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adoredontour · 5 years ago

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all the fics i read and loved this month, in order from longest to shortest!

For As Long As I Can Remember (It’s Been December) by green_feelings @greenfeelings 128k

After recovering from a severe accident that causes Harry to lose his memory of three years, he moves to London to start his life over as a star chef. Little does he know that when he falls in love with Louis at first sight, it’s not the first time they meet.

Featuring an unintentional game of hot and cold, Harry chasing memories that won’t come back, Louis burying himself in work to try and forget what he can’t forget, Liam being torn between two of his best friends, Zayn as a moral compass and Niall saving the day with good music and brutal honesty.

got the sunshine on my shoulders by hattalove 124k

five years ago, harry styles left his tiny home town to make it big as a recording artist. he didn't have much regard for what he left behind - a life, a family, and a husband, who woke up one morning to find him gone.

now, harry has everything he could possibly want: he's rich, famous, and adored by everyone he meets, including his boyfriend. but when said boyfriend proposes to him, he's forced to face the uncomfortable facts of his past - and louis, who's spent the last five years returning every set of divorce papers harry sent him.

(or, an au based on the movie sweet home alabama.)

Tired Tired Sea by MediaWhore 113k

As a B&B owner on the most remote of all the British Isles, Louis Tomlinson is used to spending the coldest half of the year in complete isolation, with his dog and the sea as sole companions. Until, one day, a mysterious stranger on a quest to rebuild himself rents a room for the winter.

nothing worsens, nothing grows by soldouthaz @soldouthaz 102k

and he sits there quietly with harry’s headphones in his ears while his eyes begin to close, totally unaware that he’s listening to the soundtrack of harry falling in love with him.

or, another roadtrip au featuring harry as the misunderstood hipster, louis as the bitter psych major, liam as the one with the secret boyfriend, and niall as the one who just wants everyone to be happy.

& more under the cut!

Follow Your Arrow by bitter_leaf @bitter-leaf 78k

Harry was the golden child, blessed in every way; Niall was the charming miscreant, a bad boy; Liam was the future-son-in-law parents of daughters dreamt of, and Zayn was the kid parents wished was their son. But Louis, Harry thought, Louis was the special one.

It's senior year and everything is about to change.

somethin’ bout you by missandrogyny @missandrogyny 59k

Of all the government agents in the world, Louis had to go and land the most charming one.

The Recklessness in Water by LarryOn @larryonsimon 50k

Louis Tomlinson is miserable. He's stuck on a family vacation at a lake cabin in New Hampshire when all he wants to do is bemoan his sorry existence and wallow in his sweatpants. As if the humidity and mosquitos weren't bad enough, he becomes the singular target of an obnoxious lifeguard named Harry.

Missed Connection by littlelouishiccups @littlelouishiccups 39k

Soulmate AU where your soulmate’s first words to you are tattooed on your skin.

With a boring and generic soul mark like Hi, Harry is pessimistic he’ll ever find his soulmate or that he’ll realize it when he meets them. But he could always have it worse, like his new friend Louis who had a drunken one night stand with his soulmate a few years ago and woke up the next morning alone.

before we knew by falsegoodnight @risthebrave 39k

“C’mon Lou,” says Zayn after a moment, He sounds even more exasperated than before. Louis sort of has a knack for exasperating people, especially people like Zayn who aren’t usually bothered by his brattiness. “Can’t you give this guy a chance? Harry Styles? Aren’t you curious about him at all?”

Despite his best efforts, Louis still flinches at the name. He really shouldn’t be so affected after all these years. He’s seen the name printed down the curve of his waist in obnoxiously and uncommonly large loopy letters every single day since his sixteenth birthday eight years ago. He’s very familiar with the name Harry Styles.

It sounds pretentious and Louis hates it.

He hates everything about his supposed soulmate.

He hates his large handwriting that stands out like a claim on his skin whenever he’s walking around shirtless. He hates his pretentious name. And now he hates his supposed curls and green eyes and dimples.

Or Louis has been skeptical of soulmates for years so it seems like fate when he finally bumps into the owner of the obnoxiously large signature printed into his skin since age sixteen: Harry Styles, a human rights attorney who is firmly against soulmates.

what’s mine is yours to make your own by soldouthaz @soldouthaz 39k

sometimes, the closest harry ever feels to home is louis. it's their shared hotel rooms on tour, their shoes toed off in the doorway next to each other, jackets hung on the same post.

it's everything he doesn't notice until it's been taken away from him.

And Touch Me Like You Never by runaway_train @runaway-train-works 35k

“Lets move back a bit yeah?” Harry clutches at his waist with a free hand and tugs him to move through the crowd until they are almost at the back of the group and settles them both beside the far wall. “There. That better?”

Louis looks up at him, as if he’s a tad dazed. “Uh, yeah, thanks. Can’t really see much from back here either though.”

Harry lifts a shoulder and grins at him, placing a hand on the wall behind Louis to pen him in. “We’ll just have to create our own fireworks then, won’t we?” He says it jokingly with a wink, and Louis laughs but he seems nervous. He must know that Harry is harmlessly flirting. Harry flirts with everyone after all, including Louis.

“Do you think this is a good idea Haz?” Louis asks quietly, almost too quietly in the clamour of the room, his head bowed as he scuffs his shoe on the carpet.

“Stop over thinking it Lou, it’s one kiss. What’s the worst that could happen?”

The one where Harry and Louis agree to be each other's New Year's kiss and it ends up being a lot more than they bargained for.

last blues for bloody knuckles by creamcoffeelou @2ofusmp4

Styles was a name everyone knew. It had evolved into something of a fairy tale, a far away problem that normal people didn’t have to deal with. Louis never thought he’d find himself falling in love with him. When he finds himself pregnant with Harry’s child, he knows he has to leave the life, and Harry, behind. For her sake.

He never expected Harry to show back up on his doorstep five years later.

A mob au.

like it’s a game by soldouthaz @soldouthaz 32k

there is little harry hates more than truth or dare.

and louis.

gathered on wings by Brooklyn_Babylon @twopoppies 32k

As Harry lay by Louis’ side, covered in sweat and come, he knew he should feel ugly, messy, ruined, like the life he’d left behind. But something about the way Louis looked at him, the way his eyes stared at him with want and awe, made Harry wonder if he’d ever feel this beautiful again.

Harry rolled his eyes at himself for his momentary romantic dreaminess. As good as this was, he knew it was nothing more than sex. He literally couldn’t afford to fall for just anyone, no matter how fit they were.

-----

What Harry Styles wanted was to be taken seriously as an artist. What he needed was a new sugar daddy to pave the way. Louis Tomlinson is an artist who isn’t what Harry is looking for. Somehow he still manages to turn Harry's world upside down.

let’s make a thing of cream and stars by missandrogyny @missandrogyny 24k

It doesn't explain why he's lying on the floor, with Harry Styles, of all people, planking on top of him.

As in, seventeenth most influential person in London, pop-star-turned-rock-star Harry Styles. The same Harry Styles who has had countless model girlfriends, left, right and centre. Also the same Harry Styles who has been the subject of Louis' wet dreams since he was about eighteen.

(Or: Louis is a Radio 1 DJ and Harry is a pop-star he interviews.)

Strong Enough by jacaranda_bloom @jacaranda-bloom 21k

The biggest obstacle is still in place, firmly ensconced as a roadblock, cemented in their path and preventing them from moving forward. The thing is, it’s not actually Harry that’s the problem. Harry, for all his faults, for whatever decisions he’s made to lead to him to where he is in his life right now, would move heaven and earth and all that’s in between to help Liam, to support him. No. It’s Louis. He’s the one that has to reach out. He’s the one that has to let go and get the fuck over himself. It’s been five years for Christ's sake. It’s time to move on and suck it up.

“So…” Liam starts, and Louis instantly knows where this is going. He’s actually glad that it’s Liam that drags the subject out from the shadows and into the world. Louis turns to face him, mirroring his position on the couch and nods, ready for him to continue. “Have you spoken to Harry recently?”

Five years after Vertigo goes on hiatus, the band comes back together for a benefit concert. Can Louis and Harry work through their complicated past, or are some wounds too deep to be healed?

you flower, you feast by stylinsoncity @aliensingucci 18k

He's King of the Underworld, but don't assume Louis has it all. He could stand for some excitement in his monotonous, eternal life and maybe, even.....a soulmate.

(Despite not having a soul.)

And along came "Harry".

The Orchards of Jessop by jaerie @jaerie 15k

At age 40, there isn’t much excitement in widower Louis Tomlinson’s life, but wasn’t that the reason he’d moved to Jessop Island in the first place? Back then he hadn’t thought retiring before he reached 30 and moving to the countryside would mean that he’d be doing it alone. Now, just to fill the space, he welcomes lodgers into his home that pass through working as temporary labourers at the orchards just up the road. They’ve all been young adults eager to start lives of their own after one last summer of freedom.

All of them have been much the same, coming and going from Louis’ house with just enough social interaction to keep the house from feeling so empty. But when a global pandemic shuts down the world, being quarantined with a quiet twenty year old who keeps to himself might turn out to be an awkward arrangement. By the time the restrictions have been lifted, their relationship has developed into something Louis isn’t quite ready to give up. With their twenty year age difference, Louis has to be prepared for the inevitable outcome when the reality shatters the private world they’ve been living in. He’s not sure he’ll be able to let it go.

if i had the chance, the things i would do to you by missandrogyny @missandrogyny 14k

Niall sighs. He leans forward, pushing his mug of tea carefully to the side, before bracing his elbows on the table, chin in his hands. It makes him look like some sort of bottle-blonde cherub. "You have quite the fanbase, Harry. I'm not denying that. And you've done a good job of popping out every once in a while in the past two years, just to make sure you're still talked about. But that's all you've done, and I'm not satisfied. I want more." He blinks at Harry. "Don't you want more?"

(Or: AU where Harry and Louis compete in the Lip Sync Battle)

One Way Road To Something Better by femstyles @femstyles 12k

Four years ago when Louis and Harry moved in together, Louis promised Anne that he’d take care of Harry no matter what. But things don’t always go as planned, and sometimes risky choices have to be made.

Inspired by Don't Let It Break Your Heart

baby look what you’ve done to me by ballsdeepinjesus 9k

The next day kind of turns everything upside down, though. Louis gets another lingerie catalogue addressed to Harry. He’s about to toss it when he sees a personalized note stuck to the front; it thanks Harry for his previous purchases and offers him a complimentary six-month subscription to their magazine free of charge. It’s a unisex lingerie catalogue. Lingerie specifically designed to allow for the existence of penises, apparently, judging from the bulging cocks covered in lace that he sees as he flips through the pages. His breath catches in his throat at the thought of a faceless Harry -- mysterious, odd Harry -- dressed up in his purchases, whatever they may be.

He thinks he needs a lie down, to be honest.

[louis moves into harry's old flat. harry gets a lot of mail.]

golden hearts (light their way back down) by fairytalelights @lookslikefairytale 4k

“..So, top or bottom?” Louis asks when Harry tunes back in. And... what? Harry knew he should have been paying more attention but he has no idea how in the hell Louis explaining camp rules to him could have led to discussing sexual preferences this quickly. He must have smiled and nodded at the wrong place one too many times.

or, the one where Harry’s first day as a summer camp counsellor doesn’t go quite as planned.

Still, Somehow, You’re Perfect Now by FallingLikeThis @fallinglikethis 3k

Harry Styles is Captain of the footie team and all-around popular dude-bro-pal to the entire senior class. He’s kind to everyone from what Louis Tomlinson can tell, and kinder still when he thinks no one is looking. Of course, Louis has been looking. Ever since he transferred schools at the beginning of the year and noticed Harry for the first time, it’s been hard to look away.

All My Friends Are Here by abrighteryellow

He is about to decline, though. If he has to sit through forced merriment, the least he can do is avoid participation at all costs. He is about to, but then the guy with the microphone is looking out into the crowd. He’s saying things, too — about rules and prizes and team names. At least, Louis assumes so. He can’t really hear him over the ringing in his ears.

“Alright, mate. I’ll play.”

A pub quiz has invaded Louis’s favorite dive. Fortunately, it comes with a charming host.

Front porch and one more kiss by Femstyles @femstyles <1k

A goodnight kiss on a front porch

BONUS: (rereads)

Unbelievers by isthatyoularry @isthatyoularry 136k

It’s Louis’ senior year, and he’s dead set on doing it right. However, along with his pair of cleats, a healthy dose of sarcasm and his ridiculous best friend, he’s also got a complicated family, a terrifyingly uncertain future, and a mortal enemy making his life just that much worse. Mortal enemies “with benefits” was not exactly the plan.

Or: The one where Louis and Harry definitely aren’t friends, and football is everything.

Close to Nowhere by angelichl @angelichl 34k

“I will kill you in your sleep,” Louis threatened as he quickly stepped out of his jeans.

“I don’t think that would work very well baby, seeing as you talk to dead people all the time.”

“I’ll kill you in your sleep and ignore your ghost. And don’t call me that.”

Louis and Harry are psychics who kind of hate each other. They go to Tennessee to investigate a haunting.

led by your beating heart by missandrogyny @missandrogyny 24k

Nick leans over. "Oh," he says, his voice smug. "Who is that?"

Harry just blinks at his phone. "Um," he manages to stammer out.

"Who's that, Harry?" Nick asks again, but this time he raises his eyebrows and smirks. Harry knows Nick is just teasing, and that he's not really looking for new Harry Styles gossip, but, um. He might have found something. Accidentally.

Harry opens his mouth to speak, but all that comes out is another 'um'. He really needs to work on translating his thoughts into words. But then it probably wouldn't be any helpful right now, would it? His mind is as blank as a newly erased etch-a-sketch.

"Oh," Nick says again, this time gleefully, seemingly having picked up on Harry's distress. "Looks like we've got a story here! Are you going to call or delete her number?"

Her number. So Nick thinks it's a girl. Well, Harry can't blame him: 'Lou' is kind of an androgynous nickname. His stylist's name is Lou.

But this Lou, well, Louis, he's kind of, really, really not a girl. He's really pretty though, which, is something.

(Or: AU where Harry's in One Direction, Louis isn't, and they reconnect over a game of 'Call or Delete'.)

#monthly fic rec #rec #28th appreciation #fic rec

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toenialls · 5 years ago

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hi ! here’s a fic rec i made bc what better time to read fics than a quarantine. i’ve ordered them below from longest to shortest. :)

these are all the fics i’ve read/re-read this quarantine

hiding place by alivingfire @alivingfire (365k)

louis never wanted a soulmate, didn’t really care for the whole Bonding thing at all, really. enter harry styles, who’s wanted to be Bonded for as long as he could remember. with one fateful meeting in a x factor bathroom, louis gets a dagger on his arm and the realization that just because harry is his soulmate doesn’t mean it’s mutual.

from the x factor house to madison square garden, from the fountain studios stage to stadiums across the world, louis has to learn to love without losing himself completely, because someday his best friend will Bond to someone and replace louis as the center of his universe. meanwhile, harry begins to think that maybe fate doesn’t actually know what it’s doing after all, because his other half has clearly been right in front of him the whole time. all he has to do now is convince louis to give them a chance.

or, the canon compliant harry and louis love story from the very beginning, where the only difference is that the love between them is literally written on their skin, and there’s only so much they can hide.

relief next to me by dolce_piccante @haydolce (333k)

au- what happens when a baker and a graphic designer meet via a very specific craigslist post? fate, friendship, food, and maybe more.

young & beautiful by velvetoscar @mizzwilde (227k)

louis, to his horror, attends an elitist university in which the name zayn malik means something, niall horan doesn’t stop talking, there are pianos everywhere, and harry styles, only son o a drug-addled, clinically insane ex-rocker, has a perfect smile and empty eyes

now in a minute by thealmightyavocado @avocadolouie (150k)

13 feels like yesterday for many people, but for louis it actually was.more than anything in the world, louis tomlinson dreams of growing up. simply skipping over all the awkward embarrassing years of teenage existence and getting on with life, real life.

so when thirteen-year-old louis wakes up in the body of his thirty-year-old self, he expected his adult life to be picture perfect. and maybe it is. he has it all…or so it seems.

except his favorite person and lifelong best mate, harry styles, is totally missing from the equation and louis doesn’t understand why. he has a lot of catching up to do and as adult life turns out to be more than what he bargained for, louis can’t help wondering why a life that seemed so perfect, feel so empty.

or, the 13 going on 30 au that should have been done years ago.

walk that mile by purpledaisy (149k)

harry stares at him, the line of his jaw standing out scarily. “i wanted to get the most out of this trip so i planned it carefully.” his voice is low and steady and somehow that’s worse than when he was yelling. “so far, you’ve put your sticky fingers on everything i’ve tried to do.”

"sticky fingers?“ louis repeats. offended. “are you saying it’s my fault you got stung by a bee? had you been alone you would have gotten halfway to the dotty diner and ran the car off the road because of an allergic reaction, so don’t go blaming me.”

"polk-a-dot drive in,“ harry spits before getting out of the car. he slams the door shut with a deafening reverb and louis rolls his eyes.

or, a route 66 au where falling in love was never part of the plan.

own the scars by crinkle-eyed-boo @crinkle-eyed-boo (144k)

“but i don’t belong here,” louis insists.

"why do you say that?“ james asks.

"these people are all drug addicts and alcoholics,” louis shrugs. something sparks in james’ eyes. “and you’re not?”

louis has never felt like he was good enough: for his stepdad, for his life-long best friends, for the life he’s supposed to want. after an accident that nearly costs him his life, louis’ parents send him to rehab where he’s forced to make his own decisions. on the long and difficult road to recovery, louis must confront the truths he;s been avoiding about his future, his relationships, and his sense of self-worth. because before he can love anyone else, he’s got to learn how to love himself first.

wear it like a crown by zarah5 @zarahdetand (141k)

au- as a part of a team of fixers hired to handle a gay scandal in buckingham palace, louis expects prince harry to be a lot of things – most notable a royally spoilt brat. never mind that the very same prince harry used to star in quite a number of louis’ teenage fantasies.

unbelievers by isthatyoularry @isthatyoularry (136k)

it’s louis’ senior year, and he’s dead set on doing it right. however, along with his pair of cleats, a healthy dose of sarcasm and his ridiculous best friend, he’s also got a complicated family, a terrifying uncertain future, and a mortal enemy making his life that much worse. mortal enemies “with benefits” was not exactly the plan.

or, the one where louis and harry definitely aren’t friends, and football is everything

empty skies by green_feelings (134k)

for three years, harry has been running from his past. now, he is moving to london and pledges to fulfill only his dream – making it big in the music industry. not everyone has a place, though, and the competition is tough. as is his past catching up to him.

louis is part of the biggest boy band of the world, and getting there meant a lo to hard work, as well as sacrificing parts of his heart and soul. he’s still happy. maybe not as happy as he could be, but who is he to complain?

featuring perrie as harry’s adorable flatmate, niall as his manager, and liam and zayn as louis’ bandmates.

love is a rebellious bird by 100precentsassy @100percentsassy gloria_andrews @gloriaandrews (134k)

au. in which the boys still make music. louis is the concertmaster of the london symphony orchestra, harry is the new! and exciting! interim conductor / ex-cello prodigy who “has made mozart cool again” according to esquire magazine (louis hates him immediately, which is definitely why he internet stalked him in his dark bedroom late at night that one time), and niall is the best. zayn and liam are around too.

don’t hum Bolero

wild love by purpledaisy (130k)

“good,” julia says, clearly pleased to have them both uncomfortable and unable to look at each other. “now, i only have one more question before you can go. what are you planning to do when this experiment ruins your friendship?“

"we said we’d stay friends no matter what,” harry says smoothly his chin lifting in defense.

