#the online experience™️

[userastarion]

baz in the wild once again!! i still see this post semi-regularly and i’m always like omg <333

ok first of all - me any time i see your posts somewhere

(ive def seen the orpheus one a few times lol)

but also that’s SO funny to me bc i literally never see it??? i know other folks have seen it floating around and im like. am i in the wrong circles for my own post dhskfjskfj

[faehrys]

sometimes i think my mutuals in law are actually my mutuals and it’s so confusing

[wombywoo]

Just laying some ground rules because in this past week I've seen more nonsense™️ than I have in my entire online experience thus far and this wombat's just about had it🤦‍♀️

starting with #1--if you see my stolen art (or anyone's art for that matter) on pinterest DO NOT repost that art on social media. like AT ALL. period.

#2--STOP tagging VA's in my twitter posts. If I wanted them to see it, I'd do it myself. this just reads like you're the one that wants attention, and it's annoying. bye.

#3--whatever this shit is.

the audacity of not only reposting art, but running it through a tween-idol filter ??? If you can't handle my boy's raw, unchiseled anglo saxon jawline, then gtfo 🏃��♀️🏃‍♀️

finally #4--DO NOT ACCUSE ME OF MAKING AI ART!!! I can't even fathom how you've reached this conclusion, but making a callout post about me where you claim you have 'proof' is the most ludicrous thing you could've done for yourself mate, because if you want proof, then how's this:

just an example of hundreds of digital artworks I've made in the past...6-ish years?? maybe before AI was even a thing..🤔

Anyway--kindly get the fuck of my lawn 📣📣📣

[steddieas-shegoes]

Modern AU where Eddie is a tech repair person at an apple store in Chicago while he tries to make it big with his band and Steve is a spoiled rich kid who is trying to cover up that he's been using his macbook to film for his OnlyFans or something similar and he needs that shit wiped.

Eddie is as professional as he can be, but can't help but be amused at Steve being worried that he's gonna see everything.

S: seriously, just wipe everything. nothing has to be saved. don't even look through each file. just start over. E: okay sure. but you know you could just buy a new laptop. S: my dad checks my credit card statements. E: okay, so tell him you bought it for a friend or something. S: just. can you wipe it? E: yeah i can.

Eddie doesn't let him know that he already has seen everything because of course he subscribes to S.H. and often leaves him bigger tips than he can afford. He doesn't even know why Steve does it since he's apparently rich, or his dad is.

It only takes a few hours to wipe it, and Eddie's grateful he managed to help Steve instead of his coworker who is a certified Creep ™️ who absolutely would have made sure to watch as many of the videos as he could first.

He calls Steve and leaves a message for him that it's done, but doesn't hear back and Steve doesn't come by. He does the same thing again the next day, and the day after that, starting to grow concerned.

He goes so far as to check Steve's OF page, just to see if there's an update, but sees it's been shut down, like it never existed.

He finally caves, does the most unprofessional thing he's ever done, and texts Steve's number from his own phone.

This is Eddie from the apple store. Your laptop's ready. Just want you to know after 30 days we usually get rid of unclaimed items.

There's no response.

But two days later, Steve comes into the store wearing sunglasses and a hat, clearly trying to hide.

When he takes off the sunglasses to sign everything, Eddie sees a healing black eye and swollen nose.

He isn't stupid.

And he suddenly feels extremely protective over him.

E: did your dad find out? S: find out what? E: about your online job? S: how do you know? E: I wasn't gonna say anything, and I swear everything got wiped without anyone including myself seeing, but I do subscribe to you and I recognized you when you came in. S, already having a panic attack: shit no. this is bad. okay you can't say anything about this to anyone. please. E: I wouldn't, I won't. but your dad found out didn't he? he did this to you? S: *nods* E: you safe now? S: *shrugs* E: need a place to stay? S: i've been saving. that's why i did this in the first place. so i can pay rent somewhere. E: I have a second bedroom at my place that just opened up. up to you.

And of course Steve takes it because he's desperate, and doesn't have real world experience with a lot of strangers, but has a good feeling about this.

Eddie finds that Steve is a very typical rich kid; ignorant to a lot of the world's struggles, but not an asshole despite his bitchy attitude sometimes coming out, thinks money can fix everything until Eddie shows him that apologies and a cuddle on the couch can be better.

Steve is so touch starved, he doesn't even realize the way he always folds into Eddie's side when they're just relaxing and watching a movie, or how he always lets his hand brush against his side or hand when Eddie gets home from work. Eddie helps him look for a job, and they find that he loves working at a daycare even though the money isn't that great.

They fall in love so easily, neither of them actually realize it happens until Steve comes home after a very long day before the Christmas holidays, covered in paint stains from crafts with the kids, and Eddie just welcomes him home with a kiss.

[wolfythewitch]

I’ve never met a (seemingly, if I’m not mistaken) religious person as good at being religious as you. You seem sincerely chill and loving about your own religion, aware of your church’s effect on others (and both the bad and the potential for good I think most religions tend to have), and so?? emotionally resolved about it at the same time.

Like holy craP, that must’ve taken some internal work!

I really admire that. I’ve been burned really bad by people using religion as a tool for violence and hatred, but people like you make my instinctively tense PTSD heart relax a little. Even when you say the words that I’m used to being used to hurt and discomfort. It still stings, but like old nerve damage on a scar as a salve is rubbed onto it to make the muscles hurt and tense up less.

What I mean to say is that you’re doing a great job, and I’m glad people like you exist even as someone who has learned to be afraid of those beliefs. especially as someone who has learned to be afraid of those beliefs.

Haha thank you. I don't think I've managed to figure it out as much as I've figured out a way of living with it. The good parts and the bad go hand in hand. I've definitely got Issues ™️ but well I don't talk about it as much online and also it is what it is I suppose. Can't really go back in time and change it so might as well figure out how to live with it. In doing so you kinda just figure out a new kind of relationship with religion. I'm glad it has helped you out though! It's nice seeing people can relate to my experiences

[the-bonfires-ember]

Friendship and ASPD

In a cluster b server I’m in, someone asked about how ASPD impacts friendships and I was encouraged to cross post my response on here so here we go.

Firstly, I’m going to go through how I figured out friendship and how to make it work for me starting from my lowest functioning point to where I am now.

So to begin with, I had no true circles. I floated between groups of people who could give me what I wanted in that moment and just manipulated them into giving it to me if my request alone was not satisfactory. Sometimes all I wanted was social camouflage, sometimes i wanted money or food or a distraction. It was arbitrary and there was no real long term plan - at least, when i was no longer in an environment where long term strategies were vital.

Eventually, as I started working on my recovery, I managed to maintain relationships that were exclusively online. The convenience in putting away my laptop and my social obligations disappearing along with it was immensely helpful and it gave me a way of experimenting with being a little more open and a little more attached that had no Real Life repercussions. It was still transactional, all my relationships still are to this day, but they started becoming less Obviously transactional. I was still getting physical, tangible stuff from people, but I was also getting support, a safe space to figure out how to relate to my emotions, and somewhere to practice empathy and other social skills like it. There was a lot of trial and error but when I ruined something in one space I could just start again somewhere else and not have to worry about the two overlapping.

Now that I am Recovered™️ sort of, I’ve developed Exceptions, who have at some point shown that they are trustworthy and nonjudgemental and understand the antisocial side of my personality and are happy to help me work around it. My symptoms sort of change around them. I don’t have remorse but with Exceptions I will feel a kind of visceral disgust directed at myself for how I could have hurt them like that and that will quite often spark a narc crash.

I decided a long time ago what I didn’t want to be, so throughout the entire process I was watching for patterns of behaviour that were harmful for the sake of being harmful. I created a quite intricate set of rules that I couldn’t loophole my way out of and that was very much an important factor in how I continued to develop my skills and ability to interact and maintain relationships.

