#ALL CHARACTERS ARE TEENAGERS IN SECOND YEAR

[loonypsychicchild]

(Another response from me to this ongoing bastardy analysises that is bound to happen as this was an issue that the show created and does not seem to be dealing with it well enough as it has no consequence or no commitment to it to explore it well enough except for when they need character to be victims to gain brownie points. )

Starting from the argument that Joffrey was not necessary and too much risk, Rhaenyra should have stopped at 2 children with Harwin aa OP wrote as a response to a comment: You must have an heir and a spare for the Iron throne and the lordship of Driftmark with Joffrey he has a shared dpare for bot of these titles. She doesn't know she will marry Daemon she has to all she can. Also you must know that they live in the medieval era and children die very young even with the noble children. So they aren't like us modern people who can say okay I have done 2 kids it is enough. And this is proved by how her two olderst heirs die in the war they could have still died to diseases before that and she named Joffrey as his heir. The heir some people call unnecessary and needlesly risky was useful, the other kids were too young to be serious heirs. Also arguing a medieval women no matter how magical and royal and well educated would have an idea of planning her pregnancies and children is ludicrous, they are not modern women even if they are thought many things women are seen as broodmares and they don't think a second time about how dangerous and unplanned a pregancy is. Most of the Targ women that say they can't take another pregnancy are still impregnated and they still die. It is not even the general medieval information to understand Westeros, it is in the books that no such thought is given. In fact these girls do not know their sexuality and don't even understand what they are supposed to do in marriage in some occurences. 

While I understand people thinking Rhaenyra acted very dangerously, it is still putting the wrong emphasis on the wrong subject. There was not such an emphasis on this in fire and blood because a clever royal who knows their power can always silence these rumors which is what Rhaenyra does in the books. However the main issue with the fandom's take on the subject comes from the source I think which for many is The House of the Dragon. Because the show gives so much modern understanding of things and modern actions to characters people start to forget these are not modern people and even the most educated of them don't have certain awareness and have reasons to believe they should act in any other way. For all we know Rhaenyra probably thought she needed to have children and she needed to have sex to have children but she did not have been thought to plan these pregnancies because back then women were simple being impregnated according to man's whim. And we must remember Rhaenyra is very young and still a teenager when she has Jace, Luke and Joffrey. She still doesn't understand the game she is playing to a full extent both in the bedroom and the courtroom. So not blaming Laenor who have not tried enough even though having non trueborn sons creates a risk for him and not blaming Harwin Strong who qould kniw better about these things and blaming Rhaenyra does not fit in the in-universe understanding of things as some like to call too. It is okay to blame all of them but no one in the fandom seems to ever mention the two mem in this equation while we have constant endless and same discussions about how Rhaenyra is at fault. And it is about one thing that could be her understandable fault as an heir and not about all of the other mistakes she has done on the show years later after becoming an heir and should be better at it. As she is still a young women who is having pregnancies back to back without much time to understand motherhood in between them is understansable for reasonable people in-universe which is why even tho they can not all men exploit their women. 

Also I simply don't think they have more than very simple understanding of genetics so much so the rumours can be shut down by the ones at power. And it does not even become any part of Rhaenyra's downfall in the books, in universr characters and houses don't have as big of a problem as greens have. It is obvious that only two times this issue is put fort it is Vaemond, Aemond and The Greens, it is just another powerplay to winanother victory in game of thrones. It does not become a victory in any of these times which is why these scenes in the show looks more like used to get an emotional reaction from the audience that an actual problem that will result into something. Also these people do not know about Valyrians and their magical looks, they are just offput about how normal these boys look in the books which has more of George's actual design of events that correlate. As he sees removing a simple rule can break how the story unfolds he does not go long ways to dramatize the events that have no result. In the understanding of Westeros who genuinely don't have any knowledge to make more of these they are just rumors. It comes from lack of understanding in genetics and Valyrian magical people to put it simply. Giving more proof to bastardy by making Valeryons black and Rhaenys not black haired (also not having Harwong Strong and Aemma Arryn's physical descriptiona but that cannot be the case for a TV show so it gets a pass) takes away from the mystery of the heriatge of the boys, which then makes Rhaenyra too stupid to be believable for an heir who has befriended most of the houses in the realm and destroyed these rumors with an iron fist, which you must agree was more capable that the show version of events put her to be. No matter if you believe that the bastardy is true in the book or not book has nuance in a way that cannot be kept in a TV format 1:1 but still a better job could have easily be done in this regard for sure by at least keeping most of the known facts from the books and let the events play out more like how George envisioned them. I think the biggest mistakes of the show comes from not believing George's vision and believing too much that they can do better which resultd in them missing a lot of nuance which gives too little world building to general audience that a lot of the takes start becoming sensless repetition that just does not add anything to the show and only show how some of these decisions do not land as the way they want them to.

Rhaenyra reminds me of those white moms who have kids with a different race father and then refuses to acknowledge that they don’t have the same privileges as her. like she’s had so much privilege and power her whole life she can’t even see the corner she’s just backed her child, her heir into. She’s so dense that it hurts. Jace is right. ALICENT was right. Having three fucking kids with a man whose genes had proved to curb stomp yours IS an insult! Not bc bastards are evil or anything, but it’s a fucking insult to Jace, to Luke, to Joffery to drag them in a situation where they’re constantly demonized for YOUR actions and then REFUSE to own up to it even when your child is begging you with literal tears in their eyes to not take the one thing that saves him from the bullying and harassment YOU brought onto them. At this point, I’m extremely grateful the story ends with the targs in disarray bc none of those white haired fuckers deserve the throne (except for Baela and Jace, with brown hair

And to make it even worse, Jace is RIGHT. When the war is over and your brown haired, pug nosed child who looks exactly like someone NOT his legal father is named heir and you’ve taken his ONLY symbol of legitimacy away what will you do then?? Hmm?? I swear…

[ramp-it-up]

Fade to Love

Summary: You and Bucky go way back. Way back to when you acted together 20 years ago. You had a crush on him then, but you were too young. Tragedy and artistic passion made you best friends. Will your history make you lovers?

Word count: 4.3 K

Pairing: Actor!Director!Producer! Bucky Barnes x Reader

A/N: I've been dreaming about this ever since I got my #BuckyBarnesBirthdayBingo by @avengers-assemble-bingo. This fulfills the square: Best Friends to Lovers. As always, I crave feedback, so please let me know how you feel in asks, comments, reblogs and likes. TIA! ❤️

Warnings: 18+ Only, Minors DNI. Read at your own risk. Smut! Best friends to lovers. All of the reckless behaviors that come with growing up in Hollywood, teenage crush, small age gap, young love, tragic loss, idiots in love, cigarette smoking, mutual pining. Then comes the smut. :)

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———

This was deja vu all over again.

The paparazzi swarmed the studio as you and Bucky arrived for your meeting at the studio. After all, you'd spent your teen years under the camera’s glare, a co-star in an ensemble drama series, Idol’s Ridge, that captured the hearts of millions 20 years before. 

During those five years portraying Sophie Randall, you’d met the people who’d become your best and enduring friends. Sam Wilson, who played your older brother, Peter Randall, Carol Danvers, who played your best friend, Morgan Blair, and James “Bucky” Barnes who played Sam’s Best friend and Morgan’s older brother, Jack Blair. 

There were several other actors from the show with whom you’d remained cordial and friendly, but this was your core group. 

But today? Today was different. Today, you were meeting in a creative capacity, not just as an actress. You were going to control the narrative. 

The past twenty years had been a whirlwind. A marriage, scandal, and a career that had taken unexpected turns. You'd left the acting world long ago, but here you were again, standing next to Bucky Barnes, one of your best friends. Someone who’d been through it all with you.

Bucky, with his model handsome looks, dark hair and true blue eyes, was more than just a pretty face. His career had been varied, lucrative, and meaningful.

He was now reaching phenomenal heights. And he was the one the tabloids still associated you with, before, during, and after your marriage, even after all these years. 

The shipping of the characters was inappropriate at the beginning, but toward the end of the run when you were an adult, Idol’s Ridge fans were calling for Jack to notice Sophie, and wanted you and Bucky together, even though you never dated.

It was others pushing that narrative, always trying to create drama where there was none, not you two. 

You and Bucky were just friends.

But if you were being honest, that “what if” had been curling around your mind since you were a kid with a crush on a co-star who was too old for you. 20 to your 15 when you first started the show, Bucky didn’t spare you a second glance in a romantic capacity, but he took you under his wing and protected you, calling you his “Little Star.�� 

He decided that nothing was going to ruin your innocence, lecturing you all the time about the pitfalls of fame at a young age, even as he was reveling in those pits. If he knew you wanted him to ruin you, he didn’t let on.

Bucky’s decency did nothing to sway your heart away from him. In fact, it only made him more appealing. You always had a soft spot for Bucky Barnes.

If Bucky noticed you growing up and becoming a woman, he didn’t let you know. You were always his little sidekick, not quite a sister, but definitely not a romantic interest.

Perhaps it was because his best friend, another rising star in tv and film, did. 

Steve met you briefly when he was filming in LA and hanging with Bucky. They were roommates in New York and best friends, having known each other as child actors from Brooklyn.

After he met you when he was 24 and you were 19, Steve talked about you all the time to his best friend and begged Bucky to give you his number. 

Bucky refused, citing the fact that you were not ready for the likes of Steve Rogers, the golden boy heartthrob actor who partied harder than he did. Yes, that was the reason.

On the night of your 21st birthday after Idol’s Ridge was over, you had a get together in Manhattan, because you were filming a movie in New York City. You invited Bucky who was now based out of Brooklyn, and Steve was not going to miss this opportunity to get next to you.

That night, 25 year old Steve Rogers bought you a drink, and the next morning, Bucky heard you two in the room next door, cursing his, and Steve’s, timing. The rest was tabloid history: the whirlwind romance, the young, impetuous marriage, the substances, the breakout films, the nominations, the miscarriage, the rumors, the tragedy. 

You were a widow at the age of 26, the caretaker of the legacy of one of the most talented young actors of your generation. Gone too soon.

Bucky was there for you, and you for him, feeling the loss as no one else could. When you were ready to get on with life, you and Bucky created Valkyrie Production Company as a tribute to Steve.

While you slowed your acting career way down before 30 years old, only taking on about one indie film project a year, Bucky’s career had taken off. 

He’d transitioned from actor to actor/director, and of course, actor/director/producer. You watched him get engaged to Natasha Romanov, one of the older Idol’s Ridge alums, break up, and then date a string of actresses and models, but nothing ever stuck.

You didn’t understand. He could be a bit intense, but Bucky was such a good guy. He deserved happiness. Now, he was a 40 year old single successful actor slash slash with no family to speak of but you.

“Ready to roll?” 

Bucky’s voice pulled you out of your thoughts.

You blinked, taking a step back into the moment. You smoothed your pencil skirt down your hips, which were wider now than they were 20 years earlier. You wondered what production would think of you at 35, no surgical augmentation, just naturally you in a sea of plastic.

Bucky was the same way, his dark hair and beard peppered with gray and crows feet framing his striking eyes. But on him they were ‘sexy.’

Women were held to a different standard.

You missed Bucky appreciating your curves and your looks as you bit your lip and looked up at him with those big eyes.

Bucky’s heart clenched when you smiled at him. So fucking beautiful.

“Yeah. Let’s make magic, ” you murmured.

Bucky was a goner. 

He loved your voice since you developed the lower register of your tone. It was one thing that the critics and fans raved over in anything you did.

He chuckled at how you’d trashed his trailer when he’d tried to hide your cigarettes from you that one time. It was all for naught, since you quit 18 months after you started. 

He didn’t know that you’d just done it to hang out with him outside the soundstage door, stealing time. But it had permanently changed your voice into something that cemented your icon status in the present day, despite your limited career.

Bucky grinned that boyish grin, the same one he’d flashed a thousand times when you were on set together all those years ago. It made your heart do that little flip it always did, despite everything.

You had a meeting with the studio execs to discuss the next project, a reboot of the very series you'd starred in all those years ago, Idol’s Ridge.

It was too perfect, too full of nostalgia. But it also felt strange.

You glanced over at Bucky as he started talking to the execs. He was charismatic, confident, everything he had always been. But there was something in the way he kept glancing at you. His eyes were more intense, more aware of your every movement. 

It was unsettling, especially the premise he pitched. 

You finished up with the execs and stepped outside the back entrance for a quick break and Bucky lit up a cigarette, something you hadn’t seen him do in years. 

“You’re quiet today,” he said, leaning against the wall. You inwardly railed at him smoking again, but he was grown. You watched the smoke curl around him through narrowed eyes. Then you grabbed the cigarette from his fingers and took a drag.

“Don’t do that, Star…”

You raised an eyebrow at him and then inhaled, Bucky watching you closely. Too closely, you might have thought if you noticed the way he watched your mouth after you removed the cigarette.

Bucky put the cancer stick in his own mouth and closed his eyes as he took his own drag, tongue chasing the filter as he removed it to exhale. He peered at you through the smoke, licked his lips and then dropped the half smoked bone on the ground, extinguishing it with the sole of his brown Ferragamo.

“We quit.”

You laughed and leaned on the stucco wall with your hand, staring up at him while he smiled down at you. This was your thing, this unspoken language that was understood but not explicit.

You worked together, but it was always more than that. 

You were waiting for him to speak, but Bucky could always wait you out.

“James.”

You punched him on the arm. Hard. 

“Ow!”

He laughed and rubbed his arm as he looked down at his shoes, smiling.

“You can do it, Star. I believe in you.”

You rolled your eyes at the old nickname. He always told you that you were the brightest little star on the set. 

“But Bucky…”

You thought you lost it when Steve disappeared. But you couldn’t lose that feeling, so you took small roles, just to have permission to be someone else for a time.

Your films were critically acclaimed, but your confidence was shot.

“You can do it.”

You appraised Bucky. Something had shifted. Maybe it was the project, or maybe it was something more. Bucky looked right back at you, his expression softening. 

“Are you in or are you out, Star?”

“I’m in,” you said, your voice steady and sure.

He tilted his head, studying you. 

“Good. Because I need you.”

“You’ve always needed me,” you said, half-joking, half serious.

Bucky chuckled. 

“Yeah, well, this time it’s different.”

You could feel your heart pounding. He was looking at you like he’d never looked at you before. Like he was really seeing you. But you were reading too much into things again.

You took a deep breath.

“You know, I’ve always trusted you, right? With everything. You’re the only person I’ve never felt like I had to pretend with.”

You took his hand and Bucky looked down at you tangling your fingers with his. 

He should tell you. 

“I know, Buck. You’re my best friend.”

There it was. The friend zone. Bucky sighed, but held on to your hand.

“Although we didn’t talk about that one plot point.”

You released his hand and crossed your arms, pushing your breasts up in your sweater. Not that Bucky noticed that sort of thing.

Bucky looked at you, one eye closed, squinting from the LA sunlight. Or was it because you were so gorgeous? 

To you, his glance felt loaded, like there was something you couldn’t ignore anymore. But of course you tried.

“Which one?”

You smiled at his evasion.

“You know. The one where our characters are married now?”

Bucky smirked.

“We discussed this being centered around the children of the cast from 20 years ago.”

You huffed, frustrated.

“Yes, Bucky, but our characters were never a thing.”

He stood up and walked two steps toward you, into your space.

“Not true. Sophie always had a crush on Jack, but he blew you off. It’s 20 years later, he’s grown up and finally appreciates the beautiful woman who was always right there in front of him.”

You looked up into his clear blue gaze and had a scorching comeback for him.

“Oh.”

He reached for your face, palm resting on your cheek, thumb brushing at the side of your nose.

“Hold up…” 

Bucky moved even closer and brought his face close to yours, warm menthol breath hovering over your own. He pulled his hand back and looked at it, showing it to you briefly. You didn’t see anything.

“Eyelash.”

He opened the door and held it for you as you tried to get your soul back into your body.

“Break time is over.”

—--

The next hours were a blur.

The production meeting went long as you brainstormed for the reboot, and you and Bucky worked seamlessly together, bouncing ideas off each other and firing on all cylinders. The dynamic was amazing and reignited your old crush.

You went to Bucky’s LA home after the meeting, excited at the preliminary greenlight for the project. You both decided to work on an outline that weekend to deliver to the studio Monday morning.

You’d gone home to pack a bag and get your essentials, as Bucky said you could bunk in one of his guest rooms. 

It would be like a sleepover with one of your girlfriends, sweet, innocent and fun.

But after eating takeout tacos from Leo’s, you got to work in Bucky’s home office, and the vibe was thriving, but different. Every time your hands brushed as you passed papers or exchanged a glance, it was electric.

The air arced between you, but you couldn't tell if it was just you, or if Bucky felt it too. 

As you sat looking at the whiteboard with the preliminary outline of the pilot episode, Bucky leaned back in his chair and regarded it, a smirk playing at the edge of his lips.

“This shit is fucking brilliant. It’s going to be better than the original.” 

You looked at him, excitement coursing through you. You smiled at him and got up to walk behind his chair to lean on it and admire your ideas, as if you could see better what he meant from his perspective.

“I can’t believe it’s really happening.” 

You leaned down and whispered in his ear, afraid to voice it too loud. Bucky swiveled around in his chair to look at you. You were still in your outfit from this morning, too excited when you pack to change into something more comfortable. You looked gorgeous. 

He stood up and grabbed your hands in his.

“Better believe it, Star, we’re going to do this thing big.”

You squeezed his hands back and looked up into his beautiful blue eyes. Bucky’s hands were on your arms now and he was drawing you closer.

“Couldn’t do this without you, Star. I love… working with you.”

Your stomach flipped as he murmured at you. You inhaled the spice of his cologne and savored his touch while listening to his voice.

But your stomach dropped when you heard the ‘L’ word and you didn’t know what happened; just like Sophie and Jack all those years ago, you didn’t know what came over you when you pressed your lips to Bucky’s.

You had every intention of ending the contact before it began, but Bucky’s hands were now in your hair and tugged you close. He turned and lifted you onto his desk, stepping between your thighs, pressing them wide enough so that your skirt fought the movement.

It only made everything hotter. 

Bucky used his hold on your hair to tilt your head so he could kiss down your neck. You arched your back, needing his mouth all over you, needing him to rip you out of the clothes that had the nerve to create a barrier between you. 

For some unknown reason to your cunt, words emerged from your lips,

“We shouldn’t.” 

“Why not?” 

He pushed your cardigan off your shoulders and nudged your tank top lower so that he could mouth at your cleavage. Your panties flooded with wetness. 

“We’re both grown, Star.” 

The acknowledgement in Bucky’s rumbling voice sent a bolt of pleasure straight to your core. He skated his hands up your thighs, pushing your skirt higher until you had to lift your hips to allow it to bunch around your waist. He fingered along the edges of your panties. 

He looked down.

“Black lace. Fuck.” 

He cursed low enough that you had to strain to hear him. He licked his lips, his saliva making them look so delicious. 

“Can I touch you, Starlight?”

You shivered at the nickname and nodded, breath caught in your throat.

“Need your words, Baby. Need that beautiful voice.”

“Yes, Bucky. Please touch me…”

Bucky’s fingertips traced your clit through the fabric. 

“Fuck, I’ve wanted you.” 

“Me too,” you whispered, and he met your gaze, which threatened to stop his heart. 

His blue eyes were fire, bright enough to make your whole world glow. If you let him, he’d sweep you away and ensure you enjoyed every second. You wanted it. To be swept away by him. 

Bucky started the torturous slide of his thumb over your clit. You threw your head back and whined, caught up in a nirvana you’d only dreamt about.

“Bucky! Dont…”

He stopped what he was doing, stilling his hand over your cunt.

“Don’t?” 

His voice was broken, and pleading. You used your free hand to cover his where he cupped your pussy. 

“...Don’t stop Bucky….” 

Still he didn’t move, searching your face for answers you didn’t have. You drew in a shuddering breath. Bucky’s slow smile sent your stomach into a dizzying flip. 

“Naughty girl. You want to use me for your pleasure. Your own personal sex toy.” 

You dragged your gaze over him, from his dark hair, to those wicked blue eyes, to his sinful mouth, down to the pants clearly sporting a huge hard-on. You grew bold in the knowledge that he’d started this. 

Bucky Barnes wanted you, too.

“I have a sex toy. In fact, I have several. None of them look a thing like you.” 

His laughter rolled through you. 

“I guess I have work to do. Need to retire some sex toys. Check.” 

“You’ll have to work real hard. I’m kind of attached to them, especially Arthur. Haven’t had real cock in 2 years.”

Bucky arched his eyebrow and hooked his fingers through your panties and dragged them down your legs, stepping back so you could kick them off. 

“I’m disturbed that you named your vibrator.”

“Dildo,” you corrected.

He chuckled and shook his head.

“But I’m up for the challenge of making you scream my name…”

Bucky went to his knees between your spread thighs, looking at your pussy so intensely you could feel it like his touch. 

“And I won’t tell you that I’ve jacked myself to the thought of you countless times over the years.” 

“Bucky…”

He pressed a painfully gentle kiss to each thigh and then his breath ghosted over your clit. 

“I sure as hell won’t tell you that when I fucked my hand, and imagined being inside you, that I came so fucking hard, Star, just from thinking about being buried in you to the hilt.”

You tried to focus past the pleasure of his mouth, his big hands holding your thighs wide as he devoured you. But his words had you floating.

“I… You fantasized about me?” 

Bucky licked up your slit and then kissed it, looking up in your eyes before he answered you.

“Hmmm. Yes. I did.” 

He sucked on your clit hard enough to make your back bow. 

“Eating you out...” 

Another long lick and a smile that he was accomplishing that very thing. 

