#I CAN NEVER ESCAPE THE MENTAL BREAKDOWNS FROM THIS BOOK

[rayroseu]

ITS OVER GUYS TWST JP CAFUNE MADE AN ARRANGEMENT FOR THE LULLABY SONG AND IT REALLY SOUNDS LIKE ONCE UPON A DREAM NOW IT SOUNDS SO DREAMY AND HAPPY AADHAHDUWUFEU

i am crode... Melenor and Lilia singing that lullaby to their children... in duet... I have no thoughts anymore 😭😭💔💔✨✨

The lullaby has mainly tone of safety. You notice how its mainly sung when the baby is in a distressed state? (Before Meleanor left TamagoMalleus, when Silver was crying).

Understandable that This arrangement makes me think that nothing bad ever happened 😭💞💖✨

Please give it a listen, the scenarios playing in my head hurts man 😭😭💔💔💔✨✨✨

#twst #twisted wonderland #disney twisted wonderland #twistedwonderland #lilia vanrouge #twst meleanor draconia #meleanor draconia #twst lilia #I FEEL LIKE SILVER RN #I CAN NEVER ESCAPE THE MENTAL BREAKDOWNS FROM THIS BOOK #AND DIASOMNIA STANS JUST AMPLIFIES IT UP 😭✨✨ #Youtube

[fairyysoup]

i can see you

♫︎ i can see you - taylor swift ♫︎

pairing(s): steve harrington x fem!reader

summary: The secret history of your long and arduous relationship with Steve Harrington.

aka: the 5 times you pined over each other, and the time you actually did something about it

words: 17.6k (we're NOT gonna talk about it lol)

cw: explicit, smut, piv sex, flirting, making out, heavy petting, slight exhibitionism, oral (f receiving), fingering, marking, biting, steve harrington has a big dick, themes of infidelity/cheating (sort of), skipping out on dates, bad dates, steve steal-your-girl harrington, almost-kisses, jealous!steve, jealous!reader, possessive behavior, smoking, alcohol consumption, allusions to marriage but it's never actually mentioned, canon compliant, reader and steve are the same age, 5+1 things, songfic, angst, fluff, humor, hurt/comfort, pining, mutual crush, slow burn one shot, mild twist ending, begins in season two (1984) and ends in the 90s, high school, scoops ahoy era, family video era, waiter!steve, steve harrington (the eras tour), vignette, one instance of billy hargrove slander, original characters created for plot, inspired by i can see you by taylor swift, other taylor song inspo throughout bc i'm insane like miss swift

a/n: hi and welcome to ✨rose's mental breakdown✨ yes this song will be my number one on spotify wrapped bc i listened to it on a loop for five days straight while writing this. idk. anyways this is So Much and i'm tired of looking at it so if there are any mistakes i apologize. anyways whoever can point out the most taylor song references aside from the obvious titular one gets a doubloon

ALL OF MY WORKS ARE 18+ MINORS DNI

You brush past me in the hallway, and you don’t think I can see you, do you? I’ve been watchin’ you for ages, and I spend my time trying not to feel it…

Hawkins High, September 1984

He’s so pretty sometimes that it’s disgusting.

That’s really the only thing you think when you watch Steve Harrington sneak up on his girlfriend, Nancy Wheeler, and swoop her off the ground in front of her locker. From across the hall, your locker hangs open, your body turned halfway toward them so that you can pretend that you’re not staring.

You stare a lot.

It’s not exactly the hair, you think- everyone shits a brick about his hair, for some reason that you don’t understand. Yeah, it’s nice… but you like everything else about him, too. You like how sweet he looks when he laughs. You like the way that he holds himself and the way that he looks when he puts his hands on his hips and stands around like he’s directing the traffic around him. You like how much of a prince charming he is, really. It would surprise you if he doesn’t win prom king at the end of the year. They already call him King Steve, it’s not too far of a stretch.

You close your locker just as Steve kisses Nancy, in front of god and everybody in the C Corridor hallway. Steve’s arms wrap around Nancy’s petite frame and he dips her, like they’re in some sort of George Peck and Audrey Hepburn movie. Not that the place is much of a cinematic setting, though. Down the hall, the science rooms are doing their dissection units, so the whole place smells like formaldehyde and disinfectant, and you sort of feel like curling up into one of those dissection pans and dying, yourself. 

That should be me, your brain screams. Me!!

It’s always been like this. You’ve had a crush on Steve since freshman year- the fact that he’s dating Nancy, who’s a year younger than him, doesn’t escape your jealous mind. You’ve been in classes with him for four years, you’ve admired him quietly, you’ve hoped and prayed that he somehow noticed you noticing him.

You don’t think he knows you exist. Four years- and now you’re both seniors, about to graduate, and he still doesn’t notice you. You should really stop caring, or stop trying, or stop… pining. Or something. 

You hike your bag up onto your shoulder and juggle your books in your arms. The bell rings, and quite suddenly the entire hallway erupts into pandemonium (predictable, sure, considering everyone loiters around instead of actually getting to class on time). Kids fly around you in all directions to get to their next classroom. Nancy Wheeler ducks away from Steve Harrington, avoiding yet another kiss.

God, you wish you could kiss him.

Someone slams into your shoulder from behind, muscling past you to get to science lab 5, rat central. Your binder slips out of the stack of books in your arms and clatters loudly to the ground, just as someone walks past and kicks it across the floor.

“Fuck,” you spit, chasing after it. The back of your neck feels hot. For the first time in four years, you hope to god that Steve Harrington doesn’t notice you. 

You duck around people’s legs, trying to grab at your binder, while not trying to drop any more of the books in your arms. Loose papers are starting to fall out of the binder as it skitters across the floor, and this is becoming more and more of a comedy of errors by the minute.

Your fingers just brush the corner of it before someone kicks it again. 

“Do you mind?” you snap as they walk away, not even looking in your direction. Crouched close to the floor, you don’t matter. Maybe you could count that as a blessing, considering you don’t want to be perceived right now.

You finally just throw away all dignity and crawl across the tile floor- disgusting and dirty and covered in sandy grit, as though it hasn’t been cleaned all year- to get to your binder. 

And you come face to face with a pair of white Nike’s. Ones that you know way too well, because you’ve stared at them every time they’ve passed you in the hallway. 

Nonononono- You clench your jaw and then look up, way up, to find Steve Harrington towering over you. 

He looks like he was about to just step around you, but then he notices you gazing up at him from all fours, and his hazel eyes lock on yours. You blink at each other for a second before he flushes, a pink blush breaking out on his cheeks and crawling up his neck, and he looks away quickly, but crouches down to grab your binder before your hand can land on it. 

“Sorry,” Steve says quietly, gathering up the couple papers that had started to slide out of the folders inside. You sit back on your heels, your blood rushing in your ears, mortified. His big hands gently poke the papers back into the folder as they should be before he hands it to you. “Looks like you’re gonna be late to class.”

You scoff. “Look who’s talking.”

Steve’s eyes find yours again, and he’s finally so close to you that you can admire the little bit of green in them. You’ve never been close enough to notice before.

He cracks a lopsided smile, one that he uses to charm people, you know- you’ve seen him use it on teachers and cute girls alike. “I’m always late to the party. But I get there, eventually.”

“I hope so.” He cocks his head at you. He doesn’t know the real meaning to your words- or, at least, you don’t think he does. 

I hope you don’t stay oblivious forever, Steve Harrington. I hope you get there, eventually.

You take your binder from him, but you pull your eyes away from his a bit later than you properly should. “Thanks, Steve.”

You get up and take off toward your next class, walking quickly so that you don’t come off like you’re lingering too long. But, halfway down the hall, you look over your shoulder at him.

Steve hasn’t moved, still crouched down close to the floor, with his head bent like he’s deep in thought. With his back to you, you can still see the pink flush on the back of his neck, peeking out above his collared shirt.

‘Cause I can see you, waiting down the hall from me, and I can see you up against the wall with me. What would you do? Baby, if you only knew that I can see you…

Hawkins High, April 1985

Prom season sucks. Always has, and always will. 

Maybe it was your fault for hoping that Logan Sawyer, popular prick extraordinaire, was serious about wanting to take you to prom. He seemed serious enough, stopping by your locker during passing period and leaning over you as he asked you, his mega-watt smile making you blush. You’d counted yourself lucky- you didn’t think anyone was going to ask you, and people aren’t allowed to go to prom stag.

It took Logan two weeks to find a prettier girl to go with, though. You don’t know why it hurts so much. Maybe it’s because you wanted to believe that you were someone’s first choice, but it never quite seems to turn out that way.

You wipe your tears in the mirror, scowling at your puffy, bloodshot eyes. The bathroom next to the girls’ locker room in the sports wing is completely deserted at this time- the boys’ gym class is in session now, and you’re cutting into your lunch time, but you really don’t want to have to go and cry at a lunch table, in front of a bunch of your bitchy peers, who will inevitably make fun of you for it.

Sniffling, but slightly more composed, you head out of the bathroom. The sports wing is ridiculously bigger than any other wing of the school (typical of American public schools, to prioritize sports over every other department). The wing boasts weight training rooms, dance rooms, three separate gymnasiums, and a door directly to the football field, with the locker rooms on the farthest end to allow for easy access to the field. Connecting all of these rooms is the longest corridor in the building, which seems to run for half a fucking mile.

You’ll have to walk that half mile, because in order to get to the cafeteria, you’re gonna have to traverse the entire building. You might not get to eat much today, but it was a sacrifice you were willing to make. Maybe Mrs. Marshall will be kind enough to let you snack on a granola bar in your next class period.

Halfway down the long hallway, you feel the angry sting of tears behind your eyes again, and your face screws up in frustration. You stop, turning halfway back toward the girls’ bathroom, wondering if you should just go back in and allow yourself to cry some more.

Suck it up, you think to yourself, smacking at your tear stained cheeks. He’s not the guy you really want to ask you to prom, anyways.

You press your fingertips into your eyes to relieve the sting of tears, taking a deep breath. Being in high school is driving you crazy. At this point in the year, the teachers have given up teaching, the students have given up learning, and you’re basically just biding your time in a glorified babysitting service until you can inevitably grab your diploma and get out of here. You can’t wait for that time to arrive. 

A door opens further down the hallway, in the direction of the cafeteria. You wipe your nose once and keep moving in the direction you were going, not wanting to draw attention to yourself, standing in the middle of the hallway having a breakdown.

Moving forwards, you keep your eyes on the ground. Once you hear the door that had been opened slam shut again, you figure that whoever it was has moved on down the hallway, and you lift your eyes again. 

They have not, in fact, moved on. And you suddenly have the urge to turn and fucking run back into the girls’ bathroom, because Steve Harrington is bent over at the drinking fountain, directly outside the boys’ weight room.

What the fuck, what the fuck. You suck on your teeth, trying not to falter in your stride. Maybe he hasn’t seen you, and you can just pass him up. It’s fine, he hasn’t seen you crying. 

Your mind backtracks to the beginning of the year, you fumbling your binder all the way across the hallway and ending up right in front of him, crawling toward him. Looking up at him and probably, most definitely, making him really uncomfortable.

You have English class together, where you sit at the desk closest to the door. He comes in late almost every day, so he passes by you every time. Some days he looks at your desk. On good days, he meets your eye. But he hasn’t spoken to you since that day in September, and you really shouldn’t hold out hope that he will. 

You definitely don’t want him to notice you when you’ve been crying, your face is a mess, your hair is limp and you look bedraggled. You just want to fade into the background of your next class with whatever snack you can get from the cafeteria snuck into your bag, so you can stress eat it without any guff from a teacher (like you aren’t 18 and capable of deciding when you are and aren’t allowed to eat).

You keep your eyes down. If you don’t look at him, he doesn’t exist.

Except, Steve Harrington always exists, in the back of your mind, and in your periphery. He is impossible not to notice, as per usual. He really just draws the eye like a magnet. Try as you might, your eyes keep flicking up to take stock of him. 

He’s wearing a uniform gray P.E. shirt and gym shorts that don’t leave a lot to the imagination, and you fixate on his thighs more than you should. He has sweat dripping down his neck, wetting his hair on the sides of his face and the seam of his shirt. It shouldn’t be attractive. He shouldn’t be attractive. With his face a mess. And his hair limp, and looking bedraggled. Truly, you make a priceless pair, being the only two people in the hallway.

We’re perfect for each other, a voice says in your head. And you manage, for the first time in an hour, to crack a smile down at your shoes.

He finishes getting his drink at the fountain, and you figure that he’ll just go back into the weight room and not see you. But, of course, luck is not on your side.

Steve Harrington looks at you. And you look away, quickly, acting like you hadn’t been staring at him. And in your periphery, again, you see him stretch his arms over his head, and then turn and lean against the cinderblock wall beside the door to the weight room, with his hands on his knees as though he’s catching his breath.

You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.

He does it so casually, and with the way he’s sweating and his face is flushed, you’re sure that he probably does just want to take a break before going in and lifting more weights. But something in the back of your mind says that the maneuver was too purposeful, immediately after he laid eyes on you. 

It could just be wishful thinking on your part. You heard through the grapevine that Steve and Nancy Wheeler broke up in a nasty way just before winter break, and it doesn’t seem like he’s been interested in anyone since. He hasn’t dated anyone, hasn’t flirted with any girls or showed up at any parties. Nancy must have really broken his heart.

You know too well what that feels like, right now.

Nearing where he leans against the wall, you keep your head down and you plan on just passing by without any acknowledgement from him, same as it ever was. If he’s still carrying a torch for Nancy, you’re sure that he doesn’t want anything to do with you. You’ve nearly convinced yourself of it.

But then you hear your name called quietly, and it nearly makes you jump. You look over at him, thinking you’re just hearing things, but you look directly into a pair of hazel eyes again, and you feel yourself rocketing back in time to September.

You didn’t even think he knew your name.

You slow to a stop. It would be rude not to stop, right? “Uh… hi, Steve. You good?”

Steve Harrington looks you up and down, while he leans against the wall and breathes a bit heavily, like he’s out of breath. He peers at you through long eyelashes, looking impossibly inviting despite everything; the setting, your appearances, the way that you feel like dissolving into a puddle right in front of him. “Yeah, great. You?”

He’s scrutinizing your face now. You shrug, since he’s already seen you, and there’s no way to pretend you weren’t crying thirty seconds ago. “I’m fine. Just being dramatic, don’t worry about me.” 

“When people say not to worry about them, it usually means that you should,” Steve muses. He looks coy, like he’s speaking from experience. 

You sigh, stepping forward to get your own drink from the drinking fountain. “Logan Sawyer called off our date for prom.”

“Oh.” Steve pauses for a few seconds, watching as you bend down and take your drink, more silent than he usually is. “I mean… that really sucks. I’m sorry. But… Logan Sawyer?”  

“Yeah.” You wipe your mouth, and then wet the ends of your fingers and use the cool water to rub at your stinging eyes again. When you’re done, you lean up against the wall beside him, letting your back settle into the cinderblock.

“The guy’s a fucking douche.”

“Tell me about it.”

“No, I mean it, I think it’s a good thing you’re not going to prom with him. He’s really shitty to girls.” You look up at Steve, who’s watching you with his arms crossed, with the most serious expression you’ve ever seen him wear. “I mean, the only guy worse than Logan is probably… I dunno…”

“Billy Hargrove?” 

Steve laughs. Actually laughs. You’ve wanted to make him laugh like that for four years. His cheeks turn crimson and he grins down at his shoes, snickering like there’s way more to the joke he’s laughing at than you even know about. “Yeah. Yeah, he’s gotta be the worst.”

You chuckle, albeit with a sadder tone than he has. “Well, I’m not going to prom with either of them. So, I can count my blessings. I guess.”

Steve frowns, and he looks like he’s going to say something else, but you’re already turning away, not wanting to continue the depressing conversation about your lack of dates. Especially not from the one guy who you desperately want to go on a date with.

You get a few steps away before he takes a step after you, saying, “Wait. You, uh-”

You stop, and look back at him. He looks dumbfounded, his arm outstretched like he was going to try to grab you if you didn’t listen to him. When you frown, he steps back against the wall, bringing his hand up to run through his hair. 

Oh . That’s a nervous tick. You know it, because you’ve watched him do it more than once in English, in front of the class during a presentation.

Steve looks down at his shoes, his brow scrunched in thought. He looks like he’s really trying to find the right words to say. In your head, a hopeful part of you imagines what those words could be. ‘Will you go to prom with me?’

Finally, he looks up at you resolutely. “You’ll find someone to take you to prom. I’m sure of it.” He nods a little, like he’s reassuring himself that he said the right thing. 

You can’t help the smile that springs onto your face. It’s incredulous, of course, but he can’t know that. Keep trying, baby. You’ll get there, eventually.

“Thanks, Steve.” It’s the second time you thank him in the course of the year.

But what would you do if I went to touch you now? What would you do if they never found us out? What would you do if we never made a sound?

Prom Night, May 1985

The dress you’re wearing is sleek and a lot simpler than some of the more popular styles on the dance floor, but you like it more than you care to admit. You’d just grabbed it off the rack at Macy’s, and beyond that you didn’t want to go all-out for prom. It turns out that your lab partner, Gavin Connelly, needed a date, too. So, you’re here with him, because you knew that if you missed prom, you would probably regret it.

Except, well.

Gavin, stoned out of his fucking mind, is sitting at one of the tables, nursing a cup of punch, looking like he’s two seconds from falling asleep. You’ve taken to making the rounds and saying hi to anyone you can call a ‘friend,’ because you’re tired of just loitering next to him. Something tells you he didn’t want to even be here.

The speakers are playing ‘Total Eclipse of the Heart,’ and couples are swaying on the dance floor in a Bonnie Tyler-induced haze. At a loss for people to bother, you wander back over to your date to find his head plastered to the white table cloth. 

You glance to the guy sitting next to him, a kid with glasses who you don’t recognize but who seems to know your date, because he’s just patting Gavin’s back. “Is he okay?”

“Oh, no, he’s dying.” The kid shoots you a sarcastic smile. 

You nod, pressing your tongue hard to the roof of your mouth. “Well, if he wakes up, tell him I’m getting some air.”

Fuck this. Fuck prom. Fuck high school boys.

Your heels, which are killing your feet already, click loudly on the tile hallway floor as you exit the gym. The table where you can check your bag and coat are located at the other end of the hall, where everyone is supposed to enter through the door to the football field.

You can hear voices from the far end of the hall, and Bonnie Tyler’s voice fading out the further you get from the gym. You might never be able to hear that song again without thinking of your ruined slow dance opportunity.

As you pass by, someone coughs off to the left and you turn your head to see Steve Harrington, black tie and all, loitering in the shadows. You stop a few feet from him and squint into the dark.

You can’t believe it. He always seems to show up at the worst times. “What are you doing, skulking around?” 

“I’m not sulking.”

You snort, stepping into the shadows with him. “No, skulk- like, sneaking around?” 

“Well, I didn’t mean to sneak-” he looks over his shoulder at the gym entrance. “I’m just getting some air.”

“Funny,” you murmur. “I was just about to do the same thing.”

He eyes you, a lot like he did a few weeks ago in this same hallway, further up toward the other end of it. He takes in your hair, styled painstakingly to ‘perfection,’ or as close as you could approximate it, and your off-the-rack department store dress. You suddenly feel like you aren’t as pretty as you thought you were at the beginning of the night. 

But then he meets your eye, and all those insecurities fade into the back of your mind. He’s smiling at you, and that can only be a good thing.

“So, uh…” Steve leans back against the wall, his hands in his pockets, “You found someone to take you?”

You press your lips into a tight line. You don’t really want to think about your date right now, but- “Gavin Connelly.”

“Who?”

You laugh, kicking the heel of your shoe against the ground with a soft clack. “Yeah. God, I wish I didn’t know him right now.”