I am still bad at a lot of stuff though. I don’t reach out to people, I never start conversations so a lot of people just disappear until I’m reminded of them. I’m also awful at vocalising appreciation and while I know logically that people like to help their friends, I constantly have an internal debate about whether I am taking advantage of people I don’t want to be taking advantage of (given that taking advantage of people tends to make them pissed off eventually). And there are days where I don’t want to be around anyone at all and thats ok. It’s better for me to let myself be by myself than to force myself to interact with people when I really dont want to.

Recognising where I lack skills and reflexes prosocials have has been a skill in and of itself and it took a long time to develop it. But it’s been worth it to me, I’m now able to experience and enjoy so many aspects of life I thought weren’t meant for me.

And I’m very smug about being able to get it despite it being implied I never would.

[14dayswithyou]

Hi Sai, sorry for no age in bio last time, I thought I had it on this blog!

Have you seen the fruit peeling as an act of love twitter debate sometime back? With an actual list https://twitter.com/arminvincible/status/1747792393837957620?t=-qWF5GR8RfYDOZDBCLdl1g&s=19 ?

How would 14dwy peel oranges for their partners?

✦゜ANSWERED: Thank you for including your age!! I appreciate it sm!! ;v; I've also seen the trend on TikTok a while ago, so I'll base my answers on that (instead of including visuals like da twitter link you gave)

Ren: Casually drops Sacred Ren Lore™️ by recounting how he used to peel oranges for his sister — all while doing the same for you. He’ll even take off the stringy bits if you don’t like them.

[REDACTED]: Casually peels your orange while they wait for their two-minute noodles to cook. [REDACTED] will also hand-feed them to you if you’re close enough. And if you didn't know how to peel an orange, he'd happily teach you how with zero judgment from his end.

Moth: They’d peel it for you in spirit! Obviously, there’s not much Moth can do from behind a screen... ^^; Their online equivalent would be pre-purchasing any movies/anime you were interested in so you can both watch it together.

Violet: Violet already has some oranges peeled because she wanted to share an afternoon snack with you! Probably has some calamansi on hand for her own meal as well.

Elanor: They would happily peel it and pull out the wedges individually to make things easier for you! Elanor also has tangerines and nectarines too if you prefer; just let her know.

Conan: Has experience from pre-peeling all of Alice’s oranges (and other fruits) for school. Like [REDACTED}, he'll also gently teach you how to peel an orange yourself if you don't already know how.

Jae: More proficient with cutting mangoes and watermelons, but he’ll try his best to peel an orange for you! It might be a bit squished with how enusiastic he gets, however.

Leon: Considering how he’d willingly peel prawns and crabs for you, he’d do the same for an orange as well! Will peel half of it as an example before handing the rest to you so that you can try it for yourself.

Teo: Surprisingly, Teo will peel an orange just to prove that he knows how (did he really need to do it with a knife though?), but would eat the entire thing afterwards. You should’ve peeled it yourself if you wanted to eat it too.

Olivia: She asks you to peel it for her because she doesn't know how... So now you’re both at a standstill with an unpeeled orange sitting on the table.

Kiara: ...She doesn’t actually know how to peel them either (it was always Elanor who did it for her when they were younger), but Kiara will happily (and skillfully) cut up some apples, pears, etc. for you if you prefer!

[diazsdimples]

Some inspo for you 😘

Hooooo boy yeah this definitely inspired some Things™️

The kiss is sloppy, wet, and the taste of Eddie's cock is still on his tongue. It’s fucking intoxicating, sending Buck’s head spinning into the stratosphere. He licks into Eddie's mouth, trying to chase the taste, and Eddie groans in response to his enthusiasm, low and loud. They don’t come up for air, just keep kissing and kissing and kissing, their mouths and tongues slotting together like they were made for this. Buck could kiss Eddie forever and never get tired of it. "I want to fuck you," Eddie murmurs against his mouth as he pulls away, and Buck feels his cock give an almighty twitch in response. "Yeah, please," he whispers. He would give anything to have Eddie's cock inside him. To be filled up, stretched out, to bring them as close together as two people can get. His body aches for it, and the heat of the room has everything feeling like an out of body experience. Eddie kisses along Buck’s jaw, his tongue swiping across the hot skin to lap up an errant bead of sweat. “Do you think,” he murmurs between kisses, “we should move somewhere else?” Buck whines in confusion as Eddie sucks a mark into the hollow of his throat. “Move? Somewhere else? What do you-?” Eddie chuckles, the noise low and rumbling against Buck’s chest. He feels it vibrate through him, sparking at his nerves and generating a pool of heat deep in his body. Eddie nuzzles at the hollow of Buck’s throat, just above the mark, and runs his hands over Buck’s sides, his fingers exploring the expanses of his friend’s body. “You’re burning up, baby,” Eddie breathes against Buck’s skin. “Don’t want you to pass out on me.” If Buck’s mouth was dry before, it’s nothing compared to the way the pet name seemingly sucks all the moisture from him. It knocks the breath out of him, and he sits there blinking silently while his brain comes back online. “I – uh – yeah, okay. Where would we go?” Eddie captures Buck’s lips in another soft, sweet kiss. His thumbs caress Buck’s cheeks and he gently nips at his bottom lip, running his tongue over it to soothe the faint sting. Buck knows this isn’t a permanent thing – they’re not together by any means – but he can’t help the warm flood of love that washes over him at Eddie’s gentle touches. They’re intimate, a far cry from the primal, lust filled grinding of a few moments ago. “There’s a spa pool just outside, and no one else is here. We could…” Eddie trails off as Buck wrinkles his nose in distaste. “Or not? What’s wrong with the spa?” “Eds, I love you, but I’m not having sex with you in a vat of warmed up human soup.”

[batbux]

Reading comics online is good and all but I argue that it deprives you of the True Comic Experience ™️

And what is the True Comic Experience ™️, you ask?

Reading a heartfelt conversation between troubled characters, staring into Bart Allen's big brown eyes....

And then realizing as you were absorbed in reading the page, someone has been watching you the whole time......

👀

[twst-mmc]

Hello! Can I get some headcanons on a male reader trying to cook a normal meal for Idia with the help of Ortho? Because Idia definitely needs to eat some proper food and Ortho most certainly agrees... Idia x Reader, please?

Summary: Idia's diet is... poor, to say the least. With Ortho's help, you make a delicious meal for your boyfriend.

Idia Shroud x m!reader (SFW)

• you always noticed that Idia didn't exactly have the most balanced diet

• "Idia, what are you having for lunch today?" — "Instant ramen, duh."

• you weren't the only one concerned — Ortho was, too

• one day, you received a message from Ortho

• "Y/N, do you wanna cook a meal for Idia? I'm so concerned about him... And he'll love eating a meal made by both his brother and boyfriend for sure."

• needless to say, you were over at Ignihyde within ten minutes

• Ortho immediately looked up nice recipes online and you decided on one together

• at first, you were wondering whether you should make something fancy or simple, and then you eventually settled on a simple meal

• you began searching for the ingredients in Ignihyde's kitchen and Ortho also fetched some additional spices from the school's main kitchen (we're NOT at the Culinary Crucibles & Ortho did NOT spend six hours raiding the kitchen for minimal rewards)

• you both wanted the meal to have a "special touch" to it, which is why Ortho brought those spices

• you carefully followed all the steps of the recipe as Ortho read them out loud and assisted you with the ingredients

• obviously, you put all your love for Idia into the meal and regularly taste-tested it in order to provide the maximum food experience™️ for your boyfriend

• Ortho was such a good help, too, and constantly paid attention that nothing boiled over

• you also put in a little decorative paper fan of one of Idia's favorite game characters

• when the dish was finally completed, you went into Idia's room together with Ortho

• *not looking up from his game* "Hm, who's there?" — "Hey, big brother, it's us!"

• Idia's expression is a mix of surprise and happiness

• "...for me? Why?"

• you proceed to explain that you're worried about Idia's diet and he just passively stares at the floor, avoiding eye contact

• "...thank you. Really, thanks."