"that was our one thing going into it,“ louis agrees. “stay friends no matter what.”

julia raises a perfectly manicured eyebrow, “that’s all fine and good. but i hope you realize your emotions aren’t going to realize this is an experiment in the end. if one of you falls for the other and finds out those feelings are not reciprocated you’re not going to be able to laugh it off as a social experiment. i’m not saying you shouldn’t do this, i’m just hoping you’ve considered all of the possible outcomes.”

or, two friends try to date each other for forty days. it’s supposed to be fun until emotions make it complicated

got the sunshine on my shoulders by hattalove @hattalove (124k)

five years ago, harry styles left his tiny home town to make it big as a recording artist, he didn’t have much regard for what he left behind– a life, a family, a husband, who woke up one morning to find him gone.

now, harry has everything he could possibly want. he’s rich, famous, and adored by everyone he meets, including his boyfriend. but when said boyfriend proposes to him, he’s forced to face the uncomfortable facts of his past– and louis, who’s spent the last five years returning every set of divorce papers harry sent him.

or, au based on the movie sweet home alabama.

california sold by isthatyoularry (123k)

notoriously closeted boyband member harry styles is famous on a global scale, meanwhile louis, as his best friend, is back home in manchester living the typical life of a 24 year old. when harry needs louis with him in LA, a publicity stunt gone wrong changes their friendship forever.

or, a fake-relationship au between two lifelong best friends.

the finish line (is a good place for us to start) by loadedgunn @loaded-gunn (122k)

louis tomlinson, one-time formula i world champion, is looking forward to the 2013 season, he’s got zayn in his garage and liam in his ear, he’s got cowell racing backing him despite former indiscretions, he’s got experience and the best race car out there. not to mention he’s the only racer they have, after oliver dropped out late last year.

it hasn’t occured to him that oliver would have to be replaced by february. that is, until he finds himself at a party celebrating harry styles leaving ferarri for cowell. harry hotshot styles, who broke a record last year and is probably looking to make a big splash. harry styles, who is talented and somewhat intimidating. harry styles, who left ferarri for reasons unknown and seems kind of lonely and harmless in person. lonely, harmless, hot as fuck. whatever.

the first thing louis does is take him under his wing. from there it’s nine months of slow-burning romance, the past catching up to them, turning into the human puppy pile that is ot5 and a lot of feelings until, of course, reaching the finish line.

tired tired sea by mediawhore @mediawhorefics (113k)

as a b&b owner on the most remote of all the british isles, louis tomlinson is used to spending the coldest half of the year in complete isolation, with his dog and the sea as sol companions. until one day, a mysterious stranger on a quest to rebuild himself rents a room for the winter.

here in the afterglow by fondleeds @fondleeds (88k)

"if you hadn’t noticed, i don’t have many friends,” louis whispers, the blossom of insecurity in his stomach unfurling and clawing his way into his throat.

harry is silent for a long time, and then he speaks; a soft, slow uncurl that makes louis’ stomach shake. “i’ll be your friend.”

or, 1970’s au. in a tiny town in idaho, louis’ life changed forever by the arrival of a curious stranger.

chasing empty spaces by domesticharry @domestic-harry (79k)

the year is 1934 and harry styles was to inherit the largest tobacco firm in the south. his parents have picked out the “perfect” girl for him to marry and he has the privilege of receiving the highest education possible. the problem was, harry hadn’t realized that he didn’t want nay part of the future until he met a mechanic named, louis tomlinson.

don’t want shelter by kingsofeverything @kingsofeverything (76k)

louis and harry have known each other all their lives. friends as children, they danced around each other as teenagers, and have spent the last twenty-five years either screaming at each other or not speaking at all. except for that one time ten years ago...

when hurricane nicole threatens the coast, they end up stuck together in their families' old vacation home that they begrudgingly co-own.

during the storm, and in the months after, they’re both forced to reevaluate their history and what they mean to each other

money moves by mmaree @zqua1d (74k)

"i’ll cut straight to the chase,“ liam announces. he leans forward, and zayn is met with steely eyes and steepled fingers. "i’m willing to offer you fifty grand if you’ll enter into a small…partnership with me. this would be in addition to your salary at payne innovations, of course. think of it as a bonus.”

zayn narrow his eyes. “what kind of partnership?”

"a fake engagement.“

"oh,” zayn says, relived it’s nothing illegal. “wait–what?”

“a fake engagement,” his boss repeats slowly, as if he’s convinced zayn’s comprehension skills are significantly lacking. “for six months. maybe less if i can pull it off sooner but don’t worry– you’ll be paid the full sum regardless of how long it takes.”

zayn’s suspicious, and he doesn’t even know why. there’s nothing to be suspicious of because, clearly, liam’s lost the plot. zayn’s having a conversation with a complete nutter. there’s no other reasonable explanation.

he clears his throat, searches liam’s eyes for a sign he’s taking the piss. “how long what takes?”

a smile plays at liam’s lips. “for me to be hired as the cto at titan technologies.”

to the ends of the earth by stylinsoncity @aliensingucci (68k)

during a yearlong hiatus, louis visits harry at his cabin in idaho, where long-buried feelings ignite like the fire keeping them warm.

lend me your hand by quickedween (63k)

society has long since decided that the soulmarks everyone is born with are entirely unfashionable. they’re just another way for people of a lower class to scam their way into marrying above their station.

lord louis tomlinson viscount loring, on the other hand, has always believed that he will find his soulmate one day. despite preparing for a match his whole life, he is entirely unprepared for the arrival of gemma styles’ younger brother.

harry styles has been travelling and away from society for over a year. coming back, he intends to spend time with his sister, and slowly reacquaint himself with life in town. he doesn’t need to wait around for a soulmark to determine how his life will play out.

small doses (loving you it’s explosive) by quickedween (40k)

louis tomlinson finds himself at vitality fitness to try and turn his life around after having left his cheating boyfriends of four years. the gym’s owner, liam, quickly becomes a good friend but his right hand man is rude and dismissive from the get-go.

louis and harry continue to clash all while harry is trying to move his way up the ranks in manchester’s amateur boxing circuit, but they can’t seem to stay away from each other.

learning to eat by photo41 (28k)

celebrity chef louis tomlinson has a problem, he’s opening his first restaurant in 9 week . and he has yet to hire a pastry chef- apparently people think he’s “standoffish” and “rude” and “quick to temper” . whatever. he ends u saddled with an annoying, happy-go-lucky rookie who also happens to be obnoxiously good looking. his tv presenter and pop star friends only add to the drama, and for fucks sake would everyone please stop quoting julia child?!

these roads we stumble down by onewasturning @onewasturning (18k)

he’s completely drenched, not one milimetre of him covered in rain, and the old sheepskin cover over the seat is probably going to stink afterwards from the damp. but even with what seems to be a constant tremor shaking his body, brown hair plastered to his forehead, and a blue tinge to his skin, he’s still probably the most gorgeous person that harry has ever seen.

or, harry picks up a hitchhiker in oxford, and it’s a long ride to glasgow.

#this took an embarassing amount of time and its not even all of them #anyways hope this was useful to someone !#also i am allergic to capital letters muah #fic rec #mine

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pumpkinofthedale · 4 years ago

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So the first chapter is taking me longer than expected bc life is just being.... stressful and busy, but here is another smidge of my cronus fanfic.

He opened another door and turned on the lights.

It… looked like a sound booth with a few instruments and microphones.

“This is my music studio.” A giant, toothy smile was on his face when you looked at him. “Pops really doesn’t like my music so I do it all down here where he can’t hear it.” He looked a little sheepish, sitting down in the lone chair in the room next to a keyboard and a piano. “But this is where the Cronus Ampora magic happens… or where it would happen if magic wasn’t fake as shit. Where- Where the Cronus Ampora music happens. There we go, that’s what I meant to say.”

“Cool.” You nodded appreciatively. “Very cool.”

You were a goddamn word smith.

“Did you check out my soundcloud?” He asked hopefully.

Oh crap….

“Yes, yes I did check out your soundcloud.” You said with what you hoped was a straight face.

“What’d you think?” He looked excited, but let out a nervous chuckle. “No one I know takes the time out to actually listen to it so I don’t get to ask much.”

“Uhhhh….” You racked your brain for something to say about it other than, “It was very sexual.” Shit… you really said that out loud didn’t you.

Cronus rolled his eyes. “Yeah, that’s the point. Popular music is usually about love or sex, something like ninety-ish percent of the top billboard songs are about sex. Sex sells. People like sex. And let’s be real… that’s kind of my whole deal, I don’t know if you’ve noticed.”

You honestly didn’t know how to respond to that. Sure… a lot of songs on the radio had sexual themes… but…. “Did you… Did you actually research that? Is that an actual fact or like… something you’re guessing at?”

“No, it’s featured in about sixty percent of top hits on Alternia, but if you look at the whole quadrant system, that’s in about ninety five percent of top hits. And I wanted to see what sort of musical themes made up human music too…. You guys are at about ninety percent about erotic love themes in your most popular music.” He sort of shrugged, but waggled his eyebrows when your eyes met. “What can I say… It’s a compelling subject. And if you ever want a course in alien anatomy, kitten, you know I’m willin’ to tea–”

“What did I say about dialing the horniness back.”

He rolled his eyes again. “Fiiine. But even you have to admit you basically set yourself up for that one.”

“Committed and happy relationship.” You leaned against the wall, noting that there was still some eggnog in your mug (and here you had thought that it’d all spilled on you when you fell). “So, I see a keyboard, a piano, a guitar… how many instruments can you play?”

Cronus began mumbling, counting on his fingers, “Including the human ones I learned, like five? I think? Six if you count the synth.”

Holy shit.

“Holy shit. So you’re like… actually talented. I suppose you had to have some redeeming qualities other than just being pretty.” He squinted, and you amended, “Wow, that sounded a lot ruder than intended. I meant that that’s baller dude. That’s a lot of instruments and I’m very impressed.”

He flushed a little bit more, pleased grin showing off those shark teeth. He set the hot toddy on the top of the piano as he situated himself at his keyboard. “Do you wanna hear what I’m currently working on?”

Oh yay…. More alien sex music…. Fantastic.

But he was being so tolerable and open and crushing his music dreams on Christmas felt so wrong that you couldn’t help but manage a “sure, why the hell not?”

Cronus positively beamed, and his voice was so pretty, and the composition was decent, but the lyrics were just such garbage…. You made a game for yourself by counting the use of the word bulge… He’d said it over twenty times in a four minute period.

“And then the end is gonna go like this: Bulge, bulge, yank my bulge like you mean it.” He finished, looking over at you expectantly. Twenty three.

You tried to give him an encouraging smile, but you were pretty sure it looked like a grimace…. “How married are you to those lyrics?”

He raised an eyebrow.

“Like… how attached to those lyrics are you? They’re kind of….” You racked your brain for a good way to word it. “Sub-optimal.”

His face fell. “Oh….”

“It just didn’t feel… genuine? Like it felt performative even for a song.” Geez, you were really doing this weren’t you. Your department head had accused you of being too blunt on multiple occasions, and here you were proving him right. “Music wise, it was fun, and your voice is very nice…. But the lyrics seem forced. You already have a bajillion songs about sex, isn’t there anything else you want to sing about? Maybe express a genuine emotion? Like when you look at a flower or something, how does that make you feel? Or like when you’re staring up at the stars at night contemplating existence, or even- even your favorite food. Haven’t you ever tried to sing about those things instead? Or to tell a story?”

“Like… music can be such a magical medium. It’s so versatile, and you have so much potential if you’d just… I dunno, explore some more of that versatility, and get yourself out of that sexual lyrics only mindset.”

Cronus regarded you with a mixture of concern, disbelief, and what you really hoped was thoughtfulness. “Magic is fake as shit…. But I’ll… I’ll think about it. Maybe.”

He leaned back, expression relatively neutral as he looked you up and down (making you feel less uncomfortable than usual). “So, got any requests? More of that crispmas music?”

You shrugged, “I guess whatever you feel like playing? Although I’m really not feeling the whole eros thing right now so like…. I dunno.”

You were so fucking eloquent.

“C’mon, you always have strong opinions. Always.”

“Damn, B, that’s a lot of pressure to put on a bitch.” You replied, sliding down the wall to the floor. “Play me your prettiest non-sexual song.”

He just laughed. “Babe, all songs are sexual. Even if they don’t sound like they are, I can guarantee they’re about sex. Everything people do is about sex.”

You stared at him, dumbfounded by the coldest take you’d ever heard spoken aloud. Sure, you’d heard the argument before (usually by crusty old white authors), but you never thought anyone ever believed them.

“Is it though? Like this, right here. I’m here trying to be your friend in a non-sexual capacity, and my following you down here was not motivated by sex other than maybe the desire not to have sex with you… because I don’t know if you’ve picked up on many of the incredibly subtle hints I’ve been leaving for you like a little crumb trail, I don’t want to have sex with you. Period.”

Cronus pouted a little. “Okay, valid. Mean, but valid.”

You snorted, “That’s hardly the meanest thing I’ve said to you even tonight.”

“That’s very true. You’re very mean to me.” He batted his eyelashes at you.

#cronus ampora #ampora #w34ry words #im very tiref #and my life is very stressful...#i have to hand in a quiz today for calc 2 #thankfully its a super easy one that isn't even math #bc... i haven't taken a math class in 6 years and i don't remember shit #so im reteaching myself calc 1 which is killing me #i look at it and i just... get so distressed #homestuck

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aion-rsa · 4 years ago

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11 Diverse Vampire Stories To Read Instead of Midnight Sun

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There’s a very good chance we’re going to read Midnight Sun, the companion novel to pop culture juggernaut Twilight that retells the first story in the Stephanie Meyer YA vampire series from Edward Cullen’s perspective. But we can enjoy something while also being critical of it, and the truth is: our culture deserves more, better vampire stories than what the Twilight saga has to offer. With that in mind, we’ve pooled our collective knowledge to recommend the following vampire stories that have more diverse and imaginative takes on the popular genre. From short stories to book series, hopefully there’s something here for you…

Fledgling by Octavia Butler

A good general rule of life to follow is that if Octavia Butler has written something in a particular genre, you should read it. And that’s as true in the world of vampire fiction as anywhere else. Fledging was the final book Butler published before her untimely death in 2006 and, though it’s technically a vampire story, it’s also a whole lot more than that.

Much in the same way that Butler’s Kindred is a time travel story that tackles physical and psychological horrors of slavery, Fledging is a vampire tale that explores issues of racism and sexuality. In it, a 10-year-old girl with amnesia discovers that she’s not actually a girl at all, but a fifty-something hybrid member of the Ina. Ina are basically what we understand as vampires in this universe – they’re a nocturnal, long-lived species who survive by drinking human blood. They’ve formed something of a symbiotic relationship with the humans they live alongside, using them as a food source in exchange for boosting their immune systems and helping them live (much) longer.

As Shori regains her memories of her former life, Fledging uses her unique situation as an avenue to explore timely issues of bigotry and identity. As a human-Ina hybrid, Shuri has been genetically modified to have dark skin, allowing her to go outside for brief periods during the day, but drawing the ire and distrust of others. As the novel further explores complex issues of family and connection – both the Ina and their human symbionts tend to mate in packs – Butler pokes at Shori’s uniquely uncomfortable position of being the master over one particular group, even as she herself is considered part of something like an underclass within Ina culture. And the end result is something that’s much more than a vampire tale, even as it embraces—and outright parodies—some of its most obvious tropes.

– Lacy Baugher

Buy Fledgling by Octavia Butler on Amazon

The Coldest Girl in Coldtown by Holly Black

Twilight’s sin was not in trying to make vampires sexy all over again (it’s OK to make bloodsuckers cool), but rather in amplifying the teenage girl protagonist’s desire while blunting her agency. In doing so, Meyer maintained the dynamic of traditional vampire narratives instead of modernizing it. Five years after Breaking Dawn was released, Holly Black redeemed the YA vampire novel with her standalone tale, set in a world where it’s not just one hormonal teenager who’s dying to be a vampire, but all of society craving that sweet sweet immortality.

In Black’s world, everyone wants to be Cold: infected by a vampire bite but neither killed nor made into a fully-fledged vampire. Not until they drink human blood, at least. But in an effort to control the rising population of vampires and Cold people, the governments created Coldtowns, trapping both in a never-ending party town. The titular Coldest girl is Tana, who wakes up after a (very human, very teenage) rager to find almost everyone slaughtered and herself bitten. Fearing that she has become Cold, she voluntarily turns herself in to the nearest Coldtown along with her also-bitten ex-boyfriend Aidan and Gavriel, a vampire who seeks to take down the uber-vampire who rules the Coldtown.

The Coldest Girl in Coldtown is a sly riff on the vampire obsession that took over pop culture in the early 2000s, yet still its own cautionary tale about chasing after a glamorous, self-destructive afterlife. The cast of characters are fully fleshed-out, from a twin with a fangirl blog to Gavriel as an actually suitable vampire love interest to Tana Bach herself, who gets to be proactive where Bella Swan was always reactive. Best of all, it knows that it doesn’t need to lure readers back to a franchise, like vampires returning again and again to feed, instead telling its entire story in one bloody, chilly gulp.

—Natalie Zutter

Buy The Coldest Girl in Coldtown on Amazon

Carmilla by Joseph Sheridan LeFanu, edited by Carmen Maria Machado

A quarter-century before Bram Stoker’s Dracula, a different vampire seduced young women away from the suffocating constraints of their lives by awakening within their blood a thrilling, oft-considered perverse, desire. That it is a female vampire—the eponymous Carmilla, known also by her aliases Mircalla and Millarca—likely explains why LeFanu’s text is either incredibly well-known among niche circles, or entirely absent from pop cultural canons. Yet the moment you read it, its depiction of the heady attraction between innocent Laura and possessive Carmilla is anything but subtext.

Like Dracula, this Gothic horror novella is presented as a found text, with a frame narrative of occult detective Dr. Hesselius presenting Laura’s bizarre case… but also to some extent controlling her voice. In her new introduction, Machado posits a startling new contextualization: that Hesselius and Laura’s correspondence is not a fictional device, but a fictionalization of real-life letters between a Doctor Peter Fontenot and Veronika Hausle, about the latter’s charged relationship with the alluring Marcia Marén. That their relationship provided the basis for Laura and Carmilla, but that only the tragic parts were transmuted through the vampire metaphor, excising the queer joy of their partnership, further illustrates how these stories fail their subjects. Yet neither is Marén wholly innocent; as with In the Dream House, Machado does not flinch away from imperfect or even violent queer relationships, such as they resemble any other dynamic between two people.

It’s best to read Machado’s Russian nesting doll narrative without knowing much about her motivations. Though it might be useful to consider how she ends the introduction with something of a confession: “The act of interacting with text—that is to say, of reading—is that of inserting one’s self into what is static and unchanging so that it might pump with fresh blood.” Or try running some of these names through anagram filters.

And if that whets your appetite for other adaptations, the 2014 Carmilla web series both wrestles the frame story back into Laura’s hands, in the form of a video-diary journalism project, and makes the Laura/Carmilla romance very much text.

—Natalie Zutter

Buy Carmilla on Amazon

A Phoenix Must First Burn, edited by Patrice Caldwell

A Phoenix Must First Burn is a collection of sixteen short stories about magic, fantasy, and sci-fi that focus on Black women and gender non-conforming individuals. The book features stories about fantasy creatures of all kinds, witches, shape shifters, and vampires alike. What they have in common is that they are stories about and by Black people, and they offer unique takes on familiar lore.

Bella Swan is a great protagonist in the Twilight series because she is whatever the reader needs her to be. Just distinct enough that you can conjure her in your mind, but mostly a blank slate for the reader to step into the story with her, using her as their avatar. That’s a generality specific to White characters. In A Phoenix Must First Burn, the protagonists are Black. This gives them a very particular point of view, and one that isn’t as common in fantasy, and in the vampire tales of yore.

In Stephenie Meyer’s world vampires look like they’re lathered in Fenty body shimmer when they’re in direct sunlight. In “Letting the Right One In,” Patrice Caldwell gives us a vampire who is a Black girl, with dark brown skin, and coiled hair. Sparkling vampires are certainly a unique spin, but the Cullens are still White and don’t challenge any ideas of what it means to be an immortal blood-drinking creature of the night. A Phoenix Must First Burn shifts the lens to focus on the experience of Black folks, and allows them to be magical, enigmatic, and romantic.

– Nicole Hill

Buy A Phoenix First Must Burn on Amazon

Certain Dark Things by Silvia Moreno-Garcia

In the Twilight series, we’re introduced to vampires from other cultures, but they are all very much the same, save for their individual power sets which appear to be unrelated to their ethnicity or nationality. In Certain Dark Things, vampires are a species with several different subspecies and where they come from influences how they look and what kind of powers they have.

Atl is from Mexico and is bird-winged descendent of Blood-drinking Aztecs. The Necros, European vampires, have an entirely different look and set of abilities. Certain Dark Things doesn’t just include vampires from all around the world, it incorporates vampire mythology from all of those places, filling its world with a rich array of distinct vampires with their specific quirks and gifts.

