#like cable buddy

[x-mensirens]

Madelyn sees Nathan again before the Genosha attack

[sciderman]

Opinion on thor? I might be a bit biased but besides spiderman, he's gotta be my fave

he's hot. i love a man with long blonde hair.

i used to love the movies! in fact, he was my favourite character in the mcu before they introduced ant-man, but my interest in him kind of dropped off the same time my interest in the mcu dropped off... no offence to taika (i love taika) but i didn't like ragnarok, (have not seen love and thunder and probably never will) and i don't care for the new silly goofy thor - i kind of liked that his stories were one of the few stories in the mcu that actually had weight and gravitas or whatever. i liked that they were different from the rest of the mcu. but now all of the mcu gotta be silly goofy. and thor is a gamer. what is going on.

i really don't know very much about thor from the comics! what i've read about him is so disparate and he's kind of characterised differently in every appearance of him that i've read, so i don't know if i've really got a gist of who he is. probably i need to read a thor series from front-to-back so i can get him. would be appreciative of any recs in the replies! i'm fighting off a cold at the moment, and some new reading material might be good and cozy and healing for me...

[robinsnest2111]

always fun whenever I bring up an anecdote from my childhood and it turns out it wasn't an anecdote, but actually recounting an apparently traumatic event. at least according to the people I tell the anecdote to.

[starlightkun]

still utterly bemused by when i told my coworker that i dont watch cable tv and he was so horrified then proceeded to ask “well do you AT LEAST VOTE?!?!?!” and i was like buddy how do you make the leap from “i don’t watch cable tv like you know the simpsons and fox news” to “i dont exercise my hard-fought and hard-won right to vote”

[rt-arts]

saw this frame while watching hellshow w/ my partner and we both immediately thought of the same thing at the same time

[riality-check]

More roadie shenanigans, keeping feedback from this post in mind! part 1, part 2

ao3

It’s before the second show, and they’re already fighting.

“You can’t chicken out,” Gareth says.

“I’m not gonna chicken out!”

“Good, because I’ll tell Wayne if you do,” Jeff says.

Eddie glares at him. “You’re an asshole.”

“Tell me something I don’t know.”

“Shut up and get out of here!” Archie says, pushing Eddie toward the tech booth. He complies, but not without another scathing look over his shoulder.

His friends laugh because of course they do. They’re assholes, but, luckily, they’re the same kind of asshole that Eddie is.

He straightens out his shoulders, breathes, and prepares to grovel.

Robin and Steve are setting up just like they were at the last venue. It looks like a mess of cables and boxes from Eddie’s perspective, but Steve and Robin work with ruthless efficiency, alternately talking and signing when their hands aren’t full.

“Um,” Eddie says. G-d, he’s never been this awkward in his life. But this matters, like, really matters to him, and he’s gotta do right.

Neither of them pay him any attention.

“Excuse me?” he says a little louder.

Robin turns around. When she sees him, her expression instantly sours.

“Hello?” she drawls, sounding bored out of her mind.

Steve turns around, too. When he sees Eddie, his face-

Well, Eddie isn’t sure what that expression is supposed to mean. If he had to guess, he’d say mild annoyance.

Mild annoyance shouldn’t look that hot.

“I just wanted to say again that I’m really sorry,” he says, making sure to talk clearly and loud enough to be understood. He’s not an idiot, he knows that shouting is rude, but he makes sure he can be heard over the general chaos of setting up for a new show. “It wasn’t any of my business, and even if I meant well, it’s not an excuse.”

Steve’s face softens a whole lot as Eddie stumbles through his apology, and then he reaches up to his ears to take out ear plugs.

Huh?

“Mind saying that again?” Steve says with a smile.

Eddie is. So confused.

But then Steve laughs. “You should see your face, dude. I got the gist. Apology accepted, we’re cool.”

Okay, that makes Eddie feel better. A lot better. But he’s still confused.

And his mouth always moves faster than his brain.

“Why are you- why do you have- what-”

Robin rolls her eyes fondly. “This idiot,” she says, pointing at Steve, “always tries to do the first show without the ear plugs he needs-”

“Not this shit again,” Steve mumbles.

“-because, as it turns out, your ears do a lot more than just hear. Like balance-”

“You’re one to talk about balance, Buckley,” Steve says, giving her a light shove. She nearly topples over if not for the fact that he immediately grabs her arm to steady her.

Eddie thinks he might know even less than he thought.

“I want to make it up to you,” he says, and Steve and Robin stop bickering.

“You don’t have to do that,” Steve says, and Robin elbows him.

“I want to,” Eddie insists. “What’s your favorite song? We’ll play it at the end of our set.”

Naïvely and terribly optimistically, Eddie hopes Steve might say something that’s already in their set list, or maybe another one of their songs.

From the way that Robin and Steve are looking at each other conspiratorially, he doesn’t think that’s the case.

“No,” Steve says, laughing and shaking his head.

Robin sneaks a glance at Eddie, smirks, and starts signing at Steve.

The only thing Eddie understands about the conversation as their hands move is their facial expressions: Robin with a smirk, and Steve trying desperately not to laugh.

He’s so cute. He gets this little crease on the side of his mouth that Eddie wants to smooth out with his thumb.

Slow the hell down, buddy.

“Fine,” Steve says, throwing his hands up in the air. He turns back to Eddie. “Pretty Fly.”

“Are you fucking kidding me,” Eddie blurts.

Steve’s eyes narrow. “Didn’t you just apologize to me?”

“Sorry,” Eddie says. “It’s just that my bassist and lead singer have been gunning for this song for, like, 6 months. Archie chomps at the bit for fun bass lines, and Jeff just thinks it’s funny as-”

“Slow down,” Steve interrupts.

Right. He talks too fast.

“I’ll play it, but it means caving to my asshole friends,” Eddie says.

Robin cackles. “Told you it was a good idea.”

“Yeah, I love a good bass line,” Steve says. His face is softer again, and Eddie thinks he loves that expression.

He checks his watch. “Soundcheck is soon, so I’m gonna head back. Sorry again.”

“Eddie,” Steve says, and oh.

Eddie loves how Steve says his name.

“We’re good, okay?” he continues, small smile on his face.

“Well,” Robin chimes in. “After the apology song you will be.”

Eddie laughs. He really likes her now that she’s warmed up to him.

“Noted,” he says.

He heads back with a final wave and ducks backstage, where the band is tuning their instruments.

“Well?” Gareth asks, tightening his snare.

Eddie grabs his guitar, closes his eyes, and sighs. “He wants us to play Pretty Fly as an apology.”

“Let’s fucking go!” Archie roars, and Jeff gives him a high five.

“No way-”

“Gareth, I know-”

“You dick-hungry traitor.”

“Hey!”

“The fucking Offspring, Eddie? Punk? Are you shitting me? Punk just because you want a shot with a hot guy?”

Archie starts plucking out the bass line. Gareth throws a drum stick at his head. Jeff beams it back at him and misses.

“It’s one time,” Eddie says.

“Unless your cute roadie likes it enough,” Jeff teases.

“He’s not my anything.”

“Not yet,” Archie adds.

“Not ever.”

“Fucking pessimist,” Jeff says.

A tiny crashing sound makes them all turn toward the drum set, where Gareth is lightly thumping his head into the hi-hat.

“I’m gonna have to do the backing vocals for Pretty Fly,” he mutters.

“Your fault for sounding like a pre-pubescent chihuahua.”

Gareth throws his other drumstick at Jeff. “I’m not begging you for shit.”

“Do it for the bit,” Archie says. “You love doing it for the bit.”

Gareth picks his head up. “I do love doing anything for the bit.”

“Soundcheck in five!” someone calls.

“Thank you five!” Eddie yells back. Shit, he’s gotta tune his guitar.

Soundcheck is a breeze, and, after that, the time flies. Before he knows it, they’re out onstage, playing their usual set list.

Eddie doesn’t think he’ll ever get enough of this. The energy, the lights, the sounds, G-d, all of it. There’s nothing like being onstage and playing until his fingers hurt, nothing like joining in on the backup vocals, nothing like hearing the crowd roar with them.

It’s perfect. Touring is everything he dreamed of and more.

Eddie wants to do this for the rest of his life. They’re gonna headline one day, he knows it, but this is an amazing start.

What Eddie doesn’t want to do is talk, at Jeff’s request.

“Okay, okay,” he says, getting the crowd to quiet down. “We’ve got two more songs. The first one is one we’re playing because I fucked up.”

“And because he finally caved to us,” Jeff adds.

The crowd laughs, but it doesn’t feel mocking. Eddie laughs with them.

“So, Steve, consider this the final part of my apology-”

“And my peak embarrassment!” Gareth adds.

The crowd laughs again, and Eddie sighs, fondly long-suffering. “Let’s do it.”

The backing vocals are fucking embarrassing. Eddie’s with Gareth on that one. They suck, and he feels himself flush for reasons other than the heat.

But he imagines Steve smiling as he watches the show, and Archie is clearly having the best G-ddamn time on the bass, and Jeff is basically cackling his way through the song, so it’s worth it.

They get through it and then their closer without a hitch.

“We’re Corroded Coffin!” Jeff tells the crowd. “Y’all were amazing, so keep that energy up for the other opener and for the main act!”

The crowd roars, the lights black out, and they make their way backstage.

In the green room, on Eddie’s guitar case, is a note.

Apology more than accepted. Here’s my number in case you want to apologize again. Or maybe grab a coffee.

Text, don’t call. In case you haven’t noticed, my ears don’t work.

-Steve.

Eddie has never added a contact faster in his life.

I think I saw a 24 hour diner down the road. Hopefully they have good coffee.

Steve’s response is immediate.

Do you really think I care about the quality of the coffee?

You could be a coffee connoisseur for all I know, Eddie types back.

I don’t know a lot. Hence the date.

Date.

Woah.

Eddie tries to get his heart rate under control and text Steve back. He’s never been good at multitasking though, so by the time he’s able to formulate words again, the lights have gone down and the second opener is on. Steve’s working, and he shouldn’t be bothered.

Besides, Eddie should probably use the time between now and the end of the show to think before he speaks for once in his life.

Yeah fuck it I’ll keep the tag list (or you can follow the shiny new tag #gi;pe au): @vampireinthesun @paperbackribs @littlewildflowerkitten @estrellami-1 @messrs-weasley @lifeisnotsobadonceyoustopcaring @omgshesinsane @bestwifehaver @marklee-blackmore @gleek4twd @steddiestains @chaoticvictorianspirit @imhereforthelolzdontyellatme @alienace @7shrewsinatrenchcoat @punctualhowell @pluto-pepsi @voidpacifist @sunfloweringstories @anaibis @evillitteguy @hallucinatedjosten @avi17 @b-u-g-g-y @shinekocreator @l0st-strawberry @brassreign @abbiecadabi-blog @rainbow-freckle @gregre369 @rehfan @just-a-tiny-void @weirdandabsurd42 @satan-is-obsessed @honeysucklesinger @coyotepup345 @gayafmermaid @thegingerrapunzel

[sinnersweets]

DogDay x Reader part 14

<-----part 13, part 15----->

A/N: It's here....it's finally here!!

The alarm that I had set off started going off. I snapped awake and shut it off. Rubbing my eyes I sighed and said, “Come on Y/N, time to get moving.” I pulled the blanket off me and went to go change out of my pajamas.  

--------------- 

I pulled up to the factory and sat in my car gripping onto the steering wheel. Was I really going to go into the factory after hours and try to find DogDays contract? And possibly the other contracts of the Smiling Critters? My palms were feeling sweaty. ‘Don’t sike yourself out’ I kept thinking in my head. I shut off my car and made my way inside the factory. 

Normally employees couldn’t get in now, but since I’m a helper, I have clearance to get into the building at any time I want. Though I’m only supposed to use this little clearance when I need to give DogDay a bath but that’s beside the point! I scanned my badge and was let inside the building. 

Since the cable car made a lot of noise, I decided to take the stairs to Playcare. I wasn’t really in a rush like last time so I would carefully go down the stairs this time. As I made my way down the steps, I couldn’t help but feel like I was being watched. Then again, there was hardly any light in this area so something or someone most likely could be watching me right now. If I get caught, I could just lie and say that I left my phone here or something.  