• Idia then proceeds to eat and boy does he like it

• he actually eats everything & doesn't leave anything on the plate for once

• he's also super happy about the little paper fan of his favorite character and giggles a bit

• "...thank you guys. This was one awesome meal."

• "Well then, see you later, babe!" you told Idia

• once you and Ortho had left Idia's room, you high-fived each other

• you finally successfully managed to make him eat a proper meal

[schizotypal-culture-is]

I’ve just ordered a copy that I should be receiving in the mail a book called “Psychosis, Trauma and Dissociation: Evolving Perspectives On Severe Psychopathology” which is a collection of papers done by psychologists that are experts in their respective fields that make the argument that schizophrenia (and schizo-spec disorders as a whole) is a dissociative disorder at it’s core.

While I’m supposed to be receiving the book Wednesday, I’m looking for access to it online because I’m Impatient™️ and also, I’d like for everyone to have access to the information. While looking, I came across PubMed article that discusses the book:

“The revised and updated second edition of Psychosis, trauma and dissociation: Evolving perspectives on severe psychopathology (Moskowitz, Dorahy, & Schäfer, 2019) is an ambitious book whose main goal is to provide an understanding of the links in clinical practice of three main concepts: trauma, dissociation and psychosis. The book is divided into three parts. The initial chapters review the historical background of dissociation, trauma, psychosis (schizophrenia) and other related concepts (e.g. hysteria). Throughout the initial chapters (Chapters 1 to 5), the authors argue for a return to historical definitions of dissociation and psychosis (e.g. Janet and Bleuler) and that psychosis (or at least some psychotic experiences; e.g. voice-hearing) is dissociative in nature. Here dissociation is not considered in its more common and broad contemporary meaning (i.e. ‘a lack of integration of psychological functions’, Chapter 1, p. 19). Instead, authors focus mostly on structural dissociation of the personality and its traumatic nature, again harking back to the concept’s historical roots (but see Lynn et al., 2014). The important role of adverse experiences in the development of dissociation, borderline personality disorder (Chapter 6) and psychosis is also highlighted. The latter, authors argue, should not be understood as ‘incomprehensible’ experiences (Chapter 1, p.10), but instead within the individual’s life context, particularly past traumatic/adverse experiences.

“Part two of the book explores a wide range of research perspectives on the relationship between trauma, dissociation, and psychotic phenomena including the prevalence of childhood trauma (Chapter 9) and dissociative phenomena (Chapter 11) in psychosis and the prevalence of psychotic symptoms in dissociative disorders. Indeed, childhood trauma is an important environmental risk factor for psychosis (e.g. Varese et al., 2012) and some preliminary data suggest that dissociation might be one of the psychological mechanisms mediating the association between trauma and psychosis (Williams, Bucci, Berry, & Varese, 2018). Recently, a scale was developed to specifically assess trauma in people with psychosis to better understand these overlaps (Carr, Hardy, & Fornells-Ambrojo, 2018). Chapter 10 describes specifically the structural brain changes following adversity compared to changes seen in psychotic and dissociative disorders. Together, these chapters highlight high prevalence rates, symptom and diagnostic overlaps, and overlaps in terms of changes in brain structures. It is suggested that dissociative disorders and psychosis occur on a continuum of responses to trauma. However, this is largely based on clinical anecdote and not yet backed up by research evidence. This idea is also explored in Chapter 13 by Longden et al., who introduce their theory of voice-hearing as dissociated self states and outline some evidence supporting this theory. The overlap between psychosis and PTSD is also explored in this section of the book, with a proposal of a psychotic PTSD subtype (Chapter 16). Another interesting overlap not covered in the book is the recent recognition that PTSD commonly occurs in response to psychosis and associated experiences (Fornells-Ambrojo, Gracie, Brewin, & Hardy, 2016). Finally, the subsequent chapters explore the role of memory and attention processes in schizophrenia and PTSD (Chapter 17) as well as dissociation and psychosis (Chapter 18). Together, they highlight that similar cognitive processes seem to be altered across these disorders.

“Part three mainly addresses the relation between dissociation and psychosis. The two first chapters (Chapters 19 and 20) argue in favour of new diagnostic categories: Dissociative Psychosis and Dissociation subtype of schizophrenia. Although authors provide relevant arguments favouring their proposition, further research is needed since evidence of these categories’ existence remains scarce. These are followed by two chapters on how clinical assessment allows for differential diagnosis of dissociative disorders and schizophrenia. Evidence points out that the Structured Clinical Interview for Dissociative Disorders, the Wechsler Adult Intelligence Scale and other personality tests with validity scales (e.g. MMPI-2) can clearly differentiate both samples. Some chapters are also dedicated to describing psychological approaches to understand and treat psychosis and related experiences including the Maastricht Approach (Chapter 24) to understand voice-hearing, the Eye Movement Desensitization and Reprocessing (EMDR) therapy to treat individuals with psychosis and PTSD (Chapter 25), and the psychodynamic approach (Chapter 26). The efficacy of the latter is yet to be backed by empirical evidence, but a recent systematic review has endorsed the safety and feasibility of EMDR for psychosis (Adams, Ohlsen, & Wood, 2020). Other trauma-focused treatments (e.g. Exposure therapy) are also alternatives to treat PTSD in psychosis (Sin & Spain, 2017), but are not explored in this book. The final chapter addresses how individuals give meaning to their voice-hearing and dissociative experiences (among others – out of the ordinary experiences) and how this takes places within a social and cultural context.

“In sum, the book provides a very detailed and comprehensive overview of the links and overlaps between the concepts of dissociation, trauma, and psychosis. The different chapters examine this topic from multiple perspectives and at several levels of understanding (historical, phenomenological, neurobiological, and clinical). Concepts which many clinicians and researchers may take for granted are dismantled and explored in-depth, meaning that readers are forced to question any preconceptions.

“The definition of the term dissociation is identified to be complex and contentious throughout the book. Indeed different chapters focus on different aspects of dissociation. It is notable that much of the empirical evidence regarding the prevalence and mediating role of dissociation in psychotic experiences uses a broad definition of dissociation (Pilton, Varese, Berry, & Bucci, 2015), rather than the more narrow version of structural dissociation that is the emphasis of much of the theoretical material introduced in the book. This highlights the need for more empirical evidence to examine theoretical models that see psychotic symptoms as dissociative in the more specific use of the term.

“This book will be of interest to researchers, clinicians, and people with lived experience wanting to explore the relationship between trauma, dissociation and psychosis in detail. It will be suited to people who are willing to dismantle preconceptions and embrace these concepts’ complexity.

“Overall, the book explores new ways to understand trauma, psychosis and dissociation and open further research areas, which can benefit clinicians and, in particular, people with lived experiences of voice-hearing, psychosis, dissociation and who have been impacted by traumatic events.”

I need to read this Right Now.

[schizoid-culture-is]

Questioning SZPD culture is the ultimate covert experience™️ is impulsive niceness. No, I don't care about your day, your interests, you as a person, I don't feel like investing in this friendship, I don't feel like talking to you at any moment, you actually irritate me a lot 'cause I can't be online ONCE that you start texting me—but I'm physically unable to say that, I constantly force myself to be nice and caring when in reality I'm not, it's exausting, sure, but I can't.

—🦈🪽

-

[rosewaterandivy]

Epilogue | for once in my life

Summary: Rumor has it, that hometown hero-turned-teacher Steve Harrington is hot for teacher. The English teacher next door to him at Hawkins High, who also happens to be his childhood friend, that is.

Pairing: Steve Harrington x chaotic!dumbass reader

W.C: 5.7k

Warnings: No use of y/n - reader goes by the nickname Trouble instead, yearning, Tuscan summers, a flashback or two, a wedding, and my usual filth™️

A/N: Thanks for bearing with me while I worked on an ending for our two beloved idiots. 🥺 Truthfully, part of me put off writing the epilogue simply because I didn’t want to let Trouble and Steve go— they’re so near and dear to me! But, all good things must come to an end and I hope I’ve given them a fitting one. Thank you all for reading along and sharing your joy with me, it’s been incredible to experience! 💜💜💜

Series masterlist | Series Playlist | trouble will find me (for Trouble, most ardently) | rebel without a clue (for Steve, with love)

previous

The distance was difficult, only mitigated by the positively unreal Tuscan summer. Though the university was in Bologna in the Emilia-Romagna region, since your classes centered on Dante, you along with a few other students, called Florence your home away from home for the summer.

