link: here

summary: you and leon happen to be in the same training squadron. further events pull you even closer.

When you’re told alphas, betas, and omegas train indiscriminately, you wonder whether they’re toughening you up or throwing you to the wolves. But you don’t falter, like you maybe think you should. Ignoring your instincts is something you’ve had to learn, because most of the time they just tell you to run.

They at least do you the favor of rooming you with another omega, one of the few others in your camp. Mostly the training squad consists of alphas, not even closely followed by betas, and both those populations dwarf yours. Nothing close to what it’s like if you walk down the street.

You quickly learn the ropes, courtesy of said roommate, and there’s plenty to know. Don’t go off alone with any alphas. Keep your scent blockers on, maybe even double up. Basically, keep your fucking head down and know your place, but sometimes things feel so tough that you wonder why they put you you here at all.

“And if all that isn’t enough to scare you,” she says after she’s given you the lay of the land, “just watch what happens to the ones who aren’t as smart.”

…

Her words prove true just a few days later. It’s the weekend, and there’s a kickback a few miles off base. You don’t know whose house it is, or even whose party, but a chance to unwind is worth all of that stupidity. Even your roommate agrees.

“Be cautious, yes,” she’d said, eyes locked on her own as she applied her mascara, “but social ostracization isn’t great either.”

When you’re handed a drink, you’re told to keep an eye on it. Not that she needed to say so, but there’s a weird sense of irony keeping your guard up among people you sweat and bleed with every day.

Some of the other cadets are determined to get as fucked as possible, so before midnight hits there’s a drinking game taking place in the middle of the living room. It’s mostly organized by two alphas you recognize to be pretty important in your squadron. In between them is a girl, an omega. Both of the boys have one arm on her, a strong suggestion.

You can’t imagine what they’d smell like that close. It must be suffocating.

“Does this happen often?” You ask your roommate.

“All the time,” she says.

There’s some chatter to explain the stupid rules, beers and sodas and liquors are put in cups, and then it begins. The drinks are thrown back like water, and you can’t help but notice how many of them go down the throat of the young omega, whose face is getting redder and redder as she tries to keep up with people two times her size.

Despite her effort, she still loses the game. Nobody objects as they put her into position for her punishment, an extended keg stand. The handstand drains all color to her face, even as the beer begins to spill from her cheeks, down her face to fall towards the floor. And when it’s over, it’s no surprise that she pukes everything back up.

What is surprising is that when she’s done, they just leave her there, in her vomit. You’re smart enough not to do anything; you’re as bad as everyone else. It’s a smart way to assert dominance in an overarching way. You’re aware that this could easily be you, next weekend or the weekend after that. Your second gender makes it so easy to fall prey to almost anything.

Later on, like everyone else, you watch in silence as the omega runs out the door, until she’s entirely out of view and you can’t hear her cry anymore. You have a strong feeling you won’t be seeing her again. 8 out of every 10 dropouts are omegas, or at least, that’s what they say.

The party doesn’t go on for long after that, the mood tanked by the lingering smell of vomit and pheromones of distress. You end up catching a ride with an older cadet, who your roommate sits across from. When you open the door to get in the backseat you’re a little surprised to see the back of a man’s blond’s head.

You quickly recognize him from training: Leon, an alpha. You also quickly recognize that you don’t know much about him other than that. It isn’t quite obvious that he’d be an alpha either, at least to you.

He doesn’t say anything, other than a noncommittal grunt, but you’re not offended. As much as he tries to mask it, you can smell that he’s somewhat distressed. The alpha behind the wheel must be able to tell too, as he rolls down the windows once you’re on the open road.

“See,” your roommate yells at you over the sound of the wind, before taking another sip of warm beer, “I told you so. Everything I said… the rules…”

“You did,” you reply, but you’re fixed on Leon’s expression. You can’t get the troubledness of it out of your mind. You want to fix it, desperately.

…

Even following all the rules, it doesn’t take long for trouble to find you.

