#that was a little baffling at first as i am the kind of person who has the I Have To Listen To This Adult Person Talking Or I'll Die diseas

[conspiracyofequals]

what i was not anticipating about teaching a class is that a good two thirds of the students do not care at all about what you have to say

[goldsbitch]

That one Christmas flight

summary: Y/N and Lando Norris are seated next to each other on a long flight. Innocent little Christmas tradition that Y/N does every year brings them just a little too close.

warnings: fluff, one-shot (whops a lie!), meet cute

Christmas. Y/N felt like an alien walking among people. It was impossible to avoid it. It was present in songs, in decoration, in fashion, online and on the news. Everywhere.

It's not like she was a grinch or anything. Nor was it because of some tragic incident causing trauma. Just pure fatigue from all the logistics and travel connected, which most kids of divorced parents faced every year.

Flying from Japan back to England, from her mother to her father, was a chore that seemed unavoidable. Her mother was kind enough to splurge on first class ticket for her, which her fancy Tokio job allowed. Ever since fours years ago, she continued a tradition that was introduced to her by a fellow Christmas traveller - the most stylish sassy French woman, who often spend the holidays on a plane. She would get herself and who ever was sitting next to her a glass of champagne and chat them up. Y/N has never laughed so much in her life like she did when she met this woman - so she took the tradition as her own.

Lando's plan wasn't to be on a flight from Japan to London on the 24th of December. He had so little time with his family and friends that this secret work trip to the Honda factory was really pushing him into staying with McLaren for the following years and not switching to a different team. This whole situation was like fuel for his current headache.

Y/N second guessed her tradition when a super gorgeous looking boy, who seemed to want anything but to be bothered, was sat next to her. She was used to having older people sitting next to her. Anyway, tradition is a tradition, so she eventually got up to order the classic. She nearly turned back at the thought that this guy was giving off some serious "I'm a dick" vibes, he had barely acknowledged her since she sat down. Luckily, she ignored this feeling.

When a glass of champagne appeared before Lando, he was sure it was a mistake.

"Well, to Christmas," his neighbor toasted. While he thought that she was a rather good looking girl, he was in no mood for a fangirl.

"I'm very sorry, um...I'll be happy to take a photo with you or something, but I am not in the best mood for a interaction with a fan."

She gave him a baffled look.

He continued. "Look, I'll be more than happy to sign anything. Or a photo, just as long you keep between un on which flight you saw me."

Y/N put her glass down, this was a first one.

"First of all, sorry for invading your private time. I have this stupid tradition of having a glass with whomever I'm destined to spend this Christmas flight. Guess I was mistaken. Second of all, I have no fucking idea who you are. So, calm down." She downed half of her glass. Of course this stupid year would include an asshole like this. Oh well.

Lando was confused for a moment and immediately after that he felt like an idiot.

"Apologies," he slowly replied, somewhat baffled. "I thought you were a fan and I'm just not in the mood for that." Y/N rolled her eyes and downed the rest of her champagne. "I'm Lando, by the way."

"Is that a stage name?"

"No, " he laghed. "I think it was a random decision of my mom."

"Interesting. Y/N," she introduced herself, without looking at him.

There was a weird tension in the air. Lando was determined to break it. Y/N was currently casually offended.

"Let me get you another one so that we can have a toast."

"Great, getting drunk is also an option. Hate flying sober," she joked.

Another glass was brought by a smiling flight attendant.

"So, how does this work?" Lando asked. Y/N was a person easily annoyed, however as quickly this came it also ended.

"Fine. There are rules, btw."

"Of course there are."

"Ehm, ehm, " she cleared her throat. "So, this tradition was started by Madame Tatanova and from now on, if you find yourself on a plane on 24th or 25th of December, you need to toast with your fellow neighbor passenger and answer the following: why and for how long-"

"I will have to write this down, I have a memory of a dead chicken."

"-I'm not finished! And then you follow up by your biggest regret and one thing nobody knows. The purpose of this is to gain or pass on wisdom and use the opportunity you'd normally miss by blasting up your headphones." She's done this for four times now, still the introduction was missing the "Madame Tatanova magic". Maybe one day.

"Ok..." Lando was not following yet, but he was keen on doing so. She raised her glasses, as did he.

"Cheers, to Christmas flights."

"Cheers, " he replied and they both sipped their champagne. "Wait, I have a question - what would you do if I did not speak English? Or if I was deaf?"

Lando was being his cheeky self and Y/N was not having it. She answered the question with a look.

"Got it! Anyway...what was the question?"

"Why."

"Why? Why is the sky dark or....?"

"Why are you on this plane."

"I'm trying to get to London from Tokio."

"I swear to god, I will ask to be seated somewhere else, Orlando."

"Lando, actually."

"If you say so..."

"Huuh, I'm going back from a work trip. And since you claim not to know me, I can probably tell you more than I should. Um, imagine I am in a band, right? I'm singing for a band and every few years they change their lead singer, one of the two actually, and I'm a the lead singer who might go to a different band now. But it's not clear yet and super secret actually. So, please keep it to yourself." Lando felt like someone who has just discovered speech and this was the first time he was using it. "Does that make any sort of sense?"

"Sort of I think. So you're cheating on your band?"

"Uhh, I'd say checking out options."

"Remind me never to date guys like you," she joked and immediately regretted that. Y/N was not good at flirting and did not want to appear creepy.

Lando passed on this comment, still not sure if he could trust this girl. "So, what about you? Why?"

"The curse of the divorced parents. One lives in London, the other one in Japan and I'm a package they pass each year," she said rather bitterly.

"Sorry to hear that."

"Yeah. I get to see mom twice a year and it's all always so planned and predictable. I would kill for spontaneity."

"Take me with you next time, I'm sure she'll be surprised." "Yes, she is a big fan of British guys, that's why she divorced one!"

"Great, happy to follow that route!"

Y/N started to relax a bit. This could be good, actually. "Ok, so now. For long are you staying in London, Lando?"

"Only few weeks. Then our music season starts. "

"Yeah, the one with all the singing, of course."

"Yeeah."

Y/N laughed a bit. He was suprisingly easy to talk to.

"So, how long?"

"A week. Then I'm off to Bologna."

"Uuuh, fancy that!"

"Yeah, I'm studying history there."

"Bologna is the one with the old university?" he asked, pretending he has never heard of that.

"No, not really, they just opened. Last year we did not have chairs, because the shipment got delayed," she replied with a dry tone.

"One does always study better while standing. I believe it was Socrates, who said it."

"Oh, yes. They teach you this at the singing music school?"

"Exactly. We were never allowed to sit."

They continued to chat all the way through the airplane dinner, getting few more glasses of champagne during that. Their laughter was interrupted by a flight attendant, who acted on a complaint from a fellow passenger. They both fell asleep watching a movie. Y/N woke up few times in the night and observed the boy next to her. Knowing this was the best Christmas plane encounter she ever had. Lando woke up as well, feeling strangely happy about the fact she was resting her head on his shoulder.

//

"Wait." Lando stopped her at the entrance to customs hall and pulled them both behind a column, so that they could not be seem by bystanders.

"Yes?" she turned to him.

"This might be weird, but can I kiss you?" Y/N looked at the boy in a hoodie standing in front of her, cheeky guy suddenly appearing nervous. He was absolutely gorgeous. She hated the fact he was random guy on a plane to London and not to Bologna.

"Yes. Must be midnight somewhere. So it could be like a New Years thing."

"Yeah. Just an airport thing." With that he kissed her. Just two young people having a little moment of silence. His kiss was a light slow brush on the lips. He cupped her cheek and her hand brushed through his curly hair. First kiss usually does not take long. For a person passing by, this would appear like kiss these two shared a thousand times before.

When they eventually parted, it all seemed a bit surreal.

"We never got to the second part of your Christmas interview," Lando commented.

"Well. Let's say that the one thing nobody knows is that I just kissed a random guy from the plane. And that my biggest regret is that we will never see each other again." For the first time, she was this bluntly honest with somebody who had just kissed her for the first time. It felt intoxicating.

Lando smiled. "See, I knew we had something in common."

Lando was usually not so open with his crushes, if he could even put her in that category.

"Don't worry. I won't search for you online or anything. I want to keep the mystery of Lando alive."

He kissed her once more, before they parted.

//

Their hearts felt a little more heavier than usual on midnight that New Years Eve. Both standing surrounded by their favorite people, yet with the one they would wish to kiss being impossibly far away.

part 2

_________________________

@superlegend216

[scarletttries]

Roronoa Zoro Falling In Love Headcanons (One Piece)

Pairing: Roronoa Zoro (Live Action One Piece) x Reader

Rating: Fluff

Word Count: 1.6k

Author's Note: After lacking a bit of inspiration recently I just finished watching the live action One PIece on Netflix and am completely obsessed, especially with Zoro! So here a few little headcanons for him, and I might do a part two of relationship headcanons too. Also requests are now open for any of the one piece characters so send them in! 💗☺️

- Oh Zoro. Truly the epitome of a heart of gold hiding behind a sarcastic, borderline cold, facade. A man who pretends to be affected by nothing, despite having so much space inside him for friendship and devotion.

- Chances are he'd first come across you when he and Luffy are docked in another new town. Maybe you're a pirate whose name he's heard in passing and considers trying to capture for the bounty. Maybe you're someone who just loves and helps out the small seaside village you live in, trying to make a few Berry from the ships passing through. Maybe you're the next key step to reaching Monkey's dream of finding the piece. Whatever he expects to find when your paths cross, it certainly isn't you.

- Before he even knows you're the person he's looking for, one look at you and he knows you're important. Like you exist in a slightly brighter light than everyone else he's ever met before, and he's not sure if he should shield his eyes or if he can't bear to look away. He stops dead in his tracks at the sight of you, the first glimpse enough to have his heart pounding in his chest like it never has before. Luffy watches his usually stern friend let his mouth fall open in silence, baffled by his actions until Nami leans over and whispers to him. Zoro can't hear exactly what she says but he hears the word 'crush' and feels his stomach churn at the thought. He wants to run, but he's unsure whether he wants to go towards or away from you. He grips his white katana as a panicked instinct when finally you glance up and send a friendly smile to the eclectic group of pirates standing, staring at you.

- Luffy can tell before you ever say a word that you're good and kind, and destined to be aboard the Merry as a part of his crew. Zoro can't bring himself to do anything but loom over his captain as he makes a sales pitch. The part of his brain that likes to be in control hopes that you're busy and tied down, that you'll reject Luffy's offer and he'll never feel as shaken and desperate as he does in this moment again. A much bigger part of him knows that he won't survive if you say 'no'. Like without you he might never dream again, doomed to spend the rest of his days sailing aimlessly, searching for the same rush he feels every time you look up at him over his friends straw hat. Thankfully Monkey rarely asks someone to join his crew that he isn't certain will eventually say yes. And so you do, accepting it's time to try a new path and join this strange group of good-hearted sailors, hoping for a new shot at your dreams.

- Monkey, Sanji and Usopp are all friendly from the get-go. They can't wait to share stories of their journey so far, and make sure you feel as safe and at home on the ship as they do. Nami takes a bit longer to open up to you, but when she does you can understand why, and while her friendship is harder to earn, it feels all the more solid for it. And then there's Zoro.

- You notice that whenever you all walk into a room, he'll always take the position or chair next to you, awkwardly stepping in front of Sanji on more than one occasion, or forcing himself into a tight spot rather than create distance between the two of you. He doesn't often strike up conversation first, but when you ask him something about himself he always looks very relieved and happy to have something to talk to you about. If the group has to split up he'll always stick by your side, taking the role of keeping you safe to heart. Your unspoken bodyguard. It gets to the point that the crew adjust to leaving a spot next to you for him to settle into, and never asking him to go out without you. All the while Nami takes great joy in speculating on his behaviour with you, and teasing Zoro for his complete inability to act like a normal human being. Sanji has to lay off his harmless flirting with you after he notices the daggers Zoro's shooting at him, and he's sure one night at a bar he heard him start to draw his sword when he put a hand on your leg.

- It doesn't take many conversations with Zoro, or many chats with Luffy who spends a lot of his time telling you about how wonderful and impressive Zoro is, for you to start finding his strange behavior more than a little flattering. The tall, talented swordsman can't help but soften under your gaze, and you feel yourself slowly leaning closer to him every time he settles at your side, before long finding yourself practically draped against him when the group find themselves at some gaudy bar on the outskirts of a marine base, failing to keep a low profile. Usopp insists on dragging you onto the dancefloor, and thankfully Nami asks Zoro to come dance with her before he has to either sit without you, or volunteer to dance of his own volition. Despite his athleticism, of course he's a terrible dancer, all uncoordinated movements and awkward energy as he fails to copy Usopp's charismatic moves. Taking pity on him, you take his hand in yours, letting him hold you closer as the rest of the group seem to fade in the crowd behind you having seen more than enough of his desperate longing to stick around for this. As Sanji and Usopp slink off to find another drink, Nami and Luffy can't resist keeping just in view so they can watch on as they finally see Zoro smile widely and let his guard down, relaxing against you as the pair of you sway. Nami wants to make a bet on if Zoro finally gets the nerve to say something about his feelings, but after a few months of being her closest friend she decides to just root for you both instead, trying to pull Luffy just far enough away to give you two some much needed privacy.

- As you feel his arms encircle you, a soft sway in his hips that matches yours, his mouth drops open and closed a few times over. It's always hard for him to find the right thing to say to you, but when he has you this close, with your eyes sparkling up at him, it's almost impossible to even think. It's all consuming living on the same ship, his heart jumping in his chest every time someone enters his cabin in case it's you, his feet taking him to stand outside your quarters almost every day just willing himself to knock on the door and finally put words to his devoted actions. He couldn't fight his longing to be near you for even a day, and watching you open up to him and start to inch closer yourself, he can't help but hope that you might be feeling just a drop of the ocean of affection he navigates for you. His eyes focus intensely on yours as he tries again to speak, stumbling over the word 'I' a few times before resigning himself to silence for another night.

- You could see the conflict of fear and hope in his eyes, the man of few words clearly straining to explain things his training had never left room for. He was trying, and you were sure you knew what he was going to say, but you didn't think you could be the one to articulate it for him. That didn't mean you couldn't give him a bit of encouragement.

- Trailing your hands over his arms to settle on his shoulders, you stepped flush with his body, the extra contact enough to stop his gentle sway and turn his whole frame rigid. With the softest smile you could muster you leaned up onto your tiptoes, giving him a moment to pull away before letting your lips press softly to his. It was just for a second. A mere moment of soft, sweet, contact. The kind Zoro had never even let himself imagine because it felt so far out of reach for him. But it happened, and it was perfect. A wide grin spread over his face at your action, finally feeling like he might be able to share his life with someone other than the ghost he carried with him on his hip.

"WAHHOOOOOO!YES YES YES!"" A deafening cheer echoed through the bar, shaking the light fixtures and turning every single head towards your ecstatic captain. Nami looked mortified as Luffy continued to punch the air in celebration of his first mate finally achieving a dream a little less violent than he'd first set out for, his joy for his friend all consuming and without an ounce of tact.

"Luffy! Stop it! We'll leave you to it." Nami had to physically drag him away as you heard the unfamiliar sound of Zoro laughing to himself, the grin across his cheeks only spreading as his focus returned to you. Leaning back in to find your lips again, he whispered,

"What Luffy said."

[say-al0e]

Don’t Let Go

Rating: PG-13

Summary:  Steve Harrington was your best friend. He was the one person you swore would never hurt you. But when high school rolled around, Steve went searching for a place to fit in while you went searching for yourself. Now, years later, the universe has brought Steve Harrington back to your life and he doesn't plan on leaving again. | Ft prompt request: “I want you to be happy.” “You make me happy.” + “I think I’m in love with you.” + “You’re the only one who gets to call me that.”

Warnings: Absent parents (Steve’s parents), emotionally abusive parents (reader’s parents), Steve was kind of an asshole in high school (but not really), best friend!Eddie, Steve listens to Hall and Oates unironically.

Pairing: Steve Harrington x fem!Reader

Word Count: 17.9k (I’m so sorry. I really, truly, terribly am.)

Stranger Things Taglist | Stranger Things Masterlist 

Steve Harrington, dressed in a striped polo and the garish green Family Video vest, didn’t so much as bat an eye as you approached the counter.

There was no greeting, no forced customer service voice or Harrington charm - or lack thereof, as of late. Instead, he delivered a deadpan, “Someone else rented The Evil Dead,” as he continued stacking return tapes. “You really should just buy it at this point.”

The scent of his cologne, something woody that had always made your head a little dizzy - always blurred the sharp edges of your biting jabs and warmed the ice in your chest -  enveloped you as you leaned against the counter. The surface was sticky beneath your elbows, as it always seemed to be, but you ignored it and grinned at him, cloyingly sweet.

“If I did that, how would I get to annoy you weekly?” 

Annoying Steve was, originally, not your goal. The first time you stepped into Family Video, you’d only wanted to rent a movie - a handful of them, actually, for a movie night with Eddie. You’d been expecting to see Keith behind the desk, prepared to deal with his wandering eyes and slightly off-putting smile, but the sight that greeted you instead was a surprise.

News of Steve’s hire had spread - Robin was a friend, she’d excitedly shared the news almost immediately - but, almost naively, you believed Keith would remain at the desk and you would, blessedly, avoid Steve’s presence. You’d been doing it for years, sidestepping him every chance you got, but your luck ran out.

Though Steve was surprised to see you - the last time you interacted, it was after your high school graduation and you’d run off the moment you were allowed - he was polite, professional, almost friendly. There was a light in his eyes when he recognized you, a genuine curiosity when he asked how you were doing, and you were baffled because Steve Harrington hadn’t been nice to you in a long while.

You weren’t sure if it was the shock of seeing him, the surprise when he made an effort to be polite to you, or maybe it was the years of repressed anger at how he’d treated you in high school. Regardless, you could admit that the interaction wasn’t your finest moment. Every nicety he shared was met with snark, bitter and biting, and he deflated almost immediately.

Guilt bubbled on your drive home but some small part of you felt glad that you’d managed to leave with your dignity in tact.

Since that day, your interactions became more frequent - there was little else to do as you spent your summer in Hawkins - and seeing the twitch of Steve’s jaw when you met his kindness with snark made you feel just a touch better before it made you feel worse.

The roll of his eyes, the quiet huff of breath as he focused on sorting tapes into genres, made you laugh. “I’m not here for The Evil Dead this time, though. I’m looking for Nightmare on Elm Street. I want to make my parents regret locking me away on a Friday night.”

In a rare moment of annoyance - directed at you, anyway - Steve scoffed. “As if you were doing anything better with your night.” He paused, hands hovering above the counter as if he’d only just realized what he said, and you huffed. When you rolled your eyes, he spared you a glance out of the corner of his eye.

“It’s about the principle, Stevie. Spiting the parents and all.” You waved a hand, silver of your rings glinting in the florescent light - drawing soft brown eyes, half-lidded in exhaustion and exasperation - and frowned as you fixed him with an accusing look. “Tell me you wouldn’t do the same.”

Though it had been years since you’d last spoken about anything other than surface-level bullshit - chemistry exams and pep rallies, basketball scores and the weather, a fallen tree blocking the road to your houses - your bond had been forged in fire by commonalities few knew you shared.

