#cult of the million deer

[fili-oeuvre]

you know what, making the cult of the million deer a real thing (canon to the universe now) in this world, because it gives me an excuse to write more horror stuff and the concept of it has grown on me

[andvys]

Dancing with our hands tied | S.H.

Chapter nineteen ⭐︎ For you, I would ruin myself, a million little times

Warnings: angst, mentions of unrequited love, mentions of loss, insecurities, allusions to depression, mentions of cheating (jancy), sad memories, fluff at the end (with Steve, yes)

Pairing: Steve Harrington x fem!reader

Summary: You take a painful road down memory lane and it makes you question everything.

Word count: 10.4k+

⭐︎ as always a special shoutout to @hellfire--cult thanks for plotting and writing with me hehe

Series Masterlist ⭐︎ Previous Chapter ⭐︎ Next Chapter

♡

“Are you ready to tell me or not?” 

You look up from your plate, still chewing on the pasta that Eddie had cooked, you put down the fork and reach for your pepsi as you look at Max who stares at you with a tilted head, a knowing smile resting on her face. 

You shake your head and furrow your brows at the girl, glancing at Eddie who looks just as confused as you do. 

“Tell you what?” 

Max picks up her garlic bread and shrugs, “about you and Steve and how you’ve been sneaking around behind everyone’s backs,” she says nonchalantly before she takes a bite. 

You nearly choke on your drink, eyes growing wide, matching the ones of Eddie who seems to be just as surprised as you are, he even stopped eating. 

You blink, trying to process her words. 

“W-What?” Is all that you can say as you stare at the redhead, like a deer caught in headlights and with a pounding heart. 

“You know, at first I thought Lucas was crazy for teasing Steve about you and making all those comments about how perfect you two are for each other, especially because Steve always seemed just as annoyed with you as you with him but then he suddenly had different reactions whenever Lucas said something about you and I noticed how red his cheeks got every time he looked at you all lovey dovey,” she holds her finger up, eyes growing wide as she pointing at you to stay quiet, “and then… and then! You both started disappearing at the same time and started whispering to each other, sitting next to each other when it’s something you wouldn’t have done before, not to mention the secret hand holding,” Max laughs, shaking her head at you. 

Your eyes widen at her ‘lovey dovey’ comment, hope that has been rising in you more and more, burning warmly in your chest but Steve doesn’t look at you that way, does he? 

Eddie stares at her, feeling impressed by her observations. 

Just like him, you feel impressed too, shocked and a little nervous but not scared the way you would feel if it were anyone else but her. She can keep a secret and she is like a sister to you – and unfortunately, sisters always know everything and uncover secrets without a struggle.

“I don’t know how the others haven’t figured it out yet, you two are so obvious,” she snorts, picking up her fork again, she stabs her pasta onto it, “just as obvious as my mom and your uncle,” she says to Eddie who shrugs and nods in agreement, “I mean… does anyone actually believe that he’s fixing our fence? The fence is fine! … They go to Enzo’s like every Friday night, by the way.” 

Eddie chuckles and takes a bite of his food, “it’s only a matter of time until you and your mom move in with us.” 

You expect Max to roll her eyes at him but instead she smirks, “yeah, hope you’re ready to become my personal driver.” 

“Am I not your personal driver already?” Eddie snorts. “I mean, you even got two personal drivers, didn’t you both go shopping this morning?” He asks, pointing between you. 

“Yes we did, and we were very successful,” Max nods. 

You aren’t surprised about Susan and Wayne, they’re truly very obvious and now you can’t help but wonder if you and Steve are the same, with the exception that you two aren’t dating… sadly. 

Max looks away from Eddie, returning her gaze back to you, “so when were you gonna tell me that you and Steve are a couple?” 

Eddie coughs, glancing at you sideways as he grimaces when he sees your falling expression. 

“They’re not a couple,” Eddie says for you, noticing the way your eyes sadden and your lips curl downwards at his words. 

Max furrows her brows, tilting her head at you and giving Eddie a look of confusion. 

“What–”

“Yeah, Steve and I are not… dating.” 

The past few weeks have felt like it though, it felt like there was something more between you and him, and after finding out that you have been the only girl for him these past few months, it started feeling even more like it. 

Max stares at you now, eyebrows pulling up and eyes flashing with even more confusion, “but… huh?” 

“They’re just having… uh… fun, Red,” Eddie chuckles awkwardly, scratching the back of his neck as he leans back in his seat, “you know… adult fun.” 

You roll your eyes at his choice of words, just the way she does before she gives him a deadpan look. 

“I’m not five, Eddie! I know what they’re doing but that makes no sense!”

“What doesn’t make sense?” You ask and reach for your drink again. 

She looks down bewildered, dropping her fork and waving with her hands as she points at you, “Billy had fun and you know how much fun he had!” 

You chuckle and nod.

“But he never held hands with those girls or looked at them like… like he was in love or something! He had fun and then he moved on to… the next… fun. It’s different with you and Steve though!” 

A sigh falls from your lips and your shoulders slump as you lean back. 

Yeah, of course it’s different with you and Steve, the difference between Billy’s fun and your fun is that he never loved any of the girls he had been with, you on the other hand, are sickly and madly in love with the guy you are having ‘fun’ with and you are pretty certain that Steve doesn’t feel the same, no matter what anyone says. 

Eddie glances at you, waiting for you to say something, to tell her the truth because he knows you will, you don’t seem to feel the need to hide from Max, knowing she won’t run off to her friends and tell them all about it and risking it reaching Steve, Max isn’t like that, especially not when it comes to you.

“It’s not, Max…” You sigh, looking down at your hands. 

She raises her eyebrows again, squinting her eyes at you. 

“So… you’re saying it’s actually just fun?” She asks like she almost wants to chuckle in amusement. 

You sigh again and raise your head again, rolling your eyes, “well… yeah… no, I– fuck… no, no it’s not just fun… not for me.” 

Eddie looks at you sadly, sighing too. 

“And Steve?” 

You shrug, despite the hope in you, you don’t know what he feels, if he even feels anything for you. 

“It’s just… fun… for him?” You mumble, flinching at your own words. 

“Uh… is it?” Max mumbles, not looking or sounding convinced.

“It’s what he said,” Eddie shrugs, rolling his eyes when he thinks back to the night he confronted you both, “and he seemed pretty set on it, he said it just that and nothing more when I found out about it.”

“Mhm.” You nod, hiding your face as you tilt your head down again, not wanting to show more feelings than necessary. “Can we talk about something else now, please?” 

Eddie nods, “sure–”

“No,” Max shakes her head, “I wanna talk about this!” 

“My relationship with Steve isn’t appropriate to discuss with a teenager–”

“Oh, so there is a relationship,” Max interrupts you, giving you a smug smirk. 

“No, there isn’t, you know what I mean!” 

She chuckles and crosses her arms over her chest, continuing to stare at you. 

“So… Do you love him then?”

Your eyeroll is enough of an answer to that question. 

“I knew it,” she murmurs under her breath, “and what about him, you think he doesn’t feel the same?” She asks, thinking that her own question sounds absurd, she saw the way Steve looked at you, multiple times already. 

“I know he doesn’t,” you shrug. 

“Why not?” 

“Because he hated me, Max–”

“Yeah, he obviously hated you so so much, that’s why you’re holding hands now and kissing every time you think no one’s watching! I don’t know about you but I wouldn’t hold hands and kiss my enemy… oh! Or look at them with lovesick smiles and everything!” 

You sigh again, tilting your head back as you look up at the ceiling. 

This isn’t good for you, it really isn’t, you don’t need to be fed with more delusions. 

“I think he feels the same, it’s pretty clear!”

“If it’s so clear then why isn’t it being talked about?” Eddie retorts, not feeling convinced of Max’s words, “why didn’t he say anything to change their relationship yet? I mean, he had no issue talking to his ex-girlfriend about his feelings for her when he knew she was with someone else! Oh and by the way, Nancy cheated on him and left him for someone else and he still confessed his feelings for her again… years later, he knew he would look like an absolute fool – which he did but that didn’t stop him! So what should stop him now, hm? He’s got nothing to lose with her!” Eddie points at you, “she never hurt him, she has no one else that he has to compete against, she fucking loves him! So him confessing his feelings for her wouldn’t ruin anything like it would have with Nancy or Jonathan if they reacted badly to his stupid confession!” 

You close your eyes and take a deep breath, ignoring the stinging in your heart. 

You knew all about his love confession to Nancy – their conversation in the RV was only the first step towards it. You remember the jealousy you felt when he told her about his dream, about the kids and the future he always wished for, you knew who he saw by his side when he talked about it all. To find out that he confessed his love to her in the Upside Down made you feel even worse,  especially when you were still recovering from all your injuries. Robin rambled away about it and told you every detail, you didn’t even ask for. 

Eddie’s words make your heart ache yet again, you know he is right, but they kill your hope a little and you are holding onto it so tightly. 

Max, on the other hand, refuses to agree with him, she squints her eyes at him, leaning closer to the table, “maybe he is scared, Eddie? Have you thought of that? I mean, the whole thing with Nancy was… a heat of the moment kind of thing, there was literally nothing between them but there is something between them!” She argues, pointing at you. 

“I have thought about it,” Eddie nods, “but if I feel like I might lose someone I love for not saying anything to them, I damn right would do something!” 

“I love him, Eddie,” you mumble, your cheeks heating up at your vulnerable confession in front of Max, “but I never plan on telling him how I feel, so…”

Max groans at your words and rolls her eyes, “two idiots, I swear to god, I bet Steve is feeling and saying the same shit to whoever else knows.” 

“Robin,” Eddie nods at her. 

Robin, yeah. 

Robin who is suddenly not as fond of you as she was before, rolling her eyes and scoffing at you every chance she gets, irritating you a little more every time you’re around her now. You considered her a close friend before she suddenly turned on you and started acting weirdly towards you. You don’t know what her deal is but you suspect that she minds your presence around her best friend, fearing that you might ‘steal’ him from her because he is spending less time with her and more with you – as though she wasn’t the first to ditch him to be with Vickie. 

“Great!” Max shrugs, “then why don’t you talk to her, try to get information out of her… since you two are accomplices?”

Your eyes widen and you shake your head quickly, turning to Eddie in panic, “please don’t! Don’t talk to Robin, Eddie! She’s gonna tell Steve and if he doesn’t feel the same then…” 

Eddie shakes his head at you, not needing you to finish the sentence. He reaches his hand out to you and squeezes your shoulder reassuringly, “I won’t, don’t worry,” he sighs, looking at you with sympathy in his eyes. He knows how deep your feelings are for Steve, how much you love him and how long you have loved him for already and now that you somewhat have him, you try to do everything to keep him, even when you are breaking your own heart in the process. 

He isn’t fond of this affair because he has an idea of how it will end and he fears that day, knowing what it will do to you but he can’t do anything to change it, he can’t save you from heartbreak, knowing it will happen sooner or later. 

You slump back in your seat, feeling pathetic for feeling this way, for holding on so desperately when there is only a small chance that there might be something and even that chance isn’t enough for you to go and find out the truth, not even when hope lingers in you after all the sweet moments you had with him. 

Max looks at you in a way her brother once did, when he found out the truth and realized just how deep your feelings were, back then already. 

You remember how the look in his eyes went from shock to confusion to sadness and sympathy. 

And you remember how awkward and embarrassed you had felt that night. 

It was raining outside, the windows were fogged and the smell of sex lingered in the room, you never knew what people meant by it when they mentioned that smell until that night. Your forehead was coated with sweat, your cheeks were glowing and feeling hot, your skin smelled like him, like his cologne and his aftershave, and your body felt different, not in a bad way, just in a foreign one.

You held the sheets tightly against your chest and looked out the window, watching as the rain paddled down the glass, a smile tugged at your lips and your chest wasn’t filled with sadness for once. 

“Hey,” Billy said and pulled your attention back to him, “give me a smile.” 

You turned your head to look at him, a giggle fell from your lips when you noticed the polaroid camera in his hands, his eyes were squinted and a smirk lingered on his face. 

“Seriously?” 

He took a picture of you before you reached forward and swatted the camera out of your face. 

Billy leaned back from you and held the camera away so you couldn’t reach it, he laughed at the bashful expression on your face.

“Need a picture of your special first time,” he joked and laughed again when you rolled your eyes at him and blushed. 

He took the picture out and started shaking it for reveal. He leaned back against your pillows and reached for his beer, drinking it while staring at you. 

“Well, we are not doing that again,” he said and you knew that it would’ve offended many other girls, but not you, because you felt the same. 

“Yeah, it didn’t feel right, did it?” You scrunched your nose. 

“Not at all,” Billy laughed before his face grew serious as his eyes roamed your face, “do you feel alright?” He asked in concern because he noticed how distant you looked, like your mind was somewhere else or with someone else.

He straightened up and furrowed his brows at you, “who are you thinking about?” 

You felt caught and you felt ashamed. 

You never admitted your feelings for Steve to anyone, they didn’t even make sense so how could you even begin to describe them? 

You looked down and closed your eyes, you pulled your brows together as though in pain and it only made him more curious.

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Why not?” Billy asked and dropped the polaroid camera and the picture on the mattress beside him. He placed the beer back on the nightstand and grabbed his pack of cigarettes instead, “is he ugly?” 

His question made you snort, you opened your eyes again and looked at his serious face. 

“No, he is not ugly, not in the slightest.” 

His lips curled downwards for a moment as he nodded, “do I know him?” He asked before he placed a cigarette between his lips. 

You only gave him a look and that was enough to confirm his question. 

He hummed and kept staring at you with a curious look on his face, he lit up his cigarette and threw the lighter on the nightstand, taking a long drag before he blew the smoke out. 

“I do, huh?” He chuckled and squinted his eyes at you, “are you gonna tell me or are you gonna let me guess?”

You smirked and shrugged at him, you held the blanket tighter against your chest and reached for the camera beside him, “guess, Billy,” you teased him as though your heart didn’t start pounding from all the nervousness inside of you. 

“Jesus,” he sighed in annoyance, “is he popular or a loser?” 

You shrugged and squinted your eye as you brought the camera up to your face and wasted no second to take a picture of him too, he didn’t seem to mind, not like you did. 

He started saying names, random names of guys you weren’t even sure went to Hawkins High. You kept shaking your head and saying no, you felt surprised that Steve’s name hadn't left his lips yet. 

“Huh, it’s not the drug dealer is it? What’s his name again?”

“Uh… You mean Eddie?” 

He nodded and pointed his finger at you, “yeah, him.”

You shook your head, “no, he’s cute but no, he’s not really my type,” you mumbled and sighed, “probably would’ve been better if it was someone like him, he’s nice, at least.” 

He hummed and stared at you, he fell quiet for a while and his face grew serious after a few minutes, then his eyes widened and he cursed under his breath. 

“Fuck… girl, please don’t tell me that it’s King Steve.” 

Your breath hitched in your throat and your face started burning beneath his gaze, you couldn’t stand to look into his eyes any longer so you broke eye contact and looked down at your hands in your covered lap. 

“Shit…” He sighed and slumped back, looking at you in disbelief, like you had fallen in love with his arch nemesis. 

“I know,” you mumbled in annoyance because you knew what he was about to say, “you don’t have to tell me how stupid I am, I already know that.” 

Billy stayed quiet for a moment and stared at the pained expression on your face. Yeah, he was about to say something stupid about Steve, about his stupid hair and your feelings for him but when he looked closer – and he knew you pretty well at that point, he could see just how much pain lingered behind your eyes, how glassy they got and how your bottom lip wobbled just the slightest bit. 

He was never the best with words and he certainly was never someone to give comfort, he didn’t even know how to, no one ever comforted him, only you did. 

He bit his tongue and swallowed the bitter words that were about to leave his lips. 

He opened his mouth but shut it again when he saw you wiping away a tear. 

Billy sighed and ran a hand through his mullet, he pinched the bridge of his nose and rolled his eyes at the thought of the jock. 

“It’s pretty serious isn’t it?” 

You only nodded and said nothing. 

“So… you’re like in love with him or some shit?”

“I guess so,” you whispered even though you knew for certain. “Feels like it’s tearing my heart apart or something every time I see him, every time he says something dumb to me.” 

“How…?” He asked and sighed again, “shit, I knew you liked him, you wouldn’t have defended him every chance you got but I thought you were just being nice to that fucker… Jesus…”

You shook your head again and slowly looked up at your best friend, “I can’t give you an answer, Billy. I don’t know how it happened, it just… happened. That’s gonna sound so cheesy but… when I first saw him I just… I felt safe and comfortable… happy. He smiled at me when he passed me in the hallway and I just – I don’t know, I can’t explain this feeling and it doesn’t matter anyways, he turned out to be a dick who hates my guts so… I’ll get over these feelings someday.” 

Billy didn’t believe your words and you didn’t either. 

You have loved him at first sight and that never changed or lessened, your feelings kept getting worse and worse and it made no sense because he kept treating you badly. 

You were infatuated with him, bewitched. 

You expected Billy to judge you but he didn’t, you thought he would say bad things about Steve but he never did, at least not when it came to you and your feelings for him. 

If anything, Billy encouraged you to act on your feelings, to get closer to him, to make a move and try. 

And you did, but it only made everything worse. 

And now, you stare at his sister and watch as she tries to do the same.

It went sideways the first time and you fear that it won’t go any different this time – yes, things have changed, you and Steve are something now, something you would have never seen coming a year before, especially after what happened when you did try to make a move on him. You just can not find it in yourself to even try, to gather all your confidence and use the sliver of hope to confess to him in hopes that he could feel the same, that you could be something more than what you are now. 

You can feel that things have shifted into a different direction, the softness in his eyes, his gentle touches and acts of affection are proof of that and still, you fear rejection and losing this because this thing between you is just too fragile, too easy to break and ruin. 

It’s not long ago that Steve couldn’t even bare to look at you without rolling his eyes or scoffing some cold words at you and you try not to think of them, to leave things in the past, to not go over his hurtful words again and again but something inside of you seems to manifest all the saddening and painful words your poor heart was attacked with in the past and you can’t fight off those memories, you try to but you can’t and it saddens you even more because the past few weeks with Steve, have been nothing but heavenly to you. 

You woke up in his arms every morning, he held you through the night, woke you with kisses and cooked you breakfast, he held your hand and treated you as if you were his, like you were his girlfriend and he your boyfriend – you got a taste of something you always craved and longed for and that should bring you peace, it really should but he is showing you, giving you something that you know he will take away again when the time comes. 

When you step into your house after dropping Max off at El’s, you make your way up to your bedroom and open your closet, looking for something comfortable to change into, when the navy blue color flashes in your peripheral vision. You grab a pair of your sleeping shorts and a random shirt of Steve’s, trying to ignore the dress that practically stares at you, forcing you to recall one of your worst memories. 

You clutch your clean clothes to your chest and take a look at the pretty sundress you bought at the GAP store when Starcourt mall was still intact. You reach out to touch it, pinching the thin material between your thumb and your pointer finger, a sad smile tugs at your lip when you think back to the day you bought it – just to look pretty for him. 

Your best friend kept encouraging you, filling you with hope that you could have a chance with Steve, that he wouldn’t say no to you if you tried to make a move, if you tried to ask him out, if you went after your feelings. Week after week had passed and Billy forced confidence onto you and pushed you towards a guy he didn’t even like. 

You kept denying his words, you knew you had no chance with him, not even after you graduated from high school, not even after Steve had changed and his mean words became less harsh. 

And yet, a part of you listened to Billy, that naive and hopeful part of you that really wanted her crush to like her back and give her the chance she always wanted. 

You bought a pretty dress, you got your hair done and did your makeup, lighter and girlier than usual, you put on your favorite perfume and jewelry and you decided to give it a try – you shouldn’t have, you should’ve listened to your brain and not your heart. 

The mall was bustling with people, kids were running around the water fountain, a group of young girls rushed past you, giggling in excitement as they carried their many shopping bags, you were standing in front of Scoops Ahoy, with your cheeks burning and your heart racing. 

In all honesty, you had no idea what you were doing, you came up with no plan before you came here, you just woke up that morning and decided that Billy was right, that you could take a chance and go after what you wanted – you had nothing to lose, except for your dignity. Besides, you were no longer in school, if things went wrong, you could easily avoid him.

You had taken a look inside, only a few teenagers sat by the window, it wasn’t crowded, not in the slightest. You saw him, he was standing behind the counter with his back turned to you as he was talking to his co-worker who spoke to him through the small window between them. 

Your heart skipped a beat when he turned to the side, a smile lingered on his face as he nodded along to the music that played on the radio. 

You could have still turned back, you could have still left without being seen, without having made a fool of yourself. But you didn’t, you didn’t turn around, you didn’t change your mind, you walked into your own demise. 

You took a deep breath and walked up to the counter, you twisted the ring on your finger and focused on him. He looked so good, even in his silly uniform, he looked so pretty. His sailor hat was laying on the counter and he was twisting the ice cream scooper in his hand, he only turned around when his co-worker, Robin, nudged her chin at you before she turned her back to him and disappeared further into the room. 

You blinked and breathed heavily as you realized that you didn’t even know what to say, you didn’t prepare for this, you were never good with words or conversing with boys, you didn’t know how to flirt – well, you did, Billy taught you, but you had never used your newly learned skill before. 

And when Steve turned around to face, it was too late to think of what to say, anyways. 

“Ahoy–” his cheerful words cut short and the smile on his face fell when he saw you, “oh, it’s you.” 

That should have been enough to change your mind, to make you turn back and run the other way. 

“Hi Steve.”

Steve’s shoulders slumped and he slid his scooper back into place, he put his hands on the counter and sighed. 

“Blondie,” he nodded. 

You were too nervous to see the way he looked at you, the way his eyes roamed your face and your styled hair, your glowing skin and your pretty dress, the way his cheeks changed color as he kept staring at you. 

“What can I get for you?” He asked and cleared his throat as he gestured to the many ice cream flavors. 

You shifted and tilted your head to the side, your hair fell from your shoulder and down your back. He looked again, at your exposed skin, at the dainty chain around your neck. 

“I uh… I’m… I don’t know yet,” you stuttered and felt yourself growing more nervous than before. 

Steve sighed and looked away from you, “of course,” he murmured under his breath. 

Your cheeks burned hotly, your eyes felt heavy and you looked down as you already felt the regret rushing through your body. You wanted to say something, anything, but all your words were caught in your throat, everything you would’ve said if he liked you a little more were stuck and frozen. 

You cleared your throat and took a deep breath, you looked at his face and wondered why you even let Billy encourage you and talk you into doing this. The few ‘nice’ interactions you had with Steve meant nothing. The smile he wore on his lips before could never be directed at you, the soft look in his hazel eyes disappeared the moment he saw you, the tone in his voice changed in an instant. 

“How are you…?” You asked, cringing at yourself, at the question, at the shakiness in your voice. 

He looked back at you and raised his eyebrows, an unamused chuckle fell from his lips. 

“What do you want?” He asked and shrugged at you, “we’re out of high school, we don’t have to see each other anymore and I know you’re not here for ice cream, you usually don’t have an issue making a decision, so why are you here, Blondie?”

You could not help but draw back as a cold shudder ran down your spine, you blinked and looked down. 

You missed the look of guilt that flashed in his eyes when he watched you step back and you closed your eyes for a moment, your brows scrunched together as though in pain. 

He was always this way, you knew what you were stepping into, you knew how he would react and you couldn’t blame him, you weren’t exactly nice to him in school and snapped back at him every time he threw a rude comment at you. 

You swallowed and took a deep breath, you looked back up at him, at the hazel eyes you always loved so much. 

Steve huffed and he took a deep breath, he stared at you intensely and you didn’t know what it meant, a part of you thought that it was his hatred, the other was foolishly hopeful. 

“Yeah… I know but I just… I thought that maybe we could,” you paused as your heart felt as though it was about to tear from your chest any moment. He looked at you so intensely, he made you feel so small beneath his gaze. 

“We could what?” He asked a little too harshly and made you cower back. 

“This was a bad idea,” you whispered to yourself and took another step back, “I’m sorry I just…”

“What’s up with you?” Steve mumbled and furrowed his brows at you, confused at the side of you he never met before. “Did you miss being annoying so much that you had to come bother me at work, Blondie?” 

You heard the teasing in his voice, you saw the sliver of amusement in his eyes but you really only focused on the way your heart clenched in pain and how regret took on full control. 

You rolled your eyes, not at him but at yourself, at your foolishness.

Of course he doesn’t want to see you, why would he? 

He never liked you and he certainly wouldn’t start now, he would probably laugh into your face if you asked for what you came for – a date. 

Your cheeks were nearly hurting from all the blushing, your heart was skipping and pounding, your hands felt clammy. You never felt the need to cry in front of him, you never felt vulnerable around him because your walls were always high up and guarded by a second layer, now you came without protection and decided to let yourself be vulnerable for once, only to feel like breaking down from the embarrassment that was gnawing at you. 

“Cat got your tongue? That’s new…” He chuckled and stared you down still, eyebrows still furrowed and lips pursed. His hardened expression fell a little and something else took over, something you couldn’t read. “Did someone stand you up?” 

Steve wasn’t used to your silence so you weren’t surprised about the confusion on his face. You looked at him again and caught him eyeing you up and down, his eyes lingered on your dress for longer than necessary. 

His question went unanswered and he grew frustrated with you. 

“Can’t blame them if they did,” he mumbled, throwing daggers at your heart. 

That stung. 

Normally his words would’ve angered you and you would’ve shot back straight away, despite your feelings for him, you wouldn’t have kept quiet or struggled to say something back but not today, today you let him hurt you – deep down you knew this would happen, this was always how you interacted, he said something mean and then you would too. His words were nothing new and yet they cut deep. 

You swallowed hard and dug your nails into your palms, your breathing quickened and you knew you had to get out of here but something kept you standing, you felt as though you were frozen. 

Steve coughed awkwardly and looked away for a moment, he grabbed his scooper again, “so… wanna eat your feelings or what?” He asked and pointed at the many flavors, eyes back on you. 

“No–”

“Hi, Steve!”

You nearly flinched at the high pitched voice and had to hold back the eyeroll when you saw the girl next to you, who didn’t bother to hide the dirty looks she gave you before she returned her attention back to him, flashing him a sickly sweet smile that made his eyes light up.

The girl used to be on the cheer team, very popular and gossipy, unkind and one of the most unpleasant people you have met – and she usually spends her Saturday nights in Billy’s sheets.

Steve’s eyes were no longer on you, instead they were stuck on the pretty girl beside you, he eyed her up and down, not with distaste or annoyance but with interest and a smirk on his lips. 

“Hey, how are you?” He asked and leaned against the counter, a flirty look crossed his face, “you look amazing, Olivia.” 

She giggled and twirled her hair around her finger, she licked her lips as she eyed him like she was hungry. 

“So do you.”

Steve smirked at her and chuckled softly. 

At that point, you didn’t know what you felt because your sadness ran so deep, you didn’t have it in yourself to feel jealous anymore. 

You just felt like a fool. 

And you felt angry, at yourself and at him for being so horrible to you. Olivia’s giggles did nothing to make you feel less horrible, like nails on chalkboard her voice was irritating you in the worst way possible, so before leaving, you turned towards her and when she met your gaze with a fake smile, you matched the look on her face. 

“Wouldn’t waste your time here, Olivia,” you said her name, mockingly and looked her up and down, not feeling jealous over the ugly sandals or the green skirt she was wearing. “He only flirts to pass time. Besides, isn’t that your boyfriend waiting for you?” You asked and tilted your head at the guy in front of the store, he was already glaring at Steve. 

Olivia clenched her jaw and glared at you, huffing in annoyance which gave you a little satisfaction. 

“Better not leave him waiting or someone might tell him what or who you do every Saturday night.” 

Her pale face grew even… paler and you couldn’t even bite back the smirk, despite the blow that was just delivered to your heart. 

Steve raised his eyebrows as he looked between you, he saw the way you blinked, fastly, he saw how glassy your eyes were despite the look on your face. 

You turned back to him and looked at him with a straight face, “you usually don’t mind sharing your girls though, do you? So… go nuts,” you shrugged before you turned around and walked away from him, not planning to look back. 

