#the fact that Keith is just standing there

[lil-melody-moon]

[kusatta]

" my dad . . . he actually taught me know how to play jingle bells on the piano — wanna listen ? " / @skyguarded.

[justinspoliticalcorner]

Keith Edwards at No Lies Detected:

Fascism doesn’t come for every generation, but it has come for ours.  This is not a fight on the beaches of Normandy, but in our own country. This article begins a series on what opposing Donald Trump and his movement can look like. I hope you will join me as these progress.

[...]

Do not leave. Faced with the might of the United States government aligned against you, you might consider resigning preemptively to avoid the humiliation of inevitable termination. This is counterproductive for at least two reasons: If you leave, you save Trump Administration officials the time and effort of identifying you, which otherwise could have taken months or years. Second, your principled stand would likely only result in your replacement by an unprincipled Trump loyalist. By staying on, you may find yourself helping to implement policies you find hateful, but by refusing to leave, you can ensure that you have some influence on those policies, because then you can...

Delay. Delay. Delay. Waiting out the enemy until he moves on, gives up, or forgets is a time-honored strategy not just among civil servants but also history’s best generals. That email about a proposed rule change to healthcare protections? Bury it in everyone’s inbox by sending it late. A meeting on reviewing the U.S. government’s foreign aid commitments to a region you oversee? Oops, you’ll be out that day! That agency conference your political-appointee boss requested you arrange? Next month didn’t fit everyone’s schedule, so you had to push it to after the new year! Slow-walking is the classic tool in any bureaucrat’s toolbox, and in the next Trump Administration, you can use it in defense of the Constitution.

Be intentionally incompetent. As a career employee, you likely have always had the advantage of knowing your workplace better than your politically appointed overlords. This is perhaps your most potent weapon against Trump. Draft rules unlikely to survive judicial review. Favor lengthy rulemaking or review processes over expedited ones. Complete tasks sequentially rather than in parallel to draw out timelines. Add complexity, stakeholders, and process wherever possible. In short, exploit the knowledge gap you hold over your bosses to diminish, defuse, and defeat their plans.

Leak. Federal employees have the right to report what they believe to be illegal or abusive of authority to their agency’s inspector general (IG) without fear of retaliation. Trump however has singled out IGs for replacement after one played a pivotal role in his first impeachment, so the availability of this option may depend on how politically prominent your agency is. Fortunately, you can anonymously tip prominent news outlets like the New York Times and Washington Post, which boast extensive investigative units and employ rigorous safeguards to protect sources’ identities. You can also seek out sympathetic elected officials, such as Democratic members of the House Oversight Committee, whose main function is investigation of the federal government. (If you choose disclosure, be sure that the information is not classified, the unauthorized disclosure of which carries stiff federal penalties.)

Disregard and refuse. When you have exhausted all other options, you may want selectively to resort to riskier behaviors. These include going behind political appointees’ backs to subvert their activities, say by picking up the phone and countermanding their directions. In extreme cases, you may have outright to refuse direct orders to the appointee’s face. Though such actions seem like a fasttrack to termination, you may still be protected by the fact that overwhelmed political appointees might hesitate to go through the onerous process of finding a politically reliable replacement. Remember, the longer you stay in, the harder you make it for Trump to do what he wants. Know your rights. If the worst happens and your agency moves to terminate you, you can still fight back. There are multiple avenues an employee designated for dismissal can pursue to delay, reduce, or reverse agency penalties against them.1 The beauty of these options is that they can take months or even years to resolve and may be appealed to higher bodies, further extending the process. All the while, you are collecting a salary and occupying a full-time equivalent (FTE) position that your agency can’t fill until you finally depart. (This is not legal advice. If you find yourself in this situation, please seek a lawyer.)

Keith Edwards writes in his No Lies Detected Substack on how civil servants can show resistance to the tyrannical Trump 2.0 Regime from within.

[catsushinyakajima]

Why Lance is fire and Keith is water

A big mischaracterization of Lance is that he's not a fiery guy, when in fact his personality resembles fire in so many ways. He's hot-headed, far more than Keith, and that's something that's easily missed because Keith is such a reactive guy. Majority of the fights between Keith and Lance are started by Lance. Lance is also quick to always call out bullshit. He's very passionate about what he does and he always has something to say.

Lance has a temper and I think its so crucial to his character and his dynamic with Keith because without it, their relationship becomes a lot more mellow. Most of the time Keith is just standing like an NPC and Lance will get irritated by that and have something to say, hence causing a fight. Lance has the fire, always has, and it simply reflects on Keith.

I'd like to second this point by saying Keith's personality resembles water. Not that he's completely chill and passive, although he can be. But he's extremely turbulent and malleable. If Lance will start a fight he'll match the energy-he'll shape himself into a fighter. Keith has always been moving around from place to place and he's always had to mold himself into what's most suitable for survival, the same way water clings to a glass. He's got a lot of emotional conflicts within him. The fact that Keith's characterization is very similar to water is also alluded to in the fact that Lance is very drawn to both the ocean (water!) and Keith alike. He can't stop pursuing either.

Now I'm not saying that Lance and Keith are opposites when I call them fire and water because I don't think they're opposites at all. Both can grow/spread to great lengths, both carry a storm, and both can also be kind and gentle and necessary to live (ex: a fire provides warmth and water provides sustenance). Water can fuel fire, the same way Keith grows Lance's fire. Fire can also make water steam and boil, the same way Lance makes Keith react. If the water is greater than the fire, the fire will fizzle out; but if the fire is greater than the water, the water will evaporate. They'd have to be on equal levels for this cause-effect relationship to work. And Lance and Keith have always been on equal level (despite any internal insecurities). They always been neck to neck.

Keith and Lance had great characters that could've been explored more. Regardless of if you ship them or not, they had the potential to be very well written foil characters. Unfortunately that didn't happen :(.

[lovebugism]

the combo "they have to work together and they hit a realization on how its not too bad" + "fuck you" "when" w eddie pleeeasseeee

ty for requesting :D — the kids hatch a plan to get their favorite arcade workers to stop hating each other. it works out a lot better than they thought (enemies to lovers, 1.5k)

You wipe down a few grimy tables — all of which seem to be perpetually sticky at The Palace Arcade — with nothing but a damp cloth and a stubborn determination. You’re interrupted by a finger poking you expectantly in the back. 

You look slowly over your shoulder to find Max Mayfield standing behind you. Her auburn hair is parted into two plaits, and her freckled arms are crossed firmly over her chest. She leads the pack of regular teenage boys that typically accompany her here, obviously meaning business.

“Street fighter?” she wonders vaguely, in the place of any actual greeting.

“Out of commission,” you answer in a monotone before turning back to the table in front of you. You keep scrubbing at the stubborn ring of dried soda until she taps you on the shoulder again. “What?” you say with a dramatic huff.

“I know you got it working again,” Max insists with an arched brow. “Just like I know Keith’s keeping it hostage in the back so no one else can play.”

Both statements are only partially true. 

Eddie Munson and his self-proclaimed magic fingers (which you’ve begged him to stop referring to) managed to bring the dead machine back to life. Mostly. It lives primarily in the back room now, because there’s no use in bringing it out if it’s hardly alive. Keeping it to yourself, and away from the sticky fingers of middle school kids, is just a bonus.

You blink at the kids with a deadpanned stare.

Dustin Henderson, getting the sense that you’re about to shut them down again, decides to blurt, “We’ll help you wipe down the tables!” You meet his offer with an unwavering squint, wondering how far you can push him. He caves immediately. “And… clean the bathrooms.”

Lucas whips his head to the side. “Dustin!” he shouts.

“What?” the curly-haired boy cowers.

“It’s a deal,” you hum with a proud grin. Abandoning your bleach-stained cloth on the wiped-down table, you walk through the group of teenagers and towards the back hallway. “Follow me,” you usher unenthusiastically.

You find that the dead machine is still, in fact, dead when you burst into the back room with a gaggle of high schoolers behind you. 

Eddie’s popped open the bottom compartment to try and bring it to life again. He lies on his back with the top half of his body swallowed in the machine, working on the inside wires with lanky, tattooed arms. The hem of his shirt rides slightly upward, revealing the softness of his stomach and the trail of hair sprinkled there.

With your senses partially delayed by the strangely pretty sight, you don’t catch the kids running out of the room until they slam the door in your face. You rattle the metal knob with an aggressive hand. It refuses to budge.

“Ugh— You little shits!” you shout at the closed door.

Eddie, startled by the sudden chaos, bangs his head on the machine when he sits up. “Shit,” he grimaces once he’s fully in view again. He rubs at the top of his skull and squints over at you. “What the hell’s going on?”

“They locked us in here,” you grouse.

“Who?” the boy wonders with his face twisted in confusion and very distant disgust. “Why?”

“You’re not coming out until you kiss and make up,” you hear Dustin Henderson instruct, though his lisp is mostly muffled through the shut door.

“When I get out of here, you guys are dead,” you threaten in a monotone to the out-of-sight teens. “You know that, right?”

“We’ll take that risk,” Lucas snickers.

You huff when you hear them shuffle down the hall again, leaning your weight on the locked door with your eyes fluttered shut. Eddie just watches you, still sitting in the same position on the vibrantly patterned carpet. “I’m confused…” he mumbles after a few seconds of heavy silence.

“Unsurprising,” you scoff.

Eddie laughs to himself. The boyish sound strikes nothing short of inhuman rage in your chest. An impossible fire to breathe through. “Well, you’re particularly bitchy this morning,” he lilts and rises from the ground.

“I’m supposed to be working, but instead, I’m stuck in here with you,” you deadpan. “So I think I’m allowed to be a little bitchy right now, Munson.”

“Well… I’m on break, so…” He flashes you a stupid pink grin as he reaches for the outdated Pacman machine, which has conveniently plated his PB&J. He plucks the sandwich from the napkin it sits on and takes a sloppy bite. Jelly smears along the corner of his mouth. Your face swirls with disgust at the sight.

You turn back around and bang at the door with a closed fist. “Alright! You can let us out now!” you yell, hoping someone can hear you. “This isn’t funny anymore!”

“Stop trying. It’s too late,” Eddie mumbles with his mouth full. “They’re long gone. Probably for the next several hours… Either until Dustin beats his Dragon’s Lair high score or until one of them gets home and thinks to themselves… ‘Wait. I feel like I forgot something…’”

He rambles mindlessly to himself while he tugs the brown crust off his sandwich. He pops the piece of bread into his mouth and flits his gaze back to you. He finds you swallowing down a smile. ‘Cause you refuse to let the freak make you laugh.

“Whatever. I’m not taking the fall for this,” you huff and shake your head. 

You sit on the cracked pleather stool across the room from Eddie, in front of a deconstructed machine. The boy scoffs at your dramatics. “Shut up. Keith loves you. We both know I’m gonna be the one getting blamed for this shit.”

“Good.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I don’t know,” you shrug. “This is your fault somehow.”

