#the face doesnt match and its not physically possible for him to have taken the route they claim he did in the time given

[luckyletd0wn]

he is *accused of shooting a healthcare executive

come on folks let’s not rest the case without a trial

i don’t have anything else to add

[bridgyrose]

Alright, time for the post that no one asked for! Which ship had more development between Bmblby and Blacksun!

Gonna preface a few things first: I dont particularly ship either ship, so I'm going to do this with as little bias as possible.

This is only over the first 3 volumes, so anything after the fall of Beacon isnt taken into consideration right now.

And the rules are as follows:

First, winking will not be considered. Since people keep saying a wink isnt inherently confirming of a relationship, I'll ignore any winks and judge the scenes based on the content.

Second, scenes will be judged by whether or not you could replace any character and still get the same effect. (the more you can replace, the better in my opinion)

And lastly, since I keep seeing this coming up as well, the only evidence I will consider for absolute confirmation is of any sort of kiss in the first 3 volumes. Although, its going to feel a bit rushed and out of nowhere since the first 3 volumes takes place over 4-6 months at best.

Without further ado... everything will be under the cut.

Starting with Vol 1, after re-watching, there really wasn't any build up to either ship. Which, doesnt surprise me considering that Sun doesnt show up until the end of Vol 1 and the entirety of that volume is centered around introducing the characters, the world in which they live, and just general ideas on what it's like being a huntsman academy. But there are still a few scenes to note in vol 1:

Initiation: Its a quick blur, but you can see Blake rush across the screen once we see Yang walking through the forest. At that point, its safe to assume that Blake had already made her choice on who she wanted, which is further implemented with Blake helping Yang out with an Ursa.

Its safe to assume that between talking with Ruby the night before and seeing hearing how what she thought of Yang didn't quite match her thoughts.

Our next scene comes to Sun and his infamous "slow-mo wink introduction." As per the rules, I'm ignoring the wink and going straight off the content of the scene itself. Which, doesnt leave much. We know he pinpoints Blake as a faunus very quickly and he has some sort of infatuation with her, but the scene alone doesnt give us much.

However, that one does lead into the end of the Vol: Blake runs off from her friends and takes her bow off to finally show us her ears. At which point, Sun comments that he knew she'd look better without it. So that already shows that 1) Sun definitely pinpointed Blake being a faunus early on, and 2) he wanted to talk to her and this provided the right opportunity. Or... so he thought. Especially since the next scene opens up with him half complaining that they've spent 2 days together and all she's done is make small talk.

Which is all pretty on par for Blake. She then spends the next bit talking about her past, how she was pretty much born into the White Fang, stayed with it after it went from peaceful protests to more anger filled, until leaving Adam just a few months ago. After all of this, Sun asks if she's told her friends, to which we can assume she answers no to, you know, since she ran. Overall, it ends up leading Sun into going a bit gung-ho about helping Blake with the White fang.

Overall, Vol 1 did well to start putting together dynamics between Blake and her friends. Sun and Yang both make different impressions on Blake, both of which she ends up seeing as friends... for now.

Vol 2, is a bit of a strange one. Our first introduction to Beacon is Sun basically telling Neptune how cool team RWBY is, emphasizing a bit on Blake. Which does end up bringing us to the meat of the first half of vol 2: Blake worrying over the White Fang. Now, because of this, we dont see any build up between Blake and Sun or Blake and Yang while they go around town to figure out what the White Fang and Torchwick are up to. Sun makes a good point that Blake shouldnt go to the rally alone, and the two pair off while Yang goes to the club with Neptune.

Once the dance arc comes along, that's where things take an interesting turn. Sun immediately asks a sleep deprived Blake to the dance, in probably the most awkward way since he's trying to say the dance is lame, but would be less lame if the two of them went together.

Sun definitely cares about Blake and actively tried to help her calm down a bit. Which, ultimately, she never says no, just that she doesnt have time for a dance. So, I give this one a +1 in points for build up.

Then, we get to the burning the candle speech. Which, a lot of people seem to write off as either pointless or not build up. Personally, it gets a +1 in points on build up for me on this. First, Yang is absolutely worried about her partner, seeing her go down the same path she did when she was much younger. She immediately starts by telling Blake that she doesnt want her to stop, just to slow down and take a breather. And she ultimately makes a strong point: slowing down isnt a luxury, its a necessity.

This also end s up being the first time we see Yang open up and drop the party girl demeanor that she's had. She talks about her mother, someone that she doesnt talk to many people about, and just how much it hurt her to find out that Raven left shortly after she was born.

After an emotionally charged discussion, we finally see the point that Yang had been trying to get Blake to see:

And it finally does work. Blake slows down, takes a rest, and ultimately enjoys herself at the dance. Which, in her own words, she technically goes with Sun.

Overall, the dance arc in general gives great build up to both ships. Which ultimately is the end for the Black Sun build up.

Bmblby doesnt get much more build up in vol 2, the only other notable scene being the campfire where Yang, Blake, and Weiss start opening up a bit more to each other to figure out why each of them are becoming huntresses. Which absolutely gives a bit more foundation to the friendships they have.

Vol 3 ends up having most of the build up between Blake and Yang. The first major scene being after Yang was disqualified for breaking Mercury's leg. When Yang finally asked her team if they trust her, Blake is the only one who doesnt immediately say yes, instead, saying she wants to. Leading us to this face from Yang:

(yes, I know, captions are a bit off, deal with it.)

But Yang ends up being distressed by her own partner saying that she wants to trust, but doesnt yet. Blake ultimately ends up opening up about Adam, telling us how she used to trust him... until accidents started piling up. Eventually, she looks at Yang and asks her to look her in the eye and tell her she didnt do anything wrong. When Yang does, Blake allows herself to trust Yang.

Which then brings us to the biggest piece of buildup between the two: Adam. When Adam shows up, he starts using words like "my darling", hammering in that at one point, the two had something going on. He decides immediately he wants to hurt Blake just like she hurt him by leaving. But what really hammers in Blake's feelings for Yang, is the fear she had on her face when she heard Yang's voice not so far away... and right where Adam can hear her. It doesnt take long for Adam to look down at Blake, notice the fear, and then look in the direction of Yang, ultimately stating that he'll destroy everything Blake loves, starting with her.

Now, I know a lot of people will dismiss that as "it could've been anyone. If Sun had shown up, it would've been the same." And honestly, yes, it would've. This moment here is what solidifies who Blake ultimately cares about. Had it been Sun to come around, no doubt she'd show the same fear. But it wasnt him. Instead, it was Yang, who immediately found Weiss and asked where Blake had gone. And we further see her feelings for Yang cemented by the way she blames herself that Yang got hurt. The way she stays close, gently reaches for Yang's hand, the emotion of the entire scene after they get to safety.

Sun does ultimately care about Blake, and helps out where he can, but at least in vol 3, he had his own priorities of making sure everyone could make it to safety.

TL;DR: Both ships had a bit of build up in vol 2 and 3, although, the build up that Bmblby had outweighs the buildup that Blacksun has. Blake definitely had feelings for both, but ultimately, it took until Adam was a threat for her to realize the feelings that she had for Yang, and even then, she still wasnt entirely sure what they were until later in the series. At this point, the only reason anyone can say that Bmblby has little build up is due to either a higher bar for f/f ships (because, lets face it, everyone takes the wink from vol 1 as absolute confirmation for blacksun because its m/f) or they continue to deny that sometimes, there are multiple ways to show buildup between two people for a relationship and the slowburn route usually takes an emotional route over a physical route. And look, Blake has two hands. Take that as you will.

[stickyy]

I loved what you wrote about student! college! aizawa,if it's not too much trouble,I would like to read a second part but it contains a sub!aizawa,dom!reader,mommy kink and pegging please. I have to take advantage of the fact that you are the first blog with dark content that I see that accepts pegging,an opportunity that I will not miss,but if it gets complicated for you oh you don't like it,you can reject my request.

DISCLAIMER: always ask for consent first!

warnings: DUBCON, sub!aizawa, edging, verbal abuse, bondage, pegging, gn!reader but light mommy kink is used in reference to, praise kink if you squint?, slightly unrealistic depictions of pegging, reader is fed up but that doesnt excuse their actions :P

word count: 3489

notes: sorry for the delay, i hope u like anon! :D there should always be more pegging fic out there

part 1 here

EXAM SEASON

Finals season is quickly approaching, sending the entire campus into a frenzy, students scrambling like displaced ants trying to finish last minute assignments, novel-esque essays, merciful extra credit projects. The workload takes its toll on everyone, even the star students. You found Aizawa in even worse moods more frequently; a schedule consisting of all nighters spent studying old material followed by early classes and a job on the side, he was absolutely exhausted. You sometimes sneak a peek over at him during class to see his head bobbing slightly, bloodshot eyes struggling to stay open as he fights sleep. A small part of you feels bad for him; he’s a diligent student, and you were sympathetic to his exhaustion.

You still hate the asshole, though.

You found yourself snagged in a twisted sort of arrangement with Aizawa after midterms. There was always a half-assed attempt at tutoring you before giving up and cramming his cock down your throat or deep inside your cunt, leaving you sore and dripping with his cum, all the while spewing insults targeted at your intelligence (or lack thereof). In exchange, he’d complete your assignments and allow you to copy his answers on exam days. Ignoring the situation is where you make peace with yourself; you feel used, but you also have no other option if you want to pass this class.

