#new game chew dis

[companionwolf]

Final rankings of the games we want to play:

Modern!Call of Cthulhu 20

The Bureau or After the Bomb 16

Palladium 14

The Witch is Dead 13

Twilight 2000 12

Fiasco or Streets or Paranoia or Magical Kitties 10

Unknown Armies 2e 9

ALIEN RPG or Liminal Horror or Crafted or Kids on Bikes or Warriors 8

Changeling the Lost, Chronicles of Darkness, or Deviant the Renegade 6

The Company or Chariots of Steel or Extracausal 5

Cathulhu 7e or Birdwatch Feelings or Albedo 4

Triangle Agency or Engine Heart 3

Apocalypse Roadtrip or The Veil or Vast & Starlit or Secrets of Cats or Flyover Country or Good Dogs or Elite 2

YASP or MYZ or HC SVNT DRCNES or Invasion 1

[yashley]

the gods of calamity not even bothering to speak to avalir on the threat of asmodeus, the gods of downfall not even bothering to speak to aeor about the dangers of their weapon, the gods who once as lights RAN from their home from this devouring force, spending a century creating life, toying with eachother, deciding things for their bleeding heart children. these gods of stiff morals and relentless vengeance look to see one of their own little ants has woken up the terror they’ve run from since before they were gods, staring them down, and suddenly they’re back in tengar and they’re about to finally witness their family torn apart before it’s their turn. they are prey and they are powerless.

[vivwritesfics]

No Need To Ask

Chapter One

Neither of them want to get married. Its a marriage of convenience, not of love. They can find it in themselves to love each other, but life has other things in mind.

Mafia!au

Chapter Two

"Check," said Y/N as her Queen took his Knight. He had no moves himself, none that would win the game for him. In one more move Y/N could take his King, winning the game.

Lando stared at his sister, annoyance and amusement written on his face. "How did you get so good at chess?" He asked and leaned back in his chair. There was no point making his next move, not when she was going to win anyway.

With a smirk on her face, Y/N made that final, winning move. "I played a lot with my mum while you were off with dad."

Off doing unspeakable things.

While Y/N and Lando had the same father, they didn't share a mother. Landos mother had died when he was young. Nasty business really. He and his dad were alone until Y/Ns mother came along.

Landos dad and Y/Ns mother weren't meant to fall in love. It just sort of... happened. She gave the Norris boys so much love while being ruthless with their men. She fell into place in their world and, before she knew it, she was the heavily pregnant Mrs Norris.

A lot of people didn't realise Y/N and Lando were only half siblings. Some didn't realise they were related at all.

After having a baby girl, Mr Norris wanted to keep her away from their world. He already had Lando set up to take over from him, as head of the Norris family, working for the Hamiltons. But Y/N wasn't supposed to be involved.

"How is dad?" Asked Y/N as she packed away the chess set. Y/N hadn't seen her father in near two weeks. His health was deteriorating and he spent all of his time and energy working. Lando would be taking over as head of the Norris family but it was only once his body was in the ground. That was going to be any day now.

Lando cleared his throat and turned towards the window. "Don't be surprised if he calls you into his room any day now," he answered.

Oh. That wasn't good news. Y/N placed the wooden chess set back on the desk that used to belong to her mother and turned back towards her brother. "You have your first meeting with Mr Hamilton, don't you?" She asked, nervously chewing at her nails.

Lando narrowed his eyes towards her. "You've been listening in, haven't you?"

"Only sometimes," Y/N answered, sitting in her mothers chair. Sometimes she'd be there for hours, sitting behind the desk, pretending she was as involved in the Norris Family as her mother once was. They were big shoes to fill. “I could go with you, you know?”

“No!” Lando shouted, slamming his fist down onto the table in front of him.

Y/N jumped back. This was what her brother had been bred and raised for. Already he was ruthless and calculating, every bit the man their father had been trying to turn him into. “Dad wouldn’t allow it and neither will I,” he spat and stood from his chair.

Lando was already dressed in one of his best suits. He had attended several meetings with Mr Hamilton before, but none without his father. This was his first. He wasn’t yet head of the family, but he was going to act like it. At these meetings he was used to being seen and not heard, but this was his first time speaking. It was on behalf of his father, yes, but the words were still coming from Lando.

He marched out of the study, leaving Y/N there. He didn’t apologise for being harsh; it was the only way to keep her safe.

Y/N watched her brother go. As soon as he was gone, Y/N began trying to pull open the desk drawers. They were locked, had been ever since her mother had died. But she was desperate for some way to be close to her mother; it was lonely in a crime family when you couldn’t be involved with the crime.

When she couldn’t get into the desk, she stood and walked out of the room.

The halls were full of portraits. Members of the Norris family that had since passed on. there were family portraits, too. One of little Lando with his mother and his father and one of Lando, Y/N and their parents. Further down the hall there was a portrait of Lando’s mother and another of Y/N’s mother. Mr Norris loved both of his wives equally, that was clear to anyone.

Two men stood on either side of Y/N’s door. They were silent, unspeaking. The guns Y/N knew they had on them were saying enough. She walked past them, giving just a curt nod and pushed the door shut behind her.

Just because she wasn’t a part of the crime family didn’t mean her father didn’t want her protected. There were men outside of her door and men under her window. There were at least two at every entrance; nothing came in or out of the house without them knowing.

She sat on her bed and looked towards her window. Normal girls could go out and spend time with their friends. They could go out and get dinner, sit at a bar with a cocktail in hand. They could go out to the club and dance the night away. But not Y/N. She had to sit in her room and dream of a life she could never have.

There was a polite knock on her door before it opened. Oscar Piastri, a young man on loan from Mark Webber in Australia, popped his head around.

“You okay?” He asked her.

When she nodded, he strode into the room and sat on the bed beside her. Her best friend, the only person allowed to be this informal with her. If any of the other men tried, Lando would have shot them where they stood.

She shook her head. “Come on,” Oscar said and laid back, knitting his hands together over his stomach. “Talk to me.”

So, she did.

***

Lando was in the big leagues now. When he was a boy he used to sit on the side lines, taking notes for his father. But now he was up at the table with the other heads of house. Charles Leclerc of Monaco, Carlos Sainz Sr, one of the heads of family from Spain. There was Sergio Perez from Mexico, Jos Verstappen from the Netherlands and more.

At the head of the table was Lewis Hamilton. He ran everything, kept all of the families together. Before him there had been Schumacher and then Vettel. Hamilton was a wonder boy. He’d risen up in the ranks in the button family before breaking away and starting his own. It had started a war, a war that Hamilton had been quick to put an end to.

He was in charge of the crime family now.

Lando listened as Lewis ran the meeting. He spoke to each family member, a man from his organisation taking notes. “We have a newcomer at the table today,” Lewis bellowed, leaning forward with his hands clasped in front of him. “As we all know, Norris isn’t in the best of shape. So, in his steed, he has sent his son, Lando.”

Lando has a tight smile as he waved to the rest of the room. He’d met them all before, Sainz and his father were once friends. He’d spent a lot of time with his son when he was younger.

Finishing the meeting, Hamilton dismissed everybody. “Ah, Lando, can I speak to you for a moment?” He asked as he lit a cigar.

Lando walked over to him and accepted the cigar he offered to him. “What can I do for you, sir?” Lando asked, sitting in the seat beside his own.

Hamilton took his cigar from between his lips. “As you know, your father and Sainz haven’t always been the best of friends. There has been something brewing between your families for a while now and it is my job to squash it. Your father, Sainz and I have been having talks for years now, and we came to one conclusion.”

Lando cleared his throat. He hadn’t smoked very much before, but it was a habit he had been picking up since his father’s health started declining. “What might that be, sir?”

“Your sister.”

Lando’s face paled. His eyes went wide, and his mouth felt metallic. “What sister?” His protective instincts kicked in, but he couldn’t do anything in front of Hamilton. Lando felt sick.

“Before your mother died, she came up with a plan to unite your families. Your sister is to marry Sainz Jr and you’re to make sure it happens, okay?”

Hamilton gave Lando no time to reply. He put out his cigar and walked away, leaving Lando still sitting at the table.

He couldn’t stand up. His chest hurt and he needed to empty his stomach. Lando stood from his seat and rushed out of the room. He made his way through the halls and out to his car. He couldn’t throw up in Lewis Hamilton’s bushes, could he? No, Lando had to get home.

Driving around the fountain, Lando sped back home. He could hide his sister away, couldn’t he? Send her somewhere that didn’t have any of the families in power. Their house in Monaco was a no go, not while Charles was in power. Maybe their house in Belgium, but too many families in power surrounded the country.

Driving home was a blur for Lando. He couldn’t allow his little sister to marry into another crime family. And it was a plan his stepmother came up with. She was the one hellbent of protecting Y/N in the first place; how could she let this happen?

As soon as Lando was out of his car, he threw up onto the gravel driveway. He threw up until he had nothing left in his stomach. Lando couldn’t face going inside, not yet. He couldn’t tell her, not yet. How was his father allowing this?

Lando wanted them answers. He wanted them real bad.

Leaving his car where it was, Lando marched towards the house. He threw his eyes to somebody at the front door and stormed past them. Up several flights of stairs and towards the furthest bedroom. When he walked past Y/N’s bedroom, his steps faltered. She was in there, and she had no idea what was waiting for her.

Lando burst into his father’s bedroom. It was a horrible sight to see, him laying in bed hooked up to oh so many machines. He stared at Lando as he walked over to the desk, grabbed the chair and dragged it back over to the bed. “Dad,” he said, staring at him.

Mr Norris didn’t respond. He stared at his son, waiting for him to continue.

“I had my first meeting with the heads of the families today,” Lando said, his leg bouncing. “Hamilton pulled me to the side to talk about a deal Helena made with Sainz. Do you already have an invite to Y/N’s wedding? Or am I the last to find out? Well, aside from Y/N, of course.”

Mr Norris coughed. “Has she met with him yet?”

“What?”

“Has Y/N met with Carlos Sainz Jr yet?”

Lando shook his head. “No, she hasn’t.”

“Arrange it for the end of the week. I want the ball rolling on this as soon as possible,” said Mr Norris. He waved his hand, dismissing his son, but Lando ignored it.

“No,” he said and stood up. He pushed his hair back, knocking it over. “No, not until you tell me why! Why are you throwing Y/N to the lions when we’ve spent the last twenty years trying to protect her?!” He shouted, fury written on his face.

Mr Norris shook his head. "You know what will happen if we do not make peace with Sainz. Set up a meeting between Y/N and Sainz Jr."

With no other choice, Lando left the room. He stopped just outside of his father's door and punched the wall. The men guarding Y/N's door watched, but they didn't let their gazes linger.

Lando let out a shout as his fist connected with the wall, but he didn't register the pain. There were more pressings things at hand.

He marched down the hallway and pushed his way into Y/Ns room. "Lan!" She cried when he pushed the door shut behind him. "How was your meeting with the heads of family?"

This wasn't something he wanted to talk about. Especially not with Y/N. But, what other choice did he have? He was supposed to arrange a meeting between her and Carlos.

Lando stood by the window, looking out into the gardens. "We've got something we need to talk about," he said, refusing to look at her.

"What's the matter, Lan?"

With a sigh he turned around and sat on the bed beside her. "Before your mother passed, she set up a business deal using the help of our dad, Hamilton and Sainz. This business deal actually involves you."

"Me?" Y/N gasped as she stared at her brother. "What could I possibly have to do with anything?"

Lando sucked in a breath. "You know the problems we've been having with the Sainz family? Well, your mother, our father, Hamilton and Sainz had been working together to try and rectify this. Before she died, your mum came up with a solution."

"Lan, just tell me," she muttered, picking at the skin around her nails.

This was the hardest thing he would ever have to do. "Y/N, you're getting married," he said quickly. "It was your mothers ideal, so there can't be any other solution."

Y/N was quiet for a moment. Married. She was going to be getting married.

"I didn't want this for you, but we have no other choice," he continued. "Please, Y/N, try to understand."

"No, Lan, I understand. I get it," she mumbled, placing her hands in her lap. "I know its something I have to do. Just, tell me, who am I going to be marrying?" But Y/N was pretty sure she already knew.

"Do you remember my old friend, Carlos?"

A/N: yes, I still have the novel version in the works. @nurse-floyd is the only person who's had the privilege of reading it so far, but this fiction is a taste

[mariacallous]

My earliest memory of 4chan was sitting up late at night, typing its URL into my browser, and scrolling through a thread of LOLcat memes, which were brand-new at the time.

Back then a photoshop of a cat saying "I can has cheezburger" or an image of an owl saying “ORLY?” was, without question, the funniest thing my 14-year-old brain had ever laid eyes on. So much so, I woke my dad up by laughing too hard and had to tell him that I was scrolling through pictures of cats at 2 in the morning. Later, I would become intimately familiar with the site’s much more nefarious tendencies.

It's strange to look back at 4chan, apparently wiped off the internet entirely last week by hackers from a rival message board, and think about how many different websites it was over its more than two decades online. What began as a hub for internet culture and an anonymous way station for the internet's anarchic true believers devolved over the years into a fan club for mass shooters, the central node of Gamergate, and the beating heart of far-right fascism around the world—a virus that infected every facet of our lives, from the slang we use to the politicians we vote for. But the site itself had been frozen in amber since the George W. Bush administration.

It is likely that there will never be a site like 4chan again—which is, likely, a very good thing. But it had also essentially already succeeded at its core project: chewing up the world and spitting it back out in its own image. Everything—from X to Facebook to YouTube—now sort of feels like 4chan. Which makes you wonder why it even needed to still exist.

"The novelty of a website devoted to shock and gore, and the rebelliousness inherent in it, dies when your opinions become the official policy of the world's five or so richest people and the government of the United States," the Onion CEO and former extremism reporter Ben Collins tells WIRED. “Like any ostensibly nihilist cultural phenomenon, it inherently dies if that phenomenon itself becomes The Man.”

My first experience with the more toxic side of the site came several years after my LOLcat all-nighter, when I was in college. I was a big Tumblr user—all my friends were on there—and for about a year or so, our corner of the platform felt like an extension of the house parties we would throw. That cozy vibe came crashing down for me when I got doxed the summer going into my senior year. Someone made a “hate blog” for me—one of the first times I felt the dark presence of an anonymous stranger’s digital ire, and posted my phone number on 4chan.

They played a prank that was popular on the site at the time, writing in a thread that my phone number was for a GameStop store that had a copy of the ultra-rare video game Battletoads. I received no less than 250 phone calls over the next 48 hours asking if I had a copy of the game.

Many of the 4chan users that called me mid-Battletoad attack left messages. I listened to all of them. A pattern quickly emerged: young men, clearly nervous to even leave a message, trying to harass a stranger for, seemingly, the hell of it. Those voicemails have never left me in the 15 years I've spent covering 4chan as a journalist.

I had a front-row seat to the way those timid men morphed into the violent, seething underbelly of the internet. The throbbing engine of reactionary hatred that resented everything and everyone simply because resentment was the only language its users knew how to speak. I traveled the world in the 2010s, tracing 4chan’s impact on global democracy. I followed it to France, Germany, Japan, and Brazil as 4chan's users became increasingly convinced that they could take over the planet through racist memes, far-right populism, and cyberbullying. And, in a way, they did. But the ubiquity of 4chan culture ended up being an oddly Pyrrhic victory for the site itself.