“You on your knees for me...” 

The image in your mind of looking up at Bucky made you clench down and Bucky smiled at your pitiful pussy.

“...Bending you over something, like this desk, and fucking you hard…”

You whimpered, your pleasure building as much from the fantasy as from Bucky’s mouth. 

“... Maybe taking that ass…”

He rolled his tongue over your clit, working you in just the way you needed. 

“....cuming inside you, or all over your back. I’ll let you choose.”

“Oh! Bucky!”

You were practically screaming as you tried to slow your pleasure, to make it last, but Bucky drove you to the brink and you couldn’t resist him. You came with a cry that filled the room around you.

Bucky didn’t give you a chance to recover, though. He stood and stepped back between your thighs to take your mouth. You tasted yourself on his tongue and it made your toes curl. 

You wrapped your legs around his waist and he lifted you off the desk easily and walked you down the hallway, still kissing you, never missing a step. 

“You’ve done this before,” you murmured. 

“Not like this. Never this.” 

He kept you pinned to him with one arm around the small of your back and used his other hand to pull your tank top off. You ran your hands down his muscled chest. He really was too beautiful. It almost hurt to look at him and touching him only magnified the sensation. 

He spun and pinned you between his body and the wall next to the door, thrusting against you. The seam of his pants pressed against your clit and you cried out. 

“More.” 

Bucky dragged his mouth up your neck and set his teeth against your earlobe and that set you on fire.

“You’re so needy, Star. I get it, I really do. Been wanting to show you how I feel for 14 years…” 

You gasped and Bucky’s teeth scraped against your lip, making your nipples tighten in response. He let you down and stepped back, running his hand through his hair.

“Strip.”

There wasn’t much left to take off, but you obeyed and his grin made your heart stutter. 

“On the bed.” 

You crawled on the mattress and reclined among the pillows. You were rewarded by Bucky stripping out of shirt, and his pants and underwear in one go, shoving the material down his strong thighs and kicking free of them, leaving him naked. 

The sight of his large cock straining against his stomach had you biting your bottom lip.

You knew what came next.

You craved it. And you forgot all about Arthur. You reached for him. 

“Don’t make me wait any more, Bucky.” 

He pulled a string of condoms from the nightstand and tossed them on the bed next to you. You counted six and raised your eyebrows. Bucky gave you an unrepentant grin.

“One condition.” 

“Damn it, Bucky.” 

Of course there were conditions. 

“Stay in my bed tonight. Another fantasy of mine.” 

You melted. Why not? It was finally time to have what you wanted. And you wanted Bucky.

You met those intoxicating blue eyes and nodded. 

“Yes.” 

“Thank fuck.” 

He was on you in seconds, shoving your legs wide and he ground the base of his cock against your clit. He tangled his fingers in your hair and took your mouth like you were the sweetest fruit and he’d never get enough. 

You reached blindly over and grabbed a condom. You tore the wrapper with your teeth and you rolled it over his cock. He allowed it, shifting back to give you the room to work.

Your body cried for him; you needed him inside you and you needed it at that moment. You lay back and  guided him into you and he thrust in slowly, inch by inch, until he had sheathed himself completely. 

Oh god. The stretch. Bucky broke free of your mouth and pressed his forehead against yours, your breath mingling between you. 

Each of your exhales came out as, “Oh god. Oh god. Oh god.” 

He gentled his touch, stroking your hair as if you were a wild animal he was taming. 

“Stay with me, Starlight. I’ve got you.” 

As if this was something that was forced upon you, rather than what you grabbed with greedy hands because you wanted it so badly. 

You smiled, blissful. Fucked out, enjoying the feeling of Bucky’s cock pouding inside you. You needed more.

“Please move, friend. Fuck me, Bucky.” 

You hitched your leg around his hip so you could take him deeper and leaned up until your lips brushed his ear.

“I need it hard.” 

Bucky squeezed his eyes together and bit his lip as the pounding of his cock increased. You both thought he would cum right then.

“‘M not your fucking friend…”

He pulled out and flipped you onto your stomach, pulling your hips up even as he impaled you again. 

“You want me to fuck you hard?” 

“Yes!” you moaned. 

“Knees wider, Starlight. Let’s go.”

Bucky slapped your ass and then grabbed a handful of your thick hair, tugging at just the right amount of pain to go with the pleasure.

The first stroke was slow.

“Fuck, you’re gripping me like a fucking vice. Almost had me cumming a few minutes ago.”

You could tell that Bucky’s teeth were gritted when he spoke. He had to brace against the urge to rut into you like a wild animal, but his pace and intensity increased. 

For long, mind-blowing minutes, he thrust into you, paying attention to your sounds and movements to know that he was hitting that spot inside you. You meet him thrust for thrust as Bucky began to fuck you like his life depended on it.

He made the mistake of looking down at how your ass took the shock waves of his back shots and the evidence of your arousal left on his cock as he pistoned inside you and he cursed.

“Fucckkkkk! You should see the beautiful cream you’re leaving on my cock, Star. So fucking hot.”

The way you moaned set him on the road to orgasm and again and he reached for your clit, rubbing his thumb over it. Almost as soon as he did, you screamed his name and shattered beneath him. Bucky followed you headlong over that cliff and collapsed beside you, dizzy.

He looked over to see you already falling asleep, exhausted. He kissed your temple and went to the bathroom to dispose of the condom, coming back with a washcloth for you.

When he was done cleaning you up, he gathered your boneless body in his arms, pressing kisses to your forehead as you curled into him, your head on his chest and leg thrown over his. 

It was like you didn’t want to let him go.

“I know the feeling, Star,” Bucky whispered as he closed his eyes.

A feeling settling in his chest that he’d almost, but not quite, ever felt before.

[visenyaism]

top ten clinically depressed asoiafers

I don’t think anyone ever wrote out the Westerosi DSM but I’ll take a crack at it.

Honorable Mention- Mance Raider and Qhorin Halfhand. We don’t get enough to make a full conclusion because it’s not important to Jon’s story so this is just a vibe but I feel it strongly.

10. Rhaena the Lesbian- like one of two actually great fire and blood characters. Convalescing in Harrenhal for like a decade after her wife left her and her third husband killed all her girlfriends plus she was one dead kid and one dead mother down. Kind of epic. Should have survived long enough to be weird and bitter to Jaehaerys’ insane children.

9. Daemon Targaryen- hey speaking of killing yourself in Harrenhal. Him never being happy with what he had or knowing what he wanted beyond getting his big brother to be proud of him so he just had to constantly chase dopamine in the form of insane levels of violence grooming teenagers and getting his cop frat brother employees to like him for money. Chemical imbalance with a body count in the thousands for his last midlife crisis wife leaving teenager grooming riverlands murder suicide bender alone.

8. Rhaegar Targaryen- Hey speaking of making your clinical depression everyone else’s problem at Harrenhal leading to the death of thousands. Why do people keep letting them do this is the question. Could estrogen have saved her is the second realer question

7. Lysa Arryn. Free her.

6. Daeron the Drunken- what if you were HAUNTED by PROPHETIC DREAMS that were only BAD and spelled the death and doom of your ENTIRE FAMILY and you COULDNT ESCAPE THEM except through SUBSTANCES and you were also the HEIR and your DAD was so DISAPPOINTED IN YOU and you had to take your RUDE and disrespectful plucky BABY KING ARTHUR brother to the CIRCUS and he was TEN and BALD and picked up by the hedge knight you DREAMED OF because he is going to INSTIGATE TO THE ETERNAL MISERY OF YOUR FAMILY a little bit on accident because you are DRUNK. NO HOPE. also honorable mention to post-fratricide Maekar who just locks himself in summerhall for years and post-treason court hostage Daemon II Blackfyre. I hope he and Daeron got brunch.

5. Ned Stark- classic flavor original variant Father Depression. Things went wrong for him young that he will never explain to anyone ever and they form a veil that serves as a barrier between him and the world and everyone he loves. Poor Ned.

4. Stannis Baratheon. Never let himself enjoy anything ever. Melancholy from birth. Rude and extremely blunt with everyone. Smiles twice both at Davos. Anorexic. Bald. Who among us has not been there.

3. Alannys Harlaw Greyjoy- finding out that Theon and Asha have an alive mom who is a gothic horror attic wife who never recovered from the loss of her family to the point that she’s still asking when all her dead and missing sons are going to come home to her and then Theon comes home and does not visit her. Actually agonizing for me the reader

2. Jon Connington- I’m about to get real sincere with these last two because Dance was a really good book that hit at a pivotal time for me. Everything he is in the world to do is motivated by this deep and profound grief and repression that simultaneously makes him a worse person (hungry to commit war crimes) and his best self (dives into the river to save Tyrion contracting greyscale in the process, being as loving and supportive of a father to Young Griff as anyone really could possibly be in this series.) The fact that he is such a late-game addition but feels like a missing piece as a character because of the emotional weight he carries is really cool. I love all his chapters. Tried to grasp a star overreached and fell is so powerful.

1. Tyrion Lannister- I adore his dance with dragons chapters where after his big moment of patriarchal catharsis he is suicidal and misanthropic and an alcoholic and hurting himself and others. It is really compelling because sometimes people get worse. And yet this is interspersed with moments where he is confronted with real genuine danger or real genuine joy and he consistently chooses to be kind to others for no material gain. Like comforting Penny during the storm or tackling a Stone Man into the Rhoyne to to save Young Griff’s life. Arguably these moments do not outweigh all of the harm he is actively inflicting, but they do show that he is incorrect about his self concept that he’s a monster and is actually just a deeply hurt person who has been traumatized so profoundly and is struggling as a result of it.

[piracytheorist]

I'm finally re-reading The Hunger Games after nearly ten years and first I gotta say WOW this book has such a great prose and it feels so well written and with such good care in its details and narrative. And second, it just struck me as so important that in Katniss' flashback, the day after Peeta gave her the bread, she saw the dandelion and went out with Prim and gathered dandelions so they could eat with the leftover bread.

And idk I feel like this has a very good balance of "It's okay to accept being saved by someone" and of "You can save yourself" - even though Katniss has a HUGE but understandable denial surrounding her debt* to Peeta for giving her the bread, but that's a character thing and not necessarily a narrative thing. Because thanks to the bread, Katniss and her family got to eat for two days about, but the very gesture was what kickstarted Katniss' willingness to find food herself. First with the dandelions, then with some more gathering, eventually evolving into her hunting and fishing and gathering deep into the woods.

It's like a kind of thing like "You can't love anyone until you love yourself" which here can be switched to "You can't be saved until you want to save yourself" which also has a meaning because, you can physically save someone from a bad situation, but until they've gathered enough strength to start healing mentally, they will still be trapped. Katniss is just lucky she had the strength and resources, although terribly limited, to start getting herself out of desperate, starving poverty, although it's obvious the mental toll it kept having on her over the years.

Idk again I feel like there's a lot of understanding that one SHOULDN'T have the sole responsibility of dragging themselves out of poverty (especially when a tyrannical government has forced them into it), but when presented with an act of kindness and a glimmer of hope, they can be powered on to help themselves. And there's also understanding that though it might be considered noble, it can be terribly traumatizing. There is hope but there is also pain, when you have no choice but to save yourself. And considering how Katniss' trauma just keeps piling on across the trilogy, I doubt it was meant in an effort to glorify it. She's not a symbol, a paragon, a beacon of hope; she's just a traumatized teenage girl who shouldn't have gone through any of that.

*which is also another thing because in Peeta's view, all he did was burn two loaves and receive a beating and a harsh reprimand, something which is safe to assume was something common in his family. So maybe he doesn't see it as such a huge thing he could have done. I haven't finished the book but if I remember right he says later that he should have walked to her to give her the bread instead of throwing it in the rain? But yeah to him it was just one purposeful accident and a punishment for it, but for Katniss and her family it was literally life-saving. So while Katniss thinks so high of that debt, Peeta only thinks he should have done more.

[cheynovak]

Fevered Confessions part 7 - Final

Characters: Soldier boy x Y/N Female character     

Summary: Y/N got hurt during a mission with Soldier boy, Ben feels guilty and tries to take care of her. But the fever makes her believe she is imagining it.

Warnings: Mentioning of fever/wounds/ fighting/... -> 18+ ish. Nothing too explicit.

English isn't my first language.

*Please do not copy my work, reblog/comments/likes are appreciated*

**Y/N’s POV**

Years passed, but Ben never left my mind.

My memories had came back in pieces—slow, fragmented, like a puzzle I wasn’t sure I wanted to finish. Some things made sense. Others felt like they belonged to someone else, a different version of me.

I went back to the man who had once helped me control my powers the second I knew his name again. He was older now, grayer, but still sharp. He said I’d made more progress than I ever had as a teenager. That should have made me feel accomplished.

It didn’t.

Because the nightmares were worse now.

I had only lost control of my power once when I was young. But now? It happened almost every night. Every time he asked me what I saw, I told him I didn’t remember. That it was just noise, static. But I was lying.

I did remember.

I was reliving that moment. The mission. The gunfire. The explosion. The heat of the blast, the radiation burning my skin, knocking the air from my lungs. And then—nothing. Flashes of an old, dirty motel. Pain. Fever. and him... Ben.

He was there.

He had always been there. And that was the worst part of all. My mentor said I needed to confront my fears, not hide behind them.

But how could I? I couldn’t confront Ben.

So instead, I hid. I found an old abandoned apartment complex, the kind no one cared about, the kind where it wouldn’t matter if my powers slipped at night. If I woke up screaming and the walls were covered in frost, there’d be no one around to see it. No one to get hurt.

During the day, I worked in a freezer, cutting meat at some factory on the edge of town. The cold didn’t bother me. It never had.

I wasn’t happy, but I was safe. The world was safe from me. And I had a paycheck. A way to exist without looking over my shoulder, without the danger of catching bullets. That was, until my boss called me into his office.

His expression was careful, apologetic. The kind that told me whatever came next, I wasn’t going to like it.

“I’m sorry, kid” he said. “We have to let you go.”

I couldn’t hold back the anger that surged when I got home. I paced around my apartment, frustration burning through me. It wasn’t enough that I’d been stuck in this place, a prisoner of my own past, but now I had no job to keep me going either.

That night, the dream came again. The familiar, haunting one. But this time, for the first time, something changed.

I saw it clearly. The bullet hitting me, the pain shooting through my chest. But then, as my vision blurred, I saw his face—Ben’s face—frozen in horror.

I heard his voice, filled with guilt and panic. I saw him rushing to me, trying to stop the bleeding, but there was nothing he could do. The look in his eyes… it wasn’t anger. It wasn’t hatred. It was horror.

And right before my eyes closed I saw our enemies come closer, Ben stood up to then and then a flash of white heat... and pain.

I shot up in bed, gasping for air. The cold sweat dripped down my back, and I looked around in a panic. My hands trembled, but to my surprise, there was no ice on the walls. No frost spreading over the floor. The room was warm.

I realized then, Ben didn’t attack me. He lost control. He saw me hurt, and it did something to him. That explosion, the chaos, the rage—it wasn’t about me. It was his desperation.

He wasn’t the monster I thought he was. He was just as scared as I was. The realization hit me hard, deeper than I expected. I misjudged him.

I wiped my tired face, staring at my reflection in the cracked mirror. The black circles under my eyes did little to hide the fact I hadn't slept good in ages. The walls around me were silent, but inside my head, everything had changed. I had to face the truth. The real truth. And it terrified me.

I still cared for him.

**Ben’s POV**

Ever since Y/N left, life had been a goddamn blur. Days bled into nights, and I drowned them all in booze; drugs and whatever else I could get my hands on to ease the pain, failure. I didn’t care.

TV blaring, empty bottles on the floor, cigarettes burning out in the ashtray—nothing mattered.

But then I heard her voice. At first, I thought I was hallucinating, just another trick my fucked-up mind was playing on me. But when I turned my head, there she was.

Butcher stood near the door, watching her, but I barely saw him. My eyes locked onto her, and Jesus Christ, she looked good. Strong. Confident. Or at least she tried, I could see how tired she ws but still. No longer the broken girl I let walk away.

She smiled, soft and hesitant. “Hi, Is Ben here?”

That voice, the way she looked at me when Butcher took a step aside—it did something to me. Something I wasn’t ready for. Then her brows knitted, probably noticing the state I was in. The mess I’d let myself become.

I didn’t think. Didn’t hesitate. I stepped toward her, faster than I should have, closing the distance between us. And before I could stop myself, I had her pinned against the wall, my hands caging her in.

She let out a sharp breath, her eyes widening just a fraction, but she didn’t push me away. I leaned in, my voice low and rough. “You shouldn’t have come back.”

I couldn’t let her do this. Couldn’t let her get in my head again, make me hope for something I didn’t deserve.

“Leave,” I said, shaking my head. My voice was rough, barely controlled. I wasn’t the man she used to know. Hell, I wasn’t even sure I was a man anymore, just a broken thing pretending to function.

But she stood her ground, her chin lifting. Stubborn as ever.

“No.”

Her hand pressed against my chest, pushing me back just enough to make me feel it. “I need to know the truth, Ben.” Her voice wavered, but her eyes burned with determination. “Did you attack me that day?”

I stiffened. My throat felt like it was closing. I didn’t answer.

“Did you?” she demanded, her voice thick with emotion.

“For fuck’s sake, Ben, did you?”

“No!” I roared, the word ripping out of me.

Silence stretched between us, heavy and suffocating. She searched my face for something—proof, maybe.

“Then why didn’t you say that?” Her voice was quieter now, edged with something I didn’t want to name. I scoffed, running a hand through my hair. “Would it have made a difference? Would you have stayed?”

She hesitated, just for a second. Then, almost too soft to hear, she whispered, “Maybe not.” She turned for the door, and something inside me snapped.

“If you leave again, don’t bother coming back!” The words came out sharp, venomous. I hated how desperate they sounded, how much weight they carried.

She froze, her back stiffening. For a second, I thought she’d just walk out without another word, but then she exhaled, slow and measured.

“Fine,” she said, just as irritated. Then, with a glance over her shoulder, she added, “Then get some sleep, and we’ll talk when you’re sober.”

"I'm sober enough."

"No you're not."

I clenched my jaw, staring at her. She wasn’t playing my game this time. No yelling, no storming off—just standing her ground, like she always did.

I hated that she still knew me so well.

**Y/N’s POV**

I looked over at Ben, passed out on the couch, his chest rising and falling in a slow, steady rhythm. He looked different—tired, worn down, like he was carrying the weight of something too heavy to bear.

"How did he even get this drunk? Nothing would ever effect him like this." I murmured.

Butcher sat on the other end of the table, sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. "Gallons of the strongest stuff we can get. 100% alcohol, straight. Ain't even mixed anymore. Some fucked up drugs no one would ever survive. He takes it like it's candy"

My stomach twisted. "Why?"

Butcher shot me a look like I was daft. "What do ya think? It's his way to numb the pain. He don’t talk about it, but it’s clear enough—he’s been drinkin' himself to death ever since you left."

I swallowed hard, guilt creeping in. I should have believed him. Or at least, I should have pushed harder for the truth instead of running. Maybe then, he wouldn’t be like this.

It took hours of listening to his breathing. Butcher got tired and said if I needed anything I'd give him a ring and left us alone. I walked to the kitchen to pour myself a drink.

Just as the door closed after Butcher, I heard Ben.

"Finally," he said, his voice rough. He ran a hand through his messy hair, watching me with those dark, tired eyes. I set my glass down, gripping the counter. "Finally, what?"

"You've been sittin’ there for hours with Butcher, I was waiting for that ashole to leave. Figured you’d leave too." He took a slow step toward me.

I shook my head. "Not this time, I said I'd wait." Ben let out a dry chuckle, but there was no humor in it. "Yeah? We’ll see."

He leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed over his chest, looking at me like he was trying to figure out if I was real or just another dream he'd wake up from. I could see the exhaustion, the anger, the hurt—all of it simmering beneath the surface.

Yet, I couldn't wait anymore, I took a deep breath. "I want the truth, Ben. All of it." His jaw tightened. "And if you don’t like what you hear?"

I met his gaze, steady this time. "Then at least I’ll know. But maybe I should start by apologizing."

Ben shook his head, stepping closer. “Don’t. Don’t apologize to me.” His voice was low, rough with emotion. “You didn’t do anything wrong. I did. I let you believe something that wasn’t true because I was too much of a coward to face what I did.”

I swallowed hard, my throat tight. “I should have stayed,” I admitted. “I should have pushed for the truth instead of running.”

He let out a breath, his hands flexing at his sides like he wanted to reach for me but didn’t trust himself.

Ben let out a rough breath, raking a hand through his hair as he paced the small kitchen. He looked wrecked—tired, strung out, but there was something else there too. Something deeper, something breaking.

"You wanna know the truth?" he said suddenly, his voice raw. "Fine. Here it is—I don't deserve you. I never did. And I sure as hell don’t now. But that doesn’t change the fact that from the second you walked through that damn door all those years ago, I was done for."

I blinked, my breath catching in my throat as he pointed at the front door.

Ben kept going, his hands clenching into fists like he was trying to hold himself together. "You didn’t even look at me like I was a monster. Like everyone else always did. You looked at me like I was… just Ben. And it scared the shit out of me. Because I knew—I knew—that I was gonna love you. And I did... I do.” His voice cracked, but he didn’t stop.

"I screwed up. Over and over. I lied, I pushed you away, I let you believe the worst because it was easier than admitting I was afraid of losing you. But I lost you anyway. And I’ve been paying for it ever since."

He let out a humorless laugh, shaking his head. “You wanna hear something pathetic? Every time I closed my eyes, it was you. Every time I got so damn drunk I couldn't see straight, I still saw you. Every time I was high, I heard you. Like it was some fucked up lesson."

