#idk what I’ve tagged her as in the past lol

[seduceme-lovestruck-thearcana]

@megatraven

Meg hear me out for a moment. Your screenshot of your Eros x MC angst where he’s like “You’ll die like your mom, but no one will remember you,” hit me HARD (like I said in the ask, sorry for repeating) and my mind was like, “What if…MCs mom was alive instead?” Like she’s still working at HERA, soon to retire tho since she’s like 50 when MC starts working there (most likely 50 anyways). She’s still working there and I see her as the boss at work, but when she gets home she’s Mom™️. Like how Alex said it was hard for Aphrodite to come and be a mother AND a goddess when disciplining them in their S1.

So I imagine Agent Mom (the perfect nickname you gave her lol) being a little biased about the cases MC works especially since she doesn’t have her ring. However, something happens to where only MC can help further the case and she’s paired with Eros. And oh boy I can imagine her being very protective of her. Agent Mom knows Aphrodite, Hades, and a few gods have changed, but she’s still seen their nasty side and knows that a lot HAVENT changed, and she has a feeling that Eros is one of them.

And he is.

So that scene with Eros happens, but instead of it being about her mom being dead, it’s instead about how MC would never be a field agent on her own. She works under Alex (best friend background and forever in love with her), so they’ll have a bias as well to her and may (even without realizing it) help her up (like they said in their S1) and he says that she’ll only be living in her mothers shadow and never be her own person. Which, obviously, RUINS MC. She loves her mother and has admired her, and she won’t deny that she wants to be like her, but she wants to be w field agent by her own ability and not be seen as just a mini Agent Mom and not her own person so it definitely hurts.

I can see MC trying to keep her feelings hidden, but her mom just KNOWS. A mom always knows and she’s no different, and MC opens up about it and ohhh…she’s pissed. Josh said that Agent Mom stepped on many toes during her time at HERA, and she had another set of toes to step on: Eros. She doesn’t even go to Aphrodite, but instead straight to Eros (somehow).

Basically, she beats his ass but verbally and threatens him. She doesn’t even back down (like MC) and she’s willing to throw hands for her children, despite knowing he’s a god. Eros, really processing what he said to MC, kinda apologizes but not really. He still has development to go through, and Agent Mom isn’t having it.

When MC finally tells her mom that she’s having feelings for Eros, I can see her being conflicted as well. She wants her daughter to be happy, but she knows some of the gods past and how some don’t care about humans and will still use them for their own entertainment or will. That first interaction between Agent Mom and Eros is proof enough to her AND her time dealing with Ares and Aphrodite (when he caused a rift for them temporarily) and most likely seeing how he treated Alex when they were young, so she warns her daughter heavily, but she can’t stop her. She’s an adult and Agent Mom has raised her and Josh the best she can, and she knows she has to make her own decisions, so she respects it, even if she disagrees with the couple. At the time anyways.

And when they do get together and she tells her mom, her mom is like, “Aw I’m so happy for you!” And then talks to Eros secretly like, “If you hurt my daughter, I may actually kill you.”

Their relationship develops over time and becomes more positive, but still I can see Agent Mom being very protective of MC and being almost against her and Eros’s relationship for awhile, but she comes around after awhile. And when she does retire, MC gets her ring and is able to become a field agent when another world ending case happens and she’s working with Eros. AND eventually Agent Mom trusts Eros with her daughter and knows that they can do anything, even go against the gods if it’s demanded.

MC wouldn’t have the issue of being chased and threatened for being Hera, and I like to imagine Agent Mom wouldn’t either. Aphrodite and Hades kept it secret, and when she retires, she wouldn’t always be on Olympus anymore or involved with the Gods (other than seeing Hades and Aphrodite once in awhile, or Aphrodite more frequently since they had their situation going on), so it wouldn’t be a problem. Or maybe it’s just bc I like happy endings, I don’t know.

This idea isn’t too well thought out, but I just love talking about her mom because not much is known about her (other than the glimpses Aphrodite and Hades and Josh slip out every once in awhile) and I like to imagine what she was like. She loved HERA and some of the gods, but she loves her daughter and son more, and will do anything to keep them safe.

EDIT: On the topic of mentioning Alex and Ares, I may have a tiny fic based upon that with Agent Mom and Alex because she’s invaded my thoughts now and won’t leave until I talk about her enough.

EDIT 2: Omg quick addition I just thought of. If Eros and MC ever got married, I feel like Eros would literally be terrified of asking Agent Mom for permission (since he’d be old school why not) since how the relationship started, but he’d push past it and get her permission. He can see the warning and a little hesitancy when she agrees, but still he is grateful and swears to love MC as long as she wants and protect her with his life. Ah…..I love Agent Mom and her relationship with her kids.

She’ll definitely be a cheerleader for Josh as well and eat out at his restaurant frequently to talk with him (if he’s available) and just show her support😭😭.

[catsfor2]

hit me, part 2.5 (bonus baby)

wc: 1.1k, unedited warnings: swearing/language a/n: im sooooo tired so im sorry if this stinks. but anyway. I hope you guys like it regardless. ALSO wanted to also remind everyone that my requests are wide open ;)!! tags: @elliewilliamsmunch@intrnetdoll@me-and-your-husband@3zae-zae3@milahnoz@elliescumm@dragonasflowercrown@starpix@nopealoupe@annamommyy@muthafuckingstargirl

-j

part 1

part 1.5

part 2

Another meek chime rings out from your bed, calling to you, forcing you to slam your textbook shut out of frustration.

You’d been studying for maybe four hours at this point. It was far past dark, the sky now an opaque charcoal. Your eyes are aching. Your back is sore. It was time to take a break.

You hop on your bed, body weight causing it to gently bounce you up and down a few times.

You click your phone on.

New message from (+14556768854)

New message from (+14556768854)

Image from (+14556768854)

New message from (+14556768854)

New message from (+14556768854)

You hesitantly open it up, eyes squinting and head shunned like it might be something unsavory.

(+14556768854)

hey

can u tell me if this looks serious

IMG_5354 [Click to Download]

pls respond

y/n

Your heart lurches.

These texts were from Ellie.

Instantly on edge, and you frantically poke the image link to see it, tapping it repeatedly as if that would speed it up. It buffers, agonizingly, and you prepare yourself to see a grotesque and mangled amalgamation of colors in the next few seconds.

It finally loads.

You scan it quickly, studying and prodding the image with your eyes.

Your mouth flattens.

It’s…just a picture of her flexing.

Your thumbs type at an alarming speed.

that was not fuckijng funny

You throw your phone back at your mattress, deciding to ignore whatever nonsense Ellie will respond with.

It chimes immediately.

You regretfully pick it back up, still angry, and open to read what she says.

lol

“…Fucking stupid…” you mutter, already typing at your response.

im serious

thats not why i gave u my number

ok

why then

You roll your eyes, memory already recalling a couple of days ago, where you very clearly and very obviously told her why.

for emergencies

or if u need me for something important idk

i dont wanna see your thirst traps

You knew that last part was a lie before you even typed it out. That picture she sent was not what you were expecting, but it still turned your insides to mush. It still had you a bit uneasy, nauseous even. Ellie had power over your body like that.

hmmm

i have an emergency

really bad one

You wait on her answer, skeptically, watching those three dots dance around in circles.

im hungry

You let out a sigh.

Then you click your phone off, throwing it elsewhere, and dejectedly gazing at the textbook sitting on your desk. Your professor would want you to, right?

Your phone interrupts you again, noisily snatching your attention with its sounds and jostling your focus from the book.

The sounds don’t stop.

Fuck, you think. Your phone is ringing.

You jerk to pick it up, fingers fumbling it, until finally you’re able to click ‘answer’ and bring it to your ear.

You’re quiet, hoping Ellie will speak first.

“Hi.” a voice says, and you quickly connect that it’s just Ellie’s, sleep riddled and raspy.

“…Hi.”

“So…what’d you think?”

Your eyebrows crease.

“Of what?”

“'Of what?' Of my fuckin’ progress, that’s what! Anthony has me eating, like, six whole chickens a week.” she boasts.

“Oh. I didn’t really…see?…I guess? I don’t know…”

“I mean—I’ve gained almost 30 this year.”

You remain confused. Is that a lot…?

Ellie must understand your silence for what it is and continues.

“Pounds, princess. Muscle. I’m getting fuckin’ huge.”

Oh.

“Okay—I got it now. Um…congrats, then.”

“What, that’s it? That’s all you got for me?”

“I—I don’t know!” you defend, voice coming out a bit louder and higher. “Your muscles look—like, big, all the time! I can’t tell the difference!”

She laughs loudly into the receiver, and you can’t help the smile you wear, hearing it so amplified in your ear.

“You need more pictures? I got more pictures.” she assures.

Simultaneous with her voice, you feel the sharp vibration and hear the dingy chime of your phone.

“Just took that one. You should look at it.” she adds, tone low but casual.

You deeply blush, feeling exposed despite being so alone in your bedroom.

“…Okay.” you agree, sliding the phone off your face to open it up.

A mirror reflection of Ellie’s back fills your screen, stretched and taut into a flexed pose. Her arms are out beside her head, clenched impossibly tight, in effort to completely portray her physique. Your eyes flick down, noticing in the image that she’s wearing only boxers.

She just took that picture?

The air in your room feels warmer, hotter than ever, so you strip down to a tank top and underwear. It feels wrong, almost. Talking to Ellie with this much skin showing. Her not knowing.

“Hello? You there?” Ellie loudly repeats over the speaker, audio fuzzy and weak.

You grasp your phone back up, stuttering out a response.

“Yeah—yes, here. I’m here.”

“'Kay. Your turn.”

You almost drop the device completely.

“My turn?”

“Fair’s only fair, right?”

“…Ellie…” you protest, skin burning with even the idea of her seeing you.

“C’mon, please? I took mine already, you can’t go back.”

You say nothing, whole body sweating, hoping and praying she’ll just forget about it.

“…I wanna see you.” she admits, voice warm and fuzzy through the speaker.

Your cheeks erupt red, a sense of burning flowing throughout your whole body at her words. You curl up, thighs squeezing at themselves, and try to answer.

“But—I’m…I’m in…pajamas.” you whisper, looking down at your bare legs and sheer top.

“You are? Even better.”

“I—I don’t know—”

“You really don’t have to. I’ll live, princess. I promise.”

Your body relaxes entirely, a breath of pure relief leaving your lips, as well as a forceful yawn. Ellie must’ve heard it through the phone.

“Aww—you tired? Should I hang up?”

“No! Don’t hang up! I want to keep talking! I was studying before so I’m a little—a little out of it but—”

“Nope. I’m hangin’ up. Princess needs her beauty sleep.”

“What—no, Ellie.” you argue, albeit lazily, as the energy you have left is truly running low.

“I’ll be here in the morning, won’t I? Good-niiiight—” she lulls, drawing out the last word.

“No! Don’t hang up! Ellie!”

On the other end of the phone, there’s only quiet.

An abyss of silence.

“…Ellie?” you try, voice small.

Nothing.

Your mouth purses, frustrated, as you listen to the absent noise through the speaker.

Still nothing.

You flip over, hostilely pulling the comforter over yourself and crashing your head into the pillow. You feel cold, but you know an extra blanket or some layers wouldn’t make you any warmer. Only she could.

Before you can shut your eyes, the chime sporadically rings out again, and you find yourself rapidly grasping the phone from your mattress.

Immediately you unlock it.

(+14556768854)

sweet dreams

dont let the bed bugs bute

fuck

bite *

call you tomorrow

Your eyelids finally shut, the weight of the day keeping them closed indefinitely. Your limbs go lax, succumbing to exhaustion.

You permit yourself to fall asleep, now knowing fully, that you will have the sweetest of dreams.

[the-writings-of-a-kiwi-bird]

Sorry, Reenie~

tags: angst/comfort, crack treated seriously maybe (not really taken seriously actually), medical inaccuracies probably (dont have the spoons to do research, im pretty vague though), kidnapping, referenced past drugging but in a lighthearted way and only once near the end

a little bit of Aventurine/Topaz at the end if you squint, but it can be interpretted as platonic, too

(i think thats it? idk)

this is 100% based on one of the numerous plotting/fic situations @silvercaptain24 and I think up/ping pong off each other in our DMs lol. im also only posting mainly this because its the easiest way to share with her XD

fic below cut (about 1400 words i thkn?)

Aventurine pushed his chair away from his desk and stood. 

I’ve been staring at these documents too long, I need a break. 

He exited his office, making sure to lock the door behind him, and began to make his way towards the end of the building where Topaz’s office is. 

Maybe I can talk her into lunch. It's been a while since I ate. 

He rounded a corner and was immediately grabbed and pulled into a janitorial closet. 

Before he could respond, a hand holding a cloth covered his nose and mouth. 

Aventurine held his breath and struggled, fighting to break free. 

“Oh come on, that’s taking too long!” An unfamiliar voice complained. 

Something hit his head hard, and the world turned black. 

~~ 

He awoke lying on his side. 

Everything hurt, and his mind was clouded with fog and pain. 

Aventurine tried to move his arms, only to painfully discover that they had been bound behind his back with rope, rather tightly. He did his best to remain silent and fought his eyes open. 

The floor he was laying on was dirt, which would explain the musty smell. It was dark, too dark to see much beyond the rusty iron bars in front of him. He could hear faint voices, but couldn't tell what they were saying or even what direction they came from. 

Panic fought to overtake his already limited mind, and he struggled to fight against it. 

I’m trapped. I can’t get free. Even if I could, those bars look strong. Everything hurts. What had I been doing? Where am I? I can move my feet. What good will that do? They’ve probably confiscated all my things. I can’t even call for help. I don't know if I’m even strong enough right now. I'm trapped. It’s so dark— 

His eyes threatened to close, and the room kept spinning. His wrists burned, the pain overpowering even the rest of the pain and making thoughts difficult. Painful memories threatened to surface, and he forced himself to focus on the pain instead. 

Aventurine’s whole body trembled, heart beating fast and loud. His neck burned, a phantom pain from memories long past resurfaced. 

Pistols fired somewhere in the distance, and the nearby voices turned to far away shouts. 

He was shaking, and not just from the cold. 

A familiar voice said something nearby. Or maybe far away? He wasn't sure. 

Panic swirled in his mind, drowning out all other thoughts besides the pain. 

He heard metal clangs, and the creaking of rusty hinges. That familiar yet unplaceable voice said something else he did not register, more insistent this time. 

Aventurine shut his eyes and struggled to try and get his breathing even. If they think he's asleep, they’ll leave him alone. Right?

The voice spoke again, definitely closer this time, and still not understandable. 

The pain in his wrists flared and he heard someone whimper pathetically. 

On second thought, that may have been him. 

The voice kept speaking to him, and he barely registered that a tension around his wrists had been broken. The searing pain lessened slightly. 

More speaking. He thinks. 

Icy cold water splashed Aventurine in the face, and he shot his eyes wide open with a gasp.  

“Geez, it’s ‘bout time!” A familiar metal hand waved in his face. “Are ya with me now, Fancy Pants?” 

Aventurine moved to sit up, but the pain in his wrists inhibited that. Someone lifted him into an upright position. 

Finally, he looked up. “… Boothill?” 

The space cowboy flashed a toothy grin. “Oh good, that little brain of yours is working again. C’mon kid, let's get you out of here.” 

Boothill lifted Aventurine with ease, one metal arm beneath his legs and the other supporting his back. Aventurine vaguely heard the space ranger mumble something about ‘muddle fudging son of nice ladies shirt bags ash voles’. 

Aventurine found himself relaxing somewhat, fighting to keep his eyes open as he bounced slightly with each step Boothill took. 

Boothill sighed. “Relax, kid, just get some sleep. You’re safe now. I’ll hold you for ransom when you wake up.” 

Aventurine relaxed fully, drifting off to sleep before the words had even fully registered. 

~~~

Aventurine awoke in a room he shouldn’t even recognize, much less be all too familiar with. 

“Ugh, so much for getting some work done today.” He groaned and stood, clutching his head with one hand as he waited for the room to stop spinning. He walked to the door and hesitated as he grabbed the handle, cherishing his last moments of peace before his headache inevitably gets much worse. 

~

“Well hello there, sleepyhead,” Boothill greeted. 

Two metal hands clasped each shoulder and not-no-gently steered him into a chair at the table, the biggest plate Aventurine had ever seen situated in front of him. It was overfilled with his favorite foods. 

He glanced back at Boothill, eyebrow raised skeptically. “There is absolutely no way I can eat all that. And I don't remember the ipc having any confidential files that list what my favorite foods are,” he added. 

Boothill smirked and simply shrugged. “Wow, favorite foods huh? What a coincidence! Anyways, Fancy Pants, you’d best get to eating, won’t know how much you can eat til you try!” 

Aventurine glared suspiciously at the food and drink in front of him. “Please tell me you didn’t drug it this time, i think i've had enough sleep for today.”

“Nah, you got plenty of sleep already, not necessary this time.” Boothill waved a hand dismissively, gaze never leaving Aventurine. “You should start eating though, I already sent the message to that Topaz lady and she’s usually pretty quick at sending the random money.” 

Aventurine began to eat, doing his best to refrain from wolfing it all down immediately. “You do know she transfers that from her personal account so she doesn’t have to go through Jade every time, right?” 

“It's okay, every time this happens that exact amount of money mysteriously disappears from the IPC’s bank account and appears in hers.” 

Aventurine froze, then turned his head slowly to look at Boothill. “You can do that. This whole time. What’s even the point of ransom then???” 

“More fun this way,” Boothill said with a toothy grin. “And it gives me the opportunity to make sure my Greatest Competition And Nemesis is Taking Care Of Himself well enough that we can be evenly matched still.” 

Aventurine rolled his eyes and continued eating. “I thought you were done with that ridiculous title.” 

Boothill chuckled. “Why would I be done with it, O Greatest Competition And Nemesis? It's the most fitting, after all.” 

Aventurine groaned, and Boothill watched closely to make sure he actually ate everything. 

~~ 

There was a knock at the ship’s door, and Boothill opened it to reveal a very exasperated Topaz. 

“Alright, Boothill, you’ve got the money. Can we have our dumbass back now?” 

“Hey!” Aventurine protested. Both ignored him. 

“Yeah, yeah, sure thing little lady.” Boothill patted Aventurine on the back forcefully, sending the man tumbling forward. 

Topaz calmly stepped aside and let him fall. 

“Thanks. I assume he’s been fed again?” 

“Obviously. Make sure the muddlefudger uses the healing ointment I gave him for his wrists, which were absolutely not my doing for the record.” 

Aventurine stood and dusted himself off, grumbling about loser friends who clearly hate him and not being a child who needs supervision. 

“Will do. See you next time, I unfortunately assume?” Topaz asked. 

“Yep!” Boothill replied cheerfully. “Nice doin’ business with ya.” 

Topaz nodded and turned, grabbing Aventurine’s arm. “Come on idiot, let's go.” 

She turned back to Boothill one last time, expression much softer for a split second. “…thanks for taking care of him.” 

She turned again, all but dragging Aventurine with her. 

“Hey, this time really wasn’t my fault,” he insisted defensively. 

Topaz glanced at him, a brief moment of concern on her face before she returned to that annoyed expression she always wore around him. “Yeah. I know.” She hesitated. “And… I’m glad you’re okay. I guess.” 

“You know,” she added quickly, “because I don’t want to be doing my and your workload. That's all. Definitely.” 

Aventurine smiled fondly. “Sure.” 

They took a few more steps before he paused. 

“Wait what do you mean you know? How?” 

Topaz groaned. “Mister Boothill demanded more credits than usual for, and I quote, ‘saving you shirt bags from having to rescue him from some forking muddle fudgers, and saving y’all the trouble of taking care of the ash voles.’” 

Aventurine smacked his forehead with his palm and sighed. “Of course he did. Why am I not surprised.”

Topaz shrugged. “That Galaxy Ranger really confuses me sometimes, you know.” 

“Only sometimes?” 

She smacked his arm. 

“Anyways, you owe me big time. Again.” 

“Yeah, yeah. The usual Lunch for a week I assume?” 

“Make it two this time.” 

“… fine, two.” 

