#autumn is for oriental notes

[fateandloveentwined]

wuxia, xianxia, and cultivation differences meta

translations: wuxia 武俠, xianxia 仙俠, and cultivation 修真/修仙 (xīuzhēn/xīuxiān)

think i've seen posts on this eons ago, and i'm pretty sure there are tons of these online, but since this has been written up already let's just have another one.

wuxia 武俠

wuxia and xianxia sound similar, but basically for wuxia it is about the pugilistic world (江湖 jiānghú). It is relatively more down-to-earth, and people practice martial arts ("kungfu") in their current life -- they do not do it to become xians (仙) and gods (神) however.

Like Thousand Autumns and Faraway Wanderers/Word of Honor, it has more historical background and ties to the current court and kingdoms, because people are living in the moment and concern themselves with worldly issues.

Martial arts may seem unrealistic, but in view of chinese fantasy it would be considered "real". It consists of fighting moves and internal energy, which they call qi or nèigōng (內功), and at times you see people flying around, climbing hills and jumping across rooftops which is qīnggōng (輕功).

xianxia 仙俠

A level up would be xianxia, where characters in the story cultivate to become xians (and gods, like in the heaven official's blessing). They don't really care about earthly issues here now, because their ambitions lie beyond the current world, and cultivation, getting stronger, and an immortal life are majorly all their goals.

You may not always see them working towards that purpose, such as in mdzs they are considered a lower-xianxia society (低魔), meaning people don't go through all the steps of cultivation and only stay at the stage before the "golden core" stage.

In xianxia, characters still learn basic fighting moves aka. martial arts, but to direct the internal energy they use línglì (灵力), zhēnqì (真气), and fǎlì (法力), all xianxia terms you commonly see. "neigong" is practically nonexistent in this genre. That's why people building up their "neigong" instead of "lingli" are likely never going to be able to cultivate.

cultivation 修真/修仙

A subgenre in the xianxia category would be cultivation. Characters actively go through the stages of cultivation, and likely for the MC, because they are the main character, they successfully become a xian and exit the world at the end of the novel.

There are many stages of cultivation, usually defined at the beginning of the novel in the synopsis, and a typical example of the different levels would be this:

练气，筑基，金丹，元婴，化神，炼虚，合体，大乘，渡劫

And with a cursory search, an English translation would be something like this, albeit not with all the cultivation ranks identified.

Qi condensation (练气), Foundation establishment (筑基), Core Formation (金丹), Nascent Soul (元婴), and the names after that vary too greatly with translation and fandom so I'll jump straight to Immortal Ascension

extra info: getting into the philosophy of it all

It'd be interesting to note that the word "xiá" (俠) permeates all these genres. This is something akin to the concept of "hero", but not at all also, and I'd love to speak more on this but this post has already gone way longer than I hoped it would be, so perhaps another day.

Regardless, it is interesting to note that wuxia has a greater emphasis on "xia" than xianxia. (some joke that cultivation doesn't have the word "xia" in it, and much of that is because characters have foregone heroism and focused on gaining powers and working towards ascension instead). As a result, wuxia is more confucianism-oriented, though not without its taoism and buddhism influences.

xianxia, on the other hand, is mainly derived from "dào" (道), from taoism, which is another lengthy concept if I ever get to it.

And some may have heard of the "farming" genre, 种田 (zhòngtián). This has to do with golden fingers (mary sues) in imperialistic china, earning a wealth of money, and all that. It has nothing to do with cultivation, alike they sound in english.

that's it for now, hmu if you wish to ask/discuss!

(and apologies for the pinyin translations, hope it's understandable still! formally writing pinyin they are supposed to be two separate words not one.)

[gynandromorph]

god this shit took forever to sketch. another NofNA emulation comic. it reminds me of the midterms in secretary, for obvious reasons, but Legend is sort of an inverse secretary situation, where she is exceptional at fighting, but wants to write.

let me see what i can remember...

PS, the blue-eyed black lemur, has been friends with Legend since their mutual first season at college, as mentioned above her reference sketch... they probably became more friendly after being paired up to peer edit each others' work. PS has since graduated from college and works as a markscraft. Legend frequently commissions PS to scribe for her, not only because they are friends, but because PS is one of the few markscrafts in the area who isn't a rodent. many primates go into law or medicine. mainly Legend commissions notetaking in classes -- she is too insecure to share her stories. PS has a more relaxed, informal personality, and i tried to get that across -- i think it's relevant to why she decided to become a markscraft instead of pursuing more intense study. still, i also tried to get across that they are good friends, not just scribe and customer, particularly with the amount of touching that PS does. the impulse to touch and groom is probably innate for her as a primate. there isn't as much information about her species, but in ring-tailed lemurs, lemurs usually only groom based on the strongest bonds, rather than more communal aggregate grooming as a sort of social currency. i honestly don't know what PS would need to note during finals, but i think Legend just Wanted her there anyway.

the bird, DL, fighting the squirrel, GG, is a grey shrike. i imagine him as an average student in the middle of his education, but i think he is in the class for combat purposes, because pressure point manipulation can be incredibly powerful, more so if from a less expected species like a bird.

mr. deciding is a much more serious, no-nonsense teacher, possibly due to his specialty. when you're teaching students how to explode a kidney with a handshake, you probably just play it safe and try to put the fear of god into them before any kidneys get exploded. i wanted this class to have a much heavier emphasis on safety of the participants than the class in secretary, with a more focused goal than "who can beat the shit out of each other better." i think the goal of fighting to show off knowledge here is still Fucking Insane, but it's just. their culture, i guess. you can technically "move" your pressure points, so being able to defend yourself by utilizing this knowledge can also show off what you've retained. the mouse next to him is a proctor, who is an extra teacher brought in to judge and often write for another teacher, but primarily as a peacekeeper and bouncer. in classes where a student can theoretically totally disable a teacher by just touching them once, the precaution is seen as necessary. the mouse is probably a combat-oriented point invocation instructor.

the mandrill, MK, is a first-season or first-year student -- i assume that one class, from midterms to finals, is a season, as secretary seems to start near autumn. midterms have snow, and finals are during early spring. anyway, that's tangential. i think he's very new to the educational system. i pictured him as a medical student. in his fighting style, i made him more defensive; he doesn't really know nearly as much about attacking an opponent in a fight. he does think at least about his opponent's most immediate reactions, but doesn't have enough experience with fighting to think ahead to the degree that Legend does. you can see him make the same mistake that Legend did against Machinations, which disables his non-dominant hand. needless to say, he will probably always be aware of headbutt proximity now. he attempts to use two factures in the fight within a style meant to evoke debilitating vertigo by manipulating the connection between the occular, vestibular, and proprioceptive systems. it's obvious that he created the style from his medical classes. it is fairly empty as far as styles go. interrupted facture: nystagmus, which causes the world to spin around the opponent by involuntarily twitching the eyes back and forth. second facture: strabismus, which misaligns the pupils, primarily impeding aim. denied by Legend because a honey badger does not rely on vision or a vestibular system as much as a primate does -- not something he really considered when making the style. factures that never ended up being used: pursuit, which forces the target to follow a spinning image of themselves instead of looking where they should; and mask's lasting, which forcibly initiates saccadic masking, suppressing the intake of new visual information altogether.

the large bird is a bateleur. the mouse is just a regular house mouse. the lizard is an ornate sandveld lizard. the opponent of the lizard is a common mole-rat, also called an african mole-rat (even though most species of mole-rats live in africa). the monkey god i'm not super sure but i believe it's just a vervet monkey. the other mouse is also a common house mouse.

GG is a second-year student, which is the last year for a rodent. i think she's been kind of aimless -- she thinks incredibly fast as a squirrel, and finds solving problems in the moment to be a much more successful endeavor than trying to plan ahead. she doesn't worry about the future and doesn't ruminate on the past much. she's aware that she isn't the best ever and doesn't apply herself as much as others, but it also doesn't particularly bother her. kind of ironic, given the aesop she slops onto Legend after the fight. i imagine that she will eventually choose the name Serendipity. i tried to write her lack of foresight, but compensatory quick thinking in both fights. like the shrike, GG is a combat-oriented student. the style she briefly introduces at the beginning is called fanciful flower's delightful blight. it is based on the deadly nightshade flower and its berries -- which are toxic, obviously, and a hallucinogenic. squirrels flick their tails for many reasons, and the most common reason is simply a default flicking to attract predators. their tails are designed to "deglove" easily; if a predator lunges for their tail, which is the moving part of them, the skin and fur will tear off, and the squirrel can escape. delightful blight utilizes the attention-grabbing flicking of the squirrel's tail as a nightshade plant to induce a trance-like state. the berries represent temptations so much more pleasing than what you ought to focus on. a nice berry and a flower to smell are so much nicer than struggling in a fight. even when you resist them, they linger in your mind, and "plant seeds" when the berry falls as self-restraint is worn down over repeated abstinence from the temptation. factures induce hallucinations and nausea. she primarily uses the base rodent style to fight Legend here, but also uses base squirrel style twists, which include more acrobatics, backflipping, and contortions.

the two things that really catch Legend off-guard use limbs that she doesn't have, and most opponents don't have -- elbows long enough to use defensively, and a long, rope-like tail. she is otherwise supposed to be fairly adept at analyzing what an opponent will do, usually a few steps ahead, related to her ability to fabricate narratives quickly. you can see her also come up with a lie for kicking GG fairly quickly... she was going to say the impulse was in her legs because she was trying to move away from GG's strike.

anyway if any part of this fight is like... unfathomable i can probably explain. i've already been typing for way too long, lmfao

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Mad Season 4

Warnings: non/dubcon, social anxiety, chronic illness, and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Character: Bucky Barnes, Peter Parker

Summary: a class project gets messy. (short!reader)

Note: happy weekend.

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging ❤️

Thursdays are your least favourite. You have two classes and a large chunk of nothing followed by a late lab. In the time in-between, you don’t bother making the venture back to your dorm, instead opting for the library after a quick stop at the cafe. After sitting around and trying to focus on the dense texts, you’re almost too exhausted for your lab. 

Still, you get through it without a complete disaster and another dose of homework to add to your pile. As you follow the tide of students down the halls, spread out in pairs, trios, and larger groups, you yawn. You peek out the windows in dread. It’s already dark. With the autumn well in-effect, the nights aren’t only earlier, but blacker. 

You’re the last out, hanging back as you’re too nervous to get caught underfoot. You come down the front steps of the century-old building as your classmates disperse in fading ripples of chatter. As they fade into the evening, you’re left alone. 

You keep your hand around your phone, tucked just inside your jacket pocket, and head down the path. There’s a shortcut behind the English hall but you only take that in the daytime. So, you’re left with the long-winding route. 

As you pass by one of those poles with the siren at the top and a button labeled, press for assistance, you’re reminded of those cautionary talks during orientation. Try not to walk alone after dark, it’s always best to practice the buddy system. Well, your only buddy isn’t answering your texts. Besides, it’s not Peter’s responsibility and he has a morning lab. 

Your soles scuff and echo, sending a child up your spine that has nothing to do with the temperature. It’s almost as if there’s another set of steps. You slow and peer over your shoulder. It’s only your shadow limned by the lamp post that lights the benches and hedges that trim the walkway. 

You turn back and gurgle around a yipe. You stagger away from the figure as they catch you by your upper arm. You pull out your phone and flick on the flashlight, shining it in your accoster’s face. 

“Please--” you begin as the man lets you go and shies away, shielding himself with his hand. His fingers gleam in the glow and the leather glove cut above his knuckles darkens his palm. “Huh?” 

Bucky taps the frame of your phone and you lower it. You gape at him in shock, casting the light at the pavement instead. He blinks as he clears his vision. 

“Great to see your reflexes are on point,” he rubs his eyes.  

“What---” you look around as you bounce on your toes. 

“Stalking around a college isn’t exactly my idea of a good night either,” he says as your question hangs unfinished. “On a call. Details are confidential.” 

“Uh, oh? Around here?” You peer around, heart thumping against your ribs as your throat tightens. 

“Ha, I know, right? I should ask you why you’re out so late. Wandering around in the dark?” 

You blanch and rest your hand on your messenger bag, itching to take out your puffer as the pressure builds in your chest. 

“I... just walking home, sir. I swear--” 

“Relax,” his eyes catch the movement of your hand. “You’re no villain, I know. I only meant...” he pauses and glances around deliberately, “not very safe to be out.” 

You gulp and pull up the flap of your bag. You cough and bury your hand into the small pocket sewn into the lining. You take out your puffer and bring it to your mouth. You suck in the air as his posture softens. 

“Hey, woah, I’m not tryna scare ya. You okay?” He asks. 

You nod and swallow, lowering the inhaler. “Sorry, I... I’m tired and the air is cold,” you explain. “I’m just going back to my dorm. My lab was late.” 

“Right,” he accepts easily. “Why don’t you let me walk you?” 

“I... I’m alright. What about... whoever you’re looking for?” 

“Am I looking for someone?” He challenges. “Just a walk through, doll.” 

“Oh, erm, but uh, I don’t wanna... distract you,” you clutch your puffer so tight you accidentally push down the canister. “Oh, uh, sorry.” 

“Not distracting me. I wouldn’t be very good at my job if I let a young lady walk home alone in the dark, would I?” 

“Maybe, but... you don’t have to,” you squeak. 

He takes a breath and lets it out slow. He clicks his tongue, “you don’t like me.” 

“N-no,” you sputter. “No, it’s not, erm, sorry. Sorry.” 

“Don’t listen to the kid, he’s full of it,” he says. 

“Peter? He didn’t--” 

“Sweetheart, I’m kidding with ya,” he pats your arm, “really, I’m just looking out for you. Young girl like you, so quiet. Sweet. I saw the way that guy almost walked right through ya. And what did you do? You apologised to him. That ain’t right. Not how you treat a lady where I’m from.” 

You fidget and peek around. You can’t see much more than shadows beyond the wooden slats of benches and barren bushes. “But... I was in his way.” 

“Now, doll, how could you be in anyone’s way? Hope it’s not Pete putting that in your head,” he intones. 

“Peter? No, he’s nice. He’s a good friend. He’s... he helps me,” you say. 

“Oh, I’m sure he does,” Bucky says, “point me in the right direction, doll? You stay out here any longer and you’re gonna chatter your teeth out of your head.” 

You hesitate before you get what he means. You don’t think he’s going to let you go alone and you really just want to go home. It is really cold out. You point behind him, “just down there and around.” 

“Right,” he turns and waves you along with him. You fall into step, too afraid to protest any further. You do feel a bit better not being alone. “Strange, you don’t strike me as Peter’s type.” 

“What? His type? Oh no, we’re friends,” you chirp. 

He hums. “Sure, just like all the others he brings to the Tower.” 

You frown and put your chin down, hiding your confusion, “others?” 

“Sure, bubbly ones. They talk a lot. Not like you though.” 

“Oh... well, we’re just doing a project,” you shrug. 

“I’m sure. Just a project,” he says. “Sorry, I misunderstood.” 

The air grows even more frigid as you walk on in silence. As you think of his implication, you feel your throat locking up again. You take another puff and cough. You turn and he follows you around the bend. 

“He isn’t worth your time anyway,” his deep timbre rolls through the tension. “I mean, if he was, he’d be the one walking you home right now, wouldn’t he?” 

[deathbyhertouch]

Let the Light In

college! au

julien baker x f!reader

word count: 1.6k

warnings: implied smut, curse words, angry love confession, making out, sending nudes, dry humping (if you squint), dumb fucks in love

whatcha doing?

You smiled down at your phone, feeling your pussy throb under the skimpy mini-skirt adorning your figure. You unlocked your phone, quickly snapping a pic of the thong under the skirt. You sent it back to her, before locking your phone again. You placed it on the desk in front of you, turning your attention back to the open textbook in front of you. You felt your phone buzz quickly, and you hurriedly picked it up, reading the text she sent back.

my room, 15 mins.

Smirking to yourself, you closed the book and half finished notes, throwing them into your book bag. You hurried out of the library, making your way outside to begin the walk to Julien’s dorm. Autumn was in full swing, the leaves were a variety of shades. The light breeze ran through you making you tug your tiny skirt down, effectively doing nothing for you. You huffed and wrapped your arms around yourself as you followed the trail towards her dorm.

You and Julien had been fucking for a couple months now. She was in her senior year, ready to graduate with a master’s in literature. You were in your senior year of undergrad, eventually going for your master’s degree in pediatric psychology. You had originally met Julien during orientation, both wandering around looking for your dorms. You had transferred in from your home state, and you had bumped into the shorter brunette, who showed you around the campus. It was a few nights later you bumped into her again at a party. You had spent all night flirting, making out, getting stoned. When you woke up the next morning in her bed you saw the note she left.

i got some errands to run, text me xx

Since then, you two had been fucking late at night, and you had been harboring quite the crush on her. She was very stern that your trysts were to be strictly no strings attached. Unfortunately, that’s not how feelings work and your attraction to her grew exponentially. Also quite unfortunate, she showed no sign of reciprocating those feelings. You were growing sick of keeping things casual, but it was the only real way of being able to see her. You loathed the fact that you couldn’t work up the courage to tell her how you feel. 

You approached her building, waiting on the stoop as you shot her a text to let her know you’re here. It wasn’t even a full minute before she swung the front door open to let you inside. You quietly followed her to her room, not a word spoken between the two of you. The second her dorm room door closed behind you, she had slammed you up against it. Her lips caught yours into a feverish kiss. 

You could feel the air around you grow thick with anticipation, the heat between your legs only spurring Julien on. She licked hungrily at your mouth, and you gasped to open for her. She rutted her denim-clad thigh between your legs. You moaned into her mouth, the feeling of her legs alleviating the pressure between you. Your hands found their way into her hair, tugging at the roots. She growled lowly, pulling away only to reattach her lips to your neck, biting down harshly. The sudden contact made you whimper, and she quickly soothed over the bite with her tongue. You gripped her hair, tugging the locks to speed her along.

“Jules please- enough teasing. Please fuck me already.” You whined, anticipation eagerly killing you. She smirked into your neck, lightly chuckling against your salty flesh.

“As you wish, princess.” She pulled away, picking you up and carried you over to her twin sized bed. She set you down gently, before tugging her shirt off of her head. Your jaw dropped, seeing her perfect chest adorned with the ink. Of course the sight wasn’t new to you, but seeing it every time made you fall deeper for her. 

She chuckled at your face, unknowing to you, but she was crushing just as hard. She couldn’t help but feel dizzy whenever you kissed her. She loved how expressive you were at everything she did. She loved the way your legs looked, and how you did your hair. She loved the freckles that dusted your cheeks and shoulders. She fantasized about you in the shower, wondering what it would feel like if you washed her hair for her. 

Julien walked towards you, taking your face in her hands before kissing you deeply. You blushed at the sweet gesture, savoring the moment between you two. She moaned into your mouth, feeling your hands at her sides. You rubbed circles on her bare hips, pulling her closer to you, her thighs falling to straddle your own. She pulled back, eyes twinkling down at you. She brushed your hair back behind your shoulders before grabbing the hem of your skimpy shirt and pulling it over your head. She reattached her lips to yours, palming your bare breasts. You moaned into her mouth, the sensation sending lightning straight to your already dripping pussy. 

You broke the kiss, pulling back to fully take in Julien’s form. She blushed, a small grin creepy onto her face.

“Ever so bashful, Jules. You’re incredible.” Her smile faltered, and she slowly climbed off your lap. You frowned, confused as to what just happened.

“What’s wrong, Jay?” You whispered, suddenly feeling on edge. She shook her head, unable to meet your eyes.

