#i also have had this banner made for like a year 🫡

[venusiangguk]

Wait is Art of trying the second part of the art of yearning pt.1

yeah soz 😅

[simphogforyourdom]

Attention I want to let people know there’s going to be a new update on this blog after I had this conversation with a Tumblr user named T4Tsurge

“Okay the first account got blocked because after I told you I was 20, you tried to bring up age of consent and "sometimes 20 year olds date teenagers and I'm a teen and I don't mind", which was inappropriate and made me uncomfortable because me saying "hey, I'm not attracted to teenagers" should not invite counter arguments. Me saying I'm 20 should've been the end of the argument ”

She said the second reason she blocked in this account was because I posted NSFW art of Silver whom to which They believe is 14 .This isn’t really true as The Characters ages where removed it Sonic Frontiers which leads me to believe Mobias Evolve like Pokemon and Made me Realize this person thought I was some kind of WeirdoCreep (not the type that’s attracted to Teenagers in Perverted Way as I’m 16 years old) and That There could supposedly be Those kinds of Creeps looking to this blog so they could see NSFW art OFFF underaged characters

So this now a blog where Tweens and teens are cab see Art of Characters Our age whom we simp for I didn’t like how this Blog wasn’t anything original so it’s JUST made for “ adolescent folk and Characters” now .Silver the Hedgehog will still be seen on this blog if you still interpret him as a teen but I’m more convinced Modians don’t age like humans do 👑👁️🫦👁️

https://www.tumblr.com/shadow-thecutie-ailenhog 💖

Also The shadow Blog is being changed to being about Shadow and Black Arms as a Family Ship

and the Toris Blog to a Sl8tCore Lesbian Blog since I started to think my original concept for it was too creepy 🫥🫡🫢🤐😶🙂‍↔️

https://www.tumblr.com/toristhejacka-is-at-cutiehut So to be changed into a SFW version of the Sl8tcore aesthetic (Don’t mind that and what was written on this banner be Editing it I was trying to cope lots NSFW artists I saw on twitter and thought it was really cool and try for myself I won’t do that cause it’s dangerous for me and other people my age Sorry 😞

RULES:

1. Only fan art The characters or Art of Y/N(Your Name AKA you)ship with the characters 👑 👑

🪐☠️

2. Only Simps:people whom simp for the

👁️🫦👁️characters

3. Crushers,(people who have a crush on Them)🐸🌺🌸🥭

4. CharaTSexyies, (Art of the characters in various Aesthetics and communities, such as Thriens depending on the species and story)🫶🏽🤌🏽👩🏿‍🦰🧔🏽‍♀️

5. PET-res , (If your crush is anthropmal/ anthropomorphic animal , Art of Y/N is petting them on the head ) 🦅🦉🐺🐺🐗🐤🦋🪲🪰🐛🐞🪱🐝🐍🦗🐢🐡🐋🐬🐠🦬

6. Wholesome Fantasy fulfillment Art (SFW cause this blog is for Tweens and Teens)based around or involving the characters 🥸💋💄👄🧛🏿🧝🏽‍♀️🧜🏽‍♂️

NO GROOMERS OR PREDATORS ALOUD!!!!! 🤕😵‍💫🤧🤮🤢😡

7. This blog is 11-17+ (teenagers only 💖💩👾🤖👁️🫦👁️)

8. We’re just here giving this characters ALL the LOVE they need🥰🤘���

9. I accept fanart requests 🎭🎨👾🕹️🦔

10. Do be shy to share whom your crush is 🥰

[curiositydooropened]

Heyy amanda i looove your writing, your stories are so well thought-out and interesting. Could you maybe if you like the idea write about steve in s2, nancy is breaking up w him but he can't seem to stop thinking about reader. Hope you like the idea and get some inspiration❤️❤️🫡🥺

Hello, sweets! First of all, this message was sooo lovely! Thank you so much! As I reached the end of this little drabble, I worried I didn’t exactly fulfill your prompt, but I hope you still enjoy it! Thanks again for requesting!!!

Under the Sea

Steve is dreading prom season until he spots you, the one who’s always been there.

Wordcount: 1794

Pairing: Steve Harrington x reader

Warnings: tooth rotting fluff

---

Prom Season, that fortuitous time of year where normally orange and green concrete halls were painted in pastels and streamers. Christmas baubles dangling from the ceiling in strings with PTSD triggering Christmas lights that had Steve wishing his bat were in his backpack and not just the trunk of his car. A large Under the Sea banner denoted dates and locations - tickets could be purchased in the cafeteria during lunch for $5 a piece. Ballots for royalty could be found at the ticket tables.

