#dumber than a box of hair

[thingsofimportanceanddelight]

Hey, awkward, but that anon hate wasnt meant for you. You were next to a blog that was meant to get it. You can keep that as your first anon hate message if you want or i could try to tailor one to your needs? Sorry bc it really didnt make any sense bc i sent it to the wrong blog. Would you like me to tailor craft a “hate” message or would you like to keep that one as your milestone? Just lmk thanks! Have a good one :)

This sad attempt at an excuse is actually even funnier. "No, no, I, um, I *accidentally* sent you anon hate! Ha, now *you're* the fool!" Imagine being this ridiculous but still thinking you did something clever. TERFS, man, I swear. If I woke up this pathetic tomorrow, I would just, like, tie myself to the train tracks or something rather than willingly live like y'all.

[kismetconstellations]

In the spirit of Halloween, have some of my favorite EVIL faces that "Kuron" pulls during his fight with Keith in The Black Paladins.

[inklingofadream]

[id: a tweet from Resist the Mainstream reading "NEW: Senator Mike Lee advocates for the return of incandescent light bulbs under the upcoming Trump administration. Do you agree?"

A second tweet from chrismanfrank read "Truly sorry to do this but... LEDs are fine. You can buy them now with a warmth setting that will perfectly mimic incandescent. You would have to be pretty far on the spectrum to notice a difference." /end id]

This is the closest I can find for reporting from a legitimate news source (read-only mode gets past their paywall just fine). It handily answers why no one else is reporting on this particular comment by actually being about how, in the latter half of 2024, he posted an average of one tweet every 28 minutes.

This is one of those things where the discourse is just completely broken. Both of these takes are shit and no one is concerned about the actual problem.

Republicans want to bring back incandescents because they just want to trigger the libs and have decided light bulbs are woke.

And the "LEDs are fine" crowd are throwing people with flicker sensitivities under the bus. And, no, you don't have to be "pretty far on the spectrum" to notice a difference. And even if you did... why in the world is this person so dismissive of the millions of autistic folks?

LEDs, for the most part, are superior to incandescent bulbs. Collectively they save people billions of dollars in energy costs and greatly reduce fossil fuel use. You have more options for color and brightness. You can control them with your phone. LEDs are fantastic.

Unfortunately there is a design flaw that makes LEDs hard to use for certain people. Due to AC power, most LEDs have a 60hz refresh rate. Meaning they turn off and on 60 times per second. With incandescents this didn't matter because the filament didn't have time to lose its glow between cycles.

Most people cannot see this flicker in LEDs. But there are millions of people who are sensitive to it and it can cause migraines and discomfort.

The solution is definitely not to go back to incandescents. There are flicker free LEDs and I think with some regulation we could make sure all LEDs are flicker free or at least make sure flicker free bulbs are easy to find and not priced at a premium.

Thankfully there is a group testing bulbs to find the ones that will most likely cause no discomfort. They call themselves the Flicker Alliance and their website has a pretty decent selection of tested and approved bulbs.

So if you feel like your LED bulbs might be causing you distress, that is a good resource to try. I think there is also something you can do to make sure the LED drivers are using DC power, but I haven't really looked into that.

[ratatatastic]

i woke up to lu attending wwe raw last night and now ive been hit over the head with all the clips of him and cm punk like im a little kid again

[honeyedmiller]

Holidays With the Millers

a firefighter!joel miller x f!reader drabble

series masterlist

rating: explicit. 18+, minors do not interact.

warnings: fluff, a lil surprise, illusions to smut but none actually described.

word count: 1.9k

synopsis: your first of many holidays in the miller household is better than you could’ve ever expected.

a/n: happy holidays everyone 🤍

The holidays at the Miller household are… well, chaotically organized, to say the least. 

Turns out, Joel and Tommy put Sarah in charge years ago because they weren’t going to get in the way of a then-eleven-year-old who had a bright vision in mind but couldn’t execute it without the aid of her dad and uncle. 

Three years later, her curly hair bounces every which way as her bright green eyes scan the handiwork you’ve all done with a thorough inspection. 

You can’t help but want to laugh as you, Joel, Maria and Tommy all stand in a line—military style—as she looks between her checklist and the decorations that are hung up brilliantly. 

Once that familiar bright smile shines at all four of you, you know you’re in the clear. 

“Great job this year guys! Gotta give most credit to the ladies though,” Sarah snickers, and Tommy rolls his eyes while Joel barks a laugh. 

“Glad we passed the inspection, madam. Now get your keister upstairs and finish puttin’ your donations in the box I gave you,” Joel says, raising an eyebrow at Sarah. 

She salutes him with a giggle. “Sir, yes sir.” 

Joel had explained to you a couple of weeks back that the entirety of the fire stations in Austin got together and liked to do a toy drive for Christmas. It’s an annual thing, and all families of employees are welcomed to join in and volunteer. 

You went and bought a few toys and board games for the event, excited to hand them out. 

Joel looks down at his watch before looking back at everyone. “The event starts in an hour. We should get goin’ soon.” 

“You’ll be proud of me, brother. I brought my uniform with me.”

“You’re a grown ass man, Tommy. Knowing you I know Maria reminded you at least twice to not forget it.” 

Maria laughs and nudges Tommy in the ribs. “That’s exactly what happened.” 

You all laugh in unison as Tommy holds up his hands in surrender. “I got Dory brain. I don’t know what to tell y’all.” 

Joel rolls his eyes before looking at you with a smile, jerking his head toward the stairs. 

“C’mon pretty lady, let’s go finish gettin‘ ready.” 

“That’s not code for ‘let’s get a quickie in’ is it? Cus y’all really ain’t as slick as y’all think you are.” 

“Tommy!” All three of you say in unison, and your face heats before you shake your head. 

“Mind your business and focus on your own sex life, yeah?” Joel says before slapping him upside the back of his head, ushering you upstairs. You can hear Maria faintly scolding him and he just laughs before their voices drown out completely. 

“Jesus Christ, my brother is a pain in the ass,” Joel deadpans. 

You huff a laugh. “Better him than Andy and Cole. They’d say some even dumber shit and add fuel to the fire.” 

“Well,” Joel checks his watch again. “We do have an hour…” 

You give him an incredulous look. “Absolutely not, Miller. Hands to yourself.” 

He gives you a pouty look before it’s your turn to roll your eyes, heading into the bathroom to finish getting ready. 

-

You wish you would’ve taken Joel’s initial offer. You’re standing in the firehouse helping handing out the cookies you’ve made while subtly making eyes at your ridiculously handsome boyfriend in his uniform, joking with little kids while he gives out presents. 

You think back to when Joel drunkenly told you he wanted to have kids with you, and suddenly you don’t think the prospect is a little insane anymore. Of course, you want to have kids with him, but you’d at least like to be married first… and you’re only shy of half a year in a relationship with him. 

“I know that look. What are you thinking about?” Maria bumps you with her hip, and you flash her a smile. 

“How good Joel looks. How good he is with kids.” 

“Ah, the baby fever bug finally caught you huh?” 

“He’s actually the one who mentioned it. The night they went out. He came home drunk and said, and I quote, ‘we should have kids’.” 

Maria’s jaw drops as she looks between the two of you. “He didn’t.” 

“He did!” You laugh as you hand someone a cookie, smiling at the kid before looking back up to Maria. 

“Drunken words speak sober thoughts,” she says, shrugging as she wiggles her brows. 

“Right. And when’s that happening for you and Tommy?” 

“Please, that man needs to put a ring on this finger before I carry any of his children.” 

You toss your head back in a laugh. “Amen to that.” 

“Amen to what?” Joel asks, sliding up beside you. 

“Just girl talk. You all done handing out toys?” 

He eyes you and Maria suspiciously, but you toss a sweet smile his way and all seems to be forgotten. 

“Mhm. I actually came over here for a reason.” 

“And what would that be?” You quirk a brow as you put a hand on your hip. 

Joel pulls something from behind his back and hangs it over your heads. You look up to see mistletoe, and you can’t help but laugh at how adorably cheesy he is. 

“In front of all these people? You sure about that, cowboy?” You ask, putting a hand on his chest as he wraps his free hand around your waist, pulling your body flush to his. 

“You know by now I ain’t got a dang problem showin’ off my woman,” he says, inching his face closer to yours. 

His words make butterflies erupt in your stomach, and your face heats. He grins and leans in, pressing his lips to yours for a few seconds before pulling back. 

“I love you,” he says, pecking your lips twice more before moving back slightly. 

“I love you too.” 

And it hits you: for the first time in a long time, you get to spend a holiday season with your heart full of love with the most loving person. 

The lights shine a little brighter, the songs sound a little sweeter, and the Christmas magic has finally made its return back into your heart. 

-

Christmas came and went in a flash. As much as you love the holidays, it saddens you how fast they pass by. 

