#thanks again for the tag molly!! <3< /div> Explore tagged Tumblr posts

[bigfootsmom]

DARLING MISS MOLLY I NEED TO KNOW ABOUT "bandaged hands" PLEASE ILY 💖

ooooooooh idk if i've talked about this one much! But it's set after the lightning strike and Buck has gone home from the hospital but is still in his recovery era. Eddie is being super skittish around him because he doesn't know how to hand all the big emotions (so valid of him). Buck has a cooking mishap alone in his apartment and Eddie is next up on the Maddie™ babysitting schedule so he finds Buck trying to take care of his burned palms. They have a moment and Eddie flashes back to how the lightning had left burns on Buck's palms (in the hospital bed bucks hands were bandaged and i just couldn't get the image out of my head)

The blast of heat when he rips the oven door open nearly has him recoiling, but he’s already reaching inside the oven to pull out the steaming roast — his thoughts on what he’s going to do with it once it’s out. Maybe he can leave it on his balcony until the smell clears up, or maybe one of his neighbors will appreciate it.  Buck realizes his mistake when he looks up and locks eyes on the oven mitts sitting unused on his countertop.  Everything had been going so well.

[plussizefantasia]

Don't Cry over Spilled Lemonade pt.2

Pairing: Anthony Bridgerton x f!reader

Word Count: ~2k

Warnings: A little bit of dread on the reader's part but mostly it's fluff and yearning, just the way I like it.

A/N: hahaha I finally finished it!!!! Thanks for all the love on part one it really made me so happy to see so many people liking the little story that I wrote half asleep <3

Anthony wrestled with his thoughts for the rest of the evening. He hated himself deeply for hurting you and even more for not remembering it. Knowing himself though, he knew that his actions were probably fueled by a desire to leave the gathering and visit Siena, she had been his refuge in the years before and during Daphne’s debut. 

He would never forgive himself if the reason you would not ever stand to be in the same room with him was his naive infatuation with the opera singer. Especially given the fact that as soon as he met you all thoughts of her flew from his eyes and he never thought of her in that way again. Deep down he knew that his heart now belonged to you although that thought was much too terrifying to dwell on for more than a minute.

You on the other hand were reeling with the new information. You had vowed to hate Anthony Bridgerton until your dying day but his pleas for forgiveness had shaken your will. You still held a deep anger towards him, one that you didn’t think would go away any time soon. But it was becoming harder and harder for you to find the detestation in yours that had once been bubbling at the surface.

You didn't know what to expect from the Viscount anymore, you had always had a pretty clear picture of the man in your mind, and in one fell swoop he had shattered it like glass. Seeing him playing with his younger siblings in the park the day after your conversation in the hallway certainly didn’t help settle your mind.

If there was one thing you knew about Anthony Bridgerton it was that he loved his family. Sometimes he goes about it in the wrong way but you could tell that he does everything he does for them, even getting grass stains on his trousers because Hyancithy and Gregory are insistent that he plays tag with them in the great park.

It is their laughter that draws your attention first followed shortly by a sharp shout and even more giggles. You are fortunate enough to catch sight of the Viscount tripping and landing on his backside, his hands falling to the side of him and right into what looks to be some freshly planted flower beds. His head hangs and he takes a heaving sigh before pushing himself back up. You can’t help but laugh at the sight.

Anthony would be able to recognize your laugh anywhere, he hears it flowing through the halls of his home enough that it’s become ingrained in his mind. His head turns to where you are and your eyes meet. He is taken aback by the warmth he finds in them. How long has it been since you’ve looked at home with anything but detached coldness?

It is Hyancinth who bridged the gap between the two of you, with a shout of your name she comes bounding across the green and practically leaps into your open arms. 

“Hello sweet girl, having fun are we?” Your hand runs down the back of her head and you smile down at her.

“We were playing a game of tag, would you like to join us.” Sometimes you forget how innocent the young girl is. Her smile is contagious as it spreads across your own face.

“On any other day my darling but I’ve only cut through the park on my way to visit with Lady Danbury and you know how she is about punctuality.”

“Oh.” Her face falls and your heart follows.

“How about this? Once I am done calling upon her ladyship I shall stop by and you can finally show me the new dresses you got for dolly Molly okay?”

Her smile returns full force and she squeezes you a little tighter before conjuring up a mask of faux indifference.

“I suppose I can accept that.” 

“You’re starting to sound like Viscount grumpypants over there.” You tickle at her side.

“I heard that,” Anthony calls from a ways away, Greg held under his arm.

“I was not trying to keep quiet my Lord.” Your eyes meet his once again and Anthony cannot help the little bubbling of hope that builds inside his chest when he sees the lightheartedness contained in your gaze.

“That’s Lord Grumpypants to you.” He shoots back and delights in the way your smile widens. 

“Very well Lord Grumpypants, I must be off but I’ll see you all later.” You say the last words down at the young lady still wrapped up in your arms. You give her one final squeeze before releasing her and bowing your head slightly at her older brother. You try not to dwell too much on how much you enjoy the viscount’s smile.

Anthony takes the day in the park as a sign, one that shows him all hope is not lost. All he needs to do is fix his mistake. He craved you, that much he knew. He craved your smile and your laugh, he yearned for your kind eyes and the way you seemed to float when you walked. He has never considered himself a particularly creative man but the images his mind conjures of the two of you make him second-guess himself.

He did not have time to imagine for very long, however, as Colin was due to return today for the start of the season and Eloise seemed to need constant supervision lest she run away the first chance she got. The Danbury ball could not come soon enough.

The Danbury ball was one of legend, the older woman’s opening ball was not one to be missed as it set the tone for the rest of the season. Young women not lucky enough to gain the Queen’s favor had a second chance at the Danbury ball, a chance to show themselves off to the ton once more in the hopes of catching the eye of an eligible young man. 

You were no different than those young ladies, primping and preening all day long with the hopes that you would be able to secure a match this season before you become too old to do so. Your mother was adamant that this season had to be spectacular, you had to look and act your best always. She was weary and weeping, moaning about how you’d be letting down the family if you were unable to secure a match.

It was interesting you thought, how quickly she changed her tune. During your debut season, she had spoken dreamingly about a love match and finding happiness and now you were sure that she would shove you off to whoever if it meant that you would be married. It seemed your Mama’s greatest fear was you becoming a spinster. 

You obliged her whims, after all, you did wish to find a match. You had always dreamed of a love match. With every year that passed by the candle of hope held within your heart flickered, it was small now, but you had to admit that it still burned. You still soothed your restless nights with dreams of a husband and children, a loving home full of laughter and joy. That is the future you want, that is the future you will fight for.

Tonight you aim to make an entrance, any attention at this point is better than being snubbed. You wore a gown of deep red, with golden lace around the bodice and black and gold beading around the waistline and down the back. Your maid pulled and twisted your hair, piling it upon your head and creating a bold and dramatic look. You were going to pull attention, you had to.

And pull attention you did, from the moment you entered the ballroom all eyes were on you. Ladies whispered and hid behind their fans. Men stood in circles with their peers but you caught the glance of more than one bachelor. And yet, nobody had approached you. You were beginning to feel the flash in your cheeks. Perhaps this was too much, such boldness was offputting and you should have stuck to the known. Dressed in soft pinks and whites, proclaiming purity and softness. 

Anthony was beside himself. You were the most ethereal creature he had ever had the privilege of laying his gaze on and he wished to spend the whole night by your side; catching up on all the lost time. He knew though, that you would never allow that, and he would rather die than hurt you again. 

So he watched and watched and watched. As time ticked on those cowards kept you waiting. Dances began and ended, people arrived and left and all the while you were stood, bathed in candlelight and alone. 

The sun had long since set and you were done. No longer would you endure this embarrassment. You had followed your gut and put yourself out there and it had failed. You were destined to be alone you suppose.

Just as you were getting ready to turn away and retreat back to the safety of your family home a hand entered your sight. Palm up and inviting, your eyes traced slowly up the arm and towards the face of the gentleman who had finally put you out of your misery.

Anthony Bridgerton stood before you, arm outstretched and a small smile on his face. “A lady as beautiful as yourself does not deserve to spend the whole night without a single dance.” 

“Are you offering?” You looked him in the eye and raised a brow. This was the first time since your conversation in the hallways that Anthony had approached you without one of his siblings present to be a buffer.

“I’m giving you an opportunity.”

“And what might that be?” You tilted your head to the side and watched as a smirk slowly spread across his face.

“You have a choice, right here and right now. Either grasp my hand and we dance the rest of the night away, opinions be damned. Or you snub me, snub me like I snubbed you that night, and get your revenge.”

You exhale a laugh and look at him. His face held a smile but also a certain seriousness that belayed his intention. This was him making it up to you. He would accept rejection if that is what you wanted. 

Here he was, the man who had hurt you and who you still held a flame for offering himself up to like a lamb to slaughter. 

You must’ve been taking a long time to answer because the Viscount began shifting on his feet. He looked around the room at the other couples who began to take to the dancefloor.

“I do not mean to rush you my lady, but the dance will be starting soon.”

“Anthony you must promise me.”

“Anything, name it and it’s yours.” 

“Promise me that you will never hurt me again, I don’t think my heart could take it.” You took his hand. And let your lips curve into a gentle smile.

He pulled your hand wrapped within his own close to his heart, and vowed, “I will do everything in my power to protect you for the rest of my days, even if the one I am protecting you from is myself.”

“I don’t need protection Anthony,” you looked deeply into his eyes, “I just need your love, honest and true.”

“Then you shall have it.” 

Anthony pulled you to the dancefloor and led you in far too many dances to be appropriate that night. And every night for the rest of the season. And neither of you cared about what the rest of the ton had to say. You had each other, finally, and neither of you was letting go anytime soon. 

taglist: @ilikestuffs-stuff @cat-lockwood @wolf-phoenix-lover

@tenshis-cake @bridkesby @divergentalwaysandforever-blog @lillysfrogsandbogs @unholyhuntress

[prozacwhorehouse]

camera roll 📷 | mgg x snl cast member au

in which you do a variety ‘what’s in my camera roll?’ interview and reveal moments from your life

authors note: this lowk sucks but new subplot alert?? i love I used to be funny so i just had to. matthew mixed in with some background for our snl reader ✅

“Hi Variety, this is y/n y/l/n,” you smile and and give a wave to the camera, “and today I’m showing you what’s in my camera roll.”

“This is a picture of me at the premier for a movie I did in 2022, called I Used To Be Funny,” you turn your phone towards the camera, revealing a picture a friend took of you posing underneath the title outside a movie theater in Los Angeles.

“I had the pleasure of running into the very talented Ally Pankiw at an event in 2022, and when she said she’d seen my shows and asked me if I’d audition, I read the script and immediately felt drawn to it,” you speak with your hands, imitating an emulation from your body. “It was funny, it was devastating, it’s an incredible story that I’m so honored to have helped tell.”

“I always wanted to be an actress. So landing that role the same year I was cast on SNL, just a dream come true.” you smile warmly at the memory, moving on to your next picture.

You huff out a laugh looking at the next picture, “aww. I love this one, a lot,” you again turn your phone towards the camera, revealing a picture of Marcello, you, Michael, Molly, and Devon on set.

“This is me and my SNL 22 Crew, which is the name of our group chat,” you nod, “pretty sure this was right before our first show. we were so nervous but it was all okay because we had each other. We were all in the same boat, and that was comforting. Ugh,” you sigh, tilting your head up and smiling, “I just love them so much.”

“it was really hard to pick this next one because my camera roll is currently 60 percent him. All he says is ’wait take a picture’, so now I just have a whole collection of silly photos,” you roll your eyes in fake annoyance, trying to distract from the blush that has crept on your face while talking about him.

‘I’m not entirely sure where we were here, all I know is anything Halloween, Matthew wants a picture with. We had dressed up all crazy, I had on an insane fall sweater and like, striped witch tights. I do really love mismatching clothes, layering and looking insane, which I don’t really see a lot of guys doing?” you furrow your brows and squint your eyes in thought, releasing when admitting, “so I feel really seen by him. He isn’t afraid to be himself, so it makes me feel like I can be myself too. It’s amazing. He’s great. I’m very thankful for him.”

“Aww,” you jut your lip out, heart melting over the picture. “I was having a really rough week. I remember my sketch got cut, and I couldn’t think of how to make them better. I walked into my bathroom one morning and Matthew had stuck this on my mirror. I have so many pictures of these, but I picked this one because it was the first.”

You hum, “I could go on, but, I won’t,” you laugh, tilting your head back down to your phone, quickly exhaling to get back on track, “anyways!” Causing the crew to laugh behind the camera.

And the comments are all like

Loved her in I Used To Be Funny. So talented!

I hope she’s on SNL for a while, she’s one of the best additions in a while

The way she talks about Matthew is the cutest thing

Its so cute that y/n and Matthew are getting more public with their relationship, this is the first time she’s mentioned him by name

THE NOTE HE LEFT HER I NEED TO SEE THE OTHERS

—————————————————————————

tag list <3

@sarcasm-and-stiles @mystargirl-interlude @rubyirene @ashrrams @ghostatrixx @forevermorepassionate @saint-boudica @reidmarieprentiss @awakeforu @spencerlicious @kittycat-april @baudarling @delusional-4-fake-people @avenlymars @angelinajolie0213 @arusio @littleslayofhorrors @jezabelle9299 @jaemnationnn @princess-ofthe-pages @flow33didontsmoke

[sanguineterrain]

i'll put us back together at heart - s.h.

Summary: It's 1987. You haven't spoken to Steve Harrington in nearly five years. Then Dustin Henderson tells you about a sweet deal he has at Family Video, where he can rent any movie he wants.

Pairing: ex-best friend!Steve Harrington x fem!reader

Word count: 8.8k

Warnings/tags: friends to strangers to lovers. the reader is twenty in 1987 and i technically made steve twenty-one/about to turn twenty-one. s4 happened but eddie's alive and vecna's dead. no earthquakes or anything like that; reader has no idea about what really happened. lots of angst, mentions of billy hargrove (yuck) and steve's s1 asshole friends.

A/N: oh my lord. i don't know where this eighteen-wheeler of a fic came from but here it is. there is a happy ending, not to worry. i'd never do that to y'all &lt;3 feedback and reblogs are always always appreciated!

divider by firefly-graphics

August 1981

"I wish we could stay eighth graders forever."

You lift your head from your orange pool floaty. Steve drifts on the surface of the water. His hair is longer, way longer than you've seen it in the three years you've been friends. He says it's better for styling that way; he's even bought a gel and cream for his hair. You don't understand why he wants to change something that doesn't need changing. 

"Why?" you ask. "I thought you were excited for high school."

He hums. The sound echoes in his backyard. 

"It's bigger than middle school. More kids, more teachers, more work. I like eighth grade."

"I'll help you with your work," you say. 

Steve turns his head and smiles at you. Part of his face is in the water, the image distorted. 

"You'll do great," he replies. "You're so smart."

Steve doesn't say those things to get you to help him like other kids do. Steve means it. 