--------------- 

Thankfully nothing interrupted me going down the eighteen flights of stairs, so I quietly pushed open the door that led into Playcare and looked around. The lights were shut off. Gotta say this place looked a little creepy without lights. I shuffled past the door, being sure to prop it open with a fake rock. I quietly made my way down the hill of tables and chairs carefully avoiding running into them.  

Maybe I’m being paranoid, but I could’ve sworn that I saw a shadow move over from the Playhouse. Part of me wanted to check it out but I shook my head and focused on the task at hand.  

I made it to the counselor's office and as soon as I was about to open the door, a purple tail wrapped around my ankle. “Uh oh.” Within seconds I was yanked into the air and met with CatNap laying down on the roof of the building. “Hey buddy. Haven't seen you in a while.” I said smiling but also feeling a little scared. CatNap didn’t say anything to me, only tilting his head to the side. “You’re probably wondering what I’m doing here, and I have a good reason for that so could you please put me down?” CatNap moved me over next to him and set me down still having his tail wrapped around my ankle.  

“Not what I meant with that but okay.” “Friend.” I looked at him expecting him to say something else, but he didn’t. “Not much of a talker huh? That’s okay. Listen, I’m going to tell you something but promise me you won’t tell DogDay okay?” CatNap nodded his head slowly. I then whispered to CatNap, “I’m trying to find a way to get all of you guys out of contract with Playtime. That’s why I’m here.” CatNap just continued to stare at me, not saying anything. Suddenly, the grip that CatNap had on my ankle tightened. I looked at CatNap and his whole presence shifted. “The prototype will save us. Not you.” Huh? Who was the prototype? “Anyone who gets in the way-” CatNap then moved me up into the air and out from the roof. As I was being held upside down, I had a feeling what he was about to do. “Hey hey! We’re friends! Please don’t drop me please!” I whispered to him but was also yelling at him. “-Is a heretic. You are a heretic, friend.” 

He loosened his grip on my ankle. When I was falling it seemed to happen in slow motion. My mind was racing. ‘Do something!’ ‘Tuck your head in!’ As I got closer and closer to the ground, I tucked my body close together and hit the ground, rolling down the hill. I protected my head, but the rest of my body was badly sore, and I got the air knocked out of me. I don’t know how I managed to keep quiet through all this. I soon came to the bottom of the hill and unrolled my body.  

I laid still for a good few minutes. ‘What do I do now? My whole body is aching.’ I thought to myself. I could hear CatNap jump off the roof and start walking towards me. My body was completely numb. ‘Come on! Get up! Get up now!’ I kept screaming that in my head. I then had the strength to move and got up while groaning. Even though my body was in pain I ran towards the door I came through. 

As I ran towards the door I didn’t dare look back behind me. I could just hear CatNap walking towards me so I knew he was chasing me. ‘Almost there! Keep going!’ I then saw that CatNap ran past me and up to the door. I stopped running and looked at him. He shut the door. The only way I could get out was now closed off. I held onto my body as it started aching more. ‘Where can I go?’ I quickly looked around and laid my eyes on the Playhouse. I could hide in there, but I’d have to move quickly. 

I took deep breaths before turning on my heels and running towards the Playhouse. 

--------------- 

It’s been three hours since I last saw CatNap. I looked at my phone and saw that it would be another two hours before Playtime opened, and the cable car would be brought down. The whole time has been a game of hide and seek with me and CatNap. I’d find a good place to hide and then he’d let out his red smoke around the area I was in, forcing me to move. I was tired and needed to rest.  

When I was running away from CatNap I stumbled into a new area in Playcare that I had never seen. It was a room and along the sides were cells. I could hear breathing, or rather snoring coming from up ahead. I limped over to check out what or who was making that noise. Looking into the cells, I could see the noises came from the Smiling Critters. What were they doing here? Is this where they slept? I immediately noticed that DogDay wasn’t here; but there were two empty cells. I’m guessing one is for DogDay and the other one is for CatNap. I had a lot of questions in that moment, but I heard movement from behind me. I froze, fearing that CatNap had found me. There was nowhere I could go. I was trapped. 

I fell to the floor and silently cried. ‘I knew I shouldn’t have done this. This was a stupid idea.’ “Angel?” I shot my head up and turned around and saw that it was DogDay. “Angel what are you doing here?” He looked at me and realized something was wrong with me. “What happened to you?” I tried getting up but once I did, I fell back onto the ground. “Angel?!” DogDay ran over to me and picked me up. “Talk to me Angel, what’s wrong?” “CatNap....I think he’s trying to..kill me.” When I spoke, it hurt. DogDay looked very confused which I understood. I just told him that his best friend is trying to kill me. Before DogDay could say anything else I said, “I tried to leave, but couldn’t. I-” “Shh. Don’t talk. I think I hear him coming.”  

--------------- 

 DogDay motioned me to stay quiet as he carried me out of the Playhouse. Thankfully we didn’t run into CatNap; though that could’ve meant he was out wandering outside. Luck was on our side as there was no sign of CatNap anywhere. 

DogDay took me into my office and laid me down on his bed. “It’s alright Angel, you’re safe now.” I closed my eyes and tried to steady my breathing. “Now tell me what’s going on.” I didn’t want to tell him like this but might as well rip the band aid off now. “Okay, I’ll tell you. But please...bear with me as it hurts to breathe right now.” DogDay nodded and held onto my hand. “Friday is my last day here. Since I adopted Damian, I can no longer work here...and I didn’t know about that until Stella showed me in the email that I got when I was hired. That being said....I won’t be able to see you anymore...but I didn’t want that to happen so I thought if I could get a hold of your contract...and destroy it or something...you could come with me and Damian...I came here to look for it but CatNap caught me and called me a heretic and then dropped me from the top of this building... I tried leaving but he closed the only exit I had so I ran and hid from him.” 

Never before had I seen DogDay look so angry. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath before breathing out and opening his eyes. “Angel, I’m sorry that you went through all that. CatNap is not himself at the moment, however that is no excuse for what he has done to you. Rest assured that I will have a talk with him. Onto other things, I already knew that you would be leaving at the end of the week, Ms. Stella told me. She wanted me to look for another helper, but I don’t want to. I want to be with you and Damian out in the real world.” 

DogDay got up and went over to my desk and picked up a file and brought it over to me. I reached out, grabbed it and gasped when I looked inside. Inside was his contract along with all the other Smiling Critters. This is just what I needed! “How did you- where did you get these?!” DogDay smiled at me while saying, “I’m not supposed to leave this area but I overheard a couple of staff members talking about contracts and where they were placed so I snuck out and fetched this for you. I know you only needed mine, but I would hate to leave behind my friends.” I looked up to him and smiled and said, “I was thinking the very same thing. It wouldn’t be fair if only you got to experience life outside of here.” DogDay raised an eyebrow and smiled while saying, “What are you getting at Angel?” “I was planning on having everyone here join us. I want to open my own orphanage and have everyone here come along.”  

DogDay seemed a little confused from my plan so once I explained it to him, he seemed to be on board! “You really think it’ll work Angel?” “I have no idea, but I have to try.” “I’ll do everything I can in here while you take care of things out there.” I nodded before yawning. “Seems like someone is tired. Might I recommend you get some sleep on the best pillow ever?” I playfully rolled my eyes and said, “I wouldn’t want to sleep without my favorite pillow.”  

DogDay then carefully picked me up and laid down on his back before he placed me on his chest. “Comfy?” I nodded yes and closed my eyes, feeling my body relaxed after all this time. DogDay kissed the top of my head and before I fell asleep, I heard him say, “Sleep well, my Angel.” 

A/N: Who remembers when DogDay first said that to us? (This part went through so many changes which is why it took so long so post again I'm sorry for the delay but lemme know how this one is :D)

[upsidedownwithsteve]

A Couple Days In (I Call You Baby)

Modern!Steve Harrington x fem!reader [6.8K] 18+ the two night stand au no one asked for, or, the fic where you meet steve on a dating app and then a snowstorm ensures you can't sneak out the next morning. PART ONE | PART TWO | PART THREE

Being single was becoming boring. 

Boring in the way that seeing your friends in love and having fun in a way that you weren’t was starting to hurt. A full ache, settling in your chest until it bore a hole there and stayed, taking up space where the heartbreak used to live. 

You weren’t heartbroken. Not anymore. You were less sad, less angry. You were bored. And almost always perpetually turned on. You didn’t want love, you certainly didn’t want another relationship but you were at the stage of feeling that yearning pull when you watched a romcom on your sofa, slumped against your roommate with a frown on your lips. 

“I think I’ve forgotten what it’s like to be touched,” you said mournfully, your gaze fixed in the way Patrick Swayze’s hand trailed down Jennifer Grey’s side. 

“Babe, this is rated a fifteen,” Robin snorted in reply but she ran a hand over your hair anyway. “It’s that bad huh?” She grinned when you whined at the screen, watching with wide eyes as Johnny Castle took off Baby’s shirt. 

You sat up, taking the blanket with you and Robin huffed, dragging her half back. There was an empty bottle of red wine on the table, Chinese takeout cartons and a mess of charging cables, your laptop, Robin’s cell phone. 

“I just want some fun,” you grumbled. “Nothing serious, just— just someone to fool around with.”

“You want a fuck buddy?” Robin grinned salacious, the movie forgotten as she turned to face you, leaning against the arm of the couch. “Should I go through my Instagram? Give you the name of every boy I know?”

“You know like, seven boys,” you scoffed but Robin reached for her phone anyway. “And no, god, no fuck buddies. Even that’s too much commitment.”

She laughed and pressed a foot to your thigh, the touch familiar and friendly. “Shit, are you actually considering a hook up?”

You squirmed, too warm. 

“You are!” Robin squealed, “wow. I never thought I’d see the day. Little miss relationship just wants a one night stand, a fuck ‘em and chuck ‘em kinda—”

“Robin,” you groaned, hands rubbing at your face because the idea of it was so out of your wheelhouse that it was comical. But then Patrick Swayze started crawling across the floor on your TV screen. You paused, frowning. “Fuck, is that bad? Is it bad if I want that?”

Robin scoffed, leaning over to grab the bowl of popcorn you’d both forgotten about. “What? Dude, no. Of course not!” Her voice turned softer, kinder. “You can do whatever you want to do. You deserve to have some fun.”

“I don’t know how to,” you whispered and your chest felt tight again, like that well of boredom was filing again, spilling over with sadness and heartache. You hated it. 

“What, have fun?”

You frowned. “No - well, maybe - no, how to hook up with someone.” You chewed at your lip, confused and panicking despite the fact you were still firmly seated in yours and Robin’s apartment. “Do I just walk into a bar? Pick a guy and ask him if he wants to come home with me?”

Robin spluttered out a laugh, gasping into her wine glass and she looked at you over the rim of it, eyes filled with humour. “Jesus, if you do, can you make sure I’m there to watch it happen?”

You set her with a withering stare, pulling the blanket up to your chest and gazing back at the TV, wistful. You sighed, resigning yourself to the fact that you most definitely couldn’t march into a bar and claim a prize for the night, no matter how many glasses of wine you’d nursed. Robin seemed to understand this, because she nudged you again, a socked foot poking at your knee. 

“You could always try online dating,” she told you mildly.

You scrunched your nose, not taking your eyes off of the way Johnny Castle was thrusting his hips. “Ew,” you replied, voice flat. “Like tinder? Nancy told me I’d never be desperate enough for tinder.”

Robin snorted at the mention of her prim and proper girlfriend but she shook her head anyway. “Nah, go old school with it. Try a website or something, one that doesn’t rely on a carousel of shirtless photos and men holding up either a fish or a puppy in their profile.”

You laughed, draining the last of your wine as you eyed your friend, liking the way the buzz lingered over your tongue, your head. "I bet this would be easier if I were gay,” you replied mournfully. 

Robin cooed, making a soft noise that definitely wasn’t a protest and she grinned. “You’d definitely be Nance and I’s third,” she poked at your cheek, smirked when you bit at it and rolled your eyes. 

----------

Robin left the apartment the next night with her good boots on, a smudge of blush on her cheeks and sad eyes. She stood at the door with her coat on, fussing with her bag as she tried for the twentieth time to wheedle you into going out with her. Guilt laced the small apartment, something that made your chest ache, but you tried not to let it show on your face.

“Are you sure you don’t wanna come out with us? It’s Saturday,” Robin coaxed, “we can all get dinner, some drinks, go dancing…”

“Robs, I’m not crashing your date night with your girlfriend,” you told her again. “Go. I’m fine.”