You should have, you should have looked back because then you would’ve seen the guilt in his eyes, the regret that crossed his features, the tension that slipped off his shoulders and the disinterest that took over for the girl in front of him. The sadness that flashed in his eyes for missing an opportunity, for letting you go like this. 

But you didn’t, you kept going and you rushed back out into the bustling mall, you blinked away the tears and made your way back home. You tore the dress off your skin the moment you stepped into your room. 

And you never wore it again. 

You roll your eyes at yourself for feeling pain for the girl you were a year before, for still hurting because of the things he said to you, for the way he looked at you, for the way he flirted with a different girl in front of you. 

The past doesn’t matter, it shouldn’t matter, especially not now, not anymore – not after what you have gone through together, not after he changed, not after he started treating you differently, not after all the nights and mornings you have spent with each other, not after all the gentle touches, not after the way he kissed you and held you close that one night, not after he called you late at night just to hear your voice. 

He is different now, you are different now, you aren’t the teenagers you were a year back. 

The past shouldn’t hurt. 

You slam the closet door shut and walk out of your room and into the bathroom, you start the shower, letting the water warm up while you take off your clothes. You feel frustration bubbling inside of you, the conversation with Max and her encouraging words triggered all the memories that you refused to think about in these past few months. 

The day at Scoops Ahoy made you sad and angry, it made you want to never see him again, you avoided the mall after that day and you didn’t see much of him after. You hated yourself for hoping, for going after your feelings, for believing that you could have a chance after Billy’s encouragement – Billy who pushed you away only a week later, with harsh words and a mean look on his face, he pushed you away when you needed him the most and you felt alone again, so alone. At that time, you didn’t understand why he did it, why he didn’t want you in his life anymore, you didn’t know that he was just trying to protect you from the upside down, from himself. 

And then he died and you lost yourself completely. 

You drowned your sorrows in alcohol and kissed the lips of strangers, you let them touch you in hopes that you would feel something, you woke up in their beds and hated yourself after because no matter how good they were to you, how nice the conversations went, how much they made you laugh, how nice they made you feel, they couldn’t make you forget about the friend you lost, they couldn’t make you forget about him, they couldn’t give you what you wanted, what you needed, what you longed for. 

You searched for glimpses of Steve in every man you kissed and you hated yourself for it because you wondered why you even felt that way for someone who couldn’t even stand you, who hated you with all his being. 

What made you fall in love with him? 

What tied you to him the way it did? 

Because he never gave you a reason to fall in love with him back then, he treated you unkindly from the moment you met and yet you couldn’t help your feelings, you couldn’t help but adore him, you couldn’t help but admire him. 

You even felt your own heart break when you found out about what Nancy did to him, how she broke his heart so carelessly, how she cheated on him with her friend. 

And you felt it break even more when he still wanted her, even after everything she did to him, he loved hard, just like you did, like you do. No matter what she did to him, he still loved her. 

And now, you can’t help but ask yourself the question that you have always avoided. 

Does he still have feelings for her? 

You wonder if he still wants her, if he still wishes for a future with her, if she is still the one he craves by his side. 

He doesn’t look at her the way he used to, not anymore, he doesn’t seem sad around her the way he did after she rejected him and yet, you still wonder, if you are just someone he passes time with while he hopes that she might change her mind in the future. If you are the person he finds comfort in because he can feel that you love him the way she never did.  

Are you the replacement? The filler? 

You feel yourself crashing, the water feels hot on your skin but you feel the shudder running down your spine, the goosebumps that rise on your skin make you shiver, your throat tightens and your eyes blur with tears as your heart clenches in your chest. 

You wipe your tears in anger even though your whole face is wet from the water pouring down on you, you turn off the water and open the curtain in anger, you reach for your towel and wrap it around your body. 

You wipe the fog off the mirror and look at your reflection, at the marks on your neck, at the tears running down your cheeks. 

Are you stupid for crying when you knew exactly what you were signing up for? 

You always knew what this was to him and you were satisfied with it because you just wanted him, no matter how, you wanted him and you got him. 

But you can’t stop your heart from aching because somehow, you fell even harder for him and you can’t stop from hurting when you think about what you are to him and what you might never be. 

Just sex. 

A friend… nothing more than a friend, that’s what he said, you are just a friend. 

The confidence that only started growing inside of you not too long ago begins to crumble and you don’t know how to stop it from falling apart. 

You close your eyes and take a few deep breaths, trying to calm your racing heart and the thoughts that drive you mad. You take a look around, at the things he left in your bathroom, his toothbrush next to yours, his body wash and shampoo in your shower, his Farrah Fawcett hairspray that no one can know about. 

Would all this be here if you didn’t mean something to him? 

Would he have made space in one of his drawers just for your stuff if this meant nothing? 

Would he have let you in if he still wanted someone else? 

Does he even still want someone else? 

You huff in annoyance for letting yourself fall into this spiral of overthinking. You feel as though all these questions come to haunt you for pushing them away all these weeks and now you feel a headache coming and you grow irritated with yourself and with your insecurities. 

You shut them down as best as you can and busy yourself with other things, you moisturize your skin and blow dry your hair. You put on your fresh clothes and comb through your hair before you leave the bathroom, it’s much darker in the hallway than expected, the grayish clouds hide the sun and the sound of thunder rumbles in the far distance, drops of rain already paint your windows. 

Goosebumps rise on your skin and an unsettling feeling sinks into the pit of your stomach. You feel the cold wind on your exposed skin from the open window in your bedroom, you make your way inside, pushing the blowing curtains away as you reach forward to shut the window. 

Lightning surges through the sky, deep purple colors flash in the darkening clouds far away. You would’ve felt your heart dropping by now if you didn’t notice the burgundy car parked in your driveway, the door opens and he steps out, a second later, a brown paper bag in his hand and something tucked beneath his arm, he shuts the door and locks it, wasting no time to find shelter under the roof on your porch as it starts raining harder. 

Instead of dropping, your heart skips a beat, forgetting all about the pain it just felt from the saddening thoughts in your mind. 

Through all your overthinking and pondering, you forgot that he was coming over. 

You shut the window and rush downstairs, opening the door as he rings the doorbell for a second time. A frown lingers on his face but it disappears when his eyes lock with yours as soon as you open the door and a smile tugs at his lips instead. 

“Hey Blondie,” he breathes and rushes inside when you step aside to let him in, “looks like the end of the world out there.” 

“Hi…” 

You close the door and lock it before you turn around to face him. 

Steve kicks off his shoes and throws the movie tapes that were tucked beneath his arm on the counter where you keep your keys and sunglasses, he puts his keys into the little bowl and then he steps towards you and reaches for your hand, he pulls you towards him and takes you by surprise when he leans down and smacks his lips against yours, kissing you shortly. Greeting you with a kiss, something he had never done before. 

Your eyes widen a little and your throat tightens for a different reason now, you stare at him, unable to hide the surprised look on your face. 

And Steve, he furrows his brows and his smile falls a little, not because of your widened eyes but because of the glassiness in them, he frowns as worry swirls in his chest. 

“Hey,” he murmurs and lets go of your hand to cup the side of your face, letting his thumb linger on your cheek, “is everything okay?” 

You blink. 

Your heart jumps at his action, at the question, at the concern in his soft brown eyes. You breathe in deeply, you open and close your mouth a few times, unable to find the right words. 

You didn’t cry all that much, it’s not so visible on your face, is it? 

“Did something happen?” He asks, a little softer this time. 

You shake your head, “n-no, I’m fine, just tired, I’m probably coming down with something…” You lie. 

“In the summer?” 

You force a smile and look down, shrugging, “guess I’m not that strong…” 

“Well, then let me take care of you,” he whispers and caresses your cheek. 

You wonder if he knows what he does to you with such words and actions, you sometimes wish he knew that your heart leaps every time he does such things, maybe then he would take pity on you and not fill you with so much hope, even in your worst moments. 

You nod at him and let him take your hand back in his, he gives you a sweet smile that nearly makes you crumble. 

“So how was your day?” Steve asks as he tugs you along with him and leads you into your kitchen.

You swallow the lump in your throat and shrug, “good, I went shopping with Max and then we ate lunch with Eddie.” 

Steve smiles at that, he places the brown paper bag on the kitchen table and turns to face you. 

The soft look in his eyes and the smile on his lips makes you feel guilty for the thoughts that rushed through your mind just moments before. This side of him is the only one you have known in the past few weeks, the gentle and sweet side you never thought you’d ever get to see. 

“I got us dinner, burgers and fries but I got the fancy ones from Enzo’s,” he chuckles and lets go of your hand, stepping away from you and towards the sink. “Did you find anything?” He asks as he runs the water and uses the hand soap you always leave in your kitchen to wash his hands. 

You furrow your brows at his question, feeling a little lost and confused. 

“Hm?” 

“When you went shopping.” 

“Oh.” You nod your head, you went back to the jewelry store to look for new rings and the necklace you fell in love with but it was already gone, it would’ve looked pretty with the dress you picked out for Joyce’s and Hopper’s wedding. “Yeah, I finally got a dress for the wedding… oh and shoes… and makeup.” 

Steve smiles fondly when he turns back to you, “what color is your dress?” 

“Uh, it’s black,” you say and walk over to the fridge to grab a drink for you both, “sounds boring, right? But it’s really pretty and I got some pink heels to go with it.”

“It doesn’t sound boring,” he shakes his head at you and carries two plates to the kitchen table, “besides, you look gorgeous in anything.”

You freeze. 

Your eyes grow wide and your cheeks start burning. 

Gorgeous? 

He surely never called you that before, especially not after greeting you with a kiss on your lips. 

“T-Thanks, Steve.”

He hums in response and you look back at him to see him placing the food on the plates, putting more fries on yours than on his. His brows are pulled together in concentration, his lips pressed together, his hair looks a little messed up from the wind but he looks so cute like this. 

And you can’t help but think of how intimate this all is, him kissing you after walking in, him asking you about your day and the color of your dress, him plating your dinner.  

You can’t help but hate yourself for all the overthinking and reminiscing of the things that happened in the past. 

You close the fridge with a sigh and make your way back to the table, placing the coke in front of his plate. 

“Thanks, Honey.”

You give him a smile and sit down across from him, looking down at the delicious food in front of you, “I’m horrible, you always cook for us or order something and I never do anything.” 

Steve shakes his head, glaring at you, “you’re not horrible and that’s not true, you cooked breakfast and dinner before.” 

You pop open your soda can, “yeah, I made french toast and sandwiches.” 

“Yeah and it was amazing, now shut up and eat your dinner, kid,” he says playfully, his eyes glinting with amusement when you laugh. 

You push your hair out of your face and pick up the burger, unaware of the fond smile that tugs at his lips as he watches you take a bite. His eyes roam your face, your eyes are a little red and he can’t help but think that you lied to him about feeling sick, you look fine, you just look a little… sad and it makes him feel upset because he knows that you won’t talk about it, especially not with him but he wants to be there for you, he wants to give you a shoulder to cry on, to lean on, he wants to give you comfort. 

He looks down at the shirt on your body and when he recognizes it, his eyes lighten up and warmth blooms in his chest, it’s his shirt. 

He bites back the smile as he looks down and starts eating too, welcoming the comfortable silence between you as the rain paddles down the windows, the thunder still crashing somewhere, far away. 

You flinch every time a loud crash booms through the sky, it’s nothing new to him, he noticed it the very first time it happened. Every time the sky turns a little darker and the wind picks up, you fidget and get anxious. He wonders if it’s a fear you have taken with you from the upside down or if it is something that accompanied you before, he never dared to ask before. 

Every time he showed up during a storm, your eyes were filled with fear and your hands were shaking. You would relax and calm down a few minutes after his arrival, his presence seems comforting to you and it’s why he rushes to get to you every time he sees the dark clouds and hears the thunder. 

“Hey Blondie?” 

You look up at him through your lashes and raise your eyebrows, “yes?” 

“Can I ask you something?” 

You put down your burger and reach for your drink, nodding at him. 

“Have you always been afraid of storms?” 

You seem to be taken aback as you stare at him and blink, not moving or saying anything just yet and he fears that he crossed a line. 

“I just, I noticed that you flinch at every crash.”

You always tried to hide your reactions, not wanting to seem scared or weak, and usually no one ever noticed things about you that you didn’t want them to see but Steve seems to see right through you. 

His hazel eyes aren’t filled with judgment or amusement, just with curiosity and… a hint of concern? 

You take a sip of your drink and sit back, relaxing your shoulders as you look into his eyes. 

“Yeah, I just, I guess it got stuck with me from when I was a kid,” you chuckle and roll your eyes, “I know, embarrassing right?” 

He shakes his head and frowns, “no, not at all.” 

“Honestly, it wasn’t even that bad when I was a kid, it got worse when I was a teen. My parents would go on these business trips sometimes and trusted my sister to look after me but she used those opportunities to go hang out with friends or go to parties or whatever else she was doing,” you explain, not looking away from him, “and I hated being alone, it probably didn’t help that I watched horror movies every time I was alone.” 

Steve chuckles at that, though he can’t help but feel sad for you. 

His parents left too, hell, they still do. To know that you were in a similar situation as him when you were younger fills him with regret, knowing that he could have been there for you and you for him, if he just wasn’t such a dick to you. 

“I just always got so anxious whenever I heard the howling wind and the loud thunder, it felt like the fear paralyzed me in a way… I don’t know, does that even make sense?” 

Steve nods, “yeah, yeah it makes sense.” 

But now he wonders how the hell you jumped into the water to save him, after everything that you had been told about the upside down, about the storms, about the monsters, you still jumped into the water when he was pulled under. You knew what was waiting for you on the other side and you still did it. 

“B-But how… I… the upside down was filled with storms?”

You would’ve jumped into a hurricane if it meant saving his life. 

“I wasn’t going to prioritize my fears over your life, Steve.”

Steve feels a little stunned, he knows how paralyzing fears can get, how they can hold you back from everything, but you, you didn’t care about your fears, about yourself, knowing that it could’ve ended badly for you down there, you cared more for him than you did for yourself, even when he was nothing but an asshole to you who treated you like shit. 

If he knew you, the real you, he wouldn’t have been so harsh to you, he wouldn’t have been so… cold. He would have never said a single bad word to you but he thought you were cruel and he thought you hated him so he gave you a side of him that didn’t even exist, it was an act, nothing more, nothing less and he regrets it more than anything. 

He regrets every word he said to you before this. And he feels as though he doesn’t deserve this, you, not even in this way, not after everything he said to you and about you. 

He wants nothing more than to take it all back, to make it up to you. 

And as you sit there in front of him, with red rimmed eyes that prove that you have cried before he came here, he wants nothing more than to pull you into his arms and apologize, over and over again.

But instead of doing that and risking making you uncomfortable, he slides his plate closer to you and changes seats so he is right next to you, he ignores the confused look you give him and the question you were gonna ask before he grabs your face and kisses you, making you gasp in surprise. 

You melt into the kiss quickly, despite the confusion that lingers in you. You place your palm on the side of his neck and kiss him back softly. 

And just like that, your worries and your anxious thoughts fade away into nothing, his touch, his kisses, he makes you forget about all the sadness that gnawed at you before, for a moment, they don’t matter and they won’t be back till later. 

For a moment, you’re allowed to feel hopeful and confident again. 

When his hand finds your waist and his lips move slowly and softly with yours, when he hums into the kiss and pulls you closer, when he makes you feel special. 

Steve’s eyelashes flutter when he pulls away and opens his eyes again, smiling softly as he pecks your lips once more before he moves back, like he didn’t just steal your breath and made your heart pound wildly. 

“What was that for?” You breathe. 

“To calm you down from the storm,” he shrugs, chuckling at his own words. 

“Why do you think a kiss would calm me down?” 

“I don’t know, I read it in a magazine,” he lies and looks down at his food with rosy cheeks and a sheepish smile. 

A giggle falls from your lips.

“Right,” he nods and points a finger at you, still smiling, “it’s scientifically proven that kisses help with the distraction.” 

“Mhmm,” you hum and nod, “right, totally yeah.” 

Instead of tears, you’re biting back a smile now, falling right back into the state you are always in when you’re around him – into bliss. 

You continue eating and you ask him about his day, you push your plate towards him, sharing your fries with him once he practically inhales the ones on his plate. He keeps on talking, the whole time you sit at the kitchen table you ate your meals alone at, he tells you all the gossip he’s heard from Robin, keeping you entertained and making you giggle, making you forget about the raging storm behind you or the pain you felt before, he makes you forget about everything. 

And you thought this would be like any other night you spent with him.

But it wasn’t.

Steve didn’t sleep with you that night, and you didn’t initiate it either. The storm was at full blast over your house, and Steve made sure to have the TV at full volume when watching the movies he stole. He mentioned Keith was busy trying to talk to a female customer and he didn’t even look at Steve when he shoved them down his shirt.

You laughed with him, giggled, and – are you the replacement? Are you really? Or are you actually in his heart?

The past tells you that you are the filler for the holes in his heart, but the present– the present tells you otherwise. It tells you that there might be a chance. His smile tells you that he likes spending time with you. The frown over his eyes when something happens to you tells you he is worried for you. The way he is possessive over you tells you that he considers you his. 

Is it foolish to believe in the present? Is it foolish to simply forget about the past? Is it foolish you cannot and won’t let go of him? Is it foolish to simply love him, with no reason at all? 

And you just know… that Billy never once said it was. 

Billy who wouldn’t want you to give up. Billy who wouldn’t want you to go back into the past. Billy who would want you to keep living in the present. Billy who would still encourage you if he were here. Billy who helped you pick that dress at the GAP to shoot your shot that day at Scoops.

Billy never gave up on your love for Steve. 

You shouldn’t either.

And you won’t.

♡

tagging friends and mutuals

@prettyboyeddiemunson @taintedcigs @mysticmunson @corrodedcorpses @maroon-cardigan @thecreelhouse @ibellcipem @joekeerysmoles @munsonlore @sherrylyn0628 @munson-mjstan @agirlwholovesrockstars @moon-flowerrs

[barrenclan]

do you have any webcomic suggestions?

Oh, do I! :D I'll keep the descriptions short, otherwise I'll talk about each of these for a million years.

Warrior Cats:

The Average Adventures of Genericpaw - parody comic. But watch out.

The Exiled - Fishpaw. Murder mystery.

Follow Your Heart - Sootpaw. Personal drama.

Meandering - River. Slowburn romance.

Saltburn's Clan - Saltburn. Pinepaw's cool butch lesbian aunt.

Convocations - Elkmask. Political drama. Biggest inspiration to The Dog Star.

Other:

Wilde Life - supernatural dramedy.

Wychwood - magical post-apocalypse.

The Glass Scientists - Jekyll & Hyde retelling.

Tiger, Tiger - swashbuckling magic adventure.

Little Tiny Things - French slice of life.

Paranatural - ghost fighting teens. Also, the inspiration for PATFW's "journal style". Also, Hijack.

Phantomarine - magical ghost adventures.

Awkward Zombie - gamer comic strips.

Sakana - fish market dramedy. Yuudai.

Skin Deep - cryptids comedy.

Dumbing of Age - daily college dramedy. Gave me the worst hyperfixation of my life.

The Order of the Stick - D&D adventure. My favorite comic ever created.

How To Be a Werewolf - werewolf drama.

Fairmeadow - fantasy hippie drama.

Lackadaisy - bootlegger cats. You've seen the animated pilot.

The Property of Hate - TV head guy.

Too Familiar - magical animal companions.

I'm With You - goat people romance.

The Carpet Merchant of Konstantiniyya - sweet vampire romance.

XKCD - it's XKCD.

Vainglorious - dragon adventures.

Bybloemen - demons committing financial fraud. Gorgeous artwork.

Bicycle Boy - amnesiac in a post-apocalypse.

Novae - supernatural historical romance.

Never Satisfied - magical teen drama. It's on hiatus right now.

Monster Pulse - teens with magic organs.

Children of the Light - magic squirrel drama.

To Catch A Star - sparklewolves.

Cursed Lights - magical animal people drama.

What Lurks Beneath - cat cult.

Rabbit Hole - bunny cult.

Villtur & Sarx - sci fi manga.

Best of Bad Decisions, The Doe of Deadwood, Repeat, I Didn't Know - Songdog comics. Probably the most influential creator on my comics.

Crushed Olive Branch - Shadowhunters gayboys.

Broken Crown - magic kingdom adventure.

Sleight of Hand - Fallout gayboys.

What Happens Next - internet teen thriller.

Golden Shrike - deer adventure.

The Pale - Twin Peaks adjacent.

Un/Bound - magical road trip.

Apocalyptic Horseplay - modern horseman of the apocalypse.

There are many more, of course, but these are some of my favorites, and the ones I could remember at the moment.

[ritchiepage2001newaccount]

WHY UNIVERSAL BACKGROUND CHECKS ARE JUST AS UNLIKELY AS EVER, UNFORTUNATELY

I'm a leftist (Libertarian-Socialist), who votes progressive, because I live under an "elected" government, and I had thought I had purged the MSNBC/CNN Nation from my friends list, but apparently not, as my timeline is just chock-full of media-driven hysteria over current events, so here's a primer:

"Liberals" who think their arguments are clever or relevant to the Second Amendment are exhausting.

They are not the left; they are just one half of the good cop/bad cop act of the corporate owned fire-hose of bullshit that is the corporate media, and corporate America's governing criminal cartel/duopoly.

Both cults "I like simple and ineffectual 'solutions', because they make me feel like I'm doing something, and I'm just stinky with fear."

There are over a hundred million legal gun owners, who some want to punish for somebody else's crime.

Well, there are some things to consider.

We've been a heavily armed country since 1621, and yet the epidemic of daily mass-shootings didn't begin until 20 April 1999 (Columbine), at a time when gun ownership was at an all-time low, and five years after Clinton's assault-weapons ban, so maybe guns aren't the variable.

Worth noting: One of the first things the "Pilgrims" did when they betrayed the Native Americans, was disarm "King Phillip" and his men.

Maybe, just maybe, dead school-children are the price of the neoliberalism practiced under the "Washington Consensus" of BOTH right-wing authoritarian parties since the 1980's? When your country offers you no prospects, and you become terrified of the future, what then? Fear can make unstable people do desperate things. Add to that a culture of celebrity, and what could possibly go wrong?

Another factor that goes completely unexamined, is the way Ronald Reagan and Tip O'Neill emptied our state hospitals onto our streets, and onto families ill-equipped to deal with the sometimes violent mentally ill.

Thank God, the "solution" is so simple…

Also, 84% of NRA members support universal background checks. The problem is, every time a bill comes up for a vote, Democrats add poison pill amendments guaranteeing defeat in the legislature (and the courts), and then they proceed to tell the TV cameras that "once again the GOP and the gun lobby have voted down background checks and defied the will of the people", or some such nonsense.

If you want to watch Dems sabotage universal background checks (while Republicans roll their eyes and face-palm) in real time, go here:

P.S. You can probably guess which one of these three groups I belong to (Hint: It's the one that's growing and actually decides elections):

LaborPartyNow!!!

P S The line, "You don't need 30 rounds to shoot a deer!" is not clever.

The Second Amendment has nothing to do with hunting tools, toys for hobbyists (target shooting), or even weapons for self-defense.

It's about ARMS!!!

It's about the individual citizen's right to arms, so they'll be prepared to join a militia, not the other way around. ‘Well regulated’ at that time, simply meant, ‘efficient.’ In other words, in order for a muster to be efficient, civilians needed to be already armed.

So the "collective rights" argument has a couple of problems that make it quite unhinged from history and reality.

1) As I've mentioned above, Americans have always been relatively heavily armed. How did that happen in a collective rights paradigm?

2) Contrary to what you were probably taught in school, by the time of the Confederate artillery barrage on Fort Sumter, the war over slavery had already been going on for over six years, and was fought entirely by independent volunteer militia's. Fort Sumter was just the beginning of official involvement by government troops. How did that happen in a collective rights paradigm?

3) In what universe do government forces need to have their right to arms protected?

4) Since when do National Guard members keep National Guard arms (Hint: they're kept at the armory, and have been since colonial times)?

5) Obviously, "Liberals" are stupid.

Again: #LaborPartyNow!!!

P P S That was ENTIRELY the point of the first fruits of dissent, the 10 Amendments we've come to call the BILL OF RIGHTS (which have become a beacon to aspiring democrats all over the world), to protect INDIVIDUALS from the government they had just created. #TrueStory

[natlacentral]

ONE NAME IS ALL KIAWENTIIO NEEDS

The mononymic Mohawk actress stars in the highly anticipated new adaptation of “Avatar: The Last Airbender,” one of Netflix’s most expensive series ever. It’s a role she’s been preparing for almost her entire life.

At first, it’s a ripple. Hovering drops rising from a puddle soon cluster into a faster-moving, levitating stream that swirls into an orb of water floating over a young woman. The focused motion of her hands control this aquatic flow. In the lore of the beloved animated series Avatar: The Last Airbender, the ability to manipulate the elements is known as “bending” and wielding this power is Katara, a fan-favorite of the franchise’s core characters. In this instance, she’s no longer animated, but rather living and breathing in Netflix’s recent adaptation of the cult show, as played by Kiawentiio, the 17-year-old actress and singer-songwriter from the Mohawk Nation at Akwesasne. For young Indigenous audiences, it’s a powerful moment seeing what was always an Indigenous-coded character, dynamic and independent, brought to life by an Indigenous actor. Her interpretation of the heroine is both true to its source material and grounded in an undeniable sense of Indigeneity, notable in the scenes of Katara’s survival of the violence inflicted upon her tribe and their later resistance to its recurrence. Free from the confines of Western film tropes or the expected relegation to secondary and background roles, Kiawentiio’s Katara is unprecedented. She’s both of this world and beyond. A sign of things to come.

There’s a balletic velocity to Kiawentiio when she arrives at her photo shoot, a certain sense of purpose and the pull of a trajectory toward something just off of the horizon. She’s traveling with her mother Barbara, who works in their community’s cultural restoration efforts, and her father Corey, a volunteer firefighter and building inspector for their tribe. They beam with pride as they watch her and recount the recent stops she’s had on the show’s busy press tour. In the dressing room, she smiles while reviewing pieces she requested from Indigenous designers Josh Tafoya and Karen Francis. It’s like witnessing someone coming into alignment, a new possibility realized. She says, “It feels like it’s not real, to be honest. Sometimes it feels like I’m living this fantasy life or living someone else’s life, especially with where I come from.”

The evening prior, Kiawentiio walked the red carpet for Avatar’s Los Angeles premiere in a stunning ensemble, also fashioned by Indigenous designers: an ice-blue duo chrome taffeta skirt by Evan Ducharme, accented by a hand-beaded corset from Tasha Marie, and jewelry by BYCHARI and Dean Davidson. The look, both in color and from the corset’s beaded wave design, is a subtle nod to Katara’s Southern Water Tribe in the show. Kiawentiio grew up watching the original series, which makes this all the more surreal. “For filming, we were in British Columbia for almost a year and stepping out of that was really kind of like a culture shock,” she explains.

It’s not lost on her that this is her moment, one that she’s balanced with both grace and aplomb, but also a time to reflect on all that’s led her to this point. From her beginnings as a guest star a mere five years ago on the Canadian series Anne With an E, to playing the title character in Tracey Deer’s debut feature Beans in 2020, and more recently appearing in Peacock’s Rutherford Falls and Marvel’s What If…?, Kiawentiio’s career has been nothing short of meteoric. In many ways it mirrors the creative boom of Indigenous-led and centered television in the last half-decade. That a young, Indigenous actor is now one of the leads in a $120 million Netflix production—one of its most expensive to date—that also happens to be an adaptation of what is considered to be one of the best animated series of all time, is as much of a cultural tipping point as it is an expectation rewriting itself. And Kiawentiio is at its precipice.

Over the phone, Kiawentiio discussed this moment and what it means to her.

How did you connect with the Indigenous designers you’ve chosen to work with recently?

One of the looks was Josh Tafoya, a fashion designer out of New Mexico. I actually got to meet him, I think it was two years ago now. He also works closely with 4Kinship, which is also a really cool Indigenous vintage brand. For the red carpet, I got to work with two Indigenous designers to custom-make this very beautiful gown. Tasha Marie Designs was the designer that beaded my corset and Evan Ducharme made my skirt, and they both just came together so beautifully. I love how it turned out, truly.