The only real difference between your parents and his was that yours were occasionally racked by guilt - just enough self-awareness to demand a family night once every few months with the declaration that things would change, family time would become more important - before starting the cycle of neglect all over again.

Steve grimaced, a look that confirmed your assumption, as you shrugged. There was no need for him to confirm what you already knew to be true so you carried on. “Anyway, my brother’s coming home for the weekend so it’s time to pretend we’re a functional family.”

Another grimace - this one stemming from a place of understanding as Steve Harrington knew all too well what it was like to be forced to pretend - as he turned to face you. He leaned against the counter and folded his arms over his chest with a thoughtful frown. “I thought your brother got married. What’s he doing back here?”

He didn’t just think, he knew - he was at the first wedding, offered you a cigarette and sat with you in silence as you both sipped beer in outrageously nice outfits neither of you would wear again; a kindness you hadn’t expected from him, one that seemed to make no difference when he ignored your presence at school the following Monday - but you still smiled at him just the same, as if you knew something he didn’t.

This was the first time Steve Harrington had really looked at you - soft brown eyes fixed on your face, intent and flecked with something warm - in years. The weight of his gaze settled on your shoulders, suddenly made you feel fourteen and shy again, but you did your best to keep your hand from trembling as you reached out to straighten a stack of pamphlets.

“Haven’t you heard? He’s been married, and divorced, twice.” Steve winced - he’d looked up to your brother once upon a time, just as you had, and you knew that the trajectory of his life hit home for Steve - and you weren’t sure what possessed you to be so flippant (maybe it was payback, a sick desire to make him hurt in the same way he’d hurt you for years) but you added, “And you thought your personal life was shit.”

It was a low blow, you knew that - you regretted it the moment you said it - but it escaped before you could think twice. The flicker of good will, something more hopeful than you’d seen from Steve Harrington in years, disappeared in an instant. It was replaced with a roll of his eyes, an exasperated sigh that made your stomach turn, and you bit the inside of your cheek as he turned back to the pile of tapes.

“Nightmare’s on the horror shelf. You know where to find it. If that’s all, I’ll ring you up and you can go. I’ve got shit to do.”

As Steve focused his attention on the dwindling pile in front of him, you swallowed a heavy sigh that tasted bitter. There was no point in apologizing - neither of you had done that; him for abandoning you in pursuit of popularity, you for resenting him for wanting somewhere to belong - so you ignored the pang of regret stabbing at your chest.

“By all means, keep working, Harrington. The longer I linger, the less time I have to spend with the mirror-verse Cleaver’s. Annoying you is just a bonus.”

Though he made no effort to turn his attention back to you, you could see the way his brows furrowed in confusion. He blinked and the question was slow to escape. “Mirror-verse?”

“Yeah. From Star Trek? It’s, like, the evil twin universe.” Steve swallowed hard, a reaction that left you minutely confused, and grimaced as he shook his head. When he scoffed, you huffed. “You’re best friends with Dustin Henderson and the merry band of losers, dude. You’re, like, nerd bait. Don’t judge me.”

Steve sighed and turned back to you, ready to deny the obvious - or remind you that just because he spent time with nerds, he hadn’t exactly learned much - but before he could so much as open his mouth, the bell above the door chimed.

All too quickly, his demeanor changed. Steve smiled, his most polite, parent-pleasing grin, and you bristled. Warm brown eyes flickered to your face and away again so quick you were almost certain you imagined it but you averted your gaze, anyway, as you clenched your jaw.

Across the store, your mother stepped inside Family Video with a grimace. She looked entirely out of place, pristine and pretty in a grimy den of movies she’d hate even the thought of, but she still brightened considerably at the sight of Steve Harrington.

Once upon a time, she - like his mother - swore the pair of you were destined to be, fated to be married and spend the rest of your lives together. The only attention they ever paid to the pair of you was when you were together and, when Steve left you behind, you fleetingly wondered if that was the only reason he ever looked at you in the first place.

That wasn’t the case and you knew it. 

Once upon a time, Steve was your best friend - had loved you more than anyone, spent every waking moment glued to your side - and it was because you were more alike than you were different. You lived similar lives, had similar childhoods, and complemented one another in ways that made your lives significantly better. Steve made you happy but, more impossibly, he made your parents happy.

When things changed, when your best friend Steve became King Steve and you turned invisible - became friends with Eddie Munson and tried to find yourself amongst the chaos of high school - your mother blamed you for ruining the future she’d imagined you’d have. She huffed and puffed, bitter and biting, when you started wearing black and listening to metal. And when you declared you would rather die than become a trophy wife for some rich asshole - someone like your father; someone you thought Steve would never be but could easily become, if he wasn’t careful - she refused to speak to you for a week.

When you lamented high school and all its difficulties, informed her that Steve Harrington was no longer your friend because he’d rather join Tommy and Carol in their relentless teasing than even pretend he knew you, she sniffed and reminded you that it was your own fault for choosing to be different. She told you that if you tried a little harder - put some effort into your clothes, wore a dress and fixed your hair and makeup - maybe things wouldn’t be so hard. And maybe Steve would still be your friend.

So, it was no surprise that she was happier to see him than you.

“Steve!”

She smiled, bright and brilliant, and paused just a step from the counter to take in the sight of him. Though you could both see her disdain - she’d lamented what a waste it was for him to remain in Hawkins, how awful his parents were being by cutting him off only to turn around and contemplate doing the same when you decided to attend a private university within driving distance rather than a larger school in the city - she was still glad to see him.

“What a pleasant surprise. How are you, sweetheart?”

As charming as he could be, Steve’s smile didn’t quite reach his eyes as he spared you a fleeting glance. His shoulders were too stiff, knuckles a little too white as he held tight to the counter, but to someone like your mother - someone who didn’t bother looking any deeper into anything not entirely about her - he looked perfectly pleased to see her.

“I’m good.” Steve nodded, though you weren’t sure who he was trying to convince - her or himself - and, just as he’d been raised, politely declared, “It’s nice to see you. It’s been a while.”

The last time Steve had the (dis)pleasure of interacting with your parents was at graduation. Your mother and father showered him with praise, congratulated his barely passing GPA in a way that neglected your own straight A’s - lauded his accomplishment in a way they forgot to do for you - and didn’t bother batting an eye as he sheepishly explained away his own parents’ absence. It was fine that they were busy, your parents told him, he could just join your family for dinner at Enzo’s.

For three miserable hours, you sat pressed close to Steve - neither of you sharing so much as a single glance, picking at food neither of you really cared to eat - while your parents prattled on about nothing in particular. He shared another cigarette with you in the parking lot after but the only words you exchanged were half-hearted congratulations, a soft acknowledgement from him that your speech had been nice, uttered right before you ran from the parking lot to climb into Eddie Munson’s awaiting van.

Now, Steve spared you a tentative glance as your mother set her sights on you.

Beneath his understanding, there was something unreadable. The look in his eyes was a little sad, a little soft, but a fire blazed in them that you couldn’t quite comprehend. It wasn’t quite anger, didn’t burn that hot, but a sort of determination that you decided not to question.

Whatever Steve Harrington felt, it was no longer your business.

Still, the combined weight of their stares - hers an icy disappointment, his a warm understanding - flooded your mouth with a bitter copper. Your skin heated and heart hammered against your ribcage, battering your chest in a way that ached. And instead of chancing a glance at either of them, of meeting their eyes and being reduced to embarrassed tears, you pretended to study the tarnished metal of one of your rings.

With the pleasantries out of the way, your mother seemed to realize that you had yet to find a tape and huffed impatiently. “Why are you just standing here? And where is the movie? I told you to find something your brother would like. We should’ve been home fifteen minutes ago.” From the corner of your eye, you could’ve sworn you saw a twitch in Steve’s jaw as his gaze fell to the counter. “Next time, I’ll just find something myself.”

Another huff, one that needled at your already rubbed raw nerves and had frustrated tears prickling at the backs of your eyes, escaped your mother’s painted lips as she reached for a tape on the new release shelf. “Steve, dear, what do you think of this one? You know my son. Do you think he’d like it?”

When you finally chanced a glance at Steve, the weight on your chest grew impossibly heavier. He was never quick to anger, never outwardly volatile, but you remembered the little tells. The twitch of his jaw, the narrowing of his eyes, the set of his mouth; he was annoyed and you were embarrassed.

Without so much as a glance at the tape, he nodded. “Definitely.” His agreement was easy, sure, but his tone was mild and disinterested. He wanted her - and you - gone. “It’s been a hit. Everyone likes it.”

Steve’s less than glowing review was more than enough for your mother. She didn’t care, not really, so she nodded and slid the tape across the counter with a satisfied smile. “Then we’ll take it.”

In her own way, you knew that your mother meant it - she did really like Steve, though most people who got to know him seemed to, irritatingly enough - but that didn’t matter.

The only thing that mattered in that moment was how long it would take for you to make it out of the store and back home, how long until you could lock yourself in your bedroom and hide until your parents demanded you be sociable, how long until you could sneak out your window and ask Eddie for something to help you forget - how long until you could escape the suddenly pitying look Steve Harrington shot you as your mother dug through her bag for her wallet.

The look in Steve’s eyes - a nauseating combination of understanding and sympathy, sorrow and contempt - made it that much harder to hold yourself together. He knew your family, knew what your life was like behind the large house and rich parents, just as you knew the same about him. That mattered little, however, when you no longer knew one another.

Steve’s sympathy meant nothing to you, was more embarrassing than comforting, and he seemed to realize what you were feeling as he blinked and returned his attention to your mother. She simpered and Steve’s answering smile looked entirely artificial to you.

“Always so helpful, Steve.” She shot you a withering look then, one that clearly read ‘unlike some people,’ before offering him something a little more real. “It really has been nice seeing you, sweetheart. Don’t be a stranger.”

Then, without waiting for his reply and without so much as a word to you, she turned and headed for the door. She wouldn’t leave you - that would potentially tarnish her reputation, someone seeing you trudge home on the side of the road - but she would huff and puff the entire ride home, louder the longer you took to follow.

With a weak smile, one you knew Steve could see right through, you took the tape from the counter. “See you around, Harrington.”

If he offered a reply, it was lost to the ringing in your ears as you rushed from the store and into your mother’s idling car. And though she spent the vast majority of the drive home lamenting what could’ve been - “Steve is so handsome. If you hadn’t decided to be different, just to spite us, the two of you would’ve made such a beautiful couple. You might even be engaged by now! He’s such a nice boy. What a shame you spend all your time with those… freaks.” - you were grateful to have escaped Steve’s scrutiny.

The last person you wanted to pity you was Steve fucking Harrington.

When you arrived home, despite your mother’s sharp demands for you to stay put, you bounded up the stairs and locked yourself in your room. There was no chance she would follow - no chance anyone in your family would so much as make it halfway up the stairs to berate you - so you did little to stop the frustrated tears that fell as you took a seat on the floor beside your record player.

As you dug through the crate of records, searching for something loud your family would hate, you spotted the little white shoebox hidden behind it all. Your fingers shook as you reached for it, hesitant as you hadn’t opened it in nearly four years, but it was already difficult to catch your breath - tears already blurred your vision - so you tugged it free.

Very rarely was your mother right. In the case of Steve Harrington, however, she was rarely wrong.

Though you hadn’t decided to be different - you just were; your existence serving to spite your parents was just an added bonus of finding yourself - the decision to live the life you wanted rather than the one they wanted for you was the catalyst that destroyed your friendship with Steve.

At fourteen, Steve wanted nothing more than his parents’ approval. He was desperate, almost, in a way that you never were for them to pay attention to him. It mattered, more than almost anything else, and the thought initially made you sad.

He deserved better than a family that never really wanted him - a family that made him feel as if he had to earn their love - and you told him that. But Steve wasn’t quite ready to listen.

Steve liked sports but he pushed himself to the limit, practiced basketball and swimming in hopes of earning his father’s praise. He didn’t particularly care for Tommy or Carol or any of the other pretentious douchebags he managed to befriend, but their parents knew his and his were the most well-off, meaning he became something of a leader. His father seemed pleased he’d managed to become the leader of the pack, clapped his shoulder the first time he saw Steve take charge - grinned when someone called him ‘King Steve’ - so he kept at it, despite your declaration that he deserved better.

While he desperately tried to make his parents happy, you accepted that nothing you could ever do would be good enough for yours. There was no point in making yourself miserable seeking approval that would never come, no point in trying to be someone you weren’t. They would never be happy - even if you’d been their perfect little doll, they would’ve found some kind of flaw to fixate on - so you did what made you happy.

In the process, you and Steve lost one another.

In the beginning, Steve stood frozen whenever Tommy or Carol or one of his other friends chose you as the target of the day. He always looked conflicted, as if he was considering stepping in, but he never said a word. A few months into freshman year and he made himself scarce whenever you became the center of attention. There was always a girl he wanted to meet or a coach that needed him or a bathroom break he couldn’t wait to take and you wondered who he was really protecting - you or himself.

Though you’d known the same kids for most of your life, everyone seemed to have forgotten your friendship and you figured that, one day, Steve would, too.

The older you got, the less care Steve took to avoid being a part of Tommy or Carol’s tirades. He never instigated the attacks on you - was never the first to call you a freak or toss erasers at you in class - but he seemed almost resigned to their occurrence. Even the slight wince he once wore, a barely there twitch of his mouth whenever he realized you were the target of the day, disappeared with time. Instead, he looked on almost passively, as if he were watching something on television, not watching as his one-time best friend blinked back tears.

Eventually, he joined in on the fun.

For nearly two years, the sight of Steve filled you with as much dread as the sight of Tommy or Carol. He never took the first shot, was almost robotic in his mistreatment of you, but his jabs always managed to hurt the worst. The quips he hurled at you were never as graphic as Carol’s, never as biting as Tommy’s - always half-hearted, muttered because eyes were on him - but they cut far deeper than anything anyone else could level at you.

Steve’s insults were always performative but they chipped away at your heart each time. He knew you, had been the most important person in your life for so long, but that no longer seemed to matter.

Hellfire become your sort of protectors near the end of freshman year - Eddie Munson was never quick to violence, always had a worse bark than bite, but he ended up with his fair share of bloody noses and bruised knuckles on your behalf - and you grew to hate Steve Harrington.

Something changed in the middle of senior year - Steve came back from winter break almost resigned, deflated; seemed to become a shell of himself months later when Nancy Wheeler dumped him - and he suddenly kept his distance. He huffed orders for Tommy and Carol and the like to leave you alone, a sudden change of heart from the boy who’d been content to sit quietly for so long, but you no longer trusted him. You avoided him - turned your head any time he so much as glanced your way - and would’ve been content to forget you ever even knew him in the first place after graduation.

The universe, however, could be a bitch when provoked. Somehow, you’d managed to make a cosmic enemy and, for reasons unbeknownst to you, Steve Harrington began to worm his way back into your life.

First, he befriended Robin Buckley. For years, she’d been one of the only people outside of Hellfire you deemed safe enough to interact with at Hawkins High. Steve was once a pain in her side, too, but after a summer of working with him, she deemed him alright. Still, Steve was a forbidden topic when you spent time together - something you demanded, unfairly, you knew, but she respected - though, she did manage to sneak in a few words of praise here and there.

After that, he managed to become passively acquainted with Eddie by way of Dustin Henderson. The teenage pain was their only commonality, a shared ward who latched onto them both and received endless support in return, though both lamented their respective babysitting duties. Still, even Eddie had to give Steve credit where credit was due.

Outside of high school, away from Tommy and Carol and bullshit popularity politics, Steve Harrington wasn’t a bad guy and, as much as you hated being told, you believed it.

The Steve you remembered from a lifetime ago would’ve hated King Steve. He would’ve been horrified to see him be so complacent in your misfortune, would’ve called him pretentious and been annoyed by his very presence, and it hurt to be reminded of the past each time someone deemed Steve a nice guy. Your Steve, the Steve that was your best friend from age four to fourteen, was solidly good.

Sometimes, you missed him.

As your breathing grew more erratic, harder to control even as you inhaled through your nose and exhaled through your mouth, you dumped the contents of the shoebox onto the carpet. Immediately, a handful of photos caught your eye. The pile consisted of strips from a carnival photo booth, a stack of faded Polaroids, and a few photos taken by your mother on joint family vacations. In each one, Steve had an arm wrapped tight around your shoulders and was grinning bright, smile wider than you ever remembered seeing.

Scattered among the photos were little objects, trinkets Steve had given you - a charm bracelet he chose for your eighth birthday, including each charm he’d given you every year that followed; a snow globe from his trip to New York, featuring a miniature Statue of Liberty; a baseball, the first home run he ever hit, scribbled with a message thanking you for practicing with him; a locket, the gift he gave you on your thirteenth birthday, with a photo of you both stuck inside.

The most important object was the one that made you wonder if maybe your mother was right - if you’d just given in, lived the way they’d wanted and tried to be perfect, the daughter they imagined they’d have, maybe you and Steve would be engaged, well on your way to marriage by now.

It was a small, plastic ring - plucked straight from a bubble gum machine, complete with tacked on gemstones - but you remembered thirteen-year old Steve presenting it to you with a bright grin and glowing pink cheeks. He’d kissed you on the cheek, a quick peck that made your face heat, and held your hand for the rest of the night. You wore it, stuck on the same finger as your mother’s garish wedding band, until the first week of freshman year.

Now, instead of living in that world, one of which you dreamt nightly as a child - one you continued dreaming of occasionally until age sixteen, when Steve finally joined in on the fun of making your life hell, even if it was passive - you were stuck living in a world in which Steve Harrington just barely tolerated your presence.

This world, one in which you struck down every potentially positive interaction with him, saw you still mired deep in your betrayal. You still hurt, still tasted something bitter each time you allowed yourself to wonder ‘what if’ but you had half a mind to call Family Video and apologize for lashing out.

That was out of the question, however, as Steve would likely think you were joking and hang up on you. So, instead of humiliating yourself, you shoved the objects back into the box - taking great care to avoid breaking or creasing anything - and hid it away again, locked in the past where it could no longer hurt you.

With the box safely stowed away once more, you reached for the record player and switched it on - waited a moment for it to crackle to life. When Stevie Nicks began to flood your room, you fell back against the carpet and stared up at the ceiling. If you kept still, focused on your breathing, there was a chance your thoughts might slow as the opening notes of Bella Donna replaced the ringing in your ears.

As was usually the case, you lost track of how long you spent lying on the floor. The record needed flipping - you’d been lying in silence for what could’ve been hours, could’ve been only minutes - but the sounds of life carrying on around you played on a constant loop. 

Your mother’s voice carried through the large house as she brushed off your absence by describing it as a temper tantrum. Your brother lamented the end of his second marriage, though you all knew it was his infidelity that brought him here. Your father clinked bottles as he mixed himself a drink, stoic and silent through the bullshit.

It was never-ending and you hated every moment of it.

A sharp tap against your window, long after night had fallen, finally broke the feedback loop. It captured your attention almost instantly, pulled you up from the floor with a stiff groan, and you scrubbed at your eyes - no doubt swollen and bleary from frustrated tears - as you wandered over.

It was likely a branch, fluttering in the cool spring air, but it could’ve just as easily been Eddie, bored and eager to break you free for a smoke session.

To your complete surprise, it was neither.

The sight that greeted you was enough to make you blink, rub your eyes a little harder and wonder if you’d fallen asleep - if this was some sort of truly ridiculous fever dream, inspired by your afternoon. But, as you pinched your wrist and blinked away the blur in your eyes, you realized that this was no dream.

