#but it's making my brain Go which is nice because i haven't had anything to do that for a while

[cel-aerion]

Okay I feel like this is gonna get unwieldy if I try to send it as an ask so I'm just gonna tag @monty-glasses-roxy and start a new post (since reblogs with asks get weird, or at least they used to, and old habits die hard). Original post is here, but I'll also quote the relevant bits just for ease of reading.

"Yeah Chica being afraid of flying is really funny, especially if she's scared of literally nothing else. Not a single other thing has ever phased her but this one singular mode of transport makes her nervous."

"If we were meant to fly, we'd have wings." "Don't you technically have wings?" "Yeah and I can't fly with them so clearly evolution knew it had absolutely fucked up with that one."

"...they settle on meeting up at the local bowling alley that her brother (she calls Bonnie her brother) happens to run."

Others (Monty and Chica when they all meet up, yeah, but it's happened before and it will happen again) ask how a wolf and rabbit could be siblings. Bonnie eternally delights in giving absolutely ludicrous answers, usually involving an elaborate backstory and meandering plots. Roxy will too, sometimes, but she's more likely to just be annoyed at people for asking stupid questions - Monty and Chica are probably fine when they ask, because they're genuinely curious and want to know more about their new friend, but a lot of others are probably more judgemental or nosy about it. Anyways, the moment Bonnie knew he approved of Roxy's new friends was when he made up one of these explanations, as per, and Monty immediately replied with, "Oh, and here I thought maybe it was [insert equally lengthy and ridiculous explanation here]."

"And yeah, Roxy doesn't have a lot of friends so this was a shock to everyone that knew her lmao. "What do you mean you were dying on a plane and made two new friends??? What, did the Reaper and their wife take pity on you or what???""

"The Reaper" and "The Reaper's Wife" become Monty and Chica's nicknames as a result of this. Probably in that order. But possibly not.

"Actually, it would be kinda funny if none of them had a particularly large amount of friends and due to this one layover flight, their friendship group suddenly tripled in size."

I can see this being the case, but like, in different ways. Roxy is gruff, and awkward, and this combination probably makes those who don't know her think she's mean, or at least cold, so she mostly just withdraws instead of letting people see that she's upset about this perception, and over time she becomes hesitant to reach out to make friends because it's easier to not go through all that again, which of course just makes others thing she's even more distant, and it's a terrible cycle (and actually, maybe her being airsick unintentionally helped combat against this, because when you're feeling that awful, you're not really able to have any walls up, but I digress). And then on the other hand, I can see Chica being one of those... I don't want to say "popular girls," because that has a particular connotation, but like... she's one of those who's always friendly, she's pretty chill with a lot of people, she has friends she can hang out with for a day out shopping or something, but not Friends who she would feel comfortable spilling her guts out to or anything like that. And... unfortunatley I have no ideas for Monty at this moment, but you get the idea.

And slightly related, but I take back a bit of what I said in my original ask, or at least I'm changing the context: I don't think Roxy would be trying to play it cool when they meet in person just for the sake of her image. I think it's more likely she's just trying to not get her hopes up, what if this falls apart, what if she says the wrong thing, better to not get too emotionally invested until you're sure. But of course, as the outing goes on, that becomes less of a concern, and pretty soon she forgets to be anxious.

"Like, Monty and Chica clicked so fast and then all it takes is a little competition and almost getting kicked out of a bowling alley for bowling crimes for the pair of them to click with Roxy."

Not quite what's being said here, but it's sparked in me a mental image that while Monty and Chica are getting to know Roxy, and start to see that what they thought was indifference was just uncertainty and insecurities, they both independently come to the conclusion of "omg absolutely must protecc this puppy."

[slushycoookie]

Between Two Worlds ~ Loser!Miguel O'Hara x Stripper!Reader (Pt.2)

★Word Count: 3.8k ★Content: You and Miguel get to know each other, once again he gets hard from your lap dances, Dana is Dana, Miguel also tries to make more friends, he also voluntarily gets flashed ★A/N: I was wracking my brain about how I wanted the plot to flow along but we locked in now. Enjoy! Dividers by @/rookthornesartistry

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“Why did you become a dancer?”

You paused at the question, stopping your spin around the pole in the private room. Miguel shifts in his seat, knowing that was a personal question.

“You wanna get deep now, huh?” You laugh, continuing your twirl.

“You don't have to answer.” He says, “I was just curious…”

Miguel's only been your regular for a few weeks now. He sees you dance on Tuesdays and on Thursdays, you two discuss your week. It was a light conversation, with no topics that pry into each other's lives. All while you're grinding on him.

“I'm saving up to buy a house.” Miguel wasn't expecting that and you notice his surprised face, “What, were you expecting some sob story?”

“No! Not at all.”

You shrug, “I get it. Buying a house isn't exciting.”

“I think buying a house is admirable. Why a house?”

“To get away from my family.”

Miguel’s stomach twists, “Not a big family person?”

“I am.” He mentally releases a sigh of relief, “It's just I like peace and quiet. Can't get that with them breathing down my neck every five minutes.”

You step down from the mini-stage, and he watches you run your hands along your body, starting from your neck, fingertips grazing across your long, silky black hair, over your breasts, passing by your exposed navel before touching your thighs. He gulps, shifting from his erection to focus back on the conversation.

“Do they even know what you do?”

“They know of my part-time job at the mall. When I go out at night, I tell them I have a nighttime job at an office.” You smirk, “As you can see, I'm a good liar.”

He chuckles, “You are.” You strut towards him, turning so your back faces him. His eyes go down to your ass, seeing your plump cheeks in front of him as they grind on his lap. “Why a house? If you wanted to get away from your family, people usually start with an apartment.”

“That’s true. But I want a forever home. Some place where I know I'm here for life.” He barely sees your face, but he notices your mind goes elsewhere. Similar to how you looked back at your dressing room a few weeks ago.

“I understand. It's a nice goal to strive for.”

You turn, flashing him a wide smile. “Thanks.”

You sit on his lap, rolling your hips as you slide your hands up and down his chest. Miguel clenches his hands to resist the urge to touch you. “Now, Mr. Scientist, why did you become one?”

“A geneticist, you mean?”

“Duh.” You continue to roll your hips at the sensual beat.

“Well, I'm good at it.” He states, “And I enjoy it so why not pick a profession you're good at?”

“You have a point.” You get up on your knees, your breasts completely in his face. Your hands run all over his hair, nails creating scratches along his scalp. Miguel shudders, almost letting out a moan. It doesn't help when you lean against his ear to whisper, “That means you're smart, right?”

“Very.”

You lock eyes and he darts down to your full lips, wondering if you were going to kiss him again. Instead, you lean back to create some distance and he hides his disappointment. You two haven't done anything further besides the hand job and the kiss. Which was also because of the rule of no sex inside the club. Miguel did think the start of…whatever they had was going a little fast so he didn't complain.

“I like my men smart.” You state, continuing to trace up and down his chest. He tries not to smile at that, watching you intently. “Shows me you're putting that brain to good use.”

“Of course.”

You giggle, getting off of him completely. “Times up, big guy.”

Miguel stands, not believing how fast time goes when he’s with you. But he hands you your money and watches you tuck it into your bra.

“Thanks. For the talk.”

“You know you don't have to keep thanking me every time we do this.”

“I want to.”

Miguel’s routine was simple. He’d get up early, around five in the morning, do his daily workout, shower, get dressed to go to work, deal with his coworkers and insufferable boss, before going back home to unwind and do it all over again. Occasionally, he’d spend time with his family and check up on friends. Now, he was doing all of that and seeing you.

The days you two agreed on gave him some wiggle room. He knew if he saw you at the club every night would wear him down. Affect his performance at his job. But he was able to manage. Seeing you made his days better, even if they were worse earlier. When he didn’t see you, he was anticipating the time of when he could. Thinking about what conversation topics to bring up. How much money he should pay you this time.

It helped distract the current hell of his life. Because every time he went to work, he had to witness Dana and Tyler together. In front of him.

She's been at the company a lot since the break-up. Almost every day, every hour. Miguel wonders if she works anymore since she spends all her time with Tyler.

Even his coworkers look down on him at the fact he allowed another man to steal his woman. Miguel wanted to explain that he didn’t allow it, it just happened. The fact that Dana went to someone else and left him.

“Is there any more coffee?”

Miguel glanced over to see said ex with a mug in her hand. She stood awkwardly beside him, shyly tucking strands of her brown hair behind her ear. He quickly slid his coffee cup away, giving her access to the pot. “Go ahead, it’s still fresh.”

“Thanks.” As she poured her coffee, Miguel stood there, watching the liquid slowly fill up halfway. On cue, he handed her exactly four creams and two sugars, muscle memory of his time with her kicking in. “Ah, you remembered.”

“It’s easy to.”

Dana shoots him a smile and he doesn’t want to admit that it still warmed him up a little inside. “How have you been?”

Horrible. Miserable. Angry.

“Fine. You?”

“I’ve been good.” She takes a sip, “I’m glad everything’s calmed down now.”

Miguel raises an eyebrow, “Really? Why’s that?”

“You know, the announcement was a big shock and everyone asking me if I’m okay-”

“Right.” He pours himself a cup, realizing there’s not enough coffee to fill it exactly the way he likes. Plus, brewing another pot takes about five minutes. “I can understand how that can be a lot.”

“I’m so glad you do!” She places a gentle hand on his shoulder. He tries to not focus on the extra heat it gave off. “You always understood me.”

“And…Tyler doesn’t?”

“He does!” Dana goes to correct herself, “I’m also saying you do too.”

“Is that the reason why you're with Tyler instead of me?”

She shakes her head, “No, Miguel you know why we're…” Dana rolls her hands as if he knows what she's talking about, “You got busy with work and you know we barely went anywhere. It was always you and not me.”

“That’s a lie.” The grip on his mug got tighter, “I thought I treated you well. I took you out. Bought you gifts. You had my full undivided attention.”

“When we were together, yes, but not recently. It's like you weren't there.”

Miguel didn’t know what to say, his mind going through all the memories they’d had together. Did he neglect her and didn't know it? He let her know he loved her. And he knew that she knew. Was he mistaken?

“It's ok.” Dana squeezed his shoulder, “I've moved on now. You should too.”

She thanked him for the coffee, leaving him in the break room to brew another pot. Miguel wants to blame his father, the biological one whose original identity was sprung on him the day Dana broke up with him. Told by his mother, who thought she was doing him a service. Probably would've been better off if he didn't know.

Would that have made a difference? The main thing he could say was his boss stole Dana from him, not his dad.

He didn't want his talk with Dana to ruin his day. He was supposed to have a family dinner later, with his mom and Gabriel. How they've been more intimate since the passing of his other father. The crazy bastard that Miguel thought they were better off without. And were. To a certain degree.

Hence why everyone was quiet at the table, being the only sound filling the dining room were the clinks of forks amongst the plates. His mind raced as he replayed his conversation with Dana, wondering what he should've said to her.

“Wow, this pasta is good, mami.” Gabriel broke the ice, Miguel not missing his eye glance in an effort to talk to their mother.

“Thank you.” She grins, “I got that recipe from the neighbor down the street and then I put my little spin on it.” Miguel holds in a sigh, his plate looking much better than the conversation. “How was your day, Gabri?”

“Good! I managed to grab a few clients today.” Gabriel boasts about his freelancing job, quickly darting his head to his brother, before going back to their mother. “And yours?”

“Pleasant. I've been thinking about doing some redecorating here. Those home improvement shows have been catching up to me.” She laughs with her son while Miguel prefers to be anywhere else right now. Preferably with you. “What about yours, Miguel?”

He shoots up at his name and his conversation with Dana returns, “It was okay. Still busy with that spider project. Saw Dana-” Miguel slips and drops his fork at the mistake.

“You saw that whore?”

He recognizes the switch in Conchata's tone, “She's not-”

“Whatever she is, why does she have the right to speak to you? After what she did? And with that man out of all people?”

Gabriel snorts, “Right like Miguel’s boss? Complete gold digger, if you ask me.” Miguel and his mother look at each other, knowing what they know now.

“I'd rather we don't talk about her anymore like it just happened.”

“It did just happen!”

“It’s been over a month, ma.” Miguel quickly stands up, “It’s over. We should move on.” The words feel foreign when they escape from his lips. Unsure if he wants to do that himself. “Thanks for dinner.”

He grabs his jacket, ignoring the protests from his brother and mother while walking out. Miguel’s stomach churns, knowing he’s made a mistake participating in the dinner. How he preferred to seclude himself at his apartment. But he hardly makes it out the door when Gabriel stops him.

“Hey, you alright?”

“I’m fine.”

Miguel turns to leave but is stopped by him again, “No, you’re not. You barely spoke tonight.”

“When have I ever spoken that much recently?”

“Right…” Gabriel lets out a nervous laugh. Even he knows the unspoken tension between his older brother and mother. It got worse since the Dana issue but Miguel’s sure it’s been that way since the death of his father.

“I just had a long day.” He says, feeling the complications from his day crashing down on him.

“Anything I can do to help?”

Miguel’s lips flatten, shaking his head. Gabriel takes the hint and finally lets him go.

When he was seeing you twice a week at the club, he also got to know the employees. During your dance on Tuesdays, he often sat at the bar. While he counted twelve dancers, the most notable ones were you, Black Cat, MJ, and Pixie. He watched the patrons request a dance from either one of you, dollar bills rolled up in their hands like they had money to spend.

Surprisingly, he saw Jessica a lot.

He thought it was a coincidence but she primarily hung around the bar, which had a good look at the main club area, the large stage with the pole in the center. Enough to draw a huge crowd and coat the floor in a sea of money. Miguel wondered if he should try to get to know your other coworkers since he was trying to get to know you too. So why not start with the owner?

“Why decide to own a club?”

Jessica purses her lips at Miguel, “Man, just because Silk told you her life story does not mean you get to know about mine.”

“Oh.” He blinks, “Wait a minute, how do you know that?”

“You ask a lot of questions.” She turns to tend to some other customers at the end of the bar while he ponders how many questions he’s asked you. Ben, who was cleaning some glasses, leans over to Miguel.

“She just had a baby. You wanna see?”

“Uh, sure.” He pulls out his phone and shows him a picture of Jess's baby boy. He looked to be a year old, dressed in a bear onesie, practically the spitting image of her. “He’s adorable.”

“Isn’t he?”

“Benny, you better not be showing strangers pictures of my baby.” Jess glares at him, hand on her hip as he quickly puts the phone away.

“Miguel’s not really a stranger, he's been here every week.”

“And you think that automatically makes him my best friend?”

Miguel takes a sip of his water, clearing his throat to remind them he's right there. “You have a cute baby.”

“Thanks.” Pride takes over on Jess’ face, “He came out of me.”

“Even when she was pregnant, I knew she was going to make a cute baby.” Pixie chimed in, practically throwing herself at the bar after finishing another lap dance. The glitter from her brown skin decorating the bar. Miguel saw why that was her stage name due to her pink, pixie haircut. “Can I get some water?”

