#wrian

[bushybrush]

Baby versions of a few OCs

I think it's ethical to take note of the fact that, since Noir and Spectro are trans, they had different genders as children? They're my OCs so I feel like they wouldn't mind anyway...

If I've offended you accidentally, let me know so I can rectify it

[seven-has-a-wish]

maybe we got trauma along the way.... but maybe we will be okay

[scoupsahoy]

oh no my hand slipped

So this post pointed out that Steve is actually the one who has the resources, time, and lack of anyone keeping tabs on his whereabouts to be able to go explore the gay scene in the nearby city, and that kind of combined with some ideas i've been having into this subplot idea.

I talk about it more in this tik tok, but the basic premise also draws from the fact that Steve is a super strict compartmentalizer and also from the fact that he seems to channel a lot of what he's feeling into physical things, from basketball and dancing at parties to taking practice swings with the bat and even cleaning up the Byers' house at the end of season 2.

So what I picture is Steve, frustrated and lonely at the end of season 2 because there's nothing from the Upside Down to fight and hes been cut off from his social and physical outlets at school by Billy, just grabbing his keys one injury-and-anxiety-induced insomnia night and stumbling into a club with amazing music that he just loses himself in dancing to. And he just. compartmentalizes the fact that its clearly a gay club.

And over time, i see him getting more and more involved in all aspects of the scene, to the extent of becoming a full-on, painted-up glam performer with a stage persona at this club, getting an incredible amount of catharsis and expression from the way this alternate self gives him a physical and emotional outlet to explore these thoughts and feelings and ways of being that he can't or won't let himself engage with in Hawkins.

But also, because it's Steve, I just picture this split between what he can and can't do and be in these two different lives just torturing him, and him struggling with which one is the performance and which one is his authentic self, until he finally realizes he doesn't need to be so compartmentalized and split asunder but can instead embody these seemingly diametrical truths of who he is and what he wants in an integrated way.

And yeah, his stage name is SHINER, cuz he gets the shit kicked out of him for love, and he's got his heart on his sleeve and bleeding out on his cheek.

(And here's a Steve/SHINER playlist to go along with this!)

[neverheardnothing]

alright fuckers here’s every possible ship name we could have for winston/rian under a cut

i wrote a short stupid program to do this.

r

ri

ria

riainston

rian

rian

rianinston

riann

riannston

rianon

rianston

rianston

rianton

rianw

rianwi

rianwin

rianwins

rianwinst

rianwinsto

rianwinston

riaon

riaston

riaton

riaw

riawi

riawin

riawins

riawinst

riawinsto

riawinston

riinston

rin

rinston

rinston

rion

riston

riton

riw

riwi

riwin

riwins

riwinst

riwinsto

riwinston

rn

rnston

ron

rston

rton

rw

rwi

rwin

rwins

rwinst

rwinsto

rwinston

w

wan

wi

wian

wian

wiian

win

win

winan

winian

winn

winr

winri

winria

winrian

wins

winsan

winsian

winsn

winsr

winsri

winsria

winsrian

winst

winstan

winstian

winstn

winsto

winstoan

winstoian

winston

winston

winstonan

winstonian

winstonn

winstonr

winstonri

winstonria

winstonrian

winstor

winstori

winstoria

winstorian

winstr

winstri

winstria

winstrian

wir

wiri

wiria

wirian

wn

wr

wri

wria

wrian

[lightwoodbane1]

Até Depois do Fim (on Wattpad) http://my.w.tt/UiNb/o6dJYcmXUz O ensino médio de Brian foi sempre a mesmice que qualquer outro: acordar cedo, pegar ônibus para a escola, encontrar as mesmas pessoas chatas de sempre, os mesmos professores, os mesmos, mais ou menos, 230 dias letivos; até que o tão esperado terceiro ano chega. E com ele a chegada do aluno novo, Will Rodríguez, e Brian não podia estar mais alheio ao que esse garoto novo lhe trairia. Descobertas. Amor verdadeiro. "Até Depois do Fim", traz para o leitor uma viagem ao mundo de descobertas de Brian e Will. P.S: Só para lembra-los, plágio é crime. Portanto, evite constrangimentos e não cometa esse erro tão idiota. Capa: FDLizada

[br1anch4mp]

Wrian (at Juno Beach) https://www.instagram.com/p/CZ56KSugfze/?igshid=NGJjMDIxMWI=

[scoupsahoy]

wrote a second chapter of this!!

it is not rated T anymore

take a hit, let it burn my lips

[crossposted to ao3]

“C’mon, man, this is a total waste of time,” Steve’s voice is a touch desperate. It's almost entertaining.