A lot of people hate your Major Krauser, but in particular you hate the way he sounds. An alpha, naturally he has no issue throwing his weight or his power or anything else in his arsenal. He’s got commanding blood running through his body, apparent in his voice when he speaks, but it’s never been aimed at you before, not like this, not at you.

“Do I have to say it again, omega?” You swear you can feel the spittle. “My office, ten minutes.”

It’s not unusual for commanding officers to request the presence of subordinates, but there have been rumors surrounding Krauser that don’t exactly have you wanting to be alone with him. Talk of him requesting favors, forced affection, omegas coming back to the barracks on shaky legs.

You know what a visit to his office means, and you’d rather be a willing lamb to the slaughter than embarrass yourself by fighting.

The corridor to Krauser’s is endless, almost comically so. It feels like fate is a door away, but the feeling seems to disappear as you hear a grunt from a couple yards away. A sound you swear isn’t new to you.

“Krauser, sir.” It’s Leon. Looking at him, hearing him, makes it finally register. He’s an alpha, no different than Krauser.

“Yes, Kennedy?” He seems to be amused, and even with just a throwaway glance you realize something that has your stomach curdling. You’re kind of expected to keep your mouth shut.

Leon’s eyes glance at you, and you find that you understand exactly what he’s trying to do.

Krauser’s buying whatever Leon’s doing. He looks between the two of you, brow arching slightly. “Oh,” he drags out. “I see. She’s yours.” The venom on the last word pulls a shake out of you.

You can feel the sweat on your temples, and your hands twitch with the urge to wipe it away. You bet you look pathetic. You’ve got someone looking out for you and you can’t even speak up to confirm his story.

Krauser tilts his head like he’s pondering fucking Leon over and just taking you anyway. “Have her then, if she’s really yours,” he says finally, suddenly bored with the whole situation like he wasn’t about to knot you over a desk. He gives you a firm pat on the shoulder before shoving you in Kennedy’s direction.

You can’t deny that walking over to Leon feels like crossing a bridge to a better place. Just by the smell of him.

“You should probably let me… y’know, scent you from now on.” Leon says later, when you’re alone. He sounds like he’s asking, but there’s something that in his eyes, intense, determined. It’s in his smell too… Does protection have a smell?

You agree without much argument. It feels right. And some part of you is happy to have someone looking after you. When he moves to touch you you can feel it lighting up, synapses in your brain, and when he lets you go you find you feel a bit woozy. You wonder if he feels it too, this gravitational pull.

“I’ll take care of you,” he says, and you agree. It must be the best option.

…

You’ve never been to the rut barracks before, and they certainly don’t have anything like that for you, but when the officer told you he was in rut, and asked if you wanted to do anything about it, you felt obligated. His tone was crooked when he said it, when he teased you about your “nice little relationship, your fairytale.” Did everyone know? He wanted to keep you protected, but how much did he say?

He’s told you stories about how hard training was, that in the beginning it was nothing he would have been able to even dream of before Raccoon City.

Knowing you has helped, you’ll remember the warmth that spread through your body at those words forever, but you try not to think about it too much, because you don’t remember talking to Leon all that much during his early out of training, at all really until he started pretending like you were his.

When you open the door, you can almost feel the heat of Leon’s lust. He’s awake despite the time, in a lounge chair he’s put in the corner in the room. You can tell he’s been sitting in it for hours. Muscled hands cling to the armrests like they’re a lifeline. His eyes are glazed, obviously from the rut, and he makes no attempt to hide the obvious boner he’s sporting. The sight of him like this distracts you from any hesitation you had before, from anything outside the room.

You take just one step, and his eyes lock onto yours impossibly fast. His spine shifts, and he looks somewhat like he does when he’s ready for combat. Leon tries to speak first, but you’re holding your hand up to stop him from getting a word in.

“Shhh,” you feel yourself purr, like you’re approaching a feral animal, which might as well be true. “I know you don’t feel good,” you tell him, “but I can make you feel better. You know I can.”