"You'll do great too," you say. "You're funny and nice and my best friend. People will like you."

"You think?" 

You nod. Steve turns his head and closes his eyes again. 

"We'll stay friends, right?" he asks. 

The floaty squeaks as you move to sit up. You paddle to Steve so you can look at his face. 

"Why wouldn't we?"

"I dunno." His eyes are still closed. "You might make super smart friends. And I'll just be a dumbass holding you back."

You shove Steve's shoulder lightly. 

"You are not dumb, Steve."

One muggy June night had had Steve admit he wasn't thirteen, like you and all the kids in your class, but fourteen. He had been held back in third grade after his parents moved from Illinois. It's why my brain's mush, he'd said. I was born dumb.

He had made you swear not to tell anyone. 

"You're not dumb," you say again. "Say it, Steve. Say you're not dumb."

His frown deepens, but he still won't look at you. 

"Tommy says I am."

"Tommy Hagan is a shithead," you shoot back with so much venom, Steve's eyes fly open. "It's not true, whatever he tells you."

You hate that they've been hanging out more this summer. You can't tell Steve that, because it's not like you own him. He can be friends with whoever he wants. But you can't help that your skin crawls when Tommy and his stupid girlfriend, Carol, drops by and pulls Steve away from you. 

“Promise?” he asks.

“Yes, Steve. I promise.”

“‘Kay.” Steve smiles a little. “Thanks.” 

You nod and lay back on the floaty. 

“Wanna get ice cream after this?” he asks. 

“Just us?” 

“Just us.”

Now. (January, 1987)

You slam the phone back onto the receiver. A girl playing Pac-Man carefully glances at you. 

Whoops. Right. You're still at work. 

You smile and give a thumbs-up. She turns around. You return to your wallowing. 

You’ve called three different video rentals. Jewel Films, which is about to go out of business; More Movies, whose attendant hung up on you before you could say Molly Ringwald; and finally, Blockbuster, which is thirty minutes outside of Hawkins. None of them have a copy of Pretty in Pink. 

And okay. You could just watch another movie. You don't need that specific one. But this year has been shit. You'd thought after starting college, you'd finally break out of the Hawkins forcefield that had limited your social life. You'd thought you'd make friends and not be so terribly lonely. Life is supposed to get better after high school, isn’t it? 

Obviously, whoever said that is a big, fat liar. 

“Dude!” you hear a familiar voice exclaim. “Stop hogging the game!”

Tawny curls peek from under a green and yellow hat. The hat hovers over an older boy who’s glued to the Tempest booth. You go to them. Dustin Henderson lights up when he sees you. You can read his hat now; it says Camp Know Where ‘85.

“Hey, Y/N!” he greets brightly. “This guy has been here for a half hour. I left to get nachos and when I came back, he was still here.”

“I’m this close to beating my score!” the kid insists.

“Come on, guy," you say, one arm on the machine. "You gotta give other people a turn."

The kid, evidently demon incarnate, sneers at you.

“Who’s gonna make me? You?” 

You lean against the side of the game, considering.

“How old are you?”

“Sixteen,” he says.

You snort. 

“Sixteen? And you’re still on Tempest?”

He glances at you. 

“So?”

“Everybody your age is playing Rampage, that’s all.” 

You wink at Dustin. He beams.

“And, uh, I saw a couple girls hanging around Rampage,” you add. 

The kid turns to you. You tilt your head innocently. 

“Seriously?” he asks.

“Seriously. People always flock to the new games.”

Which is true. The girls part is not, but he doesn’t need to know that. With that attitude, he won't be getting many phone numbers anyway. 

You drum your fingers on the game like you have all the time in the world. And sure enough, the kid takes his quarters and heads towards Rampage. Dustin jumps in delight. 

“You’re awesome, Y/N!" 

You grin. “I try. Where are the others?”

Dustin sours.

“They ditched me. To hang out with their girlfriends! Can you believe that shit?” 

“No way!"

He shakes his head.

“I know, right? My friend told me that that’s what happens in high school. People change, y’know? And he’d know, I guess. He’s old like you.”

You scoff. “You make me sound like some kind of ancient. I’m not that old, Henderson.”

“It’s okay, Y/N.” He pats your arm. “In many cultures, the elderly are wise. Now in my experience, this hasn’t been the case. But I think you’re wise.”

“Gee, thanks.”

Dustin smiles like the little shit he is and puts his change in the slot. 

“Well, contrary to what this other friend says, I’m sure it’ll pass,” you say. “You guys will hang out again." 

You swallow your acidic truth. Dustin's a good kid, and so are his friends. You don't want him to turn cynical like you have. He's too young. 

Dustin shrugs, starting the game.

“I guess so. I got a copy of The Lost Boys for us to watch on Friday. They said they’ll be there.”

“Whoa, seriously? That one just came out, how’d you get a copy?”

“My friend,” he says. “The one I mentioned. He works at Family Video and reserves stuff for me.”

“Huh. I thought Family Video was closed."

You'd applied to work there last year and never got a call back. You'd gone by once and it had looked abandoned. Hence why you now work at the arcade across town. 

"It almost did, but Keith took over so now it's barely scraping by."

"Ah. Sweet deal on the movies."

“Yeah,” Dustin agrees, eyes crinkling. “My friend's pretty cool. You'd like him."

"Would I now?"

"Absolutely," he gushes. "He's a total badass too. He won his first fight last year. He used to be a jock but he's recovered." 

"Wow. Impressive."

"Mmhm. I could ask him to hold stuff for you too, if you wanted.”

“You would?”

The game makes a sad game over noise. Dustin sighs and takes a gulp of his slushie.

“Yeah, totally,” he says through a mouthful of blue raspberry ice. “Which one do you want?”

“Pretty in Pink? I missed it in theaters."

“Sure. I’ll tell him to hold it tonight and tomorrow you can pick it up.”

“Cool. Thanks, Dustin.”

Dustin gives you an apple-cheeked grin.

“Gotta stay in good graces with the arcade attendant who lets me play Tempest as long as I want.”

"I don't know what you're talking about," you say, walking away. "Don't get slushie on the game."

"'Kay!"

Dustin only gets a little bit of slushie on the game, but he cleans it up with about a million of the cheap snack bar napkins. When he leaves, he tells you to mention his name at Family. 

"Who do I ask for?" 

"You can talk to either of them," Dustin says. "Doesn't matter. Except Keith. You know Keith, right?"

"Unfortunately.” Keith used to terrorize the arcade before he blessedly moved on. “He works there?"

"Barely." Dustin scoffs. "He's almost never there, so don't worry. And feel free to ask for more movies. They owe me one."

Your sole interactions are with professors and a gaggle of high school freshmen. But now you get to watch any movie you want. Maybe this year won't totally suck. 

The bell rings pleasantly as you step inside. There's a few people on line, so you take your time walking in. There's a movie display with about thirty copies of RoboCop. A cardboard cutout of RoboCop stares back behind his red helmet.

"Can I help who's next?"

You go to the counter. A girl about your age with a choppy haircut smiles at you but it's sort of strained. She has a pin on her green work vest that says Ask me!

"Please don't ask for Adventures in Babysitting," she says. 

"Oh. No, I'm, uh, Dustin's friend?" 

You can't believe you're name-dropping a high schooler. 

She nods in realization. 

"Oh, yeah. God, I keep telling that dweeb not to promise holds."

You wince. 

"Sorry. If it's going to get you in trouble…"

Her brows raise. She smiles a bit. 

"No, it's okay. Usually my coworker deals with it but, well. He's taking an extra long break today. So, what movie was it?"

"Pretty in Pink," you say. 

"Classic," she replies. "John Hughes fan?"

"Somewhat. I didn't get to see it in theaters. I like Molly Ringwald."

She grins.

"Me too. She's pretty."

"Super pretty," you agree. 

The girl considers you, then sticks out her hand. 

"I'm Robin," she says. "Nice to meet you."

You take her hand. "Y/N.”

"Did you go to Hawkins High?"

"I did. Graduated last year."

"Oh, cool. Are you in college?"

You nod. 

"Hawkins State. Twenty minutes from here."

"Sweet! I'm taking a gap year, but afterwards, I’m gonna apply there. It's cheap. College is college, right?"

"College is college," you agree. "But I wish I'd gone away for school."

You don't know why you're telling her this. You've known Robin for all of two minutes. But she seems friendly. And her sense of style is cool. She wears a blue blazer and tie underneath her vest. 

"How come?" she asks. 

"Everybody from Hawkins is there," you say. "And I… I just want a new start."

Robin smiles sympathetically. 

"They're jerks," she says. 

You huff. "Yeah."

You'd turned yourself into a social recluse a million years ago. It's your own damn fault you can't befriend anybody in this town. At least, not anymore. 

Robin types into the computer, then smacks the monitor. She groans. 

"Ugh. Gimme a second," she says. "Stupid technology."

"No problem," you say, smiling. You like her. Maybe you can integrate Family Video into your regular routine, become friends. You can see Robin becoming a good friend. One you wouldn't grow apart from. 

She disappears into the back room. You browse the old releases and stop at Die Hard. This one you saw in theaters. John McClane is a badass. 

You think of Dustin, and his supposedly badass new friend. It's too bad you didn't meet today. Dustin has a good sense about people. If he says so, it's possible you and this friend really would get on. 

The bell rings again. You're slow to look up. The entrance is empty when you do. You keep reading about John McClane's adventures. 

"Have you been waiting long?"

You turn at the new voice. The video slips out of your hand and clatters onto the counter. 

Steve’s hair has grown since you last saw it. He looks different too, though he has yet to break out of his signature church boy polos. There's a smattering of stubble on his jaw. His arms are lean with muscle. He wears a matching work vest like Robin's, name tag printed Steve in blocky font. 

He looks at where you've dropped Die Hard and smiles. 

"This is a good one," he says. "John McClane is a total badass."

You blink.

"Did you want to rent that one?" he continues, meeting your eye. 

"No," you manage. 

"Okay, no problem. Just browsing?" 

He doesn't remember you. 

You stare and stare. Steve leans in, concerned. He's changed, but he hasn't. He's still handsome with his swoopy hair and big, dark eyes, but the Steve you knew wouldn't have been caught dead working at a video store.

And he doesn't remember you. 

"Are you okay?" he asks, sounding genuine.

You take a step back from the counter. The blood roars in your ears. Robin comes back in, Pretty in Pink in hand. She looks at you, then at Steve. 

"Got it!" she tells you. "Computer should work now."

"I have to go," you say. 

You don't look at Steve again, instead focusing on Robin. 

Her brows rise. 

"Oh. Is everything—"

"I forgot my wallet," you blurt. "I can't pay for the movie. Sorry."

"That's okay, we can just—"

You run. The bell chimes over her words. You keep running until you get to the bus stop, three blocks away. 

Only there do you stop to catch your breath. 

And then you cry. 

February 1982

"What do you think about Marie?" 

You look up from your textbook. Steve is doodling in the margins of his notes. You gently prod his arm. He returns to reading but his leg starts to bounce under the table. 

"Marie Iverson?" you ask.

"Yeah." 

Steve glances at you. He pushes his hair back. It had taken him freshman year to get his bearings with all the gels and creams, but now, his hair is a point of pride, always perfectly coiffed. Seniors call him "The Hair" and high-five him in the hallway. You hate it. 

"I don't know. I don't know her that well."

"She's cute." 

"I guess so," you say. 

It's harder to get Steve to focus on homework these days. Last year, he happily made flashcards with you and even bought fancy gel pens to share for your notes. Now, he prefers to talk about girls or—

"I was thinking of asking her out."

The tip of your pencil breaks. You really ought to start using pens, but you don't like being unable to erase. 

"Shit, here. Take mine." 

Steve offers his still perfectly sharpened pencil. You stare at it. 

"Y/N?" 

"Yeah." You take the pencil. "Thanks."

"Sure. So what do you think?" 

"I don't know, Steve. I thought you talked about this stuff with Tommy."

"I would, it's just…" Steve shifts uncomfortably. "He can be rude about it sometimes. He doesn't even get why we're friends, y'know? Doesn't understand why I don't just date you."

Tommy is a moron, but you've said that since last year, and Steve's never listened before. 

"Some people don't get it," you say mildly, because you have an upcoming French test and there's no use in getting upset over Tommy Hagan right now. 

"But you do. And you know about this stuff better than me. Girls and all."

"Just because I'm a girl doesn't mean I know what girls are best for you to date, Steve. It's weird to talk about."

Steve deflates. 

"Oh. Yeah, I guess so. Sorry."

You sigh and rub your temple. 

"I thought you knew all about that," you say, extending an olive branch. "Asking girls out and stuff."

"Well, I mean, I've kissed girls but I've never… you're, like, the only girl I really know."

Something like pride swells in your chest. Selfishly, you want to keep Steve. You don't want to help him if it means losing him. Oh, you're so greedy, aren't you? You watch Steve run off with Tommy and Carol and nameless seniors and seethe, because Steve was yours first. Steve is yours.

"Y/N?"

"Yeah." You give him back his pencil and fish for another one in your bag. "Did you ever think about writing how you feel?" 

"Writing?"

"Yeah, like a poem or a letter."

"I'm terrible at writing," Steve laments. "The letters get all jumbled and I never spell a damn thing right."

He'd told his mom once how letters melt into each other, how b's become d's. She'd taken him to get his eyes checked, and when the doctor said Steve was fine, Deborah Harrington had told her son to stop begging for attention. 

"Someone who really likes you won't care about spelling mistakes, Steve," you tell him. "As long as you write from the heart. Don't do that cheesy shit and quote Romeo and Juliet. They're young, impulsive, and they die at the end, and that's not romantic."

Steve laughs, nose scrunched. 

"What!" you demand. "What's so funny?"

"Nothing, 's just—of course you'd have something to say about quoting Shakespeare."

"It's overdone," you say, crinkling your nose. "And girls would much rather read your own words." 

"So you think I should write Marie a letter?"

"If you really like her," you say. "Only write letters for girls you really like. Otherwise they lose their meaning."

Steve frowns. "I don't know if I should write her a letter, then."

Don't, you want to say. Don't write any of them letters.

You shuffle your papers into a stack. 

"Can we study now?" you ask.

"Oh, sure, yes. Sorry."

"You don't have to keep apologizing, Steve."

He shifts closer to you. His leg has stopped bouncing.

"Lemme take you out," he says. 

You nearly swallow your tongue. 

"Wh–what?"

"For ice cream," Steve clarifies. "Like we used to. Dairy Queen."

"Oh. Okay, sure. But after we study."

Steve beams. "I'll drive you."

Steve's dad had bought him the BMW as a birthday present this year—not that Richard Harrington actually knows when his own son's birthday is, considering the gift was three months early. Still, it's another point of pride for Steve and about all anybody talks about whenever his name comes up. Steve is the only person in your grade with a car. Junior girls hit him up for rides. You make yourself scarce when they do. 

You don't care. You liked Steve before the car. And the clothes. And the hair. 

Your throat feels tight. You want your best friend back. 

"Just us?" you check. 

