carlotaamm

[carlotaamm]

goddamn, good morning tumblr

editing your own work is like fighting a hydra. fix one thing and three more issues appear.

[carlotaamm]

CRAWLING AT THE WALLS BC I STILL DON'T HAVE TSATS IN MY SHELVES 😭

Daily remember that in TSATS Nico calls his Mother 'mamma' ☹️

[carlotaamm]

just reminding y'all this series is MY canon version of stranger things 💌

﹂come home (s.h.)

"come home to me, okay?" "always," steve promises. in between saving will, then hawkins, then somehow the world, you fall in love with steve harrington. (a stranger things rewrite).

﹂pairings: steve harrington x henderson!reader, slight jonathan byers x reader

﹂contains: fem!reader, slow burn, slight enemies to lovers (reader more just pities steve), cursing, miscommunication, unrequited love, angst, protective older sister chaos, violence in the later seasons.

﹂blurbs

﹂director's cut

﹂playlist

﹂jonathans mixtape for bug

﹂SEASON ONE

﹂SEASON TWO

﹂SEASON THREE

﹂SEASON FOUR

⌑ status: COMPLETE (for now)

⌑ main masterlist

⌑ if youd like to buy me a coffee ☕︎

[carlotaamm]

nobody does young adult crisis like jonathan byers

Hi! I know you probably can't answer this till the end of season four or until we're a little further into the season, but could we see the talk between Jonathan and argyle? When they're at that junk yard playing "golf" and Jonathan opens up about college and Nancy and bug . I'm really curious to see more insight on Jonathan's conflicting feelings.

of course !! im actually really excited to dig into some more longer scenes that i had to cut because bug wasnt directly in them <33 welcome to the first directors cut of come home !

words: 1.6k

enjoy <3

“Yes! 

A golf ball shatters a car window, the sound ringing through the desert air. Jonathan throws his hands up, cheering, the satisfying sound of glass breaking mellows the dull roar that’s been ringing in his head ever since moving to California. 

The sound mellows the roar, and with some help from Argyle’s “special flowers”, the smoke stifles the ache that Jonathan’s bones possess. Yet as the golf ball lands and the silence after the wreckage settles, all that’s left within Jonathan, the very thing he can’t seem to outrun, is his loneliness. 

“I don’t know,” he finds himself saying to Argyle. “Part of me expected Nancy to be on that plane… or something.”

Seeing Mike again hadn’t been so bad, Jonathan supposes. The teen has grown a lot since leaving Hawkins, and he knows how much Will and El missed Mike, but Jonathan couldn’t mask the disappointment he felt when Nancy hadn’t been by her brother’s side.

“No Y/N, man?” Argyle swings his club and sends a ball flying, but it misses the junkyard of abandoned cars by miles, and he angrily throws the club. “Shit!” 

Jonathan runs a hand through his hair, the familiar feeling of bitterness creeping upon him. “No,” he laughs, harsh. “I didn’t even think she’d consider coming all the way over here, anyways.”

“You never know,” Argyle points his club at him. “You always drone on and on about her, man. Seems like the type of chic to hop on a plane and surprise her man.”

“I’m not her man,” Jonathan rolls his eyes. He’s tried explaining to Argyle a million times who you are and who Nancy is, but after months of explaining and re-explaining, Argyle still believes Jonathan left Hawkins and two girlfriends behind. “Not that it matters, anyways. I just–”

More anger and confusion washes over Jonathan. He doesn’t know how to express the words that perpetually get stuck in his throat. There’s a mix of emotions that swirl within him, always begging for release. 

Remorse, because he misses you and Nancy. Guilt, because he hasn’t been honest with either of you in a long time. Confliction, because he can’t do what you want, what Nancy wants. Jonathan can’t do the one thing you and Nancy ask of him, and it’s slowly driving him insane. 

“I felt this intense relief when Nancy wasn’t there, when Y/N wasn’t there.” He admits.

Argyle shakes his head. “No, that’s the Purple Palm Tree Delight working its magic, my man. Makes your troubles float away like the seed pods of a dandelion flowing in the wind.”

The mention of dandelions makes Jonathan’s bones ache even more. They’re your favorite flower. At least, they used to be, but it’s been so long since he’s really talked to you, and even longer since he’s laid down in a field with you to listen to music together and stroke each other’s skin. 

And then the thought of you sparks memories of last night and how Jonathan had called you, high as he always seems to be these days, and the whispered confusion he felt fall from his lips. His stomach twists, wondering if what he asked you, if his question of what if was too soon, too much, too revealing.

But everything is just so hard between him and Nancy. Exhausting. All her expectations of him, all the hiding Jonathan has to do, the lies he keeps feeding her because he can’t stand the thought of upsetting her, and he’s tired. 

And yet he’s hiding the same things from you, though Jonathan knows that eventually you’d forgive him. You always do, and he always forgives you, always accepting the molted parts of the other. Everything is easier with you, and that’s why Jonathan hasn’t called you back. He knows that this time he doesn’t deserve your unyielding understanding of who he is. 

The memories of last night are hazy, smoke infested and dull. But he remembers the tears in your voice and thinking how disappointed you’d be in him if you knew all that he was hiding from you. 

He isn’t ready to face any of it just yet.

“If I showed you something, you wouldn’t tell anyone, right?” Jonathan asks Argyle, needing to confess his sins to at least someone.

“Who would I tell?” He chuckles, slightly confused. “You’re my only friend, Jonathan.”

Argyle’s words make the taste in Jonathan’s mouth even more bitter. Last spring, Jonathan never thought he’d ever have to say goodbye to you, the only friend he would ever need. Now, it seems he only really has one friend in the world, and somehow that friend isn’t you. 

He throws the golf club down and lets Argyle putt another ball as his fingers dig into his flannel pocket. The paper beneath his fingertips is worn, smoothed over by his anxious fingers. 

“What’s that?” Argyle looks at the piece of paper being offered to him. Jonathan doesn’t say anything, he just hands it to him. 

“It’s an acceptance letter to Lenora Community.”

“That’s where I’m going.” Argyle observes, holding the piece of paper close to his face as he reads its lettering.

Jonathan sighs. “I know.”

“But you’re going to Emerson with Nancy.” Argyle then looks up. “Or was it NYU with Y/N? It’s hard to keep track of your girlfriends, dude.”

“Nancy is my girlfriend, Y/N is my best friend.” Jonathan practically says this through muscle memory now. “And no, I’m not going to either of those schools. They just… don’t know it, yet.”

Argyle blinks a few times, desperately trying to understand what he’s being told. “Hold on a second, what’s going on?”

Everything that’s been building within Jonathan, every phone call he’s lied through his teeth, every soft bee that pierces his skin, ever I love you that Nancy whispers through the phone, it all comes spilling out.

“I-I can’t leave my mom and my brother to… to chase a dream that isn’t mine.”

“You’re dead, man. You’re so dead.”

Jonathan grips at his hair. “What was I supposed to do?”

“Not lie!”

“Not lie?” Jonathan is yelling now, slowly losing grip on reality. “Not lie?”

Argyle waves his hand at him. “Yeah!”

“I-I mean, NYU used to be my dream. Me and Y/N. That was all we used to talk about, but now if I tell her the truth, she’ll be stupidly understanding and wonder why I even lied in the first place and then-then she’d just learn to live without me!”

Jonathan blinks away tears he hadn’t known were coming. “She already is learning to live without me! I can feel her slipping away and it’s all my fault because I’m practically forcing her to forget about me and-and Nancy?” He paces the earth, body thrumming with insecurity. “She’d just throw her dreams out the window to come out here and be with me.”

He swings his club, messy and anxious, needing something to do with his tired hands. “And I… I just can’t take that. This-this huge knot of resentment would build like… like some cancer until eventually she hates me and then before you know it, we’re just like mom and dad and Y/N is gone and-and then I’m divorced and my kids hate me and I can’t call her or Nancy–”

Argyle misses his swing, having stopped listening to Jonathan’s spiral long ago. “Shit!”

He starts whacking his club on the ground and Jonathan joins him, slamming the ground repeatedly, every thud sending a painful jolt up his tendons, but he doesn’t care.

“Yeah!” He screams out, exhausting himself. “It’s all just shit, shit, shit!”

Jonathan throws his arms up in the air again and rests his club between his shoulders. He rests his head against it, aching for your voice and for Nancy’s touch and for the two girls who mean the most to him. 

“The cycle never ends,” he exclaims to the sky above. The cycle of your endless forgiveness for Jonathan. The cycle of Nancy’s desire for him to be better, to live a life he deserves. Over and over again all he ever does is let the two of you down. 

