#not using the proper tag because it doesn't deserve this

[lux-et-astra]

scare-eye balloons aren't for scaring people, madam. they're for scaring birds. are you a bird, madam?

DUDE THIS IS SO FUNNY

[buddierecs]

friends with benefits buddie fics

all mature rating!!! make sure to kudos/comment on these amazing works :)

if i'm honest, it felt like love by: allyasavedtheday "buck and eddie try friends with benefits. it's great, easy, exactly what they need. except for the fact they're in love with each other." word count: 9.3k important tags: friends to lovers, fluff, angst, feelings realisation, miscommunication, love confessions a bleeding sun on a silver screen by: rarakiplin "the actors au" word count: 130k important tags: actors au, slow burn, idiots in love, pining, getting together a little bit of something (god, it's better than nothing) by: justhockey "the friends with benefits fic that no one asked for." word count: 7.1k important tags: miscommunication, mutual pining, team as family, getting together, praise kink, smut to wake up by your side is all i wanna do by: smilingbuckley "after a fire destroys his loft, buck moves in with the diazes indefinitely. except neither he, christopher, nor eddie wants him to move out. buck gets used to being fully included in the diaz family and the changes it brings to be with them full-time. it's a dream come true, especially when things between him and eddie start developing in a certain way." word count: 14k important tags: didn't know they were doing, roommates, mutual pining, time skips, light angst, hurt/comfort, domestic fluff, explicit sexual content yearning from wanting you by: farfromthstars "while christopher is at camp, buck and eddie strike up a friends with benefits situation. it doesn't really get complicated until the kid comes back" word count: 18k important tags: mutual pining, there was only one bed, getting together, non-explicit sex maybe i'll deserve you one day by: stlesismylover "eddie knows he's in love with buck. buck is oblivious to his feelings. somehow, they manage to end up in a relationship before having a proper conversation about it." word count: 24k important tags: slow burn, mutual pining, sharing a bed, idiots in love, fluff, smut don't push me so far away i can't reach you by: gisellelash "the one where buck thinks he and eddie are just friends with benefits so he pushes eddie to date other people because he’s an idiot." word count: 12k important tags: misunderstandings, mutual pining, getting together, idiots in love what started in beautiful rooms by: weewooforever buck and eddie have been hooking up since the day they met and eddie is too afraid to make their relationship official. until one day he can’t take it anymore. word count: 4.4k important tags: jealous!eddie diaz, possessive!eddie diaz, secret relationship, angst, minor buck/tommy, no explicit smut

[thedeathlysallows]

Is It Over Now? (13)

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x Aemma Velaryon; Aegon Targaryen x Aemma Velaryon

Summary: My hand was the one you reached for

Warnings: canon typical Targaryen incest. Stockholm Syndrome, infidelity, manipulative Aegon, discussion of character death. Smut, fingering, using murder as dirty talk, hand job, public sex.

Aemma's coin has finally flipped, but where will it land? Greatness or madness?

Tag list: @callsignwidow

You aren't sure how or when it happened, but it's as though something inside you snapped, slowly but surely shifted your love and loyalty from your mother to Aegon. All your plans, all the playing pretend melted away until it became your reality. When did that happen? When did you become so pathetic? Was it the abject horror of seeing Aemond loving another woman in Harrenhal? Or were you always this weak?

"You seem deep in thought." Aegon looks down at you, head tilted slightly so that the rubies of the Conqueror's crown glitter in the sunlight.

"I suppose," you respond dully.

He hums in annoyance before looking away abruptly. You aren't sure why he insists on walking with you through the gardens, but it was the one reprieve he allowed after your escape. You're kept under a smothering watch at all times now except for when Aegon fetches you for your daily walk. He never lets you go with guards. It has to be him, and you just don't understand it.

Annoyance rises in you, bitter and dark. "I don't understand!"

"What don't you understand?"

Lots of things. You don't understand lots of things, but you don't want to discuss the complicated relationship between the two of you, so you say, "You told Aemond to seduce the witch. Why? Why would you do that?"

Aegon tosses his head back and laughs. "Is that what the bastard told you? And he says I'm the degenerate one."

"Aegon, this isn't the time for jokes. I want the truth." You turn to him fully and he's struck suddenly by the fire in your eyes. It's been so long since he's seen it he thought you'd given up your spark completely.

But of course not.

Of course your fire is still there because his is still there.

Aegon still burns every second of every day for you. The two of you are the last flickering twin flames of Old Valeyria, meant to merge together and raze down everything standing in its way. He loves you, desires you, needs you more than Aemond possibly could.

"You want the truth, my little dragon?" He steps closer to you, following as you move away from him. "I'll give you the truth, but I want you to remember that it was I to do so... not Aemond."

You suck in a deep breath, overwhelmed by Aegon's presence crowding you against a tree. Rough bark bites into your exposed back and arms. Suddenly, the gauzy dress you chose this morning doesn't feel like it covers enough.

"Aemond would never lie to me," you eventually say.

"I see. Is that why he blamed me? All I told him was to keep the witch loyal to us. I don't give a single fuck about her happiness or comfort... but Aemond does, doesn't he?" Aegon traces his thumb across your bottom lip before continuing.

"Let me guess: he told you not to worry and that she could never compare. I've told Helaena the same about my whores. I suppose, in a round about way, it's the truth. She's kinder than them, more of a proper lady. She deserves better."

You want to strike out at Aegon, your palm itches for it, but you stay still. He pets you so gently, running his hands over your body in a comforting way that brings tears to your eyes. You want to ask him why he doesn't give her better if she deserves it, but you already know the answer.

You.

Aegon has spent years pining over you, spiraling when you were taken away like some sort of toy. He's a spoiled brat. You love him anyway... but you love Aemond as well.

"Is love enough?" Your voice comes out as barely a whisper.

"Enough for what?"

"Anything." For Aemond to be loyal, but you don't say it out loud.

Aegon knows what you want to say, but won't say. He knows you better than anyone. Maybe even better than you know yourself. "Love is enough for us if you'll allow it."

Your lips curl up in a wry smile. "You're being awfully sweet today, Your Majesty."

"Maybe it's because I see where my brother is failing and I decided I need to take this chance."

"Failing on your orders."

"Not my orders. I never told him to fuck her, but we both know that's what he's doing." Aegon presses his lips to yours, hot and persistent. "Don't you want revenge, little dragon?"

Yes.

Yes, you do want revenge.

You want blood and revenge and for this foreign anger inside you to end.

Aegon's lips trail from your lips to the column of your neck, teeth sinking into your skin every so often while his hands grip your waist. He grinds into you and you feel the delicious drag of his hard cock between your thighs. "I have plenty of information from the witch. So much that her life means nothing to me now. You could kill her if you wanted."

Kill her?

"H-have you ever killed anyone?" The idea makes you nervous, but it's hard to concentrate on those nerves when Aegon's hands are slowly bunching your dress around your waist.

"Yes. Would you like to hear about it?" He nips at your ear, chuckling darkly when you yelp. Two of his fingers circle your clit before dipping into your cunt and he moans when he finds you absolutely soaking wet.

You nod, letting out a little whimper. "Yes... please..."

"Mmm, good girl." Aegon pumps his fingers in and out of you at a punishing pace. "It's better than any drunken high, any fuck... it's... ah, fuck, yes..."

Aegon's head falls to your shoulder when your hand slips inside his trousers to stroke his length. You wrap a leg around his waist, silently begging him to go deeper.

"Oh, fuck," he breathes against your skin. "Such a good little whore for me. D'you like this? Like me fucking you in public?"

You do. You really, really do.

"Say it," he demands, wrapping a hand around your throat. "Say how much you like it."

"Aegon... please... I love it."

"Say you love me."

You nod. "I love you!"

Aegon's grin is almost terrifying when he says, "I want to watch you kill Alys Rivers."

The pleasure that had been building in the pit of your stomach crests and washes over the rest of you, leaving you to spasm around Aegon's thick fingers. He kisses you all over as he reaches his own orgasm, spilling into your hand.

"Good girl," Aegon whispers into your hair. "Fuck, you're so good for me. We need to remind Aemond how good you are, yeah?"

That's all you really want, you think to yourself. You just want to be good for the people who love you. That's all you ever wanted.

[the-kr8tor]

Can we have a Hobie x reader where the reader doesn’t want to kiss him because they have sharp teeth and doesn’t want to cut him or anything

Thank you for requesting, hun! I hope you like it ❤️

Pairing: Hobie Brown x shy! gn! Reader/ Spider-Punk x shy! gn! Reader

Word count: 1.2k

Synopsis: 3 times you didn't kiss him properly and the one time you did.

Tags: no use of Y/N, no specific physical description of the reader, blood mention, FLUFF

ʕ⁠·⁠ᴥ⁠·⁠ʔ

You've been dating Hobie for quite some time now, went on numerous dates, but there's one thing you haven't done yet, and it's probably the most important part of cementing your relationship, and it's kissing him, for real, not like a quick peck.

It's not like you don't want to, (you really want to) it's just you're too afraid of accidentally cutting him with your sharp canines, you were born with them, the only thing for you to blame is your genetics.

Sure it looks cool, but when it comes to finally showing your affection to someone, you avoid kissing deeply, opting for a quick peck on the cheek or a tight-lipped kiss.

You're grateful for Hobie, he's been oh so patient with you, you haven't told him about your predicament, afraid of his reaction. Maybe you should tell him, as he's dropping you off on your doorstep, fingers looped through your necklace, casually flirting with you.

"The movie was great and all, but it's still a giant advertisement" he caresses the chain, eyes glued to your lips. Your face heats up at the closeness.

"Y-yeah, but I liked the ending, it subverted my expectation" you try to act nonchalantly, but the lilt in your voice betrays you, your knuckles shake as you're clutching on to your bag a little too harshly.

"Mm-hm" Agreeing with you, Hobie notices you take a peek at his lips, your eyes quickly darting back to his forehead, clearly avoiding eye contact. He figures you're too shy to lean in, but you want to, so instead he initiates, slowly leaning towards you, just in case you want to stop him.

You beat him to it, darting your face quickly towards the side of his face, you peck him on the cheek, careful not to graze him with your sharp teeth.

"Goodnight! I'll call you,okay?" You say it too fast, opening your apartment door, stepping through it "only if you want to?" You turn back to him.

Hobie doesn't look too disappointed, he looks at you with endearment, eyes softening at your shyness.

" 'Course" He smirks, raising your bashfulness level up to a hundred "I still owe you that museum date you wanted" Hobie remembers your conversation a few days ago.

Your legs turn to jelly, holding on to the wall for support, "okay" you can only manage a meek reply, oh you're a goner.

"Later, sweets" Hobie winks at you, walking backwards, eyes glued to your form.

"Okay" you softly say, god, how is he this cool? You thought, gripping on to the doorknob for support, you wave goodbye, watching his smirk get bigger.

—

"Did you see that?!" Hobie jumps down from the stage, post show sweat clings to him. He runs towards you, hugging you, your feet lifting a few inches off the ground. "Love, did you see that?!"

"Yes! You were amazing!" For a second it's just you and Hobie, no crowd screaming for an encore, no nosy stares from strangers. You hug his neck tighter, nuzzling the crook of his neck.

Hobie puts you back down, cupping your jaw, it's now or never, he leans towards your lips, your eyes widening, but you really want to kiss him, he looks so good like this, happy and passionate, it wouldn't hurt to brush your lips against his, right?

You position your lips, closing them tightly so your teeth wouldn't accidentally poke him. Hobie crashes his lips to yours, but he feels you're not as eager as him, so he settles for a quick one.

He clearly doesn't care though, Hobie feels giddy, finally able to kiss you, he thinks you deserve a proper one, maybe when you're as eager as him. He bounces on the balls of his feet, unable to stay still.

You hold on to his waist, feeling dizzy with affection, you just wanna grab his face and kiss him deeply, but alas your insecurity wins this round.

You wipe at the bead of sweat on his forehead, careful of his piercings "you were truly amazing" your eyes are practically shapes like hearts as you look at his proud grin.

—

You're cooking in your modest kitchen, the savory smell wafting through Hobie's nose, he's been helping with setting up the table, since he insisted on coming in early.

"Where's the bowls at?" he searches your bottom cabinets.

"Here" you point at the top cabinet, conveniently placed just on top of the stove, and above your head.

"Excuse me, lovey" Hobie shields your head with his hand, his big hands covering the top of your head, so that the swinging cabinet doors wouldn't hit you.

"Oh thanks–" you pause, finding his face really close to yours. Oh shit

Warmth clings to your cheeks, breath hitching in your throat. He has no idea the effects he has on you (he definitely does though)

His eyes land on your lips, you squeak out, fumbling with an excuse "ah, gotta turn this over before it burns" quickly turning your head back towards the stove.

Hobie's left confused standing at your side, holding on to your bowls. Do you not want to kiss him or something? This wasn't the first time you turned away from him, do you not fancy him anymore? So what is it?

Instead of asking you these questions, he turns away, feeling dejected.

"Right" he clears his throat. You feel the shift in the air, you read his slumped posture, how his face is hiding (and failing) to hide his true emotion.

You breathe out, you can't continue to tiptoe around him, you need to tell him, especially when you see yourself loving him (in the very near future) call yourself crazy, but you see him loving you too.

You shut off the stove, reaching out towards the sleeve of his jumper. "Hobie, wait"

He turns towards you, questions swimming in his eyes.

You bite the bullet, (hopefully not his lips too) you cup his face gently, staring directly into his eyes, you wait for him to say yes. Hobie doesn't hesitate, he pulls you towards him by your waist, closing the small gap.

You brush your lips against his tentatively, he answers back by placing his lips against yours, unmoving, waiting for your next move. You close your eyes, finally deepening the kiss.

He chuckles softly at your eagerness, your lips move with his, Hobie feels your exposed skin on your hips where your shirt has ridden up, he stops his thumb right on the small of your back making small circles over the soft skin.

You completely lose yourself, Hobie gasps out when a sharp sting hits his lip. You quickly pull away "shit" you watch in horror as he touches his lips, leaving a drop of blood on his finger.

You push yourself off him, "oh fuck, I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to"

"That was fuckin' hot" Hobie grabs your waist, pulling you back in.

"But–" you manage to gasp out before he collides his lips to yours. He holds the back of your head, you hold on to his jumper with a grip.

He kisses you most fervently, but you hold back, afraid to hurt him again.

Hobie reluctantly stops, "don't hold back" he whispers against your lips.

"But my teeth, I don't want to hurt you again"

"I can handle a little blood, is that why you avoided kissing me?"

"Yeah" you confess, eyes darting everywhere but his face.

"You're fucking adorable, did you know that?" He holds your chin, getting your attention "can I kiss you again?"

"You're really okay with it?"

"I'm more than okay with it," Hobie chuckles deeply.

You smile, a heavy weight lifting off your shoulders, "kiss?" You sigh out, great, he's given you a taste and now you're addicted. Good thing the cure's right in front of you, and he's more than willing to give it to you.

"Can't say no to that" he leans in, twin smiles on both of your lips.

ʕ⁠·⁠ᴥ⁠·⁠ʔ

Thank you for reading! Please consider reblogging if you enjoyed it ❤️

[jeff-from-marketing]

For fuck sake, I'm this close to just blocking the asexual tag on Tumblr. Not because those people aren't valid, they're so fucking valid and deserve to be loved and respected! I love you all and you deserve to be represented in society

But apparently some people don't know how to not conflate aromanticism with asexuality. Say it with me people:

ROMANCE AND SEX ARE NOT ONE IN THE SAME

They're different things! Yes, for many they can be tied together, but that doesn't make them inherently interchangeable! You can love someone with all your heart and never want to fuck them, and conversely you can want to fuck someone you find hot without ever even knowing them.

The amount of fucking times I've seen a post only aimed at asexual people tagged with all the aromantic tags is absurd. I'm not ace, I do not identify with being on that spectrum. But I am fucking aromantic! Stop putting me in the same group when they're not the same thing! It's disingenuous to people who are only asexual and not aroace, and it's dangerously fucking close to just erasing aromantics.

I don't like trying to police how people use the site, even if it wasn't a pointless endeavour it would just be rude, and I don't want to be that person. But I'm also just tired of seeing every other post tagged with aromantic actually just being about asexuality. I don't want those posts to stop, I just want them to be tagged properly so that asexual people get proper representation without drowning out aromantics. Obviously if it's an aroace post then yeah tag both, that makes sense, I'm not going to fight that. But otherwise, please, I just want to be able to see stuff about aromanticism without it being drowned out by asexuality.

I want to be seen.

(side note: the reverse of all this is obviously true. Do not fucking tag a post that's just about aromanticism with asexual. We all deserve our own representation without drowning each other. We should be working to lift each other up, not use each other as stepping stones)

[2demondogs]

I Was Just A Girl, Then | Arthur & John

Tags: John/Abigail, past Eliza/Arthur, and referenced VanDerMatthews; (CW) teen pregnancy (Abigail), canon character death, whole lotta brotherly angst, does it count as comfort if it doesn't work?, vignettes Words: 1.5k A/N: I think a lot about the fact she was only around 18 when she gave birth to Jack. Good grief.

Abigail is too young to look at Arthur with this much— pain. Pain is what it is, and he'd like to think his hesitancy to call it that is entirely because John is his brother, and men should always think their family is innocent.

Her hair is dark and long; her face is round and soft. In the light of the campfire, she looks like a woman he once knew. Shadows cradle her, fall harsh on the side of her belly that's facing the night. Grimshaw will need to alter her dresses a second time, and soon.

"He's your brother," Abigail is saying, throat thick with emotion, and he feels so very uncomfortable. He knows he is. He holds her hands, anyways, the knuckles rosy and chapped with the chill coming over the air in the last month, rough against his palms. She's never had soft hands, none of them have.

The seasons are changing, and so did John. He's been gone for six months.

"You know him. You know the way he thinks, don't you?" She's moved on from hoping, because he's not answered any of her letters. Now, Abigail is grieving. She doesn't know what she's asking, but Arthur does. "Why did he—?" A choke cuts her off before he can.

