#whatever I don’t care at all actually it’s fine they’re not real people

[whoreiorcats]

I can’t take this.

[whispers-whump]

Some writing advice

that I like to use when I write. None of this is meant to be taken as hard and fast rules, they’re just things I like to do/keep in mind when I’m writing and I thought maybe other people would enjoy! <3

Never say what you mean

This is an offshoot of the very common “show don’t tell” advice, which I think can be confusing in application and unhelpful for scenes where telling is actually the right move. Instead, I keep the advice to never say exactly what I mean in stories.

By using a combination of showing and telling to hint at what you really mean, you force your reader to think and figure it out on their own, which makes for a more satisfying reading experience.

You might show a character getting angry and defensive in response to genuine care and concern. You could tell the audience that the character doesn’t see/talk to their parents often. But never outright give the real meaning that the character feels unlovable because of their strained relationship with their parents and as a result they don’t know how to react to being cared for.

Your readers are smart, you don’t need to spoon feed them.

Be sparse with the important things

You know how in a lot of movies there’s that tense scene where a character is hiding from something/someone and you can only just see this person/thing chasing them through a crack in the door? You get a very small glimpse of whatever’s after the character, sometimes only shadows being visible.

Do that in your writing. Obscure the important things in scenes by overdescribing the unimportant and underdescribing the important.

You might describe the smell of a space, the type of wood the floor is made of, the sound of work boots moving slowly across the room, a flashlight in the character’s hand. And there’s a dead body, laying in a pool of blood in the far corner of the room, red soaking into the rug. Then move on, what kind of rug is it? What is the color, patterns, and type of fabric of the rug?

Don’t linger on the details of the body, give your reader’s imagination some room to work while they digest the mundane you give them.

Dialogue is there to tell your story too

There’s a lot of advice out there about how to make dialogue more realistic, which is absolutely great: read aloud to yourself, put breaks where you feel yourself take a breath, reword if you’re stuttering over your written dialogue. But sometimes, in trying to make dialogue sound more realistic, a little bit of its function is lost.

Dialogue is more than just what your characters say, dialogue should serve a purpose. It’s a part of storytelling, and it can even be a bridging part of your narration.

If you have a scene with a lot of internal conflict that is very narration-heavy, breaking it up with some spoken dialogue can be a way to give some variety to those paragraphs without moving onto a new idea yet; people talk to themselves out loud all of the time.

Dialogue is also about what your characters don’t say. This can mean the character literally doesn’t say anything, they give half-truths, give an expected answer rather than the truth (“I’m fine”), omit important information, or outright lie.

Play with syntax and sentence structure

You’ve heard this advice before probably. Short, choppy sentences and a little onomatopoeia work great for fast-paced action scenes, and longer sentences with more description help slow your pacing back down.

That’s solid advice, but what else can you play with? Syntax and sentence structure are more than just the length of a sentence.

Think about things like: repetition of words or ideas, sentence fragments, stream of consciousness writing, breaking syntax conventions, and the like. Done well, breaking some of those rules we were taught about language can be a more compelling way to deliver an emotion, theme, or idea that words just can’t convey.

Would love to hear any other tips and tricks other people like to use, so feel free to share!!!

[heartsofminds]

if you could see my thoughts, you would see our faces

“I do a lot of things you don’t do. Doesn’t mean you should be knockin’ yourself out to try ‘em.” or Carmy takes an impromptu smoke break and you're begging him for a drag.

A/N: just a sweet little blurb that's been sitting in my back pocket for a while. hope y'all love it as much as i loved writing it!

Smoke breaks never last forever. 

The cacophonic slam of a door, the pliable edges of a pack of American Spirits, the grooves of a lighter’s spark wheel, the mix of brisk Chicago wind smacking your face, and the heat of a silently shameful cigarette caressing it in a false sleeve of comfort – The world is silent during a smoke break. 

Until the door opens and someone asks to bum a light. Or until you get called back in because everyone and their goddamn mother in River North decides to come in to try the dinner special, yet pretend like they’re actually fucking curious to know what you think the best thing on the menu is. Or until the ignored panic in the back of your mind knocks the wind out of you when taking a particularly long drag that leaves you stifling a deep and hearty cough. 

The small moment of peace before it all still remains good. The moment of peace is fine. The moment of peace is all you can afford to get sometimes. 

A smoke break never lasts forever, but the temporary solace it provides is enough for Carmen, whose brain never seems to stop spinning no matter how fast or slow the world is turning without him. 

He’s gotten better, he thinks, about voicing his discomfort and finding ways to “cope” with his feelings of metaphysical spiraling. He’s still getting the hang of this whole “finding meaning outside of the kitchen” thing, but he figures that twenty-eight years of having your worth summed up in how well something was chopped or seasoned or sautéed or whatever the fuck is ridiculously hard to disengage from. 

His therapist would kill him if she knew that he credited a portion of the advancement of his well-being to you. He can hear Erin tell him that he can’t rely on people to make him feel better; that the only person who can determine Carmen’s worth is Carmen himself, but quite frankly he doesn’t give a fuck. 

And then he remembers that not giving a fuck is him making his own decision about his life (which he was never allowed to do before, which is why he thinks he was damned to hell to pick the profession he has), and his heart swells a bit with pride. He cares about something for once that has all to do with him and the meaning of life and living and being alive and in charge, and that idea is no longer a room with a false ceiling that can cave in at any moment. 

He doesn’t give a fuck because he does give one, and he has never known that something as simple as being loved, fully and authentically, was something that would make all the difference. 

Despite not being stressed out nor having a “real” reason to smoke (except for the fact that he’s a creature of habit, and you seem to love the word “addicted” even though he disagrees), he finds himself lifting the window near the fire escape of his apartment and stepping out onto the rusted steps that are less than functional and whips out his lighter and the red cardboard package harboring his cigarettes. 

The lights are off in the apartment and the soft whistling of the heater helps him make sense of the foggy window glass. Chicago is nightmarishly cold in November, yet his body doesn’t seem to mind the teen-digited temperature that plagues the indigo-hued 1 AM sky. 

Carmy loved in living in the city (and the actual city of Chicago and not Naperville or Joliet or Downers Grove like all the other self-proclaimed “Chicagoan” jagoffs that littered the outskirts of the city for sleep, but polluted it for play). 

He liked living in New York City but he loved living in Chicago. New York was too noisy which, he knows, is so fucking ironic given the fact he lives in the heart of all things bustling and boisterous. 

But New York had the kind of noise at night that was isolating; the sounds of cars honking and the squeal of the subway telling the stories of a million different lives of a million different people that he didn’t know. 

New York City is the largest city in the United fucking States, yet a twenty-two-year-old Carmen could not have felt lonelier while he was there. New York City is the perfect city in the United fucking States to go soul-searching in, and yet a twenty-two-year-old Carmen could not have been more clueless about who he was at the time.  

And he’s still figuring out this “thing” called having an identity and finding peace, and he’ll never feel like he knows a whole lot about anything, but he does know two things for certain. 

He fucking loathes feeling lonely and he fucking despises feeling clueless. 

Chicago is noisy, but the kind of noise that sends an irritated streak of comfort down your spine; the hatred of your twin bed and its mismatched sheets in your childhood bedroom, but the comfort of knowing a refreshing and safe sleep is to follow that night. It was the kind of noise that filled living rooms on Christmas Day or the backyard on the Fourth. It was the sound of a vacuum cleaner running on an early Saturday morning during the first week of summer break and the ticking of kitchen timers and arguments and laughter and tears of all kinds. 

He was always reluctant to come back. His pride is something he holds close to his chest but wears with quiet confidence. He would rather die than it seem as if he ran away from New York back home with his tail between his legs. He would rather die than admit to himself that Chicago is where he was meant to be and where he should have always been. He would rather die than admit that through his fucked childhood and even fuck-ier adulthood (Thank you Mikey and Mom and NOMA and Chef David), the city is his safety blanket. 

Carmen hasn’t been back to the house since the incident five Christmases ago. Everyone mutually (and very silently so as to not piss his mom off even more than she always perpetually seemed to be) decided that Christmas Eve dinner is much better suited for Uncle Jimmy’s house. When Natalie called on the phone to let him know about the change of venue the following year, he had known from her tone that another Richter scale meltdown had occurred once their mother found out. 

From then on he found ways to stay away; to stay put and to put his life on hold and it was the closest thing he could get to not breathing with, you know, still actually fucking breathing. 

And it worked for a while. It worked for one thousand eight hundred and twenty-five days, to be exact. 

But then Mikey died and then there was a restaurant and then there was every relative that had ever known of his existence knocking down his door and begging him to let them in; asking him if he was okay and prodding him with questions about any and everything in between his mom driving her car into the fucking house and his brother deciding croaking was better than sticking around this hell hole. 

And it’s crazy, he thinks, how him simply observing the weather and thinking about possibly smoking a cigarette before bed created this rabbit hole of what would usually be the beginning of an anxious spiral. 

Fucking Christ, I need a cigarette. 

His fingers create an unrecognizable beat on the package of cigarettes in his hand and he takes the first step out onto the fire escape. 

Carmen’s body weight bares down on a piece of the wired metal and it groans in protest. The sounds of tires passing through slush on the road create soothing white noise for his ears. The thin blue henley shirt he has on does little to shield the wind from icing his skin, but he doesn’t mind. 

He can’t chance going back inside to fetch his jacket. The coat rack near the front door lies at the end of a pattern of creaks from your apartment’s shitty floorboards. You’re not a light sleeper in any sense of the word (nor are you entirely sober right now), but he knows that he never places that one particularly decrepit plank of wood right, and the noise will jolt you out of your slumber. 

His nimble fingers swiftly pull a cigarette out of the carton. He cups it with his left and uses his right to cradle the flicker of his lighter. The orange flame disappears as fast as it had been kindled and he inhales deeply and his exhale is shallow. 

Carmen had been smoking since he was fifteen, but he never really had a reason to do it other than Mikey did, and it was a way to spend more time with him. It was their little secret; something that was his and Mike’s and something that seemed like a big deal at the time but would mean jack shit the second he turned eighteen. He never really loved the way cigarettes smelled. He could hardly stand the taste and the constant health class lectures about them being bad for your lungs freaked him out. 

But now that he knows what it feels like to have no thoughts in his head and be left alone in the solace of smoking a cigarette in the dead of night, he thinks he gets it. 

The silence is cut in half by the sound of the rickety floorboard groaning out in a warning. He doesn’t have to peek his head inside and look around to know that it’s you. You never sleep well after a night out and even though he had to carry you up the stairs, drag a damp washcloth over your face to remove your makeup, and bribe you to stand up long enough to take out your own contacts, he should have known better than to be anywhere but in bed next to you. 

Your drunkenness has started to fade and you’ve gone down on the meter from “off your ass” to “slightly tipsy.” Him picking you up from your girls’ night at one of the clubs downtown was more than two hours ago, but he figured you would’ve came and found him by now. 

You have such a fear of missing out and while it’s not Carmen’s favorite thing about you, it does warm his heart to know that you want to spend time with him or that you’re scared he’s doing something interesting without you around. He wishes your ‘fomo’ was based on some issue that he could tangibly fix and not on what he knows is your badly bruised self-esteem. It makes his chest heavy that sometimes you can’t see how great you are; that sometimes you don’t understand why he wants you around and loves you so dearly. 

He can hear your footsteps approach the window ledge and he wordlessly holds his arm out for you to grab onto. Your fingers come out from under the blanket you’ve thrown over yourself like a shawl and grasp his like a lifeline. 

Your body effortlessly molds to him; your front pressed to his back and his unoccupied arm pulling you closer like a seatbelt on your waist. The subtle pressure on your midsection comforts you and your body lodged into his helps alleviate some of the sting he’d been suffering from the cold. 

“You’re mad at me,” you speak. Your voice is small and soft; gentle just in case he really is mad at you and this isn’t something your drunk mind conjured up as you lay in bed alone. 

He sighs and turns his head to take another drag from his cigarette. He makes sure that your hair is out of target of his smoke exhale. A subtle whine leaves your throat as he steps away from you and he grins. Carmen loves when you’re like this; when you’re clingy and being near him is never enough to satiate you. 

“M’not,” he says. You shift from one foot to the other and his eyes momentarily gaze down to make sure you put on socks before you come out here to join him.

 Even though he can’t see your face, he knows that the corners of your mouth are posed in a frown. You hate it when he doesn’t elaborate. It makes you feel shut out. He’s not helping his case of denying your accusation. You may just burst into tears if he doesn’t provide more dialogue. 

Your nasty habit of feeling like everyone is upset with you all the time is swelling. His nasty habit of smoking more cigarettes a day than he knows he needs is bulging. 

Another drag from his cigarette. Another exhale of smoke. Another attempt at trying to be better for you. 

“Can’t ever be mad at you, baby. Not with a face like that,” he croons. The words come out of his mouth so easily; endearment dipped in honey and love warmed by sunshine. Adoration is easy when it comes to you. He’s never known a peace like this. 

“Sly dog,” you mutter. The brain fog from the four tequila lemonades you downed earlier makes you slow in finding a smartass thing to say. Carmen fights the urge to poke fun at you because he knows that you’ll take him seriously. 

“I love you. I love you. I love you,” your words silently praise. 

“You make it easy,” his hold on you acknowledges. 

Your face is numb from the cold and the alcohol making its way through your system. The lips pecking a kiss against your temple can barely be felt, yet you contently hum once the damp seal of them releases the affection you’ve been longing for. He never makes you work hard for his undivided attention when he readily has it. Wordlessness crafts a cradle of comfort for you both. Soulmates in ways that soulmates usually aren’t. 

Another drag from his cigarette. Another exhale of smoke. Another show of actually being better for you. 

A beat of silence passes with the whistling of the wind. 

“Can I try?” your voice is small with unacquired confirmation of what his answer will be. 

He giggles and you’re mesmerized by the way the smoke exhales with each minuscule twitch of his chest. You turn around at the feeling and press your palms to his torso. It’s impossible not to admire him. You’re always starstruck but he makes it easy to be that way when he looks so peaceful and sweet and good. 

Good for you. Good for your heart. Good for each other. 

You make a mental note to tell him that he should wear this shirt more often but know deep down that you’ll forget to do so until it comes back clean in the laundry basket in a week. You need to work on that, you think; telling him that you love him when you feel it. Moments like this don’t last forever, and you fear for the day that the ooey-gooey feelings of love in its purest forms are fleeting. You know that Carmen makes it impossible, but you can never be sure. Much like he, you’re always half expecting the ceiling to cave in. 

“Sweet baby wants to be a smoker?” he chides. He doesn’t feel bad when you flash him a pouty frown. 

“Carm!” you gripe. Your cheek presses to his pec. You hate when he does this; when he can’t give a straight answer. It isn’t something that needs an answer, but the satisfaction of having one, of being connected to him and the inner world of his mind he tries so hard to keep from everyone, would feel nice. 

Carmen’s tattooed hand snubs the cigarette out on the dish left on the ledge of the window. His fingers curl to let his knuckles brush the hair on the top of your head. You try your hardest not to melt into his touch. He’ll have a field day if you let him have the satisfaction of making you visibly weak in the knees. 

“Didn’t even say no yet, sweetheart.” 

“Yeah, but you’re being mean. Just tell me “no” instead of making me suffer.” 

He quirks his eyebrow and brings a gentle hand to guide your chin upwards, forcing you to make eye contact with him.“Well, m’gonna if you don’t lose the ‘tude, baby.” 

The shift in his tone of voice and the forced eye contact sends a beam of warmth down to your stomach. He has a way of leaving little leeway for negotiation and argument. It’s abstract to his everyday life, but that was complicated, you know. When it’s you and him and him and you, there is never a need for a fight for dominance or a clarification of authority. You both understand each other on a level that is molecular. There is never any need for guessing. 

His finger flicks your lip playfully before swiping a calloused thumb gently on the plush of them. You had fought him so hard earlier when he tried to swipe the lipstick and liner you had put on earlier off with a washcloth. He finds it wild that you’re wide awake and coherent after witnessing the mild temper tantrum you had thrown about it not even two hours earlier. 

Carmen spots the gentle gleam in your eyes and his heart instantly softens. He sighs, momentarily taking his hands off of you and reaching back in his pocket for his carton of cigarettes and lighter. 

“Fine, but you gotta light it.” 

The aforementioned cigarette sits unlit between his lips, the end sticking out like an invitation and the filter hid between his teeth like a dirty secret. He half expects you to chicken out when he hands you the lighter. You always freaked out a little about the flame being so close to your fingers. Something about feeling the heat so close to your hand made you insanely nervous and he could never seem to fully understand. 

His expectations are exceeded when your thumbnail crafts friction with the spark wheel and the illuminated peach of his lighter of the month spurs to life. You don’t cup it with your hands to shield it from the wind. You let it grow and shrink as you lift it up to the unlit butt sticking out of his mouth. 

Your eyes watch in childish awe as the wrapped paper gives way and reveals the hearty smell of tobacco and a sunburst of ashes upon making contact with the manufactured heat. You had watched Carmen smoke hundreds of times, but something about seeing it now right in front of you kindles a spark of curiosity deep in your belly. 

“Can’t believe my sweet girl wants to puff on a cancer stick,” he says. You know that he’s joking, but his trying to get you to change your mind strikes a nerve deep within you. 

“You do it so why can’t I?” you huff, agitated with him seemingly withholding the cigarette you so desperately crave. 

“I do a lot of things you don’t do. Doesn’t mean you should be knockin’ yourself out to try ‘em.” 

You roll your eyes. “It’s just one. Don’t be so mean.” 

He pulls the stick from between his lips and creates a perfect “o” ring with the smoke in its wake. A dopey-eyed grin plants a home on his face and his eyes look deep into yours. 

Fucking show-off. 

“All it takes is one to get addicted,” he continues to smoke and the cigarette butt starts to diminish with each puff he takes, “You sure you wanna bite, sweetheart?” 

“One won’t hurt.”

His gaze lowers to your lips and back up to your eyes. “Don’t wanna end up like me. All sad and addicted to cigarettes.” 

“Carmen, please. I just want one,” you huff, lightly pushing his chest away. He moves slightly with your force and has to stifle a laugh. 

“They ever show you Teri the Smoker in health class?” Carmen takes the cigarette out of his mouth and pretends to examine it, faux and forced curiosity at the cylindrical tube sitting between his lithesome fingers. He’s not giving into you on purpose, you know, and he’ll give in eventually, you also know, but him trying to delay the gratification of getting what you want is starting to annoy you more than it usually would. 

“Yes? What does that have to do with anything?” 

He pops it back in his mouth and takes an obnoxiously long drag. “Nothing,” he breathes out the smoke with his statement, “Just funny that you know that and here you are, damn near hands and knees, gagging for a cigarette.” 

“Carmen.” 

He laughs and you can’t help but love the sound. 

“You know, it’s real fucked up of you to ask for a drag from my cigarette that I get with my hard-earned money,” he says and you roll your eyes, “You should know I love you too much to let you stick a cancer stick in your mouth.” 

“It’s just one!” you plead. 

“It’s never just one, sweetheart.” 

“Well, who says’m gonna get addicted like – like you and Teri the Smoker?” 

“The nicotine content on the carton. That’s who.” 

He’s not paying you any attention and it’s starting to ache your heart a little. You know that he’s distracted; that he’s just trying to prevent the ashes from getting on your blanket and from getting the smell of smoke in your hair, but him biting at your insistence a little less than he was previously sends a pang of gloominess through your chest.

“You smoke all the time, and if you get a hole in your throat because of that then you’re so mean.” 

His lips upturn in introspection.“M’mean?” 

“Very,” you answer dryly. 

“Humor me.” 

“Because then I’ll have to live the rest of my life without hearing your voice again and then I’ll be so sad.” 

He shrugs, half knowing that you’re joking but half expecting something more to come out of what you’re getting at. “Ehh, don’t think anyone at the restaurant would miss it.” 

“I would!” 

You smack at his chest again lightly and he remembers how touchy and wild you get after you’ve been drinking. It’s never bad or out of control, but you’re more affectionate than usual and less gentle than you normally are. 

“Yeah, baby? Gonna miss my voice?” 

“Mhm,” you purr, leaning up to get closer to his ear, “Gonna miss how you call me a good girl. And how you whine when I pull your hair and how you tell me that I’m the tightest and wettest little th-” 

“Jesus,” he laughs, playfully pushing the side of your face away as your teeth nibble a tiny bite on the thick of his palm, “Fuck off.” 

You like to play around, too. That’s also something he sees more of after a night out. He never indulges; knows you get too riled up and in your head when it goes somewhere he’s not comfortable with, but he loves it nonetheless. Being together has helped the other not be so scared of permanence. Moments like this confirm what he knows, and he realizes that you’re a saint and he wants to marry you. 

The stuff that comes along with it has been plaguing his mind as of late, but he realizes how little it matters when he sees you all happy and grateful to be around him and doing the most mundane of things. He’ll get you that ring and that house and those babies and the happiest fucking life in a heartbeat, and he’s oddly comforted by the fact that he knows you’ll let him. 

Carmen’s never been the best at not wearing his feelings on his face and you know he’s deep in thought when the banter dies and the whistling of the wind takes its place. You hope he isn’t spiraling. He tends to do that a lot. You tend to feel powerless when it happens. 

Your eyes study his face; the lightness of his irises, the spiral of curls, the slope of his nose. The tequila from earlier remains in your system, but it doesn’t change the fact that you love him so deeply. 

“You know, it’s bullshit that you’re giving me hell about putting a cigarette in my mouth.” Your voice cuts through the quiet and he starts to grin again. 

“Hey, s’only bullshit because you’re sittin’ here beggin’ and then telling me I’m gonna have a fuckin’ hole in my throat from smoking too much.” 

“I never said that it was gonna be bad, Bear. I just said I was gonna miss hearing your voice is all.” 

His free hand comes out to sit on the base of your neck. A calloused thumb draws small semi-circles on the bottom of your hairline. 

“You know, her quality of life was probably amazing,” he speaks, “Like didn’t she have kids and grandkids and friends and shit? Health class is fucked up for making her out to be the ‘throat hole lady’.” 

“You shouldn’t say that,” you grimace and he plants his lips on your forehead. 

“Yeah, you’re right.” 

You make him softer. If it was anyone else, he wouldn’t think twice about how insensitive it had come off. His therapist is always saying people can’t make you better, but she clearly hasn’t met you. 

“But that was kinda the whole point? You shouldn’t want to be like her?” you pause and the frown lines in your eyebrows write “pensive” on your face before you even realize it, “. . .Because she does have a hole in her throat. And her quality of life was just very. . .different?” 

Carmen nods. “They’re fucked up for that.” 

“Jesus, Carm. Do you think smoking is bad or not because you’re giving me soooo many mixed signals here,” you sigh, your forehead moving forward faster than you intended and hitting the bony composition of his collarbones. 

He hums softly; part listening to what you’re saying and part acknowledging that he wants to move on from what you had said. 

