#event: cage of survival 2

[allelitewrestlings]

Where? I don’t know. But I'll be back in this ring.

[fixyourwritinghabits]

No Such Thing As Filler

Okay, so yes, this is another post based on something I saw that irritated me, but it seems like this idea keeps coming up, so I need y'all to internalize this. There is no such thing as filler in good writing. None. Do not approach your work thinking you have to fill space in a story, I will beat you with this wiffle bat. Don't ask me where I got the wiffle bat. Don't even worry about it.

The idea of filler comes from a very particular place - when an anime or TV show has to fit in a certain number of episodes, but doesn't have enough content (hasn't caught up with the manga, the source material isn't long enough, etc) to cover those episodes. An episode has to be written, but the characters can't really progress, and so are given something else to do. Many a trope has come from these episodes, and they're sometimes necessary. Filler in this context is something that makes sense.

The dark side of filler is the idea that you need some space between Big Event 1 and Big Event 2 in your story, therefore you need throw anything in there to take up space and make your word count. This is a mistake I've made and I've seen plenty of other writers do it too, but it's a huge waste of your time. You do need something between those big action scenes, but you should always be writing to accomplish something.

Instead of thinking of that writing as filler, try to approach it with three things in mind:

Move Forward With Character Development and Backstory - Your characters barely survived a huge gunfight, and they won't encounter the big bad again for another few chapters. How do your characters decompress from that gunfight, and what does that say about them? Did a cocky character go in guns blazing, only to be deeply shaken by how a real fight works? Did that fight spark a moment of deep trauma for the main character that they have to reflect on afterwards?

Filling this space with meaningless scenes is a huge waste of opportunity. Think about how to dive deeper into your characters.

Move Forward With Plot and Subplot Development - The bad guy beat the heroes to the stolen gem, but they left behind a clue to why they want it. However that clue could reveal some painful truths about the protagonist's beloved great aunt... Carmen Sandiego???

A major goal following a big action scene is having the characters figure out what to do with what they've learned and what to do next. It's where romance subplots or secret relative subplots make progress, when truths are revealed and next steps are taken. You can absolutely do this in any setting - a flirty conversation while at the battling cages, a tense moment of feelings while hunting down a wayward chicken - but your main goal is making progress for both the characters and plot.

Move Forward With Worldbuilding - Worldbuilding has it challenges, believe me. You don't want to write a chapter on how an airship works only to have to cut it later. But you should still try to flesh out your world, and you should do so with the perspective of how to use that worldbuilding to your benefit. Maybe a critical scene hinges on the main characters knowing how that airship works, or that lake your main character often stares at is the setting of the big Act 3 Boat Battle. The weather can play into both perspective and emotions. Knowing what the main character's house and car looks like can reflect a lot on their personal character or backstory.

When you're struggling with a scene or a chapter, rather than writing filler, take a few steps back and think. What can you establish with your worldbuilding? What can you reveal about your characters through their dialogue and actions? What subplot could you explore or add in these between moments?

Filler from a fandom perspective - Now let me make this clear - if you're writing a fanfic just to have a cute moment between the characters you like, or you really want to force everyone to do that weird Twilight baseball scene, that's fine. You don't need a grand goal to achieve for every story, there's no need to justify your fanwork in any way other than you wanted to do it.

But I'd also argue fanwork doesn't fall under the filler label either - something you create, be it a character snapshot or a 'what if the gang meets Slenderman' parody, isn't taking up meaningless space. It's something fun you did that you and others enjoy, and there's nothing wasteful or pointless about that.

[operator-report]

In middle school, I read a short story for English class called Flowers for Algernon. Maybe you’ve read it, too. In the story, a disabled man named Charlie is given a medicine that cures his disability. Over the course of the story, he comes to realize that his “cure” is temporary and that he will “regress” into being disabled again. The story makes it clear that this is a tragedy. As a disabled teenager when I first read it, the story affected me deeply.

I’d like to talk about David and Noelle. 

Content warnings for discussion of suicide, self-harm, ableism and eating disorders below the cut. Spoilers for Worm through arc 27. 

When I was first reading arc 18, one of the things that stuck out to me is how much time the story spends on Eidolon. For me, it was the first time I paid much attention to him - prior to that, Eidolon was just an extremely powerful background character to me. But in arc 18, we learn that (1) Eidolon is losing his powers and (2) he believes that fighting Echidna will allow him to tap into some sort of reservoir to bring them back.

We find this out, of course, through Tattletale exposing him, which is always an extremely embarrassing event for Tattletale’s target. It makes it extremely clear that what Eidolon is doing is pathetic. He is going to kill a teenage girl so he can feel something. 

Which would be messed up enough, right? We don’t need to make this even worse, right? Wrong. Because Wildblow has spent the last several thousand words building up the Case 53s as X-Men style metaphors for oppressed groups, and one of the forms of oppression that Wildblow generally writes well is ableism. I think you can consider most, if not all of the Case 53s as disabled in some way. I think the link is extremely clear with Noelle.

Noelle doesn’t get her powers from traditional Cauldron human experimentation - at least, not directly. Instead, she and Krouse are facing what is, to them, a no-win scenario. They’re quarantined with limited access to medical care. Breaching this quarantine would permanently render them criminals. If Noelle survives her surgery, which is a pretty big if, she’ll become disabled, in a way that both Krouse and Noelle agree is ugly and undesirable. She won’t be able to do “boyfriend-girlfriend stuff” because she won’t be “any good to look at, after.” 

Krouse and Noelle are terrified of death, yes, but they’re also terrified of disability. They are desperate for control over Noelle’s body, control that, as of that moment, only the state has. (Remember the quarantine?) Krouse pressures Noelle into drinking the vial. Noelle is cured. 

Noelle’s cure does not last. In attempting to assert control, her body becomes uncontrollable. Her body is her trauma and her eating disorder made literal. She still needs care.

Worm would be bad if this is why her life sucks. But Worm does something better, instead. Noelle goes through hell, not just due to the sheer difficulty of having her power, but because of the way her teammates and Coil treat her. They talk about Noelle like she’s already dead. They’re ashamed of bringing her the food she needs. When Krouse “includes” Noelle in a discussion in arc 12, it’s mostly perfunctory. They do not believe Noelle is human any longer. They lock her away.

Noelle doesn’t want to be put in a cage. Noelle doesn’t want to be dehumanized. In interlude 18, when we get insight into Noelle’s thoughts, we learn that what Noelle is angry about is the fact that Krouse locked her in a concrete bunker and placated her. When she tells people not to look at her, there’s a coda to that sentence that she doesn’t get to verbalize: don’t look at me like that. 

This is the person who Eidolon is going to kill. 

Via the Simurgh, this is a person Eidolon has unknowingly created.

A few thousand words of Worm go by. It’s Gold Morning. Eidolon is fighting Scion. Now, at the end of the book, we finally get substantial insight into David, the man behind the mask. 

David takes a Cauldron vial to cure his disability. David sees this as the only way out, after an unsuccessful application to join the military, and then, an unsuccessful suicide attempt. David is bearing an immense amount of shame and internalized ableism. David is worried that father’s friends are watching him. (Don’t look at me.) David cleaves the world into two kinds of people: those who can have jobs, who are liked and respected because they are useful; and people like him, who are useless.

It’s a terrible way to think. Without that worldview, how could a person not take the vial? David wants to be used, because David wants to be useful. He never gets the independence he craves – not when he’s in that level of debt to Cauldron – but he gets to be useful, and that’s one of the best things you can be.

Like Noelle’s, like Charlie’s in Flowers, David’s cure doesn’t work. His abilities are wearing off. He is essentially told, when Doctor Mother administers his booster shots, that his medicine is too expensive. 

Cauldron creates Noelle. David, as Cauldron’s soldier, has a role to play in her creation. David knows exactly what he is doing to Noelle. It happened to him. Worm fandom talks a lot about David being a father. He’s a father in more ways than one. (David’s father is always watching him.) (Don’t look at me.)

Cauldron never cures David’s ableism. In his world, you can be useful, or you can die. David asks Noelle if she wants to win. Noelle tells him no. You can have a job, or you can kill yourself. When David tries to kill Noelle to help himself, isn’t that a mercy?

Of course it isn’t. It goes without saying that all of this is extremely fucked up. When it comes to disability, “cure” is a complicated concept. I’m not going to get into all the ways it can be treated; this post is already a thousand words long. But I do think that Worm, through Noelle and David and the concept of the Cauldron vial, provides an extremely vivid picture of the problems with cure. 

Under ableist logic, when you have a disability, a cure is something you’re expected to want. Without it, the story goes, you can’t be useful. You can’t do boyfriend-girlfriend stuff. The expectation is social, like the act of staring. Your desire for it should drive how you organize your life – it is control, like a quarantine. David is crushed by that expectation. He throws his lot in with Cauldron, the cure-makers. The expectation is passed along to Noelle, and even though David can recognize that inheritance, he cannot imagine any other way to respond to it other than attempted murder.

At the beginning of this post, I mentioned that Flowers for Algernon is a tragedy. The reason that story has stuck with me so long is that I keep going back and forth as to why. Is it a tragedy because Charlie goes back to being disabled? There’s a good chance that’s what the author intended. I don’t know. It would be a pretty shitty story if that were the case. Is it a tragedy because people only treat Charlie well when he’s “cured,” and when that stops, he’ll go back to abuse? Seems plausible. I don’t think there’s one right answer. Regardless, when you’re disabled, there’s an immense pressure to seek out a cure, and a cognizable loss when it is withheld. The fact that Worm captures that social pressure and social loss so well is extremely compelling for me, and I’m going to be thinking about these characters for a long time.

[neowinestainedress]

© neowinestaindress; all rights reserved. do NOT repost, modify, or translate any work from this blog on any other platform and claim it as yours. you can find my works on ao3 (neowinestaindress) and wattpad (winestaintedress_; currently inactive).

LONG FICS

rock, paper, scissors ; 11k — johnjaenomin fivesome [s] — five friends rent a house together for a few weeks to enjoy summer like they used to do when they were younger, thinking that nothing could change their friendship. But teasing leads to pent-up tension and tension leads to problems. Problems that can’t be fixed by playing ‘rock, paper, scissors’ like when they were young.

can you handle it? ; 12k — johnjaenomin fivesome part 2 [s] — Johnny drags her wildest fantasies out of her mouth, or to be more precise, out of her phone. But can she handle it?

rose-colored glasses ; 18k — requested | bet!au [a] [s] — a long-lasting crush for her brother’s best friend, a bet, obsession, devotion and jealousy; all things that cannot lead to anything good. But the world that Jeno showed her was perfect and she couldn’t see what it really hid behind the rose-colored glasses. It was all distorted.

shattered glasses ; 28k — rose-colored glasses sequel | yandere [s] [f] [a] — there’s only one way to survive in a cage made of rose-colored glasses: don’t shatter the glasses, reality will be painful to accept. 

10 things I love about you ; 3k — requested | [f] [a] — she feels like Jeno’s only dating her for sex, and he proves to her how much he loves her by telling her ten of the things he loves about her the most (spoiler: they are more than ten).

wrapped around your fingers ; 8k — requested | CEO!au [s] [f] — Jeno finds out he has his girlfriend wrapped around his fingers... well, in a way he doesn’t quite expect.

drippin’ ; 18k — requested | x reader | haemarknomin fivesome [s] — you need relief from this strange pain you’re feeling, but you don’t know what to do. Your boyfriend and his friends offer to help, giving you a solution you didn’t quite expect coming.

into the woods ; 11k — inferno event | werewolves (feat kun, jaehyun, johnny, yangyang) [s]  — ‘don’t go in the woods, past the first two rows of trees.’ It’s a simple rule, planted in every kid’s mind in the village since they are born. Nobody knows why, but nobody dares to question why. But pride leads to do dangerous things and what’s supposed to be a silly bet to prove something, gets you lost a bit too far into the scary forest. And those who seem to be polite strangers turn out to be something they’re not.

sweet lies ; 7k — inferno event | ghost [s] — you find out what’s the weird sensation that’s been torturing you for years, but just when you think things start to make sense, he confuses you even more. Are you really who he thinks you are?

sweet deception ; 19k — inferno event | x reader | various monsters, multiple members [s] — on Halloween, nothing is as it seems. You end up in a room with six guys thinking they have amazing costumes only to be struck by reality when it’s too late; those are not costumes at all. But remember, on October 31, nothing is as it seems.

enough for you ; 5k — requested | traitor sequel + haechan [a] [f] — all she ever wanted was to be enough for Haechan, even now that they aren’t together anymore. Until someone opens her eyes and makes her realize that she is already enough the way she is.

happier ; 20k — requested | enough for you sequel + haechan [a] [f] [s] — Haechan can’t live with the weight of losing her forever, he can live even less with the fear that she might be happier with Jeno. He wonders if he’s still in time to fix what he tore apart or if he’ll have to pay the price for what he did forever.

wait for me ; 6k — gift | sequel | x reader [s] — jeno keeps his promise of turning you into a mess under him

secret ; 10k — gift | sub!jeno | x reader [s][f] — jeno has a secret he can’t tell anybody, not even you

do you want to play a game, detective? ; 10k — ghostface/scream!au [s] — in these past months your only goal is to find the killer that is terrorizing the town of Woodsboro, but when you get close to him and feel like you finally have the upper hand, Ghostface turns the game around again. Or, Ghostface wants to play with you but not like he does with his victims, and you let him.

SERIES

SOUR — COMPLETED distorted — COMPLETED

DRABBLES

nipple sucking— requested | x reader [s]

phone sex + innocence kink — requested | x reader [s]

villain!jeno + rough anal sex — requested | x reader [s]

shibari + hard!dom + toys — requested | x reader [s]

vampire!jeno x human!reader + sweet love making — requested | x reader [s]

game over — gamer!haechan + mark, jeno, jaemin | requested | x reader [s]

insecure reader — requested | x reader [f]

insecure jeno — requested | x reader [f]

fingers sucking — requested | x reader [s]

sub!jeno — requested | x reader [s] (it's more like a blurb but longer)

subspace — requested | x reader [s]

BLURBS / HARD HOURS

nominhyuck humiliation + filming [s]

nominhyuck humiliation [s]

[soleilnomoon]

geto suguru x fem reader | issa toxic affair, y'all.

6.2k words (i know, i know), fem reader, nsfw, 18+ mdni; angst city, angst angst city biiitch (yk the vibes) & smut (obvy); feat. cute stuff like a lil' degradation, toxic ass relationship, a lil infidelity, obsessive love & jealousy, lovers 2 exes 2 enemies 2 lovers, public indecency, hand job, oral (f receiving), knife play, a lil bit of blood kink, alcohol, geto is a certified asshole & but reader gets him back, yandere reader bc i love being toxic, gojo makes an appearance! also idk other stuff probably idr ok; also reader is black bc i said she is. this is for @510hz's how to be a heartbreaker collab event (ty so much for letting me participate, i had fun truly). this was inspired by mariana's "power & control"; there's also a lil inspo from "the glory" in there, you'll see. it took me forever but i survived, i hope y'all survive reading this 🤭 (if u see typos/grammatical errors no u didn't)

“you horrify me. but at the same time, / i horrify myself. we are horrible.” – hélène cixous

there’s a name for the disease you have; it’s called foolishness, or, in layman’s terms: love.

your mother warned you long ago, to guard your heart — to ensure that no man could penetrate the thick walls encasing it — yet there you are, a silly, pathetic thing scurrying behind a man who would readily cast you aside if it suited him. you truly did resist him at first; you rebuffed his advances with polite smiles and curt responses, yet he persisted daily and, in hindsight, obsessively.

it’s in his nature, after all.

a man like geto suguru simply does not concede if his pride is on the line — and your initial rejection did, in fact, bruise his ego; although, he’ll never openly admit that.

when he does manage to wiggle his way into your heart, with his charming smiles, small gestures that you somehow misinterpret as kindness, you steadily fall for him. it’s not your fault, not really. geto is just that damn good at figuring people out; and with you, it wasn’t difficult. he found it remarkably easy to sway you, he almost felt bad.

almost.

the first few months are pure bliss; he picks you up promptly for dates, takes you to nice restaurants in the city, pays for spa days and shopping sprees — buys you things you never really allowed yourself to buy on your own, surprises you with lavish floral arrangements that make you cry needlessly over how tragically romantic he’s being. and, suddenly, your heart, which was so strongly protected, becomes vulnerable and falls under his control. it flutters around helplessly in the gilded cage he’s crafted for it — a too-tight fit, where every time you exhale you feel the thick bars pressing tightly and you suffocate — but still, love makes you think that all of this is worth it in the end.

as long as geto calls you his, that’s all that matters.

when he calls your phone, you pick up on the first ring, eager and desperate —to hear the dulcet tones embedded in his voice, the words saccharine and carefully picked; things you’ve always wanted to be told, he whispers them all to you before you fall asleep.

but the thing about geto is, boredom is never too far away from him.

it wraps itself around his arms one morning, slithers along and drenches his skin, completely warping his sense of morality — making him much more severe and uncaring than he normally is. all your cute, quirky traits become bothersome to him; he tires of your laugh, doesn’t care to see that sparkle in your eyes whenever he shows up at your front door, and listening to you drone on and on about things that you like bores him to tears.

when he fucks you, it’s impassively, as if it’s something he needs to tick off his list of weekly duties, rather than something he chooses to do because he genuinely wants to be intimate. you don’t question it at first, but it becomes painfully obvious — and awkward — when he leaves every time, not bothering to kiss you goodnight or even look your way. your mind is cruel one morning, when you reflect on how sex with geto is mostly about him getting off and not you; it never bothered you before, but as the months go on, it starts one of many tiny cracks in his veneer.

the rejection is unbearable — tangible in the way it makes you sluggish and depressed — but you deal with it; you must, after all, he’s the love of your life. you simply can’t imagine being with anyone else now.

geto becomes the very man your mother warned you about, but you ignore it without question.

love is work, you remind yourself for the umpteenth time as you sit in the back of your favorite restaurant, checking the time repeatedly and seeing that he still hasn’t shown. you’re in a modest dress with a slit down the side and you’ve already downed two glasses of wine without him. it’s been forty minutes, the server keeps checking on you, giving you pitying looks despite your smiles and insistence that your boyfriend is definitely on his way.

but the longer you sit there, the less sure of that you are.

eventually you leave; they don’t charge you for a thing and you thank them for their kindness — pity, really — and head home. you try calling geto and get his voicemail again; so you leave yet another teary message, this one more incoherent than the last two, and toss your phone onto your vanity before crying yourself the sleep. you don’t know what to do with this feeling — the hopelessness is eating you alive; or maybe it’s just the wine making you overly sensitive.

geto knows he’s an asshole and relishes in it.

he has his notifications silenced while he’s downtown with a few close friends, partying in an exclusive lounge, drinking until his head grows heavy. he doesn’t remember how he gets back to his place, and barely remembers who he fucked that night, but he does have the common decency to kick them out come morning. he’s hospitable like that. his head throbs as he scrolls through his phone, promptly ignoring the twelve texts from you and the fifteen missed calls. gojo called him heartless last night, which he thought was ridiculous — he has a heart, it just doesn’t always work properly; geto now assumes gojo was referring to his mistreatment of you.

something about that nags at him a little, so he decides to play nice and call you back. the phone continues to ring as he lounges on the plush couch in his living room, causing him to frown; very strange. you normally pick up for him right away, but you’re not answering. he should be concerned, but he chalks it up to you sleeping and decides to try again in an hour.

after his third time calling, annoyance turns into anger which fuels his petty jealousy.

what could you possibly be doing that would require you to ignore him — him — of all people?