It was so nice to see Sarah so excited about opening her stocking and presents to see what you and Joel got her this year. She got some new makeup, clothes, and a vinyl player with some vinyls she’s been wanting. You also got her a certificate to get a manicure and pedicure done whenever she’d like to go. That sense of pure love poured into your heart when she gave you a tight hug and thanked you a bunch of times. 

You got Joel some new tools he’s been wanting, along with his favorite cologne and a few new clothing items. You also got him his absolute favorite coffee beans that he won’t allow himself to splurge on, so you decided to do it for him. 

The last gift was, in your opinion, a bit cliche, but Joel loved it. You’d bought some pretty red lacy lingerie with sparkles throughout the material and revealed yourself to him after doing your night routine in the bathroom. You gave him a much needed massage before he used his needy, skilled hands on you and gave you one hell of a blissful night as he unwrapped you like you truly are a present in itself. 

It’s New Year’s Eve now, and Tommy somehow convinces Joel to throw a party to ring in the new year. Everyone in your family is here along with a few of Joel and Tommy’s mutual friends, and you’re all chatting away while eating finger foods and sipping on drinks. 

Dick Clark’s New Year’s Eve special is playing on the flatscreen and there’s only fifteen minutes left until the clock strikes twelve. You’re chatting with your mom, Emily and Maria about Emily’s baby and how she’s doing before the conversation gets turned to Maria. 

“So how long have you and Tommy been together?” Emily asks her, sipping on her sparkling apple cider. 

“Two and a half years. Still doesn’t feel like it.” She laughs and looks over at him, her smile growing wider. 

“You think he’ll pop the question soon?” Your mom chimes in, and Maria shrugs. 

“I’m not sure, honestly. I mean, don’t get me wrong. That man has changed for the better within the past couple of years, but sometimes I have no clue what’s going on in his mind. When he thinks of something, he puts his whole heart into it and he’ll make it happen. We’ve talked about marriage before, but it’s not something that comes up too often.” 

“Maybe it’ll happen soon,” Emily says. You give her a look of confusion, but she doesn’t even meet your gaze. 

“I think I’ll probably know when it’s happening. I love that man with my whole heart but he’s terrible at keeping secrets.” 

You laugh as you glance at the countdown clock, noting that it’s only five minutes until twelve. 

Tommy comes up to Maria and wraps his arms around her shoulders, kissing her cheek as he whispers something in her ear. She nods and smiles at the three of you before standing up. 

“Ladies,” Tommy says with a smile, ushering Maria into the small sea of people. Josh finds Emily, and your mom goes to find your dad so you’re left to munch on the charcuterie board laid out in front of you. 

It isn’t until a minute before midnight that Joel comes up to you and wraps his arms around you as you stand in front him, giving your forehead a kiss as he smiles at you. You look around the room and notice Tommy and Maria are still missing. 

“Where’s Tommy and Maria?” You ask, putting a hand on Joel’s chest before your eyes scan the room once again. 

Joel smirks as he nods his head toward the backyard, and in the faint glow emitted by the Christmas lights outlines their silhouettes. Tommy’s on one knee holding something up as Maria’s hands cover her mouth, and it clicks for you. 

“Oh my god. Oh my god! You knew about this?!” 

You’re so giddy inside and you’re not even the one being proposed to. 

“Knew for a few months now,” he says with a deep chuckle. You look back over to them to see her nod her head yes before Tommy slips the ring on her finger. Your eyes well with tears as the indescribable happiness you feel for them courses through you. He leans in to kiss her passionately, and your eyes snap back to Joel. 

“Happy New Year!” Everyone shouts, startling you before you realize it’s finally twelve. 

“Happy New Year, darlin’,” Joel murmurs, tipping your chin so your lips can meet his. You wrap your arms around the back of his neck, getting so lost in his gentle kiss as your mind reels. 

So much has changed for you this year. You feel like you’ve lived twenty lives all wrapped up in three hundred and sixty five days, and falling in love was the last thing you expected. 

You’ve learned so many lessons this year, finally opened up your heart, and have taken a leap of faith that resulted in you being caught by the love of your life.

You can’t wait to see what the future holds with you and Joel, because you know it’ll be one that is full of security and love. 

You smile against his lips as you brush your hand through his thick locks, looking into his beautiful brown eyes that felt like home. That are home. 

“Happy New Year, Joel.” 

taglist: @raspberrybesitos ; @nostalxgic ; @endlessthxxghts ; @punkshort ; @clawdee

@pascalpvnk ; @bensonispunk ; @merz-8 ; @darkblue-tennesseee ; @typewriter83

@lizzie-cakes ; @sawymredfox ; @keylimebeag ; @nandan11 ; @pedropascalsbbg

@pimosworld ; @yxtkiwiyxt ; @anoverwhelmingdin ; @kikaaauu ; @buckyispunk

@untamedheart81 ; @picketniffler ; @fluffygoffpanda ; @paleidiot ; @survivingandenduring

@party-hearses ; @pedrospatch ; @harriedandharassed ; @brittmb115 ; @sunnytuliptime

@frodofreakingbaggins ; @aceaubrianna ; @tangled-tumbler-blog-blog ; @bunniboo0015 ; @aerihina

@pedritospunk ; @ro-nahime-things ; @ananonymousaffair ; @just-mj-or-not ; @melsunshine

if you'd like to be added / removed from the taglist, please let me know!

-

divider by @saradika-graphics

[sanguineterrain]

redamancy | steve harrington

Summary: redamancy (n.) - the act of loving someone who loves you back; a love returned in full // or, four times you kissed Steve Harrington, and one time he finally kissed you back.

Pairing: Steve Harrington x fem!reader

Word count: 5.2k

Warnings/tags: friends to lovers, 5+1 fic format, no use of y/n, FLUFF, PINING PINING, injured s4 steve, hospital setting, general vecna angst (eddie's alive bc i will never kill eddie in my fics), bed sharing, happy ending, and kissing. if that wasn't clear. :)

A/N: fun fact: this is the first time i've written a 5+1 fic! technically it's 4+1 but whatevs. if you enjoy this fic, please give it a reblog and support your local steve harrington tumblrina.

divider by firefly-graphics

i. the promise 

"Would you ever get married?" 

You open your eyes. The setting sun nearly blinds you through the windshield. Immediately, you stick out a hand to block it. 

You're still reclined all the way back in the passenger seat, because Steve's fancy schmancy BMW can do that. He frequently lectures you about doing it while he's driving. Have I taught you nothing? Road safety! 

"I mean, I guess so," you say. "If someone ever wants to put a ring on me."

You sit up and pull down the sun visor. Steve turns. His hair lightens in the summer, shades of reddish blond peeking through. He insists his hair has never been anything but brown, fiercely pledging his allegiance to brunettes. You coo at his highlights all the same. 

"I want to," he says after a minute. "I wanna get married." 

You're parked down the block from your house. You should've gotten out ten minutes ago, but there's never any rush when you're with Steve.

"The line to wed you will be out the door, champ," you say around a grin. 

"Hm. I dunno." He stretches in his seat. "Maybe if I was the same guy I was a few years ago." 

You wrinkle your nose. "I doubt that."

"But what can I really offer?" he continues. "I'm just some guy who can't get into college."

"That doesn't mean no one will marry you. Some people who go to college are dumber than dirt. They get married. College has nothing to do with it. You can go, if you really want to. One rejection doesn't say anything about you, Steve." 

"I guess."

You pull the lever on the side. The seat shoots up with a brrrap! It clicks as you straighten. 

"Where did all this come from, anyway?" you ask. 

Steve shrugs. "Just thinking."

"Dangerous."

He smiles. "I like to live on the edge."

"Contemplating marriage like the world's biggest sap. Definitely edgy."

Steve hums. His hands are in his lap. He picks at a cuticle, a habit he’s recently developed. You wonder why he’s so anxious. 

"Two people from our graduating class got married last week."

Your eyes widen. "You're kidding."

"Nope. Lisa Schell and Gary Brewer." 

"Wait, didn't she cheat on him?"

"Yeah, but he slept with her sister, so I guess they called it even."

You shake your head. "That's insane. They're literally babies, Steve. That's like Dustin getting married."

Steve scowls. "He's not allowed to get married before me." 

"Not even to his possibly fictional Suzie?" 

"Not even to her."

You stare at the freckles on Steve's face and how his frizz kind of looks like a halo in the light. You imagine the feel of his hair in your hands, the warmth of his scalp.

"I'd marry you," you say. 

Steve's eyebrows shoot up. 

"What?"

"Like, if you were in a pinch."

He looks at you sideways. You flatten, then scrunch your hands over your knees. Your tongue feels too big for your mouth. 

"I'm talking about spending the rest of my life with someone, you know. Not borrowing fifty bucks."

"Fifty bucks is a lot of money for some of us, Harrington."

"That’s probably how much Lisa's wedding dress cost."

"I hope she kept the receipt."

Silence descends. A soft breeze blows through your cracked window. You want to search Steve's glove box for gum, but you've just told him you'd marry him, so you can't do anything except think about the fact that those words came out of your mouth. 

