#draw steve and his ducklings

[sky-neverending]

Stranger things but they are ducks. Someone draw it. I just want a little doodle. please. Steve leading the group, maybe with Eddie beside him, and then their children like ducks in a row trailing behind. Dustin-Duck with his curls and his hat, Max with her skateboard or headphones, Will with his wizard hat or his bowl cut, El with a waffle in her little duck beak. and Mike just being Mike because he’s Mike. And lucas with a little camo bandanna tied around his head. Just Steve and his kids. and maybe the other adults but mostly Steve and his ducklings. someone draw it.

[morganski-19]

The One With the Chick and the Duck

When Steve opens the apartment door, Robin, very suspiciously, hides something behind her back. Music blaring through the apartment. Much louder than she normally likes to keep it.

“What did you do,” Steve sighs. Seeing right through whatever act she is trying to play right now.

Before she can even start to explain herself, Eddie opens the door. Forcing Steve off to the side. “Alright, so I was looking into supplies, and it looks like we need a heat lamp-. Oh, hey Steve.”

He quickly shuts his phone off and shoves it into his back pocket.

Steve nods, skeptically and a little pissed. He takes off his bag and sets it on the counter, crossing his arms to look at them. “What did you both do? Apparently.”

“Nothing,” Eddie tries to play off. Not successfully. “Why would you think that?”

“I don’t know,” he shrugs. “Maybe because you came in saying you need a heat lamp, and now are acting weird. And the fact that Robin’s very clearly hiding something behind her back.” The song changes to something with a lot of bass, making the floor start to shake. “Could we turn down the music please, we’re going to get a noise complaint.”

Robin reaches out, very awkwardly, to grab her phone and turn down the music. One of her arms never leaving behind her, and her feet staying rigid in one spot.

With the music turned down, Steve can hear the gently chirping. “What the fuck is that?”

“Just must be part of the song or something,” Robin lies.

“Yeah, part of the song,” Eddie agrees.

Steve moves around the counter, coming closer to Robin. Slowly starting to walk around her. Robin spins in a circle, keeping her front to Steve’s. Steve jerks to the right, making Robin force to her left. The chirping getting slightly louder.

“Careful,” Eddie exclaims, concerned. “You’ll hurt them.”

“Them?” Steve says, surprised. “There’s more than one?”

Robin sighs, giving up. “Please don’t be mad.”

“Kinda late for that.”

She reveals what was hiding behind her back. A cardboard box filled with a small layer of straw. A small chick and a duckling sitting amongst it. Both of them now staring at Steve. Curious.

“Where’d you get those?”

“The pet store,” Robin fills in like it’s no question at all.

“A pet store that suddenly sells chickens and ducks,” Steve exclaims. “In the middle of the fucking city.”

Eddie is nervously rocking back and forth on his feet. “We might have gone a little out of our way. We saw an add on Instagram, and just went for it.”

Steve pinches the bridge of his nose. “You are worse than my students sometimes. Is there a return policy?”

Eddie gasps. “You would make us return these gentle creatures? How dare you?”

“We are not people that can take care of these kinds of animals. Not here! They need a coop, and grass, and places to walk around. Not an apartment with fake wood flooring.”

Robin looks down into the box, reaching a finger out to gently pet the chick’s head. “But we could try. And then when they get unhappy, we could find a nice farm for them to live on. We could give them a better home than where they were.”

“I thought you said you got them at the pet store.”

“The pet store,” Eddie draws out, “might have been a bit misleading. Technically, we found them outside of the pet store. In a much worse cardboard box.”

Robin looks at Steve with wide eyes, almost pleading. “They were calling out to us, Steve. They were so sad.”

“So sad,” Eddie adds.

“And helpless.”

Eddie moves behind Robin, adding to the pleading. “So helpless.”

“What did you want us to do, leave them there?”

“In the cold? The rain? The snow?” Eddie accentuates each question in rising volume and dramatics.

“It’s August,” Steve questions.

“Doesn’t matter. They were abandoned so we graciously took them in. Now you are being mean and want us to give them away.”

Before Steve can get another word in, the door opens again. Argyle coming through with a happier than normal expression. “Guys, I’ve been thinking. How about Cheese and Quakers for their names?”

Robin and Eddie both gasp excitedly at the suggestion. Looking down that the animals with bright smiles.

“Great, now they have names.” Steve opens his phone and types a quick message. Nancy coming through the door quickly after.

“What’s this about a chick and a duck?” She asks before noticing the box in Robin’s hands. “Oh no.”

“Oh yes,” Steve says. Very annoyed.

Jonathan shuts the door behind him. “You brought in strays again?” he questions toward Argyle.

“How’d you get here so fast?”

“Saw you leave with that look in your eye, and thought it was no good. So I followed you.”

“Sometimes I hate the fact that you know me so well.”

Jonathan crosses his arms. “I’m guessing they have names already, too? You were always the best at those.”

Argyle, very dramatically, moves to stand next to Robin. Gesturing to the box with his arms. “Meet Cheese and Quakers.”

“Don’t get attached,” Steve interrupts. “We’re returning them.”

Robin, Eddie, and Argyle all snarl in disgust.

“There is no place to return them, Steve,” Robin snaps. “We found them on the side of the road, remember.”

“Who leaves a random chick and duck on the side of the road,” Nancy questions. Still catching up on the whole ridiculous story.

“And why were the three of you together,” Jonathan continues the questions. “Without us.”

Eddie crosses his arms, rolling his eyes. “What? Three friends can’t hang out with each other without the rest of the group?”

“Wait a second.” Steve pulls out his phone and looks up an add on Facebook. “Was this the road you found them on?”

He shows them a flyer for discounted chicks and ducks located at a house on the edge of the city. Something about more eggs hatching than was necessary.

“We’ve been made,” Eddie not so subtlety whispers toward Robin and Argyle.

“How’d you know about that?” Robin asks, still trying to stick to their story.

Steve puts his phone away. Getting the energy of someone who’s about to prove a point. “I saw you looking at it last night. Didn’t think you would actually go through with it though.”

Robin gives a sad shrug. “They just looked to cute, and they were really cheap.”

“And then she might have sent it to me, and I might have encouraged it,” Eddie adds.

“And then they both sent it to me, and the plan was formed,” Argyle finishes.

Nancy asks to see Steve’s phone again. Looking at the flyer. “They’re nonrefundable. What’s the real harm in letting them keep them?”

Steve looks at Nancy betrayed. “I thought you would be on my side about this.”

“Look at them right now.”

Steve, Nancy, and Jonathan look at the three surrounding the box with the small animals. All looking half in love with the birds and saddened by the fact that they might have to give them up. Jonathan lets out a big sigh before moving to go stand by Argyle.

“I don’t see a real reason why they would have to give up the birds.”

The three of them look toward Jonathan with excitement.

He holds up a hand to lower that. “As long as you get them the proper equipment, feed them the proper food, and deal with the angry neighbors if that chicken turns out to be a rooster. All that shit.”

Nancy thinks for a second before walking over and standing next to Eddie. “I think it would be easier for all of us if we just let them keep them. There’s much less moping involved.”

Steve crosses his arms, betrayed by his friends. But he looks at the ones now connected with these birds, and feels himself start to crumble. There’s not much he would reject when it came to Robin. And she’s looking at him with those puppy eyes that he hates because of how much they manipulate him.

“Fine,” he concedes. They let out a small victorious shout. “But, you have to decide what apartment they stay in, and if you want to move them around. And more importantly, keep the birds out of my bedroom.”

“Those,” Eddie points at Steve, “are reasonable conditions. Welcome to the family Cheese and Quakers.”

This whole thing ends with all of them actually going to the pet store. After Robin and Eddie convince Nancy to help them with their research about what supplied they need. A list is made, and they get everything. Setting up a little enclosure for the birds with a heat lamp and a small amount of food. And some things that were probably meant for hamsters, but they thought would be cute.

Robin gets the first rotation, setting up the birds on the kitchen counter. They squeak happily until they fall asleep well into the night. Robin is staring at them lovingly while Steve is getting glass of water before bed.

“You seriously can’t hate something that looks so adorable,” Robin says to him, gesturing to the birds.

He has to admit, they are pretty cute when they are quiet. “I really hope that chick isn’t a rooster.”

“Yeah,” Robin winces. “We did not think about that before buying them.”

Note: Sorry for not posting one of these in a while. I took a short break in posting all together but needed time to think of ideas that weren't pure angst (or ones I did before in another fic). So, if any of you have some funny ideas, feel free to throw them in my asks. Even if it's just a one line joke, it'll give me the inspiration for something.

Tag list (let me know if you want to be added or taken off) @slowandsteddie, @annieofhearts, @cacdyke, @ubpd, @captain--low,

@thespaceantwhowrites, @goodolefashionedloverboi, @anne-bennett-cosplayer, @lunaticparisianlady,

@apomaro-mellow, @dolphincliffs, @dragonmama76, @maggiebug417, @stevesbipanic,

@fearieshadow, @eightpackdiaz, @au79burger @bookworm0690 , @practicallybegging,

@potato-of-the-lord, @autumncrocusandladybug, @estrellami-1, @ilovecupcakesandtea, @gregre369

@my2amgaythoughts, @ellietheasexylibrarian, @emmabubbles, @eriquin, @grtwdsmwhr

@croatoan-like-its-hot

[luveline]

radio cure | steve harrington

an unhappy you meets steve harrington and his merry band of dorks. he shows you that some things are worth sticking around for.

5k words, fem!reader she/her used, tw mentioned/implied suicidal ideation please don’t read if that’s going to have a negative impact on you (no graphic imagery. but reader is passively suicidal and dealing with the other factors of that), robin steve + eddie chaotic trio, friends to lovers, multipart, swearing, friendly teasing, sarcasm, artist!steve, 90s au

.•° ✿ °•.

You're twenty two when you decide to kill yourself.

It's a warm day. The sun shines like a flower bud unfurling, a faint hint of golden yellow masked by cloud cover. You're savouring the brief moment of blessed cool as you walk around Lover's Lake, your ipod in one hand, headphones around your neck.

The flowing pants you're wearing help mitigate the heat around your legs, an itching, slick thing. Warmth feels like oil on your skin. You tip your head back and smell the grass, the lake water, the dry mud under your feet. You're thinking it's as nice a day as you're going to get this week, and you're forlorn, because it doesn't make one drop of difference.

You look up at the blue sky, squinting against the light, and you think it to yourself resolutely. This is going to be my last year. When your savings run out you're giving up.

It doesn't feel conclusive. It doesn't feel scary. It's just a decision.

You walk over dry grass until you reach the short pier on the leftmost side of the lake and sit down. You pull your headphones over your ears and bite your lip when the music isn't loud enough. The dock is rough. You're uncomfortable immediately. You want to go home, but you pull out your little craft sketchbook made of yellow paper and a pencil you've sharpened with a pen knife, staring out across the lake for something to strike you. A duck. A goose. Anything at all.

The thing is, you don't want to draw. You aren't some master, though you try, and you aren't a natural talent… You try sometimes. Nothing seems right. Most people have a style, charm, but you could draw a picture perfect copy of the day in front of you and still feel the lack; you have no idea what it is that makes other people's art beautiful, and that's the problem.

It doesn't matter. You put the sketchbook away. You have nobody to impress but yourself, and besides — you're not the first person in the world to feel uninspired. Thousands of people must feel it everyday, and they aren't throwing any pity parties. You peel off your cardigan, ball it up, and lay down with the fabric behind your head. You can hear the soft pant of a dog across the way, the happy chattering of a Frisbee game. Under the dock, little bodies thwack the planks, tiny green frogs that occasionally hop in the grass nearby.

You press your arm against your stomach and you fall asleep not long after that, your ipod playing music a few feet away.

—

Steve Harrington doesn't know why he stops to look at you. You're just a girl enjoying the summer sun, and he doesn't mean to be a creep. But you've left your stuff laying in small hills around you and your body's lax. You're asleep.

He kneels down next to you. Enough room to swing away if you try to stab him for perving. He isn't perving, he reasons. He wants to check if you're okay.

He tilts his ear toward you and holds his breath.

You're snoring.

Good, he thinks, crawling back to the far side of the dock, at least two feet between you. You're sleeping.

He sits down, knees up, hands between his thighs, and looks out across the lake. The sun shines high as the clouds shift to reveal it in full force, a burning yolk. It kisses every bit of green foliage it can find, dappled sunlight everywhere he looks. Steve is out today to draw whatever beauty he can find, and the light across the water riding the rippled waves of ducklings and brave human swimmers seems nice enough. He peers out of the corner of his eye at you, deems you still sleeping, and takes the pocket sized sketchbook out of his denim jeans.

His pencil is a stub folded between the pages. He lays down graphite in big sweeping lines, more focused on the impressions of shape than the specifics. It's hard to see a coloured world in black and white values. Steve isn't great — he's been drawing for two years now, and that feels like both a lifetime and a flicker. Every day he learns something new about making art, and every day he looks back and feels embarrassed at what he made before. The start of his sketchbooks make him cringe. This one is a mixture of pride and tepid reluctance.

Being bad at something is a stepping stone at getting better. Not every drawing he makes is good, but hopefully it's teaching his brain to be better. He doesn't know what he believes about art but he likes to draw, and he has gotten better.

The point isn't in being good, he'd told Robin. I just need something to do. Before I go crazy doing nothing. 

He draws the lake. He loves the way it comes into being. Ten minutes can turn grey splotches into trees, and bluegrass, and the heat rising off of the water. He draws a duck when it swims really close, though he has to abandon it when it swims away, leaving a half formed lovecraftian creature to haunt the page. He draws the dock, and his shoes, and your shoes, and your hand curled weakly next to your ipod. He draws your wrist, though he stops quickly.

He looks at your sleeping face.

Steve thinks you don't look like anyone he's ever seen before. He notes your lashes, your brows, and your nose. The sun emphasises the fine hairs across your cheek, and the texture beneath them.

He wants to draw your face, but he thinks drawing your hand and your shoes might have been too much without permission. He lets you sleep for a while, and then when he realises the heat is making him dizzy, he can't leave you there to bake.

He rips a sheet of paper out of his sketchbook and shoves the small book back into his pocket. The dock groans as he stands, and he casts a shadow over your face and upper torso.

"Hey," he says.

You flinch awake.

"Don't panic," he says, which is something a pervert might say, so he amends, "don't freak out, I'm just worried you're gonna cook your brains. I didn't want you to get sick."

You sit up. You look kinda cooked already, blinking and disoriented.

"You okay?"

You don't look up. "Yeah, I'm okay. Thank you for waking me up."

"Yeah, sure. Here."

He holds out the drawing of your hand. He doesn't think it's good, doesn't want you to see it, but he already did it. Giving it to you will ease his guilty conscience.

It's unlike Steve to bail, but he bails. Your fingers are barely brushing the paper when he's wiping his palms on his thighs and stepping away.

"Bye," he says, uncertain. "Try not to fall asleep again!"

—

It's not so weird. Sure, he'd made your fingers skinnier than they really are, and he made your shoelaces look like spaghetti, but they're good drawings.

You're trying to read a book in the corner of Benny's when he finds you a second time. He hovers, and you're not cool, you aren't, you're working with what you've got. Not many people skills.

“Hi,” he says.

"They were good drawings," you say, in lieu of your own hello, thumbing at the pages of your book all full of jumpy nerves.

"Thank you, I'm… new to it. My best friend, she's– she's actually nicer than she should be about them, I can't lie. I was going to say she thinks I should be banned from picking up a pencil, because I wanted to make you laugh, but. She's nice when it matters."

You can't keep looking down, it wouldn't be polite. You dog ear your paperback and let it lie against the tabletop, greasy to touch but you doubt it'll make a difference. The book is old and had cost you 50 cents at Mr. and Mrs. Wheeler's yard sale.

He's tall. Hair falls around his face and curls gently against his cheeks, a sandy brown. He's wearing a hat. He hadn't been wearing one the day he'd given you his drawings, but you can understand why he needs it. The sun is an inescapable force: sun stroke has half the town down for the count. The whole reason that you're in Benny's is because it's air-conditioned and shady.

"Do you want to come and eat with me and my friends?"

You say no automatically. "No, that's okay. I don't wanna," —you don't know what to say, so your voice hikes up awkwardly— "impose."

"You don't have to, but if you want to, you're not imposing." He twists at the waist and nods to a booth across the room, where a boy and girl sit. When they see you seeing them they look away. "Sorry, they're dorks. There's usually more of us, but Jon's in work and Nancy's in Emerson, so…" He seizes up.

You wonder why people are so afraid of being awkward. It terrifies you, to think one day you'll fuck up and be awkward and the other person will remember it and laugh, but looking at him now, you can't see why it matters. It actually makes you feel better, knowing he's worried too.

"I only brought enough for the milkshake," you say.

"I'll get you something."

"That's– no, that's okay."

He hesitates. "You'd be doing me a favour. I love them, really, but I can't stand it when they're together, they bully me."

It would probably be worse to reject his offer and sit here lonely while they laugh and talk. You'll worry they're talking about you.

"Okay," you mumble, picking up your book and your milkshake.

He grins at you and you follow him through the diner. It's not busy today, but there's still feet to fall over and backpack straps to tread on, so you watch the floor.

"My name is Steve, by the way."