Ben gave Pixie a wink when Jess came up to her, “No, you didn't.”

“I did. Silk agreed too. That’s why she's my homegirl.” Miguel figured you two were close when he sees the two of you conversing when not performing. Although he's rarely heard you talk about her during the private sessions. Pixie's eyes turn to him as she sips on her water, her dark pink lipstick staining the straw.

“She's right, you do look like a puppy.”

He looks around, “I'm sorry?”

“Silk. She mentions how adorable you look. Like ‘Jess's baby’ adorable.”

“He’s a contender,” Jessica adds while pouring shots.

Miguel’s cheeks get dark at the compliment, “D-Does she talk about me?”

“All the time.” Pixie chuckles, “It's cute. And you're much better than her other regular.”

“Other regular?”

Jess groans out loud. “Do not bring him up. I am this close to banning his ass.”

“But you don't because you said he brings in money.” Ben chimes in, clearly knowing his boss so well.

“She never brings him up,” Miguel states, but why would she? He should've known that other people would want to see you as much as he does.

“For good reason,” Pixie finishes the rest of her drink before fully facing Miguel, “He sucks. He gets handsy but not enough to disrespect the rules. And he's rough. I've seen him kinda handle Silk almost like she's a doll.”

His stomach twists at the idea of a man like that being rough with you. The complete opposite of how he would handle you.

“We have Noir in the room though to make sure he doesn’t do too much.” Jess brings up, “But we end up getting five g’s from it so everybody wins.”

“And complimentary drinks.” Pixie grabs a shot with the rest of the patrons before downing it.

Miguel’s face twists. “He sounds rich.”

“I'd hope he is considering how much he says it.” Jessica rolls her eyes.

Your presence finally graces the bar when you hug Pixie from behind. You two locked eyes in a silent greeting earlier in the night before you took the stage. And he likes how your face lights up when you see him.

“What'd I miss?”

“Tell your man to stop playing twenty-one questions.” Jessica swiftly changes the conversation. He notices you don't even deny it, not getting offended.

“You got a problem with people being curious?”

“I don't as long as they pay more.”

That reminds Miguel to hand you the money for your dance. He admitted to you that he didn't like throwing money, but you told him to cut that mindset out so others wouldn't think he's all high and mighty. The two of you compromised him throwing some money and giving you the rest before he left. Hence why you poked your hip out towards him, letting him slide the money under your waistband.

“Ignore her.” Pixie backs him up, “He is so sweet, I get you completely.”

“I'm still here…” Miguel mutters under his glass while you two giggle.

He doesn't bring up his concerns about your other regular the same night. He sits with it, almost losing sleep at the thought of you being manhandled. You tended to hide your emotions around him and he wasn’t sure what was going to happen if he brought it up to you.

But he decides to tell you about it in your private room. Not willingly. He pretended to watch you dance while staying quiet, brows filled with thought. His ears drown out the beat of the music as he ponders. You plop down on his lap, snapping him out of it.

“My dance boring you, big guy?”

Miguel shook his head, “N-No! I'm sorry, I am watching.”

“Bull.” You fold your arms, “What you thinking about? Your face tells me everything I need to know.” He hesitates, running his sweaty palms along his pants. Miguel wasn’t sure if you'd get mad if he brings it up.

“It's nothing.” He gazes up at you, swallowing.

You squint at him, not believing him. “I told you I'm not your therapist.”

“I know.”

“So I don't care if you're not telling me anything.”

“I'm aware.”

You stand and he expects you to start dancing again. But you don't. Instead, you stare him down. Face full of seriousness, not wanting to continue to your dance until he told you. Miguel thought it was odd, given the fact you told him you didn't care.

“You might get mad at me.”

You squint, “What's wrong?”

“I…didn't know you had another regular.” He wants to look away, afraid that showing his true affection would scare you away. But he doesn’t and notices your form relax.

“Really? You know regulars are a thing, right?”

“I know, but the others were telling me that he gets rough and-” He pauses, not wanting to make the conversation worse.

“Honey, it's fine.” You placate yourself on his lap again. It was much smoother the second time, a sincere emotion in your eyes. “It's part of the job. And you know I wouldn't let anyone touch me like that.”

Miguel leans into your hand on his cheek, your thumb gently tracing it. “I don't like the idea of someone potentially hurting you.”

“Aww, you're worried about me?” He nods and you giggle, wrapping your arms around his neck. “Funny how a guy who doesn't touch me is worried about me.”

Miguel tugs at his pant legs. “I want to.”

“Then why don't you?” You slide your hands down his arms then to his hands, resting on top of them, “You haven't touched me since…” You don't say another word but he knows what you're referring to.

“I didn't want to lose control.”

“I don't bite.” He allows you to pick up his hands, placing them on your wonderful thighs. Miguel voluntarily squeezes the soft flesh while holding back a groan. “See? Doesn't that feel nice?”

“Yes.” He takes a deep breath when you guide him up to your stomach. It's warm to the touch when he experiences the small fat, and how it highlights fairly well against his large hands. Miguel freezes when you pull his hands up to your covered breasts. His pants getting tighter at the feel of you. God, he should be embarrassed.

“I know what your favorite part of me is.” Miguel lowers his head but you don't tolerate that, putting his head back up with the lift of your finger. “You wanna see them?”

He stutters, “C-Can you do that? Are…are you allowed to?”

“Tell me you've never been to a strip club without saying it.” You shake your head as you laugh. And he feels his face getting hot at the offer. “So? Yes or no?”

“Yes.”

You reach behind to unclasp your flashy, bikini top, pulling it off and tossing it aside. Miguel held in a breath as he saw your breasts in their glory. He creates a map of their appearance, admiring how your nipples fit perfectly along your areolas. Miniature bumps decorated around them. His first thought was to run his tongue across them and taste your wonderful skin. He inadvertently licked his lips.

“Ooh, don't do that…”

Miguel shifted, noticing how your low tone didn't match the meaning of your words, “I'm sorry.”

“Don’t be.” You lean forward and he wonders if you're going to kiss him. “Do that again.”

He licks his lips and you bite your own, vocalizing how much you like that. You grab his hands and place them on top of your breasts again -squeezing them to make sure he knows what you feel like. All while you rolled your hips along his erection. Miguel's breath came out shaky, holding himself back. You felt amazing. So perfect underneath his palms. He felt drops of cum leak out of his aching tip.

“We should stop…”

With his luck you stop your movements, “What's wrong? Are you uncomfortable?”

“No. I…” He sighs and removes his hands, “I want to respect the rules.”

“Hand jobs are fine, I told you this.”

Miguel shook his head, “No, not that.”

“Then…?” He runs his hand through his hair, his appearance becoming a bit unkempt. He didn’t want to explain. At least not yet.

“I need to go.”

He knew you were confused as you backed up, allowing him to make his leave. Not before he picked up your top and handed it to you. As well as your money. Miguel fixed his pants to make sure his erection wasn't prominent before saying goodbye to you.

Tag list: @miguelzslvtz @kitcatcrunch @nina-from-317 @slut4oscarissac23 @anythigbutmiguel

@moonlight00sthings @bajbr @freehentai @chubbybyunnie @ilikeowlsidkwhy

@questionable-behaviour

@imamexican @tatatida @aphinthestars @bluesidez @saintdiior

@prettygirlel @twinkdrakez

@vicravluv @brown-eyed-thang @peachipeachy @sonicbutbutter @mermaidian02

[sanguineterrain]

i'll put us back together at heart - s.h.

Summary: It's 1987. You haven't spoken to Steve Harrington in nearly five years. Then Dustin Henderson tells you about a sweet deal he has at Family Video, where he can rent any movie he wants.

Pairing: ex-best friend!Steve Harrington x fem!reader

Word count: 8.8k

Warnings/tags: friends to strangers to lovers. the reader is twenty in 1987 and i technically made steve twenty-one/about to turn twenty-one. s4 happened but eddie's alive and vecna's dead. no earthquakes or anything like that; reader has no idea about what really happened. lots of angst, mentions of billy hargrove (yuck) and steve's s1 asshole friends.

A/N: oh my lord. i don't know where this eighteen-wheeler of a fic came from but here it is. there is a happy ending, not to worry. i'd never do that to y'all <3 feedback and reblogs are always always appreciated!

divider by firefly-graphics

August 1981

"I wish we could stay eighth graders forever."

You lift your head from your orange pool floaty. Steve drifts on the surface of the water. His hair is longer, way longer than you've seen it in the three years you've been friends. He says it's better for styling that way; he's even bought a gel and cream for his hair. You don't understand why he wants to change something that doesn't need changing. 

"Why?" you ask. "I thought you were excited for high school."

He hums. The sound echoes in his backyard. 

"It's bigger than middle school. More kids, more teachers, more work. I like eighth grade."

"I'll help you with your work," you say. 

Steve turns his head and smiles at you. Part of his face is in the water, the image distorted. 

"You'll do great," he replies. "You're so smart."

Steve doesn't say those things to get you to help him like other kids do. Steve means it. 

"You'll do great too," you say. "You're funny and nice and my best friend. People will like you."

"You think?" 

You nod. Steve turns his head and closes his eyes again. 

"We'll stay friends, right?" he asks. 

The floaty squeaks as you move to sit up. You paddle to Steve so you can look at his face. 

"Why wouldn't we?"

"I dunno." His eyes are still closed. "You might make super smart friends. And I'll just be a dumbass holding you back."

You shove Steve's shoulder lightly. 

"You are not dumb, Steve."

One muggy June night had had Steve admit he wasn't thirteen, like you and all the kids in your class, but fourteen. He had been held back in third grade after his parents moved from Illinois. It's why my brain's mush, he'd said. I was born dumb.

He had made you swear not to tell anyone. 

"You're not dumb," you say again. "Say it, Steve. Say you're not dumb."

His frown deepens, but he still won't look at you. 

"Tommy says I am."

"Tommy Hagan is a shithead," you shoot back with so much venom, Steve's eyes fly open. "It's not true, whatever he tells you."

You hate that they've been hanging out more this summer. You can't tell Steve that, because it's not like you own him. He can be friends with whoever he wants. But you can't help that your skin crawls when Tommy and his stupid girlfriend, Carol, drops by and pulls Steve away from you. 

“Promise?” he asks.

“Yes, Steve. I promise.”

“‘Kay.” Steve smiles a little. “Thanks.” 

You nod and lay back on the floaty. 

“Wanna get ice cream after this?” he asks. 

“Just us?” 

“Just us.”

Now. (January, 1987)

You slam the phone back onto the receiver. A girl playing Pac-Man carefully glances at you. 

Whoops. Right. You're still at work. 

You smile and give a thumbs-up. She turns around. You return to your wallowing. 

You’ve called three different video rentals. Jewel Films, which is about to go out of business; More Movies, whose attendant hung up on you before you could say Molly Ringwald; and finally, Blockbuster, which is thirty minutes outside of Hawkins. None of them have a copy of Pretty in Pink. 

And okay. You could just watch another movie. You don't need that specific one. But this year has been shit. You'd thought after starting college, you'd finally break out of the Hawkins forcefield that had limited your social life. You'd thought you'd make friends and not be so terribly lonely. Life is supposed to get better after high school, isn’t it? 

Obviously, whoever said that is a big, fat liar. 

“Dude!” you hear a familiar voice exclaim. “Stop hogging the game!”

Tawny curls peek from under a green and yellow hat. The hat hovers over an older boy who’s glued to the Tempest booth. You go to them. Dustin Henderson lights up when he sees you. You can read his hat now; it says Camp Know Where ‘85.

“Hey, Y/N!” he greets brightly. “This guy has been here for a half hour. I left to get nachos and when I came back, he was still here.”

“I’m this close to beating my score!” the kid insists.

“Come on, guy," you say, one arm on the machine. "You gotta give other people a turn."

The kid, evidently demon incarnate, sneers at you.

“Who’s gonna make me? You?” 

You lean against the side of the game, considering.

“How old are you?”

“Sixteen,” he says.

You snort. 

“Sixteen? And you’re still on Tempest?”

He glances at you. 

“So?”

“Everybody your age is playing Rampage, that’s all.” 

You wink at Dustin. He beams.

“And, uh, I saw a couple girls hanging around Rampage,” you add. 

The kid turns to you. You tilt your head innocently. 

“Seriously?” he asks.

“Seriously. People always flock to the new games.”

Which is true. The girls part is not, but he doesn’t need to know that. With that attitude, he won't be getting many phone numbers anyway. 

You drum your fingers on the game like you have all the time in the world. And sure enough, the kid takes his quarters and heads towards Rampage. Dustin jumps in delight. 

“You’re awesome, Y/N!" 

You grin. “I try. Where are the others?”

Dustin sours.

“They ditched me. To hang out with their girlfriends! Can you believe that shit?” 

“No way!"

He shakes his head.

“I know, right? My friend told me that that’s what happens in high school. People change, y’know? And he’d know, I guess. He’s old like you.”

You scoff. “You make me sound like some kind of ancient. I��m not that old, Henderson.”

“It’s okay, Y/N.” He pats your arm. “In many cultures, the elderly are wise. Now in my experience, this hasn’t been the case. But I think you’re wise.”

“Gee, thanks.”

Dustin smiles like the little shit he is and puts his change in the slot. 

“Well, contrary to what this other friend says, I’m sure it’ll pass,” you say. “You guys will hang out again." 

You swallow your acidic truth. Dustin's a good kid, and so are his friends. You don't want him to turn cynical like you have. He's too young. 

Dustin shrugs, starting the game.

“I guess so. I got a copy of The Lost Boys for us to watch on Friday. They said they’ll be there.”

“Whoa, seriously? That one just came out, how’d you get a copy?”

“My friend,” he says. “The one I mentioned. He works at Family Video and reserves stuff for me.”

“Huh. I thought Family Video was closed."

You'd applied to work there last year and never got a call back. You'd gone by once and it had looked abandoned. Hence why you now work at the arcade across town. 

"It almost did, but Keith took over so now it's barely scraping by."

"Ah. Sweet deal on the movies."

“Yeah,” Dustin agrees, eyes crinkling. “My friend's pretty cool. You'd like him."

"Would I now?"

"Absolutely," he gushes. "He's a total badass too. He won his first fight last year. He used to be a jock but he's recovered." 

"Wow. Impressive."

"Mmhm. I could ask him to hold stuff for you too, if you wanted.”

“You would?”

The game makes a sad game over noise. Dustin sighs and takes a gulp of his slushie.

“Yeah, totally,” he says through a mouthful of blue raspberry ice. “Which one do you want?”

“Pretty in Pink? I missed it in theaters."

“Sure. I’ll tell him to hold it tonight and tomorrow you can pick it up.”

“Cool. Thanks, Dustin.”

Dustin gives you an apple-cheeked grin.

“Gotta stay in good graces with the arcade attendant who lets me play Tempest as long as I want.”

"I don't know what you're talking about," you say, walking away. "Don't get slushie on the game."

"'Kay!"