“Why, what’d he do?” Steve sounds perturbed. You look up to find him scowling already.

“Oh, he just ate a pot brownie before he picked me up and passed out at one of the tables.” You finish with a tired giggle, shrugging at Steve as he peers at you with an annoyed expression. “Who did you bring?”

“Kelly Palmer.” 

You know Kelly. She doesn’t say much, but she’s gotten a scholarship to a big art school. “Do you like her?”

“Yeah, she’s nice,” he says mildly. Unconvincingly.

You can understand the subtext. She’s not Nancy. When you look at his face, he seems tortured in the low light coming from down the hall.

“Guess I’m oh-for-two,” Steve adds after a pause. “Last year’s prom, Nance and I didn’t have such a good time, either.”

You nod. It seems like there’s more he wants to say, but he doesn’t. “I’m sorry,” you offer. You don’t know the ins-and-outs of Steve and Nancy’s relationship, aside from watching them suck face in the hallway five paces from you for a year and a half. “Prom sucks. High school sucks. These can’t be the best years of our lives, trust me.”

“Yeah, I hope not.” 

“I just can’t wait to get out of here, you know,” you grumble, allowing your sour mood to come out a little more than normal. It seems like Steve is just really good at getting you to let your guard down. “I’m planning to go to Chicago for college. This is all just… you know, it’s just the starting point. What about you, any big plans?”

“Dunno. I didn’t get accepted to any schools, so I’ll just be getting a job here in town until something better comes along.” Steve shifts, his heel hitting the wall behind him. He looks disappointed when he says, “I think I made too many mistakes.” 

You frown, chewing on your lip. “What do you mean?”

He gives you a heavy look, like he’s gearing up to say something important, something game changing- and then his gaze softens. 

“You’ve got an eyelash.” He gestures to his own eye, like it’ll make you understand exactly where the loose one is on your face.

“Oh.” You falter, lifting your manicured hands and wiping at your undereyes. “Did I get it?”

“No, uh- here, I can-” Steve tentatively reaches forward, and you step toward him to let him touch your face. 

Steve Harrington is touching your face.  

His fingertip brushes your cheekbone, so featherlight you would barely feel it if you weren’t hyper aware of everything that he said or did. His touch glides across your cheek and toward your temple, and then he seems to keep it there, his hand hovering just over your skin.

Reflexively, your hand comes up to rest on his shoulder. You’re inches from Steve’s face, your eyes falling to his lips.

You could kiss him. You could live your fantasy, right now.

Steve’s gaze lingers on your face for a moment, and then he says, “You’re so beautiful.”

Your heart lurches in your chest. He doesn’t say that you look beautiful. He doesn’t say it conditionally, like it’s just for tonight. You are beautiful. Even when you’re crawling on all fours after your binder. Even when you’re crying, and your hair is limp, and you look bedraggled.

“Steve…” you whisper, inching closer to him. 

“STEVE??!”

You jump away from him like he’s burned you, and peek around the hall corner to see Kelly Palmer standing outside the gym looking up and down the hall, searching for him. She looks lost, and sad, like he must have ditched.

She looks an awful lot like you just did, coming out of that gym.

You feel Steve’s hand where it had fallen to your wrist, dragging your attention gently back to him. You take his hand and squeeze it once, giving him a tight smile. 

“You brought her here for a good time,” you say with your bravest smile. “Just don’t pass out at one of the tables on her, okay?”

Don’t be a douche. Don’t be like Logan Sawyer. 

Steve swallows, and gives you a short nod. You think he finally got there.

You give a soft pat to the lapel of his suit jacket. “Go get ‘em, tiger.” 

He touches your arm one final time before he slips around the corner, just as Kelly turns to go back into the gym. You watch him walk away, and you think to yourself, That’s the last time I chase after Steve Harrington.

Wherever there is, it’s not with you.

Steve loops his arms around Kelly’s waist and lifts her, earning a thrilled squeal as the silver taffeta of her dress glints blue in the light from the gym. You wait until they’ve disappeared back into it before you turn and high-tail it toward the coat check table.

And we kept everything professional, but something’s changed, it’s something I like. They keep watchful eyes on us, so it’s best if we move fast and keep quiet…

Starcourt Mall, June 1985

“Come on, it’s ridiculously hot outside,” your best friend, Shelly, groans as she pulls you along by the wrist. “I can’t believe they only have one ice cream place here.”

“I’m sure they have slushies at the-”

“Ice. Cream.” You know better than to argue with her.

Scoops Ahoy has a novelty nautical theme that makes you want to both laugh and break down in tears when you see it. The PA is playing a cutesy rendition of Drunken Sailor on accordion, and you think that if you keep looking at the striped wallpaper behind the counter, you might get literally seasick. In the mall. In landlocked Indiana. 

Or… is it landlocked if it fronts Lake Michigan? It doesn’t matter. You’ll be in Chicago in two days, anyways.

You let Shelly drag you along until you look towards the front counter, and you see something that nearly makes you trip and face plant into Shelly’s fresh perm.

Even Shelly pauses. “Is that who I think it is?”

It’s something about the stupid little sailor’s cap and shorts, and that he’s so, so pretty in it, you think. It’s also something about how you have the perfect vantage point to watch him try and fail to flirt with the girl that approaches the counter to order. You’re enamored with him. There’s no other way to describe it. 

You have half a mind to run away, after what you promised yourself on prom night over a month ago. You’d done good, you didn’t search for him in the halls, you ignored him in your last couple of class periods with him. You’d even been in the bathroom when his name was called at graduation. 

But, here he is. Steve Harrington, absolutely obliterating his chances of getting a date with the girl ordering a sundae ahead of you. 

Honestly, you don’t know what you’re waiting for. Maybe an invitation? A sign from god that today’s the day that you’ll make a move? Or maybe this is just a test of will.

You stop resisting Shelly’s attempts to drag you along, and straighten your spine. You can do this. Four years’ worth of pining won’t make a difference in whether or not you order a strawberry ice cream cone.

He’s even prettier up close, his rosy cheeks framed by sunkissed, wavy hair. When he sees you he stalls, going a bit wide-eyed and then seeming to realize he’s supposed to do his job. He leans heavily against the counter. “Ahoy, ladies! Would you like to set sail on this ocean of flavor with me? I’ll be your captain, Steve Harrington.”

“Uh-huh.” You stare at each other for a long moment. “How much do they pay you to recite that script?”

“Absolutely nothing, I do this for pure enjoyment.” You’re almost sure that he doesn’t. He pauses, a hand poised on his hip. “Too much?”

“I’d dial it back just a smidge. Maybe keep the ahoy and the captain thing and toss the rest.” 

“Noted.” He nods slowly, his eyes fixed on you. “I thought you were going to Chicago?”

“I leave the day after tomorrow,” you shrug. “Still time for me to burn the place down, you know.”

“Well, I’m glad you stopped by,” Steve chuckles. “I could show you where the gas line is, then we’d all be in trouble.”

“Oookay.” Shelly gives you a curious side-eye, and then turns back to Steve. “Well, I’ll have a U.S.S. Butterscotch with a chocolate dipped waffle bowl, if you don’t mind.”

Steve tears his eyes away from you long enough to grin at Shelly. “Coming right up. And for you?”

You freeze, glancing up at the menu. It’s written in an infuriatingly cutesy code-language that you have to decipher. “Um. I’m still deciding.”

“All right, then. Just let me know, when you’re ready.” 

Steve slips away to make Shelly her sundae, a heaping pile of ice cream and butterscotch syrup that looks like the fast track to a heart attack. You alternate between trying to comprehend the menu and being distracted by Steve in that stupid sailor’s uniform.

The script on the menu may as well be written in a foreign language. Blackbeard’s Delight. Treasure Island Turtle. U.S.S. Sherbet. The sizes are even harder to understand. Fathom. League. Nautical Mile. You don’t have the capacity to decipher it- your eyes are seeing the words, but your mind is traveling back to prom night, and feeling Steve’s finger on your cheek as you gear up to kiss him.

“Are you ready?”

“Mhm…” It takes you a second to zone back into the present moment, where Steve is standing in front of you, on the other side of the counter, waiting to take your order. He waits, with a patient smile on his face, while you blink dumbly at him.

What did you say? What did he say?

“I… um.” You’re sure you look completely out of it. Your eyes flick nervously up at the menu, that you still can’t fucking read. Shelly’s already gone to sit down with her sundae, the traitor.

“It’s kind of hard to understand, isn’t it?” Steve says quietly after a moment, dropping the phony customer service charade. “I hate it. I think we should just be able to say what our favorite ice cream flavor is and be done with it.”

“Yeah,” you murmur, still squinting up at the menu. Blackbeard’s Delight: blackberry swirl with blueberry syrup and a gold doubloon. “The fuck is a doubloon?”

Steve snorts, and reaches under the counter before bringing back a handful of gold foil-covered chocolate coins, which he dumps into your outstretched hand. “You want more? We get them wholesale.”

“I’m good,” you giggle, juggling the chocolate coins before they go cascading to the floor. “I think… I don’t… I don’t understand a thing on that menu.”

“What’s your favorite flavor of ice cream?” He leans forward to ask you, like it's a secret. Just between the two of you. His head bent a little to peer at you closely, so close that you can count the freckles on his skin.

You glance over your shoulder. Shelly is seated by the far wall, under a painting of a kraken, giving you an indignant look. When she notices you looking, she mouths an emphatic, ‘LET’S GO!’

“Don’t tell anyone,” you whisper, and Steve affects his gravest expression as he nods. “Strawberry.” 

“A classic,” he grins. “Fan of sprinkles?” 

“I can dig a few sprinkles.”

“Perfect. I think we have something up your alley.” He grabs a scooper out of the bin and twirls it once, just to show off. “Sex on the Beach.” 

“What?” You don’t remember seeing anything about that on the menu.

He glances up to smirk at you before shrugging. “It’s strawberry ice cream with peach syrup. You’ll see.”

You keep an eye on his hands behind the glass partition, watching them put two scoops of strawberry into a medium sized carton. Completely unable to rein in your thoughts before they get away from you, you’re thinking about how good they would feel under your shirt. You follow a treasure map of freckles trailing up his arms, disappearing under the blue sailor’s shirt he wears. You want to kiss every single one of them.

You finally reply, “I guess I have to put my faith in your professional ice cream slinging abilities.” 

“Oh, haven’t you heard?” Steve mutters sardonically as he squirts peach syrup across the two scoops of ice cream, giving it a golden sheen. “I’m the king of cream.”

You purse your lips as it takes Steve a second to realize what he just said. When he does, he snaps his head up to meet your eye in horror. 

He opens his mouth to take it back, but you shake your head, holding back laughter. “Don’t ruin it.”

“I think it’s pretty much ruined already.” He turns crimson, blushing down at the half-made sundae as he rapidly shakes yellow sprinkles onto it. “I was doing so good, too.”

“Who says you aren’t still?” You give him a cute smile when he looks up through his lashes at you, still arranging toppings on the sundae. You’re not sure what happened between prom and now to change him so much, but it’s almost as if he’s… goofy. He’s less concerned with appearances, he’s more laid back and willing to make fun of himself. 

You like it a lot. 

You watch him plop two maraschinos onto one ice cream mound, and wedge a candied orange slice into the other, inverted, to look like a setting sun. As he passes it over the counter to you, he says, “Here you go, one Sex on the Beach. On the house.”

“What? No, I couldn’t-”

“I mean it. For overlooking my stupidity,” Steve insists. He gives you a meaningful look when he adds, “A million times over.”

“I’m not overlooking anything when it comes to you, Steve,” you tell him fondly, and drop one of the doubloons into the tip jar. It’s gaudy, gleaming artificially gold in the middle of the crumpled up dollar bills. “Hang onto that. You might be able to cash it in for a kiss someday.”

Steve blinks rapidly, leaning across the counter as you walk away. “After you come back from Chicago, right?”

You look over your shoulder, and you wink at him.

When you finally stop in front of Shelly, and you use your plastic spoon to dig into the adorable sundae that Steve crafted for you, you remember that you’d gone up to the counter with every intention of ignoring Steve and acting like you didn’t even know him.

You winked at Steve Harrington. You said you’d kiss him. You think back to the girl who was so afraid of Steve even noticing her, almost a year ago, and wonder where she went.

You look down at Shelly. She’d graduated a year before you, so she wasn’t there to witness every blunderous interaction you’d had with Steve in school. You never told her how in love you were with him.

Now, she looks up at you coyly. “So. Steve Harrington, huh?”

“Shut up,” you grunt, looking up and out at the food court outside of the Scoops Ahoy storefront. “As if you know everything.”

“Are you gonna try to make something out of that…” she gestures vaguely with her spoon toward the counter, “before school starts?” 

“I don’t think it’s a good idea,” you say honestly, still poking at your sundae. “Anyways, I leave too soon for anything to really happen. What- I screw him tomorrow and then fuck off forever? It’s just wishful thinking, probably.” You finally take a bite of the ice cream, just to punctuate your sentence.

“Hm. Probably. How is that?” Shelly nods at the ice cream in your hand. “Looks pretty.”

“It’s the best thing I’ve ever tasted.” You’re being honest. Something about the peach syrup with the strawberry base literally evokes the flavor of a sunset. “They should give him a raise.”

Humming, Shelly stands and takes her half-eaten sundae. She nudges you in the direction of the door. “C’mon. We’ve gotta eat these before the next showing of The Breakfast Club.”

Steve watches you and your friend leave, with the wistful gaze of someone who just watched their greatest opportunity walk away from them. He never knew that it was possible to hate an entire geographic location, but he really wishes Chicago would get blown off the map in the next 24 hours. 

The wooden partition doors slam open, and Robin’s head appears in the window to the kitchen. “The cream king? Do you want me to actually hurl?”

“I said, ‘the king of cream,’” he groans, digging his knuckles into his eye sockets. “Kill me, Robin. Load me into the freezer. Bury me at the fairground.”

“You think you’re valuable enough to displace that much ice cream?” Robin rolls her eyes, and with another loud thwack, her white board appears in the space behind her. “We don’t make anything called Sex on the Beach. This is a family establishment.”

“I made it up.” 

Robin coos, “Aww. Be still my heart. You love her to the point of invention.” 

Steve whirls around. “Love? Who said anything about love?” 

“I did.” Robin uncaps her dry-erase marker and draws a tally mark under the side that reads, you rule.

“Uh, Robin,” Steve snaps, pointing at the board condescendingly. “I think you put that on the wrong side. I fucked it up.”

“Dingus. Please. As much as it makes me gag- and you know I gain immense pleasure from counting how often you screw up- I could practically hear her heart eyes.” She sets the white board down, begrudgingly. “I think you found the only girl alive who’ll find all this-” she waves her hand at him, “endearing. Who was she? Some ex of yours?” 

“If only,” Steve sighs, shaking his head. When he turns back to the counter, his eyes land on the single chocolate coin glinting in the tip jar.

He scoops it up with two fingers and pockets it.

You won’t believe half the things I see inside my head. Wait ‘til you see half the things that haven’t happened yet…

Family Video, March 1986

The air conditioning nearly blasts you backwards into the parking lot. You don’t know why they need it blasting so hard at 7pm, in the middle of March. It’s not like it’s the height of summer- your spring break takes place earlier than the local school’s, but it just means that you get to beat the crowds when you come home to visit your family.

Of course, they love to send you to run errands. You end up picking up the groceries, and the housewares, and, on this occasion, the choices for family movie night. 

This Family Video’s selection isn’t necessarily as extensive as the ones in Chicago, but it’s good enough. You enter the store, and it dumps you directly in front of a cardboard cutout of Phoebe Cates about to flash you. Family friendly entertainment, and all.

The TV in the corner is running the final scene of The Good, the Bad, and the Ugly- Ennio Morricone’s score plays dramatically into the empty store. There’s no one behind the counter currently, so you pull the list of videos your extended family members had all requested. The Breakfast Club. Camelot. The Birds. Pretty general selections for your family, but it seems like you’ll have to hunt them up on your own. 

You’re wandering down the romance aisle, since The Breakfast Club was nowhere on the new releases or comedy shelves, when someone finally emerges from the back room. You see a flash of a head moving toward the front counter from over the top of a rack, and you take it as your chance to ask for help.

“Excuse me? Do you guys have any copies of The Breakfast Club, or-”

You stop short, choking on your words. Steve Harrington turns around to look at you, carrying a stack of VHS tapes perched under his chin, and holding a folded up piece of paper between his teeth.

You stare each other down for a second, before Steve gracefully spits the paper over his shoulder and onto the counter. “Hey, um… long time, no see?”

“I’d say.” You tilt your head. Funny how quickly your eyes will hone in on his lips, like searching for a target every time. “We always seem to run into each other like this. What happened to the ice cream gig?”

“Starcourt burned down,” Steve says, plopping the stack of VHS tapes down on the counter beside the paper he spit out. “Right around the Fourth of July, last summer.”

“So, right after I last saw you?”

Steve smirks to himself before he turns back to you. “Yeah. Like, a week or so after. Did you manage to burn the place down, after all?” 

“I wish.” 

You pause, taking the time to size him up. It’s amazing what the better part of a year will do to someone, inside and out. With a striped shirt and green vest, he looks much more relaxed and casual than he had at Scoops Ahoy. His hair’s a little longer, his eyes a little darker as they rake over you, in return. 

You’re a little bit desperate to see what’s going on in his head, if it’s anything like what’s happening in yours.

You wish you could say that you tried to seek him out when you got back to town- a year ago, maybe you would have. But you’d pretty much given up on the idea of him, moving up to dating college boys who don’t string you along, who don’t wait until the last minute to finally try their hand at flirting with you. If he ever passed through your mind, it was with the attached hope that he’d found greener pastures than Hawkins, Indiana. Foolishly, you hoped that as long as you told yourself that he’d moved on, it would be true. And then maybe what could have been wouldn’t matter anymore.

You’d stepped back into Hawkins after half a year of college, the graveyard of all hope in your happily ever after, and you hadn’t even thought of Steve Harrington. Except, seeing him now, everything comes flooding back. All the days spent pining over him. All the close brushes you’d had with finally getting the ending you wanted. 

You have to be honest. “You look good, Steve. You always do.”

Steve chuckles, tilting his chin down as he shoves his hands into the pockets of his light wash jeans. “Better without the sailor costume, right?”

“Aww, I liked the sailor costume.” You step closer so you can whisper, “I thought it was sexy.”

Steve peers down his nose at you, drawing himself up to tower above you at his full height. He tries to look unaffected, but you can see his ears glowing pink beneath wisps of golden highlights. “Watch it. You’re gonna give me an ego.”

“We don’t want that, do we?” You unfold the list of movies you’re here to collect, holding it up to him between two fingers. “Got any of these movies?” 

Steve reads the short list, and nods to himself. “I know we have Camelot, but I’m not sure about The Breakfast Club. Let me check in the back?” 

“I’ll be here.”

“All right- don’t get up to any trouble, though. I’ve got my eye on you.” He points at you coolly, feigning an authoritative expression. He tries to hide his smile, but the creases around his eyes give him away. 

“I hope you do.” You try to appear casual as you breeze past him, but you have to fiddle with your jacket collar to hide their shaking. Still, you feel the sweep of his gaze on you like rays of sun on your skin. It frightens you how easily you can fall back into the old back-and-forth routine you established in high school- how he gets you to say things you never meant to voice, but that live in your head effortlessly. 

Steve watches you disappear down the drama aisle before he takes in a huge breath of air and bolts toward the back room. Any and all coolness he was performing disappears like so much smoke. Slamming open the door, he nearly shouts, “Do you have a doubloon?!” 

Robin startles, swinging around in her seat, looking away from her computer screen. “A what? Why are you yelling?”

“A doubloon, a f-fucking-” Steve looks quickly over his shoulder, out the door, and starts hunching over as he whispers, “a chocolate coin. Like one of those ones we had at Scoops, remember?”