“Trust me, sweetheart. This isn’t any better for me than it is for you.”

You roll your eyes. “Shut up.”

Eddie downs the rest of his sandwich in another too big bite. “Getting locked in a room with the Princess of Hawkins High isn’t exactly a bucket list item for me,” he says through the mouthful, then licks peanut butter off the pad of his thumb. “It’s more of a waking nightmare, honestly.”

You try hard to stay composed. You know he’s just fishing for a response. He wants you to be angry, and the problem is it’s working. You break before you mean to. “Fuck you, Eddie,” you bite, eyes narrowed in a challenging squint.

The boy approaches you with a tightlipped smile. He peers at you beneath his lashes, half-hidden in his hair as he flashes you an innocent look. “When?” he quips.

He towers over you while you stay sitting, scowling up at him with an emotionless glare. “You’re insufferable,” you deadpan after a few long moments.

Eddie’s grin widens. “I know.”

“And I hate you,” you press, just to really drive it home. 

You might be overcompensating. Just a little. Almost like you’re prefacing what you know you’re about to do. ‘Cause he’s close enough to kiss and too pretty for his own good. The proximity is maddening.

“Wanna makeout about it?” Eddie smirks.

You don’t humor him with a response. You just grab him by the neck of his Palace Arcade tee and drag his mouth down to yours. The kiss is full of tongue and teeth, passionate with hate and a lingering fury. 

His lips are softer than flower petals and taste faintly of sweet jelly. He kisses you with his delicate mouth, hard enough to knock you into the broken machine behind you. He holds the wooden edge of it with one ringed hand and cradles the back of your neck with the other. The thing hits the wall every time his tongue swipes against your own. 

His touch is achingly loud. The rattling of the door knob across the room almost goes unheard. You hear the comically loud squeal of rusted hinges and push apart from each other like you’ve suddenly caught the plague. 

You swipe Eddie’s spit from your mouth with the back of your hand as Keith bursts into the room — with wide-eyed teenagers standing behind him.

“What the hell!” Eddie gapes, lips rosy and softly swollen.

“Sorry…” Lucas winces. “We thought we heard banging.”

“I told them not to bother you,” Max chirps knowingly from behind him.

“We were scared you guys we’re, like, actually fist fighting or something,” Mike confesses.

You rise from the stool, keeping several conspicuous inches between you and Eddie. You nod and pull your shirt down from where it had ridden up. “Well, we were actually, so…”

“Fist fighting?” Dustin echoes.

“Yep.”

“With… your mouths?”

You swallow hard. “…Uh-huh.”

Silence lulls over the tiny backroom, making it feel that much more suffocating. You decide to make your escape with a heavy sigh, shoving past the bodies in the doorway without so much as a look their way. 

Eddie follows behind you — not because he’s on the same mission, but because your ass looks really good in those jeans.

“God…” Keith grumbles behind him, in his signature slurred monotone. “This is so coming out of your paychecks.”

[sp0o0kylights]

You know what I want to see, I want to see more of Steve, Eddie, and Robin being 1980s small town kids from Indiana, by which I mean;

Robin is The Source of Gay Knowledge purely because her parents host Hippie Christmas and she managed to sneak away to find a neat bookstore in Indiana once. 

Her knowledge is not in depth. It's patchy, woven together through rumors, stories she heard or things she picked up from her parents' old pictures. She's got a handful of zines, one book, and some movies she managed to order for Family Video behind Keith's back.

She acts like she's Queen of the Queers because in Hawkins she pretty much is.

(Max and El ask her what a lavender marriage is once, something they overheard snooping around. 

Robin confidentially answers that it's code for when one woman dresses up as a man, fooling officials into wedding two woman.

She does not live this down two years later when they find out what it actually means.) 

Eddie doesn't spend every weekend in Indianapolis. 

Gas is expensive, his busiest days of his "job" is Friday and Saturday, and he has no fucking clue what the hanky code is. 

He's wearing that bandana because Metallica front singer James Hetfield has one on all their tour posters. 

Eddie does make it down to a gay bar though, by accident. Rick needed some back up for a shady deal. Promised Eddie a boatload of free drugs to sell if he agreed to just stand there and look mean. 

He was warned the bar they were meeting in was 'weird' and to not 'freak out' --which Eddie thought was hilarious given his nickname and general appearance, but whatever.

He doesn't understand when they get there, because it's just a bunch of hot men with hanky's in their back pockets everywhere.

Then he sees two women kissing and it clicks. 

He can't out himself in front of Rick, but one of the bartenders playfully dresses him down for his own hanky, letting him know all about the code and teasing him through his embarrassment. 

He's got an offer to come back and learn what color and which pocket his hanky should actually be in, a prospect Eddie was salivating at until Chrissy Cunningham up and died on his ceiling.

(He still wore the hanky, because the feeling of that bartender tugging it out and stuffing it back in might be the closest thing he's ever had to sex and he absolutely wants a repeat. 

He's young and horny, sue him.) 

Steve Harrington may not be academically smart but he's not dumb. 

He figured out a while back that the basketball team as a unit probably crossed the queer line more than once--or at least it did before Hargrove came in. 

( Brad Handly for example, went around slamming kids into lockers and screaming slurs like a fucking movie villain one Monday because the varsity team got dead drunk at Laura's party on Sunday and hey, look, there weren't that many girls there, okay?

They all had fucking hands and mouths. Everybody but Tommy was single and hot to trot. Nothing gay about it.

Its not even like they were kissing or treating each other like chicks. It was just Brad's first time and they got to tease him later for overthinking it. 

Dude graduated soon enough after and given Steve was on the team as a sophomore, he hadn't thought about the guy and why he might be freaking out so bad in years.) 

Robin's entire panic attack at Starcourt, and a few more after had Steve replaying that whole incident. Reframed it a bit, and, yeah.

In retrospect that had been extremely gay, actually. 

It sat with him a lot easier than he'd thought it would. Partially because of Robin, but mostly because that's just who he was.

Stranger things had happened to Steve and this one didn't want to kill, maim or otherwise eat him, so it got filed under 'interesting facts he should never tell his parents if he wanted to keep his trust fund' and then he went about his day. 

(Or he tried too, anyways.

It caught up to him when Eddie and Robin somehow figured out the other was queer and dragged him along to some bar Eddie had a standing invitation at, with demands for Steve to do what he did best.

Babysit.

Their magical trip was utterly destroyed when Brad Handly happened to be the very same bartender who had given Eddie the invite.

 Considering Brad's immediate bark of laughter followed by a hug and introducing himself as "Steve's gay awakening", Steve ended up having to speedrun through Eddie and Robin both having a crisis for him.

It didn't help that Steve had politely, and laughingly, corrected Brad with a casual; 

"Pretty sure that was Tommy man, but if it helps I think that tongue of yours gave Matt Burdon a crisis."

--which ended up with him answering a lot more gay sex questions with Brad than he cared too. 

At least he, through Brad, was able to help Robin connect to some local lesbians and--after a second crisis from Eddie regarding how Steve managed to have more sex than "the resident town freak and guy who actually knew he was gay, Steve!"-- even helped Eddie out by catching the metalheads tongue with his mouth later that evening.

The last one landed him a boyfriend, trust fund be damned.) 

[iloveboysinred]

Hii, I love your Keith content 😔🙏🏻

Can you do Keith and Reader almost getting caught by one of the other Paladinsss I would actually burst

thank you anon bub <3 i'll always write for keith just for heartys like you (pls don't explode??)

but let's get into this ask real quick! you all already know that in my mind, Keith is a quickie feen. An impatient one, if we're being exact.

it wasn't rare to be bent over or folded up in the most open of places.

Which is why you don't really think twice about being bent over right on the kitchen counter, plates and cups scattered around after what was supposed to be a 'quick midnight snack'.

You're gripping onto the counter for dear life, biting your lip raw as Keith slides in and out of you. Your bodies are loud, the wet sound of dewy, sweat-slicked skin slapping together as his hips drive into you over and over and over again, stuffing you full until your legs wobbled from the strain of trying to hold yourself in place.

Keith's trying to keep quiet, holding his shirt between his teeth and swallowing his own moans. He knew this was risky, he knew the both of you would never live it down if you got caught--but when your plush walls squeeze around his aching dick tighter, sucking him into your warmth with little to no resistence, he finds that he almost doesn't give a fuck who sees you.

almost

Footsteps and low murmur's way down the hall drag you out of your pleasure induced haze, your eyes widening in alarm as you turn back to look at Keith, panicked when he didn't relent, instead gripping your hips tighter and pulling you down to grind into you, his tip pressing into your nerves so deliciously you almost swallow your own tongue to conceal your sounds.

"Keith" you panted placing your hand on his abdomin, as far as you could reach to still his movements. "Someone's coming. stop."

a fun fact about the castle is that everything echoes. You can never really gauge how far someone is from you until they're right around the corner becaue the footsteps echo so loudly. A plus on those rare occasions where someone sneaks into the castle, but a negative when you're in a predicament such as this.

Keith leaned over you, so close his chest pressed up against your back. He nipped at your ear, his warm breath fanning over the side of your face in low pants. "do you really want me to?" he didn't move, but you could feel him inside. He was filling you so well, his body hot and pressed against yours..

you knew you should've said no. especially when the footsteps sounded a whole lot closer than they were a minute ago. But the less rational part of your brain (the horny part) was louder than your better judgement. You rolled your hips back into him, feeling like he's been standing still for too long. way too long.

"No" you whined, bouncing and gridning against his lap the best you could manage with his weight still on you. "Fuck it, just be quick."

famous last words.

Keith nipped the side of your neck in appreciation. his hips started up again, this time quicker in tempo almost as if he was making up for the precious seconds you both wasted trying to make up your minds. He reaches between your legs, stimulating you until you saw white, your legs shaking from the exlilerating shocks of pleasure shooting through your body, your stomach clenching with the effort of swallowing the wanton moans you so desperately want to release. You dont even get to bask in the afterglow before you see Hunk's silhouette just a step away from entering the kitchen.

Before the light flickered on, Keith quickly pulled your sleep shorts up, tucking himself hastily away in his pants. When the lights turned on, you looked a mess, Your hair dishevled and Keith's clothes crumpled and hanging off his body. Hunk regarded you with a brief look of confusion.