Just as he had when you were barely teenagers, Steve Harrington stood beneath your window with a handful of pebbles and the ghost of a smile. He looked almost sad, melancholy, and you swallowed hard as you slid the window open halfway. When he realized your attention was squarely on him, Steve dropped the remaining pebbles in his hand and gestured for you to climb down.

There was a moment of hesitation, a question of why, but as a round of laughter echoed through the house - raucous and enough to make your blood simmer - you decided you didn’t care. His pity was the last thing you wanted but, in that moment, it seemed like a better alternative to remaining at home. You’d take Steve Harrington laughing at you over another moment trapped in your home.

With uncoordinated limbs, you gestured for him to wait before turning to rummage through your drawer for a sweatshirt - a security blanket of sorts. With it slipped over your head and shoes jammed onto your feet, you shoved the window open the rest of the way and pushed yourself through.

Steve stepped forward to help you to the ground, hand warm even through the fabric of your sweatshirt, and nodded - uncharacteristically quiet - at your soft declaration of thanks. The second you were steady, standing on your own two feet and blinking at him in the darkness, he took a step back. He cleared his throat, shoved his hands into the pockets of his jacket, and gestured for you to follow him with a nod of his head.

A split second of hesitation and you followed.

The path you’d forged in the woods as children was still there, renewed by Steve’s trudging in the darkness, and muscle memory pulled you along the few yards that separated your backyard and his. He held back limbs for you, careful to keep from hitting you with them as he stepped steadily through the brush, and held open the gate when you finally stepped into his backyard.

When the limbs cleared, you could see that he’d prepared for your arrival. Two sodas sat on the small table by the pool - a Coke for him, a Sprite for you - and a blanket rested on the chair to the right. Steve didn’t bother looking at you as he continued on. He crossed the concrete, settled into the chair on the left, head tipping back without so much as a word, and you were grateful.

Whatever this was - whatever reason Steve had to be nice, to go out of his way to resurrect a long dead practice from your childhood - brought tears to your eyes. You scrubbed at them to keep them from falling, swallowed the emotion burning the back of your throat, and followed him.

If he noticed - and, fleetingly, you assumed he had; Steve had proven himself to be a quick study, understanding in a way you didn’t remember - Steve said nothing. He remained uncharacteristically silent, not a single witty quip, and seemed content to sit side by side, sipping sodas and staring up at the stars.

As you draped the blanket over your legs, you allowed yourself a moment to reminisce.

This was, at one point, a regular occurrence for you both. After rough days - days your parents were particularly harsh, days his parents broke another promise - Steve trudged through the woods to fetch you. He plied you with soda and candy, junk your parents never let you have, and waited - patient, quiet - for you to decompress.

When your heart began to calm, the hammering against your ribs slowing to a steady thump for the first time since leaving Family Video, you realized just how much you’d missed it.

Steve remained silent beside you for a long while, stretched out in the chair in a way that told you he’d continued this practice long after you were gone, and you took the opportunity to study him.

There were elements of your Steve still there - the depth of his eyes, brimming with a thousand different emotions so deeply felt; the slight frown as he lost himself in thought, lips curling in the corners; the flutter of his lashes as he blinked away something that could potentially truly trouble him - buried beneath the hair and the cologne.

But, just as he did when you were thirteen, Steve Harrington still made your stomach flip.

It always irked your nerves that, even when he was the bane of your existence, you still believed Steve to be the most handsome boy you’d ever seen. It was unfair, cruel, but you blamed the years you spent in love with him for your infatuation.

Now, the sight of him bathed in the moonlight - worn by the world, older and maybe wiser, but still just as handsome as ever - had you spiraling in a way that you didn’t like at all.

The longer you stared, the more desperate you felt to break the silence. And though you hated to pop the blissful bubble surrounding you, the words filled your throat and threatened to choke you. There was nothing you wanted more than to pretend - to lay in silence as if nothing was wrong, as if your lives hadn’t changed entirely since you last shared a moment like this, as if you could exist beside Steve Harrington and not panic a little - but you couldn’t.

“Steve?” Even at a whisper, you flinched at the sudden sound. Steve, however, looked unsurprised by the call of his name. He tilted his head, flashed those warm brown eyes at you - glittering with a look you couldn’t quite read - and waited as you blinked. “I’m sorry.”

Whatever he’d been expecting, your apology was clearly not it. His mouth curved into a soft, confused frown as he pushed himself up to rest on an elbow. With furrowed brows, he asked, “You’re sorry? For what?”

For shooting down his efforts at civility, for dragging him into an awkward moment with your mother, for not following his lead in high school, for falling in love with him as a child and desperately hopping he would remain your Steve, for not being a person he could’ve loved in return - for being a mess who, despite no longer being friends, still needed his saving.

Each reason you considered sounded more pathetic than the last and you regretted breathing the words aloud in the first place. But when he looked at you, imploring you to speak - to give him an answer you couldn’t give anyone else - you shrugged.

“You’ve been trying. I’ve been mean.”

Immediately, Steve shook his head. He pushed himself to sit up straight, tossed his legs over the side of the chair and rested his elbows on his knees as he looked at you - really, truly looked at you.

It felt as if Steve could see into your soul as he searched your face. Gone was the boy you knew - a little awkward, a little misplaced confidence, a lot of heart - and in his place was a man you barely recognized. He shook his head once more, eyes falling to his hands, and laughed quietly.

“That’s… Don’t apologize for that. I deserved it.” He sighed then, a sound so exhausted you wondered how you hadn’t noticed the light purple beneath his eyes before that moment, and ran a hand through his hair. “I deserved a lot worse than that, honestly. I’m the one who should apologize. I’m sorry for…” He laughed, a rueful sound that made your chest ache, and dragged his hand through his hair a little harder. “I’m sorry for high school. I was a dick. I didn’t… I never meant to -“  

Steve cut himself off with a sharp breath, words running together as he searched for just the right thing to say - the words he needed to adequately convey his feelings, his remorse - and you shook your head.

“I know. It’s okay, Steve.”

It wasn’t - not really - and you both knew that.

Though you understood, to a certain degree, there were still moments that left you reeling. There were moments seared into your memory that you would likely never get, regardless of his explanation, and a sense of betrayal that would fade with time.

But hearing a real apology from him, something heartfelt and sincere - honest, raw and vulnerable in a way he once often was with you - would break the dam holding you together. It would clip the fragile thread of stability you were clinging to desperately and, though he’d seen it before, Steve was now the last person you wanted to witness you breaking into a thousand little pieces.

Steve knew, seemed to realize just how close to shattering you were, and nodded. He turned, settled back into the chair, and rested his head against the metal bar. He shifted, weighing his words, before sparing you a glance from the corner of his eye. “It wasn’t cool, though.”

Your quiet laughter, tinny and hollow, covered the soft sounds of night. “No, it wasn’t. But it is what it is.” Though you knew you should bite your tongue, accept his apology for what it was and move on, you couldn’t help yourself. “It hurt but I wasn’t surprised.”

A flash of hurt crossed Steve’s face, so quick you almost missed it, and you wished you could take it back. However, before the words could linger too long - before you could stumble through another apology - he turned to look at you. There was something sad, a little more upset than you would’ve imagined, as he searched your face. “What d’you mean, you weren’t surprised?”

“We just… we went in different directions.” You laughed again - a soft sound that lacked any humor - as you shook your head. “Everyone loved you. Star basketball player, swim captain, prom king, ladies’ man; you were the shit. I played Dungeons and Dragons with Eddie ‘The Freak’ Munson and spent my days hiding from guys who thought it was so funny to ask me out as a joke. I didn’t expect you to, I dunno, save me, or something, just because we were friends when we were kids.” You shrugged, avoiding Steve’s eyes as you leaned back against the chair. “Our friendship was too perfect. Nothing that good lasts forever.”

Steve’s jaw twitched, the only outward sign of his frustration - not at you, something you realized the moment he sighed, the moment he dragged a rough hand through his hair - as he smiled, a rueful grin. “Pessimism looks good on you.”

A surprised laugh escaped as you shook your head. “Thank my parents. One of the many impressive things they’ve given me. I can make myself, and everyone around me, sad in two seconds flat.” You scoffed, shook your head and turned your attention away from Steve’s sudden look of understanding to the stars glimmering above you. “It’s a real gift.”

Silence lingered for a beat and you had half a mind to apologize, this time for giving in to the instinctual cynicism you used to protect yourself, but Steve spoke before you could walk back your statement. His words were careful, almost hesitant, as he began, “Your mom today…”

That explained why he’d made the effort.

Your sigh was heavy, long suffering, but Steve was not someone you had to pretend with. If anyone understood what it was like to live with parents who never really cared one way or another, it was Steve. The foundation of your relationship was built on comforting one another, swearing that you would be better than your parents someday, and it wasn’t as if this was the first time he’d witnessed something like this.

Steve had seen worse - so had you - so, despite your embarrassment, you made no effort to apologize for her behavior.

Another sigh, this one impossibly heavier, escaped as you spared Steve a glance out of the corner of your eye. He looked conflicted, his fingers twitched as if he was contemplating reaching out - offering the physical comfort he knew you once loved, once craved - but seemed to think better of it and wrapped his fingers around the nearly empty Coke can.

“They’ve gotten worse over the years,” you began, words bleeding into the dark as you tapped at the metal of your can. “I’ve been working, saving up money. I want to transfer to a school in Indy. I had a good scholarship when we graduated but I qualify for a full one now and I’ve almost got enough saved for a few months’ rent on an apartment.”

“Why’d you stay in the first place? You got into a bunch of schools, had a ton of scholarship offers.” When you spared him a cursory glance, unsure how he knew - hardly anyone knew, not even your parents - Steve smiled. “Robin told me.”

Since learning the story of your former friendship, Robin had made it her mission to reunite you and Steve. She swore he was still the guy you remembered, if only a little bruised by time, and promised to keep him in line. “It’ll be easier,” she declared once, “if we can all just hang out together. You guys are acting like divorced parents and I’m the kid in the middle.”

Steve’s searching gaze made your skin prickle. You warmed considerably beneath his scrutiny as he waited, patient as ever - genuinely curious, for your answer.

“I got a few good scholarships, but none of them were full rides. My parents would’ve paid the rest but I just… I didn’t want to owe them anything.”

Once again, Steve understood. He knew what it was like, desperately trying to avoid being indebted to parents who would hold even the smallest gift over your head, and made a quiet noise of understanding as he sipped at the remainder of his Coke.

As the conversation lulled, neither of you quite certain what to say to one another, you turned to study Steve.

There was a certain air about him that had always been there, an easy confidence that often saw him asking for forgiveness rather than permission, but he was older now. His confidence was less showy - less flash, more substance; an earned knowledge of who he was, who he had become - but beneath it, there was a softness that he no longer seemed to shy away from.

Steve was, once upon a time, vulnerable with you and only you. He trusted you, showed you a softness that no one else was privy to, but these days, he seemed to wear his heart on his sleeve and you were glad. It made him more approachable, easier to truly see, and you saw flashes of him - little moments here and there as he flirted with girls at Family Video, pieces of his heart as he interacted with Dustin and Robin and Eddie - but there was a sadness beneath it all that hadn’t existed the last time you were this close.

Years had passed since you’d spoken to Steve for this long, let alone this in-depth, but you were reminded of just how easy it had always been to let him. Steve understood you and the ease with which you spoke, the way your heart calmed and your breathing grew easier, frightened you deeply.

There were still bitter feelings lingering, shards of hurt buried deep in your chest - anger, betrayal that he’d managed to forget your past in a matter of moments when it haunted you for years - but you understood. His apology would’ve explained what you already knew to be true, that he was just trying to belong, doing what he felt he had to, and that was the hardest pill to swallow.

Steve never meant to hurt you - the guilt that lingered in every glance he spared you assured you of that - but you still feared letting him into your life once more. There was no fear that he would repeat his past actions - that, you could handle, though you knew without so much as a second of doubt that he wouldn’t dream of it - but you feared the return of feelings long since buried.

Every feeling you ever harbored for him had been locked away tight, shoved into a box in the back of your mind - one that resembled the little shoe box in your room. Steve was your first love, the first boy you’d ever even considered wanting as more than a friend, and getting over him the first time had been nearly impossible.

Deep down, you knew that you’d never fully gotten over him - regardless of how awful he’d been at the time, of how earth shattering it had all seemed, he’d been your Steve for so long that it was almost denial. There was little chance you could escape a second round with your heart firmly in tact but, when he turned to look at you and offered you a small smile, eyes shining with a sort of hope you couldn’t recall ever seeing from him, you knew that you were doomed.

When he spent the next four hours plying you with embarrassing stories about Robin, about Eddie, about the children - all featuring him as the bumbling idiot, likely played up for your amusement - just to make you laugh, the impending sense of doom faded into something a little more resigned.

And when he walked you back home, shuffling in the first slivers of sunlight with a hand on your elbow to keep you upright as you blinked away sleep, your fate was sealed. As he helped you climb back to your room, standing beneath the ledge to make sure you made it safely - throwing a hand up in parting, a genuine smile on his lips - you knew that there was no use fighting it.

The universe had, without any sense of mercy, thrown Steve Harrington back into your life.

Still, change didn’t happen overnight.

Though something shifted - your world, the planets themselves - there was no expectation on your part that Steve would suddenly return to the best friend you once knew no did you want him to. You needed time, as did he, and you appreciated the little distance he kept as a week passed without any sort of contact.

There was no deluding yourself into thinking that he would become a near permanent fixture in your life again. If you were honest, you imagined his friendship would be relegated to mutual hangouts with Robin or the odd encounter as you waited for Eddie and he waited for Dustin. There was potential for a movie night, stuffed on the couch with him and other friends, or another night by his pool - both lamenting your lives.

But, as if summoned by the thought of him - the question of whether you should call and say thanks, tell him you appreciated his heroism in your hour of need - Steve popped back into your life.

You marveled as you found yourself standing in your kitchen, watching as he piled pizza onto a plate. He’d stopped by with the order you used to share weekly - half his favorite, half yours - after dropping Dustin and Robin at their respective homes. He knew your parents were out of town, as were his, and figured you hadn’t eaten yet.

Steve was almost sheepish as he explained himself, a little shy in a way you never would’ve associated with Steve Harrington previously, but you didn’t bother questioning it. Instead, you let him in and watched as he moved about your kitchen with startling ease. 

It was almost surreal, watching him wander around the space as if he’d always known it - watching him gather plates and glasses, shuffle through the fridge in search of soda. But, in a way, he had. As children, Steve spent more time at your home than he did his own. Not much had changed since the last time you’d lived this exact moment - the only real difference was your age and his hair - but it still surprised you that he’d managed to remember his way around after all these years.

Another key difference, one that reminded you exactly how much time had passed, was the silence.

As children, it was nearly impossible to keep the pair of you quiet. Steve spent many nights at your house, lying in bed with you, and nearly every time, you were reprimanded time and again by your annoyed parents for being too loud. Hours were spent giggling, chatting about nothing - just listening to yourselves speak, so your parents alleged, but you’d shared everything; dreams, plans for the future, declarations that things would be different.

Now, it seemed as if neither of you knew where to start the conversation.

The silence wasn’t uncomfortable - over the years, you’d both grown used to it - but, in that moment, your chest ached in a way that made you feel as if this particular silence needed filling. You’d spent the week desperately trying to avoid thinking about Steve - something that backfired and managed to turn most of your thoughts into ones about him - and what you wanted to say to him. There were years of thoughts and feelings bottled up tight, ready to be spilled, but uncorking any of that had the potential to ruin the delicate work being put into rebuilding your friendship.

So, you opted to smile at him - soft and sweet, saccharine in a way he wouldn’t expect - and play it safe.

“I think it’s nice, you know?” Steve lifted his head, glanced away from the pizza he’d been piling onto his plate, and raised an eyebrow in search of the context missing from your statement. “The time you spend with Dustin, Henderson, the kids,” you supplied as you glanced away and reached for your own plate. “Being all dependable and shit for them, being a good friend to Robin. Being civil to Eddie. It’s nice.”

Steve faltered for a brief moment, uncertain, before shaking his head. He looked ready to deny the obvious, something dismissive on the tip of his tongue, but you laughed before he could. “I’m serious. You’ve always been a good guy beneath all that hair, Steve. I’m just glad you found your way back to it, let other people see it. You got away from Tommy and Carol and all their bullshit, you left the high school rat race behind. You came back to the Stevie I knew way back when and I’m glad.”

A beat of silence, marked by Steve’s lack of response, pulled your attention away from the pizza box and back to him. His expression was unreadable, warm eyes clouded with something that made your stomach flip - something uncertain, something a little sad, a little introspective - but he covered it quickly with a half-smile when you met his eyes.

“You’re the only one who’s ever gotten to call me that, you know?” Steve’s smile grew a touch brighter when you blinked, surprised. “Stevie. It was always your name for me. It never felt right coming from anyone else.”

The declaration was soft, spoken into the warmth of your kitchen with a reverence that made your heart skip - one that made your cheeks heat and had your stomach filling with butterflies - and you swallowed the emotion gathering in your throat with a sip of soda. It was a small gesture, something that likely meant nothing, but it filled you with a blinding warmth, just the same. “I’m honored, Stevie,” you returned, smile soft, tone just as reverent.

Silence settled again - this one significantly more tolerable; less awkward, more bashful - but, as you watched Steve move, you felt no need to break this one. He stepped around you easily, moved with you, and you smothered every thought of how natural the interaction felt.

As you bother attempted to gather yourselves - you, choking down every returning teenage dream, every fantasy long since buried; Steve, swallowing the uncertainty, the guilt - you spared fleeting glances at one another. Each time your eyes met, you both turned away, suddenly shy, suddenly ashamed at being caught. The tips of Steve’s ears tinted red, burning bright when he tilted his head just so, and you knew that your face was warm to the touch.

It was strange, feeling this bashful in his presence, when a week ago, you had no problem looking him in the eye and snapping something that would hurt his feelings. Realistically, you knew that it was a safety net - a way to keep yourself safe, to guard your heart from any further damage at the hands of Steve Harrington - but before you could make a joke, return to your snark, Steve cleared his throat.

“I, uh, I know you said it was okay,” he began, voice quiet as he glanced at you from beneath his lashes, “but I’ve been thinking.” He leaned against the counter, folded his arms over his chest, and swallowed heavily as he took a moment to gather himself. “I just… I need to say this, okay?”

There was little room for you to question where the conversation was headed - there was only one topic that was relevant enough to warrant proper discussion. His apology was a long time coming, something you knew he needed more than you did, so you nodded. “Yeah, okay.”

Steve ran a hand through his hair, fingers dragging through the strands a little too rough to be a casual gesture, and you bit the inside of your cheek so hard you tasted copper as you waited with bated breath. He kept his eyes on the floor, not quite able to look you in the eye, and frowned.

“Everything that happened,” he began, words measured and clumsily falling from slightly chapped lips, “was on me. Even if we weren’t meant to be friends or whatever, I should’ve tried harder. You were always the person who believed in me, the one who was there for me, no matter what. I should’ve tried harder to stop Tommy and Carol and all the other assholes. I shouldn’t have been a dick to you, either. I was stupid,” he confessed, blinking hard against the light in the kitchen as he lifted his eyes to the ceiling - unable to meet yours as he continued on. “I was just trying to make people who didn’t matter like me. All I did was make the one person that actually did like me, hate me. And I’m sorry.”