Dustin only gets a little bit of slushie on the game, but he cleans it up with about a million of the cheap snack bar napkins. When he leaves, he tells you to mention his name at Family. 

"Who do I ask for?" 

"You can talk to either of them," Dustin says. "Doesn't matter. Except Keith. You know Keith, right?"

"Unfortunately.” Keith used to terrorize the arcade before he blessedly moved on. “He works there?"

"Barely." Dustin scoffs. "He's almost never there, so don't worry. And feel free to ask for more movies. They owe me one."

Your sole interactions are with professors and a gaggle of high school freshmen. But now you get to watch any movie you want. Maybe this year won't totally suck. 

The bell rings pleasantly as you step inside. There's a few people on line, so you take your time walking in. There's a movie display with about thirty copies of RoboCop. A cardboard cutout of RoboCop stares back behind his red helmet.

"Can I help who's next?"

You go to the counter. A girl about your age with a choppy haircut smiles at you but it's sort of strained. She has a pin on her green work vest that says Ask me!

"Please don't ask for Adventures in Babysitting," she says. 

"Oh. No, I'm, uh, Dustin's friend?" 

You can't believe you're name-dropping a high schooler. 

She nods in realization. 

"Oh, yeah. God, I keep telling that dweeb not to promise holds."

You wince. 

"Sorry. If it's going to get you in trouble…"

Her brows raise. She smiles a bit. 

"No, it's okay. Usually my coworker deals with it but, well. He's taking an extra long break today. So, what movie was it?"

"Pretty in Pink," you say. 

"Classic," she replies. "John Hughes fan?"

"Somewhat. I didn't get to see it in theaters. I like Molly Ringwald."

She grins.

"Me too. She's pretty."

"Super pretty," you agree. 

The girl considers you, then sticks out her hand. 

"I'm Robin," she says. "Nice to meet you."

You take her hand. "Y/N.”

"Did you go to Hawkins High?"

"I did. Graduated last year."

"Oh, cool. Are you in college?"

You nod. 

"Hawkins State. Twenty minutes from here."

"Sweet! I'm taking a gap year, but afterwards, I’m gonna apply there. It's cheap. College is college, right?"

"College is college," you agree. "But I wish I'd gone away for school."

You don't know why you're telling her this. You've known Robin for all of two minutes. But she seems friendly. And her sense of style is cool. She wears a blue blazer and tie underneath her vest. 

"How come?" she asks. 

"Everybody from Hawkins is there," you say. "And I… I just want a new start."

Robin smiles sympathetically. 

"They're jerks," she says. 

You huff. "Yeah."

You'd turned yourself into a social recluse a million years ago. It's your own damn fault you can't befriend anybody in this town. At least, not anymore. 

Robin types into the computer, then smacks the monitor. She groans. 

"Ugh. Gimme a second," she says. "Stupid technology."

"No problem," you say, smiling. You like her. Maybe you can integrate Family Video into your regular routine, become friends. You can see Robin becoming a good friend. One you wouldn't grow apart from. 

She disappears into the back room. You browse the old releases and stop at Die Hard. This one you saw in theaters. John McClane is a badass. 

You think of Dustin, and his supposedly badass new friend. It's too bad you didn't meet today. Dustin has a good sense about people. If he says so, it's possible you and this friend really would get on. 

The bell rings again. You're slow to look up. The entrance is empty when you do. You keep reading about John McClane's adventures. 

"Have you been waiting long?"

You turn at the new voice. The video slips out of your hand and clatters onto the counter. 

Steve’s hair has grown since you last saw it. He looks different too, though he has yet to break out of his signature church boy polos. There's a smattering of stubble on his jaw. His arms are lean with muscle. He wears a matching work vest like Robin's, name tag printed Steve in blocky font. 

He looks at where you've dropped Die Hard and smiles. 

"This is a good one," he says. "John McClane is a total badass."

You blink.

"Did you want to rent that one?" he continues, meeting your eye. 

"No," you manage. 

"Okay, no problem. Just browsing?" 

He doesn't remember you. 

You stare and stare. Steve leans in, concerned. He's changed, but he hasn't. He's still handsome with his swoopy hair and big, dark eyes, but the Steve you knew wouldn't have been caught dead working at a video store.

And he doesn't remember you. 

"Are you okay?" he asks, sounding genuine.

You take a step back from the counter. The blood roars in your ears. Robin comes back in, Pretty in Pink in hand. She looks at you, then at Steve. 

"Got it!" she tells you. "Computer should work now."

"I have to go," you say. 

You don't look at Steve again, instead focusing on Robin. 

Her brows rise. 

"Oh. Is everything—"

"I forgot my wallet," you blurt. "I can't pay for the movie. Sorry."

"That's okay, we can just—"

You run. The bell chimes over her words. You keep running until you get to the bus stop, three blocks away. 

Only there do you stop to catch your breath. 

And then you cry. 

February 1982

"What do you think about Marie?" 

You look up from your textbook. Steve is doodling in the margins of his notes. You gently prod his arm. He returns to reading but his leg starts to bounce under the table. 

"Marie Iverson?" you ask.

"Yeah." 

Steve glances at you. He pushes his hair back. It had taken him freshman year to get his bearings with all the gels and creams, but now, his hair is a point of pride, always perfectly coiffed. Seniors call him "The Hair" and high-five him in the hallway. You hate it. 

"I don't know. I don't know her that well."

"She's cute." 

"I guess so," you say. 

It's harder to get Steve to focus on homework these days. Last year, he happily made flashcards with you and even bought fancy gel pens to share for your notes. Now, he prefers to talk about girls or—

"I was thinking of asking her out."

The tip of your pencil breaks. You really ought to start using pens, but you don't like being unable to erase. 

"Shit, here. Take mine." 

Steve offers his still perfectly sharpened pencil. You stare at it. 

"Y/N?" 

"Yeah." You take the pencil. "Thanks."

"Sure. So what do you think?" 

"I don't know, Steve. I thought you talked about this stuff with Tommy."

"I would, it's just…" Steve shifts uncomfortably. "He can be rude about it sometimes. He doesn't even get why we're friends, y'know? Doesn't understand why I don't just date you."

Tommy is a moron, but you've said that since last year, and Steve's never listened before. 

"Some people don't get it," you say mildly, because you have an upcoming French test and there's no use in getting upset over Tommy Hagan right now. 

"But you do. And you know about this stuff better than me. Girls and all."

"Just because I'm a girl doesn't mean I know what girls are best for you to date, Steve. It's weird to talk about."

Steve deflates. 

"Oh. Yeah, I guess so. Sorry."

You sigh and rub your temple. 

"I thought you knew all about that," you say, extending an olive branch. "Asking girls out and stuff."

"Well, I mean, I've kissed girls but I've never… you're, like, the only girl I really know."

Something like pride swells in your chest. Selfishly, you want to keep Steve. You don't want to help him if it means losing him. Oh, you're so greedy, aren't you? You watch Steve run off with Tommy and Carol and nameless seniors and seethe, because Steve was yours first. Steve is yours.

"Y/N?"

"Yeah." You give him back his pencil and fish for another one in your bag. "Did you ever think about writing how you feel?" 

"Writing?"

"Yeah, like a poem or a letter."

"I'm terrible at writing," Steve laments. "The letters get all jumbled and I never spell a damn thing right."

He'd told his mom once how letters melt into each other, how b's become d's. She'd taken him to get his eyes checked, and when the doctor said Steve was fine, Deborah Harrington had told her son to stop begging for attention. 

"Someone who really likes you won't care about spelling mistakes, Steve," you tell him. "As long as you write from the heart. Don't do that cheesy shit and quote Romeo and Juliet. They're young, impulsive, and they die at the end, and that's not romantic."

Steve laughs, nose scrunched. 

"What!" you demand. "What's so funny?"

"Nothing, 's just—of course you'd have something to say about quoting Shakespeare."

"It's overdone," you say, crinkling your nose. "And girls would much rather read your own words." 

"So you think I should write Marie a letter?"

"If you really like her," you say. "Only write letters for girls you really like. Otherwise they lose their meaning."

Steve frowns. "I don't know if I should write her a letter, then."

Don't, you want to say. Don't write any of them letters.

You shuffle your papers into a stack. 

"Can we study now?" you ask.

"Oh, sure, yes. Sorry."

"You don't have to keep apologizing, Steve."

He shifts closer to you. His leg has stopped bouncing.

"Lemme take you out," he says. 

You nearly swallow your tongue. 

"Wh–what?"

"For ice cream," Steve clarifies. "Like we used to. Dairy Queen."

"Oh. Okay, sure. But after we study."

Steve beams. "I'll drive you."

Steve's dad had bought him the BMW as a birthday present this year—not that Richard Harrington actually knows when his own son's birthday is, considering the gift was three months early. Still, it's another point of pride for Steve and about all anybody talks about whenever his name comes up. Steve is the only person in your grade with a car. Junior girls hit him up for rides. You make yourself scarce when they do. 

You don't care. You liked Steve before the car. And the clothes. And the hair. 

Your throat feels tight. You want your best friend back. 

"Just us?" you check. 

You can't tell these days. Steve seems to hang out with everybody but you. You're shocked he'd even asked to study together. 

"Oh, sure," Steve says. "I just have to drop off Tommy and Carol first, okay?" 

You check your watch and close your book. 

"I have class," you lie. "I'll see you later." 

Steve catches your wrist. He looks at you and you're struck by how sweet his face is. It's not like you didn't understand why girls want him but it's Steve. Your Steve, who still sleeps with a nightlight and who framed a picture of a sports car he cut out from a magazine because he'd thought it would make him cooler (it didn't. You still tease him about it.) 

"Please," he says. "For helping me."

Your eyes slit. "I didn't help you to get stuff, Steve. I helped you because you're my friend."

Steve blinks like he's forgotten what it's like to be friends with someone just for the sake of being friends. 

"You're right," he agrees. "You're not like that. I'll tell Tommy and Carol to find another ride. It'll be just us. I promise."

You perk up at that. "Really?"

"Really. You can sit in the front with me and we'll play Bruce Springsteen, like we used to. Please?" 

"Okay, Steve." You ache. You’ve never been very good at telling him no. "I'll meet you in the parking lot."

And maybe… maybe your best friend is still in there after all.

Now

You ask your shift manager if you can work at the snack bar today. It's in the back and you won't have to deal with any game hogs. 

"You didn't put enough syrup in my slushie."

You might have overshot the perks, though. 

Slushie Girl's hair is bleach blonde and hairsprayed to God. You want to tell her that all that hairspray doesn't keep friends. Or brain synapses. 

"I don't make the slushie," you say for the third time. "That's how it comes out of the machine."

She shoots you a mean look. 

"I'm complaining to the manager."

You paste on a smile. 

"You do that. Have a nice day."

She finally walks away, probably on the hunt for your manager, who's definitely smoking a joint outside to avoid this exact situation. 

Dustin comes around the corner and this time, he's with the rest of his party. You smile. 

"Hey, Y/N!" Dustin greets.

Lucas waves at you. Max and Mike are arguing and therefore are in their own world. And there's their newest addition, El, whose story you're still not clear on, as well as Will, quiet as always. 

You lean your elbows on the countertop. 

"What'll it be, gang?"

"Six nachos and six slushies, please. One blue raspberry, three cherry, and two Coke."

You fill up the slushies first. Dustin dances on his toes. 

"So did you pick up the movie?" he asks.

"Oh." You try to smile. "I went there but I couldn't. I forgot my money. Pretty dumb of me."

Dustin accepts this with no argument. 

"Well, you can go back. They'll hold it for a few days."

You're never setting foot in there again, but you don't tell Dustin that. 

He takes his slushie and immediately starts drinking. 

"Slow down, dude. You'll get a brain freeze," you say. 

"You sound like Steve," Dustin informs you. "Doesn't Y/N sound like Steve?" 

Lucas nods. 

"Yup. They're both parents."

You feel queasy. You focus on making the nachos, the cheese pouring out thick and gooey. 

"Did you meet Steve?" Dustin asks. "You probably know him from high school, but he's different now."

"Yes," you say quietly. "I knew him."

"I promise he's different. Even Mike likes him, and Mike hated his guts. Right, Mike?"

Mike pauses in his animated discussion with Max and looks at you. 

"What?"

"I'm telling Y/N about how Steve is cool now," Dustin explains. 

"Oh." Mike shrugs. "He's fine. Much better now that he's not dating my sister."

"He's not?" you ask. "But they were in love. I–I mean, that's what I heard, at least."

"She dumped his ass," El says, and it sounds a little ridiculous in her soft monotone. 

Max scoffs, taking her Coke slushie. 

"Did you live under a rock? It was a huge thing."

"Now Steve is lame," Mike says with a snort. 

"Getting dumped doesn't make somebody lame," you say with an old ferocity you'd thought had disappeared. 

"Okay, jeez." Mike holds up his hands. "Steve's alright. He's different, that's for sure."

"He's our paladin," Lucas says. "A protector." 

Dustin nods eagerly.

You blink. "He protects you guys?"

Max elbows Lucas. You have no idea what that's about. El steps forward and smiles softly. 

"Yes," she says. "He's our babysitter."

"Aren't you guys freshmen? I thought you were too old for babysitters."

"Oh no, Steve doesn't get paid for it or anything," says Mike. "He just does it 'cause he has nothing else to do."

"That's not true!" Dustin argues. Then he shrugs. "Well, it's a little true. But he does like us. He's a good guy. He cares about his friends."

You bite your tongue, not wanting to reply to that. 

"That's great, guys. The girl, Robin? She seems pretty cool too."

"That's Steve's best friend," says Dustin. "She's great."

"Oh." You wince. "Best friend?" 

Dustin huffs. “Yeah. They don’t date. He won’t say why."

"Platonic with a capital P," Max confirms. “It’s obviously because he’s in love with somebody else.”

“Not Nancy!” Lucas protests.

“There are other girls besides Nancy, Sinclair.”

You busy yourself with serving the last set of nachos. The kids pull out crumpled bills and coins in return. You count the money and stack it directly into the register; you know there won't be any change. 

When you turn, they're still there. Dustin has his signature grin on, eyes squinty. 

"Yeees," you drag out. "Can I help you?"

"We need a favor," Lucas says. "Please."

"Hmm." You lean over the counter. "What's up?"

"They're showing Prince of Darkness on Friday," Dustin explains. "But it's rated R."

"So just sneak in. Isn't that what you guys did at Starcourt?" you ask.

"We had an inside man then. They're a lot stricter at the new one," Lucas frowns. "They ask for IDs 'cause some mom complained after her kid snuck in to watch Risky Business." 

"And why can't your babysitter take you?"

You sneer at the thought. Steve spending his Friday nights herding a bunch of adolescent teens into a movie theater. There's a reason you consider Dustin affectionately delusional. 

"He has a stupid date," Dustin groans. "He's a serial dater, Y/N. It's terrible. He gets lucky once and totally ditches us."

Now that sounds like the Steve you knew. 

"I see. I don't really like horror stuff."

"You don't have to stay!" Dustin insists. "You can watch whatever you want after we’re in. I'll pay you back for the ticket."