What you hate the most is the way you roll over and take it. You’re more than just a hole to fuck, you know that, but you’re helpless against his searing abuse and venomous scowls. Even when you try to be nice, it only makes him crueler, your soft pleas and offers of peace an invitation to tear you down and make you cry. You want to fight, to claw and tear into him out of spite. You don’t want to feel so weak anymore.

So, you decide to do something about it.

It’s late, campus illuminated by street lamps and headlights of cars passing by as you make your way into the dorms. After your first encounter, Aizawa began inviting you back to his room instead of the library, deciding to “study” in his personal space as opposed to possibly getting caught in the library with his cock down your throat. You didn’t complain, but it’s especially convenient today, with what you have planned. Knocking on the door softly, you worry your bottom lip between your teeth, anxious for what’s to come.

“Open,” he calls out from inside, prompting you to enter. You pass through the messy common room he shares with his roommate and enter his bedroom, opening the door quietly. Aizawa’s room is tidy compared to the outside, bed made, tousled only where he sits with his laptop, typing.

“You’re late,” he squints at you from behind the screen, shutting the device. “Not surprising.”

“Sorry,” you mutter, placing your book bag on the floor and taking out the very heavy law textbook (that you hadn’t bothered to open since midterms). You take your seat next to him and open to the most recent chapter you read over. He’s silent, only speaking to answer your questions as you focus on the text. You can tell he’s sleepy, his responses slurred and delayed, and you glance over to see him dozing off. Late study sessions and Aizawa’s recent exhaustion meant more often than not that he fell asleep before tormenting you. The first time was startling, but you learned that it was a regular occurrence. 

You prefer Aizawa when he’s drowsy. His usually hard features were softened, quiet snores rumbling from his chest. His dark hair messily framing his face as he leans back against the headboard of his bed, arms folded over his chest. He’s good-looking, no doubt. If his personality matched, you could see yourself falling for him.

His eyes open, shooting you a questioning look, and you duck your head back into your textbook, embarrassed at being caught staring.

You keep quiet for another 20 or so minutes, waiting until he’s truthfully asleep and not just resting. You have to be careful not to wake him, as you aren’t keen on being reprimanded for what you're about to do.

Once you’ve deemed it safe, you stealthily open your bag and retrieve the small plastic bag stored inside. With the help of online shopping, you bought some handcuffs, lube, a dildo, and a harness. You aren’t all into pegging, but this was less about the sex and more about proving yourself, forcing him to respect you, in some perverse way. You retrieve the cuffs, gripping them carefully as to not make any sounds. This is the most crucial part; as long as you could get him restrained, you’d could dish out any revenge you desire. You slip off of the bed and tip-toe, almost comically, around the other side of the bed. You test the waters, snapping your fingers near Aizawa. He doesn’t stir, chest rising and falling with his deep breathing.

You steel yourself with a deep breath; this was your chance. You make quick work with the handcuffs, gently yet hastily clicking the metal around one wrist and looping the cuffs through the headboard before securing his other wrist. A grin spreads across your face; you’re thankful he’s such a deep sleeper.

Now that you had him where you wanted him, you were paralyzed by the sheer amount of possibilities. You climb over him apprehensively, hovering over the unconscious man, who only shifts minutely. The peaceful look on his face puts a small pit in your stomach; this was wrong… right? Technically, this was assault. You frown, a small chill running down your spine. Is this what you had become? It was almost enough to convince you to stop, but you force yourself to remember the first time Aizawa had his way with you, the way you choked and gagged and had to hide your face until you could find a bathroom to wipe off the dried cum that adhered to your skin.

This was his fault; he made you like this.

“Fuck it,” you say aloud, bracing yourself before grabbing a handful of his hair and yanking, hard. He awakes with a surprised gasp, wrenching his head away from the assault.

“The fuck?” He bites, eyes drowsily scouring the situation. “What the fuck are you doing?”

“Just waking you up,” you smile, releasing your grip. “It’s kind of boring watching you sleep. I thought we were supposed to be studying.”

Aizawa gives you an agitated look, disoriented as he tries to move, only to find his range of motion limited. “You fucking handcuffed me?”

“Yeah, I can’t believe you didn’t wake up,” you chuckle, sliding your hands under his shirt and running your hands over his taut stomach. He keeps his eyes on you with an expectant expression, waiting for an explanation.

“You know, I like you so much more when you're asleep,” you continue, idly tracing patterns on the skin of his abdomen. “No insults, no curses, no glaring. You’re pretty handsome when you’re not being a total douchebag.”

“Let me go,” he ignores you, yanking the handcuffs. “This isn’t funny.”

“I think it’s pretty funny, actually. You’ve spent all semester treating me like shit, and for what? All I’ve done is be nice to you, even after you call me names and abuse me. It hurts my feelings, you know? It’s not like I’m trying to fail this class, I just needed a little extra help, and you take advantage of that every week. So I do think this is pretty fucking hilarious. Maybe you’ll see just how great I feel when you bully me.”

If looks could kill, your heart would have stopped right then and there. Rage burns behind his glare when he meets your eyes, still struggling to break the cuffs. You’d never seen him like this; at his worst, he seems moderately annoyed in your day to day. Despite being an insufferable asshole, he always manages to keep a cool air about him. Never giving anyone much of a reaction, he’s only nasty when he desires. Watching his face take a red tint and his eyes narrow in frustration send waves of satisfaction rippling through your chest. 

“You don’t know what you’re doing,” he grits out, “If you let me go now, I’ll forget all about this. I promise that you don’t want what’s coming for you once I get out of these cuffs.”

He did have a point; you had no idea what you were doing. That wasn’t going to stop you, though.

“Aw, it’s not so fun now, isn’t it?” You coo at him in a demeaning tone, pouting dramatically. Your wandering hands slid to his crotch, where you could feel his length stirring curiously. You bark out a laugh.

Pulling down his sweats and boxers, your mouth waters at his hardening length. Normally, your stomach would drop at the sight in anticipation for physical abuse you were about to receive. But this? This was different; knowing that you’re the one in control is absolutely captivating. You take his cock in your hands, slowly working your hand up and down. He stays silent in defiance, steady in his glare in an attempt to intimidate you. It would work, usually, but with his hands bound there was nothing he could do to you. He’s betrayed by a pleased noise that slips from his throat.

“Don’t tell me you like this? You want to be taken advantage of, is that it?” you taunt, basking in his agitation as you speed your hand up, thumbing the pre gathering on the slit.

“Watch it,” is his only response, voice dangerously low. He keeps quiet, not willing to surrender to the reactions you’re trying to draw from him. It’s a challenge, if anything, and you weren’t going to back down..

He’s fully erect in no time- you’ve spent enough time as his cocksleeve to know exactly what he likes and responds to. His eyes fall shut as you squeeze tighter, hips canting up into your hand, chasing his own release. You keep it up until he gets a little louder, close to release, and you pull your hand away, watching his dick twitch helplessly.

“Fuck- why’d you stop?” he asks groggily, opening his eyes.

“You didn’t think that I was just going to let you cum that easily, did you? I thought you were supposed to be the smart one,” you shuffle off of the bed, smiling over your shoulder as you hook your thumbs in the band of your leggings. You make a show of sliding the material down over your ass, purposefully leaning over and arching your back. You hear a pleased growl from the bed, causing you to giggle as you pull your underwear down as well.

“You could still let me go,” he offers, giving you a once over as you climb back over him, “I could forget about this if you let me fuck you.”

“Nice try, but I’ll be the one doing the fucking tonight,” you grab your bag from the floor, retrieving the lube but leaving the dildo and harness obscured in the bag. You squeeze a generous amount onto your fingers, causing Aizawa to give you a puzzled look.

“You don’t need lube, you’re always so wet for me,” it’s more of a question than an observation, since your previous trysts never included anything but his spit and your own juices. You just give him a smile before nudging his thighs open with your own, trailing your hand slowly beneath his balls, settling in between his ass and your lubed fingers circle the muscle there. The look on his face is priceless, absolutely shocked at the prospect of you inside of him. He thrashes in protest but you’re steadfast, pinning his hips down with your other hand.

“You can’t be serious,” his voice is alarmed, almost erring on the side of anxious, “you’re dumber than I thought if you think you’re just going to get away with any of this shit.”

“And what are you gonna do about it?” you sing-song, using your dry hand to tug playfully on the cuffs, “You’re a little tied up at the moment.”

“I’m going to beat your cunt up when I get out of these,” it’s a threat, and you ignore the way your stomach flutters at the words, eyes trained on his as you push two fingers inside.

He grunts, his face scrunching up, almost cutely, at the burn of the stretch. You expected him to be tight, but given how tense he is, it’s difficult to push all the way inside. You take it slow, savoring the pained expression on his face; it’s a stark contrast to his cocky demeanor when you’re being subjugated to his abuse. His chest is heaving, a lovely red flush spreading across his skin, eyebrows knit tight, lips bitten red- you’re obsessed. You move your fingers in and out slowly, scissoring just gently enough not to seriously hurt him, but enough to watch him writhe. His dick twitches despite (or maybe due to?) the pain, still red and dripping.

“This is priceless,” you laugh, “if you wanted to get fucked so badly, all you had to do was ask, you know? Mommy would’ve taken care of it for you.”

“Mommy?” he scoffs, rolling his eyes, “you’re insane.”

Any further insult is cut off with a sharp gasp, eyes shooting open in shock, and you know you’ve found it.