~~~~~

[chokherbalii]

okay but what if i wrote a story about two women in their mid 30s who remembers their part lives? — one who remembers everything about her past life except the face of the woman she loved and how it ended — and another who also remembers everything about her past life too but is blind (so she'll never ever be able to see or know who her past lover is in this life since she can see nothing in this life)

“red threat of fate tied to our hands, i’ve seen you before, knee deep in the waters of the sand”

idk should i?

maybe if this post get some notes? i need some motivation to actually start writing anything lol.

ps : prolly will write it here @augustchildd

tagging some mutuals :) (sorry in advance)

@panic-like-the-disaster-you-are @imactuallyagiraffe @if-i-could-give-u-the-moon @arainbowsiren @caretaker4u @catinasink @roryfuckingspring @charlie-is-missing @qwerty-keysmash @xhavibee <3333

[aroeddiediaz]

20 questions for fic writers

Tagged by @cal-daisies-and-briars , @jesuiscenseedormir , @diazsdimples

How many works do you have on ao3?

27!

What's your total ao3 word count?

61,537

What fandoms do you write for?

Currently I’m pretty much exclusively a 9-1-1 writer, but in the past I wrote a lot of Flarrowverse (do they still call it that?). I also have published fics for Fantastic Beasts and a few anime (Given, Haikyuu, Saiki K). Given the number of Bnha wips i have locked away in the vault it’s amazing I don’t have anything published for that.

Top 5 fics by kudos:

(I am omitting all the Flarrowverse fics in my top 5 on the basis that they were written in high school and I’ve changed as a person, and they probably only beat out on the numbers due to being up for years longer)

1. Kabe-Do’s and Kabe-Don’ts (Given, 861 kudos)

2. You’re Not Special (Saiki K, 598 kudos)

3. How Eddie Learned To Stop Worrying And Embrace The Kitten Life (9-1-1, 327 kudos)

4. The Boy Formerly Known As Miracle (Haikyuu, 277 kudos)

5. Under The Hood (9-1-1, 275 kudos)

Do you respond to comments?

Yes!! As many as I can!

What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

This probably has to be The Crimes of Queenie Goldstein, in which Queenie is put on trial for her actions during the war. Don’t @ me but Queenie turning traitor was bu far the most interesting part of the Crimes of Grindelwald (the only interesting thing, really). There could be such an interesting story between her and Tina if only JKR would let the movies out of her grasp.

What's the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

Fuck, idk if I have a happiest ending fic, a lot of them tend to not have that much story arc. (A lot of established relationship fluff or smut lmao). I guess if I had to pick one it would probably be How Eddie Learned To Stop Worrying and Embrace The Kitten Life.

Do you get hate on fics?

Not since that one anti-olicity fic that I wrote while deep in the trenches of Flarrowverse discourse, which I totally deserved :/. I have regrets. Also I should probably orphan/delete that one if I haven’t already. In my defense, high school. I have learned.

Do you write smut?

Yea lol. I think my 9-1-1 stuff has been almost exclusively smut. Idk how it happened. (I do know how it happened smut is fun to write)

Craziest crossover?

I haven’t published any of my crossover fics :( none of them have been complete enough. I have many many unfinished RotBTD wips that have never seen the light of day though.

Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Who would steal my stuff? Lol

Have you ever had a fic translated?

One time someone offered to translate one of my fics into Russian but idk if that ever actually happened.

Have you co-written a fic before?

Nope

All time favorite ship?

Right now definitely Buddie! Percabeth holds a special place in my heart though <3

What's a wip you want to finish, but doubt you ever will?

Ok. After the end of the Heroes of Olympus Series, but before Trials of Apollo was announced, I tried my own hand at writing the sequel that was clearly coming based on all the loose threads in the final book. It was going to be a Solangelo quest to save the Oracle of Delphi from Python, while Akhys tries to poison Percy to turn him into an evil god(?). Half the details have been lost and I desperately want to remember them, because I haven’t attempted anything nearly as cool or ambitious since then. The first 5 chapters are posted on my ao3 (Will Solace and the Oracle’s Cry) and I still think high school me had the most interesting characterization of Will out of everyone else on the internet at the time. Even if it is still very 2015.

What are your writing strengths?

I think I’m good at getting into the heads of different characters. Understanding their motives and weaknesses.

What are your writing weaknesses?

Editing.

Lmao I have a lot of weaknesses but I definitely struggle the most with trying to look back on or change things I’ve already written, even when it’s necessary.

Also my tendency to just drop fics if I stop working on them for too long. Rip to my wip graveyard.

Thoughts on dialogue in another language?

That’s a minefield I’m not willing to play in. Unless it’s Chinese. Very limited amounts of Chinese. Or like, a pet name or phrase that’s already ubiquitous in fandom so I’m not risking anything.

First fandom you wrote in?

Percy Jackson!! That Will Solace quest is the first thing I ever wrote! I definitely had a tendency to jump into the deep end with new hobbies lmao. Like my first ever cosplay that took me 3 years to complete.

Favorite fic you've written?

I think my favorite fic is always going to be the one I’m currently working on writing. But I am very proud of the silly little dramatic ironies in In Hindsight, which I wrote entirely over one long lunch the day after 7x04 broke me. Also I have to shoutout Teacher’s Pet, that one ruler spanking fic nobody ever reads because it’s Eddie/Ana lmao. I enjoyed putting in a bunch of tiny incompatibilities between them. So, uh, I guess my favorite thing in my own writing is dramatic irony?

Tagging: @aspecbuddie @pirrusstuff @jesuisici33 @steadfastsaturnsrings @lemonzestywrites @your-catfish-friend @inkmortal-trash389 @evanbegins s @wildlife4life @eddiebabygirldiaz @epicbuddieficrecs @kitteneddiediaz @alliaskisthepossibilityoflove @coatedpanda16 @nicotinewrites @estheticpotaeto @babytrapperdiaz @snowviolettwhite @wikiangela

[kittencomicslol]

Gyutaro x reader requests :3

Requests are; Open!!

Hello hello hello!!! If u know me, u know I love Gyutaro (a concerning amount but hey we all have our struggles)

I most likely will not do full entire fanfictions but rather little headcannons/senarios. I’ve done these on my wattpad so for reference this is what I mean by that (no need to actually read this it’s just to show how i do my shit lol) but if you request something and I REALLLYY like the idea or if I’m pumped full of motivation, I might do a full one.

Edit; okay!! What the fart! The link won’t work ig no reference for yall

Here are some guidelines for what I will/wont write, and then under that I’ll set up a little master-List ^_^

Also sen I know you frequent tumblr and the ds tag aswell so helloo! Hello hello!! Ily!! :3

_______

What I will definitely write!! (If it’s not on here I can try, but this is stuff I definitely will do!!)

-Fluff, I love love LOVE toothrotting fluff

-Angst, depending on how mentally stable I currently am when writing

-Hurt comfort LOVE LOVE LOVEEEE hurt comfort

-Reader w disabilities

-Phobias

-Disorders

-Readers who have gone through past grooming/abuse (I feel u yall ❤️)

-Gore (it’s demon slayer like cmon it’s gonna happen at some point when it comes to something)

-Cannibalism (same sitch as gore, demons n stuff bro)

-Human reader

-Demon reader

-Yokai reader

_______

What I won’t/can’t do

-NSFW!! I am a minor :3 (ofc I can leave jokes or mentions of shit but I’m not gonna actually post nsfw as a minor)

-M! reader (sorry I just gen suck w it and I’m mostly writing these 4 me, I’m sorry 💔 this does not apply to mtf trans topics!! ❤️)

-Depictions of something unhealthy (grooming, gaslighting, abuse, manipulation, pedophilla, not cool stuff!! I can write this in hurt comfort/taking about trauma but I will NEVER make it something to actually do w the relationship)

-Yandere stuff (though I love this as a horror idea, a lot of ppl actually enjoy romanticizing yandere stuff which classifies as romanticizing abuse. That is totally not cool!! I hate writing that stuff bc it normalizes those topics to younger ppl reading which is dangerous!)

-Incell shit. I’ve seen too many ppl on here go ‘oh Gyutaro is an incell’ ‘I fought the incell accusations and lost’ well I DIDNT. I don’t care about the plot at all, Gyutaro literally RAISED A GIRL. IN THE RED LIGHT DISTRICT. He literally taught her to defend herself against creepy men!! Like cmon guys use critical thinking and common sense pls 😭😭

_______

I do not know how frequently I will be able to post/write. My life is literally in limbo rn and I am prioritizing myself‼️‼️

If you wanna ask just send it in as a question for my blog, I can work w it that way. Idk if that’s how ppl usually do it or not I’m new to tumblr but fuck it we ball 🔥🔥

And I am posting this 10 minutes before new years, let’s kick 2024 off with scribbles about our favorite demon boy!! <3

_______

Masterlist!! (Hc / fanfiction

!Human Gyu with an !upper moon reader

Random self indulgent fluff fanfiction

How Gyutaro would like to cuddle

Comforting him with snuggles n praise

Braids

Gyutaro with an !artist reader who has Gyutaro as their main muse

[ironmandeficiency]

love at first fight

pairing: bofur / reader

word count: 1269

summary: after a tavern visit, you seriously consider getting your eyes checked when you mistake an unassuming dwarf for your best friend’s ex

a/n: another hella late year of idiots submission (but since i started it in may it still counts as the may entry lol). the reader’s race & gender are left ambiguous. pihla means “rowan tree” in finnish

tags: @yearofcreation2023 @oonajaeadira & my darling beta @loopyloo2610 (idk why you can’t be tagged 🤷🏻‍♀️) who helped me organize my thoughts with this piece

“you’re absolutely belligerent, you know that right?” pihla harrumphed as you brushed her hair, a grumpy pout on her face.

you tugged a little harder than necessary and ignored the slight wince. “oh i know,” a slight chuckle accompanied the next stroke of the brush through ginger locks.

your best friend has sequestered herself in her home, refusing to leave and avoiding anyone who could carry false sympathies with their groceries. after the way elias broke her heart not even a week ago, it made sense for her to avoid the laketown gossips and stay home for a while.

however, it doesn’t mean you’ll allow it.

pihla sounds a lot more put out than she truly is as she continues lamenting, “i can’t believe you’re forcing me to go out.”

she releases a put-off sigh while she rummages through her wardrobe. “after everything i’ve been through the past several days,” one dress is tossed over her shoulder as another piques her interest. “absolutely shameful, i think.”

watching your friend smile again, you refastened your bootstraps and straightened your tunic. tonight wasn’t about you primping and feeling pretty, it was for pihla to remind herself just how amazing she is and feel happy again. so you stuck with your regular attire of a simple tunic and breeches, letting your closest friend take the popular tavern by storm.

with winks and grins sent to each other, you were off to drink your woes away.

years before that mustached scum broke pihla’s heart, you made a promise (at her behest) to never let her despair in a breakup for more than a week. it’s why you were now downing the cheapest mead you’ve ever tasted (bought for you by a slimy looking fellow across the bar) without a second thought.

in truth, you’re just upholding your end of the friendship. a rather valiant endeavor if you do say so yourself.

the requests you gave to the performers were songs you knew pihla enjoyed dancing to, every drink you sent to your friend just right for her palate. she seemed genuinely happy once again, twirling and laughing like nothing ever occurred.

then your eyes catch the faintest glimpse of a familiar-looking man lingering in the corner of the bar and you’re suddenly jolted back into sobriety.

if that bastard turns out to be here on the night pihla is supposed to be healing, you were going to do more than bash his skull in. but then you see his face fully and nearly all the fight leaves your veins; it’s not him, and pihla’s night is still safe. but now you’re hyper aware of your surroundings. now burdened with the worry of ‘what if he shows up and she sees him?’ you abstain from getting another drink for the moment.

your eyes follow your friend from where you perched at the bar, letting her have her fun but staying vigilant just in case your newly found fear turns into reality.

a merry tune floated through the tavern, a drinking song you recognized that became an instant hit after the reclamation of erebor. the words were absurd and silly but annoyingly catchy and you found yourself humming along to the tune.

there’s an inn, there’s an inn,

there’s a merry old inn

beneath an old gray hill,

and there they brew a beer so brown

that the man in the moon himself came down

one night to drink his fill

you stay on the lookout, not trusting yourself to fully relax again but letting loose just enough to enjoy the song. the entire bar joined their voices in jovial inebriation and you finally gave in and got another drink. the drunkenness of every singer paired with absurdity of the lyrics made you chuckle around your tankard.

as the song continued, you finally began to sing along. pihla was flitting around the tables, arm in arm with all sorts of people as they danced and skipped and sang. two more mugs were refilled and you downed them both with a bacchan grin.

so the cat on his fiddle played hey-diddle-diddle, a jig that would wake the dead

he squeaked and sawed and quickened the tune,

while the landlord shook the man in the noon:

"It's after three!" he said

it was only a matter of time until the bad feeling from earlier returned, muted only by your previous drinks. thrice since the song began, you’ve caught glances of people you think are elias. everything came to a head when you met the eyes of a man dancing on a table halfway across the room.

there you are, bastard.

“you!”

with righteous fury you shot out of your seat. headed directly for the troll dung that was elias, you mustered up every vile thought you had about the fate he deserved. this was no time to be meek, you were ready to brawl.

“elias, you pile of troll dung!” a few heads turned towards you as each step thundered against the floor, quickly backing away to avoid your wrath being sent unto them. they were mercifully spared when both your hands were suddenly full of a man’s lapels.

instead of flailing around like you predicted he would, the filth just stared at you vacantly. in your fury, you weren’t sure which was worse but it would garner consequences regardless.

your victim was dragged off the table he was dancing on with no other warning. “you’ve got a lot of nerve showing your face here! after what you did to pihla, you should be fed to the pigs!” with that, you swung a clenched fist directly into his jaw. his head moved with the impact and at least half of the bar’s patrons winced at the sight.

the man’s head tilted back up. his rich, brown eyes met yours with a smile wider than the long lake was deep. “you’re absolutely magnificent, lass.”

for a moment, you balked at the notion of elias coming on to you before you commenced in beating his ass. the absolute gall! then your brain processed the style of his facial hair, the obnoxious hat he wore (that was now lopsided on his head from your jostling), and the height difference being less substantial than normal.

the man you had captive wasn’t a sleazy man at all; he was a dwarf.

this realization sobered you up alarmingly quick.

by the gods, you grabbed the wrong person! and yelled in his face and punched him! oh you would never be able to show your face in this tavern again, and neither would your children that won’t ever exist because no man would want to associate themselves with you after this debacle!

“oh i am so sorry, i thought you were someone else! i cannot believe i’ve done this! let me buy you a drink as an apology, it’s the least i can do!” you were stuttering through apologies and self-scoldings, not even paying attention to the smile he was still wearing despite the color starting to blossom on his cheek.

why was his smile so charming? it really shouldn’t have been given the situation. “if that’s how ye hit the wrong man, i would not wanna be the one ye were truly aimin’ for!” a bright laugh followed his words. how could he be so jovial after getting decked by a foolish drunk?

callused hands gripped yours gently, the pads of his thumb massaging your hands to rid them of the tension that came with being ready to fight. “now come along, such a fierce warrior deserves a drink to celebrate her victory.”

[sheisjoeschateau]

“You’re there. You were always there.”

A MULTI-PART FANFICTION SERIES, INSPIRED BY STRANGER THINGS, WRITTEN BY MISHA ST. JAMES.

Steve Harrington x fem!character. Childhood friends to lovers.

Slow burn. Angst. Romance. Smut with plot. Spin-off of pre-existing character.

A note from the writer:

—

Hello there darlings. What started off as a rough one-shot concept inspired by my rewatching Stranger Things season one for the billionth time evolved into my new favorite fan fiction series that I have written and created. This truly has become my baby. I said it in my original post when leaving a sneak preview of this work of mine…but I’ll say it again. This piece really has become my baby.

I overthink everything. I like to dive deep beneath the surface of things and overthink things into magnificent new realities. A seemingly random (almost forgettable) character in this show ended up making my mind spiral. As a writer, I believe that all characters in books and cinema have purpose. So naturally, my mind wanted to make something of a character that only appears at random yet crucial parts of the show’s story.

Nicole only appeared in season one and she was assumed to be a friend of Steve’s. To us, she was no one. Yet the Duffers introduced us to her as if she was an already established character in the series. Steve seemed almost too comfortable with her, like there was history between them. But we never explored that past the first season. That really started to bug me during this last binge-watch I had. So being the over dramatic writer that I am, I decided to make something of it myself. And damn, did it just…flow. I had no plans of making this such a big series but yeah, here we fucking are.

I gave her my last name because, well, *hair flip* I’m a narcissistic bitch like that when it comes to writing. ;) So in this series of mine, she is written Nicole St. James. I took some inspiration from The Breakfast Club because, ya know, Claire Standish? Molly Ringwald was an iconic redhead in the 80s film world, and that role in particular really seemed to fit how I wrote Nicole while fitting how she was presented in the show. I also did not want to give her a predictable personality either (because, again, as a writer I’m complex like that). So I did not take the typical “mean girl” route with her character because that honestly would just hit a wall. I wanted there to be a reason for her her in this show. I think the actress who played her did a good job with it, given there wasn’t much for her to work with.

I actually researched the actress a bit (Glenellen Anderson) and she’s actually very talented. She said something in one of her interviews about her role being small in ST but serving a crucial part in the first season of the series, given her being the reason that Steve finds out about Jonathan taking the pictures in his yard that night. Idk tbh I lowkey feel like a stalker who’s obsessing over an actor before they make it big so that one day I can be like YEAH I KNEW SHE WAS COOL WHEN SHE WAS STILL UNDERRATED. Lol ok moving on —

So I guess that’s it then. Time for me to shut up and just let the story I’ve created speak for itself. Thank you to some of my favorite writers on here and fellow Steve Harrington fanatics for inspiring me to release my own work into this universe. I’ve been very hesitant but I am glad to finally be doing it. I want to hear your thoughts and honest opinion while also asking kindly that you keep my emo heart in consideration when doing so 👉🏻👈🏻 If I forgot to tag you, I sincerely apologize. Please remind me in comments so that I can remember next time!

*disclaimer: this is based on pre-existing characters. in the show, nicole is portrayed by a redheaded white female actress so I based my writing around that. I do not discriminate against ANY race or preferred gender roles who choose to read and engage with my stories.

Enjoy and please leave feedback :)

x, MISHA

PLEASE DO NOT REPOST MY WORK ON ANY PLATFORMS WITHOUT PROPERLY CREDITING ME AS THE WRITER. I DO NOT GRANT PERMISSION FOR YOU TO CLAIM MY WRITING AND WORK AS YOUR OWN. YES, THIS IS A FAN FICTION BASED ON A PRE-EXISTING SHOW. HOWEVER THERE IS BASIC COURTESY TO BE EXPECTED IN THE WRITING COMMUNITY SO PLEASE RESPECT THAT. 🖤

Warnings: This is very much an 18+ written fan fiction series. Please read at your own risk. There is language, eventual mentions of blood and violence, drinking, sex, etc. There is also going to be mention of homophobia because the 80s were full of misogynistic men and women who were so unforgivingly dense (like fucking Tommy H. and Carol Perkins), so I want to address that as we eventually introduce Robin and Will into the series so that we can have our outstanding LGBTQ darlings welcomed and given the representation that they deserve.

—————

VOLUME I

“You’re there. You were always there.”

——————

Steve Harrington is six years old when he meets you: the girl who carries the other half of him with her. 