“This would be so much easier if Steve still worked at Scoops,” Mike grumbles.

You blank for a moment, the image of Steve in a sailor’s hat and those ridiculous shorts whiting your brain.

“Um,” you begin. “You know I don’t have a fancy BMW to cart you guys around in, right?”

“It’s cool. We’ll get there,” Max says.

“So?” Dustin bounces on his toes. “Sooo?”

You sigh. It’d been nice of Dustin to get you the movie, even though you’d chickened out and ran. And it’s not like you have anything better to do.

“Okay,” you say. “I’ll get you guys in.”

Dustin pumps his fist. “Thanks, Y/N! You’re my favorite old person.”

You roll your eyes. “Funny. Any funnier, and I might rescind my help, Henderson.”

“Byeeee!”

They all disperse to the arcade. You wonder how on earth Steve got involved with them.

March 1983

“Okay, but if you had to choose.”

“Pass. I would literally rather swallow pennies than kiss Principal Coleman’s bald-ass head, Steve.”

Steve takes a triumphant swig of beer. “So you’re saying you’ve got the hots for Benny the janitor.”

“No!” you insist through giggles. “I don’t. God, you’re gross. Can’t believe I’m being treated like this on your birthday.”

“Exactly! My birthday.”

He rolls onto his side in his deck chair and nearly faceplants on the cement. You reach out, reaction time delayed.

“Steve!” you yell. “Careful.”

“I am, I am,” he mumbles, and rights himself on the chair. “Jus’ wanna see you better.”

“I keep telling you you need glasses.”

“I do not,” he whines. “My vision’s ten outta ten. Could a guy who needs glasses do this?”

He crumples up a Twinkies wrapper and throws it towards the garbage. The wind picks up and sends the wrapped into the pool. 

“Shit,” he says.

You belly laugh in delight.

“Wait, wait, redo. Go fish it outta there.”

“Oh, as if. I’m not going in there. I told you you need glasses. Even Mother Nature agrees.”

"She does not. Mother Nature thinks I'm a doll."

You hum and close your eyes. Alcohol always makes you sleepy. 

The chair scrapes against the concrete. You hear a crinkle of a chip bag. Those are your only warning before you’re crushed by two hundred pounds of drunk boy. 

“Steve!” You wheeze, squirming as his hair tickles your face. “Get off!”

"’M sleepy,” he mumbles.

“Well, don't sleep on me, weirdo.”

“‘S cold.”

“You run, like, a hundred degrees, don’t lie.”

He lifts his head. “So you’re saying I’m hot?”

“I’m saying all that booze cooked your brain,” you reply sweetly.

“I’ve been wounded,” he moans and plops onto your shoulder.

“Ugh.” You resign to your fate and lean back. Steve’s not actually that heavy; even drunk, he has a lot of control over his weight and he’s situated himself so he isn’t crushing anything important. No, you squirm underneath him for a very different reason. 

“Steeeeve,” you whine. “You’re gonna squish me into a pancake.”

“Can’t believe no one else came.”

You still. Steve’s face remains buried in your shoulder. His body is beside yours, and he has an arm slung over your belly.

“I didn’t—didn’t want a party,” he continues. “I always throw parties. I thought I’d do somethin’ different. An’ none of them even wished me a happy birthday. ‘Cept you.”

You rest your hand on the back of his hair. It’s wind-blown and messy from the drinks, free of his heady hair gel. You’ve never loved it more.

“Did you tell them your birthday is today?” you ask gently, even though you know he did.

“Yeah,” he says. “Told all of ‘em. Guess they weren’t listening.”

“I listen.”

Steve looks up at you. His eyes are glassy.

“God, I miss you,” he says.

You feel the wall you’ve built this year crumble, just a little. 

“I’m right here, Steve.”

“I know but—been a jerk lately. I know I have. You’re my best friend, okay? Nothing’ll change that. I–I love you so much.”

Your breath hitches. Steve barrels on, not noticing.

“And I’ll be better. We’ll hang out more. Not–not here, drunk. But for real. We’ll go to the movies. Y’wanna see a movie?”

“Yeah,” you whisper. “I wanna see a movie.”

“‘Kay, what movie? Anything you want. We’ll get popcorn and Raisinets.”

“You hate Raisinets,” you choke through a watery laugh.

“I’d eat Raisinets anytime with you.”

You lay there, in the dark, the only sound being the pool filter.

“Let’s watch the new James Bond.”

“Hmm, okay. But you’ll have to say the name eventually.”

Your nose crinkles. “I am not calling it by its name.”

His laugh is warm in your neck. 

You don’t tell Steve to get up again. He snuggles into you, leg over yours. You fall asleep like that, curled underneath him.

Now

“Wait.” Max stops. “Shouldn’t we have, like, a game plan?”

“Game plan?” El asks quietly.

“Yeah. Some of us aren’t so great at playing it cool.”

She stares at Lucas.

“I play it cool!” he squawks. “I am so cool!”

“Right.”

“Just let Y/N do the talking,” Will says. “She’s technically the adult so she should act like this is a conscious choice.”

You shrug. “Makes sense to me.”

Dustin beams. “This is gonna be great!”

“Or a total disaster,” Max says.

You go to the counter, the kids trailing behind like ducklings.

“Six tickets for Prince of Darkness, please,” you say. “And uh, one for Dirty Dancing.”

The attendant looks at you, then at the kids.

“Don’t you mean seven tickets for Prince of Darkness?” she asks. “It’s rated R.”

Shit. “Right, yes. Sorry. Seven tickets. And one for Dirty Dancing. We have another friend who’s late.”

“Uh-huh.” 

The attendant, whose bored expression you’ve recognized on your own face after long days in the arcade, hands you your tickets without any questioning. 

“I think we’re in the clear,” Lucas whispers when you enter the concession area. 

You wait for them to buy their snacks. Max persuades Lucas to let her mix M&Ms into their bucket of popcorn. He agrees and shuffles closer so they’re pressed shoulder to shoulder while they share. 

“Okay, last stretch,” Mike says, shoveling a frighteningly large handful of sour worms into his mouth. “We just have to get past the ticket guy.”

Said ticket guy is a kid who can’t be much older than you. You think you might’ve gone to school together, but you’ve made it a point to eviscerate everything about high school from your mind.

“Hey,” you say, trying to act cool. Maybe you’re the one Max should’ve been worried about, instead of Lucas. “Uh, here are our tickets.”

He takes the tickets, then looks behind you.

“Prince of Darkness is only for people seventeen and older,” he says.

“I’m an adult, so I’m with them,” you explain. “I’m, like, their guardian?”

“Yeah, uh—” He hands you your tickets. “No can do. There needs to be an adult for each person under seventeen.”

“Come on,” you cajole. “They’re high schoolers. It’s not like they’re gonna be scarred for life watching some zombies, or whatever.”

He shrugs. “Rules are rules.”

“She’s an adult!” Dustin argues.

“Look, if you’re gonna hold up the line, I’m gonna have to—”

“Yo, Gillespie! That you?”

Dustin turns and lights up. The seven of you part for Steve Harrington and his date, a pretty strawberry blonde you think you had biology with.

“Harrington, man, what’s up!” 

Ticket Prick gets up to slam Steve into a bear hug. You barely resist an eye roll.

“Shit, I haven’t seen you in a year! Where’ve you been all this time? Hey, did you hear about that shit with Munson?”

Steve flinches. It’s a tiny movement, indiscernible to the trained eye. But it’s there all the same.

“Gillespie, c’mon. Don’t bring the party down with that,” Steve says, all sweet charm. 

“Sorry, sorry. Daisy,” he greets the girl attached to Steve’s arm.

“Gil,” she replies with a giggle. “You smell like popcorn butter.”

America’s future taxpayers. Terrifying. 

“Are you gonna let us in or not?” Max interrupts, arms folded. 

You feel a burst of pride.

Gil shoots her a dirty glare and puffs up, ready to fight a fourteen year old. Steve cuts in smoothly.

“Gillespie, listen. I know her.” He points to you. You bristle. “I can personally vouch that she’s just trying to do right by these kids. They wanted to see Prince of Darkness, y’know? Get away from the parents.”

“It’s a sick film,” Gil agrees. “You seen it?”

No, of course Steve hadn’t seen it. He hates horror. 

“Planning on it,” Steve says, the ultimate image of playing it cool. “Look, you remember sneaking into the movies. Fast Times? Ring any bells?”

Max rolls her eyes. You’re inclined to do the same.

Gil laughs dopily, and nudges Steve. “Hell yeah, I do. That was a crazy night, Harrington.”

Steve smiles thinly. “Sure was. So whaddya say? For old times’ sake?”

Gil considers your little troupe. Then he shrugs.

“Why not. Manager’s not here anyway.”

He takes the tickets and tears them to stubs, then gives them back.

“Theater six. On your left. Enjoy.”

The kids stampede into the left theater wing. You hang back with your own ticket. 

“Appreciate it, man,” Steve says, all smiles. “Take care, alright?”

“Hey, you too, Harrington! We gotta catch up!”

Steve and Daisy go in. You expect them to walk right past you, and Daisy does, predictably. But Steve stops.

“I’ll catch up, okay?” he tells her. “Find us some good seats?”

She paws at him a little, then goes, sodas in hand. You stiffen as Steve walks and stops three feet away from you. 

“Hey,” he says. “Sorry about that. Gil’s an asshole.”

“I know. He yawned during my poetry reading sophomore year. And then you guys went to the movies together.”

Steve shrinks. “Your poems were great.”

You’re suddenly exhausted.

“What do you want, Steve?”

“I just… I wanted to see you. Say hi.”

“Okay.” You cross your arms. “Hi.”

“You forgot your movie,” he says. “The other day.”

“I didn’t want it that much.”

“Dustin said you looked everywhere for it.”

“Well, in the end, it didn’t really matter,” you say. “Not enough to stay.”

“Y/N—”

“I think your date’s waiting for you,” you interrupt. “Better get back to her. Wouldn’t want to taint your reputation.”

Steve makes a noise like he’s been wounded. You turn on your heel before you can think better of it. 

“Wait.” He catches your wrist. Steve’s grip is light, like you’re something precious to hold. You wrench your arm away. “Y/N, I want to apologize. I’m sorry.”

“For what?” you ask. “For forgetting me? I didn’t expect you to remember, Steve.”

“I didn’t forget you,” he insists. “I could never forget you. I wasn’t—please, can I just explain?”

“I don’t need your explanations,” you snap. The hurt corrodes your tongue like acid. “I know what happened. We were both there. You left.”

Steve’s eyes are huge and dark. He looks like you just stabbed him in the heart, and that makes you feel worse. You’d thought telling him how much it hurts would put you back together, but all it did was break you more.

So you run. Again. 

You slam through a back exit and rip your ticket into a million pieces. The wind is cold and unforgiving. Your eyes sting. 

You call out sick for two days in a row. You kind of expect to get fired, but then again, people have been leaving Hawkins and if you’re not here to serve the masses their slushies, who will be?

So, after lying in bed not thinking about movies and strawberry blonde girls and how sick you are of this town, you get up and put on your arcade vest.

Now it is two in the afternoon. You’d heard it was supposed to snow today.

Robin eyes the snack counter like it holds the next plague outbreak. You don't blame her; you make it a point to wash up to your elbows after work.

"Slushie?"

She looks at you like she’d forgotten you were there. "What?"

You point a thumb at the machine. "Are you here for a slushie?"

"Oh. No, sorry. Red dye makes me insane in the brain. Steve actually—"

Robin stops, grimaces. So he's told her. Probably everything, if the kids had been telling the truth. 

You're honestly surprised she's here. Unless it’s to, like, swirlie you in the vat of artificial cheese. 

"Are you here to drown me in nacho cheese?" you ask.

Robin's eyes go wide as dinner plates. "What? No!"

"Just checking." You lean against the counter. "What can I do for you, Robin?" 

Robin suddenly looks like she's never interacted with a human being before. You like her a lot. Steve probably does too. 

"I came to drop off your movie." She holds the tape over the counter like it's a pool of lava. 

"But I didn't pay for it." You shove your hand in your jean pocket; you only have a couple dollars on you. "I guess I can get you the money tom—"

"It's on the house. For a fellow Molly fan."

Robin wiggles the tape with two fingers. You take it and wait for a catch. There is none. 

"Thank you," you say. "You didn't have to do that."

"Actually, it wasn't me," she confesses. "I'm just the mailman."

You prepare to hand it back but Robin shakes her head. 

"He's not going to pop out of the slushie machine, okay? He's just trying to make it up to you."

"He doesn't need to make it up to me," you bite, except those aren’t the words you mean. "Why does he even care? We're not in high school anymore."

Robin smiles a sad smile. 

"I know," she says. "We’re not. I know he should've known to fix things earlier. He's received a lot of blows to the head, though, so he's still catching up."

The thought turns your stomach. More? More you weren’t there to protect him from?

"He doesn't owe me anything," you say and wave the tape again. "You can take it back and leave it for somebody else."

"Y/N, I know we don't know each other, like, at all. But it's important to me you know that Steve cares about you, because you’re important to him. And you knew him way before I did, and you probably know a lot of stuff I don't, and that's good because he has a friend like me, but he should also have a friend like you too, Y/N."

"I don't want to be his friend," you mumble. 

"Yeah," Robin says. "I figured. But I don't think that's a confession he should hear secondhand."

You look at her, stunned. She's such a clever girl. You hope she treats Steve well.

"If you two are—"

"We're not," she says, like this is a regular explanation she goes through. "Steve and I are friends. Steve has crashed and burned with every single date since his fall from regency. Steve is the best person I've ever met." 

"Yeah, I’ve heard. You and Dustin are his biggest fans."

Robin snorts. "Trust me, I'm not proud of it."

You shake your head. Your eyes feel hot. 

"This town is so shit," you say. 

"Yeah," Robin agrees. "It really fucking is. But I'm not asking you to give this town a second chance. Just him."

"Why are you trying so much?" you ask. "You don't even know me."

Robin shrugs. "No, but you're the one person Steve used to be friends with who's not an asshole, and I think us non-assholes need to band together."

"I can sometimes be an asshole."

"Me too. So are those little dweebs. How about calling ourselves the Semi-Assholes Club?" 

You laugh. "We'll get jackets."

"With partially drawn butts on the backs," Robin says with a giggle. 

You look at the tape in your hand. 

"Does Steve like John Hughes?" 

"He does. He's a total sap for those. He thinks he's in his own coming-of-age movie because he's delusional."

He sounds perfect. He sounds like the friend you loved. 

"I did want to watch this one," you say. 

"It won't hurt you to," Robin promises. 

You suppose not.

December 1984

You don't believe the whispers. All week, the rumor mill spins tales of Billy Hargrove finally pushing the King off his throne. There's no way he'll show his face, a girl at the adjacent lunch table astutes. I sure as fuck wouldn't.

Steve Harrington is a loser. Steve Harrington got dumped for Jonathan Byers. Steve Harrington may as well be dead, and on and on. 

