#but that's not really an option at the grocery store unfortunately

[botanyshitposts]

a couple grocery stores in my area have started selling what they label as a 'watermelon tenderloin', which is basically an unbroken long-way cross section of the watermelon, about an inch thick, with the rind cut off around the edges. they can be like $8 each and are sold in very limited quantities in single serve boxes and there are so many parts to this that i find really funny but most of all im obsessed with the idea that theres different prime cuts to a watermelon in the same way theres different prime cuts to a cow or something, and the watermelon tenderloin option gives you the best of the possible watermelon parts, of which there are famously only two. like it reminds me of those pics of people crouching with a gun and their dog with their garden vegetable hauls lined up in front of them parodying hunters like they shot the zucchini and i so badly wish i could get behind it as a trend but for $8 while a full watermelon is like $5-6 i unfortunately cannot

[moonstruckme]

Omg holiday fics… I need a Steve and reader under the mistletoe fic (bonus points if like enemies/rivals/frenemies to lovers vibe??) like I need air to breathe

Ahh I missed him! Thanks for requesting <3

cw: alcohol

Steve Harrington x fem!reader ♡ 1.7k words

It’s virtually the same as every party you went to in high school, save for the Christmas tree in the corner of the living room. Try as Scott’s girlfriend might, she cannot, in your opinion, successfully call this a Christmas party. 

She has made a valiant effort, though. There’s an option of spiked eggnog sitting on the counter beside the cooler of beers, tinsel glitters around the railing of the stairway, and a grocery store cheese plate really adds a bit of class to the center of the coffee table. Unfortunately, the class is sort of nullified by all the bro-ey yelling coming from the beer pong tournament Scott’s holding in the basement. 

“That’s McCreedy,” Steve tells you as a particularly loud whoop comes from downstairs. 

You reach for a piece of swiss, suppressing your smile. “You sound confident.” 

“It’s him. Wait a sec, he’s gonna do his signature yell.” He holds up a hand, ear cocked in anticipation. 

A moment later, a testosterone-fuelled, “Whoo! That’s what I’m talking about,” sounds from the basement. 

You hastily swallow your cheese, covering your mouth to hide your laugh. Steve looks very pleased with himself. 

“Every time he scored a basket for four years,” he explains. 

“Oh my god.” Your laughter is difficult to quell when Steve looks so delighted to have brought it about. You think, not for the first time tonight, that you never expected to be having this good a time with Steve Harrington. “Are we going to be subjected to that all night?” 

Steve grimaces. “Depends. He’s not very good, but if he’s playing someone who also sucks…” 

“Is this the part where you tell me that if you were in there he’d be losing?” You’re a bit surprised at the flirtation in your own tone, but you don’t backtrack. 

“No.” He smiles. “That would be arrogant and braggy.” 

“Not to mention predictable,” you tack on. 

“Right. I’ve been told, uh, that’s not really the best way to get nice girls to like me.” 

You pick up your cup, hiding a smile behind the rim as you take a sip. You’ll have to send a fruit basket to whoever taught him that lesson. The Steve Harrington you knew in high school was absolutely that conceited. He knew he was handsome and charming, and the fact that he knew was enough for you to stay away. He never fell short on girls who wanted him for those things anyway. You didn’t think of Steve much then, only with vague annoyance when he wrapped your teachers around his finger or made your friends ditch you on a Friday night so they could go to one of his basketball games, and then you’d graduated and happily never thought of him again. Until tonight, when you’d shown up for a friend-of-a-friend’s so-called Christmas party and here he was. 

This Steve Harrington seems different from the one you knew. His signature hairstyle has changed, for one thing. It’s grown out a bit, less coiffed, more fluffy. A couple of strands fall into his eyes which he keeps combing back in a way that you hate to find endearing but unfortunately do. He seems to walk more than he saunters, now, too. His mouth doesn’t hold so much smugness in its tilt. This Steve is (seemingly) more interested in talking to you than trying to get you to play seven minutes in heaven or recounting his basketball stats or going to play beer pong with his friends who he claims aren’t his friends anymore. He looks you in the eyes like he’s interested in what you have to say and smiles when you smile.

“I’m going to go get a refill.” You stand with your cup. “Want anything?” 

“Oh, yeah.” Steve picks up his beer, long since empty. “I’ll come with you.” 

For all the self-respect that had kept you immune to him throughout high school, it’s hard not to feel flattered by Steve’s attention tonight. Your face heats as he trails you into the kitchen, not even a full step behind as you go inside. 

“Ooooh!” 

You stop. It’s Sasha, Scott’s girlfriend and the party’s true host, who’s oohed at you, but everyone in the kitchen has turned to look. 

“What?” you ask. 

Nancy Wheeler is refilling the punch bowl of eggnog with another girl you almost recognize. She gives you a look that borders on sympathetic. “You’re standing under the mistletoe,” she tells you. 

You and Steve look up at the same time. Taped to the ceiling above the entryway, like a trap hunters lay in the woods, is a small sprig of green tied with red ribbon. 

You look at Steve. He’s already looking at you. 

“I…”

“No.” Steve’s tone could nearly be called scoffing. “No way. That’s stupid, anyone who walks in is gonna be under it.” 

“Only people who walk in together,” corrects Sasha. It’s clear she’s been waiting for her trap to spring all night. 

Steve shakes his head. “It’s stupid,” he says again. “Right, Robs?” 

He looks to the girl sitting on the counter by Nancy—Robin, you remember her now, she was a couple years below you in school—seemingly for support. 

“Uhh, right,” Robin fumbles. Nancy gives her an amused look. “It’s a stupid tradition, which, by the way, we only do because some old Greek guys thought it would promote fertility, so. It’s sexist, or something.”

Steve nods, satisfied. 

“Still,” says Nancy, a smile playing on the ends of her lips, “it is a tradition.” 

With Nancy’s hand gracing hers, Robin seems to have no rebuttal for that. 

“It’s a bullshit tradition.” Steve reaches into the cooler, not looking at what drinks he grabs before ushering you back out of the kitchen. “Come on.” 

You feel like you have whiplash going back to the couch. Steve’s gotten you both sodas, condensation still dripping off the one he presses into your hand. The tab cracks and hisses as he pops his open. 

“Sorry about that.” He still seems piqued. “I didn’t know we were gonna get ambushed like that.” 

“It’s okay. How could you know?” you reply airily. You crack open your own can, not thinking to check what it is until it hits your tongue. Ginger ale, fizzy and light. “I didn’t know that about the origin of mistletoe.” 

“Yeah.” Steve chuckles drily. “Me neither.” 

“Robin seems really smart.” 

“I’m, like, eighty percent sure she made that up on the spot. But yeah, she’s smart.” 

“Well, I’m just glad we didn’t perpetuate a sexist tradition.” 

You say it lightly, but there’s an odd weight in your chest. You are glad that you didn’t kiss in the kitchen in front of everyone, that Steve hadn’t pressured you like everyone else, but part of you wishes he’d been a little less adamant in his refusal. It’s silly, you know. You don’t think you’d actually want to kiss anyone under those circumstances, so public and contrived, but still. It stings just a little. 

“Do you and Robin hang out a lot?” you ask, trying perhaps a bit too hard to sound casual and disinterested. 

“Yeah.” Steve nods, those couple of strands falling out of line again and into his eyes. “But, you know, we’re just friends. We work together.” 

You raise your eyebrows, disbelieving. 

“Really,” he laughs. “She’s—it’s not like that. Super not like that.” 

“Okay,” you say, believing him. But you’re not done teasing him yet, you decide. “You hang out with a lot of high schoolers, Harrington?” 

Steve guffaws. “Hey, we’re just friends! And Robin’s only a couple of years behind us.” 

You pause, sensing there’s more. “But…” you prompt. 

Steve huffs a laugh, pushing his hair out of his face. “It’s not weird, okay?” 

“Okay.” You settle in. “Tell me.” 

He interrupts himself repeatedly to insist again that it’s not weird, and you don’t doubt him, the look that comes over his face when he talks about the kids fond and brotherly. He gives them free rentals from the video store he works at with Robin, helps them navigate high school drama and crushes, and drives them places when their parents won’t. When you call him a pro bono babysitter, Steve laughs and says, That’s exactly what it is. 

It’s sweet to see how much he cares about these kids, to hear him talk about them like they’re pests he has to wrangle and put up with while smiling like he wouldn’t have it any other way. The Steve you knew in high school didn’t seem to care about much of anyone apart from himself. This Steve is overflowing with sincerity, kinder and braver and more genuinely funny than you remember him. When he offers you a ride home, you accept. 

You don’t bother zipping your coat for the walk to the car. There’s salt on the porch, but still you walk carefully, wary of ice. 

“Hey,” Steve says before you can go down the steps. 

You glance back at him, and he’s looking up. 

“Look.” 

You tilt your head back too. Hung on a string above the entrance to the porch, tied in a red ribbon just like the one in the kitchen, is a sprig of mistletoe. 

“Two?” You laugh, turning towards Steve. “Doesn’t that seem like—” 

His lips capture yours. 

The first press is greedy, overeager, but after a second of you standing still in surprise he starts to back away. His lips leave an impression of warmth on yours. They part on an apology. 

You shake your head, reaching for him. “Wait.” 

The material of his jacket is slippery underneath your fingers, and his lips find yours with the same warmth they left with. Steve kisses confidently, like you knew he would, but also with a curiosity you didn’t expect. His lips close and part over yours like he’s asking, entreating, trying to draw something out. You don’t know that you have the answer, but you kiss his cupid’s bow in consolation. He brings his hands to the curve of your back, squeezing before letting go. 

Your breath puffs in the cold air. “I thought…I thought it was a bullshit tradition.” 

“It’s only bullshit when it’s in a room full of people,” he says. 

You laugh, again surprised at how easily he coaxes it out of you but not as much as you’d been at the beginning of the night. You think Steve’s going to be making you laugh a lot now.

[bellaxgiornata]

A Favor from the Devil |Chapter Two|

Pairing: Matt Murdock x fem!Mom!Reader Word Count: 3.4k [Series Masterlist]

Warnings/tags: 18+; Domestic abuse, depictions/mentions of sexual assault, struggles with past trauma, canon-typical violence, angst with a happy ending, friends to lovers, slow burn, eventual smut (possibly more warnings to come)

a/n: Throwing the second chapter at y'all because I can and I feel like y'all needed some Matt. You get his POV in this chapter, too! Feedback and reblogs are always appreciated!

Tag list: @kee-0-kee @dethspllz @a-half-empty-g1rl @senjoritanana @kezibear @sleepysleepymom @danzer8705 @scriptedmoon @flowher @wanda-maxamommy @guccicloudz

Making your way through the crowded streets of Hell’s Kitchen, you guided Evelyn back towards your apartment. Both of her small hands clung tight to yours as she walked in silence beside you. Every time someone stepped a little too near to the pair of you, you felt her draw herself in closer to your legs, her fingers squeezing tighter around yours. In your opposite hand you carried a grocery bag that held a single container of vanilla moose track ice cream for tonight–Evie’s favorite flavor. Unfortunately purchasing the ice cream meant you’d had less money to spend on groceries for next week, but you’d happily eat another cheap packet of ramen for dinner and skip lunches at work if the frozen treat could manage to put a smile on her face this evening.

Evie had been silent ever since you’d picked her up after work from her first day of preschool. She hadn’t said a single word, not even when you’d taken her to pick out the ice cream. All she’d done was stand in front of the row of freezers at the store and quietly point to the flavor she’d wanted. You’d tried asking her how her day had gone, what she’d done in class, or if she’d made any friends, but instead of a response you’d only seen her lips draw into a thin line.    

So you’d done what you usually did when Evelyn drew into herself and stopped talking–you talked about your day. Which in all honesty had been horrible because the job you’d managed to acquire was a tedious desk job in which you sat in the tiny confines of a cubicle staring at a computer screen for hours on end. Your boss wasn't great, either. He was always in a bad mood, often making rude comments to you if he wasn't finding a reason to criticize your work. Dealing with his attitude daily for a salary that you could barely survive on usually soured your mood the moment you stepped into the building, but at least your coworker, Amira, made the days bearable. You’d been there for barely two months, but she’d taken one look at you and seen your past written on your face. After that, you’d grown comfortable around her, slowly opening up about your personal life–but not quite all of it.

But of course, you didn’t tell Evie about the bleak and depressing parts of your days at work. You’d always done your best to make it sound like you enjoyed your time there. And even though you didn’t, you were still grateful that you'd found a way to somewhat financially support the two of you.

“Look at that!” you said, gesturing a hand towards your apartment building with the one not currently being crushed in both of Evie’s. “We’re home already!”

Evie remained silent, not expressing a single emotion as to whether she was excited to be back or not. Wordlessly she followed you through the building’s main doors and into the lobby. Once the doors had shut behind you, the sound of the city just a little quieter now that you were off the streets, she seemed to relax. No longer on the crowded sidewalk, Evie’s hands somewhat loosened their grip on yours as you led her over towards the elevators. 

You tried to think of a way that you could cheer her up tonight, hoping to pull her out of her nonverbal phase before it really took hold, but considering your limited funds, you didn’t have many options. The best you could think of was a movie night, though all you had to watch movies on was the cheap cell phone you'd purchased once you'd gotten Evie and yourself out of your previous situation. 

As you pushed the call button for the elevator and waited for it to appear, you did your best to fight back the tears welling in your eyes. If only you could afford to purchase more toys for her to play with. A television and a couch for the pair of you to cozy up on at night. Anything . But all you had was each other. 

The familiar weight of your guilt that permanently sat heavy like a stone in your stomach reared its head. Once more you felt like a shitty mother, failing to provide all the things you wished you could for your child. But yet you refused to break down–at least, not here in front of Evie. You'd wait for the opportunity later tonight when you were certain she was asleep. Right now your priority was cheering her up and turning her day around, not wallowing in your own feelings.

She was the priority, not you.

The elevator doors opened and you forced a smile onto your face, blinking hard a couple of times. You gently pulled Evie along with you, stepping onto the elevator before pushing the button for the sixth floor.

“How about we reheat last night’s pizza and watch a movie on my phone tonight, cricket?” you asked, glancing down at your daughter as the elevator doors closed. “We can cuddle in your sleeping bag and pretend we’re camping. And then we can eat ice cream out of the container for dessert,” you suggested, knowing full well that you didn’t have any bowls in the kitchen yet. “Doesn’t that sound fun?”