Tears welled in my eyes, my heart hammering in my chest.

Ben exhaled sharply, finally meeting my gaze, his expression desperate, vulnerable in a way I’d never seen before. “I know I don’t deserve you. I know I don’t have the right to ask for anything from you. But I love you, Y/N. And I don’t know how to stop.”

The room was silent except for the rain pattering against the windows, for the sound of my own unsteady breathing.

I swallowed hard, stepping closer, my voice barely above a whisper. "Then don’t."

I must’ve misheard her. I had to have misheard her.

But then she said it again, her voice softer this time, like she was scared I might run. “Don’t stop loving me. Because I sure will never stop loving you.”

A tear slipped down her cheek, and I just stood there, frozen.

I couldn't hold back anymore. The second my body caught up with what my heart already knew, I stormed toward her, knocking over the chair I’d been leaning on.

Before she could say another word, I grabbed her, pressing her against the counter, my lips crashing into hers. It was needy, desperate, a kiss that spoke of years of longing and regret.

She gasped against my mouth, and I took the chance to deepen it, my hands cradling her face like she was the only thing keeping me tethered to this world.

Without hesitation, I lifted her, her legs wrapping around my hips, she belonged there, she always had. Her fingers tangled in my hair, nails scraping along my scalp, down my back, pulling me closer.

Her breath was deep and quick, her body moving against mine with the same urgency, the same hunger. It wasn’t just passion; it was relief. Like neither of us could stand another second apart.

I pulled back just enough to look at her, to memorize the way she looked in this moment—lips swollen, eyes dark with want, chest rising and falling as she fought for breath.

“Say it again,” I rasped, my forehead against hers. Her hands slid over my jaw, her thumbs brushing over my cheekbones as she whispered, “I love you, Ben.”

I groaned, "You have no idea how long I wanted to hear you say that." Pressing another kiss to her lips, then her jaw, then down her throat, savoring every sound she made. If this was a dream, I’d burn the world down before I let it slip away.

I carried her to the bedroom, my grip firm but reverent, like she was something sacred. Laying her down on the bed, I took a second just to look at her—more beautiful than I ever remembered, glowing with want, with something deeper than lust. Something I didn’t deserve but would spend the rest of my life worshipping.

Patience was never my strong suit, and I sure as hell didn’t have any now. My fingers curled into her shirt, and instead of taking my time, I just ripped it clean off her.

She let out a surprised laugh, eyes bright with mischief before she grabbed my shoulders and yanked me down against her. “Impatient, are we?” she teased, breathless.

I smirked, my lips tracing down her jaw, her throat, the curve of her collarbone. “You have no idea.”

Her nails scraped down my back, her hips shifting beneath me, seeking, needing. I lined myself up, my hands braced on either side of her, my body practically shaking with restraint.

I looked into her eyes, needing to be sure. “Are you sure?” My voice was rough, unsteady. “Because once we cross this path again, there’s no going back. You’re mine.”

She reached up, brushing my hair back, her fingers lingering on my face like she was memorizing me. Then she kissed me—slow and deep, leaving no space for doubt.

“I’m already yours,” she whispered.

Her heel pressed against my hip, pulling me closer, and that was all I needed. I gave in, completely, finally, and there wasn’t a force on this earth that could tear me away from her now.

I guess my hard and needy thrust spiralled us quicker than we wanted towards the orgasm. Her moans I heard so often in my dreams where real. her scent, her touch all of it was to real.

But then she begged me to stop, I was confused. but I saw the fear in her eyes. "It's ok," I said, "you won't hurt me."

"Ben... I..."

"I don't care if you freeze me, this room or the God damn world. all I care it for you, to enjoy and have a fucking orgasm that I fucking gave you." She started to laugh, I held her close my lips on her neck and her laugh changed to moans again the second I moved my hips again.

A high pitch "Ben" left her lips before she came.

She came... and it was the best feeling i've ever felt.

**Y/N's POV** The next day I woke up.

Feeling a pleasant warmth under my cheeks. I looked up and noticed how Ben lay beneath me, holding me in his arms. His warmth was a nice feeling against my freezing skin, I looked closely to see if he was ok, but I hadn't froze him and the room was clear.

I leaned in to make sure he was breathing.

"Staring is rude sweetheart", he said, eyes still closed.

I felt my cheeks heat up as his raspy morning voice reached my ears. Caught in the act. His arms tightened around me, keeping me pressed against his chest, his warmth steady and grounding.

“I wasn’t staring,” I muttered, but even I didn’t believe that lie.

Ben finally cracked one eye open, smirking. “Liar.”

I huffed, trying to push myself up, but he didn’t let me go. Instead, he rolled us over effortlessly, pinning me beneath him, his face hovering just inches from mine. His hair was messy, his lips slightly swollen from last night, and damn, if he didn’t look ridiculously good like this—half-asleep, content, mine.

“Room’s still intact,” he murmured, one hand brushing down my arm, stopping where his fingers met my bare skin. “No ice, no frost—just you and me.”

I swallowed, glancing around, realizing he was right. No frozen sheets, no crackling frost creeping up the walls. Just warmth.

Ben must’ve noticed the realization on my face, because his smirk softened. “Told you, sweetheart,” he whispered, pressing a slow, lingering kiss to my lips. “You’ve got this.”

I let out a shaky breath, wrapping my arms around his neck and pulling him back down into me. “Only with you,” I admitted.

His lips curled into a grin against my skin. “Then I guess I’m never letting you go.”

--

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[kalinara]

I think that's a fair way to look at it. But I feel like a lot of the appeal of the Silver Age X-Men is lost without context.

I do feel like, when I read the Silver Age X-Men stuff as compared to the OTHER books of the time, Lee and Kirby were trying to do something a bit different. I'm not really sure there WAS a similar style of team book, specifically for teenaged characters at the time.

Per wikipedia, anyway, it'd be another year before we saw the seeds of Teen Titans in the Brave and the Bold. Doom Patrol definitely has enough similarities to make one side-eye, but it's not a "teen book" in the same way. Peter Parker was already running solo. Johnny Storm is enmeshed in his family.

I'll grant that a LOT of the modern appeal is to read it and go "what the fuck", considering exactly how many times these characters who are clearly intended to be teenagers, despite at least two graduations, and get referred to as kids/teens explicitly by the more adult hero teams multiple times end up lied to and manipulated by their trusted authority figure.

Or to watch Scott and Jean be idiots together with the full knowledge that this really doesn't work in any setting but the sixties, because if it were more socially acceptable for Jean to pursue Scott, she'd have clearly had him up against a wall by issue six. (They do get toned down in most of the re-visitations at least.)

Jean, actually, I don't think gets enough credit at ALL for how she's portrayed in the Silver Age (I still maintain that folks miss the point when they talk about her telekinetic needlepoint in that one issue. She did that in SIX SECONDS with HER MIND. It's about control not gender! And two issues later, she's assembling a machine gun.) Because while there's a lot (a LOT) of silliness, there's also the fact that she's very clearly competent in her powers, fairly outspoken, romantically expressive without shame, and generally gets treated fairly equally by her teammates without a lot of condescension or dismissiveness.

(Maybe Xavier, but he's that way to all of them.)

It's the definition of "Fair for its time" I suppose, and I don't blame more modern depictions for making adjustments, but if you compare Jean's portrayal to Sue Storm or Jan Van Dyne at the time, it really does seem like Lee and Kirby were trying to do something different. (But kind of hamstrung by the fact that they're much older men trying to write a teenaged girl to begin with.)

The X-Men graduate!

It's issue #7 and the X-Men have learnt all Chuck has to teach them. Now they can finally stop fucking around and do black ops 24/7. I just realised I really want a series of Xavier teaching the entire prep school curriculum by himself, but I suspect he telepathically uploaded a lot of that knowledge. He keeps stating that they've definitely done it, no tricks here.

Of the O5, Bobby and Jean both go to college - Hank must have too. He is Doctor McCoy though I have no recollection of when this happened. Dude kept himself pretty busy.

[meiko-komoko]

rewatched The Mind Robber yesterday and I can't stop thinking about a sequel where the new Master of the Land is a fanfic writer from the 2010s

[gu6chan]

man........ i start thinking about my black butler days and a new rp blog of this one comes calling back to me like the devil

[bmpmp3]

i really love when shoujo manga protagonists are like sweet and goofy and fun normal girls who are also haunted by horrors and traumas beyond our imaginations. like the whole:

[deathweaved]

i don't think koltira is really old. by elf standards he was probably young. but he's still older than most other dks 100%

[valleyfthdolls]

I am the number 1 "Silver is a sonadow child" hater sorry

[accioharrington9]

we can't be friends (but i'd like to just pretend)

pairing: steve harrington x fem!reader

prompt: four times you spent a holiday with your best friend Steve Harrington and one time you didn't and missed him.

word count: 10.2k

warnings: friends-to-lovers, everyone can see it (including steve and reader but they're both kind of in denial), mutual pining, characters in their mid-twenties, fluff and (some) emotional angst, steve uses a cheesy nickname for reader, mentions of partying and alcohol consumption, some swearing, no use of y/n

notes: hi all, this is the first reader fic that i publish here, so bear with me, i tried my best <3 in light of the year-end celebrations, this fun little idea of a fic came to me and i decided to give it a shot, so i hope you'll enjoy reading it as much as i enjoyed writing it <3

🥂🥂🥂

“What are your resolutions for the new year?”

You looked up from your glass of champagne when Steve asked you that question out of the blue. You were both leaning against the kitchen island at Nancy and Jonathan’s apartment, distractedly observing your friends playing a drinking game you had both stepped out of.  You were glad to allow your friends their fun, but mostly, to have a reason to get some alone time, just the two of you. A silent agreement, as always.

“You know I don’t believe in resolutions,” you answered before bringing a flute smudged by your red lipstick to your lips.

“Oh, come on, kitten, humor me for a second.”

You raised an eyebrow at him while he waited for your response with a cheeky smile. You heard Robin burst into laughter from the living room, but you were too focused on Steve’s loose strand of hair and the woody scent of his new cologne to acknowledge it.

“Fine,” you obliged him. “Well, I resolve to quit drinking coffee, exercise more, and buy a new and well-functioning car.”

“You’re full of shit,” Steve laughed. “Like you’re ever going to get rid of Gina.”

“Of course I’m not getting rid of Gina, she’s my ride-or-die,” you said, referring to your personified old car.

“Yeah, emphasis on ‘die’ – you're missing a rearview mirror in there.”

You nudged him playfully, briefly losing your balance but Steve helped steady you immediately, putting a hand on your hips that hovered there longer than necessary. You chuckled for good measure but couldn’t help the heat that rushed to your face.

Everyone knew you and Steve had a thing for each other. It had been that way since high school – lingering looks in the hallway between classes, overly tactile during a mundane conversation, pretending to forget something at the other’s house to have a reason to go there again… Everyone knew it, was used to it, and never mentioned anything about it – you and Steve included.

Nothing had ever happened because the timing was always off. If it wasn’t Steve who was dating someone, you were; then you moved away to go to college, and when you came back to Hawkins after graduating, Steve had just left for an internship in New York. Eventually, you grew tired of the never-ending “what-ifs” and made your peace knowing that Steve Harrington would always be more than just a friend but less than a lover. A fine line you both tiptoed in and out of too much over the past eight years.

“What about you?” you eventually asked Steve. “You’re corny as shit, you must have a lot of them resolutions in mind.”

“I only thought of a couple, and they’re not that corny.”

“Let me be the judge of that.”

Steve laughed again, running a hand through his hair as he reflected on what he’d say. You admired him while he did so. It was frustrating, still having that teenage crush on your longtime friend, not being able to let it go, not entirely at least. You sometimes wished you could be his friend the way Robin was to him, or Eddie was to you. It would make it all so much easier, so much less painful than this in two minds you were both stuck in, this blatant desire for more, this fear that it could all be ruined in seconds, poor decisions fragmenting the illusion of a blissful friendship.

“I thought about learning how to play the guitar.”

“Cliché,” you teased. “What else?”

You could see the turn the conversation had taken when Steve hesitated before talking – looked nervous, even.

“Moving out. Getting my own place.”

You stared at Steve, quiet. You couldn’t say you were surprised – he’d been roommates with Eddie since they both enrolled in community college a few years ago. Even after graduating and getting a job, they stayed that way, because it was simple; splitting the bills, having someone to talk to after a lonely day. But it could only work for so long. It was only a matter of time until one or the other got bored and needed a change of scenery. To you, it was no surprise Steve had that revelation first.

“You sound serious,” was the only comment you could express.

“Because I am,” Steve said. “I started looking at one-bedroom apartments to rent in the neighborhood.”

“Does Eddie know?” you asked.

Steve pursed his lips as he shook his head from left to right. You hummed and couldn’t help but look at the young man in question, with his curly hair tied back in a bun and his poor imitation of some football player his team had to guess the name of. You loved this friend group – you loved the dynamic, the hijinks, and the stability. You loved hanging out with Robin, Nancy, and Jonathan at Eddie and Steve's apartment. You loved everything about it and the thought of losing your bearings, of disrupting your habits, made you too sad for the 31st of December, five minutes away from another midnight of confetti, embraces, and promises.

“You’re the first person I told,” Steve eventually said, breaking the silence that had settled between you two. “I thought you could share some of that wisdom you have to advise me.”

You snorted, lazily knocking your shoulder against his arm. “You buttering up to me, Harrington?”

“Only if it’s working.”

You got lost in his beautiful brown eyes, aware of the subtlest things, like his pinky finger brushing your hand timidly, the mint toothpaste on his breath, or how perfectly he wore the sweater you gifted him. It felt so right, standing close to him and toying with the possibility of the unknown. It always did with Steve.

“Okay guys, it’s officially one minute away from midnight, gather ‘round!!” Nancy exclaimed, clapping her hands to get everyone’s attention.

Reluctantly, you left the little bubble of peace and happiness you had created in the kitchen, Steve following closely behind. As you started counting down from ten, surrounded by all your closest and dearest friends, you only had eyes for Steve.

It had become a habit since you first celebrated New Year’s Eve with him years ago – you couldn’t help but wonder if he’d kiss you at midnight. It was a fantasy you’d entertained ever since you were eighteen, the final and first thought of each year that passed without ever becoming real. Each year, naively, you thought it’d be different. But each year, it was the same old song all over again.

As the clock struck midnight and cheers erupted among the friend group, you hugged everyone. You saved the best ‘til last, heart beating frantically as Steve wrapped his arms around you. You buried your face in his neck, getting drunk on his cologne – pathetic, disillusioned.

“Happy New Year, kitten,” Steve whispered in your ear before kissing your cheek – soft, tender, and terribly platonic, as usual.

“Happy New Year, Harrington,” you kissed his cheek in return, the trace of your lipstick leaving a mark on his skin like a temporary tattoo.

And you were too busy thinking about the undone to notice that this year, Steve held you in his arms a little longer than usual.

🌹🌹🌹

“Bro-lentine’s Day?”

“Is that one of those boys band they keep talking about on the radio?"

You held back a laugh at Steve’s question and Eddie’s comment regarding the odd suggestion Robin had just made. The four of you were waiting in line at a Wendy's drive-thru in Steve’s car, the crescent moon shining its feeble light in the night sky above.

“Why would you even think about spending Valentine’s Day with your loser single friends when you have a beautiful girlfriend you could shower with gifts?” Eddie asked, to which Steve, behind the wheel, concurred immediately.

“I mean, I obviously love you guys, but I mostly suggest that because Vickie’s working a night shift on the 14th and I figured it’d be nice to hang out together, the four of us, instead of just… I don’t know, being alone?” Robin admitted.

“Oh, so we’re your stand-ins?” Eddie exclaimed, feigning offense under your amused attention. “Classy, Buckley.”

“That sounds a hell of a lot like a pity party, Rob,” Steve pointed out.

You laughed along as Robin kept putting her foot in her mouth. It was often like that – Robin and Eddie gently bickering in the back seats while you exchanged knowing looks with Steve, in your designated seat at the front of the car.

The only difference was this time, when Steve searched for your eyes to have a silent laugh with you, you avoided his gaze, pretending to look in the distance, thinking about something you needed to say to him but couldn’t find the courage to.

“Okay, fine,” Eddie eventually yielded. “Let’s do this thing. But I have one condition – we go to Steve’s new apartment.”

“Excellent idea!” Robin exclaimed, enthusiastic.

“I told you guys, I’m not done unboxing my stuff, the place is a mess,” Steve argued as he started the ignition to move forward.

Robin rolled her eyes. “You say that like you have a thousand boxes.”

“It's his plethora of hair products - they take up a lot of room,” Eddie teased, which made Robin snort.

“You’re both hilarious, seriously, I can’t stop laughing,” Steve said with a straight face.

“So, it’s a deal,” Eddie said. “Bro-lentine’s Day at Steve’s new place – no, I’m sorry Rob, you’ll have to find another name, I hate how it sounds when it comes out of my mouth.”

“What do you think, babes?”

You only focused back on the conversation when Robin called your name, looking away from the constellations in the sky.

“Hmm? Oh, I’m sorry babes but count me out of this one,” you said with a sorry smile.

Robin laughed, thinking you were probably messing with her. Steve was driving slowly now that the line ahead finally seemed to clear.

“Right, because you have something better to do on Valentine’s Day, of course,” Robin joked while Eddie chuckled.

You tried not to take offense because you knew it was some innocent banter, but it didn’t stop you from frowning.

“Actually, yes, I do,” you contradicted. “I have a date that day.”

The car braked abruptly, causing a blast of horns from the vehicle behind and surprised yelps from the back seats.

“What the fuck, Harrington??” Eddie ranted. “That’s why I keep telling you you’re a shit driver, seriously, how did you manage to get your license, man?"

“Sorry, I got… distracted for a sec’,” Steve apologized.

You couldn’t bear to look Steve in the eye, so you toyed with the bracelets around your wrists and stared at your shoes, waiting for your friends’ reaction to the news.

“Is it someone we know?” Robin asked bluntly. “It’s the cute guy from the music shop at the mall, isn’t it? I knew he had a crush on you, you’re the only one who got Like a Prayer for half price.”

“It was… actually a twenty-percent discount,” you corrected, even though none of your friends cared about that information.

“Who even asks someone out on Valentine’s Day?” Eddie asked himself out loud. “We have three hundred and sixty-five days a year, why choose this nightmare of a commercialized day deliberately?”

“I think it’s cute,” Robin shrugged.

You attempted a smile, but it was nowhere near convincing. Robin and Eddie weren’t even paying attention to you anymore, discussing with each other the pros and cons of a first date on the 14th of February. You gathered the courage to look at Steve, decipher his expression. He might’ve been trying to get your attention a moment ago, but now, he was just staring in front of him, both hands firmly holding the lower part of the wheel.

“So, you’re really going to abandon me with these two idiots, huh?”

Your laugh at Steve’s rhetorical question was a mix of amusement and relief. If there was one thing that meant more than anything to you, it was the harmony between you two. You knew that as soon as you or Steve dated someone, that harmony was threatened. It had happened before. It was a fatality.

“You’ll be just fine,” you assured softly. “It’s just one night.”

Steve chuckled, finally making it to the pickup window. “Yeah, you’re right. Just one night. Easy-peasy.”

At that moment, you couldn’t have imagined that on the 14th of February, you’d find yourself knocking on Steve’s door at ten in the evening, makeup ruined by your disappointed tears, holding tight to your coat and shame in the cold evening air.

When Steve opened the door and saw you standing before him, he blinked at the unexpected sight of you sniffing and shivering.

“What are you doing here, kitten? Is everything okay?”

As soon as you heard Steve’s voice and the concern he displayed, it was out of your control – another tear rolled down your cheek.

“Oh no. Come here.”

You didn’t need to be asked twice- when Steve opened his arms at you, you dived in, letting him hug you tight, accepting his warmth and empathy.

“Dude stood you up?” Steve asked, voice muffled as his face was buried in your hair.

“Worse,” you said. “He was there.”

Steve huffed, because it could’ve been a funny anecdote if not for the dried mascara that ran under your eyes.

“So, we’re not going to the music shop again, huh?”

“I never said it was the guy from the music shop,” you pointed out.

“You never denied it either.”

You snorted and you felt Steve smile against your head. He was the first to part from your embrace, but you were under the impression he could’ve stayed like that much longer.

“What’s taking so long, dingus?” Robin shouted from the living room. “You need help with the pizzas?”

“It’s not the pizzas,” Steve retorted as you stepped inside the apartment.

Both Robin and Eddie turned around on the couch and looked equally surprised to see you there.

“Is it okay if I crash Bro-lentine’s Day?” you asked sheepishly.

“We’re not calling it that!” Eddie said in a singsong.

“You’re more than welcome to crash Bro-lentine’s Day, babes,” Robin told you while wrapping her arm around your shoulders as you sat next to her.

“I give up,” Eddie sighed before heading for the kitchen.

“What did the loser do to get you like that?” Robin inquired, touching your face where the tears had dried.

“Honestly, he wasn’t even that bad,” you explained. “He just… wasn’t what I expected. I guess I’m tired of getting my hopes up and ending up disappointed every time.” You paused, reflecting on that state of mind. “It’s stupid, I know.”

“It’s not stupid,” Robin contradicted with a sympathetic smile. “It’s Valentine’s Day, anyone would’ve expected a perfect date.”

“Hence why you don’t date on that doomed day.”

“Can’t you just let it go already, Eddie??”

You smiled softly at your friends’ innocent quarrel, and you realized in the end, there were no other people you’d rather spend the day of love and romance with.

So, you settled comfortably on the couch in Steve’s new apartment, surrounded by dozens of wrapped boxes and your closest friends with a glass of wine and a cheesy movie to watch, sharing the details of your date with them.