Collins, like me, closely followed 4chan's rise in the 2010s from internet backwater to unofficial propaganda organ of the Trump administration. As he sees it, once Elon Musk bought Twitter in 2022 there was really no point to 4chan anymore. Why hide behind anonymity if a billionaire lets you post the same kind of extremist content under your real name and even pays you for it?

4chan’s “user base just moved into a bigger ballpark and started immediately impacting American life and policy," Collins says. "Twitter became 4chan, then the 4chanified Twitter became the United States government. Its usefulness as an ammo dump in the culture war was diminished when they were saying things you would now hear every day on Twitter, then six months later out of the mouths of an administration official."

But understanding how 4chan went from the home of cat memes to a true internet bogeyman requires an understanding of how the site actually worked. Its features were often overlooked amid all the conversations about the site's political influence, but I'd argue they were equally, if not more, important.

4chan was founded by Christopher “Moot” Poole when he was 15. A regular user on slightly less anarchic comedy site Something Awful, Poole created a spinoff site for a message board there called “Anime Death Tentacle Rape Whorehouse.” Poole was a fan of the Japanese message board 2chan, or Futaba Channel, and wanted to give Western anime fans their own version, so he poorly translated the site's code and promoted his new site, 4chan, to Something Awful's anime community. Several core features were ported over in the process.

4chan users were anonymous, threads weren't permanent and would time out or "404" after a period of inactivity, and there were dozens of sub-boards you could post to. That unique combination of ephemerality, anonymity, and organized chaos proved to be a potent mix, immediately creating a race-to-the-bottom gutter culture unlike anything else on the web. The dark end point of the techno-utopianism that built the internet. On 4chan you were no one, and nothing you did mattered unless it was so shocking, so repulsive, so hateful that someone else noticed and decided to screenshot it before it disappeared into the digital ether.

"The iconic memes that came out of 4chan are because people took the time to save it, you know? And the fact that nobody predicted, nobody could predict or control what was saved or what wasn't saved, I think, is really, really fascinating," Cates Holderness, Tumblr's former head of editorial, tells WIRED.

Still, 4chan was more complicated than it looked from the outside. The site was organized into dozens of smaller sections, everything from comics to cooking to video games to, of course, pornography. Holderness says she learned to make bread during the pandemic thanks to 4chan's cooking board. (Full disclosure: I introduced Holderness to 4chan way back in 2012.)

"When I switched to sourdough, I got really good pointers," she says.

Holderness calls 4chan the internet's “Wild West” and says its demise this month felt appropriate in a way. The chaos that defined 4chan, both the good and the very, very bad, has largely been paved over by corporate platforms and their algorithms now.

Our feeds deliver us content; we don't have to hunt for it. We don't have to sit in front of a computer refreshing a page to find out whether we're getting a new cat meme or a new manifesto. The humanness of that era of the web, now that 4chan is gone, is likely never coming back. And we'll eventually find out if that's a good thing or a bad thing.

"The snippets that we have of what 4chan was—it's all skewed,” Holderness says. “There is no record. There's no record that can ever encapsulate what 4chan was."

[mareastrorum]

Been chewing more on how C3 wound up here. What’s throwing me is the strange shift from the cast’s unflinching “yes, and” game in C2 to a misplaced feeling that they need to choose correctly in C3.

I want to be clear here that this isn’t a criticism post because I genuinely don’t know what’s happening here. It’s just odd behaviors that seem to signal a problem, and I don’t know what solution would resolve it. I’m not going to be so presumptuous as to hypothesize about any cast member’s thoughts.

In the Cooldown for C3E118 (and offhandedly previously), Laura and Ashley expressed some nervousness about making big decisions because they’re worried about making the “wrong” choice. Without more, that attitude alone would explain much of the party’s indecisiveness about key campaign questions. After all, their characters are the two Ruidusborn of most interest to the campaign villains, and other characters (especially Orym, Laudna, and Ashton) have insisted that Imogen and Fearne take the lead on Predathos.

But this isn’t a story in a vacuum. C2 got completely derailed multiple times. The Mighty Nein decided to steal a pirate ship and leave the continent the campaign was set on; shortly after they returned, they decided to reopen a collapsed tunnel to go the opposite side of the continent; then Caleb returned the Luxon Beacon and made themselves heroes of an enemy nation instantly. That’s not even getting into the fact that Molly died before the Nein got to Shadycreek Run (which absolutely would have been all about his backstory) or that Twiggy left an incredible magical artifact that wasn’t supposed to be given to the Nein. Each time, Matt adjusted and made it work. Granted, C2 was more of a sandbox campaign, but Matt demonstrated his flexibility as a DM time and again.

Like, as a general rule of thumb, DMs shouldn’t offer options that would torpedo the campaign. It’s rational to avoid situations that have a genuine possibility of undercutting the game. Matt has been DMing for a long time; he’s done a very good job of finding ways to make the campaign work regardless of the decisions the players make. Even when players do something directly against the signals he threw out (like Ashton trying to absorb a second shard despite consistent, dire warnings that it would kill him), he works with the players to come to a reasonable solution (Ashton survived but the shard wouldn’t take, and he got some character moments out of the failure). We, the audience, know Matt is good at pivoting when he needs to.

In addition to taking the players’ curveballs like a champ, Matt also takes big swings for the sake of the story. In C1, Matt broke his biggest city with a dragon invasion, then made a new god leading an undead titan to go stomp out the world’s oldest civilization. In C2, he let the players go off the map whenever and still made the digression relevant to their character arcs every time. Not to be parasocial, but if we can figure out that that Matt can handle this sort of thing, the players certainly have a better feel for it than us.

So what is going on in C3? We know Matt isn’t scared of breaking Exandria or destroying the pantheon: he set that possibility in motion as the default ending if the players did nothing. CR literally did a mini series about the start of the end of the world with EXU Calamity. Laura and Ashley were also in Downfall and making big choices between the gods and mortals. Breaking stuff is what they do!

Where did this idea that there’s a “wrong” choice come from? That type of thinking kills a lot of great improv, and the whole point of the “yes, and” exercise is to shake it off. While it’s incredibly obvious to say not to think that way, the real issue is sorting out why that mentality has taken hold at all. That’s a problem no amount of fan discussion is going to resolve.

[iwantmenicanthave]

OH MY GOD, IT'S HIM! OH, I'M GONNA DIE!

SYNOPSIS. when they meet their biggest fan… ( 2.2k )

౨ৎ —FEATURING. nagi, isagi, rin & bachira.

౨ৎ —CW.   reader is a typical fangirl.

౨ৎ —NOTE.   i had a dream where i was at a fan meet n’ greet and the girl in front of me passed out foaming at the mouth over meeting ego and that traumatized the writer's block out of me. takes place during the neo-egoist league.

SEISHIRO N.

you think you died, and your mother had to grab your soul and strap it back into your empty husk when you get an email from blue lock asking if you’d like to join nagi seishiro for a personal interview as his most dedicated fan.

your body must’ve still been weak, because when you finally came face to face with him (more like face to chest), your eyes went white and you slipped through his limp arms like sand, collapsing face-first onto the floor.

eventually, you got a grip on reality and were functioning well enough to start the interview. 

the bad part? his coach had to pick him up off his chair, shove the seat closer to you, and position him in the camera frame.

you would have been insulted if it weren’t for the fact that, if you held your breath long enough and inhaled slowly, you could catch hints of vanilla and detergent from his freshly washed clothes.

it didn’t exactly feel like an interview with the amount of food they shoved in your face (which was the only reason nagi agreed to it in the first place). the manshine forward didn’t even find the energy to lift his resin gaze from the food to answer your questions. 

you couldn’t tell if the person behind the camera was angrier at him or you for not cracking him yet. 

after thirty minutes, you had enough of the awkward interaction. this was your one chance to be face-to-face with nagi seishiro, and you were not about to let your legacy be limited to collapsing at the sight of him. you had to use your borderline stalker-level knowledge to your advantage. the flames of love and passion should steer your shared future.

you coughed into your hand to get his attention, only to be met with the sound of a wrapper being ripped open.

with a twitch of your eye you spoke, “nagi, you play a lot of games in your free time. do you have any recommendations?”

his mouth paused mid-chew, and with the fastest movement you’d seen from him all day, he grabbed a water bottle, took a few sips, and finally swallowed. 

“mmm… there’s this new one that came out, it’s a gacha. it’s pay-to-win, but if you get over that, the mechanics—”

by the end of the interview, he was talking at 1.75x speed and didn’t look as if he’d pick being in bed over spending time with you.

you even managed to snag his gamer id along with his number, even if it was just for the “share with a friend” rewards. but hey, being his “friend,” even if it was just for benefits, wasn’t the worst thing in the world.

hey, maybe if you weaseled your way into more of his games, you’d end up walking down the aisle for him, his purple-haired friend handing him a handkerchief to dry his watered eyes. after that, you’d have two kids and a maine coon named reo. right?

well, wishful thinking never hurt anyone in the past few thousand years it’s been around.

YOICHI I.

he looked more nervous than you to meet in person, a bashful shade of piggy pink coloring his cheeks.

the higher-ups either: a.) didn’t tell him you were the president of his fan club, b.) he was extremely good at hiding his distress, or c.) he was genuinely happy to have a fan.

luckily, you came prepared to win him over with a handmade card you’d poured your blood, sweat, and tears into, a hand-sewn, size-accurate lobster plushie with his jersey number and last name embroidered on the claw, and two gardenias, one for each of your hearts. the symbol of secret love.

did it take a lot of time and effort? yes. was it worth it? hell yes.

he held each gift as if they were a newborn baby. even the way he looked at them was so full of appreciation that it made up for weeks of bandaged fingers. he seemed more than grateful, thanking you at least three times per item.

after that, the day consisted of him teaching you the basics of football, how to kick, and dribble, all skills that were definitely useful in your mundane life. 

unfortunately, the most exciting part of the activity was how the rouge balls always managed to just barely graze your upper half whether that be your face, shoulders, or pride. 

but even with the mediocrity, he was still teaching you and you would never ever say that was unfortunate… only, it felt less like learning from one of blue lock’s top players and more like watching a youtube video. 

he only demonstrated what you were doing with stiff movement, then walked you through it by showing you his own body and confusing gestures that had you staring at him as if he was explaining quantum physics, “huh?”

it’s not that he was bad at explaining things (he was), but it was hard to follow when every time he looked you in the eyes, he’d instantly drop his gaze and start mumbling to the ball under his cleat. 

at the end of the day, you got a goodie bag of bastard münchen merch and had to lean over so your back could serve as a desk for isagi to sign your number 11 jersey in thick permanent marker.

but when kaiser entered his line of sight, isagi visibly grew antsy, side-eyeing him every few seconds as you talked. but that agitation morphed into something rabid when the blond said something in german you didn’t understand. 

isagi retaliated, spit flying at the forward as he smooshed your cheeks together with calloused fingers, pulling your face toward his chest. the next thing you knew, the marker was scratching battle scars onto your forehead like a man possessed.

you might’ve fainted if it weren’t for the grounding grip of isagi, who was too busy yelling at his teammate with enraged red cheeks to notice your fluttering eyes, slumped shoulders, jelly legs, and a sigh of pure ecstasy.

maybe you should invest in a face tattoo. perhaps today...

overall, it wasn’t an experience you’d recommend to anyone other than the president of his fan club. oh, teehee, guess only you can truly appreciate his presence in person.

RIN I.

writing ‘i will meet itoshi rin and we will get married’ one hundred times every day for the past month in your diary, listening to subliminals to sleep, and praying to god must’ve finally paid off because right now, you were personally being shown the daily schedule of blue lock’s very own itoshi rin.

the rest of pxg and the camera crew were just background noise. your eyes widened like a kid on christmas morning as you stared into his soul while he ate lunch, lips curved into a hazy smile.

the way he held his fork had so much poise. the mere shift of metal between his fingers exuded so much power that you forgot about the food sitting in front of you. he was kind, too, reminding you to eat a few minutes before he went off to train.

words caught in your throat, so you just stared at him wide-eyed for five solid seconds before giggling uncontrollably.

he was so considerate, you could swoon.

your face kept the same dopey smile the entire day. when he drank water. when he walked down the hall. when he breathed. he was truly a masterpiece, a body and face sculpted by an old master. you just knew his parents must high-five every time they looked at him and those eyelashes.

“oomph—” 

you walked straight into his back when he paused under the door of the workout rooms. he seemed to be deciding something before asking if you wanted to do yoga with him.

HE’S SO CONSIDERATE— you mentally wailed.

and that is how you ended up sweating buckets, face flushed from blood rushing to your head, and hands leaving wet prints on the mat every time you adjusted your form.

you would’ve thought he lied about “toning down his routine” for you if you hadn’t already memorized every pose he did, how long he held them, the names, the times he started—

the sound of his hands slapping against the mat jolted you back to reality. he was already in halasana or plow pose.

you let out a seething exhale through gritted teeth, praying to god, buddha, literally anyone out there that you wouldn’t fart or collapse. at least you did pilates daily just to prepare for meeting him. if not, you would’ve been dead thirty minutes ago.

this was supposed to be the time for you to ask him questions, opinions, and other such things with the calming exterior of yoga but at this rate, it was a battle to survive. your joints were burning and screaming for release from this hell.

he might’ve been “simplifying” his routine for you but that didn’t mean it was easy.

you managed to squeak out a few questions through pants: 

—do you see any of your teammates as friends? no. they're only there to assist him.

—do you have a rival in blue lock that motivates you to get up and train so early every morning? isagi yoichi. duh.

—is your dinner any good? no, not really. but he’s used to it by now. 

you really should’ve come up with more open-ended questions beforehand. 

and then, in the middle of shirshasana, you felt his hand grab your ankle to steady you as you wobbled.

“you can go back to child’s pose. you shouldn’t push yourself.”

“no,” you choked, gasping. “we’re the same age. ’m fine.”

he didn’t disagree, keeping to holding your ankle.

you could die happy now. not only did you spend the day with the itoshi rin, but he was touching your ankle. you were going to leave it unwashed for a month and take a photo of it for future worship. maybe even hold it when you feel lonely.

and while you were daydreaming in deep thought, your body gave out from lack of focus. your foot slapped rin’s face with an audible smack before you hit the mat like a sack of bricks. you stared at the ceiling, mouth agape, gasping for air. rin just stared at the wall, clearly trying to process what had just happened.

at least the social media manager got a good thumbnail at the expense of your dignity.

but forget that. the important thing was that you were never washing the foot that bore the sacred bacteria of itoshi rin’s face sweat.

MEGURU B.

when you first met him, you expected a fake smile masking his disgust, but instead, you were met with a running hug that lifted you off the ground as he twirled you in a circle.

you must’ve looked like a pervy old man with his young bimbo from how the rest of the team stared at your giddy face with contempt.

but how could they, so young and naive, possibly begin to comprehend the depth of your feelings? not even shakespeare could rival the scenarios you imagined before falling asleep. not even tchaikovsky could compose the proper symphony to match the way your heart raced whenever you saw his face.

it was a miracle none of the handmade sweets you slaved over last night got crushed when he hugged you. you even baked them fresh this morning to preserve that gooey, just-out-the-oven goodness. the aesthetic was ruined by the canned pineapple, but of course, that’s the first thing his eyes landed on and he devoured it like it was gourmet.

he even got the day off from training to show you around. his coach didn’t care if he missed practice, that was his problem, not lavinho’s (whatever that meant).

but of course, he turned it down so he could show off his skills to you instead as you clapped for every single trick or pass he did.

the delusional part of your brain said he was trying to seduce you like a bird performing a mating dance. the rational part of your brain said he was madly in love with you but had to express it through actions.

somehow, you weren’t being completely creepy and were able to bond on a strange wavelength. maybe that’s how you ended up with his actual address, so you could send each other letters when he eventually left blue lock.

apparently giving someone a gift and showing them genuine kindness goes a long way. groundbreaking. 

but when a bug-looking boy with a landing strip of green dye tried to talk to you he was met with a football to his head and a teasing bachira yelling at him that he has ‘plenty of time to talk to girls when he’s out of here.’

you simply said, “we can hang out sometime if you’d like,” and the peekaboo blond gave you every form of “contact” he had from his socials to his spotify and imdb page. 

you had to physically stop yourself from drooling and bouncing around like a rabid dog when he typed it all into your notes app. too bad for the poor bus driver who swiveled the vehicle when you randomly screamed on the way down from the blue lock prison. the man gave you a thirty-minute lecture on proper etiquette all the while you were giggling at the memory of bachira’s smile.

totally worth it.