The sun shone bright and hot against the ancient stones of Palazzo Medici Riccardi, and felt good against your back as you lazed in the garden and courtyard on a rare day off from combing through medieval texts in jam-packed libraries and dust motes floating through the air.

Crossing the bustling street you popped into your local gelateria only to be greeted with an exuberant, “Bella!” from Alessandro behind the counter. “Finally you grace us with your presence,” He teases, already scooping out a serving of arancia rossa sorbetto for you into a cup.

“Grazie,” You say with a smile, taking the sorbetto from his outstretched hand. “Had a slow start to the morning is all, Sandro.”

“Certo, I know how it is,” He says with a knowing wink. 

To be fair, the slow start to the day was warranted, given the stress-induced dream you had last night. There you were, minding your own business, thinking about Steve and the voice note he’d left you earlier, and the next thing you know, your brain decided a trip down memory lane was warranted.

“But what do I do about the dress?” Your voice is choked, tongue stumbling over the words. 

It hangs in your closet, mocking you. A pink dust bag with an elegant calligraphy card that lists your former wedding date and ex-fiancé’s last name. Robin’s fingers graze the zipper on the garment bag, fingers slowly settling along the pull. 

“You could try it on?”

She says it as if she wishes she didn’t have to, as if the next time you would put on the wedding dress would be for the alteration appointment which you had already canceled, along with everything else.

Truthfully, the day you found the dress wasn’t at all what you expected it to be. Sure, you’d looked around online and at a few boutiques with Nancy, Robin, your mother, and would-be mother-in-law. Nothing struck your fancy though, each dress you slipped on had something wrong with it— too tight, too loose, too many embellishments, not enough embellishments, too heavy...

It was Steve who suggested the boutique, actually. One of his mother’s friends had a daughter who’d gotten her dress from a place in Indianapolis and said the service and selection were both top-notch. So you went and made a day trip out of it; Eddie and Steve would drop you and the girls off at the boutique and hang out in the city for the day.

Though, they really did try to weasel their way in to the appointment. 

“The fact that you won’t let us join you is misandry.”

“Oh my god,” you laugh. “No, it isn’t, Eds!”

“Okay,” he relents, turning around to face you in the backseat, “Maybe not misandry, but definitely discriminatory. Dudes just wanna have fun!”

Steve laughs, pulling up in front of the boutique, waves to your mother who’s waiting on the sidewalk. “Y’never know,” he teases, “Could need a second opinion in there. Especially once they open the champagne.”

Eddie squawks at that, “You get to try on dresses and drink booze? I’m offended I’ve been left out here.”

Robin opens the backdoor with a roll of her eyes, “No boys allowed, dingus.”

You follow suit, giving Steve a small smile, “Thanks for driving us.” 

His gaze softens, eyes meeting yours, “Happy to help. Now, go find a stunner in there for us, will ya?”

With a shake of your head, you bring yourself back to the moment. Sitting on the floor of your former home, moving boxes and tape littering the floor ready for you to pack up the pieces of your life. You look to Robin again, she’s unzipped the garment bag entirely revealing the bodice and skirt of the gown.

She watches you thoughtfully, “I mean, just to see if you still like it? That way we’ll know if we need to pack it or sell it.”

Sighing, you wipe your damp palms against your thighs and stand up. “Yeah,” you breathe, “Okay.”

Between the two of you, you managed to wrestle into the dress. Robin securing the delicate straps as you adjust the cups and situate yourself. The door creaks open to reveal Nancy, her eyes bright with interest. 

Robin gives up with her attempts to fix the zipper and numerous buttons on the back, steps aside for Nancy to intervene.

“You’re gorgeous, babe,” Robin says, voice soft. “It looks amazing on you! Same as the day we found it.”

“It’s one hell of a dress.” Nancy agrees, the zipper pull sliding home. “No one would say no to you in that.”

Your laugh comes out as a choked thing, wet and raspy. You wipe your eyes in an effort to prevent any tears from falling. But that was the thing, wasn’t it? He didn’t even have to see the dress to know that he no longer wanted you.

“Thanks, guys.”

Feeling brave enough to look at the mirror, you pause in perusal. And sure enough, it’s a stunner. Delicate lace embellished the corseted bodice, waist nipped just enough to amplify the bust. The skirt flowed down in layers of silk and tulle, the lace accenting the frothy peaks and valleys of it. 

Turning, you noticed the low-dip of the back, highlighted by the beginnings of the train. It was a gown meant for a cathedral wedding, a long aisle as you walked toward the altar. A beautiful wedding dress for a wedding that no longer was. 

It was getting difficult to justify keeping it.

“Holy shit,” Eddie says, bursting into the room slack-jawed, “Your tits look great!”

Robin smacks him, “No boys allowed, dingus!”

“Yeah, Eddie, don’t you know what a closed door means?”

He grins, “I think we know by now that, no, I clearly do not.”

Hearing footsteps coming down the hall, you turn to Nancy eyes wide. “Nance, the door–”

She shuts it quickly, keeping a hand on the knob. Robin and Eddie stop their bickering long enough to share a meaningful glance. You fist the full of the skirt in both hands and motion for Robin’s help in getting the dress off.

“Uh.” Steve says, voice muffled through the closed door, “What’s going on in there?”

“Nothing!” You’re quick to respond, trying and failing to keep the panic from your voice, “Just packing up some stuff.”

“Riiiight.” He drawls, “Then do I hear Eddie in there talking about tits?”

“Hey man,” Eddie says in his own defense. “I just wandered in here, I know nothing.”

“And why is the door locked?”

Nance’s eyes go to the doorknob as it jiggles in her hand. “We’re trying to figure out what to do with the dress,” she says in a breathless rush.

If looks could kill, Nancy would have dropped to the floor. You narrow your eyes at her and turn with a huff.

“What dress— t-the wedding dress?”

“Yes, Steve.” Robin sighs. “That’s the one.”

The doorknob swivels again, “C’mon, just open the door guys. Eddie’s seen it and I am officially the only one who hasn’t.”

“No!” You shout.

Everyone stops to look at you, eyes wide. 

“I mean,” you sputter indignantly, stepping out of the dress and throwing on your overly large t-shirt. “S’not a big deal, I’ll probably sell it, anyway.”

Robin and Eddie maneuver it back into the garment bag with a zip just as Nancy steps away from the door, gaze soft taking in your drawn face.

Steve stumbles in soon after to find you, pants-less, the hem on your shirt grazing your bare thighs, furiously taping boxes closed and scribbling in sharpie.

“Nothing to see here!” You say, stumbling into your bike shorts, tugging them back up. “No siree, nothing at all.”

His chest falls slightly, looking from you to the pink garment bag and back again. Robin catches the minute change in his expression before he’s picking up a box and carrying it out into the hall, not a word to be said about the dress.

And all that runs through your mind is a frantic buzz of ‘It’s bad luck for the groom to see the bride in her wedding dress.’ Never mind that you were no longer a bride and Steve was never your intended groom. Any rational know-how kicked from your thoughts in an echo of your hammering heart.

Why your exhausted brain conjured up that particular episode, you had no idea. The instance was promptly forgotten, the dress stored at your parent’s place, and Steve never brought it up again.

Thank God for that.

Maybe it was because of Nancy and Jonathan’s looming nuptials. He’d popped the question not long after Nance moved in, and it had been full-steam ahead since March. The ceremony was to happen at the end of summer, just as your intensive was wrapping up. 

She’d nearly had a coronary when you’d expressed your doubts about being able to attend.