The girl frowned, checking her hair one last time in the mirror, ‘cause she’d tried to curl it and you’d heard her cursing from the bathroom. “You know my girlfriend,” she replied, as if that was enough of a reason for you to join them. “Nance won’t mind.”

You smiled, a little sad, although you tried hard to make your eyes match your lips. You gestured to the TV, the soft blanket you’d pulled from your bedroom, the new bottle of wine on the coffee table. “Go,” you repeated again, this time more sternly. “I’m good. I’m great, in fact. I’ve got all the good ones.” You pointed to the lineup of films on your Netflix list, each cover showing off a different type of Hollywood boy of the month. 

“Top Gun?” Robin snorted, “that’s not even the new one, babe.”

You sniffed, mildly offended. “Young Tom Cruise has a certain je ne sai quois, alright?” 

Robin held her hands up, giving in. She smiled and backed towards the door. “Whatever does it for you. I’ve got my keys, ‘kay? Don’t wait up.”

“I won’t,” you called back, already hitting play on the movie. “Have fun!”

It took two glasses of rosé before you grabbed your phone, face feeling flushed, lips chewed to bits after you sat through scene after scene of handsome men, your mind wandering, your fingers drawing absentminded circles over your stomach, hand underneath your t-shirt. You groaned under your breath as you typed some buzz words into Google, hoping for a website that didn’t sound too terrifying, one that didn’t conjure up images of finding the love of your life, or a husband, one that left out religious words, ones that sounded too cult-like.

You hit the fifth result and quickly made a profile, one eye screwed shut in fear as you uploaded a photo, entering all the details they tried to glean from you, making it as vague as you possibly could. You hit submit, stared wide eyed at the loading screen and then within a blink, your own picture was staring back at you, one Robin had taken last year when you had very much been in a relationship. You were alone in it, in some corner of a party, the lights low, the shadows showing off the way your eyeshadow glittered, your lips a little glossy, your skirt short. 

You looked pretty, not too sweet, not too boring. 

Immediately, requests flooded in. Anonymous looking profiles with no photographs, empty descriptions and usernames like: ‘pu$$yworshipper69’ and ‘callmedaddy1982’.

You wrinkled your nose in disappointment, hitting delete on the messages that spammed your inbox, requests for feet pics, men wondering if you had more photos of your tits, bots that wanted to know if you were looking for love and, could you send your social security number?

Defeat was bitter on your tongue and you sighed, exiting out of your inbox only to be greeted with a new page that displayed singles in your area. One photo caught your interest, a boy with wild hair, kind brown eyes and a smile that seemed genuine. He wore a red shirt over a white tee, tanned in the setting sun, sitting on a beach and looking pretty. 

You clicked, the movie forgotten but the glass of wine lingering at your lips as you scrolled through his page, eyes flicking over details of his likes and dislikes, his age, his job. His name. 

Steve Harrington. Living in Hawkins, Indiana. You swallowed, wine glass left on the coffee table as you curled into the sofa and brought your phone closer to your nose. He had more photos in his gallery, all seemingly taken by someone else instead of the usual topless selfies that had bombard you at first. 

The boy and some other people - friends, you assumed - swimming in a lake in the sun, smiles brighter than the sky. Steve outside, sunglasses covering his eyes and dressed in an old faded band tee. He looked like he’d smell nice, like he’d give good hugs. Another, the last one, where the boy was shirtless. But someone else had taken it as he stood at the edge of a lake again, smiling like he’d been caught off guard. 

You hit the button at the top of his profile, the one that said: “send a message.”

A new page popped up, a little chat box that was intimidatingly empty and you stilled, staring at it. What did you say? How did you begin?

‘Hey, I’ve looked at precisely five photos of you and I know you work at some video store and I think you’re hot. Wanna have sex?’

You cringed, eyes squeezing shut as you quickly deleted the words, groaning at the empty space once more. You remembered what Robin had said, about how wanting to hook up with someone was okay. Loads of people did it. It was fine. 

It was fine. 

@INDIANAGIRL: Hey, how’s it going?

The response took a minute or two, but the wait was agonising, time stretching too slow. A speech bubble appeared on the screen, a sign that pretty boy was replying. 

@HARRINGTON98: hi.. i can't lie, it's going a lot better now. you're really pretty. you sure you clicked on the right profile?

You snorted, trying to remain unaffected by the harmless flirting. But a smile pulled at your lips and you pushed yourself further into the cushions, knees bent and phone resting close. You took a breath and typed back. 

@INDIANAGIRL: Ooh, self deprecating and daddy issues? You’re lucky you’re cute.

You stilled, letting out a groan that you smothered with a pillow after you hit send, ‘cause you were never this forward and it made your insides curl around each other, your heart beat too fast for you to keep up with it. 

There was a pause before his reply and you breathed out a sigh of relief at the little bubble of text.

@HARRINGTON98: haha, what can I say, I’m a catch. honoured to know that you actually took the time to read my profile though. 

@HARRINGTON98: so, apart from your friends and the bottle of wine persuading you, what’re you doing on this on a saturday night?

You smiled, knowing he’d taken the time to read through your page too, as short as your answers were. You tucked your bottom lip between your teeth, nails tapping on your phone screen as you tried to think of the best way to reply. 

@INDIANAGIRL: Like you said, it’s a Saturday night. I’m definitely not here looking for love, if that answers your question. But I’m free, if you are?

You held your breath, waiting, eyes wide as the bubble appeared again, three dots dancing across your screen. It stopped, disappeared and started again. 

@HARRINGTON98: cool. do you wanna get drinks or something? 

@HARRINGTON98: it’s no pressure if you don’t. i’ve never done this before? can you tell? but we could hang out. if you wanted. 

You smiled when the second message came through almost immediately after the first. The boy’s obvious nerves settled your own and there was a sense of familiarity in his words, his ramblings. 

It made you feel bolder. 

You typed quickly, as if tapping out the letters faster made it easier to send. You looked around your shared apartment, at Robin’s half open bedroom door. She’d be back in a few hours, maybe less, with Nancy in tow and they’d take up residence on the sofa, Netflix on and another bottle of wine opened. 

@INDIANAGIRL: Neither have I but, we could skip the bar? Maybe hang at yours. 

Oh my god, you thought to yourself. I’m going to get murdered. This is how people end up murdered. Karen and Georgia would be so disappointed. And then:

@HARRINGTON98: 82 rowan street, BLDG A, unit 26

@INDIANAGIRL: Wow, you’re eager. 

@HARRINGTON98: like I said, you’re really fucking pretty

Your heart thundered. 

@INDIANAGIRL: Wait!

@INDIANAGIRL: Can we FaceTime or something? Before? 

@INDIANAGIRL: So I know you’re not a murderer. Or 80. Or both. 

You panicked then, realising what was happening, eyes scanning over the address this Steve Harrington had sent. It wasn’t too far from you, a subway ride out of the city and maybe a ten minute walk at best. You chewed your lip, cheeks burning as you scanned back through his photos. Cute smile, kind eyes, hair you wanted to pull on. 

Your phone buzzed and you swore. A cell number,  a smiley face.

“Oh god, oh god, oh god,” you chanted to yourself as you typed the digits into the FaceTime app, stopping with a curse when the front camera showed your wide eyes and couch mussed hair. 

You flung the phone onto the cushions, jumping up so you could straighten out your sweater, smoothing down the flyaway strands that stuck to your forehead. You caught sight of one of Robin’s lip balms on the table, swiped some over your lips and you dabbed a little on your cheeks for good measure. 

Taking a deep breath, you picked up the phone again and hit the call button. Maybe the boy was panicking too, maybe he’d backed out, maybe he was standing in front of a mirror as well, swiping hand through his hair and checking his shirt for stains ‘cause it rang and rang and rang. 

Then, he picked up. Fuck. 

@Harrington98 wasn’t eighty years old. In fact, he looked exactly like his photos. He was really pretty. Really, really pretty. Jesus Christ. 

Tanned skin, brown eyes, wild hair, freckles scattered across his cheeks and jawline, creeping down to disappear under his shirt. He had the nicest lips you’d seen on a boy, pink, soft looking, smiling at you. 

“Uh, hey!” The boy greeted brightly, “I'm here for the murder test? Have I passed?”

You grinned, laughing a little nervously as you tucked your hair behind your ear and cleared your throat. “I mean, I haven’t seen your place yet. Any red string boards on the walls? Black and white photos of the same person? Jars of body parts in the fridge?”

He laughed, a nice sound, soft and throaty and warm. “Nah, nah,” the boy shook his head, his smile playful, brows furrowed. “Not in the fridge. The freezer, however…”

You watched the screen as he trailed off, smiling still, looking soft and too handsome in a plain, white T-shirt. “So. I’m Steve. S’nice to meet you.” He lifted a hand, endearing and only a little awkward, waving at you through the phone. 

You waved back, fingers wiggling. “Hi,” you felt shy, nervous. Flustered. You told Steve your name, smiling when he repeated it, trying it out on his tongue and it sounded a lot nicer on his lips than yours. 

“So, this is my place,” Steve announced, spinning his phone around to show you the apartment. It looked loved in, boyish, some old movie posters on the walls in frames, a clock that was showing the wrong time, exposed brick and a big leather couch. “There’s no bodies to be seen, but that’s ‘cause they’re under the floorboards. Obviously.” He turned the camera back to himself, eyes glittering, smile full of trouble. 

“Obviously,” you agreed, grinning, ‘cause it was hard not to. Not when he looked like that. “So shall I, um, bring anything with me or?”

You didn’t know hookup etiquette. Did you bring beers? Condoms? Your own pillow? Would you stay? Would he want you to leave? What if you couldn’t get a train back into the city if he kicked you out at three am?

God, would he kick you out at three am?

Steve glanced down at his watch and smiled sheepishly. “Uh, well. It’s almost eleven at night so I’m gonna guess you’ve had dinner. But I have some buds in the fridge, if you like beer.”

He said it like a secret, like you were both still skirting around the edge of the truth. But he looked down the camera at you with the right amount of flirt and confidence that let you know that he knew what you both wanted out of tonight. 

It wasn’t dinner. It wasn’t a date. It was just sex. And that was okay with the both of you. 

You nodded, fingers skimming across your lip out of nerves, out of curiosity, staring at the boy’s own mouth and wondering if he’d be nice to kiss. He looked like he would. You’d not kissed someone new in so long. 

Years. 

Fuck. 

“Okay, yeah, great!” You said it too brightly and you winced. “I’ll uh, I’ll probably be there in like, half an hour?”

Steve smiled and nodded, told you to call him if you needed directions but you waved him off, noncommittal, too busy wondering if you needed to shave your legs and I’d you’d be able to find your last good pair of black underwear. 

This was the part of the bad rom com movie where an early 2000’s pop punk song would play over a montage of you tearing the apartment apart as you tried to get ready. But Blink 182 didn’t start playing and instead, you could only hear the sound of your heart thudding in your chest. 

So when you hung up the phone, you launched it onto the table, almost sliding past the bathroom door as you ran to it, shedding off your comfy clothes as you went. You took the worlds fastest shower, ran your razor over all the parts you declared not smooth enough and drowned yourself in peach scented body wash. 

Deciding what to wear was difficult, ‘cause dresses were easier to take off but it was below zero outside and you weren’t fucking around with tights and extra socks. So you stole a pair of Robin’s jeans, ankles tripping over the hem of them as you struggled to pull them on at the same time you yanked a brush through your hair. Some concealer, a smudge of blush, mascara, more lip balm and you grabbed your bag on the way to the door, keys and phone in hand as you texted the group chat. 

‘82 rowan street, BLDG A, unit 26. I’m about to get dicked down. I think. Don’t wait up. But call the cops if I’m not home in the morning. Do I bring a gift to a hook up?’

Your phone pinged once, twice, three times. 

#1 gay friend: ‘bitch, what the fuck?’

gay friend’s girlfriend: ‘Babe, no. No gifts. Be safe though. Do you know this guy? Do we know this guy? Share your location rn.’

eduardo: ‘GEDDIT’

You sighed but did as Nancy asked, not bothering with a real reply but sending the link to find your iPhone. Your hands shook as you swiped your metro card and you weren’t sure if it was from the cold or nerves. Did you spray perfume? You couldn’t remember. But you were wearing your best bra, the one that made your tits sit up pretty but god, the wire was pressing into your ribs. 