Royalty. Steve blanched, tightening the strap of his backpack over one shoulder. Funny how the title of King could be swiped from a kid in a few short months. Prom King was all Steve ever wanted, all he ever strived to be. Now, he didn’t even have the title of championship winning point guard. Now, he didn’t even have the title of boyfriend. Now, the only regal title Steve Harrington could answer to was “World’s Best Babysitter”, and although he enjoyed ruffling the hair of those little shits, he wished more people than Mrs. Henderson would give a shit.

Maybe he’d have lunch on the field today, or in the woods. The cafeteria would be crawling with giddy girls and their dates, and the parking lot still stung of Nancy and Tommy and Carol always cat-called from nearby.

The bell rang indicating the start of fourth period, and Steve dipped sideways down a long hallway toward staff offices and the shining sun of midday in Spring.

Sneakers squeaking against linoleum, he grit his teeth past the coos and giggles of Martha Rhinestad and Emily Henberry, both of whom had turned him down for a date last weekend thanks to Dustin’s Pearl-filled grin-and-growl combo. Steve offered a friendly wave in passing, and both girls giggled once more, louder, brushing past him in a waft of bubblegum and hairspray. He turned to watch them walk away, lamenting the curves of their Levi’s and the fall of his reign.

When he turned back to the door outside, he ran smack into a figure who let out a remarkable yelp. Steve jumped, nearly smacking the intruder with his backpack until he saw you with hands held in surrender, hair tossed and a look of surprise etched across your features.

“Oh my God, Steve. Hi. Sorry, I wasn’t paying attention.”

“Oh, hi. No, I’m sorry.” Steve scratched the back of his throat and made room for you to pass.

You. You who taught him how to tie his shoes in kindergarten, you who put a band-aid on his chin in the fourth grade when he cut it on the playground, you who took an attack-kiss with grace at Carol’s 14th birthday party even though it was practically assault.

“Where are you headed?” You smiled, glancing over your shoulder at the windowed door, which somehow felt less beckoning in your presence.

“Lunch,” he explained. “You?”

You tapped the tin box in your hand, which he hadn’t noticed until now. “Also lunch. I’m selling prom tickets.”

“Ah,” he nodded, that familiar ache filling his chest.

“Yeah, we better sell out this year, this Under the Sea theme is way more expensive than A Night to Remember, but student council insisted prom be different than last year’s, which I guess they’re right, but it’d be way less work for the planning committee. As if we aren’t getting ready for college.” You we’re rambling, face ducked into the tin box now clamped to your chest, and Steve felt a smile etch itself on his own face, a weak feeling he was getting to used to having again. “You’re going, right?”

He blinked back at you, the sweet and innocent look in your eye matched with the guilt of him not planning to go. He swallowed, remembered he had a couple bucks in his wallet. He could spare it for a prom ticket he wouldn’t use. “Oh yeah, of course. Thanks for reminding me.” It was worth it to see you smile.

“Walk with me?” You offered, and he spun for a third time to head beside you back down the hallway to the hell of pastel that was the cafeteria.

You and Steve fell into step, sneakers squeaking and change jingling against the tin in your arms, and he risked a glance at your face. You’d really grown up, pretty young thing turned into a young woman overnight. You’d mentioned college, talked like you were all grown up. You felt different from the kid that encouraged him to switch from a trike to a bicycle, and suddenly he realized you’d spent your lives together.

“So, how’ve you been? How’re classes this year?” You asked, catching his stare.

Steve sighed, dug his thumb between his bag strap and his shoulder. “Barely scraping by. Did you know chemistry sucks?”

You laughed, a sound he’d kill to pull from you again, and nodded. “Chemistry does suck. I took it last year.”

“Overachiever,” he mumbled under his breath, and he swelled when you caught the playful tone, elbowing his ribs.

“I was going to offer to help,” you continued. The joke of a past tense was not lost on him.

“Yeah?”

You shrugged. “You know I’m always here for you, Steve.”

There was something in your tone that had his stomach flipping, had him remembering the band-aid and the tiny moment in the dark of Tina’s yard during her Halloween party, after Nancy called him “bullshit” where you asked if he needed to talk. He thought of the moment during Thanksgiving break, where he tossed cranberry sauce into his grocery basket, and you asked about his double black eyes. You’d been the first person to approach him then, the first to talk to him for two whole weeks since he showed back up to school.