Does anyone in your family do beadwork? Is it something that you grew up around?

Yeah, my mom beads. She doesn’t sell any of her work, which she should. My sister also beads. I grew up beading here and there, but it was never something that I continued. I think out of all my creative outlets, it got the short end.

My mom does some beadwork too, so I know it’s super meticulous. How do you approach style outside of professional spaces, like the red carpet? What are you drawn to?

I feel like my style has been changing a little recently. I like really baggy pants. I haven’t really worn jeans in a while, but I wanted to up my whole closet recently. I’ve been wanting to get more color because I tend to lean on black a lot and earth tones in general. It also depends on what time of year, ’cause sometimes in the summer I like giving off that skateresque vibe.

I like a lot of men’s fashion too. I’ll have long shorts that are past my knees and huge T-shirts on and be like why do I look like a boy? Oh, I’m dressed like this. Doing a lot of this press and having this part of my life really lets me tap into my feminine side.

You grew up in Akwesasne?

Mm-hmm.

When you’re on set and you’re in front of the camera, how do you become this character that you grew up with?

It was honestly really crazy, like that first time we had that transition. Growing up, seeing this character all of the time and idolizing this character almost, and then to have that transformation and look in the mirror and see yourself as that person. It’s like whoa, whoa, whoa. But honestly, Katara and I have a lot of similarities in our personalities. And I feel like it’s kind of a double-edged sword in that it becomes easy to become them. But because there are some similarities, it’s hard to differentiate yourself from the character and keep those things separate.

Were you able to draw on or tie some of your own Mohawk roots? It was great talking to your parents too and hearing about the impact of their own work, your mom’s work in cultural restoration and your dad’s work with your tribe. I’m curious if any of that went into how you shaped this role, especially because Katara is a very Indigenous-coded character.

I think with my Mohawk roots and what my parents have done my whole life, I feel like it has shaped me as a person. With that, I can’t help but take that to every role that I play in the past and in the future, too. So, I feel like my Kanienʼkehá:ka roots will always be there with me in every character that I have the pleasure to portray. I haven’t said this before, but really, I truly do owe everything that I have to my mom and my dad.

What was some of your preparation for this role?

We binged the original show. I think I watched it twice and then went into specific scenes for Katara’s character and her mindset, and then also her bending. Every time we had a fight or we wanted to re-create something from the animated show, we were watching clips of Katara’s bending and that also was really helpful for me.

What’s it like being a young actor now in the age of TikTok and social media?

I think it’s a delicate balance. I feel like in this age, it’s really easy to get caught up in what people are saying, good or bad. Because it’s just so accessible. It’s really important to be able to protect yourself from that. With the show dropping, I will have to find ways to protect myself from the outside and what they are saying, even though I have this sense of wanting to look, wanting to know what the public thinks. That’s how I’ve been this whole time leading up to the show coming out. I want to be and I try to be an open-minded person. So, with what people are saying, I like to look at it just plainly, not trying to hurt my own feelings or anyone’s feelings. I like to have this information and [take] it as a learning type of thing.

With the show dropping and how massive the scale is, there is going to be so many opinions, so many thoughts. So, I feel like it’ll be OK if I just kind of let this one go for a while and revisit when I’m in a more stable place.

I think that’s healthy. On the flip side, for somebody coming up in your generation, specifically somebody Indigenous working in this industry, what’s it like to watch actors like Lily Gladstone or Kawennáhere Devery Jacobs lead the way?

It’s so beautiful. It’s beautiful to see all these amazing strong Indigenous actors. A lot of our stories have been trying to break through for a long time. To now be able to see it in multiple people that come to mind immediately with Reservation Dogs, Killers of the Flower Moon, and Echo, all of these things are so amazing to be able to see in the industry. It’s come so far even from when I was little.

I think one of the main reasons that I was drawn to Avatar: The Last Airbender growing up was being able to have a strong brown role model in Katara. She was one of not many. I think representation, even in that time, was so scarce and rare. So, to be able to carry the torch that’s been passed down for a long time now and be able to light multiple fires and lead the way for the generations coming is so important. I am truly blessed to be alongside all these incredible Indigenous actors leading the way.

Has there been a particular performance by another actor that’s had an effect on you like that? Somebody that you saw growing up, or are even watching right now that’s a model for your career?

The only person that I could think of is Zendaya. I grew up watching her on K.C. Undercover and Shake It Up, when she was just a kid star on Disney. Another thing that is so inspiring to me is her fashion sense. I love how she doesn’t always step out to all these different events. But when she does, everyone knows it and she’s making a statement. It’s just really inspiring to me, her fashion sense and her choices. Also, to have a single name that’s different from what you always hear is also something that we relate to and is inspiring to me.

What is it like having this be something of a new normal for a Native actor where you’re not necessarily just relegated to these roles in westerns? That’s something that people have been dreaming of. It seems like it’s a totally open future now too. What does that feel like?

It feels so surreal. Honestly, sometimes I get the sense of guilt. There are so many people that fight for the same spot. Sometimes, I have to remind myself how hard I’ve worked for things because it sometimes can feel like maybe someone else deserved this. You know that type of feeling?

But I’m lucky enough to have an amazing support group. To be able to be in this position that I’m in now is so incredible. Something that my dad always told me that we’re always where we’re supposed to be. I think that’s something if I had the chance to tell other Indigenous people, or just people in general, especially with actors and acting—you’re always where you’re supposed to be. If you didn’t get this job, it was for this reason. If you feel like you really wanted this thing but it didn’t end up happening, it was because this thing was waiting for you. And I feel like a lot of times, fate works in really funny ways. Of course, I was auditioning for so many things before Avatarhappened. I just can’t imagine if I had landed a different role and then wasn’t able to go out for this. So, it’s so funny how the universe works in crazy ways to make things align perfectly.

[cursesavior]

— @chaoslulled / plotted.

The past just can't seem to let him go. When Suguru was informed of a new initiate into his 'religious group', he'd expected the usual formal affair. Donning their robes to pledge their allegiance to him and his cause, giving him their blood to show their dedication - the same played-out scenario he'd gone through what felt like a million times at this point. He couldn't care less, honestly, he had better things to do - he'd been shockingly busy since he'd died and been turned into a vampire, building up his following and trying to create a world where the undead could live without the fear of being hunted - but he put on a serious face anyways, pulling his own hood over his head as he made his way to the candlelit room where the ceremony would take place. Just another night like any another...

He's quickly shown just how wrong he is about that.

There's an odd feeling in his gut when the new initiate is brought into the room by several other cult members, something undeniably familiar about the hooded figure before him, the height, the way they walked, their posture - the name sat stubbornly on the tip of his tongue as he stared, gaze intense as he tried to figure out just why he was getting such strong déjà vu. That voice, it almost sounded like... But it couldn't be, right? There must be some other explanation...

"... Satoru?"

All bets are off as soon as the others hood is dropped to reveal Satoru's face, the shock in his voice giving him away instantly. A whirlwind of emotions cuts through him - Satoru. His best friend. The one he'd fought side-by-side with for so many years back when he was still a vampire hunter... He didn't think he would ever see him again, the weight of how much he'd missed him hitting him all at once. He wants to be relieved, happy, wants to embrace his friend - but he was a vampire, and Satoru was a vampire hunter. There was only one way this encounter could possibly end. Someone's blood had to be shed. Higher thinking screams for him to have the cultists restrain him, do something to stop the other from reaching for a stake, silver, holy water, anything - but the shock leaves him frozen like a deer in headlights, only moving to pull down his own hood and reveal his wide-eyed expression, his usual composure decimated by their unexpected reunion.

"What are you doing here...?"

[thelampisaflashlight]

I Am All Eyes

[Hoping to escape his past and begin anew, a young man takes a chance on an AD in the local newspaper, only to find he has, perhaps, bitten off far more than he can chew. A reintroduction to my OC, Quincy, and how he came to be the abbey's librarian. This fic will consolidate the events of the first two original ficlets I did with Quincy and diverge from the original plot from here. Not suitable for younger audiences.] Below the cut.

For what it's worth, if Quincy had to choose how he was going to die, death by satanic cult is a vastly cooler way to go out than he would have personally imagined for himself.

Kneeling at the base of some... big titty goat person -pretending not to see how worn the bronze in that particular area is- surrounded by a circle of cloaked figures that look like they walked off of the set of some old school horror flick, Quincy's mind, of course, drifts to the worst case scenario.

A million thoughts send his head spinning; When he'll die, and by what means, and one thought that he refuses to acknowledge, because-

"It's like that one scene from that music video I saw yesterday-"

Yeah, nope.

Not the time to be thinking about hockey bukkake.

He pinches his eyes shut and tries to focus on the present.

He hears the click of boots on the black marble beneath him.

He's fucked.

He's so fucked.

Everything he's ever done leading up to this, to the moment he said screw it and shook off the mounting anxiety in his chest and pushed open those ornate wooden doors to take shelter from the coming rain he'd sealed his fate.

He shouldn't have come here to begin with.

He shouldn't have called to arrange an interview with some... some shady lady who called herself something as weird as Sister Imperator.

Why'd he think it was a good idea to respond to an AD in the newspaper anyway??

Who even reads the paper anymore?!

Quincy.

Quincy reads the paper -for the crossword puzzles and the horoscopes, and to groan at this one columnist who always has the shittiest takes in the opinions section- because he's a giant nerd.

...and because he has a friendly competition going with the old man who runs the newspaper stand across from his apartment.

Point is-

He just wanted a job in his field, okay?

He spent years studying to become a librarian, but he’s been stuck working at a dive bar since before he could even drink himself, and he’s kind of tired of coming home smelling like spilled beer and vape smoke -the ban on “electric cigarettes” indoors hadn’t quite hit his area yet, and Quincy was sick of having to smell the pungent aroma of cereal scented clouds of vapor.

All that money wasted on getting a higher education, and he’s somehow still stupid enough to stumble upon a cult in broad daylight and embarrass himself in the process no less!

Lord, he wants to cry.

He must look so pathetic down on his knees, because one of the hooded figures offers-

A tissue?

Quincy sniffles.

“First day jitters, huh?” Another says, taking a packet of little bear shaped cookies from their pocket and pressing it into his palm, “Don’t worry, you’ve got this!”

What?

“It’s a lot to take in, huh?”

“I thought-” Quincy looks up at them confused, “-what is this place? I-I was called to… for a…”

He digs into his jacket pocket and pulls out the newspaper clipping, “A-A woman called, S-Sister Impera… Impera…”

“Oh, hey! Someone actually took the job offer! Fucking finally…” someone sighs, placing a hand on their chest, “I’m getting tired of trying to organize that place myself…”

“I… Huh.”

Huh.

With one stiff pull, Quincy is back on his feet, a bit wobbly, but, at least he’s standing.

He feels like a newborn deer surrounded by… surprisingly nice wolves.

“What… what is this place exactly? The AD said it was… um… a-an abbey? A church thing, so… and, and what is that?”

He eyes the statue again, face warming as he takes in the carefully crafted areolas....

What?

They’re massive and very aesthetically pleasing to look at!

“Oh, that’s Baphomet!”

“Bapha-who-ha?”

“Baphomet, he represents the balance between opposites, although, I think the Papa Emeritus that commissioned it just really liked the idea of having a statue with big ol’ boobs in the foyer to be honest…”

Quincy bites his lip.

Ah.

“It used to have a huge schlong, too, but I think they had to remove it back in the 60’s? 70’s? So it would be less, uhh, sinister?”

Quincy opens his mouth, and physically has to stop himself from asking what they mean by “sinister”, instead asking, “W-Where is Sister Imperator… So I can speak with her?”

“Her office is on the third floor, last door at the end of the hall.”

“Third floor, gotcha. And the elevator is…?”

“Out of order until they get the stains off the wood paneling.” the figure who explained the statue says, “However, there are stairs at the end of the hall that will take you up to the second floor, then you just have to head down to the end of THAT hall and take the left up another staircase and, boom, you’re there.”

“That’s a lot of stairs.”

Despite this, at no point does Quincy have the thought that he could just leave now.

Just, not show up to the interview.

For all his earlier hesitance and regret... he just keeps walking.

As he passes door after door, pausing briefly to admire the architecture -the woodwork is gorgeous to say the least- and breathe in the age of the building itself…

No, that thought doesn’t occur to him until he’s actually sitting in the interview, with an older woman in a modest black dress and a tight bun that makes Quincy’s head hurt imagining the pull of it as if it were tearing at his own scalp.

Sister Imperator.

She’s… a lot more intimidating in person than she sounded like she would be on the phone.

She'd sounded rather jovial and kind during their initial conversation, but now, Quincy isn't so sure.

He blames it on nerves.

She adjusts her reading glasses and sets his paperwork down.

“Well, you certainly have the necessary qualifications for the job, although, I do have to wonder… you’re leaving a job you’ve had for nearly a decade now for one that pays…” she folds her hands on top of the desk between them, “I have to ask, what made you answer our advertisement, Mr. Byrne?”

“I attended university with this specific line of work in mind.” Quincy replies, sitting up straight, “A-Although I’ve been working as a bartender for some time now, and I would be making more if I continued to do so… I decided some time ago that I needed a career change.”

“Any particular reason for that that you would be willing to share?”

Quincy shakes his head, “It’s… a personal matter, and won’t have any bearing on my performance.”

“I see.” she looks back down at his paperwork, “Right then, just a couple more questions.”

Quincy nods.

“Full disclosure before we begin, as you’ve probably already guessed based on aesthetics alone… we are a religious organization, no less legitimate than, say, the catholic church, but not quite so… Mn, prominent.” she says, clearly choosing her words carefully, “Will this be an issue for you, Mr. Byrne? We can assure you, that you needn’t subscribe to our views in order to work in our library, it is merely a matter of comfort for yourself, and to avoid the possibility of you treating our clergy discriminatorily. You may also choose not to answer.”

“I’m not particularly religious.” he replies, “I was raised Christian, but I suppose these days I would be considered an apostate? Yes.”

“And as far as your views on our religion thus far?”

“I will admit I was… taken aback… by what I saw in the foyer, but I have no ill feelings towards the people here.” he thinks back to the kindness he was shown earlier despite his obvious apprehension and doubt, “They, your clergy, have been… nice.”

“That is good to hear.” she says, smiling, though Quincy could have sworn he caught a glimpse of something… dark in her gaze before he spoke.

“Onto the next question: We have several semi-permanent residents here, so it is likely that you will be encountering them quite often-”

The rest of the interview goes…

It goes fine.

Quincy doesn’t have an expectations, but when Imperator quietly leans back in her chair, he thinks he definitely didn’t-

“Can you start tomorrow?”

“Y-Yes, but, don’t you have other applicants to-”

She shakes her head, “You’re the only one who replied, and I think it would be ridiculous to let you go.”

He swallows, “So then… I got the job?”

“Yes.��

Quincy visibly relaxes.

“How about a tour of the building?”

.

.

“And this is the dining hall.” Brother Elijah -the figure who had given him the bear cookies earlier, now dressed in a much less ominous, but still quite formal looking cassock- says, gesturing through the open doors to a surprisingly quaint looking dining room, “If you bring food with you, you can eat it here on your break, or you can take it outside and eat in the courtyard, that’s what a lot of us do when it’s nice outsi- Are you quite alright, Mr. Byrne?”

“This place is… way bigger than I expected.” Quincy breathes, “How are you not tired?”

Brother Elijah sets his hands on his hips, looking confident, “I can run the length of this building three times over in twenty minutes or so.”

“I timed it once out of curiosity!”

“I’m… whoo…” Quincy sits down on a nearby bench, Brother Elijah stands beside him, hands behind his back, “I don’t know when I got so out of shape.”

“Ehn, it happens. Once you hit thirty-five or so-”

Quincy coughs, “I’m twenty-seven.”

Brother Elijah’s eyebrows hit the ceiling, “Really?”

“I don’t know whether or not I should be offended, how old are you that you think thirty-five is old anyway?”

“Forty-eight. I’ll be forty-nine in August.”

Quincy makes a face.

“No…”

“Yes, actually!”

“You look younger than me!”

“I have a great skin care routine.” He shrugs, “I think it’s probably because I still have my hair intact, no gray hairs either… Ah, apologies…”

Quincy runs a hand through his hair, through the white patch in the front, “Ehn, I like my hair.”

An awkward silence fills the space between them.

“Um… Do you… Do you like working here, Brother Elijah?” Quincy asks when he’s finally feeling less winded.

The older man nods, “I’ve been here for quite some time now, and I don’t feel I’ll be leaving anytime soon. I have friends here, and, well, it’s certainly an interesting place to live.”

“You live here, too?”

“Many of us do.” he says, looking a little somber, “Some people come to us because they have nowhere else to go, and others, like myself, simply wanted a fresh start… If I might pry a little, could I ask you something?”

“Mn.” Quincy nods, “Go ahead.”

“Are you at all superstitious, Mr. Byrne?”

“Like, do I believe in ghosts and the supernatural? Or… like fortunes and such?” Quincy asks, crossing his legs, “I’ll admit I enjoy reading my horoscope in the paper now and then, but, well, I’ve never really put much stock in the paranormal.”

“I see.” the man smiles, unlike the sister’s smile, it seems wholly genuine and kind, “And what is your star sign?”

“Capricorn.”

“Ah, yes, the sea goat. An interesting one that, being an earth based sign, yet being depicted by a creature you’d sooner see in the water than on land.” He chuckles, “And what did the paper tell you today?”

“I think it was, ‘Something you lost will be returned to you.’, though it hasn’t happened yet, so…” Quincy shrugs, “Though, I don’t recall anything I could have lost either.”

“Is there anything you were hoping to have given back to you?”

“Nothing immediately comes to mind, no.” He says, standing up slowly, “What about you?”

“Hm?”

“Your star sign?”

“I am a leo, if I’m remembering correctly.”

Quincy hums, “I think your fortune for today was 'A new business venture will yield unexpected results’ or something like that… It’s all a bit silly, huh?”

“Indeed it is.” he laughs, then pauses, holding up a hand, “Listen.”

The sounds of a bell tolling echoes through the halls.

It chimes once.

Twice.

And then a third and finally time.

“3 o'clock on the dot.”

“It’s that late already?” Quincy blinks, “It feels like I only just got here…”

“Do you have somewhere else to be at the moment?”

“No, not really, I, uh, I worked closing at my old job last night.” he explains, “It’s been a while since I’ve really been up and at 'em at this time.”

“Ah, I see. We can finish up the tour when you return tomorrow.”

“Thank you, I look forward to it.”

Despite parting ways with Brother Elijah, Quincy finds himself lingering outside of the abbey, waiting for his ride to show up.

He hadn’t wanted to drive all the way out here in his own car… at least not yet, for a variety of reason, but mostly because he hadn’t wanted her to see him leave, to question where he was going or, worse yet, follow him there.

It would be easier to cuts ties with her, with the rest of them, too, if he could just… disappear.

Truth be told, he’d had to stop himself from asking Brother Elijah how one might go about moving into a place like the abbey.

He’s certain if he asked, he might be understanding of his circumstances, but Quincy…

He’d rather not get into all of that on the first day.

“Just… see if you like it, and go from there.” he tells himself, closing his eyes and letting out a deep exhale, “Just gotta wait it out.”

Checking his phone for the first time in hours, Quincy feels the tension build behind his brow as he sees how many missed calls he has, how many texts…

At some point, he’ll have to decide whether to just block them all or change his number.

Turning off his phone, Quincy sits down on the steps and waits.

It’s oddly peaceful out here, and the air feels crisp and clean.

It’s… it’s nice.

Watching the grass roll on a nearby hill, he can’t help but think…

“Shawn would have liked it here.”

He’s glad when the rain picks back up before the car arrives.

.

.

The abbey’s library is absolutely stunning.

He’d said as much when Brother Elijah brought him there after his interview, and, even now, nearly a month into his work, Quincy finds it just as magnificent and fantastical as the first time.

However…

“20 down, 6 letters, an old English word for church…”

Although Quincy loves the library, it’s not the most lively place.

Clergy come and go, and some linger to study books about this or that, Quincy isn’t sure what the primary focus of their research is, but much of it involves skimming through heavy resource books that are all written in some archaic language he cannot begin to understand.

Thankfully, the spines are labeled in English, or, at the very least, Latin.

A bell tolls, signifying midday, and the assembled clergy begin closing their books, setting them off to the side, shuffling their notes and gathering their belongings to leave.

Quincy nods to them as they depart, and receives small waves and warm smiles in response.

The siblings are always very respectful and polite, to the extent that it makes him a little nervous.

Despite having left the faith years ago, Quincy had grown up Christian, and is still struggling to unlearn the more “us or them” teachings his church had beaten into his head as a child and young teenager.

It is not an easy thing to do, and his mind often swirls with negative thoughts and feelings that he tries not to let color his opinions of the people around him, but he has to try.

Quincy stretches, then stands slowly, rolling up his sleeves.

“Right, let’s get to it…”

Tidying up the library requires Quincy’s full attention, having not fully acquainted himself with the layout, he can easily sort the books themselves by their DDCs but…

“Why are none of these shelves labeled??”

“Mn, I believe it’s because the late Papa Emeritus III found the placards too plain, and thought that they ‘detracted from the aesthetics’…” Brother Elijah had told him during lunch one afternoon, “Which is… funny, considering I do not think he spent much time actually in the library… at least not to utilize the resources there.”

“What was he doing then??” Quincy had questioned, “Just sitting about?”

“Ah, no…” Brother Elijah trailed off, “Well, kind of. He was fond of… roleplay so to speak.”

Quincy is still not entirely sure what he meant by that.

What kind of so-called “roleplay” could you even do in a library??

He’d tried to ask Brother Elijah exactly that, but the older man waved him off, saying it was better if he didn’t know.

The same day, whilst cleaning, Quincy found a desk towards the back of the library, out of view, with… decidedly nail shaped indentations on the surface, as if someone had been gripping it tightly.

He’s still not sure what to do with this information, nor certain how or why he thinks it’s connected to the dead guy’s… roleplay.

Returning to the present, Quincy finds himself on the second floor, a single book remaining in his hands; It’s old and worn, and the sticker label marking where it belongs has long since faded beyond his ability to read.

He flips it open, examining cover to cover trying to find some marker or indication of where it belongs, but everything written inside -and indeed it is written, handwritten in a brownish ink- is in an illegible cursive scrawl.

If he didn’t know better, he’d think he accidentally snatched up one of the siblings’ notebooks, but the book was simply too old for that to be the case.

The paper, the bindings…

It’s a very old tome indeed.

Another bell tolls.

“I’ll figure this out later.” he tells himself, descending the staircase and depositing the book at the front desk beside his crossword puzzle, grabbing his bag and departing from the library… only to find the hallways packed with clergy members and much chatter.

Quincy hops to see over the crowd, but he can barely see passed the wall of people.

“What’s going on?” he asks, tapping the shoulder of a nearby sibling.

“The ghouls have returned!” they announce excitedly, “They’re finally back!”

“The what now?”

“The ghouls!”

Quincy blinks, “That… clears up absolutely nothing.”

“The ghouls are high ranking members of the church.” a now familiar voice explains, “They’re essentially celebrities here.”

Quincy tilts his head up in the crowd, making eye contact with Brother Elijah.

“So they’re kind of like… the 'popular kids’ here then?”

Brother Elijah chuckles, “Mn, not quite. They do have a rather large following, but that’s only natural, they are musicians after all, and everyone gets at least a little excited to see their favorite ones.”

Quincy hops to see over the crowd again, catching a glimpse of… well, more tops of heads, and one face towering above the assembled clergy.

He makes the briefest of eye contact with the man; He’s tall and lean, with a narrow face and long brown hair that looks oh so soft, and when he locks eyes with Quincy, it may be his imagination, but there’s the slightest hint of…

…Anger?

Quincy shivers, grateful, suddenly, for the wall of people between them.

He’s certain the other had scowled upon seeing him.

It could just be nerves, or his mind playing tricks on him and seeing hostility where there is none, but he doesn’t try to jump up to confirm either theory.

“Are you alright?” Brother Elijah asks, peering down at him worriedly.

“Ah, just… wondering when the crowd will clear up.” he says, waving off the other’s concerns, “I wanted to go eat my lunch.”

“If you say so.” he hums, “Here, I’ll clear a path. Stick close.”

With that, Brother Elijah begins pushing his way through the crowd, and Quincy grabs the band around his cassock to keep them tethered together so he doesn’t get lost.

It doesn’t take long before they’ve popped free into the main corridor, taking the opposite path from the… the ghouls?

“W-Why are they called ghouls?” Quincy asks, letting go of Brother Elijah’s belt, “Is that, like, a status thing?”

“In a sense, yes.” he says, smoothing his uniform, “It’s hard to explain, and I’m not entirely sure how much I can tell you about that, honestly.”

“It’s another one of those, 'You have to be in the know.’ kind of deals, yeah?”

He nods.

“It’s better if, for now, you just make yourself aware of their presence and avoid them when you can.” he goes on to say, “They’re not bad people, nor particularly dangerous, but they can be a bit… much.”

“You forget I used to work in a bar, Brother.” Quincy points out, “I’ve likely dealt with similar or even worse.”

“Still… I think it would be better if you didn’t involve yourself with them more than you have to.” the other states, his brow furrowed.

He seems genuinely worried about the idea of him interacting with the ghouls, but that just makes Quincy… curious.

However.

“Mn, I probably won’t see them, so it’s fine.” he says, “One of them, the really tall one, he gave me an odd look and, frankly, I don’t want to find out what it means..."

“Ahh, that would be Mountain… He’s a fairly easygoing person, but he can be rather… abrasive at first.”

“His name is… Mountain?”

“Yes. Actually, all of them have sort of-" Brother Elijah searches for the right word to use, "-nicknames?”

“I se-” Quincy’s stomach growls loudly, cutting himself off.

Brother Elijah smiles.

“Come now, let’s get some food in you.”

.

.

Returning to the library after lunch -mostly simple, easy to eat snacks like fruit or cheese for Quincy, and a sandwich from the kitchen for Brother Elijah- Quincy settles back behind the front desk, pulling out the book from earlier and tries to glean any new information from it that he can.

The letters seem to swirl on the pages nonsensically at first, but the longer he focuses on them, the more recognizable the shapes become.

He can tell which are meant to be lowercase 'q’s, 'p’s, 'g’s, and 'y’s now at the very least.

But none of the words are familiar to him.

He sets the book down again, taking out his crossword again.

“13 across, 7 letters, a rumbling during a storm…”

“Thunder.” a low voice booms, “…do you always do puzzles while working?”

Quincy startles, almost falling out of his chair, but a long arm reaches across the desk, grabbing the back of it.

"Ah."

Quincy's eyes widen.

"You should be more careful."

It's... it's the man from before.

It's Mountain.

"I-I'm sorry-"

“You need not apologize to me.” the tall man sighs, “But, really, you should pay more attention to your surroundings, how could you not hear me come in?”

Quincy squirms in his seat, he feels like a little kid caught doing something wrong.

“I… I was distracted.”

“Yes, by your puzzle.” he states coolly, gesturing at the paper, now spread out across the floor behind the desk, dropped in his fright.

“I’m sorry.” he apologizes again, “I-I… were you trying to get my attention? I’m sorry…”

Mountain frowns, righting the chair and pulling Quincy back towards the desk in one fluid motion.

Why is he so strong??

Why is he so… fucking tall??

Quincy gulps.

“I just wanted to say hello, but you seemed to be off in your own little world, so I thought I might snap you back to reality before someone more important found you goofing off on the job.” he chastises, clicking his teeth for emphasis, “You haven’t been here nearly long enough to get away with this sort of thing, so you have to be careful, yes?”

Quincy nods quickly, “Yes, Sir.”

Mountain’s face contorts more, if possible, becoming even more annoyed.

“Don’t call me 'sir’.”

“What… what should I call you then?” he asks, side-eyeing the massive hand still latched to the back of the chair.

“Mountain.”

“Mountain… I’m…”

“Quincy Byrne.” Mountain drawls, tilting his nametag upwards with a single, large finger from his free hand, “I want us to be friends, so, be careful not to get yourself into trouble, alright?”

Friends?

