#negativity ahoy

[katieskarlette]

Long time, no ramble

I read The Calling, the new short story about Anduin. It was heart wrenching, emotional and poignant...but I couldn't stop thinking about how much I disliked the plot that sent him on this trajectory.

No matter how well-handled Anduin's PTSD and guilt are handled, I can't forget that they stem from the train wreck of Shadowlands. He should never have been put in this position in the first place.

Just as Anduin was literally yoinked into the sky by the Jailer's minions to start the expansion, he was also yoinked out of his plot arc. He was starting to come into his own as a king, moving beyond his father's shadow bit by bit, finding the balance between his own peace-loving tendencies and the grim necessity of some violence in a world such as Azeroth. There were hints that he was struggling with the balance of Light and Shadow, as well. All of that character development came to a screeching halt when he got kidnapped and turned into Zovaal's puppet.

What made pre-Shadowlands Anduin unique was his stubborn insistence on empathy in a world full of bloodthirsty warmongers. The siege of Undercity at the start of BFA was the perfect microcosm of that: he set down Shalamayne and used the Light to heal/rez his soldiers instead. He was finding ways to lead that were effective but which allowed him to be true to his ideals.

There was nothing wrong with the way Varian led his people (or at least nothing that I want to get into right now), but that doesn't mean his style is the right choice for Anduin. I've always had a soft spot for characters who are like, "Yeah, I know the world is a cruel place. I'm not naïve. But that's all the more reason to spread hope and kindness."

I would have been fine with a plot where Anduin struggles to find a happy medium between "We must strive for peace" and "We need to mercilessly obliterate our enemies to protect innocent lives," and errs too much on the side of violence. He could feel the same remorse and lack of trust in himself as he does in the current canon, feel unworthy of the Light, think back on how Varian atoned for some of his misdeeds, and grow as a person. It would mean more if he was actually making choices and working through the consequences.

As it stands, Anduin is beating himself up over something that isn't his fault, even a little bit. I sympathize with him up to a point, but by the end of the short story I was frustrated and even a little annoyed with his stubborn self-hatred. He's not stupid, and it's not like being controlled by evil forces is a new concept for an Azerothian. He comes across as obtuse when he insists that he's indelibly tainted by what happened to him, when he personally knows people who have been in similar situations and did not become pariahs.

(Yes, I know trauma responses aren't logical. Irrational guilt and survivor's guilt exist. But realism doesn't necessarily translate into a satisfying narrative. And yes, characters need to change and face challenges, but when those challenges were born from atrocious writing it leaves a bad taste in the audience's mouth.)

Is there dramatic irony in the kind, altruistic character not being able to extend the same grace to himself? Of course. But is Blizzard's storytelling capable of that level of nuance? Forgive me for being skeptical. I'm sure he will find himself again and heal through the coming expansions, but, again, I'm not optimistic that it will be handled well.

I'm probably judging the story too harshly because my patience for WoW's story ran out during Shadowlands and I'm still bitter. If they had to try to salvage a halfway decent character arc from the bullshit of that expansion, this is probably the best way to go about it.

The new short story was well-written and tugged at the heartstrings. It just didn't win me back. I didn't expect it to, though. Instead I continue to mourn a franchise that captivated me for many years before its trip to the realm of Death meant the demise of my devotion. :(

Disclaimer: I didn't hate everything about Shadowlands. Sire Denathrius can read off a list of my sins anytime. Aww yeah. The rest can be retconned to oblivion, though. ;)

[occultopossum]

Have a handful of teifling and Aasimar designs/npcs for a dnd sess I'm doing (For the setting /home brew teifling and aasimar each have some features corresponding with some of the gods in the world)

[manufactoredxbyxdesign]

🔥

Send me a “ 🔥 “ for an unpopular opinion.

*Presses hands together and takes a long breath*

Adults can and do have the right to exist in spaces online where they can be feral and talk with other grown ups freely. I agree with the sentiment that a game or media that has an 18+ label should have the minimal expectation that minors don't access it. That is why so many Dead By Daylight and Resident Evil blogs are 18+ from what I can observe.

BUT

Adult role-players do need to re-examine the way they tend to overstep in the spaces where younger audiences are present as well. While I'm not about that "you cannot consume certain media if you're not a kid" I do believe that there is an disrespect of boundaries when it comes to adults entering a fandom mean for a younger audience.

I don't care if you like My Little Pony or Bluey but I do care when you're posting untagged nsfw content in these spaces or bullying the fuck out of the minors around you.

In my opinion there's a really shitty "fuck them kids" mindset in a lot of older roleplayers that I honestly dislike.

I say this as someone who is a hardliner about the way I think minors shouldn't be playing Dead By Daylight or other violent/horror games - the opposite should be true of media meant younger audiences. You can't tell the kid next door to stay out of your fucking garden and then hop the fence into their yard and start messing up the place.

[deus-ex-mona]

tmw you give someone concise instructions but they ✨just do not get it✨

[greenyvertekins]

Ordered what was explicitly shown and described as a GE Hero Chao plush, receive a bootleg that’s vacuum packed 😕

[i-love-books-because-reasons]

I'm watching commercials of toys and food products from my childhood throughout the decades and the 2022 ones are the worst. Like the commercials from previous decades all have something to laugh or poke fun at or fill me with nostalgia but the 2022 commercials imo aren't even fun to poke fun at. There just bad.

[ghostlyfleur]

𝑠𝑤𝑒𝑒𝑡.

steve harrington x fem!reader

summary: the sweet progression of steve and his pretty girl’s relationship.

warnings: tooth-rotting fluff, idiots in love, oblivious!reader, shy!reader, inexperienced!reader. pet names (angel, baby, flower girl, pretty girl, princess, sweet girl). 18+ mdni, smut-adjacent. world building.

word count: ~4.5k

pre-relationship—

steve’s girl friend is a soft spoken, remarkably sweet, gentle soul. she’s shy, way too anxious, so inexperienced that she comes off as innocent. her wardrobe consists of flowy skirts and flowery dresses and soft sweaters and cozy knits, puts flowers in her hairdos like interwoven in braids or tucked in a half-up half-down mess, has this ethereal vibe to the makeup she likes to wear (ie. shimmery eyeshadow in soft colors, highlighter, sparkly lipgloss, white waterline pencil, fairy wing eyeliner designs, and slightly blushy cheeks), wears silver wire-framed glasses at home when not using contacts and steve thinks it brings out her gorgeous eyes even more. she always wears pretty dangly earrings with flowers, her nails painted with glitter nail polish or neutral soft colors, and steve thinks she’s an angel.

the rest of the people in town mostly think her to be weird and unapproachable, with the way she stops mid walk to crouch down and whisper softly to a ladybug she sees on the sidewalk, or when she accidentally bumps into a street pole and yells out a panicked ‘sorry!’ as if she would hear a reply back.

when steve first met his girl, he was enchanted.

she was so soft and beautiful and kind, but also very anxious; something he noticed the first time she walked into scoops ahoy, and steve was so excited to finally talk to the pretty girl that started working at the flower shop down the block that he’s been pining for. the pretty girl’s reaction to his flirting however was of shyness, nervousness, and seemingly scared silence… so steve decided to make a fool out of himself just to see her smile. it was worth it. steve felt as if her laughter was the equivalent of the skies opening up to let sunshine peak through dark clouds. they eased their way into each other’s lives after that. his girl started seeking him out, finding comfort and safety in his presence and caregiving personality, though remaining clueless of his feelings and just how much robin teased him for being a smitten fool.

“pretty flower girl” is how steve referred to her at the beginning, all heart eyes and dreamy sighs. working at a flower shop seems to fit her so entirely, like she’s in her own little world while surrounded by flora. she’s able to tell you the meanings, both positive and negative, of any flower imaginable, of different plants too! keeps a log book and a journal to track her flora friends’ growth, pressed flowers and polaroid pictures of different bouquets, photographs each beautiful arrangement she creates in a picture album.

her home is also completely taken over by pots and plants and gardens and hanging vines, secrets whispered to them while she waters her little friends as needed, full conversations kept that seem to make all the plants bloom and flourish even more. lots of natural light comes in from the many windows of her cabin, surrounded by greenery and trees and a small pond that wild animals often visit, knowing her safe haven is also a safe haven for any animals. the place always smells like whatever she’s baking, the decor homey and filled with crystals and incense and hand painted mugs and vases. greens, yellows, oranges, and tan colors. books balanced on any available surface.

she becomes steve’s girl best friend, and he loves her so much. worships her, really. steve makes it his mission to spoil and love his pretty girl, even if he hides it behind silly flirting and the pretense of friendship.

whenever they’re together, steve and his girl are all the other sees. the gang has a little bet on who will break first, steve or his flower girl.

her sit is always his lap.

steve swears off other girls as soon as he meets her.

he is very affectionate towards her, and she loves to kiss his cheeks.

they often have sleepovers just the two of them.

they’re so close they can just exist together and be at peace.

she’s so supportive of him too, always praising him and hyping him up.

steve is overprotective of her.

whenever one goes the other sure follows.

see, steve’s girl is so sweet on him it drives robin crazy. because robin knows the feelings are reciprocated, but she also knows both steve and his girl enough to know she needs to let them figure this out by themselves. it doesn’t mean robin isn’t their number one fan, though.

steve’s pretty girl bakes him sweets often to bring to him at work to “make your day a little easier, stevie”, she brings him flowers from her job that steve learns to preserve in his room, she gives him her favorite ring that he never takes off. but steve also does little things for his sweet girl— takes care of her and buys her chocolate because it makes her so happy and giddy he falls a little more in love each time. he also reminds her to drink water, buys her favorite snacks for movie night or when she’s on her period, takes her to the movies, drives her everywhere (because she’s his pretty passenger princess) to have some extra time with her.

oh! steve’s girl also has a bunch of homemade gifts that she keeps in a small glass trunk in her home because she’s too shy to give them to her stevie— handmade bracelets, handmade wire rings, pretty things she finds at thrift stores that remind her of her pretty boy, handmade necklaces, small gifts with pressed flowers, letters she writes down because she feels so deeply for her sweet boy that she needs to let it out somehow, and a bunch of other small gifts that she hopes one day she can give to her stevie to show him how much she loves him.

she’s so lovely to her stevie without even realizing, though. she’s demiromantic, you see, and after becoming friends with steve she started to slowly fall for him. the thing is, she knew very well what was happening, she’s very in tune to her emotions, and she fell for him willingly! whereas steve fell for her fast and kept falling.

imagine his girl never had her first kiss… she’s so inexperienced and her sweet persona and gentle demeanor make her seem like the softest person ever. steve is so mesmerized by her.

he flirts with her and is sweet to her and devotes his time to her and spoils her rotten and gives her kisses and hugs and cuddles and all the love he has to give— steve quickly decided that even if they’re ‘just friends’ he’ll still treat her like his princess, give her everything he can and shower her in his adoration until she catches up. and even then, even when it’s so obvious that steve is in love with her, that he blushes and stutters and gets flustered only for her, that he shows her every day just how much he loves her, she remains oblivious.

in her pov, she knows she’s in love with her stevie so she’s going to treat him like the most precious person in her world. which he is. the thing is that she gives him all of her love without ever once considering that he might return it, even as he flirts and quite literally says he’s hers and she’s his all the time, it never even crosses her mind to actually believe it. maybe because she’s trying to protect herself from heartbreak. she just decides that her stevie deserves the world so she’s going to give him all she can.

but she’s so soft with him! holds his face between her hands when talking to him sometimes like she’s holding her whole world on her hands, presses kisses to his cheeks all the time, gives him hugs. she always compliments him, isn’t afraid of telling him exactly what’s on her mind…

“you look so pretty, stevie”

“i’m so proud of you.”

“i missed you lots today!”

“i saw this cute puppy and it reminded me of you ‘cause you’re just as cute!”

“i always prefer your company.”

flower girl is the most adorable sight steve has ever seen! she pouts so prettily whenever she doesn’t get the attention she wants from him, all soft lips and furrowed brows and plush cheeks crossed arms, and steve just wants to pepper kisses all over her face.

her love languages:

she bakes him cookies ; buys him things that remind her of her stevie ; plans these cute little “friend” outings that feel more like dates ; she’s never lacking in her affections though she’s very timid and shy when it happens ; will defend him no matter what ; makes sure to always praise him ; she gets all cranky if someone insults him even playfully ; she’s very shy so she often hides her face on his chest or neck and it makes his heart flutter ; she helps him babysit bc the kids love her ; she gave her stevie a special arrangement of flowers that she created just for him plus a little booklet of pictures of the two of them together that also had pressed flowers on it for his birthday ; she checks in with him every day even if they don’t see each other to make sure her stevie is doing okay ; will stay on the phone with him all night especially if he had a nightmare or a fight with his parents.

where steve’s best friend is all cute and pouty and sweet and clingy and loving but only to her stevie!!!!! and she’s a bit ditzy— talks to animals and plants and inanimate objects like they can answer her, her thoughts jump from one thing to another but steve always entertains her, she skips instead of waking a lot, she dresses all cute and coquette and always has glitter on her somewhere, she gives steve handmade gifts all the time with this shy little smile and blushing and sometimes when the gift is specially meaningful she’ll run away as soon as he accepts it 🥺 she trips over her own feet a lot too!!! so steve has to grip her waist to help her find her footing!!! and it makes her break out in goosebumps!!! and steve is so in love with her, with her ramblings and midnight ice cream cravings and true crime rants and the way she talks about murder and psychopath profiling and laughs at horror movies and has crystals and tarot cards and wants to befriend ghosts, how she gives her stevie little glass bottles with protection spells or anti-anxiety spells or how she always needs to hear his voice before bed.

and she’s so pretty and soft and kind and nice and laughs a lot and everyone loves her— but she never notices how so many people flirt with her, and never notices whenever steve scares possible suitors away, because really she only sees steve!!!!!! and it makes him crazy to see how she blatantly ignores anyone and everyone to focus on him!!!!!

but then one day steve’s girl starts feeling sad and heartbroken because she’s convinced herself that steve still loves nancy so she starts pulling away a little and steve doesn’t understand what he did wrong! robin has to spell it out for him that his girl thinks he still wants nancy when that couldn’t be further from the truth; steve now knows he’s never truly been in love before, not like he is with his angel, and that it was his angel that showed him he deserves someone who loves him just as much as he loves them. therefore, steve does his best to find ways to tell his girl that nancy is in the past, that she has nothing to worry about, but he has to do so while him and his angel aren’t together yet so he slowly breached the subject until he can figure out where his girl stands, if he can make a move, if she’s interested in him too, y’know? like those conversations filled with a deeper meaning and both parties trying to drop hints about their feelings but they’re still too hesitant to be more clear in their affections. for now.