Before he had a chance to respond, the cafeteria door swung open to a cacophony of screaming teenagers and tossed paper airplanes. Lines formed with orange trays and slopped, well, slop. The nerds sat with the nerds, and Steve narrowly avoided the polo-wearing table of whispers as you approached the long line growing up to a double card table. Sissy Patterson sat behind it, shooting you a wave of relief upon your approach.

“See you up there,” you smiled and shimmied your way to pass out change and stack the growing wad of bills into your tin box. Your hair was shiny, and your smile bright.

“Steve?” The voice sent chills up his spine, and with a warm face, he turned to sweet, beautiful Nancy Wheeler.

“Hey, Nance,” he sighed, shoulders slumped in defeat. As though he thought he could hide in a room full of potential snipers.

“Hey,” she was awkward behind him, soft corners of her lips pinched in a signature Nancy polite smile. Far different from yours.

“You getting prom tickets?” He asked, though he’d prefer to not know the answer.

“Oh yeah. I mean, I’m serving punch and Jonathan’s taking photos so we don’t really need them, but Mom insisted. You know, for her scrapbook.”

Steve nodded. The famous Wheeler scrapbook, perpetually forgotten for gossipy phone lines and romance novels and Chardonnay. There were a fair few Polaroids of him taken for that scrapbook, including a handful from junior prom the year before.

“What about you? Are you getting prom tickets?” Steve didn’t think she meant it as surprised as it sounded, but it hurt nonetheless.

“Yup.” He popped the ‘p’ and took a step up to the wobbly table.

“Steve,” Sissy popped her bubblegum, shot him a glare. He’d stood her up for a date freshman year. He’d never be forgiven.

“Sissy,” he smiled. He fished into his pocket for cash and found ten dollars. And with Nancy looming behind him and you grinning up at him with those sparkly eyes, he blurted out. “Two tickets please.” More confident than he thought.

He noticed something in you then, the slightest slump of your shoulders, a lick of your lips as your smile softened. You took his cash and placed it neatly into the tin, and Sissy shoved two tickets into his hand.

“Here’s the royalty ballot,” you passed over a clipboard, avoiding his gaze, and his throat tightened in terrified anticipation.

“Oh that’s okay,” he shrugged it off as Nancy stepped up beside him to order her own tickets. When he glanced over, she was glancing between the two of you, eyebrows pinched.

“Steve,” you pressed. “Take the ballot. Trust me.” Your smile was soft, shy, but that sparkle went back into your eyes and sent something through him.

He took the clipboard and pen from your dainty fingers and glanced over the pastel artwork until he saw the neatly printed columns for King, Queen, Princes, and Princesses. Under the King category, he found Steve Harrington. It was the first name on the list. Right where he always wanted it to belong. He glanced over the clipboard where you were watching with an eager gaze, and he couldn’t help but smile, wide.

He checked his name and a few others, and before he even tried to look at Nancy’s votes over her shoulder, he took another step of bravery and said your name, actually yelled it a little. People at a nearby table stopped talking.

“Steve,” you chuckled, flashing a polite smile at those around.

“Do you have a date to prom?”

Again, that beautiful smile of yours faded, dwindled, diminished. You shook your head and avoided his gaze, taking change from the person elbowing past Nancy who seemed to be having an impossible time with her ballot.

“Great,” Steve grinned. “Would you go to prom with me?”

The lid to the tin box slammed closed. Nancy dropped her pen, it rolled between them. “What?”

“I’m asking you to be my prom date. I’ll get a cummerbund to match your dress, and I’ll buy you a corsage, and I’ll take you to dinner beforehand. Do you like Enzo’s?”

“Yes,” you were fighting off that smile now.

“Is that a yes to Enzo or to being my date?”

“Both, I guess.” You laughed, that pretty sound. He’d managed to pull it from you again.

“Perfect. Can we talk about it more after school?”

You shrugged, nodded, but he could tell you were pleased. You, who kissed his chin better, you who maybe enjoyed that kiss at Carol’s birthday, you who hooked your hand into his elbow after his breakup and told him everything was going to be alright.

He winked and turned around before he could catch the look of shock on Nancy’s face because honestly, he couldn’t even focus on Nancy when that smile played on his mind. He floated out of the cafeteria like a jellyfish, soft and light and hopeful.