Every line gets you angrier. A boy who sits behind you in chemistry taps his pencil like he always does. Tap, tap, tap. 

Halfway through class, you snap at him to quit it. He does, but not without a tinge of embarrassment. You’re so angry this year. Angry at your loneliness, angry at the unfairness of said loneliness. You might’ve done this to yourself, and that fact only gets you angrier.

You see Nancy Wheeler in the hallways with Jonathan Byers, and the confirmation of that rumor should make you happy. It doesn't. 

A week later, most of the excitement has died down. Everybody’s moved onto the next big thing, which is to deduce who fucked in Vice Principal White's office. One look at V.P. White, and it had been decided that it can't have been White himself. 

You can't care less. Once upon a time you might’ve laughed about it with a friend, but you don't have any more of those, and high school is bullshit with or without them. So.

Steve walks in twenty five minutes into the period. Mrs. Kaplan gives him a downright beastly glare and demands to know where he had been. 

"I'm sorry," is all he says. "If you give me detention, I understand."

There are a few snickers that rub at an old hurt, one that had flared up whenever somebody dared to make fun of your best friend. It doesn't bother me, he'd said, and you'd known it was a lie. 

It bothers me, you’d replied, and Steve had hugged you tight.

Mrs. Kaplan seems more stunned Steve hadn't swaggered past her like a peacock escaped from the zoo and lets him go sit down without a fight. He takes the only empty desk, two rows across from you. You stare. You can't not. 

Half of his face looks like it was mashed in a garbage disposal. It's purple and a sickly yellow. His eye and lip are still swollen. You stare and stare. You feel queasy. 

Billy had done that. You're so angry. You think you might never get past this grief, this loss of a once permanent fixture in your life. 

No one wished Steve a happy birthday this year, you realize out of nowhere.

You stare and stare and stare until Steve looks right back. You're blindsided by thick guilt, like blinking through a milkshake. And then the familiar curl of anger returns because why the fuck should you feel guilty? You aren't the one who fucked everything up, who mascerated this good thing. Steve did this to himself. Steve deserves to walk the halls alone. It's Steve's fault. 

But when you look at him, at his raw wounds, at his bruised knuckles, you know that he already believes he deserves every punch Billy Hargrove gave him. 

You hate Steve Harrington. But you really wish you'd been there to drive him to the hospital. 

Now (And Forever)

The tape sits buried in your drawer for three days. You don’t know what Family Video’s return policy is, but you hope you’re not racking up late fees. You doubt name dropping Dustin will work again.

It’s Saturday when you decide to watch Pretty in Pink. You remove the video from its sleeve. An envelope falls out.

The front has your name printed in squished, loopy script. You remember January at Steve’s house, a stack of thank-you cards courtesy of his mother awaiting the Harringtons’ sign-off. Steve’s hand would cramp and you’d take over while he made grilled cheese for the both of you. Love, The Harringtons, and there was no love in that house, but you think maybe Steve loved enough to make up for it. 

Hi, the letter begins. I hope you’re good. Robin told me you’re going to Hawkins State.

That’s fucking amazing. I’m so proud of you. Are you still writing poetry? I liked that one you wrote about the birds who shared a branch and kept each other warm. I still have it in my notebook in my room.

I’m sorry for the other night. I’m sorry for every night since freshman year, honestly. I’m kind of a dumbass, but you know that, so it doesn’t really excuse anything. I think I’ve actually lost brain cells since we drifted apart.

You crumple the corner, suddenly hot with anger. Who keeps telling him he’s dumb? You want names.

I didn’t forget you, you know. I got scared and I thought maybe I could ease into it, but then you recognized me and… well. I don’t blame you for running.

Anyway. I’m talking too much about myself, when there’s nothing to say. I’m really sorry about what I did, or, actually, what I didn’t do. Somebody told me I was living on autopilot, and that it wasn’t really living at all. I think it was you. 

I’m not living on autopilot anymore. I woke up. And I realized that you’re the best fucking thing that’s ever happened to me. I love Robin and the kids and this little family that has apparently invayd invaded your life too. Sorry about that. They never leave and they eat all your food. Good luck. 

But I miss you. I always have.

Shit happened these last few years that I’ll tell you about one day, if you want. I’d rather not, though, because you’ve always been the paranoiac (like that one? Robin said it’s an SAT word) of the two of us and I feel like this would just make you even more of one. But I will tell you, if you want to hear it. I want to tell you everything. I want you to tell me everything too. Like we used to.

I want you to tell me how college is going. Who the annoying jerks in your classes are so I can go beat them up (kidding). I want you to stop by to rent movies so I can lend them for free and you’ll yell at me about taking advantage of fre friendships. 

Fuck, I miss you. It’s always been there, bubbling below the surface. I never stopped missing you. I never stopped loving you. I’m sorry I didn’t write this sooner. I know you said writing is how we express things we can’t say. You were right. You always are. Can’t believe I forgot that. 

It’s okay if you don’t want to be friends. I mean, it hurts, but I respect it. I understand. Most days, I can’t believe people can bear to be around me. But then I hear your voice in my head, telling me that most people are shitheads and that I’m golden and. Well, I don’t know if I believe that, but you were right that most of the people I surrounded myself with were shitheads. Except you, of course. And then I went ahead and fucked that up.

I’ve been working on finding the non-shitheads of the world. I think I’m doing pretty well. And I wrote this because I realized that while I will probably end up buried in this fucking town, you’re going to do something incredible. And nothing incredible ever happens in Hawkins, so I figure you’ll be far away when you do it. 

I didn’t want to miss this chance to write things I never said. So here they are. And you can do whatever you want with them. You’ve always been the best of the two of us. I trust you.

You should watch Dirty Dancing. You’ll like it. I did. I’ll see it again if you want. I’ll watch anything with you.

Did you know there’s another Bond movie coming out in the summer? We could watch that one together too. If you wanted more time to decide.

Sincer

Lo

Your friend,

Steve

You don’t bother ejecting the tape. You run all the way to the bus stop, Steve’s letter in hand. 

You have to see him. No other thoughts register except that one. You have to know if Steve wrote these words because he can’t say them or because you won’t listen.

It isn’t too late when you get to Loch Nora. The neighborhood is dead, which is weird. Steve’s house looks frozen in time: his parents’ car isn’t in the driveway. You wonder if they’ve ever come back since you’ve been gone. You wouldn't be surprised if the answer is no.

There’s a tarp over the pool. The gate is locked with a chain. You can’t sneak in through the fence like you used to. Not that you would. You don’t think strangers can sneak through pool gates.

You knock on the door three times. And wait.

Steve’s car is in the driveway, a duller burgundy than when he first got it. There are a few scratches in the paint. No longer a prized possession. Maybe well-loved instead.

The door swings open. 

Steve says your name like a prayer. You swallow and steel your spine. 

“I got your letter,” you say.

“Oh.” He rubs the back of his neck. His hair is damp like he’s just showered. It curls around his ears. Waves of want hit you. 

“I don’t want to be friends,” you continue before he can speak. “I don’t—I can’t do that again.”

Steve’s mouth draws into the saddest frown you’ve ever seen.

“Okay,” he says softly. “Thank you for telling me.”

“No.” You shake your head. “No, that’s not—I don’t mean it like that.”

His brows knit. “What?”

“I…” You pull out the letter and wave it. “Did you mean it? Do you love me?”

“Yes,” Steve whispers. It’s like a shout in the quiet street. “I meant it.”

“Like a friend?”

“If that’s what you want.”

“Will you love me like a friend forever?” you ask. 

“Always.” 

You squeeze your eyes shut.

“I love you as something more,” you blurt, watery. “I have for a long time.”

You hear the door shut. This is it: your heart on the line, all for nothing—

“Then I’ll love you as something more back,” Steve says. “I’ll love you any way you want me to.”

And he holds you the way you’d held him so many times. You inhale and wrap your arms around his neck. You’ve got an iron grip around the letter. Tears slip down your cheeks.

“I missed you,” you confess.

Steve nods against your shoulder.

“Yeah,” he says, and it sounds a little wet. “I missed you too.”

“You were wrong,” you say into his neck.

“Hmm?”

You pull back to look at Steve.

“Incredible things do happen in Hawkins.”

“Oh, yeah?” Steve smiles, cheeks blotchy. “Like what?”

“We found each other again.”

[thechekhov]

Hi! I'm working as a teacher for the first time this fall, and I'd like to ask you: in your experience, how do you go about working as a teacher and also finding time for your wips like the SU comic? And do you have any tips for someone who has zero experience working with kids (13-15 y/o)? Thanks in advance, and have a nice day!!

I think everyone's experience with this will be different - based on where you're teaching, what subject you're teaching, whether you'll actually be the main-teacher immediately or if you're simply observing class at first/assisting and how much guidance you'll get from actual experience teachers, etc..... but my biggest advice may be a bit counterintuitive:

Don't try to find time. Just wait for time to find you.

I think people often assume they have more time than they actually do. Teaching is pretty time-consuming, but it's also INCREDIBLY energy-consuming. It's difficult not only because of the hours, but also because it physically and mentally drains you more than, say, an office job would. You have to be On all the time as a teacher - you have to be watching the students, paying attention to what they're saying, paying attention to what YOU'RE saying, paying attention to the schedule, paying attention to the lesson, etc. It's a lot of brainwork!

Regardless of your level of experience, you're going to be coming home WAY too tired to do anything but lay down. That's going to be the bulk of your evenings.

Contrary to what it seems like, when I first started teaching, I also did that for the first 4-7 months. I didn't draw - I didn't have the energy or time to. I came home, I collapsed, I got up to make dinner, and then I spaced out. Sometimes I got dragged out by friends for social activities. I drew only on the weekends, IF I felt like it.

Eventually, though, I trampled down my schedule into something workable. I started drawing regularly because my body and brain got used to the daily strain and became stronger. (That's something that's less known about brains, I think... you have to train yourself to be able to handle that sort of mental stress over time. It's like endurance training.)

Also. And I need to make this clear:

At the time when I was drawing THE MOST and posting REALLY OFTEN (daily for @ask-whitepearl-and-steven) I was already living with my partner. About 3 years in, we were in the same apartment together and he helped out a TON with laundry and cooking. That made a huge difference. I had support on basic tasks which would have eaten into my time even more.

What I'm saying is - having time for hobbies is great. But you need to make sure you're not cutting off pieces of yourself, or your sanity, in order to make that happen. Try to be kind and give yourself time to adjust.

As for the advice about kids/teens:

They're people with complicated lives outside of you/the school. If they don't immediately respond to you, don't take it personally.

They're people who haven't yet learned total emotional regulation - try to be kind about how grumpy/angry/moody/anxious they often are. Try to react like you would to an adult.

They're only people. Be kind to them.

They're full on people. Don't let them get away with being cruel to you or others. They CAN understand at that age that they hurt others. If they make a rude joke, don't laugh awkwardly - a good stare can go a long way.

Good luck!

[nyxthejinx]

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐃𝐚𝐫𝐤 𝐒𝐢𝐝𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐌𝐨𝐨𝐧

Guess who's back- yeahh Wrio altered my brain chemistry and i gotta cope with everything that just happened in the archon quest (iykyk). I haven't written in ages, I'm a bit rusty :')

𝐒𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬: Slow mornings are the sweetest.

𝐓𝐖: Fluff (incredible, I know) nudity and intimacy in general (nothing too explicit, more on the romantic side), allusions to the night before, reader loves wrio's butt and is shameless about it (don't we all), mention of scars (wrio's), I tried to proof read it multiple times but my brain is fighting against me, lemme know if I missed anything

𝐅𝐭.: Wriothesley - GN!Reader

𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 1056

𝐋𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐨: Eclipse - Pink Floyd

𝐈𝐭'𝐬 𝐧𝐨 𝐬𝐞𝐜𝐫𝐞𝐭 that his body is covered with scars, nor does he try to hide them. But the bedside lamp and the afterglow shed a new light on him, one that only you have the privilege of enjoying.

He sits at the edge of the bed, hands by his sides, sinking comfortably in the mattress. The slightest twitch of his muscles can't go unnoticed, not when everything is so slow and still as if time had stopped.

But that's what happens in the Fortress, no? Unless you keep an eye on the watch, minutes and hours blend into a placid flow, until you end up thinking you have all the time in the word.

That's why you lay down the clocks in the room, when darkness begins its descent up in the overworld.

Because you get to see him like this. Sleep ridden, quiet, a bit grumpier than usual. Shamelessly naked from head to toe, with the sheets thrown over his lap for the sake of decorum, as if you didn’t see and feel each other all night along.

This morning too, he stills for minutes on end, staring ahead and gifting you the precious sight of his toned back, now painted with marks and scratches fresh from the night. He runs a hand on his nape, down his shoulder and you know he loves the stinging carvings you left behind with your nails.

But your favourite part rests further down.

“You have a nice butt.” You mumble with a lazy smile, as you let your eyes wander to his lower back. “I ought to tell you more."

Wriothesley looks over his shoulder just enough to glare at you, but you know that fiery glimmer stems from amusement; the way his eyes wrinkle at the sides nullifies the frown creasing his brows.

He's lovely, incredibly entertaining whenever he tries and fails to hide his eagerness for compliments.

The man huffs through his nose, shaking his head before standing up. He holds the fabric around his waist, now covering his rear out of spite, as he rummages through the small puddles of discarded clothes on the room's floor.

You, on the other hand, aren't as diligent as he is. There's no hurry, no impending chores more important than this moment as you make yourself comfortable on your side, in the softness of your pillow —that inevitably smells like him too.

Only a fool wouldn't enjoy how incredibly clumsy he appears right now, fighting with the sheets and getting more and more impatient with every passing second that he can't find his underwear.

It's like admiring the dark side of the moon, knowing that no one else gets the same privilege, the same trust.

Which... Might be revoked after this little stunt you pulled.

"Looking for these?"

Wrio's head snaps towards you and his frown deepens at the sight of his boxers hanging from your hooked fingers. You smirk, backing away as far as you can, until he's forced to stretch across the bed and over your body.

You can't help but giggle and snicker, too amused and definitely too confident in the power you hold over him. You both know his pinky finger would be enough to turn the tables, but he wordlessly enjoys this silly game between you two, just like he adores seeing your petty smirk.

Oh, and how he loves wiping it off your face. If he only had more time, in this dreaded Monday morning.

Without much effort, he eventually grabs the garment. "Pervert." He mutters, pinching the skin below your ribs.

You flinch, chuckling breathlessly. "Mean."

But not wrong. You can't stop your eyes from drifting down, where the sheets have slipped dangerously low after all the fighting.

Everything, from his scarred pecks and abs, to his V line looks so... imperfect, gruff, hostile. He's a man who's rough around the edges, like the claw marks that decorate his throat; hardened by life, on guard all the time.

Untrusting.

And yet, he shows his back to you without much thought.

Even now, with his pants back on, he plops into his previous position idly, placid in his every move.

There's no need to check for threats, because there's none.

And you realise once again —like you do every day— that you're not ready for the sun to come up and for the moon to switch sides.

