#I used to bully short people but now I'm SHORT.

[smutinlove]

Jason todd with a size kink is so yummy. like wdym your 6'4 ass wants to ram into my 5'2 ass.

[pomefioredove]

a-yo there, Claudette! how ya' doin'? could I ask a request with the overblot gang like this: they are flirting with reader, in some case is more boldly, another is smoothly or a 'smart'/well thought out flirt, (because i'm SURE that leona and vil don't flirt the same, or blue and idia, for example). reader blushes a lot and looks away. after a second of silence, reader flirts back just as smoothly, slyly or boldly. how do the 7 primors react? 💗💗

thanks in advance! take care<3

oooh- yes, of course!! I had fun with this. it also occurs to me how bad most of them would be at flirting...

*ੈ✩‧₊˚ the boys do a flirt

type of post: headcanons characters: riddle, leona, azul, jamil, vil, idia, malleus additional info: romantic, reader is gender neutral, reader is yuu

anyone here familiar with Victorian courting rules?

well, Riddle is

he is alllll about etiquette

literally "no hand holding before marriage"

the boldest he gets is with... flowers

for what he can't say or do outright, he can convey in floriography

daisies for loyalty, pink camellia for longing...

if he's feeling bold, he may add a lavender sprig or two

now, imagine his surprise when you send him a red orchid...

his face blushes the same color as the flower and he gets all giggly

going around Heartslabyul, saying he's got to send you a red rose back

...as if anyone knows what that means

(everyone in his dorm thinks you're both crazy)

*ੈ✩‧₊˚

Leona is the god of avoidance

he would rather crawl on his hands and knees through sewage than be honest with himself about his feelings

so, what does he do when he knows he's falling for you?

bullies you

like, lovingly

it's just easy for him to banter and push you around

he will call you short no matter what your height is, let himself into your room to sleep on your bed and make direct eye contact with you while he knocks your things off your desk

like... petty cat behavior

he was not anticipating you to reciprocate

man, you have a mouth on you

the things you say... color him impressed

honestly, he likes you even more than before

...which now makes avoiding his feelings impossible... crap

*ੈ✩‧₊˚

unfortunately I think Azul's best attempt at flirting is staring at you across a crowded room

he's a flatterer by default, but, like, he actually likes you

he knows how to get someone into a contract, but not how to ask you out on a date

funny, right?

well, not for him

it takes all of his courage just to say you look nice

Sevens, what is wrong with him?

you make him feel like an utter fool... so, of course, he has to compensate

now, when he's around you, he becomes smarter, more interesting, and about three times as pretentious

to impress you. obviously

then you match his energy and he's right back to square one

who knew he could get so easily flustered?

*ੈ✩‧₊˚

Jamil doesn't "flirt"

...at least, that's what he tells himself

before you, he'd simply never had a reason to. now...

how hard can it be, right?

and, well, he's not half-bad at it

Jamil knows how to keep his cool, and flattery is his second language

and he gets a chance to show off a little...

perfect, right?

well...

he can never seem to surprise you

every hint he tries, every subtle compliment and little smirk, you have something equally as crafty

...not what he had in mind, but, hey

the psychological warfare makes flirting much more interesting

*ੈ✩‧₊˚

Vil is, perhaps, the only person here who actually knows what he's doing

not that he's used to flirting

he just... knows how to talk to people

he's always quite subtle about it

forward advances are tasteless, if you'd ask him

he tends to flirt in subtle, but meaningful ways

that is, he makes his intentions known through touch

nothing aggressive, of course

a gentle squeeze of your shoulder, a brush of his hand against yours, an arm around your waist...

just enough to fluster you (which he so enjoys doing)

imagine his surprise, then, when you start touching him back

wordlessly holding his hand, sitting close enough to him to feel your shoulder against his...

he'll admit, he admires your boldness

*ੈ✩‧₊˚

the only "you" that Idia is flirting with is a chat bot he programmed to talk like you

I mean WHAT who said that

he DEFINITELY does not have that. haha... that'd be like, super creepy...

on that note, he also definitely DOES NOT obsessively study your words and mannerisms to better understand you

...well...

listen, he just doesn't know how to approach you!

you're so... you! and he's so... him

so, he'd much rather watch your every move and fantasize about being able to actually... talk to you...

he is, understandably, terrified when you approach him

...even more so when you seem to know about him and all his interests...

???

...you know what? he's not even going to think about it

*ੈ✩‧₊˚

Malleus can be a little... old-fashioned

and by that I mean Briar Valley old-fashioned

he was taught how to court by Lilia, of all people, so you know whatever he's doing is...

...strange

and he's somewhat aware of it, too

he just thinks it'd be even stranger for him to flirt with you like...

well... you get it

everyone else

he is, however, pleasantly surprised when you seem to know what he's doing

you've been reading up on Briar Valley customs, and recognized his courting rituals pretty much right away

...not that you're going to tell him that

reciprocating his flirtations is more fun when he doesn't see it coming

he makes that one surprised face every time

like this -> o_o

[mishellii]

♢ᴘᴇᴛ ɴᴀᴍᴇꜱ ʜᴇᴀᴅᴄᴀɴᴏɴꜱ♢

naruto, sasuke, shikamaru, kiba, shino, neji, iruka & kakashi

a/n: sooo,, i SHOUld be working on my uni essays and on the bf!neji texts BUT this had been sitting in my notes app for a while so i decided to post it ;D (the neji texts will come soon i promise). some are longer, some are shorter for which i apologise,,,,,, please ignore typos, i can't spell & enjoy MWUAH

likes & reblogs appreciated <3

warnings: some NSFW parts! MINORS DO NOT INTERACT! :) also not proofread as usual

masterlist

♢ɴᴀʀᴜᴛᴏ ᴜᴢᴜᴍᴀᴋɪ♢

✿oh my baby boy

❀first off: angel. 100%.

✿because u are his angel u feel me

❀he can't go a day without telling u

✿then also just the basic baby

❀but mostly when he wants something from u or he's apologising for dumb stuff he's done

✿puppy eyes and all

❀and also during sexy time

✿it's his most used name for u there

✿fight me on this

❀big on his own self made nicknames for u

✿for instance: u fell down the stairs once?

❀"hey, stairs, how you doin'"

✿and just silly ones like: boo, pookie, apple of my eye

❀he's weird like that c'mon we been knew

♢ꜱᴀꜱᴜᴋ�� ᴜᴄʜɪʜᴀ♢

✿now this guy is a wild card

❀he'd prefer ur name through & through

✿but he'd slip in a casual babe sometimes which makes ur knees weak obviously

❀because he barely ever calls u that

✿if ur married he'd only call you his wife

❀doesn't even let you answer questions on your own sometimes just so he can hit them with

❀"well, MY WIFE, thinks you suck ass, so.."

✿during sex he can be quiet mean 

❀I DONT THINK in the derogatory way but more in a teasing way

✿"c'mon, sweetheart, look at me."

❀when ur just about to black out??

✿but like i said 

❀not big on pet names but he'll use them more often if he knows u enjoy it <3

♢ꜱʜɪᴋᴀᴍᴀʀᴜ ɴᴀʀᴀ♢

✿pretty

❀just pretty bro.

✿not ALL THE TIME, especially not in public as i don't think he's big on PDA

❀but in the comfort of ur own 4 walls? definitely

✿now don't HATE ME for this but,,,

❀woman. and brat.

✿but only in petty situations, like when ur scolding his lazy ass and he hits u with a "go easy on me, woman, i just woke up."

❀or u've been going on his nerves while he's working

✿,,i'm busy, brat.''

❀in bed tho???

✿love or doll

❀i'm almost CERTAIN.

✿like,, can u imagine?? in his dumb fucking charming voice ???

❀PFFF i'm on my knees 

♢ᴋɪʙᴀ ɪɴᴜᴢᴜᴋᴀ♢

✿now this fucker

❀teasing names through & through

✿ur shorter than him? 

❀"hey, shortie, need help?"

✿ur taller than him?

❀"hey, giant, how's the weather up there?"

✿he's a DICK ok (affectionately ofc)

❀but he can be sweet too i promise

✿he's having fun with calling u bunny during sex or simply baby 

❀also ???? "okay, boss." when he's been annoying u all day and u finally snap at him?

✿he's a menace with nicknames i'm telling u

♢ꜱʜɪɴᴏ ᴀʙᴜʀᴀᴍᴇ♢

✿you probably guessed it and bully me if you'd like but,,,

❀bug or lovebug

✿come oooon he loves his bugs AND he loves you?? it fits PERFECTLY

❀not one to do it infront of other people either but in your private space he just wouldn't stop calling you one of these

✿i also see him using the regular honey but the abbreviation so hun because it's short and sweet and he doesn't like those long ass names

❀apologies if ur name is long LMAO mine is too tho

✿takes the hun into the bedroom but prefers a gentle love while having sex

❀shino's not a sweet talker in my mind, but the pet names make up for it FOSHOU

✿ALSO big brain idea i just had:

❀i think shino can't fully express his emotions verbally so before going on missions he definitely writes u letters and that's where he's blooming

✿''u keep me going everyday, sunshine.''

❀and it doesn't even matter if you have a bubbly personality or not

✿UGH lovesick fr

♢ɴᴇᴊɪ ʜʏᴜɢᴀ♢

❀this pretty princess doesn't even know ur name when ur alone with him 

✿ESPECIALLY when ur texting

❀sweetheart, love & darling

✿he'd make u fall in love over again whenever he calls u one of those i'm just saying

❀because he's always so sincere when he's talking to u it drives me crazy just thinking about it 

✿during sexy time too, he would NEVER

❀& i will die on this hill 

✿NEVER use any degrading names for u

❀ur his baby don't make him do that

✿even when ur fighting, he'd always address u in such a kind way i'm actually going insane

❀"have you had dinner yet, dear?"

✿ sedate me pls

♢ɪʀᴜᴋᴀ ᴜᴍɪɴᴏ♢

✿AAA this guy

❀soo,, like father like son,,, angel

✿u can't change my mind

❀being the kind hearted person he is, it just fits u can't tell me off

✿but i will also say he'd use some funny ones in private because we all know he's just a silly lil guy deep inside

❀i'm thinking toots & peach

✿especially when greeting u !! like ''ey, toots, how's it going?''

❀during sex he will be quiet awkward at the start of ur relationship, settling in angel as he's most familiar with it at first

✿but after some time he'd pull a babydoll or gorgeous on u

❀i mean,,, i'd cry but idk about y'all

✿oVERALL he loves using pet names and wouldn't be opossed to u calling him some sweet ones as well <3

❀call him handsome and he'll go through the roof

♢ᴋᴀᴋᴀꜱʜɪ ʜᴀᴛᴀᴋᴇ♢

✿AHEM

❀so this man,,

✿at the start of ur relationship he's such a shy lil bean so he'll only use your first name

❀but once he's been with you long enough he gets so so comfortable

✿starts of with the regular baby because u are his baby aight.

❀his most frequently used one too i'd say

✿but then he'd go like 

❀"hey, beautiful." "y'alright, sweetheart?"

✿and idk about u but i'd faint

❀HE KNOWS ABOUT HIS AFFECT ON U TOO

✿uses it against u during sex SO OFTEN

❀grunting a "there y'go, darling." into your ear with a sly smirk on his lips 

✿i'm (s)creaming

❀but he's a very private person so don't expect too much of that in public !!

✿a side from a "yes, ma'am" when u tell him not to die on a mission <3

a/n: i hope this doesn't SUCK ahemm,,, and i'll see you beans next time bye bye x

devider by @enchanthings

[solarmorrigan]

I'm late, I'm sorry, but here's the full fic from this WIP post yesterday!

[CW: bullying, references to canon racism and violence, mentions of recreational drug use]

-

Steve makes it to the bathroom down the hall from the shop classroom—the one that’s far from the cafeteria and always empty during lunch, where people really only come to smoke, anyway—before he completely loses his shit.

“Son of a bitch!” He’s almost screaming as he hauls off and punches the wall of one of the bathroom stalls, putting every ounce of anger and frustration and humiliation into it, hitting it so hard that the whole construction rattles.

“Motherfucker,” he hisses, shaking his hand out, because it had hurt, and then he winds up to do it again, to make it hurt more, because at least he’s in control of that much, at least it’s anything but what he’s feeling right now.

“That’s a good way to break your hand, y’know,” a voice comes from the doorway, startling Steve into pivoting and aiming his fist at whoever is coming after him now.

He stops short when he sees nobody but Eddie goddamn Munson standing there, cringing into a startled flinch to protect his head as Steve nearly swings at him.

“Jesus shit,” Steve barks, dropping his fist and stepping back, shaky with adrenaline. “You walk like a fucking ghost, Munson.”

Munson peeks out of his defensive crouch before straightening up and sending a meaningful glance at the stall wall. “Somehow, I don’t think you would’ve heard me even if I was making all the noise in the world.”

Steve shrugs, his shoulders staying up near his ears in a defensive slouch. He can feel something dropping out of his hair and down the side of his face, and he feels the humiliation all over again as he tries to swipe it away.

“What do you want?” he asks, beyond caring if he sounds rude; he thinks he’s entitled, considering.

This time, Munson shrugs, a rolling, casual thing that belies the sharp look in his eyes. “Came to see if you were okay, I guess.”

Steve snorts. Is he okay?

Like, in the grand scheme of things, the answer is a really shaky “maybe.” But lately? It’s more of a resounding “no, not fucking really.”

Aside from everything else – aside from the nightmares, aside from the headaches, aside from the fact he’d had to drop basketball after his concussion, aside from having no real friends or allies at school now that he and Nancy aren’t together – aside from all that, there’s Billy fucking Hargrove.

Hargrove, who had taken all of a month to start pushing Steve’s buttons again. Who had taken less than a few days after that to realize that Steve wasn’t going to push back.

And then he’d started looking for the boundary line, pushing and pushing, shoulder-checking Steve in the hall, tripping him in the single class they share, knocking shit out of his hands, shoving him when his back is turned, all the while spitting names and insults, until it had culminated into today’s fiasco: dumping a carton of chocolate milk over the top of Steve’s head in the middle of the cafeteria with a deeply unconvincing “oops.”

It had gone dead silent, every eye in the room on Steve’s red face and Hargrove’s triumphant grin, while Steve had only been able to stand there, shaking with startled rage as milk had sluiced out of his hair and seeped into his collar and down the back of his shirt, knowing that he couldn’t retaliate.

He couldn’t.

He’d marched out of the cafeteria, shame and anger growing as voices had bloomed up behind him, already gossiping and speculating.

So, no, actually, he’s not really okay.

But instead of saying any of this to Munson, he just scoffs and turns away, looking towards the sinks.

“Wouldn’t have expected you to care,” he says, injecting as much lazy indifference into his voice as he can, trying to armor up the way he used to. “The number of speeches you’ve given about how much me and my group suck, I’d have figured you’d be the first to say I deserved it.”

Munson doesn’t say anything for a moment, and Steve doesn’t look back to see if the barb landed. He doesn’t really care, he just wants the guy to go away so Steve can finish his meltdown and clean up in peace.

“Not your group anymore, though,” Munson finally says.

Steve shrugs, pulling a wad of paper towels from the dispenser; might as well move on to cleanup if Munson isn’t going to fuck off. He guesses his little breakdown can wait until he gets home.

“Hasn’t been for over a year, now, right?” Munson goes on. Steve says nothing, using a dry paper towel to try to blot up the mess. “And whatever you were like then, you’re… less like that now. Like, anyone paying attention can see you’re kinda trying something new this year.”

Steve ignores the way that makes something catch in his throat. “Thanks for the endorsement,” he drawls. “I’ll put it on my college apps: Not as much of an asshole as I used to be.”

“It’s a start,” Munson says, and Steve glances up in time to see him shrug in the mirror.

“I guess,” Steve mutters.

“And, uh – hey, I grabbed your stuff,” Munson says, holding up the binder and notebooks that Steve’s attention had glossed over until now. “Some of it’s kinda… milky, sorry.”

Steve blinks. “Uh. Thank you,” he says, stunned for a moment into sincerity.

Munson shrugs again, putting Steve’s stuff up on the narrow shelf on the wall that no one ever uses to hold things because it’s probably never been cleaned. Not like Steve’s stuff is clean now, anyway.

Steve turns back to the sink, wetting a few of the paper towels and waiting to see if Munson is going to leave now.

“What I can’t figure out–” nope, apparently he’s staying, “–is why you’re in here punching the wall, instead of out there, punching Hargrove.”

At least that makes more sense; he’s here out of curiosity, not concern.

“I mean, most people would’ve hit him for that,” Munson goes on. “I would’ve.”

But Steve’s already shaking his head before Munson’s finished speaking. “Not worth it,” he says firmly.

“What, afraid of a little suspension?” Munson asks, almost teasing. “Pretty sure the school would let their golden boy off with a slap on the wrist.”

“Not anybody’s golden boy anymore,” Steve snaps, scrubbing a wet paper towel through his hair in a vain attempt to get some of the rapidly-drying milk out. “I dropped basketball, remember? Didn’t even go in for swimming this year.”

“Oh, yeah,” Munson says, like he’d genuinely forgotten. “Sorry, not really into the whole… sports scene. Like, at all.”

Steve shrugs. “Whatever. Not important. I don’t give a shit about being suspended. I don’t even care if he hits me back. Not like I need another knock to the head at this point, but – whatever.” Steve shakes his head. “It’s just that he could– there are other things he could do.”

In the mirror, Munson’s eyebrows go up. “What, does he have blackmail on you or some shit?”