“Yeah, man. Your nightmare cycle.” Argyle rolls his eyes. “Two hot girls who want what’s best for you. Must be real hellish for you.”

Jonathan glares at him and Argyle raises his hands in surrender. “Alright, I’m sorry, man. So you want it to stop, but what is your approach here? To just force Y/N out of your life and slow-motion break up with Nancy?”

“I…” Embarrassment stings Jonathan’s body. Hearing it from someone else is only more jarring, knowing how pathetic he’s being. “I guess?”

“No, man!” Argyle screams at him. The genuine despair in his voice startles Jonathan. He’s never seen his friend so serious before, which only means how completely fucking stupid he’s being. 

“I know!” Jonathan winces. “Okay? I know, but I don’t know what to do!”

“Palm Tree Delight! That’s what you do!”

“Palm Tree Delight?” Jonathan knows that smoking has only made everything worse for him, but the idea of the acrid smoke filling his lungs causes his mouth to water and his body to shiver. 

Argyle shoves him towards the van. “Go!”

Jonathan stumbles over his feet, dropping his club to run towards the vehicle. He runs to escape his guilt, to forget how weak you sounded last night and how defeated Nancy sounded during their last phone call. Jonathan runs towards the van and throws his body inside, allowing the pain of the impact to lessen the sting of losing you.

-

﹂director's cut masterlist

﹂if youd like to buy me a coffee ☕︎

[carlotaamm]

GET. AI. OUT. OF. FANDOM. Stop making headcanons with it, stop making fanfic with it, stop making fanart with it. If I see one more "asking chatgpt *blank* about *character/characters in a fandom* I'm going to lose my goddamn mind. Use your own fucking brain, stop asking AI to do everything. You could even ask other real people what they think. Just. Stop. Using. AI. In. Creative. Spaces.

[carlotaamm]

good lord i'm scarred

partners in crime

luke castellan x fem!dionysus!reader [the trouble!verse]

MAIN SERIES MASTERPOST

summary: few things are certain in this life as a demigod, but one thing is for sure— you can’t fight fate when it pulls you and luke castellan together, over and over again. two young people who hate the gods are more like them than they think, for better or worse. annoyances to best friends to lovers

things to know: dionysus!reader's nickname is trouble & most of these can be read as standalones!

here's a playlist (spotify & apple music links now available!)

child of dionysus headcanons!

trouble!verse moodboard 1 & moodboard 2 & college!trouble by the lovely @24kmar

deleted scenes from a different universe (AUs)

play the extended cuts (blurbs from in-between)

character study: luke castellan & trouble

any works, updates, thoughts, musings, etc about this series will be tagged under #trouble!verse !

key: fluff - ☼ angst - ☽ smut - ☆ jo's favorites - ᥫ᭡

[rewind to before] pre-established relationship

trouble always finds me (trouble!reader origin story) 1.7k ☼

The one where he could tell you were trouble from the day he met you. (You're an annoyance, but not an enemy)

entropy 3.6k☼

The one where you both blur the lines between annoyance and admiration. (the promise of becoming partners in crime)

buddy system 4.2k ☼

The one where he comes with you to rescue your younger twin brothers, Pollux & Castor. (this is as close to a real quest that Mr. D will give you--might as well take someone you trust!)

somebody's angel 4.4k ☽

The one where you convince him he’s pretty, even with a scar. (songfic - Die Alone - Finneas)

feed the fire 1.2k ☼

The one where his focus is not on spilled food, but on you. (Luke realizes this is more than playful banter)

bedtime stories 2.4k ☼

The one where night shift with him runs late, but you don’t mind at all. (the both of you have feelings you want to admit, but duty calls!)

crazy little thing 3.4k ☼

The one where he uses all his drachmas to make you smile on Valentine's Day. (the Apollo kids are better matchmakers than Aphrodite, sometimes)

anything you want 1.6k ☼

The one where you and him have your first kiss. (You've always loved teaching the story of Orpheus and Eurydice; except when your Orpheus runs away from you)

said he likes crazy 2.1k ☼ ☽

The one where only he can help you with a bad day, even if he's avoided you since your first kiss. (For being a son of Hermes, he has a way of calming your nerves)

[pause and remember us like this] established relationship

play pretend 5.1k ☼

The one where Mr. D catches you two in the act, but you and him aren’t exactly together yet. (Drunk words are sober thoughts. Your dad just wishes Luke told you instead of him)

a wish your heart makes 1.4k ☼ ☽

The one where you share dreams, burn cookies, and it still reminds him of home. (The dryads will probably ban you from the kitchen after this)

star crossing 4k ☼

The one where both your dreams come to life for a night (Crossing the stars for love is easier said than done)

to see the chaos through 4k ☼☽

The one where he remembers he was never a good guy, just yours. (Luke makes the ultimate deal with the devil in order to save you)

not your goddess 8k ☽

The one where you both know the best of days eventually have to come to an end. (songfic - Goddess - Laufey)

don't blame the kids 7.6k ☼

The one where you both chaperone a trip to Mount Olympus. (the Olympians are bigger gossips than you thought they'd be)

trouble's coming for you 3.7k ☼

The one where Percy meets his two favorite counselors at Camp Half-Blood. (three times Percy is oblivious (and in the way) and the time he realizes you and Luke are in love)

now that we're older 3.5k ☼

The one where he asks if you can stay the night even if all of cabin 11 makes fun of him. (Luke is tired of the routine. He just needs his girl)

if you need to be mean (be mean to me) 1.5k☽

The one where he leaves before you wake up. (songfic - I Don't Smoke - Mitski )

[fast forward until we meet again] post-tlt

lovers, or partners in crime 2.1k ☽

The one where Annabeth and Percy think you’re guilty too. (the last day leading up to Luke's betrayal)

love like a blister: the five stages of loving losing luke 4.7k ☽

The one where you learn to mourn someone even if they’re still alive. (the five stages of grief after facing a loss)

to catch a thief 3.7k ☼ ☽

The one where duty calls at Camp Half-Blood. Again. (Your reunion with Luke isn't quite what you expected.)

solipsism 5.3k ☽

The one where you finally pray to Hestia to keep your home safe, even if he's also trying to destroy it. (the four times Luke uses Backbiter to visit you during college ft. the first time you trust a god to help you)

forever falling: luke castellan & his four great loves 4.3k ☼ ☽

The one where he falls from grace and still thinks of you. (the four great loves of Luke Castellan’s life and how it will end up killing him)

love me dry 4.5k ☼ ☽

The one where he meets you at his mother's house, though both of you didn't expect the other to be there. (a glimpse into May Castellan's idea of a perfect day)

when the curtains close 5.3k☽

The one where you lose two people in the Labyrinth that day. All strings are cut. (Annabeth and Pollux find out the biggest difference between you and Luke.)

asking for trouble 7.8k (NEWEST ADD) ☽

The one where Luke's final wish is to see you. (He's himself again, and all he wants is to find out if the trouble was worth it all)

as above, so below ☽ ☼

The one where you plead your case with the gods of Olympus. (The one thing the fates didn't expect was how much you'd both be like your fathers; in a way, you and Luke didn't see it coming either)

ask to be added to luke/general taglist 🥹

[carlotaamm]

here's a thought:

bartender!vi x flower shop!reader

where bartender!vi is always closing shop when you're setting up right across the street from the last drop and she always sees you, pushing open your old fashioned french windows, an apron gathered around your waist as you set up the outdoor arrangements.

one of these days, she thinks she'll go over to ask for a flower (or your number), or just to buy you a drink. one of these days, she's gonna gather up the courage to do it. but today... she thinks she'll just content herself with watching (yet again), with wondering what your name might be, dreaming about if you'd smell like flowers, if your smile would look just as beautiful.

she doesn't know that every evening, when you're closing shop and the last drop is turning on it's lights and she's busy helping vander carry in the stock for the night, you're watching her through those vast french windows, wondering if her laughter is just as intoxicating as a shot of whiskey, if her eyes might be bourbon-bright beneath the haze of a busy bar.

one of these days, you think, you'll go over there and... say hi. ask for her to make you her favorite drink (or just her number). one of these days. but --

not today.