Your ears feel like they’re underwater but can make out that he’s protesting. He’s saying something about not wanting you to get hurt but you know deep down you won’t feel bad about it, about doing this with him. You have to force his walls away, so you do your best to put out a disarming smell.

“Leon,” you say, holding out your hand.

“You came,” he gasps. He’s warm around you, and his face in your neck feels natural (or maybe more like instinct). He’s trying to be careful with you, barely even moving, but you want him closer. You know he wants to be closer. You wrap your arms around him, and for once allow yourself to really feel his body.

Leon’s form is strong, and this isn’t really much of a surprise to you, but touching it is something else: a different way to know his strength. You drag your hands across every muscle and you know you’ll remember the warmth that spreads through your body for a long time. You feel him sigh, deeply, before his hands grip you a bit tighter and pull you more towards him. “This is ok?” He’s suddenly asking, with a raw voice. But you get the feeling he won’t be asking for long.

“You came to take care of me?” He’s asking, but his eyes are so lidded they seem closed, and his nostrils are flaring like crazy. He’s so worked up, and you haven’t even been with him for five minutes.

You mutter back a shy affirmation, and just to really drive, you pull at his belt. The shudder that goes through him is a reward all its own.

“Ohhh?” He’s almost all over you instantly. He’s warm around you, and his face in your neck feels natural (or maybe more like instinct). He’s still him, still so careful with you, but you want him closer. You bet he always wants to be closer. You wrap your arms around him, and for once allow yourself to really feel his body, like he makes you do when you’re under him.

Leon’s form is strong, and this isn’t really much of a surprise to you, but touching it is something else: a different way to know his strength. You drag your hands across every muscle.

Meanwhile, he’s panting, almost to the point where you can feel his wet saliva. And he’s slurring something you can’t understand, and until two huge hands cup your face and put your forehead to his.

“Ohhh,” he moans shamelessly. “Where are your blockers? I-I’ve never… I always knew you were—but I never got to smell you. But you took them off now, huh? Did you do it for me?”

His pupils are so black, the ice blue ring around them half as piercing, but worse than that is his cock you can feel pressed up against your stomach, almost letting you know how bad he’ll stretch you, before he even gets his knot in. It’s getting you wet, needy.

“Yess,” you hiss as you feel his incisors draw lines down your neck, “for youuuu.”

“You’re gonna let me take care of you? Let me give you my knot, huh?” His words make you buzz. You feel like you’re going to fall into something you can’t get out of.

“I wanna take it, I will,” you’re murmuring like you have a fever. It occurs to you: it’s a strong possibility that his rut will trigger your heat. But that doesn’t seem so bad.

“I heard he was taking you,” Leon’s saying, teeth gritted with the effort not to snarl. You realize the he in question is Krauser, that he’s talking about that day. “I couldn’t let him. Didn’t want him to have you. And he won’t. I’ll take care of you, you’re mine.”

His scent is so strong you feel sick on it. Even when you’ve been with other people you could always smell yourself, but he’s wiped you out.

“How’d you know?” Leon asks, with what seems like his last grain of sanity.

“They told me.”

He laughs but there’s a pain in it, “‘course they did.” He pulls gently at you, leading you towards the bed he’s so far left untouched.

You can tell he wants you badly but he’s trying to be gentle. It crosses your mind to give yourself up to him completely, tell Leon he can do whatever he wants with you. But you aren’t quite sure how that’ll turn out with him so turnt up like this. You still have your guard up, but there’s a part of you that lives to serve.

You do so by ridding him of his clothes, his vest and his cargo pants, and then his briefs, where you can see his cock, leaking and throbbing. You can see hints of the knot he’s gonna make you take.

The sheets are engulfed in his smell. You find out as your body sinks into them with Leon’s weight over you. His eyes seemingly follow every part of you at once. His hands grab at you, at your ass and hips. Before long, he’s undressed you as well.