“I can’t do this, can you leave? I-I need some space.” She squeaked, turning away from you to pull her shirt back on. 

You didn’t reply, partially out of shock, but you didn’t know what to say. You nodded, even though she wasn’t looking at you, before quickly redressing yourself. You could feel the tears start to stream down your cheeks. You grabbed your bag, and rushed out of the dorm hall.

It had been a month since that night. Julien never texted you, and hadn’t replied to any of yours. You were so unsure of what had transpired. You didn’t want to move on, and your crush never wavered. You were going out less, barely being able to attend classes. Your friends had given up at this point trying to cheer you up, even though they had no idea what was plaguing your thoughts.

You decided to get out and go get some hot chocolate from the small cafe right off of campus. It was now early december and the snow was beginning to stick to the ground. You loved winter, it reminded you of home. You couldn’t wait to go home for Christmas, hoping it would take your mind off of Julien. You knew it probably wouldn’t do anything, but you could at least pretend. You trudged through the snow, feeling the icy wind nip at your face. You kept your eyes at your feet, when you noticed a pair of light brown brogues in front of you. Your head raised and your eyes widened in shock.

“Can I join you?” Julien whispered, her brow furrowed trying to anticipate your answer. You sighed, mulling it over before nodding your head. She walked alongside you in silence for a few minutes before you stopped to look at her.

“What happened? Why did you just drop me like it was nothing?” You probed, feeling the anger and hurt begin to bubble to the surface. 

“I’m so sorry, babe. Honestly you wouldn’t believe me if I told you.” She responded, her voice breaking a bit.

“Try me.” You spoke through gritted teeth.

“I-I…… i’m in love with you, okay?” Her voice not growing above a whisper. Your face must’ve been harsher than you realized, her face seeming to be showing fear at your own. You breathed and took a step back. She stepped forward, grabbing your hand.

“please- say something, anything.” She pleaded. You huffed, rolling your eyes at her.

“You love me? You stop talking to me, completely ignoring me, pretend I don’t exist, because you love me?” You spat at her, rather harshly. Hot tears were now streaming down both of your faces, your eyes staring at her, and hers were on the ground.

“I thought that if I stopped seeing you, it would go away. I only realized it that night when you looked at me the way you do and told me I was incredible.” She confessed, tears streaming down even harder. You growled before grabbing her face in your hands and kissing her. She wrapped her arms around your waist. You pulled back brushing her tears away with your thumbs.

“Jules you dumb fuck, I’m in love with you. I’ve wanted to tell you for so long. We could’ve been dating this whole time!” You ranted. She spaced out, fully allowing your words to sink in.

“Oh my god, what the fuck? I’m so fucking stupid. Please allow me to make it up to you.” She bargained. You laughed at her, nodding with glee before bending down to kiss her again. She giggled against your lips. She picked you up and spun around, squeezing you tightly as if she was afraid this was some illusion.

“Deal, you owe me hot chocolates forever.” You jokingly scolded her. She saluted you, grabbing your hand and dragging you in the direction of the cafe.

Love, A

[oftenderweapons]

Bourbon Bossa Nova | MYG | Pt.1

This story is part of the Blue Crush Collab

Pairing: Yoongi x Reader (nicknamed Sunny)

Wordcount: 7k

Rating: 18+ (This part is pretty innocent, but Part 2 will feature mature content)

Genre: strangers to friends to lovers, composer!Yoongi x lifeguard!YN

Content warning: swearing, alcohol, allusions to sexual thoughts. Allusions to death, child abandonment and family loss.

Synopsis: when you start your summer at Honeycomb Cove, you're only expecting sunshine, waves and annoying teenage bravado as you work as a lifeguard. What you don't expect is Min Yoongi. He wasn't expecting you either. Soon your morning walks are your favourite part of the day, until you realise it's not really the walks, maybe it's always been him you are, after all, waiting for.

Shoutout to the incredible folks who helped me find courage to keep believing in this fic - and finally posting it. To Mars (@joheunsaram), To Bells (@youtifulhobi) to Yannie (@ressjeon), my power squad who believed in this fic (and in my writing skills) more than I did. Here's to me finally breaking my dry spell!!! And to some of my old and new supporters and cheerleaders @lelegzem0, @aanncchhuu, @blushingatyou and @percheee (other people are most definitely in this list but Tumblr is limiting my access to previous notes so I can't find you all) You folks are part of the reason I'm still rolling in the dust here on Tumblr

Part two out now!

Here's my masterlist, just in case you're new

Also: disclaimer! (very important, I should have put this first) I'm not Brazilian, and I have very little familiarity with Brazilian culture, but I really wanted to do a shoutout to this incredible country, its people, its art and its music. If you have any notes you would like to leave regarding Antonio's characters and Yoongi's attachment to Brazilian culture, you are the most welcome, both here in the comments and in my blog. I'd love to learn more 💜

Enjoy the fic!!!

May is a great thing. Flowers everywhere, the smell of sunscreen starting to spread in the air, orange dawns, hair getting frizzy with salty air and too much time in the water. Sand under your toes, loose linen garments, wearing a sports bra and a pair of shorts all the time, throwing an oversized sweater on when the night gets too cold, the smell of citrus and geranium to keep mosquitoes away. 

Early summer is great. Way better than midsummer and August. May and mid-September had always been your favourite times of the year: the beginning felt like sparks starting to burst, and the end felt like the natural conclusion of things, that languid nostalgia sweeping in gently, like the soft wind ready to carry in autumn days and blow the leaves away. 

The smell of rosemary and lavender and juniper accompanied you to the beach as you walked down one of the side alleys. 

“Good morn’ Earl!”

The old man turned to greet you as he kept watering the hibiscus bushes before the sun became too blinding, burning the poor flowers. “Morning Sunny!”

“Remember your heart pill!”

“Sure! Already took it!” Earl shouted back, his voice bubbly and bright. 

You waved at him as you kept walking, ready to meet your next friend. “Hello Rosa!”

“Hi Sunny!” 

The old lady already had her cocker spaniel on a leash, ready for her morning walk. “When’s Mindy coming around this year?”

“Mid-July. And she’s taking her children too!” The woman looked ecstatic about her daughter visiting. 

“That sounds amazing! I really have to rush, bye Rosa! And bye Lemon!”

“Lemon say bye!” Rosa told her dog, making her bark just in time before you started your jog. 

Being a lifeguard was great. It was the life you had always dreamed of. You had always worked out to fit in the lifeguard guidelines requirements, and a good ninety percent of your decisions had been oriented to making sure that you could be a lifeguard from the second week of May to the first week of October — that is the entirety of tourist season. Once autumn arrived, you would resume working at the retirement home: it was only your second year with that working arrangement, and you weren’t sure it would work at first, but your grandmother being the godmother of the director of the elderly institute guaranteed you would always find a spot working there; plus, they were also constantly in need of an extra set of hands, especially if those hands came with a degree in nursing. 

You’ve always known you wanted to work in elderly care just as much as you’ve always known you were made to be a lifeguard. Your parents were worried over the sort of sacrifices and strains that such an occupation would entail: all the caregiving, and the cleaning and the affection you spend on people you’re inevitably going to lose; yet it felt natural to you. Sure, some people can be antagonistic and diffident, in some cases you end up being more of a nanny than a nurse, but most of the time, it’s worth it. After two years in this field, the ups are definitely brighter than the darkest lows, and you’re under the strong impression that it will keep being so. 

Back to the glorious morning in front of you, you took off your flip-flops as you reached the best place in the world: the golden beach of Honeycomb Cove. Smiling, you fixed your cap on top of your head and walked to your tower, depositing your stuff in the cabin before going for your morning run. As you were opening the umbrella, taking in the blue infinity of the ocean before you, you spotted an unfamiliar figure below, a big fisher hat on its head, a long-sleeved white shirt covering its arms, a stick in one hand while the other was pressed to his lower back in a fist. 

“Hi, hello there!” you greeted, a wide smile for the small, old man walking on the shore before your tower. The bizarre figure lifted his head up, eyes squinted, his button nose curiously pointing about as he looked for the voice. 

“Over here! Good morning, sir!” You waved energetically at him, the man frowning — not that you could notice that, because of the distance and the hat. 

“Morning?” he greeted back in confusion before continuing his walk. 

Yoongi was extremely confused when he heard the voice. His night had been too long for him not to suppose he was hearing voices. Maybe his time had finally come and that was the call of some deity summoning him to whatever comes after the struggles of the living. 

What he didn’t expect was for the voice to call again, this time the source clearly identifiable. He squinted at the lifeguard tower and offered a small wave in greeting. 

She — that had to be a she — seemed to be set alight in sunlight, the early morning light making her glow in something brighter than gold. 

He had a precise image in his mind for a second, something his grandmother had told him when he was a child. Something like mythology, like Achilles’ halo of hair, or Helios who carries the chariot of the Sun. 

He shook his head and continued walking, turning around only once he was several feet ahead and her long legs had carried her in the opposite direction, her wide strides amazing Yoongi, who could just stare at her golden, looped locks bouncing as she played with the back-and-forth of the tide, running along it. 

For a second, Yoongi thought of The Girl from Ipanema, shortly before remembering all the controversies behind it, and how much his grandmother hated the song because of “the male gaze”. With chastised pupils, he let his gaze fall back to the fragments of seashells at his feet, the distant fall of her feet meeting the sound of the tide calling to his ears in a hypnotizing beat. 

All the way back to his home, Yoongi let it ring and echo through all the empty halls of his brain, until he could finally — although artificially — recreate it in the calm of his home, and let it resonate through its corridors.

Yoongi would define himself quite a reserved man. He had his home — an old Victorian-style house in the more quiet and deserted part of the bay, too inhospitable for tourists, still linked to the naval history of the cove. He had renovated the house after his grandmother had left it to him, replacing the old wooden axes with new, not rotten ones, repainting the walls and repolishing the floors, installing soundproof panels on the room he had decided to turn into his studio. 

It had only been a short while since he’d moved into the beach house; his college in San Francisco and his scholarship and research in New Orleans had sent him spiralling between opposites, diving deep into sounds he wasn’t entirely familiar with, and in a bout of homesickness and confusion, he’d decided to return to his true roots, to his true north. 

Here he could daydream of green hills and golden beaches of a faraway place that he could only imagine through the saudade of an old immigrant. He could feel the beat of that city that was nothing but an overgrown village, the roaring of cars on dirt roads, and that open-armed man that seemed to be every man, every woman, every human being in that open-armed city — that all-forgiving man that seemed to welcome strangers, with their weary feet and guilty souls. 

He knew the place that inhabited his wildest dreams, his most romanticised visions, no longer existed. It had been erased by decades of progress and politics and human greed. That place where all his bedtime stories took place was no longer, and maybe it had never been. Yet Yoongi longed to reach that all-forgiving stone man and feel, just feel how the rolling waves carried all the nostalgia and the sins and the tears of those lost souls that reached a new land hoping for fortune and maybe a brand new start. 

He too was something in between worlds. Son of a woman adopted by a foreigner and a man lost in time, somewhere. And there was nothing more foreign to him than the woman who had raised him, the same woman who had given him the house he was living in. He had always been drifting in something somewhat estranged. His mother had been a nobody, abandoned before an orphanage, the only known facts were her name — Moonbae — and that she had been abandoned as the last of sixth children, her family too poor to afford her. As a twist of fate, she had then been adopted by an American anthropologist — Yoongi’s grandma — who had always respected her will to stay away from her past. Still, loss persecuted her, her loving, if a little taciturn adoptive father passing due to a mysterious disease somewhere in Guatemala. 

It took several years for Beatrice and Moonbae to settle in the old colonial house in Honeycomb Cove; Trice had returned to her great-grandmother to assist the incredibly old lady to her last breath. Needless to say, she then inherited the house. The women lived sheltered, quiet lives until Moonbae got pregnant. A summer fling, that was all it was, the man a fleeting tourist who took a risk too many, fathering a son he would never take care of. 

His absence was filled by someone who looked the exact opposite of the little moonbeam of a child, laying pale and tranquil in his cradle, lulled by strange, exotic songs that his grandmother had perfected for him. 

Beatrice fell in love with a man who became everything to Yoongi — someone Moonbae never approved of, so much so that she decided to leave town when her son was maybe four years old. She never returned. Beatrice never looked for her either. 

Antonio was eighteen years younger than Beatrice, his skin a rich cinnamon shade, his accent so thick that it took a while for Yoongi to decipher the heavy Brazilian cadence in the man’s English. 

Yoongi preferred when Antonio spoke Brazilian Portuguese, anyways. By the time the boy was fourteen, he and his acquired grandfather easily conversed on the wooden patio, drinking lemonade, a guitar in the man’s arms. Antonio taught Yoongi everything, the boy so taciturn, so eager to listen, that the nationless musician let all his woes and nostalgia pour out. And maybe the man was no citizen, something in between an exile and a fugitive, but in that old house, he found a home, with Trice constantly refusing to marry him and loving him like a madwoman at the same time. 

Yoongi doubted love like that could exist anymore. A love so strong that when she had passed, Antonio had magically drifted away together with her a few months after, disregarding his significantly younger age. What the not-so-old man would never say was that he passed in tranquillity, knowing that he had taught his spiritual child all he had to offer. 

And just so, Yoongi won a scholarship, all because of the easy, wordless afternoons when Antonio taught him to play three instruments and speak that language that reminded Yoongi of his old cat, Sweeper, and the way he lazily rolled around in the sun. 

Now he was just a young man graduated from a prestigious music academy in San Francisco, two of his compositions had been featured as soundtrack in a couple movies, and he was already producing for a small recording studio specialised in chamber music. He didn’t make much money out of it, to be true, but sometimes he managed to have an extra income with royalties, and he was currently composing his first mixtape — for which a studio had already contacted him, and the fact that Antonio had introduced him to some of the most influential artists in the San Francisco scene had quite definitely jump-started his career. 

He was living a cool life, the kind of life he had always seen himself living. He worked at night and finished his day at seven am; then he would head out for a walk, when the sun was still gentle in summer and when it would be barely up in winter. And next, he would sleep. Wake up around five pm. Get some food ready and start all over again. He’d returned to Honeycomb Cove only six months prior, so he hadn’t yet entirely reconnected with his local social circle, plus most of his friends were still in college, which meant that it wasn’t that easy to arrange a get together. But to be true he was quite excited about Seokjin being back in town and spring break approaching. By summer come, they would all be a great team again and he would feel like he had all the time in the world. 

His musings were interrupted by the doorbell. That had to be his pizza. It was almost eleven and Gerry, the old Italian man who owned the pizza place at the end of the street, always knew that Tuesday night meant late night pizza for Yoongi. 

He grabbed the money — already perfectly calculated so he could pay for the pizza and leave a tip for the delivery boy, Pippo. But tonight it wasn't the delivery boy knocking at his door. As he opened it, he found a wondrous mass of blond curls right in front of his eyes. “Oh, hi!” 

“Hey!” The voice sounded chirpy, familiar. 

A sudden breeze pushed the stranger’s perfume past the doorway, the scent crashing over Yoongi like the surf. God she smells good, Yoongi thought, lips agape as he stared at the woman in his doorway. It was a mix of coconut and papaya, the scent overpowering the tasty smell of his pizza. 

You put on your friendliest, warmest, brightest smile, then said: “We met on the beach right? You must be Min Yoongi. I'm _____. Gerry said you always dine alone and told me you could use some company.”

“I'm not a charity case,” Yoongi replied before realising how rude he'd just been. 

“Well, that's a funny introduction, Not A Charity Case. Is that the name you chose to go by? Like Jenny From The Block?” You shook your head and looked away. “What told you it's not me who could use a friend. May I?” You asked, pointing at the door, asking if you could enter. “You can ask Gerry. He sent me. I've just arrived for the season and I could really use a friend. He told me you're a good person and you're always alone too.” 

Yoongi was almost outraged by your insolence. Were you always so blunt? He was also confused: what kind of setup was this?!

You passed him the pizza and he lifted the lid, checking that it was actually his and that you weren't an imposter, or a serial killer. 

'Take the golden retriever girl. She needs a smart friend. -G,’ read a note left inside the box.

“Yeah, I’m Yoongi,” he said, almost defeated. “Come on in, then.” If he found his house entirely stripped of anything worth money, he would sue Gerry. 

“Oh. Thank you.” You flashed him a grin. 

Yoongi's knees almost caved. What a smile. It was like… like staring at the sun. But in a good way. It was like a blue sky. Soothing. Serene. Cloudless, pacific. 

You placed your own pizza box next to his on the counter while at the same time you looked around. “Wow, your house is so pretty. Your family lives here?” 

Yoongi opened his pizza and grabbed a beer from the fridge. “I don't have a family anymore.” 

You froze. “I'm sorry.” You were already failing at this. That's why your friends all had fake teeth and a medical record thicker than your cookbook. Not to mention the average age.

“It's okay. I got used to that. You should be the lifeguard, right? Wait, would you like some beer?” 

You shook your head. “I'd like some water please.” 

Of course you would, he realised. You had to be one of those health freaks. He could already anticipate how easily he could make you run from him with his suicidal diet. 

He placed a glass beside your pizza box before sitting down and getting ready to dig in. “I still owe you the money. From the pizza.” 

“I already paid for both. I thought that since I wasn't bringing you a housewarming present, I could at least buy you some food.” You took a slice and started eating up, humming and nodding at the taste. “I get why he works so much. This pizza is heaven.”

“Yeah. All the kids here grew up on sunshine and Gerry's pizza,” Yoongi mentioned casually. He liked that you talked with your mouth full. He did, too. Beatrice had never liked that. 

“Are you from the neighbourhood?” He asked before wolfing down another slice. 

“Kinda. I live a bit farther into the mainland. I used to come here on holiday when I was little. With my parents.” You took a sip of water as Yoongi learned one more thing about you. 

“I thought so. I don’t really remember you from growing up, and me and my friends know all of the locals.” Yoongi studied your face, trying to dissect any detail that could make you familiar. 

“I see. You’ve been raised here, I assume?”

“Yup.” The silence is heavy, but at least you can distract yourself with food. “So, lifeguard? That your dream job?” He said it sarcastically, almost evilly before he realised you were nodding eagerly and happily. 

“My great-grandpa was a sailor. I've always wanted to live by the sea.” You munched on the crunchy crust, Yoongi blinking rapidly. 

Making fun of you felt like shooting a dead body. There was no use — and no mercy — in doing that. “Shouldn't you be in college or something?” 

“I took nursing school. And I'm old enough to be out of college.” Yoongi’s tone had really made that sound like an insult, but you tried your best not to assume the worst.

Yoongi tried to get on his better behaviour. You were a new person, you wouldn’t understand his sardonic tone. “I'm sorry,” he said, contrite. 

“For what? Me being a certified nurse and a person in charge of other people's lives? I know I look stupid, no need to rub it in.” You arched an eyebrow, rather fed up with the weirdness of this exchange, of the man sitting before you. You stood up and closed the box of your pizza, still half uneaten. “Sorry I disturbed your night. Enjoy your meal—” 

“Wait, no! Don't go, please.” He didn't know what suddenly convinced him to make you stay. “I was a dick, I'm sorry, let's start over.” 

You hesitated for at least three seconds and then, despite your better judgement, you sat back. “I'm ____. But my friends call me Sunny. It's my middle name. Really. My parents thought it funny.”

It suited you so damn bad. Yoongi wanted to bask in your aura in a hammock with a slight breeze and a samba playing in the distance. “It's a really nice name. It really suits your appearance. And I mean that as a compliment.” 

You breathed out the tiniest laugh. 