In his four-star review of the book on Goodreads, author Rick Riordan had this to say. “Throwing vampire myths from so many cultures together was right down my alley. If you like vampire books but would appreciate some . . . er, fresh blood . . . this is a fast-paced read that breathes fresh life into the genre.” Riordan, who opened up his literary world to new storytellers and has championed authors of color is certainly a person whose opinion holds weight. Vampires haven’t gone out of style, but the Draculas and Edward Cullens are.

– Nicole Hill

Buy Certain Dark Things on Amazon

Vampires Never Get Old, edited by Zoriada Córdova & Natalie C. Parker

This anthology featuring vampires who lurk on social media just as much as they lurk in the night will hit the bookstore shelves on September 22, just in time to start prepping for Halloween. Edited by Zoriada Córdova and Natalie C. Parker, the collection features eleven new stories and a really fantastic author list, populated with a diverse group of authors from a ton of backgrounds and sexualities. The contributors include V. E. Schwab, known for her “Darker Shade of Magic” series; Nebula, Hugo, and Locus Award-winner, Rebecca Roanhorse; Internment author Samira Ahmed; Dhionelle Clayton, author of The Belles and Tiny Pretty Things; “The Blood Journals” author Tessa Gratton (who also contributed to the super spooky looking Edgar Allan Poe-inspired His Hideous Heart); Heidi Heilig, author of the “Shadow Players” trilogy; Julie Murphy, whose book Dumplin’ was adapted for the Netflix film of the same name; Lammy Award winner Mark Oshiro, whose forthcoming YA fantasy Each of Us a Desert will hit stands just before this anthology; Thirteen Doorways author Laura Ruby; and essayist and short story writer Kayla Whaley.

There are a lot of YA authors on this list, many of whom crossover to adult, so there’s a good chance readers will find some of their favorite kinds of angsty vampires on these pages, as well as body-conscious vampires, and vamps coming out as well as going out into the night, seeking for their perfect victim—or just looking for love.

– Alana Joli Abbott

Buy Vampires Never Get Old on Amazon

Choice of the Vampire by Jason Stevan Hill

Back in 2010, when I was first getting to know interactive fiction, Jason Stevan Hill wrote Choice of the Vampire for the still-relatively new company, Choice of Games. A sequel came out in 2013, and this year, the third interactive novel, in which you, the reader make the choices, releases. Best played from a mobile device (although you can play in your browser as well), the interactive novels from Choice of Games are always fun (disclosure: I have written a few), and they’re dedicated to featuring inclusive options to let players express their personalities, gender identities, and sexualities within the confines of the game. Choice of the Vampire starts players as young vampires in 1815 New Orleans. In The Fall of Memphis, the story moves to 1873, and rather than facing the concerns of learning to survive their unlife adventures, players get embroiled in the politics of Memphis, where vampires are electing a new Senator, and the Klan is on the rise.

With the release of St. Louis, Unreal City, the intention is that the two earlier games will be combined into one larger omnibus, so that players can have an uninterrupted play experience of the full story. St. Louis, Unreal City moves the story forward into 1879, in a St. Louis where the first wave of Chinese immigrants and the dismantling of Reconstruction force the city to face its systemic racism. As workers demand greater rights—and rich financiers attempt to keep control of the nation’s wealth—vampires have to continue to hide, lest they be destroyed. But when one of their own lets loose the beast, causing terror in the streets of America, players have to decide how their character will triumph in a changing world. Stevan Hill pours a ton of historical detail into the scenes he creates, making these vampire stories as much historical fiction as they are fantasy or horror. In advance of the release of the newest installment, the first two games have been updated with new material, so if you’ve played them before, they’re worth a replay before you launch into Night Road!

– Alana Joli Abbott

Moonshine by Alaya Dawn Johnson

Like the first two Choice of the Vampire stories, Moonshine, which came out in 2010, embroils its protagonist in the social struggles of its era: the 1920s of New York City. Zephyr Hollis is an activist, devoted to creating equality for both humans and Others, including vampires, despite her upbringing as the daughter of a demon-hunter. She’s immune to vampire bites, which is helpful when she discovers a newly-turned child vampire; if she turns him in, the authorities will kill him, so soft-hearted Zephyr takes the child in and feeds him her own blood. When she’s approached by a jinn, Amir, to use her cover as a charity worker to undermine a vampire mob boss in exchange for his help with the child, he doesn’t explain what he’s after—but Zephyr’s intrigued enough by the idea (and Amir) that she gets involved. If you already finished Johnson’s newest novel, The Trouble with Saints (also set in historical New York, this one during World War II), returning to this earlier novel and its sequel, Wicked City, will be a fast-paced treat.

Buy Moonshine on Amazon

“A Kiss With Teeth” by Max Gladstone

There are not a ton of stories out there about vampire parenting—and fewer that are more about what it means to be a parent, what it means to give up the person you were before (even it that person was a monster). Max Gladstone’s 2014 short story, published at Tor.com, is absolutely a vampire story in the classic sense: a hunt, a victim, a struggle. But it’s also the tale of a vampire, Vlad, who settles down with a vampire hunter, and the changes that settling down create for both of them. How can a parent be honest with his child when he’s hiding something so core to his identity? Even playing baseball in the park requires Vlad to hide his own strength. And how can he work with the teacher to help his son with struggling grades when that teacher is the ideal prey? The idea of being a vampire blends with the idea of hiding an affair, of planning to do something that shouldn’t be done, and then determining whether or not to do it. The way the story is written, it’s hard to tell where it’s going to go, or how two parents hiding so much about themselves can ever be honest with their child—but when it comes to the end, Gladstone knocks it out of the park.

– Alana Joli Abbott

Queen of Kings by Maria Dahvana Headley

The visual of Cleopatra dying with a poisonous asp clutched to her breast is an iconic, Shakespearean-tinged bit of history that we all learned in our ancient Egypt history units. However, Headley’s debut novel gives the queen a bit more credit, by reimagining that instead of going all Romeo and Juliet after the supposed death of her lover Marc Antony, she strikes a bargain with Sekhmet, goddess of death and destruction who has nonetheless begun fading away due to a dearth of worship. In Shakespearean fashion, things go awry when Sekhmet seizes control of Cleopatra, transforming her into an immortal being and transmuting her revenge into a literal bloodlust.

Unable to die, with her lover still slain and her children in danger, Cleopatra must battle the dark force within her urging her to drain others of their lifeforce and let loose Sekhmet’s seven children (plague, famine, drought, flood, earthquake, violence, and madness) upon the ancient world. What’s more, she also has to contend with the mortal threat of recently-appointed emperor Caesar Augustus and the three sorcerers he has rallied to fight the queen-turned-demigod. Drawing from Egyptian mythology to contextualize various familiar vampire tropes (the aforementioned bloodsucking, aversion to sunlight, and weakness for silver), Queen of Kings reinvigorates the vampire mythos through a historical figure who deserved to exist long beyond her mortal lifetime.

—Natalie Zutter

Buy Queen of Kings on Amazon

Carpe Jugulum by Terry Pratchett

Sir Terry never met a trope he didn’t take the opportunity to parody, but his Discworld take on the vampire mythos is more love bite than going for the jugular. His Magpyrs embody the classic vampires, with all their subgenre trappings, but also are an example of how a supernatural race seeks to evolve beyond its bloody history and try something new. To be clear, these Magpyrs are still in it to drain humans dry, and they’ve developed cunning methods of doing so: a propensity for bright colors over drab blacks, the ability to stay up til noon and survive in direct sunlight, a taste for garlic and wine along with their plasma.

But the clash between the youngest immortals, who seek to overtake the mountain realm of Lancre as their new home, and dutiful servant Igor, who misses “the old wayth” (he’s a traditionalist down to the lisp), reveals a tension familiar to any long-ruling dynasty or established subculture: Change with the times, or adapt but lose what makes you unique? In struggling with this intergenerational dilemma, the Magpyrs find the perfect opponents in Lancre’s coven: Granny Weatherwax, Nanny Ogg, Magrat, and Agnes—four witches who find themselves taking on different roles within the mother/maiden/crone dynamic as life changes force shifts in their identities. Between these relatable personal conflicts and a hall of vampire portraits that pays homage to Ann Rice and Buffy the Vampire Slayer, Carpe Jugulum gently ribs the vampire subgenre rather than put a stake through its heart.

—Natalie Zutter

Buy Carpe Jugulum on Amazon

Do you have any vampire story recommendations that challenge the traditional tropes of the genre in interesting and diverse ways? Let us know in the comments below.

The post 11 Diverse Vampire Stories To Read Instead of Midnight Sun appeared first on Den of Geek.

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hopiewrites · 5 years ago

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Runaways - BNHA

pairing - dabi x reader

ongoing series, chapter 1

word count - 8,608

chapter 2 & 3 up now!

-> back to masterlist

“ goodnight, sun “

The night was crisp and caliginous, dark navy blues tattered and faded at the edge of the sky, bleeding into a black that swallowed even the glow of the stars. She exhaled deep and heavy, watching wisps sheer grey of smoke float into the atmosphere, twirling into an oblivion, dying in the wind as it curled towards the moon.

Winter is unforgiving, she thought to herself, feeling its chill find home in her bones, constricting her lungs as the falling snow kissed all over her body. The lightweight, open front sweater did little to shield her from the overbearing cold, snow melting into the tightly knitted fabric, leaving behind damp spots of icy water to freeze over her numb skin. The tank top under the garment did little to nothing to isolate what little body heat she had left.

Her hands shook as she took one last drag of the cigarette, then finally, after 15 minutes outside in the winter ridden city of hosu, she put it out on the back of her hand and stuffed the bud in the back pocket of her jeans; she may be a lot of things, but a litterbug isn’t one of them. She rounded the corner of the 24 hour diner, out of the cramped alleyway and walked into said building. The bell dinged as she shuffled into the warm building, tapping the tip of her snow covered vans on the doormat before plopping down into the booth at the far corner of the establishment.

Seeing as it was nearing four in the morning, there wasn’t any other people there, which the girl was thankful for. She didn’t think that she could handle having to hear the obnoxious slurring and shouting of the local drunkards tonight; they usually found their way to this specific place around this time, probably too out of it to find their own homes, or maybe they were kicked out by their families, who she figured were far by tired of their alcoholic husbands and fathers. She knows good and well how frustrating those people could be.

She turned to the left, looking out the large windows to observe the city. Not many places were still open, as most all the lights were off and there were barely any cars parked on the side of the road. Everything looked still, covered in a striking white that blinded; only the streetlamps offered fleeting light, flickering warm yellow, a mockery of the sun as the light reflected off the ice crystals and straight into her tired eyes.

She groaned quietly to herself, tearing her pupils away from the fogged glass and stared, empty and exhausted, at the table in front of her. She wasn’t sure how much time passed until a coffee was sat on the clean surface, straight under her nose, a few packets of sugar and cream tossed right beside it. Her lips twitched into somewhat of a small smile, but it was more of a grimace than anything else. She shifted her gaze towards the familiar waitress standing at the end of the table, hands on her hips, expression bored, the flicker of worry in the older woman’s eyes was as clear as day.

“I’ll be right back with your food, honey. Any special requests today, or just the usual?”

The girl took a deep breath through her nose, before letting her expression relax into a tired stare. “The usual is fine, thank you.” She mumbled, voice soft and raspy, worn down into something she wished she didn’t recognize. The waitress nodded her head wordlessly, sauntering back behind the counter to where she’d make her food.

All the while, she made quick work of the sugar on the table, tearing all five packets open at once and pouring them in the dark, steaming beverage. She pushed the cream aside with a lazy swipe of her hand, stirring her drink then taking a few gulps.

‘Fuck, that’s hot!’

She bit her lip as she placed the coffee back down infront of her, curling her fingers around the mug; at first her cold fingers stung, throbbing at the sudden heat, before the pain unraveled to a warmth she felt herself melt into. The girl tilted her head down, a dull ache shooting through the curve of her shoulders as she slouched, but she ignored it, blowing softly into her coffee to cool it. The ripples in the inky liquid was hypnotic, relaxing in a way she didn’t expect. Maybe she could nod off, just for a little bit… just until her food was ready…

Her arms straighten a bit, sliding the mug across the table but not letting it go - the warmth was too good to let go of - so she clutched the white ceramic lightly, ever so slowly leaning her head down towards the table, thinking of how nice a short nap would be; besides, now that her headache had dulled somewhat, she might be lucky enough to finally get some shut eye. Maybe she wouldn’t have any nightmares, either. Maybe she would finally sleep deep enough to withstand her own headspace.

Just as her forehead grazed the cold surface of the table, the bell on the door dinged, loud and shrill and piercing in her ears. She jerked up at the soul shattering noise, headache crashing back onto her brain like waves on the shore; it felt like her skull cracked under the pressure of her own consciousness. Hot coffee spilled over the rim and down her fingers, now tingling in the worst way possible, burning through her skin, down to the very bone.

Okay, maybe she was being a bit dramatic, but still. That shit hurted.

She decided to glare towards the perpetrator, and there he was, right at the opening of the door as it closed behind him, the bell slowing until the ringing finally stopped. The only noise left in the diner was the sound of the waitress shuffling around in the exposed kitchen, and the quiet curses the woman let fly as she mopped up the spilled coffee with napkins. She shot him glares in between drawn out seconds, and she saw the bastard smirk when he caught her in the harmless act.

The diner was empty. Absolutely, completely, utterly empty; barren of any other life whatsoever, every table wiped clean and ready for the taking. This man could’ve chose to sit anywhere, and yet, he walks towards her.

She is glaring down at the pile of sopping wet napkins in front of her when she hears his heavy footfalls on the tiled floor, but she kept her gaze locked on the table for her life, as if she would die the second they made eye contact. But he wasn’t walking away, towards the opposite end of the diner like any sane person would’ve done, as the woman obviously didn’t want company; no, he was walking directly towards her table. She could feel his gaze on the crown of her head as he only got closer, closer, closer, until she heard the distinct plop of himself on the cushion on the set of booths directly in front of her own.

‘Don’t look up. Don’t look up. Don’t look up. Don’t look up. Don’t look-’

‘...’

‘Damn it.’

Well, she looked up, that much can be said. Her fists clenched themselves of their own volition, knuckles white with the pressure of his stare. The man went as far as sitting in the seat with its back towards the door, so he was face to face with the woman. He just sat there, arms propped up on the table, eyebrows pulled up just the slightest bit, nose scrunched and lips pulled in the most smug look she’s ever seen in her life.

His hair is spiked and unruly, pin straight and as dark as the night that lingers outside; his skin is pale, almost sickly, almost translucent; there’s scarring under his eyes and around his jaw, taking up almost the entire bottom half of his face, kind of like he stuck his head in a fire and let it burn for awhile. There’s holes all across where skin meets scar, where she thought piercings would be - but it’s far too cold to wear metal on your face in this weather, it’d give you frostbite the moment you stepped outside.

But, what really caught her attention was his eyes, blue like she’s never really seen before; electric and dark and alive, it was like his gaze was seering her skin - leaving her open and raw and terrified. A shiver ran up her spine, violent and visible, and that only widened his grin.

Before either of the two had a chance to say anything, a heaping plate of steaming food was placed gently before her. “I made you some extra. You better eat this up, honey. You’re gettin’ too bony for a girl your age, right? I’ll come back to refill'n ya coffee’n a minute.”

As she walked away, the girl looked down at the plate. It had everything; eggs, bacon, sausage, grits, hash browns, toast, a croissant. And on another plate, a chocolate chip pancake with a melting chunk of butter on top sat, pretty and delicious and waiting to be eaten.

It’s really too bad that she didn’t have an appetite anymore; her stomach already felt uncomfortably full, heavy with anxious nerves and a growing nausea. She finally unclenched her fists, her palms an angry red, imprinted with crescent moons, thanks to her fingernails. She took a breath, tapping the pads of her fingers on the table beside the plates, then picking up the still dripping mug and taking a sip. It was now lukewarm at best.

“What’s wrong, sweetheart? Aren’t you gonna eat all that?”

The woman’s head snapped up at the lazy drawl of his voice, deep and feathery all the same. She said nothing.

“How was that coffee? Or did you spill it all before you had the chance to drink it?”

Taunting.

He was taunting her.

She locked eyes with the male, the need to hide away from his burning gaze overruled by the want to feed him a taste of his own bitter medicine. She raised the almost empty ceramic to her mouth, licking her lips slowly, before sipping as loudly and obnoxiously as she possibly could, all while staring him down with the coldest, lackluster expression she could muster.

As much as she wanted to walk out that door and never be seen again, as much as her skin burned with an embarrassment she couldn’t quite keep down, she felt particularly shitty today, so she wasn’t nice enough to let him have the pleasure of scaring her off. Still sipping, she crossed her legs, rested her elbow on the table, and squinted.

It was a long thirty seconds later that she sat the mug down, resting her cheek in the palm of her hand, holding back the glower she could feel trying to pull at her face. She was convinced that if she kept eye contact any longer, she might turn to ash, but she held out. She was too spiteful, in all honesty.

The bastard raised his hand and snorted, rolling his eyes before they found their way back to her own, the words try me, bitch unsaid, but he might as well have shouted them by how clear the message was.

Suddenly, she slammed her hands flat on the tables surface, standing up, throwing him the bird and walking away; out of the safe warmth of the indoors, and into the trembling hands of winter’s night. No, she didn’t pay. She only hoped the waitress understood.

“What the fuck was that about?”

She mumbled angrily to herself as she checked her phone, eyebrows furrowed. The bright numbers lit up as 5:09 A.M., along with a string of texts from her older sister. The girl sighed, cold and alone, leaning on the outside of a shitty diner in a snowstorm at ungodly hours. She would’ve laughed if it didn’t hurt to do so.

It’s been about a month since she left home. A month of going from shelter to shelter, a month of sleeping on park benches and cement, a month of stealing so she wouldn’t starve to death; though, she wouldn’t really mind dying that much either, but she didn’t want to think about that right now. She’s cities away from the house she grew up in, and now, in an unfamiliar place, surrounded by strangers who couldn’t give less of a shit about her, she could almost breathe.

No more abuse. No more expectations. No more hiding. Even if she is barely surviving, it’s the best she’s been in all her life. She’d much rather sleep in the streets than under that roof, in that house, in the same place as those people.

That’s why, looking at the notifications of her sisters texts, she scoffed. She didn’t want to hear it. She didn’t want to hear anything from anyone who sided with that devil of a man. She’ll die before she willingly goes back to that house.

The woman was so absorbed in her thoughts, she barely heard the annoying ring of the bell as the door creaked open, barely heard the crunching of snow as he neared her.

The male burped. “thanks for the meal.”

She visibly jumped, almost dropping her phone, then stuffing it away in her pocket to look at the man who so rudely made her spill her drink just a few minutes ago. She sighed again, not having the energy to put up any kind of act now. She killed herself over with the thoughts that blew threw her mind, haunting her like some kind of ghost.

She looked up at him, shaking her head as a reply. “Do you need something, or..?”

The ravenette took his hands out of his pockets, crossing them over his chest. He observed the drooping of her eyelids, taking a moment to translate the woman’s mumble, then shrugged. “No, not really.”

But, in actuality, that was a big, fat, juicy lie; she knew that much. Her eyes narrowed; everybody wants something, and he is no exception.

She really, really, really didn’t have the means to entertain whoever the hell this guy was. She let everything go and glowered, not specifically at the man standing before her, but to the world in general.

“Lets skip whatever kind of small talk you’re trying to have with me, and just tell me what the fuck it is that you want.”

There was a silence that hung in the air, thick and palpable in her hands. She turned her side to him, taking a pack out of her pocket, and plucked a cigarette between her lips, lighting it. She took a drag.

Then, two.

Then, three.

She peeked at him from the corner of her eye.

He was wearing a tattered black jacket, a large white v-necked shirt underneath, and black jeans that tucked into a pair chunky boots - much more prepared for the cold weather than she could ever hope to be. He was tall - taller than her, at least, and kind of skinny. Now that he wasn’t wearing that annoying smirk, his resting face was… uncanny, to say the least. The corner of his lips turned down naturally, almost pouting, but not quite. His eyes looked as bored as they could be, the flickering blue that his iris was now dull and far away. It’s almost like he left for a moment, to a place far, far away from here. She shivered again, from the cold, maybe, or maybe not. There was a shell of a man standing beside her, who seemed to die mid conversation. The woman had a feeling she should be worried, but she wasn’t. Not really, because she does the same thing sometimes; it’s odd, is all, to see it from an outsiders point of view.