“Why do you want a chocolate coin?” Robin squints at him. “Stop crouching like that, you look like Nosferatu.”

Steve hisses through his teeth, and he’s got a frantic edge to his expression that Robin doesn’t like. “Okay- remember that girl, the one who showed up at Scoops that time, and you gave me my one and only ‘You Rule’ tally?” 

“No.”

“Great. Well, she’s here, and she told me if I gave her one of those chocolate coins she’d kiss me.” Steve shoves his hands through his hair, mussing up the already disheveled style. “Please, Rob, I can’t let her get away again. I’ve done it, like, a thousand times already.” 

“Okay, Romeo,” Robin humors him, turning around in her seat. “So you’re saying this babe, who I very much don’t remember because you always struck out while we worked at Scoops, told you that if you bribed her with chocolate she’d kiss you?”

“Yes.”

“And you don’t think she was maybe joking?” 

Steve opens and closes his mouth like a fish out of water. Truthfully, he hadn’t. He’d overlooked the idea that, after everything that had happened between you, you might just be joking about kissing him. 

“You know you could use your actual charm to get a girl to kiss you?” Robin dips her chin, shaking her head like it’s obvious.

Steve frowns. As if he hasn’t already tried that. “Do you have any chocolate coins or not?”

Robin sighs exasperatedly. “I don’t think I’ve seen one of those things since we worked at Scoops. Sorry, bud. You’re out of luck.” 

“FUCK!” Steve’s hand smacks the door as he heads out of the back room, making Robin scowl after him. She shakes her head as she turns back to her work.

Back out on the sales floor, the credits to The Good, the Bad, and the Ugly have finished, and white noise fills the empty space. Steve turns in a circle by the checkout counter, searching for you among the aisles.

Where did you disappear to, this time? A part of him dreads the answer. He was the one who fucked everything up- he shouldn’t have chickened out when he had the chance. He should have asked you to that fucking prom, but he was too scared to commit after what happened with Nancy. 

If this is his last chance, he needs to make it count. 

He coughs into the dead air, and says, “Looks like we’re all out of The Breakfast Club.” There’s a disconcerting amount of silence that leaves him cold, almost certain that you’ve left already, for the last time.

Then, you appear from behind the red curtain to the adult videos section.

Oh.  

“Everything okay?” you ask sweetly as you approach, holding a couple tapes that you must have picked up while you shopped around. “I heard some yelling back there.” 

“Oh, yeah. Just, uh… shelving issues.” Steve backs his way behind the counter. He repeats, “Sorry, I couldn’t find the movie for you.”

“I heard. I’m not worried about it.” You plop the tapes that you did find on the counter. “It was nice of you to look for me. Thanks, Steve.”

“Always.” Steve starts scanning your tapes; it looks like you managed to find the other films on your list, along with one for yourself. From the adult section. 

You watch in amusement as you can see the cogs visibly turning in Steve’s head, while he stares at the front of the porn video you picked. Spring Break Sex Party II. Not that you’d ever seen the first one, but the cover of this one was suggestive enough- a bunch of drunk people naked on a beach, lying in a great big pile. Looks like fun, in your opinion.

You always love seeing Steve blush. The prettiest shade of pink colors his cheeks before he glances up at you. “Should I ask…?”

“It’s the closest thing to getting a Sex on the Beach, here.” 

Steve chokes, and he scrambles for a response to that. “I- I was gonna ask for an I.D.”

“You know we’re the same age,” you deadpan.

“Y-yeah. I, uh- I know… I know that.” He hangs his head and pinches the bridge of his nose, his eyes tightly shut.

You wonder if this is what you looked like to him, that time in the hallway when he loitered by the fountain to talk to you. “Breathe, Steve.”

A blast of laughter leaves his mouth before he can swallow it. If only you knew how hard it actually is, to act like he’s not just fucking melting right in front of you. When he hangs on every word you say, and every other thought he has is about how badly he wants to tell Robin to get lost and take you in the back room. You don’t know how much he’s fixating on your curves and how they’d feel against him, how much he wants to taste every inch of your body. He’s practically vibrating in place with all his pent up frustration, and you’re here buying porn, like it’s the easiest thing in the world.

Steve clears his throat, shakes his head. Christ. “Okay, well. You know that this is a sale item, it’s not for rent. You can return it within 10 days as long as the packaging hasn’t been opened.”

“I know.”

“Okay.” He’s still nodding as he puts it into the bag with the rest of your rentals. 

“Are you always this affected by people buying from the adult section?” you ask mildly. 

“Nah, usually I don’t care,” he replies without thinking. 

“Good to know that you care about my taste in pornography,” you tell him with the most shit eating grin on your face, taking the bag from him. “I’m flattered.”

He makes a clumsy noise in the back of his throat, somewhere between a laugh and a grunt. He’s right back to working at Scoops Ahoy, fumbling every attempt at flirting, losing his cool at the sight of a pretty girl. It’s… humbling.

He’s sure Robin would say that he can always use more humility.

“It was good to see you again, Steve.” And just like that, you’re sand slipping through the cracks in his fingers. 

Desperately, he tries to block the flow, closing his fingers around you in an attempt to keep you in his grasp. “Do you- uh-” He lurches forward, white-knuckling the counter like his life depends on it. You turn back towards him, an eyebrow raised at his sudden outburst. 

You’re back in the school hallway, senior year. Crying over Logan Sawyer. Harrington is up against the wall by the drinking fountain. You want him to just say the words and ask you to prom.

“I mean… if you have the time, while you’re in town… do you want to go for a cup of coffee? With me?”

“Oh, Steve.” You sigh, and it’s the most heartbreaking noise he’s ever heard in his life. Soft sand, falling through his fingers, disappearing back the way you came. He already dreads your answer before it comes. “I wish… you know, if I had come in here and met you about a week ago, I would have said yes in a heartbeat. But I have to catch the train back to Chicago tomorrow. My break’s almost up.” You offer him a reassuring smile. “I’m just glad that you didn’t completely miss me, at least.”

“Right, of course.” Steve smiles back at you, feeling more like an idiot the longer this drags on. He’s like Sisyphus rolling that rock up the fucking hill. “I… I’m glad I got to see you, too. Maybe next time.” 

Oh, it hurts. It hurts way more than you thought it would, to have to turn Steve down- after all the years pining for him through high school, after the time you turned him away when he would have kissed you. You think about kissing him, now. He would let you do it- he’s asking you out, and he looks so sad that you’re saying no.

You could. But wouldn’t it make saying goodbye this time even harder than it already is?

“Yeah. Maybe next time,” you tell him. You don’t want this to hurt more than it does. You truly hope there’s a next time, another year down the line when you run into him over winter break. Maybe you’ll find him at the Radio Shack. 

Steve watches you leave, once again. Fumbling his chance, again. When the door swings shut behind you, Steve bends at the waist and drops his head against the countertop. 

Typical Harrington. Late to the party, miss the girl.

“Well. That was… really painful to listen to.” Robin emerges from behind one of the shelves, crossing her arms. Gently, she adds, “On the bright side, I don’t think the chocolate coin would have mattered.”

Steve picks his head up, and he thwacks his forehead back down onto the counter.

And again.

And again.

And I can see you being my addiction, you can see me as a secret mission. Hide away, and I will start behaving myself…

Sur La Table Restaurant, Chicago, April 1991

You shake your umbrella out as you step into the warm foyer of, quite possibly, the most upscale restaurant you’ve ever set foot in. The carpet is deep, blood red, the walls a dark chestnut wood. The white covered tables are each spotlit within the otherwise dark dining room, and the atmosphere is flavored by soft piano and the quiet din of hushed voices. 

You had been hesitant to accept Theo’s invitation to dinner- he seemed too stuck up for your taste, but when Shelly introduced you to him, you had to admit that the name of the restaurant piqued your interest. Sur La Table. Chicago’s premiere Michelin Star restaurant. 

As you hand your umbrella over to the coat check clerk, you’re greeted by a smiling hostess. “What’s the name for the reservation?”

“Um… Theo Bowman. I believe he’s already here?”

“Yes, ma’am. Right this way.” 

Theo stands as you’re shown to the table. Tall, with dark hair and a wide smile, he reminds you of someone you knew once, but you just can’t seem to place it. Then, when he towers over you to shake your hand, standing far closer than necessary, you’re able to pick it out from the recesses of your mind.

Logan Sawyer.  

“You look nice,” Theo says pleasantly, and you chalk up your initial comparison to nerves, on your part. You don’t often let friends set you up on dates, so you’re a little bit out of your element as it is.

As you go to sit down, you admit, “I was so glad when you picked this place, I’ve always wanted to eat here, since I moved to Chicago.” 

“It’s not the nicest place I’ve been,” Theo shrugs, taking the seat across from you.

Your smile falters, for a second. “Oh, no?” The water has already been brought to the table, you guess while he was waiting for you. You take a long drink.

“Nah, I’ve been to Le Bernardin, in New York. That’s fine dining.” Theo waves his hand at the upscale dining room. “This is… okay.”

“I see.” You lift your menu, hoping that he’ll do the same.

“Yeah, New York is so much nicer than Chicago, in my opinion,” Theo continues, fiddling with his napkin as he talks. “There’s a lot more to do. Have you ever been?”

You hope this is just his nerves talking. “No.” 

Theo keeps talking as you stare at the menu in front of you, at a loss. It’s an a la carte menu, clearly, but extensive and all in french. Salade de poires pochées. Coquilles Saint-Jacques Gratineés. Filet au poivre vert. You’re scrutinizing the fine print of what all the dishes include when your waiter steps up to the table. You know when it happens, because Theo finally stops blathering about New York. 

You break your eyes away from the menu to glance at the server’s waistline, at eye level with you. He wears a crisply pressed suit and tie, his hands clasped in front of his belt. 

“Good evening sir, ma’am,” the server says in a hushed tone, to keep the volume of the dining room down. “Welcome to Sur La Table. I’m Steven, I’ll be serving you this evening. Before we begin, are there any questions about the menu?”

You peer up into the darkness to try to see Steven’s face. He’s standing just outside of the spotlight over the table, only able to be dimly lit from the indirect light reflecting from the tablecloth. Once your eyes adjust, they lock onto a pair of familiar hazel ones.

Oh my fucking god.

It’s got to be fate, or kismet, or some force of nature that keeps bringing you together like this. Steve Harrington’s face hasn’t changed in five years. Maybe he looks just slightly older, a little more filled out in his suit and tie. His hair is a bit shorter at the back but still that same shade of golden brown, neatly groomed and tidy for the formal atmosphere- but you can see it being tousled on his off days, still flopping across his eyes in waves. And those are the same lips you dreamt about kissing, the same eyes you admired in the school hallway, the same nose that you always wanted to grind o-

“No, I think we’re ready to order,” Theo announces, louder than necessary. You throw your gaze at him, your eyebrows raising despite your best efforts to remain calm. 

Is he really going to order for you? Just like that?

“Well, I was going to ask-” you begin, wanting to get a little more specification on how the filet is made, when Theo cuts you off.

“It’s okay, I speak French,” he insists. Not that it makes a difference to what your question was.

You press your lips together in irritation and glance at Steve, who looks back at you stoically. You wonder if he recognizes you like you do him- it’s been long enough, and you’re sure that you look a bit different than you did the last time you saw him. And then you notice the creases around his eyes.

He’s playing it off well enough, sure. But Steve is doing that same look that he did there in the Family Video five years ago, trying to pretend that he’s not affected by you, swallowing back his smile. He sends you a knowing look that says, What a fucking douchebag, am I right?

Suddenly, this date just got way more entertaining. You give Steve a minute roll of your eyes, only enough for him to notice. Tell me about it.

“We’ll start with the Bordeaux,” Theo is already reciting to Steve as you settle back in your seat. Steve pulls a little notepad out of his jacket pocket and begins writing. “For an appetizer, the coquilles. Then for the main, I’ll have the canard montmorency, and she’ll have the mignons de veau.” 

You watch Steve’s hand pause as he’s writing, and he looks to you. He raises his eyebrow, saying everything he needs to with the one gesture. Is that what you really want? “The veal?”

“No,” you say, digging your thumbnail into your palm, where it rests on your lap. “Actually, I wanted to ask about the filet. What brandy is the sauce made with?” 

Steve smiles, leaning a little bit closer to you. “We use Courvoisier.”

“Great. I’ll have that, please.” 

Steve nods encouragingly at you. As he jots down the order, he says, “Wonderful. I’ll get this to the kitchen for you, but before I can bring you the wine, I’ll just need to see the lady’s I.D.”

“Are you serious?” Theo snaps. 

“It’s all right,” you murmur, hiding your face as you dip your head to fish your I.D. out of your clutch. “He’s just doing his job. Right, Steven?”

Steve meets your eye as he takes the card from your hand. “You can never be too careful.” You watch him smirk as he looks over your I.D., his eyes lingering on your name for a second before he hands it back to you. If there was any doubt in his mind that you are who he thought, it’s gone now. “Interesting. We’re the same age.”

You laugh. Probably a little louder than is respectable, but you can’t help it. Leave it to Steve Harrington to remind you of the time you bought porn from him, while you’re on a date. 

You watch Steve write something else on his notepad, and rip the page out before folding it up. He tucks his notepad into his pocket as he says, “I’ll get this started for you. I hope you enjoy your evening.”

“Thank you, Steven,” you offer just as he starts to walk away. 

Steve shoots you a sideways glance. “Always.”

Your heartbeat pounds in your chest as you turn back to your date. Theo looks disgruntled, but he just lifts his water to his lips.

“So,” you begin, “what do you do?”

“Marketing manager,” Theo says, with a click of his tongue. “For Bowman Wine & Spirits.”

“Oh,” you nod. “No relation, I suppose?”

“My father owns the company.”

“Right.” God, help me. 

Across the dining room, Steve watches you over his shoulder. His jaw sets as he sees you, the girl of his literal dreams, sitting across from some idiot who doesn’t even know that you don’t order for your date without asking her what she wants first, you fucking weasel. 

That’s all right. You seem to have the situation under control, for now. Steve watches you calmly sip your water, staring at your date but not listening to a thing he’s saying. 

Steve sighs. He’s never been much of a schemer, but he’ll just make sure that you won’t leave with this guy if you don’t want to.

His fingers brush the note in his pocket, and he pinches it just as he passes the front of house manager, Taryn. Without breaking stride, he slips the note into her hand, heading toward the back hallway and down to the wine cellar.

As Steve passes by, Taryn unfolds the note he slips her, and raises one eyebrow at the request he’s written.

I can see you in your suit and your necktie, pass me a note saying, “Meet me tonight.” Then we kissed and you know I won’t ever tell…

Overall, you enjoy Sur La Table immensely. The restaurant itself, anyways. The wine is wonderful. The atmosphere is great. The food is exquisite. 

You’re about to jump the waiter’s bones. 

Theo got his second wind sometime after the scallops arrived, and you think he hasn’t paused for breath since. You’ve been calmly eating your food, while Theo tells you literally everything about himself. It’s the best case scenario you can see happening on this date. You enjoy the food, mumble a non-committal acknowledgement now and then, and Theo entertains himself with his own voice the rest of the time. 

You’re gonna kill Shelly for setting you up with him, but that’s tomorrow’s problem. 

Right now, you’re focused on finishing your glass of wine while he talks about camping, of all things. 

“So we got up into the Rockies,” he’s telling you, gesturing with his hands like it’ll make you more engaged. “We ended up freezing our keisters off. No joke, I have frostbite scars.”

“That’s, um… that sounds like fun.”

“No, are you listening? I mean, it was terrible. We couldn’t move for, like, two days. And when the snow stopped we were so tired and cold, we almost died.”  

You knock back the rest of your wine with one gulp, and say with a sticky voice, “Wow. A near death experience must have been really scary, I’m sorry.”

Theo frowns. “No- I mean… It wasn’t… it wasn’t near death-”

“You just said-”

“It was more like a serious inconvenience, you know. But we pulled through. I wasn’t scared. A little snow isn’t gonna kill me,” he laughs incredulously. “It was just-”

Theo stops as Steve approaches the table. You catch him giving the back of Theo’s head the most murderous look imaginable before slowing to a stop and plastering an easy customer service smile in its place. “How did you find everything this evening?”

“It was fine.”

“The food was wonderful,” you tell Steve reassuringly. Your date, on the other hand…

“Yeeeah, could we get the check, please?” Theo asks, finally looking up at Steve. 

You watch Steve’s brow twitch, such a small movement you could have imagined it. “Certainly. But first-” from behind his back, he reveals two white gift boxes and places them on the table in front of you and your date, respectively. “We like to give each of our customers a signature chocolate truffle, as a token of our appreciation.”

Everything in you aches. “Oh, that’s nice. Thank you so much.” You look down at the box in adoration, thinking for a second that it might be the only time in your life that Steve Harrington gives you something similar to a ring box. 

“I’ll be sure to have our hostess come through with the check,” Steve adds delicately, making a gracious exit. His finger just slightly brushes your arm as he passes by- a dangerous move, but one that nearly electrifies your entire body at the single touch. You shiver as he says, “Have a lovely night.”

You watch Steve walk away from you, and your heart sinks into your stomach. You want to chase after him. The 18 year old you, who almost kissed him on prom night, is trying to claw its way out of your skin and bolt after him. 

When Steve disappears from view, you have nowhere to look but at your date. Theo opens the white box in front of him and pops a neapolitan colored truffle into his mouth. “Well, that was underwhelming.”

You don’t want to watch him chewing anymore, like a cow gnawing on grass. You sigh, running a frustrated hand across your forehead, and flip open the box in front of you. The top of it rears up like a clam shell, and you freeze, your fingertips suddenly sticking to the sweat beading on your brow.

You don’t have a neapolitan truffle- you have a single golden chocolate coin. You stare at it in shock for a second before you even notice the note pasted to the lid of the box. 

Meet me outside- the door past the bathrooms. 

“Aren’t you gonna eat yours?” Theo asks suddenly, as the hostess approaches holding the check. 

Your eyes snap up just as your heart shoots back up into your chest. “I think I’m gonna save it for later.” You flash him a smile as you close the box swiftly and shove it into your clutch. “Do you mind if I hit the bathroom real quick?”

“No, go ahead. I’ve got it.” Honestly, it’s the kindest thing he’s done for you all night. You might have to thank him some day. 

Once you’re out of your seat, you chase after Steve like a shot. Around a block of tables and into a tiled corridor, you walk past the kitchen doorway just as another server comes backing out, carrying a tray of dishes. 

There’s a door at the end of the hall, labeled exit. You never actually thought you’d be escaping a bad date through the back door; the notion was too clichéed, you thought that sort of thing only happened in movies. But you find yourself nearly running past the men’s and women’s bathrooms, until your hands slam down on the bar of the back door and thrust it open into the wind. 

The rain has picked up, more of a downpour than a light drizzle now. In your haste, you’d left your umbrella and coat with the coat check. Not that it would have been at all discrete if you’d gone to collect it before running towards the bathrooms. 

The door clicks shut behind you, and you gaze around in the dark. The alley behind the restaurant is only partially lit by a yellow street lamp, making it even more difficult to find him than it was in the dining room. “Steve?”  

You catch movement in the corner of your eye, and turn in the direction of the street lamp. Steve stands up from where he’d been sitting on an overturned crate- apparently the only accommodations the restaurant staff gets during a smoke break. The rain has already soaked into his hair, messing up the tidy style and turning it stringy, falling across his forehead, shining gold in the yellow light. He takes one last puff of the cigarette in his mouth before tossing it into the gutter, and he looks at you. 

He sees you. And it’s all you’ve wanted since the day he first walked into your geography class, freshman year of high school. There’s been some kind of a magnetic pull between you two for years. Something keeps bringing you together, it’s just never been the right time. Until now. 