And when you got out into the streets, out of the city where it was quieter and the sky held more stars, you revelled in the cold and the silence of it all. The world seemed lighter, a little rosy, in that way that only snow in the night could mean but the roads were still clear and the threat of it seemed weak. 

Still, you hurried, arms crossed to your chest, chin tucked into your coat as you followed the directions your phone gave you, Steve’s address a bright red pin on the map, a neon beacon, a big, fat booty call. 

His building came into view after a walk through a quiet Main Street, past the line of spruce trees and locked up businesses, a sweet town hall, a trailer park that vibrated with the hum of generators. The roads led you away from the middle of Hawkins, the map telling you which left and which right until an apartment block rose up between the parks and cafes, new looking and with shiny buzzers at the front door. 

You wondered if you should text him. You wondered if you should go home. You blew out a breath, a shaky one, watched how it lingered and  froze in the air in front of you and before you could stop yourself, your finger was pressing the button for number twenty six. 

--------

Steve Harrington’s apartment door had an alarm. It was loud and shrill and incessant - and it completely ruined your escape plan. 

There was a quiet countdown as you wrestled with the front door lock, keys jingling, chain clinking and then a beepbeepbeep begun, counting down like a ticking time bomb until it blared through the rest of the apartment. You’d managed to make it back into the bed in time, just as Steve jerked awake, shirtless and messy haired. 

“Wha—?” He grabbed a bat from the side of his bed and stumbled out the bedroom door, still half asleep. And when he seemed confident no one was breaking in, he dropped the bat and fell back into the bed with a soft thwack as his face hit the pillow. “Mornin’.”

You startled, still on edge, ‘cause the night before was… fine, but you hadn’t meant to stay the night. That wasn’t the plan, that wasn’t the idea. You were lying with your coat on, wide eyed with the duvet up to your chin and you yawned, all over exaggerated drama as you stretched out. 

“Oh, good morning,” your voice was too quiet. You felt nervous all over again. “Did your alarm go off? Weird. Well, I guess I should head home.”

You were already out of bed before you’d finished talking and Steve sat up, eyebrow quirked as he took in the way you were already fully dressed, searching for your shoes. 

“Did you sleep with your jacket on?” 

“I got cold,” you lied.

He snorted, easing himself back into the sheets and he watched you with careful eyes. Steve was just as pretty in the morning as he was in the dark. “Right. Do you always leave your hookups this quick?”

You turned, frowning at the obvious amusement in his voice. “I told you last night,” you reminded him. “I haven’t done this before.” The reminder of your lack of experience made your skin itch, heat flushing over your chest. 

The sex had been okay. Nice. It was good. Nothing mind blowing, but who was expecting that from a stranger they just met? And yeah, maybe you had to fake it, ‘cause you’d been on the edge of coming so many times that eventually it refused to return. Steve had spilled into a condom, tied it off and chucked in the trash and fallen asleep before you’d come back from peeing. 

Maybe you just weren’t cut out for one night stands. Maybe that was the problem. 

Steve laughed again and it wasn’t unkind, but it still set your teeth on edge. You shoved your foot into your boot and straightened up, staring at him. “What?” He laughed again, “c’mon, you’re fully dressed and tryin’ to sneak out my apartment before it’s even time to have breakfast. You have your escape plan down pat, I respect that.”

Again, you bristled. “Um, no, I clearly don’t,” you huffed out a laugh but there wasn’t any humour in it. You gestured to the front door down the hall, still closed and locked. “I told you. This is my first time doing— this.” You saved vaguely at him and the bed. 

Steve sighed and got out of bed, a small smile playing on his lips that were still a little swollen and red from where you’d bit and kissed them the night before. He pulled on a shirt, shrugged and padded barefoot to the hallway. 

“Listen, s’nothin’ to be ashamed of,” he drawled, leading you to the front door where he punched in the code to switch off the alarm. “Girls get horny too, everyone has needs. I, for one, have absolutely no problem with a girl that knows what she wants and if that’s all you’re after then—”

“Oh my god,” you scoffed at him, lips parted, eyes wide. Suddenly escaping the apartment wasn’t as high on your list of concerns as before. “You’re totally slut shaming me!”

Steve looked at you, bewildered, face scrunched up. “What? No I’m not!”

“You are!”

“No, I’m not!” He shot back. His hand left the chain on the door, your departure forgotten about. “I’m jus’ sayin’, that it’s totally okay for you to, you know, wanna get your rocks off.”

You spluttered, incredulous. “Okay, one: rocks off? What is this, 1986? And two, I know it’s okay for me to wanna have sex with a complete stranger! I don’t need a man to confirm that for me.”

The boy stared, lips parted and a look of genuine confusion overtaking his pretty features. He grimaced and then waved a hand at you, an unfortunately dismissive gesture that had your back up even further. You set your shoulders. 

“No, no, look,” he explained. “You’re taking this the totally wrong way.”

“Oh I am?” You grinned, sharklike, edging closer for a fight. He still smelled like last night's cologne, like your perfume and sex. “Want to tell me how I should be taking it? Wanna explain it to me?”

Steve narrowed his eyes, lips lifting, a sardonic kind of smile that made your heart race too fast. “That feels like a trap.”

“Wow, ten points for the smart guy,” you snarked. “If only you were as patient as you were clever.” You jostled around him, a hand on the door. 

“What does that mean?” Steve snapped, the door clicking shut as he leaned his weight onto it, too close to you, staring down as you gazed up, chin lifted, still defiant. “Patient about what?”

You laughed, humourless and mean, ‘cause you just wanted to go home. You raised your brows, still giving the handle a jiggle despite the way Steve blocked your exit, frowning. “Yeah, okay jackhammer,” you grinned, “maybe give a girl some time to try and come before you seal the deal and pass out.”

Steve gaped at you, offended and full of shock, and you felt a little bit guilty. Sure, you hadn’t come, but only ‘cause of a timing issue, not a skill issue. But still— 

“Yeah? You wanna play it like that?” Steve shot back, pushing off of the door so he could stomp into the kitchen. He rattled in his cupboards, pulling out a coffee mug that he slammed on the worktop. “What about you? Huh? Lights off, shedding all your clothes like a damn snake person and like, what’s with the whole—” he made a lewd motion with his fingers, mimicking rubbing at the air. “Way to make a guy feel benched, sweetheart. Got me fumblin’ around in the dark like a damn blind pig.”

You scoffed, eyes narrowing to slits, the door forgotten - again. 

“Yeah, well, points for enthusiasm pig boy, maybe next time you’ll find some truffles.”

“Oh, fuck you, man.”

“Fuck you too!” You said it cheerily, despite the anger that made your throat and cheeks feel too hot, the sneer that was on your lips. “It was so nice to meet you Harrington98!” And with that, you left, door slamming shut so hard your hand vibrated, and something on Steve’s kitchen wall fell to the floor. 

You heard him swear and you smiled, the most satisfied you’d felt. 

The stairwell was freezing as you stomped down it, more frigid than the night before. All you could think about was your own bed, that didn’t smell like a pretty boy with a bad attitude, where your sheets were softer and you could watch reruns of Schitt’s Creek until you forgot Steve Harrington’s name. You were never doing this again. In fact, you were deleting the damn app. 

You scowled, rooting around your handbag for your phone, huffing when your screen stayed back, no matter how many times you tapped angrily at it. You could only imagine the texts and missed calls that would be waiting on it for you, the shrieks that would greet you when you finally got home. You hoped Nancy had made waffles. Or pancakes - Nancy made good pancakes. 

And as you were trapped in a daydream about strawberries mixed in sugar, maple syrup and cream, you shoved your shoulder mindlessly against the front door of the apartment block, wincing when it didn’t give under your weight. You frowned, trying again, both hands shoving at the wood. It budged, just a little, leaving enough of a gap for you to see the whiteout that was on the other side of it. 

You made a sound of indignation, shock making your mouth fall open and you peered out through the gap. 

No. No, no, no, no. 

Snow crept up the door like an icy landslide, covering almost half of it, the rest of the parking lot covered in what you deemed to be a couple of feet of snow. Cars were half hidden and the sky was white, blending into the ground, a blank landscape that was just barely broken up by the still falling snow. The flakes were thick and heavy, dropping down over the town with an urgency rhat told you this wasn’t letting up anytime soon. 

Fuck. 

“—dude, I’m telling you, it was like falling asleep next to a princess and waking up to a raging dragon. She was like stupid hot and all, but then she started yelling at me? And I don’t know what I’d apparently done but… Jonathan, I’m gonna have to call you back.”

Steve stood at the bottom of the stairs, looking handsome and awfully guilty as he pulled his phone from his ear and ended the call he was on. He cleared his throat and tried to avoid the narrow eyed stare you were sending him, clutching the basket of dirty clothes he was seemingly talking to the laundry room. 

“You’re still here,” he noted and his voice was overly casual. “Interesting.”

“I can’t leave,” you replied, sounding as frosty as the weather outside. “Snowstorm. Can’t get the door open.”

“What?” Steve scoffed and shoved the basket into your hands. You tutted, moving out of his way when he jostled into your space. “You’re just not doing it right.”

You made a face, disgruntled and tried not to stare at the way the boy’s arms flexed with muscle when he strained at the door. You huffed out a laugh, smug, when it still didn’t move. 

“What was that?” You smirked, more haughty that you would like to admit. “You’re not doing it right, Steve.”

The boy smiled sarcastically, narrowed eyes and annoyance on his features. He took his basket from you and tutted. “Well. Good luck.” And then he walked away. 

“You’re kidding me?!” You were almost yelling, the sound making the boy stop and turn. “You’re not just gonna leave me here, it’s like the North Pole out there, I could be here for days.”

“That seems dramatic.” Steve walked back to you, too close, his laundry basket pressed between you. He made a show of thinking it over, lips twisted, humming. “So, what? You wanna come back to mine, is that it?”

You glared at him. “Unless you want me to sit in the freezing cold hall, I don’t have any other choice.”

“You called me pig boy,” he reminded you. He was smiling. He was enjoying this. “Among other names. You’re mean, sweetheart. Why should I help you?”

You resisted the urge to smack at his shoulder, bringing your hands to your lips in a prayer position as you took a deep breath and counted to three. Smiling - albeit tightly - you took your time to also remind him: “you were literally inside of me six hours ago.”

So you found yourself back in Steve’s apartment, grudgingly, and with nowhere else to go. You rolled your eyes when he brushed past you as you stood by the door, aimless and wishing you could be anywhere else. You showed him your phone with it’s blank screen. 

“You got a charger?”

Steve pointed to a cable that was plugged in by the couch and he ignored you as you moved through the living room. He clicked on the TV, groaning when he landed on the news and saw live footage of the city, the streets covered in marshmallow soft looking snow, untouched, ‘cause nobody could get out of their damn home. The train lines were empty, the streets deserted, and the local weatherman Richard Raines was standing in a blizzard, yelling at the camera. 

“Well, folks, I hope you’ve got enough food and someone to keep you warm at night, because this snowstorm isn’t done yet!”

Steve groaned at the same time you did. 

“We’ve got more arctic winds pushing in from the east and we’re expecting more snow over the coming days. Stay home, stay safe and keep warm! We’ll do our best to update you as more news comes in from across the State. I’m Richard Raines, live from Indi—”

The TV screen blinked and blacked out as Steve chucked the remote on the couch, letting himself slump down after it. Still, you stood, coat and shoes still on, bag still over your shoulder like you had somewhere to be. 

“Make yourself at home, I guess,” Steve muttered, waving a hand at the armchair across from him. “Fuck knows when you’ll get to go your own.”

Hell. You were in hell. 

“Okay. Right. I guess… shit.” You fell down onto the armchair, head in your hands and bag clattering to the floor by your feet. Your phone was still dead, charging slowly. “I need to tell my friend where I am. She’ll be worried.” You chewed at your lip and imagined Robin, pacing the apartment, calling your cell and yelling at the voicemail.

“About the possibility of you being murdered? Or will she be devastated to know her bestie had bad sex?”

You scowled at the boy’s surly tone, hating that he still looked good as he said it. Sprawled out on his sofa, legs spread, cotton sweats low, his T-shirt covering broad shoulders and strong arms. His hair was still a riot, deliciously so and now that he’d opened his blinds, you could see the faint purple mark you must’ve sucked onto his neck. You flushed. 

