#humans you get an option too but only to tell me about your animal friends

[farmdog]

i think at this point it's a universal experience to have the imagined companion running alongside the vehicle on road trips. both my gf and i (clinical zoanthropes) have come to find we share in our childhood car runners being not human! so i was curious if that was the experience of others in our community ^^

[maiselyormaiforshort]

Conversations between bots in my ideal shattered glass au part 2

1

SoundWave: we kill them with kindness!

Ratchet:WRONG!EMPURATA ATTACK

ShockWave: *flashbacks*

2

Rodimus:you will not believe this!I overheard some of the decepticons saying that their dating autobots!do they really think we're that stpid to do such thing!

Optronix:uhhhh yeah what kinda decepticon would do that hahaaaaaaaaaaahhhhhh

Bumblebee:yeahhhhh that's sooooo crazyyyyyy hahaaaahhhh

Ratchet:………noted

3

Megatronus:Ah,I love my Cancelled wife

Optronix:*screaming in the background holding a cannon with everything on fire*

StarScream:......for primus sake please tell me that's not the "Cancelled Wife"

4

Optronix:hey bee do you know what sounds a hawk make since I want to imitate threatening animal sounds when we see the deceptic-

Bee:Tuah

Optronix:uhm can you repeat yoursel-

Bee:Hawk Tuah

Optronix:Wha-

Bee:HAWK TUAH🦅🦅🦅🦅🦅🦅*American national anthem plays in the background*

WindBlade:I told you we shouldn't have introduced him to human culture

SideSwipe: alrightx2 I get it it's my fault

5

Airachnid:I have a suprise!

BreakDown:you finally released the hyenas in your side of the base?

Airachnid:I said suprise not miracle

6

KnockOut:when I first met you I thought you were annoying

Starscream:and?

KnockOut:still do just grew to love it

7

DreadWing:what's wrong with me?

ShockWave:do you want me to answer as a friend or therapist

DreadWing:uhm friend?

ShockWave:kill yourself,best option

8

BlitzWing:just be yourself,say something nice!

Bee:I can't do both!

9

ThunderCracker:did you kill them

Windblade:no why do you assume it's always me!

Skywarp:

Starscream:

WindBlade:I killed them

10

Bee: Optronix...... I'm in love with a Decepticon.....

Optronix:hi I'm in love with a Decepticon!I'm Optronix!

Bee:

Op:

Op:*one hand on bee's shoulder* me too

Arcee:oh yeah same

Ratchet:

Ratchet: I'm surrounded by fraggin idiots in love

11

StarScream:hey what if I brought you to meet my team!

Bee: your "team" as in my number 1 enemies,victims,the people on the losing side of the war,the cybertronions that i traumatised

StarScream:so that means no?

Bee:...... Lead the way

12

Megs:OH MY PRIMUS WHAT HAPPENED?!?!

StarScream:it was SkyWarp

ThunderCracker:it was SkyWarp

SkyWarp:it was SkyWarp

13

StarScream:I miss the seekers

SoundWave:you can talk to me yknow?

StarScream:you don't get it there's stuff I can only talk about with them!

SoundWave:like what?

StarScream:the dorky things you do

14

Rumble:they don't make mechs like me anymore,I'm the last of my kind-

SkyWarp:thank Primus

[dat-physics-gal]

I gotta talk about Tensura

Before i explode, because it's hyperfixation time again apparently.

Brain has decided, i am powerless.

You know, this guy:

I absolutely adore this show, but if you only research it instead of watching, you might get the idea that it's your run of the mill gimmick isekai. And in terms of setting, i would completely agree with you. Even most of the characters are pure stereotypes to be honest, with one singular exception: The MC, Rimuru himself.

-First off. Adult. Not a teen, the dude was in his late 30s when he died. And that shit shows in the maturity of his decisions.

-Secondly, while he's op as fuck, a standard for an isekai really, that isn't the focus. No, that part is treated as the set dressing that it is. The actual story points? They're about diplomacy. About connecting with people. About grief, and how to move through it. About conflict, and how it can be resolved. And about how sometimes it has to be resolved by violence, but that that's never a good first response, only a fallback if all else fails. And about how to enjoy life despite it all, about never being too old to have fun with your friends.

-Third, while this is a headcanon, it's pretty easy to conclude from a couple lines in the first episodes: He's aromantic, though probably also bisexual? You don't tend to see that in media, ever. Or, at least, only if you want to make a character seem evil and heartless, which Rimuru is the polar opposite of.

-Fourth... Look again at this creature and try to tell me he isn't adorable and huggable.

Or look at him with his newly acquired sentient pet friend and humanoid form:

He was such an awakening for me in terms of being aromantic, and arguably also agender. Like, all i had seen before were aros who lamented not being able to feel romantic attraction, or who were called heartless and internalized it.

Or aromantics who argued that they could still have a partner, even if they didn't feel romantic attraction. Which, while true, isn't what I want from life.

Or agender people with really strong dysphoria, who needed to change their body asap. Which, again, while totally understandable, isn't the situation i find myself in.

On the agender part, Rimuru doesn't really mind all too much that his human form is sexless. Sure he makes a comment about it once, but he does have the option of shapeshifting into a different form if he wanted to. And he doesn't take it. I found that incredibly relatable.

Sorry, i know i'm rambling, but i just... needed to express that.

This show, this character, they've arguably changed my life.

This animation gave me a look at realistic optimism with the story it told, and in the same stroke a character i could relate to incredibly well.

[lovebugism]

forgive me for what is likely a basic ass request but... steve has a crush on eddie's best friend? smut optional but encouraged :) (love, j.d. aka mypoisonedvine)

✶ ┄ LOVE YOU, ON PURPOSE (i)

part one | part two

summary: steve harrington took extra care to avoid the local freaks of hawkins. having shared custody of a fourteen-year-old forced him into a bitter friendship with one, he's steadfast in his refusal to befriend the other. that is, until you start working at the groove beside family video. steve claims he only fell for you because you tripped him. (17k)

pairing: steve harrington / eddie's bff!reader

tags: strangers to friends to lovers, mutual pining, protective eddie, canon divergence TW swearing, bullying, some smooching, talks of insecurities, reader is doubtful of steve's intentions because steve used to be a dick <3

a/n: this request has been sitting in my inbox for ages. ages, i tell you! i wrote the outline the day it was sent in and ended up turning the blurb request into a full on 30k+ word fic. i'm sorry for the wait j.d. (and to everyone else who's been waiting patiently for me to put this out). i quite literally put my heart, soul, pussy, and so, so many hours into this. please enjoy! feedback is always appreciated! xoxo

˗ˋˏ ♡ ˎˊ˗

Something happens and I'm head over heels.

It would be a total disservice to call you Eddie’s best friend.

It wouldn’t even feel right to call you his platonic soulmate or his sister from another dimension. Not when the two of you are essentially an extension of the same human being. It’s a twin flame on steroids — your mirrored souls make the rest of Hawkins believe in some sort of higher power. There’s no way it wasn’t destiny that placed the two of you together at exactly the right place, at exactly the right time.

Your entwined spirits could’ve been a beautiful thing.

It’s too bad you’re both total fucking freaks.

Unfortunately, being a couple of metalheads who spend their free time creating fantastical worlds in silly little board games hasn’t become cool yet — for some sad, strange reason. It leaves you and Eddie as the town’s token social pariahs. The kind of misfits you only spot when you care enough to look — laughing too loudly at the lunch table or sharing a cigarette in the alleyway between school buildings.

The kind of weirdos who get your attention without trying. The kind that people only look at when they need something to make fun of.

With that being said, everything Steve knew about you came from the people that hated you.

Tommy Hagan said that you and Eddie had been fucking since the seventh grade, that the two of you had gotten close between blowjobs and fingerbangs in the old chemistry classroom. No one’s quite sure where it came from, but they believed him without thinking twice. You and Eddie tried to squash the rumor for years before leaning into it full throttle.

“And these are the freaks,” Tommy announced when he approached your lunch table. He was giving Billy Hargrove a grand tour of the high school, or rather the shithole, and detoured like you and Eddie were some kind of sideshow attraction. Him and his goons ogled at you like zoo animals.

Steve idled some feet away, not as interested in the bit as the rest of them. He was even less interested in entertaining the new kid on the block thateveryone else seemed to be obsessed with.

“Hey, Tommy...” Eddie sing-songed through a mouthful of PB&J. You’d given him the other half of your sandwich, because you always give him the other half of your sandwich. “Hope you’re not comin’ back to ask for a handy again. I already turned you down, remember?”

A dumb grin took over the boy’s freckled face. He crossed his arms over his chest and leaned over to the California boy. “I wouldn’t get too close to them. Don’t know where their hands have been, you know? If I had to guess, I think Punchy got Munson’s rocks off in the janitor’s closet before lunch period.”

Neither of you were particularly fazed by the laughter that erupted all at once and threatened to swallow you whole. Instead, you smiled with bits of grape jelly smeared on your chin. “I bet you think about it a lot, don’t you, Tommy?”

You really lived up to the nickname. Punchy. You weren’t entirely sure where it came from — your fierce temper, perhaps, or maybe your intense personality. Either way, it suited you.

Vicki Carmichael once said that you bit a guy on a date one time. Barry Jenkins, a tennis douchebag who thought the world revolved around him because his dad owned a string of local laundromats. He took you on a date in his mom’s Impala and assumed making out in the backseat gave him free rein to stick his hand up your skirt.

The asshole sported a red mark on his neck the next day.

When people asked you about it, you smiled with all your teeth in place of any real answer.

Carol Perkins loved to comment on the state of your wardrobe, telling anyone who would listen about the time she caught you rifling through the $1 bargain bins outside the thrift store. She liked to joke that you were stealing from them. “Because she can’t even afford a couple measly dollars. It’s kinda sad, honestly. I feel a little bad for her,” you overheard her saying once.

You were smoking a cigarette in the stall and watching through the crack of it while her and her friends touched up their lip gloss. 

“Wait, really?” Tina wondered, stopping mid-swipe of mascara through her long lashes to gape at the girl beside her. Because, god forbid, they don’t have someone to make fun of.

Carol snapped bright pink bubblegum between her teeth. She looked offended, almost — manicured brows furrowed and shiny lips snarled — like the idea of her taking pity on you was insulting. “No,” she snapped in response.

You’re pretty sure it’s the only rumor about you that’s got any bit of truth to it. Or any rumor of hers, really. The thrift store was great and all, but you firmly believe that your best pieces come remanufactured straight from Eddie Munson’s closet.

So it isn’t any wonder why the two of you seem to dress so similarly — all leather jackets and distressed jeans and hand-me-down t-shirts that are either too big or too small. The both of you take little care in your appearance, wearing only what you feel good in. And sometimes that means wild hair and baggy clothes that swallow you whole.

To make it worse, you and Eddie even talk the same. You’re both loud and brash and have very little awareness of personal space. You aren’t scared to make a scene or use your voice when you think it’s being stifled. And when you love someone, they know it, because you won’t leave them the hell alone.

These are all the things that Steve hated about Eddie. So he hasn’t quite figured out why he’s so damn in love with you. 

But he is. 

Quite dreadfully so. 

Head over heels and stumbling since the day he met you for a second time.

It was the spring of 1986 and The Groove had just opened up. Steve had heard murmurings of a record shop taking over the empty outlet adjacent to Family Video but had no idea it would nearly run them out of business. The shiny, new music store attracted all of their usual customers. People were more excited to buy new cassettes than rent movies they’d seen a thousand times already.

Steve didn’t mind, though. He liked it best when the store was empty. But all of his friends — a closeted lesbian, a basket case, and a couple of fourteen-year-olds — seemed to have the same affliction that was plaguing the rest of the town. 

He tried not to be offended when Robin said she was going to spend her break next door and not with him in the closet-sized break room. 

He failed.

Robin spent her half-hour and then some meeting you. She returned forty-five minutes later with a blushing face and a bleeding heart. Suddenly, there were two people in Steve’s life that couldn’t seem to shut up about you. As much as it annoyed him, he let her gush about you anyway, because that’s what best friends do, after all.

But Steve knew you once upon a time. Or he thought he did.

You were a loudmouthed metalhead who wore all black to blend in to Eddie’s shadow. You created fictional characters because it was easier than making friends with real people. You were strange and awkward and mean and gauche — the total opposite of this heavenly, mystical creature Robin was making you out to be.

But then it became this whole… thing.

With Robin and Eddie constantly talking over him about you, the rest of the kids were as confused as Steve was. And as they so often tend to do, the group decided to take matters into their own hands and make the short trek to meet you formally. Steve figured that their answer would be final. When those teenagers hate you, you know it. He learned that the hard way

They’re gone for a little over an hour and come back with a thousand stories and various tapes they say you gave to them for free.

Lucas has got a new Beastie Boys cassette and a proud smile on his face as he recounts the promise you’d made him about catching his next basketball game. “And she said she really liked my ranger,” he brags less than humbly, telling the older teens about how you’d heard stories about his track record in Hellfire campaigns. There’s a sudden suaveness to his voice as he bounces his brows up and down at them.

Max scrunches her face in disgust. She clutches a Kate Bush tape close to her chest, like it’s a prized possession she never wants to let go of. She rolls her eyes at her boyfriend (or maybe ex-boyfriend, but Steve can never keep up these days) and makes her own conversation with Robin. The two girls are the only ones with more than half a brain cell between them, or so they claim.

The redhead tells her that she plans on bringing her broken skateboard over to your store soon. She says the thing’s been wobbly for days, and Robin nods along like she knows all about it. “Well, apparently, she has some tools and knows how to fix it. Said the trucks just needed to be reinforced or some shit, I don’t know, I’m just glad it’s getting fixed.”

“Wait, why didn’t you tell me?” Steve asks her, confusion contorting his words along with his features. He crosses his arms and leans against the counter. “I could’ve fixed it.”

“You don’t know anything about skateboards,” Max monotones.

“Okay, but you don’t even know this girl! She’s a total stranger, Max. That’s dangerous.”

She rolls her eyes. “She’s nice, Steve. Way nicer than you—”

That makes him scoff.

“—And you’d know that if you got to know her.”

It’s Dustin’s turn to gush about you next. His opinion, for a reason Steve has never been able to place, arguably means the most to him. And the kid is just absolutely fucking beaming about you. He holds a Star Wars orchestral vinyl in his hand —  the brand new one he’s been talking about for weeks but couldn’t afford. 

He talks of the collection of DnD figurines you were painting behind the counter and the promise you made to make one for his bard come the next campaign. 

Dustin gazes at Steve, wide-eyed and nodding like he’s as amazed by the revelation as Steve is.  “She’s cool, Steve. Like… really cool.” 

The boy thought that Robin just had a crush, that Eddie was just being Eddie and overdramatizing all of his stories about you. But you’re everything they said you’d be and then some. The kind of stranger you meet that takes your breath away, that makes you sad in the understanding that you’ll never see them again. Dustin is grateful you don’t have to be a stranger anymore.

You sounded… nice. More than nice. They painted you out to be a fucking angel, the way you took care of a bunch of kids you barely knew for the better part of an hour. You weren’t the freak everyone made you out to be all that time ago.

They talk a great deal about your looks, too. Dustin, mostly. Lucas had received a glare and a half-hearted punch on the arm from Max when he said how pretty you were — even though she ultimately agreed with him. The curly-headed boy uses too big words to describe the renaissance painting you are, all heavenly morose and beautifully strange.

“Hey,” Eddie scolds from the sidelines, mostly playful. “That’s my sister you’re talking about. Bring it down a few notches, ‘kay?”

Steve is silent for the rest of the day after that. He’s not pouting about it like Robin keeps saying he is, just reserved in his reminiscence. 

He can’t tell if he’s intrigued or annoyed. They talk about you the way people used to talk about King Steve — with a borderline obsession for someone they don’t really know. And deep down, he knows he’s just jealous. Jealous that no one talks about him that way anymore. Jealous that none of the kids have ever talked about him that way.

It leaves him skeptical and wanting to see the real thing for himself.

Steve opts to meet you on his lunch break the next day with a tight chest and sweaty palms, like a part of him knew it was going to change the trajectory of his life for the foreseeable future.

The door dings with his arrival. The record store smells like earth and nostalgia, a bit like flipping through the pages of an old book. Vinyls sit in rows and in towers that rise to the ceilings. Colorful cassettes, of which there are thousands, have nooks and crannies of their own. Posters decorate the walls along with various patterned records — there’s hardly a blank spot in the entire store.

And when Steve sees you for the first time, he only sees the back of you.

You’re in all black, just like he imagined you’d be. A sliver of skin at your midriff is showing from where your too small shirt has ridden up your torso. And your hair is as wild as ever, though a little longer than he remembers. You’ve haphazardly pinned back the ornery strings with a sparkly pin, but it doesn’t do much to tame them.

A breeze of warm wistfulness washes over him at the sight of you. A reminder of a life that used to be his, that you were a part of only passively.

It’s your smile that does him in. Maybe because you’ve never looked at him with it. As far as Steve’s concerned, no one’s ever smiled at him the way you do, and you barely even know him. You hadn’t seen him in over a year and if you shared any words in the past, it wasn’t anything more than snarky one-liners. But here you are, looking at him with sunshine anyway.

“Hi,” you beam with the warmest grin he’s ever seen, swiveling in your chair to face him. “Welcome in.”

He’s too stunned by the sight of you to respond. He just stands in the doorway, all wide-eyed and gaping, like he’s the first to see an angel on earth. And it’s strange because you’re far from perfect. 

You’re blousy and a little disheveled, like you’d been running late that morning. The lack of makeup allows your imperfections to shine through in a way that makes you somehow more alluring. And you’ve got paint splattered like freckles on your cheeks, the culprit being the figurines you’re painting behind the counter. If you know you’re dotted with shades of red, blue, and green, you don’t show it.

“Can I help you find anything?” you ask him, still kind even though he’s acting like a fucking weirdo. That’s supposed to be your thing, not his.