You stroke his prostate with a heavy hand, grinding your fingers into the spongy spot inside of him as he struggles to breathe, back arching deliciously. You can’t help but smirk; you kind of get it now. If this is how tormenting you makes Aizawa feel, then you understand why he was so cruel.

“Fuck,” he chokes on a whine that sends heat down your spine, . Your wrist is beginning to strain, but you can’t bring yourself to care. It’s cute; he’s writhing, his hips seeking the stimulation he was previously avoiding as he moans openly, loudly. His cock is an angry purple, pre pooling on his stomach from where it’s leaking. He looks like he’s close, eyes beginning to roll back when you pull your fingers out, laughing as you ruin his orgasm for the second time.

“Please,” he’s breathless, a betrayed look on his face as his hips rock on nothing, desperate to cum.

“Begging already? We haven’t even gotten started yet!”

You reach over into the plastic bag, pulling out the dildo and harness. You can clearly see the fear on his face this time as he moves to sit up, the fog of pleasure clearing quickly.

“Wait,” panic sets in his voice yet again. If you were him, you would be scared too; the toy is thicker than the two fingers you used, something you chose purposefully. You stand and slip on the harness, ignoring his attempts to reason with you.

“What’s wrong? I thought I didn’t know what I was doing?” you ask innocently, forcing your hips between his legs and drizzling some lube on the toy, warming it up with your palm.

“That’s the fucking problem, you idiot, you don’t,” he seethes, pulling on the restraints again, “It won’t fit, and you’re not sending me to the hospital.”

“Exactly, I won’t send you to the hospital. Mommy’s gonna take good care of you,” you coo, settling between his legs.

“Just let me go,” it’s the first genuine plea you’ve heard from him, the sincerity pulling your attention to his eyes where you see a look you can’t quite place. He looks… afraid? Remorseful? It’s enough to give you pause, equal parts consideration and schadenfreude. You settle for leaning forward and placing an uncharacteristically saccharine kiss on his forehead, your humanity getting the best of you.

“All you have to do is relax, okay?” you whisper, resting the tip of the toy against his entrance. He shuts his eyes in anticipation, resigned to his fate, and you push in gently, watching his hole swallow the silicone. The way Aizawa contorts, back bowed to scoot away from the pressure of the toy is salacious, drawing a moan from deep within your chest. He can’t get far due to the restraints, and he lets out a soft sob at the stretch of the toy, face scrunched tight. You push slowly until you bottom out, your hips pressed firmly against his, grinding in small circles to alleviate your own ache. He exhales shakily, unaware that he was holding his breath.

“See, it’s not so bad right?” you soothe, rubbing your thumb against his hip soothingly. “You should be grateful; I’m so much nicer than you are.”

“Fuck you,” it comes out weaker than intended, his voice strained as he tries to adjust to the girth of the toy. 

You pull out slowly, experimentally, watching his stomach clench from the sensation of silicone caressing his insides. His dick gives an interested twitch, despite his demeanor, and that’s the invitation you need to start moving. It’s a little awkward at first, but your enthusiasm combined with the size of the toy more than makes up for your inexperience. He’s breathless, still uncomfortable, but you can see his body slowly relax as he tries to make sense of the sensations coursing through his body.

“You like this, don’t you?” you dig, eyes transfixed on his face, “Is that why you're so mean to me? You strut around like an asshole, just to hide the fact that you’re just a little bitch?”

You focus on angling your hips, searching for his prostate again, and when you find it, you commit to fucking him. He’s loud, stray tears sliding down his face as his body struggles to comprehend both the pain of the stretch and pleasure of the abuse.

“Fuck, you’re cute like this,” you sigh, “you’re meant for this, aren’t you? Meant to get your ass bred by your Mommy? You’d be so much more tolerable if you were sweet like this all of the time.”

His dick jerks violently but he shakes his head with a weak ‘no’, too lost in the sensation to retort any further. You’re soaked by now, the pressure of the toy on your end combined with the power trip pushing you to the edge. It takes all of your self-control, but you suddenly stop, unwilling to let yourself finish so quickly; there’s still unfinished business here.

“Tell me I’m pretty,” it comes out before you can even really think about it, but the words hang heavily in the air.

“Huh?”

“You’re never nice to me, so if you want me to even consider letting you cum, you better start kissing up.”

He hesitates, but when you shift slightly and the blunt head of the toy rubs against his prostate, he changes his tune very quickly.

“Fuck- you’re cute, ‘s the reason why I’m mean to you. So cute when you’re about to cry-” you give him a particularly hard slap on his ass and he winces, muttering a quick apology.

“You’re pretty even when I’m not fucking you, too,” is all you get, but it’s the first genuine compliment you’ve gotten out of the asshole since you’ve met him, and your heart soars. He’s awful and mean and evil but the simple statement is enough for you.

“I’ll let you cum if you beg for it,” you grunt, rutting your hips enthusiastically. You’re close, but you refuse to finish first. He’s needy, thanks to being edged twice, and he’s unable to resist your promise.

“Please, fuck, please let me cum,” he whimpers, voice wet and eyes watery.

“Please what?”

“Mommy! Fuck, please mommy, just let me cum, it hurts, fuck, please,” he babbles, and it’s enough for you. You wrap your hand around his cock and stroke it firmly, hips speeding up as you chase your own release. It’s quick- he finishes almost embarrassingly fast, and the whorish wail that rips from his throat sends you right over the edge, your vision blurring at the corners as you stay trained on his face, obscene and submissive.

It’s quiet after you stop, both of you catching your breath. You pull out slowly, watching the way his hole flutters and you giggle, your body and ego fully satiated. You look back to his face; he looks more fucked out than you’ve ever seen him, almost like he’s about to fall back asleep.

“Can we call it a truce?” You break the silence, grinning as he cracks open an eye to give you a scalding look.

“Fuck. You.”

[numbaoneflaya]

🏃🏃🏃 running back in here to ask for 💇👖🪞 for my poor little meow meow andros

YES pathetic tallboy hours

💇 What is your OC’s hairstyle? How do they maintain their hair? Do they wash it and/or cut it regularly? Have they ever dyed their hair?

-His hair is light golden blonde and goes down to the small of his back. In casual settings he lets it down, maybe a few small braids in it. He washes it regularly and takes great pride in it. In battle he wears it in a long braid or coiled up into a bun so it stays out of his face. He has specialty salves he rubs through it to keep it soft and smelling like flowers.

👖 What type of clothing does your OC generally wear? Why? Do they have any “signature” accessories?

--Hes a clothes snob and prefers to wear only things of the highest quality. He enjoys silk and velvet above all else, and is fond of things cut with lace or floral designs. An example for casualwear would be this

His favorite accessory would be the deep  blue brooch his mother gave him that matches his eyes. Hes very particular about what he wears and it took a long time for him to get used to wearing… ‘lesser’ clothing while out camping and sleeping in tents. 

🪞 How does your OC perceive themself? Do they believe themself to be attractive, unattractive, or average? Does their view of themself affect their self-esteem, or are they unbothered by their physical appearance? (If your OC does have things they’re confident or insecure about, what are they?)

-Physically he knows he is a very beautiful man. I mean, he was literally bred to be so. His parents were chosen together for being ideal altmer specimen and bred to produce offspring with the most desirable traits. Hes constantly fretting about his appearance and trying to be as attractive as possible and gets anxiety when he feels hes not living up to his own standards. Hes both very confident (arrogant) in his appearance and very insecure about every little detail. Hes made his public persona and outward appearance so important (due to his upbringing) that when its taken away from him he really doesnt have a lot of sense of self to fall back on.

[mommydragon-of-all]

5,7,10,13,14,15 for your boy! :3

Aww thank you for asking, lets see da boi then!

5. Did your muse have any sweet childhood romances?

No. His childhood got upended quite early and he found himself in a constant chaos so to speak, newer even staying long at one place or in one group of people. Too much instability for such things to take root, too focused on survival and training to get strong enough to live well and fear nothing. ...until he was around 15 and thought himself oh so grown and ready for anything, only to be ruthlessly taken advantage of by his first crush who was... 23 at the time. (Yeah u could have friggin EXPECTED it u fool, the moment he took interest in your interest, no matter how skilled con man he was all around, geez.)

7. Did your muse have a favorite childhood story or fable?

When he was still very smol, living with his parents in his clan, he was fascinated by heroic tales of adventurers and such, even some of the elven legends and beliefs. But he only remembers pieces like the atmosphere around the campfire, the warmth of the flames and his fathers hold, the taste of snacks. Such bits. The elven lore stays in that category for him, fairytales that possibly originated from some real life events and people, highly distorted.

10. Does your muse like to cook? Would they cook with another?

He absolutely sucks at cooking. On a dangerous level. He newer had the care or patience or time or even need to learn it. He prefers meat raw for f*cks sake XD (likely bc of all the blood magic induced changes, but thats also the reason why he can have it raw, and why he craves fresh blood regularly) Nobody in their right mind would prefer him to cook.

Whatever he "fixes" for himself is either raw, or undercooked, just for the warmth and dash of flavors. And he doesnt feel the need to change that. He does like tasty prepared food tho, loves the warmth and loooooves spices, and those can taste different cooked. Also, pastries and such, yumm. But whenever theres no access to buy some good food hes perfectly fine with the fresh meat he hunts, some fruits on the side or sometimes even some kinds of veggies.

Keeps dry rations all the time with him too, because he needs an insane amount of calories a day (also thanks blood magic enhancements demanding more fuel) and cant risk getting stranded or something without food for much time and get weakened fast.