“I’m not getting married without you Trouble, so sweet-talk those profs into letting you sit your exams early and get the fuck back home.” She sighs down the line, “There’s only so much of moping Steve we can take— Eddie is about ready to strangle him.”

You huff a laugh, “Yeah, I’m surprised he’s held out this long.”

“Yeah, she agrees dryly, "We all know you two'll take any excuse to get Steve in a headlock.”

“I don’t need an excuse,” You scoff. “That punk needs to be put in his place.”

You’d taken up Nance on her no-nonsense advice and your professors had graciously allowed you to submit your final papers early in order to make the wedding. Unfortunately, you’d miss out on a few of the celebrations like the bridal shower, bachelorette party, and rehearsal dinner— your flight would be landing just as the festivities began— but, Nancy and Jonathan had agreed to help you surprise the gang.

For all Robin, Eddie, and Steve knew there was absolutely, positively no way you could get out of your scheduled final exams. It sucked, as Robin rightfully pointed out, that you’d have to miss your best friend’s wedding but they all understood.

Steve was more hangdog about it than ever.

“Thanks Sandro,” You call out, plastic spoon in your mouth as you quickly step out the door, leaving a €5 note on the counter before he could stop you with a, “Your money is no good here, bella!”

Your phone buzzes in your bag, ducking under an awning your scramble through your well-worn tote bag to find it, throwing your sunglasses on in the process.

“Hey Fratty light,” You greet with a smile, spooning another cool helping of blood orange flavored ice into your mouth. “Do any good keg stands lately?”

Steve’s laugh nearly eclipses the warmth of the sun on your skin, a surge of heat building low in your stomach.

“At least I didn’t fall off the keg.”

“That was one time!” You scoff, jogging across the street before an aggressive Vespa can mow you down. Pulling the phone away from your mouth, you give the driver the ombrello gesture and shout, “Vaffanculo!”

He chuckles at your outburst, “Tell ‘em babe!”

“I’ll have you know, I stuck that landing Harrington and, it was quite the crowd-pleaser if I recall.”

“Sure Trouble,” You can nearly hear the eye roll at your expense, “It was the landing and not the fact that you were wearing those panties.”

The fact that he remembered the pair in question has you reeling, you nearly run into a fellow pedestrian in your dazed state.

“Anyway,” You say, cleaning your throat. “What’s on the sad boy agenda for today? Getting into divorced dad rock, any Matchbox-20 or Creed in your future?”

“God, you’re awful, and no, thanks very much.” 

You hear a door slam and a car engine turn over. Someone muttering about Steve’s ‘utter lack of taste’ in music— Eddie, without a doubt.

He sighs down the line, pulling on your heartstrings because you miss them all so damn much, but Steve most of all.

“Just helping with some wedding stuff.” His voice is softer, sadder knowing you won’t be there to celebrate with them. “Boring shit, you know.”

You hum in agreement, “Well I’ll let you get to it. Don’t let Eddie flirt with too many bridesmaids!”

“You got it, chief,” Steve says, “Take care of yourself babe.”

“You too, big boy.” A huff of laughter at hearing his scoff, “Byyyeeee.”

And maybe it happens like Nance said it would, things just fall into place when they’re meant to.

After a flight from hell— a toddler would not, for love or money, stop kicking the back of your seat on the evening flight from Milan to Berlin, and you were stuck in the backmost row from Berlin to Indianapolis on the red-eye. It was a miracle you rolled up to your parents' house in one piece. You’d arrive at the venue to get ready with the rest of the bridal party where you’d hopefully be able to keep Robin sworn to secrecy.

You weren’t above putting her into a headlock, if it came down to it.

Dress, shoes, and make-up bag hastily thrown in your mom’s car, you drove to the venue just outside of Hawkins. A lovely little outdoor property owned by a local family, groves of trees and the finest collection of wildflowers you’d ever seen— fitting for Nancy and Jonathan.

You arrive in a slightly mussed frenzy, arms weighed down with your bridesmaid dress and a weekend bag that did fuck-all to protect you from the sudden onslaught of summer rain. Cursing the permeability of Indiana summers, you walk swiftly toward the bridal cottage.

The squelch of your shoes and drops of rain accompany you across the tiled path. Breathe. A steady inhale pulls the comforting scent of petrichor to your lungs, tucked safely behind the cage of your ribs. A shift in the light, a cloud makes way for the sun to shine once more; you scramble for the club masters perched on your head, impossibly tangled (of course) in a damp nest of hair. 

Pried free, you rest the glasses against your nose bridge and stroll to the door. Before you can wrestle a hand free to knock, the door swings open to reveal a tipsy Vickie and bemused Nancy. A smirk settles on your lips as the two shuffle you into the cottage, tutting at the state of your hair and general tardiness.

“It is a wedding y’know,” Vickie teases grabbing the canvas bag from you. “Could make an effort to be on time.” She drops a wink your way before absconding toward the vanity table to deliver your belongings elsewhere.

Nancy huffs and rolls her eyes, taking the dresses from your arm. “Ignore her,” she soothes, “Seems the title of temporary co-M.O.H. has gone straight to her head.” She shoves a flute of champagne into your empty hand and leads you inside. “But you’re here, so the title can rightfully fall to you.”

“And how is the blushing bride?” You smile, taking in her cool, calm demeanor.

She’s notoriously hard to ruffle, so you’re not surprised to find Nancy the same as ever, albeit a tad buzzed from the champagne.

“Fuck a duck!” Robin shouts, colliding with part of the doorway as she takes the corner to quickly in her haste to get to you, having heard your voice from down the hall. She trips falling into you in a quasi-hug that’s mostly all elbows jabbed into your ribs. 

“Walk with dignity, you overgrown toddler,” You laugh sipping some champagne, wrapping your arm around her in a proper hug. She buries her face into your neck with a smile. “And before you even ask, no you cannot, under any circumstance, tell your emotional support Steve about this.”

You feel her frown before she pulls back from you, “I can keep a secret y’know.”

“I don’t doubt it Bucks, just wanna surprise him is all.”

“He has no idea? Oh shit, this is gonna be good.” She says with a cackle before trotting off to help Vickie with her dress.

“Alright Wheels,” You announce polishing off your flute of champagne, “Let me at it, where’s the hairspray?”

After furious coating of L’Oreal’s finest to her hair after you’d secured a few flowers in place, you cough in a haze of hairspray and sagely advise, “That’s good for three slow dances, two fast ones, and one Lambada…” You warn, capping the canister to set it aside. “But if you wanna mosh, I’d suggest another coat.”

Nancy laughs at the suggestion, “I think we’re good.” She checks your handiwork in the mirror with a smile, “Can I ask you something Trouble?”

“Shoot.”

She turns to face you and lowers her voice to a whisper while the other bridesmaids are busy with false eyelashes and zipping up dresses. “Have you given any thought to what I said back in May?”

Ah, that conversation. The one where she (lovingly) warned you off of Steve if you weren’t certain about your feelings for him. Your big, overwhelming feelings. As if you could forget them, even thousands of miles away.

“You know,” You begin, voice pitched to meet hers, “I had a bit of time to think over the summer, no distractions, just me and the Tuscan sun.” 

She stands to slip into her dress and you follow to assist— it’s a beautiful number, all minimal sleek lines and fitted to her like a glove. Nancy is gorgeous, but Nancy on her wedding day is otherworldly. She dutifully turns for you to button up the back and arrange the train for photos.

“And?”

Your eyes meet in the mirror, hers curious but not prying, yours wide, reeling from it all— the pro/con lists, numerous conversations with your mom, Eddie, and Nance, the letters, emails, voice notes, calls and texts from Steve. Somehow, some way they all amounted to this:

“You remember my twenty-first birthday?”

“How could I forget,” She chuckles knowingly, “Spin the bottle, right?”

A nod, you busy yourself smoothing out the few lines in the silhouette of the dress. “And a bit of liquid courage.”

There is no good reason why the eight of you should be doing this. Back at the loft after a night of carousing and bar-hopping, imbibed enough complimentary birthday drinks that spin the bottle seemed like a good idea. Even if the bottle in question is some ridiculously expensive high-roller shit swiped from Mr. Harrington’s study.