Steve raises his brows right back. “If he did, do you really think I’d tell you?”

Munson tips his head to the side. “Yeah, okay, fair enough.”

“Anyway, he doesn’t have blackmail, he has… leverage, I guess.” Steve lets out a harsh sigh and gives up on his hair for now, wetting a paper towel to try to get some of the milk off his face and neck, instead.

“…are you allowed to tell me what that is?” Munson asks after a moment.

And for a moment, Steve thinks about it. The only people in school who really know are Nancy and Jonathan, and he’s asked them to follow his lead in just – not talking about it. He hasn’t told anybody any version of what happened in the Byers’ house, or why Billy seems to have made him his personal stress ball. But who the hell would Munson tell? All his nerdy friends in his game club?

(No, no, that’s not fair. Steve doesn’t even know those people, and he’s trying not to be that guy anymore. He doesn’t have to be nice, but he shouldn’t be unkind.)

(The point stands, though – who would Munson even tell?)

“Do you know why Hargrove beat my face in back in November?” Steve finally asks, avoiding Munson’s eyes in the mirror by focusing very hard on getting the tacky milk off his hairline.

“Well, I’ve heard most of the rumors by now, I think. Heard Hargrove’s version of events, as has pretty much everyone, I’m sure. Haven’t heard yours, though,” Munson says, his voice tilting up in interest. “I just figured it was because he hated you.”

Steve lets out a humorless laugh. “Yeah, well, you’re not wrong. But also…” He pauses for a moment, collecting his thoughts. “There are these kids I babysit. Sort of.”

“Sort of?” Munson presses.

“Well, most of the time it feels like they’re just ordering me around like a bunch of entitled shitheads. But I make sure they get where they’re going without, like, disappearing, and that they don’t have so much unsupervised time that they manage to get themselves killed,” Steve admits.

“Uh huh,” Munson says; he sounds… a little confused, but not disbelieving. “And you ended up with this gig, how?”

“It’s Nancy’s little brother, and his little nerd friends,” Steve says (he’s allowed to call them nerds because he knows them, and it’s true. And besides, it’s affectionate).

“Aaand you’re still doing it now? Even though you and Wheeler aren’t…”

Steve shrugs. “They grew on me. But that’s– that’s not the point. One of the kids is, uh. Hargrove’s stepsister. And the night me and Hargrove got into it, I guess she wasn’t supposed to be out.”

“Ah,” Munson says.

“Yeah.” Steve sighs, giving up on the milk as a bad job; he probably should’ve run off to the gym showers instead of a shitty bathroom. He turns and leans back against the sink, crossing his arms over his chest and staring at the floor near Munson’s scuffed sneakers. “So he came looking for her.”

“So… Not that I’m advocating handing over children to pieces of shit like him, but – like, wouldn’t it have been the technically correct thing to do, to send her home with what is legally a family member?” Munson asks.

Steve passes a hand over his face. “She was terrified,” he says quietly, feeling a little like he’s betraying Max’s trust by saying it out loud, by saying it to a stranger. “She was terrified of what he would do if he found her there, where she wasn’t supposed to be. Terrified of what he would do to one of the other kids if he caught them together, since he’d specifically warned her to stay away from him.”

“What’s wrong with this other kid?” Munson asks, brows furrowed.

“Nothing,” Steve bites out. “He’s smart, and he’s brave, and he’s, like, slightly less of an asshole than some of the others, but what Hargrove cared about is that he’s black.”

“You’re fucking kidding me,” Munson snaps, and Steve’s hackles raise, ready to defend his kid all over again if he has to, but before he can get anything else out, Munson goes on. “We already knew he was a racist piece of shit, but – a fucking kid?”

Steve subsides. “Yeah. A fucking kid. So I told them all to stay inside and I went out to try to head him off. Or at least keep him out of the house. Which, obviously, I failed at.” He lets out a derisive little laugh, aimed solely at himself. “He knocked me on my ass, knocked the wind out of me, got past me– and by the time I was able to get up, he was already– he was inside, and he had that kid by the collar, up against the wall– one of my fucking kids–” Steve breaks off, the same rage and terror from that night choking up in his throat again. After the day he’s had, his emotions are all too close to the surface, too near to bubbling out, and he rubs at his nose, trying to stave off the angry, exhausted tears he can feel pricking at the corners of his eyes. “So I decked him.”

“Good!” Munson exclaims, and for a moment Steve actually manages a real smile.

“Yeah,” he says. “Then he hit me back, which, like, obviously. I was expecting him to, but– I mean, I might’ve actually won that fight if the fucker hadn’t hit me in the head with a plate.”

The expression that crosses Munson’s face is almost comically shocked. “What?”

“Yeah,” Steve says again, running a hand over his jaw, thumbing almost unconsciously at the still-fading scar where the porcelain had sliced him open. “I’m a little fuzzy on shit after that. Like, I remember being on the floor, and him kneeling over me, and hitting me, and hitting me, and then– I dunno, nothing.”

Distantly, Steve realizes that the expression on Munson’s face has turned from ‘comically shocked’ to ‘mildly horrified,’ but he’s a little too lost in the blurry memory of that night to do much about it.

“Holy shit, how are you not dead?” Munson blurts out.

He looks like he immediately regrets asking, but Steve finds he’s actually grateful for the question. He’s glad to move the conversation along.

“Max.” He smirks over at Eddie. “Hargrove’s stepsister. I guess she, uh– threatened him with a baseball bat? Saved my ass.”

That’s a deep over-simplification, but Steve can’t think of a way to explain the presence of heavy sedatives in the Byers’ house, and, anyway, she had threatened him with a baseball bat. The kids had all taken great joy in reenacting the way Max had nearly neutered Hargrove with the nailbat, actually; it’s almost like Steve had been there (and conscious).

“Holy shit,” Munson says, and whichever part he’s referring to, Steve is inclined to agree.

“Yep. So I was out fucking cold at the time, but the kids all insist that she got him to agree to leave her and her friends alone, but…” Steve shakes his head. “Hargrove is a fucking psychopath. I don’t trust him to keep that promise. So, at least if he’s focused on me, he might leave her alone. But if I hit back…”

“You think he’ll retaliate by going after one of your kids,” Munson says, only a hint of teasing in his words at the end.

“I know he will,” Steve says; Hargrove had implied as much more than once. He crosses his arms back over his chest. “And they are my kids.”

Munson throws his hands up, as if in surrender, but he’s definitely smiling now.

“I’m serious,” Steve insists, close to smiling himself. “They think I’m stuck with them, but they’re the ones stuck with me.”

“Lucky them,” Munson says, and– what?

“What?” Steve asks.

“Look, you’re either a better actor than, like, everyone in the drama club, or you at least seriously believe what you told me, which is more than I can say for Hargrove and whatever shit he came up with about the two of you getting into it over… what, his car was better than yours? He’s better at laundry ball? I don’t fucking remember, and it doesn’t really matter, because it was clearly and pathetically fabricated,” Munson says with an authoritative nod. “You, at the very least, really give a shit about those kids. So, yeah. Lucky them.”

“Well,” Steve scrambles for a moment, trying to cover the way he actually feels like he might start fucking blushing, “if I’d known all I had to do to change your mind about me was tell you about a fight I lost, I’d have done it ages ago.”

And now Munson’s back to smirking at him. “Seeking my esteem that badly, Harrington?”

“What? No. I mean – not– not specifically yours, it’s just… like, there’s not really an easy or fast way to make up for being kind of a dick for the last… while.” Steve runs his hand through his hair, stopping with a grimace when he remembers the drying milk. “You just have to keep not being a dick and hope people give you a chance. So, like, compared to that, convincing you was easy.”

“And all you had to do was get a severe concussion first,” Munson drawls.

Steve rolls his eyes. “I didn’t say it was severe.”

“You got hit with a plate,” Munson deadpans, and Steve can’t quite help the resulting flinch, at which Munson almost immediately softens. “Sorry.”

Steve shakes his head. “It’s fine.”

Mouth screwed to the side, Munson eyes Steve for a moment, glancing over his shirt and up to his face before gesturing at him. “You want some help with that?”

Steve blinks at him. “What?”

“Your whole… hair situation. You could bend ov– like, you could lean over the sink and I could, uh. Try to rinse it for you. Or whatever,” Munson offers, awkward but apparently sincere.

It sounds like a stupid as hell way to try to rinse his hair. The sinks are small, and not exactly high off the ground; Steve would have better luck just going to the locker room and showering it all out. His soap is there, too, and an extra shirt.

On the other hand, Steve really doesn’t feel like leaving the bathroom yet. He’s pretty sure lunch is going to end soon, and encountering everyone during passing period sounds like a nightmare. In here, with Munson, it’s quiet. It feels almost safe.

“Yeah, sure,” Steve finally says, and Munson looks nearly shocked that he’s accepted.

Credit to him, though: he doesn’t back out. He just slides his jacket off, tosses it up over the wall of one of the bathroom stalls, rolls up his sleeves, and gestures for Steve to lean over the sink.

“Hot or cold?” he asks, going for the taps.

“Hot,” Steve answers immediately; he doesn’t need any other cold liquid on his head today.

“Hm.”

“What?”

“Nothing,” Munson says airily, turning on the water. “You just kinda strike me as a cold shower guy. Like, up at dawn, go for a run, take a cold shower – all that weird jock shit.”

It isn’t intended to mock, Steve realizes as Munson tests the water temperature—the school pipes take forever to heat up—but to tease. It’s a joke, and Steve is invited in on it. And anyway, it’s… actually kind of close to the mark, so Steve doesn’t say anything at all for a moment as he puts his head as close to the faucet as he can get it and Munson places one cupped hand over the back of his neck and uses the other to scoop water over Steve’s hair.

“Cold water is better for your hair. Not that you’d know anything about that.” Steve finally says, hoping that his own teasing tone carries even with the way he has to raise his voice to be heard over the running water.

Luckily, Munson sounds amused when he answers. “Oh! Shots fucking fired. I see how it is!” Even as he’s pretending at being offended, his fingers stay gentle against Steve’s scalp as he tries to scrub out the dried mess, and Steve fights very, very hard not to shudder.

He can’t remember when the last time someone touched him with gentle intent was. Maybe he’d gotten a hug from Dustin last week?

Shit, that’s fucking pathetic.

He tries even harder not to lean into the touch, into the surprisingly kind hands on the back of his neck and on his scalp, tries hard not to act like some kind of touch-starved weirdo and make Munson regret offering to help.

The irony of the fact that Steve is trying not to act like a freak in front of Eddie Munson is not lost on him.

After another couple of minutes of Munson manipulating Steve’s head this way and that, doing his best to be thorough, he lets Steve go entirely and shuts the water off.

“That’s probably as good as I’m gonna be able to get it,” he says, pushing another handful of paper towels at Steve as he stands up.

“Better than I could’ve done here,” Steve says with a shrug, rubbing the paper towels over his hair and grimacing as he can feel it frizzing in about a hundred different directions.

When he finishes, he turns to look in the mirror, watching in real time as it droops over his forehead and tickles at his wet shirt collar. Munson stands next to him, watching without judgement, but with what feels like an inappropriate amount of fascination.

“Well, I’m not going to lie to you,” Munson says at last, “you look a little like a sad, wet dog.”

Steve’s eyes snap to Munson with a glare. “Gee, thanks.”

“Some people are into that!” Munson insists, holding his hands up placatingly. “That droopy aesthetic, with the big, brown puppy eyes. Someone might just wanna scoop you up and take you home to take care of you. It’s a thing.”

Do you want to? – the question comes immediately and unbidden to Steve’s head, and he quickly shakes it away. They might be on amiable terms right now, teasing each other a little, but he isn’t sure that wouldn’t be a bridge too far.

(He isn’t even sure it is teasing. For a moment, he’d had the genuine urge to ask.)

“Anyway, I think most of the mess is out of your hair, but I’m pretty sure your shirt is toast,” Munson goes on, gesturing to the brown stain around the collar, over one shoulder, and probably down the back.

If he’d been wearing a darker color today, it might’ve been alright, but of course today he’d chosen light blue. Steve sighs, plucking at the front of the shirt. If he can’t salvage it, he might as well ditch it; it’s getting uncomfortably stiff and tacky with the dried milk, and he’d honestly rather stick it out in his undershirt for as long as it takes him to get to the locker room than walk around with evidence of Hargrove’s little stunt all over him.

He untucks the shirt and yanks it over his head, no need to be careful of his hair, emerging from the depths of it to find Munson staring at him in a stunned sort of silence.

“What?” Steve asks. “If it’s wrecked, anyway, I might as well get rid of it. I’ve got a spare shirt in my gym locker I can go grab.”

Munson blinks at him, almost like he’s trying to clear his head. “Or!” he practically shouts – possibly louder than he meant to, since he continues more quietly, “Or, you could just ditch for the rest of the day. I mean, you have any particularly interesting classes after lunch you feel the need to attend?”

“Not really,” Steve admits with a huff of a laugh. “But leaving after that feels a little like– letting Hargrove win. Like I’m retreating or some shit.”

“Nah, don’t think of it like that.” Munson tosses an arm over Steve shoulders, waving his other in front of both of them, like he’s trying to show Steve a grand vision and they aren’t both just staring at the ugly tile on the bathroom wall. “Think of it as cutting class and getting free weed from Hawkins High’s most esteemed dealer.”

Steve turns to look at Munson, staring at him more closely than he’s ever had reason to, and realizing there are tiny freckles on his face. “What, seriously?”

“Sure.” Munson shrugs. “Lemme smoke you out, Harrington. Seems like a good way to let your stress go for a bit – though I am just a little biased.”

“Why?” Steve asks; he doesn’t understand the sudden turn this day has taken, the sudden and bizarre kindness offered that he doesn’t even know what he’s done to deserve.

Munson’s eyes slide away from Steve, though his arm notably stays draped over his shoulders. “Been where you are. It’s not great. And, I mean, if it had happened last year, then, admittedly, I probably wouldn’t have given as much of a shit. Jock on jock violence, whatever. But you,” he glances back at Steve, “you’re genuinely trying to be, like, a good person. And I don’t think you should be punished for that. I think, in fact, that you could probably use a friend.”

“I…” The words stick in Steve’s throat, because what the hell can he even say to that? On anyone else, Steve would have assumed an ulterior motive, but Munson had infused it with so much awkward sincerity that Steve can’t help but realize it’s probably the nicest thing anyone’s said or offered to do for him in… he’s not even sure how long.

His silence must stretch on a little too long, though, because the hopeful light in Munson’s eyes fades a bit, and he begins to slide his arm off of Steve’s shoulder. “Or, y’know, you can tell me to fuck off, because I’m, like, way overstepping some boundaries, and–”

“We should go to my place,” Steve blurts, while grabbing Munson’s wrist for some insane reason.

“What?” Munson blinks over at him, (understandably) startled.

“My place. We should go there to smoke. If you still want to.” Steve could cringe for how stilted the whole thing is coming out. “I want to be able to take a real shower.”

Munson stares at him for a moment longer before laying a hand over his heart with a gasp, suddenly leaning heavily into Steve’s side and forcing Steve to wrap an arm around his waist so they don’t both lose their balance.

“I see how it is!” Munson gasps dramatically. “My sink shower just wasn’t good enough!”

Steve holds in a laugh. “Your sink shower was… fine. But I’ve got milk dried in other uncomfortable places, so unless you want to wash my back for me, too, we should go back to mine.”

Munson’s gaze snaps back to Steve, something a little odd in it, and – oh. Oh, that hadn’t sounded quite like Steve had meant it. It had sounded a little like an offer of the kind you don’t go around making to just anybody.

Steve braces himself, waiting for the reaction (he doubts if Munson would get any kind of physical, but there will probably be an awkward pulling away and sudden remembering of something he has to do literally anywhere else that afternoon), but all Munson does is break into a sly smile and say, “I could, but I’d have to charge you extra.”

Steve can’t help it: he laughs, giving Munson a good-natured shove, who finally releases Steve but doesn’t stumble more than a couple of steps away.

“Meet you at my place?” Steve offers, balling up his shirt and dropping it on top of his notebooks as he grabs them from the shelf. “Half an hour?”

“Wouldn’t miss it.” Munson gives him a corny little salute before grabbing his jacket from over the stall wall and preceding Steve to the bathroom door.

“Munson,” Steve finds himself calling out, just as the other boy’s hand closes around the door handle; Munson glances back and Steve fights the urge to look away. “Uh. Thanks. For, like… yeah. Thanks.”

Whatever meaning Munson takes out of Steve’s absolutely eloquent verbal vomit of gratitude, it makes him smile. “No need for thanks, man,” he says. “I’m honestly a little surprised to say it, but the pleasure was definitely mine.”

And then he disappears out the door, leaving Steve in the bathroom wondering how the hell his day had taken this turn, and just what destination it’s leading him to.

And thinking that he’s honestly a little excited to find out.

[official-linguistics-post]

I really like your blog and think 95% of your posts are v fun and nice to see! But you get really aggressive sometimes and I don't personally understand where you're coming from?

I'm assuming this is because things like 'chat is a new pronoun' and 'emojis are basically hieroglyphics' make sense to me? It seems like just basic human language evolving. Is y'all not a pronoun, then?