"Are you…" Steve begins, then pauses. "Why did you say that?"

"Because you're worried, for some incomprehensible reason, that no one will marry you."

"I scoop ice cream for a living."

You level him with a look. 

"Steve. We're kids. Cut yourself some slack."

His eyes turn hollow. They've been doing that lately. You wish you knew why. 

"I don't really feel like a kid these days," he says. 

Something about the way Steve sounds makes you want to climb over the console and curl into him, cradle his head to your neck. Which is crazy. You guys don't do that. Steve isn't yours to do that with. 

"Let's make a pact," you say softly. 

He meets your eye. "A pact?"

"Mmhm. Let's say if both of us aren't married by… thirty, then we'll get married."

"Well, I don't want a pity marriage." 

You roll your eyes. "It's not a pity marriage, Steve."

"Thirty is so late! You really think I won't be married by then?" he asks. 

"No, I don't think that. I already said folks will be lined up to marry you," you say. 

"I can't wait till I'm thirty." 

"Or you'll turn into an old maid?" 

"Meh meh meh," he mocks without any heat. 

You purse your lips so you don't smile. "Fine. We'll split the difference. Twenty-four?"

Steve considers that. Really considers it. It suddenly occurs to you what you're promising and who you're promising it to. You wonder if you'll both forget about it. Or brush it off. Oh, what did we know? We were kids!

Except Steve doesn't feel like a kid. And maybe you don't either, as much as you wish you do. 

"Do you mean it?" he asks. 

"Of course I do."

"No, seriously." He's serious. "I mean it, so if you don't…"

"Steve, I said I mean it. I do."

"You'll marry me?"

"I will."

"Swear on it."

You hold out your right pinkie out, waiting. Steve hooks his finger over yours. Impulsively, you kiss your linked pinkies. To show that you really, truly mean it.

You try to picture it. What walking down the aisle to meet Steve at the altar would feel like. You wonder if he'd keep his hair long, like it is now. You like it long. Would he keep it long for you?

"Will you buy me a ring?" you ask. "If we get married, I mean."

"Of course I'd buy you a ring," Steve says. "I'd get you anything you wanted."

"Okay." Your heart hammers in your chest. "I'm gonna go home."

"Alright. Want me to pull up to the door?"

"No, it's fine. Walking is good for digestion. Those milkshakes were no joke."

Steve smiles. He has such a lovely smile. His Cupid's bow is shaped exactly like a heart. 

"Same time tomorrow? It's movie night." 

Right. Your movie night. A semi-regular occasion that includes you, Steve, Robin, and the kids, sometimes. You've watched at least a dozen movies this summer together. Only this time, you're watching a movie after promising to marry Steve. 

"Sounds good," you say. "Will you pick me up?"

"Always."

Another promise. You hadn't realized how many Steve makes to you. 

"'Kay. See you."

You get out. Steve waves as he pulls away from the curb. 

Your ring finger feels bare. You rub it, hoping the feeling will go away. 

ii. the wound 

The plastic chair has turned your legs numb. Your butt is about to follow. 

Can butts go numb? You're not sure. You'll find out soon, though. 

You rub your eyes. God, you need sleep. 

Across the room, you catch Joyce Byers' gaze. She smiles at you, though it's brittle. You try to smile back, feeling distinctly like you might break if you stretch your mouth too far. 

She looks away, and your not-smile falls. 

"They'll let us in soon," she says, like she knows. She does know. Better than you, certainly. 

The hospital smells cold. It smells like a place people go to die. 

Your heartbeat ratchets. You shouldn't think like that. 

"You don't understand," comes Dustin's voice. He's at the receptionist's desk, flanked by Mike and Lucas. Dustin's face is red and blotchy, near tears. 

"I need to see him. You won't let me see Eddie, so—" 

The receptionist rears back, like she can't believe three children are daring to speak to her. 

"Neither patient is cleared for visitors," she says icily. "Now, for the last time: have a seat."

Out of the corner of your eye, you see Joyce begin to stand, ready to herd the kids away. You beat her to it. Out of everyone in this room, you're probably the only person who has the strength to stand. 

"Guys, c'mon. It won't be long." 

They don't look at you. You don't take it personally. An hour earlier, you'd cornered Dustin and forced him to tell you what happened. What's been happening. 

So he did. And now you're here. 

You don't blame them for glaring at the prickly receptionist. But you know that won't do anything. It won't heal Steve quicker. And it won't make anybody feel better. 

"Hey, Dustin." You lay a hand on his shoulder. He looks at you like you're not Steve. You wish it was you in surgery instead. 

"Come sit," you say. 

"I need to see him," he tells you. 

"I know." Your throat tightens, threatening to trap your words altogether. You rush to get the rest out. "I do too. But this isn't going to make that happen faster. Come sit with me. Okay?"

"He'll be fine," Mike says quietly. "They don't wanna get sued by his asshole dad."

You nod, because yeah, good point. Quite possibly the first time Richard Harrington has brought anybody comfort. He's in Cancun, last you'd heard. You hope he chokes on a margarita. 

Dustin follows you. Mike and Lucas sit next to Joyce. The five of you wait. 

At some point, you fall asleep. When you wake up, it's to the contentious receptionist peering over you all. 

"Mr. Harrington is awake," she says primly. "You may see him now, young man."

Dustin flies out of the chair, Lucas and Mike at his heels. 

A part of you wants to go home, and you feel terrible for it. You feel terrible that Steve almost died, but you're the frightened one. You don't know if you can bear to see him tied to tubes and a heart monitor.

"Go on."

Joyce tracks you sleepily. Her hair is more knotted than before you fell asleep. She nods to the hallway. 

"Go see him."

You can’t voice every thought, every fear. I don’t know if I can see him like this.

“It’s good he won’t wake up alone,” she says.

“He’s got a family.” You wave your hand weakly. 

Joyce watches you for a moment. Then she gets up.

"Yes, he does." 

She holds out her hand. 

You don’t know Joyce Byers very well. This is probably the longest conversation you’ve had with her. You realize, then, that you're wrong—you’re not the one who’s strong enough to stand.

“Let’s go see him,” she says. "All of his loved ones should be there." 

God, are you really that obvious? 

You take her hand, and the two of you go down the hall.

Steve is nearly unrecognizable in the hospital bed. The kids are speaking to him, unusually quiet. They look up when you enter. 

Steve’s eyes lock with yours. 

“Hey,” is all you say.

“Hi,” he says, voice rough with disuse and getting choked by what Dustin had described as demon bats. 

“Boys, come on,” Joyce calls. “Let’s make a cafeteria stop.”

You see Dustin about to protest, but Lucas tugs his arm like he knows, and goddamn, you really are that obvious, aren’t you? 

You wait for the door to close behind you. Then you walk to Steve’s side. 

The gnarled ring of flesh around his neck makes you queasy. The rest of him isn’t much better, red and purple smeared across any skin that’s not covered by the chalky hospital gown.

You sit in the chair. It’s the same plastic kind as the ones in the waiting room, but this one doesn’t feel so hard.

“Robin called me,” you say.

Steve closes his eyes. “I’m sorry.”

“Yeah, you’d better be.” Your voice cracks. “Can’t believe you went dimension-surfing without me.”

“You’re mad at me.”

Your breath is punched out of you. 

“No,” you say softly. “My God, Steve. I’m not mad at you.”

His hand creeps to the edge of the bed. His fingers are scraped.

You take his hand and lace your fingers together. He slow-blinks. He’ll probably fall asleep in the next half hour. 

“It’s okay if you are,” he whispers. “Mad, I mean. I’d be mad too.”

You know he wouldn’t be, though. You know Steve would forgive you in a heartbeat.

“I’m not mad,” you say, equally as quiet. “I just… I was scared." 

He nods. "I'm sorry for scaring you." 

You bow your head and close your eyes. When Robin had called, you'd run to the bathroom and coughed up stomach acid.

They say he’ll make it, she'd told you, and you'd realized with violent clarity that you love him. 

But Steve doesn't need that right now. So you bury it.

You lean in and bring Steve's knuckles to your lips, taking care not to jostle him.

His eyes widen. Part of you hopes he won’t remember this conversation.

"Don't do that again," you say. “Not without me.”

"Okay,” he whispers. “I won't." 

You wait until he falls asleep, hand in his. 

iii. the brand

“There’s no way I’m getting in your death van, Munson!” Robin whines.

“Death van is an exaggeration, Buckley. If anything, it’s a life van. I’m still here, aren’t I?” Eddie asks.

“Definitely not because of that heap of metal,” Steve murmurs to you. You snicker.

It’s nearly dark, but a summer dark, where it doesn’t actually turn to night until well after nine PM. The top two buttons of Steve’s dress shirt are undone, and you can’t stop staring. It’s embarrassing, really. You’d nearly missed Eddie’s walk across the stage because of that damned triangle of tanned skin and dark chest hair.

“Why can’t we take the station wagon?” Robin asks. 