[phoward89]

Banner by me, dividers by @saradika-graphics

Based on this ask

Young!President!Coriolanus Snow x Innocent!Reader

Coriolanus Snow was the youngest president in Panem’s history. He was cunning, charming, and very, very smart. Which is why he's the youngest man to hold the presidential office.

But that's not truly the reason why he's President Snow at the tender age of 25.

No….

He's the youngest president because he's a ruthless man. An evil man.

A snake that strikes both friend and foe with poison.

Nobody was safe from Coriolanus’ poisonous fangs.

Well, nobody, except his First Lady.

And you just happened to be First Lady Snow. The president's sweet, innocent wife who never saw his true colors.

Coriolanus, who you often called Coryo and even Snowflake (he'll kill anyone if they giggle, laugh, or snigger if in ear shot of you using the term of endearment for him), made sure that you viewed him as a loving gentleman. He never wanted you to see the cruel side of him.

You met him when you were both kids, before he became tainted and corrupted by the harsh cruelness of the world. You never experienced the cruelness of the world, being a bit sheltered by your family.

You were innocent, like a little dove.

And that's what drew Coriolanus to you. Your innocence enthralled him, memorized him even.

He made it his mission to keep all the horrors of the world away from you, to keep you innocent and naive.

Hell, you truly believed that he helped Lucy Grey win during his mentorship because he cared. You had no idea that he was thinking with his wrong head; wanted to get under her skirts.

You didn't know that he was sentenced to 20 years as a peacekeeper for his crime of cheating during the 10th Hunger Games. You truly believed his bullshit lie of wanting to follow in his father's footsteps (his father, Crassus Snow had been a general).

So, sweet, innocent, naive little you always believed what your Coryo told you. He was your perfect gentleman, your Snowflake, and you had no reason not to trust him.

President Snow, for all his faults and evil deeds, loved you with every fiber of his overly obsessive being. It's why he's done everything in his power to keep you from being corrupted by the world.

It's also why he had, nicely, forbid you from entering his office. Coriolanus gave you the excuse that he didn't want to be distracted from his duties of ruling over Panem, but in reality he couldn't risk you walking in on him while he had business meetings.

Some of which almost always ended with his visitor slumped over a teacup.

Dead.

Today tho, well, you didn't heed his warning and decided to visit him in his office instead of waiting for him to return to the living quarters.

You found out very exciting news and wanted to share it with him right away.

You put on a pretty pink dress, pulled your hair half back into a large bow (the way he preferred it), and picked some roses from the prized rose garden for the special announcement.

You happily made your way down the hall towards his office. His staff ignored you, knowing better to even look at you twice.

The staff wanted to live to see the next Yule season, thank you very much.

When you opened the door, you saw that your husband had a guest in his office. The man, who was stout with black hair; wearing a powder blue suit, was slumped over on your husband's desk.

President Snow wiped at the corner of his mouth with his handkerchief (his beloved one that you made special for him, embroidered with a light blue snowflake and his initials in maroon red thread) his icy blue eyes flickering up to the door to see who had walked in. He gave his staff specific orders not to be disturbed. He was ready to chew out whoever had walked it, but any and all retorts he had in the tip of his tongue had died when he saw you.

His precious, innocent, little dove.

Before he could ask what’s wrong (he knew something was wrong because you knew his office was off limits and wouldn't just walk in unless it was an emergency), you pointed to the man slumped over the desk and asked, “Coryo, is he passed out?”

“Oh, my little dove, don't worry about him. He just can't handle his liquor.” Coryo told you, even though the glasses on the desk were teacups and not rocks glasses typically used for liquor.

But of course, you believed your husband. He has no need to lie to you, has he?

Coriolanus stood up from his desk, only to walk over to you. “You know you're not allowed in here while I'm working, Y/N.” He reminded you as he stopped right in front of you. Your husband towers over you, taking in how you were all dolled up and had a bouquet of roses in hand. Arching a brow, he asked, “Is something the matter?”

“Oh, Snowflake, I know I'm not supposed to bother you while you're doing your presidential work, but I was so excited to tell you something.” You honestly told him, a bright smile on your face, as you handed him the roses.

“I'm usually the one who presents you with roses, my love.” Coriolanus chuckled, only to take the offered bouquet. “What's this exciting news that couldn't wait?” He asked, placing his large, calloused hand on your cheek only to caress your cheekbone with his thumb.

“I'm pregnant!” You joyfully smiled up at him.

“That's wonderful news, my little dove.” Your Coryo cooed, pressing a kiss to your lips. He grabbed your hand, lacing your fingers together, and suggested, “Let's go celebrate this happy news with lunch in the sunroom.”

“Okay, but what about your guest? Shouldn't we wake him up?” You innocently asked, gesturing to the man lying dead on your husband's mahogany desk.

“I'll have one of the staff tend to him, Y/N.” Your husband assured you while leading you out of his office.

Little did you know what he really meant by that. But why would you, your husband's only ever showed you a soft, loving, gentleman. He's never shown you his true nature of being an evil, cruel, manipulative, murderous man.

Coriolanus is a snake, but to you he's Coryo, your Snowflake.

And he'll always be that to you since you'll forever be his sweet, innocent, little dove of a wife.

Tags: @kuroosbby001 @purriteen @poppyflower-22 @meetmeatyourworst @whipwhoops @bxtchopolis @readingthingsonhere ,@savagenctzen @ryswritingrecord, @erikasurfer, @tulips2715, @universal-s1ut, @thesmutconnoisseur, @squidscottjeans, @sudek4l, @wearemadeofstardust0, @mashiromochi, @gracieroxzy, @belcalis9503, @shari-berri, @aoi-targaryen, @whiteoakoak @spear-bearing-bi-witch @gisellesprettylies @loverandqueenofdragons @qoopeeya @mfnqueen1

[whatdoeseverybodywant]

The Boy Is Mine - Chapter One

Authors: @whatdoeseverybodywant & @paigereeder

Summary: Josh was at the tail-end of his marriage and has told himself he doesn’t want anything serious. He just isn’t a casual type of guy, and all his actions have consequences.

Pairing: Jey Uso x Female OC

****We do NOT give ANYONE permission to repost or copy our work and post it as their own, that goes for on here and any other site (this does not include reblogs on Tumblr)****

****We do NOT own any distinguishable public figures, celebrities, lyrics, places, institutions, or businesses. Only thing we own are our OCs and made up locations****

❤Reblogs, comments, likes, and feedback ALWAYS appreciated ❤

CAST PAGE!  

~Thursday- December 31st, 2021~

The base thumped as the sweaty drunken bodies bounced, slid, bumped, and gyrated against each other in one of the most popular clubs on arguably thee most popular night for the city… in the most popular city in the world for this day. New Year’s Day always brought those from all over the country to New York City for one reason or another; be it a Broadway Musical, the Macy’s Day Parade on the day itself, or one of the many festivities the night before…the city had plenty of stories to tell. Some of those stories would be amazing, some would not be described with the same sentiment. And…Unfortunately for some, New York City was no Vegas…and what happened there would most definitely not stay there.

Amina was dancing, for the first time in a long time she was carefree. A state that she didn’t reach often, especially if she wasn’t drinking. Her nerves were much too high to get drunk, that was a recipe for disaster. Before her big basketball games in High School and College her and her teammates had their traditions that got them through pre-game and game day nerves. That luxury wouldn’t be awarded this time, she was doing this on her own. No teammates to fall back on, and she was entering into a sport where they would chew her up and spit her out if she showed weakness or lack of skill. Oddly enough she had become cool with a couple of her female colleagues so when she was invited out for New Year’s Eve in New York City she gladly went. She threw on a short black cocktail dress and the red Swarovski Crystal Louboutin’s she got for Christmas, some black eyeliner, a couple coats of mascara and a red lip stain to tie it all together and left her hotel room with only a couple goals. Dancing and having fun, hopefully hold the nerves.

She didn’t have the chance to become too familiar with her male colleagues but the ones she was introduced this evening seemed pretty nice and welcoming so far. Dancing with a couple and having conversations with others, being socialable wasn’t as hard as it usually was for her. Granted she was being introduced by someone that already liked her and had even taken her under her wing as her ‘little sister’, was also a plus. But even still, she normally stuck to herself being slightly shy because a lot of people had the misconception that she was either stuck up, conceited, or a mean girl. She was no stranger to being bullied, so this atmosphere was definitely a change of pace, and she was trying.

One guy in particular lingered a little longer than everyone else that talked to her. Amina enjoyed talking to him and even picking his brain a bit since he had already been in the business a while. He was easy to talk to and offered his help in the future with navigating anything in the business. For some reason, this man was comforting and that led to finding out he was funny, and that led to finding out he wasn’t a terrible dancer, and that led to both being fully sober when Amina found out his lips were soft when the club showed the ball drop and the clock struck midnight.

₊˚ ‿︵୨୧ · · ♡ · · ୨୧‿︵˚₊

“S-shit…” Amina’s mouth fell open as she panted out; she gripped onto the sheets.

“Fuck mama…you takin’ dis dick so good baby….”

Josh held onto her hips with his right hand as he hammered into her, using his left to grip and straighten her chin as he dipped his head to kiss her. The champagne on his tongue that he used to cheers at midnight, mingling with the sweet fruity flavors from her non-alcoholic drink on her tongue as the two tongues battled each other for dominance. He squeezed her chin to get her to submit to his lead, she uttered incoherent words against his lips. Pulling away from the kiss his thumb swiped across her red lipstick-stained lips, smudging it lightly. She choked on her moans when he picked up the pace. Her lust-filled eyes glanced down where their bodies joined before roaming over his entire being. Josh was consuming and attentive, rough yet tender, passionate, and his strokes were lethal. When his eyes met hers, his lips formed a small lopsided smile. 

Her sensuality all evening had enthralled him, being inside of her was satisfying in so many ways. Every touch she left was warm and intoxicating. Her aura…welcoming and soft, not what he had imagined. The hiss they both let out in unison when he first sank himself into her; she was a vocal lover and he was slowly consumed with the sounds he could evoke from her. As her hands roamed his abs and chest he found himself already becoming addicted to being in her presence and attention. Lowering his lips to hers, contentment filled him when they collided.

“Mm… this tight ass pussy…. this gon’ be my pussy now mama?” Josh groaned into her ear, nibbling on the lobe.

Amina couldn’t form the words to answer the way she wanted as he made his strokes shallow and hard, hitting her g-spot over and over. He sucked on her neck leaving behind splotchy love bites. She ground her hips up as she felt the tip of his dick nudging her cervix. Josh moved his hand from her hip and pressed down on her lower stomach, and he slowed his thrusts; he watched his dick slide in and out of her, it glistened in her juices as his ears filled with the sounds of her wetness. She shivered under his touch, eyes rolling into the back of her head as she came.

“I need words baby…” he removed his hand from her chin, tapping her lightly on the cheek with the tips of his fingers. 

“P-p-please…baby…You... ugh… you feel s’good…I can’ttt” Amina moans, squirming as he fucked her through her orgasm.

Josh moaned as Amina rolled them over. He propped his head on a pillow as he watched her slow wind in his lap, squeezing her own breasts as she started to bounce; a new sense of pleasure surging through her as her body started to climb towards another orgasm as she barely finished the first. His hands traversed her curves in an appreciative and exploratory manner. Grabbing Amina’s waist, he thrusted up into her as she threw her head back. Sitting up, Josh reached his left hand up and wrapped it around her throat, applying slight pressure. Sucking her right nipple into his mouth,swirling his tongue around it, his lust filled eyes met her hooded ones as he looked up at her when her head lulled back forward. Pushing his body up more on his right elbow he used his left hand that was around her neck to pull her lips hungrily to his. He bit on her bottom lip, squeezing her neck as her ass was clapping against his thighs.

“J-JOSH!!”

“That’s right baby…let the whole floor know who fuckin’ this pussy…”

Clenching her walls slightly Amina spun around and faced away from him with his dick still throbbing inside of her as he laid back with his arms behind his head watching her; he bit his lip. Holding onto his calves she started to bounce; he slapped her ass cheeks as they ricocheted off his pelvis, his eyes slightly mesmerized. He closed his eyes and licked his lips as his balls started to tighten as his orgasm built. Amina started to rock as she used her right hand to rub her own clit. Josh sat up and switched their positions; he reached and gripped behind her knees putting them in a full nelson.

“Mm fuck…you on birth control Amina? Fuck! Let me bust in you…”

Amina nodded her head adamantly as she moaned, picking up the speed of her right hand rubbing her clit; she was completely at his mercy. Josh bounced Amina on his dick as her moans strung together, echoing off the room's walls. She rubbed her left hand down her body to his balls, gently massaging them in her palm as she rhythmically squeezed her pussy walls around his throbbing dick. He picked up the pace, bouncing her fast and sloppy; her breasts bouncing.

“F-Fuck J-JOSH!!!!!” Amina screamed out, her walls clenching in steady pulses as she came.

“Shit Baby...” Josh grunted as he filled her with his cum, biting down on her shoulder as she swiveled her hips slowly, his dick twitched as his warm ropes coated her pussy; emptying himself.

Both were panting as they came down, Amina rested her head back on him. Josh slid his arms around her waist; she placed her hands gingerly on his as he kissed her temple.

~Friday- January 1st, 2022~

Amina stood under the hot water, the steam soothing her muscles that were already beginning to ache. It was the big New Years Day episode of Smackdown in New York City at thee Madison Square Garden, and it just so happened to be her debut as well. She had practiced with Mercedes a couple times the week leading up to this in between the house shows. Mercedes was an easy partner to work with and she was really sweet. Everyone had been so far. It was always good to see everyone outside of work so the party last night that Bianca and Kenneth through was helping with her nerves as well. Now, that was her opinion walking into the arena this afternoon. Her debut did not go the way they had rehearsed… it at all. She still bested Mercedes like she was supposed to, but some of the hits the other woman landed seemed to be fueled by something other than what had been there when they were practicing.

Finishing washing up and washing her hair quicker than she would if she was home, or hell even if she was at her hotel for the evening, but the arena’s locker room wasn’t the place to try and reflect what could have possibly happened Monday afternoon up until when her entrance music hit. Fans were familiar with her from her extremely brief two month run on NXT, one of the fastest if not the shortest NXT runs in history, and they actually received her really well on the main roster. The fans, the higher ups, production and the men congratulated her, which didn’t explain why she would probably be wearing more black spots than Cruella DeVille and a lot of the women were side eyeing her.