He first spotted her playing outside alone, in the yard right across from his. She has a big treehouse, and no one but herself to share it with. And even though you seem content — he doesn’t know why, but it makes him sad. Watching you alone, in your own great big world, and no one begging to share it with you. 

So after a week, he walks across the street to do something about it. He had watched you climb the little red ladder up to the top, making round trips with your backpack and various items. 

The door to your treehouse is made of wood, painted pastel yellow with tiny butterfly stickers adorning it in random places. He hears you, talking to yourself the way you would talk if you had company. Maybe it’s to an imaginary friend. Or maybe, you just like to talk to yourself. Regardless, he knocks, and your gibberish ceases. Eventually, he hears your feet padding closer and closer.  The door creaked open, revealing your curious grey eyes. Your red hair framed your small, heart shaped face, and the cream knit sweater that you wore looked almost as warm as you were.

“Hi,” Steve said. “I’m Steve. I live in that house over there.”

He pointed to the big house that loomed just across the street from you, and you briefly peeked out to look at it before looking back at him. Your full pink lips pressed into a shy smile.

“I’m Nicole,” you told him. “I’m six.”

“Me, too,” Steve tells you, proudly and with a dashing smile. But then he furrows his brow. “Why are you having a tea party by yourself?”

You look back into your little safe haven, following his gaze that stares at the eclectic assortment of tea cups and teapots set for multiple people when it was just you. 

“Oh, well I just like to be ready,” you tell him. “In case I make any friends.” 

Suddenly, you beam at him. Your usually shy demeanor dissolves as the gleam in your eye shines through. 

“Do you wanna be my friend?” you ask Steve, who raises his eyebrows in response.

“Umm, yeah,” he finally responds, nodding his head. He stuffs one hand into the pockets of his little Levi jeans, fastened with a belt and all, already a charmer with his polo sweater. His other hand goes to push back some of his floppy chestnut hair. “Yeah, let’s be friends.”

You smile brightly.  “Okay.”

And so you are, just like that.  Friends.  As you pour Steve a cup of chocolate milk, which you both confidently call hot tea without remark, you quietly hum to yourself.

Steve watches you, thinking you’re really pretty.  Whenever you go to pass him a teacup, he takes it and quickly looks around, pretending he wasn’t just staring at you.  He was in awe, really.  Fairy lights were strewn about, with potted flowers in the windowsills.  There was a table with lots of crayons, markers and gel pens, unfinished drawings scattered underneath them.  A few completed drawings were hung up on the walls.  

“Doesn’t it get scary up here all by yourself?” he asks you, genuinely curious.

As you set the little teapot back down, you shrugged your shoulders and shook your head. “Mm-mm,” you tell him. “I’m safe up here.”

You raise your teacup to your little pout to sip.  You seemed so content all by yourself, as if the word ‘lonely’ was completely foreign to you.

Steve is six years old when he sees the reflection of his better self in you.

_______

Steve is 7 years old when he calls you his best friend.

You’re both playing at recess, roped into a game of duck-duck-goose. A little girl named Carol is sitting next to you, and Steve watches her roll her eyes and huff throughout most of the game. You’ve been smiling and laughing this whole time, except when she gets mad that you don’t pick her when you’re circling the group of kids and selecting someone to chase you.

“Nicoooole,” she whines. 

You look at her as if you’re terribly afraid of what you could have done wrong. Carol crosses her arms, pouting.

“You’re supposed to pick me,” she complains.

“Oh,” you said, eyes wide.  “I-I didn’t know you wanted me to.”

You shuffled your feet, your loafers twisting in the grass.  Your ponytail blew in the breeze, along with the little flyaway baby hairs, and you looked a little embarrassed – almost ashamed – as the kid you had picked goes to sit in the assigned mush pot, since she couldn’t catch you.

“Well I do,” Carol said, matter of fact. 

Steve grimaces. He hated seeing you so uncomfortable, and he really hated the way this girl was talking to you.

“Those aren’t the rules,” Steve argued, defending you. 

You looked at Steve, a little relief becoming evident in your timid eyes.

“It’s not not in the rules,” Carol snarks back. Alright, now Steve is just plain bothered. This girl is annoying. And shamelessly entitled. 

Carol looks back at you, glaring. “Pick me next time.”

You slowly sit back down next to her, sinking into the grass with a frown. You look so timid, sad even. Steve wanted to drag you across the circle to sit next to him, but he didn’t because you were suddenly standing again, stuttering a little “Oh,” realizing it was still your turn. 

You cautiously made your way around the kids, placing your hand on top of everyone’s heads while saying “duck.”  You started to sweetly grin as you approached Steve, who grinned back. You plopped your hand on top of his head, definitely messing up his hair, but he didn’t mind. It was you, and that was okay. Anyone else, no. 

You fearfully dubbed Carol duck as you passed her, and her jaw clenched. She kept her arms tightly folded, watching you like a hawk. Steve narrowed his eyes at the snarky girl, already hating her. You patted his head again, “duck,” and Steve watched you curiously. Surely, you weren’t gonna pick her. Then again, he was afraid of what would happen if you didn’t. 

But sure enough, you did pick Carol. 

Goose. 

Carol smirked so fast before bolting upright to chase you around the playground. 

Steve was wildly chanting your name, along with the others.

“Go, Nicole!” he shouted, rooting you on. The others echoed his cheers. Your red hair flipped in the wind, ponytail bouncing behind you as you dashed back towards him in your school dress and loafers. 

Carol looked so convinced that she was gonna take you down, but you were faster. She chased you with a devilish smile, which began to quickly dissolve once she saw you getting closer to homebase.

Suddenly, you plopped down beside Steve, out of breath. He and the others hurrayed, and you smiled as you panted.

But Carol scoffed, finally making it over to you all in the circle. She buckled over her knees, trying to catch her breath.

“Ha-ha, Carol,” some boy sneered jokingly. 

“Yeah Carol, mush pot time,” Steve chimed in, a little too happily.

She scoffed again, louder this time. “No way, that’s not fair.”

Steve twitched incredulously. “W’you mean it’s not fair? She beat you.”

Carol’s jaw clenched again, and she stared daggers in your direction as she put her hands on her hips with a sour attitude. Steve cringed at the sight of just how nasty she looked, hating that it was being directed towards you. You shrunk back in your seated position on the grass, looking afraid. As Carol stalked over to sit in the middle of everyone, she kept staring at you with a look that could kill. You looked to the ground, and Steve kept his place next to you with a newfound wave of protection washing over him.

“Fine, well,” Carol sneered.  “I’m not your friend anymore.”

Carol’s words were nothing but laughable. To any mature adult — hell, any human not in kindergarten — her remark would have meant nothing. But to you? A seven year old with a heart of gold, and the desire to just make everyone feel included? Her words were detrimental. They meant you were a horrible person. You were to blame.

“I-I’m sorry, I didn’t —“ you stumble, voice shaking. “I didn’t mean to, Carol, I-I…”

Carol whipped her head around to not face you. Your eyes were really sad now, and Steve’s heart sank.  You brought your knees to your chest, and your grey eyes went a little glassy.

“I can switch w-with you,” you kept trying. “I’ll sit—”

“Shut up,” she barked. “I said you’re not my friend.”

“Yeah, well she’s my best friend.”

Steve’s words landed hard. 

Carol whipped her head around again, now facing him. Everyone in the circle stared at the perfect-haired boy, including you. Sweet, innocent you. Your grey eyes peered over at him nervously. But there was a glint of hope in them, too, and if you weren’t so shaken up and close to crying you would have smiled. 

Steve shot one last disgusted look in Carol’s direction, then rose to his feet.  He reached out a hand, taking one of yours from your knees.

“C’mon,” he told you.  “Let’s go play somewhere else.”

You blinked, but didn’t hesitate to follow his lead.  You looked at him, giving him a small smile before looking downwards again.  Steve wrapped his fingers around your hand so tightly, and your little heart fluttered.  He was so warm, and you felt so safe.

Carol huffed, appalled.  “Since when are you best friends with ugly redheads, Harrington?!”

Your heart sank even lower as you saw Steve’s eyes go fierce, his jaw clenched.  He whipped around to look at Carol.

“The only ugly redhead here is you,” he shot back at her, and her jaw dropped.  All the kids reacted, some laughing and some making amused remarks.  But Steve didn’t pay them any mind as he stalked off with you, hand in hand.

You kept up with him as best you could with your little legs, feeling his grip on your hand tighten.  He looked so mad, and you gulped.

“Steve?” you asked, voice quiet.

“Don’t listen to them,” he mumbled, shaking his head.  He was staring straight ahead, mind racing.  You could tell he was really upset, and it made you feel bad.  “Or her.  She’s a bitch.”

You gasped, eyes wide.  “Steve!”

“What?  She is.”

You were shocked to hear him curse.  A few moments passed as you kept walking beside him, completely taken aback.  But then, you felt a grin tucking your lips upwards.  You stifled a giggle, and Steve turned to look at you in surprise.  You glanced up at him shyly, really giggling now.  His hard expression turned soft, a smile of his own creeping on his lips.  Eventually, he laughed too.

The two of you made it over to the swingset, and Steve let go of your hand.  You already missed his touch, the warmth of it.  He walked to stand in front of the tire swing, nodding his head at you to join.  You walked in front of the tire, reaching up to grip the chains from which it hung.  Steve crossed over to stand behind you.

“Here,” he said, placing his hands on your small hips.  You felt yourself flush, heart fluttering again.  A whole flock of butterflies swarmed your stomach.  Steve was happy you couldn’t see his face, because he felt himself flush too.  He wasn’t sure why a surge of electricity shot through him as he lifted you up into the tire swing, but as you swung your legs into its open middle he could smell your lavender shampoo.  It made him melt, and his hands lingered just a little longer than needed on the hips of your jeans.  You were safely seated now – had been for a moment.  Maybe two or three moments.  

Steve cleared his throat, rounding the wheel to climb onto it and sit across from you.  He tossed his feet into the hole, hands wrapped around the chains.  You looked at him with that signature warm, slightly shy smile of yours, and he returned it.  His smile was definitely more confident, though.  Charming, even for a first grader.

Your feet dangled in the air, so Steve used his to touch the ground and help you both begin to swing.  For a little while, you both just listened to the breeze.  The leaves were beginning to turn brown, a sign that autumn was approaching.  Kids laughed in the distance, buzzing with energy.  You figured you both only had a little time left, before you would have to return to classes.  But spending the last bit of playtime alone together was more fun than with the bratty kids you’d been spending time with earlier.

“Am I ugly?”

Steve had been watching a butterfly swarming nearby when you spoke.  He almost hadn’t heard you, with the way you spoke so quietly.  You sounded so small, fragile.  You were staring at the ground, your loafers criss-crossed as the two of you swayed on the swing, looking so vulnerable.  It made his heart split in two, the fire inside him burning again.  

“No,” he said, a little too harshly.  Your eyes shot up at him, a little surprised at his tone.  But he continued with no filter, cause what 7-year-old boy has one of those?  “Carol’s a liar.  You’re not ugly.  At all.  You’re beautiful.  Way more than her.”

Your eyes shone, and Steve watched your cheeks go rosy pink.  A small but real smile found its way onto your little lips, and you looked at him so sweetly before you glanced back down at the ground.  You kicked at the air, thinking to yourself.  While you weren’t looking, Steve memorized each eyelash concealing your grey eyes and the curve of your eyebrows.  He noticed that you only had a small sprinkle of freckles on your nose, but nowhere else on your porcelain skin.  He felt his heart skip a beat, losing himself in you.  God, you were perfect.  How could anyone ever call you ugly?  

“Wanna come over for dinner?” Steve asked.

You looked up at him, snapped out of your own thoughts.  “Yeah.  I’ll have to ask my mom and dad if that’s okay.”

“I think my mom is ordering pizza,” Steve continued, mouth watering.  “Do you like pizza?”

“Yeah, but I like mushroom pizza.”

Steve scrunched his nose.  “Eww, why?”

You giggled, shrugging.  “They’re really good!”

“Bleck.”

“You should try them,” you insisted.  

Steve would normally say something along the lines of hell no, but to you?  That was impossible.  He pursed his lips, nose still scrunched and shivering at the thought of eating fungus on pizza.  But he relented, sighing.

“Alright, I guess,” he said, kicking to swing you both again.  “But if I don’t like it, you have to help me with the dishes.”

You smirked.  “Deal.”

You both swayed, listening to the trees rustle.  Steve watched the teacher approaching everyone from her perch, knowing she was about to whistle for everyone to make their way back for school.

“Hey Steve?”

He turned back to look at you.  ‘Hmm?”

You paused, contemplating your words.  But then you gave him the kindest smile in the world, and it rendered Steve speechless as you spoke with more certainty than you had all day.

“You’re my best friend, too.”

__________

As the next few years went by, you and Steve continued to become a permanent part of them for each other.  

Your parents had easily become friends with his parents, making it a regular thing to have each other over for holiday parties and gatherings, or even just casual dinners.  Both your parents and his were too wealthy for their own good, too caught up in their own worlds to really pay either of you any mind.  Sure, they knew that the two of you were friends.  Close even.  But they didn’t really know much beyond that.  Steve’s parents were just glad to know that their kid had something to do other than bother them every day after school and on weekends, and your parents were so used to you playing by yourself that they didn’t really notice much difference.  Your families both lived in a swanky neighborhood, so becoming acquainted with one another hadn’t been something that required much consideration on their part.  They ran in the same circles.  Timeshare mutuals, and plastic veneer smiles who shared travel itineraries for whatever bougie seminar was happening that month, or the next.

Until you came along, Steve had been a lonely kid destined for a life of abandonment.  Once Chet Harrington had been given a son by Paula, he stopped the bloodline there.  “Good,” he’d remarked.  “Someone to carry on the family name.”  As far as he was concerned, that’s all his kid’s purpose served.  Take over the family business, get a trophy wife and repeat the cycle.  Siblings?  Why bother?  One kid was enough to handle.  They cost money and time, and the Harringtons didn’t just hand those out like charity.  If it weren’t so heavily frowned upon, or a threat to their reputation, they wouldn’t have even bothered with hiring a babysitter.  It was mainly Paula Harrington who insisted on it.  After all, she did love her son.  She just wasn’t a nurturing mother, giving her care to her pearls and pristine walk-in closet maintenance far more than her little boy, so her love was never felt by her son.  As far as Chet was concerned, once Steve turned 10 years old, a babysitter was no longer a needed expense.  Because that’s all it was to him: an expense.  So come the double digits, and Steve would just be a kid left to fend for himself, all alone in his great big house with no parents.

But so were you.  You, Nicole St. James, were just as doomed as he was.  Your parents were more aloof than anything.  They weren’t quite as cold as the Harrington’s.  But they weren’t all that warm either.  Ken had impregnated his wife, Alison, on a spontaneous trip overseas.  You’d been the result of a heavy night of gin, blue curacao and dirty talk.  Filthy sex and silky sheets in a Five Seasons were the blissful combination the night that you were conceived.  It had been a surprise for both of them, when that little strip read positive with a pink stripe.  They’d made a fuss of it, planning a frivolous baby shower with tons of guests and a plethora of gifts for their baby girl on the way.  They had found out the gender as soon as they could, not wanting any more surprises.  Your arrival had been a very anticipated event, so when you had been actually brought into the world the excitement fizzled away.  It seemed more exciting to celebrate having you, rather than actually having you.  Granted, your parents loved you.  You were spoiled with toys, new clothes every week, and social outings.  Not that you ever asked for any of those things.  The only thing you ever sought out from them were hugs, which they half-heartedly returned with barely a fraction of the love that radiated through your tiny arms.  

You had your mother’s hair, though hers was more auburn while yours was pure fire.  And you had your father’s grey eyes.  But what you had that they didn’t, was your spirit.  They were boisterous, loud and shallow.  You were quiet, shy and soft.  You radiated only genuine kindness, oftentimes just observing your surroundings and being in your own little world.  Your parents were party animals, constantly busying themselves with events and planning vacations.  It’s why they busied you with the same types of things by default, assuming you to be just like them.  Constantly wanting company, people to distract you and noise to drown out the silence.  But you weren’t like them.  You loved the silence, the chirping of the birds and the whoosh of the breeze.  You loved books instead of toys, and gardening tools instead of dolls.  Not that they paid attention to that, though.  Instead, they just bought you whatever the flashiest new item was.  Or, if you just so happened to take a liking to something, the St. James’ bought it to appease you quickly and not bat an eye.  Screw sentimentality, if it made you happy then by all means you could have it.

The only reason they had a treehouse built for you, was because Ken St. James had discovered his daughter’s makeshift fort outside.  It consisted of amateruly constructed cardboard boxes, with random blankets propped up on sticks.  He and Alison had just gotten home from a business trip, and your aunt had shrugged her shoulders when they asked how her stay had been.  She told them you had spent the whole time outside, playing in your disastrously built utopia.  Your parents didn’t give much thought to it, hiring a few carpenters to come and build you a proper treehouse for your sixth birthday.  You had beamed, telling them thank you a thousand and one times.  They’d thought it was cute, at first.  Until one night, as they got ready for a gala, you had gone to hug your mother as she coated her lips with a red rouge.  She’d yelped, surprised at your sudden touch.   

“I love you, mommy,” you whispered to her.  

“Nicole, darling, what are you–” she stammered, one hand holding her lipstick and the other swatting at you.

“For my treehouse,” you continued.  “I love it.”

“Oh, psh, honey,” she scoffed wryly, slowly peeling your little arms off of her shoulders.  “Enough now, you’ve thanked us too many times to count.  It’s a little exhausting.”

She had chuckled humorlessly, resuming her pampering.  You had watched her reflection, and if she’d cared to look at yours instead of her own she would have seen the look of longing and saddened wonder that filled your eyes.  She would have seen the way your full lips parted, no more words being spoken.  And she would have seen you quietly pad your way back out her bedroom door, where you made your way back to your room.  

Instead of finding love through your parents, you found it in your treehouse.  You found it in the swaying of the trees, and the butterflies that swarmed your front yard.  You found it in yellow crayons, and glitter gel pens, and the weeds you insisted were flowers as you pulled them and placed them into little pots.  You found love in the changing of seasons, and the twinkle lights that glowed at night in your safe haven.  You found love within yourself, and you found love in Steve Harrington.

The bike rides down the neighborhood streets, and down to the convenient store to buy snacks with your little weekly allowances.  The swapping of ice cream cones on hot summer days — when Steve noticed the way you eyed his chocolate waffle cone, as he secretly wanted your strawberry sugar cone instead.  The afternoons into nights spent in your treehouse together, playing make believe and coloring.  The fairy wands and pirate swords, and the battle of neverland that you fought side by side in your tulle dress while Steve wore a green polo and birthday hat with a red feather crudely taped to the side of it.  The field trips and summer camps with your classmates, always sitting beside each other on the bus and whenever you all had to eat in between activities.  Lord knows, if you two were sat apart, one of you would complain until it was made right.  The innocent secrets you told each other, and the way you both laughed at the silliest of things until your sides split.  The countless hours that you spent at his house, no parents or nanny in sight, playing hide and seek.  One time, it took him so long to find you that he panicked.  He was pretty sure you had actually disappeared for good, and his breathing quickened.  It took him calling out your name several times, until eventually it sounded like he was blubbering.  You had made your way out of his closet, where you’d proudly buried yourself underneath all of his clothes.  Steve saw you crawling out with a worried look on your little face, saying his name in such an assuring tone.  He had run over to you and hugged you tight, sniffling.  But when he pulled back, he’d already roughly rubbed his eyes so that no tears spilled.  The two of you resumed playing like nothing had happened.  