“I think Nancy already left,” you say. “Sorry, Rob.” 

“And I’ve put my car jacking days behind me,” Eddie announces, flinging his arms out. “So my van it shall be!”

Robin whips her head around to glare at Steve. 

“This is your fault,” she accuses scathingly.

“Me?!”

“You just had to go and get a flat tire yesterday.”

“Yeah, Steve,” you add cheekily. “Why couldn’t you have foreseen the dreaded timeline where Eddie drives?”

“Et tu?” Eddie asks. “I’m hurt. I’m a great driver, y’know. Better than Steve, some have told me.”

“Dustin only told you that ‘cause you were high on morphine and about to burst into tears,” Robin says.

As they bicker, Steve draws closer, so your arms brush. You close the distance, crowding him.

“Y’okay?” he asks quietly.

“Yes,” you say, startled. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

“Just checking.”

“Are you okay?”

He turns to you. He looks like he’s searching for something. You don’t know what.

“Yeah,” Steve says after a minute. “I am. Better than, actually.”

“‘Cause I’m here, right?” you ask with a gooey grin.

“Yeah. ‘Cause you’re here.”

He sounds honest, so you turn away, because you can’t handle that and his chest hair. 

"I should get to choose where we go," Robin says as you arrive at Eddie's van. "Since it may be our last trip and all."

"Funny you were in Band and not president of the drama club, Buckley," Eddie says dryly. 

"Pot, kettle."

"How 'bout Rita's?" you suggest. "Unlimited refills and no one will hassle Eddie."

"Aw, you care about little ol' me?" Eddie asks. 

"If you get us there in one piece, yes."

Eddie huffs. "No wonder you and the Hair are like this." He crosses his fingers. 

"Damn right," Steve says. "We even finish each other's—"

"Terribly cliche sayings!" you say. 

Robin looks at you for a moment, unusually smirky. Then she looks at Steve. 

"You match. Blue dress, blue tie."

"That's so if she gets lost, they know who to return her to," Steve says. 

You scoff. "More like the other way around." 

He pouts. "Hey."

"Hay is for horses," you sing, skipping ahead to Eddie's van. 

"I'm sorry, are you excited to ride in the Hell Van?" Robin asks. 

You shrug. "We could use some excitement around here, couldn't we?"

"No!" all three say.

"I've had enough excitement for ten lifetimes," Robin mutters. 

Eddie pulls the door open. Your smile quickly drops. 

"Uh, Eddie? Where the fuck are the seats?"

"Right, so, usually I only have Gareth and Jeff ride with me. Gareth always calls shotgun—"

"Shotgun!" Robin hollers, and races to the front seat. 

You stare at the single backseat chair. There's no way it's big enough for you and Steve. 

"Holy shit," Steve says, taking stock of the "backseat."

Eddie rubs the back of his neck. "Yeah… listen, if I'd known we'd be taking her, I would've put the other seat in, swear! Usually we take it out for the equipment." 

"Well, what are we supposed to do? Lay down and pray? This is how people get head injuries, Eddie," you say, arms folded. 

"Maybe we can call a cab," Steve suggests. 

"At this hour?" You shake your head. "No way. This isn't Indianapolis."

"Oh my God." Robin groans. "The solution is so obvious. Sit on Steve's lap. Boom. Now come on, I'm starving."

You tense. Steve is tactile, sure, and you've become acclimated to that over the years. 

But this? This is way, way beyond that. 

"Uh…" Steve glances at you. "Do you… I mean, if you don't mind?"

You glance at Eddie, who's got the tiniest smirk. You glower and he clears his throat, hiding his mouth behind a lock of hair. 

"I don't mind," you say, more confident than you feel. "It's a short drive."

Eddie nods. "Definitely. I'll step on it."

"Please don't step on it," Robin calls. "We're already chancing fate by letting you drive in the first place."

Eddie huffs, walking to the driver's side. "Y'know, Buckley, you are just…"

You look at Steve. He smiles at you, sweet as always. 

"This isn't gonna aggravate any injuries, right?" you ask. "Me… sitting on you?"

You wince at the wording. 

"No, should be fine. My PT gave me the all clear a month ago."

You nod tightly. "Right. Okay. You go first."

Steve climbs in, planting his feet on the floor. You go next, stooping in front of him. You catch each other's gaze for a moment. Then you laugh, suddenly trying to look anywhere but at Steve. 

"Right, so I'll just…"

You slide onto Steve's lap, trying to hold some of your weight so you won't crush him. He splays an easy hand over your belly and leans over to pull the van door shut. Your heart thunders in your chest. 

"You can sit back, y'know," he says, breath tickling your ear. "��M not made of glass."

"Didn't want your legs to go numb," you joke weakly. 

Steve makes an unhappy noise and tugs you back so you're fully seated on him. You angle yourself so you can look at him. Steve looks up at you, lightly tracing a pattern on your hip. Like you do this all the time. 

"Hi," you say, too jittery to crack another joke. 

Steve smiles gently. "Hey."

His tone is fond. You feel sick. 

"Everybody good?" Eddie asks. 

He adjusts the rear view mirror and you watch his eyebrows shoot up in the reflection. 

"You two look cozy."

"Shut the fuck up, Munson," you mumble. "Just drive, already." 

Eddie giggles like a gremlin in reply and turns the ignition.

It’s not bad, at first. Eddie takes it easy driving through Hawkins. Part of it is because he doesn’t want to attract attention. The other part is that Hopper promised Eddie a night in jail if he caught him running the stop signs again. 

You personally think it’s a bluff. Robin does not; she’s enthusiastically annoying about road safety, and points out every single sign and red light. This causes Eddie to start slamming the breaks in retaliation. 

“Holy fuck!” you yelp when Eddie hits the breaks particularly hard. “Eddie!”

Steve is quick to tug you backwards, considering you’re not belted. You scramble to grab his shoulders and twist to look at him.

“Thanks,” you say breathlessly.

He smiles, then leans away, glaring at the front.

“Really, Munson?”

“She started it!” Eddie insists. “Blame your BFF!”

“Can you drive like someone who doesn’t have a death wish?” Robin shoots back.

Steve’s hands are now on the small of your back and on your hip, respectively. Your legs hang over the side of the carseat, butt nestled quite firmly on his thighs. 

God, you’re never living this down. 

“Y’okay?” 

Steve’s breath in your ear makes you squirm. You turn to look at him.

“Fine,” you murmur. “I’m not crushing you, am I?”

“No,” he says. “Don’t worry.”

Eddie breaks again, harder than before. You slip. 

Steve reacts instantly, his hand grabbing the meat of your thigh. Your dress rides up, so it’s skin on skin. 

The momentum is worse, however, because you jerk back. Right into Steve’s face.

Your nose mashes into his, which isn’t great. But then, your lips smush against his cheek. When you pull back, there’s a smeared lipstick print.

Maybe you’re the one with a death wish.

Robin is screeching incoherently but you can't focus on anything but the smudge of pink on Steve's cheek. Your chest feels tight. 

He looks like he's yours.

"Yeah, we're fine, " Steve says, voice close enough to startle you back into the conversation. 

He looks up at you. Your hand lands on the lipstick, like if you cover it, it'll go away. Steve tilts his head, mouth open in a question. 

"Sorry," you rush out before he can speak. "I got some of my, uh, lipstick on you." 

He relaxes. 

"Oh. Thought I was bleeding or something," he says with a slight laugh. "'S okay, I can wipe it off when we get there."

"Uh-huh." 

You drop your hand. You can't stop staring. Stop staring.

The print isn't exactly in the shape of your lips, but it's close. You can see the divots and where your lips parted. If someone were to see you two, they'd assume a lot of things you're not. 

Steve's collar is wrinkled from the van ride from Hell. His neck is flushed. You wonder how your lipstick would look there. 

Eddie presses the brake, softer this time. Steve's fingers dig into the meat of your thigh anyway. More marks. 

"Alright, relax, gang," Eddie says. "We're almost there."

You touch Steve's cheek again and hope he'll forget to wash you off of his face. 

iv. the secret

It's raining. You're in Steve's bed. 

Thunder shakes the sky. You curl further into your—Steve’s—pillow. It smells like his soap and detergent. 

You used to like the rain. Not so much these days. Rain makes you think of blood on asphalt and being alone at twenty-four. Rain silences you. 

"Do you think he'll come back?" 

You've never dared to ask anyone. Not even Joyce. She'd know. She wouldn't tell you the truth, though. 

Nancy Wheeler probably could. She'd face you with that steel brow of hers and give it to you straight. 

Yes. The monster's back. You're not getting married. 

You slip your hand into Steve’s. He squeezes your fingers. Outside, the rain roars. 

"I don't know," Steve says into the darkness. 

You can't see him like this. It makes you mildly claustrophobic. Maybe you should turn on the hall light. 