Reaching her arm out she grabbed her towel and wrapped it around herself, making sure it was secure before stepping out. She was wearing some shower shoes, so she grabbed her hair products and body wash then made her way out to the main locker room area. Charlotte looked up when she entered the room, but didn’t say anything; she just finished texting whoever she was texting before tossing her cellphone in her bag and exiting the room. She seen Pam glance her way then whisper something to Mercedes before she followed in Charlotte’s footsteps without a word. Amina threw her products in her duffel bag and took out her deodorant, she applied it quickly before throwing it in her bag as well before sighing.

“Ok…did I do something wrong to someone? Is this part of some hazing process?! Everyone was fine yesterday?!”

Mercedes chuckled under her breath as she took her items out of her own duffel to prepare for her own shower. She was far too busy gossiping prior to their segment. Pinning her hair up she grabbed her own shower products and towel and made her way to the shower area, that just so happened to have to pass Amina to get to.

“Yeah, everyone was probably fine before they knew you liked to sleep your way to the top. I don’t knock annnnnnyones hustle but…...no one is going to like the snobby brat that gets shit handed to her. And a little word of advice? Keep your legs closed to married men…” Mercedes smirked before using her shoulder to knock into Amina as she finished her walk to the showers.

Amina’s mouth fell open in shock. She glanced around the room, it was silent. The only one left in the room that she knew was Natalya, and her look was one of pity. Making her way over to the much younger girl, a slight frown on her face; she wrapped her arms around Amina.

“Try not to let it get to you. Some women just do not get along with certain other women. Sometimes its ‘cause they are a threat, or some real reason. Other times, unfortunately you can just exist and that will bother someone.” She pulled away and lowered her voice, whispering the last part. “Plus I think she has a thing for Josh…” Natalya finished, giving Amina a comforting shoulder squeeze and walking back over to her stuff.

Giving the room one more glance; no one daring to raise their eyes to her. Amina put on some lotion before slipping a thong and leggings on. Putting on a sports bra and zip-up hoodie, she took off her shower shoes and through on some Nike slides. Grabbing her duffle bag, she made a beeline out of the Arena. She heard a little shuffling right outside the door.

“I tried to catch you right after yo’ segment, but you must’a been bookin’ it to the locker room.”

Amina jumped at hearing Josh’s voice. She glanced at him for a second, she almost answered but then she realized that her frustrations and the entire problem….was him.

“What are you still doin’ here? Don’t you got a crew or somethin’ you travel wit’?” Amina said lowly making her way over to her rental that was thankfully tucked away in the talent parking underneath the arena, she did not need fans thinking the same things her co-workers were, or worse knowing that she did indeed sleep with a married man.

Josh moved to walk next to her, grabbing her duffle bag off her arm. She was about to protest but she didn’t want to make a scene, there were after all some crew members and other superstars down here. Luckily for her they weren’t any of those looking at her like a jezebel.

“Yeah, normally I travel wit’da fam but I wanted to catch up wit’chu…and I realize you ain’t even give ya boy ya number.”

“Oh…” she responded quietly.

They stopped when they made it to the Dodge Charger she had rented, popping open the trunk, she watched him put her bag in the trunk…but also his. She was about say something when he started talking first.

“We can stop at like two or three in the mornin’…if we do that we can wake up and only have to drive an hour or two after check out before we can check in at the next city…plus that will give us plenty of time to talk about why the girl I’m talkin’ to now is all short and dry when she was bubbly and talkative last night and this afternoon when I left her…”

He said it with a somewhat joking tone, but Amina knew without a doubt he was far from joking. Josh took the car keys from her shocked hands and went to open the passenger door for her. She looked at him and he gestured for her to get in, which she obliged before he shut the door after she climbed in. He jogged around to the driver's side and hopped in himself, waiting for them both to put on their seatbelts before starting the car and pulling out of the parking lot.

₊˚ ‿︵୨୧ · · ♡ · · ୨୧‿︵˚₊

The two were silent until they hit the interstate. Amina didn’t know what to say to him, she wanted to go off, but she was too tired and too sore. The radio was the only thing heard for the first twenty minutes into their trip to the next city. A few moments after Josh’s GPS told him to get on the highway he cut the radio down.

“You good?”

Amina kissed her teeth. To her, that question was utterly stupid. She knew about wrestling; her grandfather enjoyed it when she was growing up. Knowledge of the sport to her, didn’t mean knowing the wrestler’s personal lives so how was she supposed to know this man was married? Yeah, he was attractive, but that did not mean she did a deep dive on every attractive man on the roster's marital status, no matter how few of them were attractive on the current rosters.

“I don’t speak in lip smacks and shit like that Amina…you gon’ need to use your words…closed mouths don’t get fed”

“Like you used your words to tell me you were married…not dating…MARRIED!…Maybe I should keep things closed…your little friend Mercedes made me aware that I should keep my legs closed to married men and not sleep my way to the top!” Amina started to fume as she angled her body to face him.

It was now Josh’s turn to smack his teeth. His knuckles on his left hand started to turn white as he gripped the steering wheel tighter.

“I don’t speak in lip smacks and shit like that Joshua…you gon’ need to use your words…” Amina mimicked him.

Josh didn’t say anything, he just nodded his head silently. The silence was becoming too much for Amina, and if he wasn’t going to explain himself, she would just cut her losses and go about her life with most of the people she seen daily disliking her. She could go to everyone that gave her a dirty look and explain that she didn’t know, but what would be the point…if they didn’t dislike her for thinking she was a home wrecker they would find something else to condemn her for. Leaning forward she turned the radio up, this would be a long little trip but once it was over they could go their separate ways.

There was a rest stop that was coming up and Josh took the turn off for it at the last second, causing Amina to hold onto the door.

“Man makes me a whore and wanna drive frivolously….”

“Cut that shit the fuck out…”

She wasn’t sure if it was the tone, or the overall seriousness of his posture…but she cut that shit the fuck out. Josh parked in an area that was farthest away from the actual building and took his seatbelt off, angling his body towards her.

“She said that shit to you?”

Of all the things he chose to comment on, it was the fact of what Mercedes said not what he had done.

“Does it fuckin’ matter that she said the shit to me?! YOU didn’t…”

“I ain’t say that dumbass shit to you ‘cause I know you ain’t fuckin’ yo’ way to the top… and you ain’t open yo’ legs to a married man. Well… not technically.”

“Pfft” Amina crossed her arms and rolled her eyes.

Josh licked his lips and reached over the center console and knocked her arms loose.

“I’m fa’ real…I… well…I’m not divorced yet, but I’m separated. And yo ass talented as fuck… me and Big Uce was watchin’ some of yo’ matches at NXT…shit even watched yo’ college highlight reel. Hell, yo ass might got us beat on some of the shit yo’ lil ass can do. I don’t know what the hell her issue is, i caught the segment just as you made it to the ring, she probably was mad you cooked her ass. I even heard folks talkin’ bout you dawg walked her on the mic. So, you got mic skills this early in yo’ career too? You ‘bout to be pressure. Hell… I might have to get in bed wit’chu to get some tv time in a minute.” He joked, noticing her face still lacked any and all amusement. Amina rolled her eyes again and turned her head to look forward and out the front windshield. He reached over to firmly grabbed her chin, turning her to face him again gently. “Maaaan look at me when I’m talkin’ to you and fix ya face. I’m fa’ real. You don’t need me to push you no where… you goin’ places. But on the real…my marriage been over. It’s just…I guess we then got into a co-parenting routine and since we don’t live together, I ain’t press for a divorce. Plus, our sons is young, she ain’t even move out right away. I got a lil’ spot in Florida from back when we was doin’ the thunderdome, so I stayed there a little more. But now she found her a new crib and we explained to the boys somewhat. Man my family don’t even know for real, just Jon, Joe, and Joseph…not even Trin know right now. I’m private, don’t none of them people in there that I don’t talk to like dat know about all dat…”

He let her chin go when her face softened. Amina wanted to believe him, but in all honesty, she didn’t know him well enough to know if he was a liar. In her gut, she felt like he wouldn’t lie about that. Josh could tell by the look on her face she was conflicted.

“Look…we was vibin’. We had good conversation. You like a lot of shit that I do. You like sports, and….hell you interested in wrestling. And all that shit is important to me at this point in my life. I…I can’t offer you a relationship. Cause I don’t even know if I’ll ever want that again at this point. I don’t require much personally, but my lifestyle so different most won’t understand; you gon’ learn this shit ain’t for the weak. But, if you cool wit’ it… I want us to be able to kick it.”

“…I…I mean I guess we can kick it….not like I have many friend options now, I probably wouldn’t have anyways…besides….we just kickin’ it…it’s not like we gonna repeat last night where you tryna rearrange my insides.” Amina rolled her eyes again, sarcastically this time.

“You want me to talk to ‘em?…”

“Nah… it’s whatever. I’m used to it.” Amina sighed.

“You sure?”

“Yeah…I’m sure…”

“Aight… take out yo’ phone…”

“Why?” she raised her eyebrow at him.

“You know you walkin’ around wit’ a Utopia Box?” He asked, flicking his eyes between her legs than back at the well-lit building of the rest-stop.

“Thanks, I got it for my birthday…” she deadpanned. He was so random.

“Look up the best divorce lawyer in Atlanta….”

“Huh?…”

“Girl if you don’t want me to talk to ‘em… and the only thing stoppin’ me from gettin’ back in between yo’ legs is my divorce than I’m pickin’ one and I’ll call bright and early at eight on Monday mornin’…cause baby I’m a lot to handle and my sexual appetite high, so if you think you can put that good ass pussy on me and you gon’ fuck and duck me? You outta yo’ mind…respectfully. ”

Amina shoved him causing him to flinch towards the door, laughing. She side-eyed him for a minute before joining in with him in laughing. When their laughter died down his eyes got a little lower as he slowly blinked, moving in closer to her face.

“Ahmi, Can I kiss you?”

“Ahmi?” she looked at him with an expression he couldn’t decipher.

“I’on kno it’s like yo’ name but remixed…plus I’m sure you ain’t gon’ let me call you baby at work…” he smirked.

“It’s just no one has ever given me a nickname before…except my mama and my lala”

“That makes me special… and since I’m special…” he paused and licked his lips. “I’m gon’ ask again..can I kiss you?” his voice slightly huskier.

Biting her bottom lip for a second, before nodding her head slowly, he smiled closing the very short distance between them and pressed his lips softly to hers.

-Tuesday- February 14th 2022 ~

Atlanta, Georgia 

“Fuck!” Chantelle Dixon also known as Honey cried out as she finished counting all the money she had made for the night. “Five hundred?! This shit ain't enough,” she exclaimed, her voice dripping with irritation. She ran a hand through her curls, trying to shake off the disappointment in her chest. Valentine’s Day was normally a good day at the club, but this year, everyone seemed to be in a relationship or flat-out broke.  Honey scowled, stuffing the bills into her purse, not bothering to roll them.  She'd have to pull double shifts next week to make up for this disaster. Her mother was already doing doubles all week at the diner to make ends meet, and Honey had promised herself she wouldn't let her down.

“Honey! Request, room four!” a voice called out, breaking her moment of frustration. 

"Okay" she called back, irritation still present in her voice. She took a deep breath and looked at herself in the mirror, she forced a smile onto her face as she adjusted her sparkly top and reapplied her lip gloss. 

The walk from the dressing rooms to the private one wasn’t a long one. Honey knocked twice before entering, her practiced sultry gaze sweeping the dimly lit room. Her heart skipped a beat as she locked eyes with her client for the night. This man was FINE —caramel skin glowing under the soft light, muscles defined in a cut-off white Nike shirt. The Cuban link around his neck and wrist gleamed like a promise of something more. She prayed that this dance would give her just enough to keep the lights on for another month. 

She felt her panties dampen as he stuck his tongue out to lick his lips and the gleam of his grillz caught her attention. Honey swallowed hard, trying to regain her composure. This wasn't her first rodeo, but something about this man made her feel like a rookie all over again. She walked further into the room, hips swaying with each step as she felt his eyes on her. 

“Damn Ma’ you even prettier up close.”  He muttered licking his lips again as she walked closer to him. 

Honey felt her cheeks grow hot as his eyes roamed her body. “Thank you,” She said with a sultry smile just as the music started flowing through the room. “You don’t seem like the type to be alone on Valentine's Day.” She said just as she started gyrating her body to the music. 

“I’m usually not.” He chuckled, leaning back in the chair and getting comfortable, legs spreading open, so if she wanted to, she had room to dance up close. “This year jus’ a lil’ different” 

“Well, that's good for me right?” Honey winked, as she slid her hands up her body, keeping her eyes locked on his as she reached her clothed breast. Josh felt his mouth dry up as Honey started to toy with the silver buckle that held her top closed. “I get to have you all to myself.” He groaned as she finally undid the clasp and her breast spilled out. 

“Fuck” She heard him whisper and it made her smirk. Honey bit her lip and turned her back to him, rolling her hips in slow, hypnotic circles.  She bent her knees a little shaking her ass in his face, before standing up straight and slowly walking over to him. Honey straddled his lap, her hips undulating to the rhythm of the music. She could feel the heat radiating from his body, his breath hot on her neck as she leaned in close. His hands hovered near her waist, not touching, but she could sense his restraint. She ran her hands up his arms, loving the way his body shivered under her touch.

. “What’s your name?” 

“Josh” He answered immediately. His eyes dropped down to her exposed breast and he licked his lips. As she continued her dance. She could feel his arousal pressing against her, and it took all her self-control not to grind down harder. This was business, after all. But something about this man made her want to blur those lines. Josh's fingers twitched, yearning to touch her.  Honey noticed his struggle and leaned in close, her lips brushing his ear. “Remember, baby, no touching,” she purred, her voice low and sultry.

Josh groaned, his head falling back against the chair. “Damn, ma. You makin’ it real hard to follow the rules.”

Honey chuckled, a sound that sent shivers down Josh's spine. She continued her dance, her body moving in perfect sync with the music. Her hands trailed down her sides, over her hips, drawing his gaze to every curve. As the song faded out, Honey stood up slowly, her eyes never leaving Josh's. She could see the desire burning in his gaze, matching the heat she felt coursing through her own body. This wasn't supposed to happen. She was a professional who was used to maintaining emotional distance from her clients. But something about Josh was different and it intrigued her. 

“That's the end of our time, baby,” she said, her voice huskier than she intended, more turned on than she had ever been during a private dance.  Josh’s eyes widened as she bent down to grab her discarded top. 

“One more dance,” he said, grabbing his wallet and taking out a couple hundreds. Honey’s eyes widened. It was way more than necessary. “Please,” he begged and Honey felt herself nodding. 

“Okay,” She whispered, dropping her top back to the floor. As the next song started to play, Honey went back to her previous position, straddling Josh’s thighs. As Honey began to move again, she felt a shift in the atmosphere. The air between them crackled with electricity, and she found herself getting lost in Josh's intense gaze. His hands, still hovering near her waist, trembled with the effort of restraint.

She quietly grabbed his hand and placed it on her waist. She would deal with the consequences from her boss later. Josh let out a choked curse as his hands came in contact with Honey’s soft skin. He brought his other hand up and gripped her hips. The music faded into the background as they lost themselves in each other. Honey's hands slid up Josh's chest, feeling the rapid beat of his heart beneath her palms. She leaned in, her forehead resting against his, their breaths mingling in the scant space between them. Somehow the dance had turned into downright dry humping. 

Honey's hips moved in slow, sensual circles, her body responding to Josh's touch in a way she'd never experienced before. She could feel the heat of his skin through the thin fabric of his shirt, his fingers digging into her flesh making her moan softly. 