“Just take me,” you tell him, “I can handle it. I know you need me.” You hope he can feel how you ache for him in return.

Leon hums to himself, but doesn’t obey your request. Instead his fingers prod over to your opening and he moves them through the slick of you. He doesn’t dip them in, and seems content to just play with you, get you even wetter, even with his dick weeping pre onto your thigh. He lets you stir in his arms until you start to beg.

“Leon,” you say, for both of your sake’s, “please.”

“Wait,” he hisses, “just give me a second. You smell so good I could…” he trails off, like he’s not supposed to say it, but you’re not interested in should or shouldn'ts. You need his knot.

“Please,” you beg again, not even aware you’re baring your neck.

Blue eyes lock onto yours for confirmation, and when he finds it he slides his dick in slowly, maybe less so you can get used to it and more so he can see you shake and writhe as you feel just how deep he goes. Without preparing you you’d think it’d feel worse, but you must just want it that badly.

“God, your pussy feels so good,” he says into your ear, when he’s worked himself all the way in. You can feel his balls as he rocks his hips against you before he begins to fuck you. You welcome every part of him, his lips on yours, his hands, and you can feel the base of him getting thicker.

“Can I have it,” you’re shocked at the sound of your whining, “your knot?”

He huffs, “no.”

“What? Why?” You’re desperate for him. He’s warming you from the inside out and he smells so good when he’s close and you feel like you were nothing before this, like the memories of before he made you his will slip away when he makes you come.

“Because,” he gasps as he goes deeper, like he’s shocked it can even feel any better, “I wanna feel you come, please. What do you need? You need it harder?”

Rather than wait for your answer he just tries it, gripping your hips just to pull you back into his cock. Using you because he’s strong enough and you’re letting him and he can. Something in that makes your brain fuzzy, makes you clench around his cock until he’s growling into your neck, giving it to you even harder.

It works, it does make you come, but you still feel needy. You pull Leon closer into all you can feel is him. Your’s mouth’s to his ear.

“Give me it,” you whine. “I know you’re close. I want it.”

“Yeah,” he says like he’s realizing it too. That he’s getting too thick there to keep fucking you like this. “Please, say you want it again.”

“Please,” you cry, “Leon, knot me, please. It’s too much if you don’t.”

He looks at you for a long moment before licking every one of your tears away. Then he fucks you he feels it.

All of you seems to soften when Leon gets caught in your pussy and comes. You can feel him filling you up, warming you from the inside out. Even better than that is the pleasure on his face. His teeth are clenched. You wonder if he’s grinding them so they don’t end up in your neck.

He cuddles you until his knot goes down, and then he bathes you (you didn’t even know there was a full on bathroom), dries you, redresses you. His cock leaks the entire time, but he ignores it in favor of you. You’re scared to say anything about it. You love the way he looks after you.

Later in bed though, you can’t help but ask him. “Why?” you say without naming anything explicitly.

“It feels natural,” Leon says, and you can tell he’s thought about it. “Feels good to give you what you need.” In all this misery it must feel good for him to save someone, rescue someone, and that someone is you.

“And you know what that is?” You can’t help but ponder. It feels uncharacteristic to say, but it also feels like the last chance for either of you to turn back from whatever this is.

“I have to,” it’s the voice of your alpha replying.

[colleybri]

Cassian Andor taking on an Imperial garrison…

The subtle use of echoing lines in Andor (frequently right through to Rogue One) is so well done, and one example shows Cassian’s character development very clearly…

When Cassian is first being briefed by Vel about the heist on Aldhani, he reacts with horror at the news about there being an Imperial garrison nearby. Luthen didn’t mention it, and you get the sense that he might not have agreed to take on the job had he known about this extra danger . But of course, he commits and the heist is a success – of a kind.