imagine steve spoiling her and making her all giddy and happy and shy and giggly :( i want steve to treat his baby like royalty way before they even get together :( i wanna read about their first kiss and how it makes steve’s knees buckle and how she’s so giggly because it’s her first kiss and he tells her he wants to marry her right then and there and she tells him she never ever would consider being with anyone but her stevie :(

after they get together—

their first kiss happens in what steve considers to be the best night of his life to date.

it was halloween, and he was slightly nervous about going to the fair with not only the kids and robin and eddie, but his girl too. the year before, he stayed in with his angel and robin watching movies and eating junk, which was the perfect night ‘cause he got to cuddle his girl, but last halloween he went out to celebrate didn’t end up being very enjoyable for him… what with having your now-ex call you bulshit, bullshit, bullshit.

however, this is his girl he’s talking about. while it wasn’t a date, simply a hangout with their friend group, steve still considers his girl, well… his. and the fact she insisted on meeting them there herself had him slightly on edge.

she was dressed as a fairy.

steve has never seen anyone as pretty, as mesmerizing. and the way she treated this night, treated him, was driving steve crazy.

first, once she meets everyone at the entrance of the amusement park they agreed to go to, she insists on paying for both herself and steve. literally grabs steve’s wallet from his hand and only gives it back after she pays.

he, of course, only really allows it because she gives him her — in steve’s opinion illegal — pouty puppy eyes that she knows steve can’t say no to.

afterwards, once they all enter and the kids disperse to the various entertainment with the agreement of meeting up later to eat, steve’s girl drags him away from robin and eddie, who were both sporting knowing grins, to a shooting booth where she proceeds to win, suspiciously easily might he add, a stuffed frog for him.

and then she grabs his hand. albeit hesitantly, but she does. intertwining their fingers and everything.

the entire night was a dream for steve, and unbeknownst to him, for his girl too. she had a plan, you see. his angel was pulling out all the stops, even if she was shy and blushy the whole time— paying for the tickets for both of them was number one. followed by winning steve a stuffed animal, holding his hand, sharing fried oreos and cotton candy (again, paid by her), and going to the photobooth. the ferris wheel would be last, but it’s what happens inside the photobooth that matters.

once inside, steve made sure she was sat on his lap. she payed again. the pictures go a little something like this:

1st pic steve is laughing and she’s looking at him like he’s her dream come true which he is / 2nd pic she pushes forward not being able to wait any longer and quickly presses her lips to his a bit messily / 3rd pic is her looking all flustered and shy and doe-eyed while steve has this dazed look in his eyes and his jaw is dropped / 4th pic is steve grabbing her cheeks and kissing her fully, brows furrowed and all.

steve steals another kiss at the top of the ferris wheel, it was giggling and smiling more than kissing, though.

on the drive home, angel makes a stop at their self-assigned star gazing spot where she officially asks steve to be her boyfriend, all flustered and timid but oh so hopeful. another kiss, a resounding “yes” from her sweet boy, and dropping him off with a quick goodnight kiss ends the night, and steve has never been happier.

the fact she planned this whole night, took a chance, romanced the hell out of him, and was so genuine the whole time, looking to make him smile, just because, had steve on a high unlike any other. no one has ever taken the time to spoil him, to do romantic things for him. he’s not used to reciprocity in relationships, but here this angel is professing her love for him and not only saying it but showing him she means it. best night of his life.

and so their relationship begins.

steve harrington just worships his girl, spoils her continuously, and wants to do everything for her. he is overly affectionate and just obsessed with his baby, pictures of her and with her everywhere on his house, his car, his wallet, maybe even a locket he wears with a copy of the picture of their first kiss on it. steve took the photobooth strip and got the second picture, his angel kissing him for the first time, copied and altered to fit into the locket.

everyone in town just knows steve is entirely whipped and he does not care. he is definitely touch starved for his girl, quite a bit jealous, however, but trusts her so much that it just comes out as a sort of possessiveness that isn’t toxic but something both he and, secretly, his angel enjoy. steve always praises her and wants to take care of her because she’s his sweet little angel girl.

steve is also her first everything— first kiss, first date, first boyfriend, first time… and it drives him insane! something about knowing he’s the only one that’s ever had her and the only one she’s ever wanted just drives him up the wall and gets him so needy. so desperate. so whiney and pouty.

something else about steve as a boyfriend is that he’s his angel’s biggest fan — always praising, always encouraging, always in awe of her. will brag about his baby to anyone. randomly brings her up in conversation because she’s all he thinks about and he’s so proud to be hers.

buying her flowers whenever he can so she’ll give him this wide, square smile of hers that takes over her whole face like she can’t control it and her nose scrunches up a bit and he never wants to look at anything but her.

her stevie is really into pda too, can’t take his hands off of her, but nothing extreme; casual touches and pecks on her nose or temple or lips or cheeks, buries his face in her neck often, hand holding constantly!!!!!!, plays with her hair, is always playing with the delicate ‘s’ pendant on her neck that he gifted her and she never takes off (steve has this proud little smile whenever he messes with it).

then there’s the casual dominance— steve tucks her hair behind her ears, ties her shoelaces for her, adjusts the clasp of her necklace, puts her dainty jewelry on for her, braids her hair because she’s always clumsy with it and she prefers his braids over hers, gives her water so she stays hydrated, remembers her meds for her, adjusts her beanie on her hair when it’s cold and she’s wearing one, wipes chocolate from the corner of her mouth because his baby is a messy eater, pulls on her waist when they’re walking so she doesn’t bump into someone or something because she’s too busy talking and looking at him, spoon feeds her when she’s too tired and sleepy and pouty, brushes her teeth for her too when she’s being his cute little tired baby or is in subspace, brushing her hair and treating her like a little doll, his little doll, and loves to shower with her so he can do it for her, loves to drive her everywhere too. she’s his pretty passenger princess and they both take that role very seriously.

and whenever his pretty baby gets all glassy eyed and needy and blushy for him? he melts.

steve has a daddy kink. major one. and when he finally finds his baby, his person, he starts noticing things she might be into for the sole reason of wanting to be the absolute best he can be for his baby. the thing is, he knows she’s entirely new to this and still a bit nervous and hesitant and shy, so he starts by filing things away in his brain to make sure once she’s ready and the time comes that he can treat her perfectly, and give her everything and anything she wants.

his baby is probably a sub, she must be, with how pliable and soft she gets. for sure has an oral fixation, always giving him little kisses and little bites randomly and pressing his hand to her lips so she can softly mouth at them (but will shy away and get flustered when she notices she’s doing this) (she just loves his hands and he knows). steve’s girl also gets all flustered and her breath hitches when he jokingly calls himself ‘daddy’, so he takes that as a good sign because there’s nothing steve wants more in this world than to be her daddy. only hers. to spoil and care for and love his baby to the best of his ability.

she also loves when he manhandles her, he’s noticed— it’s just that steve really enjoys carrying his baby around, loves feeling needed and loves holding her and having her body pressed to his and have her hold on to him, but also he just wants to do things for his baby, doesn’t want her to tire herself out, ever!

she doesn’t need to walk around all the time because her stevie’s here and he won’t have his baby do unnecessary work when he’s around. whenever he grabs her waist and places her on top of a counter or something and stands between her legs? she gets all smiley. steve also absolutely loves how clearly his touch affects her; she hums and melts into him and gets a bit breathless and just tries to bury herself into him until they become one. lots of cuddles and hugs from behind and just being entirely wrapped in each other while wearing the coziest sweaters under the cuddliest blanket are common occurrences.

the main thing, though… is how steve’s shy little girlfriend quickly becomes obsessed with his bulge. loves when her stevie hugs her from behind so it presses against her, or when he has her sit between his legs with her back to his chest, or any time where her stevie is holding her close. he doesn’t even need to be hard for her to enjoy it, i mean, he shows through his jeans even when he’s soft! and she just always thinks it looks so…soft? and chubby? and she just wants it smushed against her at all times.

it takes steve a while to figure it out, but when he does? he’s relentless! pressing up against his baby all. the. fucking. time. just to see her blush and stutter and get all shy… but she also fucking sighs and relaxes whenever he does it, like it’s such a comfort for her? to feel all of him? like it’s all she’s waiting for at all times. and it drives steve crazy how his cute, shy, introverted, virgin girlfriend who giggles all the time and is always flustered by him and hiding her hot cheeks with her hands and is so… clumsy and tentative and nervous when it comes to any sort of affection (which she only accepts from her stevie) ((she definitely hates touch except his)) (((and he knows it too! was one of the things that proved to him his pretty best friend had feelings for him too when they were ‘just friends’))) can be so desperate to feel his bulge against her.

angel also loves that her stevie boy has huge hands! absolutely massive. could-wrap-one-hand-around-your-entire-neck massive, beautiful, strong, soft hands.. and yeah, both steve and his girl definitely have huge size kinks. huge. they haven’t said so out loud yet, but it shows through their actions. steve loves how obvious the size difference is when they’re holding hands, or when his hand is on her soft thighs. most of the time his baby holds his fingers instead because it hurts a little bit to intertwine their fingers for too long and steve thinks it’s fucking adorable. she’s shorter too, so 😵‍💫 her sweet boy goes crazy. teasing, best friend steve comes out sometimes too when he uses her head as an armrest to tease her, or when he full on picks her up to take her somewhere if she’s being a brat or is too lazy, too tired to move.

steve’s angel loves their size difference. so much. it shows when she hides herself against his chest when it’s cold, when she compares hand sizes because “stevie, the difference is just insane!”, when steve smushes her into the mattress when they start fucking later on. steve notices his angel blush or sigh or break out in goosebumps whenever his hands are involved— i mean, can you blame her? his hands are so pretty. she’s always holding and touching and tracing her fingertips over his palms and pressing kisses, biting softly, sucking on his fingers when she’s restless, fidgety, or sleepy.

using steve as a weighted blanket is a must; helps angel when she’s anxious or having a bad day.

to be continued…

── harmo’s footnotes:

please remember to show your support by reblogging!

masterlist. steve dreams.

ghostlyfleur © — all rights reserved. do not repost, copy, or translate.

[steviewashere]

If It Has to Happen, Let It

Rating: Teen and Up CW: Emetophobia, Vomiting, Panic/Anxiety Attack, Negative Stimming as a Form of Self-Harm/Self-Regulation Tags: Post-Canon, Established Relationship, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Sick Steve Harrington, Traumatized Steve Harrington, Steve Harrington Has Migraines, Steve Harrington Has Emetophobia, Steve Harrington is a Sweetheart, Eddie Munson is a Sweetheart, Eddie Munson Takes Care of Steve Harrington, Cuddling, Steve Harrington Has Good Parents

Okay, I wrote this while enduring a migraine. So we'll see how good this actually is. But I couldn't shake this idea, so here it is. Also, this is based on experience and I have pretty debilitating migraines and emetophobia. I'm asking y'all to be kind about this, that's all. <3

Read On AO3

🤢—————🤢 Steve used to have normal, everyday headaches when he was younger. They’d last a few hours. Be kind of an annoyance, prickling him with an undercurrent of ache. Sometimes make it hard to focus on tasks at hand. But they weren’t life changing. They didn’t affect every aspect of his day to day life. They didn’t linger or take over or knock him down for the count. His headaches used to be normal.

Now they aren’t. They’re debilitating. Humiliating. All consuming.

It wasn’t the concussions that resulted in the migraines, surprisingly enough. Everybody seems to think that and they’re not wrong, not really. But his mom had them. And his dad had them. And his nana had them.

The migraines started out as being mainly genetic. It sucked, sure. They’d come and go. Once every few months, maybe. At most. Just for a day. Isolate him to his bedroom. Leave him to spread on his bed with an ice pack on his forehead. That sort of thing.

Then the concussions came. One after the other after the other. They got worse. Astronomically worse. It wasn’t just a day that the migraines would hang around. It was multiple days. It was an entire week. Even once, it was three weeks in a row. He was sensitive to everything, sometimes nothing. The smell of Robin’s perfume. The sound of Dustin’s voice. The lights inside Family Video, inside Scoops Ahoy, inside his own house. He’d hole away. Lay in the expanding darkness of his bedroom. Curtains closed. Bed stripped of his sheets. Ice on his head, under his head, wrapped around his neck. He’d sleep shirtless, sleep nude, sleep fully clothed—his body couldn’t regulate. Would barely get up because the world would swirl around him like he was standing in the eye of a hurricane.

Worst of the worst, though, was the nausea.

When he was little, he remembers his nana taking him out for his seventh birthday. Pancakes—Mickey Mouse shaped pancakes, topped with fruit and whipped cream and as much maple syrup as he wanted. He drank orange juice, bubbled the liquid with his straw, took bites of his nana’s egg salad, giggled and snickered and cried with joy. It was fun. A good day. And then no less than eight hours later, he couldn’t keep himself standing. Could only kneel, stripped to his dinosaur themed underwear, hair stringy to his head, his mom cooing softly in his ear—hurling and spewing and coughing on and off for hours. Until, eventually, he landed himself a pretty uncomfortable spot in the emergency room, IV in his vein, and tears on his cheeks.

He remembers the all consuming fear when his stomach would flip. When his mouth would begin to salivate and his throat would burn with the bile that came up through burps, and how his hands would shake. Remembered all the times between being seven and now where he’d kneel on the tile of his bathroom, head stuck inside his toilet bowl, clamping to the porcelain with his slick palms, heaving until there was nothing left to give. And then he’d hack some more, just to see if he was done. If it was over. If he could be relieved instead of walking on glass.

He’d ruined plenty of Pyrex bowls. Dirtied plenty of blankets. Stained several mattresses. He’s apologized through tears as his mom helped clean up the carpet in his bedroom. Let her pet his sweaty hair and say it was alright, even though he knew it wasn’t. Even though it would scare her when he’d dissolve into hysterics.

Steve doesn’t do nausea. He doesn’t do throwing up. He doesn’t even do burps. That’s how afraid he is.

The migraines don’t help. If anything, they make him anxious. Make him trapped inside his own body, shaking and breathing shallowly. Knobby knees and burning tears. Flapping his hands out at his sides as if the stupid movement could will the feeling away. Sometimes, when he’d get really upset and he couldn’t calm down, he’d take to slamming his closed fists over his thighs. Trying to distract himself with another sensation. Something else that should bother him. Steve would slam his palms into his chest. He’d claw at his stomach until he’d either bleed or tire himself out. Would tangle his fingers into his hair and pull, hard enough to leave long strands in his palms. He’d hurt and hurt and hurt until he could forget what it was like to have bile coat his throat.

And he knows, by all means does he know, that to any ordinary person he looks like a basket case. He knows that sometimes it seems like he’s overreacting. That he’s making something out of nothing. But he can’t help it. He can’t help the little freakouts or the rapid breathing or the sound of skin smacking against skin.