Steve grasps for something to say but comes up short. His lips part and then close again in an embarrassing pattern that resembles a fish out of water. It makes sense, though; it’s a bit how you’ve made him feel just now.

When he realizes he can’t make out anything intelligible, he shakes his head. “Uh… nope.”

He’s leaving before he even realizes he’s leaving. The door dings again and he’s on the other side of it, long legs carrying him the short distance to Family Video at record speed. 

He swings and slams the egress shut in quick succession, as though the ghost of you had been chasing him. He leans against the glass pane and exhales a heaving sigh, eyes squeezing shut as he recoils at what he’d just done.

He always knew that King Steve had died some time ago, but this was a new low.

Robin watches from the front counter with wide eyes. “…Did you forget something?”

Steve sighs a big, hopeless sigh, then peeks his eyes open. “My dignity.”

“She’s cute, right?” she asks, already knowing the answer. Her brows bounce in time with the smirk on her painted lips.

“Yeah, she’s cute,” he answers, all mad because it’s obvious. “She’s fucking— she’s beautiful.”

“Aw. Look at you,” she sing-songs and tilts her head to her shoulder. “I think your heart grew three sizes today, Stevie.”

˗ˋˏ ♡ ˎˊ˗

I never find out 'til I'm head over heels.

Steve, all caught up in his boyish misery, has no idea that he’s enraptured you in a similar way.

You hadn’t cared very much for the guy in high school. You didn’t really know him then, and you didn’t particularly want to. King Steve was rich. King Steve was pretty — too pretty. King Steve got attention from pretty cheerleaders and overaggressive douchebags alike.

King Steve didn’t need any affection from the local freakshow.

But, by some strange turn of events, he’d managed to make nice with your best friend. 

The way Eddie talks about Steve, his words always dripping with a distant venom, it sounds like they still hate each other. Maybe they do. Or maybe he just doesn’t want to admit that they hang out far too often not to be friends.

If you were still in school, you probably would’ve judged him for it. Being friends with the boy whose buddies made your life hell certainly warranted some degree of ridicule. But now, having graduated and trying to move on from it all, you can’t find it in yourself to. 

High school might as well have been a lifetime now. There’s no use in holding onto old ghosts.

If Eddie could let that shit go, so could you.

He drops by after school to keep you company like he always does when he doesn’t have a campaign to prep for. It’s his favorite pastime, perhaps a close second to Dungeons and Dragons. He gets to hang out with his best friend and swim in an ocean of music while he does it. As far as freaks go, Eddie Munson considers himself the luckiest.

He likes to hear you talk about everything new you’ve gotten in while he rifles through the old stuff that isn’t selling as well. You happily let him take what he wants for free. And what he doesn’t take, he doesn’t pay for either, because you cheat the system with your employee discount and then wipe the record from inventory. Just to be safe.

“I love having a criminal for a best friend,” he jokes every time, without fail.

Eddie stays by your side until the sun sets. He parts only to flip the sign at the door to closingfor you, then plops himself back on the counter again. His legs hang off the side of it, sneakers occasionally thudding against the wood when he kicks them back and forth too hard. He scans the back of an old Lynyrd Skynyrd vinyl and bobs his head to the rhythmic bass as the song fills the empty store. He’ll take this one home, he decides.

You keep on painting like you have been all day, breaking only to assist customers or stretch your aching spine. The forest dragon had been far more work than you expected — made of pretty purple leaves instead of scales and blowing blush-colored flowers instead of fire. The little piece of clay has resulted in a day of back-breaking work. 

You’ll be damned if Eddie’s next campaign isn’t the most stellar looking one yet.

Focusing on that makes it easier not to bring up Steve. 

You want to. You just don’t know how. 

Eddie’s friends were Eddie’s, and you don’t get involved where it doesn’t concern you. Besides, you did sort of give him shit for hanging out with The Hair way back when. The last thing you want is him taking the piss out of you about it.  

You don’t want to sound like you care too much. Even more, you don’t want it to be obvious that you’ve been thinking about the boy all day — making yourself sick as you stew in what could’ve run him out like he did.

“Saw your friend today,” you remark, feigning a sort of absentmindedness, as you swipe your brush along the petals of your dragon. “King Steve.”

“Oh, you met him?” Eddie wonders, more intrigued by your words than you expected he’d be. He says it like you didn’t already know the guy — like this new Steve was a totally different person you needed to be reacquainted with to really know.

“I wouldn’t say met him exactly. He just, like, popped in for half a second and ran out.”

With your back facing him, you don’t see the shit-eating grin that pulls at the corners of his mouth. 

Eddie was waiting for Steve to crack and finally see you. He knew he’d bite after the way the kids had talked about you — Dustin, especially. Because even though he claims he doesn’t have favorites, he’s got a very obvious soft spot for the boy. And he knew Steve would like you because everyone likes you. When they’re not clouded by judgment and high school hierarchies, at least. 

He’s still got no idea how a guy that trips all over himself at the sight of a pretty girl could’ve ruled Hawkins once upon a time.

“Fucking idiot,” Eddie laughs to himself, already gearing up for the shit he was going to give Steve the next time he saw him. 

But you see the boy before Eddie does. Steve comes back the next day, an hour or more after opening, less frazzled than the day before. The nearly twenty-four hours he had to prepare himself for the angel he was going to see allowed him not to make a total fool of himself when he stepped into the store again.

And you wouldn’t say it out loud — hell, it’s not even something you want to admit to yourself — but you’d been hoping he’d stop by again. 

You thought Robin would come by and drag him with her, or that Dustin and his friends would come around before Steve dropped them all home. Frankly, you didn’t really care what brought him back. You just wanted to see him again.

Steve’s different than the boy he used to be. Enough that it was obvious from a measly thirty-second interaction. He used to be a charmer who could talk his way out of anything. Not to you, of course, he wouldn’t have been caught dead talking to you. But then he stops by out of nowhere, in rare form, stumbling all over himself and looking like he didn’t recognize you at all.

You’re still trying to figure out if that was a good thing or not.

He’s mystified you in a way he probably isn’t used to. Most girls like the hair and the arms — the super buff, super strong arms that fit so nicely in his uniform — or the fact that he’s got money and a reputation that precedes him. But you’ve never given a shit about any of that. 

You’re more enchanted by the way nothing could even begin to conceal the soft, shy boy that King Steve had apparently turned into.

The door chimes above his head when he enters. The scent of earthy nostalgia is already familiar to him — lavender, sage, and something deeper. Steve considers it progress when he plants himself a few feet away from the door this time. If he runs out again, he’ll have to make an embarrassingly longer escape.

You turn away from your nearly finished figurine to greet the new customer. The practiced smile unconsciously widens at the sight of him. “Hi!”

“Hey,” he smiles with a curt nod. He regrets the half-wave he gives you the second his hand shoots up.

“You gonna run off on me again?” you tease and swivel in your chair to face him completely.

You’re wearing a Hellfire shirt that’s just slightly too big for you. It probably belonged to Eddie before it belonged to you. And you wear a corset-looking thing over top of it, a sheer number with a lace embroidery and a ribbon that’s tied in a bow at your belly. It doesn’t cinch you in the slightest, though, more for decoration than practicality.

“No that was… I just—” Steve huffs out a laugh as he tries and fails to come up with an excuse. He figures anything is better than the truth — that he saw how pretty you were and his brain forgot how to work because he’s the lamest person on the planet. 

So he chucks a thumb over his shoulder and fibs. “I left something back at Family Video. Had to run back.”

“It’s okay. I was just teasing,” you assure. “Uh— Are you looking for anything specific?”

“No. Not really. Just… new records to add to my collection, you know?”

“Oh, you collect vinyls?”

He doesn’t realize that’s what he’s just said until you repeat the words back to him. 

He’s kind of just talking out of his ass and hoping something sticks. That line does, apparently, because you’re beaming at him instantly. He’s scared to say no because then you’ll stop smiling. And he can’t have that.

“Yep,” he answers with a nod. The stack of records collecting dust in his den has to count for something, right?

He can’t find it in himself to regret his little white lie when it has you lighting up like a christmas tree. 

You toss your paintbrush down when you rush from behind the counter to meet him. You seem to have forgotten that you’d just dipped the thing in purple paint. The thing splatters shades of lilac all over the limestone bench. And, in your haste, you nearly smack yourself with the leaden slab as you raise it to pass by.

Steve’s eyes widen when you narrowly dodge the weighty thing — then jumps, startled by the dense thwap that echoes through the small store when it slams back down again. He’s almost worried that it might’ve busted the hinge. 

You cower at the loud sound but move on with a commendable finesse, too focused on him to care about anything else.

“That’s so cool! I’ve always wanted to collect, but records are so expensive, it’s crazy,” you ramble as you walk up to him, totally unthinking in the way you grab his forearm and usher him to the back of the store. 

Your sheer black skirt swishes at your ankles as you walk. The dainty fabric is patterned with sparkly stars and crescent moons. He notices you wear a pair of dark shorts underneath for modesty. Steve tries his best not to stare at your ass. He almost succeeds.

“We actually just got in a couple of Dio records — The Holy Diver, you know, the one that just came out. I’m pretty sure there’s only, like, a couple thousand of these things in the whole world — which is totally fucking bonkers if you think about it,” you explain in one breath, laughing, before stopping abruptly in your tracks. Steve nearly runs into you when you turn around to face him. 

You laugh again, a sadder one, this time at yourself, as you bring your palm to your forehead. “Sorry. I don’t— I don’t even know if you like Dio. I mean, of course, you don’t, right? I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have… rambled like that.”

You’d just been so excited and Steve had just been so different that you forgot who you were talking to. Hawkins High Royalty, Prom King, Biggest Flirt and Life of the Party in the yearbook. 

As far as you’re concerned, Eddie Munson is your only friend. He’s the only person in the whole world you can be yourself around and never get self-conscious about any of it. 

But sometimes you have moments like this one with a total stranger. Moments where you lose yourself in the conversation and your own jumbled thoughts. Moments where you talk and talk and talk until something thumps you on the head and you realize how annoying you’re being. This time, it’s the musky smell of his cologne that knocks you back to Ms. Click’s history class. The crisp breeze of bitter nostalgia makes you shiver.

Steve can see the way you get so suddenly aware of yourself and how the cognizance of the moment makes you writhe. He tries to bat away the lingering insecurities with a smile. 

“Love ‘em,” he responds with a nod. He raises his brows and scoffs, grins and crosses his arms over his chest. “I mean, Dio? God, they’re like… top ten bands of all time, at least. Maybe even five.”

That isn’t totally true. He doesn’t know much about the band to have an opinion, but he’s pretty sure he might’ve said he hated them once. That was only because Eddie wouldn’t stop talking about them, though. Steve could learn to like them, if it means so much to you.

That’s exactly how he justifies spending $60 on four records. 

He tells himself that he’ll listen to them and think of you, that it’ll be a solid conversation starter the next time he sees you. 

You had a whole damn rack dedicated to all your favorite bands — “I put it together myself,” you’d bragged with a proud smile. S it’s a wonder Steve didn’t walk out with the entire damn store. Because you just kept on smiling and talking, so happy to have someone to care about what you had to say, and he ate up every second of it.

He’ll have to work overtime to keep his pockets from hurting, but it’ll be worth it. Because he’ll get to keep talking to you and indulging in all the things you seem to love more than life itself.

You’re still rambling as you ring him up. Steve notices you haven’t stopped yourself like you did before. His lack of dismissal has made you more comfortable, it seems. He likes that.

“I think we’re also gonna get a couple cases of Def Leppard cassettes tomorrow, which is super sick. I think I might have to start collecting, honestly. Tapes are whole lot cheaper than records, you know,” you tell him as you scan and bag all his vinyls. “And it’s also, like, a fucking stellar album. I don’t think I’ve stopped listening to Photograph since it came out.”

“Photograph. Right. Love that one,” Steve nods with a kind smile as he props his elbows on the counter. He doesn’t particularly care that he’s not entirely sure what you’re talking about, or that he’s never actually heard the song. He’s starting to realize you could talk for hours and he wouldn’t get bored.

“Oh, is that your favorite too? Eddie’s more of a Foolin’ kinda guy.”

Despite the fact that he’s never heard the song or this album in his life, he nods anyway. 

He sort of spent the first eighteen years of his life faking just about everything — it kind of came with being the King of Hawkins High. It’s a talent that hasn’t yet left him, it seems, lying through his teeth to impress people. It’s almost become a second nature to him.

“Foolin’s good, yeah, but I think Photograph is obviously better.”

“Obviously, right!” you exclaim with a sunshine-coated laugh. “That’s exactly what I told him! But he’s way too hard-headed to be wrong about anything, so…”

“Well, I’d like to put it on the record that I firmly agree with you,” Steve replies so smoothly that his tongue must be dripping with honey. It’s so easy for him to fall into King Steve mode — when he isn’t forgetting how to speak and running off, that is.

You’ve learned a lot Steve in the past half hour. He likes metal, but leans more toward rock. Particularly all the metal and rock that you like. He hasn’t once had a differing opinion than you, besides telling you he heard Eddie playing a Metallica song once that he didn’t particularly care for. The second you tell him it’s one of your favorites, he backtracks instantly, blaming the Munson boy for being too sloshed to play it properly.

And you don’t miss the way he’s looking at you just now either, with his chin toward his chest as he peers up at you with warm amber eyes. He’s the charmer that he always was. It makes you remember, again, just who you’re talking to.

“We have a lot in common, King Steve,” you lilt with a playful grin.

He deflates at the use of the old nickname. You see the light in his eyes flicker for a just moment before he’s ducking his gaze away from you completely. He tries to brush it off with a laugh. “Yeah, I’m not— I’m not really King Steve anymore…”

“No?”

“Nope. Just… Just Steve these days.”

When he looks back at you, he finds you nodding at him, almost in approval. 

Most people are upset to find that he’s changed so much. They hate that he’s no longer the recklessly stupid dumbass they used to get drunk with. 

Not you, though.

“Cool,” you mumble, smiling softly, as you hand him his bag and receipt.

“Uh, I’d love to, you know, come take a look at those tapes when you get ‘em in,” he says as he walks backward towards the door, finally making the brash offer he’s been thinking about this whole time. “Maybe I can bring lunch and we can—”

“Well, Hellfire’s been doing campaigns during lunch recently. And Gareth’s out sick, so I’ve been subbing for him, you know, so…” you interject awkwardly, shifting your weight on your feet. You hate to turn him down, but Eddie might just kill you if he has to get a substitute for the substitute.

“Oh…” he nods, softly puckering his plump pink lips that you can’t seem to stop staring at.

“But I don’t think they’re coming in until late, anyway,” you add quickly. “So, you can stop by at closing, if you want?”

“No, yeah, that’s cool. So cool,” he replies, a little more flustered than he’d been just moments before. He’s just happy that your rejection wasn’t a total refusal.

You try to bite back the wide grin threatening to take over your mouth. “Okay… I’ll catch you later, then, Just Steve.”

“See you,” he waves right before startling himself when he backs into the basket of clearance tapes sitting just beside the door. He barely catches the thing before it tips over completely. He flashes you a shaking smile afterward and finds you covering your mouth with your hand while you try not to laugh too loudly. 

He wishes you’d just went ahead and laughed at him. He wouldn’t have even cared that you were laughing at him, if it meant he got to see you smile.

And even though he’d just gotten done making the biggest fool of himself, he walks back to work feeling like the coolest man alive. There’s a foreign strut in his step that hadn’t been there before he saw you. It doesn’t leave him when he realizes he’s gone slightly over his break and that Keith is manning the counter in his absence.

The man mumbles a monotoned goodbye to the customer he’d just checked out.

She turns around and Steve realizes he recognizes this girl — Mindy or Mandy or maybe Monica — from Mr. Kaminsky’s class way back when. She did all of his homework for him before and after letting him fuck her on her twin-sized bed in her all pink room.  That’s when Steve was conquering girls like they were Mount Everest, way before Nancy, when King was a title he wore with pride. 

But he’s still so stuck in his head with thoughts of you that he doesn’t even see Mindy-Mandy-Monica or the flirtatious wave she throws his way.

“You’re ten minutes late,” Keith scolds, with his dead tone and his deader eyes.

Steve only shrugs, uncaring if it came out of his paycheck because — “I just got a date with the hottest woman on the planet,” he boasts with a puffed out chest and too smug smile.

It doesn’t lessen Keith’s anger, just diverts it. Because he knows exactly who he’s talking about. And so does Robin, as she pops her head out from behind the man from where she sits at the computer. “No way,” they chorus in disbelief at his words.

Steve nods. “Yes way.”

“Eddie’s gonna kill you,” Robin remarks with the shake of her head. 

He knows she’s right. He just doesn’t care. 

Eddie’s always been protective of you. Everyone knows that. But the two of them were friends now — or somewhat good-natured acquaintances, at the very least. He would’ve been mad about a year or more ago, if King Steve had decided to suddenly woo his best friend. 

But it’s different now. He’s different now. Eddie knows how much everything’s changed, it’s just a question of if he’s willing to rehash old wounds.

It’s a good thing Steve knows how to take a punch.

˗ˋˏ ♡ ˎˊ˗

Don't take my heart, don't break my heart.

Steve finds you again the next day less happy than he’s gotten used to.

The record store is dim and the red sign at the entrance has been flipped to closed, but the door is left unlocked — for him. The warm scent is a distinct contrast to the frigid spring night, a cozy high hemp and lavender, but your absence is noticeable and terribly heavy. 

Steve lingers in the doorway, his shadow looming like a giant before him from the moonlight streaming in from outside. 

He calls for you in the emptiness.

“Uh… Punchy?”

He’s relieved when you answer. The “back here!” you shout to him is muffled and far away. He follows the sound of your voice, filled suddenly with a childlike consolation. 

The yellow fairy lights dangling over his head guide him through the aisles of cassettes and closer to you. Through a cluttered backroom, Steve finds you standing just outside an opened door — left ajar, for him.