Each word rang in your ears, repeated until you could barely hear the rest of his apology over the thudding of your heart - each beat hammering against your ribcage with enough force to leave you breathless. The acknowledgement made you want to give in to the pressure building in your chest, made you want to break apart into a thousand little pieces, but you gripped the counter and swallowed the copper flooding your mouth.

As Steve shook his head, lowered it to look at you, you could see the expression on his face. There was a guilt there, laced with something akin to awe - a reverence you’d never seen before that suddenly made your skin prickle with goosebumps -  and you blinked back the tears threatening to fall.

“Steve.”

There were a million things you wanted to say, a thousand words stuck on the tip of your tongue - entire novels you could spout, devoted entirely to what you’d spent years thinking about - but nothing seemed quite right. Though you’d imagined this moment for years, desperately hoping it would come, now that it was upon you, you were stunned silent.

The acknowledgement that he’d hurt you, that you were right - he’d only been looking to belong, to fit, to find a family - and he regretted it was all you’d ever wanted. To hear it breathed aloud, spoken into the still of your kitchen from the mouth of an older, more mature Steve Harrington, was something straight out of a dream.

The apology didn’t erase everything that had happened - you both knew that - but it was a start. This was the first step, guiding you both in a new direction, and as you stood with a quivering bottom lip and shaking breath, Steve seemed to understand. He laughed, a sound that rang hollow over the blood rushing in your ears, and nodded.

“I know.” His mouth twisted into a rueful smile, something that openly displayed his regret, as he sucked in a deep breath. A shadow flickered across his face before he deflated entirely and shook his head. “You don’t have to… I know.”

Though it had been years since you’d had a meaningful conversation with Steve, he still seemed to be able to read you. He knew that you were overwhelmed, knew that your emotions were quickly getting the better of you - could see that your breathing had grown a touch shallow, that your chin quivered and your blinking grew more rapid - and that he was no longer someone you trusted with your upset.

Instead of pushing,  he allowed his declaration to linger for another beat before clearing his throat. With that, he broke the spell, cracked in half by the scrubbing of his shoe against tile, and you were glad.

“I, uh, I missed you,” he confessed, a little hesitant - a little awkward - as he stepped forward to grab his plate. He spared you a glance from beneath his lashes and suddenly looked very much like the fourteen year old he had been the last time he stood in your kitchen. “Uh, hanging out with you. Being friends. I missed that.”

His explanation was rushed, clumsy in a way you weren’t used to for him, but it made you smile. It reminded you that he was human, still just some guy, and the feeling was mutual. You’d missed Steve more than you cared to admit, more than he needed to know, so you nodded. “Yeah.” Steve’s smile grew a touch more genuine as you nodded, really lit his eyes when you confessed, “I know the feeling.”

It wasn’t eloquent, nowhere near the novel you imagined spouting before you lost hope Steve would ever return to your life, but it was enough. It adequately conveyed your desire to start over and Steve seemed pleased, happy you hadn’t pushed him away entirely.

Steve smiled a little brighter before he blinked and suddenly patted the pocket of his jacket. “I, uh, I brought a tape. Thought, maybe, we could watch a movie?”

From the inside pocket of his jacket, Steve produced a copy of The Evil Dead, battered and worn but clearly labeled - and marked with a Family Video sticker. It was a moment of surprise, the tape having been produced so quickly it made your head spin, but the levity helped you swallow the lump of emotion lodged in the back of your throat.

Unable to help yourself, you laughed as you grabbed your own plate and turned to guide him - needlessly, he knew the way - to the living room. “You don’t really strike me as a horror guy, Harrington.”

Steve followed close behind, his cologne clouding your senses - overwhelming in the most delightful way, a scent that made your head dizzy and your heart race; one that filled your nose and would linger in your memory as you picked apart every moment of your interaction later - and you struggled to keep your tone as light as possible as you spared him a sideways glance.

The observation was met with a laugh, a sound that confirmed your belief, as you took a seat at one end of the couch. “I’m totally not.” You tried not to laugh at his grimace, not wanting to add insult to injury, but Steve took no offense as he settled at the opposite end of the couch. “You rent it, like, twice a month, though, so I thought I should see what all the fuss is about.”

There was more space than necessary between you, your body pressed into one end of the couch while Steve pressed himself against the other, but it was understandable. Despite your history, despite the hundreds of sleepovers you had as children and the countless hours you spent pressed together, this - whatever was building, brewing between you both; whatever you’d managed to rekindle, resurrect - was new.

Regardless of how familiar some things felt - Steve’s smile, the quiet understanding you still somehow shared, the soft look in his eyes as he tilted his head to study you - everything was different. Everything had changed.

Letting Steve back into your life was a choice, one you made the moment you saw him standing beneath your window, and you knew that nothing would ever be exactly as it had been. He wasn’t the same Steve you remembered - not exactly, not quite close enough - but you weren’t the same girl he remembered, either.

The differences were glaring, more than evident as he cowered into the couch, pizza half-eaten and mouth twisted into a grimace with each bloody scene that flashed across the screen. Though the film was campy, not quite as terrifying as another horror film, Steve still seemed perturbed by the gore.

As the movie played on, you paid more attention to Steve than the familiar images flashing. He looked entirely unenthused - a far cry from Eddie, who sat with his nose pressed to the glass and watched with rapt attention and an almost childlike glee - but he never breathed a word of discontent. Each time he sensed you staring, eyes roving his face, he spared you a quick glance and the ghost of a smile. He was trying, that much was evident, and the thought was enough to make your body warm from within.

“Steve?”

A flash of relief, clearly illuminated by the light from the television, crossed his face as Steve took the opportunity to turn his attention from the television to you entirely as a particularly bloody moment unfolded. If you hadn’t been so focused, so caught up in your own thoughts, you would laughed at his sigh of relief. “Yeah?”

For a brief moment, you allowed the movie to fill the silence - allowed his eyes to rove your face in search of an answer - and frowned as his brows furrowed. He’d been gradually shifting closer, a few inches every so often, and nearly closed the gap between you as he tilted his head to get a better look at you.

As he shifted closer - just enough to feel the warmth radiating from his body - his scrutiny was enough to make your heart race. It hammered so hard against your ribcage that you feared it might crack and you hoped your voice wouldn’t shake as you tilted your head to meet his eyes.

“I never really hated you. I wanted to,” you admitted, voice soft - barely audible over the sound of the movie, but Steve heard you clearly. He inhaled sharply, the only sign of his discontent, as he waited patiently for you to continue. “I just… I couldn’t hate you. I hated Tommy and Carol and Billy and everyone else. I hated high school. I hated the circumstances. I hated our parents. But I never hated you. I don’t think I ever could. I get why everything happened the way it did. I don’t… I don’t blame you. And it’s all water under the bridge now, yeah?”

Steve swallowed hard, blinked harder, and you could see his chest rising and falling just a touch faster than normal as he searched your face. Warm brown eyes mapped your skin, wary of any hint of dishonesty - any sign that you felt forced to accept his apology - but when he found none, he nodded. The look in his eyes wasn’t quite relief, not quite joy, but a light that made it harder for you to breathe as the corner of his mouth turned up in a half smile.

“Yeah. Okay.” Steve nodded once more, a resolute gesture that you returned easily, before tilting his head to return his attention to the television. Another spatter of blood made him grimace but that did little to stop him from breathing a quiet, “Thanks,” as he nudged your shoulder with his own.

Desperate to change the topic, to move on to something safer - something that didn’t involve feelings, something that didn’t require emotional gymnastics - you laughed quietly at his grimace. “Do you want to watch something else? I think you’ve suffered enough for one night. I’ve got Robin Hood. Only normal movie in the place, though, I’m afraid.”

The knowing smile Steve shot you was not quite what you expected. “Y’know,” Steve began as you pressed pause, “that doesn’t really surprise me.” His eyes glittered with a grateful mischief and you raised a brow as he laughed. “I remember when we were kids, you loved that movie. I think you asked your parents to get you a bow for Christmas three years in a row before you stopped.”

“It was four.” Steve hummed, waved a dismissive hand as you stood from the couch to change the film, and you shot him a teasing grin. “Imagine if they’d gone for it, though. I’d be, like, on some kind of watchlist by now, probably.”

“I hate to break it to you,” he began, grin badly concealed as he reached for the discarded pizza on the table, “but with the amount of times you rent The Evil Dead, you’re probably already there. Do you watch anything else?”

Steve’s grin was comfortable, teasing and soft in a way you hadn’t seen in years, and it sent butterflies swarming in your stomach as you slipped Robin Hood into the VCR. The taunt was in good fun, the jab of a friend, and it made you roll your eyes good-naturedly as you returned to your seat, knee knocking his as you sat.

“Just because you have bad taste, Stevie, doesn’t mean you should be concerned. I mean, look at your taste. You like Hall and Oates. No one likes Hall and Oates. That’s enough to get you put on a watchlist, not liking horror.”

His knee knocked yours, body heat radiating even through thick denim, as Steve scoffed in faux outrage.  “Hall and Oates are good!” His defense was louder than he intended, a teasingly outraged roar as he turned to you, eyes glittering in the dim living room light. “They’re real music. Not like…” He frowned, eyes narrowing as he met your gaze. “I can’t even name anyone you might listen to to make fun of you.”

“Black Sabbath, Iron Maiden, Judas Priest, Motörhead, Megadeth, Metallica?” Steve stared blankly, blinking after each name, before shaking his head when you allowed the question a moment to linger. You huffed, unsurprised but still feigning disappointment, and Steve laughed. “Okay, if this,” you waved a hand between the pair of you, “is going to work, we’ve gotta get you educated. Metallica has a new album coming out and it’s gonna be out of this world. Ozzy, from Black Sabbath, he’s gone solo and his stuff’s killer. Totally insane. That’s real music. Not fuckin’ Hall and Oates.”

“I don’t know who any of those people are,” Steve admitted, laughing quietly as he shook his head, “but I’ll take your word for it.” He paused, tilted his head to meet your eyes once more, and smiled just a little softer. "Next time, you can educate me.”

The brief consideration that you would be given nothing more than this, a few chance meetings with an old friend, had been enough to make your chest ache, and the relief you felt at realizing that would not be the case worried you. Though it warmed you considerably, made your nerves buzz in the most pleasant of ways, there was still the question of why.

So much time had passed, years had gone by without so much as a kind word shared between the two of you, that you couldn’t quite understand Steve’s motivation. There was the chance that he’d missed you in the same way you’d missed him - felt that there was a void in his life, a blank space where there was once a piece of a larger puzzle - but there was also the chance that he was simply lonely. As far as you could tell, his social circle had minimized to little more than Dustin and Robin. 

There was a chance that you were all he had left.

That thought did little to comfort you - you wanted him to desire your presence the same way you’d desired his, wanted him to have missed you in the same way you’d missed him - but you decided not to dwell on it. If Steve wanted to remain in your life for whatever reason, you would allow it. You were older, had more experience dealing with the crushing blows life could deal. Steve Harrington couldn’t hurt you much more than he already had; letting him have a piece of your heart, the piece that had always belonged to him, anyway, was going to happen whether you wanted it to or not.

The only thing you could do was temper your expectations.

There was no expectation that this would be anything more than friendship - something safe, a comfortable return for the both of you; a relationship you both needed if you were to continue living in Hawkins. As beautiful as you found him, as in love with him as you’d once been, that ship had long since sailed. 

Steve had been your friend once - had only ever been your friend. There was nothing more there, no matter how desperately you’d once hoped for something more. Reminding yourself of that from the beginning would make the inevitable heartbreak that much easier.

As you thought, lost yourself to questions of what could be - what had already been - and harsh reminders of why this was a line of thinking you couldn’t afford to barrel down, the sound of Disney dreams echoed through the dim living room. Steve rested at your side, head cradled by the back of the couch, and seemed more relaxed than you’d seen him in a long while.

It was easy to lose yourself in something that felt so safe. Moments like this, sheltered safely away from family and losing yourself in the presence of Steve Harrington, had always been a great source of comfort. It was easy to forget nearly everything troubling you, to delude yourself into thinking that this was a safe space, and evidently, Steve felt the same as you both began to drift.

The exhaustion of your week crept up on you slowly, muddled the mess of thoughts crowding your brain and blurred the images dancing on the screen. Work had been grueling, busier than normal, and the presence of your brother meant that you were walking on eggshells with every step you took at home. Before you realized what you were doing, your head began tilting in the direction of Steve’s shoulder.

For a moment, you rested there. It was easy, settling against Steve as you had so many times as a child, but just as you did the first time this happened - a lifetime ago now - you lifted your head when he shifted.

Steve smiled, an exhausted quirk of his mouth, as you shook yourself awake. You shot him a sheepish grin, apology on the tip of your tongue as you blinked away sleep, but he silenced it with a soft laugh. He reached for the blanket draped over the back of the couch and settled it over your laps, thigh pressed to yours as his arm wrapped around your shoulders. It was once a natural position, you wrapped in his arms as the world passed you by, and you blamed the exhaustion muddling your brain for the way your body melted into his instead of jolting away.

It was a reflex, you reasoned, muscle memory long forgotten. You’d had countless sleepovers with Robin, with Eddie; neither meant anything more than friendship and this, whatever it was, didn’t either. 

When you made no effort to move, Steve smiled. “You’ve drooled on me before, sunshine,” he reminded you gently, voice soft in the quiet of the room, “get comfortable. I’m not going anywhere.”

The heat of his body pressed to yours, the scent of his cologne, his shampoo, the clean laundry scent of his sweatshirt, combined with the tangled web of questions - doubt and lingering resentment, baked in wariness - muddled your thoughts. The only response you deemed worthy of his declaration was a confused, “Sunshine?”

For a moment, the name lingered in the air, before realization seemed to hit you both. Just as you’d always called him Stevie - a soft nickname, not very original but always uttered with the utmost care, a sweet praise meant only for him - he called you ‘sunshine.’

It started as a joke, a nickname plucked from thin air on a warm summer day after too much time in the sun left you with a bout of heat exhaustion, but had ultimately stuck. Steve swore it was nice, a declaration that you made his days brighter, after it nearly drove you to tears. It became something soft, uttered in private and only shared between the two of you, and Steve blinked as he realized.

Then, without missing a beat, he shrugged. He offered a half smile as he rested his head on the back of the couch, tilted it just enough to meet your eyes. “If you can call me Stevie, I can call you sunshine. Equality, right?”

“Yeah, Stevie. Equality.” 

The sleepy bubble of laughter that escaped you was enough to make Steve smile, lazy but pleased, as his eyes slipped shut. Instead of shrugging off his arm, retreating to your side of the couch and drifting off as you knew you should, you leaned in closer. You inhaled the scent of his cologne, his shampoo, his detergent, allowed it to dull the ache in your chest - calm the sudden racing of your heart. And as his breathing evened out, chest rising and falling rhythmically, you allowed yourself the indulgence of pressing your head to his shoulder. 

Before you knew it, you’d drifted into the most peaceful sleep you’d gotten in months.

When you woke the next morning, wrapped in Steve’s embrace with your face buried in the crook of his neck - warm and content, limbs stiff with sleep but relaxed; heart calmer than it had been in months - there was no confusion. You knew, instantly, where you were and whose arms surrounded you. Even as you blinked sleep from your eyes, there was no mistaking the scent of him. Your body felt lighter, as if it were floating, and you took a moment to take stock of the moment.

There was a crackling warmth building in your chest, the spark of something you knew was better left buried - feelings you’d swallowed long ago warming the hollow of your chest - and you did your best to think about anything other than the warmth of Steve’s palm pressed to your side, fingers ghosting the sliver of skin just above the band of your shorts.

Thoughts of work, of school, of music, of Eddie, of Robin, of to-do lists, of books left unfinished all distracted you briefly but the air around you shifted the moment you woke and you were powerless to stop it.

A cursory glance at Steve proved that you were not the only one who felt it. His eyes were already on you, gaze sleepy and warm. There seemed to be fewer lines on his face, a lighter purple beneath his eyes, and he was able to hold your gaze just a moment longer as he shot you a soft smile.

“G’morning, sunshine.” His voice, rough with sleep, hit you square in the chest. It was a sound you hadn’t heard in years, one that brought a thousand memories bubbling to the surface, and you tried not to let him see how if affected you. “Your couch used to be way more comfortable.”

He looked warm, hair mussed with sleep and eyes blinking slow against the sunlight filtering in through windows, and you were powerless to stop yourself from reaching out to brush a lock of hair from his eyes. “It’s still comfortable. You’re just getting old, Stevie.”

Steve’s mouth fell open, lips parted in faux outrage, as he scoffed. The hand on your hip moved, fingers pinched lightly at the skin - not enough to hurt, just enough to feel - and you laughed as he rolled his eyes. “I’m not getting old,” he huffed, indignant. He searched your face, eyes glittering with an amused mischief, before he shook his head. “I brought you pizza and your favorite movie, just so you could bully me. Unbelievable.”

“I’m just trying to keep you humble, Harrington.”

“Yeah? Oh, well, someone has to do it,” he agreed, nodding as he lifted a hand to rake through sleep mussed hair. “Might as well be you, huh?” Steve grinned and so did you. You’d never humbled him, never even dreamed of it - you were the one to build him up, to make him smile and remind him of his worth after his parents cut him down - and you wouldn’t begin now.

Still, you nodded, somber-faced and fighting a grin. “Might as well.”

There was something electric that thrummed just beneath the surface, a steady warmth that underlined the conversation, and suddenly, it felt as if you were fourteen again. You were reminded of the mornings you spent together, laughing at nothing before the reality of life set in. It made your chest ache, made your lungs burn, but you desperately wanted to bottle the moment, just in case you never lived it again.

Over the course of the teasing, Steve’s face had drawn closer - mouth close enough to feel the warmth of his breath fanning your skin as he laughed - and you blinked, surprised, when you realized how little distance remained. It took Steve a moment, his smile slowly fading into something a touch more serious, but when he seemed to realize, he looked almost reluctant to release his hold on you.

“Robin will help if I’m late again.” He laughed, though it rang a touch hollow, as he moved, placed a little bit of distance between the pair of you.

“Oh, yeah. Might not want to risk that. She can humble you in, like, a really accurate way.”

Steve grimaced, though laughter was quick to follow, as he stood from the couch. Subconsciously, your eyes fell to his stomach - traced the dark trail of hair that flashed as he lifted his arms above his head to stretch - and felt your face heat as he caught you. Instead of teasing, however, Steve’s own cheeks tinged pink, a soft dusting that warmed his face, as he reached for the plates still sitting on the coffee table.

“She almost made Keith cry once,” he revealed as you stood and followed him to the kitchen, carrying the empty soda cans. "Not on purpose, she just started talking and couldn’t stop. She apologized a thousand times but I still got dragged into a month of Saturday night shifts, just because I laughed.” 

“She said something about our history teacher once, I can’t remember what, but I laughed and we both got detention. That’s actually how we became friends,” you revealed, smile soft when Steve turned to you. “It’s, like, one of those word vomit things. She says it before she can really think about it. It’s not mean, just really accurate.”

“Oh, yeah. For someone who claims she can’t read people, Robin’s usually pretty right about most things.”