You can't tell these days. Steve seems to hang out with everybody but you. You're shocked he'd even asked to study together. 

"Oh, sure," Steve says. "I just have to drop off Tommy and Carol first, okay?" 

You check your watch and close your book. 

"I have class," you lie. "I'll see you later." 

Steve catches your wrist. He looks at you and you're struck by how sweet his face is. It's not like you didn't understand why girls want him but it's Steve. Your Steve, who still sleeps with a nightlight and who framed a picture of a sports car he cut out from a magazine because he'd thought it would make him cooler (it didn't. You still tease him about it.) 

"Please," he says. "For helping me."

Your eyes slit. "I didn't help you to get stuff, Steve. I helped you because you're my friend."

Steve blinks like he's forgotten what it's like to be friends with someone just for the sake of being friends. 

"You're right," he agrees. "You're not like that. I'll tell Tommy and Carol to find another ride. It'll be just us. I promise."

You perk up at that. "Really?"

"Really. You can sit in the front with me and we'll play Bruce Springsteen, like we used to. Please?" 

"Okay, Steve." You ache. You’ve never been very good at telling him no. "I'll meet you in the parking lot."

And maybe… maybe your best friend is still in there after all.

Now

You ask your shift manager if you can work at the snack bar today. It's in the back and you won't have to deal with any game hogs. 

"You didn't put enough syrup in my slushie."

You might have overshot the perks, though. 

Slushie Girl's hair is bleach blonde and hairsprayed to God. You want to tell her that all that hairspray doesn't keep friends. Or brain synapses. 

"I don't make the slushie," you say for the third time. "That's how it comes out of the machine."

She shoots you a mean look. 

"I'm complaining to the manager."

You paste on a smile. 

"You do that. Have a nice day."

She finally walks away, probably on the hunt for your manager, who's definitely smoking a joint outside to avoid this exact situation. 

Dustin comes around the corner and this time, he's with the rest of his party. You smile. 

"Hey, Y/N!" Dustin greets.

Lucas waves at you. Max and Mike are arguing and therefore are in their own world. And there's their newest addition, El, whose story you're still not clear on, as well as Will, quiet as always. 

You lean your elbows on the countertop. 

"What'll it be, gang?"

"Six nachos and six slushies, please. One blue raspberry, three cherry, and two Coke."

You fill up the slushies first. Dustin dances on his toes. 

"So did you pick up the movie?" he asks.

"Oh." You try to smile. "I went there but I couldn't. I forgot my money. Pretty dumb of me."

Dustin accepts this with no argument. 

"Well, you can go back. They'll hold it for a few days."

You're never setting foot in there again, but you don't tell Dustin that. 

He takes his slushie and immediately starts drinking. 

"Slow down, dude. You'll get a brain freeze," you say. 

"You sound like Steve," Dustin informs you. "Doesn't Y/N sound like Steve?" 

Lucas nods. 

"Yup. They're both parents."

You feel queasy. You focus on making the nachos, the cheese pouring out thick and gooey. 

"Did you meet Steve?" Dustin asks. "You probably know him from high school, but he's different now."

"Yes," you say quietly. "I knew him."

"I promise he's different. Even Mike likes him, and Mike hated his guts. Right, Mike?"

Mike pauses in his animated discussion with Max and looks at you. 

"What?"

"I'm telling Y/N about how Steve is cool now," Dustin explains. 

"Oh." Mike shrugs. "He's fine. Much better now that he's not dating my sister."

"He's not?" you ask. "But they were in love. I–I mean, that's what I heard, at least."

"She dumped his ass," El says, and it sounds a little ridiculous in her soft monotone. 

Max scoffs, taking her Coke slushie. 

"Did you live under a rock? It was a huge thing."

"Now Steve is lame," Mike says with a snort. 

"Getting dumped doesn't make somebody lame," you say with an old ferocity you'd thought had disappeared. 

"Okay, jeez." Mike holds up his hands. "Steve's alright. He's different, that's for sure."

"He's our paladin," Lucas says. "A protector." 

Dustin nods eagerly.

You blink. "He protects you guys?"

Max elbows Lucas. You have no idea what that's about. El steps forward and smiles softly. 

"Yes," she says. "He's our babysitter."

"Aren't you guys freshmen? I thought you were too old for babysitters."

"Oh no, Steve doesn't get paid for it or anything," says Mike. "He just does it 'cause he has nothing else to do."

"That's not true!" Dustin argues. Then he shrugs. "Well, it's a little true. But he does like us. He's a good guy. He cares about his friends."

You bite your tongue, not wanting to reply to that. 

"That's great, guys. The girl, Robin? She seems pretty cool too."

"That's Steve's best friend," says Dustin. "She's great."

"Oh." You wince. "Best friend?" 

Dustin huffs. “Yeah. They don’t date. He won’t say why."

"Platonic with a capital P," Max confirms. “It’s obviously because he’s in love with somebody else.”

“Not Nancy!” Lucas protests.

“There are other girls besides Nancy, Sinclair.”

You busy yourself with serving the last set of nachos. The kids pull out crumpled bills and coins in return. You count the money and stack it directly into the register; you know there won't be any change. 

When you turn, they're still there. Dustin has his signature grin on, eyes squinty. 

"Yeees," you drag out. "Can I help you?"

"We need a favor," Lucas says. "Please."

"Hmm." You lean over the counter. "What's up?"

"They're showing Prince of Darkness on Friday," Dustin explains. "But it's rated R."

"So just sneak in. Isn't that what you guys did at Starcourt?" you ask.

"We had an inside man then. They're a lot stricter at the new one," Lucas frowns. "They ask for IDs 'cause some mom complained after her kid snuck in to watch Risky Business." 

"And why can't your babysitter take you?"

You sneer at the thought. Steve spending his Friday nights herding a bunch of adolescent teens into a movie theater. There's a reason you consider Dustin affectionately delusional. 

"He has a stupid date," Dustin groans. "He's a serial dater, Y/N. It's terrible. He gets lucky once and totally ditches us."

Now that sounds like the Steve you knew. 

"I see. I don't really like horror stuff."

"You don't have to stay!" Dustin insists. "You can watch whatever you want after we’re in. I'll pay you back for the ticket."

“This would be so much easier if Steve still worked at Scoops,” Mike grumbles.

You blank for a moment, the image of Steve in a sailor’s hat and those ridiculous shorts whiting your brain.

“Um,” you begin. “You know I don’t have a fancy BMW to cart you guys around in, right?”

“It’s cool. We’ll get there,” Max says.

“So?” Dustin bounces on his toes. “Sooo?”

You sigh. It’d been nice of Dustin to get you the movie, even though you’d chickened out and ran. And it’s not like you have anything better to do.

“Okay,” you say. “I’ll get you guys in.”

Dustin pumps his fist. “Thanks, Y/N! You’re my favorite old person.”

You roll your eyes. “Funny. Any funnier, and I might rescind my help, Henderson.”

“Byeeee!”

They all disperse to the arcade. You wonder how on earth Steve got involved with them.

March 1983

“Okay, but if you had to choose.”

“Pass. I would literally rather swallow pennies than kiss Principal Coleman’s bald-ass head, Steve.”

Steve takes a triumphant swig of beer. “So you’re saying you’ve got the hots for Benny the janitor.”

“No!” you insist through giggles. “I don’t. God, you’re gross. Can’t believe I’m being treated like this on your birthday.”

“Exactly! My birthday.”

He rolls onto his side in his deck chair and nearly faceplants on the cement. You reach out, reaction time delayed.

“Steve!” you yell. “Careful.”

“I am, I am,” he mumbles, and rights himself on the chair. “Jus’ wanna see you better.”

“I keep telling you you need glasses.”

“I do not,” he whines. “My vision’s ten outta ten. Could a guy who needs glasses do this?”

He crumples up a Twinkies wrapper and throws it towards the garbage. The wind picks up and sends the wrapped into the pool. 

“Shit,” he says.

You belly laugh in delight.

“Wait, wait, redo. Go fish it outta there.”

“Oh, as if. I’m not going in there. I told you you need glasses. Even Mother Nature agrees.”

"She does not. Mother Nature thinks I'm a doll."

You hum and close your eyes. Alcohol always makes you sleepy. 

The chair scrapes against the concrete. You hear a crinkle of a chip bag. Those are your only warning before you’re crushed by two hundred pounds of drunk boy. 

“Steve!” You wheeze, squirming as his hair tickles your face. “Get off!”

"’M sleepy,” he mumbles.

“Well, don't sleep on me, weirdo.”

“‘S cold.”

“You run, like, a hundred degrees, don’t lie.”

He lifts his head. “So you’re saying I’m hot?”

“I’m saying all that booze cooked your brain,” you reply sweetly.

“I’ve been wounded,” he moans and plops onto your shoulder.

“Ugh.” You resign to your fate and lean back. Steve’s not actually that heavy; even drunk, he has a lot of control over his weight and he’s situated himself so he isn’t crushing anything important. No, you squirm underneath him for a very different reason. 

“Steeeeve,” you whine. “You’re gonna squish me into a pancake.”

“Can’t believe no one else came.”

You still. Steve’s face remains buried in your shoulder. His body is beside yours, and he has an arm slung over your belly.

“I didn’t—didn’t want a party,” he continues. “I always throw parties. I thought I’d do somethin’ different. An’ none of them even wished me a happy birthday. ‘Cept you.”

You rest your hand on the back of his hair. It’s wind-blown and messy from the drinks, free of his heady hair gel. You’ve never loved it more.

“Did you tell them your birthday is today?” you ask gently, even though you know he did.

“Yeah,” he says. “Told all of ‘em. Guess they weren’t listening.”

“I listen.”

Steve looks up at you. His eyes are glassy.

“God, I miss you,” he says.

You feel the wall you’ve built this year crumble, just a little. 

“I’m right here, Steve.”

“I know but—been a jerk lately. I know I have. You’re my best friend, okay? Nothing’ll change that. I–I love you so much.”

Your breath hitches. Steve barrels on, not noticing.

“And I’ll be better. We’ll hang out more. Not–not here, drunk. But for real. We’ll go to the movies. Y’wanna see a movie?”

“Yeah,” you whisper. “I wanna see a movie.”

“‘Kay, what movie? Anything you want. We’ll get popcorn and Raisinets.”

“You hate Raisinets,” you choke through a watery laugh.

“I’d eat Raisinets anytime with you.”

You lay there, in the dark, the only sound being the pool filter.

“Let’s watch the new James Bond.”

“Hmm, okay. But you’ll have to say the name eventually.”

Your nose crinkles. “I am not calling it by its name.”

His laugh is warm in your neck. 

You don’t tell Steve to get up again. He snuggles into you, leg over yours. You fall asleep like that, curled underneath him.

Now

“Wait.” Max stops. “Shouldn’t we have, like, a game plan?”

“Game plan?” El asks quietly.

“Yeah. Some of us aren’t so great at playing it cool.”

She stares at Lucas.

“I play it cool!” he squawks. “I am so cool!”

“Right.”

“Just let Y/N do the talking,” Will says. “She’s technically the adult so she should act like this is a conscious choice.”

You shrug. “Makes sense to me.”

Dustin beams. “This is gonna be great!”

“Or a total disaster,” Max says.

You go to the counter, the kids trailing behind like ducklings.

“Six tickets for Prince of Darkness, please,” you say. “And uh, one for Dirty Dancing.”

The attendant looks at you, then at the kids.

“Don’t you mean seven tickets for Prince of Darkness?” she asks. “It’s rated R.”

Shit. “Right, yes. Sorry. Seven tickets. And one for Dirty Dancing. We have another friend who’s late.”

“Uh-huh.” 

The attendant, whose bored expression you’ve recognized on your own face after long days in the arcade, hands you your tickets without any questioning. 

“I think we’re in the clear,” Lucas whispers when you enter the concession area. 

You wait for them to buy their snacks. Max persuades Lucas to let her mix M&Ms into their bucket of popcorn. He agrees and shuffles closer so they’re pressed shoulder to shoulder while they share. 

“Okay, last stretch,” Mike says, shoveling a frighteningly large handful of sour worms into his mouth. “We just have to get past the ticket guy.”

Said ticket guy is a kid who can’t be much older than you. You think you might’ve gone to school together, but you’ve made it a point to eviscerate everything about high school from your mind.

“Hey,” you say, trying to act cool. Maybe you’re the one Max should’ve been worried about, instead of Lucas. “Uh, here are our tickets.”

He takes the tickets, then looks behind you.

“Prince of Darkness is only for people seventeen and older,” he says.

“I’m an adult, so I’m with them,” you explain. “I’m, like, their guardian?”

“Yeah, uh—” He hands you your tickets. “No can do. There needs to be an adult for each person under seventeen.”

“Come on,” you cajole. “They’re high schoolers. It’s not like they’re gonna be scarred for life watching some zombies, or whatever.”

He shrugs. “Rules are rules.”

“She’s an adult!” Dustin argues.

“Look, if you’re gonna hold up the line, I’m gonna have to—”

“Yo, Gillespie! That you?”

Dustin turns and lights up. The seven of you part for Steve Harrington and his date, a pretty strawberry blonde you think you had biology with.

“Harrington, man, what’s up!” 

Ticket Prick gets up to slam Steve into a bear hug. You barely resist an eye roll.

“Shit, I haven’t seen you in a year! Where’ve you been all this time? Hey, did you hear about that shit with Munson?”

Steve flinches. It’s a tiny movement, indiscernible to the trained eye. But it’s there all the same.

“Gillespie, c’mon. Don’t bring the party down with that,” Steve says, all sweet charm. 

“Sorry, sorry. Daisy,” he greets the girl attached to Steve’s arm.

“Gil,” she replies with a giggle. “You smell like popcorn butter.”

America’s future taxpayers. Terrifying. 

“Are you gonna let us in or not?” Max interrupts, arms folded. 

You feel a burst of pride.

Gil shoots her a dirty glare and puffs up, ready to fight a fourteen year old. Steve cuts in smoothly.

“Gillespie, listen. I know her.” He points to you. You bristle. “I can personally vouch that she’s just trying to do right by these kids. They wanted to see Prince of Darkness, y’know? Get away from the parents.”

“It’s a sick film,” Gil agrees. “You seen it?”

No, of course Steve hadn’t seen it. He hates horror. 

“Planning on it,” Steve says, the ultimate image of playing it cool. “Look, you remember sneaking into the movies. Fast Times? Ring any bells?”

Max rolls her eyes. You’re inclined to do the same.

Gil laughs dopily, and nudges Steve. “Hell yeah, I do. That was a crazy night, Harrington.”

Steve smiles thinly. “Sure was. So whaddya say? For old times’ sake?”

Gil considers your little troupe. Then he shrugs.

“Why not. Manager’s not here anyway.”

He takes the tickets and tears them to stubs, then gives them back.

“Theater six. On your left. Enjoy.”

The kids stampede into the left theater wing. You hang back with your own ticket. 

“Appreciate it, man,” Steve says, all smiles. “Take care, alright?”

“Hey, you too, Harrington! We gotta catch up!”