“Did you know that your life expectancy goes down by eleven minutes or some shit like that each time you smoke a cigarette?” he swiftly changes the subject. 

You pick your head up and narrow your eyes playfully. “Oh, you don’t even love me enough to let me smoke one so I can be put out of my misery a whole eleven minutes earlier when you die from smoking a gazillion packs a day and leave me all lonely and wrinkly.” 

“I think you’d be hot wrinkly,” he replies matter-of-factly. 

“I think you’d be hot if you let me smoke one.”

“You’re probably not gonna like it.” 

“Okay.” 

“Okay.” 

He realizes that the cigarette has pretty much burned itself out. There’s possibly one or two more drags left before he has to ash it out completely. He debates on whether he should let you have at it or silently take the last two and usher you back inside. If he chooses the former, he knows that he’ll feel bad if you don’t like it, and he worries that your realization will kickstart the unraveling of something almost perfect he’s found for himself. He can’t bear to take another loss in his life. If he chooses the latter, he knows you wouldn’t even be aware that he had smoked it entirely by himself, and that you’ll gripe and complain for the rest of the night and table the conversation for another time when he’s in a less resistive state. 

“Carm, you have to give me a puff from it,” you complain, snapping him out of his thoughts. 

He’s giving in to you. He always does. He doesn’t know why he pretends like he has free will when it comes to you. 

“C’mere,” he beckons your face closer, “And don’t use your hands. You have that blanket on and I don’t wanna have to call Chicago Fire tonight.” 

Carmen lifts his hand up to your mouth and gently laughs when you go cross-eyed to eye the filter sitting in between his pointer and middle fingers. 

“You just inhale, hold it, and then breathe back out,” he instructs. He feeds the filter to your lips before suddenly pulling it back. “Don’t choke yourself out though. That uh – that won’t be good and then you’re really not gonna like it.” 

Your neck extends to get closer to Carmen’s hand and you do what he says. You inhale, hold it, and exhale. You don’t think you’re doing it right (and he knows that you didn’t, but doesn’t say anything because he knows it’ll make you whiny) but you’re satisfied that he trusts you enough to try. 

“Took it like a champ, baby,” he cheers, “So proud!” 

He pushes the butt of the cigarette into the dish and your blanket-covered hands come up to palm his face gently. The plush of the cover feels soft against his stubble-covered cheeks, and your gazes catch each other’s. 

A moment of tranquility. A moment of peace. A moment of love. 

He so desperately wants to marry you. 

[touyasdoll]

Like a Sister

Pairing: Katsuki Bakugou x best friend's little sister!reader

! Disclaimer ! NO INCEST. NO STEPCEST. absolutely nothing against those who write/read that, but this isn't that and I just wanna make that clear <3

Word count: 5k

Warnings: reader is Kiri's adoptive younger sister. I always try to make everything as inclusive as possible, so pls let me know (politely!) if I failed somewhere. fem reader, alcohol, intentionally making someone jealous, reader is wearing a skirt & a charm bracelet, reader gets picked up, missionary/intimate sex, no real prep, lots of feelings involved

Notes: I'm so sorry that this took literally over a year, but I hope that you enjoy it <3

Heartbeats & Handgrenades Masterlist

Your big brother is always looking out for you. You two have been close for as far back as you can remember and he’s always been very protective of you, because the absolute worst thing that he can think of is seeing you get hurt, so he does whatever he can to prevent that. 

It’s sweet, of course, and you love him for it. Eijirou is the best sibling that anyone could ask for. It’s nice having someone who cares enough to look out for you the way that he does. 

However. 

The problem is that he does so damn good of a job trying to look out for you that he ends up scaring off most of the guys you’re interested in. 

It started back in your school days. You’re only a year younger than your adoptive big bro, so you almost always attended the same school. But the moment that he put two and two together and realized that boys had taken an interest in you? It was like his protection skills leveled up. It was as if he had developed a sixth sense for when a cute boy was talking to you. He was always just around somehow. 

It went beyond your time in school though. It’s now become a sizable problem for you well into your adulthood. The same routine over and over again. The guy you’re talking to finds out that you’re the Red Riot’s little sister and suddenly they’re ghosting you for fear of ending up on his bad side. They’ve seen what he’s capable of. Well, physically capable of. In actuality, you don’t think that anyone who did cross you would get more than maybe a stern talking to from the “fearsome” hero. You can’t really blame them though. Most people don’t look at the rock hard hero and think of him as the teddy bear that you know him to be. 

The worst part is that doesn’t even realize that he’s essentially a chronic cockblock and you haven’t ever had the heart to tell him. Not that you think you want to. It is a bit of an awkward conversation to broach with your elder brother. How are you supposed to tell him that him being terrifyingly good at his job is what’s causing all your dick appointments to cancel on you? Especially when he thinks that you’re still such a sweet girl too. Such an innocent girl. Thankfully, he is incorrect there. His brawn doesn’t scare away absolutely everyone that you’re interested in. You’ve had plenty of practice by ways of shallow dating app hookups and bad decisions made after one too many at the bar. But it’s not like you’ve ever brought anyone home to meet the family, so he’s none the wiser to your ways. 

You’ve never so much as mentioned anyone you were seeing to your brother, which is fine by him. In his humble opinion, no one’s good enough for you anyway, which is something that he has expressed multiple times; it’s not a secret that’s what he thinks. He’s more than prepared to see you as his pure, innocent little sister forever.

Bakugou though? He has a lot more trouble picturing you as innocent.

He’s spent too many nights fisting his cock to the thought of your tight pussy wrapped around him. He’s imagined the taste of you on his tongue one too many times to see you as the virginal sweetheart that his best friend believes that you are.

He hates himself for it too. Hates that he always ends up here, furiously stroking himself while suffocating the sound of your name on his lips into his pillow, lest his roommate—your brother—hear him. Hates it. 

Because as much as he lusts after you, he loves you more. He's had to insist to Mina, who can see through his ruse and has called him out of it before, that he loves you like a sister, but in truth, he loves every little thing about you far beyond that. The sound of your laugh, listening to you talk about your interests, even the face that you make when something’s bothering you. He knows it immediately, because all he does when you’re around is watch you. He wants to know what upsets you, so that he can avoid it, so that he can fix it. So that he can make you happy, because that’s all that he’s ever wanted for you. Happiness. 

He couldn't tell you when it started, this little crush of his. As far as he can recall, he's always been drawn to you. You, who would always tag along with the rest of the gang back when you were all in high school. Who never seemed put off by his abrasive personality, even though it was certainly much worse back then. Who, even still today, always offers him a smile and makes his day just a bit brighter with only your presence.

He also couldn't tell you how he felt. First, he had no idea if you felt the same. He liked to think that he was fairly emotionally intelligent, good at reading cues and all that, but when it came to you, he was clueless. And he wasn’t sure that he’d be able to take the rejection. 

Little did he know that you were trying to make it obvious. Your innocent schoolgirl crush had turned into something that ran much deeper than that after so many years of knowing Bakugou. Much like your brother, you immediately saw past his tough exterior and came to realize that he's actually one of the most caring and thoughtful people that you've ever met. He's always looking out for others, and you’ve noticed that you are no exception.

He saw you out on a date once, which was the point. You went to his usual coffee shop with some guy, because you knew that he would be there after his shift for an afternoon pick-me-up. You had hoped that it would make him jealous. That maybe you could get a sense for whether or not he harbored the same feelings that you did. Whether or not he had the same recurrent  thoughts about the feeling of his skin on yours. You just wanted to know; you wanted an inkling of something to prove that maybe he was just as interested as you. 

He did seem irritated beyond that typical gruff facade of his, but he also seemed genuine when he pulled you aside and told you that your date wasn't worth your time. Of course, he'd been right too. Not too long after Bakugou had scooped up his order and bolted, the idiot in question started visibly ogling other patrons in the cafe.

He was always right. About everything. It would honestly be annoying if he wasn't so good at giving advice. You knew that you could always go to him with even the silliest of problems and he'd offer you an attentive ear and a few words of wisdom that you never would've considered on your own. He had a knack for solving your every dilemma. 

Which gives you a wicked idea. 

He's always helped you out before. So why can't he help you with this little problem that you're having now?

Feeling a stroke of genius, you hatch a plan to send Bakugou signals that he can't miss.

You check the time on your phone. 2:16 PM. Your brother still has plenty of time left during his patrol shift and Katsuki is most likely at the apartment all by himself. 

///

Half an hour later, you’re rapping your knuckles against the apartment door and before you can even drop your hand back to your side, the door’s swinging open. 

Bakugou stands before you in gray sweatpants and a loose muscle tank that may have been a sleeved shirt at one point, but now it’s been cut nearly all the way to the hem on both sides. His face twists in confusion as he looks down at you.

“Didn’t your brother tell you he was workin’ today? He won’t be home for another couple hours.”

“I know,” you say simply, shrugging and clasping your hands behind your back as you stroll inside the apartment. “I came to see you.”

“Me?” He asks, sounding slightly incredulous, though he covers it by clearing his throat. “Why? Ya need somethin’?”

“Yeah, actually. Do you have a minute?” 

You go ahead and slip your shoes off by the door before making yourself comfortable on the couch, fanning out your short skirt, so that it drapes across your thigh just right when you cross your legs. 

“I’ve always got time for you.” 

He shrugs, sauntering over to take a seat on the opposite side of the couch. He angles his body to face you as he sprawls out, his muscular arm laying over the back of the couch, fingers almost near enough to touch your shoulder. 

“What’s goin’ on?”

It’s hard to focus on his question when you can see so much of his bare chest beneath his altered tank top, but his voice pulls your eyes to his face and your brain, thankfully, catches up. 

“I’ve just been having some boy troubles,” you admit, a soft pout pursing your lips together. You don’t miss the glance that he steals at them. 

“Well, that’s your problem,” he scoffs. “Stop dating boys and trying dating a man for a change. Boys are just gonna break your heart. A real man’ll treat ya right.”

“By a real man, do you mean someone like.. you?” 

You ask so blatantly that it makes his head spin. He doesn’t even register your hand on his knee until a full two seconds later; he’s too busy trying to process whether or not you actually said what he thinks you said. He looks down and you swear you can sense the nervous energy radiating off of him as he lifts his hand to rest it atop your own. He doesn’t want you to stop touching him, but he’s already picturing folding you in half right there on the couch and he respects his best friend too much to ever do something like that to his sister. Or at least, that’s what he keeps telling himself.

“Someone like me, yeah,” he says as he starts to push your hand away, but he can’t bring himself to actually do it. 

He presses his hand down on top of yours and finds the nerve to meet your gaze, which he immediately recognizes as a mistake. That little smile on your lips. The sense of longing that he’s almost certain he can see in your eyes. They’re both dwindling his resolve down to nothing. 

“Well, why not you?” You shrug, daring to slip your hand up to his thigh. “Why can’t I have you, Katsuki?”

He can’t believe how simple you’re making it sound. As if you two could be together just like that? What would Kirishima think? What would he do? He’s at a loss for words. He can think of reasons to say no, but all that he wants to say is yes. 

“Out of every man that I’ve ever met, you’ve always treated me the best,” you say as you look down at your hands, placing your other one on top of his. “You’re always here for me when I need you. You look out for me. You actually seem to care about how I’m doing. You even pay attention to the little things like how I take my coffee or even when I wear a different perfume. Why shouldn’t I be with a guy who does all of that?”

His heart is pounding in his chest. He’s never actually felt his pulse move quite this fast and considering his line of work, that’s saying something. He opens his mouth, trying to find a way to refuse you, but he can’t. He just can’t. 

“You should,” he starts, brows knitting together with regret. “You absolutely should and you shouldn’t settle for anything less, but I don’t.. I don’t know if..”

His lips press together in a hard line. He can’t even say the words. You tilt your head and the disappointed look on your face just about kills him right there. 

“It’s okay, I understand. I thought that..” you trail off, looking down as you start to pull your hands away. “I’m sorry. I must’ve been misreading things.”

“No,” he says quickly, sandwiching both of your hands between his own as you lift your head to meet his eyes once more and he finds relief in the hope that he finds there. “No, that’s not it. I,” he sighs. “You didn’t misread anything. I like you. Goddamn, do I fucking like you..”

HIs ruby eyes search your face, a melancholy smile just barely turning up the corners of his mouth. You hold your breath, trying to prepare yourself for the inevitable ‘but’ that you feel coming. 

“But I don’t know if I could do that to your brother.”

Your shoulders slump and your face falls too, eyes averting to focus on a spot on the floor as you nod your head. You would try to mask your disappointment, but you can’t seem to. Even in this scenario, being Red Riot’s little sister hinders your romantic prospects. 

“I was hoping that because it’s you it wouldn’t be an issue,” you say quietly, retracting your hands as you stand up. “I’m really sorry for bothering you with this. Just don’t even tell him that I was here, please. I’ll get out of your hair before I embarrass myself further.”

You turn to leave and he flies to his feet, reaching out to take your hand and spin you around to face him. His impressively large form looms over you, sizing you up with a genuinely curious expression. 

“What do you mean by that? Because it’s me?”

“I don’t know.” You shrug, looking up at him with those doe eyes again. “I just figured that if ever there was a guy that he thought he could trust would treat me right, it’d be you. He respects you more than anyone else he knows. He’s known you forever. He even still looks up to you. If you don’t meet the standard in his eyes then.. I don’t know that anyone ever will.”

He doesn’t know what to say to that. He just stares down at you with knit brows and a scowl on his lips, rendered both pensive and frustrated by just how much sense it makes. He can’t deny that. But he also can’t ignore the seemingly infinite amount of times that Kirishima had warned every single member of their friend group growing up that you were strictly off limits. 

Then again. You’re an adult. He’s an adult. And he’s always thought that his friend was a bit too overbearing when it came to your dating life. He gets where he’s coming from; he doesn’t want you dating an asshole, but they’re on the same page there. And this is different. Right? What you’re saying makes sense. He’d never hurt you. He wouldn’t be able to live with himself if he did. Kirishima would understand this logic, wouldn’t he?

He hoped so.

You’re waiting for him to say something. Do something. Anything. Finally, he seems to snap out of his thoughts and he tugs on your hand, pulling you closer to slip his arm around your waist as his hand leaves yours to cup your cheek. He kisses you the way that he’s wanted to for so, so long and it feels too right to seem like the wrong decision. 

It happens so fast that you’re caught off guard. It takes a moment for it to register that this is actually happening, but when you realize, you kiss him back with just as much passion. All that tension is broken, shattered to pieces to leave nothing but a sense of all encompassing need in its place. You press your hands to his chest, fingers tightening around the fabric of his tank to tug impatiently. You’d both waited long enough. You’d both waited long enough for this and it was becoming evident just how little patience the both of you had left by the way that you’re hands are greedily exploring each other’s bodies. 

“Are you sure about this?” He manages to mutter between feverish kisses as his hands start to skim beneath your top. “Because I don’t think I’ll survive it if you end up changin’ your mind on me, princess.”

“I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life,” you reply without hesitation, reaching down to pull your top off completely before you reach back to unhook your bra. 

You lean in to kiss him again, but he pulls back to take in the sight of you. He’s dreamed about this moment for too long, but it’s clear now that his imagination hasn't been able to do you justice. 

“You’re so beautiful,” he says so sincerely that it makes you stop for a moment as your cheeks grow warm. 

You lean in again to grab the hem of his shirt, giving him a chaste kiss before you lift it over his head and toss it aside. Your fingertips explore the shape of his abs, traveling up and over his chest until your hands are pressed behind his neck to pull him in once more. 

“So are you,” you murmur against his lips, capturing them again to slip your tongue into his mouth. 

His large hands find the small of your back before they dip lower to cup your ass. He flips up your skirt and groans when he feels the warmth of your bare skin, massaging your cheeks with a firm but gentle touch. His confidence seems to be growing as quickly as his erection has. You think to yourself that he must not have anything beneath his sweats with the way that you can feel his cock prodding at you.

He helps you shed the rest of your clothing, tugging your panties off along with your skirt before he lifts his arms to let you lift his tank and toss it aside. He’s thoroughly worked up and ready to go, but nothing could have prepared him for the feeling of your palm against his throbbing member. His breath hitches and the noise he makes almost sounds pained. All he can think about is having you wrapped around him. He nearly forgets to breathe as he bucks his hips into your touch. A whine even slips from his lips.

“You really don’t know what you do to me,” he murmurs, eyes closed and hands greedy as they knead the fat of your ass again. 

“I think I have an idea,” you reply, wearing a playful smile as you cut to the chase and tug his sweats down to wrap your hand around his fully exposed and swollen cock. 

He suddenly stoops down to grab you behind your thighs, effortlessly lifting you up onto his waist as he silences you with a commanding kiss. He steps out of the sweats now pooled around his ankles and carts you off to the bedroom. 

Your arms are wound tight around his neck and neither one of you seems to want to come up for air. Even when he lays you down, he keeps his lips moving against yours. You part your legs and his fingertips skim along the outside of your thigh as his hips start to roll. He can’t even pretend that he’s in control of them as his tip begins to press against your slit, begging to part your lips and slip right inside of you. 

“Do it,” you beg, the plea hardly a whisper as you continue crashing your lips into his. “Please, Katsuki. I’m ready, I promise. Just fuck me already.”

You shift your hips forward and, as much as he wants to take his time with you, he can’t help himself when you manage to nudge the head of his cock inside of you. He immediately gets lost in the warm, wet, and welcoming sensation of your walls. You apparently weren’t kidding when you said you were ready. He drags his hips back and then allows himself to be sucked in as he slowly sinks himself inside. 

The both of you let out a sigh of mutual relief and he pushes himself up, placing his hands on either side of your body to stare down at your perfect face. He gives another roll of his hips and struggles to keep his own eyes open, so that he can watch the way yours fall shut and how your face twists as the pleasure courses through your body. He thinks to himself that it has to be one of the best things that he’s ever been blessed enough to see and he knows that he needs more. He needs to make you feel better than anyone else ever has. 

So that’s what he does. 

His lips connect with every inch of your skin as he languidly thrusts in and out, allowing you to fully cherish every glorious sensation. The feeling of him stretching you out so slowly, filling you up as his hips gently connect with your own. The loving kisses peppered all the way from your temple to the valley of your breasts. The soft yet sinful sounds of him losing himself within you, his hot breath tickling the shell of your ear as he sinks inside yet again and realizes he never wants to pull out. 

You return his gentle touches in kind. Your hands blindly travel along his body, exploring his back, chest, and biceps at a leisurely pace, eager to offer him as many wonderful sensations as he’s lavishing you with until you feel a tightening deep within your belly that inspires you to clutch tight to his back, nails imprinting half moons into his flesh as your legs tighten around his hips. 

Without a word, he knows what you need and he gives it to you. 

He readjusts, propping himself up further to allow himself more leverage, which he uses to his full advantage as he starts drilling into you, steadily increasing his pace with each thrust of his hips. He tosses his head back, letting out a guttural groan and the odd curse word as his movements become more sloppy, but in the best way. 

The both of you become completely tangled up with one another, a mesh of two bodies become one as you move in tandem, trading fervent kisses and wanton moans back and forth until your overcome by pleasure. 

Your hands find the fabric of his comforter, now mussed atop his once neatly made bed, and you hold fast to it as your spine bows. Everything is rigid and all too much for a brief second before euphoria explodes throughout your every nerve ending, sending you into a glorious spiral. You call his name again and again in your bliss, too far gone to find any other words. They’ve lost all meaning. You beckon him closer with each utterance and every maddening pulse of your walls around him. He hardly has time to appreciate your orgasm for all it’s worth before his own hits him like a freight train. 

“F-fuck!” He growls, overwhelmed by the force with which he cums.

He doesn’t even have the sense to think about pulling out, much less the time to do it before he’s pouring every last drop of his seed deep inside your cunt. He hangs his head, enveloping you in his arms as he buries his face in the crook of your neck, smothering it in kisses as he pants and groans through his release. 

Eventually, you both slow to a halt, but you don’t disconnect right away. You exchange more tender touches and gentle nuzzles back and forth, content to maintain your proximity while your blood slowly begins to cool and the thrumming in your chests starts to dissipate, though both of you are pleased to find it never goes away completely. Not like it ever had before when you were around one another, but now that both of you know how the other feels, it’s different. It’s better. 

Everything is better. 

He opens his mouth to speak, to finally breathe life into those three little words that have died on his tongue countless times throughout the years in his cowardice, but the sound of the lock on the front door clicking open has them perishing yet again. 

He freezes, realizing that there’s likely no way out of this now. You’re just as petrified, holding stock still until you hear the door swing open and both of you spring into action. Bakugou clambers off of you to snatch a pair of boxers from his drawer, hopping into them as he swings his bedroom door shut while you scramble beneath the covers to at least protect your modesty. Thankfully, your brother isn’t able to take a peek inside the room. You just hope that he doesn’t recognize your clothing piled beside the coffee table.

“Shit, I guess I should’ve told you I was comin’ home early. Sorry, bro,” Kirishima laughs as his heavy boots can be heard venturing into the living room. “I’m gonna go take a shower. Pretend like I’m not here.”

You breathe a sigh of relief, but it's minimal. You know you have to go and go fast. 

“I’ll get your clothes,” Bakugou says quietly, listening at the door for the click of Kirishima’s. 

You nod and sit up in the bed, waiting for him to return and hand you your outfit before you slip out from beneath the covers to dress. He does the same, stepping into the same sweats and tank top that you’d torn off of him earlier. 

“M’sorry about this,” he mutters, nodding towards the door. 

You shake your head, walking closer to wrap your arms around his middle as you tilt your head back and smile at him. His arms fold around you to pull you snug to his chest. You rest a hand on his cheek and pull him into a kiss that’s as sweet and deliberate as he had been with you and he’s grateful for it. He’d been half afraid that you’d scurry away and pretend as if this hadn’t even happened.

“Don’t be. We’ll figure out how to tell him together, okay? I just don’t want it to be this way.”

“Right. I don’t either. We’ll figure it out,” he repeats, his lips turning up in a smile that softens as he studies your features. “We’re gonna have to, because I love you.”

His admission renders you speechless, your eyes widening as heat creeps up the back of your neck. The pulse of your heart starts thumping in your own ears again, hammering throughout your every blood vessel as you will yourself to snap out of it. 

“I love you too,” you blurt out unceremoniously, though you know you mean those three little words and the smile on his face says that he knows it too. 

“I’m not working tonight. I can come by in a little bit?” He suggests, hopeful that you’ll agree and how could you not?

“I’ll make us dinner,” you confirm, smiling ear to ear as you lean in to kiss him once again.

He tightens his hold on you, finding it more and more difficult to let you go the longer that he has you in his arms, but reluctantly, the two of you soon part and he knows that you have to leave. 

He pokes his head out to ensure that the coast is clear before he guides you out of the room and you hurry out the door, turning to blow a kiss over your shoulder before you head down the hall, giddy as you’ve ever been. 

Bakugou tidies up his room, mulling over an excuse to offer his best friend until he and Kirishima both end up in the kitchen together. 