[carlotaamm]

i totally believe this would happen tho-

percy: *mimicking luke* luke: what no i don't sound like that!! percy: hey thalia close your eyes and guess who's talking thalia: ok... *closes eyes* percy: *mimics luke whining* thalia: ugh luke quit whining

[carlotaamm]

omg NO?? I legit just scavanged tumblr to find it and its a FULL MASTERLIST, I'm READY

the killerverse

masterlist of related works

pairing: luke castellan x fem reader

summary: everything about luke and his childhood best friend, a daughter of ares affectionately called killer.

content: pining x1000. stupid childhood best friends in love. specific chapter warnings on each fic

the tracklist spotify playlist

hold on and hope (8/15)

1. daylight part one 3.8k

↳ set at the start of the lightning thief. you and luke through the eyes of percy jackson during his first days at camp half-blood

2. daylight part two 4.6k

↳ the details behind luke’s fight and the story of the longest time you and luke didn’t talk

3. when the sun came up (i was looking at you) 4.8k

↳ set after luke’s quest, pre tlt. your poisoning in the woods and everything that comes after

4. a world alone 6.6k

↳ set before luke’s quest. you and luke take a well deserved day off at the lake, and you talk about the future

5. the magic school bus to mount olympus 8k

↳ set before the lightning thief. you and luke have some interesting interactions with the olympians

6. secrets i have held in my heart 5.4k

↳ snapshots of you and luke throughout your lives, from elementary school to camp half-blood

7. carve your name 11k

↳ set after the trio’s quest. it’s the fourth of july. you try and come to terms with your weird feelings for luke while he chases another girl

8. everything has changed 8.1k

↳ you, luke, and the aftermath of the way you’d kissed him last night

bonus works

3.5. of kisses on cheeks 4k

↳ you’re acting weird. luke is going to find out why

8.5. right by my violets 2.5k

↳ a moment in between the beginning and end of chapter 8

[carlotaamm]

In case anyone is having a bad night

(The best of this post and its reblogs, but with links that work)

Here is a website where you can scroll down to all the different levels of the ocean 

Here is a website where you can see the future of the universe

Here is a website where you can press a ‘make everything okay’ button, over and over, until things really are okay

Here is a website that you can read if you feel like a burden

Here is a website where you can look at strobe illusions (TW strobe/flashing)

Here is a website where you can cut stuff up (TW blood/sh)

Here and here are websites where you can play with sand

Here is a website where you can draw with macaroni and other fun foods

Here is a website where you can paint someone’s nails

Here is a website where you can grow a garden with emojis

Here is a website with hundreds of videos of people hugging you (rightfully dubbed ‘the nicest place on the internet’ because it really is, y’all, it made me cry)

Here is a website that will take you to other useless websites

Here is a website where you can make a tiny cat play bongo drums (and other instruments!)

Here is a website to help give you gentle reminders <3

Here is a website where you can grow a tiny farm

Here is a website where you can take a bunch of scientific personality tests

Here is a website of calm rain noise

Take a breath. It’s going to be okay, I promise.

[carlotaamm]

You know what?

I love you, fics that take months to update. I click on the newest chapter and have no memory of this place and get to go back some chapters and rediscover how much i love everything about this story.

I love you, fics that take years to update. I think of you fondly, and know your names, go search for you and see an update from this year and scream, diving in uncaring of any missed details (i will finish the update and read you in reverse because this is a treat you have bestowed)

I love you, fics that probably will never update again. Thank you for being a roman empire for my mind, thank you for teaching me about the ephemeral fandom experience, for inspiring a thousand million what if-s, for being a comfort read and a nostalgia read and a reread.

I love you fic writers, who jump into projects and stories with enthusiasm. I love you when you succeed in pumping out those chapters and that love doesn't go away when you stop.

I love you fic writers who post and then get in your own head and never feel confident enough to update, whether it's at all or whether it's just that one story.

I love you fic writers, who have a fandom or media hurt you to the point of abandoning or having a hard time with their WIPs.

I love you fic writers, who lose interest or have life changes or illness or bad memory. Thank you for being part of the fandom, a core part of the fandom. Thank you for the time spent in the fandom.

I love you, fic writers who try out something new and then stop. You're so valid.

I love you, WIP fics that may or may not ever get finished. Thank you for brightening my day in the way only you could have.

[carlotaamm]

the title had me playing the song over and over again as I read lol (and as I melted on a puddle bc of the absolute poetry this was written with<3)

My reputations never been worse - S.H

Steve Harrington x female!reader

Steve can’t leave his reputation behind but it’s okay because there’s one girl who likes him for him

A/n: king steve, anxious!reader

Warnings: kissing

Word count: 3.6k

The whispering wasn’t hard to miss, no matter how hushed it was intended to be. Her eyes fell over to him, she didn't mean to but it was obvious that it was the brunette boy in the middle of the wine section, that was the topic of the conversation. 

He stood stiffly, hands around a dark bottle of something that looked bitter. He looked tired, Steve Harrington had never looked bad a day in his life but pretty didn’t have to mean happy. He caught her stare fairly quickly, she guessed he was used to it. 

She smiled, as softly as she could and he almost looked like he was going to smile back, before the laughter of the group behind her stole their attention. They couldn't have been more than a few years younger than her, they were probably in their last year of school, standing in the store and gossiping about king Steve before disappearing.

Either the horrible, cruel hearted version, or the rich, heartbreaking version. There wasn’t much else to say about him apparently, his reputation spoke for him and often against him, which never seemed fair. 

“Is it any good?” He was holding a bottle of white wine, the kind with a name no one around here could pronounce. He was talking to her, there was no one else left in the aisle anymore so he had to have been. She just wasn’t sure why, but then again she was never sure why.

“I’ve never tried it, sorry.” She wasn’t that sorry that the particular wine he had picked hadn’t ever touched her lips before, what she was sorry for was the way those kids had looked at him, like they knew him.

He got to smile at her this time. The corners of his mouth turned up and his eyes smiled right along with his lips too, he looked less tired now. It must’ve been the lighting above them. He tapped his fingers on the neck of the bottle, stepping past her as he said, “I’ll let you know.”

“Bye Steve.” She called back, making him turn around. Her name slipped from his lips as he said goodbye and she felt seventeen again, passing him in the hallway, getting a quick smile. He said her name the same way he said it back then and it kept her warm the entire walk home. 

She always saw Steve like that, around town, with someone else's eyes on him. Hawkins had always been a small town, a gossiping town where one mark on you stained forever. She expected someone like him to leave the second he finished high school, but he never did. 

The next time she saw him it was late, it must've been around midnight. He was standing outside some restaurant, smoking with his head resting back on the brick wall. It was one of those expensive restaurants, the kind you took a first date. 

She would’ve kept walking, she was on the other side of the road, holding her coat tightly, it felt so much colder tonight. But just as she had noticed him, he had seen her and under a flickering street light, he smiled at her. It wasn’t real but it made her cross the street anyway.

“There she is.” His throat sounded sore, but that could’ve just been the cigarette, she hadn’t ever tried it, so she couldn’t be sure. Maybe he was just getting sick. His eyes softened over her and there was something sweet about his gaze that made her feel warmer. 

It was different from the kind of warmth she felt when anyone else looked at her, it didn’t feel like her skin was burning and she had nowhere to look but the ground below her. Instead it made her head fuzzy, it gave her pins and needles all over and she couldn't look anywhere but right back at him.

“Bad night?” 

He smiled with his head tilted to the side, it felt very boyish, the way he smiled. She must’ve missed something but it was hard to wonder what had made him smile when she was so busy counting the freckles on his cheek. 

“Something like that.” He scuffed his shoes across the pavement, his sneakers scratching against the gravel. He didn’t want to talk about it, that was obvious to her. 

His secondhand smoke had eventually started to bother her and she couldn’t help scrunching up her nose a little. He put it out with the bottom of his shoe the second he realised. 

It was probably one of the sweetest things anyone had ever done for her. 

Steve hadn’t given his actions a second thought. If his lingering addiction had made her go away he would’ve hated himself all night. No one in this town was as sweet as her and she only deserved that back. He’d probably find himself quitting in the morning now he knew it bothered her.  

She glanced down the street. She was heading home, most likely from work, most likely anxious to get inside, to get warm and cosy. He had never been inside her house, but from the outside it looked inviting enough, and if someone who wore cardigans and fluffy socks that poked out of her boots lived there, it had to be comforting.  

The idea of her walking home with cold hands tucked into her pocket and frost bitten cheeks, made him sick. It didn’t matter the time of year, she should've had a boyfriend to pick her up, to keep her warm. He had never seen her with one, a fact that made him smile, just a little. 

He was contradicting himself completely, because did he really want her to be with anyone that wasn’t him?

“It’s late. Can I walk you back?” Maybe he wouldn’t be as bold to take her hand, but he could still steal a little time from her, if she let him. He stepped closer to her, away from the wall he had been hoping to sink in to for god knows how long now. 