Steve and Daisy go in. You expect them to walk right past you, and Daisy does, predictably. But Steve stops.

“I’ll catch up, okay?” he tells her. “Find us some good seats?”

She paws at him a little, then goes, sodas in hand. You stiffen as Steve walks and stops three feet away from you. 

“Hey,” he says. “Sorry about that. Gil’s an asshole.”

“I know. He yawned during my poetry reading sophomore year. And then you guys went to the movies together.”

Steve shrinks. “Your poems were great.”

You’re suddenly exhausted.

“What do you want, Steve?”

“I just… I wanted to see you. Say hi.”

“Okay.” You cross your arms. “Hi.”

“You forgot your movie,” he says. “The other day.”

“I didn’t want it that much.”

“Dustin said you looked everywhere for it.”

“Well, in the end, it didn’t really matter,” you say. “Not enough to stay.”

“Y/N—”

“I think your date’s waiting for you,” you interrupt. “Better get back to her. Wouldn’t want to taint your reputation.”

Steve makes a noise like he’s been wounded. You turn on your heel before you can think better of it. 

“Wait.” He catches your wrist. Steve’s grip is light, like you’re something precious to hold. You wrench your arm away. “Y/N, I want to apologize. I’m sorry.”

“For what?” you ask. “For forgetting me? I didn’t expect you to remember, Steve.”

“I didn’t forget you,” he insists. “I could never forget you. I wasn’t—please, can I just explain?”

“I don’t need your explanations,” you snap. The hurt corrodes your tongue like acid. “I know what happened. We were both there. You left.”

Steve’s eyes are huge and dark. He looks like you just stabbed him in the heart, and that makes you feel worse. You’d thought telling him how much it hurts would put you back together, but all it did was break you more.

So you run. Again. 

You slam through a back exit and rip your ticket into a million pieces. The wind is cold and unforgiving. Your eyes sting. 

You call out sick for two days in a row. You kind of expect to get fired, but then again, people have been leaving Hawkins and if you’re not here to serve the masses their slushies, who will be?

So, after lying in bed not thinking about movies and strawberry blonde girls and how sick you are of this town, you get up and put on your arcade vest.

Now it is two in the afternoon. You’d heard it was supposed to snow today.

Robin eyes the snack counter like it holds the next plague outbreak. You don't blame her; you make it a point to wash up to your elbows after work.

"Slushie?"

She looks at you like she’d forgotten you were there. "What?"

You point a thumb at the machine. "Are you here for a slushie?"

"Oh. No, sorry. Red dye makes me insane in the brain. Steve actually—"

Robin stops, grimaces. So he's told her. Probably everything, if the kids had been telling the truth. 

You're honestly surprised she's here. Unless it’s to, like, swirlie you in the vat of artificial cheese. 

"Are you here to drown me in nacho cheese?" you ask.

Robin's eyes go wide as dinner plates. "What? No!"

"Just checking." You lean against the counter. "What can I do for you, Robin?" 

Robin suddenly looks like she's never interacted with a human being before. You like her a lot. Steve probably does too. 

"I came to drop off your movie." She holds the tape over the counter like it's a pool of lava. 

"But I didn't pay for it." You shove your hand in your jean pocket; you only have a couple dollars on you. "I guess I can get you the money tom—"

"It's on the house. For a fellow Molly fan."

Robin wiggles the tape with two fingers. You take it and wait for a catch. There is none. 

"Thank you," you say. "You didn't have to do that."

"Actually, it wasn't me," she confesses. "I'm just the mailman."

You prepare to hand it back but Robin shakes her head. 

"He's not going to pop out of the slushie machine, okay? He's just trying to make it up to you."

"He doesn't need to make it up to me," you bite, except those aren’t the words you mean. "Why does he even care? We're not in high school anymore."

Robin smiles a sad smile. 

"I know," she says. "We’re not. I know he should've known to fix things earlier. He's received a lot of blows to the head, though, so he's still catching up."

The thought turns your stomach. More? More you weren’t there to protect him from?

"He doesn't owe me anything," you say and wave the tape again. "You can take it back and leave it for somebody else."

"Y/N, I know we don't know each other, like, at all. But it's important to me you know that Steve cares about you, because you’re important to him. And you knew him way before I did, and you probably know a lot of stuff I don't, and that's good because he has a friend like me, but he should also have a friend like you too, Y/N."

"I don't want to be his friend," you mumble. 

"Yeah," Robin says. "I figured. But I don't think that's a confession he should hear secondhand."

You look at her, stunned. She's such a clever girl. You hope she treats Steve well.

"If you two are—"

"We're not," she says, like this is a regular explanation she goes through. "Steve and I are friends. Steve has crashed and burned with every single date since his fall from regency. Steve is the best person I've ever met." 

"Yeah, I’ve heard. You and Dustin are his biggest fans."

Robin snorts. "Trust me, I'm not proud of it."

You shake your head. Your eyes feel hot. 

"This town is so shit," you say. 

"Yeah," Robin agrees. "It really fucking is. But I'm not asking you to give this town a second chance. Just him."

"Why are you trying so much?" you ask. "You don't even know me."

Robin shrugs. "No, but you're the one person Steve used to be friends with who's not an asshole, and I think us non-assholes need to band together."

"I can sometimes be an asshole."

"Me too. So are those little dweebs. How about calling ourselves the Semi-Assholes Club?" 

You laugh. "We'll get jackets."

"With partially drawn butts on the backs," Robin says with a giggle. 

You look at the tape in your hand. 

"Does Steve like John Hughes?" 

"He does. He's a total sap for those. He thinks he's in his own coming-of-age movie because he's delusional."

He sounds perfect. He sounds like the friend you loved. 

"I did want to watch this one," you say. 

"It won't hurt you to," Robin promises. 

You suppose not.

December 1984

You don't believe the whispers. All week, the rumor mill spins tales of Billy Hargrove finally pushing the King off his throne. There's no way he'll show his face, a girl at the adjacent lunch table astutes. I sure as fuck wouldn't.

Steve Harrington is a loser. Steve Harrington got dumped for Jonathan Byers. Steve Harrington may as well be dead, and on and on. 

Every line gets you angrier. A boy who sits behind you in chemistry taps his pencil like he always does. Tap, tap, tap. 

Halfway through class, you snap at him to quit it. He does, but not without a tinge of embarrassment. You’re so angry this year. Angry at your loneliness, angry at the unfairness of said loneliness. You might’ve done this to yourself, and that fact only gets you angrier.

You see Nancy Wheeler in the hallways with Jonathan Byers, and the confirmation of that rumor should make you happy. It doesn't. 

A week later, most of the excitement has died down. Everybody’s moved onto the next big thing, which is to deduce who fucked in Vice Principal White's office. One look at V.P. White, and it had been decided that it can't have been White himself. 

You can't care less. Once upon a time you might’ve laughed about it with a friend, but you don't have any more of those, and high school is bullshit with or without them. So.

Steve walks in twenty five minutes into the period. Mrs. Kaplan gives him a downright beastly glare and demands to know where he had been. 

"I'm sorry," is all he says. "If you give me detention, I understand."

There are a few snickers that rub at an old hurt, one that had flared up whenever somebody dared to make fun of your best friend. It doesn't bother me, he'd said, and you'd known it was a lie. 

It bothers me, you’d replied, and Steve had hugged you tight.

Mrs. Kaplan seems more stunned Steve hadn't swaggered past her like a peacock escaped from the zoo and lets him go sit down without a fight. He takes the only empty desk, two rows across from you. You stare. You can't not. 

Half of his face looks like it was mashed in a garbage disposal. It's purple and a sickly yellow. His eye and lip are still swollen. You stare and stare. You feel queasy. 

Billy had done that. You're so angry. You think you might never get past this grief, this loss of a once permanent fixture in your life. 

No one wished Steve a happy birthday this year, you realize out of nowhere.

You stare and stare and stare until Steve looks right back. You're blindsided by thick guilt, like blinking through a milkshake. And then the familiar curl of anger returns because why the fuck should you feel guilty? You aren't the one who fucked everything up, who mascerated this good thing. Steve did this to himself. Steve deserves to walk the halls alone. It's Steve's fault. 

But when you look at him, at his raw wounds, at his bruised knuckles, you know that he already believes he deserves every punch Billy Hargrove gave him. 

You hate Steve Harrington. But you really wish you'd been there to drive him to the hospital. 

Now (And Forever)

The tape sits buried in your drawer for three days. You don’t know what Family Video’s return policy is, but you hope you’re not racking up late fees. You doubt name dropping Dustin will work again.

It’s Saturday when you decide to watch Pretty in Pink. You remove the video from its sleeve. An envelope falls out.

The front has your name printed in squished, loopy script. You remember January at Steve’s house, a stack of thank-you cards courtesy of his mother awaiting the Harringtons’ sign-off. Steve’s hand would cramp and you’d take over while he made grilled cheese for the both of you. Love, The Harringtons, and there was no love in that house, but you think maybe Steve loved enough to make up for it. 

Hi, the letter begins. I hope you’re good. Robin told me you’re going to Hawkins State.

That’s fucking amazing. I’m so proud of you. Are you still writing poetry? I liked that one you wrote about the birds who shared a branch and kept each other warm. I still have it in my notebook in my room.

I’m sorry for the other night. I’m sorry for every night since freshman year, honestly. I’m kind of a dumbass, but you know that, so it doesn’t really excuse anything. I think I’ve actually lost brain cells since we drifted apart.

You crumple the corner, suddenly hot with anger. Who keeps telling him he’s dumb? You want names.

I didn’t forget you, you know. I got scared and I thought maybe I could ease into it, but then you recognized me and… well. I don’t blame you for running.

Anyway. I’m talking too much about myself, when there’s nothing to say. I’m really sorry about what I did, or, actually, what I didn’t do. Somebody told me I was living on autopilot, and that it wasn’t really living at all. I think it was you. 

I’m not living on autopilot anymore. I woke up. And I realized that you’re the best fucking thing that’s ever happened to me. I love Robin and the kids and this little family that has apparently invayd invaded your life too. Sorry about that. They never leave and they eat all your food. Good luck. 

But I miss you. I always have.

Shit happened these last few years that I’ll tell you about one day, if you want. I’d rather not, though, because you’ve always been the paranoiac (like that one? Robin said it’s an SAT word) of the two of us and I feel like this would just make you even more of one. But I will tell you, if you want to hear it. I want to tell you everything. I want you to tell me everything too. Like we used to.

I want you to tell me how college is going. Who the annoying jerks in your classes are so I can go beat them up (kidding). I want you to stop by to rent movies so I can lend them for free and you’ll yell at me about taking advantage of fre friendships. 

Fuck, I miss you. It’s always been there, bubbling below the surface. I never stopped missing you. I never stopped loving you. I’m sorry I didn’t write this sooner. I know you said writing is how we express things we can’t say. You were right. You always are. Can’t believe I forgot that. 

It’s okay if you don’t want to be friends. I mean, it hurts, but I respect it. I understand. Most days, I can’t believe people can bear to be around me. But then I hear your voice in my head, telling me that most people are shitheads and that I’m golden and. Well, I don’t know if I believe that, but you were right that most of the people I surrounded myself with were shitheads. Except you, of course. And then I went ahead and fucked that up.

I’ve been working on finding the non-shitheads of the world. I think I’m doing pretty well. And I wrote this because I realized that while I will probably end up buried in this fucking town, you’re going to do something incredible. And nothing incredible ever happens in Hawkins, so I figure you’ll be far away when you do it. 

I didn’t want to miss this chance to write things I never said. So here they are. And you can do whatever you want with them. You’ve always been the best of the two of us. I trust you.

You should watch Dirty Dancing. You’ll like it. I did. I’ll see it again if you want. I’ll watch anything with you.

Did you know there’s another Bond movie coming out in the summer? We could watch that one together too. If you wanted more time to decide.

Sincer

Lo

Your friend,

Steve

You don’t bother ejecting the tape. You run all the way to the bus stop, Steve’s letter in hand. 

You have to see him. No other thoughts register except that one. You have to know if Steve wrote these words because he can’t say them or because you won’t listen.

It isn’t too late when you get to Loch Nora. The neighborhood is dead, which is weird. Steve’s house looks frozen in time: his parents’ car isn’t in the driveway. You wonder if they’ve ever come back since you’ve been gone. You wouldn't be surprised if the answer is no.

There’s a tarp over the pool. The gate is locked with a chain. You can’t sneak in through the fence like you used to. Not that you would. You don’t think strangers can sneak through pool gates.

You knock on the door three times. And wait.

Steve’s car is in the driveway, a duller burgundy than when he first got it. There are a few scratches in the paint. No longer a prized possession. Maybe well-loved instead.

The door swings open. 

Steve says your name like a prayer. You swallow and steel your spine. 

“I got your letter,” you say.

“Oh.” He rubs the back of his neck. His hair is damp like he’s just showered. It curls around his ears. Waves of want hit you. 

“I don’t want to be friends,” you continue before he can speak. “I don’t—I can’t do that again.”

Steve’s mouth draws into the saddest frown you’ve ever seen.

“Okay,” he says softly. “Thank you for telling me.”

“No.” You shake your head. “No, that’s not—I don’t mean it like that.”

His brows knit. “What?”

“I…” You pull out the letter and wave it. “Did you mean it? Do you love me?”

“Yes,” Steve whispers. It’s like a shout in the quiet street. “I meant it.”

“Like a friend?”

“If that’s what you want.”

“Will you love me like a friend forever?” you ask. 

“Always.” 

You squeeze your eyes shut.

“I love you as something more,” you blurt, watery. “I have for a long time.”

You hear the door shut. This is it: your heart on the line, all for nothing—

“Then I’ll love you as something more back,” Steve says. “I’ll love you any way you want me to.”

And he holds you the way you’d held him so many times. You inhale and wrap your arms around his neck. You’ve got an iron grip around the letter. Tears slip down your cheeks.

“I missed you,” you confess.

Steve nods against your shoulder.

“Yeah,” he says, and it sounds a little wet. “I missed you too.”

“You were wrong,” you say into his neck.

“Hmm?”

You pull back to look at Steve.

“Incredible things do happen in Hawkins.”

“Oh, yeah?” Steve smiles, cheeks blotchy. “Like what?”

“We found each other again.”

[emeritusemeritus]

Wanna Bewitch you in the moonlight. Pt. 1

[F.W X Reader X G.W ]

Part 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12

Title: Just wanna bewitch you in the moonlight.

Pairing: Fred Weasley x reader x George Weasley

Timeline: Predominately set between GOF and OOTP (some canon has been altered to fit the story)

Summary: Both twins like Gryffindor!reader. Reader likes both twins. How will she decide who to chose in the end? Amortentia might be able to help, or not.

Warnings: Smut, mentions of sex, established relationships, threesomes, friends to lovers, all the good stuff. NO Twincest. Mentions of illness, Brief mentions of vomiting.

Tags will be updated along the way.

Part 1

"Oh, y/n dear, how wonderful to have you with us!" Mrs Weasley said wiping her hands on her apron before she threw her arms around you, embracing you in a warm and maternal manner as you stepped inside the Burrow.