(this is entirely not meant in a disrespectful way though I absolutely see how it could be taken like that, it's just a bit strange to get a super antagonistic posts popping up on my timeline cause I followed a gimmick blog)

Anyway! The happy posts are v nice and fun to me but I'm also just some rando and am not expecting you to change, but if you do respond to this mostly I'm just asking: why you gotta be mean?

you're not gonna like this answer! it's gonna come off as mean!

in cases where my temper gets short, it's because i've been dealing with persistent bad-faith interpretation of attempts to use my own expertise. and, in fact, you're doing it now with that second paragraph. i have repeatedly explained why those statements are inaccurate and yet people keep popping up to say (devoid of evidence) that the misinformation makes sense to them and i should just shut up.

i genuinely try not to be antagonistic! i'm not out here bullying random people for lack of knowledge, and i approach genuine questions in good faith! but i have a doctorate in linguistics and it's absurd to think i'll let misinformation about my field go unaddressed when i'm functionally doing scicomm here.

gimmick blogging and responsible public education are not mutually exclusive.

[ckret2]

@marsupials-of-mars submitted:

I was planning to do maybe a fic and more doodles of this but now I'm busy with school so I might as well show what I did do!

Based on how the goldilocks fic seems to posit that Bill at his best is a silly professor who loves to teach his own way

Introducing Professor Locke!

Things about this idea:

-post redemption, however that will go. I'm calling it an AU because I imagine it is not your plan for what happens after lol, but currently canon-compliant.

-Bill is at first not very on board with the idea of working in the higher education system. It's a scam and it's dumb that they tell adult people how to think.

-He's eventually convinced to bless Backupsmore with his tutelage, on the grounds that they're less stuck up there, they seem to care about giving their students opportunities despite their backgrounds, and the kids there care about learning rather than going to college just because their parents said they should.

-Ford uses his academic connections to vouch for Bill even though he is very mysterious and has no academic records. This is another reason why they picked Backupsmore: i's a little more lax when presented with a shockingly smart mystery professor. Bill gets an interview and charms the pants off the university president.

-He teaches "astrophysics" in theory (that's the job description) but he ends up teaching a little bit of everything.

-He's one of those professors you either adore or despise. He's very loud, often outright mean, and if you're too shy to speak up in class he does not give a SHIT about you. You gotta want it!

-However, his class is notoriously easy. He thinks homework and tests are facist, but he's required to have a curriculum, so his "quizzes" are like a few true or false questions and then a short answer where he asks something he thinks would be funny or wants to hear about, like "what's the dumbest thing another student has said in class since the last test and why was it dumb" or "fashion advice: what's the coolest thing I wore this last week? Extra credit: draw something cooler I SHOULD wear."

-as a result, students who have completely unrelated majors will take his class. If they end up being interested, he deems them worthy. If they're just there to be lazy, he will bully them into dropping out.

-Mabel buys him stickers to put on people's tests when they pass, or to just hand out when they something he likes. He gets along most with the college kids who know how to appreciate a classic gold star.

-He really wanted a big pretty lecture hall, where his voice would echo and he could point at a big chalkboard. But all Backupsmore could provide was a cinderblock and linoleum basement classroom. The lights buzz very loudly and it smells musty. They have stools and folding tables. Bill finds he enjoys the more intimate environment where he can walk between the tables and also sneak up on people.

-He's broken multiple folding tables by trying to do the cool professor thing where you hop up onto your desk and cross your legs and talk all casual. He is able to do this on his own desk thankfully. It's aluminum.

-Ford gets a bit nervous if he did the right thing when bill tells his school stories at the dinner table, so he finds an excuse to accompany Bill to a campus event where he can meet some of his students.

-His fears are quickly assuaged when he sees how beloved Bill is and how well he gets along with the kids. When he eventually joins in on one of these conversations, one of the students asks if he's Sixer. The students are excited by this. Bill tries to shut them up, to partial success.

OK I guess I just ended up writing the fic more or less so enjoy I guess lol.

Aww, this is adorable! Thank you! (And the fact that you're imagining a future for Bill makes me so happy.) He's absolutely be the weirdest professor in the school and he'd ADORE having a crowd full of trusting impressional minds whose parents are paying him to change the way they think. Talk about playing to his strengths.

Your idea is so wholesome, meanwhile the moment I saw "Professor Bill" I went,

[controld3vil]

invisible strings

pairing(s): dune 2 cast x actor!reader (platonic)

synopsis: requested/inspired by this ask!

⤷ alt: coincidences are strange. however, what's more strange was not knowing you were in previous works with your costars.

notes: this one is pretty short. reader is gender neutral. set in the same verse as popcorn bucket (♡´౪`♡)

Ding!

"Ah I don't think you guys are going to get this one," you puffed, eyes trailing down to the question on the Vanity Fair card. The cast and you were playing the Vanity Fair Game Show for a fun video. You all eventually filmed with one another at some time during production. Though your schedules were all over the place/locations, everyone got along with each other. That is to say, some like yourself had been in the first film and kept in contact for the sequel. "What was my first show audition?"

Mumbles in unison scurried. Some hums and thought-provoking nods were seen as you hurriedly scribbled down your answer in black ink.

"Oo Shake It Up!" Zendaya points out, eyes wide with her quick response.

Austin Butler who sat beside Florence Pugh raised his head, almost surprised. "Wait, really?" While the blonde actress knowingly glances back to you for confirmation. The rest of the cast was all too eager to know because clearly they had no idea.

"Yes, correct!" You raised your arms, doing jazz hands. In a burst of energy, the mixed actress scores a bright grin, raising her fist in the air in victory. Only for you to pump her fist back, smiling back.

"How were we supposed to know that?" Timothee Chalamet says, snickering accusatively at the camera as if they had an answer. His gaze moves towards you, "You never told us that!"

You shrugged your shoulders, looking half guilty. "You're lost, pal!"

"At least I got the point!" Zendaya puffs up her chest, swiping the invisible dust off her shoulders while Florence giggles. However Timothee looked almost offended even.

"Wait you were in Shake It Up?" Austin shakes his head in pure astonishment. You gave him a slow nod, as his expression grew wider, eyes staring at you in awe. "That's crazy! I didn't know that!"

"Was it a show?" Josh Brolin's comment seemingly pops in and all four of the younger cast including yourself snickered shortly. His cluelessness only substituted for better curiosity to you. As really, you never really told them about your previous works.

"It was a Disney show," Flipping the Vanity Fair card over, only to reveal your messy handwriting, you stated fondly. Timothee then hastily pointed at the small drawing you drew next to your answer. It breaks your concentration for a second as he only stares at it in confusion while Zendaya covers her mouth from giggling. "Like a sitcom really. And I played one of the background dancers." Even you couldn't stop yourself from giggling further, taking a look at your draw.

Truly it was one of those topics that are never mentioned around you. The only reason Zendaya had known was that you had told her once about it when discussing your dance careers. The both of you were young actors and did not expect to know each other back then and even now. Though it was a cute recollection to look back upon.

"Is that a stick figure waving his arms?" Florence cocks her head sideways, having a concentrated face.

"He's supposed to be dancing!" You plead, pointing at the way you drew his arms in the air.

"That is not dancing!" Timothee's smile only grew wider from laughing too much, having to lean forward to look at the little drawing closer. "He just looks- like he's discombobulated!"

"PFFTT!"

"I mean it's a cute drawing!"

"You know what- you don't appreciate my art," You gently placed the card on the floor, giving your costar the stink eye. "I thought this was a fun game, you guys! People are being bullied for no reason!"

"No- I'm not saying your drawings are bad!" The French actor stumbles, in beats of laughter, clenching his cards to his chest. You only swat his presence away before grabbing another question.

In another instance, Austin takes his turn. For a few rounds, he asked about his hobbies, such as what instruments he knew to play. It was quick flashed answers, one by one you managed to pass through flying colors.

"Guitar and piano," Austin bobs his head, as the rest of cast suddenly became enamored at his musical skills.

"Hey!"

"Alright!"

"But also violin," He says sheerly, scratching the back of his neck.

"Oh okay!" Florence drags out an amused hum, in a teasing manner.

"Is that true?" Timothee quirks his brow, having one leg over another, looking all composed.

"Yeah."

"Okay, let's go Disney Channel kids!" You chanted, with the mixed actress a seat away from you joined with as well. You both raised your hands in victory while Austin looked away and blushed.

"We got all the talent!"

At the CCXP Panel in Brazil, fans from all over came to attend to fantastic event. Hosted by Collider Interview, it was a massive event with an enormous stadium, fit for a band performance. There were arrays of lights, standing from the alleyways and above the ceiling. You felt extremely fortunate to have attended and made it to Brazil, for being such a joyful experience.

This time you alongside your young cast members and director, Denise Villeneuve, posed happily with all of you. The panel followed with many turns and twists, with questions coming from the crowd and host alike. One moment fans caught on was your reaction to something that Florence at said.

The Collider host mentioned Florence's history of working with Timothee on Little Women which made both of them cackle, reminiscing those dotting moments.

"Oh you know what," the British actress starts, holding her hand up. The audience was silenced, wondering what she going to mention next. She slowly turns in your direction and points. "I just remembered this, but you were in Midsommar yes?"

"Yes..." You mumbled, ending your answer on a high note, unsure really what she meant. Until it came flashing back to you, much prevalent to your shocked expression. "Oh yes yes!" And seemingly the rest of the cast and fans were roaring in surprise and in cheer.

Though you weren't present in most of the film's production, Florence had fond memories of Midsommar. You were one of the minor characters doomed to death in the first half. Both of your characters had a brief meeting together and that was all. However, it surprised you how Florence was able to recall it all. You had only filmed for a few days and vaguely met her casually.

"This is so weird but I don't know- I just kept forgetting to bring it up," She scrambles to find the right words, throwing gestures back and forth. "But for some reason, I just remembered you being there and then I was like- huh! We were in Midsommar together!"

"Right!" You lowered your tone, the weight on your heels slowly shifting to one side. As you licked your lips at the revelation. "I can't believe we just realized this now!" And you could discern the pure chaos the rest of your costars were feeling. Timothee was wheezing, desperately holding his mic for support. While Zendaya crossed her arms in a mixture of sarcasm and odd mischievousness. As if saying, Really? You guys never realized?! Austin on the other hand, solely was observing from the sidelines, with an amused smile. And all for Denny to be panned to the right with a funny disapproving look on his face.

"This is what I have to deal with," Your director somberly states and the crowd cries out in cackles.

"I don't think we were in anything together before."

No interview or video was being shot. Surprisingly it was lunchtime and a grace period for cast and production alike to go back to their trailers to rest. You did not want to go back to your own trailer so instead followed your costar to his. Knowing he had a better air conditioner and wanted to catch up on anything new you guys enjoyed talking about.

But more importantly, his air conditioner.

"Yeah, I don't think we did," Arms securely behind your head as you leaned back on the couch. You still were in full costume, in Fremen wear however it did not stop you from lounging around in every corner of the set sites. "Does Dune count?"

A light-hearted scoff escapes from Timothee, who is on his phone on the other side of the couch, in costume as well. The air conditioner was blasting heavily on all sides of the trailer yet you two did not mind the loud background noise. "No, it doesn't!"

"That's crazy right?" Lifting yourself up to look at him. His eyes don't leave his phone screen yet you know he is focused on your words. "I'm genuinely surprised we haven't played siblings,"

"We look nothing alike!" He shouts, finally lifting his gaze to your playful one. Suddenly you see his phone flash turned on as it faces you. "So, what do you think of Dune Part Two so far?"

You get up swiftly, stretching out of your tired limbs in the process. "Like a walk on the sand!"

"Aye!" He fist-bumps you as he turns the camera on him, face not covered in any gear. The audience can notice his messy locks and smudged face.

"Directors, sign us up to play something!" You waved before adjusting to put on your mask. The camera swerves to find you clipping on the clasps. A couple clicks can be heard as you move the gear up and down from your face. "Literally anything! I could play his serial killer and I would be happy."

"What-" Timothee almost choked on air, prominent to how shaky the camera view became. Though he quickly recovered, "Why do you always want to kill me in these scenarios?"

"Because it's much more fun!" You whine, shoulders deflating, as you can feel him zooming in on your expression.

[reallyromealone]

would you do a rindou x reader omegaverse nsfw one-shot? 😬😪

(Ignore if no)

Title: little Succubus

Fandom: Tokyo revengers

Characters: Rindō, reader insert

Fic type: nsfw, omegaverse,

Pairings: Rindō x reader

Warnings: male reader, reader insert, omegaverse, demon au, succubus, smut, nsfw, Omega male reader, blood play, Dom and sub themes, spanking, Rindō calls reader names, Rindō is mean, praise, sweet words, reader doesn't feed off people because he's nervous

Notes:

🕯️🕯️🕯️🕯️🕯️🕯️🕯️🕯️🕯️🕯️🕯️🕯️🕯️🕯️🕯️🕯️🕯️🕯️🕯️

(Name) Was starving as he crawled up the large California King bed, a handsome alpha sleeping in no more than boxers as (name)sat on his lap, feeling the others large bulge "I'm sorry... I'm just so hungry" (name) always felt a sense of guilt when feeding, usually keeping it to kissing but he had been so busy with work and... Just a kiss..." (Name) Whispered as he gently cupped the man's strong jaws, his inner omega praising the very strong alpha, he could definitely provide...

(Name) Kissed so softly and sweetly as they tried to use their magic to make sure the Alpha just had a nice dream... Though it didn't work? Pulling away (name) opened his eyes to see that the Alpha was awake and staring smugly "a little rude don't you think?" Rindō said with a shit eating grin as he sat up, pulling (name) closer as the cute little demon looked flustered "I-I was only taking a bit of energy! You should be asleep! Why aren't you asleep!" He said flustered as he looked at the tattooed alpha... Wait those tattoos looked familiar.

Shit.

Large black bar wings spread out behind him, the high ceilings and large bed made sense now as (name) looked at the large horns on the Incubus' head as his eyes turned to a pure glowing shade of amethyst. A large tail snaked from behind him and coiled around (name)s smaller and cuter one "you haven't been eating, kisses are barely a midnight snack let alone a proper meal, idiot" Rindō sniffed at (name)s neck "you're so weak you can't even smell the difference of a demon and a human"

"I-i feel bad taking it that way..."

"You're a virgin" Rindō said in a moment of realization with a bigger grin than he thought possible as he pinned the other to the bed "a succubus Omega whose a virgin... Never thought I would see it" Rindō watched as (name) looked ready to explode with embarrassment "stop bullying me! " He shouted angrily as Rindō chuckled lowly "human raised... You have that innocence that humans have... A little half breed" Rindō sniffed out the human aspects of the other, he and his brother were pure demon choosing to live in the mortal world, operating a crime cindacate with fellow demons.

Before (name) could fire something back, Rindō grabbed him by his neck and kissed him, long tongue taking control as (name) let out a moan, slick already pouring from him and brain getting foggy.

When Rindō pulled away, he looked at his work as (name) looked fucked out from a kiss alone "feels good right? Getting energy from a demon tastes way better than some human" (name) nodded as pink pharamones leaked from him, like fog on a spring morning though it was something only demons could see, easier to tell who was more willing to fuck.

"You wanna be full, huh baby? A cute succubus like you going without a good fucking is just criminal" the Alpha tutted as he freed his cock from his boxers, if (name) was human-- well fully human --- that thing would have killed him. Thirteen inches and thick as a coke can, the demons knot barely expanded as he spread (name)s legs and rubbed up and down his thighs while looking at the others cute little shorts, (name)a succubus form consisting of tiny short shorts a tight crop top that was ripped apart by Rindō "wait!" (Name) Panicked as the Alpha looked primal but halted his hands "i-i don't know your name" (name) said worried and Rindō looked stunned before laughing, leaning up to kiss him "god you're cute, think I'm gonna keep you~" he chuckled as (name)s omega preened at the concept "the names Rindō, what's yours pretty?"

"(Name)...." The Omega whispered as his black wings fluttered at the compliments the Incubus spoke, he knew that lust demons were good with words and shouldn't be so easily affected but... It felt nice.

Rindō kissed down his chest, exposed and perky as his long tongue swirled around the nipple, mouth tearing open to reveal his sharper teeth and (name)s eyes slowly turned a hazy (color) as he took in the pleasure as Rindō looked smug at the others reaction as his hand moved to play with the others much smaller cock, giving a harsh tug as (name)s hips bucked up to chase the pleasure "you must be hungry, you're absorbing so much~" Rindō could feel the Omega drain his energy as his cute fangs grew sharper and his pharamones sweeter, thank god he had enough energy to run Tokyo for a year.

"Alpha ~!" (Name) Cried out as he clung to the other, Rindō pleased that the omegas already claiming him as his wrists made a feeble attempt at scent marking him "yeah? You want alpha, Omega?" Rindō chuckled as (name) nodded feverishly, he was so hungry...

Rindō could tell the other was losing himself to his instincts, Omegan and demonic which was a dangerous combo for any human but thankfully Rindō could take him easy as (name) crawled on him and pushed him down, nails clawing at Rindōs chest as he looked at the others tattoos hungrily "come on baby, take what you want from alpha~" Rindō cooed as he allowed his cute Omega to dominate him even just a little, when (name) wasn't starving he would put him in his place but he knew the cutie just needed a damn good meal.

(Name) Clawed at the others chest, seeing traces of blood before licking up the lines with a moan and sitting up to see the others cock and a wave of nervousness washed over him and Rindō tutted "getting ahead of yourself baby, want alpha to help you?" His voice condescending as his hands groped the others ass cheeks "silly little Omegas need help, especially naughty ones who starve themselves for silly morals" Rindō couldn't help himself, throwing the concept of letting (name) do as he wanted out the window as his large hand swatted down at (name)s plump ass and watched him jolt with a moan.