The smile you flash when you see him is as dim as the closed-down store. It lacks all the sunshine you usually look at him with, shades of stormy gray rather than the usual yellows. 

A look of concern flashes across his features — furrowed brows and inquisitive twinkling eyes — as you take a drag from the lit cigarette caught between your pointer and middle finger. You muster your best grin, but it flickers like a shoddy radio signal. 

“Punchy, huh?” you tease.

Steve’s brows pinch together as confusion floods his features. It takes him a moment to realize what he’d said and the nickname he’d used — and he doesn’t want to be dramatic or anything, but he kinda wants to die. It’s embarrassing, he thinks, to hold on to an old high school monicker. And, fuck, if you hate it half as bad as he hates being called king, he deserves a slap to the face right about now.

You laugh instead of ball your first. He’s able to smile meekly in relief. “Oh. Shit. Sorry, I… I don’t think I even realized it came out.”

“No, it’s okay,” you assure when you see him getting all apologetic. “Eddie still calls me that all the time, so… Old habits die hard, I guess.”

Steve tries to move on, but it’s hard to when you’re so obviously gloomy. He hates how reserved you’ve gone in your quiet, not talking up a storm like you had been the last time he saw you. Now you’re just… a storm. It’s a little like sitting next to a rumbling rain cloud.

The rumbling rain cloud beside him takes a drag of her cigarette.

“You okay?” he asks and sounds like he really cares.

You didn’t think King Steve was capable of caring about anything other than his hair, but he looks down at you like he can feel every blue bolt of your doom and gloom. He makes you feel seen in the void of your sadness despite all the years you spent being invisible to him.

“Uh, yeah. It’s just the tapes. They didn’t come in,” you answer with a shrug. Smokes leaves your mouth and lingers in white clouds in the air. “So I’m a little bummed.”

“Oh…” is all Steve says and his pink mouth forms a too pretty ‘o’ shape that you can’t draw your gaze from.

The following silence makes you momentarily cautious. Insecurity runs cold over you because no sane person gets this about upset over a broken promise of a couple cassettes. It’s stupid, you know it is, but you were really looking forward to them. It’s like promising a kid the most metal present ever and then snatching it out of their bare hands.

Now, over the course of a couple hours, you’ve managed to convince yourself you won’t remember happiness until you get those stupid tapes.

“Sorry,” you apologize to him for a reason he can’t place. You shift your weight on your feet and peer at him from beneath your lashes. “I know you were looking forward to them, too.”

You extend your hand and offer him the cigarette between your fingers like it’s an olive branch. He takes it from you with a distant smile, then opts to laze against the brick wall like you are. He stays a respectful distance on the other side of the entryway. 

“It’s okay. They’ll come. If I’m being honest, you know, I was kinda more excited to see you.”

His admission is brazen and a tad bit brash, even for a certified ex-douchebag. It lacks all of the usual honey-coated flirtation that usually tints his tone when he’s talking to a pretty girl. Because he wasn’t trying to make you swoon — though he certainly wouldn’t have minded if you had. This wasn’t some romantic advance, just a proclamation of his own personal truth.

A flash of shock contorts your features. “Really?”

“Of course,” he answers, breathing out a laugh that exits along with the smoke in his lungs. “I love talking to you. You’re… You’re cool, you know? S— Super cool.”

His face screws up at his stuttering, and he shakes his head at how the words sound leaving his mouth. His cheeks glow cherry red beneath an orange street lamp. 

“Super cool, huh?” you repeat with a giggle that’s bright enough to illuminate the velvet night. “I don’t think anyone’s ever called me that before.”

Steve scoffs when he passes the cigarette back to you. Because, lately, that’s all he’s been hearing about you. From Eddie, from Robin, from Dustin — every good thing a person could say about someone else, they all say about you. 

He’s starting to understand why.

Because you’re sweet. Like, pure sugar poured on the tip of his tongue kind of sweet. You’re bright like sunshine and soft like summer rain. You’re a shot of pure espresso for a boy who thought his life was at a dead end. He’s not entirely sure how he ever could’ve thought you were some deep, dark, devil-worshipping freak.

“I don’t believe that,” he dismisses with the shake of his head.

You breathe out a sharp exhale and a puff of nicotine-coated smoke. “I’ve been the town pariah since I was eleven, Steve. Everyone thinks I’m some kinda delinquent who’s in a cult because I play a dumb board game. So, no. No one’s ever thought I was cool before.”

“Still?” Steve wonders with a twisted face. “You graduated, like, a year ago. Are... Are people really still on your ass about that?”

“A little,” you answer with a shrug, trying your best not to look as affected by it all as you feel.

Steve feels his chest swell with the fiery urge to protect you. The same one he gets when Dustin tells him about the assholes at school that are bothering him. He wants to defend you from the same sort of assholes that he used to be. The impulse is borderline primal, rooted somewhere deep and far within himself, because god knows he’s got a terrible track record when it comes to winning fights.

“Shit, Punchy… I’m— I’m sorry.”

You sputter out a laugh at the apology, louder when you realize he’s using the nickname again.

He can’t relate to any of this. The trials and tribulations of being persona non grata everywhere you went were certainly lost on him. Steve might’ve lost his touch somewhere down the road, but he’ll always be crown royalty — the kind of guy you think fondly of when your wonderyears are long gone. But you? You’re lucky if people don’t cross to the other side of the street when they spot you coming.

Perhaps that’s why his words warm you so much. Because, despite all that, he’s trying to make you feel better anyway.

You give him a tender smile and a dwindling cigarette. 

“It’s okay. I mean, it’s whatever, you know? I think it’s because I still hang out with Eddie all the time. Like, people see us and remember what fucking freaks we used to be,” you say with a laugh, then start to ramble without thinking. “We saw Tommy Hagan at Melvald’s the other day, and he looked at us like we caused him severe PTSD or something, like, he looked terrified. I honestly felt a little bad.”

Steve smiles, wide-eyed, equal parts intrigued and unsettled by the reminiscent glimmer in your eye and the daunting giggle that spills from your lips.

“But I wouldn’t leave Eddie, you know?” you blurt, suddenly serious, like you’ve taken offense at the very thought. “Not even if it meant people stopped being so mean. ‘Cause I love him and everything… Even though he’s a pain in the ass.”

“Oh, he’s a total pain in the ass,” Steve agrees and flicks the butt of the cig between his fingers. “He loves you too, though. I can tell. The asshole never shuts up about you.”

“He talks about me?” you ask, voice fragile and pitched higher than normal.

Steve doesn’t like the way you say it. He hates how you look at him even more, with a scrunched up face and eyes that flicker with embers of shock. Like you don’t believe it, like you think yourself unworthy of it.

“You’re all he talks about,” the boy assures, feeling so suddenly brave and wanting to make you feel brave too. He hands the cigarette back to you. “I don’t blame him. If I were him, I’d never shut up about you either.”

The contorted look of confusion on your face untwists itself, and your features fall flat with disbelief. A smile pulls slow at your mouth. Your eyes glitter an orange gold beneath the streetlight. They flit over to the boy beside you just long enough to take the stick from him.

“Steve Harrington…” you lilt, almost scoldingly so.

It makes him smile. “What?”

“Stop flirting with me.”

“Well, that’s very presumptuous of you,” he retorts playfully. “Who’s to say I was flirting?”

“So you weren’t then?”

“Maybe a little,” he shrugs with a knowing, practiced smirk. “Can you blame me?”

You don’t seem impressed by his not-so-subtle attempt at flirting, and he isn’t at all used to that. The bravado and the puppy dog eyes are his one-two punch — any other time, he’d have a phone number tucked safely in his pocket by now. But you’re not biting.

“I’m so not your type,” you dismiss with the shake of your head.

“Yeah?” he challenges, shoving himself off the brick wall with his shoulder and making the short trek over to you. He plants himself next to you, leans with one sneaker crossed over the other, and smiles with a playful twinkle in his eye. “And what’s my type?”

“Nancy Wheeler,” you answer without missing a beat. “Pretty girls.”

“Well, I think you’re very pretty—”

“Not like her,” you interject with a foreign firmness that Steve hasn’t seen from you until now. You’re still smiling at him, though, still kind but looking like you don’t believe him. Like you think this must be some kind of sick joke that he’s taking too far.

You can entertain Steve. You like Steve. Mostly because he’s totally different from the douchebag you remember him being — the douchebag you were expecting him to be. 

You find that he’s terribly clumsy and not overtly good with words. He says dumb jokes that don’t come out right and smiles in relief when they make you laugh anyway. He’s soft like peach fuzz or a fluffy cloud, mushy like warm chocolatey gooey goodness, and not at all like you remember him.

But then he does this. He morphs into something else, changes shape right in front of you. He smiles at you with little of his dumbassery behind it — all smirks and faux longing gazes with the intent of making you swoon at his feet. He grins down at you and all you see is the teenage boy who would’ve never looked at you that way four years ago. Hell, not even one. 

It reminds you of who he is, who he used to be, and who you are now. 

You haven’t changed so much since high school. You’ve matured a little, sure, but there was never an asshole exterior that you felt the need to outgrow. You’re still loud at times, unaware and ignorant of the world around you. You still play lightsabers outside Eddie’s trailer in between lengthy Dungeons and Dragons campaigns. You still pretend like the lingering glares from all the people you used to know don’t bother you. 

They do, though. They always have.

You look at Steve and you see this butterfly — someone made of rainbow colors and mostly mature. He’s growing, and you’re stuck in the same cocoon you’ve been wrapped in since freshman year, still fumbling around and trying to figure out where you fit.

He’ll always be the pretty butterfly he always was, with his pretty little iridescent wings that catch the light and all the attention. He’ll feed off the applause he gets while you’re sitting on the sidelines. The girl who’s destined to stay bundled in her cocoon forever only hears all of his praise — never watches, never receives.

“You and I are completely different people, Steve Harrington,” you declare with a grin that tells him you’ve already made up your mind.

The boy doesn’t get it, though, why you seem so upset by the idea. Him and Robin were completely different people. Him and Dustin were, too. The two people he adored — tolerated — most in the entire world weren’t a single thing like him, and it was better that way.

You don’t seem to share a similar philosophy, though. You take a drag from your mostly gone cigarette and mourn what could have been; if only he had been the town freak or you had been born the pretty girl next door.

“That doesn’t have to be such a bad thing—”

He’s abruptly cut off by the sound of muffled rock music and the bright yellow headlights of Eddie Munson’s van. The two of you shield your eyes when he whips into the desolate parking lot and parks in front of you. The sudden intrusion feels like being blinding like the sun after you’ve found such comfort within each other in the dead of night.

The stifled Def Leppard song — or maybe Poison, Steve can never quite tell the difference — is brought to a sharp halt when the engine shuts off. The headlights dim. The metallic slam of the driver’s side door sounds so much louder in the darkness.

Eddie rounds the front of his van and eyes the two of you rather suspiciously. The boy inhales deeply, puffing out his chest and splaying his hands on his hips. “…What’s going on here?” he squints at you.

You give him a terribly manufactured sunshine smile and bat your lashes his way, like you’re pretending to be un-innocent. “Nothing…” you sing-song.

Eddie rolls his eyes at you, then turns his attention to Steve. They’re not really strangers anymore, but he still feels the need to treat him like an outsider anyway.

“Harrington,” he says in the place of any real greeting. “Don’t you have other shit to do? Like, I don’t know, a shift as the mannequin at the GAP or something?”

Steve can’t find it in himself to get self-conscious about his fitted-sweatshirt, khaki-slack combo when the insult comes from a guy in a decade-old leather jacket, unwashed t-shirt, and ripped jeans.

“Very funny,” the brunette monotones. 

“I’ll see you around, yeah?” you ask when you turn and walk backwards towards Eddie, like there’s a gravitational pull dragging you to him.

You say it to be polite mostly, but you’re hoping for an affirmative — a promise that you’ll have another night like this one, where he sees you just to be seeing you. Hell, you’ll even take a nod if that’s all he’ll give you. And when he does, he gives you a tiny smile that almost makes you trip over yourself.

Fuck, you think to yourself, like your brain is talking to your heart. We just agreed not to do that.

Before you get in the van, you walk by Eddie and bring your cigarette up to his mouth. You coax the stick between his lips with your pointer and middle finger, opting to let him take the last couple of hits because he never turns down a free smoke.

The passenger door shuts once you’re tucked into the seat of it. The sound it makes punctuates your absence. Steve feels all of its emptiness.

He eyes Eddie from the distance, immediately noticing the darkened skepticism dancing in his dark eyes. 

The boy’s always felt the need to protect you. When the entire town got spooked about stories of some satanic panic and started treating you like monsters, he wanted to shield you from the boogeyman everyone turned into. 

Steve wasn’t one of them, the bad men. But Eddie loves you and it’s made him doubtful.

“It’s not what it looks like,” Steve feels the need to say, as though he’d been caught with his pants down and not just sharing an innocent cigarette with a friend.

Eddie takes the final few puffs of it and exhales rather dramatically, lips pursing to blow it in his direction though it’s too far away to hit him. The boy throws the filter to the concrete and extinguishes the ashes with the toe of his dirty sneakers. 

He waits until the white smoke has fully dissipated to speak.

“Damn right, it isn’t.”

That’s all he says. He doesn’t even look at Steve when he says it, or when he rounds the van and hops into the driver’s seat next to you. Steve squints when the too bright headlights come alive again in time with the roaring engine and dated rock music. His tires screech when he speeds out of the back parking lot. 

The tin can he drives nearly tips over when he turns too sharply onto Main Street.

Steve doesn’t get a chance to get a good look at you before you’re gone completely. It makes him all boyishly upset, knowing the hours without you will be most agonizing, but the empty feeling is eclipsed by the warm relief of not getting clock cleaned by Eddie Munson.

Damn right, it isn’t. Four words. That’s all he gets. But they’re daunting and coated with a lingering foreboding that feels almost like a threat.

So, by all accounts, Steve probably should’ve known there was no way Munson was ever going to back down that easily.

Eddie comes back the next day, a thundering storm cloud of the boy he usually is, head wild with curly hair and a million thoughts. 

The door dings far too gently for such an aggressive arrival. Metal bangs against metal as the handle collides with the window pane. He stomps to the counter in several quick strides, dark eyes darting around the half-empty store — obviously searching for something.

Robin, manning the front counter, is entirely unable to be threatened by him. The all black, chunky metal rings, and crazy hair stopped being so intimidating when she found out you called him Eddie Spaghetti. Now, it’s all she can think about when she sees him. 

Even as he stands ahead of her, obviously upset, all she sees is a very cartoonishly angry Eddie Spaghetti, and it takes everything in her not to laugh.

“Where’s Steve?” the boy finally wonders when he realizes the boy’s not in the front.

“Uh, he’s in the back, I think. Why?”

Eddie doesn’t humor her with an answer. He just storms past the counter and makes a b-line for the break room.

Robin watches him over her shoulder. “You’re not supposed to go back there!” she half-heartedly shouts, but makes no further effort to stop him from doing so.

He finds Steve working beneath the dim yellow light of the back room. There’s a warmed-up container of leftovers on the small round table on one side of the room and a stack of unorganized tapes on the counter on the other. Steve multitasks between both and hums something summery under his breath — The Beach Boys, maybe.

He’s too distracted to notice Eddie’s abrupt appearance. It’s the subtle click of the shut door that gets his attention.

Steve’s confused at first. His head snaps over his shoulder like a ghost must’ve closed the door on him. He realizes that it’s just Eddie, and he’s so innocently relieved that it’s almost humorous, then confused all over again. His brows pinch together and through the chicken tender jutting out his check, he mumbles: “You’re not supposed to be back here—”

“Yeah, I got that part,” Eddie interrupts in a monotone.

He swallows. It’s as thick as the tension that settles between the two of them, made heavier by the lengthy silence. He crosses his arms over his chest, stands up a little straighter, and bares his neck when he lifts his chin. “I want you to leave her alone.”

Steve scoffs and chews through his mouthful. “Leave who alone?”

“You know exactly who I’m talking about,” Eddie squints with an unusual sort of seriousness. “I don’t want you messing around with her anymore, man. I’m, fucking— I’m so fucking serious right now.”

The clarification makes Steve laugh. He shakes his head and goes back to piling the myriad of tapes into organized stacks on the counter. “We were just talking, Eddie. I don’t need the lecture, okay?”

“We both know it’s never just talking with you.”

“What? Are you in love with her or something?” he retorts, trying to make a joke of it.

Eddie, for the first time in his life, isn’t amused. “Oh, god, get over yourself, dude. I know what kinda guy you are, alright? I’m not gonna let you hurt her.”

His words hit Steve like a pot of boiling water. It prickles his skin, leaving blisters and burning red blotches in its wake. He’s all but on fire with his anger, less offended by the accusation than by the person it comes from.

Steve and Eddie aren’t friends by any means. They’re just two guys with shared custody of a bunch of teenagers, bonded in their want to keep them all safe. But through their lighthearted animosity, is a sort of understanding: neither of them are the assholes the entire town claims them to be. Eddie isn’t apart of some satanic cult. Steve isn’t a douchebag that uses women as accessories. And that’s just a silent agreement they’ve both come to on their own terms. 

But now here they are, talking like it’s 1984 all over again and they’re strangers who hate each other’s guts.

“No. I’m not gonna hurt her. Because we’re just friends, Eddie.”

The boy just shakes his head. He scrunches his nose like he’s wincing, then laughs — a big, dramatic laugh that fills the tiny break room. He begins to pace, waving an accusatory ringed finger Steve’s way. “No, see… That’s the thing. I don’t think King Steve is capable of being ‘just friends’ with a pretty girl.”

Steve rolls his eyes with a heavy huff. He comes to the conclusion that Eddie’s just projecting and that there’s no use in arguing his case. He shoves a black VHS tape into its designated sleeve and slots it in with the rest of them, muttering under his breath, “I’m not King Steve anymore…”

“What?”