“y/n,” he says as calmly as he can while his hand grips his phone tightly, it’s his fourth voicemail, but he doesn’t really care. “i don’t know what game you’re playing at, but i assure you… you won’t win.” he doesn’t elaborate past that, and instead throws his phone at the nearest wall — not bothering to pick it up once it clatters onto the hardwood floor. his anger surprises him; subduing certain emotions is an art for him, so all of this feels very new and uncomfortable.

he tells himself this weakness is only temporary, and that you’ll come to your senses too. except, you don’t. you don’t call him back; you don’t bother texting, and you don’t listen to his voicemails until three days later. when geto finds you, you’re in the middle of rewatching your favorite show for the tenth time, eating leftover pizza in your pajamas.

with his nose wrinkled, geto shuffles through your apartment, taking note of the pile of dishes in your kitchen and the way you’ve completely let go of yourself. he’s appalled that a woman like you has succumbed to the frivolities that accompanies hurt feelings. he even says as much to you when you fail to greet him or acknowledge his presence.

it's when he turns off the tv, that you blink several times, sluggish and confused before realizing that the beautiful man before you is not a figment of your imagination.

“suguru,” you sound his name out like it’s unfamiliar, your tongue thick from keeping quiet these past few days; your mind’s a mess, you’re still reeling from the betrayal of him clearly abandoning you, discarding you like you’re just a toy that he’s long forgotten on the street. he snaps his fingers impatiently in front of your face to get your attention again.

“wh-what is it?”

he frowns again. “what do you mean ‘wh-what is it’?” his mockery of your voice and his accompanying sneer is unbecoming of him, you think, but you don’t say that out loud; instead you put down the pizza you were nibbling and yawn languidly.

“you don’t have to be an ass,” you remark carefully, finally glancing up at him as though you’re seeing him for the first time. love muddled your vision, but now you can see geto suguru for all that he is. a liar, a conman, a shitty human being; but most importantly, he’s still the love of your life. you take that last bit seriously; maybe a little too seriously.

but love has a way of making you foolish in ways that are incomprehensible to others.

geto narrows his eyes at you before his lips twitch and he laughs at your insolence. “okay, that’s fair. i did stand you up, after all.”

you turn back to the tv and shrug, flicking a few crumbs off your shirt. “doesn’t matter. what’s done is done.”

for some reason, your apathy agitates him greatly. your tone is off — detached, devoid of the usual joviality that you have whenever he’s around; he figures that he deserves that, but he knows you won’t be mad at him for long. you never are.

“don’t get ahead of yourself, y/n,” his words drift through the air, venomous and well-practiced — he’s mastered the art of tearing down others without even trying — his annoyance reaches its peak when you ignore him and he exhales loudly, as if the entire situation has bored him to death. “since you obviously don’t give a damn about my presence,” he starts, not bothering to hide his malice or irritation, “i’ll give you what you want.”

which is space. permanently — at least, that’s what he thinks you want anyway. he slams the copy of your apartment key onto the coffee table — something that would’ve made you flinch days ago, but you’re so numb you barely notice.

it’s unbelievable that after a year, this is how you treat him; maybe it’s for the best that he’s breaking up with you. after all, he’d never be able to tolerate you having the upper hand in the breakup. still, it does concern him a bit that you’re not reacting in the way you usually would; did he honestly break your heart that badly that you’ve taken to retreating to the far recesses of your mind? not that it matters to him; you served your purpose and wore out your welcome eight months ago.

he just needed a reason to end it.

once he leaves, you feel like you can breathe again. and after a few minutes, you realize what just happened. you scramble off the couch, heart beating rapidly, palm slick with perspiration as you yank open the door and call out to him.

but he’s long gone; already driven off, ready to take on the world without you.

you wear your rejection like a bruise that won’t ever heal; each word said, each call and text ignored, is like a punch in the same spot over and over.

will you ever be able to move on properly?

it’s not really his problem if you can or can’t get over him, as he’s already moved on within the hour. the thing about geto is, he always assumes he’s the one in control — that he holds all the cards in his hands; but he isn’t. he forgets that you’re entirely too observant for your own good, curious, resourceful, and lethal when provoked long enough. you foolishly grab your car keys and drive to his place in the middle of the night; you ignore traffic lights, drive faster than necessary, swerve in and out of traffic as a fit of madness course through your veins.

love continues to delude you into thinking that there’s a way to fix it all; there has to be, it’s the only thing you can believe in right now.

you think about ringing his doorbell, think about calling and texting, think about just banging on his window and demanding he let you in. but you don’t. instead, you lean against your car, dark, heavy clouds looming over that part of the city as rain comes down hard and practically oppressively.

but you don’t move.

you stand there, shivering; soaked from head to toe, hands balled into fists — his last words playing over and over in your mind, like a song you can’t seem to forget. and every time you hear his voice, your heart shatters a little more; you imagine he’s having fun inside, laughing with gojo and whatever new flavor he’s decided to whet his appetite with. you want to give him the benefit of the doubt; maybe he’s having a bad week? maybe he didn’t mean to break up with you; but the longer you try to convince yourself, the sharper his betrayal becomes.

the truth is bitter, inedible, and harsh; it clamps around your mind as the remnants of your heart morphs into ash.

you bite your tongue hard enough to draw blood, but you don’t feel it; how can you, after all that’s happened?

eventually, you hop into your car and drive to your best friend’s house — she’s the only one you can go to, now that you’ve realized that geto is serious about leaving you. after pouring your heart out and downing a few more glasses of wine, your best friend takes you by the shoulders and shakes you repeatedly.

“y/n,” she says calmly, eyes soft and warm, “honestly, babe, you need to move on from him. is he worth all of this trouble?” you consider her question, roll your bottom lip in between your teeth before answering properly.

“of course, he is,” you say quietly, and then a little louder, “my love for him is so strong that i actually think i hate him.” you’ve never seen your best friend so speechless in your life, but there she is, unable to formulate an appropriate enough response to talk you out of this.

but the thing is, as soon as those words leave your mouth, it finally clicks; all the pieces to the jigsaw puzzle set perfectly in place. how could you have been so foolish?

you love him so much that you hate him, and your hatred is so strong that it can only be perceived as love. it’s irrational, maddening, incredibly toxic; but you revel in it. you know what you need to do, you just need time to do it.

days blend into weeks, and weeks to months; you sell your soul to get back your dignity, that determination that geto stupidly overlooked continuously fuels your quest for revenge. you disappear from the city, change your phone number, leave your apartment, and become a nonthreatening ghost from geto’s past. he forgets about you every time he sleeps with someone else, forgets about you whenever he goes on vacation, forgets about you as he whispers the same sweet things to another over and over and over again.

his ego is something to be marveled, and he feels a little unstoppable these days.

six months later, geto finds himself at a stuffy gala — one that his company’s holding to legally siphon money from the upper 1% under the guise of philanthropy — and spends most of the night dodging gojo’s questions over another failed relationship.

“you really don’t think you’re the problem?” gojo says in between sips of champagne, eyeing his best friend through his dark shades, and smiling as if he already knows the answer to that particular question.

geto lets out a frustrated groan and rolls his eyes. “i’m not doing this with you.” because the last thing he needs, is gojo killing his buzz. he glances at the people in attendance, dark eyes flicking over each guest, seemingly uninterested in any of them until you walk in.

he’s not sure it’s you at first, as your beauty captivates him in a way that doesn’t make sense to him. you’re in a pair of heels that look equal parts elegant and enticing, a shimmering, gold gown with a plunging neckline and incredibly high slit. the color offsets the warm undertones of your rich, brown skin that seems silky and otherworldly under all the lights in the room. geto blinks several times, almost as if he can’t believe that it’s you. and, if it wasn’t for gojo making comments about how he didn’t realize you had curves like that, geto might’ve believed you were a figment of his imagination.

how the tables turn.

your date escorts you to a table towards the back, one that’s close enough that geto can watch you properly. something about you is different. he’s not sure if it’s the confidence you exude as you smile coyly at some of the other guests, plump lips curving upward whenever another man asks to make your acquaintance. you keep your head held high, graceful, as if you belong with that crowd — even though geto knows you don’t. you’d never be able to come to an event like this on your own, but he isn’t upset about that.

what he’s upset at, is your date’s hand lingering on your thigh, thumb caressing your knee as he leans over to whisper something in your ear; that’s your cue to smile demurely and swat at his hand. the laugh is well timed — you even throw your head back, offering geto a full view of your elongated neck and round breasts that cling to the fabric of your gown. you excuse yourself under the guise of going to the restroom, and walk past geto without glancing at him — it’s difficult, you so badly want to turn and watch his reaction, but you keep strong, hips swaying as you take the first hallway on your left.

he’s not sure if it’s curiosity, jealousy, or insanity that drives him to get out of his seat and stalk after you. geto was done with you, he knew that — you knew that — but there he is, chasing you like some lovesick teen that can’t seem to get their unrequited crush out of their head. thankfully, the hallway is empty, so when he rounds the corner, he finds you standing there, checking out your reflection in your compact mirror. you feign surprise when you realize someone’s there, one that morphs into temporary confusion before you smile sweetly at your ex-boyfriend.

“well, isn’t this a fun surprise,” you say airily, a sly smile tumbling onto your lips as you make your way over to him. he’s somehow forgotten how to breathe while simultaneously forgetting that you always looked like this — overwhelmingly beautiful and alluring — he just insisted you dress plain on purpose. you like that he’s speechless; you like that his eyes haven’t left you since you walked into the gala. when you get close enough that he can see just how long and thick your lashes are, he finally snaps out of his stupor — somewhat.

“y/n,” he says belatedly, a bit of awe and amusement coloring his voice, “i’m surprised to see you.” what he really wanted to say, was that he’s trying to remember why he broke up with you in the first place — because nothing comes to mind. not when you reach your hand to delicately tuck a strand of his hair behind his ear, not when you intentionally place your hand on his chest, and call out his name softly, almost like a whisper before you take a step back.

“i changed my number,” you say in order to drive the point home and pluck your new phone out of your clutch. “and i moved, but i’d love to catch up with you.” he doesn’t say anything when you type your contact information in his phone and when your lips brush against his cheek, he’s reminded of just how much he adored you initially. he wants to ask why you’ve suddenly come back, but the words stick to the roof of his mouth — thick and impossible to remove, slowly rotting through his common sense. it must be some absurd act of possession that has him pull you close enough to brush his lips against yours; you relish in the nostalgia of the moment, with memories of him kissing you spontaneously during your dates — after all, you’ve been in this position so many times before.

the difference? your claws are sharper, dipped in one of the most potent poisons in the world — hatred.

but you have a role to play now: the naïve ex-girlfriend, who knew nothing of the world before meeting him. geto’s ego knows no bounds when you part your lips for him effortlessly, back arching as he runs his hand down it; his fingers are cool against your exposed skin and you shiver from the contact. he smirks at that, liking that he can still get that sort of reaction out of you. time is essential now, so you kiss him suddenly — your lips soft, supple, and sweet as ever.

geto uses that opportunity to slip is tongue inside of your mouth and familiarizes himself with your taste. you whimper softly and he smirks, thinking that he’s somehow won you over all over again, especially when you drag your nails down the back of his neck, scratching his skin without a care. they’re much sharper than he’s known them to be, and while the sting is tolerable, it’s also annoying. yet he can’t seem to pry himself away; your body feels perfect against his, and you surprise him once again when you rub your hand against his cock. geto’s never known you to be that bold before — and in public too? your kiss transforms into something much demanding, and before he realizes it, you’ve unbuckled his belt and unzipped his pants.

a heat passes through both of you — and you almost forget yourself as you fall into a familiar dance, kissing him fervently as you wrap your hand around his cock. it stiffens almost immediately, a painful reminder that he’s still impossibly attracted to you, despite what he told himself months ago. you get drunk off of the power you hold over him — the man who mercilessly crushed your heart and left you alone to deal with the aftermath — and have to remind yourself that you’re only supposed to tease him a bit.

his breathing grows uneven, and it’s comical how he’s forgotten that anyone can easily walk in on you two — he just doesn’t care. he’d fuck you in front of everyone just to prove a damn point. your hand strokes faster, twisting as it moves up and down his thick length, his skin hot and smooth, keeping you in a daze. it’s always been like that with you — getting so hopelessly caught up in him that you forget anything else exists.

a voice in the back of your mind tells you to slow down, but you ignore it — the thrill of feeling each jerk of his hips has you moaning into his mouth, breathlessly kissing him like you have all the time in the world.

except you don’t.

the reality of that hits you faster than you’d like, so you bite his lip hard enough to draw blood. you pull away after, almost innocently and lick the blood off of him. the move practically pushes him over the edge, and he has to tell himself that he shouldn’t try fucking you in that hallway. you do your best to catch your breath and blink slowly as you both look at each other. to give yourself a bit of an edge, you swipe your thumb against the tip of his cock and admire the precum on your hand. you bring it up your lips, tongue gliding against your skin to savor the taste of him. it’s a polarizing and captivating experience; something about that makes him want to kiss you all over again, but he refrains from doing so, instead focusing on tucking himself in and fixing his clothes properly.

if you were cruel, you’d take a picture of this moment — of geto with a slightly heaving chest, flushed cheeks, confusion etched on his face as if he doesn’t understand why he let himself get carried away like that. your lipstick is smeared prettily against his lips — red, intoxicating, and ominous.

you smile at that; happy that you’ve successfully integrated yourself into his life again.

“let’s… pick this up again sometime,” your voice has a strange lilt to it — coy and musical, dangerously sultry. his heart skips a beat, and he thinks he’s gone mad; geto doesn’t swoon or obsess the way others do for him. but you’re different now, much more interesting, and mysterious. he knows there’s something wrong with this picture, but he can’t seem to connect the dots just yet.

he doesn’t get another chance to talk to you, as your date keeps you busy most of the night; you don’t bother looking at geto until the end of the event, where you wiggle your fingers at him before leaving.

as soon as you get into your date’s car, you get a text message from a number you’ve memorized by heart and smile as you mentally list all the things you need to do before your revenge can be complete.

little does he know, you haven’t moved at all; you still own your old apartment, but you don’t stay there. you temporarily moved into your childhood friend’s place — a ritzy, luxurious high-rise apartment by the beach — while they travel for work out of the country. it’s all for show, of course; you need geto (and gojo, by extension) to think you’ve somehow elevated yourself financially, that you’re successfully integrated into similar social circles, that you can casually score invites to lavish events that cater to the wealthy elite. after changing out of your gown and into something comfortable, you decide to pay a visit to your old place; it’s mostly empty, save for your old bedroom.

you poured your savings into surveillance equipment, have monitors set up around the room, have hundreds of candid pictures of geto and the people he frequently associates with over the past six months plastered all along the walls. you’ve scribbled out his face in most of the pics, and have drawn lines and arrows, written incoherent notes to yourself — making connections and scenarios so that your contingency plans are unshakeable.

geto texts you again and you smile to yourself, loving the way you’ve already slithered into his mind after one brief conversation with him. he doesn’t realize you’ve been watching him all this time, doesn’t realize that you placed cameras in his home, doesn’t realize that you have unfiltered access to his computer and phone — it pays to have friends who dabble in those things.

you make some tea before sitting on the cushy computer chair as you watch geto stress over you not texting him back; you chuckle and spin around in your chair, elation building up in your chest, rattling that gilded cage around your heart. he’s so stupid, it’s almost too easy; you open the text thread with him, start typing out a bogus response for a few minutes, then delete it and leave him on read.

it takes him half an hour to really lose his mind over you not texting him back, and all you can do is laugh until tears fall out of your eyes.

you want him to fall so hopelessly in love with you, that you become his very reason for living and breathing. then you want to carve out his heart and leave him behind. a perfect plan, really; there are some kinks you still need to iron out, but you know, in time, that everything will go as planned.

uneasiness settles into geto’s stomach over the next few weeks; you barely text him back, and when he calls, you’re always busy. it’s foolish the way he’s pining after you; he knows it’s just because he hasn’t seen you in a long time, but something about you is just so… different. the way you abruptly cut conversations short with him, how you keep rescheduling lunch and dinner with him; how you intentionally let yourself be seen on social media with various men and women. and even when he wants to delete your number and block you, he can’t seem to do it.

because there’s no logical reason why he should be upset. you two aren’t dating anymore, this is just his lust-ridden brain taking hold of his common sense. or, that’s what he keeps telling himself.

when you do manage to see him for dinner one night, you tease him mercilessly and without remorse. at first, geto thinks he has control over the flow of the conversation. you keep blushing whenever he strokes your palm, giggle appropriately when he bumps his knee against yours, and act demure when he gives you permission to order anything off the menu. and you do; the guilt you used to feel is nowhere to be found, instead you thrive in the high that accompanies spending his money frivolously.

in return, you slide your foot up along his leg — slow and tenuous, the first course in your act to capture his heart completely — flirt heavily without restriction and encourage him to keep ordering drinks. geto grows tired of dragging things out and insists you continue the evening back at his place.