“Seems like you’ve had a pretty good afternoon, huh?” Eijirou grins and bumps him on the shoulder before he ducks into the fridge for a beer. “Who’s the girl? Anyone I know?”

“Nah, just some girl from the gym. Don’t think you’ve seen her around.”

He feels terrible lying, but he figures it’s for the best, just for the time being. He’ll come clean eventually. No harm, no foul, right?

“Well, good for you, man. It’s good to see you puttin’ yourself out there. I was gettin’ a little worried about you being chronically single,” he jokes, chuckling as he travels into the living room to get comfortable on the couch and flip on the tv. 

“Ha, yeah.” He nods, though he’s unable to even look his friend in the face as he snatches his water bottle and heads for the door. “I’m actually going over to her place for dinner, so I’ll probably be back later, but don’t wait up, okay?”

“Okay. Have fun, man,” Kirishima calls back, smiling genuinely as he waves him out the door. 

That is, until he notices the small charm on the floor in front of him. He leans forward to pick it up and isn’t difficult for him to put two and two together. The clothes he’d spotted earlier had seemed familiar, but he didn’t think much of it. This, he couldn’t dispute. He knows this charm, because he had gifted it to you just last week as an addition to the bracelet that always adorned your wrist. And, as far as he knew, you hadn’t been over to their place since last month, yet here the charm was. 

He doesn’t know what hurts more, that two of his best friends felt like they had to sneak around behind his back or that one of them had just lied to his face about it.

I know I didn’t have to end it this way. the impulsive thoughts won today and I’m sorry about it ajdhsh but thank you so much for reading!! 💕 take a forehead kiss on your way out *mwah*

[bookshelf-dust]

all the time

steve harrington x fem!reader

word count: 7,206

warnings: swearing, brief mentions of alcohol, family drama, best friends to lovers type beat (lemme know if i missed anything, as always)

a/n: this got pretty long, and i’m sorry about that. i put a steve option in my 1k celebration poll, and i haven’t been able to get over it, so that’s what this is. i thought i could try it out. i haven’t really had this much fun with a fic in a long time. i know my steve audience isn’t as big, but i guess there’s a chance someone might like it.

————

The crumbs from your crackers drop into your lap, the crease of your book catching them. You set your spoon back down, flipping the hardback over to ensure no crumb will be left lingering in between the pages. 

You’re curled into the end chair at the table, just as always, legs crossed and book nestled against your bare legs. Your parents sit across from each other, talking about whatever, but you aren’t listening. 

You dunk a cracker in your soup, holding it there for a moment to let it soak up the broth, before tossing it into your mouth. You continue on this way—alternating between scooping up noodles or chicken and drowning saltines—until you have nothing left but the dregs in your bowl. 

You mark the page in your book, tuck it under your thigh. You’re tipping the bowl backwards, drinking the rest of the soup, when your mother says your name loudly enough to tear you from your stupor. 

You swallow and wipe your mouth haphazardly with a napkin. “What?”

“Your father and I were just talking about your sister’s wedding.”

You raise your eyebrows, wondering if she’s actually being serious. 

“No shit.”

Your father sets his cup down, glaring at you. “Language.”

“Sorry,” you say, though there’s no real meaning in the word. 

Your sister has told practically every goddamn person in Hawkins that she’s getting married at the end of the month. Everyone is talking about her wedding. A wedding that you don’t give one singular fuck about. 

She’s marrying her high school sweetheart, they’re moving into a sweet new house in the suburbs, blah blah blah. She’s doing the same shit every other peaked-in-high-school woman her age is doing. And you can’t be bothered to care. 

Not only that, but you have to be a bridesmaid. You’re not very close with your sister, so her choosing another friend as her maid of honor really didn’t hurt you. Frankly, you would’ve been fine if she’d left you out of the bridal party completely. 

None of this is really as spectacular as everyone’s made it out to be. 

“Anyhow,” your mother begins, “you know she’s allowing her guests to bring a plus one.” She pauses, and you raise your eyebrows again, not understanding the need for dramatics here. 

“Well, she asked if you were going to bring someone, and I told her that you were.”

You push back from the table, entirely too confused. “What?”

“Honey, don’t get so frantic. I didn’t think you would want to be alone, especially considering your attitude towards the entire function.”

You take a deep breath, pressing your fingers into your eyelids. 

“I thought you could bring that boyfriend of yours. Actually, that’s what I told her. She’s already put in the name for a place card.”

“Mom, are you out of your mind?” 

She gasps, taking a sip of her wine to gather herself. Your father chooses this moment to begin clearing up the table. 

“I don’t have a boyfriend!” you exclaim. 

Her eyes widen. “What do you mean? I told her you’d bring that boy, Steve. You spend an awful lot of time with him for him to not be your boyfriend.” 

You feel like you’re choking on air. Like your dinner is going to come up if she doesn’t cut this out. “That’s because he’s my friend!” 

“You’re always with him, sweetie. Much more than I ever was with any of my male friends.” She clearly doesn’t believe that he’s not your boyfriend. Like it’s impossible that he isn’t.  

You shove past her and into the kitchen, utterly exasperated. Why are people making decisions for you? Why is your mother suddenly proclaiming to everyone that you’re in a relationship you didn’t even know you were in?

When you turn around from facing the sink, both of your parents are staring at you. “What now? Something else you’ve told the whole damn town about me?” 

Your mother reaches out to you, but you brush her off. You’re a little too pissed for any sort of cooing right now. 

“I’m sorry I assumed he was your boyfriend, honey. But you have to bring him, or else the family will ask questions and there will be an empty space next to you. Personally, I’d find that embarrassing.”

You push your way out of the kitchen, more than done with this situation. “You’ll be lucky if I even go to the damn wedding. And, personally, I wouldn’t go blabbing about things I’ve just assumed about my own daughter rather than just talking about them with her.”

When you turn down the hall, your father is rubbing his forehead, and your mother is looking at you like you should be grateful for her having assured you have company for the big event. 

“This could be good for you!” she shouts, and your only response is the slam of your bedroom door. 

In hindsight, of course the slam was childish, but you really can’t believe your mother. 

You’ve never been so frustrated with her in your life. And yeah, you’ll go to the wedding, but what gave her the right to do that? This is your life. Not hers. 

Normally, you would call Steve about something like this, but shit, you can’t. 

Steve. As your boyfriend? 

That’s too much for your brain to handle right now. You throw yourself on the bed and call it a night. 

————

“So, let me get this straight,” Robin begins, holding up her hands so as to count off your main points. “Your mother just told everyone that you have a boyfriend, that this boyfriend is Steve, of all people, and that he’s your plus one to your bitchy sister’s wedding?” 

The countertop is cold when you press your forehead against it. “Yes,” you whine. 

You’d gotten up first thing this morning and head to Family Video, needing to spill your guts to the one and only person who would surely match your energy and try to help you handle the situation. 

Your arms are laid out in front of you, hands dangling over the edge of the counter and reaching for Robin on the other side. She grabs hold of them and squeezes. “That’s one hell of a pickle you’re in. But! Lucky for you, I’m gonna help you figure it out.”

You squeeze her hands back, only to jerk your head up at an alarmingly fast rate. Robin cringes like you’re going to give yourself whiplash. You’ve just had an absolutely terrifying thought.

“Steve’s not working today, is he?”

Robin tries to think off the top of her head, but there are too many thoughts rambling around in there, so she’s quick to consult the schedule pinned to the wall behind her. She probably could’ve told you the times of each of his shifts if only you hadn’t asked. 

“He won’t come in until this afternoon. Three-thirty, to be exact.”

You let out a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding. “Thank fuck. I’m not ready to see him yet. He’s going to notice something’s wrong and then he’ll want to talk about it and then it’ll just be a big fat shit show.”

Robin props her chin up with her hand, elbow resting against the green countertop. “You know, maybe that’s a good thing. He already knows you so well that he’ll probably make a great boyfriend.”

“Robin, what?” 

She’s plotting and you’ve never felt more afraid. 

“Well, you can’t just not take him to the wedding after all of this, right? It would be ten times messier now that your mom has told all of Hawkins that Steve Harrington is your boyfriend. And you know he’ll agree to go, being ‘Mr. Nice Guy’ and whatnot. Besides, you’ve gotta admit that there’s chemistry between the two of you.”

You go to speak, but she holds a hand up to stop you. 

“So you tell him about your little predicament, and maybe he can just act as your boyfriend for the night?” She smiles nervously, shoulders rising in slight fear of your reaction. “You two are best friends, no one’s bound to be the wiser.”

“Robin, are you suggesting that I just fake-date the man?”

She raises her hands in a don’t-shoot-the-messenger gesture. “What’s the harm in it? It’s just a one time thing. You go, you get it over with, and Steve will be there the whole time. It’ll be totally fine.” 

You drag your hands down your face, peeking at her through your fingers. This is insane. This is fucking delusional. But it could work, couldn’t it?

A customer comes in, and you step to the side while Robin helps them at the counter. Chemistry? Maybe Robin’s right. Not that you’d ever tell her that. 

Last Valentine’s, Steve showed up at your place after dark, flowers in hand, knowing full well that you hate the holiday. “I just wanted you to feel special,” he’d said. “And I love you and everything.” You’ve been saying that to each other for forever it seems. And you mean it. He’s your best friend. But now you’re wondering if maybe he means it in a different way. Or if that’s just what you want to think. 

Steve doesn’t know that you pressed a few of the flowers to keep, or that you’ve saved the stubs from the movies you’ve seen together. You think about how he holds your hand on the way up the theater stairs, keeping you from tripping and spilling popcorn everywhere. How he offers to go out with you when you need to be away from home, not wanting to leave you alone. That he takes your bag from you the second he notices you adjusting it, straps digging into your shoulder. 

Your hands start to sweat, and you feel like this could either go just as Robin’s told you, or it could go really fucking badly. 

“Hello? Anyone home?” Robin’s voice breaks you out of your stupor. She’s waving her hand in front of your face. 

“Listen honey, I can see your brain working from here. I know you’re coming up with every possible way that this could go wrong. Just talk to him! It might go really well. You never know.”

Robin boops you on the nose and starts to walk towards the staff room. It’s her way of signaling that you need to get your shit together. 

“Good luck! I love you!”

You grab your keys and make for the door, flipping her off as you go. She only blows a kiss in response.

————

You’d been pacing your room when Steve called and offered to take you to the bookstore. Really he just wanted to spend time with you, and you needed to spill your guts. You spent an hour contemplating calling him, going over to see him, maybe even just cutting yourself off from him as a whole. In fact, cutting yourself off from the world had crossed your mind, but he’d since prevented that. 

Now Steve hovers behind you while you wander down an aisle filled with mystery novels. None of them are catching your eye.

There’s a warmth behind you, and you look up to see Steve. He reaches above your head, one hand on your waist, and pulls something down. He flips it around in his hands before holding it out to you. “What about this one?”

Surprisingly enough it does sound vaguely interesting. “You have to read it after I do.”

He grins. “Yes ma'am.” 

And we will read it. You know that he will because he’s done it before. He’s sat on your couch and blabbed about books to you, whining about this character, asking you a question about that plotline. Robin’s voice chirps in your head. Chemistry. Shit. 

Steve takes the book back from you. He never lets you carry anything. 

You walk further into the store, your feet carrying you to the same places they always do. You end up in a quiet corner, and your heart rate picks up. Not telling him is only hurting you more. You take a deep breath.

“Steve, I gotta tell you something.”

He crosses his arms and leans against the end cap. “Shoot.”

“You know how my sister is getting married?”

He snorts. “Yeah, I’d say I’m familiar with the event.”

You’d smile if it weren’t for the fact that you feel like you might puke at any moment. “Well she decided that guests could have a plus one.” Steve hates the way he warms up at that. At the fact that he wants you to take him. He nods, encouraging you to continue. 

“Well my mother decided to tell everyone that I’d bring you. As my boyfriend.”

Steve coughs, and your head jerks in his direction. “Your boyfriend?”

You press your hands together. “Yeah. She said she assumed that we were dating because we’re always together, and when my sister asked if I’d be bringing someone, she just told her that it would be you.”

You make eye contact with Steve. His cheeks have gone red. “So naturally, she’s already had your nameplate printed. And now, what I’m saying is that I need you to pretend to be my boyfriend and go to my sister’s wedding with me.” The last part spills out of your mouth faster than you’d intended. 

He doesn’t say anything for a moment, and you start to panic. It’s as if you’ve been sent into overdrive, like every sense in your body is on high alert. If this goes wrong, Robin’s ass is grass. 

You back into the corner of the aisle, book spines pressing into your back. “I realize I said I need you to do this, but I should have prefaced it by saying that of course you don’t have to, and I don’t expect you to–”

“I’ll do it.”

Steve pushes his hair back from his forehead. 

“What?”

“I said I’ll do it. I don’t mind.”

“Steve, are you sure?”

He’s moving into your personal space bubble, hands grasping for your arms where you’ve tucked them behind your back. He pulls them out, hands sliding down your forearms until he’s got your hands in his. His palms are warm, and you can’t help but notice how big his hands are. There’s a ring on his pinky finger too, and it takes you by surprise, considering he’s not usually one for jewelry. You’ll have to ask him about it later, assuming you survive this. 

“I’m sure. I’m not just going to let you show up after your mom did all that shit. She’s more trouble than she’s worth, if you ask me. But I promise, I don’t mind. I’ll go and be your boyfriend. I don’t know how good I’ll be, but hey…we’ll see.”

You pull your hand away to smack him on the arm. He winces like you’ve brutally wounded him. 

“Don’t you dare say that, Steven. You’d make an excellent fake boyfriend. And a kickass real one. Don’t let me hear that shit again.”

You let go of him and start to walk away. 

Steve chuckles. “Or what?”

“Or I’ll beat your ass, Harrington. And you’d definitely lose that one.”

He catches up to you and his hands find your waist again, though he struggles to hold on when you’re continually moving.

“Hey,” he pouts, his bottom lip jutting out at you. “Not fair.”

You look back up at him and reach up to pat his cheek. It’s warmer than you’d expected, and still all rosy. “Sorry, sorry.”

“That’s not very nice of a fake girlfriend.” 

You snort. “Ha! I guess my fake girlfriend skills aren’t up to the great Steve Harrington’s standards.”

“You’re being so mean to me today.” He rests his chin on your shoulder while you pick through a sale pile. 

“Only yanking your chain, dearest.” 

He chuckles, and you can feel his breath against your neck. 

You start to wonder if maybe everyone has a point. You do spend the majority of your time with Steve, and you are touchy, but that’s just the kind of person Steve is. You hadn’t realized how much you enjoyed physical touch from another person, even when it’s the most mundane action, until him. Robin is the same way, always holding your hands or leaning on you. They’re spoiling you. 

But the more you think about it, the more you realize that you’ve started to crave Steve’s touch when he’s not around. At night when you feel lonely, when you’re staring at the ceiling and letting your thoughts engulf you, you wish he was there to give you a hug. You wish he was there when you’re eating lunch alone and his leg isn’t pressed against yours under the table. You miss the warmth and the weight of him beside you on the couch. It’s like there’s a part of your brain that’s reserved for him, and suddenly you’re worried that this fake dating Steve thing might be the worst decision you’ve ever made. 

————

“Is this really necessary?”

“Yes, and I’m going to leave this with you until the masquerade is complete so that both of you morons have a reminder of your agreement.”

Robin sits on Steve’s couch, white board in hand. She’s brought way too many markers with her. She decided it would be best if you and Steve had a list of things that are acceptable for your temporary fake romance. She also insisted she be moderator. 

“Masquerade? Is that really what we’re calling this?” Steve looks at you.

“No. It’s not.”

“Both of you! Focus!” Robin uncaps a marker and throws the lid at Steve. He catches it. “Now, what kinds of things are okay to do during this little performance? I’m talking, hugging, handholding, kissing, the lot of it. Now shoot.”

Steve looks at you again. “What do you think? This is your family that we’ll be around.”

Your knee starts to bounce.

The majority of your little charade will be during the reception, and having to stand during the ceremony is saving you much more trouble than you’d realized. You never thought you’d be grateful to be a bridesmaid. But now there’s the added pressure of knowing Steve will be watching you then, that your family will be watching the both of you afterwards. 

Steve catches your shaking leg and is quick to put a hand out to steady you. He knows you’re nervous. 

“See? That’s good. Believable.” Robin is staring at the two of you, or more specifically, at where Steve’s hand rests on your knee.  

Steve pulls his hand back. “Okay, so we can hold hands?” you say, questioning yourself already. “You can touch me, like that or like you usually do.”

“I can do that. Hands, arms, back. That alright?”

You start to warm up. “Yeah, that works. What about you? I don’t want to be too handsy or anything but it might be weird if I don’t touch you at all.” 

Steve sits back in his chair while Robin scribbles away, her bulletpoints little stars. There are two sides, one for each of you. 

“All of that is fine with me too. I really don’t mind, and I think you know I like physical affection. But you know when you like, hang on my arm sometimes? I really like that.”

Robin smiles brilliantly. “That’s good! Makes you look super lovey-dovey.” She jots it down under Steve’s name. 

You try not to let it show, but Steve’s words are running rampant in your head. I really like that. He does? You hadn’t realized it before. 

“What else?” Robin asks. “Kissing? How do we feel about that?”

“Uh—I hadn’t really thought about it,” you tell her. And you hadn’t. The thought of Steve kissing you at all, other than the top of your head like he’s done before, makes you feel like your heart has just dropped out of your ass. “But I suppose it’d be weird if we didn’t at all, you know?” 

You’re looking at Steve, hoping he’ll feel the same way, searching for some sort of consolation. 

“No, yeah, that’s a good point.” He’s quiet for a moment before continuing, “What about your cheeks and forehead and stuff? Maybe the face is fair game? And you can do the same for me.”

You wipe your palms across your thighs. Kissing Steve. Steve kissing you. You’re losing your shit. 

“Yeah, that’s totally fine. That works.” You’re amazed that you’ve even managed to get the words out. 

“I don’t want to make you uncomfortable, you know?” Steve’s expression is soft. You know he’s being serious with you. 

“I know. And I don’t want to make you feel that way either. I want this to be a perfectly comfortable evening.”

“And I’m sure it will be!” Robin claps her hands together, setting her board down against the couch cushions beside her. 

She stands abruptly. “Basically you’re just behaving like you normally do, but with a little more hands-on action, you know?”

Steve quirks a brow, taking a furtive glance at you. “What do you mean, like we normally do?”

Robin moves towards her best friend and crouches, taking his hands in hers. “Uh…what are you doing?”

“Listen, little Stevie, you’re a touchy-feely kind of guy, and you’re always all over the lovely lady to our left. You can’t deny that.”

“I mean—yeah.”

Robin nods her head. Steve struggles to keep eye contact with her, knowing you’re watching the interaction.

“And you’ve rubbed off on her! She wasn’t really like this before you, Harrington.”

This time he jerks his head towards you. “Really?”

He’s thinking about your hugs, how you wrap your arms around his waist and squeeze. About how you always take his hand when he offers it, or how you'll toss a leg over his on the couch. Any other sort of behavior would feel strange.

You feel yourself go all warm. Feel your chest squeeze. You’re forgetting how to breathe. She’s completely right. Steve has brought out a side of you that you swore you didn’t have. The side that longs for affection. Maybe more. 

You nod your head at him.

“Yeah,” Robin says, “Most I’d get out of her was some hand holding before you came around.” 

She releases Steve from her grasp and rises once again. 

“But my point is, you two are going to make a fantastic fake couple. And maybe even an excellent real one.”

Steve face palms. “Robin.”

“Sorry, sorry! Make sure to take pictures for me, alright? I’ll be so sad to miss this happening in person.”

Steve stands, grabbing Robin’s bag for her. “Yep. Alright. See you later, Rob.”

He looks at you with what you’re quite positive is fear in his eyes. He leads her to the door, and you can’t help but chuckle, even if you’re nervous as shit, as he reassures her that there will be pictures, and that you’ll tell her all about it. 

————

“Just hang it up on the doorframe, and then you can hold stuff up to it.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah.”

You sit cross legged in the center of Steve’s bed, watching him rummage through his closet. He’s going to knock your dress on the floor if he doesn’t quit his frenzy. 

You’d told him it wasn’t necessary that he coordinate his outfit with yours, but he insisted, so you brought your dress over for him to see. Steve has a feeling that when he sees you in it he’s going to lose his shit, not that he can tell you that. 

“You know, I never thought these would be useful. But I guess your asshole dad dragging you to business events pays off sometimes.”

Steve lifts a bunch of hangers from the rack and pulls them out of his closet, setting them on the bed beside you.

“Fancy,” you say, smirking.

He rubs his hand over his chin, the other braced against his hip. “Yeah.”

You can tell he’s a little frazzled at this. The reminder of dressing himself up to be paraded around by his father—a father who doesn’t spare Steve a second when not in the public eye. 

You hate that you’ve made him dig up all these memories. 

“They all fit okay?” you question. 

He nods, that one insistent lock of hair slipping free. He pushes it back before you have the chance to. 

You slide off the side of the bed and stand. You gesture for him to sit and that gets a smile out of him. 

After he’s settled, you lift each suit up one by one, seeing which matches the blue of your dress best. You’re only glad that your sister picked a nice shade: a dark, rich midnight blue. The kind you’d be able to spot from far off in a department store and need to take a look. 

You get to a sort of soft gray one, and Steve stops you. You hook it up on the doorframe beside your dress. 

“I think that looks nice, yeah?”

You walk backwards until your spine meets Steve’s knees. You brace yourself, hands on his calves. His chin meets the top of your head because of how high up the bed is. 

“I like it a lot, Harrington.”

He snorts, and you can feel the puff of air against your scalp. He’s warm, his presence all around you. His cologne, maybe his shampoo if you let yourself fall in between his legs. But you don’t. You stand. 

“Looks pretty solid to me,” you tell him, though your grin falters just slightly enough for him to catch it.

He puts a gentle hand on your cheek, making sure you keep your eyes locked on his. 

“Hey. It’s gonna be great, okay? You’re going to kill it in that dress. Probably kill me, actually,” he laughs. “We’ll handle it together, alright?”

“Alright, Steven.” You’re trying not to over-analyze that comment. This is not the time to get sweaty. 

He stands up, hand sliding down from your cheek to cover your collarbones. You wrap your arms around his back on instinct, and you swear you see him blush as he moves to encircle you in his own. 

“Does being your fake boyfriend mean your incessant picking has only gotten worse?” 

You rest your forehead against his chest. You can hear the steady thump of his heartbeat. You think about how nice it might be to do this all the time. What it might be like if he weren’t your fake boyfriend, but your real one. 

“Mhm,” you mumble. “I plan on continuing it, too.”

Steve’s hands run up and down your back. 

“I look forward to it,” he whispers. There’s a part of you that knows he means it.

————

Steve hasn’t stopped looking at you since you met him at the door to the wedding venue. 

You’d run down, more than happy to have company that wasn’t your sister's bitchy bridal party. 