His face feels tight, almost as tight as his chest. "I used to know him," he says.

This grief is worse than when Abigail began to show, because now it is shared.

He thinks of Eliza, and if some other man held her hands, entirely enclosed in his, while she cried because she was unwanted, because her life had been decided for her by a wanderer who hadn't had to hold up the same burdens. Condemned to what so many girls dream of playing house, but— girls should never be with child. He looks down at Abigail's hands instead of at her face, how the fire catches the tears welling up in her eyes.

She's a strong girl. She wouldn't have survived as long as she has if she weren't, and he knows she will go on for much longer, too. It feels wrong to see her cry, and to feel the shards of heart pulsing through the veins along the backs of her hands whenever he gains the consciousness to stroke a thumb over one.

He's not used to comforting people. Not women, especially, who expect so much more than a clap on the back and a companion to sit out the silence with,the way Hosea taught him was proper for a man to offer, lest he be misunderstood. Never stopped him from treating Dutch how he treats Abigail, now. It seems so much kinder than silence.

Arthur is walking over those shards, and whatever he says could crack them into more. Abigail squeezes at his fingers and he lets her.

"It ain't you, Abigail," he says.

It's John.

She misconstrues what he means, and lets out a small sob of: "I know, Arthur."

Yesterday, Arthur wished they would've hanged him with his father before he had a chance to grow up mean. Today, he told John they should've hanged him when he was still sprouting.

After giving him that nasty, black ring around his eye, of course. He supposes it'd only be fair to give him one in return, brothers in bruises. Hosea seems more sad than anything and Dutch, more or less disappointed. Arthur thinks both are unwarranted, even if they are — as far as he knows — less severe than the anger he deserves for acting out as their son. Lyle would've given him a fresh scar along his face. His chin stings at the thought.

His son is dead.

Eliza, too, but not even grief can lie to him enough to think that they would ever spend a life together. He has little to mourn besides a woman that he wronged and his own pathetic attempts to redeem himself in her eyes, which he knew wasn't possible.

She cried when she saw him at the saloon, wandering through, all those months ago. When he had recognized her and taken her into his arms, she slapped him harder than he thought a woman their age could ever hit. They had dinner. She said he ruined her life and that pregnancy was her worst fear as if it were the weather, all over weeks-old bread that he thought tasted just fine as fresh before she spoke, and started to cry again. Then, it all seemed stale.

Issac's absence hurts differently.

Only men are supposed to die. Not boys, lest they open their mouth the way John has. Mocking him. Can't even shoot a gun let alone— and he's mocking him for trying to be a man.

It hurt because Arthur told himself the same things. He had a handle on things until he didn't, and now the reins have slipped from his fists again.

Issac's fists. They were so small, even though he was growing like a weed. Another month, he would've needed new clothes that Arthur could have stolen the fabric for. He wonders, now and then, how tall Issac would have gotten.

Much worse is another voice telling him that Eliza wouldn't have missed him had he died, because John had spoken it into reality. He had drawn it from the pit of his thoughts the way he always does — how Hosea and Dutch are able to, too, because apparently sleeping in the same camp makes your dreams intertwine and writhe around one another just enough — and he had given it life.

It's the first cigarette they've shared since John returned.

Arthur said they should've hanged him, and then said it twice more in the same week. Old habits die hard. John hadn't found it quite as funny as Dutch had, and neither had Hosea.

Dutch doesn't often realize when Arthur is capable of fratricide.

He's older now, but he isn't. John's nose still has that mean crack to it, scraggly old beard at his jaw, and he looks as much like a kicked dog as ever. Always has looked defensive, and sad. Arthur doesn't like to consider that he's picked it up from him, and that he picked it up from Hosea. The chains that bind suffocate the most when he yanks at them.

John's an ugly sight against the setting sun. He misses when he could tell him as much and John would laugh instead of saying it wasn't very fair. Fair, fair, fair— that's all men care about: fairness. Life isn't fair, so maybe John really is all grown up, because he expects some kind of civility out of a world where people like them die in the streets everyday.

He dreams despite it all. Arthur does not, and that is why they aren't the same.

Surely, they cannot be the same. Eliza cried at the sight of his face, and Abigail fell to her knees. Arthur is nothing like his brother.

He misses John terribly. He misses when he could tell him he was ugly, and when he could push him into the water and feel good about calming the panic in his eyes.

Isn't that what brothers do? Torment and save, over and over? This only feels like one or the other, day after day.

John asked to bum a goddamn cigarette when he proposed a smoke, though he must have his own pack. Arthur was handing it over filter-out before he even opened his mouth. The instruments are out of sync, but the music still plays.

He misses adding onto one another's insults of Dutch's operas, when he first began listening to them. That was only two years ago, but the memory tells him they were both boys yet.

It seems warmer than this summer evening. John's hair is shifty and blue-black where once it looked like it could've been brown when he was born, merely darkened with age. The sun used to show some part of the man that the night couldn't. Anymore he's all midnight, all of the time. And when he looks at Arthur, his eyes are full of shame that he knows intimately and yet not at all.

"She's jus' happy you're home," Arthur says, before he can speak.

John grimaces. "I know."

Arthur likes to think he is not all nighttime himself. Every loathing thought dissipates when he must confront the issue of John Marston, and he finds himself a better man in every way. Beneath the jealousy, he knows he's better in no way at all.

The creek is still from where they sit. Arthur feels the anger build up, and he can hardly swallow it down enough to even his voice.

"I held her hand while she gave birth," he says. Turns to John, and lets the hatred seep into his eyes. "It should'a been you, Marston."

John looks away, and grimaces. "I know."

He could say that she screamed unlike anything he'd ever heard before; that he found very little beauty in the newborn, like Susan had, that he thought maybe he should visit his mother's grave, if he could find it, he hadn't thought of her in over ten years; that he had seen the look on Hosea's face while he wiped the cool cloth over her forehead: disappointment, and not in Abigail.

None of it would change anything.

[theyellowhedgehog]

Switched at Birth

2024 Bingo Prompt : Switched at Birth & Royal Family/ Historical

Prince and peasant switched at birth

This Fic does not follow the proper age timeline. Popcorn age. Damian is the oldest, Dick and Tim are the youngest and same age. Jason is the second oldest same age as Stephenie. Other character age are same.

My bias is Tim, most of my story will be Tim-centric. hehe

tags : just them being brothers, no pairing, implied rape

Word count : 4k

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Summary

The kingdom of Gotham has a benevolent king. The queen and the concubine bore two princes for the king. The queen bore a son, the king named his firstborn son, Damian Thomas Wayne, meaning to conquer.

The second prince was born 5 years after, from the concubine, the king named him, Richard John Wayne.

There was a secret. The secret that no one knew was, a day before the birth of Prince Richard, a son was born from the concubine's handmaid. She named him, Timothy. The handmaid, fearing her child will be name illegitimate kin to the king and would suffer. As a mother, she discreetly switched the two baby one quiet night. Both baby were both born chubby, black hair with beautiful blue eyes. No one noticed a difference. The only person who notice his mother switched his baby brother with the prince was Jason, the biological older brother of Tim.

Damian at the age of five adores his baby brother, Richard. The baby would babble whenever he saw him and grasped a hold of his hand.

Damian adores his brother.

Just like the season changed and time passed, the fake little prince grew up to be a proper one.

"Big brother!" tiny footsteps ran up to the older prince and squeezed him into a tight hug. Damian smiled at the small bean and pat his brother back.

Damian is now 12 and Tim is 8.

"Were you not suppose to be with Sir.Wilson?" Damian asked with an eyebrow raised. Tim pouted cutely and turned his body to sway, "Sir Wilson is too bossy. I'm only eight!"

Who is Damian to argure with that? He practically melt at the cute pout. "You can join me if you like." Damian practically saw Richard's eyes shone like the stars. "Let's go then!" and the eight years old led the way.

Not far from them were two boys. The older of the two was looking at the interaction of Damian and Fake Richard. He sighed in relief when he saw Damian treated Tim well. He came to attention when a small hand pull the hem of his shirt.

His fake brother, the real prince, stood there and smiled shyly at him and asked, "Older brother, why do you always look at them?"

Jason smiled guiltily and pat the real's prince head, "I was just looking at their clothes."

"Oh"

Damian and Richard were born from the legal wife of King Bruce, therefore they were treated well. However, for Jason and Tim who were born from a handmaid, a mistress, they were merely children of servants and were treated the same way. Jason sometimes wonder how his mother could live with the fact that the real prince is treated rudely, doesn't she fear the retribution if the truth were to come out?

"Let's go,T-..little brother." Jason has always avoided using Tim's name with the real prine. He couldn't get himself to call the real prince with a false name.

So, Jason came up with a clever way to address the real prince. He calls him Dick, which is a nickname for Richard. The real prince was confused but he accepted it, buying into Jason's buffoonery lies.

Jason didn't plan to reveal the secret, because his little brother is living a better life instead of being push around. Although he feels sorry for Richard, this is only way for his little brother to live well. That was the plan of course. However, Jason grew fond of his fake brother, Richard, and the guilt started to eat him alive.

Dick deserve to have a mother and father that loves him. Jason decided.

The truth has its own timing. As the child grew, doubt began to sow itself into the concubine's mind that Richard isn't her son. His eyes that did not resemble either parents. His features resembled that of a certain handmaid. The concubine cried that her real son was swap, to the king. T

he little fake prince's perfect world fall apart.

"Damian," The fake prince looked to his elder brother for protection.

The older brother that he used to adore now looked at him with a empty eyes, always busy trying to search of his real biological brother, Richard.

The once pampered little prince now dressed in rags and became a mere servant. Coincidently, on the same day, the real prince was found. The king, queen and the concubine rejoiced.

The handmaid that switched the child at birth was executed, but due to the pity King Bruce has for his kin and the little fake prince, he let them live but sent them away from the palace to a barren land.

The king's act of mercy may seem reasonable, however, to those of parentless and homeless children without any pillar of support, it was the same as an execution.

The little fake prince at the age of 15 fell from grace.

-

They lived in a very small hut. The ground is always muddy and they were living day by day with just enough to eat.

Jason striked the axe heavily. He exhaled as he collected the split woods and looked to a certain direction. Sitting in front house, on a stone slab, is his biological brother, Timothy.

"What are you doing?" Jason asked as he approached the boy.

The fake prince just glanced at Jason, "Waiting for Damian to come pick me up. Then I'll wake up from all this nightmares."

Jason sighed, "Look, Prince Damian won't be coming." He handed Tim an axe, "The faster you accept your fate the faster it put food on our table."

The axe dropped into the muddy ground with a splat when Tim didint' take it. "Why should I be doing this?" The young boy sneered. "I was born to be a prince."

Jason got mad--picked up the axe. "Well, now you are a prince no more. So start chopping these woods!"

The younger boy got angry, stood up and walked away, "Shut up!"

Jason shoulders slumped when his younger brother strut away. Ever since they were exiled, Tim has always act like an entitled brat. He was always bossy and always get angry at every action Jason did. It's always a wonder how all that anger fit into that small body.

It was already dark by the time Jason had finished chopping woods and delivered it for money. He bought back cold,dry and crusty bread. When he got home, the candles were not lit, meaning Tim has not gotten home yet.

Jason frowned, put his bread into his breast pocket and went out to look for his younger brother. His younger brother, as a 15 years old is more troublesome as Dick as his fake brother. Jason wondered if Dick is doing well. He must be right? After all, he is now back to his rightful place.

As Jason scoured the streets, he saw Tim under the church's candles. Beside him was a girl with blond hair. Both of them were laughing and talking until they noticed Jason.

Tim waved goodbye to the girl as she scrutter away, he then quickly put something into his shirt and walked past Jason.

The older boy grabbed his wrist, "What do you got there?"

Tim tried to pull back his hand, "It doesn't concern you." He sneered.

Faustrated Jason yanked him back to search for what he put in his shirt, Tim eyes widen in panic when Jason yanked up his shirt, "What are you doing! Let go!"

During the struggle, a pouch fell from Tim. Jason crouched down and picked up the pouch. It jiggles when he picked it up. Jason immediately knew, Tim couldn't have earned this much from doing odd jobs. Jason looked back to the church, then glared at Tim, "Did you seriously just stole from the church?"

Tim avoided his eyes, "So what? It's just a little money they won't notice."

Jason sneered, "So the mighty prince has fallen so low to be doing theft?"

"Fuck you!" Tim struggled harder, "If your mother hasn't switched me, I wouldn't have to do this!"

An insult to his mother was Jason's last straw, "She did it for your own good! She wanted what was best for you-!"

"Yeah!?" Tim shouted, his angry eyes brimmed with tears, "She fucking suck for ruining my life."

In a blink of an eye, Tim was on the ground with his hand on his cheek.

"Shut up. Don't you dare insult my mother, you imposter." Jason spat.

Tim stopped reacting at his word. The young boy slowly got up and was ready to walk away.

"Where do you think you are going?" Jason was still sensible enough to be a responsible older brother.

But Tim didn't answer. Jason took a hold of his wrist again.

"Dick-!" The air thicken, Jason realised his mistake, Tim also stopped. Jason saw Tim entirely shut down.

The younger boy composed himself and shrugged off Jason's hand. "Do not touch me again, next time."

Jason didn't had a chanced to apologise. Fuck, he messed up badly. He mistakenly called Tim, Dick.

The night ended with both of them not talking or apologising to each other.

The next sunrise, Jason woke up to sounds of their wooden door scraping open. There was only one room so both of them has to sleep and eat in that room. Jason immediately woke up to see Tim's back walking out the door.

"Where are you going?" Jason put on his shoes in a hurry and ran after Tim.

Tim stopped for a moment, "To work." he replied and walked out of the house.

Jason was about to grab Tim's hand when he stopped himself remembering yesterday, "Tim, I'm sorry for yesterday. I was angry." Jason apologized sincerely.

Tim didn't turn back to face his older brother, "Yeah, just don't call me his name again."

Tim didn't even stay to hear an agree 'okay' from Jason before he started walking leaving the older boy all alone.

Tim came back late today. Jason was home because the firewood didn't sell well today. Just when he was wondered how to get dinner on the table, he saw Tim put a basket on the table. The basket was full of eggs. Jason eyes widen thinking Tim probably stole again.

The younger brother also put a pouch, as it clank heavily against each other. Just when Jason was about to start accusing, Tim interrupted him.

"I went to the Kent Manor, they were looking for some workers to put up the fenses on some of their farm. I didn't steal any money," Tim looked at him dead in the eyes, "Jason."

Jason swallowed back his guilt for accussing his younger brother.

Tim sat opposite to him on their wobbly table, "They are also looking for a woodcutter. You will have a more stable income there."

Tim went to a makeshift table they call bed, "I'm tired."

-

On the other side of the two peasant brother, the real prince and his older brother are also having trouble.

"No!" Dick --Richard screamed at Damian. "I want Jason! He's my only brother!" He flipped the plate and ran back to his room.

Damian just sighed tiredly and glanced at Alfred Pennyworth for assistance. The old bulter just shook his head.

It has been a month since the real and the fake switched back. However, Richard is not adapting as one hoped. All day, he would scream for Jason. This week he decided to take a new approach and starved himself.

Damian massaged his forehead, "Why must father fool around, now his troubles are everywhere."

The eldest prince turned to Alfred, "Prepare the carriage. We will be going to the west."

The fake child and Jason were not unrelated at all. They were children bear from Father's folly. Therefore, they were not even considered illegitimate children of the king.

Because of his Father's foolishness, Damian made a decision. He will only have one wife.

It took 2 days to travel to the village Jason and his brother were exiled to. They arrived to the west before nightfall. Richard's face contoured into more horrified look and disgust when he saw the road all muddy and the people were basically living in slumps.

The carriage stopped in front of a run down hut. Damian glanced outside and frowned, "Is this it, Pennyworth?"

"According to the source, I suppose so, your highness." the butler replied and opened the door.

Once the carriage door opened the young prince practically leap out of the cart --shouting, "Jason!"

Jason was coming home from work at the Kent manor. He was tired, but during these two days, Jason and Tim's relationship become more stable. He came back to cook dinner when he saw an eye-catching carriage that screams WEALTHY.

Before he knew it he heard a very familiar voice yelling his name. A very familiar boy threw himself into his arm.

"...Dick?" Jason checked twice in surprise.

"Please don't leave me, big brother. I'll be good." Dick burrowed himself deeper into his big brother's arm.

Jason looked up to see Prince Damian and Alfred Pennyworth walking to them. He glances his surrouding to see other people starting to listen in.

"Let's talk inside," Jason gestured to them, "Forgive me, the house is a little inconvenient."

Damian looked around the single room house that his fake younger brother was supposed to be living. The room is filled with four people inside.

Dick was still hugging Jason, not minding the smell or the sweat.

Jason slowly approached the topic, "May I ask...why your highness have come..?" He didn't even dare sit down.

"Richard here wants to see you." Damian glanced at his biological younger brother. "He was starving himself. However, I do have some questions I want to ask you."

"Jason," Damian started as he looked around the condition of the house, "I need to talk to you about something. Richard please leave us for a moment." Dick pouted, but under Jason's persuasion, he obediently went outside.

Jason secretly glances at Damian and Alfred, "What would you like to talk about my prince?"

Damian spoke with a straight face lacking any emotion, "It was you wasn't it? Who revealed the truth."

Jason's spine shiver in fear as the prince finished speaking. He immediately fell to his knee, "Your highness, I-I didn't mean to keep it hidden, I-I-"

"What make you change your mind?" The prince spoke coldly. "15 years you have hidden the truth. Now your real brother is suffering."

"I..." Jason calm his racing heart just enough to collect his thoughts. He bow with his head touching the ground, "The young prince has became someone I held dear. I couldn't condone his suffering before now I could only give him what he deserved from the start."

"Then, what about your other brother?" Jason glanced up to see Damian pitiful eyes.

"I-" Jason was loss of words.