Evie’s attention shifted towards you, her expression remaining neutral and impossible to read. She didn’t respond and her continued silence caused the smile on your face to become strained as you fought to keep it there. Your eyes traveled to the numbers above the elevator doors, watching as they changed from a five to a six. At least you’d be back in your apartment soon.

“What’s mute?”

The sound of Evie’s quiet, small voice startled you. As the doors of the elevator slowly rolled open with a ding , you glanced down at your daughter beside you. She was staring up at you with that still hard to read expression on her face. 

“Mute?” you asked, stepping out of the elevator with her. “What do you mean, cricket? Where’d you hear that?”

“School,” she answered. 

A frown settled onto your lips. Had the children there been teasing her? Or worse–the teachers?

“It just means that you–” 

You’d been about to explain the meaning of the word until you’d noticed a man at the far end of the hallway. The unexpected sight of him caused you to instantly grow quiet even though he was just standing outside of the apartment directly across the hall from yours seemingly attempting to unlock his front door. 

Your pace slowed as you observed him, your brain immediately screaming threat at the sight of him. Beneath that tight blue dress shirt he wore you could see that he was broad and muscular, the material pulled taut in various places along his torso. With the way his sleeves were rolled up to his elbows, they revealed his thick forearms which hinted at even thicker biceps. Even his thighs filled out the dark slacks he wore, suggesting a strength about him that you couldn’t deny.

He looked intimidating and dangerous. 

You then noticed the cane in his left hand and the dark glasses currently sitting on his nose despite the fact that he wasn’t outside. Watching how he used his hands as he attempted to guide his key into the lock, you quickly pieced things together. Blind, you assumed. He was blind. But his disability didn't matter; he still looked like he could throw a solid punch and that alone had you on edge in his presence. 

Your mouth went dry as you stepped ahead of Evie, somewhat placing your body in front of hers as you both continued down the hallway. Of course you knew this man was most likely going to ignore you both even if he somehow noticed you. He was probably just getting home from work, too. More than likely he just wanted to eat dinner and relax like everyone else in the city. And the likelihood of him being a violent individual seemed slim–because logically you knew that not every man was–but for some reason something about him had put you on alert.

As you neared closer, your heart pounding heavily as the hair prickled along the back of your neck, you caught the way his hands stopped what they were doing. Briefly your feet faltered when you saw his head turn just a fraction over his shoulder in your direction as if he'd somehow picked up on the fact that he wasn't alone in the hallway. 

In that moment, you didn't remotely care if you were being rude or not, you practically dragged Evie the rest of the way towards your door in silence. Already having pulled your apartment key out of your pocket before you'd reached it, you unlocked the door swiftly before ushering your daughter inside. In a panicked rush, you darted after her before shutting and locking the door behind you without a backwards glance at the man.

Standing in front of the door for a moment, you paused to release the breath you hadn't realized you'd been holding. Rude or not, you weren't going to offer him help or introduce yourself. Something about him had triggered your instincts to run and that had been reason enough to avoid him.

You felt a tug at your hand and you snapped out of your thoughts, your eyes dropping down towards your daughter. Evie was staring up at you with wide, worried eyes.

“You okay, mama?” she asked.

Nodding in response, you blew out a rough breath and gave her hand a reassuring squeeze in return. “Yeah, cricket,” you answered, still feeling a little on edge. “Yeah, I'm good.” Clearing your throat, you held up the bag with the ice cream in it and tried to smile back at her. “Maybe I should put this in the freezer before it melts on us after that long walk in the heat, huh?”

Evie gave you a single nod in response before she released your hand. 

Turning towards the kitchen, you made your way over to the fridge and opened the freezer. You frowned at the sole bag of dinosaur chicken nuggets sitting on a shelf by itself. They'd thankfully been on sale the other day–another of Evie’s favorites–but that was all you currently had in the freezer at the moment. 

“What movie do you want to watch tonight?” you asked Evie, placing the ice cream on a shelf.

“Little Mermaid,” she answered softly. 

It wasn't a stretch for you to understand why that movie was often her favorite choice lately. 

“Alright, cricket,” you said, closing the freezer door to open the door to the fridge next. “Why don't you get cozy in some pajamas and I'll start reheating the pizza in the oven? You and Barnabas can get settled in the sleeping bag and I’ll join you in a few minutes.”

You weren’t surprised when Evie didn't respond, but the soft padding of her feet through the apartment and to her bedroom behind you was answer enough. 

Launching himself up onto the platform of the fire escape, Matt began his usual ascent up the neighboring building beside his own apartment building. As he scaled his way upwards, heading towards the roof now that his night was over, Matt's mind was busy working over the information that he'd uncovered as Daredevil tonight. Information he hoped to find ways to use as Matt Murdock this week with Foggy and Karen.

But as he climbed his way up fire escape after fire escape, he couldn't help but feel the exhaustion from the night settling into his body. He'd been running himself ragged all week trying to juggle both halves of his life and tonight he was admittedly feeling the repercussions of it. He needed a good night's sleep, but judging by the sounds of the city, it was probably somewhere around two or three in the morning. If he was lucky, he'd manage to get three or four hours before dragging his tired and battered body back out of bed to get to work.

Finally reaching the topmost fire escape, Matt grabbed ahold of his usual footholds on the side of the building and began pulling himself the rest of the way onto the roof. He let out a soft groan when he lifted himself up and over the railing and onto the rooftop. Briefly collapsing onto his knees, he took a minute to catch his breath. It was hot out this evening and his suit wasn't making him any less warm.

After his short break, Matt forced himself back up and onto his feet before jogging across the top of the building towards his own. He was ready to peel off his sweaty suit and be home for the evening, already looking forward to stepping into his shower and washing off his long day. 

With practiced ease he flung himself between the gaps of both buildings and landed with a sharp jolt. He grit his teeth at the impact, taking a moment to recover before rising to his feet and striding over to the roof access door which led back to his place. But he managed to take all of two steps before his tired ears caught something he hadn't expected.

Crying. Soft, muffled sobs coming from just below where he stood.

Matt hesitated, his eyes narrowing behind his mask as he tried to figure out who would’ve been awake and crying at this hour. The only other people who lived on the sixth floor with him were the long since widowed Mrs. Henderson–who definitely didn't spend her evenings crying–and his new neighbors that had moved in just last night.

The strange and short encounter he'd had with you earlier this evening resurfaced in Matt's mind. He'd been coming home from the office and was busy thinking about what he was hoping to accomplish in the city this evening as Daredevil, barely paying attention to much else. But somehow the immediate and overpowering scent of absolute fear he'd been slammed with had managed to break through his distracted thoughts. He'd felt that overwhelming fear from both you and the young girl which he'd assumed was your daughter from the moment you'd left the elevator and noticed him.

The acrid scent of it had instantly given Matt pause. At first he'd wondered if you both had somehow recognized him as Daredevil. But he'd quickly realized that seemed a stupid and impossible thought the moment he'd had it. But why else would you both become so quiet and fearful of him when he was just unlocking his apartment door? The feeling of your combined emotions had deeply unsettled him. No one had ever reacted to him like that before, certainly not as Matthew Murdock, the friendly, blind lawyer.

Matt had considered trying to turn around and introduce himself to you both, hoping that maybe he would appear far less terrifying to you if he’d flashed a charming smile and given you his name, but you'd grabbed your daughter and darted inside your apartment so fast that Matt hadn't had the opportunity.

It had been…odd. You both had been odd. And admittedly your reaction to him had piqued his curiosity. 

Turning around on the rooftop, Matt casually strode away from the door that led to his apartment and over towards the side of the building near your fire escape instead. Curiosity had won out over a shower and sleep for now. He wanted to make sense of that unsettling experience he'd had with you in the hallway. He hadn't liked scaring you both, feeling like he was some sort of dangerous monster.

Tossing himself over the side of the building, he landed softly onto the fire escape below. He stayed low in a crouch, throwing his senses out into your apartment to make sure he hadn't been seen when he’d dropped down. If you'd reacted the way you had earlier to just Matt Murdock, he could only imagine the reaction Daredevil would receive standing on your fire escape in the middle of the night. 

A minute passed and when no one shrieked or otherwise alerted Matt to having been noticed, he slowly rose to his full height. As he stood there, he could still hear the quiet, muffled crying that he'd caught on the roof continuing from inside. Paying close attention to it, it sounded like the sound was coming from just outside of the door of the bedroom who’s window he was standing at. 

Head tilting curiously to the side, he began examining your apartment as best as he could from the outside. And what he found easily surprised him.

Nothing. There was hardly anything in your apartment at all. He didn’t hear the usual buzz of electronics that he often did–like televisions or computers or even toasters. Focusing even closer, it sounded like the air from the air conditioning unit blowing in your apartment was moving with hardly any interruptions. As if you didn’t even have furniture. And judging from the placement of the crying and the sound of what seemed like your daughter’s even breaths as she slept, both of you appeared to be quite low on the ground. Like you were both lying on the floor instead of on beds.

Matt’s head tilted further to the side, a frown pulling his lips downwards beneath his mask. How strange. Had the pair of you not finished fully moving in yet? Or…did you really not have any furniture? 

Something stirred in Matt’s chest as another one of your sobs hit his ears. There was something going on here, there had to be. People didn’t usually react that way to strangers without cause–he would know because he’d never experienced that level of fear from someone outside of his Daredevil suit before. And there was the fact that you were laying on the floor in front of your daughter’s bedroom instead of laying in the second bedroom that he knew was in the apartment. There was only one reason he could imagine a mother doing that–you were protecting your daughter.

But why? And from who?

Matt reached a gloved hand up and gently rested it onto the glass of the window carefully, trying to focus his senses even more closely inside. He found himself desperately wanting answers about his new neighbors, but just as he leaned forward and turned his head to listen better, he heard a rustling inside the room–distinctly that of a sleeping bag. Terrified of being caught, Matt pushed himself roughly away from the window before beginning to quickly pull himself back up onto the roof. 

“Mama?”

Your daughter had definitely woken, Matt realized. He could hear her pulse steadily increasing now that she was awake. There were only a few seconds that passed before he heard a frantic tossing of a blanket onto the floor before the bedroom door had flung open.

“What’s wrong, Evie? Are you okay? Did you have another bad dream?”

There was a faint shift of air that Matt caught–like your daughter shaking her head–before he heard the scared, small voice again.

“Someone’s here.”

Your body immediately went straight into fight or flight and Matt curiously noted the intensity of it.

“Where, cricket?”

“Outside.”

Matt winced, running a gloved hand over his mouth as he stood there on the roof. So your daughter had noticed something. He needed to be more careful. Hopefully she hadn't seen his very recognizable costume. 

“No one’s there, Evie,” came your reassuring voice, though Matt could hear that your body was still panicked. “You’re safe, I promise. Okay? We’re both safe here.”

Shaking his head, he pulled his senses away from your apartment. That was enough eavesdropping on your place for the night. He had a few ideas about what might’ve been going on with you both now, a sick feeling bubbling in his gut at all of the dark scenarios racing through his mind. He hoped he wasn’t right about any of them, but if he was, he’d now become personally determined to make sure you both remained safe here. Because even though he didn’t actually know either of you, you were a part of Hell's Kitchen–the city he loved deeply. His city. And that was more than enough reason for Matt to find himself suddenly caring about the both of you.

[deadhands69]

Cute When You Stutter

loser!Shigaraki x gn/afab Reader

prev ◁ part 2 ▷ next

[series masterlist]

After planning a mission with the league all day, you’re exhausted. Kicking your shoes off at the door of your bedroom, you immediately crash on to the bed. When you pull out your phone, you expect to see a lot of notifications since you haven’t been able to check while in meetings. What you don’t expect is a text from the ex you saw at the grocery store yesterday.

When the two of you broke up, he blocked you as a way to not have to listen to your feelings or be held accountable for anything. Unfortunately, people let him and, in spite of everyone knowing your story, they all still tolerate his bullshit. Some of them even believed whatever he made up about you. Most chose to go with some middle ground peace keeping and he thrived on that. This means you had way more to worry about at the time than remembering to delete his number. You open the message, cringing in advance.

ex: that wasn’t actually your boyfriend, was it?

He took you off block for this? You reply quickly.

y/n: yeah, that was my boyfriend you begin to type, quickly changing was to is.

ex: oh come on, that dude looked terrified of you. there’s no way youre dating

What if I like them terrified you think as the texts continue to pour in.

ex: just wait until the group chat finds out you faked a relationship to make me jealous

ex: still fucking pathetic 

Fucking asshole. This time you block him, not bothering to reply. Your heart is pounding out of your chest as you stare up at the ceiling. 

Great, now you’ll have to convince your friends you’re dating your boss so you don’t look like an absolute idiot when he tells everyone. Maybe you shouldn't have grabbed his hand. Although, the other alternative was letting him tell everyone how sad and single you were in the Valentine's aisle by yourself. There was never any winning. Unless you can get Shigaraki to help you. He's had a crush on you for ages, he'll probably jump at the opportunity.

You grab your phone to text Shigaraki and see if he’s home before throwing it aside. Of course he’s home, he barely ever leaves his room.

Knocking a few times as a warning, he doesn’t immediately yell at you to go away so you push open his door like you usually do. He’s laying in bed playing his switch. His whole body stiffens as you enter the room. Fuck, he really does look terrified of you.

“Don’t worry,” you say, trying to sound as reassuring as you can manage, “I’m not here to sit on your lap or hold your hand or anything.”

Your words are the opposite of comforting, the blush on his face only deepens.

“Well, not yet at least,” you add. He glances away, no longer able to look you in the eyes. “I’m here to ask you a favor. And in return I’ll…” you pause to think of something he might want, “I’ll let you touch my boobs.”

“Under the shirt?” he asks so quietly you almost don’t hear him.

“Yeah, whatever. I just need your help.”

“What do you want?”

“I need you to take pictures with me and let me pretend you’re my boyfriend online,” you blurt out almost too fast for him to understand. Setting the switch down, he nods. You’re surprised he doesn’t question any of this, acting as if you just asked him the most normal thing ever.

“And you’re okay with people thinking you’re with me?” he asks.

“I wouldn’t have asked if I wasn't.”

A few minutes later, you’re back in your room. This seemed like the better option considering that his desk is currently covered in tissues and takeout boxes that you'd rather not have in the background of any pictures you post.