He stands with you now, waiting until he’s allowed to take his seat, and you can feel his eyes burning into you. 

Not that you’re any better than he is. 

His suit fits him just right, and every time he pushes his hair around, you watch his shoulders move under his jacket. It’s driving you insane. And he’s wearing that fucking ring again. Except this time, there’s also one on the middle finger of his opposite hand. 

The sun is hitting him just right, turning his eyes this amber color. It’s mesmerizing. You notice then that his tie is the same blue as your dress. 

“Steve?”

“Hm?” 

“Did you have that? Just lying around?” 

He follows your gaze to his chest. No, he absolutely didn’t. He ran out and picked one up in a shade as close as he could get it to yours. Wearing something that felt like a piece of you had his mind abuzz. Abuzz with you. 

It’s the same way he feels about these rings Robin bought him. She said you were into them, always talking about Steve’s hands or something. He’s started to like them, but really it’s for you. Most things are. 

“Yeah. I found it in a drawer.”

Robin would slap him if she were here. He doesn’t know why he lies, but he does. And then you’re blushing and he’s got to sit down. He squeezes your hand one last time, an encouraging gesture, but one that has so much more buried beneath it.

The ceremony thankfully goes quickly for you, and you’re grateful, hating having to stand up there like you give a shit, like your sister is some saint. 

For Steve, it’s the slowest wedding he’s ever been to. You look so fucking gorgeous and he can’t keep it together. He barely even pays attention to the wedding, too busy looking at you. The way your indifference shows on your face, even if you know you’ll hear about it later. The way your hands wrap around the little bouquet you’ve been given. The way the setting sun sets your skin alight, and he thinks that you might truly be the death of him. 

When the ceremony has concluded, when Steve is looking for you in the reception hall, he realizes he has to tell you so. You deserve to know how gorgeous you are. He’s beating himself up for having said you looked ‘great,’ and that was all. 

You spot him first, and rush to him like you had before, anxious to be near him. 

“My mother is looking for me,” you tell him.

“You want to get some air?” His hand finds the small of your back, already leading you away from the crowd and just outside the doors. 

“You’re such a good fake boyfriend.”

You suck in a breath of cool air, shake your hands out. 

Steve smirks, hands moving up to massage at your shoulders before he even has a chance to give the action a second thought. “Just knew you’d like to get away is all.”

Knew. 

The word hits you and you feel like you’ve been slapped. Goddammit, Robin. She’s been in your head all day, and you’ve done nothing but pick up on the little things Steve does for you, the things he seems to know about you, that make him so much more than just a best friend. 

You’re fucked. 

“Thank you, Steve. For that, and for coming to this. It means a lot to me.”

“Don’t sweat it. I’d do it again.”

He’s looking at you with such fondness, and you have a feeling he wants to say more. You grab hold of one of his wrists, locking your eyes with his in hopes that it will communicate the message. Go ahead. 

He exhales. This sort of thing used to be so easy for him, but it’s never been that way with you. He knows it’s because you aren’t just some chick he wants to take out. You’re everything. And he’s fumbling for words. 

“I, uh, I wanted to tell you that…” You squeeze his wrist, and he continues, albeit with a shaky voice. “I wanted to tell you that you look beautiful.”

A smile creeps up and onto your face before you can stop it. 

“I mean, you always look beautiful, b-but tonight you’re just—stunning. Like, totally breathtaking. Don’t let anyone hear this, but I’d even say you look better than the bride.”

You let out a laugh then, the kind that comes straight from your belly, rich and sickly sweet. It makes Steve laugh, too. He can’t believe you. You’re unbelievable. 

“Sorry, Steve, I just–fuck that was so funny.” You straighten up, putting your serious face back on. “Thank you for saying that. I really appreciate it.”

“I’m serious, you know. You’re gorgeous.” He presses a kiss to your forehead, lips warm and plush against your skin. 

You go all warm and fuzzy inside. “Thank you, Stevie.”

He smacks another kiss to your cheek, just because he can. 

“You look pretty too, you know.” 

Steve blushes at your comment, and it’s at this very moment that your mother’s voice rings out, “Sweetie! Come in here, people want to see you!”

Fear flashes across your face, any trace of the sweet flirtiness there seconds before having vanished. 

“Hey, it’s okay,” Steve says, watching you gesture towards your mother, telling her you’re on your way.  “Let’s do this, yeah?”

You make eye contact with him, and he grabs hold of your hand, weaving his fingers between yours. “Yeah.”

————

“So, how’d the two of you meet?”

You’re surrounded by a crowd of women, some are your family–your mother and sister–some women you’re not even sure you know. 

“School.” Steve saves you from having to speak first. “We went to high school together, but we met through a mutual friend.”

Your mother quirks a brow. “Robin,” you tell her. 

“Oh! What a lovely young lady.”

Steve snorts and you slap him on the back. Not that anyone could’ve seen it with how close he’s got you pressed to his side. “Yep,” Steve coughs, “She’s great.”

He presses a kiss to the top of your head, hoping it’ll give him a moment to suppress his smile. Your sister steps away from her friends, catching the action. 

“So, Steve, does she treat you okay? I know my sister can be a bit frantic sometimes.” You watch your mother down the rest of her wine, and you know she’s hoping nothing breaks out between the two of you like it has plenty of times before. 

Steve’s arm wraps more firmly around you, his hand coming to rest on your hip. Everyone has their eyes locked on you, waiting, hoping that Steve will spill some sort of secret that they can spread throughout Hawkins like wildfire. Nothing beats good gossip around here. 

He squeezes your hip, and for a split second you think the gesture might be possessive. Protective, even. 

“She does. Your sister is considerate and thoughtful, and she’s the best woman I know. I’ve never felt more comfortable than I do with her. And if she’s ever frantic, it only helps her deal with me when I’m the same way.”

You feel like you could pass out. Because you know he meant every damn word of that. You know he isn’t lying. 

Your sister looks between the two of you. “Well, I suppose that’s good to hear.” Her smile is nothing but insincere when she walks off to greet another wedding guest. 

One of your aunts swoops in, and Steve feels you clutch his side a little harder. He has a feeling you’re about to be ridiculed. 

“Such a lovely day, isn’t it? You two ever think about tying the knot?”

Steve pinks and your hand slips under his suit jacket, clutching at the fabric of his shirt instead. Is this really the time?

“No,” you pipe up. “I haven’t really given it much thought.”

The woman frowns at you. “Well, isn’t that silly? You better get around to it sooner than later, honey. Take after your big sister. You won’t be young forever.”

You go to speak, but Steve’s already begun. “I’m sorry, but she doesn’t have to get married on anyone else’s terms. Hell, she doesn’t have to get married at all, and I can say that in utmost confidence. Maybe back off, okay?” 

Your aunt looks absolutely scandalized, as if she cannot bear to accept what just happened to her. 

Steve starts to lead you away from the group. “Come on, baby.”

Baby. 

Steve called you ‘baby.’

You don’t have time to analyze that though with the way he’s escorting you back outside. He parks you on a bench and starts to pace in front of you. 

“I can see why you didn’t want to do this now. Jesus, are they always like that? I thought my dad’s colleagues were dicks, but my god.” He runs a hand through his hair. “Wait—can you call judgmental ladies dicks?”

You snort and bury your face in your hands. “Yes, Steve, I think so.” It comes out muffled, but he hears it all the same. 

When you look up, Steve is staring at you, and he’s much closer than he had been. He starts to say something, but both your mother and sister have shown up, looking for you. 

“Sweetie! What are you doing out here?” Your mother looks frazzled, and maybe a little tipsy. You knew your sister would be a bitch on her wedding day, but apparently your mother hadn’t yet realized.

“Escaping the mob.”

“Your aunt isn’t entirely pleased with your behavior, I’ve been told.”

You stand up then. “Honestly, mom, I don’t really give a shit. I came to this wedding, like you told me to. I brought, Steve, like you told me to. And I just don’t care anymore. I’m sick of your bullshit.”

She looks aghast, way more than your aunt had. 

You look at your sister, who’s clearly hoping to see you fuck up. 

“Congratulations on fucking yourself over. You’ll have a severely depressing marriage.” 

“C’mon, Steve.”

He takes your hand, and he can’t help but giggle as he follows you out. 

————

“Sweetheart? You comin’?”

You’ve stopped halfway up Steve’s stairs, a far off look in your eyes. He’d brought you back to his place to stay the night, and now that you’re here, it’s like every thought you’ve had about him is fit to burst. This cannot just be a tonight situation. You can’t let this end here. 

You drop your dress where you’d been holding it up to prevent yourself from tripping. 

“Maybe Robin’s right. About the chemistry.”

Steve’s hands go to his hips. He’s got no idea what you’re on about, but the way you’re looking at him is enough to have his heart rate kicking up a notch. “Chemistry?”

“Yeah. She pointed it out. And she said we’d make a fantastic couple, remember?”

He blushes. He hopes this is going where he thinks it is. Tonight has made him realize how much more you are to him than just a friend. He wants you all the time. “Yeah, I remember.”

Your heart is pounding and you feel like you can’t really breathe, but if you don’t say this now, you’re not sure you ever will. 

“Steve?”

“Yeah?” He’s never been so stressed in his life. He’s actually starting to sweat. 

You exhale and push the words out. “I don’t want you to be my fake boyfriend. I want you to be my real one.”

He coughs, chokes really, and you move up the stairs towards him to make sure he’s okay and not actually sick over the matter. 

“Are you sure?” he asks, surprising himself with the ability to speak considering how raw his throat feels. 

“Wouldn’t have said so if I felt otherwise, Harrington.”

There she is, he thinks. You really want him. Just like he does you. He can’t believe it.

“Again with the picking. You’re so mean to me.”

You smirk, your hands finding his sides again. You seem to have some attachment to them, and Steve wonders if it’s because you know there are scars underneath. If you’re telling him more than what you can bear to say. Giving him a glimpse of all you have to offer him, all the love you might hope to share. 

“I’ll show you mean, you little shit.”

You press your lips against his before you can second guess yourself, before you let that little voice win. 

Steve hums in surprise, but it’s clear he’s not upset by the gesture with the way he responds to your touch. His hands find your neck, thumbs stroking over your cheeks. 

He’s kissing you back, and fuck if he’s not trying to tell you everything he’s been feeling. 

When you pull away for air, Steve’s too greedy to let you go. He pecks your lips once, twice more, and when he really can’t breathe, he peppers your face instead. Now that you’ve given him the chance, he seriously can’t get enough of you. 

“Damn.”

You laugh, and push that strand of hair back where it goes, this time getting to it before he can. 

You take Steve’s wrist in your hand. It’s late. You hadn’t realized how worn out you were, but you are. 

“Can we go to sleep?” you ask, searching his brown eyes. His lashes are unfairly long, but you’ll have to berate him about it later. 

“Do I get another one of those before bed?” He’s already hauling you up the stairs, wanting you settled. 

“If you’re good.”

————

“So when did it happen?” Robin’s voice is almost accusatory.

“What?”

You’re standing close enough to Steve to ensure that you can hear Robin on the other side.

“When did this love confession take place?”

“That’s not what it was—”

“Just tell me when, dingus!”

“Last night, after we got home. She told me she didn’t want it to be fake anymore.”

“Shit!”

Steve rolls his eyes. You fuss with the belt loops on his jeans, trying to figure out what she’s been up to. “What did you do?” he asks. 

“I owe Dustin twenty.”

“You bet on us?” Your voice is loud enough that she hears it, and you know she’s cringing even if you can’t see it.

“Maybe? Yes. I bet that you’d give up the act later than that, that you two would be cowards about it. Figured you’d both wallow in self pity for a while before you just came out and said how you feel.” 

Steve looks at you, and mouths: Are you hearing this?

Robin keeps going. “Dustin said you’d come to your senses quicker than that. He bet on the wedding day specifically. Goddamnit!” 

You take the phone from Steve, and his forehead meets your shoulder. You can feel the way he shakes with laughter. 

“Thanks for having so much faith in us, Rob.”

She chuckles. “What? You’re both extremely good at lying to yourselves. I expected this to be much more dramatic.”

“Mhm,” you start, a plan forming in your mind. Steve can almost feel it. “Hey, Robin?”

“Yes?”

“Just for that, I’m calling in sick for Steve today. That shift is all yours.”

“No. Nononono—”

You hang up the phone. That means there won’t be the buffer that is Steve Harrington to prevent Robin having to interact with Keith. She’ll be stuck with him all evening. 

“That was just cruel,” Steve laughs. 

You cross your arms. “Oh, so you wanna go in then?”

He smiles at you and holds his arms out. You move into the circle of them. His hands find your waist and squeeze. “No, I didn’t say that. I haven’t had a day off in months.” 

“So quit whining.”

“See? I’ve only been your real boyfriend for like, a matter of hours, and you’re still being so mean to me.”

You lean forward and press a sweet kiss to his lips. It seems to appease him. 

“Was that mean?”

“Not at all.” 

You grin and kiss the corner of his mouth.

“Mean and a tease. Wow.”

You let out a breath of a laugh. “Only for you, Stevie.”

He takes your face in his hands, fingers pushing gently into your skin. 

“Damn right.”

————

please let me know if you liked this! feedback is always appreciated!! comments and reblogs mean more than you know. <33

tagging: @clovermunson

[ceratedfish24]

Your takes on c!Scott and flower husbands have honestly been so refreshing that its reignited my old Hot Takes on c!Jimmy bc I detest the way people characterize him.

I feel like so many people portray Jimmy as this dejected downtrodden victim of bullying, which feeds into a narrative that Scott was cruel and abusive and awful or whatever, and tends to act like Jimmy doesn't have any agency ever. But IN REALITY??? Jimmy is not downtrodden and dejected and sad!!!!! In my opinion, Jimmy's defining character trait is his unshakable TENACITY! Ppl never want to admit that Jimmy is a little shit! That he acts out of spite, that his friends' teasing only tends to motivate him!! He *thrives* in environments that challenge him! AND to be so for real, he is a grown man with agency and decision-making skills and I'm tired of people acting like he isn't.

In general I feel like people just have the wrong outlook on him as a character. Maybe they've just collectively misunderstood him, or a Helpless Miserable Victim is easier to write about in fic, or they just want to project their own bullying-related trauma onto him or whatever. (People do similar things to Scar when talking about desert duo, which I understand even less). IDK. These are just my thoughtssssss sorry for rambling :P

No because you’re literally so real for this. Jimmy is SUCH a little shit. His response to Joel being mad at Jimmy for trying to kill him was to SHAKE HIS ASS AT JOEL. He taunted Joel because Jimmy successfully used Lizzie to bait Joel out. He tried to guilt trip Scott into giving him time. These aren’t negative qualities. This is a guy being silly with his friends. Embrace them when writing c!Jimmy. These are wonderful and realistic qualities.

Jimmy’s tenacity is so remarkable. He gets knocked down and all of his friends tease him about it, and he stands right back up with pep in his step. A lot of people treat Pearl the same way. Like, guys, these people are adults who make their own choices, and, often times, people who are given free will are not going to make the responsible choice most of the time when there are no real world consequences to their actions other than maybe “I might not get to be in the finale of this Minecraft series”.

There is SO much favoritism in the Life Series. Jimmy and Pearl are always reduced to their greatest tragedies, while Scott and Cleo are reduced to their most selfish moments, even though everyone else is equally selfish because IT IS A DEATH GAME. IT IS A COMPETITION. THAT IS THE POINT.

A lot of Jimmy’s deaths tend to be his own doing. Whether he unnecessarily made an enemy or just wasn’t being careful, a lot of Jimmy’s deaths are his fault, and that’s fine. He likes to play into bits. He’s not that serious about winning as opposed to making fun content. Pearl has made her fair share of mistakes and enemies, and that adds plot and drama to her content. That’s how she plays it, and it’s fine! Don’t infantilize them for dealing with the consequences of their actions just like everybody else!

Scott was widowed, and he had to watch his allies die before he did for seasons. Nobody ever comforts him about it. Nobody says “oh this man is so sad he’s just doing his best but he can’t keep his friends alive and it’s eating him up and everyone should baby him”.

Nobody even calls Joel toxic for constantly targeting Scott, but somehow Scott is toxic for teasing Jimmy now and then? (Which is not to say that Joel is toxic. He just finds it fun to target his good friend and knows where Scott’s limits are. It’s actually a sign of how close they are in real life). Nobody calls Etho and Bdubs toxic for being so mean to each other. Nobody calls Impulse manipulative when his whole thing in Third Life was betraying people. Nobody says Ren is controlling for taking the lead in Dogwarts or calling the Renwood Mound the Ren Mound. Scar is a liar and a scammer and no one thinks less of him for it.

Do you wanna know why? Because they’re friends having fun. Scott and Scott’s character should be treated with that same respect given to everyone else. Also, people need to keep in mind that Scott is not actively playing a character. Scott is just playing the game the way that cc!Scott wants to play the game, so any in depth analysis of Scott’s “character”? That’s an over analysis of cc!Scott in a competitive environment, and that man is literally on this site, people. He knows about Gaslight, Gatekeep, Girlboss, Girldad. I’ve seen him reply to analysis posts on why Scott is manipulative. He’s literally just a guy playing a game for fun.

Imagine if someone accused you of playing an evil and selfish character because you asked your friend to give you the monopoly money they owe you. Or, worse imagine if someone accused you of playing a manipulative character because you let your friend land on your monopoly property without paying you????? Because you love your friend??????? Like, excuse me????????

Thank you for the ask!!!!!! 🩵🩵🩵 It’s always flattering when someone calls my posts “refreshing”💕💕💕(also I see you all the time and I love seeing your additions to my posts💖)

[mattsobvimyfav]

neighbors (matthew sturniolo)

pt 10

A couple of days had passed and Nick just posted the vlog from our drive around LA. Charlie and I were lounging on the couch, scrolling through our phones. My notifications had been blowing up all day. Every few seconds, a new comment popped up, most of them about the kiss Matt and I had shared in the vlog. The hate comments didn’t faze me—they were ridiculous and honestly kind of entertaining. People had too much time on their hands.

“Oh my God,” Charlie said, leaning over to peek at my phone. “They’re actually mad about a kiss? Like, of all things to care about.”

I shrugged, smirking. “Apparently, I’m public enemy number one. Should I frame this?”

She laughed, but before either of us could say more, my phone started buzzing. Matt’s name flashed on the screen. I answered quickly, putting the call on speaker.

“Hey,” I greeted casually, expecting him to laugh about the comments with me.

“Have you seen my comment section?” His voice was tense, his tone clipped.

I sat up straighter. “Uh, yeah. People are being dumb. Who cares?”

“I care,” he snapped. “It’s not just about you, Y/N. They’re not even saying awful things about me. Its just about how I ‘picked the wrong girl’ or whatever. It’s everywhere.”

Charlie raised an eyebrow at me, mouthing, ‘Seriously?’

“Matt, they’re just bitching,” I said, trying to stay calm. “You know none of that matters.”

“It’s easy for you to say,” he shot back. “Your TikTok isn’t flooded with comments about how I ‘deserve better’ or how you’re ‘using me for clout.’ It's pissing me off.”

I sighed, running a hand through my hair. “Okay, so what do you want to do? We can’t control what people say.”

There was a pause on the other end of the line before he spoke again, his tone softer but still firm. “Troll back. Lets just start making whatever we are way more public give them a real reason to be mad.” 

I hesitated, glancing at Charlie, who was already nodding eagerly as if to say, ‘Just do it.’

“Fine,” I said finally. “Let’s do it, I love being a dick online.”

Matt let out a breath, some of the tension easing from his voice. “Deal. I’ll come over later.”

As I hung up, Charlie smirked at me. “Hes gonna make you do porn on tiktok.”

“We havent even fucked,” I said, rolling my eyes. 

“WHAT?” She yelled jumping up sitting straight up “What the fuck was going on the other night than?” 

“He just ate me out and oh my god the hottest thing ever, he was so turned on that started jerking off. Just to eating me out” I said feeling a warmth between my legs rethinking about the night me and Matt shared.

“Wow. Thats really fucking hot, hes inlove with you” Charlie said looking away from me “Im picturing it in my head. I'm jealous” I laughed at her response as we laid back down going back to our phones. 

Later that night, Matt came over, his irritation over the comments still lingering but hidden under his usual calm demeanor. I greeted him at the door, grinning as I waved him inside. "Ready to show the internet who's boss?"

He smirked, shaking his head. "You mean, ready to show the internet that I don’t care, but also kind of care? Yeah, let’s do this."

Charlie, lounging on the couch with her popcorn, chimed in. “Make it iconic, okay? Something that makes the haters cry.”

Scrolling through TikTok, I landed on the “A boy who’s jacked and kind” trend. I turned the screen to Matt. “How about this one? It’s simple, it’s bold, and it’ll get them talking.”

Matt glanced at the screen, then at me, his lips quivering into a smirk. “You really think you can handle me lifting you like that?”

“Please,” I scoffed. “The question is whether you can handle me.”

Charlie snorted from the couch. “Oh, this is going to be good.”

We set up the phone, positioning it on the kitchen counter for the perfect angle. Charlie jumping around on the couch in the back, I stood in front of Matt as the trend’s audio began playing. The line “A boy who’s jacked” came up, and right on cue, Matt’s hands slid to my hips. With a swift, practiced motion, he lifted me effortlessly, placing me on his shoulder like I weighed nothing.

I couldn’t help the laugh that escaped me as I balanced on his shoulder, gripping onto him for support. The audio continued, transitioning to “and kind,” and Matt gave the camera with a playful grin, tapping my leg lightly.

Matt walked over grabbing his phone while I was still on his shoulders, added the caption: “my lady” and hit post.

Charlie shrugged, looking over Matt’s shoulder. “I like my cameo.”

Matt gently lowered me back to the ground, his hands lingering on my waist. “Think that’ll do the trick?”

I leaned into him slightly, grinning. “Oh, it’ll definitely stir the pot. But at least this time, it’s on our terms.”

We flopped onto the couch next to Charlie, refreshing the post to watch the views climb almost instantly. Matt wrapped an arm around me, pulling me closer as the first wave of comments rolled in.

As we sat on the couch, watching the likes and comments roll in from Matt’s TikTok, I turned to him with a mischievous grin. “Okay, now it’s my turn. We’re making one for my account.”

Matt raised an eyebrow. “Alright. What’s the plan?”

“You’ll see,” I teased, grabbing his hand to pull him up. “We need a parking lot for this one.”

Without hesitation, he stood, grabbed his keys, and intertwined his fingers with mine.  I laughed as he practically dragged me to the door, his excitement contagious. 

“BYE LOVERS! Chris and Nick will be here when you get back!” Charlie yelled from the couch.

“Bye baby!” I yelled back to her

By the time we reached the car, I was giggling uncontrollably. “You don’t even know what we’re doing yet.”

“Don’t care,” he said opening the passenger door for me. “You said parking lot, so we’re going to a parking lot.”