His night, his date, it had all been terrible but it wasn’t so bad now he had seen her and this time he actually got to have a conversation with her, so really he was the luckiest guy in town, even after some girl had ditched him. 

Steve could see her clearer like this, just a few steps closer, he could feel the gold sparks across his skin as he counted the colours in her eyes. He always saw her in passing, across the street, or in some store, at some town event, even back in school he never sat close enough to her, so he never got long enough to map out the features on her face. 

She nodded, biting her lip like that wasn’t painful for him to see. 

He switched sides with her, making sure he was next to the road, not her. He wasn’t sure why it just felt right and it also just felt right to let her set the pace, to slow down his walk a little and step to the side so she could avoid the puddles.

Most girls he went out with never noticed that kind of stuff, the things he did because he was brought up right, he didn’t mind because that wasn’t the point but there was something about the sweet smile she would offer him when he went out of his way to keep her shoes dry that made him struggle to remember that he had to breathe out, not just in. 

“You shouldn't walk back on your own.” He didn’t know how he had slipped up and said it, he had no right to tell her what to do. His mind wasn’t communicating with his heart because it was too busy racing over the fact he was walking home the girl he had liked for far too long. 

She looked at him and they almost stopped for a moment but she decided to keep walking. “I know.” He was shocked she had agreed with him, that she hadn’t started a fight over what he said, that she hadn’t taken his words the wrong way. 

“It’s just cold and you should be warm.” He could’ve hit himself. It had been years since he had tripped over his words and acted a fool in front of a pretty girl. He was better than this, he had to be smoother than this, right?

“If it’s ever really cold out, you can call me.” She stopped, the coincidence of his words being spoken when they had also reached her street, her house, feeling too creepy. She wasn’t sure if he was doing it on purpose or if he was just accidently looking her up and down like he wanted to fall into her and never get back up. Without looking away, he added, “I’ll come get you.” 

She shook her head, eyes falling on the ground. She was going to politely turn him down, and he was meant to let her just slip through his fingers again, but he couldn’t, not when just walking her home had made him start imagining fireworks behind them. He had checked when they crossed the street, they weren’t there. 

“Oh Steve you don’t have to-” It wasn't fair to expect that of him, just because she knew he was a gentleman didn't mean she needed to exploit that, and she didn't know if she could take sitting in his car or walking with him, or just being in his presence on a regular basis. Her weak heart wouldn’t be able to last.

His hands slipped in the pocket of his jeans and he pulled out this torn up crumpled piece of paper, it must've been an old receipt or something. Whatever it was, it had black ink all over, writing out a phone number. 

She didn’t have to know he had wanted to give that to her weeks ago and that he had just kept onto it since, with every wash and change of clothes, he kept it right in his pocket just in case he might get the chance to finally give her his number after all these years.

He held it out to her, placed between his fingertips, a shinny watch with worn leather sitting on his wrist. It fitted him, oddly, like if she had to imagine some jewellery that would belong to Steve Harrington, this watch would be it. 

She shook her head, even though her hands were burning to take it. She had his mothers number scribbled down somewhere in the back of some old address book and his number had been written on the side of a pay phone the second he moved out, but this was different, he wanted her to have his number. 

Her eyes were fixed on his hand, on the tiny piece of paper that was giving her a headache. A headache that could easily be confused with love-like dizziness.  

“Please take it.” His voice had softened to a point she didn't think possible, whatever he said to her right now she was going to do, almost like he had swallowed a bottle of fairy dust and how his words were law. “If you catch something and die it’ll be all my fault.”

She took it, getting a fuzzy feeling from just holding the scrap of paper. Her hand pressed to her front gate, mostly to just keep her standing but also because the walk home was over.

She hadn’t imagined she could ever feel so sad to come home as she did right now. What wasn't helping was the mysterious fact that Steve had gotten more good looking in the last five minutes. It must’ve been the street lights.   

“That’s a little dramatic don’t you think.” She unhooked the gate door, the latch was cold and harsh but she hadn’t released till now her fingertips were burning hot. She closed it behind her, leaving the short little wooden fence as the only thing keeping them apart.  

He nodded like he was considering her words but somehow she knew he wasn't.

“I thought it was romantic.” Steve walked backwards, his head cocked to this side and some kind of smirk playing on his lips. His hands in his pockets reminded her of a film she had seen before, where the guy walked the girl home and left in love. 

He waited for her to call. He was practically stitched to the phone cord by the pockets of his jeans. He picked it up a few times, only to realise he foolishly didn't have her number. It was strange being the one waiting home for a call, but since it was this girl, he was enjoying the anxious feeling more than he thought he would.  

And when it finally rang, he hoped no one saw the way he dashed across his floor, slipping down the hallway in socks, crashing into the counter top where the phone sat innocently, ringing. 

“Hi, Steve.” Her sweet voice made his shoulders drop. He hadn’t released how tense he was when he went without seeing her or hearing her. He hadn’t realised someone's voice could make him feel seventeen again, all without the bad parts. 

Steve grabbed his shoes and his keys before she could even finish asking him to come get her, he would’ve been out the door as well if there wasn’t a phone cord keeping him inside the house. He told her he’d be there in five minutes, and by god he would be. 

He spun his car keys around his finger, feeling the need to hum one of his favourite songs, two things he did that girls and his friends had mocked him for relentlessly but it was clear now that he had a crush and that took over his ability to care if he looked stupid.  

A crush. Wasn’t there a better name for it, something more grown up. Maybe she knew what to call it. 

She was standing under the little glow the street light gave off, no jacket, her arms crossed, eyes looking for him. And she smiled when she saw his car, it was the same car he’d had since he was fifteen, it made him easy to spot.

He pulled over, a bleeding grin on his lips that he wouldn’t notice till he looked in the rear view mirror. “Hey.” He felt it a little when he spoke but it was just as she slipped into his passenger seat so he still hadn’t caught on. He had seen this before, her getting into his car, soft thighs pressing into the seat, it just wasn’t awake. 

“Thanks for this Steve.” She had to stop saying his name, he still had to safely drive her home yet. She twisted in her seat, making herself face him, it hardly looked comfortable but he had seen her at the movies once, legs tucked up under herself so it must’ve just been a her thing. “Really, I didn’t know if I should’ve-”

He didn’t want her thinking this was an imposition, he would’ve driven out every night just to come get her, he would’ve switched his entire day around just to spend some time with her. Just passing in the street wasn’t enough anymore. He couldn’t go back to that.

He pulled out of the slight ditch on the side of the road he had pulled into to pick her up, finally glancing in his mirror. His hair was slightly out of place and he looked less put together then he would’ve liked but none of that mattered.  “I told you to.” He glanced at her, thinking over and over if he actually wanted to say his next thought. “I wanted you to.” Something about her eyes let him say it.

She hadn’t expected him to say that. That much was clear from the look on her face. She felt like touching the dashboard, turning on the radio, just to check it was all real. Almost in a bid to ground herself, because Steve wanted her to call. 

She had spent days not calling, staring at the phone. Recounting everything he had said or had done the last time they spoke, thinking about how in seven years his smile hadn’t changed one bit. It was even the same now, as he watched the road.

“Were you busy?” The lines pressing between his brows made her bite the inside of her cheek, and the confused glance made her feel like she was falling way too fast. “When I called?” She added, trying not to stare at him too much, trying not to analyse his every expression, as perfect as they all were. 

“No, no. I mean I wasn’t doing nothing or anything-” He seemed nervous, desperate to say just the right thing and it left her with a headache because how could this Steve, end up with such a terrible reputation. 

He took a deep breath, a blood-like shade of red hinting through his cheeks. “I was just hanging out.” He shrugged, head dipping to check behind him before he turned left. 

He was lying and she had no clue how she knew, she just did. His hand was gripping the steering wheel tighter, his other tapping against his thigh, with his jaw tight like he was angry.  She wasn’t sure if that last thing had anything to do with lying, since she had seen it before, when he used to get into fights at school. 

She looked over the dashboard, his windows were slightly fogged up at the corners and it gave her something to pretend to focus on. Maybe he was with someone and he lied to not make her feel guilty for dragging him away, or maybe-

“I was sitting by the phone waiting for you to call.” 

There was something about the way he said it, the way no other boy she knew would ever admit that, and the way he laughed softly after, it all made her feel like she had been caught. Sitting in his passenger seat and wondering how anyone could not think the world of this boy?

“That’s cute.” She muttered under her breath, unaware if she had it outside of her head until he grinned. She wouldn’t have said it to anyone else, she doubted she would even think it, but something let her to tell him that him waiting on her was unbelievably cute.