For him to glance back.

There's things that need to be done, affairs that only the Duke can handle, no matter how greedy and jealous of his presence you are. Your hands itch to wrap around his wrist, to pull him back by your side for another hour or two.

Wriothesley, on the other hand, spins along without thinking twice, as he adjusts his boots back on. Hadn't you known him long enough, you'd dare to say he doesn't yearn for you as much as you yearn for him, but it's the little things that speak in his stead.

It's the lazily unbuckled belt, the messy hair, wobbling around with his every little movement. "I'll do it later, for it means that we'll spend more time together" they say.

It's the blemished, vulnerable back, offered so humbly.

And suddenly you can't resist the urge anymore.

You navigate your way through the sea of sheets to wrap your arms around his waist, and your bare front against his back stops his motions altogether. Blurred memories from the early night flare up one more time, as your lips burn invisible seals on the skin of his shoulder. Every mellow kiss is so fond, intimate. Just for the two of you to feel.

Never have you felt a stronger sense of belonging. Not when he relaxes so easily in your presence and the world ceases to spin.

When turning his back to you feels so natural.

"Be careful, mh?" You kiss the crook of his neck again, while your hands trace the rough skin around his navel. "I want your pretty butt to be safe and sound."

Wrio's deep chuckle shakes his shoulders and chest, and you feel it deep deep deep in your own heart.

"Your wish, my command." He hums, his coarse fingers guiding one of your wrists to his lips.

The moon, you decide, is prettier when it's dark.

DON'T copy/repost/translate my work. REBLOG instead! ©nyxthejinx

[iloveoldermen-posts]

Oh Captain, My Captain

My Little Note -> the 'Captain' John Price one-shot of 141 when the reader's apt gets broken into.

Warnings: slight swearing, unsure about continuation of the one-shot, gender neutral however i have not proof read ୨୧

"I hope you had a nice night," John grubbles over the quiet music. He looks beautifully rugged in the streetlights that are gleaming into his car.

"I did thank you, got me out of the house which I haven't done for a while." I reply sincerely, turning away when John catches me staring. It causes my cheeks to burn up and a chesty chuckle to echo across my brain.

My thoughts are interrupted by the stop of his engine, I look up at my apartment and sigh, "thank you for dragging me out, I hope I see you soon."

"Nu-uh. Don't be silly, I'm going to walk you up. Need to make sure my heart's at rest knowing you're safe." John replies as he walks over to the passenger side and opens the door for me.

"What a gentleman," I gush just after thanking the chiviralous man. He really knows how to fill up a tumy with butterflies.

We don't talk much on the way to my apartment, probably because he was behind me and in his words 'making sure I don't fall.' Like we have literally had the same amount to drink, he is the most dramatic man I know.

Once we reached my floor, he quickly matched my pace to walk by me.

He noticed it before me, the thing that made my stomache drop and heart jump into my throat. My door was agar, the one that I defintely locked. I triple checked for crying out loud!

John looked back at me with a look of worry and sympathy.

"Make sure you stay behind me, I don't want you to get hurt." He says cautiously whilst retrieving the gun out of his holster. Thank god he is here, I don't know what I would do otherwise.

He steps into the apartment slowly, looking around it thoroughly. The state it's left in causes me to audibly gasp, it's ransacked. John looks back at me with a look that asks if I am okay to continue, I give a short, weak nod in response.

He must decide that not enough for him because he swiftly turns us around and rushes us back down stairs and into his truck. He once again opens the door for me and only then, in the comfort of his car I ask a question, "what are we doing?"

"Well, I am going to call one of the boys to finish checking up and take you home with me. At least fot the night, is that okay?" He answers as he pulls out his phone to get 'one of the boys' on the phone.

"Thank you." I nod slightly sitting back, relaxing into the seat of his car. I let my eyes close and the softness of the radio soothes me into a peaceful sleep.

I wake up to the musky scent of Price's cologne surrounding me and I bury my head closer to the source - his sturdy chest that I was resting on as he carried me into his house.

"Goodmorning sleepy," John says as my eyes flutter open. I hum in responce, too enchanted with the fact I'm safely in this hunk of a man's arms.

He carries me into the house, only putting me down once he reached the bed.

"Okay, you can stay in here and I will be on the couch just in the living-room, I'll set out a tee-shirt andsome boxers for you to wear. Just wake me up if you need anything," he says rumaging through his drawers.

"We are both adults, can you please stay..?" I hesitantly ask.

"Of course I can love."

My asks are currently open so get the requests in, and check out my masterlist.

THANK YOU FOR READING!! ALL REBLOGS, LIKES AND COMMENTS ARE GREATLY APPRECIATED!!

[joels-shitty-puns]

Kings & Queens

Pairing: Post-Outbreak!Joel Miller x Reader

Summary: I saw a list of reverse writing tropes, one of which was "too many beds" which I thought was hilarious until my brain went crazy. So here's where my mind went when there are oddly... too many beds.

Word Count: ~900

Warnings: None! This could even be read as platonic.

Other stuff: No descriptors. It can be romantic or friendly. Choose your adventure.

To those of you who are reading this: Thank you! I know I haven't written in months. I have barely even been on here. I want that again, but mentally I just haven't been feeling like much of anything lately. That being said, I saw the trope and I had an idea and quickly scribbled this down. It is short, not my best work, and doesn't have much emotion, but I did it :) To those of you who might also be struggling, I see you! You'll get through this. I hope all my tumblr buddies are doing well. I miss you guys.

_________________________________

It had been nearly a year of patrols with Joel. A year of nasty buildings and hard rocky floors to take shelter for the night, a year of either taking turns on watch, or being stuck sharing the same sleeping bag. Or the same mattress. Your only reprieve was your nice bed in Jackson, which you knew was safe, and warm, and most importantly… yours.

Joel was… alright. You two were friendly at best. But for the most part, it was all business. He didn't like to talk much, and you became tired of receiving looks or grunts when asking about Ellie, or Tommy, or his former life. But you worked well together, you made a good team, and you trusted each other to stay safe. You had run into trouble before, and you always had each other's backs. Words were often left unsaid, but you both knew what you meant to the other.

So when you stumbled upon an abandoned shopping mall while scoping potential areas of left-behind goods, it was a breath of fresh air. Malls could be dangerous with so much ground to cover, and so many potential hiding places and dark corners for the cordyceps to fester.

But the mall could also be a light at the end of the tunnel. A plethora of abandoned items to loot and sell or keep for yourself.

After hours of digging through every nook and cranny, you managed to fill a couple of bags full of items, and planned to make it a regular stop on your raids. But as the time grew later, the long-broken clock didn't tick on, and the windows grew dim, you knew it would be an overnight stay. However, choosing a sleeping spot was becoming exhausting with Joel around.

“I saw a sporting goods store. They probably have some sleeping bags, or maybe even a tent,” you provided.

“Nah, we're indoors. I wanna sleep like I'm indoors,” gruffed Joel.

“Oookay. How about that old food place? I think I saw a conveyer belt in the kitchen, next to the oven! It looks like it was used to make pizza,” you chirped excitedly. “I bet we could set up some blankets and make it like a bed.”

“Look, I know that machinery and oven have been dead for years, but on the off chance there's some malfunction, that just seems like a Final Destination event waitin’ to happen,” Joel shook his head.

“Wow you're difficult..” you huffed. “What if we go into the old children's photography studio and make a fort! The walls are even painted to look like a sky,” you offered with doe-eyes.

Joel just looked at you before grumbling back a “no. My back would kill me. There's gotta be a bed in here somewhere.”

Upon finding an old, faded mall map, Joel studied it before picking up the pace with a clear destination in mind.

He came to a stop in front of “Royal Mattressty.”

You raised a brow before saying “royal… mattress-tea?? What?”

“It's a play on words. Royal majesty.” 

“That's the stupidest thing I ever heard,” you rolled your eyes.

“No, no, it's because mattresses come in Kings, Queens, and-” he broke off at your grimace.

“You're such a dad!” 

____

The two of you made your way inside, only to find nearly 100 beds. Memory foam, spring, water, reclining… the possibilities were endless.

“WOW!” You squealed, running from bed to bed. “There's too many beds. I can't choose!”

Joel stretched, moving to a bed near the back corner. “I'm gonna set up here for the night. Sleep where y’want,” he gestured.

Sitting on a few different beds, you finally settled on one. A perfect, firm yet soft bed at the far end of the store. It was against a wall, allowing you to still see the door and keep your back safe. Perfect.

____

But as the night ticked on, you tossed and turned. You weren't at your home in Jackson. This bed was nice… but it wasn't your safe, cozy cabin.

When you aren't home, you're with Joel. All this time you've been wanting space at night, but now you feel scared and alone. Even a bit cold. But Joel was over on his own bed, probably sound asleep. You wouldn't dare take that away from him.

___

Until what felt like an hour passed.

___

And then another hour…

___

Finally, it had been about an hour and a half when you gave in. You wouldn't be getting any sleep at this rate. Fatigue is a dangerous fate when you need to be alert in this world. So you swallowed your pride and walked over to Joel's bed in the far end of the store.

But he wasn't there…

You wandered back, a bit nervous, until you spotted him. Curled up on a mattress only a row away from yours, you saw him blink in the night.

“You moved beds?” you whispered.

“Yeah, there was a draft over there…”

“A draft? In a mall with no electricity and no windows in this store?” You asked skeptically.

“Mmhm…” he grunted, sleepily.

“Sure. Well… turns out there was a draft over in my corner too. Move over,” you nudged.

“Draft, huh?” He wiggled over, letting you in the bed.

“Mmhm…” you mimicked his earlier grunt, settling in next to him.

“Good night Joel,” you whispered.

“G’night,” he replied, pressing his body closer to yours in the king sized bed.

Maybe there is such a thing as too many beds after all.

__________

Thanks for reading!!! Let me know what you think, and be sure to check out my masterlist for more. Reblogs are appreciated! Xoxo

[most-datable-datable-bracket]

ROUND 4 MATCH 1

Qiu propaganda:

“i love them sooooo much i was completely head over heels for cove but then i found out about qiu lin and ol2 and they took that spot in my brain IMMEDIATELY. that should say enough. also i just really want them to win this time </3”

“They're my beloved :] and also the only OL character not disqualified so I had to hdjdbdj I just wanna see how far they can go now :]”

“Genderfluid ADHD monarch. They enjoy mountain biking and ballet. As a kid, if they're set to Crush, they'll desperately try to find a way to link the MC's favorite color to themselves in an attempt to impress. They're the most popular kid in town and for good reason. Can be sharp as a tack, especially in social situations, but also can be so endearingly stupid.”

“Listen. Listen to me. Here's why Qiu Lin deserves the win (ha)

- They're a trans POC love interest (specifically genderfluid and chinese-american)

- They spend a lot of time in Step 1 (the first part of the game where everyone is a kid) being super nice and trying to accommodate for you

- They specifically try super hard to bring you (and Tamarack) into their already established friendship group

- (It doesn't work out super well initially but they're trying, be nice)

- Qiu's also just. Super sweet when you're set to have a crush on them in Step 1

- Like, their word count almost doubles when they have a crush on your MC

- There's one part of the game where you can bring up your favourite colour

- On a friendship route (or if you're set to neighbours), Qiu will maybe make a short comment about something related to your favourite colour

- On crush? Qiu stretches so far to tie your favourite colour back themself. Your favourite colour is green? That's the colour of their jacket!!! It's black? Like their bike, did they mention their cool bike!!! It's white, [imagine this is in italics] the inside of their house (no, really)!!! [end of imagining this is italics]

- They're also set to have an arc about much they accommodate for others and how they go from over accommodation in Step 1 to no accommodation in Step 2 to finding a balance in Step 3

- Also, like, they do in fact go through gender identity issues. In fact, they spend Step 2 not quite knowing their gender identity fully

Now, vote for Qiu!!!!”

"Genderfluid and uses they/he pronouns.

Their hobbies are mountain biking and ballet.

Most popular kid in town by, like, a mile. And for very good reason.

Immediately devotes themself to making sure their new neighbors (the MC and Tamarack) feel welcome in their new town.

Loooooves teasing their friends.

Is genuinely confused if the MC doesn't immediately consider them friends because. He considered you friends.

Not canonically ADHD (yet. things can change.) but like. The ADHD vibes are strong.

Forgetful and writes stuff down in a notepad to remember it, then proceeds to lose the notes. This happens constantly.

They have a whole arc about going from being overly accommodating and giving too much of themself to others, to closing off and not giving anything, to finding balance and figuring out how to be kind and caring without overexerting themselves.

Also, one of their closest friends is a trans woman. This is relevant simply because I love Renee and had to mention her."

Halsin propaganda:

“I haven't played the game but he's hot, and that's enough for me”

“Big sweet dude who’s a bit of a daddy and a bit horny. He’s also really chill and the potential poly route for this game, which datable games hardly ever do. Also, apparently he might not originally been meant to be a full companion and romance, but then people were so horny for him in Early Access they memed him into the full game like Sans Undertale in Smash? I think that should just say it all for why he should get in.”

[kitty-av]

Hello! I got a new sketchbook and I decided to try it by drawing a Danny with my markers. I might try doing something with gouache too, because I honestly really enjoy the process and the look of painting with it.

I also have some things to ramble about under the line, which isn't strictly dp related, more so me comparing how I work with different mediums and being a little analytical about it, you know, as a treat to my brain because it needs it. •^•

So, to start with the Danny above, it's nothing overly ambitious, I was just vibing, but I think it looks nice. Here's the thing though, it looks weird to me, and the reason, probably, is that the process I use with the previously mentioned gouache doesn't translate well to markers.

Here's the process in question btw, a smol sketch to illustrate the way I work with paint but with markers:

See, that's a process that's clearly a bit more suited to painting imo. So it looks good but a little off with markers. And it's not just to markers. Here's what I mean:

This is digital. With the same process.

It's even weirder than the markers imo, but you can still tell that there's a process going on that's shared.

And the gouache version of this process looks like this: this is my most recent painting ( literally yesterday )

This was done in flat brush, and I think you can clearly see that the process I used across all these paintings started with my gouache work. Which also might be why Danny looks a bit different than them because I had to adjust my process. Rather than starting with colouring my canvas and starting the face with a contrasting colour, both Danny, and as far as I can remember the digital dude, started blank and I had to do the glow effect thing a lot less naturally - especially with the lack of brush strokes. The scratchiness of them is aesthetic. Like, brush stroke and direction is important guys, it adds a lot.

I think if I try to draw this Danny in gouache and explain my process better this would all make sense, but I haven't had the time to get back into art because of uni, and I rather like to. I especially want to try doing digital art again, but I've been doing it so rarely that I haven't really got a process anymore, so I'm a bit intimidated to do anything but portraits.

In any case, if anybody has good Sai brushes that could help me get that painterly vibe there, I'd be very grateful •^•

I want to start drawing and creating things for the Phandom again, but all I have currently are sketches, which I know aren't traditionally the easiest things to interact with visually, especially without colour. Still, I'm just going to share things I make and vibe, I suppose.

