#asian fem reader

[makiwife]

F the big 3 CL16!

Driver’s Soft Launch Series

Charles Leclerc x Redbull Driver! Verstappen!Reader

Author’s notes: hihi!! back from my year long slump😭 all pics are from Pinterest. It’s a long one so hope you enjoy!! it gets vv messy😈.

Warnings: cursing, sexual themes.

next part

Y/nverstappen

Liked by maxverstappen1, Lilymhe, charles_leclerc, and 2.5 million others

Y/nverstappen with love xoxo

View comments…

maxverstappen1: Where is your shirt in the first pic🤨🤨

charles_leclerc liked this comment

↳ Y/nverstappen: fym… it’s right there😅

francisca.cgomes: YOURE SO BEAUTIFUL BABY🥰

Y/nverstappen liked this comment

Lilymhe: bae is looking so FINEE

↳ Y/nverstappen: my wife I love you🥹

F1xY/n: HOW IS SHE SO PRETTY IM JEALOUS

Ferraricharles4: SHE REALLY CAME SHIRTLESS IN THE FIRST PIC

Landonorris: bro is posing before a GP😭

↳ Y/nverstappen: bro hasn’t given anyone vip paddock passes since he got broken up with😭

↳ danielriccardo: LMAOO🤣🤣

redbullY/nfan: SHE GAGGED HIM

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Y/nverstappen

Liked by alexandrasaintmleux, gerihalliwellhorner, carlossainz55, and 3 million others

Y/nverstappen date before race ❤️‍🔥

View comments…

Redbullluv: DATE NIGHT W WHOM?!???

McLarengirl11: UM HELLO WHO IS THAT MAN?

Lilymhe: STUNNING☺️☺️

↳ Y/nverstappen: I love you lil🥰

danielriccardo: the people want to know who you’re soft launching

↳ maxverstappen1: what the fuck is soft launching🤨

↳ Y/nverstappen: 🤫🤫

Y/nloveerr: SHES TEASING US OH MY GOF

gerihalliwellhorner: very beautiful Y/n💕

Y/nverstappen liked this comment

pierregasly: I wonder who it is😁😁

↳ carlossainz55: hmm I also wonder😏

↳ Carlosleclerc6: bro knows who it is😭🧌

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During qualifying day interviews:

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Y/nverstappen

Liked by charles_lerclerc, maxverstappen1, lewishamilton, and 4.3 million others

Y/nverstappen fuck the big 3, it's just big ME.

View comments...

maxverstappen1: congrats baby sis!! P1 looks good on you

↳ Y/nverstappen: thank you maxie🙏 i love you.

y/nf1fan: THE CAPTION??? WHY DID SHE GAG OCON SO HARD

Redbullgirly3: THE VERSTAPPEN SIBLINGS HAVING BEEF WITH OCON IS SO FUNNY TO ME

lewishamilton: congratulations Y/n!! very proud of you.

↳ Y/nverstappen: THANK YOU LEW🥹 you're so sweet

charles_leclerc: P1 BABYY

↳ Y/nvestappen: my haters got me to where I am☺️

redbullracing: simply simply lovey!! amazing results y/n🙌 keep up the wonderful work. (nice caption)

landonorris: that caption is so messy, i love it

↳ alexalbon: SO VEERY MESSI

↳ Y/nvestappen: “I don’t really have a lot to comment on that, except that he was being a pussy”

↳ maxverstappen1 liked this comment

↳danielriccardo: bro wanted all the smoke

Lilymhe: PERFECT WAY TO END A GP FOR SOMEONE AS PERFECT AS YOU ❤️‍🔥❤️‍🔥

↳ Y/nverstappen: lily do you want head or sum 😛

↳ alexalbon: google, how to dislike a comment??🤨better yet, how to report someone??😃

georgerussell: CONGRATS!! AMAZING RACE FROM YOU!!

josief1: THE WAY SHE QUOTED MAX WHEN HE DISSED OCON IN AN INTERVIEW 🤣 MOTHER IS MOTHERING FR

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Y/nverstappen posted on their story

alexandrasaintmleux, Lilymhe, charles_leclerc, and others liked your story

alexandrasaintmleux replied to your story: princess treatment only for the best 💕

Y/nverstappen: I literally love you alex baby🥹🥹

landonorris replied to your story: this is so booktok of charles

Y/nverstappen: LMAOO SO TRUEE

charles_leclerc replied to your story: you deserve everything and more. I'm so very proud mon amour ❤️.

Y/nverstappen: cha baby I’m actually so in love with you❤️❤️

A/n: Guys i literally had so much fun writing this!! I def want to make a pt2 because there wasn't really any soft launching/ flirting happening. I lowk wanted to show you guys a little bit of her personality, but I also wanted to ease into the romance yk. sorry for the yap sesh but I hope you enjoyed!!

#instagram au #f1 one shot #cl16 x reader #formula 1 x you #formula 1 fanfic #charles leclerc fanfic #charles leclerc fic #charles leclerc fluff #charles leclerc smau #charles leclerc x reader #f1 imagine #f1 instagram au #f1 imagines #f1 smau #f1 fanfic #charles leclerc imagine #charles leclerc x you #smau #social media au #f1 x female reader #asian fem reader #lando norris #f1 social media au #f1 x y/n #f1 x you #f1 x reader #f1 fic #carlos sainz #charles leclerc #max verstappen

[fic-over-cannon]

I think Jason Todd is bad at using chopsticks. One of the teachers Talia sent him to only let him use chopsticks to eat for dexterity training, but didn’t particularly care about teaching him the ‘right’ way as long as his dexterity improved. Jason had to adapt, quickly, and settled for whatever way worked the most consistently.