He-

With that, Mountain releases him, standing to his full height, and ascends the stairs to the second floor, leaving Quincy to babble uselessly.

“What.”

What was that?!

Despite Mountain having righted his chair before leaving him, Quincy still bails out onto the floor with a loud crash.

“Ow…”

“…Are you alright?” Mountain calls from the upstairs railing.

“Y-Yeah, I’m great.”

Quincy sits on the floor for a moment, trying to regain his composure.

What even…

Grabbing his paper from the floor, Quincy goes to stand, bumping his head on the underside of the desk.

Thud.

A loud sigh echoes through the silence of the library.

Oi.

“Be quiet down there, some of us are actually trying to get work done.”

Quincy bristles, “I-”

“Shhhh-”

Did he just shush him???

Ugh…

Quincy picks up his chair and sits back down, about to toss his paper in the bin, when…

“Oh, 20 down…”

“Cirice.” Mountain says from somewhere above, “And do learn to read in your head.”

Quincy bites his tongue to keep from screaming.

[apureniallsource]

It was a whirlwind 24 hours for Niall Horan as he touched down in Ireland for a very quick trip. So quick in fact, he didn’t even get a chance to swing home to see his family in Mullingar.

“If I had more time, I’d see everyone. It’s hard when you’re only an hour away from home but I’ll be back over the summer,” he tells us.

Life on the road is all he’s known for the last decade. Since launching into superstardom with One Direction in 2010, he’s been all over the world, playing the biggest stadiums and venues to millions of fans. Now out on his own, he’s soaring once again with his solo career and his third album, The Show has landed.

To celebrate, he performed an incredibly intimate gig at Fuel on Camden Street to roughly 50 people, before sitting down with us the next morning for a catchup.

Here, Niall opens up about music, mental health and famous mates – oh and, of course, those relentless 1D reunion rumours, too!

Niall, welcome home! How are you? How does it feel to be back?

Ah, I’m grand! I went for two pints last night in town. I had to have a Guinness because I do a lot of travelling and it’s not always great abroad! I kept it chill though! If I had more time, I’d see everyone and I’d probably go home. It’s hard when you’re only an hour away but I’ll be back over the summer.

Obviously we’re here to chat about the new album, The Show. Talk to us about the inspiration behind it.

When you’re not writing heartbreak-y type songs, you obviously need another angle and I’m in a good place now, so I decided I could write about the ups and downs of life. The way the world was turning when I was writing the album was a big part of it. When the pandemic happened and all of the control was taken away from us, we were like deers caught in the headlights. We didn’t know what to do! What I say in The Show is that if everything was always easy and nothing ever broke, how would we realise how good we have it? That line inspired me to write the rest of the record.

Your latest single Meltdown is a bit more upbeat in tempo and different to what we’re used to hearing from you. Can we expect more of that from the album?

No, don’t expect anything else actually [laughs]. It’s by far the fasted song by about 100 beats per minute. I write a lot of songs about feeling anxious but they’re usually ballads and that’s not the tempo of what’s going on in your head at the time, so I knew I needed to write something faster. But, there’s not a lot of that on the album.

When you experience those feelings of anxiousness and unease, does writing help you deal with it?

I wouldn’t say I’m an overly anxious person, but we all have those moments and it could be over anything. In Meltdown, it’s more about knowing that everything will be fine.

When it comes to your fanbase, is it important to try normalise those feelings and show they can happen to everyone, even you?

It’s all relative; feelings like that. It’s the world we live in. It’s becoming more prevalent that people talk about it. No matter what I’m writing about, I’ll always try to write introspectively whilst keeping it as relatable as possible. That’s what we get out of music, isn’t it? We attach to singers who write about how we feel and that can be said for me too. There are artists who I listen to and who I get the same feelings from, too.

Other than your singles, what were your other favourite songs on the album?

Probably On A Night Like Tonight, –I love it. Also, Start A Cult, too. I just love how it sounds really dark but it’s not. I’m sure there’ll be all sorts of theories flying around, but that’s what makes songwriting so interesting — you can have a title that dark and make it the complete opposite.

Speaking of theories, what’s the strangest one you’ve heard?

Oh, if you just sat on Twitter for ten minutes! I’m so used to it now though. I began my career at the start of social media; I’ve seen it all! I couldn’t even pick one out, there’s some mad stuff going on!

We’d well believe it! Tell us Niall, you’re heading back on the road but how do you feel about the new tour?!

Touring is my absolute favourite thing in the world to do, if I could just constantly tour, I would. I haven’t done any shows since 2018!

You’ve played the smallest gigs with 50 people in a room, but then also sold-out stadium tours around the world. Do you have a preference?

Bigger the better! I was nervous yesterday playing that show on Camden St! I perform much better in a bigger room. I love when people can just be themselves and lose the plot at gigs. People just forget about what’s going on in their lives, well not forget, but leave it at home for an hour. I love that.

Obviously, the One Direction reunion rumours never quit, is there any truth to them though?

There’s nothing going on that I know of. We’re still really close, we’re very supportive of each other and we keep in touch a lot. It’s as good as it can be for people who don’t get to see each other very often.

We can see that you and Lewis Capaldi are such good mates, but is it hard to make friends in the industry?

I generally don’t look for them in the music industry. I’ve no interest in just becoming friends with famous people to be honest with you. I think everyone has this assumption that famous people are all friends for no other reason than the fact they’re famous, personalities don’t even come into the conversation. I’d say I have two or three famous friends.

Are you still really close with your pals from home?

Oh yeah! That’s why I don’t really have many famous friends – I don’t need loads of new friends. But myself and Lewis are great!

Is there anyone in the industry you’d like to collab with? We know you’re a Taylor Swift fan, would you ever work together?

Oh yeah! I’d love to! She knows where I am, she’s got my number! I love this new girl, Lizzy McAlpine, she’s class! She has a song called Ceilings out at the moment and it’s unreal. All the women in music at the moment are unbelievable. Maggie Rogers, Olivia Rodrigo, Taylor, I’ve done stuff with Julia Michaels before, Anne-Marie… I think Olivia, Olivia would be great!

We’ve seen a lot of singers go down different paths in their career, would you every think about heading down a different route?

I never thought I’d do The Voice and I’m doing that now. It’s one of those things which just came up. I do struggle on music videos and stuff like that, it’s a lot of stopping and starting and waiting. I can’t imagine doing that for three months shooting a film. I don’t know how good I’d be at acting either or if I can act! If some big director came to me and said, I think you’d be good [at this role], I’d probably get some confidence from that and give it a go!

So you’re not going to appear on Fair City any time soon?

No, you won’t be seeing myself and Mondo! [bursts into laughter].

[office-worker-91]

Infinity Train Fear and Hunger AU Snippet 4

(Tw: Mentions of lost limbs and injuries)

The three of them together fell into a rhythm before they could even realize what was happening. Of course, the dungeons constantly kept them on their toes. There wasn't a moment when they weren't hiding or running from some new monstrosity they hadn't seen before, or finding themselves in a deeper or more disturbing part of the place.

Even so, Lake was happy. At least, comparable to how their life had been going so far. They took up the name MT (short for Mirror Tulip, but Jesse didn't have to know that), and while they certainly weren't comfortable with it, it was a name, an identity, and one they had control over. And they never realized just how much they were lacking companionship until Jesse and Alan Dracula came around.

Lake's initial assertion on Jesse was partially correct. He was a bit of an airhead who was definitely way out of his depth. As the trio staggered into the mines, injured but on their feet, Lake had to comfort Jesse (poorly, in their opinion), who wasn't able to dress his own wounds and wasn't used to combat. Still, he was a great companion in the sense that he had an excellent attitude, better than Lake's, despite not being born in the dungeons. If Lake hadn't seen him doing his best to shake off the attack of a weird winged cave lady, they'd think it was out of naivety. But Jesse was just a really strong person.

He also checked up on them a lot, which wasn't something they were used to. If they had just narrowly outrun something, he'd check to make sure they were "okay." They hadn't even thought about being "okay" and "not okay" until he asked for the first time. When they stopped for a rest, Jesse would quietly hum a small, directionless tune that exuded a positivity they hadn't thought possible in the dungeon. He cracked jokes, and even though nobody had ever told them a joke before him, they were sure that the jokes were cheesy and painfully unfunny. When he laughed it came out steady and warm. When Lake narrowly avoided a hole in the floor, he hugged them. Lake hadn't been hugged before, either. He told them about his life outside, about his parents and his little brother and his weird obsession with swimming, which, due to Tulip's inactive lifestyle, was something Lake didn't even know people could do. By the end of the first week, they were convinced that he had to be taken back home. Jesse said once "we" escape he can introduce them to his favorite lake. They thought about the outside, and Tulip's few memories of the sun. The word "we" echoed throughout their head for a long time.

And of course, there was Alan Dracula. Lake still thought the name was dumb, but both they and he said it with so much affection that it automatically grew on them. The deer was certainly odd, but then again, what wasn't weird in the dungeons? They came to interpret his empty, unknowable gazes as being kind yet spaced-out. And though Alan Dracula seemed like a regular deer, he still followed them around, and had a knack for getting the two out of intense situations. He rammed Lake full-force with his horns, which hurt quite a bit but ended up saving them from falling into the lower floors of the dungeon. He ran from danger and seemingly abandoned Jesse to being captured by a masked cult, but this led to its members chasing after him, leaving the place much more empty and giving Lake the chance to strike. When the two escaped, Alan Dracula mysteriously found and rejoined them, as if nothing had happened.

The dungeons were terrible, but they had ALWAYS been terrible, ever since Lake's "birth." And the last two weeks had been the best time of their short life.

Things changed when they found a large door.

This wouldn't have been too strange. So far, the dungeon had prisons, flesh tunnels, caves, mines, a giant hollowed out tree, and probably a million other weird places that they had been lucky enough to avoid.

But this place was different. The three were forced inside when one of those inhuman guards noticed their presence.

It was pristine. The room they were in almost resembled a temple, perfectly preserved. Odd, but considering they were immediately accosted by strange multi-armed monsters wielding blow darts, no one had time to think about it. The trio ran deeper and deeper into the temple, Lake assuming things would get darker and darker.

They were then overwhelmed by light.

A whole city. Buildings towering to the... "sky?" That held a... was that what the sun looked like? There were no people below, in the streets. An overwhelming feeling clanged violently against Lake's skull.

They shouldn't be here. This place wasn't for them.

Jesse stared down in awe, his mouth hanging open slightly. Lake got the impression he was getting the same feeling. And yet...

Jesse wordlessly turned and started walking toward the city.

Lake scrambled after him, trying to tell him that he was crazy and they needed to go back. Any weird monster they'd ran from before was a whole lot better than whatever could lie down there. Jesse argued weakly that because this place LOOKED like it was outside, it might hold the answer to escaping the dungeons. Lake groaned, trying and failing to express the overwhelming feeling of NOPE coming from this place, but Jesse was weirdly insistent that they continue. This wasn't like him.

Still, Jesse knew more about the surface than Lake. Maybe that feeling was just something they felt as a mons- as someone who was born in the dungeons. So, reluctantly, they followed him, Alan Dracula close behind.

The next day is a blur. In the beginning, floating images of the new gods themselves appeared before the two. Jesse pressed on. Lake followed. They encountered even stranger creatures than they had in the other parts of the dungeons. Usually running from the monsters. One time they fought a big hulking one and almost died multiple times, both only saved by Alan Dracula. Jesse pressed on. Lake followed.

Jesse was no longer whistling when they were alone. He was checking if Lake was okay, but half-heartedly. He scratched behind Alan Dracula's ears absent-mindedly as he rummaged through bookshelf after chest after bookshelf, with an almost frantic energy.

Before Lake could confront him, he loudly celebrated as he pulls a scroll out of a chest. His eyes looked manic as he read aloud the scroll, dedicated to the goddess Sylvian. When he finished, his eyes sparkled and he ran up to Lake, holding up one of their arms, still injured from the previous fight, that hadn't been healed to ration medical supplies. He leaned close and whispered into their ear, encouraging, almost loving. Lake felt something warm flow through them, which was normal with Jesse, but this was different. They felt their injuries mend and disappear, almost at will.

However, the scratches and slashes on their metal skin still prevailed. They felt no pain and were no longer injured, but there were still dents and indents in their arm.

All at once, Jesse collapsed to the ground, looking exhausted.

Lake had enough of this. As gently as they possibly could, seeing Jesse look so devastated, they asked what was wrong. Jesse broke fast.

He hadn't gotten lost and stumbled into the dungeon. He'd come here willingly. He needed healing magic for his little brother, the one he'd told Lake so much about while resting in little peaceful moments they could afford. It was his fault, and while Lake assumed it couldn't have been, that Jesse was just being hard on himself, Jesse assured them with conviction and lucidity that, no. It was *definitely* his fault. He was fooling around with his friends, and Nate... The spell Jesse had just acquired could heal injuries but couldn't return lost flesh. So Jesse had to keep going and find something else.

At first, Lake was understandably angry, and they weren't afraid to show it. Jesse had essentially driven them way deeper than they would've ever dared to delve into the dungeons. He had lied to them about moving towards a possible way out. But one tearful apology later, and Lake suddenly wasn't as angry.

Jesse told Lake that they and Alan Dracula should leave him here. He needs to stay, but they don't. They can head back up where it's safe... or safer, at least. But Lake turns Jesse's words back on him. "WE'RE leaving together." Lake tells him that there's no way losing his brother in the infamous dungeons of fear and hunger is going to make him feel better about his arm, and that any possible magic that could recreate flesh may very well be even deeper than they are now. And they couldn't keep their current pace up. Not down here.

Jesse tries to fight it, but he knows they're right. He once more asks if they're sure they don't wanna leave him, and Lake just says that Alan Dracula wouldn't let them. It only gets a small chuckle, but the tension is broken.

Leaning on each other after a long day, they head out of the building they were in, only to find that Alan Dracula had, independently of them, already started walking away from the strange underground city, and Jesse and Lake had to run to catch up with him.

[thirddeadlysin]

7, 12, 21, 27 💚

for the sleepover meme

7. your favourite board game

idk if people are familiar with it but growing up we had a weird strategy board game called Pente that's like a cross between Go and Tic Tac Toe or Connect Four, kind of? our version by Parker Brothers looks like this (not my photo):

I haven't played it in years but my sister and I spent literal hours with it as kids and I can still feel and taste and hear the game pieces (they were actual glass, not resin, and no I won't explain why I know what they taste like)

12. if you could make a candle that smelt like anything, what would you pick?

THE SEA

I actually do have a candle from Bath and Body Works that smells like an upscale cologne had a baby with a sea breeze that I love so much I scoured the internet for more when they discontinued it (it's a dark grey jar candle and I'm literally huffing it right now)

21. a youtube video you find useful, entertaining or relaxing

OH MY GOD HAVE I SPREAD THE GOSPEL OF THE FACIAL DRAINAGE MASSAGE BY MASSAGEBYHEATHER

so I have primary lymphedema that moved to phase 2 when I had a hilarious combination of immune system hits all within like a five week period this spring (unconfirmed covid + weekly allergy shots + some dermatology stuff + turns out my body freaked out about the birth control implant + i got bitten by deer flies like a million times + some other stuff) that I have to treat with many-times-a-day lymphatic massage (and also do gua sha with a ~fancy stone~ but that's because I'm an Old and have one wrinkle that bothers me and also am trying to actually take care of my skin now after a lifetime of neglect) but this is the OG that a friend told me about years ago when I had a massive sinus infection and I do it about once a week because holy shit it's magic

27. your favourite flavour and brand of tea

i answered this one earlier but went in the kitchen and my current teas are some organic loose leaf blends from Aqua Moon Cult! they are supposedly formulated for your sun sign, which I don't think are correct because my sister's is called Bone Thug and she doesn't even like Bone Thugs-n-Harmony a tenth as much as I do

[thekimspoblog]

To spite the film being drenched in themes of fatalism, determinism, and self-fulfilling prophecy, it's pretty important to my headcanon that the Paimon cult is not all-powerful!

I mean they messed up! Ellen was grooming Peter as a vessel, but Annie ran away before he was born, and it took years to overcome that failure. The anaphylaxis, the dead deer causing Peter to swerve, it was a million to one shot this Rube-Goldberg went off as planned.

I think it's pretty clear Joan's knowledge of the god she's worshipping is actually quite limited. And even the blue light which seems to cause other supernatural events, it doesn't play by Annie's rules, but it does obey rules! The whole reason for this convoluted plan was because the demon had to be invited into the house.

And I really want to believe that instead of your conventional biblical End of Days, the cult actually disintegrated after Peter joined. The supernatural forces don't obey their every whim, and without Ellen's leadership, there's bound to be infighting. Plus I have to believe Peter's still in there somewhere.

[thelensofyashunews]

SEMATARY SHARES NEW VIDEO SINGLE "WENDIGO"

The Northern California-based experimental rapper and producer, Sematary has just released his new single “WENDIGO” and accompanying music video. The new release follows Sematary’s recent collaboration with Chief Keef and Hackle on “Fuck the World” from the forthcoming FTP mixtape. As the founder and leader of the Haunted Mound collective, Sematary has gained a massive cult-like fan base since releasing his pioneering debut mixtape, Rainbow Bridge in 2019 which accumulated over 50 Million streams and was championed by the likes of Anthony Fantano, Paste Magazine and No Bells. Pushing the boundaries of rap music, Sematary’s dark and experimental sound combines sonic elements of 2010’s Chicago Drill, Witch House, and SoundCloud-era Trap music with haunting visual aesthetics and “deep-fried” imagery evoking a feeling of rural American decay. With his new single “WENDIGO”, Sematary maintains the dark and ominous aspects of his signature identity while entering new sonic territory with new wave-inspired production, featuring a shoegaze guitar riff and synth pop drums. The track’s title, “WENDIGO” is a reference to the North American Algonquian-speaking First Nation word that describes an ancient mythical deer god that possesses a desire to kill and eat their victims due to their greed or weakness. Likening himself to the folklore, Sematary delivers a track that doubles as a love song while simultaneously cursing out the subject for not having faith in their love.

Sematary’s new single arrives on the heels of a career minting year in 2023 in which he surpassed X million streams, performed at Lyrical Lemonade’s Summer Smash Festival, toured as direct support on $uicideboy$Grey Day stadium tour, and dropped collaborative records with BLP KOSHER as well as BLACK KRAY. Best known for his popular tracks like “Bunny Suit” (13M+ Streams) and “Slaughter House” (12M+ Streams), as well as his recent collaborations, Sematary’s new video single “WENDIGO” effectively marks a new chapter for the Haunted Mound leader. As he continues to lean into his distorted sound and harsh aesthetics, Sematary is kicking off 2024 by revitalizing the very sound that he’s pioneered, stretching his vocal performances and brazen production style to new heights. Contributing to his mercurial status as the pioneer of a burgeoning underground scene, Sematary and his Haunted Mound collective are looking forward to sharing more music and news soon.

[curiositydooropened]

Lemonade

A look at your week in Hawkins, soaking up the summer sun with your newfound friends. A follow-up to Chamomile.

Pairing: Steve Harrington x female!reader

Wordcount: 22,214

Warnings: slowburn, angst, hurt/comfort, pining, angst with a happy ending, unrequited Ronance, recreational drug use, underaged drinking, sex, gun use, canon-typical violence

No tag list! xo

Chamomile • Masterlist

---

Eddie’s cabin, if you could call it a cabin - more like a shack, sat in a clearing off-the-beaten path. Dilapidated was a good word to use, the timber siding had seen better days, exterior windows boarded. By the looks of it, something had torn through the roof and through the walls, and those had been patched just as haphazardly. If it weren’t for Robin and Nancy’s adamant reassurance that you were safe, you would have assumed they’d dragged you somewhere abandoned for ritual sacrifice.

“Ah, so we’re going to indoctrinate her into the cult?” Eddie greeted from the top step, barefoot and baggy-pantsed, shaggy hair bouncing in excitement, tatted and scarred arms folded cooly over his chest. 

“Eddie,” Nancy shushed him, carrying her handful of grocery bags up the stairs. “What if she escapes and tells the police?” 

Eddie grinned and extended a hand to you, which you took, cool steel tickling your fingertips. “She wouldn’t tell on little ole me, would you sweetheart?” And he gave you a little bow as you approached the top step, pressing plump lips to your knuckles. 

You shrugged. “Depends. What kind of benefits do I get for joining?” You waggled your eyebrows, and Eddie let out a long whistle. 

“Damn, Harrington was right. You’re feisty.”

You were grateful for Eddie’s lead indoors, face heating at the comment. Steve had talked about you, but not to you in the last month. He’d known you were going to show up, and Robin made about a million and three excuses when you had arrived, promising that Steve’s been busy with work and that he’d join you all at Eddie’s the following evening, a fact that had brought more anxiety lurching in your stomach than ever before.

You entered Eddie’s little home with your breath held, half-expecting for Steve to be there, stretched along the length of the polyester couch, but he wasn’t. Instead, you were exposed to a quaint little room, littered with heavy metal memorabilia and empty soda cans and candy wrappers, all juxtaposed with a taxidermied deer on the opposing wall. The room smelled of Eddie, cedar and leather and smoke, and you tried to ignore the pressing anxiety at Steve’s absence while Eddie offered you a seat on the sofa. 

“Beer?” Nancy called from the kitchen, shuffling away the grocery shop she’d made before picking you and Robin up.

Robin was two steps ahead of her, standing near the open refrigerator door with hands outstretched. Nancy made to toss the cans before she noticed Robin, and you witnessed and awkward moments of oops, sorrys and it’s okays. You pinched back a knowing smile before catching Eddie’s eye. He was grinning ear-to-ear.

“So you look nice…” His tongue wet plump lips and he gave you a once over. 

You tugged subconsciously on the soft chiffon of your shirt. Maybe you’d gone a bit overboard. You just wanted to look good, make that stupid boy recognize what he’d been missing. 

“She dressed up for Steve,” Robin explained, popping the tab on her beer as she tossed yours into your lap.

“Robin!” You squawked. 

“And now here I was, hoping you’d dressed up for little ole me,” Eddie smirked again, throwing his legs sideways over the battered armchair across from you. 

“Maybe I was.” You sneered at Robin, who kicked you with the toe of her sneaker, a soft smile on her cherry lips. 

“Don’t stroke his ego too much,” Nancy commented, neatly folding paper bags against the countertop. “That’s why his hair’s so big.” 

“Rude, Wheeler.” Eddie retorted, flipping her the bird over the top of the chair. She just snorted, shook her head, and he turned his gaze back to you, fiddling his rings with the opposite hand. “I’m sorry if my compliments make you uncomfortable. I’ve just seen way too much of these assholes for the last month, and I’m starved for intelligent conversation.” He explained.

“Intelligent conversation, my ass, Munson,” Robin laughed. “Every time we come over, you won’t shut up about Metallica.” 

“And you’re welcome,” Eddie pointed a finger her direction.

You laughed, popped the tab on your beer and sipped the bit of foam bubbling out. “I’m afraid I have nothing to offer in a conversation about Metallica,” you shrugged. “But I did finish the Silmarillion.” 

Eddie sat upright, feet to the floor, elbows on his knees, leaned across the small space. He was all big, brown eyes and shaggy hair, and he whispered. “Will you marry me?” 

—

With thrown garbage and boos, Nancy and Robin ceased your nerd conversation with Eddie so you could all catch-up and enjoy each other’s company. Nancy was writing for the paper. Robin got a job at a local music store, teaching trumpet lessons. Eddie worked as a night janitor for a lab. You vaguely remembered hearing about the lab and some sort of chemical leak, but decided not to bring it up. Eddie was busy, anyway, dodging teasing comments about his uniform from the girls. 

An hour or so had passed, and your cheeks tingled from a light buzz, and you felt warm and happy to be around friends again, and all of that faded from your body the moment you heard tires rolling onto the gravel drive. 

“Must be the po-po,” Eddie laughed, acoustic guitar strung over his lap. He strummed mindlessly, a progression of chords you were familiar with, but fingering foreign to you. Although, all you could really hear was the reverberations of your heartbeat in your skull. 

“Damn. Just before the ritual sacrifice,” Robin toed at you again, and you offered a weak smile. She grinned and leaned over to squeeze your forearm with her hand. “It’s fine.” She whispered. You wondered if she could feel the nerves radiating off of you.

Boots steps creaked the front stairs, and the door handle turned, and in walked Steve Harrington, in all his blue polyester glory. A chorus of greetings were thrown his direction, and he lobbed them off with a soft wave. God, he looked exhausted. Broad shoulders slumped, dark bags beneath his eyes. His jawline and upper lip were speckled with the softest of stubble.

He b-lined it for the kitchen, pulling a beer from the fridge and popping it open, chugging half with the door open before he sighed and wiped the foam off the corners of his mouth with the back of his hand. 

“That bad, huh?” Robin offered. 

Steve sighed, ran a hand through his hair, a bit greasier than you’d seen it. “Yeah, sorry. I’m just tired.” 

“Any exciting calls at work today?” Eddie continued his strum. 

Steve crossed to the seat just beside Eddie, a metal lawn chair, and sunk into it. He hid his face in his hands and stretched his leg out until his boot touched the toe of your sneaker. You held your breath, staring at the connection point, and then at him, waiting for him to notice. He didn’t. He just mumbled. “Well, I uh… got a call today that someone was vandalizing Palace Arcade.”

Robin snorted. “Bet Keith loved that.” 

Steve shot her a look, but he noticed you beside her. His gaze flitted to yours. You held your breath, fingers slipping from the sides of your can. The corner of his mouth upturned in the slightest way, and his own fingers lifted from his beer can in a greeting, but before you could respond, he’d gathered his attention back on Robin, back on his story. “Oh yeah, Keith loved to tell me that my favorite red-headed brat in a wheelchair was spray painting dicks on the side of his dad’s building.” 

“Holy shit,” Nancy sputtered her beer. 

“Fucking metal,” Eddie laughed, strumming to accentuate his point.

“Yeah, tell me about it,” Steve ran a through his hair. “Only it’s not metal when they want to press charges, and I’m having to handcuff a girl in a wheelchair for the third time this summer. And fucking Max makes me feel like shit about it too. The second we’re in the back of the cruiser, she reminds me that it’s bullshit they aren’t handicap accessible, and like I agree with her, obviously! And it’s like our fault she’s in the damn chair to begin with.” 

“Steve,” Robin whispered, and something fell between them, between all of them, and once again, you were the outcast. You were just a stranger among family members. 

Eddie stretched a hand over to jostle Steve’s shoulder, give it a squeeze. Steve released a shaky sigh into his hand. You sunk further into your corner of the couch, wishing nothing more than to be swallowed up. The weight of Steve’s boot felt heavier against your toes, backing your foot into the tattered upholstery. You glanced sideways at Robin, and then at Nancy, who was staring at you with pinched eyebrows. She stood from her seat abruptly and wiped dust off her thighs. 

“Steve, can I speak with you outside for a minute?”

Steve glanced from her, quickly to you, and back before he groaned and lifted himself from his chair. The two of them exited the cabin, and the moment the door closed, you chugged the last of your drink. 

“Thank God,” Eddie smiled, depositing his guitar back on the ground beside himself. He clapped his hands together and leaned toward you again. “So the Silmarillion…” 

You managed a half-hearted chuckle, but Robin’s fingertips making circles on your forearm brought the tickle of emotion to your throat. You waved her off and shook your head. “Guys, I’m fine. Really. He clearly had a long day. We’ve all been there. Also like what was I expecting?” 

“A white horse,” Eddie pointed out. “Sweep you off your feet. Hurried sex in the backset of his car.” 

“Eddie!” Robin gasped, scandalized.

But you laughed, shrugged. “Something like that.” 

“Well, if you’d like to stay, I can offer you two of three.” Eddie flashed you his canines, and you snorted, tossing your empty can at him. Droplets of beer soaked into the denim of his knee. 

Your name, called softly from the doorway, startled you all, and you looked up to see Nancy reentering the room with an all-too-pleased look on her face. She gave you wide eyes and scooted in tight to Robin. Just beyond her, Steve leaned in the doorway, sunset honeying the flyaways of his hair. He waved, beckoned with soft fingers. You swallowed and stood to join him, flipping off the oohs and ahs you received from the peanut gallery. 