"Mrs Weasley, thank you so much for having me," you smiled, wrapping your arms around her, smiling at the comforting feel and smell that encapsulated the entire Burrow and each Weasley inside.

"Oh Mrs Weasley," she laughed pulling apart, "how many times do I have to say, call me Molly!"

"Maybe just once more," you joked, smiling wide as she huffed out a laugh, rubbing your shoulder.

"We're back too you know," Fred said from behind you, leaning on the doorframe with George fixed to his side. She hurried over smiling, pausing briefly to hit Fred's shoulder at his tone, before wrapping her arms around both the boys at the same time. It was a sight to behold, seeing little Molly Weasley trying to reach up to give her two 6ft 3 sons a hug but it was completely heartwarming, seeing their smiles.

"Oh how lovely to have my boys back," she smiles, standing beside them. The entire scene was entirely endearing, particularly the hint of a blush that spread almost in perfect sync upon the twins' cheeks.

"Is Ginny not with you?" She suddenly asks, realising that two of her expected children were not present.

"No they're stopping by Hermione's to get some things before they come home," George replies absently, wandering over to the counter where a fresh batch of scones caught his attention, sat cooling on a wire rack. He reached for one and was immediately intercepted by Molly, earning a swift slap to his hand in a silent warning.

"Right, y/n dear," she says, turning to you with a smile. "I wasn't sure what the sleeping arrangements would be for you all so you can either share Ginny's room with her and Hermione or," Molly began to say, trying to do the mental arithmetic of sleeping arrangements until she was interrupted by George.

"She can stay with us mum, we'll move our beds together and pop up the old cot from Charlie's room," he says, sounding like he had already planned it out in great detail.

"Oh, yes I suppose that would work," she says, completely unaware of the relationship blooming between the three of you. You knew she'd never agree to you sleeping with either of the twins alone, but having the other one in the room seemed to ease her mind that nothing untoward would happen.

"You aren't making her sleep in that old thing!" She suddenly says, horrified at the thought of her guest having to sleep on the death contraption that had been in their family for decades.

"No mum, she can have my bed, I'll sleep on it," Fred says, moving forward to place his hand on your shoulder, doing his best to act innocent, though you could see straight through it.

"Wonderful," Molly says, clapping her hands together as she moves away and busies herself in the kitchen again. She shouts to the boys to help you with your bags, to which they both reply in perfect synchronisation that they already were.

They usher you up the stairs, each twin carrying one of your bags as you make your way to their bedroom. It's exactly as you remember, except it looks like it's been cleaned recently, no doubt by Molly.

"You're not really sleeping on the cot are you?" You ask, turning to Fred. He gives you a look of bewilderment before snorting out a laugh, reaching out for your hand to pull you into his chest, his right arm securing you to his body as it wraps around your waist.

"Not for a single second," he smirks, reaching up to play with a strand of hair that had fallen in front of your ear.

"But we are pushing the beds together," George says from behind you, moving closer to you both.

"And you are going to sleep right in the middle, between both of your handsome," Fred adds.

"Charming," George.

"Well endowed..."

"Boyfriends," they both say, sandwiching you between their bodies. You couldn't help but smile at their antics, realising that they had clearly had this planned for quite some time.

"So I get to sleep on the divide of the beds and fall between in the middle of the night? How romantic," you joked, reaching up to play with the collar of Fred's jacket.

"Ahh we've thought of that too," George says from behind you, reading down to place a kiss to the side of your neck.

Suddenly, both twins pull away and start organising the bedroom. Fred pulls away the small cabinet between the beds and places it next to you near the door, winking at you as he moves back to help George move the beds. They drag Fred's bed over from the right towards George's on the left and create one large bed in the middle of the room. George rushes off to get the cot from Charlie's room and unfolds it for decorative purposes in the space left behind where Fred's bed used to be.

Fred suddenly pulls back the sheets from both beds and then pulls out his wand and casts a charm you'd never heard of. The bed is immediately fixed together through magic, causing you to raise your eyebrows in amazement. He throws the covers haphazardly over the beds before doing the same to the sheets, making it one large duvet. He turns his head to you, seeing you look on in amazement and shoots a cocky smirk towards you.

"Your boyfriend's good right?" He smirks, causing you to roll your eyes slightly. George then moves the cabinet beside you towards the back of the room, sliding it under the space of the desk, kicking the little waste paper bin to the side.

"Fit for a Queen," George smiles, gesturing towards the large bed.

"Or for a fit Queen," Fred quips, gesturing towards you. "Crash test?"

You huff out a laugh at the terrible pun and move to throw yourself down onto the newly extended bed, instantly surprised by the lack of divide between the two and the fact that it was actually quite sturdy.

"You know we could test it out in different ways," George says smirking as he looks at you, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively. You look up at him with a sultry look, liking the idea very much, before you turn to look at Fred with the same pointed look.

"Boys! Y/n! The others are here and lunch is ready!" Molly's voice radiates surprisingly well up the stairs of the burrow, effectively ending your next moves and the boys immediately huff and grunt in frustration. You offer them a sad smile before reaching your hand out to George for him to pull you up. He instantly reaches out for your hand in his large one and pulls you up towards him effortlessly.

"Later?" You ask with a small smile, reaching up and pouting so that he'd kiss you. His eyes light up just slightly as he silently nods enthusiastically before reaching down to give you a sweet kiss. You then turn to Fred who is not so patiently waiting his turn before he drags you out of his brothers arms and into his own. He also reaches down to give you a sweet kiss, though his is much more loaded than George's, his tongue licking along your bottom lip as he fights to deepen the kiss. You pull away with a chuckle, placing your hand on his chest. "Down boy," you joke and he grins down at you.

"Not me you need to be telling princess," he cheekily grins, wiggling his eyebrows and poignantly flicking his eyes down to his groin, which seems excited to say the least. You bite your lip and drag your hand down his chest towards his excited member, placing your hand gently over the bulge in his trousers. You flick your eyes up to his face as he stands with wide eyes and his lips parted in a little 'o' shape, following your movements very carefully.

"Down boy," you whisper, teasing as you suddenly pull your hands away and move to walk out of the bedroom door. You can hear George's laughter as you descend the stairs and then a little commotion and 'ow' from George, no doubt caused by Fred.

You greet Harry, Ron, Hermione and Ginny in the kitchen, followed by George only a minute later and then by Fred five minutes after that. You don't miss the little mock glare he shoots you as he takes a seat at the table, one twin either side of you. All you can do is give him a little innocent, doe-eyed smile before you focus your attention on the array of food that Molly had prepared.

"So, y/n, what are your plans whilst you're here?" Ginny asks you from across the table, pausing at the end to frown at Ron who had shovelled as much food as possible into his mouth and then asked, with a mouthful of food, for Harry to pass the bread rolls.

"I'm not really sure," you smiled with a little shrug, not really considering what was on the agenda.

"She's busy, whatever you've got planned," Fred says bluntly as he pokes at his food, already disliking the idea of you spending time with anyone else whilst you were away from school. You immediately elbow him roughly in the shoulder, earning a laugh from George who watches on silently.

"Never too busy for you Gin," you said, winking at her with a smile. She smiled back and began talking about you girls having a sleepover one night, which did sound fun. Fred muttered something under his breath but you gave him a swift kick to the shin under the table which George snickered at, keeping quiet himself as to not also feel your wrath.

As soon as Fred and George had finished eating they all but dragged you away from the table and up to their bedroom, pausing only briefly for you to shout out your thanks to Molly for a wonderful lunch.

As soon as you were back in their room, you threw yourself down onto the bed, rolling to lie on your stomach as you watched them pull out their trunk of tricks. You'd already agreed earlier on that morning on the train home that you would help them with their new idea for their business, some sort of new confectionary, no doubt with a sinister twist.

From your conversation and actions before lunch, you'd assumed the boys had dragged you upstairs for another reason entirely, but it seemed that their current developments had overshadowed their needs. You had to hold back a laugh at the pair, realising that they were the only two men you knew that would focus on their pranks over sex with their girlfriend.

They had assured you not long after that they had the afternoon and evening all planned out and they would only spend a little time doing this before you could do something more exciting, something you'd really enjoy.

"So they're like puking pastilles but not?" You asked from your position on the bed, bent legs swinging behind you as you watched them concentrate on their project. Fred simply nodded, eyes never once leaving the prototype, his tongue poking out the corner of his mouth as he tried to perfect the recipe.

"Kind of, angel," George explained, using his nickname for you, flicking his eyes up to yours as he spoke, "but they don't make the eater sick, just make them turn pale and sickly looking."

"Ahh make them turn into a Weasley then," you joked. George immediately threw a piece of whatever he had in his hand at you in retaliation and Fred simply snorted, still focusing on the task at hand.

It was the most you'd spoken since they began tinkering, their full attention and focus on their creation. It wasn't exactly the day you had in mind and you were quite frankly thoroughly bored, something you very rarely were in the presence of the Weasley twins. You couldn't blame them, they were in the development stage of their new product, which meant perfecting the recipe and then the antidote which took time and patience.

"Are you adding them to the skiving snack boxes?" You asked after a few more moments of silence, trying to occupy yourself as you sat bored in their room.

"No, they're more like an additional add on," George explained, reaching up to grab something beside you on the bed, briefly pausing to touch your leg as he leaned beside you.

"Ah a savvy business move," you replied cheekily.

When it fell silent again, you rolled over onto your back and stared up at the disjointed ceiling, watching how the wooden beams interlocked at awkward angles and looking at all the various memorabilia and stuff that littered the walls of their room. You briefly considered going to visit Ginny and the others before your eyes started to close on their own accord.

———————————

"Bugger bugger bugger!"

You frowned at the sudden burst of noise, your eyes struggling to open and then focus as you realised you'd fallen asleep on the bed. You sat up, squinting at the light from the windows around you and watched in confusion as George paced around the room in a tizzy.

"George?" You asked weakly, your voice not quite working yet. He turned around with such a speed it was almost alarming. His face looked panicked and nervous and you immediately sat further up in concern, your sleepy haze fading rapidly as worry took over you. "What's wrong? What happened?"

"Fred, I told him not to but you know what he's like when he gets something in his head and he wouldn't listen," George babbles, messing with his hair as he paces the room.

"Fred? What's wrong with Fred?" You asked, trying to figure out what George was saying.

"He ate the bloody thing!" He says, throwing himself down onto the rickety metal cot in the corner of the room. It suddenly all made sense to you and a lingering unease settled in your stomach as you thought about the dangers.

"Where is he?" You asked quickly, worried that he wasn't in the room.

"Toilet," George mumbles, running his hand through his hair again.

You immediately leapt off the bed and ran out into the corridor, trying to be quiet as to not alert anyone else as you quickly scaled the wooden staircase that lead up to the next level of the burrow where the toilet was.

You quietly knocked on the door, "Freddie?"

You heard a brief, slow shuffle on the other side of the door and the door creaked open to reveal Fred who looked bloody awful.

"Bloody hell," you said without thinking, looking upon the appearance of your boyfriend. He quickly pulled you into the bathroom and closed the door behind you both. You scrunched your nose at the vague smell of sick that hung in the air but you quickly got past it, moving to stand in front of Fred.

He looked ghostly pale and a little green in his undertone, sweat forming like droplets on his forehead where he had pushed back his hair. His eyes looked sunken and dull, no longer twinkling like usual and his under eyes were almost purple looking. You tried not to react, already feeling bad about your subconscious outburst at seeing him and tried to wipe away a few beads of sweat off his brow. To your surprise, they wouldn't actually wipe off and had become an effect of the sinister sweets they'd created. "How you feeling Freddie?" You asked, trying to keep your voice even.

"At least we know they work, a little too well," he says, deflecting the question. He suddenly lurches away from you and shuffles quickly to the toilet as he heaves whilst clutching his stomach, though nothing comes up. "Sorry," he cringes in embarrassment at you seeing that, "thought I'd got through the worst of that."

"How long does is take for the antidote to kick in?" You asked, concerned about the lasting effects, not knowing exactly how long ago he'd eaten it. He didn't verbally reply but instead gave you a little uncomfortable smile, telling you everything you needed to know.

"Fred Weasley!" You whisper yelled, striking him in the shoulder as you realised he hadn't created the antidote yet. "You frigging idiot!" You hit him again and he just stood there and took it, though he did seem to lose a little of his balance.

"It was more to test out the taste," he said quietly, as if it was an excuse for eating the contraption. "Which definitely still needs work by the way, bloody awful aftertaste, too much caramel." You shot him a look of utter bewilderment as he heaved again, frustration building in you as he didn't take it seriously at all, despite looking like a walking corpse and heaving all over the place.

"Come on, you need to lie down," you said, extending your hand to his to lead him back to his bedroom. You lead him down the stairs and into his and George's room, carefully avoiding anyone else in the house.

"Bloody hell," George said, looking up from his hands, not moving an inch since you'd left, as his brother entered the room, seeing him look absolutely awful.

"At least we know it works," Fred says with the hint of a smirk, though his eyes still looked sad and glimmer-less.

"Bed. Now." You ordered, annoyed at his joking especially at a time like this. Surprisingly, Fred complied without any qualms and threw himself down onto the bed, his eyes closing in relief as he lay there. You tipped out a few loose crumbled papers from the waste bin next to the desk and placed it beside the bed incase he needed it.

"George, can you get him some water please?" You asked, turning your attention back to the notes they'd made on the recipes, trying to figure out if any of the ingredients had a reverser you could use to cancel out the effects.

Fred heaved again and you tensed, turning to offer him some help, only to see him half flinging out of bed to lean over to the bin. You stood and reached out for the bin and placed it into his arms, where he kept it secured and never out of reach.

"What do you mean he's sick? Fred, er, George move out the way!" You heard Molly's voice getting louder and louder, matching the influx of panicked footsteps that seemed to be running up the stairs. She immediately burst through the room and made an ungodly sound as looked upon her son, seeing his frighteningly pale complexion and overall malaise as he clutched his bin, looking helpless.

"Oh my boy," she said, running over to him. She immediately put the back of her hand towards his head and frowned at feeling a lack of temperature.

"That's odd," she mutters. "Are you two okay?" She asks, turning to you and George who are standing off to the side, both a little scared of her reaction and Fred's symptoms.

"Yeah mum."

"Yes Molly," you both replied at the same time, trying to sound completely sincere.

"Did he eat anything on the train?" She asks, trying to smooth his hair down in the front to keep it away from his face. You could tell he tried his hardest to hold back the impending heave but he couldn't hold it any longer and dry heaved once again into the waiting bin.

"Cauldron cake," you said, thinking quickly, "he did eat a cauldron cake on the train, but we shared some fizzing whizbees, didn't we George?" You looked at George, imploring him with your eyes to go along with it.

"Yeah," George said suddenly nodding as he looked at you before turning to his mum, "maybe the cake was bad?"

Molly mumbled something in frustration as she looked at Fred before zooming out the door, muttering something about her apothecary kit which might be of use.