Most days were spent in your treehouse, except when a thunderstorm was coming.  That’s when the two of you would throw a bunch of blankets and pillows together in his or your room, making a fort.  A shelter, if you will.  The thunder rolled as the lightning streaked across the sky.  One night, you had both curled up with a big bowl of popcorn, boxes of cereal, pop tarts, sodas and candy, no trace of actual substance in sight.  You had flashlights and cards, playing Go Fish and War.  At some point, Steve had asked if you believed in ghosts.  You shuddered, nodding your head yes.  His eyes had gone wide, clutching the blanket tighter around his shoulders.  You pulled the pillow in your arms closer to your chest, your grey eyes just as wide as his.

“Do you think…” Steve had started, his voice soft.  He gulped, a thought crossing his mind.  “D’you think we’ll ever have to fight monsters?  You know, like aliens or something?”

You gulped, too.  “I dunno,” you started, voice soft like his.  “I think that monsters in books and movies are really scary.  I don’t wanna fight them in real life.”

Steve nodded, thinking.  “Well, if we ever do… I’ll protect you.  Promise.”

You hugged your pillow tighter, your worried eyes shining and a shy smile meeting your lips.  “You will?”

“Yeah,” Steve assured you, with absolute certainty.  Because he meant it with all of his heart.  No monster would ever hurt you.  No ghost would haunt you.  And nothing would ever take you away.  “I always will.”

CRACK.  That’s when lightning struck the electricity box, and all the power in Steve’s house went out.  You screamed, and Steve gasped.  He grabbed one of the flashlights, shuffling his way over to you.  He wrapped the blanket around both of you, as the two of you huddled closer together underneath the pillow fort you both built together.

“S’okay, I’m right here,” he soothed you, feeling you shiver against him.  Your little arms were wound around his torso, your grip fierce.  He clung to him with so much trust, melting into him, even though you were scared.  He melted right back into you, holding you close.  “I got you.”

The winds howled outside, thunder still rolling and lightning flashing around you both in the quiet, still room outside of the walls of blankets enveloping you both.  

“Do you think there’s a monster out there?” you asked him, your frightened voice the cutest whisper in the world.

“Nah,” Steve said, but even he wasn’t so sure.  He couldn’t be scared, though.  He had to make you feel safe.  “But if there is, it won’t get you.  I won’t let it.”  He rested his chin on top of your head.  “Not ever.”

Even at nine years old, Steve knew he would never break a promise that he made you.  You did, too.

And right now, as you turned ten years old, you were surrounded by a bunch of faces.  Most of them, you didn’t really know.  Some were kids from school, and others were their parents.  Lots of random adults, buzzed with champagne and spirits.  But as you sat in a chair behind your pink birthday cake, all aglow with ten gold candles, there was one face you recognized and loved.  Steve’s.

He grinned at you, his smile growing more charming each day.  His hair was still iconic, always styled just right.  He wore a preppy polo with a collar, and khaki slacks with nice shoes.  His brown doe eyes shone in the candlelight – and even though the others spoke loudly over each other, he spoke so that only you could hear him.

“Make a wish, Nic,” he said, seated right next to you.

“HAPPY BIRTHDAY, BABY GIRL!” your mom squealed, the inebriation evident in her voice.

“Wait, honey, wait,” your father chuckled, gripping his whisky.  “We gotta sing first.”

“Damn,” Mr. Harrington remarked, also laughing.  “These women just don’t have any patience, do they?”

The two men snickered, and Mrs. Harrington playfully scoffed and swatted at them before wrapping an arm around your mother.  She, too, was a bit tipsy.  

“Alright,” she purred, a smirk on her lips as she raised her glass.  “All together now.”

And so the song began.  Happy Birthday rang all throughout the house, echoing off the dining room walls of your childhood home.  Kids sang with enthusiasm, while adults sang in a million different pitches.  Some voices were happy, others were bored, and a few were drunk.  But the only voice you listened to was your best friend’s, who sat by your side with one arm resting on the table and the other perched on the back of your chair.  You beamed at him, and he beamed at you.

Steve swore in that very moment, that you were perfect.  The way your little baby hairs still escaped your hair that was pulled into a little half-up do.  You were wearing the simplest, most feminine pastel yellow dress.  The sleeves had tiny ruffles on it, your shoulders peeking out and arms bare.  Your face was clean of any makeup, aside from the white face painted butterfly wings around your grey eyes.  It was so whimsical, making you look even more like a princess than you already were.  Steve watched you look around the room, enchanted by your enchantment.  And as your gaze circled back to meet his own, he smiled bigger.  Your smile grew, too, and the crowd of people in the room ceased to exist.  You’d both forgotten them, until they started to cheer wildly as your birthday song ended.

“Nicky!” your mother squealed.  

God, you hated when she called you that.  You broke your gaze from Steve, looking at her.

“Come on, baby, make a wish!”

You looked back down at your candles, scrunching your eyes shut and thinking.  Steve’s eyes never left you, entranced with the way you looked in the orange glow of the birthday candles.  Selfishly, he made a wish too.  It wasn't his birthday, but it didn’t have to be.  Steve wished for all your wishes and dreams to come true.  He wished for this to be the best year yet, for you and for him.  He wished for you to never move away, to always be his best friend across the road.  He wished for you to never outgrow him, or want to be better friends with somebody else.  He wished it would always be like this, that no matter what changes came he would always have you.  He wished that he knew what you were wishing for, and he wished for you to be wishing for him.

Little did he know, he was your only wish.  It was already true, and as you blew out the candles, you wished for it to always be true.

________________

Steve was twelve when you saw him cry for the first time.

His parents had gotten his report card, appalled at the C and D despite all other A’s.  Paula Harrington was disappointed and embarrassed, but Chet Harrington?  Well, he was furious.  

“I didn’t raise someone stupid,” he spat at Steve, who leaned against the kitchen counter with his head down, shoulders slumped and arms crossed.  They had been arguing over this for at least thirty minutes.

Steve swallowed.  “I’m not stupid, dad,” he murmered, voice defeated.

“Sorry, what was that?” his father egged him on, voice bitter.  There was zero trace of kindness or understanding, and Steve’s mother could only watch them from the dining table with a pathetic pout.

Chet stepped closer to his son, sneering.  “Speak up, son.  Couldn’t hear you.”

“...said I’m not stupid,” Steve tried again, hating the way his voice still shook despite talking a little louder.

“Stop being a little bitch and look at me,” his dad spat, the air escaping his lips and onto Steve’s face.

“Chet, please –” his mother tried, pathetically. 

Steve felt the hurt inside of him bubbling into anger, unable to control himself.  

“I said I’m not stupid!”  He shouted back, having taken enough of his father’s bullying for the past thirty minutes.  The past month.  Several months.  Years.

But he was only rewarded with a slap to the face, so sharp it felt like a knife.  If it weren’t for the ringing in his ears, he would have heard his mother gasp.  The impact had made him turn a full 180 degrees, and he was stunned into silence as tears sprang to his eyes from the harsh blow.  Slowly, he turned back towards them.  He first made eye contact with his mother, whose hands were clasped over her mouth.  Eventually, he made eye contact with his father, who seethed and showed no sign of remorse.

“Your report card says otherwise,” he slithered.  He slowly backed up towards the kitchen table, taking his seat again.  He took a sip of his brandy, clicking his tongue at the taste.  “Raise your voice at me again, and you’ll see stars next time.”

Steve could hear his own breathing, could feel the anguish that spread throughout his mind, body and soul.  His heart ached, and he longed for comfort.  But the two people who sat in front of him wouldn’t offer him that.  Nobody would.

Except you.

So he bolted his stairs, seeking privacy so that the unshed tears threatening to spill over wouldn’t show his weakness any further.  He held them at bay, biting his lip so hard he was pretty sure it would bleed soon.  He ran into his room, throwing open his drawers as he breathed hard.  Adrenaline coursed through his veins, his only thoughts consisting of getting a change of clothes and heading over to you.  He threw a backpack over his shoulder, locking his bedroom door and sneaking out his window.

He knew the route all too well by now, having done it since he was six.  He crawled down the side of the house, walking towards the house next to his and the one after that.  Then, he made his way across the street, where he walked behind one house, then two, and then made it to yours.  This way, his parents wouldn’t see him heading to your house out their window.  

Once he was there, he climbed up the side of your home where your window was dimly lit by the glow of your bedside lamp.  Good, he thought.  You were home.  His heavy heart swelled with relief, and he mounted the side of the house and up onto the roof the way he always did when sneaking into your room at night.

Your window was cracked open, always ready for him.  The curtains were drawn, and he saw you sitting on your bed, reading a book.  Your brows were closely knitted together, your eyes intensely focused on whatever you were reading.  One leg was crossed over the other, glasses perched on your nose and hair tucked back into a messy topknot.  

Steve swallowed back the large lump in his throat and tapped the windowpane, just enough for you to hear him.  Your head snapped up, pulled out of your bookworm trance.  Grey eyes met brown, and you went to smile until you saw the distress in his features.  You set your book down and removed your glasses, padding over to him, quietly but quickly.  A large t-shirt hung to your thighs, landing just above your knees and accentuating your slim legs.  You pulled the window all the way open, looking at him with the most concerned expression.

“Steve?” you asked, voice gentle.

The dam broke.  Steve couldn’t hold it in any longer, any plans of trying to do so completely demolished as a choked sob left his lips.  His shoulders heaved forward, and you felt your heart break at the sight.  This was new.  This was very new.  You’d never seen him like this.

Without hesitation, you wrapped your arms around him tightly.  He gripped you back like a lifeline, crying into your shoulder.  You stayed there for a moment, before pulling back to bring him inside.  He clung to you, not wanting to let go, but when he realized that he was still in the window frame he allowed you to move away from him and followed you inside to stand behind you.  You quickly closed the window, turning to face him again.  

He was a good several inches taller than you, so you looked up at him.  Your expression was so soft, so full of empathy it only made him break down more.  You wrapped your arms around his waist, pressing your cheek to his chest.  He buried his face into your shoulder again, weeping until the sleeve of your shirt was soaked through.  He shook in your embrace, the sound of his cries the saddest sound you had ever heard.  You stroked the nape of his neck, fingers playing with his hair.  His arms around you were so tightly wound, you thought he might never let go.  And you didn’t want him to, so neither of you made a move to do so.  You just stood there, holding one another, letting Steve cry until he couldn’t any more.

After a while, you slowly pulled back to look up at him.  Steve’s brown eyes were bloodshot, his stylish hair ruffled and messy – yet somehow, still perfect.  Even when he was sad, he was still so pretty.  

He rubbed at his snot sodden nose with his elbow, fruitlessly trying to wipe it away.  He sniffed roughly, not used to being the one who needed comforting.  But as you reached up to thumb away a few of his tears, he didn’t pull away.  Anyone else, he wouldn’t have let seen him like this, let alone touch him.  But you were the exception to every rule, and he wouldn’t dare pull away from you.  Not when you were so understanding, not casting any judgment towards him.  Any walls he had built around himself in front of others, he let come down in front of you.  Because when he was with you, he didn’t have to be strong, or brave, or cool.  He could just be Steve, a boy with big hair and an even bigger heart.

You smiled at him gently, waiting for him to speak.  He sighed.

“My dad said I was stupid,” he started, voice shaky.  “He said I – he said…”

Your small smile faded, your eyes boring into his.  He looked shown, shuddering a breath.  You took his hands in yours, guiding him to the bed.  You both sat down, your hands still intertwined.  You sat facing him, your legs crossed in Indian-style.  He mirrored you, matching your position and staring down at your dainty fingers in his.  You wore a few rings, minimal sterling silver bands.  Steve always loved how they made your piano fingers look even longer, delicate.  He twiddled in thumbs around yours, absentmindedly tracing shapes as he spoke.

“They saw my report card,” he continued, sniffling.  “I got a C in math.  And a D, i-in science.”

You furrowed your brows, still listening.  You wanted to say so much already, but you will yourself to stay quiet and let him finish.  He needed to let it out.

“It didn’t matter about the other grades.  Dad, h-he just cared about the bad ones.  Like no matter what, I’m j-just a failure.”

You shook your head, not having any of it.  “Steve,” you started, voice firm but kind.  “You’re not stupid.  And you’re not a failure.  You’re smart, and you study just as hard as anyone else does.”

He sniffled again, eyes still downcast.  “Doesn’t matter,” he mumbled.  “S’not enough.”

“You’re enough.”

That made him look up at you, his sad glassy eyes meeting your fierce ones.  The love that poured from your grey irises shot straight into his brown ones, and he knew you were being as honest as they come.

“He hit me, Nic,” he murmured, tasting bile as he admitted it. 

You felt a wave of emotions hit you all at once.  Anger.  Heartbreak.  Anguish.  Rage.  Pain.  And love.  So, so much love for this beautiful boy, who you got to call your best friend.  The thought of his dad hitting him – anyone hitting him – made you see red.  He didn’t deserve this.  Any of this.  And as you noted a slightly red mark on his cheek, you felt your soul split open.  Tears of your own sprang to your eyes, and you couldn’t stop yourself from reaching a hand up to cup his cheek.

“Steve, I’m so sorry,” you whispered.  

His face crumpled, and you pulled him in close as he started to cry again.  You silently cried too, grateful that he couldn’t see you.  He kept one hand in yours still, resting on your laps.  The other wound around your waist, the hand you had placed on his cheek now draped around his neck.  You lightly swayed, allowing the silence and Steve’s breathy cries to wash over you both.  

Eventually, Steve’s tense shoulders sagged and his cries subdued.  He relaxed into you, and you could tell that sleep was finding him.

“Hey,” you murmured into his neck.  “Let’s get some sleep.”

Steve slowly pulled back, watching you pull the covers down.  Normally, it would be weird.  A boy, watching his female friend offer to sleep in the same bed without their parents knowing.  But you’d both fallen asleep together so many times over the years.  In your treehouse, on his bedroom floor, on the couch while watching a movie.  Even in the same bed, when studying or doing homework. Now was no different, as far as you both were concerned.

So as you nestled yourself underneath the covers, gesturing for him to follow, Steve didn’t hesitate to crawl in next to you.  He pulled the covers over the two of you as you turned out your light, only the moonlight illuminating your face in the dark room.  You both laid on your sides, facing each other.  You placed a hand on the mattress, in the small space between you both, palm up. He placed his hand on top of yours, wrapping his fingers around yours.  He sighed deeply, eyes fluttering shut.

“You can stay here anytime you want,” you whispered beside him, your eyelids drooping but still watching him.  

Steve squeezed your hand tightly.  He felt an overwhelming sense of relief, his heart swelling with love for you.  He peeled his eyes back open, taking in your beautiful face.  If there was an angel watching over him, it had to be you.  God couldn’t have possibly given him a better one, because you were it.

“I don’t wanna go back,” he whispered back, timid.  “Unless you’re there.”

You sighed, nuzzling into your pillow with a little nod.  “Okay, then you won’t.”

Both your voices were tired, but the words you shared with one another held so much truth and conviction. Because you meant what you had said. Steve never had to spend a single night alone in his great big house, whether or not his parents were there.  You stayed there, or he’d stay with you.  It became an unspoken routine, refuge.

No matter what pain life threw his way, or yours, you both knew that so long as you had each other, it would be okay.

____________

But one morning, several months later, Steve’s mom found you in his bed.  

The two of you were sound asleep, her son starfished across the mattress and you curled up into a little ball.  At first, Mrs. Harrington just froze.  How long had this been happening?  That’s the question that sprang her into action.  Her motherly instincts decided to actually make an appearance, storming over to the bed to jostle you awake.  

“Nicole St. James, what in blazes are you doing here?!”

Your eyes shot open, finding Mrs. Harrington’s frantic eyes.  She had a firm grip on your arm, and you shrunk deeper into the mattress.  

“Steven,” she said through gritted teeth.  “Wake up.”

Steve stirred, not really waking up.  Such a boy.  A tornado can’t wake boys when they’re not even thirteen yet.

You, on the other hand, were wide awake.  Groggy, but alert.  You felt your cheeks flush crimson, knowing this looked bad.  Sure, at twelve years old you’re not fully aware of just how bad this actually looked.  But a boy and a girl, sharing a bed, behind their parents’ backs?  That had trouble written all over it.  As far as any adult was concerned, that screamed bad news.  And nine times out of ten, it was often a result of youthful scandal.  

But for you and Steve?  It was simply comfort.  Safety.  Codependency.

That’s not how his mother saw it, though.

“Steven!”

He bolted awake, shaking his head and rubbing his eyes.  When he looked over to find you staring at him, your grey eyes terrified and lean arm in his mother’s manicured grip, he began to come to.  The reality set in, and Steve felt his chest clench.  You both had been caught.

His mother’s eyes held a fire that he had never seen before.  Even in all her beauty – loosely curled blonde hair, wispy bangs and silky white blouse to match her high waist trousers – she looked intimidating.  Steve realized at that moment, he had never truly felt intimidated by his mother until right now.  She looked absolutely furious, appalled even.  Her lips were pursed together into a tight, thin line, and by the looks of her clenched jaw he could tell she had gritted her teeth.

Steve swallowed, feeling the panic seep in.  “Wait, mom –”

“Not a word,” she cut him off.  “I didn’t raise you like this.”

You didn’t raise him at all, you thought to yourself.  If it weren’t for the fear you held, you would have had to really fight to stay quiet.  But as Mrs. Harrington kept going, you couldn’t have found your own voice if you tried.

“Bringing girls up to your room to sleep with them?  What filthy movies have you been watching?  Did you… Oh my god, did you find one of your father’s?!”

Steve’s eyes went wide with horror.  “What?!  No!  Mom, please –”

“I don’t know what vile things you’ve had put in your head, Steven.  By your friends, your father, porn or whatever the hell you kids are doing these days.  But this.  Ends.  Now.”

Your terror-stricken eyes expression became all the more terrified, and as Steve’s mother wrenched you off the bed you let out the most heartbreaking little yelp.  Steve felt his heart jump into his throat.

“MOM, PLEASE, DON’T –”

“And you,” she turned to face you, dragging you beside her out of his bedroom.  “You’re a young lady.  You should know better.”

You felt absolutely sick to your stomach.  Hearing Steve’s mom accuse you of being capable of doing something so grimey – of being a slut – made you feel so small.  And Steve’s panicked shouts weren’t helping.

“But I–I,” you stuttered, your voice so shaky and low it was almost inaudible.  How could she think you and Steve would do such a thing together?  It wasn’t like that.  He was your best friend.  Your safe haven.  Your favorite person in existence.

Mrs. Harrington slammed Steve’s bedroom door shut, trapping his shouts.  She was dragging you down the stairs as you heard him fling the door back open and barrel after you.  She whipped around, waving a finger up at him.

“You stay right there,” she ordered him, voice fierce and booming.  Then, as she kept going, she told you, “I’m taking you straight home to talk to your parents.  This friendship is over.”

The way that Steve wailed ‘no,’ had to have been the most excruciatingly painful sound you had ever heard.  Tears sprang to your own eyes, and you didn’t even try to conceal the whimpers that fell from your lips.  Mrs. Harrington couldn’t have cared less, ripping her car keys off the wall next to the front door.

“Mom, wait, just wait!” Steve’s voice was strained, but desperate.  

You tried to look back at him, only catching glimpses as you were being hauled away by his mother.  You could see the petrified anguish etching Steve’s features, his tired eyes practically popping out of their sockets.  His hair in complete disarray, his sweatpants hung low and his t-shirt all twisted.  He was the most beautiful mess, and you were being taken away from him.

“Not another step, Steven Harrington!” his mother barked, voice shrill.  

Steve came to an abrupt halt on the sidewalk, and even though he was a good distance away now you could see his shoulders shaking and bottom lip trembling.  Your heart thudded in your chest, and you felt like throwing up.  

Paula Harrington was now standing next to her car, opening the passenger side door.  No way in hell was she going to march you over to your house, directly across the street, just so that all of your neighbors could watch and stare from inside their respective homes.  She ushered you in quickly, giving you no choice but to obey.  You crawled into the front seat, pulling your knees to your chest, crying into them.  You felt so ashamed and embarrassed – and for what?  Falling asleep next to your best friend?  Yeah, that’s exactly what you had done that caused this twisted guilt to stir up inside you.  