Sometimes he knows how to regulate. When he’s feeling even the slightest bit sick. Open a window, stick his head out and take several long gulps of cold night air. Stick himself under a near third degree burning hot shower. (Because his mom had said that hot water helps. Not this hot, but she doesn’t need to know.) He keeps a case of ginger ale. Has a new addiction to peppermint gum. Shoves his big head between his knees and just prays. He’ll say over and over in his head: “You will not throw up. You don’t need to throw up. You aren’t sick. You won’t throw up.” 

It’s all worked. Kept himself puke-free since sixth grade.

But now he gets migraines.

And today’s the worst one he’s ever had.

——— If he doesn’t open his eyes, he won’t throw up. Because if the light gets in his eyes, the pain will worsen. And if the pain worsens, he’ll throw up. But he won’t. Because he doesn’t do that.

It’s 9am on a Monday. He woke up nearly four hours ago, head throbbing, lights infuriating, and body aching. His sheets have been pulled away. And his blanket is tossed somewhere on the floor. Down to his underwear and nothing else. Very briefly, he considers stripping those off, too. He’s sweating, even though the A/C is on, even though his window is open, even though it’s something like forty-three degrees out.

He can’t take the smell of himself. Or the pillow under his head. Laundry detergent, sweat, and the lingering ghost of cologne. His stomach is churning like crazy. Every little movement makes his insides flare. And he thinks, at any moment, he’ll upchuck onto his mattress. Maybe he should go lay on the cold bathroom tiles, wrap himself around the base of the toilet.

I won’t throw up, he thinks behind the deep furrow of his eyebrows, I can’t throw up. I don’t need to. Don’t throw up, Steve.

He should get up. Get an icepack. Something to snack on. His medicine.

But if he stands up, he’ll be slammed by vertigo. If he’s dizzy, he’ll throw up. And if he throws up, he probably won’t stop. And then his heart will try to burst out of his chest and he’ll still be throwing up and then he’ll have a heart attack all by himself, but he’ll be covered in his own puke. He gently turns his head into his pillow, where the cold is running from him, and groans.

Something clatters to the ground downstairs. Followed by the thud of several footsteps. But he can’t get up. Vertigo means throwing up. I won’t throw up, I won’t throw up, he repeats, a mantra.

Then, all at once, his bedroom door is swung wide open and the bright amber light in the hallway is bleeding into his room. It’s lighting up the hand by his head, the hairs dangling over his eyes. He doesn’t bite back the whine that erupts from him. Somebody’s walking closer, their shadow overbearing and large over him. Their body heat like the lick of a freshly lit campfire. He’s burning in their orbit—crisping, boiling, ready to be eaten alive.

“Christ, Steve,” the person states. The person is Eddie, once he hears the voice back in his head. A familiar rasp in his voice. And that’s when Steve picks up on the scent of a recently lit cigarette. He kind of wants to reach up and strangle Eddie, choke him until he promises to never smoke again. Maybe this is how Robin feels about him, too. “It’s fucking freezing in here. Why is your window open?” He steps away towards the window, the light coming back full force. “You’ve got a shift today, y’know? Robin’s already there. Called me to come get you because you’re late and—“

“Shut up, Eddie,” Steve finally gets himself to grumble. It doesn’t have the bite he wants it to have. Weak and small and breaking. He opens his mouth again to add more, but his mouth begins to salivate. He shuts up, swallows and swallows and…It doesn’t work. His stomach clenches harshly and he whimpers, hand traveling down towards his overheated middle, digging into his soft flesh, nails sharp and biting. I won’t throw up. Don’t throw up.

Eddie heaves a disappointed sigh. “Dude, you have to go to work. I’m sorry if you didn’t get enough sleep, but you have to go.”

Steve’s chest rises and falls a little too quick. He can’t catch his breath. Can sense the tremor in his hand through the back of his neck. Too hot. Sweating. Drooling onto his pillow. Kind of wants to cry, but can’t do that. Can’t do that in front of Eddie—he won’t understand. Won’t be able to calm him down like his mom can or give him words of comfort like his dad sometimes does.

Instead of dignifying Eddie’s conversation with a response, Steve sits up hastily. Legs dangling over the edge of his mattress. Vision swimming. Tears prickle in the corners of his eyes. His stomach swoops deep, then sloshes up towards his lungs as if it’s trying to break free. The throbbing is back full force, pulsating and overwhelming. He can’t see, he can’t breathe, he can’t get himself to wade away the nausea. I won’t. I can’t throw up. I can’t. I can’t.

He groans, reaching up to the sides of his head, gripping himself harshly. Fingers in his hair, pulling and tugging and pulling and tugging. Head tucked towards his knees. Swallowing and swallowing and…He tugs as hard as he can on his hair, eliciting a loud whine from his throat.

The window doesn’t close. The curtains don’t even move. But Eddie does. His body swarming Steve, his heat engulfing him as if he’s a house on fire. Hands flittering out. “Steve? You okay?”

“Mi—Mi—“ Steve stutters before gagging. He cries through a quick exhale from his nose. He can’t make it all stop. His heart’s beating too fast. His chest hurts from how fast his breathing has gone. He can’t. He can’t.

“Sweetheart? Are you gonna be sick? I can get you to the bath—“

“No, no, no,” Steve rushes out. “Not gonna—Won’t throw up. Can’t.” He tries to take a breath through his mouth, but with his lips agape and his tongue working to make words, saliva floods out of him. The heat of his own spit warm on his thigh, it glistens in the little bit of light from the hallway. “Head,” he whimpers, “hurts.”

“Shit,” Eddie softly curses. He crouches down in front of Steve, his hands floating above his trembling knees. “It’s a migraine. Okay,” he whispers, “what can I do, sweetheart?”

Steve sobs. “I dunno,” he wetly murmurs. Another wave of nausea crashes over him and he leans forward with his next gag. He’s not going to throw up, but the more the pain increases and the more his stomach flips and the warmer he gets, he may just do the opposite. That thought alone makes him cry harder. He detangles his fingers from his hair, flaps his hands out in front of him like mimicking a bird, and then thrashes them down onto his thighs. In front of him, Eddie visibly winces. But he does it again, harder.

He can’t see that well, but notices the way Eddie’s hands scramble out to stop him. But he flinches away. Fisting his hands tighter, enough that his nails bite into his palms, and punches down on the surely forming bruises. “Steve, stop it. You’re hurting yourself, stop it,” Eddie scolds firmly. But Steve doesn’t. Eddie visibly is shaken up, rocking forward on his heels, hands stuck between actions, and his voice warbles when he speaks. “I think,” he states slowly, “we should get you to the bathroom. And you should go ahead and try to flush out your system—“

“No!” Steve yelps with a whine. “No, I don’t need’a—“ He takes a quick, shuddering breath. Chest caving in with his panic. His thighs are sore and his hands sting. But he slams down again. “—don’t wanna—“

“Stevie,” Eddie murmurs lowly, placating, “you’ll feel better if you let it out. I promise, sweetheart, you will feel better, okay? I’ll sit with you. Put a cold rag on your neck. I’ll—“

Steve’s saliva dribbles from his mouth again, more this time. His stomach gurgles. And it’s like somebody has an iron grip on his brain, squishing the organ between their fingers, toying with it like Play-Doh. I’m going to throw up, he realizes in panic. “Eds—Ed, ‘m gonna—Gonna—“

Gently, though purposefully, Eddie grabs Steve by the elbows. Half-walking, half-dragging them to Steve’s ensuite. He shoves them down in front of the open toilet bowl. And lays his left palm flat on the center of Steve’s back, wincing at the first jarring wet-heave that comes from the back of Steve’s throat.

He pets his palm up and down Steve’s spine. “Get it out, Stevie. I’m right here. You’ll be okay.”

With Eddie’s words and the soothing touch, Steve finally allows himself to expel. Bile burns through him. And he shakes through the first splatter into the toilet bowl’s water. He could never stand the smell, the sound, or the look of vomit. Yet here it is, sour and salty and yellow. Chunky and swirling and fresh. The next heave makes him start crying again, but he doesn’t care anymore. Doesn’t care about breaking down in front of Eddie because he now has to deal with this—the overwhelming anxiety that floods through him, out of him with each hurl. The rabid beating against his ribs and the gasps through sobs.

There’s so much coming out of him. Too much.

“Jesus,” Eddie mutters, “holy…You’re okay, Steve.” He leans across to the toilet paper dispenser for a few sheets. Folds it with one hand and wipes away at Steve’s face between short bursts of vomit. Barely draws his hand away before it starts up again.

Steve spits big globs of saliva-puke. Angles his head so Eddie can catch his eyes. Meekly says, “‘M sorry, Ed. ‘M sorry.”

“Shhh,” Eddie soothes. “Don’t apologize, sweetheart. You gotta do this, it’s alright.”

“Yucky,” Steve sighs. “’T’s…I hate this.” He closes his eyes as vertigo slams sideways at him, T-boned by the dizziness. Takes a burbling breath through his mouth.

“If you have more, let it out, Steve. It won’t do you any good to keep it in.”

He cries softly with his next exhale. “‘M sorry,” he keens. And then he’s convulsing forward with his next gag.

Time stretches, it feels like, for hours. His knees ache and his skin is cold and his hands are slipping with how wet the toilet bowl is from his sweat. Throat sore and stomach empty. But the malaise from gagging for so long lingers, making him dry-heave when there’s nothing left to give. He rests his forehead over his left forearm over the back of the toilet seat. Sniffs and keeps his eyes closed. Shaking through the last bit of it.

Distantly, the sound of the sink goes off next to him. He’s so out of it, he didn’t even realize that Eddie stood up and left him momentarily. Wishes he could leave this, too. Wishes he could step outside of his body and not experience this anymore, for the rest of his life, for the rest of time itself.

Eddie crouches down beside him again. Gently grasps him by the chin and pulls him up to be face to face. He runs the lukewarm rag over his chin, his lips, and under his nose. “Good job getting it out, Stevie,” he whispers, “how are you feeling now?”

“Tired,” Steve mumbles, “and gross and in pain.”

He gets a nod in return. “Okay,” Eddie mutters, “let me get your migraine things, alright? I’ll take you back to bed.”

Steve sighs. Closes his eyes in exhaustion. “‘M embarrassed, too.”

The rag and Eddie’s hand slowly comes off his face. The cloth is crumpled in Eddie’s palm when Steve glances. “Why’re you embarrassed, Stevie? It’s okay to throw up. It’s fine.”

He shrugs. “Just—“ And Steve looks down towards his lap. At the mottled bruises on his thighs, peeking out from his two day old underwear. The light scratch lines on the soft give of his belly. “—It’s stupid, isn’t it? I’m afraid of vomiting. Of vomit. I—I have a meltdown like a toddler when I feel like ‘m gonna puke and…and I get all hysterical and whiny and I sob like crazy. And I—I dunno. I was overreacting and I made you have to take care of me and it’s just…I’m just being dumb.”

“Hey,” Eddie says softly, that scolding edge back. “It’s not dumb, Steve. Vomiting is traumatic, I get it. And—Before you try and interrupt me—you didn’t make me help you. I helped you because I noticed that you were struggling. And had I not, you probably would’ve made a big mess in your room. I wasn’t going to just leave you in a state like that.”

“But it is stupid, Eds,” Steve urges, voice wavering. “It’s stupid because I’m a grown fucking adult. And I should be able to handle this. I should—“ The tears come back. “—Just fucking look at me. Crying, again. I’m so—“ He groans in frustration, fingers clenching into his palms, cutting them up again.

Gently, Eddie unfurls Steve’s hands. “Look at me, Steve.” He does. Fiercely, softly, Eddie continues, “You are sick right now. You didn’t feel good. You were scared. You were anxious. In no way, shape, or form were you stupid for reacting like this. Alright? Steve, you were overwhelmed with it all. I’m not going to judge you because you’re afraid of vomit. The only thing I’m concerned about is the hitting, but we can talk about that a different time, okay?”Eddie’s thumbs work tenderly into the backs of Steve’s hands. There’s a glimmer of protectiveness in his eyes and Steve latches onto it. Lets himself begin to believe that it’s actually okay. Even if his circumstances are concerning. “You wanna know a truly dumb fear?” Eddie murmurs lightly.

Steve almost wants to cry more with how caring Eddie is, but he pushes it to the side. Favors the distraction. “What?” He mumbles.

“I’m afraid of birds. And not them existing or being in my space or landing on my shoulders. I’m afraid of birds flying above me and pooping on my hair,” he states genuinely. Steve can’t help but snort, albeit weakly. “See? It’s kind of dumb, y’know? When have I ever cared about my fucking hair, Steve? Never, that’s when. Well, unless there are birds nearby.”

“I guess it is a little dumb,” Steve whispers.

“I know,” Eddie murmurs, grinning. “Vomit isn’t dumb, though. I promise, Stevie. We can talk about it later, if you want. Or never, if you prefer. Let me get you settled in bed and I’ll grab your stuff.”

He lets Eddie guide him back to bed. Fluff his pillow. Lay him supine. When he returns, he’s holding three ice packs, a bottle of prescription migraine medication, a plate of toast, and some water.

Steve watches in silent infatuation as Eddie lays it out all careful on his bedside table. As he tucks the icepacks where they need to go. Helps Steve take his medicine, eat, and drink. And almost begins crying again when Eddie rubs gentle circles on his chest.

“Lay with me?” He quietly asks.

Instead of making up some long winded excuse, Eddie immediately strips down to his t-shirt and boxers. He slides right next to Steve, not touching, but not too far away, either. Rolls over onto his side to face Steve and gently places his hand over the cold compress on his forehead. “This okay, baby?”

He takes a deep breath, lets it out slowly as he tries to relax back into his pillows. “Yeah,” Steve whispers, “‘m just nauseous still.”

“Okay,” Eddie mutters, “I’ve got some Altoids in my jacket if you want them. Your chewing gum might agitate the migraine more.” He reaches over the side of the bed and fishes out the tin can of mints. Pinches three with his index finger and thumb. And requests, “Open your mouth, Stevie.”

Steve lets him place the mints on his tongue. He spreads them out so that one is in the center and the other two are on either side. “Will this help?” He asks around the Altoids. As if to mock him, a feeling of malaise washes over him. Immediately, he lays his hands over his stomach and digs his fingernails in.

“Hey, hey,” Eddie whispers urgently, abandoning the ice pack and grabbing Steve’s hands instead. Soothingly rubs his thumb up the back of his hands and down to the underside of his wrists, where his pulse is hot, fast, and concerning. “No more of that. No more making yourself hurt.”

“Don’t wanna be sick,” Steve pants, breathing heavy through his nose.

“You won’t be sick,” Eddie says like a promise. Somewhere deep within Steve he knows Eddie’s saving face, saying something false. But he can’t bring himself to come to that realization. It sounds like the voice in his head. I won’t throw up, he thinks in tandem. “Just keep your eyes closed, alright? I’ll keep the door closed. I didn’t shut the window. Focus on the icepacks for me, sweetheart.” Steve squeezes his eyes shut as tight as they’ll go, relenting when it only makes the migraine pulse alive. He tries to center the cold spots. “Where are they, Stevie?”