Sitting on your bed, you gesture for him to join you. He does, picking a spot clear on the other side. 

“I need you to sit next to me,” you say while moving closer to him, “because you have to be in the picture with me.”

He nods. 

You wrap an arm around him, smiling. Holding your phone at arms length you take a few selfies at different angles then look to see which is the best. He looks awkward, to say the least. His arms are crossed firmly over his chest and he’s not looking at the camera. 

“You have to at least try,” you tell him, deleting bad ones (all of them.)

“I don’t know what to do,” he grumbles, face turning pink.

“Just do what you’d normally do in pictures with a friend and we can go from there.”

He stares at you as if that's the most outlandish thing you've said all night.

“Okay, got it. Uhm, start by putting your arm around me.”

Awkwardly, he does. Leaving all five fingers hovering above your shoulder. You lean into him, bringing your free arm around his back. Taking a few that you think will be cute, you turn and remind him to smile. He tries and you end up adjusting the camera angle to make it work. For the last one, you plant a kiss on his cheek. He gasps, nearly jumping off your bed.

Once you stop laughing, you look through your options. With the weird angle, you can make them work in a boyfriendcore-overly-aesthetic-Pintrest-board kind of way. You post a few of the cute ones then set the last one as your lock screen background.

Success! That was easy. Well, almost. You’re not quite done yet. There's still the part where you have to fulfill your end of the deal.

Moving to stand in front of Tomura, you grab the bottom of your shirt, bunching it up over the lower half of your face.  Bold to just go for it, but if there’s anyone who won’t judge you for it it’s him. You aren’t wearing anything underneath which he very much notices. His jaw drops.

“Wow. C-can I? I’ll be careful,” he gulps staring up at you.

“Yeah, that was the deal.” Biting your shirt to keep it in place, you gently grab his wrists and move his hands onto your chest. With his pinkies up, he gives a tentative squeeze. When you arch your back to press into him, he clutches you tighter. His fingers slide over your skin, thumbs grazing your nipples. They harden at his touch so he pinches them lightly at first then harder. Your eyes close, focusing on his touch as he rolls you between his fingers.

Involuntarily, you let a moan slip out. His eyes flick up to yours. Biting his lip, he groans, grabbing the front of his pants before he jumps up and towards the door.

“I have to go now,” he mumbles, running back to his room.

next - series masterlist - bnha masterlist

taglist: @shigarakislaughter @kalulakunundrum

[pisswitch04]

Writing idea, a bed wetter goes on a road trip with a group of friends. Unfortunately, they fall asleep during the road trip and have an accident. Maybe the group of friends stop at a convenience. Store for pull-ups for that friend.

Tia was totally completely sure she would make it through this road trip dry. It was one day, just going to the beach and back, she wouldn’t fall asleep and therefore she would stay totally dry. She repeated this to herself as she saw her best friend Bev’s car pull up, already carrying the two other girls making up the friend group. Phoebe was in the passenger seat and Charlie was in the backseat, waving and grinning. This was going to be a good day.

The beach was amazing. The sun warmed sand squished around Tia’s toes as she sprinted towards the water with her friends. Once they reached the freezing water however they retreated to set up an umbrella and folding chairs. They shared snacks and lemonade and chatted until the sun started to set.

Back in the car the conversation continued, Bev talked about her new promotion and the funny things people said behind her rude new managers back. Charlie chimed in occasionally with stories about her two coworkers’ beef with each other while Phoebe sang along to the music she had playing. Calm and still warm from the sun, Tia drifted off into sleep.

When she awoke it was to Charlie’s gentle but worried shakes. “Wake up Tia, wake up”.

She shot awake suddenly aware of the growing damp patch at her crotch. She shoved her hand down, stemming the leak, but looking down there was no hiding she’d peed her pants a little. She whipped her head over to where Charlie was looking at her, concern and something else written on their face.

Phoebe and Bev were both still looking ahead, oblivious to Tia’s accident. “Um, could you pull over, I want to get something at the store up ahead”, Charlie said, handing their sweater to Tia while smiling at Bev like normal. Tia whispered a “thank you” to Charlie as they pulled up to the store before jumping out of the car with Charlie and shuffling quickly into the store. She made a beeline for the bathrooms and had gotten into a stall and locked it before she started leaking again. She dashed for the toilet and made it just in time to pull down her leggings, but not soon enough to stop her drenching her panties as she gushed uncontrollably, releasing what felt like gallons. She sat there panting for a moment, so focused on her release she hadn’t heard someone else enter the bathroom.

She jolted at the knock on the stall door, and her stomach sank as she realised Charlie was gonna see she leaked even more in her pants. Before she could even begin panicking over wetting her pants she was mortified again when Charlie in the gentlest tone explained they had bought her a bag of pull-ups so she didn’t have to worry, they were still 2 hours from home and she had drunk her fair share of lemonade and the worst that would happen is she wore a pullup she didn’t need.

Stunned into silence and apparently also compliance she watched as her hands accepted the bag of pull-ups slid under on the door of her stall. Holding the bag, mind reeling she heard Charlie’s footsteps fade as they left the bathroom, leaving Tia alone to clean herself. She stared down at the pull-ups wondering which option was more mortifying, deciding in the end that on the slim chance she somehow fell asleep again after this debacle she would simply not allow herself to pee her pants again. Thankfully Charlie had also left grocery bag, so she returned to the car, Charlie’s sweater obscuring her damp patch on her pants and slightly padded form.

As Bev pulled back onto the road Tia checked her phone to see a text from Charlie.

“don’t feel bad, it’s really not a big deal, and this can stay between us ;)”

[timetraveltasting]

TEMPLAR BOAR WITH CAMELINE SAUCE (14th c.)

This past Thursday, the Corpus Christi public holiday in my part of Germany, known here as Fronleichnam, gave me a little extra time to make another Tasting History dish: Templar Boar with Cameline Sauce. The diet, eating habits, and table manners of the Templars were governed by strict rules, including only eating meat three times a week (two meat meals on Sundays). This dish was one of those they would have eaten for one of their meat meals during the 14th century. The spices present in the sauce would have been accessible to them during the crusades, but Cameline Sauce did become a popular dish in much of medieval Europe eventually. This dish is based on two 14th century primary sources: Le Viandier de Taillevent by Guillaume Tirel and Le Ménagier de Paris, a treatise written by an older man (as yet unnamed) to teach his 15-year-old bride how to run his household and please him, in every way (...yikes). The sauce, Cameline, is named as such due to the rich brown colour, which looks like the wool of a camel, also known as cameline. I chose to make this recipe next because I haven't made boar before, and the rich, silky, brown colour of the sauce made it look really tasty. See Max’s video on how to make it here or see the ingredients and process at the end of this post, sourced from his website.

My experience making it:

I made a couple changes to the modern recipe below. I used boar goulash pieces instead of tenderloin, because it was the only form of boar I could find at my grocery store. The white wine I used (and drank with dinner) was a dry Riesling from the Mosel Valley in Germany. The red wine was a Bordeaux Merlot. I used saffron powder instead of threads, and I did opt to add the optional tablespoon of red wine vinegar. the white bread I used was a classic French baguette.

I also made a couple changes to the method. Because I used French baguette, which has quite small slices, I hollowed out about half the baguette (since baguettes are mostly crust). I also simmered the sauce for much longer than Max says to, because it wasn't quite the thickness I was looking for. Otherwise, I followed Max's recipe exactly, probably to the detriment of my boar. Because I had used goulash pieces instead of tenderloin, I probably should have adjusted how I cooked the boar to accommodate these smaller pieces. Unfortunately, I didn't, and as a result, I was left with very chewy, dry boar. Basically, the sauce was the saving grace of the boar! I served the boar and Cameline sauce with some green peas, garlic bread, and a glass of the dry Riesling wine.

My experience tasting it:

I already knew I had ruined the texture of the boar, but I hoped that the sauce would help. I warned my husband. Luckily, the Cameline sauce did a lot of heavy-lifting to bring some moisture back to the board. The sauce turned out wonderfully - a beautiful, silky brown. Flavour-wise, it reminded me of a jus, but more heavily-spiced. I was worried the Cameline sauce would end up tasting sweet due to the brown sugar and several spices that are more often used in baking, but in fact, the spices were well balanced by the taste of the wine and vinegar. The sauce also went really nicely with the peas, and I imagine would also have tasted good with potatoes or other red meats. My husband and I dipped the garlic bread in it as well, which was really tasty. It went alright with the dry boar, but I would like to use the sauce with another, more tenderly-cooked meat. We had leftover Cameline sauce, so we will probably try that again tonight. If you end up making it, if you liked it, or if you changed anything from the original recipe, do let me know!

Links to harder-to-find ingredients:

Saffron

Templar Boar with Cameline Sauce original recipes (14th c.)

Sourced from Le Viandier de Taillevent by Guillaume Tirel and Le Ménagier de Paris respectively.

“Sanglier: Fresh Wild Boar Venison. Cooked in wine and water and boiled again; eaten with Cameline Sauce.”

— Le Viandier de Taillevent, 14th century

“Cameline. Note that in Tournai, to make cameline they grind ginger, cinnamon, saffron, and half a nutmeg, moistened with wine then taken out of the mortar. Then grind in a mortar untoasted white breadcrumbs that have been soaked in cold water, moisten with wine and strain. Then boil everything and finish with brown sugar, and that makes winter cameline. In the summer, they do the same but it is not boiled at all. ”

— Le Ménagier de Paris, 14th century

Modern Recipe

Based on Le Viandier de Taillevent by Guillaume Tirel, Le Ménagier de Paris, and Max Miller’s version in his Tasting History video.

Ingredients:

Boar tenderloin

Olive oil for searing

Equal parts wine and water for boiling

1 thick slice of white artisanal bread without crust

1 ¼ cups white wine

¼ cup red wine

1 tsp ginger

2 tsp cinnamon

½ tsp nutmeg

Pinch of saffron threads

2 tbsp brown sugar

Pinch of salt

1 tbsp red wine vinegar (optional)

Method:

De-crust the bread and break it into small pieces. Soak the bread in water for a few hours, then pour in the red wine for the sauce.

Heat olive oil in a pot then sear the boar on all sides.

Remove it from the pot and boil equal parts wine and water, then add the boar back in and boil, covered, for 10-15 minutes or until fully cooked. Then let it rest.

To make the sauce, mix the spices and white wine. Strain the bread/wine mixture from earlier into a saucepan, then press the bread through the strainer.

Add the spiced wine mixture and bring to a simmer. Let simmer for 15 minutes, or until half reduced, then add the sugar and salt, and if you want, a tablespoon of red wine vinegar. Simmer until thickened.

Slice the boar and pour the sauce over it. Optionally, serve with roasted chestnuts and wine.

[maybetorbie]

one look at you and I can't disguise

6.9k words (yeah...) | warnings: Dark!Steve, implications of child abuse, implications of grooming, outdated language, yes there is also fluff! | nothing explicit, but I would suggest that you read with the precautions in mind. Set sometime in season 2.

Summary: Billy and Max moved into Hawkins that one summer, not realizing that Steve has made it his personal mission to make Billy his.

Or, 5 times Steve is a jealous, stalking, obsessive creep, and the 1 time Billy is somewhat endorsing it.

For @harringrovewinterbingo prompt fill, Jealous Steve

1

Billy Hargrove and his half-sister Max were the new kids in town three months ago. Hawkins embraced the "cool kids" persona they threw out as a facade into the world, accepting both of them into their ranks easily, without caring what that facade might be hiding.

Unfortunately for the unaware Billy, he attracted the covert attention of the currently-reigning king of high school Steve Harrington, which is good, right? staying on the popular kids' good side means he'll be left alone, just like he wanted, right?

It was a hot, sunny afternoon. Spring break is near, but the heat is suffocating. Billy is surveying the hardware store for a new lock, as his current one is busted down to shrapnels by his good-for-nothing, oftentimes abusive, pathetic excuse of a father, who didn't even need a reasonable excuse to use Billy as a punching bag. This time, he got lucky that it was only his lock that got torn to pieces and not his eye socket. He mindlessly looks through the options, not paying attention to his surroundings.

"A bit hot to be wearing leather, isn't it?" A voice calls out to Billy, surprising him. Luckily, Billy isn't the kind of guy that reacts like a pansy-ass little boy when taken for a surprise!

Instead, he turns around coolly, appraising the source of the voice. "Harrington. What's it to ya?"

Steve smiles at him easily, slowly leaning against the wall, barring Billy from walking past him in a practised, effortless manner that he's probably done thousands of times before. "Wouldn't want you to catch a fever in this weather, y'know? We need you for basketball practice after all,"

Billy raises an eyebrow at the sentiment. 'How fucking magnanimous of you, your majesty,' he thinks to himself.

This has been happening for some time, too, since he first arrived at this shithole of a town. Billy goes to the arcade to look for Max, and then he finds Steve, sitting on the steps outside the place, giving him a smile, greeting him like he was just passing by. Billy thought nothing of it then, really.

Billy went grocery shopping with his reluctant kid sister on the weekend... again he finds Steve, sitting on the bench at the cafeteria, waving at him with that obnoxious smile, trapping Billy for useless small talk. Okay, it's a small town. Maybe they just happened to be at the same place at the same time a couple times, no big deal.

But it happened again, and again, and again. Outside of school, Billy feels like he's always got that certain fucking guy somewhere, ready to trap him into meaningless conversation, always standing just a little too close for comfort in front of Billy, as if they're lovers having an intimate conversation.

But they're not.

They're guys. Billy isn't into guys. And neither is Steve. The king of Hawkins High is dating Nancy Wheeler, and they seem to be a cute pair.

So why is it, that outside of school, this fucking royalty is always gonna run into Billy?

"Nothing to do with you, Harrington. I'm just getting stuff here. What's your fucking deal, huh? You following me or something?" Billy manages to reply with some semblance of defiance and his signature Tough Guy Gruff Countenance, but he can't help it if slight trepidation is to be felt at the back end of his sentence.

Steve shakes his head with a small smile, one of the loose strand of his hair falling into the middle of his forehead. He immediately fixes it, running a hand through his hair upwards. He fixes Billy a look. "Why'd you think that? It's a small town, y'know." He glances at the sealed product Billy's holding in his hand, then back at the blond. "New lock? Moving out?"