A succubus didn't feel pain, neither did an Incubus... Anything would feel nothing short of pure pleasure.

"Humans couldn't give you what you need, huh? Needed an incubus cock to satisfy that hunger, a filthy little cock slut pretending to be something he's not" Rindōs words were venomous as he bit at (name)s scent gland and fingers went to the others ass, rubbing and teasing before pushing in and without warning he aggressively began fucking his fingers into the other.

Rindō watched as (name) threw his head back with a scream like moan, legs shaking as Rindō aggressive rubbed at his prostate and the poor Omega clawed and bit at the alphas shoulder and back, gutteral moans escaping his lips as an orgasm rolled through "you feel good baby?"

"Full...." (Name) Mumbled as Rindōs fingers left his gaping ass only to replace it with something far better "well better stuff you good for good measure!" Rindō plunged his cock in, a sadistic grin as (name) took him body shaking and convulsing as the poor thing struggled to process and adjust to his cock, maybe he was too much for the succubus.

Then he saw the others eyes, cute heart rings glowing "you wanna feel real good baby?" Rindō mumbled into his ear and (name) nodded frantically at the idea of feeling even better as Rindō placed a hand on his abdomen and began thrusting, mumbling enxantations as a womb tattoo graced the omegas stomach, increasing his pleasure ten fold and watching as (name) began cumming uncontrollably.

Rindōs thrusts were hard and aggressive as his thighs slapped (name)a ass cheeks and his large wings entrapped (name) nice and close to him as the two kissed sloppily, orgasm after orgasm escaping the poor succubus as the two fed off one another, the poor Omega practically putty in his arms as he let the other fuck him stupid.

"Wanna be mine, pretty? Be mine forever? Only feed off me?" Rindō asked teasingly and (name) bared his neck, surprising the other a bit but grinned none the less as he bit into his neck, venom flowing into (name) as his knot caught and cum began pouring into the other, poor (name) barely conscious.

"Good boy... Nice and full now? Don't worry... Alpha will keep you well fed every day, keep you do nice on my cock" his omega would be his and his alone, he would remove any silly thoughts out of his pretty head and (name) would belong to him and bare his spawn.

It would be perfect.

[sugawarassoulmate]

a few of y'all asked me about this ages ago and i always had the thought in my head but i never actually wrote it down.

but y'all really liked the idea of loser!kuroo and virgin!mean!reader

word count: 845 cw: fem!reader, virgin!reader, name calling, bullying, fingering, implied oral (f receiving), minors dni

virgin!mean!reader who everyone thinks is experienced and she's never bothered to correct them

even kuroo thinks she has a couple bodies under her belt when she starts tormenting him on the daily

she's just so cool and beautiful and everyone is afraid of her but lowkey wants to spend a night with her????

but some things are a bit off

whenever kuroo gets too close to reader during their study sessions and his tall, imposing, figure completely towering over reader when he leans in to ask a question, he notices for some reason you can't look him in the eye

sometimes reader kisses kuroo when she's bored and wants him to stop talking but whenever he deepens it by sucking on her tongue or his fingers try to slip under her shirt, she immediately pushes him away. "fucking pervert," she snaps, going back to her book

reader's bugging kuroo another day—the usual poking fun at him for being a loser always talking about science and tripping over his own feet. "i bet you've never even had pussy. you a virgin or something?" you laugh at your own hypocrisy, keeping up the ruse

kuroo shrugs his shoulders, explaining that he had, in fact, slept with two people back in high school (his first girlfriend ever and a rebound after the two broke up)

reader's shocked that even someone as pitifully embarrassing as kuroo got some before her and irrationally pissed off at the thought of someone else touching kuroo like that

again, her behavior captures kuroo's attention, prompting him to ask if she's had sex before

"what the fuck are you on about? i'm not a fucking virgin!" you blurted out, immediately going on the defense. but kuroo can see how you're acting now and remembers all those times you got flustered but the tiniest bit of physical intimacy.

he stands up, using his height to back you into a corner of your small dorm room. just as he figured, your eyes grow wide and all the attitude you had moments before is nowhere to be seen.

"has nobody ever made you cum before, baby?" kuroo asks, leaning in for a deep kiss that you can't push your way out of this time. "is that why you're so upset? do you need me to help you cum?"

you've never seen kuroo act like this before—so secure and sure of himself. his finger reached out, slipping past your top to touch the soft skin and your body feels like it's buzzing.

he kisses you again, using his strength to keep you from pushing him away when his tongue enters your mouth. "te-tetsu," you whine, feeling embarrassed that he's having such an effect on you.

"tell me you want me to help," kuroo huffs between kisses. "i can't do it unless you tell me."

you'd literally rather die than admit how badly you want kuroo to do whatever he wants with you. but the words leave your lips anyway, full of desperation and shame. "tetsu, i wanna cum. please, please help me cum."

it's all kuroo needs to shove his hand down your shorts and push your panties to the side. you whine when his fingers plunge into your warm, wet heat. it's the first time anyone else has touched you down there and kuroo's fingers are thicker and rougher than yours.

his pace is slow but kuroo easily stretches you out, swallowing every cry of yours with another kiss. "this is all you needed huh, baby?"

it's all over when kuroo uses his thumb to circle your clit, leaving you more of an incoherent mess. it's never felt like this when it was just you. touching yourself will never be the same, it has to be kuroo doing it now. nobody else but him.

your body shudders, a sob leaving your lips as you finally come on kuroo's fingers, juices running down his hand. your cunt offers no resistance, fully accepting his digits fucking you through your orgasm.

the only thing keeping you upright is the fact that kuroo pinned you to the wall. you're feeling lightheaded—when did tears run down your face?—the squelching sound your pussy makes when kuroos pull his fingers out leave you mortified.

it's worse when he starts licking them, groaning over your essence.

kuroo helps you to your bed, laying you gently on the mattress and situates himself between your legs. "ready?"

"ready?" you repeated, unsure of what he meant. your cunt was still reeling from your last release, still feeling the ghost of kuroo's fingers sending you over the edge.

"oh, don't worry, baby. we're not having sex tonight, you're not ready yet." he coos, kissing your thigh. "but the thought of licking your sweet pussy right now makes me really hard and i just wanna be a little selfish."

this isn't the kuroo that cowers whenever you walk down the hall, afraid of becoming the target of your anger. this is much, much different that what you're used to.

"whatever makes you feel good, loser," you said, with no malice in your voice.

©sugawarassoulmate 2023 all rights reserved - please do not repost/translate my work on other platforms!

[banj0possum]

HII! can we get more bully pleeeaseee!!!! like maybe reader (any gender) finding his phone and seeing cute/weird stuff of them on it??? how would they react and what would bully do about it??? also love your work!!!!

argaggragrgagrargagragrgag its been a while since ive made a purely Bully fic, also sorry for the long break, i still had shit to work out after my vacation but im back now!! Sorry this is a bit short, but I do have another boy in the works!

Yandere!Bully x GN Reader pt.3

🖤 It's been a few weeks since you and Adrian started dating and it's not much different from what you put up with other than more affectionate touches and kissing.

🖤 He'd do stuff like take your school books and raise them up high enough so you can't reach them and only give it back if you give him a kiss.

🖤 He makes you skip classes with him by trapping you in a bear hug in the furthest parts of the library so no one will catch you guys cutting class.

🖤 He's much much more protective of you as well, glaring at people who look at you for a bit too long and keeping you close no matter what.

🖤 If you tell him to stop he can and will guilttrip you with whining and kisses.

🖤 "C'mon baby he was lookin at you funny! You know I don't like sharing~" you have to pry him off in order to get your homework done.

🖤 Sometimes he even comes home with you, staying over even after dinner to be with you.

🖤 Yes he met your parents, and he's surprisingly respectful and behaved when he's with them.

🖤 But alone with you in your room? Hell nah.

🖤 You're finishing up the last of your homework while Adrian was on the bed playing with one of the stuffed toys on your bed.

🖤 "Hey babes, gonna use the bathroom real quick!" You hear him get up and he peppers your cheek and neck with kisses before going off to the bathroom.

🖤 You continue your work until you notice his phone vibrating. His lock screen opens showing some notification from his friend but something else catches your eye.

🖤 His wallpaper was a photo of you on one of your dates playing with a cat you two found at the park.

🖤 You pick up his phone and stare at the picture, you don't remember him taking this..

🖤 The flushing of a toilet is heard and Adrian comes out of the bathroom and stops in his tracks when he sees you on his phone.

🖤 "...I'm your wallpaper?"

🖤 "Yeah, duh.."

🖤 "What do you mean duh??"

🖤 "Of course you're my wallpaper baby! Who else would be on there?"

🖤 "I don't know...Batman?"

🖤 "Yeah well Batman isn't my fucking partner ok? Robin's his partner!.."

🖤 He's such a dork..

🖤 You laugh and open your arms for a hug, he huffs, pouting a little as he goes to cuddle you close, kissing your neck as he takes his phone from you.

🖤 "When did you take that photo?" I laugh.

🖤 "I take tons of photos of you hun..."

🖤 "...wait what?"

🖤 "What?.."

[hawkatana]

So, given everything that's happened in recent hours, I thought I might give people who don't know about Gundam some stuff to learn about. Hopefully I can give a balanced and not-racist take like some people.

What is Gundam?

Created by Yoshiyuki Tomino with help by Yoshikazu Yasuhiko and animated by the studio Sunrise (currently Bandai Namco Animation, though I refuse to call them that), the original Mobile Suit Gundam released in 1979 to initially-limited success, though would gain popularity through a combination of fujoshis shipping the characters, the sale of plastic model kits referred to as "Gunpla" and a recut of the series into three compilation movies throughout the early 80's. And as of 2024 is the 66th highest-grossing media franchise of all time, beating out Scooby Doo, Minecraft and the Simpsons.

Also, I'm pretty sure it's what sparked Japanese sci-fi's obsession with O'Neill Cylinders.

The original anime takes place in the year 0079 of the Universal Century, where the Principality of Zeon: a nation composed of orbital space colonies declares a war of independence against the Earth Federation. This "One Year War" has already claimed half the human population by series start and is waged through the use of "Mobile Suits": bipedal mecha powered by a fusion reactor capable of effectively fighting out in the reaches of space.

Main character Amuro Ray is the son of a Federation engineer who lives in an out-of-the-way space colony, though soon finds his home under attack by a Zeon infiltration. After finding the secret Mobile Suit project his father was working on: the RX-78-2 Gundam, he fights off the Zeon invaders, though finds himself and a bunch of other kids conscripted by the Federation to fight the forces of Zeon aboard the ship the White Base. Throughout his journey, Amuro and the Gundam fight many battles against Zeon, including against their mysterious masked ace pilot Char Aznable.

The series was responsible for the codification (but not creation, people get this wrong all the time) of the "Real Robot" subgenre of mecha, where the robots were relatively more realistic and used as weapons of war as opposed to the more fantastical "Super Robot" subgenre pioneered by Mazinger Z and Getter Robo.

A major theme of the show, and the franchise as a whole is "War is bad", as demonstrated through this meme:

Yes, this is the original version of this meme format.

Anyway, Tomino, a renowned pacifist who grew up in the shadow of Japan's involvement in WW2 tried to use his platform as an anime director to try and tell a story that would get people to realise war's futility and brutality.

So I hear you asking, "That's nice and all, but what about the space lesbians who beat Destiel on their home turf?" Well, let's get into that.

What is the Witch From Mercury?

Mobile Suit Gundam: The Witch from Mercury, or "G-Witch" for short is one of the more recent entries in the Gundam Franchise and a (very) loose adaptation of William Shakespeare's The Tempest. Set in the year 122 Ad Stella, the solar system is under the de facto control of the Benerit Group: a megacorporation with borderline-medieval internal politics that maintains a system of capitalism that benefits Spacians at the expense of those who live on Earth.

Main heroine Suletta Mercury enrolls at Asticassia School of Technology owned by the Benrit Group at the behest of her mother: CEO Prospera Mercury of the Mercury-based Shin Sei Development Corporation, and wins a Mobile Suit duel against a bully in her own MS: the Gundam Aerial. This however means she has now won the hand in marriage of daughter of the Benerit Group CEO: Miorine Rembran, beginning a series of consequences that shape the very political landscape of the solar system.

G-Witch was a massive hit, both critically and commercially. The first episode: the Witch and the Bride attracting record numbers for the studio and the Gunpla kit for the Aerial is currently the best-selling Gunpla kit ever.

Contrary to popular belief, G-Witch is not the first piece of Gundam media to feature a female protagonist. That honour would go to the 2002 Japan-only manga École du Ciel, nor would it have the first queer main character, which goes to 1999's Turn-A Gundam (and if you were to ask any fan of the series, they'd so it goes back to the very beginning). But it became notable for its lesbian representation in anime (in spite of Sunrise's attempts to downplay it, to the anger of the director, writer, producer, artists, animators, cast, fans and even their own parent company Bandai Namco who forced them to back off).

One thing I need to clarify: You don't need to have watched the original series to enjoy G-Witch. They're not even in the same continuity.

So if you're interested in the series and you've only watched G-Witch, I'll give out three recommendations for you all to enjoy:

Mobile Suit Gundam 00

Gundam 00 takes place in the year 2307 (the only series to use our own calendar), where the world is divided between three global superpowers: The Union of Free & Solar Nations (The Americas, Australia, New Zealand and Japan), the Human Reform League (China, South, East, Southeast and Central Asia) and the Advanced European Union (all of Europe, including all of Russia west of the Urals) who each control a space elevator near the equator and wage proxy-wars in Africa and the Middle-East over Earth's dwindling resources. This eventually culminates in the emergence of Celestial Being: a terrorist group consisting of Setsuna F. Seiei, Lockon Stratos, Allelujah Haptism and Tierria Erde, all of whom use powerful "Gundam" Mobile Suits and try to forcefully impose global peace on the Earth.

00 is pretty slow-paced and is more about the world than the individual characters, but said characters are really well-written, especially the characters from the three power blocs who are the de facto protagonists as they try to stop what are in their eyes a bunch of crazed terrorists preaching a hypocritical and incoherent ideology of "peace through force".

And to address the elephant in the room, this series is VERY post-9/11. Constant talks about terrorism, proxy-conflicts in the global south (especially the Middle-East), religious extremism, dwindling resources and the wars fought over them. While the franchise has always been political and of-its-time, you can just tell 00 was made in the mid-2000's. Again, it's good. But just something to keep in mind.

Turn-A Gundam

Turn-A Gundam is one of the weirder elements of the franchise for a myriad of reasons. Not the least of which being its unique setting taking inspiration from the famous sci-fi novel War of the Worlds.

In the Year 2345 of the Correct Century, human civilisation is at a level of technology reminiscent of the late-19th/early 20th centuries, save for the Moonrace on... well, the moon. As part of their queen Diana Soreil's plan to reintegrate both Lunar and Terran societies, several scouts are sent to the planet to set up their return to the planet. One such scout: Loran Cehack integrates into Terran society as a driver for the wealthy Heim family, though at a coming of age ceremony for the family's second daughter, a member of the Moonrace attacks the technologically-inferior Terrans. However, a mysterious mustached statue breaks apart to reveal a "White Doll": the Turn-A Gundam, allowing Loran to fend off the invaders. rest of the series becomes more of a mystery to how the supposedly-peace loving Moonrace could allow of such brutality.

The setting of the Correct Century timeline alone is one of the draws of Turn-A, though its excellent characters and compelling mystery also help a lot.

I do however have two warnings for people interested in watching it. The first is that this series was never dubbed. While it did receive an official sub in 2015, there still isn't a dub for the series. So if that bothers you, there's your warning.

The other is that there's a pretty big twist in the latter part of the series that while I will not spoil it here, it's such a big deal that I can't not mention it. It doesn't make any sense, and it actively detracts from not just the series, but the whole franchise. You'll know it when you see it. It doesn't ruin my enjoyment, but a lot of people don't like Turn-A for that alone.

Mobile Fighter G Gundam

Favourite entry. Don't care. It's peak.

In the Year 60 of the Future Century, war has been abandoned by the nations of humanity in favour of the Gundam fight: a quad-annual fighting tournament between Gundams representative of the countries of the world where the winner rules space until the next Gundam fight, all while leaving the Earth ecologically devastated in the fighting. Neo-Japan's Gundam Fighter: Domon Kasshu arrives on Earth seeking information on his older brother Kyoji, who killed their mother and led to their father's arrest before stealing the experimental Devil Gundam to Earth, beating up every Gundam Fighter in his way. However, he eventually learns of far more dangerous revelations about the incident.

G Gundam is to put it bluntly: bat-shit insane. And I love it. It basically took a look at the then-stagnating franchise in the wake of the wet fart that was Victory Gundam and said "I know what can save this franchise, Bruce Lee movies!" And it somehow worked.

Word of advice: watch it dubbed. Mark Gatha absolutely kills it as Domon every time, and puts just the right amount of ham into every line.

So yeah, that's some stuff on Gundam. This was a long post to write out. I'm gonna take a break now.

[sanguineterrain]

it's a feeling that's fine - s.h.

Summary: You accidentally climb the wrong fence on the hottest day of May. It turns out to be the best thing that's ever happened to you.

Pairing: Steve Harrington x fem!reader

Word count: 10.6k

Warnings/tags: no use of y/n, no physical descriptions, etc. reader is in a toxic friendship; she's slightly bullied in that indirect mean girl way, but the toxic friendship ends. reader cuts her finger by accident. drinking and drug mentions. fluff, humor, strangers to friends to lovers, summer vibes, so many princess bride references. steve is super duper sweet!!! post s4 volume 2.