“My…My forehead.”

“That’s one,” Eddie whispers, “two more.”

“And my neck. And—“ He takes another deep breath. “And under my head,” he breathes out.

“Good,” Eddie praises softly. “That was good, baby.” He gently squeezes Steve’s palms. “Tell me what usually helps. Let me help you through this so that you don’t…I don’t like seeing you hurt yourself.”

Steve quietly whines. Digging back into the icepack underneath him. Breathing out the last little bits of nausea from that particular wave. But he knows it’ll be back. It’s how his migraines always are. “I like the cold air on me,” he confesses near silently. “And I need to make sure I have mints or gum in my mouth. And I—It’s stupid.”

“Nothing’s stupid, just tell me.”

He huffs. “I have to tell myself I won’t throw up. Like I need to hear that I won’t, I guess.”

Gentle and nimble fingers massage his hands and wrists. Small circles, little vertical stripes, horizontal strokes. “I’m getting the box fan from your parents’ room. And then we’ll just lay here. You won’t throw up, Stevie.” As Eddie gets up, he leans down and presses a chaste kiss to his cheek—even where it’s sallow and tacky.

There’s something in the way Eddie says it, nonchalant but not dismissive, that makes Steve believe he’s right. Something in the way he’s not disgusted or afraid of Steve’s everything after, something in that kiss like a vow. So he indulges. Lays with his eyes shut, the box fan eventually blowing the cold air from his window onto his too warm skin, and Eddie’s fingers massaging his hands. Every single time he tenses, Eddie soothes him with that same promise.

He keeps Steve away from harm. Squeezing his hands firmly when he tries to hit or scratch at himself. Pets his hair and coos softly in his ear. And holds the icepacks when Steve goes boneless with sleep, mouth agape and drooling, snuffling softly into the calm silence stretching between them.

At the end of the day, he’s still afraid of vomiting. It’s probably something he’ll never get over, something he’ll be challenged with for the rest of his life (or however long these migraines last). Though, Eddie doesn’t judge him. Doesn’t let the negative in. He’s braver with Eddie. Safer. Afraid, but comforted.

That’s all he could ask for while going through this.

🤢—————🤢

[cresneta]

It's entirely possible that the current arc of the manga is finally going to put a nasty suspicion that I have about Nightfall to rest.

Hard-core Nightfall fans may still want to skip this post if you don't like seeing anything negative said about her. You have been warned!

Also, manga spoilers ahoy!

I've always found it a bit suspicious that there were no female spies left in WISE that could take on the mother role. It always felt like they were targeted deliberately to me.

Now here's the scene that really made me suspicious of Nightfall

Here we see Nightfall considering destroying the lives of the women fawning over Twilight only to restrain herself because it would interfere with Twilight's current mission. If we assume that the lady spies adored Twilight as much as the gentleman spies in the castle episode in the anime it's easy to see Nightfall wanting to get them out of the way. Once the spy sweeps started, it would be pretty easy for her to anonymously tip the SSS about them and let them take out her romantic rivals.

Then there's this exchange between Franky and Fiona

This one is a bit more of a stretch, but Nightfall also briefly considered directly eliminating Yor before deciding to try and make her leave on her own

If we assume that Franky is right and Fiona DID call the SSS on them in order to get their way, then that means that Fiona is no stranger to using the SSS as a means to an end. I've seen it posited that the people that she called on them were fake SSS agents, or possibly just the regular police, but whenever Twilight has done that we've been shown that the SSS agents were fake.

As an aside, I doubt Nightfall will try and call the SSS on Yor as that could potentially put Twilight in danger as well and would likely jeopardize Strix by destroying the Forgers' reputation.

All that being said, it's entirely possible that Wheeler is the reason why the SSS was able to catch so many spies. Perhaps we'll get an exchange between Nightfall and Wheeler in chapter 84 where it's revealed that he has a personal vendetta against young female spies and that he's surprised that he missed Nightfall during the spy sweeps - this would explain why there were no lady spies who could take on the role of mother in the beginning of the series. We could also get nothing about the spy sweeps and thus I'll be left to continue wondering if Nightfall crossed that particular line or not. Just how far is Nightfall willing to go for her mission to be Twilight's wife?!

I just wanted to throw this out there in case it gets debunked soon, haha

[creepypasta-fan-page]

“Creepypasta Headcanons, Favorite drink edition„

 -~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~- -~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-

-: Jeff The Killer: Mango flavored Arizona. Just can’t stop loving the mango flavor.

-: Eyeless Jack: O negative blood. Thinks it’s sweeter then the rest. Gets called a mosquito by Jeff The Killer for this.

-: Laughing Jack: Warm Milk. With Chips Ahoy Cookies. And no he doesn’t put his milk in the microwave to heat it up. He puts it in a pot over the stovetop. He’s not a monster.

-: Jane The Killer: Sweet Tea Arizona. With vodka. And lime juice.

-: Sally Williams: Pepsi, she will not drink it room temp or slightly cold. Has to have ice. Definitely has emptied BENS dr. Pepper and replaced it with Pepsi. Did gaslight him into thinking it was Dr. Pepper.

-: BEN Drowned: Dr. Pepper. Has gotten into fights over this with Clockwork and Sally. Has not won. Has been tied down and forced to drink Coca-Cola.

-: Slenderman: Water… Need I say more?

-: Masky (MH): Crown Royal whiskey. He especially likes the peach and apple flavor. Bonus points if it’s mixed with actual peach or apple juice.

-: Hoodie (MH): Mountain Dew Lemon and Lime. Likes the staticky taste when you drink it too fast. Really likes it with tequila.

-: “Ticci” Toby: A&W cream soda. Likes the vanilla taste. Clockwork put him on it after getting grossed out from him drinking straight Vanilla Flavoring.

-: Clockwork: She’s a Coca-Cola girl. Will fight you if you say Pepsi or Dr. Pepper is better. And will win.

-: Nina The Killer: Monster Energy Ultra violet. She really likes it when you make it into a slushee. Like grab a bag of ice and pour the Monster into a separate bag and put them together.

-: KageKao: Strawberry Ramune. Gets irrationally angry if someone pushes the metal ball instead of him.

-: Bloody Painter: straight tequila. Likes the sharpie taste.

-: X- Virus: Likes Naked Juice Berry Blast. Thinks it makes him healthy. Has experimented with it. Does know how to make it from home.

-: Homicidal Liu: Liquid Death. Thinks it makes him edgy. Sully likes Dr. Pepper slushees though.

-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-

[katieskarlette]

I watched the trailers and read the Blizzcon '23 stuff on WoWhead.

Meh. Not the spark I was looking for to rekindle my passion for the game.

(Morose lack of enthusiasm for 11.0, and Shadowlands postmortem below.)

Instead of getting hyped for upcoming content, it just makes me feel bad about how little I care anymore.

I used to be on the edge of my seat, palms sweating, happily freaking out about new cinematics and new expansion releases. I would plan ahead and take time off to watch the Blizzcon livestream, and stock up on food I could eat while glued to the screen. Today I got home from work and turned on my computer...and only then remembered that Blizzcon was today. After seeing the trailers and stuff I'm like, "Okay. I guess that's fine. Whatever." [Garrosh voice] Times change. [/Garrosh voice]

I didn't expect the news about upcoming expansions to knock my socks off, though. If Dragonflight, an expansion that was practically custom-made to focus on my favorite lore, didn't rekindle my love for WoW, nothing was going to.

That said, I'm still underwhelmed. I can't say that Alleria, Thrall, and Magni are characters I'd be super excited to hang out with. (It was a nice touch to have Thrall going gray, though.)

Xal'atath (sp?) is pretty cool but forgive me for being wary considering the track record for female villains in this franchise.

Anduin...very mixed feelings there. I'm glad he's back, and it was nice to hear Josh Keaton's voice again. I don't recognize him physically anymore, except those baby blue eyes, which is probably why the cinematic spent so much time zoomed in uncomfortably close on his face. I get that that's the point, that he's grown up and gotten grizzled, but he looks and feels like a completely different person.

I think part of the problem is that we didn't get to see him changing. He went from dropping his sword to resurrect an army and being stubbornly optimistic in BFA, to weary but still full of the Light in the cutscenes with Sylvanas in Torghast, to completely blank (save one glimmer) while under Zovaal's domination, to this broken, unstable, self-loathing shell of a man in the 11.0 cinematic. Even if we're generous and count the tiny conversation with Sylvanas at the end of her novel, we have to just imagine what happened to him in between then and now. It's okay to ask the audience to fill in some implied developments, but this is jarring. (I suppose it's possible we'll see more characterization in-game between now and then. I'm not optimistic, though.)

I imagine Anduin will go through an arc where the Light comes back to him, or he finds some kind of peace again and reclaims his throne, but I don't have the patience to wait around for it to happen, or the confidence that it would be done well.

I also can't separate the character's angst with the real-world consequences of Shadowlands sucking as hard as it did. Yeah, Anduin, you've been through absolute hell--so have we. You haven't recovered--and neither have I.

When they had him do the "Arthas pointing Frostmourne just left of the camera lens" pose, instead of going "Ooh, I recognize that! That was cool!" it just reminded me of all the times they did fanservice callbacks to the Lich King in Shadowlands, only to shit all over that part of lore. That's the last thing I want to be reminded of.

It was a bold move to reveal the names and story hooks of the next two expansions, but rather than whet my appetite it just removed the hope that "maybe the next expansion will be better." Nope, it'll be more of the cosmic bullshit that I don't care about: Light, Void, Titans, etc. It's okay in small doses, but it's not the kind of story that pulled me in and made me fall in love with the world.

I hate to say it, but this might be the nail in the coffin for me. I definitely miss the glory days of WoW when it was a huge part of my life and I got so much enjoyment out of it, but I'm beginning to realize that those days aren't coming back. When I think of all the hours and dollars I invested in the franchise it makes me want to cry--not that I regret any of it. I just wish the spark hadn't gone out for me.

I had been so immersed for so many years that maybe it was just time for it to run its course. The social climate has also changed a lot for me, from a thriving guild during MoP, to sporadic bursts of people logging on in Legion and early BFA, to a ghost town in mid-to-late BFA and SL. Strangers can be rude and elitist, making pugging more stressful than fun. I've also been concentrating a lot on my own original writing in the last year.

Those are factors, to be sure, but I do have to lay a lot of the blame on Shadowlands. I had gotten past so-so expansions before. Cataclysm wasn't the best, but all the Firelands stuff was fun, and some of my favorite dragons got screen time. MOP was freaking fantastic. WoD was a dud expansion for me, but there was enough to keep me busy and playing right up to the end. Legion was awesome. BFA wasn't great, and the loss of Teldrassil left a very sour taste, but it had good leveling content, some fun characters, and generally enough stuff going on to tide me over. It was going in a pattern of great expansion, not-so-good expansion, great expansion, not-so-good expansion, and that was okay.

Then Shadowlands came, and it was grimdark, overly serious, cosmic-scale stuff, headed by the most aggressively boring villain the series had ever had. There were a ton of new characters, and, except for Denathrius, Renathal, and Theotar (and Merileth and his slimes, in small doses), none of them interested me. The game systems somehow became even more fiddly, complicated and confusing time sinks than they were in BFA. The afterlife setup barely made sense, conflicted with past lore, complicated future lore, and was ultimately depressing as hell--you probably won't spend eternity with your loved ones, and even if you do, you'll probably end up as a blip of red energy that gets consumed and then cease to exist at all. That's just how I want to imagine all my favorite Warcraft characters ending up! (We probably didn't see Tirion Fordring because some blue guy in a toga needed his anima to grow better grapes. FFS.)

But the worst aspect of Shadowlands, IMO, was the way the pre-existing characters were done dirty--every single one of them.

I don't know you manage to take one of the greatest paladins of all time, then turn him into fiery overlord of the undead, and have him be boring, but there's Bolvar. Get that man a throat lozenge and some personality. Taelia got cameos in which they mentioned their relationship, but nothing ever came of it. He was a father figure to Anduin in the king's youth, but you wouldn't know it by what they did/said in SL. Going by BFA and SL, freaking Saurfang was more of a father figure to Anduin than Bolvar, who literally raised him for several years of his childhood.

Nathanos got an epic sendoff courtesy of Tyrande in the prepatch, then got teased a few times without ever appearing or mattering again.

Sylvanas was a mess. I don't need to get into details; we all know the trainwreck of a story. The concept of making her soul complete again so she had to come to terms with what she had done was a promising one, but it was handled so clumsily and briefly that it was ultimately frustrating.

The less said about the Jailer, the better. I wanted so badly to like Zovaal, but he was the most flat, boring, paint-by-numbers Saturday morning cartoon villain in the franchise's history. Not interesting, not sympathetic, not fleshed out, not funny, not charismatic, not sexy, not scary--none of the things past Blizzard villains had going for them.

Uther's story was one of the better ones, but because of how closely tied it was to Arthas' story, and the unforgivably bad way that was handled, it ultimately fizzled.

Thrall was...fine? The bits with his mom were neat, but I couldn't stop thinking about what a crappy afterlife it would be to constantly fight, spy, scheme, and play politics, all while the supposed love of her life is nowhere to be seen. Poor Durotan.

Baine famously, frustratingly, amusingly in an if-you-don't-laugh-you'll-cry kind of way, did jack squat in the entire expansion. I know his arc got cut for time, but regardless of the reason he was yet another character whose involvement in SL was disappointing.

Jaina was wasted. Her history with Arthas (and, to a lesser extent, Anduin) could have made for some memorable, heart-wrenching story, but instead she was just a generic sorceress. That was especially disappointing given the respectful, deep treatment her character got in BFA. I know not every character can have the spotlight in every story arc, but the complete lack of personality she had in SL was especially jarring in contrast.

Anduin's arc should have been interesting, but we never got into his head enough to really feel what he was feeling. We had that glimpse of his horror after stabbing the Archon, and he left his father's compass as a clue, but those were fleeting moments open to interpretation and not enough to offset the blank slate we got the rest of the time. Even that would have been forgivable, given the limits of storytelling in a game, but the thing that sticks in my craw the most is that constant, blatant Arthas parallels led to...nothing. Anduin would have been just as devastated to be mind-controlled into doing evil stuff even if Arthas had never existed. Arthas meant nothing to Anduin. The only time he met the man was as an infant. They weren't related. Nobody in-universe was comparing them. Garrosh compared himself to Arthas in the War Crimes novel, and Anduin fleetingly thought about Arthas when he befriended Calia in Before the Storm, but that's it. Even as hokey as it would have been to make Anduin secretly Jaina and Arthas' son, at least that would have explained two expansions' worth of in-your-face parallels between the two characters. But no. It all came across as fanservice--or fan teasing--and had no payoff.