The drive was filled with us singing to old songs wed listen to in college. His curiosity clearly bubbling under the surface. “So,” he finally asked, “are you going to clue me in, or do I just wing it when we get there?”

I smirked, looking out the window. “You’ll know when the time comes.”

He shook his head, chuckling as he turned into a small, dimly lit parking lot. “This good enough for your tiktok?”

“Perfect,” I said, hopping out of the car. I grabbed my phone and propped it up against the tire, adjusting the angle until it captured the open space behind us.

Matt leaned against the car, watching me with amused curiosity. “Alright, sweetheart, what’s the move?”

I pulled up the audio and played it for him, explaining as it went. “Okay, so, I start spinning in the frame when the music begins, and then you run in, pick me up, and keep running off-screen.”

He nodded, walking away.

I laughed, hitting record and jogging into position. The audio started, and I spun slowly, my arms outstretched as the music swelled. ‘You better lock your phone-’ Right on cue, Matt dashed into the frame, scooping me up effortlessly. I squealed in surprise as he kept running, the camera capturing the two of us disappearing into the shadows.

When he finally stopped, both of us were laughing uncontrollably. “That was perfect,” I said, catching my breath as he set me down. 

“Obviously,” he teased, brushing a strand of hair from my face. “Now, let’s see it.”

We walked back to the car, reviewing the footage together under the soft glow of the streetlights. The video was exactly what I had imagined.

“You’re posting that, right?” Matt asked, his arm draped casually over my shoulder.

“Absolutely,” I said, uploading the video with the caption: “my future baby daddy.”

As we got back into the car, I glanced over at him, grinning. “You really don’t question anything, do you?”

He shrugged, kissing my forehead. “Not when it comes to you.”

When we got back to the house, the sound of voices and laughter greeted us as we stepped inside. Chris and Nick were now sprawled out on the couch with Charlie, the TV playing in the background.

As soon as I walked in, a wave of excitement hit me. Everything had been going so well lately, and I couldn’t help but feel like life was finally falling into place. “Guys!” I yelled, throwing my arms up in the air. “We should celebrate tonight!”

Nick perked up, looking intrigued. “What are we celebrating exactly?”

“Everything!” I exclaimed. “Life!”

Chris laughed, shaking his head. “Yes Y/N! I LOVE CELEBRATING LIFE!” Chris jumped up wrapping his arms around my shoulders behind me as we jumped like school girls.

Nick’s face lit up. “Well, if we’re talking about celebrating, I know Tara Yummy is throwing a party tonight. Should we go?”

Charlie’s eyes widened with excitement. “I’m in! We haven’t been to one of her parties. We've only ever dmed her a few times about a collab”

Matt looked over at me, smirking. “You good with that?”

“Absolutely,” I said without hesitation, “Let’s go, I can tell Chris is gonna match my freak tonight” I said while patting his arm that was hanging on me.

Charlie laughed at me and Chris jumping around, we exchanged a quick glance before I turned, pointing toward the door. “Alright, you three. Go home and get ready.”

Nick groaned but stood up, dragging Matt with him. “Fine, but you better not take forever.”

“No promises!” Charlie called out as the boys headed out, leaving us to start planning our outfits for the night.

The moment the boys left, Charlie and I raced upstairs to start getting ready. The excitement of the night buzzed between us, making us laugh and talk over each other as we dug through our closets for the perfect outfits.

“I’m thinking something bold,” I said, pulling out a burgundy strapless corset top that hugged my figure and showed off just the right amount of cleavage. I paired it with a tight black cloth skirt that barely covered my ass and my black heeled boots. “What do you think?”

Charlie whistled, grinning. “Matt’s going to fuck you infront of everyone.”

I laughed, tossing a pillow at her. “We’re celebrating life, remember? What about you?”

She held up a black crop top with thin straps that fit her perfectly and paired it with a jean mini skirt that showed off her long legs. She added a pair of cute ankle boots. “How’s this?”

“Absolutely stunning,” I said with a grin. 

We got to work on our makeup and hair, After straightening my hair and leaving it sleek and shiny, I turned to Charlie, who was curling her hair into loose waves.

“You’re going to have every guy at that party eating out of your hand,” I teased, spraying her hair with setting spray.

“Please, as long as Chris is that's all I care ‘bout,” she shot back, but her smile was wide.

By the time we finished, we took a couple pictures in the mirror, grinning like excited to finally meet Tara, and get drunk.

“Let’s do this,” I said, grabbing my phone to text the boys to let them know we were almost ready.

“They better not keep us waiting,” Charlie added with a laugh as we headed downstairs, our heels clicking against the floor, excitement building for the night ahead.

Charlie and I were halfway through our second nip of vodka, as we danced around the kitchen. The boys walked in just as I tipped the tiny bottle back, the liquid burning slightly as it slid down my throat.

“Starting without us?” Nick teased. Chris followed close behind, already laughing at the scene.

Matt came in last, his eyes locking on me immediately. I caught the smirk tugging at his lips as he walked over. Just as I was placing the empty nip on the counter, his hands slid around my waist, and one moved down to grab my butt firmly.

I shrieked, startled, and spun my head around to glare at him, but he leaned down to whisper in my ear, his voice low and teasing. “Let’s go.”

The sound of his voice sent a shiver down my spine, and I turned back around, trying to hide my flushed face as I reached for my bag. Charlie wiggled her eyebrows at me but said nothing as she grabbed her purse and slid her phone into it.

“All set?” Chris asked.

“Matt’s driving,” Nick said with a grin. 

“Lucky me,” I said, giving Matt a playful smirk. “That means you can take care of me when I'm hammered.”

He rolled his eyes but smiled, gesturing toward the door. “Per usual.”

Charlie and I followed the boys outside, the cool night air hitting our skin as we clicked down the driveway in our heels. Matt opened the passenger door for me, and I slid in, adjusting my skirt as he walked around to the driver’s side. Charlie climbed into the back with Chris and Nick, and we were off, heading for Tara’s party.

The car was filled with excitement and music as we drove, everyone hyped for the night ahead. I leaned back in my seat, sneaking a glance at Matt as he drove, his hand gripping the wheel tightly, the other holding my thigh. 

The house was packed with music blasting through the speakers and groups of people talking and laughing in every corner. As we walked in, the energy was electric.

“Y/N! Charlie!” A high-pitched squeal came from across the room, and Tara was practically sprinting toward us. She threw her arms around me first, then Charlie, her excitement contagious. “I was so excited when Nick told me you guys were coming! Finally, I get to meet the infamous Y/N and Charlie. You’re even prettier in person!”

Charlie and I exchanged amused smiles. “You’re so sweet, Tara,” I said, hugging her back.

“Come on,” Tara said, linking her arms with ours. “Let me show you where the drinks are. We’re getting started right now.”

She led us through the crowd, leaving Matt, Nick and Chris to socialize with other people, to a makeshift bar setup on the kitchen counter, complete with every type of alcohol imaginable. Tara wasted no time, grabbing shot glasses and pouring tequila like a pro.

“Let’s go, ladies,” she said, holding up her shot glass.

“Cheers!” we all yelled, clinking glasses before throwing back the first shot.

And then the second.

And then the third.

Before long, Charlie and I were fully committed to a shot-for-shot competition with Tara, each round getting harder to keep up with her.

“Come on, lightweight!” Tara teased as Charlie hesitated before the seventh shot, but I wasn’t about to back down. I threw our shot back, wincing as the burn hit my throat.

By the time an hour had passed, the three of us were absolutely obliterated. Tara was laughing so hard she was leaning on the counter for support, and Charlie and I were clinging to each other to stay upright.

“I love you guys,” Tara slurred, throwing her arms around us. “You’re my favorite people in the world now.”

“You’re my favorite!” Charlie yelled back, equally as drunk, before dissolving into giggles.

I nodded enthusiastically, my head spinning but too far gone to care. “Best friends forever,” I declared, raising my empty shot glass in the air like it was some kind of victory trophy.

The party was in full swing, the music pounding in my chest as I stumbled my way through the crowd, drink still clutched in my hand. My vision blurred slightly, but I was riding a wave of tipsy confidence—until I spotted him.

Matt.

He was leaning casually against the wall, talking to some girl. She was laughing at something he said, leaning in just a little too close. A flash of annoyance surged through me, cutting through the haze of alcohol. My mind betrayed me, flashing back to our college days—Matt fucking girl after girl.

Fueled by jealousy and bad judgment, I stormed across the room, stumbling slightly but determined. “What the hell is this?” I blurted, my voice louder than I intended.

Matt straightened up, his brows furrowing as he looked at me. “Y/N—”

“No, seriously,” I slurred, gesturing wildly at the girl. “What’s happening here?”

The girl blinked in confusion, clearly caught off guard. “Uh, I’m gonna go...” she muttered, excusing herself quickly as the tension between Matt and me became palpable.

Matt’s jaw tightened, and before I could say another word, he grabbed my wrist. “We’re not doing this here,” he said firmly, his voice low but commanding. He pulled me through the crowd, ignoring my protests, until we were in a quiet, empty room.

He let go of my wrist, closing the door behind us. Turning to face me, his eyes were sharp, his tone clearly pissed. “What the fuck was that, Y/N?”

“I could ask you the same thing!” I shot back, swaying slightly on my feet. “Talking to some random girl like I don’t even exist? What’s the deal, Matt? Back to your old habits?”

His hands went to his temples, rubbing them in frustration. “Are you serious right now? She’s just a friend! And even if she wasn’t, that’s not what this is. You’re drunk and making something out of nothing.”

“I saw the way she was looking at you,” I accused, my voice trembling. “And you weren’t exactly pushing her away.”

He took a step closer, his voice lowering as he leaned in. “Y/N, you’re drunk. You’re not thinking straight. Chill the fuck out.”

As Matt’s words echoed in the small, dimly lit room, I could feel the tension building, the weight of everything from the party to my frustrations pressing down on me. But then, unexpectedly, the alcohol made everything feel lighter.

I giggled, the sound bubbling up uncontrollably from my chest. "I love you," I blurted out, the words slipping out before I could stop them.

Matt looked at me, eyebrows raised, clearly taken aback by my sudden shift in mood. "What?" he asked, his voice a mix of confusion and amusement.

I shrugged, the smile on my face turning mischievous despite the still-present anger in my head. "I mean, I do," I said, a silly grin stretching across my face. 

He stood there, speechless for a moment, his eyes searching mine. His lips quirked upward into a small, amused smile as he let out a deep breath. "You’re drunk, Y/N."

"Yeah, I know," I said, still grinning, "but I still love you."

He shook his head, chuckling lightly, before stepping closer. "You're lucky you're cute when you're drunk."

"You still love me, though," I teased,

"Yeah, I do," he admitted, his expression softening. "But let's get you back to the party before you start loving everyone."

I laughed again, “How about you just let me love you..” I pushed Matt back as he stumbled onto the bed.

“y/n don't… you're drunk.” Matt said as I walked towards him, placing myself on his lap.

“Just shut the fuck up Matt and kiss me” 

And when he finally gave me what I wanted, his lips crashing against mine as he moved against me, the world disappeared. There was only Matt—his touch, his voice, his everything. 

Matt’s hands gripped my hips, his hold firm but controlled, as if he was grounding himself as much as he was grounding me. 

His body was flush against mine, every inch of him radiating heat. “Wait till tomorrow,” he murmured, his lips brushing against mine, teasing but not giving me the kiss I desperately wanted. “I refuse to fuck you this drunk, y/n. And you are making it oh so hard”

“Shut up,” I whispered, tugging at his hair to start kissing his neck as I grinded my hips into his.

His hands roamed over my body, exploring every curve, every inch of skin he could reach. His touch was both gentle and possessive, a reminder that in this moment, I was his and his alone.

“Get off me before I go against all my morals,” he said, his voice rough and full of promise. “I say full of love and respect.” he moaned out as I perfected my last hickey on him.

“There, I just needed you to shut up so I could show people. You belong to someone” I said as I leaned back looking at my work.

“Good to know.” Matt said as he leaned down, starting his own art peace on my chest. 

Once he was finished he grabbed my hips standing me up. “Lets go baby” He grabbed my hand pulling me towards the door. I stopped in the mirror fixing my hair and seeing Matt's two hickeys, one on each breast. Matt walked over to the mirror inspecting the couple I left trailing down his neck. “God you are so sexy” He said, kissing my cheek as he guided me out to the party. 

As Matt and I stepped back into the party, the loud music and chatter hit me like a wave. The room felt like it was spinning a little, but I held onto Matt's arm for balance. We were just about to make our way back to the group when Chris spotted us from across the room.

He ran over with a mischievous glint in his eyes. "There you are," he said, stopping in front of us. His eyes flicked between Matt and me before landing on me. "Y/N, I need you bad."

My eyebrows shot up, and Matt's posture immediately tensed beside me, sensing something was off. Chris, however, seemed entirely unfazed by the undercurrent of tension.

"I'm sorry," Chris said with a playful shrug, glancing over at Matt, "No, not like that anymore. I need you as my beer pong partner." He laughed realizing how bad his first sentence sounded.

Matt's grip on my arm tightened, but before I could even ask what he meant, Chris waved a hand dismissively and added with a wink, I couldn't help but laugh, feeling the tension ease a bit. "You scared me for a second there," I joked, shaking my head at Chris.

Matt let out a small laugh too, his shoulders loosening as he realized it was just Chris being his usual, over-the-top self. "Yeah, she’s off-limits for now," Matt said, his tone affectionate but teasing. "But you can have her for beer pong."

Chris grinned and pulled me toward the game, but not before giving Matt a quick look. "Don't worry, I only need her to win this game. And you," he added, glancing at me, "are the best person for the job."

"Let’s do it then," I said, grinning and ready to dive into the chaos of the game, trying to push any lingering doubts aside.

Chris, despite being a bit too drunk to focus, had an energy that was hard to ignore. He bounced on his feet, grinning like a madman as he lined up to take his first shot. “Alright, we got this, Y/N,” he said with way too much confidence, raising his beer.

Across from us, Jake and Tara stood ready, both giving us playful smirks. Tara was already holding her own drink, clearly just as drunk as me, while Jake had a look of determination on his face, obviously eager to win. “You’re going down,” Jake said with a laugh, tossing the ping pong ball up and readying himself to launch it across the table.

Nick and Matt stood off to the side, cheering us on. Nick was practically jumping up and down in excitement, while Matt pushed himself off the wall, going behind me whispering in my ear. "Come on, Baby" 

The game started off slower than I expected, with Chris getting distracted by anything and everything—whether it was a drink on the table or someone else at the party walking by. But even in his drunken state, he was surprisingly good. Tara missed her first few shots, but Jake was still hitting his, making me sweat a little. I had to focus, but thankfully, Chris and I managed to keep our heads in the game.

We took turns, and each time, I felt the tension rise. Tara and Jake had their competitive energy going, but it was clear Chris and I had the upper hand—probably because Tara and Jake were having more fun than they were serious about winning. Chris finally got it together after a few more missed throws, throwing his ball with incredible force and sinking it into one of the last cups.

“Fuck yeah!” Chris shouted, stumbling and almost tipping over. I had to grab him to stop him from falling off balance.

In the final round, it came down to one last shot. Jake was up, and I knew he was going to give it everything he had. He took a deep breath, lined up his shot, and threw the ping pong ball—only for it to bounce off the rim and miss entirely. The room fell silent for a second before Chris and I erupted into cheers.

“We did it!” I yelled, laughing as Chris grabbed me in a half-hug and spun me around. “I can’t believe we won!”

Nick and Matt, who had been watching from the sidelines, immediately started clapping and cheering. “FINALLY!” Nick shouted, high-fiving Chris.

Tara and Jake laughed good-naturedly, though I could tell they were a little disappointed. “Alright, alright, you guys earned it,” Jake said, tossing a playful glare in our direction.

An hour had passed, and the energy of the party was starting to get to me. I could feel the buzz starting to wear off, and I was ready to head home. I looked over at Matt, who was leaning against the wall, talking to Nick. He caught my eye, and I gave him a small nod, silently telling him I was ready to go.

I walked over to him, tapping him on the shoulder. "Matt, I think it's time to head home," I said, trying to keep the smile on my face, but feeling the exhaustion from the party creeping in. The lights were too bright, the music a little too loud, and I just wanted to go back to the comfort of my place.

Matt nodded, his hand immediately finding mine. "Alright, let's get out of here," he said, pulling me toward the door. We waved to Tara and a few others as we made our way out of the party and into the cool night air.

Nick, who went to get Chris and Charlie, was already making his way to the car, pulling Chris and Charlie along with him. We all piled into the car, with Matt driving, me in the passenger seat, and the rest of the crew in the back. The ride was mostly quiet, everyone content in their own thoughts after a long night.

As we drove through the city streets, I could feel the tension finally easing. The party was fun, but there was something about heading home with Matt, knowing the night was winding down. I leaned my head against the window, watching the streetlights blur past as we made our way home.

Matt glanced over at me, a small smile on his face. "You good?" he asked, his voice soft.

"Yeah," I replied, smiling back at him. "Just ready to be alone with you."

We drove the rest of the way in comfortable silence, the sounds of the car and the occasional laugh from the backseat filling the air. The night had been eventful, but now all I wanted was the peace of being home with Matt.

tag-

@tbfaptbfae @ch0lliess @2muchofaslvt @rockstarchr1s @simply-a-simper @mattscore @watercolorskyy @urfungi @slut4christopherr @mattsturnii @christmastreecake @izzylovesmatt @larnieboox88 @christophersstar @realuvrrr @namelesssav @matts-girlfriend

[agaypanic]

Benny Weir x witch(earth priestess) reader whose discreetly been helping the crew who thinks shes human and unaware; when shes caught using magic its a big “wait you seriously didn’t notice this before?” Moment from reader

Ps love your mbav fics, sad to see some characters are gonna leave your request list soon💜💜💜

Witch Reader With Benny Weir Headcanons

Masterlist

Request Something!

***

You guys probably met through Grandma Weir

Like maybe you’re a granddaughter of one of her friends, and they needed help with something

Lemme shamelessly promo a fic of mine with a similar plot real quick

But anywayssss

The rest of your new friends don’t know that you’re a witch 

“So, how did you and Benny meet?” Sarah asked you as you settled into your chairs. Benny’s friends insisted on him inviting you to hang out with them at a pizza shop in town so they could get to know you. Although they loved Benny, they found it a little hard to believe that he had a girlfriend who lived in a neighboring town and went to another school. “He says you go to another school and all.”

“Yeah, I don’t see how he had the time to meet you when he’s always busy doing…” Erica trailed off, looking at Benny while wondering how to phrase the rest of her sentence. “Geek stuff.”

You chuckled at Benny’s annoyed expression, patting his shoulder before answering Sarah’s question. “We met through our grandmas, actually. Benny’s grandma invited mine over to catch up and do some…” Although you knew about the group’s supernatural identities, you weren’t sure if Benny had disclosed yours to them. Plus, you didn’t feel like openly talking about witchcraft in a pizza shop filled with likely normal people. “Girl stuff. And my grandma brought me along to meet Benny.”

“Yup. And I swept her right off her feet.” Your boyfriend smirked, slyly putting an arm around your shoulder. You snorted.

“Yeah, he did. Wasn’t looking where he was going, so he ran right into me and knocked me over.”

You quickly become part of the friend group

Traveling the short distance to Whitechapel to hang out quickly becomes part of your daily routine

You can tell they’re still a bit cautious around you

They don’t know you know about vampires, wizards, and all that spooky stuff

But you never find a reason to bring up the fact that you know or that you’re a witch, so you decide to just play along

Although they tried their best, your friends weren’t the best at being convincing or subtle. It was another regular night at the Morgan house. Everyone comes over to hang out and “babysit” Jane, and something weird or demonic happens, but it all gets resolved by the time Ethan’s parents come home from whatever obscure activity they were partaking in that night.

But this time, you were at the house too. And everyone, minus Benny, of course, didn’t know that you were aware of the supernatural. So they needed to get you away from all the zombified animals surrounding the house, caused by an incorrectly incanted spell by your boyfriend. Of course.

Benny and Ethan had ushered you up the stairs to Jane’s room, talking about how you should keep her company while they took care of an animal problem in the backyard. You tried to insist on helping, but Ethan was adamant that you stayed upstairs. Both you and Benny didn’t feel like explaining that you’d be fine when everyone else was so tense, so you quickly ended up agreeing.

Ethan knocked on Jane’s door before opening it without waiting for an answer and pushing you into the room. “Jane, we have to take care of something, so Y/n is gonna play with you. Don’t look out the window.”

When the boys left, you and Jane immediately looked out her window. Directly below you was a pack of various animals, growling and clawing at the house’s back door.

“Do you think this is Benny’s fault?” Jane asked nonchalantly. 

You looked at her in slight shock. “You know? About…”

The little girl nodded. “He’s a wizard, Ethan has visions, and Sarah, Erica, and Rory are vampires. No big deal.” You let out a little laugh of disbelief at her calmness. She must have known this for a long time. “Wanna play a game?”

“Sure. But first…” You looked back out the window, quickly muttering a spell that would tire the zombie animals, hoping it would make some retreat back to where they came from. “Might as well help them out a little.”

“You’re a witch?” Jane asked, pulling out Candyland. You nodded, sitting on the floor and helping her set up the game. “Cool.”

“It’ll be our little secret.” You say, holding up your pinky finger. She locked it with her own and nodded.

But eventually, secrets have to come out

You were at Benny’s house helping him with some work, both for school and for magic

The rest of your friends were coming over later

But you lost track of time, and they came in mid-spell

“Hey, kids.” Grandma Weir smiled at the bunch of teens standing at her front door. “Benny and Y/n are upstairs in his room doing some homework. Feel free to go on up.”

They all thanked her as they walked into the house, heading up the stairs to Benny’s room. Before they got to the door, Rory stopped them all.

“Wait.” He said quietly. “What if they’re making out in there or something?”

“Gross.” Erica grimaced at the thought.

Ethan rolled his eyes. “Who cares? Let’s just go in.”

“Fine,” Rory responded, putting his hand on the doorknob. “But if I get traumatized, it’s your fault.”

“Fine by me, just open the door.”

With vampire speed, Rory was in Benny’s room in the blink of an eye. But instead of looking horrified or amused from catching you and Benny in some kind of act, he looked beyond confused. 

“Oh, hey, Rory.”

“What the hell is she doing?!”

Everyone else rushed in, wondering what Rory could have possibly been looking at. The sight was definitely shocking, but not for the reason they assumed.

You and Benny stared at the group, not expecting all of them to barge in and look at you with such suspicion. You soon noticed that they were focused on a book that you were levitating as a demonstration for Benny. “What?”

Ethan pointed at the book. “What are you doing?”

Resisting the urge to roll your eyes, you flick your wrist and send the book flying over to Benny, who reacts just fast enough to catch the object with his hand instead of his face. “Basic levitation spell.”

“Okay… Why are you doing that?”

“I think the better question is,” Sarah corrected, raising a brow in curiosity, “How are you doing that?”

You sat on the edge of Benny’s bed with a shrug. “I’m a witch.”