You tell him your own name, which brings another quick smile to his face. He slows as he approaches the booth of his friends and beckons for you to slide into the empty side before following you in.

"Guys, this is– Eddie, what the fuck is that? We said no gross shit at the table."

"This, my friend," Eddie says, words rolling around his mouth grandly, "is a monster."

It's a little man made of coffee stirrers, sporks, and chewing gum seams. It's kind of gross, but it's cute. Grossly cute and cutely gross.

"We're about to eat."

"You're stepping on his artistic licence," says the girl, her voice distinctly pretty and a tiny bit hoarse.

"Disgusting," Steve says.

You shift on the leather chair underneath you and anxiety pulses in the bottom of your stomach. They're ignoring you, but not really. Both have lifted their eyes to look at you, and, in sync, they smile. The girl's smile is startling, lip gloss lips and white teeth. Eddie's is softer, less happy and more reassuring.

"I'm Eddie," Eddie says, though you'd figured it out. "That's Robin. Do you think my monster is gross in the gross way or gross in the sick way?"

"He's cute," you admit to thinking. "But the gum…"

"I didn't have any glue."

"Steve told us about his drawings. If he's holding you hostage right now, blink three times, okay?" Robin jokes.

Eddie and Robin lean their shoulders together and start a bit where they count your blinks. There's murmurings about shelters and how they can definitely throat punch Steve hard enough to make him mute. You're stunned at being the object of a joke and don't know how to react, feeling like you've been whacked and now there's cartoon birds flying around your head and they can all see them.

Steve grabs the menus out of the rack and slaps one down in front of everybody. "Alright, team. You know the drill. Last person to choose what they want has to buy drinks." He spares you a glance. "Except you. She's on me because hostages don't pay for themselves."

"I would make such a pretty hostage," Eddie says.

He is pretty, in fairness. Dark curls thick with baby hairs frizzed up in the summer heat frame a pale face. He has big brown eyes.

“And talented,” Robin adds, poking the gum man until he falls flat on his face. The head pops off and Eddie shrieks, not loudly but with a passionate upset about him that makes you laugh.

Steve leans over. “Please choose quickly so I don’t have to pay for Robin's lemonade addiction. No pressure.”

“I’ll just have what you have.”

“With a coke?”

“Sure.”

“Robin?” he asks.

“I want a cheeseburger with a lemonade and then, if you will, another lemonade.”

She dumps her menu in Eddie’s lap, who looks up from his decapitated figure with a look of defeat.

“Wh- hey, she cheated. She hurt my dude.”

“Rules are rules.”

Eddie sulks and accepts everybody’s money. He slinks up to the window like an annoyed cat. After he’s placed the order, he looks back to the table and flips the bird covertly.

“So, how old are you?” Robin asks.

“Twenty two.”

“How’s that?” she asks sympathetically.

“Robin.” Steve chides. “She’s twenty so she thinks she’s a baby.”

“I am a baby. This is my first year not being a teen, which means it’s my first year as an adult. I’m one.”

“We have this argument a lot,” Steve says, though not with any bravado. Simple explanation, his voice soft and warm. “When being an adult actually begins. It’s not the adult part that even matters, it’s the not having rules that fucks people up. Look at Eddie. He’s been out of school for a year and he’s been arrested three times.”

You frown, not because his getting arrested would bother you (depending on the charge), but because you’re surprised, and surprise is quick to appear as anger on your face. His shirt and rockstar rings, his nice smile, his gum man — you’d assumed he was a huge nerd. His arrests are a surprise.

“What for?” you ask, before you can remind yourself that invasive questions are rude.

“Once for indecent exposure– completely accidental. Once for trespassing, and the last time was because he chained himself to a tree outside of Tawny’s bar. They weren’t cutting the tree down,” Steve says. “He, and I quote, wanted to see what all the fuss was about.”

“Don’t give away my RAP sheet when I’m not here,” Eddie says, placing a tray of drinks on the table carefully. Three cokes and two lemonades.

“It’s not a RAP sheet if you don’t actually get in trouble. They let him off ‘cause they know his uncle. And also ‘cause it’s Hawkins.” Robin slides her slice of lemon between her teeth, shepherding her two lemonades as far away from everybody as she can, looking extremely hedgy. “I’s a bitch sheet.”

Eddie feigns for her second lemon slice and snickers when Robin defends it, elbowing him hard in the ribs.

“I paid for it!” he says through laughs.

Your hands start to shake. You hide them under the lip of the table but it’s no use. Soon your legs are shaking, your arms, all of you. They’re minute tremors, both invisible and impossible to ignore. You glue a smile to your face and try to calm down. You’re overwhelmed and you don’t know why — this isn’t a new feeling. You are not the first person to feel this feeling.

Then why does it feel like it?

Sometimes, everything gets so scary so quickly, and you sit there wondering why it isn’t scary for everybody else, and you wonder why they can’t see it on your face how scared you are, and they must see it? They must know you’re fucked.

You’re shot with thoughts. These people, you could be friends. All you have to do is make a good impression. But how should you go about that? How do you talk? What do you say?

“I draw too,” you say, hands clamped between your knees.

Steve’s eyebrows do this little dance. It’s adorable, and it makes you want to be his friend most of all.

“You do?”

“I do. I’m not good, I mean. I used to be better. I’m out of practice.”

“I draw,” Eddie says.

“Yeah?”

He nods. “Jonathan, too. God, you should see his shit. And he’s an even better photographer. But I draw shitty zine comics. And Robin does the typesetting for me.”

“Oh, wow,” you say genuinely.

“Nancy writes,” Robin says. “So we’re, like, a jerk circle of artists. She’s good, too.”

“She’s good,” Eddie imitates fondly. “I bet she is. Robin’s gonna be a great writer as well, once she gets all these private Nancy lessons.”

Steve puts a hand up and Eddie promptly shuts up. He takes a big, sheepish slurp of coke and you feel like you’ve said something wrong though you barely said anything at all, sipping at your own coke.

“What are you reading?” Robin asks.

You slide the book toward her so she can see for herself. “The Sea, The Sea,” you tell her. “It’s about, uh,” —you’ve only managed to read the first thirty pages, and that’s after reading the first ten five times straight— “this guy named Charles, he’s unique. He’s uh, annoying.”

“You know, Nancy used to have a book that looked just like that,” Steve says.

You laugh weakly. “It must be popular. I got it at a yard sale.”

“Can I open it?” Robin asks.

“Of course. It’s already pretty beat up, I don’t think there’s anything you could do—“

Robin opens the book with one hand, thumb and pinky fingertip pressed to either side, and tries to take a sip of her drink without looking, tipping her glass of lemonade straight into the pages of The Sea, The Sea. What doesn’t get soaked up by your book rushes down the length of the table and into her lap.

Steve reaches across the table to grab up the glass, but the damage is already done. Your lips part. Eddie gawps, throwing a hand over his slack-jawed face.

“I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry,” she says, looking at you with wide eyes. “I have the worst case of butterfingers ever, I’m sorry.”

It’s as if she can’t believe she did it. You fluster when you realise they’re all waiting for your reaction.

“It’s okay!” you say, as loud as you’ve ever spoken in public.

“You can be mad,” Steve assures you.

“No, it was an accident. I’m not mad, it cost fifty cents, and it was totally garbage anyway. I’m really not mad.”

Eddie stuffs napkins under the table and Robin shivers uncontrollably, dishing ice cubes from her lap and the seat. Steve, laughing now, says, “God dammit, Robs,” sounding like she might be the most golden person on the planet.

—

Steve works his hat over your hair the best that he can. “There. Now you won’t die from heat stroke.”

You bring both hands to the hat to encourage it down onto your head. “Steve,” you say, sounding unsure on how to continue.

“It’s on loan.”

You nod and look out over the lake, where Eddie stands at the edge of the dock. "It's getting way too fucking cold for this," he complains, in swim shorts and a shirt, gazing in distrust at the lake’s shimmering surface.

Lake is kind. It is technically a lake, but also technically a really, very pathetic lake that feeds from a pathetic tributary. If you stationed Steve on one side and you the other, he would strain to hear you talking. Likely infected with brain eating amoeba or tadpoles or leeches. Slimy things. It’s less disgusting than Lover’s Lake, a condom cesspit, so that’s a plus.

You aren’t looking any more eager about jumping in than you had been, thighs naked and kissed by the hem of an oversized, black t-shirt. It’s wrinkled. Steve kind of loves it.

"Just jump in, you big babies," Robin says.

She'd already jumped in, screamed at the cold, and now languishes in the chest height water in front of the small fishing dock with a smug smile on her face. "Not you," she says to you. Steve rolls his eyes.

You shake your head, hair slipping out of the hat. You sigh as you pull it off and readjust the sizing band.

"I guess I am being a baby,” you say to him quietly. “The sun’s been out all day, how cold can it be?” You’re not feeling confident. It seeps into your voice, to which Steve lends a placating smile.

"Really fucking cold."

"Eddie, shut up. Y/N, it's fine. You'll like it."

“I really don’t think she’ll like it.”

Steve doesn’t either, but he wants you to feel included, and less tense. Distract you from whatever it is that’s giving you such a big case of the frownies, and prove he and his friends aren’t just book-ruining hooligans.

Eddie finally jumps in over Robin’s head, disappearing into the not quite blue water with a cut-off curse. He appears again a few seconds later, black hair slicked to his face, neck and shoulders, wiping the water from his eyes as he splutters and giggles boyishly.

“Shit, Stevie,” he says. “Not that cold after all.”

“You don’t have to jump in, you can just ease off the dock, if that’s better,” Steve says.

“Frogspawn,” you murmur.

Steve does a bunch of flexing, throws in a jumping jack for good measure. “Alright,” he says, holding out his hand. “Let’s go.”

You shake your head gently.

Steve doesn’t wanna embarrass you further, or insist when you really don’t want to, so he nods and smiles and takes a running jump into the lake. Robin and Eddie both swear and dart away as his body collides with the surface of the water, and he sinks like a well-practised stone to near enough the lake bed, feet gracing slippery pond weed and things he’d rather not think about. The air shatters out of his lungs and the water, despite the summer sun, is cold. It feels amazing — he hadn’t realised how warm he was until the temperature abruptly shifted.

He rushes back up to the surface and shakes his hair out like a dog, water running down his face and shoulders in fast thick rivulets. He peels his eyes open and turns to find you still hesitating on the dock. Robin splashes at Steve in retaliation for his hair splatters and Eddie laughs evilly as he joins in.

“Come on!” he begs you. “I told you, they bully me! I need back up!”

You toss his hat on the dock. The jump you take into the lake is timid but enough to miss the frogspawn and not break your legs, a cold splash of water and you’re there. Luckily, your presence has Robin and Eddie both stopping in their cruel tracks, and you don’t have to save Steve after all.

Your happy laughter is stunning.

"It's so cold!" you squeal, water in your eyelashes.

Eddie takes one of your hands and together the four of your tread into deeper water.

"Now that all who can be present are present," he says, falling into his dungeon master drawl, "it's time we commence the The Tournament. Swimmers, take your stations."

Everyone falls into line. You don't know what you're falling into line for, raising your timid voice to ask, "What's the game?"

"The game is me and you dunk the ever-loving out of dumb and dumber," he says.

"Hey, what?" Robin asks. "How come you get her? She's a total wild card, she might win the game all by herself."

"Or she might really suck. We don't know, and so in the interest of fairness, I propose she swims with me." Eddie's wet sleeve sticks to your skin as he nudges you. "But you don't suck, do you?"

"Um…"

"Attagirl. On your marks, get set, go!"

You spend an hour like that. Steve and Co, they're stupid, but they aren't stupid stupid. The Tournament is a series of chasing and dunking (stupid but fun) wherein you get to throw yourself on the shoulders of the person you're chasing and submerge them (stupid again). You can't hold them down, though, they aren't trying to drown one another. Much.

The sun regretfully starts to set. If it's anything like the last few days, that means it's likely near 10PM, and they're all working tomorrow.

"Do you have work tomorrow?" Steve asks in concern, after he's heaved himself up onto one of the huge stones on the opposite side of the lake.

Cattails obscure you from view on your own stone. Across the lake, your possessions lay thankfully unscathed on the dock. Robin sits as close as she can to Steve on his rock, kicking water at Eddie every time he tries to approach.

"You fucking rat," he fumes, mouth full of lake water.

"I'm not really working right now,” you say.

"Do you need a job?" Eddie asks. "They're hiring— Harrington, restrain your creature! They're hiring at the Palace Arcade, aren't they?"

Steve nods voraciously. "Yeah! Hey, we can get you an interview no problem, they probably won't even ask you that many questions. I mean, Keith worked there."

"Don't be mean about Keith," Robin says, though she doesn't really like him. He thinks it's akin to defending your deadbeat older brother.

"I don't know, I think even a couple of questions might be too many," you worry.

"How come?"

You pull the fluff off of a cat tail, and it explodes in your hands. Steve yanks one down to do the same, watching the fibres float across the lake's disturbed surface with a cool breeze. Robin shivers beside him, sensitive to the cold in her wet clothes, the adrenaline of swimming and almost but not really dying wearing off.

"I'm bad at stuff like that."

"I don't think anyone's good at interviews at our age," Eddie says, nose wrinkled as cat tail floats toward him. "We're, like, babies."

"I always feel like I'm really old," you confess. You look down at your naked knees. "Like I wasted all the good years already."

"What, school?"

"And the four years since," you say.

Steve gets it, in a way. His high school years sucked, and he'd maybe thought he'd get out of Hawkins on a track or swim scholarship, basketball — anything. But he's here still, and at first that hadn't been what he wanted. Sure, he'd expected it, but in different ways.

Steve pushes back the cattails to see you clearly. "I didn't even get any real good years until just now," he says, as kindly as he can.

"I failed senior year twice," Eddie speaks up, "I kinda thought I was wasting my life too, but if I didn't, I wouldn't even know Robin, and she's, like, my best friend."

He throws his hands over his face before Steve can kick a huge wave of lake water into his eyes. "Get your own," Steve fumes. He's not really mad.

"Yeah, these are the good years," Robin says, "probably. I never had guys fighting over me in high school." She laughs and tucks her wet hair behind her ears, her freckled cheeks pale in the oranging light of the sunset.

You hold your hands out for Eddie and he finally climbs onto one of the rocks. From this side of the lake, you can watch the sun set behind the silhouettes of Hawkins town a half mile away. It dips slowly down, meandering almost, a pearl sinking through layers of raspberry pink and orange and, as Steve holds his breath, that sudden flash of electric green.

"I'm blind," Eddie mumbles, falling back into the rocks and grass.

"Shit, that was cool." Robin stands up and stretches. "I'm so cold I'm gonna die right here. Steve, do you still have a blanket in your car?"

Steve looks over at you again. You look shell-shocked, not quite awed. He doesn't know what emotion you're feeling, only that you're feeling it, eyes wide and set across the lake at the darkened sky, lights from the buildings like stars shimmering in your pupils.

He stands up and offers his hand to you. When you take it, he pulls you up without hesitation, not a flicker of doubt or an ounce of struggle.

"I'll get you that interview," he says, questioning, soft. If you want it. 

Your fingers linger in his palm.

"Yeah, okay. Thank you."

"Come on!" Robin says, taking your other hand and tugging without apology, barefoot over the asphalt path surrounding the lake. "Before the gnats come out."

"We might see fireflies if we stick around," Eddie says.

They bicker. Steve lets go of your hand and you and Robin walk just ahead, your head bobbing between his two arguing friends like you're watching a quickfire tennis match.

You turn to the side and hide a smile. Steve sees it, and he figures it's a start.

"Munson," he hollers, "how about you stay and watch the fireflies and you tell us all about it? Me and the girls aren't gonna freeze out here so you can get back in touch with nature."

It's a bad joke, but it works. "Fuck you, Harrington. The ladies wanna see the lightning bugs, don't you?"

"I can't remember the last time I saw them," you say.

"Then we have to stay," Eddie says smugly.

You all crowd the back of Steve's car, the heaters on but not doing a lot, the blanket stretched over Robin's shoulders. She tucks it behind your back, and you all look out to the night and scout for bugs.

"There," you whisper, pointing.

Green dots of light rise from the dry grass like tiny lanterns, a handful at a time.

"Jonathan's gonna be sad he missed this," Robin murmurs.

You try to count them all. Four voices whispering bets into the night air, though the real number isn't possible to calculate. "Winner gets a new paperback on Robin," Eddie jokes, swiftly quietened by a barrage of elbows to his side.

They let you win.

[fandomfluffandfuck]

just wanted to hear some more of your thoughts on desperate sub steve, like after missions he just wants bucky to take care of him so he just trusts bucky to give him exactly what he needs. whether he's on his back with his eyes closed just /feeling/ everything or whether he's riding bucky only focused on his own pleasure, knowing that's all that really matters right now. anyway food for thought :))

For reference, my ask box is no longer open for requests, but this is from before I closed it, so I will be writing for this ask.

Food for thought that I will devour

Okay, I was aiming to write smut for this, but... it's soft. It got soft on me. Like, there's definite sensuality to this, but lots of feelings too.

For each and every wrong, second-guessed step over the past few days, everything slides right back into place with a satisfying 'click' the moment that Steve is shut in the muffled oasis of their home. The door is closed behind them with a soft 'shhnk' and seals off most of the noise from the city, leaving behind just the faintest murmur thrumming beneath the sound of Steve's heart, pounding and pushing blood through his weary body, and twinned by Bucky's matching rhythm. His other half. And everything is all righted and balanced again because of that other half.