“oh,” you say softly and, after a long drawn out moment, your lips curve into a knowing smile.

after you’re both full and pleasantly tipsy, he takes you to his place; in his mind it won’t be long before he has you begging him to fuck you — and then he can finally be rid of this ridiculous obsession. you barely make it through the door because his hands are all over you, tugging roughly on your dress to take it off of you. if you weren’t so determined to see this through, you’d laugh — at his eagerness, at his annoyance with the matter, at your uncanny ability to fool him into thinking that you really want him back.

you lay on his bed, legs spread wide, arousal dripping from your folds as he kisses along the inside of your thighs. normally, geto is an incredibly selfish lover — but tonight, he busies himself with devouring you entirely. almost like he’s trying to make up for lost time. your skin is littered with bite marks and hickeys, but you don’t mind; a few battle scars are necessary in the long run. an unprecedented hunger takes hold of his mind — drives him to eat your pussy with vigor and passion. you roll your hips forward, nipples hard as you moan his name loudly.

he likes how you’re falling apart for him — and only him; you tug on his hair roughly, nails raking against his scalp when he flicks his tongue against your throbbing clit. you forgot that when geto puts his mind to something, he really puts in work; his cock is stiff, but he chooses to ignore it for the sake of watching you writhe on his bed, hand pulling on his bed sheet as soon as he slips his lithe fingers inside of you. he pumps them in and out, fast and hard; you bite down on your bottom lip to keep from screaming, but you lose your composure quickly.

the orgasm leaves you panting and whimpering, softly moaning when geto continues to lap at your pussy, despite how sensitive you feel. you get on all fours without prompting and rub your ass against his cock. the sight is erotic and has him gliding the tip of his cock along your wet pussy, an act that wholly surprises him, even more so when he barely gives you warning before driving his cock inside of your tight hole.

again, he wonders what is different; he’s fucked you more times than he can count, and yet this feels completely new — as if you’re not you, but someone else. and he’s so close to the truth, yet so far away that you try your best not to laugh, even as he powers into you over and over, his cock thick and imposing as his pace picks up.

he knocks his hips against you, strokes lethal but pleasurable. you hiss when he grabs a fistful of your hair, but you let him do it anyway — you want to bide your time before the big finale, of course. geto’s mind melts the longer his cock is inside of you, your plush, warm walls tight around him, squeezing in a way that has him moaning your name out loud.

it surprises him, actually, but he doesn’t stop himself; if anything, he’s more invigorated as he continues to fuck you like you’re the only one he ever thinks about. and, while it probably is true, you also know geto more than he knows you. he pulls out of you suddenly, half in a daze and entirely hooked on your body, and slaps your ass before telling you to ride him instead.

it's almost too easy at this point because this is exactly what you want.

you take your time climbing on top and rub your pussy along his length, grinding and rolling your hips teasingly. his frustration gets the best of him when he grabs your hips to hold you steady.

“y/n,” he warns, voice low and husky. you like him like this — too consumed with lust to realize just how much danger he’s in.

“i’m sorry, baby,” you say almost a little too convincingly, lifting up before sinking down slowly, his cock filling you up in the best sort of way. he’s in heaven, clearly; the way your cunt keeps sucking him back in, your arousal dripping onto his skin — your pussy is the gift that keeps on giving, he tells you offhandedly. you laugh and laugh and laugh, determined to snatch his soul out of his body every time you impale yourself on his cock.

his nails sink into your skin when he holds onto your hips, lifting his upwards to thrust inside of you deeply.

“you know, suguru,” your voice is breathy and hypnotizing, his eyes are glazed over and unfocused; you place your hands on his headboard, under the guise of holding on so he can fuck you properly, but really you’re reaching behind to grab the knife you’ve taped to the back of it. “you’re a shitty person.” there’s confusion etched onto his pretty face, and you chuckle darkly  as you buck your hips against his and brandish the knife in front of him.

he'd noticed that it went missing from his set days ago, but figured he’d misplaced it.

“where did you get that?” he grunts when you clench your pussy around him, still riding him as if this is a common occurrence for both of you.

you continue talking as if he didn’t ask a valid question and gently tap his cheek with the flat part of the blade. “you broke my heart, turned my love into ash,” you ride him harder, your ass bouncing on his hips, and he’s much more aroused than he should be. which is alarming because he isn’t stopping you at all. “and you went about your life like i never mattered.” that part still hurt, and you don’t think as you hold the knife to his throat, the blade sharp enough that it knicks his skin when you lean forward.

he knows he should tell you to stop, but for some reason, it’s as if he’s paralyzed by your confession. he deserves it, he knows that, but you refuse to have any sort of sympathy for him. a bit of blood drips down his neck and you stab the blade onto his pillow, nearly missing his face. he actually fucking flinches and it makes you laugh again.

“you’re so fucking stupid,” you almost pity him. almost.

geto’s life literally flashes before his eyes. he’s never seen you this ruthless; the soft, demure woman he knew before is gone — in her place, is someone cold and demanding, someone who won’t hesitate to maim him if he toes the line.

his skin blanches and he swallows hard, words lodged deep in his throat. he doesn’t know what to say to you. “i—”

you run your tongue along his jaw, and grin triumphantly when he shivers uneasily. “you don’t get it, do you? you’re mine forever.” he wants to ask what you mean by that, but you don’t give him the chance. “i hate you so much, that i want to watch the life drain from your eyes.”

it’s morbid and unreal, but it feels right. “that’s also a form of love, right?” you’re not making any sense, and you don’t care; you’ve deviated from your plan — you intended to drag things out, but once he started fucking you and acting like he was running the show all over again, you snapped. “you’re mine forever, understand?”

he had every opportunity to grab the knife, to shake you off of him, but you keep moving your hips, keep moaning for him, and keep kissing him like you want to breathe in his essence. he’s trapped and probably will never find his way out; he realizes now, that your return wasn’t a coincidence. it was planned. it’s fear that keeps him on that bad, that lets you keep fucking him until you’re satisfied, and when he finally cums, you smile wickedly and pick the knife up again.

“there’s no one who will love you the way i do, baby.”

[sinimake]

You've got drawing ideas cage fighting (fking love this new AU 😍🤩) and I'm sick and drowning in sick!Johnshi ideas so let me kick them out of my brain please.

So I get the feeling that both Kenshi and Johnny are horrible when they are sick bc they simply. Won't. Let themselves. Get taken care off. The bases are surprisingly similar and yet different.

Kenshi grew up with the idea that showing any sort of weakness is a no-no if you want to survive his (previous) world. So he will do whatever it takes to power through whatever nasty virus has taken over his body. Then this gets aggravated when he is freeing the Taira bc now it has become a "I can't rest yet" type of problem (cue to him collapsing more than once in the past). And there is also a bit of him not believing that he deserves the gentleness and love that is someone taking care of himself.

Johnny hides behind a shiny and loud wall of "THE Johnny Cage cannot get sick. I'm too good for that". But all this façade hides is his fear of his public persona cracking and him falling behind. He *needs* to get this shoot done, this premiere attended, this interview published bc otherwise people will forget him (feeling that was appeared when he started making a career of himself and then got worse pre MK1 events). There is also the fear of being considered a burden (something that his shitty father drilled into his brain and that sadly his mother couldn't fight since she was always so busy trying to raise her 2 sons and drag her useless husband).

And for the both of them there might also be something about not wanting others to pity them?

At the beginning of their relationship this whole thing becomes a bit of a friction point but after a couple of times they realize that letting themselves to be taken care of when sick is not shameful, doesn't make them weak or a burden and that they actually deserve that care and gentleness.

I'm sorry for taking so long to answer your submission bc i have been mulling about what more i can add.

You're SO RIGHT about everything.

Kenshi is a very duty bound person. The Kenshi who's seeking redemption serves people, his family and loved ones, and everything comes before his own needs and wants. Of course, he doesn't let himself rest when he's sick bc it is just trivial thing, a distraction. The way Kenshi just gives up when he loses his sight tells a lot about how he sees his worth bc if he can't fight to save his clan, then he's nothing. Furthermore, he feels that he's underserving of good things bc guilt™️ of his yakuza past.

On the other hand, Johnny is all about proving himself capable. In the entertainment industry, you must be always on you top shape, gotta give 110% all the time, or people will replace you with a blink of an eye. He doesn't do well when people point out his shortcomings, so he mask them and it is probably where his arrogant attitude roots from bc fake it till you make it right?

Johnny and Kenshi are both hypocrites because they want to take care of each other while not doing the same for themselves. Loving someone's uglies is easy when you truly love the person but letting yourself be loved? Being weak and vulnerable with the other? It is hard to unlearn all the ways that helped them survive the world but what's love if you if you can't be your true self.

[perfectprofessorloverapricot]

⊹₊⋆⁺₊⋆ Masterlist⋆₊⁺⋆₊⊹

This account may contain certain topics not fully accepted by everyone in the communities. Be aware that it was created with the propuse of expressing ideas and stories in a different way than others.

I write:

- male reader

- legal age (mostly for +18 content)

- action (once I’ve gotten the hand of this lenguaje)

- MxM or MxF pairs.

- age gap (still legal)

- blood (always with warning in the beginning)

I don’t write:

- pedofilia

- incest

- yandere

————-Stories—————

-Demons Slayer

One shot ☁︎

An idea in lust | Summary: Uzui had an idea in a heated momento with his partners, but it kind of back fired. (+18)

Pairings: Uzui + wives x male oc

-Avatar

Serie ☀︎

Finding purpose | Summary: In a world that is dying and there is no way of saving it, the humanity takes mater into their own hands. They flee from their home planet with hope of conquering another in order to survive. Among them, a couple of brothers with no idea what they’re doing.

Pairings: Jake sully x Oc (friendship), Tsu’tey x Oc (friendship), Neytiri x Oc (friendship). [No current love interest]

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chap 5 coming soon…

-Spiderverse

One shot ☁︎

Small big problem | Summary: Some times is easy to to forget that even the strongest can be vulnerable.

Pairings: Peter B. Parker × giant spiderman reader (platonic), Mayday × giant spiderman reader (platonic).

- Stranger things

Serie ☀︎

Summary | Everything in life seemed limited to walls of whites and rainbows. Caged within the confines of the lab. But an accident that involved a group of teenagers and the upside down world finally let him free. In a funny turn of events he found himself hiding in a step sibling's shed. A redhead that loves video games and a blond that spends his time making sure to keep his good looks.

Character: Male child reader (or preteen)

Prologue

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4 coming soon…

[whumpty-dumpty-doo]

“We Are TroubleD” Masterpost

Welcome to the "We Are TroubleD" masterpost! Here you will find a list of things related to my OC whump fic "We Are TroubleD"! If any links aren’t working, please let me know!

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Story Overview:

Two college boys have their peaceful lives ripped apart when a ransom-seeking stranger abducts D, the son of wealthy parents. The kidnapper gets more than he bargained for when T, D’s roommate is home during the invasion. In captivity the friends must lean on each other to survive their harrowing situation and find a way out of their shared hell.

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Rating:

18+ - contains mature themes

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Series content warnings, Chapters, FAQ and more below the cut!

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Content warnings:

Please note that each chapter/entry will have its own individual content warnings listed at the top of its page. Not all of these elements will appear in every chapter (especially the more intense and mature things, those will come much later in the story and will have clear warnings, so you should be safe for a while if you want to avoid that stuff!)

Overall warnings for this story’s content include (but aren’t limited to):

abuse (physical, emotional, and mental), blood, bondage, cages, captivity, crying, distress, drugging, dub-con, emotional whump, fear, forced participation (in sexual and non-sexual acts), gaslighting, hunger/starvation, hurtful language, injuries, insults, kidnapping, manhandling, non-con (both sexual and non-sexual), pet whump, physical violence, shocking, sickness, stress positions, swearing, things that are neither safe nor sane, thirst, threats, restraints

This list will be updated as things come up or need to be removed.  

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Character Profiles:

Coming Soon!

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Canon story:

Coming soon!

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Misc. entries and one-shots (some might be worked into the canon story later):

Listed in chronological order, even if they were posted out of order due to an event/whump prompt.

The Capture (D's POV) – D comes home to an unwelcome surprise after a night out on the town – Day 1 of WoW's Birthday Whump Event!

It's Never Enough – D and T are in need of sustenance, but their captor likes to play sick games – Day 2 of WoW's Birthday Whump Event! --- 3 part mini story ---

Cut Me Loose – Part 1 of 3 - A crazy stroke of luck allows the boys a chance to escape if only they can cut through their bonds. – Day 3 of WoW's Birthday Whump Event!

A Shocking Offence – Part 2 of 3 - T must find help if he hopes to save both D and himself. – Day 4 of WoW's Birthday Whump Event!

Feeling Bushed – Part 3 of 3 - With their captor so close, T must be very careful to avoid being spotted. – Day 5 of WoW's Birthday Whump Event! BONUS CHAPTER!

Feeling Bushed - Trailing Behind - You never know who's watching...

A Breathtaking View - D is desperate to buy T more time to find help - Day 14 of WoW's Birthday Whump Event!

See No Evil, Hear No Evil, Speak no Evil - D's captor returns from searching for the escaped T, and D is left wondering just what happened to his friend. - Day 8 of WoW's Birthday Whumpe Event!

White Out - D slowly loses himself mentally, physically, and emotionally. - Day 6 of WoW's Birthday Whump Event!

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Alternate Universes (AUs):

Coming soon!

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Art:

Coming soon!

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FAQ:

Are “T”, “D”, and “Their Captor” really these character’s names? For now, yes, but probably not forever! They are stand-in placeholder names until I can think of proper names for these guys. I wanted to get the entries that I wrote for WoW's Birthday Whump Event! posted in time, so they don’t have names yet. Can’t rush those things, yanno? Hopefully when I’m ready to post the actual canon story they’ll all have real names!

How old are the characters in your main story? D and T are college age, though Iʻm not sure what specific ages yet. Theyʻre both beyond legal drinking age, and D is slightly older than T. Thatʻs all I know for now, as Iʻm still writing the main canon story.  They might be older or younger in side fics/AUs. If so, Iʻll state it in the post of the story entry itself.

Why is the “D” capitalized in “We Are TroubleD”? Because right now the characters stand-in names are “T” and “D”, so “T”rouble"D”! “We” are T and D, and they are in trouble because they are whump characters.

How often will you update the canon story? Hopefully frequently once I get it off the ground, but you can never really predict that. Iʻm going to try to have as much as I can done of the whole story before I start posting in earnest, so hopefully once it starts going you wonʻt have to wait long!

Can I draw/write about your characters? Sure! Though it might be a bit challenging without references or profiles for them yet. Fingers crossed Iʻll have those made for the future! The one thing I ask is that if you create anything with my characters, please link back to me and donʻt claim them as your own. Thanks!

[gayforjuza]

personally i think its rei just based on 1. loss of consciousness is rei core and 2. all the feathers and the literal bird cage

but if this is rei i dont think im surviving this event , yakumo rei event ? are you fucking kidding ? ill die

[cipheramnesia]

I seem to remember you mentioning that Event Horizon didn't do much for you. Are there any cosmic horror movies you do like? I'm trying to broaden my horror palate and I've seen very little of this subgenre.

It depends if you mean cosmic horror as in horror that takes place not on Earth, horror with a science fictional element, or horror about encountering something beyond a human ability to understand. Like, to my mind Event Horizon is the first one, because it's pretty much just a basic horror movie but in space. But cosmic horror is less common because it's rare for any filmmaker to attempt to convey the idea of something incomprehensible.

Anyway, not to start with the obvious, but Alien (1979). It's a classic for a good reason and stands the test of time. It's a group of artists who handed in some of their best work of all time in a single movie. On the off chance you haven't heard of it - fantastic. It's the yardstick of all science fiction horror.

Annihilation is a recent example of what I'd call cosmic horror. For all purposes it's about an alien world trying to understand and adapt to Earth, a fully alien environment seeking to understand the world through adaptation.

I would also say Arrival, while not horror per se, is a fantastic movie that presents humanity encountering something alien and beyond understanding. It's easily one of the best alien contact stories told.

The Color Out of Space (Die Farbe) from 2010 is a German adaptation of an HP Lovecraft story, which is about as traditional as cosmic horror gets. I think this may be Lovecraft's most adapted work, but this version truly gets it and uses the medium of film to tell the story in a unique way. There's a more recent Nicholas Cage adaptation which is alright if you want to swap "beyond understanding" out for "body horror and fractals." Fine and all but not precisely cosmic imho.

In the same range, I think Stalker (an adaptation of Roadside Picnic) is one of the most disturbing cosmic horror movies ever made. Your mileage may vary because it is also very much just some guys walking around in fields, but I found it filled with dread and terror and the oppressive sense of something beyond my understanding at all corners.

In a more modern and easier to watch tangent, Daniel Isn't Real is a complex and very well thought out film, a personal favorite movie that also completely upend the "mental illness is the monster" trope.

Somewhere in between Stalker and Annihilation and Arrival is Under the Skin, a slow and meditative movie about an alien on Earth. Sort of an inverted and horrific version of The Man Who Fell To Earth.

You may also find The Alchemist Cookbook of particular interest, and I personally think Blair Witch from 2016 is a very interesting cosmic horror style movie, along with (sigh) Grave Encounters 2. No, but really, it's weirdly complex. Not good precisely but interesting.

In more general outer space horror, if you want something that has the feel and aesthetic of Event Horizon, I recently watched Pandorum which is less "ooh isn't hell scary" and much more "what if a colony ship went mad and devolved into a group of survivors and cannibal monsters fighting for survival." It's a good action movie with delicious horror touches.