It took a second for the group to process that information. Once they did, they started to blurt out all sorts of questions. The main one being, why didn’t you tell them any sooner?

“Didn’t think I had to.” You answered honestly. “Have you guys really thought I’ve been a complete mortal this whole time? I do magic around you all the time.”

“You have?” Sarah questioned. “Like when?”

“Conjuring plates of food out of nowhere when I’m hungry, using speed spells to get to classes on time, busting open lockers or doors for jerks to run into before they can mess with you. I think the biggest thing I’ve done was send some of those zombie animals back to their graves that one night.”

“That was you?” Ethan asked, both impressed and shocked. “I thought Benny was just getting better at his magic.”

Erica snorted. “Yeah, like that’ll ever happen.”

***

Benny Weir Taglist: @batmandallyboy @june-julie

[willthespy]

SHORT SOLANGELO ANALYSIS FROM MY NOTES APP

(except it’s mostly in response to fandom)

Honestly, I’ve heard some reasons why people hate Solangelo. And don’t get me wrong; I don’t care that you don’t like a ship, but some of you are ignorant (and biased) and trying to find reasons to hate it.

One i’ve seen is that «they have no shared interests» etc, etc. Since when was that an issue? It wasn’t an issue with any other ship, so why is that an issue with the one canon/main mlm ship we have. And even if that wasn’t said with homophobic intentions, which it definitely doesn’t have to be, it still is odd that it is fine with your ship to have them not share common interests, but when it’s the ‘same case’ with Solangelo or some other canon ship it’s not?

Besides, nobody said they didn’t have any shared interests and nobody said they need to have shared interests. «Nico doesn’t like Star Wars. He hated it.» Oh, sweet gods. He watched all those movies for a reason, first of all. You’re saying he doesn’t like Will even after doing all that??? You’re using that as reasoning??? And even if he didn’t like it at all (gods forbid someone has an opinion not based around/biased by their relationship) that is okay. Especially for neurodivergent people I’ll say that it is okay to be in relationships and still have different interests than your significant other. Same interests ≠ madly in love whatsoever.

In fact, from a sociological/psychological/WHATEVER perspective, a lot of neurodivergent people tend to prefer it if someone doesn’t have the same interests. Yes, this depends per person, but that’s something I’ve noticed happens a lot.

The «they hate each other» argument is used, referring to their banter, and I love (read: hate) how those same people still like Percabeth. Like, okay, now give me the real reasons you don’t like it, without grasping for fake ones that don’t actually match up with your idea of a relationship. The bias is biasing.

I think the most important part of Solangelo is the fact that they can let their guards down around one another. They always have those walls up around others - though in different ways - and they don’t always have to be like that in front of each other. They’re also there to protect and care for the other, much unlike the fanon idea where Will often only cares for Nico. They aren’t there to fix one another, they’re there for each other.

Note that they still both have some walls up in TSATS! That doesn’t make their relationship any less real, but I think that is also very much to be expected from characters who have actively had to deal with trauma. And even then, even without knowing everything, they still care and are there for each other, no matter how frustrating it may be to be out of the know.

They’re also not «complete opposites». In TSATS we literally read that they have more similarities than meets the eye (which can be read as the light-darkness symbolism.) They balance each other out and they’re ALLOWED to argue. Did you guys know that? It’s important to me that you know that.

Did you know characters/people can argue and then solve the situation/argument using healthy communication? Shocking, I know.

I do think the start of Solangelo wasn’t smoothly written whatsoever. Will was kind of used as a puppet and obviously put there ‘for Nico.’ Do I think Will should get more character separate from his relationship/his father? Yes. Do I think he has no character at all? No. But also… It’s a children’s book. You can’t expect the best written character in history from a book written for middle schoolers.

They wouldn’t be the first canon ship with a bad start, so I’m not too fed up about that. If I would ask for anything, I’d like a book/short story about Will as a character (his backstory/just anything) or just a story in which they grow more in their relationship and as separate characters (though not broken up).

My point mostly is this; if you really don’t like it, you don’t have to interact or read or do anything, really. (Yay!) Don’t use the Solangelo tag for your hatred. Especially not if it’s an unproblematic ship.

[evenmyhivemindisempty]

what pronouns do you headcanon for the Boyd characters?

So, I’ve actually been sitting on this ask for a while, because I’m of two minds of how to answer it. I tend to just default to “he/him” for the Boyd characters - afaik, no other pronouns have ever been used for his characters; while I don’t HC all of them as cis men, pronouns don’t necessarily correspond with gender anyway, so it’s an easy way to have our cake and eat it too, as it were.

But I also wanted to have fun with this ask! So! Here goes!

Steve Murphy: He’s so he so embedded in that conservative Government culture he never considers any other options for himself other than he/him. If he’s asked his pronouns, he’ll just adopt a faintly perplexed look and say, “um, the normal ones?”. You know? I also have this weird feeling Steve prefers other people use neopronouns to they/them, he finds it more specific! His brain is always running on investigative mode - he finds they/them far too ambiguous! (He’s heard “omg they’re getting away!” too many times not to have an instinctive “WHO EXACTLY IS THEY” response)

Donald Pierce: He/him, but there’s rare, kinky roleplays where he’ll use “she” (he sometimes likes being called a girl in the bedroom, but he usually still prefers he/him pronouns even then). Oddly, I think he’s often more comfortable having women refer to him with she/her pronouns in the bedroom than men. I could see him doing a roleplay where Gabby is some madam at a brothel getting her new girl ready for a client (Mendez or Val, etc).

Cap Hatfield: Neither historic nor modern Cap cares one bit about what pronouns he’s referred to by. I bet once or twice historic Cap was derogatorily referred to as a girl, and he barely noticed. He’s also been called “it” as an insult, which totally backfired when he liked it. Nancy’s used she/her pronouns for Cap too. Initially it was to be mean, but I think his lack of reaction kinda took her by surprise; she still does it sometimes, but it’s usually a lot fonder (she’s sweeter with him when he’s her girl), and he can really get into that. (He’s happy being a girl - she’s nicer to girls!)

Clement Mansell: He/him, but I don’t think he’d mind they/them. That being said, I sometimes bat around a trans masc Clement HC, and trans masc Clement is *only* okay with he/him pronouns.

The Corinthian: He/him primarily. I go back and forth about how he feels about it/its. I wonder if he’s okay being referred to as “it” by some people more than others?

Eli Klaber: He/she. I think he’s largely fine with either, but she/her is slightly more preferable during sex. I think being referred to by she/her pronouns unexpectedly would be a pleasant surprise for him.

Danny Maguire: He/him, and he’ll actually lose his shit if you refer to him as anything else. It’s definitely some overcompensation in action. I think Danny’s absolutely got some gender issues he’s trying real hard not to look at.

Ty Shaw: He/him, but in the bedroom, it’s anyone’s game! Whatever his partner thinks is fun, he’s down for!

Quinn McKenna: He’s the type that declares that pronouns are dumb and he doesn’t care, but then gets twitchy when he’s referred to by anything that’s not he/him… except it/its. He finds he’s actually very, very okay with it/its.

[archivedblog16]

The pride month art showing Chaz with the ‘I’ll f*ck anything’ sign with the pan flag is so weird, especially next to all the bi flag characters. I know lots of people don’t really understand how bisexuality works because of the misinformation around, but anyways, all the bi characters being ones that seek monogamous relationships, and then the pan characters being the loud horny ones, is sort of weird. It’s like they think being pan means being just interested in sex in general. That’s ignoring that pan is just under the bi umbrella anyways so it’s not really that different and they’re treating it like the ‘we don’t have standards we just like anything and we’re sooo freaky lol’ label.

I’m guessing in this context they’re trying to use the bi label as ‘I have different preferences between the genders that I date’ rather than ‘I just like more than one gender and I don’t care about using the pan microlabel’ and so the pan flag on the other characters is being used to show that they do not have any preference, even tho being bi doesn’t mean you necessarily have any difference in how ur attracted to different genders? (Being bi doesn’t mean ur not into non-binary genders but idek if vivz gets that)

sooo ok whatever the ‘attracted to multiple genders’ sexualities are being used specifically to differentiate their preferences even though they are similar, we’re using hyper specific labels, okay. And that would be fine but almost each pan character is, again, the horny ‘I’ll fuck anything’ characters. Blitzo is seen as being non-committed and has a body count of at least 50+ and is scared of love, Chaz is just constantly talking about sex, Bee is decent tbh cause she is written to have an actual relationship and not a stereotype even tho she is.. the sin of gluttony and you could argue that THAT might have been a factor in deciding her sexuality.., and while Asmodeus also has a real relationship, him being the sin of lust and ‘therefore he must feel attraction to all genders without preference’ is weird imo. I can’t tell but I think Verosika is also pan? And of course the succubus is pansexual, cause pan is just the ‘I like sex’ label apparently.

Ofc this is a greater problem than just Helluva. Pansexuality is sort of treated as a separate sexuality from being bi, and then gets labelled onto the promiscuous characters without the writers (or people in general) understanding that that is not how sexuality works. Being lustful or a sexually driven person may inspire you to be more open about what you do in the bedroom or who you explore with, but it doesn’t literally make you want to sleep with anything that moves, and being pan doesn’t even mean that you’d ‘fuck ANYTHING’, and being pan does not mean that you’re somehow more horny than a bi person (cause pan just means ur bi without preference, it’s up to the person how they define it really but it is literally just a microlabel of bisexuality).

Basically I feel like Vivz is using bisexuality and pansexuality as ‘I like more than one gender but I’m monogamous’ vs ‘I like more than one gender but only because I’m desperate for sex and have no standards/greedy’ the same way so many people just have re-labelled biphobia rhetoric and places it onto a ‘new’ sexuality. Being bi has always been seen as being greedy or just being kinky and wanted threesomes, rather than the ability to be attracted to more than one gender, and now that’s projected onto pansexuality which is just bi with added specificity

The only reason I can tell a character is pansexual is when they mention how many people they want to fuck, etc. That’s the only reason I know Valentino and Husk are pansexual 💀

[gunnrblze]

Reunion pt. 2

Continuation of my silly fic

CW: more suggestiveness, fighting the urge to add smut to this lol. reader is gender neutral in the first part, but is she/her now

You’d always thought florescent lights were a bit much sometimes, but now that they were blaring right above your line of sight? You wanted to stab someone over it.

It was difficult to hear, too many people talking, too many machines and noises whirring in the distance.

What you could feel though, was an ache at the back of your skull, dull when you’re still, but sharp if you shift your head the right way on whatever piece of shit cot you’ve been laid on. You assume you fell and hit said noggin when whatever the fuck happened in the forest, happened.

Not that you can remember much yet, all you know is that the Generals murder boys showed up and then you got knocked off your one-way piggy back ride. Which worries you, is Beanie still alive? What about the rest of the circus?

With the way the lights are fizzling above you on the ceiling, the vague smell of medical supplies, and the fact you can feel that big cut on your hip bandaged up now instead of trying to kill you softly with its song…you’d wager you’ve not been captured by the Feds.

Maybe this is the ‘base’ your saviors kept speaking of, something you’d only believe when you really saw it…just in case they’re actually some band of fuckwads posing as a militia and not real soldiers. People are weird, can you really blame yourself?

“She’s awake” a voice somewhere off to the left, or maybe the right, called out. Your brain was a little too hazy to recall if you knew the voice, but as soon as Papa Smurf came into view, you felt some kind of relief that maybe the rest were okay too.

Not that you gave too much of a shit about them, yeah? I mean, you don’t even know them, they could’ve killed you, they could kill you. They just plucked you up off the floor and said ‘come with us’ like that’s a normal thing to do. Who even are they? You have one real name out of the five, but ‘Hesh’ surely to god isn’t the man’s government name-

“How do you feel?” His voice snapped you out of whatever train of thought you were riding. You blinked what felt like a hundred times before you could make out his form standing to your left. He wasn’t really as old as you acted like he was. Maybe early 50s, but he could still take you down as well as the rest, if not better due to what you imagine is well honed experience he has.

You still weren’t too interested in speaking very much to them. Maybe it was juvenile, or maybe your brain was just lacking, unable to figure out what to say in this situation. You relented a little though, giving a shrug and a mumble of something that sounded like ‘fine’. Why was your mouth doing that? Why did it feel so weird to speak?

“You’ve got a mild concussion, and a knocked out tooth” Geriatric explained when he saw what must’ve been confusion on your face.

Oh. A knocked out tooth. Naturally, of course. Whatever, it could surely be worse than a missing molar.

“We patched up your hip. That’s a nasty cut you got, a bit infected, we’ll have to keep an eye on it” he added, which wasn’t a sentence you liked very much. Not because of the cut, you weren’t sure you cared about that anymore. But because they wanted to keep an eye on it? They’d keep you?

Suddenly you felt like a stray mutt. Found wandering in the broken rubble of that office building, feeding on scraps of food because what the fuck else is there to eat in a bombed out wasteland?

You supposed you could get past that degrading feeling. If, and only if your presence didn’t continue to feel like a liability. You’d fight for yourself again, continue to scavenge for food like an animal before you played house, or military, you guess…with people who wished that their dogs nose hadn’t sniffed you out in the first place.

You wouldn’t be following them around like a stray if they’d complain about it, you knew that for sure. Not that they had complained, as a matter of fact, nothing had happened, they were actually rather nice. You were kind of just imagining all this-

“You gonna tell us more about yourself, kid? How the hell did you make it out there? You know where you’ve been?” Geriatric decided to flash bang you with three questions at once.

You gave another shrug, why did it feel like you couldn’t talk? You weren’t exactly scared of them anymore. They clearly didn’t want to hurt you, not at the moment, at least. Why did you feel so petulantly reluctant to explain yourself to people that had actually helped you considerably?

You decided to suck it up, and explained through your molar-less, iron tasting mouth, that your family died way back when, you somehow wandered into No Man’s Land, you’ve been getting by well enough, etc, etc, the usual.

Now he was being silent, which you almost thought was funny, except for the way that he looked at you like you’d told him a lie. Anxiety set in for a moment, and you felt like you were being cross examined now.

“You just stumbled into No Man’s Land? How’d you get past the wall?” He asked a little more quizzically this time. His arms were set firm across his chest -big arms for an old dude, you couldn’t help but notice- and his face was stone cold. Not your favorite look from American Dad, so far.

You figured if any time was the time to talk, it was now. After realizing what the fuck he meant by the wall, you relayed that you simply crawled underneath it. A divot in the ground that someone had clearly took a moment to dig out. You hadn’t thought much of it, you were more so concerned with not becoming one of those red berets next kill shots.

You remembered it better than you thought you would though, given your concussion. Which lessened your anxiety a bit, he’d probably hate it if you couldn’t even explain that part…

Except, that didn’t quite mean he believed it yet. Back to square one. Your head throbbed and your gums were still a little bloody. The infection in your hip stung and the lights were still caving in on you as you laid in the fuck ass military issue cot. But none of it mattered when you had him looming over you, asking questions like you were an X-File and he was just waiting for Scully to show up.

“You crawled under the wall, huh? And didn’t get caught by any Fed soldiers?” Geriatric asked, his tone almost harboring a little, amusement? It was hard to tell with the way his gaze made your body feel so cold, despite being somewhere near California in June.

You simply nodded though, because…yeah. That’s quite literally exactly what happened. He knew you were a civilian, if that much wasn’t glaringly clear, so maybe he’d also come to understand that you had little idea what the fuck you were doing.

You were both surprised when you suddenly spoke up unprompted and asked about the others, if they were alright. You’d remembered how this all happened, what led up to being knocked off Beanies back, and you couldn’t help but wonder where they were. He raised an eyebrow, but seemed willing enough.

“Hesh is alright, took a bullet to his vest, that’s why you fell down with him” He starts, immediately making more sense than you thought he’d give, seeing as they all seemed to be quite secretive. Hell, you only knew Beanie, Hesh’s, name anyways. That seemed to bother you a bit, not even knowing their names.

“The rest are okay. You two are the only injuries we have right now. He’s been patched up and is resting, which is what you’re gonna do, too” he added. Which again, you weren’t exactly a fan of because what the fuck happens after you rest up?

What will they do with you? They won’t put you back in No Man’s Land, of course, but you have no where else to go. That’s how you ended up here, on this scratchy cot, after the fucking Misfits picked you up by the scruff of your neck like a feral alley cat.

He seemed to smell the confusion and slight fear on you, and during what you imagine is a rare event, seemed to stall with having an actual course of action. So you opened your big mouth up instead. Explaining that you have no where to go, so they might as well just dump you now, get it over with.

You felt stupid when you said anything to them, like you were a toddler learning how to string meaningful sentences together for the first time, so you didn’t feel any more idiotic than you perpetually did after saying that bullshit.

But the way he raised his grayed eyebrow again and looked down at you like you were not as old as you actually were…didn’t help the feeling.

“Don’t worry about that right now, you have to rest up and get cleared from that concussion before we ‘drop’ you anywhere” he said simply, like that would make you feel better. Like the pat on your shoulder would make you feel better instead of making you flinch.

He walked away though, so what choice was there?

You glanced around now that you could see and think better. Stashed away in some room that was supposed to be a makeshift medic-like setting. The walls were gray and so was the vibe, apparently. Not that you’d expect the croaking soldier on the cot adjacent to you to be having a good time with that stab wound it appears he took to the gut…

You were just about to get settled into your spiraling thoughts when an unfamiliar voice appeared on your left. This guy was, naturally, just as big, but had a more athletic looking build. Brown eyes that were more amber than anything, and not nearly as imposing an energy as some of the others. Looking at Baldy for that one.

“Hey, I’m Kick” he tried to give you a smile.

Ohhh. So getaway guy does exist.

You almost felt the desire to return the smile, but you couldn’t. So you gave a nod instead, which seemed to satisfy him enough. He asked how you felt, your point blank response of “Shitty” got a little chuckle out of him. Why was he charming? He’s like Beanie, you suppose, a smile that can go a long way. A smile that you enjoyed seeing since you hadn’t really seen anything in a while.

Your lack of recent human interaction was still confusing your hormones…

He very clearly wanted to ask questions about the elephant in the room, how the fuck are you still alive? But he appeared to have enough decorum to make it seem like bringing it up was your idea when he worked it into the conversation.

But you had nothing much to say. By the skin of your teeth, is how you survived and out-hid the Feds thus far. A yipping and wailing German Shepard who somehow smelled you from too far away, is how you’re alive and on this cot rather than wondering if you’ll find a shelter hidden enough to sleep in tonight.

It appears he’s just as smart as his friends, because he doesn’t push. Just looks at you like you’re some sort of miracle. Really, you’re totally flattered and all, but you can’t quite stop and pat yourself on the back yet for making it this far, when you still have so far to go.

He wanted to let you rest like Geriatric, so he left. And you did not watch his ass in those tactical pants as he went. A nurse-medic-doctor-‘I have some kind of medical knowledge’ person came over to tend to your hip wound. Peeling back the gauze made you hiss, looking down at the gross slice wound made you wince.

Definitely more infected than you thought it’d gotten. Perhaps that’s what the pills they were shoving in your hand were for. You cared so little you didn’t even ask about what you were swallowing.

You laid down again, trying not to tear your hair out of the root due to the way the lights continued to buzz above your head. It wasn’t loud, but it was loud enough for your concussed ass brain.

Apparently these people catch on quite well, you couldn’t ever think of knowing simple army soldiers that had so much interpersonal skills. Weren’t they usually a little dumb? But you’d be damned if you didn’t see Beanie himself spawn at your side with a pair of earplugs. You were beginning to wonder if maybe you would rather be left alone, respectfully.

“We don’t have many of these, but they should help” he said simply, rather than addressing literally anything else that’s happened. You took them though, cracking a real little smile because Jesus fucking Christ if you had to hear a gun go off one more time…

You gave him a once over, noticing the slight raise of bandage near his ribs underneath his deliciously too tight t-shirt. He noticed, because of course he did, and ensured you he was fine. It was all rather normal feeling, for a beyond abnormal situation.

You popped the earplugs in, sighing and trying not to move your head wound on the thick fabric of the cot because Christ on a bike that shit stung. You felt a little more comfortable blurting out a ‘what happens after this’ to him rather than his elder, for some reason.

That seemed to be the question of the hour, though, because he kinda just gave you that knowing look. You figured he’d half ass some kind of reassurance, but instead he asked about the half broken radio in your bag.

Your bag. Your radio. Your stuff. Where’d they even put it? They went through it?

“You have a lot of loose ends in there, why were you carrying all that stuff around?” He’d continue. He wasn’t wearing his little namesake, you just noticed, and you accidentally admired how silly yet handsome he looked with a buzz cut.

Which was also a bit too obvious on your end, so you opted for explaining that you were trying to fix the radio. You used to fuck with them in your spare time, good with technology type stuff, etc etc. Which piqued his interest enough to ask how good you were with radios.

Pretty good was your final answer. You didn’t quite feel like talking about godforsaken radios right now, what with the lights blaring and the exhaustion catching up to your brittled ass body. You weren’t sure how malnourished and dehydrated you were, but you could feel the weakness. He seemed interested enough by you, though, you just didn’t have half a mind to ask about your belongings after taking those meds.

It felt almost too perfect when he explained that they’ve been having issues with their comms system lately…

That maybe you could take a look at it once you healed up more, maybe you could fix it. That if you did, you’d have a place to stay, food to eat.

You wondered whether or not Junior had ran this thought by Senior yet. If he was just planting the idea to help you out, so you didn’t face whatever fate you’d end up with once you didn’t have a need to laze in their cot anymore.

Because you couldn’t really foresee the rest of his buds wanting to actually take you in, whatever the fuck that really meant, here. You were a civilian, who maybe posed a bit of use to them. But that didn’t feel good enough, you wagered. Not during a time like this. Don’t they have people for this stuff?

You shrugged, not wanting to ask why he cared so much about your wellbeing. Maybe he’s just a good guy, a good soldier, but you both knew you had little place here. He seemed to just be trying to carve one out for you. And as much as you appreciated it, you still didn’t like the whole idea of being any kind of burden to these people

He gave you a pat on your shoulder too, like father like son, and told you to get some rest and think about it.

You did think about it. Thought about how fucking stupid it’d be if you tried to fix a military communications system. You liked tinkering with radios and what not, desperate to get a signal for even a sliver of music to grace your ears if you could. But you didn’t know as much as you suddenly wished you did.

So you opted for lying on your squeaky cot, feeling the burn of the stitches on your hip, the ache of the gash on the back of your head. And the buzz of the florescent lighting above you.

The earplugs did help a bit. And you fell asleep sooner than you thought you would. To the nice relaxing sounds of sick, groaning soldiers, and whatever the flying fuck was happening on this base.

And naturally, that damned dog again.

[thrashkink-coven]

Hello, I am the anon from that large post where I asked about demonolatry in regards to Judaism. I've read a lot of the reblogs and stuff, and I want to say that yes it was my fault for not reaching out to a Jewish blog about it.