“What’s yo name?” He asked and Honey knew he was asking for her real name. 

“Chantelle.” She whispered, moaning as Josh began rocking her hips harder against his erection, biting his lip at her soft moans. 

“Chantelle,” Josh repeated softly, savoring the sound of her real name on his lips. “It suits you.” He said as he pulled her even closer, her bare breast now pressed up against his shirt. Chantelle felt herself getting lost in the moment, in the heat of Josh's touch and the intensity of his gaze. She knew she was crossing a line, but she couldn't bring herself to care. She had never crossed this line before, but something about this man was different. It felt natural to be this way with him. 

Chantelle’s fingers tangled in his hair as she closed the remaining distance between them, her lips brushing against his in a feather-light kiss. Josh groaned, one hand sliding up her back to cup the nape of her neck. He deepened the kiss, his tongue teasing the seam of her lips until she opened for him. The kiss was electric, setting every nerve ending in Chantelle's body on fire. She leaned her neck to the side as she trailed kisses up and down her neck. 

“What time yo’ shift over?” 

₊˚ ‿︵୨୧ · · ♡ · · ୨୧‿︵˚₊

“Fu-fuck” Chantelle moaned out as Josh wrapped one of his hands around her neck, pinning her to the seat as he fucked all the thoughts out of her head. This was not how she pictured her night ending, folded up in the backseat of Josh’s car, eyes crossed, mouth hung open in pleasure while he dugged her out. She had one of her hands pressed up against the door and the other one was holding onto her breast, toying with her nipple. 

Josh's grip tightened as he thrust deeper, eliciting another breathy moan from Chantelle.  “So fuckin’ wet.” He mumbled, eyes locked onto where their bodies met, loving the way her pussy swallowed his dick whole.  Chantelle choked out another moan as he let go of her leg with his other hand and brought it down to her clit, rubbing it in tight circles.  “Pussy so fuckin’ tight, so fuckin’ good. You gon come fa’ me?”  He grunted out, eyebrows furrowed together as he started pounding into her. The car was definitely rocking but neither cared, given she was the last to leave the club and no other cars were in the parking lot. 

“Yes.. oh fuck!” Chantelle's body tensed as her climax hit her full force. Stars exploded behind her eyelids as she cried out Josh's name, her body trembling beneath him. Josh growled at the feeling of her pulsing around him, He shifted his grip, sliding one hand down to Chantelle's hip for better leverage while the other remained firmly around her throat. The new angle allowed him to hit even deeper, his cock brushing against her G-spot with every stroke. 

"Fuck, you feel so good," Josh groaned, his voice husky with desire. He leaned down, capturing Chantelle's lips in a searing kiss. Their tongues danced as he continued to thrust into her, swallowing her whimpers of pleasure.

Chantelle pressed her hands against his abs trying to push him away, tears welling in her eyes at how overstimulated she felt. Josh broke the kiss and moved his lips near Chantelle’s ear,  his lips brushing against it as he whispered huskily, "You can take it, baby. I know you can." His tongue flicked out, tracing the shell of her ear. 

“J-Josh!" she cried out, as her second orgasm hit outta nowhere, her fluids gushing out, wetting up him and his seats. 

Josh's rhythm faltered as Chantelle's second orgasm washed over him, her slick heat clenching around him like a vice. He groaned, burying his face in the crook of her neck as he fought to maintain control. The scent of her skin, a mix of sweat, and her flowery perfume filled his nostrils, driving him wild.

"Fuck, Chantelle," he panted, his hips snapping forward with increased urgency. He abruptly pulled out of her and grunted and he came. Chantelle gasped at the sudden emptiness, her body still trembling from her climax. She watched through heavy-lidded eyes as Josh stroked himself to completion, his release spilling onto her stomach and breast in hot spurts. Chantelle moaned at the feeling. 

"Damn, girl," Josh murmured, running his hands through his damp mullet after their breathing had returned to normal.  He reached into the pocket of one of the chairs in the backseat and handed her a pack of baby wipes. She eyed the wipes in his hand, wondering why he had them in his car. “Whatchu looking at them like that for?” 

“You uhh.. Do this often?” She asked as she took them and wiped his release off her stomach and breast. 

“What -Nah!” He chuckled. “I have kids and they be messy as hell. Can’t get in the ride with messy ass hands.” Chantelle giggled as she sat up and began putting her clothes back on. 

“Where’re my panties?” She asked looking around the car. She cursed and she peered into the front seat and saw them torn, hanging from his rearview mirror. “Sir what the hell.”

Josh chuckled as he pulled his briefs and cargo pants back over his hips. He grabbed them out of her hand. “Souniver” He winked and she scoffed. 

“I’m not getting in a Uber with no panties.” 

“Girl. You know imma take you home. I ain’t havin’ you in no stranger’s car.” Chantelle’s eyes widened. There was no way in hell he could see where she lived. Technically he was a stranger too.

"No, no, it's cool. I can just call my friend to come get me," Chantelle said quickly, fumbling for her phone.

Josh raised an eyebrow. "At 3 AM? C'mon, be forreal. I'll drop you off, it's no trouble." 

Fuck Chantelle thought as she tried to come up with a plan. Josh got out of the back seat and stretched his body before getting the the driver's seat and starting the car. He then picked his phone up from the cup holder – where he had placed it earlier and handed it to her. 

“Put yo’ address in” Still panicking, she quickly entered the only other address she knew by heart. She handed Josh back his phone and climbed into the passenger seat. As she settled into the seat, she quickly grabbed her phone and texted her best friend. She crossed her fingers as she waited for her response. 

To Bff4L : You up?  From Bff4L : yea whats wrong?  To Bff4L: I’ll explian when I get there. 

Chantelle relaxed in her seat as Josh started driving towards her best friend's house. The car ride was anything but silent. They pretty much got to know each other in the 30-minute drive. Chantelle had learned that he was 35, had two kids, and was an athlete. Which didn’t really surprise her. It was obvious he had money. 

Chantelle told him some things about her too. She told him she was 26, she was born and raised in Atlanta, and that she was an only child. He didn’t need to know anything else.  She let out a tiny sigh of relief as he pulled onto her friend's block. 

“Thank you,” Chantelle whispered as she looked over at him. Her heart pounded in her chest as their eyes locked. Josh smiled at her. He had taken his grillz out and his smile was even more captivating without them. Chantelle felt a flutter in her stomach. 

“It’s all good Telle.” 

“Nig– Telle?” Chantelle raised an eyebrow, not sure how to feel about the new nickname.

“What? You don’t like that? How bout boo, baby, sweetheart.. I can go on.” Josh teased playfully.

Chantelle scoffed and opened the car door. “Bye Josh” She rolled her eyes but couldn't hide the smile on her face as she shut the passenger door and started walking up the driveway towards the front door. 

“Bye Boo!” 

She flipped him off making him laugh.  She opened the front door and looked back to see Josh still sitting in his car, watching her with an amused grin. She shook her head and stepped inside, closing the door behind her.

“Is he the reason why I’m up at 3 a.m.?” 

Chantelle jumped and turned to face her best friend Dejah, who was leaving the kitchen with a bottle of water. 

“Shut up, you said you were up already,” Chantelle muttered as they walked into the living room and threw themselves onto the plush couch. Chantelle sighed as she leaned back into the couch and closed her eyes. 

“Bitch! Who the fuck was that?” 

Chantelle sighed with her eyes still closed, she answered, “That was Josh. We met at Blue Diamond earlier.” Dejah hummed and Chantelle opened her eyes to look at her. “What?” 

“Y’all met at the club?” when Chantelle nodded Dejah continued. “So how did you get in his car at three in the morning?” 

Chantelle groaned and covered her face. “Don’t judge me Dejah.” 

Dejah gasped and reached over to slap Chantelle on her arm. “Chantelle Rose! Did you sleep with him?” With her face still covered, Chantelle nodded, and Dejah hit her on her arm again. “What the hell friend! Why?!” 

“I don’t know,” Chantelle muttered, dropping her hands from her face and looking at her best friend. “It’s just – something about him is just different. You know I’ve never done nothing like this before. I tried to just be professional but girl, the way he looked at me I mean.” Chantelle paused and took a deep breath. “I been striping for years and have been stared at like a piece of meat by any and every man. But the way Josh looked at me, it was like he saw through all of that. Like he was seeing the real me, you know?” 

Dejah shook her head. “You a big girl so I’m not gonna berate you. All imma say is be careful.” Dejah said as a yawn escaped her mouth. “I’m going to bed. You already know the guest room is yours” 

“Thank you,” Chantelle muttered. Dejah gave her friend a tight-lipped smile before making up way out of the living room and up the steps to her bedroom. 

With a sigh, Chantelle stood from the couch and made her way to the guest room. She took a quick shower before changing into the pajamas she left there last time. As Chantelle climbed into bed, there was only one thing on her mind.. Josh. 

~ Wednesday- February 15th 2022 ~

It was around 10 am the next morning when Chantelle finally left Dejah’s house. As she was walking out the front door and to the MARTA bus stop a couple of blocks down. As she made it to the end of the driveway and semi-familiar white BMW pulled up to the curb. She paid it no mind and continued her walk to the bus stop. 

“I man, Ion mind chasing after you.” Chantelle stopped dead in her tracks and turned around to see Josh smiling at her as he leaned over to yell out the passenger window. 

"What are you doing here?" she asked, walking back towards the car, trying to keep her voice casual despite the flutter in her stomach.

Josh shrugged, his grin widening. “I came to see if you wanted to go to breakfast”  

Chantelle’s heart skipped a beat. He came to see me she thought as a smile crossed her face. She nodded and grabbed the handle of the car door, opening it. “I would love to.” 

₊˚ ‿︵୨୧ · · ♡ · · ୨୧‿︵˚₊

“How you doin'? Uh, can I get triple hash browns scattered and covered? Six scrambled eggs with American cheese, two chocolate chip waffles, and a lemonade.” 

Chantelle’s eyes widened as his order kept growing and growing. After he was done he looked over at her, waiting for her to order. “Damn, I thought you were ordering for the both of us.” She chuckled before turning her attention to the waitress. “Can I just get the cheese and eggs with raisin toast please, with a glass of water?” The waitress nodded before taking their menus from them and walking away to put their order in.  

Raisin Toast? Josh thought That’s what Ami– he closed his eyes and took a deep breath. She ended things with you. Stop thinking about her.  

They both lapsed into a comfortable silence, sneaking glances at each other before adverting their gazes. Chantelle felt herself blush when Josh caught her staring and smirked at her. 

“Can I just say that um, I never done.. Um, I never had uh, sex with a client before,” she admitted softly, glancing up at him through her lashes.

“I’m your client?” 

Chantelle nodded. “Yeah, you paid for a service and I provided that service, making you my client. But I don’t want you to think I’m some hoe or something, just sleeping with men who pay for dances.” 

“Telle.” Josh chuckled, cutting off her rambling. “I don’t think you a hoe. Promise” 

“Thanks,” she said softly, meeting his eyes. “I just... I don't usually do that kind of thing. There was just something about you…” She trailed off with a shrug and Josh’s smile dropped a little. He cleared his throat and sat back in his seat. 

“Look, I wanted to eat first but uh. I like you. I mean the sex was.” He paused and let out a slight chuckle. “The sex was good but I can’t go no further with you.” Chantelle’s face dropped. “I mean, I can’t give you a relationship or nothing. Like I’m always on the road and only here in the ATL for about two to three days out the week.” 

“Oh,” Chantelle said. She felt her heart sink, but she forced a small smile and nodded. "I understand," she said softly, trying to keep the disappointment out of her voice. "I appreciate your honesty."

Josh leaned forward, his gaze intense. “I don't want you to think I'm playin' you or nothin'. It's just... my life, it's complicated as hell right now and  I can't drag you into all that.”

Chantelle said nothing and Josh sighed just as the waitress came and sat their food down. Not in the mood to eat anymore, she asked the waitress for a to-go box. 

“Wait. Chantelle, you don’t have to leave.” 

“No, I think I should.” She said as she started putting her food in the container.” 

“Listen Uce, chill chill,” Josh said as she stood from the booth and started walking towards the exit. He stood too and grabbed her arm gently, stopping her from walking away from him. “We can be friends, can’t we? I-I got so much shit going on right now. I can’t be in a relationship.” 

Chantelle rolled her eyes. “Friends?” She deadpanned “You wanna be friends?” 

Josh nodded eagerly and held his hand out. “Yeah, You cool and we obviously vibe together. Leeme see ya’ phone.”  

Chantelle scrunched her face up but fished into her tote bag and handed him her phone anyway.

“Looks, here’s my number.” He said as he handed her phone back. She arched her eyebrow when she saw he had saved it under UceyJucey.  “Text me.”  

Chantelle bit her lip and nodded. “Okay.” She said just as she saw her Uber pull up in front of the restaurant. “I have to go.” 

Josh nodded. “Aight. Don’t forget to text me, Telle!” He called out to her as she was leaving the restaurant. He let out a loud sigh as he sat back down in the booth. He placed both his elbows on the table and placed his head in his hands. “Fuck.” He muttered and grabbed his phone out of his pocket, calling the one person who he knew he could talk to. 

“ Uce! I was starting to think I wasn’t gon hear from yo’ ass today.” 

“Jon,” Josh muttered. Jon’s smile immediately dropped at the seriousness in Josh’s voice.   “I fucked up.” 

😮‍💨 Welp! Here it is! the first chapter of my and @paigereeder 's collab. Let us know what you think? We love interacting with y’all… stay tuned… it’s going to get even more… interesting

🏷️: @trentybenty @nbanenefrmdao @mzv11 @southerngirl41 @yana3sworld

@uceyliyahh @harmshake @wooahmiri @xbriexx @misslackey

@biancasreign @ashykneee @claymoresofinfamy23 @geekinstilettos @sayyestoheav3nn

@bebesobrielo @amandairene88 @summerssoldierxx @christinabae @cyberdejos2

@pinkwithhearts @partypoison00 @msbigredmachine @alika-4466 @bossbitch-22

@jeyusos-girl @fearlesschimera @privateeyed95

[formosusiniquis]

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

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

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

AO3

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The bit crumbles immediately between Robin’s fingers.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Stephanie Marie Henderson.”

“Oh my god!”

“Shut up, don’t even.”

“Oh. My. God.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Especially you.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“That’s what I’m saying!”

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

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

It’s definitely too late to leave.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Really? I mean with Steve Harrington? ”

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

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

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

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

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

“Hen-”

“I need you to come pick me up, now.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“That’s the same sentence twice.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What?” 

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

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

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

“Girl code?”

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

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

“Oh my god, really?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What happened?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Mindy Peterson.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“So what did you actually do?”

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

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

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

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

“Oh yeah, that really narrows it down.”

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

“The truth being that Stephanie Henderson always existed?”

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

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

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

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

“Obviously, just let me clock in.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Maybe you-”

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

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

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

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

“I mean they’re in high school so-”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“They should meet.”

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

“Who should-”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You look nice?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What are your intentions with Stevie?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Someone’s in a mood.” 

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

Usually.

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

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

“That’s sepia.”

“Bless you.”

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

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

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

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

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

“Sally from the basketball team?”

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

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

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

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

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

“Thank you.”

“I was just trying to- What?”