Billy, at this point, isn't even sure what the point of their talk is anymore. And he doesn't really want to give out more than he needs to. "Just... looking at options."

Steve doesn't reply. He takes the same one Billy has and places it into the basket he's holding. "You're right. Crime rates increasing and shit? Better safe than sorry."

He gives Billy one last glance, walking away from their encounter.

Billy watches him leave, miffed.

-

Steve steps into the car, where Nancy is waiting shotgun.

"You gotta stop scaring the guy," She mutters as he closes his side of the door without looking at him. "I get that he's your new obsession or whatever... just because you're into girls and guys, doesn't mean you should be falling for the first guy that walks into town,"

Steve chortles in amusement. "It's not that, Nance. I think he's cute. I think the whole tough guy act is bullshit, and I wanna know what he's hiding."

"We're hiding the Upside Down from the whole town," Nancy offers in confusion. "Isn't that a bigger secret than whatever the fuck Max's brother is hiding? Maybe he does drugs, I don't know?"

Steve shrugs. "I don't think it's that." He drives his beemer out of the store, merging into the easy traffic. "And that's what's driving me nuts."

2

Basketball practice was rough. Steve is having a particularly bad time. Everything was too much, going too fast, and he's just not having it. So naturally, he needs to cool off with a shower at the locker room, right?

Except for the fact that the asshole Tommy just walks in, lathering his own head with shampoo, and Steve can just tell from the unpleasant look on Tommy's face that he's about to say shit again.

"So, heard your girl's skipped town with that Byers guy, the weird one with the fag brother?"

and there it is. The opening line to Tommy's feature film Annoying Classmate #1.

Steve doesn't even bother giving him a look. He continues shampooing his head, trying to regulate his breathing. Tommy's not even right on the money. One, he and Nancy broke it off way before she even considered Jonathan cute. Two, he and Nancy, and Jonathan, are now on friendly terms, because of something of the supernatural kind terrorizing the town, which makes it kind of hard to be enemies with people you fought monsters with. Three, Tommy's an asshole, and there's a proper time and place to be one. Right now is not the time.

Steve is about to ignore him and move on with the day, but Billy Hargrove walks in to the communal shower, already in his birthday suit.

Billy walks in, positioning himself right next to Steve, who's only one Tommy Sentence away from pummeling the guy a la Lawrence of Arabia.

Billy thinks he's got it all figured out. He thinks to himself, that if he annoys Steve enough, the guy will stop giving him the creeps, because then he'll avoid Billy. So enter Billy into the conversation with the opener, "Hey, don't even worry about it, yeah?"

Steve gives him a look... while stealing a glance of what goes on down there. He doesn't say a word in reply, which encourages Billy to continue.

"Pretty boy like you got nothing to worry about, yeah?" Billy adds on to the sentiment, giving Steve's shoulder a squeeze, only now realizing that Steve is... pretty toned, with generous amount of freckles scattered across his torso... and beneath. Regardless of the observation he makes underneath the water stream, he continues, "Plenty of bitches in the sea,"

Steve fixes him a look. Something in his eyes shifts. "Yeah, I guess,"

Billy doesn't like what he's seeing. He's expecting annoyance. A hint of irritation. Being pummeled, even. But he doesn't understand what he's seeing, and he doesn't like it one bit. But what he doesn't like, isn't really the way to put it, as the blood from his brain is starting to rush down his body from the way Steve's staring at him, and he makes a point of leaving the shower, giving Steve one last aloof look before practically darting away from the scene.

Tommy watches the whole scene unfold, none the wiser.

Steve gazes at Billy leaving, his curiosity increasing tenfold, the awful time he's having slowly dissipating.

3

Late May.

Billy stuffs his shit into his locker, his face a gradient of the colors of the rainbow, with scattered blues along his jawline, some on the socket of his right eye. He makes no comment on it, people at school doesn't comment on it, though the general consensus says that he got into a fight last night, and he's now showing his battle scars. Such a badass.

He closes his locker door shut, and Steve is right behind it.

Billy is saved by the bruises on his face, making his facial expressions slower to show, giving him the grace to not look surprised at the way Steve just seem to appear out of thin air.

"What happened to you?" Steve asks in a slightly teasing way, but the hints of worry simmering underneath is audible, if only at the slightest decibel.

Billy thought that Steve would avoid him. It worked for the next few weeks after the shower talk, but then Steve wouldn't leave him alone, no matter how much Billy refuses to engage with him. He hates to admit it, but when they actually got into an actual conversation a couple times, he finds Steve extremely charming, pleasant, and he gets the idea of why Steve's the king of Hawkins High. But there's always that tug at the back of Billy's mind saying, 'this guy is bad news. Very bad news.'

"Got into a fight." Was the go-to that Billy chose. Everybody already thought it, might as well confirm it.

Steve looks skeptical. Not what Billy wanted to happen. "Yeah? Got you good, huh?"

"You should see the other guy," Billy quips with as much aloofness he can gather. It actually hurts like hell.

Steve gives him a placid grin. "Okay. You're a tough guy, you can handle yourself. So listen... your sister and a couple of her friends are gonna hang out at Hopper's place, the police chief; and they appoint me as their chaperone. You wanna come?"

Billy furrows his brows. "My sister seems to like hanging out with those fucking shitheads... and with you. What am I supposed to think about that, pretty boy?"

Steve is unfazed by the nickname. "That's why I'm asking you to come, Billy. See for yourself, and it'll all make sense."

"You know something, Harrington?" Billy steps closer into Steve's space, his nose barely an inch away from Steve's. "You give me the creeps. You and your baby friends."

Steve looks at him with the same aloofness Billy showed him earlier. "Then just come. We'll explain everything."

Billy backs off. "No. Fuck that. Whatever it is you fuckheads are doing, I don't wanna know. But if my sister got hurt because of you, I'll fucking gut you, okay?"

"Okay."

-

"You told him to come, right?" Nancy asks, handing out empty papers for the group of friends to write with, the sky darkening outside Hopper's place.

"I did." Steve nods, sitting at one of the dining table chairs strewn across the living room. "Guess he's a no-show."

Max sighs.

Steve uses this opportunity to ask, "So, Max... Billy told me he got a black eye from fighting a guy. But I don't think that was it,"

"No."

"It was your dad, wasn't it?"

Max's silence speaks volumes.

"Why?" Steve had to ask.

Max shrugs. "I don't know... that fucking guy loves using Billy as his punching bag. I know my brother's an asshole most of the time, but... I also know that he got the shit beaten out of him for me a lot of times, too, and... he just wouldn't admit it."

that was all Steve needed to hear.

-

A couple of days after that, Billy watches Neil come out of his car, slamming the door a little too rough, the familiar jolt in Billy's body telling him that tonight will be another night where he will need the bag of frozen peas.

Except that Neil didn't come into the house, instead he examines the rear end of his car while cursing up a storm.

Billy and Max watches from the window, glancing at each other uneasily.

"Someone rammed into his car or some shit?" Max asks a rhetorical question.

"Should've taken his life with it, too," Billy scoffs under his breath.

Max doesn't disagree with the sentiment.

Billy thinks nothing of it, going to bed. In fact, he's glad that something like this happened to Neil, as if it's proof that karmic retribution has a way of finding Billy's address and agreeing to be his avenger. He thanks the guy who totaled Neil's car in his head, something resembling prayer before bed.

-

The next morning, Billy parks his camaro at his usual spot, letting Max out first. They exchanged no words the entire ride, but there was an air of agreeability between the half siblings, perhaps something of shared joy.

Billy is left alone inside the car, where he takes the time to breathe. Compose himself. Put on the mask he's been parading around for the entirety of his existence ever since his mom left. He has a tough guy reputation to uphold, and shedding a tear isn't going to give him any credit. He takes a deep breath, looking at his own face in the visor, the blues and purples still stinging.

A car parks a few spots away from his, the front part of the car completely wrecked, the engine nearly taking a hit.

Billy watches dispassionately, until he realizes it's a fucking maroon beemer.

Nobody else in the entire fucking school drives a maroon BMW 733i except for Steve Harrington.

"No... that's just a coincidence..." Billy mutters under his breath, connecting the dots yet disbelieving what it proves.

He steps out of the car, approaching the crowd gathering around Steve and the scene of his wrecked car.

Steve easily sits on top of the trunk, giving the crowd an enchanting anecdote, which they eat up all too easily.

"The fuck happened here?" Billy asks, parting the sea of 8 or so people gathered around Steve for an explanation.

'Please be something else.'

Steve gives him a smile, and an easy, effortless shrug. "Got into a fight. You should see the other guy."

The crowd laughs. It's a crowd-pleaser sentence, of course. But those were the exact words Billy told him about the bruises on his face, and his words were all a lie.

Billy has a deep seated feeling that Steve's words are all a lie, too.

He can't prove Steve did it.

But for some inexplicable, baffling feeling, Billy wishes it was Steve.

To receive the attention of a king is nothing short of flattering, after all.

4

Summer break is officially here. Which means Billy will have to get a job. Luckily, he struck gold when he found out that the guy working at the pool could hook him up with a lifeguard gig, and all Billy had to do was give the guy his Love At First Sting album, which couldn't possibly be worth much in the future, he thought to himself.

It's all easy, really. All he had to do is sit on the high chair, blow the whistle once in a while, and act like he's watching people swimming at the pool. He doesn't even need to stand up most of the time unless someone is like, actually actively drowning.

But that's not the part he hates about the job.

It's the grandstanding he has to do in front of the middle-aged women.

They sit in groups in their brand new, spiffy swimsuits, lounging in one spot of the pool, begging for his attention. It's not like he's unaware that he's a decent looking guy. He just hates the attention he's getting, when all he's trying to do is get paid so he can save up and leave this shithole one day. But the guy working before him tipped him, that the middle-aged women loves the attention, and they're willing to pay him actual money for swimming lessons. He pretty much figured out that the swimming lessons were going to be the sexual kind.

But he needs the money.

A deep breath is pulled inside his lungs, and he makes his debut as the lifeguard of Hawkins community pool for the summer.

"Ladies," he gives them a charming smile, not forgetting to suck in his breath to show the women he's been lifting. "Looking good,"

"Oh, you flatterer." One of the women waves him off sheepishly.

One woman in a purple piece steals his attention. "Hello there."

Billy swallows and smiles. "Mrs. Wheeler. Looking gorgeous in purple."

Nancy's mom loves the attention.

That swimming lesson was pretty much a done deal.

-

The same night, a tired but money hungry Billy knocks at the Wheeler's door.

Mrs. Wheeler opens the door in her finest apparel, giving Billy a bashful smile at how she appreciates the attention.

"Mrs. Wheeler. I almost mistook you for Nancy's sister." He had to say. What else was he supposed to say?

She preens at the attention. "Ready to go?" she asks.

Billy had to play the part. "We can take my car,"

Before anything can happen, the telephone rings from inside the house.

Karen excuses herself to pick it up, as nobody else is home to answer it. "Hello? Yes? Is that so? Oh... Alright, then. I'll... wait for you at home,"

She hangs up, and returns to where Billy is standing, right at the threshold of the doorway. "Sorry, Billy... that was Nancy. She's not feeling too well, and I have to stay home for the night, just to give her a bit of company."

Billy sighs in relief inside. "Oh, that's too bad. Well, I suppose it can't be helped..."

he turns to go.

"Wait, maybe... you could... come in for a bit?"

Billy didn't stop walking back to his car. "Nah, I mean... Nancy's probably on her way back, y'know? I should get going, too. Good night,"

Billy drives away from the Wheeler's with relief, again thanking his invisible guardian angel for what happened.

-

It was late in the Wheeler's, everybody gone to bed, even the doting mother. Nancy takes the now-cold rag off her forehead, tossing it on the floor without much care for it.

She dials a number on the landline. It connects. "Hello?"

"How did it go?"

"He wasn't here when I got back. Nothing probably happened."

"...I see. Thanks, Nance."

"You owe me one, Steve."

"Hey, your mom was about to cheat on your dad. I think you owe ME one."

Nancy hangs up unceremoniously.

-

For the next couple weeks, the gig has been easy. The older women doesn't seem to fancy Billy as much anymore, and the kids are somehow running less vigorously than usual along the skidmarked tiles.

Tired after a long shift, Billy changes into his clothes in the pool's locker room, the evening sky darkening outside casting a rather eerie scene at the premises.

He pays no attention to the eeriness of everything, even if his own mind is running a mile a second. Thoughts about the obnoxious Steve Harrington keeps resurfacing, and how he finds the guy creepy, yet at the same time charming. He's pretty sure it was Steve who totaled Neil's car, which ended up costing the guy 5 grand in repairs. But the real question is, why would Steve do that for him? Did he even know Neil was the reason Billy's face was purple? Certainly not. But a part of Billy yearns for someone to understand the real him, but he would sooner die than to let anyone in. Especially Steve Harrington.

He suddenly remembers his sister, and what he was supposed to be doing today.

'Shit,' he thinks to himself. He was supposed to pick her up from the very same obnoxious guy's house, as they were playing DnD in the basement with those shithead kids. He curses as he locks up the place, driving his car onto the road, making the route to Harrington Residence as fast as he can.

-

He got there in under 20 minutes. It was nearly eight. Billy sighs in consternation to himself. Neil is usually more lenient when Billy's running late because of a job, but he still expects a pummel or two when he gets back.

He composes his face. He knocks at the door.

Steve opens the door, all smiles as usual. "Billy."

Billy doesn't address the charm of the smile. "Here to get Max home,"

Steve shakes his head. "You're way too late for that. The shitheads all got themselves home. I think she was on Dustin's bike,"

Billy sighs in somewhat of a relief. "Great. I came here for nothing."

"Not nothing," Steve steps aside to let Billy in. "You can come in... it's late, grab a drink or two, maybe?"

Billy's face is well-learned in facade. But he still feels the heat rising to his cheeks at the invite. "Nah, I..."

"What's the rush? It's summer break, you don't even have a shift tomorrow," Steve beckons him in.

Billy relents and walks in... also taking note of why the hell Steve would know about his shifts. He stuffs his hands into his pockets, looking around the interior of the home. "You're a rich fucking prick,"

Steve shrugs. "Folks are. I just live here,"

"They here?" Billy asks. 'Please say yes.'

Steve shrugs yet again, all too effortless yet practised. "They're out of town. They usually are."

'great.'