A/N: so if you wondered where i've been for the last two months.... it was in a cave writing this fic. i'm really proud of this one; the reader is a little different than how i usually write, but i hope you'll like her all the same :) if you enjoy this fic, please please let me know through comments/reblogs!

divider by firefly-graphics

Today is hot. 

Weatherman Dale had said this morning that today is a record high for May. It’s so hot, in fact, that Debbie Wellerman had called you this morning asking if you wanted to come swim in her pool. 

You’d asked if you could dig for worms in her yard. She’d sighed and hung up. You hope that means yes. Joan has been in need of some company. Worms would be good for her.

You go around Debbie’s house and stop at the back gate. The Wellermans are kind of mean and they don’t like it when you take too many cucumber sandwiches. To avoid them, you’ve taken to going through the back gate whenever Debbie invites you over. It works pretty well.

Except today, the gate is locked. Which is weird, because Debbie usually leaves it open. It’s how her boyfriend, Brett, sneaks in during the day, and how Brett’s brother, Chet, sneaks in at night. 

You’d asked once why the brothers come over separately. Debbie had gotten mad and kicked you out without giving you any ice cream. You don’t ask about Brett and Chet anymore.

The problem is that you’re wearing flip flops, which are not ideal for climbing fences. Or anything, really. You once climbed a jungle gym in flip flops and skinned both knees. 

You slip off your flip flops and fling them over the fence. They land a second later, clapping against the ground. The fence is covered in climbing ivy and tiny red flowers you’ve never seen before. You wonder how Debbie made them grow so fast.

The street is empty, which is nice. Sometimes people in Loch Nora like to yell at people who don’t also live in Loch Nora. 

The fence wood is hot but not so hot that you can’t touch it. You stick your feet in the little grooves and start to climb. It’s not too high of a fence, but it’s high enough to warn people who don’t belong here.

That’s never stopped you, though.

Getting over is trickier. You expect Debbie to see you by now, but there’s no sound. She must be inside, or maybe she’s out and forgot she’s invited you. She does that sometimes.

Wood dust clings to your fingers and the soles of your feet. When you’re a foot from the ground, you hop down. Then you turn.

There’s no sign of Debbie. There is, however, a boy.

He’s reclined on an inflatable blue ring floaty in the middle of the pool. He wears sunglasses and red board shorts with little white anchors on them. 

He has very pretty hair, both on his head and chest. He also has pretty lips. And arms. All of him is pretty, really. You wish you could see his face properly. He probably has a nice face too. Symmetrical and kind.

The area around the pool is paved just like at Debbie’s—only it’s a lot larger than you remember. There's a patch of dirt next to the gate. You go and crouch at the edge. You don't see any worms. Probably because it's so hot. You'd stay underground too if you were a worm.

You stand and turn to look at the boy again. He looks like he might be asleep. 

“Did Debbie invite you?” you ask.

The boy shoots up from the floaty. The shift in weight makes him lose his balance and he topples into the water a moment later. The floaty flips with him. 

He resurfaces almost immediately, spitting water and rubbing chlorine from his eyes. You squint.

Yes, you were right. He does have a very nice face.

The water comes up to his waist. He pushes his hair back in handfuls, blinking. Then he fishes his sunglasses out with his foot and sets them on his head. 

“Can you swim?” you ask.

He stares at you, blinking.

“What?” he says after a beat. 

“Can you swim?” you repeat.

“Uh, yeah? Yes, of course I can swim.”

"It would be bad luck if you couldn’t.”

His brows furrow.

“Because I can't swim,” you clarify.

“I wouldn’t be in the pool if I couldn’t swim,” he says.

“That’s good thinking.”

You sit at the edge of the pool and dip your calves in. He wades closer until he’s about three feet away.

“How did you get here?” he asks.

“I walked.”

“I mean, how did you get in my backyard?”

“Oh. I climbed the fence.” 

You peer closer. He looks familiar, but you can’t quite place him. 

“Are you Brett and Chet’s triplet?” you ask. “You’re a lot prettier than them. Did their mother feed you extra vitamins?"

His eyes go wide. “Uh… Brett and Chet Kingsley?”

“Uh-huh. Debbie invites both of them over, but never at the same time.”

“Who's—they don’t have a triplet.”

“That’s good. Three’s bad luck.”

“My house number has a three in it,” he says.

“Don’t step on any sidewalk cracks,” you warn.

He tilts his head, tongue poking out like he’s sizing you up. You let him, focusing on his face instead. He has dark, warm eyes the color of black tea. His shoulders are toned with lots of freckles on them. He looks like a boy who’d like Debbie, not you. 

“Is Debbie going to be back soon?” you ask. You don’t want to get attached to a boy who’ll just end up wanting Debbie instead. You've made that mistake before.

“Um… if you’re talking about Debbie Wellerman, she lives on the next block over. I’m Steve Harrington.”

“Oh. You’re the guy who fought the monsters.”

He eyes you warily. “Wh—how do you know about the monsters?”

"Who doesn't?" 

Steve opens his mouth, then closes it. 

“You can’t tell anyone," he finally says. 

You shrug and kick at the water gently.

“I have no one to tell. Debbie doesn’t believe in monsters.”

“She doesn’t believe in giving you a key either, huh?”

“She doesn’t usually lock her gate,” you say. 

“Well, this isn’t her gate.”

“Yeah. I like your shorts.”

Steve’s cheeks flush pink. 

“Are you getting sunstroke?” you ask. 

That turns his cheeks pinker. 

“No, no." He coughs. "I’m fine.”

“It’s a record high temperature for May,” you say. “That’s what Weatherman Dale said. The highest it's ever been since 1923." 

“Yeah, I heard." He nods. "I didn’t wanna run the AC the whole day so, here I am. My friend Robin was supposed to come over, but I guess she bailed.”

“Robin is a nice name. Is she a bird?”

Steve smiles. “No, she’s a girl.”

“Oh. I thought maybe she was a bird you’d made friends with while fighting monsters.”

“Well.” Steve shrugs. “I did sort of make friends with her while fighting monsters.”

“Robins are good omens. They bring luck."

“Huh.”

You swallow. You’re probably talking too much. That’s what Debbie would say. That’s why boys sneak into her yard and not yours. 

"So." Steve puts a hand over his forehead to block the sun. "Debbie Wellerman, huh? You don't seem like the type to be her friend."

"Friends can come from the most unusual places," you say. "Like under a tree or at the bottom of the ocean."

"Have you made many friends at the bottom of the ocean?" Steve asks with a smile. 

You hesitate. Is he making fun of you? Sometimes, you can't tell. The people in Loch Nora are good at making fun of you without you knowing. 

Steve’s hair has already begun to dry, a little crunchy from the chlorine. He doesn’t look like he’s making fun of you.

"Not many. But that's where I found Joan," you say.

"Joan was at the bottom of the ocean?"

"Kind of. I found her in a pond. Then I found her sister, but I lost her at sea and I couldn't swim out to rescue her. It was a sad day. Joan didn't handle it well."

Steve's brows rise. "Wow. I'm sorry."

"It's okay. Joan has been on the incline. I think she's finally ready to get back out there. I wanted to find her company, but I didn't want to disturb your dirt." 

“My dirt?”

“Mmhm. I'm trying to make a social club for her."

"Out of dirt?"

"Out of worms."

"Huh."

Steve rests his chin on his arm that's perched on the ledge. 

"Your hair is wavy," you observe. 

"What? Oh, yeah. I didn't put anything in it."

"Like what? Secrets?"

"No, like, gel. Product."

You nod in realization. "Your hair was so big in school.”

Steve winces. "Yeah. Sorry, I wasn't the best guy back then."

"You were in your chrysalis. You needed time to grow. But then you turned into a butterfly. Or a moth, if you prefer."

"Moths are spooky," says Steve. "They look like they have eyes on their wings."

"Yes. But they're actually friendly. Unless you eat them. Some are poisonous." You lean in, deadly serious. "Don't eat moths."

"Will do."

"No, don't. And warn your Robin too. She might think one looks delicious and meet her doom."

A smile creeps onto Steve's face. 

"You're kind of strange," he says. "In the best way possible."

"Thank you."

"Do you want some lemonade?" 

"Is it poisoned?" 

"What?" Steve startles. "No, of course not."

"No, I suppose not," you say thoughtfully. "You hadn't expected me to climb over your gate, so you wouldn't have had time to poison the lemonade."

Steve stacks one arm atop his other, looking up at you. The ends of his hair have begun to curl. You like it so much. 

"What if I pour from the pitcher right in front of you? Will that make you feel better?" he asks. 

"You can still put something in my glass," you say. "Or you might have built a tolerance to the poison for this exact moment. Like in The Princess Bride."

"I'm only twenty-one. I would've had to start very young to build a tolerance. Besides, what would be my motivation to poison you?"

You shake your head. "There's no need for motivation. Violent delights. But you've fought monsters, and Lucas Sinclair says you're a good guy. So, yes, I will have some lemonade."

Steve pushes himself out of the pool with ease, dripping water all over the concrete. You stare at the rivulets that hurry down his legs and chest. He has a lot of hair everywhere. You like that too.

He offers his hand and you take it, letting him pull you to your feet. Your shoulder bumps his. Steve's skin is warm. He smells like chlorine and something sweeter. Pineapple, maybe. 

"You would do very well as a knight," you say. "If I were a princess, I'd want you to commit yourself to me."

Steve makes a weird noise in his throat. 

"Uh, th-thanks," he says. 

"You're welcome."

"So you, uh, know Lucas?"

"Yes. He lives on my block. His mom gives me rides sometimes."

You step in through the sliding glass door, which puts you directly in the kitchen. The house is at least twenty degrees cooler. You shiver at the sudden temperature change. 

"You don't have a car?" Steve asks. 

"No."

"You walked from your house to Loch Nora?"

"I took the bus part of the way. Then I walked."

Steve takes two glasses down from the shelf. Then he opens the refrigerator. You sit at the large kitchen island while he pours. 

"Debbie Wellerman has a car," Steve says. 

"Uh-huh. A Porsche."

A money car, she'd called it when she got it for her sixteenth birthday. Boys love girls with money cars. Maybe that's why boys don't love you. 

Steve hands you a glass. You take a long sip. Your mouth puckers and you scrunch your eyes shut as the acid coats your tongue.

"Shit. Not enough sugar?"

You swallow and open your eyes. 

"It's wonderful, Steve," you say earnestly. 

"You don't have to lie. I saw your mouth screw up."

"I'm not lying. It's the right amount of sour." 

Steve takes his own sip. His lips pucker, and he shakes his head.

"Nope. Definitely needs more sugar."

You cradle your glass in your hands. "Don't take mine. She's perfect."

Steve breathes a laugh, returning the pitcher to the fridge. He sits beside you on the island. He's already developing a slight tan. You wonder if more freckles appear the longer he's in the sun. 

"Why doesn't Debbie pick you up?" he asks. 

"Why would she pick me up?" 

"Because that's what nice friends do. And it's unfair to expect you to come all the way here when the buses don't go through Loch Nora."

"Debbie always expects me to come over," you say. "So I do. She doesn't like my house."

Steve frowns deeply. 

"I don't mind the walk," you offer, trying to make him smile again. 

It doesn't work. Steve takes another sip. His lips purse, red like cherry candy and shiny with lemonade. 

"She should meet you halfway more often," he says, dumping his lemonade into the sink. 

You trace shapes into the condensation of your glass. 

"I wanted to go rollerblading," you say. "But…"

"But what?" he prompts. 

"She didn't. Neither did Brett. They wanted to make out in the pool.”

Steve grimaces. “Sounds like a drag.”

“They make weird noises. Like goats at the zoo.”

Steve snorts. You smile and kick your legs, pleased.

“My friends go rollerblading,” he says. “The kids love to skate at the park. You could come with us one day.”

“You have kids?”

“No, I—” Steve shakes his head, chuckling. “Definitely not. No, they’re only a few years younger than me, but me and the other people our age call them kids. They’re part of our little monster-fighting group. Anyway, uh, y'know. Open invite. If you're ever tired of goat noises."

You stare at him for a minute. He seems nervous, and you can't make out why. Nobody's ever nervous around you.

"Okay," you say. "I'd like to meet your kids."

"Cool. Well, um, I can give you my number. We usually meet up on weekends, but once school ends, any day is game."

Your heart rate picks up. You know this part. Only from a distance, of course. But you know what it means when a boy gives a girl his number. 

“You want me to call you?” you ask.

“Yeah. I mean, if you want to. I feel like it’s a little forward for me to ask the girl who climbed my fence for her number. So, um, you can call me. Is that cool?”

Steve looks at you and waits. You chew your lip and nod.

“That’s okay.”

He smiles. “Great! I think I have a pen around here somewhere…”

Steve walks around the table to a stationary caddy on the counter and takes out a blue Sharpie. You stick out your arm, palm up. 

"Uh…" He looks at you. "I can find a notepad."

"This helps me memorize things better," you say and wiggle your fingers. 

"I don't wanna give you ink poisoning."

"You didn't poison me before. You're not very good at it."

"Isn't that a good thing?"

You shrug. "Depends on your aspirations."

Steve hesitates for another second. Then he takes the top of your forearm and begins to write on the soft underside. He writes slowly, which tickles, but you remain still. 

He's so close. You're reminded all over again of his hands and warmth and pineapple scent. 

Steve caps the marker. You inspect the writing. 

"Good penmanship," you say. 

"Think so? Robin says it's chicken scratch. But she can't talk—hers is ten times worse."

"It's neat," you say. "But not serial-killer neat. If I were a graphologist, I would give you the all clear."

"Graphologist?"

"A handwriting expert. I would write in my report, 'not a murderer.'"

"Well, that's a relief," Steve says. "I try to keep the murdering to a minimum."

You hum and finish your lemonade in one gulp.

“Thank you for not poisoning me."

“Yeah, you’re welcome,” Steve replies through a smile. 

His smile makes you nervous. A good nervous, though, like you're about to sled down a big hill. 

You push yourself off the stool. Steve gets up with you and opens the sliding glass door for you.

“A very stalwart knight,” you say, and walk over to where your flip flops are.

You throw them back over the gate. They land with a clack on the sidewalk.

You find your footholds on the gate and turn to look at Steve.

“It was nice to meet you, Steve Harrington. Don’t fight any monsters by yourself.”

“Whoa, hang on!” He jogs over and lightly touches your arm. It sears your skin like you've been kissed by the sun himself. “I’ll unlock the gate. You don’t need to… climb again.”

Steve pulls the latch next to you. The gate creaks open. You hop off and walk through. 

Steve leans against the gate, elbow bent. His bicep bulges. You've never been this close to a shirtless boy. Your stomach flips. 

“Are you sure you know where Debbie lives?” he asks.

Your eyes dart from his chest to his face. 

“Yes.”

“Really? ‘Cause you didn’t exactly find it the first time.”

“Second time’s the charm,” you say.

“I thought it was the third time.”

“No. Three’s bad luck, remember?”

Steve runs his tongue under his molars, once again staring at you like he’s trying to solve a puzzle. You slip into your sandals while he figures you out.

“Well, um. You can come back if you get lost. Or you need help. Or you wanna look for rocks."

You tilt your head. “You’d look for rocks with me?”

“I don’t know how helpful I’d be—all rocks look the same to me. My friends would probably be better at it than me. But, yeah, I would.”

“Okay. Thank you for your hospitality.”

He grins. “Sure thing.”

You take his hand and shake it. It’s warm and slightly calloused. You wonder if he holds girls’ hands often.

"I hope Robin finds your house," you say. "Goodbye, Steve Harrington."

Then you go.

You do find Debbie’s house on the second try. You hide your Sharpie'd arm behind your back when you enter. Debbie doesn’t ask why you’re late. Brett doesn’t acknowledge you, and you wonder how you mistook Steve for his brother. 

“There’s lemonade,” Debbie says as she heads in, Brett at her heels.

You don’t drink any. You know it won’t be the right amount of sour. 

Movies are better in the summer. This is a fact you've learned to accept. 

There's no dread of the cold after you finish a movie in the summer. The tape ends and you can go outside and still love the real world. 

Sorry, we're on a break! the sign on the store window reads in loopy script. You sit on the hot curb in front of Family Video, your yellow shorts bunched around your thighs. Sweat sticks to the back of your neck, and you drag a hand across, then wipe your fingers on your shirt. 

From here, you can just see the cement-filled cracks in the asphalt, where the earthquake split the main road two years ago. Because of the cracks, the bus stops three blocks from the plaza, so you'd walked three blocks in the heat. 

You hadn't been lying to Steve, though. You really don't mind the walk. 

Beads of sweat drip down your forehead. One slips into your eye and burns. You make a fist and press it into your eyelid.

Okay. Maybe you mind a little.

"Hey, neighbor!"

You look up, squinting through the sun. Lucas Sinclair waves at you. You wave back. A girl with two red braids is next to him. 

"Hi, Lucas," you say, standing as they approach you on the curb. 

"This is my girlfriend, Max," he introduces proudly. 

"My congratulations. Getting a girlfriend is no easy feat."

Max studies you for a moment. "I think I should get the credit, considering I said yes." 

"Undoubtedly," you say. 

"Are you his neighbor?" she asks. 

"Yes. Lucas is an outstanding neighbor. You should be very proud of him." 

"I believe it," says Max. 

"What are you doing?" Lucas asks. 