“Well, his loss, darling, not yours,” Eddie said in conclusion to your story.

“Definitely,” Robin nodded.

You smiled lightly and you thought maybe, just maybe, they were right.

“Why are you smiling like that, Harrington?” Eddie then asked.

“Hmm? Oh, no reason,” Steve answered casually before finding a tiny spot between you and Robin on the couch.

🎉🎉🎉

There was nothing more frustrating than being late to meet your friends and having your car’s engine make that hideous sputtering sound as you kept putting the key in the ignition without it ever starting.

“Shit, shit, shit, shit,” you echoed in sync with the car’s noises.

“I see Gina’s being cranky today.”

You glared at Steve, sitting in the passenger seat and enjoying himself a little too much.

“It’s too hot outside, she doesn’t like it when it’s too hot,” you explained to yourself more than Steve.

“It’s the 4th of July, kitten. It’s always hot on the 4th of July.”

“Thank you so much for this enlightening forecast, Harrington, have you ever considered a career in meteorology?”

You bit your lip when you realized how harsh your comeback had sounded. You slowly turned your head to lay regretful eyes on your friend.

“Sorry,” you winced.

“You’re good. I think I know why Gina’s cranky today – she takes from her owner.”

You rolled your eyes but didn’t bother denying it.

The sun was starting to set in a sky adorned with pink and orange hues only summer could take credit for. The air was hot, crickets chirping and bees buzzing while the whole town was already busying itself in preparation for the incoming festivities.

For the past six years, on Independence Day, you’ve met all your friends by the lake on the outskirts of Hawkins to have a barbecue with beers and watch the fireworks. It was a tradition you all honored religiously each Fourth of July.

Except this year, Robin was celebrating with Vickie’s family, Eddie was working at the music camp, which meant you were spending the evening with Nancy, Jonathan, and Steve, a group hangout that looked an awful lot like a double date, and it worked yourself up into quite a state.

“Did you get the Buds?” you asked Steve as the ignition still wouldn’t start.

“Packs in the trunk,” Steve answered straight off.

“And the blankets?”

“In the backseat.”

“The radio for the music?”

“Nance’s taking care of it.”

You fell back in your seat after failing one too many times to start the car and just closed your eyes, sighing heavily. You wiped your hands on your shorts, the summer heat getting the best of you, chest heaving and patience hanging by a thread.

“We can take my car tonight, maybe Gina needs the rest,” Steve suggested. It irritated you even more.

“We always take your car, tonight’s the one night a year we take mine,” you argued, putting the keys in the ignition again.

“We’ll take yours another time, then, it’s no big deal.”

“No,” you just said.

Without a heads-up, you got out of the vehicle. Steve followed you as you opened the hood to check the engine. You were rough in your endeavor, hair falling out on your face and hands quickly stained with oil.

“Why are you being so stubborn today?” Steve asked you, tone cutting sharp like a knife.

“I’m not.”

“Yes, you are! You can tell as much as I can your car’s not going anywhere tonight, mine’s parked right behind and ready to go, so why are we losing time for nothing?”

“She’s just being picky right now but I’m getting there. She needs a little boost and she’s good to go,” you insisted, wiping the back of your hand on your forehead before realizing it’d smudge the oil.

“Yeah, sure, at this rate, she’ll be good to go for Thanksgiving,” Steve said ironically.

You shut the hood close abruptly, shooting daggers at Steve as he stood in front of you with his arms crossed. He looked just as irritated as you did.

“You’re being an asshole,” you stated matter-of-factly.

Steve snickered, eyebrows raising like he couldn’t believe what he just heard.

“Oh, I’m the asshole in this situation? You’re a fine one to talk!”

“Are you seriously turning the tables on me right now?!”

“I’m not, you’re clearly in a mood today and you’re taking it out on me! Last I heard, I’m not a punching bag!”

Your face twisted into a scowl because Steve annoyed you a great deal, but mostly because he was right. You were far from being good company today, and today was meant to be fun, chill, eventful. You could blame it all on Gina, but you knew that was just the tip of the iceberg.

“I’m just saying I’m going to get the car started just fine, all I need is a few minutes to figure it out. And we’re already late anyway, they won’t hate us for the extra ten minutes,” you said as you opened the hood again.

“This is not about the car and we both know it,” Steve stated, sure of himself. Of course, he was – he knew you like the back of his hand.

You closed the hood as soon as you opened it, walking closer to Steve to face him properly.

“Maybe you should take it easy if you want her to work, you know,” Steve remarked.

“Why don’t you just say what’s on my mind, Steve? Since you apparently know it better than I do,” you hit him with your words.

“But that’s just the thing! I don’t!” Steve exclaimed, his voice raising an octave. “I don’t know what’s going on with you right now and you won’t tell me a goddamn thing!”

“You already know what’s going on with me, I made it perfectly clear – I want my fucking car to start so we can go and meet our friends, as we do every year!”

“And I made it perfectly clear that we can take my car, so why are we still arguing about this??”

“Because it’s the way things are supposed to be!!”

The silence that followed that revelation felt intrusive. You couldn’t wait for Steve to tell you off, to argue with you some more, but instead, he didn’t say another word and just stared at you, dumbfounded. It allowed you to reflect on your behavior of the past ten minutes and you immediately dropped your eyes to look at your shoes, ashamed.

“What do you mean?” Steve asked you then, voice softer.

You sighed and looked in the distance, avoiding his gaze.

“It’s the tradition. On the 4th of July, you come to my place to help me pack everything, we take my car to pick up Eddie and Robin on the way to the lake, we meet Nance and Jonathan there, then, you and Eddie set the barbecue while Jonathan and I take care of the music, and Nance and Robin lay the blankets to make us cozy. And we eat and drink until they shoot the fireworks from downtown – it’s how the day is supposed to go.”

“Right, and it’s how it’s going to go today,” Steve assured, confused.

“No, it’s not. Rob and Eddie are not there this year, and because of Gina, we’re late and missing out on the sunset.” You paused, taking a breath. “It’s what I look forward to the most. Watching the sunset on the lake with you guys. All of you.”

Steve relaxed his shoulders and breathed out like he finally made sense of the underlying problem. He stepped closer to you and his hand cupped your face, willing you to look him in the eyes.

“Okay, I’m going to take a wild guess and assume it has something to do with Nancy and Jonathan talking about moving to Chicago next year for Nancy’s job,” Steve said. “Am I boiling or getting colder?”

The rhetorical question elicited a weak smile on your lips.

“I know Chicago’s not that far from Hawkins, but… I like the way things are right now, you know?” you explained while Steve listened, nodding. “I like that we can hang out whenever we want to, show up unannounced at each other’s place, and whatnot.”

“You can still do that if they move to Chicago. It’ll just take you more than three hours to get there,” he teased you.

Steve did it – he made you laugh. “I’m not so sure Gina would survive the trip.”

“I’ll let you borrow my car, then,” Steve whispered, and even though you were bantering, it sounded like a promise.

You chuckled, the knot in your stomach coming undone as Steve put his thumb to your forehead, stroking where you had wiped the oil stain earlier.

“You look like shit,” he told you unceremoniously.

“And you’re a shitty friend,” you bit back, making you both smile.

Friend. The denomination never felt strong enough to define what you and Steve meant to one another. Yet, it was the only one you used, the only one that brought you comfort, especially in those blurry moments that kept you wondering why that boy had always been so sweet and kind to you, even when you felt undeserving.

You jumped at the sound of a car honking from the street, bringing you back to reality as you and Steve turned your heads to see what happened. You felt amused, and somehow relieved when you saw Nancy popping her head out the passenger window of Jonathan’s car like a beautifully staged interruption.

“Oh my God, you guys are late too?” Nancy shouted at them. “I told Jonathan to go over the speed limit, and as you can imagine, he was not happy about it.”

Steve laughed, and you followed suit because it was almost ridiculous, how perfect the situation had turned out. Sure, things felt different this year, with winds of change impending, and the future of your friend group unclear. But at least, you were all on the same page.

“While we’re here, get in the car with us!” Nancy offered, gesturing for you to come closer. “Maybe we can still catch the sunset.”

You exchanged an amused look with Steve, silently agreeing that your uncooperative car and your latest conversation would remain a secret you’d share only between you. Your friends didn’t need to know the reason why you were late.

So, you and Steve hurried to put everything in Jonathan’s car, climbed in the backseat, and made it to the lake just in time to admire the remnant of sunset and put everything into place to wait for the fireworks.

And as you put a blanket over your and Nancy’s shoulders, the fire crackling in the quiet of the evening around you, you couldn’t help but search for Steve’s eyes. He was already looking at you, sitting across the fire next to Jonathan. You smiled when you realized, and he winked at you, playful, secretive.

Maybe you were lying to yourself, in the end. Maybe you didn’t mean it when you said you liked things the way they were. Maybe there was one thing you wouldn’t mind changing, you thought as you looked away from Steve to look up at the fireworks now erupting in the sky above.

🎃🎃🎃

“I’m not sure I get it, Robin – who are you dressed as?”

“Are you seriously asking me that question, Nance? Marty McFly? Don’t tell me you still haven’t watched Back to the Future!”

“I didn’t have time.”

“In five years, you didn’t have time to watch a two-hour movie?”

“I work a lot, okay?!”

You were only half-listening to Robin and Nancy’s bickering as you finished getting ready for the Halloween party that your high school classmate Tina and her best friend Vicki Carmichael threw every year.

Usually, on the 31st of October, you would just crash at Steve and Eddie’s former apartment with the group, stuffing your face with popcorn and watching horror movies. But this year, the boys didn’t live at that apartment anymore and it was the last Halloween you’d all spend together in Hawkins before Jonathan and Nancy moved to Chicago next January. You all agreed it called for a memorable celebration, hence why you were now getting ready with the girls at your place.

“So, you mean to tell me you haven’t had time to watch Back to the Future, but you had it to watch all three Star Wars movies, judging on your costume?” Robin asked while Nancy grunted in frustration.

“I told you last week, me and Jonathan are wearing couple’s costumes – he’s Han Solo and I’m Princess Leia, obviously,” she explained while pointing at her long white dress and peculiar hairstyle.

“Couple’s costumes,” Robin repeated. “Kids these days, they’re just talking nonsense.”

“It’s romantic and fun, you’re just jealous you didn’t think about it for you and Vickie,” Nancy retorted as you were starting to think you were in the middle of playground taunts.

“Oh yeah, I should’ve asked Vickie to dress as Doc, it would’ve been crazy romantic,” Robin sassed.

Once the heels were at your feet, you turned around on your chair to stare at your friends.

“You two realize how stupid your fight is, right?” you chipped in.

“We’re not fighting,” Robin and Nancy said in unison.

You rolled your eyes and turned back around to face your vanity and finish your makeup, but it was too late – you had involuntarily drawn the attention to you.

“And who are you dressing as, hot stuff?” Nancy cooed while smirking at your reflection in the mirror.

You hummed the Dirty Dancing theme song to answer her question, and she nodded approvingly, taking in your pink dress and silver heels.

“I love it,” Nancy smiled.

“Thanks,” you said as you stood up. “And you two look equally great, so stop biting each other’s heads off.”

“So, if you’re Jennifer Grey, does it mean Steve’s dressing as Patrick Swayze? I could see him pulling that off.”

Robin’s question took you aback for it came out of nowhere. You gaped at her, face warm and thoughts racing.

“Hmm, no, he’s not. That’d… be a great couple’s costume, for sure. But we’re not a couple, so…” you stammered, awfully self-conscious.

“Well, yeah, but you might as well be.”

“Robin,” Nancy reprimanded her with warning eyes.

“What??” Robin exclaimed while you watched, confused. “It’s not like she doesn’t know what I mean, it’s been going on for years, this… whatever this is. And honestly, we’re all tired of pretending like we can’t see it.”

Nancy blushed, embarrassment written all over her face as she rubbed a hand over it.

“I don’t… understand,” you admitted, tugging at the hems of your dress to anchor yourself in the moment.

“There’s nothing to understand, babes,” Nancy said softly. “Robin was just joking. Right, Rob?”

Nancy was now glaring at Robin, who had no option but to concur. It felt like you were missing something there, and you didn’t like it. Were your friends talking behind your back? Were they annoyed at your relationship with Steve? Annoyed at the ambiguity, the unsaid, the attraction? Was it all that obvious as of late?

“I’m sorry, guys,” Robin said with a sigh. “I had a fight with Vickie earlier today and it messed me up a little bit.”

“Oh, babes,” Nancy softened, hugging Robin from the side.

“I know that’s no excuse for being a jerk,” Robin winced in your direction.

“You’re all right,” you said with a sympathetic smile, and both Robin and Nancy seemed relieved.

The three of you talked Robin through her problem until it was time to meet the guys outside. Nancy was the first to exit the apartment, but Robin lingered by the front door, hand hovering hesitantly above the handle. Eventually, she made up her mind and turned over to face you.

“I just want you to know that I’m really sorry for earlier,” Robin told you.

“It’s okay, Rob, I get it. You were upset about your fight with Vickie and said stuff you didn’t mean. It’s fine, it happens to all of us,” you said, wondering why Robin had felt the need to bounce back on that.

“No, but see, that’s the thing – I did mean it,” she contradicted. “I just didn’t say it like I should’ve.”

“And how should you say it?” you asked with a frown.

Robin looked uncertain now, fidgeting where she stood. You imagined that if Nancy were still in the room with you two, she’d probably give Robin an earful.

“When I said that we’re all tired of pretending like we can’t see what there is between you and Steve, I didn’t mean that in a bad way,” she elaborated under your undivided attention. “It’s just… We’re your friends, and you know, as friends, we want what’s best for each other, I’m sure you feel that way about us too –“

“Robin, cut to the chase, please,” you interjected before she could lose herself in her explanation.

“We just think if you two admitted what you’re both obviously feeling for each other… You could be very happy together. And the rest of us would be too because damn, we’ve watched it happen since high school and it’s about time one of you does something about it, babes.”

You stared at the door behind Robin, wishing to run away from this conversation that was too much for you to handle. It was the first time one of your friends confronted you on the matter, upfront, and you had no idea how to react.

“I’m not expecting you to say anything, don’t worry,” Robin added. “I just wanted you to know what everyone else is thinking. Do what you want with that information.”

You opened your mouth to respond but you heard the distinctive sound of Eddie’s van parking on the street, your sign that it was time to go and end this conversation for good. You rushed to the door, opening it before Robin could and hurtling down the stairs to some extent on your heels. Once you were outside, you breathed in slowly, calming down and processing what one of your best friends had just confided to you.

You and Robin met Nancy on the curb as Eddie slid the van’s side door open to let you in the backseats.

“Evening, ladies,” Eddie greeted.

“Wow, you’re Elton!” Nancy exclaimed after studying Eddie’s costume, a white ensemble with feathers and glitter that was the singer’s signature.

“You could get that but not mine?!” Robin exclaimed, almost offended.

“Move on, Rob, and let’s have fun tonight,” Nancy teased her while sitting near Jonathan, dressed in the easily identifiable Han Solo outfit.

Robin took the passenger seat next to Eddie, leaving you with no choice but to sit next to Steve at the back of the van. Of course. Almost like it had been on purpose, you thought to yourself.

You settled next to him and you were almost insecure, something you’d never felt around him. You resented Robin for not knowing best, and not keeping her mouth shut.

“Hey, kitten,” Steve welcomed you as you smoothed the edges of your dress.

“Hey, Harrington,” you said in return, attempting to smile at him.

You studied his costume as he studied yours. Aviator sunglasses on his head, green jumpsuit, sleeves rolled back under his elbows – Maverick from Top Gun. You'd gushed over the character when the movie came out, and you wondered if it happened to be a funny coincidence or if Steve had picked that costume on purpose.

“Baby,” Steve suddenly said.

“What?” you choked out with widened eyes.

Steve frowned. “Your costume,” he clarified. “Baby from Dirty Dancing, right?”

You processed the information and chuckled awkwardly, feeling stupid. You let Robin get in your head and you hated it.

“Right,” you breathed out as Eddie drove away.

Something passed in Steve’s eyes, and you were not sure what it was. Hesitation, desire, resignation… You watched and waited, fingers laced on your lap, heartbeat echoing in your ears.

“You look… very nice,” Steve told you in a hushed voice.

You knew neither Nancy nor Jonathan could’ve heard it – they were engaged in a vivid conversation with Robin and Eddie in the front of the car. It was an intimate declaration, meant for you and you only.

Your lips parted subtly, but Steve’s eyes caught it regardless. It did not soothe the rate of your beating heart.

“Thanks,” you croaked it, throat tight. “You’re not too bad yourself."

Steve smiled briefly, then did the strangest thing. He leaned in, his face awfully close to yours, and you thought; this was it. He was going to kiss you. Right then, right there, in the back of Eddie’s van dressed as the guy from Top Gun on the way to a Halloween party.

And as much as you wanted him to kiss you, it wasn’t how you wanted him to do it. Not the place, not the time. Maybe Steve realized it too because he moved away as quickly as he had gotten closer to you, clearing his throat and watching out the window like nothing happened.

The party at Tina’s villa was loud, messy, and packed with former classmates – some you were glad to run into, others you made a strong case of avoiding. You had a nice chat with your high school sweetheart, even though you could feel Steve’s eyes on you the whole time. When you couldn’t bear the weight of his yearning gaze, you took a sip of that rum punch Vicki Carmichael had made – a few times.

You fled to the bathroom around eleven to freshen up and have some alone time. You were reasonably drunk, but still conscious enough to notice someone was already in the room when you barged into it.

“Oh, so sorry, I didn’t know someone was in there –”

You cut the apology short when you recognized the person’s reflection staring at you in the mirror.

“Becky, hi,” you said, surprised.

The girl greeted you back, the sound of your name imperceptible amid the party people shouting in the hallway. Now, you were reasonably drunk and very uncomfortable.

Becky was the last girl Steve had dated. They had been together for two years and seemed happy until Becky broke up with Steve overnight. Everyone assumed she’d probably met someone else, but you always felt like that was too simple and there was another more plausible explanation.

“You okay?” Becky asked you.

“Y – yeah, I just needed to cool off,” you mumbled.

You assumed Becky would urge you to clear off and leave her be, but instead, she stepped aside to give you some space in front of the sink.

You closed the door behind you and stood in front of the mirror, silently watching Becky perfect the mascara on her lashes. You quickly gathered she was dressed as Madonna in the Material Girl music video.

“It’s… been a while,” you said to break that awful silence. “What are you up to these days?”

“Small talk, huh? I thought we were way past that.”

You chuckled, ill at ease and too drunk to have a proper conversation. Out of all the girls Steve had dated, Becky was the one who unsettled you the most. You never knew what to expect of her.

“How’s Stevie?” Becky then asked before reapplying some lipstick.

Maybe it was the alcohol, or maybe it was Becky's inquiry, but something turned your stomach. You always hated it when she called Steve that name. It reminded you of a jealous version of yourself you’d rather leave in the past.

“He’s good,” you said casually, no matter your inner turmoil. “You know. Same old, same old.”

Becky’s lips turned into the semblance of a smile.

“I take it you two still aren’t together.”

You felt your heart drop at that comment. What did she mean, “still”? And what was up with everyone and their insights regarding your relationship with Steve?

“It sounded a lot less petty in my head, I promise,” Becky said when you stayed silent.

“It’s not that,” you replied. “I’m just… surprised you would say that.”

Becky sighed and turned around to face you. It looked like she was about to get a lot of things off her chest, and you were not sober enough for that.

“You know why I broke up with Steve?” Becky asked you, and she obviously wasn’t waiting for an answer. “Why all the girls he dates eventually break things off with him?”

You blinked. You didn’t want Steve’s ex-girlfriend to share that information with you. You had absolutely no desire to detain such knowledge. Yet, you shook your head, permitting Becky to say what she really thought, too curious to pretend you didn’t care.

“Because it’s painfully obvious he’s in love with you and we’re just here passing time until he finally has the balls to tell you.”

In love. You had thought about it all with Steve – he thinks I’m pretty; he’s attracted to me; he likes me more than a friend. But never in your wildest dreams had you dared fantasize about these powerful little words.

He’s in love with you, Becky’s voice repeated like a broken record on a loop in your mind. Taunting, hopeful, too good to be true.

You found yourself sitting on the bathtub’s edge, both arms at your side, speechless. Becky leaned against the wall across from you and chuckled like she'd just shared the funniest story.

“Don’t tell me this is shocking news.”

“I…” you started without finishing your thought. You were at a loss for words and your head started spinning, the fateful sentence seeping into your mind faster than the liquor in your system.

“Look, obviously, it wasn’t my place to tell, but you know, despite everything, I always liked you,” Becky confessed. “You were always nice to me, even though I could tell it was not easy for you.”

You lowered your eyes, apologetic. It was true – you had always been nice to Becky. After all, it wasn’t the girl’s fault if you had feelings you’d never dare confess to your best friend.

“That’s why I’m telling you,” Becky resumed. “I’m trying to help you two out. This whole faint-hearted act was probably cute when you were sixteen, but you’re adults now. Are you waiting for him to get married and start a family with someone else to tell him how you feel?”

The mere thought made your heart ache. You didn’t want to picture Steve married to someone else. It made you nauseous.

“Sorry, that was harsh,” Becky apologized.

“Why are you doing this?” you asked her in a whisper, feeling like your head was about to explode. “Why are you telling this to me and not him?”

Becky stared at you like you’d just said the most nonsensical thing.

“Because he’s an idiot and a coward. If you’re waiting for him to make a move, you’ll wait a long time, honey.”