Finally, you’re running towards him, and Steve’s arms finally come around you, pulling you against his body. Your hands find the back of his neck just in time for his lips to crash against yours. 

You had lost count of the amount of times you watched him kiss other girls in the hallway in high school- not just Nancy, but any and every girl he attached himself to (for a while, it seemed like he couldn’t make up his mind who he was dating at any given moment). All you knew was that it was never you, and you wanted it to be so desperately that it consumed your mind half the time. He looked like a good kisser, and you fantasized about going up to him and testing that theory for yourself.

But you never expected that his lips would slide over yours with an urgency that you could feel through to your very core, probably even more desperate for your kiss than you are for his. Steve’s fingertips press into your body through the thin fabric of your dress, holding you firmly to him like he’s afraid you might disappear on him again if he doesn’t absorb you completely. Your mouth opens with a soft gasp, and Steve’s tongue against yours tastes like tobacco. 

It happens so fast that you can’t even think- and you don’t really want to. You’re tired of thinking everything through, finding reasons upon reasons why it’s not a good time, why it’s a bad idea, why it won’t work. He moans into you, grabbing the side of your face as he stumbles with you to the wall, pressing you up against the side of the brick building. 

You meet his moan with a whimper of your own as his hand slides down over the curve of your ass, and he hikes up the skirt of your dress to grab at your skin with abandon. There’s a ferocity in Steve’s kiss that you don’t know what to do with, like he’s trying to stake a claim to you right there in the rain, with no one around to see it happen but the moths in the street light overhead. Not that he needs to- he’s already got you. You already chose him. 

Steve gives you room to breathe with a soft sigh, his forehead resting against yours. “Been wanting to do that since high school,” he admits, just loud enough for you to hear, before pressing a featherlight kiss just beside your mouth, and again to your cheek.

“Y-you fffucking-?” you gasp when he latches his lips around a sweet spot on your neck and sucks. “I had such a huge crush on you, Steve.”

“I know. I- I should have- I should…” Steve drops his head against your shoulder and groans when your nails rake against his scalp. “Fuck.”  

He grinds his hips up against yours, biting your lip as the hard length of his cock presses up against your core. “Gonna fuck me in this alleyway, Harrington?” 

“I’m seriously considering it,” he growls into your ear. His lips find yours again with a passion, his hand holding your jaw still. A hot breath escapes him, pouring over your skin and making you shiver. You’re lightheaded, so close to just letting him do it, too, when the back door of the restaurant swings open. 

Steve still takes a second to pull away, a little too absorbed in kissing you to really care who sees him do it. If he had his way, he’d have everyone see that you’re his- that you belong with him, and have for a long time. He finally glances over his shoulder to see one of the cooks, Liam, walking off in the direction of the employee parking lot.

“Where did you get the fucking doubloon?” you whisper into his ear, sounding so fucking adorable that Steve can’t help the lovesick look he gives you. 

He brushes his nose against yours. “I sent my manager on a treasure hunt.” You giggle, pressing your forehead up against his, and he can’t help but chuckle along with you. “I wanted to give you one at Family Video, that time.”

“I know,” you say, and he pulls back to look at your face. “I heard you yelling at your coworker in the back room.” 

Steve snickers and turns red with embarrassment, hiding his face in the crook of your neck. You run your fingers through his rain-soaked hair, a content smile on your face as you feel him grin against your skin and shake with laughter. “Take me home, Steve.”

You don’t have to ask him twice.

What would you do, baby, if you only knew? That I can see you throw your jacket on the floor, I can see you make me want you even more…

The drive to Steve’s apartment downtown is made with light conversation and the heavy, heavy weight of his hand on your thigh, creeping up further with each mile. But aside from the implication of sex hanging in the air, it’s as easy as breathing, chatting about the night with him. Shitting on Theo.

“Did you notice the way he said coquilles,” Steve murmurs to you at a red light. “I thought he was gagging on something. He was just trying to impress you, you know.”

You grunt. Could’ve tried a little harder. “He didn’t even like them. He said he didn’t like shellfish,” you laugh in return as you lace your fingers through Steve’s. “Why the fuck would you order scallops, then?”

“The price.”

“The price.”  

It’s sweet, talking to him all the way to his apartment building, just catching up like old friends. He tells you that he’s going to culinary school now, and he’s been working at the restaurant for a little over a year, just to pay the bills.

“Culinary school? Really?” you say, with a note of awe in your voice. 

“Turns out I’m really fucking good at cooking,” Steve chuckles. “Who’d have thought? Maybe someday I’ll stop waiting tables and work back there in the kitchen.”

“I can see it,” you tell him softly. “I can see you being the world’s best chef. Three stars and everything.”

He scoffs, but a pink blush creeps up the back of his neck. “You have too much faith in me.” 

“Those are fighting words, Harrington.” You wag your finger at him. “Throwing down the gauntlet?”

“You just want me to cook you something,” Steve tuts.

“Absolutely, I do.” You consider him for a moment, in the passing light of a streetlamp. “Am I that transparent?”

Steve tilts his head to eye you meaningfully, and he smirks. “Always have been, honey.” His thumb rubs a little circle on your thigh that has you squirming in your seat.

The first thing you see of Steve’s apartment is the kitchen, and beyond that the dormant living room, but you don’t get that far before you’re sidetracked. Steve throws his keys onto a drop station by the door, and pins you up against the refrigerator before you can even think to ask where to put your shoes.

Your clothes are still damp, your hair still pasted to your clammy skin. Steve’s lips are attacking yours and his hands are grabbing at everything he can touch, but it’s still not enough. He’s not able to feel all of you at once, and it’s driving him insane with every passing moment.

Steve roughly yanks his suit jacket off, throwing it onto the tile floor beside the kitchen island. “Lay down.” 

“What?” you whisper to him as he kisses your neck, guiding you away from the side of the fridge. “Here?” 

“Right here,” Steve states, not joking in the slightest. You wobble on your feet as you kick off your heels, but his hands on your hips keep you steady. “Been waiting too long for this- can’t wait anymore.”

“I- wwhuh-?” you gasp as Steve kneels in front of you, and your knees buckle involuntarily as he lays you down across his discarded jacket. Your hands grab his shoulders as you tumble backward, taking him with you. 

He face-plants into your stomach with a noisy, “Oof.” Cackling, you run your fingers through his damp hair, as he laughs and shoves his blushing face further against your torso. Steve litters your stomach with kisses, giggling against you with a note of nervous energy. He’s adorable.

You pet your fingers down the side of his face and he leans into the touch. “Can’t even wait long enough to take me to the bedroom?”

“Well, I would have fucked you in the alley,” Steve points out as his fingers breach the hem of your skirt and find your panties. He tugs as he says, “Be thankful I even got you home.” 

Your cheeks burn hot. You fidget, trying to press your thighs together to abate the throbbing ache between them. “Careful, baby. You’re starting to sound desperate.”

Steve pauses, his hazel eyes lighting up when they lock on yours. “Call me that again,” he requests, pressing a kiss to your ankle as he pulls your panties off your feet. He tosses them over his shoulder, but you don’t see where they land as he continues peppering kisses down your calf.

You hold his gaze. “Baby?” His eyes flutter, his lips parting as they drag up toward your knee. “You like when I call you that?”

“I like when you call me anything,” Steve admits. “But as long as you call me that, it means I’m yours.”

Your breath stutters in your chest. Steve Harrington is yours. It doesn’t matter if it’s just for tonight- what matters is that you have him now, and he wants you just as badly.

“You’re mine, aren’t you?” he murmurs quietly against your skin, his voice crackling with brimming need. He’s flushed, his cheeks pink and his hair drying in tousled waves over his forehead the longer he drags this out. 

Nodding your head, you reach down to lace your fingers through his, where they’re bunching your skirt up around your hips. “Yes, Steve.” Always have been.  

He turns his head and sucks a spot on your calf, just below your knee, resting your ankle over his shoulder. Still, despite your desperation, you nervously keep your thighs pinched together.

Steve tuts, “C’mon, baby, you’ve gotta spread your legs for me. You wanna let me see that pretty pussy, right?” 

Still clammy and cold with rain, the air on your exposed skin makes you shiver almost as much as his sweeping hands do when they gently part your thighs. You let go, let him take control as you still and keep your eyes focused on his face, because looking anywhere else would remind you that this is real, and not a dream.

Steve sighs, “There she is. Y’gonna let me taste you, sweetheart?” He bats his pretty eyes at you in a way that makes your heart stop dead in your chest. He can’t keep his mouth off of you, even for a moment, his lips and slight stubble dragging across your skin as he says, “Been wanting to forever, you won’t even believe-”

“Please, Steve,” you start to beg before he even finishes his sentence. “Please, my god, I- I just- I just want you so much-”

“Sh-sh-sh-shh.” His tongue licks wet and hot against your inner thigh before he whispers, “I’ve got you, baby. M’not going anywhere, I’m staying right here ‘til you cum.”

You’re instantly hot all over, your blood fucking boiling beneath your skin and your wet dinner dress. Steve’s fingers dig into the meat of your thighs as he yanks you toward his face, the fabric of his jacket beneath you audibly zipping along the kitchen floor. 

Steve dips his head, and his mouth closes over your cunt right at the same moment that yours falls open with a moan that won’t come out, because you’ve suddenly forgotten how to breathe. The noise stalls right at the beginning- your lungs stop working and you can’t seem to get them to start again, because Steve’s tongue is everywhere, dripping wet and gentle on skin that’s way too sensitive to handle it right now. Your hips try to jerk away from him in resistance, but he slams his hand down on them, holding you hard and still against the tile floor, his shoulders pushed up against the backs of your thighs to keep them open. 

Steve takes a break just long enough to grin evilly up at you, because he’s been waiting for five years to tell you to, “Breathe, sweetheart.”

“Fffffuck,” you manage to spit out finally, your voice cracking on the word like it didn’t even really want to put in the work to make it happen. Your breath comes back into your lungs all at once, rapid firing with a dozen moans for punctuation. Steve’s lips quirk against you, and he rumbles a noise of satisfaction against your pussy that makes you jolt in his hold again. “Steve…”

He pulls off of you with a slow, slow stroke of his tongue over your clit, making you whimper high and tight in your throat. “That’s it, baby,” Steve whispers, his breath fanning across your slick cunt, his left hand leaving your hip so that he can drag his knuckles teasingly through your swollen folds. “Feels good, doesn’t it? Feels so right.”

Two long fingers sink into you with ease, stirring the need in you to have him just simply destroy you. You moan loud, your hand shooting out and wrapping around the leg of a bar stool for the kitchen island beside you. 

“Poor thing’s just so sensitive, huh?” Your head arches backwards against the floor, your pussy clenching tight around his fingers as he curves them with practiced accuracy. Steve’s voice is a deep murmur, distant thunder rolling over your nerves, “Relax for me, honey. You’ve waited long enough, just let it happen. Let me give you what you want.”

His lips shine when you look down at him, your hand reaching to run through his hair. Stifling a whine that threatens to come out when he kisses your clit and bends his fingers within you, you stutter out, “J-just want… I- ha-ah! Just want you.”  

Steve purrs. “I know.” The crisp white fabric of his shirt scrapes against your thighs, almost rough in comparison to his tongue flat on your pussy. You can hear the wet, salacious sound of his fingers pumping into you, pulling you toward the edge of oblivion. He hisses through his teeth, shaking his head slightly. “God, I’m so fuckin’ lucky.”

“Y-you-?” you manage a laugh, scraping your nails along his scalp lightly. “You’re lucky? You have n-no… fffucking idea-” You cut off with a sob when Steve wraps his lips around your clit, sucking long and hard enough that your leg twitches, your heel dragging up the back of his pristine white blouse. Your breathing picks up just as all your muscles lock down tight. “Jesus Christ-”  

“There you go,” Steve praises as your orgasm shakes your body, your hand gripping his hair so hard that he groans softly into your damp skin. He doesn’t stop moving his fingers, lewd wet noises picking up and echoing through the quiet kitchen. “That’s a good girl. Mmm , felt so nice to let go, didn’t it?”

You don’t know if he really wants you to answer that- you’re still twitching, coming down from your high as he pulls his fingers from your spasming cunt and sucks them into his mouth. The pause gives you a gentle reprieve, sinking back onto his suit jacket beneath you. Then, his mouth finds your pussy again, his tongue delving deep into your entrance and laving up to your sensitive clit. 

You gasp, throwing your hands down into his hair. “Steve-?!”

He moans in response. “Just needed to taste you some more, honey. Taste so fuckin’ sweet, I can’t get enough.” Steve relents, crawling up your body to hover his face over yours. “Still wanna see the bedroom?”

You nod excitedly, your hands finding his smiling face and stroking the hair away from his eyes. With a gentle kiss of his wet lips to yours, Steve gathers your still-wrecked body into his arms and carries you into his bedroom. 

He’s struck by how blissful you are as he sets you down on his bed, so soft and inviting. He encourages your arms up, his hands finding the zipper of your wet dress and finally, finally, pulling it over your head so that he can see you. All your curves and edges on display for him, after all this time imagining what he couldn’t see with the naked eye. 

“You’re so beautiful.” Steve repeats what he told you all those years ago at prom- he meant it then, and he means it now. Maybe even more this time, now that he’s not a stupid teenager, now that he finally has his head on his shoulders. 

You shiver against him when he unclips your bra- black lace that matches the underwear sitting in his entryway. A possessive part of him rears up, knowing that you’d worn them to a date with some asshole who couldn’t treat you right, even for one hour of the guy’s miserable life. Steve dips his head and kisses your breast, so much softer now than he was before, feeling your heartbeat against his lips.

“Hey.” You gently tug him by his tie, loosening it and his collar. You look into his eyes, and his heart melts. “Where’d you go just now, sailor?”

Steve blushes, his eyes flicking down as you remove his tie and start unbuttoning his blouse. “Just thinking...” he trails off, eyeing you thoughtfully. “Just thinking I could have missed you again if I wasn’t careful.”

“Mmm,” you hum, your hands smoothing up his chest and over his shoulders to get his shirt off of him. It drops to the floor with a whisper. “I don’t think so. I think this was meant to happen, eventually.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” You scrunch your nose cutely, in a way that makes Steve’s pants tighten even more uncomfortably across his hips. “We’ve run into each other too many fuckin’ times, baby. Karma’s on our side.”

He laughs. “Karma.” He shakes his head as he undoes his belt.

You quirk your brow at him as your hands fiddle with the fly of his suit pants. “Don’t believe me?” 

Steve grunts, shifting to lean over you. “I’ll believe anything you say when you’re taking my pants off, honey. I’m easy that way.”

Your nails rake through the hair on his chest- you can’t keep your hands off of him now that they’ve got him. You trace over two blotchy scars, one on either side of his torso that mirror each other. “What happened here?”

He blows a puff of air out of his mouth, rounding his cheeks as he shrugs. “Some… animals decided I looked really tasty, at one point. I know, they aren’t very pretty.”

Steve’s brushing over it like it’s nothing. You search his face, and you decide to do the same. “Actually, I think it’s kind of hot.” You drag your hand up to lay flat over his chest. You whisper conspiratorially, “Plus, I think you look really tasty, too.”

Steve quirks an eyebrow. “Y’gonna bite me about it?”

“Probably.” You wink. “Most likely.”

Your gaze falls indiscreetly to his cock, hard and flushed, glistening with precum and curving up toward his stomach. Girls talk, especially when they’re all trying to one-up each other; you knew that he was big. You’d heard the rumors. You’d seen him wearing those tight fucking jeans all the time, and you didn’t have to have much of an imagination to figure it out.

Still. It’s… a little overwhelming. You reach out a tentative hand, lightly wrapping your fingers around his base. They barely meet. Jesus Christ.

He groans, and kisses you until you can’t speak, resting his weight on top of you until you sink gleefully into the mattress. There’s a smile on your lips that transfers onto his, happiness and ease still flowing between you even as he grinds his hips up against yours. 

“Ready?” Steve murmurs softly into your mouth, stealing your breath when you feel his cock slide through your folds, hot and fat.  

“Dunno,” you tell him teasingly, but there’s an edge of reason to your words. Your hips squirm and you feel him even worse, slippery with your arousal. You whine. “I think you might kill me with that thing, Harrington.”

“I’ll go slow,” he whispers, hoarse in the back of his throat, his voice already shaking. “I’ll make sure you feel every bit of it, yeah?”

“Yeah,” you agree as you reach to line him up properly. “I’m all yours.”

Steve gives a relieved sigh as he slides into you, his head falling heavily to your shoulder. His cock aches, his torso shaking as he tries to steady himself. “Oh my god.”

“Baby,” you coo, choking on a moan when he bottoms out. He’s so thick- your nails dig into his shoulder blades as you try to remember how to breathe. It’s certainly a big stretch to try to fit him, but you can’t help wanting more just as soon as he comes to a stop. You can feel him trying to hold steady, holding himself back as though it’s the hardest thing in the world for him to do. 

Because it is. You can’t see it, the way that his brow is furrowed in concentration, his eyes screwed shut. He didn’t know it would be like this- that he’d be in danger of blowing it just as soon as he started. 

Your heel digs into his ass, and he doesn’t know if you do it purposefully, but he almost whimpers.  

You take a shuddering breath. “Please- please move, Steve, I can’t take it.”

Oh, you can’t take it? “You know what,” Steve says with a hint of strain in his voice, picking his head up to nuzzle his nose with yours, “I think you like me.”

You snort, and kiss him lightly. “What gave you that impression?”

“Y’so fucking cute.” Steve hums and sloooowly pulls his hips back, dragging his cock through your walls so deliciously that your toes curl. “Could be all those times you stared at me in class-” He watches your face as he pushes forward, until his hips are flush with yours and your head arches backwards against his sheets. “Could be when you nearly let me kiss you at prom-” Out. In. Steve runs his tongue up the length of your throat, and bites at your earlobe. He whispers, “Could be that you came on my tongue ten minutes ago.”

He picks up his pace, just a bit. Just enough to have the bed creaking under you with the rhythm, to have you moaning in tandem with him- needy and high pitched, leaping from your throat into the hot, sex-charged air.  

Steve’s lips latch onto your neck, and he sucks hard. He eases up after just a couple seconds, dragging his tongue over the sensitive spot, but you know what he’s just done- he’s marked you, right where you won’t be able to hide it in the morning. 

You want him to do it all over your body.

Your jaw goes slack and you’re losing all integrity. He’s even better than you imagined- sleepless nights wanting, hoping endlessly that you’d find yourself here, under him, couldn’t have prepared you for how perfect it feels. His hand finds yours and laces your fingers together, pinning it to the mattress beside your head, squeezing with every slow and purposeful thrust of his hips. 

Steve’s cock finds your g-spot like it’s nothing, like he’s known your body for ages. He barely even has to try before you’re whimpering, raking your nails up his back and leaving long red trails behind. 

Your teeth latch onto his shoulder and you bite, probably harder than you should, but you just can’t refuse the urge to mark him the way that he’s left his mark on you. He moans, a deep and boyish sound in your ear, as you drag your tongue along his shoulder, soothing the bite, tasting his sweat. The salt and the sweetness of his skin, mixed with the heady smell of sex in the room, have you losing yourself in him.

“Biter.” You hear him chuckle dangerously, rumbling along your skin while his nose skirts your jawline. 

“You’re so good, Stevie-” you whine, hot pleasure rearing up in you like a tidal wave. “Oh, you feel so fucking good, I love- love how you feel inside me.”

Steve groans loudly into your shoulder, his teeth grazing your collarbone. You think he has a mind to bite you back- maybe he’d do it harder. You can see Steve drawing blood, when the mood suits him. 

But his hand squeezes yours, his other sweeping broadly up your thigh and hitching your leg up further over his hip. “Yeah?” His voice is rough, bordering on a growl, “What’d’ya say we stay like this forever, huh? Just like this?” 