He would gladly help someone cook tho if they asked, and would enjoy watching them prepare it, the whole peaceful comfort of it, but for goodness sake only let him cut and clean things.

13. Are there any physical items that make your muse happy?

Hmm... He usually doesnt have any item thats not for use and that he wouldnt ditch for a better one without a blink. Even when he has a place to hoard things to, they dont actually matter much, even if he enjoys soft pillows and nice things.

However he is so very happy to receive any gift, no matter if its just a useless sad little flower or a bite of food (yes food pls, can win his favor like a puppys XD). Even if its absolutely not about the item but the show of care, i suppose that qualifies to mention here?

He also does steal clothing items from his beloved for their scent, and is very happy to have them XD. Until the scent fades and he sneaks it back.

14. Is there a particular place that makes your muse feel at home?

In his lovers arms. One and only place that feels home for him, and gosh he enjoys it.

The presence of his twin sister has a unique familiarity to it too, carried from childhood and honed through many hardships faced together, only trusting each other fully, but thats not exactly a... comfort zone XD They love each other with a silent ferocity only animals can match, but only ever make each others life more difficult and less peaceful.

15. Is there a type of music relaxes your muse?

Soren enjoys all sorts of music, and its another "people thing" hes fascinated by, but perhaps surprisingly, the music that relaxes him is usually the loud, merry, festive kind. The kind that blows the dark away, warms people up, coaxing them to let go, making it feel that all is right and tomorrow is far away with its problems. Creates that atmosphere of ease. Soren thrives in that. The worst to look out for in such bunch would be a "tavern brawl", which he also greatly enjoys to partake in XD

That aside, he also learns that if his lover sings softly to him, like a lullaby, that really relaxes and soothes him too, in a different, affectionate, peaceful way.

[your-iron-lung]

No Shade in the Shadow of the Cross 13

aka ‘Slow Down’; available to read on AO3 HERE

Story Synopsis:  Some weird low-key occult parties start popping up that Steve can’t in good conscience ignore and takes it upon himself to investigate. Billy gets caught up in the consequences of his meddling, and isn’t it funny? For all the strange things the Upside Down has thrown his way, it’s werewolves that Steve has trouble accepting exist.

Chapter Word Count: 7216

Pairings: Eventual Billy Hargrove/Steve Harrington

Genre: Supernatural/Suspense/Drama/Horror-ish

Previous Chapters: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12

Next Chapter: 14

Notes: SURPRISE!! its a SECRET DOUBLE UPDATE 'secret double update? what does it MEAN?' it means that, when i went back to re-read my story to make sure i was keeping on track for continuity purposes, i couldnt even get through the first chapter! it was just THAT BAD (imo), so i went back and re-wrote it entirely. it doesnt offer anything new in terms of plot, but boy howdy is it an upgrade to what it used to be. bless those of you who kept up with the story after reading that trainwreck

(this chapter update is dedicated to @pfandghoul​ bc they were my 100th follower here- THANKS BUDDYYYY) OH ALSO- i got a commission done of billy in the TERRIBLE OUTFIT (but with hair, bc i cant commission an artist like demonfleet and not have him draw those beautiful curls). PEEP IT HERE

-----

“Who else knows?”

Hopper’s voice, though sluggish and weighted with exhaustion, still carried with it a tone of seriousness that had Steve feeling prematurely guilty about the way the rest of the conversation was going to play out. He knew what Hopper was really asking; knew he wanted to hear confirmation that the kids weren’t somehow involved in any of this, and even though they weren’t, not yet, Steve still found himself turning his eyes away from Hopper’s authoritative stare, focusing his attention instead on the spot on the table where he’d been picking at the veneer absentmindedly. And although he knew the question was primarily directed towards himself, he let Billy answer.

“No one,” Billy said self-assuredly, a hint of surliness edging out with his tone as he exhaled a hot breath of smoke and leaned forward to stub his cigarette out in the ashtray centered between the three of them. He sat back in his seat with a grunt and a creaking of wood and promptly lit another.

Gathered in the Harringtons’ dining room- (the room itself being, remarkably, an equal point of pride to both of his parents)- the three of them sat gathered around the antique wooden table that served as a centerpiece, perched around its aged surface in differing states of dishevelment. Their collective exhaustion was as palpable as the smoke trails that had been gathering and circling slowly above their heads for the past ten minutes, in which Billy had chain-smoked three cigarettes down to the filter before either Steve or Hopper had had the chance to finish their first.

Sitting across from him, Steve could feel Hopper’s eyes, sunken and dark and weary, boring into him as he waited for his response to confirm what Billy had said.

“No one else knows,” Steve affirmed after a moment’s hesitation, in which he took a hard drag of his cigarette and exhaled with a long, drawn out sigh. He could feel the pressure of what he was going to say next catching in his throat before he cleared it and amended, “Well, not… not yet, anyway.”

“Yet.”

The repeated word dropped from Hopper’s lips like a dead weight, falling upon the three of them like a bomb. It broke whatever uneasy peace they’d managed to find in those few minutes where they’d all just sat smoking in silence, each of them trying to recover from the ordeals they’d endured over the night before reconvening to tackle them again. In its place, a taut, malevolent tension began to take form, and in it Steve could feel the enmity brewing against him.

“Yet,” Hopper repeated again, and this time there was anger in his voice. Steve winced reflexively, slowly turning his eyes up from where they’d been focused on the tabletop to meet his anger directly. “And what does ‘yet’ entail exactly, huh, kid?”

Steve opened his mouth to answer, but couldn’t force the words he wanted to use to explain out. Under Hopper and Billy’s stares, all the reasoning he’d had stored up for why he needed to at least tell Dustin what was going on left him. He could feel the trust his only two allies had in him turning into something dark and misconstrued as he sat there struggling to form a sentence, but was helpless to combat it. 

“It’s not what you think-” he started to say, but was interrupted when Billy interjected by slamming his fist down hard upon the table, rattling the ashtray in its place and silencing him instantly.

“Well what the fuck is it then, Harrington?” There was such strong mistrust in Billy’s eyes when he spoke- mistrust and vehement anger, such that Steve could practically feel the foundations they’d laid in their almost-friendship crumbling apart. “Selling me out to this pig not enough for you? You trying to go national with this shit or something? What the fuck does ‘not yet’ mean?!”

“Hey! You need to calm down,” Hopper snapped, directing his ire towards Billy, who’d begun to rise out of his seat with each word spoken in anger. “Sit down and give him a chance to explain, alright?”

But he didn’t.

“Fuck that, and fuck you,” Billy said roughly, leering across the table at both Hopper and Steve. His stomach let out a low growl that momentarily stalled him long enough for Steve to intervene before he could say anything more.

“What the fuck are you talking about, ‘go national’? Do you even hear yourself, Hargrove?” Steve spat back, exasperated, tired, and unable to keep himself from matching Billy’s aggression when it was being thrust at him. He narrowed his eyes and took another hard drag off his cigarette before continuing, saying, “Who the hell do you think would even believe me? You think I’m just going to stroll into the Hawkins Post and try to sell them a werewolf story? ‘Oh uh, yeah, some douchebag I know turns into a big bad wolf during a full moon. You might wanna print that- warn the people! Billy Hargrove’s a more literal monster than we thought!’ I didn’t even believe in any of this crap at first, who do you think I could I possibly sell that to?”

The words came spilling out of Steve’s mouth before he could even think about what it was he was saying. He knew he’d fallen for another one of Billy’s taunts but couldn’t help himself; he refused to be painted as the villain in Billy’s fabricated scenario when he hadn’t even done anything yet, and certainly hadn’t been planning anything near as diabolical as selling Billy out to the country as some kind of freak sideshow act. Steve matched Billy’s glare evenly, half-aware of the way Hopper had groaned and run a hand down the length of his face. ‘You’ve really done it now, kid,’ his expression seemed to say.

Appearing taken aback, Billy seemed somewhat startled by the harsh words Steve had doled out to him. With a hand across his stomach, a small hint of vulnerability crossed over his features before he quickly reigned it back and pulled his lips back into a harsh snarl, his half-smoked cigarette dangling forgotten in the corner of his mouth to reveal at last what oral thing had been bothering him so much on the car ride over.

His teeth, Steve observed dumbly as he stared openly at the obstructions lining his mouth. Of course it was his teeth.

Thin, long, and all of them pointed, they looked more suited to what might be found in the muzzle of a large hound rather than in the mouth of a man. They were canine in nature, unnaturally fitted in his mouth where before his teeth had been straight and white and pristine, forming a smile so blindingly handsome it wasn’t always easy to look away.

“You’re right! You didn’t believe in any of this at first, but all it took was a little bit of proof to convince you though, right, Harrington?” Billy cooed smoothly after a moment, an eager look flashing in his yellow-blue eyes at the prospect of their argument turning into a physical fight in Steve’s parents’ dining room. “How much proof do you think it’d take to convince one shitty reporter in this hick town, huh? A mouth full of weird teeth? A broken arm that heals itself in, what, the span of two days? I mean, isn’t that what did it for you, Harrington? Witnessing this small little biological miracle of mine? Maybe that would do the trick. Could really blow the lid off of this one; might even be able to contribute something to your daddy’s legacy besides being a little piece of shit.”