“I’m taking you straight home,” she told you, cold and fierce.  “And you’re not to step foot over here again.  Do you understand?”

You bit into your knees, clenching your eyes shut in shame.    Mrs. Harrington slammed the door shut, making you jump.  The sound, along with her words, rang in your ears.

This friendship is over.

Your mind was reeling, stomach churning.  You clutched your legs, tugging them impossibly closer to your chest and you rocked in the front seat of Paula’s car.  You looked out the window, watching Steve run towards you.  His mom held out a hand, and you could hear their entire conversation through the thin glass window as you sniffled.

“Mom, nothing happened,” Steven insisted, voice broken.

“You expect me to believe that?!” Mrs. Harrington shot back at him with zero sympathy.  “How many times has this happened, Steven?”

Steve raked his fingers through his chestnut hair, distressed and breathing hard.  “You don’t understand, we just fell asleep –”

“How many?”

“Whenever I can’t sleep!” Steve screamed at her, and his mother visibly pulled back.  “Because y-you –”  Steve gasped for air.  “D-dad, it’s just –”  Steve pressed his lips together, words failing him, so painfully frustrated with himself and this entire situation.  “God, it’s nothing, Mom.  Nic comes over here, and s-sometimes I go there –”

“You sleep at her house?” his mother interrupted, shocked.

“It doesn’t matter!” Steve cries.  His mother is now frozen, taken aback by the hysteria in his voice.  As her son stares back at her, tears threatening to spill over and lips parted, she finally shakes her head.

“You’re almost thirteen years old, Steven,” she says, voice low and bitter.  “You’re too damn old to be having little sleepovers with girls.  You know how this looks.  I know what you were doing.”

“No, you don’t,” Steve shook his head, violently.

“Yes.  I do.”

“NO, YOU DON’T.”  Steve wailed, completely falling apart.  “You don’t know anything.  And I don't care that you don’t, because Nicole knows and that’s all I care about.”

His mother gawked at him, and Nicole could tell that his words stung her a bit.  Still, Paula stood her ground.

“Well whatever you two are doing, it’s over,” she said, coolly.  

Steve’s face crumpled.  “No, please –”

“You’ve got plenty of guys you can hang out with, Steven,” Mrs. Harrington said, tongue sharp.  “They can sleep over whenever you want.  Go call them.”

Steve flung his arms up in the air, running his hands through his hair again as he whirled around in a full 360 before facing her again.

“I don’t care about them –”

“Start caring,” she said simply, turning to walk towards the car again.  She was approaching the driver’s side to open her door.

“Mom, no, NO!”  Steve lurched forward, trying to grab her car keys.  His mother jumped back, reacting just in time.  Her reflexes served her justice as she whipped the keys out of his reach.  

“What is the matter with you?!”  Paula looked absolutely stunned now.  

But Steve wouldn't listen, still trying to wrench the keys from her hands.  They rustled, arms and limbs tangled as they both struggled to overpower the other.  Paula stuttered verbal protests, while Steve whimpered and grunted.  You couldn’t help but feel your heart swell, despite how utterly broken you felt.  Because Steve wasn’t letting you slip away that easily – and while you were too timid to speak up for yourself, he wasn’t.  He was always the brave one.  At school.  Whenever you fell off your bike, or slipped on the playground.  Nobody could pick on you, so long as Steve was there.  Not even his parents could, apparently.  

Eventually, Mrs. Harrington got the upper hand.  No doubt due to the fact that Steve wouldn’t actually be physically aggressive towards his own mother.  She tugged hard, causing Steve to lose his footing and stumble back onto the ground.  He collapsed, landing on his side and barely catching himself.  Paula gasped, watching him make a harsh impact with the concrete sidewalk.

“Steve, baby –” she breathed, noting the bad scrape on his arm.

Steve began to convulse with ugly sobs, curling in on himself.  He gritted his teeth, lips stretched thin.  Mrs. Harrington stared in horror for only a moment before kneeling beside him to assess the damage.  She might not have been a warm person, but she wasn’t a violent one either.  That was all his father.  She didn’t believe in putting a hand on her kid.  She just didn’t do anything to stop it when Mr. Harrington did.

“Give me your arm,” she said, her voice shaking now.

“Please, mom, please,” Steve bawled, pulling away from her and cowering back.  Paula noted the way her son wouldn’t look at her now, and she hated it.  It reminded her of the way he was around his father.  And she was not his father.  She was hardly a mother, but more importantly she was not his father.  She swallowed hard, pride overcoming any deeply buried traces of warmth and love within her.

“Listen to me,” she tried again, voice still shaking.  “Give me your arm.”

But Steve just unabashedly wailed, now feebly sitting up.  Tears streamed down his cheeks, drops of blood forming on his freshly scraped arm.  The guttural cries escaping his lips were so agnonized, Paula couldn’t understand it.  She had never seen him like this.  He just kept murmuring unintelligible things that sounded like don’t, don’t, don’t, and please, no, and pathetically trying to get the keys from her.  His efforts were futile, but he wouldn’t back down.

“Steven,” she said, incredulously.  “Stop.”

“Mom, she’s the only friend I have.”  

Steve’s tortured words landed hard, on both you and Paula.  They hit you like a freight train, piercing your heart.  

Steve cried and cried, finally looking at his mother again as he admitted this treacherously painful confession in a wrecked voice.  Paula couldn’t believe it.  There was no way that Steve didn’t have friends.  She had seen him.  At his games, and social gatherings.  He got along with everybody.  She didn’t have to be at school with him to know he was popular.  All the girls had a crush on him, and all the guys wanted to be around him.  No way were you the only friend he had. No way was he as lonely as he was saying that he was.  He wasn’t, he just wasn’t… Was he?

But then Paula realized it wasn’t a matter of him not having friends.  It was only a matter of you.  You, his other limb since he was the age of six.  You, who spent every birthday and holiday with him.  You, who sat with him on the bus, and at lunch, and any party you both went to together or with your families.  You, who somehow seemed to be everywhere, in every memory.  She’d never really thought much of it, assuming it was just some childhood crush or next door neighbor that you would both eventually outgrow.  And when she had found you in his bed, naturally, she assumed the worst.  You and Steve were both in middle school.  This was prime time for puberty, and exploring sexuality.  It was the pre-high school danger zone.  No way around it.  But come to think of it, she’d never seen you act as anything other than friends.  Not that that mattered.  Friends liked each other, too.  It all had to start somewhere.

Paula glanced up at the passenger window of her car, spotting you.  You still had your knees to your chest, fresh tears of your own spilling down your cheeks.  She would never admit it, but the sight of you looking so hurt – thanks to her – made her heart ache.  She knew you were a good girl.  If anything, you were obnoxiously good.  Sometimes she wondered if you had a single mean bone in your body.  It was infuriating, really.

She turned back to her son, who was still weeping uncontrollably and waiting for her to respond.  That really drove the knife deeper into her heart, and she could feel herself cracking.  The brutal truth of it all was landing, the realization dawning on her.

You were Steve’s home.

Mr. and Mrs. Harrington would never be that for their son.  Nor would their great big house.  No social status, or money, or upper class school would give him refuge.  But you?  You did that.  Have been doing that for the past six years.  

Steve didn’t lack friends.  He lacked family.  And you were far closer to family than his actual family was.

Mrs. Harrington took a deep breath, pinching the bridge of her nose, keeping her emotions at bay.  She pushed her bangs out of her face, slowly rising to stand.  She closed her eyes briefly, mustering up whatever strength was left in her.  Then, she made her way towards you with a collected yet somber expression etching her feminine features.

All you could do was watch her, unable to breathe as you anxiously waited to see what she was about to do.  To your surprise, she reached for the handle…and opened your door.  You sat there, frozen in place.  Mrs. Harrington didn’t hurry you back out of her car, seeing how visibly afraid you were.  Instead, she just tilted her head slightly, and you knew that was your cue.  Newfound relief surged through you, and you felt the ice pick that was lodged in your chest finally melt.  Cautiously, you made your way out of the passenger’s seat, your bare feet touching the grass.  You looked up at her timidly, finding her expression to be blank.  

Then you turned to Steve.  Beautiful, sweet Steve.  He was still on the ground, his cries steadying.  When he saw you step out of the car, he stumbled to his feet, hiccuping.  You kept your head low, shoulders slumped as you made your way towards him.  You crashed into his chest, feeling the weight of the world lifted off your shoulders as Steve’s arms wrapped around you.

Steve’s entire world had ended just a few minutes ago, and now it had begun again.  The second you were back in his arms, everything was alright.  He still hiccupped and whimpered, but you did too.  You just held each other, crying softly.  

All Paula could do was watch.  Something about the way her son held you – so protectively and so full of love – made something inside her stir.  A sour taste filled her mouth, wanting to feel touched by it but too bitter at her own miserable reality to let it do so.  Because her son resonated more love than her husband ever could.  The way that Steve clung to you, burying his face in the crook of your neck as he swayed you both side to side, was the truest form of love that Paula had ever seen.  Her friends had never held her like that, when she was a little girl.  Even all grown up, Chet had never held her like that.  Not even close.  Not even at their happiest, years ago.  Maybe she had assumed that their son would naturally be the same way.  

God, was she wrong.  Because as you fiddled your fingers in the hair at the nape of Steve’s neck, whispering how sorry you were, causing Steve to just shake his head against your shoulder and tell you not to be, Paula Harrington saw the epitome of true love shine through her son.  And, by extension, you. 

She hung her head, unable to look any more.  It upset her too much.  So she quietly made her way back inside, refusing to speak of this ever again.  Not with Steve, or with you.  Your parents would never know, and Chet Harrington would never know either.  

As Steve held you close to him, refusing to let you go, somehow you both knew that you would never have to worry about this again.  You weren’t going to be pulled apart, or stop being there for each other.  Because even if you had been driven away from him today, Steve would have persisted.  You would have done the same.  Tethered souls cannot be untethered.

Steve was twelve years old when he found that out.

___________

It was Steve’s fifteenth birthday when he kissed you for the very first time.

His parents were out at some party that night, having brought yours along too.  So the house was his for the night, until they drunkenly stumbled home.  All of his friends were elated.  Big house, no parents.  That’s the way Carol Perkins always puts it.  Steve Harrington’s house was the coolest on the block.  Huge pool with a deck.  Two stories, plus a man cave basement with a fully stocked mini bar that felt like an underground speakeasy.  And best of all, no parental supervision.  

Steve had become quite the hit, come freshman year.  He was captain on the swim team, and his body showed it.  His charm was as enticing as ever, winning every heart of every girl at school.  His boyishly handsome features blossomed day by day, growing cuter by the second.  His hair had become his statement piece, coining his nickname, Steve ‘The Hair’ Harrington.  He had it goin’ on, and everyone knew it.  Including you.

You, too, were a catch.  Your hair was longer, and you’d trimmed layers into your long red locks so that you had little side swept curtain bangs that all the girls wanted.  You were a cheerleader, but you really loved photography.  So you took that up, too.  You also had a great house for parties, which your mom was always too willing to host for you and your cheer squad girlfriends.  You never really planned those, so much as she did. And sure, you shared the same circle of friends as Steve.  But you still had that introverted loner streak in you, liking to do your own thing.  Steve was the social butterfly, his posse of admirers increasing more and more.  You were popular, given that you were the freshman heartthrob’s best friend.  ‘Steve’s girl.’  

Except you weren’t his girl, though.  Not really.  Yeah, you two were inseparable as ever.  That hasn’t changed.  But you weren’t technically his.  At least, not romantically…

“C’mon, big boy!  Chug the rest’a that beer so we can play some spin the bottle!”

Tommy H.  Somehow, that rowdy kid had gotten into your circle.  You weren’t really sure how.  He played basketball, but he was mostly on the bench.  His daddy was rich, too, but he was a drunk and a slob.  His step-mom was somewhere in her twenties, probably leaning more towards the younger end.  No one really knew much about his actual mom, but the mommy issues definitely showed.  Not that this had stopped Carol from being all over him.  Those two had their tongues down each other’s throats all the time, ever since she hit on him at one of the games.  They had snuck behind the bleachers to make out.  Probably more.  They bickered, sometimes being downright cruel to each other.  But it seemed to be their thing.

Oh yeah, and about Carol.  She was pretty much the same as she was in kindergarten.  Bratty.  Obnoxious.  Loud.  But when she had noticed you and Steve were still friends, and Tommy H. had made it clear to her that that wasn’t changing anytime soon, she’d retired her days of picking on you.  She pretty much had since that day at recess, but especially after seeing you were this untouchable princess in Steve’s world.  She didn’t get it, but she didn’t care to try.  She merely accepted it, and so you let it be.  You were stronger than you had been back then, having more of a voice.  But you were still a good girl at heart, soft spoken and a little too forgiving. 

“Oh Jesus,” Steve muttered, chuckling as he swiped at his perfect hair.  

Tommy H. has an arm slung around him, getting everyone to cheer him on.  You sat on the couch next to Stacy and Liz, your Paps Blue Ribbon in hand, grinning.  Chug, chug, chug, everyone chanted.  Soon enough, Steve’s bottle was empty and a circle was forming on the floor.  You settled on the ground across from him, shooting him a cute smirk.  He winked — and it didn’t matter how long you’d known him, it always made you blush.

“This seat taken?”

You looked up to find Christopher Cazaway standing above you, a soft smile on his lips.  You returned it, patting the empty space beside you.

“Be my guest.”

He obliged, not hesitating to take you up on the offer.  Christopher was a sophomore.  Blonde, handsome, 6’5” and a basketball superstar.  He was bound to get a scholarship somewhere great, no doubt in anyone's mind.  He was every coach’s dream, along with every girl at the school.  But as far as his personality goes, he wasn’t the jock type.  He was sort of a gentle giant, with a heartwarming smile and hearty laugh.  He could dribble and shoot hoops like no other, and he was drop dead handsome, but there wasn’t a vain bone in his body.  Christopher was surprisingly soft spoken, almost shy.  He was mature, sometimes seeming a little wise beyond his years.  He seemed to talk better with adults than teens in ways.  Still, everyone adored him.  He got invited to every party, hosting a few of his own but rarely.  

Secretly introverted kids like you noticed other like minded souls when you spotted them.  But little did you know, it was Christopher who had noticed you first.  Sure, he liked your vibrant red hair and ocean grey eyes.  Yeah, he noticed the lean build of your legs and slim curve of your neck and jawline.  Absolutely, he thought you were beautiful.  He liked the thin little rings you wore on your fingers, and he thought your laugh was adorable.  More than anything though, Christopher liked the way you carried and presented yourself.  He liked that you were so aware, observant.  You weren’t aloof, or like all the other girls that flung themselves at him.  You were real.  And he liked that.  A lot.  He kept liking more things about you, the more you both sat together in chemistry class or saw each other at basketball practice, since that’s where you had cheer meets.

“Man,” he said, crossing his legs.  “Haven’t played spin the bottle since middle school.”

You hummed a light chuckle, setting down your drink.  “Well if it makes you feel any better, I’ve never played period.”

He cocked an eyebrow, grinning at you.  “Is that right?”

You smiled sheepishly.  “I don’t get out much.”

He had to chuckle at that, knowing you were half kidding.  But he didn’t doubt that you’d never played before.  Not because you seemed awkward or uncomfortable, but because you weren’t like the other girls.  Or anyone here, for that matter.  You weren’t the typical snobby rich girl, from her snobby rich family.  You were different.

From across the room, Steve watched you two talk.  He found it interesting that Christopher and you talked with such ease, never having realized you two might be friends.  But Stacy and Liz chimed into your conversation eventually, and Tommy H. was back to hollering again.

“Everybody, shut up!” he shouted, silencing people for the most part.  He clapped his hands together, grinning like an idiot.  “Let’s fuck some lips.”

Girls made faces and sounds of disgust, while most of the dudes snickered in agreement.   You kept a straight face, not really phased by his antics.  Christopher found the kid gross, but knew he was just an ignorant freshman who thought he was hot shit.  So he didn’t really let it irk him much.  

“Wait,” Carol interjected, cracking open a peach schnapp.  “What if, like, a guy lands on a guy?”

Tommy H. snorted.  “Then you roll again.  No one’s gay up in here.  This isn’t a faggot party.”

Steve’s nose scrunched at that.  “Tommy, c’mon, man.  Don’t say that.”

You squirmed, adding softly, “that’s really not nice.”

“What?!  It’s true.”  Tommy H. took a swig of his beer, shrugging.

“Okay, then what about girls?” Carol pressed.  Her boyfriend smiled devilishly.

“Nah, that shit’s hot,” he sneered.  

“Ugh, that’s not fair!” Carol whined, but her grin contradicted her complaint.  You internally rolled your eyes.  Oh sweet misogyny, you thought to yourself.  The selective homophobia of an insecure male asshole was enough to make you wanna puke.

“Okay, can we just — play?” Someone interjected.

“Alright, alright,” Steve said, waving his hands.  He placed his empty beer bottle in the middle of the circle, looking up to wriggle his eyebrows at everyone.  “Who’s first?”

“You are, big guy,” Tommy H. said, clapping him in the back.  “Birthday boy always kicks us off.”

Some of the teens oooh’d and giggled, dramatically.  All the girls were just itching for it to be them that the bottle landed on, so that they could smooch the hot new heartthrob of Hawkins High.  Their very own small town Prince Charming.

Steve shrugged, reaching to give the bottle a spin.  

As you watched the bottle turn and turn, you couldn’t help but feel the anxious butterflies dance in your stomach.  You weren’t sure why you hoped it landed on you.  Then again, you were.  In fact, you totally were.  You’d loved Steve for as long as you could remember.  It was inevitable, given your history.  You knew he loved you, too.  It just probably wasn’t like that.  Still, you wondered if maybe he wanted the bottle to land on you too.

But it didn’t land on you.  It landed on Becky, who couldn’t help but gasp.  She looked absolutely ecstatic, giggling like a school girl.  Steve look at her with a grin and raised an eyebrow, somehow looking both shy and confident.

Oh shit.  Were you about to watch him kiss another girl?  You hadn’t had to see that before.  Sure, you knew he’d kissed another girl before.  A few, actually.  Steve’s first kiss had been Elsie Fitzgerald.  8th grade, behind the P.E. building.  You knew that, because Steve had told you first thing.  He’d nudged you in line at the cafeteria, telling you in a low voice as he plopped a milk carton on his tray.  And you’d listened, pretending that it didn’t make your heart break.  He was pretty happy about it, more so for himself than he was actually lit up about having kissed Elsie specifically.  She had passed him a note in class, asking to be his Valentine.  Your heart really sank after hearing that, wishing it had been you.  After that, Steve had a few kisses with girls under his belt — none of which were with you.

You were still waiting on your first kiss.  

And as that reminder floated around in your head, you watched Becky crawl across the floor to lean in and kiss your best friend on the lips.  He sat still, kissing her with ease.  You wondered what it felt like.  The touch of his lips, which you always thought looked so soft.  Becky lingered a little while, and eventually Steve pulled away with a charming smile.  She squealed, flitting back to her seat and flipping her hair.  The butterflies in your stomach felt blue, but you kept a light smile on your face to mask it. 

Now, Tommy spun the bottle. One by one, teens kissed.  Some girls even kissed, making you flush.  You watched Steve kiss a couple other girls, all of them doing a horrible job at concealing their giggling fits.  At some point, it was your turn to spin — and it landed right between Steve and Tommy H. 

Now you really felt butterflies in your stomach. Their dance was a little angry this time, though.  Your anxiety spiked, dreading the thought of kissing Tommy but nerves wrecked as you thought about getting to kiss Steve.

Your eyes glanced up at your best friend by default, finding that he was already looking back at you shyly.  Tommy barked a laugh, clapping his hands.