“I didn’t say it was bad,” you grumbled. “Just— shut up. If we’re going to be trapped in here, can we at least agree to pretend we didn’t sleep together? For sanity’s sake?”

Steve sighed, his expression unreadable, and he stood. Chucking his phone into your lap, you watched his face soften, if only just. “Sure we can, sweetheart. Call your friend, tell her you're safe.” And then he walked into the kitchen. 

The next few hours went by in relative silence, the buzz of the TV, the whirr of Steve’s coffee machine, the two of you sitting on either end of his sofa. You’d given in and taken off your shoes and jacket after calling Robin, the girl only quietening down after she yelled about how she’d planned your funeral, her words cutting off into a hush when she realised you were still at your hook-ups house. 

“Is he hot? Was the sex mind blowing? Oh my god, this is like, insane! Are you gonna have sex all day?”

You cut off her rambling with a noise of desperation, wary of Steve nearby. You promised you’d text her when your phone came to life, that you’d fill her in on the details when you got yourself home. 

By noon, Steve asked if you were hungry, his voice a little hoarse from pointedly not speaking to you and you nodded, feeling awkward when he went to the kitchen and started clattering around. So you sheepishly followed, taking up residence on a stool at the breakfast bar. He opened his fridge and you both cringed at the lack of contents inside. 

“D’you like ramen?” He asked instead, closing the door and heading for the cupboards instead. Steve pulled out two packets of instant noodles and shook them enticingly. 

“I do,” you answered, sounding way too polite and proper, but you were starting to feel increasingly guilty about your anxiety led argument that morning. “Thank you,” you added. 

He smiled and it seemed less forced than before. “S’not like I’m gonna let you starve.”

“I wouldn’t have blamed you if you did,” you replied quietly, and you met his gaze a little reluctantly. “I was kind of a bitch.”

Steve snorted but it wasn’t as mean as his laughter earlier. He dumped the noodles in a pot and winced when the hot water bubbles angrily at him. “Kind of?”

“I was a bitch,” you confirmed, nodding with pursed lips. “I shouldn’t have—”

“Look, I wasn’t exactly nice either,” Steve waved off whatever words you were going to say next. “I’m grumpy as fuck in the morning. And stupid, like, most of the time. I didn’t mean to imply that you were—” 

He gestured vaguely, the words dying on his lips, ‘cause he was more awake now to know not to say it again. 

“Slutty?” You said for him and Steve groaned before he realised you were grinning. 

“No! No, yeah, well, fuck,” he laughed, self depreciating and low. “You’re not a slut. But if you are, good for you! You know? And I guess that would make me a slut too… so, shit, cheers to that.” He slid your bowl of noodles, hot and spicy smelling and he grinned when you clicked the offered chopsticks against his own. 

“Cheers to that,” you agreed and it felt a little like a truce. 

————

Five hours later the snow was still falling and the sky had turned back into that dark pink-red that could only mean more to come. Steve had played through too many levels of Crash Bandicoot to count, laughing and throwing half hearted tips at you, because you were clearly a lost cause when it came to video games. 

Switching from his Xbox back to the TV, you were both unsurprised to find Richard Raines back in front of Indianapolis City Hall, red nosed and standing in a flurry of white. 

“Bunker down folks! This storm is here for the night! With another sixteen inches expected by eleven o’clock, we can all—”

The TV blanked out, Richard Raines cut off once again mid speech and Steve let his head fall back onto the couch cushions. There wasn’t much room between you both now, not nearly as much as there had been early in the afternoon and as you looked over at him, you were reminded of why you hooked up with him in the first place. 

God, he was stupidly pretty. 

He huffed out a tired sigh and pushed the gaming controller to the side, blinking before turning to look over at you, cheek pressed to the couch cushions. Steve was all floppy hair and honeyed eyes, five o’clock shadow and sharp cheekbones, a sharper jaw. 

You regretted not kissing him more when you had the chance. 

“Hey,” he murmured. “Wanna get high?”

....

[willowser]

oh my god, fine, i didn't go to bed because 🥺 what about nerd kirishima 🥺

like it's sero's fault that you even meet him, because he keeps flinging shit at you across your shared desk, and you get into this stupid war with office supplies that turns VIOLENT, until one of you — him, for sure — gets their foot caught in the web of wires under the table and yanks them all out, causing both your computer screens to go dark.

"you idiot, you're gonna get us fired!"

and he's like, "chill, chill, chill, i can fix this."

and his idea of "fixing it" is calling the company's support desk and asking for his buddy kirishima to come down to your department because he's got something cool to show him. and the "something cool" is the absolute disaster of dusty, unplugged cables that are hanging loose on the floor.

the first thing you notice about him — because how couldn't you — is how big he is ????? this little dweeb from support, who is actually not little at all. six foot something, with a white button-up that's clearly too tight on him, his red hair pulled back into a bun, and some STUPID. LITTLE. GLASSES. WAAAAAHHH.

and he gets on his knees — slacks straining over his thighs — to look under your desk to fix this mess, and he keeps having to readjust his STUPID. GLASSES. and you're just sitting perched on the edge 😌 watching him 😌

you ask him, "want me to hold that for you??" and he SMACKS his head into the underside of your desk, hissing out a little "ow, shit!" before rearing back to look up at you, a lil wide-eyed, pink-cheeked !!!

very quickly, his eyes cut to where your legs are crossed in your skirt, right by his head, before he's asking, "sorry, what?"

and he's just so stinking AKFHFUSLALHDLALA that you nod to his shirt pocket where he's got his phone, the flashlight on, struggling to see under the desk. "i said, do you want me to hold that for you?"

"oh, no, no!" kirishima is quick to look away, down to his wide, now-dusty hands. "that's—no, i don't want you to have to do that! thanks, though!"

"you should," sero pipes up, sitting in the chair at his desk, useless. and he's probably got, like, twizzlers or something from the vending machine, chewing on them as he grins at kirishima. "should get down on your knees and—"

"dude!" kirishima grits, neck bobbing as he swallows. and now even his ears are pink, so you can't help but to ask—

"you don't want me to help you?"

and he's like, stressed !!! like, "oh, no, no, that's not what i meant! if you wanna get down here, then i'd be glad—or, y'know, if you—"

but the more he keeps talking, the more nervous you can see him getting, and the more your smile stretches until he's just ducking back under the desk before you can tell that he's starting to sweat akfjeisjdjalndhak

[steddielations]

“Evening, sir.”

It’s the Harrington boy. Again.

“I told you, son, it’s Wayne,” he manages a smile, harder to do these days, like chipping it out of cement and dusting it off. But he gets it done.

Steve doesn’t have the Henderson boy with him today, that’s a first.

“Where’s the curly one?” He steps aside, letting Steve into the trailer door, more rickety than before. No money left to fix it after repairing the bulk of the earthquake damage.

“Dustin? He doesn’t wanna watch the game, and trust me, you don’t wanna listen to that kid complaining the whole time,” Steve walks by, sorta chuckling to himself, “I always miss the replay ‘cause he makes me change the channel to those D&D cartoons during the commercials, just like—”

He stops in front of the couch, looking over his shoulder at Wayne like he’s afraid he messed up somehow. Wayne noticed that look often from him, less and less, but still often. All that confidence he carries can drop on a dime, sorta reminded him of—

“Like Ed?”

“Yeah. Sorry.”

“S’alright. I don’t mind talking about him if you want,” Wayne manages another concrete smile, but he means it. Steve always waits for him to bring up Eddie first, like he doesn’t want to remind him if it ain’t on his mind, but Wayne likes to be reminded. It’s nice to feel like he’s not the only one missing him. “But the game was yesterday and y’know the cable’s out.”

“Yep, got it covered. I uh, I taped it,” Steve fishes a VHS tape from his back pocket. Fancy. Wayne would worry about him using that for his sake, but he has a feeling Steve’s folks aren’t around enough to notice.

“The Colts win?”

Steve flips the tape around, “Haven’t watched it, so we can bet on it if you’re feeling lucky.”

It doesn’t feel so dry and heavy when Wayne laughs a bit then, waving Steve to go ahead and start up the TV. He already caught the game on the radio, but he bets on the Colts anyway. Loser’s supposed to do the dishes after they scrounge together some soup, but Steve does them anyway.

Wayne would make a stink about it but he can tell Steve just wants to help, to feel like he���s helping. Same thing when the Henderson boy comes around to see him, wanting to hear all the stories, even the scary ones. So Wayne doesn’t mind letting Eddie’s friends feel like they’re helping him.

His nephew didn’t have many friends. Real, cover-your-six kinda friends. The boys he played his music with, they’ve come by a couple times, Wayne always liked Jeff despite the racket. That older fella that’s doing time now, Wayne wasn’t too fond of. And some of Eddie’s dungeon buddies he talked about were the only few.

Now, casual acquaintances? Anybody who didn’t have anywhere else to sit when he had an empty spot at his table? Sure, Eddie had those in spades.

His boy was good at that, putting on a good old show for his crowd, on a stage to keep his distance. That damn Al did him in good, never could trust easily, having his old man pop up and drag him into his mess before he took off again. And Eddie’s poor momma would’ve done right by him, if she hadn’t gotten sick so young.

Took Wayne a long time to get Eddie to depend on him, to trust this was his place to stay and he didn’t have to earn it, Wayne wasn’t just filling his head to scheme something out of him.

Love ain’t a transaction that way. He wasn’t ever any good at saying it, but he tried to show Eddie the best he could.

His boy though, always carried a debt with him. Like he owed Wayne something for taking him in, had to graduate quick and make it outta here, do something with the better life he gave him. Al dug him in so deep, Eddie stayed roped into whatever his latest scheme was (the cars, the dealing, the gambling, thank God Eddie wasn’t there when the goddamn robbery went wrong, 25 to life) like maybe it’d be enough to keep him from running off again.

The odds have never been in favor of people like them, poor folk in a town that’s stuck in its ways, where everybody’s just like their old man, but Al made his choices and Wayne made his. Rest their mother’s soul, she did her best. Part of Wayne was relieved when Al got locked up, at least Wayne had a better chance of keeping Eddie from going down the same path, try to raise him right.

Being a Munson wasn’t a crime. He didn’t owe a darn thing to anybody. Eddie could graduate at his own pace, play whatever games and music he wanted, dress however, that didn’t mean he was up to no good. And a lot of boys get into dealing for a little easy extra money around here, he was gonna grow out of that just like Wayne did.

It worked until all this mess.

That’s why Eddie ran off after what happened to the poor Cunningham girl. He gets spooked when something goes wrong, like it’ll be the last straw he can’t make up for so he runs off. Like the first time he didn’t make senior year, went and hid out with that Rick fella that Wayne never did like, got Eddie deep into that business he tried to keep a secret.

‘Course Wayne knew. He knows exactly what and where his boy hides. If those damn cops weren’t tailing him, he would’ve gone straight to get him.

That was before he knew it would turn into all of this. Now he wishes he would’ve done it anyway. Gone right to Eddie, told him it wasn’t his fault that everything got all turned upside down. Told him he knew he was innocent right from the get-go, and got him away from this rotten old town.

But he didn’t.

He didn’t go get his boy.

So now he’s just trying to be there for Eddie’s boys, since he can’t.

“You have a night shift tonight right? Gonna put on a pot of coffee,” Steve says once he’s finished up the dishes.

Wayne hums. There’s usually more noise going on during these visits. Steve’s still alright at carrying on, even without the Henderson boy’s chatter to fill any gaps.

It was strange, the first time the two of them showed up. Wayne knew Eddie was close with Dustin, but he didn’t have a clue that he was chumming it up with the Harrington boy. Just don’t seem like the same type of company. He might not believe it if it weren’t so obvious that Steve cared about his boy. He suspected before, but now with Steve showing up here alone, he knows.

Steve misses Eddie in a different sorta way than Dustin.

“No cream or sugar, right?” Steve looks humored by that as he passes the mug of black coffee to him, “How are you related to Eddie again?”

Wayne’s mouth turns upward, remembering his nephew’s god awful sweet tooth. He picked up a box of Honeycombs the other day in the store out of habit. “Just happened to be standin’ there when they beamed him down.”

That gets a good chuckle out of Steve. Nothing wistful weighing it down and Wayne’s glad, watching Steve pour himself a cup of coffee too.