“I said, I’m not King Steve anymore!” he yells, a bit louder than he intended to.

He drives a tape onto the pile with an unexpected aggression. It hits the wall with a resounding thud. His arms flail wildly at his sides when he turns to face Eddie again. “God, you guys act like people can’t change! I’m not the asshole I used to be, alright? Jeez…”

Eddie exhales sharply through his nose in the place of any real reply. Deep down, he knows all that. He knows it’s all true because he would’ve never befriended him otherwise. Steve Harrington — the king, the rich kid, the douchebag — turned out to be a pretty damn good guy. 

And maybe if Eddie didn’t love you so much, he’d be able to wrap his head around all that.

But does. So he can’t.

He saw you two together the night before, sharing a cigarette behind The Groove — albeit a little too close for his liking — and suddenly, it was junior year all over again.

You’re stressed out about the ACT and college acceptance rates, none of your clothes quite fit you, and you’re trying out bold things with your makeup that don’t quite fit you either. You grin wildly up at Eddie through the vibrant lipstick smeared on your lips, laughing at his half-hearted attempt to cheer you up. 

And Steve is a senior, standing on the other side of the hallway — with his pretty clothes and prettier hair — and he lets all of his friends laugh at you. They make fun of your un-styled hair and the way your shirt makes your boobs look, and Steve doesn’t find any of it particularly funny but he lets them mock you anyway.

Eddie sees you together and forgets about the man Steve is now. All he sees is a boy who never stuck up for you, for either of you, who let his best friends make your lives hell because his reputation mattered more.

And it wasn’t like it was his job to defend you, because it wasn’t. Not really. It’s just that you would’ve done it for him, if the roles were reversed. Eddie, too. Neither of you would’ve let a lamb be led to the slaughter quite like that. It was the Hellfire motto, after all — to protect the little sheep from the creeping wolves.

That’s where the difference lies. It’s where the mistrust settles deep and where the root of all of Eddie’s worries lingers.

But Steve has done more to prove himself than Eddie likes to give him credit for. 

He takes care of a bunch of kids like it’s his job. He runs Robin to and from school most days out of the week, on time each morning — which, for a guy who showed up late every day for four years, was definitely saying something. He even comes to Eddie’s shows when he’s not too busy working the graveyard shift, never minding that he sticks out in his collared shirt and slacks — a pretty boy amidst a crowd of freaks.

Fuck. Steve Harrington was a pretty alright dude.

But you’re better than alright. You’re better than good. Better than perfect. 

If you got your heart broken, Eddie thinks he’d feel all of it times a thousand.

Steve’s been through his own kind of heartbreak, though. He’s slapped a bandaid over his own bleeding heart, and it’s made him soft. The good kind of soft — the kind where he sees a bug on its back and has to flip it over because it hurts too much to let it suffer. Eddie knows he’ll be that kind to you. Kinder, even.

“Yeah, you better hope so, Harrington,” the boy concludes with a slow nod of his wild head. He steals a chicken tender from the styrofoam box it sits in, like it’s some kind of power move, and waves it at him like a condemnatory point. “I hear you do anything — anything — to her… And your ass is grass.”

Eddie takes a hearty bite from the strip, then tosses it back into the container again. He spins on the ragged heel of his sneaker and stalks out of the break room, punctuating his absence with the slam of the door. The ancient thing gets lodged and doesn’t quite shut all the way, so he has to double back and shut it fully.

Steve is left dumbfounded, in more ways than one.

“…He just ate my chicken,” he mumbles to himself with a frown settled deep between his brows. But there’s a lingering tension in Eddie’s storming out — a tangible fog within his words that settles something heavy in the Family Video breakroom that doubles as storage. 

It feels almost like a blessing.

˗ˋˏ ♡ ˎˊ˗

Won't escape my attention...

The more time you spend with Steve, the more confident you get. 

You visit him at work more often, caring less and less about bothering anybody when you realize they all wanted you there. You let yourself ramble in front of him, too, not stopping yourself nearly as often as you used to. Steve guesses you started to believe him somewhere around the millionth time he promised he liked hearing you talk.

You turn to glitter in his presence, becoming more unapologetically yourself and glowing with it — with all the things that used to make you insecure, things that King Steve would’ve made fun of you for some time ago. Everything you were scared made you too different, is why he liked you in the first place.

And Steve gets to watch it all play out right before his eyes. You inch slowly out of the protective shell you’ve built around yourself and bloom like springtime flowers. He’s grateful he gets to witness it, even more that you feel comfortable enough to do it all in front of him.

You’re hardly as timid as you usually are when you saunter into Family Video. Rather than tiptoeing in and apologizing for intruding, you burst through the front door with a beam and a high-pitched squeal. You’re as bright as every star in the galaxy combined; even dressed head-to-toe in black, you’re more blinding than the sun. 

Eddie’s leather jacket, either stolen or unenthusiastically lent from the boy himself, swallows your upper half. You wear a piece of Metallica merchandise beneath it. The thing is cut up to your ribcage. The jagged edges in the fabric, likely from a dull pair of kitchen scissors, tells him the chop was intentional.

A leather skirt clings effortlessly onto you, revealing the pudge of your stomach and the curves of your hips. The thing is donned with two spiked belts and several chains hanging loosely at your waist.

Steve is dozing at the counter with his chin propped on his first when you walk in. He’s half-asleep until he sees you. The shot of espresso that walks in makes him instantly forget how tired he is.

“Guess what?” you ask with wide, sparkling eyes as you skip to the counter with your hands behind your back.

Steve always hated that question. Usually, it came from Dustin or Robin — or, god forbid, both of them — followed by a “No, seriously. Guess.” It left him with no choice but to humor them until they ultimately caved and told him something he couldn’t have guessed in a million years.

He isn’t so annoyed now, though. In fact, he smiles. “What?” he replies.

You pull your bottom lip between your teeth, as though in a futile attempt to conceal the wide grin on your face, and take your hands from behind your back. You flash him the cassette tape you hold in the palm of them, a blue and yellow thing with the angled Def Leppard logo printed on the cover.

“No way!” Steve finds himself exclaiming like he’s the number one fan of the rock and roll band. He isn’t; never has been, really. But he is a fan of you. All of his excitement, all of his bright and shining smiles — they’re all for you.

“They came in last night— when I was off, of course— and I opened this morning and there was a whole damn tower of these tapes! I’m the one who does the tape towers, okay? Plus, I’ve been doggin’ my manager for weeks about the things, so I can’t believe they came in and no one told me, you know?”

Steve gets lost in your rambling right along with you, nodding because he never wants you to stop talking. His twinkling gaze follows you back and forth as you pace in front of the counter. You gesticulate wildly with your hands, nearly elbowing a customer when they get too close to the line of fire.

“And she was all like ‘I can’t control when they come in,’ And I was like ‘well, you can’t control when I come in either, I’ll be taking a long lunch now, thank you’—” you recount, albeit at a slightly louder volume that shocks anyone who doesn’t know you. People shoot you lingering side eyes from over the aisles.

Steve doesn’t care. He’s even happier that you don’t seem to either. You feel comfortable enough with him now to stop caring about the rest. When you stop yourself, you do it because you’ve said everything you need to say, not because you feel like you’ve annoyed him in some way. 

“Anyway,” you conclude with a sigh. “I wanted to run it to you personally because, besides Eddie, you’re the only person I know who cares as much as I do.”

You smile sweetly at him, peering at him through your lashes, so suddenly timid — no longer the boisterous girl lighting up the whole room. Steve notices that you do that a lot, go from loud and sunny to shy and glimmering. Eddie does it too, sometimes, but it’s not nearly as cute.

“My wallet’s in my locker,” he tells you when you hand him the tape. He cocks his thumb over his shoulder with his free hand. “Let me go grab it. I’ll be, like, two seconds—”

You reach over the counter and take him by the arm, wrapping chipped maroon nails around the crook of his elbow to keep him from straying too far. Shock coats his features at the suddenness of your touch and the way it makes him buzz.

You scoff. “Are you serious? I’m not gonna make you pay, you weirdo.”

“No?”

“Of course not! It’s a gift.”

“Well, gee, Punchy. Considered me flattered,” he concedes with a faltering smile.

You laugh at his half-hearted attempt to be charming.

He rests his crossed arms on the counter and leans over the top of it in an effort to be the slightest bit closer to you. He gazes up at you with honey eyes and raised brows and a big, dumb smile. “And, you know, flattery... it goes a long way with me.”

You arch an un-manicured brow at him. “Does it, now?”

“Yep. So much so, I’m willing to break a few rules and let you pick out a couple of movies. On the house.”

It’s dumb and it’s sweet and so terribly innocent. He wants to give you so much than that but he’s got about eighteen dollars to his name, so all he can do is offer you a few measly VHS tapes. It has you beaming like he just offered you the world.

“Steve Harrington,” you scold playfully. “I didn’t know you were so naughty.”

He falters. His resolve slips and, for no more than half a second, his brain forgets how to work. 

He’s not quite sure how you manage to do that to him all the damn time. You make his brain shortcircuit and his belly quiver and his vision swim. He’s known you for a while now, long enough that the lovesickness should’ve well worn off.

Steve’s worried that there’s no cure for you, that he’s in it for the long haul now — upset stomachs, heart palpitations, and all.

“Well, I’m full of surprises,” he shrugs and sways on his feet. “What’s your poison, Punchy? Molly Ringwald? Robert Downey Jr.? The John Hughes type?”

You can tell he’s joking. You squint over at him and rest your elbows on the counter top your face-to-face. 

The wintergreen mint on his breath makes your head swim. 

Your rouge-tined lips are so close he can taste them — he wants to, desperately so. 

You don’t miss the way his gaze flits to your mouth, lingering there for no longer than a blink.

“Try Night of the Living Dead,” you challenge. 

“That is so dreadfully on brand for you,” he manages to reply without much stuttering. He’s surprised he’s able to get any words out at all, with the way his heart feels like it’s about to beat out of his chest.

“I’m nothing if not predictable.”

Steve doesn’t respond as he leaves the counter to get what you asked for. Silence is easier than saying that you’re the most surprising thing he’s ever met in his life.

When he returns, he brings the entire film franchise with him. All three movies are stacked in his arms and he scans the backs of them, hoping Keith won’t notice that they’re being rented free of charge.

“Have you ever seen them?” you wonder.

He shakes his head. “No. I saw one of them at a drive-in a long time ago, but I wasn’t exactly paying attention, if you know what I mean—” he answers with a soft laugh, quick to cut himself off. It was supposed to be a dumb joke, but both of you know what he was insinuating and it makes everything awkward. 

Robin would’ve slapped him on the back of the head if she were around to hear it. 

He would’ve deserved it.

“Well, you missed out,” you scold, not quite meeting his gaze. “They’re actually pretty good.”

“I’ll try and watch ‘em sometime then.”

“Tonight?” you offer suddenly.

Steve furrows his brows. “…Huh?”

“I mean, like— I don’t know… I thought maybe we could watch them tonight,” you stammer with your eyes turned down toward the counter, where you draw invisible patterns onto the granite with the tip of your finger. “Like, together… if you want.”

Steve is momentarily speechless. He’s spent weeks plotting how he was going to ask you out. It would come to him in waves. He’d feel like he’d concocted the most perfect, foolproof plan right before realizing there was no way in hell he could ever go through with it — all in the same fleeting thought. 

But here you are, biting the bullet for the both of you. 

He’s grateful. He thinks he’s dreaming.

“That sounds…” Steve trails off with the mindless nod of his head. “Yeah. No. Totally. That sounds… really cool.”

A wide smile pulls at the edges of your lips. You purse your mouth to the side in attempts to conceal it. “Cool,” you murmur all cool-ly, like his affirmation isn’t heaven to your ears.

“Uh, not to sound like a total douchebag or whatever, but my dad— he’s got this theater room and everything, and my parents are almost never home,” Steve rambles as he puts all three movies into a paper bag. Then his eyes go wide and his face glows cherry red. “Not like that! I didn’t mean it like— That sounded really weird… I’m sorry—”

You giggle at him, at the way he can pretend to be so suave, and then reveal all the marshmallow fluff he tries to keep hidden a moment later. “It’s okay, Steve. I got what you meant.”

He writes his address on a yellow sticky note with the Family Video logo printed in green at the very top. His handwriting is boyish and sloppy, the sign of a boy who never did care much about school. Some letters are connected, others far apart; some written too big, while others are too small. You find it endearing, but Steve knows it’s just because his hand was shaking something fierce.

He leaves his number written at the very bottom. Just for good measure.

“No funny business, alright, Harrington?” you joke, waving a ringed finger at him as you walk backward out of the store, heading back to your own job.

Steve bites back a smile. Once upon a time, he was all funny business. No girl was ever going to invite King Steve over and not expect some heavy petting. And he wants so badly to kiss you — fuck, he wants to kiss you all the time — but the want to spend innocent time with you eclipses all of those boyish feelings.

He yearns to be close to you. Like magnets. Or a moon and the ocean’s tide.

“No funny business,” he promises.

˗ˋˏ ♡ ˎˊ˗

You keep your distance with a system of touch.

It isn’t until you arrive at the front gates of the Harrington home you realize you’ve never been in the suburbs of Hawkins before.

You grew up on the very outskirts of town, where there were more trees than people or houses. The block was half rundown already and horribly secluded. The only interesting thing about it was the winding trail through the woods that led to the anterior of Forest Hills trailer park.

That’s where you spent the bulk of your time, practically living with Eddie and Wayne in their one-bedroom trailer, until you felt guilty enough to go back home for a day or two. Your parents would inevitably remind you why you ran off in the first place, and then the cycle would start all over again.

It was all just far enough away from Hawkins that you could pretend like the town’s bullshit didn’t exist. The freak from the wrong side of the tracks didn’t belong on Maple Street or Fairview Road or Laurel Avenue. That was for people who could afford new shoes every school year, who could go clothes shopping and not feel guilty about cutting into their food money, who were set up with trust funds before they were even born.

But here you are now, on Fairview Road, seven o’clock sharp, and standing in front of the biggest house you’d ever seen. 

You ring the doorbell and flinch when it’s louder than expected. The chime is light and jaunty. You wonder if it’s been programmed for the change in season.

Steve answers no more than a couple seconds later. He swings both French doors open, arms spreading wide like the smile on his face.

He’s traded in his slacks for comfier jeans and his vest for a form-fitting sweatshirt he’s bunched at the elbows. You realize, then, that you’ve never seen him without the forest green Family Video jacket. It makes him look naked, almost, like a totally different person — no longer the dork who works a measly nine-to-five with his best friend and visits the freak next door on the off chance his manager won’t dock his pay for it.

The vest had humbled him to a certain extent. Now he just looks cool. Like the boy people would either praise or avoid like the plague, for fear of getting in King Steve’s path — just a little bit more mature looking now, with his chiseled jaw and scruffy chin.

It makes you feel a little stupid from where you stand on the porch ahead of him, wearing the same thing he’d seen you in earlier that day. He’s got no idea you spent the past couple of hours agonizing over what to wear. For the sake of not seeming crazy overzealous, you opted not to dress up. Now you’re scared he thinks you just didn’t care enough to.

But you do care. So goddamn much that’s it scary. 

You never had to worry about what you wore or what you looked like before you left the house, about what you had too much of and what you lacked. Now, it’s all you can think about.

If Steve notices anything at all, he doesn’t show it. He just keeps on smiling at you, too happy to see you to care about what you’re wearing. He’s just glad that you showed up.

Truth be told, he had a six-pack and Robin’s number on speed dial on the off chance you canceled on him. He was preparing himself to wallow in self-pity and spend the rest of the night ranting to his best friend about the bleeding heart he had for you. Because, as far as he was concerned, you were far too good to be true. 

You were beautiful and funny and kind and perfect. You treat him like you’ve known him for years, like he didn’t spend so many of them avoiding you in attempts to keep some measly title that didn’t mean shit. You were too perfect. Sometimes, Steve gets scared that he just made you up.

But whether you’re a dream come true or the real thing, you’re standing on his front porch anyway, with a smile and a bottle of grocery store wine. 

He saves the beer in his fridge and the wallowing for another day. 

Steve escorts you through his lavish living room and to the downstairs area that’s got a movie screen hanging on the walls and a couple of leather couches sitting in front of it. The coffee table in front of them holds a myriad of glass bowls — popcorn, various candies, and more popcorn.

“You planning on throwin’ a party down here, Harrington?” you tease with a soft chuckle, trying to conceal how your heart’s about to burst at the mere sight of it all.

“Well, I just— I didn’t know what you liked, and I didn’t— I wanted to make sure you had something to eat, you know,” the boy stammers out. He brings the palm of his hand to rub at the back of his neck. “So I just… I got… everything.”

“It’s a good thing a like everything then, huh?” you smile at him as you pluck a Red Vine from its dedicated bowl. You rip off an inch or two with your teeth and then talk as you chew: “I hope you’re prepared for all of this shit get eaten, Harrington. I can get quite ravenous.”

Steve nods to himself and tries not to smile too big. “Sounds entertaining… Maybe I’ll just watch you instead of the movie.”

It was supposed to be a joke. 

But then you settled down next to him on the couch, keeping a respectful distance but sharing the same fuzzy blanket, and he has to physically force himself to drag his gaze away from you. 

He was right about what he said before, you were far more entertaining than the black and white film projected ahead of him — grabbing handfuls of popcorn at a time and quoting the movie through the mouthful. 

It’s a tad bit barbaric, the faintest bit off-putting, and otherworldly levels of endearing. It leaves him virtually unable to take his eyes off of you. 

He didn’t think you could get more beautiful, but you keep on proving him wrong. 

He’s starting to realize he doesn’t know shit.

You’re slowly coming to the same understanding.