"Lots of things," you say. "Breathing, digesting. But presently, I'm waiting for the video store to reopen. I want to rent The Princess Bride.”

Max snorts. "Good luck with that. Those two take five hour lunch breaks now, ever since Keith moved away. It's barely a business anymore."

"There must be a lot of courses in their lunch," you muse. 

"Yeah… uh, we're going to get ice cream. Wanna join?" asks Lucas.

"Okay." You turn to Max. "Will my presence impede your special plans?"

Max squints. "Special plans? Like what?"

"I don't know. Perhaps you've written Lucas a series of sonnets to profess your love."

"A series of what?"

"Poems."

"Love poems are corny," she says. 

You wonder if Steve would agree. 

"Sometimes corny things are good. When they come from the right person," you say. 

Max acquiesces with a hum. 

"No love poems today," she says. "You should join us."

So you follow a couple steps behind them to the Baskin-Robbins down the block. 

The AC whooshes as you step inside, drying your sweat to your forehead. 

“Wow,” Max says with a scoff. “It’s like Starcourt all over again.”

You follow her gaze and spot Steve. 

Oh. Steve.

He's in a green Family Video vest. A girl sits across from him, wearing a matching vest. She has cropped hair and a bandaid on one knee. 

“Hey, losers!” Max calls. “This isn’t a lunch break.”

The girl flips her off. “The sign says we’re taking a break. It doesn’t specify how long of a break.”

Lucas orders a scoop of strawberry ice cream for himself and a scoop of cookies and cream for Max. 

“Yeah, plus, we’ve had a grand total of one customer today,” Steve adds.

“Well, you would’ve had two if you hadn’t been here on your seventeen hour break,” Max shoots back.

He scoffs. “Oh, really? Who?”

“Can I get one scoop of rocky road ice cream with oreo crumble and gummy worms in a cup?” you ask the cashier. 

She goes to scoop the ice cream. Max proudly points at you. 

“Her,” she says with a smirk. “She wanted to rent The Princess Bride, and now she’s not gonna be a paying customer ‘cause you two are lazy.”

“I would still be a paying customer,” you say.

Max shakes her head at you.

“I’m trying to make a point,” she whispers.

“Oh. You’re doing great."

“Your total is three twenty-four,” the cashier says, sticking a spoon into your cup. 

The sound of a chair being dragged across the floor draws your attention. Steve is up, trying to free his leg from under the table. He finally wiggles free and jogs to the counter, wallet in hand.

"Hi,” he says. "I can pay." 

“But I have money,” you say, brows knitting.

“No, I know. I—now you can save your money. Do you–do you mind if I pay for you?”

“Will I have to pay you back?” you ask.

“Oh my God,” the cashier mutters under her breath.

You shrink at her tone. You've missed something, evidently. You have no clue what. 

Steve glances at her, mouth pinching. 

“No,” he says gently, turning back to you. “You don’t have to pay me back. It’s a gesture. As a friend.”

“Oh. Okay.” 

Steve gives her the money. You take your ice cream. 

“Smooth,” you hear Max say to Steve. He bumps her arm with his elbow.

Steve pulls a chair from another table for you. You all sit down.

"This is, uh…" Steve trails off, turning to you. "I'm sorry, I never got your name."

"You kept calling her Buttercup," the girl says. 

Steve whips his head around to hiss at her. 

"Robin." 

"She's my neighbor," Lucas says. 

"We know," Max tells him. 

"I don't." Robin raises her hand briefly, shooing Steve away. "I'm Robin Buckley."

"Hi, Robin. Watch out for moths," you say. 

She tilts her head and smiles. You look at Steve, who's already looking at you. 

"Princess Buttercup?" you ask. 

"Well." He rubs the back of his neck. "Y-Yeah, kinda. You mentioned The Princess Bride and, uh, I don’t know your name, so…”

You mull that over. 

"If I'm Buttercup, you must be Westley." 

Steve's eyes widen. "Uh…" 

Robin snickers. Max smirks. 

"Interesting shade of red you're turning, Westley," Robin says. 

"Shut—"

He kicks her chair leg. She yelps and shoves him in retaliation. Max rolls her eyes. 

"Have some class, will you?" she says. 

"I'm classy!" Steve insists. 

"Not anymore," Lucas says gravely. "Now you're a glorified babysitter." 

"Childcare is dutiful work," you say. 

Steve grins at you. Your stomach flutters.

“Is that a mud pie?” he asks. 

You nod. 

“Gummy worms?” 

You tilt your head. “How did you know?”

Steve chuckles. “Lucky guess.”

Across the table, the others argue about the classiest ice cream flavors.

“It’s obviously mango sorbet.”

“Sorbet isn’t ice cream!”

“Are they your kids?” you ask.

Steve leans in so you can talk in his ear. His arm is on the back of your chair. If you shift the slightest inch, you’d feel him.

“Minus Robin. Though, sometimes…” He rolls his eyes playfully. “But, um, yeah. Two of them.”

“How many kids do you have?” you ask.

“Let’s see…” Steve counts on his fingers. “Six?”

“Wow. You must be some babysitter.”

“I’m alright.”

You lean in. Steve blinks.

“What’re you doing?” he asks.

“You have an eyelash.” 

You swipe the hair off his cheek and hold your finger in front of his mouth.

“You have to make a wish.”

Steve’s eyes slide to you. He gently holds your hand in place. Your heart beats faster.

“‘Kay.” He blows the eyelash away, but doesn't release your hand. “Let’s see if it comes true.”

The numbers stare at you. Taunt you, really.

You practically have them memorized. You’d written them thirty times on a piece of notebook paper. Then you’d shoved that under your bed. 

Now you have it taped to your dresser mirror. 

You wish you could talk to Joan about it, but she’s bathing in the sink after an unfortunate encounter with a paint can. 

The Sharpie is gone from your arm, has been gone for several days now. But if you concentrate, you can see its silhouette on your skin. 

You get up and peel the paper off the mirror. Then you go down the hall to your phone. 

Carefully, you dial, making sure not to press any wrong buttons. 

The phone rings. You rock on your toes.

“Hello?” Steve says.

You freeze. 

“Hellooo…?”

“Hi,” you finally say. “It’s Buttercup.”

“Oh!” He sounds so happy. “Hey! Hey, how are you?”

“Good.” You chew on a cuticle. “It’s Saturday.”

“Oh, right! Did you wanna go rollerblading?”

Relief floods you. He remembers.

“Yes. If you’re planning it.”

“I haven’t talked to the kids, but I’m sure they’d be down.” You can hear the smile in his voice. “I can pick you up in twenty?"

“I can walk.”

“C’mon, in the sun? You live on the same street as Lucas anyway, don’t worry about it.”

“Well.” You twirl the telephone cord around your finger so tightly, it threatens to cut off your circulation. “Okay… if it’s no trouble.”

“It’s no trouble,” Steve promises. “I’ll see you in a bit, okay?”

You hang up and run to your room to dig for your skates. They’re stuffed under your bed next to a mini gumball machine. You shove two green gumballs in your mouth and race to the bathroom to check on Joan, nearly slipping on the wood.

“I’m going out, Joan. I think he might… he might like me.” You crunch on the gumball shells and shudder. “What a terrifying thought.”

You pull out the drain stopper and set Joan on a washcloth to dry. Then you go down the hall to put on your sneakers. 

Steve arrives five minutes early. You only know that because you spend the whole time watching the road from your curtained window. You shake your hands out, overwhelmed with nerves. 

It’s just a boy. He’s only a boy. 

The two of you meet halfway. Steve jogs backwards, unusually skillful, and opens the passenger door for you.

“Hey. Does Joan want to come?” Steve asks. 

You shake your head. “She’s having a spa day. It’s just me.”

“Well, I’m happy to have you,” he says, sweet and earnest. 

You duck inside the car and shake your hands a little, trying to fend off the returning nerves. Just a boy.

“So, that’s El,” Steve says as he gets into the driver’s seat, pointing to a girl with short curls. “And you know Max and Lucas.”

Max nods at you with a smile. Lucas waves.

“Hi, El,” you say. “Cool hair.”

“Thank you,” she says, voice soft. “I like your skates.”

“I found them at a yard sale. You can find anything in a yard.”

"Okay," Steve says. "Everybody buckled?" 

“Yes, Mom,” Max mumbles. 

Steve catches your gaze and rolls his eyes. You smile.

Briefly, you worry you’ll have to fill the silence and talk about yourself, like people expect you to. But Steve and the kids hold conversation easily. They talk about anything and everything. 

They're more energetic than you're used to; Debbie always prefers it to be quiet. 

But you don't mind it. You don’t feel lonely like you do when you’re with Debbie.

“Alright, please stay within this area,” Steve says when he parks and everyone gets out. “Within—”

“Shouting distance!” Max yells. “Yeah, we know!”

The park isn't crowded. Most of the paths are clear, so skating will be no problem. 

Max gets out two skateboards from the trunk. 

“Max is going to teach me how to do an ollie,” El informs you. “Would you like to join us?”

“Maybe later,” you say. “I want to master my yard skates.”

She nods and follows the others to the small skate park on the other side of the trees. 

You bring your skates to a bench and sit, lacing them up your feet. Steve is a few feet away, swinging his arms slightly.

“Aren’t you going to join them?” you ask.

“Oh, uh, no. I brought my own skates… I thought maybe we could skate together, if that’s okay?”

“Yes, I would like that,” you say. 

Steve beams. “Alright, cool. I’ll go get mine.”

You stand, about to take a step forward—and immediately slip.

Steve reacts instantly, lunging to catch you. One hand grabs your elbow, the other on your stomach. You squeal and cling to his shirt. 

“Are you okay?” he asks, helping you stand upright.

“I’m okay,” you say, breath caught in your throat.

You take a step but your foot wobbles. Steve grabs you again. You don’t try to take another step.

“I thought skating would be intuitive,” you say, rolling one skate to test.

“What?” 

You look up. Steve’s face is inches from yours. His hair is golden in the sunshine. His eyes lock on your own; his focus sends a jolt of electricity down your spine.

“You know, like how babies are able to swim for the first six months of their lives?”

“Uh…” Steve tilts his head. “No?”

“Oh. Because they were in the womb, they have that ability. ‘Cause they float around in there for nine months, you know? But then they lose it. That’s why we have to learn how to swim.”

“Wow. That’s a cool fact.”

Nobody ever thinks your facts are cool. But Steve does.

“Well, I thought skating would be similar,” you say. “I’ve watched other people skate, so I thought I’d just… do it. I guess I lost that at six months too.”

Steve’s smiling. It’s a gentle smile, though. Not a teasing smile. 

“I see,” he says. “I’m sorry for your disappointment.”

“It’s alright. Life is far more than disappointment. No use getting hung up on it.”

“Do you want me to teach you how to skate?” he asks. “I promise I’m good at it. Coach Collins said I could’ve seriously pursued it.”

“So skating for you is like avoiding death for Westley,” you say.

“Actually, I’m pretty good at avoiding death too,” Steve says. “And making grilled cheeses.”

“Triple threat.”

He ducks his head with a laugh, and you feel the warmth of it flow through your own body.

“Sure. Can’t make lemonade for shit, though.”

“I think your lemonade is perfect, Steve Harrington.”

His cheeks are scarlet again. It’s quickly becoming your favorite color.

“I would like it if you taught me,” you say.

“Okay. I’ll get my skates after you get the hang of it. Put your hand on my arm, right here.”

Steve pats his forearm. Carefully, you do as he says. 

“I’m nervous,” you confess. 

“I got you,” Steve says, cheek brushing your head. “I won’t let you fall, Buttercup.”

Saint Aloysius’ parking lot has the best rocks. 

You've never told anybody as much because you imagine the lot would get busy, and you like it empty.

Today, you're searching for a brother for Joan. Ever since that tragic day at Macinaw Island, Joan's been very lonely. It‘s hard being a sisterless sister. 

Joan is smooth and round, so you look for an equally smooth and round brother. Commonality is important. 

Your knees hurt from squatting, so you sit. The rocks poke your butt. 

You hear a car rolling up the hill, engine a soft purr. You stop and turn. 

The car is maroon and shiny, with only a couple slight scratches you can't notice unless you look really hard. You don't recognize the license plate, although you have yet to start your record of Hawkins plates. 

It putters to a stop in front of Giovanni's Bakery across the street. The car doors open. 

"I'm losing my edge, Robs! I made a damn fool of myself. I can't even—"

"Okay, first of all, I feel like we're glossing over the fact that you don't even know this girl. And what she did was technically trespassing."

"Do you know her name?" another voice pipes up. 

"No, Dustin, I don't know her name. I don't even know if she lives in Hawkins!"

Their voices disappear as they go inside the bakery. You find Joan a brother, Jack, and Jack finds a wife named Gwen. Gwen isn't smooth and round; she's sharp-edged and will be harder to clean, but she's a muted salmon color and you think she's pretty. You hope Jack will find her pretty too.

As you dig through the pile of rocks, your finger catches on the edge of a broken bottle. It slices your finger. Blood swells immediately. 

You put your new rocks in your plastic red pail with your other hand. Then you stand, joints popping as you do so. You stick your ribs out and bend your spine in a stretch. 

You cross the street to the bakery, pail in hand. The bell jingles as you enter. You hum the ding-dong under your breath. 

"Can I help you?" the man behind the counter asks.

"Hello. Can I have five baci di dama and five of the raspberry sandwich cookies?"

He goes to the display case with a paper bag. You rest your elbows on the counter, pail handles over your arm. 

"Anything else?"

"Yes. Do you have a bandaid? I'm bleeding."

The man purses his lips. "No bandaid, sorry."

"That's okay. Just the cookies, then." 

"Buttercup?"

You turn. Steve stands before you, wearing his Family Video vest. Robin is beside him, her hair piled into a windblown bun on her head. Another boy, shorter than both, younger, is with them. He waves at you, curls bouncing. 

You wave back. Robin squeals.

"Oh my God, what happened to your finger?" she asks, horrified. 

"There was a broken bottle in the parking lot."

"Jesus," Steve says. He takes your hand and inspects it. He's so close and warm. All you can do is stare at the freckles on his neck. 

“Why were you in the parking lot?” he asks.

“I was looking for rocks. This is the best rock spot in all of Hawkins. Well, after Lover’s Lake. But the pH has been abnormally high there. Probably because of the monsters. So I came here.”

"Hi, I'm Dustin," the boy introduces. “Is your finger okay?”

"Hi, Dustin. I think I’ll survive,” you say. “Dustin means brave warrior in Norse.”

Dustin beams. “Yup. I was named after my grandfather. He served in World War Two.”

"Names are important,” you say. “Joan agonized for days deciding what I should call her. Eventually, I decided for her. A name says a lot about a person. Steve has a warrior and good luck at his side."

"Yep, Steve-o here is pretty blessed to have us. And," he gestures to you, "You are?"

"Hungry," you say, taking your bag of cookies with your free hand. 

The bag crinkles as you open it. You hold it out to Steve. 

"Do you want one? I promise they’re blood-free.”

"Uh…” He glances at your hand. “Are you sure your finger is okay?”

“She’s a trooper. Survived ink poisoning and everything.” You wave the bag again. “Cookie?” 

Steve takes a baci di dama out and pops it into his mouth. He hums as he chews, nodding. 

"'S good," he says after he swallows.

"Baci di dama means lady's kisses in Italian," you say. 

His cheeks turn pink again. 

"You should drink more water," you add. "You turn pink easily."

Robin snorts. Steve holds a hand to his cheek. 

"Uh, thanks."

“You’re welcome. Robin, would you like a cookie?" 

"No, thanks,” she says. “I'm picking up a tiramisu for my mom's birthday."

"I want a cookie!" Dustin says. 

"Dude," Steve hisses. 

You hold the bag open to Dustin. He takes a raspberry sandwich cookie. 

"So," Dustin says, mouth full. "Are you Steve’s girlfriend or something?”

“Not that I’m aware of,” you say.

“Du-ude!” Steve says too loudly, voice climbing in pitch.

“What? You talk about her all the freakin’ time. I needed to know.”

You look at Steve. He rubs the back of his neck and half-smiles.  

“Anyway,” continues Dustin. “How do you know Steve?”

"I climbed over his gate by accident on the hottest day of May,” you say.

"By accident?" 

"Yes. All the gates in Loch Nora look the same. Except Steve's gate has climbing ivy and little red flowers. It's much nicer than the other houses. It looks like a person lives there. I mistook it for Debbie's gate." 

Robin tilts her head at you. You don't care what Steve says; she's a one hundred percent bonafide bird. 

Dustin points to your pail, crumbs all over his chin. "Why do you have rocks?"

"They're for Joan," you say.

"Joan? Is she your friend?"

"She's more like my confidante. She doesn't talk much, so I think it'd be presumptuous of me to call her a friend when I have no idea where we stand." 

"Navigating friendships can be hard," Steve offers. 

"Yes," you say. "They can be."

"Being straightforward can help a lot," he continues. "It, uh, at least helped me. That way the other person knows what you mean. No room for miscommunication."

You nod. "That's good advice. I'll have to try that with Joan. Sometimes she can be kind of hard-headed."

You roll up your bag of cookies and reposition your pail on your arm so the metal doesn't dig into your skin. 

"It was nice to meet you, Dustin," you say. "Goodbye, Steve and Robin."

"Wait!"

Steve holds the door for you and follows you out. He still smells sweet, like pineapple, and also a little woody. He touches the small of your back, sending a bolt of electricity down your spine.