“Look, I don’t wanna make any calls here,” he said, putting his hands up in surrender.  “But uhhh, I’ll let the birthday boy take this one.  As much as I’d love to rock your world, princess.”

Your eyes narrowed at him.  “That’s one way to put it.”

“C’mon, birthday boy,” Carol snickered.  “Kiss your best friend.”

Steve felt himself blush, hoping he didn’t look as nervous as he felt.  God, he had wondered what it felt like to kiss you for so long without even realizing that he had until this very moment.  The way you were looking at him right now, looking so calm and content, he never would have known that you were so completely in love with him.  He was pretty sure that he was a party of one, in that department.  

Tommy kept making gross kissy noises.  Steve cleared his throat, feigning lighthearted cockiness as he looked wryly at Tommy.  

“Knock it off, man,” he mumbled, turning back to face you.  

You watched him eye you with curiosity, as if he was silently asking you if this was okay.  But you just smiled warmly, welcoming the contact.  So Steve got on his knees and crawled over to you, meeting you halfway.  As he got closer to you, he could see those tiny sun kissed freckles that lightly dusted your nose, and the smooth surface of your porcelain cheek.  He could see the light whisk of mascara on your eyelashes, and the very neutral shade of lipstick on your full lips.  He felt himself swallow, his usual bravado failing him.  You looked so gentle, sweet as ever.  He wondered if your tongue tasted as sweet as you were…

You sat back on your knees and heels, hands placed in your lap as you looked at him, patient and a little sheepish.  Steve was so close to you now, basking in the scent of your soft perfume.  It smelled like the ocean, with faint traces of coconut and vanilla.  He wanted to kiss you.  He really did.  

“Oh my god, kiss already!” Carol screeched.  

But neither of you flinched, even as the others echoed their sentiments.  You breathed a tiny laugh, making Steve grin.  Without thinking, he found himself placing a hand to the curve of your jaw.  Oh.  He hasn’t done that with the other girls.  His breath lightly hitched at the contact, realizing he’d never actually been this close to you.  Which made no sense, given you’d fallen asleep in the same bed for how many years now?  But this was different.  This type of intimacy wasn’t the same.

You subtly leaned into his touch, eyes never leaving his.  His thumb stroked your cheek, the corner of his lip tugging upwards.  Your noses touched, the sharp tip of his against the little perky end of yours.  His breath was warm against your skin, feeling like a blanket wrapping itself around your face.  You both kept leaning in, slowly.  Ever so slowly.

Finally, his bottom lip grazed yours.  And those butterflies in your stomach were doing a full blown ballet now.  Steve felt his heart skip a beat.  Maybe several beats.  

Damn, he thought.  Since when did kissing feel like this?

It was the way your lips moved against his, so graceful and supple.  The way your fair skin felt like satin beneath his finger tips.  Steve felt a rush of euphoria overcome him, reveling in the feeling of your mouth against his.  Becky didn’t kiss like that.  Elsie didn’t, or any of the other girls.  People always said that kissing is an art.  Steve did have a reputation for being a good kisser, even at just fifteen years old.  He just didn’t really think much of it until he was enchanted by your kiss.  

Part of him thought that there was no way you hadn’t kissed somebody before.  Not with how incredible you felt brushing your lips with his.  Then again — maybe it was because you had never been kissed before that it was so magical.  That innocent bliss of being ‘untouched,’ not yet tainted by anyone or anything.

Meanwhile, you reveled in the rhapsody of Steve’s kiss.  It was everything you ever could have dreamed it would be, and more.  His lips were soft, cloud-like to the touch.  He was gentle in the ways you thought he might be rough, and tame in the ways you thought might be wild.  He didn’t rush anything, taking his time with even the most microscopic of movements.  The light yet firm grasp of his hand on your jaw was slightly edging down towards your neck, and it was all you could do not to hum with lovesick satisfaction.

Yeah, no, everyone thought.  He definitely hadn’t been this tender when kissing the other girls here.

It made those other girls watch you with envy, guys cocking an eyebrow and making immature, snide remarks under their breath.  It was so obvious, the magnetic pull between the two of you.  Anyone could see it.  Even the two of you did, but neither of you would ever admit that.  At least not anytime soon.

And as the kiss ended all too soon — well, too soon for you guys, not necessarily the others — Steve’s pillow soft lips parted from yours as he ever so slightly pulled back to look at you.  Your angelic face was still just an inch or so away from his, your eyelashes fluttering open to reveal your grey irises, exposing a new tint of lovesick blue.  They sparkled, dancing as you looked into his brown eyes that now looked more like the color honey.  You bit your lip, a timid smile finding your freshly kissed pout.  

God, Steve thought.  He would've kissed you again, right then and there.

But as Tommy H. hooted and hollered, snapping your two out of your gaze, reality sunk in again.  This was a party, and it was just a game.  It wasn’t a real kiss.  It was prompted by a bottle and reckless youth.  Nothing more.

Right?

“Well alrighty then, lovebirds,” some guy chided with a dark laugh.

You blushed, casting your eyes downwards.  You composed yourself, watching Steve do the same.  Yep, it was just a dream.

“Yeah, since when did this become a love making session?” Tommy H. jested.

Steve shot Tommy a scowl, before watching you scooch back to where you’d been sitting.  You gave him a shy smile, twiddling your thumbs in your lap.  Steve quickly scooted back to his place too, across from you in the circle.  He smiled back at you softly, before Tommy gave him a macho shove.  Steve shoved him back, but with half the strength.  He was still snapping out of it.  Soon, he cleared his throat, forcing his mental fantasies to the back of his brain again.

“Alright, next up,” Steve said, straightening his hair.  Fuck, did anyone else see how nervous he felt?  Apparently not, because everyone seemed to resume the game like nothing had ever happened.

Christopher clicked his tongue and slapped his hands on his knees.  “Welp,” he said, leaning forward.  “Guess it’s me.”

He gave the bottle a good spin.  

Lo and behold, it landed on you.

“Oh shit!” Tommy H. exclaimed, rolling over into a ridiculously unnecessary fit of laughter.  

Carol made obnoxiously loud remarks, too, along with lots of people in the circle.

Yeah.  Oh shit, indeed.

“Aww, little princess is getting all the kisses tonight,” she cooed condescendingly, her high pitched voice so fake and sugary sweet.

You felt your cheeks flush again, allowing yourself to tinker a laugh.  You turned to face Christopher, finding him rubbing his neck with a bashful smile on his face.  He looked at you with slightly timid eyes, chuckling nervously.  He was nervous?  Why would he be nervous, you wondered?

Oddly, you felt very at ease about the situation.  It was just Christopher.  He was always kind to you, and a good friend since you started high school.  If you’d had to kiss anybody else in the circle, you would prefer it be him than some guy you hardly knew.  And you certainly hoped it wouldn’t land on Tommy. 

You shrugged your shoulders, giving him a little grin.  He grinned back, brightly.  The corners of his eyes crinkled, and it was adorable really.  

Given that he was seated right next to you, no awkward crawling towards each other had to take place.  You just pivoted to face him, comfortably.  This kiss didn’t make you nervous.  You’d just gotten your first one out of the way, with the one guy you had been in love with your whole life.  So a second one with someone who was just a friend?  It seemed pretty easy.

Christopher had his eyes intently on you, which dropped down to look at your lips then back up to your eyes.  He leaned back on one hand, which he placed slightly behind you firmly into the carpet.  It gently brushed against your hip, his tone arm ghosting over the fabric of your dress.  He leaned in closer, slow and calculated, so that he was slightly looking up at you.  You still weren’t nervous, though, even as you looked into his dark blue eyes.  You just smiled, waiting.  His loods became hooded as he tilted his head just right, so that yours could tilt the opposite way whenever your lips made contact.  Sure enough, his lips found yours, and it was the most grounding kiss.  It was sweet, a little firmer than Steve’s.  He was soft, just a little more assertive.  Suddenly you felt his other hand cup the back of your neck, his touch tender and caring but secure.  It surprised you, but you didn’t pull away.  In fact, you instinctively placed a hand on his knee. 

If you hadn’t been busy locking lips with Christopher, you would have seen the melancholy expression on Steve’s face.  But you didn’t.  

Steve hopelessly watched you kiss the handsome sophomore, overcome with a sense of dread.  He hadn’t taken this into account when playing the game.  You know, that he’d actually have to watch you kiss another guy.  Maybe that wasn’t really the problem, though.  No, the problem was the way that Christopher kissed you.  Was still kissing you.  Steve could have sworn that he saw the blonde athlete move his lips against yours a second time, and envy creeped up his spine.  Christopher definitely hadn’t kissed Linda or Molly like that earlier in the game, when the bottle had landed on him during their turn.  Nah, this was just with you.  Why the hell was he kissing you like that?

…why the hell was he still kissing you like that?

Steve squirmed.  He felt as though he might laugh, or shout, or blurt something without being able to control himself, and he probably would have had it not been for you finally breaking contact with Christopher.  Oh thank Christ, Steve thought, as he let out a breath that he hadn’t realized he’d been holding this whole time.

You simply gave Christopher a warm smile, but your eyes looked slightly dazed and confused.  Because you were.  It had caught you a little off guard, the way that he’d just kissed you.  It definitely lasted a little longer than needed.  Not that you minded it.  You didn’t really know what to think of it, actually.  One thing was for sure, his gaze on you was not one he’d given any of the other girls that night.  You knew that much.  You might’ve been uncharacteristically oblivious to Steve’s feelings for you, but you weren’t blind to someone else’s.  Before now, though, you never really thought that Christopher felt anything for you aside from friendship.  But now, it seemed that he did.  It seemed he very much did.

Huh, you thought.  Interesting.

You still hadn’t looked over to see Steve’s disheartened expression in the midst of all the immature teenagers in a circle, making a series of noises and comments following the kiss.  He hoped that no one was watching him.  Then again, would he even care if they did?  That didn’t matter, not when he cared way more about the fact that some other guy was looking at you like that.  It didn’t sit right.  It really didn’t sit right.  

But what was he gonna do about it?  Say, “Hey Christopher, it’s my birthday, so maybe back off my girl?”  No, because you weren’t technically his.  You were your own.

…but your heart was his.

…and his heart was yours.

Steve doesn’t really remember much after that.  He knew they hadn’t been playing for much longer, and that eventually everyone wanted to shotgun some more beers.  He knew that Linda and Becky had been saying something to him in the lavish living room, as they twirled their hair and batted their lashes.  He knew that Tommy H. had been daring everyone to jump in the pool, dragging Carol in with him.  Teens screeched and hollered, splashing and laughing while the Eagles blasted in the background from the Harrington’s flashy stereo inside the house.

Steve does remember when “Sweet Emotion” by Aerosmith had started to play.  He was leaning against his kitchen island, making small talk with some of the guys.  You were out by the pool, red solo cup in hand, and you had started to sway to yourself.  The skirt of your dress flicked at the corners, your toned legs sashaying you from side to side.  You turned a little, so that he could see your profile.  You were grinning ear to ear, in your own little world.  He loved when you did that.  You were so damn adorable when you did that.  You lifted a hand into the air – the one not holding your cup of booze – closing your eyes, and singing the words.

Sweet emotion…

Sweet emotion…

You talk about things that nobody cares

Wearing out things that nobody wears

You turn so that you’re now facing the open sliding glass door, opening your eyes as you fix your gaze on Steve.  Your eyes are a little hazy, but still glow.  You point your finger at Steve, serenading him in your buzzed stupor.  Your grin deepens as you sing the next words along with Steven Tyler.

You’re calling my name, but I gotta make clear

I can’t say, baby, where I’ll be in a year

Steve can feel himself smiling like an idiot, shaking his head as he lets out a throaty chuckle that’s drowned out by the music.  He bites his lip absentmindedly, watching you just exist.  You throw your head back, smiling at the sky, hips still swaying.  

Stacy makes her way over to you from the other side of the pool, definitely more drunk than you were.  She sings loudly, catching your attention.  You look down from the black night sky to look at her, and you laugh when you see her wanting to join you.  She grabs your hand, twirling you around and singing everything off key.

Some sweat hog mama with a face like a gent

Said my get up and go, must've got up and went

Well I got good news, she's a real good liar

'Cause the backstage boogie sets your pants on fire

As the guitar solo rips through the stereo speakers, your dancing intensifies.  Everyone in the pool seem to be getting rowdier, also singing Aerosmith at the top of their lungs.

Stacy’s footing betrays her and she stumbles, laughing drunkenly.  You catch her, making sure that she’s okay and stifling a laugh.  But once you see that she’s clearly fine, you laugh too.  Liz makes her way out of the pool to check on her, squatting down and clutching her hands and still singing while Stacy just keeps laughing.

Steve takes the opportunity to approach you as you stand alone again, sneaking up quickly to grab you and spin you around.  You squeal, feeling his chest pressed to your back as your legs dangle off the ground.  You hold onto his toned arms tightly, giggling uncontrollably.  When he sets you back down, you turn so that you’re looking directly at him.  

Sweet emotion…

Sweet emotion…

Your stomach does flip-flops, seeing his signature Steve Harrington smiled directed only at you.  His brown eyes hold a certain mischief in them, and you can’t help but feel a rush of love for this boy you’d known since you were just barely in kindergarten.  He lifts your hand to twirl you, and suddenly you’re six years old again, dancing in your treehouse with Steve.  The real world ceases to exist, and it’s just the two of you in your own fantasy world.  No matter what ups and downs, highs and lows, good days and bad days, heartache and joy, that reality throws both of your way – the one constant you both have had is each other.  Somehow, that’s never changed. 

You both sing to each other, hand in hand and hips in time with the music.

I pulled into town in a police car

Your daddy said I took it just a little too far

You're telling her things but your girlfriend lied

You can't catch me 'cause the rabbit done died

Yes it did

Now everyone around you is losing their mind, screaming the words and partying like animals as the song continues to blare.  It’s an 80’s rock-n-roll kind of vibe, full of teen angst, booze and sexual tension.  Guys shotgun more beer by the pool, couples make out in the deep end.  Girls hold each other with limp limbs and sloppy smiles, slurring the words and proclaiming their girl power love for each other.  They won’t remember it tomorrow, but for tonight it’s the glorious eternal truth.

As for you – Nicole St. James, the freshman mystery girl and princess in the making – you’ve only got eyes and moves for your best friend in the world.  Steve Harrington, Hawkins High’s soon-to-be very own King Steve.  Two best friends and lovers in denial, hopelessly devoted to one another, just without the title.  You both dance around the truth together on his posh pool deck.  The confident shake of his hips and thrusts of yours fool you blind from seeing that you are just as equally afraid as he is to make the wrong move.

Stand in the front just a shakin' your ass

I'll take you backstage, you can drink from my glass

I'll talk about something you can sure understand

'Cause a month on the road and I'll be eating from your hand

Steve knows that something’s gotta give.  He knows that it can’t go on like this forever.  But for him, this is safe.  This is forever.  What you two have guarantees that you’ll both make it.  That you’ll never go away.  You won’t abandon him, or lose interest in him.  If he keeps his distance, even tangled up in your arms when dancing in his backyard or falling asleep next to you, then he’ll always keep you close.  All the money in the world, but he could never afford to lose that.  Not ever.

And you don’t say anything to make him change his mind.  To make him ask you to be his.  To make a move beyond a kiss shared in a public game of spin-the-bottle.  To tell you that he doesn’t just love you – but that he is in love with you.  You don’t confess it either, no matter how fiercely you want to do exactly that.  Because as selfish as it was, you were content too.  You never minded being on your own, but a world without Steve stopped being fathomable in 1972 on that brisk afternoon in your treehouse.  The second he had knocked on your pastel yellow door, in his little sage green sweater, jeans and converse, your solitude had made room for a second person.  He was your other half, so it really wasn’t even surrendering solitude.  It was simply completing it.  Steve completed it.  Completed you.

_________________

To be continued…

VOLUME II next month 🖤

TAG LIST: @loveshotzz @creelhousesteve @t-lostinworlds @freezaz123 @zbeez-outlet @cutiecusp @unhealthyobservationsloves @sunioli

[angel-eyes05]

i remember his hands - chapter 2

PAIRING: kang the conqueror x fem!reader

SUMMARY: after a scientific experiment goes horribly wrong, you've been transported to the quantum realm and have been stuck there for the past decade. with no company, aside from janet van dyne, your life changes forever when a mysterious man in a golden ship crash lands next to your settlement. startled with his initial presence, you two have a rocky start. but as time goes on, you two find each other slowly drawn to one another. you have secrets though, and he has a past he refuses to bring up. can you two make it through navigating an unknown world together, discovering any ulterior motives, and stand the test of time in a place where time has no meaning at all?

INFO: slow romantic burn, pretty fast sexual burn, kinda enemies to lovers????, takes place during that little flashback janet has during quantumania, idk how accurate this is gonna be to canon stuff cause i get very confused about the quantum realm lol, reader is in mid to late 20s while kang is in his “early 30s” (ik he like technically doesn't age or whatever idk the lore but i just made it accurate to jonathan majors age and wanted to give an accurate age range/gap/count), y/n will be very fleshed out like i'm gonna give her everything lol

WARNING: bl00d mention, explicit language (both swearing and ig sexually)

CHAPTER WORD COUNT: 2.9k

NOTES: i just now realized the summary said y/k this whole time instead of y/n, i knew something looked off lmao 😭 just ignore that lol. also if you guys want me to make a taglist, just lmk in the comments and if you want me to tag you or not

PREVIOUS PART

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To your surprise, you opened your eyes to find yourself alive in your bed. Your head throbbed in a sharp, piercing pain. You looked into the mirror that sat in front of your bed to examine your facial injuries. You had a bandage wrapped around the right side of your head. As you went to touch the place where the rock was smashed into, you winced from the pain as it shot into your head. It wasn’t as deep of an injury as you thought it would be, but it wasn’t doing you much good either. You also noticed a bruise on your left upper cheekbone, very quickly growing into a black eye. You assumed it was from when the man tackled you into the creek. You moved down to your throat area to find two dark purple bruises on the front side of your neck. Other than those injuries and a couple of scratches on your arms and knees, you figured you were in better shape than your attacker. You wondered what ended up happening to him. If you were here alive, it meant he probably survived too. Left out there, he was probably finished off by roaming mites. Either way, it wasn’t your problem anymore.

You hear a knock at the door. “Come in”, you struggle to get out, a spiky pain going down your throat after you the words escape your mouth. Janet opens the door and walks over to your bed with a glass of water and some more bandages. “Yeah that sounds as bad as I thought it would be. Whoever caused those neck bruises was really trying to kill you”, she replied, sitting down next to you on the edge of the bed. “Really? I thought the bloody dent in my head would be more of a giveaway”, you sarcastically reply in pain. You got a small chuckle out of her. “Even a near death experience couldn’t take away your wonderful sense of humor”, she jokingly replied. You smiled at her remark. Janet went to unravel the bandage on your head. You grimaced as she tried to rip off the parts that were dried on by the blood. “Don’t worry, you’ll be fine”, she said after noticing the expression on your face. “You’re a tough girl. One of the strongest people I’ve met.” A slight smile crept onto your face. She dipped a cloth into the bowl of water, then started to dab it onto the wound. As much as the process of getting to it sucked, you enjoyed moments like these with Janet. You know, even though finding you out there bleeding out from your head probably almost scared her to death, that she enjoyed them too. You took a sip of water from the glass she gave you, which improved your throat pain significantly. Once she finished cleaning your head, she wrapped another bandage around the wound. “Alright, I’m fixing up some breakfast for you in the kitchen. If you need anything, just ring this.” She placed a little bell on your nightstand as she gathered her stuff to leave.