"why were you guys just sitting in the dark?" he mumbled, eyes barley open in a sleepy daze. "oh! we um..forgot to turn the lights back on?" "yeah..we just came in here just to get some water. " a lame excuse, but how else could you explain yourselves? "oh. okay.." Hunk didn't question you further, simply grabbing a glass from the counter and turning the lights off on his way out, quietly commenting about the mess and bidding you both goodnight. You let out a sigh of relief, turning towards Keith who wrapped his arms around your waist, pulling you flush against his body. "let's go back to my room" he muttered against the crown of your head. "i'm not done yet."

horndog Keith for the win fuck all that shy shit

[ddejavvu]

please send me requests for the outsiders!

pairing: the outsiders x fem!reader, darrel curtis x fem!reader (ambiguous), sodapop curtis x fem!reader (ambiguous)

summary: you offer darry some help around the house

a/n: i just want to help him, those bum ass boys never did shit around the house i KNOW IT. i'll help you with dusting darry baby </333

You're trying to tamp down the silly pride in your chest that you've been invited to one of Sodapop's 'Bum Around at Home' days. You're casual friends with a few of the guys from their circle of friends, but Sodapop was one you hadn't thought you were too close with; not until he'd offered to bring you along to hang out at his house with the group. Plenty of his and Steve's stories have started out with, 'while we were bummin' 'round the house' and now you're eager to be included in the larger group dynamic.

You know the outside of the house from the times you'd walked Ponyboy home from school, a few years older than him but still friendly through outside studies. You'd also stopped by once to drop something off for Johnny, but that's only because his own house was not a fit place for guests. You've never actually been inside until now, and the soft, warm lighting makes up for what Sodapop had affectionately referred to as their 'lack of housekeeping'. He's not wrong, there's chores undone, dishes in the sink and laundry draped over the table, but it's homey, somewhere you can tell people live in. It's nice.

"Take a seat on the couch there," Soda gestures to it when he opens the door, "Two-Bit, move your ass, Y/N needs to sit."

"Woah, a lady guest today. Should've worn my fancy sneakers, "Two-Bit snickers, "Only got three holes in 'em instead of four. How's it goin', Y/N?"

You know Keith from school, he'd spent an equal amount of time doing his classwork as he did tugging on your hair from where it drapes over the back of your seat. But still you remember laughing with him at his immature humor, and you settle down beside him with a smile.

"Not bad. Are those all yours?"

An impressive smattering of empty beer bottles sits beside the couch by Two-Bit's feet, and he kicks one over with a shoe that does, in fact, have four holes in it.

"Some are from last night."

"He's been here for two days," Soda scoffs, taking the seat on your other side, "Surprised he hasn't started collecting dust yet."

"Hey, I move!" Two-Bit insists, "Gotta take a piss after all the beers I've been drinking."

Ponyboy looks displeased that he'd chosen that moment to walk out of the kitchen, a glass of water in hand. His nose wrinkles and you can't help but laugh, waving politely at him where he stands in the doorway.

"Hey Pony," You call, "How's school?"

"It's alright." The younger boy shrugs, settling tentatively across from the couch, leaning against the side of the television, "Walking home isn't as much fun without you, though."

You smile fondly at the kid, glad that you no longer had to deal with the perils of high school but missing his company all the same.

"I'm sure you get along okay with Johnny. Where is he, by the way? 'Thought you said everyone'd be here."

"He and Dallas went to get more cigarettes, I think." Pony hums, leaning his head against the TV, "Only one missing is Steve. I don't know where he is."

"He's working today." Soda sighs longingly, "Wish he'd gotten off, but there ain't enough of us to cover. We're almost the only employees."

"And your other brother," You hum softly, "Uh- Darrel?"

"He's heading to work soon." Soda props a leg up on the sofa, shoe still on and surely dirtying the fabric, "He works every day. He's just getting ready now, you can say hi before he leaves if you want."

You hum noncommittally, turning your attention to the grainy cartoon Two-Bit is enraptured in. It's white noise, but you itch to do something- perhaps you're not made for bumming around.

The screen door rattles with the entrance of Johnny and Dallas, and you share a less-familiar nod and smile with the latter than you do with Johnny. He's never bothered you- never crossed your path, really, but you've heard rumors and you're not keen to be messed with now. It seems your plan works: He stays a respectable distance from you, equally uncaring.

"Didn't know you were comin'." Johnny smiles, settling at your feet with his back to the couch, "Would've offered to grab you something from the store if we knew."

"I'm okay for now." You assure him, nudging his side with your calf where he sits beside your legs, "Thanks, Johnny. You doing okay?"

"Not bad." He shrugs, "Not worse than usual."

You nod, silent and understanding.

"Alright boys," Darrel makes his appearance from one of the back rooms, but when his eyes catch yours, he starts slightly, "Oh- uh. Sorry. Don't think we've met."

"I'm Y/N," You supply, reaching for the hand that he extends to shake, "I went to school with everyone for a bit, but I graduated last year."

Darry nods but Soda cuts in, "Yeah, and her car's a hunk of junk. She's been into the DX for repairs so much lately I know her serial number by heart."

"Hey! It's not junk," You elbow him, but a good-natured smile spreads over your face despite your offense; he's right - "It's got personality."

"The kind'a personality that won't let you brake while the windows are down."

You take the resulting unanimous snort from the men around you with grace, because admittedly, your car is ridiculous. But it's all you can afford, so you'll take their teasing in stride.

"Well it's nice to meet you." Darry sends you a smile, but it fades quicker than you'd have liked, "Maybe you can make sure none of these knuckleheads smoke more than a pack today. And maybe wash the dishes for once." Darry swats Ponyboy on the back of the head, and the boy's face twists into a scowl.

"We'll take care of it, Darry." Soda assures him, but stays firmly seated on the couch, and Darrel seems to know that it's a white lie by the way his face hardens again, exhaustion creased into his far-too-young face.

"Right. Well I'll be back after dark. And I'll take care of the laundry. And the vacuuming, just please- please, do the dishes, boys. That's all I ask."

Even Two-Bit hums noncommittally at the order, and you marvel at how Darry has 3 extra people in the house and somehow no hands for chores.

"I'll wrangle them," You tease, even if you don't plan on barking orders at anyone, if only to see Darry's brow smooth for just a second.

He chuckles at your tough persona, fitting a blue button-up over his white undershirt, "I appreciate it. Aside from the dishes all I want is for y'all not to burn the house down."

"No guarantees." Dallas sneers, a cigarette fittingly in his hand, "Pony smokes like a fuckin' factory. You'll be lucky if one'a his doesn't go up in flames."

You're sure if Darrel could get away with smacking Dallas upside the head, too, he would.

"Be careful." Darry warns, and you watch as he grabs a wallet off of the table, tucking it into his pocket, "I'll be back late. Don't wait up. Do the dishes."

"Bye, Dar." Soda calls, leaning his head sideways onto your shoulder as he props his feet up on the edge of the coffee table, "Don't pull a muscle."

Darry's only answer is the slamming of the door, and no one gets up to do the dishes.

You glance at the clock and see that Darry won't be home for several hours- probably more than ten. That's ample time, sure, but your hands itch to scrub food stains from the way Darry had emphasized the necessity of the chore. You know about the Curtis' situation; Darry had to take on the mangled role of brother and father, but you're realizing now that you hadn't understood how much of a workload he'd taken on.

You settle into your spot on the couch, fiddling with the loose strings on your jeans, trying to assure yourself that the dishes will be done.

--

"Turn it up, Two, if you're gonna talk through the whole damn thing," Steve chucks a bottle cap at Two-Bit where he's snickering in Johnny's ear. Steve had turned up not even an hour ago, and he's already spread out over the armchair in the corner, straight off of a shift at work so slow that he'd been sent home early. He'd shoved the clean laundry off of the chair to sit down, and it had only made it into a basket because the basket was sitting beside the chair.

No one has done the dishes.

Your legs are beginning to ache from not moving and in a sudden fit of energy you nudge Soda's arm away from where he'd been resting it comfortably against your thigh, chaste but comfortable. He's touchy, and it's typically nice, but you feel itchy sitting in someone else's home and not helping out with things that clearly need to be helped with.

"I'm gonna go wash those dishes." You announce, and Two-Bit snickers at your statement.

"Don't worry about that, Y/N."

"Yeah, sit down. I'll do 'em later." Soda waves a nonchalant hand towards the kitchen, "Darry don't get home until way after midnight, we have time."

"They don't have to sit there, though. I could just do them now." You bargain, "And then no one has to worry about them."

"You're a guest! Just sit and watch TV," Soda insists, "Really, Darry just loves talkin' about chores. It'll get done, don't sweat it."

You're sweating it.

You trust that Soda will do them, you know he doesn't mean to inconvenience his brother, you just wish they'd put 'bumming around' after helping out.

"Fine. But I'm tired of sitting. I'm gonna take a walk."

"Careful. Stay in the neighborhood, and if you see a car that's too nice to be one of us, beeline back for the house." Steve narrows his eyes at you, "Want someone to walk with you?"

"I'm fine." You insist, "I'll be careful. I'll be back soon."

No one notices when you snag the laundry basket from beside the chair; they're all too busy watching TV.

There's a worn-out picnic table in the tiny backyard that the Curtis' house offers, and it's the perfect place to set the basket. There's a decent amount of laundry inside- which you're sure Darry washed himself, and you mull over the constant tiredness in his eyes while you smooth and fold their laundry.

You can't imagine what he's going through- you can't imagine what any of them are going through. You're sure everyone is struggling in their own ways, but you wonder if the boys help him more than they've let on so far. You can't assume anything- you've only spent a few hours in their house, but Darry seems to be desperate for extra help. And you can't imagine working an entire day away only to return to a house full of undone laundry, so your fingers carefully tuck each undershirt into a neat square, and you brush away lint from the blue jeans that fill the basket.

It's a nice day outside, a little breezy, which makes it easy to get through the basket of laundry. You replace it with a freshly folded stack, and you're glad for the back entrance to the Curtis' house that lets you pass two bedrooms, one of which is clearly Sodapop's and Ponyboy's from the posters on the wall.

You duck into the other one and it seems about right for Darrel. It's sparse on decor, but it's got a secondary pair of work boots by the closet and it's the neatest of the bedrooms. The bed is made and you set the laundry basket on the comforter, venturing into Soda and Pony's room only to grab a pen and paper.

No one thinks anything of it when you slip back into the house, retaking your seat on the couch that, miraculously, no one has lounged into yet.

"Short walk." Dallas notes, scrutinizing you from his spot in the corner.

You shrug, "It was hot outside. Just needed to stretch my legs."

You slip back into the mind-numbing routine of watching cartoons and snacking on whatever someone offers you, and you let yourself enjoy hours slipping away like minutes as you finally relax.

Sodapop does do the dishes, far too late for your liking but still respectably before his brother returns. Darry is grateful for the empty sink when he gets home to the quiet house, and he beelines for his bedroom to shuck his work shirt before starting on the laundry he's sure got shoved unceremoniously somewhere.

It's late, and his tired muscles ache for respite especially considering he has to do it all over again tomorrow. But these things must be done, and he steels himself against the mundane chores he has to do to keep the house running. Somehow, keeping up the house is harder than his blue collar labor.

He's impressed that the laundry basket made it carefully onto his bed, but he's even more surprised when he peers inside and finds it full of folded clothes. There's a note on the top, and Darry squints in the low light of his bedroom at the unfamiliar handwriting.