-

Dick went outside just in time to meet with Tim whom came back from work. Although they were the same age, Dick was clean and dressed with very expensive clothes while Tim was dirty and has been wearing this rag for 3 days.

Tim stopped when he saw Dick. He wondered which rich family carriage was in front of their home, turned out to be that of the palace.

Tim watched as Dick walked up to him and leveled him in the eyes, "So, you are the one that stole my birthright and my big brother."

"Birthright," Tim repeated.

Just because of that woman mistake, he was suffering it. Tim sneered mockingly, "I didn't stole your birthright, it was given to me, so, I just enjoyed it. Now that you have already gotten it back, why are you here?"

"I'm here to settle account with you. The one who committed the crime is you, not Jason. So, Jason will be going back with me!" the proud prince pointed with an accusing finger.

Tim chuckled in mockery, and said to the real prince, "You are not very bright are you?" Tim approached Dick till they are only inches apart, "If you are not quick-witted, Slade Wilson might just gobble you up."

Tim's grin terrifies Dick, " After all, he loves little boys."

Tim's hand approached Dick's crotch, "Tell me," he whispered it with malice, "Have he already touched you?"

The real prince immediately slapped the hand that groped his private and screamed, "Prevert!"

The scream immediately alerted the people in the house, and they came running out.

"Richard, what's wrong?"

Tim froze when he saw the brother he admired most came out.

Dick immediately ran behind the eldest prince and pointed at Tim, "He molested me, brother! He touched me! He's one of them," and spat from all his heart and soul, "Disgusting f***ot!"

Jason stepped in between them, "Wait a moment, there might be a misunderstanding." Tim just stood there without defending himself.

Seeing this, the eldest prince was furious, "Pennyworth, we are going back." as he held on his biological brother's arm--dragging him to the carriage, ignoring the younger one's yelling for Jason.

The carriage left without even staying for an hour. Jason turned to scold his brother but his anger disappeared when he saw Tim just longingly staring at the leaving carriage.

Damian came as Tim wished, but it wasn't to take him back.

Jason sighed, "Welp," he threw his arm up in defeat, "I think what you did just sealed our fate. Come on, let have our last meal or something." Jason try to add humor to the situation.

Tim didn't even spare him a glance. But Jason can see his hands are shaking as they balls into fists. When he saw there were nosy neighbors trying to listen in, he shooed them away.

Both brothers came back into the house, the only light source was a dimly lit candle.

Jason got to cooking of what left of the eggs, but he put down his wooden spoon in frustration because Tim was too quiet.

"Why aren't you angry?" The elder brother got angry instead. Tim just blankly looked at him, "..What?.."

Jason sat in front of the younger brother, "You always make trouble, screaming and shouting in front of me, but today when your beloved brother came, you didn't even say a peep!"

"Why didn't you defend yourself?!"

An emotion flashed across Tim's eyes, but he looked away "What's the use?"

Jason repeated, "What's the use of what?"

"What's the use of screaming and shouting when your screaming and shouting are no longer important?" Tim said dejectedly.

This made Jason shut up.

Tim chuckled in self-depreciation, "As you said, I am no longer a prince, My voice no longer has authority. No one is willing to listen."

Jason wanted Tim to realised this fact long since they moved here, but in this situation, Jason rather Tim kicking and screaming in anger.

"You are my brother." Jason grabbed the younger brother's arms and shook him, only to release of hold immediately after. "Your voice will always be heard by me."

Tim eyes teared up, "You are a liar."

Jason was confused, how did he ended up a liar?

Tim lay down facing away from his older brother, "I knew that you deliberately leaked the truth. Otherwise, moth- the concubine wouldn't have known."

"Did you ever think about me then?"

Jason didn't have the correct answer to reply.

-

On the carriage, on the way back, Damian merely ignore the brawling of his younger brother. He glanced at Alfred for help, but the butler merely shook his head.

"You promised that Jason would come back with us." Dick pointed an accusing finger at the eldest prince. "Liar!"

Damian balled his fist in control, "Richard," the hard and cold voice immediately stopped the whining of the younger prince.

"What happened?"

Dick sniffed and glared out the window, "He insulted me that I wasn't quite bright. He insulted a prince!" Dick angrily retold the tale.

Damian felt a throbbing between his brows, "Thus you accussed him of molesting you?"

"Of course, not!" Dick defended himself and crossed his arms in frustration. "He groped my privates and asked whether Slade or something has already touched me!"

The temperature dropped immediately when the name Slade was mentioned. The old butler's eyes widened in fear as of the eldest prince.

Damian repeated, "Slade? Richard, Did he really said Slade Wilson?"

Dick huffs in angry, "Yeah, he told me. I remembered."

Damian turned to the butler with fear in his eyes, "Pennyworth."

Alfred covered his mouth with his hand, "I didn't know, your highness."

"Fuck!" This was the first time Dick has heard the composed first prince swearing. Before he could asked any questions, Damian has already stopped the carriage.

He dismounted one of the horses from the carriage, and got on it.

"Pennyworth," He commanded the butler, "You better made sure that bastard is captured and alive until I made it back. With my authority and order, capture that fucker!"

"As order, your highness."

-

When Damian came back, it was already deep into the night. He banged on the barely working door.

"Timothy! Jason!"

The door was slowly opened by a sleepy Jason, he woke up immediately when he saw the prince was back, "Your highness?"

Damian barged in, "Where's Timothy?"

Jason pointed to the bed confused, "Tim's sleeping ther-"

There's no Tim. The bed is empty.

"Fuck!" Jason was scared shitless when he heard the always gentle prince swore.

Damian didn't wait for Jason as he strode out of the house. Only bad thoughts were swirling in his mind. The guilt and remorse were eating him away when he saw a dim light from under the willow tree from far out in the field. When he made it close enough, he could make out Tim's face barely under the dim light. The boy was not alone.

The eldest prince flinched when he saw two icy blue eyes glaring at him.

Tim's head was leaning on the shoulder of the girl as he burrowed more into her neck. When he felt the girl stiffen, he groggily woke up, "Steph?"

Tim turned enough to see, there's a man standing there in the field, with a torch in his hand. Tim immediately became vigilant. His hand reached for the knife in his pocket, he froze when he realised who the man was.

Both of them stayed caution as Damian approached them.

"Timothy," Damian called out of breath.

Tim put Stephanie behind him, shielding her, "What." He spat out. I wasn't a question, it was a threat to leave. Stephanie, herself, has armed herself with her rake.

"Timothy, I just want to talk."

"Why would you need to talk at night?" Stephanie scorned, with her bravery coming from not know that Damian is the kingdom's first prince.

"Why would a Mister like you need to talk to my lover?" the girl puffed out her chest to appear bigger. Tim was sweating bullet on the other hand. He yanked at her dress nervously, "Steph, stop."

"Lover?" Damian focused on the wrong thing instead of the dishonor to his title.

"No-, that's not-" The prince exhaled slowly, "I just want to talk to Timothy. Would the young lady please give us a moment?"

Stephanie was about to retaliate when she felt a tug on her dress. Tim gave her a look, and she rolled her eyes. She positioned her rake to Damian's neck ignoring Tim's nervous clanking of teeth. "You better not made my man sad."

Damian was left alone with Tim as they watched Stephanie went to another side of the willow tree.

"From lover to man, you have quiet the attraction to fierce woman." Damian jestered.

Tim did not play along, "Why are you here,... your highness?"

"Timothy," Damian paused, "Why did you not tell me about Slade?"

The elder prince continued, "Is that why you always ditch Wilson's class? When has this started?" His voice grew more concered as he asked more question.

"What's the use now?"Tim shrugged, "Although I regrets not being a real prince I appreciate that the truth came before Wilson's waiting time was over."

Tim mocked in an amused voice, "Although you better keep an eye on your littlest brother." Tim turned to taunt at his ex-brother, "He's a little slow to things."

"Tim," Damian dropped the formailty, "I will not let that bastard live."

Tim shrugged casually, "Why go through the trouble? I'm not an important person after all."

Tim flinced when he was pulled into a hug, "Wh-"

"I'm very sorry, little brother. I couldn't protect you enough." Damian apologized.

Tim eyes welled up with tears. Damn, how many times has he cried today, that's not manly at all.

"Why did you leave me, elder brother?" He hugged back his older brother, "I thought you hated me."

"I could never hate you even if I try, little brother. I will take you back. I will talk to father. I will make him change his mind. He won't admit it but he miss you too, little brother."

Is this the end of their suffering?

"What about me?" Stephanie interrupted from behind, "You can't just steal my husband from me."

Damian raised an amused brow, "Husband already? Aren't you guys progressing a little too fast?"

"Well, I have to when I found out my husband is going to be a prince."

Tim just deadpaned at his lover's joke, "Seriously, were you always a gold digger?"

Stephanie pecked at his cheek, "Of course not, hubby." She giggled, "Now that we kissed, my chastity has been taken by you. You must be responsible, Timothy!"

Tim chocked on his saliva, and whipped his head to his older brother, "We haven't done anything yet, elder brother!" He defended his chastity.

"Of course, Timothy. I believe you." Damian said in a teasing tone voice.

Stephanie pouted at Tim's defence to his chastity, "What? You don't want to marry me, husband?"

"Of course not!" Tim grinned at her, "Right, no take back. No matter how weird your husband turn out to be."

Damian interrupted the flirting couple, "Please stop. Although I want nieces and nephews in the future, I do not wish to babysit at the current moment. With this rate, Stephanie might become pregnant with just words, brother."

This make all three of them burst into laughter.

Jason came at the right moment, "Why are you guys laughing?"

Stephanie cheered when she saw him, "Brother-in-law!"

Jason choked on his words, "W-What?"

Thus the fake prince story ended with a happy wedding.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

How was it? Have you predicted the ending? 😏 I know the dialogue are not historically accurate. But I hope you enjoy it.

At first, I was gonna make Tim cinderella, but it ended into a bitter sweet text. HEHEHE

Another prompt down, another to go. Any bingo prompt you are looking forward to?

[stevesworld96]

look at me now (part one)

--- steve harrington x fem!reader

childhood friends to strangers to lovers. this is a more realistic look at developing a relationship with steve, set in canon while you know nothing about the monsters, or the nightmares, or all of his scars.

a fic about knowing steve before, during, and after the events of the upside down. including all the ways your friendship with him grows, wilts, then grows again - to blossom into something he probably doesn’t deserve. 

tags: fem reader, no use of y/n, childhood friends, typical king steve meanness, yes there is an allusion to steve being icarus, kissing, fighting and making up, cliches, a lot of emotions, depression and suffering etc, reader has an aunt, mentions of death and injuries, codependent steve and robin, steve is so so so so so so so sad. hawkins doesn't get destroyed after the vecna fight - everything else follows canon

please read both parts, i worked so hard on this fic and i'm really proud of it :)

part two!!!

word count: 14878

-

You knew Steve Harrington better than you knew anybody. At least, you liked to think so. 

You were five when you moved to Hawkins into the house right next door to Steve’s, and as things go when you’re a kid, that automatically made you best friends. At that age you didn’t have to try to be friends with somebody - as long as they lived nearby and had a bike, that sealed the deal. 

He was only knee high to his mother, hiding behind her legs when she brought him over to introduce themselves. “We’re the Harrington's,” she said, then with a tight laugh, “minus one - my husband. This is our son. Steve - say hi, Stevie.” 

He didn’t. Your mothers started a polite conversation and your eyes darted between the tall woman and her son. She was dressed like she had somewhere important to be, with red lipstick painted on her lips and pearls hung around her neck. She was pretty. 

Her son didn’t stand with the same pride she had - he was peeking at you, tugging the hem of his mother’s dress and looking down at his feet. You could hardly get a good look at him, and he didn’t even wave back at you. His haircut was prim and proper; the button up shirt he wore was swallowing him.

They came inside for lemonade, and you led Steve into your living room, and by the end of the hour you had instantly become friends, bonding over your toy car collection that Steve loved. 

You were kids - of course things were so easy. 

To see him, all you had to do was walk over to his front door and knock, and you could spend as much time together as you wanted. Or just wait until his parents needed a babysitter - after they learned how much you and Steve loved spending time together, they started to drop him off at your house and you’d have sleepovers for days. 

It was when Mr. Harrington had gotten a big promotion that they’d leave Steve with your family nearly once a week. 

“I’m sorry, Stevie, I know me and Dad haven’t been home much lately. But next month isn’t as busy for us,” his mom would tell him. 

“It’s okay, Mom,” he’d reply. “Don’t worry, I like staying here, so I’m alright.” 

At your age you didn’t see the irony in a seven year old telling his mother that things were okay - shouldn’t it be the other way around? - but those apologies from his mother wouldn’t last very long. And the promises she always made were never kept. Soon enough, she stopped making them altogether. 

Sometimes he’d just show up at your door, and your parents didn’t have to ask questions because they already knew more than you did, and you didn’t understand that he was more comfortable in your bedroom than in his own. 

The routine of your friendship felt like the foundation of your life. Everything you did was with Steve by your side, like you were tied together with an invisible string that couldn’t be broken. Snacks after school were a must; movie nights every other weekend were your safe haven. The last day of school every year you camped out in his backyard under the stars and then woke up early for a big breakfast and a day spent at the arcade. Even as you got older, those things stayed the same. 

You had busier schedules to work around in high school but you still made it work. After-school lunch turned into midnight snacks, and you moved from the arcade to the lake, but you were still intertwined with child-like joy and ease. 

Steve’s other friends were another story. Tommy H was a thorn in your side that you couldn’t pick out, but Steve didn’t get why you hated him so much. At first, you didn’t get it either - you just did.  

Until one day early in your junior year, Tommy H gave you a good enough reason for your disposition. 

Like always, Steve was waiting for you outside of your last class of the day, and you were just about to turn the corner when you heard Tommy’s loud, boisterous, annoying voice. 

“Steve, my boy, what’cha standing around here for?” 

Steve laughed, even though Tommy had said nothing funny. 

“Waiting on your favorite girl so I can get outta here - what’s up, dude?” 

“Come on,” Tommy said, dragging the words out. “We got shit to do, ditch her and let’s get a roll on, if you catch my drift.” 

You could see his stupid face in your head as he spoke - you just wanted him to go away so you could leave. But you’d wait there forever if it meant you didn’t have to have a conversation with him. 

You were hardly paying any mind to their words. 

“Can’t, dude, I’m her ride home. Tomorrow though, for sure.” 

“She’s holding you back, man.” 

But that caught your attention. They were both laughing even though, again, no one had said anything funny. 

“Y’think so?” 

“She even put out?” 

Your eyes rolled so far back to your head they could’ve gotten stuck. 

“It’s not like that with her.” 

“Oh, that’s not what Kimmy thinks.” 

“What? What do you mean - did she say something?” 

You knew Kimmy to be the new flavor of the week, Steve’s new eye candy. It’d be someone new in a matter of days - and this was one brand new trait of his you were struggling to overlook. 

“Just saying, most of the chicks think you’re taken by Miss Bitch -” 

You call Tommy H a dickhead to his face one time and he gives you a nickname that sticks for three years. 

“- and that’s why you’re not getting any action, dude. Gotta shake off the fleas, man.” 

And then Steve laughed. Loud.

You weren’t sure what you were expecting him to do. You hoped he would defend you even a little bit, but he didn’t. He just laughed, and said, “I’ll think about it, man,” as if he was in on this joke, and then Tommy left. 

And you didn’t know how you felt. 

It’s not like Steve said it. But he had no problem listening to Tommy H talk about you that way. He thought it was funny. 

Or, he was just saving face - did that make a difference?

You knew Tommy’s words were complete bullshit, and you didn’t care about him enough to let it affect you. Maybe Steve felt the same - maybe he just went along with it because it was easier. 

You hoped so, because that’s what you chose to do. You brushed it off and walked out of the room and acted as if nothing happened. 

“Hey - about time.” 

You didn’t reply; he continued talking as you walked together. 

“You hungry?” 

“Thought you were coming over,” you said. “Told you I wanted to build a blanket fort. Remember?” 

He huffed out a scoff, “A blanket fort? Are you six?” The glare you gave him made him reel his judgment back in. “Fine. Let’s go.” 

…

As soon as basketball season was over and you had your weekends back to yourself, you were ready to get through your watch list of movies as quickly as possible. You’d never tell Steve that cheering for him at his games was your least favorite part of your friendship with him - you would always keep that selfishness to yourself. 

And if you weren’t so wrapped up in your own mind, lost in planning your movie night, you may have been able to see your next conversation with Steve coming. 

“There she is, been lookin’ all over for you.” 

A heavy arm slung around your shoulders as you walked down the school hall. You didn’t have to question who it was. 

“What do you want, Steve?” 

“Just want to see my best friend in the whole world, is there something wrong with that?” 

You rolled your eyes. Obviously he’s up to something. 

“I’m going to choose to ignore you,” you said, shaking off his arm and stopping at your locker. His back fell into the metal next to you. 

“What’s up?” he asked, and he was trying too hard to be inconspicuous, but you ignored it. 

“Nothing. Oh, I think I finally have a cookie recipe we’ll like. Mrs. Jenkins gave it to me but she made me swear I wouldn’t share her secrets. Gonna pick up the stuff after school - have you picked your movie yet?” 

Then his eyes widened, a bit too much to look genuine. “Oh, shit, is that tonight?” 

“It’s Friday, isn’t it?” 

“I completely forgot about that, shit. I made other plans without thinking.” 

“Well, cancel them,” you said with a straight face. 

“Well… what if you join in on my plans instead?” 

You closed your locker and didn’t even consider entertaining Steve’s idea. “My mom’s already planning to make dinner for you. Are you ready to face her wrath?” 

“Well - no,” he said. “It’s just - y’know, I was supposed to see Nancy tonight, and…” 

“Oh, I get it, you wanna cancel so you can get laid. Is that it?” 

“No, Christ - I’ll be there, alright? But next time, I’m getting my way.” 

 You laughed at him, and the bell rang and ended your conversation. 