Then bitter-sweetness swirls in his chest, seeing the mug that Steve chose for himself. Must’ve dug it out from one of the boxes Wayne hadn’t hung back on the walls yet. The earthquake did a number on his collection. That Garfield one was the only one he’d gotten around to gluing back together.

“What is it?” Steve asks, cup paused at his mouth.

“Ah nothin’ just,” Wayne waves it off, “That’s the mug Ed always used.”

“Oh, I can use a diff—”

“Nah, nah go ‘head. It’s fine.”

Unconvinced, Steve takes a wary sip.

Mostly these days, Wayne just feels like a watch without a ticker, a chest with nothing beating inside it. He can’t name the feeling he has at seeing Eddie’s old mug being used by someone else, but at least it’s something.

“Y’know, he used to put everything in that sucker. Soda pop, soup, cereal, you name it,” Wayne shakes his head, mouth twitching into a smile, “I’d have to wrestle it away from him just to give it a good washing. It’s well loved, alright. Leaks now.”

As if on cue, Steve has to grab a napkin to sit underneath it.

Wayne lets out an amused hum, “He uh— Didn’t have much stability ‘fore he came to live with me, so he’d get real attached to things like that.”

Carried around a stuffed dragon they picked up at a garage sale ‘til Wayne couldn’t sew the wings back on anymore. Never wanted to throw anything away. Got real anxious about Wayne going to work sometimes, even when he was too old for a sitter. Held onto him saying “Stay home just today, Dad, please.” Which, he didn’t mind Eddie calling him that. It always softened him up, made him give in. Wishes now that he’d told Eddie upfront. Maybe he never would’ve stopped.

“Thought for sure he’d marry that damn guitar one day.”

Steve nearly sputters his coffee, laughing at that, “Yeah, those two are made for each other.”

It’s nice, seeing the way that story lit Steve up. Sorta like his boy can still make someone happy. Hurts like hell that he ain’t here to do it himself, but Wayne was always good at telling stories. That’s where Eddie learned it from.

“I’m uh,” Steve deflates after a minute, looking down at the mug, “God, I’m just really sorry, Wayne.”

“Yeah. I’m sorry too, Steve,” he says, because, well.

Wayne gets the feeling that his boy was Steve’s boy too.

Read the rest on Ao3

[in1-nutshell]

How would the tfp crew treat human reader that broke a bone (perhaps they accidentally dropped reader when doing something?)

Ooooohhhh! More broken bones! Since you did not specify which characters you wanted I will be picking them at random.

Hope you enjoy!

Smokescreen, Arcee, and Bulkhead react to Human Buddy getting a broken bone on accident

SFW, platonic, mention of injury, slight angst for some, Human reader

TFP

Smokescreen

Buddy had broken their left arm because Smokescreen accidentally tossed them too hard out of his vehicle mode.

They had been ambushed by some drones and Smokescreen had transformed a bit too quickly to start shooting some Cons down.

To be fair, Smokescreen still didn't understand how fragile humans were compared to a Cybertronian. He thought that they were a bit tougher than what Optimus and Ratchet let on.

He was proven wrong when he saw Buddy cradling their arm. It was bent in a way that he was sure they weren't supposed to go.

"Smokescreen I need you to comm Ratchet and tell him to get June "--Buddy

"Your arm... Oh Primus your arm!"--Smokescreen

"Smokes listen it was an accident. It was an accident."--Buddy

"Yeah... Yeah... I'll get Ratchet..."--Smokescreen

Smokescreen isn't used to see much organic injuries so he is a bit unnerved. Surprisingly, he keep up a calmish face getting Buddy to June. But he is freaking out on the inside.

He refuses to carry any human for a while. It takes some convincing to get Smokescreen comfortable again.

While Buddy is healing, Smokescreen gives them a bit of space while also hovering over them. A weird combination that thankfully doesn't last long after Buddy is healed up.

If Buddy gets a cast Smokescreen would be one of the first to get it signed. He gets some stickers from Jack and puts them on the cast.

Arcee

Buddy broke their leg after an altercation with Arachnid.

Arcee was taking Buddy on patrol today since Jack was home sick with a cold. Arachnid had ambushed them both. Buddy was grabbed by Arachnid before Arcee could tell what was going on. The Spider bot squeezed the human a bit until and audible crack was heard. The Con tossed Buddy on to the ground as a furious Arcee came after her.

Lucky for Arachnid, Arcee didn't finish the job and was quick to get back to Buddy.

"Buddy! Buddy what's wrong? Where does it hurt?"--Arcee

"I think my leg's broken."--Buddy

"All right don't worry, I'm getting us back to the base now. Can you stay awake for me?"--Arcee

"Sure... Sure thing."--Buddy

Arcee winces internally as she picks up Buddy. She knows Buddy is trying to put a brave face on for her so she doesn't worry too much. But she can see that this hurts Buddy a lot more than what either expected.

Arcee is out for blood after Buddy is given the all clear by Ratchet and June.

When she isn't preparing for Arachnid, Arcee does her best to help Buddy move around the base. Since she is one of the smaller bots on the team, it's a bit easier to handle Buddy while also protecting them.

If Buddy gets a cast they will make sure Arcee is the first to see and to sign it. Arcee manages to paint some blue and pink on the cast.

Bulkhead

Buddy had tripped over some cables that led them to fall down the stairs and land right on their ankle.

Bulkhead was the only bot on base and was freaking out when he saw Buddy on the floor clutching their foot with tears in their eyes.

"Buddy,Buddy what happened?! Are you hurt?! Do I need to go get Ratchet?!"--Bulkhead

"If you can pass me my phone so I can call June that would be nice."--Buddy

"Okay, okay!"--Bulkhead

He knows for a fact humans are tougher than what they seem. His proof is Miko's entire existence. But he also knows how fragile they are compared to Bots.

After Buddy gets the all clear from June and Ratchet, Bulkhead becomes Buddy's second shadow for a bit. He feels like he nearly lost his friend that day and it was his fault.

Despite everyone telling him it is not his fault, he does feel a little bit guilty.

If Buddy gets a cast they make sure that Bulkhead is the first one to sign. He paints a bit of Buddy's cast green.

[sciderman]

SCI ILL GIVE YOU TWO NICKELS IF YOU TELL ME WHERE THE GOOD SPIDEYPOOL INTERACTIONS ARE IN THE COMICS. I want to read them but i have no idea where to begin!!

GOD! you know they're so rare. they're so rare.

my personal favourite always always is avenging spider-man #12 + #13. the only spideypool comic ever. it's probably the benchmark for how i write their dynamic.

other than that, the spideypool annual is a classic. but peter's like, unconscious through most of it. technically he's unconscious through most of avenging spider-man #12 too. i don't know why peter's usually unconscious in the spideypool books.

deadpool annual #2! the notorious spideypool annual.

wade you are so cute. sooooooooo cute.

this is one of the cutest wades ever. huge contributing factor to wade's general adorable fanboy persona you see so frequently in fanon.

they're so cute. so cute.

this is like the ultimate little fanservice book. if you didn't ship spideypool before, you'll read this book and it'll be all you think about. it's so simple, wholesome, adorable. and wade's just, so good.

god i miss stand-alone issues with simple plotlines that just have silly fun with their concept.

one underrated spideypool interaction i really like but a lot of people haven't read! identity wars (2011) - it's kind of an insane book. spider-man, deadpool and the hulk (weird trio) all wind up in an alternate universe where, get this. uncle ben never died and spider-man is evil.

but not like sexy evil. like evil evil. like collecting other spider-man and draining their powers evil.

and wade is also evil. he's like, dr doom evil.

spider-man and deadpool don't interact a whole lot, they kind of all have their own stories going on, but i just love the little interactions that they do have.

they're so cute. so cute.

other than that, uh. cable and deadpool #24? that's required reading - spider-man and deadpool's first canonical meeting.

other team-ups that exist but, you know, they're just okay. or they're very brief. deadpool (2008) #19-#21 amazing spider-man #611 (hate you, joe kelly) spider-man/deadpool (2016) (STILL hate you, joe kelly) avengers vs x-men: axis #7

deadpool (2013) #7

oh OH. there's also absolute carnage vs deadpool. god. what a weird book. i kind of hate wade's characterisation in it (he is really, really insufferable), but the jokes are funny sometimes.

i love when spider-man calls deadpool "buddy". inexplicably. i just think it's funny.

also we get peter in a cute little pink apron so. what more do you need really.

i love u pink apron peter. i love you.

[it-was-too-cold-always]

We're Not in CW Anymore - 1

The reader gets blasted into another universe - one where Sam and Dean Winchester are real people, real hunters, and really fucked up. To her surprise (or horror), Dean has been getting glimpses of her life in his dreams and is completely enamored with her. It's nothing like the cable-friendly CW show that she knows and loves.

Reader x Dean Winchester

Warnings: language, violence

Chapter 1: The Good News Gabriel Brings

One minute, you were reading your very spicy romance book on your couch. The next, you were sitting in some diner off the highway, book still in hand. You looked around, wondering if anyone noticed you appear out of thin air. Not a single person was looking towards you. Okay, this must be a dream, I dozed off while reading, you thought. If I'm right, I won't be able to read words. You opened up to a random part in the book, and sure enough, you could read every single smutty word on that page. Fuck. What just happened?

"More coffee, sweetie?" The waitress pulled you from your downward spiral. You accepted, though you'd rather be drinking something a little stronger. You took a sip, letting the warmth fill you up. You looked down - you were no longer wearing your oversized sleep shirt. Instead, you were wearing skinny jeans, brown boots, and a gray tank top with a blue flannel layered on top. Very autumn lumberjack, you thought. It was much more appropriate than your sleep shirt though, given the dreary weather outside. You pulled your phone out of your back pocket, surprised to find a signal. You were more surprised that you had your phone at all, and even more perplexed when you saw your purse sitting on the booth next to you. You peeked inside - thank god, your inhaler. You're gonna need that because the panic will surely set in soon. You scroll through your phone and find your messages are all gone. There's no logs of calls or contacts. Everything has been wiped. Great. You pull up the news to see if you can get your bearings a little. You weren't quite sure what else to do - after all, you've never teleported before.

You were too focused on your phone to notice a 1967 Chevy Impala pull up to the diner. Nor did you notice the two gigantic men walk through the front door as the bell jingled. But one of these men clocked you almost immediately. His face turned pale and he stopped in his tracks. "Holy shit," he breathed. The taller one looked at him like he was nuts, but before he could say anything else, the shorter (but still really tall) one found himself walking towards you. "Dude, what the hell?" His buddy was following him to your booth.

"Hey. Hi. Um, can I sit here?" Real smooth, dipshit, he thought to himself. You looked up at the man speaking to you, not really registering what he said. This man was a spitting image of Jensen Ackles. In fact, they could be twins. However the man standing in front of you had his flannel sleeves rolled up enough for you to see a tattoo sleeve and a myriad of scars peppering his skin. The man who appeared behind this man looked exactly like Jared Padalecki. "Am I being punked?" you asked. The two men look at each other and sit down in your booth, facing you. They look intrigued, waiting for you to keep talking.

"I wouldn't really say 'punked,' but I really had some fun with this one." A dude appeared out of nowhere, sitting next to you, looking like Richard Speight, Jr. Okay, what the actual fuck.

"Gabriel? What the fuck are you doing here?" the guy who looked like Jared asked. Okay, we got Sam, Dean, Gabriel...what's next? Cas? You look out the window to see the Impala and your stomach flips.

"Listen, I don't have a lot of time for you bozos, so pay attention and don't interrupt. Y/N, this is Sam and Dean. Sam and Dean, this is Y/N. Yes, like the show Supernatural, I know, whoop-de-do, let's get to the juicy parts, alright?" Gabriel looks almost irritated with his little speech.

"What the hell is going on?" Sam's patience was wearing thin already.

"What did I say about interrupting? You're a bad listener. As I was saying, Y/N comes from another universe. Dean, I'm sure you're quite familiar. Y/N, you get the gist of it, but it's not exactly like the CW show. This is more real-life, nitty gritty, not at all rated PG-13. There's a lot of shit from the show that didn't happen in this universe. The writing really went to shit after Kripke left, but that's just my opinion. I digress. Y/N and Dean are soulmates, don't ask me how they ended up in different universes, I'm just here to fix it. So boom, problem solved, have fun figuring all this shit out." Gabriel acted bored but seemed to be amused by this situation.