Bucky.

Steve can breathe right now because Bucky's here, standing toe-to-toe with him in the tight space of their entryway and clearing his throat just above the hum of blood rushing through their veins and their lungs expanding and contracting. It's peaceful after an unending barrage of chaos. Bucky's trying to lure him out of his head after the rush and crash of the latest mission, Steve knows, but he feels fucking dead on his feet. As good as being home feels...

He needs more this time than just the calm of coming home and the soft, throaty noise of Bucky calling to him.

And, thankfully, Bucky doesn't just understand, Bucky is happy to provide, settling them both by taking half a step in close and pushing their bodies together. Suddenly, there is no space between them from the shoulders down. Instinctively, just the same as Steve did when they used to dance in their shoebox, thin-walled apartment before the war, Steve's hands come up to rest on Bucky's biceps, just below his shoulders. Holding on. Letting Bucky lead.

Meanwhile, Bucky's hands don't go to his waist to cup and dip him to the crooning, slow music, leading him around their creaking, worn floor. Instead, he curls his flesh and blood hand into a loose, easy fist and uses his softly curled index finger to lift his chin. Steve's too tired to care about how stereotypical it is for him to immediately get lost in his lover's eyes as he's arranged under his hands like a doll, but he does. Their depth draws him in like a siren call into the churning, winter-chilled sea. And he stays out there, lost without a life raft in sight the whole while Bucky deftly undoes the little buckle underneath his cowl with a flick of charming fingers.

Steve exhales faintly. Not a sigh--not yet--but almost.

When he's done with the tiny buckle, the leather straps fall away, and Steve is freed with Bucky gently tugging the protective headgear away and leaving him with vulnerable bedhead. Steve knows from countless encounters post-mission that to Bucky, his hair looks like a fuzzy duckling right now and he kind of resents that. It makes him a little bit miffed. Grumpy, maybe. Or, having his hair like this and then being cooed at for being so cute usually does. At this moment, in the twenty-fifth hour, he can't be bothered.

He can't find the strength or playfulness within himself to pout or whine when Bucky hums, dropping his cowl to the side with a cracking 'thunk', grabbing him by the chin, and easing his face down to level. All Steve can do is surrender to the feeling of Bucky's hand running through his hair, tufting it up even more, and humming to himself at how stupid and endearing he looks.

Helmet hair. Pfft.

Bucky drops a chaste kiss on the crown of his head as Steve struggles and fails to keep his head where Bucky put it. Rather than level and eye-to-eye, his chin ends up against his chest. He's just so tired and Bucky is so warm. It's only natural for Steve to melt against him, isn't it?

"I'll deal with your cowl and shield," Bucky murmurs using Steve's bowed pose to his advantage, cupping the back of his neck and pulling his head even more snuggly against the junction of his shoulder and neck to reach for his shield mounted on his back. Steve lets go of his arms to instead lay his hands flat on his chest, relishing in the simplicity of feeling his breath. Chest expanding and contracting--an ocean wave rocking Steve's boat so gently that he can't help but feel like he's being put right to sleep. "You leave the rest on, 'kay?"

"M'kay," Steve parrots, blinking and feeling his lashes brush delicate butterfly kisses over Bucky's skin. He smells like sweat and aftershave, even when his stubble has grown out in the days they've been away. Somehow always date-ready like the charmer he is. Perfumed and groomed and tidied.

"Good--"

Steve exhales shakily. Just that one word. The power it holds over him when breathed from Bucky's mouth.

"--the only thing you gotta do is get your butt into the bedroom, okay? Don't worry about the sheets, just get off your feet, right?"

Steve nods into his body, curling up like a cat to take the memory of him with him for the short while they'll be apart.

"Shoo then, Rogers," Bucky tells him playfully when enough time has passed.

And he does.

Obediently, Steve stumbles through their home without touching his uniform. His shield and cowl are gone--taken off his hands by Bucky--so he's lighter, but he's very much still strapped in and weighed down with all his tac gear. It always feels unfathomably heavy after missions, dragging him down in a way that's less physical than it ought to be. Every time he's done with a mission, he isn't sure how he got himself into his uniform in the first place. It seems impossible to put on, to take off, to move at all.

So, by the time he's through the doorway into their bedroom, the thought of clean sheets (or, more accurately, non-mission grime, grit, and sweat covered like Steve himself is, they can never stay away from each other for long enough for their bedsheets to be that clean) doesn't even enter his mind. His muscles are lead. His skin is paper. He can't sustain the weight pulling at him, and if he doesn't give in and flop down onto the bed, he's going to tear apart.

From walking in the front door to standing and letting Bucky peel off his first few layers to stumbling down the hall to tumbling forward a few steps into the room, Steve is far too exhausted to even expend the energy it would take to turn around before letting gravity have him and pulling him into bed to loll and bounce like a fish out of water. His whole body limp. Bed doesn't hurt. It doesn't matter if he falls face-first. So, he does. Collapsing completely.

And the breath coming out of him fogs up the sheets, caught in their thick comforter, hot and humid, making him feel that much slower and sleepier as he re-inhales his own body-temperature air. Steve finds himself quietly hoping that whatever Bucky has planned for him, sucking or fucking or anything else, he can do it while mostly asleep. As is, he can hardly keep his eyes open--the mattress and sheets and blankets shoved against his face make it darker and quieter and without the demand of having to stay on his feet, yeah, he's a dead man. Sleep coming for him like a stone dropping to the bottom of a current-less lake.

Hopefully, with whatever the post-mission plan is to ground Steve by letting him float in the zero-gravity of submission, gone on as Captain America and team leader for too long, Bucky won't mind if he crashes immediately after orgasm. Hell, Steve doesn't even think he'll make it to orgasm at this point, nevermind past it. He'll be out before he cums, just with the effort of climbing to the peak. Maybe Bucky will be okay with that, Steve likes being used enough without a big finish. Steve likes being used when he doesn't even know it, too. He's slept through Bucky having his body, before. And drifting into sleep with Bucky using him to find his own pleasure sounds almost better than an orgasm right now anyway.

Fuck, he might be asleep already by the time Bucky comes to rescue him. That, or he's just drifting hard already. It's hard to tell when he's so drowsy. All Steve knows is that his heart and blood have slowed to a syrup-thick flow, and he jolts like he's been woken from sleep by the phantom sensation of falling when Bucky's fingers drum on the bottom of his right boot. The vibrations through the thick, thick sole of his combat boots are more shocking than he'd think, but maybe he's just sensitive. Raw around the edges after so much adrenaline has poured out of him.

"Turn over for me, honey?" Bucky phrases it like a question not because it's not an order, but because there's a silent, 'if you can' tagged onto the end of it. If he can't, Bucky still wants him over, but he'll just do it himself. Steve isn't in charge anymore, not when he climbs up onto the bed. His title means nothing here. And what a fucking relief.

Letting out a sleepy little murmur, Steve tries his best.

He gets about halfway over, balanced precariously on his side, eyes nodding shut again before Bucky chuckles indulgently at him, watching him struggle to complete the motion. And so, Bucky grabs his shield harness still clinging to him around his shoulders, and pulls him the rest of the way over, dumping him (gently and lovingly, but still dumping him) onto his back.

"There you are, baby," Bucky croons down at him, uncurling his fingers from his harness and smoothing both his hands down his still, flopped-over body. He dilly-dallies enough to loosely trace the star emblem at the center of his chest but then continues on...

Steve feels pink. He's too tired to sparkle, but he definitely feels flushed pink. Not blushing exactly. Not physically blushing, at least. Probably. He doesn't have a mirror to confirm, though. He's just... pink.

He feels pink.

Light pink. Easy and breathable, so long as Bucky keeps touching him and stays close.

Bucky doesn't mind his coloring--if he can see it, Steve knows he knows him well enough that he can sense it, regardless of whether it's visible or not--he just keeps going and unbuckles his utility belt, letting the weight of itself drag it off his waist. It pools around him on the bed. Bucky leaves it there to rest for now. More important than his belt, Bucky smooths his way down his legs, over the thick fabric padding his uniform pants, keeping him safe from hits, kicks, knives, and bullets, and over the stuffed pockets--filled with odds and ends of first aid, gadgets, tools, and snacks--to finally reach his boots. Once at his boots, Bucky starts the slow, intricate process of untying them. All of their fucking latches, then the laces beneath those latches, and even more shit beneath the beneath. It's a process. All for the goal of keeping his feet in one piece each and hopefully making sure his boots don't fall off during missions but remain breathable but also water and fire and whatever else proof. The demands of superhero-ing. Yeah, it's a process.

A process that Bucky is so kind as to take complete care of, letting Steve splay out, puddling, eyelids drooping, while he lifts his left booted foot, and then his right. Holding each, in turn, against his lower stomach and hip while he gets him out of them.

One. by. one.

One plus one makes two.

Boots and socks gone make four (well, more like six because Steve was wearing two layers of socks beneath his boots).

And Bucky isn't about to only finish a job halfway. So, he travels back up from his bared ankles to his waist to rid him of his pants, tugging and rolling them down. Those pants have to weigh literal pounds with all the shit in the pockets and the hyper-engineered material itself. Then, Bucky keeps going up to his uniform top to wiggle him out of that, too. More pounds melting off him. To undress him like a doll, Bucky moves him like a doll, humming under his breath. A lullaby. First, dragging him forward to dangle his legs off the edge of the bed a little while he takes care of his pants. Second, lifting him up, almost pulling him to sit up but not making Steve do any of the work himself and holding himself rigid with his abs, so he can elevate his torso and shimmy him out of the top. Third, leaving him just in his jockstrap for now. Nearly naked. But Steve couldn't feel self-conscious around Bucky if he tried.

So, just then, Bucky kisses Steve in the very center of his chest, and at the same time that Steve is expecting to be rolled over--maybe have his legs curled up beneath him, maybe spread wide, and opened on thick, lube-slick fingers, made to feel so good that all he can do is shiver and let his eyes roll back until they fall shut--that is exactly when, "ohhh," a loose, gasping sound spills out of his statically open lips.

Unexpected.

Bucky's are hands putting in work.

They're not--

They aren't inside him. But they are all over him. Those handsome, skilled fingers are digging into his tensed, knotted muscles, massaging them into utter submission. Steve is already there, but his muscles are a little more stubborn. Just the beginning, knowing what's coming, has his muscles melting into a puddle, though.

Bucky is meticulously kneading and rubbing every inch of his skin, uncaring how he's sweaty and gross, and just focusing on cooking him past al dente to complete mush. Massaging him like there's no fucking tomorrow. Steve is practically already asleep, floating, and blissed out. Past blissed out. His muscles have already been overworked from the past few days' mission, but now they're tenderized from the lovingly not-tender treatment, digging in deep and pressing hard.

Steve has no idea how Bucky can lift his arms anymore after so much exertion, but he's not going to question him. He can't. He doesn't think he could talk if he tried. He's so wiped out he can hardly gasp or moan in pleasure at being massaged like this. His incoherence is not helped by the knowledge that this settles Bucky, too. He's always liked taking care of people. Always, always has taken great care of people from Steve to his baby sisters to any soldier in his squad. Especially after HYDRA, too, having control of himself to take care of other people is something he's fought hard to have. Steve needs to give up control after calling all the shots and Bucky seeks to have control. It's perfect.

This is perfect. Centering them both.

And Steve, personally, as he's drifting off with a tiny smile tugging at his mouth, knows he will wake up in 12 hours aching. Not his muscles, Bucky is making sure of that. But he will be aching between his legs and then, with more energy back in his beat-up body, he'll plaster himself to Bucky to pout for an orgasm, wanting his permission for it and help with it. But for now, he's good. This is good. This is all he needs.

He can drift hard into dreamland.

[burberrycanary]

End of Year Stucky Recs [9/15]

Stucky as a fandom is lucky to have a lot of classics. But I want to give some love to authors who’ve kept writing fantastic stories over the last few years for us all to enjoy!

Title: Don't Give it a Hand, Offer it a Soul

Author: TooManyBattles (Skarabrae_stone) / @skarabrae-stone​

Summary:

An Avengers training mission gone wrong, a HYDRA plot in the midst of SHIELD, and a mysterious prisoner in the basement of an abandoned bank-- and that's just the start of Bucky's day. While the Avengers rush to prevent HYDRA's plans for world domination, Bucky finds himself drawing closer to the stranger he rescued... a man who is almost certainly an agent of HYDRA.

—

There’s an inherent grimness to anything Winter Soldier related and Steve-as-Winter-Soldier stories are no exception. But this story is a tonally lighter take on Winter-Soldier!Steve and SHIELD-agent!Bucky meeting during the fall of SHIELD. Touch-starved WS!Steve surprised by kindness and imprinting on Bucky like a horrifically traumatized duckling while trying to make sense of what’s happening and handling his rapidly returning autonomy—and Bucky trying to do right by Steve out of his core compassionate kindness while doing what needs doing to prevent Project Insight—is a satisfying read.  - B.

Art: Sheba Sharrow, Escape from a Fractured Skull

[heavily-traumatized-kyle]

I DELETED THE OLD ONE BLEP

Tw:blood Tw:devil's I guess Tw:the rose anon Tw:knife alot of Tws-

YIPEE STEVIE!

Anon Stevie art 2 (GOD THIS IS BLOODI)

anon Steve 1 art! (Woaw

Might be my spooky month Steve or idk but ill call it old design/spooky month steve

Steve is trans ae

Goes by He/They/it/anything pronouns really lol

The Rose anon that is unpleasant

Just an update:Steve Is no gender,it is literally just a blob of ink as a human,that's his form lol

Oh ya and more Steve art

MORE

And an old drawing of mine

ANGEL AND DEVIL? WOWWWW

We do a little trolling

INCORRECT QUOTES TIME (insp by @kidswithautism)

Steve: I'm not doing to well.

Steven: What's wrong?

Steve: I have this headache that comes and goes.

*Stevie enters the room* Steve: There it is again.

\\

James, writing in their diary with a glitter gel pen: I'm losing my sense of humanity. Nothing matters. God is dead. There's blood on my hands.

\\

Steve: The greatest trick the devil ever played was getting me banned from an all you can eat pizza buffet. James: Why’d you get banned? Steve: Touched the rat. James: … What rat? Steve: Chunky Cheese.

\\

James: You spent all our money on THIS?? Steve, putting tiny raincoats on ducklings: They live outside. They need this.

[actpei]

Meet the Cast ! MIKE MALLALEY (as Timothy Allgood)

Originally from Fredericton, New Brunswick, Mike moved to Charlottetown in 2016. Since coming to the Island Mike played Vadas in 'Shop Around the Corner' (ACT, 2017) and appeared in 'Raised on Television' 2 & 3. Mike has been acting since the ripe old age of 6, with his first role being a chorus member of 'The Ugly Duckling'. He has since moved onto over 50 roles on stage, including Brad in 'The Rocky Horror Picture Show', Lurch in 'The Addams Family Musical', Lawrence in 'Calendar Girls', and Antigonus in 'The Winter’s Tale'. Mike has had over 10 roles in film and television and has been nominated twice for Best Actor in a short comedy at The Silver Wave Film Festival, winning once for 'Super Geek Mathboy'.

ACT asked Mike some questions.... 

Who is your character? ...I play Tim, the over-worked and under-appreciated stage manager (as if there is any other kind) that seems to get caught in the middle of all the crazy shenanigans as he tries in vain to keep the company afloat. I’m often cast as zany or over the top characters, and I like the challenge of playing the sensible guy amongst all of the other colorful characters in this show.

Besides yourself, what celebrity would you like to see tackle this character? ....Steve Buschemi

Without giving anything away, what’s your favorite line of dialogue? ...This is getting Farcical!

Which actor in this production is going to blow people away? .....I think the audience is in for a special treat with the entire cast of Noises Off but I have especially enjoyed watching Brian Collins develop his character of Selsdon/The Burglar.

What do you enjoy most about doing a comedy? What’s challenging about bringing this show to life? ...I enjoy being able to make people laugh- and there should be lots of laughs in this show. The most challenging aspect is getting the entrances and exits just right…and all those doors!

What draws you to community theatre? ...The theatre community has always been my second home and where I always feel the most comfortable even when I’m doing something absurd on stage. 