But afterwards… he doesn’t want to do anything like that again. He wants to “win and walk away” to “somewhere warm and easy” . The irony is – his actions have helped to inspire Maarva, who refuses to leave Ferrix - while praising the actions of the “brave” “heroes” of Aldhani. She’s just indirectly praised him, and you can see that he’s delighted by a split second little spontaneous smile of pleasure that he quickly suppresses. Ouch. He’s finally done something she could be proud of, but he doesn’t want to give her a reason to stay so he has to stay quiet.

^ Awww 😞

But what’s really interesting is the editing in this masterful and moving scene. On Maarva’s words ‘If there are heroes brave enough to take on a whole Imperial garrison I’m brave enough to stick it out here” we see the flashback of 13 year old Cassian approaching the Troopers with a cudgel, revealing at long last the details of the assault that landed him in youth prison for three years and Mimban after that. The horrifying execution of Clem combined with the injustice and pain of his own punishment has not just traumatised the adult Cassian, it’s also made him somebody who will now avoid a conflict – and therefore the Rebellion– wherever possible. 

‘It’s all useless… it’s better to live!’ is what he told Luthen before Aldhani, but the precise placing of the shot here is very telling.

Cassian is starting to subconsciously associate that act with bravery rather than recklessness. He hates the Empire for what they did to Clem but it has so far translated to trying to ‘live’ and ignore them as much as possible; but his teenage self wanted to fight, to get revenge. Nonetheless it was an emotional response, an impulsive act that was not thought through. This is in total contrast to the calm methodical shots of Wilmon Paak preparing the bomb at the start of Episode 12. Wilmon is balancing emotion with rationality in planning his own revenge, in an arc which otherwise is like a replay of Cassian’s own.

Later in Episode 12 Cassian hears from Brasso his mother’s last words for him - all proof not just of how much she loved him but of how much she knew him too. He does indeed now ‘know everything he needs to know and feel everything he needs to feel’. His reasoning and his emotions are now able to work together to be that ‘unstoppable force for good’. He won’t be making emotional but futile attacks like rushing armed Troopers with a stick anymore. He will think, plan, observe and react. But he will act. He is not going to walk away any more. And he’s not going to leave loved ones behind if he can help it…

…Because in a final bit of lines-linking brilliance - immediately after hearing these words of his mother, Cassian prepares to go into the hotel, via the tunnels she checked were open, to rescue Bix.

Incredulous, Brasso says: “Are you going to take on a whole garrison?”

And Cassian doesn’t verbally reply. The look says it all. ‘I’ve done it before, twice, l’ll do it again, and I’m doing it now.’

It sums up Cassian’s arc so well. From oppression, to fighting back, to running from the fight, to taking up the fight again (now an even more exact mirror of Jyn Erso’s arc too). But this time… having learnt from experience. One lesson being: teamwork matters…

…Because thanks to Brasso and the riot the Troopers are ordered out of the Rix hotel, which is the Empire’s base. Making it possible for Cassian to extract Bix, with the “Imperial garrison” deployed elsewhere. A technique so effective, it will also be used on Scarif to give Jyn, K2SO and himself a chance to reach the data files.

“Light it up …

..Make ten men feel like a hundred “

And that’s how you make a realistic hero. Cassian is somebody who learns and grows despite some bitter experiences.

Better deploy that garrison, because Cassian Andor is taking it on.

[sashi-ya]

𝐊𝐈𝐍𝐊𝐓𝐎𝐁𝐄𝐑 𝟐𝟑 DAY 1: FREE USE Roronoa Zoro 𝘹 𝘍! 𝘙𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳

Requested by: anon ➡ sashi our smut queen, can I request a juicy fic for day 1 with zoro and fem! reader? thank youuu ~ tw: mdni. free use. unprotected sex. creampie. dominant zoro as hell. 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

Perhaps it was his very own kink, perhaps it was exactly and just how he really was… impulsive in his own way, deadly, scary, demonic.

Romanticism wasn’t for him; he didn’t even think about it in any case. He wanted you, your body covered in the irony smell of blood and sweat. Fight me and let me fuck you, whenever I want to.