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

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

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

“I think he got the upperhand.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[companionwolf]

Games we're doing/already made characters for:

Pathfinder 2e

Eclipse Phase

Explorers of Fate (PMD)

FIST

Delta Green

Fiasco x2 [zombie apocalypse + SOMA-esque]

BLASE + The Shadows

Fractal Romance

You Awaken in a Strange Place

Triangle Agency

Apocalypse World

Games we want to try:

Kids on Bikes/adjacent

Magical Kitties Save the Day

Changeling the Lost/Chronicles of Darkness

Invasion

...Birdwatch Feelings? (My L&F XCOM 2 hack)

Streets/Streets 2: Night Shift

The Witch is Dead

Modern!Call of Cthulhu

A FATE game (Secrets of Cats?)

Cathulhu 7e

Very Good Dogs of Chernoybl

The Veil? Something cyberpunk

Reworked Warriors Adventure Game

Flying Circus: Chariots of Steel

Liminal Horror

Vast and Starlit

Apocalypse Roadtrip

Extracausal

Flyover Country

Crafted

ALIEN RPG

Twlight 2000

Unknown Armies 2E

Deviant the Renegade

Albedo

Mutant Year Zero (w Genlab Alpha)

HC SVNT DRCNES

After the Bomb

Palladium (Rifts?)

The Bureau (PBtA)

Paranoia

Engine Heart

Elite Dangerous RPG

The Company

Extreme Metapunks Forever: The RPG

Idiot Teenagers with a Death Wish

Hostile Work Enviroment

The Foundation RPG

...And definitely others as time goes on!

[linkons-most-wanted]

Death and Rebirth chaotic thoughts!

Spoilers below the cut. Hopefully mobile Tumblr won't troll anyone.

SPOILERS BELOW HERE

I will be doing more structured things with these thoughts but I gotta ramble now that I've finished the new main story content! Still drooling at the event tho, we're gonna get even more little reveals I'm sure...

In no particular order:

We got explicit confirmation that Philos's iterations in the myths are parallel potential versions of the same planet! In a GORGEOUS cinematic, at that. I think I might have to screen cap that so I can attach it to a post where I talk about Philos lore. We also know that every version of Philos eventually dies (as all planets do). This actually also creates the possibility that not all versions of Philos started as Earth--that's actually only referenced in Xavier's Where Shooting Stars Fall anecdote, and we see graphics of other versions of Philos that are whole planets (not with the shattered plates) covered in sad (as in Rafayel's Philos myth) or fire (as in Beyond Cloudfall). It also means that Earth can have futures in which it doesn't become Philos--like Dawnbreaker's future. It's maybe a little anticlimactic that they're all parallel? But at the same time a relief to my lore brain because it means I can stop looking for clues about how they're supposed to reconcile. Head-canon wise I still like the idea of certain overlaps between the various timelines, such as Xavier and Sylus recognizing some of the same Philosian tech.

EVER CAUSED THE CHRONORIFT CATASTROPHE BY FUCKING WITH MC, I am SO proud of myself for piecing this together before from the timing, and I even have receipts! I had my suspicions that she was "created" rather than born (since she's elsewhere described as being born from the planet's core) so getting the confirmation that she's "from Deepspace" is extremely exciting.

And on that note, SYLUS SAVED BABY MC. 😭 I am going to be chewing on the bars of my enclosure for more details about that in the event, I hope we get more tidbits... if not you can count on me for a Sylus PoV with head canon to fill it all in 😂 I think what I'm gonna do is add alt chapters to Cosmic Interlude so the current chapters will still be there, but there'll be alternate/additional chapters with the updated canon. My secondary goal with Cosmic Interlude was always to provide a streamlined/clarified version of what we know from canon (partly so I can keep it straight myself) so I def want it to be able to still do that. Folks can then skip the "old" chapters if they want, or read them all for ideas on different ways things could have gone (and we know this game loves branching timelines). And speaking of timelines...

We get an even more primordial origin story for Sylus x MC???? 🥹 Two cosmic beings, forced together because only they could match the other's strength, destined for one to kill the other, but they escape and reshape the destiny of the entire universe 🥹🥹🥹 I'm sure it's partly my bias but Sylus backstory just hits different. I wonder if we'll get a myth from that setting!!???

And that makes me wonder--how does Sylus know about this past life? Did he fall to Philos like a shooting star and wind up amongst the dragons? Did their consciousness energy disperse into the cosmos, and then manifest again on that version of Philos and he's managed to maintain one stream of consciousness since then? If so, when did those memories return to him? Perhaps in dreams, perhaps in the Deepspace Tunnel... so many yummy options... Speaking of delicious, the way he knew RIGHT AWAY that she'd "eaten" the spatium core, and how tempting it must smell... 😋 there will be smut about it.

Switching gears to Zayne, my poor baby. He's going THROUGH IT. And we are finally getting some reveals to all these things that have been foreshadowed. I saw some people expressing confusion that "Dawnbreaker" doesn't remember MC, but I think it's important to realize that the "Dawnbreaker" that manifests isn't necessarily the same one we see in the Anecdotes--Zayne's whole thing is "yin and yang", so I think we're seeing a more "primordial" Dawnbreaker, the ur-yin of Zayne, if you will. The inevitability of death given physical form. The Still in Dark anecdote demonstrates that even this side of Zayne is capable of compassion--through accessing the "energy" of Dr Zayne's yang. Likewise, Dr Zayne is capable of cold utilitarianism through the "energy" of Dawnbreaker's yin. I'm sure we'll get lots of layers here, my gut says trust the writers.

Also, I'm pretty sure we did not successfully destroy the energy core?? I'll look extra carefully when I go through and annotate everything (the results of which will land here) but I do believe that core remains a loose thread, though the press conference was still successfully delayed.

Zayne attempting to disappear at the end is SO him (they have made this a pillar of his personality to the point that it was a key event in the Tomorrow's Catch 22 AU, even) and also so infuriating. I'm so glad we found him before they closed out the chapter, even if it ended on a tense note! I'd say odds are very high we'll get something at the start of the next main story content (whenever that happens) that's like "Zayne was kind of distant and then after his leave he returned to the hospital as if nothing had happened" since episodic universes like this one need that kind of reset. But we'll see.

The reveal that Benedict is basically a shapeshifting Wanderer is FASCINATING, and I think it's implied he was originally "created" at Mt Eternal? Is he the Wanderer that Zayne kept going back to re-freeze, maybe? (as we saw in Snowy Serenity) And now he's escaped? That could explain why Zayne didn't immediately recognize him and how he knew about William. I also think it's interesting how Benedict said, of killing William, "Even I would have hesitated" and we know that Zayne actually did hesitate. So I think we see how easily provoked Zayne's guilt is here--and/or the implication that Zayne was indeed "possessed" by Dawnbreaker in order to kill William, as some have suggested.

I'm also glad we FINALLY have clarity that Zayne was 12 during the Chronorift Catastrophe and those events happened after he met MC, because there's a few errors in his timeline that made it hard for me to pin down whether his dreams began during the catastrophe or whether they were prophetic. I think we'll get a bit more clarity in the event content, too.

I'm also really going to be chewing on the part where he ended up needing to restrain MC (other than that it's hot, okay, idk, it's the second time the Zayne writers have tied someone up and injected them and we're into it) because she was "too strong"--I'm really curious how this manifested, and whether it contributed to that flicker of murderous intent from Dawnbreaker later. The natural assumption is to assume she was just sort of mindlessly flailing to escape--but what if what she experienced as unconsciousness was something more akin to possession? Or her new powers spiraling out of control like Zayne's Evol does? Aaaaah I want answerssss

Last thoughts for now are that I find the contrast between Sylus and Zayne so interesting, especially since they're my two favorite LIs. Sylus is a creature who defies fate, whereas Zayne is bound by it. Sylus's desires influence him (as when he needs to distract himself from the smell of the spatium core from MC) but do not control him. Whereas as Zayne tries desperately to keep everything under control, those desires inevitably end up controlling him. More of the conflict in Sylus's chapters is external (things he and MC need to react to) whereas more of the conflict in Zayne's chapter is internal (decisions he has to make, concerns about his state/motives, etc).

The actual last thing I'll add her (if you read this far, ilu) is that I'll continue updating my lore project GitHub with all the new content. If you've got even a small amount of coding experience, you should find GitHub desktop and Obsidian pretty approachable if you want to explore the project with all the links intact! So so so so so much was foreshadowed and I'm going to be geeking out going through all of it. I'll probably also post some summaries to this blog as well!

[luxu1230]

Top Gun Head cannon.

Jake has Dyslexia and is high functioning autistic or has adhd. When he was younger he'd stim by biting himself as his teeth would hurt so as a way to chew something he uses toothpicks which is why he likes carrying them around. They're also great for stabbing himself when he feels overwhelmed to get him to focus and it's not like it leaves a wound. His hyperfixation has changed over the years but being an aviator has never changed.

So then comes his dyslexia.....

Many people think Jake got his call sign due to leaving people behind and Rooster calling him that after a flight at Top gun before the mission. While that is the place the others found out his new call sign it was actually his co who would call him that rooster overheard it one day and completely came to the wrong conclusion. While Jake was good at planes his spelling sucked no matter how much he tried to practice his brain wouldn't work. So when his co read his report once he said it was like a game of hangman trying to find the correct words and told Jake that if he came to him he'd write his reports if the hangman told him what to write......

It wasn't until two months later that his co died and the call sign Hangman became nothing more than a bitter reminder of someone he lost. His call sign story completely wrong..... Fuck you Rooster.

Fast forward a few years and the story comes out and Rooster now feels like an utter dick he turned a joke into a complete landslide of which put a rift between Hangman and anyone he worked with practically leaving him friendless bar Javy.

So he tries to fix it and eventually he does, he even gets a husband out of it.

I also feel like Maverick would have noticed signs of Deslexya since he once had to help Goose with his reports as his spelling was terrible due to it. So when he figured it out he unknowingly offers the same offer the co did before... You speak I write.

[wowwforever]

POKEMON EVIL TEAMS RANKED BY HOW LIKELY I WOULD BE TO JOIN THEM

Team Flare

I'm not wearing that suit and I'm not changing my hair. Lysandre is easily the fucking dumbest antagonist and if their plan is successful either they're immortal and I have to live with these losers forever or the whole world dies and I have to live with these losers until I die.

Team Yell

This entire team is centered around having a parasocial relationship with a teenage girl. Also British.

Team Galactic

Similar horrible haircut, bad outfit, and death cult scenario to Team Flare. At least they're like a semi-actual company. I could maybe just go bald and get a regular job after the Poke-government liquidates Team Galactic LLC. But I legitimately think this would be the least fun evil company to work at. Imagine stealing some kids Pokemon but you get chewed out by fucking Galactic Admin Uranus because you forgot to fill out the Paperwork.

The Lame Part of Team Plasma

Okay so to clarify these are the people that actually believe in the Team Plasma shit, which means I'd probably be spit on in the streets while wearing chainmail in New York. Why the fuck would I wear Chain Mail on the East Coast? Do you know how much rust there is? Also I have to become a ginger and worship some green manchild as a monarch. At least they're not a death cult.

Team Rocket

This one is just being a criminal. Like, yeah, you get to steal Pokemon but there's no real advantages except the free gray boots. Probably does not pay well and Giovanni leaving kind of sent them spiraling. Plus they have a lot of Koffings in an underground base so you know there's like lung damage galore. The R stands for Respiratory Distress.

Team Aqua

I don't like the idea of being surrounded by the ocean and I do not like boats and submarines. I would actively join this to sabotage their plan. Also every other evil team has an actual place to put their Pokeballs but this one it seems like the plan is to just shove it in my underwear? ???

Team Star

I haven't actually played Scarlet and Violet because I recently learned I can legally drink. I think this one is the equivalent of a school club? So I'm not actually getting paid to do evil shit. I'd probably just join, like, DnD club or something.

Team Rainbow Rocket

I'd join this one just because I know it's going to fail. I mean, it's got like four people who explicitly just want to end the world in different ways. I'm just gonna join and steal pens and shit until it eventually crashes in on itself for infighting. I'd wear my gay-ass R shirt every june in line with a P, I, D, and E.

The Cool Part of Team Plasma

Fuck yeah. This is the Team Plasma that knows the shit Ghetsis is up to. I'd love to be in on the scheme, plus I don't have to wear chainmail. Downside is I'd probably get murdered or have to murder to stay in, and they have the biggest shot of accomplishing their goal. But Ghetsis is hot so that's a plus.

Team Magma

This one is because there's 0.0% chance this plan will work but I get to just hang out in these cute-ass hoodies and pet camerupts all day. Look at that outfit, I'd wear that all the time. That being said, would probably have to be a field guy. Their location is in a volcano. I'm gonna get a call that says 'Hey all of Team Magma's leadership died' and I'd have to get a job at like Poke7-11 with a major gap in my resume.

Macro Cosmos

This hardly counts as a villain team because they're just, like, security guards for a company whose CEO goes a lil nuts. This is like if you worked for Virgin Atlantic and Richard Branson decided to summon Satan. No one can really put that on you. You'd probably get paid ridiculous amounts of money for essentially doing nothing. Con is you'd have to live in Galar.

Aether Foundation

Working for the Aether Foundation is like doing an internship at Bell Labs or whatever. The evil shit is probably fixed by the end of the game and I could just go back to researching Rotom electromagnetic applications and have that 'week where we tried to fuck up reality' be a weird company thing we brush under the rug. The con is they have all white outfits so I can't eat spaghetti at work. But even if I left I could probably just use Aether Foundation as a decent enough jumping off point for any career.

Team Skull

Genuinely this is just goofing off with a bunch of scummy weirdos. I can respect that and their outfits are thankfully not skin-tight jumpsuits, but main I'd join because they all kind of suck. With the most moderate competency I could run Team Skull. Also Guzma. He's pretty hot.

[wileys-russo]

Alessia playing a rough match & insisting she’s fine (despite being on the ground more than not).

“I know every inch of your body Alessia and I know for a fact that bruise is new”

+proceeding to take care of her and kiss all her better

I love your writing btw

bruises II a.russo

"they're really going in on her today." you mumbled to your soon to be brother in law, bouncing your knee anxiously as not even twenty minutes into the game and your fiance had already been the collateral damage of three fouls and a yellow card.

"she's a big girl and it's a contact sport, she'll be fine." gio waved off your worries, patting your back without looking away from the pitch as you sighed.

"she'll be alright darling, she's done this for years she knows what to do." carol murmured much more empathetically, squeezing your knee and sending you a reassuring look as you nodded.

however by half time your worries had only doubled ten fold, your fiance seemingly spending more time on the ground than on her own two feet.

alessia had always been clumsy by nature and normally her consistent stumbles and slips had you smiling with amusement but now every time her body hit the ground your breath caught in your throat.

"go on. ease the nerves a bit!" gio nudged past you and dropped back into his seat, handing you a drink as you forced a smile and took a sip. normally you'd not drink at your fiances games but today you'd do anything to try and fight the anxiety which clawed desperately at your throat.

"oh thats a joke, how is that not a card?" you protested, wincing as you watched alessia's body thud to the ground once again, her legs completely sweeped out from underneath her. "beats me. come on ref!" gio yelled, joining the horde of angry arsenal fans also shouting for at least a yellow.

"she's limping." your brought your bottom lip between your teeth, chewing on it nervously as your fiance waved off the medics, hobbling back to her position and resetting herself for a moment. rolling her shoulders and neck she bent back down, joining the huddle of her team mates as they bunched in for a corner.

"six more minutes of stoppage time love, she's going to be just fine." carol assured, you only nodding wordlessly as your gaze locked onto alessia, knee once again bouncing as you flinched every time she came near to the ball.