I have some interesting designs I'd like to try to make digitally, like that mermaid lady ghost from a while back, and her sister who I decided was Pariah Dark's fabulous ex. Still not sure on Queen's design, but I just want to draw a regal lady.

Yes, I am dumping previous designs here so I can share them again, partly to remind myself of them without scrolling back my Tumblr for a thousand years.

Also my Bois, the clones, who I still want to write into a story and don't know how, but like - I love them and want to show them to more people.

Well, that's all for now. Hope you all have a good day. •^•>💚💜💚

[beffalumps]

hi there! recent art school grad here and i was wondering if u have any tips on learning color + approaching backgrounds? even though i learned a lot, i still find myself struggling with these focuses, especially colors as i never had a class that really taught me that. thanks so much 💗 your work is so lovely

First off, congrats on graduating!! Backgrounds and colors have always been the hardest for me lol tbh I still struggle a lot with colors especially, so please take everything I say with a grain of salt!

Using adjustment layers helps me a lot (especially color balance to make things more unified or complementary).

Another thing that I think has REALLY helped me with color overall is actually switching between color and grayscale.

In photoshop I set up a custom proof profile and then am able to switch back and forth by using the hotkey Ctrl + Y. This helps me check my values which, I've found if you have solid values, colors tend to work so much better even if you don't know much about what you're doing lol. Another way to do this is making a solid black layer on top of all your color layers and setting the blending mode to "Color". Then you can toggle that on and off to look at the values.

One last thing I've played with re: colors is finding a reference that has the colors I like and "crystalizing" it and color picking a palette from that.

This can be super helpful if you're having a hard time visualizing or coming up with a color palette!

As for backgrounds, they became a lot easier for me when I started looking at them like their own character. Thinking about the story I'm trying to tell, adding little details that I think would add to that or be fun and fun ways for the character to interact with it.

That and doing value sketches/just a bunch of really quick and sloppy experiments. 9 times out of 10, they don't work out, but sometimes they spark something that turns into something fun and workable!

This has gotten really long for someone that really just bs's their way through every piece, but I will say one thing that was a big game changer for me (in my personal opinion, who knows if other people think so lmao) and it's just incorporating aerial perspective. Making things a bit more blue tinted (or whatever the sky color is) and lighter as they recede into the background. Has made a huge difference for me when it comes to creating depth!

I really don't know if any of this is helpful because to be 100% honest, most of my illustrations are just product of trial and error lol. But practicing and making a lot of really bad scribbles have (I think) helped me the most, so yeah my biggest advice with anything is just look at lots of art, just draw and don't worry if it looks bad because tbh, it probably will at first. But you'll get better!

@tamberella Has a ton of amazing free resources and brushes, so if you haven't checked out their stuff, definitely do so!

@iniro also has some really nice tutorials on color (and other topics) available so I'd also recommend looking at those too!

But yeah, sorry for going on about my hair-brained process, I hope at least some of this was helpful!

[animebw]

I realize I haven't really said anything about Mayu yet, the new character at the center of most of Eupho S3's drama. Partly that's because Kumirei has sucked up so much of my brain juice that it's hard to focus on anything else (despite the fact there's plenty more going on in this show than just its central relationship). But partly that's because Mayu herself has been a very wait-and-see kind of character. The show very deliberately alienates you from her at first, forcing you and Kumiko to take her in gradually as you try to understand what kind of person she is. Eupho's always been very firmly planted in Kumiko's perspective; we very rarely get scenes without her present, or hear what's going on in other characters' heads unless they're outright telling her. So just as Kumiko feels a massive wall between them, the audience does to- until we're finally able to breach that wall and meet Mayu on her own terms.

Which is funny, because in retrospect, Mayu has always been the most honest character in the entire show! She came onto the scene telling us what she's about- "I don't want to make waves or upset people, I just want to get along with everyone"- and the only real "reveal" about her is the fact that she was being genuine about that. We just assumed there must be something else going on because we're stuck in Kumiko's perspective, and the visual language Mayu is presented with- dark shadows, uncomfortable intrusions on familiar spaces- is a representation of how Kumiko feels about this hotshot new euphonium player threatening to steal her spot. It makes us see her how Kumiko sees her, makes us want to believe there's some sinister motive behind her pleasant smile, some cruelty she masks with kindness. But once Kumiko gets over that discomfort and actually talks to her, she realizes the only person Mayu's really lying to is herself. She does want to get along with everyone. She doesn't want to upset people and mess up Kitauji's status quo. She is genuinely a nice person who wants the best for everyone else. The only thing she was hiding was how much she actually wanted to be a part of the community with everyone instead of keeping herself at a distance to preserve the peace.

And honestly? That's kind of a perfect "antagonist" for Kumiko's final chapter. Every school year has pitted Kumiko against another euphonium player- Asuka, Kanade, now Mayu- who Kumiko can only come to understand and accept by being honest about what she wants and believes. But the difference is Asuka and Kanade were both- and I say this affectionately- manipulative little shits who were very good at hiding their true selves behind a mask to get what they wanted out of other people. So Kumiko had to approach them from a place of honesty, pushing aside their attempts to bluster and drawing their true selves to the surface by showing her own vulnerability. She had to be more honest than them so they could be honest with themselves in turn. But now with Mayu, Kumiko's finally facing someone who's more honest than her, and instead of pulling Mayu up to her level, she has to rise to Mayu's level. Only then can she fully accept who she is and who she wants to be- not someone chasing solitary greatness like Reina, but someone who wants to raise everyone else up with her, even if that means she'll never achieve greatness on her own.

[sophieinwonderland]

Preface: People are going to assume this is a response to recent drama. So I want to say that I started writing this draft before that one blog's response to me. It was shortly after midnight on the 8th when it was just barely what I consider my Birthday. I was reflecting on my 3 years of existence and where I am now. The fact that I got the response I did later that same day is a total coincidence.

I don't feel like I have friends anymore...

That's an awful thing to admit.

I have one other system I feel like I talk to with any sort of regularity, who I love and consider friends. But they're not involved with syscourse which is so often where my mind goes. And so I don't talk to them about it because I don't want to trouble them, which means I don't talk to them because I can't think of what to talk about.

What else do I care about?

I mean, there are other things I care about, but they probably wouldn't care about those things. And I struggle to find something to say. Something that feels worthy of their time. But again, not syscourse or something that would bring them down.

I've had other friends. But they've faded away with time. One by one.

And a lot of that is my fault. I'm not good at being a friend or knowing what to say. And I'm not very good at opening myself up.

And when I can't think of what to say, I choose to say nothing. I ghost people I like because it's hard to maintain those relationships.

And I'm aware on some level that this hurts people. I wouldn't want to be friends with someone who treated others the way I do.

And there will be times when I'll decide to do better. I will, with full confidence, say that I'm going to change. I'll be a better friend. A better person. I'll fully believe this is something I'll succeed at for the rest of the day. Then the next day comes and that conviction melts away.

I think one reason Jaiden's story of having ADHD appeals to me is that if this was the problem with us, maybe, we could identify it and then just take one little pill and it will fix me.

That's a nice fantasy, isn't it?

A naive fantasy that ignores the fact that I'm in the brain of someone who was homeschooled and barely had any friends as a child either. But it's a nice fantasy to hold onto anyway.

So, yeah. I don't feel like I have friends, for the most part, outside our system. I have a blog. I have followers. I have plenty of mutuals I like interacting with.

But there aren't people who I truly trust to let in. It doesn't feel like anyone actually knows me or who I am anymore, if anyone ever did.

Since I haven't posted on it for a week and don't know when I'll post on it again or if I will, here's a confession: I made @anti-lies! Sorry to ruin the mystery for anything speculating! Though I didn't think I was even that subtle about it.

But the only person I know who guessed it was me was SAS! Which, congratulations! But also, that's kind of a sad thought that the person who might know me better than anyone is someone who was my archnemesis for the past two-and-a-half years.

To be fair, SAS did imply that other people might have guessed it. But if so, whatever circles those conversations are happening in aren't ones I'm in.

Oh wait, I'm not really in any circles am I?

I'm on the outskirts of the community. I mean, that's sort of by choice really.

Public posts can bring more awareness of plurality and tulpamancy. Locking myself in Discord servers or some isolated community makes me feel like I'm wasting my time because I need to be talking about it publicly where the world can see. I really, really don't want to be part of a Discord server. It's my choice to stay out of those spaces and I don't regret that decision.

But sometimes it's weird when I realize that most everyone else is. That they're actually in plural communities in a way I'm not.

I wonder, do people even realize I'm an outsider? Again, by choice. I've been invited to servers and chose not to go. I'm not being ostracized or anything. I've turned down attempts at bringing me further in. No one is to blame but myself. But either way, the result is that I don't feel like I'm really part of the communities I spend so much time advocating for.

[toppamplemousse]

ok no one requested this but it's been in my brain for a while so. bottle ep max pov, end of summer 1. warnings for angst.

if u haven't read bottle episode then this won't make sense. linked here :)

summer 1 bottle episode | max pov, 1198 words, rated e

Charles had wriggled his way into Max’s life in a similar fashion to how he wriggles into Max’s space on the sofa. There’s plenty of space for the both of them, really, and there’s even an ottoman to stretch their legs out, but Charles isn’t doing that. Instead, Charles is squirming his toes under Max’s thighs, trying to distract Max from playing chess on his phone, even if Charles claims he is focused on reading his book. His toes worm their way under Max’s leg, and Max can feel how incomprehensibly cold they are, despite the humid summer thunderstorm outside.

Max doesn’t turn away from the game of chess at hand – he is shaping up for a nice move to capture his opponent’s knight – but rests his left hand on Charles’ ankle. That placates Charles, obviously, as if asking to be touched was too much, but wriggling his freezing cold feet under Max is sufficient. He mindlessly brushed his thumb over Charles’ ankle, mapping the bone and skin and softness of it all. 

He has to leave for work soon, and the familiar ache settles in his chest. Max doesn’t quite know when it started, the pang of emptiness when he had to leave Charles and go to work, the way he wished every minute could stretch on for hours and he could just spend more time like this, in comfortable silence, just existing with Charles. 

He doesn’t know when he became so used to seeing Charles in everything, everywhere he went.

The coffee grounds in the sink that never quite make it down the drain. The rogue contact lens case that missed the trash can. The socks in his laundry that definitely do not belong to Max because they are Armani for Christ’s sake. There’s bits of Charles everywhere, in every crevice of Max’s being, and it’s ridiculous. He wants more. He wants Charles’ clothes in his wardrobe and he wants a new place that isn’t a studio with a proper bedroom to give them space and a sink with two toothbrushes and two sets of shoes by the door, two sets of keys hanging up.

It just feels – Max can’t ever quite place it. They’ve never discussed anything, obviously, just accepted hanging out with each other more and more frequently until they started discussing times when they wouldn’t hang out with each other. It’s been one summer, one, and now–

Max doesn’t have the metaphors he would like to in order to describe it. There’s a Charles-shaped mould into which Max fits. There’s a crevice in his heart where a certain Monegasque now sits. There’s a thunderstorm outside and Max would stand outside in it and get drenched to the bone if Charles asked him to. 

He won’t say it to himself, he couldn’t, but he sees it in Charles’ eyes and he feels it in Charles’ touch and it’s written between all the words they do and do not say in the sheets in the morning when they’re too sleepy to have a proper conversation. He won’t say it, but it feels like–

“Anyone you know interested in a bar cart?” 

Max looks up at Charles, who has put the book down on his chest, then looks over to the bar cart that sits awkwardly against the wall of Charles’ kitchen. He looks back at Charles. 

“No, I mean, I can ask.” Max is puzzled at this sudden question. Charles’ bar cart has far too many odd bottles of wine and liquor on it that won’t fit anywhere else. “Why?”

Charles’ gaze is flitting across the room, looking at his furniture. Max isn’t even sure if Charles has registered his confusion yet. His toes tap in their limited space under Max’s leg. 

“Oh, you know, just need to get this apartment back to the way it was soon. Obviously the bar cart cannot make it in my suitcase.” Charles lets out a chuckle. Max doesn’t see what is very funny. He looks back at the bar cart, and back at Charles. There’s something settling beneath the green eyes now. Max is afraid he knows what it is. 

“Might need your big arms to help me put the couch back where it was, too.” Charles pokes at Max’s skin, a smile on his face. Max sits up, pulls back, darting his eyes around Charles’ face.

Max’s lungs collapse and his chest sinks and it feels like all the blood running through his veins evaporates and leaves behind a bag of bones with nothing else.

Charles is leaving.

Max always knew he was going to go back to school at some point, but–

He was delusional enough to think that maybe Max would be a part of it.

Max had tried so hard not to think about the future from the moment he knew about Charles’ plans, his temporary summer in New York. But he couldn’t help but wonder, daydream about it. Max had thought maybe he would ask Charles if he wanted to keep dating, and Max could visit him in California in the fall, and Charles could come by again at Christmas, and maybe they could go to Monaco together over the New Year. Maybe Max could visit again in the spring, two times if Charles wasn't too busy, and then they could discuss which coast to live on or pick somewhere completely new to start. 

And, and, and. 

What a fucking idiot.

The conversation goes very poorly. Max is outraged– he bites back tears and he rips the inside of his cheek with his teeth. Charles looks like a kicked puppy, big glassy eyes and pouty lips and helpless words that tear into Max piece by piece.

Charles had been insatiable from the moment Max met him, and he was foolish enough to have started believing it was because Charles wanted him for more than just a good fuck. Charles was always climbing in between Max’s legs and getting his lips on any part of skin and whispering filthy things into his ear. It’s not like Max didnt’ want that – Max loved being inside Charles, loved fucking him until he begged, loved watching him come undone on his cock. But he thought there was… more. That the way Charles intertwined their hands at night or the way he bought things because they reminded him of Max or the way his eyes lit up when he laughed meant something. 

Meant anything.

Max slams the door shut behind him. He’s so mad, so upset, he wants to tear the whole building down. And he wants to be mad at Charles, wants to hate him and hate him and hate him, but Max is the only one to blame.

Max, who foolishly believed there was something more. Max, who thought Charles wanted him. Max, who let himself get swept up by a pair of green eyes and a smile that blinded him and dimples that deceived him. 

Max cries the whole walk home, but New York City streets have seen much stranger sights. Sniffling, sobbing, wiping his nose against his sleeve. 

The thunderstorm rages on. He gets drenched to the bone. Charles did not ask him to. 

[basedkikuenjoyer]

No Conflict On My End

Catch the classic Wano trick? Scattershot chapter but the title gives you the clue; conflict. It was smoother but we've stepped away from the Straw Hats, they aren't in this one. I said this when we finished Bonney's cutaway. If you look at what's left it's Stussy as a springboard to Bakkin/Marco which we haven't checked in on since their first appearance parallel to Egghead. SWORD also has an unfired Chekov's Gun with Drake. Either of those can pull a Kuma and rewrite Wano. Only one person there can do that and it was the girl playing coy in the end.