You stepped out onto the porch, wood groaning beneath your feet. Your heart thundered in your ears again, dizzying, the sunset just beyond Steve’s silhouette blinding you. Had it really gotten that late? You felt soft fingertips curl into your hand, bringing you closer, and you angled yourself to look at him, brown eyes, divot in his nose, pink lips. 

“Hi,” he muttered, and you managed to whisper it back. The hand not holding yours found your waist. “I’m sorry.” 

You shrugged. “S’okay.” 

He shook his head. “No. I’ve been an asshole. Work has just been… chaotic. Not that that’s an excuse.” He winced. 

You nodded, gave his hand a squeeze. “You’re taking care of yourself though, right?” 

He blew out a laugh. “Too busy taking care of the whole damn town.” 

You didn’t like the wry tone to his voice, this hero complex he’d built for himself.“Steve.” 

He looked at you, a deep sadness in his eyes you didn’t think you’d ever seen, and he swallowed. “You know that girl, Max? The one in the wheelchair?”

You shrugged, remembering the conversation from minutes ago. You didn’t think you’d ever met Max. 

“Well, it’s like… she’s such a little badass. She’s so smart, hell way smarter than me, but she’s been through so much shit in her life, and I just wish I could help her, you know? But all I can seem to do is yell at her, throw handcuffs on her.” He ran a hand down his exhausted face. “I’m sorry. I just… I feel responsible for her.” 

“You care,” you nodded. “Something I’ve noticed about you.”

He snorted. 

“Hey,” you ducked your head until he met your gaze again. “If I see it, she does.”

“Would you want to come over tomorrow?” He asked, changing the subject, a familiar twinkle fading back into his amber eyes. “It’s supposed to be hot. I’ve got a pool.” 

“I’ll ask Robin.” 

He stopped you then, thumb drawing circles against your wrist. “I was kind of hoping for some alone time?” You stomach swooped at that, and he must have heard the sharp intake of breath because he quickly scrambled for clarification. “I meant time with you. I was hoping to spend time with you. Without those… assholes.” He gestured vaguely within the cabin.

You snorted, nodded. “I’d like that.” 

The softest of smiles cast across his features. “Yeah? I’ll pick you up around noon? You’re staying at Robin’s right?” 

You shrugged. “Eddie offered to show me a good time. Might stay here.” 

Steve’s jaw slammed shut at that. “I’ll kill him.” 

—

Steve arrived a little after noon, and you’d have been irritated were it not for the softness of his shoulders, the sleep crusting his eyelashes. He still had a pillow creased tinged pink against his right cheek. Robin had teased him for it, tugged out the wrinkles of his polo, told him to shape up and take good care of her friend. He apologized to you about twenty-five times on the way to his house, but you sighed into the plush interior of his car, all bergamot and chamomile, and let your hand ride lazily out the passenger’s side window, bumping in the summer breeze. 

The sun was high in the sky and it was hot, as promised, the sheen of sweat licking at the hairs on the base of Steve’s neck, and yours, and your thighs stuck together until he pried them apart, a confident palm to your skin there. You buzzed with it, sunk deeper into the seat, adjusted your hips until his hand slid a couple inches higher.

He had to release you to downshift, turning into the ritzy streets of his neighborhood, and your skin tingled, craving his touch again. He pulled into his driveway and offered lazy smiles as he led you up the stone path to his double front doors. 

The Harrington Home had really changed in six months, not that that should alarm you. New furniture, a new set-up. Peering down the hall, you noticed the entertainment center on the opposite wall, a new L-shaped sofa garnering new throw cushions. You allowed Steve to take you by the hand to lead you toward the backyard. You were stopped by a melodic call from the staircase. 

“Steven, is that you?” 

Steve tucked you behind him, turned back to face the stairs. “Yeah, Ma, it’s me.” He called. 

“Oh, I thought you’d gone to work already.” 

You turned to see Mrs. Harrington approach, the picture of perfection. Designer dress suit, brooches, the fattest diamond you’d ever seen as she reached to cup Steve’s cheek in a beautiful French-tipped hand. She smudged at the crease on his cheek.

He squirmed from her grasp. “No work today, just um…” He allowed you to peak out from behind his shoulder, introduced you to his mother. He introduced you as a friend of Robin and Nancy’s from school, and you tried not to deflate at the descriptors. 

“Well, a friend of Nancy Wheeler’s is a friend of ours,” she gripped your hand tightly, resolute, and her red lips turned up just so at the corner. She was an intimidating woman, but soft in all the right spots. She was lanky, like Steve, all legs and long limbs. He had her smile, her round eyes, the softest bits of him. “Are you coming to the party on the Fourth?” 

You glanced sideways at Steve, who offered owl eyes and the slightest of shakes to his hair, and you shrugged, smiling back at Mrs. Harrington. “Maybe.” 

“Oh, good. I love fresh meat.” She waggled her eyebrows and flashed her canines. Steve got that from her too.

“Ma,” he groaned. 

She swatted at his forearm. “I’m teasing. Alright, alright I’ll get out of your hair. Dad’s at the club, so you know he’ll be out all day.” She threw in an eye roll for effect. “I’m going to the store to pick up stuff for the party. Any special requests?” 

Steve shook his head. “The usual.” 

“Got it, sweetie. What are you two up to?” 

“Just going to use the pool.” 

“Well be careful,” she smudged a red stained kiss to his cheekbone, used her thumb to scrub it off. “Wear sunscreen. Don’t worry, dear,” she turned to you. “My baby is a certified lifeguard and swim team co-captain.” 

“Ma!” 

“Okay, okay. I’m out of here.” She gave your wrist a little squeeze and offered a wink before she floated out of the room. “Love you!” She called, and Steve returned the gesture in exasperation before tugging you outside with him.

The Harrington’s backyard didn’t feel as glamorous as the interior of their house. A slab of pavement run around a kidney shaped pool, everything sun kissed through the filter of trees just on the other side of a large fence, the woods beyond. There were a handful of chaise lounges, one you thumped your bag onto while Steve picked up an oversized net and started ridding the water’s surface of pine needles and water skippers. The tiniest sliver of grass buzzed with crickets and grasshoppers and cicadas.

You wore your swimsuit beneath your clothes, but the thought of stripping down here, in the open, had you suddenly gun-shy. You instead opted to sit on the foot of a lounger and peel off your sandals. The sun-warmed concrete was hot against the pads of your feet, that cool, blue water all the more enticing.

“Your mom seems nice,” you offered when he’d finished his task and met you at the poolside. 

He sunk into his own lounger with a snort, running his hand through his hair. “Can’t believe you agreed to go to her party.” 

“You didn’t warn me!” You laughed, swatted at his thigh.

“I gave you the look!” And he channeled it again, wide-eyed, brows so high they wrinkled his forehead.

You rolled your eyes and shook your head, glancing back around the barren surroundings. You felt his gaze on you, softer now, and went you met it, you saw the faintest of smirks on the corner of his lips. His eyes swept your face, your lips, down your front, and back. He pulled himself upright to sit across from you, knees touching. You felt stifled in the proximity, lungs at capacity, air lighter at this altitude. God, that pool sounded nice. “Co-captain of the swim team, huh?” 

“Go Tigers,” he snorted, but he placed his hand on your bare thigh again, just to your left side, fingertips tickling as they trailed from your knee to the hem of your shorts. Your skin pebbled despite how flushed you felt. 

“Why don’t you show me your moves?” You breathed. And suddenly brave, you lifted yourself to your feet and pulled your tank top over your head. You discarded it on top of your bag, feeling exposed and on fire under Steve’s heady gaze. He looked up at you through long eyelashes, your thighs at eye level, and you swallowed back the tightness in your throat while you unbuttoned the fly of your denim shorts. 

His hand helped you tug the material down your legs until they fell limp at your ankles. His fingertips retraced their steps, up from the scars on your knee, to the toggled blue and purple ties where your suit met at your hip bones. You watched his Adam’s apple bob. “My moves?” 

And then he was standing, all in your space, all bergamot and chamomile and the lingering scent of peppermint on his breath that fanned your face, too hot. You felt crowded with him, exposed, pebbled skin, breath caught, and you panicked, taking three hurried steps to the right until you were throwing yourself into the frigid waters. 

You knew this would happen, that you’d be lost under his spell again, the moment he laid eyes on you, hands on you, breathed in your direction. The pool was a nice refresher, a slap of cold water that swallowed you up and reminded you of the longing you’d suffered since Thanksgiving, that yearning that ached in your ribs and warmed between your legs. 

You resurfaced for a breath, combing wet hair back, sputtering chlorine and cold. You scrubbed at an eye until the blur went away and dog-paddled back to the edge of the pool. “Water’s nice,” you hugged the wall, scratchy cement under your fingernails, kicked your legs out behind you. 

Steve stared back at you with that slight smirk on his lips, dimpling his cheek. He looked out at the water, contemplating his options, before he turned the direction of the house and pulled his polo over his head. You watched the span of his back relax and contract with each movement, the ripple of shoulder blades and traps, and you bit back a Jesus Christ while he balled his shirt to toss to the chair beside yours. 

He toed out of his sneakers and tugged his socks from the bottom to shove into them, and when he stood to face you again, a pink tinge had ridden up the front of him. You watched his pecs muscles flex beneath his chest hair, and followed the pattern to his navel and just down the front of his shorts. He moved his hand, and your focus went to the scars he covered self consciously. 

You ducked your head, stared into the pool, took a deep breath, and made a concentrated effort to meet his gaze with an encouraging smile. 

He dropped his hands then, clenching and unclenching his fists at his sides, and he crossed to you. 

You really tried to keep your focus on his face, but as he found a seat on the pool’s edge beside you, the purpled skin of his tanned torso sits right at eye level. You remembered running your fingers across the torn tissue, only for your hands to be moved away. You gulped and dropped lower in the water, waves kissing your earlobes.

“Remember that girl, Max, I was telling you about?” He said softly, running his fingertips over the puckered skin. 

You nodded, sniffled. 

“During the…” He struggled for words, hand spinning in the air to find them. “Earthquake?”

You nodded again. 

“She was on one side of it, and I was kind of on the other. I was trying to help her, save her. And I couldn’t get to her in time.”

You understood. You reached out to squeeze his ankle. 

He had this far-off look on his face, shoulders slumped from the weight he’d been carrying. You wondered how long, how long had the weight compacted, this unnecessary guilt. “God, I think I’d do anything for her.” 

Something struck you then, a realization, but he must have seen a change in your expression because he quickly corrected, hands shaking out in front of you. “Not like that. No, God no. She’s like twelve. Well, shit, she’s like a junior now, huh? But she’s just a kid. She’s like the kid sister I never had. I guess all of those little shits are like my younger siblings.”

You bit back a relieved smile. “You’re responsible for them.” 

“Unfortunately,” he grinned, nodded, his hair wagged, sunlight glinting off the perfect strands. Then he narrowed his gaze on you. “You ever want kids?” 

For some unholy reason, your stomach swooped. Images flashed in your mind of Steve chasing around toddlers and middle school sex-ed class, a whoosh of opposing concepts that made you a little dizzy. You let out a shaky breath and shrugged. “Someday.”

You thought of the act of making kids, of Steve’s face buried in the pulse of your neck, hips grinding up into your own, and you quickly kicked off from the wall, a back-pedal into the cool waters that were barely keeping you afloat. Your lungs sure as hell weren’t helping. 

“Where are you going?” He called after you.

You’d almost reached the shallow side, the balls of your feet skimming the bottom, and you waited until you could touch to stand and wade your fingertips through the water. “You just going to sit there and flirt with me all day, Harrington, or are you going to come and get it?” The bravery of your word vomit was deafened by the thundering of your heartbeat in your own ears. 

Steve scrambled to his feet and hesitated for a long moment, eyes sweeping the pool for something. He looked up and out at the trees, and then you watched his shoulders release in a breath, and he dove in, biceps to his ears, hands curved in front of him. 

You watched the shape of him, a long dark shadow, scoop to the floor before it inched toward you, like the fin from Jaws, until you felt two, strong hands grasping at your thighs and you were being pushed up against the sidewall, pinned. You felt a nose and mouth against your knee, your inner thigh, jostling the tie of your bottoms, the crease of your hip bone, the ticklish roll of your ribcage. His hand dipped just beneath your breast, a thumb tucking itself under the waist band of your bikini top. His other hand pulled him upward from the pool’s edge, trapping you into him. 

He surfaced with a gasp, lips sputtering. He pinched at his eyes, ran a hand to slick back his hair, and he sparkled with water droplets from his eyelashes to the tip of his nose, to the curve of his cupid’s bow. “I came and got it,” he breathed, all chlorine and sunshine. 

“I see that,” you chuckled, hugging yourself to his waist for balance, sturdy, rock-hard. 

“Gross!”

“Get a room, Harrington!” A cry of protests split you like polarization of magnets. Steve kicked off from the wall, and you ducked into the water and around the curve of the pool to maintain some modesty. 

You peaked over the edge just as you heard Steve say, “Henderson? What the hell are you doing here?”

“What does it look like, Steve?” Dustin approached in technicolor swim trunks, tossing a floaty into the deep side of the pool. “It’s summer, and it’s hot as hell, and my friends and I would like to take a swim.” He gestured to the handful of kids he brought with him. You recognized one as Nancy’s brother, but the girl and other boy with them were new to you.

“Go to the local pool!” 

“And waste our hard earned money when we could spend the day with our favorite babysitter and his girl?” Dustin waggled his eyebrows at you. “How’s it goin?”

You managed a wave and tried not to stare at the curve of Steve’s ass as he pulled himself out of the pool to grip the younger boy by the meat of his arm. 

“Ow, ow, okay, okay, okay.” Dustin scoffed.

“Hey Steve,” Mike called from the loungers. He and his friends were already shrugging off their clothes. “Got any popsicles?” 

Steve ran a hand through his hair, hands on his hips, shoulders slumped in defeat. He looked at you apologetically, and you flashed him a smile and a shrug. “You want anything?” 

“I could do a popsicle.” You nodded, and with a sigh, Steve retreated into his big, beautiful house. You laughed when the splash of Mike Wheeler’s cannonball cascaded over you, coloring everything in cool blues.

—

“I guess I’m going to his mom’s party?” You crunched down on a cheese puff and sunk down deep into the ruffly clouds that were Robin’s bed linens. You were sun soaked, and your muscles ached from hours of water fights with Mike and his girlfriend, El. Your skin was dry and your hair fried from the chemicals, but you were blissed out by hours of Steve’s fingers touching the softest parts of you, soaking in that summer smile. 

“Abort, abort,” Robin shook her head frivolously from her makeshift cot beside you. “Ugh. No. Those parties are nothing but pissing contests for the rich. She’ll just use you to brag to Daddy Harrington’s colleagues about her son’s collegiate conquests, and they’ll all just sip brandy and discuss ring sizes and wedding venues while you and Steve stand awkwardly in a corner wishing your eardrums had burst.” 

“Wow, Rob, how do you really feel?” You snorted, rolling on your side to face her. Your legs were all balled up in covers, but the heat from your sunburn had begun to radiate, so you kicked until your calves were free. The breeze from her cracked window pooled and cooled them, and you sighed. 

“I was invited to one of these parties. Right when Steve and I started hanging out. And that’s precisely what happened. ‘Did you know Robin speaks several languages?’ ‘Did you know that Robin has been in band her entire life? Quite the artiste.’” She used a thick British accent, likened to that of Julia Childs, and you laughed at her impression. “They were halfway through planning our children’s names before Steve had to pull her aside and explain that we aren’t dating. I don’t think she forgave him for a month. She still glares at me every time I run into her.” 

“Well how dare you ruin her hopes and dreams, Robin Buckley?”

She snorted, hands extended high over her face to examine the fingertips she painted an hour earlier. They were smudged and chipped, a neon blue. She picked at a tear in her cuticle. “Tell me about it.” And you thought of the little secret she shared with you over Easter. 

“Still harboring that crush on Nance?” You whispered, leaned into her.

She groaned and lowered her hand to hide behind them. She nodded with a sigh that rivaled Eddie’s dramatics. She split her fingers to look at you just beyond him, big blue eyes full of worry. “I think I’m in love.” 

You reached over to give her wrist a little squeeze and offered an apologetic smile. You shrugged. “You think you’ll ever… talk to her about it?”

“Are you insane?” She drug her hands cartoonishly down her face like her skin had melted off.

You laughed and rolled onto your back, staring up at the myriad of posters adorning the ceiling of Robin’s childhood bedroom. They all made so much more sense with context. Madonna, Bowie, Olivia Newton-John. Jesus, it was a miracle none of you had noticed before. You smiled and felt your eyelids grow heavy. “I think I have heat stroke.” You yawned.

“No, it’s just puppy love. You’ll survive.” She caught your yawn, stretching the vowels of her words. 

You closed your eyes and snuggled deeper into your pillow. “Think he’ll kiss me tomorrow?”

“If he doesn’t, Eddie will.” And you both laughed at that, warm and happy and filled with home. 

—

“You weren’t kidding?” You guffawed as Nancy Wheeler’s station wagon took a front row parking spot at War Zone: Army Surplus. 

When you asked what your itinerary included for the day, and Nancy had casually said ‘target practice’, you assumed it was a euphemism for a jolly game of horseshoes, maybe even corn hole. Something that involved bare foot on a grassy lawn and not something you required ammunitions for. 

“Never question Nancy Wheeler.” Robin tutted, exiting the vehicle beside you. 

“What? You thought coming to Hawkins would involve wholesome summertime fun?” Nancy flashed you that debonair smirk, upturned corners of bubblegum pink lips. 

“Kind of,” you closed your door and followed the girls’ confident gaits inside. 

The War Zone was a mishmash of signage and neon Beer lights and big, technicolor targets. A wall that was lined with firearms stood opposite a wall of animals you’d rather not see on a hike, all stuffed and posed in various attacks. The three of you were by far the youngest and smallest, but Nancy just walked to the ammo counter like she’d been there a million times before. In fact, the big burly man at the counter greeted her by name, and you only managed to pick your jaw off the ground when Robin flashed you a knowing smirk and waggled eyebrows.

Ten minutes later, you were diving headfirst into the backseat of the station wagon with a paper bag full of ammo, paper targets, and ear plugs. 

“This is just a thing you guys do?” You buckled in behind Robin while Nancy backed out of her parking spot. She and Robin shared a familiar smile. 

“Yeah, pretty much.” 

A half hour later, when you’d arrived at Eddie’s cabin, he greeted you in the brightest orange bulletproof vest you’d ever seen, that familiar grin plastered over his features. “Milady,” he greeted, your knuckles to his lips, and you scoffed. 

“You knew about this?” You thumbed back to Nancy, who was pulling a sawed-off shotgun out of the hatchback trunk of her Mom’s car. 

“I was as shocked as you are,” he confirmed with the bobble of his head. A handkerchief was tied around his hair to inhibit hair movement, and he’d even painted black streaks under both of his eyes, war paint. 

“Have I entered another dimension?” You threw your hands in the air, and the three of them burst into raucous laughter. Eddie doubled over. Robin and Nancy clutched at each other for support. 

“I like you,” Eddie squeezed your shoulder and wiped tears from the corner of his eye. “Come on, time to hike.” 

The hike you weren’t prepared for either, sandals and the denim shorts from the day before, a little tight and bunched from the dried pool water. Stickers and pokies scratched up your shins, and Eddie had to caught you by the arm to ensure you hadn’t face planted over a log, but eventually, you reached a clearing in the trees and Nancy and Robin dropped their hauls. 

The little meadow you’d found was beautiful, a spot of warm sun just in the deepest dip of a valley, breeze floating in and kissing the wildflowers that grew at your ankles. Eddie helped Nancy peel old targets from trees and nail the new ones in, and you sidled up beside Robin with a hip bump. 

“You going to tell me what’s going on here?” 

She smiled, shook her head. “Nah, I’m enjoying your reactions. Wish I had a polaroid.” 

“Hey! Little help here?” A shout from behind you indicated newcomers, and you both turned to see Jonathan and Argyle stumble in, dragging a large cooler with them. Both were panting, hair stuck to their temples, and you grinned as you jogged to meet them. 

“Hey, you two,” you smiled, helping Robin take the heavy cooler out of their hands. It was a two-handed job, but you managed to shimmy it closer to the center of the clearing before slamming it down. Immediately, Argyle reached in for a water bottle and started to chug.

“Whoa, dude, slow down. That’s for everyone,” Jonathan scolded, and Argyle sputtered before wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. Then, he offered you a lazy smile and nod.

“Mushroom girl, hey.” 

You grinned and waved.

“Are you already high?” Robin snorted.

Jonathan just smirked and pulled two joints from the breast pocket of his shirt. 

“Absolutely not,” Eddie stepped into view, plucking them from the other boy’s hand and pocketing them. “We are not doing drugs around loaded weapons.”

“Someone’s doing drugs around loaded weapons? Jesus Christ, you guys really are trying to get me fired!” Another voice called from a few feet behind, and you glanced up to see Steve approach. He wore his blue uniform, hair perfectly coiffed, aviator glasses resting on that perfect bridge of his nose. 

You sucked back a smile, fought only harder when Robin sent you an elbow to the ribs. 

“Just in time, Officer,” Nancy greeted, shaking a revolver in the air with a careless wrist. You ducked into Robin, who squawked and nearly toppled over. Eddie held you both aloft. “Care for a shoot out?” 

“Jesus, Nance. Can I say ‘hi’ first?” Steve’s approach was painstakingly slow, but he immediately threw an arm around you and pulled you in for a tight hug. You nestled yourself into the curve of his chest, batting eyelashes at Robin and Eddie, both of whom offered dramatic gags and heaves. “Hi, how are you?” He muttered into your ear, warm breath and the fan of fingers on your waist. 

You pulled back to shake your head at him. “You didn’t warn me.” 

“Of what?” His brown eyes twinkled. “That Nance is insane? I thought you knew.” 

And he pulled away from you to join Nancy at her makeshift shooting range. Eddie slipped bright orange ear plugs into your hand, and you’d just managed to hear Steve say, “I’m so fired after this,” before the sounds of the meadow were dulled by the thudding of your heartbeat. 

The two of them shot in tandem, six perfect rounds, side-by-side. Nancy’s stance was strong, firm, shoulder’s relaxed. Steve was much more rigid, feet shoulder width apart, hips stock-still. You were stunned by the volume, even dampened. You didn’t realize you were clutching Robin’s arm for dear life until Steve re-holstered his piece and Nancy dropped hers to her side. With matching smirks, they crossed the little clearing to search their targets. 

You couldn’t hear them, but it was evident Nancy had won by the proud smirk etched into her features, and the slump of Steve’s shoulders, hand to his utility belt like a grumpy dad. Your mind slipped to the question he’d asked the day before, and you bit down hard on your lower lip.

“Who’s next?” Eddie clapped his hands together from beside you, flashing you that Cheshire grin as he gestured for you to step forward. 

You stared at him with wide eyes and popped a plug from your ear. “I’m sorry, I think I’m hallucinating.” 

“Mushrooms,” Argyle confirmed with a nod. 

“I can teach you,” Steve said, hand outstretched. Your stomach swooped when his lips quirked up into that smile, that safe space. “I won’t let you get hurt, promise.” With a shaky breath, you snaked your fingers into his hand and allowed him to pull you up beside him.

“You too, Robs. Let’s go,” Nancy interjected from beside you.

“Uh, I don’t… that’s really probably not the best idea, Nancy. I can’t even walk. I can barely hold a walkman, and it usually strapped to my belt.” She rambled on, but Eddie pushed her forward until she stood between you and Nancy. 

“Come on, Robin. It’s easy. Like holding a trumpet.” Nancy shrugged. 

“I don’t know,” the girl twirled her hair around her fingers. “I think I’m more of a Molotov kind of girl.” 

“Hey, don’t forget you did pretty damn good with that axe.” 

“I did, didn’t I?” And there was something there, shared between them, that traumatic mystery of a backstory of theirs, and the way they shared a smile made you duck your head, like you were intruding.

“Ready? Just do as I say.” Steve’s breath was hot on the shell of your ear, hand at your waist as he rounded to stand behind you.

You gulped. 

Warm, strong arms wrapped around you, all blue and soft cotton. “Alright, stand strong. Feet a little wider apart.” His boot kicked between your feet, and you jolted, grasping at his hands around your waist. “Easy.” He chuckled. God, was it too hot out? You thought you might pass out. 

“Okay, here you go,” Steve offered his gun, and your fingers trembled against the handle. It was heavier than you’d imagined, cool metal. “Good, arms straight out, don’t lock your elbows, but firm. The kickback’s kind of a bitch, and I don’t want you clocking either of us, okay?” 

You whined his name, unsure, hands trembling out of control, but you did as he said. 

“Great, now lean forward just slightly,” and he guided you with strong hands, warm front to your sweat-slick back. His thumb pressed atop yours, helped to cock back the hammer, much stickier than you’d imagined from the quick-fingered westerns you watched with your dad as a kid. “And when I say, you’re going to take a deep breath in, and on your exhale, slowly close your grip on the trigger. Think you can do that for me?” 

His breath was still hot on your plugless ear, hair sticking to the nape of your neck, sweat trickling down your temples. You licked salty sweet from your own upper lip. His arms were removed from yours, replaced at the swell of your hips. You ran his words through your mind, again and again and again, nodded. 

“Great, focus on the target just ahead. Can you see that bright yellow center?” 

Again, you nodded, lined the top of the pistol just to the center of the yellow. 

“Ready? Inhale.” You did, long, labored, shaky. “Shoot.” 

BANG!

The kickback was a bitch, rattled through your wrists, forearms, jolted your shoulder back into Steve’s chest hard enough that he let a little oof escape his lips. 

BANG!

Robin’s gun went off beside you, followed by her own shriek of terror at what she’s done. 

Steve reached to take his gun from you, holstering it, and you glanced sideways in time to see Nancy offering Robin a tight-lipped smile. “Sure,” she nodded. “Something like that.” 

“Should we see how you did?” Steve tapped at your waist, and you went with him, slow staggered steps across the clearing to the targets on the trees. 

A series of bullet holes marred the target near the yellow bullseye. Nancy’s, you noticed three trees down, were all within the yellow. Then there was one lonely hole, just near the bottom rim of the target. You reached to touch your fingers to it, paper charred, tree still warm at its entry wound. 

“Pretty good,” Nancy whistled from beside you. “Next time, keep your eyes open. No flinching.”

You smiled, cheeks flushed at the compliment.

“How’d you do, Rob?” Steve asked, just as a large limb from high up cracked and splattered and came crashing to the ground beside you. 

—

Eddie’s cabin wasn’t built for seven people, long limbs thrown over chair legs and posted up on creaky floorboards. The hot day grew to a sweltering afternoon, and eventually the sun set just beyond the hills, and you hiked back through dusky woods to collapse on a tattered sofa between Robin and Nancy. Steve left before dinner to change his clothes, and he returned with pizza and beer and lifted himself onto the rickety countertop behind Eddie’s throne. Jonathan took the lawn chair, Argyle was wrapped around a pizza box on the floor. 

“They just don’t make pizza the same out here, man.” He argued, but chomped down on his fourth slice. “Chicago style? Deep dish? A travesty.” 

“I think it’s kind of genius,” Jonathan argued. “Although no one does it like New York.” 

“Can I get a bit of whatever those two are on?” Steve quipped, and Eddie dutifully procured two joints from his pockets and held them over his head to the other boy. Steve plucked one from his fingers and brought it to his pink lips, snapping his fingers until someone tossed him a lighter. 

You watched as he lit it up, taking a deep inhale, features pinched as he held it in. When he finally coughed, he slammed his fist into his chest and sputtered. “Holy shit, Byers.”

“Right?” Jonathan grinned, and Steve passed it to him. 

Sun-drunk for the second day in a row, beer buzzing your cheeks, you tapped Nancy’s thigh and smiled at her raised eyebrows. “Nance, truth or dare.” 

The small crowd around you groaned and cheered in kind, and Nancy’s bubblegum pink lips turned up, smug. “Dare, always.” 

You shook your head. “You continue to surprise me today. Okay, um...” You picked a beer off the floor beside Argyle. He protested around a mouthful of cheese, grease pooling at the corners of his mouth. “Shotgun this beer.” 