"again? they've got to be taking the piss." you scoffed as the same defender from before sweeped her legs out from beneath her, though this time your fiance wasn't quite so quick to her feet. you huffed as finally a card was rewarded, the spurs player headed off the pitch as it was her second yellow of the match.

"she's not getting up." you mumbled, jaw clenching as your knee bounced even faster, not even your future mother in laws hand squeezing it reassuringly helping with anything. your stomach dropped as you watched your fiance gesture frantically toward her knee, the pain clear on her face with every passing second.

"you don't think-" you started, not even finishing your sentence out of gut wrenching terror for the next few words which died in your mouth.

"no, we don't even think about that." gio remanded firmly though not unkindly as he draped an arm around your shoulders, a sigh of relief left you as finally alessia was up being helped off the pitch as stina was subbed on in her place.

"see? she knows how to take a knock and a push, she's nearly twice the size of that pesky defender anyway." gio chuckled, doing his best to reassure you as play resumed.

"the bigger they are the harder they fall." you sighed, much less optimistic as you caught leah's eye from the bench, the girl raising an eyebrow and nodding her head toward the tunnel.

"go darling." carol watched the blonde gesture for you to come to her, nudging you up as you hurried out of your seat and out of the stand, leah meeting you as you did.

"she's all good, just a bit sore." the older girl assured, pulling you into her side in a hug as she walked the two of you toward the medic room where alessia had been taken to.

you heard cheering as the final whistle blew, the gunners winning 4-1 but you couldn't share their excitement, your only focus now the blonde you were only seconds away from seeing.

"go kiss it better." leah winked, pinching your cheek playfully and giving you a gentle push into the med room.

the physio gave you a smile, also assuring there wasn't any major damage just a mild sprain but alessia would need to take it carefully and train separately for the week until it could be reassessed.

you thanked him grateful for the update as he left the room and shut the door afterward, giving you and your fiance some more privacy.

"hi beautiful." the blonde smiled affectionately, sat on the medical bench still in her kit as you moved to stand between her dangling legs. "ah! babe." she whined in surprise as you suddenly smacked her thigh with a loud slap and an unimpressed scowl.

"do not scare me like that again, pointing to your knee when its an ankle problem." you warned with a huff, frowning up at her as your fiance only smiled, infuriatingly attractive as she did so.

"i just knew it was something in my leg and your head mentally always goes to the worst possible scenario. i didn't mean to worry you baby i'm sorry." she apologized sincerely, your hands moving either side of her body as you leaned up to kiss her, another apology mumbled against your lips as her hands squeezed your sides.

~

"you're limping lessi. just let me help you!" you groaned frustratedly, your fiance refusing, batting away your arms which reached out to help her out of the car. "for the one millionth time i am fine!" she huffed, hauling herself up and swallowing her pain, walking as normally as she could to the front door.

"so fucking stubborn." you grumbled, slamming the door after her and shaking your head, your fiance letting herself into your shared home. "my love please at least sit down, put your ankle up on a pillow and rest it, please!" you begged with a sigh, the striker still standing with her head engrossed in her phone.

"honestly are you going to be this dramatic all week? because you are already getting on my last nerve its just a sprain i am absolutely fine!" alessia spat, rolling her eyes and limping off into the bedroom as you dragged your hands down your face with a silent groan of irritation before following after her.

"stop! i'll do it." you dropped down to your knees, helping her take off her trainers, extra careful with her injured ankle. alessia only groaned, flopping down onto her back on the bed making you roll your eyes.

"right i have had it with this denial and the stroppy attitude. hoodie off, joggers off." you stood back up and ordered firmly, crossing your arms sternly. "don't be cute, i'm serious." you warned as alessia smiled suggestively, though it dropped from her lips at your tone.

with a roll of her eyes she shuffled back up the bed, resting on her elbows as she tugged at her hoodie.

"i don't see why i have to-"

"stop." you moved to push away her hands, helping her to take her hoodie off and moving her training top up so it pooled at her neck, giving her a firm look as she opened her mouth to continue complaining.

without another word you ducked your head, placing a tender kiss to each and every bruise which littered her rib cage, your eyes locked with alessia's own as you did so.

you broke her stare as you moved backwards and dropped again to your knees, sliding her joggers off and giving the bruises adoring her legs the same loving treatment, your fiance tangling a hand in your hair, short nails affectionately scratching your scalp as she exhaled slowly.

tugging her top back down you carefully swung your leg over her hips, settling yourself on top of her as her hands instinctively moved to caress your thighs.

"alessia i know your body like the back of my hand. i've been head over heels in love with you for five years and your best friend for far longer than that. so there is not a single freckle, scar, birth mark, mole, nothing that i do not know like a map." you started, her hands coming to rest on your thighs.

"so these, all of these, are new." you frowned, shuffling down her body a little bit, gesturing to the freshly inflicted bruises scattering her body.

"so please don't tell me you're fine and everything is fine and nothing hurts. i know you better than that and i'd hope you know me better than that to think i'd believe anything otherwise." you finished softly, your hands moving to gently clasp her face, thumbs tracing the curvature of her jaw.

"i love you very very much less and i've always supported you in every single way i can, and i will always continue to do so. but please let me take care of you when you need it, even when you don't think you do." you requested, eyebrows knitted into a concerned frown.

"m'sorry baby, i love you very much and i didn't mean to be snappy or difficult." your fiance sighed apologetically as you shook your head.

"i've always known you were difficult love, i wouldn't have said yes to marrying you if i didn't know how to handle that." you smiled in amusement, shutting up her response with a kiss so filled with love it sent her head spinning.

"well then mrs russo i promise to always let you take care of me if you promise to always let me take care of you. i might be difficult but you are one of the most stubborn women i've ever met my pretty girl." your fiance grinned knowingly, squeezing your legs and leaning up slightly to place a gentle kiss to your nose.

holding out her pinky toward you expectantly making you laugh you linked your own with hers, the two of you kissing your interlocked fingers.

"i promise."

[imjustatorturedpoet]

Meet me in the Hallway

chapter three: someone new

Pairing: Hwang In-ho x Reader

also available on ao3💘

wordcount: 4,5k

The guards moved mechanically, handing out lunchboxes with the same detached efficiency they used for everything. Like it didn’t matter if you ate. Like it didn’t matter if you lived.

You stepped forward and took a box from a pink-clad guard. His mask reflected nothing, just a void where a person should be.

Maybe that’s what you’d become too.

Stepping out of line, you spotted Player 390 ahead, waiting for you. You tilted your head slightly, a silent signal, and the two of you headed toward the right side of the hall, away from the noise. Someone was already sitting there on the stairs. Gi-hun.

He sat with his back against the metal bunk frame, head bowed, eyes locked on the floor. His meal sat beside him, unopened, like he was waiting for it to disappear. You sighed softly, watching him. Another ghost in a room full of the dying.

"You two know each other, right? I saw you talking before the first game, on the stairs,” you asked, glancing at 390 as the two of you approached. He flicked his eyes toward Gi-hun. "Yeah. We’re best friends, you could say." You arched an eyebrow. But before you could ask, 390 beat you to it.

390 exhaled, ”He was never like this, if that's what you wanted to know.”, there was something almost bitter in his voice, ”He used to be more open. Kinder. Ate dinner with his daughter every other Saturday. Even when things were bad, he’d make some time for her. Even when he didn’t have money. Even when the loan sharks came. But it got worse. Then three years ago, in the summer, he just... vanished. Nobody knew where he went. Wouldn’t pick up my calls. Wasn’t returning home. His mom was worried sick.”, 390 hesitated, ”She was sick. Diabetes. She didn’t make it. He came back after she had already died. Poor lady. I miss her.”

Three years ago.

The timeline lodged itself in your brain like a jagged piece of glass. Gi-hun had told you he played these games three years ago.

"He won,” you murmured. 390 frowned. "Yeah. Guess so. So sad that the games ended after his mom… you know.”

He came back when it was too late… why did that seem so familiar? Did that happen to someone you knew?

A sharp pang twisted in your gut. Winning doesn’t mean surviving. Sometimes, you leave a place, but it doesn’t leave you. Because, maybe, there’s no difference between going home and staying here. At least, for you.

You kept that thought to yourself.

You sat beside Gi-hun and opened your lunchbox. The scent of warm rice and fried egg drifted up, but the weight of the room made it impossible to enjoy. Food tastes different when you don’t know if it’s your last meal. Jung-bae turned to his friend, trying to coax something, anything, out of him.

"Look at this, man. This is just like my mom used to make. What’s in yours?"

Silence.

"Aren’t you gonna eat? Not even a little bit?”

Gi-hun didn’t even blink. He just stared.

390 sighed and scooped up a spoonful of rice, holding it out toward him like a mother feeding a stubborn child. "Come on. You know what they say—‘Eat up, even on your deathbed.’ Just do your brooding after, yeah? Please?”

Nothing.

390 dropped his spoon back into the box with a clatter. “Forget it, then.” He took the bite himself, chewing slowly. And then, between mouthfuls, ”You know… maybe this is for the best. That 24 million wouldn’t even cover a quarter of my interest. If we play just one more game—"

"Jung-bae."

Finally. A reaction.

For the first time, he looked up from the floor. His eyes were hollow—like the words had scraped something raw inside him, something that never healed. His fingers twitched, just once, then clenched into his palms.

“Last time I was here, someone who was very dear to me, said the exact same thing.” His breath caught on the last word. “And in the end, that person died here.”

The silence that followed was heavy, thick. Player 390 swallowed, but his usual easy confidence had drained from his face. You watched Gi-hun carefully, something cold creeping into your spine.

How many people had he watched die here? How many faces had he memorised just to forget? How many names had been swallowed by the walls of this place, lost between the gunshots and the silence that followed? How many times had he looked at a body—still warm, still fresh with the shape of life clinging to it and known that it would never move again?

And more importantly…why had he come back?

A part of you wanted to believe there was an answer—something logical, something that made sense. Survivor’s guilt, maybe.

Oh, you knew that very well.

The idea that winning didn’t mean escaping. That no matter how much money he had, he had never really left. Maybe he thought if he returned, he could undo it somehow. If he played again, if he stood in the same places where they had fallen, if he suffered the way they suffered—

Maybe it would mean something. Maybe it would make up for what happened before.

But that was a stupid, naive thought. Nothing could make up for this.

Nothing could bring them back. Nothing could erase what had happened. Nothing could take away the sound of their screams, the way their blood had seeped into the dirt, the way their bodies had hit the ground like discarded toys.

And yet he was here. Back in the hell he fought to escape. And that meant one of two things.

Either he had nothing left waiting for him outside.

Or he had never truly left at all.

You glanced at him. Noticed the way his shoulders curled inward, the way his hands were fisted so tight they trembled. Maybe it was both. Maybe he had lost everything on the outside. Or maybe, the second he stepped into this place three years ago, the outside had stopped existing for him.

The thought made your stomach turn. Because if he couldn’t escape, what chance did the rest of you have?

“Help us, then, sir.”, the voice cut through the fog in your mind, sharp and unyielding. The voice was in front you. You looked up at the same time as Gi-hun.

Player 001.

Behind him stood Player 100 and a few others. Their presence shifted the air; made it feel heavier.

“You’ve played these games before,” Player 001 said simply. Gi-hun looked at him, then lowered his head.

Retreating. Hiding.

You knew that look all too well. You thought he might ignore them entirely. But then—

“I pressed the O button because of you.”

Gi-hun flinched with disgust. But not because of Player 001, because of himself.

Player 001’s voice remained soft, ”I was scared. I wanted to quit. But you made me think… maybe I could play just one more game."

"Me too.”

"Yeah, same.”

“Us too.”

You felt it then, the way they were looking at him. Like he was their answer. But you looked at him like he was already carrying their deaths. For a moment, he met your gaze.

Then, just as quickly, he looked away.

“Sir,", Player 001 said, leaning in slightly, ”You know which game’s next, don’t you?"

A few players moved closer, waiting, hanging on his silence.

Even you. Why? You didn’t know.

Gi-hun exhaled, “The second game was Dalgona.”

The bunk above you creaked—a shift of weight, the subtle sound of someone listening in. Your eyes flicked upward. Player 388. He peered down, curiosity flickering across his face—until he realized you were looking right back at him.

Caught you.

His eyes widened slightly, embarrassment creeping in. Without a word, he pulled back, retreating into the shadows of his bunk like he hadn’t just been eavesdropping.

"Dalgona?"

Gi-hun gave a small nod, ”We had to choose one of four shapes and carve it out."

"Which shape was easiest?"

“Triangle.”

"And the hardest?”, you asked.

A pause.

"Umbrella."

Player 001 scoffed, ”Some people actually chose umbrella? Those poor bastards must’ve bitten the dust.”

Gi-hun’s jaw tightened. He didn’t say anything. But you saw it in his eyes. Judgment. Maybe even something closer to disgust.

"So we just pick triangle, then.”, you murmured. "Shut up,” Player 100 snapped, ”If all 365 of us survive, the prize money won’t go up." You stiffened. That was wrong. You felt your anger rise up again, threatening to spill out.

"What’s the point if we don’t eliminate anyone?" The words hit you like a hard slap to the face.

"Are you fucking serious?”, you stood up, voice sharp. "You actually want people to die on your account? How selfish can you be?”

Player 100 sneered, ”Watch your mouth, young girl. You foreigners have no respect."

You snorted, sharp and cold. “I’ve lived here for 14 years, ddo-ra-i. And respect? That’s earned, not handed out like pity. You lost my respect the second you decided that a stack of bills was worth more than the blood on your hands.”

His lips curled into something ugly at the insult. Before he could speak, Gi-hun cut in. "We’re not keeping this to ourselves. I told you because I want everyone to survive."

You scoffed, ”And we don’t even know if it’ll actually be Dalgona."

Gi-hun nodded in agreement. "If it is, I’ll tell everyone."

Player 100 exhaled through his nose. Annoyed. Then he walked away, but not before shooting you a nasty look that you reciprocated.

But Player 001 stayed. And he was watching you. “Do I know you?", you asked before you could stop yourself.

A beat of silence. Just long enough to matter. His expression doesn’t change. But his fingers twitch. Just once. Almost imperceptible. Almost. Then, a smile, too easy, too practiced.

“I don’t think so. I’d remember someone like you.”

Too smooth. Too sure.

Liar.

You looked away. But across from you, Gi-hun was still watching. And his face was unreadable. And Player 001 kept looking at you too.

He saw it. The flicker of something in your face. The way your muscles tensed before you schooled your expression back into place. But he didn’t say anything. He just kept watching.

“May I ask you something?” The words sliced through the space between you, measured and deliberate.

All three of you turned. Player 001.

He had moved closer, lowering himself onto the stairs like he belonged there. Like he wasn’t out of place in this circle—like he wasn’t watching. Listening. Waiting.

But there was something else.

His presence didn’t fill the space—it stretched into it. Expanding. Taking up the silence. His attention settled on Gi-hun.

Curious.

"Why did you come back to this place?" Gi-hun didn’t answer. Not at first. His body tensed in a way that was almost imperceptible, a flicker of something restrained.

Player 001 continued, ”You said you won. You made it out. That means you must have received 45.6 billion won. Did you spend it all?"

Beside you, Player 390 stiffened. His expression shifted, something clicking into place in his mind, "Wait, hold on." He turned toward Gi-hun, brows furrowing. "Did you bet on horses again?"

You side-eyed them both with a smirk on your face, amusement flickering beneath your growing curiosity. Gi-hun shook his head. But it wasn’t just denial—it was something heavier. Something that sat inside his chest like lead.