The observation lingered, was met with your hum of acknowledgement, and the conversation tapered off. Steve spared the clock in the kitchen a glance, sighed as he realized the time, and offered you a hesitant smile. “Thanks,” he began, voice going quiet once more as he glanced at you from beneath his lashes. “For, uh, not kicking me out, I guess. And not making me finish The Evil Dead.”

It was sweet, an endearing quip that made you grin, and you shook your head to keep from flustering as you folded your arms over your chest. “Anytime, Stevie. You know where I live if you ever want to do it again.”

Steve grinned, a little easier than before, as he walked by your side to the front door. “Careful what you wish for, sunshine. I might just take you up on that.” Then, for the first time in a long while, you saw Steve hesitate. He blinked, unsure, before he offered you a tight smile instead of the hug he seemed to be contemplating. “I’ll see you later.”

“Later, Harrington.”

And, just like that, the moment was over. Steve left with a glance thrown over his shoulder - a few glances spared out of his window, eyes stuck on you as you stood in the doorway and waited until he’d made it down your driveway - and you wandered back into the house with an overwhelming flurry of emotions filling the pit of your stomach.

You wondered if this would be a one time thing, a mistake on his part - an effort to clear a guilty conscious, a way to absolve himself of any lingering guilt he felt after uncovering old wounds the week prior - or if it would become a regular effort. You wondered if it would continue being this easy, allowing Steve back into your life when you’d run from him for so long. You wondered if he even wanted back into your life, if he felt the same conflicting emotions you felt as you cleared the reminders of his presence from your home.

However, your worries were soothed as you realized the moment you shared - one you worried would be a fluke, something to be forgotten and never considered again - became the spark that reignited your friendship with Steve. 

It started gradually, with you and Steve spending one night a week together. Most weeks, your time together was limited to a few hours - usually on days Dustin and Eddie had Hellfire and Robin had band - and filled with food and laughter as you made use of the nearly untouched kitchen in his home. Others, you found yourselves wrapped up in one another, a tangled mess of limbs and blankets, after another accidental sleepover that got less awkward each time it happened.

Slowly but surely, once a week turned into twice a week. Then, it became three. Soon, and before you could really think too much about it, most of your days included at least a few moments of Steve Harrington’s time. Steve became a fixture in your nights with Robin - not always, you still reveled in your alone time, but more often than not - and, on a few separate occasions, joined you and Eddie for a night of music and horror movies that made his stomach turn.

It was strange, going from avoiding Steve at every turn to seeing him almost daily in what felt like the blink of an eye, but, in a way, it felt like coming home. Steve had, for so long, been such a large part of your life. Welcoming him back into the chaos of your life was easy, almost too easy, but he fit like a missing puzzle piece.

There were moments that you thought too much about it - where you wondered if you were clinging to a past that no longer existed, trying to delude yourself into thinking that nothing had changed. There were moments you poured your heart out to Eddie, wondering if you were doing the wrong thing in allowing Steve back into your life without so much as blinking. There were moments that you struggled, questioning every decision you’d made in relation to Steve Harrington. But, at the end of the day, each moment you spent with him felt right. 

Still, there was a weight to your friendship that hadn’t existed as children. As his presence in your life grew greater, more obvious, there was a realization that now - as adults, or as close as you could be - every action, every word, carried a consequence it hadn’t years ago. Each move you made meant something, each step you took mattered, and you were careful to keep yourself in line as you navigated the return of Steve Harrington.

Regardless, things were going well. You were happy, Steve seemed to be happy, and your friendship seemed to pick up exactly where it left off - bitterness soothed by Steve’s continued effort to make you smile, his selflessness when it came to anticipating your desires.

The only question that lingered, that kept you awake at night, was how long you could continue holding yourself together. It was easy to pretend that you weren’t madly in love with Steve in his presence - you’d done it before, spent years madly in love with someone who you were supposed to hate - but everyone else could see right through you as your feelings eclipsed their pre-high school predecessor.

Robin saw it first, cheered so loud her mother had to tell you both to keep it down, and grinned every time Steve so much as nudged your shoulder. Eddie was next, groaned and grimaced and wrinkled his nose, but ultimately proved to be the more helpful of the two as he tried to listen and understand the mess of feelings tumbling around your brain. He picked apart the pieces of your frazzled thoughts, made sense of the feelings you were too afraid to untangle with anyone else, and ultimately kept you tied together as the months ticked by.

But as you stepped into Family Video, greeted by Steve with a hug and a bright smile, you wondered just how long the brittle thread wrapped around your fragile feelings would hold.

As Steve stepped away, drew to his full height and reached for the stack of tapes he’d dropped onto the counter to embrace you, he ignored the look Robin shot you both. He pointedly brushed past her without so much as a glance in her direction, ignored your snicker when she stuck her tongue out at him, and offered you a small smile as he placed a return on the shelf.

“You up for a movie tonight? I’ve heard Top Gun’s good.” 

Behind him, Robin’s eyebrows winged up in surprise and it took every ounce of self control for yours not to do the same. Though your friendship had grown, had returned to something resembling your past relationship, there was little time spent together outside the comfort of a private space. Most of your time spent together was at his place, hidden away from your family and abandoned by his, or at the home of a friend - Robin or Eddie, the Wheeler residence, once. Family Video was the only public space you occupied together and that was only deemed safe as it was, almost always, empty.

The decision to remain hidden was not a conscious one - there was never a conversation in which you decided to hide, to avoid going to the movies or to dinner - but you’d been under the assumption that it was something unspoken, understood.

Now, as Steve raised an eyebrow at you, you wondered if the time just hadn’t been right.

“Tom Cruise is in it. Of course it’s going to be good.” Steve made a face, wrinkled his nose in faux disgust and rolled his eyes, but laughed as you reached out to nudge his shoulder. The reply was a touch brittle, a little stilted, but he seemed none the wiser as he waited patiently for your answer. “Can we do tomorrow night? Corroded Coffin is playing at The Hideout tonight. I promised Eddie I’d come ‘cause they’re playing a new song. You can come with, if you want. Though, I’m not sure how much fun you’ll have. They play metal covers and drink shitty beer with grumpy old dudes.”

Steve grimaced again, this one genuine, and shook his head. “Yeah, I think I’ll pass, but thanks.” He spared you a sideways glance, eyes roving the black jeans and Hellfire shirt you wore, before returning his attention to the shelf in front of him. “I get off at five tomorrow. Maybe we can make it to the six o’clock showing?”

“Sounds like a plan.”

When Robin retreated, muttering something about needing to clean shelves or stack boxes, Steve spared you a glance from the corner of his eye. His fingers tapped against the shelf - something of a nervous tic - as he schooled his features into a look of nonchalance that you saw through immediately.

There was something bothering him, a flicker of something sad - something hurt - but he hid it well as he shelved another return. “You should go for it.” When you raised a brow, unsure of what he meant, he continued, “Munson. You should go for it. You guys would be a good couple.” The declaration was quiet, as if he didn’t want to breathe it aloud, and your eyes widened.

“Eddie?” You nearly choked on your laughter as you shook your head, unable to help yourself, even as the tips of Steve’s ears tinted pink.

Plenty of rumors followed you in high school but that - the whisper that you were dating Eddie, that you were at least sleeping together - was the most pervasive. There’d never been anything more than friendship between you and you shook your head as you spared Steve an incredulous glance. “He’s not really my type.”

At this, Steve seemed to perk up, if only momentarily. A look of intrigue flashed so quick that you were almost certain you’d imagined it as he suddenly stared at the shelf as if it were the most interesting thing in the world. Steve hadn’t displayed any interested in your love life, left that as the one topic untouched between the two of you, and you wondered where the change of heart had come from as you studied him.

“You trying to play matchmaker, Stevie? I can give you a list of what I like, might make it easier for you.”

The list would be short - compiled of one name, underlined for emphasis - and you had no plans to share it with him. Steve was the one who got away, always would be, and you had no interest in allowing him into your love life. And, as you anticipated, he scoffed.

Steve’s huff was wholly unconvincing, lacked the emphasis needed to convince you his advice stemmed from a totally selfless place, and you frowned as he shook his head. “I just want you to be happy,” he declared, voice going soft as he traced the spine of a tape. “You’re spending all your time with me, can’t be good for you,” he teased, though it sounded half-hearted, a self-deprecating joke that made you sigh.

You remained uncertain of where the sudden interest was coming from, what had brought about this sudden doubt, but before you could dig deeper, you saw Eddie’s van pull into the parking lot.

For the best, you decided to leave well enough alone and ask after the movie, in the safety of Steve’s car. With a roll of your eyes, you squeezed Steve’s shoulder. “You make me happy, Stevie. Spending time with you is good for me and I’m looking forward to doing it again tomorrow night. You picking me up?” Steve nodded, half-dazed by your response, and you laughed as you shook your head. “Perfect. See you tomorrow night, Harrington.”

As you rushed out of the store, eager to supply Eddie with the latest - and to hear his latest opinion; so far, he had alternated on his stance, oscillating wildly between encouragement and near begging for you to forget Steve Harrington - you swore you could hear Robin loudly ask, “So, are we going to talk about the ginormous elephant in the room or are we just going to pretend that you’re not totally in love with her?”

Followed instantly by a deadpan, “Shut up, Robin.”

Eddie seemed less enthusiastic - certain you were imagining the entire exchange, maybe hearing what you wanted instead of what was actually said - but nodded anyway, encouraging, this time. And as he drove to pick up the rest of Corroded Coffin, Black Sabbath blaring and cigarette smoke filling the interior of his van, you wondered.

Steve had sworn Robin was a good judge of character, could read people significantly better than she let on. Was this one of those cases - had she figured out something you hadn’t - or was this a case of her not being able to differentiate between platonic and romantic love? It had happened, she’d also believed you and Eddie to be hiding a romantic relationship but the interaction played on a loop as you sat amongst the crowd of drunks filling The Hideout.

He seemed anxious, worried, a little clipped when asking about Eddie - jealous, almost, if you were to believe the spark of hope ignited in your chest - but there was always the chance that it had nothing to do with romantic love. Steve, like you, now had few friends. You were the only one his age, the only one who’d known him longer than a handful of years, and he likely wanted to keep you in his life. Eddie was destined to leave Hawkins the moment he could; maybe Steve was worried you’d follow.

The time that you spent together was fleeting; there was a chance Steve worried a romantic relationship would impede your few moments of bliss. He might’ve been worried that you falling in love would destroy your desire to remain in his life, no longer interested in a friend like him when someone like Eddie existed. 

Whatever the case, the interaction with Steve played on a loop until his car pulled into your driveway the next afternoon. He’d clearly been home, showered - removed the stale scent of Family Video, tapes and old popcorn - and smiled as you bounded across the driveway to his car before he could completely stop.

As you climbed into the passenger seat of his car, the sound of Metallica’s The Thing That Should Not Be made you pause. Steve noticed, flushed a brilliant pink, but said nothing as he pulled out of your driveway and began the journey to the theater.

When he remained quiet, you asked, “Stevie, are you listening to Metallica?”

Steve had been educated - played tape after tape by you and Eddie, schooled in the art of heavy metal as you smoked in the metalhead’s bedroom - but he hadn’t shown much of an interest in any of the bands you loved. He didn’t openly scoff, not anymore, but metal wasn’t exactly the genre of music Steve Harrington listened to on repeat.

To say that it was a surprise would be an understatement.

Still, he shrugged. “Eddie let me borrow the tape,” he admitted, unable to look at you. “You kept going on about it, figured I should give it a listen.” He made no effort to stop you from turning up the volume and, when you glanced at him expectantly, he rolled his eyes. “It’s not Hall and Oates, but it’ll do.”

You laughed, a bright sound that filled the car, and Steve grinned - glad to have made you smile. He made a few observations about the tape - mostly that he couldn’t really hear a difference in the songs, something that you knew he’d struggled with in your metal education sessions - and you assured him that it was alright if he truly didn’t like it. Regardless, he kept the tape playing in the background and you swore he smiled each time you bobbed your head and hummed along to the songs you were already so familiar with.

Despite how normal the night seemed - Steve rambling about work, mutter about Robin and the kids - there was something slightly off. It could’ve been your imagination, the effort you put into overthinking Steve’s every motivation for waltzing back into your life, but everything felt muted.

Steve’s energy as he bought popcorn and tickets - waved you off, asserted that you could get him back next time, though you both knew he wouldn’t allow it - was low and he remained uncharacteristically quiet as he guided you through the lobby to the theater. It was almost as if he were nervous, watching his hands as he pressed one to the small of your back, weighing his words as he leaned over to whisper thoughts about the trailers. 

There were moments of pure Steve, bright energy where he pondered what his call sign would be - easily declared yours to be sunshine, no need changing it now - and shoveled popcorn into his mouth. But you could tell his attention wasn’t entirely on the film.

For you, it was difficult to focus on anything other than his presence - the scent of his hair products, the warmth of his body pressed to yours, the spice of his cologne, the soft brush of his short against your skin - and the questions that had echoed since leaving Family Video the day before.

The movie passed in a blur - a mess of pilot jargon you didn’t understand, a handful of scenes that made you roll your eyes - but Steve seemed to enjoy himself. He laughed, grinned a little in places, and frowned at all the right scenes. To you, however, the only thing worth note was the way he remained glued to your side, arm slung over your shoulders and knee pressed to yours.

And as you left the theater, though his chatter was a little more scattered than normal - less focused, a little more erratic, a little louder - Steve dominated the conversation and seemed not to notice your silence. He debated his call sign, shot out ideas before immediately scrapping them, and tapped the wheel as he drove along quiet roads back to your home.

Instead of joining, you sat quietly and wondered how badly you would destroy the fragile new bond of your relationship if you simply asked Steve what the hell you were doing together.

When Steve pulled into the driveway of your home, placed the car in park and turned down the radio, he shifted to face you. Warm brown eyes searched your face, desperate for an answer to a question he had yet to ask and you knew that now was the time you’d been waiting for. “You’ve been quiet,” he pointed out, eyebrows pinched. “What’s on your mind?”

The thought of playing coy, of beating around the bush and pretending that you had no idea what he was referring to, was tempting. Asking the question that had been plaguing you for weeks - months, even - had the potential to ruin whatever delicate thing you’d been building.

At the same time, there was no point in maintaining a relationship that made you afraid to speak. Steve was a friend - a good one, at that, having proven himself in the short time you’d been reacquainted - and he deserved an honest answer.

“I guess I’ve just been wondering why.” Steve tilted his head, searching for the missing context, and you sighed as you twisted one of the silver rings adorning your fingers. “I’m glad that we’re… us again. I’m glad that we’re trying to go back to what we had. I just… It’s been so long. I can’t help but wonder, why now.”

Steve sighed, long suffering and far too serious for someone who had less than an hour earlier wondered what his call sign might be, as he raked a hand through his hair. “I tried,” Steve admitted, voice quiet as he turned to face you. “Not hard enough, but I tried. After… After I got my ass kicked, things kind of fell into perspective. I realized what mattered, what didn’t. You always mattered to me, sunshine. Even when I had my head up my ass. I was… disappointed in myself, I think. For treating you the way I did. And I guess I was selfish, hoping enough time had passed that it would be easier for you to forgive me now. I never forgot about you, about us.”

The explanation was more than you’d imagined it would be, something heavier than you expected, and you swallowed the emotion bubbling in the back of your throat as Steve offered you a half smile. 

“Even when I didn’t want to understand, I did. I knew what you were doing, why you were doing it. If I hadn’t been so pissed at my parents, I probably would’ve been right there with you,” you admitted, voice melding with the quiet sound of Metallica. “I never forgot about you, either. And I think I would’ve accepted the apology a long time ago.” You paused for a moment, desperate to give yourself a little room to breathe, before you added, “I’m kind of glad you waited, though. Don’t think Hellfire would’ve let me back in if I’d been hanging out with Steve ‘The Hair’ Harrington.”

It was a necessary moment of levity, a laugh you both needed, and Steve shook his head fondly as he met your eyes. “I think I’ve got Eddie’s approval now,” he teased, smiling softly as he reached for your hand. His fingers brushed the metal of one of your rings - one that had replaced his tiny plastic ring years ago - as he lifted his head to meet your eyes. “He can see right through people. Realized how I felt before I did, I think.”

Your breath caught in your throat, slightly confused and anxious as to how Steve would answer your question. Your hand shook in his grasp, fingers trembling even as he brushed soothing circles over your heated skin, and he smiled encouragingly as he waited for your response. “And how do you feel?”

Steve’s smile faltered slightly, just enough to make you wrap your fingers around his in an encouraging squeeze, as he laughed. “I feel like an idiot. I’ve wasted so much time, searching for someone to love me for me, when you’ve been there all along. I… I had a crush on you, when we were kids,” he admitted, eyes meeting yours - warm brown glittering in the dim light from your porch. “I used to tell my mom that I was going to marry you someday. You were my first love and I don’t think my feelings have changed.” Time seemed to crawl to a stop, the universe seemed to cease existing, as Steve lifted a hand to your cheek. Soft fingers brushed your skin as he whispered, “I think I’m still in love with you.”

The hammering of your heart echoed loudly in your ears, beat wildly against your ribcage and threatened to shatter the little pieces holding you in place. It was difficult to focus on Steve’s confession, difficult to make sense of it, and you wondered if this was all some sort of dream.

As his fingers tangled with yours, warm hand encompassing your trembling fingers, you knew that it was real. He was patient, waited with a ghost of a smile for you to speak, and you foundered to find something adequate to say.

“Steve.”

This time, as the words stuck in your throat - so close to breaking free, so easy to say, admit just as he’d admitted his own love - Steve nodded, smile bright. “I know,” he assured you, voice soft as his hand lifted to your cheek. “I know, sunshine.”

Steve leaned forward, crossed the gap between your seats, and waited patiently for you to make the final decision. It was up to you - this whole process had been up to you, on your terms, and you realized that Steve was handing over control without a moment of hesitation. Whatever happened, he wanted it to be on your terms, and you were grateful for that as you closed the distance and pressed your mouth to his.

Steve’s fingers pressed into the apple of your cheek, splayed across your jawline and held you tight - as if he were afraid you might disappear if he let go. When you broke apart to breathe, he pressed his forehead to yours and grinned.

“I love you, sunshine. I know it hasn’t always seemed that way but I promise, you’ll never have to question it again.”

The declaration was strong, certain, and you believed wholeheartedly that Steve was telling the truth. Regardless of how things had changed, of how your lives had drifted only to return to each others’ orbit, Steve’s promise meant something. 

This time, when Steve swore that he wouldn’t let go -  that you would never question his love again - you believed him.

____________________________________________________________

Author’s Note: I’m so sorry. This got so out of hand. I just had a lot of Steve thoughts. Back to your regularly scheduled Eddie now, though.