“I'm Yoongi and that's the only name I have. We don't use middle names.” He relaxed once you opened your box once more. 

“Where is it from?” You asked, recognising the name being foreign. 

“My mom's name is Korean. She picked a Korean one for me too. Just to remind me we're not entirely American.” He was vaguely bitter about that. Maybe just indifferent, you told yourself. That must have been tough. 

“That's interesting,” you mused, drinking some water. “How old are you?” 

Your question was naive. Childlike. “I'm twenty-three. And you're…?”

“Twenty-four. Twenty-five in a couple weeks.” You smiled and he was once more lost in how radiant you looked. 

Once you were finished eating, you rinsed your hands at the sink, helping him get rid of the boxes before shyly following him as he moved to the living room. 

“Wow.”

“It's a bit overwhelming, I know.” He looked around, analysing the room through a stranger's eyes. “My grandma was an anthropologist, my grandpa too, though I never met him. She travelled a lot and always brought back fancy things.” 

“What's this?” you asked, watching a strange fork of sorts. 

Yoongi sat down and grabbed a bizarre little stick, no bigger than a pen, with a large ball at the end. He hit the fork, a soothing, metallic sound coming out of it and the box at its base, amplifying the cold dong. “It's a diapason. It gives a specific note. This one sounds like la. Or A, whatever notation you prefer. We use it to tune instruments like guitars.” 

You nodded. “That's interesting. I like it.” 

Yoongi chuckled. “It's very soothing, right? It resonates at a frequency that has positive effects on humans. My grandma used to play it when I needed to calm down as a baby.” 

Thinking that the coarse man before you had been a baby felt baffling. “And it still relaxes you?” 

“It does. But I think it's more of a reflex. I think they trained me. Like Pavlov's dog… Wait, was that Pavlov?”

“Yeah,” you confirmed with a giggle. 

“Sometimes I think I was a strange experiment. That's what happens when you have two scientists in your home.” He shrugged with a funny grin on his face, his cheeks going puffy as he did so. 

“It's okay. You lived through that. You're not doing bad for a lab rat. You could be having bald spots by now,” you joked, almost expecting him to get confused or disgusted. Instead he laughed. 

His laugh was so soft. He actually looked soft, with his gums out, his cheeks puffed up, his nose curled up cutely. Yoongi was cute. Very much so. 

“So, what do you do for a living?” 

He blushed to his ears. “I'm a musician. And a producer.” 

“Wow. That sounds cool! How does that work?” Your voice was filled with wonder, making Yoongi understand that after all it wasn't like you were dumb. You were just unashamed of not knowing things. 

“I make songs. Spend too much time on the computer fixing songs for other people. And then spend a little bit of time with my instruments, going through riffs and melodies, finding little things that inspire me for longer songs or pieces.” Yoongi stopped himself from dumping all of his artistic worries over you. 

“You studied at UCLA?” you asked, knowing that was the best place for a person like him. 

“Actually, no. My grandfather got me into an academy in the city. I mean, my granny's boyfriend,” he corrected himself. Considering Antonio his grandpa had always come natural to him, but he'd never substituted himself for Trice's husband. 

“It's so cute that she found a boyfriend. You mentioned your grandpa passed so I guess she met the guy after?” You posed the question gently, wording it accurately. 

Yoongi nodded. “Yup. I was a toddler when they met.” 

You hummed. “With all respect to your grandpa, I like when old people find a partner — or at least, someone meaningful to them. It brings a lot of joy and newness in their lives. Partnered old folks have a way less lonely life. And it seems they live longer too! I read a paper for a course back in college.” 

Yoongi was pleased to receive confirmation of you being an old people's person. Hopefully you also hated kids so he could actually deem himself safe. “So you actually liked nursing school.”

You bobbed your head enthusiastically. “I’ve always liked the idea of working in a retirement home. Old people have so many stories and so little audience. I like staying with them, helping them write memories they can pass to their overly busy children and grandchildren. And they learn about technology, they play cards. They crochet! Isn't that amazing?!” you exclaimed with a radiant look on your face. 

Yoongi realised you were a genuinely generous person. You reaching out to him wasn't just Gerry forcing you to Yoongi's place, but hopefully you needing a friend. It really seemed you could use a pal your age. “And how does that pair up with your lifeguard position?” 

You shrugged. “I've always loved the beach. And splitting it with caregiving helps me from taking nursing too seriously. It helps me worry less about people… passing, you know.”

Yoongi nodded. He hadn’t thought about what it means taking care of someone day after day after day, and then suddenly they’re gone. He also thought about the different weights of a job: probably that was the same reason why it had taken him so long to work on his music while delivering piece after piece for commission. He had lost the passionate side of it.

“So, your granny's boyfriend got you into a music academy and then?” 

Yoongi smiled, then he started telling you everything about that. 

The two of you talked way deep in the night, the initial strangeness turning into easy chit-chat about school, life, family and work… It was almost one in the morning when you realised it was time for you to go. Once Yoongi noticed how long he’d been talking to you, he blushed and understood it was time to say goodnight, no matter how warm and welcome he felt at your side. 

He accompanied you to the door, then stood on the porch, waving at you before wondering whether he should accompany you home. “You’re staying here in town, right?”

You nodded. “Yeah, don’t worry. I’m just five minutes away from here. I have my bike.”

“You don’t want me to drive you?” He rubbed the back of his neck as he waited for your reply. 

You shook your head. “I’m okay, don’t worry. I’ll be okay.”

Yoongi realised the reason why he felt sad about you refusing was exclusively because he wouldn’t be able to spend more time with you. He was struggling to let go, after only a couple hours of chatting, and at least half of that being awkward acquainting with someone new. 

And to further increase his struggles, he could almost hear Antonio scolding him for letting go of someone that made him feel good. “Will I see you tomorrow morning at the beach?”

You were ready to leave when you heard Yoongi’s question. It sounded vaguely insecure, as if he was testing the waters. “Come meet me at seven. I’ll be there.”

Yoongi nodded to himself. He should have asked for your number. Stupid social anxiety. 

“Goodnight Yoongi!” You waved from the gate before leaving.

He stood there, arms crossed, shrinking inside his striped polo shirt, its long sleeve doing very little in keeping him warm. So unexpectedly his night had changed. He thought about the percussion riff he’d jotted down that morning around nine, laying in bed, sleepless. For all he knew, you could have possibly changed his life. 

He would remember tonight forever. 

The following day, Yoongi left his house at six forty-five. You had given him a when, but not an exact where. He was nervous. And he was somehow hoping that seeing you in broad daylight would somehow lessen your magic. 

How wrong he was. 

He waited for you at the feet of your tower, leaning against it nonchalantly while he almost ran to get there in time. Watching you arrive in sunglasses and a white sundress was definitely something. You looked like the kind of girl that could have starred in Dirty Dancing. 

“Good morning, sir!” you greeted, waving. 

“Stop treating me like an old man,” he complained, however you heard some irony in his voice. 

“Not my fault you behave like one!” you bit back, amused and maybe a little cheeky. “Hello Yoongi,” you tried again, more calmly now that you were standing before him. “I’ll go get changed quickly so we can go on a walk.”

He nodded and looked at the horizon before him, his ears blushing at the thought that you were half naked just a few steps away. You looked so lean and fit and tall and he was… He was struggling not to let his mind run wild. After all you were just a prettily shaped woman. No more, and no less. 

All the months that had passed since he’d last slept with someone weren’t a valid reason for him to think of you half naked.

“Let’s go!” you exclaimed, basically throwing yourself down the stairs and taking a few small jumps on your spot — like a golden retriever too excited about going out. You started with a jog, only to watch Yoongi’s panicked look. 

You exploded with laughter. “See, I told you! You’re an old man!”

Yoongi hid his smile with a pout before catching up with a few quick steps. “Do you need to run or can you just walk?”

“I’ll walk in the water. Helps me burn more energy and work on my stamina,” you replied, entering the water to the point it reached your knees. “You can walk on the shore. Did you sleep well?”

He looked away.

“Oh, right. You work at night. So— Did you… produce?” You looked down, careful about not splashing him. 

“Oh, yeah. The conversation with you was very inspirational,” he conceded. He hadn’t worked half as much in the last four weeks. Listening to the little riffs and chords hidden in your voice was like experimenting with a new genre. It was as if he was building a new theme for you. Something that signified your presence, but at the same time conveyed the fits and starts of meeting someone new, and getting to know them, and discovering something new about oneself from all the analogies and differences they could see with the other person. As much as he was composing about you, about the little bits he’d learned about you, he was in some way also composing about himself. 

The process had been thrilling and once he’d finished the first, roughest draft, at dawn, the music felt so vibrant that it could properly and proudly accompany the rise of the sun. It was of course still only a draft, but the way you’d talked deep into the night, the way you’d circled around things until they’d come out right, had inspired him to give it all a try. It didn’t need to be perfect, it only needed to work. And work, in the end, it did. He only wished he had sampled a piece of your conversation — that joke about him being a lab rat… the laughs that followed. It would have been great for a skit. 

“You know, I really wish I could listen to your music. I'm kind of curious about what such a quiet person considers noise worth listening to.” You looked at him. “After all, music is just very tidy noise right?” 

He smiled. “Yeah, I would agree to that.” He looked at the seashells on the shore. “I'll make you a playlist. I'll include random stuff I like listening to.”

“Oh, I'd love that!” you replied enthusiastically. “We can make a playlist for our walks!” 

Yoongi’s ears perked up at that: “walks”, plural, which meant you would do this again, soon. He was pleased at the way you had so casually hinted at creating a routine. He had someone to share music recommendations with. Someone who would maybe recommend pieces to him in return. He realised he was excited about this. So many new sensations, and none of that as unpleasant as he’d thought. He could get used tho this.

Once the two of you said goodbye, he realised he couldn't go to sleep. He was too excited about making a playlist and sharing it with you. Walking with you in the gentle morning sun. Hearing you laugh. 

Yoongi understood: he was making a new friend. 

Having walks with Yoongi became extraordinary. You started associating him with the tender colours of the shyest sunshine, and the sweet cotton scent of his shirts in the gentle morning breeze. The way his soft locks danced in the ocean air, tangling together, the way his cheeks turned into little ice cream scoops when he smiled at you as you greeted him good morning. 

Likewise, Yoongi started adoring sunshine. You ended each of his nights, bringing him into the reign of soft morning light, introducing him to a brightness he'd always much preferred doing without. Truth was that his ears had become acquainted with your vintage summer bops, with the way your steps would automatically sync up with the beat of Pumped Up Kicks when the song started playing, and your little blonde baby curls would end up bouncing by the time the first chorus came around. Sometimes you looked like one of those strange horses trained to match the rhythm of music. Dressage, wasn't that? 

And then, you loved his calm acoustic ballads, the relaxing guitar riffs that accompanied the rise of the sun. 

Once your shared routine of morning walks was sufficiently cemented, you trained him, like a stray cat, to stick around some more after your walk, convincing him to join you for a morning snack. You always brought him iced coffee and a peach jam sandwich while you drank your aloe and matcha drink before indulging in an avocado toast. He liked your mornings as much as you did. You also probably liked each other too. 

Your perfect sunny streak was tainted only by a mildly cloudy morning, during which Yoongi showed up at your tower anyway, an extra sweater on top of his long sleeved shirt. He knew you'd probably be cold. 

The striped black number seemed to be big enough for you to fill it up comfortably. After all, you were half a head taller than him, and your arms were significantly longer. At least by three or four inches, he had to admit. 

When you showed up, you looked drowsy, your hair was half low and you were carrying a different bag from usual. “Morning old man,” you called, placing your bag at the feet of the stairs. 

“Morning, Sunny. Wait. Are those actually knitting devices in your bag? Wonder Woman ____ knits?” 

“Shut up. Linda taught me. It's just something to share with the ladies at The Orchard,” you justified yourself. “We'll see if you still joke about that once you get your soft, handmade cosy sweater this winter.” 

Yoongi blinked, suddenly realising his expression had been shifting to a pout. “Are you still going to be around this winter?” 

You invited him upstairs, avoiding the question for now. Could you wait from September to May to see him again? Could you go so long without him? 

As you picked up a half knitted torso from your bag, pressing it to his face, you realised you couldn't. You also realised you had made a naive mistake. You had thought you were domesticating a stray but in the meanwhile you had opened him your home, your heart. You had invested your time in him and that made him much more than a stray. You were giving him a forever home.

“Is this for me?” he asked innocently, gently, rubbing his face against the soft, airy fabric. 

“It’s alpaca wool,” you commented drily. You already knew you would give up on your long-term dream sweater only to see him all fluffed up in the pastel mesh of colours. You smiled as he pressed it closer to his face.

“So soft,” he murmured, nuzzling up against the small piece of knitwork. The moment he opened his eyes, you realised his nose was just a tiny bit red from the chilly breeze coming from the sea, carrying a storm in its wake. His cheeks were rosy and puffy, his eyes big and dark. And his eyelashes, so dainty and insanely… flirtatious? He looked like he was seducing you for the slowest of seconds. 

You looked away, cheeks aflame. “Let’s go. Before the rain comes.”

Yoongi startled at your tone, cloudy for the first time since that night when you’d known each other too little, and he’d been unforgivably too sarcastic. He followed you like a confused pet down the stairs, then grabbed his earpods and passed one to you. 

You were especially thankful for the music now that your thoughts were too scattered for you to form sentences and make some conversation. 

“It will rain in a bunch of minutes,” Yoongi commented. “There’s no use walking today.”

You ignored him. Would he leave if you agreed with his statement? Would he think walking was pointless, and therefore there was no reason for the two of you to spend any time together today? Too lost in trying to find a meaning to how sad you felt at the thought of being apart, you didn’t realise a raindrop had hit your nose. 

The storm was coming. 

An angry guitar riff came on, The Neighbourhood blaring from the earphone as Yoongi grabbed your hand. One drop followed the other, his hand around your wrist as he tugged at your arm, running fast, faster, to a speed that felt ridiculous considering how lazy he always was. 

‘I’m going back to 505, if it’s a seven-hour flight or a forty-five-minute drive. In my imagination you’re waiting lying on your side, with your hands between your thighs, and a smile…’

You ran, faster, short of breath, the music carrying you across the sand. You didn’t even realise you were trusting Yoongi completely, even as he led you past your tower, even as he kept running while the downpour broke loose, even as The Beatles came on, singing about jars by the door and lonely people, even as the morning got so dark, the sky like a purple shiner after a rowdy pub fight. 

You kept running, Yoongi panting as the two of you finally recognised the fence of his house, the tower barely visible behind the thick cover of rain and mist. “Come on!” he gasped out. 

You kept running until you were under his porch. “What the hell, Yoongi! Why didn’t we stop at the tower!?” you scolded him, barely alive, barely breathing — how had he worn you out like this? He was way less trained than you, and yet he’d managed to run by your side, keeping your pace, ending up winded, sure, but in way better a state than you’d thought he would be.

He shook his head, bent in two, his hands gripping his knees. “I was distracted! I wasn’t thinking!”

You shook your head, too busy pulling oxygen into your lungs to fight him back. After a few breathless minutes, you sat down on the first step of the staircase. “You knew it would rain. Why did you come?”

Yoongi felt called out all of a sudden. “I— I thought you were expecting me to come. I don’t have your number so I couldn’t text you. Or call you.” He sat down beside you, his hands pressed in between his knees. “I didn’t want you to worry or think I had forgotten.” He took in a large breath. Somehow the little effort of a confession required way more air than the makeshift marathon under the storm — it was definitely shorter than a marathon. Probably not even a tenth of it. He just knew that was the longest and the fastest he’d ever run, but you were running, and you were so majestic and he just wanted to be part of it. 

Yoongi paused, gathered his courage, then murmured, “I didn’t want you to feel lonely.”

You recognised the guitar strums immediately, the song changing once more. You looked at Yoongi, Hozier’s soft voice crooning at your ear. “What about you? Were you feeling lonely?”

He looked away, too shy, too old, too used-to-it to admit it. He had no right to feel lonely when you weren’t around. He had been alone for so long, but loneliness? It had been a stranger to him until he’d learnt your name. “I don’t—”

You pushed his hair off his face, your index finger casually following the handsome curve of his jawline. “Yoongi?”

He finally turned to look at you, once more innocent in the way he seemed to seduce you. He looked so pure and for the first time you felt so desperate to taint him. You needed him to look normal and mundane and you prayed for your crush to fade, for his sinless charms to be washed away so he would show his true colours, because no man should be allowed to be perfect the way he felt perfect to you. 

“Yoongi,” you whispered, your heart tied up with pining.

‘Honey just put your sweet lips on my lips, we should just kiss like real people do.’

You hadn’t realised your eyes were closed until it was too late, the lyrics making you open them only to notice Yoongi leaning towards you, his lips protruding in the most imploring pout you had ever seen. 

You were ruined. 

You tugged the earpod off, almost throwing it to the ground before hollering a ‘see you ‘round’ and running off in the cold rain. 

Yoongi, confused, afraid, sat on his porch as he watched you disappear. 

Part 2 will be out now!!

[gigagendergt]

🧡AUTUMN GT WRITING CONTEST AND CHAPBOOK ZINE 🧡

PLEASE BOOST

🍂🧚🏽‍♀️🦇🍁🌻🌧️

Hello friends! I’m sure you’ve noticed that the writing in the gt community has died off quite a bit. Also, the community is a little inactive. Therefore, I’m doing a ZINE BOOST!! That’s right folks, let’s make our very own zine! Things accepted to the zine: art, writing, anything g/t related, community posts, fiction, nonfiction about gt yearning, you name it!

In the interest of encouraging our writers, I’m very happy to announce a new event, our autumn short story writing contest! Guidelines are as follows:

☀️ Please submit one short story, NO MORE THAN fifteen pages single-spaced and NO LESS THAN one page single spaced.

☀️ART SUBMISSIONS for the zine are not part of a contest, however, I will gladly include them!

☀️ Your short story must be themed around autumn and gt in some way! Any genre is accepted as long as it contains those two concepts. Some ideas: hot chocolate, falling leaves, cold nights, warm sweaters, angst/comfort, storms and weather!

☀️Collaboration and helping each other is encouraged! However submissions will be judged by me, therefore, I can’t help you or be biased in any way!

☀️JUDGEMENT CRITERIA: Your submission will be judged based on completion, prose, skill level, and how well it adheres to the prompt! PLEASE NOTE THAT AN UNFINISHED STORY OR A FRAGMENT WILL NOT DO AS WELL AS COMPLETED DRAFTS.

PRIZES FOR WRITING CONTEST

☀️ FIRST PRIZE gets a $15 gift certificate from @gigagendergt for thriftbooks.com, a website where you can find your favorite books for cheap, and a prime spot in the zine!

🔆 SECOND PRIZE gets a $10 gift certificate to thriftbooks.com and a prime spot in the zine!

🔅THIRD PRIZE gets a $5 gift certificate to thriftbooks.com and a prime spot in the zine!

ZINE AND GUIDELINES

🧡 Please do not include anything offensive, prejudiced, or otherwise harmful.

🧡 NSFW content is allowed for artistic purposes, but please be aware that the zine is not a directly kink-oriented space.

🧡 Please respect the final judgement of @gigagender on the winners and encourage each other rather than tearing each other down!

SEND ALL SUBMISSIONS TO gtzinesubmissions@gmail.com!

THE DEADLINE IS NOVEMBER 21ST

I’m so excited to read all your amazing submissions! For any clarification ask me at @gigagendergt!