However, I also want to point out that regardless of whatever I am told, demonolatry is going to offend someone anyway. I don't think religious people care if I'm worshipping the Mesopotamian or Sumerian or what-have-you roots of an entity that they have demonised, they are going to be offended either way. I've kind of understood what a lot of the reblogs are saying, and I've formed my own opinion on it. Though, I will continue to do research so that I can strengthen the foundations of that opinion and correct it should I discover anything new. But the basis is essentially just…that it was a stupid question for me to ask. Obviously people would be offended if you worship an entity their religion has regarded as negative, regardless of whether or not you are actually worshipping the demonised aspect of that entity.

These entities have many faces. They are multifaceted. They have survived through the ages, changed shape and form. It does not matter if you call to Lucifer as the fallen angel of the Bible, or to Iblis as the rebelling djinn of the Qur'an. They are the same, under different faces. Now, whether you choose to call to Iblis or to Lucifer under either name is your choice. You'll offend a religious community either way. But does worshipping Iblis mean the same thing as appropriating Arabian culture? It does not. I give this example specifically because I am ex Muslim.

In any case, thank you for answering. Thank you to the Jews who reblogged with their opinions. I apologise for my mistake, but I have a base to build on now. I apologise for the debate it caused. Have a nice day.

Thank you so much for writing this because I literally just deleted that post like 2 minutes ago lol. I’m not the type to do that, and it’s not because I was receiving too much criticism (I’m a Luciferian… I love criticism) but the long threads were taking up so much of my page that the conversation itself was getting backed up and hard to follow. The original post also doesn’t have any “hey I’m not Jewish so take this with a grain of salt” disclaimers, so no real productive conversations could be had with that considered.

You and I were both out of line, I’m glad you acknowledge that the question should have been directed at a Jewish blogger, and I acknowledge that it wasn’t my place to comment. I sought to share my opinions as a demonolater but my word choice conveyed that I was speaking on this with some kind of authority, which isn’t true at all.

I don’t think your question was stupid at all, it’s something many beginners have a lot of anxiety about. But yeah, you and I have basically reached the same conclusion. Demonolatry is offensive to religious people in general. People are always going to have a problem with it.

I genuinely do go out of my way to make my practice as harmless as possible, which is why I’m willing to go to the lengths of actually giving these demons with Hebrew names new names so we don’t have to keep using their archetypes as they were described by the Jews. They can have ownership over their own words, that is completely fine by me. But even then, they’re still not going to be happy that I’m worshiping demons, regardless of what I call them. there is no way to practice demonolatry without offending religious people.

I think your decision to use your discretion is wise. There is no one answer that is going to satisfy everyone. Decide what matters to you, and don’t let the rest bother you.

[hemipenal-system]

this thread is fucking long and the cut is in an awkward place just bear with it please

so werewolves are a stock horror villain (and the posts directly below this one are about that! go look at them) and don’t get me wrong i love werewolf horrorsmut but i want to see more of:

werewolves who just aren’t scary in any way. like sure the shift may be scary. they may look kinda scary. but they’re just people like everyone else even if they are more ruled by instinct than the average human. i think stuff like that is a nice way to explore what it means to be a person and how humanity can be a fluid category, especially when the werewolves in question are transgender/disabled/personality disorder coded.

like i want some wholesome shit about werewolves who can’t even pass as ambiguously human. they’re just very overtly werewolves: massive sharp, snarling bundles of taut muscles and sinew, 8, 9 feet tall, who are very capable of snapping and killing everything around them

but don’t. because they’re treated well and loved even though they’re not like everyone else. and it doesn’t matter that they aren’t, because they are like everyone else even if they’re not. i know that sounds a bit confusing on the face but i mean stuff like:

- “oh yeah no worries, Sharon from accounting’s a wolf too! no no we love her! remember when we went to topgolf for that company outing? they couldn’t find any clubs in her size so she outdrove us all with clubs a foot too short it was hysterical!”

- “all right you should be scheduled for this week! next two weeks are the same? no right of course not because you need moon days. yeah that’s totally fine i will get that in to HR and you should be all good!”

- “is- no it’s fine- is it ok if i stay shifted in here? the pain is less bad when i’m shifted. no i have no idea why lol. you’re sure? the shedding is ok and everything? aww sweetie i love you too!”

- “i mean, hip dysplasia is normal in wolves your age, and you had fairly active teenage years, so it happens. it’s not anything to worry about though, i’ll get you in contact with a fantastic physical therapist! no she specializes in wolf patients. she’s great at what she does, i promise. i’ll get you a month of painkillers but over-the-counter should work alright too. take these, go to therapy, and if it’s still doing that in a month come back and we can try something else.”

- “hey, baby, look at me. i know people are staring at you. you don’t need to care about them. you have just as much right to be here as they do. just ignore them.”

- “no i’m absolutely not mad at you! you can’t control that happening! no it was a full moon what the fuck were you supposed to do? look, i can replace the couch you mauled and the TV and vases you broke but i can’t replace you getting hurt because you tried to stave off the shift. we’ll go shopping for new ones together, ok? and we’ll get some cheap shit you can break for next month and a couple steaks for you to fuck up. i promise i’m not mad- hey get off me you big lug stop fucking licking me your mouth tastes like couch cushions…”

- “it’s actually so real to be worried about hurting your human partner in bed. you won’t hurt her, dude, i’ve known her for years you should be more scared of her than she is of you. they make, like, these rings. it’s like a silicone spacer- no it goes on your dick, idiot. it’s so you don’t like fuck into her cervix or whatever. supposedly those help? idk if they come in wolf sizes though.”

show me the negative stuff, too. show me:

- werewolves who muzzle themselves in cities even though it’s only a first quarter moon because they’re scared they’ll snap and hurt someone even though that fear makes them so careful around everyone they never would

- wolves who have moon trackers on their phone because they need to know when they’re going to get forced into a shift so they can get away from everyone because they don’t want to get violent but they can’t control it and the last time they were around someone she ended up in the hospital. she’s really understanding about it and they’re friends now but it doesn’t make it feel any less horrible

- wolves who get asked every single fucking time they get nice dinner, “so do you want your steak cooked, or what?” by waiters who think they’re funny but really aren’t

- werewolves who walk on eggshells in public because they know if they make any minor mistake or show any aggression whatsoever the pundits on the news will talk about “a werewolf snarled at my kid today. i mean i try to be trusting but you never know with those people. they have those fangs for a reason is all i’m saying.”

- werewolves who are scared to shift in public for the same reason as above, because they know how they’ll be perceived if they show people they’re a wolf

- werewolves who can’t find wolf doctors in their area so they keep going back to human doctors who don’t know how the fuck to treat their unique health conditions and when they complain about this they get a flippant “have you tried a veterinarian?”

- werewolves in therapy because their last relationship was with a human who sucked and it was really bad and that trauma has manifested as resource guarding and reactivity issues and it’s causing problems at work

i love this stuff. i want more. i also cannot write conclusion paragraphs to save my life so this is the end now. thanks for reading all this if you’re reading this.

😊

[borom1r]

WEIRD fuckin ask but we talked about it once and it would not exit the brain. Flavours of neurodivergence within the fellowship: discuss?

OGH. no, good ask. good ask I love it. AUTISM FLAVORED bc that is my own experience :3

Aragorn— autism of the “I Am 100% A Changeling, I Have No Idea How To Relate To Humanity” variety. like yea being partly raised by elves didn’t help but he absolutely wandered around mimicking people to learn how to Behave Like A Person. autism trait absorption for the win!! comes to Minas Tirith and gets a painful crash course in masking, but never quite figured out how to Not stare at someone like a feral cat when he wants something from them (despite the Stare, HATES eye contact)

Boromir— OPPOSITE AUTISM. very direct. EXTREMELY rigid routines. military history special interest (literally just undiagnosed dad autism). probably has food sensitivities but he’s spent so long as a soldier he can just eat anything now. he hates it and he won’t eat a big portion of non-safe foods, but at least he can swallow them. he IS absolutely 100% undiagnosed and doesn’t think there’s anything wrong but if he doesn’t get to perfectly make his bed every morning he will be in a Noticeably Bad Mood for the rest of the day < does not understand that this isn’t normal

Gandalf— oh there’s definitely something going on there, but good luck with figuring THAT out

Legolas— AuDHD king. the autism/ADHD comorbidity is real and he barely bothers to mask. least of all in front of men?? he’s an elf prince and you expect him to act “normal” by human standards? I love how jacked up the Hobbit film timeline is bc Thranduil implying to Legolas “yeah go hang out in Rivendell with a ten year old” is SO funny. canon to me tho. there was a very significant chunk of time where Aragorn was just Mini Legolas. hell world for civilized Rivendell elves. unlike Aragorn, however, prefers very direct eye contact. WILL fully hit you with the 👁️👁️ almost unblinking for a whole conversation

Gimli— I’m gonna be real here. I think neurotypical but in the sense of like. literally nobody cares. dwarves are craftsmen, artisans, smiths, you think they’re going to risk squandering talent simply because somebody needs some accommodations? are you nuts???? like yea maybe somebody’s a Little Weird Sometimes but they can work the forge just fine or tool leather for straps/handle wraps, or draft designs, or stamp metal for decorations, like?? doesn’t particularly grasp the need for labels when you can just work with ppl to figure out what’s best for them + then everyone’s happy. fully has to stew on the fact that Men Don’t Do That, men are actually very rigid about what is socially acceptable and won’t provide accommodations Unless there is a label. wild.

Frodo— autism/depression hell combination. no meltdowns, only shutdowns. auditory processing disorder!! definitely also has poor temperature regulation (CONSTANTLY cold). hey did u know that’s a symptom of ASD? crazy. WILD. anyways. Sam knows he can barely handle the feeling of mittens/gloves so half the time when they’re hanging out is Sam just holding Frodo’s hands so they actually fucking warm up for a bit. not too rigid about Big routines, most of his are Little (always putting a specific amount of sugar in his tea, for example)

Sam— neurotypical but in the sense of my dad where he was just SO used to me being Autistically Strange that he was just like. “well, that’s Strider!” < blissfully unaware. fully just SO used to whatever’s going on w/ Frodo+Merry that it’s Normal to him. like wdym they’re different?? those are just his friends?? hello??

Merry— ADHDDDDDDDDD. and look ik Tolkien said pipeweed is just tobacco but that’s a lie and we all know it, right? right. self-medicating with pipeweed.

Pippin— neurotypical but Pippin-flavored

[galacticnova3]

Have you ever thought about Dhelmise? I have. In fact, I’ve thought about it so much that I decided I couldn’t fit it all in my brain. So here it is. That’s right, it’s time for the Dhelmise infodump but for real this time. With feeling. Because I think about this thing a normal amount. This is extremely long and not organized any more than my own thoughts are, so I have put it under a readmore. I am not going to color of the seaweed you people, because I’m not evil, I’m just hyperfixated.

I think everyone who follows me has read my usual spiel about the shiny, so I’ll save that for later. Instead I’ll start with some word explanations to avoid possible confusion later on. I’ll be using kelp and seaweed interchangeably for the most part, but as kelp technically refers to particular kinds of seaweed I will try to keep that in mind when the distinction actually matters. Seaweeds are not plants, they’re something different called macroalgae, which in turn is classified into three groups— green, brown, and red. As they’re not plants, they have different structures that I’ll be referring to throughout this whole thing.

The main ones to know are the blades, stipe, and holdfast. The blades are more or less analogous to the leaves of plants, with the stipe in turn being like a stem. The holdfast is often compared to roots, but doesn’t serve the same function of absorbing water/nutrients, instead only anchoring the whole thing to a surface, be it the seabed or something like a rock or underwater structure. In short it holds the kelp in place, as the name suggests. There’s also another part called the pneumatocyst, but it’s not really as relevant to Dhelmise itself as it lacks anything resembling one; in short it’s a gas-filled structure that allows the seaweed to float. It similarly lacks sporophytes, aka kelp reproductive organs.

With that out of the way, it’s finally time to actually talk about my favorite fella!

Dhelmise is, of course, based on kelp, if it wasn’t obvious; though it’s green(or red if shiny), it shares the most similarities with various brown kelps— I’ll get into that soon. Each individual has one stipe, which resembles a chain when not at rest but otherwise isn’t visible, and an average of five blades. They have two holdfasts on either side of their stipe, rather than just the one that is typical of real kelps; these are the apical holdfast, which is the one that clings to the helm, and the basal holdfast, which clings to the anchor. Oddly enough, the blades are always closer to the basal holdfast than the apical one when the body is fully extended, despite that being less efficient for photosynthesis. (Had I designed it, this wouldn’t be the case, but whatever.)

This does mean they can have a bit of a smell to them, which can take some getting used to, though I wouldn’t describe it as unpleasant— they kinda just smell like the ocean.

Also, while they can spend a good deal of time out of the water, they are very prone to scorching if out in high temperatures and direct sunlight for extended periods. This is especially common on the edges of their blades and on the parts of their bodies adjacent to exposed metal, like the anchor. Care also needs to be taken to make sure they don’t dry out, which would make them lethargic and brittle, and therefore more prone to injury. Both of these conditions are reversible, but in severe cases it can take months for them to recover fully. Plus, it’s just not very nice; you don’t like getting sunburnt, do you? On the other hand, unlike many other grass types, they don’t seem to mind cold temperatures; just keep direct contact with ice, sleet, and snow to a minimum and they should be perfectly fine.

While some sources claim it’s based on dead man’s fingers, Codium fragile, I don’t think that conclusion is founded on anything more than the fact that it’s a marine macroalgae, dark green, and has dead in the name, which fits a ghost type. Some say it’s because of the shape, but I disagree there as well, as while it does branch, it doesn’t do so from one point and is more tubular in appearance than other species. It also tends to grow outward rather than upward, and doesn’t get nearly large enough to make sense scale-wise. Lastly, it usually doesn’t attach itself to objects that are particularly large or heavy, to the point that it can often be found washed up on beaches, and also grows most often in very shallow waters, where it can be exposed when tides recede. This does not make much sense for Dhelmise, which clearly prefers very solid, heavy objects to anchor itself to(no pun intended), relies on actual shipwrecks to get those objects rather than ships that are merely beached and abandoned, and would likely prefer deeper waters where it will find its preferred prey.

Though they may occasionally make their way onto land, as is seen outside of Circhester, this may be light-seeking behavior, given that portions of Circhester Bay’s waters are covered by ice that would block sunlight. More likely, however, it is actually an adaptation to deal with the presence of Pincurchin in that very same area; as these Pokémon feed on seaweed, it would make sense that Dhelmise would seek to avoid them. Keep in mind that this is currently the only location where Dhelmise can be naturally found on land, despite also being found in Alola by fishing in Seafolk Village, the Isle of Armor by fishing on Challenge Beach, and in the Crown Tundra by fishing in the Frigid Sea. Pincurchin is not found in any of those other locations, thus they would not be pressuring the local sea creepers to leave the water.

With all of that in mind, I think a more fitting species for comparison would be Nereocystis luetkeana, aka bullwhip kelp, ribbon kelp, etc; not only does it have multiple blades growing out from one point, but it does so at the top of the stipe(or rather from the pneumatocyst) and not all along it, making it similar in shape and growth habit to Dhelmise. In fact, the location of the pneumatocyst combined with the blades even bears a slight resemblance to the way Dhelmise attaches to the ship’s helm, just facing upward rather than outward. It’s also much closer in size, being known to grow up to 118 feet— Dhelmise’s “chain” is said to be able to extend for hundreds of yards, but as far as I’m aware there aren’t any kelps that can get to 600 feet.

Another possible inspiration is found in Pterygophora californica, aka stalked kelp. This species is another brown macroalgae like N. luetkeana, exhibits branching behavior of the blades even closer to that seen in Dhelmise—bullwhip kelp has significantly more blades than stalked kelp— and is much closer to the size Dhelmise is listed as in the dex, reaching around 9’8” compared to the just under 13 foot ghost type; not exact, but Codium fragile doesn’t even reach three feet tall. As a little bonus, another common name for this species is walking kelp, which seems like a nice fit for the sea creeper Pokémon. The resemblance doesn’t end there, though, as stalked kelp is known to often be used as a point of attachment for other algaes, including the previously discussed bullwhip kelp.

That leads into the next thing I want to talk about, which is the fascinating ecological relationship between Dhelmise, Skrelp, and Dragalge. Dhelmise and Skrelp are said to get along. While this isn’t really elaborated on in the dex, it’s safe to assume that Dhelmise allows Skrelp to use it as a hiding place, given that the latter is said to hide amongst kelp. Additionally, a Dhelmise would serve as a literal anchor point for an otherwise easily swept away Skrelp, which, aside from referencing how seahorses/sea dragons cling to things, parallels the way bullwhip kelp will attach itself to stalked kelp.

While it’s true that Dhelmise is predacious and uses its seaweed to drain the life force of its prey— after more or less giving them blunt force trauma via anchor, of course— it only targets large Pokémon like Wailmer and Wailord. Skrelp is really small, so it probably wouldn’t even register as worth scaring off, let alone trying to hunt given its lack of a grass weakness and resistance to steel. Given that it has predators to hide from, one might actually be safest clinging to a Dhelmise; it could intimidate anything that would threaten the little sea dragon, if not seek to actively attack it if it’s large enough to be seen as worthwhile prey. Additionally, both of them use seaweed and detritus, with Skrelp feeding on rotting seaweed as its primary food source while Dhelmise infuses seaweed and detritus into its body to maintain it; perhaps it’s a situation where the little guy takes bits and pieces of what the big guy’s having.

You might think this is one-sided in favor of the Skrelp, much like how bullwhip kelp will shade out and put additional stress on stalked kelp, but Dhelmise may actually benefit from this relationship at the species level. When Skrelp evolves into Dragalge— which are specifically described as getting along really well with Dhelmise, fun fact, perhaps out of gratitude for offering safety before their evolution— they gain poison that can corrode ships and cause them to sink. As we know, Dhelmise are born when seaweed merges with ship debris; other than breeding with Ditto, which wouldn’t occur naturally and always results in an egg, it’s safe to assume they cannot actively reproduce… At least, not in a way that would result in any genetic diversity.

I headcanon that Dhelmise share some traits with seaweed beyond just appearance and literally being born from it. Specifically, they’re capable of asexual reproduction via fragmentation; if a piece of a Dhelmise were to break off in battle or as a result of some other environmental factor, it can essentially act the same way a brand new Dhelmise would, seeking out and, if it succeeds, merging with ship debris. This will always result in a genetic clone of the original Dhelmise, though, and unless it was close to a wreck other than the one it was born from, usually doesn’t succeed in creating a new fully fledged individual. As for kelp abilities they lack, they cannot produce sporophytes like many living kelps do, much like they don’t grow pneumatocysts. Sexual reproduction in that manner, therefore, isn’t possible; the only ways to get wholly new Dhelmise are for them to form naturally from kelp or via captive breeding with Ditto.

Regardless of how they come to be, the bottom line is that without shipwrecks, new Dhelmise can’t form in the wild, or at least can’t form and survive. The ship debris is key to their hunting strategy, to the point that their signature move is Anchor Shot and their signature ability is Steelworker, both based around how they utilize the debris they merged with. One might begin to form and search for a shipwreck(perhaps literally creeping along the sea floor), but if it doesn’t find the debris it needs quickly enough, the tissue that would have become its holdfasts will eventually wither and die off, leaving the unrealized sea creeper unable to cling to debris and unable to hunt, until it eventually starves and goes back to being regular dead kelp. Sad, but probably what happens the majority of the time.

Now, healthy Skrelp will eventually evolve into Dragalge, which can and apparently will sink ships in their territories. That obviously creates more shipwrecks. More shipwrecks will allow more Dhelmise to successfully form, thus keeping the species alive(or at least as alive as a ghost type can be…) in the wild despite the extremely specific conditions that they require to develop. Therefore, it would make sense for Dhelmise to want to ensure the safety of Skrelp if they can, as a sort of investment. After all, it’s safe to assume that modern maps, weather radar, and navigational equipment drastically reduced the number of shipwrecks that occur “naturally”, so outside of the possibility of intentional ship sinking by humans specifically to help bolster wild Dhelmise populations(or just to create habitat in general, like was seen in ORAS with the Sea Mauville, even though that wasn’t sunken intentionally so much as just not demolished after sinking), they might actually have to rely on this long-term relationship as a way of adapting to modern technological advances.

In the past, before ships and their various paraphernalia existed, Dhelmise were probably significantly closer to normal kelp, not growing nearly as large and relying on things like rocks as their hunting implements of choice. Though that assumes they hunted at all; as alluded to earlier, I headcanon that Dhelmise are also capable of photosynthesis, and for more reasons than just the fact that it’s the way their primary inspiration gets energy. Prior to Sword and Shield they could straight up learn the move Synthesis. They’re still able to learn the clearly photosynthesis-based combination of Growth and Sunny Day, along with both Solar Beam and Solar Blade. All of these involve absorbing energy from the sun and then utilizing it in some manner.

It wouldn’t be a stretch to theorize that, when the species didn’t have access to what might be the perfect tool for taking down their preferred prey— anchors can not only knock out the float whales, but actually weigh enough to then drag them beneath the waves for feeding— they might instead have been primarily photoautotrophs, in addition to being detritivorous. Perhaps they were even blind, or could easily become blinded due to their eye not having any sort of external protection; modern Dhelmise have their eyes safe behind glass and metal. Or maybe they were always predatory, but fed passively on smaller fish Pokémon that tried to use their seaweed as a hiding place. Regardless of exactly how, it’s almost certain that the species was very different in the past, and likely only became how they are now as a result of human activities.

Pivoting a bit, odds are the reason they prefer such targets in the first place is because they offer more life force to drain than smaller Pokémon. In a way you can treat the HP stat as a measure of life energy; higher HP means more vitality, which means it’s more worthwhile prey. Realistically, a hunt has to be worth the opportunity cost of not just soaking up the sun and safely getting energy that way. If hunting a Wailord would provide significantly more energy in a shorter period of time than just doing photosynthesis, the risk involved could be seen as worthwhile. On the other hand, an injured or weakened Dhelmise might not attempt that hunt because the relative safety of getting energy without initiating a battle that could go wrong is more appealing than trying to get more energy more quickly, especially when the risk of failure is greater; an unsuccessful hunt, even if it doesn’t end in further injury, is a waste of time and energy.

To further elaborate on the photosynthesis side of things, it’s safe to assume that shiny Dhelmise actually don’t see much of a difference in photosynthetic efficiency. Red macroalgae does exist, and like their green and brown counterparts they are all photoautotrophs, which means it’s efficient enough to be viable. With that said, the actual color of red seaweed is often quite dark and closer to the brown side of the spectrum, so not all that similar to the bright, vibrant red of shiny Dhelmise. It’s also safe to assume another kelp species wasn’t an inspiration for the shiny, as there are no red macroalgae that are also considered kelp. Anyone familiar with me knows what this is going to be about, but I’m gonna include even more information this time!