Darry,

I hope you don't feel like I've invaded your privacy. That's the last thing I want. I just thought that you seemed a little overwhelmed this morning, and I'd hate for you to have to deal with something silly like laundry after a long day at work. If I've crossed a line, let me know and it won't happen again. I just hope I could help out a little. Anytime you need an extra hand, I can pitch in.

P.S - I made Soda do the dishes.

Y/N

Darry realizes he's been chewing on his tongue only after he's finished reading your name off of the page, and he lets up where his incisors had been gnawing into muscle.

It's- heartfelt. Casually so, but it's still hit the mark. 'Overwhelmed' doesn't begin to cover the way he feels, and even if his brothers do notice it, they've never outright said it. He glances down once more at the impeccably folded laundry and feels something in his chest simultaneously loosen and tighten, something relaxed and something tensed.

Setting the laundry basket aside reveals his bed, inviting after a long day of back-breaking labor. He mindlessly makes it all the way into bed- still in his day clothes, too tired to change, before he realizes he's still clutching the note you'd left him, and he lays it carefully on his nightstand. His exhausted body melts into the mattress as he settles, and he turns on his side to face the window instead of his typical stance towards the wall.

He drifts to sleep staring at the phrase 'Anytime you need an extra hand', taking solace in the fact that someone's finally brushing the fingertips of the hand he'd been extending, begging for help as his head sinks below water. He feels a lot like he's drowning, but tonight he can breathe.

[pricelessemotion]

Never really over | S.H.

summary: [4.2k] you and steve fall apart, then fall back together.

pairing: steve harrington x fem!reader

warnings: so much angst, best friends to exes to lovers, language, gratuitous taylor swift references

a/n: exes to lovers is one of my fave tropes so i hope i did it justice! reader is vaguely asian-coded by accident (though there shouldn’t be any direct references to r's appearance!) lmao happy AAPI heritage month to all my fellow asians

masterlist

The day after your breakup, Steve shows up at your house with a bag of takeout and a six-pack. He kicks off his shoes at the front door while you’re in the kitchen, already grabbing napkins and chopsticks. The light on the floral rice cooker on the counter just turned from cooking to keep warm. Steve is nothing, if not right on time. 

To most people, the situation would seem peculiar. But you and Steve were best friends before your break up and you had promised that you would stay best friends after it. 

You settle in on opposite sides of the worn-down loveseat, a rerun of Golden Girls playing on the television. You’re just about to ask him if he remembered to get extra sauce for the chow mein when Steve, seemingly anticipating your question, silently hands you a small cylindrical container. 

The night goes on as it usually would, with Steve lamenting Keith’s tyranny and Dustin’s antics. He helps you clean up when you’re done, scooping the leftover rice into a Tupperware container saying I gotta get myself one of these, it’s so convenient! He even does the dishes, washing while you dry, never commenting on the fact that you have a perfectly good dishwasher that you never use. 

Once he’s standing in the entryway, shoes back on and keys in hand, he instinctively leans in for a chaste kiss goodbye. 

You flinch, turning your cheek at the last second. The moment becomes a sobering reminder as to why you decided to break up in the first place. Instinct over time starts to feel like routine. Routine over time starts to feel like a chore. Another thing that you have to cross off your to-do list.

For a while, it was grounding. It felt good to be normal. Normal felt like warmth, like coming in out of the freezing cold and cozying up next to a blazing fire. But you knew from experience that the cold always comes back. As the days drew darker, the once roaring hearth settled into a pile of ashes. Being grounded can feel like being tied down. It’s only natural to want to break free. 

You didn’t realize freedom would feel like this. 

“Right.” Steve huffs out awkwardly, swinging his car keys around his index finger. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

He shuffles out the door while you offer a weak goodbye. You know you’re letting the cold in by watching him as he gets into his car. You do it anyway. 

–

Steve and Dustin have taken to visiting you while you’re on shift at the coffee shop. You’re not sure why. The arcade next door seems much more fitted to their shared interests, but they still come and visit you all the same. Usually, when you come upon them, they’re standing on the other side of the till having a whispered conversation that dies the moment they notice you’re there. 

“A latte for me, and hot cocoa for the kid.” Steve says, ruffling the younger boy's hair. 

“I’m fourteen!”

“Oh, I’m sorry Mr. Maturity. Did you want a coffee? I’m sure our girl over here has some great recommendations.” 

Dustin only grumbles in response, muttering insults under his breath. Steve refuses your offer to comp their drinks, paying and dropping his change in the tip jar.  

You set both drinks down on the counter when they’re done. One is a simple steaming cup. The other is piled high with whipped cream and sprinkles, decorated with a tiny plastic snowman left over from the holidays. 

“Thank you,” Steve says, leaning against the counter. “Y’know, you’re my most favorite barista in the whole world.”

“I’m pretty sure I’m the only barista you know, but you’re welcome.” 

“So, would you be interested in movie night tomorrow?” 

“Wow, let me think.” You feign contemplation, sarcasm dripping from every word. “I’ll have to check my schedule. I have a meeting with some venture capitalists but I might be able to squeeze you in.”

“It’s a date.” 

“So… you guys are back together?” Dustin darts a confused glance between the both of you, his irises going back and forth as if watching a ping-pong match. 

“No!” You and Steve both blurt out at the same time. Then you both take a moment to look at each other as if to say, I know why I said no but why are you saying no? 

Is it really over?

Dustin, as observant and tactless as ever, gives off a little shrug. You mutter something about needing to go to the back to do inventory. As you’re walking away, you hear Steve say something that sounds a lot like Nice going, doofus!

–

Dustin answers the door when you ring the bell. Steve’s house has the usual suspects for movie night. Max and El are cuddled up together on the floor, practically laying on top of each other. Robin and Nancy are on the loveseat to the left, so wrapped up in each other that they barely even register your arrival. You presume that the sounds coming from the kitchen are Mike, Will, and Lucas, no doubt making one too many bowls of popcorn in the microwave.  

Steve is sitting, his arm draped over the back of the couch. Before, there would’ve been no questions as to where you would sit. The empty couch cushion practically had your name on it. You would’ve already bounded across the room and snuggled up to the boy that felt like home. 

You search the room for another option, but come up empty. Unless you want to pointedly avoid sitting next to him by crashing on the floor with the kids, which would undoubtedly draw attention to the very thing you want to ignore. 

Taking a seat next to Steve, you toe the line between platonic distance and romantic distance.

“What’s on tonight?” You ask no one in particular. 

“The Princess Bride.” Lucas replies, coming from the kitchen with a bowl of fresh popcorn. 

He barely gets a chance to put it down before the three other boys tumble onto the floor and begin shoveling the savory snack into their mouths. Max and El whine about their lack of civility, yelling at them for having spilled popcorn on the floor before the movie has even started.

“Ah, that’s my favorite!” 

“I know.” Steve finally speaks up beside you. 

“We’ve only seen it like a million times.” Max says, rolling her eyes and resting her head on El’s shoulder. 

“Hey! Little shits who eat my food and use me as a taxi service don’t get to complain about my movie choices.”

“Whatever, Steve.” The redhead remarks, with an unmistakable fondness in her voice. 

You settle into your seat. The January cold has seeped into the house and, despite the heating being on full blast, you’re freezing. Steve notices, tugging the comforter in his lap over your frame, enveloping you in a warmth you didn’t realize you missed so much. You murmur a quiet thank you that you’re almost sure goes unheard until he turns, giving you a small smile before returning his attention to the screen. 

In order to properly share the blanket, you have to scoot in even closer. You tell yourself that it’s a perfectly reasonable platonic distance, that you used to do this all the time before you were dating. If Steve is experiencing even a fraction of your inner turmoil, he doesn’t show it. He just keeps looking ahead, paying far too much attention to the film. The palm that would usually come to rest upon your shoulder stays gripping the back of the couch. 

Sometime after Buttercup and Wesley enter the forbidden forest, you fall asleep.

It’s hard to make out anything through the dense fog. The trees around you loom large, foliage so lush and thick that it blocks out the sky, making it unclear if it’s day or night. The only light source comes from an oil lamp. 

The lamp casts a shadow over the face of the person holding it, emphasizing his strong brow and straight nose. You go to move toward Steve, but you can’t. You’re stuck. Ankle deep in sand, coarse and with the consistency of molasses, that slowly creeps up higher and higher. It takes you a moment to realize; the sand isn’t getting higher, you’re getting lower. 

You’re sinking. 

Desperately, you begin grasping at anything and everything that might get you out. It’s futile. The more you move, the further you fall. You’re waist-deep now. Steve is still standing there, stone-faced, oil lamp flickering. He turns, walking into the fog and taking the light with him. 

You open your mouth, wanting to scream. Needing to scream. But only one word echoes throughout. It does nothing to stop Steve’s retreating figure. 

Stay. 

“Hey,” Steve is tugging on the sleeve of your sweater. “Wake up.” 

The fog dissipates. Feeling slowly returns to your limbs. The first thing you realize is that you fell asleep on Steve’s shoulder. The second thing you realize is that, due to your impromptu nap, the distance between the two of you is practically nonexistent. You recoil, sliding yourself as far away from him as you can. Steve flinches at the sudden movement. 

“Are you okay?” His voice is soft and comforting, like a childhood blanket that you can’t sleep without. “It seemed like you were having a bad dream.”

You blink your eyes furiously, trying to shake the sinking feeling that has settled deep into your stomach. 

“Where is everyone?” You ask, avoiding his question. The once lively living room is now empty. Remnants of movie night surround you in the form of stray pieces of popcorn and a nearly empty tub of Red Vines. 

“They all went home about twenty minutes ago.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“You seemed so comfortable. I didn’t wanna wake you.” He shrugs, saying the next words gently. “Are you having nightmares again?” 

Before, you would tell him yes. You always talked to Steve about your nightmares. Most of the time he was there to witness them firsthand, waking up to your shouting and thrashing. Some nights, he would be able to coax you back to sleep with soothing words and tender touches. Other nights, he would stay up with you for hours, talking about nothing. The next day, the deep bags etched under his eyes would serve as another reminder of just how tiring you could be.

“I’m fine.” You wipe the corner of your mouth, cringing at the slight dampness you find there. Great. Not only did you fall asleep on Steve but you also drooled on him. “I think it’s time for me to head out.”

Leaping from the couch, you get to the foyer in record time. Your shoes are already halfway on before Steve appears, standing in between you and the door. 

“You don’t have to. You know the guest room is always made up for you if you want it.” He bargains. 

“I— I have to go. I’m sorry. Goodnight Steve.” 

“Please, you’re tired. At least let me drive you.” He’s practically pleading, already moving to grab his car keys.  

“Just let me go, Steve!” Your outburst echoes throughout the empty house. 

Steve takes a step back away from you. “I’m sorry.”

Regret washes over you like a tidal wave. You can feel yourself being ripped under the current. You curse yourself, not for drowning, but for dragging Steve down with you. 

“No, don’t apologize. Fuck, I’m sorry. I just—” 

“Have to go?” He supplies. 