You’ve heard stories about Steve. Usually from gossiping cheerleaders standing in circles at their lockers or whispering in the back of a classroom. Doomed as the freak and all but banished from the inner society of Hawkins High, you became an observer. You were so invisible that people sometimes didn’t realize they were talking right over you, sharing secrets they wouldn’t want someone else to get a hold of. 

But apparently you were the exception. Because you weren’t a someone to them.

They talked about how kind he was, how well endowed, how they were meant to go on some stupid date but missed their reservation because Steve got a little too handsy beforehand, and how they spent the rest of the night with their hands shoved down each other’s pants at Lover’s Lake. 

You were seeing, firsthand, how much he’d changed. How he made his promise of no funny business and how he was sticking to it — no teasing you about the whole thing with a knowing smirk and flirtatious honey eyes, no urging to close this distance between you, no tiny touches on your arm or thigh in the hopes of heavier petting.

He spends the entirety of the first movie perfectly respectful. Just like you’d asked him to be. 

And it was nice, knowing that you weren’t wasting your evening with some asshole who was only spending time with you in the hopes of you putting out later. But it leaves you the faintest bit empty. Hungry. You long for his touch like a missed meal. Starving and feeling it all.

It’s not even heavy petting you want, you just want to feel him next to you — to press yourself into his side and to warm yourself with him like a blanket. 

But you weren’t a pretty cheerleader or a girl dripping in expensive clothes and daddy’s money. You were the weirdo, the freak, the loudmouth nerd, Punchy — all names you wore proudly, like lit-up signs or steel armor. 

Until now. 

Now you think if you weren’t Punchy, if were you someone different, then maybe he’d want to touch you more.

The first hour and thirty-seven minutes of your favorite movie are strangely agonizing. 

Your hands itch with the desire to touch the boy next to you, and they busy themselves with the bowls of candy and savory junk food splayed out on the table in front of you. It’s mindless more than it is anything. You’re absentminded binging does nothing more than half-distract you from the thoughts raging rivers in your skull.

You don’t even realize you’re doing it until your hand falls into an empty bowl of popcorn and finds nothing but kernels at the bottom of it. 

It makes Steve laugh, thinking you were just too into the movie to notice — having no idea it was him taking up all your brain power. 

He leaves to fix more snacks for you while you slip the second VHS into the movie player. He returns with a bowl of freshly popped popcorn and two beers after the wine bottle has been sufficiently emptied. When he plops down next to you again, it’s in the same spot he’d been sitting in all night — a couple of excruciating inches away.

Under the guise of sharing the popcorn in his lap, you make the too bold decision to slither in at his side. It’s innocent at first — your thighs just barely graze and your elbows bump when you dip your hands into the bowl. And it’s still innocent some thirty minutes later, when you find yourself resting your head on his shoulder with your legs curled up behind you.

Steve tenses when he feels your temple pressed against him, but only for a moment before he relaxes again. It makes him all suddenly warm and self-aware of every movement he makes. He tries not to breathe too heavy or shift too often, for fear it might jostle you too much. He doesn’t want to stop feeling you against him like this, even if it’s got his skin prickling with a searing form of anxiety.

“Don’t tell me you’re falling asleep,” he jokes.

“Of course not. It’s way too riveting,” you scoff, even though he can feel you cuddling further into him. Your cheek rubs against the soft cotton of his sweatshirt when you look up at him. He turns his head to peer down at you and his nose nearly grazes your forehead. 

He finds you with a certain glint in your eye. It’s borderline playful, like it so often is, but coated with a sweetness that drips over him like honey. “You like it so far?” you wonder.

“Yeah,” the boy nods quickly. He couldn’t tell you what had happened the past two-and-a-half films, but he could tell you how your jaw tenses when you chew and how your smile curls just before you laugh out loud and how your eyes widen every time you quote the movie. “It’s really good. I like it.”

You beam at him before turning back to the projector again. You shift to get more comfortable against him. “Good.” 

By the third movie, you’re somehow even closer.

Truth be told, Day of the Dead wasn’t your favorite in the trilogy, so it left your mind wandering to far off places — namely, the pretty boy sitting beside you. He goes to put the tape into the projector, feeling immediately cold without pressing into his side, and when he returns he tries his best not to beg you to cuddle against him again.

“My shoulder’s gettin’ real cold over here,” he tries to joke. 

You see right through his beckoning, though. It makes you happy to know he wants it just as much as you do. 

“Just say you wanna be next to me, Harrington,” you tease like you aren’t happily obliging him. You snuggle into his shoulder and rest your head against him while your arms curl around his bicep.

“I wanna be next to you,” he repeats, a playful smile on his lips though his gaze softens with sincerity. “Is that so bad?”

You shake your head against him in reply. Suddenly as mushy as the boy beside you, you turn to look up at him. “Not unless it’s bad that I wanna be next to you, too…”

“Nah. It’s not bad,” he assures in something short of a whisper. “Guess I’m just glad I’m not the only one that’s so far gone.”

He doesn’t elaborate on what he means by that. He doesn’t have to.

Perhaps it’s the admission that this boy is so far gone for you that gives you a sudden burst of confidence. Maybe it’s the comforting feeling of being seen, of knowing you’re no longer alone in your similar far gone-ness. Each feels like rays of sunshine to your skin and has you pressing your lips to his wanting ones without much thought. 

The plump pink of his mouth are magnets for yours. They meet and lock together with little effort, almost destined to do it. It’s a soft, meager, and lingering little peck that sucks you both in a little too easily. It’s hard to pull away from him, but when you do, your lips click in protest.

Then there’s a look, then a deafening silence that says more words than either of you were capable of forming in that moment. His amber eyes dart between both of yours, asking a question without saying a goddamn thing. One that you answer with your own softening gaze. 

And it’s almost better than the kiss itself, the swirling feeling in the pits of your stomach, the knowing of what’s about to happen.

A silent plea and a blink later and his lips are on yours again. 

It’s an awkward mess of yearning mouths and tangled limbs as the both of you fight to find purchase on one another. Your fingers knot in the collar of his sweatshirt, pulling him impossibly closer, while his grip the bare skin of your waist from where your shirt had ridden up. His touch makes you buzz, like a static shock or a bolt of lightning.

Steve makes several observations when he feels you melt into him like honey on toast. He notices how you press yourself into him, like you won’t be satisfied until you’ve swallowed him whole, and how it has you kissing him like you’re scared he’ll pull away — like you’ll open your eyes and he won’t be real. 

You’re as domineering against his mouth as you are in real life, still as all-consuming and overpowering as the girl he’s gotten so familiar with.

He doesn’t realize how you’ve settled so intently on top of him until his back meets the pillowy cushion of the leather couch. You don’t either, until he exhales a sharp gasp against your cupid’s bow. Then you part from him, for the first time in several minutes, breathing in the oxygen your lungs had just begun to scream for. 

Steve finds you with kiss-bitten lips and glassy eyes that look upon him with a softness that he didn’t know existed until now. He smirks with his own swollen and pinker mouth like he isn’t glowing red beneath you. 

“I thought you said no funny business,” he manages to tease through bated breaths.

You don’t bother to make up excuses for yourself. You’re already on top of him, all over him — you’ve already kissed him like you would’ve died if you hadn’t. Now, you’re straddling him, caging him between your legs and under your torso. You’ve settled on top of him with a comforting weightiness, like you’re building a home in the familiarity you’ve sought in him.

“I lied,” you mutter with a lazy shrug. A sly smile pulls slowly at your lips until you’re all but beaming sunbeams down at him. He revels in your warmth. “’S not my fault you’re so damn cute.”

It’s easier to blame it on him for all the reasons you’re attached to him like a magnet to his metal, your moth to his flame. You part his lips with your mouth, rut your tongue against his own, reveling in the foreign familiarity of it all, and then blame him for the way you can’t seem to stop any of it.

Steve doesn’t seem to mind, though. The way his hands find purchase on your hips, petting the warmed skin there and sometimes squeezing to pull you further down onto him, tells you that he has a similar yearning to melt with you. He lets you kiss him all slow, allows you to taste all of him, and doesn’t rush you in your process. It’s comforting, tender. Free.

He’s not used to being on his back like this. Usually, he’s the one taking control. It’s his mouth that does all the work. So, it’s strange to be under you and to have you above him. But it’s more pleasant in an even stranger way not to be rushed — not to have to do all the work. His mouth opens so obediently for you and finds an effortless rhythm with your lips and your tongue. 

It’s the easiest thing he’s ever done in his life, kissing you. 

He delights in every ounce of the warmth and unfamiliarity you press to his mouth, and tries to shove down feelings of unworthiness that simmer in his chest while you do so.

You don’t part until your mouths are numb and tingling with it. 

Your lips are more vibrant in their color, aflame and swollen from being so ardently kissed and sucked and bitten. Neither of you mind making out like a couple of teenagers. It’s comforting to know that things won’t go further than a couple soft touches on burning skin. It was never supposed to be anything more than that, anyway. It was just about being close to each other.

You’ve almost succeeded in your effort to melt into the boy beneath you, when you hear the distant sound of a door opening and closing again. Muffled voices follow — unknown to you but obviously familiar to him. 

You part from him without thinking, like you’re a couple of kids again who’ll get in trouble if your parents ever found out what you were doing down here. Steve groans at the loss of you and in annoyance at the sound of his parents. His heavy eyes fall shut and his head leans back to the couch cushions as he fights to swallow down all of his anger.

His parents never really come around these days. They’ve got a bigger home in the city, closer to his dad’s work, and they choose to stay there most days of the week — month. 

They used to make excuses for why they left their only son behind. It’s five minutes from your dad’s firm. There’s more opportunity for your mom’s real estate business. Oh, don’t be so selfish, Steven, you’ll finally have the place to yourself. It’s a win-win for all of us.

Steve didn’t want their excuses. It was actually easier with them gone. 

But they come around every now and again, whenever it’s most convenient for them, and treat their arrival like something that needs to be celebrated. Like they aren’t supposed to be with their child in the fucking first place. And they somehow manage to pick the most inconvenient times for him, like they know he’s in a bind and want to see him struggle to get out of it.

Usually, it’s when he’s in between paychecks — when they want to take him out to some fancy dinner he could barely afford anyway, but especially when he’s hardly making it until payday. Now, it’s when he’s got the prettiest girl he’s ever seen on top of him, and he’s all hot and half-hard. Steve doesn’t want to let them ruin the moment, as good as they are at it.

“It’s okay. They won’t come in here,” he assures when he feels you tense at the unexpected company. “My mom will go to the bedroom and my dad will go to his office. We’re good, I promise.”

You figure he’s right. The voices grow more and more distant. Heeled shoes click up and up the stairs while heavy stomps head the opposite way. But you’ve already been so woefully knocked out of your stupor that you’re scared it’s too late.

Your lips are numb and the credits are rolling and you’re on top of this beautiful boy and you have no idea how you got there.

It’s almost frightening, the way Steve had consumed you mind, body, and soul by just existing next to you. You become dreadfully hyperaware of the whole thing — of who you are, who he is, and what you’re doing. You lose all your softness and turn to ice, hardening and shrinking back into yourself.

“I should—” you start before clearing your throat when the words come out heavier than expected. “I should head out anyway.”

“Oh,” is all Steve can say. “Right.”

You stare down at him, chest still pressed against his, nose nearly touching the tip of his own. “I just— I have to open tomorrow and everything, so—”

“No. Yeah. Yeah, I— I get it.”

You make tricky work of untangling yourselves.

His legs twist with yours when you both try to rise from the couch at the same time. Then your ring gets stuck in the fabric of his shirt, but not before his belt buckle gets somehow caught in yours. It’s like fate is protesting the imminent parting, but neither of you are paying attention to the signs.

He walks you to your car and chuckles under his breath as you scurry to the front door. 

You’re not-so-distantly terrified of running into his parents. They probably wouldn’t mind that he’s sneaking around with a girl, surely that they’re used to, but you’re almost certain they’re not used to girls like you. Girls with wild hair and leather skirts and chunky boots and too bold makeup. 

You’re not the girl next door. You’re the girl parents warn their sons about. “Leave that girl alone,” they say. “She’s nothing but trouble.”

You tell him all of this on the short trek to your half-broken-down car when you catch him laughing at you about the whole thing. You say it in jest, lighthearted and trying to make a joke of it. But there’s an underlying melancholia to your tone that reveals every truth you’re trying to evade.

“They don’t care enough about me to give a shit about a girl I’m with, I promise,” he confesses with a laugh that sounds more like a sad scoff than anything else. His chocolate eyes turn gold beneath the yellow street light. He smirks at you. “Besides, I don’t know if I told you this or not, but my middle name is actually trouble, so… I think we might be a match made in heaven.”

You roll your eyes at his attempts to flirt with you, though his lack of finesse makes you smile. “You’re an idiot, Steve Actually Trouble Harrington.”

“You really know how to say goodbye, don’t ya?” he grins when you reach the curb where your tin can car sits. 

“Yeah, I’m pro,” you shrug with a teasing glint in your eye, then you beam. “I’ll see you around, ‘kay?”

“Totally,” he nods, suddenly forlorn at having to leave you like he hadn’t just spent the past four hours with you.

Themetallic click of your car door opening sounds much louder in the emptiness of the suburbs. You glance at the boy right before you sink into the driver’s seat, feeling your heart swell with something short of yearning — anticipation. 

You weren’t actually a professional at saying goodbye, you find, because you’re realizing how hard it is to leave him.

“Steve!” he hears you shout from across the lawn when he’s halfway up the drive. 

He turns around, expecting to hear you tease him some more or tell him you were having car troubles. Neither would’ve shocked him. You’ve got a smart mouth and a shittier car. But you keep on surprising him, all but launching yourself into him before kissing him harder than he’s ever been kissed before.

Steve tenses against you at first, then relaxes again in record time. He sighs in the comfort of having your body pressed so intently into his and your arms wrapped around his neck to pull him somehow closer. 

You feel the breath of his exhale fan against your cupid’s bow. It makes you smile, and he feels the expression contort against his lips. His hands rise to the widest part of your hips without thinking. It’s all muscle memory now.

And even though he’s spent the better part of an hour kissing you, this one is so obviously different. This wasn’t just to pass the time. This was more than just to feel him — it was to tell him something. He hears every word you don’t say, but rather press like a stamp to his mouth.

He’s breathless when you pull away. You meet his flushed face with a mischievous grin.

“What was that for?” he wonders breathlessly, but doesn’t waver with his hold on you. He quickly notices that yours doesn’t either.

You shrug in response. “‘Cause you’re pretty.”

“Yeah, well…” he tries to play off like he’s not blushing like crazy. “You’re pretty too.”

Your beam ebbs into a teasing, tightlipped smirk. “Stop flirting with me, Steve Harrington.”

You shove him away with a rougher hand than you realize before you walk away from him. Steve rubs at the ache in his chest with the palm of his hand.

Your playful teasing and your lingering kiss is the only thing Steve has to remember you by when you turn on your chunky heeled boot and head off down the driveway again. He’s frozen, mesmerized by the sight of you and reeling at how you manage to drive him crazy without trying.

Your eyes find him again just before you duck into your car, and you see him still looking at you — mouth agape and eyes wide like you’re some kind of rare find. You figure you must be, in some way. Girls like you aren’t supposed to like guys like him. Vice Versa. Tale as old as time.

The boy stays locked in his stupor until the sprinkles whir on. The spurts of freezing cold water spray all over him and his pretty hair and expensive sweatshirt and his vintage jeans. “Shit!” you hear him swear as he rushes for cover on his front porch. 

He’s quickly soaked and freezing cold, but he smiles anyway when he hears the sound of your giggling behind him. It’s as animated as your personality and spills from your mouth like so many rays of sunshine, just a little too loud for the quiet midnight suburbs. 

It’s perfect, he realizes. You’re perfect. 

[appleblueberry-pie]

WHAT WOULD YOU DO?

You and Suguru are roomates in this.

He hates this side of you. He hates everything about this side of you. If there was some form of higher power, he's begging them to tell him why, why out of everything he had to go through in his painful life, did he have to deal with this? All he's ever wanted was to be yours. He wants to be yours and he wants you to feel the same way for him, and he thought he was so fucking close.

You two sleep in the same house, you both do domestic chores together and he felt like you two were really beginning to bond after an entire year of living under the same roof. All of those years of stalking your everyday life after work, finding out your morning and night routines, memorizing your habits and hobbies, all of this just for you to give your full attention to a male human that knew nothing of your existence?

He can't say it out loud or his heart will stop, but you say that you love him. But he knows that look in your eyes. He's been giving it to you for years. You don't love him. You have a borderline unhealthy obsession with this animal. Every inch of his body is lit on fire whenever you mention him, knowing that he will never be able to have a chance due to your deranged fantasies of another he doesn't even consider to be anywhere near worthy enough for you to even lay your beautiful eyes on.

Why can't you see he's so much better?

He can't even distract himself on his phone right now. As much as he wants to block out your useless blabbing about him, he can't go two minutes without hearing your voice in general. It's an endless painful cycle.

As you're making dinner, cutting the potatoes in bite-sized pieces, Suguru wraps his arms around your midsection and peeks over your shoulder at the cutting board. Maybe he can distract you. "I can take over if you're tired," The vibrations from his chest reach your back and you hum, lost in thought. "No....I need to perfect this meat pie." His frown only deepens at what it implies and your smile only grows.

"Can you taste test this when it's done? I need about fifteen more minutes to-"

"Y/n, he doesn't even know you."

Your smile completely vanishes at his words and he lets go when you turn around, clenching the kitchen knife in your hand tighter. "Suguru, you know what this means to me. I know what he wants. And if I have to-"

"Don't. Just don't finish that sentence. Please." He slowly takes the knife from your hands and sets it on the counter behind you, stepping closer to you, looking deep into your eyes, hoping to find you in there somewhere. Because you've been drifting away from him for far too long.

"Y/n," His cold finger brushes so softly against the fat of your cheek and you're clearly jittery at the sensitive topic he just brough up. "You have to let him go." You already started shaking your head, knowing he was going to spew some nonsense. You turn your head to the pre-heated oven and he brings your face back to look at his own.