Get tickets now at https://tproatlantic.ticketpro.ca/en/pages/HC_NoisesOff(photo by Landwash Studios)#act #actpei #communitytheatre #doorsandsardines #noisesoff #florencesimmonsperformancehallSee insights and adsBoost postAll reactions:2222

[berrymoos]

* ADORES Joyce Byers. Is a little duckling when she’s around. If she knows she’s going to see Joyce soon she’ll colour a picture! It doesn’t matter if she’s feeling little or not * She’s terrified of her mom finding out about her regression. She knows her mom would be really cruel about it * Chrissy came home once to finding her mom had thrown out half of her stuffed animals. She told everyone this over her walkie-talkie (a present from the group!) and they were ready to fight her mom (3/4)

part three of cee-cee & the gang (●ꈍᴗꈍ●)ෆ (i got small on the last one sooo uhh dunno how this is gon go 😵‍💫)

💝 ALL of the little ones love joyce (and she loves them back even MORE!!!), & it seems chrissy is no exception! not only does she color the pictures, she draws them too! every single one she tries drawing - she just loves making gifts from scratch to give to her friends, it's her love language 💞 absolutely BEAMED under the praise when she gave it to joyce & she has her favorites pinned to the board dedicated to all of the little ones' artworks. fun fact: they're all her favorites!! that board is nearly overflowing with drawings, paintings, friendship bracelets (whenever she shows up with the bracelets on the smalls get super happy bc!!! she really likes it!!!), the whole shebag

💝 oh NOOOO (´；д；`) she walkied the gang in tears after her mom stepped out the house to report what had happened, & in about twenty minutes the group arrived at her place, picked her up, & took her shopping for more stuffies!! those ones are kept safe at steve's place bc he has lots of spare room - his parents are barely ever home these days - & he takes great care of them!!! he likes to walky chrissy when she's little n give kisses to her stuffies n let her know they're okay n stuff!!! i think it makes her super little when he does that 🤭

[magniloquent-raven]

more of my trans billy ficlets here 💕

--

thing is, billy never wanted kids.

he didn't even like playing with the stupid plastic babies that out of touch relatives thought made good christmas gifts. the dolls stayed in a sad creepy little pile in his closet—shoved in the corner behind the laundry hamper—til he was ten, and his father started really cracking down on his be grateful for what you have campaign.

billy still insists that using his mom's hairspray to set them on fire counts as playing with them. but that particular argument ended with billy icing a black eye, peeking through the bathroom window to watch his dad lug what was left of his dresser to the dumpster across the street.

point is, billy's never had any interest in being a parent, not even playing pretend at being one.

and that was never really a problem, no guy stuck around long enough for it to ever be a conversation they'd have to have.

until steve.

and steve...steve was fucking born to be a dad, and billy knows it. even without knowing all about the botched dream of a white picket fence happy ending with his high school sweetheart, without having seen that wistful look in his eye when he talks about how he was going to take a shitty job with his dad and live out his suburban i-peaked-in-high-school fantasy, even without all that, it's still obvious.

because he's happy mothering his rag-tag band of ducklings, even though they're too old to be babysat now. because he lights up with the most precious fucking goofy grin when random babies wave at him in public. because he knows all the ways his parents went wrong, and he's exactly the kind of person who'd do better just to spite them.

but billy doesn't know if he's that kind of person. and he's not sure if he'd ever forgive himself if it turns out he isn't.

he's not sure what he'll do about it if steve ever asks, so he's been doing the only logical thing. avoiding the subject entirely.

which, obviously doesn't last.

they've been together for three years. they share an apartment. marriage and kids and all that normal adult couple shit is what mature people talk about when they're in committed relationships, apparently.

it started with a favour for a friend.

some girl steve works with needed someone to watch her toddler for a couple hours, and of course steve volunteered. would've been fine if he hadn't forgotten something at home and called billy to ask him to drop it off.

and, see, it wasn't like he meant to stay, the kid was just so fucking clingy, and took a shying to billy of all people.

and billy saw the little soft-eyed smiles steve kept throwing his way whenever the kid latched onto his leg or babbled at him in toddler-speak that billy had to pretend to understand. he noticed. he's can't stop noticing. can't stop nervously glancing at steve, anxiety threading itself around his heart, his lungs, til he's all tangled up in it, tied up, stomach lurching when it pulls and tightens. he's tense, and waiting for the other shoe to drop.

and it does. in the car on the way home.

"you ever think about having kids?" steve is trying so hard to be nonchalant that it's almost painful. he's tracing patterns on his jean-clad thigh, billy can see him out of the corner of his eye. he keeps his gaze locked on the road.

he should probably ease into it. maybe. he has no idea, actually, this is probably gonna be a shit-show either way. for one, brief, horrifying moment he wonders if steve would break up with him over this and he can't breathe for a second.

and when his lungs expand again what comes tumbling out of his mouth is—

"i'd be a shitty dad, steve."

he winces at his own tone.

"fuck off, you would not." steve's vehemence surprises him enough that he forgets not to look. steve's brow is furrowed, his jaw set in a stubborn pout.

billy chews his lip silently, fingers tight on the steering wheel. "what makes you so sure," he asks quietly.

"you're kidding, right?" steve huffs. there's a pause, and his palm lands on billy's bicep, warm and grounding. "i'm sure because i know you." he squeezes billy's arm, "and...max and i talk," he adds, voice soft.

"knew introducing you two was a bad idea," billy mumbles. "fucking gossiping behind my back"

steve snickers. "all good things, i promise."

"right."

"...mostly good things."

"hm."

"come on, she loves you and you know it."

billy sighs, a half-hearted grin tugging at the corners of his mouth. "yeah."

"and so do i."

"...you better." his smile grows when steve slaps his shoulder. "yeah, yeah, love you too, jesus."

"you better," steve echoes sarcastically. after a quiet moment of slowly drawing circles up and down billy's arm he adds, "i doubt myself too, y'know. it's not like i have any idea how to parent, mine weren't around enough to help me figure that shit out." he snorts.

"oh come on, you parent the shit out of those dorky brats of yours."

"nah..." steve shrugs, his hand slipping from billy's shoulder. "i was just. there, i guess. not like they listened to me or anything. which was probably good, 'cause i gave shitty advice and swore too much."

"you must done something right, they're still around." he glances over at steve. he's not looking back, he's got his forearms folded across his stomach, fingers curled around his elbows, slouched in on himself. billy reaches over and slips his hand around one of steve's. "hey. every one of those kids looks up to you, and you fucking earned that."

the rest of the drive is spent in companionable silence. billy knows its not the end of the conversation, not even close. it's going to come up again later, but it feels less looming and terrifying now. it's hard to be too scared of what-ifs when steve is two feet away and fiddling with one of billy's rings with a soft smile on his face.

later turns out to be when they've settled into bed for the night.

when steve rolls over, tugging billy's arm until it's draped around his waist, and he wiggles around trying to get his pillow squished just right. and billy watches him with an amused smile. and steve grins back, for a second, before he bites his lip, and—

"so, i...do want kids. um. just to be clear."

billy sighs. "yeah, i figured."

"i know you'd be great at it, billy," steve says quietly, firm and gentle and so damn sure that billy almost wants to believe him. "and we'd make a real pretty kid"

"jesus, harrington."

"what? it's true."

billy huffs a laugh. "yeah." he shifts, sheets rustling around his legs. "i never wanted kids, you know. always fuckin...freaked me out. the idea of it." steve watches him quietly, a warm hand on his chest, waiting patiently as billy pauses. "still fuckin' freaks me out. but you...it's less terrifying when i think about doing it with you. maybe."

"yeah?" steve's grin is blinding, his whole fucking body curling into it.

"maybe. keep it in your pants, bambi."

steve kisses him, cupping his cheek and leaning in slow and careful. "it's okay if the answer is no. it's okay. i'm just..." he nuzzles a little, eyes falling shut and a soft, contented smile warming his face. "makes me feel all special that you'd even consider it. for me."

yeah it's starting to look like there isn't a whole lot billy wouldn't consider doing for steve.

he snorts, and kisses steve's nose. "yeah well, don't get used to it."

"mm," steve snuggles closer. "wouldn't dream of it."

[thephantomofthe-internet]

Candy Hearts and Paper Roses

Steve Harrington x Carol’s Sister!Reader, Tommy x Carol

Word Count: 7,251

Warnings: Pregnancy, Smoking, Body Shaming, Swearing, Marriage

Author’s Note: Did y’all know that Carol’s last name was Perkins? Or that Tommy’s was Hagan? I didn’t! I also thought Tommy was more of a Hanson. Well, whatever.

Tag List: @madkskillz​ @moonstruckbucky​ @hotstuffhargrove​ @scoopsahoyharrington​ @thechickvic​ @alex--awesome--22​ @lilmissperfectlyimperfect​ @so-not-hotmess​ @hawkeyeharrington​ @sunflowercandie​ @kaliforniacoastalteens​ @songforhema​ @mickmoon​ @spidey-pal @buckybarneshairpullingkink​ @baebee35​ @myrealloveissleep​ @allfandomxreader​

You found out that Carol was pregnant before anyone else did. You found the test in her closet, in her black high heel. It was your own fault, she scolded when you confronted her with the test, you shouldn’t have been trying to steal her lavender turtleneck when she told you that you couldn’t borrow it.

Maybe she was right. Then again, you weren’t stupid enough to let Tommy Hagan knock you up less than a month after graduation. Tommy Hagan was beyond stupid. Carol wasn’t the brightest bulb in the box either, but you’d always assumed she wouldn’t let herself get caught up. Guess you were wrong.

Both your families freaked. A wedding was planned, a tiny diamond put on Carol’s finger, and her college fund spent on a tiny, run down shack of a double wide. She wasn’t going to college anyway. She wanted the baby, she could raise it on her own. Tommy wasn’t going either, not that he ever wanted to. The air force was the right place for him, that way he didn’t have to be there for the kid, just like his old man. A grotesquely nuclear army family. Maybe Carol would sell Avon, get her cosmetology degree once the kid was in school, cut hair at Marie’s shop. Maybe Tommy would excel at flying fighter planes, maybe he’d teach flying. Or move to commercial flight like his dad did. You hoped that they’d have an okay life.

You hoped even more that Carol wouldn’t pick ugly bridesmaid’s dresses.

Your mother insisted that Carol make you her maid of honour. “She’s your baby sister!” she cried from her seat on your family’s ugly floral couch. The two of them had been planning out a guest list and you made the mistake of walking past on the way to the kitchen.

“I promised Tina that she could be my maid of honour! She’s my best friend!” Carol whined. She was three months by then, her pregnancy just beginning to show.

“Tina will be happy just to be a bridesmaid. But your sister is family and we put family first. You’ll make your sister your maid of honour or you’ll have no bridesmaids at all.” Your mother warned, moving the paper doll representing you up to the bridal party. Carol had really spent too long on making her table diagram.

“Mom! That’s completely unfair, you can’t do that!” Carol cried, her red hair whooshing around her head.

“Carol, your father and I are paying for this wedding. If you want to do it your way, you’ll get a job and fork over the dough to pay for it yourself.” Your mother replied harshly. Carol shut her mouth after that, crossing her deer like arms over her chest.

It was settled. You’d be the maid of honour with Tina and Macy trailing behind you. Tommy would have his brother and Mason Pruitt in his party, with Steve Harrington acting as best man.

“Tommy’s brother isn’t his best man…” Carol muttered as your little group walked into the bridal shop in Hawkins, Nana’s Bridal. The weather was just beginning to turn cold, leafs turning brown and crunchy at your feet.

“And I can’t stop him. He’s not my son.” Your mother chuckled, examining the make of a white polyester nightmare on the sale rack. All of your shopping was to be done on the sale rack. Your parents weren’t putting much money into this wedding.

Carol insisted on shopping for hours, to the point where Tommy and his party waltz into the shop to meet the group for lunch and found Carol crying in a puffy, whipped cream looking dress with chintzy flowers blooming out of the neckline, held on by clear glass beads at their centre. Apparently Melanie Moore had just bought the same dress and she’d seen everything in the shop and nothing was perfect. Tommy just laughed at the scene, elbowing Steve and Mason in the ribs, whispering about how stupid she looked. You’d never seen a girl in a wedding dress hit their groom, but then again you’d never imagined your sister as a bride. Maybe the image would’ve been more expected if you ever thought she’d get married. Your mother broke up the scene, telling the Carol to go get changed so she didn’t ruin the dress. That she’d wear her old wedding dress if she didn’t want to pick one.

Carol chose the floral nightmare when Tommy wasn’t looking. Melanie wouldn’t be seen in it until after her anyway. The group went off to lunch without a word. Carol and Tommy went back to being lovey-dovey sweethearts. Tina rushed off to gossip with Macy. The parents huddled to regroup and cope with the scene. Suddenly, you were alone.

You turned to Harrington out of desperation. He looked about as exhausted as you were. “How’d suit shopping go?” you asked, drawing Steve’s attention immediately to you.

He chuckled, leaning down to whisper in your ear “Don’t tell your mom, but we didn’t go.” You looked up wide eyed. Steve smirked “Yeah, we all own black suits and white dress shirts from other things. We’ll get matching ties when we know what you’re wearing.” He nodded to Carol, who was gripping onto Tommy’s arm, pointing out a horrifying mustard yellow velour dress with matching bolero. You cringed, hoping she was making fun of the dress rather than genuinely choosing it as an option for her friends. You really hoped she wouldn’t put you in it as punishment.

“Pray for me, Harrington.” You replied with a wry smile, bouncing ahead to join your mother, hoping she’d slip you one of the unlabeled white pills she was taking, or at the very least an Advil.  

Steve watched you go, your own hair moving with every step you took. The light caught the strands, haloing your crown in golden light.

Yeah, he was fucked.

Carol’s little sister wasn’t exactly someone he’d usually pay attention to. He’d known you since you were a little kid, with scraped knees and ripped tights. You were a wild little thing, always chasing after him and his friends, trying to impress the older kids in your paisley pilgrim dresses and shiny Mary-Jane’s. You were a little girl, then a stroppy preteen who didn’t want to hang out with her older sister but wanted to do the same things she did, then, out of nowhere, you had grown up. Standing tall, haloed in light, keeping up with every punch her older sister could throw at her, laughing all the way.  You weren’t the little girl who cried when her teacher’s were mean or her sister abandoned her on the playground and you weren’t the middle school kid with dirty ripped jeans and a moody attitude. You’d grown into someone new. Someone who intrigued him. Someone he couldn’t stop staring at, even when Mason smacked him in the back of the neck and tried to engage him in football talk, Steve kept his gaze and focus on you and you wide grin. Shining in the sunlight, radiant and proud and beautiful.

He felt like such a creep. He was perving on his friend’s girlfriend’s younger sister.

But he couldn’t escape you. Every weekend, as the wedding date grew closer and Carol grew bigger and bigger, he saw you. The wedding was set for Valentine’s Day, another note of pure cheese for the nuptials.

You weren’t insanely focused on Harrington. You had too much damage to try to control. Your mother and Carol seemed hell bent on torturing you, although your mother seemed to be unaware of the pain she was inflicting on you. They wanted to deck out the hall in pure white and pastel pink, candy hearts on the table in glass bowls and a mix of real red roses and paper ones as centrepieces. The whole thing was going to look like a slightly more expensive version of the Valentine’s Day parties your homeroom classes had in elementary school. The bridesmaid’s dresses were the worst part.

You, Tina, and Macy were dragged back to Nana’s Bridal shop in town, with Carol and Tommy in tow. You were not impressed with Carol’s grabs. It turns out she really liked that awful mustard velour nightmare. Your mother had to hold her back, although her only reasoning was that it didn’t match the colours. They had to be pink or red to match the colours of the wedding. The boys had to have matching ties to the dress colour. It had to match. It was a Valentine’s Day wedding.

You vowed to yourself that you’d never be this cheesy.

Carol spent the appointment torturing you, putting you into the ugliest pink dresses she could find purely to laugh at you. Everything was awful and itchy and smelt like plastic. You wanted to crawl into a ball and die. While Macy and Tina wowed the crowd in the nicer, more refined dresses, you were the frumpy ugly duckling.

The last dress Tina tried on was the choice. Tea length salmon pink polyester with a high boat neckline and soft layered cap sleeves. The dress was plain and simple, no excess sequins or crystals. It was also on sale, which meant your mother jumped at the dress; telling Carol that she could put little fabric flowers on the waistband to match hers. She still pouted.

“Ma, that dress isn’t going to work. It’s going to look terrible on Y/N.” she snapped, pointing her stubby nail at you. You were still dressed in a similar pink dress, although this one had a white lace appliqué to cover your cleavage. You felt your face heat terribly, tears brimming in your eyes. Macy and Tina refused to look at you and Tommy had long ago went to use the phone at the front desk.

“Here, Tina go change and Y/N, go try the dress on.” Your mother instructed. Tina turned on her heel and headed back into the dressing room. You sighed, following behind the salesgirl as she returned you to your own poorly lit dressing room. The salmon dress came into your dressing room quickly and you slipped it on. You looked yourself over in the mirror, wiping the tears that had built up in your eyes as you looked yourself over. You thought you looked fine, but you knew in your heart that Carol was going to shoot you down no matter how good you looked in it. You took in a deep breath and stepped out of the dressing room, heading back out to see your family.

As if on cue, the bell over the front doors chimed and Steve Harrington’s chipper voice sounded by the entrance. Tommy and Steve joined the group. You looked down quickly smoothing your skirt.

“Now, you see Carol, she looks fine.” Your mother said “Y/N, turn around show us the whole picture.”

You rolled your eyes, but obeyed, turning slowly to let the material swirl around your ankles.

“Ma, she looks like one of those ballet dancing hippos from Fantasia. Y/N needs a wider skirt and more details to hide her-” This was what you expected from Carol. Her not so subtle jabs at you were poison dipped. Usually, you could handle her, but today it was too hard. Tears began to well up in your eyes again, which you quickly tried to hide, turning to look yourself over in the mirror as if you were looking over what Carol was saying.

“Wow, you look great Y/N.” Steve cut in with a grin. “The colour looks great with your hair.” Everyone turned to look at Steve, confused or surprised or annoyed. You turned to look at him as well, surprised. You didn’t expect a compliment from Steve, much less over your looks.