[aggro-my-beloved]

"Move Over..." {David Shaw x Angel}

note: i've been diving deep into the redacted universe lately and figured i'd do my civic duty as a pro stan (and amateur writer) and give back to the fandom. here is the first installment which is a product of my few remaining braincells and far too much caffeine. enjoy :) summary: in which angel's new addition to the home sends her wolf boi into a fury warnings: a swear or two, angel and asher being lil shits, the usual word count: 723

「:」「:」「:」「:」「:」「:」「:」「:」「:」「:」「:」「:」「:」「:」「:」「:」

"...the dog sits here." David's tone walks the line of question as he reads out the bold, black lettering printed on the throw pillow. It's sat on the left side of the couch, the top of it karate chopped to perfection by Angel's hand, and the shifter can visualize the smug look painting their lips as they did so. He crosses his arms with an exasperated huff and cranes his neck towards the sound of his mate's footsteps pattering to the room he now commands. His stance, while appearing intimidating, will affect them in no way but positively. Getting beneath his skin seems to be a hobby they favor above all else, and damn he hates how much they excel at times. 

"Hey, I thought I heard y-" Their perky tone settles to silence at the Alpha with his lips downturned. They try to keep their growing smile at bay, but it will be no easy feat with how they've outdone themselves this time. 

"I take it you've seen our new decor." Angel bites their lip. No smiling, they repeat internally over and over. Play it cool.

"Is that what you call this? Seems more like a ridicule from where I'm standing." He takes a few steps closer to Angel, who's situated themselves against the frame of the open doorway. The cold trim against their back is forgotten in the wake of David's piercing stare. "I am not a dog." He insists. Angel's eyes flicker down to his mouth and swears his bottom lip juts out further for the dim lamp to illuminate his pout. They don't acknowledge it, and rather, console the man in front of them. 

"I'm sorry, you're right. What was I thinking?" Angel's palm lightly smacks their forehead as it tilts back in forth in an ashamed shake. "You're my little puppy, after all." 

A scoff of disbelief passes through the air. But really, shouldn't he predict all of the cheeky comebacks by now? They impede every moment between them, intimate or playful. He's marrying them this autumn and he dreads all the jokes which won't be shared in the vow exchange. Like every moment similar to this, though, he will stand his ground until his mate grinds him into it. 

"That wasn't implying I'm a puppy, either, you menace. And I'm certainly not yours." 

"Those marks I left on you last night say otherwise, puppy." Angel can no longer keep their composure, and allow a few giggles to slip into the tension-filled room. David knows he can't win in this situation, no matter how many threats he delivers. Fighting the one in front of him would only make the bite marks on his hips burn hotter--same with the scarlet overtaking his cheeks. When his eyes leave his mate's in exchange for the pillow, still silently taunting him, he grinds his teeth at how nicely the color of it complements their sofa. They chose well...in a way, David thinks to himself.

"Whatever." He leaves it at that and makes a mental note to flip it around later. 

But it didn't get him far. Alas, deep cleaning the apartment before Asher and his mate came over for dinner one night commended Angel to face the pillow to its proper orientation. Asher, oblivious as he is, relied on Babe to point it out to him with a nudge to his side and a subtle nod of her head. The sudden, overlapping laughter drew David and Angel's attention away from the casserole resting on their stove and encouraged their retreat to the living room.

Asher would be near collapse to the floor from hysterics, if not for Babe's hand clutching his forearm for dear life as they used their free one to wipe at the tears leaking from their eyes. 

"No way! Davey's got his own little spot, how cute!" Asher gushes through the occasional wheeze. 

"Call me Davey again, and you can have your own spot, too. Six feet underground in an undisclosed location, where the department can't even find you." The threatening grumble does little to tide the cackling pair. Asher didn't skip a beat.

"I'll leave my will to your mate, so she can buy more shit like this to get on your nerves." The beta snorts, before turning to Babe. "We should totally get one for our place." 

[katyswrites]

'tis the damn season

PART 3 | SERIES

Pairing: Steve Harrington/fem!reader

Warnings: Smut (18+), angst (LOTS of angst), friends-with-benefits, parental neglect/abuse, smoking, alcohol use, two fools who can’t just say what they feel

Wordcount: 10.4k

Childhood friends-to-lovers-to-strangers-to-lovers again, broken promises, and roads not taken, lots of angst, soft smut, illicit affairs, what-ifs, and it’s always been you. And it all leads to your hometown, during Christmas break.

PART 3 | call me 'babe' for the weekend

THEN, Autumn 1985

You hummed to yourself as you unzipped your suitcase - the bed was already set up and made, thanks to your mother. Your parents had insisted on coming to New York to help you move, despite your protests about how far it was to travel for them - don’t worry, sweetheart, your dad had said. We’ll get a hotel, and make a trip out of it - do all of the sightseeing.

I want to see Cats! your mother had added cheerfully. You had grimaced, but in hindsight, thanked your lucky stars that they had been there. The line for the elevator was unbelievably long, with frantic families and excitable students lugging their lives upstairs in the form of boxes and bags. The late August heat seeped through the walls, the air conditioning doing little to combat the crowding of bodies in the downstairs lobby. You had opted to try the stairs while your parents waited with the bigger luggage, until you realized what a feat climbing to the 14th floor actually was. Halfway through, you had given up and stood defeatedly in the common space of the 8th floor, awkwardly elbowing your way into the half-full elevator stopping on its ascent. In the end, you only beat your parents to your dorm by about 10 seconds, just far more exhausted and sticky with sweat.

Now, hours later, you were taking some time to set up the rest of your room while your parents checked into their hotel downtown. Freshman orientation was later in the evening, and you wanted at least some time to yourself before getting swept up in the madness of freshman weekend. You hauled your belongings out of the box - while your parents had fussed about things like making your bed, building a bookshelf, and unloading your clothes - these were the personal things, the stuff that would make the bland dorm feel like home. A few of your favorite books, your Polaroid camera, a tattered teddy bear (shut up), your journal… and your memory box. Small things - movie ticket stubs, handwritten notes and drawings from Robin, old birthday cards, and photos - so many photos. You and Robin in your pep band uniforms; your parents on vacation five years ago; a group trip to the county fair in middle school, back when you and Robin were closer with Nancy Wheeler and Barb Holland; and, Steve. Of course, pictures of Steve. 

One of you as kids, dressed as Dorothy and a scarecrow for Halloween, one when you and him “got the married” when you were 5, a white tutu on your head as a makeshift veil, with a pretzel stick bouquet. And, more recent ones. One that your parents made you take with him at graduation, still a bit distant, being only days before that fateful night at the party. Some of just Steve, taken by you over the summer - him in just his swim trunks, standing on the edge of a dock with the glittering lake behind him; him, asleep in his bed, hair mussed and bare-skinned beneath the sheets in the morning light; and, one of the both of you, your faces squished together, faces bright thanks to the flash against the dark night sky. He had insisted you take it with him, despite your protests, having just come out of his pool, soaked and slightly sunburnt from earlier that afternoon. It’s maybe your favorite picture of both of you - it’s a moment in time, and while only about a month ago, it’s  already fading, despite how desperately you try to hold onto the simplicity of the past summer. It was the kind of summer that made you wonder if it was possible to be nostalgic for the present. Taking pictures of Steve had become your favorite pastime - all just polaroids, no artistry to them, just snapshots in time. It’s what you had always loved to do - pictures from the last decade or so filled the box, like a piece of the town you were leaving behind.

You taking these with you? Steve had asked a few days ago, sifting through your pictures as you were packing. You had nodded, frantically searching through your closet for those sneakers that you knew had to be somewhere.

Good, he had said. Don’t want you to go forgetting about this pretty face over in New York.

That had earned him a pillow thrown at his head.

You sat up on your knees on your bed, carefully clipping the pictures to the clothespins hanging off of a string lining your wall. You were so occupied with your task, that you hardly heard the keys jingling in the lock of your door. When the door did open, you nearly jumped enough to fall off the bed.

You turned quickly, hand to your chest to see a girl in the doorway, presumably your roommate. 

“Oh! Jesus, sorry - you scared me!” you said shrilly, accompanied by nervous laughter. 

The girl grinned, and gave a small wave. “Sorry! I meant to be here hours ago, but… early hasn’t really ever been my thing.”

“Right,” you said, shifting to sit crisscrossed on the mattress.

The girl lugged a duffel bag and suitcase through the doorway, plopping them on the empty bed on the other side of the room.

“Looks like you beat me to the better view!” she said, glancing at the window near your bed. It was a beautiful view, Lower Manhattan sprawling before you, with its high rises and busy blocks, the skyline visible over the apartment building in the foreground.

“Yeah,” you said sheepishly. The last thing you needed was to piss off your roommate from the jump. “Sorry, I probably should’ve waited -”

“Nah,” she said, waving her hand. “All good. The city’s not going anywhere.”

She hopped up on her bed, unzipping her suitcase. “I’m Debbie, by the way,” she added. You told her your name, and she nodded, setting herself to unpacking her bags.

You took her in - she was a redhead, hair permed with volume for days, with freckles and a curvy frame. She was relatively short, but moved like someone with a six-foot stature. Her nails are painted with chipping black nail polish, her worn t-shirt adorning the name of a band you weren’t too familiar with. You glanced back at the door.

“So, uh, do you have more stuff? Are your parents coming up behind you?”

She laughed, shaking her head. “Nah. My folks aren’t exactly the ‘hands-on’ type. Besides, I pack pretty light. But, first -”

She dug through her back pocket, and fished out a pack of cigarettes. She hopped off the bed and bounded towards the windowsill at the end of your bed. She hoisted herself to sit on it, settling near the open window, propped earlier by you to let some fresh air in.

“You mind if I smoke in here?” she asked, already pulling a cigarette from the pack. “Promise I won’t set off the alarm, I’m a pro.”

“Oh, yeah - I mean, if you’ve got a spare one, that is.”

She grinned. “I’ve got a feeling we’re going to get along,” she declared, handing you a cigarette as you joined her on the sill. 

She passed you the lighter after lighting her own, leaning back against the beam. 

“So, where are ya from?” she asked, blowing smoke out the window. 

“Hawkins,” you said. She raised an eyebrow, prompting you to add, “It’s in Indiana, maybe like an hour outside of Indianapolis.”

“Oh, nice,” she said, feigning interest. It was boring, and you knew it, so you chose to just reciprocate.

“You?”

“Long Island,” Debbie replied. “If you had a nickel for every person who tells you that this semester, you’ll probably be able to pay the tuition.”

You found yourself fascinated with this girl, with the way she pronounced it a Lawn Guyland, her words stretching and curling like bubblegum wrapped around a finger. Nothing seemed to be a problem, nothing was a big deal to her. Maybe you could be like that, too, in time. 

You laughed. “Yeah, I don’t think there’s enough nickels in the world for that.”

She smirked, and took another drag. “You’re not wrong about that.”

“Well, I’ve never been to Long Island,” you said. “So, that sounds pretty cool to me.”

She scoffed. “Trust me, it’s not. Though, maybe if I was from Indiana I’d change my tune.”

You can’t even feel too offended, not when getting out of that godforsaken town was what you’d been working towards your whole life. So instead you chuckled dryly, staring out at the cityscape below you. It still didn’t feel real - the next part of your life, starting right then, in the city you’d dreamed about for as long as you could remember.

“What’re you majoring in?” she asked. “I’m in Gallatin, and yes, that’s the bullshit school, before you get a chance to say it.”

You held up your hands in defense. “Hey, I wasn’t going to say anything - besides, that sounds cool - I mean, Individualized Study, it means you can forge your own path, you know?”

She shrugged, which was enough for you. You flicked some ash out the window, as you added, “I’m Journalism, though I think I’m going to minor in Creative Writing, too.”

“Oh, nice, she’s a writer?” Debbie says with piqued curiosity. “I see you, Indiana.”

“Well, I don’t know if I’d call myself a writer, yet.”

She shrugged. “It’s the yet that’s important, Indiana. I mean, that’s why we’re here, right?”

“Yeah,” you sighed, shutting your eyes. “Why we’re here.”

You both fell into a comfortable silence, the sounds of the city drifting up from below.

“Who’s the guy?” Debbie asked after a while, lifting her head towards the pictures hanging on your wall. You turned, seeing how Steve’s face was scattered throughout the memories pinned above your bed.

“That’s my friend from home, Steve. We’ve known each other a long time.”

You looked wistfully out the window, towards the west, as if you could see him, back in Hawkins. Debbie raised her eyebrows.

“Just a friend?” she asked, her voice suggestive.

You felt your face heat, and stared down at your shoes. “I mean, kind of. He’s - it’s complicated, I guess.”

She shook her head incredulously. “Nah, I don’t do complicated.”

“Yeah, I didn’t think I did, either.”

Then, Debbie got a mischievous glint in her eye. “But, to be clear, he’s not your boyfriend? It’s just, he’s kind of all over your pictures.”

You nodded cautiously. Then, she looked giddy. “Perfect. That means nothin’s stopping you from coming out with me to a party tonight? It’s at my friend Michelle’s place, but her older brother’s in Stern, invited all his friends too. I mean, I can’t be the only one flirtin’ with the upperclassmen.”

You opened your mouth to protest, but then she was hopping off the windowsill and heading back to her bed. 

“Oh, I don’t know - I mean, it sounds fun, but it’s the first night -”

“And? C’mon, we can think of it as roommate bonding. What’s holding you back, Indiana?”

You thought for a moment, then felt a cheeky smile start to form.

“Nothing. Nothing at all.”

THEN, Winter 1985

“So, tell me all about it!” Robin said excitedly.

You sat with her and Steve in Gateway Diner, your go-to hangout spot in high school. You poured syrup over your pancakes, dousing them until they were drowning in the stuff. Steve smirked next to you, Robin rolling her eyes.

“You want some pancakes with that plate of syrup?” she asked sarcastically. You kicked her under the table, earning a scowl from her and a laugh from Steve.

“Fuck off,” you grumbled, sipping your coffee indignantly.

“Jesus, I really missed you around here,” Robin said, shoveling some of her veggie omelet into her mouth.

“What am I, wood?” Steve asked.

“I’m stuck with you everyday, dingus.”

You smiled, the familiarity of it all feeling so right. Being here, in this booth, the din of chattering customers and clinking dishes, the smell of eggs and coffee, the stickiness of the vinyl seat and linoleum table  as reminiscent of home as your childhood bedroom. You and Robin would always come here after late-night band rehearsals, or on lazy Sunday mornings. And, this past summer, the three of you would slide into this booth, with Robin and Steve becoming closer at Scoops Ahoy, while you and Steve…

If Robin knew about you two, she wasn’t giving any indication. You had only arrived back in Hawkins yesterday, and made the promise to meet up with her in the morning. Spending the night at Steve’s hadn’t been in your plan. But, when Steve went to pick Robin up, with you already in the passenger seat, she hadn’t questioned it. It didn’t matter that Robin’s house was technically on the way to yours from Steve’s, not the other way around. It didn’t matter that you were keeping your red wool scarf wrapped tightly around your neck, well-aware of the bruises Steve had left on your neck and collarbone the night before. And, it didn’t matter that you smelled like Steve’s shampoo. Because the three of you were here, and it was familiar, easy. Because, deep down, you had missed home these last 4 months more than you’d liked to admit.

“Well, tell us everything!” Robin exclaimed, leaning forward on her elbows on the table. 

You smiled as you took a bite of your pancakes. You felt Steve’s eyes boring into you, but you avoided looking at him - he had heard a lot of this yesterday, during your aimless drive around town, and last night, curled into his side, tangled in his sheets.

“Well, I mean - it’s amazing,” you said, trying to find the words to describe your life from the last semester. “At first, it was hard - I didn’t know anyone, and I kept getting lost - I made so many rookie mistakes, like taking the subway in the wrong direction - and, people can totally tell when you’re not from the city, I felt like an idiot. But, I at least got used to how to get to my classes pretty quickly, then I had my roommate show me around - Debbie, I told you about her, right? Anyway, she’s from Long Island, which is not the same as the city, I learned, but she at least showed me around.”

You took another gulp of your coffee to wash down the sticky pancakes. Under the table, Steve’s fingers brushed the side of your thigh, and your breath hitched. You did your best to keep looking at Robin and keep your face stoic as you continued.

“Debbie’s really cool - you guys should meet her. When that storm came in at Thanksgiving, I was so devastated that I couldn’t come home, so she was beyond kind and let me take the train home with her to her house - I mean, I think it was just to piss off her parents, but that’s neither here nor there.”

And you went on from there, to talk about your classes, and how even though they were mostly boring gen eds, you were excited to be enrolled in more actual writing classes next semester. You told stories of your best and worst professors, the best food spots in the city, how you were making friends with people in your classes and some theatre kids from the Tisch school. You went on and on, talking animatedly about how wonderful and scary it was, how different it all was.

“They mean it, when they say it’s the city that never sleeps,” you added. “I mean, I didn’t get a good night’s sleep until about two weeks in - you get used to the noise, eventually.”

As you spoke, only occasionally interrupted with a question from Robin, you were so aware of Steve - how his hand was traveling up your leg, his knee knocking into yours, the feeling of him by your side, becoming increasingly impossible to ignore. You realized it was a game to him - how soon until Robin connects the dots? But, two could play that game, you decided. 

“So, have you, like, met anybody?” Robin asked.

You hesitated for a moment, confused. “Well, I just told you - there’s Debbie, and Ann, and Jake from Tisch, and -”

“No,” Robin said, smirking. “I mean, did you meet anybody? Like, not exactly friends?”

You felt your face heat, well aware of Steve next to you. His hand, now on your knee, stilled, waiting for your answer.

“Oh! Uh, no - not really. I mean, Debbie’s always trying to get me to like, ‘get out there,’ or whatever. But, um -”

You stole a glance over at Steve, just half a second. He was looking at you intently, but his face rather neutral.

“- I just, didn’t meet anyone that interesting, I guess. I mean, c’mon Robin - I’m there to be a student,” you added, albeit facetiously.

“Right,” Robin said. “Remind me, which bars are the ones that don’t card?”

You crumpled up your napkin and threw it at her, causing the three of you to descend into a laughing fit so contagious that other diners turned to look at you, annoyed. And, for a few moments, it felt as if you had never left Hawkins.

******

Steve dropped Robin off first, later that afternoon. She had briefly asked why, knowing that it made more sense to stop by your house on the way back to his. Steve had made some excuse about going on auto-pilot, and missing the turn. You played along, playfully slapping his arm and calling him an idiot. Inwardly, your heart was doing somersaults. After Robin bid her goodbyes, and you promised to visit her at work, you and Steve were driving away, silence falling between you two.

“You know,” Steve finally said. “What Robin asked, back at Gateway - it’s okay.”

You shifted to face him, raising an eyebrow. 

“What’s okay?”

“You know - if you started seeing someone. Or, you just wanted to have some fun, or whatever. It’s all good.”

You felt your face grow hot, staring at him as he continued to look ahead at the road.

“Well, yeah - I mean, I know. Was I supposed to think it wasn’t?”

“No! No, definitely not. That’s part of this - this whole thing. As long as it’s fun, it’s all good. Just - if anything got more serious, with some other guy or something, you’d tell me, right?”

You paused for a second, taken aback. “Yes, of course. I told you that, last night - if there was someone else, really someone else, I’d tell you. I mean, same goes for you, right?”

He glanced over for a moment, nodding ferociously. 

“Yeah, of course I would.”

“Good!”

“Good.”