She was glad her heart cut off the unbelievably. Cute was enough. Then he did that thing. That stupidly perfect things boys did, he tilted his head, looked at her instead of the road and said, “Yeah?”

He walked her to her door not just because he was tired of that one rumour that said he dropped girls off without even stopping the car, but also because she shouldn’t have to open the gate and stand alone in the cold looking for her keys. Steve was trying to be a better man and that meant staying until the lights were flicked on and the door locked behind her. 

He left his car door open but he could work on that. 

She had her hand ghosting over the door handle, only hesitating to turn back to him. Almost killing him right on her doorstep for all to see just because of how pretty she looked under the porch light. 

He thought her eyes couldn’t get any softer but yet- “You’re very sweet.” She whispered, not that anyone was around to hear her, and it wasn’t like she was embarrassed to admit it, a comment like that just deserved a certain lightness.

It surprised him, it made the little thumping beat on the inside of his wrist ridiculously loud but only to him. It was the nicest thing anyone had ever said to him. Sweet. He could let himself believe he was sweet as long as she thought it. 

Steve was never known as someone who said the first thing that came to mind, only his closest friends knew that sometimes, if a thought was loud enough, he just said it without second thought. “If I stand here any longer, I’ll want to kiss you.”

Then he had the nerve to walk away from her like that was a normal way to leave a conversation. To just say that then leave her like this, frozen on her doorstep, his name on her lips as her mind tangled itself over the word kiss.

He muttered something as he walked back, something that sounded remarkably similar to stop saying my name like that. She didn’t even get the chance to defend herself, to stutter out all the questions she had because the second he reached her again he was kissing her. 

He held her, hands expanded over her neck, keeping her head tilted up just enough so that he could kiss her exactly like he wanted to. Only pulling away to push right back in again, hardly giving her a second to catch her breath, just constantly kissing her like it was all he ever thought about. 

She would’ve tripped back if he wasn’t holding her so intently, she could feel him everywhere and that alone was already overwhelming, but then he had to press himself up against her, like she wasn’t already drowning in him. 

A soft pathetic sigh left her lips when he finally pulled away and he grinned, looking down at her with that look she had heard so much about. “Call me again tomorrow?” He nudged his nose against hers, waiting for her answer. 

Softly smiling, hitting him right in the chest, she said, “I'll let you know.”

[carlotaamm]

“I told myself if I ever won a Grammy and I got to stand up here in-front of the most powerful people in music, I would demand that labels and the industry profiting millions of dollars off artists would offer a liveable wage and healthcare, especially to developing artists...labels we got you, but do you got us?”- Chappell Roan during her GRAMMYS acceptance speech.

[carlotaamm]

re-reading this MASTERPIECE again bc I miss it dearly and it def is my favourite dynamic between an oc and a character 💞

the killerverse

masterlist of related works

pairing: luke castellan x fem reader

summary: everything about luke and his childhood best friend, a daughter of ares affectionately called killer.

content: pining x1000. stupid childhood best friends in love. specific chapter warnings on each fic

the tracklist spotify playlist

hold on and hope (8/15)

1. daylight part one 3.8k

↳ set at the start of the lightning thief. you and luke through the eyes of percy jackson during his first days at camp half-blood

2. daylight part two 4.6k

↳ the details behind luke’s fight and the story of the longest time you and luke didn’t talk

3. when the sun came up (i was looking at you) 4.8k

↳ set after luke’s quest, pre tlt. your poisoning in the woods and everything that comes after

4. a world alone 6.6k

↳ set before luke’s quest. you and luke take a well deserved day off at the lake, and you talk about the future

5. the magic school bus to mount olympus 8k

↳ set before the lightning thief. you and luke have some interesting interactions with the olympians

6. secrets i have held in my heart 5.4k

↳ snapshots of you and luke throughout your lives, from elementary school to camp half-blood

7. carve your name 11k

↳ set after the trio’s quest. it’s the fourth of july. you try and come to terms with your weird feelings for luke while he chases another girl

8. everything has changed 8.1k

↳ you, luke, and the aftermath of the way you’d kissed him last night

bonus works

3.5. of kisses on cheeks 4k

↳ you’re acting weird. luke is going to find out why

8.5. right by my violets 2.5k

↳ a moment in between the beginning and end of chapter 8

[carlotaamm]

good lord YESSSSS

THE VALENTINE’s MAILBOX | a maroon-cardigan’s collection

A COLLECTION OF STEVE HARRINGTON ONE SHOTS INSPIRED BY VALENTINE’s DAY. 💌

PICK A PRETTY ENVELOPE FROM THE MAILBOX AND GET LOST IN SOME ROMANTIC READING THIS FEBRUARY… ♡

AIN’T IT FUN? | [+18]

since high school you were always regarded as a top student with a brilliant future, but after college is over you find yourself doing the one thing you promised you wouldn’t do: moving back to hawkins. if being a total failure wasn’t humiliating enough, once you’re back you find out that your friends now hang out with no other than your high school bully.

THE MATCHMAKER | a retelling of jane austen's emma | coming soon!

as a romance books reviewer for the hawkin’s post, valentine’s day has always been your favourite holiday. not that you’re the relationship type, but every year you entertain yourself with the selfless endeavour of matching two lovebirds so they become the new it couple of hawkins. this february 14th should be no exception, unless your father's protégé decides to ruin your fun.

TRAINING WHEELS | [+18] | coming soon!

first kiss, first love, first heartbreak. you and steve have never been good at doing things for the first time, not unless you're together. yet there are certain types of tension that not even the strongest friendship can bear, and after years of distance you two can't help but wonder if there's a possibility that all those firsts were only leading you towards forever.

♡ if you wish to be added to the taglist, make sure to allow mentions on your settings, then drop a message or a comment and i'll be more than happy to tag you.

[dividers by @saradika-graphics, @aquazero & @cafekitsune]

I do no consent for people to plagiarise, translate, copy or repost any of my written work anywhere. I do not consent people to use any of my written work for AI purposes.

links to donate and support people from Gaza:

- support nour’s fight for safety.

- support areej’s family in gaza.

- support rola and her children.

if you can’t donate, please consider reblogging the pinned posts. thank you. x

[carlotaamm]

words cannot describe how much I LOVE the concept of this story and how WELL its written omg

Steve and Abby? ADORABLE DUO

Steve and reader? DISGUSTINGLY PERFECT

There's panick, there's giddiness, there's everything I expected and MORE

sooo worth the wait 💞

Chalkboard Hearts - Pt IV

Pairing - KindergartenTeacher!Steve Harrington x SingleMom!Reader

WC - 5.6k

Summary - A snow day prompts Steve and Abbey to spend a little one on one time together.

AN - sorry this one took a little longer! being creative is hard when the U.S keeps sucking me of all my joy. thanks for the patience, love y’all! ~ emma

Three weeks ago, your daughter’s kindergarten teacher gave you his phone number in a chilly, deserted diner parking lot, and every weekday since that night, Abbey has had to all but drag you from his classroom when you go to pick her up in the afternoons. One topic leads to another and another, and before you realize it, you and Steve have been chatting in his mostly empty classroom for over an hour. But this morning, you’re dialing those digits he gave you on your landlines keypad for the first time with shaky fingers. You’d spent the past hour exhausting all your other options. Your mother? Working. Your sister? Out of town. Your usual babysitter? sick.

Steve was the only person you knew for a fact wouldn’t be working today.

It wasn’t for a lack of wanting to that you hadn’t called yet. Every waking hour since that night, you had been wrestling with yourself about what an appropriate reason would be. Was he flirting with you? Did he genuinely just want you to have access to him in case of an emergency? Both? Your inner dialogue was deafening– like a squawking bird in the back of your brain.

The intrusive volume of your thoughts seemed to quiet now as your leg bounced impatiently– anxiety over the prospect of having to call into work outweighing your trepidation– waiting for him to pick up the call on the other line. 

He finally answered halfway through the fourth ring, “Hello?” Despite the early hour, Steve sounded wide awake. Probably rousing at the same time you did, not expecting to be temporarily blinded by three feet of bright, white snow piled on top of his car. On the kitchen radio, you can hear the newscaster announcing a closure of the local schools.

“Steve, it’s Y/N,” your voice cuts through the static.

He pauses briefly, yours probably being the last voice he expected to hear when he picked up his phone, “Hey, morning–” he clears his throat, “everything alright?”

“Yes– well– I don’t know.” You rub the tips of your fingers restlessly over your closed eyelids, “I don’t have anyone to watch Abbey with the school being closed, I've tried everyone and I really hate to ask but–”

“Of course, I can be there in thirty. Can you give me your address?”