"Hopper said he was dead. So did that other guy—uh, Murray. And like, Eddie's okay. And Max. El would tell us if she sensed something. It's not like he could come back without making a sound. I mean, from what she told me, she basically, like, unraveled him from the inside out. Which is pretty gross, but also a good way to keep someone dead."

He's rambling. He's rambling to distract you. 

God, what the fuck are you going to do when you're twenty-four and unmarried and Steve's forgotten all about you? 

"I don't want anyone to die," you whisper. 

Steve squeezes your hand harder. 

"No one's gonna die."

You shift closer. You can barely make out Steve's silhouette. The ends of his hair tickle your knuckles. 

"Hey," he says, and you try to find his eyes, but you can't. "Nothing's gonna happen, okay?" 

"Yeah," you say, even though something did happen, something that almost took him away from you, and you don't know if you can handle that again. 

"You can stay here as long as you want," he says. 

"I can go back to my room."

Steve threads his fingers with yours. You can't see his eyes but it's okay.

"Don't," he says. 

"Okay."

You scoot forward, closing another few inches between you two. Now, you feel Steve's breath on your face. He smells like minty toothpaste. He is alive. 

The rain batters against the windows. You could kiss him. You could kiss him right now, and no one would know except for you and him. 

His breath has begun to even out. You lean in blindly. Your lips land on his hair. 

It's hardly a kiss. It’ll be your secret anyway.

+ and, finally, the first.

"Dustin wanted chocolate milk," you say, not looking up from the tub of yogurt you're searching the date for. 

"Yeah," Steve says, parking the cart to the side. "Kid's addicted."

He opens the giant fridge door and a burst of cold air nips at your arm. You shy away. 

"Six dollars? Jesus, does it come from gold cows?"

You snort, finally putting the yogurt in the cart. You stay at Steve’s house more often than not these days, so there’s no point in getting a separate cart.

"What?" Steve asks, looking at you. 

"You're funny, that's what."

"I am?"

"You sound like somebody's grandpa."

"I do not!"

"Do too," you say sweetly. 

"Do not."

"Do too infinity."

Steve rolls his eyes. 

"Yeah, whatever. I'm a grandpa 'cause I don't wanna spend a leg and an arm on chocolate milk for the little shit? So be it."

"Steve," you begin, eyebrows drawing together. "It's his birthday. Have a heart, old man." 

"Oh, good grief," he mumbles, but he takes the carton and puts it into the cart. 

You smile. Steve shakes his head. 

"This is why I don't go shopping with you. You're an enabler."

"I am," you say happily, walking alongside him as he pushes the cart. 

"And you don't push the cart."

You tut. "Pretty girls don't push shopping carts, Steven." 

"Oh, they just find some poor sap to push it for them, huh?" 

"I'm so glad you're on board," you say, skipping ahead to the chip aisle. 

You look through the shelves and land on two types of Doritos. Cool Ranch and Original. It’s a tough decision.

“Steve, what do you think?” You hold up the bags. “Which do they like better?”

“Ranch. According to Mike, liking the original flavors of snacks is lame.”

You snicker and take three bags of the Cool Ranch. Steve pushes the cart to you. 

“I feel like we’re shopping for our kid,” you say. “We’re the awesome house everybody wants to visit because we have the best snacks and the biggest pool.”

You look up when Steve doesn’t reply. He stares at you, expression unreadable. Your smile dims.

“What?” you ask.

Steve shakes his head.

“Nothing,” he says quietly. “It’s nothing.”

“Steve, seriously. What is it?”

He shakes his head again. 

“Nothing, really. Just zoned out for a second.”

He continues to push the cart down the aisle. You watch him for a moment, then follow. The two of you quickly check off the remaining items on Steve’s list (yes, his actual, physical grocery list), and then you check out.

The cashier smiles at you both in line. She’s an older woman, with the typical poofy blowout nearly every woman over fifty gets at Brenda’s Salon in downtown Hawkins. You busily put the items on the conveyor belt while Steve takes out his wallet and makes conversation with the cashier. It’s a good routine you two have established. 

When the cashier’s done, you squeeze past the cart and grab half of the bags. Steve takes the receipt and the rest of the bags.

“You two are very sweet together,” the cashier says, her round cheeks blush-red like apples. “Have a wonderful day.”

“You too, ma’am,” Steve replies, and heads to the exit.

You’re frozen for a moment, startled until Steve calls your name. You heft the bags in your arms and hurry after him. 

Steve stops and takes two of your bags before crossing the parking lot. 

“Steve,” you say, and huff. “I can carry them.”

“Pretty girls don’t push carts or carry bags. It’s the rule, remember?”

You watch, unimpressed, as Steve then proceeds to try and get his car keys with an armful of grocery bags. When he almost drops a bag for the third time, you sigh and take pity. 

“Which pocket?” you ask, snaking your arm around.

“Back left,” he says, smiling sheepishly.

You roll your eyes, feeling disgustingly fond. You shove your hand down Steve’s back jean pocket. He wiggles his eyebrows at you.

“Take me out to dinner at least,” he says.

“Pretty boys don’t get taken to dinner until the pretty girl has been asked out properly,” you shoot back. 

Steve smiles, but the joke doesn’t land like it usually does. You step away as soon as you get the keys, clearing your throat. 

“Well, I hope you’ve learned your lesson about carrying all the bags, Popeye.”

You open the trunk for him, then go to open the passenger side door.

“If I don’t carry all the bags, how else am I meant to show off to the ladies?”

You pull the handle on the driver’s side for Steve and he gets in, beaming cheekily at you.

“The only person who’s watching you make a fool of yourself is me, big guy,” you say. “So, mission failed.”

You open the glove compartment and start fishing through for gum. You find a Juicy Fruit packet but it’s empty. 

“Damn, that’s what we forgot,” you say, defeatedly crumpling the cardboard. “Gum.”

You start to turn to Steve. “Do you think we—”

You’ve wondered, probably more than you should, about how Steve Harrington kisses. 

Now you know: tenderly. 

He cups both sides of your face, and you have to brace yourself on the center console for balance. Your other hand tangles in his hair. It’s as soft as you imagined, free of product, and you scrunch the baby hairs at the base of his scalp. Steve makes a quiet noise. 

You kiss until you need air. Even then, Steve doesn’t let you go far. You part with only an inch or two between you. 

“There’s gum in the middle compartment,” is the first thing he says.

“Huh?”

“In here.” He pats the compartment between the seats. “Hubba Bubba. I got it last week.”

You giggle and grab Steve’s face with both hands. His hands slip to your arms and he squeezes, smiling gently.

“What?” he asks.

“Fuck, I’m glad I know you,” you say. 

Steve kisses you again. Two. Steve Harrington has officially kissed you two times. 

You hope you’ll lose track at some point.

[riaki]

sick days ! gojo x reader ‧˚ - take a soda break…!

the rain outside your window is incessant.

it slides down the foggy glass panes in small rivulets that merge together and break apart, like the people outside on different paths of life. a sea of umbrellas moves like liquid in the streets below; a school of fish in a rainy city, under those fluorescent neons that shine like vibrant coral in the puddles of rain on the concrete.

there’s beauty even in the humid showers of tokyo, reflected in the broken lights and flickering signs; those food stalls full of warm life and fancy clothing stores that you always go in just to not buy anything, and best of all— the vending machines that dot the map.

watching raindrops race was one of your favorite hobbies as a kid. even now, you find yourself absentmindedly tracking the movements; the erratic nature of the blurry droplets as they slide down the glass makes you wonder if there’s hidden ridges on the panels that guide those watery paths.

your train of thought is rudely interrupted by another bout of coughing; that dry, itching feeling in your throat that you just can’t get rid of. drinking water to quell the cough has the same effect as telling your study buddy to stay focused for longer than five minutes. gojo is playing something on his phone again; a rhythm game, by the way he curses under his breath every time his fingers stutter and miss a beat.

you cover your mouth with your elbow, trying to expel the ghost dust that makes your breath hitch every time you try to speak, and he glances up at you, shifting in his seat. his lanky legs are cramped beneath the desktop; his frame doesn’t fit in your room. he has to duck when he enters, lest he hit his head like the first time he came over. like you, he has his head resting in his elbows. unlike you, he isn't ill with a fever so hot it burns cold and the stuffiness in your voice, and he also isn't studying.

"you sure you still wanna be reviewing? this exam doesn't really matter, y'know." gojo remarks, peering up at you from his arm pillow. "you should probably take a break, ’cus you look like shit."

he grins cheekily, pushing a pile of his papers and notes to the edge of the desk, where eraser shavings and broken bits of lead from when he couldn't solve a math problem are crammed. there's scratches and ink stains on the desk, a reminder of how you'd accidentally scribbled past the page’s edge in a sickness induced delirium. it’ll leave permanent marks; at this point you’re convinced you’re writing yourself a secret letter to the future. have you confessed to gojo yet? that’s what it’ll say. right now, it just says something unintelligible.

hopefully you’re still literate in the future, but you’re half-convinced you’re getting dumber every moment you spend caged in with this dunce of a genius.

you lean back in your chair, pulling your knee up to your chest. your pencil falls to the desk with a faint clack, soft yellow lamplight washing your faces warm as gojo scoots closer and peers over your shoulder at your progress. he has a pandora’s box of knowledge in that blue-tinted brain of his; he just refuses to apply it. it’s cocky, spoiled ego in the finest. you should hate him for it.

he snickers. "you're dumb."