“I agree, Steven. Y/N looks wonderful. Carol, this is the dress. This is what we’re going with. We’re not getting two dresses. You like this one, we’ll do this one. We can add a flower to the waistband, they’ll be wearing jewellery.” Your mother added, standing up to squeeze your shoulders comfortingly. You smiled up at her as she sent you away to change. Dress shopping was over, thank god. You heard as you left your mother add “If you don’t have anything nice to say, don’t say anything at all Carol. You’re too hard on her.”

“I’m just trying to be helpful, mom. I don’t want her to go out there and look like an idiot.” Carol retorted. You couldn’t see her face, but you felt the sneer digging into your back, her hatred never stronger than when she was told that she was in the wrong.

When you came back out, everyone was impatiently waiting for you, chatting absentmindedly. Your mother announced that the group would come back for a fitting in two months time, in January. Your mother wrapped her arm around your shoulders. She told the girls to find nice jewellery and matching shoes for their dresses and the boys to get their salmon ties and to remember their tie clips. Everyone was sent on their way from there, Carol and your mother leaving you in the dust.

You felt a firm tap on the shoulder. “You wanna go for a drive?” You met the eye of Steve Harrington and his lopsided grin. You chewed your lip, thinking for a moment, before nodding.

Steve and you drove in silence for awhile before stopping on the edge of town. The weather had gone cold and the wind had picked up in the wheat fields, blowing softly into a tan blur. You and Steve sat in  the front seats, staring out the windshield in silence.

“So…what’s up with your sister? Is she always this much of bitch or is it the hormones?” Steve asked softly, cracking his window. You reached into your purse, pulling out a pack of cigarette and lighting one, offering the pack to Steve.

You puffed out a cloud of smoke, chuckling to yourself “She’s always been a mythic bitch…just usually not so much in public.” You said, offering Steve your lighter.

“Why does she do that? She used to bug Nance too I just don’t get it…” Steve asked, lighting his cigarette and bringing it to his lips, passing you back your lighter.

“That’s just girls, Harrington, if you’re not their friend and they notice you, you’re an enemy.” You replied, looking out the window at the empty field in front of you. “We can’t have any competition.”

“Why’d she think you were competition?” he asked, turning his attention to you, resting his arm on the gear shift.

“She’s always been the pretty one, and now she’s fat. She can’t handle it.” Pregnancy hadn’t brought Carol the glow everyone promised. Instead, it gave her acne and swollen feet and greasy hair. It didn’t even make her boobs bigger. She had just reverted into herself in middle school, except with a baby growing inside her.

“She hasn’t always been the pretty one…” Steve muttered. You turned to look at him, your brow furrowed in an intense stare. Steve simply shrugged in response.

“Well, she’s always thought that she was. And now she’s pregnant and having her dream wedding and it’s still not what she wants. I don’t know what she thinks is gonna happen once she’s married.” You smirked, turning to ash your cigarette out the window.

“Carol and Tommy have always gone back and forth, ever since the seventh grade. They’ll be fine.” Steve shrugged.

You frowned “I don’t know, I mean with a baby in the mix…they can’t just break up and make up easy anymore. There’s too much at stake now.” You replied.

“Yeah but they’ll make it work.” You raised your eyebrow at him, watching him carefully “Tommy’s gonna take it seriously. They both will.”

“I’ll believe it when I see it.” You crossed your arms over your chest, flicking the butt of your cigarette out the window. You both went silent for awhile, but something was eating at your mind.

“Why’d you step in today?” you asked.

“Huh?” Steve looked over at you again, more focused on the growing line of ash about to tip into his lap.

“With Carol, she was ripping me a new one and you stepped in. Why? It wasn’t your issue to deal with…” you clarified, picking at the skin around your nails.

“I mean…she was being mean and I didn’t want to listen to it.” He replied. You nodded to yourself. That answer made sense.

“I meant it, you know.” Steve added “You look really pretty.”

“Oh…” you breathed, looking down at your hands “Thanks, Steve…”

“No biggie.” He grinned. You really didn’t know what to do with yourself. He thought you were pretty. How were you supposed to react? He was Steve! Sure, you had a crush on him when you were a kid, but now? Now you barely felt like you knew him. And yet your heart was pounding in your chest. Maybe you just hadn’t gotten a good compliment in awhile.

Or maybe a part of you wanted his approval. You’d had a crush on him when you were young, he broke your heart without knowing it. Now, you were equals. Maybe that was it. Or maybe the crush never left.

Steve drove you home after that, letting Hall and Oates drift you back into your personal circle of hell. When you arrived in your driveway, you popped open your door and climbed out, leaning into his cracked window.

“Thanks for the ride, Harrington.” You said, adjusting you purse strap on your shoulder. You wondered if you looked like a hooker. You hoped not.

“No problem, thanks for coming out with me.” He replied, leaning his elbow on the inside of the door. “I’ll see you around?”

“I’m pretty sure I’ll have to.” You giggled, turn on your heel and running up the driveway. You pulled open the front door, stepping into the warmth of your house, rubbing your hands together to bring the feelings back into your fingers. Carol had the fireplace going in the living room, feet propped up on the tapestry covered stool as she flipped through a copy of Glamour magazine.

She looked up when she heard the door close and she frowned when her eyes met yours. You tried to just go upstairs, but Carol snapped her fingers at you. “Hey.” You turned to look at her, not stepping down from the stairs.

“Leave Harrington alone.” She snapped, slapping her magazine closed.

“Why does it matter to you who I hang out with?” you asked, crossing your arms over your chest.

“He doesn’t like you. He’s being nice. Don’t get it twisted in your sad little head that he’d like you.” Carol replied with a smirk.

You didn’t bother to reply, simply heading upstairs and slamming your door. Of course Carol had to ruin it. You have one nice thing, one uplifting moment in an otherwise awful day, and she had to take a crap on it. She couldn’t just let you have anything. That would be too easy for her. Carol couldn’t let you have anything, what else would she do with her free time.

You knew that Carol was just bored and trying to stir shit up, but a part of your mind wouldn’t let it go. Steve didn’t like you. He was just a nice guy. You refused to let yourself get caught up in any sorts of hyper inflated one-sided romance made up in your mind.

Luckily for you, most of the wedding prep from there on didn’t involve the whole group going. In fact most of it didn’t even involve you. Your mother took over planning, dragging Tommy and Carol to bakeries and to meet the pastor who’d do the service. Tommy wanted his drunken uncle to do the service, he was a boat captain and Tommy didn’t understand that a boat captain can only perform a wedding on a boat at sea and that he was in the middle of the country.

Your mother tasked you with the all important job of making flowers to pin onto the bridesmaid dresses. She gave you enough money to buy the supplies and sent you on your way with a beleaguered sigh, turning her attention to Carol who was whining over her bowl of Captain Crunch. Apparently, she was craving pickles and salt and vinegar chips and the house was out of both.

You took yourself down to Main Street. The date of the girl’s fitting was inching closer and closer and you were more than nervous to go back in to try on dresses. You knew Carol would be on your case if the dress fit even a little bit incorrectly. Even if it was too big, she’d be pissed at you for something. It had only been a couple months, and you were certain that you hadn’t gained or lost any weight since trying on and sizing the stupid nightmare. Who wanted to wear a dress in a colour named after a fish? Salmon was not an appetizing colour. It drew the mind to dead fish sliced up on a plate.

You pushed open the door of your favourite fabric store. In a small town full of old ladies, there was a huge market for sewing stores. Yours was Sylvia’s Sewing Supplies, its owner gave you discounts and slipped you new patterns whenever you came in. You relished in the warmth of the shop. Hawkins had frozen over in November and hadn’t even gotten close to thawing out. Your favourite cashier, Marie wasn’t in, so you slipped into the aisles to find what you needed. You needed a fabric that would stand out against the salmon pink of the dress, flat topped pins, and a bit of wire to give the fabric some body. You grabbed your pins and the crafting wire, before heading to the sale section for fabric. You’d need something lightweight and clean, with no distinctive or big pattern, and little stretch. You found a thin cotton material with bit of pink sparkle and bought a yard. You’d use some leftover magenta coat buttons for the flower’s centre.

You left the shop with a grin, plastic bag swinging in your hands as you headed back towards your family’s home. You were proud to have gotten all your supplies for under the budget your mother had given you.

You’d barely made it past Melvald’s when a familiar maroon car came swerving to a stop next to you, Steve Harrington leaning out the driver’s side window. “Hey! Perkins! Where ya headed?” he asked.

You waved at him, edging closer to his car. “Oh nowhere really, I thought I might go up to King’s Street.” You said, clutching your coat around yourself.

“Whatcha buying?” he pointed to your shopping bag.

“Wedding stuff, I’ve been given a job. Woo hoo…” you pulled a painfully fake grin, using your free hand to do a bit of a jazz hand.

Steve laughed, shaking his head “Well, come on get in.” he said.

“Oh no, that’s alright Steve, I don’t mind walking.” You replied. Carol’s words rang loudly in your ear.

“Perkins, its freezing. Get in the car before you turn blue.” Steve said, leaning over to pop the passenger’s side door open. You shook your head, jogging around the car to get in, if only to escape the cold and keep from someone taking off the door. Steve drove off quickly, crossing town a bit too fast for your liking. You directed him towards Tom’s Curio shop; a sort of thrift store meets pawn shop on the edge of town, closer to Kingsville than Carmel. You liked Tom’s; it was the closest thing to a thrift store you could get in town. It had been open since Hawkins was founded and Tom still stood behind the counter every day.

You dragged Steve along with you inside, instructing him to park close to the front door. “Alright, what’re we looking for?” Steve asked as he pushed open the heavy front door.

“We are looking for something shiny to pair with my bridesmaid dress.” You replied, waving politely to Tom, who was haggling with a customer at the desk. You weaved through the racks to the back case, filled mostly with costume jewellery. The good stuff was at the front, locked away and protected by Tom’s stern gaze and the shotgun he kept behind the counter.

“Ah, I need a tie clip anyway, wonder if they’ll have anything good…” he said, following behind you up to the well lit case. The case itself was filled with a variety of plastic beads in every colour, from fake pearls to giant rainbow baubles that your grandmother used to wear. There was some rhinestone on silver plated copper pieces, most of which had their copper showing or rhinestones missing. You weren’t insanely impressed.

“What about that one?” Steve pointed at a set of sort, pale pink plastic beads.

You cringed “If I have to wear grandma beads, I’ll freak out.” You replied, eyeing down the long case. Something caught your eye. A small silver chain with a little pink flower in its centre. “Hey Tom!” you called “Can I get a hand in the case?”

“Case’s open, it’s all junk in there anyway!” Tom called back. You slipped behind the desk and slid open the glass panel. You gently pulled out the necklace, examining it in natural lighting. The silver didn’t seem to be rubbed off or chipped and while the pink flower had clearly had it details rubbed off, you liked it more because of it.

“You want me to grab a tie clip? I see one that isn’t faded or ugly.” You said, eyeing a plain silver tie clip at the end of the counter.

“Sure, I should own one anyway.” Steve said. You grabbed the clip but your arm was just a bit too short, it slipped from your fingertips. You groaned, sidling over to where it fell. You reached for it and found two clips instead of one. First was the tie clip, but the other piece was more interesting. It wasn’t another tie clip but instead a hair pin. A straight clasped pin with blue stones and a singular stone shaped like a small flower bud at its centre. It clearly wasn’t something worth any money, but it was pretty and the details were intact.

You lifted yourself off the floor and closed the glass. You handed Steve his tie clip and dusted off your jeans, the knees now white with dust and dirt. The pair of you paid for your pieces and headed into the snowstorm that Hawkins had become. He drove you home slowly, excessively careful in the changed weather. But when he turned down your street, you stopped him.

“You can drop me off here.” You pointed about eight houses down from yours. Steve was driving at a snail’s pace and you were getting antsy.

“What? No way, Perkins. The weather’s shit and the sidewalks are icy. Those little sneakers aren’t gonna do you much good in this weather.” He chuckled, nodding at your dingy white Reebok sneakers. He wasn’t wrong, but he didn’t see the inherent problems Carol was going to cause.

“Carol’s going to cause a scene if she sees us together again.” You countered, grabbing your plastic bag off the ground.

“Why does she give so much of a shit about you and me?” Steve asked, parking in your driveway.  

“I don’t know, pregnancy hormones are crazy, apparently.” You sighed, popping open the door. You were barely out in the snow for a moment when your mother came rushing out the door.

“Steven!” she called “Y/N, tell that boy that it’s not safe to drive home in this. He’ll stay for dinner.”

Fighting this request would not end well. You sighed, turning your attention back into the car “Steve, my mom is insisting you stay for dinner. It’s too bad for you to drive back home, wait it out inside.”

“It’s not that bad, I’ll be alright.” Steve replied with a shrug.

You rolled your eyes, smiling softly “It’s not a request, Harrington, come one.” You turned on your heel and your smile grew as you heard the ignition turn off and Steve’s door open and shut.

“Thank you, Mrs. Perkins.” Steve said as he passed your mother by.

“It’s no trouble at all, Steven, we’re happy to have you.” She replied, shutting the door behind the three of you. Carol was again sat in the living room with the fireplace going, gorging herself on salt and vinegar chips, laid out on the couch. When she saw Steve, she sat up as fast as she could, her stomach protruding much more at five months than it ever had before.

“Steve! What’re you doing here?” she beamed, adjusting herself in her mountain of pillows.

“Oh, I found your sister stuck in the storm, I drove her home.” Steve replied, pulling off his navy blue coat and kicking off his damp sneakers. Carol’s bright smile dropped into a frown as she eyed the pair of you. The silence was thick and tense enough to slice with a knife.

“Well…I’m going to work on the flowers. I bought some nice material, I’ll make a test one for you to look over, yeah?” you said, lifting the grey opaque bag as if to prove you went shopping. Carol nodded shortly and you ran off as fast as you, abandoning Steve to her clutches.

Working on the flowers proved to be much easier than you thought. You plugged in your small sewing machine at your desk, plugging the foot peddle into the machine. You pulled in your hot glue gun as well, plugging it in. Then, you drew out your petal shape. You decided to have a five petal flower and to make the shape similar to a heart, with a rounded cupid’s bow at the top of the petal and a bit of a point at the end. Then you cut your fabric into five even strips, folding the fabric over, and setting the excess aside. You used your fabric chalk to copy the image onto the fabric five times. You cut out your hearts and set them aside. Then, you used a pair of wire cutters to break off five pieces of similar lengths. You hot glued each piece of wire onto five of your ten hearts and loaded in your thread as they dried. You placed two hearts back to back and sewed around the edges and turned them inside out. Then you hot glued the other half of the heart to the wire. Repeat four times, the wind the wires together in a circle, hot glue the flower to the pin and glue the button to its centre. Bam. A flower. It looked alright too.

With a proud grin, you bounded down the stairs. Steve and Carol were sat in awkward silence, which you easily broke. “Alright, Carol this is the first one. What’d think of the fabric and design?” you handed her the pin “I tried to make the petals look like hearts, to sort of fit the theme-”

“They’re fine. They’re just to add something to the waistband. You don’t have to think so hard about it.” She cut in, handing you back the flower. In an instant, you were defeated by Carol.

“Alright then…” you muttered. You went to leave, but Steve’s voice caused you to stop in your tracks.

“Think I can give you a hand?” he asked, hopping to his feet.

“Oh…I’m alright, keep Carol company, I’m sure she enjoys it.” You said quickly.

“I’m fine, go ahead Steve, I’m sure Y/N can put you to some kind of work.” She drawled, watching you with a sneer.

You sighed, bounding up the steps. Steve followed close behind. You kicked open your door, pushing a pile of notebooks to the side as you let him into your room. “Alright, sit there and cut out petals. I’ll do the rest.” You pointed to your bed, then pulled out your own desk chair and flicked off the light above your needle.

“Alright,” he rubbed his palms together and looking over the pile. “What am I going here?”

You leaned over to him in your chair “Alright take your pattern, pick a place on the fabric,” you pointed to the white chalk “Draw the pattern out on the fabric, then cut it out.”

“Alright, I got this.” He said. You nodded turning back to your machine as a small pile of hearts began to grow. You made steady, silent progress, until Steve broke it.

“Why do you let her push you around like that?” Steve asked.

“What do you mean?” you replied, not looking up from your machine.

“You were clearly proud of the pin and she dismissed it. Why couldn’t she say it was nice?” Steve asked.

You chuckled “God, you’re such an only child…” you mutter, gluing your wire onto your first heart and sewing pieces together. “That’s how older sisters are. They all wanted to be only children and then some baby brat came along and stole all the attention. She’s disliked me from the day I was born.”

“And she can’t be nice for five minutes?” Steve countered with a matching chuckle.

“Like I said, blame the hormones. Usually, she’d just ignore me. Now, she needs me to make stupid little flowers for her wedding.” You replied, flipping out your first heart and gluing it shut.

The pair of you made five pins in about an hour, laughing and talking all the while. Steve was a nice guy. You had a lot in common, mostly in your annoyance with your peers. Steve was much more normal than you remembered, much more relaxed and easygoing than the hyper kid who ran circles around you and his friends on the playground. He was a bit of a grown man now. Maturity looked good on him.