You didn’t think the night would go any differently than your normal hangouts. Maybe if you were expecting it, the disappointment wouldn’t have stung so bad. 

He called you early. 

“Hello?” 

“Hey -”

“Hey, have you picked up the movies yet? I forgot to get popcorn, so…” 

“No, I haven’t. Listen, um…” There was static on the line for a moment before he continued. “Sorry, but - can we - are you sure we can’t reschedule? Like, tomorrow night?” 

You groaned, you were annoyed. But even when he argued with you, Steve never ditched your valued traditions - he may act bothered sometimes, but he would always come around. Even if he did gripe about it being childish the entire time.  

That’s what you thought this would be. 

“No, Steve, I have book club and tutoring and dinner with my aunt tomorrow. You know this.” 

“Right. I guess I forgot about that. Okay, well…” 

“...Well?” 

Once again, he was quiet, and you weren’t sure if he was hesitating because he didn’t know what to say, or because he was nervous. 

“Well - I think it’d be really fun if we hung out at my place tonight!” 

“I guess I can bring all the ingredients for the cookies over. You do have a nicer oven…” you said.

“No, like, you can come over with everyone else I invited and we could -” 

“I thought you canceled that?” 

“I was going to, but… Tommy wouldn’t take no for an answer! And we already got the booze, and Nance finally said yes and - and I’d be really happy if you were here too!” 

“...Okay.”

“Okay…?”

You thought for a moment, then decided to ask him the question you were asking yourself. 

“Would you be happy if I was there, or would you be happy if I’m not mad at you for canceling?” 

“Uh - either one.” 

“Right.” 

That answer was good enough for you, even though it wasn’t the one you wanted. You weren’t getting anything you wanted that night, and you weren’t going to fight for it with someone who already had their mind made up. 

“Then have fun,” you said. 

“Really? We can cancel?” 

The excitement in his voice caused an angry laugh. “Yeah. Bye.” And you hung up. 

And you made your cookies, and you watched the movies you already had on tape, and you didn’t miss the popcorn but you wished you had Steve’s lap to put your feet on - and it was fine. 

You were sure he was having fun. And maybe he didn’t care at all about your canceled plans - because he was too busy with people who didn’t like you, doing something more exciting than what the two of you did as kids. 

It was selfish to be angry. Maybe it was wrong. But you let it boil over anyway. 

… 

You didn’t talk to him for a week after that. Because you didn’t want to, and you wanted to teach him a lesson, and you hoped it would make him sorry. 

Maybe you were being immature, but at this point, you were committed. 

You were afraid that you were setting the wrong example - that, maybe, he thought you were angry about him making his own plans, when the problem was how he’d canceled yours so last minute. Or perhaps it was both. But now you had dragged it out too long and you were stuck giving Steve the cold shoulder until he finally caved in and apologized. 

That’s all you wanted, really: an apology. And a bribe or two, just to get the most out of this argument. That’s how things usually went: you give him the silent treatment and he shows up at your door with your favorite snacks and a new book, and things would go back to normal. 

But not this time. 

You’d managed to bike to school without being caught by Steve all week, but you’d underestimated him waiting for you at the bike racks at the end of the day on Thursday. 

He stood with his arms crossed and his brows drawn together. The moment you saw him you stopped in your tracks, like if you stayed still he wouldn’t see you, but his gaze was locked on. It didn’t look kind. 

So you prepared yourself for this fight. 

“What are you doing?” he asked, but his tone said something different - it said, I’m sick of your shit. 

“What are you doing?” 

He scoffed and rolled his eyes, “Just wondering how long you’re going to keep dragging this out.” 

You kept darting around his words and moved to get your bike as if he’d let you leave so easily. “I’m not dragging anything out. Don’t know what you mean.” 

His arms flung out to his sides as his voice raised, “You’re acting like a fucking kid!”

And your volume matched his, “You hurt my feelings!” 

“Well - grow up!” 

The short silence that followed felt heavy, but he didn’t let it sit for long. 

“I mean - come on - I ditch you one time and all of a sudden we’re not friends anymore? Really?” 

“A sorry would be nice, Steve.” 

“I’ve said sorry.” Both of you knew that he hadn’t, but it didn’t matter now. “But sorry isn’t enough, is it? You’re just mad that I have new friends. Because I don’t want to just - sit around and fucking - watch movies in your living room like we’re kids -” 

“Like we’re kids,” you said, laughing. “Yeah - right, because that’s really what this is about, isn’t it, Steve?” 

He looked confused, and you didn’t give him the chance to speak. 

“Because I’m holding you back. Right? Tommy H said it so it must be true. I’m a bitch and I’m keeping you down and you need to shake me off if you ever want to get any action - that’s what it is. Just say it, Steve.” 

“Where is this coming from?” He ran a hand through his hair and his voice sounded desperate, but you weren’t sure what for. Maybe to salvage the remnants of a wounded friendship, to turn this conversation around. But your anger wouldn’t let him. 

“You know where it’s coming from. I heard it, Steve, and you - you agreed with him! I’m your best friend but you can’t even defend me to your shitty fucking friends - so just say it! You’re the one who doesn’t want me around -” 

“That’s not what happened -” 

You were so angry, and he was lying, and Steve never lied to you, and he’d filled you with so much venom that you couldn’t help spitting it out as you stepped closer to him. “It is. And you’re turning it on me when you’re the shitty friend. Stop lying to me and just say it.” 

“Yeah, maybe that is what it is - and I was just too fucking stupid to see it before now. That you’re so fucking clingy I can’t even have one night with a girl without you getting jealous. He was right. Is that what you wanted to hear?” 

“Yeah, it was,” and you pulled your bike free and your foot hit the kickstand so hard that it hurt, and you told yourself the pain was the reason tears were flooding your eyes. 

“Maybe I’m better off without you - have you ever thought about that? Is that your fucking problem?”

“Whatever! I don’t care anymore! You never have to watch another fucking movie with me again, alright? We won’t go to the arcade or build stupid fucking blanket forts or any of the other childish shit you hate so much!”

“Good - fucking - good!” 

“And I hope you have fun playing King, and I hope when all your friends turn on you and Nancy dumps your ass - because you’re an asshole - that I’m the last person you run to for help, and I hope your dad is real fucking proud of you, because you’re turning out to be just fucking like him.” 

It all fell out like you were pushing rocks off of a cliff - fast and angry and hard. You knew what those words would do to him. You knew you were hurting his feelings more than he had ever hurt yours - that you were putting the knife in too deep to pull out. You knew and you said it anyway, because you were mad and he was being a dick and lashing out felt good. Especially when you could hop on your bike and ride away from him, fast enough to avoid watching the blood pooling at his feet. 

The worst part is that you were being honest. 

Steve stood there alone and didn’t even turn to watch you ride away. He felt like hitting something, or screaming until his lungs were empty and tired. 

And he didn’t even have time for any of this. He was finally making decisions for himself, for once, and who were you to get mad at him for that? He was popular, he had a girlfriend who was actually into him, his parents had finally gotten off his back. Things were going fantastic for him and he wasn’t going to let you mess it up because you were… jealous, or selfish, or whatever it was - Steve didn’t care. 

He wasn’t going to lose sleep over you refusing to grow up and give him space. He was on top of the world, and you were trying to tear him down. 

He didn’t need you, anyway. 

… 

Months passed.

And, like you had put a hex on him, all of your words came true - and then some. It didn’t take very long for things to crumble around him, and Steve almost thought it was funny how quickly his wings had melted to send him hurling into the ground. 

No matter how hard he tried patching the holes, everyone knows you can’t fly with wings made of wax.

The fall hurt. But it was what came after that brought the real pain - a stinging, striking ache that was impossible to ignore. It felt like he was the last person on earth and he deserved it; like he shouldn’t be allowed to be around other people because he was no good.

And every time he tried putting the pieces back together, things only got more broken - all starting at Jonathan Byers’ front door. 

What could get worse than fighting a monster from an alternate dimension? 

Or fucking things up with your girlfriend beyond repair? 

Or fighting those monsters again? 

He learned quickly to stop asking stupid questions like those. 

And he learned that he couldn’t just close his eyes and wish it away. He couldn’t run when things got scary; he couldn’t lash out when someone was honest with him; he couldn’t sneak out of his window and into yours when the yelling got too loud. He was forced to face everything he ever hid from, cursed to have regrets and keep them. 

At least he wasn’t completely alone - the company of nerdy kid genius Dustin Henderson brought most of these lessons on. And in a normal situation Steve wouldn’t recommend learning anything from a kid in junior high, but he was living anything but a normal life. He’d take friends wherever he could get them, especially during senior year. 

Maybe he wanted to set a good example for the kids that suddenly came into his life. Maybe he wanted to prove to himself that he wasn’t his father - that he could do good things without getting something out of it. Or maybe, most likely, he just did it. 

He wanted to feel like a superhero, wanted to look in the mirror and feel proud of what stared back at him. But he didn’t, because he wasn’t. He wasn’t brave or heroic or gallant - he was no Clark Kent. And everything he did was because he had to. Because who else would? 

Sometimes he felt like only someone as careless as him would fight a man-eating creature with nothing but a baseball bat - because out of everyone he knew, he had the least to lose. Why bother making safe decisions when most days he didn’t even want to get out of bed? What was he risking when he’d already bet it all and lost? 

And who would be proud of that?

But there were moments, in the time between the fall and the fight, that he could almost see it. Like a flicker of light passing by he’d see Max smiling at him, hear Dustin’s excited laughter, feel a heavy high five from Lucas and he’d think - oh. Right there, standing in front of him, were the people he had to lose. The ones he was trying to win for. 

And then he’d lay in bed at night and get stuck in another sleepless round of self loathing; hatred fueled by every cruel word he’d spit and all the selfish acts he’d taken, and fuck, he was spinning and suffocating and screaming, and maybe he deserved this. 

It didn’t matter that he knew how to swing a fucking bat good enough to win more time for the ones he loved, because he wouldn’t love them right, anyway. And he’d turned the best person he’d ever known into nothing more than a crumpled piece of paper on his floor - something to be tossed aside and forgotten. And even if he tried smoothing it out, those creases would always be there. 

Sometimes he stared out his window and watched yours. Waited for your light to turn off so he could look away and stop wondering what you were doing and how your life was without him in it. 

All he wanted was to see you again. He’d beg for that movie night he ditched on junior year. He wanted to grab you by your shoulders and show you that he’s better now, he’s changed, those last words you told him weren’t applicable anymore and everything can just go back to how it was. 

But nothing was ever that easy, was it?

He was glad when graduation finally came around, until he was forced into a sailor’s uniform with an ice cream scoop on his belt like a gun in a holster. 

It was one way to spend the summer. It got him out of the house he hated staying in, and put a little money in his pocket, so slinging ice cream at Scoop’s Ahoy was good enough for him. 

It distracted him from the vague nightmares he kept having and the fact that he got into a total of zero universities, and the free ice cream counted as dinner on his bad days. And he was fine with his obnoxious co-worker and annoying customers. 

He was just fine. 

But it was Hawkins. Nothing could stay fine there - not after a little girl with super powers opened a portal to an alternate fucking dimension and turned the town into a magnet for every fucked up thing imaginable. 

Steve thought it was over, and then Dustin had him and Robin translating the Russian words he heard over his radio, and they were all pulled back in. 

He wasn’t expecting to fall into the Russian lair under Starcourt Mall, to trauma bond with Robin - of all people - or to get any closer to dying than he already had, but he stopped betting on his expectations a long time ago. 

By the time he saw the night sky again, he couldn’t remember how many punches he’d been thrown.

His head throbbed to the beat of his heart. It felt like if he tapped his temple, his eye would pop right out. His work uniform was ruined, stained with blood and spit, but the smoke billowing from Starcourt ensured that he wouldn't be needing it anymore. 

The events of the night felt like they were years away. All he remembered was running, screaming, crying; he remembered the fist coming toward his face but not the impact. He woke up to pain, and then it was gone - more running and bleeding and fighting and then, it was over. 

Robin sat next to him, shivering, on the back of an ambulance. The lights from the siren were blinding, the noise around him was punching his ear drums. 

“Are we alive?” Robin asked. Her voice was totally shot. 

“Think so.” 

“I want to lay down so bad.” 

“Yeah,” he nodded. “Do you have someone to call?” 

She sighed deep. “Not really.” She let it be quiet for only a second, then said, “I don’t really want to go home. To be honest.” 

“You wanna spend the night here?” 

“If I don’t have to be alone, then, yeah.” 

He sighed, too, then patted her knee. 

He said, “I’ll call someone, alright?” and she nodded. 

The payphone was a bit of a walk, and he had to wait behind two people in line, but it was enough time for him to muster up the courage to make the call. Even still, when he had the phone in his hand, all he could do was stare at it. 

He was trying to remember the exact words you said to him the last time he spoke to you. Something like, “I hope I’m the last one you call,” he was sure. It was hard to remember your phrasing now, but the memory still stung all the same. 

And he knows it’s not fair to call you, but he was going to anyway. Because in all honesty, you were the only option he had. 

Any other time, he’d rely on Hopper for a ride. But Hopper wasn’t around anymore. 

So he dialed your number and prayed you hadn’t changed it from the one he knew by heart. 

-

Your hand darted out of your blanket to reach your bedside telephone. The ringing killed your half asleep ears, and you hardly knew what you were doing when you put the receiver to your ear. 

“Hello?” 

You could barely get the word out; your voice was thick with sleep that was slowly creeping over you. 

“Hey. It’s Steve.” 

With your heavy eyes shut, sleep was pulling you back in. Your whole body jumped a little bit when you attempted to stay awake. 

“Steve?” 

“Yeah. I’m sorry for waking you up, but -” 

You didn’t know what was going on, and then you heard sirens on the phone. A jolt of anxiety seared through you at the sound. That’s what got you to wake up - then you realized who you were talking to. 

“Steve?”

“...Yeah.” 

“What - what’s wrong?” 

Your heart was pounding out of your chest as you sat up in bed, holding yourself up with one shaky arm. 

“I’m sorry,” he said, and you held your breath until he answered your question. “There was an, uh - accident at Starcourt, and - I don’t know who else to call. I’m sorry, I can’t drive right now and I don’t have anybody else.” 

“Are you okay?” 

“Barely.”

You didn’t give your answer a second thought. “I’ll be there in, like, five minutes, okay?” 

You could hear his breath of relief over the phone. “Okay. Thank you.” 

After stealing your mother’s car keys, you stuffed your bare feet into combat boots and ran to the car. Even though you still only had your learners permit, you absolutely floored it to the mall without a single thought in your mind. It was like you were on autopilot, simply doing what you were supposed to, because you were scared. 

You saw plumes of smoke before Starcourt ever came into view, and you swallowed through your dry throat because you knew something bad happened. 

You had to fight through crowds and cops before you were allowed to pass under the police tape to search for Steve, which wasn’t easy. Every face you saw wasn’t his and each second that passed dug a deeper pit in your stomach. 

The second-to-last ambulance in the lineup is where you found him, sitting next to a girl whose head was on his shoulder. 

And when you saw him… it wasn’t him. Your eyes glazed over him because he was hardly recognizable. 

You’d seen him beat up before. He’s had his fair share of fights at school; you wiped blood off his face and helped him nurse black eyes. But it was never like this. 

His left eye was swollen shut. Crimson stained from his eyebrow to his jawline. His skin was aggravated red, his clothes were blood rusted, his knuckles were ripped open. 

And still, somehow, his hair looked perfectly done. That sight alone made you want to laugh and cry at the same time, because of course he managed to keep its style untouched. It was so Steve. 

You ran to him; your legs carried you there on their own, shoelaces smacking against wet pavement. You weren’t thinking when you called out his name or when you flung your arms around his neck. You hugged him like it would heal him, like the scent of your perfume could cover the smoke he smelled of. 

It’d been almost a year since you’d talked to him, and the jagged edges of your ended friendship still cut deep, but you didn’t care. Not when he looked the way he did; not when he was hugging you so tight; not when your tears were dripping onto his skin. 

You pulled back and looked at him, and his wounds didn’t look any better up close. 

“Oh my god, Steve, are you okay? What the hell happened?” 

“I’m alright,” he said. He wouldn’t look at you, or couldn’t bring himself to. “I’m just glad you came. I’m sorry -” 

“Don’t,” you said, and then you looked around at the scene. “Have the paramedics even seen you? Why are you just sitting here?” 

“Yeah. Yeah, I - I’m fine. They said I’m fine. They’re all busy with others but - I’m fine, don’t worry.” 

That’s when you noticed the girl next to him, who was looking at you like you were crazy, and you realized what you were potentially barging in on. 

They sat close - too close to be friendly. They were basically cuddling when you first saw them. It was obvious what they were, so of course she was looking at you that way.  

You didn’t mean to make her jealous, but a part of you didn’t care. 

“Are both of you okay?” 

“Yeah,” Steve said, answering for the two of them.  The girl nodded. “This is Robin, by the way.” 

You introduced yourself to her, trying to be cordial even though you were meeting in the worst of situations. 

“You two can stay at my place tonight, if you want to,” you told them. Steve asked Robin if she was okay with that, and she said yes, and so you led them to your car. 

You weren’t sure why you made the offer to Steve - you wanted him with you, sure. After seeing the condition he was in, you wouldn’t sleep unless you knew you were keeping him safe and sound in your own bedroom. 

Old habits die hard.

But, all things considered, you should have just taken him to his own home, where he could be with Robin in peace. Without cut ties lingering in the air like flies. 

You drove him home anyway. 

Nobody spoke until you got to your bedroom. 

“Do you need a shower?” 

“Yeah,” Steve said. Robin nodded. 

“Okay. Robin, you can take my bathroom. Steve can shower downstairs.” 

You dug through bottom drawers to find clothes for each of them - you still had the ones Steve kept stored there, as embarrassing as it was, so it wasn’t a difficult task. And you’d let Robin choose from your pajama drawer.

And then you got back into bed, because you didn’t know what else to do for them. 