After failed attempts to fall back asleep, you decided to head out to the kitchen to help Janet. You gently placed your legs over the edge of the bed and slowly stood up. You slightly limped over to the mirror to assess yourself again. Your head looked slightly better with the change in bandages, but the bruise on your cheekbone had now fully turned into a black eye. You winced as you placed your fingers on the swollen area around the bone. The bruises on your neck had stayed about the same size as the last time you saw them. You rolled up your pant legs to find two bandaged gashes on your right knee, most likely from the tackle as well. You slowly turned and hobbled towards the door to walk into the kitchen. You made your way across the hallway of the cabin into the kitchen and living room (it was more of just a little kitchenette with a couch in it). You rubbed your eyes to adjust to the fluorescent lighting of the room. As you opened your eyes again, you could hardly believe what you saw going on by the couch.

Janet was kneeling on the floor next to couch, tending to the same man who tried to kill you. She was cleaning up a cut he had on his left tricep, as he laid there shirtless on the couch. Your heart sunk as your eyes laid on him. He was still unconscious, but the thought of your attempted killer being in the the same house as you made you nauseous with fear. “Janet!” you whisper yelled at her, half from the fear of waking him up and half from the pain still in your throat. She didn’t turn around. You yelled again. She rolled her eyes as she finished changing the bandage and walked over to you. “What is he doing here?” you asked like she was insane. “I couldn’t just leave him there to become mite food y/n”, she truthfully replied. “Uh, yes. Yes, you very well could have. You are aware of the fact that he almost killed me, right?” you asked, still concerned the situation wasn’t getting through to her. “Yes I am, and that’s exactly why I brought him here.” All you could do in response to hearing her say that was nervously laugh. “Listen to me y/n, I’ve been here for much longer than you have. So I know for a fact that when people arrive here, it’s either from some extremely fucked up accident, or for a very important purpose. I believe he’s here due to the latter. We need to keep him alive to find out that purpose, alright?” she snapped at you. You hadn’t seen this side of her much, so whenever you did, you knew she meant it. You nodded in response. “Alright” she said as she took a deep breath “Now help me with breakfast.”

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He could see the bright white lights seeping in from his eyelids as he slowly opened his eyes. As he regained consciousness, he immediately felt shooting pains in his shoulder, abdomen, and foot. His groaning caught Janet’s attention as she walked over to where he was with damp cloth. He tried to move back slightly, but if he moved any more, the pain would get worse or he would probably fall off the couch, which was definitely too small for him to lay horizontally on it. Janet looked at him for a consenting look before taking the cloth to the right of his abdomen. He hesitantly nodded. He groaned through the stinging pain of the water mixing with the bloody wound. “I’m surprised you were still alive by the time I got you inside. This one right here should’ve had you dead within the first three minutes of getting bit” Janet said to break the silence. “W…Where am I?” he asked tiredly. “My cabin. I’ll tell you the rest of it when you’re awake enough to pay attention to what I’m telling you.” Janet placed her hands on his back once she noticed he was trying to sit up. He cried out in pain through his teeth as he tried to sit normally. “Woah, woah, woah, I don’t think you’re ready for that yet”, Janet said concerned. “No time”, he said between short breaths. “Need to get back to the sh-.”

He cut himself off when he saw you standing by the kitchen counter, your back to him and you head lowered. He kept his eyes on you for a bit and examined your frame, trying to understand how someone as small as you could reduce him to this. You could feel his eyes on you, like a laser burning into your back. The longer the moment went on, the more you wanted to take the knife nearest to you and finish the job you started. After what felt like hours, he finally turned his face back to Janet. Being able to tell what he was going to say next, she said “She lives here with me. And before you ask, no she isn’t going anywhere. And until you fully heal, you aren’t leaving either.” Janet turned to face both of you. “And until that time happens, I need you two to try to not kill each other. Alright?” You reluctantly nodded your head. He did the same. “Ok good.” Janet finished with his abdomen wound and walked over to you in the kitchen. “I’m going into town for a bit to get some more medical supplies, so I’m going to need you to finish with his shoulder and foot” she told you, already noticing the horrified look creeping onto your face. Your heart sunk and your eyes widened hearing her say that. “Janet, no, there’s no way. You leave me here alone and there is no doubt he’ll kill me” you whispered quite enough so he wouldn’t hear. Janet pulled you outside with her to talk. “Listen, I know you don’t trust him and I don’t entirely either, but have you seen him? It would take a miracle for him to get up right now and charge at you again. Plus, I need you to try to get information on him while I’m gone, ok?” You closed your eyes and took a deep breath. “Ok.” “Thank you.” Janet gave you a little peck on your forehead. “I’ll be back soon.” She started walking off into the distance. With Janet’s good luck kiss, you turned to the door to walk inside. As you went to turn the doorknob, you noticed your hand slightly shaking. You took one last deep breath to calm yourself before walking inside.

You walked inside, determined not to make eye contact with him the entire time. Once you got to the kitchen counter, you could already feel his eyes on you again. You could’ve sworn he had some kind of laser eye power, because you could feel yourself getting hotter with each passing second. It was almost paralyzing how it made you feel. “Could you stop that please?” you finally said, hoarsely. You heard a slight chuckle from him. “Sounds like I did a number on you after all. Not good enough though, since you’re still walking” he replied in a rich, slightly menacing tone. It was enough to send a slight shiver down your spine. You could hardly believe Janet trusted him enough to not kill you. You took yet another deep breath, and grabbed the bowl of water, a sewing needle and thread, a roll of bandages, and a damp cloth. You still avoided eye contact, but out of your peripherals, you could see he was still staring at you. What you couldn’t tell though, was if he was slightly smirking or not. 

You placed the bowl down on the ground and you sat right in front of his foot. You reached to unravel the bandage wrapping his left foot, but he moved it away. You sighed. You knew exactly what he was doing. Giving in to what he wanted, you finally make eye contact with him. His eyes were just as sharp and full of anger as they were when he first punched you in the chest. “Please don’t move. This will be easier for both of us if you stay still”, you say to break the tension. You go back to his foot to unwrap it, but he moves it yet again. You huffed to yourself and turned back to him. “Listen, I know you’re upset with me over the arrow, and I’m sorry. My intention wasn’t to hit you. But I have every right to be mad at you as well. Now I know you don’t want me here, but I hate to break it to you, you’re stuck with me until Janet gets back. Now can you please hold your foot in place so I can take off this god damn bandage!” you yelled as loud as your injured throat let you. You must have turned red or something because you noticed a smirk slightly tug on his lips. He moved his foot in front of you. “Thank you”, you remark, turning away from him again. 

You unravel the bandage to find Janet already stitched up the wound on his foot. That made things easier for you at least. You took the damp towel and dabbed it on the wound. You couldn’t believe you were here, cleaning the wounds of the same man who just tried to kill you. Apparently he couldn’t believe it either, since his eyes were still locked onto you. You finished applying the water and wrapped his foot back up. You moved over to his shoulder next. You were much closer to him now, forcing you to have to take looks at him. It was the same expression every time though. Anger, mixed with annoyance, mixed with a hint of fascination. You unraveled this bandage. This was the one Janet hadn’t gotten to yet. You figured this would give you a chance to redeem yourself though, fixing up the wound you gave him. You kneeled in front of his shoulder with the threaded needle and stuck it into the wound. As soon as you put it in, the man clenched his teeth and groaned in pain. He wiped his face with his hands in anguish. 

You pulled the needle through the skin, and at some point you must have hit a specific spot, because his hand shot down and took hold of your thigh to hold as leverage. Butterflies flooded into your stomach as he squeezed your thigh with every pull of the needle and thread. You looked down and took notice of his hand once again. Noticing how big it was, how tense it would get, and whether he did it with intention or not, how he would occasionally trace his thumb across you clothed skin. Once previously around your throat, now seizing your thigh and tightening its grip with every movement of the needle. You felt your cheeks getting brighter with each tighten. Part of you thought he was doing this to fuck with you, but the looks you saw on his face proved you otherwise. 

Being this close allowed you to take notice of all his facial features now. From his plump lips, to the two identical scars running down his face. You knew they had to have some sort of story behind them, but you decided to ask another time. You were unable to reach a certain spot on the inner part of his shoulder, so you sat up slightly to move more into him to reach it. This is when it hit you how close you two were. Feeling his hot breaths on your cheek, hearing his slight moans and groans of pain, and now with the movement of his hand from on top of your thigh to your sensitive inner thigh. You were embarrassed to admit the combination of everything made you slightly wet. You had to use your spare hand to push two pieces of his skin together that were too far apart for the needle to get in naturally. As you pushed, he moved his right hand to grab yours. Now that it was touching your bare skin, you could fully appreciate the feel of his skin on yours. You felt how rough it was as the calluses on his hands slightly scratched against your knuckles. 

You finished up and closed the wound and started dabbing it with the damp towel with the same hand that was holding the needle. He still hadn’t moved either of his hands, his moans and groans now turned into short pants. You sat there for a second, embarrassed with how comfortable you suddenly were with him. Part of that embarrassment also went towards how wet his hand being on your upper inner thigh made you. “Are you ok?” you asked, having to say something in fear of what you would do if you just stayed like this. He nodded slightly. He opened his eyes after having them shut from the pain and looked into yours again. Only this time, they weren’t filled with anger. You couldn’t tell what look this one was. Maybe weakness from his pain. Maybe wonder. Maybe…. After clearing his throat, he finally took his hand off of yours. Then, almost as if he were teasing you at this point, he dragged his hand off your inner thigh agonizingly slow, finger by finger. Cheeks flushed and stifling the noise you felt building up in your throat, you grabbed your materials and moved them over to the kitchen counter and made your way back to your room without saying another word. “Wait”, you heard him call out. You popped your head out from behind the hallway corner and stood there waiting for what he was going to say.

“What’s your name” he asked softly.

“Y/N” you hesitantly answered.

“...I’m sorry for earlier y/n.”

“I’m sorry too…” you signaled to him for his name.

“Kang.”

“I hope you heal well, Kang.”

“You too.”

You walked back over to your room, using whatever self control you had to stifle any feeling that might have been awoken in those moments.

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NEXT PART

A/N: dude i dont think you understand how much i enjoyed writing that HJFHJF. there will be more to come soon dw. but i hope you enjoyed this chapter (this took up 9 google doc pages lmao) since shit actually happened lmao. as regarding whenever chapter 3 comes out, it might take a little while since the ideas for the preview-chapter 2 came to me super quick, im still thinking about what direction chapter 3 will take. It shouldn’t take any longer than a week, but please just be patient. thank you for reading!

[fuckmeyer]

I saw a post about racist Jasper stans bitching bc they’re not able to enjoy shitty J*sper content bc of tags or whatever lol and someone said: “What is there even to enjoy?”. I had to laugh and I thought if you bc it’s so true. Most Jasper content isn’t even that enjoyable. It’s mostly the same boring white-supremacist garbage that I’ve seen before; even the jalice stuff is played out.

The only J*sper content I enjoy is content where he is worshipping Maria, thinking about Maria, talking about Maria, loving Maria, doing anything for Maria tbh. Is that bad? XD I owe it to you and your writing! idk something about a 19/20 year old dumbass confederate falling madly in love with a native brown woman and literally seeing her as a god-like figure as she’s basically handing him his karma for his racist crimes sends me. Ppl act like he was this awesome person before Maria and that it’s her fault he’s gutter trash now with the C*llens but he was gutter trash BEFORE he met Maria. She honestly made him so much better, stronger and MUCH more interesting. She literally created the man these stans thirst over so much. She is the blueprint.

the thing anti-María Jalice stans don't get is, without María, you do not have Jasper. for everything Jasper is, María is the catalyst ❤️

canonically, all we know about Jasper Hale pre-change is 1) he was born in Texas, 2) faked his age to join the Confederate Army* where he became the youngest major in Texas, & 3) was persuasive

beyond that, María made Jasper into the man the fandom adores. you like that he's an empath? guess whose venom made him one. you like that he's a warmonger? guess whose war he fought for. you like that he has a troubled past? guess who put the trouble in it. you like that he's "soft" "empath" "baby" (tbh i don't see it but ok)? guess who made him want to be that way. you like that he's submissive to Alice? guess who broke him in first.

you want Jasper with Alice but wish the María era didn't exist? lol just say you want the hot faceless Confederate to get with the psychic Mississippian & go

as for me, MARÍA ALL DAY BAYBEEEEE

here we have a woman who has suffered all her life at the hands of colonizers. born "1800s or earlier," we can suppose she has firsthand experience with colonization (at least Napoleon's invasion) & lived through Mexico's War of Independence. i.e., she has a deep familiarity with what it means to have your way of life ripped from you by invaders. PLUS she was a victim of Benito's army in the Southern Vampire Wars; her entire coven including her mate was killed.

& despite her losses, she rallied to take back her land & drive out her oppressors. baseline, she is a strong, cunning, powerful indigenous woman with a deep love for her community and her people. HOT

now let's look at Jasper, a bright leader in the Civil War who suffered defeat at the hands of the Union army. yes, María changed him. but did she force him to stay? to go to war? the newborn vamp with the strength & speed to overcome a "grown" vamp chose not to do so. the empath with the power to make anyone disregard him chose not to use it. some say María was "abusive" & "manipulative," but few acknowledge that Jasper had a choice.

why didn't Jasper leave? because he's submissive to anyone more powerful than him. because he was a loser. because the Southern Vampire Wars gave him a second chance at victory. because "empath" or no, he wanted to play war & win.

that's what's compelling about Jasper/María. as wrong as Jasper was for fighting for the Confederacy, he believed he was fighting for the same thing as she. he saw his way of life destroyed by "invaders" & fought back. it's a sick & twisted parallel between oppressor & oppressed that becomes subverted as their relationship goes on... & one that can heal them both.

María's experience with colonizers gives her a visceral picture of what it means to be oppressed... but her relationship with Jasper gives her the victory & emotional reflection she needs to move on. Jasper's military training gives him the hunger & knowledge for war... but his "curse" of empathy provides him with the tools he needs to recognize & address the horrors of his problematic past & move on.

tbh, i find Jasper & María are perfectly suited for a delicious character-driven narrative. Maria's story is that of a traumatized indigenous woman on a path from colonization to decolonization, & the sacrifices & destruction she endures realize that vision. Jasper's story is that of a troubled man on the path from self-hate to self-love, & what it means to undo the societal teachings/traumas & forge a life of empathy & forgiveness.

& that is something Alice alone can never give Jasper.

tl;dr all hail Queen María

[kokonutcat]

[Naruto rant/criticism]

Please don’t interact if you’re going to insult me for having an opinion that differs from your, I will correctly tag this post so if you’re a nh stan read at your own risk. I’m not responsible of your actions.

In the recent days I’ve really been having a naruhina hate brainrot. I’ve actually always disliked that pair since the first days I started watching this anime. But the more I think about this ship and the more I dislike it and see less reasons to enjoy it.

Yeah I used to ship ss in the past, because even if Sasuke never has been interested at least he was Sakura’s teammate and had plenty of missions together. (Well I learnt from my mistakes but that’s not the topic of this post!)

However, what do Naruto and Hinata have seriously? For being characters who got married and one of them being the mc their interactions were barely existent and Naruto having basic human decency toward her isn’t a proof of him having romantic feelings. I still literally can’t picture him being on a relationship with her either, no matter how much I try. I always used to find this ship painfully bland, boring, tasteless. I would rate it a solid 1/10 at best, and I’m on a good mood rn.

I got spoiled very early that they were going to be together at the end and even despite that when I watched the last episodes it blew my mind when I saw them going to be married all of sudden. It was so hard to believe. If they were so planned to be together since the beginning they could’ve at least given them some development idk it’s not even that complicated I don’t ask Kishimoto to write peak romance. Don’t even talk to me about "The Last" lol that movie is just laughable. It’s basically Naruto into a genjutsu and Sakura forcing him, guilt tripping him to love Hinata and telling him how much "he deserves her". No sorry but I can’t take this sh*t seriously.

Another thing, when I still was into the first episodes of the series I used to think that Hinata will have a development, she will be strong and all but I was apparently wrong as hell because she’s just as pointless, irrelevant but more annoying and her whole existence stills revolve around N-Naruto-kun 🥺👉👈. The shippuden era was the moment when she seriously started to get on my nerves. She reached a new low when Neji frustratingly f*cking died for her the the only thing she was thinking about was N-Naruto-kun’s big warm and manly hand. The audacity lmao. I would be so ashamed to myself at her place. Also there’s nothing wrong with her being a housewife, raising kids is far from being an easy task by the way but she could’ve at least done something for her clan as the "Hyuga princess", especially about the oppression and slavery that endured the secondary branch through generations and that caused the death of her cousin in front of her. But no, she got married to N-Naruto-kun, so it doesn’t matter, damn why am I even surprised, that was the only goal of her life anyway. That cute uwu girl’s """"development"""" disappointed me a lot, to say the least, I saw a lot of potential in her not gonna lie.

Poor her, she existed only for the sake of a ship that happened just for the dull sequel also more commonly known as "Boruto".

[ophernelia]

you’ve got a question, i’ve got an answer.

- * general questions:

what’s your name mean? how do you pronounce it?

my favorite song is caraphernelia by pierce the veil. ophernelia is just a play on the that. why the “o”? idk. sounded nice to me. it’s pronounced oh-fur-nail-yuh.

what games do you play?

ts4, breath of the wild, tears of the kingdom, animal crossing, cities skylines, gta v, stardew valley.

tell me about you.

i go by my middle name, brooklyn. opie, brooklyn, idc what you call me. she/her pronouns. i’m black, I’m from chicago. got my degrees in research psychology, but i would much rather be a director.

why do you have a patreon if your content is free?

not all of my content is free. 18+ versions episodes are behind a paywall due to patreon’s guidelines. all proceeds go straight back into funding the content. (paying for storage for files and episodes. my capcut and canva subscriptions. that’s it) the censored version is always posted on YouTube for free. admittedly, they take me a bit longer to make. so, patrons usually get early access because i can keep all the vulgarity and music in. only vulgar scenes, some vulgar language, and some songs are omitted, but you still get the full story. i just change the content around to make it appropriate for YouTube.

are you an aesthetic gamer?

no. i kinda just do whatever. my page is a dumpster dive. this is essentially a garbage bin. it’s messy, unorganized, but sometimes you might find some decent stuff in it.

what other simmers do you reccomend?

check out that list here!

-* build/cc questions. [i no longer post builds]

are you wcif friendly?

no. i delete cc constantly. it’s here today, gone tomorrow. there’s a good chance it may be in my cc finds tag, if you check.

an item is missing? what packs does this use? where’s the cc?

check the download post and read the description thoroughly. if you still can’t find something after reading and following the directions to a t, send me a message and i’ll double check it.

how do i install tray files and mods in ts4?

copy and paste that question into the google search bar. guarantee you’ll find what you’re looking for.

can i furnish and reupload a build?

depends on the build. check my terms of use. i am fine if shells get furnished and reuploaded. just be sure to tag me so i can see what you do! for my fully furnished builds and Lykaia specific builds, i would prefer if they weren’t.

how did you learn how to build?

start practicing with floor plans of real homes. you can find them online. start small with less intricate houses. adjust them to fit ts4. if there’s things like a utility closet, omit that from the build. focus on the main rooms: bedrooms, bathroom, living, kitchen. once you get a hang of that, then you can start creating your own floor plans.

can you make me a build?

commissions are currently closed. if or when they reopen, i’ll make a post about it. commissions cost, but the build will always be posted to the public for free.

what build cc do you use?

check my resources page.

can i have this specific sim/build?

unless i state it is up for download, then no. i still like to have my personal sims and builds. a lot of lykaia builds don’t actually even exist! they’re just sets i make. most of the areas i don’t film in are completely empty.