You spaced out for a moment, and when you returned to your senses, Becky was gone, leaving you alone with your spiraling thoughts in that bathroom.

Becky was right. Steve was an idiot and a coward. The inebriation clouded all your good judgments, so you got to your feet and walked out of the bathroom to look for Steve. After everything that happened tonight, you were confused, upset, and even angry.

You found him outside by the pool, joking around with some guys from his old swim team in high school. You marched to him, bold and determined, and he didn’t notice you right away, so you hooked your fingers to the fabric around his arm and dragged him behind you. You ignored the guys whistling at you both or Steve protesting and asking what had gotten into you until you walked into an empty room on the side of the villa and closed the patio door behind you.

“Okay, what the hell was that about??” Steve exclaimed, his voice loud in the quiet of the room, away from the party noises and the music. “Have you lost your shit??”

“You’re an idiot,” you told him in an accusing tone.

“Tell me about it,” Steve sassed you.

“And a coward!”

“Oh, so you have a whole list, huh?”

“That’s what Becky said.”

Steve looked at you in silence, processing what you just said.

“Of course, you talked to Becky….” he sighed. “Let me guess – she said I stole her INXS tape? She needs to let it go, she clearly lost it, she can’t keep blaming me for –“

“I don’t want you to get married, Steve,” you interrupted him, blurting out what you had been obsessing about for the last ten minutes.

Steve froze and looked at you like you were insane. And you might just be, you realized. You took a step back, dizzy and embarrassed.

“I… was not planning on getting married any time soon. Where is that coming from?” Steve asked you, stepping toward you.

You bit your tongue, holding from saying another stupidity you’d immediately regret. Suddenly, your choice to confront Steve and isolate yourselves in a bedroom didn’t look like the brilliant plan it seemed to be five minutes ago.

“Forget it, I’m drunk, and I don’t know what I’m saying,” you stammered, head low as you walked toward the door.

“Hey,” Steve brought you short by taking your hand before you had the chance to leave. His touch was tender, your hand fit perfectly in his, and you understood what Becky meant when she said "still not together".

“Talk to me,” Steve urged, lacing his fingers with yours. It was unbearable, how natural it felt. “You used to tell me everything, and now, I have no idea what’s up with you anymore.”

You swallowed the lump in your throat, wishing you could go back in time and stop yourself from putting the two of you in this awful situation.

“Come on, kitten, we’re friends, you can tell me anything.”

Friends. You loathed the word that normally comforted you. You couldn’t stand to hear it.

He’s in love with you. How could he say you were friends when he was the one you called first when your car broke down, when he’d snuck out of college to comfort you after you got dumped by your ex-boyfriend, when he drove you across the country to see your sick grandfather for the last time? How did he have the audacity to minimize what you meant to each other after taking such a significant place in your heart for years and years?

“We’re not friends,” you mumbled.

You looked at him and thought you could see heartbreak in his eyes. You’d hurt him. You’d hurt him badly.

“We’re not?” he asked, his voice breaking in the inflection.

You held your breath as Steve questioned you with glistening eyes. He didn’t understand what you were trying to tell him, and it was killing you.

“You know what I mean,” you breathed out, unable to say the actual words.

He’s in love with you. It was so simple. Why couldn’t he just admit it?

You’re in love with him too, why can’t you say it?  you admitted to yourself.

Because no, it wasn’t that simple. Steve wasn’t the only coward in this situation. After all these years, it was so scary to admit, even more to say out loud. How could you expect him to say it when you were terrified of doing it yourself?

Eventually, Steve let go of your hand, an almost insignificant gesture that shattered your heart into a million pieces.

“Actually… No. I don’t know what you mean,” he said, defeated, before leaving the room.

You did it. You ruined everything, you thought as you sat on the floor and cried your heartbreak away.

🎁🎁🎁

It was supposed to be the merriest day of the year, with children's laughter filling the air and countless presents to unwrap. Yet, your heart was not in it, and you had to hold back tears during dinner that night at your parents’ house.

You hadn’t talked to or heard from Steve in almost two months, and it was officially the longest you’d spent without seeing each other. The thought was excruciating. He was your best friend in the entire world, you were head over heels in love with him, and the absence of him was like gasping for air on the verge of drowning.

But today was a merry day. Today was all about spending time together, eating a nice homemade meal, and reuniting. So, you played the part – you ate dinner, played board games with your cousins, and chatted with your uncles and aunts. You did what you were expected to do, and nothing more.

When you returned to your place, to your sad and lonely apartment, you sat down on the floor, still in your red party dress, back to your couch with a glass of wine, and flipped through a photo album Nancy and Jonathan had given you for your twenty-fifth birthday.

It was a recollection of happy times Jonathan had captured with his camera throughout the years – from graduating high school to renting your first crappy apartment, taking your first trip to New York with the group, and celebrating various occasions with them.

You took the last photo from the album, holding it between your fingers to get a closer look. It was a picture of you and Steve on New Year’s Eve the year before. You were posing for the camera, smiling from ear to ear. You were looking at the lens, but Steve only had eyes for you, holding you in his arms with rosy cheeks. When you looked at it like that, in retrospect and from another’s perspective, it seemed so evident that the guy in the picture loved the girl posing next to him.

You were fully crying now, blurry eyes and stuffy nose in contradiction with the holiday spirit. You were about to put the picture away in the album when something in the back of it caught your eye.

There was a note in the handwriting you would recognize anywhere at any given time – Steve’s. Your heart skipped a beat. It had gone unnoticed the first time you’d looked through the album at your birthday party and none of your friends had mentioned a thing about it. You started to look at a handful of pictures to see if others had something hidden on the other side, but they were all blank. All except for one.

You took a deep breath, pondering. Maybe Nancy and Jonathan were unaware of it, but Steve not saying anything didn’t make sense. This note had been there, forgotten in an album gathering dust in your bookcase, for months, and it could’ve gone on for years had you not felt nostalgic on that specific day.

You wondered if you should read it or pretend you’d never seen it. It was only a few words; they were probably some meaningless inside jokes or more personal birthday wishes. But they could also be something more, much more.

You knew you couldn’t live with the uncertainty, so you gathered your courage and read.

Happy birthday, kitten! Don’t know if you’ll ever see this, but I want you to know you’re my favorite person in the entire world, and I love you. Yours always, Steve PS: stop being a sourpuss just ‘cause you turned 25

It had been there. Right there, under your nose, all along. Yours always.

Before you could think it through, your coat was around your shoulders and you were behind the wheel, ready to drive to Steve’s place and tell him how you felt. Screw the stability and the uncertainty – you loved the boy too and you needed to tell him tonight.

It was past midnight, the air was cold and the streetlights reflected in the puddles on the pavement as you drove a little too fast toward Steve’s building. Your heart was racing in your chest, anticipation mingling with excitement while you rehearsed what you’d say in your head.

You were going to confess your true feelings to Steve. Nothing could scare you anymore.

Except, perhaps, the ominous sputtering sound your car made when you tried to restart at a traffic light.

“No, no, no, no, no, come on, not now!!” you begged desperately.

The ignition wouldn’t turn over, and you could’ve screamed at the sky. Was it some sort of cosmic sign preventing you from making the biggest mistake of your life?

You got out of the car to check the engine under the hood. When you opened it, it did something it’d never done before – it gave off fumes.

You coughed violently as you stepped away from the car, looking all around you and realizing you were alone on the street in the middle of the night with a kaput car and wasted opportunities.

“This is a nightmare,” you told yourself out loud. “This can’t be happening to me.”

Your eyes burned as you were about to cry again, disheartened and pathetic. Then, some headlights on the other side of the road caught your attention.

A maroon car stopped next to you and turned the ignition off. You held your breath, recognizing the vehicle instantly and wondering if the universe wouldn’t happen to be messing with you.

The driver exited the car and eyed yours up and down before chuckling.

“I had a feeling Gina wouldn’t make it through the year,” he said.

You laughed, the sound choked up in your throat at the improbability of the situation. You couldn’t believe Steve was there, rescuing you even without meaning to, always being there when you needed him to, the constant one in your life. As luck would have it, you thought.

“What are you doing here this late at night?” you asked him.

“Could ask you the same thing,” he remarked with a smile.

You returned his smile, nervously fixing your hair. The wind was rising, and the air was filled with change and expectations.

“I was… on my way to your place, actually,” you explained, somehow shyly. “I wanted to talk to you.”

A few seconds passed until Steve spoke again like he was processing the information. “That’s funny, I was on my way to your place too.”

You swallowed, unable to stop hoping. “You were?”

“Yeah… Of course, I was,” Steve shrugged. “I couldn’t sleep, and I realized I never got a chance to give you your present because we weren't speaking to each other, so… Anyways, I can just give it to you now.”

“We’re literally in the middle of the road, Steve.”

He looked around at the empty and silent street for good measure. “Yeah, and it’s not like it’s rush hour right now, I think we’re good.”

You opened your mouth to retort but opted against saying anything else. It was your first interaction with him in weeks, it was out of the question to ruin it just to have the last word.

The young man got something from the backseat of his car and immediately handed it to you. You took it carefully, turning it over in your hand to try and figure out what was beneath the wrapping paper.

“I… don’t have your gift,” you admitted, crestfallen. “I mean, I did get you something, but I didn’t think to give it to you tonight.”

“It’s okay, kitten. Just open it.”

You complied, slowly unwrapping the paper with trembling fingers and shortness of breath as Steve observed quietly.

You were now looking at a book’s front cover, and it might’ve seemed unremarkable at first glance, but it was not some common paperback.

“First limited edition,” Steve explained, even though you already knew. “You talked about it at Eddie’s place a couple of months ago, that it was almost impossible to find today, and you’d love to have it. So, I went to every bookstore in town to ask if they knew where to get it, and one of them gave me their counterpart's number from England, they had to send it all the way here but… Yeah,” Steve concluded, face red and hands in his pocket. “I found it.”

You looked up from the book to lock eyes with Steve. He seemed expectant and abashed, almost anxious of your reaction.

“You went to all this trouble for me?” you asked in disbelief.

He pursed his lips and nodded as if it was that obvious.

“You’re well worth the trouble.”

All this time, you had expected blatant signs, big gestures, and declarations, when Steve had been telling you how he felt in his own way for years. It had always been there – in fleeting touches, longing stares, and understated actions.

“I read it,” you eventually confessed.

"The book?" Steve asked, puzzled.

“No," you laughed. "The note you wrote in my photo album. I read it tonight.”

You noticed the way Steve held his breath at that revelation. Suddenly, you no longer cared that you were standing in the middle of the road with your dead car by your side. Suddenly, all that mattered was the pretty boy standing before you and what you felt for him.

“It was corny, right?” Steve said with a nervous laugh. “I know you don’t like it when it’s corny but –“

“Can’t you just be serious for one minute, Harrington?” you cut him short with an amused eye roll. “I’m trying to tell you how I feel here.”

“I know,” Steve breathed out. “I’ve been trying to tell you how I feel for months now, but I never find the right words.”

In the elation of the moment, your words got a mind of their own, and you heard yourself saying: “Show me, then.”

Friends. A designation you held onto for the past eight years, a status that put things into perspective whenever Steve introduced a new girlfriend to the group, a word that freed you of your guilt when getting into relationships yourself, a term that helped you when you would yearn for something more, something you thought to be unrealistic and unreachable.

That word no longer held any power over you now that you were in Steve Harrington’s arms and he leaned in to seal his lips with yours into a long-awaited and overdue kiss, the promise of a cherished and beautiful future.

You'd envisioned the scene time and time again in your mind, but none of the imaginary scenarios your fantasies created could measure up to that kiss. It was sweet, yet demanding, like you were the air he needed to breathe. He kissed you like he loved - sincerely, tenderly, and intensely. You smiled against his mouth, and your heart melted when he did it too.

When you parted from him, lips swollen and eyelashes fluttering, you felt like everything was finally right and mourned the time you wasted being scared of changes.

“So… What now?” you whispered, getting a strand of hair out of Steve’s face to look at him better.

The boy held your gaze, enamored and enraptured like you’d never seen him before. You enjoyed it while it lasted because it was a momentary bliss until reality caught up.

“Well, first, we’re going to call a tow truck," Steve said as he entwined his fingers with yours. "And then, you’ll bid farewell to Gina,” he nodded toward the car.

Your heart tightened in your chest. You’d almost forgotten about your car. It was truly ironic, how you needed to say goodbye to your oldest partner while embracing a new beginning with your best friend.

“Can it wait until tomorrow?” you asked while batting your lashes at him.

“Hey, just because we’re going to make out a lot from now on doesn’t mean you get to do that,” Steve jokingly scolded you while gesturing at your face.

“Do what?” you asked, coy and amused.

Steve laughed and put his arm around your shoulders. “Come on, kitten, I’m taking you home.”

At first, it didn’t feel like much had changed between you and Steve. You were still teasing each other, spending time with the group before Nancy and Jonathan’s departure, and arguing about what car you should buy now that Gina was in a junkyard.

But things had changed for the better, and you realized it on New Year’s Eve when Steve kissed you at midnight, as he would for many new years to come.

❤️❤️❤️

[tatsumeowv]

BOO! 👻

Halloween has finally arrived at Night Raven College! And after weeks of turmoil and doing Crowley's errands, you, the esteemed prefect of Ramshackle dorm, can finally unwind and party! And as the saying goes, "Halloween is the one night a year when a girl can dress like a total slut." Surely, nothing's going to go wrong. Right?

featured character: leona kingscholar x afab!reader

warnings: hair-pulling, unprotected sex, overstimulation, biting/bleeding (he gets off you licking his blood #freaky), slight bruising, degradation, rough sex, ribbed cock, creampies, semi-public sex (you guys do it behind a wall), squirting (once), porn with plot

wc. 4.6k

Knock! Knock! Knock!

"Come on, Y/N!" Ace tapped his foot impatiently as he banged on the door, the mummy wrappings on his arms swaying. "By the time you finish dressin' up, the snacks and ghost would've run out!" The boy yelled, glaring at the door.

"Myaa...Does my henchman really need this much time ta get ready?" Grim groaned, adjusting the cute wizard hat on his head.

"Yeah, well," Ace smirked, leaning closer to the door and making a makeshift megaphone with his hands. "If she doesn't come out in the next five seconds, I'm raiding the table snack myself!" Ace yelled, his hands resting on his hips as Deuce sighed— glancing at the other students running towards the festival hall.

"Ace, give the Prefect a second. She's been waiting for this day, anyways." Deuce spoke, shifting from foot to foot—obviously impatient but torn between his respect for women or the free snacks. The blue-haired boy glanced at his watch, 7:15 PM.

"Listen 'ere, Juice." "Deuce."

"No one cares, but I am not missing out on the chocolate fountain just because the Prefect's busy looking at herself in the damned mir—" Ace's complaining cut off mid-sentence as the door finally opened, a sliver of light spilling out before you stepped out.

Suddenly, like all homoerotic (virgin) male teenagers, Ace and Deuce's faces went beet red at the sight of you. "Wh-hh-hWaWhh-hh?????" Deuce sputtered, face awestruck and dizzy. "Wh-WhAt a-are you wearing, Y/N?!" The blue-haired boy's voice cracked, embarrassment creeping into his veins.

"Hmm?~" Tilting your head, you let out a sultry hum. "I'm a cute, hot, sexy vampire nurse!" Doing a little twirl and pose, Deuce let out a loud squeak—shielding his eyes from looking at your tits.

Coughing into his hand, Ace, whose earlier irritation suddenly disappeared, looked the other way. "Ya sure that's, uh, allowed, Y/N?" Ace stumbled over his words, his face about to match the color of his hair.

The corners of your mouth lifted into a playful smile, bending over slightly to grab Grim, who was clawing at your legs to carry him.

Ace and Deuce froze at the sight of the top of your lace bra.

"Don't worry, guys!" Suddenly, you slung your arms over the two's shoulders. "I told Crowley I wouldn't do his taxes anymore if he didn't allow my costume." You giggled, ignoring Ace and Deuce's blank expressions. "He really is an incompetent Headmage..." No words needed to be exchanged to know what the two males thought.

"Hey!" You exclaimed, staring at the two. "You guys ready to go or what?" Ace and Deuce exchanged glances, coincidentally meeting sight with your tits. Spluttering, two chuckled nervously before melting into eager smiles. "Let's go!" The two shouted in unison, excitement running through their veins. ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ ‎

Grim strutted through the beautifully decorated halls of Night Raven College, confidence and arrogance radiating from him like a spotlight. Huffing, Grim secretly glanced at the students, who stared at him with glee. "Yes, yes! Look at my magnificent self!" The cat meowed, satisfied, reveling in the attention.

Laughing, the cat raised his head high and meowed at you. "Behold, henchman!" He puffed his chest, pride seeping off him. "Everyone's so amazed by my costume, they can't help but stare! Nya!"

Beside him, Ace snickered. "Yeah, right." Ace leaned a bit close to Grimm, a smug smile on his face. "You do realize that everyone's looking at Y/N, not you, right?"

Gasping, Grim glared at Ace. "What'cha mean?! They can't not look at meow!" Crossing his paws, Grim scoffed. "Maybe you're the one staring at my henchman!" Ace rolled his eyes and gestured behind him, where some random students stopped to ask you for a picture. And being the kindhearted Prefect that you are (you wanted clout), you, of course, agreed.

What you didn't expect, though, was for a line to form suddenly.

"Prefect! Let's take a selfie!"

"I am so getting a lot of likes!"

"Hey!— I wanna have a pic too!"

"Back of the line!"

Overwhelmed by the sudden rowdiness of the students, you took a step back. "Wait, Prefect! We still haven't taken a pic yet!" A boy exclaimed, raising his phone high up in the air.

Groaning, you were about to call for Deuce and Ace before a gruff voice spoke up—a tense atmosphere settling in the air.

"Oi." Stepping back, you were met with a rough chest and gloved hands gently holding your waist.

"What do ya'll think are doin' to my herbivore?" Humming, you felt the soft fur of Leona's tail wrap around your thigh, your eyes narrowing in amusement.

All the boys that filed into a line flinched, sweat dripping from their faces. Growling, Leona glared at them, ears flattening sideways. "Leave." Everyone scrambled away within a blink of an eye, leaving you and Leona alone.

Well, not really.

"Henchman!" Grim meows, staring angrily at Leona. "Let's go. We have'ta try out the games!" He puffed, his paws raised, and he clawed cutely. Behind was Ace and Deuce, who nodded their head in response.

"Grim's right, Y/N." Deuce said, "I heard from Cater that the lines were really long, so we oughta go right now if we wanna make it to the Haunted House later."

Sighing, you turned back to Leona and fluttered your eyelashes. "Thanks for the save, Leona." You leaned closer to him, discreetly pressing your hand against his groin. With a teasing smile, you went on your tip-toes and kissed your lover on the cheek.

"I'll see you later, alright?" You giggled, only receiving a narrowed gaze from Leona.

Rolling his eyes, Leona gave you a pat on the head before leaning close to your ear— his hot and warm breath causing a shiver to go down your spine. "I'll get you back for this later." Grinning, Leona pushed you gently to the trio, a smug and sultry grin on his face.

"I'll see ya later at the Haunted House, herbivore." He purred, taking delight in your blushing face.

Huffing, you bent over to grab Grim with your legs spread slightly. Exposing a bit of your panties to Leona. Licking your lips, you cuddled Grim nicely against your boobs before blowing a kiss to Leona.

"Let's go AJuice!" You called with an innocent smile on your face. Groaning, Deuce crossed his arms. "When are you guys going to stop calling me Juice?"

Ace hummed, his eyes closing momentarily as if he were actually contemplating the answer. "Never." He laughed before hitting Deuce on the head.

"?!— HEY! COME BACK HERE!" The blue-haired boy yelled, chasing Ace, who got a head start run.

Chuckling at their antics, you gave one last look behind you. "Oh?~" Smirking, you gave a wink to Leona, who stood frozen with hungry eyes and reddened ears.

"Mwa ♡"

‎

Gripping onto Deuce's arm, you shifted your weight from one foot to another. "We've reached the bench, Y/N." Deuce, your ever-so-kind dear friend, took the paper bags from your hand as you plopped down on the bench, your feet burning.

"My feet hurt." You groaned, toeing off one of your heels and then the other.

Beside you, Ace raised an eyebrow as he snacked on a lollipop, not even bothering to hide his smirk. "Well, you're the one who chose to go out on heels." He snickered, giving you a middle finger in response to yours. "Who wears heels to Halloween anyways?" Ace shrugged.

Grinning, you half-huffed before crossing your legs. "Literally almost every single girl ever."

"Though I can see why you wouldn't know that, considering you're a virgin loser." A loud gasp escaped Ace, who stared at you, baffled and offended.

"I had a girlfriend when I was in middle school, mind you!" You pointed your finger at Ace smugly. "Emphasis on had. Bet you had no dick game at all." You snickered, watching Ace's face burn red in embarrassment and anger.

"I will literally—!"

Sighing, Deuce pinched the bridge of his nose before grabbing Ace's shoulders. "Yeah, yeah, we get it, Ace. You got bored of your girlfriend. That's why you dumped her; no need to tell us again." Deuce looked at you, a tired expression on his face.

"And Ace is right, Y/N. It is Halloween, and everyone's out walking. You should've at least bought a spare." Pouting, you crossed your arms as Ace flipped his hair in triumph.

"Serves you right for prioritizin' style over comfort," Ace stuck out his tongue. "SUCKER."

Before you could even attempt to throw your heel at Ace, Grim's excited voice cut through the air. "Henchman!" Jumping on your lap, Grim stood as his flames flickered with excitement, eyes gleaming with light. "Let's go! The Haunted House is finally open!" Your lovely Grim announced, pointing his chubby paw at the eerie and foggy structure.