Nancy stared at it a moment, her expression faltering. She glanced up at Steve, a moment held between them, and then she snatched it from your hands. “Fuck it. Knife?” She stood beside you, caught someone’s thrown pocketknife and puncture a hole in the beer. She took a calming breath before throwing her head back and chugging. Droplets of foam cascaded, staining the floorboards, and when she finished, she did a little curtsy to appease the round of applause from her audience. 

She crumpled the can and wiped her perfect mouth with petite fingers, hiding a very unladylike burb from behind them, before she slumped down beside you. “Eddie,” she hiccuped. “Truth or dare.” 

“Truth, always,” he shrugged with a smile. He’d pulled his guitar into his lap again, began a lazy strum. 

“Would you fuck Steve?”

“Of course, I would. Just waiting for you to ask, big boy,” Eddie flashed his canines and leaned his head back against the headrest of his chair to view Steve behind him.

Steve managed a half-hearted wince. “That’s… ugh. Thanks, I guess?” He groaned and shoveled a slice of pizza into his mouth to avoid saying more.

“That’s right, fill that mouth of yours.” Eddie teased, and Steve threw his slice back onto the cardboard with a groan, cheek chipmunked in disgust.

You laughed along with the group, unwitting, until Eddie rounded on you, ringed finger outstretched. You felt your face heat, forgetting this aspect of the game when you’d started it. 

“Truth or dare?” He asked, a dramatic announcer voice. 

You glanced from him to Steve, who stopped chewing to swallow. Then back to Eddie. From the corner of your eye, you noticed Jonathan holding out the joint for you, and you took it quickly, answering, “dare,” before taking a deep inhale.

Eddie’s eyes burned amber, mischievous, while the skunk-flavored smoke burned in your lungs, fucking stronger than anything you’d taken a hit off of before. You winced past the burn, passing it clockwise to Robin, and leaned in to hear Eddie’s dare over the whir in your brain. 

“I dare you to make out with Harrington right here, right now.” 

You sputtered, hacked, coughed. So hard that Nancy had to give you a few firm smacks between the shoulder blades before you could catch your breath.

“Jesus Christ, Munson,” Steve snapped from behind him. “We’re not some fucking porno for you to cream to.” 

“You’re not?” Eddie grinned, and Steve swatted at him. 

“I agree with Steve,” Robin sputtered. “I have no interest in seeing his tongue and/or saliva anywhere near my vicinity.”

“Thank you,” Steve nodded, but he turned his gaze toward you, and there was something heady in his eyes. You clamped your thighs together on impulse, too light headed for this shit. 

“My bed has fresh sheets,” Eddie offered, but his voice was far-off, miles away from where Steve sat, hunched over the counter, watching you. His tongue pulled out to wet his lips. 

“Gross,” Robin whined.

“Wait, are you two like… together?” Argyle coughed from the ground. 

Once again, Nancy Wheeler played her wild card and surprised you. Her lithe fingers touched your wrist, and she pulled you to your feet. “You gonna take the dare or not?”

You stumbled a little, tried your damnedest not to trip over Argyle as you crossed to Steve’s frame on the countertop. You slid between his knees, palming the denim of his thighs, and laughed a soft greeting.

“You don’t have to succumb to peer pressure.” Steve said, but there was a laziness to his smile that suggested he wasn’t going to back away either. “We aren’t monkeys in a cage for them to gawk at.”

“Shut up and kiss her, monkey,” Eddie tossed an empty candy wrapper, and it smacked Steve square in the forehead.

With a measured sigh, the boy in front of you jabbed a pointed finger in the direction of the other. “Don’t make me cuff you.” 

“Kinky.” 

“Steve,” you breathed, growing impatient. 

Steve turned to you then, smile replaced on his sweet features. He brought a hand up to cup your face, brown eyes asking for permission, and when you swallowed, nodded, he closed the distance and swept you into a surprisingly passionate kiss. 

It would have been difficult to make out from the cacophony of noise that surrounded you were it not for the high setting into your bones, jellying your legs. You clutched at his thighs while his tongue licked into your mouth, hand at your neck holding you upright. You moaned into his mouth a little, involuntary, and heard the crack of his other fist around the countertop. He pulled away, both of your chests heaving, a trail of saliva connecting your lips. He wiped at his mouth, eyes darkened, and brought a thumb to your lower lip to do the same. 

You spun in his arms, allowed him to wrap his arms around you, and fought hard to fight back the cheek-aching smile. “Robin, truth or dare?” 

—

The night air painted the forest blue. You said your until-tomorrows to your new friends and followed Nancy and Robin’s lazy stroll to the station wagon. They leaned on one another, Robin a bit more cross-faded than she anticipated, and Nancy tucked her neatly into the passenger’s seat, helping her buckle. A hand caught yours, pulling you back to the bottom step of the deck. You turned to catch Steve, lazy-smiled, half of his face soaked in moonlight. 

“So,” he licked at his bottom lip, thumb brushing your knuckles. 

“So?” You smiled, raised an eyebrow, took a step closer into the warmth of him. Even hours later, even under the tang of marijuana on his polo, you could breathe the soothing floral of chamomile. 

“I work tomorrow, all day, mid-shift.” His tone was graveled with smoke and exhaustion. 

You nodded, reached a hand to pick at a fuzz on his shirt. 

“But I was wondering if you had plans tomorrow night. Or if maybe you’d like to come over? We could watch a movie?” Despite the questioning tone, there was nothing shy in his face, a smug look, dark eyes, the tilt of his head to speak only to you. 

You sunk into him, warm, his large hand snaked to the small of your back, bodies pressed together. “You just wanna watch a movie with me, huh?” 

“Among other things,” he mumbled, and leant in to take your lips in a sweet kiss. 

You sighed into his mouth, the lazy way he stole his hand from yours to cup the side of your face while the two of you leaned into the rickety railing of Eddie’s porch. You ran your fingertips along the buttons of his collar, your other hand clutching his forearm, delighting in the way the muscles rippled beneath your touch as he slanted your face sideways to deepen the kiss. 

Steve Harrington was a great kisser. Sure, that probably meant he had experience, but you couldn’t think about anything except the slow, easy swell of his lips as he coaxed another soft moan out of you. You could stay there forever, lips locked, summer night’s breeze floating in, pebbling the skin of your thighs, sinking deeper and deeper into his broad build, his kneading hands. 

A sound unheard beyond the buzzing in your ears startled Steve, and he pulled away with the slick pop of your lips. You were breathless, face warm, as you watched his frown turn from you to the porch beyond. His lips were pink and swollen, and he licked your saliva from his upper lip. 

“No, please, don’t stop on my account.” Eddie called from behind you in that familiar lilt. 

You ducked your head into Steve’s chest as he reached to shove the other boy away. 

Nancy called your name from the drive, and you pushed off of Steve to look at her. She gave you a knowing smile, one hand on her slender hip. “You coming with me?” 

“Be right there!”

She waggled fingers with a sweet, “Goodnight, boys.” Before climbing into the driver’s side of her station wagon and starting the ignition. 

“So, movie tomorrow?” Steve pulled your focus one last time. 

You nodded, licked your lips. “Sounds good.” 

“Okay,” he smiled, cheeks dimpled. “Goodnight.” 

“Night.” You popped on the balls of your feet to press your lips sweetly to his one last time before backing down the driveway. “Goodnight, Eddie.” You waved at the metalhead, who flashed you a knowing smirk, arms crossed over his chest. 

“Goodnight, sweetheart.” 

—

You weren’t sure which one of you was harder to get out of bed, but no amount of Mrs. Buckley’s blueberry pancakes could remove the dull ache in your skull or the groans of your friend from beside you, pounding her own head into the soft tile of the countertop. 

“Never again,” Robin sighed, watching the syrup from an odd-angle as you poured it over her breakfast. “Promise me, never again.” 

You smiled and spun the top back onto the sticky, sweet spout. “You know I can’t promise you that.”

She groaned again, louder, more dramatic, but sat up to devour her pancakes and dive in for seconds. 

An hour later, you were walking past a slew of electricity towers, side-by-side, Robin swinging her trumpet case with each light step. “So, you have to be careful with Steve, because I know him well, and he will try to impress you with his movie taste. But I just need you to remember that I taught him everything he knows.” 

Your cheeks pulled in a grin, and your stomach swooped at the reminder of your date later that evening. “I’ll make sure he gives you full credit for any movie-watching decisions.” 

“Unless it’s like Weird Science. I stake no claim on the pea-brains of men everywhere.” 

You snorted. “If Steve plays Weird Science, I’m leaving.” 

“Or you’re turning it off to make out.” 

“Who said anything about making out?” 

But the look she shot you was too knowing to shy from. “You sure looked like you were having fun last night. It was disgusting. Borderline pornographic.” 

“Sorry,” but you couldn’t pull the smile from your aching cheeks. 

“No you’re not.” 

“He’s a good kisser!” You tossed your hands in the air for emphasis. 

“Gross,” she scoffed, and helped you under a broken link in the fence to cross into the Wheeler’s backyard. “Nancy said the same thing, and I just don’t see it. I mean, don’t get me wrong, I love my best friend, but the thought of kissing him literally makes me want to gag. I’ve seen the saliva he has on a day-to-day basis. Dude’s always mopping his lips for one reason or another. No thank you.” 

But you’d quit listening to ramble on and on, stuck on the reminder that Nancy and Steve had this impenetrable past. He’d spent almost the entirety of last year on hold for her, for Christ’s sakes. Perfect, beautiful Nancy Wheeler with her bubblegum lips and her killer aim. 

The insecurities rolled out of your mind, however, when you two rounded to the front of the Wheeler’s home to find a gaggle of teenagers in a rousing game of basketball in the driveway. Mike shot for the hoop, an awkwardly lanky throw with horrible aim, clearly it didn’t run in the family, and Lucas recovered it. He dribbled it down the driveway to where two girls sat, El in a folding chair and a redhead beside her in a wheelchair. Max. 

You followed Robin’s lead around the game and up the steps, waving at El when she smiled enthusiastically, but you couldn’t help but stare at the girl Steve talked so fondly of. She was all freckle-faced, blue eyed, beautiful in her own Tomboy way. She protested when Lucas tossed the ball into her lap and immediately began to wheel her down the drive toward the hoop.

“That’s traveling!” Mike protested, shoulders slumped, brows creased in a frown. 

“Her legs aren’t technically touching the ground.” Dustin pointed out, a grin growing on his features. 

“She rounds the idiots,” Lucas narrated. “She shoots!” 

Max laughed and huffed her arms upright, ball flying just short of the backboard. Lucas rounded her chair to throw it up for a lay-up, and you watched the orange ball whoosh through the net and bounce away for Will to chase. “She scores!!!” 

Your heart swelled at the smile on the girls face, eyes rolled in feigned annoyance, cheeks tinged pink. 

“Aren’t they so cute you could die?” Robin startled you, caught in your voyeurism. “Young love, huh?” 

“Max and Lucas are together?” You smiled, watching as they argued over whether or not that could be considered cheating.

Robin nodded. “He took really good care of her in the hospital. Never left her side.” 

“Well, hello ladies.” Nancy opened the door, hand on her hip. 

“I’m here to drop off a package of utmost importance.” Robin saluted, jostling your shoulder with one hand. 

You swatted her away with a laugh. 

“Thank you for the delivery, miss,” Nancy grabbed you by the wrist and yanked you into the foyer. “We’re going to have a lot of fun without you.” 

“Don’t rub it in,” Robin whined, stamping her feet. “I have to cover myself in Timmy Sawyer’s spit for an hour, and then Rusty Bailey’s, and then Amanda Stockton’s.”

“What time do you want us to pick you up?” Nancy smiled.

“4 please.” 

“You got it.” 

“At least pretend to be miserable without me?” Robin shot you big, blue puppy dog eyes. 

“We’ll only sit and mourn.” You promised.

“Thank you. Bye, girls.” 

“Bye.” You and Nancy bid in tandem, and then Robin was gone, and Nancy was leading you upwards to her bedroom. 

Bubblegum pink with white wicker furniture, the ultimate princess’s childhood bedroom. Nancy dumped magazines onto her bed from a little basket while you took a peak at the photos stuffed so tightly in her the little display above her desk that they were falling out. There were images of her as a little girl, making bunny ears between the elfish face of her little brother. There were a lot of photos of her with a girl you hadn’t met, red-haired and wide-rimmed glasses, a childhood friend lost to time, perhaps. God knows you had plenty of those. 

There was one of her and Jonathan, propped against the hood of an old green beater. Her hair was shorter then, a mess of curls, and Jonathan’s eyes weren’t quite as red-rimmed as you’d grown familiar with. They looked so young, like the world hadn’t hardened them yet. 

“Ugh, I think it’s time for a clear out.” Nancy sighed, popping the tab to a condensating Coke can. “I can’t pack it all.” 

“Pack?” You asked, crossing to meet her. You received a second can from her, frigid against your fingertips, satisfying bubble with the pop of the tab. 

“Yeah, didn’t Robin tell you? We’re getting a house next year. Off-campus.” Nancy smiled. “Actually… we were hoping you’d come with? Maybe Carrie and Lydia too. Depending on how big of a house we get.” 

Your heart swelled at the suggestion, and you glanced upwards at the very center photo on Nancy’s pinboard. The group of you at Halloween. You were all green and garish, but held a bright smile beneath the rim of your hat. Steve’s arm was thrown over your shoulders, chest puffed to expose the safety-pinned heart. Nancy’s petit frame and perfect ringlet ponytails covered the right side of you, and Robin was shoved in just behind with her adorable lion nose. 

You were planning on suffering the dorms again, considered applying for an RA position to ward off a potential bad roommate, but this idea, sharing a house with the girls who had grown to become your closest friends? You slumped yourself at the foot of the bed, chuckling when Nancy’s body bounced under the weight shift. “That’d be amazing.” 

“Right!? Okay. Robin and I were already discussing parties. I was thinking John Hughes, right? We can all rock a Ringwald look, maybe Ferris Bueller and Sloan? Robin wants a Bowie theme, obviously. Thoughts?” 

You scrunched your face and thought of a theme you’d always want to dress up as. You imagined Steve shoved under a velvet cape, sporting a golden crown atop his perfectly coifed hair. “Medieval times?” 

The corner of her bubblegum pink lips turned up and she cocked an eyebrow. “I knew you wouldn’t disappoint.” 

“I need to get a job.” You kicked your legs back to lie on your stomach, flipping through magazines with her. You thumbed through an issue of Cosmo, staring at long legs and bright blue eyeshadow, and you gulped at an article titled 7 Ways to Rock His World.

Your mind strayed to the conversation with Robin from earlier, and you glanced through your eyelashes at Nancy. She was flipping through something a bit harder hitting, National Geographic, maybe? There were far fewer pictures than words in hers, and she seemed fairly in tune with whatever it was, happy face turned into creased eyebrows. You took another sip of your soda, swallowed, cleared the bubbles from your throat. “Hey, Nance?” 

Her brows perked up again, and she smiled back up at you. “What’s up?” 

You let a deep breath escape puffed cheeks and wrapped your nails anxiously against the can between your fingers. “Um… can I ask you about… you and Steve?” 

Her smile turned knowing, and she flipped her magazine closed, leaning closer. “There is no me and Steve.” 

“I know,” you breathed. It hadn’t been confirmed, relief flooding your extremities. “But, what happened there?” 

She shrugged, scooted herself cross-legged against her pillows. “A lot. He was my first… everything.” She turned a bit glossy eyed in nostalgia, a far-off gaze, and then she turned back to you. “He saved my ass. Like, literally saved my life more times than I can count. He’s very protective. He’s like the most caring person I’ve ever met in my entire life. And such a good kisser.” The devil flashed in her eyes.

“Sure you’re over it, Nance?” You managed a weak chuckle.

She grinned at that, canines exposed, and she gave a resolute nod. “I’m sure. Steve and I had a lot of fun, but I’m not his person. He can’t keep up with me.”

You weren’t sure what that meant, but you were relieved to hear she was no longer your competition, this smart, slick woman you idolized just under the surface. 

“I’m starting to think no one can keep up with me.” She scoffed, peeling into another magazine. “I might take some time being a strong, independent woman for a change.” 

You smiled and traded your Cosmo for a new one. How to Know He Wants You.

“I’m sorry, by the way. If I hurt you at all, in January.” Her voice was soft now, and you glanced up to meet a sadness in her eyes you hadn’t seen before. Nancy was always fierce, always playing defense, calculated, never apologetic. 

You just blinked back at her.

“God, I was just,” she threw her hands back in a wry laugh. “I was just so jealous of you. I saw you two kissing in his kitchen, and it filled me with this weird… possessiveness. I’ve never felt so insecure.”

“You, Nancy Wheeler, were jealous of me?” You smiled softly, reaching out to pinch her petit ankle in your hand. 

She smiled, shook her head. “It’s not hard to believe, psycho. You’re a catch! And he wanted you, oh my God.” She groaned. “I wish you could have heard him blabber on and on at New Years. He was so drunk and was staring up at the sky at our firework spot, and he was all ‘I wonder what she’s doing right now.’” Her Steve impression made you chuckle, that familiar swoop bottoming in your stomach. “And I just wanted to hit you both.” 

You sucked in you cheeks to avoid a smile and ducked your head back to your magazine. How to Give the Best Blow-Job Ever. You slammed the book closed, cheeks heated, mouth dry. 

“And in January, remember when we came back after break and you came in and Steve had stayed over?” 

You nodded. You didn’t think you’d ever forget that massive black eye. 

“He got in a fight and almost lost his job. His parents were home, and he couldn’t face them. So we offered for him to stay with us.” She explained. “But I was too proud to tell you that’s why he stayed over. And I’m really, really sorry if that hurt you.” 

You reached out, and she met your hand in the middle. You gave it a squeeze, wiggling it in the air between you. “Thank you.”

“We can be best friends now, right?” 

You smiled, slurped your soda, turned back to your magazine. “Depends on the outcome of this quiz. Nancy Wheeler, ‘are you Good-Girl Hot or Bad-Girl Hot’?”

—

An Indiana thunderstorm rolled in just after dinner, greenish grey clouds, too full of rain and hail. A static clung to the air. You felt it as you stepped out of the 7-Eleven with a King Sized bag of Skittles and some chewing gum. If you weren’t nervous before, the weather surely coated everything in a layer of gloom. Robin’s insistence on purchasing condoms didn’t help.

“Nothing’s going to happen, Robin,” your face heated, heart thundering in your chest, rattling your ribcage in anxiety. 

“I mean, you guys did sleep together, right?” Nancy smirked, popping the car in reverse and backing out of the small parking lot.

The inside of your cheek was raw from nervous chewing. You thought of Steve’s pliant body above you, pinning you to your dorm mattress, the muscles of his back beneath your kneading fingers, his delicious mouth hot on your neck, your breasts, the dip of your hips.

“Hey,” Robin snapped her fingers in front of your face, and you wriggled under her gaze. “See? I told you. You’ve been thinking about it all day.”

“Have not.” You rolled your eyes. Of course you had. Ever since skimming the 7 Ways to Rock His World reminded you of the three ways he’d rocked yours. 

“God, I wish I was having sex tonight.” Nancy sighed longingly, furthering the warmth of your cheeks and the panic in your chest. “Do we know anyone in Hawkins worth a fling?” 

She and Robin made eye contact and cackled. You could see the blush rising to Robin’s freckled cheeks, kissing her bubblegum pink to match sweet Nancy’s lips.

Out of nowhere, the clouds opened up and poured. Heavy raindrops, lighting in the distance, a few seconds later the loud crack of thunder. Robin yelped and reached across the console for Nancy’s hand. You gripped your seatbelt a little tighter. 

Hawkins looked different in the dark, under the swell of a massive storm, sun and daylight blocked. Just empty little streets, boarded up buildings, rain filling the roadsides until everything was a lazy river of mud and debris. The ghost of what a small town should be. 

Nancy pulled into the lot of the local police station, just between two cruisers, and her and Robin helped when they exited the car, throwing their hands over their hair between car and the awning. You took a deep breath and followed after them, out of the cool dry and into the warm wet. The three of you stamped onto the mat by the door like drowned rats, shaking droplets from your hair, clutching at one another with delighted eyes. 

You peeled your borrowed dress from your front, shoes squeaking against linoleum as Nancy approached the front desk, slamming tiny fingers to the bell about a hundred times. 

“Okay, okay,” a familiar voice called from just beyond, and suddenly you were greeted by the handsome visage of one Officer Harrington. The top buttons of his shirt were loose from a long day, brown hair shagged in his eyes. 

“Officer, we’ve caught a fugitive, and we’re here to turn her in.” Robin gripped your shoulders and pushed you to the front.

Steve eyed you up and down, wet hair to squeaky shoes, gaze lingering on the softest parts of you.

A shiver wracked through you and you stabilized your fingertips on the countertop.

A playful smirk lit up his features. “Thank you, citizens. What’s she in for?” 

“Public indecency.” Nancy replied nonchalant, and you swatted at her. 

Steve snorted, but his tongue licked at pink lips. He scratched at the back of his neck, shaking hair from his eyes. You watched his caramel gaze turn to apology. “Well, I’d love to take her off your hands, ladies, but I just tried to call you.” He leaned over the counter, hands fidgeting with a rogue paper clip. “Callahan’s forcing me to work a double tonight.” 

You tried not to let your shoulders slump in disappointment. You offered him as encouraging of a smile as you could muster.

“What? That’s ridiculous.” Robin scoffed.

“Let me talk to him.” Nancy stood on the balls of her feet to see over Steve’s shoulder.

Steve gave a sad laugh. “He already left. But, I’m doing it so I can have tomorrow off.” He reached across the counter to touch your fingertips, a moment just for you. “Sorry.” 

“Are you really that busy?” Robin looked around. 

Steve shook his head. “No, patrol duty.”

“So you could take a fugitive for a ride along?” Nancy jostled your shoulder again.

Steve stood up at that idea. He glanced behind him, and back at you, buttoning his shirt to the top. “Would you want to come with?” 

Your heart thundered in your chest. “Is that allowed?” 

He shrugged. “Fuck ‘em.” And crossed the little swinging door barrier between the office and you. 

“Great,” Nancy grinned, giving your hand a tight squeeze. “Robin and I will wait up, but be as late as you want. Steve, behave yourself.” She gave him a pointed finger and a grueling stare. 

Steve held two fingers in surrender, but a smile played at the corners of his cheeks. 

The four of you trailed out of the station and back into the downpour. You vaguely heard Steve groan from beside you beneath the rattle of rain against the awning. A gush of water from the drainpipe splashed water into the streets. 

“Use protection, you two!” Robin called before throwing herself into the passenger’s side of Nancy’s car, and Steve tapped the firearm at his hip, receiving eye rolls from the three of you. And as they pulled away, you felt the soft tug of his fingers against your wrist.

“You ready?” He smiled, nodding to the far cruiser.

You held your breath, as though soaking yourself in rainwater was the same as diving into a pool, and splashed your way to the passenger’s side. Steve let himself in and quickly leaned over to unlock your door, and you squeezed into the small space with a gasp. Both of your shook your hair out like dogs, droplets coating the dash interior and the windshield. 

“You sure this is okay?” 

“What are they going to do, arrest me?” Steve grinned and turned on the car.

You were surprised that there wasn’t a big difference between the cramp quarters of a cruiser and the front seat of your Dad’s Pontiac. Only the radio was a little bigger, and attached was a little comms device.

Steve switched everything on and threw an arm over your shoulder to reverse into the flooded streets of abandoned downtown Hawkins, water sprayed his side of the car in a tidal wave. He flicked on the windshield wipers and started again slowly down Main Street, leaning forward for a better view through the windshield.

“Sorry again, about our movie night,” he glanced over at you with a soft smile. “I was looking forward to it.”

Your face heated, and you squeezed your thighs together, trying to find something else to stare at but the length of his fingers against the steering wheel. Stupid Cosmo. You nodded and coughed something along the lines of “yeah, me too.” 

“I thought we could watch Romeo and Juliet.” 

You shot him a look, releasing your smile as he exposed his canines in a grin. “I thought you hated Shakespeare.”

“Oh believe me,” he nodded. “I do. But I don’t know, it’s my mom’s favorite. I used to catch her downstairs crying to it, which I never understood.” He snorted.

Your heart ached at the thought, little Steve coming in to see his beautiful Mother, sprawled out on the luxurious sofa, ten sofas ago now, wrapped in cashmere, blotting at tear stained cheeks with a silk scarf.

“And to make her feel better, I’d make a cup of tea, and we’d watch it together.”

You smiled back at him, soft for an origin story. “That’s sweet of you.” 

He turned over his shoulder to waggle his eyebrows. “And you see Juliet’s boobs.”

“Jesus,” you rolled your eyes, but felt your throat lick with familiar heat.. “How romantic.” 

He laughed and tasked himself down a side street. 

“You look nice,” he smiled, voice a little breathless.

You swallowed, ducked your head, tugged at the drying material stuck to your thighs.

“Is that Rose’s dress?” 

You snapped your neck to look at him. “How’d you know?” In a panic, flinging everything you owned from your suitcase onto Robin’s bed, she’d calmly pulled you into her sister’s room to ask for something date-worthy. Rose gave you this little number, gauzy and black with little red flowers, and a dirty look, whispering something about Paris and Steve “the Hair” Harrington under her breath. You wondered now if she’d sabotaged you. 

“It’s not…” He narrowed his eyes, chewed over his words. “You.” 

“What’s that supposed to mean?” You asked, suddenly self conscious about the material stuck to your stomach, your chest.

“I mean, listen, you look beautiful in anything. Like holy shit, breathtaking.” He glanced back at you, something soft in his expression as he up-downed you again. 

You sucked a smile between your molars.

“But when you’re in your own clothes, you’re more relaxed.” 

You weren’t sure how to take the observation, but you decided you enjoyed he took notice.

“Remember that white out party? In Nancy and Robin’s dorms?” 

As if you could forget, Steve’s body pressed to yours all night, his blazer thrown over your shoulders as he walked you home. 

“You borrowed the outfit from your roommate, right?”

You pinched your lips and nodded, wondering where he was going with this. 

“And you looked,” he let out a breath as an adjective, almost like he was panting, or parched. You watched the bob of his Adam’s apple. “Let’s just say I’ve thought about it a lot.”

Oh. Your heart thundered in your ears just as another bolt of lightning shot through the sky. Static filled the car. 

“But you at Thanksgiving? In that cute sweater and jeans and those socks with the little cats on them?” He whistled. 

Your body was on fire, embarrassed, flattered, forcing yourself not to imagine him thinking of you in the white outfit, bunched under the covers of his bed, face scrunched up in ecstasy. You licked your lips and forced yourself to look out the passenger’s side window. “Shut up.” You mumbled.

Steve laughed and pulled down another side street. You noticed the inline of the road now, the downhill stream of water running the opposite direction. Everything grew rockier, water muddied. Just beyond, you could see some relief, a patch of sun tinged peachy pink. 

“Where are we going?” You asked, desperate to pull the attention.

“Sattler’s Quarry. Hawkins is a small, small town. The quarry is one of many places kids like to have sex in their cars. It’s my duty as a police officer to ensure no babies are conceived on private property.” 

You laughed, but it came out weaker than you intended. God, if you just release these nerves bundled up inside your chest. 

“Hey, are you sure you’re good doing this?” Steve asked softly. “I can drop you back off at Nance’s if you want. I’ll see you tomorrow.” 

“No, no,” you shook your head, adamant. “I’m sorry. I think I’m just a little on edge today.” 

Thunder cracked over the hilltop, too close this time, and Steve flinched, grip tightened on the steering wheel. “That makes two of us.” 

—

Steve Harrington, soaked to the bone, returning to his cruiser after warding off six cars full of horny teenagers, chattered teeth and breath fogging the windshield helped to ease a bit of your stress. He slammed his hands against the steering wheel and cranked the heat, splattering you with water droplets with the shake of his wild hair, even voluminous when wet. 

“Jesus Christ,” he held his hands to the vents. “That last car had seven kids in it. Seven? Does that constitute an orgy? And the whole thing reeked of marijuana.” 

“He says as though he didn’t smoke a blunt twenty-four hours ago.” You snorted. 