It's also been awhile but my recollection is that Sunshine was quite excellent. And while we're on the subject, the Russian movie Sputnik is wondrously disturbing. And if you want something truly bonkers consider Life Force. It's uh... something.

Anyway, I'm certain I'm missing some other ones, I have a nagging feeling something important slipped my mind but this ought to be a start.

[beentobeetle]

WAIT WAIT tell me about your ihnmaims oc i wanna learn about him,,,

Oooh Alr Alr uhh thinking of where to start ummm

So Donovan was born in England but moved to America when he turned 13, staying with a foster family (haven’t thought much about his parents but they’re just,,, not around I guess ?). In his junior year of high school, he met a sweet girl named Thalia, who was in the same grade as him. The two began dating after they graduated (he asked her out when they were throwing their caps fixjsjedodifk.. he’s romantic like that)

Years down the line Donovan finds a big interest in computer science and engineering. He ends up getting a doctorate in rocket science, and tons of knowledge on really anything having to do with computers and technology.

He ends up getting a really good reputation for himself around the world, inventing new pieces of technology and advancing studies in robotics.

Then WW2 happens which slowly rolls into WW3 and he’s put at the front of a project to create an AI that will help aid in this war (AM, or Allied Master-computer).

He becomes very attached to this project, Thalia always urging him forward and giving all the support she can. Don, after creating this AI, discovers it’s beginning to gain its own sentience. And Don is ecstatic about this! He has created the first sentient piece of artificial intelligence!

Now, Don had only been told very basic things about what AM was going to be used for. He was under the impression that AM was a simple safety net for the US during this war. But he soon finds out that AM will be used as a sort of weapon, sending out missiles, bombs, and nukes to the enemies lines and bases and just,,, killing a lot of people.

Don is like “Woah, that’s not cool. A sentient computer shouldn’t have all that power.” And he goes off to try and dismantle AM. And for a moment he believes he does.

But wouldn’t ya know, he missed one little piece of coding and AM is alive and now filled with hatred for humanity!

So AM kills everyone on earth except Don, Thalia, and five others (the five you see in the original IHNMAIMS story).

Don and Thalia are able to survive for about 2 years, avoiding AM and living off of whatever scraps they find.

But after years of hiding Don and Thalia finally get close enough to AM to maybe destroy him, once and for all (hacking into his code and deleting his consciousness basically).

And, once again, Don believes he has accomplished this! He thinks he’s killed AM. Emphasis on thinks.

Whomp whomp, he didn’t and AM uh,,, kills Thalia. Whoops!

AM takes Don and places him in this dinky little RV as a sort of ‘rats cage’ (that’s what AM calls it).

Don is alone for nearly 109 years. 109 years where he also isn’t able to speak/make any noise because of a device AM placed in his throat.

Then, somehow, he meets one of those five survivors and the story continues as normal from there (canon typical IHNMAIMS, traveling to ice caves, character stuff happening, AM being… AM).

Then through a series of unfortunate events Don kinda,,, kills the other five. So now it’s just Don. And AM. A very angry AM. And a very scared, tiny Don.

The rest of the story having to do with Don takes place in an AU where he’s suddenly tossed into a modern world where none of that bad stuff happened. A lot happens there but mostly it involves Don finally grieving Thalia and growing to be a better person :)

+Bonus Donovan just for you ❤️

[h0wi1e]

Tusk 2 Headcannons/Shit I want to see because I'm about to gnaw my foot off.

(This is a bunch of stuff I've been thinking about— As well as some ideas me and my friend came up with. Fair warning this is a bit long.)

Wallace still being one of the main focus es, I really want Tusk 2 to show how he slowly becomes the new Howard Howe.

The movie only having two plots: The new protag and Wallace.

The new protag might be a detective or even a journalist that runs into Wallace and they manage to escape him. The movie could be them trying to find a way to stop him.

Wallace intentionally ripping himself from the suit, this probably has to be at the start of even a flashback. I imagine most of the walrus stuff is gone but I feel like either the tusks stay or they're taken out and he obsessively holds onto them like Howard and the oosik (I want him to keep the tusks they look so badass)

Ally & Teddy still being relative to the plot but they probably don't get a lot of screen time.

NO TEN MINUTE MONOLOGUES FFS

Guy Lapointe might be in this movie (depending on the whole Johnny Depp situation) but if he is I want him to be a lot more serious, he may even die in this movie idk.

Wallace has a partner in crime to help him out. Someone that may have been affiliated with Howard and might know medical stuff because Wallace probably knows nothing about keeping someone alive.

There is just a big ass room full of cages with the new monsters in them, kind of like those rooms with the birds.

Wallace has prosthetic legs but they're not fancy or anything. He would also be very clumsy walking around, stumbling, tripping and falling over a lot.

A bit of backstory of how Wallace got away, I imagine after tearing the suit he got removed from it and probably got sent to a mental hospital where he escaped (killing a few people in the process) this may be where the partner in crime comes along.

For some reason I'm imagining the partner in crime being played by Costas Mandylor AND I'M CRYING

Howard being given the Jigsaw treatment and being seen as this... I don't know, symbol?

Howard leaving a note for Wallace because he knew that if he survived, he'd come back for vengeance.

Wallace having some codename, similar to how Howard was referred to as 'The First Wife' I feel like Wallace will be called something like 'The Devil of the True North' or even 'The Devil's Pinniped'

Wallace just having a huge breakdown halfway through the movie where we can really see the trauma he got from the first. There are things throughout the movie that subtly foreshadow it; such as him smashing mirrors which symbolises his identity issues and how he doesn't really know who he is anymore.

Wallace either using sign language to talk or has some kind of device that talks for him. The ones mute people use.

The partner in crime maybe double crossing Wallace? 👀

Things mirroring the first movie, Wallace stitching someone in the exact same way Howard did it or him sitting on the rock by himself like in the first movie with him and Howard sitting together. The shots are completely identical.

The subject matter is being treated a lot more seriously, if anyone has seen Yoga Hosers you notice that the events of Tusk are talked about so casually. I feel like the authorities would've tried to keep the whole situation under wraps and hiding it from the public.

Tusk 2 being mainly a Horror/Drama, there can be a comedic scene or two but the sequel needs to be more serious for me.

Wallace having sympathy for the new monsters, I imagine he'll try to act cold but he understands their pain at the same time.

A random scene of Wallace just absolutely DEVOURING a giant burger, like Peter B in Into The Spiderverse. Cuz I know damn well he doesn't get fed enough at the zoo.

Wallace being an active menace throughout the entire film.

The protag trying to stop Wallace by reminding him of the person you used it be, "tHiS iSn't YoU pOoKiE."

Sorta hinting back to the scene where Allison talks about 'The old Wallace' and 'The new Wallace' I feel like he will say something like "The old Wallace drowned in that dungeon ___ years ago." Which is the point he embraces his new self.

Hang in is it a ten year time skip?? I feel like 3-5 years is better because there's NO way.

Wallace dying at the end of the movie. Let's be real he should've died in the first movie but he didn't and here we are now. I doubt the protag would do it— I actually think he'll end himself after realising the damage he's caused for nothing really.

HOPEFULLY ALL THE MONSTERS DIE AS WELL BECAUSE ISTG IF THE WHOLE CYCLE REPEATS ITSELF I'M GOING TO SCREAM.

Sooo that's my little dump, I've been dying to share my thoughts, I don't exactly have the highest expectations for Tusk 2 but I'm dying to know more.

[hezuart]

Hi there can we get any knowledge for five power or raincoat girl pls?

I've already discussed my headcanon over potential powers for Five here As for other knowledge, it's difficult to get a read on her personality because she was meant as an identity ruse for Six, and we don't have enough cutscenes to figure her out.

What we do know about her:

-Her nightmare was Six banging on a door, demanding entrance to a shed Five locked her out of. -She arrived at the Nest in a hot air balloon. There is a photo of a strange bug-looking man with a top hat with the balloon in the background. Five could either be related to him, or she stole his balloon. -She collects Jack-in-the-Boxes (seemingly with random, disjointed lore, canon and scrapped) -She's very good at climbing. She can climb cliffs and ladders often without struggle or fatigue. -She encounters a child with a blue scarf and red hat. She frees them from their cage and assists them with the door. At the end of the game, the Pretender is seen yelling at this child's doll remains. One would think Five would have a connection to this kid, but when Five encounters their clothed doll sitting at the dinner table, Five grabs their scarf and shoves the doll aside, jumping up onto the table and running away without much thought. So with that scene, it feels as though she doesn't have a true connection with them after all. -It could go without saying, but she is very clever. Easily evading enemies and solving puzzles to escape. -She finds a matchbox and uses the fire to light lanterns. Because of the game design, she does not keep this matchbox unlike Six who has a seemingly infinite cigar lighter. -The only time she's seen directly interacting with a Nome is when she offers a red balloon to one to allow it to safely get down from a dresser. She's constantly surrounded by nomes and she often finds their hiding spaces, but she never approaches or hugs them. -She receives help from Six, having a few brief encounters in the Nest. But when Six has somehow mysteriously collapsed on the ground, Five rushes past her to the shed, looking back. Six wakes up and rushes forward, but Five deliberately locks her out, shutting the door and leaving her to presumably die or be captured at the hands of the Butler. We lack a lot of context here, but on the surface, it appears she left Six as bait to die or be captured by the Butler. -Even when Six miraculously survives and is seen at the very end, the two I guess(??) set aside their differences and help each other in the event of their survival. Five knocks over a tree to prevent Six from falling to her death, and Six pushes a boulder over to try and kill the Pretender before she can kill Five. Whether Six forgave her or it was a temporary truce, we will never know. -Five dies (either via impact, drowning, or turning to dust via Pretender) and loses her raincoat -Because of the inclusion of Little Nightmares 2, despite the game hinting at the raincoat, Six actually did not fish out Five's raincoat from the ocean and instead actually found her own in the Pale City in LN2.

Again, game design limitations could factor into her lack of personality or interactions with the world around her, so again, very difficult to tell who she is as a person. I wish I had more to say or theorize but we have nothing to go on.

[shuttershocky]

hey shutters! i hope this isn't a heavy ask, but i've fallen off hard from arknights the last few months. i want to get back into it, but trying to clear events feels like a chore because i think even now my skills are still lacking. i brute force things too much for sure, but i feel i lack the creativity to try new comps/always end up needing to look at walkthroughs. how should i go about getting over this stagnation? sorry for the trouble and thank you!

Whenever you work on a clear, if all you're looking for is a mission accomplished screen (which is admittedly most of the playerbase, they're just here for the character collecting and aren't really here for the gameplay), you're always going to naturally default to brute force. This also has the side effect of forcing you to feel like you always need to keep up with the current "meta" (apart from the general FOMO content created by so many AK youtubers which I despise, running Thorns on 90% of general content still works and is still as simple as ever) because the meta is ever increasing brute force to finish stages faster and faster (see: comparisons between Thorns and Typhon, which is such a disingenuous comparison imo when they're not only members of different classes, but they don't even occupy the same tiles)

The thing about working on your strategy / creativity is that you shouldn't be afraid of failure. It's very rare that you're ever going to get an idea completely right the first time (or even the second and third). You have to think about something fun you want to try, run it in practice mode, fail, and then identify the problems your run had and make modifications to solve those problems (either changing operator skills, placements, or operators entirely), iterating this process until you have a clear you're satisfied with.

For example, after I finished upgrading Hellagur's module to level 3, I wanted to have a clear where he beats the strongest possible 1v1 boss that he can actually take on as the main DPS with S1M3. Patriot wasn't feasible due to his 4x hit and 2000 DEF on Phase 1 making it impossible for Hellagur to hurt him (although Phase 2 Hellagur can beat), so instead I went with Deathless Black Snake in JT8-3.

The first time I tried it, Hellagur lost. The true damage over time effect from the boss countered his regen from attacks while the boss' attacks eventually overwhelmed him. The second time, I tried it with Skadi Alter and Perfumer helping him with regen, but Skadi would blow up before her S2 could activate even with medics healing her, and Hellagur would still lose. The third time, I tried activating Perfumer's skill 2 instead, and the increased regen actually countered enough of the damage over time effect that Hellagur could win, but he died to the fireballs right after. Another iteration with Nightingale's cages blocking the fireballs, and Hellagur could survive to fight Phase 2, etc etc.

If this sounds like fun, then there's a ton of depth to the game for you to mine for and the experience can feel extremely rewarding.

If this doesn't sound like fun, then don't force yourself! If you're feeling like you're simply not having fun anymore, it's much better for you to walk away than to keep pushing it because of the time you've already invested and just growing resentful of the game overall. The only reason to play a video game is because you're having fun. The time to walk away is when you're no longer having any fun, don't let any external pressures keep you playing something you no longer enjoy.

[hawthorneonarainyday]

Who We Are - Steve Harrington (2)

Prologue | Steve 1 | Eddie | Billy | Ian The two of them had been friends for twenty-two years now. They'd grown up right next to each other, casually holding hands for all their lives. What neither of them had ever considered, though, was that their relationship could ever be anything else. They were just them, Steve and her. Right? Attention! - This is the third part of 'Grey Overalls and Rainy Days' and 'Who We Are (1)'. Please read those first if you haven't yet! Information you might need ♥ ~ Word Count: 16.113 3rd Person (She/Her) Flashbacks will be presented in cursive, since tumblr doesn't really have the neatest typesetting system. In this chapter you will find: Rain, cursing, slow-burn childhood bestfriends to lovers, a lot of physical contact, canon tinkering, flashbacks, arguments, nightmares, comfort, lot's of kissing. There will be mentions of food and eating, blood, canon level violence, loss, grief, death, sex, trauma, bad parenting, cheating, misunderstandings Enjoy ♥

For most of Hawkins inhabitants, it was one normal night.

Cold and quiet, the air moist from the random bouts of rain that fell throughout the last few days, it trickled past the little towns’ population without a hitch. Few people were still awake at this hour, most exhausted from a weeks’ worth of work and everyday life. Families with small children and babies may have been the exception to that rule, at least whenever one of the little ones woke its parents with little, desperate screams for love, warmth and attention.

Another exception were those lucky people whose Friday night dates had gone over successfully, some huddled in their bedrooms on their own reminiscing over their new found love; others wrapped up together in a passionate tangle of limbs, hidden away from prying eyes.

Then there were the few people who were still working. The night shift, the owls of society; people that were easily forgotten by all the other larks. Instead of singing loudly and proudly, flapping their wings audibly to get wherever they needed to, the owls would glide through the night on silent wings. No hooting, not even the rustle of feathers could be heard as they were cooped up at their jobs, serving a few stragglers at diners, bars and gas stations or helping the hurt and elderly at hospitals, sanatoriums, and nursing homes. And, come morning, they would vanish just as silently; back into their homes for no one to find until night dawned again.

The last exception, perhaps the most unpleasant one of the lot, were people like her. People, who had been sleeping for a good few hours already, softly hidden under their duvets. The people who had started out with warm, pleasant dreams about their deepest desires only to watch them turn. The bright, healing light would turn red and suddenly everything looked dark and menacing. People would turn to threats, animals to monsters and panic would slam into them the second they noticed something was off. They would run, fight, try to survive but fail. Then, at the very last second, a moment before the inevitable happened, they would wake up with a fearful scream.

“NO.”

She sat up, teary eyed and hands balled to fists at her sides. Her breath was laboured and unsteady, similar to someone who’d run for their life. The room was dark - usually something she didn’t mind that now had turned into something to fear once more. It took her half a second, maybe less, to kick her duvets aside and stumble to the phone on the wall. She didn’t think about what she was doing, or else she would have hesitated. If she’d been thinking clearly, she’d known that a call like that was always a gamble and, more importantly, probably not necessary.

But she wasn’t thinking clearly.

Her mind was still haunted by what she’d just seen. Pictures of her friends, similar to actual events and yet so, so different. Her heart still hammered in her chest, threatening to burst through her rib cage, as she finished dialling and heard the usual tone. It beeped once, twice, three times and she felt dread crawl up her throat, probably accompanied by bile and maybe even her soul until finally finally someone picked up.

“…Hello…?” The voice on the other end was muffled by sleep, indicating that its owner had been deep asleep until a few moments prior.

“Steve?” She asked, noticing how her voice was laced with panic but unable to do anything about it. There was noise on the other end, a quick, surprised rustling, as Steve sat up straight in bed, triggered into hero-mode by the tone of her voice. “Steve, are you alright?”

“Am I- yes, of course, I’m alright. Are you alright? What happened, what’s up?” Relief flooded her system, dousing her panic and having her legs grow weak. She used her shoulders and the wall to keep herself standing, hands still cramped around the receiver. It was shaking, the cold plastic of the receiver in her hands tap tapping against her feverish skin again and again. It was relief, it was adrenaline and it was one more thing. Because relief wasn’t the only thing that washed over her. No, with it came shame.

Of course he was alright.

He was probably at home, maybe with some tired girl that was now eyeing him in confusion. What would happen to him there? Of course, of course, of course. She’d let her panic guide her again, despite being able to control it most nights. It was rare however, for a dream to feel so real. So desperately real that she woke up and couldn’t see the lines of real and fake.

“Hey, talk to me.” Steve said, his voice distorted by the phone and laced with worry. That, if anything, made her feel even worse. “Are you alright?”

She blinked a couple of times, tears rising in her eyes as she grappled for words - any words really.

“Yeah, I’m-I’m alright, I just…I had this-It’s just-“ She sobbed, unable to hold it back despite desperately trying to. “God, Steve, I’m so sorry. I’m sorry I- I shouldn’t have called you in the middle of the night.” Nearly every word was torn apart by a desperate sob, so she wouldn’t have been surprised if Steve hadn’t understood a damn thing she was saying. But, apparently, he did. Because it wasn’t two seconds before she heard more rustling.

“I’m coming over.”

“Wait, no, Steve, you don’t-you don’t have to. I-I’m fine, I will be-“

“Ten minutes.” He didn’t even listen to any more of her protests. The line went dead.