Speaking of Arthas, arguably the most famous and recognizable character in the franchise (competing with Illidan and Scantily-Clad Female Night Elf #17 for the top spot)...

After being teased about his possible involvement or whereabouts all expansion long, after they milked every possible drop of nostalgia out of his story in an attempt to make SL palatable, after all the flashing red arrows calling our attention to parallels between him and Anduin, despite his importance to three prominent characters (Uther, Sylvanas, and Jaina), Arthas never did anything (boss mechanics don't count), never had a line of dialogue, never appeared in a form we recognized, got insulted and belittled by Sylvanas one last time, and disappeared in a flicker of blue plasma that was less impressive than a drunk frat boy lighting his farts with a match.

So yeah. Toss Shadowlands in the trash heap (except Sire Denathrius). It was so bad it tainted the entire franchise for me, so that I couldn't even enjoy the long-awaited dragonpalooza that followed.

Phew, that was a long rant, and the first time I've written about WoW in ages. I guess it just goes to show that I have deep roots in the franchise that come along with strong feelings--which makes it all the harder to accept that I may not even buy the next expansion. I suppose I'll weaken when the time comes, but I'm certainly not shelling out for the collector's edition or other bells and whistles.

But then the Li'l Wrathion in-game pet stares at me from another browser tab, and I think about the new Wrathion plushie, and I'm like...DAMN IT, why couldn't you have done this years ago? :(

Anyway, sorry to be a downer, but I'm kind of in mourning, in a weird way, as I come to terms with the way I feel--or more importantly, don't feel--about Warcraft now.

[aro-culture-is]

Aroallo culture is constantly feeling like a degenerate

I have... more than a few things to say on this topic, but I will restrain myself to the two major points that have caused me to delay posting this.

For one: Internalized sex negativity ahoy!

In all honesty? I genuinely do not understand how sexual attraction without romantic attraction (or any other form of attraction, really) is supposed to be bad. I genuinely cannot tell you how wild it is to think that sexual attraction, one of the instincts that has generally been selected for among all sexual species similar to us, is somehow... morally incorrect? How much must we hate ourselves, see ourselves as the monster in a bedtime story, for the invisible Thought Crime of feeling like another person is attractive? It's okay. Literally the only "bad" is if your actions in response to a feeling are performed in malice or cause harm, and even then there's nuance that requires thought and communication, not mind-reading and assuming others will be disgusted.

Sincerely, please please please look into sex positivity. Read about it. Follow sex positive accounts, movements, and people. Let yourself feel in response, and ask yourself what does and does not speak with you. Engage in the topic. You don't have to believe it right away, but I promise you, it is well worth your time to expose yourself to resources that teach you another perspective that does not demonize the vast majority of the world in some strange and non-productive way, producing shame and little to show for it.

Secondly... degeneracy.

What a very, very loaded word. To summarize some points from Wikipedia, in terms of fact: the concept of degeneracy in this usage originates from the 19th century theory of social degeneration. The concept of heredity had yet to be fully understood in social degeneration's 18th century development, and this movement largely believed that habits of parents changed their child's biology. This, in turn, was used to explain a perceived decline in civilization. It took little time for the theory to appear in medical and zoological works, with the intent to explain why different ethnic groups exist. You may recognize this concept by a directly related one: eugenics.

The theory of degeneracy first grew fame when used to explain racial differences, and quickly spread from the medical field to psychiatry (ie, mentally ill individuals will produce more severely mentally ill children, and therefore should not continue their lineage) and criminology (particularly when combined with phrenology). It was associated with authoritarian political attitudes such as militarism, scientific racism, and support for eugenics. The development of degenerate theory both partially predates and partially follows the works of Gregor Mendel in describing the theory of evolution, and frankly, largely based its so-called scientific backing on incorrect understandings of evolution and poor science, using such understandings to prop up eugenicist beliefs.

Why do I say all this? I think it is very, very important to recognize the sociopolitical bullshit that props up the absolute pseudoscience that social degeneracy revolves around, and to state that anyone who truly believes in degeneracy does not actually have the best interest of other's in mind or heart except that of the current in-groups. if people in your life are using these theories and words, I want to empower you with knowledge that they are, scientifically and historically, very much in the wrong. I want you to be able to look at their words, and understand the context behind their beliefs, even if they themselves do not.

also, real talk: if you can, form other social networks. join a club, play social games, go to community events, anything it takes to experience people outside of those who give you this message. it'll do wonders for you to build social circles outside of that stuff.

tl;dr:

the origins of the theory behind the word "degenerate", as used today, are scientifically bullshit, politically and socially motivated, and largely were used to justify eugenics. i would recommend not trusting people who genuinely believe in degeneracy to have anyone's best interest at heart but their own, and that you are perfectly normal and fine as you are.

[scoops-aboy86]

Obsessed with the idea of working at scoops ahoy causing Steve’s weight gain. Maybe Eddie comes into the store at some point

Oh hell yeah, it’s such a goldmine of opportunities. 

Does Steve start snacking on purpose or does it creep up on him over time, during the slow hours when the only so-called customers are Erica Sinclair and her sampling horde? Is it the cold, thick ice cream that calls to him? Nibbles of toppings? The crunch of an empty cone that broke in the bag and it’s just going to go to waste otherwise? I think we all know he’d eat the bananas, they’re fruit and therefore healthy and therefore he can have as many as he wants. 

Or… (Brace yourself for 4067 words, 1k for every day this sat in my inbox. 😅)

Eddie has resorted to entering the mall for its air conditioning, and stays for the music selection in the Sam Goody. He’s about to leave when he passes Scoops Ahoy, and—is that King Steve? Oh, he has to go in. 

The store is otherwise quiet, and Steve’s coworker that Eddie vaguely recognizes from school is hanging out the window behind the counter, accepting a free employee’s cone that Steve has just scooped for her. “I can’t believe you eat so much of this stuff,” Steve is saying, and Eddie is surprised to hear a lot more genuine confusion than derision in his tone. 

“It’s ice cream, Steven,” the girl retorts, rolling her eyes. “Pretty sure it’s universally beloved by anyone who can stomach dairy or has ever experienced a heat wave.”

“It’s pure sugar,” Steve protests. “You’re going to get hyper and crash in an hour or two, and then you’ll be cranky while we’re closing up again.”

“That’s the plan, dingus,” she says with bright sarcasm, and takes an exaggerated lick of her cone before rocking backwards and snapping the window shut. 

And well. What is Eddie to do with King Steve’s apparent disdain for ice cream but dare him to eat some? He’ll let Steve pick his own favorite flavor, he’s not an animal, but— “Well well, I see how it is, Harrington. You’ll sell it but you won’t eat it? I’m pretty sure that’s negative advertising. Should I maybe… tell the manager?”

Steve whips around, and puts his hands on his hips that reminds Eddie terrifyingly of his gym teacher… who, now that he thinks about it, also coaches the basketball team, he’s pretty sure. Hilarious. 

“The manager isn’t even here today,” Steve snaps. 

“Oh, I could come back,” Eddie says with a smirk, and leans against the glass case to look him dead in the eye. “Whatcha got against the ice cream here, huh? Is it not very good?”

The jock pinches the bridge of his nose, another look he swears he’s seen in response to his forced attempts at sportsball over the past five years. “Jesus Christ,” Steve mutters, and pulls his ice cream scoop from his side holster with a little spin to get it in the ready position—what the hell, people can actually do shit like that in real life? “Please tell me you’ll go away if I give you a free cone.”

“I’ll go away if you eat a free cone,” Eddie shoots back. 

“Fine. Whatever.” Steve slides one of the back panels on the display case open and digs a scoop out of the tub of chocolate ice cream, grabbing a cone to plop it into. 

“Two scoops,” Eddie prods, amazed that it’s turning out this easy and amazed again when Steve just rolls his eyes and does it. “And I’ll hang around for a bit to make sure you don’t cheat.”

“Munson, I swear to god—”

Eddie flutters his eyelashes and slaps a hand to his own cheek. “Oh heavens,” he exclaims in a bad falsetto, “King Steve remembers my name, I might faint!”

Watching Steve bite and try to swallow as much of his reluctant treat as possible to get it done and Eddie gone faster is a spectacle only made better by the brain freeze visibly hitting Steve a second later. 

The next day Eddie goes back and half annoys, half challenges Steve into eating another ice cream treat. Robin, the coworker, thinks it’s hysterical and even helps him badger Steve into doing it. She gives Eddie a high five and, the following day when he comes back and does it again, introduces him to the You Rule You Suck board. She marks another two ticks in the latter column, one for each scoop. 

It’s six days of this in a row before Steve seems to realize how committed Eddie is to the bit. As soon as Eddie comes into the ice cream parlor on the seventh day, Steve just starts automatically preparing himself a two scoop cone of chocolate ice cream while scowling at him. 

So, on that seventh day, Eddie gives it a rest and actually orders something for once: a scoop of orange berry sherbet in a cup. Robin gets it for him and he accepts it with a bow, letting his change slide into the tip jar for the entertainment. “Thanks,” he says with a grin. “Don’t like ice cream much myself, but sherbet always hits the spot.”

Steve crunches loudly on the last of his cone and pushes his way into the back room to sulk his way through his fifteen minute break. 

And Eddie keeps coming back, because he’s grown to appreciate Steve and Robin’s idle banter in between customers—though his official reason is to mooch off the mall’s AC. Steve treats him more like a pest than a freak, which is. Refreshing? It’s something, anyway, Eddie thinks. Can’t quite decide if it’s amusing or annoying, so he sticks around to find out. And to check out the royal ass in those little shorts, thank you corporate America. 

Within a few weeks, Eddie has gotten used to planning his campaigns in a cool and only slightly sticky environment on a daily basis and also witnessed Steve interacting with his brood of young teens. (The hands on hips comes out again. Pinching the bridge of his nose with a heavy sigh keeps making repeat appearances. Threats with no actual weight behind them are made. Eddie isn’t quite sure how he feels about Steve reacting to him the same way he does a bratty gaggle of incoming freshmen, but it is also so funny to watch and then needle him about with Robin.) And Steve has started eating ice cream of his own accord. 

“Whatever,” Steve grumbles when rudely confronted by this fact, which happens every other day or so; Eddie and Robin take turns. He adds a third scoop to his cone without even seeming to think about it. “Everybody loves ice cream.”

Gradually, Eddie’s interest in Steve has shifted. He still gives the guy a hard time, all grins and theatrics and toeing the line, but the King—former King, really, since high school, for Steve, is over and Eddie and Robin have both personally witnessed some of his spectacular flops in the flirting department that really drive that fact home—is actually not that bad. A lot of the popular jock swagger is gone, replaced by tolerant exasperation and a sarcastic, delightfully bitchy streak that Eddie just loves to poke at. 

But more than just that, there’s… more of Steve. The ice cream floodgates have opened, and Eddie has definitely noticed the way Steve’s little sailor shorts showcase his imminently grabbable ass better by the day. Every part of Steve is looking a little softer, Eddie can tell through his shirt that he’s getting a little belly, and there is nothing the metalhead wants more than to touch. 

It’s becoming a problem, actually. He watches Steve lick at an ice cream cone every day and, increasingly, the image is burning itself into his brain. Eddie didn’t ask for this, doesn’t necessarily think getting so attached is a good development, for his reputation or his sanity, but that doesn’t stop him from picturing it at night. 

So sue him, Steve is pretty and Eddie is a young gay man with a healthy sex drive and a strong right hand. And it gets a workout aaaaaall summer.

By the end of August, they’re actually kind of friends. Steve is locking up Scoops after a long, grueling solo shift because Robin had called out with a summer cold. Eddie helps, because yeah he’s not an employee but he’s been hanging around long enough to know how to do it all, and Steve… Steve gets a bit winded these days, if he has to do it all by himself. 

It had taken him a while to size up from his first uniform, belly and more than a few stretch marks peeking a little out the bottom before finally giving in and putting in the request. By the time the replacement finally arrived the blue sailor shirt kept riding up by a good fraction of an inch, and Eddie’s cue to realize he was staring again had come every time Steve tried to pull it back down, or hike up his straining shorts in an unsuccessful attempt to split the difference… So, basically, any time Steve wasn’t behind the counter, because it happened constantly. And then he’d be staring again by the time it happened again a few minutes later. Probably would have been less stressful to just keep looking. 

Even with the resized uniform, and the next, Steve kept eating ice cream without any sign of regrets or second thoughts. He was up to three or four cones a shift now, one right after clocking in and the rest timed to just before predictable busy hours so he could ride the sugar high through the turbulent waters of food court customer service. Three scoop minimum, with a constantly revolving selection of toppings and more often than not in one of the big cones that came pre-dipped in chocolate and rainbow sprinkles. 

But always chocolate ice cream, though, same as Eddie always getting his scoop of sherbet in a cup. 

“No accounting for taste,” Eddie sighs as Steve hands him his usual as a thank you for helping and starts scooping himself an all chocolate ice cream banana split. 

“Excuse you, Munson, chocolate is a classic,” Steve retorts, barely glancing up. “It’s chocolate. Everybody’s heard of it. Who’s heard of orange berry sherbet?”

“You literally sell it for a living.”

“Mostly only to you.” Ice cream acquired, Steve turns to the side counter and starts adding whipped cream and various toppings. “I mean, regular orange sherbet was my grandad’s favorite. You, Eddie Munson, have grandpa taste.”

Eddie slaps one hand over his heart, while the other (the one with more rings) clacks dramatically against the display glass. “Excuse you, what about me says grandpa to you? Is it the long, dark hair? My dexterous and nimble musician’s fingers? The very youthful twinkle in my eye?!”

“I literally just told you it’s your taste in ice cream,” Steve replies, with maraschino cherries rounding out his already round cheek and a bitchy roll of his eyes. 

Despite being annoyed, the sight swamps Eddie with a now familiar feeling of wanting to grab Steve by the face and, just. Aggressively make out with him. Taste that sticky red fruit on his tongue. Feel how soft he is, all that extra padding around his middle, how increasingly heavy that belly rests on his thighs throughout the journey from empty to full. 

All of which is crazy, because it’s Steve Harrington, Hawkin High’s golden boy athlete. And yet. 

Since the tables have all been wiped down already, Steve waves for Eddie to follow him into the employees only area. He’s been back there before but tonight he’s surprised to see several tubs of ice cream crowding the break table. “Oh. I thought you tossed the empty tubs out earlier…”

“They’re not empty,” Steve says simply, settling into the nearest chair with a huff like it’s a relief to sit down. Which Eddie can believe, from the way he’s a little bit flushed. And then, then, Steve hooks his thumbs into the waistband of his shorts and tugs them down to let his belly out over the top of them, digs a hand in to dig the bottom of it out. Breathing room. And it’s necessary, is the thing, because there are indented red lines on his skin from where the seams have been pressing. Eddie is staring, and he knows that Steve knows—is pretty sure, suddenly, that Steve wants him to. When his eyes flick up to the other boy’s soft face and the smug little smile there, Steve winks and gives his belly a pat. “I'm empty, though. These should be melted enough for you to pour for me by now. You want to, don’t you?”