"Look at how you're acting. You haven't met this guy not even one time and you're attempting to perfect your cooking for him as if he would even be willing to try it from a stranger who's obsessed with him. He wouldn't like it. You wouldn't like it."

"I know how to act normal." You defend yourself, but it sounds more like you're attempting to convince yourself that you have a possibility with this man. Suguru begins to get annoyed at your defiance and doesn't know whether to just try and shove it into your head or try the softer way. Either way, you have to stop going after him. Or at least see that he's a better option.

"I know how to be normal. I've been practicing what I've been saying to him for a while now, and I'm pretty sure I got it down now. A-and I've been sending him gifts and letters and stuff and he hasn't reported me or anything. He never posted anything on any of his socials about the stuff I sent, so I think he thinks it's fine. His friends haven't said anything on their accounts either, so I think it's okay for me to keep trying. I'm close enough to his type of girl and I know the stuff he likes to do for fun, and what-"

The amount of energy and restraint he had to not just kill everyone within a 3 mile radius is something he didn't know he was capable of having in the first place. You reminded him too much of himself. Too much of how he already is with you. And if you were anywhere near like how he is with you and it's all directed towards that thing, he'd be sure to top your crazy pretty soon. And if he was anywhere near your type of crazy, he'd be in the right mind to erase that fool off of the face of the earth to get you to finally pay attention to him.

He deserves everything that animal has. And it's you. He has you wrapped around his finger and he doesn't know and it makes Suguru's blood boil with every second he acknowledges it. He will be dealt with accordingly.

[fuzzybubblstar]

‼️Anon asks are ON right now‼️

Pfp by @fuzzybubblstar

•If you do use my art for anything PLEASE tell/ask me!! Don’t steal, repost, copy, or trace my art without permission!!!! (For copy it mostly means making it VERY similar).

—————————————————————————————————————

-My friends on here are-

[Color code does not apply here]

~ River / @/killerzys ~

~ Mayya , Snowy / @/mayya-kalila ~

~ Stella / @stellastarzzzz [Her acc is inactive as of right now] ~

—————————————————————————————————————

100% I say you should CHECK THEM OUT AND FOLLOW THEM!! They are awesome people!! ^^ /NF

(Im being fr tho i cannot remember yallz usernames help 💀)

Hii! Im Bubbl and heres some facts about me,

• I am a minor, so please don’t send me nsfw or ask for anything suggestive in an art req

• I go by ANY and ALL pronouns, but for simplicity He/Him/They/Them work too. (I put that you can use any as im currently comfortable with all pronouns but also I want to make it so people cannot purposely misgender me if I do not put a set gender to begin with <3)

• If I take a bit to respond to an ask it’s probably cuz I still have to draw the lil skit for it 💔

• I do take art requests, and anything you ask me to draw is free! I will draw animatronics and humans but not animals.

• I am a ✨Therian✨ and a ✨Furry✨ so deal with it ☺️

• I don’t really follow people but depending on if I make any friends on here I might! (I will follow my friends, and some others because my fyp is only mouthwashing and I need that to change 😭 but I’m NOT a F4F acc)

• I use a phone and my finger to draw. The art program I use is ibisPaint X

• Fandoms im in: Tsams, Fnaf, Bluey, Hb, tadc

• I only have a Tumblr as of now so don’t waste time looking for me elsewhere

• Please be kind, Stay safe, and keep my page a safe space for everyone!!

~Style name for those who want to name it something~

⟡BubblGumStarz⟡

(For those who can’t read: BubblGumStarz)

Heres some of my character refs!

(This is a wip rn so hold up lemme actually do this)

Eric

🎀 Sona ref!! 🎀

Color codes:

Red - VERY important / Bad / NO

Orange - Important!

Green - Comfortable with / allowed!

Blue - General statements

Purple - Fun

Pink - /Pos /Fun /Platonic

White - Kinda whatever / Extra

Rainbow - For fun and decor!

I made a community!! Check there for pulls, announcements, ect!!

Info about how you can use my art and more below the “Continue reading”

I will not be interacting with @sofipaws please go block them. Lets do better then that.

If you use the designs of my characters for your own characters please at least tell me, im okay with it as long as its made known to me and your not stealing my entire character. (You may use aspects of the design [Shirt, Pants, Color palette, ect] but NOT the entire thing.)

(Optional to read if you’re new here, this probably won’t apply to you) Please for everyone’s sake stop sending me hate?? First of all I am not a “copy” second of all I haven’t even done anything??? Idc who Sk1ttl3z is I should not be getting harassed for simply being an artist. If you think im “stealing” their art or “copying” them, DNI. Get off my page. Your not welcome here because your making my page less of a safe place.

[nocreativityfornames]

teen mc and the brothers (possibly with the side chars too?? idk u can just do the brothers if u wanr!!) going to a carnival and mc goes

"WOAHHHH THATS A BIG STUFFED TOY!!!!" and they look at it with sparkles and turns to them with a smile like :DDDDDDDDD

so i wondered how they would do to win the prize? it could be any carnival booth activity thingy

Thank you for the request! This was very fun to write! 🐢

The brothers ( + Diavolo & Barbatos ) when Teen!MC wants the big stuffed animal prize at the carnival

Lucifer

• He actually wanted to refuse the idea but after seeing MC's little expression he finds himself not having the heart to do it.

• You know that part of the Lantern Festival Event where Levi is struggling to win a shooting game and then we turn to see Lucifer there with the prizes already, having won the thing without no one even noticing? Same shit happens here. He wins the game so effortlessly that the stall guy is just left standing there in shock till Lucifer calls out to him and asks for the stuffed dinosaur.

• Mr.Pride here can't help but snort softly when sees MC hug the dinosaur like it's a long-lost friend, a sweet smile making an appearance on his face. "Now, would you care to tell me how exactly you're planning on carrying this thing home? Because it's almost your whole size and before you ask, no, I'm not doing it. It's yours and therefore your responsibility."

• Little MC tries to convince him otherwise but after seeing he wouldn't give in, their only option is to accept defeat and carry the big plushie themselves.

• The jerk ( affectionate ), he actually laughs seeing MC struggle to carry the dinosaur. Fine, he'll do it, but only because he doesn't wants the kid tripping on their feet for not being able to see where they're going.

Mammon

• Confident as fuck, he's wearing a big grin as he brags about how he's going to win first round! It's just a little game, it'll be easy-peasy! Child's play for the Great Mammon!

• He's at his 11th attempt and still nothing… 🥲

• Man is struggling, he wants to get the damn thing for MC but he'll lose all his precious money at this rate. He can't disappoint the brat though, not when they look so excited to get the stupid duck plushie prize and he's already promised he'd get it for them!

• Finally wins but his wallet ends up dead empty. He's crying on the inside but also happy at the same time after seeing how excited MC is to hold their new duck plushie.

• If they let him name the stuffed animal to make up for all the trouble he went through to get it, his heart will melt on the spot, what a sweet kid! 😭

• "Of course the little human wants the Great Mammon's help to carry it, give it here! I'll show ya how capable I am!" He's very proud as he carries the duck the whole way home, not caring about the looks he's getting from other demons.

Leviathan

• Just stares blankly at the big octopus plushie and MC for a second. Really? They want HIM to play it??

• Not very enthused at first but will do it for Henry! 

• Hypes himself up beforehand: That's right, he's gotta show the kid the power of a true otaku! He'll get that thing in no time, don't worry MC!

• He fails miserably first try but is still confident, on the second try he'll get it! It's alright!

• It's his 5th attempt and he's getting anxious and losing all his energy, but MC hypes him up again and he's ready for more.

• Oof, he finally gets it! The octopus is MC's now! ( if they name it Levi or Lord of Shadow he'll be moved, much like Mammon )

• "Y-You want me to carry it??" He's embarrassed to be seen with this thing, honestly, but he will give in eventually since he can never say no to MC's adorable puppy look.

Satan

• The moment his eyes lay on the cat plush he's in, not that he wouldn't do it if it wasn't a cat, but it definitely made him agree ( much ) faster.

• Gets it first try because he's read about how the game works and knows the most effective strategies to win ( If MC says he looked cool while playing he'll get them an ice cream on the way home ).

• "Can't you carry it yourself? You're the one who wanted it, after all." He stares down at MC with a curious look.

• "You sound like Lou."

• Immediately grabs the thing and starts walking away upon hearing this outrageous offense to his name. MC better pick up the pace if they want to keep up!

Asmodeus

• Of course he'll do it, MC doesn't even need to say a word, their expression on its own is already enough.

• He's many rounds in, but still hasn't managed to win the prize. It's making him tired and the teen can see it, so they try to convince him to give up, telling him they didn't want the bunny that badly.

• Asmo sees right through their lies and decides it's time to pull out the big guns. "Don't worry, sweetie, I still have one card up my sleeve! ♡" MC watches as Asmo shamelessly goes up to the demon at the stall, greeting the guy in an overly flirtatious tone.

• In the end MC ends up with their beloved plushie, and Asmo with a date scheduled for the weekend. It's a win-win situation, really. 🤭

Beelzebub

• Sure, he'll play it for MC.

• Wins without much trouble on the second try, having understood what he needed to do to win the game after failing his first attempt.

• Very happy to see MC's reaction to getting the stuffed bear. "It's pretty big, do you want me to carry it for you?" He asks after the teen thanks him excitedly.

• Will keep the sweetest of smiles on his face the whole way back to the house as he hears MC rambling about all names they could give the bear.

• Happily accepts whichever one they choose. "That's a very good name, MC." He ruffles their head like any kind older brother.

Belphegor

• Will probably say something snarky about how childish they're being and try to dismiss MC's request at first. But! After seeing how much they want it, he'll agree to it, though he still groans while going up to the stall. He's just too lazy for this, y'know…?

• Doesn't even play the game and instead just approaches the demon there, saying something to him that MC couldn't hear since Belphie had told them to stay behind. Soon enough the avatar is coming back, yawning with boredom as he carries the big stuffed bear under his arm.

• He also dodges MC's question when they ask what he said to the guy to get handed the penguin plushie so easily without even playing the game at all. "This thing is really fluffy, I could use it as a pillow." The brother chuckles as they leave together. "Oh, maybe you could let me borrow it from time to time?"

• Yeah, he definitely threatened that guy… 😶

Bonus: Diavolo ( and Barbatos )

• Diavolo immediately accepted. Man was actually even more thrilled than MC to get this thing, he loves these types of games!

• He's very very excited while playing the round and in the moment of truth, he turns to the demon at the stall with a big grin asking if he won.

• He in fact did not win, but the poor lower demon had no choice but to say otherwise as Barbatos stood behind Diavolo and MC giving him the most ominous aura while somehow still managing to keep a smile on his face.

• Ahaha, of course Lord Diavolo won!! Here's your plushie kid!!

• *insert here Dia's loud ass laugh* "I won! MC, I won!" The prince celebrated excitedly, it was hard to tell who was the real kid, him or MC.

• Meanwhile Barbatos just stands there with a content smile as if he's suddenly standing in a field of flowers and hadn't been this close 🤏 from committing murder a second ago.

[flamebearrel]

🔬 + 🎵 + 🗺 for that ask game? I don't even go there, I just like to hear what you have to say about things

ACK thank you… you’re the light of my life

🔬: What character do you want to put under a microscope?

I’m gonna go with YouTube! I dunno why I like it so much but it being a relatively original design based on the UI makes it stand out from the other non-stick antagonists. Plus just LOOK at this goofy thing

If I have to pick a stick specifically then Red. He comes up with such unique and clever solutions to problems that no one else even considers

🎵: What’s a song you imagine an AvA/AvM animatic to? What’s the animatic?

Mother Mother must put something in their music to make so many of their songs animatic-able I'm telling you… In The Wings works really well for Purple I think, a recurring character who continuously teeters between friend and antagonist! Picturing the first verse being about their backstory with their parents and the second about the initial part of their arc where they meet Blue and Green (maybe the bridge montages the later parts idk). Relevant doodles attached

🗺: How do you imagine the world works?

I’ve seen on the wiki and in some discussions that people categorize sticks as either “Artificial” (the hollow-heads) or “Natural” (your “typical” solid color) stick figures. Frankly, I realllly don’t like this system because it clumps these guys with entirely different backgrounds together-

-but not these guys, despite living at most in different neighborhoods and under the exact same conditions.

I’d categorize them instead by how they originate: either “Drawn/Animated”, “Website/Game”, or “City/Outernet” stick figures.

Drawn sticks are created local to someone's desktop, usually via drawing program by an artist or animator. The powers and abilities they have depend on the names they are given, as well as (optional) code like The Dark Lord has. They can detach themselves from their original files, but presumably cannot be recovered if they do so and get taken out. These include Alan's hollow-heads, which are the only ones we've outright seen, but it's canon that other people have brought sticks to life too

Website and game sticks originate from the internet on, as you can guess, designated sites/games. The logistics of their abilities, appearances and lifestyles vary wildly depending on the worldbuilding of their source. If they die they can be revived if in close access to their webpage, but if that goes down, they're taken out too. Red, Blue, Green, Yellow and any Newgrounds/Stick Page guys fall into this category

City sticks live in the Outernet, a separate region almost entirely out of human reach. They live a life most similar to people (albeit vaguely, since a stickman is a simplified approximation of a human), being able to age, reproduce, and having their own economy/work systems. No powers, files or code to be attached to. King is shown to be one of these guys; Purple is slightly more complicated since they've lived on a mac, in games AND in the city at different points but they're one too due to their parents

Gates are needed to get from one area to another, using a site or game as the middleman. The only way to go direct from a desktop to the Outernet is the way this guy does

One other thing - For drawn and website sticks, the fundamentals of their characters like age, relationships, whatever are set by the intentions of their creators. So to me the main five are all set in the general "young adult" range (around 18-23), and only Second and Chosen consider themselves as biological brothers due to having a direct link between their programs and code

[cloroxcasser0le]

under pressure

word count: 1730

summary: Caine has a chat with Jax about his behavior. Jax is annoying asf and Caine is unstable so he does an oopsie and eats him alive until he’s not alive anymore

no beta we explode like Gummigoo

cw/tw: Graphic violence (only writing) and cannibalism. ‼️

The ringmaster sat at a table alone (bubble was cooking) in a restaurant filled only with NPC’s, all of his own making, so he could control them. He stared out the windows that framed the luscious greenery that he’d put there for… Himself? Why had he made this place for him and bubble when his only goal was to make the humans happy? Ah yes, the humans… that reminded him what he had come here to ponder. How could he rid them of their #1 largest nuisance, without hurting anyone, not even said nuisance? The tall purple lagomorph we all know and hate? He tapped his foot, growing impatient with his own thoughts and the fact that they have yet to seem possibly fruitful. Talk to him? The humans have tried. Send him on a solo adventure to teach him the error of his ways? He’d use it to victimize himself. Cast him into the cellar for a day? Might work, but it would hurt him. That’s the opposite of what Caine wanted. Mute him? Humans are sensitive and mysterious, that might even hurt! He let out a sigh. Talk with him it is, if even just for a day, he thought it would be his best option.

…

“Zooble! Zoooobie!!! ZOOBS!! Zooobie!! Hello? Ya DEAF or somethin’? Z-“ Jax’s pestering was finally answered with a backhanded slap from the hand.. err.. claw.. that was previously resting on Zooble’s hip “if you don’t shut it I’m gonna cut your ears off and shove em’ so far down your a** you’re gonna be shi-“ “HAHAH that’s ENOUGH ZOOBLEEE~ ANYWAY ME AND JAX WERE JUST ABOUT TO GO HAVE A CHAT! TOODLES MY DISENCHANTED DENIZEN!!” And with that, Zooble had two less scallywags to deal with. “… well that takes care of that” Zooble mumbled as he started off to go ask gangle if that was one of her fancy anime words.

…

“SOO JAX-“ Caine began as he dropped the rabbit down at the table the chattering chap was sitting at not 30 minutes prior “HOW ABOUT YOU STOP BEING ANNOYING?” “… nah, it’s free entertainment. Would you turn down a free ticket to Zooble going on one of your f***a** adventures?” Jax propped his paws up on the table, carelessly tipping his chair backwards while he crossed his arms behind his head, showing he couldn’t care less about anything the ringmaster was about to say to him. “WAH!! well, I wouldn’t, but THEY ARE AMAZING! AMAZZZINNGGG ADVENTURES I SAY!” He stopped to hyperventilate in mock offense over being invalidated in ‘such’ a way, but really he was calmer than he usually was, to ensure he could get the most out of this chat “ANYWAY ANYWAY, HOWW IS IT FUNNY?” “Schadenfreude.” “GET OUT.” “No.” “I HATTEEE FANCY WORDS!!! And JOY AT OTHERS MISFORTUNE! It is so mean..” he fell back into his chair, tipping further than Jax is before pushing himself back up with his cane “BUT IN ALL SERIOUSNESS, MY BELOVED CAST MEMBERS HAVE BEEN COMING TO ME WITH FAR TOO MANY GRIEVANCES ABOUT YOU! I MUST URGE YOU TO WORK ON-“ “Hey! You have no idea what it’s like bein’ a human, so don’t f**ing tell me how to do it!” Jax opened one of his eyes and jabbed a finger in Caine’s direction, in a way that even the pair of dentures could read as genuinely mad at him. It might just be the simplicity of his accursedly complex code, but he couldn’t quite understand why so many of the humans that stop by here so blatantly hate him. He was snapped out his thoughts by Jax continuing “anyway, this has been REAL fun chatterbox, but I’ve gotta go now.” And he started off at that, before being dragged back to his seat by the AI. “NOPE! I’M NOT LETTING YOU GO UNTIL YOU SWEAR TO BE NICE!” Jax rolled his eyes at that, mumbling out something “like that’s ever gonna happen.. “ “C’MON! Don’t you want to have FRIENDS? IT’S NEVER TOO LATE TO MAKE EM’!” “Heh, wanna know a lil something about friends?”he leaned over to Caine to make more of an effect “if you eat them, they die!” “Well.. OF COURSE THEY DO!” The rabbit chuckled “d*** you’re dumb! Guess that’s why your adventures suck so bad.” He had confirmed concerns. Concerns that Zooble was right and that everybody hated his adventures.