His pelvis grinds up against yours, his pubes crushing against your clit making you gasp. Everything’s wet- your skin, his skin, the sheets. Sweaty bodies sticking and sliding against each other, your hips meeting his in the middle.

“Like this?” you gasp, your head reeling. His forehead presses against yours, and it’s just about the only thing bringing you back into focus. Steve doesn’t falter, keeping the same pace and rhythm while he watches you try to form a coherent reply. “Mm- I- I, hhuh-”

“C’mon, babygirl,” he breathes against your damp skin, “you can do better than that. You love my cock so much, you wanna keep it warm all the time? Wanna stay in bed with me forever, is that it?”

You nod fervently, your hands grabbing at his neck, his hair, his shoulder- anywhere you can touch. “Yes, yes. God, Steve, I- you’re gonna make me cum, shit-”  

“I know it,” Steve murmurs, tugging your lip between his teeth and making you whine again. Your cunt pulses around him, and he hisses, his hand slipping on your thigh. “Love seein’ you all drunk on my cock- shit, you’re so gorgeous like this.” He pauses to kiss you, making you lightheaded, making you tug at his hair. “Y’look so pretty under me, baby. Pussy feels so good, I wanna stay here, too. I can see us doin’ this for the rest of our lives, huh? How’s that sound?” 

How does it sound? You and Steve Harrington, together forever? Intertwined, knotted up with no way to lose each other, no disappearing and then reappearing years down the line?

“S’that a challenge?” you whimper shakily at him. “Throwing down the gauntlet?” 

“I don’t think I could let you go, now,” Steve tells you firmly, his hand leaving your thigh so that he can grab your jaw possessively, his tongue darting out to trace gently across your bottom lip. “I’m never gonna let you go, baby.”

You wrap your legs around his waist. “I don’t want you to.”

“I hope so,” he whispers, his breath mingling with yours.

Steve kisses you long and slow when you cum. You swallow his moans when he does.

What would you? Baby, if you only knew that I can see you, oh, I can see you…

You almost think it’s a dream. When you rouse in the morning, you feel like you imagined it. But you’re surrounded by the scent of Steve, of musky cologne and sweat and sex, and maybe just a little bit of hair gel stuck to his pillows. 

You flop over and stare at the ceiling. You’re alone in a king size bed, fitted with gray sheets and a few too many pillows. The other side of the bed is still warm, but your paramour is nowhere to be found. His bedroom is fairly stark, with a few little things arranged on the dresser top and clothes thrown around the floor. It doesn’t feel like a room he spends much time in, aside from sleeping and dressing in the morning.

You immediately think about what this all means for you. Whether he really meant what he said in the heat of the moment, if he really wants this to be a long-term thing or if it was just pillow talk. It doesn’t take you long to determine which one you want it to be.

There’s commotion on the other side of the closed door. You lean over the side of the bed, searching for something to put on before you just waltz out there naked. Ultimately, you pull on his blouse from last night.

You emerge from the bedroom squinting against the light in the room. The blinds in the living room are open, casting bright sunlight across the room and into the kitchen. You find Steve in front of the stove.

“Hey, there she is!” he announces happily. “Just in time for breakfast.”

Steve looks so comfortable in the kitchen, moving around quickly and efficiently, whereas you tend to blunder about. When you wander over to the island, you notice he’s already picked up his suit jacket, and laid it across the bar stool next to the one you choose. 

Your underwear is nowhere to be seen.

You grin at his back, plopping down onto the bar stool. The metal is cold against your bare ass, nearly making you squeal and jump back up. “Is it a Sex on the Beach?”

He laughs gleefully. “Nah, if only. How was that, by the way?” 

“The ice cream, or the porn?”

He turns to grin at you over his shoulder. “Both.”

He’s wearing glasses. Round wire frames that complement his face perfectly, making him look distinguished in his gray sweats and black t-shirt. Just like that, you’re spiraling. Suddenly, you’re picturing yourself being here, with him cooking breakfast in his glasses and PJ’s every morning, on and on into the future. Doing domestic shit, grocery shopping, dancing around in the kitchen at 3 am, kissing in the rain- well, you’ve already done that one.  

But you can see it. That future, with him by your side, it’s right there. You just don’t know if it’s the one that he wants. You don’t really know how deep this runs for him.

Funny what just an accessory can do to your train of thought.

“Um.” You swallow. What was the question? “The ice cream was great. Still the best sundae I’ve ever had, by the way. The porn was bullshit, I didn’t get through twenty minutes. I just wanted to make you blush.”

“Brat.” He spins around, and plates an omelet right in front of you. You watch his face, tracing the easy smile he wears. “I hope you like it- but if you don’t, you better not say anything. I don’t think I could handle the pain of your rejection.” He looks up at you, hazel eyes shining gold in the sunlight. “You’re staring.”

“I-” you blink at him. You don’t fucking say. You open your mouth to ask- you want to ask what this is, what he feels, did he mean it. Do you want to do this again? Is this serious for you? Because it is for me, if you want it. You just don’t get that far.

“You’ve been staring since we were fourteen,” he chuckles, sliding you a fork. 

That startles you. “Well,” you click your tongue. “I didn’t realize you were looking so closely.”

“Oh,” Steve shrugs, turning to place the pan in the sink. “Just since freshman year. When you read Juliet’s monologue in English class. Remember?”

You tilt your head. Vaguely. It was just a class project, where each person had to choose a Shakespearean monologue to recite in front of the class. You thought he only even became aware of you senior year.

Romeo, doff thy name, And for that name which is no part of thee, Take all myself. 

“Are you telling me,” you say, palms flat on the counter as you peer at him incredulously, “you’ve liked me just as long as I’ve liked you?”

“Told you I’d get there, eventually.”

Your brain refuses to compute. You stare at his back, his tousled hair, and want to yank him toward you and squeeze him like one of those fucking squeaky toys that you get at the pet store. The ones the eyes pop out of.

Steve turns to you with a smirk, leaning across the counter to mirror you. He reaches forward to trace the mark he made on your neck, still tender, while mocking your pout back at you. His eyes crease at the corners, like they always do when he’s trying to be coy.

“Eat your breakfast, baby. We’ve got a lot to talk about.”

(I see you, I see you, baby.)

#steve harrington #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x y/n #steve harrington x you #steve harrington fanfiction #stranger things #roses*

[littledollll]

Last kiss

Lucifer Morningstar x reader

A/n: idek. I wrote this 2 nights ago while having a breakdown for absolutely no reason 😭

As always thanks to @pebbleswritessometimes for inspecting it through and screaming at me in the writing of this.

Warnings: breakups, there’s absolutely no comfort only hurt. That’s about it.

____________________________________

“I don’t understand..” your voice barely above a whisper as you looked at them, ever the dramatic single tear falling from your eye, trailing down your cheek. Afraid to come to terms with the plain truth. Afraid to hear their explanation and have it make sense.

“I have nothing to explain. I am telling you, this can no longer be your home, I can no longer be your person.” Their emotionless expression killed you the most. The dismissive and plain tone in their voice. Like it was a simple thing to say and wave off to continue on with their day. It made your heart clench, tears burn in your eyes, that impossible to get rid off burn in your throat trying to hold back the embarrassing sobs that would eventually escape you. There would be no stopping it, but you could at least hold back.

To some degree Lucifer truly hoped you would just walk away. Be more angry than upset and not stay around hoping for more only to get more hurt. They hoped you didn’t care enough to ask or be so heartbroken about it. But of course, that was impossible. You knew that, they knew it too.

They could read you like a book. See you swallow dryly and dart your eyes away from them as if it killed you to look at them any longer.

It did.

And how Lucifer wished to wipe that stray tear away along with all your pain and heartbreak. So they turned their back to you, not willing to see you hurt any longer. Looking at anything that would serve as some sort of distraction form the oddly guilty feeling plaguing their mind, twisting their gut, a sadness and sympathy The Devil wasn’t known for. A side you were the one to uncover. And one you seemed to be on the road to never be seeing again.

“So I'm just supposed to go? You dismiss me and I walk away like all your other subjects?” Your tone raised bit by bit as you talked. Anger seeping into your voice, but more so, confusion. “Don’t I deserve some kind of explanation?”

They couldn’t look at you either, you noticed.

The shake in your voice, the deep breath you had to take for every sentence, the inevitability of your eyes shining with tears and turning slightly red. Lucifer can imagine your brows furrowed in hurt. They can see the mental image of you anxiously shifting the weight of your body from one foot to the other, your hands at the height of your stomach fidgeting with your rings.

They know you. Every curve and scar, every freckle in your body. They could draw you from memory with their eyes closed. They could guess what you were up to from a room away, they don’t have to look at you to see you hurt. They don’t want to look at you and admit it’s their fault.

“An explanation would do you no good, my darling.” Lucifer spoke softly as they started. almost anxiously pacing around the room, their back still turned and you wondered what could possibly deserve their attention more than you in this moment. The use of the petname killed you even more. In some part of your mind you were convinced this had to be some kind of joke, or something happened, something terrible and they’re protecting you.

They are.

They have to be.

Lucifer would never do this to you. Your Lucifer would never do this. You know them too. You recognize the slightest quiver in their voice. You know why they refuse to look at you too. You saw the smallest twitch of their hand as they refrained from wiping away that stray tear. And so you listened.

Because there has to be a reason. And they would eventually come back to you, right? It 's Lucifer. If there’s someone in this universe to know where to find you it’s them.

“Don’t leave me like this.” A plea. Refusal. Denial. But you knew that was it. You couldn’t fight it any more than you already had. Lucifer’s word was always final. But that meant their ‘ I love you’ s were all true. That had to mean there was hope. They turned with a slight tilt of their head and a sad smile.

“It’s not forever..” they murmured softly as they walked towards you, at such a painfully slow pace. And you actually breathed for the first time. Because their voice was so much softer. It was real. There was no mask, there was no lie. There was pain. “But you have to go.”

Lucifer’s hands cupped your cheeks so gently and they finally looked at you. You looked at each other. “You are and will forever be my heaven.” You couldn’t even cry anymore. There was no pain to be felt when they held you so tenderly. It was reassurance, it was love.

You stood speechless and in denial. They stood vulnerable, able to fall apart just as easily as you, but refusing to. Your eyes closed in a moment of utter peace as they pressed a soft kiss on your forehead. Holding you close enough to convince you it wasn’t really over.

Only to be broken apart then they whispered again. “Go.”

#lucifer sandman #the sandman #sandman lucifer x reader #lucifer gwendoline #gwendoline christie #lucifer morningstar the sandman #sandman lucifer #lucifer morningstar (the sandman) #lucifer morningstar #sandman lucifer morningstar x reader

[cavernofstars]

PLEASE go on an hour long rant about vylad

Ask and you shall recieve, hope you dont regret that you asked. I did spent over a hour writing this btw. Good luck.

If you want me to do this for any other characters, i can do it for practically any of them. Especially Laurance lol.

Essay under the cut, obviously minecraft diaries spoilers.

Vylad Ro'Meave is so heavily forgotten, but the ENTIRE story cannot be told without him. Despite his few and far in between appearances especially within season 1, he was the cogs of every major event.

He was the one who brought Aphmau to Phoenix Drop in the first place. If he hadnt done that, or had brought her anywhere else the story would be different from the very beggining. It was his deep rooted love for his family, his brother, that brought him to leave her there. An excuse, to watch over his brother despite knowing he himself could not reach out.

We dont know a whole lot about how Shadow Knights work, but we know they are fundementally no longer human. Shells of what once was perhaps, but no longer functioning on the needs of a human. How long would it take to forget those needs when one has no such urgency for them?

Despite his lack of need to eat, rest, to simply be human, Vylad single handedly took a baby halfway across the Ru'aun region. Which is over a weeks journey when Aphmau made the same trek in search of Levins mother, AND she had a horse for part of it, which effectively evened out the time she spent with the crime scene in the neopolitian villages along the way.

Vylad did it in the shadows, hiding and sneaking the whole way there. While tending to a nearly newborn baby, despite never doing so before and not being human enough to have the same needs. He managed to do that, extending the length it probably took, just to bring Levin to Aphmaus door.

He gave up years of freedom for the story.

When Aphmau and Laurance entered the shadow realm in search of saving the chicken shaman, they only just made an escape. Laurance stayed behind, but Vylad was the one who saved Aphmau and Castor. He was the one who shut the portal. He couldnt do anything for Laurance then, but he did everything he could.

He suffered for that choice. He was imprisoned, and tortured for sealing the shadow realm off from the mortal realm once more. Vylad was sent to rot in that cell, with no one to his side but Laurance.

Laurance had been the only visitor who still saw Vylad as something other then a traitor, and saw him as a person. He made a promise to get Vylad out of there, but ultimately Ungrth came to save Laurance, leaving Vylad to continue to lay waiting.

We know that time works differently between the realms, the shadow realm/nether has a slower passage of time then the overworld, but not as slow as irenes dimension. A overworld day is several weeks in the shadow realm, prolonging the true amount of time Vylad remained prisoner.

In season 2 Zenix's rampage of the shadow realm began, and thus gave way to Vylads escape. We dont know if he had been out of his cell before that or not, presumably not, but he was the only one known to leave the portal- as he stayed guard in the abandon werewolf village outside it from the day he escaped.

We can presume he spent the whole 15 years imprisoned, multiplied by the time passage difference, he effectively spent over 200 years imprisoned for helping Aphmau escape.

And upon Aphmau finding him there, her first instinct is to lie to him when he asks about Garroth. And tells him hes dead.

Her first full conversation with him, and she sends him into a full blown mental breakdown in the first 5 minutes.

Of course after Aph tells him the truth, and about the portal, and everything else going on, Vylad chooses to go with her. He finally begins to hold more presence in the story, but still is commonly off screen.

Such as in Nahakra village arc, he isnt around until the very end when the group is forced to flee. He is seen burning any maps and books containing information on Phoenix Drop, aside from the Ru'aun map they take with them. While everyone else was hurried and running, Vylad was doing what he could to keep Tu'la from knowing about the other side of the region, to protect Phoenix Drop as best he could.

Vylad fades into the background again, until the journey to find a new home for the phoenix alliance begins. It is when they arrive at the island that he really makes a pivotal scene, being the one to confront Laurance.

Its a mostly off screen development, Vylad seeking out Laurance to help him. No one asked him to, but he saw Laurance struggling between his remaining humanity and the calling of his shadow knight being. He was also the one who followed Laurance when he started to go awol, keeping a silent watchful eye on him.

When things went from bad to worse, he went to Aphmau to tell her about Laurance. At the same time as Aaron died and Garroth was free from the irene dimension. Although a awkward revelation, Vylad and Garroths short reunion is one of the most important scenes to me in the story.

Two brothers who cared deep for family, reunited for the first time in atleast two decades.

On the journey to the new home of the phoenix alliance, Vylad had told Aphmau he died by murder, stabbed in the back. Heres my theory, that i always tell anyone who will listen.

I believe Zane is the one who is at fault for Vylads murder.

Zane was always corrupt, as in Garroths recollections of his younger brother, and simply in every single action we see Zane take. We know by Vylads retelling, Zane despised his half-brother. He never saw Vylad as his family, he thought of him as less than dirt and often didnt acknowledge him.

Either Zane himself was the one to stab and kill Vylad, or he had been the one to hire someone to do it. Both are likely, he would do it himself for the pure enjoyment of disposing of Vylad, or hire someone else to do it just to ensure everything went to his wicked plans and the world would be none the wiser to the truth of his demise.

But despite his death and rebirth as a shadow knight, he kept that deep-rooted love for family that he should have casted aside.

He has 0 hesitation when he follows Garroth to O'Khasis when he finds out about thier mothers impending execution. The two of course went on a rampage to free her, and after end up going to Hyria's to learn more of the past history.

Thus, when the others learn of Vylad bringing Aphmau to Phoenix Drop.

One prominent fact about Vylad that is shown so clearly, is his hyppocracy.

When hes telling Aphmau about how Laurance was struggling because of his clinging to his humanity and his emotions, hes acting as if he himself has truly rid himself of emotions.

But he did not. His love is deep within him, his caring and his kindness. That is why he continously fought for his family, protecting his mother and elder brother with his everything, risking his life and his freedom for near strangers.

Yet, he thinks of himself as a bad person.

" One good deed does not fix a thousand wrongs done. " he had said, but he has a list of good deeds he has done.

He did follow the demands of the Shadow Lord when he first became a shadow knight, but at the same time he was already branching away from orders.

He is also the only shadow knight whom we know never attempted to gain immortality, or felt the urge of it. (Aside from Amethyst, the old woman from Pikoro, who we dont know much more then she is no longer a active Shadow Knight.)

Even Laurance left because he felt the calling too strong, and as stated by Sasha at the end of season 2, Aphmau would be killed if Laurance tried to see her again.

In what was made of the third season, Vylad has gone off screen once more. We were told about Garte escaping into Tu'La, and Vylad went after him.

We dont know precisely why Vylad went after his so called adoptive father, but my hopes and theory is that he was playing executioner. He should be the one to hold Garte accountable for the crimes he had done to his people, and for his misstreatment of family.

After all, if Garte had been a good man, Vylad would never have been born. But his neglect of his family had led to Zianna's affair, and Vylads birth. Even then wasnt enough to bring Garte permanently out of his tyranny.

If Vylad were to be the one to kill Garte, he supposedly should gain his immortality. To kill a lord, who is also family. Though Vylad could never claim to love Garte im sure, and he never would even before his death. But the lordship may be enough to give Vylad immortality.

We know that gaining immortality is not a immediate end for a kind shadow knights good heart, as Vincent has his immortality, and yet Cadenza trusts him fully; and he is absolutely devoted to protecting his home, his people.

Vylad gaining immortality, would overall be a good thing for him. He out of everyone knows how good people do not live forever, while the evilest in the world live with longevity. With his immortality, he would rewrite his sins, atoning for them by living a eternity fighting against the monster from which he was reborn.

#the inescapable grasp of a minecraft series from 2015 #minecraft diaries #vylad mcd #aphmau vylad #aphmau mcd #vylad ro'meave #mcd #essay #ask answered #mcd essay #more normal mcd enjoyer ever

[bohemian-nights]

Hi, can you please tell me if there are actually evidences that Daemon can be the biological father of Nettles? Cause on Twitter a lot of people seems convinced of this, they say he probably had her with some wh*re in Driftmark, but wasn't Daemon fighting in the Stepstones in that period? I also don't remember this is stated anywhere in the book. Should i re-read Fire and Blood? Help, im confused.

Oh yes, twitter Dumbnyra stans 😒They are another layer to this tacky circus 🎪 that I don’t even want to get into, but don’t worry you aren’t going crazy cause is zero and I do mean zero evidence to support Daemon being Nettles father.

As always they are making sh*t up.

Dumbnyra Stans have taken the highlighted line from the book to say Daemon is Nettles father:

That’s it. That’s their evidence. Never mind that the line specifically emphasizes that he doted on her like one might dote on their daughter. Meaning Maester Norren is literally saying that as a point of reference, aka a comparison, and not to say that she’s his actual daughter.

I can not empathize this enough, they are using a comparison, while ignoring all the rest, like how Daemon bathes and sleeps in the same bed with Nettles, to say Of course Nettles is Daemon’s daughter. He’d never cheat on my Valyran queen with a dirty Black whore😆

🤦🏽‍♀️I wish I was joking about the last part, but they’ve told on themselves so many times now.

Keep in mind that Daemon fled from Westeros for the Stepstones in 111 AC:

He did not return until 115 AC when his first wife had died:

And Nettles is 16 in 129AC and turned 17 sometime before the fifth moon of 130 AC(before she left Maidenpool):



This means that she would have to have been born in early 113 AC, thus making it impossible for Daemon to be Nettles’ biological father since human gestation only lasts for 9 months.