She turned back around to face him, keeping quiet, for whatever reason. No reaction from him. She raised her shaking hand carefully, hesitantly. Even when those eyes weren’t on her, she could feel how they scorched - could feel as they tore apart everything they saw, processing and scrutinizing and dark with some kind of intangible fog. In her other hand, sitting snugly between her fingers, the cigarette slowly burned itself to nothing.

Her hand made contact with his cheek, where skin and scars met, flesh so cold it almost stung - she tapped him a few times, then rested lightly on his cheekbone. Under her palm, she could feel the blistered skin shift as his mouth quirked upwards curiously, electric eyes glancing down at her with the same sheen of arrogant amusement as before.

He took his time finding his words, letting the ambiance of their surroundings fill the silence. The woman looked dazed for a moment, caught up in the thorns of her thoughts, snapping out of it when she felt the cigarette being taken from her other hand, his skin contorting under her hand as he pursed his lips around the stick - taking a drag and blowing the smoke in her face. She yanked her hand away, stumbling back a few steps, catching herself before she fell onto the snow-covered pavement.

“Didn’t take you as one to be so forward, short stuff. Guess looks can deceive, huh?” his voice lilted, tilting his head as he breathed in the chemicals.

She turned around, dragging her feet through the snow and hugging her arms around herself. Why did she do that? God, why did she do that? He probably did that on purpose, looking so dead and cold underneath the artificial lights of the diner, just to get a reaction out of her. She doesn’t even know this guy, she doesn’t know who he is or what he’s like or what he’s been up to. For all she knew, he could be a murderer, and she could be his next victim. He could be the most horrible, awful person on the planet, and she just touched him as if she knew the man her whole life. Who does that?

Shaking her head, she huffed, watching her breath come out into a white puff in the chilly air. She couldn’t think about this right now. Currently, she had to return to the shelter she was staying at, get her stuff, and promptly exit the vicinity, lest she get kicked out for stealing. She had to get busy finding a place to stay, because she really didn’t want to sleep outside in weather like this.

This is the consequence of her own rash decisions, she knew; though that didn’t stop her from complaining to herself every chance she got. Self pity truly is an ugly thing, isn’t it?

The male watched her as she walked away, flickering underneath the blinking streetlight and fading into the darkness that comes with night. He plucked the cigarette from his mouth, licking his lips to taste the mango chapstick that she apparently wore.

He put it out, tossing it to the ground and stuffing his hands into his pockets, quietly tailing the female as she walked. His eyes never left her frame, slanted and calculating her movements so well, even in the dark.

‘So this is who he wants to get his hands on.’

The woman grunted as she shifted the backpack up on her spine, straps digging into her shoulders and weighing her down.

It was a nice quality leather bag, roomy inside with multiple hidden pockets; the leather itself was soft and worn, a nice creamy brown color that faded white in some places from wear. It looked like something straight out of a movie, vintage and perfect - far too beautiful to belong to that shitty old man of hers. This was his favorite bag, he always took it with him when he’d be gone for days at a time. It still smelled of dusty cedar and the shitty four-in-one shower gel he’d get. He’d miss it more than he’d miss his own goddamned daughter, probably.

She couldn’t help but grin bitterly at the thought.

The sun had risen hours ago, and the snowstorm quieted into soft flurries that rained down every now and then. Her shoes were long by soaked through, and her toes were numb and most likely purple from how cold they were. There’s nothing worse than walking in the flattest shoes ever made, with cold, wet socks to match. And yet, despite the burning freeze that ate her up slowly from the outside in, she kept going.

Trudging along on the sidewalk, keeping her head down, eyes so squinted they were almost shut, she tried to dodge the few people that were dumb enough to walk to wherever they were going instead of taking a train. Mostly, there were people in suits with knee high boots with thick, fuzzy winter coats thrown over their shoulders - trudging through the snow looking like some kind of business Sasquatch.

She did manage to take some money with her from that house, but not nearly as much as she needs to get a small apartment, or a place she can stay for awhile to get her bearings. As much as she would love to get a job, it was out of the question right now - solely because they would recognize her as a missing person and report to the police. She’s tried to get by stealing things like protein bars, chips, water bottles, and toiletries from convenience stores, pick pocketing spare change form passerbys, using her quirk to her advantage, but obviously she’d have to buy a meal or two from fast food places for some solid food. The woman kicked herself for just walking out of that diner last night, leaving all that mouth watering food behind, but at the time she just couldn’t stomach it; not with that random bastard watching her like she was some kind of toy, like she was a means of entertainment.

She sat heavily on a park bench, throwing her backpack in her lap and digging out her wallet. She counted all her money under her breath, and stuffed it back securely into a hidden pocket inside the bag. Right now, she could just barely afford to rent an apartment for a month. But that’s not really enough, is it?

Leaning her head over the back of the bench, she exhaled, closing her eyes, feeling the snowflakes turn to water on her frostbitten skin as it began to fall again. Even in the cold weather, she felt her face and neck burning, chest heavy and muddled. She could feel her brain melt and drip out of her ears, salty and disgusting in the back of her throat as it ran to her head. She stretched her legs, hugged her bag to her chest tightly and parted her lips in a last ditch effort to breathe.

There wasn’t anything in her mind, really. She knew very few things for sure. She could probably count the facts on her fingers.

One, is that her legs are numb, all the way up to her knee.

Two, is that she’s starving. Her stomach growls and rumbles, begging for food she doesn’t have.

Three, is that she’s too exhausted to keep walking; too exhausted to find shelter, or warmth. Too exhausted to find the need to survive within herself.

Four, is that she knows she’s being watched. She feels eyes on her, staring, the person's intent unknown, and she is probably the most scared she’s ever been in her entire life.

She stays still, eyes closed, breath shallow, body going limp.

Five, is that she’s probably going to die out here, cold, alone, and hungry.

She curls up under her fear, tucking herself into blankets of too many emotions to comprehend. Everything settles, eerie and hopeless, as her arms fall to her sides, palms facing towards the clouds, catching snow in her bare hands.

Her consciousness is the last thing she loses as the world goes dark.

She woke with a start, jerking up with a cough that rattled her ribcage. She gagged for a good few seconds, spitting a nasty mixture of green and yellow onto the ground by her feet with a grimace.

She rubbed her hands over her face, effectively smearing snow down her forehead to her nose. It seemed it had piled up on her hands in her sleep, not that much, but enough to leave her fingertips a worrisome shade of blue. She wiped her hands on her jeans, patting her backpack; she thanked every deity above and below for the fact it wasn’t stolen.

After a split second to regretting her entire existence, she popped her neck, then looked around where she was seated. It was a quaint park, with a small swing set, monkey bars and a slide. A few dead trees were sparse around the place, snow piled up on decaying branches.

There wasn’t anyone here, who she could see, or feel. It was only her, the clouds shifting in the sky, and her growing concern for her poor, frozen feet. She wiggled her burning toes, and decided to find a sink she could thaw them in.

Standing up, she wobbled, then threw her backpack on her shoulders and pulled her hood as for over her head as she could manage. She walked as fast as she could to the nearest gas station, which was less than half a mile, thankfully. In a busy city like Hosu, there was a little store or restaurant nearly every corner you turned. Apartments lined certain streets, some high dollar, fancy buildings overflowing with security; while others stood run down, falling apart, graffitied with crude words and illustrations in the bad parts of town. She, currently, was located in the latter, which was fitting for a person like herself; a petty thief, a runaway.

She was getting awfully cynical, these days.

It was mid afternoon, nearing 2 pm, when she entered a small gas station. She nodded her head as a greeting towards the cashier, a young man with a buzzcut, tan skin and freckles. “Welcome!”

Ignoring him, she immediately stumbled into the small bathroom. At the back of the store. Thankfully, it was a one person bathroom, with a single toilet and sink. The woman was almost scared to take her shoes off, to see the mess that her feet had become, but it had to be done. Kicking off her black vans, she peeled off her socks, barely containing the shriek that ripped through her throat.

Her feet were ugly shades of purple and blue and grey, and she fell back on the floor with a loud thud. The blisters on her heels seethed with pain.

There was a knock on the unlocked door.

“Ma’am, is everything okay in there?”

It took everything within her to not scream no, everything is not okay and i’m fucking dying, because she didn’t want to freak the guy out, but now that she’s seen the state she’s in, she couldn’t hold back the tears. She tried to reply, but in place of words came a loud, ugly sob.

“Hey… Hey, uhm, do I need to call the police? Are you okay?”

She hiccuped, “no! No! It’s,” another sob, “it’s fine! Everything is fine! I’m okay!”

That was more directed towards herself, really, in a desperate attempt to calm down her buzzing nerves. Her mind went to the worst places, thinking of how she wouldn’t be able to walk anymore, how she’d die on the side of the road, how she’d be buried under the snow for forever; how as much as she thought about wanting to die, this isn’t how she wanted it to happen.

Next thing she knew, the male had opened the door, only to let out a shriek for himself. “Oh, oh my god. Wait. Wait,” he stammered, green eyes wide with panic as he stumbled back on his feet.

She took a shaky breath, holding back her sobs, “I'm, I'm sorry! Please don’t call the police! It’ll be fine!” waving her hands around, desperate to calm the poor cashier.

Said male inhaled, hand giving his chest a solid slap, then another, then exhaled. His arms dropped to his sides as his wide eyes looked towards the soaked shoes and socks, frowning in what seemed to be determination. He was mumbling something to himself, then dashed out of the bathroom, door left wide open, swinging back and bouncing slightly on the wall. The woman on the floor began to sob again, scared out of her mind, already expecting to hear sirens, to be dragged to the hospital, to be forced back into that hell of a home.

She didn’t want to go back. She couldn’t go back. Not when she made it so far on her own.

The male hurried back, arms full of gauze and antiseptic and bandaids, dropping to his knees beside her.

“What… are you doing?” it came out as barely a whisper, her voice was strained and shaking almost as much as her body was.

He dropped everything on the floor, before twisting open the bottle of antiseptic, and ripping open the bag of cotton balls. He then paused to look down at her, the golden flecks in his eyes shimmered with nervous tears as his eyebrows scrunched with the effort not to cry. “Helping you.”

It was a simple enough reply; nothing to read into, nothing left unspoken. No hidden meaning for her to obsess over. It was silent, save for the girls sniffles and occasionally cough - she couldn’t bear to look at her feet, so she stared at the man who carefully approached her, sending a questioning glance her way before he touched her, to which she nodded.

What was strange, though, is that he didn’t try to warm her up at all. He didn’t submerge her feet in warm water or try to clean them up with the supplies he just opened, but instead, he put both his hands on one foot, his touch light and warm. There was a faint, warm glow that came from his hands, and it stung like nothing else she’s felt before.

It hurt a lot, kind of like she just submerged herself in a pool of lava, but slowly, the feeling was coming back to her. She could feel her blood rushing back to her toes, the painful scorch fading to a pleasant warmth. Before long, he moved to the other foot, which was the same process all over again. She’s not sure how long it took, but the male had beads of sweat running down his forehead, and panted just enough for her to hear.

When he finally sat back on his legs, his hands were an angry red and his skin was cracking, blood dripping down his large palm, rolling onto the cuffs of his sleeves and dripping onto the floor. He closed his eyes, steadying his breath. Reluctantly, she tore her gaze away from him, and back towards her feet.

She gasped, loud and dramatic, before choking on her own spit.

Her feet, once colored with frost and the numbness it brings, is now only slightly red and puffy. There are still blisters on her heels, but they had shrunk down considerably. She wiggles her toes, and as much as her feet were sore and aching, she could feel them; move them.

By the time she turned back to look at the male beside her, he was grinning sheepishly down at her, scratching his face with his finger - smearing a thick crimson on his cheekbone. She didn’t even have to ask the question to get his answer.

“Good thing i'm a healer type, huh?”

She wanted to jump forward and hug him till he couldn’t breathe, but that would probably be a bit weird since he was basically a stranger, so she settled on a small, fleeting smile as her eyes wandered to his hands. A moment passed, with them both slouched and tired and scared. She reached forward, gently taking both of his wrists in each hand and flipping his palms to face upwards.

He jumped at the touch of her cold fingers, but let her examine his hands nonetheless. It wasn’t a pretty sight, to say the least; his skin had dried out, cracking at each of the bends at his palm and knuckles, leaking red and throbbing.

Wordlessly, she grabbed the bottle of antiseptic, and soaked a cotton ball with the liquid. She dabbed at the cuts gently, wiping away the blood and cleaning up his hands. She went through nearly 10 cotton balls, now accumulated in a bloody pile on the floor, but she paid no mind, occupied with wrapping him up in gauze.

It was weird, this whole situation; she expected to be dragged away by the cops, her feet being amputated and having to be trapped in that godforsaken house for the rest of her life. But instead, she’s bonding with a kind stranger on a gas stations bloody bathroom floor.

She hummed, satisfied with her work. Life really is strange sometimes.

Finally, she released his hands, looking up at the male, who wore a bright smile on his face. In that moment, it felt like July in the middle of winter. She almost let herself unravel in his warmth, but not quite.

He stood up, offering her a hand. “How are you feeling? Do you need help walking?” Even though he was the one injured, he worried for her.

‘How stupid.’

“Uh, i’m okay now… Thank you. How are your hands?” she forwent taking his hand, not wanting to hurt it more than it already was. She collected her socks and shoes, wobbling on her feet as they both walked out of the bathroom. There weren't any customers, thankfully, as it was still work hours and people had yet to be free of their offices and schools.

He made his way towards the front corner of the store, where the male unlocked a door and motioned her inside. After she entered, the door clicked softly as it closed behind the both of them - it looked like a break room, with a table and a few chairs, a sofa, and a vending machine. “Oh, they’re okay, don’t worry! That’s just the side effect of my quirk. Why don’t you sit down for a bit?”

As much as she wanted to decline, she really wasn’t in the position to, and the male could probably see as much. She hated pity - it made her feel weak and helpless, small under the worried look he sent her. She knew he meant no harm, but that’s just how she was; quick to decline any and all offers in favor of doing everything herself, preferring to suffer on her own than to accept assistance from people who only want to help.

Her internal struggle must have shown on her face, because he smiled reassuringly. “I’m the only one on shift for the rest of the day, so you don’t have to worry about being in the way of anyone.”

She huffed, finally shedding her backpack and dropping her shoes to the floor, sitting down on the red, fluffy couch. She sunk into it, a wave of exhaustion rolling over her being.

‘Maybe staying for a bit wouldn’t be too bad.’

The male in the room held back a giggle at her reaction, sighing softly. “Oh, i’m Daiki, by the way. You can rest up in here for a bit. I’ll come and check on you later, okay?” she merely nodded in response, not fully relaxing until she heard the clicking of the door opening and closing.

She felt all her muscles go lax as she kicked her legs up on the couch, laying down fully for the first time in a while. It was soft, and warm, and so, so comfortable. And before she knew it, she was asleep, numb to the world and its cruelty, even if just for an hour or two.

There were things on the table.

She‘s been glaring at them ever since she woke up, which was probably a good 20 minutes ago; treating them as if they’d burn her if she touched them. It’s just mundane things, with a folded up note beside them, along with a glass of water and what looked like a couple of pain relievers. A six pack of white ankle socks, a pack of those travel toothbrushes with toothpaste already built in, and a pile of heating packs sat so innocently in front of her, and while she was thankful, she was also absolutely disgusted.

She didn’t need charity.

Taking the note carefully in her hands, she unfolded it, reading the neat handwriting scribbled in blue ink.

good morning!

i left some ibuprofen here for you, because while my quirk heals, it doesn’t take away that much pain, so i thought you’d like these. i also sat your shoes and socks over by the heater so they’d dry faster. come out whenever you wake up, or i’ll come get you when i have to clock out.

-daiki

There was a small drawing of flowers on the edge of the paper. Her lip twitched as she crumpled the note, throwing it back onto the table carelessly, then looking around the room. Through the window at the side of the room, from what she could see from the opening of the alleyway that the glass faced, it was dark, and thankfully, not snowing. At the other side of the room, a small space heater sat, turning back and forth as it blew. Right there, a few steps in front of it were her vans and socks, sat neat and flat on the ground to dry.

The woman popped the pills in her mouth and gulped the water till it was gone. Shuffling over to the door that led back into the store, she peeked out the small rectangular window. From where the room was positioned, she had a good view of the entire store. There was one person at the very back of the store, browsing the chilled drinks; then, it appeared that Daiki was currently ringing a couple of school children out.

Quickly, and as quietly as she could, she went and put her socks and shoes on, both now nearly completely dry. She then tugged her backpack on, checking for her wallet which was still there, thank gods. She looked out the window one more time; it was just big enough for her to crawl through. She went ahead and opened it as wide as it could go, feeling the chilly air bleed into the room, wind blowing gently.

If she was going to do this, then now was the time.

It was always a pain to use her quirk, as it caused head splitting migraines and she could only use it for a short period of time, but it she had to admit that it was handy for things like this. The woman dug into one of the side pockets on her bag, pulling out a sheathed knife just a bit longer than the length of her hand. Carefully, she put the sheath back to where it was. The blade itself was simple stainless steel, and the handle was a smooth cherrywood, glossy and weighted in her hand. She’s had it for a while now, ever since she snatched it from one of her father’s friends while they weren’t looking; she doesn’t really remember why she stole it, but she’s glad she did, because this little thing comes in handy.

She stalked back towards the door. The school kids were long gone by now, and only the woman lingering in the back was there; looking at the candy bar isle with such intensity you’d think she’s making a life or death decision. Daiki walked out from behind the counter, and for a moment, the woman thought she’d been done for - her heart skipped a beat, her breath halted, her fist clenched around the knife. But the male wasn’t walking towards her; he was just going towards the back aisle closest to the windows, browsing the chips, to probably buy himself some. She coughed quietly, then took a breath.

‘It’s now or never.’

Clenching her eyes shut, she bit her lip, sharp and deep, until she drew blood.

“Hey, what happened? Did the lights go out?” As soon as she heard the confused voice of the woman, she bolted.

The door slammed carelessly against the wall, denting and bouncing against the surface, slamming shut.

“What’s going on? What the hell?”

‘Sorry, Daiki.’

Her footfalls were heavy and quick, the slamming of her shoes on the linoleum floor echoing throughout the building. The woman was screaming now, stumbling over herself, falling into the candy and knocking things off shelves; while Daiki was asking if anybody could hear him, trying not to panic, his breath quickening to gasps and heaves as a panic attack took him over.

“Villains! There’s villains! Help, we’re being robbed!”

The woman stabbed her knife into the cash register where the keyhole was, twisting, stabbing, then twisting again until it popped open.

“Villain, huh..?”

It was pure chaos, really. The two other people were screaming, crying out for help, clawing at their ears and eyes and mouth.

“I’m going to die, god, please! Get me out of here!”

As she stuffed every bit of cash she found in her bag, she had to admit that she felt guilty for taking advantage of someone like Daiki, who was too kind for his own good; his pained voice almost made her regret.

Almost.

There wasn’t any more money in the register by the time the woman was finished, and she bolted yet again, back into the breakroom, panting. She had maybe five minutes left until her quirk wore off, which was plenty of time for her to climb out that window and book it. She did just that, throwing one leg over the ledge, then the other, and fell to the wet ground hard on her tailbone with a whine.

She jumped up, glancing out towards the street, but deciding against it. She can run through the alleyways until she’s sure she’s far enough from here. She flipped around, running between the towering buildings on either side of her, jumping over a few trash bags, ignoring the wretched smell they gave off. She turned the corner at full speed, only to run into a body hard and fast, knocking them both over.

The woman squeezed her eyes shut as pavement met with skin and as skin met with even more skin, bodies rolling a few times over on each other, twisted together awkwardly and painfully. Both participants groaned loudly; curses spilling from each pair of lips. She winced as her eyes opened.

She was momentarily confused, immobilized by whoever was on top of her, trapping her under their body. All she saw was bruised, scarred flesh, the smell of smoke enveloping her senses. Her nose twitched, smushed painfully against a collarbone. Everything was skin, bone, rainwater and ash. The body shifted, propping up on their elbows that were now placed on either sides of her head. Her eyes widened.

“What the fuck.”

He smirked.

“What a greeting. You that excited to see me, sweetheart?”

She replied by raising her arms and shoving him hard off of her, and she jumped to her feet, trying to blink away the dizziness that drowned her out. The familiar male stood up, brushing off his jacket while gazing down at the panting woman in front of him.

She reminded him of a feral animal, in the state she was in.