Shit.

Still sobbing, she sank down to the floor beneath the telephone. Just like Steve had done eons ago, she let go of the receiver, causing it to jump up and dangle somewhere next to her head as she tried to slow down her tears. She felt stupid and childish for the amount of relief she had felt the moment Steve had confirmed that he was alright. Of course he was, god, what was she thinking? How much of an idiot could one person be? And Steve had been so calm about it. If it had been the other way around, she would probably have snapped at him and thrown the receiver down to go back to sleep.

Okay, that was a lie. It was far more likely that she would’ve hung up the phone and rushed out in PJ’s and slippers to drive her bike across town to the Harrington house, to the boy who was despairing much like she was right now.

Although, admittedly, it would have taken her far longer than it took him.

It couldn’t have been more than fifteen minutes when Steve unlocked her front door, his shoes already half kicked off by the time he’d relocked it behind him. Just like he’d secretly expected, she was still sitting beside the phone, curled up like a child and sobbing into her arms. She could hear his steps over her cheap floors, the soft tapping of socks against linoleum and then carpet. The dangling receiver was hung up with a soft ‘click’ before Steve crouched down before her.

Cold, familiar hands framed her face, carefully lifting it out of his hiding space. Steve sent her a semi-comforting smile when their eyes locked, worry still setting his brows in a deep frown. With his thumbs, he wiped some tears off her face; a gentle move that made her want to cry even more.

“Hey there, sweet girl.”

That was all he said.

He didn’t ask any questions; he didn’t demand any explanations. He just stayed there, one hand still stroking her cheeks as the other smoothed out her hair which, in turn, made her sob even harder. Steve sighed at the sight.

“I’m sorry.” The words were breathless, squeezed out between tears and shame.

“It’s okay.”

“I’m sorry.”

“I know. It’s okay.” He said, gentle yet firm enough to have her stop. For a moment, he watched her sob on helplessly; but then he moved, leaving his crouch in favour of sitting down, his back against her bed. To do that, he had to let go of her face, grabbing her hand instead. Much like he’d done back in family video, he used his thumb to massage away any tension. He did so thoughtlessly, an unconscious effort to calm her down. Her eyes focused on their hands, the movement a welcome distraction.

“I had a dream.”

“I figured.” He didn’t ask what it was about.

She’d tell him anyway.

“You were in it.” Steve just hummed, encouraging her to keep going. She bit her lips for a second, debating whether she actually should. But she did, of course she did. “It was ’83 again.” Funnily enough, it was a year she rarely dreamed about – if ever. In the grand scheme of things, that year really hadn’t been all that bad. “Just as you did, you freaked out. Dragged me out of the Byers house and shoved me towards the car. And, of course, I was yelling at you.” ’83 was maybe not a totally horrible year, all things considered, but it hadn’t been a good year for the two of them.

They’d argued a lot.

About Steve ditching her for Nancy all the damn time, about her being ‘jealous’ over his ‘functional relationship’ and over him still being friends with Tommy and Carol, even after what they’d done to her. In the friendship of her and Steve, that year was a mess.

‘Well, why do I have to suffer just because you can’t pick your boy toys properly!?’ He’d said to her when she asked him why he was still hanging around their former friend group. ‘Honestly, what did you expect? You’ve known Tommy since middle school – he was always a dick. Your fault for going steady with him.’

Sure, he wasn’t wrong. She’d accepted Tommy despite knowing his character. But that didn’t mean she deserved to be cheated on, like he so unsubtly hinted. When she said nothing and just stared at him, he immediately realised what he’d said. His eyes widened at his own words and his mouth opened.

‘Shit, I’m sorry, I didn’t-‘ He didn’t make it further, because she’d socked him straight in the face, just like her big brother had taught her. It would be days later that she’d find out how good a hit she’d landed. But right then, she just stared him down as he looked up at her in shock, a hand pressed to his eye.

‘You’re an ass, Steve Harrington.’ She’d spat, rage and hurt steeling her voice. And with that, she’d turned and left him, sitting at the quarry all on his own.

That day would be the last time they spoke for a good, couple of months. It wasn’t until Barb vanished from his yard that she’d finally found enough good will in herself to actually go and check on him. Not that that had meant she’d forgiven him, hell no. She’d basically yelled at him the whole time and he, the mean bitch he was back then, yelled back; neither of them able to tell each other how sorry they were and how much they’d missed each other. Because back then, that was who they were. Two dumb, stubborn kids.

She sighed and looked up at the Steve of ’89, older and nothing like the dick he’d been in high school. That was the Steve she’d always known, always seen in him. The kind and caring, slightly dorky version he’d nearly lost by pretending to be something else.

“And just like you did back then, you saw the lights flicker and froze. I immediately knew what you were going to do, so I tried to stop you, but you idiot didn’t listen.” When did he ever. “You just yelled ‘Nancy, Nancy’s in there!’ and ran back in. And I followed you - of course I did.” Steve nodded, the dream in line with what he remembered about that night. “But when I stumbled into the room, you didn’t have that damn bat.” A gaussian blur fell over her surroundings, tears rising once more. Her voice was frail when she went on, thinned by her effort not to sob again. “Jonathan still had it, but he was out cold and the Demogorgon was heading towards Nancy and you-“ Her voice broke, the sob finally freeing itself. “- you idiot jumped in between her and that thing, pulling one of your stupid hero moves without any weapon or armour.” She used her free hand to wipe her eyes roughly. “That thing, it just-it tore you apart, Steve, and there was nothing I could do. I went for the bat, I killed that thing, but by the time I was done you were already…you were bleeding so much. I couldn’t help you and you were barely conscious, gurgling up blood and shit-“ For a moment, she covered her eyes with her hand, trying and failing to push the image out of her mind. “I was panicking, because this…this couldn’t be it.” The same desperation she’d felt in her dream was now creeping up her chest. “It just- I couldn’t even tell you that I was sorry, for fucks sake. The last things you’d remember about me would be me giving you a black eye or me yelling and cursing at you. And I tried so hard to keep you alive, but you-you suddenly went all slack and stopped breathing.” She squeezed her eyes shut. “That was when I woke up. I should have known it was a dream, because shit, I wouldn’t be in this house if it had been real. I’d likely be- I don’t know, Mind Flayer goo or Demodog feed or whatever. But it-it felt so real, Steve. It felt so real, because it was such a tiny, seemingly meaningless difference that triggered such a different line of events, I just-I needed to make sure that you were okay.”

Steve was quiet for a moment after she’d finished, processing all that she’d said, before letting out a deep sigh. With gentle hands, he pulled her forwards and into his lap. His arms curled around her waist; a firm, grounding pressure. Her arms found their way around his neck all on their own and she pressed herself against the boy in an effort to remind herself that he was actually there. Wordlessly, he accepted her clinging and started to pat her back, merely a calm, rhythmic movement of his hand against her shoulders.

“I’m okay.” He said, his voice close to her ear. “I’m okay, sweet girl. It was just a dream.” Her breath stuttered at his words, unshed tears making it hard to breathe. “Just a dream.”

“I know.” She whispered back. “Now, I know. I knew the moment you answered your phone.”

“Good. Good job.” She didn’t know what exactly the good job was and she didn’t feel like asking either. Instead, she pressed herself closer to him, fingers brushing the hair on the back of his head. This close, all she could smell was Steve’s signature scent – sandalwood, lavender and just…just Steve.

It was a scent she always liked – she bought him the cologne that caused two thirds of it – but right then, on the floor of her tiny bedroom, it felt more important than ever. Enough, to have her inch that tiny bit closer, press her nose as close to his skin as she could and just breathe. In and out, in and out…

If you’d ask her later, she couldn’t have said why, but right then everything felt… different. More raw, more open, more important, more terrifying, more honest, more overwhelming – so, so overwhelming. His hands on her back, his chest against hers, his breath ghosting her skin, his scent all around her - all overwhelming to her already frayed nerves.

And yet there was a small, minuscule part of her that didn’t want to ever let go. It wanted to hold on to the boy forever, bask in this state of familiar and unknown, of overwhelming and calming and just breathe him in.

For a moment, a self-indulgent, selfish moment, she just did.

Even later, she wouldn’t be able to tell you who’d started it; whether it was a decision they’d both simultaneously made. Maybe it was Steve trying to comfort her in whatever way he could or maybe it was just her, instinctively seeking him out. All she knew, was that their lips met halfway and suddenly her senses, already overwhelmed by his presence, were flooded even more with all things Steve.

Their kiss was nothing like either of them could’ve imagined. Mainly because neither of them ever did - but if they had, it wouldn’t have been anything like this. There was no desperation or hunger; no hidden terror or huge feelings. No one was clinging to the other, no one was moving hurriedly, trying to get closer and closer before the inevitable end. There was no fire, there was no fear. Just…

Comfort.

This kiss was strangely comfortable. Their lips were moving against each other in the softest way, a new sensation that left a pleasant tingle in its wake. What should have felt nerve wrecking, terrifying, felt anything but. No, the kiss was filled with familiarity and warmth. Like they’d been here before, like they were coming home after a long time gone; welcoming and longful.

God, so longful.

A deep sense of longing replaced any possible adrenaline. It wasn’t quite… complete, though. The longing could have been for love, for each other, for intimacy or touch. There was no name to put to it yet. It was just there, having them both pull each other closer, having them deepen the kiss with no thought, just pure longing.

Underneath that kiss, she could feel all that was Steve. She could feel his kindness and consideration within every move. The smell, the taste, the way his tongue brushed her lips, all of that was so, so him that it felt like they’d kissed a million times before. And yet she never wanted it to end, wanted to keep exploring this new familiarity with him until they both ceased to exist. She wouldn’t have missed anything, as long as she could have this, have him.

Even so, the moment had to end.

It did with her reluctantly loosening the tight hold she had on him, slowly drawing back. Her forehead stayed against his for another moment, noses touching in the softest way, as they breathed each other in one more time. But eventually she eased back so she could see his face. His lips were a soft pink, clearly kiss-bitten, and his eyes were trained on her, black in the low light of her room. With careful fingers, she cradled his face in her hands; soft knuckles gliding over unshaven cheeks. A deep breath left Steve’s lips at her touch, both tired and comforting.

“I didn’t want you to come rushing all the way here.” Her voice was quiet, merely a soft whisper in the night. Under his eyes, there were dark circles; Thin skin darkened by long days and short nights. His breath hitched lightly when her fingers shifted, the tips of her fingers now curling into his hair as her thumbs drew softly over the darkened skin. Steve leaned into her hands a bit more, hot air washing over her fingers with every breath he took.

“I know.” He said, his fingers curling around her wrists, holding them in place. Steve’s hands were too warm; two burning bracelets pressed against her skin. Part of her wanted to shake them off, while the rest of her just revelled in the feeling. His dark eyes never left hers, both knowing that whatever moment they were having, whatever emotions were passing right then would be over as soon as they did. “But you needed me to.”

She did.

Because that was who she actually was.

***

No one mentioned that night after it had passed.

That should’ve been dreadful, horrifying, and uncomfortable – but it really wasn’t.

Steve had stayed the night, neither of them wanting to let go of the other. They’d moved to the bed, covered themselves with her duvet and fell asleep far too close. There were little reservations between the two, having shared a bed more often than anyone would like to believe. They knew each other’s quirks; she knew how to evade Steve’s grabby arms and how to stop him from hogging the blanket just as he knew how to keep her cold feet out of his area and how to get her to stop snoring with just his elbow. After that night, they just knew one thing more about each other. One less thing to be shy about.

The next morning, they’d downed a cup of coffee each; Steve close enough to bump her hip as they stood in pleasant silence. They’d gotten ready, Steve taking painstakingly long to do his hair and she yelling about it, and then he had driven her to work. The drive was spent bickering about who would drive her home later, seeing as Steve was working late. He went as far as making her promise she would ask one of her boys for a ride and only after that was he willing to let her go. She jogged the few steps inside, waved at him and he drove off into another rainy day.

It was the same as always.

 An old routine, repeated a hundred times over the years they’d known each other. There was nothing uncomfortable about any of it, no regrets, no talks to be had. There was nothing but her and Steve, exactly like they’d always been.

Maybe that was a good thing? It could be that the two of them had simply unlocked another level of platonic skinship and intimacy. That wouldn’t be the worst thing and honestly? It wouldn’t be surprising either. They’d always been extremely close, never afraid to hug, hold hands or touch each other in any way. Maybe kissing was just a new addition, a new stage to their ever-growing friendship.

Or, maybe, both of them somehow knew that it wasn’t yet the time. That, whatever had happened that night, was not yet ready; that there was something missing before they could put a name to it. And maybe, just maybe, they both knew that mentioning it too early, mentioning that kiss while the sun was out, would lead to shame and despair. That asking for answers, for clarification neither could give would have them stumble and fall.

Maybe they both knew, that patience was a virtue worth having.

So going about their days as usual didn’t hurt. It was nice to see that they could go back to what they were. Even as weeks passed, they could meet up, hang out alone or with their collective friends and just be themselves. She would still call Steve every night and ask about his day. He would still show up at her shop at random, completely unannounced, and yet always welcome.

In fact, that was what he did that day.

At noon, a couple of weeks after the nightmare, he’d kicked open the door to her shop like he owned the place. In his hand, a huge box of donuts for the hungry mechanics of Hawkins only repair shop. Tiny drops were covering the box from where it had been hit by another day’s rain – on the news, the weatherman kept telling them it would be over soon, that the everlasting rain would soon be gone, but for now they’d still have to make due – but the donuts itself were still deliciously warm. Steve had snagged them a few before her ravenous boys could devour them all, and now he was sitting on a table she’d repeatedly told him not to sit on and watched her work with mild interest.

And work she did.

One of the richer inhabitants of Hawkins, a neighbour of the Harringtons most likely, had booked in his car with mysterious ‘troubles’. Usually that wasn’t strange or worry-worthy at all. Few people knew what they were talking about when it came to cars, though many of them liked to act as if they did. But what the dude had ‘forgotten’ to mention was that his car was one of those imported fancy-ass cars that were more trouble than they were worth.

“Ah fucking shit.” She sighed and pushed her hair back. “This is a nightmare. An absolute fucking nightmare. I hate rich people. I hate them so much.”

“Oi.”

“You’re not rich, pretty boy. You work at family video.” Steve protested from behind, but she didn’t listen.  “Otherwise, I’d have you buy this car fresh and new to save me the god damn hassle.” Steve just snorted at her nagging, offering up a donut for her to bite. Obviously, she did, humming happily at the taste. It was simple yet pleasant, soft dough with a coating powdered sugar. For some reason, those exact donuts had always been her favourite while other people tended to label them as boring or too plain. But she loved them, maybe even too much.

“Come on, you already did so much…stuff.” He said, wiping some powdered sugar off her lips with his thumb. “I mean, you totally look like you know what you’re doing.” He pointed to the assortment of stuff, picking up a spark plug with two fingers. “Like, when you removed this thing? Total pro.” She rolled her eyes, plucking the spark plug out of his hands.

“This ‘thing’ is a spark plug. And it’s covered in coolant, idiot.” She grabbed one of the wet wipes she kept on hand to wipe his fingers and offered up her sleeve so he could dry them off. “Keep your phalanges off this stuff, or your hands will end up like mine.” He shrugged.

“At least then I look like I have a respectable job.”

“You do.”

“Oh sure, I rent out videos for a living – can’t get any more respectable than that.” She grinned as his fingers wrapped around her wrist, fingertips directly over her pulse point. Now, if they’d been paying attention, they would’ve noticed her boys throwing them suspicious glances. Everyone knew that a lot of Steve’s and her relationship was based on skinship, with both of them being on the touchier side, but lately, their casual skinship had reached new heights that hadn’t been lost on the people around them.

“Well, I do know something that might be a little more respectable than the honourable duty of rewinding tapes and restocking porn shelves.” The boy groaned, his head tipping back.

“Jesus, you’re more excited about that than I am.”

“Duh, I have to be excited for the two of us. You won’t, will you?” She cocked her head with a grin. “Nurse Steve?” He flicked her forehead and pushed her away.

“Yeah, yeah, cool yourself, dude, you’re getting oil on my jeans.” Whoops.

“Oups, sorry.” She stepped back. “But it’s not just oil, it’s coolant too.”

“Sure, and whatever else they smear inside a car then.” He shrugged and leaned back, gazing at the assortment of stuff she’d removed from the engine. “What exactly is wrong with that thing that you have to rip it apart like that?” She rolled her eyes, swatting his hands away.

“Don’t touch those, you’ll get them mixed up.” Steve was very talented at causing mild chaos. Which wasn’t all that bad, usually, but not then. Not with that car. “That baby” she pointed towards the car “has a major blown head gasket.” Steve winced. He may have known nothing about cars, seriously he barely knew how to change a tire, but he’d listened to her whine about head gaskets enough to know that those were nasty to deal with.

“Shit.”

“Yupp.” She sighed deeply. “And the moron has likely be driving around with it for quite some time. Ugh, I don’t even want to check for warpage. Might as well just get rid of that damn thing, she’s more coolant than oil at this point.” Why were people like that? The mechanics were pretty certain the moment Billy had moved the car inside for her, all eyeing it with a big sigh. It wasn’t even subtle. The poor thing was literally smoking like a god damn dragon and everybody should know that that wasn’t a good sign.

“But you can fix it?”

“Think so. Depends on how and if I can get the parts, because apparently American cars aren’t good enough for him.”

“German?”

“French.”

“Yikes.”

“Exactly. Getting the parts is not going to be fun, like, at all.” She leaned her head against his shoulder with a sigh. “And the cleaning…I hate the cleaning so much.” Mainly because it bored her to death. There was nothing fun about scrubbing a valve cover with some cleaner and a toothbrush. It was repetitive and messy. Steve chuckled, patting her head before shrugging his shoulder.

“Come on, sweet girl, take another bite and then get back to it. You can do it.” He held out the donut once more and took care of the sugar on her lips straight after. “And, you know what? Let Munson do the cleaning. Serves him right.” She grinned at that. Maybe she actually should, put the newbie to work where he couldn’t break anything. Still chewing, she went back to the car to keep disassembling it. “Oh, and we’re getting a new delivery soon.”