Your mother fed the family and Steve was gone quickly, the snow settling fast. Just as quickly as Steve left your house, January passed you by. You spent the month in full wedding mode. You and your mother were high strung. It didn’t help that Carol was rounding seven months pregnant and a nightmare to be around. You spent your free time hiding in your room.

By the time the date came around, you were more than happy to be over everything wedding based. You didn’t care if Carol was marrying a man child and she was pregnant with the next spawn of Satan, you just wanted everything to be done. The dresses fit, the ties matched and were clipped, the wedding dress fitted to Carol’s massive stomach, the caterer’s had the food ready and the cake was iced and cooled. All that was left was to marry them off.

The morning of February 14th, 1987 was one of pure chaos. Tina and Macy had slept over with Carol, although you weren’t into to their bridal pampering. Carol was flashing around her bridal box, full of everything she needed. She was more than ready to be married. You all headed to Marie’s Beauty Parlour to have your hair done at eleven o’clock that morning, yours and Tommy’s mother giddy to be getting rid of their children. Your mother had bought the mustard velour nightmare for herself to wear. She had her hair curled in ringlets and pinned away from her face. You and the other bridesmaid’s were put into tight, poufy bouffant hairstyles. Carol’s being the highest and poufiest of them all. Then, you all waited around while Carol had her makeup professionally done. The rest of you would have to do your own makeup, which you were happy with when you saw the outcome of Carol’s.

The group dressed and did their makeup back at your house, trying to match each other’s makeup. Macy and Tina were deadlocked in attempts to outdo each other. You finished yours first, not worried about overpowering their makeup. You slid into you salmon dress and, at the nagging of your mother, pulled on a pair of pantyhose before putting on your matching wedding shoes. You pinned your little flower pin on your right side and clasped on your necklace, jabbing a pair of tiny silver hoops into your earlobes.

A scream from Carol pulled everyone’s attention to her. She was found crying on the floor in her white wedding lingerie, screaming up at your mother “Where is it?!?”

“What’s wrong, ma?” you asked, stepping through the small crowd and touching your mother’s shoulder.

“Great-grandma Petra’s wedding tiara!” Carol moaned. You looked to your mother with a confused expression. You’d never met your great grandmother. She died before you were born.

“I told you, honey, she was buried with it. I don’t have it.” Your mother said, pulling your sister off the floor “Your mascara is running, honey, you have to stop crying.”

“But now I don’t have anything old and blue!” she cried, letting her mother put her into the stool at her vanity.

“We’ll find you something, let me look through my jewellery box, I’m sure I can fine something-” your mother tried.

“I’m already borrowing your pearls, I can’t get any more luck from you.” She sobbed, her breathing getting ragged. She was going to hyperventilate if someone didn’t do something. You ran to your room, grabbing the blue hair pin off your desk. You had intended on wearing it in your own hair, but the bride needed to be appeased and the conversation needed to be over. You brought the pin into your mother’s room.

“Here,” you held out the pin to Carol “I bought it for myself, but you can wear it. It’s vintage, so it’s old, and it’s blue.” Carol took the pin cautiously, examining it with watery eyes.

Her whole face broke into a wide smile “It’s perfect, Y/N, thank you!” she held out her arms, pulled you into a tight hug. You let her hug you like she meant it. Maybe she did. You weren’t going to forgive her for everything because she was nice to you once. Giving her your pin was just what got you all to the wedding.

The ceremony started on time, which was a shock to you. Stood outside the church, Tina and Macy fussed over Carol veil, which was attempting to blow away in the icy wind. You heard the music start and, on cue, Mason and Kenny opened the doors, Steve and Tommy waiting at the altar. You gripped your roses tightly, making your brisk walk up to the altar. Steve was watching you far too intensely for your liking. You lowered your gaze and made your way to the front. He was too handsome to look at anyway.

The vows went fast, the ceremony was kept short. Everyone at the wedding knew it was a shotgun wedding before they even arrived and nobody really took it seriously. The applause was polite as Tommy and Carol headed to back down the aisle to their getaway car. Steve sidled up to you as you headed down the aisle out of the church.

“You wanna get out of here? We’ve got like an hour to kill for the happy couple to take photos.” He asked, grabbing the crook of your arm and looping his through it.

“Sure…” you muttered. You made it outside, trading your bouquet for your winter coat and following Steve over to his car. You drove out to his house, because it was closer than yours and neither of you wanted to join the festivities there anyway.

“You look…really beautiful, by the way.” He said as he pulled into his driveway.

“Thank you…” you replied shyly, not meeting his eyes “You look really handsome.”

“Thank you…” Steve smiled. He led you to the front of his house and let you into the empty, dark house. You’d never been to Steve’s house, much less without anyone there besides you two. You kicked off your heels, relishing the comfort of being flat on the ground again. Steve’s hands came to your waist and spun you to him carefully.

“Steve, what’re you doing?” you whispered. Something about the scene made you feel like you were sneaking around. Maybe you were. Somewhere in your mind Carol was still watching, hinting, assuming the worst of you. She already thought you were a slut for even hanging out with Steve.

“Well…I was going to kiss the prettiest bridesmaid…” he grinned, leaning down to you.

You pulled back “Why?” you asked, placing your hands on his chest to push him away.

Steve’s hands fell away. He looked at you closely, and then let out a sigh. “Because…I’m crazy about you, Y/N, I can’t stop thinking about you. I thought, well I figured, you felt the same but if I’m wrong I mean tell me now-”

“No! I mean I don’t know…Carol already thinks I’m a slut I don’t want to add to it, I mean if she found out about this…” you replied quickly.

“Y/N,” Steve reached for your arm, pulling you a bit closer. “Can’t you see that she’s just jealous of you? You don’t have to plan your life around her.”

You looked at him sceptically. He didn’t know Carol the way you did. He didn’t live with her. “Steve, it’s never been that simple. You can’t just say that she’s jealous or crazy and move on.” You scoffed.

“Y/N, what are you afraid of?” Steve grabbed your hand.

“I…I’m afraid that…she’s right. That I’ll never be as good as her or as liked as her. I’m afraid that you only like me because of her. That you’ll move on the second you get bored or that this is some elaborate game you and your friends are playing. Like when we were kids and you would play those awful pranks on me.” You explained, looking away from Steve. You felt ashamed of your emotions, of feeling small and useless, like the child you were so certain you’d grown out of being.

Steve swallowed, stepping back again, looking you over with a worried expression. “You are…so different from your sister. And that’s the best thing about you. Carol is Carol, but you? You’re indescribable. You’re so amazing, it kills me. And I would never treat you like the way we used to. We were kids, and I’m so sorry we hurt you. But I would never treat you like that again.”

You inched closer, watching his expression curiously. He looked almost hurt by your words. You didn’t regret them though; you needed to say them to be understood.

“I know that, Steve, I just” you let out a heavy, thick sigh “I’ve always been scared of everything, you included.”

Steve’s face broke into a small smile “You don’t ever have to be afraid of me.” He murmured, his hands coming carefully to your cheeks, running his knuckles up and down your cheek. His lips came gently down to yours. This time, you didn’t pull away. You didn’t want to. Fuck Carol, fuck her stupid ideas on who you were and her damn ugly wedding to a massive idiot. You were allowed your happiness. You were allowed to have Steve. And he’s exactly what you want.

[yeats-infection]

@sqvalors tagged me in a lil writing meme... if you’d like to participate please do and tag me! 

ao3 name: fluorescentgrey but i also post some things as drglass (dr. glass is the second song on the fluorescent grey EP by deerhunter, so if i make another pseud it will be likenew, then washoff, etc.) 

fandoms: about two thirds of my fics are harry potter or star wars but there are a lot of random little goodies. currently i have shifted into the terror (2018) mode. 

number of fics: 59 right now... i will throw a party when i get to 69... 

fic i spent the most time on: this is funny because some of these technically took me like six months or more of working on them extremely intermittently... namely, bone machine. the series in the garden has taken me the most time generally... and in that, minuet did take me several months of working really hard while i had a schedule / commute that was not conducive to having a creative practice... 

fic i spent the least amount of time on: hilariously, literally my most popular fic by ninety miles, the witcher PWP that i wrote out of spite in two or three hours. 

longest fic: the source codes series... particularly heelstone which is 102k. i wrote these two stories in a single summer like a crazy person and i hate talking about them because i find them WAY too gooey. honestly, that’s why they are so long. it’s all the gooeyness!!!!!! 

shortest fic: yes, the answer is the witcher porn again (this silly thing is going to be the answer for many other questions in this little meme but i’m just going to stop talking about it while i’m ahead). the west end is just about 50 words longer and is much better and is a much better and more interesting story. 

most hits: we’re just going to pretend it’s sex and dying in high society, which has the second most hits. this is certainly due to the fact that @wolfstarwarehouse hypes this story a lot for which i am endlessly grateful! 

most kudos: recovery position has the second most kudos so let’s go with that one! i have been very touched by the response to this story, though i do personally like the sequel beachcoma a little more... i understand why not everyone wants to read it because it is a little more bittersweet. but it also comes from my soul. 

most comment threads: the two stories in the source codes series are leading here, because i only posted two chapters at a time so that i would get maximal validation, lol. 

most bookmarks: in order to talk about a story i haven’t talked about yet, the rosary has the fourth-most. i think this fic is truly my r/s swan song... i said everything i wanted to say and did everything i wanted to do. it’s a really good mystery/noir story that i didn’t think i could pull off until i did! and i love the OCs in it who have sort of manifested these secret headcanons for me that i may expostulate upon someday. thank you to @piovascosimo for the inspiration to write it. 

total word count: 1,000,478. lol! 

favorite fic i wrote: cannot possibly choose but probably the top five in order of date posted are: desperado, a handful of dust, doom town, beachcoma, jump into the fire

fic i’d rewrite / expand on: i already said all of source codes because it’s way too gooey, i also could make hard time killing floor blues a lot tighter, and a memoir of the flesh deserves a way better ending because i was rushing to make the yuletide deadline...

share a bit of a WIP: i was trying for a while to write a band of brothers AU where they are vietnam vets who start growing cannabis... based on the steve earle song “copperhead road.” this could have been SO good but the plot was too huge and unwieldy so i gave up. my roommate is obsessed with this idea and keeps asking me how it’s going so i may yet finish. but there’s a bit below the cut.

The knock at the door in the night was a sharp shock, bright as lightning, that sent them both back to Khe Sanh and before. Nix ducked. Dick went behind the doorframe. They kept low into the kitchen, where Nix took his old officer’s pistol out from where he kept it hidden behind the fridge. Then they went to the door, keeping to the edges of the hallways.

On the porch was Liebgott. He could have made his own way in likely right onto the couch without either of them noticing, so it was something that he had knocked on the goddamn door. It was particularly something given that none of the boys from Easy should have known about the grow operation, or even about Dick’s farm, being as Dick’s address on file at the V.A. was a post office box in town and Nix’s was still in Jersey. These considerations were nil to somebody who had spent the better part of five years in the bush of Vietnam. He took a last draw from his cigarette and put it out against the rubber sole of his boot, then he put the butt in his pocket. As far as Nix knew, he hadn’t said a word since January 1970.  

“Joe,” said Dick diplomatically. He put his hand out and Liebgott took it. Then he took Nix’s. He had handsome dark eyes, but they were full of a wall. You could tell he saw you, but it was like nothing followed the necessary channels to the brain to spur emotional response. It had been like this even while he was still talking, and after a while you got used to it.

“You comin' in,” said Nix, knowing he probably would even if he wasn’t invited.

Inside, they all three sat at the kitchen table in silence nobody was about to break. Finally Dick got up and went to the drawer where they kept the rollies and their share of the product. He passed a sheaf of papers and a film canister full of bud to Liebgott across the table. Nix understood as well as Dick apparently did that there would be no getting anything over on this kid, who had eyes in the back and sides of his head. He’d probably had a nice tour of the property before coming inside. “You hungry, son,” Dick said.

Liebgott shook his head. He extracted one of the buds from the canister and inspected it. They did look mighty good if Nix said so himself. They looked artful in Liebgott’s hand. There were black scabs across his knuckles and a dark rime of filth under those fingernails which still existed. He seemed satisfied enough with what he saw to take a paper out of the sheaf and start shredding the flower into it.

“Captain Nixon calls it Easy Diesel,” said Dick, like he was trying to pretend it wasn’t the funniest thing in the world.

Liebgott looked up and a smile flashed across his face like the savage golden light of a flare falling over the far hills. His smile was sort of brutal, like the edge of a knife in a barfight, or like a seething animal. Luckily it went away as quickly as it had come. He rolled the joint with a quick grace and lit the business end with his old silver Zippo Nixon hadn’t seen since the war. There was a skull engraved on one side and on the other it read IF YOU ARE RECOVERING MY BODY, FUCK YOU.

“I don’t know how you found us, Joe,” Dick said thoughtfully. “You don’t have to… tell us. But we ain’t exactly keen to have just anybody here.” He paused and looked quickly to Nix, who tried to make it abundantly clear by means of eyebrows that he wasn’t sure they ought to go down this road, wherever it was leading. Dick ignored him. Liebgott was watching them, fully understanding their attempted clandestine exchange. “We ain’t exactly keen to have the DEA here,” Dick said at last.

The cherry at the end of the joint atomized with a crackling hiss. Liebgott looked between Dick and Nix with extreme seriousness sullied only by his exhaling a dignified white cloud out his nose. Then he nodded, once, curtly, demonstrating he understood his orders as they had been relayed.

Nix flashed Dick what he thought was a what have you done type look. But Dick looked totally unbothered. He should have gone into this business years ago for how violently unflappable he was. He said to Liebgott, “I’ll get some blankets and you can make up the couch.”

Liebgott shook his head to say no need. He got up, careful not to scrape the chair against the floor, shook each of their hands again, and in less than a minute’s time he was back out the door with nothing more than what he’d come in with except the joint.

Nix and Dick, on the porch, listening to the crickets, watched him disappear into the darkness.

“Are we hallucinating,” said Nix eventually.

“I sure as hell hope not,” Dick replied. “We’ve got to ship all that product or we’ll starve.”

-

In the morning Nix was in the field, inspecting the plants. Liebgott was standing there at his quarter for god knew how long before he cleared his throat and Nix jumped about six feet in the air. There was a smirk shifting across Liebgott’s face that he would have been better about hiding when Nix had been his commanding officer. He looked like he hadn't slept. Back over there he had looked like that a lot, but it had been different, because of all the uppers they were taking. He cocked his head back over toward the long driveway and then he was off across the dew-wet grass which had already soaked through the hems of his canvas pants and his destroyed shoes.

Nix followed, like a duckling behind a hen. Liebgott still walked as though there were eyes in all sides of his head quickly processing information as he moved. Nix doubted you ever lost that kind of skill, even if in the real world it made you look like a mental patient. He caught up so they could walk side by side through the dew-wet grass. “What did you think,” he asked Liebgott.

Liebgott passed Nix the universal sign of furrowed brow that meant please clarify.

Nix gestured with pinched fingers to his own mouth as though Liebgott were also deaf. “The grass.”

He shaped his hand into an a-ok sign.

“You get any sleep?”

He nodded an infinitesimal nod, like the answer was a secret just for Nix to know.

“Well if you think it could be better just tell me how.”

Nix had had a high school friend whose sister was deaf from scarlet fever and whom he had watched on occasion communicate with her by means of sign language. Early on, back over there, he had sent off to command for a book, but by the time it came he understood it wasn’t that Liebgott couldn’t speak, he just didn’t want to. It was something like how people’s hair supposedly turned white if they witnessed some evil thing, or how people became ascetics in the name of god. If you were really fucked up on drugs or fear or otherwise, or if the natural magical thinking from childhood hadn’t been fully beaten out of you, you might have seen it as the sacrifice he had given to the forest for letting him out without a scratch so many goddamn times. It had been a bit of a trial to explain this to Spiers, who was practical almost to a fault, sometimes.

Liebgott showed another a-ok sign. Then he did a thumbs up which Nix knew meant it was good.

All in all it was smart. If he was still talking, Nix might have asked him, what have you been up to? You been sleeping on the street? You been to the V.A.? What did they tell you? And the answer would’ve been nothing good. Instead they just walked in the cool grass together in the sunshine and the morning was beautiful, and the air was sweet. It was all lovely until Liebgott had to physically stop him, laughing, somehow silently but also hysterically, from stepping right onto the razor-thin tripwire stretched invisibly across the dark gravel.

In the kitchen, Dick was doing the numbers. He took his glasses off when Nix came in and put the coffee on. “He learned a thing or two from Charlie,” Nix said, leaning against the counters.

“Who, Joe?”

“Our driveway is thoroughly ratfucked.”

“Hmm,” said Dick. He put the glasses back on and turned back to the accounting book. He was going to do this whole thing as above board as was humanly possible. The vivid daylight came through the window and struck the lens of his unstylish Ray-Bans and threw a kind of prism of color upon the white paper and the chicken-scratch sums. Nix felt like maybe this was something you would paint if you had the necessary implements and artistic ability. “Maybe we should see if we can get any more help.”

-

He was mildly ashamed to say it, but the doc had always kind of creeped Nix out. He imagined a hypothetical conversation with Dick, who he knew loved the kid, almost like a son: Listen, don’t get me wrong, he’s a good kid, I owe him my life, yadda yadda. But either he’s dropped the brown acid one too many times or the voodoo exorcism went FUBAR.