He sounds dejected like this is another battle with you that he’s already resigned himself to losing. You fumble through another apology, another goodbye.

You don’t dare to look behind you as you make your way to your car. It isn’t until you’re halfway down your street that you spare a glance at your rear-view mirror. Steve is still standing there, the door wide open. 

You don’t know why you keep having dreams where you ask Steve to stay. 

You’re the one who is always leaving. 

—

“She was totally flirting with you!” You scream whisper, keeping in mind that the diner is mostly empty aside from the loyal patrons that come in every weekday for a hearty serving of beef and potatoes.

Steve showed up to the coffee shop today, sans Dustin, asking if you’d like to grab a bite to eat after your shift. You obliged, hoping to make up for your outburst from the other night. He still hasn’t mentioned it. For your sake, you hope that he won’t.

“No, she wasn’t.” You thought Steve’s obliviousness when it came to romance only extended to you. Apparently, you were wrong because he was completely ignoring the way that the waitress was batting her eyelashes at him.

“Yes, she was!” You take a fry from the basket and Steve pushes his strawberry milkshake toward you, already knowing that you were going to subject him to the gross combination and he might as well get it over with. “Y’know, if you wanted to ask her out you could. Don’t let me hold you back.”

“You’re not holding me back. Anyways, isn’t it weird, having your ex-girlfriend be your wingman?”

“I’m still your best friend. Besides, you totally helped me out with Brandon so I just thought I’d return the favor.”

“What are you talking about?” Steve asks, causing you to furrow your brow at him. Despite having loved him for a long time and having known him for even longer, his inability to read a room knows no bounds. 

“Last week at Family Video?” You utter the words with slow precision, but recognition fails to make its way across Steve’s face. “Brandon Clayborn asked you for horror movie recommendations and you sent him to me.”

“And he asked you out?” Steve gapes at you from over the rim of his milkshake. The idea of grabbing the glass and slogging the pink confection at him crosses your mind, but instead, you clench your fists at your side. 

“Is that so unbelievable?” At your response, Steve’s brows pinch together. He toys with the wrapping paper of his straw, folding it over and over again. 

“And what did you say?”

“I said yes.”

“Oh.” Steve finally stops fiddling with the piece of paper. It’s shredded to pieces in a pile in front of him. He reaches into his back pocket and pulls out the bulging leather wallet. “I’ll be right back.” 

With that, Steve slides out of the booth and walks up to the counter. The giggles of the waitress can be heard throughout the diner. You turn toward the window so that you don’t have to see her scrawl her number on the receipt, and you catch your muddled reflection. You don’t know if you look like you’ve seen a ghost or if you’ve become one. 

–

Due to unforeseen circumstances, your second date with Brandon had to be rescheduled. A literal rain check. He’d sputtered out numerous apologies over the crackling phone line, saying how the picnic he had planned didn’t account for a torrential downpour. You promised him that it was fine, that you didn’t even wanna leave the house in this weather. You didn’t think anyone would want to leave the house in this weather, which is why you grew shocked at the sound of the doorbell ringing. 

Then you promptly remember that this is Hawkins and that anyone or anything could be behind that door. Grabbing the old wooden bat you keep under the couch for emergencies, you inch toward the door. The frantic ringing of the bell matches the beat of your heart. Peering through the peephole, you sigh in both relief and frustration before flinging the door open.

“Are you insane?!” You practically scream at the soaking wet boy. “You scared the shit outta me.”

Steve stands in the threshold, shaking his head like a dog would to get all the water out. You flinch as the droplets inevitably fall on you. The fine mist and wind that he’s brought in with him chill you to the bone. 

“Sorry.” He smiles sheepishly.

“How did you even manage to get this wet in the twenty feet from the street to the porch?” You ask, peering behind him to look for the familiar maroon vehicle. It isn’t there. 

“I walked here.”

You balk at him. Sure, Steve has been known to act recklessly from time to time, but never without reason. Instead of taking the time to berate him for being so stupid, you take one look at the soggy shivering boy and shut the door, turning on your heel towards your bedroom. You don’t need to look behind you to know that he’s following you. 

“C’mon, you’re gonna catch a cold if you stay in those wet clothes.”

You rummage through your drawers, managing to find a t-shirt and sweatpants that you had stolen from him long ago. Now is as good a time as any to give it back, right? Stuffing the items in your arm, you thrust them into Steve’s hands and direct him to the bathroom. He doesn’t need direction. He knows the floorplan of your house just like he knows you–all too well.

While Steve is in the bathroom, you go to shut the drawers that you had left open in the rush to find him something to wear. The bottom drawer has always had a problem, getting stuck at the most inopportune moments. Lifting it just a little, you slam the drawer back into place which causes the contents on top of your dresser to shake with the force. The silver picture frame falls on its face and you go to place it right side up. 

It’s a photograph of the two of you from last summer. Robin had pointed the camera at you and at the very last second Steve grabbed you and placed a sloppy kiss on your cheek, causing you to squeal in delight. The memory stings. You almost want to put it face down again so that you don’t have to be reminded of what once was. Instead, you’re interrupted by the sound of a lock turning and quiet footfalls on carpeted floors. 

The moment Steve steps into your bedroom, you’re drenched in nostalgia. It’s been months since you’ve seen him like this–standing in his pajamas in your bedroom. It’s moments like this that are the hardest. The ones where you can feel how everything and nothing has changed. It feels like relief and restriction. 

You realize you’re still standing in front of the dresser and go to sit on your bed. You need to put space between you and Steve. He has this insane gravitational pull and you know that if you stay around him like this for too long, you’ll end up back in his orbit.  

He steps cautiously around the room like he’s afraid of stepping on a landmine. One wrong move and everything could blow up. Standing in front of the dresser, he takes the dreaded picture frame into his hands. He’s still using a towel to dry his hair when he finally speaks. 

“It’s a good picture.” He says, simply. The pads of his thumbs wipe away the layer of dust that coats your sunbleached faces. 

“It is.” You manage to choke out. “Why are you here, Steve?”

He places the picture frame back down on the dresser. It’s perfectly angled towards you. The ghost of your smiling face taunting you in your own bedroom. 

“It’s funny, y’know?” Steve lets out a mirthless laugh.  

“What is?”

“We broke up and the only person I wanna talk about it with is you.”

All of the air has been sucked out of the room. Steve has always been good at taking your breath away. 

“I mean, I get it. I get why we broke up. I do.” He lets out a deep breath before continuing on, not giving you a chance to interrupt. “Except, I don’t. I can’t wrap my head around how one day we were fine and the next day we weren’t. I know that I’m not good enough for you–I’ve always known that. I guess I just wanna know when you finally figured it out.”

His words make you ache. A tightness blooms in your chest and spreads all the way down your arms to your trembling fingertips. You want so badly to reach out to him. He’s on the other side of the room but he might as well be on the other side of the world. You don’t know how to bridge the ravine that you’ve put between the two of you. You know for him you’d make the leap, uncaring of the abyss below. The thought scares you so much that your fists tangle in your bedsheets, hoping for something to keep you from falling back in.   

“The last thing I wanted was for you to feel like you weren’t good enough for me. You’ve always been good enough, Steve.”  

You can tell from the shake of his head that he doesn’t believe you. 

“I thought that maybe you just needed a little space, a little time. Then I have to watch you go on dates and move on like it’s easy. Like the fact that we’re not together anymore doesn’t eat you up inside.”

“It’s not easy! It’s killing me!” Tears collect in your eyes, blurring your vision. “I don’t know why I can’t just be happy with you. I want to be happy with you.”

“What are you so afraid of?” Steve begs, his question punctuated by a boom of thunder and a flash of lightning. 

You found solace in the eye of the storm. Once the storm passed, you didn’t know what to do with the wreckage. Calm didn’t provide comfort. Instead, it only reminded you that there was likely another storm to come. Steve has always been better at picking up the pieces and patching things up. You didn’t want to become just another thing he had to fix. So, you pushed him away. 

He still came back.

This time he brought the storm with him. 

“I’m afraid that the minute I actually enjoy everything, it’ll all get taken away from me.” You confess, roughly wiping away your tears. 

Steve crosses the room and kneels in front of you. His hair is still slightly damp, a stray strand hanging in front of his forehead. You brush it out of the way and he catches your wrist, placing a kiss in the palm of your hand. 

“I’m not going anywhere.” He murmurs, lips still brushing your skin. He says it like a promise. You wish the words were tangible, that you could close your fist around them and hold them close. “Tell me what I can do to fix it.”

The words simultaneously endear and exasperate you. Here is this boy who loves you, sitting in front of you telling you to let him love you. Here you are, about to tell him that he can’t. 

“What if you can’t fix it, Steve? What if I’m unfixable?”

He doesn’t respond immediately. Instead, he takes both of your hands in his, rubbing his thumbs over your knuckles. 

“Then I’ll still love you anyway.” 

Steve looks up and the clouds part. You’ve been so caught up in your doom and gloom, that you’d forgotten what it felt like to see the light of day. You lean down, closing your eyes, pressing your forehead to his. 

“Why?” The question comes out watery and wanting. 

“I can’t help it.” He breathes out. 

You understand the feeling. 

You bridge the gap, uncaring of the abyss that lies below. You’d fall through eternity if it meant you got to do it with him. His lips feel exactly like you remember them–like home. He kisses soft and slow, hands anchored at your hips as if to prevent you from floating away. When you break apart, both of you gasping for air, there’s uncertainty in his eyes. It fades away as soon as you lean back on the bed, pulling at his sleeves and dragging him with you. 

The night is composed of soft apologies and even softer sighs, accompanied by the din of rain against the roof. It isn’t until far into the night that the storm finally subsides, leaving the pavement to glow in the morning sun. 

Waking up next to Steve is a revelation. You don’t know how you ever survived without it. He’s all sleepy smiles and tired eyes, drowsily pulling you closer to him. Resting your head on his chest, you’re soothed by the rhythmic thump of his beating heart.   

“Y’know, you didn’t have to walk in the rain just to say that you wanna get back together. You’re so dramatic.” You joke, hoping that it isn’t too soon to start poking fun. 

His chest rumbles with laughter, the reverberations quelling your fears.

“In my defense, it wasn’t raining when I started walking.” He says, voice still thick with sleep. “Besides, you love it.”

You smile contentedly to yourself, not offering up a response besides a hum of agreement. He’s right. You do love him. Rain or shine.

likes are appreciated, comments and reblogs are cherished ♥️

[chaoticace2005]

Top Hazbin Hotel Songs so far: (order not super relevant because I jump a lot between my favorites so it’s hard to have a definitive ranking.)

(Note: ALL the songs were bops. There wasn’t a single one I disliked. I’m just going off which ones hit me the hardest and are now living in my head.)

1. Stayed Gone- this song is just so fucking catchy. The quick talking of Vox at the beginning is great- displaying confidence while also clearly overcompensating. The music is pretty repetitive at first but in a comforting way, being simple in terms of number of instruments. And then Al comes in and changes it up. I love the way these two argue- Al just roasting the hell out of Vox was great. The rivalry between these two is great and so entertaining to watch.