“Enough!” Hopper’s voice burst from his throat, booming loudly in the condensed space. The suddenness of his outburst was enough to draw both Steve and Billy’s attention off of one another, though they were each reluctant to turn away. “You!” Hopper shouted, pointing one finger authoritatively at Steve, who sat and stared at him with a baffled look on his face, “Quit goading him on, goddammit. And you,” he continued, turning his command to Billy, “sit down and shut the hell up! He might be mouthing off, but you need to show this kid some damn respect for taking responsibility last night. He could’ve died going after you, do you understand that? He could have died for you.”

The weight of Hopper’s words had the exact impact he wanted them to. Steve turned away in embarrassment as a funny look crossed over Billy’s face. Confusion wormed its way through his anger, furrowing his brow and pulling his lips into a frown. It was a look Hopper had seen many times before when he’d been in the army, when soldiers who’d been at arms with one another were forced to let it go under the threat of punishment from their higher ups. It was a dark, begrudging sort of obedience fresh cadets endured when their commanding officers demanded they stand down when they weren’t quite ready to. With his momentum shaken, Billy’s look of anger slowly slipped into something a little more unreadable as he sank back down into his seat, muttering a quiet “Yes, sir” aloud as his stomach emitted another horrifically loud growl that everyone in the room ignored.

“Christ, I’m dealing with children here,” Hopper mumbled, kneading his fingers against his temple. He took a moment to take a deep breath of collection and lit another cigarette, flicking his lighter fruitlessly a couple of times before a spark struck and he continued speaking.

“Nothing said here leaves this house,” he said sternly, making sure to make and hold eye contact with each of them to stress the importance of his words. “This,” he said, gesturing vaguely to Billy with his freshly lit cigarette, “doesn’t go ‘national’; it doesn’t even go local, you got that? Whoever your ‘not yet’ applied to doesn’t get to know, so you can put the idea that you’re going to tell anyone else about any of this right out the window, understand?”

He looked sharply to Steve then, insisting in so many words that the children be left out of whatever they decided to do moving forward. Steve bit the inside of his cheek and looked away stubbornly, nodding once as he crossed his arms across his chest. He was aware of how he must’ve looked- like a spoiled, pouting child- but he couldn’t help it. Of course he understood; it didn’t take a genius to understand why this needed to be kept secret, but he still owed Dustin an explanation, and right now he figured he liked Dustin a hell of a lot more than he liked Hopper.

Hopper watched him with a scrutinizing eye, and, as though he could read Steve’s thoughts, said, “Let me hear you say it.”

“What?”

“Say you understand,” Hopper said quietly, ignoring for a moment the fact that Billy was sharing the space with them. He enunciated each word with gentle forcefulness, not issuing him orders now so much as silently begging for compliance. “The three of us can handle it. We don’t need for anyone else to get involved.”

The air in the room felt very still in that moment. The cigarette smoke that had been pooling above them like a pale cloud continued its slow and stagnant swirl, apathetic to the nature of their conversation. Staring at him, Steve once again felt guilty. After everything that the chief had done for him, he still couldn’t commit to the promise Hopper wanted him to make. He understood where his concerns were coming from, but Dustin was already involved, in a way. He sighed.

“Well, the thing is,” Steve began to say, nervously tapping his fingers against the table, “Dustin kind of already knows?” Hopper’s expression turned dark, as Steve had expected it to, but better he tell him now than for him to find out later. “I mean, I asked the kid to use his house! You were there; you dropped me off. I didn’t tell him for what, or WHO,” he said, shooting Billy a pointed look, “but he knows something’s up. It’s kind of obvious I was trying to use his cellar as a holding cell, and I promised I’d tell him about it once things settled down.”

Hopper exhaled a long and forlorn sigh, rubbing his face into his hands tiredly. “Could this get anymore convoluted?” he mumbled to himself before he looked up and locked his gaze onto Steve. “Fine. You promised to tell him about it, so you will.”

Confused, Steve shifted his attention from Hopper to Billy. “I will?”

“Yep.” Hopper blew out a long string of smoke. As he did so, the tension he’d held in the muscles of his face seemed to relax. “We’re going to double-down on your dog story. You’ll tell him you were dogsitting for one of your mom’s friends. Dog got loose, and you had to lure it back. Threw some meat down there to attract and trap it. I trust you to make up some details to fill in the gaps if he asks anything specific. You got that?”

Steve stared at him, knowing full well there wasn’t a snowball’s chance in hell that Dustin would ever believe that. And besides, Steve had already told him it was a red alert, but if this was what it took to get Hopper off his back, then, maybe it was fine.

“I understand,” he said, knowing he would, eventually, have to ask forgiveness for his future misdeeds.

“Good.”

Steve lit another cigarette and breathed it in deeply, hating how openly relieved Hopper sounded. He stole a glance towards where Billy was sitting with his own cigarette still hanging limply from his lips and felt that guilt compounded. He couldn’t say for certain what Billy must have thought of him at that point, but there was no way he’d have been able to keep helping him on his own, because Hopper was right: he had almost died last night. But with the worst of it over (he hoped), they could focus less on that and put their heads together to figure out what to do going forward. 

Or, they could have, if Hopper’s hip radio hadn’t begun to crackle in that exact instance, releasing a string of police-coded jargon through the speaker. They all collectively jumped a little at the startling noise as the dispatcher (Florence’s voice, Steve recognized) requested Hopper’s aid in assisting his deputies with something he couldn’t decipher. 

“Great,” Hopper mumbled to himself, stubbing out the cigarette he’d hardly been able to enjoy. If possible, he looked even more tired than when he’d walked in. “Yeah, I copy,” he said into the radio as he unlatched it from his belt. “I’ll be there soon; give me a few minutes to wrap it up here and I’ll meet them at the scene.”

He clipped the small receiver back onto his belt before coming to a stand, groaning in a way that was similar to Steve’s dad when he’d been sitting down for too long.

“You’re leaving?” Steve asked as he watched Hopper collect his hat and place it haphazardly on his head. 

“Duty calls,” Hopper grunted noncommittally. He pulled on the coat he’d left on the back of his chair and zipped it up to the collar. “I had a few of my boys start investigating a lead for me. A small one, but if they’re calling me out there, it means they’ve found something, and hopefully it’ll help us settle all this a little more quickly.”

“But we haven’t made a plan for what to do the next time this happens,” Steve said concernedly. He felt exhausted beyond his years, but none of their major issues had been solved or even discussed yet. “We haven’t talked about what we’re supposed to do at all.”

“Next time?”

Steve turned from Hopper to Billy, who’d spoken softly and, despite having looked enraged only moments before, now appeared confused. 

“Well, yeah,” Steve said, flicking the ash off the end of his cigarette into the ashtray, “this is like, a monthly thing for you now, right? Kind of like a girl when she gets her-”

“Don’t fucking say it,” Billy growled. Steve shrugged, unbothered.

“...but only for a day instead of like, for a week,” he finished, feeling a little bit of self-satisfaction at the way Billy cringed and groaned. 

“God fucking dammit Harrington.”

“You were the one who showed me the movie though,” Steve said, shifting the subject easily to skirt around Billy’s annoyance. Hopper lingered by the dining room’s opening, hearing out the tail-end of Steve’s concerns. “It didn’t end for him after one month; he was like, doomed to keep turning every full moon forever or something, right? Isn’t that how werewolves work, and doesn’t that, y’know, kind of include you now?”

A dawning look of horror spread across Billy’s pale face as he made the connection. He blinked once, let the long trail off ash fall off his cigarette onto the table, and looked away, dazed, as though the thought of having to relive last night’s nightmare hadn’t occurred to him before. 

“What do you mean, next time?” Hopper asked, parroting Billy’s earlier confusion. “You saying he’s liable to... turn again?”

Steve nodded somberly. “We can’t use Dustin’s house again; he escaped way too easily, but I guess we have a month to prepare, so it’s not critical right now or anything,” he explained, to which Hopper acknowledged him with a low hum. “But we still definitely need a plan for next time.”

“Leave it to me, kid; I might have something I can make work,” Hopper muttered. His eyes were unfocused as he turned and began to leave, already mentally trying to work out the specifics of whatever it was he had in mind. “Remember,” he called back once he’d reached the front door, his haggard voice echoing down the short hall, “nothing said here leaves this house.”

He didn’t wait for affirmation before departing. From the dining room they heard the soft click of the front door as it opened and shut, leaving Billy and Steve alone in the dining room. Turning in his seat to look out the front-facing windows, Steve watched Hopper get into his truck and start the engine, noting the way he let his head hang briefly for a moment before he perked up to back out of the driveway. And then he was gone. 

A wave of exhaustion overcame as he sat there, eyeing the empty space where Hopper’s truck had been. He was hungry, tired, and wanted nothing more than to just be able to sleep forever, but as long as he was needed, that wasn’t likely to happen. His role as caretaker was ever-expanding, and now, it seemed to include Billy as well. 

Hopper had managed to hold the peace between them (though barely) while he’d been there, and Steve couldn’t presume to know how things were going to go now that it was just him and Billy again. As he turned back in his seat and finished off the rest of his cigarette, he realized that whatever aggression Billy had been harboring towards him was gone. 

“Next time,” Steve heard him mumble to himself. The dejected manner in which he spoke was so unlike himself that he was reminded of the way he’d been behaving the day before, as though he could no longer find his own self-worth. Billy took the cigarette that had been hanging off his lip and held it in his hand, staring at the dimly glowing cherry before looking up to catch Steve’s eye to say, “I don’t think I can go through that again.”