Still panting, with your katana trembling in between your hands and a drop of blood running from your cheek to the commissure of your mouth, you look at him.

Zoro’s yukata only tied by the sash around his hips, hangs loosely. His sweated body, that scar that shines with the argentum bath of a huge moon up above the sky.

“Sex. Now.” he orders, ripping your katana off your hand and throwing it to the side. Because Zoro respects his own katanas, and all of the katanas… but not yours, he doesn’t care about yours.

You take a single step back, is not that you don’t want to please him… is that he is big. Zoro is imponent, Zoro is huge, Zoro is a demon.

Calloused hand lands on your delicate cheek. The thumb cleans the drizzling red fluid over your lips and then it takes it to his tongue. Like a creature whose vital force came from blood, he rejoices with the irony taste of it.

Zoro proceeds, then, to take his bandana off in a swift motion. It’s also covered in sweat, dampened by the hard work of his physique.

As he is a man of few words, and you don’t really need none of them to understand, you ponder if he is gonna use it to cover your mouth this time.

But you were wrong, what he wanted today was to keep you tied to the bamboo stick you couldn’t cut today while training.

“Lift your hands” he commands, pressing them together above your head and against the poorly injured bamboo fibres. Like an expert he passes the black fabric around your wrists and the stick, securing the knot with great strength. His chest, huge and prominent, dances dangerously close to your nose and lips, making you wanna suck, bite, taste, and drink.

When he is ready, Zoro backs up looking at you as a beautiful, crucified prey for a demon to devour. It feels like the bandana might be breaking the bones of your wrists, but still there is some movement that Zoro will use efficiently for his own pleasure.

He smirks, devilishly. Ripping after gloating, the fine silky fabrics that formed your yukata. Freed your breasts, your belly and legs, his hand instantly travels down his crotch.

“I should keep you this way for the rest of your life, like a hole for me to fill” he utters, with extreme calmness and still menacing demeanour in his voice.  

You swallow. If he wanted to, he could. If he wanted to, you would let him do it.

Pumping his dick in between equally massive hands, he comes closer. Zoro first kisses your neck, and as you do you feel the throbbing hardness in between his legs getting pressed against your lower belly.

He bites your carotid, ripping a grunt from your throat in total pain but pleasure. You could swear that your feet are about to become wet from your need of him to fill you up. But you are there for him to use you, freely. Who are you to plead to the Daimyo of Ringo?

“I hope you are tight as you always are” he murmurs in your ear; with the raspy voice he uses for these cases.

You nod, making sure your insides are ready to welcome his violent intrusion.

And as his lips reach for one of your nipples, nibbling with no mercy, his sex search for your dripping wet core.

He growls the moment your walls receive him with spasming, wet and hot sensation. Zoro’s hand slaps the bamboo stick to which you are tied, shaking your whole body.

“Woman… damn you” he protests, as you begin exercising your entrance enough to pump his dick in milking motions. And even if your legs are becoming weaker because of his wide fulfilment, you accomplish your only job; please the daimyo.

His hips, however, take the lead and the ramming becomes violent. Vicious enough to break you in half. Your legs lose the fight against gravity, and you begin to slide up and down as he fucks you.

Zoro scoffs, grabbing you by the back of your thighs. Holding you up, he goes in and out, deeper every time. But it’s not deep enough for the king of hell, and when he is “tired” of holding you in such position, he lifts one of your legs up as if you were a doll.

Your right heel now rests on his chest, while your left leg hangs loosely down. He impales you back again, this time reaching places inside your body that aren’t supposed to be touched.

You moan, louder, perhaps sounding more like a mewling creature than a woman being fucked. And Zoro enjoys it, enough for him to hit your g spot so deadly as a reward.

You feel like exploding around his shaft, and even if you do, he won’t mind. He likes to fuck you until you lose conscious if it’s necessary for him to be satisfied.

And he does. He bites your lip when he can sense the pressure of your womb on his sex, the liquids spreading down his legs. And Zoro doesn’t stop.