Your head was spinning. Supernatural. Real life. Alternate universe. Soulmates? You stared down your coffee cup as you tried to wrap your head around the situation. It was hard when the entire time, you could feel Dean staring at you. He hasn't taken his eyes off you since he walked into the diner. You thought they were attractive on the show, but in real like they're so gorgeous, it's intimidating.

"Why would you do Dean a favor like that? What do you get out of it?" Sam asked. "Nothing from you ever comes out of the kindness of your heart."

"Listen bud, I just know what's gotta happen and I do it. Any other questions?"

"Hold on! You said parts of the TV show didn't happen in this universe. Which parts?" You had to know - Rowena, Crowley, Chuck, Leviathan - was all of this real now?

"Just the dumb parts. All of season 7 basically. That weird attachment Dean had with the Darkness even though she was a kid for a while, creepy if you ask me. The whole Darkness thing never happened, don't know if it will in the future though. The Men of Letters are alive and thriving, Sam and Dean actually work for them as hunters. I don't know kid I'm sure you'll figure it all out." His answer placated you for now. It was still too much for your brain to process. You're sure you'll have lots of questions come up as the day progresses. You turn to thank him, but he's already gone. That leaves you alone in a booth with Sam and Dean Winchester.

Chapter 2

[skeletonpunching]

Buddy Daddies short story

[Translator’s note: This is a short story posted on the Buddy Daddies website, which you could unlock by collecting stickers. It’s set pre-canon, and contains no spoilers.]

Suwa Rei, clad in a black suit, inquired quizzically from the passenger seat, "So it's here today?"

Kurusu Kazuki, in the driver's seat, turned off the car engine as he replied.

"This isn't a job."

"?"

A few months had passed since this homeless freeloader had wound up with Rei. They had also formed quite a dynamic work duo, but Rei still couldn't follow Kazuki's train of thought.

"Then what?"

"There's one thing — just one thing in this world — that I absolutely can't stand. Threadbare T-shirts!" 

"Huh?"

"Let's go!"

Kazuki flung the door open and sprang out into the carpark. Right before him, resplendent in the flood of sunlight, stood an enormous shopping mall.

Rei, still in the car, lifted a hand.

"Knock yourself out."

"You're coming too!"

"Ehhh..."

"Who do you think we're buying clothes for? Right now, you don't even have 'clothes to go clothes shopping in', do you? That's why I ended up having to drag you here in your work getup!"

"I'll buy them online."

"Hey. Do you even know your own underwear size?"

"..."

"Got you there, didn't I. Now, come on!"

"...ugh."

Rei begrudgingly hauled himself out of the passenger seat. His hair, pulled back in a ponytail, instantly wilted under the early summer sunbeams.

***

General stores, flower shops, sporting goods stores, cafes, opticians, jewellery shops — all sorts of specialty stores stood proudly in long ranks. The two of them made their way along the gently curving paths. The myriad shopfronts were lined with every imaginable item; with a place like this on hand, you would never want for anything. A pair of grown men might stick out like a sore thumb in a mall like this, but the place was mostly empty on this weekday afternoon, and so there were no curious stares to pursue them. Kazuki made for a menswear store, with his reluctant roommate in tow.

"Aaaaaahhhh!"

A shriek suddenly echoed through the cavernous mall, and they reflexively jerked to a stop. Kazuki whirled towards the source of the voice.

"Noooooo! I want thiiiiiiis!!"

A toddler was plopped down on the ground, clutching a toy tightly. The toddler's mother scowled.

"Don't you have the same one at home?"

"It's nooooot! This — it's not the saaaaame!!"

"Give it back! Put it down!"

It was just a trivial parent-child interaction, but it made Kazuki's breath catch in his throat. A life completely alien to an assassin. A scene that could never be bestowed on him. An everyday existence that lay just out of reach. Those illusions he had long since given up on were now flitting across his mind —

But Kazuki began to walk again, setting one foot stiffly before the other.

Just because he'd given up on a normal life didn't mean he could let himself sink into a sloppy mess.

A worn-out, threadbare T-shirt shouldn't just be treated as the norm. If no one was going to care for you, you should at least look after yourself.

"Huh?"

Just then, it abruptly dawned on Kazuki.

Rei had escaped. 

***

Given his profession, he was a dab hand at lockpicking. He was confident it would take him less than thirty minutes to crack all the locks in the store.

In Rei's imaginary shopping mall, a scene took shape, painted by the sound of their cries.

Dogs released from their cages, scampering in packs through the deserted sprawl of the mall. Cats smoothly scaling the clothing racks and curling up on top for an afternoon nap. Rabbits freely gnawing on lighting cables. Tortoises taking a leisurely swim in the plaza fountain. Parrots gliding through the air, adorning the halls with their vivid plumage —

"What are you up to?"

"...nothing."

Rei's hazy fantasies were dispelled by his partner's call.

"Need something from the pet shop?"

"..."

"We're not getting one."

"...I know."

"Yeah, you sure don't look like you know. Listen, in our line of work, there's no way we can be responsible for anyone else's life. Anyway—"

Rei dimly heard Kazuki launch into his lecture. He was used to being ordered around by other people; it was a natural part of his daily life, and so he thought nothing of this sort of incessant chiding. But now Rei found himself subconsciously listening to Kazuki's speech. It even felt... not too bad.

...that's... weird, for me.

Rei muttered under his breath, and the cat before him cocked its head, as if to match.

***

Whoosh! The rail rang out as the fitting room curtain slid open.

"See? That's better, isn't it?"

"Is it?"

Rei's T-shirt was printed with a drawing of a cat in a bowl. It was utterly unbecoming for an assassin. Rei's face, surrounded by his loose hair, also looked somewhat awkward.

"Are you... embarrassed?"

"Not really."

"So, should we put it back?"

"I'm buying it."

Whoosh! The rail rang out as the fitting room curtain slid shut.

Just what kind of poses did that guy strike, when he looked into the mirror? Kazuki stifled a smile, and leaning back against the wall, he called out.

"A real cat's out of the question. So make do with that for now."

"Yeah. This suits me."

Rei's reply, from the other side of the curtain, sounded not entirely displeased.

[lovelytsunoda]

ghost brigade // pato o’ward

summary: a walk with rocky and norbi turns into an hour spent looking at halloween decorations (and getting the crap scared out of them with animatronic spiders)

pairing: pato o'ward x female reader

warnings: 90% fluff, 10% plot. alludes to the fact that our secy couple spent the night before enjoying each other's company without any clothes on, a few jumpscares, lewis the target pumpkin, shitty ending, dorks in love.

her light snores carried as y/n burrowed further under the blankets, a chill rolling in from the open window. pato's side of the bed was warm, but his body no longer rested next to hers. he looked over fondly from the dresser, pulling a hoodie over his head and mussing his hair slightly.

he could hear claws scraping against hardwood outside the room as rocky came bounding towards the closed bedroom door. the german shepherd barked, and pato quickly opened the door, kneeling down to try and soothe the canine.

"rocky, clam down, boy. y/n is still sleeping." pato whispered, scratching rocky behind the ears. "let me go wake her up gently, okay?"

pato stepped towards the queen sized bed, wincing when he stepped on the clasp of her bra, the article still strewn across the floor from what they had done the night before. the mexican blanket was pulled over her shoulders, only the top of her head peeking out as she slept.

rocky barked again, lumbering over to the bed and resting a paw on her shrouded form.

"pato." she whined, still half asleep, and likely unaware of what she was saying. "can you take rocky outside? i just want ten more minutes."

pato chuckled, moving to sit on the bed next to her.. he combed her hair out of her face, gently kissing the side of her head. "hermosa." he hummed. "pretty girl, love of my life. good morning, sweetheart."

the words were an echo of those exchanged the night prior, foreheads pressed together and patricio buried deep inside of her: "you're doing so good for me, pretty girl. just breathe for me, corazon."

she scrunched her face up, rolling onto her back. "ten more minutes." she whined, before rocky jumped onto the bed, rough tongue licking at her face. "okay, fine! i'm up!"

pato chuckled, kissing her forehead. “good morning, corazon. how did you sleep.”

“like a stone. you must have really tired me out last night.” she winked, pulling her camisole up to cover the hickeys dotting the tops of her breasts.

next to the bed, rocky barked, placing a paw on top of her hand.

“okay, buddy. we get it. let me get dressed, and then we’ll take you outside, okay?”

rocky nodded his head, but the only word he had understood was outside. the german shepherd pranced out of the room, no doubt going to wake norbi, who was probably still asleep in his bed.

“go take the dogs outside, I’ll be out in a minute once i get dressed.” she hummed, leaning in to kiss her boyfriend. “i love you.”

“te amo.” pato grinned, kissing her forehead. “pit stop at starbucks for coffee and croissants?”

“always.”

————

half an hour and one starbucks trip later, they were on the move, sun rising over the horizon as they warmed their hands with coffee cups. the couple were dressed in almost identical cable knit sweaters, her head resting on his shoulder as they paused to let norbi sniff the pile of leaves next to a fire hydrant.

“hey, y/n, look at that haunted house.” patricio pointed down a side street. “wanna go look at the decorations?”

“lead the way, casanova.” she giggled

norbi went down the new street with vigour, sniffing everything in sight, whereas rocky was more apprehensive as he took in the plastic decorations around him.

“pato, look! it’s lewis!” she laughed, reaching for the skeletal pumpkin animatronic.

“i am not a jack-o-lantern. i am lewis!” y/n and pato chorused in time with the animatronic, bursting out into gleeful giggles.

norbi nudged her leg, and y/n cooed as she lifted the corgi into her arms. “oh, poor norbi. are you scared, baby?”

norbi whined, rubbing his nose into her sweater. she chuckled, kissing the dog behind the ears.

“lewis can’t hurt you, buddy.” pato laughed, rubbing norbis head. “do you want me to take your cup?”

she nodded, passing over the remainder of her hot chocolate. “what’s left is mostly whipped cream, i think.”

“you can’t keep carrying norbi. you spoil him too much.”

y/n shook him off, continuing down the sidewalk. “hell jump out of my arms when he’s ready. he doesn’t like the animatronics.”

sure enough, when the couple were four houses down and lewis the pumpkin was out of sight (with a promise from patricio to buy one for the house they shared), norbi jumped out of her arms and back to the sidewalk, rushing to catch up with rocky.

she took her drink back from pato, gently kissing him on the cheek before pointing out an inflatable black cat on one of the lawns they passed. (don't let rocky see that, or we'll be buying them a new one, pato had joked.)

the couple enjoyed their morning like that, walking around and taking in all the decorations, activating animatronics to startle each other. the dogs were enjoying themselves too, being doted on and preened by small children who were walking past with their parents.

they continued walking, until rocky's paw tripped a pedal switch. all at once, from underneath a pile of leaves, a large black fuzzy spider came springing towards them. rock howled in shock as norbi jumped back.

taking pato off guard, rocky went running, and, well, took pato with him. pato swore in spanish, being yanked off his feet and dragged headfirst into a pile of leaves, dropping both coffee cups to the sidewalk.

concerned, rocky ambled over to pato, leash dragging behind him as he licked at the driver's face. y/n was laughing, fumbling her phone out of her pocket to take a picture of her lover splayed against the leaves.

"babe," he whined, on the verge of laughing himself. "this is so not funny."

"it is so fucking funny." she giggled, blowing him a kiss. "laugh it off, babe. they're just leaves."

pato extended a hand. "help me up?"

"sure" she smiled softly, slipping her hand into his.

with a wicked grin, pato yanked hard, pulling her into the leaves with him. she squealed in surprise, giggling as she playfully smacked pato in the chest.

"i love you, you idiot."

TAGS:

@magnummagnussen @libraryofloveletters @thatsdemko @diorleclerc @twinkodium @oconso @silverstonesainz @cartierre @lorarri @httpiastri @clemswrld

@celestialpierre

[delta-pavonis]

'allo! may i have a bit of Friend Like Me? ;)

Absolutely! I have posted some of this before, but once again Tumblr's search function is failing me and apparently I can't organize my own tags for shit so... This is Matthew + Hob used to be partners in crime (literally) and Hob may or may not have started the crew from Leverage. 😂

100% G-rated fluff over here.

Hob has to do this every few decades otherwise he would be up to his eyeballs in storage units. It isn't fun, but neither is having too many moving parts to keep track of and potentially getting caught by another asshat with a hard-on for immortality. 

What was that quote he had read? "No matter how subtle the wizard, a knife between the shoulder blades will seriously cramp his style." 