"Can I get you anything? Water? Soda?" Steve makes a beeline for the kitchen, a generous and spacious one at that.

Billy follows him, not too keen on drinking. "Uh... I think, I'd like to ask you a couple questions,"

"Shoot."

"...How did you total your car back then?"

"Got into a fight," Steve answers the same thing.

"Which guy?" Billy presses.

"One of those guys,"

"Right," Billy purses his lips, his back leaning against the unlit fireplace's brick structure, keeping an eye on the guy all the while. "And... how did you know what days I work?"

"From Max," Steve answers. Too easy.

"Uh huh," Billy nods uneasily. Steve hands him the glass of water, which he takes. Steve walks closer, stopping just a few inches from where Billy's standing.

Steve doesn't seem scared of what sort of accusation Billy might throw his way. Billy had to get it out of the way.

"Harrington, you--"

"Steve."

"Steve, you... you give me the heebie jeebies, you know?" Billy doesn't drink the water. He sets it on the mantle, fixing the guy a look. "You're... always following me around, you seem to know where I would be, and you always give me these looks, and I..."

Before he even knows it, Steve is now an inch away from touching him. Their shoulders nearly brush, and Steve's face is so close to his. Steve's warmth is radiating off his body, making Billy flustered in its wake. "and you what, Billy?"

Their noses nearly touch. The dimly lit house isn't helping the situation, as it only quickens the beating of Billy's heart, threatening to jump out of his chest. The strands of Steve's hair glisten under the light, stopping Billy in his tracks from moving. "I..."

"Yeah?"

"Are you... Coming on to me?"

"What do you think?"

Billy is at a loss for words. He scoots to the side, managing to get himself free from the grasp. He slowly backs away, the whole situation unfurling like the start of a horror movie. And yet... He can't help but blush at the attention. "Ya know something, Steve? I... I just gotta go. I gotta sleep early, wake up early and all that, yeah? So I'll just be taking my leave,"

Billy steps out of the Harrington residence in a flush, leaving Steve at the living room, watching Billy leave with an amused sip of his drink.

5

It's a science project, because of course it's a fucking science project. The exact one that pairs up Billy with none other than the Hair Harrington. 'Great. Just my luck.'

Because why wouldn't the teachers give their kids a big science project just before winter break? It's not like the kids have their own thing going on after school.

Steve insists on doing the project over at Billy's house, to which the blond doesn't even know what to say.

'If I come over to his place, then he'll corner me again. But if I let him come to my place, then at least I have the home turf advantage... for when he... god, what the fuck am I even saying? Get it together, dickhead! He's not into you! Get that out of your big head! We'll just do the project, nice and easy. Nothing will happen.'

-

As expected, Steve knocks at the Hargrove resident front door, right on time, 5 o' clock sharp. Billy opens the door, immediately irked by how charming Steve's smile is.

Steve wordlessly slinks in to the house, Billy closing the door behind him with a sigh.

"Let's do it in your room," Steve requests, sounding almost sinister in a way; except he accompanies that with a smile, and an easy skip to the blond's bedroom... which he seems to know where it's located.

"Fucking... Yeah, sure, let's just do that..." Billy follows along slowly, leaving the bedroom door open.

Steve plops himself easily on Billy's unkempt bed, leaning his body weight on an elbow.

Billy looks uneasily. He fiddles with his hair, watching his reflection in the mirror as his back is turned against Steve. He sighs, and turns around to face the brunette.

"You know I don't like guys, right?"

Steve almost scoffs. "Yeah, you do."

"As you can see around you, pretty boy, I like chicks!" Billy exclaims, pointing at the numerous posters of scantily clad women plastered all over his bedroom wall as proof.

Steve isn't moved. "We both know that's not true, Billy."

"And how the fuck would you know that?" Billy looks at him, befuddled.

"I've been in your room before," Steve shrugs easily. "Seen your stash."

"Yeah, all playboys--wait, what? Shithead Max let you in, huh?"

"No," Steve denies Max's participation.

"So when--"

Billy stops short as Steve dusts himself off Billy's bed, heading towards one of the drawers like he knows what he's looking for.

And he does.

Steve fishes out a handmade book, a shitty notebook plastered with magazine cutouts of women-adjacent breasts on the cover. Steve waves it in front of a gobsmacked Billy, and he turns over the pages. "All dudes, Billy. This is gay porn."

"You..." Billy's face grows red, he lunges for the brunette to get his book back, but Steve dodges the advances, stepping to the side. This throws Billy off his momentum, and he staggers, a hard landing on the carpeted floor is expected.

Steve pulls him before he can kiss the floor, his one hand grabbing Billy by the waist, the titty-covered book in his other grip.

Billy doesn't understand why this is all happening. He's pressed chest to chest with Steve, and the warmth is enough to drive him insane. But he needs the book back, his hands wildly reaching for it, as Steve hoists it up high in the air. They continue this uncoordinated dance number around Billy's bedroom floor for a while, until Steve's leg stumbles on the frayed end of the blanket hanging on the edge of the bed, and they both fall backwards on the bed with a hard thud.

Steve softens the landing for Billy, his grip on Billy's waist nowhere near slack.

Billy is on top of him, their noses touching, their lips already grazing each other's. It's kind of pointless to try and punch the guy now.

"Why are you so obsessed with me?" Billy asks in a hushed voice.

"I think you're cute."

"Bullshit. You... you want blackmail material, right? Following me around town, learning about my work hours... you just... you just wanna know I like guys so you can..."

"So I can what?" Steve asks quietly. Softly, almost.

"I... I don't know, Harrington--"

"Steve."

"It was you, wasn't it? That wrecked Neil's car?" Billy asks at the cost of sounding like a lunatic.

"I had nothing to do with that," Steve mutters adamantly, though the small upward twitch at the corner of his lips betray his defense.

Billy's face distorts into slow anger. "Why would you fucking do that? Because you figured out he beat me up?"

"Dads shouldn't do that to their kids, don't you think?" Steve basically admits it in so many words.

Billy frowns in confusion. "Why would you do that? You care about me or something?"

"When was the last time anyone was nice to you?" Steve asks instead of answering, the entire time their lips grazing each other's as they converse. "Do you know what that's like? Someone being nice to you?"

Billy wants to get off. But Steve isn't letting go, and he's not actively making an effort to break free, either. His discomfort at the truth of Steve's words contracts with the comfort of Steve's embrace. "Nice? Nice is when someone makes you... I don't know, fucking coffee, or say you look nice, not... totaling someone's car just because he beat his son up!"

"You give me too little credit, Billy. I know you like guys, and I know those moms at the pool were also salivating over you."

It all clicks for Billy. "You..." He momentarily rises his head away from their embrace, his face all sorts of red. "You asked Nancy to call in sick so her mom canceled with me? That was fucking you?"

Steve shrugs, pulling Billy back into the grip. "I didn't say that."

Too much. Their lips are grazing, Steve not making any effort to close the distance. Billy feels as if a magnet is drawing him to closer. He's overwhelmed by the idea, really. Someone so polished, effortlessly casual and hip like fucking Harrington? What does he get out of this?

Billy lowers himself, slowly pressing his lips against Steve's, which the brunette welcomes all too eagerly. Billy hates this. Steve Harrington turns out to be a creep. A jealous stalker. But at the same time, he feels safe in Steve's embrace, the tender way Steve holding him right now a polar opposite of how much of a creep he is, it's as if Steve cares about his well-being.

"You're a fucking creep," Billy whispers inbetween kissing, his breathing growing ragged.

Steve makes no reply.

The sound of a car pulling up into the driveway startles both, Billy immediately jumping out of the bed, his curls all messed up from their dance-fight, his clothes all wrinkled from the friction against Steve's cashmere sweater.

He doesn't look at Steve, his eyes peeled at the window, confirming it was indeed Neil that came home. "Let's, uh... move to the living room,"

Neil walks in to the living room, seeing Steve and Billy, with scattered, important-looking papers on the coffee table, seemingly the object of the two's attention. Neil clears his throat.

"Who's this?" he asks, addressing Steve.

Steve stands up, with an all-too-charismatic of a smile. He offers a hand, which Neil reluctantly shakes. "Steve Harrington, sir. We got a science project together, and we've been busy at it,"

Neil seems agreeable to Steve's straight man behavior. "Hm. Harrington? Your folks seem alright. You don't happen to drive a BMW, do you?"

Steve shakes his head with a laugh. "No, sir. We're a Ford-only family,"

Neil nods, satisfied, leaving the two to go back to their project.

Steve sits back down near Billy, greeted by the blond's miffed expression.

"What the fuck was that?" Billy quietly asks.

"I should've fucking killed him when I hit him with my beemer, too," Steve whispers nonchalantly to an alarmed Billy.

"Shut up!" Billy hysterically whispers, the flush on his cheeks betraying the butterflies fluttering inside his stomach in fear of not knowing what Steve is capable of.

-

As winter break finally comes, things have quieted down over the town, or maybe the snow muffles the hubbub of small town life to a whisper. Billy and Max had nothing to do, so they opted to sit on the living room couch while saying nothing to each other as the TV plays the news on mute.

"Shithead," Billy slowly turns to her.

"What," she replies in an equally disinterested tone.

"You know Harrington, right? From your..."

"If you wanna know, I really don't mind telling you,"

"For fuck's sake... Look, I don't care about your DnD shit, okay? Just... I don't wanna know about it. That's not what I wanted to ask,"

"Then what?"

"That Harrington guy, is he... ya know, a creep? a weirdo?"

Max looks baffled. "Creep? No... he's more like... I don't know, goofy?"

"Goofy?" Billy looks at her wildly.

"Yeah, like, a weirdo but in a goofy way or something. Nice guy, really, and Nancy said he's fine,"

Billy leans back on the couch with a disbelieving sigh. "I don't believe it,"

"The guys and I spent a fair amount of time with him, and he's... well, that. Goofy. Why do you ask?"

Billy shakes his head. "Nothing, really... and uh, did you also tell him what days I worked at the pool?"

Max scoffs. "I don't even care, why should I know?"

"...fair enough," was all that Billy could muster.

They continue watching TV in silence, the companionable aspect of it somewhat resembling comfort.

-

"Steve, you really should stop playing with the guy," Nancy sighs, sitting on the bean bag chair in the Wheeler's basement (Which the kids have turned into a demogorgon-defeating tactical base).

"I'm not playing with him! He's playing with me! Being all hot and cold!" Steve argues, pacing around the room while gesturing wildly.

Nancy rolls her eyes. "You're wasting your time with him, Steve. Guys like that are probably just gonna use you for sex and move on to drugs or something,"

Steve shakes his head. "Not if I make him mine first. Then he won't resort to shit like that,"

"I swear, where is all this coming from? You weren't even this crazy back then,"

"Well, that's because you had nothing crazy about you," Steve offers, to which he got smacked with a pillow on the face for.

The kids soon file into the basement, marking an end to their conversation.

+1

It's been almost one year since the Hargrove-Mayfield siblings moved into Hawkins, their lives turned upside down in more ways than one. Max continues seeing her circle of friends, even after the enemy is defeated (...for now).

Billy avoids Steve like the plague while they're at school, as they really have no reason to hang out, being from different circles and all. Steve has no reason to want to change that. They graduate in less than six months, after all!

The Harrington residence is once again empty, like it's always been most of the time. Steve sees his parents off again after a new year's eve party together, the sizes of their luggage a tell-tale sign telling Steve that they'll be gone for another year.

Not like it bothers him.

Steve's in his bed, comfy and cozy. Billy is in his hold, accepting his kisses while acting like he had no choice but to be kissed. Billy returns the kisses, sloppily letting their tongues enter each other's mouths with no sense of decorum.

Steve suddenly parts from the kiss, getting up from bed. "I gotta piss. Don't go anywhere,"

"Shut up," Billy utters disinterestedly, still maintaining whatever shred of aloof tough guy persona he has left.

Life's been a roller coaster for Billy. It's really true what they say, to be loved is to be changed. He went into town not hoping for much, he didn't even think he'd make it past 20 with the way his life was going. But then, this guy walks (well, creeps) into his life and turned it upside down. Steve offered him kindness, patience, persistence (that sometimes gets on his nerves), and all Billy had to do was let him. He didn't have to beg for Steve to stay, Steve is everything he thought he couldn't have.

Billy is... happy, kind of. In a way. He won't let his guard down, though. Shit can still happen, and Steve can still walk away. He's just a dirtbag, after all.

Billy walks around the bedroom, which is more spacious than his. He whistles at the collection of expensive watches. 'pretty boy won't mind if I wear one or two, right?'

Something pokes out of one of the boxes in Steve's drawers. Billy thinks nothing of it, but the way the slits of sunlight peeking through the blinds making the thing glisten, well... it makes it hard for Billy to ignore. He pulls the box out of the drawer...

And, well, is he even surprised?

Steve gets back into the bedroom, only to see Billy sitting on the floor, poring over the content of the box.

Steve sits down next to him, pursing his lips. "For what it's worth... those are old,"

Billy turns to look at him with a hapless, unimpressed smile. "Seriously?"

"Yeah, well, I have my own guy developing these," Steve defends himself half-heartedly, taking the printed photographs out of Billy's hand, putting them back into the box. "He's a no-questions-asked kind of guy, okay?"

Billy rolls his eyes. "You don't even have a camera,"

"I got a bunch of disposables,"

"And you wasted them being a creep, taking pictures of me!" Billy starts to argue, waving the photos around. Some of them are blurry, some aren't even close enough to depict anyone, but Billy knows they're all pictures of him throughout last year, how Steve took these he can't even tell. There must be at least ten film rolls' worth of photos here.

Steve shrugs. "What can I say... you really caught my eye,"

"You're a creep, and a stalker, Harrington."

"Steve." he insists on the name. "I keep telling you to call me Steve."

"I'll call you Steve when I actually like you," Billy challenges, absentmindedly tossing the photos into the wicker box.

"What do I do to get you to like me, then? Do I kill your dad?"

Billy looks at him, wide-eyed, but the smile forming on his lips betray his seriousness. "No, you... you wouldn't,"

Steve looks at him. Billy looks back at him.

'Yeah, no. He definitely would.'

"Okay... fine, I like you, Steve," Billy relents.

"Well now I don't want you to like me, if you feel like you have to say it," Steve sighs.

Billy quirks up an eyebrow, looking at the brunette in disbelieving haplessness. "You little..."