So they are lying and the only reason why they are doing so is because of anti-Blackness and misogynoir.

After all, these are the same people who feel this way:

Simply put, they don’t want Daemon with a Black woman whom he ends up abandoning their white self-insert for.

I stand by the statement that if Nettles were white they'd have jumped from their Titanic of a ship by now. At the very least they wouldn't be having mental breakdowns at the thought of her being on the show calling her dirty and comparing her to animals non-stop.

Now these fans are idiots, but most of them are smart enough to know not to say that since it's blatantly racist.

So they hide behind the daughter thing to make those who ship Daemon and Nettles look like perverted weirdos and while they are just concerned fans to escape the racism charges🤷🏽‍♀️

#dumbnyra stans showing their idiocy once again #their behavior is very demented #daemon targaryen #nettles #daemon x nettles #nettles x daemon #nettles f&b #netty #nettles ask #bnask #daemon targaryen x nettles #bnasks #nettles asoiaf #anti dumbnyra stans

[itstimetoduell]

General Headcanons

Characters: Yugi, Yami, with a little Atem hcs

Warnings: unhealthy mindsets, obsessive, possessive, stalkerish behavior, slight manipulation, kidnapping

Notes: sorry this took so long, but our first post is here! -Mod Yugi

Yugi

~ made by mod Yami ~

Yandere type: obsessive, possessive, stalkerish

Danger level: about a 5/10 or so, but if he has a breakdown, 9/10.

This DELUSIONAL MAN already thinks you guys are already soulmates, when he laid his eyes on you for the first time he knew you guys were Destined to be together.

He would steal small stuff like your pencils you’re books your sweater. Basically stuff like that.

He likes to take pictures of BOTH of you guys. So he feels like it’s not one sided love.

When he first kidnaps you, you would be tied up in his bed since he doesn’t wanna make you uncomfortable and leave you in the cold basement.

Once you wake up you would most likely wake up to him cuddling you- which well isn’t a good sight to wake up at- He would try to calm you down by explaining “I had to do this! To save our love”

If you escape- he wouldn’t really hurt you physically. But more just breaking you mind. He doesn’t even realize he’s hurting you mentally. He just thinks it’s a lesson. He would tie you up in the basement alone no food no blanket nothing. Just a radio playing a song over and over. It would only last a day or 3 days depending on how long you escape. If it’s for days then definitely 3 days if it was just a couple of hours then just 1 day.

You can manipulate him to escape and get good treatment, But if you keep on doing it for a long time he would eventually get tired and won’t fall for it anymore.

He gets jealous very very easy. He doesn’t like when you talk to people or hang out with them. He only wants you to hang out with him

He likes to Grope you but I’ll save that for another time-

He doesn’t get mad easily so if you somehow made him REALLY mad you fuck up. Like bad

He likes to cuddle your chest since he feels safe in there

He likes to play with your hair and do all kind of hairstyles

He is- very very very touchy when you guys are in bed-

He likes having little dates with going to a coffee shop or movie theaters 

The only time he would really kidnap you if your moving away or you have a girlfriend/boyfriend he would completely snap and have no choice to kidnap you

He gets like really mad if you don’t call him a pet name.

But overall your gonna have a good life if you don’t mind being kidnap and not seeing your family again.

Yami/Atem

~ made by mod Yugi ~

Yandere type: possessive, quiet, stalkerish

Danger level: 7/10, but if you escape, 8

He’s very protective when he it comes to you and I mean VERY. He never felt like this for anymore so he truly thinks your the only one for him

Let’s start off with the basics, he wants to be your hero he wants to protect you, he just wants you all to himself!

He doesn't really interact with you, he only watches you from the shadows, silently watching your every move.

If you have any stuffed animals, he'd steal them, if you don't have any he'd steal your um.. underwear and bra

He'd be like a secret admirer for you, leaving notes, gifts and jewelry for you while he watches your reactions from the shadows

Just like Yugi, he's only gonna kidnap you if you date someone other then him

Adding onto how he doesn't interact with you, he'd only talk to you once he knows everything about you, and so he as something to talk about with you!

When he kidnaps you, he'd put a blindfold on you, so you can't see anything

He'd think this is all a game, and we all know how much he loves games..

If you're ungrateful with the food he makes, he'd force you to make it yourself

Adding to that, if you want freedom, and if you're brave enough, you can duel him! Butttt you never win, his bets can range from kissing him, showing affection, or to never ever disobey and escape again.

I'd say you have a low chance of escaping, but if you did escape, he'd be quiet impressed, and of course, enraged.

Atem would send his guards after you, then once he finds you, he'd lock you in a chamber for about 3 days, no food, no water, nothing.

As I said for Yami, he'd be enraged, once he finds you he'd lock you away for 3 days, similar to Atem. He wouldn't visit you and you'd beg for help, but only he can help you!

Even after those 3 days, he'd still be salty about you escaping, he'd still be mad and a little mean to you

Atem would have you on his lap while he tells the people in his kingdom what to do

He would get touchy when the two of you are alone, like he hates when people talk to you, even the guards in Atem's case, he would throw them away if they do.

#yugioh #yami yugi #yugi moto #yandere #tw yandere #yami yuugi #yandere yami #x reader #yami x reader #dark yugi #yugi x reader #ygo #atem/yami #ygo atem #yugioh atem #yandere yugi #headcanons #atem x oc #yugioh x reader

[fantasies-fairytales-n-fics]

Thranduil and Josie Pt. 152- Break Into My heart

Summary: Raven gets poetic. She receives a terrifying vision. The Elvenking is back to his womanizing ways to ease his mental anguish. Two Kings share wine and words. Thranduil and Tauriel converse which ends on a sour note. Narcisse has a surprise for Jo, Her kind words eat at his conscious to the point of a breakdown. The warlock admits something.

*Warnings* strong language, angst, smut,

Stories Stories Stories Masterlist

Raven paced around the elven chambers in solitaire that she had to share with Tauriel, fretting about what the Elvenking was going to make the she-elf do to her unborn child.

Would Tauriel really go through with it? Could she go through with it? It was no secret that the elleth didn't care for Raven one bit, but she still didn't seem like one who had a heart to do such a malicious act, especially after how she offered extra care for Raven's wounds in Rivendell when she didn't have to.

Surely, Thranduil was testing the loyalty of his new captain of the guard and that's what worried Raven even more, because she knew how desperate Tauriel was to remain in Mirkwood. Either way, Raven vowed she would never let it happen and would find a way to escape, even if it meant facing the dealers, or even worse...Jareth.

Raven sat down Indian style on the bed with her small bag of belongings and beg and digging through it for a particular book to read in hopes of calming her restless mind. It was one of her favorites by Edgar Allan Poe because it consisted of his complete poetry. She then did what she always did, closed her eyes and opened it to see what message she would receive this time.

As she opened her eyes, she began to read aloud.

"A Dream Within a Dream...

Take this kiss upon the brow! And, in parting from you now, thus much let me avow. You are not wrong, who deem that my days have been a dream; yet if hope has flown away in a night or in a day, in a vision or in none, is it therefore the less gone? All that we see or seem is but a dream within a dream.

I stand amid the roar of a surf tormented shore and I hold within my hand, grains of the golden sand. How few, yet how they creep through my fingers to the deep while I weep, while I weep, Oh god! Can I not grasp them with a tighter clasp? Oh god! Can I not save one from the pitiless wave? Is all that we see or seem but a dream within a dream?"

"Hope...what hope do I have?" Raven asked herself as a single tear strolled down her cheek.

Oddly in that moment, she thought of Jace. Why?? He abandoned her. Could she really blame him though? He hardly knew her and taking on the Elvenking could mean a death sentence for him. Jace had his own issues to deal with, why should he give damn about what happens to her? Why should anyone give a damn about her?

She closed the book with a sigh, for the message only made her feel worse. As she put it away, the glint of Jareth's citrine ring flashed in her face from the candlelight gleaming down inside the bag.

With all the chaos, Raven had forgot she even had it and the question came to light again as to how that slimy ghoul Gollum had gotten ahold of it in the first place? The only thing she could some up with was that the little thief must have stolen it off of Jareth's finger while the goblin king was disabled from Thranduil's light, for she couldn't see Jareth giving it to him for any reason. It was a part of Jareth's power and he would certainly come to reclaim it...and her.

Raven pulled it out, fondling it as she looked it over in more detail. It appeared to just be some ordinary antique but all who knew of it, knew it was anything but ordinary. It wasn't necessarily evil though, it just depended on who's finger it was placed upon. Of course, Raven didn't have the slightest clue how to bring it's magic out, so she did something quite stupid out of curiosity, and slid it upon her finger.

As she gazed upon her own reflection in the golden topaz, something began to happen. Something terrible.

Raven became frozen in some trance like state as her eyes glazed over in a white film...and then she heard him. Jareth.

"Curiosity killed the cat. I knew you were weak and foolish girl."

Her hand shook profusely as his image then appeared inside the stone, creeping towards her in a sinister, yet strangely sexy way.

"You have betrayed me for the last time my love. Did you honestly believe you could escape me? Or that I would simply forget your lying vows of love for me? Those same vows of love that created the life inside of you? You belong to me Raven. You will always belong to me. I will reclaim you, my ring and my child and you will rue the day you ever crossed me. There's nowhere to run, nowhere to hide. The Elvenking will face my wrath as well. He cannot protect you. I am your King. You will bow before me and take your place at my side for eternity. I am coming. Time...is short."

All that could then be seen was a close up of Jareth's face as he devilishly laughed, and then he vanished as Tauriel walked in.

"He...he...he...kn..knows...he knows about the baby." Raven stammered in fear after she came back to reality.

"Is that what I think it is??? On your finger???" Tauriel asked with beaming eyes and came towards her.

"Stay away from me you baby killing bitch!" Raven shouted and sprung off the bed, rushing backwards with great force right into the stone wall.

Down she slid to her butt, dazed and confused as she repeatably mumbled before she passed out.

"All that we see or seem is but a dream within a dream. All that we see or seem is but a dream within a dream. All that we see or seem is but a dream within a dream."

After viewing you through your moonstone for the second time in Haldir's arms, Thranduil, or more likely the Elvenking, enjoyed some pleasure of his own on the cool December day in his warm outdoor pool. Accompanying him was one of his elleth servants. She had platinum strands like his, although he preferred fiery hair...fiery hair that belonged to you. Because of that annoyance, he purposely chose her for a distraction and to fuck out the relentless ache in his cock that happened every time you invaded his thoughts and he had high hopes it would stop him from envisioning you while doing so.

"My lord...where shall you have me?" the pale blue eyed elf meekly asked.

The Elvenking merely side eyed her, not wanting to see her face.

"There...on the steps. Lean over them."

The young she elf did as she was commanded, laying her chest onto the cold wet stone with the crack of her bottom just barely above the clear blue water.

As he approached her, cock in hand, he noticed she was laying on her cheek to where he could see the side of her unwanted face.

"Face forward."

She turned to glance at him. "My lord, I...I am?"

"Dolth- cín níf!!!" (Conceal your face) he barked.

She squeaked and swiftly placed her forehead down on top of her hands.

"This is not for your pleasure, but for mine. If you wish to receive any, know that I will not wait."

'Y..yes my..lord." she timidly replied as she waited for the sharp sting of his girth.

Thranduil spread her entrance open with his fingers and guided the head of his swollen cock inside with his other, then he released his hand, grabbed her hips and thrust into her.

She squealed into her hands as he began pounding against her, so hard that the water sloshed about in a frenzy to the beat of smacking skin.

His idea failed him miserably as there you were, red hair and all, before him, being fucked like a dog. But the memory he was seeing was nothing of the sort, for in it, he was making love to you, soft, slow and sweet in his chamber's pool. The candlelight danced over your wet back as you moaned and panted for him, immediately bringing him to climax.

Thranduil's eyes closed hard and his mouth hung open as he sped up, ignoring the elleth's orgasmic mewls and only hearing yours. He swiftly pulled out, groaning and stroking his way through his release as he expelled his cum into the water, while in his mind, he secretly called your name.

"Glenn-hi." (Go now) he commanded to the blonde elf. "And do not return to my sight, this day or any day."

She glanced at him in confusion. "My...lord??"

Thranduil's eyes rolled as he pursed his lips. "It would seem I have made the right choice to remove you from my kingdom, for your dense mind is of no use here, nor is your cunt of any more use to me."

He swayed his hand in the air behind him for her to exit as he waded to the other side of the pool to climb out.

After Thranduil relaxed in the remaining sunlight for a moment with his wine, he then slipped back into his attire and headed to the shipping docks in annoyance, as he saw Bard's late barge arriving.

"You are late with the barrels. Are there no means of time in Lake Town?" Thranduil rudely said in his greeting to the captain of the archers and King of Dale.

"King Thranduil. Apologies. I had a setback with some orcs along the way. It is good to see you alive and well."

"It is good to know your vision is still in tact. Unload, reload and be on your way to Dorwinion. I expect extra allowance of time will be given for your next delivery, for tardiness is not acceptable as it may have been while I was...away, but as your properly functioning eyes have witnessed, I have returned and all operations will remain under my rule as they were."

Bard had heard of the trauma inflicted upon the King and was even warned of his changed behavior, but knowing Thranduil as well as he did, he really didn't see any difference in him....yet, for Thranduil's attitude was completely typical. Even so, Bard knew he could hold his own against the Elvenking, who was also his friend.

"Will that include a shared glass of the wine before my departure like always? I have missed my old friend and was very saddened to believe you had passed on."

Thranduil's eyes narrowed as he peered down at the smiling bowman.

"Very well. There are things you need to be aware of before entering Dorwinion. Be quick and join me in the docking tent."

Bard nodded with a bow and began his duties while Thranduil then headed off to patiently wait.

Fifteen minutes later, Bard entered the tent to find the King in his chair, sipping his wine and seemingly lost in thought, for his arrival went unnoticed.

"King Thranduil? I have completed my tasks."

Thranduil did as he had always done and went to the wine table to pour the other King a drink.

"I am in need of more ale in addition to the usual order from Lord Narcisse for an upcoming celebration."

"As you wish. Has your queen returned? I would like to offer my congratulations on the birth of the Princess."

"You may offer them to me, for my daughter was not born of immaculate conception." Thranduil quipped and returned to his chair.

"Of course. Congratulations King Thranduil. I was only hoping to offer them to her in person and hopefully meet the child."

"It would seem you will meet her before I am able to do so. Josephine remains in Dorwinion with my daughter. Legolas is on his way there to return them to me."

"That is good news. I am sure it will be a most happy reunion and celebration that you have planned. Shall I relay any messages to the Queen?"

The Elvenking's jaw was clenching, for he could not stand to continue hearing Bard address you as his Queen, but he knew he must carry on with his charade that you and he would be one happy little family again. He could not risk you knowing the truth as it would delay his plans even further by you possibly refusing to come back and he knew Legolas would not take Leean from you, nor would you allow him to.

"All that you know of my existence is to remain unknown. Although you may arrive before Legolas, he will inform her per my instructions."

"The Queen does not know you are alive?"

"Ahh, I see your brain is working as well as your eyes."

"Thranduil...may I ask why you would not wish for her to know her King is alive as soon as possible? I cannot imagine the suffering she has endured."

"You may not! What concern is my business of yours? You will do as I have ordered or I can and will easily find a replacement for your duties here."

Now Bard knew something was amiss just like he was warned of. Thranduil was referring to his daughter as only his and seemed to have no concern for you. The Thranduil he knew, that loved you beyond the moon and the stars, would not be sitting here drinking wine as if it were just another day. He would have been on his way to Dorwinion himself to be with you, but it was not Thranduil that sat before him. It looked like him, but it was in fact the elf lord he knew before you arrival, the Elvenking.

"Respectfully, how do you expect me to look her in the eyes and not speak of you?""

"Maybe I was incorrect about your brain functions. It is as simple as you are. You do not speak to her at all. That woman and child are nothing to you. You are going there for your compensated duties, unless you would like me to involve myself in your affairs, such as with Baine?"

Bard took a step towards the Elvenking with a scowl upon his face.

"You dare to threaten my son??"

Thranduil stood from his seat and faced the angry bowman.

"I dare to dare as I please. With that said, I threaten no child. I am merely suggesting that he may be better suited for your position. After all, he did assist you, bravely I might add, in Smaug's demise and would take his duties seriously. He would not be concerned, as you are, with Josephine or my child."

"If I no longer work for you, nor will my son. I do not need your compensation, or have you forgotten I am a King as well? What I do for you and other lands are to help others instead of biding my time on a throne, wearing a pretty crown, drinking wine and patronizing others."

Although Thranduil looked upon the man with great dismay of his insult, he expected nothing less from one King to another, especially from Bard the brave.

Bard returned the look, sat his chalice down and without another word or a single head bow, he left.

Thranduil made his way to his chambers, greatly vexed and having enough of the day's occurrences, only to find Tauriel awaiting him at his stairwell.

He found his eyes rolling once again as he walked past her in which she followed him down the stairs, offering a quick bow.

"Unless you have come to inform me that you have completed the task I ordered, I wish to enjoy my evening in peace and solitude." he snapped as he poured another glass of his cherished and mind numbing vintage.

"Apologies my lord, I have not, for I have something you may find of more importance for the time being." Tauriel strongly said as she paced about with worry.

"What could be of more importance than ridding of that creature in the dhampir's womb??"

"This...my lord."

Tauriel extended her arm out and opened her hand to reveal Jareth's citrine gemstone.

The Elvenking's eyes rolled again, but this time, almost out of his head.

"Where have you come across this piece??"

"It was in Raven's possession. I fear she has had contact with Jareth. She claims he is aware of the child."

"It is no child. It is his demon seed."

Thranduil took the ring from her and eyed it over, before pulling out your moonstone that he swore he would not look at again.

"I now have two of the six runestones needed to destroy Jareth. My moonstone and Josephine's are of one piece, but only one of the pair is needed. Haldir possesses another, the emerald. I will inform Legolas to retrieve it."

"My lord...who has the other three?"

"Harker has the crystal prism in which he used as means of torture upon me. Somewhere, there is an amethyst and a pink tourmaline. All six each represent a strength...knowledge, love, birth, strength, destruction and death. I hold in my hands, love and death. Haldir holds birth. Harker holds destruction. Knowledge and strength still remain, as well as the book of shadows, I last recall, Julian concealed the three pages to raise the dead and they also are the only ones that can undo it. When all items are combined, along with Ashmole's spell, it is the only means to Jareth's permanent destruction, which is why he wants them for the obvious reason of preventing it. The issue we currently face are those three pages. It is all that is needed for Jareth to carry out his deadly plan. With Julian under his control, it is only a matter of time before the goblin king is in possession of those, if he is not already."

"My lord...this will be...ruinous."

"How remarkable, your observance of the obvious. I have had enough of this futile conversation and day at that. Come tomorrow at high noon, there will be a meeting before my throne and by the day's end, I expect my demands to be met."

"My lord...if I may inquire...how is it that you desire me to handle the situation? Raven is not going to consume anything I give her, for she is aware of your plan."

"Slow-witted I perceived you not to be. Am I myself slow-witted as well for placing my faith in you?"

"No, of course not my lord, it's just that...there is no other way than...black magic...which is forbidden here....and the price... it comes back on the spellcaster three fold as you know."

"It is not forbidden if I so order it. I am the King of this realm, am I not? And as King, I have sovereignty, also do I not?"

"Y...yes my lord...I..."

"You nothing! Dispose of the evil entity as you see fit or find yourself in contempt of a direct order. I would advise against defying me or I assure you, the worst price you will suffer is my wrath."

"Yes, my lord." Tauriel bowed and rushed off, knowing she was already receiving her karma by Thranduil himself for all that she had done. He could have easily chosen any of is guard to complete the ungodly task, but he intentionally chose her out of spite and, like Raven believed, to test her loyalty. The most obvious though, was that it was to punish Jareth, as well as Raven, for all that they took from the King....you, his daughter and the vast majority of his will and his love.