“That was quite a heist you pulled back there. Didn’t think you’d have something like that in you,” he drawled.

She practically hissed, glaring up at him, “you saw that!? Goddamn it,” she gasped like it was her last chance to breathe. “Then you know that I gotta go, like, now.”

“Yeah, that’s probably a good idea.”

“You’re such a creep.”

Seething, she wasted no time, turning back around to continue her escape, dodging puddles of snow and water and trash as she ran. There were footsteps not too far behind her, keeping up with her rushed pace easily.

He whistled. “So, where ya headed?”

“Oh my god,” she wanted to scream, and she would have, if not for the sirens reverberating throughout the alleyways, telling her that her that her quirk has finally worn off. She has to find a hidden place fast, or she’s gonna pass out right where the police will find her collapsed body - and that’s not really ideal, to say the very least.

“I don’t know, okay? Why are you,” she paused, gasping. “Why are you following me, anyways? Don’t you have anything better to do?”

Now directly behind her, he scoffed. “Of course I have better things to do. But, unfortunately enough for you, princess, I think that you’re in deep shit, and I am gracious enough to offer you a helping hand in these oh, so troubling times.”

“Fuck you. I know what i'm doing.” She said, narrowly dodging a stray cat and almost falling flat on her face.

He hummed. “Oh, really now? So you have a place to hide when you finally pass out cold, where the cops or heroes won’t find you? Do tell.”

A beat of silence passed, then another. She sighed, skidding to a stop, turning to face the male who just barely avoided crashing into her again. He looked the same as he did back at the diner, smug and so far up his own ass you could barely see his head. She coughed, almost violently into her elbow for a moment, sniffing, before meeting his intense gaze.

“... no. I don't have a place to hide. I don't have a place at all, actually.”

She was angry, sad and fed up, and it showed clear as day on her face in the way her brows furrowed, her lips downturned, and her nose scrunched; the way her eyes glazed over with frustration, hot with emotions she’s tried to repress for so long.

She was so caught up in her own turmoil that she didn’t catch how he seemed to know about her quirk, or how he knew she would have such a drawback.

The male stood there as if they had all the time in the world, smug expression unchanging as he watched her break before him; turning to putty in his hands without so much as a fight. He took a split second to wonder if this is how he looked, so many years ago.

Scared. Broken. Alone.

“I have a place, just a hand full of miles away from here, actually. All you gotta do, is-”

He paused, catching the female, who collapsed forward onto him.

He didn’t get to finish, because the drawback of her quirk was hitting her full force now. Every sound echoed in her ears, her vision doubled, her body numbed. All sense of stability escaped her, leaving her mind muddled and legs wobbly; she stumbled on her feet, forgetting how to speak.

The last thing she sees is the tilting of the earth as she crumbles under its pressure.

Daiki shook as he stared down at the broken register, completely barren, only change left in the little compartments. He felt drained, empty, grey. The scrapes on his arms and face stung, shallow but still bleeding. He looked at his hands, his own skin under his fingernails, blood staining the gauze that was so carefully wrapped around his palm. His eyes widened.

Before he knew what he was doing, he rushed out from behind the counter and to the breakroom, pushing the door open and calling for the girl who was resting here. He surveyed the room, before pausing at the couch.

She wasn’t there.

There wasn’t anything here, actually. Nothing except his own crumpled up note, a pack of socks, a few heatpackets and an empty glass. His first thought was that maybe the villains took her, maybe they kidnapped her, but no.

The male gaped in horror, the truth dawned on him, reality choking him as it settled heavy on his shoulders.

Because what reason would the villains have for taking her shoes, her bag and the medicine?

“Do you even know how sketchy you sound right now, or are you not aware?”

“Listen here, princess-”

“I thought I told you to stop calling me that.” she interrupted.

He ignored her, continuing. “-like I said earlier, the only reason your ass isn’t in a holding cell right now is because I dragged your dead weight three miles in the freezing snow,” he deadpanned, “do I really seem like someone who would murder you after I went though all that trouble?”

“Yes.”

“God, you’re so fucking stupid.”

The female had woken up a little while ago, situated on the taller males shoulders, being piggybacked through a snowstorm. When she first came to, the earth tilted on its hinges and everything was a blur of what it really was, so she just groaned and buried her head back into the warm crease of the males neck, wanting to die on the spot. It was his dark chuckling that snapped her out of it, kicking and thrashing, falling in a pile of snow not-so-gracefully.

And now, here they are, at the edge of town, in a completely unfamiliar place, sitting outside of a closed vape shop, arguing like a couple of kids.

“I don’t even know your name! Why the hell would I go to your house if I don't know the first thing about you!?”

“It ain’t my house, sweetcheeks-”

“That’s even worse than the last one!”

“-It’s just a place where people like us-”

“Don’t lump me in with you, i'm just a thief-”

“Can you let me talk for one minute, goddamn!”

The woman pursed her lips, irritated, but kept quiet. She hated it when people yelled - it always sent chills down her spine in the worst way possible.

The male sighed. “This place is just a shitty underground bar, with a few apartments above ground settled on top,” he ran one of his scarred hands through his hair, rolling his neck lazily, “the people there are all there for the same reasons as you, probably.” he stretched his legs out from the crossed position they were in, leaning back on his hands. “So, if you have nowhere else to go, where could possibly be better than somewhere where everybody has something in common?”

She was silent, so he continued. “All i’m saying is that you might as well check it out.” That bored expression of his morphed into a smirk, eyes dark and dangerous and alive as they shifted from the cloudy night sky to the woman hunched over beside him. His voice lowered to something akin to a purr, smooth as thorns as each syllable dripped off his tongue like honey.

“Because you have nothing left to lose, do you?”

It was a statement more than a question, really, because he already knew the answer. When her glassy eyes rose up from the ground to meet his own, he knew right then and there that he had won.

Behind those eyes there was fire, and if he and the rest of the league fanned the flames, it would grow into something terrifying; something unstoppable.

“... okay. Take me there.”

#WOOOO BOY THIS WAS A LONG ONE #i hope this isnt trash lmaoo #bnha #bnha x reader #dabi x reader #league of villains #lov #villain!reader #mha #reader insert #dabi #x reader #runaways #runaways - chapter 1 #hopiewrites #fanfic #fic

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twitchesandstitches · 5 years ago

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How does the different factions celebrate christmas?

short answer: nobody really does, in-universe!

long answer: i’m honestly uncomfortable with addressing real world religions (at least those that are actively being practiced, due to the nature of this AU), Christianity among them. It would be safe to assume that if such religions are a thing in-universe, they are likely exclusive to the Earthborn Coalition with smaller croppings in nearby regions, albeit seriously altered due to eons of cultural drift; compare the Catholic Church of the 1000s to what is now for an example of how things might change drastically.

In general, I use fictional religions as rough stand-ins for real world ones, as well as mythologized ones that are open to reinterpretation.

Christmas as we know it is a sort of blending of multiple winter solstice events; Saturnalia and Yule, among others. Consequently, aspects we might culturally recognize as such might be prevalent among independant worlds as well as specific cultural customs. (Perhaps with more emphasis on the ‘wild, reckless parties’ and utter terror of the coldest, darkest nights of the year. Werewolves may or may not be involved more than usual.)

Something that we would recognize as something particularly Christmas-ish wouldnt’ really be a thing in-universe, as the cultural context for it does not exist. Nevertheless, there are various holidays; many religious, others stricly cultural or secular.

some examples:

Fleet: With their diversity of worlds, clan cultures and tendency to do whatever, worlds may well develop festivals that take place at the end of the year; as a time keeping measure, and to honor specific gods. most predominantly Onyx Prime (the darkest night is in their honor) and Lucoa, to whom sacrifices are made so that the stars will keep burning. Usually these sacrifices are of monsters slain and consumed at feasts. There is a trend for many holidays of week-long parties and greater community assistance than usual, as they come together at these dark times.

the religion of Aslanism certainly DOES practice something virtually indistinguishable from Christmas; this holiday concerns the ritual sacrifice of the messianic god who took the form of a lion (and is still revered as such by the followers of this religion) during an eternal winter, and in doing so, broke the curse placed upon a holy land. It is initially a somber holiday, taking place over several weeks. However as the week progresses, the celebrations become more joyous, mirroring the lion’s own deeds after his revival. This escalates quickly; full out riots and people erupting into stampedes of cheerful chaos is a feature!

Stingers: Lots of consumerism, LOTS AND LOTS OF IT. Probably the most case of gift giving, in that the aristocratic houses give lavish goods and feasts for all within their land as part of the feudal contract they live on. serfs are not expected to trade gifts at this time.

Ringers: ....situational, but not likely. Yellow Diamond’s empire has little concern for the seasons, though the organics and non-Gems may have their own new holidays for this time of year. the Prothean Empire certainly does, and this is likely modeled heavily after Saturnalia, with more blood sacrifice. Starscream’s new Decepticons will probably go off on a straight up riot as they unchain themselves and cause havoc, and finally the trolls of Condy’s Alternia engage in some class warfare that does respect to castes as honorable rivals. ALl four will engage in ceasefires during this time.

Commonwealth: None at all. Possibly some custom of sacrificing more people than usual to the vampire overlords, but barring the punting of orphans into furnaces to make the wealthiest houses slightly warmer, there’s not much more to it than that.

Coalition: Most real world holidays, if the religions producing them exist here, would have counterparts in the Coalition due to their reverence for Earth and efforts to rediscover cultural touchstones. Time, misunderstandings and cultural conflicts can produce some SERIOUSLY odd changes. (For example, should they practice Christmas, they may summon forth ghosts from the lands of the dead on the assumption that it is a tradition for spirits to harass one-percenters into doing their community duty.) All winter festivals would be relevant here, not just Christmas!

Miscella Inc.: You know the whole problem with Christmas being commodified and made into an omnipresent cultural obligation that is not even really religious in nature anymore? These guys do that same thing with every religion they can get a hold of. They wanna monetize it ALL.

Cartels: Don’t really celebrate holidays, though individual crime families may have their own traditions, but they’re likely to raid planets for captives while they’re having celebrations. They’re terrible like that.

tbh i would have liked to approach this at face value but i honestly could not!

the expectation of christmas as a universal thing is a strictly cultural one and I just couldn’t ignore that or pretend otherwise. for such holidays to exist, there must be circumstances, history, and religious presence to justify it

so yes, there might be christmas-like traditions all over the setting but they require VERY SPECIFIC circumstances to arise in any form we might consider even slightly recognizable!

im sorry, i’m just a bit pedantic and i gotta be true to my worldbuilding ways

#queued #anon replies #replies #crossthicc AU #endowed fleet #cobalt stingers #the ringers #earthborn coalition #crossthicc cartels #crossthicc miscella #Anonymous

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v-writings · 7 years ago

Photo

I want you to show me

Word Count: 9.8K+ Pairing: Steve Harrington x Female Reader Summary: Steve finds you in your secret place after dropping Dustin off at the Snow Ball, and talking about how he’s feeling leads you to do something neither of you could have expected. Rating: MA Warnings: Explicit sex scenes. A/N: The title of this fic it’s not an accident, and I do recomment listening to I Want To Know What Love Is after/while reading, because when I was close to finishing this I realized that song fits the story perfectly.

Hawkins is a small town, small enough that it’s not easy to find good places where you can relax and be completely by yourself, especially when the weather is warm and everyone wants to be outside.

When you were a kid, there was a campsite that you and your family frequented during summers; a beautiful place with picnic tables right in front of the lake. Everyone knew there was no other like it to spend some time enjoying the wonders of nature– even if it was definitely going to be surrounded by a dozen other families who all had the same idea.

You never minded sharing this place when you were camping, but when you got old enough you learned that if you came here when it was cold, it would be desolated.

In the summer this place belongs to everyone– but during winter, it’s yours.

When it’s as cold out as tonight, everyone prefers to stay warm inside their homes instead of being out in the open– which is precisely what makes this so perfect. Once again you get this beautiful place all to yourself, without anyone else bothering you.

And if anyone were to bother you, you know how to use your pocket knife.

You take a long sip of your coffee and close your eyes, enjoying how the warmth spreads all over your chest as it goes down. It’s definitely not the coldest night of the year but it’s enough to make you wrap your warm blanket a little tighter around your shoulders, and you’re enjoying every second of it.

It’s incredibly relaxing to come here at night and sit on one of the picnic tables while you watch the stars, drinking the coffee you brought on your thermos with only the sounds of the breeze and the insects and the engine of a car–

Wait.

You turn around abruptly, trying to find who dared to come here and interrupt your peaceful alone time. You squint your eyes at the bright light of the car coming directly towards you, but it isn’t until the person inside turns the engine off that you realize who is behind the wheel.

“Steve?“ You murmur to yourself, eyebrows arched in surprise. You definitely don’t think of him as the kind of guy who’d enjoy coming to a place like this at night to be by himself.

It takes him a moment to get out of the car, and when he finally does he looks... sheepish?

What is going on with him?

“Hi.” He says from his place right next to his car, unmoving.

“Uh, hi.” You greet back, knowing very well that confusion is written on your face.

“Can I– uh– do you mind if I... sit with you?” He scratches the back of his neck self-consciously and you wonder if you’re looking at an alien who looks like Steve instead of the real him, because this is the first time you’ve seen him act like this.

Even if you haven’t actually talked in years and you know that Billy dethroned him as the “king” of the school, this is not the kind of behavior you would ever associate with Steve Harrington. It just isn’t.

“Uhh, yeah.” You say, grabbing your thermos and moving a little to the side to make room for him. You follow his movements until he sits next to you, and once he’s settled the situation turns incredibly awkward in a matter of seconds. He looks tense and nervous and you have no idea what’s happening, so there isn’t a lot you can do to change the uncomfortable atmosphere he created. “You want some coffee?“ You finally ask, desperate to break the silence. He looks surprised when he turns to you, and you show him the thermos as if to explain what you just offered to him.

Why did he have to come here?

“Sure, thanks.“ He says with a small smile, taking the empty cup from your hand. You pour him the last of your coffee and leave the empty thermos on the seat of the table, by your feet. “It’s really good.“ He says after the first sip, and you only manage to give him a strained smile and nod in response.

“So...“ You say as he continues drinking the coffee. “What brings you here?“

"I don’t know… I guess I just needed a place to think.“ He traces his thumb over the edge of the cup absentmindedly, looking like his mind is miles away.

"Really? Do you come here often?” You ask, surprised that someone besides you considered this place a good spot to unplug from the rest of the world during a night like this.

“This is the first time I come, actually.” He says, looking at you only a second before finishing his coffee. “I just dropped Dustin off at the Snow Ball and I needed to get away and I–” He lets out a noise that sounds like something between a scoff and a laugh. “I actually was remembering about that Snow Ball when you were my date and I remembered that you had told me that sometimes you came here with your family and that it was quiet this time of the year and–” He runs his fingers through his hair and then lets out a deep breath, handing you the cup back. “I don’t even know why I remembered it.”

“I did?” You ask, wracking your brain trying to find the memory of you telling someone about this place who was supposed to be your secret, but you come up empty.

If you told him about that, you probably liked him a lot more than you remember– and you remember you liked him a lot.

“Yeah…” You see a small smile lifting up the corners of his mouth. “Not too long before you kissed me.” He looks at you, and you’re pretty sure the reddening of his cheeks has nothing to do with the crisp air. “It was my first kiss, you know.” You smile and roll your eyes, nodding.

“I do. It was mine, too.�� You bump his shoulder with yours. “It was a good first kiss, Harrington.”

“It was a great first kiss.” He corrects, and you shake your head playfully when he smiles.

“So…” You begin, waiting for a moment to see if he wants to say something. He doesn’t. “Do you wanna talk or–”

“No… no–” He laughs nervously, shaking his head in denial. “I don’t–” He stays silent for long enough that you start considering leaving him alone here, but before you can decide to do anything he speaks again. “Do you think Nancy and I made a good couple?” He blurts out, looking at you questioningly.

“Uhhh, what?” You respond, trying to understand where the hell that came from.

“We were together for over a year and you’ve known us since we were kids so… do you think we were good together?”

“I–”

“Because I thought we were great together.” He interrupts, not even paying attention to you anymore. “I thought I actually had a future with her.” He runs his fingers through his hair in frustration. “But it turns out, she was only pretending to be in love with me.” He sighs and shakes his head. “For a year. A year of pretending to be in love with me while I actually fell more and more in love with her.”

“Well, I–”

“But I’ve been thinking about this since the Halloween party, you know? And now I feel like I don’t know anything and that I’m alone and if Nancy pretended to love me for so long and I actually believed it, how can I tell if someone really loves me? What if everyone’s been pretending and I just– I just believed them? What if I can’t be loved?” He turns to look at you with eyes shining with unshed tears, and you try not to panic.

Sure, you’ve known Steve since you were in kindergarten and he was your first love, but after he was your date for the Snow Ball when you were like 13 years old and he completely ignored you afterwards, you stopped wasting your time on him.

“Steve, it’s going to be okay.” You say in the most soothing voice you can muster at the moment. He looks at you expectantly, like he wants you to say more, but you were kind of expecting that to be enough. Apparently not. “Is this the first time a girl breaks your heart?” He looks surprised at the question, and swallows visibly before blushing.

“It’s not the first time, but this time it feels more… real. It feels bigger.” You nod, trying to find something to say that will actually help him.

“You know a year ago, when I was dating–”

“That dumbass?” Steve interrupts, smiling softly before sniffling.

“He was not a dumbass, Steve, goddammit.” You say through gritted teeth, shaking your head.

“I’m just saying, after what he did–” You scoff and glare at him, and he shuts up, lifting his hands up in surrender.

“He broke up with me because he was going to college and he didn’t feel the same way about me as he did when we first started dating. And he was completely honest about it.”

“That’s what I’m saying– he’s a dumba–”

“Steve, Jesus!” You scream, already stressed out because of him. “He’s not a dumbass. He didn’t feel the same way about me anymore and he told me and he broke up with me and yes, it fucking broke my heart because I still loved him, but I got over it.” You take a deep breath. “The point is that it might seem like the world just ended but I promise it gets better. You will heal. It’s life– sometimes you’re lucky enough that the people you like like you back, and sometimes you’re not. I know this is hard for you to understand, but sometimes there will be girls who won’t like you.” He smiles at that, and you smile back.

“I know that, I learned it a long time ago.” You frown and look at him with a questioning expression. “With you. You were the first girl that broke my heart.”

There are a couple of things Steve learned when he was young from his father that he’s never forgotten– advice that he still uses today in his day to day life. One of them is to always have condoms with you, and the other is that to get a girl, you always have to pretend that you don’t care about what she does. In the end, she will come to you, desperate for attention.

His father told him the latter the night he dropped him off at the first Snow Ball he attended– around five years ago– and it’s something he’s never forgotten. Sure, there are exceptions like Nancy who actually needed him to show her he cared or else she would’ve never realized he was interested– but other than her it’s always worked like a charm.

Well, except for the first time he tried to put it to use.

He remembers thinking you were the most beautiful girl he’d ever seen, and how he told you so. You had looked bashful but pleased at his words, and for the rest of the night he’d forgotten about what his dad had said. You even kissed him on the lips during a slow song and it was the greatest first kiss ever– so he didn’t have to think about anything else for the rest of the night.

The problems started the next week.

When Steve told his dad about the kiss, he had told him that he was proud of him, and Steve had felt over the moon at the praise. But then he repeated that Steve had to act like it was no big deal and like he didn’t really care about it, because that way you were going to try to get his attention by any means possible and he would be completely in control of the situation.

But that’s not what happened.

You found him in his locker and told him about how much fun you’d had at the Snow Ball, and he’d replied that sure, it had been okay.

It had been more than okay– it had been the best night of his life– but his dad told him you couldn’t know that. If you knew how much he liked you that was going to give you power over him, and that was never, ever okay.

So he just left you standing by his locker and went to class with his friends, certain that his dad’s advice was going to work wonderfully. You didn’t speak to him again for the rest of the day, which worried him a little, but the next day you sat at lunch with him and Steve just knew his dad was right. He had to keep doing what he told him.

You had tried to talk to him about different subjects, but he gave you short, uninterested answers. The next day, Steve was sure you were both ready to become boyfriend and girlfriend.

And then, you ignored him.

And the next day, you ignored him again.

And the next day after that one, and the entire week after that, you kept ignoring him.

He waited for you to come “crawling back to him” as his father had put it the first time he told him what you were doing, but that didn’t happen. And when Steve cried to his mom one night after he saw you kissing another boy, his father told him to man up and that you just weren’t worth it– but he didn’t say anything about his advice being less than perfect.