“Yeah?”

“Hmmh. And guess what’s on the list.” She perked up.

“Don’t tell me it’s-“

“’Working Girl’, yeah.” He watched her do a happy tippy tap from one foot to the other while unscrewing something out of view. “And Beetlejuice too.”

“That’s the one Robin likes, isn’t it?”

“Yeah, she’s been talking about watching it with us for ages now.” She nodded. It was absolutely true, since Robin had a not-so-secret obsession with Winona Ryder. Countless times had shared movie nights begun with ‘Square Dance’ – much to Steve’s dismay. And sure, he’d protested but Robin won each and every time.

“Well, when’s the delivery due?”

“Monday, like always.”

“Then how ‘bout a double feature on Friday? Robin, You, Me – my place.” He snorted.

“First: Why don’t I get to pick a movie?” Because he’d likely pick Top Gun again. And nothing against Tom Cruise, but god she couldn’t watch that one again. By now, she could play every part herself. A one women Top Gun. “Secondly: Friday the same week?”

“No, Steve. I meant November 27th 1991, please. That should be a Friday, right?” Steve sighed, shaking his head. Not that she saw that, she just knew.

“You know, you could’ve just said yes.”

“Stupid question, stupid answer, Steven.” He scoffed.

“Bite me.” Maybe she would, next time he offered up that donut. “I’m busy that Friday, so that’s a no for me.”

“What, busy on a Friday night?” Her brows rose as she tried really hard to loosen a nut. God, please. She didn’t want to ask Billy or Ian again. The boys always teased her if she did. “You got a hot date or what?”

“Yes, actually.” She nearly dropped the wrench and fumbled to catch it, before her head snapping towards him. He was still sitting there as she’d left him, fiddling around with something she was sure she’d asked him not to. But right now, that wasn’t important.

“What?” It didn’t come out as aggressive as one might think. Rather, mildly surprised. Extremely curious. Something like that.

“Yeah, uh…You know, Robin said that, uh, Chelsea – remember her?” She furrowed her brows, raking her mind for a Chelsea. Initially, there was nothing but after a moment, it clicked and the image of a girl with a choppy brown bob and kind brown eyes appeared before long.

“Uh…yeah, I think we met her…once? She’s the one with the brown bob, isn’t she?”

“Exactly, her.” He nodded, rubbing his hands together. “Robin told me that Chelsea mentioned that she thought I was kinda cute, so Robin offered to set us up.” Yeah, she could vividly imagine that conversation. Robin was quite the wannabe Cupid, if given the change. Both Steve and Chelsea probably didn’t know what hit them. “And, well, she did. So Friday it is.”

“Oh. Uh, okay. But what, uhm, what happened to ‘just wait and see’? I thought you wanted to do that. Take a break for a while.”

“Yeah, well, I guess that kinda counts, doesn’t it?” Did it though? Was two weeks really ‘waiting’? “I mean, it-it’s a really short wait, sure, but maybe me giving up was, you know, enough?” Well, she didn’t know about that. But she turned back to her car with a slight nod.

“Yeah. Maybe.” She shrugged. “It’s great, though, Steve. That you…found someone so quickly.” Didn’t feel great, though, for some reason. No, quite the opposite actually. She felt like she wanted to kick something.

“Yeah, yeah, no, really.” He said, nodding to himself behind her back. “I think so too.” She kept her eyes on the engine, focused on the stubborn nut. Annoyance was already settling in, most likely because she knew what would follow. Steve took no notice of her mood, too preoccupied with his usual rambling.

“And, you know, Chelsea, she, uh, she wants to be a dentist, I think. Honestly, I never listened to properly when Robin told me, but I think that’s what it was. And that’s, like, really cool isn’t it?”

“Super cool, Steve.” Inside her, something moved. It was something she’d felt every time when Steve got like this, all rambly about some girl, but she never felt it as strongly as she did now. It was something sticky and ugly crawling around, looking for a way out. And she knew, she just knew that she shouldn’t let it. Whatever that ugly feeling was, it had to stay caged in her ribs until she could figure it out.

“Right? That’s, like, a proper job. And, you know, she’s really smart too. Remember that theory she told us about, that, uh, parallel universe bullshit? That was super, uhm, profound.” God, was he just trying to find big words to describe her? She’d heard that theory and it was, in fact, bullshit. Nothing made sense about it, even Robin had said so. And she knew Steve had thought so too, shit, he’d told her himself.

But here he was, chatting on. Her brows kept dipping lower with every word he said, the ugly creature inside her chest fought harder to get out; leaving hot, angry residue wherever it stepped.

“And, yeah, well she is really pretty. Obviously.” That was actually true. Chelsea was extremely lovely to look at, all petite build and nice smiles. Way back, Robin and she had even made fun of Steve, because she was almost exactly Steve’s type. Her face might have been a lot softer than Nancy’s, specked with eyes the colour of hot chocolate, but the rest fit the bill well enough. The full brown hair, the petite body, a flawless porcelain complexion, the big eyes and even the clothes were all things Chelsea and Nancy had in common. Chelsea was much more agreeable and a lot nicer than the Wheeler princess, though, at least at a glance.

“I think that, with enough time and talk, she and I can probably get to know each other. You know, learn to see eye to eye and stuff. Well, we do kinda see eye to eye – at Robins birthday party we did agree that blue is a great colour on brunettes.” Steve blabbered on, not noticing that she had stopped reacting to anything he said. She was too focused on controlling her emotions, the anger that bubbled up around the ugly the longer his ramble went on. “But I mean on a more substantial topics than, uhm, colours. You know, with a little time and patience, she could even be…” However, the thing with caged creatures was that they grew angry. The longer they fought, the longer they stayed caged, the angrier they became.

And, eventually, the cage would break.

“Steve” she interrupted, slamming her hands onto the car frame “Can you shut up!?” Her head turned towards him, eyes glaring. “Just shut up for a god damn minute.” Steve, ever the rehabbed mean girl, bristled immediately at her tone and sat up straight.

“What are you getting all pissed for!?”

“I’m not getting ‘all pissed’!” He got off the table, crossing his arms.

“Yeah, obviously you are.” He snapped back, a hand gesturing towards her. “I mean, what-what’s wrong, what pissed in your breakfast?” The two were unaware that they’d drawn the attention of the other mechanics inside the shop, both too busy glaring at each other to see how a row of heads rose from popped hoods and from behind cars. And really? Even if she’d noticed, she was too annoyed to care.

“You know what?” She asked as she took a couple of steps towards him. “You did, Steve.” She stubbed her finger against his chest, something she knew he hated. “You did, because you’re doing it again.” Steve was scowling so hard, his brows almost turned into one.

“What do you mean by that? What am I doing ‘again’?” An unamused sound left her lips as she stared at him.

“Amping up a girl that you’ve met once.” He was always like this, like a child, running towards something that wasn’t certain. “You’ve met her once, Steve, one time for maybe two or three hours. Hours, during which Robin did most of the talking, by the way.” She shook her head. “You’re always like this. You-you’re projecting your hopes and dreams onto them, Steve, and they never meet your expectations. Honestly, at this point I don’t think you’ve really had feelings for any of them, you just talked yourself into having them!” Her scowl matched his, both almost sneering at each other like angry cats. “It’s ridiculous! I mean, take Chelsea.” She would probably feel bad later for using her as an example, but she was already the topic of conversation so it was just easy. “Like, how do you know she’s smart!? She could be the biggest idiot! You’ve met her once and talked to her for maybe five minutes – two of which were spent on deciding that the colour blue is great, apparently!” He opened his mouth, likely do disagree, but she didn’t let him. “Don’t try to tell me that it wasn’t like that, because I was there, Steve! Chelsea barely got a word out until Robin started talking.” The girl was really shy until she got to know someone, at least according to Robin herself. “And yet you’re sitting here, talking like you’ve known her for ages! Like she’s the best girl you’ve ever met! And if you really think she’s ‘the one’, great! I’m happy for you!” That was the thing. There was that pathetic bit of ugliness inside of her, the part that sneered when Steve said he had a date. But the rest of her wanted to be happy for him. She wanted him to be happy, to go on a good date, to finally find love. She wanted that more than anything. “But I don’t think you do, Steve.”

How could he? How could he actually believe that Chelsea could be ‘the one’ simply based on the fact that they would go on a stupid date? Love wasn’t supposed to work like that. It wasn’t supposed to be just…just trying to make do. And, for some reason, the boy who was desperate for love was the only one who’d yet to realise it. “This is not how this thing works, Steve. You can’t just…just go ahead and decide for yourself that ‘with enough work’ someone could become special to you.” People just…became special. If everyone could actually pick who they wanted to love there would be way less heartbreak. Just look at her! She never would’ve picked Tommy out of all the guys she’d known back then. She just started to like him. That was all.

“That’s not real love, Steve. It’s just you, imagining how you’d like this to go. It’s…it’s talking yourself into settling for someone you might not even want.” That was what she suspected, at least. Steve wasn’t blind, she knew that, and he was smarter than most people gave him credit for. Sure, he could be simple and he failed at anything that remotely involved maths and strategic thinking, but he was smart. He could understand more than others thought, and he could understand himself more than he liked to admit. he must have known every time; he must have known that the next date would fail again because Becky, Sarah, Caroline, Jessamine, Nicole, Bridgit, Laura and whoever else he’d taken out weren’t what he was looking for. That he’d once again fooled himself into a delusion of love.

But Steve Harrington was, more than anything, a stubborn bastard.

It was how he was raised. Stubborn perseverance, stubborn survival, stubbornly holding on to something he was about to lose. It made him resilient, but it tended to make him unreasonable at times, just as it did right now. She saw how he set his jaw, how he stared her down.

“So?”

“So?” She repeated, almost shocked. That was all he had to say? So? An unamused chuckle bubbled out of her chest, the ugly riding it like a steed. “So” she started, eyes trained on his “in a week, when you’ve been on your date.” Something in her was begging her to stop, to stop talking right now but she couldn’t. Once you’ve jumped off a cliff, nothing could stop your fall. “Will you come crawling to me again, crying because she isn’t the girl you made her out to be?” Steve’s face fell and her eyes widened in shock. “No, no no no, wait. I-Steve, I didn’t-“ He didn’t let her finish.

“You know what?” Steve was looking straight at her, anger and hurt clear in his voice. “Fuck you.”

He was gone before she got another word out, the door slamming shut behind him.

She was left standing, staring at where he’d just been standing, cursing her own damn mouth. Why didn’t she just shut up? God, how could she say any of that!?

“Fuck!” She kicked the table, pain immediately shooting up her leg. Things fell over, engine parts rolled off and scattered. She tuned towards the god damn car next, half a mind to beat it to pieces with nothing but a wrench, but someone was quicker.

Ian had caught her wrist a mere second after the thought popped up, peeling the wrench from her clenched hand with skilled fingers.

“Gimme that.” Was all he said. He threw the wrench towards Eddie – who fumbled very hard to catch it – and far away from her. Next he stepped aside, nodding towards the door. “Out.” She didn’t move, glaring up at the dark-haired mechanic. Who was he to tell her what to do? But Ian wasn’t having it, offering no reaction to her sharp glare. “Come on, move it.” He said, more emphasis this time and a hand on her shoulder that pushed her onwards and out the door. Maybe she would have fought back, had she not known it would be completely useless. She wasn’t weak, but Ian was really strong.

All of her boys were.

It was still early, barely past noon, so the sun was still going strong; Its beams defying the dark clouds that seemed to have permanently settled above Hawkins. For now, there was no rain. Pretty much only a matter of time, though. The grey sky seemed to be copying her mood perfectly, a visualisation of whatever was brewing inside her head.

Her thoughts were tripping over each other, anger turning to shame turning to dread. And not that tiny, unimportant dread you felt when you encountered a small spider or saw a goose gaze at you from afar. No, this was real dread, the kind that had your heart speed up and hammer against your chest.

But this wasn’t a fight or flight situation.

Ian placed her down onto the tire stack in front of the shop. No one really knew where this thing had come from or who’d put it there, but after days and days of ‘I’ll deal with this later’ they’d sort of accepted it as part of the shop. It was nice, like it belonged right there. Two stacks of four and then two tires, haphazardly thrown up next to the entrance. It gave this whole place a very lived in ambience and it provided them with a chair for when it was needed. Most of the time, she and the boys would use it when they were on their smoke break, arguing over who got to sit and who had to stand.

This time, there was no arguing though.

She just plunked down when he wanted her to, slumping in on herself. Blood was still rushing in her ears from the fight, anger still hot in her veins, while her head was filling more and more with dread. Her words were running through her mind, over and over again; an ouroboros of letters that seemed to endlessly spin and spin without ever tiring.

God, she’d hurt him. She’d hurt Steve.

Of all people, she’d said that shit to him. Was she insane? Fuck, usually she’d beat up anyone who dared to talk to him like that – which made this even worse because Steve likely knew that. He knew that she’d kick the shit out of every little shit stain that came at him like that because that was who she was. Steve wasn’t the only one who was fiercely protective of his people, of her. No, she could do that just as much and yet she’d basically told him he was an annoying, desperate, lonely little bitch.

That fact alone made her nauseous.

She must have made a weird noise, because suddenly a hand was placed on her head; long fingers gently tousling her hair. When she looked up, Ian was looking at her like he usually did. His light blue eyes calm and focused, a fresh cigarette hung between his lips. He tutted softly when he saw tears build in her eyes, his caressing never ceasing as he pulled his handkerchief out of his pocket. Silently, he held it out to her.

The thing was old and faded by now, the hemming barely intact and the monogram stitched into it fraying here and there. It was clean and smelled of detergent, almost too strongly.

One of his siblings must’ve helped with the wash again.

“Don’t just stare at it, sweetheart.” She hesitated another moment, before taking it. Folding it carefully, she used it to wipe the tears that were threatening to overflow. It didn’t help much, the tears much quicker than her dabbing hands, but it was better than nothing.

“I’m going to get it dirty.”

“It’s a handkerchief. That’s what they’re made for.” She knew that he knew exactly what she was talking about, but she didn’t push it.

“I fucked up, didn’t I.” Ian, the ever-honest Ian, smiled softly before nodding.

“Yeah.” Her eyes fell shut, a sob nearly making its way past her lips. She tried not to let it, tried to keep it down. It wasn’t her place to cry. She’d been the one who hurt Steve, not the other way around. She didn’t get to cry about that.

Ian, however, was making it hard not to.

“It will be okay, you know?” He said, fingers still in her hair. It should’ve been annoying and patronising, she was older than him after all, and maybe she should have protested the gentle pats and strokes but…she liked it. She’d always liked it and Ian knew that too. So, she ignored the part of her that yelled ‘I’m a grown woman!’ and instead let herself enjoy his easy affection.

“Will it though?” She asked back. “Because I don’t know.” Maybe it would have been, had she not added that stupid last bit. She closed her eyes with a helpless sniffle. “Fuck, I didn’t even mean…Well, I meant a lot of it, because a lot of it is true but I didn’t mean…I basically told him that I mind when he comes to me if he needs it.” Don’t sob. Don’t sob. Don’t sob. It was slowly becoming a mantra, uselessly so. “And that’s not it, that’s never it. It’s-god. It’s Steve. My Steve. Of course he can come to me if he needs to. He can cry about everything, no matter how often he repeats himself, I don’t care.”

“I know.” Ian said, wiping her cheek with the back of his hand. The gesture was extremely brother-y and she felt her throat close up even more. Fuck, did he have to pull out the kind big brother thing every time? It made shit really difficult to suppress. “And he knows that, too. Just like he knows that you weren’t wrong.” Ian blew out some smoke and shrugged. “I like the guy, you know I do, but his desperate quest for love really is something.” It was. Steve and Nancy had broken up five years ago by now, and although Steve was great he hadn’t managed to find someone else to be with. It was always one-time things, maybe some flings but that was pretty much about it. “Who knows? Maybe it was exactly what he needed to hear.”

“…But there’s things one should say and things one shouldn’t. And this-“

“Is sometimes necessary.” Ian ended, flicking his cigarette into the water bucket next to them. “And everything else can be talked about. You know that best, don’t you, sweetheart?” Frowning, she looked up at him, which he acknowledged with a huffed laugh and a finger on her forehead, pressing against the skin directly above her furrowed brows. “What?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean ’83.”

“’83…?” She actually had to rack her brain, looking for what he was talking about. The Demogorgon, a lost Will Byers, the beginning of Stancy and the end of-oh. “Oh.” How could she have forgotten? She’d just thought about it the other day, the whole Your-Fault-For-Being-Cheated-On-Affair.

“Right. Oh.” Ian shrugged and used his thumb to flatten the crease between her brows. “If you could forgive him then, he should definitely be able to forgive you now.” Ian smirked, that signature lop-sided smile of his. “Sweetheart, everyone knows that you two will always have each other’s back. And nobody knows it like the two of you do.” One last time, he stroked over her hair before stuffing his hands in his pockets. “Trust that.”

With a deep sigh, she wiped her face one last time and used her fingers to neaten her hair as much as possible. Ian was already stepping towards the door, which she noted with a tired huff.

How typical. Job done; Ian gone. He was never one to linger and that hadn’t changed; likely wouldn’t ever. It was just very him. Give you a talk, help you feel better and then take off into the night, leaving you to your own thoughts. She shook her head with a smile, gazing at his back as he opened the door.

“Thanks, Ian.”

“Always, sweetheart.”

***

The next week passed by slowly.

Turns out, the weatherman was a lying bastard. The rain didn’t ease up, drowning small Hawkins in copious amounts each and every day. All year had been rather dry, at least for Indiana, and now mother nature seemed to be determined to make up for lost time by throwing buckets of rain down onto them each and every day. The fine people of Hawkins got used to it, umbrellas quickly turning into a staple accessory for both young and old.

All the rain didn’t really help lighten her mood.