2. Loser Baby- so cute. Keith David’s voice was amazing. Loved Angel and Husk’s chemistry. Angel’s shock/annoyance at Husk at first is hilarious. Also songs like that and Crooked (from Helluva Boss) really are saying something’s we really don’t hear often enough: that things are a mess sometimes, but that doesn’t mean you’re alone. Both songs acknowledge the messy parts of the characters and both say “I see that, but that doesn’t mean I don’t care for you.” Plus it being in the same episode as Poison? Their messages complimented each other well and kind of closed the story for it.

3. Poison- Blake Roman is just- wow. No words. When this song came out a couple weeks ago I had it on repeat obsessively. We get to see Angel’s internal thoughts- his self-blaming for all the shit that’s happening, and how hopeless he feels. The emotion poured into this is astounding. It was amazing as a stand-alone song, and then the way the show integrated it in episode 4 made it hit even harder. It’s definitely A LOT- but sometimes that’s what makes such hard hitting songs, being so personal.

4. Hell is Forever- Alex Brightman killed it as always. I listened to this one on repeat dozens of times. It’s so insanely catchy. The rock(?) music that comes in to cut Charlie off? Also this song nails in the fact even more than Adam SUCKS. And while this is happening we are delivered the logic behind the angel’s choices- explicitly saying “yeah we don’t care. Murder is fun :)” AND are given the information about major conflict of season- that the extermination day for moved up.

5. Respectless- got brain worms from this. The way Velvette dropped in and changed the whole genre of the song was A W E S O M E. Her and Carmilla both SLAPPED. Also the line “I’m the backbone of the Vees” was just- I just loved the energy of the song. Major Six vibes. I’d love Lilli Cooper to sing more in the show!

[dontwinmarioparty]

Smosh Cast as Pokémon Trainers

Your Rival: Trevor Evarts!

As the newest cast member of Smosh, it may feel like big, intimidating shoes to fill. We all know Trevor’s got the stuff for it, but really coming into your own comedic identity may feel like a challenge.

Partner Pokémon: Applin full team: dipplin, mr rime, quagsire, pangoro, slowking, emboar

Gym 1: Amanda Lehan Canto - Water Type

I've never seen such a good yes-and ability in improv than Amanda, you can tell that she's always down to turn any moment into a good time. Her acting talents spread far and wide, but her life experiences beyond that baffle me. The fact she loves scuba diving was the nail in the coffin for me that she's a master of the water type.

Partner Pokémon: Azumarill full team: azumarill, milotic, floatzel, mareanie, dracovish, starmie

Gym 2: Olivia Sui - Grass Type

Grass is a versatile and varied type, with the vibes of some Pokémon being serene and graceful to Rapidly Approaching Your Location, and Olivia fits that to me. She’s incredibly sweet and affectionate with her friends but is fully willing to commit to a bit and confuse the audience.

Partner Pokémon: Cherrim full team: cherrim, tangrowth, shiftry, lurantis, ferrothorn, whimsicott

Gym 3: Chanse McCrary - Fire Type

Chanse has an edge to him that I could see absolutely light up a battlefield. He’s not afraid to flex and show off during a competitive game, which sometimes leads to his downfall, but never takes back from his intelligence and just overall confidence. He’s got the X factor, which takes perfectly to the fire type.

Partner Pokémon: Blaziken full team: blaziken, skeledirge, volcarona, oricorio, ninetales, delphox

Gym 4: Tommy Bowe - Normal Type

Tommy had a point when he said that the Normal type is filled with a lot of Weird Looking Fellas, and I agree with that, but the normal type also calls for versatility, reliability. Having type immunities and only one weakness makes it a type that’s able to reliably stand on its own legs. With the many hats that Tommy has worn over the years at Smosh, the Normal type makes so much sense.

Partner Pokémon: Porygon-Z full team: porygon-z, audino, ditto, cinccino, lickilicky, drampa

Gym 5: Damien Haas - Ghost Type

Damien’s appearance alone would make the hounds be sent after me if I didn’t put him into the Ghost Type. Though intimidating on the surface, the ghost type, once you get past the hesitation, is full of some of the sweetest Pokémon you’ll ever get to meet. Consistently bringing fan favorites to new games with every generation, I can’t help but be reminded of Damien’s affinity for the spooky and alternative despite everything else about him being so gentle. He deserves the ghost type, and the ghost type deserves him.

Partner Pokémon: Chandelure full team: chandelure, gengar, rotom, cofagrigus, aegislash, sinistcha

Gym 6: Angela Giarratana - Dragon Type

The dragon type is powerful, it’s dominating, but it’s also chaotic, hard to wield, and sometimes outright terrifying. Angela being a dragon tamer makes so much sense to me, personally. Her ability to command a room either willingly or by complete accident with a mistake of word-choice never fails to make me laugh and feel hooked to the screen. Just put a big dragon next to her and that’s only amplified.

Partner Pokémon: Tyrantrum full team: tyrantrum, duraludon, noivern, goodra, alolan exeggutor, dracozolt

Gym 7: Arasha Lalani - Flying Type.

Arasha never fails to surprise me with just how above and beyond she goes in any video. No matter how crazy it gets she’s not afraid to yes-and the vibe and enable the chaos in a room. It makes her a fantastic host. She’s going to soar. She’s going to book a marvel movie. Trust me.

Partner Pokémon: Altaria full team: altaria, crobat, archeops, emolga, tropius, bombirdier

Gym 8: Keith Leak Jr - Electric Type

Keith is insanely underrated in the Smosh cast, and I sincerely believe that the OG Smosh Squad would not be the same without him. He consistently bounces between being a straight-man in a lineup to the most insane within seconds. Down to just his fits every single day, and the fact that he BEAT CANCER??? He’s always got me on my toes. He’s Electric.

Partner Pokémon: Zebstrika full team: zebstrika, alolan raichu, ampharos, luxray, toxtricity, pawmot

Team Rocket (or any evil team) Leader: Spencer Agnew - Dark Type

How could this be possible? The chosen?!! Evil? No..I just ran out of gym leader slots and thought it would be compelling lol. Spencer is a mastermind of comedy both in front of the camera and behind it. He’s funny without necessarily even trying, but yet it always comes across as mischievous, chaos, the most out-of-pocket lines you’ve ever heard. He’s clearly such a good guy, but the dark type, at least to my belief, fits the vibe he brings to the cast so perfectly.

Partner Pokémon: Kingambit full team: kingambit, krookodile, obstagoon, weavile, absol, sableye

The Elite Four:

Before you face the champion, you must go through a gauntlet of four of the strongest trainers in the region. Who might this be?

Courtney Miller - Fairy Type

A directorial mastermind, a comedic powerhouse, and overall just slaying boots the house down, Courtney Miller is nothing short of magical. She breathes a life into Smosh that just leaves me knowing for certain that some of our favorite videos would not be the same without her influence. Her ability to sway from one comedic extreme to another, while still showing that sincerity makes her just such a good fit for the fairy type.

Partner Pokémon: Florges full team: florges, sylveon, mawile, grimmsnarl, primarina, gardevoir

Anthony Padilla - Fighting Type

Our local emo boy. Our local “spent a day with everyone” boy. Someone who we were all overjoyed to have back. Not only being an absolute comedic powerhouse, he proves himself to be a jack of all stoic trades, from painting, to yoga, to starting Smosh with computer programming, his path of self-actualization is one to be admired.

Partner Pokémon: Breloom full team: breloom, toxicroak, scrafty, poliwrath, kommo-o, hitmontop

Shayne Topp - Psychic Type

Without a shadow of a doubt, Shayne has shown that (even if partially for a bit), he listens, he cares, and he hopes for the best for Smosh as a company. His energy in videos and being able to match the vibe of almost anyone that he’s paired with is nothing short of miraculous. He’s psychic. Full stop.

Partner Pokémon: Gallade full team: gallade, meowstic, darmanitan, oranguru, alakazam, reuniclus

Ian Hecox - Ground Type

For almost any cast member you could argue that they’re breathing life into Smosh. But I think one deserving of the title of keeping their feet planted is Ian. The way he showed so much resolve during the fall of Defy, carrying the company through Mythical, and stepping up and taking the operation independent again with Anthony shows nothing short of an incredible amount of dedication. Ground type fits him to me. Earthquake is always on a competitive team somewhere.

Partner Pokémon: Garchomp full team: garchomp, alolan dugtrio, marowak, stunfisk, mamoswine, gastrodon

The Champion….

The Chosen

Being the strongest Pokémon trainer of all time is a big, burdening task…but they are shoes which The Chosen is ready to fill. Using every single one of his special techniques, he will be a tough challenge. Are you ready to face it?

Partner Pokémon: Absol full team: absol, darkrai, lucario, zoroark, lycanroc, partner pokemon of whoever is playing the chosen at the time of the encounter

and at long last, you've done it. You're the Champion of the Smosh Pokemon League! Congratulations!!!

[targaryenrealnessdarling]

False Pretences

19/12: Holly and Hair Pulling - Tom Bennett Word Count: 2k~ | Warnings: hair pulling, fingering, allusions to p in v, ww2 talk and mentions of hitler

12 Days of Smuff Masterlist

It was as clear as fog, what her role was here.

Since war had broken out in Europe, listening to whatever dire news filled those who listened with fear and anticipation, all the keywords present to stir up panic in every household, she knew she could not merely stand idly by on the shores of England, and do nothing.

It was either overalls and dirty, grotty factories, or the Women’s Royal Naval Service.

She couldn’t deny herself, one sounded better than the other.

Of course her family had attempted to deter her from leaving England altogether, waving her off from the front step as if she were slinging a gun over her shoulder herself and facing Hitler head on. Her mother sobbed, but she did not miss the gleaming pride in her father’s eyes. Her own brother had already gone off to fight, so he’d be left with no children at home, and yet he did not complain, did not forbid her from going. He knew the honest truth, that she would have found a way anyway, stubborn as she was.

Usually, people like her, or women, more so, were not allowed aboard naval ships. Especially hunt-class destroyers. It was far too dangerous, or rather in their words, unsuitable for female company. God, if her parents knew where she stood right at this moment her mother would surely throw a fit until she was red in the face.

Better for them to not know at all, she reasons, sat at her desk, tapping the end of her pencil against her notepad. It was only temporary, they’d told her, a quick posting to fill an urgent need. But that hardly felt reassuring now, deep in the belly of HMS Keith with the sound of waves pounding against the hull and the faint but ever-present vibration of the engines beneath her feet.

The ship shuddered as it cut through another swell, and she reached out instinctively to steady the pencil rolling across her desk. She could hear the men outside, shouting and belly-laughing, no doubt taking some much needed time off their duties to celebrate what they thought was as close to Christmas cheer as they were likely to get. Who knew if it was even Christmas Day?