"Georgie," Fred says quietly as he tries to get his brother's attention. George moves closer to Fred and leans down so that Fred can whisper in his ear. You frown, watching them secretly converse, wondering what they are saying.

Molly returns not a moment later, armed with an array of various potions and elixirs which could hopefully cure Fred.

The truth was, the only thing that was able to cure their inventions quickly were the antidotes, otherwise the symptoms would stick around for roughly 24 hours at most, the effectiveness of the enchanted foods rapidly decreasing once the 12 hour mark passed with the entire malady vanishing after 24 hours. You and George both knew that Fred would be okay tomorrow but it wouldn't hurt for him to at least take some of the potions to ease his queasiness.

"Here eat this, slowly, that's right," Molly says, thrusting some form of wafer towards Fred. He pulled a disgusted face as he ate it but to his credit he did manage to consume it without gagging and keep it down. "Dehydrated ginger root, it should help with the nausea," she explained to no one in particular as she faffed about in the little case, searching for a specific bottle. She eventually gave up and pulled out her wand, mumbling accio to bring the thing she needed to the front.

"Here, drink this, it's dandelion root and burdock oil, it will help with your complexion and ease your tummy," she said to Fred, smoothing back his hair again as another wave of gagging ran through him.

He took slow sips of the potion and raised his eyebrows at the taste, clearly not expecting it to be so tasty.

"We have that at home," you said, not really sure of why you said it but it was funny to see the wizard if equivalent to a muggle drink.

"Really?" Molly asks, turning to you with a surprised look on her face.

"Yeah but it's just a fizzy drink, not really medicinal anymore," you explained with a laugh, feeling a little silly about your random tangent.

"We need to get some," Fred mumbled, drinking down the rest of the potion enthusiastically, causing Molly to loudly warn him to take it steady.

"We could nip into the village and get some for you?" You turn to George, asking him with your eyes if he'd join you, "I know where they sell it." George nodded with a little shrug. You then turned back to look at Fred and Molly who looked at you in surprise, "if it would make you feel better." Fred nodded enthusiastically with a little smile, already seeing a little more colour coming to his face.

"Oh, how lovely, what a lovely gesture," Molly said with a warm smile. "You can take your father's car, as long as you are safe," she said, fixing George with a look of warning.

"How little you think of me," George said sarcastically.

"Or how well she knows you," you snorted, reaching behind him to search for a sweater in your trunk.

"I'll go get the keys," Molly says, taking her apothecary case with her as she moves out of the room.

"Fuck," you mumbled, still searching for a sweater but not finding any.

"What's wrong?" George asks, moving to stand behind you.

"I can't find my sweater," you mumbled again, trying to dig through your belongings but coming up empty handed.

"We've got plenty, borrow one of ours," George says casually, walking straight over to the drawers on the left side of the room and pulling out a thick knitted cardigan that you'd remembered the both of them wearing to the quidditch World Cup. "This okay?" He asks, extending it towards you.

"It's perfect, thank you," you smile, reaching for it and slipping it around yourself, feeling the warmth and coziness of it already, the wonderfully comforting scent of the twins surrounding you. You couldn't help but raise the fabric of the sleeve up to your nose for a closer smell, your eyes closing as you smiled at the scent. You could tell this one was Fred's from the unmistakable but subtle marshmallow sweetness of his natural scent which George didn't have.

When you looked up, the boys were both watching you with smirks on their faces, clearly seeing everything you'd done. You blushed under their intense gazes and turned away, grabbing a few things you'd need and placing them into the little bag you'd brought, making sure you had your little coin purse of muggle money.

"You ready?" You asked George, who was stood next to Fred quietly talking. He turned and nodded, mumbling out 'nearly' and walked over to the little wardrobe hidden in a nook in the corner before pulling out a blue patterned shirt. He slipped off the polo shirt he'd been wearing and you couldn't help but watch as he stood shirtless, slipping into his blue shirt and slowly buttoning it up. You couldn't take your eyes away from him, admiring his naked torso and staring at the small patch of hair on his chest and the beautiful trail that started just below his naval and stretched downwards. He looked at you, amused with his eyebrow raised as he caught you looking and for the second time in minutes you couldn't help but blush. "Ready," he said with a firm nod, appearing by your side.

"Do you want anything else?" You asked, turning to Fred but found him sleeping, clearly exhausted by his sickness or one of Molly's potions had knocked him out cold. George reached for your waist and smiled as he guided you out the door, slowly closing the wooden door as to not wake his brother as you both went on your little adventure.

[jrooc]

🥂AO3 Wrapped🥳

Thanks @energievie @sgtmickeyslaughter and @sam-loves-seb for the taggsss

How many words have you written this year? *167,280 (aprox. minus collab work)

How many works did you publish this year? My masquerade will be lucky 13 (kinda on the line of 'this year lol)

What work are you most proud of (regardless of kudos/hits)?

In My Veins Like Lightning

Infinite Runner

I was lost but your fool

Dear Gentle Gallavich Reader

New Personal Best

How many kudos in total did you get this year? 1,825

What work of yours has the most hits? In My Veins Like Lightning

What work of yours got more feedback than you expected?

In My Veins, A New Personal Best & I was lost but your fool

Favorite title you used? I was lost but your fool

If you use song lyrics, which artist’s songs did you pull from the most? Looollll I use a lot of song lyrics 😆 Maybe Bon Iver? Frank Ocean actually probably.

Pairing you wrote the most for this year? Ian/Mickey

Favorite pairing you wrote for this year? Ian/Mickey

What work was the quickest to write? I was lost but your fool

What work took you the longest to write? In My Veins

How many WIP’s do you have in your docs for next year? 2

What’s your longest work of the year? In My Veins

What’s your shortest work of the year? Wolverine vs. Gallagher

What WIP are you taking into next year with you? 0. I have to finish my stories or they'll eat me alive

What’s your most common “Additional Tags” tag? Alternative Universe

Your favorite character to write this year? Evil Stripper Ian video game boss! I mean he fights from a stripper pole.. I'm still laughing at my own brain for that one! Also my OC Allie in IMV. The Irish mafia, Patrick, in IMV. Mickey in your fool. Infinite Runner dorky and passionate Ian. Cocky Mickey in A New Personal Best.

The character that gave you the most trouble writing this year? Struggled with time constraints so both Infinite Runner Ian and Mickey but loved how they came together.

What’s one pairing you want to explore next year? Ian/Mickey 😅

Which work of yours have you reread the most? I was lost but your fool - I basically wrote it for me so I feel less pressure when I reread it to wonder about how others see it.

Which work has the most comments? In My Veins Like Lightning by a margin 😂

Did you do any collaborative works this year? Yupp, 3

Did you write any gifts this year? 2! Infinite Runner and If You Can't Stand the Heat for @gallapiech and @grumble-fish

Did you receive any gifts this year? Memoriam from Arrow and gifts from Mandi, Comet, Rayray Molly, and Jessie. And a great little drabble from Keely!

What’s your most common category? M/M

What do you listen to while writing? must have music. Like my IMV playlist

Favorite work you wrote this year? In My Veins Like Lightning and I was lost but your fool and some moments in Infinite Runner.. and fuck it .. If You Can't Stand the Heat didn't get a lot of love but I loved it

Biggest surprise while writing this year? How much people loved my stories. I'm not far off 3K kudos total and I never expected anyone to read anything of mine in the first place. So grateful for the support and the amazing friends I've made along the way.

Favorite line/passage you wrote this year? This is wayyy too hard. I am proud of a lot of the dialogue I wrote but it'll be too long here.

"“I feel like I’ve known you my whole life, man. You feel like home. I want you to be mine.” He whispered into Ian’s skin.

It was quiet again and Mickey was sure the redhead had fallen asleep before he heard Ian speak like a secret into the silent room.

“You’re already mine.” " - I was lost but your fool

--

“No, you lose a ball or somethin’?” Case in point. “Like a shot-put ball. Or a Discus.” Ian explained, making it worse.

Mickey's eyebrows raised so high Ian thought they were going to levitate off his forehead. He snorted. “Oh, you’re a real smooth operator, ain’tcha, Budgie Smuggler?” - Read the full interactation at the bar in A New Personal Best

Tagging and sending a holiday cheers to 🥂:

@deedala only

Jk also @gallapiech

And then maybe for good measure @mmmichyyy @thepupperino @ian-galagher @lazystargazy @ms-moonlight-inn

@notherenewjersey @jessij1997 @suzy-queued @crossmydna @wehangout

@spoonfulstar @goodkwuestion @roryonic @blue-disco-lights @runninonemptyy

I'm missing ppl.. if you see this you’re tagged

[kellykidd]

Personal Matter: Chapter 2

*Gif belongs to its rightful owner, it is not mine*

Pairing: Matthew Casey x reader

Summary: Boden and the rest of 51 find out the big news

Words: 688

Warnings: sex (mentions), pregnancy (lmk if there’s any I missed)

Read on Ao3 here

Notes: You’ve returned for chapter 2!! This is what I like to refer to as a “bridge chapter” so enjoy! Thank you for reading and join the Taglist to be notified when any new chapters are posted!

Join my taglist here

Tags: @mrspeacem1nusone @kiddbegins

——

He led the way to Boden’s office, where your Battalion Chief was filling out paperwork.

“Chief, do you have a minute?” Matt asked.

“Sure, have a seat,” he gestured toward you both.

“I need to tell you something,” you announced, sitting down across from him.

“Ok,” he put his pen down and folded his hand on his desk.

“I found out this morning I am pregnant.”

Boden looked almost as shocked as Matt did when you told him.

“Yours?” Boden asked, pointing to Matt.

Matt nodded with the biggest smile you’d ever seen. 

“How long has this been going on?” 

“It was one night off shift a few weeks ago. I found out this morning and now I’d like to be transferred to OFI.”

Boden thought for a moment.

“What if you stayed at 51 and worked in the bullpen? We’ve been backed up for months, you’ll report directly to me, I think it would work out. What do you think?”

“I think that would be amazing, thank you chief.”

“Then I’ll keep you here at 51. Does anyone else in the house know?”

“Brett knows, but I’d like to tell everyone at the morning briefing, so please-“

“Yes, yes, of course. Congratulations.”

“Thank you Chief,” Matt interjected.

Boden’s phone rang and by the look on his face, you knew he had to take it.

“We’ll let you go Chief,” you announced, standing up, “thanks again.”

Matt followed behind you as Boden nodded, picking up the phone.

“This is actually gonna work,” you laughed, hugging Matt’s arm.

“Of course it’s gonna work,” he chuckled, kissing your forehead.

Out of the corner of your eye, you could see Kelly peeking into the bullpen, so you pulled away from Matt to not bring up suspicion.

“Briefing room, 5 minutes,” Matt told Severide.

“Thanks, Case.”

You led Matt into the briefing room, keeping a distance as to make sure it seemed like you weren’t just loving on each other a couple moments earlier.

Boden followed shortly behind to get the meeting started.

“One thing today, folks,” he announced, quieting the chatter, “one of our own has an announcement to make.”

Chief looked at you as you stood up.

“As of today, I’ll be transferring off 81 for a bit and into the bullpen.”

A cloud of ‘what?’ and ‘why?’ erupted, to the point you stood on your chair to get the house to quiet down. You exchanged looks with Matt, and you finally decided to tell the house.

“Honestly? I did a thing a couple weeks back and I probably should stop riding the truck for a little while,” you laughed, “wouldn’t want to be nine months pregnant and running circles around all you at a call.”

“Congratulations” came from every corner of the briefing room.

“Squad 3, dive rescue, Navy Pier,” dispatched announced. 

Severide and the rest of squad 3 leapt out of the room to their call.

“Dismissed,” Boden sighed.

You left the briefing room quickly and Stella followed behind you. Once in the bunk room, she caught up with you.

“Girl!” She exclaimed, “why didn’t you tell me?”

“I just found out this morning,” you laughed.

“Whose is it?”

“Casey’s,” you whispered.

“You slept with Casey?”

“It was one night a couple weeks ago after we both had a few too many at Molly’s.”

“You had sex at Molly’s?” 

“No,” you laughed, “he came back to my place.”

“Oh,” Stella laughed, “I mean I wasn’t gonna judge, Kelly and I have had a few good times there.”

“Well that’s something I definitely didn’t need to know.”

"Sorry," she smirked. 

——

After at least 7 calls over the rest of your shift, you were packing up your bag again, but this time to go back to your warm bed.

Matt caught up with you as you reached your car.

“We still good for tonight?” He asked.

“Of course, 6 right?”

“Already made the reservation.”

“Thanks Matt.”

“I’ve got a construction job all day today. See you tonight.”

He smiled and walked towards his truck. You loaded your bag in the back seat of your car and drove towards home.

[lectercunt]

more omega Hannibal fic list please 💗

Thanks for the request! Below are my Omega!Hannibal fic recommendations. Read responsibly and mind the tags!

The only fic ranked on this list is the first—stink in the nostrils by murdertrout. It is my favorite fic of all time, period, and just happens to be Omega!Hannibal. The last fic on the list is mine. Enjoy <3

stink in the nostrils

Secret Omega Hannibal is not pleased that he has imprinted on Will Graham. He avenges himself on his biology by getting Will Graham put behind bars. But when Will figures out what he’s been hiding and tampers with his suppressants, triggering his first heat, they both get more than they bargained for.

put your aching teeth to good use, my dear

Fromage AU. When Will sees Hannibal in his office, bloody but alive, he goes into a feral rut. Hannibal tries to pacify him.

prime

He bares his teeth in a smile that makes Will answer in kind. "I'll find you," he says; a threatening promise of his own. Will grins, and purrs for him in a way that makes Hannibal ache all over again. "Good," he replies. "I want you to."

feral

“Will,” Jack Crawford growls down the line, “Tell me Hannibal Lecter never confided in you that he was an Omega.” “Oh, shit.” “Oh, shit,” Jack agrees. They’ve come a long way from the old days, where Omegas in heat would slaughter anyone who stood between them and their chosen Alpha. Where Omegas would fight each other to the death in order to claim their prize, and some Alphas died of rut exhaustion or from injuries sustained from a too-eager Omega. Now, Omegas temper their heats with stabilizing pills and Alphas have a say in who they breed. But there would have been no stabilizing pills provided to an incarcerated Beta.

asserting dominance (dead dove!)