He lunges at Steve, tackling him as they're both still seated. He pins Steve underneath him, Steve's hair a mess on the carpeted floor, looking up at Billy with all the affection somebody could offer another person, and then some.

"You're gorgeous, Billy Hargrove."

"I'm about to sock you in the jaw and that's what you have to say?" Billy asks, his curls spilling from the top of his head, barely brushing against Steve's cheeks.

"We both know you won't," Steve smiles, easily. One of the many things Billy's learned to hate (love) about the fucking guy.

"You're lucky I don't feel like fighting right now," Billy mumbles under his breath, forgoing the punching, instead planting a kiss on Steve's lips, which he welcomes impatiently, feverishly.

Billy wants this to be his forever. He knows it's not, but he's starting to question what he actually knows to be the truth, or whether it's all just the voices in his head telling him he's no good.

He chooses to know now, for a fact, that somebody loves him to the point of no return, and if he were to complain about any of it, it would only to lament about past pains, while he patches up the present, and hey, while he's at it, why not the future?

[spanishskulduggery]

Do you have any tips for people who are losing their ability to think up sentences quick in Spanish? My Spanish talking skills are atrophying after a year or so of not using it regularly except for the Mexican grocery store… my reading and listening skills are better. Help! (Hope you’re having a good new year)

There's really only one way: you have to start speaking it more and finding other people to speak with and listen to

Your skills are getting rusty because you're not using it regularly, and there's unfortunately no other way to fix that aside from using it more regularly and getting more comfortable doing it

That isn't to say you can't talk to yourself or try speaking alone like pronunciation or reciting things, but it's one of those things where you need to make Spanish a priority for yourself and put yourself out of your normal routine to get more practice and experience

This can be talking with people in person, making friends and practicing online with voice notes or on whatsapp or something, but I don't know any other way to get better at speaking that isn't just... speaking?

(I hope that didn't sound mean I was trying to figure out how to phrase it because I thought it might be abrupt - I just don't know any other way myself. To me it sounds like you know the problem and you identified the cause, so you have to take steps to change things up. Does that make sense?)

-

There are also some apps like MeetUp where they have online zoom sessions in your area for learning languages (or really the app is about finding people to do things with so it isn't just languages but still; I've seen book clubs and D&D meet ups, depending on your area you might have lots of options for learning and talking). And I would also check out your local library to see if they have language opportunities or if you're in school there are sometimes clubs and student activities that have practicing languages

[werewolffeelings]

2025 wips

Was tagged by the lovely @emmerrr to list the wips I’m hoping to get done this year, ty 🥰!

Search for the Unknown

Which is still under the title “ghost adventures” in my gdocs. Ghost hunting au! [advertisement voice] Read chapter 1 on ao3 today! I have the main plot shit of chapter 2 mapped out but it needs jazzing up bc I want the flirting and tension to reach truly painful lol. Starting with: there was only one bed (the floor). There will also be spirit boxes and fucking around in abandoned buildings and finding a dead body and maybe a ghost fight. who’s to say

Crazy Ex Boyfriend

The crazy ex girlfriend au which replaces musical numbers with dreams! This fic haunts my every waking moment. It wants to be written so so so bad. Unfortunately I don’t actually want to write it 😭 I would prefer it to be written by someone who is more qualified… But then they wouldn’t do it like I would and so I HAVE to 😔 i was talking to kellie the other day about her existential crisis fic and realized that this is MY existential crisis fic which is part of why I don’t want to write it lol. Anyway! Chapter 2 is more shenaniganful than the opener. Teaser trailer - ronan meets blue (and Gansey) while looking like shit at the grocery store and gets swindled into going hiking with them (and Adam :3). He’s not remotely prepared and has a bad time! He stalks adam a little bit. He goes to confession and smokes weed w the priest in the parking lot

Greywaren canon divergence

This fic suffers from the fact that I disliked so much of greywaren that it’s difficult to limit myself to changing only some things and not like. Everything 😅 Which would be like entirely too much effort and I’m not going to do that ✌️But the idea stemmed from the fact that I’d expected adam to be asleep/in a coma/actively dying after the end of mister impossible since he was in the astral plane when hennessy shut off the ley line… so he meets ronan there and the have to find a way out of the liminal dreamspace they’re sort of trapped in. In so doing they actually have to deal w their respective shit and fight and talk to each other lol. Optional sidequests include: exploring what ronan actually IS (fae??) & maybe some kind of metaphorical brain labyrinth to sort of call back to that Harvard/bryde labyrinth thing from the beginning of cdth that never really went anywhere to my knowledge. A test of mettle??Also the reason why Adam doesn’t actually die is that persephone’s spirit is still floating around the astral plane and she temporarily takes control of his body and pretends to be him until he gets back lol. Tragically this would require a dreamer trilogy reread and I haven’t had the stomach….

Forgetting Sarah Marshall au

I’d first conceptualized this as ronan going on vacation after a breakup with kavinsky and falling for Adam who works at the hotel or resort or whatever which would be fairly straightforward. But then i thought it’d be funnier if it were adam after a breakup with blue but then surprise blue and Gansey are there and for some reason they brought Gansey’s terrible obnoxious friend and much awkwardness ensues 💖

Honorable mentions include:

Rodansey college au. Canon divergentish trippy dream sequence with horror and clone fucking elements. Wedding au. Vampire au. That one where adam is Ronan’s weed man.

I have many ideas but only 1 brain which only works SOMETIMES but i promise it is doing its best

No idea who’s already done this but @cheeeryos @clotpolesonly if you have anything???

[limey-self-inserts]

Badsansuary Entry 1

Prompts: 6. Restrained & 7. Blanket

A/N: hi hello I am 100% freeballing the event here, taking a couple prompts per week into a drabble or drawing and seeing how far that goes~ you can check out the prompts list here

word-count: 2k

writing tag-list: @lavenoon @mikealys-ael @kissingarthurclaus @bugsband @avenships @faerie-circle-ships @textreasures-rbs

----------

It really wasn’t easy, juggling two lives at once, with one of those lives being so haphazard and chaotic that it was covering itself with grease and threatening to fling itself in a different direction while you juggled it. Simultaneously, it was the boring, normal, everyday job that was the one that seemed to be seeping all the energy and focus from Aspen's brain and body. It was getting to a point where they could handle a training session with Cross without wanting to keel over immediately, but another supervision meeting with your newest manager made them want to sink into the ground from fatigue. 

As Aspen locked up the store, they felt their phone ping and vibrate in your pocket. A coworker inviting them out to join some of the others for drinks. Sighing softly with a smile, they sent a decline and thanks. It was nice to have that option of normalcy sometimes, but not when Nightmare was expecting them to discuss an upcoming mission.

People say they have skeletons in their closets. Aspen's closet kept having skeletons falling out of it. Genuinely, it wasn’t the actual closet itself, ala the piece of furniture being enchanted. It was Aspen. They’d tested it themselves, and so had Nightmare after the pair's first unfortunate meeting (with more violence). And because of that, Aspen really had no choice but to become involved.

And now they were walking home, looking like any other commuting human, bundled up to the ears in scarf and winter coat. But they’d get home and it wouldn’t stop there.

Aspen sneezed hard, their scarf taking the brunt of it. Ugh, thank god it was the weekend. They could toss that in the washing machine with the week’s laundry. Running a grocery store wasn’t generally too hard on any old person but today they seemed to feel even more run down than before. Their chest ached with each breath of chilly air, their legs grumbled and grouched as they speed-walked down the street. They’d been on your feet more than usual today, and the rest of the past week, and including the off-the-hours training, no-one should've been surprised that it would start to take its toll.

Just maybe not to this extent.

By the time Aspen reached home, the background ache had managed to worm itself up behind their forehead. Groaning softly as their neighbours upstairs slammed one of their doors (as always), they unlocked the front door and stepped inside, out from the cold.

The smell of takeaway pizza, fresh too, knocked them off-balance for two seconds. Habit and history reminded them of the reason why - one of three at least (Cross didn’t like ordering food to your place without you here, and Nightmare just…didn’t seem to eat).

“I hope you tipped properly!” Aspen called down the hallway, hanging up their coat and scarf, only for the raised voice to kick off against their throat. Coughing out a sigh, they glanced towards the living room. No response.

One of two, then.

Wandering through, they glanced over the hooded figure on the sofa, lounging to the side with half a pizza slice hanging out from the shadowed skull of his head, grubby slippers discarded on the floor. Aspen leaned over the back, flicking the box open and snagging a slice for yourself. 

“someone’s late,” Dust commented.

“I’m not late, I’ve easily got another hour until Nightmare wanted me to go talk to him,” Aspen grumbled back.

“y’normally earlier on Fridays.”

It'd be easy to make a remark about it being creepy. But honestly, with the amount of time this whole situation had been going on for, it hadn't be hard to start memorising each other's routines. It could be sweet, honestly. Just not today.

“God forbid I walk a bit slower than usual. I’m still sore from Cross teaching me about arm and back muscles I didn’t realise I had.”

“did that include training your chest muscles too?” The sarcasm was palpable, and Aspen squinted back at Dust from the kitchenette. Opening their mouth to retort didn’t help anyway though, as it just triggered another burst of coughs.

Of course, this had to come on now of all times.

“I’m not turning this into an argument,” Aspen groaned, more to themselves than to their houseguest, before raising their voice to make sure Dust could definitely tell they were talking to him, “I’m making myself tea, you want anything?”

“nah.”

“Alright.”

For a short while, the only sounds in the room were the soap opera on your TV screen, the kettle brewing, and Aspen's slow but vain attempts to try and calm their lungs down. They could feel their brain zoning out as their mug of tea brewed too slowly, leaning against the fridge, as if that could dull the headache. Did Dust turn up the thermostat? Or was the apartment just feeling extra cozy with the cold snap going on outside?

Mug in hand, Aspen wandered over to the sofa, dropping down on the cushions. Dust nudged the pizza box closer with a foot, and they helped themselves to another slice in-between sips of tea.

It was a few minutes into this that they realised that Dust’s eyelights, gleaming red and blue beneath his hood, hadn’t stopped staring at you since you’d sat down. At first Aspen didn’t respond - or rather, tried not to respond. Dust wasn’t the only person around who sometimes zoned out into thin air while looking directly at someone in the process. It was unnerving, sure. But they weren’t going to make yourself seem uncomfortable.

Unless he was actively staring, in which case Aspen was going to do their damndest to not respond since that would drop you into whatever stupid game he was playing now.

It prickled and gnawed at the back of your neck. They pulled out their phone, checked Discord and text messages. Their coworkers had already started drinking. Good for them.

“you’re sweating.” Dust broke through Aspen's attempts to ignore his staring, and internally they swore.

“No I’m not,” Aspen replied with a grunt.

“you are.”

“No I’m-” Warm bone pressed against their forehead, cutting off their words. Dust’s ability to move fast and silent never failed to catch them off-guard like this. Gaping for a moment, Aspen scowled and swiped at his hand, knocking it away from their forehead. He kept looming over them though, crouched on the sofa now.

“Fuck you, it’s cold outside! I’m gonna be a little sweaty,” Aspen snapped defensively.

“your hand’s shaking,” Dust replied, his gaze turning towards the mug in their hand. They glanced down, seeing the grip tremble, and snatched the mug up in both hands.

“Because someone’s deciding to be a stressful, intimidating asshole.” It was a mean jab, but Aspen was tired and their head hurt even more, and they knew they were going to have to speak to Nightmare in this state unless Dust let them actually unwind for longer than ten minutes. Gritting their teeth, they shuffled out from under Dust’s shadow and made steps back for the kitchenette, feeling as much as seeing Dust shadowing their path.

“pretty sure you’re sick.”

“No, I’m not. I’m tired, I’m sore from work and Cross’ training, and I have a headache. That’s not sick.”

Now it was Dust’s turn to grit his teeth, a growl escaping as his shoulders tensed up. He lingered in the doorway to the kitchenette, eyelights following Aspen as they dropped the mug into the sink with a bare rinse and then brushed past him towards their room.

“you need to rest.”

“I’ll be fine, I just need-”

“that wasn’t me askin'.”

Aspen paused, began to turn to give Dust a look and a piece of their mind (they were so tired), only to jump to find his eyelights right up by their face. Stumbling, they fell into his grip, the blanket in his arms wrapping around them. It was awkward and more than a bit rough, feeling like he was ensnaring them in a net more than a large fluffy blanket. The fabric pinned their arms in place, leaving Aspen wriggling on the floor underneath Dust. 

“Hey! What the fuck?!” they spat up at him in confusion, lips wrinkling into a bared teeth snarl.

“you aren’t gonna be able to do shit if you keep driving yourself into the ground.” He sat down, squarely on their torso. “you’re a little squishy, feeble, fragile human. your lot break way too easily to let that be a risk.”

Was that what this was? Dust telling Aspen that you weren’t good enough to be part of the team? Their wriggling intensified, bringing with it a renewed storm of coughs that seemed to leave their breathing even more ragged than before.

Dust’s expression didn’t budge, and neither did the rest of him.

“Let me go,” Aspen wheezed out. “I can’t - I won’t -”

“can’t what?” Dust deadpanned, head tilting to the side. Oh, the hot anger surged around Aspen's chest and through their itchy throat, squeezed out by the pressure inside their temples.

“I can’t look like I’m weak, even though you all think I am!” 

Silence. Aspen's breath hitched, and prompted another cough.

Dust slowly reached out and tapped a metacarpal on their nose.

“don’t say that shit,” he muttered. “not about us. not about you.”

Rolling his weight off of their body, he leaned over and for a moment it looked he was going to free them from this blanket. Instead he hefted an arm underneath them, rolling them up and over his shoulder.

“you got any plans?”

“I - what?”

“good, they’re all cancelled. c’mon.”

As if Aspen had any say in the matter at this point. They tried to wriggle at least one more time, but Dust was barely phased as he carried them through to their room. He had the decency to grab their travel bag before kicking open their closet door with a toe and stepping inside.

And then gravity

Went

Down

And

Sideways

That was something Aspen would never get used to, however many times it happened. They closed your eyes against the brief presence and pressure of Nothing, before squinting open into the darker, cooler space of Nightmare’s castle.

Dust was quickly on his way again, the sickly jolt that came from a shortcut throwing Aspen off as the stone corridor abruptly became a well-lit bedroom that they recognised as their own, personal guest room. With an easy shrug, he tossed them off his shoulder onto the bed. They attempted some more wiggles to free themselves, but he tapped their sternum with a sharp tut.