"you missed forty-three notes." you countered, shooting him a glare as you point at the disappointed looking character next to a review of the stats from the song he was playing on his phone. gojo grimaces, pulling back like a sad little dog, floppy white hair covering his eyes.

"i was playing with my thumbs."

you ignore him, leaning against the wooden desk before hiding your face in your elbows again and letting out a long sigh. your hot breath curls up in the confines of your body, making you recoil slightly; uncomfortably. heat is the last thing you need with the fever you’re pretty sure you’re running.

"i hate being sick. and i hate studying. can we please give up?" you complained, glancing up at him out of the corner of your eye. your hair obscures your vision, so you can only see a faint glint of amusement in his azure irises as he studies you for a moment before scooting his chair back and standing up. without another word, he leaves the room.

wow. okay.

a moment of silence passes as you sit there, lamenting over your runny nose and the way you sound like you're about to cough a lung up every time you breathe, until you hear the soft sounds of his feet padding on the floorboards coupled with what you presume is ice clinking against glass, signaling his return. you lift your head, blinking blearily. each time you breathe in through your nose, your nostrils burn like dry ice pressed against your skin, only adding to your misery. the dreary weather outside isn't helping much, either.

the cold glass leaves a dark stain on the table, an uneven circle of condensation that soothes the aching in your fingers when your sick skin makes contact. gojo pops the can open, and you watch as he picks the glass up, tilting it to the side to pour the soda in.

“why are you holding it like that?” you asked curiously, a small yawn escaping your lips as you lean against the table. he glances down at you, a cheeky, tiny smile gracing his lips. the sound of bubbles fizzling and popping fills the cozy, cramped room; that cool, sweet liquid seems like the only thing that’ll cure your nasty cough.

“pouring it like this prevents the bubbles from escaping. you like it fizzy, don’t you?” he grins.

condensation clings to his fingers like morning dew upon flower petals as he sets the glass down. you watch the ice cubes bobble about in the soda, clinking against the cup like a mini wind chime. you’re sore from sitting in the same place with terrible posture for three hours, and there’s an ache between your fingers from gripping your pencil tight while you write.

you take a sip from the glass, letting out a contented sigh as the refreshing liquid drains down your scratchy throat. it’s not lemon honey tea for a cold, but it certainly helps. next to you, gojo takes his seat again, grabbing the throw blanket on your bed and tossing it over his legs before he grabs his pencil again. he’s using one of those short pencils, shaved down to a stub from months of use. you always offer him a mechanical pencil, but he refuses.

you sit there, waiting for him to get back to work before you realize he’s staring at you, legs crossed beneath the fuzzy blanket.

you frowned, shifting to face him as you lean against the desk. “what?”

“you’ll take care of me if i get sick too, right?” he tilts his head, like a curious bird.

“why would you get sick?”

you’re too relate to react when he makes a mad grab for your glass of soda, holding it out of your reach. a few droplets spill out and spatter onto your notebook, forcing a sigh from your lips.

“gojo…” you groaned, rubbing your temple with your fingers and praying for strength.

he just smirks, taking a lengthy sip. you watch his adam’s apple bob as a bit of condensation builds on his chin and trickles down his throat.

“you know what? i dont feel like studying either.” he announces, setting the glass back down on the wooden table with a loud thunk.

“so? what do you wanna do?” you huffed petulantly.

“download project sekai, and we can do a co-op live.”

“…you’re kidding.”

[gatheringbones]

that thing women do to men where they think he’s dumber than a box of hair and incapable of wiping his own ass but he can’t ever find out that’s what everyone really thinks of him because it might hurt his feelings so it’s better to just let him bumble around making the same set of mistakes over and over and over again because that’s just the kind motherly thing to do 🌝

[daryl-dixon-daydreams]

"God, I love when your hair is like that..."

You jumped, soil still sprinkling off your gloves as you turned around and fixed a stare on Negan. "Jesus. You scared the shit out of me. You're lucky I don't have a weapon," you said dryly.

He laughed and seemed to simply be enjoying taking in the view.

"Wait—What the hell are you doing wandering around? Where's your guard?" you asked, realizing suddenly that he was alone.

"Who, Grady?" he laughed, slipping his hands into his pockets. "He's back there somewhere... probably still trying to tie his boot. Guy is dumber than a box of rocks. I could still outwit him after a lobotomy," he quipped, flashing you a smile he clearly hoped was charming.

"That could be arranged," you said, cocking an eyebrow at him.

His grin only widened and he leaned on the fence beside you. "When are you going to get over this hard to get thing and just admit that you'd love a little—"

"—alright! I'm gonna stop you there before you say something that's going to require me to punch you in the face," you interrupted. "I suggest you get back to Grady before I serve up that lobotomy, Negan."

His teeth sunk into his bottom lip for a moment before he smiled at you again. "Do me just one favor, doll?"

You crossed your arms, on guard. "What?"

"Say my name just one more time... I'd like to remember how it sounds for when I'm in my cell all alone later."

"Go!" you scolded him, mustering the most severe look you could.

He held his hands up in surrender and disappeared after a final glance back at you, still with that shit-eating grin on his face.

Prompt: "I'm gonna stop you there before you say something that's going to require me to punch you in the face." A/N: Happy Wicked Wednesday!

[nuclear-w1nter]

Hancock discovered he liked to make Nick laugh. Who wouldn't? Not like it was too hard, at least for him. Most of the commonwealth just assumed that Nick had no sense of humor, or that he never laughed at anything because he worked all the time. While the second was woefully true (Hancock and Nora had been trying for ages to make the synth relax for even a moment, with varying degrees of success and heaping mounts of failure) the first was just an outright lie. Nick had plenty of humour. He just wasn't the greatest at actually telling jokes.

Now, some did land pretty well, particularly the raider—bomb "beep-beep-beep" story, where Nick grinned like a fool every time he retold it, or the snappy comebacks he'd quip at the more bigoted of the Boston area. Other than that it was mostly bad puns, and afterwards Nick would act embarrassed he'd even bothered to tell them. That fact made them much funnier than what they were.

But when Hancock talked to Nick, he was always a little bit surprised at what made the gumshoe laugh. Hancock could tell some good ones, and that usually did a decent job, as it did on almost anybody. But what really got Nick was… for lack of a better word, way dumber than what the commonwealth might've assumed.

"This is the guy I've been looking for," Nick had said to Hancock on the doorstep of Goodneighbour, holding a little Polaroid photo in his metal hand, "You recognize him?"

In the photo, a man with a flannel shirt on, torn and grey, with a pair of jeans that looked utterly destroyed by the threads. His hair was thinning, and he had no shoes on, somehow managing to be entirely barefoot despite the fact that the possibility of stepping on a dirty nail and getting an infection was just as dangerous as a super mutant. Hancock shook his head. "Nah, man, I haven't seen that one around here, think I would recognize a guy who's got his sha-boing-boing's out like that."

Nick had shut his eyes, clasping the fingers of his good hand around the bridge of his nose. At first, he'd just assumed Nick was irritated, or mad, and braced himself for some sort of scolding. This is serious, Hancock, he ran off with stolen goods. Instead what he was met with was the opposite.

A grin cracked on Nick's face, small at first, but the more seconds passed the more it grew, until the hand on his nose went to his lips to try and cover it up. His mechanical shoulders shook just a little, and for the life of him, Hancock thought he heard the detective's fans whirring and sputtering. He was about to ask if Nick was hurt, before he heard the laughing.

It was an odd noise, higher pitched than one might expect and somewhat… garbled at parts? Like the man's voice box couldn't keep up with the pitch, and so to compensate it became warbly and static-like in places. To those who hated synths it might've sounded scary, but to Hancock it just made the man somehow more endearing. As if that were even possible.

"Hancock—" Nick tried to say, almost unable to in the midst of his wheezing and laughter. "I-I've never in my life— heard anyone say some shit like sha—" and then he dissolved into more compulsive fits of laughter, and Hancock was sure he'd seen the detective's cheeks turn as grey as a bruise, apparently his version of a flushed face.

Hancock smiled, lopsided and cocky. "Nicky? Are you serious?" Hancock began to laugh with him. "Of all things I say, sha-boing-boing's is the thing that does it to you?" Nick burst into another fit of giggles as Hancock spoke. Jesus Christ, the man sounded like he was fucking dying, and Hancock started to wheeze with laughter alongside him.