“Are you sure, Steve? I can just call out if–”

“Don’t be ridiculous, just give me your address,” his incredulity and lack of hesitation sends the wings fluttering about in your stomach again, while cementing the reassurance of his words. You gain the courage to repeat your home address for him to write down.

You can hear the sound of pen hastily scratching paper, then after a few beats of silence he speaks again, “It’ll take me a little bit to clear off my car, but I’ll be there as soon as I can,”

“Thank you so much, you have no idea.”

“Don’t mention it,” you can hear the grin in his voice, can picture the flash of perfect white squares, “see you soon,” you breathe a heavy sigh of relief at the click of the receiver being placed back in its cradle. Abbey is bundled up on the couch watching Rugrats, a bowl of cereal in her lap. Normally, you wouldn’t let her eat in the living room, but you needed respite from her usual game of 20 Questions to make some phone calls.

“Hey, Ab,” you say as you approach her, thoroughly engrossed in her cartoons, “Is it okay if Mr. H comes over and watches you today while mommy goes to work?”

The question is more than enough to pull her focus from the television screen. Her face lights up like the Fourth of July as she nearly spills her cereal with the force of her straightening on the sofa, “Really?” She asks hopefully.

“Yes, grandma is working and Julia is sick. Is that okay?” As excited as you know she is, you want her verbal confirmation. Mostly because you’d never put your child in a situation she’s uncomfortable in; but a smaller, more selfish part of you wants to be absolved of the guilt you feel for having to leave her all day.

Your wish is granted almost instantly as she squeals and hops off the couch where she’d been lounging, placing her bowl on the coffee table. Halfway to her room, she calls, “Mommy! Where are my coloring books?”

“They’re on top of your bookshelf,” you call, “don’t make a huge mess, please!”

“I won’t!” She replies, muffled through the drywall separating you.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

You hadn’t had time to tidy the house or make yourself look even remotely presentable before Steve arrived. If it weren’t for the relief that floods your body upon seeing his car pull in the driveway, you might even be a little embarrassed. Booted footsteps shuffle up the porch as you’re shoveling things into your bag at the last minute, followed by three light knocks on the door.

“Coming!” You shout from where you stand in the dining room.

Before you even have the chance to reach the foyer, Abbey is darting from her bedroom in plastic play shoes and throwing the door open with immeasurable enthusiasm.

“Hey–” Steve starts, expecting it to be you before he realizes who’s greeting him, “Oh, hi Ab,” he waves to the little face staring up at him, “Where’s your mom?”

“Mommy!” Abbey calls, “Mr. H is here!”

Steve spots you holding two pieces of notebook paper clad with chicken scratch scribblings. You look frazzled– hair thrown up hastily and scrubs wrinkly. He scours the place where he would normally find an emotion akin to pity for your distressed state, but in its absence, he only feels endearment laced with a little concern.

He doesn’t get a word in before you’re shoving the papers in his hands and spouting off information that he’s praying is already on the sheets you’ve given him.

“I should be home by five, if anything happens, this–” you point to a barely legible number, “--is my work phone. This is her doctor’s phone number and she’s allergic to peanuts. There aren’t any peanuts in the house but–” you sigh, exasperated with yourself, “just in case.”

The rest of the pages are filled with ramblings about which channels Abbey likes to watch and how to work the television. How, in case she needs a bath, you have to pull and then twist the knob for the hot water to run. That she is not, under any circumstances, allowed to put nail polish on by herself and where you keep her Epi Pens.

Steve’s surprised at how many of these sentiments he already has catalogued. He’s required to know Abbey’s emergency contacts and that she has a nut allergy for his job, but he knows that channel thirty-seven has the best cartoons because Abbey once told him that Power Puff Girls was her favorite– and you’d already relayed to him the hilariously tragic tale of what happened the last time Abbey attempted to paint her own nails.

Despite this revelation, he doesn’t dare interrupt you. He indulges your ranting, a grin creeping involuntarily along his face.

“-- sorry, I’m rambling– I’ve just never left her with someone who wasn’t my mom or her sitter before,” you’re a little breathless after two straight minutes of talking.

“Hey, hey– you’re okay,” he wastes no time reassuring you, “you know I’d never let anything happen to her.” You nod your understanding, “Besides,” now he’s speaking to Abbey, “we’re gonna have a super fun time right?”

She shouts, “Yes!”

He looks at you with his brows raised, amused, “See?”

“Okay, alright,” you kneel down, chuckling, “do I get a hug? Or am I chopped liver?”

Giggling, Abbey wraps you in a suffocating embrace, like always. Her excitement for Steve has never quelled her affection for you, and you can tell that she’s still hesitant to see you go. You smack a kiss on her cheek, grabbing your bag from the floor as you rise again.

“Swear you’ll call me if anything happens?” You ask him one more time, already knowing the answer.

“Cross my heart.” He smiles fondly, stoking the flames burning bright around the cage that your heart inhabits.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

Your home is cozy, much cozier than anything Steve had growing up. He’s warmed at the idea that Abbey has the privilege of growing up in a house that feels so lived in– stains on the carpet, soft edges and yellow lighting. There’s clutter on the kitchen counter by the microwave and colorful alphabet magnets securing several bright pieces of artwork to the fridge.

“Are these the pictures you drew in art class last week?” He asks Abbey, who has been trailing behind him all through the house, pointing things out to him as they go.

“Uh-huh, Mrs. Morse helped me with that one,” she points to what Steve thinks is probably supposed to be a zebra.

“Well, you’re very talented, I love them,”

“Can we go play outside?” She asks, drawing out the last syllable and completely ignoring Steve’s compliment.

“Sure we can,” he chuckles, “where do you keep your snowsuit?”.

Abbey takes Steve by the wrist and leads him to the coat closet by the front door. Similar to the rest of your house, it’s stuffed to the brim– full of puffy nylon and heavy winter boots. He catches a glimpse of a familiar brown and green jacket– his jacket. You’d promised to wash it and return it to him, but it must’ve slipped your mind. He grins to himself at the reminiscence as he fetches Abbey’s snow gear and shuts the door.

Steve hadn’t dressed appropriately for a morning rolling around in the cold. He had slipped on a pair of your mittens, probably meant more for fashion than practicality, because his fingers were already completely numb. But he can’t seem to deny her when Abbey pleads with him to make snow angels. They’d just spent the past half an hour building two snowmen– one short like Abbey and one tall like Steve, she insisted, as she wrapped her scarf around the snowman that resembled her.

“Please, Mr. H?” She begs when she notices his hesitancy.

“Alright, alright,” he chuckles, “but then we’re gonna go inside and have lunch. Deal?”

That appears to be a good enough covenant for her, “Okay!” Abbey exclaims, falling fairly harshly to the cushioned ground. Steve braces himself for tears, but Abbey only keeps laughing in that contagious way as she begins spreading her arms and legs out beside her in a repetitive motion.

“Are you gonna make one?” She questions from her place on the ground.

He grunts as he reluctantly lowers himself down next to her, anticipating the icy wetness waiting underneath him. The snow seeps uncomfortably through his jeans, but the sound of Abbey’s unbridled joy nearly makes up for his soiled clothing.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

What’d you want to eat, Ab?” Steve calls from the pantry while Abbey changes out of her wet clothes in her bedroom.

“Not hungry!” She calls back.

He sighs, expecting her stubbornness– she was nearly as mulish as you.

“Remember the deal we made earlier?” He asks, “That if I made a snow angel with you, that you’d have to eat something for lunch, right?”

She emerges from her room, pout prominent on her strikingly adorable features, “But I wanna keep playing,” she whines, giving her foot a little stomp on the linoleum for emphasis.

“We can keep playing after, I promise,” he knows he’s not winning this battle without a compromise, “does your mom let you eat in the living room?” He asks with a lilt to his voice that makes him sound conspiratorial.

“Sometimes…”

“How about…” he pauses as if thinking, “I make us some food and we watch a movie while we eat?”

He can tell he’s got her after that– hook, line and sinker. She still pretends to mull over his proposition for a moment before agreeing, “Hmm…I think that sounds good,” she settles, trying and failing to mask her elation.

That’s how Steve ended up, plates of grilled cheese sandwiches in hand, dodging barbies and miscellaneous stuffed animals on his way to the living room a few minutes later.

“Have you found a movie yet?” He asks Abbey as he sets the plates down atop the coffee table.

“Yes but–” she jumps on her tiptoes, “I can’t reach it,”

Steve walks over to the towering shelf of VHS tapes in front of her, “Which one are you trying to reach?”