You stared out the window for a while after that, a million thoughts running through your mind. Steve didn’t own you, you knew that. And, you knew that there weren’t any promises between you two - why should there be? That was the whole deal. And, if you had wanted to seriously flirt with someone this past semester, you could’ve - you just chose not to. That was the easiest way to think about it, the most sensical. But, for a moment, you thought about Steve seeing other girls while you were gone, and you wanted to throw up. You did your best to shake the feeling, choosing to stare at the reflection in the rearview mirror. 

For a while, neither of you could think of anything to say. It was a somewhat comfortable silence, a familiar one. Still, this strangeness hung in the air, unanswered questions. You let your ears become attuned to the radio instead, hoping the music would drown out the noise in your mind. Crackly Christmas music filtered through the car’s speakers, occasionally cutting out when service got spotty. Soon enough, the familiar, synthy sound of Last Christmas started playing, and you started humming along. You leaned across the console and turned it up, earning a groan from Steve.

“No, not Wham!” he cried.

“C’mon Steve, you know you love it!”

He rolled his eyes, but smiled nonetheless. You leaned across the console towards him, mimicking holding a microphone as you sang:

Last Christmas I gave you my heart

But the very next day you gave it away

This year, to save me from tears

I'll give it to someone special

You were being annoying about it, and you knew it - you were singing with a stupid grin, shoving the imaginary microphone in his face. He laughed, and eventually joined in with you, despite his faux-protests. He drove through the neighborhood streets, passing houses with white-picket fences and frosty, browning lawns, begging to be covered with a blanket of snow in the coming weeks. 

At a stop sign, Steve seized the opportunity to fully turn to face you, matching your energy to scream-sing in your face, both of you overpowering George Michael. As he did, he reached across the console and placed his hand on your thigh. Unlike the restaurant, it didn’t even seem intentional - no, it seemed like the most natural thing in the world, like he didn’t even realize he was doing it. But you did.

Your voice trailed off, the sound of the song fading as your ears roared, the blood rushing to your face.

He stopped too, after a few moments, his smile falling, softening into something else.

“What is it?” he asked. You let your eyes flick down to his lips, just for a second, and you shook your head softly. You brought your hand up to cup his cheek, and leaned in closer.

“Pull over, Steve. Somewhere private.”

He didn’t need to be told twice.

THEN, Autumn 1986

“That was -”

“Mm hm,” you said, breathing short. You pulled the sheets up around you, turning on your side to look at the man next to you.

Dave smiled, resting his arm behind his head as he stared up at the ceiling. 

“I mean, wow,” he said, shaking his head. “I’m glad I convinced you to grab that drink.”

You rolled your eyes playfully, scoffing. 

“Yeah, well, only after like, the eighth time.”

“Worth the effort,” he joked. You giggled, nuzzling further into the sheets.

He cleared his throat after a moment, glancing over at you quickly.

“Um, you’re good, right? Like, do you need me to do, uh, anything else for you?”

It took you a moment to realize what he was getting at, and you felt our face heat.

“Oh! Uh, no! You’re good! It was - it was nice!”

The answer was actually yes, I got pretty close, and you really should go down on me for an hour to make up for it, but it feels like a moot point now. But, that didn’t mean it wasn’t fun, or enjoyable - it had felt pretty good. You had just been a bit spoiled up until now, you decided. That had to be it.

Besides, Dave was great - handsome, a bit mysterious, and a senior, who shouldn’t be interested in a sophomore like you, but he was. He was nice, and interesting, and bought you a few drinks - how could anything be bad about that? 

“Okay, just making sure,” he said, sitting up against the headboard. He reached for his bedside table, fishing through the drawer until he fished out a pack of cigarettes. He stuck one in his mouth, then extending the carton to you.

You accepted it gratefully, taking one out for yourself and letting him light it for you.

After a few moments passed, he said, “So, uh, d’you live far from here?”

You glanced over, exhaling smoke before you answered.

“Oh, um, not really - I’m in Lafayette this year.”

He frowned, flicking some ash into the tray beside the bed. 

“I mean, that’s way over close to Chinatown, right? It’s kind of a hike this time of night.”

Oh. What he was really asking was how are you getting home?

“Oh, I mean, I can take the subway. Not a big deal.”

He cocked an eyebrow, then shook his head. 

“No need - I’ll call you a cab, yeah?”

You felt your heart sink a little, but then again, what were you supposed to expect? That he’d let you stay over, on a weeknight, in his apartment that looked like it cost more than your parents’ house? It had only been a first date, for Christ’s sake.  You suddenly felt so out of place there, so small, but you feigned a smile.

“Oh, sure - that’s really nice of you.”

He waved his hand, fishing through his discarded jeans for his wallet.

“Don’t mention it - you’ve gotta get home safe, you know?”

You nodded quietly, stubbing out your cigarette in the tray on the windowsill. He stared at you for a moment, expectantly. You got the hint, and nodded.

“Yeah, uh, just give me a minute to get dressed, yeah?”

He nodded, leaning back against the headboard as you searched around for your things. You excused yourself to the bathroom, hurriedly getting dressed. This was probably how the real world was, you decided. What you and Steve did - that wasn’t the norm. Nothing about your situation with Steve was exactly normal, you supposed. But, what did this make you now? Do you even tell Steve about Dave, next time you’re home? Wait, why the fuck are you thinking about Steve right now?

On your way out, after Dave handed you some cash for the cab, you stood with him in his doorway. 

“Well, uh, thanks for the cab,” you said, fidgeting with the sleeves of your sweater.

“Yeah, of course,” he replied. Then, after a moment, he added, “I - I had a good time tonight. And next time, maybe we’ll do an actual dinner? On me?”

Next time?

You nodded, perhaps a bit too enthusiastically. 

“Yeah! Yeah, totally! You know where to find me!”

He smiled endearingly, and when the taxi honked outside, he pressed a quick kiss to your lips. And, when you got in that cab and gave the address, you felt… confused. But, you couldn’t think anymore, not right then, so you pressed your head against the glass, and traveled home in silence.

THEN, Winter 1986

You sipped your drink slowly, the crackle of the prosecco mixed with cranberry on your tongue tasting like just like Christmas. The Harringtons’ house was warm, full of chatter and laughter as guests clinked their drinks and snacked on appetizers. You had made a beeline for the bar, set up in the kitchen on the counter. Poinsettias seemed to be the drink of choice, and despite having only been there a few minutes, you were getting towards the end of your second.

You had been home nearly a week, avoiding Steve with various excuses - you had promised to visit your aunt in the city, you had to go shopping with your mom, you needed to spend a day baking to prepare for Christmas Eve. There were a few times he had called, too, and you had told your parents to lie and say you weren’t home, claiming you didn’t feel well and didn’t want to see friends at that moment. None of the above was true, not really.

You were being a coward, and you knew it - you just had to tell him. It wasn’t a big deal, you had known this would happen -you were just shocked, more than anything, that it had happened to you first -

“Hey! There you are!” you heard a familiar voice say. You turned, and felt your face break into a wide smile when you laid your eyes on Robin.

“Hey!” you exclaimed, throwing your arms around her. 

“When did you get here?” she asked as she pulled away.

“Oh, just a few minutes ago -”

“No, I mean in Hawkins. You never called to say you were back!”

A pang of guilt hit you - you should’ve told her, but if you saw Robin, you’d have to see Steve too. You opened your mouth to answer, until you saw Robin wave over your shoulder to someone - you could’ve bet a million dollars who it was.

“There he is!” Robin said excitedly. You paused, and plastered a smile on your face as you turned, only to come face-to-face with Steve.

His eyes widened, just for a moment, his gaze roaming up and down your form.

“Hey,” you said quietly.

“Hey,” he echoed, face soft. “I, uh, tried calling - you never said when you came back to town, exactly.”

He sounded wary, like you might bolt if he wasn’t careful.

“Oh, yeah - I’ve been back for a few days, but it's been crazy busy. You know, with my family, and stuff.”

It was blanket-thin, and you knew he saw right through it. But, he just flashed a quick smile and nodded.

“Oh, cool - well, it’s great to see you. Seriously, really glad you could make it.”

Your heart ached a little - you hadn’t seen him in months, had hardly called him all semester. Had hardly called home at all, really. And, God, he looked great. Pretty, even, in the warmth of the Christmas lights.

“Yeah,” you said softly. “Me too. I really missed you guys,” you added, glancing over between him and Robin. 

“Well, enough of the sentimental crap - let’s get drunk, and stuff our faces with a bunch of sugary junk?” Robin said, clapping Steve on the back as she headed towards the dining room. You moved to follow her, but stopped when you felt a hand on your shoulder.

“Hey - are you okay?” Steve asked. You stared ahead for a moment, before taking a step back to meet his eyes. “When I hadn’t managed to get ahold of you, I - I mean, are you pissed with me?”

You shook your head fervently. “No, no, Steve, I - I’m sorry. I should’ve called you, the day I came back. I just -”

You sighed, and gently shouldered his hand away. He frowned, but waited patiently for you to gather your thoughts.

“Steve - I really didn’t know how to tell you this, but… I’m seeing someone. Well, sort of. But, it’s been going on a couple of months now, and - you should’ve known about it sooner, and I’m sorry, it’s just -”

“Hey, hey -” he cut you off, placing his hands firmly on both of your shoulders. “It’s okay, seriously. I mean… we knew this might happen, one way or another. I mean, I think it’s great.”

You furrowed your brow - he sounded sincere, and looked it to.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, I swear - I mean, I’m not gonna lie, I was looking forward to -” he glanced around, suddenly aware of the house full of friends, family, neighbors, “- well, you know. But - we’re still friends, right?”

He sounded small towards the end, the question coming out timidly in a way that was so uncharacteristically Steve. You suddenly felt guilty, and incredibly stupid for ever thinking that this conversation would have gone any differently.

“God, yes, of course, Steve,” you said gently. “We’ll always be friends. I think we shook on that, a long time ago.”

He smiled fondly at the memory. “Good to know you’re still gonna be a pain in my ass, then.”

You both laughed, and you sipped more of your drink, your head finally starting to feel a bit fuzzy.

“Well, let’s find Robs - I mean, she might start a rumor that we’re sleeping together, or something.”

He rolled his eyes and chuckled, before moving to follow you towards the dining room.

“Hey,” he started, “What’s his name?”

You stopped, turning to face Steve again.

“Who?”

“The guy, your boyfriend, or whatever.”

“Oh - Dave. He’s a senior, a film student.”

Steve nodded, swirling the beer in his glass.

“Well, I hope he’s a great guy - you deserve someone great.”

He was looking down as he said it, not quite meeting your gaze. You just nodded, face sympathetic.

“He is - I mean, he’s good to me.”

Steve smiled at that, genuine and warm, and a moment of understanding passed between you two. For you, it felt like this great weight had been lifted off of your shoulders, this thing that had been in the back of your mind for weeks suddenly not a big deal. And, it was Christmastime, and here he was, the same boy you’d always known. The drinks were flowing, the fire was warm, and you were home. And maybe, for the week, you could pretend you were 17 again, because it was easy to do that when you were with Steve. It was always easy with him - and in that moment, you were certain it always would be.

THEN, Summer 1987

That summer, when you came home to Hawkins, Dave had promised to visit. You had stayed behind in New York for a while after the semester ended, so you could cheer him on at graduation. Well, he didn’t have enough tickets for his section, so you sat up in the nosebleeds at Yankee Stadium. Nonetheless, you were able to go out drinking with him and his friends after, thanks to the fake ID he had acquired for you.

He said he’d come to Hawkins at the end of June, and properly see where you grew up, and the people who had been there with you through it. Part of you had been terrified, embarrassed by the rundown, small town, by your overbearing but loving parents, by your goddamn childhood bedroom that still had dolls standing on the dresser. Still, as much as you had been trying to distance yourself from Hawkins, to leave it behind and never look back, it was where you had come from, the place that molded you - if he loved you, then he should love Hawkins, right?

But, all of the worries you had were pointless - Dave would never get on that train, would never set foot in Hawkins, or your childhood home. He would never meet Robin, or Steve, or anyone else who mattered. Because, after weeks of hardly hearing from him, you tried to call him directly. And, some woman named Lisa picked up. You knew damn well where his phone was, right on his bedside table. You also knew how early in the morning it was when you called, hoping to catch him before he left for work.

When you showed up on Steve’s doorstep that night, with tear-stained cheeks and red, tired eyes, he didn’t question it. And, when you asked to stay over, he didn’t give the slightest indication that he minded. And, when you finally told him what happened, he held you while you cried.

You deserve better than that asshole he had said soothingly. One day, you’re going to find someone who thinks the world revolves around you, who can’t breathe when they’re not with you. I swear.

And, when you started kissing him, he had protested at first - c’mon, you’re crying, you need some time to deal with this.

And, Steve was probably right. But, you had taken his face in your hands, and whispered, Please, Steve - I need you, I missed you - make me forget all about him.

And he did. One, two, three times that night. And the next morning. And, nearly that entire summer - twisted in Steve’s bedsheets, driving around in Steve’s car, and everything was Steve. Throughout that summer, you spent your days in his passenger seat, taking late-night drives to Lover’s Lake, eating sweet, sticky breakfasts at Gateway, singing along to Tears For Fears until you can’t hear your own thoughts. That summer was sunscreen and cheap beer, chlorine and Steve’s cologne, sweet strawberries and the soft morning light that filtered through his bedroom window. Just like before, no promises were made - you couldn’t do that, couldn’t cross that line. But, it was fun, and it was easy, and for just a passing moment, you almost didn’t want to go back to New York in August. Almost.

THEN, Winter 1987

“So,” Steve said, blowing smoke out the window, “How serious are you about this guy, exactly?”

You were sitting in Steve’s living room, the fireplace crackling as Christmas music played from the radio in the kitchen. His parents were gone, attending his dad’s annual office Christmas party. According to Steve, it was really just for everyone to receive their holiday bonuses, but it was also an excuse for them to get drunk and stupid. Once again, you had to break it to Steve that you had started seeing someone new - it had only been a few dates, but the guy was kind, and treated you like a gentleman, and Steve may as well know now, so it isn’t a surprise down the line if it ever became something official.

You raised your eyebrow, flicking some ash off of your cigarette. 

“Who, Paul?”

He nodded, taking another drag while keeping his eyes on you. You shrugged, taking another swig of beer as you considered your answer. 

“I wouldn’t say ‘serious’ is part of the conversation right now,” you said, measuring your words carefully. “I mean, we’ve gone out a few times, and - he’s really great. Like, a really  nice -”

“I’m sure he is,” Steve replies, flicking some ash into the tray on the windowsill.

You sighed. “...but?”

Steve shrugged. “Nothing. It’s just - I don’t want to see you get hurt again, that’s all.”

You bristled, folding your arms. “Don’t worry, Steve - I’m a big girl, I think I can handle myself.”

“Oh, I know - but, that shit that Dave pulled? I don’t want to see that happen again, you know?”

“This is different - Paul is great -”

“Yeah, you mentioned that.”

His words were short, voice sharp. Silence fell between you two for a few moments, tenuous and awkward. You stared down at your feet, avoiding the way Steve’s eyes burned into your skull. You heard him huff, and even though you were avoiding looking over at him, you could imagine the way he was running his hand through his hair, thinking.

“Look,” he said, more softly this time. “I just - I’m looking out for a friend - I mean, you just deserve someone who treats you right, that’s all.”

“He does treat me right,” you shot back, meeting his eyes again.

“Good.”

“Great.”

Neither of you spoke again for a while, just letting the quiet night and hum of the television fill the air. You took another drink, quietly debating how to move on from this topic. You remembered that you hadn’t called Paul yet since you’d arrived home, and a pang of guilt hit you - knowing him, he was waiting by the phone, hoping that you had a nice flight and that you were already missing him.

“I really do like him,” you added, feeling stupid and small as soon as you said it.

“You know,” Steve murmured, “you shouldn’t just be going out with someone nice.”

You rolled your eyes. “Didn’t you literally just say you don’t want me to get hurt, and be with someone who treats me right, all that shit?”

“Yeah, I did - but, nice isn’t enough. Not for you.”

He shifts, scooting closer until he’s right next to you.

“I mean, nice… that’s a given. But - you deserve more than that. I know you - you need excitement, and fun, and someone who thinks the sun shines out of your ass even when they’re unbelievably pissed off with you - the real stuff. It should just, like, feel like you’ve been struck by fucking lightning, when you’re with someone. Not nice.”

The last part came out forcefully, perhaps more than he had meant. Your breath caught in your throat, and you whipped around to look right at him. His eyes were wide, pleading. 

You placed down your bottle, slowly, not breaking eye contact with the boy.

“Is that so?” you asked, voice barely above a whisper. His knees were brushing yours, the two of you shoulder-to-shoulder. Your heart was pounding, threatening to break through your ribcage and fly away at any moment. Before you could think, or say anything at all, he closed the distance by  pressing his lips to yours.

There was nothing slow or gentle about it - he was kissing you fast, desperately, fervently. And, you let him. He immediately brought his hands to the sides of your head to pull you impossibly closer. You were breathing him in, it’s all gnashing teeth and tangling tongues, quiet moans and shaky breaths. 

The last few months of distance, of toeing the line of something-like-friendship, were dissolving in an instant. As you breathed him in, tasted him, you were telling him I missed this, I wanted this.

You shifted until you were swinging your leg over his, straddling him without breaking the kiss. It was when his tongue entered your mouth that you moaned - he tasted like cigarettes and cheap beer, smelled like mint and cologne, and it was so Steve.

It was when you brushed against his clothed bulge that he groaned, earning a deep fuck from him.

You pulled back, both taking a moment to come up for air, and maybe to your senses. You looked into Steve’s eyes, a question hanging between you both - we shouldn’t do this, not again - right?

But his eyes were like chocolate and honey, his lips tasted like home, and god dammit, he just looked so pretty right then. So you were kissing him again, practically devouring him, doing everything short of melding your body into his. It set him off, and before you knew what was happening, he was taking charge.

He wrapped his arms around you and gathered you into him, picking you up off his lap and moving until you were on your back on the floor. He held himself over you, kissing you with everything he had. There wasn’t time to move up to the couch, let alone his bedroom upstairs - there wasn’t enough time, you needed each other now. 

He reached down for the button of your jeans, fumbling with it until it popped, and you shimmied them down your legs as he sat up, pulling his shirt over his head in one swift movement. 

It was a whirlwind, a dizzying haze - you weren’t sure when the rest of your clothes came off, or his - all you knew was that you were needy, enough that you whispered touch me, Steve, please into his mouth. And he did - oh, he did.

He brought his hand downwards, fingers brushing along your slit as he swore.

“Fuck, you’re so wet baby - so wet for me -”

You nodded eagerly, bucking your hips up into his hand. He got the message, not even bothering to make fun of you for being desperate. Instead, he brought his thumb to your clit, rubbing slow circles there. You gasped, canting upwards until your forehead was buried in his shoulder.

“Feel good, baby?” he asked.

Baby. He only ever called you that in moments like this, and you had missed it more than you wanted to admit. So you just bit your lip and nodded, whispering. “Yes, my God, feels fucking amazing.”

Nobody could make you feel like Steve did, not without being told. But he knew your body, knew you, better than anyone. So when he sped up his ministrations on your clit and started kissing you lazily, you let him. When he slid in a finger, two, three, you let him. And when he hit that spot inside of you that made you see stars, you let him. 

He moved his lips down as he touched you, sucking a bruise to your collarbone. You cried out, and he smiled into your skin.

“You close? Yeah, are you gonna come on my fingers, baby?”

“Yes, yes,” you breathed, eyes screwed shut as you arched up into his hand. “Right there, don’t stop - fuck, fuckfuckfuckfuck - oh my God -”

Then you were coming undone, his name a strangled scream on your lips as you came.