“Oh my God, I forgot about that. Argyle really has the good shit, doesn’t he?” 

You laughed at that, tension released from your shoulders as the crown of your head hit the bars separating the front and back seats. You reached back to wrap your fingers around them, smooth, cool metal, and you turned your head against the seat rest to watch Steve attempt to peel his shirt from his body.

“You ever arrest someone?” 

He glanced over at you, looked at your arms above your head, then to the back seat before he nodded. “Yeah, once.” 

You released your hold and turned in your seat to face him. “What happened?” 

He stared ahead for a few beats, fingertips tapping rhythmically against the vents. His shoulders rose and fell with breath, and he licked the corner of his lips. “Do you know about Eddie?” 

You slowly shook your head, wracking your brain for knowledge on your new metalhead friend. It wouldn’t surprise you if he’d been the one arrested. You heard he used to deal drugs. That’s why he didn’t partake anymore.

“D’you ever hear that Hawkins was a Portal to Hell? When the Earthquake hit, that’s what people kept saying. The media, at least.” 

You nodded. Sure, of course. Horror in the Heartland, you briefly remembered. Something about a chemical leak, kids dying, a mall fire. You’d heard snippets here and there, saw the destruction from the Earthquake first hand, driving through the small town streets. 

“Do you remember people talking about that cult leader? The one who killed those high school kids? It was right before the Earthquake, so it got kind of swallowed up, mixed up in the news.” 

You shrugged. “I don’t know. Maybe. What does this have to do with Eddie?” 

“Eddie was wanted for murder. I think technically, he still is? He didn’t do it.” Steve rushed to excuse his friend. “It was this serial killer, from the 50s. It’s hard…” He sighed, ran his hand through his hair, more droplets sprinkled your cheek. “It’s hard to explain. Anyway, a lot of the town, those that stayed after the Earthquake, a lot of them still blame Eddie. They’re still afraid of him, think he’s this big magic Satanist cult leader. All because he plays that stupid nerd game.”

You shook your head, stared past Steve at passing storm clouds.

“Yeah, it made national news and shit. Eddie’s been in hiding pretty much ever since. And back in January, these guys found out where Eddie was hiding out, and they tried to set it on fire.”

“What?” You reached out to clutch Steve’s bicep, damp to the touch. 

He turned to look at you, jaw clenched. “This fucking asshole named Andy, thought he’d take revenge for the whole God damn town. Luckily, Eddie wasn’t there, and one of Andy’s friends chickened out and called 9-1-1. I was on patrol, like tonight,” he nodded out at the quarry around you. 

“And I was,” he squeezed tighter on the steering wheel. “God, I was so pissed off. So instead of arresting the fucker like I was supposed to, I just started wailing on him. He got a couple of good hits in, but I just saw red. I think maybe I was just so sick of it. You know? We did it, we defeated the bad guy, killed the monsters, saved the entire God damn world. So much death and destruction, and then for this guy to just come out here and try to disturb our peace? What right did he have?”

You found yourself rubbing lazy circles between his slumped shoulders. He let out a long sigh, shiver wracked beneath your palm, and he reached out for the vents again. 

“Anyway, backup showed up, pulled me off of him, threw him in the back of my cruiser. Almost lost my job, couldn’t face my dad, drove all the way to Nance and Robin’s dorm.” He glanced over at you then, brown eyes massive and round. “Jesus, I’m so sorry. You just asked a question, I didn’t mean to unload on you like that. This weather is just riling me up.” 

“It’s okay, Steve,” you smiled softly. “You don’t have to apologize for your reactions to the shit you went through. Trauma affects us all in bizarre ways. And it sounds to me like you were protecting someone you care about. Never apologize for that.” 

The corners of his mouth upturned at that, and he slunk his hand over to cup the meat of your thigh, just above your kneecap. “Don’t tell Munson I care about him.” 

“Secret’s safe with me.” You crossed your heart, and he offered you another squeeze before pulling out of his parking spot.

“Shall we head to make out spot number two?”

“Depends,” you smiled, buckling yourself back in. “Do I get to make out with you at this one?” 

“Miss, I am on the job.” 

—

The storm had been long gone, skies dipped a midnight blue, scattered with starlight that you could make out through the moon window in the roof of Steve’s BMW. Cool night air sifted in, pebbling the skin of your arms and legs, everywhere but the spot that was occupied with the scorch of Steve’s oversized palm. His thumb circled your inner thigh, just beyond the pulled flesh of your knee, where everything turned soft, pliant in his grasp.

Although the storm had passed, the static lingered, in the inches between your shoulders, Olivia Newton-John singing a heartfelt melody over the radio, almost too quiet to hear. 

“I really am sorry about our movie night,” he mumbled, turning down a sideroad into a wide Suburban neighborhood. You were nearing your destination.

“It’s alright,” you smiled. “Now I can tell people I rode in a police cruiser. Makes me seem much more dangerous.” 

“Shoulda let me know, I could have cuffed you.” 

You swallowed thickly. You shifted in your seat, backs of your thighs suddenly sweaty, sticking to the leather. Your motion moved his hand centimeters up your leg. You didn’t dare look at him, stared straight ahead at the sleeping houses and car-filled driveways.

“So, what’re your plans for tomorrow? Fourth of July already.” His voice was strained, breathy. 

Anxiety tickled at your throat. You shrugged. “Nancy’s mom’s having a barbecue I guess. Will you be there?” 

“And miss Ted Wheeler’s charred burgers?” He snorted, squeezed your thigh. “Wouldn’t miss it.” 

“Is your mom’s party tomorrow?” 

“Shit.” He slammed on the brakes, startling you. 

You thrust your hands into the dash to stop your face from hitting it, and you looked out along the road for a deer, a cat, a body, anything to constitute the sudden stop.

“Are you coming?” 

“What?” You blinked back at him.

“Tomorrow. To my mom’s party. Are you coming? Because it’s totally understandable if you don’t want to. I mean, I haven’t prepared you at all, and my parents and their friends can be a lot. My dad’s kind of this huge asshole, and my mom like… puts a lot of pressure,” he was rambling.

You placed your hand on his shoulder and shook it. “Steve. It’s fine.”

“No, you don’t understand-“

“Nancy and Robin gave me the full run down.” You snorted. 

He winced at that. “Which is why it’s understandable if you don’t want to go.”

“I want to go.” You shrugged.

“You sure?”

You chewed on the inside of your bottom lip, nodded. “I like your mom.” 

“I like my mom too. Doesn’t mean isn’t a lot to handle.” 

You took his hand from your lap. “How about, if I feel like your mom is too much, or the party is too much, we can pick a safe word, and when I say it, you can get me the hell out of there. Deal?” 

He nodded fervently. “Yeah, okay. Deal.” He shook your hand, firm. “What should our safe word be?” 

You pretended to think about it, looked around at the surroundings, shrugged. “Penis?”

He groaned.

“Okay, okay. You’re right. We’re feminists. Vagina?”

“You’re worse than Robin.” He grumbled, popping the car back into gear to start driving again. 

You barked a laugh and relaxed back into the leather. “Alright, fine. How about Hamlet? If either one of us brings up the Danish Prince in conversation, we bounce.” 

“I thought he was from Denmark.” 

You whipped around to see his sweet little eyebrows furrowed in honest-to-God confusion. You bit back another laugh and reached across the console to pull his hand back into your lap. 

Just around the next corner, the sweet bricks and bright white siding of the Wheelers’ home came into view, station wagon in the driveway. The light from Nancy’s bedroom glowed yellow above the garage. Your heart sank. You squeezed Steve’s hand, strong fingers between yours. 

“I had a really good time tonight,” you mumbled.

Steve rolled to a stop just across the street, pulled the emergency brake, shut off the engine. “I’ll walk you up.” He gestured, but before he could unlatch the door, you grabbed him by the lapels and pulled him in for a kiss. He made a soft oomph of protest before sinking into it, hand finding your thigh again, inching further up the flesh, fingertips kneading under the hem of your dress.

You hadn’t kissed all night. Flirty banter, sure, tantalizing circles to your skin, sure, but each make out spot had been filled with pervy kids, and the moments between were full of anecdotes and laughter. You discussed job prospects, he vehemently suggested you be a librarian - with waggled eyebrows. But not once had he closed the distance between you, so you supposed you’d just take matters into your own hands. 

You carded your fingers through his hair, pulling another soft sound from between his lips, and he parted for a moment to fiddle with the lever at the front of his seat until the whole thing, and him, slid back a couple of feet.

You gulped and glanced around before maneuvering yourself carefully across the console to straddle his lap, painfully aware of the horn on the steering wheel inches from your rear end. One of Steve’s large hands found the crease of your hip beneath your dress, the other cupping the base of your neck to pull you back to him.

These kisses were needier than the night before, like you were on a time crunch, knocked noses and bit lips. His hand massaged your thigh, the motion grinding your pelvis into his own, and boy was Steve Harrington experienced in his craft. 

“I can’t stop thinking about you,” his voice was husky, hot breath against the shell of your ear as he started to place warm, wet kisses down the column of your throat. “Drove me wild in the pool the other day.” He palmed at your breast over your dress, and a soft mewl escaped your lips. 

Then, he pulled another lever beside himself, and you both went crashing downwards until his headrest hit the backseat. You let out a cry of surprise, and he muffled a laugh and apology into your collarbone. You relaxed your weight into him, hands lazy overhead, and his making their way up your dress to caress your ribcage, the underside of your breasts, licking his way back to your mouth.

“Steve,” you gasped when thumb brushed pebbled flesh, and he groaned, brows knit, and ground up into you, the polyester of his pants doing nothing to hide how he felt in this position. 

Your face heated, and you ducked your head into his neck, heart thundering in your ears to the rhythm of his own. He was warm, bergamot and chamomile, the cool breeze blowing in through the moon roof. You took a rattled breath, sat up to look at him. 

He was cast in soft blues to match his uniform, furrowed brow, heavy chest beneath your palms. You brushed a rogue hair from his forehead, and his lips turned up into that sweet smile. His brown eyes were warm, pupils blown, and he soaked you in from top-to-bottom. 

“God, you’re beautiful.” 

And you knew then and there, you were a goner.

—

The Fourth of July, all red-white-and-blue bannered suburbia, was the kind of sticky humid that soaked through your shirts and had you in and out of the Wheeler’s air conditioned home begging for the sweet relief of Karen’s homemade lemonade and ice cubes from coolers pressed to the pulse points of your body. 

You helped carry out trays of buns, of patties, of cheese, of toppings, all out the front door and onto the buffet table. They were seemingly feeding the entire neighborhood, the most middle aged and young people you’d ever seen, all suffering together until the sun’s sweltering rays.

You stood beside Robin, hunched over in the shade at the side of the house, quenching yourself with your third or fourth solo cup of lemonade, tangy sweet and iced cold. 

“I think I’m melting,” Robin croaked from beside you, freckled face flushed a deep cherry. 

“Same. How does she do it?” You glanced at Nancy, who was perky as ever, fists perched on her hips while she schmoozed the neighbors with tales of her adventures at college.

“She’s perfect, remember?” Robin sighed.

You elbowed at her ribcage with a smirk. “You’re hopeless.”

Movement caught out of the corner of your eye, the reflection of sunbeam off a car windshield, and you looked over to see Steve pull up, parked in the exact spot across the street you were parked in the night before. You immediately perked upright.

“Who’s hopeless?” 

“Shut up.” The smile couldn’t be slapped from your face. 

Steve climbed out of his car, and you watched in slow motion. The sun hit him bright gold against tanned, dewy skin. He wore those aviator sunglasses, which he pulled up to snag in his hair as that bright smile crossed his features, greeting Dustin with the dorkiest handshake you’d ever seen. He wore a t-shirt, something patriotic emblazoned across the front, logo stretching over the span of his pecs, sleeves puckering around thick biceps. His shorts were short, a bright blue, stunning thighs on display. Your breath caught, remembering the feel of them beneath you, sturdy, warm.

Your name sing-songed beside you pulled you from your trance, and you blinked the sounds of the party back into focus. Sprinklers running, dogs barking, kids cheering and screaming, sparklers hitting the concrete of the driveway. 

“I think you’re drooling,” Robin prodded your arm.

“Shut up,” you repeated, and you knew she was kidding, but you mopped self-consciously at the corners of your mouth.

“Girls,” Holly called, blonde pigtails poking from around the front of the house. The sweet girl had taken on the role of Mom’s Favorite Assistant today, and she’d spent the entirety of the morning bossing you around. “Mom said the tato salad and cole slaw need to go out.” 

“Roger that, Captain. We are on our way.” 

She saluted you both and slunk off in the direction of the house.

You sighed and held a hand out to help Robin to her feet. You glanced over your shoulder just before dipping into the house, catching Steve’s stare from across the yard. You bit your bottom lip and entered the cool bliss of wallpaper and air conditioning. 

“Welcome back,” Karen called from her glued spot behind the kitchen island. She looked immaculate, even through the chaos, and you supposed the cool air kept her coiffed curls in tact. Her mascara hadn’t sweat down her cheeks yet, lips a neon pink. 

“Holly mentioned potato salad?” 

Karen sighed and palmed manicured nails around the top of a pickle jar. She huffed in defeat, attempting to open it. “I think I spoke too soon on the potato salad.” 

“Oh, here let me,” Robin offered, crossing the counter.

You took a sip of lemonade at the exact wrong moment, taking in the breeze of cool air against your sticky neck, because Karen peered right over your shoulder, pickle jar extended past Robin, and said, “Oh Steve, thank God. I need those strong hands of yours.” 

You sputtered, mouthful of lemonade fully launched back into your cup, splashing your fingertips sticky sweet. Robin cackled at your expense, slamming her hand against your back. “Wrong pipe,” you excused yourself, dumping the cup into the sink and wiping your hands and mouth on a paper towel. 

“Great turn out this year, Mrs. Wheeler,” Steve flashed you his canines, smug bastard, and took the pickle jar from his hand. “Must’ve heard your famous lemonade was being poured.” 

“Stop,” she blushed - actually blushed - into her hand.

You stared at Robin, wide-eyed, and she flashed you a knowing smirk, popping a watermelon ball into her mouth. 

Steve barely struggled with the lid, biceps bulging beneath his too-tight shirt, and you wondered if the woman had needed his help in the first place, or if maybe she also wanted to spend her Great American Holiday ogling at the young man. He’d tucked his sunglasses into his collar and fixed his hair, probably the most perfect you’d seen it, to match the perfect house and the perfect woman in front of her. You understood how he’d found his place here, how he’d slipped right in. 

You coughed again, slammed a fist to your chest, and Robin chuckled around her watermelon.

“Are you alright?” Karen touched your shoulder in concern, and you nodded, eyes watering.

“I’ll be fine.” 

“Looks like Mr. Wheeler might need a little help.” Steve glanced out the window over your head, and you turned to see smoke rising from the grill.

“Shit!” Karen cried, wiping her hands on her apron. She adjusted the top of her dress quickly and marched out the side door, squawking for Ted to be careful, leaving the three of you alone in the cool house. 

“That woman is something else,” Robin whistled, picking apart a ball of cantaloupe, but your focus had turned entirely back to the man leaning against the countertop beside you.

“Hi.”

“Hi.” 

“Okay, gross,” Robin scoffed and followed Mrs. Wheeler out the side door, calling out for Nancy.

“How are you?” Steve’s voice was low, a rumble that sent shockwaves through you. 

“Hot,” you smiled, turning to face him, allowing him to pull his fingers through yours.

“Yeah you are.” 

You cringed, snorted a laugh. 

He grinned, inched closer. “Did you sleep okay?”

You nodded, looked up at him from under your lashes. “Did you?”

He shook his head. “Too damn wired.” His thumb hooked into the belt loop at your hip. 

You were all at once self-conscious about the sweat beading at your neck, the slope of your back, beneath your breasts. You licked salty sweet off your cupid’s bow and watched the way his eyes trailed the action. You squeezed your thighs together and breathed his name.

“Hello?! We need cole slaw. Stat, stat, stat!” Holly barked her orders from the other side of the island, little hands clapping into each other to emphasize each word.

You sighed, deflated against the counter, but managed a half-hearted salute. “Copy that, Captain. Cole slaw, coming out.” 

Satisfied, she disappeared around another corner, and you sighed as Steve peeled himself from the countertop to slide the tray of balled melons onto one hand. You picked up the bowl of slaw beside him and felt your face heat as he pressed a chaste kiss to the wet patch at your left temple. You ducked your head and followed him outside, legs unstable and heart racing.

—

Early afternoon at the Wheeler’s was sweat soaked and lemonade drunk. Well, lemonade and Karen’s vodka that Nancy had stolen from the liquor cabinet to spike each of your drinks. You were dizzy from the heat and from each brush of strong hand to your waist, the crook of your elbow, down your forearm to squeeze your fingertips. 

Hawkins suburbia has feasted and gossiped, mingling in little clumps around the yard. From the cool air of the garage, you watched Steve and Lucas play a game of one-on-one. Lucas kicked his ass. Steve winked at you, hair sticking to the back of his neck. You tucked his aviators into the top of your tank, just between your breasts where sweat cooled with every opening of the adjunct refrigerator. 

When the sweet lime of Jell-O settled into your stomach, and you were fully ready for a nap, Steve slung his arm around you and pinned you to the side of house, where the backdoor leaked into a disheveled basement. You cried out in surprise, but let him hold your weight, all strong arms and broad chest, salty sweet. He kissed you then, took your breath in his mouth with upturned lips and pressing fingertips, and you melted further into him, a popsicle in the hot, hot sun.

“You ready?” He murmured when you pulled away for a breath, and you frowned back at him for a moment until he nodded. “Mom’s party.” 

“Shit,” you shoved at his shoulders. “Shit, shit, shit.” 

You abandoned him at the side of the house to round up Nancy and Robin, both of whom were napping on the sofa inside, legs thrown over opposite arms, hair tangling in one another’s. They rushed with you upstairs for a spruce up, outfit change, perfume, the whole she-bang, and when you returned out the front door, Steve pulled his sunglasses down the bridge of his nose, head shaking, mouth agape. You took it as a compliment. 

“What did I say about wearing your own clothes?” He mocked when you both climbed into the hot leather of his car. The backs of your thighs were singed, and you quickly cranked your window for some relief while he banged on the air conditioning. 

“I know, I know, but your mom intimidates me.” You tugged on Nancy’s shirt, red and blue stripes, far too patriotic for your taste, and much too tight in the boobs. But you figured the puffed sleeves would impress, not to mention the barrettes thrown into your hair. 

“Fair enough,” Steve chuckled, placing his hand on your thigh as he skirted around corners of little Hawkins neighborhoods, yards bustling with kids and bikes and barbecues. 

You were blissed out, in a food coma, hot and dizzy. Steve’s hand on your leg, the sting of leather beneath you, it all just brought you back to the night before, and you settled your head against the headrest and shut your eyes for just a moment, a soft smile playing at your cheeks. Only returning to the real world when Steve gently shook your shoulder, parked with a myriad of overpriced cars in his parents’ driveway. 

“You ready?” He hummed, and you let him pull you from the car and up the little steps to his double front doors. “Hamlet, remember?”

You nodded, squeezed his hand, and in you went. 

This party was a stark contrast to the Wheelers. All air conditioned, everyone has chosen to remain indoors, not a drop of sweat to be seen. You and Steve wore the brightest colors, everyone else in boring polos and khakis and dress suits. Mrs. Harrington kissed you both exuberantly on the cheeks, clearly a few sherries in. She poured you both a glass of store-bought lemonade, too sweet to be homemade.

A charcuterie board dwindled on the kitchen counter, ringed in fresh berries and various dips, the cartons for which could be found cluttering the garbage can in the corner. Smooth jazz permeated from the sound system down below, and you could smell distinctly Earth cigar smoke. 

“Stevie, your father’s downstairs with some of his club buddies, if you’d like to say hello.” 

Steve shrugged, rocked on the balls of his feet, not keen to leave you. You offered him an encouraging smile.

Mrs. Harrington took the meat of your elbow into a perfectly manicured hand and offered to introduce you to some of her friends, starting with an alumni of your college. You supposed connections were good to have. One more glance of your shoulder to Steve’s apologetic eyes, and you were halfway across the house, shaking hands with a woman in glasses. 

“Oh you go to the University? What’re you studying?” 

“English literature.” 

“Quite the academic,” Mrs. Harrington pressed on, just as Robin and Nancy had warned. 

It went on like this as you made the rounds. Your name, your major, how you and Steve met - a story you’d twisted into legality, how you were enjoying Hawkins. Again and again, strong perfume clouded the room upstairs, smoke wafting up from the basement. You met a broker’s wife, a lender’s wife, a salesman’s wife. All of which had had higher education, none of which had a career of their own, and although you understood the merit in that, it all felt a little much, and you felt a little suffocated, a little dizzy, the lemonade too sweet with not nearly enough vodka.

You really did think you could handle it, thought Robin and Nancy had prepared you, but then the questions started to change, dig deeper, and you felt a little trapped in this perfect-on-the-outside/haunted-on-the-inside party, home, town.

“I’ve heard Steve’s been working a lot lately,” Judith Perkins mentioned, biting her olive from the toothpick in her martini. 

“He has, nights and weekends mostly, you know how they like to trouble the fresh meat.” Mrs. Harrington chuckled, stirring her own cocktail with a swish of her wrist. 

“Builds character,” Mrs. Bailey agreed. 

“Must be hard for you though, dear,” Mrs. Perkins gripped your forearm a little too hard, meaty fingers coated in freckles. 

“Hm?” You smiled softly, peeling yourself away from her grasp.

“Well, if you’re going back to school soon, that’s weekdays full. Nights and weekends are your only time to see each other? My sweet, Carole, had the same problem. Tommy got that job up in Indy, and they hardly saw each other. Had to break up.” 

The women around you gasped.

“Tommy and Carole broke up?”

“Oh how heartbreaking!”

“I always thought they’d get married, those two.”

“Oh you must be heartbroken, Judith, I’m so sorry.” 

You swallowed. You hadn’t thought about any of that, too caught up in the dizzying heat of summer, in the tangy sweet of lemonade kisses and moonlit car rides. 

“Well, I think these two have nothing to worry about,” Mrs. Harrington gave your shoulders a warm shake, condensation from her glass sliding down the back of your neck and spine. “Steve seems smitten. He’ll make it work.” 

You feigned a smile and glanced over your shoulder for the doors, the ice cold room too stuffy suddenly, filled with too many smells, the lemonade started to rise the bile in your throat. 

“I am sorry about Tommy and Carole though. You thought you were going to be a Grandmother soon, right?” 

The conversation chattered on, and the room slowed around you. You gripped at the arm of the sofa for support, setting your cup on a nearby side-table. You swallowed and mumbled and excuse before searching down the hall for a bathroom. 

The first door to the left opened to plaid walls and a mess of bed linens. Blue polyester and boots discarded just at the foot of the bed, closet door wide-open. You stepped in and closed the door behind yourself, closing out the ambience of the party and breathing in bergamot and chamomile and something distinctly Steve. 

The top of his dresser held his badge, a walkie-talkie, a wrist-watch, a baseball trophy. The top drawer was open to expose a mess of folded socks, a very much visible bag of weed. Beside a large window, his desk was scattered with police academy pamphlets and guide books. The wall was discolored near his bed where a poster would have been, slightly more vibrant than the plaid surround, and you wondered if his mother might have insisted on redecorating, tearing down the old wallpaper for something new. 

You ran your fingertips across the bright patch, down the clean lines of plaid. The drawers of his bedside table were shut, something you forced yourself not to snoop through, but you didn’t have to because at the base of the lamp was a stack of polaroids. You flipped through them, smiling at one of him and Robin cheesing it. He and Dustin made funny faces in one. There was one of Nancy, staring off into the trees, a personal moment caught forever. You swallowed.

Then you found a picture of yourself. You were splayed out, hair a halo around your head against white shag carpet. Steve’s head was in your lap, your hands in his hair. Both of you were grinning from ear-to-ear. Eddie must have taken it when you were under, a flash of light in a world flooded with colors. With a sigh, you set the photos down and turned to face the window.

The pool reflected cool blue against the concrete, a dance of light, unused and abandoned. A backyard that should have been teeming with life on a day like this, left desolate, unwanted, as though there were better things on a hot day than swimming and laughter and fresh-squeezed. You chewed on the inside of your lip, wondering if this would be your future.

Not that it had to be now or never, but you supposed it was something to consider, your future. You were driving home tomorrow, after all, spell broken and teary-eyed, and why not face the truth of it now? Before the sun set and the fireworks started and all of the bubbling excitement made the inevitable hurt worse.

You shuffled back from the window, afraid the hole would swallow you up, and your leg bumped something from its lean against the wall. You side-stepped out of the way of a falling baseball bat, the good end of which was run-through with nails.

Your heart raced, staring down at it, running the gamut of emotions: surprise, confusion, terror, heartbreak. A memory surfaced of you screaming at Nancy and Robin in the library, of the stone-cold glances exchanged between them, cutting you off but full of meaning for each other. Secrets and lies and trauma, horrific, horrific trauma that oozed into these plaid walls and discolored them, turning plaid to vines and overgrowth of tumultuous chaos. Horror in the Heartland, the taste of this small town turning lemonade sour in your mouth. 

You shoved your way out of the bedroom and ran smack into a thick chest.

“Whoa, hey, I was looking for you.” Steve chuckled. “Find anything good in there?” 

You couldn’t breathe. He reeked of cigar smoke and sweat, and you wrestled out of his grasp on your waist until you realized you weren’t alone. His mother was feet away, offering you a tight-lipped smile.

“Everything okay, dear?” 

Your breath shook from you as you tried to stabilize it, shooting her a toothy smile. “Oh sure, just looking for the copy of Hamlet I bought Steve for Christmas. Wanted to make sure he read it, you know?”

She threw her head back in a laugh. “Good luck with that!”

“Okay, time to go.” Steve’s hand found the small of your back, and he led your toward the staircase.

“Steven!” His mom cried in protest.

“Trust me, Ma. We can’t get her talking about Shakespeare, or she’ll never shut up.” 

She reached her hand out for yours. “That sounds delightful. Come back to us, dear.” 

You swallowed, avoided eye contact.

“Ma, really. We have to go. Our friends are waiting on us.” 

“Oh, alright. Us older-timers aren’t keeping you entertained.” She waved her hand, but the look she shot you was something entirely different from the welcoming eyes. There was judgement there, lingering in the deep brown, like she saw right through you. 

“Thank you for inviting me, Mrs. Harrington.” You felt your bottom lip begin to tremble, betraying you. “It was a lovely party.” 

The corners of her red lips turned up and she nodded. “You two be careful, now.” And something in that felt ominous. Steve pressed a kiss to her cheek and grabbed you by the wrist to yank you back into the sweltering hot and out to his car. 

“Are you alright? What happened? What did they say?” He threw a hand over your shoulder to back out of the driveway. 

“Nothing. It’s fine.” You stared out the passenger’s side window, wiped a tear threatening to fall.

“God damnit, I knew you shouldn’t have come.” 

“To Hawkins?” You choked out.

“What? No, to the party.” He ducked his head to catch your eye, hair falling into his face, cigar smoke heavy in your space. “What did they say to you?” 

You cranked the window down a crack and crossed your arms over your chest. “Nothing. I think I’m just tired.” 

He said your name softly, hand meeting it’s familiar place on your thigh, and you shifted in your seat to push him away.

“Just drive, Steve. Please?” 

With a sigh, he did as you asked.

—

The clearing buzzed with cicadas, sun-kissed wildflowers tickling your ankles, hand over your lashes to shade yourself from late afternoon rays. You’d changed your shirt, slipped into a cut-up muscle tee of Eddie’s that hung lower than the hem of your shorts and exposed the flesh spilling out of the sides of your bra, but it provided a breeze to your lower back, and you were thankful to be out of Nancy’s suffocating shirt. 

Steve and Eddie muttered about you while you changed, discussing shitty parents in hushed tones meant only for themselves, more secrets held from you, and you stormed past them, heaving a backpack over your shoulders to begin the hike. You weren’t sure what you were hauling this time, firearms or grenades, just another mystery to add to the list.