Your eyes become white, his endless pumping motions are extending your climax and making your whole body to quiver. And the more you do, the more the green haired samurai fucks you until his own orgasm hits him.

“Ugh… you- take my cum” he growls, lifting your two legs up so that you look more like a container for his seed than a woman to be simply filled.

You can feel his release flooding your overly sensitive insides, getting pumped by his still rams, deep, deep into you.

Your rest your forehead on his strong shoulder, completely out of energy… accepting with a smile that this isn’t the end, and that he will freely use you for the rest of the night ~

taglist: @stephisokay @henrioo @shuzuiikoii @bullbonez @fengxinwifutobecalled @i-started-reading-fanfics-at12 @crimsonlikeshellsing @weebare808 @thestarwasborn @bookandyarndragon @cyberdazetragedy @uzxotic 💖

[whatsthelimitoncharacters]

So, in my opinion, Athena is probably dead. I think that it’s dumb and doesn’t make sense but the listening party animatic definitely implies she’s dead

Here we have some before and after pictures. When I first saw the livestream, I assumed that she was just gonna pass out and that people were overreacting. However, the glow fading really implies that she is in fact dead.

Shortly before the earlier images, we see Athena kind of holding onto life with her glow flickering. We can assume she is almost dead because Ares asks if she’s even alive(I will return to this). All this considered, despite the fact she isn’t glowing in a lot of scenes in this song(such as Odysseus showing her Telemachus), her glow fading really does show that she is probably dead.

If you need some evidence from the songs, we can also get some without looking at the animatics. First and most importantly, Ares asks if Athena is dead. While Ares isn’t the most respected god and many would label him as kind of dumb, he would probably know that gods can’t die if that’s the case. Him asking this does show that a god can, in theory, die. If you want mythological precedence, you can look at how Pan died(I know that there’s a bit of debate to that but idc). Another piece of evidence is actually Calypso saying “Last i checked, goddesses can’t die.” Many people take this as proof that Athena is incapable of death but it’s already been established by major gods that a god/goddess could die and there’s a mythological precedent, so calypso may be lying. In honesty, she isn’t being entirely untruthful in saying that she can’t die. Odysseus is just a half dead mortal king and Zeus is the single most powerful god. Odysseus can’t kill calypso while Zeus could kill Athena. This segues very well into how this line fits into the larger saga. Instead of this line acting as foreshadowing for Athena’s survival, it instead acts as tragic irony for Odysseus. Athena is Odysseus’ only chance at leaving and she dies. The irony comes because Odysseus’ problem could be solved if only a different goddess had died. The wrong goddess died and now it’s up to Zeus to decide whether Odysseus should be set free.

Now, if I’m correct, then I have a lot of feelings about this. If I’m wrong I have slightly less. If I’m right, you can see my previous post for a lot of my reasons why I think athena dying is a bad decision, but I’ll give one here. Gods don’t die. Pan is the only death I can think of (not counting stuff like Helios disappearing over time) and the phrasing of pans death could also be interpreted as the cult of Tammuz praising him for his one myth. Even characters that are treated as mortal like Medea (both her parents are minor gods so she probably should be too) don’t get myths where they die. Medea just runs off to a far away land. Kronos is sliced to bits. Typhon is sealed under Mount Etna. Kronos’ children are swallowed whole. ATHENA’S MOTHER GAVE BIRTH IN ZEUS’ HEAD. IT DOESNT MAKE SENSE THAT ATHENA COULD DIE. If she isn’t dead, why is the animatic like that? Jorge had to have commissioned it. I doubt the animator would have added that in on their own. Why would it be framed so much like she’s dead if she wasn’t.

[blasphemousclaw]

Like I do genuinely think they maybe should have replaced Radahn’s appearance with Godwyn’s instead? I know his soul has been slain, but I just like the idea that even the kindly Miquella is still on this naïve journey to become a god and bring back his dead brother to become his lord who honestly wouldn’t really be the same and would probably just be a husk of Death incarnate itself, but he wouldn’t care because he’s still grieving for him.