You’re warm, leaning on Eddie’s shoulder and whispering in his ear— goading him about kissing someone. Steve hopes it’s not you.

The glass mouth of the bottle spins to a stop in front of Jonathan who groans loudly before clambering over the whoops and hollers.

“Lay it on ‘im Munson!”

You tip backwards and shriek in glee when their lips touch. Eddie returns to your side with a roll of his eyes, pokes your knee with his finger. “Pucker up, buttercup. You’re next.”

Argyle cracks his knuckles, taps his chin thoughtfully, “Alright chica.” He says, “Hope you get Nance or Vic. Make it nice and steamy up in here.”

Steve hopes it’s him and not Nancy, selfishly. The rest of them be damned, if the bottle lands on him he’s going to frog-leap over Eddie, shove him to the side and kiss you good. If it lands on anyone else, he may get arrested for murder tonight.

There’s really no excuse for it— the longing. Best friends since childhood who drifted apart because, as always, he was a dumbass. Kissed you all of one time after the Homecoming dance freshman year and that was barely a peck.

The bottle lands on Vickie.

Slightly tipsy and putting on a show, you bite your bottom lip and lean in, slanting your mouth over hers with a soft sigh. The sound sinks into Steve’s gut and he groans in agony— jealous you’d rather kiss his ex or the redhead rather than him. Nevermind that the bottle was nowhere near landing on him.

“Keep it PG, ladies!” Robin calls, “This is taking way too long!”

“Bucks, shut up. I’m trying to take a video.” Nancy slaps the phone from Eddie’s hand.

Having had enough of it all, Steve stands. “Not that this isn’t how I want to spend my night…” he mumbles, hands patting his thighs. “But I’m peacing out.”

You look up, distracted, and bottom lip a little wet from Vickie, eyes hazy from the long night of celebrating, and quirk your head. “You leavin’, Stevie? Wan’ me to walk you?”

“What— like he’s gonna get lost from here to his room?”

Steve is going to get arrested tonight for murdering Eddie. Tries to keep his cool, regardless.

“S’okay birthday girl, I’ll be fine. You have fun.”

You hop up anyway, a bit blundering in your step, and grab his hand to yank him forward. “C’mon… I gotcha.” Fortified with liquor, you tug him along, turning a corner and chattering about how as much as you appreciate that expensive whiskey, you’d rather have a beer. There’s nothing better than some pretzels, beer, and a movie.

“Oh, uh, s-sorry.” Your hand loosens before you pull it away, self-consciously.

“For what?”

“I know we haven’t been, like, close for a while now. I didn’t mean to grab you like that.”

Oh. The realization dawns on him now, like a crash of lightning— you think he’s guarded… but he’s only been reserved for your sake.

He calls your name, followed by a murmured, “C’mere for a second.”

You lean against his bedroom door, dazed but curious. Steve steps forward until you’re nearly chest to chest, back against the wood. Your mouth opens with a nearly inaudible gasp, but he can see your pulse kick up in your throat. “Yeah?”

"You remember our first kiss?" He waits for you to nod before continuing. "I think I owe you a do-over."

Confusion flits across your face, a solitary brow quirked up in interest. "You wanna mulligan my first kiss, like... seven years after the fact?"

He ducks his chin in embarrassment, skin flushing with heat. "Yeah, I mean, if you're open to it?" He scratches the back of his neck and mumbles, "I just think you deserve better."

You bite your lip in thought, and Steve wants nothing more than to shrivel up and die— but then, you nod, and before he can think better of it, he takes his chance.

Purposefully, Steve tilts your face up fingers, trailing along your chin and jaw, thumbing the full of your bottom lip. You can hear your heart pounding in your ears, all whooshes and erratic beats, almost enough to drown out the words that fall from his lips.

And then, the perfect genius that is Steve Harrington leans down to close the distance between you. Satisfied that your face is tilted just so, his hand sweeps back your hair to cradle your head as his lips descend to yours. 

He kisses you like he’s got all the time in world— like it isn’t past three in the morning and you’re about a minute from slipping under. He kisses lazy, slow, and sublime. Presses you closer to him, an arm winding around your waist to pull you from the wall. More, kissing—tongues and lips and teeth— more of that touch you’ve only dreamed about and you want to kick yourself for missing it, for even daring to fantasize when the real thing is so much more.

Your palms are on his chest, pawing at him for leverage, struggling to refrain from bucking your hips up into him like you so desperately want to do. Steve pulls back with a contented sigh, and you’re surprised there isn’t a string of saliva strung between the pair of your for all the swapping spit that just occurred. There’s nothing but you and him. His gaze, so tentative and sweet, meets yours briefly as he stands back hands shoved quickly into his pockets.

“I meant something like that.”

Your mouth tugs at a corner, as if you could laugh or cry. Or smile. 

Steve lets out a breathy chuckle, brandishes a small, hopeful smile, and runs a hand through his hair. 

You nod. And it’s enough.

“I–I think I’ve known for a while.” You admit sheepishly, looking for any last-minute adjustments that need to be made before the precessional. One hand grasping her train, you follow Nancy toward the door. Taking a shaky breath in, you say, "Guess some part of me has been in love with him since I fell off the fence and into his backyard that first summer."

She stops short and turns back to you elated because she knows the story all too well. Steve doesn't get drunk enough to talk about it often–- the man has a wooden leg, hand to god. But once in a blue moon, it'll happen: how the new neighbor's daughter nearly busted her ass sneaking back home way after her curfew, too buzzed on shitty wine coolers and reeking of weed to realize that she'd fallen on the wrong side of the fence.

Hastily, Robin thrusts a bouquet of flowers into Nancy’s hand. Just before the band starts up, Nancy gives your hand a squeeze and advises, “Sometimes what’s meant for you comes back, Trouble. Don’t let it slip by, okay?”

Steve is just looking to survive the day, he’ll be grateful to get through, honestly. 

He was beyond bummed you couldn’t be there for Nance’s wedding and that he’d be sitting with her cousin instead— she’d talked his ear off during the rehearsal dinner last night about her current rewatch of Sex and The City. He’d never been so relieved to be pulled into bridal party duties by Eddie than he was that night.

And, to top it off, you weren’t answering your phone. Logically, he knew you’d be in exams for most of the day but you normally sent him a text or voice note once you woke up or before you made it to class for the day. 

He’s pathetic. Eddie forced him to leave his phone in the groom’s suite and now he feels phantom vibrations from something that isn’t even in his pocket. Heaving a sigh, he lines up ready to escort Vickie and mentally preparing himself for a detailed recounting of the havoc that Samantha’s absence has caused the SATC franchise from the Wheeler cousin.

“You know,” A lazy, familiar voice drawls to his right, “If I was a riptide, I wouldn’t take you out.” An arm loops through his, comfortable and intimate. 

But no— it couldn’t possibly be…

“Hey, Harrington.” You say, quietly, knocking your hips to his, casually holding a bouquet in your hand, all easy smiles and warm touches. When Steve finally does turn, he blinks a few times to confirm that you're not some hallucination.

Because you’re here, impossibly, you’re home, and everything is finally right in the world.

You reach over to straighten his tie, the alexandrite ring gleaming on your right hand and catching the light.

“How did you—” He stammers, bereft of language.

But then there’s that smirk he adores. “Some of us are stealthy, y’know. Like a ninja.”

“Oh, fuck me right in the mouth.” He laughs loud and bright, a few people turn back in their chairs to look.

You sputter briefly as the precessional begins, hand lighting on his arm with a gentle squeeze. “Uh, that can certainly be arranged, Harrington.”

In that moment he knew, with a certain sense of finality, that he had no choice but to love you; all his love and, if he’s being honest, fear, reflected there in your eyes.

The ceremony is beautiful, of course, and the reception is now in full swing. The new Mr. and Mrs. Byers shared an adorable first dance to “At Last” by Ella Fitzgerald, which nearly had you tearing up before Steve twirled you out onto the dancefloor. 