Last week, it was "If he's gone, who am I to live for?" This week it's this titular line about inner conflict, how it's proof of your humanity. Especially with the Seraphim and building off of CP9 being these vicious government dogs who just need the order to indulge bloodlust right by it. That role doesn't have to be who you are, and if circumstance deals you a bad hand that forces you to go against your nature those conflicted feelings are proof you're not losing yourself to it. The difference to me though is like we said with Stussy maybe needing her own "Okobore" era. I don't think this is really Kiku's story replacing humanity with gender identity...I see it more as a parallel to the implied backstory and growth that allowed you to give it your all freely on one final show with the old gang. Also, don't forget Bakkin was last seen with Marco and that's all tied up in Sphinx Island as one of these wayward villages in need of a humble guardian.

Oh yeah, and doing this while York introduces a truckload of ambiguity. This is a cool scene. Because we really have to stop and think about what York knows, what Stella knew, and of course these weird gaps when we also now know Vegapunk Prime was with Bonney during the Void Night. As above, so below and all that right? A story about the Void Century on the surface when the micro clash on this island has that big blank night before raising so many questions.

Specifically highlighting the idea VP is a horrible liar and a bad actor. Is there like, anything specific we could pair this with in York's conclusion that would enhance the aroma?

Hey look! We got Robonosuke and Momonosuke in the same chapter! If you count the cover page we also got both Tsurus which is nice. York's theory is that Robonosuke is set to guard the broadcast. My point is that, alongside Stella telling us his limited version of the Void Century after a string of unreliable narrators we have York offering us this theory in frustration. Specifically highlighting solid reasons to be flummoxed. Vegapunk may have pulled a big brained plan all along, he was dicking around with Robonosuke when we met him. But he also like, weirdly disappeared from that scene too which is one of those little things I try to remember about Egghead. Vegapunk also wasn't really far along at getting Robonosuke online.

This becomes some really good shit though if there is a mystery interloper. Because really it could go both ways. If York's right, they could already be there and ready to make use of it. A trap. If York's wrong, the chaos just gave you a perfect distraction and it's a perfect sign of beating the genius by getting in her head. I still think there's something to the idea that Vegapunk didn't have time overnight to fix this dude. Luffy's G5 heartbeat being a signal or that backhanded way of someone making good on his assumption you just need to know Robonosuke's real name? That works in a night we still haven't filled in. And no matter what this big, bad mofo is about to start wrecking shit. Which is pretty cool.

Last but not least we have our reactions to the message. One big thing I thought was cool was seeing a lot of Alabasta stuff but not Vivi directly. V cool. Not like these breakout stories anchored around the three ladies are exclusive; Stussy had that great beat introducing her inner conflict during Bonney's and Bonney was incidentally involved in the stuff @ Mariejois. Before we get to our main man here too I'd highlight Shakky potentially carrying over that idea from Nojiko & Miss Goldenweek last week. Practical, grounded women aren't paying much attention and going about their day-to-day.

But then you got Rayleigh. Love this little line of conflict between Vegapunk and Ray. Because like we hinted at last week on a meta level this is kinda fucked up for VP to be just dumping all the Void Century stuff. Or it would be if he wasn't walking that fine line of not really revealing too much. Notice how he's kinda back to talking about his own stuff over the past few months as York puzzles it out. We can forgive Ray for not catching the subtleties though because he's drunk. I like this balance honestly, especially when you have Crocus kinda straddling the two.

One last thought too that just can kinda go anywhere with this message...Robin still has like, four regular Poneglyphs we've seen but not really fleshed out. The other two in Big Mom's stash, the one above the secret passage in the Flower Capitol, and the one Law found on Onigashima. She might already know something important Vega doesn't and her being mysteriously injured last night is a great excuse for not giving them time to touch on it.

[rulerzreachf4n7]

Fight me all you want but huntlow/lumity antis are the weakest links in the toh community,

HEAR ME OUT...

...unless you don't have ears idk block the haters

SKIP IF YOU'RE NOT INTERESTED IN SHIPS WARS IT'S HONESTLY EMBARRASSING I HAVE TO SAY THIS!!

All this slander is coming from the goldric/huntmira/lunter/guster/amiter shippers, yes that's a mouthful, and yes I'll be blocking you if you're a toxic shipper, if your not, good! except if you ship amiter, fuck off you lesbianphobic bitch, anyways back to my rant, also sorry if this comes out as insensitive, rude, or if I sound over dramatic I just really hate these types of people

If I had a dime for every toxic shipper I've encountered since I first came into the toh community...BITCH ID BE RICH CAUSE SOME OF Y'ALL ARE WILD ASF 😭🙏, this is based off of a rant I got below this post so yeah credits to anon it was very helpful pookie

Y'all toxic ass shippers will go FUCKING PARAGRAPH LENGTHS TO DEFEND YOUR SHITTY SHIPS, and this is targated twords lunter and goldric, again, if you're not toxic this ain't for you I don't mean to offend anyone, cause tell me why there is this account on Pinterest, I ain't afraid to say their name it's something like TheGoldenCoven, or some shit like that, BROS A LUNTER FAN ACCOUNT 💀, and a toxic one too, dw I got some proof

How the fuck do you normalize the TWO MAIN COUPLE OF A SERIES??? Hunter was never intentioned to date Luz and vice versa, this is a perfect example of toxic a lunter shipper, and not only are they toxic they're...LESBIANPHOBIC!! I know it was probably from 2021 and they've moved on buuuut they did post amiter art, and they're not even a nice person although having in their bio "I'm nice you if you're nice to me" or some bullshit idk

As for toxic goldric shipper accounts I haven't seen any Pinterest or Tumblr accounts so that's good! But majority of the shippers are the most insufferable human beings on earth, their only excuse for shipping them is "they want a mlm couple and they're the same age" noting against wanting a mlm couple it'd be super nice...buy may I remind you this is post early season two...HUNTERS NAME WASN'T EVEN CONFIRMED YET 😭🙏, And let alone having only two or three minutes of screen time makes the ship have an even worse reputation, and the shippers are just bitchy and biphobic, always complaining that Hunter should be canonically gay instead of literally anything else so he can be shipped with only Edric, and I know huntmira shippers exist but I've actually never had an interaction with one, hopefully they aren't too bad

Y'all will come out withe the stupidest excuses not to ship huntlow/lumity, also sorry I got off track 😭😭, for lumity, don't know how it exists, but it's either "it's abusive" or "it's toxic" brother ew 💀, name one way Luz or Amity have hurt each other and DO NOT say it's by how Luz always makes stuff mess even though it's literally apart of her personality or by how she didn't wanna tell her about the portal door in S2 or how she accidentally helped Philip/Belos, I'll wait 😊, and I see the point of how Amity's personality downgraded to only being Luz's gf but she still did have her family problems but I guess they just didn't wanna make it an episode, I mean we got Clouds on the horizon that counts ig?

And for huntlow I keep hearing the same shit "I-Its a crack ship, I-Its forced, t-they have no chemistry 🥺🥺🥺" yeah I can see your toxic ass shipping a 12 and 16 year old together don't think you're slick bitch, and just because huntlow was rushed doesn't mean it's necessarily bad, you don't know if Dana had intentions on it but because of the cancellation it was forced to be rush, and I'm sorry to y'all hearing the shortened s3 excuse but it's true since there's literally no other explanation, also don't come into the comments saying "B-But you don't know that!!🥺🥺" it's just speculation my brother in Christ 😭🙏, merely a theory put together with brain cells which almost everyone in this community doesn't have, another weird double standard is how everyone ships gustholomule and veesha even though there's very little evidence it'll be canon was supposed to be canon but since it's a more noticeable and popular ship no one bats an eye for some reasons even though huntlow is too a popular ship, but these are the more bigger ones so I'll more obscure like cameda or aladarius which where probably never meant to happen and totally fandom operated

Anyways that's all, I'll block haters/toxic shippers in the comments so don't think you'll get a reaction outta me with some half baked and barely thought through argument you found in a Reddit post

[euijoosorangeslice]

Happy Halloween!

(What’s your favorite scary movie? Or would you rather make one?)

warnings: smut (obv), reader is chubby, fingering, boob play, oral(fem receiving), jungwon is obsessed with readers thighs, face sitting, jake is a pervert and likes to watch, recording.

wc;1.4k

You couldn't believe that you had been in college for almost a whole year and you hadn't been to a Halloween party. Your best friend had sworn it would be the best experience of your life. She had tried your hardest to get you the sexiest outfit out there, which wasn't that hard because all she needed was to find a corset to make your waist look more flattering.

You didn't want to wear it though, because it hurt you too much. So, you settled on a black mesh top with a green flowy cargo skirt and fishnets, accompanied by black boots. That's right, you were heading to this party dressed as a sexy Kim Possible. Not your choice, but your friend is dressed as the villain, Shego.

A power duo if anything. You grabbed your bag, making sure your phone, your identification card, and your headphones were in there. As you left your dorm, already hearing the pumping music down the hall, you noticed your friend making out with a tall dude with purple hair. You rolled your eyes, watching him pin her to the wall and kiss her roughly.

OK, maybe you were going into this party all by your lonesome. That's fine though! You were still the hottest girl in this hypothetical party you haven't even stepped foot in yet. As soon as you opened the door, you felt a lot of eyes on you.

Ew, attention. But you persevered, walking straight to the drink table. You could do with some alcohol confidence right now. As you downed a shot, realizing that alcohol didn’t taste nearly as good as you expected, a boy watched you from afar.

“She’s hot, isn’t she?” His friend, Jake asked him. You had met Jake only one time before, because you had ordered food with your friend and he happened to get his food at the same time as you.

Jake had seen you grab your takeout bag, assessing your body. The tank top you were wearing barely held in your boobs, and the shorts you were wearing clamped around your thick thighs. You had knee socks on, just coming home from a long day of tutoring. Fuck, he was already bricked up, hoping that as you walk past him you don’t catch a glimpse of his boner. Your ass jiggled as you took each step towards the elevator, him taking a deep breath. He wanted to run up to you and ask for your number, or he could just pin you up to the elevator wall and fuck your brains out. He quickly grabbed his food , rushing into the elevator. You pressed the open button for him, pressing the third floor because you just know what floor he’s on. He smiles softly at you, and as soon as you look at your phone his eyes fly to your tits. So beautiful. He just wanted to fuck them even harder. He looked down at his sweats, seeing the strain of his cock. Jake was gonna have a field day with his fist when he got to his room.

“Yeah. Help me get her number?” Jungwon teased, Jake shoving him towards you. Jungwon nervously tapped your shoulder, you turning around. "Hey. I'm Jungwon, your ____ right?" He shouted over the music, you nodding. "Nice to meet you. Wanna go somewhere more quiet so I can hear you?" You suggested, a smirk falling upon his face. "Sure."

He held your arm and led you a small side bedroom, shutting the door behind the both of you. "So, Jungwon. What's your major? I major in fashion and marketing." He slowly nodded, smiling again. "I major in cinematography. I like making short films and stuff. Studying how my favorite movies were made and things like that. I love watching movies but I love making them even more." You smiled at him. Wow, he had a true passion for what he does.

"You know ____, you should give me your number and we can talk a little more about maybe you helping me record some small projects." You slowly nodded, smiling softly. You two exchanged numbers, and that was that. That's what Jungwon had came for. All he had to do was report back to Jake saying that he is the true playboy.

But he wanted more, which was weird for him. I mean he had a whole roster of women's numbers from tonight. He figures if he tries to get lucky with everyone, at least one person was doomed to say yes. But you were different.

"Cool. Well, it was nice getting to know you Jungwon!" As you got up to walk out, Jungwon grabbed your wrist. "Wait!" You turned at looked at him, confused. He said nothing, but pushed you against the wall and put his head next to your ear. "C-can I touch your thighs? I'm sorry if I'm being a total pervert right now but they just looks so nice when you were sitting down...a-and now that I hear myself I'm totally a pervert." Jungwon mumbled, and you started to feel bad for him.

"Jungwon...my thighs?" "I know it's weird, but please? Just for a moment." You took a moment to think as Jungwon stared into your eyes. "Please." he repeated under his breath. "Fine. Go ahead." Jungwon smiled brightly, sighing in relief. "Thank you so much." You went to push him off of you, feeling his hard on against your thigh. You sat on the edge of the random bed, Jungwon's eyes lighting up as he slid to the floor.

"Oh god, your thighs are so damn thick." His hands grabbed the flesh, massaging it thoroughly and spreading them. "Wonder what your pussy looks like." You gasped lightly as Jungwon reached under your skirt and pressed softly on your cotton panties. "Please? Let me take these off. Promise I'll make you feel good." You gave him a nod, not hesitating to pull off your panties and push your skirt up to your hips.

"So pretty. Can I take a picture for later?" You quirked an eyebrow at the suggestion, making Jungwon embarrassed. "S-sorry. You're just so perfect." Jungwon spoke with his eyes focused on your damp folds. "Probably taste even better than you look." He pulled out his phone, quickly snapping a photo of your open legs.

He threw his phone to the side, quickly burying his face in your pussy. "Ah, Jungwon-!" You moaned, feeling his tongue drag up and down your slit. "Fuck, you taste so nice. Just want to stay down here forever, yeah?" He harshly sucked your clit, watching your arousal slide out of you. Jungwon used his fingers to push it back in , watching your back arch off of the bed. "Jungwon! More, p-please." Jungwon use one hand to grab your thigh and the other pistons in and out of your dripping cunt.

"Jungwon, I-I'-" Before you could finish your sentence, Jungwon pulled away. "P-please sit on my fucking face baby. I wanna play with your tits while you ride my face." He spoke in such a perverted tone as if he'd been thinking about this ever since he saw you. You felt yourself get wetter and you both conformed to his request.

He laid on his back, facing up and watching you remove your skirt fully. You climbed nervously on top of him, hovering over his face. He scoffed, flicking his tongue over your clit. "I didn't tell you to squat, cutie. I said sit." He lowly growled, pulling your full body weight onto his mouth. You slowly began to grind on his face, feeling his tongue inside of you drove you insane. He used one hand to play with your clothed tits, using the other to take off your top and bra. Softly squeezing your tits, he dropped the hand to his cock and started jerking himself off.

You braced yourself on his shoulders, twitching and grinding on his mouth. "Cum. Wanna see you make a mess." He sputtered, sucking harder on your clit. You moaned, squeezing your thighs around his head and making him groan. You leaned back, your orgasm washing over you as you squirted onto his face. He quickly shut his eyes, moaning in relief as he came into his own fist. "Made such a mess all over my face with your pretty pussy."

You quickly were embarrassed by his words, climbing off his face and flopping on the bed next to him. "You came so hard. Glad I caught that on camera baby." He licked his lips, smirking. "C-camera?" He noticed your shocked face, chuckling to himself. "I had a friend bug the room. God, Jake is probably jerking off upstairs right now to our tape." You sat there in shock, Jungwon staring at your free tits. "I told you I rather make movies than watch them."