“Uh,” Eddie says. Simultaneously, his throat has gone desert-dry and his mouth fills with spit. He has never wanted to bite someone more than he does right now. “Yeah?”

The grin widens cockily, and Steve slouches in his chair a bit, spreading his legs and letting his belly drop between them to put himself even more on display. “I knew it,” he crows, digging a spoon into his banana split to load up the opening salvo. “I knew you were watching me. It’s the shorts, right? They make my ass look great.”

And wow, the sheer amount of ice cream and banana he crams in his mouth belies his own words, hazel eyes flashing as if challenging Eddie not to look at his lips with their sheen of lip gloss and melted ice cream, the way he licks the spoon to make sure he’s gotten every last trace of chocolate and whipped cream. Telegraphing, I know it’s not just the shorts.

Eddie swallows hard and tries not to grind his teeth because, yeah. Urge to bite. “I’m, uh, not going to tell you. Wouldn’t want to inflate your big head any more… Not when your eyes are already that much bigger than your stomach.” He waves vaguely at the tubs on the table. “These are three gallon tubs, man. Even mostly empty, there must be at least a gallon of melted ice cream here, on top of everything you’ve put away today.” 

“Wouldn’t be the first time,” Steve scoffs. The second spoonful is already passing his plush lips before Eddie can reply, eyes glued to the way they pucker around the metal as he draws it out slowly, once again clean. There’s a single dribble of chocolate running down his chin, though, reaching and dripping from the suggestion of a second one onto the front of his sailor shirt… the shirt that will have to be sized up again soon, a testament to just how big Steve’s stomach really is.

“Wait,” he sputters, brain catching up to Steve’s words, “wouldn’t be… What?”

So Steve explains that, after Eddie had first goaded him into eating ice cream at work, it had truly hit him for the first time how much ice cream Scoops Ahoy’s company policy had them throwing out at the end of each day. He’d started with just finishing off the scraps of chocolate left at the bottom of a mostly empty tub on one of the maybe once a month occasions he got stuck closing up alone. The next time there hadn’t been any almost-done chocolate slated for the dumpster out back, so instead he’d stirred chocolate sauce into the softening Cookies N Cream until it better suited his taste buds. 

And he’d liked it. The ice cream itself, of course, but also the tight, intense feeling in his stomach that came with being overly full. 

So, since he didn’t close up solo very often, he’d started sneaking a tub or two out to his car when he could get away with it. The contents would always melt before he got home, and since he didn’t have unlimited chocolate sauce on hand there…

“...I’ve ended up expanding my horizons.” Steve winks. “Among other things. There’s something really freeing about getting all sticky on your own kitchen floor, you know?”

Eddie is still standing, holding his cup of sherbet and mouth dropped open while he processes this. Of course he’d known that Steve had to be aware, on some level, of what he was doing to himself… but this is so closely aligned with his own secret fantasies that he can’t help but suspect it’s some sort of trick. An elaborate trap designed to definitively out him as a freak. He narrows his eyes, then stalks forward to further investigate the tubs, trying to ignore the hard-on forming in his jeans. There’s Vanilla Chip, USS Butterscotch, Chocolate Chip Cookie Dough, Cinnabon Swirl, and something he thinks might be Cherries Jubilee with most of the cherry parts already scooped out. 

“You don’t like any of these flavors,” he accuses, crossing his arms and leveling a stare at Steve, trying really hard to convey more skepticism than lust. “You hate anything but chocolate, even if it’s something else and chocolate. I actively judge you for it on a daily basis.”

Steve shrugs. “Drinking it is different from eating it.”

Which, okay, makes some sense, Eddie supposes, but that makes no sense. Neither does the concept of Steve Harrington chugging ice cream straight from the tub on the floor of his fancy rich boy kitchen, smeared in chocolate like a pig rolled in mud, maybe with his uniform stripped off the second he got home because it was getting too tight, or because he wanted to watch himself expand with each greedy gulp—

Eddie takes a deep breath and gets ahold of himself before he resorts to jamming his hand down his pants and… getting ahold of himself. He just has one more question, and if that checks out then he’s going for it. “How much weight have you gained since you took this job, Steve?”

Steve gives him an exact answer, down to one decimal point and Eddie is already stalking forward, putting his forgotten, melting cup of sherbet down and grabbing the nearest tub.

It pours nice and smooth over Steve’s lips, down his throat, and into a bottomless pit apparently from the way he never signals to pause or slow down. He just keeps gulping it down, moaning when the chocolate from the Vanilla Chip avalanche down from where it was all piled at the bottom into his mouth. When it’s cookie dough pieces that takes him a little longer to get through, and he returns to bites of his banana split between mouthfuls. Streaks of pale cream line his neck, beading in the chest hair just barely peeking out the top of his shirt like he’s begun sweating cream, and while chugging he increasingly often has a free hand rubbing tight circles over his stomach. 

He breaks away from the rim of the last tub with a gasp. The last thick dribbles of USS Butterscotch splatters on his cheek from Eddie’s attempt to shake whatever’s left out. “So full,” he slurs, looking up at Eddie from beneath heavy eyelids. 

And then he pushes past it, ignores whatever signals his stuffed gut is trying to send him, all his attention rerouted into sluggishly cramming the last of the banana split in his mouth. 

Eddie drops the empty tub to the floor and lurches forward to lick sloppily at the other boy's cheek, at his chin, at his neck. A ringed hand brushes over the swollen belly between them, only for Steve to grab on and guide him to press harder, explore his waist and love handles. Then they’re kissing, both of their faces sticky with sugar and dairy, and Steve tastes like the inside of a honey pot, he’s so sweet. 

It’s not just the way he tastes. Steve’s pupils are blown, reactions slow as he kisses back lazily but with a happy hum. Eddie wonders if he would even be able to get up right now, with so much inside him. 

“Can’t believe you,” Eddie marvels, nipping at slick lips. “Can’t believe you like this—” he gets his fingers up Steve’s shirt and drags it up to knead at the padded suggestion of ribs, at softened, hairy pecs that are just as sensitive as Eddie had dreamed, from the whine he gets from just a testing squeeze “—so fucking much, but you do, don’t you sweetheart?” 

He drops his touch down to the straining arch of Steve’s belly and feels the underside of it, lifting a little, testing; even being careful, he jars a string of breathy hiccups loose. “Edd—hic—ieee,” Steve whines, trying to squirm, trying to press into his touch, but can barely manage anything before he has to stop and catch his breath. “‘M so…”

“Is that why you’re such a brat all the time, Steve, because you’re hungry?” Eddie coos. He leans in to kiss him again, then drops to his knees. “All I have to do to make you docile is fill you up. Takes a while, but.” He slaps the plump roll spilling over the side of Steve’s shorts, surprising a burp followed by a groan out of him this time. “Well worth the wait, big boy.”

At which Steve giggles, and mumbles something that sounds like an echo of ‘wait,’ but Eddie’s not sure of the spelling. 

“If you’ll pardon the pun,” he adds dryly, and grins when that gets him another giggle. “Well spotted, Stevie.”

And then, because Eddie figures that he has been admirably patient up to this point, wriggles his way into the blue sailor shorts straining before him for his treat. With Steve’s ragged moans of yes and fuck and Eds ringing in his ears right up until Steve’s thick thighs clamp around his head in the ecstasy of orgasm, and it’s worth it. 

The wet stain seeping through the front of Eddie’s jeans proves it. 

He helps a very dazed, very sated Steve clean up after—though, honestly, Eddie does almost all the work. (Steve slurps down his little cup of melted sherbet no problem though, smiling serenely as Eddie gives his still exposed belly an approving slap.)

“You okay to drive home, man?”

Steve hums, then yawns—giving himself a third chin for a second there. “‘M not sure if I’m good to stand up,” he admits. “‘Sfine, I can sleep here…”

Eddie rolls his eyes and grabs both the other boy’s hands. “Oh no you don’t. If you stay, some security guard is going to find you here looking like a stowaway on the Good Ship Lollipop, and we can’t have that. I’ll give you a ride, come on—up on three. One, two… two and a half…”

Fifteen minutes later he hustles a slow-moving Steve into the back of his van, where the guy can at least lay down and stretch out while his body attempts to digest. And Eddie wonders—is this what he’s become? Spending his entire summer at the mall palling around with the former King of Hawkins High, filling said dude full as a tick exactly once and getting them both off in the process, and then driving him home like a nice boy at the end of a respectable date? 

No one has called Eddie a nice boy since approximately kindergarten, and respectable probably never. But he glances over his shoulder to see his stuffed and sleepy sailor boy cuddled up under the blanket he keeps back there in case of emergencies, knows that beneath it Steve is still spilling out of his shorts because once undone they’d been impossible to zip and button up again, and feels… something at the look of utter contentment on his face. Something that’s been growing in him for a while, if he’s being honest with himself, intertwined with every sardonic comment and light ribbing at Steve’s expense. And Steve always gives as good as he gets—except tonight, when he’d just let Eddie take and take, letting go completely. They could be good together, Eddie thinks; especially since what they each want seems to mesh so well.

Steve has already been wearing the results of this particular brand of hedonism for months now, so maybe he won’t even regret it come morning. 

Maybe if Eddie leaves his number after getting Steve home (probably only as far as the couch, for simplicity’s sake), Steve will call. 

They can hang out somewhere outside of Scoops Ahoy, maybe even call it a date. Maybe Steve will let Eddie feed him sweet nothings under the stars and smile that sweet little smile at him again when he gets full, all happiness and trust. It’s a heady prospect, one that knocks Eddie’s dumb heart for a loop just considering it. 

He ends up parking in the woods just a short walk from Steve’s house and crawling in the back of the van with him. One quick change into an emergency pair of clean boxers (he keeps a lot of stuff back there in case of emergencies, okay?) and he makes himself comfortable as the big spoon to Steve’s invitingly cuddly form. 

And wonders, as he dozes off, what they’ll do for breakfast. 

Permanent tag list: @hotluncheddie

[dormont]

augh some more acespec musings (specifically about s*ffrin) because ive been seeing this topic come up recently. spoilers ahoy and some kinda heavy venting about nsfw stuff and also sorry if this is a mess my thoughts are all over the place

like i wanna make it abundantly clear that my attraction to s*ffrin exists entirely in a vacuum and any comments i make aren't done with the intention of being weird and erasing his asexuality or sex repulsion. this is purely an exploration of my own feelings.

like i joke like "teehee hornyposting" but fr using s*ffrin as some sort of muse to explore my own feelings towards asexuality and sex in general has been so helpful?? like i do pretty strongly interpret his sex repulsion as being somewhat related to their self-worth and declining mental health (based on how their reactions to the naked drawings change throughout each act to become more negative (in act 2 he's described as looking at it curiously, but in act 5 he straight up describes it as disgusting) and how they similarly become disgusted with their relationship with is*beau with the confession and bad touch events done). that's just how i've analyzed the text and the way he acts throughout the game. and ofc like i've said before this doesn't mean that the sex repulsion is something that needs to be fixed, but rather it's a topic that could explored in a much healthier way with a lot of healing.

and like the reason why i feel strongly about this is because i'm the same. my feelings towards sex and engaging in sexual activities do heavily tie in with how i'm feeling. when i'm at my worst i don't want to be perceived. i feel so thoroughly disgusted with myself as a physical being that i don't want to indulge those feelings at all. i adore love and physical affection but sometimes it's too much for me. meanwhile when i'm in a better mindset i'm more open to exploration and engaging in that stuff. relating to s*ffrin in that aspect has been helpful for me. especially as i can also see a lot of this tying in with s*ffrin's very heavy bpd-coding, saying as a borderline myself. bpd plays such a huge factor in my self-worth, my identity, and my relationships. it's at the core of everything and i see a lot of that in s*ffrin too. like i've been questioning if i'm on the aro and ace spectrums but that's so hard to determine because bpd (as well as not being in tune with my emotions at all and having a hard time distinguishing how i'm feeling (shoutout to alexithymia)) can make my feelings so inconsistent and hard to recognize even as i'm feeling them. and that's not even going into how sexual trauma and awful past experiences have muddied the waters further, or how being intersex has messed me up so much biologically that i barely feel anything from doing sexual activities and that makes it harder to enjoy them.

that's why using s*ffrin as a vice for this has been so helpful because, and i mean this genuinely and seriously, he's just like me fr. like the self-hatred being part of all of their feelings is just?? me??? and exploring that with is*beau as another factor has also been extremely helpful in exploring this stuff as someone in a relationship. there's a second party to consider there and whenever i see this topic between the two of them be explored while being mindful of s*ffrin's thoughts and feelings and experiences it's been very validating.

idk that's just my interpretation of him as a character and how i relate to this aspect of him and if there's any other (???) acespec/sex repulsed people or just have complex feelings surrounding the topic in general that have read this far and relate similarly i would really like to hear? obviously you don't have to go into detail if you don't want to but like just hearing that others feel the same about him and relate to him in similar ways would be good for easing my insecurities and worries about coming across as disrespectful.

[harringtonstilinski]

That’s A Bet - Steve Harrington (Smut)

Author: @stilinskiparker Characters: Steve Harrington x Henderson!Reader Word Count: 5,418 Warnings: fluff, confessions, language (have ya met me), ending is rushed ‘cause it’s 11:16pm and i’m tired. Tropes/AU’s: Best Friends to Lovers | Fake Dating | Soulmate AU | if you can think of any more, let me know! Smut: no | yes; couch sex, m+f (wrap before you tap), oral (f receiving) Requested: Nope. Based off a prompt based off this list A/N: Hi, friends! If you’re under the age of 18, pls do not read. This bitch took me, no joke, like 5.5 hours to write. BUT, I hope you like this! If you do, please do not hesitate to reblog and give some feedback, whether it be in the reblogs, comments, or my inbox. As always, read at your own risk and enjoy 😊

Working at Family Video wasn’t my first choice. I was coerced into getting this job by my best friends and little brother. How my little brother, you ask? Well, he and Steve Harrington started hanging out two years ago when Dart went missing.

Steve and I had been friends for years before we both met Robin Buckley, when they both worked at Scoops Ahoy last summer before the Mind Flayer tried to kill us all.

I worked at the mall last summer, as well. I worked at The Great Cookie. I could see a little bit of Scoops when I looked across the lower level of the mall. And, yes. It was as amazing to work there as one would imagine. The smell of freshly baked chocolate chip cookies would fill my nostrils every day, and it was amazing! Of course, on my lunch break, I would run over to Scoops to steal a waffle cone before eating my actual lunch from either New York Pizza, Hawkin’s Heroes, Burger King or Imperial Panda.