[thingsofimportanceanddelight]

Lmao medical misogyny isnt just “getting ignored” in fact most of it isnt that at all. It is that there is literally a sex data gap. 80% of medicines are tested on only male animals. 80% of clinical trials only use men. No women at all. 13% are mixed men and women and 7% are just women. In the 70s, the FDA literally banned all women ages 12-60 from participating in trials. Every piece of medicine is tested on bodies like yours. 20% of medicine is tested on bodies like mine. Women died from being prescribed asprin to help with heart conditions because it has no effect on women compared to men, but the doctors literally didnt have that data and assumed they would react the same until enough women died!

The body you have, the male body, is the only one tested and researched in 4 out of 5 cases.

You have no right to claim youve experienced medical misogyny. Even the hormones you take to simulate a female experience were tested on males before females.

OMG, my first anon hate comment! This is so thrilling! Literally no one has ever cared about this dinky little virtually-zero-engagement blog enough to bother sending *anon hate* before, so it's amazing that apparently I somehow managed to get under your skin enough (with what I can only assume was a throwaway comment on someone else's post, since this blog is mainly reblogs, not original posts) to warrant the effort. Coupla things, though:

A) I don't know what post you're so angry about, so this is hilariously out of context. To the best of my knowledge, I haven't posted anything on this subject for weeks, if not months (lately I've mainly just been letting the queue spit out posts on car culture and city planning, in fact, so that makes this feel even more like it's coming out of the dead middle of nowhere). Have you been lurking for ages before you worked up the courage to actually send this, or do you not know how to enable post dates/times, or are you AI, or what?

B) I extra don't know what you're talking about with this "bodies like yours" and "the hormones you take" stuff. Pretty sure I've never claimed to take hormones of any kind or have anything other than an AFAB body. Did you assume that, because I support trans women, I must be a trans woman myself, because you simply cannot conceive of a world in which your hate-filled gender essentialist views aren't the default, and you fundamentally cannot grasp what it is like to care about groups that you are not personally a part of? Filing under "TERFS yet again misgendering and marginalizing cis women in their fervor to attack trans women out of nowhere and for literally no reason." Truly, a classic. (Stellar work on that "defending women" bit y'all claim to care about so much, too. I obviously feel very defended by this comment of yours. A+ top of the line "feminism".)

C) I absolutely have experienced medical misogyny, actually, and I would still be able to make that claim even if I were trans, because trans women are women, and transmisogyny is still misogyny. It's literally all there in the names. Hope this helps!

D) TERFS are ridiculous, and Nazi-adjacent *at best*, and make the world a fundamentally worse place for everyone, and you can go right ahead and die frothing mad about it.

Cheers, thanks, byyyyyeeeee!!!!

[scrunglepaws]

I accidentally made Tails' siblings in the Folklore au way too endearing for mere background characters. Oops but also I would die for Manny.

Silas (Sails) is a hardworking sailor and musician. He loves adventure and his wife (and kids)! He's buff, sweet, and dumber than a box of rocks- aka a himbo to a T. He and Rose (based on Black Rose) have a bunch of kids, with another one on the way. I made one of the kids Skye just because [he's cute :3]. Pretty straight forward and simple couple, but they're very sweet. <3 It was nice to have Sails/Black Rose rep since that wasn't endgame in my Someplace au. Tails' oldest sibling.

Manny (Mangey) is an awkward, introspective farmer and gardener. He loves the feeling of mud/soil on his fur/skin and is often covered in dirt (this has an added bonus of being great bug repellant). Conversely, tight-fitting clothing (especially hair ties) bug the shit out of him, so he wears oversized shirts and lets his long hair go wild. This gives him the appearance of being disheveled and... I mean, he kinda is, but it's not because he doesn't take care of himself! He's always wide-eyed and frowning regardless of how he's feeling. He doesn't emote.

He's very quiet and shy, but can speak very well once in conversation (though he tends to talk kind of fast). Eye contact seriously freaks him out and he very pointedly stares at the ground when talking to others. He's observant and thoughtful, but can easily zone out in the middle of a conversation, drifting off into his inner world. As much as he enjoys socializing, he can very easily get overwhelmed by related stimuli- sometimes to the point that he curls up on the floor and makes weird noises right then and there. He is almost always fidgeting in some way, especially with his hands and swooping his head down/around. Because of his unusual mannerisms, he's often talked down to and infantilized by people that don't know him. His siblings know better, as does his wife (who I'll elaborate on in a different post). Overall just a super cool dude. One of Tails' older siblings.

Nina Nine (the name is NINE! >:0) is a fiery and passionate tomboy. There is no rhyme or reason for Nine being a girl in this au; my brain just said "btw Nine's a girl in this" and I was just like "well, okay then." She's kind of... Oh dear, she's um. Sort of got the "not like other girls" thing going on, but! She's very young! Go easy on her; give her a chance to grow. <3 As the youngest sibling, she just wants to stand out and make her mark. Kind of contrarian for the sake of it, going against the grain of what everyone wants (especially her parents). One of Tails' closer siblings because they're similar in age and being outcast-ish (the difference being that she does it on purpose while Tails can't really help it). Also, nickname bros! Nine absolutely INSISTS her parents call her Nine and badgers them if they don't. It bothers Tails when they call him Miles, but he's just like "okay... 8C" and puts up no fight. She sort of made a pact with Tails to be cool and single forever... But unfortunately (for Tails/their pact), she met a smokin' hot baddie and was immediately smitten despite herself. Her girlfriend's name is Fiona. Yes, That Fiona.

There are even more siblings, but these are the only ones I'm giving characterization to. Tails being from a big family is super weird to think about.

[stupidvillainousposts]

Those With the Ability to Foretell Don't Typically Give Warnings Unless Summoned

And I'm sure we ALL KNOW who would summon them

Gideon: Alright, witches. Tell me, what's my fate? Do I finally get to rule this wretched town? Finally get back at that monster?

Igithus: Be warned, child! Our visions are not to be taken lightly.

Haethus: They are powerful messages pulled from the stars and the universe itself!

Mathus: And should you try to change your fate, know that it may lead to horrid peril!

Gideon: Yes, yes, I know about your warnings! But the thing is, ladies, that I don't really care! One way or another, that creature is going to pay for what he did to me!

Igithus: If it is our understanding, you were the one to bring your own misfortune upon yourself. Lapse in judgement or common sense, perhaps?

Haethus and Mathus: *Snicker*

Gideon: STOP IT! JUST TELL ME WHAT I WANT TO KNOW!

Igithus: Very well. *Grabs Stardust From Her Satchel and Tosses it Into the Air* In your voracious quest to settle your score, you will create chaos and nothing more.

Gideon: Oh, not verse!

Haethus: *Snatches a Strand of Gideon's Hair*

Gideon: OW! Why you-

Haethus: *Twirls the Strand Into Gold* Keep your wits until the end, and do not let your impatience win.

Gideon: Okay...

Mathus: *Waves a Crystal Ball into Existence and Makes it Hover Above the Group* Keep this knowledge in your mind, and you shall capture your beast in time.

Gideon: YES! THAT'S EXACTLY WHAT I-

All Three Witches: But beware!

Gideon: What?

Igithus: Should your people join the beast, you will then become his feast.

Gideon, after a pause: *Bursts Into Laughter* You- You really think that those people will change their tune against Stanley?! Oh, they're all dumber than a bag of rocks! Long as I keep quiet about what really happened, they'll be eatin' anything I say outta the palm o' my hand!

Haethus: Very well, we wish luck to you, the very best.

All Three Witches: But that doesn't mean you'll win your quest! *Cackle as They Are Sucked Into the Ball and Disappear with It*

Gideon: *Scoffs* I'll show those old hags. Ain't nothin' gonna stop me! *Opens a Box and Smirks at its Contents* I'll make sure of it...

[nalyra-dreaming]

MW ep 2x03:

“Cull the herd“ “Darwin“?! Yeah Felix is NOT talking about Lestat lmao.

The hold-the-line music calling the Talamasca was funny. But the rest of the Talamasca is … hmmm. At least as in MW.

JoJo is still one of the highlights.

“Dumber than a box of hair“ - alright I laughed at that and I‘m keeping that phrase :))

Lasher calling himself “Mister Darwin“… hmmm.

I do NOT get why bringing the family together would bring Lasher back. Why would he return?! Just bc of the smell?! Hmmm

Especially if they didn’t even manage to bring everyone in…

Did they use “thrall“ in the books like that? I always thought it meant something a bit different…

The Talamasca taking Lasher has to be an almost good solution

Hmmm. Okay I guess but not too thrilling.

However:

Esta saying they wanted to “steal“ something from IWTV to connect… and calling Felix “a student of Lestat“ 🙄🙄🙄

Well. I stand by him not being Lestat‘s fledgling, even more than before. And student might be a bit much. I‘ll reblog Lestat‘s words on that in a moment.

[atlas-lin]

🌟My Lord of the Flies Headcannons!🌟

This is just because I'm stalling and don't want to do my school work, so enjoy the thing that will likely cause me to score a poorer grade on my stem sketch!

Ralph:

-Ralph definitely gives the other boys mad side-eyes.