Not to mention the myriad other enemies he had accumulated via his network of grifters, hitters, and hackers. 

(What? The current state of technological advancements meant that Hob needed to get better at tracking and erasing his digital presence back in the late nineties. Was it his fault that while he was living in the States he had accidentally amassed a highly skilled group of "criminals" who were all connected to him like spokes to the hub on a carriage wheel? And that it turned out that they were, as a team, really great at liberating funds and removing items from billionaire idiots who didn't need a fraction of their accumulated wealth and power? That they did it so well that Hob had to fake his own death earlier than expected to get out from under a particularly angry arms dealer? Was that really all because of him?)

(Yes. Yes it was.)

Yeah, anyway, Hob didn't leave the house without at least one blade on his person anymore. 

This is why, when Hob is interrupted by a large black mass swerving into his storage unit through the crack in the door that should be far too small to admit such a creature, he pulls the nearest throwing knife (he was crouching, so he went for the one concealed in a sheath on the outside ankle of his black leather chelseas), clocks the intruder's movement in his peripheral vision, and wings it directly at them. It hits the wall with a satisfying kthud, which is promptly followed by a very avian squawking.

"FUCKING CAWCHRIST MY DUDE WAS THAT A KNIFE!?! WHAT THE FUCK IS THIS, THE IDES OF FUCKING MARCH?!"

That voice! Hob's head snaps up to see a sizable black bird falling in a tumble. It hits the concrete floor with a sound not unlike a briefcase hitting pavement from a story up (what? It is a very distinctive sound), leaving three large feathers tacked into the wall by the knife.

"Fuck me sideways that HURTS. Note to self, birds no likey losing butt feathers." The bird (A raven? Like this is the bloody Tower of London?) walks out from around a cardboard box with a bit of a waddle in its step, trying to look back at his tail while he moves. "I guess the Boss didn't tell you I was coming then?"

Hob sits back on his heels. That voice is still hauntingly familiar. But he would damned well remember meeting a talking bird. "Well, perhaps if you told me who your Boss is..."

The raven leaps a solid four feet into the air with a screech. He lands on top of a small writing desk, scrabbles against the smooth surface to balance himself, and then looks down at Hob with one glass-black eye. "I can't believe... no fucking way... Robbie? Is that you? Didn't you die in 2017?"

"Mattie?!" Hob's ass hits the cool floor as he is blown back by the revelation. "Didn't you die in 2020?"

Matthew Cable had been one of Hob's favorite grifters. Not because he was absolutely perfect at his job (oh no, Mattie had fucked up spectacularly more times then Hob’s blood pressure wants to recall), but because they had quickly become "let's get absolutely toasted and MST3K bad horror movies while we bitch about our love lives" buddies. Hob had missed Mattie immediately upon his own faked death and had mourned when he heard, through various channels he still kept an ear to, that Mattie had died in his sleep not too long ago.

"Yeah, but when I died I was given, like, a choice? Apparently the King of Dreams needed a new Raven and I decided to give it a go. Sounded much more interesting to work for him than actual death. There must be some mistake because I was sent here with a message for Hhh..." Mattie freezes.

"Dream sent you?" Hob tilts his head in interest. This was the Matthew he had often mentioned? A raven that carried his messages? Hob had been jealous over a bird?! (Oh Christ, how embarrassing.)

"Wait... what the fuck are you doing in Hob GaaaaAAHHHH!" Mattie the Raven starts hopping around frantically. "YOU ARE NOT JUST IN HOB GADLING'S STORAGE UNIT. YOU ARE HOB GADLING! FRIEND OF THE LORD MORPHEUS, KING OF DREAMS AND NIGHTMARES!"

Hob can't help his laughter. "Oh, he told you I was his friend, did he?" That Dream had called him friend to someone else shouldn't feel as good as it did. Hob tamps that useless bit of emotion down hard. (No good can come of that, better to put it away.) "Only took him six centuries to get there, stubborn wanker that he is." He fails to keep the fondness from his voice. 

"Christ you have no idea how much of a wanker sometimes..." Mattie shuffles his feathers. "Look, I gotta know the story here, man. How did you meet the King of Dreams?"

Hob stands, brushing off his jeans. "That... is a rather long story." He considers for a minute, barely that, rubbing at the back of his neck, before coming to a decision. "Look, it isn't like I get my close friends back from the dead every day... how about we head back to my flat, pull up something ridiculous like Slenderman, and I will fill you in on my story? Like old times?"

Mattie flaps over and lands on Hob's shoulder. "Hells to the yes. Especially if we can find out if ravens respond to THC. Shit, you ever get more of that Amnesia shit the team picked up in Amsterdam during that art heist job?"

Hob's belly laugh echoes in the small room. "I think I still have some squirreled away from my last trip to the continent." 

He locks the storage unit behind them. All the spring cleaning can happen another day. 

___________________________________

They did not, upon making it back to Hob’s flat above The New Inn, actually end up watching their intended horror movie. Instead, as they were flipping through options, they stumbled upon the live-action remake of Aladdin and Mattie had been so damned adamant that he wanted to see it while high that Hob had allowed the deviation from their established pattern. 

“That bird is a fucking useless sidekick. I will show you how to do it!” Matthew stands, wobbles, and falls off where he had been balanced on the arm of Hob’s couch.

Hob cackles, slouching back into the cushions. “Well, that’s your answer to the question about birds and THC, innit?” 

Matthew flapped his way up onto the space next to Hob. “Hey, I am still getting used to this stupid body without any fucking thumbs.” 

“Fair enough.” He shrugs, sinking even further back and letting the movie drift into the background, a gentle blanket of familiar songs. “So I can feel you trying to not ask questions. Ask away, Mattie. I owe you that much, at least.”

“Fucking right you do, faking your death like that caw.” The raven shakes his head. “Where even to start… Oh! I got it! When and how did you meet the King of Dreams and Nightmares? That must have been a trip and a half.”

The memory makes Hob even warmer and he feels himself grinning as he looks at the ceiling. “I was drinking with my pals at a tavern, the White Horse, in the year of our lord thirteen hundred and eighty nine…”

“Wait. The fuck? You are…” Mattie clearly stops to count for a blink, “almost seven hundred years old?”

“That I am, now let me finish… I rather loudly proclaimed that I had decided not to die. Just wasn’t going to fucking do it. And that was when he approached the table,” Hob closes his eyes, the swooping feeling of seeing Dream for the first time still razor sharp in his memory. Should he tell Mattie? Well, he had never been dishonest with the man before, no reason to start now. So Hob let all his emotional walls down. “And I swear to God, Mattie, it was like seeing a meteor shower for the first time. It was like discovering a second moon. I was absolutely dumbstruck by the beauty of this cocky young Lordling, all standing before me like he owned half the country. Looked it too, with that giant fucking ruby around his neck and his fine clothing.” Hob shakes his head, grin widening. “He offered me a deal. If I wanted unending life, then I could come back to that tavern on the same day at the same time one hundred years hence and tell him of my experiences of life so long-lasting. And here I am.” When Mattie doesn't immediately respond, Hob opens his eyes and turns his head. “What?”

The raven was studying him intently. When he spoke it was carefully metered and very much not in jest. “Robbie. I might be a bird now, but I would know that expression on your face anywhere. Do you… Are you…”

He didn’t need to put words to it, Hob knew exactly what his friend meant. He shrugged. “Aye, I probably am. But you have to understand, Mattie, he has been the only constant in my whole long life. Hundreds of relationships. Thousands of friendships. Centuries of life. And he was my only anchor.” Hob lets himself drift on that thought for a moment before coming back. “Did you know that I didn’t know his name until a few months ago when he showed up at the New Inn?”

“What?! What kind of asshole doesn’t give his – oh, wait, this is Dream I am talking about, isn’t it…”

Hob laughs. “You are very correct. Dream’s stubbornness is only surpassed by his beauty.”

“Wow. You’ve got it bad.”

“Most likely.” Hob inclines his head. “But I am happy with whatever type of relationship he is capable of with me."

The raven whistles. "Got it baaaad."

____________________________

And so it happens that Hob and Mattie are stonedly bickering over if Will Smith’s portrayal of the Genie was a good homage or a bad mockery (all while A Whole New World starts up in the background) when the King of Dreams and Nightmares steps out of nothingness and into Hob’s living room.

“Matthew! You were told to deliver a message, not spend an entire day-”

Hob cuts Dream off with an overdramatic, “OoooOOOOoooh, Mattie, you are in trooooouble.” Dream’s stern face snaps to Hob’s and he slaps a hand over his mouth while he giggles none-too-loudly, “OooooOOOh, now I am in trooooouble.”

That makes Mattie burst into giggles and let it be known that the giggle of a raven is not actually a pleasant sound to take in.

So it makes Hob laugh harder.

Then he sees Dream’s absolutely bewildered expression.

And that makes Hob laugh even harder.

Sobbing as he laughs, collapsed to the floor (having initially fallen clear off the couch in surprise at Dream’s entrance), clutching his belly, Hob can’t even bring himself to worry that Dream might actually be angry with him. Fuck, Hob just got Mattie back. This is fucking great.

Hob wipes at his face as his hysterics subside, trying to keep his voice steady as he addresses Dream from his place on the floor. “I’m sorry, m’love, I didn’t mean to patronize you, I just-” He cuts himself off when he sees, for the first time, a petal-pink blush color his Stranger’s cheeks.

“You called him your love!” Mattie cackles. Hob feels himself blush now, too. That was a slip. That shouldn’t have happened. (Ah, bollocks.) “You are so in for it now. The Boss hates pet names! Once I tried to call him Lord Mew-mew because he was acting like a wet fucking cat and-”

“Enough.” Dream waves his hand to his Raven and the bird is immediately silenced. “Matthew, leave us. I am not asking.”

“Aww, maannn.” Mattie shakes himself off and seems to become shockingly sober with just a ruffle of feathers. “Roger that, Boss. See you back at home.” Then he nods to Hob. “We should do this again sometime.” 

Before Hob can respond Mattie has taken wing and flown out a window that definitely was not open a moment ago. When he looks back up it is to have Dream’s hand in front of his face, gently offering to help him stand. Hob takes it, if only for the excuse to touch his Stranger’s skin for the first time. (His touch is cool, his fingers long and uncalloused, his skin smooth. Hob memorizes every sensation greedily.)

Dream seems to realize this once Hob is on his feet because the blush deepens slightly and he retracts his hand with a jerky motion. 

“I am sorry if I offended you, Dream.” Hob takes a step to the side and tries to catch his friend’s eye. Dream keeps purposefully looking away. “It is just a silly human endearment. I am rather high on some excellent weed and I didn’t mean-”

“Ah.” Dream interrupts and Hob’s jaw clicks shut. Dream is still not looking at him and so Hob can see the way the muscles in his jaw flex with tension. “Just a silly endearment. You did not mean it.” 

Something fiery swoops inside Hob. Dream has never acted like this. Never avoided Hob’s eyes. Never interrupted him. And all because Hob had accidentally called him love.

See, thing is, Hob does mean it. More than he has words for. But never did he think… Dream couldn’t possibly. Fuck. Hob is too high to think clearly about this.

Hob steps into Dream’s line of sight, forces the slightly taller anthropomorphic personification to meet his eyes. Why it comes out a whisper when Hob speaks he will never know. “Dream. Do you want me to mean it? Do you want me to call you,” he hesitates for a moment because this could ruin everything. (But look at him! Look at the hurt in his expression, the tension in his shoulders. He does not hide it well, now that Hob knows what to look for - thanks, Sophie.) “my love?”

It is answer enough to see Dream’s pupils dilate and his nostrils flare. Oh fuck. Oh fuck. Oh fuckfuckfuckfuckfuck. 

He is shaking when he goes to take Dream’s hand, brings it up to press a kiss to those beautiful fingers. “If I am reading this wrong then please please let’s just chalk it up to the THC and pretend this never happened. But…” Hob takes the last step in and now they are almost chest-to-chest, “I thought you would have figured it out after 1689… you are my guiding star. It is you who I wait decades for. You who I hope to impress with my experiences. You who I have yearned to touch with every fiber of my being for literal centuries.” Dream is blinking wide eyes at him now, confusion and surprise and hope all written there. “And if your friendship is all I can have, then so be it. But, Dream. If I had three wishes I would spend them all just to be able to call you love.”