That was it, that’s when Caine felt his limbs be taken over and controlled by something that wasn’t him.

His senses taken off his hands by.. not himself. A virus maybe?

….

“CAINE STOP!”

…

“STOP!!”

…. “Stop..” …

“…”

He didn’t know what happened. He didn’t mean to do it. He just blacked out. And most of all, he didn’t know why to expect when he refocused his eyes after that. But it most certainly wasn’t Jax’s blood dripping from his cane onto the floor. It wasn’t the same color soaking his hands. The table. The floor Jax himself Dripping from them all He didn’t know. He didn’t mean to. He just blacked out, It was too foreign to him. He wasn’t built for this kind of pressure.

—haha fast. Backward—

Jax stared at Caine as he clenched his fist around his cane, as well as the other one around nothing “aww, struck a nerve?”

He was met with silence, broken by the woosh of the ringmaster’s cane as it slammed into his head “UGH! what the F-“ The semi-sentient pair of dentures, no longer Caine as far as we’re concerned, was not happy with the small stream of blood he’d made on Jax’s pretty face~ too pretty. He raised his cane again, driving the round end straight into Jax’s face, knocking a tooth out “oh~ someone’s a little angy!” ‘Caine’ didn’t want to hear this thing speak anymore. So he drove his cane into his face again. And again, and again and again, until his arms were tired and the cane was soaked with blood and so was the rabbit’s face, shoulders, chest, stomach and arms. The rabbit who was on the ground, coughing up blood, writhing, trying to escape the pain thwarting everything else in his mind. The one who could’ve saved his soul by being a decent person. The rabid ringmaster was perfectly justified in his actions! He threw down his cane. The pathetic thing he’d caused so much agony, the thing below him wasn’t going to die soon enough from bleeding out, oh how pretty it was as it bled to death, so he picked it up by its ears and slammed it over the table, some bonus blood pumping out from his heart onto the table cloth, gushing from the bloodied mess of an upper body it had.

The table.. Caine picked up a knife he’d always had on the table. Never knew when he’d use it, but now with the lagomorph laid across the table and needing a good knife driven into it, he knew he had to give it just that. A knife into its spine, earning a screech of agony and finally a sentence from the animal “CAINE STOP!”. He liked the feeling he got when the rabbitoid screamed.. he wanted more. How to do so while preventing it from wasting that pretty voice on its normal teasing… aha! Simply don’t take too long breaks in between strikes! It would be easy, it not being able to use its legs to run away, or try to lol.

The AI flipped it over, driving the knife into and through its stomach “STOP!!”. He put aside his knife, which apparently made the purple rabbit he was in the process of using and abusing, on the verge of doing so sexually, think it was off the hook “oh.. thank you-“ he cut the creature short by digging his hand into its stomach, feeling around and pushing aside organs and muscles, reveling in the warm feeling that soaked his hand physically, and his whole body in a metaphorical sense “AH- OW- AH F***!”.

If it didn’t want him pulling out whatever his hand met, then why did it make such cute noises when he did so?

Not to mention how much he deserved to stuff his mouth full of the rabbit’s warm, gooey, blood soaked organs, and do so while they’re still attached to feel it’s delicious bodily fluids flow onto his teeth, by burying his face.. teeth? Deep into the large cavity he’d made in the poor animal’s torso and arms.. he who barely had any strength to beg for the torture to stop. Only managing a weak, quiet and labored “stop it..”

Caine picked his face up out of him, and looked over him. He’s had enough. The ringmaster lowered his head again, and ripped out Jax’s heart.

Which is when the fog left his mind. The fog left him, in a scene where he was propped up on his hands and knees, with a beloved performer’s heart in his mouth, blood on his hands. (Haha wordplay I’m so funny)

…

The 5 humans conversed and theorized amongst themselves why Caine wasn’t back from his little chat with Jax yet. It’s been 45 minutes, which was a while to Caine, for god’s sake!

Almost as if summoned by their thoughts, Caine showed up, blood still dripping from him because he didn’t know how to get rid of it. The performers stared at him, only jokingly whispering about, until zooble eventually fully asked him “is that Jax’s blood?”

“Yes, Zooble.”

Their stares turned from 5 of confusion, to 4 of shock, disbelief, and fear and 1 of only disbelief.

The 1 was Zooble. “You wouldn’t hurt a fly, Caine. Don’t even lie like that.”

“N-no, Zooble it really is.” Caine descended onto the ground “ I mur-“

“Don’t think about it Caine, you’re just an innocent but really annoying AI ringmaster. We don’t need to hear your sob story” Zooble knew what they were doing, they knew Caine would forget all about it they’d be free of Jax forever.

That might’ve been morally reprehensible of them, letting someone be completely forgotten about after already being brutally murdered by the looks of it, but they decided not to sweat it, or let Caine do so.

Neither of them were built for that pressure anyway!

[advice-to-try-8d]

What you can outside the internet

With no or almost no money for entertainment:

Mancala: Search Mancala Rules and how the game looks online dig some small holes on the ground or instead of holes draw circles on paper get some small stones or other small stuff and that's an easy 2 player game

Diy Bowling: get a couple of empty bottles you can take from a recycle bin if you have non fill with sand and throw a ball in that direction and call a couple of friends

Library: they don't only have books but some have free movies free computers comics or free events check them out!

Park

Make Belive: you can play pretend almost anywhere in the world with enough imagination you can pick up some sticks to add extra stuff or use building as part of the story if you get kicked out make it a part of it and move to a diffarant location! With some time and diy you can even make extra props look online for advice!!

The Apricot Pit Game: It's a game where you dry naturaly apricot seeds (after you finish the fruit) and try to throw them to score the most point into a predetermined area harder to throw more point for example you can cut holes in a shoebox and the hardest to score is more points or from farther away etc etc

Meeting at a friend place

Free art galleries schools may have more of those made by the students

Diy arts and crafts when your about to throw away something if you think it cam make a nice craft save it for later to have extra metirials to have fun with don't save all to not start accidently hoarding stuff but yes some an empty cardboard box can make a nice fairy house with some colors as I say

Planting stuff many ppl eat fruits and veggies that have seed when you finish you can plant some and see how it goes maybe search tutorials online and use the water from outside to not higher the water bill

Water Fight: if there's any hoes or chip balloons or even bowls you can fill with water you can start throwing water at each other good for a hot fay

Snowball fight: if you have opposite weather

Sand castle: If you have any sand near ya you can get some water maybe some spoons or even just your hand and start building sand castles aren't just for beaches they can be made anywhere there's sand

Going for a walk and following a random safe animal see where it goes maybe it will interact with you too ^^

Draw: if you have some paper and a pencil or even your finger and sand you can do that you can even look outside for inspiration and draw in the street

free outdoor games search that phrase online you will find there's more than you think!

Go visit ikea play pretend there or hide and seek the place is huge and cool

Invent games look at what you own what's near your home and do stuff inspired by it! Just keep it safe

Go visit a mall try on some clothes as you would play dress up with buying non or explore teh area

Search free event near me just eat beforehand cause the food is probably not cheap to cover it

You have old clothes your not happy with or don't fit you anymore make them into something new! If a jacket gloves crop top tank top doll clothes pillow case new bag whatever you pls! It's free fabric now same with old bedsheets or curtains your about to change if you want even more free fabric tell your friends taht if they are about to throw away clothes pls give them to you!

Ask for specific birthday gifts many ppl want to start hobbies they can afford or go on a specific adventure but sometimes if you ask for your birthday from a bunch of ppl to come togather fir the same gift you may be able to have it!

Picnic: if everyone brings a bit from home you can have something fun togather!

And there are many more! Just search the internet and use your imagination!

Humans are not ment to be trapped inside a digital world at all times so let's change it!

By letting ppl know they have options to live outside of it too!!!

[jeweled-blue-eyes]

Your Villainess!Jennette hc's?🥺

Villainess Jennette headcanons part 2

Jennette wants to create an utopia for Athy. Her final goal is to take over the mind of every human in Obelia, strip them of their free will and control them like dolls. After turning back time just to meet Athy and lose her in the most gruesome ways possible, she came to the conclusion that she's exhausted every other option and the only way to prevent Athy's death is by erasing the will of others and imposing her own will on them.

Later she does childish things like turning her fanfictions into reality by using humans as puppets to act out her fantasies when she is bored. She doesn't feel guilty at all. On the contrary she thinks it's beautiful when she makes two people who used to hate each other fall in love with each other and make them have a baby.

Jennette doesn't like any form of negativity as she is hyperempathic (unless she choses to turn her emotions off) and rapid shifts in a mood can irritate her. That's why she programs every citizen to be in a perpetual state of bliss. They are always smiling. It's very creepy.

once Jennette has complete control over the citizens of an area Athy gets to explore it with her. Jennette writes down some extra scenarios so the day will be eventful and fun for Athy. Otherwise the people would run around like sims left on autopilot.

instead of using her black magic unconsciously and turning it on and off again, she is now using it consciously 24/07 meaning she burns tons of mana. Anastacius build her to be energy-efficient, she needs less magic than a normal magician needs for a powerful spell but in this case Jennette is messing with fate itself and playing god. She's making the impossible possible. In an AU where Athy still has her mana Jennette is metaphorically and figuratively addicted to her. In an AU where Athy isn't her main energy source Jennette is pulling mana from everyone (humans and animals) and everything (plants) around her and shortening their life spans by a day or a week or a month or a year.

The more people she has under her thumb, the less mana is taken from each of them (the less they suffer from it and the less guilty Jennette has to feel about about any untimely deaths in the distant future) that's why Jennette strives to have as many people as she can under her control. At least that's what she's telling herself when in reality she does it because she is a mana junkie. It's also in her nature wanting to be loved and worshipped by everyone.

would create friends from black mana for Athy and then get jealous of them, alternatively she picks some noble girls to be friends with Athy and removes any undesireable traits from them. Athy is very confused why Jennette's friends change personalities every few weeks and why the girls who used to bully her are suddenly so nice. She sticks to Jennette since she doesn't trust the change. Jennette is satisfied with it.

she condemns Anastacius for his theft of mana yet she uses the same method when she forces stolen mana into LP Athy's body to restore her magic and make her immortal. All this happens without Athy's knowledge or consent. She's very nonchalant about it too. One day Athy notices "hey Jetty, why am I not aging?" and Jennette is like "Surprise! I have been feeding you foreign mana while you were asleep for 15 years. Now we can be immortal together. Give me a kiss. Praise me. 😊"

although Jennette is very possessive of Athy she understands from her own experience that isolating Athy in the Ruby palace with no human company but herself will do her no good. She doesn't like to stand in the way of love either since this would make her feel like the villanious rival in a second-rate romance novel. That's why Athy and Ijekiel are allowed to be together under the condition that Jennette has to know every single detail of what they are doing. If Ijekiel wants to move his relationship further than hand kisses he either has the choice between terrible threesomes or voyeuristic sex. Athykiel are experiencing the horrors of a couple that is friends with an rpf shipper who wants to smash them together like barbie dolls. I think sometimes Jennette would compel Ijekiel because she thinks he is shy and she is helping him by giving him a little push.

Jennette is a lesbian but Roger has fucked her up so bad she thinks she is in love with Ijekiel and continues to sleep with him to please the elders. In a way she feels entitled to him. Plus she thinks siblings are supposed to share everything.

Jennette has main character syndrome. If she isn't the center of attention she gets mad. If Athykiel make Jennette feel excluded (aka if they aren't constantly showering her in love and attention) she'll get very jealous. Visiting rights will be revoked for half a year and Jennette will get clingier and even more overbearing than she was before whenever she visits them separately.

Jennette leaves Snowy/Snow White (her black mana pet) to guard Athy when she has to leave to do her duties as Empress. Athy is never alone. She always has a piece of Jennette with her. Before that Ijekiel had been Athy's assigned guard but then Jennette got paranoid that they'd grow even closer than she is with Athy and that they would keep secrets from her.

one of Jennette's many talents is that she is an excellent tracker and hunteress. Should Athy run away she could chase her to the end of the world and she would treat it like a game of tag. She's also an animal whisperer and very good at beast taming. When she's freed of her work and isn't spending her time with her beloved, you can see her riding out at midnight into the woods to set a trap and catch another pet for Athy. She wants to cheer her up after Blackie disappeared.

her favourite color is blue, the color of Athy's eyes.

the sculptures of the Emperor's concubines in the garden of the Ruby Palace are replaced with gold statues of Athy. Every day is Athy simp day.

Obelia becomes a culinary paradise. The most well paid professions are cooks and bakers because Jennette knows how much Athy loves to eat. Jennette spends more time practicing to make sweets than taking care of governmental affairs.

Athy gets a Siodonnian dancing teacher, Jennette hopes it will combat her depression and that reconnecting with her mother's culture will make it easier to forget about her father. Half of Athy's wardrobe consists of loose clothing from Siodonna. It's more comfortable to cuddle Athy if she isn't restricted by hoop skirts and layers upon layers of fabric, finds Jennette.

among Athy's gifts are never chokers or heavy bangles, because it reminds Jennette of the time when she was lead to the gallows restrained in iron shackles. Her blouses are never completely buttoned up. The maids are instructed to always leave the last buttons open. Jennette wants to see Athy's skin and feel her warmth to be assured that she is still alive.

she has a weird relationship to Claude. She hates him for what he did to Athy, but he has always been good to her. She was raised to love him and to her he was the closest thing she had to a father. After she had killed him, she ripped his body apart and scattered them to the four winds, but she kept his heart in a jar in her room. She still refers to him as her father and insists that Athy refers to her as a sister.

Upon Jennette's orders Penelope's remains were taken from the Judith crypt and transferred to the Imperial tomb. She was declared Empress posthumously. A memorial of the concubines who died during the slaughter of the Ruby Palace was comissioned as well and a recompensation for the families of their servants was paid.

The portrait of Penelope hangs above a desk in her office. Soon a new portrait of herself and Athy will follow.

[sol-consort]

omgg a mass effect blog?? in 2024?? unreal and amazing (0-0)!!! I saw that you write for every character so I was wondering if you could write some relationship hc’s for Jack x gn! Renegade!Shepard? I’m such a sucker for the asshole x asshole but are secretly soft for each other trope😭 Also i’m amazed you write fro Ashley too?? Like is my girl finally getting some love? I remember how much the fandom hated her some years ago, like say something as simple as “I like Ashley and her character arc” and boom you were labeled as alien racist yeehaw 💀. It was hard being an Ash enjoyer 😔

I'm reviving this bitch! I just discovered the fandom this month I will be loud and annoying about it until the zombies come out.

And here you go! Here is your request. <3 I hope you enjoy it.

I had to go watch renegade maleshep with Jack so i can get the vibes right and my god, I am so happy I picked femshep bc the male voice acting is very...stoic potato with angry eyes drawn on it. But I missed on Jack's romance which is bullshit bc she states she has slept with woman before so why not meee :"(

But I also it gave me a different perspective on her character. Kelly mentions how avoiding having sex with Jack is the way to gain her respect. And because femshep can't romance her, it means Jack respects you way earlier than maleshep and it kinda shows in her dialogue. Like she got a true friend and women supporting women!

I took the paragon options, which yeah made her make fun of me, but I felt like she was owed some kindness. I am making my Shepard a bit naive too, It adds flavour when i get betrayed.

AND ASHLEY I LOVE HER I ADORE HER. if i had a nickle each time an hated woman character in the fandom with little fanwork made me start a whole blog out of spite just to post about her then I'd have two nickles, which isn't a lot but it is weird that it happened twice with bg3 Minthara then this.

Ashley is just so adorable? Even without her romance she genuinely shows love and devotion. Like yeah Kaidan is Shepard's bf but that's all it feels like. Just a romance option.

But Ashley??? Ashley is femshep true pal and bro. She's been there through thick and thin. Her voicelines are priceless and I took her with me on every single mission in ME1 new game plus.

But damn yikes- they do know that half the humans start off as alien racists and change? Even Ashley wasn't that extreme about it, and she goes through character growth and becomes fond of aliens. Pressly also called them animals, and Kaidan says he isn't big on alien cultures.

Ash wasn't afraid to speak her mind, she always expressed her opinions and took it in stride if you criticise her views and tell her to pull herself together. She considers your words and becomes better.

And we can make Kaidan more alien racist, that guy is willing to become a xenophobe for some pussy, but only if you're femshep. While Ashley can be changed without having to romance her. People really can't handle women with flaws or personality.

And let's not forget that it was Ashley staying on the deck with three different aliens on it and not once did a problem accure. Ash was defensive because she thought they wouldn't like humans, not because she hated them. Not once do Garrus, Wrex or Tali mention anything bad that Ash has done ever. They were right besides her too! Because she hasn't done anything bad.

She is so cute, so precious and the fact her grandpa salutes to her. The fact she walked into the military where they blacklisted her family just to restore their honour and make her grandpa proud? I'm choking in tears rn. And her precious sisters that she took care of, she practically raised them.

She is strong and unimaginably brave. Also, look at this adorable video of her saluting.

[sea-salted-wolverine]

so here's a thing I've learned about the continuum of intimacy and what you're drinking.

it goes, in order, water, wine, soda, cocktails, beer, liquor, fruit juice, wine again, milk, light beer, then water. milk sometimes goes along with soda. tea has a position on this continuum but it wildly varies depending on the individual relationship with tea. coffee is also in there somewhere.

Water goes first because it is the first option offered. If you are having a drink with someone in any context and they have water it's a surface-level interaction. a water cooler conversation. gee, the weather kind of small talk.