“Hey, good lookin’,” He says with a smile so sweet, it almost makes you weak in the knees. 

It’s a slow song, something to get the couples up and out of their seats. Over his shoulder you spy Robin and Vickie making goony eyes at eachother while Eddie and Argyle stumble around both trying to lead the other— idiots.

“Hi, Steve.” You reply, eyes making their way back to him. “Y’know, they say you should never trust a man who can dance.”

“And why’s that, honey?”

You shrug, “Dunno. Apparently they’re all heartbreakers or something.”

Steve, thanks to his mother’s needling and his father’s need to keep up appearances, could dance. He’d escorted many a debutante, including yourself, during Cotillion. You can still hear Savannah’s nasally “Did you know that five out of six debs marry their escorts?”

But, then again, she was also drinking from the fun flask at the ripe age of sixteen. So, do with that what you will.

He spins you easily, like it’s nothing, and before you know it you’re back in his arms. His brow is furrowed in thought, but what he could possibly be thinking you hadn’t a clue. So you continue to follow his lead across the dance floor and silently thank Mrs. Harrington for forcing you and Steve into those dance classes way back when, even if he stepped on your toes and you retaliated with an accidental elbow to his ribs— knock-kneed teens the pair of you.

So much has changed since then.

The music pauses, as someone announces that the bride will toss the bouquet. You go to find the bar, but Steve promises he’ll come back with a drink for you instead and then Eddie is hustling you toward the crowd of “single ladies.”

“Eds, no.” You attempt to swat him away, but he’s having none of it. 

“Far as I know, you and Harrington are fuck buddies. No declarations,” His eyes fall to your left hand, “No ring. Beyoncé would insist, sugar.”

You’ve always had a sixth sense about things. When you were younger, your family and friends often thought it was an ability— but in truth, it’s just a mixture of careful perception, logical thinking, and educated guessing.

But not even your sixth sense could explain how you’d ended up catching the bouquet. Especially with a vodka and tonic in one hand and standing at the rear of the gaggle of gals gathered for the event. Didn’t even want to take part, far more interested in finding the coat check room and seeing how long it would take Steve to blow his load once you finally got your mouth on him.

So it’s a surprise, either luck or Nance’s killer aim, when her bouquet lands in your hand, the ribbon wrapped stems falling neatly into your palm just as you turn to shout something at Eddie behind you. Catching Steve’s knowing smirk and hearing Eddie’s piercing wolf-whistle, you give him an exaggerated wink before tossing back your drink. 

It’s not long after that, a few more spins around the dance floor, some cake, and more liquor, tasteful toasts from you and Argyle, fond farewells to the newlyweds and bags thrown into cars for a quick getaway, that Steve tosses you— bouquet in hand, over his shoulder and dips out of there. Ignoring Eddie’s teasing of Irish exits and Irish twins, he sets you on your feet again to lean you against the car and kisses you positively stupid. 

But it’s not a surprise when Steve finally asks you the question he’s been dying to for nearly the entire summer on the drive home, Nancy’s bouquet resting against the dash as you toe off your heels.

“Hey mind-reader, how long did it take?”

“Hmm?” Pleasantly sleepy from jet lag, your mind struggles to spark a fuse of comprehension. Steve raises a solitary brow in interest. 

"Whaddya mean?" You mumble out between stifled yawns.

His hand rests on your leg while he drives, big and warm, his fingers fiddling with the fabric of your dress. Steve, bless him, won't press you on it, but he also wouldn't have asked something so casually for no reason. He's crafty like a fox when he wants to be.

You take a breath and let yourself really think about it. If you’re taking the question seriously, which you damn well should, he deserves an explanation. Hesitantly, you remind Steve of the near fiasco with the wedding dress back at your old place. He nods at your rambling, how guilty and scared you felt at shutting him out. 

“So, yeah, between the moving-in playlist and me being bat-shit terrified of you seeing me in a wedding dress,” You summarize, fingers finding their way to his once more. The warm glow of the streetlights cast shafts of light through the windows. “You’re about as subtle as a brick through a window, Steve Harrington," You conclude with a smirk.

His eyes widen in realization, “Oh, so that’s what you were apologizing for before left for Joshua Tree.” An annoyed sigh before a sharp inhale takes its place. “You’re so stupid.”  

Back at the loft, fumbling hands in elevators lips spit slick and ruddied, Steve bats away your grabby hands with an exasperated huff as they light upon his chest. Nearly dropping his keys when they find a better way to occupy themselves.

Once inside, he presses his face into your neck, kissing hungrily, anywhere he can, down to your collarbones and chest and then he’s lifting you up by the thighs, kicking the door close, and instinctively pulling everything off.

He peels his shirt off and throws it onto the floor while you shimmy out of your dress. His mouth hasn’t left yours for anything other than to breathe.

His hands stop at the curve of your hips. The room is spinning— the entire world moving too fast in a feverish haze. Years of close-quartered friendship and the first intimate touches in months have jumped right into the deep end. You don’t even know when the two of you made way back into his room, but the door clicks shut with a kick from his foot.

“Hey, mind-reader, I got two questions for you,” Steve calls teasingly. “First, how big did you think I was, y'know before? When you accused me of, how did you put it... harboring a fugitive?”

Your brain briefly short-circuits at that, mildly embarrassed. He laughs at your slow, owlish blinks while you formulate a response other than, "Well, I, uh..."

"Okay, okay," He drops a kiss to your brow, soothing your worries away, “Second…”

You gulp. Your legs feel like jelly— all the smart words in the entire world wiped completely from existence. The pause he takes is punishingly long and the grin he gives you nearly makes you faint.  

His pants are shucked somewhere near the bedroom door. One of your hands goes into his hair, other guiding him between your legs where you smear all over his fingers.

"S'been a while, do you think you can take it?”

“Oh,” A smirk quirks your lips, hand scrabbling for purchase on his tanned skin, “I think you know I can.”

Later, after frenzied forays in tangled sheets and revelling in the afterglow, you place your hand over his chest, selfishly counting his heartbeats.

You breathe, soft and sweet, “Steve,” the sound of your voice a warm balm in the inky dark. “Steve,” You say again and kiss his neck, turning toward you on the rumpled bed he kisses you, as if he could ever get enough. 

“I love you.”

He pulls back, just enough so that you wrap your leg around his hips, sheet slipping off as his fingers trail up your thigh. Grazing the tip of his nose ever so lightly against your temple, you feel the rumble of laughter through his chest as it heaves against yours. 

Rolls you onto your back, legs falling open to cradle his hips while he holds himself above you, hair falling into his face, “Took you long enough,” he grins, kissing you again. Your cheeks, your jaw, your chin. “I love you too, honey.”

His love is heavy and you delight in the gravity of it as he slips his way back inside, your hands pulling him closer than anyone can ever or will ever get again. It feels fated— the way your body moves and his responds in kind.

Steve only keens your name in reply.

Spun clear out of your body in the haze, pure joy erupts from your mouth, hands scrambling for him, so woozy and giddy you can’t help it. 

So this is love, after all. 

Finis.

[mizdelusional]

How To Make A Delulu Cocktail™️

Hi. Hey. How are you?

Beautiful as always, I know—no need to rub it in.

Anyways, today, I'm gonna teach you how to make a Delusional Cocktail™️.

Now, I know what you're saying in your head: Babe, what the fuck is a Delusional Cocktail™️?

And to that I say that first I'm gonna need you to lose the attitude because I'm about to change your life and also that a Delusional Cocktail is actually really simple to make.

To start, you're gonna need to gather three simple ingredients: the realization that nothing really matters, unbotheredness, and inspiration.

Personally, I got my realization and unbotheredness from the Trauma Department Store which is a bit pricier and time-consuming considering the therapy and additional work that you have to do to keep your unbotheredness from turning into emotional numbness and spoiling your cocktail but luckily there are healthier (and cheaper) ways in order to obtain these two ingredients.