Even though Steve had figured you didn’t give a damn about him years ago it bothers him a little that you seem clueless about what he’s talking about right now.

“Uhhh… what?” You ask, looking at him like he just grew another head. “How did I– when– what?”

“You completely ignored me and then you went and kissed that– that– that shithead!” Your eyes widen and you look at him with a flabbergasted expression, looking like you’re at loss of words.

“Are you fucking serious?” You deadpan, staring at him in disbelief.

“Yes, I am. I thought you liked me after the Snow Ball and then–”

“Are you fucking serious?” You repeat, this time a little louder and in a harder tone. Steve just nods, but your reaction is making him a little bit nervous. “Wow. You are a fucking asshole.” You grab your thermos and get down from the table, pulling the blanket off of your shoulders as you walk away from him towards your car.

He just stares at your back for a moment, not knowing what’s going on. Then he does the same thing and gets down from the table, sprinting towards you to catch up.

“Hey, where are you going?” He yells, getting to you before you can get inside your car.

“I’m going home, Steve. You ruined my night.”

“Oh, so you are mad because I said you broke my heart?” He asks, letting out a dry laugh.

“I broke your heart? Seriously?” You bite your lip and shake your head, and he knows you’re furious but he doesn’t know why. “You know, I was so happy after the Snow Ball. When I got home I told my mom everything about it and I was so excited to see you the next Monday at school because I was sure you had enjoyed being with me as well.”

“I did!” Steve blurts out, not knowing where you’re going with this.

“Did you, really? Because all I can remember is how you seemed like you didn’t care at all when I talked to you. Like our kiss and our night didn’t matter at all.” You sigh and shake your head. “And I thought, it’s okay, maybe he had a bad day– but then you talked to everyone else like nothing was wrong, so I waited until the next day and sat with you at lunch and you did the exact same thing. And I knew you didn’t care about me, or our kiss, or anything. I didn’t know why you had asked me to go with you– maybe just to see what it would be like? I don’t know, but I knew I wasn’t going to waste my time with someone who didn’t care about me.”

He doesn’t know exactly how or when it happens, but all of a sudden Steve is no longer in the campsite and instead is in his father’s office and he’s seeing himself as a 13 year old, and his father is there giving him what now seems like the worst advice in the world.

“Just show her you don’t care, son.” His father says, and older Steve shakes his head vehemently.

“Don’t listen to him.” But of course, the memory of himself doesn’t hear him.

“Women are like that, if you let her know how much you like her she’ll end up doing what she wants with you, and you need to be the one control, got it? Always.”

“No, no, you don’t. That’s bullshit!” He screams at the memory of his father. “That’s fucking bullshit!”

“Steve!” He gasps when your face is suddenly in front of him, and he realizes you’re a lot closer than you were before. And not only that– your hands are on his cheeks and your thumbs are rubbing the skin underneath his eyes. “Are you okay?”

No, he’s not.

You left Steve sitting back at the table while you went back to your car to get the blanket and a bottle of water, and when you came back he was sitting just as you left him. You were mad at him for how he tried to blame you for what had happened between you two, sure, but now you’re only worried because you have no idea what happened to him.

One second you were talking and then he just went dead serious and stopped responding, and he just stood still for a moment before his eyes filled with tears and he started crying. But it wasn’t like he was sobbing– it was like the tears started to fall because his eyes just couldn’t hold them anymore.

You panicked when he remained unresponsive, so you grabbed his face and tried one more time to call his name and thankfully, he came back to himself. He’d just stared at you while you tried to dry his tears, so you’d asked if he wanted to sit down again. He only nodded so you led him there, and now you see that he hasn’t moved an inch.

“Steve?” You cautiously ask, approaching him slowly. He turns to look at you with puffy, questioning eyes so you hand him the water bottle. “Here.”

He accepts it and opens it before swallowing down almost half of it, and you just stare at him clutching the blanket in your hands, not knowing what else to do.

“I’m so stupid.” He mumbles under his breath as he closes the water bottle, before wiping his mouth with his hand. “I’m sorry, I–” He shakes his head, running his fingers through his hair in clear frustration. He’s been doing that a lot. “My dad– he gave me this, uh, solid piece of advice the night of the Snow Ball.” His tone seems sarcastic, but you’re not completely sure that’s the case. “He told me that, um, if you act like you don’t care, then girls will be even more interested in you.”

“What?” You nearly shriek, looking at him with wide eyes. “That’s the biggest load of bullshit I’ve ever heard.”

“Well it’s worked for me, alright? Not with you, clearly, but it’s worked with everyone else.”

“Oh, really? Did it work with Nancy?” You ask sarcastically, knowing very well he couldn’t have possibly used that approach with her.

“No, shut up. Nancy’s different.” He answers defensively, shaking his head.

“Is she? Because as far as I know, Nancy’s been your only solid girlfriend. So maybe when it comes to actually liking someone for real, no one wants to be with a guy who doesn’t care.” You sigh and move to sit next to him. “Tell me, how many of the other girls that you’ve been with were actually sad when it didn’t work out? And I don’t mean like that time you got called an asshole in front of everyone in the cafeteria, I mean actually sad. Like you were when Nancy told you she didn’t love you." For a moment, Steve looks ready to answer, but then it seems like he decides against it and closes his mouth, looking thoughtful.

"I– I don’t know.” He finally answers, frowning slightly.

“Exactly.” You take a deep breath. “Look, Steve, that whole thing you did, about acting like you don’t care– sure, it got girls interested and it made them want you to pay attention to them, but that gets old really fast. That’s why you never had anything serious with them, because the most basic thing about being in a relationship with someone is them caring about you. If you can’t offer that, then why bother?” He looks at you with an unreadable expression, and you look down to the blanket in your hands.

“I– I’m sorry. For what I did when we were younger.” He finally says, and you shrug your shoulders.

“Don’t worry, it’s been a long time. It’s water under the bridge.” He nods and stares forward, at the lake in front of him.

“Fuck– Dustin.” He groans all of a sudden, burying his face on his hands.

“Huh?”

“I might have shared that advice with Dustin and convinced him that acting like you don’t care is the best thing to do.” You glare at him and he lifts his hands up apologetically. “I’m sorry! I’m realizing a lot of things tonight. I actually thought I was giving him good advice, and I was hurt and– ”

“For the love of god–” You mumble under your breath.

“– he was telling me about this girl he started to like and then it turns out his friend also likes her and she’s spending time with both of them–”

“And you told him to act like he doesn’t care? And he’s going to do as you said?” He nods. “I cannot believe you gave this piece of shit that you call advice to a child! Jesus Christ, Steve!”

“Don’t kick me while I’m down! I said I was sorry!” He yells, looking at you accusingly. “Okay? My dad isn’t around a lot and when he talked, I listened. I thought he was right, and he wasn’t. I get it.” He looks frustrated and angry, and his hair is kind of a mess from running his fingers through it so much.

“Okay, okay.” You say, letting out a sigh. “Steve?” You ask in a calm voice a moment later, barely turning to look at him.

“What?” His tone is still a little harsh, but he sighs and shakes his head. “Sorry. What?” He asks in a gentler tone.

“What happened just now? When you went still and– you know– you were crying and stuff–”

“Just– forget it. I’m fine.” He gives you the weakest reassuring smile you’ve ever seen, and you debate on whether you should press him a little or just leave him be.

You think that the fact that he joined you and already said things about his relationship with Nancy might be an indicator that he wants to talk, but maybe he just doesn’t fully know how to. It wouldn’t surprise you.

“You can talk to me if you need to, Steve. It’s okay.” He looks at you for a moment before looking back at the lake, and your attention shifts towards his fidgeting hands.

He’s nervous.

“Um… you wanna know how Nancy told me she didn’t love me?” He doesn’t give you time to answer. “It was at the Halloween party, after I made her spill her drink on her shirt. I don’t know if you noticed that–” He looks at you and you nod, but stay silent. You were there and you saw that happen, and you saw him following her and then leaving the party. “Okay so, she was upset about you know, Barb being– uh– missing and everything… and she was drunk and she just said that we we’re acting like we were in love, and that we were bullshit.” He sniffles and you notice his eyes are shining with new tears. “And these past few weeks I’ve been looking at her and I just saw her at the Snow Ball and she looks so– so happy, you know? Which is great, because I don’t want her to be sad but at the same time it’s like for her our breakup meant that she was free from pretending, but I– ” He shakes his head and quickly dries a tear that wanted to roll down his cheek. “I don’t know, I’m just being stupid.” He tries to laugh it off but more tears start falling, so he just covers his eyes and tries to control them as best as possible.

You want to hug him but you’re not sure if he would be okay with it, so you stay in your place feeling an enormous pressure building on your chest.

“Steve, you’re not being stupid. It just– this whole thing caught you by surprise, okay? What you’re feeling right now is completely understandable.”

“You think so?” He asks, looking at you with an unsure expression.

“I know so.” You smile and he smiles back, and you feel the pressure in your chest starting to disappear.

“And it’s not like– like I want us to be back together, you know? Not anymore, at least. I don’t want to be with someone who doesn’t love me, but… it still hurts, and I just– I don’t know how to make it stop.”

“You need time.” You say. “And talking about it with someone always helps.” He smiles at that. “I mean it. It might take some time but you will get over it. I promise.” You move to grab his hand and realize it’s freezing, so you gasp and let go. “Wait, are you cold?” You look at him and notice that his body is trembling slightly, and only now you realize that he only seems to be wearing a sweater. “Oh God, come here.” You unfold the blanket and throw it over both of your shoulders, wrapping you both in it in a way that forces you to be pressed shoulder to shoulder. “Why didn’t you tell me you were so cold? Give me your hands.” You grab them underneath the blanket and shove them together inside your jacket pocket, because you had your hand there until just now and you know it’s warm.

“I– um–” You turn your face towards his and realize he’s a lot closer that you thought, so close that you actually feel his warm breath on your face. “Thank you.” His eyes are locked on yours, and you become a lot more aware of him.

“Steve…” You whisper when you catch him staring at your lips before licking his own.

Oh no– he cannot be even considering kissing you, because that would be the worst thing that could happen. You might be literally two inches away from being used by Steve Harrington because he’s hurt about his ex-girlfriend breaking up with him.

“I–” He says, and you realize that really slowly, he’s closing the distance between your mouths.

No. Not like this. You’d be lying to yourself if you said you didn’t want to kiss him, but never like this. Not when all he wants is an escape from his pain, not when he decided to do this because he wants to momentarily forget the girl he loves. You want him to kiss you because he likes you.

“I’m not a band aid, Steve.” You say, turning your face forward and leaving him looking at your cheek.

“What?” He asks breathlessly, moving his head back a little. “What does that mean?”

“I’m not going to let you use me because you want to forget about Nancy for five minutes. I’m not a band aid for your broken heart.” It’s really hard to remain calm right now, considering that he was incredibly close to you and was very willing to kiss you just a moment ago.

Even though you spent most of your High School years not wanting to have anything to do with Steve because he became a huge asshole, in the past year something changed. You know that it has to do with him dating Nancy and not being friends with Carol and Tommy anymore, and even though you don’t know exactly what made him become a much better person you’re thankful for it.

But there’s also a problem with him turning into a sweet, kind, loving person: your crush came back, and stronger. This doesn’t feel like a childhood crush because you’re not kids anymore, and that only makes it worse.

Steve has always been your greatest what if, and until a year ago that didn’t bother you at all. You were happy with his status as a mere ‘what if’ in your life; you wanted him to remain like that. But then he just had to go and start being so nice and polite and so… soft, and you couldn’t help yourself; you started liking him again.

Which is why you can’t let him have what he wants, because once he’s done with you you’ll feel empty and discarded. So, the only thing you can do is say no to him– no matter how much you wish you could say yes.

After he started going steady with Nancy, Steve also started to pay less and less attention to a lot of the advice his father had given him. It didn’t make sense with her– she was just not like other girls Steve had ever been with.

But then she told him that she never loved him, and he started questioning himself and thinking that maybe if he had followed his father’s advice, things with Nancy would’ve been different. Maybe she wouldn’t have had the chance to break is heart in the way she did.

The night of the party, after making sure Jonathan was getting Nancy home safe, Steve went back to his house and locked himself in the bathroom. The memories of what happened after the party are kind of a blur, actually, and it’s not because he had too much to drink.

What he remembers most clearly is sitting on the closed toilet with his face buried in his hands, and then seeing himself in the mirror and hating how red and puffy his eyes were.

He also remembers taking his clothes off like couldn’t get them away from him fast enough, and hating his costume and everything it was going to remind him of for the rest of his life. The last thing he remembers after that is seeing the huge wet spot on his pillow right after falling asleep with his cheeks still damp from his tears.

He knows Nancy doesn’t want to be with him and he’s come to terms with it– sort of– but the one thing he can’t shake off is the fact that she pretended for a year that she loved him. At first it hurt to think about her not loving him, but now that a month has passed Steve also can’t help but resent her for not leaving him sooner if she knew she wasn’t in love with him.

Why let him fall in love with her when she knew she was never going to reciprocate those feelings?

Also, now that a few weeks have passed, Steve has been thinking nonstop about signals he could’ve seen sooner– something that would’ve let him know things weren’t what he thought.

He found a considerable amount– some bigger than others– but right at this moment he can only think of two.

One, that he and Nancy hadn’t shared a kiss that wasn’t more than a peck on the lips in weeks; and two, that he and Nancy hadn’t been intimate in months.

And not only when it came to sex, but also when it came to Nancy wanting to be around him and just be close to each other and really talk. He missed the emotional intimacy he only got a chance to experience when dating her– something he genuinely believed was lost forever when she left him.

But now you’re here next to him, asking him about how he feels and telling him he can talk to you, and when you noticed he was cold you got worried immediately, and then you grabbed his hands and shoved them in your pocket to make sure they would be warm– who does that?– and Steve feels overwhelmed by the fact that someone cares about him again but it’s not only someone– it’s you and you were his first love and he never, ever forgot about that.

“You’re not a band aid.” He whispers, voice thick with emotion. You turn to him with a confused expression and he involuntarily leans closer. “You’re not.” You glance down at his lips and Steve’s heart skips a beat when he realizes what that means.

“No, this is wrong– you’re hurting because of Nancy and– ”

“I am.” He confirms, not moving back an inch. “But that’s not why I want to kiss you right now.” He still has his hands inside your pocket and he feels them getting sweaty– and it’s definitely not just because they got warm. It’s because you just leaned a little closer to him.

“Then why?” You ask in a whisper, swallowing visibly. When Steve meets your eyes he feels like everything around you both suddenly disappeared, like everything but you two stopped existing in the universe.

It’s been a very long time since he felt that way.

“Because– ” His voice breaks a little so he coughs to try and make it sound a little steadier. “Because I really like how you make me feel.” Your eyes never look away from his, but he sees you licking your lips after he says that. “Because I haven’t felt like I feel right now in a long time and I just realized that. Because– ” Steve had a few other things to say, but the fact that your lips are on his makes it impossible to keep talking.

He doesn’t react at first– you’re simply pressing your closed lips against his while he goes completely still– but when your hand moves to his hair and grabs a fistful of it his mouth opens in a gasp, and that’s when the kiss turns into something else entirely.

You still have the blanket wrapped around you both which makes things a little harder, but somehow Steve finds a way to pull you on top of him so you’re straddling his lap without breaking the kiss, while also keeping the blanket around you both.

Steve’s mind right now feels like an explosion of colors and sensations and a lot of things he wouldn’t be able to put into words if he had to– because he’s pretty sure he’s never actually felt anything like this when kissing someone for the first time, even if it’s not really the first time you’re kissing each other. But that was definitely not like this. Your first kiss was innocent and you were both nervous, and you couldn’t stop giggling afterwards.

Now, however, Steve feels like he just can’t get enough of you– like he can try to pull you closer to him than you already are even if it’s impossible, but it will still feel like he needs you to be even closer; like you could kiss him forever and he would still want you to kiss him for longer than that.

He can’t stop the heavy moan that escapes his mouth when you grind on him and pull on his hair at the same time, and he feels you grinning against his mouth at his reaction. You pull on his hair again but this time it’s a little harder, and Steve just whimpers and throws his head back, exposing his neck to you. You start kissing him there immediately while grinding on him and moving your fingers on his hair, and Steve is almost seeing stars. His hands are gripping the fabric of your jacket so tightly that his fingers hurt, but he doesn’t have the energy to focus on that right now.

He can only focus on the fact that you’re suddenly kissing him again and he hasn’t felt so wanted in such a long time that he forgot it was even possible to feel like this, and he wants more of it– he wants more of you.

That’s why can’t stop himself, he can’t control the reaction his body has to you, and when you suddenly pull away from him and look down at his crotch and then back at him with raised eyebrows, he knows you’re very aware of that.

“Steve?” You ask, stopping your movements altogether.

“Are you mad?” He asks self-consciously, feeling incredibly bare and vulnerable in front of you. Your smile softly at him and shake your head before resting your forehead against his, and he sighs in relief.

“I’m not mad--” You say with closed eyes, scratching his scalp in an incredibly soothing manner that makes him want to hug you, so he does. He wraps his arms around your back and closes his eyes too, focusing on how nice you smell tonight. “I’m just worried.”

“About what?” He asks in a whisper, right before pressing a tiny kiss on your slightly parted lips.

“About… going further than this.” When he opens his eyes again he finds you already looking at him, and he can see the worry written all over your face. “About you not really being ready to go further than this.”

“[Y/N]…” You move your hands to his cheeks and press your forehead closer to his, and he can feel your frown on his own skin.

“Steve, you were crying about Nancy a moment ago.” You pull back, but don’t let go of his face. “I like you, Steve. I’ve liked you for a while now. That’s why I don’t want this to be a mistake.” Steve’s heartbeat speeds up at your confession, and he knows that for you to really understand that he truly wants this he’s going to bring up something he’s had buried inside of him for a very long time.

“Did you ever like someone else when you had a boyfriend?” He asks, fully knowing that he’s going to confuse the hell out of you with this question.

“What?”

“You know, like… feeling attracted to another guy who wasn’t your boyfriend but it didn’t really matter because you loved your boyfriend and you wouldn’t have gone for someone else.” He wishes he could express himself better, but he hasn’t talked to anyone about this ever, and he definitely wasn’t expecting to tell you about it tonight.

“Uhhh, yeah. Maybe. Why?”

“For me, that person was you. Every time I was seeing a girl, that was always you. And it made me angry, you know? Because until tonight, I’d always thought you never really liked me, but I just couldn’t shake you off from my life completely. I never could, no matter how much I tried.”

“Steve--” You breathe out, mouth parted in surprise. “Are you serious?”

“Yes.” Steve replies immediately, and turns his head slightly to the side so he can kiss your palm. “I even made this… promise to myself that I was never going to try to be with you again. Because you broke my heart.” He laughs humorlessly. “But as it turns out, it was all my fault.”

“Wow, I really had no idea.” You say, looking astounded.

“Of course not, you couldn’t have.” He takes a deep breath and prepares himself for the hardest part, because if he doesn’t say this right it might mean that you refuse to be with him completely. “And yes-- it really hurts that Nancy was pretending to love me for a year and was in love with her and I’m not over it yet but that doesn’t mean that I want to get back together with her, because I don’t. Not anymore. And I really want you right know, and I just--” You pull his head towards you and join your lips again, and Steve damn near melts at how sweetly you kiss him this time.

“Your car or mine?” You ask when you pull away, barely holding back a smile.

“What?” He asks, unable to keep his hopefulness from his voice.

“Your car, or mine?” You repeat, laughing when a grin takes over his face before he can even think about answering your question.

“Whatever you want.”

He lets out a shuddering breath before kissing you briefly, and you smile before pulling away from him completely. You take the blanket off of you and climb off his lap, but Steve just remains sitting there looking at you with an awed expression. He can’t believe this is actually going to happen, right here, right now.

“Move your ass, Harrington.” You tease, grabbing his hand and pulling him with you. He just lets you lead him towards his car, nearly trembling with anticipation.

When he opens the backseat door, it surprises him a little that you push him to go inside first, and once he’s seated you manage to close the door while climbing into his lap.

“Hi.” You say, moving your hands to his hair again. He smiles and relaxes against the seat, wrapping his arms loosely around your back.

“Hi.” He says, closing his eyes involuntarily when you scratch his scalp with your nails. He loves it when girls run their fingers through his hair, but this time it feels better than any other; because it’s more intimate, perhaps.