But, like I said, the Mind Flayer decided to try and kill us all, so it basically destroyed our place of work, so we had to find a new place… or places.

Like I said before, I was coerced into getting this job at Family Video, and working with Steve and Robin was a blast! Their banter made me laugh every single day we worked together, and getting to hang out with them was a plus.

What was negative for me, though, was watching Steve flirt with most of the girls that came in the store. Hearing him set up dates and him telling us about them the next day was heartbreaking to me. Also hearing about the sex he’d had with them was a shot in the foot with a Nerf gun.

So, here I was, leaning against the back of the counter at the front of the store, quietly groaning after Steve had told us about another one of his dates that ended in sex at Lover’s Lake before he’d walked out to his car to retrieve a movie he’d ‘rented’ from the store.

“You okay over there?” Robin asked.

I shook my head before sighing deeply. “Robin, I’m so sex deprived, I would take you to the back room if I was into girls.”

She chuckled, putting her hand on my back. “That’s okay. No offense, but you’re not really my type.”

“That’s perfectly alright.” I groaned, turning my head to look at her. “I swear, I’m gonna fuck the next person that walks through that door.”

Feeling her hand slide off my back and seeing her stand up straight, Robin held her hand out, smirk on her face. “You’re on.”

I stood up straight, putting my hand in hers, shaking it. “Damn straight. Now, to wait for my sex partner.”

The bell ringing above the door caused Robin and I to turn our heads in that direction. “Do you think I’ll be in trouble for not returning these on time when I was supposed to?”

Slouching a little, I scrunched my mouth to the side as Robin started laughing. She patted me on the shoulder before she said, “I definitely have to hear about this one.”

I looked at her with a look that held annoyance. “Ya’know what. Go. Go put returns back.” I turned her and lightly pushed her to go do her job. Turning back to where Steve was standing, I tilted my head in confusion before turning around at the sound of the keyboard clacking.

“Nope, that’s my job today,” I said, walking towards him. “Let me check these back in.” I went to take the tapes from him, my fingers brushing over his. My breath hitched in my throat as the bell rang again above the door.

Looking to see who the culprit was, I noticed it was just a customer. Rage filled me at the sight of the beautiful girl. I tried not to roll my eyes as she walked to her right as I turned back to face Steve. “You got a customer anyway.”

After successfully taking the tapes out of his hands and sitting down at the computer, he heard him lightly scoff.

“Y/N/N, wha–” he started.

“Go!” I breathed, closing my eyes.

After hearing him walk away and ask if there was anything he could help the girl look for, I opened my eyes, feeling a tear roll down my cheek. I wiped it away before looking at the tapes he’d brought back in, confused as to why he’d chosen these movies; The Breakfast Club, Weird Science, Rocky IV, Sixteen Candles, Back to the Future.

I smiled a little and shook my head, typing in Steve’s information and then the title name in the computer, as I did with the other four before getting up and putting them away myself.

“So, how’s Friday night sound?” Steve asked. 

I watched as he went around the counter to the computer, typing in the girl's information so that he could mark the movie as rented. Knowing he wasn’t talking to me, I put my attention back on the movies in my hand, the last one to be put back on the shelf being Back to the Future.

I went to turn around, but the smell of his cologne hit my senses. I tried to take in a quiet breath, but the sound of his voice alerted me that I, in fact, did not.

“We still on for movie night?”

With furrowed brows, I turned to face Steve. “You promised that last customer a date for Friday night.”

Chuckling, he hung his head for a moment before looking back up at me, amusement laced in his eyes. “She said she had a girlfriend.”

With my eyebrows meeting my hairline, my mouth dropped open in shock. “W-well, then. I guess we’re still on.”

With a smile ever present on his face, he said, “Awesome. I’ll ‘rent’ The Breakfast Club again and be at your house around 8?”

“Yeah,” I smiled. “Sounds good.”

Feeling a set of eyes on me as he walked away, I looked over Robin, seeing her mouth the words his house, his house.

“A-actually, Steve?” I walked over to him behind the counter, my fingers laced at my stomach. “Can we do movie night at yours instead? I really don’t wanna hear Dustin asking me if I can take him somewhere or hearing him on his little radio thing talking to Suzie.”

Steve smiled, nodding. “Yeah, that’s actually perfect.”

“Awesome.”

~~~

Wednesday and Thursdays shifts went by extremely slow, whereas Friday’s shift went by sort of fast. I mean, it started out slow, but since it was Friday, everyone was coming to Family Video to rent the latest movies or to rent their most favorite movies of all time.

When my shift was over, I went straight home to shower, shave and change. I tried not to get too dressed up since it was just movie night at Steve’s house, but I put a little bit of makeup on, slightly dressing up my outfit, which consisted of a pair of jeans, Converse and graphic tee.

I packed a bag of clothes for the next day just in case I decided to stay the night. I did that almost all the time when we did movie nights at his house. I would leave the bag in my car just in case things went awry. 

I was nervous about movie night, and understandably why. I was going to try and have sex with my best friend, who I’ve had a crush on for years! It escalated after seeing how he interacted with Dustin during the Dart fiasco. 

Taking a deep breath, I spritzed myself with some perfume I knew Steve liked, grabbed my bag and walked out of my room. I was reaching for my keys when I heard a knock on the door. Confused, I walked to it, looking out of the peephole and saw Steve on the other side.

What he had in his hand confused the shit out of me, so I opened the door, the same confused look on my face revealed to him, making him chuckle.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” Steve asked.

“For one, you’re picking me up, and two–” I looked down at his hand. “You have flowers.”

“Those better be for my mother!” Dustin yelled from the kitchen.

“Dustin!”

Steve laughed, ducking his head for a moment before looking back up at me. “They’re, uhh, they’re for you.” Handing me the flowers, he smiled. “And, I thought picking you up would be a better choice since I drive by here anyway to get home.”

Feeling a presence beside me, I heard Dustin say, “No, you don’t. You live on the other side of town.”

“Did you just get off work, or something?” I asked.

Putting his hands up, Steve exclaimed, “Alright, alright!” He sighed, putting his hands down. “I just felt like picking you up for movie night. You always fall asleep during the movie, so I figured that you’d just stay the night.”

“Wait,” Dustin said. “You’re having movie night without me?”

I looked at him, seeing a little bit of hurt in his eyes. “Dusty, it’s nothing against you, I promise. It’s just that– Steve and I haven’t had a movie night to ourselves in a really long time.” I put my hand on his shoulder, leading him to the hallway. “And I have a bet with Robin. Can’t tell you about it, but I have a bet with her.”

“About Steve?”

“Yes,” I nodded, once. “About Steve.”

Dustin smiled. “Well, alright then.”

We walked back to the door, seeing a very confused Steve looking at us. “Everything… okay?”

“Yup, perfect. Now, go. Have fun. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”

I hugged my little brother, thanking him for letting me have a night alone with Steve. After I pulled away, I grabbed my eyes and shoved them into my bag while walking down the small steps to our door and down the driveway to Steve’s awaiting car.

The ride to Steve’s house was filled with laughter, singing the songs on the radio that we knew, and stolen glances.

Deciding to be a little less humorous, I asked, “This… isn’t going to end up with us at Lover's Lake, is it?”

Letting out a shocked laugh, Steve looked at me. “I didn’t plan on it! It’s just two friends hanging out, watching a movie, right? Like we always do.”

A little hurt by his words, I nodded and looked out the window, quietly saying, “Yeah.”

Noticing the change in my demeanor, he put his hand on my thigh, asking, “Hey. You okay?”

I looked down at his hand, wishing that my thigh could be a permanent spot for it. The words I wanted to confess started to bubble up in my throat, but I swallowed them down and decided on, “Yeah, I’m fine. Just a little tired. I’ll perk up once we get to your house. You know how car rides make me a little sleepy.”

Steve nodded, rubbing his thumb on my thigh before pulling his hand away. The action of his thumb caused a shock wave to my core and stomach, as well as a deep breath. This was going to be a long night.

~~~

“Two hits; me hitting you, you hitting the floor. Anytime you’re ready, pal.” As Andrew took Bender down the ground, I felt a tap on my shoulder, so I leaned my head in that direction, eyes still glued to the TV.

“I still don’t get why he did that,” Steve whispered.

“Because Bender’s a burnout, Andrew’s a jock, they don’t like each other,” I explained. “Bender was also making Claire feel very uncomfortable. Now, stop asking and just watch the movie.”

After Bender stabbed the knife into the top of the wood on the chair next to him, I leaned back over to Steve to explain Bender a little further. “He also has a really shitty home life. I’m talking, abuse. It gets explained in just a little bit.”

“Gotcha,” Steve whispered in my ear.

As the movie played on, Steve and I kept stealing glances at each other. I only knew he was stealing them at me because when I would turn my head to look at him, he’d quickly turn his head back in the direction of the movie.

I cleared my throat during the Impression of the Life scene and turned my head towards Steve, looking at the side of his face. “Hey. Uhm. Are your… parents… out of town?”

“They’re always out of town, you know this,” he replied, eyes locked on the tv.

“No, Dad! What about you?! Fuck you!”

“Shit, you were right–”

“Wait, just wait.”

“Looks about the size of a cigar. Do I stutter? See this is what you get in my house when you spill the pain in the garage. Now, I don’t think I need to sit with you fucking dildos anymore.”

Steve cleared his throat as she started bouncing his leg. “Ya’know, uhm… that girl I told you and Robin about last night? The one that didn’t seem interested.”

I sighed and sat up, crossing my arms. “Yeah.”

“Well, I left something out.”

“Hmm. What’s that?” My replies were coming off as short. Every other movie night, Steve and I wouldn’t be sitting as close as we were; his arm around my shoulders, my head resting on his, my farthest leg in between his, almost as if I was sitting with my legs crossed.

I stole a glance at him as he swallowed, seeing him looking down at his lap. 

“She, uh… she wanted me to use a toy on her,” he said. “She said that she hadn’t… ya’know… finished, and that her toy or whatever could do the job.”

“Sounds more like a personal problem to me,” I said. “But at least you two got to have sex, right?”

“Y/N/N, do you know what that does to a man?”

“Awww, Stevie got a bruised ego?” I sassed. It came out harsher than I intended.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

I stood up then and grabbed my bag off the chair. “I’m leaving.” I started walking towards the front door as I mumbled, “Robin can win this stupid bet, I don’t care.”

“Hold on,” Steve said. “A bet? What bet?”

I stopped and slightly turned towards him, eyes filled with the tiniest bit of rage. “A sex bet.”

“A sex bet?!”

“Yes, Steve! A fucking sex bet. I’ve been so sex deprived that I told her I was gonna fuck the next person to walk through the door at Family Video, and guess who just so happened to walk through with five VHS tapes. You. I went along with her little bet because I, for one, need sex because I haven’t had it in so long, and two, I’m so in love with you, it’s stupid.”

He looked at me like I was crazy, like he was mad, like he was confused all wrapped into one, but ultimately settled on amused. “You’re in love with me?” “Yes!” I exclaimed. “I’m so goddamn in love with you, I feel like I can’t breathe around you! Every time you’re near and I smell that fucking cologne you wear all the time, I swear to fuck, I wanna drop to my knees when you’re around. And every Tuesday when you come into work and tell us all about the sex you’ve had, I get a little angry every time because I wish in my heart of hearts that it was me you were filling up, making me feel good, making me cry out your name in pleasure during my climax. Making– what are you doing?”

I hadn’t realized that in my ramble and confession that Steve had moved closer to me and removed my bag from my shoulder, dropping it to the floor. “I’m taking you back to the couch,” he said, taking my jaw in his hands.

“Why?” I whispered.

He leaned in closer, whispering, “To make you feel good,” before placing his lips on mine, soft at first, waiting to see if I was going to kiss him back, which I did… quite firm, might I add.

Our lips moved in a messy sync for what felt like ever, before I felt him squat a little, grabbing the backs of my thighs. Without him asking, I jumped, wrapping my arms around his neck before he turned us around and led to the couch, only to turn around again to sit on the piece of furniture.

Before he was able to lean back, I grabbed the bottom of his shirt that wasn’t tucked into jeans and pulled up, lifting the material up and over his head to discard it on the floor by his feet. Our lips locked again in a few more messy kisses before Steve’s tongue made its way into my mouth, exploring. 

It was as if we were one, moving almost all parts of our bodies in sync with the other. Tongues not fighting for dominance, hands roaming on shoulders and arms, neck and hair. He put his hands in my hair, pulling just a tab, causing me to take a sharp intake of breath.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I forgot you were tender headed.”

I chuckled, “It’s okay, I’m okay.”

He smiled, saying, “Good,” before putting his lips back on my own just to move his lips to my cheek, jawline and neck, where he searched for my sweet spot; at the junction where my neck and shoulder meet.

I gasped in pleasure, grinding my core down on his denim covered length, a groan sounding him from. I pulled back, hand over my mouth as I looked in his eyes. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.”

Steve looked confused with a smile on his face. “Why?” I moved my mouth to my hair, pushing some of my hair behind my ear as I asked, “I didn’t hurt you?”

Tilting his head back on the couch, he said, “No.” Picking his head up, he looked me deep in my eyes, his smile never faltering. Chuckling, he said, “It felt good.”

“Oh,” I said, putting my arms down, fingers landing at his belt buckle. “Okay, well… do you wanna continue?”

I looked at him as he put his hand on my cheek. “You have a bet to win,” he whispered before kissing me once more.

I giggled into the kiss, making the both of us smile into it. “It’s like you’re kiss deprived or something.”

He chuckled, moving his hands to the top of my jeans where the bottom of my shirt also sat inside of. “I can think of another set of lips I can kiss.”

I feigned a gasp, eyes still closed, mouth still on his. “Steven Harrington.”

“Y/N Henderson.”

I opened my eyes, his still closed. “Well. What are you waiting for?”

That made his eyes open real quick, his fists pulling my shirt up and over my head, revealing the white bra I had put on after my shower earlier. As I went for Steve’s neck, he went for my shoulder, pressing kisses along it while sliding the strap off my shoulder.

“Take it off,” I breathed. “Take the fucking bra off.”

He chuckled, expertly unclasping my bra. I huffed a breath as he did so, putting my hands on his shoulders, pushing myself to look him in the eyes. “If you keep laughing, I’ll walk my ass home.”

He chuckled… again, but gripped my hips with the tiniest bit of force. “I’ll stop, baby, I promise.”

Stunned by the pet name, I raised a brow. “Baby? So, we’re at that stage in the frien– relation– us.”

“Yes,” he said. “Unless you’re just looking to fuck.”