Hannibal has spent years of imprisonment without Will properly acknowledging their mating bond. When Hannibal sends the Dragon to kill Molly and Walter, he finally provokes Will into action: to remedy his jealous behavior by inducing his heat, and putting him in his place.

top dog, lost kitten

Hannibal, an omega catboy belonging to a rich family, finds himself drawn to a stray alpha dogboy by the name of Will. When Hannibal wanders the streets during his heat, he gets unwanted attention. As he had hoped, Will is there to look out for him.

soaked through

Season 3 AU, where Will shows his face and instead of receiving pain, Hannibal receives everything he's ever wanted.

we don't need to heal

Tired of wasting resources dealing with a horrific Omega criminal who is definitely not insane, the BSHCI and the FBI decide that the best course of action is to have him mated to an Alpha who can keep him under control. Find an Alpha for the job, and Hannibal Lecter can be out of their hands for good. Will Graham enters the BSCHI, believing himself to have been selected to interview the notorious killer about a cold case that has recently been attributed to him. What he finds instead will change their lives forever, and leave him wracked with guilt. Hannibal, on the other hand, could not be more satisfied with how things panned out for them both.

distraction

Hannibal smiles, purring softly, and leans down to nuzzle Will's forehead. "You needn't be so distressed, darling," he murmurs. There is blood on Will's neck, and his cut palm smears more fresh up his mate's bare forearm. His sleeves are rolled up to the elbows, so he can give Will all of his scent. Hannibal licks the smear of his own slick on Will's cheek, his purr for a moment growing louder. "When have I ever denied you?"

tables turned (dead dove!)

When Will turns a gun on him, Hannibal goes into heat. Will decides to toy with him before giving him what he wants.

an unexpected guest

Ten-year-old Henry Lecter’s sitter just bailed, leaving him alone to watch over his younger siblings. And that would have been fine, had a man from the FBI not chosen that precise moment to show up at their door. or Will and Hannibal got a little too close in Naka-Choko, resulting in a surprise pregnancy. Rather than having the bloody canon break-up, they took their new family, including Abigail, and skipped off to Europe for their happily ever after. Enter Jack, tracking them down almost eleven years later in the quaint Italian countryside, with only young Henry there to protect the family.

stronger than memory (dead dove!)

"Your real name can't possibly be Schatje." "It's the only real thing you need to know, Will." “Fine, at least tell me what it means.” It wasn’t a question nor a request, but a statement. "It means little treasure." “And are you, then? A little treasure?”

cover to cover (the mark of a lover)

Will and Hannibal are both Omegas. After Tobias' death, Will takes Hannibal home. Hannibal comes to the realization that, if the world will not give him the Alpha he so desires... he will create one.

time reversed

Hannibal and Will traverse an unexpected intimate development.

black in the moonlight

With his upcoming dinner with Hannibal and Jack hanging heavy on his mind, Will is drawn to Hannibal's house in the middle of the night. What he finds there affects him—for better or worse, it's hard to say.

trick me twice

Hannibal and Will are leaders of allied gangs, and were friends at one point - until Hannibal almost killed Will and sent him to prison. Now he needs Will's pack, his numbers, to stop his own pack being overrun. Will might never trust him again, but there's no reason they cannot keep things professional. At least, that's what Hannibal tells himself, as he enters the BSHCI to ask for Will's help.

a rare bouquet

Will finds himself drawn in by the darkness at Hannibal’s core—something only fully revealed in heat when the violent deaths of his alpha suitors can be legally excused. When Will witnesses the aftermath of one of those murders first hand, he feels compelled to begin a courtship, wanting to see everything that lies beneath the surface. But what he seeks is not tame, and it will take more than flowers to earn its respect.

into the wild

Alpha Will stumbles upon a feral Omega in Lithuanian forests. Too fascinated to leave him be, he follows him, not knowing what awaits him.

genesis

The fish of Hannibal's trust is a spritely and skittish thing, but Will is patient. He can follow the bubbles in the water and the shining slip of scales within the currents. He can fashion beautiful lures, both mental and physical, to please and soften his mate.

brouillé

Unthinkingly, he reaches into the drawer and pulls out the top shirt, holding it to his face and breathing in. No bleach, only the faintest trace of salt sweat, and none of the bitter fear he had expected. Instead, what Hannibal inhales is the pure, unsuppressed scent of alpha.   That’s all it takes. One. Deep. Breath.

use your words

“Don’t worry, darling,” Hannibal says softly. “I know just what you need. You’re here for a reason—because you need a Daddy to guide you. So let go of your preoccupation with control and let me take care of you.”

series: other people's hearts

Truck driver Will suddenly finds himself with an armful of bloody omega named Hannibal, far too young and pretty to be hitchhiking in the middle of nowhere, and to Will's horror… fast approaching heat.

on the grounds where we feel safe

"Single Omega household seeking a primary caretaker for high-school aged female. Must own vehicle for chauffeuring, errands, and other duties as necessary. Room and board provided, and a stipend for necessities available for negotiation. Must have open availability and be willing to submit to a background check and drug test. Immediate start." Then a name, and a phone number. Doctor Hannibal Lecter.

it takes two to nest

When Hannibal hears a commotion down the hall at the hospital, naturally he goes to investigate. When he finds out that the omega patient, a Mr. Will Graham, is struggling so hard that the doctors are having difficulties handling him, naturally he is intrigued. And when he finds out that the on-call OBGYN has been delayed, naturally he steps in to deliver Will's baby himself. Dr. Hannibal Lecter can do anything, after all. Including deliver someone else's baby while minutes away from going into labor himself.

sweet tooth

He has prepared for this, of course. No self-respecting Omega of his stature and skill would deign to let themselves be taken by surprise. Although, again, he has not expected his final heat to approach for some time, it is one of those occurrences people prepare for like Doomsday. He has plans, and bags packed, and knows what he will need to do, to make sure he makes it through the ordeal with minimal discomfort. The first step will be to hunt, to stock his fridge and his stores so he will not go hungry. The second step will be to find a suitable companion.

slow like honey

Hannibal’s childbearing years are behind him, but Will manages to send him into his first heat in years. Will offers to help him out—it’s the least he can do.

duty calls

Tonight, Will is hungry.

[deathclassic]

tag game wednesday on a thursday bc timezones

thank you for tagging me, it's appreciated @jrooc @michellemisfit @thepupperino @doshiart

@mybrainismelted @gallapiech @roryonic @spacerockwriting

@mmmichyyy @ian-galagher @wehangout @guinguin1984

@energievie

-

Name and A03 handle: molly, death_classic

Current Location: in my room

Favorite picrew (don't have one? you can skip this or do this one)?

i dont have the link anymore but it's this one, funny bc my hair kinda looks like this again even tho i made this a few years ago

What's one thing you want in a picrew?

more hair colour options bc sometimes my hair is natural with really bad green ends from regrowth like now

Favourite thing you’ve created (or seen created) for the fandom?

i kinda like my mermaid mickey i guess

Why is it your favourite?

not much to pick from lol, idk i was happy with the perspective aspect and people seemed to like it

Did it come easily or was it hard to create?

oh i restarted like 15 times and it took me like 4 days to finish bc work

Last ao3 fic you commented on?

different fandom, dont want death threats bc of it <3

Biggest WIP heartache you’ve ever experienced?

there was a gallavich fic i started reading way back in like 2012, it was never finished and it's been orphaned now

Favorite trope or head cannon you like included in a fanfic?

i like angst and whump lol

Least favourite?

historical au's? does that count? hate them

Secret or surprising kink or trope?

eh i was surprised i like dom/sub but thats kinda old now

Describe how you feel after you’ve created something new?

immense anxiety? i dont share most of what i draw bc im so anxious about sharing it. whenever i do post i often throw up afterwards and have a bit of a panic attack. i feel a lot of guilt for wanting people to see what i created and i feel embarrassed when i dont get likes or reblogs.

Top hype man you have that always helps you get across the finish line: it makes me feel anxious when people hype me up even though they mean well but im scared it wont live up to their expectations

It's been a bad day, you turn to the fandom and you _____?

search for the most angsty, hurt no comfort fic so i feel like i have a reason to feel bad

not tagging anyone bc everyone has been tagged

[disniq]

WIP game

Rules: You will be given a word. Share one sentence/excerpt from your wip(s) that start with each letter of that word.

Tagged by @flower-sniffing-friend, thinks for thanking of me <3

word: TITAN

T -

There are other people in his life.

Between Bruce and Babs and Molly, he’s been rebuilding a lot of bridges in the aftermath of the Scarecrow attacks.

Except maybe that’s the problem, because wading through the wreckage of those relationships is exhausting. The dust might have settled, but the foundations are shaky. The bricks don’t fit quite the same way anymore. Every step is slow and measured and painfully careful.

It’s hasn’t been like that with Tim. (Titans!JayTim, Groomer Bernard)

I -

It’s been a long time since Jason sold himself as a commodity, and the setup is very different to how he remembers it. For one, the venue is a lot nicer. And he’s wearing significantly more clothes. (Brujay, post-utrh Bruce memory loss)

T -

There are house rules to living at the Dawkins Centre.

Not that there weren’t rules to crashing at Wayne Manor. Or surviving on the streets. Or getting through juvie. Or anywhere else, either, Jason guesses. But this feels different.

Mostly because this is... not a second chance, exactly – he thought he’d had that with Bruce, he thought he’d had it again with the Titans.

No, this time it’s different because it feels like maybe it’s a last chance. (Titans fix it, chapter 14)

A -

“And you’re just bitter that I’m better at this game than you,” Gar sniffs, but he loads up the Grannies level Jason wanted anyway.

“I’m not the one that keeps fuckin’ dying!”

“You just did, you lying bastard!” (Titans demi-JayGar)

N-

“Not looking so hot yourself,” Jason jokes, unbothered.

He slithers into the kitchen and fixes their cups of coffee. Adds milk to both, sugar to one, and then casually slides that second mug across the counter. 

Dick is irrationally annoyed that Jason apparently remembers how he takes his coffee, but doesn’t remember it’s gauche to steal another cape’s identity and fucking kill people in it. (JayDick BiB fic)

no pressure tags for @azol-otl @thenaphorism @bonerot19 @paprikadotmp4 aaaaaaaand @deepwithintheabyss

And keeping on theme, your word is CAPE

[humanteethmarksonhumanbone]

I need to see the tma oc and I need to see the distortion door

Cough it up cmon (only if u want to)

why yes you can >:3

(i’ll tag you in the distortion door post)

(cw/tw for parent deaths, suicide & attempts crisis hot lines, mental institutions) wont get too in detail about it

LORE:

i’ll try to keep her lore fairly brief but dont worry i do plan on posting more about her (possibly write a statement about her? who knows)

her name is Molly Tindell and she is and avatar of The End with some eye coding. To sum her up in a sentence: she is a crisis hotline responder who is… very bad at her job…

After her parents died when she was younger she went to live with a devoutly religious older woman. She also becomes super religious, mainly as means of coping with the deaths of her parents.

Eventually in her collage-ish years she volunteers for a crisis hot line (i've never volunteered for a crisis hot line so i cant say I know exactly how everything works.) Its her first day and she gets called by someone she screwed over/broke up with idk, and as you could image they arnt the happiest with who responded, and well yk, kills themselves with her on the line.

this doesn't have the effect on her that you would assume (would never go back again, survivors guilt etc) NO she instead decides that it is her life's work to “help others” she ends up returning over and over to help her mission.

(i dont really how to make it clearly tma based but my ideas are:

she knows who to lull to death when she sees/senses a black fog on the other side

either that or the black vines)

she feeds the End, the End feeds her, until she begins to grow jealous of the ones shes “helped return to their God” that she too desires to be united with it.

after multiple failed suicide attempts she is admitted to a mental hospital where people cant look over her for an extended period of time because the ones that do, end up committing.

eventually she is allowed to give a statement to the magnus institute

POWERS:

-pretty much sweet talking people into dying

-being able to See the person shes on the line with (she can see the dark mist around them)

-invincibility; she cant die until The End deems her finished

-pretty much making everyone around her want to die ._.

i cant draw so here are some picrews i made of before and after avatar hood

not the most accurate envisioning i have of her but its a start

thanks for asking @oxthemoron ! i think shes pretty neat, if a bit dark

[estsmutxx]

-Call me-

Plot:Colson and his friends come to your job

warnings/tags: sex work,oral(f to m),lap dance,nipple play

You were working the last two hours of your shift as a sex worker. It was calming down until a group of 3 men came in. "Y/n,come greet them please!" Your boss shouted into the back room.You walked out to the front,standing in front of the three men. The one standing in the middle of the other two looked familiar. He was tall and blonde. "Hey." He spoke. "Hi" You responded.

"Me and my boys wanna have a good night out if you get what I mean." He said with a laugh. "Alright, I can put one of you with Molly,one of you with me,and one of you with Nina." You said,pointing to the girls as you said their names. "I want you." The blonde man said. "Come with me,Molly and Nina will take care of them." You said.

You took him into the hallway,passing multiple rooms. You finally got to yours,unlocking it then walking in with him following.

"So what can I do for you? My prices are a little higher on Friday,it's normally packed." You explained. "That's fine,I have enough." He said with a pause. "Blowjob please." He continued.

You nodded, "Of course." You let him sit down on the couch then you kneeled on the ground.

He slipped his jacket off and you immediately knew who he was by his tattoos. Machine gun kelly was at your job. Your eyes widened,but you tried to not let it distract you.

He took his pants off and you pulled his boxers down. "Ready?" You asked. He nodded and you eased him into your mouth. "God that feels good." He mumbled. He ran his fingers through your hair and pushed himself in farther.

Your attention went to his arms wrapping in your hair,for the first time ever you were actually enjoying your job. He supported your head by your hair,bobbing it up and down. His head fell back and he bucked his hips,starting to thrust into your mouth. "This okay?" He asked,slowing down his movements so you could nod.

As his movements got faster you could feel yourself getting more turned on. You squeezed your legs together,letting him thrust harder into your throat."Fuck." He groaned,his breath getting heavier. His hands went back to your hair,pulling harder. You sucked faster,feeling him twitch inside you."Fuck,that's so good." He said before finishing in your mouth. You swallowed and pulled away slowly,letting him catch his breath.

"Hey,do you have time for a lap dance?" He asked after coming down from his high. "Yes I do." You said with a smile. "Thank you." He responded. He pulled his pants and boxers up and you straddled his lap. You held each other's backs as you bucked your hips up,lifting them up then down again. "Is it okay if I kiss you?" He asked. "Yes." You responded.

He attacked his lips to yours,groaning into your mouth. You rubbed yourself against him, the throbbing feeling starting to get stronger. “Just like that.” He praised. You rolled your hips again,his hands holding your sides. “Mmm.” He let out a throaty moan.

He pulled away to catch his breath.“This feels so good,fuck.” He said,his breath getting heavier and heavier. You bucked your hips up,pushing back down on his lap suddenly. His hands wandered and you could tell he was trying to see if it was okay to touch you or not. You grabs his hands,placing him on your lower back.

“Don’t be afraid.” You whispered. He nodded,his mouth opening slightly when you rubbed harder against him. His pushed his chest against you and you could feel his fast heartbeat. “Can I fuck you? I don’t care how much it costs.” He managed to get out between groans. “Of course.” You responded.

You pulled your top off,showing your tits to him. He pulled his t shirt off and you pulled his pants down while he got yours. He pressed your bodies together,holding you on his lap and entering you. “Tell me if you want me to go slower.” He whispered,his hands cupping your tits. He massaged your nipples,a slight gasp coming out of your mouth. He steadied his moments,thrusting at a slightly fast pace.