The doc had arrived on the farm on the heels of Sunshine and Rainbows, aka Mr. Bright Eyed and Bushy Tailed, aka one Edward “Babe” Heffron. Nix had written Babe in South Philly, being as he was a connoisseur of bud and once upon a time had been famed among their company for smoking anything anyone put in his hand, often to his own detriment. The operation was getting big enough that Nix needed another pair of hands, other than Liebgott, of course, who was still fortifying the long driveway whilst giving away his cover by playing Led Zeppelin IV as loudly as was possible. It was a tough calculation, because Babe was a genius of pot, but he couldn’t keep a damn secret, and lo and behold he had dragged along with him a dark shadow in the human form of Eugene Roe. They came up the driveway in a big old Ford pickup that rattled its rust off in the potholes. Liebgott had dismantled the traps specially for their arrival when they had called from Williamsport to say they were an hour out.

“I figured we could use a medical professional to lend some credibility to the operation,” said Babe thoughtfully, sparking a joint on the porch over sweating jam jars of iced tea.

Roe snorted or something but it wasn’t really a normal person’s self-effacing laugh. Winters clapped his back. Nixon knew Roe had dropped out of medical school after two years but there was no need to say anything. Everyone knew that. Now he was working construction and Babe claimed to be working as a mechanic in a garage, but this seemed suspect given the state of the car they had driven up in.

“Well we sure as hell are glad you boys are here,” said Dick magnanimously.

Babe exhaled an opaque cloud that rivaled Nix’s own father’s ability with a stogie. “Can we see the bush?”

They went out all together to the field and ducked between the rows of corn. Babe knelt in the soil. It was damp with dew and quiet in here. It would have been almost like over there except it smelled good. “What’s the cross,” Babe said, inspecting the plants.

“It’s an indica blend…”

“Well, I can tell that,” he said.

“So you’re an expert on the plant now too?”

“I’ve just smoked an awful lot of joints in my life, Captain Nixon.”

Roe snorted again. When they all looked to him he said, “You said in the letter there was some kind of altruistic reason for all this.”

“It’s medicine, Gene,” Babe said gently, but also like they had had this conversation thirty thousand times. Nix filed away for later the intimation that Roe had read the letter he’d sent Babe at home in South Philadelphia.

“I guess you don’t remember the psychic break you had at the Do Lung Bridge.”

Babe waved this remark off, even though Nix remembered it too. It threw a chill down his back, like a water balloon had hit him at the base of his neck. “That was laced,” Babe said.

“With what!”

“I don’t know! Something bad!” Babe turned to Dick and Nix. “Gene’s teetotal,” he said, like this was a big old point of contention.

So that counted out the bad acid. Maybe he was just like this. Maybe he had had those big sad bug eyes as a child or an infant or a fetus in the womb. “Good on you, Doc,” Nix said.

“I ain’t trying it,” Roe said, folding his arms over his narrow chest, “no matter what it does.”

The doc was a tough cookie. Babe had claimed, over there, about as high as the Byrds song, that the doc came from a long line of the kind of folks described in Dr. John’s “Gris-Gris Gumbo Ya Ya” and that, as such, he could heal wounds with his mind. When it didn’t work, as on the night when Jackson died, or the night when Hoobler died, or in the forest when Muck and Penkala died, or the night when Liebgott stopped speaking, he went to sit for a while on the edge of camp until Dick went over and made him eat something. Nix watched them in a state of confused envy, and then he went to write the letters to the families, so that Dick wouldn’t have to.

At dusk, after they ate a light dinner of corn on the cob and rice and beans, he took the boys up into the hayloft with an armful of blankets. “Sorry this is the best we got,” he said. He had said that about a hundred god damn times since they got here.

Roe looked like he wanted to say, you’ve got to stop apologizing for everything. Instead he said, “Where does Lieb sleep.”

Babe perked up. “Joe’s here?”

“You didn’t see him in the driveway?”

Nix sighed. “He’s gonna want to know what he did wrong that you saw him,” he said.

“Does he still — ”

Nix shook his head. “Not a peep.”

In a couple days time, he couldn’t take it anymore, and he was hot and tired and stoned, up to his elbows in earth in the field, showing Babe how to replant the hatchlings he’d grown from seed. “You guys room together or what?”

“Me and Gene?” Babe’s eyes were red in the corners from smoking and from the sun. “What about you and Dick?”

Dick, who had the radio on inside turned up as loud as it would go, so that they would hear it in the field, playing Crosby Stills and Nash doing “Suite: Judy Blue Eyes.” “What about me and Dick?” said Nix.

Babe was a smart kid. He realized this was going nowhere. With muddy hands he popped one of the seedlings out of its little pot and cradled it into the ground. “Well, I think he thinks he’s looking after me, but in actuality, I am looking after him.”

[dgalerab]

ain ain ain ain... imagine this a stranger things and it crossover. just imagine the party and the losers together

okay so i already talked about them meeting here (there’s more in my #st tag but i’m too lazy to link it) but anyway i want to talk more in depth about how this kind of crossover would work

the notion of the byers moving to derry (bob was talking about moving to maine in s2, so it would totally make sense) is SO FUNNY because at first everything is chill. maybe things even remain chill in hawkins bc the gate’s not open-open, technically, so maybe it’s kept tame and all??? and everyone’s like “oh hey maybe we can chill”

and then psych it’s murder clown time

also i feel like el is psychic so she has to be able to sense the clown. maybe will can also sense the clown. maybe they’re both just there like “hm this town is oddly forboding.” also if they move when they’re like 14 in ‘85 then the losers are... uh... 10? and richie and mike have to be related so mike’s gotta be like “ugh my dumb little cousin lives there” and el and will introduce themselves and now they straight up have this 5th grader imprinted on them like a wildly annoying duckling and they tell mike and mike’s like “yeah he’s the worst”

i feel like el would have to be homeschooled? like there’s no way she could just join into high school when we’ve seen in canon that she can barely write and she has a really limited vocabulary, so joyce definitely buys her books and maybe she meets up with mike h. and is immediately fascinated bc she did not know more people could have the same name and mike h is therefore immediately like oh who is this odd girl who is surprised by people named michael of all things so they end up being friends??? 

10 year old baby mike h just showing el around the town bc he doesn’t actually have friends??? and actually i just thought of this but i’m literally dead over this actually. will and el just biking around with mike h and baby richie keeps showing up to chase after them bc they’re his dumb nerd cousin’s older friends and he can’t be chill and mike joins the losers club 4 years early??? and now el and will have lowkey adopted 5 entire children like steve adopted them when he was in high school and el is confused and bewildered by richie (and eddie) and they’re way too loud for will but he copes bc it’s a new town and he’s lonely and learns how to tame them kinda when they follow el home like a bunch of little ducklings by getting them invested in what he’s drawing or teaching them about dnd even though they’re way too spazzy for it and richie complains about how it’s not as cool as video games and bill and eddie keep going off road and mike w is all cranky bc yes, okay, he did say he’s getting too old for dnd and he’s sorry but seriously will is replacing him with his dumb little cousin???? and will’s like “are you seriously jealous of a child that shoved a figurine up his nose last time we played, i’m just trying to keep them from screaming” and mike’s like “... i mean okay point taken but...”

joyce does her best to keep el from revealing she has powers but then when she realizes the tiny kids she’s surrounded herself with are being bullied by bowers and co she makes sure to take care of it and richie’s the first one to catch on like “AAAAAAAAA MY DUMB NERD COUSIN GOT A SUPERHERO GIRLFRIEND WHAT THE FUCK?????????” and then he badgers her with a million questions until she literally just claps her hand over his mouth and holds it there shushing him

and then georgie goes missing in ‘89 and will wants to help find him like he was found but el can tell right away that georgie’s already dead and that there’s something here and they decide to help kill it

also like can joyce help them against pennywise? clearly the curse doesn’t entirely push adults away bc betty ripsom’s mom was still looking for her, but at the same time it clearly skews adult’s perception of reality. i imagine it would be literally terrifying for will to have joyce not believe him about something going on and also that would be sad so i’m just imagining her believing them but they have to remind her about it every five minutes. just like “wait what are we doing?” “we’re killing a clown” “oh yes yeah that clown. right. i know. wait what?” “we’re going to KILL a CLOWN” “oh, yeah, okay”

the rest of the party comes up to maine to help and eddie despises mike w SO MUCH because he’s an older teenager who looks like richie but, like, hot and eddie’s like “what the FUCK” and then they go clown hunting and el totally murders the clown bc she’s probably more powerful than it by far

[suitfer]

hi!!!!!!! it's just that my friend & i've been wondering how steve's story line fits the ugly duckling (though we both think neither a swan duckling nor skinny!steve is ugly but), and in that case combined with the swan lake (inspired by matheew bourne actually) there would be a swan!steve and a prince!bucky (just in case u wanna draw any stucky work XXXD

this is SUCH a cute idea 🥺 thank u for sharing! i agree that skinny!steve is definitely not ugly, but it could fit into his storyline since others shunned steve for his looks. and maybe skinny!steve is less graceful than his post-serum self. that can mirror the ugly duckling to swan transformation :3 and i fully support prince!bucky 💖 i wish i wasnt so busy with school to draw something!

[lbibliophile-mcu]

Tony Stark Bingo 2020 Masterpost - 3096

The @tonystarkbingo is complete! Thank you to the mods and other participants for making it so much fun.

With the new system of adopting less popular prompts, I have a blackout!

This round saw a lot more art fills than previously:

10 moodboard/gifset/graphic

6 fanfic (325-1200 words)

5 fanart (4 DUM-E’s Drawings and one actual sketch-set) 

5 drabble/ficlet (3 with moodboard)

2 poem

1 craft

Fill links and details under the cut

Duckling Therapy II

S1 – stay still Link/s: AO3 Tumblr  Fill type: drabble (100 words) Characters: Tony Stark & Bucky Barnes Tags: ducklings! Summary: This was not how Tony expected to finally catch up to Barnes. 

Conduction

T1 – fireplace Link/s: AO3 Fill type: fanfic (970 words) Characters: Tony Stark & Bucky Barnes Tags: Touch-starved, Bucky Barnes needs a hug Summary: Conduction n, the transfer of heat energy via contact. It is a small thing that makes him notice. A simple clap on the shoulder, emphasis for whatever point he is making. But when he moves to take his hand away, Bucky follows, just for a moment, prolonging the contact.

Situational Analysis

A1 – kidnapped Link/s: AO3  Fill type: fanfic (1200 words) Characters: Tony Stark/Bucky Barnes Tags: Tony Stark has terrible coping mechanisms, sleep deprivation, headaches, kidnapping? Summary: As awareness gradually seeps back in, the first thing Tony notices is the headache. Not that this is exactly an uncommon state of affairs; but depending on the reason for the headache, his day will have drastically different outcomes. Aka, is he waking up to a mild annoyance, or a rather unpleasant morning, or an increasingly miserable however long until he manages to get himself back home?  

Employee of the Year

K1 – Obadiah Stane/Iron Monger Link/s: Tumblr Fill type: gifset Characters: Pepper Potts Tags: Pepper Potts appreciation, down to murder for her boss Summary: “I do anything and everything Mr Stark requires. Including, occasionally, taking out the trash.” She was expecting the scheduling, and the fetching and carrying, and even escorting out his overnight ‘guests’. She was not prepared for literally replacing her boss’ heart, hacking into their own company, or killing the CEO gone rouge. But she is Virginia ‘Pepper’ Potts; whatever Tony Stark needs, she will make it happen.

Moodboard for Status Report

S2 – major injuries Link/s: AO3 Tumblr Fill type: moodboard Characters: Tony Stark, JARVIS Tags: Heavy angst, Major character death, AVALON protocol, self-sacrifice Summary: Iron Man is a superhero, but Tony Stark is only human. And sometimes, what is asked of a superhero is more than a human can give. So Tony makes contingency plans. He makes the AVALON protocol. He makes sure that Iron Man is able to help the Avengers even when human Tony Stark… can’t. 

One

T2 – time travel (to the future) Link/s: Tumblr Fill type: moodboard and ficlet (170 words) Characters: Tony Stark & Morgan Stark Tags: Major character death, angst, time travel Summary: Time travel is real, and Tony has to make a choice: to ignore this chance to restore the Dusted, or to risk all he has gained since. Strange had told him that there is only one future in which they succeed; he needs to know if this is that one. But… he has a time machine.  

Iron Man is Red

 A2 – cliche Link/s: AO3 Tumblr Fill type: fanart [DUM-E’s Drawings] Characters: Tony Stark, DUM-E, U Tags: DUM-E’s Drawings, Valentines day, Roses are red Summary: Valentine’s Day again, and DUM-E talks U into helping with TON-E’s card.

Go the Fuck to Medical

R2 – day-in-the-life Link/s: AO3 Tumblr Fill type: poem (200 words) Characters: Phil Coulson & Avengers Team Tags: Hiding medical issues, Language (as per title), Avengers family,  Phil Coulson has the patience of a saint - and this is his breaking point  Summary: Phil Coulson likes the Avengers, likes working with them. But when it comes to convincing them to seek necessary medical attention... the next person to complain is getting dragged there by their ear!

What Matters

K2 – image [comics old!Tony] Link/s: Tumblr Fill type: moodboard/graphic Characters: Tony Stark & Morgan Stark Tags: Tony’s masks Summary: Tony has played many roles in his life, each famous in their way. But he is never more proud of a title he’s earned than when Morgan calls him “Daddy”.

Love is Comfortable

S3 – limping Link/s: Tumblr Fill type: moodboard Characters: Pepper Potts / Natasha Romanoff Tags: Fluffy socks Summary: As a woman, being beautiful is painful. So when they're together, they prefer to be comfortable.

Just Apply STE-V

T3 – matchmaker Link/s: AO3 Tumblr Fill type: fanfic (425 words) Characters: Tony Stark/Steve Rogers, DUM-E Tags: Mutual pining, developing relationship, DUM-E ships it Summary: When TON-E is sad, DUM-E finds ways to cheer him up. When TON-E is pining, DUM-E finds him STE-V. (Steve would rather prefer to have been consulted on this before being ‘delivered’.)

On Being Tony Stark’s Friend

A3 – free Link/s: AO3 Tumblr Fill type: drabble (100 words) Characters: Tony Stark & James Rhodes Tags: non-codependent friendship Summary: To be Tony’s friend, Rhodey had to learn to step back. They must complement each other, not complete. 

Trauma Bingo (the Avengers need ALL the therapy)

R3 – shared trauma Link/s: AO3 Tumblr Fill type: fanfic (1180 words) Characters: Bucky Barnes & Avengers Team Tags: Angst and humour, PTSD (many traumatic topics mentioned briefly - see fic tags) Summary: SHIELD remembers that trauma therapy exists, and their sights are set on the Avengers. Aka. How many issues can you fit in one team, and can you also get them all in the same person. Succeeding at trauma bingo is not actually winning…

DUM-E Draws a Bath

K3 – miscommunication Link/s: AO3 Tumblr Fill type: fanart [DUM-E’s Drawings] Characters: Tony Stark & DUM-E Tags: DUM-E’s Drawings, literal interpretation, DUM-E is a disaster bot Summary: DUM-E tries to be helpful, but interpreting English is hard.

Gift of the Universe

S4 – resurrection Link/s: Tumblr Fill type: moodboard and ficlet (150 words) Characters: Tony Stark & infinity stones Tags: Sentient infinity stones, resurrection Summary: Tony Stark. We see you, we know you. Everything comes with a price, but you – our champion – have paid enough. Accept our gift, and wake!

Brooklyn Boy

T4 – Writing format: non-prose Link/s: AO3 Tumblr Fill type: poem (350 words) Characters: Tony Stark / Steve Rogers Tags: Filk, Pining, Happy ending Summary: It’s just not fair that Steve is so perfect... How could Tony not love him?

Cleaning up the Evidence

R4 – writing format: dialogue only Link/s: AO3 Tumblr Fill type: moodboard and drabble (100 words) Characters: Tony Stark/Bucky Barnes, Steve Rogers Tags: De-aging, Parent Tony Stark, Bubble-bath Summary: Tony discovers the unexpected pitfalls of an artistic toddler

TON-E and PET-R; or I-N Man and SPID-R Man

S5 – Peter Parker / Spiderman Link/s: AO3 Tumblr Fill type: fanart [DUM-E’s Drawings] Characters: Tony Stark & Peter Parker, DUM-E Tags: DUM-E’s Drawings, puns Summary: DUM-E meets PET-R, TON-E’s new young friend, and has fun with their superhero names. He also discovers how to improvise a ruler.

With me or Against me

T5 – angst Link/s: Tumblr Fill type: moodboard Characters: Tony Stark &Steve Rogers Tags: Betrayal, Sokovia Accords Summary: He and Steve have always had their disagreements, but he’d thought that being Avengers together meant something. Apparently not.  

Storyboard for Define Winning

A5 – Writing format: missing scene/epilogue/coda Link/s: Tumblr Fill type: graphic/storyboard Characters: Stephen Strange Tags: Time stone / Eye of Agamotto, Mapping the future, Infinity War Summary: When fighting against impossible odds, you need to know exactly what you are trying to achieve; what is the one battle you cannot lose. Sometimes, success all comes down to asking the right question.