“nope. you’ve lost arm privileges.”

“What do you mean I’ve ‘lost arm privileges’?” Bewilderment returned in waves as Aspen spluttered confusion up at Dust.

“i mean you’re on bed rest and staying on bed rest and because of your dramatic bullshit earlier you’ve lost arm privileges until i say so,” he replied bluntly. Aspen rolled their eyes, flopping their head backwards onto the pillows.

“I can’t go on bed rest, I need to talk to-”

“yeah, yeah, you keep saying how you need to go talk to nightmare and stroke his ego about keeping his fancy human running to his beck and call.” Dust audibly gagged, and tapped Aspen's nose again. “i’ll deal with the gooey pants man. your job for today is to stay here. if you try to get free, i’m not gonna be as nice as I am now about your arms privileges.”

This time around, Aspen decided not to test Dust’s patience.

Sagging into the bed some more, they glanced off to the side, looking away from him. Try as they might, being horizontal in your guest bed was definitely feeling like the nicer option the more they lay there, practically enfolded in comfortable blankets and soft mattress. Their grumbling muscles were appeased for sure. And if they closed their eyes, maybe the tension headache would have more reason to calm down and move along.

“You gonna be my nurse or something?” Aspen joked, glancing up as Dust moved away from their bed. He glanced back, eyelights squinting in a brief moment of disgust, before waving his hand dismissively.

“nah. axe can do that.”

Well, Aspen wasn’t going to need arms if Axe was going to be shovelling soup and tea down their throat. But they could live with that. Curling up as best they could in this blanket burrito, they rolled onto their side and got comfortable.

“....Thank you.”

The empty room gave a resounding response to their soft gratitudes.

[appalamutte]

Eric turns into the baking supplies aisle, tapping his thumb against the cart in rhythm with the Christmas music playing overhead.

He hadn’t intended to stop at the grocery store on his way home; after slipping on a patch of ice in front of a school field trip on his way to work, dropping and shattering his favorite work mug in the break room between meetings, and being told for the umpteenth time that another client has gone with another publisher, Eric, if you don’t start showing improvement then we’re going to have to look at other alternatives, all Eric wanted to do was go home and take a long, warm bath. Start that food critic’s memoir he picked up at a flea market a few weeks ago. Maybe—finally—clean out and reorganize his disaster of a spice cabinet, something to take his mind off things.

Just forget this day ever happened.

But then his editorial assistant accidentally deleted one of their client’s manuscripts while performing a mass exodus of unused files, and just like that, Eric went and cried in the bathroom because the day officially got worse than he ever thought it could get.

By some miracle, Dex down in IT had been able to find an old save of the file on the system’s hard drive. It didn’t have most of the notes Eric added for corrections or changes, nor did it have any of his assistant’s annotations. Really, it was the most bare-bones copy, but it was the entire manuscript in it’s most recent glory.

For that, Eric would’ve kissed Dex right then and there.

He loves Nursey too much to do that, though, so instead he did what he always does: he hugged Dex tightly, asked him what his favorite dessert was (snickerdoodle cookies), and at five o’clock he took the Green Line to West End and walked a few blocks to the best Whole Foods in Boston.

“Now you’ve gotta be kidding me,” Eric murmurs, standing in front of the rather unfortunate-looking flour selection. Usually, there’s a complete inventory of all types—bread, whole wheat, all-purpose, self-rising, pastry—and that’s half of the reason Eric goes twenty minutes out of his way to shop here. Yet all that’s before him now is a couple of bags of all-purpose and a full row of cake flour.

Great. As if this day couldn’t get any better.

He pulls the shopping cart close as a family enters the aisle and considers his options. Normally, he prefers using a half-and-half combination of whole wheat and all-purpose, but after last week’s batch of pancakes, he’s out of whole wheat. He could get the cream of tartar and ground cinnamon now and stop at the Stop & Shop near his apartment for the flour, but that place is hit-or-miss at best, and with how his day’s going he doubts they’ll have any in stock either. 

Maybe he could forgo whole wheat flour this one time and just go with the all-purpose, but he really does love the taste it gives, not to mention it adds a bit more nutritional value. Nursey has been going on and on about how Dex is trying to eat healthier after losing his college-athlete physique, and—damn, maybe Eric should’ve offered to make something other than a dessert. Is it too late to call and ask if Dex would rather have some homemade protein bars? But then Nursey messaged Eric right before he left work with a bunch of crying emojis, thanking him and saying he was definitely going to steal some of the cookies from Dex, even though Eric’s pretty sure Dex would give Nursey most of them anyway, and—

“Bittle?”

Eric startles.

Looking up, he stares at the man before him for a moment before his heart skips a beat.

“Jack?” He asks dumbly, because it is Jack, standing there in an old, threadbare Samwell hoodie with a ball cap pulled low on his head. 

He’s a little soft around the edges and worn down in that way all professional athletes are after retirement, but he’s still unmistakably Jack Zimmermann with that small little quirk of a smile and the way his eyes are piercingly blue in the fluorescent lighting of the store. His hair still curls around the ear like it did whenever he used to let it grow out but there are flecks of gray in his temple now. His jaw, even after all these years, is still so pronounced but it’s not as sharp as it was back at Samwell, hidden under a layer of scruff. He’s still wearing god-awful yellow sneakers, except they’re a newer pair from a different brand, bright and spotless.

“Hey, Bittle,” Jack says, warmer and surer.

Eric uncrosses his arms. “Jack,” he says again, feeling himself smile, “gosh, I can’t believe it’s—it’s been so long! Jack! How are you?”

On a reflex, Eric steps forward to hug Jack, and there’s this absolutely mortifying moment where he realizes he’s going to hug Jack Zimmermann, the Jack Zimmermann he hasn't spoken to in seven years, the Jack Zimmermann he hasn't seen outside of the NHL Network in ten.

But then Jack meets him halfway, pulling him into a hug with both arms wrapped around Eric’s shoulders, and it’s like the last decade never happened, the weight rolling off his shoulders as easily as could be. It’s like Eric’s back in Providence, back in Samwell. It’s Jack’s apartment and the front porch of the Haus and the bed of Coach’s truck in the thick Georgia humidity.

(It’s being in love with your best friend.)

“I’m good,” Jack says, his chest rumbling. “Great, actually.”

He pats Eric’s shoulder once and with that, they pull away from one another. “That’s good,” Eric says, pulling his shopping cart closer so he can lean an elbow against the handle. “How’s retirement been? It’s been, gosh, almost a year now?”

“Just about. It'll be a year this February."

“You miss it?”

Jack tilts his head. “Eh,” he drawls out, “honestly yeah, I do. But, well…”

He gestures down toward his knee, and it takes Eric a few seconds to remember that Jack's retirement had more to do with an unfortunate check and less to do with the fact he was thirty-seven. Eric immediately backtracks. “Oh, shit—lord, excuse my language, I didn’t mean—”

“No, no, it’s fine,” Jack chuckles, shoving his hands into his pockets. “The knee has its days, but besides that, it's good as new.” He pauses. “Sort of.”

Eric’s blushing ‘till high noon, he’s sure of it. "Well that's good, then," he says.

It’s Beginning To Look A Lot Like Christmas starts playing overheard and they stare at each other for another awkward beat. Finally, Jack clears his throat. “But, uh, how have you been? I think Shitty said you were at…Morris…”

“Morris Press,” Eric says, pulling at the skin between his thumb and forefinger, mentally slapping his cheeks. He’s usually never this bad with talking. “But yeah! I’ve been there for six years or so now, it’s a really great job. Helping others do what I always dreamed of is just, you know, a really fulfilling feeling.”

“I bet,” Jack says, and he’s got the little smile on his face again.

Another, not-as-awkward beat.

“I mean, I never thought I’d go into publishing, but…,” Eric starts, and he doesn’t mean to ramble, really; it’s an accidental slip that he starts going on about his job and his coworkers, the projects he’s helped publish, how publishing his own cookbook right out of Samwell led to now, just talking Jack’s poor ear off in the middle of the store. Jack gives his little comments here and there, like he used to, and doesn’t once make Eric feel like he’s holding him, and that—that’s exactly why Eric finds he can’t stop himself. The easiness of it, how natural and comfortable it is. How the warmth of a dormant love flares somewhere in Eric’s chest because it’s different but it’s not. 

He doesn’t stop until an older woman cuts in asking to get to the flour, and Eric takes a breath. “Goodness, I rambled there,” he laughs. “I suppose things haven’t changed all that much.”

Jack hums, looking at Eric with this unreadable, nearly intense expression that Eric would describe as soft, probably. If he looked into it too much. He’s nearly about to let Jack go so he can go home and panic-bake a pie and call Lardo about this entire day when Jack suddenly says: “Would you want to get coffee or lunch or—or something, sometime?”

Eric falters.

Then he decides that, maybe, this day isn’t a total bust.

[samfosho]

I hate to do this, but not asking for help is how I ended up with tens of thousands in medical debt to begin with and I'm getting desperate.

So, hi. I'm Sam. I'm a queer, autistic & ADHD living with mountains of medical debt that has accrued after working a decade at a job I believed in for just pennies, with nothing to show for it but burnout and depression. (Yes, I know there are charities that buy medical debt. I did not know about them before I took advice from An Adult That I Trusted and Thought Was Smart years ago now, who said just put it on a credit card. I have learned and suffered for that mistake)

Fortunately, I've got a good job now. Unfortunately, that doesn't solve all my problems overnight. Currently, I have about $36 to my name, which isn't even mine if you think about it (see: debt), and I don't get paid for a week. I'm working on the Big Shit, but there are two things I really need help with:

Immediate: I have a car payment coming out today for $156 that I can't cover

Less Immediate, but still looming: I NEED to have my wisdom teeth out. I've put them off for a long time, and I'm currently dealing with a lot of pain as I wait for the appointment next month. Insurance came back with them covering half, but that still leaves $1400 out of pocket.

I thought I had everything budgeted a little better this month, and all I had to worry about was the upcoming wisdom teeth appointment. I had a small car issue (tires needed replaced) and I forgot my rent went up this month and not next.

This is a huge ask, and I know we're all struggling, so I'm not asking for that full amount.

That dental appointment is the soonest I can get in, at the least expensive office that takes my insurance, so moving to a different doc isn't an option. They DO offer payment plans, however they only offer 6 months, and the full amount is too much of a monthly payment for me to make and still pay rent/make car payments/feed my cats.

If I can make that first payment on the day as big as I can, and cut the monthly payments, that would be an immense relief.

SO, my goal is $600, if at all possible, in the long run, so I don't lose everything

But my immediate, PLEASE if you can, so I don't lose my car or miss rent or get hit with overdraft fees that will just hit me even harder goal is:

$200

This would get my car payment and a little extra to get as many cheap, non perishable groceries as I can so I don't have to worry about what I'll eating the next few months.

If possible, literally anything is a huge help and amazing. If not possible, a little boost would be amazing.

If you would like to receive an actual, physical thing—like, say, a cussy piece of embroidery—you can go buy something from my Etsy store. Stock is limited, cuz I have been working enough that I haven't had time to make a lot of things or get new supplies, but I have some stupid mushroom earrings I can add to the shop, too, when I get a moment, and some stone jewelry that I made and have been meaning to sell for YEARS.

I also have a comic that I haven't updated in forever, because of the aforementioned busyness, burnout and stress. So I will draw you a little robot or something if you donate if you want

Here is a pic of my cats, they would also appreciate eating

Thanks for taking the time to read, I greatly appreciate that, too 💚

I put my links under the cut, so they're not just out there in case this post travels past my need of it

Venmo @ SamFoShoBro

cashapp $SamFoShoBro

Message for paypal. I have it, I just don't like using it.

[marzipanandminutiae]

Hello I am going to BOSTON this week and I am curious as to ur opinion on the best/ideal Boston Souvenir for Friends &c

Also what is ur go-to place to eat? Unfortunately when looking for food in other cities you get lovely curated lists of 25 Very Expensive Places that try to convince you a $30 is a one-dollar-sign sort of meal…

The ideal souvenir is something you think they'd enjoy! I don't know your friend, so I can't really say. Personally, I enjoy shopping for friends and family at the city's antique stores (especially Cambridge Antique Market on the other side of the river), but that only works if your loved ones like antiques as most of mine do. But Beacon Hill Chocolates does have chocolate bars with the city stamped on them, and they're really good. So that could be a safe bet if you're really stumped.

My go-to place to eat is unfortunately My Apartment With Food I Bought From The Grocery Store. It's expensive eating out here, so I do it very rarely. But I have many go-to places for little cafe treats, primarily Tatte and Flour (local chains). Tatte's hot chocolate is to die for- I know it's the wrong season, but maybe if you drink it inside the store where it's air-conditioned? Or come back again when it's cold outside and have it!

I take visiting friends to Quincy Market a lot for food; some people say it's touristy and it's definitely pricey for what it is, but as more of a food court-type place, it's going to be cheaper than a lot of sitdown restaurants. Try MMMac and Cheese, a stall that specializes in exactly what it sounds like- mac and cheese with different mix-in options.

Hope you enjoy the city!

[pctcrparker]

"Fuck," she muttered to herself as she spit out some blood at the end of the street. It was around two in the afternoon. Which was probably the safest time to go out rummaging the abandoned grocery store for some food for the week. What she forgot to consider was that during the end of the world, it being the safest these days didn't mean there'd be zero danger involved. All things were working out just fine for the most part and she was on her way home when a couple of thugs decided to jump her for the food she had just found. Unfortunately for them, Sol could hold her own. She managed to escape them, but not without a couple blows to the face. Her busted lip was throbbing and her nose had only finally stopped bleeding. She glanced upwards and sighed in relief. At least she was back home now to tend to her wounds. A lot of people from the apartment building had chosen to leave to try to be with friends or family before the whole world went to shit. Sol didn't really have anyone else, so staying here was her only option. But that meant that the building was as quiet as ever. Inside the building, she was walking towards her apartment door, not noticing that one of her water bottles and fallen out and began to roll away, too focused on dealing with the throbbing pain.