Before you could respond, Grim had already dashed ahead (seriously, what is it with all these people interrupting you?!), cackling like a maniac. With a final and deep groan, you put on your heels and hoisted yourself up.

Grabbing some of your purchases from Deuce (bless his kind heart), you and the other two idiots made your guys' way to the Haunted House.

"If I trip, you're carrying me, Ace."

"Ha?!"

"Whoa! Lookin' good Y/N-shi!" Turning your head, you saw Ruggie approach you while enthusiastically waving. Smiling, you waved back.

"You're not looking bad yourself, aren't you, Matey?" You and Ruggie laughed, sharing jabs at each other's costumes for a few minutes before you suddenly realized.

"Speaking of which, why are you here, Ruggie?" Scratching your chin, you let out a hum. "I didn't peg you as the type to like this kinda stuff." Giggling, Ruggie rubbed his nape.

"You didn't know? This Haunted House is from Savanaclaw and Octavinelle's collaboration!" Ruggie pointed to the flags of the two dormitories on display on the register for tickets. "Leona-shi didn't wanna handle all the managing stuff, so I'm here makin' sure we get all the scares!" Ruggie roared jokingly, showing off his sharp claws.

"Scares?" You questioned, "Are you guys the scare actors?" Blinking, Ruggie laughed and nodded his head. "Smart as always, Prefect!" The boy smiled before letting out a small oh!

"Speaking of which!" Pulling out a glow-in-the-dark round bracelet, Ruggie grabbed your arm and slipped it on. "Leona-shi told me to give this to you!"

"Huh?" Looking at your slightly glowing bracelet, you pursed your lips before raising your head to ask Ruggie a ques—

...

Why won't anyone let you finish your sentences today?

Sighing, you adjusted your dress before looking at your bracelet again. "I guess I can ask Leo—" "Oi, Y/N! Hurry up over there! We're already buying tickets!" Ace yelled, his obnoxious voice ringing in your ears.

...

You swear you're going to kill him one day.

"Yeah, yeah, don't get your panties in a rush! I'm coming!"

"Can you PLEASE stop saying that?!"

‎

The creaking of the door shut behind you and your two idiot friends, a loud bang resonating within the haunted house. Your eyes glanced around the grand interior of the house, web cobs occupying every nook and corner, dim lanterns flickering as dark shadows loomed over.

"It's just a haunted house, It's just a haunted house, It's just a haunted house, It's just a haun—" Deuce mumbled nervously, jitters crawling in his skin.

Scoffing, Ace put his hands in his pockets. "This is it? Maaa, I thought it would be much scarier." The boy flexed, ignoring how his hand lingered near his magic pen.

Rolling your eyes, you placed Grim on your shoulder and grabbed Ace and Deuce, venturing deeper into the haunted house. Humming, the four of you walked, encountering the occasional jumpscares and nerve-wracking screams. Your footsteps echoed within the eerie hall, creaks and squeaks.

"This isn't so bad," Ace smirked, his hands tucked away in his pockets. "I should've bought a pillow if I knew it would be this boring." The red-haired boy mocked, ignoring how his hand slightly trembled.

Deuce glanced around, his face pale. "Are we sure we're goin' the right way?" He shivered. "We haven't gotten any jumpscares these past few minutes."

You were about to respond, but then there was a flicker. The lights above you flickered and went out, plunging you and your friends into darkness. Swallowing your saliva, you carefully reached your arms out.

"Ace? Deuce? Grim?" You whispered out, suddenly realizing that Grim wasn't on your shoulder anymore. Taking a deep breath, you glanced at your glowing wrist—using the dim light from your glow-in-the-dark bracelet as a makeshift flashlight.

Biting your lip, you carefully searched for any signs of your friends. Stumbling forward, you glanced in every direction, the shadows of your friends merging with the darkness. Panic swirled in your chest as you retraced your steps, only to find that every corridor looked the same.

"Guys?!" You shouted, your nerves tightening. "Where are— hmmpf?!" Something clamped over your mouth, pulling you back with swift, quiet strength.

Your heart leaped through your throat, your body flinching instinctively as you clawed at the firm grip holding you in place. Your voice muffled by the gloved hand as you squirmed, sharp heels digging into the foot of your assailant.

"Stop squirmin' already." a low, sultry growl close came to your ear.

You froze. Leona.

Your struggles ceased as you recognized the unmistakable (and hot) voice of Leona Kingscholar, your head turning to face to face with his usual (and sexy) smirk. You puffed your cheeks as your initial shock melted into annoyance.

Chuckling, Leona slid his hand away from your mouth, a smug grin on his face.

"Wanderin' off, herbivore?" Your lover teased, his tail gently wrapping around your thigh. Rolling your eyes, you leaned your back to Leona's chest. "You're an asshole sometimes, you know."

Purring, Leona wrapped his arms around your waist and rested his chin on your shoulder. "Maybe don't wander off a half-baked haunted house if you can't handle a scare." Underneath the neon glow of your bracelet, Leona's green eyes shone sinisterly, looking at you with barely concealed hunger.

"I didn't wander off. I got lost." You pouted, crossing your arms in a place in which it accentuated your boobs. "And where did you even come from?"

Shamelessly staring at your boobs, Leona gave you a lazy smirk. "Didn't Ruggie tell ya, herbivore? I'm here to give you and your little friends some scares, roar."

You looked at Leona skeptically, doubt evident in your face. Leona raised a brow at your expression, clearly amused. Pressing a kiss to your neck, your lover took your wrist and suddenly grabbed you down the corridor without so much as a warning.

"What the—?! Leona, where on earth are you ta—" The sound of creaking echoed in your ears. Blinking, you found yourself in a well yet discreetly lit hallway that snaked behind the walls. "Is this—?" You glanced at Leona, realizing you were now on the hidden path the scare actors use to navigate.

"At least here," Suddenly, Leona pressed you against the solid wall and smirked— his hand caressing your thighs. "You won't wander off." He smirked, caging your body against his.

Your eyes flickered with a knowing grin, a breathy laugh escaping your throat. Wrapping your arms around Leona's neck, you batted your lashes and giggled. "Is this what you meant by getting me back?" You laughed, leaning closer to Leona. Licking his lips, Leona slowly unbuttoned your shirt, a deep purr vibrating from the sight of your lace bra. White, how cute.

"Leona." You whispered, a cute pout on your face. "Someone might see." Lowering your bra, Leona's lips curled into a lazy grin. "They won't," He paused, fondling your exposed breast. "Trust me, they'd pick up on my scent and yours before walkin' in here and interrupting."

Before you could say anything (again), Leona cupped your face and kissed you— the rough texture of his tongue lapping against yours.

Whimpering, you closed your eyes and scratched against the cloth of his suit, breath taken away from the rough treatment. Feeling your breath cut short, you quickly widened your eyes and muffled desperate cries against Leona's mouth. Seeing how your lover had no intentions of pulling away, you grabbed his braided hair and pulled him back.

"HiICk! Haghh..." You breathed in, a string of saliva connecting your and Leona's tongues. A thundering growl reverberates from Leona, green eyes glinting sinisterly under the dimly lit lamps. "Little feisty today, huh, herbivore?" Leona's sharp fangs nipped against your lips, a small chuckle escaping him when he saw your fake fangs.

"Tryna look like a predator, huh?" Biting his gloves off, Leona's fingers entered your mouth—a choked cry cracking on the back of your throat. "Unfortunately for you, sweetheart," Leona's free hand went underneath your skirt, playing with the waistband of your lace panties. "You're too easily gobbled up."

"haH!" You whined as Leona lowered his head and carefully bit your nipple, removing your panties in the process.

"Quiet now," Leona curled his fingers in your mouth. "Any louder 'n the students outside are gonna hear ya." Shutting your eyes, you nodded as your hands clawed at Leona's still-clothed back.

After a few minutes of teasing, Leona pulled his fingers from your mouth and removed his eyepatch— a hungry smile tugging at his lips as he watched your trembling legs and drool-dripping lips. Removing his other glove, Leona grabbed your thighs and hoisted you upwards—kneeling to face your dripping cunt.

A shiver trembled against Leona's spine when he took a short whiff, a satisfied purr breathing close to your pussy. "Wrap your legs 'round me." Looping your legs on his neck, Leona licked his lips before diving in your pussy—his other hand playing and teasing with your clit.

"mMph!" Quickly covering your mouth, your back arched in pleasure from the sudden onslaught bought upon your pussy. Your head throws back as you watch Leona lap your pussy with glassy eyes, his tongue diving deeper and deeper inside you.

Viciously, Leona flicks your clit—a loud moan muffled by your trembling hands.

Inhaling sharply, you gripped your hands on Leona's hair, deciding to throw all fucks if someone hears you. "Too- much!" Calloused fingertips make their way inside your tightening walls, your pussy throbbing from the stretch.

Below you, Leona continues eating you out like a man starved—actually, like an animal starved. His grip on your thigh stays firm,

obvious bruises that will surely start to form later. He runs a fat thumb on your clit, his digits inside your curling just at the right spot. Tongue so good, he's fucking out your thoughts and words.

"You good there, darlin'?" Leona drawls out, his hot breath hitting your sensitive pussy. Your lips pucker into a cute pout, your face red seeing Leona's wet and dripping tongue. Seeing as you had no intention of saying anything, Leona dives back in—eating you out with more enthusiasm and want.

Gasping, you tightened your legs around his head and gripped his hair tighter, pathetic moans escaping your mouth. "'M gonna—!" Vast open hands cling onto brown hair, desperate whines echoing within the dark hallway as your back arches with indulgence—your orgasm sparking a deep growl from Leona.

You hiccup as Leona continues his assault on your pussy, your body still trembling from your orgasm a few seconds ago. "Baabyyyy," You sobbed, your cheeks warm and puffed. "I just came..." You pouted, which caused an amused chuckle from Leona.

"Can you blame me?" He licked his lips, savoring your cum. "You're just too delicious f'me not to get addicted to." Leona's eyes met yours, swiftly removing his fingers from your pussy. Humming, Leona cupped your chin with his other hand and made you watch him lick your cum off his fingers—the dim glow of the lanterns accentuating your lusty haze.

"Mean." You sniff, looking at Leona with irritation. "You really are mean." Tilting his head, Leona leaned close to you and peppered kisses from your neck to your chest, his hands pulling you close. Humming, Leona snuggled close to your breasts and looked at you with pampered eyes, a malicious glint hidden deep within.

"I know, I am." Your lover says softly, his hands delicately holding yours. "So, please," Leona smiles, kissing the back of your hand. "Allow me to indulge in your presence," He says, kissing your palm. "And let me be mean, even for just this moment."

...

You tried to look away. You really did. But damn it, Leona just had to know how to push your buttons. Your fierce, improper Leona, reduced to a pleading, gentle prince so that he can fuck the living daylights out of you.

...

You tried to say no. You really did.

So with a throbbing pussy and trembling voice, you nodded your head—looking straight into Leona's eyes. "Just..." You breathed in. "Just this once." You whisper, watching Leona smile sweetly.

There's a sudden change in atmosphere as you feel your feet get lifted off the ground, a tiny squeak echoing in the hallway as you stare at Leona's hungry gaze—a lustrous smirk tugging on his lips.

"You really are naive, are you, herbivore?" He laughs, the sound of his zipper unzipping ringing in your ears. "Still," Leona shrugs, adjusting himself properly so you wouldn't be uncomfortable. "You're my naive little herbivore." You flinch as his ribbed dick slaps against your pussy, gazing slightly at your clit.

You tried to say no. You really did.

But damn it, you were horny.

You hate Leona.

You really, really hate Leona.

"hIicK! N-No m—!" You squeal, mouth once again covered with Leona's as his hips thrust in you hard. Twitching, you whimper as the fat stretch and drag of Leona's cock aches inside your pussy, tears dripping from your hazy eyes and cum dripping from your already stuffed pussy.

"Loud." Leona grunts, prying your legs open. "You're bein' a bit too loud, herbivore." He huffs, pressing his hips deeper.

Huffing, you gripped Leona's wrist, contemplating if you should really do it.

Fuck it.

"!" Gasping, you instinctively arched your back when Leona stilled his thrusts, your walls pulsing around his dick. Suddenly, Leona pulled his hand away from your mouth—looking at his bleeding palm with a blank.

"Heh." A breathy laugh escaped Leona, who pried your mouth with his fingers—a dark, deep blush settling on his face, seeing his blood drip from your fake fangs.

"So the herbivore bites back, huh?" Before you could speak, Leona shoved his hand on your mouth with a crazy grin. "C'mon, lick." Your lover demanded, the bitter taste of his blood flooding your tastebuds.

Your eyes widened, your heartbeat thrumming so loud that Leona could hear it faintly. A daring smile appeared on Leona, his gaze full of arrogance. "If you're going to start something," He pressed his bleeding palm deeper into your mouth. "You'd better finish it."

You glared at Leona with narrowed eyes before gripping his wrist and pulling his hand away slightly. With a sultry sigh, you stuck out your tongue and slowly licked the dripping blood off his wrist to his palm—a seductive smile on your face as you and Leona stared at each other with lust.

Your eyes never left Leona's enchanting green eyes, your teeth and lips all bloody from the wound. Batting your eyelashes, you pressed a deep kiss to the wound and sucked the blood out. The scent of your arousal heightened as Leona shivered with ecstasy.

"Just that like that." He coos, feeling his dick get harder inside your pussy. "Lick it clean." He smirked, grabbing your waist and dragging pussy deep on his dick.

"mhm!" Moaning, your nails dug deep into Leona's arm, his toned hips bucking into you so hard you see stars. Your lover whispers nothing but filthy words to your ear, which goes out of the other with how merciless and rough he was being.

"Fuck, fuuuEeEK!" Choking, Leona pressed his hand on the outline of his dick hard, the pressure causing your voice to hitch and for you to cum. "You're too- too—" Drool dripped from your open mouth, blood mixing with your saliva as you struggled to form proper words and thoughts. "Deep!" You scream, clear liquid gushing out of your pussy along with Leona's hot cum spurting inside you and straight to Leona's clothing.

Hot, languid breaths filled the dim hallway, your toes curling when Leona unapologetically toys with your clit. "heUk!" You sheepishly moan, your throat swallowing thickly as you try to salvage your nonexistent dignity. For a moment, you and Leona stood still, your thighs trembling and pussy dripping, but Leona's soft and tender caresses gave you leeway to rest, even for a bit.

Mumbling, you felt your eyes droop down, exhaustion finally catching up.

Leona, who was watching you with a tender gaze, quirked his eyebrow. Licking his lips, Leona leaned close to your ear—your mind fuzzy to realize what was happening. With a deep and dark chuckle, Leona's grip on your thighs hardened.

"Boo."

"?!— heUk! HIicK!!!—" Grinning, Leona slammed you against the wall and raised your sticky legs high, his dick hitting juuust right.

"L-leo-Leoonaaaa!!!" You whimper, broken cries, and hiccups sniveling from your sore throat. Ignoring your pleas, Leona pressed his weight deeper to yours, his toned abs harshly colliding with your soft and cum-filled stomach.

Grunting, Leona's spine shivered as he smelt your arousal—glittering sweetness and sparkling lust overfilling his senses—a tight knot forming on his dick.

"Not now." The green-eyed lion thought, fondling a piece of your ass. "Not here." He continued, hazy eyes narrowing when he gave your rear a loud spank. "'Nother day." He decided, controlling his urge to throw away all manners and fuck you like the animal he was.

A shrill scream peaked at your sore throat, your Drool and tears dripping to the cum-soiled wooden floor. He was getting sloppy. Impatient fingers rub against your clit, a strangled moan getting stuck in your throat.

You were so, so sensitive.

Stars cover your vision, your mind turning into mindless mush as Leona continues hitting his dick right into your cervix.

A break. You needed a—

"hAH!" Wanton cries echoed, rough fingers gripping your waist tight as Leona rubbed the prominent bulge from his dick on your stomach with intense fervor. "Give," Leona groaned, swallowing thickly. "Give me a sec." He breathed in, a piercing gaze staring right into your glassy ones.

Biting his lip, Leona gave one, two, three more thrusts before he came—filling your already full and sensitive pussy.

"Mhm." Breathing deeply, Leona pressed his forehead against yours and smiled. His tail curled peacefully on your waist. "You did good, herbivore." He pressed a soft kiss to your forehead, carefully taking his dick out of your cum filled pussy.

"Can ya walk?" Pulling your panties up, Leona gave one last kiss to your pussy before expertly adjusting your panties so that his cum wouldn't spill.

"Do you think I can walk?" You huffed, gripping tightly onto Leona's collar. Rolling his eyes, your lover gently fixed your appearance and wiped off the cum on your bare skin. "C'mon," Leona looked at his watch, 8:30 PM.

"I'll carry ya. The event's about to end, and I'll never hear the end of it if I leave you here with tremblin' legs like a lamb." He teased, ignoring your annoyed glares.

Exhausted, you let yourself get carried by your lover's strong arms, the scent of his perfume calming your nerves and giving you a sense of peace.

"You owe me a shopping trip for ruining my costume." You groan, feeling his cum swish inside you.

Chuckling, Leona nodded his head and purred. "Anythin' for you, darling."

this work belongs to @lili-534030, please do not copy or repost.

status: edited (added more smut)

[personnage-neutre]

"Tintin, quel âge as-tu ?"

Today marks 96 years of The Adventures of Tintin, and readers have spent at least the last 78 of those years asking the same question: "How old is Tintin?"

The series is infamously coy about giving a definite answer, as was its creator, but I argue in the first part of this post that 1) there was indeed a specific intended age range for Tintin and 2) it is very much possible, using evidence from many different sources including the albums themselves, Tintin magazine, other BDs of the time, and interviews with Hergé, to say exactly what that age range was. Let me be very clear: I'm specifically making an argument about how old Hergé saw him as and how old Hergé wanted him to be seen as.

The second part is less concrete; it presents how a few scholars have interpreted the ambiguity of Tintin's age, plus some of my own thoughts about it that build on their claims. That part is less trying to find an answer to the age question and more trying to explain why his age is so much in question.

This is a long post.

I. Intent

Official sources

When asked about Tintin's age in a 1960 interview for Cinq colonnes à la une, Hergé judged that "il doit rester aux environs de quinze ans" ("he must still be around 15 years old," 0:33-0:44).

In 1962, he gave a very similar response on the Canadian program Premier Plan: "Une quinzaine d'années ? Quinze ans, seize ans, je ne sais pas, moi" ("About 15? 15, 16, I don't know"). "Donc c'est l'adolescent" ("So he's a teenager"), pursues the interviewer, and Hergé answers with a firm yes.

Nearly ten years later, in 1970, he added some nuance: "What age do I give him? I don't know... 17? In my mind, he was about 14 or 15 when I created him, a Boy Scout, and he practically hasn't budged. Let's say that he's picked up three or four years in forty years... All right, let's take the average: 15 plus 4, 19." (translation mine)

In 1979, his interviewer on Apostrophes preempted him on the age question, saying that "c'est un reporter de quinze ans" ("he's a 15-year-old reporter"). Hergé agreed: "C'est ça, à peu près" ("That's right, more or less").

Today, the official Tintin website run by Moulinsart declares him to be "Seize, dix-sept ans (dix-huit tout au plus !)," that is, "16, 17 years old (18 at most!)."

Responses to reader questions in the Journal Tintin

Early in the Journal Tintin's run, between 1946 and 1954, readers who wrote in with questions had a chance to see the responses to their letters published in the magazine each week. Supposedly it would be Tintin himself who was answering - questions addressed to him would be answered in first person, which probably only increased the urge to ask about personal details. So there were naturally many questions about his age, which provoked a range of responses.

Who was actually answering the letters? It's hard to say. But seeing as the responses were being published in the official Tintin Magazine as the voice of Tintin himself, Hergé would surely have been at least consulted on questions concerning his character, especially as the team running the magazine was still very small when it was regularly publishing responses.

The most common response was to dodge the question entirely. The stock phrases were "Qu'importe mon âge ?" and "Tintin n'a pas d'âge !" ("What does my age matter?" "Tintin has no age!").

In a small number of cases they related Tintin's age to that of his readers; an 11 1/2 year old was told that Tintin can be "l'âge que tu souhaites : entre dix et vingt ans !" ("whatever age you want: between 10 and 20!", 1953), and for a couple others, where the age of the writer wasn't listed, Tintin's age is "un peu plus que le tien" ("a little older than you," 1951) or "un peu moins que le double du tien" ("a little less than twice your age," 1950). The target audience of the Journal Tintin - as it was for the Petit Vingtième, and for comics magazines of the time generally - was 8-15 year olds.

The only definite answer that appeared with regularity put Tintin's age between 15 and 20:

(TIntin nos. 19, May 8, 1947; 26, June 26, 1947; 6, February 5, 1948; 2, January 12, 1950; 9, February 27, 1947. The second and third examples also have Tintin declare that "I've travelled so much that I no longer remember where I was born," a fine example of the de-Belgicanization he underwent after the early years.)

("As I've already told several of my friends, I'm older than 15 but younger than 20." (1947) "My age? Let's say 15… or a little older." (1947) "My age? Between 15 and 20 years old." (1948) "Tintin? He has no age! Seeing him move about, he seems to be about 15." (1950) "I'm not yet 20 but I'm older than 15." (1947))

Real-life incarnations of Tintin

When the end of Soviets was celebrated with "Tintin" arriving at the Gare du Nord in Brussels, the role was played by 15-year-old Lucien Pepermans. When the event was repeated for the end of Congo, two years later, Pepermans was replaced by Henri Dendoncker, age 14. About thirty years after that, Jean-Pierre Talbot was declared Tintin's spitting image at 16 ("Same age, same silhouette, same face, same hair," reads the announcement of his casting in the Journal Tintin). He was 20 at most when Blue Oranges (released 1964) was filmed. Hergé told Numa Sadoul that he unconsciously based Tintin in Soviets on his younger brother Paul, who was 16 when it started. Additionally, Palle Huld, often cited as an inspiration for Tintin, completed a tour of the world in 44 days in 1928 at age 15 (and in plus-fours).