Surprise Superpowers: the Good, the Bad and the Awkward

R5 – supersoldier serum Link/s: AO3 Tumblr Fill type: fanfic (1020 words) Characters: Tony Stark Tags: Extremis!Tony Stark Summary: When Tony injected himself with a modified Extremis, it was supposed to keep him alive long enough for the arc reactor to be removed, then quietly fade away. It was not supposed to be this strong. It was not supposed to stick around. And it was not supposed to combine with Dr Cho's Cradle and the suit implants to create some really weird side-effects. Tony's not sure what to think about these new superpowers, so he decides to write it all out.

Learning Curve

K5 – image [DUM-E] Link/s: AO3 Tumblr Fill type: fanfic (325 words) Characters: Tony Stark & DUM-E Tags: MIT era, DUM-E is born, DUM-E is a disaster bot Summary: Tony never intended to create an AI as uniquely special as DUM-E, but he recognises it instantly when he does.  

DUM-E’s Revenge

Adopted (January) – Sunset Bain Link/s: AO3 Tumblr Fill type: fanart [DUM-E’s Drawings] Characters: DUM-E, Sunset Bain (past Tony Stark/Sunset Bain) Tags: DUM-E’s Drawings, Vicarious revenge Summary: DUM-E really doesn’t like people who hurt his TON-E.

Copybot

Adopted (March) – facial-hair bros Link/s: Tumblr Fill type: craft Characters: DUM-E Tags: Dum-e is a disaster bot, Tony’s goatee Summary: DUM-E likes TON-E’s goatee, and U is an enabler.

DUM-E plays dress-ups

Adopted (June) – KINK: role-playing Link/s: Tumblr Fill type: fanart Characters: DUM-E Tags: Dum-e is a disaster bot, dress-ups Summary: The Avengers are some of DUM-E’s favourite people, so he tries to copy them. With varying degrees of success.

[buckybarnesbingo]

Part Two of our Fluffathon Roundup!  Thank you so much to everyone who participated!  Did you grab your badge?

Keep reading to see the rest of all the amazing things you all did for this event!

Title: The Stars Are Out For Us Collaborator: rebelmeg Link: AO3 Ship: Bucky & Winifred Barnes, Bucky & Steve, Bucky & Natasha Rating: Gen Summary: Bucky Barnes has always loved the stars. Word Count: 1295

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Title: Prescription Fluff - Chapter 5: Day 5 (N) Collaborator: sarahbeniel Link: AO3 Ship: Bucky/Darcy Rating: Mature Summary: Day 5 prompts: N-- Nuzzle, Night, Never. GIF: an animation of a necktie, tying itself. Word Count: 17,411

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Title: Never Would I Have Thought Collaborator: lokivsanubis Link: AO3 Ship: Stuckony Rating: Gen Summary: The asset observers Bucky Barnes through a mirror in a room filled with moonlight as they reflect on their current ordinary world. Word Count: 490

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Title: Hothouse Flowers Collaborator: ibelieveinturtles Link: AO3 Ship: Bucky/Darcy Rating: Gen Summary: Bucky sees something new at the Avengers Compound. Word Count: 1420

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Title: Cupid Clint Collaborator: BookDragon13 Link: AO3 Ship: WinterHawk Rating: Gen Summary: Bucky and Clint spend the day being Cupid Word Count: 361

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Title: Things That Get You Through the Day - Part 5 Collaborator: riotwritesthings Link: Tumblr Ship: WinterIron Rating: Teen Summary: just  neighbor boys trying to get through the day Word Count: 1k

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Title: Captain Barnes Collaborator: BookDragon13 Link: AO3 Ship: Stucky Rating: Gen Summary: For the BBB fluffathon. I chose to use the prompts for a Stucky Neverland AU Word Count: 1261

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Title: Duckling Therapy Collaborator: lbibliophile-mcu Link: Tumblr Ship: none Rating: Gen Summary: After CA:TWS, Bucky needs space to find himself, and finds some feathered friends along the way. Word Count: 100

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Title: Prescription Fluff - Chapter 6: Day 6 (C) Collaborator: sarahbeniel Link: AO3 Ship: Mature Rating: Bucky/Darcy Summary: Day 6 prompts: C--> Cutie, Chocolate, Cupid. GIF: a pair of women's hands moving up from a man's shoulders/neck to feel the back of his short, dark hair. This chapter also fills my Ladies of Marvel Bingo square L3: "Roleplay". Word Count: 21,079

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Title: Bus Stop - Chapter 5: N - Nuzzle, Night, Never Collaborator: Minka Link: AO3 Ship: Stucky Rating: Not Rated Summary: SUPER SHORT chapter as I try to catch up. Also, despite how much I loved today's words, they didn't really fit with another bus stop meeting, so have some inner reflective Steve. Which, really, it worked out well as I could keep it short and just get it done. Word Count: 6470

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Title: Fluffathon Week Collaborator: TheMadHale Link: AO3 Ship: Stucky Rating: Gen Summary: BuckyBarnesBingo 2020 held an event last week where each day they posted prompts Based On the word Romance. Word Count: 1345

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Title: Things You Take a Chance On Collaborator: riotwritesthings Link: Tumblr Ship: WinterIron Rating: Teen Summary: just neighbor boys finally getting it together Word Count: 1k

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Title: It’s Just One Thing - Chapter 7: Things You Take a Chance On Collaborator: RiotFalling Link: AO3 Ship: WinterIron Rating: Teen Summary: Prompt: Eternity, Escape, Europe Word Count: 6408

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Title: Prescription Fluff - Chapter 7: Day 7 (E) Collaborator: sarahbeniel Link: Tumblr Ship: Bucky/Darcy Rating: Mature Summary: "I love you, Bucky Barnes." Word Count: 25,054

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Title: Change of Pace Collaborator: pherryt Link: AO3 Ship: WinterHawk Rating: Teen Summary: With Steve's help, Bucky had found himself a cabin in the middle of nowhere, continuing his efforts to relearn who he is and get back in touch with the wolf portion of himself that HYDRA had suppressed for so long. He doesn't expect to find his well deserved peace and quiet invaded by Hawkeye, but if he's honest with himself, Bucky doesn't mind the intrusion all that much. He just needs to figure out what's wrong, and why Clint's really there. Word Count: 9448

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Title: Darcy’s Beast Collaborator: BookDragon13 Link: AO3 Ship: Bucky/Darcy Rating: Gen Summary: Darcy finds herself lost in Romania, then finds a castle... Word Count: 1985

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Title: Shades of blue Collaborator: writing-mermaid Link: Tumblr Ship: Bucky/Reader Rating: Gen Summary: When a young artist is fascinated by the shade of blue in the eyes of the posing model. Word Count: 2067

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Title: Bus Stop - Chapter 6: C – Cutie, Chocolate, Cupid Collaborator: Minka Link: AO3 Ship: Stucky Rating: Not Rated Summary: Almost there! Cupid was hard to fit in, but I did manage to reference it once. Word Count: 7664

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Title: Victory Collaborator: ibelieveinturtles Link: Tumblr Ship: Bucky/Unspecified Romantic Parter Rating: Gen Summary: A victory is followed by a celebration Word Count: 459

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Title: Of chocolate, cupid and a sweetheart. Collaborator: Fighting_for_Creativity Link: AO3 Ship: WinterIron Rating: Teen Summary: Tony has been pining for Bucky for months now. Was it any wonder he hated Valentines day, when he couldn't get the one he wanted? Bucky loved nearly everything about the weeks leading to Valentines day, including the chocolate and romance everywhere. If he just could get Tony to love him. Word Count: 3352

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Title: Moonlight Collaborator: hddnone Link: Tumblr Ship: Stuckony Rating: Teen Summary: Bucky stares up at the stars, and then he's joined by Steve and Tony. Word Count: 921

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Title: Never Collaborator: bucky-plums-barnes Link: Tumblr Ship: Bucky/Reader Rating: Not Rated Summary: Bucky makes a promise the night before he ships out. Word Count: 157

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Title: Bucky Barnes: Romantic at Heart Collaborator: rebelmeg Link: AO3 Ship: Bucky/Unspecified romantic partner Rating: Gen Summary: Soft, sweet, steamy, and romantic vignettes of Bucky and his other half. Who is his other half? You pick. Word Count: 1154

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Title: After the night, when music inspired art Collaborator: Fighting_for_Creativity Link: AO3 Ship: StuckyPepperony Rating: Teen Summary: Bucky had not expected that their new neighbors would turn out to be two of the most wonderful people he has ever met.And to think that all this started with too loud music, Vivaldi at that. Word Count: 7331

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Title: Ordering a baby in Collaborator: writing-mermaid Link: Tumblr Ship: Bucky/Reader Rating: Gen Summary: Bucky planned a romantic night, but it didn't happened the way he wanted to. Word Count: 1230

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Title: Pizza Girl Collaborator: The_Alias (Artemis_Day) Link: AO3 Ship: Bucky/Jane/Steve Rating: Teen Summary: Jane's last delivery of the night doesn't go quite as smoothly as she hoped. But maybe that's a good thing... Word Count: 1545

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Title: Coffee Shop Soap Opera Collaborator: caitriona-3 Link: Tumblr Ship: Bucky/Darcy/Clint Rating: Not Rated Summary: In a college AU, the local coffee shop has a little soap opera going on as the local player, Bucky Barnes, has suddenly stopped his casual dating.  Could he be taken in by Clint Barton and Darcy Lewis, the couple that’s been flirting with him?  Most people think so, including his best friend, Steve Rogers.  Steve’s doing his best to capture the whole story in his sketches while he lays bets with his own partners, Natasha Romanoff and Sam Wilson.

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Title: Bus Stop - Chapter 7: E – Eternity, Europe, Escape Collaborator: Minka Link: AO3 Ship: Stucky Rating: Not Rated Word Count: 9139

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Title: Change of Pace - Chapter 7 - Day 4 After/Stream Collaborator: pherryt Link: Tumblr Ship: WinterHawk Rating: Teen Summary: With Steve’s help, Bucky had found himself a cabin in the middle of nowhere, continuing his efforts to relearn who he is and get back in touch with the wolf portion of himself that HYDRA had suppressed for so long. He doesn’t expect to find his well deserved peace and quiet invaded by Hawkeye, but if he’s honest with himself, Bucky doesn’t mind the intrusion all that much. He just needs to figure out what’s wrong, and why Clint’s really there. Word Count: 13k

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Title: Once upon a December Collaborator: Fighting_for_Creativity Link: AO3 Ship: BuckyNat Rating: Gen Summary: Yasha had seen the Princess before. Their eyes had met, and his heart was gone. A feast was his opportunity to get a closer look at her once again. Anastasia remembered this beggar, knew he was not an evil person. She wanted to know more. Word Count: 1167

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Title: Draw Back Your Bow Collaborator: Caiti (Caitriona_3) Link: Tumblr Ship: Bucky/Clint/Darcy Rating: Teen Summary: Natasha’s really not sure how she ended up playing cupid when it’s her partner who uses the bow and arrow, but these two men have annoyed her with their inability to see what’s right in front of them. Yes, Bucky and Clint have each other . . . and they’ve both been watching the same woman. Darcy Lewis seems to fill a hole they’ve got – Natasha can see it. They need that light she brings, that little bit of normalcy to remind them of why they still bother to fight. Well, fine, if they’re not going to do it themselves, then she’s just going to have to push things along herself. Good thing she’s never had a problem sticking her nose in other people’s business.

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Title: Caught Out Collaborator: JacarandaBanyan Link: AO3 Ship: WinterIron Rating: Teen Summary: After Steve introduces a new rule about over-the-top PDA in communal spaces, Tony and Bucky hatch a plan to get around the rule. In hindsight, maybe they should have thought of a better plan. Word Count: 1224

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Title: One night stand - Chapter 1 Collaborator: Writing_mermaid Link: AO3 Ship: Bucky/Reader Rating: Explicit Summary: Y/N is having a bad night out with her mean colleagues, until she decides to make it change with the help of a handsome stranger. Word Count: 2179

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Title: Art: Sappy Cuddles Collaborator: LiquidLightz Link: AO3 Ship: Stucky Rating: Teen Summary: A labour of love for the Bucky Barnes Fluffathon 2020 and my Stucky 2019 Bingo card. Steve's being a sap, lovingly admiring and cuddling up to his over-exerted Bucky. Under their cozy Wakandan blanket and the warm heavy weight of that gaze, Bucky drifts off into peaceful dreams.

[mianite-3-unofficial]

Devotion

Jericho left only a minute after the final stitch was put in his arm. He grabbed the clean, white shirt Ladia had let him borrow, clean and white as the gauze around his shoulder, and stormed out. Martha watch him bump into Tom, still shirtless and basking in the sun, stop, talk, then shove him hard. She didn’t care.

They had been experimenting with their powers for a while before Ladia had walked in. Dianite had nothing, same with the rest of them, and Martha felt... drained. Like there was something blocking her off from her powers. Maybe anger. At the world, for being so cruel, at Steve for leaving her so soon, and Sparkelz and Dianite for letting Andor leave.

But then, he was coming upstairs, an awkward smile on his face.

“Heeeeey, auntie. Sparkelz. Dia.”

“You were out late,” Sparkelz said in a surprisingly strong voice.

“Yeah. About that. I know about this worlds Ianite. And I met someone. His name is Rha-“

“Awh, someone got a crush?” Mot teased. Andor flushed.

“No- this is more important than a crush. He has wings. Like I do. They’re huge.”

“And?”

“He’s priest to Ianite. She’s... very different here,” Andor took a deep breath, “She’s a Warlord. A guardian. A being of pure balance. Raptor-Keeper and End-Mother.”

Sparkelz stood.

“How do you know all this?” He asked, bewildered.

“I went to her temple last night. Met the priest. Yeah.”

“I want to see it,” Sparkelz said firmly, “take me.”

“Me too,” Martha said. Waglington might’ve opened his mouth to say something, but Andor couldn’t tell.

“Alright then,” Andor said, “let’s go.”

He led them out of the room, through busy streets and claustrophobic markets, the two of them following him like ducklings. He had had hope when he found the temple, but the more and more Rha talked, the more and more he doubted this Ianite. Especially with the business with Tom. Thankfully, he’d gotten Rha to leave without any more questions.

Soon, they were there, in front of the temple. It looked different in daylight. The three of them were frozen in front.

Sparkelz was the first to walk in, silent and stunned. The insense thick air struck them hard, drawing them forward into the center of the temple, the great statue of Ianite in the center. The temple was empty except for them, the heavy silk banners and tapestries hung between the marble pillars keeping their voices from echoing. Martha felt a chill run down her spine. Infinite space but no echo- just like the void.

Martha stared up at the statue. At its cold, sharp face, the tight, complexly braided hair. The giant bird with golden wings. All the beads and braids and jewels. She looked in the statues eyes.

“That’s not my mother,” Martha whispered.

“Yes it is,” Sparkelz said.”

“No it isn’t, Sparkelz. This is not her.”

“It’s still Ianite,” Sparkelz insisted.

“I wanted to be closer to Ianite here,” Andor admitted, “but when Rha told me about her... I think it’s best we stay away. Her followers are dangerous.”

“She’s still the goddess of balance,” Sparkelz said, “she’s still my Lady, and I will be devoted to her no matter what.”

“Sparkelz. She has executioners. Doesn’t that sound sketchy? She imprisoned Dianite and Mianite. That’s why there aren’t any temples to them here. Rha told me all that last night. He said she imprisoned them both to keep the balance of the world... that doesn’t sound like balance to me. It sounds like stagnation.”

“I don’t care.”

“You should. You could get hurt.”

“I’m used to it by now.”

Martha and Andor made eye contact, then watched fearfully as Sparkelz inched closer to the statue, kneeling at its feet.

“Sparkelz,” Andor begged, “Get back up. She’s not the same-“

“Like I said, she’s still the goddess of balance. She’s still my lady.”

Andor’s face flushed red.

“She’s not!” He howled, fighting against Martha’s sudden hold on him, keeping him from lunging at Sparkelz, “Are you blind under those glasses? She’s not your lady anymore! She’s different, and I thought you’d be fucking smart enough to know! And I thought-“

“Thought what? That I could fix it? Make it better? I can’t do anything. Jericho’s right.”

Andor blinked, stunned. “That has nothing to do with this.”

“Jericho’s right,” he repeated, ignoring him and staring up into Ianites cold, marble eyes, “this, all of this, is my fault. If I had been stronger, smarter, I would’ve been able to keep all the bad things that have happened from happening. Blowing up the taint. Ignoring all the threats to the world. Not working hard enough to get us back home. Even before all that, with the pirates and- I have to make it up to Ianite, somehow. Maybe leave a world better than I’ve found it, for once.”

“Surely, you don’t mean that.” Martha said. Sparkelz took off his sunglasses, setting them in front of the statue. He turned his head to face them, eyes red.

“She said she would see me again, and I want to be worth seeing.” He rubbed his eyes. “Please. Leave me alone. I need to think.”

Andor reached out to him, Martha grabbing his shoulder and giving him a look that said “don’t.”

“Let him grieve,” Martha said.

“He’s had four fucking years to grieve!”

“Andor, so have you. Are you over it yet? Andor, are you alright?”

The fight went out of Andor in a rush, and he slumped against Martha, crying. Martha wrapped an arm around his shoulderc, slowly walking him out of the temple.”

They left Sparkelz, weeping, at the feet of Ianite’s statue.