There are various types of non-kelp macroalgae that closely resemble its shiny coloration. They usually don’t grow very large, and color-wise seem to get less similar the larger they get. The closest match I could find color-wise is the pom pom or dragon's breath macroalgae(Gracilaria hayi), which is evidently somewhat popular in saltwater aquariums but seems to remain even smaller, and much like the next example has little resemblance aside from being red. A larger red seaweed is dulse, Palmaria palmata, which can occasionally reach a whopping one meter tall, or 3.3 feet; notably this species is commonly eaten in places like Iceland and Atlantic Canada.

I feel like this is as good a time as ever to point out something… Interesting. In Scarlet and Violet, there’s a point where you have to go and bid on some extremely rare red wakame; this is actually Kofu’s gym puzzle and therefore isn’t optional. However, the word wakame refers specifically to a type of edible kelp, which, as I established earlier, does not come in red, and especially not in the shade of red seen in-game. While you could say it’s just a fantasy version of a real life thing, the way it’s explicitly stated to be incredibly rare leads me to believe the red wakame you bid for could actually be kelp harvested from a shiny Dhelmise. I say harvested because I trust Kofu not to support inhumane practices, and taking parts of a Dhelmise without its consent would be incredibly fucked up and incredibly risky.

Considering how large they get— without taking into account how one of their likely inspirations can grow two feet a day— and the fact that it’s been established various grass types have edible or medicinal parts that can be humanely harvested from them directly(Tropius fruits, Petilil leaves) or collected as they naturally fall off(Toedscool flaps), I doubt it’s a stretch to believe Dhelmise also have edible parts. Most likely their blades. I imagine they’re not too different from regular kelp, actually, considering they literally were just regular seaweed at one point. The main differences are the sheer novelty of “this isn’t just regular kelp” and the need to find individuals that will actually cooperate and allow themselves to be harvested. After all, I really doubt you’re going to be getting away unscathed if you try to take anything from a Dhelmise by force, let alone part of the Dhelmise itself.

To elaborate on that because I love yapping and also it gives an excuse to mention another headcanon: the dex says Dhelmise weighs 463 pounds, but realistically it’s actually a lot heavier because Pokémon weight-to-size ratios are notorious for not making sense. I choose to interpret this as the weight of a Dhelmise not counting the anchor; the anchor technically isn’t part of its body, but the helm would be counted since that’s where its eye is. Now it might seem like over 400 pounds is too heavy, but remember that it somehow has enough material to extend for hundreds of yards, which is 600 feet minimum. Anchors of a similar size to the one Dhelmise has usually weigh several hundred pounds alone. What this means is that, in short, any physical attack by a Dhelmise on a human is going to be devastating, if not immediately deadly. So like. Maybe save fucking around and finding out for something that can’t break your bones like twigs or crack your skull like a peanut shell if provoked?

That was quite a tangent! Back to shiny talk, now’s the part you’ve all been waiting for. Dhelmise’s shiny coloration may actually be based on a phenomenon known as a red tide. This event occurs when there is a large bloom of red algae, most notably Karenia brevis(though as a dinoflagellate its status as an algae is actually debated), which in high concentrations will make seawater look bright red, almost as if the ocean itself is bleeding. The more dense the bloom, the more it starves the surrounding water of oxygen, which will asphyxiate sea life in and around it. K. brevis will also release toxins into the surrounding water which further increases its potential to kill surrounding wildlife like fish and even marine birds and mammals, and it remains toxic once it dies and begins to decay. A bright red marine algae associated with death seems pretty fitting for a ghost type’s shiny, especially considering Dhelmise is able to learn Sludge Wave as its only poison type move.

Here’s the fun part: Dhelmise coloring is completely independent of the macroalgae they form from. Doesn’t matter if the seaweed was brown, green, or almost purple, it will always create an individual that is dark green or bright red. How does this happen? Good question! Why does normal kelp sometimes turn red? Who the hell knows! I sure don’t! The mechanisms behind shiny coloration in Pokémon aren’t understood in even the most well-studied species, so suffice to say it’s still quite the mystery in Dhelmise.

Now then, you might think that if you artificially initiate asexual reproduction in a shiny one, you’d get shiny offspring, like an infinite shiny exploit. After all, they’re genetically identical, right? Haha, nope, somehow it doesn’t work like that! The red seaweed, which used to be green or brown or whatever and turned red for seemingly no reason, will just turn that familiar dark green as the new individual develops for also seemingly no reason. Or, in exceedingly rare cases, a clone of a normal Dhelmise can turn out shiny. They’ll be genetically identical in every way and yet one will be a drastically different color. It makes zero sense and yet it is the truth. Because why not! Nature doesn’t care about what should make sense, it just does what it does!

Anyways… Switching gears once again, I think my headcanon for how Dhelmise initially form and develop warrants some explanation, as elsewhere outside of this ramble I’ve mentioned offhand that it isn’t well understood in-universe for a variety of reasons. As alluded to earlier, new Dhelmise can come into the world in three ways: the way described in the Pokédex, through asexual reproduction by fragmentation, or through hatching eggs created when breeding them with Ditto. Due to the inherent differences between these manners of origin, the individuals that result will all have some different characteristics.

Normal kelp can begin the process of becoming a Dhelmise in two ways: spontaneously from dead kelp, or as a result of souls lost at sea becoming entangled in live kelp that ends up breaking away, much like how Bramblin are said to form. Beyond that, the process of becoming a full-fledged individual is identical. Next is what I’m going to call the creeping stage, where the sort of proto-Dhelmise will begin to blindly search for a shipwreck, most likely via sensing metal in the water and trying to move towards it. In the vast majority of cases, the individual is ultimately unsuccessful; between the inability to actually see, the way currents can pick them up and carry them away, and the presence of Pokémon that will eat kelp, the odds of one even reaching a shipwreck at all are extremely low, let alone one with suitable, accessible debris it can actually use.

In fact, even if they do reach what they need, it could already be too late. They need to begin the process of merging with the debris relatively quickly after first transforming from normal kelp— within two weeks, at best— or else the cells that would have become their holdfasts will begin to degenerate and wither away, leaving the unrealized individual unable to cling to a helm or anchor even if they do find them. In these situations they will simply run out of energy and starve, reverting back into regular scraps of kelp as if they hadn’t ever existed. They can also die if they begin the merging process in an area that gets no sun; photosynthesis is a necessary energy source until they are established enough to hunt, which can take anywhere from a few weeks to several months depending on conditions.

It stands to reason that most successful natural formations will occur spontaneously near shipwrecks that resulted in a loss of life, as any kelp growing nearby will be more likely to take on a soul and start the process, and the resulting Dhelmise-in-progress will have a shorter distance to travel. Many won’t travel too far from the location they formed in, so one that fragmented from an existing individual could end up searching the same wreck that no longer has a helm or anchor to bind to. Alas, just finding and clinging to the desired debris will not guarantee a successful formation; they start out small and blind, and— until they actually grow into their selected helm or anchor and seek out the other piece—are entirely defenseless. During this time they’re extremely vulnerable to other Pokémon, especially Pincurchin in their native range.

As for the debris itself, most often they will find and cling to the anchor first, simply because these are usually outside the ship and thus more likely to be found quickly by something approaching from the surrounding seabed. They will still be unable to see until finding and merging with a helm, but the anchor will at least aid in orienting them in their surroundings, even if initially incorporating it usually takes a day to several days. One that manages to cling to the helm first will develop an eye sooner, gaining the sense of sight more quickly, with the caveat that orienting themself without an anchor to clearly indicate which direction is down will be significantly more of a challenge. Merging with the helm takes anywhere from several hours to a day, with an eye usually appearing within a few hours after successful incorporation.

Once they have successfully integrated with their items, the new Dhelmise will need to make its way into an area with some amount of sun exposure, which will usually just be shallower waters; photosynthesis will fuel their subsequent development as they “grow into” the debris. At this stage, most will still be almost unrecognizable. The basal holdfast takes a significant amount of time to cover the majority of the anchor, and only after that will their lower blades begin to grow downward from it. This also seems to be when the anchor gains new properties that increase its durability and stop it from corroding, though existing damage is not repaired, and corrosion that has already occurred is not reversed. How this happens is not well understood, beyond it being spectral in nature. In gamer terms, they give their stuff the Unbreaking III enchantment but not Mending.

Compared to their wild counterparts, Dhelmise hatched from eggs are almost always slightly larger and more vigorous to begin with. This is because they will experience some additional growth inside of the egg prior to hatching, and will not spend precious energy in the creeping stage for reasons that will be addressed in a moment. Otherwise, they undergo the same basic processes; eye formation occurs after merging with the helm, and their body will take at least a few weeks to fully cover their anchor. The main difference is that, given how members of this group are almost always bred intentionally— as in, there are no known cases of wild Dhelmise and Ditto creating eggs— conditions are generally way more favorable for them than in the wild. Who would have thought.

They will, assuming the breeder was responsible, more or less skip the creeping stage, as they are offered a helm and anchor to merge with shortly after hatching rather than needing to seek them out. The need to provide such things is actually one of the primary reasons Dhelmise are rarely bred in captivity, in addition to the fact that they are difficult to find and catch for breeding in the first place. It’s not exactly inexpensive! Plus, they are not commonly trained, and most research on Dhelmise is focused on their ecology in the wild, so demand is also quite low. Those not bred purely for research purposes may be raised and habituated to having their blades harvested for culinary use, or will be destined to live in large aquariums or other such public education institutions, sometimes as part of larger displays or even as a focal species.

Lucky individuals may be treated as ambassador Pokémon, as despite their large size and strength, they’re often quite slow and placid— some might even say boring. They aren’t very popular for this role, though, as the space and conditions required to meet all of their needs while looking naturalistic are quite large and fairly complex. In other words, expensive. When not actively participating in programs, they often aren’t very exciting to watch, and organizations generally prefer Pokémon that not only do well interacting with people once trained, but are also interesting or fun to look at outside of programs. The primary exception to this is actually when Skrelp are being used as ambassadors; in such cases, a Dhelmise can help them to feel more safe and secure, while simultaneously highlighting one of their more interesting ecological relationships. Emotional support big seaweed.

So, now that you know what they are(or are likely based on) and how they form, let’s get into some potential ways that individuals can vary beyond just temperament, shininess, and different sizes, shapes, and models of helms and anchors. Because, let’s be real, the odds of every single Dhelmise happening to utilize the exact same size and style of anchor, and one model of ship’s helm to go with that anchor, feels maybe a little bit unlikely.

It isn’t all that uncommon for Dhelmise to have differing blade counts; that is, more or less than five apical blades, which are those that are generally spread out from where the stipe wraps around the helm when at rest. For example, it’s possible for them to develop only four large ones, or six to seven small ones. Individuals with fewer than four blades have not been observed, except in cases of injury where one or more have been torn or cut off entirely and are yet to regrow. The presence of more than seven blade growing points has also not been documented, but blade counts as high as fourteen have been recorded, albeit incredibly rarely. This is a result of doubling, when two blades— usually smaller but of unequal size— grow from the same spot. This can occur with all of a Dhelmise’s blades, only some of them, or even just one.

The exact cause for one to form like this isn’t known, but the trait does not appear to be heritable, even in cases where it was innate. Therefore, the prevailing theory is that it is not genetic, but instead the result of the stipe being damaged or otherwise having its growth disrupted in some fashion during the individual’s early development. In these cases the condition is permanent. It can also be caused later in life if the area of attachment is damaged, but the blade is not actually severed from the stipe; a new blade will begin growing as part of the healing process, even though the original is still attached. Think of it as similar to a lizard having two tails due to the original failing to actually break off when dropped. In this situation, the doubling is almost always temporary, with the exception being cases of more intense trauma to the stipe.

Doubling can also occur in the basal blades— those that hang down from the anchor— for similar reasons, but as they form later in development it is almost always the result of environmental factors like injury, rather than anything that might permanently alter the growth pattern. It’s also less obvious in older individuals, as there can be a lot of natural variation in basal blade counts. Usually five will form initially, but unlike the apical blades, the basal blades do not have specific growing points, and their positioning is more to do with the shape of their anchor.

Significantly more rarely, a Dhelmise can actually end up forming two eyes; why this happens is, you guessed it, not known. While it might seem advantageous, in reality it actually tends to cause poorer coordination and increased susceptibility to confusion. Dhelmise eyes have the peculiar trait of being able to spin, much like the compasses they resemble; this may be to offset the way their helms tend to naturally rotate to and fro while they sway, akin to a gyroscope. The swaying itself also isn’t understood, with most theories boiling down to the idea that they are simply doing what they did as kelp, even if the mechanism that originally led to such movement isn’t acting on them anymore.

Regardless of why their eyes are the way they are and why they always seem to be under the influence of some invisible current or tide, the bottom line is that their natural movement doesn’t disorient them when they have only one eye. This does not seem to be the case with binocular individuals, as their eyes will rarely actually rotate in sync, leading to two conflicting, partially overlapped visual inputs. Most will keep one eye covered by one of their blades almost constantly, while others seem to cover one eye at least when hunting or changing locations. When both eyes are exposed, they tend to be noticeably less responsive to motion, with subtle movements often going entirely unnoticed. However, when one eye is covered, they behave more similarly to average members of the species. This suggests possible visual fatigue caused by the two visual inputs themselves making it appear that everything is moving, effectively concealing actual movement.

One of the most interesting things about Dhelmise is that, like many seaweeds, they actually have noticeably high rates of chimerism, or having two or more distinct sets of DNA; in some areas this can be observed in around 30% of individuals. Chimeric Dhelmise will arise from chimeric seaweed, though in much rarer cases it can occur if two proto-Dhelmise bind to the same debris and end up essentially fusing. The latter is likely what would cause a bicolor Dhelmise, or an individual that displays both normal and shiny coloration; chimeras arising from just one piece of seaweed will either be entirely green or entirely red, regardless of whether the seaweed has multiple sets of DNA.

The different genetic material is not evenly distributed, much like in regular seaweed, instead having the most variation in the holdfasts and almost none in the stipe or blades. Also, whether a Dhelmise is a chimera or not will pretty much never be visible externally, instead being something that can only be confirmed with DNA testing. The sole exception is the incredibly rare bicolor types, which will of course have two colors; of those that have been documented, most are primarily green with bits of red showing on their holdfasts, but they can also be the reverse. What seems to be consistent among all chimeric individuals is that they are generally more hardy than those with only one set of DNA, growing larger and being overall less prone to issues that can affect the species. This may be comparable to hybrid vigor.

Alright, this is pretty close to the 6000 word mark, and I’ve said pretty much all I have to say about JUST KIDDING. LIKE MY FIELDS ON POKÉFARM Q THERE’S ALWAYS MORE DHELMISE. THIS IS WHAT YOU SIGNED UP FOR AFTER CLICKING THAT READMORE, PAL: PURE UNFILTERED INFODUMPING ABOUT THE FUNNY SEAWEED. The machinations of my mind may be an enigma, but by the end of this, Dhelmise sure won’t be!

Let’s talk temperament! Dhelmise are actually pretty easygoing in a majority of situations. Everyone always focuses on the fact that they hunt and the way that they hunt, but in reality for every period of hunting activity they usually go several weeks to several months seemingly just sitting around on the seafloor doing nothing. Maybe they will extend their chain on particularly sunny days to do some good ol’ photosynthesizing, but they’ll retract their helms quickly when ships, people, or other Pokémon approach. They tend to avoid conflict when possible. Provoking one accidentally is extremely difficult, except when dealing with individuals that are already under stress or that are just unusually high-strung.

Dhelmise attacking seafaring vessels isn’t unheard of, but outside of cases where the ship was actively disturbing one in the midst of hunting or feeding, this is almost always the result of a misunderstanding by an inexperienced individual. When looking from below and taking into account the fact that they’re naturally able to sense the lifeforces of other living things, a ship can seem very similar to a Wailmer or Wailord, especially because many modern ships also have white undersides. While this does mean vessels carrying more people are more likely to be attacked, such a situation can easily be avoided by simply painting the bottom with a color other than white, or adding some kind of easily visible pattern to it that breaks up the shape. Older Dhelmise that have more hunting experience are much better at distinguishing between ships and prey.

Another common misconception is that they are extremely territorial and will “claim” shipwrecks, attacking anyone who dares to get close. In reality, it’s uncommon for one to stay in one place for more than a few months at a time, and especially not in a location that gets little sunlight. They go where their prey goes. While they might have favorite spots to stay in, and are known to try and keep other members of their kind away for the sake of reducing competition— and also to avoid scaring away their prey’s pods, which will avoid areas they think have a lot of Dhelmise present— there have been very few confirmed instances of territorial behavior being enacted on other species of Pokémon, let alone people. There has been exactly one well-documented case where an individual became very protective of a sunken ship, most likely the one it formed from, but it was driven away by trainers.

Most likely, the idea originated from the fact that very new Dhelmise that have only recently established on their debris may lash out in response to people or Pokémon getting close. This is because, up until that point, anything could be a threat, and many things are still unfamiliar to them; just getting that far is practically a miracle, so it makes sense they’d take a while to realize they don’t have to fight for their life 24/7. The world can be a scary place for any young Pokémon, even if you wouldn’t expect that kind of perspective from something so large and strong. Just because they’re an almost one ton baby doesn’t mean they aren’t still a baby. Fear can easily be mistaken for anger when it comes to something that isn’t very expressive.

Though, they can actually be very expressive if you know what to look for. The secret is paying attention to their eye. When they’re happy it might turn sideways in a way that almost resembles a closed eye, or it might slant inward or outward when they’re angry or sad. When they’re particularly upset their pupil can narrow, and when they’re excited or see something they want it can widen much more than you’d expect. When they’re confused it’ll spin in random directions, when uncertain or nervous it might move back and forth more quickly than usual, when startled it might briefly stop moving entirely for a moment, and when they’re content it moves slowly and smoothly. Not as slowly as when they’re asleep, though— they DO sleep.

Thanks to psychic types and, more recently, Rotom pokédexes, phones, and tablets, it’s also become apparent that they’re quite slow as far as Pokémon go. Not slow as in stupid or simple minded, they just tend to go about things in a very deliberate manner; acting on impulse isn’t their style, and they don’t seem interested in much in the short-term. This is likely because they’re benthic organisms for the most part, and not a whole lot actually happens down there in terms of action most of the time. You’ll have the occasional frenzy from Wailord falls— sometimes caused by the sea creeper in question— or storms come through and stir things up, or maybe a new shipwreck occurs and causes commotion. Otherwise life is probably quite slow and uneventful for your average Dhelmise, at least in the wild.

Because they put a lot of thought into things before they act, however, they can be extremely stubborn. Impressively so, even. If a trainer’s Dhelmise decides it wants to be in one spot and not move, there is very little to be done about it outside recalling it to its pokéball. If one doesn’t want to battle, it won’t battle. If one is determined to get into something it isn’t supposed to, such as a pokébean storage container, your only option is to physically remove the container from the premises because they will keep trying to get into it and you are not going to be able to stop them. If one doesn’t want to let go of a toy or other item, it’s theirs now, you are not going to be getting it out of their grip and should just hope they lose interest and drop it eventually, or just plan on getting a replacement.

Speaking of holding things, yeah, they can do that. Most obviously they can manipulate their blades to wrap around objects to hold them, akin to tendrils or vines used by some other Pokémon. They also seem to be able to hold objects with part of their apical holdfast, as if adhering them to itself, though in reality it’s likely actually part of their stipe that does so. When the body is extended, it is the chain that seems to be able to hold things, while neither holdfast ever seems to be used. Perhaps it’s neither, actually, and this is done through spectral means, using something we can’t see to grasp things their blades would struggle to handle. Notably, it’s in the same spot where they “eat” small food items from, like berries. Do they have an invisible mouth there? Probably not, but the way they hold round or smooth things there can be similar to dog Pokémon playing fetch.

They don’t seem to have an aversion to physical contact overall. Like with many other Pokémon, it’s better to let them initiate it first until you have an idea of what their likes and dislikes are, and also because it’s important to set boundaries early. Much like you train dog Pokémon not to bite when playing, you don’t want your giant macroalgae friend to squeeze your arm with one of their blades until the blood circulation gets cut off. At the same time, you shouldn’t try grabbing their blades unless they’ve been offered up by the Dhelmise for that kind of thing of its own accord; not only can they be broken off if they try to pull it away and you reflexively tighten your grip, but such an act can be interpreted as more of an act of aggression than of play or bonding, especially if it’s one you caught in the wild.

Something else that’s very important to keep in mind is that they tend to either really enjoy or absolutely despise having the handles on their helm touched or held onto. So uh. Maybe don’t try to play sailor until you’ve made sure the one you’re interacting with isn’t going to reflexively spin its wheel to get you to let go and accidentally break your wrist in the process. In the same vein, they often don’t like having their anchors handled or otherwise messed with, especially where the metal is exposed or corroded. Cleaning it is rarely necessary, so unless there’s something that really needs to be addressed, like something stuck to or wrapped around it, it’s best to leave it be. If one actually lets you do anything with the anchor, that’s a sign of trust.

When it comes to interacting with other Pokémon, they actually tend to get along much better with smaller Pokémon than larger ones. Perhaps it’s related to how they will often act as a shelter of sorts for small fish Pokémon like Wishiwashi and Skrelp. In an example of a bit of a double standard, they don’t seem nearly as concerned about small Pokémon touching or climbing on their anchors, at most attempting to tilt in a way to harmlessly slide them off. They might get tired out or overstimulated by particularly energetic Pokémon, but seem to be quite patient and won’t lash out unless things get overbearing. The exception being if a little guy tries to pick a fight, in which case things tend to go about as you’d expect.

With larger Pokémon, and especially Pokémon larger than the Dhelmise themself, you really have to take care to set boundaries and make sure they understand friend versus food. One on one introductions should be made beforehand, so that you can anticipate how they will get along prior to having both out in a group, though this really goes for any Pokémon you expect to interact with others at some point. They usually don’t show nearly as much patience for bigger Pokémon at first, and will likely take longer to warm up to them. Once they do, though, they seem way more interested in actively interacting with them. Perhaps they feel less concerned about potentially injuring them due to not seeing them?

Though they don’t tend to readily start fights, if one gets started they can be very efficient at ending them if they get annoyed or angry enough. Preventing things from escalating to that point is therefore very important for the safety of other Pokémon, even if they were fucking around and about to find out. Sometimes the finding out part is a good learning experience that will encourage them to be more well behaved, and sometimes it’s an anchor to the face that will encourage you to practice speedrun routing to the nearest Pokémon center. Better to not see which option it’ll be.

Finally, remember that Dhelmise are just like any other Pokémon! They’ll have likes and dislikes, personalities, various little habits and quirks to pick up on… They’re more than just huge, scary whale hunters or boring, lazy piles of junk, even if that’s not always immediately obvious at first glance. Each one is unique and deserves appreciation. And merch. And a marketable plushie. And one million dollars in cold, hard cash.

If you’re reading this, you finally made it to the end! You survived! Congratulations! You get a gold star ⭐️ and my gratitude.