[jeankirsteinsgrlfrnd]

pairing: jean kirstein x f!reader

content warnings: none really for this chapter, mentions of anxiety & depression

word count: 2.5k

find chapters 1-3 RIGHT HERE on: wattpad

summary of book: Jean Kirstein has no interest in girls. He'd tried dating and found himself often bored before the end of the evening. Competing for captain of The University of Trost's lacrosse team, there is no shortage of women available to him but he'd rather be on the field. Unfortunately for him, it's the off season. (Y/N), however, found herself feigning ignorance about her desire to love deeply and be loved even deeper. After her first day at college, her hopes for the school year diminished greatly until she grew to know Jean.

summary of chapter: It’s (Y/N)’s first day at the University of Trost. Having gone through most of highschool keeping to herself, she suspects that college will be just the same. However, she runs into an old friend and discovers that college may not be as easy to avoid people in. (Y/N) begins to suspect she’s going to have a long year at college, thanks to her picking what would be the worst seat in psych class.

note: this is going to be a slow burn with many chapters, i am hoping for at least 30. although this is a jean fic, i will be potentially exploring a connie plot line. this story will contain topics of mental health/illnesses, suicide/death, grief, violence, drugs & alcohol, sex and other sensitive subjects. i will do my best to give you a warning ahead of time.

_____________________________________

of lilacs & lacrosse

chapter 1.) first day

 I'd say the funny thing is that I'd say I'd never given too much thought about how I'd fall in love, but that would be too much of an easy lie to spot. Love was all around me. It was in the movies, the songs, it was on the train and in the grocery store. I was frustrated when it didn't come to me in highschool, when a mysterious, pale man hadn't approached me, like the media had taught me. Where was my love and was it worth the wait?

————————————-

I've known these people since middle school, of course not every single one of them, but the ones that mattered, I'd known them. Hell, I'd even been friends with them at some point. Why was it so hard now? Was it the fear of saying something silly or more simply, the fear of being less than enough? More than enough?

These thoughts kept me up the entire night before the first day of college. I'd woken up in sweats, in screams even. I told myself, college would be no different than highschool and I'd be alright.

————————-

Beep, beep, beep.

That's it, it's time.

I yawn, my ears pissed off from hearing the never relenting alarm of my phone. Panic filled me.

Why?

I've been settled into my dorm for quite some time, it was nothing special but nothing to be ashamed of either. I pull the blankets off of me and swing my legs over the edge of my bed, which seemed to not want to let go of me, but very well could have been my own reluctance wanting to keep me in place. My bare feet hit the ground and I inhale.

It's just an 8 a/m class, (y/n). Just an 8 a/m. No matter the first day or not.

I tiptoe across the cold, hardwood floor. Opening my closet, I'm surprised at the lack of options for my first day of college, even though I was the one who had done the lack of college shopping. I wasn't going to complain, I'm not the type of person who cared so much about clothing and having the newest things. I was okay wearing clothes from highschool. It's not like anybody would actually notice. A simple outfit would do for the day. A black t-shirt, a pair of ripped jeans, and nothing more, except for a hair tie to keep half of my mess up. And shoes, of course shoes. My black and white converse sat on the floor, under my massive collection of black clothes. Pick me, they called. I grab my sneakers and bundle my clothes under my arm, shutting the closet doors behind me. I slip my choices over me and look in my bedroom mirror. Smoothing out non-existent wrinkles, I can't help but let my mind think. My eyes meet my own.

Was I afraid? Was I confident? Would anyone else be able to tell?

Stop it, (y/n.) You'll get nowhere, I tell myself abruptly.

My clothes are satisfactory enough. There is nobody I need to impress today and I'm okay with that. I'm not looking to make friends, just looking to make it through one class. I look at myself in the mirror, tugging my hands over places I'd hope nobody would look at. My steps to the bathroom are as sad as I'd imagined they'd be last night, trying not to make any sound although I'm the only one who could hear. Makeup bags sit on the white bathroom sink with various beauty products strewn about. I grab my go-to bag and unzip. My fingers fumble in the makeup bag on the counter. Mascara, foundation, eyebrows, lip gloss.

What if they don't like you?

Mascara, foundation, eyebrows, lip gloss.

Who's they, (y/n)? You don't actually really know anybody. Besides, I thought you weren't looking to impress anybody and you were just fine with that.

Mascara, foundation, eyebrows, lip gloss.

My hands tremble with the mascara wand.

"Fuck, shit." My lips part before I know. Dots of black cloud my eyes. In the mirror, I frown. I bite my lip, I'd already fucked up with nobody around. I feel a growing black cloud in my brain.

No big deal, (y/n). Clean it up, it's alright.

I grab a q-tip, quickly turn on the faucet and wet it under the water. I begin to blur away my mistakes. I bring the q-tip up to my face, relentlessly poking at the lingering black marks upon my face.

Go away, go away, I'll be late, I plead.

Eventually, the gods oblige to my demands. My eyelashes, and myself, are happy. My fingers find themselves once again fumbling in my makeup bag for a probably expired foundation. Even though I don't remember the last time I had actually gone and bought foundation, I don't have the heart to check the date, but there's no way I'm going to my classes on the first day without any face makeup. I pour a bit of my foundation on the back of my hand to warm it up before applying it straight to my face. I dip my beauty blender into the cream and bring it to my face. I'm staring straight into the mirror.

Who is this? It's me, idiot. It's always been me. Stop thinking.

I tune out the rest of my thoughts before I finish my foundation. I place the container back into my bag, and dig around for my eyebrow brush. Not like I actually do anything to my eyebrows, but somehow brushing them out creates a false sense of security.

Brush your eyebrows, (y/n), nothing bad will happen today. Oh please, brush your eyebrows (y/n), you've saved the world from eternal damnation.

My eyebrows are clean, sleek, and saving the world from an intergalactic attack. Eyebrow brush back in the bag, I search for my lip gloss. It was nearly a clear, transparent lip gloss but hey if it made my lips shiny, someone was bound to notice, right?

Right.

I'm looking in the mirror, I'm satisfied. My lip gloss is good and the shade of black my shirt is, well, black. No time to reflect on that. I head out of my bathroom, which I am grateful for the fact there's nobody to share it with. I'd somehow gotten lucky finding a cheap apartment I could afford without having a roommate and didn't have to settle for a college dormitory. This, however, did have its downsides. The place is quiet and I find myself staring. My kitchen is missing a sense of home. I shake away the fact and think about what I want for breakfast.

Pancakes? Eggs? Both? Nothing? Oatmeal?

There's no use. I hate the kitchen. I don't want to make anything for myself. I don't want to use any of my good, hard earned money for breakfast. I grab my black Jansport backpack that I purposely left on the counter last night. I would have forgotten it if I left it in my room but I can always count on myself to have a good old fashioned kitchen crisis. I stand in my kitchen, looking around.

I hate this.

I grit my teeth, unsure of how to be a person without anybody else around me. I made the heavy decision that heading out the front door is best for me. My steps to the door are heavy, unchanging and solid. I shut the door to my apartment. The hallway is cold and unforgiving of crimes I've never committed.

I'm sorry, college apartment, I'll never do it again.

Another thing I had gotten extremely lucky with regarding my apartment, was that I could walk to the campus in under ten minutes, five if I decide to really put some pep in my step. Outside my building, the leaves are still green and wanting to hold onto the summer. I stand under the overhang and pull out my phone from my pocket.. The weather app tells me it's 79 degrees, which is typical for the beginning of September in Trost. Maybe even a bit cooler. I pull some earbuds out of the mesh bindings on the side of my backpack. Untangling them is a challenge but the bigger challenge is deciding what to listen to.

[play: To All Of You- Syd Matters]

The campus is bigger than I expected. Maybe it would have been smart to have come by earlier and taken a look. The main building looks like a museum, it's built of brick and there are students everywhere I look. Most people are smiling and walking with a friend. I take everything in as I walk. There's a girl with purple hair sitting at a green metal picnic table, the kind that had holes and people would get their fingers stuck in. Her fingers are free as she dances a pencil across a black notebook. The leaves are blowing and I try not to think about the fact that nobody else is thinking about me. The grass is very green and for that, I am thankful. Nothing is dead. My steps are silent to me as I near the entrance. A boy walks in before me. He is wearing a black sweatshirt with the number nine in white on it. I cannot see his face and he doesn't look back to see mine. He does not hold the door for me. Upon reaching the door, I am cruelly reminded that nobody waits for you. I am alone. The door handle is cold in my grasp. My first and only class today is psychology, because who doesn't love their brain being fucked with at 8 am?

Nostalgia hits my nose when I step inside. It's cooler than it was outside and the lockers are blue. The floor is tiled and white with gray specks underneath my black shoes. Students are leaning against lockers, some people are completely frozen in time and others are bustling. I scurry to the side of the hallway to stay out of the way. I pull my phone out and look at my lock screen that I had previously set to a screenshot of an email reminder from my teacher. My psych class was on the first floor in one of the lecture halls. The time at the top of my phone reads 7:50. I put it back in my pocket and make my way down the hallway. I am able to find the room quite easily.

Nobody stands out to me as I pass through the doorway. It seems to be mostly carbon copies of the same brainless girls who would spew about how they'd change the world with their non-existing compassion. My eyes flicker across the room, trying to find a spot that would be the least painful to sit in. I don't want to sit completely alone in the back but I don't want to sit directly next to anybody either. I found a seat in the somewhat crowded room. It was towards the back but closer to the middle section and it was an aisle seat, closest to the wall with nobody occupying the seat next to it. A girl with brown hair sat just next to the empty seat. I wonder if she made the same game plan as me. I walk up the steps to my seat and sit. Quickly, I turn my head, wanting to see who is sitting with me. I can't see her face. Her head is tilted down and her phone is resting on the desk. She is focused on whatever it is she's doing. I turn my head back and take my headphones out of my ears then unplug them from my phone. 7:59. The professor was not here yet.

"Y/n?"

My head instinctively whips to the right, completely startled. My eyes zooming across the features of the person who called my name.

God, who knows me here? And who was it that remembers me?

Her skin is sun-kissed tan, or maybe it was natural. Blurts of freckles were clinging to her slim cheeks and small, pointy nose. Her hair is brown and brushed out of her face into a ponytail, a few pieces escaping the clutch of the loose hair tie. Eyelashes dark and the bags under them too. I have to peel my eyes away from her face. She's wearing a baggy black shirt and jean shorts. My eyes travel back upwards to look at hers. That's when I recognized her.

"Oh my god, Ymir?" She smiles and tilts her head at me.

"It only took you about, hm..." She looks down at an invisible watch on her wrist. "Thirty minutes."

Ymir and I were friends when we were younger. Actually, we were really close. She was even my first kiss. We used to be inseparable but I grew up and she grew mean. It was when highschool came around that I began to hate being around. She was just cruel to me, to herself, and to others. It was draining to even just exist in her cesspool of hate. Ymir could be sweet when she had wanted to be but it was rare to receive any love or support. However, when she loved me, she really loved me. She'd hold me so tight I was afraid I'd shatter but without her arms around me, I'd have shattered anyway. It was sophomore year when she had met a girl. Meeting Historia was the complete end of us. We weren't in love or anything simple of the sort, but it would have been nice of her to think about me first, or think of me at all.

"I'm so sorry, you surprised me, that's all." I hope my eyes aren't as wide as I think they are. A smirk still lingers on her face. She really was beautiful even after all these years. Ymir put her arms behind her head and stretched a bit. There was a tattoo of a triangle right above the inside of her elbow. I wonder what that meant.

Was it just a triangle? Maybe she had a matching one with Historia. Side note, I completely forgot her and I have matching shitty tattoos, just little stars by our ankles. We'd always wanted to go to a shop together to get professional ones but Ymir's garage was as classy as it got.

"How've you been?"

"Ah, (y/n.) I knew you'd be here, I bet your brainy ass is already psycho-analyzing me." She put her arms on the table in front of us.

Would she ever stop smiling?

"Why are you here? And I've been good, thanks for asking." I don't know if I'm making a playful joke or being snarky.

"I wouldn't mind learning a few tricks to get into people's heads. Besides, this class looked the most entertaining and you're here, so it must be my lucky day." She slides into the seat next to me. She leaned in close to me. "Are you wearing makeup?" This was going to be the longest class of my life.

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[artificial-condition]

I'm curious what your yogurt recommendations are, if you don't mind sharing!

Oh boy oh boy oh boy, do I have thoughts on this 😈

First off we’ll start with my favorite yogurt, the cream of the crop: La Fermiere yogurt, aka the yogurt in the little terracotta pots from that popular tumblr post I’ve seen floating around:

Above are my favorite flavors, mango and passion fruit and jasmine. I’m not normally a floral flavor type gal but that jasmine yogurt really blew my mind; it’s so subtle and sweet and I crave it every day. I’ve only had it once and it’s a crime I haven’t been able to make a hike to the far grocery store to get it in ages

Second off, we have Ellenos, which I only got because the above La Fermiere was out of their passion fruit flavor (I’ve had a thing for passion fruit lately). Their passion fruit yogurt had seeds in it which was a deterrent but I ended up loving the little brittle crunch the seeds provided and the yogurt itself was also very tasty! Unfortunately this is also only sold at the fancy grocery store in my area and I haven’t been able to get it in a while :(

Unfortunately after tasting all the beautiful expensive yogurt I find I cannot easily go back to appreciating the likes of yoplait and even Chobani, my old staple (it has an artificial taste to me now that I never picked up on before?). Don’t try the Oui cups in glass pots from yoplait, I got them thinking they’d be like a similar version of La Fermiere but it was nowhere even close. I’ve become a yogurt snob but I was just trying to taste the beautiful options laid out to me on a fun grocery trip :/

That being said, my normal grocery store options that I go to on a regular basis are Noosa and Siggi. Noosa has good options but no passion fruit at my store(!) and my favorite is simply their vanilla flavor. I don’t think the fruit on the bottom is as good as the other brands but I still like it

Siggi I like for their yogurt quality; it’s not too sweet and doesn’t have that artificial taste to me. They don’t have the fruit on the bottom options for this brand at my closest grocery stores (do they exist?) and I don’t think the pre mixed options are as good, but I still like all the flavors I’ve tried. I’m about to taste peach tomorrow but I’ve liked the mixed berry, coconut, honey, and raspberry pretty equally

Oh yeah I also really like yogurt drinks and I really like Siggi ones of these! They’re tasty

So yeah that’s my yogurt recommendations! I hope you get some sweet delicious yogurt to your liking soon mmm