Her pencil hovered above paper, listening to the constant hum of static that she had come to know so well. These last few hours were quiet, luckily. She supposed the people of Europe celebrated Christmas too. In fact, she’d wager that most of the enemy were doing the very same thing this crew were doing right now, drinking, laughing and card games. Perhaps they were not so dissimilar after all.

A small knock came at her door, and she considered ignoring it, wondering if she had somehow misheard through her headset. But then it came again, more firm, and she rolled her eyes and stood, straightening her uniform to see who was so insistent on seeing her this late hour.

She raised an eyebrow as a man stood there, tall, leaning confidently against the doorframe as the ship swayed slightly. He was young, perhaps somewhere near her age, if she had to guess. His sandy, blonde hair was pulled from his face, sides shaven and short, as was the style of young men.

“Evening,” he said, his tone so breezy it might have been mistaken for confidence. Overconfidence perhaps. “Thought I’d pop by and spread a bit of cheer.”

She crossed her arms. “Cheer?”

He held up the sprig of green, holly, she realised, though the leaves looked rather battered. He propped it in the middle of the doorway. “You know what they say.”

Her lips twitched, but she refused to give him the satisfaction. “That’s not mistletoe.”

“You’re smarter than I hoped.”

“Smarter than you, evidently.” She raised an eyebrow. “What are you doing here?”

“Oh, just checking on our mysterious new arrival,” he said, leaning a little closer as if they were acquainted. “Word travels fast, you know. ‘Unmarked door near the comms room.’ Had to see it for myself.”

She smiled, though she willed herself not to. “And?”

“And here you are. Bit of a shock, I’ll admit. Women on a ship, it’s bad luck, you know.”

She snorted slightly, her cheeks warming in embarrassment at her behaviour. “Didn’t take you to be superstitious. Anyway, shouldn’t you be at your post?”

Tom chuckled, the sound warm and unbothered. “Probably. But this seemed more interesting.”

“Well, I’m afraid you’ll be disappointed. I’m just here to work, same as you.”

“Right. Decoding top-secret messages, I suppose. Life or death stuff, like when Hitler breaks wind or when Goebbels has food poisoning.”

Surprised you know who they even are, she thinks to herself.

She snorted despite herself, quickly masking it with a cough. “Something like that,” she said, turning back toward her desk.

It was her way of dismissing him, but he didn’t take the hint, as men with his confidence rarely did. She busied herself with the papers scattered across her workspace, shuffling them into neat piles that didn’t actually need straightening. She didn’t want to encourage him, but at the same time, she didn’t really want him to go, either.

Behind her, she heard the faint scuff of his boots on the floor. She paused for a moment, a smile rising to her lips when she felt his presence so close behind her. “I do hope you can tell the difference between holly and mistletoe, Mr…?”

“Tom, just Tom,” he answered quietly. “Can’t blame a bloke for wanting a kiss from a pretty girl, can you?”

She turned slightly to look at him over her shoulder, blue eyes almost clear in this low, amber light that felt tighter as time passed. “I suppose it is Christmas, after all, isn’t it?” she smiled.

Tom didn’t wait for a clearer invitation. He stepped closer, his hands brushing her waist as if testing her reaction. When she didn’t pull away, he tilted his head, meeting her halfway. The kiss started soft, tentative, but the heat rose quickly, fuelled by the unspoken urgency of two people who had been too long without touch. Tom cupped her cheek with one hand, the other slipping to her hip.

She turned fully now, her back pressing against the edge of the desk as her hands found their way to his chest. His uniform was coarse beneath her fingers, and she could feel the hard muscle beneath it, the warmth of him seeping through the layers.

She felt the low hum through his chest as he pressed his hips closer, easing her back against the desk, his hand slipping into her hair up the nape of her neck, tightening a fist around her glossy strands as if for leverage to pry her lips open for his access.

She hummed in amusement, prompting him to part with ragged breath, “been around men for too long?”

“Too bloody long,” he confessed, his voice rough as he let out a shaky laugh. 

She smiled, but her eyes looked over as if she were analysing him, her hand sliding from his chest over his belt, her small, soft hand drifting over the evident hardness straining in his uniform trousers.

“I can tell,” she muses quietly.

He let out a shaky exhale, flustered either by her behaviour or slight embarrassment at being so called out for it. But it was clear he wasn't the type of man to like small jokes at his expense, and she let out a breathy whine as his fingers tightened in her hair. Keeping her where she stood, and tilting her face up towards him.

“Are you always like this?” He asked.

“Only to the ones that deserve it.”

He huffed, pulling her up by her hips to set her down on the desk, papers and pencils scattered to the floor under his hasty palm. Her legs parted around his instinctively, letting him step between them, his hands dropping then to her thighs.

His breath was hot on her neck as he placed open-mouthed, nearly desperate kisses there. His hand brushed beneath the hem of her skirt, as if testing the waters, pausing only to pull back to speak.

“Tell me to stop,” he murmured, though his hand didn't move.

“I wouldn't dare.”

Her breath hitched as her hand drifted higher, teasing the gusset of her knickers, sending a sharp, white spark of pleasure up her spine. Her hands gripped his shoulders, shuddering despite herself, he was certainly in no rush.

“You’re soaked,” he said, his voice laced with both surprise and satisfaction. “God, I’ve barely touched you.”

Her face burned with embarrassment, but instead of chastising him, she tugged him back to her lips. He groaned, his fingers exploring the growing wetness and heat forming between her legs. For a moment there was no more, not even a ship. Just his long, thick fingers against her heat, wanting more.

“Tell me what you want, love,” he murmured against her lips, his fingers slipping beneath the fabric now, skin against skin.

She shuddered, parting her legs wider for ease of access and wrapping them around his hips, “just don't stop.”

The sound his fingers made as he explored through her wetness was nothing short of lewd, her back arched slightly into him, wanting to feel the girth of them inside her, and quick.

“Christ,” he murmured, almost to himself, as two fingers slipped inside her, drawing a soft gasp from her lips.

Her nails dug into his shoulders, and her head fell back slightly. “Tom—” she breathed, her voice breaking.

“That’s it,” he muttered, his tone somewhere between curious and wicked as his fingers curled inside her, finding the spot that made her whole body tense and then melt in the same breath.

She bit her lip to stifle a moan, but he wasn’t having it. His hand moved faster, more confident now, his thumb pressing firmly against the sensitive bundle of nerves that had her hips bucking against him.

“Let them hear you, love,” he murmured, his lips brushing against her jaw as his fingers curled just right inside her. 

Her body trembled, the tension coiling tighter and tighter until it snapped, a cry spilling from her lips as pleasure surged through her like a tidal wave. She gripped his shoulders, her nails digging into his uniform as her thighs clenched around him, holding him in place as her body shuddered with each wave of her release.

Once it subsided, the feeling of how tight his fist was holding her hair became apparent but not unpleasant. She sighed, the tension leaving her body slowly, easing her into lulling waves of warmth.

He withdrew his hand slowly, his fingers slick and glistening, and stepped back slightly, though the smirk on his face suggested he wasn’t quite ready to let go of the moment.

“Worth the trouble of knocking, I'd say,” he quipped with a wink, infuriatingly wiping the moisture on his fingers against her bare thigh.

She glanced up at him through her lashes, her smile some kind of soft but amused warning. Her hand shot out to his belt, and his eyebrows shot so high to his forehead she was sure he'd seen God for a moment as her hands worked quickly to undo the buckle and then the buttons.

“Christ, love. Didn’t think you’d still have the energy.”

“Maybe next time, bring actual mistletoe,” she said, her voice dry but laced with heat.

“Next time?” he repeated, his grin turning wicked as he leaned down, his lips brushing against hers, a full body shudder running through him as she took him into her palm, hard and thick, giving a few languid strokes before sliding her other hand up his neck. 

“Oh, love, you’re going to ruin me.”

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[alittlebitofloveliness]

He knows something is wrong the second he stumbles into the kitchen in hopes that a cup of coffee will stop the pounding in his head.

As soon as he sees his mother, all thoughts of caffeine evaporate.

She’s hunched over, usual blazing grin nowhere to be found. Her shift at the hospital was supposed to have started hours ago, and unless the world has ended while he was asleep, she’s not here because the hospital is closed.

Mom doesn’t miss work. In the years since dad left he thinks he can count on one hand the amount of times mom hasn’t showed up to a shift she was scheduled for.

Something is very, very wrong.

“Mom?” He winces at the gravel in his voice, moving soundlessly across the floor, tiles cool under his bare feet, “What wrong? What happened?”

She blinks up at him, grey eyes she’d passed down to him puffy and red rimmed, and he realises with a horrible jolt that she’s been crying. Call him a pussy or a mama’s boy all you like, but if there’s one thing he’s never been able to stand its his mom’s tears. Her’s or Susie’s. 

He thinks he might throw up. For once it has nothing to do with his hangover.

“Mom?” He asks again, hating the waver in his voice, the fact that it makes him sound ten years old again instead of nearly twenty one. 

“Susie’s gone.” Mom says blankly, staring right through him, and if he didn’t know any better he’d swear his heart just fell out of chest.

“W-what? What do you mean gone?” 

“She left.” Mom says again in that horrible, robotic voice, and Keith laughs because this isn't right, it doesn’t make any sense. 

His baby sister, his little Susie bear, gone? Where would she go? What happened? What’s happening?

“No,” he shakes his head, and then he’s laughing because this is so ridiculous, it isn’t real. Susie’s wouldn’t leave, not like dad did, wouldn’t leave him behind without so much as a goodbye no matter how much they’d fought over the last little while. Susie’s smart, she’s always been smart, smarter than him, maybe even smarter than Ponyboy. Susie was always gonna leave but she wasn’t supposed to leave now. “No, Susie ain’t gone mom, what are you talking’ about, she’s sixteen, where would she even go-“

He’s rambling, sounding drunk though for once he’s stone cold sober and he hates it.

Mom shakes her head, fresh tears welling, and holds out a piece of paper he hadn’t noticed before, her hand trembling.

He all but snatches it from her. 

When he look down, his sister’s unmistakable neat cursive mocks him.

Dear mom, 

If you’ve found this, by now you’ve probably noticed I’m gone. Then again, maybe you haven’t, and you’re just realising it now- it’s not like you’ve ever particularly noticed whether I’m home or not. 

I can’t stay here anymore. I’m leaving. I’m sorry. I know this feels sudden to you, but it isn’t to me. In fact, it’s been a long time coming.

Please don’t worry about me. I can take care of myself. After all, I have been since I was six years old. 

Please don’t try and find me, and don’t send anyone else to find me either. You won’t find me, and it’ll only hurt you more. I won’t be in Tulsa, or anywhere nearby. I’ve got a plan, but this shithole town isn’t a part of it.

I’ll try and call you when I get a chance. Tell Keith he’s a shithead and a drunk and I still love him anyway even if I hate him too. 

I’ll miss you both. 