“There you go, Jesus, just like that -” he whispered in your ear, sucking on the soft skin behind it as you came down from your high. 

You had forgotten what it was like, for it to be like this - nothing compared to losing yourself in Steve Harrington. That was why, while your heart was still racing, chest still heaving, you were kissing him again, already wanting more.

“Inside me - please, Steve,  I need you -”

“Fuck, yeah, I know. I do too, hang on -”

He frantically pulled down his boxers, the only piece of clothing left between you two. The carpet was itchy against your back, the floor hard beneath it, but you didn’t care - not with Steve above you, ready to give you what you wanted.

He leaned back on his knees for a moment, looking down at you, his expression so soft that you thought you might melt under it.

“What is it?” you asked quietly.

“Nothing,” he said, shaking his head. He started to bring himself down over you again, then froze.

“Shit,” he said under his breath.

“What?” you asked, aware of how whiny you probably sounded.

“I don’t think I’ve got any condoms,” he grumbled, pressing a hand to his forehead. Your heart sank for a moment, because God, you were certain that you’d die if you didn’t have him that very moment.

“Steve, hey -” you whispered. “I mean… I’m on the pill. I have been, for a while, I just never… I mean, I know you, so - if you wanted…”

His eyes widened, and he lowered himself, propping himself up on his elbows as he brought his face inches from yours.

“Are you sure?” 

You nodded slowly. “I trust you, Steve.”

And you did - you really did. He looked like all of his Christmases had come together at once, and he kissed you again, with ferocity.

“Thank God,” he rasped, “because I think I’d die on the spot if I couldn’t fuck you right now.”

Your stomach flipped at that, but you didn’t have time to dwell on it, because he entered you in one swift movement. You groaned, the sudden intrusion a welcome one - you were so full, Steve fitting you so perfectly, so completely. You had forgotten just how good he felt. He dropped his forehead to yours, breaths ragged.

“Fuck - you feel fuckin’ perfect -” he breathed. “Please tell me I can move,” he pleaded.

“Please do, Steve.”

That set him off, and he started rolling his hips into yours slowly. You just sighed into his mouth, his nose nuzzling yours as he set a slow pace. He pulled almost all the way out before pushing back in. Without being told, his hand traveled down to where your bodies met, his forefinger rubbing your clit in agonizingly slow circles.

You gasped, fingernails grazing down his back for purchase. You clenched around him, and he let out a strangled groan that nearly killed you.

“Oh, fuck,” he moaned, picking up the pace a bit as he thrust into you. “You’re takin’ me so well, you always do - fuck, nobody takes me like you -”

“It’s not - ah, shit - it’s not like this with other people,” you whined, pressing your lips to his shoulder. “You just feel so good, Steve, ohmygod -”

You were both messes, babbling dirty words and sweet declarations into each other’s ears. And semblances of rational thought had vanished, because all you could feel was each other. All you felt was his cock, stretching and filling you so perfectly; his hands, touching you in all the right places; and his voice, saying all the right things, like you’re so fuckin’ amazing and I needed you so bad.

You were saying things too, crazy things, desperate things - it was hard not to, Steve was like a drug, one you’d never get enough of. Maybe that’s why what happened next did, you told yourself later. You would later try to rationalize it in so many ways, beyond the most obvious one. Because, when one moment changes everything, isn’t that what you do?

It was when you had shifted positions, both of you upright. He held you to him as he sat up, pulling to onto his lap as he continued to fuck up into you. His hand found your clit again as you started to bounce on his cock, the new angle hitting you just right. 

“Fuck, I’m close,” you cried, meeting his thrusts. He buried his head into your shoulder, sloppily pressing his lips there as he groaned.

“Thank God - I’ve been close ever since you started kissing me, baby.”

You laughed, moving faster as you chased your high.

“Where can I finish?” he asked, suddenly aware of the lack of the usual barrier between you two.

“I told you,” you breathed, the sounds of your slapping skin growing louder. “I trust you - come inside me, Steve.”

He sounded like he actually died right then, pulling you impossibly closer. Your breasts brushed the hair on his chest, and it was driving you crazy, being that close to him. He started babbling nonsense towards the end, like he often did.

“Oh my god, baby, fuck, it’s like this pussy was made for me - ya know I mean that, fuck - just like that, yesyesyes -”

You were so focused on yourself, and the tightening coil in your belly that was threatening to snap at any moment, that you almost missed what he said next - almost.

“I’m almost there - fuck, I missed this, missed you - God, I love you, you know that? Ohgodohgodohgod -”

Before you could say anything, the coil snapped, and you were coming, so hard you nearly went blind. You screamed, throwing your head back as he continued to thrust into you, his cock twitching inside you. He followed a moment later with your name on his lips, and there it was again - fuck, I love you.

You felt him come inside you, a new sensation, warm as he filled you up. You shuddered at the feeling, his cum seeping into you as you continued to clench around him, the aftershocks of your orgasm coursing through you.

Both of your chests were heaving, breathing almost in unison. You still sat in his lap, arms wrapped around each other. You felt his heartbeat against yours, hard and rapid as he peppered gentle kisses along your shoulder.

But, as you came down from your highs, you were frozen - did you hear that right? No, you couldn’t have - there was no way that he  really said -

“Wow,” he whispered. “That was -”

“Yeah,” you said quickly. “It was.”

You felt him start to soften inside you, and you moved to clamber off of him. He gripped your back for a moment, as if to say not yet, stay here for a minute, but it was too late - you extracted yourself from his embrace, seating yourself on the living room carpet. You still felt him inside of you, threatening to trickle out of you. He must’ve realized too.

“Oh, shit,” he said. “Let me, uh, get you a towel or something - I didn’t even think of that, sorry - I’ve just gotta run upstairs, I’ll be right back -”

Before you could say anything, he was pulling on his boxers and standing up. Before he left the room, he stopped and left a quick, chaste kiss on your lips - something he hardly ever did after sex. Something new. He did it without second thought, like it was the most natural thing in the world. Then, he was running up the stairs, taking them two at a time to the bathroom.

You sat there for a moment, alone, and held your head in your hands. Shit.

I love you - that’s what he said, twice, loud and clear. And, he doesn’t even seem to know. You’re not sure if that fact made it better or worse. There was only one thing you knew for sure - that feeling, settling deep in your chest, so big and overwhelming that it threatened to split you in two - it was fear. This wasn’t supposed to happen - that was the whole point. Here you were, naked in Steve Harrington’s house, after having sex on his living room floor - what were you even doing? Then, you thought of Paul, who you hadn’t even bothered to call since you got home - and it set you over the edge. Your head felt light, the room spinning as a dull ring filled your ears. Before you knew it, tears were pricking at the corners of your eyes, and then they were falling, hot and fast. 

You didn’t even hear Steve come back into the room, wearing pajama pants and holding a towel in one hand and a blanket in the other, presumably for both of you. Not until he dropped on his knees next to you, hands brought to your shoulder. 

“Hey, hey - what’s wrong? Are you okay? Did I do -”

But you shouldered him off, reaching to grab your clothes. You pulled on your panties and clasped your bra, avoiding eye contact with the boy, despite his desperate pleas.

“Wait, what’s going on? What happened? Hey -”

He gently grabbed your wrist, forcing you to stop and look at him as you were pulling your jeans back on.

“Talk to me - whatever it is, it’s okay.”

His eyes were panicked, concerned. You sobbed, fresh tears rolling down your face. 

“Hey - Chicago,” he said firmly. Well, fuck.

You just stopped, and took a deep breath. “Did you mean it?”

He furrowed his brow, puzzled. “Mean what?”

Your breath hitched, and you shook your head.

“Forget it,” you conceded, pulling your sweater back on over your head.

“Forget what? Seriously, what the fuck?”

You straightened up, and looked him in the eye. You let your face become stoic, at least to the best of your ability, before saying, “We can’t do this anymore. Sex, I mean, you and me. It’s a bad idea.”

His face fell. “What? What are you even talking about? Was it like, not good for you? I thought -”

“No! Jesus, it was fucking great - that’s the problem?” 

He only looked more confused, and you pressed the heel of your hand to your forehead as you shut your eyes, frustrated. 

“Okay, shit - I mean, I’m seeing Paul, okay?”

He looked taken aback at that. “Wait, that’s what this is about? I thought you guys weren’t that serious, not actually dating or anything -”

“Well, it’s not fair to him. Or you, or anyone involved, really.”

“And that’s for you to decide?”

You crossed your arms indignantly. “I didn’t say that. But, I’ve got a life back at school, and I just don’t think -”

“Oh, I see,” Steve said, rolling his eyes. “That’s what this is about.”

Now it was your turn to be confused. “What?”

“Look - it’s no secret that you hate Hawkins, and you want to get the Hell out. And, I don’t blame you. And, you’re doing it. But, let’s not pretend like you haven’t always thought you were better than this town, and the people in it.”

You straightened up and took a few steps towards him. “That’s not true -”

“C’mon, I’ve always known that you’ve looked down your nose at me, Miss NYU,” he spat out. “I mean, you’re talking about what’s fair? Have you ever thought about how much this has been killing me?”

His stare had hardened, his voice heavier. 

“How much what is killing you?”

“Us! This!” he said, gesturing between the two of you. “I mean, what? You go have fun out in the city, in college, have this whole new big life, and come home only to use me for a quick fuck for the holidays?”

Your blood was boiling - his words were biting, neither of you bothering with niceties. 

“How dare you -”

“You’ve never actually cared about this, us,” he stated. “Admit it.”

“Steve, that’s not -”

“Tell me this - if your parents didn’t insist you came home for breaks - would we have ever even seen each other at all after you left for New York?”

You stopped, thinking of how to answer that, but the moment of silence was enough for him.

“Yeah - that’s what I thought.”

You rolled your eyes. “Steve, don’t act all high and mighty - you could’ve always taken a trip out to see me, I told you that you could -”

“Yeah, as if you actually wanted me there.”

Your heart sank at that, despite being unbelievably pissed with how this conversation was spiraling.

“Of course I did - why would you ever think I didn’t?”

“Well, it’s not like I could just up and leave Hawkins! What, did you think I’d just uproot my life and hop on a plane to come and like, watch you study?”

Tears were making your eyes burn again, your throat sore and heavy. You were tired, and frustrated, and maybe that's why you said what came next - still, no excuses could ever overcome the regret that would follow.

“Uproot your life? Be serious Steve - you couldn’t take a week off from your minimum wage job, chauffeuring a bunch of teenagers, and maybe being Daddy’s punching bag?”

The words tumbled out of your mouth, spat at him like venom, and you gasped as soon as you said it. You could feel the regret, immediate and heavy, filling your mouth and mind like the metallic taste of blood, threatening to drown you.

Steve’s eyes widened, and you could’ve sworn they were glistening, in a way that could only mean one thing. You immediately wanted to apologize, to take it back, but you knew that was impossible.

“Fuck you,” he said, voice icy.

“Steve, I -”

“Please get out of my house.”

His words were short and sharp, and he wasn’t even looking you in the eye anymore. He laughed, mirthlessly, as he ran a hand through his hair. You couldn’t help but notice that it was shaking.

“Yeah, okay,” you said quietly. You turned, and made a beeline for the door, slipping on your shoes as you shouldered on your coat. It was maybe the fastest you had ever done anything, desperate to remove yourself as soon as possible.

Steve still wasn’t looking at you, staring at the crackling fire, back slumped.

You stopped in the doorway, and after a moment, he turned to look at you. He was trying his hardest not to cry, to crumble, and an indescribable shame hit you. It was so visceral, it threatened to suffocate you.

“Steve,” you murmured. “I -”

“Don’t,” he said firmly. “I can’t - and to think that I -”

He shook his head, chuckling dryly as he stopped himself. “It doesn’t matter anymore, I guess. Have a nice Christmas.”

And that was it. You nodded, head hung in defeat as you headed out the door, slamming it behind you. And, that was the last time you saw Steve Harrington for over a year.

NOW, Winter 1988

A few hours after the incidental run-in at Family Video, you’re still curled up on your bed, nuzzled under the covers. It’s the middle of the afternoon, and there is so much to be done - Christmas is only a week away, and you have hardly prepared anything - no shopping, no decorating, no baking, nothing. Still, nothing stirs you from your sulking until you hear a gentle rap against your door.

“Mom, I told you -”

“It’s me,” Robin’s voice says from the other side. You just sigh, followed by a loud groan.

“Yeah, okay, I’m taking that as come in,” she says, swinging the door open and moving right in until she’s standing at the end of your bed, hands on her hips.

“Okay - what the fuck?”

You groan again, pulling the covers over your head and attempting to burrow down as far as you’re physically capable.

“Nope, uh-uh, none of that,” she says. You feel the mattress dip next to you, and the comforter is pulled back off of you.

“I don’t want to talk about it,” you say, sitting up and crossing your arms. 

“Yeah, well, you’ve got to - because my two best friends aren’t speaking, and can’t be in the same room as each other, apparently.”

You roll your eyes, then decide to meet Robin’s stare.

“Well, what do you want to know?” you ask, aware of how pouty and pathetic you probably sound. 

“Well, what the fuck happened with you two? You guys were so close, and then Steve suddenly wouldn’t even bring up your name anymore - I mean, he was a mess all afternoon, after you left, and he won’t even talk to me about it -”

“We were sleeping together,” you say bluntly. Robin stops mid-sentence, her mouth hanging open.

“Oh - I, uh - wow.”

“Yep,” you say, starting to pick at the threads in your comforter.

“Um, when? How long? And why the hell didn’t you tell me? Sorry, shit, that’s making this about me, which it totally isn’t, but I’m just saying -”

“Okay, look - Robin, I promise, I’ll explain everything. But, promise me you’ll just listen, and - at least try to understand, okay?”

Robin nods, and crosses her legs on the bed, settling in for a while. You take a deep breath, and begin.

You tell her everything - that night at the party, the rekindling of your friendship, and something more; Steve taking your virginity, and the agreement that was forged between you two; your ongoing illicit affair, the break you took when you dated Dave; then, that fateful night last December, and the things said in that horrible argument, the words neither of you would ever be able to take back. You only leave out one part - when Steve had said he loved you. It doesn’t feel fair to tell anyone that, not even Robin - Steve himself doesn’t even remember saying it, after all. And, you explain how this is all part of why you didn’t come back to Hawkins this past summer, and extended your internship in New York - and why, once you graduate in May, you’ll probably stay there.

After all is said and done, Robin sits there for a moment, her face contemplative. You let her process it, think about it for a few minutes.

Then, she only says one thing.

“If you let that boy go over all of this, you’re a fucking idiot.”

You stare at her for a moment, then sag.

“I know.”

Taglist: @cityofidek @decadentwastelandtrash @fallingwithoutcaution @selfdeprecatingnerd @scream-still-screaming @le-who-zer-her @freezaz123 @andrewgarfieldsupremecy @shireentapestry @divinelovers @thatstoomuchman @buckleysbitch @evansflowers @untoldshortsofthefandoms @godcreatoreli @hotelfohn @thesillynonsense @itsfloorcry @dullsocietyy @draynmelol @the-winter-spider @suniloli @livid-euphoria @iknowrocknroll @tsundere-exe @palmtreesx3 @boxofsmittens @bradleysgirl @etherealforever234

Reply if you want to be added to the series’ taglist :)

Note: The final part of this series is coming soon. Thank you to everyone who's been enjoying it! Your comments are always appreciated.

[omarera]

So so proud of Omar. I am so happy he is let in to new types of media. SvD and DN are the biggest national morning news papers in Sweden. He has been in evening papers and might be silly but I am glad he is covered in these papers. And now also Hellenius Hörna and Så mycket bättre. Thank You TV4. Now let’s hope national radio stations let his music in as well.

Here are some bits of the interview in SvD. It resembles his Sommarprat and nothing new for us really but a really nice interview with a nice tone in it and it will reach many households in Sweden that still has morning papers…

He talks about where he was a few years ago from the interview and I think it’s beautiful that he opens up about feeling lost, experimenting and on his journey to get to know himself and feel confident being who he is and that he also dares to vocalize his dreams. Remember that Jantelagen is strong in Sweden and vocalizing such big dreams is not usual. His journey continues!! I so want for him to reach his goals❤️

They start off with his FO&O and talk a out his bringing and his mom and dad and moving to Sweden.

One thing he hasn’t touched so much on before is how being known so young affected him:

“It was the sickest thing I've ever been through. It was both a kick and very scary to break through, especially when you were alone in town or going home on the bus. I was up in Stockholm and felt very watched. It was an emotional rollercoaster.”

He takes a deep breath.

“Every single person my age has known about me since I was 14 years old. It has been very intense and probably affected me in different ways. I've probably become more shy and stick mostly to my friends that I've had for many years.”

(We know he always pick stay home and that he is very close to his friends and has a circle of friends he feels safe with. And then about after FO&O)

“I released a few singles, but then the pandemic came and everything was put on hold. That's when it started.

Omar Rudberg puts one hand in his baggy leather jacket pocket and looks out through the Connection Hall in the Slaughterhouse area, where we met on a cool autumn afternoon.

“I was incredibly lost. Both in my professional role and in myself. I had no idea who I was or what I was going to be, what I liked and didn't like.

He set out on an experimental journey.

- I tried to find myself and started hanging out very intensively with friends. We hung out every day and became almost like a collective. It was incredibly fun and above all nice to see people who were in different ways.”

(I also liked this part where he talks about his creativity: )

“In the new homeland, the song and dance continued to be palpable, as did Omar's wild imagination. By the age of eight, it was so intense that his parents took him to a child psychologist.

- What they reacted to was that I didn't need toys. I could just enter another world, be chased by dinosaurs or have the worst action movie in my head. But I wasn't crazy, the child psychologist noted, just a child.

The creativity and musical gift can be traced to the grandmother and the mother. Early on, the latter ensured that Omar participated in talent competitions, often with success.

(And then more in creativity and using it to find yourself)

- My friends and I started trying different types of clothes. We played music and got dressed up. Some tried to put on makeup and nail polish. I really experimented. Those who are not in the know immediately think that a guy who wears make-up is gay or transgender - that bothers me. Make-up should not have to have an orientation, it should be for everyone. Now I wear black eyeliner when I feel like it without being ashamed.

Playing with the outside became a way to find home more in one's inner self, and the fact that Omar was named Best Dressed Man of the Year by the magazine Café this spring is something of a receipt for that.

- I have realized that I have to feel comfortable, stable and free with who I am if I am to be able to move forward in life. Clothes clearly play a role in that. They can also help me get into a certain character more easily.

(There is more text in YR and Karusell but he gets back to: )

“Although it is as an actor Omar has become known in recent years, it is the music he wants to focus on the most in the future. A few days ago, the new single Off my mind was released and tonight is the premiere of this year's So much better on TV4, where Omar is one of the participants.

Perhaps the participation will also be revenge for Omar as a solo artist.

- Yes, I hope people are reminded that I'm actually a singer at heart, it's music that I love the most. I'm looking forward to releasing an album eventually and especially to playing live.

A decade has passed since Omar Rudberg first broke through, when I ask what he thinks life will look like in another ten years, he first laughs at the thought of being 35. Then comes the answer:

- I want to have done the sickest gigs, have had several hits and be out on a world tour. I want to be in a Latin American TV series or movie and for my own company to be worth an incredible amount of money. I will not buy a Lamborghini, but a nice apartment for my mother so that she can be free as a bird. I want to give back everything I got from her.

He runs his hand through his slightly wavy hair and walks over to the mirror to get ready for the photo shoot.