It’s nearly midnight in sweltering late-August at a party in Loch Nora and Eddie is being shoved into a closet. Go figures.

“I happen to think it’s hilarious.”

At least Robin Buckley happens to think it’s hilarious. Probably because she immediately made eye contact with the bandana in his back pocket when they first met. Her new friend Steve Harrington being pushed into a closet for seven minutes in heaven with someone she clocked ages ago would be hilarious to her, the bastard.

“You’re not helping, Robin,” Steve says, peeking out from the door getting closed in their faces.

Some other drunk voice is muffled against the door. “Don’t make a mess in there!”

It’s a pretty big closet, all things considered. It’s genuinely the size of his bathroom at home, and he knows it, which is pretty annoying. He’s well on his way to getting pissed off, and that’s not even taking into account that Steve Harrington is standing in here with him. Tall and handsome and frustrated, fingers pressed into his eyeballs like he’s trying to see spots.

Eddie won’t pretend that this isn’t a deep-seated fantasy of his, but he'll table it for later.

“Not enough hours in the day, Harrington?” He crosses his arms and slides down the opposite wall of the closet, so Steve has to look down at him. Maybe he’s a bit masochistic.

Steve opens his eyes, rubs at his temples a bit. There’s the ghost of a massive black eye he got during the mall fire somehow, a tea stain on his perfect face. He fiddles with his wristwatch. “Hm?”

“Can’t spare a few minutes alone with your old kingdom’s jester now that you’ve graduated to bigger and better things?”

“Graduated, maybe,” Steve sinks down to the closet floor, knees spread wide like he doesn’t even realize he’s been sent into this shoebox to make out with the freaky queer drug dealer. “Bigger and better things, I’m not so sure.”

“Well I’m on my third try. At least you have a bit of a head start on that future of yours,” he says.

Steve runs his tongue along his bottom lip like it’s fucking something to do. If the air weren't so still, Eddie would wonder what he tastes like.

“Shit’s kinda scary, man.”

“You’re telling me.” Eddie pauses, blinks at him. “Uh, you wanna talk about it?”

“That’s not exactly what we were sent in here to do, Munson,” he says, regaining his footing. Eddie’s being teased. That’s the last time he’s going to be nice to a fucking jock.

“Whatever, man. It’s not like we’re going to make out in here just because we got trapped in a game of spin the bottle.”

Steve’s grin grows wicked before he pinches it into a sarcastic pout. “You don’t wanna kiss me?”

Something slices quick through Eddie’s stupid, cold, dead heart. “I’m not a pervert,” he says. He hopes it drips with enough venom that Steve either leaves or shuts up.

Neither of those things happen, though. Steve’s look hardens and he gets quiet for a second long enough for Eddie to be almost worried that he’s going to be punched in the face.

“Don’t say that shit,” Steve ends up saying. “Being into kissing guys doesn’t make someone a pervert.”

The closet is quiet for a second. Eddie knows himself well enough to know how infrequently he’s been shocked into silence, but he can’t interrupt the heartbeat of it. It does something to his bones. “I know that.”

“Good,” Steve says, with this strict finality.

The light in here is kind of low, and the party bustles outside, and underneath it all Eddie knows that the drunk assholes who closed them in here have probably all forgotten about them. It’s not like they have their ears pressed against the cracks to catch the sound of heavy petting or whatever the hell they expect to happen in here. He could get away with pushing the boundaries a bit.

“For the record, I only meant that I wouldn’t just kiss someone if they weren’t into it.”

“This game isn’t exactly legally binding,” Steve says, only slightly more relaxed than a second ago. “If I was worried about being locked in a closet with you for seven minutes, I would have just left.”

“You’ve got experience kissing boys, then?” That would be rich.

“Do you?”

He lets that one roll off his back. He has traction now. “I asked first, Harrington.”

Steve has this square jaw and a look in his eyes that Eddie knows to mean he’s detached, too good for this shit. He’s just some beautiful rich kid who can’t back down from a challenge. Eddie wants to push him.

Once he’s sure he won’t get himself knocked out, he crawls forward, trying to look as enticing as possible. He knows his shirt is loose and dips low enough for Steve to see his tattoos, and his happy trail if he’s really looking.

This close, even in this lighting, Eddie swears Steve is blushing. Just a little. “I haven’t seen you at these parties in a while.”