"That money doesn’t belong to me,” he said, voice quieter now, ”It’s blood money. For the people who died here. The same goes for the money up there."

Silence.

The words carried a weight that couldn’t be shrugged off. You understood. That kind of guilt—how it settled deep, gnawed at you from the inside, until even the things meant to save you felt like they were swallowing you whole.

After Jonah, you—

"You don’t have to think of it that way." The interruption of your thoughts was smooth. Your head snapped toward Player 001. His expression didn’t change.

"It’s not like you killed those people," he continued, his voice too calm, ”And saving that money won’t bring them back to life."

Gi-hun exhaled, shaking his head, ”If you had pressed X, everyone here would’ve changed their minds by tomorrow. All of us would’ve made it out alive."

Another beat of silence.

Player 001 didn’t blink. Didn’t waver. "That’s right," he admitted.

Curiouser.

”I was the last to press O. But there were 182 others who wanted to stay.", his gaze flickered to the patch on your chest. Shit.

"And there were also 182 who wanted to leave," Gi-hun countered.

The space between them tightened. You glanced at Player 390. Neither of you spoke, but you felt the tension shifting, thickening.

Player 001 leaned forward slightly. "Let’s say I pressed X, and we all got a chance to vote again tomorrow.”, his voice was steady. Too knowing.

"Would everyone have been happy? Do you think the majority of O voters would change their minds? Would they thank me if they saw me on the street?”, he turned to you, "Would you thank me?"

The question echoed in you head. You knew the answer. No, I wouldn't.

Gi-hun’s jaw clenched. He didn’t answer. His silence said enough. 390 let out a breath, rubbing his temples, “Alright, enough. There’s no point in placing blame now.”, his voice had softened, tinged with something exhausted.

"You know the saying—a widow understands a widower best. Let’s just focus on tomorrow, okay?”, he gestured toward Gi-hun, ”He’s won these games before. If we stick together, we’ll have nothing to worry about."

You scoffed, shaking your head in disagreement, ”Cut the poor guy some slack.”, you glanced at Gi-hun, eyeing the sharp tension in his shoulders, the way his fingers curled into his palms, ”He doesn’t need more pressure from everyone expecting too much from him. He'll crumble to pieces."

Gi-hun turned to you at that. For a second, you thought he might actually say something. Something real. But then, just as quickly, he looked away.

390 nodded. "You’re right. But he has the experience. Any advice he has will help."

"He’s right.”, a new voice.

You all turned in unison. Player 388. Your eyes narrowed slightly. So, he had been eavesdropping. And he did it again.

He hopped down from his bunk, stepping closer to the group, ”We have to stick together. I’ll be with you all the way."

You frowned. Skepticism creeping in, ”Who are you?"

The man straightened his posture, ”I’m Dae-ho. Kang Dae-ho."

Dae-ho turned toward Gi-hun, extending a hand. A handshake. An offering. Gi-hun didn’t take it.

390 arched an eyebrow. "Oh, Dae-ho. Have we met?"

Dae-ho hesitated. A flicker of something too fast to catch. His gaze shifted, first to Player 001. Then to Gi-hun. Then, finally, to you. And when he extended his hand again, you felt the weight of their gazes on you. Waiting.

You blinked. Then, slowly, you took his hand. Dae-ho’s fingers were warm. And when you welcomed him, he nodded gratefully.

You looked at Player 001 again. But he was already watching you. A chill curled down your spine, slow and deliberate, like fingers trailing along your skin. It was subtle, but his expression shifted. Not much. Just enough to unsettle you.

Recognition. Again. Or was that jealousy?

What you didn't see was that his expression had changed again. Not just interest. Something closer to… possession.

No, don’t be ridiculous, (Y/N).

He kept watching you, like he had seen you before. Like he knew exactly who you were now. The weight of his gaze wasn’t just familiarity though, it was expectation. As if he was waiting for you to remember. Your stomach twisted. Where had you seen him before? The thought gnawed at the back of your skull, sinking its teeth in, refusing to let go.

You tried to place him—tried to pull him from the depths of your memory, where forgotten things go to rot. But every time you got close, every time you felt like you were reaching for something solid, it slipped through your fingers. Like water through cupped hands.

“Are you sure we haven’t met before?”

“Very sure.”, he said.

Liar.

The word flared behind your teeth, but you didn’t say it. Instead, you looked away.

—

Seoul. Outside the hospital. August 31st 2015.

It was raining. That’s what you remember first.

Not the words. Not the doctor’s face. Just the sound—the endless drumming against the hospital windows, against the pavement, against the roof of your skull. Filling the silence before the weight of it could crush you.

“We’re terribly sorry. Your brother only has a few days left."

The words landed like a blow. Didn’t sink in. Just hovered there, useless and unreal.

It wasn’t supposed to be this way.

You were supposed to be at home with Jonah, counting down to your 21st birthday tomorrow, joking about how old you were getting. Not here. Not now.

Where was your dad? Your mom? You don’t know. You should. But you don’t.

It didn’t matter, anyway. It was too late. Too late.

The hospital room felt too small. Too suffocating. The air smelled like antiseptic and something worse, something bitter and sterile and hollow. You couldn’t be in there anymore. You needed out. Needed air. Needed-

So you walked away. Somewhere. Anywhere.

And then you were outside.

You don’t remember pushing through the doors. Don’t remember stepping into the rain. But it was there, soaking through your clothes, sliding down your face in slow, icy trails. You weren’t sure where the rain ended and you began. You tilted your head up slightly, letting the rain mix with the tears you refused to wipe away. Maybe if you stood there long enough, you’d just dissolve into nothing.

You just let it happen—the cold creeping into your bones, numbing the places where the grief should have settled. You stood there long enough for your fingers to go stiff, for your lips to feel like they didn’t belong to your face anymore. You stood there until the only thing you could feel was the weight pressing down on your ribs, crushing something inside of you until there was nothing left to break.

The door to the hospital slid open with a quiet hiss behind you. You didn’t turn.

A man stepped out, barely hesitating before lighting a cigarette. The scent of smoke curled into the cold air, mixing with the dampness of the rain.

You heard the flick of a lighter, the sharp inhale, the quiet exhale.

He ignored you the best he could until you shivered—a full-body tremor you couldn’t suppress, the cold cutting through the thin shirt you wore. Then the man finally spoke.

"You’re going to catch a cold.”

The voice was there. Low. Unfamiliar. You don’t remember what it sounded like. Only that it existed.

No answer. Didn’t look. But after a long moment, you stepped under the hospital overhang anyway. Not because you cared. Not because you wanted to. Just because he wouldn’t stop waiting.

He stood beside you. Close, but not too close.

Neither of you spoke. Not at first. It was a silence that stretched—one that didn’t need to be filled. And finally— "Family?"

You hesitated. The word was too big. Too much. You nodded anyway.

“You?”, you asked, just to say something.

A pause.

"Yeah."

That was it.

No names. No details. No stories. Just a shared understanding, heavy enough to settle between you.

The rain kept falling. The cigarette burned. And for the first time all day, the silence didn’t hurt.

"Could I get a cigarette?"

A shift beside you. The crinkle of a pack being pulled from a pocket. He handed one over without a word. You put it between your lips, fingers barely steady enough to hold it. A flame flickered at the edge of your vision. He held the lighter up.

You leaned in. Let him light it for you.

The first inhale burned. Good.

"Thanks."

The silence stretched over you again. You took a long drag from your cigarette, letting the smoke curl in your lung and suffocate you.

You broke the silence first, “What’s your name?"

“Does it matter?”

"Guess not."

You don’t remember his face. Or his voice. But you remember this. The rain. The cold. The cigarette between your fingers, smoke curling into the night. The feeling of standing next to someone who didn’t ask for anything, who didn’t expect anything, who just stood there.

You didn’t see him again. Not for a week.

And for some reason, that stuck with you.

—

The dormitory. Present.

The memory slams into you like a punch to the ribs. Your breath catches—too sharp, too sudden. A cold sweat prickles at the back of your neck. Your pulse stumbles, just for a moment, before picking up a fraction too fast. You swallow hard, blinking fast, but the static in your head doesn’t clear. Your hands twitch, restless, like they’re reaching for something unseen.

A cigarette. A lighter. A name.

You closed your eyes for a moment. The scent of cigarette smoke still clung to your senses, curling in the back of your mind like it had never left. Like time hadn’t touched it. Like it had burned itself into your bones, waiting for the right moment to resurface.

Had you really forgotten his face? His voice? Or had you buried it—like everything else?

Your fingers twitched where they rested on your lap, a phantom weight settling between them. The ghost of a cigarette. The quiet rasp of a lighter flicking open. The slow inhale. The smoke curling past your lips, thick and acrid, stealing the air from your lungs.

Why now?

You exhaled, trying to shake the feeling, but something inside you clawed at the edges, a whisper of recognition you couldn’t place. A presence you had felt before, but never turned to face.

Your eyes flickered up.

Player 001.

As you locked eyes with 001, something shifted. A flicker of something deep in your chest, something you shouldn’t be feeling.

Attraction wasn’t the right word. This wasn’t attraction. Not in the way you knew it.

Attraction wasn’t supposed to feel like this. Like being studied.

It made no sense. But it was there, curling in the pit of you stomach like a lit fuse.

No, that wasn’t it. It wasn’t about how he looked at you, how his voice sounded, or how his presence filled the space around you all. It was deeper than that.

Stranger. More dangerous.

It was the remembrance.

The way he looked at you—like he already knew you. Like he had seen everything you were and everything you were not. And the worst part? You felt it too. It made no sense. But it was there, curling in the pit of you stomach like a lit fuse.

Not fear. Not trust. Something in between.

A man like him shouldn’t have that effect on you.

He wasn’t young. He was handsome, true, but not in the effortless way of youth. His features were sharp, deliberate—chiselled jaw, high cheekbones, eyes dark and intense. The kind of face that could have belonged to a movie star in his prime, except there was something more.

There was no naivety to his beauty. No softness. Just a quiet, effortless confidence, like he had nothing to prove because he had already won the game long before anyone else knew they were playing.

And you were watching.

You hated that.

Hated the way your pulse picked up. Hated the way your breath shallowed—just slightly. Hated the way his voice lingered in your mind, low and even, like he had spent a lifetime learning exactly how to make people listen.

God, what the hell was wrong with you?

This wasn’t the time for this. This wasn’t the place. And yet.

When he leaned forward slightly, his attention still locked on you, the feeling sharpened. Not lust. Not even desire.

Curiosity.

The kind that was dangerous. The kind that got people killed.

He was still watching you. The feeling in your stomach twisted tighter.

It was the way he held your gaze—too steady, too deliberate. Not casual. Not meaningless. It was the way he sat, completely at ease, as if he had all the time in the world to watch. To watch you.

It was unsettling. Not in a way that made you want to look away—but in a way that made you want to stare back. Like if you looked hard enough, if you pieced together the shadows of memory, you could force his face to belong somewhere.

"Do I know you?"

The words echoed inside your skull, circling, gnawing at something just out of reach.

A ridiculous question. And yet. The feeling wouldn’t go away.

Your pulse was a dull, steady thrum against your ribs as you let the thought settle, let the weight of it press down on you.

If you had really forgotten, then why did your body remember? Why did your breath feel heavier? Why did your hands feel empty, like they had lost something they should have been holding? Why did his eyes feel like they had already seen you—somewhere outside of this place?

A flash of rain. A flick of a lighter.

A quiet voice beside you.

“You’re going to catch a cold.”

Your stomach lurched.

No. That was—no.

Your mind scrambled to catch up, to hold the thought in place, but it was ridiculous. An impossible connection.

What were the odds?

There were thousands of men in this city who smoked. Hundreds who had stood outside that hospital over the years. What were the odds? And yet, you still couldn’t remember his face.

Maybe you never would.

What were the odds?

The question curled around your ribs like smoke, thick and inescapable. But when you looked at him again, his expression hadn’t changed. And that was the worst part. Because he knew something.

And he wasn’t going to tell you. Not yet.

That was impossible. Wasn’t it?

Your lips pressed into a thin line, fingers curling slightly. Your mind tried to shove the thought back into the dark, to rationalise it away.

Because it wasn’t him. Just another older man. Just another moment in your past you had no business dragging into the present.

And yet. Player 001’s lips curled. Just slightly. Not quite a smile.

You looked away first.

"You alright?”, Player 390’s voice cut through the static in your mind, grounding you. His eyes flickered over you, waiting for an answer.

“Yeah."

Too fast. Too clipped. He didn’t believe you. Hell, you didn’t believe you.

You exhaled sharply, forcing your shoulders to drop, shaking the tension out of your fingers.

It was just a memory.

Just the past clawing at you when you least expected it. Nothing more.

And yet… your fingers curled slightly, like they were waiting for something. A lighter. A cigarette.

A name you had asked for but never received.

You clenched your jaw and stood up to walk back to your bed. But your legs felt heavier now, as if something unseen was still holding onto them.

[and-so-he-rambled]

Minecraft is a FOUND FAMILY movie and you can’t change my mind!

Writing my fic has made me love all the goobers so much.

Natalie is trying her fucking best, she’s had the world on her shoulders all her life but that doesn’t matter because she’ll gladly hold up the world to keep her brother safe.

Dawn and her have girl time and bitch about their jobs, and while she’ll never have another mom, it’s nice to have an ‘aunt’ who cares about her and reminds her to breathe now and then. She’s just a baby, she’s so young and trying to do everything by herself, and now she has a village who loves her and lets her be small sometimes.

Henry is a prodigy disaster child who suddenly has two dads he didn’t ask for, he’s too smart for social cues and too cool for school 😎 (this bitch has perfect grades)

He gets too in his head constantly and it’s everyone’s job to make sure he eats and doesn’t make dangerous inventions (Garrett and Steve have repeatedly gotten in trouble for assisting in said inventions) He sometimes stays with Garrett and Steve so Nat can just have a break for a bit, and he’s too much of a teenager to admit he likes it.

Dawn, my sweet angel. This woman loves these kids and the two idiots that came with them. Garrett is her new little brother and they fight like siblings, but love each other like siblings too. She reminds him he’s allowed to be human, he reminds her she’s allowed to be herself. Steve’s her friend, and she loves him, but he’s the most likely to be sacrificed in the event of an emergency and he’s okay with that.

Dawn is the group auntie. She and Nat will always beat the drum of therapy even if they can’t actually tell any therapist the truth, and she watches her stupid little ducklings with pride. She’s always had a weakness for strays.

Steve didn’t have family before them. He had his parents, but they died long before he ever decided to leave the world behind, and him having no family was what made leaving so easy.

But this family he found, that he built, he left the game for them! He loves them! They make the real world bearable. He loves those kids like they were his own, loves Dawn, and loves his GarGar a little too much. He’s fully aware of his feelings and doesn’t really plan to do anything about it, much to the frustration of the other three.

And Garrett, my pookie. He’s emotionally constipated, hides under a hero complex even he knows is fake, and tries to cover up the mistakes than make him human because he hates feeling things. He bottles things up until they explode and then hates himself for getting to that point. He’s a sopping wet opossum and I want to kiss his lil head.

Dawn is the most in tune with Garrett’s bad habits. Steve has a problem with letting Garrett have space to his own detriment, and Dawn is often the one to snap at him to get involved because Steve is the only one Garrett fucking listens to when he’s struggling. Garrett is fully not aware of what his feelings mean and writes them off as having a best friend, something he’d never really had before.

I love them. I love them I want to chew on them like erasers, these are my babies and no one can take them from me.