He said it with such vulnerable honesty that Steve found he didn’t know how to respond. His own self-worth took a hit as guilt and pity began to rise within him as he stared back at Billy, hating that he didn’t know what to say. It felt wrong to try and supply him with empty assurances when he had heard firsthand and seen the aftermath of how painfully debilitating the transformation had been. There was nothing he could say that could possibly begin to alleviate the horror that came with knowing it was going to come and afflict him again and again, month after month, for the rest of his life.

What sort of consolation could he possibly offer him?

“C’mon,” Steve eventually said, depositing the butt of his cigarette into the ashtray as he scooted his chair back to stand up. Billy watched him with an exhausted, yet vaguely sorrowful expression that Steve decidedly didn’t like. “I’ll show you the bathroom.”

Well, at least he could offer him a shower.

-----

Steve could hear the shower running by the time he came back up the hall with a fresh towel in hand, but Billy wasn’t yet locked inside the bathroom. He was leaning up against the wall beside the bathroom door, arms folded across his chest and eyes closed, dozing off while he waited for the water to warm up. As Steve approached, he noticed that, while Billy had taken off the bloody ruination of his old shirt, he still had Mrs. Henderson’s ugly bathrobe loosely tied around his waist. 

Billy cocked one eye open when he heard him come close, and mutely traded the shirt for the towel when Steve offered it to him. Neither of them spoke as the exchange was made; a silence broken only by the sound of spraying water hitting the shower tile forming between them until Steve found it too unbearable to withstand.

“So,” he started to say, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly, “about before… I, uh, really shouldn’t have, y’know, said what I did about you being a monster.”

From his position against the wall, Billy frowned. 

“I was just caught up in the moment,” Steve continued apologetically. “And I know that doesn’t like, excuse my actions or whatever, but it was still a shitty thing to say.”

As he opened both of his eyes, Billy found that Steve was looking everywhere but directly at him, and in fact had taken to looking at his own reflection in a decorative vase while he’d been talking. It was awkward; he was starting to feel uncomfortable about the sincerity Steve was trying to convey. 

“I don’t give a shit, it’s not like it bothered me,” Billy lied, speaking tersely. His stomach growled, and he placed a hand over it idly. “Trust me, I’ve been called worse things than that.” 

Steve’s shoulders slumped a bit as he worried the back of his hair into a knot. “Still,” he said awkwardly, finally turning away from the dark reflection of the vase, now absentmindedly trying to pull his fingers free, “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that.”

Clicking his tongue and rolling his eyes towards the ceiling, Billy huffed out a deep sigh and said, “Look, Harrington, if you’re willing to make me some pancakes and fry up some bologna we can call it even. Just, stop doing… whatever this is and let me shower.”

Steve paused to think about it. “Sure, okay, I can do that. I think we’ve got some pancake mix somewhere.” 

With that awkward bit of conversation out of the way, Billy eased up off of the wall he was perched upon and slid into the bathroom before Steve could make any sort of addendum and closed the door. He listened to the sounds of Steve’s retreating footsteps down the hall over the pouring water as he undid the tie around his hips and left the beanie on the sink counter, decidedly not looking in the mirror as he stepped into the strong, warm stream.

-----

Billy stayed in the shower for a long, long time.

Steve hadn’t really been expecting it to be a quick one, but still, as he stood over the stove making a tall stack of pancakes that would’ve been enough to satisfy the stomach of any starving man, he wondered just how long he needed. The water had to have been going cold by now.

The smell of the bologna frying in the pan had, at first, encouraged his appetite, but was now starting to turn his stomach. The smell of bologna alone had never been appealing to him, and to have to smell it as it cooked was nauseating.  He cut off the stove, transferred the fried meat to a serving plate, and then sat at the kitchen table to wait. 

He nibbled a little at a pancake, but couldn’t stomach the smell of the bologna well enough to finish it off. He waited at the table patiently, like a mother might when she was waiting for her kids to come down and eat and strained his ears to listen for when the water shut off upstairs. 

It didn’t, though. He could hear it trickling down through the pipes in the walls, quietly draining away whatever it was Billy was trying to cleanse himself of. 

Steve sighed miserably and folded his arms over the table, sliding the chair back far enough so he could rest his head over them like he used to in English. He closed his eyes (‘Just resting my eyes’, as his dad was prone to saying before he fell asleep on the couch), and soon found himself asleep.

-----

In a dream, it was snowing and he was driving, speeding along a narrow, unfamiliar road. 

‘Faster’, he was thinking to himself as he depressed the accelerator harder. ‘I have to go faster.’

A deep, dark blackness enveloped him from all sides outside of the car. He couldn’t see through it or if anything was in it, even though he knew, intrinsically, that he had his high beams on and should have at least been able to see where he was going. The road before him manifested as a slick black line, wavering in and out of focus between his rapidly swishing windshield wipers and the oncoming flurry.

He was in a hurry, though he didn’t know why. Billy was fine. Sitting in the passenger seat beside him, he looked almost bored with Steve’s pedestrian effort to save him.

“I’m doing my best,” Steve said, unsure of why he was now crying. “I’m going as fast as I can- please, please just understand that.”

“You haven’t done enough,” Billy responded in a voice that both was and wasn’t his own. It hurt Steve’s ears to listen to as he whimpered involuntarily. “I’m already lost.”

Alarmed, Steve took his eyes off the road to look at Billy and found him looking back. His eyes were a dark, glowing red, and he sat with his hand perched on the door handle. In the window behind him, red eyes that mirrored his own were slowly emerging from the darkness, coming so close to the car that the glass was beginning to fog up from its panting breath. How it was able to keep pace with the car when Steve had the accelerator pressed against the floor was unknown and frightening to him.

“Don’t,” Steve begged as Billy’s fingers curled around the handle, getting ready to pull it open like an emergency exit, “I can still help you.”

“I’ve been lied to before,” Billy said solemnly, his two-toned voice warbling as he pulled on the handle and opened the door to give himself over to the creature that was waiting hungrily by the window.

-----

“The fuck is this?”

Steve opened his eyes abruptly and nearly fell out of his seat as he transitioned into a wakeful state. Startled, he sat up and rubbed at his eyes uncomprehendingly.

“They’re just pancakes, Hargrove, don’t be rude,” he said sleepily without fully realizing what it was Billy was talking about. “Misshapen, maybe, but still just pancakes.”

Freshly showered, Billy stood before him wearing the beanie taken from Dustin’s house and some of Steve’s own clothing. An old ‘Hawkins High Phys. Ed.’ shirt clung tightly to his torso, baring a little bit of midriff above the hem of some old sweats. In his hand he held Steve’s two-way radio Dustin had gifted him to include him as part of their party, and through that radio he could hear Max’s voice trying to make contact.

“Steve, come in, Steve! Are you there?”

“Why do you have a two-way radio to my little sister sitting by your bed?” Billy asked icily, unabashed anger seeping out of his very being. 

“What the hell were you doing in my bedroom?” Steve countered, feeling his stomach drop when he came to understand the implications Billy was making. He stood up and made to swipe the radio from Billy’s hand. “It’s seriously not what you think.”

“Remind me, where have I heard that one before?” Billy pulled the radio easily out of Steve’s reach, glowering at him as they faced off. “This looks pretty fucking bad for you, Harrington; she’s not even fifteen yet, you sick fuck.”

“It’s not just for your sister,” Steve said heatedly, then, realizing how that sounded, amended by saying, “Look, I know you know I take care of her friends- this, it’s just-  it’s just a radio to communicate with them, alright? They’re weird nerds who don’t like to use phones like normal people. It’s not for anything as dirty as you’re imagining, so would you quit looking for reasons to hate me when I haven’t even done anything?”

Sighing, Steve ran a hand through his hair and reached out for the radio, silently asking for it to be handed over. Billy continued to hold it, staring at him with an indecipherable look on his face. They stood at odds with one another before Dustin’s voice came through the radio speaker.

“Steve! It’s Dustin, we have a situation- please advise. Come in, Steve! Over!” 

Billy looked at the radio in his hand and then at Steve with a scowl. He looked bored as he finally relinquished it without further fuss, sitting down at the table opposite of Steve and pulling the plates of food towards him. He gave him a mean look as he began sandwiching the fried slices of bologna between a couple pancakes before biting into them. 

Relieved and annoyed, Steve turned away to speak into the radio. “I’m here, I’m here, sorry, what’s up?”

“Oh my God, it’s about time!” Dustin huffed. “You said you’d radio me later and you never did! Over.”

“Some stuff came up,” Steve mumbled, sitting down at the table and rubbing at his eyes. “What’s wrong?”

“It’s Will,” Dustin explained. Steve frowned. “He says he saw something last night that might have to do with the Mind Flayer-”

“Whoa whoa whoa! Hold on a second,” Steve interrupted quickly, casting a furtive glance towards Billy who was now watching him suspiciously. “I’m uh, I’m not alone over here.”

There was silence on the radio after Steve let up on the talk button. Billy squinted at him and mouthed ‘it’s not what you think’ sardonically at him. Steve sighed and shrugged; there wasn’t an easy way to explain this.

“I swear Steve, if you’ve been ignoring us because you’re with a GIRL-”

“No!” Steve exclaimed in frustration. Why did it seem like everyone was against him today? “I’m not- I’m not with a girl; haven’t even been with a girl since-”

“Oh, Steve,” Billy chirped in an ugly, high falsetto, speaking loudly enough for the radio to catch and relay his voice clearly. “Quit playing with that toy and come back to play with me.”