Thranduil laid the pair of gems upon his desk and sat down, again gazing at his journal, wishing to add another entry, but he knew he would be easily tempted to read his past memories and feelings, so instead, he relished in his wine as he fondled your stone without thought....until he saw you appear inside again without warning.

It now seemed his touch brought you about, like rubbing a genie lamp.

He stood in utter shock, staring down at the vision, for this time he saw you with Lord Narcisse and it appeared to him to be an intimate moment. A kiss.

"How...Josephine?..." he whispered.

Thranduil's heart shockingly burned him in agony. It was nothing like the jealousy and rage he had felt when he saw you with Haldir. This...this was true unexpected pain. Like a thief in the night, you broke into his heart.

As Narcisse arranged the dinner table in his chamber, a knock sounded upon his door. He smiled, knowing it was you by the way you lightly tapped three times.

"Jo...I was beginning to think you had changed your mind."

"No...I was tending to Leean when Haldir showed up." you explained as you went inside.

"Isss....everything alright?"

"I don't know. He knew I was coming here tonight, so he wanted to come stay with Lola and Leean, which I am surprised he even did. Stephane, he heard us outside the door earlier today, about me choosing to stay here with you. Needless to say, he was highly upset and things didn't go well. All we do is fight anymore and I feel so terrible. I miss him...the way things used to be until my mother came back into my life and turned it all upside down. Now I feel like he and I are so disconnected and...it hurts."

"Jo...you don't have to be here with me this evening. Why don't you go spend it with Haldir and try to make things right with him?"

You laughed as you poured some wine. "You...Stephane Narcisse, want me to go spend my night with Haldir instead of you?"

"Is that so unbelievable that I would want you to be happy?"

"No...I know you do, but I made these plans with you...actually we made them awhile ago and they got interrupted so....I want to stay right here, or I would not have came. With that said, is there anymore news on Harker or Bash?"

"Unfortunately no in regards to Harker. My guards are on continuous watch. No one sleeps until he is reprimanded. Bash was still resting but alert. He said he was feeling better and asked me to thank you for what you did for him."

"Well, I will go and visit with him tomorrow and let him know I was more than happy to help him. He's a good man, just like you."

Stephane's eyes fell and he walked off to pour himself a glass of the hard stuff. All the kind things you had said to him lately only made him feel worse by the minute for what he was concealing. He even tried to condone his own actions by telling himself that Thranduil was probably truly dead by now considering he had been imprisoned by Jareth all this time and all the other worldly experiences you had proved it. Even so, it wouldn't change anything though if you were to know Thranduil had been alive and that he kept it from you. It would actually make it much worse for Narcisse...and even harder on you. He was at a crossroads and didn't know which way to go and it was eating him alive.

"Hey, where'd you go just now?" you asked with a concerned smile.

"I'm sorry Jo...I just have so much on my mind."

"I know you do. Come on, let's eat. You went to all this trouble to have it prepared with all of this going on. Try to relax, unwind a bit."

'You're right, as always my lady. I hope it is to your liking." he said with a sly grin.

"Ok, what did you do this time Stephy?" you giggled and quickly lifted the silver lid off the large wooden plate in the middle.

You sucked in a gasp and released a loud squeal of joy as you saw a steaming hot homestyle pizza in front of you.

"Oh...my...god...you didn't."

"I did, for once again, I paid attention." he smiled, and quite big at that to see you so happy. "I cannot take the credit for preparing it this time, but I did inform the cooks how to create it. It has crushed tomatoes, cheese, pork, mushrooms, onions and peppers. I hope that is alright? Oh, and I had one made to be taken to Haldir and Lola too, and dessert."

"Are you kidding?? It's...perfect Stephane...how sweet of you and....you're...perfect too."

"I wouldn't go that far my lady." he chuckled. "Here, let me cut it up for you."

The pie made three large pieces for each of you and you both ate every single piece, including the crust edge, which you never liked, and then you indulged in warm cherry pie, also specially made for you.

'Alright, I cannot eat another bite or I am going to burst." you laughed. "Thank you Stephane...so much for this. Two delish pies of perfection."

"I am just happy to see you smile."

"Well, that's because of you. I...I am really happy that I will be staying here for awhile with you. I know I have to go back to Mirkwood at some point...for Legolas. I know he misses Leean and they shouldn't be separated. But, I have a feeling it's going to be quite some time before I can go back. It is far too dangerous right now."

"Jo...I..I don't ever want you to leave. I know you must...but...I..I will never see you. It is not like Mirkwood is just down the road. It's miles away."

"Stephane, when all of this is over and it's safe, I can travel to see you and you can even come see me. We could rotate months." you jested, but Stephane didn't laugh. Instead, he quietly got up to go get another drink, his hand trembling as he poured it.

"Steph, it will be alright? It's only a few days travel. I can hitch a ride with Bard on his deliveries. I will always want to see you. You...you mean a lot to me and you're always here for me when I need you."

Narcisse guzzled his whiskey and then sat down in another chair as he rubbed his hand over his face, obviously upset....and then...he just broke down crying.

You didn't know what was happening or what to do. This was so unlike Narcisse. The tough and strong warlock you knew was now merely a lost little boy, but you of all people knew one could only be strong for so long when the world was crumbling around you.

Slowly, you approached him with compassion. When he realized you were standing before him, he stopped his tears and rolled his embarrassed glistening eyes up to you.

You knelt down and took his tear soaked face into your hands.

"Stephane, sweetheart. What is it?" you softly asked as your concerned eyes studied his.

"Jo...I..I know this is not like me...but...I cannot keep this inside any longer."

His hand raised to your cheek, stroking your hair behind your ear.

"Ok? Talk to me. You can tell me anything. I am here for you as you always are for me."

Narcisse closed his eyes and sighed, then lightly traced your lips with his fingertips.

"Jo...that rare jewel I once told you I have yet to see of love? I found it...I....I...love you..."

Your eyes widened and you found yourself speechless, except for the small gasp that escaped your lips.

"You...do not have to say anything Jo. I just needed you to know....and I...I don't want you to go away. I've never felt this way and I am terrified of losing you..."

You still couldn't speak as you gazed into his sincerely love filled eyes of teary blue. Instead, you found yourself pulling his lips to yours.

@redeemer46

#lee pace #king thranduil #thranduil #thranduil and josie #the elvenking #love stories #dark stories #dark fiction #thranduil fanfiction #fantasy fanfic #fantasies #fairytales #magic #witches #warlocks #elves #thranduil smut #tauriel #jareth the goblin king #david bowie #craig parker #narcisse #bard the bowman #luke evans #Youtube

[weirdkpopgirl]

Warmth | Jisung Imagine #2

Title: Warmth

Genre: Hurt/comfort, a little fluff

Warnings: mention of poor mental health, touches on depression and anxiety a little bit, no breakdowns this time though.

Word Count: 951

Author's Note: First off, I'm so sorry for how inactive I've been lately. I have some pending fics for Mark and Haechan that I've been working on over the past two months now. I'm honestly not sure when they'll be posted. I still wanted to post something this week, so here's a little comfort story for Jisung. On a side note, I've been meaning to show more Park Jisung appreciation. Despite him being the youngest member of his group, he has a lot of maturity that I admire. Anyway, thank you for reading ^ - ^

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You let out a heavy exhale, tearing your attention away from the book in your lap to gaze out the window. The storm from earlier in the evening had settled a bit. Now the rain drops were falling in a soothing, rhythmic pattern. Typically, you found these kinds of nights to be quite peaceful. Particularly when you were nestled in the corner of your sofa, snuggled underneath a soft blanket with a book in the gentle glow of your dimly lit living room.

Yet, the gloomy cloud in your mind quietly returned, preventing you from fully enjoying this precious alone time. That’s when you knew things were getting bad again. When sleep was out of the question, and even your favorite book couldn’t block out the dark thoughts entirely. All the nice days full of smiles and laughter from the past month seemed to be bulldozed over by life’s reminder of your misery.

This time, it was the news of your brother cheating on his wife of five years. After last year, you didn’t think things could get worse after your parents finalized their divorce. And it took a hard slap of reality to make you realize what fool you were to believe that. Now the confirmed fact of how broken your family was, you’ve never felt more alone.

Just when you were being drowned by those depressing thoughts, the phone on the coffee table vibrated. Your heart raced when you saw the message notification from Jisung. 

“I’m here, can you come out to meet me?” 

You hesitated for a moment, wondering what drove your boyfriend to come here at 11:12 pm. But you forced yourself up off the couch and made your way outside your apartment. Once the front door was pushed open, you were met with the sight of Jisung standing in the pouring rain. The tall boy was drenched from head to toe, his dark hair plastered to his forehead, and his clothes stuck to his skinny body.

“Jisung…what are you doing here?” You asked, bewildered. A part of you wanted to scold him for not bringing an umbrella. 

The boy’s eyes dropped down to his feet in embarrassment. “I couldn’t sleep back at the dorm, and I don’t know…I had this weird feeling that something was wrong based on the last time we talked.”

A lump formed in your throat as you listened to him go on about how it’s been a long time since you’ve gotten to see each other in person, and how he just had to make sure you were okay. The young male’s thoughtfulness didn’t fail to touch you.

“Are you okay though?” He asked after a short pause, gently pulling you in closer.

His sudden clinginess took you by surprise. Not many people saw this side of him, not even his members. The two of you locked eyes and in that moment, you could see he was trying to hide just how exhausted he was. Jisung didn’t need to say anything for you to know the stress of his work was beginning to pile up again, making him feel like he was carrying the weight of the world.

You almost didn’t want to let Jisung know about the whirlwind of emotions you’ve been experiencing. But you couldn’t lie to him, knowing he had walked all the way here to check on you. 

“I don’t know what to do,” Your voice trembled as you spoke. “Everything is falling apart.”

Your teeth sank into your lower lip, to keep the tears from escaping. But the way Jisung was looking at you made it difficult. His hand practically covered the side of your face when he cupped it.

“I’m here for you, (Y/n)-ah.” He almost whispered. His deep voice sounded so reassuring at times like this.

As he spoke you felt all the emotions you’ve tried to bury, surge through your body. You couldn’t find the right words or actions to express it. All you knew was that you needed Jisung right now, more than ever. Then as if he read your mind, he leaned in and kissed you without warning.

As Jisung’s lips met yours, the rain began to fall harder, creating a soft pattering sound that filled the air around you. You could feel the cold wetness seep through the thin gray long-sleeve you were wearing. But neither of you cared. The warmth radiating from the kiss was enough.

The kiss was full of longing and comfort, leaving you breathless. But the way his lips pressed gently against yours, the way he held you so securely, it all made you feel like the world stopped for a moment. 

Your hands gripped the collar of his hoodie as you gathered the bravery to kiss him harder. The turmoil of your family situation and the pain you’ve indefinitely been holding in temporarily faded away.

Both of you were gasping for breath, but you remained in one another’s embrace. He offered you a soft smile. “Whatever is going on right now, we’re going to get through it together Jagiya.”

You glanced up at him, your heart swelled up with gratitude and admiration. For the first time in a while, you let out a small laugh.

“I love you so much, Park Jisung.”

He leaned down to place another kiss on your lips. “Not as much as I love you.”

Despite the rain continuing to fall around you, this moment of intimacy meant so much. This was life’s reminder that no matter how heavy the storm may be, you had Park Jisung, and he had you. This knowledge left both of you with a sense of warmth. Nothing could break the bond you two shared.

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#nct dream #nct dream imagines #park jisung #jisung imagines #kpop #jisungie #nct dream angst #jisung x reader #jisung scenarios #nctzen #czennie #nct fics

[rosesocietyy]

Mulling on Lestat the musical again and I think the crux of the problem was it got crushed under the weight of its own ambition. The stories Elton John and Linda Woolverton have worked on before appear epic, but are actually quite contained; the lion king, aida, etc. Lestat's tale is too vast and meandering and trying to fit all that lore in 2 hrs, told almost exclusively through quite generic ballads (I'm guessing as an attempt to invoke the time period) was both too much and somehow painfully dull. Too much was happening too fast for you to care about anything. Les Mis was an anomaly, don't attempt to recreate it.

An effective approach would have been something akin to The Great Comet. Take a snippet out of the whole story, focus on that, and be a little experimental with the music. Or don't, the music can still be conventional, but the scope must be smaller. And don't be scared to go crazy, anne certainly wasn't. The main themes might be a little different when separated from the book series as a whole but that's alright, it still works as an individual piece of art.

They could tell a tragic story of the boy who finally made it out and escaped his father's bruising temper, his mother's passivity, and village's accusing eyes, only to have that life he's painstakingly built for himself stolen from him by a monster. It ignores the aspects of lestat that came with his vampirism but that's a fair trade off. This can end with Nicki killing himself, let that be the harrowing end. They can add their own creative spin to it, change the era, make it a folk opera, or something akin to cabaret, the possibilities aren't endless but they're quite a lot.

Or, they could make a 2hr introspection on the rise and fall of a relationship that starts Louis and lestat meeting and ends with lestat dying. Basically season one. Tackle intersectional issues with vampirism as a backdrop, or as a metaphor, take your pic. They can play with the structure a la The last five years; in fact the interview structure itself is already primed and ready for the stage, there's not much to tweak. Let the music rise and fall with their madness. I want to feel as suffocated as Louis does in small box lestat calls love.

They could go even smaller, make it about Claudia, birth to death. How everyone in her life failed her over and over and over again, the lament of a girl who was never truly seen. The framing device is Louis finding all her diaries and reading it for the first time and having a mental breakdown at the end.

There are so many fascinating segments one can zero in on to extract a gem, and as much as I hate to say it, that's kinda the beauty of anne's narrative clusterfuck. I truly hope one day another write and composer would take another look at her world and give it a genuine shot, there's gold waiting to be mined in there.

#i will say though #the pin drop silence in the theatre when lestat kissed his mom was iconic #and is probably the closest that musical was to reaching its full potential #that and 'I want more' #10/10 no notes #interview with the vampire #iwtv #louis de pointe du lac #lestat de lioncourt #the vampire chronicles #lestat the musical

[prying-pandora666]

My Azula Diagnosis Analysis Part 8: Identification With the Aggressor

As the master post I wrote was too long, I’ve divided it into parts. Find them all here.

Sick of bad armchair diagnosis for Azula? Me too! So in this thread let’s discuss Azula’s most commonly “diagnosed” illnesses and disorders, and find out what she actually meets the criteria for, if any.

“Identification with the Aggressor is one of the forms of identification conceptualized by psychoanalysis. Specifically, it is a defence mechanism that indicates taking the role of the aggressor and his functional attributes, or imitating his aggressive and behavioral modality when a psychological trauma brings about the hopeless dilemma of being either a victim or an abuser. This theoretical construct is also defined as a process of coping with mental distress or as a particular case of zero-sum game.”

In other words, it’s a coping mechanism to deal with abuse where a victim mimics the abuser’s actions and beliefs to escape being further victimized.

Does Azula display Identification with the Aggressor?

Identification with the Aggressor Claims

—Azula reflects whatever Ozai wants to hear

—Azula is both afraid of and dependent on Ozai and will do terrible things she doesn’t even want to do to stay in his good graces

—Azula would prefer to act like her abuser than be viewed as the victim, even if it means going against her own desires and goals

So Does Azula Demonstrate Identification with the Aggressor?

As always, symptoms can present in a number of ways. People are all different. But diagnostically significant symptoms include:

—Mirroring the Abuser: The most obvious case is with Ozai. Azula parrots his political beliefs and grievances since early childhood, something that makes her come off frightening for such a young child. Interestingly, her manipulative and scheming qualities seem to come from both her parents, as Ursa is the one who came up with the plan to assassinate Azulon to protect Zuko.

—Concealing Vulnerability: Azula’s breakdown is the most dramatic reveal of her hidden internal vulnerability, but it isn’t the only one. In The Beach, Azula deflects from her own emotional wounds with a joke (“My own mother thought I was a monster… She was right, of course, but it still hurt.”), but we later learn how real this trauma was for her. She also conceals how much she cares about others, often couching advice or help behind a veneer of mockery.

—Enmeshment with the Abuser: Azula displays a concerning lack of agency or personal desires outside of Ozai. We never are given any motivations for her that don’t serve Ozai (or occasionally Zuko) except for when she wants to flirt with boys her age. The moment she tries to act on her own desires, her incredible confidence and aptitude vanish. Even then, she attempts to woo Chan by offering the very thing she knows her enmeshed abuser would want: world domination. To tragically disastrous results.

—Kicking the Scapegoat: When desperate to protect herself, Azula will turn on the scapegoat child (Zuko), no matter how much she loves him, hoping to deflect the abuser’s ire to a more acceptable target.

—Deflecting and Transferring the Blame: As confronting the reality that their abuser, whom the victim is both afraid of and desperate to please, is the source of the problem may be too painful or frightening, victims often subconsciously transfer the blame to an easier target. Both Zuko and Azula do this to avoid directing their grievances at their true abuser: Ozai. While Zuko tends to pin the blame for the abuse he suffered on Azula, Azula tends to pin it on Ursa.

Conclusion: Azula does identify with the aggressor.

An interview with the head writer only drives it home even further, where he overtly states that Azula was trapped doing worse and worse things to please Ozai as she had become alienated from her mother and had no one else.

The book 2 novelization also makes it concrete, spelling out Azula’s fears of vulnerability and rejection.

This may also perfectly explain Azula’s reaction to Zuko being burned.

[animeyanderelover]

Could you maybe do the letters L,T,N,A with kaneki? This is my first time asking another blog I hope I didn’t do it incorrectly 😅 also I love your writing❤️

I already did the letters L and T for him so I obviously didn't do them in here.

Tw: Yandere themes, unhealthy mindset, unhealthy relationship, possessiveness, obsessiveness, delusions, paranoia, clinginess, mental breakdown, abduction, death

Yandere Alphabet

Affection-How and how often do they show affection?

🔲It depends on how far in the relationship he is with his darling. There is no denial that Kaneki is dependent on affections from his darling, it soothes his low self-esteem a bit and is genuinely one of the few things that still make him happy. On the other hand he doesn't want to force his s/o and disgust them even more so initially he really puts effort into stuffing his needs down and only focusing on your own needs. It's at first mainly words of adoration and love and acts of service. He compliments you on even the small things he finds precious and is usually the one to cook you your favorite meals or get you a new book or something you want to have.

🔲​He has his outbursts when everything becomes too much but he wants to earn your love and the moment you do start to accept him and show signs of returning his feelings, he dares to ask if he can hold your hand or cuddle with you to test his boundaries. If you don't seem to mind he starts increasing his affection to the physical aspect and let me tell you, Kaneki is a clingy and touch-starved person. He wants to hold hands with you, loves to pepper your face with chaste kisses and adores cuddling and spending long hours in the morning in bed when he has the time. He's a sucker if you give him any sort of affection as well, especially if it has something to do with touching since physical affection is the most reassuring for him.

Nightmare-What would be the worst experience for their darling? Would they break?

🔲​It isn't even the whole kidnapping or the aspect of being isolated that is the worst experience you could have with Kaneki. No, the worst experience is without a doubt the moment he snaps and turns into a madman. It comes usually when you escape, get hurt by someone, are attacked or ignore him. He is vulnerable but swallows his feelings down most of the time when it comes to giving you time to adjust. When he snaps though, he's begging, going down on his knees, crying with this mental glint in his eyes and is even ready to tie you up if you try to get away since his paranoia reaches it's peak. It's a hundred times worse though if someone hurts you because Kaneki is in a frenzy as soon as he sees your wounds and/or the culprit who is responsible. Violent and bloody doesn't even capture the scene you're exposed too as Kaneki attacks beyond viciously and deforms and tears them apart with indescribable fury on his face.