You rest your forehead against his and he rubs your nose with his before you start kissing again, and even though this time it’s slower than before his desire and need for you haven’t diminished even a little.

When you start grinding yourself on him again, Steve feels like what runs through his veins it’s lava instead of blood, and when you start taking your jacket off he finally realizes completely that this is really happening– you’re going to have sex with him.

When Steve kisses your neck and slides his hands underneath your clothes so he can touch your skin directly you can’t help but tighten the hold you have on his hair, and once again he moans rather loudly when you do it. You love that– knowing that there’s something he enjoys so much that he will vocally show it to you every single time you do it.

Logically, you should feel like everything is perfect right now; Steve is kissing your neck and you can feel how much he wants you pressing against your ass, but you simply can’t stop the insecurities about what you’re going to do creeping up on you again.

Does he really want this? He said that he did and you believed him, but what if that’s his vulnerability talking and you end up taking advantage of his current state? What if you enjoy it but he feels empty and regrets it when you’re done?

When Steve pulls away from you and looks at you with a frown, you realize that somehow he noticed what’s going on.

“I’m sorry, I--” You say, letting out a sigh before shaking your head. “I have to ask again, are you really sure you want to do this? You know that it’s okay if we don’t do anything, right?”

“[Y/N], I don’t--” He bites his lip and looks like he’s struggling to find words. “I don’t want this to just-- to start and end tonight. I-- I really like you too and I want to keep seeing you after this.” He looks at you directly in the eyes while he speaks, and you damn near stop breathing. You hadn’t thought about what was going to happen after tonight, but you definitely want to keep this thing going in the future as well. “If you don’t want to be with me right now that’s fine, but I swear I need you so bad--” You don’t know how many times you interrupted him mid-ramble with a kiss already, but you just can’t stop yourself.

He looks adorable when he’s nervous and needy, and you’d be lying if you said you don’t want to be with him as much as he seems to want to be with you. You’re only human, and when Steve Harrington is hard and throbbing underneath you telling you that he needs you, you damn well know that there’s no turning back.

You’re going to fuck his brains out.

Steve can feel the gooseflesh on your thighs as he runs his fingers over the bare skin of your legs before finally taking a hold of your hips, but that’s not something he can focus on right now. All he can focus on is the fact that you decided that it was a good time to tease him by just rubbing yourself on him while pulling on his hair, and he has to summon all his inner strength to make sure he doesn’t come before he’s inside you.

It’s really hard not to.

“Don’t come yet.” You warn him again in a whisper, nibbling on his earlobe. He whimpers and shakes his head, burying his face on your shoulder as you continue your movements. It doesn’t help that you’re enjoying this tremendously and aren’t keeping quiet about it, because the sound of your moans in sync with his own could easily be enough to push him over the edge.

It would be one thing if you were someone else and he had to take the lead as usual, because he’s used to do that. He’s used to be the one who takes care of the person he’s with, who make sure they feel good and in return he feels good as well. But you’ve never been like that-- you’ve never been the type of person who waits for others to take the lead and then follows; no, you’ve always been the one who takes the lead herself, and that’s exactly what you’re doing right now.

Steve is very far from being a virgin, but even during his first time he’s always been put in the position of being the one who takes care of the other person, who makes sure they feel comfortable and safe during their time together. He’s just never known anything else, and if he had to experience this with someone else, he probably wouldn’t know what to do.

But this is not someone else, this is you, and he’s comfortable letting you do anything because he trusts you, and he knows you want to take care of him-- and he wants you to.

He wants you to keep overwhelming him, to keep making him feel like there’s nothing he can do and that it’s okay, because you know exactly what you both need and he can be sure that you’ll make this as enjoyable as possible.

“You okay?” You ask, kissing him sloppily before pulling back to let him reply.

“Yes.” He breathes out, nearly panting. “Just-- God, can you fuck me already?” You laugh at his words and he does too, because your laugh is contagious and he’s close to coming even though he knows he can’t, and fuck it if this isn’t already better than any other experience he’s ever had.

“Okay.” You say, reaching between your bodies to grab a hold of his hard dick, and just the feeling of your fingers around it makes him whimper and tense up. “You’re cute when you’re desperate.” You tease, and Steve only manages to narrow his eyes half-heartedly at you before you’re sinking down on him, and his face morphs completely. He has no idea what he looks like and he doesn’t care, but his eyes and mouth are open wide as a throaty groan escapes his lips. “Jesus Christ!” He moans, throwing his head back in pleasure.

“You can call me [Y/N].” You joke before taking deep breaths, and Steve grabs your hips firmly to keep you in place when he’s balls deep inside of you.

“Don’t move, please.” He begs, trying to get a hold of himself. If you start moving right now he’s going to come in seconds without a doubt, and he can’t do that to you. He just can’t.

“Okay.” You nod, moving forward to press a soft kiss on his lips. “Tell me when you’re ready.” Steve nods and wraps his arms around you to bring you closer to him, and when your chests are pressed tightly together he just buries his nose on your neck and takes deep breaths. You start scratching his scalp again, and his eyes widen in horror. “No, no, no, no--” He whimpers, shaking his head. “Don’t touch my hair right now, just--” You stop your movements and he takes a deep breath, trying to calm down. You wrap your arms around his neck instead, and a moment later he feels a kiss at the top of his head.

That’s when he knows he’s ready.

“You can move now.” He confirms with a nod, moving his head up to kiss you. “Can you just-- go slow? Please?” He’s talking without breaking the kiss, so his words come out a little muffled.

“Okay, I’ll go slow.” You say, and then move your hands to his hair again with a smirk. “Is this okay?” He grins and nods, and then you finally start moving on top of him and his mind goes completely blank save for any thought that involves you.

Keeping your word, you start riding him slowly, and Steve becomes completely unable to form coherent sentences. He can only moan into your mouth while you kiss; he can only whimper and shudder when you pull on his hair and bite his lip; he can only let you do whatever you want to him because he knows he will enjoy it– and if you doubt that he will he knows you’ll ask him beforehand.

“Shit, you feel so good–” He groans just a second before you make him whimper by tightening your inner walls around him. “Please don’t stop.”

“You’re beautiful when you beg, did you know that?” You say breathlessly, smiling before throwing your head back in pleasure.

“I guess I do no–ohh!” Steve moans, gripping your hips a little tighter at the same time you pull on his hair. “Fuck!” You give him a messy, open-mouthed kiss, and he feels like he’s soaring through the skies.

Steve knows very well how good sex can be, but he’s never experienced anything like this before. If he had to put it into words, he’d probably compare it to masturbating and having actual sex– only that right now it feels like every other time he’s had sex it was like masturbating, and being with you is the first time he’s gotten a taste of the real thing.

And what a taste this is.

“Give me your hand.” You suddenly say, grabbing it from your hip and moving it between your legs. “Here.” You say, guiding his thumb to a little nub, and he knows exactly what you want. He starts rubbing it in small circles and your moans increase in volume, which only turns him on even more.

You’re both sweating even though it’s cold outside, and Steve almost wants to pray for you to be close to coming because he really can’t hold himself back much longer– this feels too good.

“Oh, fuck, Steve– I’m so close–” You moan just seconds after, and he almost wants to yell his thanks to the heavens. You grab his cheeks and bring his face to yours, kissing him deeply while the movements of your body increase their speed.

You lower down your hands to his shoulders and use them as leverage to ride him even faster and harder, and just a moment something just snaps inside of him and he lets go completely with a scream of your name. You follow him right after, wrapping your arms around him while you ride the waves of your own orgasm.

“Fuck–” You mumble, breathing heavily. “God, that was–”

“It was fucking perfect.” He finishes, wrapping his own arms around your back and kissing your neck. “It was amazing.”

“I’m happy you enjoyed it.” You say with a pleased sigh, kissing his temple before pulling away to climb off of his lap.

Steve takes the condom off and ties the end before moving forward and leaving it in the ashtray to dispose of it later, and then sits back only to find you looking at him with a shit-eating grin.

“What?” He asks, a little unsure-- but he can’t help but smile too.

“You wanna cuddle?”

When you made your offer to cuddle Steve, this was definitely not what you had in mind. You’re curled up in the backseat of his car with him behind you trying his best to spoon you in the limited space, but it’s obviously not working. You didn’t think it was going to, but when he told you that he could spoon you if you wanted to you just didn’t have it in you to tell him that was probably the worst idea you’d ever heard.

You’re thankful that he can’t see the faces you’re making, because you know the distaste for his choice his written all over them.

“Are you comfortable?” He asks once he’s apparently decided that he shouldn’t try to get more comfortable than this, and your eyebrows nearly shoot up to your hairline.

You’re most certainly not comfortable. This is the worst thing ever and your neck already hurts from the awful position you’re trying to keep it on.

“Uhh…” You only manage to say, which is followed by some incoherent noises that offer no actual response.

“You’re not, right?” He asks, lifting his head up so he can look at you. “Oh god--” He says, bursting out laughing. “Your face-- you hate this!” He unwraps his arm from your waist and you move to sit with your back against the car door while Steve moves to the other side. “Then why did you say you wanted to cuddle?”

“Um, because I did? I just didn’t think you were going to try to spoon me in the backseat of your car.” You say accusingly, massaging your neck.

“Oh, so that was the problem?” He asks, looking at you curiously. “Did you have something else in mind?”

“Well, based on what you just did, I’m not sure you’d enjoy a good idea.” You retort defiantly before crossing your arms, which makes Steve smile.

“Come on, you’ll never know if you never try.” You stare at him for a moment before uncrossing your arms with an exaggerated sigh.

“Alright.” You say, spreading your legs. Steve’s eyebrows rise up comically at that, and you have to laugh at him. “I don’t know what you’re thinking, but it’s not that. Come here.” You open your arms for him and he looks at you questioningly for a moment. You roll your eyes. “Sit between my legs.”

“Oh.” He says, a little taken aback.

“Come on, I don’t bite.” He gives you a disbelieving look and you close your mouth to stop yourself from laughing.

“Yes, you do. And kinda hard.” He says, unconsciously touching his bottom lip. “Okay, fine.” He crawls towards you until he’s sitting between your legs, and then he slowly moves until his back is pressed against your chest. You barely resist the urge to grin, because this is what you were talking about.

The problem is that Steve is as stiff as a board, so the only way you’ll really enjoy this is if you can fix that.

“Come here.” You say, using one hand to grab his face and turn it towards you, and then you kiss him. It’s slow and tender, and his body relaxes so quickly after that that you can’t help but feel incredibly pleased at yourself.

You have your free arm wrapped around his waist and Steve is holding your hand with both of his, tightening or loosening his grip on your fingers depending on the intensity of the kiss. When you finally pull away, his cheeks are flushed deep red and his breathing is labored.

“Wow.” He says, swallowing visibly. “This is-- um-- it’s better than spooning.” You smile and kiss him again, but only for a second.

“Yeah?” You ask, wrapping your other arm around his waist too. He nods and interlocks his fingers with yours before letting his head fall back against your shoulder.

“Definitely better.” He confirms, smiling softly at you. “Thank you.” He brings one of your hands to his mouth to kiss your knuckles. “For everything. I--” He takes a deep breath. “I’ve never felt like I felt tonight before. With anyone, not even--” He stops himself shakes his head, looking apologetic. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t--”

“You can keep talking about Nancy with me, Steve.” You say honestly, kissing his forehead. “I want you to. I want to help you… help yourself.” He just stares at you with an intense look on his eyes for a moment, and then he turns his head around and hides his face in your neck. That seems to be something he really enjoys doing for some reason, and you don’t mind at all.

“Thank you.” He whispers, kissing where his mouth can reach. You free one of your hands and bring it to his head, smiling when you start running your fingers through his hair and he lets out a little whimper.

“You’re welcome.”

You know that Steve has a lot of things to figure out and most of them come from the relationship he just got out of, but if you can-- and he wants you to-- you’ll be glad to be by his side in every step of the way.

Tagged: @springstellations; @stevie-harrington; @keepcalmandeatsomefood; @funnybunnychan; @gotgalaxxxy; @rax-writes; @applesnirt; @agentwhlskey; @mirkwoodmystic; @kendrasauhders

#steve harrington x reader #steve harrington imagine #stranger things #stranger things imagine #steve harrington #my writing

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letholojimin · 7 years ago

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HOUR 5 (JJK)

STUCK SERIES - HOUR 5

Pairing: Jeon Jungkook x Reader

Themes: high school au, badboy & fuckboy jungkook

Genre: Smut, Fluff

Word Count: 2,003

Summary: After being labelled the school’s biggest bad boy, Jeon Jungkook chooses to live up to the title. What he doesn’t know is that his arrogance will lead him to you.

SMUT WARNING

HOUR 4 | HOUR 6 | MASTERLIST

Jeon Jungkook knows so much about stars that he makes you see them.

Jeon Jungkook was overwhelmed- enough to almost be afraid to let you go to you locker and to go to his. Why? Because he’d never felt like that before- an overwhelming sense of wanting to be near or around you. Not even with all his previous flings because it’s simple, that was all they were.

He promised to meet you back in the music room after you both finished freshening up in the locker rooms near the football field and you complied, agreeing that the room was one of the coldest and most peaceful in the entirety of your school. That is- except for the library, but you’ve both already been there for the night.

You face yourself in the mirror after getting out from the shower and changing into clean, crisp clothes. You’re wearing a plain white shirt and black loose fitting pants with three white stripes on each side. There’s a dark bruise on your neck and you could only wonder where that came from. Your hair is still slightly wet so you get your comb from your small white pouch consisting of your school essentials.

You’d be lying if you said that you weren’t a bit set off by what had happened because sure, your cheeks were no longer that flushed and you had shrugged off the ‘moment’ that you had but was it wrong to feel a bit nervous about going to the music room with him alone in a rather confined area? You weren’t worried about seeing him, no. You were worried about what you would do especially within such a close proximity.

You were worried about if you’d be able to stop yourself.

You walk slowly, steps light against the tiled floors of your school’s hallways. You put your clothes inside your locker and make your way to where the two of you are supposed to meet. When you open the door and quietly make your way inside the dark room illuminated only by a large window on the side, you hear an angelic voice singing and the accompaniment of a melodious piano.

“Lost my way, 쉴 새 없이 몰아치는 거친 비바람 속에, Lost my way, 출구라곤 없는 복잡한 세상 속에…” His voice was one that could reach a wide range and you were sure of it because he hit all the notes effortlessly. His back was facing you and he played the piano without a care in the world- and you were lucky enough to see him like this. You’ve never heard that song before, and you were just about sit down on the nearby couch and watch him continue playing but he must have noticed your presence because immediately after the chorus, he took his fingers off the keys and dusted them.

“Hey, Y/N,” He greets casually before making his way towards the couch- towards you. There’s an evident smile on his lips as he sits beside you and you wonder if you’re the reason behind it. What you don’t notice, though, is how your lips have tugged upward upon entering the room and Jungkook is fascinated by you. He’s wondering the same exact thing, you just don’t know it.

“Hey…” You reply, him slipping his arm around your shoulder and impulsively kissing your temple. It’s evident that he’s extremely fond of you. He’d seen you around but he never had the chance to get you alone like this. “How are you?”

“Kookie, you saw me thirty minutes ago.” You whisper against his chest, snuggling into his black hoodie. “Still.” He notices that you’re a bit cold and with that, he immediately removes his hoodie, handing it over to you.

The action tugs at your heartstrings because no boy has ever treated you like this before and it’s almost unreal. The entire night all still feels like a dream that you will wake up from, the memory of him quickly disappearing. After all, this feels like a fleeting moment of time- something ephemeral.

You graciously accept his clothing and pull it over your head. You lean over to peck him on the lips and surely, it takes him by surprise. You’re positive he wants more though, because within second your body is pinned down on the couch, him hovering over you. You entangle your fingers in the hair at the nape of his neck, tugging lightly. Jungkook groans and you assume you’re actually doing something right for once.

Eager to get revenge for his actions merely an hour ago, your lips trail their way down to his neck. His arms grow weaker every time your lips touch his skin so you turn around, letting him ie down. By now, you’re straddling him and your hips are right on top of each other as you try to find his weak spot.

Your lips are connected to the bottom of his jaw when he lets out a guttural moan, telling you you’ve found it. You suck gently and lightly grind your hips on his, knowing exactly what you’re getting yourself into. “Fuck,” He says, voice barely above a whisper you’re sure you would have missed it if you weren’t so close to him.

“Baby girl, you’re too good to me.”

You blush- it’s the first time he’s given you any sort of pet name intimately and you’re so fucking turned on- you know there’s a blaze inside of you right now and only he can tame it. When you detach your lips from his neck, there’s a faint sign of a growing bruise and you feel successful with your work. He captures your mouth with his and this time, he’s ruthless. He wants you and you sure as hell want him.

He grinds against you a little bit more and with his tongue in your mouth and the way he’s moving the room seems to have risen 20 degrees, the air being hotter and more humid. Jungkook takes off his shirt, finding the heat uncomfortable. You place your forehead on his and run your fingers down his toned body, your hunger growing even more.

Within seconds, both his hoodie and your tee are gone. You think about how useless it was for him to give you the outerwear but then again, everything that had happened led to now, hasn’t it?

You unclasp your bra and the boy in front of you is dumbfounded. To him- you’re fucking gorgeous and he will make sure that you know that. He places his hand on your right breast, massaging gently. He pushes you down until you’re the one leaning on the other edge of the couch, his lips on your left nipple. “Jungkook, shit, that feels so good!” He feels amazing too, because he’s the reason you’re feeling that way.

Both of you kick off your shoes and he pushes your sweatpants down, leaving you in your plain black underwear. He presses his hands to the side of your hips before using his teeth to pull your last piece of clothing off. By now, you can’t wait any longer and he takes this to his advantage.

“Mmm, you’re dripping wet, baby.” He says, pressing a kiss to the inside of your left thigh. “Fucking soaking…” He places his lips briefly on your right thigh. “All for me, Y/N?” He breathes directly on your core, knowing the answer damn well.

“Fuck, Kookie, do something!” You groan, being frustrated for far too long already. He simply chuckles at your attempt to coax him into satisfying your needs. “Ask nicely, baby,” He says against your hipbones. “Maybe then I’ll help you out.”

“Jungkook, please.” You whine, desperate for him to help you. “Touch me, fuck, please just do something. Please.”

“Since you asked so nicely…” He smirks before pressing his mouth to your core, licking a stripe in between your folds. His actions cause you to react immediately and you push his head closer to you. His tongue massages your clit gently and without warning, he pushes a finger into you slowly. “So fucking tight… How are you gonna take my cock baby?”

You groan in response, arching your back. His finger is uncomfortable in you but after a couple repeated thrusts, he knows you’re enjoying it. “More, please, more…” You beg him and he complies, placing in another finger. His other hand focuses on stimulating your clit and you swear you’ve never felt this way before. It’s euphoric and your core is on fire, the blaze growing into something stronger.

“Shit, Kookie, just like that!” You scream, grinding your hips against his fingers. “You like that baby?” He whispers in your ear. “You like fucking yourself against my fingers, huh?” His begins sucking on your neck again, but this time he’s relentless. His fingers continue to enter you at a quicker pace, your walls constricting around them. Jungkook curses, seeing you wither under him.

His fingers are doubtlessly covered in your juices and you can hear the slick sound of his digits entering your body perfectly, walls tight around him. Your body reacts so well to the slightest of touches because at that moment, it’s only you and him. The rest of the world does not exist.

You move quicker against his digits, trying to get yourself to your high. He rubs your clit mercilessly now, knowing how much you want to release. “Come on, Y/N,” He coaxes. Sweat drips down your forehead as you attempt to get to your high. He goes even faster, his fingers deeper in you before he hits a spot that drives you fucking insane. Your breath catches and you lean your head back, Jungkook nibbling on your earlobe gently. “Come for me, baby girl.” With his words, you clench around him, shouting out his name in pleasure.

Jeon Jungkook knows so much about stars that he makes you see them.

He rides out your high, going down on you to lap up your juices. His tender licks against your sensitive clit are bearable because you take into account how gentle he is even after all the dirty things he had said. You wonder, however, what you are going to do with the hard-on in his sweatpants which is visible even through the baggy material.

He slides a finger between your folds, collecting what’s left of your release and lifts his hand up, letting you taste yourself. “Good girl.” He praises, seeing how you relent to his actions without any orders from him. “You taste heavenly.” He says, though your acts are nothing short of sin.