Horrified at Billy’s poor impression of a girl, Steve turned to face him with a look of shock.

“What the hell is your damage Hargrove? You know they probably heard that,” he hissed as he let took his finger off the talk button. “Why do you constantly have to prove yourself as being the biggest thorn in my side? Can’t you hop off my dick for five fucking minutes?”

Billy snickered and laughed, clearly satisfied with himself. He shot him a wink when Steve turned up his middle finger at him and bit down on another one of his weird bologna/pancake amalgamations. 

“Was that Billy?”

Max’s voice. Both Steve and Billy froze as she called them out, sharing a mutual look of horror at having been recognized. 

“Steve? Why are you with Billy?”

“Uh.” Wide-eyed, he looked to Billy for help in answering, but was met with nothing but a look of shock. They both floundered for a moment, during which Billy took the chance to shove more food in his mouth as though to say he was currently preoccupied and couldn’t be assed to help explain. “It… wasn’t?” Steve finally answered lamely.

A strong silence permeated over the radio before it crackled and relayed Max’s voice as she said, “Steve, he’s made fun of me plenty of times that I’d know his ‘I’m a dumb girl’ voice from anywhere.”

Steve groaned and threw Billy a dirty look, to which he received a simple shrug in response. It wasn’t supposed to have been a secret, exactly, but his children knew the history between them just as well as he did and he’d eventually have to explain to them just how they’d come to be together sooner or later. “Alright, yeah, I’m with your brother. He’s at my place.”

“Step-brother,” Billy corrected gruffly, wiping away some crumbs from his mouth.

“Can he hear me right now?” Max asked.

“Uh,” Steve said. “Yeah, he can hear you,” he replied after Billy gave him the go-ahead.

“Don’t come home.”

At first, Steve thought she’d said it out of anger, or spite, or something. It was vague enough that it could have been construed that way (especially with how flatly she’d spoken), but the look on Billy’s face made it clear that it was less a threat and more a warning, of sorts. He stopped chewing his food, eyebrows coming together as he frowned deeply. That vaguely sorrowful look that had crept up around his eyes from before surfaced in his features again as he stared ahead of himself.

“Message received?” Steve asked quietly, unsure of how to process his change in demeanor, to which Billy gave a brief, curt nod. He shoved the plates of food away and sat back with a forlorn expression on his face. “Message received,” he repeated into the radio. “Could you uh, put Dustin back on? Who all’s over there with you guys?”

There was a moment of silence in which Steve pictured the radio changing hands. While he waited for a response, he pulled the dish with the pancakes on it closer towards himself and made a second attempt at eating one. 

“The whole party’s here, Steve. We have a situation that requires your assistance, over.”

“Yeah, I remember,” he said through a mouthful of soft food. “Not to be like, dismissive about it, but is there any chance it can wait? I’m kind of… ‘booked’, for the rest of the day; we can have, like, a group meeting and discuss things in person tomorrow, if it’s not urgent.”

He was careful not to mention how he planned on sharing Billy’s situation with them if they agreed, given how angry he’d been about the prospect earlier. It didn’t look as though Billy was paying him much attention at that point, however, as he stood up somberly and walked out of the dining room without a word, no longer interested in eavesdropping on his conversation. Steve wanted to follow after him to make sure he didn’t go anywhere he wasn’t supposed to, but stayed still and finished off the pancake he’d been eating.

“He says it’s not dire; just wanted us to be aware that something might be fucky. You wanna meet up with us tomorrow afternoon at Mike’s house? Over.”

“Sure, that’s fine,” Steve replied. He waited a moment to see if Billy was going to return, and when he was certain he wasn’t going to, he dropped his voice to a whisper and said, “I need you to do me a small favour before then, Henderson.”

“Oh my God, Steve, seriously? Another one? Over.”

Ignoring the indignation with which Dustin spoke, Steve continued. “I need you to research werewolves for me, alright? Like, specifically if it can be cured. Can you do that for me?”

“Uh, I mean, sure? Why though? Does this have something to do with our campaign? Over.” The fact that Dustin was so suspicious caused a little grin to spread out across Steve’s face. In spite of everything, leave it to Dustin to find a way to route it all back to the game he’d gotten him involved with.

“I’ll let you know tomorrow,” Steve said, unable to keep a teasing lilt from affecting the tone of his words. “And uh, just so you know, I’ll probably be bringing Max’s brother along, so don’t freak out if he shows up. Over and out, nerd.”

“Oh, now you decide to start using-”

Steve switched the radio off abruptly before Dustin could finish his sentence and set it face down on the surface of the table. He sat still for a moment, feeling his earlier exhaustion swirling within him like a snowglobe before he stood up and wandered out into the living room. He found Billy lying splayed out on the couch, eyes closed and resting easily atop the cushions.

“Just make yourself at home, why don’t you,” Steve said dryly, to which Billy gave a noncommittal grunt. “Do you, uh, need a place to stay tonight?” he asked awkwardly when he understood that Billy wasn’t going to move from his position.

Opening his eyes, Billy stared straight up at the ceiling with a stern look on his face. 

“I can stay with Tommy H. if it’s a problem,” he said after a minute. 

“I don’t really care what you do,” Steve replied, placing a hand on his hip. “But he’d ask questions, you know. You don’t really… look like how you should.” Billy heaved out a long and depressive sigh, shutting his eyes again. “It’s fine, though-  you can stay in the spare bedroom upstairs,” Steve offered.

“Couch is fine,” Billy mumbled. 

“You’d be missing out, it’s got a Queen-size mattress up there.” 

“Couch is fine,” Billy repeated tiredly.

Steve shrugged. “Suit yourself, I guess.” He studied Billy laid out flat across the couch and felt that familiar need to show him pity. He couldn’t help but wonder what Max’s warning applied to; wondered if Billy would tell him about it if he asked.

“You were right about what you said before.” Billy’s voice was soft with exhaustion, but even so, it managed to break into his thoughts. Steve gave him a look of incomprehension. “About my hair, you were right; it’s coming back.”

“Oh,” Steve said, refraining from tapping into his inherent desire to chirp ‘I told you so’ back at him. “That’s great, man. I knew it would.”

“Still paler than the underside of a witch’s tit though,” Billy muttered, holding up a hand to examine his new complexion morosely.

And, yeah, he was right: even though it seemed his hair was going to be restored to its former glory (given enough time), it didn’t look like the same could be said for his skin. He was still woefully pale, looking less like the golden god he’d been before and more like, as Billy had said, the pale underside of a witch’s tit. Steve eyed him contemplatively, trying to come up with a solution that didn’t involve him laying naked out in the snow to try and catch some sun.

“Do you remember Tammy Thomspon?” Steve asked eventually, to which Billy had to pause in order to connect the name with the person being referenced. Once he’d nodded, Steve continued. “She always had a tan year round; used to talk about how she’d go to like, tanning beds and stuff.”

“I am not going to a tanning salon, if that’s what you’re suggesting here Harrington,” Billy said decisively. 

“No no! She used to do tanning beds, but then she kept talking about how they were unhealthy and caused skin cancer and blah blah blah. Before the semester ended though, she said she started using some new thing; she was telling me about it in History before the final,” Steve elaborated, stepping further into the room to take a seat on the armrest of the couch. He snapped his fingers as he tried to remember what it was. “It was like, some spray on stuff? A spray-on tan, I think. You could try that? Wouldn't even have to go anywhere to get it done, I think it’s sold retail.”

Billy appeared lost in thought as he contemplated the option. He flexed his pale fingers and heaved another heavy sigh. “Anything would probably be better than this.”

‘You don’t- I mean, it’s not… you don’t look that bad,” Steve lied. Billy put his hand down and glared at him from the far end of the sofa. “Alright alright, so you look like the white end of a fingernail. We get some spray tan, rinse you in it, and presto, you’re back to being average, dark and handsome. I mean, if Tammy Thompson can do it, it shouldn’t be that hard, right?”

Billy snorted. “Handsome, huh? Probably not; she was as dumb as the rest of the cows here.”

“She wasn’t the brightest light in the shed,” Steve agreed, feeling the slightest bit embarrassed at having called Billy handsome. “But, cool; glad we got something sorted out today.

“I’ll be in my room if you need me for anything, and I know you already know where that is,” he said as he came to a rise, casting a snide look at Billy before heading back towards the staircase.

Predictably, Billy clicked his tongue in annoyance. “You realize you only gave me a towel earlier, right? I wasn’t about to put that thing on again. I wasn’t snooping; just trying to find a fucking change of clothes when I heard Maxine yelling for you on your shitty bedside table radio,” he said in that easy, drawling nature of his. “What was I supposed to think?”

“Why don’t you try thinking a little less and just ask instead of jumping to conclusions?” Steve huffed. He hadn’t wanted this to turn into another argument, but it seemed as though the conversation was quickly heading that way. “Look, I don’t- I’m too tired to argue with you. I’m gonna catch a nap and then we can like… I don’t know. Get some bottles of spray tan and hose you down in the backyard or something.”

Billy grunted in affirmation, and Steve was content to leave it at that. He shot Billy one last look before he stepped out of the living room, and, leaving the food out on the table where he’d left it, went straight up to his room. Like the condition he’d left Dustin’s cellar in, he’d clean up the dining room later.