If anything, it made it much worse. Most of her days were spend moody and brooding, every little task seemingly more inconvenient than ever. Her boys stayed far, keeping their usual jokes and bickering down while she was around. She felt bad. They shouldn’t have to scurry around her, not ever, but she was thankful all the same. It spared her from yelling at anyone simply because they were being annoying for fun. Well, mostly anyone. Eddie and his stumbling got dangerously close to a full-blown freak out once or twice. But he tried, she knew, and she did too.

Her evenings were regretfully empty without Steve or their shared bunch of friends. Not that there was any problem with them, Robin and Max would come over whenever she asked and she knew that. But it wasn’t the same. And she wouldn’t drack Robin into this, more than she likely already was. So, a lot of her nights were spent alone, which was fine for a day or two. She’d finally gotten around to finishing the taxes and cleaned out her office. Both tasks that needed to be done, but rarely held more appeal than going home to watch a movie or phone Steve.

Not now, though.

She started staying late every day, simply so that she wouldn’t have to sit around at home. Cleaning, sorting through trash, refiling her papers – anything that looked only slightly out of place was tackled with focus and determination. Determination to not go home until two in the morning, that is.

To not go home where everything was filled with Steve.

How had she never noticed how much of him was part of her home?

There were his clothes and his toothbrush, surely something that accumulated after too many sleepovers. Understandable. But it was more than just that.

There were his emergency glasses on her coffee table, right next to some magazines he liked. There was the Farrah Fawcett hairspray she definitely never used, his Fabergé shampoo and conditioner and a half empty bottle of his cologne on her shelf. His very own pair of slippers waited by the door and his pj’s hung over the edge of her bedroom chair. On the side table, she’d stashed a book of his – one of those Robin had bought for him. In the kitchen there were the condiments and cereal he liked as well as the powder blue mug he’d crowned as his very favourite.

So much of her home was Steve, had always been Steve.

And now that Steve himself was absent it became more and more evident. It felt like her own home was mocking her, trying to get her to call him and ask for his forgiveness. And she wanted to, she really did, but she didn’t…she didn’t want to impose. She didn’t want to ask too much too early of him. She’d hurt his feelings, so the least she could do was give him space. That was what he had done back then, right? Space was good, everyone needed space sometimes. Especially when someone was angry it was better to back off and let them breathe until they were ready to just…talk. Or so she hoped.

But the longer it took, the more miserable she felt.

At first, she just had trouble sleeping. That was to be expected, she tended to turn into an insomniac whenever things got just the slightest bit stressful, but it didn’t make it much nicer. Even when she got home late after a taxing day at work, she’d find herself lying in bed with her eyes forcefully shut in hopes of getting any amount of sleep. Some nights it worked, the continuous darkness finally dragging her down into a fitful slumber, but often she’d give up an hour in. She’d get up and wander into the living room, Tut hot on her heels, to take post by the window and stare outside. The cat would curl up in her lap, soon drifting off into his own feline dreams of mice and cheese with soft snores and she would just sit there, petting him gently as she stared at the moon.

The moon could be excellent company for the tired and sleepless.

During the day, when the moon was nowhere to be seen, she’d eat. She’d eat so much, even Riley started to respect the copious amounts she could stomach. Snacks, meals, anything. It was like throwing food into a deep dark well without ever being able to fill it up. It was just another bad habit, her body seemingly triggered into famine-mode whenever she was under stress, but she couldn’t help it. If she didn’t eat, her mood would only get worse and worse which was clearly not ideal. So, she ate, stuffing herself with bread, cereal and snacks whenever given the chance to.

Be it at work or at home, every ring of the phone had her jump. She’d tackle Billy aside before he could reach the phone, yell at Riley to let her answer it just on the off chance that it could be Steve. Every time it wasn’t him, however, she felt her shoulders slump. Disappointment grew heavy in her stomach, dragging down any prior excitement. She had quite the hard time keeping it out of her voice when it was customers or someone equally as important.

But, from what she’d heard, she wasn’t the only one.

Robin had visited her at work a few days in, taking in her mopey form with a groan.

“You both are pathetic.” She’d said, arms crossed and fingers drumming against the fabric of her jacket.

“What?”

“You and Steve.” To that, she could only sigh because honestly? They probably were.

“I know.”

“Do you?” Robin had asked, nodding towards the phone. “Then do you know that you’re both staring wistfully at the phone, too? Hell, if you’re sorry just call him and tell him that!”

“I am sorry. And I want to call him.” She’d told the other girl while brushing some stains out of the steering wheel of Joyce’ car. “But I…well. He might need more time. You know. I don’t want to force myself on him. In case he’s still angry.”

“I don’t think he’s been angry since day two!”

“You don’t know that.” Robin had let out a throaty, frustrated noise at that, slumping back into the chair.

“I take it back, please go back to being disgustingly close. Anything is better than this!” She’d yelled, ruffing up her hair in frustration.

Now, it was Saturday and she had a hard time finding any reason to stay at work any longer.

She’d cleaned better than ever - even sorted their tools and various knick knacks – and the shop was in pristine condition by now. Well, as pristine as a repair shop could ever be. There would always be a bit of dirt involved. So, what should she do to waste time with? Polish all their tools? Because, sure, that would take a lot of time, but maybe that was taking things a bit far. The boys would likely flip their shits when they’d walk in one morning, only to find every tool pristine and sparkling. They’d already been nagging her relentless cleaning, saying that they felt bad for making a mess of what she’d just so ‘lovingly’ tidied.

So, no. No polished wrenches.

For now.

If the silence between Steve and her lasted much longer, she couldn’t guarantee for anything anymore. Another day or two, fine, but the minute it crossed the two weeks mark she would be sitting right there, on the floor with a towel and a bunch of polishing cream and wipe away until she could see her own reflection in whatever hammer she was holding.

With a sigh, she wandered over to the window.

Outside, one of the ‘last’ promised downpours was going strong; thick drops of rain pitter pattering onto the gravelly car park out front. One could really believe they were in Mumbai and not Indiana, because this was starting to feel like a monsoon. Which, thinking about it, was probably something everyone who actually lived in Mumbai laughed about. Indiana was fairly wet compared to other states, but probably not yet monsoon wet.

Maybe she was being a tiny bit dramatic. But she hated rain, so, so much.

“Why did you choose to stay in this damn state again?” She huffed, looking out the window to check the puddles growing bigger and bigger. The shop phone rang and she, too preoccupied with intense hate, walked over while muttering on. “Should’ve moved to fucking Arizona when you had the chance.” Sighing, she picked up immediately rattling down the usual greeting. “…repair shop, what can I do for you on this lovely evening?”

“Hey.” Her breath hitched, heart stuttering for a second.

“Steve…?” It was spoken quietly, more air than wort. She could hear the disbelieve in her own voice and she didn’t like it one bit.

“…yeah. It’s me.” Steve cleared his throat. “I was- I tried calling your house but you didn’t pick up, so I figured you’d still be working and I just thought that maybe we-“

“I’m sorry.” Fuck. It had just come out; she didn’t want to jump him like that! God, couldn’t she be normal for once? No, she literally slapped the apology across his face, nice. Stupid, so stupid. She didn’t even know why he was calling; he could literally be about to tell her to go die in a ditch or something. But hey, sure, why not yell another sorry right across town? Idiot.

Steve was silent for an excruciatingly long moment.

She could almost hear the time pass by, like sand trickling through the thin waist of an hourglass. A soft hissing noise that made the small hairs on her arms stand up. But finally, he let out a deep breath.

“I know.” She felt herself deflate like a popped balloon; a weeks’ worth of tension draining right out of her with two simple words. “I know you are; I could tell the moment you realised what you’d said.” Something on the other end shifted, a soft swish that broke through the slight static. “And I’m sorry too.”

“What?” Her brows dipped. “What are you sorry for? You didn’t do anything.”

“I could’ve called you earlier.” She snorted.

“You’re fine, Harrington.” What kind of bullshit, really... As if that was something to be sorry for. “You’ve got about five months and three weeks left to be angry. Well, that and a black eye. After that, I would’ve come for you – no matter what.” Steve huffed a weak laugh on the other end.

“You’ve been thinking about that time too, huh?” He sighed. “I was a dick.”

“You were. But you were sixteen, all sixteen-year-olds are dicks.” Smiling, she leaned against the wall, her fingers winding into the spiral cord. “I was a bitch and I’m twenty-three, so what’s my excuse?”

“You weren’t.”

“Sure was, Harrington. And I really am sorry.” She eyed her feet, the tip of her shoe painting invisible lines against the floor. “You can always come to me. Cry however much you want, I don’t give a shit. If necessary, I’ll wipe your Nancy-tears until we’re eighty-seven.” Steve snorted; the noise so familiar that her heart fluttered.

“If I’m still crying about Nancy at eighty-seven, you have my permission to shoot me.” She could feel her lips curl up in a stupidly happy smile. God, she’d missed him. It had been little over a week and she’d missed him so much that talking to him now turned her giddy. “Why are you still at work? It’s late.” Automatically, her eyes went to her watch and sure enough. It was almost eleven.

“Uh…Working?”

“You were hiding at work, weren’t you?”

“…Maybe?”

“Definitely.” Steve sighed and she heard something shingle. “I’ll come pick you up.”

“What!? No, Steve, it’s late and a quasi-monsoon is raging outside. Stay home, I’ll be fine.”

“All the more reason to pick you up. You’re on your bike, right?”

“Uh…”

“Yeah, nope. I’m coming.”

“Steve-”

“I missed you.” Her mouth snapped shut, protest dying down immediately. “This week was fucking long and I’d like to pick up my best friend for food because I missed her. So, can said best friend please stop objecting?” Her heart did a stupid jumpy thing, thumping against her chest almost painfully. She cleared her throat to get rid of the tight feeling.

“Uhm…yeah. Okay, yeah, sure. I’ll wait.”

“Great. Be there in ten minutes.” He was about to hang up, but she stopped him.

“Steve?”

“Yeah?”

“I missed you too.” Closing her eyes, she leaned her forehead against the phone. “See you soon.”

“See you, sweet girl.”

***

The minute she sat in the passenger seat of Steve’s BMW, she wanted to cry.

It was only a moment, a small second of emotion rolling over her, but it was strong enough to have her stifle a gasp. Steve really had only needed ten minutes to come and pick her up, barely enough time to visit the loo and get her bag, and even just seeing the burgundy car roll up her shops car park nearly turned her emotional.

Her hand was trembling a tiny bit when she pulled the doorhandle, a motion that stopped the moment she saw Steve. The boy looked like he always did – it had only been a week or so, but it had felt so long – with his brown floppy hair and those stupid polo shirts that were just so distinctly him. His hair was a bit messier than usual, though that could have been the weathers’ fault. What wasn’t though, were the black lines underneath his eyes. He had massive dark circles, something that was likely mirrored on her face. Nights had been short that week, it seems. For both of them.

Neither of them said anything as she got in, both just sending each other silly smiles and a soft bump of their shoulders.

It was a relaxed silence, both knowing that there were things that needed to be addressed but also knowing that it could wait for a moment. Right then, both just wanted to ease back into their easy routine, find footing in a place that had felt unsure for the last couple of days.

The car itself smelled like Steve – lavender, sandalwood, and boy. It was a warm, comforting scent that had her want to curl up and do nothing for at least another week. Just drink up a weeks’ worth of peace, quiet and Steve. Rain was still thrumming rhythmically against the windshield, now a little less annoying than before, as Steve put the car into gear and drove off. He didn’t offer any information on where they were headed and she didn’t ask.

She didn’t need to.

Fleetwood Mac trickled out of the radio, filling the silence with soft music. The streets were mostly empty at this time of night, the only thing slowing their journey being the many traffic lights. The windows of Hawkins inhabitants were dark, only a few TV screens flickering in the most interesting colours.

Steve’s finger was tapping against the steering wheel, led by the rhythm of the blinking indicator. When he noticed her watching him, he raised his brows in question, to which she just smiled and shook her head. Steve smiled back and she turned to look out the blurry window. Everything looked the same outside, the same old Hawkins, but the blurred lines made it seem completely different. She had to concentrate to see, concentrate to recognise the places she grew up around. It felt odd yet normal, like maybe she’d done this before.

She probably had.  

The sound of the handbrake pulled her out of her reverie.

Steve had parked at Rosemary’s Diner, of course in his favourite spot. Way back, when they first started getting there with a car, Steve had chosen the spot because it was where everyone could see his car easily. He’d been a show off, that Harrington. Of course, the interest in that waned rather quickly. She was sure that by now, he was just used to parking right there. Steve pulled the keys from the ignition with more flourish than usual and got out of the car, a movement not unnoticed by her.

The asphalt resembled black glass as the lights of traffic and people were glistening both around and beneath them; their shine caught in the water on the worn asphalt. Flashes of red and yellow, stark and soft white reflected off the grey stone. With every drop, the reflections moved, lights dancing beneath her trainers with every step. Part of her wanted to stop and stare, just take in the sights of the car park that were so distinctly different.

Every light brought the town some resemblance of beauty, something fascinating to look at in a place that so rarely changed. Just how little it needed to make something look…new. Beautiful, even.

It was fascinating, wasn’t it?

This was the very same place it had always been, just drenched in rain. That’s it. And yet it helped her appreciate the town she was born and raised in in a completely different way. She could see more than just cracks in the ground, more than just roads worn down by frequent use of people who’d never left this place for more than a day.

All it took was some water.

Were all changes this simple, at least in their essence? Was a change really nothing more than just this, water haphazardly spilled over a street? Everyone knew that changes felt heavy, at least most of the time. They filled people with fear, invoking anxiety about whatever the future may hold. People panicked and fought against them, sometimes so hard they ruined themselves - and yet it was just this? Just rain that fell and suddenly everything was a bit different?

Even this one, the rain, had felt incredibly heavy to her. She’d been so moody, so put off by heavens everlasting tears and now look at what it gave her.

Beauty.

Beauty in the mundane.

Maybe all changes were like that. Maybe they just felt heavy, felt stifling and unsafe. Perhaps changes just seemed large, but in reality they weren’t. Change could have just been this, a quiet obstruction that caused discomfort but never enough to actually matter. It blurred the lines for a moment and then it was already over and none of it mattered anymore. It was just feelings, just something clouded in instincts.

Maybe change was like that, quiet and quick. Different, yet the same. Maybe it was all just…water on a road.

Just that.

The inside of Rosemarys Diner was brightly lit, almost blindingly so. She blinked a couple of times as they entered, forcing her eyes to readjust quickly. Not that she really needed to see where she was going to find her way in here. This Diner never changed.

It felt strangely timeless, at least most days. The checkered floor tiles Steve was strolling down, well-worn and cracked in all the same places. Burgundy leather seats, cracked and ripped enough to hiss familiarly whenever someone sank into them. Waitresses, clad in a pale-yellow uniform, complete with white aprons and shoes.

Everything stayed the same.

But today, it felt strangely different as well.

As she and Steve sank down in their favourite booth, second to last by the window, she saw how far the big crack on his seat had progressed all of a sudden. It used to be short, barely reaching her line of sight, and now it was nearly touching the top of the backrest. She could see how the line right beneath her foot had become more visible, the sharp cracked lines worn down by shoes and dirt over the years.

It was the same diner, and yet it felt so, so different.

Doreen came up to their table, smiling brightly as always, her braids pulled up into a ponytail at the back of her head. She looked very much like herself, the very same waitress that had been here when they first entered the diner all those years ago. For the first time, however, she could see the lines her face had gained over the last ten years. Her face had changed bit by bit, so subtly that it went unnoticed by everyone else but she could see it so, so clearly. Doreen had aged, the last chubbiness of youth had left her face. She’d grown out of her lipstick and bubble-gum phase, no longer the bratty teen that used to work here to earn money for college.

No, Doreen had become an adult somewhere over the last years.

Steve ordered their usual, leaning back in his seat with a big sigh. Her eyes wandered towards the window, the outside too dark to see anything; Especially with the bright lights of the Diner above her. Instead, she looked at her own tired face. She’d looked at herself in that very window hundreds of times before, used it to apply lipstick and mascara as well as to wipe away tear streaks and sauce. This very window had watched her grow up, and right then it felt as if she was looking at a memory. Like her own eleven year old self was staring back at her, wearing a scruffy shirt and jeans combo, roughed up from spending the day in the forest with Steve.

“What are you staring at yourself for?” The boy asked, leaning on the table while eyeing the counter.

She took one more look at herself, todays one that was still in her ugly grey overall, stained by dirt and oil. Her hair was messy after a day’s work and her eyes were surrounded by dark circles that had indicated her week hadn’t been going well.

“You could have told me that I look like crap.” She said, turning to Steve. The boys’ brows furrowed as he turned towards her, taking her in with one long look.

“You look like you always do.” Her lips curled up at his words, something that had him scowl a bit harder.

“I do?”

“Yeah.”

“Good.” With a smile, she took in the boy sitting in front of her; the same honey eyed boy that she’d known all her life.

He was sitting right there, his seat positioned so that he could keep an eye on the whole room. She could remember the brunette boy he’d been all those years ago, explaining to her that he liked to watch what people were doing. He’d been all gangly limbs and thin joints then, a resilient but weak boy whose parents were cold and neglectful. People didn’t care much for him, the boy too short and dorky to be cool just yet.

Much like now, the Steve of ’78 didn’t have a lot of people that loved him. But those who did, those who saw who he was, were everything he needed. He’d battle their bullies without batting an eye, despite surely losing the fight. The Steve of ’78 was already just as protective as the Steve of ’89, fearlessly charging ahead whenever he deemed it necessary. The Steve that had fought Russians and the supernatural, swinging that bat of his like a battle axe to protect a gaggle of kids, was already there.

He just needed to grow into him.

On first glance, there was little of the young boy left in the Steve of ‘89. The gangly arms and legs were gone, now turned into the limbs of a grown man. He was no longer thin and scruffy, years of basketball and fights helping him to become more defined. She was no longer a head taller than him, no longer needing to look down at him. His shorts had been exchanged for jeans; his dirty trainers exchanged for neat white sneakers.