“If you were that desperate to see me, you could have just asked. You know where my house is,” he says. Eddie ignores him.

“All of a sudden you’re showing up with Buckley, playing spin the bottle like you used to,” so what if Eddie used to pay attention to that kind of thing. Watching the classic Steve twist into something else entirely was fun, it was mysterious, Steve was gentle and determined and had such singular focus. It gave him something to do in between deals. “Thought you could get her to kiss you? Disappointed you landed on a boy?”

Steve rolls his eyes. His hands are clenched into fists, but they’re scraping at his jeans, and his cheeks get a little more red. Eddie presses forward.

“Maybe you wanted it to land on a boy. You’re just annoyed it had to land on the freak.”

“You think you know everything, huh?”

“I haven’t been proven wrong yet,” he says, shrugging. He likes this. Steve Harrington can apparently give as good as he can get.

But then he does get proven wrong.

Steve lurches forward, and for a second Eddie’s worried he finally learned how to throw a punch, but it doesn’t come. He wraps his hand around Eddie’s shirt and stops short in front of him and stares with his big brown eyes for just long enough for it to register that this isn’t one of those moments that happens without any forethought.

It isn’t spontaneous when Steve kisses him. He’s been kissed out of nowhere, before, but.

He’s letting out this shaky breath into Eddie’s mouth, hot and hesitant. His eyes are screwed closed, and his lips are so soft, but he’s kissing hard enough that it feels like a punch. Eddie wonders if it’ll leave a bruise. It takes a second to even respond to it. Steve has pitched up a tent on top of his senses: all he can hear and feel and taste and smell is Steve. A little grunt, and the slide of, fuck, lip gloss, maybe, bitter where it slips into his mouth and minty when he breathes in.

His mind only catches up when Steve’s hand relaxes on his shirt and he threatens to pull back. Eddie almost stops breathing, stops time, anything to hold onto it. He sucks Steve’s bottom lip into his mouth like that might keep him close, and he swears there’s a pretty little groan somewhere in the mess of their shuffling.

Steve is solid under his hands, and in return he grips tight onto his waist like he’s afraid Eddie’s going to float away. As if Eddie would stop kissing him for anything. As if Eddie knows which way is up right now. He’s half-convinced Steve is dragging him into an alternate dimension where popular graduates kiss gay burnouts in rich kids’ closets.

All things considered, Steve shouldn’t even be at this fucking party. He’s graduated and not all that popular anymore, and unless he’s trying to find Buckley a cheerleader girlfriend, it doesn’t even make sense that she tagged along, either.

And Eddie is only here to sell weed anyway. Selling at parties isn’t even all that great after the rich guys buy out all his pills in the first hour, because everyone’s too fucked up to remember he’s there at all.

It doesn’t make sense that either of them are still here, approaching midnight, sober enough that they still taste like toothpaste and pizza. It doesn’t make sense that Steve Harrington is the only person who’s given him a second glance after 10pm, or that he’s kissing Eddie like he’s wanted to for years.

Eddie wonders if the most recent concussion knocked a screw loose, or if maybe he misses the way Tommy Hagan used to look like he wanted to devour him at house parties, crawling at him on his knees the way Eddie did. Maybe almost a year of getting the shit kicked out of him by the Hargrove kid and exclusively hanging out with middle schoolers and lesbians made Steve miss the tender platonic touch of another man or whatever the fuck excuse he’ll give when he explains this kiss away to his therapist in twenty years.

He’s in an entirely different stratosphere altogether, though. He couldn't care less about why Steve is kissing him, just that he is. And a sick little part of Eddie has wanted him to for years. Just desperate to know what it was like. What kind of spell he would put these girls under to pull them into bathrooms and the back of his car and the privacy of his backyard with their toes dipping in the pool.

“You’re thinking really loudly,” Steve says into his mouth.

Eddie tries to respond, but it gets caught in his throat, and Steve dives in again, palm at the base of his neck to hold him in place. Eddie’s really starting to float now, and all he wants to do is ride it out. It’s like being kissed by a force of nature.

It takes another second for the words to come out. “Do I distract you?”

“All the time,” he says, and swallows the sound of it in another kiss. “Don’t pretend you’re not distracting on purpose.”

“I am. I just didn’t realize I caught your attention.”

Steve pushes, and Eddie falls onto his back. He’s going to get rug burn, and he’s going to stumble out of this closet (and probably other, more metaphorical closets if he’s not careful) looking properly debauched like a Victorian maiden, with bruised lips and messy hair and he should really be more careful. Except Steve is caged over him, panting heavy, hand in his hair to keep him from smacking onto the ground, and he looks just as bad.