He slipped your nipple into his mouth,licking up and down. “Mmm.” You moaned into his chest,his hand playing with the other nipple that wasn’t in his mouth. His thrusts got faster and he pulled his mouth off of you. You arched your back,forcing him deeper into you. He whimpered,your head falling back as a reaction to his sound.

“Faster.” You demanded. He listened and the feeling of him inside you plus him playing with you nipple made you close already. You were sensitive from what you did before,and you could tell he was too. “I’m close.” You said,resting your head on his chest. “Me too.” He said. He thrusted one more time and you released. “Fuck.” You mumbled. He pulled out a couple seconds later. Laying you down on his lap. He finished on your stomach,closing his eyes as he released.

He grabbed his pants,taking a tissue out of his pocket and wiping your stomach carefully. “You okay? Was I too rough?” He asked. “I’m great,you were great.” You praised. He smiled. “You were great,thank you.” He said. You nodded, “of course.” You both put your clothes back on and slowly got up. “How much do I owe you?” He asked. “400.” You answered.

He pulled out his wallet,taking out 500 then putting it into your hand. “Thank you so much.” You said. “I don’t wanna cross any boundaries,but can I get your number?” He asked. You smiled, tucking the money in your top then nodding. “Yes you can.” He handed you his phone and you typed your number,along with your name. “Call me sometime.” You said.

[pricemarshfield]

Writer Interview Game

thank you for the tag @wetcatspellcaster! honestly just this morning was talking about writing and inspiration and motivation so it was super cool to get to dive in-depth with this :) under the cut because uhhh i am chatty as all hell <3

tagging @reallyhatethiswebsite @goldfyshie927 @prettyaveragewhiteshark @pouralaura @atrueneutral @bravestworriers AND anyone else who'd like to! as always, no pressure :)

When did you start writing?

i genuinely have been writing so long that i don't remember when i started. i have distinct memories of being 6 and writing about my oc who was a babylonian priestess raised by alligators and living in antarctica in a compound full of animals, and despite being babylonian she was named athena. honestly a baller concept for me at 6 years old, i kinda still fuck with it (though i'd tweak some things. world-build a little more. probably rename her. read more than one encyclopedia page about mesopotamia)

i wrote a LOT of original stuff (read: knockoffs of whatever novels i'd read at the time) and a bit of fanfiction as a tween, got into a phase where i hated and deleted all of it and wrote WAY less as a teen, and then jumped back into fanfic with requests from my high school friend group and haven't stopped since. even when my posting has slowed, my writing hasn't; i just waffle between "post a chapter as soon as it's done" and "wait until the fic is finished and fully edited before i post a word of it". the former approach definitely works better for me because otherwise it languishes in my drafts forever (i'm sorry pricemarsh longfic. one day i will muster up the motivation to finish you).

i write Some original stuff, but more short stories than longform things. actually someone yell at me to post my molly drew backstory thing because it's one of the best things i've written in years AND fully original! (well. project zomboid. fanfic gray area but it's basically a stand-alone zombie thing, it doesn't pull from the game's lore because i don't know it lmao)

Are there different themes or genres you enjoy reading than what you write?

hm...i think i read a long more long genfics than i've written or attempted to write, which is funny because longer genfics are definitely some of the best things i've written and that have resulted in the Nicest comments and response i've ever gotten. (the only fic i've ever joined a server and had someone go "i've read this and i loved it" is a 30k genfic, and also is my magnus opus). also, i read MUCH more original fiction stuff than i write these days, even if i DO have a lot of oc ideas these days.

i'm not sure why! i don't think it's coming from a concern of lack of interest...compelled as i am by platonic dynamics, i think i just have more fun writing shippy stuff. also i write a lot of smut, so there's that. thinking about it, there mayyy be a level of spite in my not writing more original stuff, or at least not sharing it? my family is very annoying about the fact i write fic instead of original stuff, and that i am Not interested in being an author as my career. but that's a silly reason so maybe i'll hype myself up about my original stuff more lol

Is there a writer you want to emulate or get compared to often?

not that i can think of? not unless i'm writing something in a very specific genre, anyway. when i wrote my noir au martian thing i was very specifically trying to emulate works from that genre but even then not Authors so much as Works and even then more movies than books...i think there are some fantastic authors (both published and fandom!) that i'm very inspired by and learn from but none that i'd point to as a Style To Emulate. but in terms of writers, both the person who tagged me and everyone i'm tagging have writing i love enough that it makes me want to work on my own stuff. all of y'all use words SO well.

again, not a style i'm trying to emulate BUT in terms of books that got me thinking about words and world-building and writing in such a way that i was inspired to Create (a VASTLY incomplete list): mexican gothic by silvia moreno-garcia, exercises in style by raymond queneau, 253 by geoff ryman, the haunting of hill house by shirley jackson, this is how you lose the time war by amal el-mohtar and max gladstone, the martian by andy weir, and in the dream house by carmen maria machado. ALSO READ MORE CLASSICS AND NONFICTION AND POETRY...get thinking about words in different ways even if it's not the genre you want to write because it WILL help your writing grow...this is getting so far away from the question oops

Can you tell me a bit about your writing space?

...the amount of fic i've written on my dinky old laptop, in bed at 2am, directly in the ao3 textbox is FAR more than the fic i've written in any other space. (no one should do this btw.) unfortunately i write most when i compelled by ideas at at a time i shouldn't be, and my laptop is convenient

What's your most effective way to muster up a muse?

stepping away. forcing writing puts me back in a mindset that'll burn me out Longterm, and i won't even be happy with the end result. writing and also any other creative endeavor isn't something to do on its own forever; if you're not inspired, go read something! play something! draw something if you write/write something if you draw! go on a hike! try and fail to learn to crochet!

on top of helping yourself decompress from writer's block and burnout (if you're dealing with either), i feel like the muse always comes easier when i give her space. sometimes she comes back with a vengeance and that's when i write at 2am (that's when most of talk was written, and it haunted me for MONTHS. MONTHSSS. so i guess also you can muster up the muse by being down bad for the devil)

Are there any recurring themes in your writing? Do they surprise you?

all my ocs are autistic women who mask (either well or poorly) and feel fundamentally not in line with the worlds in which they're living. which could mean nothing

but also i don't really think so! i try to very consciously write different genres and themes and ideas; i think i revisit the idea of two characters who are in some way opposed realizing they're more similar than they thought, or else finding compatibility In their differences maybe?? which isn't surprising but also i think indicates more a desire to build up a relationship as part of a plot rather than saying something about Me, Specifically

wait no i lied. in dnd and dnd-related fandoms specifically i write a LOT of stuff vis a vis divinity and expectations and the dichotomy of good/evil in the setting not necessarily matching with any sort of real-world morality/philosophy and the horror inherent to godhood (on both the side of the god and the follower.) i'm not a particularly religious person nor was i raised as such, so not sure Why, but it's very interesting to me!!

What is your reason for writing?

i want to read it and no one's gonna write it exactly like i will!! but also...it's fun. i like getting into a character's head. i like figuring out how to get from scene a to scene b in a way that doesn't take away from the narrative. i LOVE getting to see the ways a story can shift outside its outline (my outlines are very bare-bones, so this happens a lot). it's something that i enjoy and that i can share with people.

Is there any specific comment or type of comment you find particularly motivating?

any comment that shares something about my writing that either i was actively trying to do or that i didn't notice at all. the first is a delight because it means someone gets what i'm going for!! hell yes! and then the latter is a look at my writing through someone else's eyes which is just so so nice. either one feels like Connecting with people over my writing which is! the goal! so hell yes!

really though any comment that isn't "write more" is motivating to me. someone once left a keysmash and nothing else in the comment box and it motivated me to pick up another wip for the same pairing and write another chapter

How do you want to be thought about by your readers?

i am a human being and not a content machine <3 this doesn't come up a lot anymore but i used to have to deal with a lot of asks and requests that would demand more fic even as all my posts were about the immense grief i was dealing with at the time lol.

but also i want to be seen as a person who can be approached! send me asks about what i've written, dm me, tell me about zines and fanweeks and things like that! i literally live with someone i met in a fandom space, fandom works best when it's a thing you share with people rather than a thing you Consume and expect Recognition for. (not that recognition is BAD, but like...see it as connection first and content second, ykwim? i also say this knowing i'm bad about reaching out first but. yeah. i'm working on it!)

slight tangent but you've already read this far so <3 i also feel like fandom these days has moved to more private spaces rather than public appreciation...like, how many fandom events get shared primarily in discord servers that a new fan might not know to join? how many people only get hyped up by people they've already talked with? how many people gush over a fic in a server and then never mention it to the author? i want to be approachable because i want to actually Engage with people without having to join 80 discord servers for different niche things and hope i find a place i vibe with. (nothing against discord specifically--anyone can ask for mine, and i met some dear friends that i'm tagging through a fan discord server, but i hate social connection in fandom being Limited to that.) okay tangent over

What do you feel is your greatest strength as a writer?

this is so specific lol but i think i'm really good at flow and sentence structure. like...i feel like i space out my sentences and paragraphs well to keep things from getting too jarring even while being wordy as all hell in a smut oneshot. (there's a reason my first tav is a bard multiclass with the sage background, and it's because neither of us can or will shut up <3)

How do you feel about your own writing?

honestly? pretty damn good. i'll still go through what every writer does where i reread my own stuff and think it sucks sometimes, but i think i've gotten to a place in my writing where i can enjoy it as it stands even if i notice something i'd edit differently. it helps that i've started writing a lot more SELF-indulgently rather than request-indulgently (though please do still send requests if you want! <3 i just mean that i'm not ONLY writing things for other people)

[ask-indigo-park-swapped]

hello person behind the curtain!! the curtain master if you will :) i'm not like super cool and all but i just wanted to say ur doing great with this ask blog and i can't wait to see more of it!! this blog has indirectly (or directly?? who knows) made mollie my fav character!! if we're allowed to ask questions, i do have a few..! 1. what are your pronouns

2. do you have another blog or socials just for like. ur art. i like a lot :]

3. who's ur fav indigo park character in the game and in this au!! i hope u have a banger day/night and ur don't forget ur super awesome and touched loads of ppl (me) with ur work!! oh and have this: You've obtained a self-sustaining pocket sized cat! please take good care of it and i hope it helps improve ur mood when u ever feeling blue okay this was long um bye bye!!!! *runs away*

<naw im sure youre cool in your own way!! youre plenty sweet anyway, thank you for being so invested in my silly little au :DD!!>

<pronouns are funny little things :33c i generally do not care and in fact am encouraging yall to go wild with what pronouns you use for me. check out the pronoun closet if you need ideas for neopronouns to go wild with> <thank you for liking my art!!! im @niftukkun both on here (tumblr) and furaffinity!! i generally tag my art as [#my art] but if youre hoping for more indigo park look somewhere else lmao i dont draw it as much outside of this askblog> <salem for both!! very gender i love them lots. also i have a particular fondness for both potionmakers and shopkeepers so like of course shes favourite>

<again youre very sweet thank you!! ill keep my awesomeness in mind, and i will cherish this lil cat friend. thank you for your curiousity and kindness!!>

[browneyesandhair]

The Changeling by Annerb

Summary:

Ginny is sorted into Slytherin. It takes her seven years to figure out why.

Relationship: Harry Potter/Ginny Weasley

Characters: Ginny Weasley, Harry Potter, Draco Malfoy, Ron Weasley, Fred Weasley, George Weasley, Hermione Granger, Luna Lovegood, Tom Riddle, Bill Weasley, Arthur Weasley, Molly Weasley, Severus Snape, Fleur Delacour, Original Female Character(s), Original Male Character(s), Millicent Bulstrode, Hannah Abbott, Charlier Weasley, Neville Longbottom, Astoria Greengrass, Terry Boot, Flora Carrow, Hestia Carrow, Minerva McGonagall, Demelza Robins

Additional Tags: AU, Drama, Angst, Women Being Awesome, Slytherin Ginny Weasley, Mostly Canon Compliant

Notes: Okay, lets talk about this fic. This is a god-tier fic. I'm literally so obsessed with it. How many times can I reread a story before the author tries to murder me? Thank goodness a03 lets me keep leaving reviews. I can't say enough nice things about this story.

Also, the best part? There are sequels that are equally as lovely.

1. pick it up, pick it all up and start again by Annerb

Summary:

The thing about war is that it never ends. Not really. The battlefields just change locations. Harry and Ginny after the war. (Sequel to The Changeling)

2. we can still be, who we said we were by Annerb

Summary:

Navigating distances and finding your way back home. Harry and Ginny after the war. Second in the Armistice Series.

3. in my head we do everything right by Annerb

Summary:

It’s not as easy as it sounds, going from hypotheticals to reality. Harry and Ginny navigate life after Hogwarts. Third in the Armistice Series.

(This is part of my year of recs. I'm trying to share some of my favorite stories on tumblr. I've set up a series of Soulmate recs for each month on the 15th, but these will be randomly dispersed throughout the year.)

[everybodyknows-everybodydies]

AO3 wrapped!

tagged for two variations of this game by @pia-writes-things and @marylairre - thank you both!! :D combining the two below the cut... this was neat to see haha

20,484 words in 23 fics across 3 fandoms

Top 5 fandoms by word count:

TES (17,786) ER (1,549) The Last Unicorn (478)

Top 5 characters by fic count (this made me laugh):

Kharish (7) Colette (5) Hallie (5) Nerevar (4) Molly (4)

Top 5 ships by fic count:

because I only tag a ship when there's something Romantic(TM) happening/the relationship is already established, so as not to mislead anyone looking for specifically romance-focused fic, I have exactly two this year: trainwreck trio tree-climbing and Kharence kiss :')

Ratings:

G (22) T (1)

Fic categories:

Gen (21) F/F (1) Multi (1)

1) Biggest surprise while writing this year?

being able to stick to a fairly consistent schedule about it lol!

2) How many WIPs do you have in your docs for next year?

throws a blanket over wip mountain. at least ten but who knows how many will end up going anywhere!

3) Favourite character to write this year?

PICK A WIZARD ANY WIZARD... special shoutout though as I was genuinely surprised by the character count up there because there is so much of Faralda and Mirabelle in my word docs whoops

4) The character that gave you the most trouble this year?

Martin ;-; he has such a specific presence and I wasn't satisfied with most of what I was trying to do this year. need to replay Oblivion soon to take notes

5) What’s one pairing you want to explore next year?

cough............. would like to commit to posting some of the silly little fluff in my docs perhaps. does that count

6) Did you receive any gifts this year?

not on ao3 but yes!! I got to read some wonderful birthday fic from friends :3 and actually earlier this month this one Lemon posted for me making it to day 10,000 of existence :'D

7) Did you do any collaborative works this year?

nope!

8) What do you listen to while writing?

character-specific playlists! I make them mostly to have a soundtrack for when I'm writing/drawing, and I find it helps a lot to keep my thoughts getting too scattered to proceed.

9) Favourite line/passage you wrote this year?

the quick cuts in this one... I know one of my bigger weaknesses is that I inevitably err on the side of saying less instead of more, but sometimes I think that can be a strength too!

thanks again y'all for the tags!! if you've read this far I am tagging YOU YES YOU