- I would never have dared to have it this way a few years ago. Thankfully, I am much more confident in myself now.

You're not as lost anymore?

- No, I have grown a lot in recent years and now I feel stable enough to take myself forward in life. But I'm probably not quite there yet, the journey continues …

Translated bits from: Elin Liljero Eriksson - 23 oktober 2023 SvD Magazine.

[direwombat]

OC INTERVIEW

tagged by @carlosoliveiraa, @aceghosts, @finding-comfort-in-rain, @cassietrn, @g0dspeeed, and @simplegenius042 for a little oc interview! making this kind of a part 2 to this oc interview i did a while ago.

“Jesus Christ,” Sybille hisses, sinking into the folding chair set up on the other side of Wheaty’s desk, haggard and weary from six weeks of nonstop fighting. “Are we really doin’ this shit again?”

He regards her, equally exhausted, and sighs. “It’s for morale, Dep. People gotta remember you’re human too.”

“Why?” she scowls. “Aint’ it more inspirin’ if they think I’m Wonder Woman or some shit?”

“Yeah, well, Wonder Woman has literal super powers,” Wheaty says. The attempt at levity falls flat, as Sybille levels him with a glare. “Look,” he sighs, “I know it seems counterintuitive to you, but reminding the people that you’re a person, just like them, will help inspire them to keep fighting against the Cult. Normal life is almost back in the Valley, you know? We gotta remind them that the fight’s still going.” 

She’s silent for a long moment, before ultimately relenting. “Fine. Ask ya damn questions.”

WHEATY: Name? 

SYBILLE: Sybille Marie La Roux. 

WHEATY: Nickname? 

SYBILLE: Was “Sarge” for a while. Mostly just “Dep” or “Syb” these days. 

Editor’s note: Also “Sweetheart/Honey/Jackrabbit” if your name is Jacob Seed. 

WHEATY: Gender? 

SYBILLE: [Rustling of fabric as she shrugs] Female

WHEATY: Star sign? 

SYBILLE: Taurus

WHEATY: Moon and rising?

SYBILLE: What now?

Editor’s note: She’s a Scorpio Moon and Capricorn Rising. 

WHEATY: Personality type? 

SYBILLE: The fuck does that mean?

WHEATY: Y'know. Like. Uh. Your Myers-Briggs or Enneagram type.

SYBILLE: I dunno what any of those words mean.

WHEATY: Y'know what, here. Let me call Xander up and see if he has the quizzes handy.

SYBILLE: The what now?

[A painful half-hour of listening to Sybille take various personality quizzes live on the air]

SYBILLE: [Very slowly] “Lawful Neutral,” “ISTJ,” “Type 8w9,” and “choleric.” [Long pause] Wheaty, all these words are nonsense.

WHEATY: Height? 

SYBILLE: 5'9"

WHEATY: Orientation?

SYBILLE: [Muttering] Jesus Christ. [Louder] I’m bisexual and I ain’t lookin’. 

Editor's note: The rest of the county doesn't know she's taken by this point.

WHEATY: Nationality/Ethnicity?

SYBILLE: American. Cajun French. 

WHEATY: Favorite Fruit? 

SYBILLE: [Sighs wistfully] I’d kill for a mango or nectarine. 

WHEATY: Favorite Season? 

SYBILLE: Spring. But since movin’ to Montana, I understand the appeal of autumn. 

WHEATY: Favorite Flower? 

SYBILLE: Hibiscus.

WHEATY: Favorite Scent? 

SYBILLE: Fresh coffee. Pine. Frankincense. Shit, I dunno, it’s hard to pick just one. 

WHEATY: Coffee, Tea, or Hot Chocolate: 

SYBILLE: Coffee. Black. 

WHEATY: Average Hours of Sleep: 

SYBILLE: [Long silence] Not nearly enough.  

Editor’s Note: Between 4-5 on a good day; closer to 2-3 on bad ones. 

WHEATY: Dog or Cat Person? 

SYBILLE: [Rustling of fabric as she leans over to pet Boomer] I like both, but overall ‘m more of a dog person.  

WHEATY: Dream Trip? 

SYBILLE: Shit, it really is a dream trip now, ain’t it? Woulda liked to’ve roadtripped ‘round Australia, but I doubt that’ll ever happen, now.

WHEATY: Favorite Fictional/Real Character? 

SYBILLE: Jesus, I dunno. Trinity from the Matrix, I guess. 

WHEATY: Yeah, I can see that. 

WHEATY: Number of Blankets You Sleep With? 

SYBILLE: Depends on where I end up sleepin’. ‘F I can find a cabin or bunker, then one or two. Otherwise it’s just my leather jacket. 

WHEATY: Random Fact? 

SYBILLE: Was on the track team my freshman and sophomore years of high school, before I had to drop out.

this one has been going around so sorry for any double tags, but, tagging: @marivenah, @corvosattano, @trench-rot, @harmonyowl, @fourlittleseedlings, @purplehairsecretlair, @adelaidedrubman, @socially-awkward-skeleton, @voidika, @locustandwildhoney, @testyfestyenthusiast, @strangefable, @inafieldofdaisies, @alexxmason, @deputyash, @josephslittledeputy, and anyone else wanting to do this for their ocs!

[munsonownsmyass]

When Snow Falls

Matthias Helvar x reader

Summary: Caught outside during a snowstorm, you're thankful your fjerdan neighbor comes to your rescue.

Authors note: This is my contribution to the TFC challenge. Us girlies on the Thirsty for Cox discord thought it would be a fun idea. Masterlist to all the stories will be linked here, once it's out.

Also, you can't tell me Matthias Helvar isn't either a virgin or very inexperienced. Look at how he acts around Nina in Shadow and Bone. This is the hill I die on. But maybe I'll change that 😜

Warnings: pining... so much pining its disgusting. Fluff, some fjerdan language (everything should be translated). Kissing, SMUT! 18+. The softest sex (unprotected) I've ever written. I'm so sorry, but they're in love.

Hajefetla means Songbird

Part 1 -

It didn’t take long before the leaves fall from the trees and the winds started getting colder. Winter was coming and while others might hate this time of year, this was one of the reasons you moved here. You had always loved the snow and knew Maine had some cold, snowy winters and you just couldn’t wait to be curled up in a blanket next to the fire, looking out over the snow-covered forest.

A week later you got your wish. The first day of snow fall was an absolute dream. Röed was running around, trying to catch the falling snow while you just stood there on the porch, watching quietly as the warm colors of autumn gave away for winter. In no time at all, a white blanket covered the forest. Almost like the forest was getting a clean slate.

The daily trips through the forest were getting harder, but you still did them. Mostly because Matthias often was waiting with some hot chocolate or mulled wine, if you made the journey to his house. The two of you had gotten friendlier. Matthias was still shy at times, but slowly he opened up and told you more of his home and past. He hadn’t lived an easy life, so you were glad he had found some peace here in the wilderness.

And so had you. Never felt more at home, like you’d finally found your place. You had also found inspiration again, the words flowing out onto the pages. A certain encounter had ignited the light within you and you already had several chapters of your newest novel ready. Some day you would have to thank Matthias for the inspiration.

Pushing away from the desk, you need a break after a long day writing. Röed nudges your hand, whining softly. You know she wants to go out, but the weather had taken a turn for the worse. Arguing with her on how it’s gonna be a short trip, you put on your coat and boots, nearly getting knocked over by the wind when you open the door. Before you can stop her, Röed runs off into the woods.

“Röed, stop!” You try, but she doesn’t listen. Running after her, you hope you catch her before she gets to far. The forecast had called for a storm and you did not want to get stuck out here. Soon you loose your orientation, seeing nothing but white and trees.

“Röed! Come here girl!” You shout, barely audible over the strong wind. The cold is seeping through your clothes, making you shiver. Limbs start to go numb, and you can barely move your fingers, trying your best to shield them from the cold. “Where are you?! RÖED!”

You fight through the thick dunes of snow, feeling like you hardly move as the winds keep knocking you back. Everything is white and you can’t see where you are anymore. Slowly you start to panic, imagining the worst. What if you don’t find your way home? What if you get lost? Fuck. What if you freeze to death?

“HAJEFETLA!! Over here!” You hear a voice in the distance, distorted by the heavy winds. Looking around, you see nothing besides snow and trees. “Matthias?!”

“Come on, we need to get out of the storm!” He shouts, taking your hand in his as he guides you through the storm.

Suddenly, you feel a pair of strong arms wrap around you and without thinking you scream. “Calm down, min hajefetla.” Matthias says softly, turning you around to face him. Relived to be saved, you lunch forward, throwing your arms around him.

“But Röed… I need to find her!” You sob, the exhausting and cold starting to break you down. Matthias stops when he hears the distress in your voice, pulling his coat off before wrapping it around you.

“She’s already in my cabin. That’s why I came looking for you.” His words are soft, laced with concern for you. You tug at the coat, realizing he must be freezing. But before you can take it off, he stops you with a smile. “I’m Fjerdan. I’ve been through worse.”

Outside, the snow keeps falling, the dunes growing at a rapid speed. It wont take long before the house is covered and you won’t be able to leave. With a gentle tap on your shoulder, you look up to find a hot cup of tea and as you take it, Matthias sits down beside you, looking out through the window.

Stumbling through the front door, you are instantly hit by the warmth of his cabin. Röed and Trassel greets you both as you shed the cold and wet layers. You mutter a curse under your breath and Röed knows she’s in bad standing, hiding her muzzle in Trassel’s side. In a matter of seconds, you’re placed in front of the fire with a blanket, while Matthias is warming some water.

He keeps looking at you, making sure you’re okay. The kind gesture makes you smile, the butterflies in your stomach you're always feeling in his presence, suddenly feeling like an entire swarm.

“What?” you grin, hating the way the sound of Matthias speaking his native tongue makes your body tingle. He smiles softly, cheeks turning pink as he leans in a little closer. “It means ‘Welcome and wait out the storm’. Since we’re stuck, I might as well teach you some Fjerdan.”

“Looks like you have to stay. I won’t let you out in that storm again.” You just nod, silently agreeing. Matthias takes some of the blanket, before he holds up the cup in a cheer. “Jormanen end denam danne näskelle.”

The hours go by as the snow grows higher. It’s lucky Matthias was used to weather like this from home, so he had already stuck up on food, beverages and enough firewood for a day or two. You silently thank Röed for running off, cause if you’d been stuck at home, you would probably have freezed to death or starved. Not much of a survivalist, you’re very thankful you have Matthias. Especially now, as he turns out to be quite good company. With most of the shyness gone, you’ve talked nonstop since you came.

“So… ‘Dja jarmin ness’? is that right?” You try and by Matthias’ soft giggle, you realize you’re way off. Punching his shoulder playfully, you feign being hurt. “Well, tell me then.”

Still giggling, Matthias stops the chopping and look at you. Trying to compose himself. “Dje janin ess.” He speaks softly looking deep into your eyes. You swallow hard, fighting hard to resist him. How easily it would be to just lean in, feel his soft lips against your own. But you look away, fingers fidgeting with a loose sting in your jeans.

“What does it mean?” You ask, voice barely above a whisper as you look up at him again. His sky blue eyes find yours and for a second you forget how to breathe. Somehow, you always forget just how beautiful he is. He leans in close and all you can focus on is how desperately you want to kiss him.

“It’s a swear word.” He grins as he pulls back, resuming his chopping. Letting go of the breath you didn’t even knew you were holding, you feel embarrassed at how you expected something else, your whole body feeling like it’s on fire.

“Don’t you guys have any sweet words or sayings? You’ve only taught me oaths and swear words.” You huff out, trying to hide how flustered you are under a cover of annoyance. Matthias just smiles, dropping all the vegetables into the soup, before he leans against the counter with his arms crossed across his chest.

“I was a Drüskelle. We live hard lives. We are not soft men.” He looks to the floor, the memories of his past coming back, making you not quite believe the last statement. From what you’ve seen, Matthias did seem softer than most, kind. He sighs, before turning back to the pot. “We don’t talk much.”

“Yeah, I’ve noticed.” You counter, causing him to smile wide. “Still… What would you say to a woman you love?”

He is silent for a while, stirring the soup. You fear the question was too much, ready to apologize when he speaks. “I would call her ‘min hjerte’. It means ‘My heart’ or...” He pauses, barely able to meet your eyes. “‘Min hajefetla’.” With the last words, he looks deep into your eyes.

“But… But that’s what you call me.” You breathe out.

“Yes.” His voice is low, like he’s afraid to speak the words. They hang between you like an unspoken prayer, a soft plea for you to head. After all this time, was he feeling the same way you did? You reach out, about to take his hand when your phone rings, startling you both. Frustrated, you take the call and jump of the counter.

“Mom, I’m fine.” You say, sending Matthias an apologetic look. “No, of course I’m not outside in the storm. I’m with Matthias and-” You pause, interrupted by your mother. Cheeks slowly turning pink, you look to Matthias before walking away. “It’s my neighbor. Look mom, I’ll call you later.”

You hang up, muttering an apology to Matthias, before returning the phone to your pocket. He stirs the pot, the moment from before gone. You set the table and most of the meal is in silence. You talk some, but the tension in the room is hard to ignore.

After you’ve cleaned the dishes, whipping them in silence beside Matthias, he takes the towel from your hand and look at you with a heartbreakingly sweet smile. “I have an idea, if… If you want to help me?”

30 minutes later you look at your little masterpiece. In the living room, on the floor in front of the fireplace, were now a makeshift bed. Lots of pillows, blankets and mattresses, making sure it would be very comfortable. The winds were picking up and every other room was cold, so Matthias had suggested making a bed here. You agreed, not because of the logic of it, but because deep down you had a small glimmer of hope that the moment in the kitchen weren’t completely lost.

It doesn’t take long before you’re both comfortable there, enjoying the warmth of the fire while watching the tv. Christmas movie marathon. You couldn’t wait for Christmas, always loved this time of year. Your family was coming in a week, staying over the holidays and you couldn’t wait to show them how beautiful this place was.

“What are you doing for Christmas?” You ask before you can stop yourself. Matthias just huffs, looking at the tv as he picks another piece of candy from the bowl. “I’m gonna sit here alone.”

You could kick yourself. You knew his family was killed when he was younger, which was why he had joined the Drüskelle. He had left his whole life behind and probably didn’t have anyone besides you, Röed and Trassel.

“Would-” You pause, trying to muster up the courage, afraid he’ll say no. ”Would you wanna spend Christmas with us?”

When he doesn’t answer right away, you mentally kick yourself, afraid you overstepped. But then he takes your hand in his, giving it the lightest squeeze. “You… You really want me to spend Christmas with your family?”

“Of course. I wouldn’t want you to sit alone.” You say softly, turning towards him and look into his eyes. You cup his cheek, fingers trembling slightly. Here goes nothing. “But mostly I wanna spend Christmas with you… If you want?”

In an instant, his lips are on yours, the kiss soft and warm. It’s delicate yet still sends shivers down your spine. One hand is still holding yours, the other resting gently on your thigh. The kiss is short, but till the best kiss of your life.

“I do want that. But wouldn’t your family think it’s weird?” He asks, face flustered as he looks into your eyes, his full of glee. You match the grin on his face, already knowing that from now on you’ll do whatever you can to keep that smile on his face.

“Definitely not. My mom’s been pestering me about finding a man, so she would love it if you were there.”

“Oh, so I’m your man now?” He chuckles, playfully tickling your sides. You try to push him away, to no avail since he’s huge and built of pure muscle. He continues his onslaught, grinning at the sound of your giggles. When he finally listens to your pleas to stop, you find your self on your back, Matthias' wide frame over you. His leg is slotted between yours, his thigh rubbing dangerously close to your clothed core.

There’s a softness in his eyes as he looks at you, like you hung the stars from the sky. He leans on one elbow, his free hand brushing away a stray hair before he runs his thumb along your jaw. “Min hajefetla.”

His lips claim yours again, this time the kiss is more passionate. His wide frame cage you in under him, pressing you softly into the mattress under you as he deepens the kiss. Overwhelmed by desire for him, unable to hold back any longer, you pull him closer. One hand on his back, feeling his muscles dance under your fingers, the other entangling in his hair.

Moans fill the air as he presses closer, his hips now fully slotted between your thigs. His desire is palpable, his hard length pressing against your already wet core. But suddenly, he pulls away, breathing hard as he tries to compose himself.

“Is something wrong? If you don’t want to, we don’t have to.” You say honestly, but still hoping he just needs to breathe. You’re already soaked for him, never wanted anyone like you crave him in this moment.

“It’s been a long time.” He confesses, a soft tremble to his voice. “And… There’s only been one… before.” He looks away, face red with embarrassment. He might think it’s humiliating, but it’s far from it. Only makes you like Matthias more, proving that he is just the sensitive soul you thought he was.

“It’s okay. We can take our time.” You plant a soft kiss on his cheek, before claiming his lips gently. His kiss is still hesitant, but slowly it grows deeper, his tongue eagerly dancing over yours. Prepared to not go further, you’re surprised when Matthias breaks away to pull his sweater off. With idle fingers, he pull at the hem of your t-shirt, pulling it over your head. The rest of your clothes soon follows.

It’s not wild and hard, but soft and passionate. Taking your time, your hands explore his body, storing every inch of him to your memory. Hardly any sound is uttered, only soft moans now and then. Although you ache to feel him, you revel in this. You simply just want to be in his arms, feeling him close. You kiss again and again, as if you have all the time in the world.

You feel his hard cock rub against your wet slit, begging for entrance. You wrap your legs around his waist, kissing him deeper as he pushes in. Gasping, you feel how every inch stretches you open as he thrust in slowly. He moans your name, kissing you neck. It’s achingly slow, but it feels like heaven. Every thrust of his hips sends bolts of pleasure through you, making you quiver under him. it’s sweet and sensual, just what you both had needed for so long.

You look into Matthias’ glistening eyes, a look of pure devotion on his unguarded face as he hits that sweet spot inside you, feeling the way you clench around him. Your bodies move together in a slow, desperate rhythm. You whisper Matthias name, falling from your lips in a quiet chant. Both your bodies screaming with pleasure, every inch of your skin prickling with bliss.

As the day grows darker and the snow covers the cabin, you and Matthias are lost to the world, knowing nothing but each other and pure bliss. The storm silenced for a moment, only the beathing of your hearts filling the air. It wasn’t so bad, after all, to be snowed in.

TFC girls: @e-dubbc11 @mindidjarin @idrinkcoffeeandobsess @itwasthereaminuteago @phoebe-danvers @mattmurdocksscars @saintmurd0ck @a-bang-for-your-bucky @pedrito-friskito

Tagging: @lucy-sky @our-chaos

[erinelliotc]

About me

Welcome to my safe space! (mostly an Ed, Edd n Eddy blog)

I'm Érin Elliot Eddward Marion Mason (I'd appreciate being called Double D, Edd or Dudu (Edd's nickname in Brazil) too ^^). My pronouns are they/them and he/him. I'm nonbinary trans (pomogender, quoigender, agender, genderqueer, libramasc and boyflux).

I'm Brazilian, 24 years old (born in June 15th, 2000), autistic, Double D kinnie (most of my Double D's analyses are me projecting myself onto him) and EddEddy shipper. Ed, Edd n Eddy is my biggest special interest! I'm both an Eddy apologist and an Edd apologist, I'll defend these bitches with all my heart and soul.