“What about you?” You ask, genuinely curious about what he wants you to do about the situation in his lower region. He simply shushes you, telling you to sleep. You don’t fight against him because you are exhausted anyway, and you could really use the nap after all you’ve been through earlier in the night. He helps dress you back in your underwear and his hoodie.

Jungkook is uncomfortable, that’s a given. But when he checks the screen of his phone and is greeted by the bold numbers displaying the time which said it was half-past midnight, he knew that letting you go to sleep was the better thing to do. Sure he would have loved to get a blowjob or something like that but he knew that you weren’t ready for it- the way you reacted to his fingers alone said it.

He sees a certain difference in you, from the way the moonlight hits your face in an extremely perfect angle to the way the stupid nickname you’ve given him rolls of your tongue. He sees the innocence behind your remarks, the fragility behind your brave disposition and the masterpiece that is you altogether.

He’s not even worried about the boner he has though it’s extremely fucking annoying, instead he cherishes the time he spends with you wearing his hoodie after the intimate moment, he cherishes having you wrapped in his arms. Because then again, as early as now, he’s wrapped around your finger.

387 notes · View notes

go-redgirl · 5 years ago

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2019 Was the Year That Democrats Went Off the RailsCOMMENTARY.

By Frank MieleDecember 30, 2019

Every year at this time, it is incumbent upon us columnists to gird ourselves with chest-high waders and a deluxe trash grabber as we venture back through the muddy waters of another annum in search of significance.

Sometimes, it’s as clear as the pimple on a teenager’s nose. Other times it’s as obscure as the reason why anyone would invest their life savings in blockchain — whatever that is. Usually, it’s a mixed bag. You pays your money and you takes your choice.

For me, I’m going to remember 2019 as the Democrats’ last stand. The party of Thomas Jefferson was given the keys to the nation’s future and told, simply, don’t drive it off the road. Instead, the Democrats honored their Southern roots and decided to go mud bogging! Might have been fun if they had four-wheel drive, but they were stuck with the antique transmission of the Constitution. Voters were sure to notice when the yee-haw Democrats covered them with dirt, ground the gears to dust, and spun the engine into oblivion.

How we got here:

Jan. 3: Democrats took over the Animal House of Representatives and immediately pledged to take down President Trump in the mistaken belief that he is really Dean Vernon Wormer. Nancy Pelosi auditioned for the role of chapter president, but was told she was born to play the John Belushi part of “Bluto,” the pathological sergeant-at-arms. That big nasty gavel sure does make power go to one’s head — and you don’t have to be a good ol’ boy to understand that!

Jan. 15: An apparent messiah complex leads Sen. Kirsten Gillibrand to join dozens (hundreds?) of other Democrats offering themselves as the Chosen One to defeat DJT. Political spin doctors warn that the delusion could spread rapidly and, indeed, before the year is half over, it has infected Jay Inslee, Marianne Williamson, John Hickenlooper, Beto O’Rourke, Bill de Blasio, Julian Castro, Steve Bullock and other non-entities. It appears, however, that although non-politicians were for the most part immune, a related condition resulted in uncontrollable laughter whenever two or three people gathered to discuss the state of the Democratic primary.

Jan. 29: Democrats encountered a detour on their road to ruin when “Empire” actor Jussie Smollett claimed to be the victim of a hate crime on the streets of Chicago in the middle of the coldest night of the year. The noose still hanging around his neck when police came to his door later may have seemed like the perfect prop to TV star Smollett, but to everyone else it seemed like a giant neon light shouting, “Give me attention!” Did I say everyone? Oops. Not Democrats, who have mastered the marriage of victimhood and hagiography. To them, St. Jussie was the second coming of Tawana Brawley. Oh, wait. This is getting way too uncomfortable! It’s almost like Democrats specialize in phony attacks and disingenuous outrage. Hmmm. On Feb. 21, Smollett was arrested for filing a false police report, but thanks to a corrupt system in Chicago, he walked away without even a slap on the wrist for his staged hate crime. Did I mention Chicago?

March 22: I know Democrats thought that Robert Mueller was the Easter Bunny, but when he delivered his report on Trump and Russia, it turned out to be a big goose egg. Attorney General Bill Barr tried to warn the nation that there was “no there there,” but we didn’t know he was talking about the space between Mueller’s ears until July 24 when the special counsel testified before the House Judiciary Committee. Turned out that Mueller doesn’t even recognize the name of Fusion GPS, the company that hired Christopher Steele to write the dossier that was behind the entire phony Trump-Russia collusion conspiracy sham. Case closed. But the Democrat conspiracy elves cobbled together a new hoax that was ready to go 24 hours later — the Ukrainian extortion quid pro quo bribery scandal. This time, surely it would be the beginning of the end for that impostor president!

March 25: CNN’s preferred candidate for president, porn-star lawyer Michael Avenatti, is arrested for a real extortion scheme he allegedly plotted against Nike. Over the next month, Avenatti, the darling of the Never Trumpers, would be indicted and charged with north of 40 federal crimes. The presidency would have to wait for a better con man.

April 25: Enter Joe Biden. Ignoring former boss Barack Obama’s wise counsel that “You don’t have to do this, Joe,” Biden commits professional suicide by announcing his candidacy for president, thus ensuring he will leap from comfortable irrelevancy to irrelevant corrupt con-man politician who will eventually have to answer for his bragging about a quid pro quo in Ukraine. Talk about poetic justice!

May 3: Unemployment falls to 3.6% in the United States, the lowest in 49 years. By October, it is down to 3.5%, setting the 50-year record, and jobless numbers for blacks, Latinos and other minorities are at all-time lows. Nor surprisingly, the Democrats blame Trump for the horrible economy because — well — there was nothing else they could do.

June 27: Wait, there actually was something else the Democrats could do. All 10 Democrat candidates in the first presidential primary debate on NBC raised their hands when asked if they would guarantee health-care coverage for illegal aliens. Democrats swooned, but the rest of us just felt sick.

Aug. 24: At their summer convention in San Francisco, the Democrats voted against holding a climate-change presidential debate. Three days later, 16-year-old climate phenom Greta Thunberg arrived in New York City propelled only by her own hot air across the Atlantic from her native Sweden. Told she is too early to appear as a teenage blimp in the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade, she decides instead to testify at the U.N. on gaseous emissions, of which she has become an expert. Somehow she never gets around to telling the Democrats what she thinks about their decision to sidetrack the climate debate. How dare they!

Aug. 28: Sen. Kirsten Gillibrand withdraws from the race for the Democratic presidential nomination. LOL.

Sept. 3: The San Francisco Board of Supervisors passes a resolution calling the National Rifle Association a “domestic terrorist organization.” In response, the NRA passes its own resolution calling the San Francisco Board of Supervisors “a lime Jell-O salad with marshmallows.” At least that’s what I think they did. Reporting on this is somewhat vague.

Sept. 8: Disgraced former South Carolina Gov. Mark Sanford announces his primary challenge to President Trump. As part of his doomed bid for attention, Sanford simultaneously announces he will be departing the race on Nov. 12, but because he is not wearing a noose around his neck, the media misses the story altogether.

Sept. 9: The inspector general of the intelligence community, Michael Atkinson, draws the short straw and is forced to launch a third unsuccessful coup attempt against President Trump by the CIA involving the “urgent” and “credible” whistleblower complaint that turned out to be “irrelevant” and “partisan” a few days later when President Trump released the consensus transcript of his call with Ukraine President Volodymyr Zelensky. When will they ever learn? Oh, well, after Trump is reelected, they will have four more years to get their impeachment-coup machine in working order. If at first you fail to smear, try, try again.

Sept. 20: New York City Mayor Bill de Blasio announces his withdrawal from the presidential race. New Yorkers tremble in fear at the prospect of his return to work.

Sept. 24: In a legacy-building move, Nancy Pelosi announces she will go after the Guinness Book of World Records title for shortest successful impeachment proceeding in history. In a surprise, she also added a last-minute bid to win the title for the impeachment with the least evidence, and Guinness decided to award her that one summarily. As one Guinness judge was overheard to remark about Trump’s call with President Zelensky, “That was a perfect call. How the hell does she impeach with that call? Damn, she’s good.”

Then, in a shocking turn of events, the entire fourth quarter of 2019 was canceled on account of impeachment. Speaker Pelosi, who had been holding the nation hostage since September, is expected to free the impeachment sometime early in 2020, but the nation itself will remain a prisoner throughout most of the year as Pelosi and her henchmen in the media continue to pretend that the other shoe is about to drop, leading to a bombshell revelation that this is the beginning of the end of President Trump, who will nonetheless breeze to reelection on his pledge to Keep America Great and to keep the socialist Democrats at bay.

I, for one, can’t wait for 2020, but it will be hard to top 2019 if you enjoy a good laugh at the expense of liberals.

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hannahstocks · 5 years ago

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’99 bottles of beer on the wall, 99 bottles of beer, take one down, pass it around, 98 bottles of beer on the wall’…

Mild hysteria in both our voices, oncoming traffic lights, lighting up the salt streams running down beetroot coloured cheeks, eyes squeezed together so tightly, with a force in her lungs to be reckoned with.

I’d had a bad feeling about the first camp spot, ‘something just doesn’t feel right’ as I screwed up my face apologetically. There was something about camping next to a heavily logged area of forest which gave me a sad sunken feeling, a graveyard for trees made me draw a little deeper for air, knotting in my stomach. The fast flowing river on the other side of us juxtaposed the feeling of sadness with life and vitality and an eagerness to swim, but we pushed on, with a slightly passive aggressive tone floating around the van and a groan for dinner in our bellies.

My gut feeling pushed our eta a little later than we’d hoped, most of all, for the little beetroot faced girl sitting in between us.

I had worried a little before departure, we’d traveled in the van so many times before, longer and farther distances. I was longing for the simple life, basic routines, outdoors even when you’re in doors with the selfish flexibility to stay or go, to see where the wind would blow.

We were quickly realising that we needed to slow down, rushing from one spot to another was not conducive to a 6 month old, nor conducive to our own level of sanity and it felt good, new perspectives.

The last few nights in the van I had starred out of the window and into the stillness of the night, darkness laden with stars, temperatures dropping, my back covered in goosebumps, wedged against the cold metal of the barn door, with one slightly chilly boob exposed and a hungry little girl attached.

How life had changed.

Having to get ‘nowhere quickly’ was starting to create a new perspective, a shift in mindset enabling the appreciation of those seemingly mundane moments. Finding something quite methodical and beautiful about piling our bags on the front seat ready for bed, washing up in stream water, putting the bed away and making the bed at night, tag teaming to go to the toilet or brushing our teeth. Feeding into the early hours.

Those first few days, the weather proved favourable for us, gifting us with blue skies and the kind of warmth that feels like you really deserved it, small pockets of Autumnal grace warming the parts of us exposed and making those cold water dips that little more bearable.

The Lake District proved to be some of the coldest water we’ve both swam in yet, painful, stabbing all over our bodies, stealing our breath as we submerged into the most beautifully emerald water, crystal clear. Each of us looking on as the other floats down the river, navigating rocks and mini rapids. A little part of us enjoying the others discomfort along with a sense of camaraderie. Taking turns, now a necessity.

Have you ever seen a horny Bull? Weird question maybe, but when one sets its sights or its smell on a field of unassuming cows, you soon learn that fences just don’t exist, merely a slight obstacle, a nuisance if you will and you want to be as far away as you possibly can.

Sheets of glass welcomed us that evening, with that Autumnal late afternoon light, casting favourable sun flares and romanic feelings, I think we even held hands at one point. It was the light to give those van legs a resurgence of energy.

No matter how many times we’ve thrown a ball for Dillon and watched him launch, with pure joy into the water, each time it seems like the first time, somehow still elated by the sight of that moment, mid air, all limbs outstretched, anticipation on his little face. And honestly, a slight jealously stirs inside that you can want something so bad as if it’s the first time you’ve ever had it, time and time again, like a really really good groundhog moment.

Hot dogs with all the trimmings were on the menu that evening, oh and sliced baby fingers. Note to self, always remember when you’ve opened a can of beer and placed it in arms reach of your baby, she will want to play with it and most probably, start playing it like a singing bowl. The never ending emergence of guilt revealed itself to me with conviction that evening. A few tears, a little bit of blood and she was fine, I wasn’t. A play mate for Dillon began to soften the blow as they played well into dusk, dropping the ball onto the van door mat, eyes drilling into us ‘please throw, please throw, please throw’. People began to congregate and beach fires started to emerge, embers flying straight up and into the windless night. We would fall asleep to stillness and I’d wake to feed the babe to chilly temperatures, 3 or 4 degrees at most.

The next morning saw a slow relay of running, swimming and stretching, James held out the baton and it was my turn. Pausing on the shoreline, bikini clad at the start of the Caledonian canal, water running down my goose pimpled skin, enjoying the surge of heat glowing through my body from the mix of salt and fresh water. Each rock on the bottom as clear as looking through glass.

Just towards the fields behind the van, we watched a bull, come out from no where and start charging the length of 4 football pitches, barbed wire fences separating each field. He’d become entangled in each fence and momentarily be stuck, bucking his legs. James and I looked at each other like ‘what do we do?!’ And then he’d kick his way free and onto the next, same scenario, before bulldozing the last fence, straight through and into the woodland and up into the field of grazing cows, blissfully unaware of what was about to hit them. It amazed us, that sheer one tracked focus, the brutal strength and discard for anything in his way.

Further North and well into Scotland, the good weather came and went and as a good friend recently said, no family holiday would be complete without a couple of nights in a static caravan. We watched low tide turn to high from inside the warmth and through the rain drenched window, the side rain now relentlessly beating down, wind so strong the sides shaking. Normally I would have felt like we were cheating on the van, but honestly, I couldn’t have been happier sat watching the weather, inside and dry.

The caravan sat on the far east of the peninsula, unspoilt and wild, stretching out into the Atlantic Ocean, a single track road leading to the most westerly point on the Great British mainland.

There was no rush, nowhere to be, no waves to chase.

The weather cleared, patches of sunshine with rain, rainbows decorating the sky.

We made the slow way west, the sound of cameras clicking as we inspected the sun kissed ever changing landscapes; enchanted woodland into open pastures, tucked away bays and mountainous passes; taking it in turn to dash from the van, catching precious moments in between showers. Sometimes, just staring out, cameras down, impossible to capture.

Castles at low tide, friends with nordic cabins looking out over hills rolling into lochs with mountains lacing the edges, unsuccessful fishing spots revealing hidden bays for swimming and the babe taking her first ever picture, first of many I’m sure.

We’d been keeping an eye on the weather chart, heavy rain and strong winds on the forecast. Hopping on the ferry we headed north and into the eye of the storm. Sunshine joined us over the short and relatively smooth crossing, although it doesn’t take much for me to seek out somewhere to lie down, breathing the fresh air in deeply, wooziness on the horizon.

The wind continued to increase throughout the day as we pulled up to our camp spot, positioning the van with what felt like a million micro adjustments to save ourselves from the soon becoming Gail force head winds.

Watching on, hikers pitched single man tents on the grass in the most exposed of areas which unfortunately just happened to be the flattest. The swell in the bay was small but what there was of it was boasting white caps, foam blowing onto the shingle and across the bay.

I thought a lot about those hikers over the duration of our short stay. They were in for a rough night, thats for sure, struggling to erect their tents in the first place, sides bowing into themselves and away from the oncoming wind, no doubt pressing up against them and their kit, now sheltering inside. Condensation building. They would fall asleep to torrential rain and wake up to it, relentless, no break. But I envied them. And not because I wanted to be anywhere other than where I was, but because I know that feeling, the rollercoaster of feelings which come from doing something physical and getting completely drenched, feeling uncomfortable, tired, irritable and ravenous but so full of satisfaction and overwhelming joy that its been anything but a fair weather experience, instead, a full on adventure. I imagined them finding a pub a couple of days later when their hike was over, pint in hand, hearty meal on the table, cheeks rosy with that immediate fuzzy feeling, contented satisfaction.

Maybe I’m just a romantic though.

Maybe they all hated every second.

Walking up the rough track, we gazed out towards the dominant cliffs and across the bay, waterfalls scattered in the hills, watching the weather as it crept in visible sheets across the sky; most of the hikers tucked up inside their canvas sheets, a couple still frantically tying down guy ropes.

‘I think it’s gonna skirt across and miss us’, he says hopefully. Looking towards the looming sky, I didn't share his optimism. But we kept walking upwards, stretching our legs, tripping over lose rocks, struggling a little with fatigue and the extra weight strapped to me in her pile fleece onesie.

There is always the need to move, in life, in general but no more than when we’re on the road. So much sitting and snacking, the body gets restless and the mind starts to irritate and there’s only so much van chair yoga before you start to feel the opposite effects.

And so it begins, that piercing side rain that was ‘definitely’ going to miss us. Oh it hurts and it’s so wet, the kind of rain that soaks you instantly, no rain jacket, just a fleece, absorbing all the moisture, jeans sticky and heavy, arms wrapped around the little warm parcel strapped to me, asleep, oblivious.

The wetness would continue into the night and all of the next day too, completely relentless.

It was a full moon, we were trapped inside the van, tensions were high and there were almost tears over spilt gnocchi.

Luckily we’re still married.

Just.

The problem with being a Pisces is making decisions. Hard enough with one pisces. Even harder with two. We sat in a lay by eating sandwiches, refreshing the iPhone and what the weather was predicting for the next week. It looked bleak for where we were and there was a pull for sunshine and waves in Ireland, but an even bigger niggle in my belly that we hadn’t even scratched the surface of Scotland, the thought of leaving without further exploration left me feeling a little empty. Plus, how often is the weather right anyway?

And so we made the decision (after five long hours) to keep heading North, further exploring the wonder of the west.

“ROAD CLOSED”.

‘You’re fucking kidding?!’

This wasn’t your usual road closure, this was the kind of road closure which had you driving from the west coast to the east, driving North and then back West again. What should have been an hour journey, turned into four.

In the dullness of the fading light, the massive mountains sprouted up from the earth and engulfed us, dwarfing our van and the road we drove along through the nature reserve, waterfalls in mountain sides, precarious sheep teetering on the edge, green everywhere with rock walls lining the way and running off in all directions, at all different elevations across the face.

It was still raining when we found our camp spot, but it was irrelevant.

Our van sat off the quiet road on a small patch of grass with rocks flowing from the sliding door and down into the loch, the tide was high and the sound of mini lapping waves was delicious. The air breathed purity down into our lungs and the anticipation for a swim the next day gave us bursts of excitement each time we ventured for a nature wee. This trip was quickly becoming the ‘cold water swimming holiday’ and I couldn’t have been happier about it.

Im learning that life, now more than ever, runs in stages, a bad stage feels endless, whilst a good stage is laced with anxiety knowing that it wont last. We had a sleeper, we didn’t even realise how lucky we were but we’d keep quiet when others would talk about multiple wake ups and multiple feeds, didn’t want to jinx it. We were slowly starting to join the latter stage.

Those early feeds in the vans were also presenting me with a sneaky peak into a very special time of day/night, nobody around, just the two of us awake with wildlife right outside the door venturing closer for inspection, feeding, wandering. Deer right outside the van, owls hooting, foxes scurrying and those stars, on a clear night, are enough to send you into a dream like state no matter how awake or tired you feel. So much is happening when we’re sleeping.

A beautiful sunny scenic walk would prove too much for our little girl, icy winds, streaming eyes, goose pimples and mini baby shivers, with the undertone of ‘we pushed it too far’, slight stress in each wobbly step back down to the van. While there were still snores and deep breaths into my chest, slumber and contentment, we gazed around at the beautiful valley, peering over steep cliffs whilst cliff faces in the distance soared up towards the clouds, pools of water decorating the rocky terrain, adding rocks to cairns along the way.

‘This one’s for Billie’, he proclaims.

We’d reached the part of Scotland I’d been daydreaming about in the lead up to the trip, the part of the country we could have so easily have missed had we made a slightly different decision, back in that lay-by, back in the torrential rain, the day of indecision.

Floating on my back, the icy water now spilling over my limbs, a sky of grey mist above, jagged rocks below. The babe strapped to her dad, Dillon at his side somewhere in the hills. I let my head fall back, ice-cream head threatening to bite, the air still, no-one insight. I can feel my energy levels going from zero to off the charts with every second, with every deep breath, the sleepless night washed off and a soothing reminder that the water never fails to be the natural compass back to myself.

Next stop.

The emerald Isle.

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