Abbey points at the tape in question, “Home Alone,”

“Alrighty,” Steve says as he grabs it with ease, “Your foods on the table, go sit while I put it in,”

Abbey, for once, does as he asks– bounding over to the coffee table with the excitement typical of a five-year-old who has an adult's permission to break a house rule.

While Steve eyes your VCR, he catches a glimpse of a photo out of the corner of his eye, causing him to pause. It’s you, no older than twenty, holding a swaddled baby in a sterile hospital room. He doesn’t recognize the picture as one he’s seen before.

Of course you’ve never seen it before, he thinks, you barely know her. Get a grip.

You’re filled with such youthful brilliance in the shot, despite the underlying weariness of having just given birth; your hair tied messily into a bun at the nape of your neck, sweat beading on your brow bone. It’s just you and Abbey, Steve thinks her father must’ve been the photographer.

He can’t help but think of himself at that age and all the stupid shit he was doing. How, if you had handed him a baby then, he wouldn’t have known the first thing about what to do with it– but here you had raised such a bright, healthy daughter and largely alone. He was struck by such a sudden and overwhelming admiration for you that he nearly forgot what he was supposed to be doing.

“Mr. H?” Abbey asked, mouth full, “When are we gonna start the movie?”

Her question sends him hurling back to reality. A reality where he’s your daughter’s kindergarten teacher, and the two of you are friendly with each other at best.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

At some point during the movie, once their lunch was reduced to crumbs on empty plates, Abbey had hauled out her box of coloring books and crayons that she had been looking for this morning.

Steve, the less creative of the two, was coloring in a cartoon illustration of a fairy while Abbey was making her own drawing on a piece of white construction paper. The lack of constant chatter is a welcome reprieve, but he knows that Abbey only becomes quiet when she’s particularly concentrated, so he chances a peek to his right at what she’s working on.

She got a death grip on a brown crayon– shaved almost down to the tip– with her tongue sticking ever so slightly between her lips as she focuses intently on her art.

The picture is of three stick figures– two tall and one significantly smaller in between them. It’s set at what looks to be a playground, a bright yellow sun in the sky and blue scribblings around white clouds. Swings, slides and even a little blue dog adorn the rest of the background.

Pleasantly surprised at her artistry, Steve says, “That looks amazing, Ab!”

She’s snapped out of her stupor, her face split with a wide toothless grin. She doesn’t thank him, only lets out a few bashful giggles at his praise and says, “I like yours too,”

“Is that you?” He points at the littlest figure.

“Mhm, see? I made her hair curly like mine!”

“It looks just like you,” he agrees, then draws her attention to the other figures, “Is this your mom and your dad next to you?”

“This is mommy,” she points, “I put her in the blue clothes she wears at work,” he knows she’s referring to your scrubs, but the phrasing makes him chuckle.

“And this is you!” She circles the figure she’s drawn with the tip of her finger. She’s included his voluminous chestnut hair and his silver wire-framed glasses, even one of the stupid striped polos he wears at school. Looking at it now, it’s obvious who it was supposed to be– but it’s so unexpected that he feels his face heat up at the realization.

“Oh, wow, Ab– That’s–” he grapples to find the words to express the juxtaposition he’s found himself in. He’s honored, truly, to be included in this portrait Abbey’s made of herself and her mother– her family– but there’s a gnawing guilt he can’t seem to shake. The fear that, in some way, he’s replacing her father.

“I love it, Ab, thank you,” he smiles fondly at her work, the proud grin she wears slowly melting the flash freeze of trepidation that encased his conscience.

“Can we hang it on the fridge for mommy to see when she gets home?” She asks after a moment.

“That sounds like a great idea.”

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

Around four o’clock, Abbey begins asking what they’re having for dinner. Steve wonders briefly if you always have to deal with her being so ravenous.

“How about we start cooking now? That way it’ll be ready for your mom when she gets home,”

“Okay,” Abbey concurs. Steve wouldn’t consider himself a Michelin star chef by any means, but he can make a mean chicken parmesan.

A trip to the grocery store was needed to grab some ingredients. After scribbling down the required items on a crumpled receipt, and struggling for ten minutes to get Abbey’s carseat in the back of his BMW, they’re on their way.

He meets her eyes in the rearview mirror, “Do you want me to put on some music?”

“Christmas music?” She asks hopefully.

Steve isn’t the biggest fan of Christmas music– Christmas in general, really– but he obliges her request and turns the dial to their local channel, soft bells and a choir of voices begin to flood through the interior of the car. She really is so harmlessly manipulative with her saucer eyes and round button nose, he can’t seem to refuse her anything.

Steve drives more cautiously than he thinks he ever has, even more so than when he was sixteen and learning how to drive with his family’s Pontiac as his father stared harshly at him from the passenger seat. He comes to a full halt at every stop sign, and he never takes his eyes off the road.

After fighting some early rush hour traffic, they make it. Without a second thought, Abbey grasps Steve’s hand while walking through the parking lot. He tries not to look startled at the sudden contact, recalling how she always seems to have a firm grip on your hand in public spaces too. Steve’s just glad she feels comfortable with him.

“Can I help?” Abbey asks as Steve grabs a cart from the corral.

“Course’,” he smiles, “do you wanna grab the ingredients and put them in the cart for me?”

She bounces excitedly, “Sure!”

Wandering through the aisles, Abbey never strayed from Steve’s side. Every time he read off an item, she would dutifully fetch it and throw it into the cart with a little more force than necessary, but Steve didn’t mind.

“Do you live by yourself?” She asks out of the blue as they peruse the store.

“I do,”

“Then how come you know how to cook?”

He laughs at her inquisitive nature, “Well I have to eat don’t I?”

“Yeah…” she ponders, “I guess so,”

“Alright, the last thing we need is breadcrumbs,” he informs her, scanning the shelves.

Like earlier, Abbey attempts to stand on her tiptoes to try and reach the can in question, “I’m getting it,” she mumbles in determination, very much not getting it.

“Here,” Steve says as he lifts her up by her waist like it was second nature to him.

“Got it!” She exclaims, tossing it in with the rest of the groceries. “Can I ride in the cart now?” She yawns with a polite hand over her mouth. He supposes grocery shopping takes a lot out of you when all the shelves are at least five feet taller than your head.

“Sure,” Steve chuckles as he slots her little legs through the designated holes.

Despite the ride home only being about ten minutes long, Abbey manages to doze off– lulled to sleep by the subtle hum of the car's engine. Steve veered as gently as possible into the driveway, careful not to disturb her even though he was about to wake her up anyway.

“Abbey,” he shakes her softly, “we’re home,”

Abbey rouses, but only slightly. She yawns again and stretches with her arms over her head before extending them out, silently motioning with her eyes still closed for Steve to carry her inside.

“Okay, c’mon lazy bones,” he grunts at the angle but lifts her from her car seat nonetheless. After unlocking the door one-handed, he sets her carefully on the couch and covers her with a plush throw blanket before heading back outside for the rest of the groceries.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

The first thing you notice when you approach your front door is the savory smell of something cooking. Inside, the TV is off and your daughter is sleeping soundly on the couch. Quiet clattering noises flood from the kitchen.

The sleeves of Steve’s burgundy sweater are rolled up to his elbows and the kitchen smells of roasting chicken and mahogany as he stirs a simmering pot of homemade pasta sauce. He’s humming some tune softly under his breath– Bob Segar, you think.

“Hey,” you greet with a grin as you set your bag down on the dining table. Steve turns around to meet you as you ask, “What’re you doing?”

“Cooking?” He replies.

“No, really?” You deadpan back, eliciting an amused chuckle from the man standing at your stove.

“Abbey was asking about dinner,” he pauses, “we were gonna do this whole thing– we were gonna make it for you together, have it ready by the time you got home, but,” he gestures with his arm to the living room where Abbey is napping. Steve Harrington is nothing if not expressive– talking with his hands, eyebrows always either furrowed in concentration or raised in amusement. It’s one of the most charming things about him, you think.

“Well, thank you,” you say, “you didn’t have to do that,” you feel a blush heat your cheeks at how domestic this feels– like you come home to Steve cooking dinner for you and your daughter every night. You can picture it as easily as if it were your actual reality and it leaves you feeling briefly vertiginous. You’re not sure Jeremy ever cooked even one meal for you in the entirety of your relationship.

“The chickens almost done and then I'll get out of your hair,” he assumes a teasing lilt to his voice to disguise the fact that he feels like he’s overstepping– overstaying his welcome or crossing some invisible line.

“Are you kidding?” You scoff, “You’ve gotta at least stick around long enough to see how it came out,”

“You don’t mind?” He asks hesitantly.