I also love:

Will Wood

Deltarune/Undertale

Arcane

Death Note

Gravity Falls

Infinity Train

The Owl House

Over The Garden Wall

The Office

Sally Face

Five Nights at Freddy's

Demon Slayer

Little Witch Academia

Amphibia

Things I like: pink, yellow (golden and mustard), blue-green/green-blue colors, cuteness, organization, archiving data, ducks, cats, roly polies/pill bugs, caterpillars, snails, moths, bees, mushrooms, dandelions, sunflowers, rainbows, soap bubbles, autumn/spring, the fire element, nature/living beings in general, fairies, plushies, taking pics, editing videos, writing, music, cartoons, bubble wrap, LGBTQ+ content (especially lesbian/sapphic/wlw), hot chocolate, chocolate milk, fries, neugebauer chocolate (milk), coca-cola, brownie, savory food, likes mealy apples more than crunchy apples, puns, spending time alone, working on my personal projects, dedicating myself to my hyperfixations, wearing comfy clothes (usually pajamas), brain-training games, learning, stimming, singing

Things I dislike: changes, lack of order, jumpscare/scares, interruptions, too many people, leaving my house, cold/winter, sun, beach, traveling, public speaking/presentation, passion fruit, tomato, guava paste, white chocolate, cold savory food, get dirty eating, sticky and creamy substances on my skin, physical activity, bugs climbing/walking on me without my consent and prior preparation, people yelling at me and/or being harsh/agressive with me, not being understood

Some of my areas of interest are:

Information Science (Archivology and Library Science)

Psychology (and health area in general)

Biology

Journalism

Design

You can find my edits here! (they're mostly EEnE edits)

You can get to know about my history with Ed, Edd n Eddy here!

My fanarts

My EEnE content (my own posts and my comments on reblogs)

And ALL my EEnE content here (includes reblogs)!

Soon I'll start posting my EEnE stories/fanfics too :)

SOCIAL MEDIA:

Linktree (all my links): https://linktr.ee/ErinElliotC

Carrd:

Português: https://erinmini.carrd.co/

English: https://erinmini.carrd.co/#carrdeng

TikTok: https://www.tiktok.com/@erinelliotc

YouTube: https://www.youtube.com/@Esquikoko

Twitch: https://www.twitch.tv/pato__magico

Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/ErinElliotC

Twitter (main account): https://twitter.com/AutisticQueer

Twitter (art account): https://twitter.com/DoubleDrawings

This was my main blog (Esquikoko) but I don't use it anymore

I have an abandoned blog to post pictures of roly polies

Read this in case I die disappear from social media

Some other stuff about me:

I'm a Visual Communication (Graphic Design) Technician

Height: 5'1 (1,55 m)

MBTI: ISFJ

Enneagram: 9w1

Instinctual Variant: sp/so

Moral alignment: Neutral good

Orientation: Asexual, aromantic and lesbian

Astrological sign: Gemini (sun), Cancer (rising), Sagittarius (moon)

Favorite musical artists/bands:

Will Wood (and the Tapeworms)

Cavetown

Grouplove

Melanie Martinez

Aurora

Baby Fuzz

Hungry Hearts

The Living Tombstone

Mitski

MARINA

Toby Fox

Oingo Boingo

P!nk

Pitty

Green Day

Lily Allen

Lady Gaga

Hogwarts House: Hufflepuff. Ravenclaw would be my second house

Undergraduate program: currently studying Library Science (3/8 semesters); I also studied Psychology for 5/10 semesters and Journalism for 1/8 semester

Spirituality: Witch and agnostic

Get to know a little about my musical taste here!

Special interests/current, recurrent and/or fixed hyperfixations: Ed Edd n Eddy, Will Wood, autism, mental disorders, genetic mutations, organization, Deltarune, Arcane, Death note, Gravity Falls, Cellbit, The Owl House, Over The Garden Wall, The Office, Sally Face, intersexuality, lesbianity, transgenerity, asexuality, cats, barism (specialty in making coffee), Brazil Avenue (Avenida Brasil)

[camelliagwerm]

tagged by @cetra to fill this out for an oc. I'm pretty tired and my brain's hamster is struggling so I chose Valerius for this since I don't have to think as hard about the answers as I would other ocs.

tagging: @dragonologist-phd // @galfreybaenre // @cassynite // @baneschosen // @silversiren1101 // @the-raging-tempest // @mountainashfae // @outeremissary - don't feel obligated or pressured to do it if you don't want to or don't have the time, but I'd love to see the responses :')

NAME: Valerius Andrei Narcis Dragavei

NICKNAME: Vali (diminutive)

GENDER: cis man (he/him)

STAR SIGN: as per the Cosmic Caravan, the Thrush.

HEIGHT: 6'5ft / 196cm

ORIENTATION: bisexual

NATIONALITY/ETHNICITY: Ustalavic (Varisian)

FAVOURITE FRUIT: the pomegranate. It comes up in an Urgathoan flavour text in WOTR, so I've taken it to be a popular fruit for the faith. Besides, the taste is exquisite, just the right amount of tart with sweetness - and good in wine, sauces, desserts, or just biting into it and making an utter mess in the process.

FAVOURITE SEASON: autumn. It's cold without being too cold, perfectly overcast with a heavy chance of rain and mist. He misses Ustalav's autumns something fierce.

FAVOURITE FLOWER: jasmine. It's a key note in the perfume I headcanon Camellia favours, so he has a soft spot for it. Also, he's fond of violets (which is the namesake for one of his future daughters :3)

FAVOURITE SCENT: while the scent of blood is pretty irresistable to him, nothing can beat the smell of a honey and pomegrante glaze over roasted meat.

COFFEE, TEA, OR HOT CHOCOLATE: Coffee, black. Anything else is unacceptable to him.

AVERAGE HOURS OF SLEEP: nowhere near as much as it should be. Maybe 4 or 5 maximum. He doesn't like sleeping in late, wanting to make the most of the hours he does have where the sun won't irritate him as much, but he's often up extremely late as well too, whether its for prayer or other reasons.

DOGS OR CATS: He's more of a horse guy truth be told, but dogs.

DREAM TRIP: providing it wouldn't be utterly miserable for him the entire time he's there due to the sun and heat, he'd want to make a pilgrimage to Mechitar in Geb, where Urgathoa's largest temple stands on Golarion. He is working on building an alliance with Geb, so perhaps it isn't so distant a prospect.

NUMBER OF BLANKETS: he doesn't need many, but Drezen is cold - usually there's three total: a sheet, a duvet and a fur atop that. The heaviness is mostly comforting, but that many are usually there for both appearances' and Camellia's sake (once she moves in with him)

RANDOM FACT: he's been betrothed/engaged a grand total of five times, with several more counts of potential engagements - the result of being both House Dragavei's heir and then the ruler of a city state.

[mxrtified777]

y’know what. what scents do the ibvs boys wear.

RUBS HANDS TOGETHER

So when i originally picked out colognes for the ibvs boys, i just kind of went off whatever i knew at the time instead of actual fragrance profiles and categories, which led to them all only being somewhat well aligned and just. not well organized all in all, but the SECOND time i did it, i actually made a chart of the fragrance categories and sorted the ibvs boys by seasons (fragrances are seasonal for anyone who didnt know) so i could align the notes easier; so, in my opinion:

Isaac is an autumn and leans towards woody orientals and, to a lesser degree, floral oriental; Edward is a summer and leans towards aquatic and citrusy notes; Drew could be an autumn or a spring and leans towards woody and soft oriental notes; Nevin is an autumn or a winter and leans towards orientals and soft orientals, Chris is a spring or a winter and leans towards dry woods and aromatics (and probably gourmands tbh), and Barry is a spring who leans towards greens and citruses. good lord that was a lot but were not done yet because i have a few actual colognes picked out for some of them :)

Santal 33 for Isaac; simple and woody, a little spicy and a little floral; not super complex, but this fragrance is super iconic amongst fragrance lovers.

Black Phantom for Chris; I can't NOT give a gourmand cologne for Chris. That would be borderline criminal. The notes of alcohol and tobacco align quite nicely with his daddy issues if i do say so myself. (Also, Ky mentioned ages ago that Chris would be the coffee lover of the boys, and i just remembered that years later)

Kingdom of Dreams for Nevin; When i fucking tell you it took me 7 million years to find a good smoky cologne for Nevin. Jesus H Christ. Anyways. Warm, earthy, and smoky notes just give me an image of either a bonfire or a ritual in the deepest part of the woods gone horribly wrong. either way, it's fitting for him, and i love it.

Light Blue for Barry; One of. the hottest colognes I've ever had the pleasure of smelling. 100% a Hot Guy cologne, I, too, would trust my darkest secrets and personal information to a guy if he was wearing this. 10/10 I would wear it, but unfortunately, it's not a fragrance for me.

Acqua di Gio for Edward; A very, VERY popular cologne, truly iconic, he is the moment, i swear to god 90% of guys have owned this cologne at some point, but it is popular for a reason. I think it would he hilarious if Felix also wore this simply because it fits almost every category of guy.

and lastly, Dead Sexy for Drew; The fragrance notes on that image simply say "woody," so you would assume the vanilla and sweet notes would be dominant ones, but this 100% smells like moss on decaying trees in the most Drew way imaginable. I can not believe this wasn't tagged with aromatic because that is absolutely the best way to describe it. It smells like how the sun dries the moss on old trees after days of heavy rain, and it's one of my favorites.

Thank you for coming to my TedTalk, this has been Chris Combining His Hyperfixations Together Like Playdough.

[hexblooddruid]

name: Bryn Acevedo

nickname: Doc (Karlach), Faithwarden (Wyll, affectionate), Faithwarden (Astarion, derogatory).

gender: cis woman (she/her)

star sign: Bryn was born under The Centaur! Summer baby.

height: 4'5"

orientation: Bi and poly

race: Gold Dwarf

romancing: My first playthrough with her she romanced Wyll (and was able to romance Gale for most of the game until they fixed that glitch). I did a second one where she and Astarion ended up falling for each other when she got locked out of Wyll's romance at the Tiefling Party. It's too early on in this playthrough to have committed to someone but she's definitely got a huge crush on on Wyll and has feelings for Astarion (though she is very much in denial about that).

fave fruit: Pears and blackberries

fave season: She will say that she doesn't play favorites, that all parts of the cycle are important for the nature of rebirth but it's spring and autumn for sure (the transitional seasons).

fave flower: Sunflowers, apple blossoms

fave scent: Pine, salty sea spray, mossy dirt

coffee, tea, or hot chocolate: Tea, definitely. She's an alchemist and druid. Collecting, drying, and brewing tea is her specialty.

average sleep hours: She attempts 8 but usually just get six.

dogs or cats: As a future cleric of Mielikki, she's a friend of all small creatures but she has a soft spot for cats. As a Land Druid, she doesn't use her Wild Shape in battle often so at camp it's Kitty Bryn time.

dream trip: Ahh this is so hard, Bryn wants to see so much. She was on her way to stowaway on a ship to the Moonshae Isles when she got abducted by the mind flayer ship. In this playthrough she just read the note about the Sussur and passed the nature check to know it's found in the Underdark, so she's really excited to go there.

amount of blankets: One at the most. Bryn runs hot, especially in the summer (having a magic tattoo attuned to the seasons will do that to ya).

random fact(s):

She was originally initiated into the Circle of the Forgotten Vale, a fairly insular circle who's main responsibilities is warning travelers away from the Forgotten Forest. She was Sage of her Circle, responsible for collecting, archiving, and managing their collection of Druidic Lore. This caused her to take lots of trips to Baldur's Gate to explore the libraries there. She ran away once she was named successor to the ArchDruid.

She's 50 years old, the youngest of young adults for a dwarf.

Has deep bone shattering fear of Timeless Body. Would rather die than live another 1000 plus years as a half tree person.

Doesn't imbibe often BUT definitely lights up some fantasy weed before bed while stargazing.

I thought initially I got locked out of Wyll's romance for sleeping with Astarion but I found it was that plus flirting with Gale and Karlach during their romance scenes that triggered before the party. To prevent that from happening in this playthrough I've created a spreadsheet and timeline to track Bryn's romantic feelings toward her companions. She will not get locked out of a romance with the person she's actually interested in for being a relentless flirt again.

Thank you @thedragonagelesbian (muah) for tagging me! If anyone sees this and wants to do it, consider yourself tagged. It was a lot of fun and I want to see other tavs/durges/ocs what have you.

[saintseiya-zone]

We’re happy to announce the next SSZ Zine!

The theme will be autumn-oriented and you can collaborate with fanarts, fanfics, photos and cosplays. Stay updated by joining our Discord!

Sign-up timeframe: 1-15/Aug/2023 (extraordinary sign-up 16-23/Aug 23:59 UTC -6, Costa Rica time)

Sign-up form: here

Taken Character list: here

Deadline: 22/Oct/2023 23:59 UTC -6 (Costa Rica time)

Description (in text) and FAQ under the cut

[About the Zine]

Description: Autumn is coming, and with it, spookiness is rising. Imagine your favourite Saint Seiya characters in autumn-themed scenes from around the world!

Participation: You will submit one (1) original, new fanwork (older/already published work is not accepted) to be compiled into a zine. Please do not share your final work until the zine has been properly published by SSZ (you may, however, share WIPs, previews, and/or close-ups as you work on it)

Type: The final compilation of all fanworks will be a free, digital PDF file (no physical versions will be made, no money will be earned or paid)

Character: restricted to one (1) character to be the main focus of the fanwork submitted (for fics: 1-2 characters)

The Taken Character List will be updated daily at 19:00 UTC -6 (Costa Rica time) until the sign-up period is concluded. We appreciate your patience while this occurs. Once you are added to the list and your character is confirmed, you may start working on your submission.

** Please note this zine does not review/approve/reject sign-ups, everyone is welcome to take part in the activity as long as they sign up and follow guidelines. If there are any issues, we'll get back to you.

Deadline: 22/Oct/2023 23:59 UTC -6 (Costa Rica time). Fanworks submitted after this will not be included (this is non-negotiable). However, if you are facing challenges with your submission, let the staff know ASAP.

Submission: Send via email to saintseiyazone@gmail.com. The email subject should be "Saint Seiya in Autumn Zine, [Creator], [character/fic name]", and the file name should be:

Visuals: [Character name] - [Creator]

Fics: [Creator] - [Fic title]. Writers, please also include a 400x400 px image you want us to use in the credits page

Examples: 

Email Subject: Saint Seiya in Autumn Zine, El Cadejos, Alioth Fenrir 

Fic file: Zeuse - “Encallar”

[About the Submissions]

Art/Photography Canvas size: 300 dpi, JPEG 

2480 x 3508 px (portrait orientation) OR

3508 x 4960 px (landscape orientation)

Fics: docx file, prose, it doesn't have to be in English. You must include a title (please keep it short), but it won’t be considered towards final count

4 OR 6 full pages in total as exact as possible, Arial font, 11 pt, single space

Margins: 1 in (each)

Paper size: Letter (8.5 in x11 in)

There must be spaces between your paragraphs 

Allowed:

Age reinterpretation (e.g., an adult character as a child)

Alternative Universes

Other applicable characters (including OC), please check FAQ

Not allowed:

AI-generated content of any kind

NSFW/Explicit content (contact staff for case-by-case reviews)

Non-official genderbends

Crossovers with non-StS series

[Frequently Asked Questions]

May I draw whichever character I want? As the purpose of this zine is to include as many characters from the Saint Seiya universe as possible to bring variety into the final product, submission types have the following limitations:

Fanarts: 1 main character per submission (restricted ✪)

Fics: focus on 1-2 main characters per submission (not restricted)

Cosplays: 1 main character per submission (not restricted)

Merch Photographs: 1 main character per submission (not restricted)

Before filling out the sign-up form, check the Taken Character list. For fanarts, you'll input 5 different options, from your top choice to least. Your final selection will be made visible later that day. This is on a First Come, First Served basis.

✪ This means there will be only 1 fanart per character, no duplicates

May I include more than one character in my submission? Yes, as long as there is a clear hierarchy where your chosen character is the main focus. Original Characters (OCs) may also be included in the background as long as they follow this guideline. There is no problem if those secondary characters are already taken, or if the mix of characters would not make sense in the official material (for example, Sasha interacting with Hilda).

May I use spinoff characters? Sure! All characters officially included in the Saint Seiya universe are applicable (except those without an official visual design, like Chronos). Please note that even though there are characters with different versions across the franchise [ex: Aiolia], they are not counted as different options for the Zine, so if said character is already taken, no other version of them will be available. The only exceptions to this rule are Milo (Legend of Sanctuary) and Shaun (Knights of the Zodiac).

I changed my mind about the character I chose, and the new one is still available. Can I switch? To prevent confusion and misunderstandings, all character selections are final and cannot be changed/traded.

Can I switch from one contribution type to another (e.g., fanart to fic) after I signed up? To prevent confusion and misunderstandings, all contribution type selections are final.

Am I allowed to change certain aspects of a character’s official design? It depends on the aspect, and should be reviewed case-by-case.

Example 1: as a Latin American, Io could differ in skin tone to the one seen on the official materials. However, characters like Hagen and Aldebaran, who have darker skin tones, should not be given lighter tones.

Example 2: if due to a personal headcanon, you believe a character has a certain scar or marking that is not seen in official materials, it can be included, but once again, please reach out to Staff for a case-by-case review.

What qualifies as "autumn-themed"? This season is experienced differently all around the world, which is why the theme is broad on purpose. Any activity, scenery, meal, clothing, and celebration that is typical of this season is applicable. That includes (but is not limited to) All Hallow's Eve, Día de Muertos, Thanksgiving, Diwali, leaf color change viewing, and more.

What is the difference between an Alternate Universe [AU] and a Crossover? Some AU use popular tropes as a base, while a Crossover uses an already existing material as base.

Examples:

Popular tropes for an AU: magic school, space fantasy/sci-fi

Existing material: Twisted Wonderland, Mass Effect [games], Little Witch Academia, Star Trek [series], Heralds of Valdemar, Dune [books]

So making a fanwork of the general "Saint Seiya × Magic School" or “Saint Seiya x space fantasy/sci-fi” concepts is an AU, but "Saint Seiya × Twisted Wonderland" or “Saint Seiya x Star Trek” are considered a crossover. In essence, heavy references to other existing fandoms are not allowed. Could you please elaborate on what is/isn’t considered Not Safe For Work (NSFW)? If it is not appropriate for a general, non-specialized office work environment, then it is not accepted.

Examples: ✅ blood depictions/mentions of it ❌ graphic/detailed gore, mutilation, or body horror  ✅ sensual themes (e.g., pin up) ❌ sexual themes (including, but not limited to: genitalia, specifically erotic gestures like blowjob, etc.) 

May I submit more than one work?  If, after the sign-up period is over, you would like to collaborate with a second submission, reach out to us. You may send different submission types if you want (e.g., 1 fanart and 1 fic). Please bear in mind the second character must still be available for you to take.

The sign-up timeframe already passed. Can I still join? The extraordinary period is 16-23/Aug. Please check the Taken Character List first to ensure the one you want is available, fill out the form, and contact staff (El Cadejos, Zeuse) so we can add you to the list. After this extraordinary period, sign-up will be officially closed.

May I include a watermark on my submission? Yes, we encourage you to submit already watermarked fanworks to the zine.

I’m a writer! What is an acceptable image for the credits page? You can send an official StS work, fanarts (as long as it is made by you, gifted to you, or commissioned by you), or a picrew-generated image (as long as the picrew allows that use)

What are check-ins? Do I need to send something?  Nope. Our check-ins act as reminders only, so you know exactly how much time you have left to send your submission.

I’m unable to complete my submission and would like to withdraw. Is that okay? Yes, you can withdraw at any time, for any reason (you don’t need to explain). Please just let us know in advance.