With that being said, the whole Metyr lore was super good, the whole reveal that the two fingers actually don’t really know what’s going on and they’re kinda just pulling shit out of their ass just adds a whole layer to the tragedy of the game, like all of these events were really for nothing and it just makes the Frenzy Flame ending and Ranni’s ending more understandable

ehhhh I absolutely see where the “it should’ve been Godwyn” mindset comes from and I agree with a lot of the arguments to an extent, but I’m not sure bringing back Godwyn’s soul entirely works for me?

I think Miquella’s attempts to return Godwyn’s soul were always going to fail, because his soul was completely and permanently destroyed by Destined Death. The ending to Gurranq/Maliketh’s quest is basically that things can never be the same again, so I don’t think there’s really a way to bring back Godwyn’s soul without it feeling like a contrivance? I really like the fact that he’s a character who can’t ever be brought back; his death was the catalyst for everything, a point of no return. Godwyn not being able to come back gives Ranni’s actions a special weight, that she was willing to permanently destroy his soul if it meant being free from the Two Fingers.

But with that being said, I absolutely see the sense in saying that Godwyn should’ve been Miquella’s lord. What’s strange to me is that Godwyn was set up in the base game to be a beloved older brother figure to Miquella — there’s the statue of him with Miquella and Malenia at the Haligtree, there’s the Golden Epitaph with Miquella’s prayer that he might die a true death, and there’s the spirit at Castle Sol, implying it was Miquella’s intention to return Godwyn’s soul through the eclipse. And now the DLC says that Miquella always looked up to Radahn as an older brother, when this relationship was never even hinted at in the base game, so it ends up feeling out of nowhere. If Radahn was always the one Miquella envisioned as his consort, then why is Godwyn the only brother he’s ever shown to have had a significant relationship with?

And, it’s also true that Godwyn ending the war against the dragons with diplomacy and bringing about peace really embodies what Miquella would consider admirable, since his quest in the DLC is in part to heal the hurts caused by Marika’s war of vengeance long ago. Radahn, on the other hand, is known for idealizing Godfrey, who helped Marika enact her wars of conquest, and for loving conflict so much that he literally fought the stars themselves. Miquella was said to have admired Radahn for his strength and kindness, but there aren’t really any instances showing Radahn being renowned for his kindness, except for his love for his horse? (the loyalty of his soldiers doesn’t count. Rykard had die-hard soldiers too and we know what he’s like)

On the other hand, I feel like Radahn as Miquella’s consort works thematically as a concept because Miquella’s journey in the Shadow Lands mirror’s Marika’s own ascent to godhood, and Radahn is like Godfrey’s spiritual heir. I’m also compelled by the idea of Miquella idealizing a young Radahn for his strength and kindness, only for Radahn to become corrupt during the Shattering, warring for the sake of war… which is why Miquella brings back specifically the young version of Radahn whom he idealized. It’s like a vision of Radahn colored by a child’s naïveté, and it belies the irony of beginning an “Age of Compassion” with the demigod who idealized war the most at his side. I think all of this makes for a more interesting story than Miquella somehow bringing back Godwyn’s soul.

BUT I still believe that this story was not developed enough. Again, we don’t SEE enough of Radahn’s relationship to Miquella hinted at beforehand, so this FEELS like a cheap plot twist. Godwyn was the one with the established relationship to Miquella in the base game, so it being revealed that Radahn was actually the one he always wanted to be his lord is like… huh? since when???

anyway I also really loved Count Ymir’s quest and the revelations about the Fingers… the Two Fingers say that the Greater Will hasn’t abandoned this realm, but I think it’s clear now that they’ve been without the Greater Will’s guidance for a long, long time. Since we know Count Ymir was Rellana’s teacher, I wonder if his distrust in the guidance of the Fingers somehow came to influence Ranni?