Robin stood in the doorway of your bathroom, just staring into the room. When Steve opened your bedroom door, she snapped her head back to him. 

“Steve?” 

“Yeah?” 

She glanced over at you. You wanted to hide from the tension in the room. 

“I - I don’t know how to use this faucet.” 

He showed her how, and then made for the exit, but she called for him again. 

“I was just thinking - you know - if we both shower at the same time, won’t the water pressure be super low? And what if the hot water runs out before I’m done, and -” 

“I’ll be quick, Robs,” he said. “It’ll be fine.” 

Steve took one step into the hallway before stopping. The darkness looked like it went on forever. He didn’t remember your house being so unlit, or having so many hiding places, and suddenly his legs were shaky. 

“...You’re probably right, though. I’ll just wait out here until you’re done.” 

“Yeah. And I’ll keep the door cracked open, for… all the steam.” 

“That’s a good idea.” 

And he sat on the floor right outside of the bathroom door. When Robin was finished, they swapped places. As if they couldn’t be apart for longer than twenty minutes. 

You didn’t ask them any questions.

… 

The two of them slept on a pallet of old blankets on your bedroom floor. Robin made Steve sleep closest to the door. He tried not to be upset about it. 

And he didn’t think he’d be able to sleep, but it seemed to swallow him. He didn’t dream, or toss and turn, but he woke up unrested. 

Everything still hurt just as bad as it did the night before. And Robin’s snoring was making his headache worse. 

You were no longer in bed, so he decided to get up and find you. 

He wasn’t sure what kind of interaction he’d be walking into when he found you in the kitchen, but he tried to keep his head high. 

“Good morning,” he said. 

“Hey.” You had a mug in your hand. “Your eye looks better.” 

“It doesn’t feel any better,” he said, and he wanted to make a joke that it actually looks worse - because when he closes his right eye, everything’s blurry - but he held that one in. He wasn’t ready for a comedic coping mechanism quite yet. 

You put Tylenol on the island that separated the two of you. “Take them. I don’t know if it’ll help much, but it can’t hurt.” 

The bottle said to take two, so he took three. And then the awkward quiet started washing in. 

Until, “I saw what happened on the news,” and Steve almost coughed up the water he was chugging. 

“What are they saying?” he asked, because he didn’t know what story he was supposed to be playing along with. 

“Just talking about the fire,” you said. Your voice sounded so dim, and Steve hated it. “It’s… crazy. Hopper… he…” You couldn’t say the word. 

“I know,” Steve said. 

“And thirty others.” 

His throat felt dry. “Thirty?” 

Truly, he didn’t know that many people hadn’t survived. And now, it all felt real. Really real. 

“Yeah,” you replied. “I’m just glad - you were lucky to get out, Steve.” 

You had no clue how lucky he’d really been. And hopefully you would never have to know. 

“I know.” 

You sat your mug down, brushed your hands on your chest like you were trying to wipe off everything you knew of the accident, then blew out a loud breath. 

“Let’s just think about something else.” 

Almost at the same time as you, he spoke. “Thank you.” 

“...What for?” 

“For coming to my rescue,” he said, huffing a laugh. “I know that I… didn’t really deserve it.” 

“Don’t thank me, Steve.” 

“Seriously. You could’ve just told me to walk home, but you didn’t.” 

“I’m just being a good friend,” you said, then shrugged. “I hope you would do it for me.” 

“In a heartbeat.” 

He wondered if this was his chance to say sorry. 

Or if there was even a point in it. 

He was afraid you’d do no more than laugh in his face, and even if he deserved it he didn’t want to succumb to it. 

But he had to. Because he almost died last night. And he could be fighting those monsters again, any day now. Was he going to lose this chance? Or is he going to die without saying another word to you? 

He stared down at his ripped knuckles. The wounds still looked fresh. They stung just from touching the open air. 

He stared, and stared, and stared, and - he couldn’t do it. He couldn’t say a word. He couldn’t face it. 

Your footsteps toward him made him jump back. 

You were holding a box of band-aids. 

You held out your hand, asking for his without words, and he offered both of them to you. First his right, then his left, were covered in pink, green, and yellow band-aids by you. 

It was gentle and kind, the way you went about it. Like you would hurt him even more if you weren’t careful. 

He still had dried blood under his nails and splinters in his palms. He watched your clean hands holding his beaten up ones and he felt bad, because your skin was too soft to bother with the cuts and calluses on his. 

But you held them anyway. 

He put his fingers through yours and you didn’t stop him. He wanted to cry.

“I’m just glad you're alright.” 

He didn’t know what to say - there wasn’t anything to say, he guessed. Nothing to make it better or change anything. 

All he could do was squeeze your hand and watch you wipe tears off your cheeks. 

Until he noticed a cut on the back of your hand. He pulled it closer so he could get a better look. 

“What happened?” 

“I dropped a knife while I was cooking last night. It’s fine.” 

It looked fine, but Steve wanted to repay your favor, so he pulled a band-aid from the near empty box and put it on your wound. 

“We match,” he said. 

You laughed. “We’re even now.” 

He felt overwhelmed with melancholy. He needed to rest, he wanted to close his eyes and not open them for weeks. 

“I should go check on Robin,” he said as he walked backwards toward the stairs. He kept his eyes to the ground, away from the look on your face. “She’ll flip if she wakes up and she’s alone.” 

You said nothing. 

… 

The following days and weeks were a lot of checking on Robin, and Robin checking on him. Too much waking up in the middle of the night and keeping his eyes glued to his bedroom door just in case. Only feeling safe enough if he had a baseball bat hugged to his chest and Robin snoring next to him. 

So - he wasn’t doing well, but it was fine. He tried not to complain about it. Robin was the only person he let himself be half honest with - but he kept the truth to himself, because she’d get anxious if he said what he really felt. 

Steve was scared. And he didn’t want anyone else to know it, because all of the others acted as if their lives were perfectly back to normal. They were doing well. So he had to be doing well, too. For their sake. 

Weeks after that awful night at the mall, he and Robin conned their way into getting jobs at Family Video. He was grateful, because god, he was too codependent on her. 

It was a random night at his place when Robin brought you up out of nowhere. 

“I just realized, I never thanked your neighbor for saving us that night.” 

“You don’t need to. I’m sure she knows you’re thankful.” 

“Yeah, but, I feel like I should pay her back.” 

Steve shrugged at her words. He didn’t want to think about you more than he had to - it hurt just a little bit too much. 

“Should I give her a gift?” 

“I don’t know,” he mumbled. “She likes cookies. Get her cookies.” 

And Steve didn’t know it, but the next day, Robin rang your doorbell with a plastic box of cookies in her hands. You opened the door and she started rambling from the get. 

“Hey - Steve said you like cookies, so, I decided I’d bring you some to thank you. For showing up at Starcourt in the middle of the night and practically saving our lives. And for letting us sleep on your floor. That was really nice of you.” 

You didn’t know what to say. Robin seemed weird. You just went along with it. 

“Oh - thanks. That’s cool. Thanks.” 

She shoved them toward you, and you took them. 

“Do you want to come in?” you asked.

Instead of answering, she just stepped through the door. You brought her to the kitchen. 

“I hope they’re good. I just got them at the corner store. But all cookies are the same, right?” 

“Well - no, but, it’s the thought that counts.” 

“Oh.” 

The gifted cookies didn’t look much better than the worst recipes you’d made,  but you opened the crude packaging and gave them a chance. 

They were fine. Maybe a little worse than fine. You gave Robin one, anyway. 

“They’re good!” she said, with a mouth full. 

“They are,” you lied. “They’re not homemade, but they’ll do. Thanks, Robin.” 

You ate half of your cookie. Robin finished hers. It was quiet. 

You figured you might as well try to get to know this girl a bit better. At least be polite and make small talk, just to be nice. 

So you asked an easy question. “How long have you and Steve been together?” 

But it wasn’t as simple as you thought, because she started coughing up the cookie. “What do you mean?” 

“...What?” 

“We’re not together,” she said with a heavy dose of sass. “God, I’ll never get over people asking me that. I am not dating Steve Harrington. Gross.” 

“Oh - sorry, I just thought -” 

“It’s fine,” she said. “Everyone always asks. I guess a guy and a girl can’t be friends without everyone making assumptions.” 

You laughed. “Yeah. People used to do the same thing to us. Sorry, I didn’t mean to ask a weird question.” 

“It’s alright. Actually, I’m supposed to be at his place in, like - well, ten minutes ago. You should come over if you're free.” 

“Uh - I don’t know, me and Steve - we don’t really hang out anymore.” 

You aren’t sure why you didn’t just make up an excuse. Something about Robin made you feel okay about being honest. 

“It’s cool. I’m sure he’d be happy to see you. It’s kind of been just us since what happened with - the fire. The fire that happened. So - you know. It’d be nice to have someone else around. If you want.” 

You were curious how this would turn out. So, “sure. I’ll come.” 

“Great. You should bring a cookie for Steve.” 

You brought the whole box, and decided you would accidentally forget them at his place so they wouldn’t go to waste. 

Steve’s front door was yanked open from the inside before Robin could let herself in, and his wide eyes became a little less wide when he saw her. 

“Where the fuck were you - you were supposed to be here half an hour ago, I thought you got fucking eaten or something.” 

“Relax. I was just making a cookie delivery next door. Chill.” 

Robin threw her thumb over her shoulder. You poked your head out from behind her and gave Steve a weak wave.

“Oh.” 

“What exactly would she get eaten by?” 

“I don’t know,” Steve shrugged. You noticed he was gripping his car keys in a tight, scarred fist. 

“Monsters,” Robin joked. Steve didn’t laugh. You did a little bit. “I invited her over. Is that alright?” 

“Yeah. Of course.” 

You stuck to Robin all the way to his living room, because that was easier than making yourself comfortable. You hadn’t been in this house in ages, and you weren’t sure what to do with yourself. 

“Where’s my crossword?” 

“I finished it.” 

“Asshole. You know I hate that. Just get your own.” 

“Whatever, you suck at them, anyway.” 

Robin, unlike you, had no reservations in the Harrington house. She kicked her feet up and started channel surfing as soon as she sat on the couch. 

“Have a cookie,” Robin said to Steve. You reached the box out to him; he sat down next to you to take one, taking up the spot between you and Robin.  

It was weird being so close to him again. His knee was touching yours, and it made your skin feel too hot. Still, you didn’t move away. 

“These are shit,” he said with a full mouth. 

“Hey!” 

You laughed loud, because you completely agreed. 

“No, seriously, these are awful.” 

“I spent five dollars on those!” 

You gasped. “Five? Robin.” 

“You should have just given her the money instead. Or thrown it in the trash.” Steve dropped his half eaten cookie back in the box. You put the plastic lid back on and sat it on the coffee table. 

“I thought they were good. You’re being so rude right now. They were a gift.” 

Steve looked at you. “You didn’t tell her how bad they are?” 

“I didn’t - I don’t think they’re that bad.” 

“You’re lying,” Steve laughed, then he turned to Robin. “She’s lying.” 

“I’m not lying!” 

“I know you, and I know you’re lying.” 

“It’s fine, guys, you don’t have to spare my feelings or anything.” 

You sighed, defeated. “...They are pretty terrible.” 

Robin scoffed loud and obnoxious. 

“Whatever. I’ll enjoy them.” 

… 

As it turns out, Robin acted like glue between you and Steve. Neither of you would have ever made an effort to see each other again, out of embarrassment or guilt or both, but Robin didn’t have to unpack any of that baggage. She didn’t even know it existed. 

Instead, she immediately saw you as a friend. And she brought you in like she had known you forever. 

But Robin and Steve were a package deal. So, if you were a friend to her, you had to be a friend to him, too.

And the two of them were weird. Most of the time, they left you feeling like a third wheel on their friendship. 

They could be mean to each other. Rough. They acted the exact way you knew siblings do, but that was only surface level. There was something deeper - more than anything a brother and sister had, because it wasn’t the blood in their veins that connected them. It was the roots they chose to grow into each other that kept them together. 

Robin spent the night with Steve more often than she didn’t. And she bullied him for his bad cooking, and he told her when an outfit was ugly, and they stood next to each other like two puzzle pieces that didn’t match but fit together with a hard press. 

Sometimes you sat on the sidelines and ached, mourning a friendship that had been buried some odd years ago. It was well beyond rotten - something decayed and unrecognizable now. Even if you dug it up, it couldn’t be the same as it was. 

But you wished. 

And as you sat and listened to Robin chastise Steve for saying something dumb - watched as he meddled her hair into a purposeful mess, you could only laugh and sink into yourself. You were happy and sad; you cherished your time together and dreaded it, all at the same time. 

Above it all, Steve was different. Distant in the way he would never meet your eyes, or laugh too loud at your jokes, or sit too close for too long. 

It all felt fleeting. Like that week you spent angry at him - stuck in a weird limbo, between friends and strangers, a frustrating purgatory. Some kind of Schrodinger’s Cat of a friendship - alive and dead at the same time. 

You would have just said something, if it felt like you could. But if Steve minded, he didn’t show it. If he missed how things were, he didn’t act like it. And, as you knew him, if he wanted to he would. 

And it wasn’t totally bad. It was just new. You’d get used to it with a spoonful of sugar and a hard swallow. 

On a random day, you had mentioned off-hand that you had been meaning to visit your aunt’s apartment to drop off and pick up a few things. Steve offered to take you, and you agreed, and the next day, you made good on your plans. 

The two of you didn’t hang out without Robin very often. Since early August, the number was hardly a handful. But with the radio turned on, it wasn’t too awkward. 

Steve had visited your aunt with you several times growing up. He went to her house-warming party when she moved into her apartment. You were thirteen, and you made a game of pressing every button in the elevator before getting off it. Now, every time you’re there, you think about how you used to chase him down the halls. 

Her place was the nicest there was in Hawkins, in the tallest residential building in town. Parking was a nightmare, but Steve kept his complaints under his breath, and he even carried your bag for you. 

The elevator was the only thing in the apartment’s lobby. As you pressed the button, Steve spoke up. 

“You wanna take the stairs instead?” 

“Why?” 

He shrugged. You laughed. 

“You want to climb eight flights of stairs? No thanks.” 

“I’m an athlete,” he mumbled under his breath, sheepish. “This thing is taking forever, anyways.” 

It dinged as it finally started moving down toward the bottom floor.

“It’s on its way.” 

He stepped back, looked around, and he must have spotted the stairwell. “I’ll race you,” and then he took off. 

The elevator door opened as the stairway’s door closed, and you rode to the top floor alone. 

He didn’t win the race - far from it, and you laughed as he tried to hide his struggling breathing. 

“Been waiting for you all day, athlete. Thought you’d take ‘til Christmas.” 

“Psh. Whatever. I’ll win on the way down.”

The elevator creaked and hummed as it started moving down, and Steve glared at it. 

You laughed, “You’re weird,” and you left him behind to walk down the hall. 

He worked fast to catch up, and called out, “The loser pays for dinner!” 

“You know I’d never pass up that bet.” 

Your aunt wasn’t home - she rarely was. But a key was under the mat, and as you walked inside her tuxedo cat, Webster, greeted you at the door. 

“Hey, dude,” Steve said, kneeling down to pet him. 

An old cardboard box sat on the dining table nearby, “Glassware” written on the side in crude permanent marker. It’s what you had been instructed to pick up and take back home - you weren’t sure what was inside.

You sat down and opened it and pulled out the first thing you saw: a white paper bag, one you knew printed photos came in. 

“This what you came for?” 

Steve stood next to you. He had Webster in his arms, who was purring loud and melting into his hand. 

“Yeah.” 

“What is it?” 

“I don’t know. Family stuff, I’m guessing.” You pulled out a fat stack of pictures and the one on top made you bark a laugh. “Oh my god.” 

You and Steve, seven years old, wearing matching cowboy costumes for Halloween - you with a white cowboy hat, him with a black one. You stood with a jack-o-lantern between you. You had your hands on your hips and a frown on your face; Steve had his chin pushed out in a wicked scowl. 

You turned it to him, and he laughed just as loud as you. “Look at those two mean mugs!” 

“Do you remember this?” 

He sat in the chair next to you, continuing to look at the photo over your shoulder. Webster made himself comfortable in his lap. 

“Yeah,” he laughed, “We fought all night because you stole my -”

“Oh my god.”

“You stole my full size Snickers.”

“I did not!” 

“You did.” 

“I didn’t!” 

The way he looked at you told you this was still a sore subject. 

“You went ahead of me to the Smith’s place while I was trying to tie my shoe and you took her last bar. That’s what happened!” 

“That’s not stealing!” 

“It is!”

“I didn’t mean to leave you behind! It’s not my fault you didn’t know how to tie your shoes!” 

“You didn’t, either. And, I learned before you.” 

You puffed a sigh and flipped the photo to the back of the stack. “Why are you still fighting over this? We shared all the candy, anyway.” 

“It’s the principle. Theft is a crime, and you never apologized.” 

You only laughed. No way were you giving him that apology now. 

When you pulled the photos out of the box, you didn’t intend on looking through them all, but your curiosity kept you flicking through them. Most were of random family members or photos of the beach, but pictures of you and Steve were littered throughout the stack. There wasn’t a single photo of you that didn’t have him in it, too.

There were from some first days of school, birthday parties, sleepovers. They were sorted somewhat chronologically - looking through them was pure nostalgia, memories hitting you at every angle as you watched yourself grow up. 

The next one to catch your eye was from a middle school dance. Neither of you wanted to attend, but your mother insisted. Your one condition was that you could wear whatever you wanted. 

So you and Steve had swapped styles. You wore his way oversized Atlanta Flames jersey, a baseball cap, and sneakers that didn’t fit; he had on your purple sweater, a big pearl necklace, and white jeans. 

It was cute, and it was goofy, and you wished you could jump into the picture and relive it. 

At that age, the only thing you knew was that you and Steve would live forever, together. Now that you know what you know, your heart ached for the little girl in these pictures. What would she think about the space between you two now? 