"I have a first aid kit in my car. Let me wrap your cut."

"Oh." You'd forgotten about it. "Okay."

You follow Steve to his car. He pops the trunk and rummages. You spot a bat with nails. 

"Very inventive," you say, pointing at the bat. 

Steve laughs shyly. "Yeah, uh, the monsters."

"I definitely wouldn't want to fight you if I were a multi-dimensional monster."

He smiles and takes out a small spray bottle of disinfectant. 

"This is gonna sting, okay? But we need to make sure nothing gets infected."

"An infection would be unfortunate," you say. "I'm quite attached to this finger." 

He sprays and cleans your finger. You wince and Steve squeezes your wrist in apology. Then he pulls out bandaids. 

"Any preference? I have rainbow, Star Wars, 'cause they're all a bunch of nerds, cats… oh, I have flowers! ‘Cause you’re, uh, Buttercup, you know?" 

"Flowers," you say, because Steve's so excited about it. 

He nods and opens the bandaid. You hold out your finger and Steve carefully wraps it. He rubs your knuckle. 

"Thank you," you say. 

"You're welcome. Be careful, okay?"

"I will."

He closes the trunk, swinging his keys on his finger. 

"Sorry if that was awkward, by the way," he says. "Dustin, I mean. He can be… blunt." 

"It wasn't awkward."

“It wasn’t?”

“No,” you say. “I’m happy you tell people about me. I tell Joan about you all the time.”

"Oh." He nods. "That—that’s good. So… we’re both… uh—”  

"Do you want another lady's kiss?"

"What? Oh—" Steve clears his throat. "N-no, that's okay. Thanks."

You take out a raspberry cookie and bite into it. 

"Your hair has product," you observe. 

"Yeah. No secrets, though."

"Everybody's hair has secrets."

"Even yours?" he asks. 

"Especially mine." 

Steve rubs the back of his neck. You open your bag and take out another cookie. He looks like he's trying to find the right words to say. You don't mind waiting. 

"Hey, do you like barbecue?" he asks. 

"I like it as well as anybody else."  

"Well, um, I'm having a barbecue this Saturday. Lucas won a big championship game and so we're celebrating his win."

"That's nice," you say. "Congratulations to Lucas."

"Yeah! So, um, did you maybe want to come too? It'll be at my house. You could bring a friend if you wanted. Like Joan."

"Joan is a vegetarian," you say. "But I'm sure she'd enjoy the company."

Steve smiles. He has such a pretty smile. 

"We're ordering pizza too, so Joan can have some of that."

"You're a very thoughtful host.”

Then you have a terrible thought. But you have to ask it because if you don't, you might be breaking some kind of invisible expectation. You do that a lot. 

"Does Debbie have to come?" you ask. 

Steve blinks. "Uh, no? It's not a requirement."

"Some people ask me to parties because they want Debbie to come." 

Steve frowns. "That's rude. I wouldn't do that."

"Okay. What time does the barbecue begin?"

"You can stop by anytime. But we'll probably start eating around six."

You nod. "Joan and I will be there at five thirty."

Steve's answering grin is blinding. He must be really excited to meet Joan. You get it; Joan's the life of any party she attends. 

"Great, that's great. I'll see you then."

"Bye, Steve," you say. 

"Bye," he answers like he's out of breath. 

Even the way he breathes is pretty.

Every month, Miles Stanwick throws a party. 

Miles is a celebrity in Hawkins, his father being a state senator, and Miles is, according to a drunk Debbie, “the Gatsby to her Daisy.”

You're pretty sure Debbie hasn't read the book. Or maybe she's a living tragedy. Either is possible. 

It had been just you two in her room, without the Other Debbie she pretends to be to impress the people of Loch Nora, when she'd told you what it meant to be in love. 

"You just know," she'd said, her breath reeking of tequila.

You'd turned your head. Tequila made your nose itch. 

"But you love Brett," you'd said. 

"Brett is who I'll marry," she'd corrected. She’d sounded so sad. "Miles is all I've got."

Then she'd thrown up all over her carpet. You'd helped her into bed and made a mental note to find her a friend like Joan to keep her company, for when you weren't around. 

You don't like parties. They're loud and smelly and usually filled with people you don't like or don't know. And at a party, people you don't like and people you don't know are one and the same. 

You would leave, but Debbie is your ride tonight. So you're stuck here until midnight, maybe even later. 

Someone plugs in a karaoke machine and that gets most of the party's attention. The music is horribly loud and is the kind that’s just a lot of synthesizer. 

A guy jumps onto the Stanwicks' coffee table and knocks over the potpourri dish. Dried petals and orange peels scatter across the carpet. 

Debbie appears in front of you, a red Solo cup in her hand. 

"What did I bring you here for?" she asks, mouth curled. "To slump on the couch?"

"No one here wants to talk," you say. 

Debbie rolls her eyes. "Parties aren't for talking. They're for drinking and making out. Someone's rolling a blunt in the den. Go suck on that, will you?"

The people in Loch Nora are so good at making you feel two inches tall. You wish you'd brought Joan. She'd know what to do. 

You've tried alcohol before. Champagne at a wedding. A sip of rum from the Wellermans' liquor cabinet, back when Debbie wasn't so caught up in being just like everyone else. 

Maybe it's your fault, too. Maybe you're too good at standing out. 

You go to the kitchen. It's already trashed. You step over a spill on the floor. Then you turn around and lay down some paper towels so no one will slip. 

There are various bottles of strong liquor strewn across the counters. You decide to try the punch and fill your cup to the top. You sniff it and your nose wrinkles at the whiff of alcohol. 

You so badly want to have fun. You want to know what makes all of this worth it. You want your friendship with Debbie to be worth it. 

You down the punch in one go. It makes you cough and you scramble for water at the sink. You wonder if the punch is poisoned. 

You wobble out of the kitchen a couple minutes later, head already woozy. A girl stands with a drink, one arm folded. 

"Where's Debbie?" you ask. The girl winces and steps away from you. 

"She went with Miles and some other people to the lake."

Your eyes widen. "No, they can't. There's monsters."

She looks at you like you might be an insect splattered on her dashboard. 

"You're Debbie's weird friend, aren't you?"

Weird doesn't make you feel good, like Steve calling you strange did. Weird makes you feel like when a boy in sixth grade stepped on your heels while going up the stairs because he thought it was funny. 

"Debbie would've told me," you say. 

The girl shrugs. "Guess she ditched you. She can't score with Miles if you're killing the vibe." 

Weird tastes like poison in your mouth. 

"Debbie was my ride," you say, but she’s already gone.

Your head aches. You try to think on what to do next. It's nearly midnight. No one is awake, and you have no idea how to call a cab. 

You find the Stanwicks' phone in the hall and dial the only number you know, besides your own, and the local pizzeria. 

"Hello?" 

You lean against the wall, phone in both hands. 

"Uh, hello? Who is this?" 

"H-hi, Westley." Your voice cracks. 

"Hey," Steve says, unbearably gentle. "My favorite rock girl. Jesus, it's… midnight."  

"I'm sorry," you say. 

"No, no, it's alright. I'm just—is everything okay? Are you okay?" 

"Debbie ditched me."

Silence. For a moment, you panic that the line's dropped.

"Steve?"

"Where are you?" 

"I'm, um, at Miles Stanwick's. The address is… well, I don't remember, but I'll go outside and look for the house number—"

"I know it," Steve says. "Stay right there. I'm coming to get you. Don't drink any more."

Your lip wobbles. "'Kay."

"It's okay," he soothes. "Drink some water. Don't take anything from anybody." 

"I just wanted to be fun," you blurt. 

"You are fun, Buttercup. Way more fun than anybody at that house, I guarantee it. I'll be there in ten minutes, okay?"

"Okay. Thank you, Steve," you say, no longer feeling so small. 

You hang up and go to the kitchen to get more water from the sink. Then you return to the hallway and sit, back against the wall, knees tucked into your chest. 

You doze, lids heavy from the alcohol. The next thing you know are two hands on your arms. 

You jolt awake. One hand cradles the back of your head so you don't thump it against the wall. 

"Hey, hey." Steve kneels in front of you. He brushes your cheek with a cool knuckle. "It's me, it's Steve. Are you okay?"

His hands are cool against your overheated skin. He smells like lemon shampoo. 

"My knight," you say. 

"I thought Westley was a pirate."

“He was only pretending." 

You let Steve ease you up. His car keys dig into your hip.

"Ow," you say dazedly. 

"What? What hurts?"

"Keys."

"Oh." Steve shifts you to his opposite side, hand on your back. "Sorry, honey." 

"Honey never spoils," you say. "Did you know that? You could dig up honey from a tomb that's thousands of years old and as long as it was stored in an airtight container, it's good to eat."

"I love that you know that." 

"Do you really?" 

"I really do," Steve says. "C’mon, let's get you home." 

Outside, the moon is a dot of cream in the purple sky. The neighborhood is quiet. Most of the houses are also dark. 

"I'm sorry for calling you so late," you say. 

"Don't be. I'm glad you called me. These parties can get out of hand."

"Debbie left. She went to Lover's Lake with Miles—"

The panic returns, flooding your body. You squirm and Steve tries to keep you steady. 

"Whoa, what's—"

"The monsters! There's monsters down there, Steve. I don't like Miles, but I don't want him to be eaten!"

"No, no, no more monsters," Steve assures you. "They can't come through there anymore."

You still. "Promise?"

"I promise."

He helps you into the passenger seat of his car. Steve leans in and pulls the seat belt over you.

"Comfy?" he asks. 

"I like you so much, Steve Harrington."

It's too dark to tell, but you suspect he's got another case of sunstroke. 

"I, um, like you too, Buttercup. You're really cool."

"Me?" You wave your hand. "No."

"Really," he insists. "You are. The coolest."

If you were Debbie, if you weren't weird in the wrong way, if you didn't go to parties to talk, and if you fit a million other criteria you never will, Steve would kiss you right now. Or maybe you'd kiss him. 

But you don't know how to go about that. You don't think it's your right to do such a thing. 

So Steve shuts the door and walks around to the driver's seat. You stare at your flower bandaid.

"Four three's," Steve says as he turns the ignition. 

You turn your head. "Hmm?"

"The house number. Four three's. That's gotta be, like, astronomically bad luck, right?"

"Without a doubt."

Except you're here with Steve Harrington, and he calls you honey and thinks you're cool. And that doesn't seem like bad luck at all. 

"I'm going to a barbecue," you call out. 

There's no reply. You close the door behind you.

Joan sits in your pocket. You've tied a purple ribbon around her head, right above her googly eyes. You don't know what the dress code is for a barbecue, but you hope she's not underdressed.

You haven’t spoken to Steve since Miles’ party. You’re not sure what you should say, and you can’t bear the thought of calling him to hear silence. 

Even if he doesn’t like you the way you like him, you hope he’ll still be friends with you. Steve and his kids have grown on you. You don’t know if you can go back to who you were before the hottest day of May. 

“Material Girl” plays from inside Steve's backyard. You mouth the words as you fling your flip flops over the gate. 

"What the fuck?" someone says from the other side. 

You climb the gate and shimmy down. It's a good thing you're wearing shorts under your dress.

A boy, lanky and tall but probably Lucas's age, holds one of your flip flops. He stares at you and shakes the shoe. 

"Is this yours?"

"Both of them are," you say. "Does Steve like Madonna?"

He grimaces. "Unfortunately."

"Cool."

You spot Steve sitting on one of the deck chairs with Robin and a boy your age with big, curly hair and a Led Zeppelin shirt with cropped sleeves. 

"Venus" plays next and you wobble in time with the music as you walk over to Steve. 

"Her weapons were her crystal eyes," you whisper. The pavement is warm under your toes. 

"Making every man mad." 

Steve turns just as you reach him. He stands so fast he shakes the chair. 

"Hey!" he says. He sounds out of breath again. "Hey, you came."

"You invited me," you say. 

"Yeah, yes." Steve nods. "I did. I'm glad you're here."

"You play good music."

"Ha!" Steve whips his head to look at the curly haired boy. "Suck it, Munson."

"She's obviously biased." 

"Munson," you say. "Eddie Munson?"

Eddie freezes under your gaze. Robin and Steve glance at you. 

"Yeah, uh, that's me." Eddie smiles weakly. "Look, you might've heard some stuff abou—"

"You helped fight the monsters," you interrupt. "You're very brave." 

Eddie's eyes widen. "I—"

"Most people just like to ignore monsters. It takes a really good person to fight them." You turn to Steve. "Do you have orange Fanta?" 

"Yeah, sure. I'll get you a can. Feel free to sit… where are your shoes?"

You point behind you. "Your bodyguard had to screen them after I climbed your gate. You have very tight security."

"After you climbed my… wait, Mike? God, I’m sorry about him. I'll get your shoes back."

"It's okay. Flip flops are dangerous weapons. It's only a matter of time before the airport bans them." 

Steve tilts his head, eyes warm. "Right. I'll be back. That's Eddie and Robin… you know them."

"I know their names, and that's about all you can know about anybody."

Eddie giggles. You look at him. He doesn't seem to be laughing at you, so you sit where Steve was sitting, across from Eddie's chair. You point at his shirt. 

"I like Kashmir."

"Thank God! Somebody with decent tastes."

"I'll listen to anything," you say. "It's important to be a good listener."

Eddie grins. "Words of the wise."

"Where's Joan?" Robin asks. 

"Right here." You take Joan out of your pocket and set her down on the edge of the pool chair. 

"Sick," Eddie says.

You nod. "The ribbon was my pick."

"I like it," Robin says. 

"Thank you."

Steve returns with an orange Fanta for you and a root beer for Robin. 

Robin points to Joan. "Steve, this is the famous Joan we've heard so much about."

"That's a rock," says Steve. 

"Yep."

"Oh." He nods in understanding. "Joan is your pet rock?"

"Confidante," you correct. "’Pet’ is demeaning."

"Got it. And was Joan's sister also your confidante?"

"No. Joan's sister didn't like me much. She thought I was a bad influence on Joan. But we shouldn't talk about it now. Joan gets very sad when I bring it up."

You open your can. The carbonation hisses. It's itchy and sweet on your tongue. 

"I like your hair," you say. "It's fluffy. Like it was on the hottest day of May."

Steve pushes a couple strands behind his ear.

"Thanks. The gel is too much on hot days like these. Weighs me down."

"At least you won't float away." You look at Eddie. "Is your hair full of secrets too?"

Eddie ruffles his hair. "Not as many as Steve's, but I've got a couple in here. 'S what gives my curls volume." 

"Hm. Just as I suspected," you say. 

"Ste-eve!" Dustin whines from across the yard. "You promised burgers!"

Steve rolls his eyes. "You'd think he's never been fed in his life."

Eddie pats his shoulder. "You've got this, Harrington."

"Oh, no. You wanna eat, you've gotta earn your keep. Come on."

Eddie groans, flinging himself off the chair. "Save me, Buckley!"

"Already did that," she says, pulling her sunglasses onto her eyes. "Never again." 

"You should tie up your hair so it doesn't catch fire," you suggest. 

"Well, at least somebody cares about me," Eddie declares, pulling his hair into a ponytail. 

Steve turns to you and smiles softly. 

"Are you hungry? You can have the first pick of the burgers."

"Won't Dustin be annoyed?"

Steve shrugs. "Kid could use some manners. Besides, pretty girls always get the first pick. It's the law." 

You follow Steve and Eddie to the grill, pretty girl echoing in your brain the whole time. 

Eddie's hair doesn't catch on fire and Steve makes you a perfect burger. The sun sparkles on the pool surface. The kids come out to eat and, predictably, Dustin complains about not getting the first burger.

"Not fair. Just 'cause she's your girlfriend," he mumbles as he goes off to search for the mustard. 

You check to see if Steve had heard the comment. He doesn't seem to have; you can't decide if you're relieved or not. 

The chairs are all taken by the time you finish fixing up your burger. Steve stands immediately as you approach.

“Here, take my seat,” he says.

“We can share,” you offer.

Steve lets you take the back of the chair, settling at the foot. “You Make My Dreams Come True” plays on the speakers. 

“Whoever made this mixtape is a genius,” you announce.

“You like it?” says Steve. “I actually made this one. Robin and Eddie think my taste sucks, but—”

“It’s spectacular.”

He hums, ducking his head shyly. “Well, speaking of spectacular: I made more lemonade, if you want to test it before I unleash it upon the masses.”

“I’ll happily drink your lemonade,” you say. “It’ll build my iocane tolerance.”

Steve grins. “I rented The Princess Bride, by the way. I know you meant to get it a few weeks ago. We can watch it tonight, if you want.”

“You remembered I wanted to watch it,” you say.

He nods. “Well, uh, yeah. Do you still want to? If you don’t, I can—”

“I do,” you say. “Thank you.”

“Yeah, of course.” Steve stands, hand outstretched so you’ll give him your empty plate. “I’m going inside. Anybody want anything?”

“Doritos!” Robin shouts.

“Napkins, please,” El says.

“Cherry Coke!” Mike calls.

“Beer!” Eddie whoops.

“Doritos, napkins, got it. The cooler is right there, Wheeler, and are you kidding, Eddie? No drinking by the pool. Have we not learned our lesson from the last four years?”

“Bold of you to assume I’ve learned anything, Steven.”

“Can you bring us popsicles?” Max asks. “Lemon and grape.”

“Ooh, popsicles sound good,” says Robin. “Bring me one too. Fruit punch.”

Steve sighs, lifting his arms.

“Two hands, guys. Only got two.”