Jack says something stupid? Side-eye. Piggy cries over something minor? Bro is staring him down out of the corner of his eye. Roger breaths too loud? SIDE-EYE.

-He loves Jack. Nothing more needs to be said, Jalph all the way.

-He says gyat, either in his thoughts as a reaction to most things or in a quiet whisper to freak Piggy out. Either way, he's brain-rotted but doesn't show it in front of most of the boys so his reputation remains untainted.

Piggy:

-He doesn't know any brain-rot terms. He doesn't get most jokes. Nobody fucking likes Piggy, not just because he's fat but also because he's such a damn bore to be around (Piggy is one of my favorites in the book, second only to Jack.

-Piggy's fatass drops the conch so often, that Ralph has to take it from him sometimes. During meetings/assemblies he gets so damn sweaty that the conch just slips right out his hands sometimes.

-Cutey patootie eats so much fruit, like a little hamster munching on seeds.

Roger:

-He day-dreams about Simon.

Will zone-out while Jack is talking to him because he's thinking about Simon.

-Roger is actually way better at hunting than Jack, but admires Jack too much to say anything about it.

Roger would have gotten a pig way faster than Jack. He wouldn't have hesitated like Jack did.

Simon:

-He watches Roger in his free time.

Roger x Simon forever. My favorite ship, even if their only reaction in the book is Roger stabbing Simon and leading the other boys to kill him <3

Jack:

-He has curly ginger hair, but he makes fun of people with curly or ginger hair.

-He low-key thinks he's so great, but he's dumber than a box of rocks. He could not, for the life of him, give the answer to 2+2 in less than thirty seconds. The only thing he's good for is sharpening sticks.

-He stares longingly at Ralph, but Ralph assumes he's judging him.

[sahrii]

Impossible; tetsuro kuroo 𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚

episode 4 ! wasted hatred

prev < mast > next

⋆. 𐙚 ˚ a/n! I really hate the way that I wrote this for some reason cries enjoy!! ⋆. 𐙚 ˚ warnings! mentions of bullying, kms kys jokes ⋆. 𐙚 ˚ taglist! open, dm or ask box to be added! ⋆. 𐙚 ˚ requests! open

she was sitting, legs crossed atop her bed along with kenma, who’s brain was frying over a calculus problem that seemed impossible to solve.

“how the hell do you do this?” he shoved his notebook into her face, forcing her to tear her eyes away from her own notebook.

“how will you survive your third year without me?” she asked as her eyes scanned the problem, immediately recognising how to solve it.

“who said i will survive it without you? you should be expecting visits every day” he muttered as he fell backwards, landing on one of her soft pillows.

the scribbles of x’s, y’s and some other numbers on the blank paper was all that could be heard, along with both their soft breaths.

“y/n,” called out kenma.

“hm?” she said, eyes still focusing on the question kenma has given her earlier.

“i was wondering….why did you react the way you did two days ago,” kenma asked, still sprawled on her pillow, his gaze fixed on the ceiling.“huh?” her pencil stopped mid-stroke, leaving the “x” incomplete.

“i mean—you guys always fight. i think i’ve seen you both fight more than i’ve seen my own parents argue. so why did you just…” his voice trailed off, and he turned his head to face her, his cheek squished against the pillow.

“just what?” she frowned, her fingers gripping the pencil tightly.

“dunno, you just let him say all that, you didn’t like fight back like you always do,” he replied. “like you froze and left, which is not like you, y’know?”

she sighed, dropping her pen into the notebook as she leaned against her headboard. “i don’t know, he just hit a nerve there like—” she wanted to open up more, she had so much to say but she couldn’t shape her thoughts into words.

and kenma didn’t try to push, he just stayed silent. a way of showing her that it’s okay, he won’t judge.

“maybe he was right, i don’t know kenma okay?” her voice faltered as she started fiddling with her hair, trying to do anything to distract herself from breaking down.

kenma sat up, tilting his head to fully face her as he knitted his brows. “what? so you think you have an inferiority complex? that you’re manipulative? that you try too hard?”

“i don’t know—like, maybe i do? it’s not like i want to be this way though you know? you’ve seen my mom and how shitty her life is, like allowing people to walk all over her and despite everything she did for these people she still ended up alone. i don’t want to—i don’t wanna end up like her. i don’t want to feel small or worthless—”

 

“you’re so dumb, y/n.” sighed kenma as he chucked a heart-shaped pillow at her. “this is all not true, and like i said, kuroo is even dumber but he didn’t mean any of what he said. you don’t have an inferiority complex, youre not manipulative, and there is no harm in trying hard.”

her eyes were beginning to water, but she didn’t want to cry so she just stayed silent and held it in, nodding at what kenma just said while playing with a strand of her hair yet again.

“this is so cheesy, but you can cry if you want. im not gonna record it and send it to kuroo or something” kenma added, trying to lighten the mood as he fell into the pillow yet again, spreading his limbs across the bed.

“im not gonna cry,” she muttered, trying to convince herself more than anything. “its just that, im a bit tired of having to prove myself, so whatever he said did hit a nerve,”

“but you don’t have to prove yourself, not to anyone and definetly not to kuroo,”

“yeah well—easier said than done.” she replied in a duh tone. “kuroo is good at everything, he doesn’t even have to try and then i am there doing twice as much work as him just so i can feel like i am keeping up with him” she added, falling back against the bed.

“well, maybe that’s what he sees in you,” he replied.

she frowned as she turned to look at him. “what do you mean? the guy hates my guts,”

“kuroo wouldn’t even bother with teasing you or making stupid comments if he hated you, and he does know that you’re trying hard and he respects that about you. but do you really hate him?”

it was silent for a moment while she really thought about the question. did she really hate him?

“i don’t know okay? and if kuroo actually respects me, then he has some sort of backward logic because that is a stupid way of showing someone that you respect them,” she replied, confusion wrapping a suffocating chain around her heart.

a smirk made its way to kenma’s face. “well, it’s kuroo we’re talking about and having backwards logic is the most kuroo thing ever. but yeah, he really doesn’t hate you he’s just bad at showing he cares,”

“then why did he ‘accidentally’ throw a volleyball at my face last month? i had a bruise on my forehead for ten days. it clearly wasn’t an accident from the way it was thrown.” she sat up, crossing her legs while hugging a small pillow.

“oh that? it’s supposed to be a secret but i am a snitch, lev accidently threw that ball and kuroo took the blame because lev almost shit his pants when he saw you,”

she deadpanned, eyebrows twitching. “lev is gonna get it,”

“but why the hell did no one tell me that?” she added.

“if kuroo took the blame then why would anyone want to tell you? it’s up to him, really.”

“but why did he just—i don’t know it seems stupid and it doesn’t make sense,” she scratched he hair, confusion flooding her body.

“well, how about this? remember these bullies in middle school?” asked kenma.

“yeah?” she replied, her brows furrowing, not knowing where this was going.

“kuroo saw them one day. you know, the day they tripped you and made you fall in front of everyone. he went and threatened them after that. that’s why they suddenly stopped bothering you,”

her mouth dropped open, her grip on the pillow tightening. “holy shit, you’re joking,”

 “i’m not. i’m dead serious.”

confusion wasn’t the only thing she felt now. a mixture of emotions churned inside her—fuzzy warmth she couldn’t quite name, guilt creeping in at the edges, and an unfamiliar ache in her chest.

she sat in stunned silence, her mind racing. had she spent all these years hating someone who had been quietly helping her all along? someone who quite literally cared for her? someone who—

“i mean, he’s done way more stuff like that,” kenma added, cutting through her spiraling thoughts. “he just doesn’t want to take credit for it. that’s how he is.”

her voice came out puzzled, almost hesitant. “why wouldn’t he say anything? why let me think he’s been a jerk this whole time?”

kenma shrugged, leaning back against the headboard. “because he’s kuroo. he doesn’t like admitting when he’s being nice—it messes with his whole ‘cool, smug guy’ persona. and honestly?” he paused. “i think he likes messing with you too much to ever make it obvious.”

she let out a groan, flopping back against the bed. “that’s so stupid. he’s so stupid. i’m so stupid.”

“at least you’re self-aware.”

“shut up,” she muttered, her hand pressing over her face as she tried to make sense of everything.

it was silent and the warm fuzziness from earlier hadn’t gone away. if anything, it was growing stronger, spreading through her chest and leaving her uncomfortable in ways she didn’t know how to describe.

“just give him a chance,” kenma said, his voice breaking the silence. “he’s not as bad as you think he is.”

she didn’t reply, her thoughts too jumbled to form words. instead, she clung to the pillow in her lap, trying to untangle the mess of feelings swirling inside her.

“now that we finished our trauma dumping session, can i please get the answers to my homework?” asked kenma after a beat of more silence.

“shut up kenma,” she sighed as she picked up the pencil yet again, completing the “x” she left uncompleted but this time, something has changed, and she couldn’t recognise what that something is quite yet.

taglist!

@kashee-h @makiglazer