There were pictures from summer camp, swimming pools, and your first day of high school. 

Webster meowed. Steve meowed back at him. 

As you got to the bottom of the stack, pictures of the two of you were less and less. The last one - the one you didn’t know would be your last picture with him - was of you, him, and a few of your extended family members. A day spent at the lake that Steve really didn’t want to go to, for some reason only an angsty teenage boy could understand, that you dragged him to. It was the summer before your junior year.

In the photo, his arm was draped completely over your shoulder. You remembered him leaning all of his weight on you - to the point that you fell out of your seat after the picture was taken by your aunt.

And you had fun, like you always did. Steve became a member of your family out of happenstance. It was just because he was always around, really. They all saw him as much as they saw you. 

You put that photo to the back of the stack and kept carding through them. You didn’t find any more pictures of you and Steve. 

The rest were all more recent. Steve stopped you on one that was of you alone - sat at a dinner table, wearing a cable knit sweater. 

“That’s a good one,” he said. 

“Yeah. It’s from Christmas. Senior year, maybe.” 

You acted like you weren’t sure, but you knew exactly when that photo was taken. You just didn’t want him to know how sad you were in it. 

“Oh, yeah?” 

“Yeah,” and you laughed, “this was not a fun party.” He didn’t reply, and so you kept talking, sparing him a shy glance. “Everyone kept asking where you were.” 

The silence was heavier this time. 

“Oh,” he said, trying to bury it. “Yeah.” An awkward chuckle. “I bet that was annoying.” 

You laughed and tried to make it sound real - tried to seem like you didn’t care. “Yeah, well, you know how my family always liked you better.” 

He shrugged, looking like he was going to make a joke, but he didn’t. His eyes were distant as they moved down to his lap. 

You shoved the picture to the back with the rest. 

The one behind it was just as lonely. 

Still, Steve perked up at it. “Is that from graduation?” 

You wore a cap and gown, you held a bouquet of flowers, and you stood all alone. 

“Yeah.” 

Steve’s hand wrapped around yours holding the picture, and he tilted it toward him so he could get a better look. 

“My aunt kept trying to get me to find you for a picture,” you laughed. 

“You should’ve.” He smiled something big and real, and you realized with a rush that this is the closest you’d been to him in a while. If you kept looking, you could count the freckles on his cheek. His thumb pressed into the back of your hand. “I remember seeing you. You looked real cute.” 

You ignored his compliment to say something snide. “I ignored you so hard.” 

Another laugh, “Really?” 

“Obviously.” 

“Yeah. That’s fair - I would’ve, too.” 

You tried not to think about how badly you wished he was standing next to you in the picture. 

Steve spoke up, “I -” but you cut him off by accident. 

“It’s fine.” 

You didn’t mean it. He could tell.

“...Is it?” 

It was honest when you replied, “I don’t know.” 

He was still holding your hand. 

“I never told you I’m sorry.” 

“I guess I just figured you were.” 

You dropped the pictures on the table, dropping his hand with them.

“Is that good enough?” It was an honest question. 

“I don’t know. Maybe it is.�� 

And your answer was genuine, because you didn’t know. Steve had come back into your life just as easily as he left it - on a whim, without any warning. You didn’t put any roadblocks in his way. 

But you stared at the photos spread out in front of you. At the story they told of your friendship that would always be unfinished. 

You had to teach yourself how to do life without him. All of those lessons seemed useless, now, because here he was. And you didn’t even know if he ever missed you. 

You pulled away from him, a move that was far more snappy than you meant. You did it like he’d reached out and burned you. It had Webster jumping down to the floor. 

“It’s fine,” you repeated. 

“I think you’re lying just to make me feel better.” 

“I don’t know why I’m lying.” 

“We don’t have to talk about it now,” he mumbled, and you stood up. The chair scraped the floor in a way that grated your ears. You turned your back to him. 

“I thought I knew you.” Your eyes welled up, your nose started to run. You balled your hands up like you were on defense. “I thought you would say sorry, and make everything go back to normal like you always did. But you didn’t. I thought you would miss me, at least, but - but you didn’t.” 

“You think I didn’t miss you?” 

The shake in his voice had your fist dropping to hit your thighs, defeated. 

“I miss you more than anything. I’m sorry - I’m not just saying it to make you feel better, or because I have to, I - I don’t even deserve to be saying it.” He paused, and you could imagine the way he was running his hands through his hair and pacing around with nerves. “I’m sorry for being a bad friend. For not treating you like you deserved - I hate myself for it. You were the best thing in my life, and I know that now. I was just too scared to come crawling back to you because I wasn’t worth your time.”

You breathed in deep, exhaled hard, and it felt like the first breath you had taken in two years. It was that feeling when you’ve forgotten your keys but find the door unlocked - the relief of being let in despite a mistake, it rushed through you, and it had you turning to look at him. You found him standing and staring at you, through you, with glassy eyes you would always know. 

“I just miss you, Steve.” 

Three steps and then he was around you. And you were safer than a child hiding under their blanket from whatever lurked in their closet - monsters weren’t real if his arms were around you. That had always, always been true. 

Webster rubbed up against your leg, then Steve’s. The hug shook with both of your laughter, and he held you tighter. 

… 

Things didn’t go back to how they used to be after that, but it was close enough. And you were trying to settle into the differences that kept knocking you off your feet. 

It started with late night phone calls. 

Before, you never talked on the phone. Why would you when his house was a stone throw away? If you wanted to talk, you’d invite yourself to his place. 

But the two of you were still dancing on the ripped edges of that two year old fight. Wounds were still healing - almost there, but not quite. So it was easier to take it slow, to treat this time as something brand new. 

And it was brand new. 

You had caught yourself grinning ear to ear over stories he’d tell you, and you had to force the smile off your face. Like you shouldn’t be acting that way over your friend - you quickly realized you just couldn’t help it. 

He’d keep you up too late and tease you for it the next day. And you weren’t sure if he was trying to get a rise out of you, but that’s how you felt. He acted so smug after seeing your cheeks swell in embarrassment. 

So it wasn’t going back to how it was before. In fact, it was going down an entirely different road - one that wasn’t even on the map. 

You weren’t complaining, because you felt things you hadn't felt before around him. He made you feel warm, and you were addicted to it. You were addicted to him, and you had blind hope that the feeling was mutual. 

He’d spend his entire lunch break visiting you, even if your breaks didn’t line up. He’d follow you around the apparel section at Roses and you’d have all your attention on him, just the way he liked it. He made sure to see you every day.

You never thought he’d make you feel so shy, but it was an emotion you couldn’t get enough of. You hardly realized what you were spiraling into until you’d catch him looking at you with a blush on his cheeks, or until you had to stop yourself from thinking about him every night before bed. 

But there was something glaring, something major, something you couldn’t look at directly until it came up in conversation with Robin. 

Robin and Steve always had Sundays off, so the day was designated to be stolen by their other friends - who were all in junior high. 

When you asked why they were friends with junior high kids, Steve called himself their babysitter. Robin said she was their good influence. You avoided asking follow up questions. 

It was a lazy autumn day, one where the warmth of fallen leaves reflected in the air - something rare for early November. 

The youngest of the kids, Erica, loved putting on a nice outfit and going for a walk. Today it was yellow Chucks, a red silk and pleated maxi skirt, and a long sleeve button up with a rainbow of vertical stripes. (It would have been a tie dyed short sleeve, if Steve hadn’t told her it was too chilly for it.) She had stuck gems beside her eyes, the kind that come in the plastic packets and don’t stay on for long, and Robin packed yellow eyeshadow on her eyelids. 

She was downright cute, but if you told the eleven year old that she’d aim her sass at you and shoot to kill. She much preferred receiving a refined compliment, because, “I hear that all the time.” 

Today, you told her you loved the way she paired so many colors together. She grinned something beautiful and kicked her foot up behind her and agreed with you. 

Steve had once described her as a menace - you didn’t understand why. 

You walked with Robin a few feet behind Erica, Dustin, and Steve. Dustin had not stopped talking the whole time, except when Erica butted in. Steve had stolen the younger boy’s thinking cap hat and was wearing it backwards. 

“The last time I wore this coat, I found two phone numbers in the pocket.” Robin held up two fingers and gestured to the Letterman jacket she wore. It was Steve’s. “Can you believe that? I mean, what a douche. I wouldn’t even wear this if it wasn’t so warm.” 

You laughed. “Yeah, I believe it, actually. They were probably from some cheerleaders or something.”

“Yeah, well, he can’t get any numbers these days. He’s cursed to be forever lame as punishment for the jerk he was in high school.” Robin was smirking wicked and wide, like it was satisfying for her. 

“He’s lost all his charm?” 

“All of it. I mean, one hundred percent. I used to keep count of how many times he fell on his face in front of girls. It’s magnificent, truly.” Then, quieter, “He’ll get it back, though. One day.” 

“He used to have no trouble at all.” The conversation had the gears in your head turning; it had you speaking without thinking. “I don’t know. He’s really different now.” 

Robin laughed, like you were joking. “Yeah, he learned manners, for one.” 

“It’s not that.” You were thinking out loud. “He’s nicer, yeah, but… it’s almost like he’s not even the same person. I’m not sure what happened.” 

The Steve you knew was boisterous. He was unapologetic. He was stupidly confident, the life of the party, and he wasn’t afraid of anything. A wouldn’t take no for an answer, go with the flow, drop of the hat kind of person. 

You were lucky to know him when that’s all he was. Before the halls of Hawkins High swallowed him and spit out someone ornery who cared too much but not at all. 

You thought it was just Tommy and Carol’s influence. Now that he wasn’t their friend anymore, you thought he’d become who he used to be. 

“He told me how close you two were before,” Robin said. She was tugging on a strand of hair that was stuck in her lip gloss. “I guess I never knew him like you did.” 

“He’s so quiet now. He used to be so loud.” You meant it more than literally - you hoped Robin would understand. “I don’t know. So much changed and it’s only been a couple years.” 

It seemed like she was struggling to reply, because it took her more than a few seconds to get her words out. 

“I guess - I mean - I think you’ve probably changed a lot, too. Two years is a long time, right?” 

Robin knew. No one could tell, but she knew. 

Maybe the differences that you had described of Steve were really there. She wasn’t able to see them the way you could, but she didn’t care. It was selfish to admit that she would never change a thing about him - but one. 

He was waiting. 

Everyone was, she thinks. 

Waiting for another fight. 

It wasn’t easy to go back to normal after trudging through hell. It was like coming out the other side of trench warfare unharmed - you didn’t. When a gun fires, its bullets hit. If a bomb is dropped it doesn’t miss a fucking thing, and Starcourt Mall was goddamn ground zero. 

And Robin wasn’t there for the disappearance of Will Byers. The death of Barbra Holland. The Upside Down. The Demogorgon. The Demodogs, and the lab, and the girl with psychic powers. She wasn’t there, but Steve was. 

Her head hurt just thinking of the stories he’s told her. And she knew his did, too, more often than he’d admit to her.

And she felt bad when her sleeping patterns went back to normal but his didn’t. When she got used to being on edge all the time, Steve still jumped at any noise. His phone would ring and she would watch him prepare himself to answer it - to hear Dustin’s voice on the line telling him that it’s back. 

So when you said that Steve’s changed, Robin didn’t know what to tell you. You were right, and she knew that, but she couldn’t tell you why. You knew everything about him besides, well - everything. 

Robin wished she didn’t have to know, either. She wanted to tell you that you should be grateful you couldn’t see the shackles on his ankles. You got to know him before - and Robin would give anything for that. 

But she couldn’t change a thing. 

Instead, all she could do was wait. 

And lie. 

And pretend. 

“He’s still loud,” she said, uncomfortable as all get out. 

As if he heard her words, Steve busted out in a stomach hurting kind of laughter at one of Dustin’s stories. 

“See what I mean?” 

Your destination was in sight now. Steve turned around - letting Dustin steal his hat back - walking backwards, and reached a hand out to you. 

“You coming?” 

Your pace turned into a skipping sort of jog to catch up with him. When you were close enough he grabbed your hand and didn’t let go. He’d been doing that often. 

The kids and Robin broke away, heading for the tiny park that was up on your right. To your left, Steve tugged you to a tiny convenience store.

“Place your orders!” he called. 

Dustin and Erica shouted at the same time. Steve mumbled something about not being able to understand them, so you relayed their messages. 

“You’re getting two things! No more than that!” he shouted back. “Robin?”

“7-Up.”

“What else?” 

“Surprise me!” 

You hung onto his arm as you walked into the store, and you weren’t even sure why. He never pulled away when you got that close, so you kept going back. 

You went for the drink coolers first. He reached for the apple juice. 

“She likes orange juice the best, now,” you said. 

“Are you sure?”

“Positive.” 

“You better be right - if she’s mad at me over this, I’ll be mad at you.” 

You rounded up all the snacks everyone wanted, following Steve’s only two items rule. You laughed when he chose plain potato chips as Robin’s surprise - the blandest possible choice. And while he checked out at the counter, you wandered off into the aisles. 

He acted like he didn’t want you to go, pulling you back and asking a quiet, “where’re you going?” 

“To look around.” 

It was straight to the candy aisle for a Blow Pop for Erica, Pop Rocks for Dustin, and sour gummy worms to share. You liked spoiling them - it helped to get on their good side. 

You made a stop at the candy bars to grab a Snickers bar before going back to the counter, and Steve immediately shook his head when he saw you. 

“What are you doing? What’s all that?” 

“It’s all for me.” You dropped it all for the clerk to scan. 

“All of it?” 

“Yeah.”

“Even though you said you didn’t want anything?” 

“I changed my mind!” 

He sighed and squeezed his eyes shut, and you watched his hand move to his back pocket. 

“Don’t you dare.” 

His wallet was half way out of his pocket as he laughed. “What?” 

“You’re not paying. Stop.” You tried to sound mad, and felt you were doing a good job, but he kept giggling at you. 

“Oh, are you my boss now?” 

“Yes, Steve,” and you bumped into him, trying to push him away. “Don’t make me say your full name.” 

“Just let me -” 

“Take their things to them! Go!” 

You were shocked when he listened, but he only made it as far as the door. He stood against the glass with his arms crossed, staring at you until you finally followed him. 

“What are you looking at?” 

He pushed his back into the door to open it. “Trying to figure it out.” He reached for your hand, and you swatted it away, only for him to catch you, anyway. And you let him hold your hand, all the way across the street to the park. 

Your friends sat at a picnic table waiting patiently. It was actually two tables pushed together, doubling the normal length; Erica and Dustin sat opposite each other on one end, and Robin sat in the middle, crisscrossed on top of the table. 

Steve divvied snacks to grabby hands, and you snuck their surprise treats in to the sound of thank yous. 

You took your seat on the other end of the table across from Steve. When you sat down, he put a bottle of Coke between you. 

“Are you going to share?” you asked. 

“Only if you’ve got something to give me in return.” 

The Snickers bar made a thud on the wooden table. Steve hummed. “I guess that’s good enough.” 

You were almost happy with the trade until you realized, “No bottle opener?” 

His eyes doubled their size. “Shit.” Then, he grabbed the bottle. “No, it's a twist off.” The noise he made as he tried taking off the cap was something like a squeak, and everyone at the table laughed. 

“Just walk back to the store!” 

“Dustin - Dustin! Do you -” 

The boy slid a large key ring down the table. It was a wad of keys, keychains, and gadgets. 

“It’s on there somewhere.” 

There was a mini flashlight, a laser pointer, a plastic Q*bert charm, a pocket knife, keys and keys and keys, a kubaton, and, “Yes!” a bottle opener. 

“This is why I keep you around, Henderson.” 

“I’m the one keeping you guys around, first of all.” 

You grabbed the Coke and guzzled a couple drinks worth in one go, and when you put it back down, Steve had already eaten half the candy bar in one bite. 

“Steve!” 

His mouth was full when he said, “What?” 

“Why can’t you share? Why didn’t anyone ever teach you about sharing?” His laugh was sweeter than the chocolate he was shoving into your face. “Stop, I don’t wanna eat after you.” 

“We’ve got the same germs,” he said, and he was feeding you the Snickers before you could make another argument. 

The snacks were all gone much quicker than it took to walk and get them, because none of you would ever learn to savor the destination. Regardless, next Sunday, you’d all be sitting in the same spot - give or take a few others, creating a good day for yourselves. 

And, if you were lucky, Steve would be holding your hand the whole time. 

...

It didn’t matter who you were cheering for on the court, you hated high school basketball games. 

Going to Lucas’s game brought back far too many memories than you’d care to recollect. But even though you hated it, you were still filled with pride watching the boy play the game so well. 

And Steve hadn’t shut up about it all night. He spoke about Lucas shooting the buzzer beating winning basket like he was recounting a grand story - something from a movie or a comic book. Like you weren’t sitting beside him the entire time. 

You stood with him in his kitchen, and the excitement had finally started to settle. You and Steve had spent far too long talking about how weird it was to be back in the high school gym, and both of you agreed that you didn’t miss it at all. 

“Is Robin excited for spring break?” 

Steve rolled his eyes. “She said she’s spending the entire week here so she can be as lazy as she wants, so - I guess she is.” 

You threw a weak fist into his shoulder and he caught it. “What’s wrong with that?” 

“She’s gonna steal all my time!” His grin was contagious as he slotted his fingers into yours. “And that means I can’t steal all of yours.” 

“Does that mean I’m finally getting a break from you?” You laughed, but he didn’t. 

It was weird, the way his entire demeanor changed in a snap. Before you could even take back the joke you made he was shifting his eyes and dropping his grin. 

He had always worn his heart on his sleeve, even if he tried hiding it. 

“Are you alright?” 

“Yeah.” It was a hand through his hair that said the opposite, but you’d never call out his tells. “I just - that reminded me there was actually something I wanted to talk to you about.” He dropped your hand to cross his arms, and it had you feeling nervous.

“What about? …Did I do something wrong?” 