(Lucien Pepermans, Henri Dendoncker, Jean-Pierre Talbot, Palle Huld)

In the play Tintin et le mystère du diamant bleu (1941), which Hergé was very involved in the writing and production of, the role of Tintin was played by Mlle. Jeanne Rubens, a woman - a common theater trick for portraying young boys. He was played by a woman again in Radio Luxembourg's 1950s audio adaptations: Claude Vincent, "qui interprétait à merveille les rôles d’enfants et d’adolescents" ("who played children's and adolescents' roles wonderfully"), was the voice of Tintin. Sadly those broadcasts appear to be lost, but she can still be heard in the likely similar role of Alix.

(Shared on forum-tintinophile.com, "Tintin aux Indes, ou le mystère du diamant bleu." Certainly the only adaptation that got his height difference with the Thompsons right.)

In 1959, the Journal Tintin invited readers who thought they looked like Tintin to send in their pictures; five candidates for "Tintin's lookalike" were chosen by the magazine and presented to the readers for them to vote on. The winner was a 15-year-old, and while the ages of the other contestants aren't listed, they appear to be the same age or younger.

(Tintin nos. 25, June 24, 1959 & 31, August 5, 1959)

Comparisons with contemporary characters

Mainstream BD in the first half of the 20th century was not particularly inventive, especially as it was contending with its relative youth as a medium, a focus on the children's market, and, especially after WWII, heavy scrutiny from both religious and secular moral watchdogs. In the specific case of the Journal Tintin, Hergé's iron-fisted artistic direction in the early years led to a high level of artistic homogeneity across the magazine, while restrictions on the types of stories that could be told (from both the threat of censors and expectations about reader interests) limited variety in plots, characters, and settings.

All that is to say that a lot of what was being published alongside Tintin in the 40s and 50s looked more or less like Tintin, and even was likely directly modeled on it, which makes it useful for comparison. The protagonists of the time can be generally divided by age into children, the "15-20" range, young men, and middle-aged men. Each category is visually distinct (comics are a visual medium!) and each results in a slightly different kind of story with different character dynamics.

Here's Tintin with a couple of the teenage protagonists that appeared alongside him in his magazine:

(L'Affaire Tournesol (1956), p. 51; La Griffe Noire, Tintin no. 6, February 5, 1958; Les Deux Visages de Kid Ordinn, Tintin no. 1, January 2, 1957)

Hergé's no. 2 collaborator Jacques Martin created Alix (center, 1948), a Roman Gaul confirmed to be 16 in the original albums. Chick Bill (right, 1955), who in looks and narrative role is effectively just Tintin as a cowboy, is identified (by none other than Franquin) with the 15-20 age range. Some shared visual markers of their youth are a short and slight build, rounded shoulders, a round head, and a soft jawline. While all very independent, they are all three semi-accompanied by a much older man and a child sidekick.

Now, here are some examples of characters from the next age range up:

(L'énigmatique Monsieur Barelli, Tintin no. 44, November 2, 1950; L'ouragan de feu, Tintin (Kuifje) no. 37, September 15, 1960; Défi à Ric Hochet, Tintin (Kuifje) no. 8, February 25, 1964)

Hergé's no. 1 collaborator Bob de Moor had a humor-adventure series using the same style as Hergé, but his character, stage actor Georges Barelli (left, 1950), is a grown man. Martin's second series was required by publishers to somehow be a modern AU of Alix, but Alix's counterpart, reporter in the same way that Tintin is a reporter Guy Lefranc (center, 1952), is clearly older than him. So-called reporter, really amateur detective Ric Hochet (yes, that's his name, right, 1955) is kind of an odd case; he started out a child, then looked basically exactly like Chick Bill (they were both drawn by the same artist, Tibet), then finally settled into his final form as a young man in his mid-twenties - a 1969 album places him at age 26. All three own their own cars (admittedly a moot point for Alix and Chick), and, compared to their teenage counterparts, they're much more likely to have friends and colleagues their own age instead of being supervised by someone older.

It should be clear from these six pictures that Tintin was not drawn in a way meant to make readers think he was an adult. And besides, there's really no reason to believe that Hergé, who once declared that "my primary objective is to be legible. The rest follows," would have chosen to give his main and titular character an appearance that was somehow deceptive. I'm prepared to say with confidence that Tintin looks young because he's supposed to be seen as young.

Textual evidence

For this section, I first look at a few ways that the albums actively present Tintin as a non-adult character. However, most of what follows is about showing that what happens in the albums does not contradict the argument that Tintin is intended to be a teenager. The Adventures of Tintin may be deceptively timeless, but not only is the series nearly a century old, it also was written during a time of extremely rapid and intense social, cultural, and technological change. Consequently, I want to make sure that I'm not judging the past with the attitudes of the present; in order to put the series in its proper context, I try to identify viewpoints and conventions expressed in texts created at the same time (and, when possible, by the same author) to see if a teenaged Tintin fits in with them.

In looking over how other characters refer to him across the albums, one sees that Tintin's most distinctive feature to those around him is his youth. This is, I think, more visible in the original French, where other characters address or describe him with a whole array of words commonly used for children: jeune homme, (jeune) garçon, gamin, galopin, blanc-bec, enfant de choeur, fiston, freluquet, moussaillon, (mon) petit (used as a noun), and morveux, not to mention many, many instances of characters appending "jeune" or "petit" to another word ("reporter," for instance). In English, he's variously (a) young man, (young) boy, kid, boyo, whippersnapper, wonderboy, lad, brat, puppy, young fellow-me-lad, and cabin-boy, along with liberal use of the corresponding adjectives "young" and "little." (I've collected specific panel examples for reference in another post.)

As @professorcalculusstanaccount has pointed out, there's no question of Tintin being called up for the draft as Haddock is in Black Gold; that album also contains the only example of Tintin's competency being questioned because of his age, on page 7: "So you're the new radio officer... You look a bit young to me..." (There's one similar remark, in America, after Tintin is injured in a car accident on page 6: "The poor kid..." "He looks so young...") Him not being called to war is particularly striking because Belgium historically required young men to do compulsory military service at age 18 or 19, after which they would be enrolled in the reserve army (p. 274). Thanks to a hard-to-translate joke in the original French for Emerald (below), we know that military service exists in Tintin's world and that the Thompsons have done theirs; Hergé did his at age 19, and then was called up from the reserves in 1939, interrupting the magazine publication of, precisely, Black Gold. Given his longtime anti-war stance and the peace sign sticker he wears in Picaros, though, one can easily imagine Tintin becoming a conscientious objector after it was legalized in 1964 - but by 1964, most of the series was already over.

(Les Bijoux de la Castafiore, p. 37)

He also doesn't dress like an adult: the plus-fours look very childish after the 1930s, as @illegally-blind-and-deaf pointed out. He also never wears a proper hat, only a flat cap in a few early adventures, and from Temple on (that is, after 1948) he runs around in his shirt and sweater with no tie or jacket. Some of that can be put down to the importance Hergé placed on his characters being maximally recognizable, but it certainly doesn't make Tintin look any older - look at a few of Hergé's crowd scenes and compare how the background characters are dressed.

Next, he doesn't seem to ever need to shave. In fact, in the original French for Black Island, Tintin remarks that the bad guys have gotten away "à mon nez et à ma barbe," an expression equivalent in English to "right under my nose" but literally "at my nose and at my beard," to which Snowy incredulously responds "Your beard? What beard?"

(L'Île Noire, p. 29)

It's true that nearly everyone who meets Tintin, including his adult friends, addresses him respectfully with the formal pronoun "vous" instead of with the informal "tu," as you typically would for someone much younger than you. However, Pierre Assouline attributes this to a dislike of over-familiarity on Hergé's part, citing him as saying that "Le tutoiement est la fausse monnaie de l'amitié" ("Using 'tu' is the counterfeit money of friendship").

(There are a few moments where Haddock slips and uses tu with Tintin, but I won't go into them here. Suffice to say that the majority of them are indeed moments where he's treating Tintin more as a child.)

Much has been made of Tintin's nonchalance about drinking alcohol as proof of adulthood, but evidence from other BDs indicates that this perception is a result of a shift away from historically looser attitudes towards drinking. Early comics for children frequently carried moralizing messages, but there's no marked moralizing present around youths drinking like there is around them smoking.

Compare, for example, the difference in tone between these two Quick & Flupke pages, where the kids are sternly warned off from tobacco...

(Originally published in Le Petit Vingtième nos. 4, January 28, 1932 & 43, October 24, 1935)

...Versus this gag, where Flupke's own relatives getting him drunk on New Year's over his protests is played entirely for humor.

(Le Petit Vingtième no. 1, January 3, 1935. "Tu es un homme et tu dois boire!")

There was even a follow-up comic at the same time the year after, in which Flupke imagines the alcohol he'll be plied with on January 1st and attempts to move to the North Pole to avoid it.

If a kid as young as Flupke is being given alcohol, then Tintin really doesn't have to be much older to be drinking as well. In fact, one might even note an echo between Flupke's reluctance to drink here and Tintin's in Picaros, when he's pressured to take a swig of whisky by Arumbaya custom (p. 34). On the other hand, since Quick and Flupke are so young, the ban on smoking is stronger for them. Tintin is old enough to occasionally be offered a cigarette, but still young enough that he always must refuse: Hergé was adamant that Tintin remain a good model because of the children who identified with him, while Haddock smoking his pipe, for example, never raised the same issue.

Beyond that, for a non-Hergé example and a later one (from 1960), here's child tennis prodigy Jari, hero of an eponymous strip in the Journal Tintin. He's just bicycled from Belgium to the Netherlands and wants a refreshment, so he goes to a drink stand and orders a beer - and no one bats an eye. Similarly, the only alcohol that Tintin orders casually, in a cafe or pub, is beer (Golden Claws p. 2, Black Island p. 41).

(Jari et le Plan Z, Tintin (Kuifje) no. 40, October 6, 1960)

At the same time, this relaxed attitude has limits. Tintin won't share a friendly drink with Haddock, for example when returning to Marlinspike after an excursion (though Haddock pours two glasses anyway in Affair (p. 3)). Calculus scolds Haddock severely when he thinks that Haddock has given Tintin champagne at breakfast in Tibet (p. 4: "Vous avez bien tort de lui faire boire du champagne de grand matin, à ce garçon !…"). Later in that same album, Haddock drunkenly warns Tintin against alcohol, telling him it's "very bad for young people like you!" (p. 38).

Next, while Tintin is undeniably capable of driving a car, there's actually no indication outside of the earliest stories that he can legally drive. (A quick Google search also tells me that Belgium has historically been notoriously lax on road safety.) At no point after the first four albums - that is, after Hergé became interested in telling a story that makes logical sense, a development typically placed at Blue Lotus - does Tintin drive a car that was acquired legally, not commandeered or outright stolen. (In Soviets and Congo he buys a car; in Cigars he drives the two Rajaijah victims to the asylum, though I doubt anyone was worried about him getting pulled over in the jungle.) On the few occasions where there isn't an emergency, it's always Haddock who drives; see for example Crystal Balls or the few pages of Thérmozéro. When Tintin finally gets a vehicle of his own, in Picaros, it's... a motorbike, which one can get a license for at a younger age than for a car. And in Alph-Art, where the motorbike plays a much larger role, Haddock still drives Tintin into town (p. 25) - and then gets left in the car while Tintin investigates!

Hergé also apparently didn't think flying a plane was particularly difficult. In Jo et Zette, one of his other series, Hergé has little Jo be able to fly his father's "Stratonef" and even land it from a glide, despite only ever hearing his father talk about how to fly it. Over the course of the two-part story (Le Testament de M. Pump and Destination New-York), Jo manages multiple successful flights - more than Tintin ever does! - despite unambiguously being a child.

(Destination New-York, p. 41)

And as with the cars, every plane Tintin ever flies is stolen, so whether he has a legal license or not really doesn't matter.

The same goes for his guns. In all but the first albums and Ear where, surprised in his flat, he really does pull a revolver out of nowhere, Tintin's guns are explicitly either given to him or taken from a disarmed enemy. The series doesn't make a point of him owning and carrying his own gun - just the opposite. And while it seems to us now that Tintin has a lot of firearm use for a children's comic, proficiency with guns was honestly a genre expectation for all adventure heroes of the time (just don't put a gun on your cover). For example, Chang, who from his introduction on acts like a second Tintin, wields a pistol at the end of Lotus and is even implied to be the one who makes the shot that breaks Didi's sword despite appearing even younger than Tintin. (See also the previous section of this post; Chick Bill is carrying a gun in the picture I included.) What's more, the gunplay in Tintin is actually a step down from its predecessor Totor, where Hergé's titular Boy Scout kills a man with a rifle shot to the face.

In short, Tintin is able to do a lot of things he shouldn't legally be able to do by simply not doing them legally.

The fact that Tintin lives alone isn't necessarily a mark of maturity either. It's hardly uncommon for a young adventure protagonist to be unusually unsupervised; it's effectively a demand of the genre. Hergé learned why that is from experience when he created Jo et Zette for the editor of the French, ultra-Catholic children's magazine Coeurs Vaillants, who had raised concerns about how unrealistic Tintin was. In Hergé's own (translated) words:

(From Entretiens avec Hergé, reproduced & translated in The Comics Journal no. 250, p. 191)

Parents are a nuisance, one that Hergé was only too happy to dispense with in Tintin's case. And besides, Tintin isn't completely alone forever; with the introduction of the Marlinspike "family," not to mention Marlinspike Hall itself, during the war, he at least ends up with a home and some adult supervision, however dubious it may be at times.

As for his schooling, according to a report on the Belgian education system from 1932, education was only compulsory there (not to mention free) from ages 6 to 14. That same report records that in 1928, the number of students in the higher level of secondary education - corresponding to high school in American terms - was only 1% of the number of students enrolled in compulsory primary school. Even adjusting for the fact that primary education enrolls children for twice as long, the percentage is still a paltry 2.6%. And then the number of students in university that same year was only about three-quarters of the number of students in secondary education.

What that means is that at the time when Tintin was getting started, only very, very few people stayed in school beyond age 14. Hergé himself was one of those few, but to many of his readers in the early years, the idea that Tintin was already working at age 14 or 15 would have been not just reasonable but recognizable - especially as he has no apparent family to support him. (Not that Tintin isn't knowledgeable: judging from the number of books in his apartment, we can presume that he's quite the autodidact.) Of course public education was broadened after WWII, but by then the character was already firmly established.

As for how Tintin is already a reporter, well, Hergé freely admitted that he gave him the job just because that's what he thought was cool at the time. "Of course it was a pretext," he said on British radio in 1977. (The announcer for that interview describes Tintin as "a 16-year-old Belgian boy with a strange lick of hair, a pair of plus-fours, and a terrier." In it Hergé, questioned about the outsize success of his series, responds that for him "he [Tintin] keeps to be a little boy. Only that.") The tone of the series would be very different if Tintin were just an office clerk or a paperboy, after all - and besides, all but the youngest readers of Le Petit Vingtième would have understood that it's not a real newspaper, just a little children's magazine, so the idea of it having its own official reporter was not to be taken fully seriously.

It's important to remember that our current cultural idea of the teenager as a separate, unique stage between childhood and adulthood was largely a post-WWII American innovation - in fact, the word "teenager" only entered popular use in the 1940s. By contrast, fully half of the Adventures of Tintin (up to the first 2/3 of Crystal Balls) were written either before or during WWII. Hergé himself, born in 1907, began submitting illustrations to a magazine (Le Boy-Scout) at 14, was hired at the Vingtième Siècle at 18, created Totor and did his military service, reaching the rank of sergeant, at 19, and before turning 22 had been given full responsibility for creating and running the Petit Vingtième, gotten engaged to his first wife, Germaine Kieckens, and created Tintin. Being young looked different then.

To close this section I'll also note that, as far as I can tell, positioning Tintin as a teenager never seemed to pose much of a problem to anyone reading the series while it was actively running. Anecdotally, nearly every published source I've read takes for granted that he's an adolescent, and an exception like writer of multiple books on Tintin Renaud Nattiez saying on the air in 2016 that he thinks Tintin is at least 22 (~03:30-03:50) seems to be a uniquely 21st-century development.

TL;DR: Everything I can find indicates that Tintin was always intended to be around 15, and never older than 20, years old.

II. Interpretation

Finally, it's important to not overstate Hergé's commitment to realism. At the end of the day, Tintin can do whatever the story needs him to be able to do, because he's the protagonist of a very straightforward adventure serial. He's always been aspirational, even for Hergé himself: "Tintin is me the way I'd like to be: heroic, flawless." And yet Tintin, victim of its own success, has always been held to a higher standard of realism than its fellow comics, not to mention a higher level of scrutiny in general. Even if, as I've tried to demonstrate, Tintin's feats aren't entirely out of the range of possibility (or at least the norm for comics characters) for his time period, I'm not arguing that he's supposed to be a perfectly accurate representation of the average boy of any point in the mid-20th century. I also don't deny that he typically does act like an adult. So the guiding question here is: How can this dual nature of Tintin's - his adolescent status and adult aspects - be interpreted?

Jean-Marie Apostolidès writes that as "il unifie dans sa personne deux aspects opposés de l’existence, l’enfance et l’âge adulte" ("he brings together in his person two opposing aspects of existence, childhood and adulthood"), Tintin represents "un mythe réconciliatoire" ("a reconciliatory myth") of which the "fonction implicite est de ressouder entre deux générations une confiance brisée" ("implicit function is to mend a broken trust between two generations"). He names this type of child-adult character the "surenfant" ("superchild"), and argues that it is specific to the 20th century and the cultural shock of WWI.

For Pol Vandromme, who wrote the first book of analysis on Tintin (or on any BD), Tintin is simply a perfected version of the teenage boy, one that other teenage boys can aspire to. First, he cites as conventional wisdom that Tintin is around 15, and concludes that "c'est dans tous les cas un adolescent" ("in any case he's a teenager"). While Vandromme accepts that Tintin is presented as a teenager, he also points out that Tintin doesn't represent the experience of being a teenager; Tintin "ne présente [...] que les apparences de l'adolescence" ("only displays the appearance of adolescence") because he's so self-assured and stable, traits antithetical to "l'époque de la métamorphose" ("the time of metamorphosis") that is adolescence.

And yet "il [Tintin] demure malgré tout suffisamment proche pour que les garçons se disent qu'ils auront un jour la chance de lui ressembler, d'imiter son style de vie. [...] Ce que Tintin propose à ces garçons de quinze ans, c'est la figure achevée de leur âge. Il les venge de leurs insuffisances" ("he [Tintin] remains all the same close [i.e. similar] enough that these boys tell themselves that one day they'll have the chance to be like him, to imitate his way of life. [...] What Tintin offers to these 15-year-old boys is the perfected version of their age [group]. He makes up for their shortcomings"). Consequently, having put themselves in Tintin's place, these boys "ont l'illusion d'être déjà de la tribu des jeunes gens qui ont découvert dans leur sac de voyage les clefs qui ouvrent les portes de la fable du monde" ("have the illusion of already being part of the clan of young people who have discovered in their travel bag the keys that open the doors of the world's fable"). In plainer language, being able to identify with Tintin as an apparent peer lets teens imagine themselves as being more capable and powerful than their age allows in reality, an attractive illusion.

I'll add that the static quality of Tintin as a character that Vandromme identifies is dictated by the form of the series. When presented with a teenage protagonist in a work, the novelistic expectation is that what follows will be some kind of bildungsroman, where the events of the story will push the protagonist to change and mature into adulthood. However, I believe that it's a mistake to approach The Adventures of Tintin as a novel when it is fundamentally a serial - even late in his career, when he didn't need to do prepublication anymore, Hergé's approach to plot was still oriented around the page-a-week format. Serial characters, as a rule, change very little. Tintin gets compared to Sherlock Holmes more than once in the series, and it's also true on a meta level: Holmes has a few minor moments of character development, but he largely remains exactly the same over the course of Conan Doyle's stories, which were likewise published in a magazine. In a true serial, the status quo is god, because the main aim of the serial is to perpetuate itself - theoretically forever. And so Watson always finds a reason to return to Baker Street, and Tintin never gets old enough to think of settling down and getting a real job.

Like Holmes, Tintin does change and grow somewhat as a character over the course of the series, but also like Holmes, that growth is not a planned arc with an endpoint, as you would expect in a novel. Instead, it's just a result of Hergé himself maturing and changing. In his contribution to L'archipel Tintin, Benoît Peeters notes that "Grande est la tentation, pour beaucoup, de lire la série comme une totalité, un monument où tout signifierait" ("The temptation is great, for many, to read the series as a totality, a monument where everything has meaning"). And yet he declares that "si accomplies soient-elles... Les Aventures de Tintin se sont élaborées en l'absence de tout grand dessein" ("however polished they may be... The Adventures of Tintin were created in the absence of any grand design"), citing the testimonies of both Hergé and those who knew him at the beginning of the series. Hergé never really had a plan for Tintin as a character; he really did just put him in situations over and over again for a little more than fifty years. However, now that the series is only read in album format and serial publishing is less common, the "temptation" Peeters describes is even stronger. This mismatch in narrative expectations may be part of why modern readers might struggle to view Tintin as a teenaged character.