I recommend just doing things.

Like, going places by yourself, starting something that you're gonna be bad at in the beginning, or just doing something that you are normally afraid/bad at doing. This will allow you to see that no one really cares about you the way that you think that you do. And I feel as though that is essential to manifesting because I think that oftentimes, we're so caught up in other people's perception of us that we allow their opinions to saturate our minds and steer us off of our paths.

Similarly, these experiences will also help you to see that LIFE IS FUCKING ROUGH. Firstly, everybody's just trying to survive and make the best of what they can. Why shouldn't you manifest? Why should you feel guilty about manifesting insane wealth or the perfect partner or body? You work so fucking hard and do all these things when we were really just meant to sleep, eat, and live. Don't you think that alone entitles you to the right to at least be a little bit delusional?

Moving on to the third ingredient: Inspiration.

This one is always fun and simple because inspiration can mean anything from creating a Pinterest board to find two people online whose lifestyles you really admire and just saying, "If it can happen to them then it can happen to me to."

There is no limit to the amount of inspiration that you can add into this cocktail. Inspiration is unique to each individual, just as how everybody has different flavors that they prefer. And hey, if you like to mix and match flavors then be my guest.

I would just gently recommend that you take time picking out your flavors to develop a style/vision that you love rather than something that someone else says is good for you because it works for them.

My inspirations are my two Pinterest boards and two influencers whose lifestyles I really connect with.

So, now that you have your three ingredients, it's time to mix them up. You can do it anyway that you'd like but I think that it's always best to make sure that your unbotheredness and realization that nothing really matters is greater than your inspiration. Because truthfully, you could wake up in that person's shoes tomorrow but if you don't have the mindset necessary to live and maintain that lifestyle, you can very well lose it all.

But again, to each their own.

Once you mix it up, you should have something like this:

(COLORS MAY VARY)

And there you have it, folks; a Delusional Cocktail™️. Simple to make and a whole lot of fun to enjoy! Bottoms up and happy manifesting!

[cosmicstarlatte]

Customer Service (Obey Me!)

━━━━━━━━━━ ✦ ━━━━━━━━━━

They try contacting customer service. 🤷‍♂️

»Characters: Demon Bros

»Tags: Certified Shitpost™️, Pathetic Lucifer is my favorite Lucifer

»Notes: It's been a while since I've done a shitpost bulleted fic so ♡reblogs♡ are appreciated. I've had this wip since March apparently? 💀

Lucifer:

A hand on his hip and the phone in the other

This man means business

"Don't talk to me, I'm trying to keep my level of anger"

Held onto his anger for two hours waiting for the next agent

The annoying hold music only fueled him

Tried to be reasonable with the agent when he got patched through

But they were new

"Look, just get me your manager."

Waited another half hour for them

The problem got fixed rather quickly actually

smirked in satisfaction...Lucifer always wins.

If only he noticed the two stuck pages in the manual, he would've not wasted his morning

Mammon:

If he wasn't broke he would've paid someone else to make the call

Waited for an hour but it felt like eternity

"Yeah ain't there a satisfaction guarantee on this anyway!? The customers always right!"

Tried to get a replacement for his earbuds

And a refund while he was at it

Scammy? What?? Nooo....

"They fell in the wash! It's not my fault! Did I get insurance? Who has the money for that?"

Him and the agent went back and forth for a while

The agent finally caved and promised to replace the earbuds

"Finally! Ya better send 'em quick! -click-"

...

He realized he never gave the agent his address & had to start the process all over again

Levi:

Lol

Tried online chat but his specific issue needed a real agent because...of course it would

Tried to pay one of his brothers to make the call for him

They rather stab themselves or wage war against Diavolo than call customer service

Took anxiety medication before trying to call

Waited three hours on hold but played something soothing in the meantime

helloooo ruri and friends crossing

He stopped when he heard the hold music stop

"Hello thank you for calling Akuz-"

click

"It's not that important."

Satan:

This is how a pro does it.jpg

Drank his little coffee and ate his fresh little pastry

See, he set an alarm to call customer service right when they open their lines

Had the number typed and ready to go with a press

BEEPBEEPBEEPBEEP

Finally!

-dialing tone-

"Hello. Your wait time is 2 hours and-"

...

...

...

Slammed his phone on the floor and it broke

Went to go fight the company in person

His issue got fixed

The company had to tighten their security after this incident

Asmo:

Is that one lucky demon that happens to get patched through quickly

He was having problems with his devilgram account verification

Just as he started speaking about his issue the agent freaked out

Turns out they were a huge fan and could automatically tell it was the REAL™️ Asmo speaking

The issue got fixed and Asmo stayed talking with the agent because they sounded really cute

One thing led to another and...it went from a customer service hotline to a phone sex one real quick

This always happens when he calls customer service akskjfksls

Beel:

Collected all the snacks he had

Even cooked an entire feast

He needed everything he could get before making the dreaded call

After an hour of waiting (and barely any snacks left) he finally got to an agent!

It was a pleasant experience for both sides

Beel is getting sent replacements for his shoes plus a discount voucher for his next purchase

güd boi™️ as usual

Belphie:

Almost fell asleep while waiting

The music soothed him, they had classical music playing

He's not really sure how long he waited if he's being honest

When he finally got to the agent he sounded so weak the agent was concerned

"Mm? No I'm always like ...losing... consciousness ...it's normal...zzz..."

The agent was still so concerned they sent someone to the HOL to check on him

Beel ended up making the call for him

⬦You might also like: Coconut︱Devil-Mart⭐︱Waffle House

[lexosaurus]

Ok I'm making this its own post because I don't want it to clog up the intended lighthearted post I made yesterday.

But as my friends in the phandom and I have now entered our mid/late 20's and early 30's, and are now entering serious, long term relationships, the conversation of "do we tell our partners we like Danny Phantom/make content for Danny Phantom?" are turning into rather serious and interesting discussions. And from talking to people, it's interesting to see the mix of responses.

Some people I've talked to, especially people who date other creatives, have seemingly no problem opening up about their DP hobby with their partner. Others, myself included, are much more protective of their hobby.

But one trend I've found really interesting, and again this is ENTIRELY anecdotal, is that of the people I've talked to, it seems to be that the writers of the phandom, especially those who have written angst/dissection fics, are especially hesitant to tell their partners that they 1. like Danny Phantom and are into phandom stuff, and 2. that they write fanfiction. On the other hand—again, this is anecdotal—the artists of the phandom that I've spoken to tend to lean more on the side of "yeah my partner knows I draw DP fan art idgaf."

THIS IS JUST MY PERSONAL OPINION, but as a writer who is in a serious adult relationship who also has written some horrific angst and is dating a Straight Dude™️ who when I jokingly said "there was only one bed" looked at me like I had grown two heads, I think that the hesitancy comes from really a place of fear that if your partner ever found your fanfiction, they would think you are deeply mentally disturbed and need therapy.

Because, especially for those who do not write or read, a lot of people don't really associate grimdark or angst or whump or whatever the fuck terminology it is, with purely creative entertainment. They can watch a show like Game of Thrones and see people get tortured, raped, and gutted on screen and not think the writers or directors of that show are weird because it's a TV show, it's just entertainment for the public. But when someone does the same thing but posts it online for free under fanfiction—aka is not making money off of it and is showcasing their personal hobby—then people tend to worry about that writer's mental health because why else would they want to write this dark shit if they weren't mentally ill? It couldn't POSSIBLY be for the same reason I like watching GOT, there MUST be something wrong with them.

So when a dp writer has to explain why they personally enjoy Danny Phantom, it can be really hard to admit because those fears sort of swirl around your brain. Whereas for visual media, admitting you like drawing glowy ghost art for an old cartoon appears to be a bit easier.

Again, this is just my personal anecdotal observation there will always be exceptions to this I am NOT speaking on behalf of everyone thank you 🙏

Also I'm really curious from both writers and artists in the phandom to hear your experiences with this and whether or not you've told partners that you do fan art/write fanfiction for DP.