“No, honey.” You weren’t sure when that nickname came around, or when it started to stick, but it had a fairy fluttering its wings in your chest. He started to reach for you again, you could see it, but he stopped himself. “You could never do anything wrong.” 

You laughed quiet. “Neither could you.” 

You moved to stand next to him, mirroring the way his back leaned against the counter. Your arm pressed to his. He was looking at the floor; you were looking at him. 

“Are you sure?” It started as a whisper but jumped into a shake, a crack in his voice that said more than he wanted to. And he looked at you, to see if you caught it, and you swore his eyes were shining. He didn’t show them to you for longer than a moment. 

“Steve?”

“I just - I don’t want to fuck this up again.” 

“How would that even happen?” 

He looked at you like he knew something you didn’t. “I don’t know.” 

You nudged his arm with your elbow, again and again, until his crossed arms dropped. Your pointer finger snaked around his, and the touch brought enough bravery out of him to link his fingers with yours. 

“What do you know?”

He scoffed into a smile, one big enough to reach his eyes, and it brought him out of his funk. “I don’t know,” he said, moving closer to you as he made the joke. 

“That’s what I thought,” you replied. “Not a thought going on in your head.” 

Making him laugh was the key to his heart - you knew that, and it worked this time as well as it always had. 

He had his head turned, cheek to shoulder, staring down at you; you were so close, you could watch his eyes move across your face and know where he was looking. They wandered, but when his gaze lingered on your lips - you noticed. 

“I know one thing for sure,” he said.

When you took a loud breath, you’re sure he heard. He gave you eye contact again, and maybe you were seeing things, but you swore you saw question marks swimming in the green. 

He didn’t breathe. You didn’t blink. You moved forward just a hair, and he looked back down, so you pressed on. You wanted to be closer, as close as you could get - it was curiosity or desperation, you didn’t know. 

When he tilted his chin toward you, it was hardly noticeable. But you saw it, and it was enough. Your nose was just about to touch his - you watched his eyes close, right before yours did. There was nothing to do but move closer, closer, closer. 

And then, when you felt just the softest graze of his skin on yours - 

BAM! BAM! BAM!

You jumped back from each other like same-side magnets, gasping and jumping at the sound of loud knocks on the front door. 

He moved fast, like he was looking for a way out, leaving you alone in the kitchen. “Shit.”

Steve had a good idea of who he’d see when he opened the door. The knob was jingling when he unlocked it, then pulled it open. 

Sure enough, Robin. Wearing a flannel that was his, with wild bedhead that he couldn’t help laughing at. 

“Did you walk here?” 

“Yeah,” she croaked. “Let me in.” 

It was written all over her face why she was there, and Steve felt bad. 

Even though she asked to come in, she didn’t move. Her features were all scrunched up, her shoulders were hunched into her crossed arms. 

“Robin -” 

“I fucking hate this.” Loud, echoing into the night and through his door. “I hate it, Steve, and I swear - I swear it’s not over.” Her eyes wet her cheeks; she looked at him through tears. “It’s going to happen again. I can feel it. And I’m scared.” 

He had to pull her inside, because he knew she’d stand in the same spot all night if he didn’t. She pushed into him, shoving her face into his shoulder, wiping her tears on his shirt. 

“You just need to rest,” he told her.

She spoke something pitiful, not caring that her words were muffled. “The gate’s really closed, right? For sure?” 

“It’s over, Robin, it was just a nightmare - you just need some good sleep, alright?” 

She nodded, wiped her runny nose into her sleeve, and tried pulling her tears back in. 

“I wish I could sleep anywhere else.” 

“I know.” It wasn’t any sort of jab - it was just the truth. The only time she was truly afraid was when she slept alone. 

She hit a fist into his chest, something playful that made things feel a little more okay, and then took herself to the stairs. 

“I’ll be up in a minute to stand guard,” he joked. She barely laughed but it was enough, and he watched her until he couldn’t see her anymore. 

And he hoped you hadn’t heard anything, because he wouldn’t be able to answer any questions you had. When he found you in the kitchen you looked nothing but concerned. 

“Is she okay?” 

All you knew was that she had nightmares about the mall fire. It was a realistic excuse, in comparison to the unbelievable truth. 

“Yeah. You know how she is.” 

You nodded. Steve wasn’t sure how to go back to the talk you were having before, so he avoided it. 

You spoke first. “I hope she’s alright.”

“I should probably go be with her,” he said. 

You were perfectly okay with it, understanding as always. “Yeah. She needs you.” 

He walked you to the door, and it was too brief for his taste. But when you were there, he spoke up. 

“I’m sorry. Can we finish this tomorrow, maybe? I promise - I… I really did want to talk.” 

“Of course,” you said, and it was shy. “Don’t be sorry, Steve, she’s more important right now. We can talk any time.” 

His arms wrapped around your shoulders for a crushing hug. “I’ll call you in the morning, okay? Before work. We can make plans then.” 

And that was it - he watched you make your walk home until you walked into your front door, and that was it. 

The moment was ruined, and he might not be able to make it happen again. 

… 

Steve didn’t call you the next morning. 

-

-

-

part two!!!!

[wishiwasfiction]

I saw a post that said locking alters away is never okay, and I wanted to talk about it but didn't want to derail, so I'm making my own post.

Tl;DR I don't 100% agree with it because there's nuance there.

read tags for TWs

Broadly speaking, I agree. Locking up alters can be damaging in a lot of ways: it hurts them, and their relationships to other alters, and can hurt other alters if they disagree with the decision.

Broadly speaking, locking up alters is counterproductive to healing/functionality.

Broadly speaking.

There are also situations in which locking up an alter is the safest option. Times where you don't really get a choice.

I'm honestly glad that most systems never have to think about this, because you only really think about it if you (or someone you know) has lived it.

Alters can do really fucked up things, dangerous things, both in the innerworld and out.

Alters can hurt others.

Alters can kill each other or send each other dormant.

Alters can kill the body.

And yes, in many cases they're doing this because they're trying to help, or they think they deserve it, or because they were trained to do so, or any number of other perfectly understandable and 'healable' reasons.

But some also do it because they think its fun, or because it makes them feel powerful, or just because they can.

Speaking as a gatekeeper/protector, it's my job to keep the system safe. If an alter is not safe to be around, then I need to protect against that.

I think it's important to establish that keeping an alter away from the rest of the system doesn't inherently mean that we're keeping them somewhere inhumane.

We put people in their own area, with space, light, good food, pleasant living conditions, and the ability to choose how they spend their time. We give them access to their hobbies and their favourite medias and comforts. If it's safe, we give them non-physical access to social spaces, guidance, and support. If we think it's safe, we give them in person visits with people we know they cannot harm should they try something.

Locking alters away is not always cruel and violent and brutal, even though you may consider it immoral or unethical.

And quite frankly, even if it is done in ways that are cruel or violent or brutal, if that is what is required for the body to remain functional and alive, then so be it.

You can't do 'better' if you're dead.

What I will say, is that locking up alters should not be a fix all. It should not be what you jump to or immediately reach for when conflict occurs.

It is the final option or it is an emergency stop-gap.

We have a very long list of things to try before we start considering locking someone up. We work with them to understand why they are doing what they're doing, and whether they're open to changing.

If they are not open to change, we respect that and do the absolute bare minimum necessary to keep everyone safe.

A lot of times, they will not be open to changing, and then after some time of us respecting their autonomy and boundaries, they approach us requesting help to change.

I am scared of the response this may garner, but I'm saying it anyway.

If an alter reacts violently to something out of fear, keeping them to one area with none of that thing can be a kindness.

This is a paraphrasing of something said to me by an alter I had 'locked away' for safety.

She reacted badly to change/uncertainty, and said the predictability helped her to learn how to work through her fear and manage it without violence. The system proper was too overwhelming for her to be able to change.

She's now happily living in a quieter part of the innerworld and no longer expresses those fear responses as violence.

This is one example i picked at random, but i have many more stories of locking alters away while they are learning to manage themselves, and then releasing them once they are no longer deemed dangerous.

If you want to judge someone for what they do when they have both time and options when making a decision, then fine.

But judging people on split-second decisions when (potentially) their life is involved, or when they've exhausted all other options, just seems to me to be picking on the vulnerable target.

[sangheilihoes]

🎀 Haytham NSFW alphabet 🎀

Warnings: Smut, that's it

Tagging: @konnisart @ladysaturnsdust @bloodhaven99 @demigoddessqueens @wyyvernn @haytham-loves-chocolate @psybrepunk @wetemplarsnow @vulpeculera @dairsmuids @anli-rambles @amefuyuu @grandmaster-haytham-kenway

A = Aftercare (What they’re like after sex)

Aftercare king! Runs a bath for you, helps you clean, gets food and water and cuddles with you.

B = Body part (Their favourite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

Your midriff is a definite favorite of his. Hips, waist, tummy, big or small, he loves it all.

C = Cum (Anything to do with cum basically… I’m a disgusting person)

If you allow him, he’ll cum deep inside you. There’s nothing quite like breeding you spilling his seed into you. Also expect a large load, this man cums a lot.

D = Dirty Secret (Pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

He really likes to sniff your panties. He feels ashamed, especially when he has to touch himself but he can’t help it, you’re addicting.

E = Experience (How experienced are they? Do they know what they’re doing?)

It’s canon that he’s slept with people before, so he’s fairly experienced. Now if you’re kinky, that’s a different story.

F = Favorite Position (This goes without saying. Will probably include a visual)

Missionary, Lotus, Spooning, Prone Bone, Cowgirl.

G = Goofy (Are they more serious in the moment, or are they humorous, etc)

He’s a serious man during, focused on your pleasure but he has goofy moments, mostly him teasing you

H = Hair (How well groomed are they, does the carpet match the drapes, etc.)

Very well groomed. Like his head hair, there’s not a hair out of place. (he also has a happy trail, thank you @demigoddessqueens for that hc)

I = Intimacy (How are they during the moment, romantic aspect…)

VERY romantic, loves to kiss you, look at your face, touch every part of you and hold you close.

J = Jack Off (Masturbation headcanon)

He doesn’t do it often, he’s awful with self care so the only time when he jacks off is when he really needs to let off steam (or he can’t stop thinking about you)

K = Kink (One or more of their kinks)

(These apply to both Dom and sub Haytham)

Breeding, hair pulling, spanking, orgasm control, worship, praising, just to name a few.

L = Location (Favorite places to do the do)

The bedroom. Doesn’t just mean the bed itself, he’ll take you against the dresser, on the floor, the wall. He’s also open to other places.

M = Motivation (What turns them on, gets them going)

Wearing his clothes, praising him, calling him a good boy, calling him sir (watch him crumble if you call him daddy or Grandmaster)

N = NO (Something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

He won’t hurt you, period. Spanking, hair pulling and hickeys is fine but anything that's going to leave you with deep bruises is a no go.

O = Oral (Preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc)

Gives more than receives and loves it! He’ll go to town on your pussy/dick until you’re crying, begging him to stop because of overstimulation. Please return the favor, he deserves a good sloppy.

P = Pace (Are they fast and rough? Slow and sensual? Etc.)

Slow, rough and deep is how he likes it. If he’s desperate, then it’s brutal fucking.

Q = Quickie (Their opinions on quickies rather than proper sex, how often, etc.)

He likes them, pull him into an alleyway for a quick fuck and it’s unlikely he’ll say no but he prefers to take his time, devouring you and leaving you completely sated.

R = Risk (Are they game to experiment, do they take risks, etc.)

He’s willing to experiment but really doesn’t want to take risks. If you really want a darker fantasy/harder kink fulfilled, then he’ll oblige, with many precautions.

S = Stamina (How many rounds can they go for, how long do they last…)

Depending on how pent up he is, he can go up to 3 rounds, each lasting 10-20 minutes. Doesn't mean hes done with you though, he’ll use his fingers and tongue to make you cum even more than him.

T = Toy (Do they own toys? Do they use them? On a partner or themselves?)

He doesn’t care for them at first but is willing to try. Needless to say, his life is changed forever. Vibrators, dildos, plugs, collars, he’s all about it. And he has toys for himself and you.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

Loves to tease! Making you squirm and beg is so much fun. And it’s even more fun when you turn it around onto him.

V = Volume (How loud they are, what sounds they make)

Low grunts, moans, gasps, the whole 9 yards but when he’s really into it, he can get loud, crying out your name. Hope you don’t have neighbors.

W = Wild Card (Get a random headcanon for the character of your choice)

He gets pegged, 110%.

X = X-Ray (Let’s see what’s going on in those pants, picture or words)

https://www.tumblr.com/valvespikesandeverythingnice/735332841509076992 this but uncut

Y = Yearning (How high is their sex drive?)

Average. But when he’s in love, he can fuck like a rabbit, twice a day sometimes.

Z = ZZZ (How quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

Once the aftercare is done, he’ll cuddle you and wait for you to fall asleep before he does, although, there are times where he’ll fall asleep first.

[tangledinink]

Heya! First off I’m around halfway through teenage mutant what now and it is the funniest fic I have ever read - Beautifully written and overall brilliant but the jokes get me every time

And second, is it okay if I reference a pose from one of your gemini artworks for my own work? I’ll credit the inspiration if I post it anywhere ^^

whew we're overdue for an ask dump,,, OKAY ALRIGHT.

THANK YOU ; w ; I'm really glad you like it hehehehe. also yeah sure feel free! I don't mind! ^^

HEHEHE THIS MAKES ME VERY HAPPY THANK YOU

oh he DEFINITELY freaked out at first. there was a lot of panicking and confusion and "how could this even happen?!" ("you think i'd genetically engineer a creature that's not capable of reproducing? all of you should be genetically compatible with practically any yokai," draxum said. "AND YOU DIDN'T THINK TO, I DUNNO, TELL US THAT?!" donnie said.) but eventually, he did calm down, and he and his partner talked about it (a bunch, multiple times), and eventually some of the panic gave way to... curiosity, first of all... and then maybe kind of excitement? and some fondness? i mean, he was still pretty scared, and sure, he doesn't really consider himself a 'kid' person, but it's not like he never thought about EVENTUALLY having kids, just maybe... not so soon? but. i mean.

well. if they're already cooking...

THANK YOU ; w ; i'm glad you like them! @kiwi-smug-silvalina

oh gosh, that's a good question. i'm not entirely sure... uhmmm... i would say perhaps... details about how gemini!donnie's witchcraft looks and acts, VS how venus's witchcraft looks and acts...

it is very shiny. i like that people call it "the bean" instead of its actual title coz it pisses anish kapoor off.

ah ; w ; THANK YOU SO MUCH,,, thats so sweet and this made me very happy,,, <3 im glad you liked it!!!! @allegedllama

HEHEHE thank you. yes im aware that i am deranged.

omg same hat!!! i was a lifeguard and it was.... uh.... INTERESTING to say the least... (sometimes lovely, sometimes AWFUL...) @datfearlesschick

if by games you mean 'messed up deals that she can manipulate to her own advantage,' then yes! @frogonamelon

@beannary @spectralsleuth @heckitall @livsinpjs and the sep council as a whole!!! y'all's support has definitely meant so much and there's no way i'd have gotten as far with any of my projects as i have without them... or without literally ANY of the people who take the time to do things like reblog with tags, leave commentary in the tags, send in asks about my stories, etc etc etc! that's definitely one of my main motivators to create more!!! <3 thank y'all!

EEEE this made me smile, hehehehe. thank you :3c @thejavavoid

AAAAAA THANK YOU THIS GENUINELY MADE ME SO HAPPY COZ I WAS SO GODDAMN PROUD OF THOSE HANDS AND HOW THEY CAME OUT ; w ; THANK YOU @onejellyfishplease

thank you!!! u w u @fanrulerjynx

THANK YOU ; w ; I REALLY APPRECIATE THIS,,, it made me very very very happy and HEHEHE IM GLAD YOU LIKE YASSIFIED DRAXUM,,, i just think he DESERVES it, y'know? also thats just my favorite way to draw characters lmao I think it's fun so I decided for this comic I just get to indulge...

not necessarily-- this was mostly just a coincidence! @breezehurricane

oh gosh. i'm not sure, but i know it definitely WILL affect their parenting... i think at first donnie will find himself just... deferring to his partner a LOT in almost any situation because he's afraid that he'll fuck it up, because he DOESN'T feel like he understands proper boundaries or what parenting is supposed to look like, etc etc etc, and he's afraid he'll mess up. he probably reads a TON of parenting books as well because RESEARCH and will often try to pull directly from them in any situation he can, and is confused when things don't go exactly the way they were described in the text... leo i think kind of tends to flounder between being overprotective and feeling the desire to protect his son from everything and anything and wanting to overcorrect this tendency by pulling back and trying to give him as much freedom and space as possible, which sometimes leads to some... inconsistencies. there's definitely a learning curve for both of them, but they both get the hang of it eventually. they both have lovely partners and a very loving and supportive family to help them and they'll figure it out with a bit of practice.

ahhh thank you! :D im so delighted that my silly stories actually inspired something for you!!! hell yeah!!! MAKING THINGS IS GREAT!!! THANK YOU!!! @can-elope

i like to imagine them all staying very close, especially coz i'm loosely planning on them all going through the kraang-apocalypse together (and then coming through to the other side!) so i can't imagine them ever drifting too far from each other, emotionally or geographically. there's a bit of a rocky start for a lot of them, but all of the siblings end up a very tight-knit bunch.

[weenwrites]

REQUEST: TFP! Optimus and TFP! Ultra Magnus with a human S/O who doesn't believe in (and also condemns) the "family by bond, not by blood" principle; S/O despises said concept, saying that said concept is used to manipulate people, and also make people feel weak.

In addition, both Autobots find the reason why S/O condemns this human concept: This is because S/O's family made them act this way due to S/O's toxic relationships with their family, preventing S/O from making friendships (In severe cases, it leads to unlawful acts commited by S/O's family, not by S/O). Following their discovery, S/O justifies that they live with fear 24/7 before saying this phrase: "Not everyone in this ever-declining world are good people; also not everyone deserves to live. And not everyone deserves a second chance, nor a redemption. I hope you keep this in mind."