He rolls down, and if Eddie wanted to he could blame it on adrenaline or something, but Steve is hard and pressing into the jut of his hip. And then the both of them are breathing heavy, hot breath passing between them. He wants to know if Steve is the type to moan when he feels good, and he wants to be the person to make him if he doesn’t already.

So Eddie doesn’t give a fuck about the game or the party or this town or the rest of the world, frankly. He cares about how Steve’s eyes are blown out wide when he says “you definitely caught my attention,” and the way it comes out rough and corny and extremely sexy.

Eddie focuses on how every few times he pulls back, Steve swoops back in with his teeth to drag across his lips.

He focuses on how, after just a bit of making out, Steve’s eyebrows are relaxed and his eyelashes are thick and cast shadows on his cheekbones. He focuses on how badly he wants to count them, if Steve will allow him another sick fantasy.

All of that is probably why he hears a bit of a whine get pulled from his throat when Steve pulls away for good. He’s almost confident that it gets lost in the sound of the alarm going off on Steve’s watch, but he looks too proud for Eddie to even fool himself.

“Fix your hair, man. We have about fifteen seconds.”

Eddie sits up, runs his hand over his face. He’s a shit liar and useless in a time-crunch, so he pulls his knees in and makes himself look as bored as he possibly can.

He can’t, though. He can’t take his eyes off of Steve.

Steve’s eyes narrow when Eddie puts his hair up.

“Alright, lovebirds,” Robin calls from the other side of the door. Eddie almost wonders when she got herself put in charge of gathering them, but the look she gives Steve is so heavy with about a hundred different conversations that it sort of makes sense. “Your seven minutes are up. What did you guys get up to?”

Eddie watches Steve take a deep breath and stand up, hands pushing into his knees. “Dumb shit. Told you this was a waste of time.”

“Wanna head out?” Robin’s eyes flicker over to Eddie, and he hardly notices. He waits for Steve to look his way.

“Yeah, I wanna be home by 12:30,” he says. Eddie gets a millisecond of eye contact. A signal if he’s ever seen one. “I’ll drop you off first.”

Steve and Robin walk out and leave Eddie sitting there. The other drunk teenagers obviously forget he was in there too, and probably forget that they were even playing a game to begin with.

So Eddie really has nothing to worry about.

He stares at his feet, and then he’s staring at the sky while he smokes a cigarette, and then he’s staring at Steve Harrington’s front door, wondering what happens if it opens.

[lowkeynando]

WRiANE AND WRiANE CLONES AND WRiANES AND WRiANES CLONES

[bushybrush]

Getting acquainted with MS Paint and my human OCs (well they're weirder than humans so... yumans?)

[444names]