🔲​It is never his intention to traumatize his s/o, Kaneki actually is someone to attend to his darling's every need after all. He doesn't want his darling to break yet when he loses it he needs a while to snap out of it since he literally can't control his emotions and just acts on raw instinct. I'd say it depends on how well his s/o can cope with this all. Kaneki is a worshipper and caters to your well-being, he is no sadist so he never toys with you or hurts you for fun. Most of the time he keeps you out of his world so you don't have to see anything which could break you and if he breaks then it is just very unfortunate since such an experience sticks with a person. If he does notice that you seem to lose yourself though, he will try to help you somehow which is, admittedly, not something every Yandere would do as quick as he does, some wouldn't even help at all since they prefer a broken darling.

#yandere tokyo ghoul #yandere kaneki #yandere ken kaneki

[old-daemon-farts]

A rant about my inability to daydream and how I don't know if it is the outcome of stress or Ashe. Honestly though Ashe is just as frustrated about it. It use to make sleeping easier and after another really shitty night my frustration over it is getting worse.

I miss being able to daydream. I use to do it a lot. Maladaptive daydreaming kind of frequency. As a kid I never associated it with stress, maybe loneliness, but not stress. I did it so often over the years that it never interfered with my life and I could interact with others and daydream at the same time, easy as pie. The older I got the more it only happened when I was alone with my thoughts. So a nightly ritual was daydreaming while trying to fall asleep in bed.

It wasn't perfect, but I realize now it was a very effective way for my thoughts not to spiral and loop and made falling asleep easier. During times of extreme stress it was a 50/50 success rate. Sometimes it broke loops and sometimes I couldn't manage to escape into my imagination for more than a few minutes at a time. At the most extreme point in my life my daydreaming was absolutely for coping and escapism.

My systemmate Ashe came from one of these daydreams. I use to interact with her there and she ended up showing up outside of them. She recognized she was from a daydream, she could manipulate and rewrite things about herself as often as she wanted. Her section of the headspace was vivid and she could do and populate what she wanted in it with incredible ease. Just like daydreams change in small ways each time you revisit, she was fluid and was comfortable with that fact.

But then I had a serious mental breakdown. Dissociation at its worse. At least the worst I've ever experienced, and then everything changed.

I couldn't daydream anymore after that. My headspace was blank, none of my past headmates or muses could be reached. It was just me and Ashe. Even Ashe started to lose her ability to see or manipulate her section of the headspace. She couldn't shift her reality anymore and things started to solidify about her. I absolutely think it's related to our inability to daydream. When it started to happen she chalked it up to being grounded here too long. But I think there's more to it than that.

A year and a half later I still can't daydream. We can script, and imagine scenarios with our partners, but we can't even imagine ourselves doing anything together in headspace or in some made up location. Not like we use to. It sucks.

I don't know if I can't daydream anymore because something snapped or if it's a side effect of Ashe being co-con and co-fronting so much. Her appearance was around the height of the stress that broke me so sometimes it feels like the chicken and the egg question. I'm not in that stressful environment anymore, but I still go through periods of when that stress does come back into my life. So why can't I use the thing my brain once thought was good for coping? It's frustrating.

All I know is I miss the ability to break my downward-spiraling thoughts as I try and sleep. Daydreaming helped and now the only thing I have is listening to things on the TV or an audio book and surprisingly that is SO much more disruptive compared to daydreaming.

Anyway, will I ever see a therapist? Yeah at some point. Until then I'm going to continue to complain and mourn my loss of imagination.

#not daemon related #not adding plural tags because #but definitely plural related I think

[ecoamerica]

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The American Climate Leadership Awards 2024 broadcast recording is now available on ecoAmerica's YouTube channel for viewers to be inspired by active climate leaders. Watch to find out which finalist received the $50,000 grand prize! Hosted by Vanessa Hauc and featuring Bill McKibben and Katharine Hayhoe!

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[the-messenger-hawk]

I like, rarely see your stuff on my dash for some reason. What are some AUs you have for certain fandoms? Be as specific and detailed as humanly possible.

Oh my god. This is...a lot...

I'm gonna, try to get down as much as I can that I still think about....

ATLA AUs:

Dragon and the Phoenix: Mirrorverse–Ozai & Iroh. The eldest child of Fire Lord Azulon is the one who fails to escape his influence, and the youngest found himself overseas.

Drought: Avatar Zuko. Galvanized by having an Avatar of their own, the Fire Nation launches a full invasion on the South, in which Sokka and Katara are the only survivors. 

One Less Betrayal: It’s essentially a villain siblings AU (because there’s not nearly enough of those tbh) wherein the defining change is that Zuko’s final betrayal of the series (his betrayal of the Fire Nation in Book 3) doesn’t happen. However, the effect his newfound loyalty has on his mental health is damning; while he forms a strong bond with Azula, Zuko’s relationships with others (particularly Mai and Ty Lee) suffers greatly. He regresses dangerously, becoming more aggressive and unstable (Azula never has a breakdown in this AU, because she has her brother with her, but he kinda does, albeit not in the same way). Eventually the siblings both become convinced that their father intends to steal all the glory behind the war and leave them with nothing. Working together, the two of them are able to overthrow him, and plan to rule the world together as two crowns, Zuko succeeding Ozai as Fire Lord and Azula becoming the Earth Kingdom’s first Serpent Queen. The two of them are now the resistance’s worst enemy.

Icarus: Modern AU. (posted here~) Jetka. Past-Zukka. Zuko-centric. Zuko finally moves back home to pick up the pieces of his past life, only to realize that some things can’t be fixed. 

Ice King: (posted here!) Sokka is alone after losing his mother, the disappearance of his sister, the departure of his father, and the distance of his grandmother. Soon after Hakoda leaves, the boy crashes his kayak into a iceberg, and uncovers the Avatar, but he has little hope that this will change anything for him or anyone. miserable, depressing.

Innocence: Ozai-centric. Aang’s gift from the Lionturtle doesn’t take Ozai’s bending. Instead, it de-ages him to a small child and wipes his memory. a lot of focus on the fire fam’s past and Iroh

Into the Maw: The Fire Nation conquered the world during the siege on Ba Sing Se. To put the rebellious SWT in its place, the Chieftain’s daughter is arranged to the Fire Nation. Furious and protective, Sokka disguises himself and is sent to the Fire Nation in her place. includes: attempted assassination, cross-dressing. 

The Fire Nation’s Catastrophic Failure: At the end of Sozin’s Comet, Ozai gets turned into a harmless, talking housecat, funny ensues. bonus: Ursa is a bona fide cat lady.

Tuurngaq: Imagine the time period right after Kya is murdered, and the entire family is just completely broken down and grieving because of her loss. But kid Sokka, unable to help his drifting father in any way, or do anything to make his sister’s tears and upset stop, feels some kind of twisted, guilty responsibility to fix everything. So he sneaks into the wilderness and encounters a powerful spirit, which he begs to bring their mother back. And it says it will, with the condition that he offers his own life to the spirit in exchange. Sokka agrees.

Wei: Nonbender Ozai AU. gray morals. Azulon tosses out his second son, and Ozai is declared dead. Ozai becomes an underground prize-fighter to earn money, going by the name of Wei. His desire to be the strongest fighter is only matched by his hatred of the royal family. probably urzai. 

Well He’s no Robinhood: jetka AU. Jet kidnaps the son of the Southern Chief to earn money, and is drawn to how brilliant and challenging he is. 

=========================

KH AUs:

I have a tag for the Guiding Wind AU

A Kinder Shade of Black: Sora and Vanitas are marooned on an unknown world together. Separated from their allies and stuck, they really have no option but to work together in a hostile land. During the interim, Vanitas finds himself tentatively amused that the Lights’ precious golden boy isn’t quite the utterly pure-of-heart champion that others have raised him up to be. A little bit of Darkness goes a long way, especially when everything’s out to get you; it also makes for some rather entertaining company. But he isn’t really expecting for Sora’s influence to distract him in the way that it does, or for the two of them to bridge a gap that was never meant to be crossed. trope: enemy mine/vanso

=========================

Tower of God AUs:

Gladiator AU: I've wrote a bit about this one already, but it's still the best.

Error Code 422: canon divergent au where Wangnan and Miseng stick together and are active in the Hidden Floor arc (and hunted by their glitched out Sworn Enemies). Many secrets are exposed to the main characters/Wangnan outs himself early.

Yet so Far: the one where Wangnan is pining over Bam throughout S2. Nothing unrequited here, he's just dumb and can't spit it out. literally everyone is aware this is going on but Bam.

Rogue Princesses: AU where Team Sweet & Sour are identified as allies of Jue Viole Grace and attacked, leaving most of the team in critical condition. Out of desperation, Wangnan uses the Sword to perform a blood transfusion to save them...with dramatic side effects. -In other words, all of his female teammates basically become bootleg Princesses. (Assumes he reunited with Ehwa, as I'm not leaving her out of this :> )

Sun on the Horizon: Fantasy/kingdom AU. On a diplomatic visit to the capital, Khun is hired to track down the King's missing son. It's not as serious a situation as it seems. Khun has a secret agenda to track down a lost friend, but there's something inspiring about this prince that didn't meet any of his expectations. this is a khunwang au.

Regret: a time-travel au where a very depressed Wangnan gets a chance to go back and undo a moment in time to save his friends. Bam finds out he's about to make a terrible mistake and rushes to stop him, but ends up trapped in the body of his past self, unable to act until history is altered.

slayer prince au: the one where Karaka finds Wangnan on the 20th a decade or so previously, and more or less inducts him as a secret candidate. When Bam arrives on the 20th floor, Jinsung hires Wangnan to keep an eye on his student, and make him a new team. As usual, he goes a little off-script.

#atla #kingdom hearts #tower of god #au talk #yeah #ref #this was sitting in my drafts so long i forgot about it

[palmofafreezinghand]

For the Emoji Ask:

🛒💖⛔

Thank you for the ask @gisellelx !! Apologies it took me forever.

🛒 What are some common things you incorporate in your fics? Themes, feels, scenes, imagery, etc.

I once again lack the self-awareness to answer this question well but here we go: 

Imagery: Esme has a baby blanket that was with her when she “died.” It’s implausible it would have survived in the water she jumped into but in my mind, the fishermen who found her kept it with her, no matter how implausible. It barely retains the scent of her son but it was enough for newborn her to smell and remember forever. Carlisle has crocheted a couple of replicas that pop up in my fics often. (I don’t know why I think Carlisle crochets but in my mind he does). 

Esme’s quilts are usually draped over a chair or the foot of a bed. I will admit I think this is partly because of who I think of Esme as a character and the fact every woman in my family quilts and I have so strongly associated fabric carefully cut into shapes and pieced back together to make purposeful patterns and the hours it takes as the ultimate labor of love. (And we have the state ribbons to prove it!) 

I always describe Esme as smelling like honeysuckle because Double Indemnity is one of my favorite books and films and the line “How could I have known murder can sometimes smell like honeysuckle?” changed something in the chemistry of my brain and I think Carlisle had a very similar reckoning sometime in the 1920s. 

Themes/feels: Carlisle as a narrator is always two-degrees separated from his motivations. He could be having the most mundane conversation at work and even subtly he’s thinking about Edward. Vice versa when he’s home he’s thinking about work and all the work he should be doing. 

Carlisle often ends up being a pretty anxious guy when I give him the talking stick, I think this is 2 fold 1. I write predominantly in 1920-1931 which was a rough time for the poor guy. 2. Edward got it from somewhere. And I think contrasting his absolute idolization of Carlisle and demonization of himself with a “You two are the same person in different fonts” is really fun. 

Scenes: Big scenes always happen in Esme’s bedroom. I didn’t consciously set out for it to be like that it just seems 

⛔ Do you have a fic you started, but scrapped?

DO I!? My google drive is absolutely littered with wips that will never be finished. I write in a weird order of operations: dialogue then add everything else which means I have a lot of documents that are just conversations I can see happening but have yet to find a plot for. I have yet to abandon a published fic (although I sometimes do take upwards of six months to update things…) 

I’ve contemplated at least a half dozen different versions of human!Esme but have scrapped them all because it always seems to boil down to “Carlisle wouldn’t,” and in 1920 neither would Esme in my opinion. 

💖 What made you start writing?

Non-fandom: My grandfather is an author. I’ve written for as long as I can remember. 

Fandom-wise: I work in politics and 2020 was an… interesting election cycle. I was working 40 hours a week (unpaid) while going to school full-time and was centimeters away from a breakdown. My “vampiric literature” professor noticed and emailed me an “Odd Ways to Improve your Mental Health” infographic. One of the bullet points was “engage with fandom of your childhood interest.” I thought that was the stupidest thing ever but vaguely remembered reading @/panlight’s blog in middle school and thought what the hell let’s do it. I remember the general concept of Esme’s backstory had been the most intriguing to me for some reason back as a tween and went from there. 

The escapism was absolutely priceless but I kept myself distanced. “I can read these stories in a private browser and under no circumstances will create an account on any platform.” (It’s one of my goals to go back and properly leave a review on the fics I read during that time). 

In November we won the election by 13% and flipped a district — the only trade-off I  became obsessed with a character who is absolutely inconsequential to the plot of a book series I don’t remember liking when I first read it. 

I didn’t need the escapism for a couple of months, only keeping up with the stories that were actively updating. I don’t if anyone remembers what happened on January 6, 2021. I made my blog no later than the 9th. By January 24th I had written and posted my first ever fic.  @/esmeshardwoodfloors posted about how Carlisle and Esme could not have possibly gotten married in under a year and must have pretended to be married for some time. I agreed wholeheartedly and could see the whole thing pretty clearly. I wrote a chapter based on it, expecting no one to read it, and for me to abandon it quickly. Over a year later I’m 129,000+ words in…

#thank you for the questions -- apologies for rambling! #also for all worried at home I now get paid for my work and am very happy in my job #ask games

[desifleabag]

Mental breakdown and colour pencils

Today, I woke up feeling an inexplicable urge to escape, as if a fear of the unknown was gripping me so tightly that I didn’t want to continue living or even witness the twinkling stars. I wished that writers like myself had the privilege to end their life sentences with just a full stop.

When I woke up, my parents had gone out for some errands, and my sister had gone to school, leaving me alone in the house. I didn’t bother brushing my teeth or taking a shower; I simply put on my yellow hoodie. It felt like a beacon of brightness in the darkness of life. I felt hungry but didn’t know how to cook, so I attempted to make tea, only to realize I had run out of regular milk. I was frustrated that I couldn’t enjoy a warm cup of tea on this rainy day, so I decided to order something. I downloaded an app called Blinkt and ordered Shin Ramen and a packet of bread. After 10 minutes, I prepared the ramen, and it tasted heavenly. Ramen never fails to disappoint—it’s the only “men” that can be trusted, haha. As I savored my meal, I watched the movie “Yeh Jawaani Hai Deewani” because the character Naina resonated with me deeply. I slurped my ramen with gusto.

Later, my parents returned home, and something happened that triggered me immensely. I couldn’t speak; instead, I started throwing things at them. I messed up the neatly folded clothes on the chair and punched the bedroom wall so hard that it hurt my hand. Then, I noticed something nearby and impulsively hit my arm with it. Self-harm has become a bad habit of mine when I’m angry or sad. I still don’t know how to overcome these anger issues and depressive episodes. It’s high time I told my therapist that I want to restart my medication because I’m losing control. This massive mental breakdown in front of my parents wasn’t an uncommon occurrence. With tears streaming down my face, a runny nose, and a messy hair bun, I decided to leave, as I knew staying would only lead to further harm to myself.

It was pouring rain outside, and I was wearing track pants and a short kurti. I had a bag with my diary, drawing book, and colored pencils—my therapist once suggested finding different ways to calm myself down. Soaked from head to toe, I made my way to the book cafe that always made me feel at home. Upon arrival, I ordered my favorite ginger tea. I went to the washroom, splashed water on my face, but my eyes remained red. Then, I took deep breaths and sat near the table fan, eagerly awaiting my tea. In the meantime, I pulled out my drawing book, which I hadn’t touched in ages, and felt the urge to create. Even though my attempts to draw the cafe itself failed, making me question what was wrong with me, I decided to scribble with colored pencils instead. Despite my trembling hands, I gave it my all and completed the drawing.

Finally, I could breathe and calm myself down while savoring my ginger tea. Looking out the window, I saw that the rain was still pouring, and a thought came to my mind as I sat cross-legged on the couch: “I long for the blossoming of flowers within my heart, even if visitors come and pluck them to gift to their beloved, share with friends, or preserve within the pages of a cherished novel beneath their beds. I believe that every human heart possesses such beauty, remaining both untouchable and capable of both healing and causing harm.” This thought emerged while I listened to “Evermore” by Taylor Swift. I adore the song “Gold Rush” in particular.

Somewhere deep within my thoughts, I had a sense that this mental breakdown was a necessary release. For the past 20 days, I had been engulfed in feelings of numbness and anxiety, and it became overwhelming. I’m relieved that this emotional pressure time bomb has finally been released, allowing me to breathe again. However, I now find myself experiencing pain in my arm due to the forceful impact of punching the door.

#dear diary #desi shit posting #desiblr #desi #poetries #poems #short essay

[henrysglock]

If you all thing Stranger Things is bad...

Try out the book where a guy has his spiritual abilities/life force physically ripped out of him via a risky novel surgery so that he can save his brother. And then he gets thrown into a hellscape full of resentful shadow-spirits which he learns to wield to create a super powerful yet highly unstable psyche-altering bastardization of his old abilities.

All he wants is to be left alone, really, and he maybe commits a couple of highly gruesome massacre along the way. And maybe he feels responsible for the death of his family. And maybe his new abilities make him super emotionally volatile.

And maybe the people he's lashing out against were harming innocents who couldn't escape the abuse they were being subjected to. Everyone loves him for it when he's fighting their enemies, but they attack him once he turns it back on them because they're really no better. And people hate him because he's going against the social structures society, but also because his new technique is drawing power from the horrifying manipulation and desecration of souls.

He's just some guy, really, I promise he started out So Very Good, just a kid who was fucking around and finding out...but yes, he also has a single-handed kill count of like +5,000. He has a thing about music, music is super important to his abilities, and he has a whole monologue about how people are allowed to hurt him, but he's never allowed to fight back. And maybe he tries to save a bunch of prisoners only to end up getting them killed when things go sideways and he loses control due to outside influences.

And maybe he fall into his own rage and desire for revenge after that. And maybe that directly contributes to his death and subsequent status as The Worst Resentful Ghost (he's chilling in the void. it's 13 years of unending nightmare) up until his resurrection as part of a plan to take down The Bigger Bad. And yeah he's a product of his circumstances but also of choices made in anger based on warped moral compasses.

Also he's in love with his childhood boy-bestie, he has an adoptive child who he thought died as a result of his mental breakdown after years of using his psyche-altering powers, but he doesn't actually find out the kid is alive and well with his boy-bestie until the end and it's totally different from Stranger Thin--

Oh. Wait. Haha.

It's not like he's talking to the guy who sent him into super-hell before brutally and horrifically murdering him here or someth--He is? [nervous laughter] I see. Well at least he doesn't remind us of anyone--

[sobbing begins again] Stop that.

I mean it's not like we still have to confront the Mindflayer or anyth--We do? He's a different guy than Vecna? Meaning we're going to see Shadow Guy again?

#i have more articulate thoughts but it's still clanging around in my head

[ecoamerica]

Watch the 2024 American Climate Leadership Awards for High School Students now: https://youtu.be/5C-bb9PoRLc

The recording is now available on ecoAmerica's YouTube channel for viewers to be inspired by student climate leaders! Join Aishah-Nyeta Brown & Jerome Foster II and be inspired by student climate leaders as we recognize the High School Student finalists. Watch now to find out which student received the $25,000 grand prize and top recognition!

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