As he entered his room, Steve was afraid, for a moment, that he’d find evidence of Billy having gone snooping through all of his belongings. It would’ve been just like him to try and find something else he could use to hold against him while Steve was unaware, but as he looked around the area carefully, it seemed as though his room appeared untouched. His closet was left open from where Billy had gone in to take the clothes he was currently wearing, but, true to his word, it didn’t look like he’d rifled any deeper into it then he’d needed to.

Relieved, Steve stepped forward until he was toe-to-hem with his bed and let himself fall face forward directly onto the mattress, exhaling a deep sigh once he collided with it. He laid there unmoving, breathing in the hot, trapped air between his face and his comforter before he rolled over and laid himself out spread-eagle to look up at the ceiling.  

“Why does this have to be so much harder than it is?” he groaned, cupping his hands together to cover his face. The familiar question he’d wrestled with of ‘why me?’ that he’d been struggling to answer since any of this started began cycling through his mind. Of course, now that he had time to rest, his brain wouldn’t let him. 

He just wanted to help, and already he’d almost lost the trust of the only two people he could rely on. Neither of them seemed to understand that it was too great a burden for one person to have to shoulder alone. It needed to be a team effort, but no one seemed willing to branch out and make it one. Once again, it was left to him to take the initiative.

“Why is it so hard for me to help anyone in this damn town?” he moaned.

[kianraidelcam]

Rest of the story below the cut for those who don’t want to click the link! My sister asked if Connor liked cats so this came out of that. Thanks for reading! @interstellarvagabond Thought you might enjoy this :)

In retrospect, perhaps Connor should have taken up North on her offer to walk him home.

Of course, he was fully capable of defending himself and others when the situation called for it, but he had a feeling the fiery WR400’s presence would have ended this confrontation before it became physical. As it was, Connor was bracing himself for an altercation, allowing his preconstruction software to determine the best methods for finishing this fight before it even begins, when a soft cry distracts him. He glances at the tiny thing cowering in the corner of the alleyway, the cat whose cries attracted him to this area to begin with, and the three humans who had been tormenting the poor thing take advantage of his momentary lapse in concentration.

Despite their temporary advantage, the most they do is bloody his nose and Connor has them running before a full minute has passed. It was rare for him to find a human who could match his skill in combat, and three teenagers hardly qualified as a fight. By the time he has turned to the trembling feline, he has already sent the precinct a report listing their names with video from his optical units as evidence of their misdeeds. Connor crouches down and quiets his voice, murmuring soft reassurances to the cat as he assesses its condition.

His analysis immediately identifies it as a female tortoiseshell, approximately aged two months old, in stable condition despite a severe break in her right hind leg. Connor’s LED blinks yellow as he searches for an available veterinary clinic while he reaches toward the little ball of fur, smiling as it cautiously reaches forward to sniff at his hand. “That’s it, little one, I’m not going to hurt you,” he murmurs, sliding closer to the slowly calming animal.

The kitten’s yellow eyes become half-lidded as she rubs her head against the palm of his hand and Connor takes that as an invitation to carefully pick her up, gently shrugging off his jacket to swaddle the tiny feline. Aside from a mewl of discomfort, she otherwise remains compliant, purring softly as the android scratches her head absentmindedly. The flickering yellow in his temple returns to blue as his search for a clinic yields no results. Not that he expected any at this time of night, although he certainly hoped at least one place would be open. “Alright, little one, you’re going to have to stay with me tonight,” the kitten blinks at him owlishly, “Don’t worry, I’ve already downloaded information on treating compound fractures in cats. I’ll take care of you tonight.”

The RK800 turns to continue his walk home, softly talking to the kitten the whole time, assuring it of a future with warm milk and a proper bed to lie in.

Detective Gavin Reed was beyond pissed off.

Of course his car had to fucking break down when it was forty fucking degrees out. Of course he had to get off work at ten fucking pm. Of course he broke his fucking phone this morning so he couldn’t call a fucking taxi. Mondays are a real bitch, and this one of course was no different. And then, of course, on his way home, he had to run into fucking RoboCop 1.0. Fucking androids, man. Gavin swore CyberLife had designed them to be as annoying as possible.

Brown eyes rose from the jacket bundled in his arms to mee Gavin’s green ones, and he had to stop himself from gasping at the sight of the plastic prick. Normally prim and proper, the android’s nose had a trail of blue blood leaking from it, the white plastic beneath showing as the skin glitched around it. Blue speckled his white button up, and if Gavin looked close enough, there was a hint of red blood on the gray jacket bundled in his arms. “The fuck happened to you, Barbie,” the question escapes him before he can contain it.

Gavin almost smiles vindictively when the robot mood ring jumps from blue to red, before settling on yellow. The android just stares at him for a second, and Gavin starts to wonder if he’s actually damaged until Connor answers, “Cat.”

He just blinks and Connor clears his throat, “Forgive me, Detective Reed. I meant that there was a cat in need of my attention. I was bringing her home to take care of her injuries, if you’ll excuse me.”

Gavin finally looks at the bundle in Connor’s arms and he can feel his heart drop as he notices the tiny yellow eyes staring at him. God damn it. The damn piece of plastic found his one weakness, a feat even his robo-brother hasn’t managed to do yet. The question leaves his mouth unbidden yet again, “Can I see?”

The android hesitates, and Gavin supposes he deserves it. He hasn’t exactly shown Terminator he had empathy as of yet, but Connor manages to shock him again when he relents, gingerly moving the jacket to give Gavin a better view of the most fucking adorable kitten he has ever seen. He’s aware of Connor mumbling in the background about how he came across the kitten, but all of his attention is focused on the bleeding leg just barely visible and the anger that rises with it. He sighs and runs his hands through his hair, “Fucking hell, Connor…”

Connor stops in his explanation, a single eyebrow raised as a prompt to continue. “Look, I got some vet supplies at home from when Ellie got an infection, and I know a thing or two about taking care of cats.”

Of fucking course Connor tilts his head.

“You can take the fucking thing to my house.”

Of fucking course Connor doesn’t say anything, the prick.

“I promise I won’t hurt you. I got a…thing...for cats,” Gavin smiles softly as he reaches to rub the kitten’s head, “I won’t hurt her.”

The mood ring blinks once, twice, and then returns to blue as Connor straightens up, “That would be acceptable.”

Gavin just rolls his eyes and refrains from shouldering the robot if only to spare the kitten, and leads him to his apartment, where he knows Ellie is pissed off from him missing dinner time. “You tell anyone about this, I’ll fuck you up, you understand me?”

“Need I remind you of our fight in the evidence room, Detective? I calculate a-”

Gavin cuts off the asshole before he can finish his calculation, “I don’t have to help you.”

Connor closes his mouth as Gavin fumbles for his keys, cold fingers uncooperative. He swears under his breath, even as he smiles when he hears Ellie scratching at the door like she’s helping to let him in. He might never get his security deposit back but, damn, did she make him smile. He finally gets the door open and lets the android inside, ignoring the sharp claws climbing up his legs to reach his shoulder, motioning for Connor to sit on the couch as he heads to the medicine cabinet in the bathroom. “Did you do your scanning thing on her or do I need to call my emergency vet to get her an x-ray,” he calls out, nuzzling the gray ball of fluff currently perched on his shoulder.

“Her right hind leg has a compound fracture which may require amputation, but she is unharmed everywhere else. I’ve already downloaded the necessary information to care for this injury until the clinics open tomorrow.”

Gavin swears under his breath. Fucking humans and their fucking treatment of cats. He knew he was an arrogant asshole, but even he understood that you never hurt an animal. Especially fucking cats, man. They deserved so much better. Gavin grabs the medical supplies and tosses them to Connor, who has made a nest of his jacket for the tortoiseshell to awkwardly cuddle up in. Despite her situation, Gavin can hear he purring from his location, and he smiles yet again. Fucking cats, man. Best fucking animals ever. “She’s a fucking trooper, just might have to keep her.”

The plastic detective, already cleaning the injury, nods in agreement. “She certainly is resilient,” he glances up at Gavin, or rather, Gavin’s shoulder, “Ellie, I presume?”

He grabs the cat from his shoulder as he nods and carries her to the kitchenette, “Found her on the street too, with a bad eye infection. She ended up losing her eyesight in that eye, as you can see, but she was otherwise fine.”

“I didn’t realize you liked cats, Gavin.”

“Remember the threat, prick. I’ll fucking end you if you tell anyone.”

“I’m alerting Lieutenant Anderson of my whereabouts, just in case,” Connor retorts as he wraps the leg, apologizing as the kitten cries.

He grabs some kitten food leftover from Ellie’s kitten days as she scarfs down her own meal, ignoring the two intruders. “Tell him you’ll need some blue shit too, most advanced prototype my ass. Can’t believe some fucking kids landed a hit on ya.”

“It was one hit, which is one more than you managed,” Connor reaches for the bowl as Gavin offers it, a smirk on his face, “Besides, the damage is minimal and my self-repair systems should handle it when I enter rest mode tonight.”

To refrain from smacking the piece of shit, Gavin focuses on the kitten instead of the insult. Fucking android was getting too good at them, no doubt as a result of Hank’s influence. The kitten is small, too small, Gavin notes, and she looks rather pathetic with the bright, white bandage engulfing her tiny leg. Despite it all, however, and despite a mouthful of food, she purrs louder than a motorboat and Gavin finds himself relaxing as he watches her. He pets her again, feeling a sense of satisfaction as the purring intensifies.

Fucking cats, man. He thinks he just adopted another one.