I feigned thinking on it for a moment before yelping, Steve grabbing the button of my jeans, pulling me forward, also causing me to giggle. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry. Yes, I am looking to fuck, but I also want to be with you. You’re it for me.” I put my hand on his cheek, bringing our foreheads together, eyes closed. I whispered, “You’ve always been it for me, baby.”

The kiss we shared next wasn’t like the others we’d been having, all hungry and fervent and shit. No, this kiss… this kiss was slower, much more passionate. Open mouthed, but not rushed. Taking more time to explore each other's mouths.

As we kissed, I took my bra off the rest of the way, the material having fallen to my elbows at the talk we’d had just moments prior. Feeling Steve’s bulge in his jeans, I decided that now would be the next time to take his belt off of him and unbutton his jeans to release the strain I knew he was feeling.

After I unbuckled his belt, he placed a hand on my back, sitting me up straighter to cup one of my breasts, bringing me forward to place his mouth on my nipple.

“Steve,” I moaned, one hand going to his hair and the other pulling the belt out of the loops. I dropped the belt to the floor, putting my free hand in his hair as he lapped at my nipple with his tongue.

As he switched breasts, he looked up at me and placed his lips on mine for a wet, chaste kiss as the hand he’d been cupping my breast with covered it completely. Removing the hand closest to the hand on my breast, I placed it on top of his, his fingers spreading to attempt to lace our fingers together.

When he was satisfied with the pleasure he was giving me through my breasts, he bit his lip and wrapped his arms around me, flipping us to the side so that my back hit the couch, all of those movements causing me to giggle.

His lips went right back on mine as he popped the button on my jeans. He placed his fingers on the inside of the material, ready to pull them down my legs. Shoes were long discarded by the door the moment we arrived at his house about an hour prior, movie long forgotten about.

Instead of heading south like I thought he was going to, he instead moved north, towards my face. Giving a light kiss, he said, “I’m gonna make you feel good, I promise.”

“Then do it already,” I said. 

Steve gave one last kiss on my lips before moving down, placing kisses between my breasts and down my stomach to the top of my jeans. He pulled the denim down, kissing the newly exposed skin as he did so.

Grabbing at my panties as he went, he stopped kissing once he got right above where the tops of my panties would sit. He lightly tapped at my bum, silently asking me to lift it, so I did, making it easier for him to slide the rest of the materials down my legs and to the floor.

The look he was giving made me a little insecure, so as I tried to cover everything exposed, he laced our fingers together, looking at me with the most sincere look he’d giving me tonight. “Don’t ever hide from me,” he said. “You’re beautiful. The most beautiful girl–”

“You’ve been with?”

“In the world,” he whispered. He looked down at my area and back at me, a smirk on his face. “You shave your vagina?”

“One, never say the word vagina again, and two, yes. It’s a personal preference.”

“If I can’t say vagina, what word can I say? Pussy?”

“Oohhhh, who knew Steve ‘the Hair’ Harrington had a dirty mouth,” I sassed.

He shook his head and looked back down, kissing the top of my pussy. “So soft,” he whispered. “Bet it tastes good, too.”

As he grabbed the underside of my thigh to spread my legs open, I whispered, “Then maybe you should have a taste.”

With no hesitation, Steve dipped down and kissed the very top of my slit, bringing it tongue out to lightly lick where he’d kiss before going further south to my clit and entrance. He licked from the bottom of my entrance right up to my clit, where his tongue found a home. 

“Oh, my– fuck,” I moaned, placing my hand on the crown of his head. My free hand went to one of my own breasts, cupping it. It felt as if I had died and went to Heaven when his tongue moved from my clit to my entrance, lapping up the juices I was producing. 

He pulled back a little to say, “Taste so good,” before diving back in, causing me to arch my back a little.

I was done for when he inserted two fingers into my pussy, pumping in and out, stretching me for what I knew was to come. “Steve,” I moaned. “I’m so close to cumming. I’m gonna cum, I’m gonna cum, I’m gonna–” I moaned, my pussy tightening on his fingers. He never stopped until I pushed his head away, repeating the word “Okay” like a prayer.

As I was catching my breath, Steve kissed his way back up my stomach and breasts until his lips met mine, the two of us sharing a passionate kiss.

While essentially making out, I unbuttoned his jeans and started to push them down his legs until I couldn’t anymore. I let out a whine mid-kiss, a wholehearted laugh coming from the half-naked man above me.

He stood up, removing his jeans and boxers, grabbing his length to stroke it. I went to sit up to do the work for him and take him in my mouth, he shook head, crawling back on top of me. “No. Tonight is about you. I’m making you feel good.”

“But–”

“You can work on me another night,” he said, voice so soft, I thought I missed what he said.

I nodded, putting my hands on his cheeks for another slow, passionate kiss. At the same time our lips met, the head of his penis met my entrance, sliding up to my clit and back down to my entrance before doing it a couple of more times.

Once he was satisfied with how wet got himself, he looked me in the eyes, silently asking me if this was something I still wanted to do, so I nodded because, of course I did!

He looked back at himself, and watched as he slid into me, a quiet groan of pleasure coming from him. He huffed out a small laugh, looking back at me. “Taking me like a champ.”

“You’re the biggest I’ve ever had, Steve,” I replied, hands smoothing back some of his hair. Deciding to add a little humor, I added, “Just don’t cum in me too fast. I can already feel you trying not to bust a nut.”

He laughed as pulled out some just to push back in a little harder than I had expected him to, a loud moan pouring out of me. “Say shit like that again, and it’ll be harder.”

All I did was look him in the eye, breathing, “I like it hard. But, seeing as this is our first time, can we try… maybe a little slower? Still hard, but not rough?”

Steve nodded, placing his forehead against mine as he started thrusting in and out of me, slow at first, gradually going a little faster and a little harder, but not too hard. It was that perfect hard thrust. I can’t really describe it. He was making me feel too good!

With one foot on the ground and the other leg bent on the cushions of the couch, Steve stood to the best of his ability, grabbing my hips and pulling my bottom up off the couch, ever so slightly.

He reached a spot that, even I never knew existed.

“Oh, my god, Steve,” I yelled in pleasure. “I’m gonna cum again!”

“Me, too, baby, me too,” he grunted.

Hearing the new pet name sent me over the edge without realizing it. It didn’t even register to me that I yelled out his name, probably loud enough for the whole damn neighborhood to hear.

I was too busy coming down from my second high that I didn’t even notice that Steve pulled out and started jerking himself, sending white hot stream of cum along the top of my pussy.

When I finally opened my eyes, having closed them during my climax, I saw Steve stand fully, both feet on the carpet of the living room. Looking down, I scooped up a dot of cum, bringing my finger to my mouth, smiling once it hit my tongue. “Taste so good.”

He shook head, smile ever present on his face as he turned away to retrieve a warm, damp washcloth to help clean us up with. He helped me put my panties back on, but gave me his shirt to wear as he put his boxers and jeans back on.

When we finally sat down and cuddled each other the best we could on the couch, we caught the last little bit of the movie, watching as Bender walked across the football field, fist in the air.

Steve put on Sixteen Candles, knowing that that movie was also a favorite of mine. At the scene where Sam and Randy are looking at Carole Mulford in the locker room showers, Steve and I decided to lay down on the couch, sleep hitting us like a bus.

He laid down first, letting me lay on top of him, my ear to his chest listening to his heartbeat. The last thing I remembered before falling asleep was feeling a blanket cover me, a kiss to the top of my head, Steve telling me good night, and Sam screaming on the phone with Randy the night after the dance.

~~~

The following day, Steve and I woke up at the sound of his father yelling at the both of us. We quickly grabbed our clothes and headed upstairs to his bedroom, laughing once the door was shut.

“I thought they were out of town!” I giggled.

“Must’ve come back early,” he said, putting a clean shirt on.

I put my jeans back on, and buttoned them before turning to the mirror and fluffing my hair out a little bit. “I forgot to remove my makeup last night. Damn.”

“Yeah, well, we were a little preoccupied.”

I smiled at him, turning to wrap my arms around his neck after having walked the few steps over to him. “I’d like to be that preoccupied again.”

“Oh, really?” he asked, kissing me before I could nod. Activities that ensued after caused us to be late for work. The two of us piled into the car, and he took me home for a few seconds so that I could retrieve my work vest.

Once I was back in the car, Steve drove us to work, where we were getting chewed out by Keith for being late. He went ignored, though, as he always chewed us out for even clocking in on time.

Robin, Steve and I had our own little private meeting about what would be going down at the video rental store, the three of us ultimately deciding to go about our normal jobs; Robin shelving returns, Steve with the customers, and myself on computer to put in the returns and call customers about their past due returns.

During a break Robin had from putting returns away, she leaned on the counter next to the computer, causing me to smile.

“What do you want, Robin?”

“How’d it go last night?” she asked.

“And this morning?” I said, looking at her from the corner of my eye.

Her face lit up with delight and happiness, but also with sadness. “That means I lost?!”

“Lost what?” 

I looked over and saw my little brother standing at the front of the counter, what looked like to be a shirt in his hand. “Dusty, what is that?”

“Clean shirt,” he said, tossing it to me. I caught it as he said, “Ya’know. Since you and Steve fucked last night.”

My eyes went as wide as saucers, mouth dropping open as I said, “How did you–”

“Bye, I love you!”

“That little shit.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A/N 2:  hi, friends! okay, so, i just wanted to let anyone know that was curious while reading what the word area means in this type of fic. i used the word area because that’s what i describe to my daughter about the body part her and i share. i know that actually teaching her that we have a vagina is important, but she’s 5.5 years old, and that’s just my parenting style. if she has any questions about it when she gets older and hears the word, then i’ll let her know that we have a vagina. but enough with my little rant. let me know what you thought about this! again, please do not hesitate to reblog and give some feedback, whether it be in the reblogs, comments, or my inbox.

Additional Notes: i saw a post in the steve harrington x reader tag that said if you’re gonna write a smut where s.h x reader get caught doing the nasty, don’t let it be one of the younger s.t. characters. let it be like a parent or something. and i totally agree with that. so, from here on out, all my smut fics will not have dustin or one of other kids walking in on s.h. x reader having wrestle time. at the end, dustin says he knows about s.h. x reader having sex. he called robin and coerced it out of her, lol. THAT’S how he knows.

~~~

Forever / Everything Taglist: @stiles-o-dylan24 @stixnstripesworld @fandom-princess-forevermore @quanticobae @mischiefandi @kellyashcroft @lauren-novak

Steve Harrington Taglist: none yet!​

If you’re tagged and didn’t want to be, please let me know.

Italics wouldn’t let me tag!

~~~

*Please don’t post my writing anywhere else without my consent. The author of this work will always and forever be @stilinskiparker.

All characters, story lines, and plot aside from y/n and her storyline & plot, are all of the work of The Duffer Brothers.

*These works contain material protected under International and Federal Copyright Laws and Treaties. Any unauthorized reprint or use of this material is prohibited.

No part of these works may be reproduced in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without express written permission from the author / publisher.

Posted on July 7, 2022

[gofancyninjaworld]

OPM Manga Update 234 Review: King, Evaluated

Summary

I'm not going to really bother with a summary for this chapter. It's a really simple story -- Atomic Samurai challenges King to show him his strength, overthinks it, and lets King off the hook. And goodness knows people have told and retold it to a nonsensical degree. So let's move onto the meta, shall we?

Meta: Cognitive Biases Ahoy!

I hope that no one is sitting here thinking of Atomic Samurai as stupid. Tempting as it is, ONE is showing here a set of pitfalls that even intelligent people fall into. Heck, some of them are pitfalls that people fall into precisely because they're intelligent. Shall we go through them?

The easiest one is confirmation bias. You see this all the time. Our love of finding out that we're right is so strong that it's been necessary to create a whole discipline in the sciences to prevent us from fooling ourselves -- and we still do that, alas. When faced with a phenomenon, we make up some suppositions of what might be happening… and unless we're very, very careful, we try to prove that it's the case, rather than it's not the case.

Atomic Samurai (and his disciples) have the thought that King is really strong, and while Atomic Samurai correctly notes that he's seen nothing in person to evidence King's strength, his go to is to try to confirm that King is strong, not try to see the opposite. Because of that, when given ambiguous evidence, heck, even negative evidence, of King not being seen to so much as draw the sword, he jumps to the conclusion that King must be at least as strong, if not stronger, than the swordsmen so skilled that they can cut objects such that they rejoin themselves, rather than King did nothing. It's not stupidity. It only looks that way because we've been given the answers and believe ourselves smart -- that's not smart of us.

We love confirmation bias because it does not involve us having to challenge what we think we know, which can be upsetting. We don't like to find out that we're wrong.

Speaking of things we don't like to see, there's a second thing at play, one that the proud really fall prey to. We really hate having to admit ignorance and would rather confabulate than go, 'I don't know.' If admitting ignorance to ourselves is hard, admitting it in front of our peers is even harder. Since Atomic has plenty of pride, and his disciples are not much better, when King started bullshitting about atmospheric conditions and the effect that fighting would have, rather than look ignorant, they pretended that they knew what King was talking about.

Lucky for King, eh?

Well, let's talk a little about King and his luck. If King is bullshitting like his life depends on it, that's because it does. The reason King has managed to survive for so long is that he's never, ever, not even once, fooled himself into believing himself to be in possession of any powers. So far, he has been lucky, that much he knows. He also knows that 'good' isn't the only flavour that luck occurs in. So when he's in front of a threat, he's not pretending to be terrified, he is. And that honest terror makes him look and sound scary.

Just scary enough that people think twice about whether they really want to push their luck and test him, given that there really is a hero out there who annihilates everything at a single blow and they've been told that guy is this 'King' fellow in front of them. If King had the nonsense to believe in his luck, he'd not be as scared -- and the facade would fall apart.

Believe it or not, that's all I really have to say about this conflict.

Just a few more bits to mop up.

First, I really like that there's a framework for the apple not noticing that it's been cut. Given that it's not possible to keep things a surprise given that many readers of the manga have either read the webcomic or know someone who has, I like how ONE has solved the problem. Rather than pretending that a no-longer-a-surprise is nevertheless a surprise, he's given it roots and incorporated it into the story. And the sword not noticing that it'd been drawn? I laughed. Sorry if you cried.

Second, speaking about vulnerability, it's interesting that Amai Mask did not lose face by showing that he too could be scared, could fail, could be vulnerable. We get to see Atomic's view of it and he has found real respect for Amai Mask for being able to admit all those things publicly, and then find a way to pull himself together and keep fighting. It's both neat in itself, because it takes real courage to be publicly vulnerable, and it's neat because it's precisely what neither Atomic nor his disciples could do when faced with King: admit their own doubts and ignorance.

Since I'm writing this with the benefit of more chapters, bet on it that I will be returning to the matters of Sweet Mask and King, but for now, we shall leave things here.