“Steve, of course I don’t mind,” honestly, you think you’d start a fire and burn your house to the ground if it meant getting him to stay just a little longer to help you put it out, “plus, I’m sure Abbey’ll be stoked.”

“Alright, well,” he smiles warmly, “it’s ready if you wanna go wake the gremlin up,”

At the table, Abbey insists on sitting next to Steve in the chair across from you.

“This is delicious, Steve,” you compliment.

“Best you ever had?” He teases, but his phrasing makes you choke a little on your pasta.

Abbey makes a twisted face, “The sauce tastes funny.” Saved by the bell.

“Abbey!” you scold playfully, poorly concealing a laugh behind the back of your hand, “Sorry– I think she’s just used to eating Prego,”

“That’s okay– I think she’s right, actually,” he assures you, twisting his expression into something sour and causing Abbey to giggle. His eyes are the color of rich soil as he sends you an oh, so familiar look across the table, communicating another silent thought to you. One that says, I don’t mind how blunt she is, I think it’s endearing.

When dinner is finished, Steve insists on doing the dishes for you too. “You cooked, Steve, let me–” you try to barter.

“--You do enough as it is,” he counters simultaneously.

“You watched my child all day!” You laugh at his stubbornness.

“I do that everyday anyway!” He argues, beginning to fill up the porcelain farmhouse sink with hot, sudsy water.

“At least let me help,” you give him that wide eyed look you always seem to be giving him lately. God, you’re no better than Abbey. “You wash, I’ll dry?”

“Fine,” he tries to frown but his smirk betrays him in his act of faux annoyance.

After a few minutes of stuffy silence, you ask, “She wasn’t too much of a pain in the ass today, was she?”

“Not any more than usual,” he jokes and a plate slips through his fingers, causing a small splash of water to coat your face in dishwater. You gasp at the sensation.

“Oh– Sorry!--” he tries to apologize, but you take your dishwater soaked fingers and flick them in the direction of his own face– small soapy bubbles clinging to his lashes and eyebrows.

“I cannot believe you right now,” he says, wiping his eyes with his sleeve.

“There, now we’re even,” you smirk.

“I’ll let it slide. This time.”

“Mommy!” Abbey rushes into the kitchen, “Can Mr. H stay to watch a cartoon before bed?”

“I don’t know, baby, it’s getting late,” you can just barely see the flash of heartbreak in her gaze before Steve interjects, “It’s okay, I don’t mind staying for a little longer,”

You send him a skeptical glance over your shoulder, but he just nods and asks Abbey what she’d like to watch.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

The end credits for an episode of The Rugrats flashes across the screen, illuminating Abbey’s sleeping face in muted shades of blue and orange. She snores, slumped against Steve’s chest with her arms wrapped around his torso. You sit propped against the other arm of the couch watching them intently– trying to memorize the sight before you. You’ve never seen Abbey cradled like this before by anyone else except you. It wasn’t something you felt you craved until recently.

Steve turns, catching you staring but not calling attention to it. He can count on several hands the amount of times he’s done the same to you– Steve Harrington is many things, but he is not a hypocrite.

“Did you know the guy from Devo wrote the theme song for this?” He gestures towards the television.

“Really?”

“Mhm,” he replies, “I can’t remember who told me that,”

After a few beats of hushed silence, you say, “Should probably put that one to bed– unless you wanna be here all night,” you try to joke but your voice shakes.

He would if you were sincerely asking. He’d stay right here on this uncomfortably worn sofa, with your daughter whom he has such an affinity for, sleeping against his chest for the next millenia. He’d fossilize here if he could– your presence beside him calm and grounding like an anchor in a storm.

He voices none of this. Instead he says, “Do you want to take her?”

“It’s okay,” you wave him off, “I’ll just come with you.” The three of you slowly make your way to Abbey’s bedroom, Steve carrying her bridal style against his torso and the door creaks on its hinges when Steve pushes it open with his hip. She stirs only a little when he sets her down, but is soothed quickly with a firm palm stroking her back a few times.

The door clicks behind you as Steve leads you both back to the living room.

“I should probably–”

“Do you want–”

You begin to speak at the same time, awkward chuckles leaving both of your nervous lips.

“You first,” he offers, scratching the back of his neck.

“I was– just gonna ask if you wanted some wine, but I know it’s late–”

“Wine sounds great.” His lips form a line across his face as he grins.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

Half a bottle of wine split between the two of you, and your hands were tingling from the effort it was taking not to reach out and card your fingers through the hair of the man sitting across from you.

“How come you never called?” He asks suddenly, but not unkindly.

“Hm?”

“You never called– well, not til’ this morning at least,”

“Didn’t know what counted as an emergency, I guess,” you shrug, the alcohol shaking your nerves loose.

He must’ve been feeling in a similar way to you– speaking freely in a way he wouldn’t have before, “Just wanted to talk to you,” he smiles fondly.

“Oh,” you whisper, and when you don’t say anything else, Steve changes the subject.

“I like that photo of you on top of the entertainment center,” he says contemplatively, “you looked really…peaceful,”

“Well, raising a miniature version of yourself tends to age you a bit, I suppose,”

“Can I ask you something?” He asks, testing the waters.

“Always”

“Where was Jeremy in the picture?”

“We always talk about me,” you roll your eyes spiritedly and release a contented sigh, “Tell me why you really came to Maine,”

“Don’t deflect,” he teases.

“C’monnnn,” you draw out the last syllable, “answer,”

“I asked you first,” Steve chuckles.

“Jeremy wasn’t at Abbey’s birth,” you admit, it's immediately like an aching weight removed from the length of your spine– one that's been there consistently for years. “He didn’t even want me to have her,” you scoff humorlessly.

You had told almost no one this before. For the sake of keeping appearances, even after he passed, only your mother and sister knew that Jeremy had pushed for you to terminate your pregnancy when he’d found out; and that only once your daughter was actually born did he want to be involved in her life. The burden felt shockingly easy to lay at Steve’s feet, like someone might confess to a priest. This tender man sitting across from you– whether it was the wine or simply his presence, you aren’t sure– but it felt so effortless to be vulnerable right now. Your soft, white underbelly on display for him to do as he pleases, trusting him to have a gentle touch.

“That fucking sucks,” he knows you well enough by now to understand you’ve never cared for empty platitudes, so he doesn’t bother schooling his bitter, empathetic expression, “M’ sorry,”

Not wanting to dwell on it any longer, you say, “Your turn,”

“My old man was an abusive, drunk asshole,” he says frankly, “I don’t know if I ever saw him sober,” he huffs a laugh but there’s no humor behind it. “I needed to get out– to see what else there was, you know?” He asks, and you nod, “He died in my sophomore year of college. Didn’t even go to the wake.”

“Well, I’m really glad you ended up in this shithole,” he laughs at that, “I think you’re pretty neat, Harrington,”

“Thanks,” he deadpans, “Juries still out on you,” he pokes your side and you giggle like you’re a damn teenager again.

You swat him lightly on his bicep in retaliation, and before you know it, you’ve both succumbed to a fit of contagious laughter. When it begins to die down, you’re closer to him than you’d been before. It steals the breath from your lungs and your heart thrashes inside your ribcage like a wild animal.

You’re gazing at each other now, heads light from the alcohol and dizzy with proximity. His heavy lidded gaze lands on your lips for a second too long, and then he’s pulling your face flush to his own by the sharp edge of your jaw.

It’s a soft kiss, but it’s maddening nonetheless. His lips are plush and smooth– malleable against yours. You huff a surprised breath of air, but don’t pull away. One of his calloused hands is resting firmly on your waist while the other one snakes up tenderly to hold the back of your head. You feel that familiar itch to bury your fingers in his brown tresses, so finally, you do. What realistically only lasts a moment, feels like hours before he’s pulling away, nearly frightened.

When he looks at you, his doe eyes are wide with fear, glassy with the impending fallout of what he’d just done. He stammers, “I’m sorry–that was–” he runs his hands down the length of his guilt twisted face.

“No– Steve, It’s okay, I–”

“I should go–” he says quickly as he slips his shoes and coat on, not even bothering to tie the laces, he grabs his keys, “I’m sorry I’ll– I’ll see you on Monday,”

He’s closing the door behind him before your mind gets the chance to catch up with your mouth. You wished to tell him that it was okay, that you liked it– that you wanted him to stay and never leave again.

But it’s too late. You’re left alone in the stifling air of your living room, half a bottle of wine on the coffee table and your heart on the floor.

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compulsory golden trio slumber party drawing (the powerpuff girls coding was unintentional)