Taglist: @x-avantgarde-x, @thisisparadisemylove, @eddiesprincess, @slvdsjjk, @munsonlover, @tasmbestspdrman, @urofficial-cyberslut, @jxngwhore, @hopelesslylosttheway, @meaganjm, @lazuli-leenabride, @deiondraaa, @piscesmesss, @glowyskiess, @kiszkathecook, @missryerye, @solarrexplosion, @ofherscarlettwitchways, @lovedandleft-haunted, @trappedinlimbo15, @sweetiekitten, @bookfrog242, @gwendolynmary, @sage-bun, @zealouslibrariesparadiselight, @castiels-lilass, @tojis-little-brat, @emmah787, @theworldsendxx, @asuperconfusedgirl, @flores-and-sunshine, @passi0np1t, @laurathefahrradsattel, @hellf1reclub, @slut4yourmom, @niko-04, @hannirose-loves-you, @mrs-eddie-munson, @screambabe, @vllowe, @ryswritingrecord, @cheriebondy, @ryswritingrecord, @thewitchofthewilds140, @bootlegmothman420, @maruushkka, @honeymoonpython, @keenesbeans, @jess-bonn, @sammysinger04, @khaoticken21, @denkis-slut, @spiderman-berries, @lotus-es, @amortiff, @stardust-galaxies, @ure-a-sunflower, @1-800-ch3rry, @ladybeewritethings, @ynbutbetter​, @hunnybunimdun​, @breathinfive​, @s-u-t​, @s4ntacarlal0stk1d​, @rae-iin​, @pennamesgame​, @stefans-wife​, @voldieshorts​, @frankie-mercury​, @bbymochi1​, @serendiipty​

If you’re not tagged, it’s because Tumblr wouldn’t let me!

[copperbadge]

would you mind talking a little about enjoying traveling solo? I've always wanted to explore, but so many people paint traveling as this group activity, and I've always felt bad not having friends to do it with

My god, how much time do we have?

So, I could indulge in a little free therapy here and talk about some fucked-up experiences of travel I had as a child, but that's not really applicable, so...let's leave it at the fact that until I was out on my own, I didn't get to pick what happened to me on trips. I do often travel with my friends, who are always up to do the dumb shit I concoct for us, but any travel with another person involves compromise, and sometimes I just don't want to compromise, or to irritate my friends. Even though I know they probably won't be, I still worry they will, and sometimes I don't want to worry.

I also never internalized the idea that doing things alone was sad or weird. It's a social cue that I completely missed. The first time a friend of mine randomly came across me eating alone in a restaurant in college, she said, "Sam, why are you eating alone?" and I said, baffled, "Because I wanted dinner?"

I was twenty years old before it occurred to me that other people would feel strange eating alone in a restaurant, and then only because she told me she'd be too self-conscious. I was thirty before I realized most people would be self-conscious traveling alone, something I'd been doing since I was seventeen. And there's nothing wrong with wanting to be with other people -- some people love company or are nervous traveling alone or just plain don't get the appeal, and that's entirely fine.

But I love knowing that everything I do is for me alone. I can go to the weird museum or check out the odd store or do strange secret things to delight myself and never worry that I'm making life unpleasant for someone. I can be as selfish as I want. That's very rare for me and very precious. Also why I will probably never have a permanent romantic partner, but that's also free therapy for some other time.

The truth is, when you are alone, nobody actually knows that. Yes, if you're the only person at your table in a restaurant you're obviously alone, but nobody knows you aren't just getting a bite to eat before meeting up with your many cool friends. I don't look at anyone I see out in the world and go "Oh sad sack, look at them without anyone to hang out with." I think most of us worry everyone is saying that, and none of us actually are saying that.

And when I have been asked if I'm with someone and said, "Oh, I'm traveling on my own", people universally react with envy. "That must be amazing. I couldn't do it," or "I've never gone on a trip by myself, is it fun?" I've never had anyone say or imply that I'm a loser who couldn't find someone else to travel with. Quite the reverse.

Recently I had the thought that if I was more afraid of being alone I would probably have more intimate friendships or at any rate a much wider social circle, because I would need someone else to go with me on adventures and I would have to internalize the idea that it's okay to inconvenience or bore someone else at times, which I never really have. But that's kind of a tautology; "if I was less okay being alone I'd be less alone" is cyclical reasoning, when the truth is I'm someone who is a little fucked up about other people but also just genuinely enjoys solitude.

I love my friends, and I try very hard to form strong bonds with them despite that being really hard for me. I do get lonely, and I spend more time alone than is probably good for me. I get very anxious before solo trips. But I will also always need times when I am alone and only ever have to worry about myself. And once I'm launched on the trip I fucking love it. There are very few joys to rival walking out early in the morning into a strange city and knowing that the day and the city are both yours and yours alone.

Also sometimes I pretend I'm a spy, or an art historian on the trail of a stolen painting, or an academic writing a very important book. That's fun as hell.

Anyway, even when I do travel alone my friends are only a text message away, and I get to see cool stuff that I bring back to my room at night and share with all of you. I love sharing my adventures with you guys.

So yeah. My thesis is that nobody will even notice you're alone and if they do they'll probably think you're fucking cool for doing it, and meanwhile you get to do exactly what you want and nothing you don't. I think everyone should at least try it. You don't have to do a four-country trip through Europe for your first time out; you can just find something in another city that you want to see -- a museum or a zoo or a play or a cool burger joint -- book a trip, arrive Friday night and leave Sunday afternoon. And if it turns out you don't like traveling alone, that's okay too. There's no inherent moral virtue in being alone any more than there is in not wanting to be.

I just think it's super cool to sometimes go haring off on my own and do dumb shit. :D

[turiluvr]

stitches

when you need him, he'll always be there.

— tighnari x gn!reader

— cw: stitches, blood, injury

"You're hurt." Those two words are all that he said as soon as he laid his eyes on you and you knew all too well that he wasn't happy with it. It baffled you with the way he immediately knew that you were injured despite your attempt to hide it—it was barely visible and your demeanor was normal, you were sure that you'd be able to fool him flawlessly. Though perhaps what gave it away was the stench of blood on you; he couldn't have missed that.

"It's nothing too bad," you waved your arms slightly as an attempt to reassure him and to convince him that it wasn't as bad as he thinks it is. "See? I can move just fine—"

"Let me see." He cut you off promptly and you couldn't help but freeze in place as a difficult expression took over your features. He took a few hurried steps toward you and grabbed your arm. He rolled up your sleeve and there he saw a deep cut on your arm, you saw his face contort slightly at the sight. "Idiot." He muttered, "you need stitches."

"No way… It'll just heal on its own, won't it?"

"Do you want to risk an infection?" He grabbed a cloth and the first aid kit stashes away in one of the cabinets. He was relieved that he knew how to treat this kind of open wound, he's done it on other people before when they came to him covered in cuts and bruises after an eventful expedition to the forest. Still, it didn't mean that he wasn't nervous—in fact, he was agitated but he refused to show it in his face. He took a deep breath and started working. "Stay still."

He was silent for the most part and you felt like you were holding your breath for so long. It never felt good when Tighnari was worried or disappointed; this time it felt like it was a mix of both. You wished he'd say something—anything to take your mind off the worries that started plaguing your mind. Initiating small talk first might earn you a sassy remark but staying silent might earn you a disappointed sigh. Either way, you couldn't wiggle your way out of this one.

Finally, he said something. His tone was soft, much unlike what you initially thought. His expression was unreadable as he worked on your stitches, but you could almost swear that there's a faint hint of sadness in his expression. "What happened?"

"I fell from a tree and my arm got stuck on one of the branches." He shot you a stern look immediately and you quickly shook your head. "Okay, I lied." You sighed and finally told him the truth, "I was attacked."

"... Mhm," was all he replied with. He didn't say anything but you knew he wanted you to continue explaining.

"It really wasn't that big of a deal but I guess I kind of got careless and before I knew it, their blade cut through my sleeve." You laughed nervously, expecting Tighnari to scold you for your reckless behaviour and give you a long lecture about the importance of remaining vigilant.

"Do you feel a little better now?" You don't know why you suddenly felt a little lightheaded. Was it the feeling of him stitching you up or was it the fact that his voice, his face was so soft that you couldn't believe what you were witnessing. Somehow, your words got stuck in your throat.

"Well… Yeah," You looked at your arm as Tighnari finished up his stitches, a little way for you to avoid his gaze for a few moments. "But aren't you mad or upset?"

"Frankly, I am mad and upset." He sighed and massaged his temples. "But now is hardly the time to scold you," he ran a finger across your newly stitched wound. "I'm just worried, most of all. I don't like seeing you hurt."

"... Really?" You didn't know if those last words held some sort of meaning to them. Perhaps he was referring to anyone in general, who liked seeing a person hurt? An abnormal guy, for sure and Tighnari was far from abnormal. Though, to you, you couldn't help but feel that those words were especially for you. His bare fingers trailing across your skin send shivers down your spine and you couldn't help but miss it when he finally pulls away.

He didn't answer your question and he stood up from his seat to place the first aid kit to where he took it from. "You should rest now. It'll heal faster if you stay still." He turned around to look at you once more, "oh, and…"

"And?"

"Be more careful." He looked away, "next time, let me come with you."

"You can't do that, we have completely different tasks and duties." You laughed. Tighnari looked a little embarrassed as he cleared his throat.

"Then, at least promise me this—promise me that I'll be the first person you come to when you need help." It was a strange request; a little selfish on top of that. You couldn't help but give him a puzzled expression. He continued, "whether it's because you're injured, exhausted, or even a little down, I'll always be here to lend you my shoulder and stitch you back up if you need me to."

That's awfully sweet but—"Why?"

"Isn't it obvious enough for you?" He scoffed but it slowly turned into a small smile, "I'll let you think about it. Have fun figuring it out."

You knew well why he was acting this way. You just wanted to hear it leave his lips this time. How unfortunate that he keeps being so roundabout.

[ohnoitstbskyen]

The Heartsteel splash art is very bad, and here's why

I am not a fan of the collective Heartsteel splash art, and in fact, I think it's kinda s***ty. Not on a technical level, mind you, it is every bit as well rendered and nicely drawn as most other Riot art is, but as a way to introduce these characters? As a pitch to get us excited about them? This is genuinely kind of f***ing terrible. First of all, it's copying the original K/DA splash arts, which also had each band member copy pasted in different positions in each splash, with a different character in the spotlight. And that's not a great place to start from, because it feels like a total lack of confidence in the product, like some suit-wearing executive saying "just copy whatever worked the first time!" The splash art should be an opportunity to introduce what's new and unique about the band, and copying K/DA like this completely fumbles that opportunity and invites really unflattering comparisons. Second, the copy pasting is a problem. For two reasons: First, it looks cheap. It just does. There is no way to put out six splash arts with the exact same pixels copy-pasted into different positions that doesn't, on an instinctual level, feel cheap. All that says is "we didn't want to pay for more than one splash art." It looks like corner cutting. Second, it forces every character in the art to be completely separate from one another. A big part of the band's charm in their excellent music video is the interaction and camaraderie between the boys as they get into frat boy shenanigans shooting their music video, but since every character has to be able to be copy-pasted and moved independently in the splash, they can't interact or pose together in any way, making them seem completely disconnected from one another. One of the simplest ways to add a bunch of character and charm to these splash arts would be to have one character up front doing their cool pose, and then the other five boys dicking around in the background, armwrestling or hugging or, I dunno, giving each other piggyback rides. Instead, we just get sterile clip-art of each of them that don't even seem to be aware that the other guys are there. And when they are up front, the poses they do are also… mostly kinda lame? Sett is supposed to be this tough-guy with a heart of gold rapper with a big attitude and he's just, like, vaguely flexing, kinda. K'sante is supposed to be this imposing, powerful vocalist and he's just… standing there. Yone looks bored, Aphelios looks like an emo kid who's being forced to be in a family photo by his mom, and Kayn, who's supposed to be this rowdy chaotic bad boy, is just… doing a peace sign and sticking his tongue out? He gets completely overshadowed by himself: his Shadow Assassin and Rhaast forms in the background, which DO get to interact, which DO get to play with each other, and who are more charming than everything else these splash arts do. It genuinely baffles me that Riot couldn't be bothered to spend the money to get each of them unique splash arts, give these characters an opportunity to show off their costumes and their personality, or at least spend the money to have them drawn a little bit different in each of the six versions of this thing that they put out. This splash art, to me, feels like an active discouragement from investing in Heartsteel, because looking at this, looking at all the corners that are being cut, even Riot doesn't feel committed to them as a project. And like yeah, the music video is great and it's doing a lot of heavy lifting for them, but this splash art is an actual liability, it makes the whole project look worse.

[loservernon]

𐙚⊹₊⋆☆ nice guy | sim jake

𐙚 idol!jake x student!reader (she/her)

𐙚 angst no fluff, the little fight that snowballs into heartbreak

𐙚 1.6k, mentions of cheating, not proofread oops!

𐙚 note // this is my first time ever writing for a group other than nct so i hope you guys like it ^~^ i’m on a break from school, and kpop bedrot has been my best friend thus this was born!! there will most likely be a part two that’s not depressing teehee

at the second hour of this seemingly never-ending fight, jake has yet to show any sign of giving up. it’s baffling to you, who — just as much as he does — thinks you’re the one in the right. you’re sure of it, which is why you aren’t backing down so easily.

“so you’re saying it’s your job to buy a drink for every person that looks miserable at the bar?”

“i’m not saying it’s my job,” he defends, “i’m just saying i saw her sitting alone looking particularly glum and that i had the capability to do something nice for someone, so i did.”

“so you’re playing the nice guy now, huh? you can’t possibly be at fault because it was simply an act of kindness.”

“(name), don’t put it like that. i’m not trying to play at anything. i’m just telling you what i did and why i did it.”

“and i’m telling you that it was wrong, that it hurt, that it might’ve been a nice act to her, but buying another girl a drink is not nice to your girlfriend.”

jake rises from his spot on the couch. he walks a few steps until his back is facing you. his hands are set square on his hips and his head is hung low in disappointment, or defeat, or just dejection, you can’t tell.

he stays that way for a few moments; the heated tension that once shrouded the room is now replaced with an eerie silence. jake breaks it with the most bewildering conclusion possible. “i get it now. you’re jealous.”

at this, you’re caught off guard, though it only takes a few breaths for your surprise to morph into anger. you stand up as well, and jake turns around just as your anger reaches its climax.

“jealous? you think i’m jealous of a random ass girl who seemed to be down in the dumps?”

the furrow in his brow deepens at the thickness in your voice. jake’s countenance is back to a defensive state, but his tone almost assumes confusion when he queries, “if you’re not jealous of her then what’s the issue here? what reason could you possibly have–“

“it’s you, jake.” you take measured steps towards him, tears springing in your eyes from the sheer emotion leaking through your being. your body is almost shaking, pupils quivering, and fists clenching when you push forward, “you’re the issue. you think you’re such a nice guy for buying some girl a drink, when really you don’t seem to understand the insinuations of your actions.”

“what do you mean i don’t underst–“

“were you flirting with her?”

“no.”

“did you express your interest in her?”

“of course not.”

“then why would she come up to me right before we were leaving to tell me that the guy i was with was hitting on her?”

jake throws his hands up as a show of innocence and frustration, “how am i supposed to know why she lied to you?”

“did you tell her that you had a girlfriend?”

“there was no reason to.”

“are you really that dense?”

“what?”

“single guys buy drinks for girls that they’re interested in at bars. come on jake, you weren’t born yesterday. the more you try to make it seem like you were just ‘doing it to be nice,’ the more it feels like you had other intentions that you’re scared to tell me. just admit that you did something wrong, apologize for it, and never do it again.”

now it’s his turn to be caught off guard. you think he gets it, and he’ll do as you say and you guys will both hug and make up and hurry on to bed. however, it doesn’t seem that way. he’s stuck on a single part, arguably the least important part, of your whole entire spiel.

“you really think i had other intentions?”

jake’s challenging you. you know that look well, the one where he feels so severely wronged that his vision blurs and all he can think about is defending himself.

“jake…” you don’t give in to the challenge because you know it’d only fuel him.

“you think i was cheating on you? in front of you? why’s it so hard for you to believe i was just doing it from the kindness of my heart?”

“no, jake…” you try again, but it’s futile. you know from the look on his face that he’s about to say things he doesn’t mean. you know it’s going to hurt.

“fine. if you really don’t believe that my act of kindness was really just an act of kindness then i should be more mean, shouldn’t i? next time you have a group project with a guy in it, i’m not talking to you until the project’s over. you can’t have guy friends, or else i might misunderstand your intentions towards them. if you ever go up to a guy and talk to him for any reason, we’re over. and i’ll apply the same rules to myself. are you satisfied now?”

it doesn’t just hurt. it breaks you. tears are streaming down your cheeks and your heart rate speeds uncontrollably. you’re standing opposite of him, barely able to breathe, and yet he looks close to normal, save for the sternness set in his brows. it utterly shatters you to know that jake would rather break your heart knowingly than apologize for something that now seems so minor.

through hitched breaths, you force out weakly, “so by your rules, we’re over.”

at first, he doesn’t get it. the placidity with which he had regulated his face falls briefly into panic. cautiously, jake lets, “what do you mean we’re over?”

congestion has clogged your sinuses, so you hold your breath as you clarify, “you’re applying the same rules to yourself, aren’t you? earlier tonight, did you not go up to a girl and talk to her? for whatever reason?” any composure jake held on to cracks. his eyes go wide and he takes a hesitant yet desperate step towards you as you hammer in the final nail to his coffin. “you’re saying we’re over, right?”

you have jake backed into a corner. he’d fallen for his own trap, one that he’d built trying to corner you. he’d say he’s ready for it, your attack. he’d even go as far as to admit he deserves it, apologize for it, beg for it. he can’t take back what he did and he can’t take back what he said, even if he never meant to even remotely cause doubt of his loyalty to you, and even if he had sworn early on in your relationship that he would never hurt you on purpose. but even when he’s backed into a corner, defenseless and entirely at fault, you never land your final blow. instead, you retreat.

“i’m going to stay at yeji’s tonight. please don’t contact me until i reach out first.”

you turn away from him and head towards your shared bedroom. jake’s eyes have unfocused and he’s rooted rigidly in his spot. his mind tricks him into thinking that if he doesn’t move, or speak, or hear, or see anything, then this must not be his reality. for minutes it seems, jake dissociates just like this. but the sound of you packing your bag sets his nerves alight, and he’s jolted into action like the galvanization of a dead man emerging from the ground. he awakens to this reality, and the realization that he has to change it.

jake barely crosses the threshold of the door before he’s stopped at the sight of your zipping closed your suitcase. just how long were you planning on leaving for? you look up at him to catch the disbelief and hurt in his eyes. your face has been washed and you refuse to let up anymore signs of vulnerability on your end, so you look back down.

“please don’t go.”

“don’t push it.”

“i thought we agreed to never go to bed mad at each other.”

with your suitcase zipped close, you still your emotions before looking up at him. “i’m not mad at you, jaeyun.”

at the sound of his full name, jake almost dissociates again. his heart has gone completely still. “then why are you leaving?”

you make your way across the room, and he moves to block the entrance of it. you sigh. “i just want some space to rethink our relationship and what happened tonight.”

jake hangs his head low, “i’m sorry. i’m at fault.” but his head snaps back up when he hears you laugh in response, “it’s a little too late for that, don’t you think?”

he doesn’t put up a fight, for he’s done more than enough of that already. instead, he moves out of the way.

you leave.

jake wonders who’d get the apartment if you guys broke up. he wonders what he’d tell his parents who love you so, how he’d break it to layla that her favorite person in the world will never see her again. jake wonders if he could ever get used to the silence in the room that now sits heavy on his shoulders. mostly he wonders if he would ever forgive himself for being stubborn at the worst moment, and being selfish when it mattered the most.

it’s only now that jake thinks he would prefer you yelling at him any day for any reason, over the silence of your shared apartment for the rest of his life.

copyright © 2024 loservernon all rights reserved.