Love, Susie

The note flutters to the floor. His fingers are numb.

“No,” he shakes his head, backing away from the note as if it burned him, “no, she ain’t gone she wouldn’t- that’s not- this ain’t real.”

“Susie!” He tears down the hall, towards her room, the one with the yellow wallpaper and the Janis Joplin poster on the wall, “Susie, this joke ain’t funny, Susie girl-“

He throws open the door and stops in his tracks.

The poster on the wall is gone, the bed is made neatly with tucked hospital corners and a fluffed pillow. The curtains are open, but the tiny ceramic cat figure that used to sit on the windowsill is gone, and if he didn’t know better he’d swear no one had ever lived in this room at all.

He lets out a sound- a roar or a scream or something worse- and rips open the wardrobe, tosses drawers from the dresser, tears back the sheets on the bed, desperate for anything, any proof that his sister even existed.

“She’s not gone,” he vows, riffling through the empty jewellery box.

“She’s not gone,” he chants, sliding under the bed and pulling up the loose floorboard she used to hide things under.

“She’s not gone,” he tells himself, throwing open the empty closet.

“She’s not gone,” he begs, curled up in the wreckage of a room that no longer belonged to anybody, “she’s not gone, she’s not gone, she’s not gone.”

It doesn't matter how many times he says it. It still isn't true.

"She's not gone," he murmurs, and Susie is nowhere to be found.

[an0nwr1tes]

Galtean Klance you have my heart-

Thinking about Galra Keith who’s slowly becoming more and more Galra and developing weird habits that he just isn’t sure how to deal with and Lance who’s reeling from the fact that he’s now Altean and having no idea what that means or how to deal with it so he set all his attention on Keith.

Lance who’s helping Keith deal with all the weirdness of being half Galra by hesitantly going along with everything Keith needs, because the last he screamed when Keith dropped a freshly killed animal in his lap Keith just looked so sad, and ignoring Allura and Coran as they try showing Lance more about Altean’s.

Lance and Keith’s alien discovery’s and experiences being both so similar and so so different, Lance who’s more or less been forced into this position because he died and Allura healed him and brought him back but not quite right and Keith who finally knows who he is and that he’s not weird or different he’s just Keith.

Keith’s parents loved each other, they loved him and he’s proof of that.

Lance’s death was real and he’s constantly forced to remember that when he looks in the mirror.

Lance who loves Keith and tells him that everyday, Lance who forces Keith to sit in his huge Galra form so he can brush through his fur and make it all shiny.

Keith who loves Lance and presses kisses to each mark under his eyes because he knows how hard it is for Lance to look at them sometimes, Keith who whispers “You’re beautiful,” every morning when they get up and every night before they fall asleep.

Lance who can’t stand too look at himself anymore, who freezes when he catches sight of his white hair and blue marks and has to remind himself that that him.

Keith who finally feels right when he catches sight of his reflection, the mark on his face and the fur and ears in his Galra form and wonders how he ever thought that he was anything but this.

Lance who loves Keith in any form, Keith who loves Lance in any form.

Keith who couldn’t stand his Galra form in the beginning, Lance who approached Coran and Allura for help because he wanted to show Keith that he was perfect as he was.

Keith who goes stiff at the sight of a strangely familiar Galra in the hanger when he gets back from a blade mission, Lance who smiling hesitantly and explains what he’s been doing and Keith is falling in love all over again.

Suddenly the Voltron team is forced to get used to two big Glara’s cuddling on the sofa, Allura attacked them once before they turned back in a panic.

Lance who doesn’t know how to make himself only half Galra so he end up taller than Keith.

Keith who’s all for picking up his large boyfriend and carrying him around, because that’s his boyfriend.

Lance who starts giving Keith little trinkets to keep on him and pretty little hair ties to braid his fur with.

Keith who starts cooking the hunts he brings back with them because Lance doesn’t like his things getting bloody.

Lance who’s doing so well and then he’s in the bathroom and freezes at the sight of himself.

Keith who’s doing so well and then he’s sees someone flinch at the sight of him.

Lance who promises Keith’s that it’s ok and holds his cheeks in his hands and kisses his eyelids, who stays in his Altean form so Keith can wrap himself around him and they can cuddle.

“You’re so precious, how could anyone be scared of you and your cute button nose and your fluffy paws!”

Keith who presses Lance to his chest and counts the beats of his heart with him, who runs his hands down Lance’s side and mutters.

“Can you feel that? See, you’re here with me Lance, you’re alive.”

Just Galtean Klance being each others anchors.

[rebelspykatie]

It’s funny that anyone would think that Steve and Robin aren’t platonic soulmates when they’re canonically attached at the hip.

Steve has a whole conversation with Robin that’s loaded with inside jokes as he literally ignores his date at the basketball game.

They follow each other around the video store talking about their love lives where they make reference to stealing each others jokes, wishing they could combine into one person with both of their skill sets, and regularly picking movies to watch while they work (and knowing their interests in movie genres).

Steve wakes up early to pick Robin up for school before he has to go to work, even though there’s several hours between that and when they open. He also doesn’t know that Robin can’t drive, so he’s obviously just been chauffeuring her around no questions asked. He was already doing this at the end of season 3 for their job interview.

This all started in season 3, but was solidified in that final scene where they’re going after jobs together, spouting off to potential employers about their best qualities to land the job. Robin has clearly had time to warm up to Steve and jokes with him about his resume and with Keith about Steve’s terrible taste in movies, but excellent taste in women.

During that drive to school in season 4, they talk about both of their love lives, in which they reference an off screen conversation where Robin gave Steve advice to just be himself and girls would like him more, the same advice he’s giving Robin for wooing Vickie.

They openly talk about Vickie throughout season 4, so clearly there’s no shyness or residual awkwardness from the coming out or Steve’s former crush on her. In fact, it appears to have made them even closer. See: the boobies conversation in episode one.

They’re close enough that Dustin has obviously mocked Steve for not dating Robin repeatedly after the events of Starcourt. They have that platonic with a capital P speech down pat. They joke twice about being in charge of the kids together, once when Dustin and Max barge in to search for Eddie and they joke about taking turns strangling the little idiots and then again when they get on the boat about bedtime’s at 9 kiddos.

Both joke and poke fun at each other. Robin makes fun of Steve’s protective streak with the whole ‘unless you think us ladies need you to protect us’ comment. Steve makes fun of Robin snooping in Nancy’s room and jokes about her not giving off an academic scholar vibe. Steve jokes about wanting to punch her in the face when she won’t stop rambling about rabies. Steve teases her about her muppet joke working because he’s the one who made it up. Robin’s previously teased him about how many children he’s friends with, not knowing he’s protecting them from supernatural horrors.

By the end of season 4, we find out that they both had issues learning to walk. They both think their romantic interests are doomed. They give each other the same advice.

They always gravitate towards each other, especially when they’re in danger, always in the same group. Robin clutching at Steve and making sure he’s okay after Eddie held the bottle to his throat. Robin jumping in directly after Nancy when Steve got sucked into the watergate. Robin moving behind Steve in the upside down when the bats were coming at them because she knew he’d protect them (actually everyone goes to stand behind him). Robin crying out for Steve first when the vines snatch her. Steve finding Robin to grab the supplies for the Molotovs and then chasing after her when Vickie kisses that boy.

Any time we see people break off into groups, they’re together. Paired up to discuss end of the world strategies and their unrequited love lives. Team search for Eddie. Team keep Eddie safe and hidden. Team destroy Vecna. Always the same team.

Steve encouraging Robin, even after the incident with Vickie in the store because he doesn’t want them to give up on love. Him being so happy to see her flirting and chatting with Vickie at the school. Robin comforting him when Nancy runs into Jonathan’s arms.

If you’re watching all of that, I don’t see how you could come away with anything less than them being platonic soulmates. They’re practically finishing each others sentences while they bounce one brain cell back and forth between them.

[autisticlancemcclain]

“The Exoxins are very…” Coran purses his lips, searching for the word. “Particular, let’s say.”

Hunk cocks his head. “In what way?”

“They’re quite fixated on personal appearances. They have been known to refuse alliances in the past when diplomats don’t meet their… aesthetic expectations.”

Before Keith can make a slightly mean joke about keeping Shiro on the castle, then (it’s been too long since he has been humbled), Lance snorts. Without bothering to look up from his doodling, half slumped over his station on the bridge, he says, “Well, we better send Keefers. Only way we’ll get a guaranteed alliance.”

“Okay, asshole, real funn — wait.” Keith blinks. That’s not the insult he thought it was. “Did you just — are you flirting with me?”

Lance flicks brown eyes up to meet his, eyebrows raised, amused smirk on his face. “Have been for a year now, thanks for noticing.”

Keith’s jaw drops. He feels a blush climbing up his neck like he’s a fuckin’ kettle, boiling from the bottom up, because what.

“What.”

“Keith.” The rampant redness on Keith’s face must give Lance pause, because he finally turns his whole attention towards him, straightening up from his seat and facing him head on. “I thought you were just ignoring me. You’re telling me your dumb ass has just been — what, completely oblivious to it?”

“I’m not obvious,” Keith argues, strained. He’s well aware of the snickering behind him and chooses to ignore it. “Usually your flirting is horrible and obnoxious and gets you rightfully punched, so excuse me for not noticing.” He waits a beat, and then tacks on, “Or tied to a tree.”

He’s gratified to see Lance’s smug demeanour crack at the mention of the Nyma incident.

“That was four years ago, dipstick. I was seventeen. It doesn’t take away from the fact that you are so thick headed that you are incapable of taking a hint. Did you think I kept finding reasons to be shirtless around you for fun?”

Keith sputters. He had noticed that Lance was shirtless around him an awful lot, but in his defence he was putting his braincells more towards memorizing a broad back and a glittering belly piercing rather than, like, puzzling out why the fuck Lance wasn’t wearing a shirt.

“I thought you were — hot, or something!”

Lance grins wolfishly. “You think I’m hot?”

“Go fuck yourself!”

“Is that what you want to see?”

Keith makes a hoarse screeching noise in the back of his throat. It is echoed behind him, by all of his friends, actually, but for entirely different reasons, and he hates them all and they are all written out of his will.

Lance slowly stands from his seat, soundlessly stalking over to where Keith stands, leaning against a wall. Keith considers braining himself against a hard surface so he does not half to deal with Lance stupid sexy leer and sparkling eyes et cetera.

“‘Cause if it is,” Lance murmurs, placing a hand next to Keith’s head and leaning in close, “all you had to do was ask, baby.”

“I am going to kill you with fire,” Keith croaks.

Lance chuckles. “Sure, caliente.” He kisses Keith’s cheek and saunters back to his chair. Keith considers asking his lions to help him change his bayard into an anvil and chucking it at Lance’s face. It does not help his situation.

“Well,” Coran says awkwardly, after what can only be several minutes of charged silence. “the good news is that if we send you both that alliance is as good as guaranteed.”