For context: Remember that episode from TFP, where Ultra Magnus learns and understands the "family" concept from Optimus following his fight with Predaking? This request was inspired from that episode.

Notes: Abusive relationships; angst, etc.

Feel free if this makes you feel uncomfortable.

✎ A/N: I'm not actually sure whether I should tag with any TWs this since I vaguely mention abusive relationships in what I wrote. But if you think I should tag this post, please let me know!

[ Please do not repost, plagiarize, or use my writing for AI! Translating my work with proper credit is acceptable, but please ask first! ]

Optimus Prime

During his time on Earth, he's noticed that everyone seems to have a different definition of the term "family". Some definitions—like yours, for example—directly contradict the dictionary definition of the word "family". He's wondered if the difference in the definitions is because of the ideal vs. the definition of the actual word itself, and so far that seems to be the case to him.

He doesn't think any differently of you for the way you view family because of your life experiences. He respects the way you see it, and he's much fonder of your idea of "family" more than the dictionary definition of it. And though he hasn't experienced what you have, he can see how the term "family by blood" can be harmful to those who have horrible families.

However, some of his beliefs contradict a couple of yours. For example, he's willing to give almost—emphasis on almost—anyone a second chance if he sees that they're willing to take the initiative to change. He's willing to give second chances to even people who you think might not deserve them. And whether this causes friction in your relationship depends on how the both of you deal with your differences.

And when you tell him that some people don't deserve second chances, that doesn't come as anything new to him. He's heard it before from soldiers and even Ratchet's tried to get it through to him. He knows, yet regardless of how many times he hears this, he will still abide by his moral compass, and do things as he deems necessary.

Ultra Magnus

The human concept of "family" was once all too confusing to him. One second, the kids told him that "family" are people who are genetically related to them. The next, they said that they consider the other autobots their family (a statement which directly contradicts their previous definition of the word...). So what is he supposed to believe here? That one chooses their own family? Or that family is something you can't change?

But when he meets you, he finds that your definition of "family" is much easier and straight-forward to understand. And after learning about all the horrible things that your "family" put you through... He can understand why you would hate that principle, and why you would hate to have those people be associated as your "family" because you share the same blood.

He would actually agree with the way you view the world. It's full of complicated people. He's seen some of the most disgusting and despicable people in the war from both the autobot and decepticon factions, and at times he can't quite understand why some people such as Optimus strive to give horrible people a second chance. Perhaps he's being too distrustful, but he's just being cautious. After all, he's in a war where he doesn't know if today will be his last or if he'll still have a base to return to the next day.

[fujosh1dreamer]

I hate Alastor and it's all your fault.

This was not always the case of course, way back when the pilot first can out Alastor was one of my faves and the more I learned about him the more I loved him.

The real icing on the metaphorical cake was his sexuality, as someone who identifies as aroace he was the representation I never had. And still don't have.

That's neither here nor there I guess. His sexual orientation has already been solidified there no changing it. However, the problem is with the Fandom.

The people who want to preach on asexuality and tell people who are on that spectrum what for, who want to excuse their disrespectful actions by telling us we're wrong they're the problem.

I would have more respect for these people if they just went and said, hey I hate ace people and I don't respect your or think you belong in the LGBT community and I would have way more respect towards them.

The hazbin hotel Fandom is the worst I've ever been in. Which says a lot I'm not some wide eyes preteen, I'm been around a long time and I've been in some pretty terrible Fandoms. I still get flashbacks anytime someone mentions Voltron, but Hazbin is 1000× worse than Volton could ever be.

I would never recommend this show for people to watch because of this Fandom.

Specifically the Alastor fans you're toxic and terrible. I don't care what side of the argument you're on. I don't care if you agree with the argument about Alastors sexuality or not.

There's a way to talk to people and discuss thing and the way it happens in this Fandom is not it.

It not just the stuff about being ace it's everything about his character that this Fandom makes worse. The way he gets headcanoned and misinterpreted, and the way those same people deny the Canon evidence right in their faces. The way they get mad a vivzie the creator for not making the character "correctly" when he doesn't belong to them.

I hate everything about Alasor now because of the toxicity of this community.

It's crazy how Val fans are more understanding and bearable to be around than an Alastor fan. At least the Val fan base can acknowledge that he's a bad person. At least they're not constantly arguing that secretly deep down inside he's actually kind and understanding. My god man. He's a serial killer.

Don't even get me started on the abuse talk. If I hear one more person say Husk deserved his abuse I'm gonna lose it. Or if I hear one more person say Husk has it better than Angel, and compare their traumas again... you guys suck.

And you're sick in the head.

Current as it stands Alasor is my least favorite character in this whole show. I like Adam more than this guy, and I hated Adam.

What makes it worse is that, things would probably be different if people respected tags. And tagged things properly so people like me don't have to be triggered by things. That's what should me this stupid he'll site better than Twitter is that I can block things I don't want to see. Instead you freaks can't even do that right.

I'd like to think most of the people watching this show are seasoned tumbler veterans. But the lack of proper tagging tells me otherwise. Or maybe it's the lack of respect.

Because that what tagging is all about respecting others, and gving them the choice not to see something they don't want to. Correctly using tags is courteous.

People have been using tags properly on this site and it sucks that the Hazbin Fandom thinks they're about it.

Thinks they're above everyone and everything.

There's probably more I need to say but I can't think of it.

You guys are terrible and I hope you have a terrible day. Screw this Fandom and screw Alastor because apparently yall just don't care.🖕

[maochira]

You know I have thought about big bro Oliver in so longggg (cus I have not seen a single fic on this man) like his little sibling see how he treats girls and like ew your disgusting you know that and we try to make him learn how to be a proper gentleman cus the girls always comes to rent about him to us

I LITERALLY FREAKED OUT AFTER RECEIVING THIS REQUEST OMG OMG OMG I love big bro Oliver!! Can't believe I haven't written that for him on here yet,,, I literally started thinking about big bro Oliver back in February

Requests open! - current writing event - masterlist

Tags: gn!younger sibling!reader

-every time Oliver has a new girlfriend, you immediately warn her of the way your brother treats his girlfriends all the time. That ends in breakups most of the time

-Oliver gets mad at you for it, but he knows you're right, so you never have arguments about it

-you tell him SO OFTEN to change, but he doesn't care

-you become besties with every girlfriend he has, so you get to hear A LOT of rants about Oliver's behaviour. But you know he's not willing to change

-besides that, Oliver is a lovely brother. He's not overprotective, but still a bit protective over you

-whenever you get in trouble with something, he acts as if he's not going to help at first. He always says something like "that's your problem" but in the end he'll be on your side no matter what

-you nicknamed him "Olli" and he always acts like he hates it, but secretly he likes it. He would never let anyone else call him Olli, tho

-when you were kids, you turned everything into a competition. Usually, Oliver was the one to win because he's older and was naturally better at most things

-as you grew older, Oliver started backing out of your sibling competitions because he knew he's getting less likely to win now

-Oliver likes to steal your food but never wants to share his. You always find your way to steal some of his, tho

-if you have to share food, he will always take the bigger piece/more of it. He justifies it with being the big brother so he deserves to get more

[kanene-yaaay]

The Time

Heya heyaaa

Oof, thing feel really serious when I put a title javagcwwuvwdodj but! It's a proper moment to use a title here, I think. After all, I came to say goodbye.

Yeah, who would think ahfwtwcev

I have been thinking and pondering about this for some months now, since June when That Stuff happened and I had to jump away from here and uhhh it feels corny to say that but a lot of things changed to me and I changed a lot together with everything too.

So, I think it's my time to let this blog go. Not because I feel bad about it now or anything but... I am no longer that attached to tickling to maintain it. It's still cute, playful and comforting, but it is now a part of a lot of other things that are just as cute, playful and comforting to me.

This blog had a good run and I'm incredibly grateful because of it. Six entire years, if I am not mistaken, and I won't delete it anytime soon so the numbers will keep going! For as long as it wants or it is allowed to. All my fics, my headcanons, my rambles and reblogs will stay here because I don't want nor have the heart to delete it. There are such amazing, wonderful and well created arts and stories in this community that deserve all the attention and all the screams.

And! Talking about that! The people! I would like to say the biggest and most heartful thank you that you could ever imagine. Full of big hugs and smiles. I've met awesome people here that I will forever hold dear in my heart. Thank you for the company and the fun and for being so lovely and inspiring to me, all of you. It doesn't matter if we talked for years or minutes, thank you very much. It was so cool! @oliviaischillin1204, @august-anon, @flames-tstuff, @soft--valentine, @honeydew-sillies, @carrie-tate, @trashyswitch, @rosileeduckie, @squeaky-n-blushy, @why-not-a-tickle-blog, @thetickleeraven, @a-fluffer-nutter, @fluffyskies, @just-open-the-fridge-yo, @fluffystuffies, @ijustliketickling, @veryblushyswitch also everyone that is no longer in the community. If you see this, I remember you! Big hug!

And thank you so much for all of you that supported my blog and my work in any and every way. Commenting, reblogging, liking, sending askys about it... It really meant (and means!) a whole lot to me and Def is one of the reasons that kept me creating for so so long and so so much. It was the reason I stopped feeling so self conscious about my English and helped me to try new things and scenarios. Please accept this cookie as a token of my appreciation 🍪 I love to see all of your rambles or just your icon appearing on my notifs.

Also, how could I ever forget the artists and writers that make this community such a fun and colorful space? All the thanks and all the screams and rambles to all of you. Creating is so hard and yet you just come here and do such a wonderful job! How dare! I still think about your creations in my daily life, believe me ahcwgwxwhwcwfcw @ticklepinions, @intheticklecloset, @jettorii, @ssnicker-doodles, @giggly-squiggily, @simplysmilingdrew, @tiklart, @otomiyaa, @verynickelpizzarascal, @fbpanimations and much much more, tbh all the beans that I got shy to tag kjhgfdefghj

Hmmm, I think that this is what I wanted to say. To be honest, writing fics w tickling in it still feels comfortable and cool, so I will probably appear from one year or other to post something and vanish again ahfwtwxwowyq but yeah, can't really say that there will be much interaction besides that. I had that Big Post full of arts and fics that I love that I wanted to post before going but no energy dfghjhgf maybe one day I will finish it and post oh well

Anyway. One of the things that I always tried to bring here was that every creator should have at least one nice comment soooo if ! You think about me or this blog! Consider giving a comment or a quick rb to some artist/creator/blog that you really like, bet it will bring a smile to the bean's face! :D

Okay, okay, enough of rambling. It was incredible. Thank you! Hope you have a lovely week and don't forget to be kind, take care and drink water. Byee <3 <3

[https-cyber-slxt]

Holy shit! Your blog is an oasis in a desert istg. Finally some proper unadulterated femdom content on this hellsite. Thank you so much!

If your requests are still open, can I please get some sub!Dante content? General headcanons or just a little pegging for my bbg :) Up to you. And thanks again <3

P. S.: A word of advice: try to avoid more explicit tags, like sub!character or dom!reader, and use something more general like character x reader. I've noticed that Tumblr algorithm doesn't take into account actual contents of the post and shadow bans based on tags. I've seen some really outrageous stuff fly under the radar, because it only had fandom tags and nothing specific. Hope this'll help at least a little bit. You don't deserve to deal with this bs. Wish you the best!

hiiiii anon, I really appreciate these kind words, here just for you.

Oh and I'll absolutely give you your “daily” dose of pegging Dante :P

Devils Do Cry!

Sub!Dante x FemDom!Reader

A/N: I am so unmotivated (also it's 10 pm and I'm tired as shit, so if this is bad, I'm sorry)

“So... Who's Elizabeth?” you question out of nowhere as you pull your sword out of the Hell Caina's chest, causing it to wither away. Dante becomes stunned at the question, raising a brow at you. “Just another Devil Hunter, why?”

He swallows thickly at your serious expression. You prop your glasses up and wipe the blood off of your weapon. “A little birdie told me that you went on a *date* with her last night” Dante whimpers and furrows his brows before propping himself up properly. “Oh yeah? Well maybe that little birdie was trying to make you jealous” your face becomes even more serious. “Why would Nero wish to make me jealous?”

Dante stops in his tracks and nearly bursts into a sprint, damn you little nephew! “I uh- uhm-” his sentence cuts off as you grab his collar and shove him against a wall. “Don't lie to me Dante! What were you doing last night!?” He sobs as he licks his dry lips. “I'm sorry (Name), but I promise I didn't do anything, I just- walked her back home, that's all, and Nero must've thought something else“

You drop Dante and turn away, walking back to his office space with him not far behind you.

☆~ 5:30 PM ~☆

You lie on your stomach as you flip through the pages of the magazine, munching on the cheese pizza while doing so. Your fingers rest at the bottom of the page while your eyes fixate on the pictures, making you unaware of your surroundings. Your reading becomes interrupted as the doors slam shut, making you look up at Dante. “Jeez those two are a pain in the ass” he sighs while stretching.

“If they're so annoying, why are you friends with them?” you ask while flipping to the next page, placing your hand under your chin. “Well you know, it's nice to have some company in this shithole” He answers while walking up the stairs. You scoff and lift yourself off the couch. “Hey! Which drawer do the magazines go into?” you shout while fiddling with the book in your hands. “My desk drawer!” oh wow real helpful.

You roll your eyes and walk behind the desk, opening up the top drawer, nope, the middle one, nu-uh, the bottom one perhaps? Your hand grabs the handle and just as you're done opening it halfway, you slam it closed and grip the magazine in your hands even tighter.

A few moments later Dante rushes down the stairs, oblivious to your shocked expression. “Hey babe so, Morrison will be here in a few and- are you okay-” his sentence cut off as he stares at your grip on the bottom drawer handle.

You both stand there in complete silence, until you stand up and purse your lips, dropping the magazine on to his desk. “So how long have you had those?” you ask while side eyeing him. Dante stands there in complete shock. He lifts his hands up and defence, trying to think of an excuse. “How. Long. Have. You. Had. Those?” Now your entire body was facing him. “A-awhile it's that, I've been hesitant on asking you..”

NSFW Below The Cut X3

A bright blush covers his face as he answers your question. “Bend over the desk” you command while opening the drawer with your heels. “But Morrison-!” his sentence interrupted as he's pushed against the desk. “I don't care about Morrison, if walks in here that'll be his own problem. Now, bend over the desk, and take off your pants while you're at it”

A sob leaves Dante as he follows your command, taking off his pants and boxers while bending himself over his work desk, spreading his legs open and resting his chin on his forearms.

Meanwhile with you, you pull the strap-on out of the drawer, and you're not gonna lie when you say it's packing a decent size, 8-9 inches at least and relatively girthy as well. You notice the ring gag in the drawer and pull it out, it'll be of good use. You set the strap aside and lift the gag right in front of Dante's face. He gasps and looks back at you, you smile and giggle. “You know what to do” were the only words you said before he sighed. Shoving the gag into his mouth, you grab the straps and adjust it to your liking.

You reach back down and grab the lube out of the drawer. You grab Dante's hand and squeeze the lube on to his fingers. He looks back at you with confusion and you just smile at him. “I can't just shove this entire thing into you without any preparation, go on, open yourself for me” you continue smiling as he lets out a soft whimper.

Using his free hand, Dante spreads his ass open, allowing his fingers to slip in easier. He slowly inserts his middle finger in, soft gasps escaping him as he inserts another finger. He goes knuckles deep, making him arch his back, his free hand quivering and struggling to hold himself open.

His upper body basically falls limp as he starts to finger himself, getting lost in pleasure and completely forgetting about your presence. You grin and grab his wrist, giving him a fright in the process. You pull his fingers out and grab the strap-on from his side.

You tie the harness around your hips and grab the lube, carelessly squeezing some on to the strap, causing a little bit to fall on the floor beneath you. You stroke up and down, smearing the lube all over.

You slowly insert your strap into him, heavy moans escaping him as he grips the front of the desk. “Ah! nghhhh~!” drool slips down his chin as his eyes begin rolling back. You insert the entirety of the strap in him, the harness touching the skin of his ass.

You readjust yourself and lie on top of Dante's back, wrapping your arms around his shoulders. You short thrusts cause sobs to escape Dante as tears begin to fall from his eyes, leaking onto the desk below him. Your nimble fingers remove themselves from his neck and creep down towards his dick. Your free hand wraps around his leaking cock, pumping up and down gently.

Your other arm wraps around Dante into a chokehold, making his hands move from the desk to the arm around his neck. Letting go of his dick, you untie the gag move your hand back to its original position, pumping faster than before. “Shit! You're killing me! Just fuck me already! I need it, please!” Dante's tears roll down on to your arm along with his drool.

You unwrap your arm around his throat, causing him to drop on to the desk. You grab his arms and lock them behind his back, speeding up your pace in the progress. Dante cries and moans, not caring of someone or something hears him. “God fuuuck~! Yesyes! Oh you make me feel so- so good! Ah! Ah~! Nggggh!”

Your hand lets go of his arms, but like the loyal slut he his, he keeps them there as you grab his hair, lifting his head up and biting his neck. “Yes!! Oh fuck yes! Faster, faster! Fuckmefuckme!” Dante moves his hands to his dick as both your hands grip his hair and jacket collar. “I'm g-gonna cum! Pleaseplease! Let me cum! AH!” his begs and pleas turn into a nonsense of sobs as you rake your fingers through his messy and sweaty hair. “Cum for me” you whisper in his ear.

Dante sobs and cries as he releases all over the floor, some even getting on his desk. Quite sobs escape him as his left over tears form a small puddle beneath him.

Just as you lift yourself up, Morrison busts through the door, an unpleasant look on his face. “Considering that you two have stopped fucking like two rabbits in heat, just take this before my day is even more ruined” Morrison hands you a letter, not saying another word and slamming the building doors closed, his car revving up and leaving the area just as quickly.

You set the letter aside and stare at the fucked out Dante beneath you. “What to do with you...”