[yourlocalstranger123]

How would they react to a gentle, calm reader who becomes a bit possessive in the heat of the moment? [obey me & genshin]

Part 2

[Don't ask me how I got here and how I got these kinds of online friends that ask me this. I just do]

Note: When I said the heat of the moment, I meant innocently. Not... you know 🤭

Characters: Obey me brothers, Kaeya, Yae Miko, Venti, Ayato, Zhongli, Ganyu, Pantalone, Alhaitham, Albedo, Dottore, Cyno, Xiao

You can request more characters if you like this

Kaeya, Yae Miko, and Asmodeus would be first surprised but then amused. "My, my~ am I yours now?~ Well, I quite don't mind being yours ♥︎" they are so gonna tease you. Maybe brag about it. Who knows. Everyone was questioning that they've had strangely been in a good mood. They would 10/10 use this opportunity to tease and flirt with you. Venti would 10/10 brag about it too and join the fun. Same with Ayato, even if he loves your gentle, caring, and calm personality. He definitely likes this side....he wonders what about— (I ain't writing that. Let your imagination go wild)

Lucifer and Zhongli would be very surprised but would smirk at your words/actions. Lucifer would probably scold you a bit because of it, but he honestly doesn't mind, no, he loves it when you do. Just his pride doesn't make him admit it. Oh, how they love the face you made when you became a little annoyed at the person he was talking to. Zhongli would seem to have his mind on something else while drinking some tea. Some people would see him smiling. Maybe he was thinking of how you made him go closer to you when the person seems to be getting closer to him? Pantalone. Suddenly, the payment would get higher. I wonder why...(Look in the dottore one.)

Alhaitham and Albedo would probably observe. They would test what is the limit until you get jealous and perhaps get a little possessive. Maybe they want to see you in action.

Dottore would think it's absurd to waste his time observing this new reaction. It's just emotion. It's not like he is experimenting on his love you and love watching your reaction. He would never....why was he and Pantalone working together, and Pantalone was paying spies to see reactions or even new ones of you and people who make these reactions from you? Aurgh, now you had an effect on him! This would interfere with his experimenting. You must take responsibility. Now...won't you let him do what he wishes? You are gonna take responsibility, won't you?

Mammon and xiao would be so flustered though. Mammon would stutter every time he thinks about that moment whenever you are near him. He gets distracted easily. Xiao would probably could never see you in a week unless you call his name. If it wasn't an emergency, he would pout frown. He could never look into your eyes for months. Or he'll be blushing. They both hoped that you didn't see the tip of their ears go red. How flustered. "You have no respect for the adepti!"

Levi would be so baffled. 'H- hUuUUuH?! Is [name] getting jealous for a yucky Otaku like me?!!' He would probably stay in his room for days, and if he do invite you in, he'll probably rest his head on your shoulders. Just don't turn your head to see him blushing so hard. If he encounters someone or something he doesn't like, then he will definitely hide behind you. Even if you're short, because short people are scary....especially with the slipper—

Ganyu would protect you if in any cases goes wrong, but she would probably be blushing and stuttering for a few days. It does make her feel some sort of protection, although if you are too tense, she'll probably be embarrassed but uses her adorable tatic you love to do. Lay on her lap or let her lay on your lap as you soothe her to sleep.

Satan and Cyno. Yeah, I know. Other genshin characters are scary, but Ima just Cyno as an example. They would be a little surprised but not that much since everyone, even the most gentle, calm, and caring person, can have some moments like these, but still surprised. They would probably encourage you, because. They believe if you're theirs, then they are yours. And because they like this side of you. Satan would probably guide you to a nearby cat café if the atmosphere is too tense. Cyno would probably crack up some jokes. Classic. They both would probably glare at the person, well, unless someone they hold dear. But if it's a stranger or person they don't, they will. Don't forget, even if Cyno is a person who has jokes up his sleeves like Ayato getting his Boba from his sleeve. He is still the General Mahamantra, so he does look scary for his height. (As I told you in Levi's, short people are scary!! Don't tell any shorties though. Don't wanna get my life hunted 😨)

Beel and belphie. Honestly, they both don't really care that much. Well, Beel does feel flattered and probably smiles by your actions, but! He's just hungry and loves your cooking. Although he'll probably hold your hand and shyly say thank you for making that flirty person go away. Belphie just wants some sleep, but thanks to the surprise, he can't. Now, you need to hold him tightly in your arms. "Don't. You. Dare. Let. Go....please?" (He'll ask politely)

[lurkingshan]

Japanese QL Corner

I am currently watching four different Japanese qls every week (is this real life?? I’m not used to this kind of bountiful access to Japanese media) and I don’t want them to get lost in the shuffle amongst the bigger Discourse shows, so I’m going to start posting this little round up at the end of each week. These are all on Gaga and I highly recommend watching!

Chaser Game W

Finally a high quality gl, we have been waiting so long. And this one is making some really interesting choices, namely in making one of its leads deeply unlikeable. It's clear that Harumoto broke her heart in a deeply foolish way (I smell noble idiocy), but Fuyu's revenge for her hurt feelings is way over the line of what anyone could consider fair. Not only did she pursue this job just to personally harass her ex, she is a terrible boss who is abusing her employees to work out her personal grudges, and she's awful to her husband, as well. This show is smart enough that I trust they have a point with this (likely one that will involve commentary on misogyny and traditional gender roles) so I am hanging in to see what it is.

Sahara Sensei to Toki-kun

This one is the latest in the Drama Shower line up, and it is really not working for me on the whole, but Toki is a great character and I wish I could port him to another show. This week's episode spent a baffling amount of time filling in a backstory for Sahara that we already understood, and didn't even connect it thematically to the ongoing plot in any meaningful way. In fact, given the backstory we saw, it made even less sense that Sahara would be encouraged to pursue a relationship with Toki. This show just feels very confused about both the social conventions of its universe and what it's ultimately trying to say. Looking forward to it wrapping next week and seeing what Drama Shower has on tap next.

Sukiyanen Kedo Do Yara ka

I LOVE THIS SHOW. Sakae is such a kind soul, and Soga is a dear. I love that this show is exploring the reality of what it looks like for an "opposites attract" pair to actually try to find common ground. Sakae falling for Soga at first sight, only to realize they have nothing in common and he will have to work hard to build a bond with him, is such a delight. And I like that it feels reciprocal and Soga is also making a sincere effort. And this show is doing nice things with the side characters, too. Tatsuta is a great Get A Grip Friend for Sakae, and Kazuyo is such a sweetheart that I really hope she'll stick around rooting for this pair once she inevitably gets let down gently. Also loved getting a glimpse of the exes this week and hope to see more filled in there.

Ossan's Love Returns

I am saving this one for last on Fridays going forward, because it's such a great note to end my week on. I already posted last week about why I'm so in love with it, and this week continued the love fest. This show is SO FUCKING FUNNY while also having some really awesome messages about relationships and love at any age. I love the way Maki and Haruta are given the same cute couple moments we'd see for younger bl pairs, and the casual affection between them really stands out among more reserved depictions of Japanese couples. Highlights this week also included father-in-law bonding, Takegawa trying out a Bachelor-esque reality show in his quest for a diaper partner, Chief continuing to be an absolute delight in every scene, and several new twists in the mystery of the neighbors (loved that Haruta was having all the same reactions to that backstory that I was). ONSEN EPISODE NEXT WEEK, BABY!

[tenjiiku]

21 : only

The chime of the shop rings with prominence. You already know who it is without lifting your gaze from your newspaper.

“Darling, love of my life, fire of my heart,” The man sings — an annoying, sickly sweet tone — his volume increasing as he glides his way to the front reception desk, “The machine is broken again.”

You cough, adjusting your newspaper. He is so abnormally tall his hair is all you can see from your periphery. Why he presents himself in such a way you never want to know.

“Then go to another laundromat,” you murmur quickly. You have grown accustomed to dismissing his outlandish behaviour. It is a second instinct at this point.

“Nah. I wouldn’t receive such service anywhere else — you are special, you know? One of a kind.”

You choke a little at his hoax of his compliment, “You make me sick.”

A large hand puts your newspaper down. You allow it, only because you wanted this interaction to end. Even seated on a swivel chair, elevated to its highest position, you have to crane your head a little to meet him in the eye. You see yourself in the reflection of the dark glasses he cunningly chooses to wear inside.

When you scowl he returns it with a cheshire grin.

“Thank you. You’re too sweet.”

“What do you want, Satoru?” You do not use his last name or any honorific to address him despite his age. He was older than you by a few years — but certainly did not act the part — so you do not think he deserves your respect. Your host father told you he does — something about his being from a prominent private school as an educator, which you cannot possibly fathom being the truth. But only in front of you is Satoru Gojo an inane, odd man with a need for clean, dry-cleaned clothes that, for some strange reason he has conjectured in his equally baffling mind, only you can provide.

“You.”

The wrinkle that had formed between your brows drops in less than a second. This was the typical routine. You would get annoyed — and he would get a sick kick from that. You refused to be his entertainment, so, for once you decide to be the bigger person.

“My friend is a police officer. He is five minutes away,” you retort, not being the bigger person. Though actions did speak louder than words.

Satoru places his elbow on the desk. He has to bend his back in an uncomfortable manner to do so — and he leans his face on his palm which only makes the position and his stature appear more cretinous and acute.

“You’re pretty when you’re angry, do you know?”

“Go die.” (You are being a bigger person today only through your actions. Not your words, you quickly decide.)

“Can you let me buy you a coffee? Put me out of my misery?”

“Leave me alone. I will scream for A-chan.” (Your dog, sleeping peacefully somewhere in a corner near the dryers.)

“Awh,” he coos, tilting his head only more. You wonder if he has back problems. “That’s vulgar. I thought you were a good girl.”

At this, you flounder. Fisting your hands together, you rub at your forehead. Satoru possessed the putrid ability to irk you like no other. You look down at your textbook — you were on chapter five, studying deadlock before he came — and it was certainly fitting given his arrival.

“I am. For people I can tolerate.” You retort, monotone to not please his sadism.

He smiles anyways and leans forward, gazing towards where you look — a few sheets of loose-leaf paper with your begrimed writing. You can catch a glimpse of his azure coloured eyes through his lashes from this angle. At first they scared you. It was an utter oddity to you — you had seen nothing as strange from all your years tending to this run-down laundromat. People who came and went were not as nearly as fascinating as Satoru Gojo’s eye colour, unfortunately, but that was not to say they were not as interesting. Odd characters entered every now and then considering your laundromat being less than 5 metres away from a graveyard — which only begged the existence of Satoru all together.

Perhaps he was visiting someone every time he came. You liked to make stories of customers who you would encounter. That was Satoru’s because you could not think of anything else.

You never asked, he never said. This was how it went.

“What’s all this?” He questions, his tone softer than usual. You feel his eyes travel to your right shoulder, making you self-conscious.

For a second you think he knows of the pain you have been feeling there.

You shake your head of the plausibility.

“Homework,” you reply, curt and straight, adjusting your posture in your seat as a sudden wave of bashfulness has overcome you.

“For what?”

“My operating systems class.”

Satoru coos — treating you like you are some sort of stray cat when he is the one encroaching on your property. “Sounds hard. You’re real smart, then?”

You look up, mouth falling into a line as you mumble a small, “Yeah.”

You want this conversation to come to an end. But Satoru liked to season his prey and you were not an exception. You remember encountering one of his students once — you think their name was Megumi — who had told you to steer clear of Satoru if you wanted your sanity to remain intact. It was solid advice, the only possibility it did not cover was Satoru forcing himself in front of you no matter what turn you took.

“You have to give me something to work with here,” he moans dramatically.

You take some money from the tip jar and hold it out in front of him as an incentive.

“I’ll pay you ¥800 to leave me alone?”

Satoru takes the money, but he doesn’t leave.

“You’re a tough one, aren’t you?” He sneers at you. You crack your shoulders and decide to get started on the problem at hand because at this rate you will never finish your homework.

Walking towards the washers, you start speaking, not looking behind you to see if he is following because you already know he is.

“I don’t have time for this. Which machine isn’t operating?”

For once in his life, maybe out of the glory that overcame him from getting the upper hand on you once again, he complies.

“Third washer on the left, near the door.”

You walk towards it. Satoru stands next to you. His clothes float in a puddle that has formed within the washer — a drainage problem. Taking his clothes out of it, you rinse the soaked water in the sink and place them in another washer. If he chose to use half his brain he could have solved this himself. But after observing his smiles from your periphery and through the reflection of the glass door you come to realize he is enjoying himself.

An hour comes and go. Satoru talks your ear off at the reception even as others come and go. He puts his wet clothes in the dryer and folds them when they are finished, into a duffel bag.

When he stands in front of you, silent for the first time since his arrival, you know he is about to leave. You always give him a nice goodbye.

“Time for your weekly departure? Please do not bring clothes stained with blood to be dry cleaned next time. Mother almost fainted last week and is growing suspicious.”

Satoru smiles at you which lets you know that he understands your joke. He is handsome but he is nothing of your world, you realize. He only ever exists within the four wall of your parent’s laundromat and will only ever smell of floral detergent. It was better this way, you think.

“Awh. You’re worried for me?”

Your lips lay flat and you look down at your textbook.

“Have a nice day as well,” he murmurs, low. It catches you by surprise. When you lift your head up, he is already gone.

The pain on your right shoulder has stopped when the chime of the door opening and closing rings.

You pretend to ignore it — the feeling of his eyes and the growing aches surfacing within you — and go back to studying.

.

Satoru waits five minutes after he has left you to acknowledge his student following him. He stops near the abandoned phone booth he had found you sulking in two weeks prior — curled up with your legs tucked to your chest — pondering on about nonsensical things.

It was not the worst of the side effects you possessed after leaving your clan years ago and starting a new life with the Kobayashi’s at their laundromat.

“Megumi-chan, care to join me?”

He smiles when he sees his student scowl at him and he only continues to walk as he catches up.

“Why do you insist on pestering her? You know she will never remember. Yaga-san will be mad,” his student asserts after meeting his shoulders

Satoru does not answer right away. He recalls a fragment of a memory from his childhood. He had been doted on since his birth. You were a refreshing rarity, always hoping for a life greater than the one you were subjugated to — the daughter of a lowly maid, a normal girl for all purposes yet never treated as such. He remembers a small conversation you shared for less than a minute when he was only eight years old and you were five — how one day you wanted to be able to go to Hokkaido for the ice sculpture festival during the Winter. It was such a naive thing to aspire for. A cruel irony, really, that you still remained the same after so many years.

A snowflake falls towards Satoru’s shoe, but never quite graces its body.

Slinging an arm around his student, he answers brazenly, “I don’t know. I suppose I’m bored these days. Entertain me.”

[mari-lair]

your posts about this newest chapter are so real because it disappointed me so much.

It was way too lighthearted and just seemed like a huge joke. I was expecting the trial to have suspense where you can really feel for the characters and wonder what will happen next, but it just ended up being comedic. It was funny, I’ll give it that, but I really really wanted some angst.

This may just be me, but Teru felt so out of canon to me. I can understand him putting on that “flawless student council” mask but it feels odd considering he is around mostly supernaturals. He is shown to be very intelligent and considering he is an exorcist and they are school mysteries why tf would that “look at how beautiful I am I could never” argument work. It was funny, sure, but just seemed out of canon for him.

Akane felt a little out of canon too to me? Probably not but he seemed to fully accept his role as a judge with little to no guilt at all. We don’t really get him looking guiltily at Teru or feeling frustrated, he’s just kind of there. Probably because (as always) the story focused on Hanako, Yashiro, and Tsukasa.

NOW UGHH TSUKASA IS SO FAVORITED ITS PAINFUL. You’re telling me after all that suspense around the clock keepers he takes them out in TWO PANELS. The clock keepers seem like a fucking joke in this chapter instead of the powerful mysterious beings they have shown to be previously.

Overall I expected something much more satisfying and I hope next chapter will be a little better because the last chapter got me so excited for nothing.

just my opinion though, I know some people enjoyed this chapter and that’s totally ok! just not my personal favorite

That's a mood ya-rr-ow. Big mood.

Many people enjoyed the chapter, and I'm happy for them, but I was also majorly disappointed so I'll talk about what you mentioned here and add some other things.

(I will just focus on the negatives here so if you're feeling hyped about the chapter. I am sorry, I wouldn't recommend reading this)

Okay let's go

Chapter 108 went out of its way to create a tense atmosphere, it was mostly a set up and hype piece for the trial.

Mirai was a beast, but Akane was the one that really set up the tone. He had the power to make Teru harmless, which only hyped up the other clock keepers since he is the lowest ranking keeper. Mirai and Kako's supposed power was said to be dangerous enough to make Akane, who hates supernaturals and is so firm in his beliefs, feel cornered, switch sides to 'do his duties', his vague words hinting that there is more to this trial than it seems on the surface.

So I don't think we were being delusional to expect this trial to be dramatic. To have angst. Or at least, character dept. To be important.

But despite the trial being the title, the spotlight, we got none of it: Not only is the trial treated as a joke, which I already don't vibe with considering how tense the atmosphere in chapter 108 is. It is an empty joke.

It doesn't teach us anything about the characters, it doesn't give any new information. Nothing.

Hanako's trial was a gag. He isn't even my priority character, but considering how he have the title of 'leader of the mysteries' and had been put on trial before for the Yorishiro's destruction, it is a baffling choice to make Kako not mention this big BIG crime when judging him.

Nene's trial 'revealed' she likes Hanako and want to confess to him. Which she has been doing this whole manga.

We could talk about her time crimes (every time travel that made her meet Amane), try to bargain her lifespan since this is the main conflict in the story and they are talking to the keepers of time. They could talk about her crime of helping to destroy the yorishiros with Hanako, or just acknowledge she is still a threat since she is the Kannagi, the only one capable of ripping their yorishiro in the first place. But no, those are stupid, let's spend 4 full pages of a monthly manga to tease a confession she already did in the very previous chapter.

Teru revealed he has some craving for destruction on him. Which surprise, surprise! It also isn't new information! How nice!

( I talked about his love for the idea of destruction and how it's almost an escapism recently, here you go if you're curious)

About Teru and Akane's acting weird. That's not them being ooc, that's Aidairo making a narrative choice to not take anything serious, including his own characters. Everyone is acting like themselves, and nothing contradicts what has been established about their personalities, but their competence has been drastically downgraded to move the plot quickly.

Teru has the bad habit of becoming pathetic when he has strong feelings, like locking himself in his room and hiding under the covers after his fight with Kou, immediately hitting Akane's stab wound when he is too late to rescue aoi cause the situation stressed him. So it is in character that he wants to kill Akane, who has always been his stress relief.

However, because Teru takes things so personally, and it was stablished in chapter 108 that Teru is way more bothered by Akane's betrayal than being in a court of law, it makes no sense that he treat it as a normal court instead of using his very obvious alibi that he couldn't destroy the clock because he was with Akane. Teru doesn't turn this court into the confrontation that would bring attention to their split up, doesn't go "Are you doing to deny my alibi now?? betray me again??" or question "So? We are here! Why did it had to be now??" or anything that builds up on the last chapter to expand it.

Cause Aidairo decided the court doesn't matter. The build up doesn't matter. Once more, the consequences are an afterthought. We don't need the answers to anything.

Akane is still guilty, he can't look at Teru in the eye, can't defend him, but he goes "!!!" when Teru finally calls for him, paying full attention.