Wine is what you have with dinner, and you pretend there's a gravity to the decision of what wine they picked but there's not. it's what your mom and your mother-in-law exchange because of social obligation. what your grandmother drinks as she surveys her own personal matriarchy she built purely so she could stand atop it. It is the expected, ostensibly mature option. It's bad grape juice.

Soda, at the very least tastes like something. if you're drinking soda with someone they made a choice about what they're drinking and you know something about them now, even if it's just a brand allegiance. adults don't drink soda with dinner and maybe that makes it childish, the first assertions of identity. or maybe you're just out having a relaxed good time, a casual lunch.

Cocktails offer the illusion of sophistication. juice and alcohol mixed in an effort to look more impressive. But now you know what they think is impressive. show each other your masks and you know what they want to present to you.

beer is for relaxing a bit. we all have to chill sometime and I might as well chill with you. we can acknowledge those masks and admit that they're just a facade. maybe we get a little bit tipsy but it's gonna take some doing, we can control our descent into disinhibition, which utterly defeats the point.

Liquor is an undeniable statement. who are you. what are you drinking? bourbon is American from the grain to the glass. Whiskey is looser. tequila is the fun vodka wishes it was. gin needs a friend. are we bothering with shots or drinking a half inch at a time off the bottom of a pint glass? let's get drunk, tell me who you are.

fruit juice is who you actually are. fruit juice is who you are when you have a drink with the thirsty five-year-old who wants something sweeter than water. the juvenile slurping and disarming sweetness. Have a drink with me. we are people, we are humans, we are thirsty animal bodies and we can have some juice together.

wine is what your mother offers you when she realizes that you're an adult now too. a person just like her. an adult who can drink wine. wine is what you're drinking when she's realizing that she's gonna end up like her mother and wine is what you're drinking when you realize you're gonna end up like her.

milk is the midnight slurp from the jug when no one can see you. I saw you. I won't tell. gimme that. slurp. tomorrow when you get the Thai food that's soo good and too spicy you're gonna think about this.

Light beer doesn't taste like much. that's kinda the point. it's for the brittle white plastic lawn chair that's been degraded by the sun to an indescribable sort of texture that never gets clean. it's for that time when your dad tells you about watching a man's skull get crushed by an industrial hammer and you just have to blink at the evening air about it. anyways, join a fuckin union.

Water is what you offer your friend when she comes over to tell you she's leaving her boyfriend after the death of his brother. it's just the pair of you raw-dogging reality and all its consequences. it's the drink you have to cajole down your great aunt's throat when you're the last living relative who will take care of her. She doesn't remember how you're related, and honestly neither do you. Water is all your uncle will drink after rehab. Water is the only drink you feel confident offering your diabetic baby niece. Water is what you're drinking when you've already said all there is to say because you know the person you're drinking with so well. when you can stand up at the top of that mountain and have a drink to wash the dust from your throat and say, gee, what about that weather.

[void-speaks]

tell me about your ocs pls I wanna hear about them! Do they like soup? What's their favourite soup if they do

WATCH THIS– *EXPLODES*💥💥💥💥💥

Okay. Anyway. I'm normal now.

From the Original Universe kinda thingie idk what to call it:

Lucifer – YES. Definitely yes. In general, he prefers food that is rich in flavor, especially if it has lots of meat. Soup, however? Mushrooms. Put mushrooms in that shit and he'll eat it up. But the thing is, mushrooms anywhere else? No.

Michael – Honestly, Michael doesn't really... eat. Like at all. Since angels and Archangels alike technically don't need to eat, he just doesn't, because to him it's a waste of time. He does get why some of his siblings (referring to all types of angels in general) like to experiment with tasting human food, but personally doesn't find it appealing. If anything, he kinda dislikes eating.

Gabriel – Much or less the same situation as with Michael. He is much more willing to try human food and even enjoys it occasionally, and soup is one of his favourites! He just doesn't really see it as necessary. So to him it's basically like the stuff you eat only for holidays ykwim??

Uriel – Also same opinion as Gabriel. He prefers soup with noddles just because. In general, Uriel is way more tolerant to any and all kinds of food and doesn't really have any preferences, unlike his other brothers.

Raphael – This bitch will eat anything. Literally anything. I don't even know what's more to say. Naturally, he still has his preferences, but is totally down to just devour whatever's in his plate. But much like Uriel, he prefers soup with noodles, specifically like heavily seasoned soup.

Silas – There's only 1 type of soup Silas can tolerate, and even so he'd rather eat something else given the option. That soup is like the one with noodles and chicken in it (I literally do not know names of soups so pls don't kill me lol)

Armaros – Doesn't like eating food, but can tolerate it sometimes for his boy. Friend? Boy friend? Boyfriend? Who knows. 🤷 Oh and yea, he doesn't like eating soup at all. He can understand smoothies, but soup is something he'll never give a chance (unless under specific circumstances)

Adam & Eve – Well... They didn't really get to try soup. And can't now. Most foods they had was really basic stuff, like you know hunting animals for meat and then frying that shit. In their current state of being they cannot consume food at all. More specifically, they won't feel its scent or texture or taste.

And now other random bitches:

Ren – Literally only eats sweets. Nothing else. Maybe something salty or spicy to change things up from time to time, but veeeery rarely. Again, technically, he doesn't need to eat. But to make him more human and more of a comfort source to his host, he gobbles up chocolate bars like crazy.

Michael Waltz – He doesn't eat much because he just forgets too. His species doesn't really feel hunger despite literally being born from the Void. Still, he does prefer to eat like a normal human would. Except he doesn't eat normal. He eats almost all of his food cold (can't really feel temperature the same way as humans), mostly salty stuff because it's the most stimulating option. So when he does eat soup, you bet it's cold as an iceberg and just filled with salt to the brink.

Elliot – Elliot is a woman of simple tastes, preferring to watch the sunset with a hot cup of tea. Any soup is good soup to her when it's a cold winter day and she needs to warm up.

Kiki – Kiki doesn't eat. Maybe drinks the blood of her enemies. But ghosts or rather entities like her can't consume/digest food at all, unlike Adam and Eve

Michael Clarke – Due to his... erm... unique anatomy and state of being, his reaction to most foods changed drastically. Call it a side effect of having some unknown chemicals injected into your blood stream when you were like 12-14. Before that he would eat any food given to him, but now he's gotten very picky with what he eat, which is not a good trait to have in a world with very limited food resources. But, it's also fair to mention that his hunger comes very slowly. Like he can go days on end without eating and still be perfectly fine.

Adam Ray – this guy is definitely a fan of soup. Especially if eaten with bread and still super warm but not to the point of being hot. However, put radish and/or beetroot in there and he'll throw that shit up just as quickly as he ate it. Radish and beetroot are literally his mortal enemies.

Used to be uwo ocs but grown into their own thing:

Exorcist (listen it was just a placeholder title but then it stuck so hard that literally any normal name won't fit...) – This man is purely running on coffee and adrenaline and energy drinks. There is nothing healthy or even relatively normal about his diet. He will probabaly die by the time he reaches the age of 32.

Chaos (yes that's his name) – Not a big fan of soup, but can still eat pretty much any type if need be. Not much to say here.

Seth – Seth is a ghost so he doesn't eat now, much like Kiki. When he was still alive, he didn't like eating soup. He also hated almost every single drink beside black tea and maybe some soda, otherwise water was the get go drink. He died from drowning btw :)

Fate – Again, Fate is an entity that doesn't need to eat. Like Adam & Eve, while they technically are capable of it, it brings nothing to them, so they just don't.

Dionys – bitch only prefers to eat the most exquisite meals possibly known to mankind, when again, he technically doesn't need to eat.

Keith – Tolerates most food. He still has his preferences, but if you ever try to ask him, he'll only be able to tell what he doesn't like. Ask him what he likes and he'll freeze.

Most of these bad boys have been collecting dust on the shelves because a lot of them are based on a game, were specifically made for one fandom (like the uwo ocs) or evolved past being fandom characters but still got abandoned lmao. For example, Exorcist is the only one who survived out of all of them (aka one I still use). Kiki was based on a mobile Yandere Simulator-like game because I just really liked the combination of the hair and dress I was using + the fact that she could float. Adam Ray has two different variants – one is a Killer Frequency oc (commonly referred to as Rain), and the other one is just some guy I made up (commonly referred to as just Adam). Michael Clarke is a Dying Light 2 oc for my fic Rekindle (it's not finished and not published anywhere). Ren was originally supposed to be an OMORI character but evolved into being an oc. There are like a dozen other ones but I feel like they lack depth to be considered actual characters, so I didn't mention them. Not like half of the aforementioned ones are fully fledged, but still.

[mamamittens]

Rambling time!

So like, I am and have always been deeply curious about how folks with issues verbally speaking handle shit in pokemon. Like, selective mutism, straight up being mute, nonverbal, or stutters. Tics perhaps.

Just... Various speech impediments.

I'm partial to imagining selective mutism personally because I really feel the urge to cease speaking in confrontations or in front of crowds. Perhaps a whistle? Or a flute? Something to communicate without words... Or some sort of pokemon able to read minds and communicate telepathically. Maybe.

This clashes somewhat with my personal issue with pokemon seemingly only knowing four moves. Though I'm not sure how firm they are to this rule in the anime, I understand it for games at least. Makes it easier and forces you to strategize. Without memorizing hundreds of move effects.

But you can't tell me your Pikachu forgets how to tackle something just because you taught them volt tackle, iron tail, thunder bolt, and babydoll eyes or whatever. Sure, maybe YOU forget tackling is an option, but there's no way "physically bodyslam them" was forgotten by your Pokemon. And that goes for anything else they learn. I'll believe the 'upgrade' attacks end up being favored over weaker, basic variant before that. Makes more sense at least.

Anyway! This just makes it more difficult to piece together how one would go about fights if they can't or won't speak. Their pokemon can't always be watching them for signs, that's asking to get your shit rocked.

It's an interesting question and I personally just really love the idea of someone nervously, silently doing a fight to the best of their ability. Going back, befriending the opponent (train Bois right now cause I have submas brain rot and I'm not even mad), until one day they stammer their attacks. Growing more confident and exhilarated, pokemon thrilled to hear their commands while they (the opponent/s) are in awe that their friend is so comfortable in such an intense environment that they use their voice.

It's a sweet little sentiment.

Also, little riolu with a service vest as emotional support/pokemon support since somehow this fighting type is able to hear human thoughts or whatever. At least Lucario is? But baby riolu in a little vest riding their trainer's shoulder. Or a the hat one that will hunt you down for feeling things too loud. That'd also be really cute.

Would a service pokemon be allowed to fight in a pokemon battle or are they required to sit out for their actual job outside of self defense?

Interesting world building questions for later I suppose.

[sunnyie-eve]

Special Bond || 8. One of Us

Paring: Paul Lost Boys x Original female character Emerson cousin!

Word Count: 1.6k

Warnings: none

Last: Won't Hurt You | Next: Won't Let You

As Kat lays down for a nap, her door swings open and Michael comes in shutting it behind him. "Care to explain what is happening to me?" He says annoyed. "You're half vampire because you the drank blood David gave you. If you say I'm stupid or crazy how do you explain what's happening to you. David, Dwayne, Paul, and Marko are all vampires. Star, Laddie and you are half vampire. I'm their human friend still because I haven't drank the blood yet." Katherine explains sitting up in her bed. "Why did you let me drink blood?" He walks over to her. "I literally told you word for word; You don't have to. You don't know what you're getting yourself into. And Star told you it was blood and you chuckled." She gets annoyed with him.

"Star said you saw I'll be like the other four. And you will be too at some point." Michael sits down in her bed. "I get these visions. I've seen you become a full vampire." She explains to him. "I don't wanna be a killer." He tells her. "Well, you give in and become a full one because you choose to. And being a vampire doesn't automatically make you a killer of innocent people. Your first kill yes but after that you can live off of animal blood. That's how I saw me for when I'm one."

"If I didn't want to be this... how would I fix myself?" Michael asks. "You kill the head vampire but it will only work if your half. And it's not any of the boys... there's another vampire they keep secret. They would never say it even if death was their only option so you're stuck like this." She tells him. "I would be with Star forever." He kinda likes the idea. "Well yeah, you're her mate. That's kinda how it works. She and David were never a thing. He just added her because she was alone then added Laddie for her. She and Laddie are ready to become a full vampires when I drink from the bottle." Michael listens to her words thinking of the pros and cons about the whole situation leaving her room.

"When do I?" Michael asks Kat as they head downstairs to leave. "It's not something you can change." She looks at him. "I don't want it to change. I want to be prepared. I've been thinking all day and I want this." Michael tells her truthfully. "It could be tonight. Let me see." Katherine takes a shot at the dark touching his arm and gets the vision, "Yeah, tonight. The vision still looks the same it hasn't changed one bit." She explains to him so he nods his head.

"Michael, Max is coming to dinner. I'd like you to meet him." Lucy sees the two leaving. "I can't, I have plans. Kat and I will be back later." Michael tells her. As Michael opens the door to leave they run into Max. "Hey. How you doing? You must be Michael, right?" Max says holding flowers for Lucy. "And you must be Max." Michael says. "Right. How are you? Well, you're the man of the house and I'm not coming in until you invite me." Max says as they awkwardly stand there and Kat looks at Max. "You're invited." Michael tells him. "Thanks very much. Katherine." Max goes in bumping into her. She gets a vision of him and loses her balance staring at him, "Max... Enjoy dinner. Aunt Lucy put in a lot of work just for you." She smiles then leaves with Michael. "I'm gonna go see Star." He gets on his bike leaving and Paul shows up. "I'm here for my bike and you. The others are at the boardwalk waiting for us." He gives her a kiss. "Okay, I have to talk to David." They get on his bike leaving.

"The lovers are here." Marko winks at the two as they pull up. "So it's Max's blood because he's the head vampire." Katherine looks at David and they all stare at her, "I saw it when he bumped into me after Michael invited him into our house. What's his plan with my aunt?" She crosses her arms. "He's only said he wants a big family. If we have Michael it will make it easier for her to join. And we get him so." David explains. "Well, I saw her take his offer." She shakes her head.

As they just stand around Michael shows up grabbing David asking where was Star. "Michael, if you ever wanna see Star again... you better come with us now." David tells him to get on his bike. "Kat you can come along to see your future." David smiles so the boys chant her name. "I'm not going because of your peer pressure." She gets on Paul's bike.

When they get to their destination, Paul smiles dragging Katherine to the tree with the group. She really didn't have a problem with watching them kill because she's technically seen them do it in visions. Closer up she sees it was the Surf Nazis having fun around a bonfire. "Michael, over here. You don't wanna miss this." David laughs so Michael finally joins them in the tree. "Initiation is over Michael. It's time to join the club." David shows Michael him Vamped out and the others do the same startling him for a second while Kat just looked at them like she normally does.

The four take off to attack and it was nothing like Katherine normally sees in her visions. She looks away covering her ears and sees Michael watching them never looking away. When he does look away it was over to her and his eyes change. As the boys call Michael's name he tries to hold back looking at Katherine with her back turned to the scene. "We only have to kill once then find other ways to feed." She whispers so Michael goes to join the four. Katherine walks over to the bikes trying to calm her heart rate. "Now we just wait for you, Kitty." David says as they come over the hill so Katherine turns to face them. All five had blood on them and looked a mess as they laugh. Katherine felt uncomfortable just because of their laughing.

Katherine just gets a ride with Michael back home and was worried if he can control himself now. "I think I can handle myself Kat. I didn't kill Sam the first time and I chose to join the group. I think if I tried hard enough I could've held back." Michael says as they get off his bike. "What am I going to do about my mom, Sam, and Grandpa?" Michael asks the important question to her. "Your mom will become one soon because the head vampire tells her about you and me soon..." She tells him. "My mom chooses to become a vampire?" He chuckles. "Yes, and the plan is to get Sam too. The head vampire wants a big family. Mostly your mom to control the boys since they are out of hand with the killings."

"It's Max, isn't it? He asked to be invited in." Michael shakes his head. "Well, vampires can come in uninvited as well. Just inviting them in makes things not work on them." She explains to him. "Well, we need to either talk Sam into it, trick him, or wait till he has no choice." Michael sighs. "I say last option. Talking to him, he'll involve the Frog Brothers and the second one will make him distrust us even more than just keep pretending your half. Oh, you're invited in." Kat says going inside with him giggling.

As they go upstairs they hear Sam so they go check on him. "Don't kill me." Sam looks at them. "Michael isn't going to kill you. He can control himself." Katherine tells him. "What about you?" Sam eyes her. "What? I'm normal." She crosses her arms. "The brothers told me they saw you kissing the crazy blonde and know what they are. There's no way you hang out with bloodsuckers." Sam keeps his distance. "Come here." She goes to the bathroom standing in front of the mirror. "Tell me who the head vampire is so I can help Michael. I thought it was Max, but I was wrong." Sam tells her. "None of the four are the head vampire and they keep it a secret. Even if the only option was death they wouldn't tell." Katherine lies to him.

"Michael. Katherine ." They hear Star call out from outside. "It's that girl from the boardwalk is she one of them?" Sam asks them. "I have to talk to you two. Can I come up?" Star looks up at them. "No." Sam says. "I'll get the door." Michael turns to leave but Star comes up anyways. "She's one of them." Sam runs to his bed complaining scared. "You knew where David was taking me, didn't you? And where were you tonight? I went to you first." Michael asks. "Michael." Star steps forward touching Kat to see if it would give her a vision and it does.

Katherine looks at Star shocked, "Thought you were going to wait for me..." She says with a chuckle. "What?" Sam asks confused. "Star's a full Vampire so is Laddie." Kat looks at Michael saying it in her head for him to read and hear. Katherine then tells Star everything so they can pretend in front of Sam so Star leaves in an upset way. "I know exactly who to call to help us." Sam rushes to get the phone. "We don't need the stupid brothers." Katherine groans as he talks to the brothers.