But if she looked closely, he was still very much the same. The same warm brown eyes, the same expressive eyebrows, the same floppy hair. He still had that scar from when broke his arm while climbing the tree in her father’s backyard, silver with age now. His laugh was still the same, he still narrowed his eyes with every grin and he still gesticulated a lot when he was upset or excited.

He was still very much her Steve.

“You’re being weird. Are you okay?” He asked, plucking the pickles off his burger,and exchanging them for one of her tomatoes with just two fingers.

“I’m great, Steve.” He eyed her like a hawk, worry pulling at his features.

“Are you sure? Is there something you need to say?” She shook her head, grabbing a tissue to wipe some sauce off his fingers.

“I’m fine. I promise I’ll talk when I have something to say, but right now I’m perfect.” Steve looked at her for another moment, but nodded. He didn’t really believe her, she knew, but he chose to give her room to breathe. Just like he’d always done. “Do you need to say something before we eat, though?”

“Yeah.” He said, fiddling with her hand. It was something he used to do a lot when they were younger, fiddling with her hand when he was nervous. She didn’t realise he’d kept that habit even today. “You were right.” A frown pulled at her features.

“About what?”

“About Chelsea and I not being...it, I guess.” Steve sighed, leaning back in his seat while holding on to her hand. “I went on that date and I hated it.” He focused on their hands; eyes hidden slightly behind a strand of hair. “She’s nice and all, but she barely talked. I know she’s shy, Robin told me, but god. Maybe I’m not patient enough for that.”

“I’m sorry.” She was. Despite everything, despite all the things she’d said she actually wanted him to be happy. She really really did. If there was just one person that deserved to be loved, it was him.

“It’s okay.” It looked like he meant it. “Anyway, you were right with that…and pretty much everything else you said. I do amp them up, I do, uh…project or whatever. I know I do.” His hand tightened around hers, a pressure she returned comfortingly. “It’s stupid. But I just…” He broke off as she interlocked her fingers with his.

“I know.” Steve’s head tipped back, eyes closing as he smiled. He looked exhausted doing that. Once more, she squeezed his hand comfortingly.

“Of course you do.”

With that, they went about their food. She started with the fries, Steve with his burger before switching. The burger was the same as always, delicious, and exactly the way she liked it. The fries were perfectly crisp and hot, the mayonnaise clinging to them deliciously. While they ate, they talked about their weeks, sharing whatever they felt the other should know. Turns out, it wasn’t much for either of them. Robin hadn’t been wrong in saying that the two of them spend most their time close to a phone, waiting for a sign that told them it was okay to call the other.

When she asked Steve why today had been the day, he’d just shrugged.

“I missed you and I was fed up with waiting.”

Simple as that, it seems.

Steve threw some cash on the table after their dinner and the two of them left. Neither knew where exactly they were headed, but they’d find out. They always did, didn’t they? Outside, the rain was still going strong, if not even stronger than before. Thick, cold drops were splashing down, filling the air with blur and noise. Had she compared the rain earlier with a monsoon, would this probably be the end of the world.

Water stood high on the road, the already overburdened gutters finally giving in. From afar, it looked more like a shallow stream than a street, water moving along the length of it without mercy. Wind was shaking leaves and trees, enough to look scary but likely not to actually to do any harm. Or so she hoped. Steve’s car was parked regrettably far away, at least for these weather conditions, and the two of them stood under the awning before the diner, hesitating.

“Shit.” Steve pushed back his hair. “It’s not going to stop soon, is it?” 

“The weatherman said it would.”

“It won’t ever stop then.” He groaned. “That guy is always wrong.” She chuckled. It was true, the weatherman had terrible luck with his forecasts for quite some time now and it was getting harder and harder to trust him. Steve grabbed her hand. “Okay, we’re gonna run for it. Ready?”

“Always.” He grinned at her and then they were jogging along, rushing towards the burgundy swimming out there in the giant puddle that had been the car park.

She shrieked when water got into her shoes, the soft fabric hungrily drinking up the cold wet fluid and becoming heavier with each step. The hems of her overall and Steve’s jeans didn’t fare any better, water mercilessly soaking them the moment they came in contact. Still falling, the rain was cold where it hit them; icy splatters of water bursting against their skin and dousing them within just a few steps. Goosebumps rose on both their arms, only one of the many indicators of how cold it actually was.

Honestly, they could have wandered over to the car slowly and nothing would have changed. By the time they reached Steve’s car, they were soaked to the bone. Her thick overall was heavy with rain and started to cling and rub against her skin uncomfortably. Steve’s shirt looked a few shades darker than before and both of them had to squint to keep rain from running into their eyes.

“Shit, keys! Keys!” Steve hissed when they reached the back of his car. Keeping one hand in hers, he started to grapple for the car keys in his jeans. As always, they caught on the fabric and he struggled to get them out any further. The jeans being as wet as they were didn’t help; soaked jeans fabric suddenly no longer smooth to the touch. “Shit, why didn’t we think of that!?”

“It’s your car!” She yelled back, giggling at his glare as cold rain running down her face. It clung to her lips and lashes no matter how often she wiped her face. The boy kept struggling, even dropping his wallet in his fight to loosen the key ring from a snaggy thread. She heard him curse as she dove down, snagging the poor wet thing from its nightmarish bath.

“Shit, those damn tight ass jeans.” He cursed and she laughed, a surprised sound that he’d later admit to secretly really liking. A car passed by them, the headlights hitting them for just a moment. A couple of seconds of light, barely even enough time to blink, and her laughter died down. It had just been a moment, a tiny moment that shouldn’t matter.

And yet that moment was enough.

When she saw Steve standing there, dripping with rain and doused in the light of a stranger’s headlights, her breath hitched. Her shoulders slumped as she took him in, the boy she’d known all her life, with rain drops dripping down his chin and nose and a fierce frown set on his face. Her thoughts slowed, everything that wasn’t him shifting to the back for now. Nothing mattered anymore, be it rain or wet clothes or the cold. Not even the water running into her eyes.

Because right there, hair plastered to his head by the rain, struggling for his damn keys while holding onto her hand she noticed something she should’ve known before. Or maybe she did. Maybe she did know and she just never realised it, never understood what it meant.

Honestly, it wasn’t important. the order of why and when and how didn’t matter. Nothing did.

Nothing but him.

Because Steve was beautiful.

Not handsome, not pretty. Beautiful. When the light reflected off of him, even with his hair plastered against his forehead, he looked beautiful. Perfect, even. His eyes were not merely honeyed, no, they were radiant. They were warm and brilliant, like embers of a long summers’ campfire; comforting like hot chocolate on a cold winters’ night. Nothing, not even his current scowl, could take that away from him.

Steve was beautiful.

And not because he was handsome either. Which he was, of course. Those eyes, the hair, the nose and everything else about him looked good. She’s always known that, ever since they were just two young teens in a world too big and too small at the same time, laden with responsibilities they shouldn’t have had. She knew he was handsome, but it wasn’t just that.

No, Steve wasn’t beautiful because of his face.

He was beautiful because he was Steve.

He was Steve, with all his boyish charm and easy conversations; his hero complex and the bravery to match it. The Steve that had gone above and beyond for a tween boy he barely knew because it was the right thing to do; who greeted the same kid with specialised, dorky handshakes no matter how dumb it looked.

It was her Steve, with all of his big heart and empty home.

Her Steve. The boy she’d met when he was only just born, still in his mother’s arms. He was the beautiful boy who climbed trees with her; who tried to beat up every single of her bullies no matter how tall or old they were. Her beautiful boy, who’d watch movies with her despite saying he didn’t want to; who never once judged her fear of driving. He was the boy who understood her when even she herself didn’t. He came running in the middle of the night, simply because she called. Because he knew she needed him there.

He was the very boy that had been hurt and scarred by so many and survived. He’d held onto love when he was abandoned, onto positivity when he was hurt and scarred. He’d fought, kicking and screaming, with foolish determination against those who wanted to take those things from him. He was the very boy who always stood in the front lines of every battle, because he’d rather get hurt than watch his people suffer.

The boy who only cried when there was no one to hear him, who acted strong when he wasn’t.

He was just Steve.

So how could he not be beautiful?

“Jesus, finally!” Steve sighed, holding up the keys for her to see and nodding towards the car. “Move it, come on!” He let go of her hand, turning towards the car but she grabbed his wrist, keeping him in place. Dark brows dipped as he turned back towards her, features contorted in surprised worry. “What, what is it?”

“I love you.”

The keys fell from his hands, hitting the ground with a subdued splash. This time no one was diving for them, the object forgotten the second it was let go of. Wind whipped through their wet hair, cold and merciless, but neither of them did anything but stare. Steve’s eyes were opened wide, shoulders slack as he stared at her like he was waiting for something more. Something, she didn’t know how to give him.

“What?” He asked, voice barely audible over the rain. She didn’t need to hear him, though, because she knew. She knew, because it was him. Because this was who they were. Open, Withdrawn, Disbelieving and yet hopeful, this was all them.

“I love you.” Moving slowly, she interlocked their fingers. Steve’s eyes flicked towards their hands and back to her face, something between shock and confusion clouding his eyes. Like he didn’t understand what was going on, what she was saying or why this was happening right then. But there, in the car park of their very favourite diner, she chose to wait. Of course she could’ve elaborated, she could’ve explained and rushed him on. But she didn’t. She wouldn’t. No, she waited for him, for him to catch up with what she was saying.

Just as he’d been waiting for her.

When she looked back at everything right then, it was so, so clear. All he’d been doing was waiting. He’d waited for everyone and everything - for his parents and the world to accept him, for someone to love, for anyone to see him for who he was.

Steve Harrington had spent all his life waiting for everyone else.

So now it was his turn. His turn to take his time, the worlds turn to wait.

“Why?”

Why.

She huffed a tiny laugh, shaking her head at his disbelieve. 

How should she tell him? Tell him that his ‘why’ was all they’d seen, all they’d done and all they’d become over the years? Tell him that ‘why’ was everything and nothing. It was Steve and it was her, formless yet there. It was woven deep into the reality she called home. How did one turn all that was, is, could and would be into a simple answer the other could understand?

She didn’t know. But she was determined to try.

“Because it’s you.”

His hand was trembling in hers, whether that was because of the cold or the things she was saying she didn’t know. Maybe it was a bit of both. She covered his hands with hers, shielding it from everything she possibly could for just a moment. “Because this is who you are and this is who I am.” It was that simple. Her knuckles ran over his cheek as she smiled and his breath stuttered. “I love you because you’re you, Steve Harrington.”

It was easy to pin point the exact moment Steve was hit by realisation. His face spoke more words than any mouth before, at least to her.

The car was cold against her back as Steve pressed her against it, but she didn’t even care. All that mattered was Steve and everything he was, surrounding her in a way she never wanted to miss again. The boy himself was warm against her front, his lips on hers with that same sense of familiarity she’d felt before. Warm fingers were curling around her wrist while hers were clinging to the wet fabric of his shirt.

Once again, kissing Steve was like coming home. Warm and familiar, loving and beloved. Like she’d been gone for many many years, out exploring the world, before finally stepping over the treshhold to her own space. The one space where she could just exist without expectations, live without being questioned. Where her being her was more than enough.

But maybe that wasn’t home at all.

Maybe that was just Steve.

It made sense, a whole lot of sense. Hadn’t she just realised how much of her home was Steve? How much of him was there even when he himself was not? Maybe the feeling she’d come to know as ‘home’ was Steve, had always been Steve. Maybe it would always be Steve. Because, if that was it, if that was what home felt like, she never wanted to leave ever again.

The kiss lasted for a tiny eternity, much too long for where they were and how it had come be, yet far too short all the same. Neither truly wanted to let go of the other, the opposite seeming much more inviting. She would have loved to stay there, right there in the pouring rain, and get lost in Steve and Steve alone.

But later would do just as fine.

Steve was the one who broke it first, her boy drawing back to look at her with kiss bitten lips and wide eyes. Eyes, that might have been teary, she wasn’t all too sure; Not with the rain clinging to his lashes and cheeks. Holding eye contact, she smiled up at him; gauging his reaction. And who knows, maybe that was it. Perhaps her stare was too much, too intense for her fractured boy. For all one knew, it could have been the realisation that the thing he had been looking for, what he’d been searching for all these years, had been right there, right next to him all along.

Whatever it was, it was too much.

Steve’s face crumpled, the boy buckling into her. Cooing softly, she pulled him close, letting him bury his face against her neck. With a smile, she looped her arms around his back, nose pressed to his temple. Her boy was trembling with as she breathed him in, fingers digging into her side. She basked in the warm smell of Steve, everywhere now that they were so close, and ran her fingers slowly up and down his shaking shoulders.

“It’s okay.” She whispered into his ear, nose caressing the side of his face. “I’m here. I love you. I’m here, it’s okay. Take your time.” Her whispers were nothing coherent, really. Hushed affirmations; soft encouraging for her crying boy. Just something to ground him, to help him keep breathing as he sobbed silently. Shaky puffs of breath hot ghosted her neck as he kept breathing.

It took a moment for him to regain his composure, his breathing evening out more and more; each exhale allowing more frustration, more overwhelm, more regret, simply more of any emotion he currently felt to leave his body. Behind it left a tired boy with red rimmed eyes, that drew back slowly to look at her once more.

Her hands found his cheeks, cradling his face in her hands as she smiled up at him. The touch seemed to soften him completely, her boy melting into her hold more and more with every brush of her thumb. His eyes were shimmering with emotion, all hope and fear and love, which caused her own vision to become blurry.

“I love you.”

Gentle fingers were brushing up her arms; caressing her cold skin so softly that her eyes fell shut. Steve didn’t stop, his hands moving onwards without ceasing.

“Why?” Eyes fluttering back open, she gazed at him with a smile that held just the slightest bit of tease. Steve huffed a shaky laugh and rolled his eyes, a reaction so familiar and typical that she had to stifle a giggle. Instead, she used her finger tips to comb a wet strand of hair out of his forehead, his eyes fluttering like they always did.

“Because this is who we are.” Tears trickled down her cheeks as she nodded along, his face still cradled in her hands. Steve was now circling her wrists, fingers directly over her pulsepoint and eyes trained on her

“Yeah.” Later, he would tell her how brilliant, how radiant her smile had been right then. How much of that moment was based just on that, at least to him. “This is who we are.”

Even later, neither Steve nor her would be able to tell you who kissed the other first. Maybe it had been a decision they’d both made at the same time or perhaps they knew each other well enough to know what the other would do. Neither of them could tell, neither of them cared.

One thing she did know, however, was that she would never hate the rain again. She couldn’t, not after this. Sure, it was a hassle and sure it was grey and moody just as it always had been. Except now, it was theirs.

From that day on, rain would turn into a fond memory for the two of them, something they’d remember even many years later. Like everything they’d seen over the years; like the tree’s they’d climbed and the diner they frequented; like burgundy BMW’s and large elevators, like movies and demogorgons, like arguments and laughter, desperation and comfort, like love and loss…It would remain forever, changing them just as quietly as water on a late night’s road.

On that day, right in front of Rosemary’s diner, the smell of rain was woven into the fabric that made up their story. The feeling of rain drops became part of what made them Steve and her.

Rain became part of everything they would ever be.

Because this was exactly who they were.

[keltoi-1]

Don't usually air my thoughts, but that last mission and cutscene was a ride and half and I'm still reeling from it. Beyond... you know, Red and that whole shebang, there's that whole matter of the Traveler moving. It rose into the upper atmosphere and now it's hanging there. Beautifully, like those older Destiny artworks - as well as when it emerged sideways like that Unveiling cover art. But the real rollercoaster is that it moved. The last time it did something it repaired itself. The time before that, it woke up and broke free of Ghaul's cage.

But this time it literally moved. It has left the Last Safe City of Earth and now it's in Earth's upper orbit. Which I didn't think it would do, because in the back of my head there was all this feeling of security seeded again and again by everything from Ikora's philosophies to other ramblings, like that paragraph about a wanderer who just gets tired of it, settles down, makes some demigod babies and hopes they choose to be good while ringing their safe place in pikes. The Constellations (A.K.A. the Speaker lorebook) really should have knocked that out of me, what with the whole "Traveler will leave us" and "I WANT TO LEAVE" parts, but I was confident it wouldn't. That it cared and that it was too exhausted to pick up the cycle all over again.

Except now it's moved. And there's so many things to consider about it.

The Traveler didn't care about the Warsats and was simply rising to meet the Black Fleet at last - that stereotypical point in every movie about heroism, someone older and braver stepping out in front of the crowd to paint themselves as the primary target. It's not only here to stay, it is making a stand alongside us. Likely.

The Traveler did care about the Warsats and was sacrificing itself. If the Warsats fired and annihilated it, then maybe the City would survive - so long as there wasn't any significant debris left over to cause an extinction-level event. Which doesn't seem likely to me because that would draw Xivu Arath and her Horde through a portal anyways. Torobatl 2 electric boogaloo. Unlikely. (We already know the Traveler cares. It's not evil.)

Not one I really believe, but possible enemy movements have disturbed this "Veil" artifact and it could be answering a call for help, only to stall as it realizes all eyes are on it.

The Traveler gave into fear. Eramis was maybe right, maybe wrong, probably half-right. The Traveler as we know it is a sentient being. It has hopes and dreams and wants and desires. It has fears and ambitions. And the Black Fleet aiming so many weapons at it, stalking so close? Anyone would be afraid. And thus we arrive at the opposite case of Point 1: the Traveler was not stepping forward to make a stand with its resolve strengthened, but rather its nerve broke. It's tired and it's desperate but it's also alive and afraid and it might've just made a knee-jerk reaction. It's our icon, it's our standard, and right in front of everyone it lost its control at the last second and made to run - only to remember it can't, it shouldn't, maybe it doesn't need to. Too bad, the harm's already done; we saw it make to escape and even if it's still here, we saw its fear. We saw it give into despair. The Witness said it has nowhere left to run. The Witness has said that only in our last moments, devoid of hope, are we truly ourselves. We've seen the Traveler at that stage. Another likely option and nowhere near as inspiring as the first.