But this is comedic. And as i mentioned above, Teru doesn't say anything useful, anything with more depth than what we already know: that he is angry by Akane's betrayal and hasn't forgiven him.

We TRULY are given nothing in this trial.

Which is insane, cause even the promo art had details to build intrigue, a vague idea that while the chapter would be comedic in nature, it would explain more about the clock keepers, or at least expand on their boundaries.

Like, what are those numbers on the scale? will they be judged by year? Will a lie make their time be stolen? oooh what could it be! Can't wait for the chapter!

And the chapter comes, and there is nothing. The whole trial feels like filler. They treated the audience as a fool for being excited.

That's why this big twist at the end? I don't care.

As you said Tsukasa is overpowered, they are Aidairo's golden child. And they will break established lore rules and make a joke out of everyone else just cause he can.

It's not just Teru and Akane who were nerfed to make the plot move faster, not allowed to have any proper focus. The clock keepers were also a joke, acting 'in character' but more incompetent than they have been stablished to be.

Tsukasa op moment doesn't make me go "wow he is so cool" it made me look at the clock keepers and go "You are all are stupid"

Cause Tsukasa has the judgment seal?? And he was already sentenced as guilty??? There are three clock keepers in the room too? So why not... you know... restrict him again...?

The clock keepers is a school rumor that was introduced all the way back in chapter 23. Like you said they are supposed to be super op! They are a mystery so hyped up that just Mirai's power (who isn't the strongest keeper) can throw the intire school into chaos in the Near Shore, where supernaturals are debuffed.

Even before Tsukasa attacked he made the clock keepers act incompetent, to make him look more mysterious and cool in comparison.

These very old and supposedly op school mysteries know Yugi Amane is Hanako, but they don't know who Amane's twin brother 'Tsukasa' is, they also don't refer to him as a yorishiro despite the seal being in his face, and use titles for every other character (Leader of the school mysteries. Kannagi. Student Body Representative)

Which might look like a small thing, silly nitpick, but it shows the favoritism isn't just for a twist. Aidairo naturally likes Tsukasa more than his own narrative, and is willing to make others be less competent for the sake of it.

I don't think Kako will die. That would objectively be bad writing at this point. He'll probably be back in the next chap, a la "teru got fucked up by No.6" and "Akane got stabbed by Aoi but he lives bitch" or even "i always had a ton of clones, like Mei of the art room" but it is still disappointing to see him and Mirai get fucked up in their own boundary after all the hype they have accumulated through the story.

There is a hint Akane can be a yorishiro at the end of the chapter, and that is cool, genuinely really cool, but I am tired of getting excited over possibilities and 'promises for the future'. I want something concrete.

Speaking of which, I don't think Akane will die. This is just another bait to keep reading like when No.6 slashed Teru, Kou, and Akane and we didn't get any answers for a few months before 'oh well nothing happened :) no consequences to be had here folks!'

"But Tsukasa has always killed everyone that he pulled the heart of! there is Mitsuba, and The puffer fish of the mermaid, and the previous No.3 (the bird)" And to that I say I trust Akane's ability to say fuck to fate.

My boy gets new death flags every year, he collects them like pokemon cards, you all should have gotten used to it.

He also survived his bae stabbing him, this isn't new. Sucks to be Tsukasa and die by a stab in the gut and all but Akane is built differently (quite literally with two bodies).

He is also in his own boundary, so if Aoi doesn't kill him while in the territory of another mystery, but he dies in No.1's boundary I will... idk probably just sigh.

In short, Aidairo treated this as joke, so I will treat their cliffhanger as one too. Give me reasons to care in chapter 110. Cause at the moment? I don't.

[facioleeknow]

Hi! Idk know how that works but i have a request for a fanfic! Or just an ideia :D

I wanted to read an story were you were a university student whos major is in photograph or something like that and lee minho is a dancer. You were a very shy student and yoir photos didn't have movement sooo your teacher assigned you to do a project with a dancer (Lee know) to help you develop your technique. The teacher also wanted that lee know helped you be a little less shy.

He helped you take photos of yourself and be more confident with who you are.

I was thinking that for a while but i didnt know how to write that

(English is not my first language, so i am sorry for any mistake)

Hi, sorry for the delay, I hope you like it, and your English was perfect, don't worry about it!

Art is movement • Lee Minho

Tw: none I think, let me know if I should add something, not proofread as always

“All right class, don't forget about your project with the dance majors. I chose personally the pairings and they cannot be changed or switched in any circumstances,” announced your professor, she looked unenthusiastic as always as she let her eyes roam the classroom.

Your fellow students started muttering, annoyed at her behavior. Everybody wanted to choose their friend, but you didn't mind as you didn't have many friends so you stayed silent and looked around you.

The professor regained silence after a sharp ‘shh’ and a look of pure rage. Each student stood up from their seat and made their way to the board to take down the name of the student theyr were supposed to pair up with and the practice room aside to them.

When it was your turn, you took a deep breath and with a shaky finger tried to search through the miriad of names.

Y/N L/N - Lee Minho room 0325

Lee Minho. You knew virtually nothing about him. You knew he was friends with a very very popular guy on campus, a music major called Chris, you knew he was really passionate about dancing and you knew from your roommate that he was rather cold with strangers. That was it. That was your knowledge of Lee Minho.

God please don't let this be too awkward, you thought.

Room 0325. You were stuck, your feet felt glued to the ground and your breath heavy. Your nails sunk into your palm, the sting shocking you back into reality. A shuddering breath escaped your lips.

The room inside was simple, it had wooden floors and mirrors covered one side of the walls. A very handsome young man was stretching, he had on a simple pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt, a cap covered part of his face.

How can he look like a model while dresses like that, you thought subconsciously smoothing the fabric of your skirt. 

The moment you stepped into the room his eyes fixed on you. He was intimidating. Hot.

“Are you Lee Minho? I am Y/N L/N, we are supposed to do a project together,” you felt your face get hot and your heart skip a beat.

“You are the photography major?” 

“Yes,” his eyes on you made you feel way too hot, your skin tingly.

She's cute, Minho thought as he felt his ears get warm.

“Do you have anything in mind?”

Your eyes went wide at his bluntness, you didn't expect him to get straight to business, most people liked to exchange small talk.

“Yes,” you blurted out too fast, “ I would like to get some shots of you while you dance.”

“No.” 

Your eyes widened in surprise.

No?

“I don't like to be on camera,” he quickly explained seeing your baffled look in the mirror.

“You should dance,” he added.

Your eyes, wide open from before, now threatened to almost pop out of your head.

“I will teach you,” Minho quickly replied.

And teach you he did, or at least he tried to teach you. He was a great teacher, everything he said was clear and he knew exactly how to break down the steps to make the simple even for the absolute beginners, but you were embarrassingly bad at dancing and everything that included moving to some kind of rhythm.

You looked through the pictures, they were terrible, well the subject was. Too stiff, too awkward. Tears started to fill up your eyes.

This is a disaster.

Minho looked at you from a distance, he could see the tears glisten in your eyes.

“What if we danced together?” 

“You said you didn't want to be on camera,” you blinked trying to suppress the tears.

“You could blur our face with some cool effect,” he mumbled with his cheeks pink.

Minho took you in his arms and started dancing. Your bodies gracefully swayed to the rhythm, you waltzed around the room with ease. You feel light and happy. Minho’s cheeks were brighter than ever and your heart was beating furiously. You could get used to this.

The line to your professor’s desk kept moving and moving, the pictures held tightly in your hands. Minho was at your right, he looked at you with little stars in his eyes.

“The pictures are beautiful,” he simply said. Those four words did wonders for your confidence and you straightened your back.

“Miss Y/N, your project please.” 

Your newfound confidence was quickly destroyed by your professor that was looking at you with an annoyed and tired expression. You handed her the pictures. Her eyes carefully examined everyone of the portraits.

“Good work.”

[unclewaynemunson]

Jeff is one of my favorite characters and I think we should start a post of all our favorite Jeff headcanons. He and Freak get left out in almost every Eddie-centric fic I read, with his "best friend" being either Gareth or Chrissy, and I'm tired of it. Jeff is wonderful. Here's my hc's:

- Jeff and Eddie have been best friends since middle school. They started CC and Hellfire together.

- they went to the Snowball together and rigged the bubble machine to spew bubbles during the slow dance songs. The dance had to end early and Jeff and Eddie never got caught

- Jeff's parents loves Eddie. They used to have sleepovers at each other's place almost every weekend.

- Jeff was the first person Eddie came out to. Jeff tried to be surprised and "that's great, man, thanks for telling me!" But Eddie saw right through that.

- Eddie is afraid of geese and spiders. Jeff thinks this is fucking hilarious.

- post-Vecna, Jeff is the one Eddie reconnects with first. Eddie tells him everything, despite the NDAs and Steve's warnings. Jeff believes him, because he knows there's wacky shit going on in Hawkins, and he's seen Eddie's wounds.

- they have that kind of friendship that nothing can break. Even if they don't see or talk to each other for years, because Life Happens and people lose touch, they'll always have part of themselves carved out for their best friend.

Ok, that's all I got for now, and sorry for the long ask! I just love Jeff so much and he (and Freak, too, because Freak gets ignored because of fatphobia) deserves just as much love and attention as Gareth gets.

What are your Jeff and Eddie headcanons?

I am loving this Jeff love and your headcanons, thank you so much for sending this to me!!! <3

I think with Unnamed Freak things are a bit different bc, yaknow, he doesn't have a name. For me at least that makes me hesitant to write about him so I don't wanna go as far as to say it's all bc he's fat (even though I'm not gonna deny that that probably also plays a part in how popular he is in this fandom urgh). Anyway, yes this fandom certainly does Jeff dirty. I think it's this gross combination of racism and people copying a lot from already existing stories, characterizations and headcanons without much critical thinking of their own (which baffles me, if you're creative enough to write a story please use that creativity for some originality ffs). Anyway, this is gonna turn into a rant again can you tell I'm still annoyed? so let's turn to something more positive now, like my headcanons for our beloved Jeff:

He was the first person in Hawkins (after Wayne obviously) that Eddie got close to. For Jeff it was kinda the same, being a black, nerdy boy in this town had been very isolating for him and Eddie was his first real friend.

Unnamed Freak made their duo into a trio a bit later. All the others in the group (including Gareth) were Eddie's "lost little sheepies" who he sought out to protect. This means that Jeff and Unnamed Freak are the only people who don't borderline worship Eddie but see him (and love him) for who he is including all his flaws. They're also the only ones not afraid to call him out on his bullshit.

Jeff's mom is really cool. Her name is Pauline and she's not like Jeff at all (she was a cheerleader in high school). Despite their differences they love each other a lot. (Jeff's mom is actually heavily featured in one of the fics I wrote so I got her all fleshed out lmao)

He has two little twin sisters. They're friends with Erica, one of them is one of her friends we meet in the mall in s3. He has this typical hate-love relationship with his sisters: they fight a lot, but at the end of the day, he would die for them.

HE'S BISEXUAL

While he can't wait to get out of Hawkins and to a place that'll be more accepting of him, he doesn't want to move too far away from his family.

He's the most loyal friend in the world, 100% a ride-or-die kinda guy

While he does love metal a lot, his guilty pleasure is Tina Turner

Tell me all your Jeff headcanons i wanna hear more about him!

[vaporvipermedia]

[My Opinion on Yandere Tropes]

I’m putting up a disclaimer so no one can misunderstand my words. I am not dissing anyone who writes Yandere tropes like how I present nor do I think of them any less when portraying canon characters this way. If anything, I find this concept interesting and believe some improvements can make said stories fascinating and less predictable with the trope used. ALSO! Just because I read some Yandere fics, does not mean that I agree or condone any of the actions written in these narratives. Thank you for understanding.

Now for opinion time!

  After reading my fair share of Yandere fanfiction, I’ve always found most actions done by the characters inside of these stories becoming either extremely predictable or doing something out of left field to the point where they act like a different character entirely.

  Yes, some may contest that this archetype can change how a character acts. Sure, that is the case but that doesn’t mean that their personality and characteristics should be put on hold. They’re still human no matter if they’re sickly in love or not.

  Some writings don’t have any nuance with the Yandere trope and just go the simple route with it. Adding depth and context to Yandere’s mindset can bring out your work for the better! Think about how the characters would act in a situation where they’re sickly in love with someone instead of using cliché lines and scenes.

  Make them have some self-doubt in their actions to add some interest to your writings. Make it believable and thought-provoking when talking about the psyche of the “Yandere” in question.

And one character I’ve seen done a little bit dirty is a certain hunter with the Nicki Minaj Bob.

YES, I DID SEGWAY THIS SO I CAN TALK ABOUT MY VIEWS ON YANDERE! ROOK WHAT ARE YOU GOING TO DO!? NOTHING EXACTLY! Anyways…

I’ve only seen a few Yandere Rook fics but the ones that I have viewed just left me kind of baffled. Most of them involve hurting the person he’s interested in or putting them in dangerous situations while also trying to make it suggestive. Again no dissing anyone who writes him like this! But I am going to take this time to write down my opinion on Yandere Rook while also keeping parts of his personality. Because Rook has such good potential for a great Yandere fic and it’s kind of sad to see writers miss such an opportunity with him.

My View of Yandere Rook

If Rook was a Yandere, he definitely wouldn’t hurt the person he’s after. He sees the person as a beauty worth persevering only for his sight and benefit. Hurting his love would be like destroying the one thing he’s been desperate to seek his whole life. 

Contrary to popular belief, I don’t think Rook would go after people who simply talk to his partner. Sure he’ll be a little antsy at times when people get too friendly with the partner in question. But, all he would do is just stare them down after they leave. And to combat this he’d take his partner to places around the college. Rambling about his love for them, serenading them or just giving them affection. He does anything he can to make sure that the person he’s in love with only focuses on him and the scenery around them.

But if someone DOES try to pursue his lover. Then he’s going to have a problem. He’ll go up to them as casually as possible trying to strike up a “nice” conversation. 

Potential Dialogue and Use of Tactics Rook uses 

“Say I’ve been hearing from the grapevine that you’re in pursuit of the lovely trickster. Is that so?” He says this knowing the answer already.

Becoming even more dramatic saying:

“I’m so sorry to tell you this, but they’re currently in a relationship. It would be a pity if their partner were to hear about this…they aren’t very forgiving when it comes to their love.”

He does it to scare them at first. But if they aren’t persuaded he drops the act entirely. “I tried to warn you. Tête de noeud…you just wouldn’t listen would you? Still trying to go after my love even after knowing they were together with me. Do you seriously think they would be with you?  What a horrible joke…they would never fall for a fool like you. If you value your life please do the smart option and leave them out of that small dense brain do yours.”

“Oh my! My temper was far too wild! Please accept my humble apology. I’m sure you won’t make the same mistake twice…right?” And then leave them to their devices.

In simple words instead of killing off or injuring people, Rook strikes fear into their hearts to ensure they don’t come near his lover. He isn’t an outright killer but he’s great at making people think that he might kill them. Only using empty threats to get the job done. Keeping them on their feet and letting them overthink whatever might happen to them. Making them crumble under their fear.

Conclusion

The moral of this long opinion piece is that Yandere tropes can be used to make eye-opening fan works. Doesn’t matter which fandom you’re in, TWST or not!

It’s up to you whether or not you decide to add nuance to said fanfiction. That’s all I wanted to say! Thank you for reading all the way through. I hope my points were understandable.

ANOTHER THING! I’m not saying that I’m a better writer! Trust me I have a long way to go. I just wanted to talk about what I’ve been noticing lately in this genre and give people ideas for their possible fics. That’s it. Now I’m done.🫶

[mazeinthemiroh]

bangchan boyfriend headcanons

genre: fluff

word count: 0.8k

warnings: none

requested?: yes

song rec: my universe - coldplay, bts

author's notes: in honour of chan day, here is some bangchan bf headcanons. i may or may not have cried whilst writing this. i just love him so much ;-; anyways, i really hope you enjoy this one! happy chan day <333

guys...

oh my gosh i can't breathe-

okay, okay

i don't think you understand how much this guy means to me. this guy. the most beautiful, gentle, gorgeous man in the whole world. this person who's very existence is why i am still here today. bangchan. bang christopher chan. chrissy boi

however has the privilege of dating this one should know that they are the luckiest person in the whole wide world

bangchan as a boyfriend? he puts his all into the relationship. being the leader of stray kids has taught him many things: patience, kindness, empathy, compromise, understanding. he is well equipped for any sort of human interaction, if we're being honest. he is also prone to be protective, taking a more caring role is natural for him. as a boyfriend, he will look out for you. make sure you stay out of harms way, protect you from the press, sasaengs, paparazzi, toxic fans, idols, anyone who hurts your feelings, your reputation, your image.

you are like the kids in the sense that you become chan's top priority.

speaking of the kids, you will have to get on well with them. the other members as so important to chan because they are essentially his family. so getting along with them is a must and non-negotiable, tbh

and they welcome you with open arms, anyway, seeing how happy you. make chan. you all end up being one big happy family, its lovely

but it's baffling, really. because at first, chan was a bit concerned that being in a relationship would be extremely difficult because of his tight schedule

and, much like i said with hongjoong, he's a quality time guy. he craves a one-on-one connection with someone, to really get to know them well and to understand their thoughts, feelings, and opinions. which is hard because he literally has no time at all. but somehow, magically, he manages. and much better than he thought he would

and it's because he absolutely thrives in a relationship. he finally has someone to commit to. something to look forward to. something that give shis life a new meaning. a brighter joy that he has never quite experienced before. sure, he's living his dream, but it's not easy. his life is hectic and tough and crazy and busy and lonely. and therefore he values, much more deeply than others, the feeling of companionship

to love and to be loved. that's what he desires the most. that's what he needs

because this man has so much love to give. he will hold you close to him and never ever let you go

cuddles are a necessity! he's very physically affectionate and essentially wants to be close to you in any way. he doesn't even care if he's the big spoon or little spoon. if he's. a big spoon, he feels like he is protecting you and it feels so good holding you close in his arms. but if he's the little spoon, he would feel so safe and loved and cherished as you hold him tight. he lives for any type of cuddles <3

overall, being in a relationship with chan would be extremely important for him for one key reason: you make him feel like he is at home. he finds himself being so comfortable around you; he is free to be himself, with no judgement. he feels safe with you. that's something he can never deny. you are his best friend, his family, his soulmate. a massive part of his life. he never underestimates how much you mean to him. and he never takes you for granted. not once.

dates with him would include:

studio dates - yes, i know, how predictable. the usual setting of every chan fic out there, i get it, i get it. but he loves it when you're at the studio with him. sometimes you guys work together, just quiet and enjoying each others comfortable company, ordering takeaway food at midnight, falling to sleep together in the early hours of the morning. or you guys just mess around and get like zero work done. either way, he loves it

binge-watching - he counts this as a date. he wants nothing more than after a long day working at the studio, coming home to you snuggling up in his arms in his bed while he puts on a movie or anime or tv show you guys have been watching. it's one of his favourite moments ever. it makes him feel so warm and happy

fireworks display - kinda cliché but also totally his vibe. i think he's watched so many anime with romance fireworks scenes that he's just like 'yep, we have to do this.' and it's breathtaking how perfect it all is. a beautiful moment shared with a beautiful man

i hope chan chooses happiness, above all else <3