There's one more element to Tintin's strangeness: the world of the series was built around Tintin himself to facilitate his adventures. Vandromme recalls the fact, so obvious that it's easily forgetten, that "Tintin étant ce qu'il est et ne pouvant être un autre, infléchit l'intrigue d'une certaine manière. [...] Remplacez Tintin par le père Fenouillard et il vous faudra modifier l'album de fond en comble. Dans un roman les personnages déterminent les événements avant d'être déterminés par eux" (Tintin, being who he is and unable to be anyone else, influences the story in a certain way. [...] Replace Tintin with the father of the Fenouillards [character from a 19th-century comic about the misadventures of a French family abroad, n.b.] and you'll have to change the album from top to bottom. In a novel, the characters define the events before the events define them"). This point is especially relevant to Tintin given that the series' beginning was, to put it mildly, haphazard. Starting from Soviets, where Tintin is alone with his dog in a bizarre world where he can sneeze down a sewer grate, cut down a tree with a pocketknife, or fistfight a bear - whatever it takes to keep the plot moving - set a precedent for the character: that Tintin, and nobody else, will always triumph over whatever enemy or obstacle he is faced with.

Because it's founded on Tintin himself, there are no real adults in the Adventures, and in fact there can't be any. Preserving Tintin's Soviets-era boy hero status as the world of the series became steadily larger and more realistic created a kind of 'competency warp' where Tintin, along with his young "doubles," Chang and Zorrino, is effectively always the most capable, the master of the situation, while those closest to him who are much older (the Thompsons, Haddock, Calculus...) tend to act rather childishly. I think it's telling that the 1946 introduction of Blake & Mortimer is often hailed in terms like these: that "pour la première fois, les héros n'étaient pas des enfants, mais des adultes responsables dont la psychologie était en parfaite harmonie avec leurs fonctions" ("for the first time, the heroes were not children, but responsible adults whose psychology was in perfect harmony with their roles," emphasis mine). All the major adult characters in Tintin had been introduced at that point, but apparently none of them qualified as "responsible" or properly suited for their positions.

Apostolidès similarly notes a deforming effect: "Tintin est un adolescent qui, sans jamais entrer dans l’âge adulte, rajeunit le monde en se confrontant à lui. Au lieu que le personnage se soumette passivement au monde adulte, s’intègre dans une histoire, vieillisse et meure, c’est l’univers extérieur qui se fige dans le temps au contact du héros" ("Tintin is an adolescent who, without ever entering adulthood, makes the world younger by confronting it. Instead of the character submitting himself passively to the adult world, fitting in to a history, getting older and dying, it's the outside world that freezes in time at the hero's touch"). Not only does Tintin resist adulthood himself, he also protects others from its effects.

There are characters who escape the warp, but they must stay on the very edges of Tintin's orbit. One example is the efficient and no-nonsense Mr. Baxter from the Moon books. He has a real job: he's director of the atomic center, and every time we see him he's actually doing it. He also remains disengaged from the antics of the Marlinspike crew, often exasperated and confused by them. They don't belong in his serious space program, and he doesn't belong in their funny adventure series - hence the clash. Another (and very different) example is Jolyon Wagg. I wish I could remember where I read it, but I once saw it pointed out that Tintin and Wagg almost completely ignore each other; their only direct interaction in the whole series is saying hello to each other exactly once (Emerald p. 17). The unidentified author's point was that Wagg inhabits a world so intensely banal, so different from Tintin's - one with community organizations, salesman jobs, an old mother, an Uncle Anatole, a wife and (a lot of) children - that the two can't even come into contact. Wagg may be almost preternaturally obnoxious, but he's also a genuinely ordinary man in a way that the major characters really aren't.

Tintin must remain the sole and main driver of action, because if he isn't, the series would have to change fundamentally. That means no other character can threaten his role by being more competent and responsible than him - and so the adults become ridiculous and/or irrelevant, and Chang and Zorrino are only allowed to act for one album each. And yet Hergé created Tintin as a teenager, and suggested that a Tintin who progressed past teenagerhood would also grow out of adventure: "Il est difficile, pour un personnage comme ça, à le faire vieillir. Parce que s'il vieillit, il va avoir vingt ans, il va avoir vingt-deux ans, il va rencontrer une jolie fille, il va se marier, il va avoir des enfants..." ("It's hard to make a character like that get older. Because if he gets older, he'll be 20, he'll be 22, he'll meet a pretty girl, he'll get married, he'll have children..."). Tintin passing into adulthood, 'real' adulthood, symbolized here by settling down and starting a family, would make the series just as unsustainable as demoting him to a more technically age-appropriate role would; both sides of the tension between Tintin's youth and his maturity are required to make him a proper adventure hero for children.

And so he remained, as he remains today, the world's most competent teenager.

[animentality]

Wtf is it about Jennifer's body and venom that mentioned don't understand?

Jennifer's Body was a teen horror movie that flopped because the executives thought they needed to capitalize on Megan Fox's popularity as a sex icon following the success of the Transformers movies, so they marketed it primarily to teenage boys/ young men, by hyping up both her sex appeal and the lesbian kiss scene with Amanda Seyfried.

But it flopped, because it's more of a satire horror comedy than a pure horror, plus it ended up being more feminist/ pro LGBT in hindsight, since it's more of a revenge fantasy than anything else, and a crushing indictment of predatory male behavior. Rather than just being, "lesbian sex is hot, hahaha," it actually comes across as more, "this character is bisexual... she refuses to kill her best friend, even after she comes back as an undead demon."

And people have (correctly) read into this as actually pretty damn romantic.

Megan Fox's character has the opportunity to kill her best friend like three different times, but refuses. And the only reason she dies, is because she can't bear the thought of their friendship being broken...

And then... Amanda's character...she doesn't even hold it against her. She goes on a killing spree in her name...

Like. Come on. That's queer subtext, and honestly, just queer text, since Megan even says, "I go both ways."

So. ultimately. It was not really FOR cishet teen boys. It marketed to them, but failed to get their attention. And it did poorly, but then got a cult following in the following years, by the correct audience of women and gays.

Venom, on the other hand, was a teen anti-hero movie, focused on a character who was supposed to be in a rated r movie, but the execs chickened out at the last second. It was SUPPOSED to be dark and edgy and maybe a little horror-esque... but then it was written poorly, was edited very messily, had a very strange tone, and ended up making the symbiote more of an audacious, goofy, chaotic character than outright evil.

It was CAMPY.

Like Jennifer's Body, it was SUPPOSED to be aimed at teenage boys and men...who HATED it. Thought it was garbage.

But it ended up marketing to...the monster fucker crowd.

Because of the sizzling sexual tension between the two reclaimed LGBT leads.

So that's why we compare them.

They're both edgier movies that could've been rated r, but got pulled back to pg13 for marketing reasons. They were both supposed to be Cool Products for Boys, but ended up marketing more to women and gays in the end.

Jennifer's Body was "horror" and Venom was "action," but they both ended up being more purely comedic than anything, even if it was a little unintentional (more on Venom's part, than Jennifer's Body).

And that's all.

They've got very similar vibes, you know?

Camp LGBT, with horror elements.

Think Elvira, Rocky Horror Picture Show. You know.

[cherryblossom-heart]

Responsibilities (6.5/8)

bestfriend!Nanami x Reader

What happened at the birthday party?

Content warning: ANGST, Toji Fushiguro is his own warning, Kento having something with an unknown female character.

A/N: I am soooo sorry for this angst but is necesary so we understand everything that happened at the party. Don't worry, part 7 will be fully smau and its coming soon. If this is the first you see of this series please go to the previous parts to catch on. You're welcomed to send me an ask with any comments, questions, etc., you have on this. Also if I missed anyone in the taglist let me know 😊

Word count: 3.2 K

<Previous Chapter Next Chapter>

“Shot, shot, shot.”

A small smile spread across Kento’s lips, his eyes focused on your display. Glass after glass, you emptied all six of them in front of you with a grin on your face. The small group of people that surrounded you cheered, the echo of their acclamations competing with the bass of the tacky house party playlist Gojo had put on.

Nanami stayed by the sidelines as always, never a fan of crowds or even reunions like this one. But every rule has an exception and to Nanami’s life you were the exception for everything.

He hadn’t noticed when it had begun. Maybe it had been when you were kids, your hand covered in dirt touching his clean and polished one to drag him out to play with the other kids. Or in your teenage years, your fingers entwined with his as you dragged him to another house party he hadn’t intended to go. Perhaps it was in college when he let you sleep at his place when you had been assigned a roommate from hell and every now and then you would end up falling asleep on his shoulder as you tried to finish whatever assignments you had.

The truth was, no matter how much he tried to explain it, there wasn’t an exact logic to his actions. He hated parties but he enjoyed going with you, your carefree dancing always igniting something deep in his chest. He hated loud music, but he loved the way your eyes would close as you sang to the top of your lungs as he drove you around.

He hated immature personalities, Gojo’s antics only being tolerable for minutes. And yet he found himself amused by your quips and shenanigans you would drag him along with, his heart beating out of his chest as the mischievous grin you wore tore his defenses away.

Nanami couldn’t say when everything had begun, but he knew exactly when he first noticed it. The harsh, undeserving words that had drifted you apart for weeks had been enough of a wakeup call, the pain in his chest had left him in a panic at the moment. Once you had given him a second chance his lungs could finally take a deep breath, free from the strange constriction your apathy gave him.

He had tried getting you out of his head to the point he had downloaded a few dating apps hoping he could find someone else to occupy his thoughts. The second he had matched with someone his fingers quickly deleted the app leaving him with the realization he tried to avoid.

He was in love.

No, it was more than that. Your name was carved in his heart, his soul belonging to the set of bright eyes that laughed at his dry humor as if he was the funniest man on earth. It belonged to the smile that would always welcome him whenever he entered a room or the soft fingers that would run through his hair as his head laid on top of your lap

Nanami had never been a man to believe in soulmates, but if fate would have it and they turned out to be true he believed you were his. And not even then he could explain the extent of his emotions, the crushing weight of his love for you could simply not be measured.

Loving your best friends carried its consequences as Nanami would find out sooner than later.

Green eyes and a scar had become an instant sign of anger for him. The broad, tall, muscular man always carried his characteristic smirk, a trait that also bothered Kento to his bones. But perhaps the thing that he hated the most was the way his hands would wander along your body, fingers always finding a patch of uncovered skin where he could trace senseless figures. Your lack of a negative reaction was enough to tick him off.

He saw it the night he had ended up intoxicated and crashing at your place, the almost too insignificant glint in your eyes as you looked at the blacked haired man. Your smile was almost as bright as the one you always wore when you talked to him.

Kento hated the pit that formed in the bottom of his stomach every time you would mention him.

“Penny for your thoughts?”

Beautiful, Kento’s mind recited as his eyes met yours

Your breath was raggedy, beads of sweat trailing down your cheeks. Your makeup was no longer intact, a couple of smudges trailed down your eyes, mascara specs darkening your eyes. The lipstick shade you wore was almost gone, a faint tone left behind.

“Keep your penny, it’s nothing too interesting.” Nanami’s answer came as you scooted over next to him, his right arm surrounding your frame.

“I highly doubt that. Everything about you is interesting, Nanamin.”

Kento’s breath got kicked out of his lungs. How was it possible for you to make him feel this way without even trying?

Were you aware of the effect your words, your soft touch, your sweet glances had on him?

Were you aware of his love for you?

“I believe I owe you a dance.” You extended your hand gesturing for him to take it.

“If I remember correctly, you owe me as many as I want.” Kento said, fingers entwining with yours.

You smiled, a bright beautiful smile that made his world stop.

“Well, let me start paying my debts.”

Minutes later Kento found himself in the middle of Gojo’s house, surrounded by the same crowd he had been trying to avoid as he held your body against his. You had guided him through the crowd of people, several of them stopping you along the way to congratulate you on your birthday. You would acknowledge them, perhaps exchanging a couple of words with them along the way, but your attention remained on him, your hand squeezing his every now and then to make sure he was alright.

Your hips moved to the rhythm of the music, the tune belonging to a song he hadn’t heard before, your arms were up in the air, fingers dancing along the air as if somehow you were making the most beautiful painting with them. Watching you dance was like staring at a work of art, every little movement you made was a sight to be seen.

Nanami’s body wasn’t sure how to move, his feet didn’t seem to want to follow the beat of the music, his arms felt uncomfortable as he tried to move them around. His body had begun to tense up the more he analyzed his own movements. You must’ve noticed it as well as you had stopped your movements only to get closer to him, your hand finding his again.

Cold fingeres reached to caress his face, carefully putting back in place a strand of his hair out of place. With a tenderness so foreign to him yet so familiar when it came to you, your hand cupped his cheek.

You looked at him and suddenly everything was alright.

“Relax, Kento. Just grab my hand and follow the music.”

Nanami’s left hand held onto yours while the right one fell on your waist, pushing you against his chest. If someone else would’ve seen, you two it wouldn’t have made sense to them. You two weren’t following the music, your pace not even close to what the rest of the people around were dancing to. Yet it didn’t matter, it was as if a bubble had appeared, separating you from the rest. Kento and you were following music that no one else around could hear, your head falling to his chest as the song changed.

For a moment, Nanami felt braver than ever. Maybe it was the intimacy of the moment what fueled him as he was convinced you had never looked at someone else the way you looked at him. Or maybe it was the fact that, as he pushed you closer to him, the more you seemed to nestle on his chest having caught you smelling his favorite cologne that you had gifted him.

Whatever it was, it made Kento brave enough to make you look at him. The hand that held onto yours lifted your chin, his touch leaving goose bumps on your skin. He stared into your eyes, for the first time not being shy of appreciating your beauty. Your eyes held galaxies of thoughts and emotions, and he was more than happy to explore all of them.

“Thank you for this, Ken.”

Ken.

A nickname he hated but he loved the rare times you’d say it.

He wanted you to say it forever.

“Don’t thank me, it’s the least you deserve.”

Your arms surrounded his neck.

“Be careful, Ken or I might start thinking you like me.”

Your name left his lips in a whisper, his eyes flickering from your lips to your eyes. He was surprised when he found you doing the same, your eyes lingering longer on his lips.

“Kento…” you whispered, inches away from his lips. “I— “

“Happy birthday, party girl!”

Gojo’s words rumbled across the room, bringing attention to you. Nanami’s hands fell to his side as you jumped away from him looking like a deer caught in headlights. Satoru made his way to you along with Shoko and a cake he wasn’t sure was enough for everyone in the room.

Nanami made a mental note on researching what the easiest way was to get rid of a 6’3 body.

The crowd pushed you away from him, guiding you to the table where Satoru had placed the cake. You tried talking to them, your eyes searching for his in the sea of people. When you finally found him, Nanami just gave you a small smile and a nod, gesturing you to enjoy your celebration.

You mouthed a small “I’m sorry” to him as you turned your attention to the cake.

Kento let out a sigh as he made his way back to the kitchen bar, leaning against it. A gigantic sparkling candle decorated the middle of the cake making your eyes open wide in surprise. The tune of Happy Birthday started playing, everyone around joining in the celebration making you cover your face in embarrassment.

Adorable.

“How long have you been in love with her?” A deep voice asked next to him.

Kento looked at the green-eyed man that had silently slithered his way next to him.  Fushiguro carried a solo red cup in his hand, his face still carrying that same awful smirk that irked Kento. Toji’s eyes were focused on you, but Nanami could tell his attention was on him, expecting a response.

“I– “

“Don’t try to lie, it’s written all over your face.”

Kento sighed, he was right. There was no point in lying, yet he couldn’t bring himself to say it, not to him. Not before he could tell you.

“It’s none of your business.”

Fushiguro laughed as he took another sip from his drink

“It is when you’re trying to get with my girl.”

The flames of anger began rising in Kento’s chest, a bitter taste settling in the back of his tongue.

“I believe she isn’t aware she is ‘your girl’.” He quipped. “I don’t think she wants the title, or else she wouldn’t keep insisting your relationship is casual.”

Toji’s grip tightened around his cup, the sides of it cracking slightly at the pressure. Now it was Nanami’s turn to sport that idiotic smirk.

“Well, you certainly got me there.” Fushiguro conceded. “But it has to hurt still, doesn’t it?”

“You– “

“I mean, you guys have known each other for how long? Over fifteen years and nothing has ever happened. Not a single kiss, nothing even close. I’ve known her for less than two months and I’ve already fucked her all over her apartment.”

Nanami could count with a single hand the number of times he had restored to violence; the last time he had gotten into a petty fistfight being when he was still in high school. Afterwards he would compose himself and regret his actions, embarrassed of such a public display of his anger.

None of those times Nanami had ever felt such rage, the only thing holding him back being your birthday celebration. As much as he hated the man, he would hate it even more to ruin the night for you.

“You should learn to keep your mouth shut about her private life.”

Toji snorted. “What? You’re going to play the “best friend” role again? Come in your white horse and defend her honor? Try to woo her with your gifts and hope she fucks you?”

“Better than playing the role of a man with two kids who can’t seem to find a stable relationship at his age or keep himself out of jail. Are you trying to get her to play the stepmother role as well?”

“Well, it seems that’s what gets her going, isn’t it?”

Finally, the two men faced each other, both scrutinizing each other under their gaze. Kento knew as much anger as he held inside, he could see his feelings reflected on the other man. He couldn’t blame him, any man would be lucky to get your attention, let alone a man like him.

The crowd cheering drifted away the men’s attention, your wide smile as you blew out the candles reminded Kento the reason why he was there, the flames of anger beginning to dwell as the warmth of his chest expanded through his body. He had already wasted enough time with Fushiguro.

“I don’t intend to ‘steal your girl’ Fushiguro, I cannot steal something that isn’t yours to own. She’s grown enough to know what she wants and that’s not for us to decide. Whether it is you or whoever else she is with I will always respect her choices.” Kento looked back at the man next to him, his eyes darkening with his last words. “But I will tell you that if you hurt her, I’ll make sure your stay at prison will feel like a spa visit, do I make myself clear?”

A moment went by without an answer and Kento thought the conversation was over, but as it is with a man with Toji’s personality, he always had to have the last word.

“Understood, boss.” He crashed his cup in his hands, throwing it away in the can behind the kitchen bar. “You know, I asked her once if anything had happened between you two. I mean, I had to make sure you weren’t an ex or something, especially with all the gifts and how close you guys are. You know what she said?” Kento didn’t give an answer, knowing well he was going to talk anyways. “She laughed. You should’ve seen her, it was as if I had asked the funniest question ever. I swear I saw tears in her eyes.” He chuckled. “She said there wasn’t and there never would be anything between you. That you were like the brother she didn’t have and dating you would almost feel incestuous.”

Toji’s attention went back to you, as everyone started to clear off from you as they got a slice of cake. His hand brushed his hair in place as he passed in front of Kento. “I think you have more of a shot with her.” He nodded to a girl Nanami hadn’t noticed before, her gaze turning as his hazel eyes connected with hers. Toji patted him in the shoulder before he left, not before getting his last lick. “I’d take it if I were you champ, it’s not like she’s going to care if you sleep around with other people.”

The green-eyed man made his way to you, his hand falling to your hips as he brought you in for a kiss.

For the first time in his life, Nanami felt his heart breaking. The longer your kiss lasted the more he felt a wave of unknown emotions drowning him, tearing every part of his heart that you ignited.

Fushiguro might’ve been a bastard, but he was right. There was never a time you had looked at him in any other way other than a best friend, let alone a romantic partner. He was an idiot for thinking your words meant anything, that your flirting was anything more than friendly, as it was you had always been a flirtations person. He wasn’t especial.

In an attempt of self-preservation for what remained of his heart he took a shot of vodka, hoping the burn would be enough to make him forget for a little while. He looked around the room, looking for anything that could help him, an easy way of distracting. That’s when he saw her again, the unknown girl he had never seen before.

Nanami didn’t remember how he had gotten himself in a bedroom in Gojo’s house, or when he had taken his shirt off as a girl whose name couldn’t even remember straddled him. He didn’t remember how her lips tasted or the tone of her voice as she had introduced herself to him. He couldn’t even remember the color of the girls’ eyes as she kissed him.

Her hands traveled along his body until they found his crotch making his head roll back. He allowed his hands to explore the girl’s body, slowing cupping her ass as she tried to undo his pants. This situation should’ve brought him some comfort, the sensations of every kiss, every touch should’ve been enough to help him in some capacity. Yet the only thing on his mind was you and the guilt building up in the back of his throat.

Everything about this felt wrong and he couldn’t explain why until he opened his eyes and the person in front of him wasn’t you.

Every time he kissed her, he pictured your lips, soft and delicate against his. Every time he touched her, he pictured your tender skin against his expecting the smell of your body wash to linger on his nose, instead a foreign scent invaded his nostrils. He expected to hear your voice with every pant of his name, but the unfamiliarity of the girl’s tone made his muscles tense up. This wasn’t what he wanted, he couldn’t fool himself into do it.

Then, the unthinkable happened—the very thing he had feared all along.

The light and commotion from the hallway caught his attention as he realized someone had opened the door. He pulled himself apart from the girl, moving his face to the side so he could see the uninvited guest. He only had a second to react before you shut the door with a slam, it’s echo filling the room.

He pushed her away, not caring for pleasantries as he scrambled to get his things together. He could hear the girls angry tone complaining, undoubtedly labeling him as an asshole. None of it mattered though. Not when he had seen the pain in your eyes as you saw the scene in front of you.

When he finally found his phone, he saw the plethora of messages you had sent him, all of them relating your trial until you finally found him. Before he could start typing, two new messages popped up.

Oh

I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to interrupt.

Vile rose to his throat as he pleaded you to come back.

It’s ok Nanami, I’ll catch you later.

Have fun

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