the entire adunaic dictionary

Abalôkhadû Ablak Adander Adanâlu Adargester Adaus Adrab Adûnakh Adûne Adûnind Adûnâth Againgir Agart Agent Aglooth Akath Akhoulgus Aland Anaiclu Aphân Ascuterval Astrale Avant Avegented Awavend Awayân Awniter Azadûn Azard Azrack Azâya Azûlak Babalack Badûni Balakhôr Balar Balemill Banâluer Bater Battô Bawar Beard Beasmily Befidan Befider Behil Beince Beindeares Beingus Beintabath Belvern Benced Bentouch Bilvil Bited Blance Blantab Blardû Blittle Brefold Brooth Bârity Bêthip Bêthâs Catholgurc Cativerow Chayân Chazagend Chinelvill Ciple Ciplesir Colgus Conced Coven Crome Croon Crothân Crowave Culurught Dargest Darnimrud Deark Derentarie Doway Drainfalê Drawara Droold Durught Dâibêth Dâure Dâurs Eagar Eanâtheth Easdi Eatedicle Eaver Elossil Endle Enstalada Evise Exprik Falômight Fandub Fanâluent Farting Fated Fater Fattabawar Femen Femes Fidesil Fighteron Flestru Foadûneut Foamen Foammê Foamāt Fooma Foothôr Forts Frian Frighted Fruld Frump Fruzunds Gengtho Genórean Gimlity Ginimra Gione Gledichil Glester Gloome Glove Glovesta Gobjective Gobre Godded Golder Guaglonst Hascut Hazgaraft Heagân Heasay Heasm Heative Hetaic Hingimenel Hingual Holguentar Horthey Horts Hougruzunt Humblemen Humblit Huppord Hurud Hurue Huzund Huzîr Imight Imlittle Imrum Inaint Infle Izadûnadj Izagese Izidar Izimi Jective Jewers Jewes Kadûnit Kalard Kalit Kanardûnam Kandle Karaby Kards Kattive Katân Katâr Khart Khous Kineard Kineut Kinzinst Kuldi Ladower Lanayân Lartivence Lathân Lishe Literb Lithôr Lovere Lowelvild Lownit Lâiblemal Lâirest Lômil Magaigmiyê Magar Magelemen Magelow Magent Mages Magetar Mainstal Malanad Manad Maname Mangushay Mants Martic Masdi Mitiver Miyadûn Moold Moomen Mooth Mothe Mîthumblil Mîthân Nadard Nadold Nadûnard Naidô Nartiver Nimestam Nimight Niming Nimli Nimrak Nindund Ninflu Ningurce Ninimright Niticleme Noreatrand Noref Norshazrê Nuppor Nuraft Nureang Nuregir Nuruily Nurumble Nâlub Númen Númes Nûphayer Nûpheather Nûphân Objectic Objectim Oblith Obres Onqueent Onquer Orldicip Overe Papthe Paraiclu Pares Paright Parthat Pater Patherb Phadalôkh Phalê Phastab Phath Phazar Phazgance Pheloss Phuphayân Piref Porst Prearn Prefid Pregend Pregimrud Preging Pregir Press Prigmirld Prins Priya Proadron Prome Prommought Prommê Prons Prophey Prory Protimra Prowess Querser Raward Reater Renits Rianadûn Rithers Rophumble Rorld Rotheanded Rumandedie Ruzîrâ Sapdater Saped Sapth Sapthâr Sationque Sattle Sayin Sayân Sedients Senor Shadûnadol Shanar Shart Shasmits Shater Shazûlanâ Shent Shibêl Shinflor Shiplue Shord Shouce Shoucedual Shouch Shouchi Shoushin Sionj Sommê Souttô Spilvil Spiral Sprested Sprian Stalê Strabath Strenimir Struil Strus Subud Suffidô Sulburak Sulince Sulub Suntow Suppor Swesir Swest Swomand Swordûnâth Swors Sâire Sûlan Tababy Tonymin Toule Touted Towese Trabale Trazabal Trese Troots Trored Tâirity Tânimlitic Tûbada Tûbawn Ughted Ugrule Untery Urulins Urôdal Urôthân Vedible Vegesse Venince Vershith Vesta Waganarab Wagar Wagence Wallandi Walôkhâr Wardûnar Warts Wayear Wayerb Weent Weentab Weeth Werbality Westai Westru Westrud Whild Whing Whiple Winds Winflub Winigh Winzight Wisse Wissen Witivers Wizil Woreaga Wrian Yadare Yadûne Yearaby Yeart Yints Young Zable Zadowes Zaglove Zents Zight Zigmiyê Zimil Zimri Zinfath Zingint Zinguernel Zâiblisen Zâider Zâyangu Zâyanâ Êpham Êphapthâs Êphat Êphernight Êphum Êphumbland Êthânith Ûriend

[scoupsahoy]

SHES FINISHED!!!!!!!! check her out ❤️

inspired by this tiktok and this tumblr post by @peter-pantomime I accidentally wrote ten thousand words of identity porn (part one of two) and posted it onto ao3

[seven-has-a-wish]

identity crisis time

[eatfruittt]

I have a lot of analogince feels rn but I have no outlet bc I can’t write bc I’m sick and I never have the motivation anyways??? But just Know, I have the Analogince Feels

[onesadlimabean]

~ ~ I slept for nine and a half hours and am disappointed in myself ~ ~

[neverheardnothing]

it seems no one likes wrian.

[alittlelessalone]

My favorites are:

rinston

riston

riaston

riawin

wian

winsri

wrian

And also (mostly jokingly, but also sort of seriously) rianwins

having read through teresa’s program’s list and idk these seem like the Peak Viable options to me but natch making this just to put some more ideas / takes out there lol…….work cut out for us here

riwin / riwins - rhymes with rian kind of, easy 2 say

riston - follows the __ston format (benston, tayston) and i mean even if u read it as wrist-on that’s not like, a tragedy

wri - i mean i was humorous abt this one but also not entirely unserious. but mostly humorous

wiri - fun

rianton - also seems like a reasonable option lol

winian - guess u gotta remember to put the emphasis on the second syllable but if you read it like winnie-en, also not a tragedy