-* series questions.

how do you pronounce Lykaia?

i pronounce it luh-kai-uh. is that how you actually pronounce it? i have no idea lol.

what is Lykaia inspired by?

primarily teen wolf. it also draws inspiration from the greek mythology and euphoria. it is an original story though.

is your lou and rory the same as ea’s?

they have some similarities, but for the most part no. my versions have an original back story and different personalities. they also look a bit different. i used their likeness, but that’s about it. ea’s lou and rory are still roaming around in my game. they are entirely different people.

will you have any other series?

yes. i fully plan on doing more series. some reality tv series and some scripted tv shows. my newest series, jackpot, is currently in production.

how long will lykaia run?

i am unsure. i have plans for a third season. aside from that, it just depends on how i feel about it. i have a lot more of lou and imogen’s story to tell. they go through a lot especially as they get older.

can i ask about a specific episode?

absolutely! series related asks are my favorite! i love talking about it. feel free to ask anything!

UPDATED: 10/31

[nani-nonny]

🛼 ⇢ describe your latest wip with five emojis

🧃 ⇢ share some personal lore you never posted about before

🏜️ ⇢ what's your favourite type of comment to receive on your work?

🍦 ⇢ name three good things about a character you hate

🐚 ⇢ do you like or dislike surprises?

☁️ ⇢ what made you choose your username?

🐝 ⇢ tag your biggest supporter(s) and say one nice thing about them

🧩 ⇢ what will make you click away from a fanfiction immediately?

hi sniper! :D

🛼- (uhh… stares at recently edited docs) 🐢🔴💭🫨🤞

🧃- I have nearly 20 kpop albums hehe and a Venom funko I won for free at an arcade (is this personal enough? lol)

🏜️- honestly? I love any comment, the small ones (<33 or emojis) and the large ones that analyze every little thing! I stim so hard when I get a comment and nearly stubbed my toe once lol

🍦- hmm… i honestly can’t think of a character I hate at the moment…

🐚- I hate surprises, usually. Especially when someone warns me about an incoming surprise. I get super bad anxiety and would rather someone tell me straight. And I hate having to react up to their expectations of how they want me to react to the surprise.

☁️- I think I already explained my tumblr username as using a quote from an old character I used to love and adding anonymous to it, but my writer username is just Alone and Anonymous mixed together and shorted to make loneAnonon

🐝- well, obviously you are one of them! You’re always so nice and so thoughtful with your responses/comments to not only my works but to me as a person! You are so fun to talk to and I live to see you active! You make writing fanfics so much more fun and you motivate me to keep writing! And then there’s FM Radio! @middlechildkin I have so much to thank her for promoting my fic in her Peepaw polls and introducing me to so many nice people and others’ fics! (And being such a good friend!) And then there are the silent enjoyers of my fics that leave likes on pretty much everything I post (I see you, but idk if you’ll want me to put you on blast hahaha!)

🧩- well, the more obvious answer is incest/tcest, sometimes writers don’t tag this and it gets past my filters and I hate that so, so much. But honestly, i think I’ve clicked off of plenty fics that spell the characters’ names wrong hehe… I get easily confused on what is happening and who these mystery people are lol. And bad paragraph spacing… I don’t mind long paragraphs, but huge blocks of text make it hard to read… other than that, my standards are wide ranged and I try to read anything as long as it keeps me interested! No amount of kudos or hits or comments will deter me from checking out a fic!

Ask Game Original Post

[ghostly-penumbra]

20 Qs for Fic Writers

Thanks for the tag, @summerssixecho!

1. How many works do you have on Ao3?

Thirty-six as of now! Most of them are still from events (I put all the filled prompts in one work per event, don’t @ me), but when I really like one of these I post it as a stand-alone :) and I have a few fics outside events too! Woo!

2. What's your total Ao3 word count?

132,746 as of right now, but I’ll still finish Ectober so that’ll change quickly. (and as I said before, some fics I post "twice", in the event's work, and as a stand-alone)

3. What fandoms do you write for?

Danny Phantom almost exclusively, the exception are the CrossOvers :p

I love The Sandman and Supernatural ones. I’m into DPxDC as well.

4. What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

Seven Ways to Summon the Ghost King (1,187 kudos): Seven different ways in which a tired, stressed and sleep-deprived King of Ghosts can be summoned!

Results may vary.

Holiday Gift 2022 (439 kudos): ALL ghosts need to honour the truce. Including those who don't know they're considered part ghost.

Poison Blood and Weighted Crowns (408 kudos): The Justice League asked for help to the Ghost King.

The King demanded Jason Todd in exchange.

Jokingly, Robin accepted.

King Plasmius had the deal be honoured.

Ectober Week 2021 (365 kudos)

DannyMay 2021 (243 kudos)

5. Do you respond to comments?

YUP. Sometimes I forget and only see it years later tho. But I do like answering comments so I try my best! If I don’t answer is ‘cause I can’t think of anything else to say but I still try! (I don’t really answer in FFN anymore tho, because I forget if I’ve already answered and I don’t remember how to check that, and I don’t want to accidentally answer twice lmao)

6. What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

Uhh… not a big fan of angst, and even though I tried my hand at it in the past don’t remember where I put it anymore

7. What's the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

Dragon :') Danny gets dental! (lol ok, I can’t really tell, idk)

8. Do you get hate on fics?

My fics ain’t popular enough to get hate I believe lol.

9. Do you write smut? If so, what kind?

LOL. I WROTE LEMON ONCE. YEARS AND YEARS AGO (almost ten year now. I was fourteen). After that, I haven’t, but I have an idea for a fic and if I actually get to write it I know it would be explicit.

10. Do you write crossovers? What's the craziest one you've written?

asdfghjjklñ I fucking love CrossOvers so much. I’ve written some "niche" ones but I believe the craziest/crackiest was Doors :))

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

None that I know of. (Again, not popular enough lol)

12. Have you ever co-written a fic before?

Other than ramble with the discord buddies, nope I haven’t.

13. What's your all-time favourite ship?

None tbh, I do like some ships but I’m aro and I don’t really have an OTP.

14. What's a WIP you want to finish but doubt you ever will?

Not much in the way of WIPs but I do have several plot bunnies I entertain before discarding.

On DPxDC I had a demon twin AU where Damian killed Danny as a kid with pressure from Ra’s al Ghul, and they met again after many years, with Damian as Robin and Danny as the Ghost King… and Danny didn’t forgive Damian. I had a lot planned and wanted to include a lot of worldbuilding, but ultimately I decided I couldn’t give Damian’s character justice as I was projecting heavily on my broken relationship with my abusive brother, and Damian deserved better than to be compared to my brother.

Also DPxDC, the aforementioned explicit work, which would be Danny/Valerie/Jason, with them dealing with being ecto-entities with the ecto-acts in place, Danny dealing with being King and trying to be an astronaut, Valerie coping with her feelings on her nature and her Wayne scholarship, and Jason being a crime lord with a family of vigilantes, and their broken yet existing relationships. As they navigated the complex ensuing dynamics, they dismantled the GIW and took down the Ecto-Acts.

I would also like to do more for Dragon, but I really don’t feel like it rn

16. What are your writing strengths?

Instrospection and mindscapes, if I can say so.

17. What are your writing weaknesses?

Anything that isn’t introspection and mindscapes.

19. First fandom you wrote for?

Naruto :)

20. Favourite fic you've written?

aughdabdsufsda, I don’t really know, I love several of them for different reasons, but maybe Father and Sons? I love Clockwork and I love my Sandman crossovers, so I liked mixing both.

I’m not tagging anyone, but I encourage anyone to try! It was really fun!

[hyewka]

There really has been no dom beomgyu smuts lately as a switch myself I’m a little sad haha but I also find it really funny but I don’t think there’s a lot of sub beomgyu smuts just because people think beomgyu is submissive because honestly I just think the whole of txt are switches and I think dynamics also really depend on what kind of partner you have as well so I wouldn’t say someone is dominant or someone is submissive. I think reading femdom smuts is just a lot more fun to read and probably to write because I feel like normal ones can get quite repetitive and it feels more exhilarating and powerful even if you aren’t actually a dom irl it’s nice to see women being more dominant with men because in real a lot of guys have quite a fragile masculinity with it. Also txt tumblr is quite small compared to other kpop writing communities I’ve seen, there isn’t actually that many consistent blogs on here and so actual smuts on any txt members have actually been quite sparse. I’d say sub beomgyu became a thing because of the blueprint blogs that kickstarted it such as wildernessuntothemselves I had never really seen submissive beomgyu until they came around and other blogs such as you and fairyofshampgyu inspired others to write sub beomgyu because those blogs were the only really ones consistent and kickstarting this. Haha I don’t know why this is so long but hopefully it is somewhat coherent!

Definitely agree with the femdom writing being fun-- like, you don't need to be a dom in real life to enjoy writing it and that is the case for me 😅 This is a little bit of a contradiction to your earlier statement but I genuinely do not believe I have one percentage of dominant energy, completely submissive over the years with my relationships (but I'm starting to doubt it just a little bit after getting into femdom content so....idk 😂). Yes, yes about the women being more powerful kind of serving as an exhilarating experience even when just writing it-- is it a little embarrassing to admit that most of my smut are incredibly self indulgent? Lol I seriously just cannot with meeting so many men who have fragile masculinity, working with them, talking with them-- it just bleeds through every interaction it's aggravating! Writing it as a fantasy of putting someone "in their place", definitely like a reliever after having to put up with it practically every day of my life.

Point made with TXT tumblr being small! Did a quick comparison to other 4th gen boy groups and it's a little odd how significant the difference is at times? 😂 Yet the smut tag has more people posting under (maybe that changed over the past few months and fluff is what people are leaning more towards?) even though there's definitely a sparse number of consistent blogs (which would naturally equate to less variety in content).

Ha! I was on here earlier than I started posting like most people are on tumblr, and I'd have to say that your observation skills are so good because lol yes, @wildernessuntothemselves (heh sorry for tagging you mort but i just might want you to see this 😂) was definitely a blog I first got introduced to with sub!beomgyu like, just hardcore, straight up whiny boy and a powerful woman (lover = loser fic...ah, very delicious).

There were definitely some fics here and there, but kick starting it, I'd want to give that credit to her! After a bit, @fairyofshampgyu came out with their fuck you series, and I'd say both are sort of the blueprint of the recent rising in seeing beomgyu as a very strong sub. Before this, you'd see one of those MTL posts and almost always Beomgyu is categorized as a hardcore dom, and now I almost get shocked seeing Beomgyu being considered more of a sub than Hueningkai and Soobin (who were often seen as softer doms or just sub men in general).

I wasn't even meaning to turn this blog into a sort of sub!beomgyu cult of fics, like...at all so I find it funny that I'm jumbled together with a more experienced writer like Nia 😂 But yeah, some really good points. It's just funny how a few months ago I was desperately looking for anything sub!beomgyu related (to the point i created this blog in hopes of receiving sub beomgyu requests), just a tinge because everything under the smut tag was hardcore dom, I wouldn't have imagined the tables would turn so quickly especially considering male subs aren't particularly that popular comparative to their counterparts.

I do feel for people who are sub leaning, content is sparse with txt in general-- and for people to get even simply blocked for requesting a dominant beomgyu? A... little insane 😅? I even remember this sort of thing being brought up around three months ago, someone talking about how they see Beomgyu as a complete dom and do not understand that appeal of the recent surge of sub Beomgyu-- perception is different, and I do wish for you and others to get more dominant Beomgyu fics, everyone deserves a little treat 😭

[dark-visitors]

Fic Tag Game

Tagged by @therulerofallpotatos 💕

1) How many works do you have on Ao3?

New/Current Account: 1 (though I have 3 more long fics in the works (wyler, wyclair and a hotd fic) that I'm hoping to start posting chapters for by the end of the year)

Old Account: I think I had 8 works on Ao3 before I threw my toys out of the cot, logged out, made a new account and never logging back in but this was 5-ish years ago now so idak lol.

2) What's your Ao3 word count?

22,107

(don't know my old account count)

3) What fandoms do you write for?

Currently Wednesday and House of the Dragon but I’ve previously written for Game of Thrones/ASOIAF, MCU and Victorious (I've started writing for other fandoms though I don't think I ever posted anything)

4) What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

I’m taking my old account to the grave but my Wenclair fic Blood and Shadows is currently at 704

(also my Victoriuous fics (don't judge me I was a child) were all posted on fanfiction.net)

5) Do you respond to comments?

Yes! I always respond to my comments. I want my readers to feel open to engaging with me on my works and I find that answering questions, matching their energy and dropping a quick thank you for their compliments makes me more approachable (hopefully). Also I have had some bad experiences in the past and so getting a influx of positive comments after posting a chapter means more to me than my readers can know so I like to do something to acknowledge that.

6) What's the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

Tbh, I don't really like unhappy endings. Like I love angst fics, the angstier the better and I find writing/reading fics that aren't at least a little despairing to be pretty boring. But at my core I’m a slut for a happy ending and I don't think I've ever gone into writing a fic that I planned to end on an egregiously unhappy note.

However, I did write a Game of Thrones fic focusing on Sansa’s relationship with Cersei that I ended up abandoning at a point where Sansa was still in Kings Landing being groomed, tormented and plagued by the grief of her entire family dying… so that’s not great.

I also have a House of the Dragon WIP set in the unseen years during the time jump where Alicent and Rhaenyra start to reconcile after Jace and Daeron are born within months of each other. It’s an Alicent POV where Jace’s obvious status as a bastard and Rhaenyra’s fear surrounding the ridicule that follows initially has her feeling sympathetic. Alicent puts out an olive branch and Rhaenyra feeling vulnerable accepts. They start to repair their relationship and old repressed feeling resurface only then Rhaenyra has Luke (another obvious bastard), Alicent feels betrayed, resents Rhaenyra’s recklessness, everything goes to shit and it ends with the implications that their canon relationship will continue as is (which for them is of course very tragic). I based it on Alicent’s line after Joffrey's birth where she says something along the lines of “to have one son like that is a mistake, three is an insult”. It’s a one-shot but it got really long and I lost interest before I finished it lol.

7) What's the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

Idk. A happy endings, a happy ending I don't think any of them stand out as being the happiest.

8) Do you get hate on fics?

I have.

Not on my new account (thankfully) the Wednesday fandom overall is very positive (at least in my experience) and the response to blood and shadows has been overwhelmingly positive so far.

I did receive some criticism on my earlier fics. I was very young and still in the process of learning to deal with my dyslexia so they weren't very good and though they hurt at the time, I put little effort into those fics and I got over it pretty quickly.

Then when I was in my late teens I experienced a very consistent string of hate comments on fics that I was pretty proud of at the time. Some of it was valid, some of it was just mean. I also wasn't in the best head space and it all imploded into me giving up on writing and posting for a few years.

I still wrote fanfic, as creative writing is something I've always strived to get better at, I just wasn't taking it seriously or posting anything. But I started posting again earlier this year and I plan to stick with it, even if everything doesn't stay perfect as I know I'm more equipt to embrace the hate now.

9) Do you write smut? What kind?

Fuck yes. And… the kinkier the better? 😏

I’m not opposed to writing more vanilla smut if it's part of a longer romance-focused fic. As super kinky smut coming out of nowhere can give readers whiplash. But I always try to spice things up where I can and I love writing more complicated emotional and power-related dynamics over focusing on the physical actions of a sex scene. Because when you grow up reading smut (not recommend but it's too late for me now) the physical act of sex alone does little in the way of… invoking a reaction, and therefore can be pretty boring overall.

Like yay, cool, she's sucking a dick. Now tell me about the sexual consequences of those mommy issues.

Also dialogue. I don't care if people don't actually talk that much during sex. That fuckers not shutting up and you can't stop me.

10) Do you write cross-overs?

No. I'm not opposed to it. Just never felt the need.

11) Have you ever had a fic translated?

Nope.

12) Have you ever cowritten a fic before?

No. I'm a bit of a control freak and I’ve loved all my mutuals over the years too much to ever make them deal with that.

13) What WIP you would like to finish, but doubt you ever will?

I have been casually working on a long (LONG) House of the Dragon fic on and off for like a year now that I will most likely never post simply because of the scale of it. I just don't think I’ll ever finish it in a way that I'm happy with and I don't want to start only to lose steam and either abandon it or feel obligated to finish it when my hearts not in it anymore.

It's a canon divergence fic where upon Rhaenyra’s bloody return to camp after running away and killing the boar during Aegon ii’s second name day hunt, Viserys revaluates Otto’s proposal to betroth her to Aegon and a season 1 retelling thereafter focusing on Rhaenyra, Alicent and Aegon because they're my problematic favs and the interpersonal relationships between these characters are just endlessly fun to explore (also the show fumbled on Rhaenyra and Aegon's relationship and I need to fix that or ill be forced to scream everytime I think about it which is often).

Basically, slow burn Rhaenicent (Alicent x Rhaenyra) and all the longing, hatred and repression that comes with it interspersed with their relationships with a growing Aegon (and eventually the other green kids) and the weird and complicated family unit that grows between them, as Aegon and Rhaenyra get married while Aegon is fully aware that his sister-wife is fucking his mother (it’s been that way most of his life so he's fine with it). And that's only THE FIRST ACT!

Alicent then dies birthing Daeron (a few years before the end of s1 timeline wise) and Aegon and Rhaenyra fall deep into very a self-destructive grieving process (during which Viserys dies and they inherit the throne) and end up growing closer as they try to heal, move on and run a kingdom together. Eventually progressing into an actual Rhaegon (Rhaenyra x Aegon) fic despite the fact that they have already been married for years and she was low-key a better dad to him than Viserys (derogatory) ever was. (Dont @ me about the incest they're Targaryen’s it doesn't count and this fic would be problematic af for so many more valid reasons)

I have no idea how it would end, only that I'm looking at 300k words minimum and I don't think I'm ready to commit to that.

14) What's your all-time favourite ship?

It depends, I’ve had a lot over the years but some current favourites are:

Wednesday - Wyclair, Wyler, Wenclair, Tynid

HotD - Rhaenicent, Lucemond, Rhaegon, Daemicent

15) What are your writing strengths?

I've been told I have a unique way of writing emotion and I find dialogue comes quiet easily to me.

16) What are your writing weaknesses?

A complete inability to keep it short and simple, I must make everything I write as long and complex as physically possible, which isn't always necessary and tbh can sometimes be too much and therefore worse.

I've tried to be a one-shot girlie and I just can't do it. I get sucked into the lore and the nuances of every tiny detail I come across. I can't write a fic any shorter than 30k (an extreme minimum tbh) and It's exhausting. I need to learn to chill.

17) Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language for a fic?

I've written a few lines in the many fictional languages of ASOIAF where necessary for certain characters but I try to avoid using languages I'm not super confident in without first knowing EXACTLY what I'm saying/trying to say.

I have no issues with it overall but I definitely encourage research beyond Google translate if you don't speak the language. Especially with gendered words as its something that's very easy to spot even for people who are mediocre at speaking the language.

18) First fandom you wrote for?

Victorious. Jori (Jade x Tori) specifically. I can't remember how old I was but I was pretty young at the time and definitely wrote some truly cringe-worthy shit but overall I remember it quite fondly.

19) Favourite fic you've ever written?

Not my best work but I wrote a Bucky x Natasha MCU fic when I was 16-ish. It was the first fic I remember taking seriously (too seriously probably) and I got in trouble for writing on my phone in class several times. It was nothing too serious, fun to write and overall it really cemented my love for writing I think.

Also I'm really vibing with my Wyler historical AU atm. I've got some kinks to work out before I start posting chapters but it's looking to be some of my best work.

20) What fic would you want to rewrite one day?

I don't think I want to rewrite any of them.

Though I think I've improved enough over the years to make them drastically better in theory, if I've learnt anything it's that somethings are best left imperfectly perfect and trying to mold the past into something better will only ever sour the good that had come with the bad.

Tagging (I've seen a bunch of these so ignore me if you've already done it 💕): @kybee1497 @badmoodbatflowers @onlyangelxo @penelopwgarcia @cosmic-lullaby @gardenoblues