You waited in the clearing too long, too hot. Your pack slumped from your shoulders to the ground and Steve and Eddie shared a cigarette to the butt, commiserating about the heat. You felt their stare on you the entire time, trying to focus on the birdsong in the breeze instead of the weight of your vacation and it’s repercussions on your mental health. 

Jonathan and Argyle appeared through the treeline after a while, sweat-patched shirts and tired smiles. They offered the relief of light conversation and a few canteens of water, and you chugged a few ounces while they discussed Mrs. Wheeler’s insatiable flirting after she spiked her own lemonade with vodka. It became a boys’ club, admiring the middle aged woman and her fashion sense, with waggled eyebrows and lazy summer smiles, and your stomach churned at the thought of how they spoke of you when you weren’t around.

“Is this our final destination?” You asked, short-circuiting their conversation to gesture to the clearing surround.

“No, milady,” Eddie shook his hair from his eyes, flashing his canines in that grin of his. “Weathertop.” He pointed upward, where the hill crested just to the North. 

You made to swing your pack back onto your shoulders, but Steve caught it and thrust one arm into a strap before you could protest. You thanked him and started your climb side-by-side.

“You don’t want to wait for the girls?” He mumbled, falling in step beside you, thighs toned and tanned with each upwards motion. 

You shrugged. “Wouldn’t mind being alone.” 

He rounded on you then, halting your movements with his slender body right in front. “Okay, can you just tell me what happened, please? Because I can’t fix it if I don’t know.” 

“You can’t fix everything, Steve.” You scoffed, maneuvering around him.

“Yeah, I know, but…” He sighed. “I want to apologize, at least. For my parents or my parents’ friends being total assholes, which I know they are.” 

You wiped sweat from your brow, licked it off your upper lip. “They weren’t. They aren’t.”

“So, was it something I did?”

“No, Steve, I just…” You took a deep breath, pinching the bridge of your nose. “I’m leaving tomorrow, okay? I’m going home tomorrow, and I don’t know when the next time I see you will be. And I guess I’m just coming to terms with that. You know? My bubble was burst, and I need some space to cope or readjust to my real life, or whatever.” 

He said your name softly, his hands reaching to link your fingertips with his own.

“Hey! Assholes!” A call from behind you had you both stopping to turn around. Nancy and Robin waved, changed into comfortable clothes, and they both bounded toward you with the boys in tow. “Didn’t want to wait for us?” They grinned.

“Didn’t want to miss the sunset,” you pointed westward, to the sun dipping past the horizon, a smattering of peachy pinks and tangerines that painted blue clouds purple. You avoided Steve’s gaze, let him linger behind as you finished your climb. 

Hawkins was a mess. You knew it, you’d expected it, but seeing it in full-frame really put into perspective the hell they want through. Ruins to the North, the West, the East, a city underseige and struggling to rebuild. Four massive fault-lines merged downtown, bright orange cones changing traffic all around. You could just make out the charred remains of the infamous Starcourt Mall. A vast lake lined with trees formed a heart just before slipping out of view. 

“Isn’t she a beauty?” Eddie grinned from beside you, shrugging off his backpack with a thunk.

You snorted and grimaced at everything cast in shadow, everything not stained peach. 

“Home sweet home,” Nancy groaned, tone as wry as you felt. She unzipped Eddie’s bag and unloaded the bent plastic of red cups, a few bottles of liquid in varying shades, and began to pour. 

You received your cup and downed immediately, no chaser needed for the sting in your throat and your lungs, wetting your eyes. You held your hand out for more, and she obliged.

“Harrington party that good, huh?” She winced. 

You shrugged, sipped at your second serving, enjoying the sting of the spot on your cheek you’d chewed raw. “Apparently Tommy and Carole broke up.” 

Nancy’s eyes widened in something a little maniacal, bubblegum lips pulling into a grin. “No shit.” She carried her glee to the others as she poured, another secret kept between friends with context you’d never understand. 

—

The sun dipped low beyond the forest, warm tones turned cool. The breeze took its place, and the moon in the sky, and stars twinkled high in the atmosphere. Steve and Eddie and Jonathan readied the ramshackle firework stand, as mortars began blowing up far in the distance. You rolled onto your back, grass itchy and head dizzy with alcohol. 

You felt a sturdy shoulder beside yours.

“Mushroom girl,” Argyle greeted. Elusive, an enigma when put alongside his comrades. He was all California rays and good vibes, and they were dark brooding. They’d seen some shit, carried scars like their town. He was waves and sand, an outsider like you, you supposed. “You’re harassing my mellow.”

You let out a sigh and stared up at the clouds, ignoring the pepper of fireworks from the town below. “Sorry.” 

“You’re normally just so bubbly, and now you’ve majorly deflated. Level with me, dude. What’s the matter?” 

You glanced sideways at him, and he’d propped himself on an arm, long hair cascading to the grass beside you from under his flat-billed cap. He was serious, not a shred of red in his brown eyes, and you noticed, for once, he didn’t smell of marijuana. You looked up at the sky, chewing on your words before you asked, “Do you ever feel like you don’t fit in?” 

He snorted at that, rolled back onto his back too, until his head knocked with your own. “Every God damn day.” 

“Even with these guys?” You gestured to the group arguing over positions and weights a few feet off. 

“Especially with these guys. We went through some shit, dude. Bonds you for life, but like they had even more messed up stuff happen before I came in the picture.”

You nodded. You’d heard it all before. “Was it a while before they told you about it?” 

You felt the bob of his head against your own. “I actually got kind of forced into it. A guy died in the back of my car. You’re lucky that shit’s over now. Jonathan’s siblings have superpowers and they pretty much saved the entire freaking world, dude. That shit’s intense.” 

Maybe he was higher than you thought. You closed your eyes, the world beginning to spin, and opened them again when you felt a tap on your knee. Robin stood above you, waggled fingers and shaggy hair. “Ready to light some shit up?” 

You allowed her to to help you to your feet, and she hugged you close beneath her wing as Steve approached for the inaugural blast. He lit the punk with a zippo and watched the embers burn before lighting the fuse. You all took a few steps backward down the hill, your fingers plugging your eyes for the blast-off. The firework soared into the sky above you with a screech, too high a velocity, and the wind cast it a little off-course, but when it finally popped, it cascade down upon you in a barrage of white sparkles.

The little friend group erupted in applause, Robin shaking your shoulders in delight, and you couldn’t help but allow the little smile to play on your lips. 

“I’m so happy you came this week,” she mumbled into your cheek, squishing your faces together. She was a little drunk, but so were you, and there was something so calming about her presence. 

Jonathan stepped up to light the next one, and it exploded in a rain of blue. Eddie was next, hollering like a maniac as his burst in bright reds. They went on and on like that, taking turns, until the stash had nearly been spent, and you watched with sore ears and polka dots behind your eyeballs, buzz and Robin’s body warming you.

The boys and Nancy hunched together in conspiracy with only a small handful more, and you pulled Robin to the side, just out of ear reach. She smiled at you, that sweet, cherry kissed smile, and you squeezed her hand in yours. You considered her one of your best friends, maybe the best friend, and so maybe, she’d answer your questions if you asked.

“Has Steve ever killed someone?” You asked, point-blank, remembering the baseball bat rolling on his bedroom floor, the shiner forming over his eyes and the cut on his lip, Argyle’s words echoing in your head. 

Robin’s blue eyes went wide, and she blinked at you. “No!” She laughed. Then she stopped, thought about it, and shook her head before repeating. “Nope,” popping the P.

“Have you ever killed anyone?” 

She barked a laugh that sounded like your name, and you squeezed her hand.

“Robin, answer the question.” 

“No!” She shook her head vehemently. “Where is this coming from?” 

You held your breath, glancing around at the group, the rag-tag team of barely adults, who shot guns and wielded bats and ate mushrooms together. You let out a long exhale and looked Robin directly in the eye, her own filled with concern. “Will you tell me what happened? Tell me everything?” 

A hand slid into your open one, and you felt the soft squeeze of dainty fingers. You turned to see Nancy offer you a tight-lipped smile, bubblegum pink and cast in midnight blues. “We’ll tell you everything tonight. Promise.” Your breath caught in your throat. “But first, the grand finale.” 

Five mortars stood in a row, propped up in the special woodcraft mechanism Jonathan had built. Jonathan, Steve, and Eddie crouched with punks in each hand, and they counted down from five before lighting the fuses. At once, an eruption occurred as all five cylinders shot explosives into the air. And one after the other snap, boom, sparkle, greens and whites and reds and blues rained down in bright bursts and embers. For a moment in time, the harsh darkness of Hawkins, Indiana was cast in light, in hope, in joy.

—

Your teeth chattered against the chill of an Indiana summer’s night, and you hugged yourself tighter around the middle, Eddie’s tank top not providing much warmth or safety. You stood on his porch, leaning against a rickety railing, needing fresh air from the smokey cabin and the information you’d absorbed.

Your friends kept to their promise. They’d told you everything, all about the murderer, Henry Creel, and his tragic life and death in Hawkins. It all started for them when he kidnapped Will, and ended with a battle of outrageous proportions. He was the reason for everything, the mall fire, all of those teenagers dying, the conspiracy against Eddie, even the Earthquake. That you couldn’t quite settle, and it felt like they withheld a lot from you. Argyle kept insisting on El and Will’s super powers, to which the group reacted in scoffs and groans. But you didn’t feel duped.

You weren’t quite sure how you felt. Satisfied? Not really. More sad, heartbroken that this group of wonderful people had to endure so much in such a short amount of time. Nancy and Robin and Eddie spoke to you with soft words and kind eyes, and Steve watched your every expression with worry and shame. 

They understood when you needed air, and you heard them muttering just inside. You closed your eyes to clear your mind, but they flew open when you heard the snapping of branches in the woods just beyond. Your heart started beating in your chest, alarmed at what may lurk just beyond the yellowed glow of Eddie’s cabin lights. You wanted to cry. This is how they must feel at all times, on high alert, ready to fight. This is why Steve keeps a bat next to his bed. 

You released a shaky breath and turned back to the house for safety, stopping short when you hit Steve’s broad chest. 

“Sorry,” he mumbled, Adam’s apple bobbing in your line of sight. “Did I scare you?” 

You released a weak laugh in place of your answer, unsure.

“I just,” he scratched at the back of his neck, his cheeks turning a soft pink under the lamplight. “I wanted to check on you.” 

Steve Harrington, the care taker. It was something you’d always understood about him, always admired, but now the puzzle pieces fit together and created the whole image. He’d always been this way, since he was little, bringing his mom a cup of tea while she cried to Romeo and Juliet. Saving Nancy and Jonathan from a murderer even though he was terrified for his life. Toting those kids around. Signing up for the police force. 

You took a deep breath and slipped your hand into his. His thumb brushed your knuckles. “I don’t want to be another responsibility.” You smiled softly, emotion muddling the words in your throat.

His brows creased at that, shadowing his eyes, the curve of his nose. “What’re you talking about?” 

You shook your head, gave his hand another squeeze. “I don’t want you to have to worry about me, to think you have to take care of me.”

“That’s not-“ 

“Not right now, Steve. I mean all the time.” You felt a tear trickle your cheek, and you laughed in spite of it, reaching it to frantically wipe it away before he got the chance, his hand already raised. “That’s what I mean. You feel this pressure, all of the time, to protect those around you. And don’t argue with me, because we all see it. We all feel it. Karen Wheeler recognizes it, for Christ’s sake.” 

His expression never changed, not understanding, eyes full of confusion and worry. 

“And I won’t be another citizen you can add to your list.” You sniffled, resolute. “I can’t be someone you dote on because you’re worried I’m going to get too drunk at a party or roll my ankle or… do mushrooms!” You threw your free hand in the air. “I can’t be a distraction when you’re here, protecting your town and I’m off doing my own thing.” 

“What are you saying?” 

“I’m saying,” you released a shaky breath, squaring your shoulders. “That I’m a big girl, Steve. I can take care of myself. And I think it’s best if we,” you gestured between the two of you, inches apart. “If we…” The words stung in your throat.

“Stop.” He released your hand, instead gripping both of your shoulders.

“Steve, no, listen.”

“Will you just shut up?” 

You blinked back at him, almost had to slam your own jaw closed with a hand.

“No,” he shook his head, brown eyes intense. “No. I’m not letting you go that easily. Because you know what? Believe it or not, you’re the first girl I actually haven’t had to worry about.”

You stared back at him, heart racing at the tone of his voice. 

“Nancy,” he gestured back to the house. “I literally had to swing a bat at a monster to keep her safe. Robin? Total klutz. Had me in a straight up panic when she was held hostage by psychopaths who were torturing me, and I was more worried about her than six broken ribs because she can’t take care of herself. Max?” He counted the third on his fingers in front of you. “Put in a God damn wheelchair because I couldn’t protect her. Okay? So where do you get off thinking I only care about protecting you?” 

You gaped at him, trying to form a thought, a good argument, something boiling up in your chest. You wanted to scream at him.

“Exactly.” He huffed, hair floating above his forehead. “Yeah, you rolled your ankle and yeah, you got drunk and threw up. Big whoop, it’s happened to all of us. If anything, I love you because I don’t have to worry about you at all. Anytime I think about you, I’m fucking thrilled to know that you’re sitting at home reading books like a fucking dork and not fighting monsters and psychopaths.” 

His words hit you like a slap to the face, hot air against the breeze at your sides, and you had to stabilize yourself against his chest, pushed until he was at arm’s length. He stumbled backwards, hands reaching for your wrists, but you shrunk away, suddenly shy, exposed, heart thundering in your ears. 

“You…” You gulped. “You what?” 

He frowned, eyes searching your face as he backtracked his monologue, and when he realized, his mouth fell open. 

Your hand were trembling. You balled them into fists at your chest and stared back at him, waiting for a response. When none came, you pushed off from the porch railing. “Steve. You what?”

“Kiss her, damnit!” Eddie called, and you glanced over Steve’s shoulder to see all of your friends lined up in frame, watching the entire exchange with toothy grins. 

A laugh caught in your chest, and you glanced back at Steve, who watched you with careful eyes. 

“If you don’t, I will,” Robin chimed, and Steve flipped the bird over his shoulder before he crossed and pressed into you with a passionate kiss. His strong arms enveloped your waist, and yours fell into his hair, and you breathed a laugh into his mouth as your friends cheered from the other side of the mesh screen. 

Steve groaned and swooped in for another sweet, sweet kiss. 

—

Mrs. Buckley stuffed your car with an oversized workman’s lunch pail packed with sandwiches and chips and granola bars and zucchini bread, and you almost cried into her robust frame as she hugged you goodbye and bid you a safe trip home. You were welcome anytime. 

Even Rose gave you an awkward hug, a sniffled pat to your shoulders before you waved an “au revoir” and retreated into their little home. 

“I will call you the moment I get home,” you nodded, confirming the fact for the fourteenth time today as Robin pried you from your driver’s side door for the fourteenth hug. 

“Do. And will make sure these dipshits don’t shoot their arms off.” She thumbed back to Nancy and Steve, who were waiting patiently for their turns. 

“Please do.” You pulled away warmer and softer and turned to Nancy next. 

“Hey, this isn’t an emotional occasion.” She tutted, finger wagged. “We will see you very soon when we move in. Even earlier, if you want to go with us to look at houses.” 

You nodded, breathed in bubblegum pink and shampoo. 

Nancy and Robin waved and blew kisses as Steve approached, stepping around him to walk up the Buckley’s porch, hand-in-hand. 

“I will call you tonight,” Steve held your card in his hand. Well, it was his card, but you’d scrawled your number on the back to ensure he had it this time, and he wouldn’t have to embarrass himself asking one of the girls for it. 

“Don’t.” You shook your head, remembering the state of your house. “My dad will kill us both.” 

“Okay…?” He chuckled, pocketing it in the blue polyester of his work pants. His cruiser sat just off to the side of the driveway, blue and white and beat to hell. 

“Call me tomorrow, between noon and five. You know what? I’ll call you.” 

“Okay,” he dipped in for a sweet kiss, bergamot and chamomile and mint gum that was stuck between his molars. 

“Before I forget,” you foraged into your own back pocket for a polaroid, passing it to Steve. “Do me a favor and give this to Eddie?” Heat licked at your face as you watched his expression move from confusion to shock to something darker. The girls had coaxed you into taking it after your shower. Nothing obscene, all the right bits of you covered, but your back was arched, hair wet around your face.  You almost kept it for yourself.

“I absolutely will not.” Steve breathed, face tinged pink, eyes black.

You shrugged. “Bummer. I thought it was him that needed it for his nightstand. Maybe I’m wrong.” 

“You snoop,” he poked at your ribcage.

You smiled and tugged at his lapel, running a thumb over his name badge as he tucked your photo into his back pocket beside your card. “Stay safe for me, will you?” 

He snorted, nuzzled your nose with his. “Stop trying to protect me.” 

“Shut up.” You chuckled into another kiss. 

It took everything in your willpower to part from him, warm body sturdy under your palms, yours pliant in his. Finally, a wolf whistle from the porch separated you, and you wiped at the swell of your lips as Steve did the same. He grinned back at you, all teeth and freckles, and he squeezed your hips before releasing. 

“I’ll talk to you soon,” he promised, backing toward Robin and Nancy on the stoop. 

You waved at your friends, heart tight in your chest, before sinking into the driver’s seat and turning the ignition. Your little car puttered to life, and once again you waved your friends goodbye as you headed down the detoured streets of Hawkins, Indiana.

The spray-painted exit sign asked for you to come again soon, and although it said HELL in big red letters, you thought you might.

---

A/N: Thank you for all of your love on Chamomile. I was so inspired by your sweet, sweet words that I wrote this. And if we're being honest, I might work on a third. Maybe I'll write these two forever and ever. Thank you so so much for reading! xo -Amanda

[dynam-patron-of-good-decisions]

Imagine your some giant god beast, awakened after years of slumber, your cult succeeded, and then some green cloaked bastard in a deer skull shanks you and your followers a million times and doesn’t react at all when you bite them

[ritchiepage2001newaccount]

WHY UNIVERSAL BACKGROUND CHECKS ARE JUST AS UNLIKELY AS EVER, UNFORTUNATELY

I'm a leftist (Libertarian-Socialist), who votes progressive, because I live under an "elected" government, and I had thought I had purged the MSNBC/CNN Nation from my friends list, but apparently not, as my timeline is just chock-full of media-driven hysteria over current events, so here's a primer:

"Liberals" who think their arguments are clever or relevant to the Second Amendment are exhausting.

They are not the left; they are just one half of the good cop/bad cop act of the corporate owned fire-hose of bullshit that is the corporate media, and corporate America's governing criminal cartel/duopoly.

Both cults "I like simple and ineffectual 'solutions', because they make me feel like I'm doing something, and I'm just stinky with fear."

There are over a hundred million legal gun owners, who some want to punish for somebody else's crime.

Well, there are some things to consider.

We've been a heavily armed country since 1621, and yet the epidemic of daily mass-shootings didn't begin until 20 April 1999 (Columbine), at a time when gun ownership was at an all-time low, and five years after Clinton's assault-weapons ban, so maybe guns aren't the variable.

Maybe, just maybe, dead school-children are the price of the neoliberalism practiced under the "Washington Consensus" of BOTH right-wing authoritarian parties since the 1980's? When your country offers you no prospects, and you become terrified of the future, what then? Fear can make unstable people do desperate things. Add to that a culture of celebrity, and what could possibly go wrong?

Another factor that goes completely unexamined, is the way Ronald Reagan and Tip O'Neill emptied our state hospitals onto our streets, and onto families ill-equipped to deal with the sometimes violent mentally ill.

Thank God, the "solution" is so simple…

Also, 84% of NRA members support universal background checks. The problem is, every time a bill comes up for a vote, Democrats add poison pill amendments guaranteeing defeat in the legislature (and the courts), and then they proceed to tell the TV cameras that "once again the GOP and the gun lobby have voted down background checks and defied the will of the people", or some such nonsense.

If you want to watch Dems sabotage universal background checks (while Republicans roll their eyes and face-palm) in real time, go here:

P.S. You can probably guess which one of these three groups I belong to (Hint: It's the one that's growing and actually decides elections):

LaborPartyNow!!!

P S The line, "You don't need 30 rounds to shoot a deer!" is not clever.

The Second Amendment has nothing to do with hunting tools, toys for hobbyists (target shooting), or even weapons for self-defense.

It's about ARMS!!!

It's about the individual citizen's right to arms, so they'll be prepared to join a militia, not the other way around. ‘Well regulated’ at that time, simply meant, ‘efficient.’ In other words, in order for a muster to be efficient, civilians needed to be already armed.

So the "collective rights" argument has a couple of problems that make it quite unhinged from history and reality.

1) As I've mentioned above, Americans have always been relatively heavily armed. How did that happen in a collective rights paradigm?

2) Contrary to what you were probably taught in school, by the time of the Confederate artillery barrage on Fort Sumter, the war over slavery had already been going on for over six years, and was fought entirely by independent volunteer militia's. Fort Sumter was just the beginning of official involvement by government troops. How did that happen in a collective rights paradigm?

3) In what universe do government forces need to have their right to arms protected?

4) Since when do National Guard members keep National Guard arms (Hint: they're kept at the armory, and have been since colonial times)?

5) Obviously, "Liberals" are stupid.

Again: #LaborPartyNow!!!

P P S That was ENTIRELY the point of the first fruits of dissent, the 10 Amendments we've come to call the BILL OF RIGHTS (which have become a beacon to aspiring democrats all over the world), to protect INDIVIDUALS from the government they had just created. #TrueStory

[young-dumb-and-vaccinated]

The Sommelier (Hannigram x Female!Reader) pt. 11

Y/n returns to Quantico and sees a familiar face. 

@deadman-inc-bikeshop @viviace and @dovahdokren 

Trigger warnings: mention of FGM, graphic descriptions of violence, bombs, religiously motivated violence, torture, cults, implied sex abuse

Out of everywhere you expected to see him, the FBI headquarters was the last place you'd have possibly thought of.

But he was there. His intimidating height was even more pronounced now that he wasn't sitting on a bar stool. The harsh fluorescent lighting enunciated his sunken bone structure, giving him an eerie halo. The fact that he was standing over a flayed corpse didn't help.

"Ms. [L/N]!" Jack greeted. "This is Dr. Hannibal Lecter, he occasionally acts as a consultant on large cases such as this one."

"Hello again, Miss [L/N]." Hannibal said, eyeing you up and down with an unreadable expression. "I'm dreadfully sorry these are the circumstances under which we have to meet, but it is a delight to see you nonetheless."

"Dr. Lecter." You nodded, trying to cover your nervousness with a smile. "It's always a pleasure."

"You two know each other." Will said in complete non-surprise.

"Her bar is the only one in town that carries my favorite Bordeaux." Hannibal explained. "Though I've come to find that the bartender is excellent company."

Something about how he said "her bar" made your heart flutter. You'd convinced him that you were in charge, and you were determined to keep it that way.

"Not to break up the reunion." Dr. Katz interrupted your thoughts. "But we are standing in front of a dead cultist's body."

Jack cleared his throat. "Thank you, Dr. Katz. What can you tell us about this woman?"

"Her name is Catherine Miller, or at least it was." Dr. Katz began, grabbing the corpse by its left hand and revealing a scar on its inner arm. "I think Chase may have just been calling her 'unwoman'."

"Erasing a person's identity is one of the many warning signs of a dangerous cult." Hannibal observed, crossing the floor.

"Usually they try to change their names in an attempt to make them shed their genuine personality in favor of the cult personality." Jack agreed. "But she must have been so far gone to willingly give up her entire identity."

"That's not even the beginning." Dr. Katz rushed to the other side of the examination table. She paused for a second and lowered her head in respect. "She was mutilated."

All eyes turned to the body's lower half. Dr. Katz took the corpse's hand and rubbed her thumb gently across the back, as if to comfort it. You and her shared a look of mutual disgust and anger. No words had to be exchanged.

You were the one to break the silence. "In Handmaid's Tale, circumcision was a punishment for... gender treason."

"Homosexuality." Hannibal said, looking down. "Well, more accurately, any sexuality or gender identity that exists outside Gilead's biblical worldview."

"I wonder if that's why Chase strapped her to a bomb." Dr. Katz added with quiet conviction. "He needed to destroy any evidence of brutality."

"She said that she once was a sinful woman like me." You said. "Or something to that effect."

"Was she perhaps under the impression that you existed outside of Gilead's biblical worldview?" Hannibal asked, looking at you out of the corner of his eye. He was asking out of his own curiosity and you could tell.

"Well, I am." You admitted. "But I'm not sure how she or Chase could have known that."

"Evangelicals make assumptions about people all the time." Dr. Katz groaned. "I wouldn't worry too much about it."

"And here I thought the bible said 'judge not lest ye be judged'." Will added, not looking up from the body. He took a few steps and pointed to some strange laceration. "What's this?"

"I have no fucking idea." Dr. Katz answered. "It looks like someone tried to skin her like a deer, but only in that one spot."

"And it's done very sloppily at that." Said Hannibal.

"Yeah, well when you're guided by the hand of god, you don't need a medical license." Dr. Katz's voice was sharp with sarcasm.

"I'll bet that's why Chase strapped her to a bomb." Will said. "It would destroy all the evidence of brutality."

Dr. Katz looked sadly on the body and closed its eyes. "I think Catherine has suffered enough for the time being. I'm going to close her up."

Jack gestured to you. "Miss [L/N], Will and I are going to examine the crime scene. Dr. Lecter will be taking your statement."

"I know it’s unorthodox, but I am nothing if not a professional." Hannibal peered down at you.

Hannibal silently escorted you to an out-of-the-way office where he promised you’d have some privacy. Privacy to discuss what, you were unsure. 

“I’m sure you have a million questions, Miss [L/N].” He said, closing the door behind you. “But if I could trouble you with a few of my own, I can make it worth your while.” 

He sat on a nearby couch and patted the space beside him. You awkwardly stood in the middle of the room, looking everywhere but at him.

“Come, sit by me.” He beckoned you with his fingers. “I’d like you to be close.” 

You let your feet carry you to his side, still avoiding any eye contact. You fidgeted with your purse straps and kept your head down. 

“You and Will Graham have met?” He asked.

You wordlessly nodded your head. You had a sinking feeling that he was about to scold you. 

“Have you been intimate?” 

You opened your mouth to protest, but he stopped you. “There’s no use lying to me, Miss [L/N].” 

You dropped your shoulders. “How did you know?” 

He leaned towards you and took a short, audible breath in. “I find it quite hard to believe that you wear the same aftershave.” 

“Is he your boyfriend or something?” You said, somewhat sarcastically. 

“Or something.” Hannibal tilted his head. “An object of my affection, is probably a more accurate term.” 

“You want me to back off?” You raised your eyebrows. You had just witnessed this man examine a flayed corpse without so much as a flinch. You didn’t want to get on his bad side. 

“No.” 

His answer took you by surprise. “Pardon?” 

“When two objects of your affection find each other, there are certainly far worse fates than to see them enamored with one another.” Hannibal explained. “It can lead to some highly desirable outcomes.” 

You understood what he was saying, you just couldn’t believe it. “Like what?” 

He grinned. “I think you already know what.” 

“You mean, like a threesome?” 

So much for professionalism. 

Hannibal clicked his tongue. “Now don’t make it sound so crass, darling. I’m an intelligent man of strong moral character. I’m not driven by lust alone.” 

At least he shared your contempt there. The word ‘threesome’ conjured up bad memories of being approached by straight couples on dating apps who saw you as nothing but a disposable sex toy to boost a straight man’s ego. For that reason, you stayed away from the idea altogether. Hannibal, however, had you reconsidering. 

“So a throuple.” You said. As the word left your mouth, you found yourself more amenable to the idea than you’d anticipated. “I just don’t know how I’d feel being shared between two men.” 

“Oh, [F/N],” he purred. “You would be worshipped by two men. Loved obsessively. Given everything you could ever desire. Not to mention protected at all costs.” 

That last point struck you. For so long, you had lived alone and in fear. And now, you would take any opportunity to not be alone. 

"You like the sound of that. I can tell." Hannibal broke the silence.

"I can't hide anything from you, can I?" You said, pushing your hair behind your ear.

He smiled proudly. "I thought so."