“I can help,” you offer.

“Now that’s a great idea,” Robin says. “The two of you in the kitchen, alone. Really brilliant, don’t you think, Steve?”

Steve glares at her. Then he turns to you, expression softening.

“That’d be great, thank you.”

You follow him into the kitchen. It looks exactly like the last time you were here, except for the food. Steve opens the freezer and digs through the box of popsicles. Then he takes the pitcher of lemonade out of the fridge and sets it on the counter.

“Can you get the Doritos?” he asks. “They’re up there.”

You open a shelf over the stove. The chips are at the very top. You try jumping; all that does is bang your ribs into the counter.

"Whoa, whoa.”

Steve’s hand rests on your back. Your stomach swoops. 

"Easy, Buttercup. I’ll get it, sorry ‘bout that."

You frown. "The Doritos have eluded me."

"They’re a tricky bunch," he says, reaching and successfully grabbing the chips.

"I knew you’d best me and succeed."

"Best you?" 

"Yes," you say. "Like in a duel."

Steve tilts his head, a tiny crinkle forming in the center of his brows. 

"Are we going to duel? Like Inigo and Westley?"

"Not if I can help it," you say. "I'm terrible with a sword."

"I would never try to sword fight you." 

"I appreciate that."

His hand slips from your back. You watch it fall to his side.

“Feel free to help yourself to whatever you want,” Steve says as he takes a glass out of the cupboard. “You can also take food home.”

You exhale through your nose and wiggle your fingers a little, trying to stave off the nerves. You wish Joan was in your pocket right now, but you left her on the deck chair. 

“Buttercup?” 

You look up. Steve has a glass of lemonade in one hand. The top button of his polo shirt is undone. Was it always undone? You can’t remember. 

Anyway, he’s beautiful. And you’re so damn strange.

“Yes, Westley?”

Steve smiles. You don’t think anyone has ever smiled at you as much as Steve does. 

“Everything okay?” he asks.

He puts the glass in front of you. You glance at it, then back at him.

“Everything’s fine.”

“Are you sure? I won’t force you to drink my crappy lemonade if you don’t want to, y’know.”

“You called me strange,” you blurt. “When we first met.”

Steve’s eyes widen. 

“I didn’t mean it in a bad way,” he says softly. “But I won’t call you that anymore if you don’t like it.”

“No, I–I know you didn’t mean it in a bad way. But…”

He nods, encouraging you to continue.

“I’m not like Debbie,” you say. 

“I know.”

“I’ll probably never be like Debbie.”

“I much prefer you as yourself,” he says.

“Oh.”

You sip your lemonade. Your lips pucker but you smile all the same.

“Damn,” Steve says with a chuckle. “I really can’t nail that lemonade, huh?”

“It’s wonderful,” you whisper. 

He takes a step forward. You set the glass on the counter.

“Can I kiss you?” he asks.

“I would very much like that.”

Steve’s lips are slightly chapped. You taste like lemonade and he tastes like Coke and God, you like it so much.

You loop your arms around his neck like you’ve wanted to do for weeks. He returns in kind, both hands slipping to your waist. 

It’s not just a boy kissing you. It’s Steve.

The sliding glass door whooshes open and you jerk your head back in surprise. Max and Dustin trod in. 

Dustin shrieks. 

“Seriously? This is what was taking you so long?”

“If you were gonna do that, we would’ve gotten the popsicles ourselves,” Max says with a huff, grabbing the popsicles and chips from the counter. 

“Told ya they were making out!” comes Eddie’s voice from outside. “I warned you, kiddies!”

They clear out, with one last stink eye from Dustin. Steve shakes his head, nose pressed to your cheek.

“Again, very sorry about them.”

“They wanted to check in on their favorite babysitter,” you say.

Steve lifts his head and rolls his eyes. “I need a padlock or something.”

You hum and lean over to unwrap a popsicle. 

“Oh,” you say. “Three left.”

“Three popsicles?”

“Mmhm.”

“Well, that explains it. Astronomical bad luck, right?”

“Actually,” you say, leaning in for another kiss. “I think my theory was wrong.”

[herejusttosufferalong]

Pancake anon here with my thoughts on recent events:

My thoughts really haven't changed. I've said from the first post I made that there is going to be back and forth during this process. L is codependent and with A & L both having anxious attachment styles (confirmed by attachment anon) it isn't abnormal for them to easily fall back into things after an attempted break.

I don't think the shift we've been sensing over the past few weeks is wrong. I do still think things have been rocky and a possible attempted break was made. The key points that keep me here are: A not attending the wedding or at the pub the night of the big match, A posting an old photo from GQ the night of the wedding trying to insinuate she was there, the lack of A outing any locations or hints of L being around for weeks, L's unliking spree on insta, A's deactivation of her insta, continued shady happenings with DM, the legs in lap photo, and A's seemingly entry level new job when it seem's she was trying to go the influencer route.

I thought maybe the friends & A had finally stopped leaking L's location when with him, but now I think he hasn't been around much in the past few weeks because their posts during this trip are back to their normal.

Which brings us to current events. L is on a trip with his childhood best friend for his 30th birthday along with their respective girls. We've seen a couple very short clips of them. Everyone wants to overanalyze the way they are interacting. But here's the thing: A wouldn't still be around if L didn't enjoy her company. That has never been in question. He obviously does, which is why I think ending things will take some back and forth, which I think has already been in progress.

While I'm still very suspicious that A has her hands in things that are happening with DM and the pap walk, I don't think L has quite pieced it all together yet. I could also see him having very mixed feelings about the pap walk. On one hand, I don't think he was expecting it or was happy it was happening. But I could see him having some resentment towards the public's reaction to it. I could see him feeling like "I'm allowed to have a personal life and a girlfriend. I haven't done anything wrong." And he really hasn't.

Basically, what I've said before. L is dealing with a very complex situation right now. He's obviously in love with his bestie and costar. They had a whirlwind amazing 6 months together. They did some questionable things publicly (and who knows what privately) and everyone is analyzing his every move. He's also in a relationship with a girl that has now become very public. People are bullying her online which likely makes him feel protective. She is intertwined with his childhood best friend's girlfriend. He enjoys her company and she can give him a lot of attention during this confusing time. There is likely guilt toward her around the way he acted while on PR tour. And who knows what he's dealing with regarding N. Did she reject him or has she completely distanced herself? His behavior reads as someone who has had their heart broken and was trying to avoid processing it, then maybe did start processing it, and is now back to avoidance for a bit. It's a lot of things happening very quickly.

We are less than 2 months out from the London premiere and end of PR tour. I know that feels like ages ago, but it really isn't a ton of time to process such a complicated situation. His time with A serves a purpose, likely offering some comfort right now, but she isn't end game.

There will be more. But I still believe we are on course and things are moving in the right direction.

🥃

[inkskinned]

something that stuck with me once, way back in middle school when i was still learning how to write - my teacher said "writing shock and tragedy is easy, it's humor that's the hardest."

i have been up and down the halls of academia. i have the fancy degree and the experience in publishing. i think i paved most of my own road with the little bricks of sorrow i had stored inside of me. i know i did it mostly with works that are blisteringly lonely. i know why we write like that. it's lifesaving.

but yeah, i mean. i also know how much people think that "sad" media is the same thing as "good" media. our human desire to connect is so hard-pressed that we immediately latch onto any broken themes. the bullied kids and the tales of inspiration. people keep saying things like "glass onion" and "everything everywhere" weren't actually good. because, you know, they're. happy. or happy-ish. happy enough. and we only value art if it's grimdark-adjacent.

do you know - people still consistently whine at me that my writing would be so good if i just capitalized things. i used to flinch. i get kind of a weird, vindictive little rush these days - i get to say thank you for the comment! i have chronic pain and this is how i conserve my hands so i can write more during the day :) grammar isn't real anyway! and now they're trapped in the room with me, you know? i get to pull out my map and show them how grammar is not the same thing as good writing.

writers have this thing. we scratch at our insides, constantly, prying our lives apart into splinters. prying the splinters apart into atoms. when we combust something into poetry, we control it. it cannot hurt us if it exists outside of us rather than burning a hole through the bottom of our lungs. it's not a wonder to me that so much of what i make comes out like a death gasp. i spent a long time at the bottom. i keep going back, too. when you're down there for so long, the only thing you can exhale is fumes.

but humor is hard. humor needs timing; which i can't promise in a paragraph. i can kind-of force it through careful spacing, but i have no idea how fast you're reading these things. humor needs a somewhat awareness of your audience, when really - anybody could be looking. humor needs us to understand what the joke is, why it's a joke, and to think - ha! that is funny. in tragedy, everyone understands the metaphor of a kicked puppy. in humor, you need to introduce them to the concept of a dog.

and forget about positivity. forget about anything not made for adults explicitly. every time i see a well-made children's media piece, i feel fucking horrible for the creators. most of the time, people see children's media as being sort of "not worth" applause, even though i'm pretty sure they have to work twice as hard. i have no idea how hard it must be to not be able to have your character just say. "well, fuck." something about a message of peace or friendship or caring - for some reason, that makes the media not for adults. like, okay. i'm pretty sure my father actually, out of all of us, could use a good book on how to control his temper and talk about his feelings.

but whatever. i write a short story about my ocd, and how it's fucking killing me. it gets an award. it gets published. i write a short story about my ocd, and how i'm overcoming it, and how my days are getting lighter and starting to flourish. i keep getting ghosted. no response. it just is lacking... something.

is this it, forever? you can be an artist, okay. but the trade off is that the things you make - if they're happy? if they're joyful? people will say it's stupid and pandering. you bite your nails off. you file your teeth. you hear something inside of you breaking.

the other day in a writing group, someone i'd thought of as a friend said: "you write so much better these days! i love what you make when you'd rather be dead."

[donkeys-waffles]

Just as a warning to those that may be concerned, this is a Bakugo bashing post. If you love Bakugo as a character, then more power to you. He's my least favorite character across the board. And this is me venting my distaste for him, so be warned. Thank you :)

As I'm rewatching MHA, I've gotten to season 6 when Bakugo apologizes to Izuku. And there's something that really bothers me about it.

I feel like Bakugo had potential as a character. Like he really did, even though I don't like his character. I feel like there was potential for him to be an important figure in Izuku's development and growth. And the apology scene wasn't too bad for me. But I feel like it fell short in two major points.

Izuku rarely addresses and monologues about his own trauma/childhood. He expresses very little justified rage and the only real proof of the impact of his childhood lies within his body language and the subtext. His fear of Bakugo, borderline suicidal hero complex, every single scar on his body from overworking himself, constantly undervaluing himself and his efforts/improvements, and much more.

And the last point is Bakugo, I can understand wanting to keep core aspects of his character, but he has to change a little more to have it be considered character growth. The reason he bullied Izuku is because he felt that when Izuku reached out to him, Izuku viewed him as weak (delusional but go off. Literally harassed and assaulted someone for a decade because they tried to help you up when you fell.) His entire character arch was centered around the idea of not just winning, but also saving. He was supposed to understand the importance of both. But not only that, he was supposed understand and accept that help is needed, and you can't always win. I mean, if Izuku were to help him in a pinch now he needs to learn to set aside his arrogance, pride, and inferiority complex to accept help, and not explode into an overgrown toddler because he lost. With learning the importance of saving, he's supposed to not center his ENTIRE objective around strength and being the best all the time. And this could be done, while also still keeping his character true to himself. I always hear about his character development as a reason to like Bakugo, which... I don't completely agree. The only two changes are he doesn't physically attack people (Izuku) and doesn't call him Deku anymore, which GOOD I would hope that'd at least change. But his focus is still completely centered around winning. He says as much after the apology, in the baths, he's still fighting Izuku to become number 1. And that's not a bad thing entirely. I understand that's his character, what I want to see change is how he handles losing, how he handles not being the best and failing especially to Izuku. And what I get is an OVA with Bakugo having a temper tantrum because of a tie with Izuku, he used his quirk and was screaming about it too. It doesn't help that every chance he gets he talks about winning and out-besting Izuku in something, even with his fight with AFO he talks about it. Like he doesn't care that AFO is finally dead, and he saved the world, doesn't even offer a small sense of relief that he helped a lot of people, no, he beat Izuku and is clearly better and that's all that matters.

It's just, that entire mentality is what caused Izuku his problems, this mentality caused Bakugo to abuse him for a decade. I feel like the apology could've been done better, but it was just added to give Bakugo good boy points and then completely brushed aside. He's changed in some ways, but he hasn't changed enough to warrant forgiveness. Not when his competitiveness is still seen as somewhat mean spirited. Even when he found out about Izuku losing OFA, I just sat as he cried and thought "WOW, if I had my childhood bully that abused me for a decade for being quirkless, cried because I was quirkless again and couldn't compete with them anymore. I'd punch them so hard in the face." Like the audacity. Excuse me, I'm the one lying broken and battered in this hospital bed, with my dreams crushed again, and YOU'RE crying because you can't have an opponent for being the number 1 hero.

It's like Izuku is never seen as a person to Bakugo for most of the show, just something to kick aside, something to squash so he doesn't have to face his own inadequacy, and now just something to beat. Something with a power strong enough to rival the great Bakugo. And I feel like the narrative is trying to push that they were fighting for this dream together, since childhood up until this point in canon. That the bullying never happened, like that whole decade didn't exist. They do this through the scene of Bakugo crying and the All Might cards, but like how can you forget the last 5 seasons of the show and what 300+ chapters of Bakugo doing his upmost to crush Izuku under his boot. They most definitely DID NOT fight for that goal together their whole childhood, Bakugo has been crushing that boy's dreams of being a hero for years, instilling in him deep rooted self-hatred and a fat imposter syndrome.

[nats-bottom]

NR - Photos

Summary: Nat posts a photo online and gets teased about her and Reader's height difference

Pairings: Natasha Romanoff x Reader

Warnings: Teasing, bullying

Notes:

I also have accounts on Wattpad and AO3! The users there are @ paige_vers

Please give me requests! You can submit them here or on my insta, @ scarlettsoutset

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Y/n POV

"Hmmph" I hear my girlfriend, Natasha groan as she scrolls on her phone. We were sitting on a couch in the main living room area in the Avenger's Compound. There was no one else in the room with us, they were all doing their own thing. Both me and Natasha were on our phones, sitting next to each other. Well, more like she was sitting on top of me, cuddling into me. 

"What's wrong baby?" I ask knowing that something is up. She still doesn't look up from her phone and continues to scroll. 

"Why do people have to be so mean? I just posted a new photo on instagram of the two of us, and so many of the comments are about how short I am compared to you." She complains.

I look down at her and brush her hair with my fingers. Sure she is only 5'3" and I am 5'9", but that didn't cause any problems in our relationship. I found it very cute when she asks me to grab something off the top shelf, or when she had to reach up to kiss me. "It's ok. Just ignore what they're saying. It doesn't matter. All that matters is what you and I think. They're all just haters who just have something mean to say. They probably just have something that they don't like about themselves, so they just take it out in the easiest way possible. Don't listen to them. I love you just the way you are."

"Thanks y/n. I love you too. You always know how to help me." She says as she snuggles into me even more.

"Now let's turn that phone off and just cuddle, okay? How does that sound."

"That sounds good." She says, handing me her phone. I take our phones and put them on the side table next to the couch. As she tucks her head into my neck, Wanda walks in, laughing. 

"Oh my god! Natasha, you look so short next to y/n! Hahahaha! Shorty!" Wanda says while laughing her ass off. She comes over and sits down on a chair across from us. She is looking at her phone, presumably at the photo Nat posted earlier of the two of us. I feel Nat shift next to me,  obviously uncomfortable. Before I can say anything, Wanda shows her phone to us, pointing to the height difference. 

"See! Even the camera captures just how short you are Natasha. You're like the shortest on the team. Everyone just towers over you." Wanda says as she laughs some more.

"Wanda, would you stop? This isn't funny." I say sternly, giving Wanda a harsh look. 

"But Natasha is so fun to tease. It's so funny when she gets mad and she stomps around because she's so small and it's just like watching a little kid." Wanda says.

Wanda should be scared now. Not only has she made fun of my girlfriend, but she made fun of the kindest, best, most amazing person in the world. Nat sits there, looking at Wanda with shock, obviously hurt, but too scared to cry in front of anyone else besides me. I move Nat's legs off my lap, give her head a quick kiss on her forehead, and stand up from the couch. 

"Wanda, take back what you said." I say, standing in front of her, my hands in fists.

She looks down at my hands and back up at my eyes. I'm taller than her so she has to look up at me. She steps closer to me. "And what if I don't?" She questions.

"Then you'll regret it." I say, my hands starting to glow white a little and my eyes starting to turn purple. 

"Ok ok, I take it back. I don't mean anything I said." She says, but mumbles the last part.

"And" I say, expecting an apology.

"I'm sorry" She says sarcastically and rolls her eyes.

"Wanda." I say seriously.

"I'm sorry ok! I really didn't mean it! I'm just bored and Vision is busy and I need something to do." Wanda said. "So I went online and found this and thought it'd be funny to come and tease Natasha. I really actually do like the photo. It's a really good pic of the two of you."

I can tell that she really means it. I'm not quite ready to forgive her yet, but I say my thanks and stand in front of the couch that Nat is on. I offer her my hand and she takes it. I led her up to our shared bed room silently. There we stayed for the rest of the night, watching movies and eating snacks. Nat is being really soft today, which is a side of her that I don't normally get to see.

A/N: I have nothing against Wanda, I just needed someone to be in the story for this. Wanda is one of my favorites.