The first time you see Jason eat with chopsticks, you’re shocked by how he’s able to eat anything with them at all. Tentatively you ask if you could teach him an easier way, if only to get him fed properly if nothing else. He agrees, feeling a bit silly, but that’s still a start! You take the hair elastic from around your wrist and tie it around the ends of his chopsticks, a makeshift training pair. You take his empty palm and fold his fingers over them, thumb and middle finger supporting each side of the top one, index resting on top, ring finger supporting the bottom one in the cradle of your thumb. He clicks the tips together experimentally.

It takes more than one meal for him to get used to the new way of handling them, handing his chopsticks over to you to tie before each meal, but it doesn’t take long. He grins at you widely the first time he picks up rice without the training chopsticks and you can’t help but smile back.

#this is wildly self indulgent but it just bugs me when people use chopsticks incorrectly #jason todd x reader #jason todd x you #jason todd x fem!reader #jason todd x gender neutral reader #jason todd x asian reader #jason todd x y/n #jason todd imagine #jason todd headcanon #sunnie writes 🌻 #snack fic

[wing-ed-thing]

Stay the Night (Smoker x Reader)

Synopsis: Smoker is surprisingly, bafflingly competent at taking care of you while you're drunk.

Word Count: 2.4k

Tags/Warnings: Alcohol, Intoxication, Alcohol Sickness, Vomiting, Fluff, No Reader Pronouns Explicitly Mentioned (Reader Wears Heels, Makeup, and a Wig), Language, Mildly Suggestive, Two Longtime Friends and Peers who are Clearly in Love with Each Other

Notes: I felt like Smoker was the kind of guy to reluctantly hold your hair back while you're throwing up.

Unlike the rest of his present company, Smoker usually avoided overindulging in elaborately planned social events, especially those with an open bar. It was best to stay out of the way. 

The Marines rarely allocated funds to such frivolous occasions, and so most officers and honored guests took it upon themselves to find the bottom of the generously offered bottomless champagne. While the hangovers were never worth it, that didn’t stop even the highest leadership from stumbling out of the ballroom doors with hair tousled and neckties hanging across their shoulders. 

Smoker preferred to sit at a table out of the way: a sanctuary among the chaos, away from the main path of foot traffic, with a clear view of the door. That’s where he nursed his single glass of whisky. If he were feeling especially celebratory, he would have two. 

You, on the other hand… were already standing on top of a table. Your stilettos were positioned on either side of the floral centerpiece in the middle, and the tiny point of your heels barely allowed you to balance as the bottle in your hands exploded in a loud, crisp pop. 

Smoker watched how the sea of Marines that gathered around you in disheveled formalwear cheered, and your hypnotized face admired the bubbles pouring from the bottle's neck. 

A group of newly trained officers jumped up and down together in time with the music on the opposite side of the circular table in celebration, knocking some tall glasses over onto the white cloth below. Smoker nearly leaped out of his chair as your knees began to buckle. But even despite your tiny shoes and even tinier dress, you managed to catch yourself. Your laughter resounded loudly among the voices around you.

Smoker heaved a deep sigh, sitting back down, swirling his drink with a flick of his wrist. 

He didn’t even need to see that stunt to predict what would come later that night. 

The streets were utterly empty. Aside from the glow of the street lamps, the only light that shone was from the venue as the staff hurried their clean up. Smoker strolled out of the double doors, tie loosened around his neck and suit jacket draped neatly over his arm.

He barely had to make it outside before he saw you. Hell, he’d be able to spot that glittery ass anywhere, even without your blinding choice of attire. 

You were bent over on your weak knees as you hurled your guts out into a bush. Smoker let out a low, resigned grumble, swiping a hand over his fatigued face as he approached you. You barely registered the large shadow that overtook you, let alone the hands that gingerly and neatly gathered your hair away from your face. 

You sputtered, coughing as a few tears streamed from your eyes. The insides of your cheeks were wet and bitter, and your throat burned. You spat onto the ground to get more foul-tasting mucus out of your mouth. 

You were a Marine, dammit, and a few too many took you out quicker than any pirate ever did. 

“Koby?” you whined. Tears continued to stream from your eyes at the pressure in your sinuses. You spat again. God, something was in your nose.

“Sorry to disappoint, Lieutenant Commander,” Smoker gruffed from where he squatted next to you. 

“Don’t call me that,” you whimpered, not wanting to be reminded of your rank during such a state of weakness. Your stomach convulsed, causing your sickness to start again. Smoker’s gaze drifted to the still street like another weekday night. “I’m never gonna drink again.”

“Mh-hmm” was about the only noise you got out of Smoker. He sat patiently and wordless, not one to croon words of assurance at you as you paid for your night of over-indulgence. But for his silence, he continued to pull your hair back, meticulously smoothing the bundle back as best as he could so as not to knot or tug at your stands. 

In a moment of relief, you finally turned over to sit on the curb. Despite the extra alcohol emptied from your stomach, you were far from sober. Smoker knelt on one knee in front of you. You could hardly get his face to focus, let alone register the warm jacket he hung across your shoulders. 

He took the pocket square from the left breast pocket and unfurled it with a snap of his wrist. Smoker swiped the fabric over your mouth, clearing away saliva and slime. The backs of your fingers knocked against his wrist belatedly as you shook your head.

“‘M gonna fuck up your hankie, Smokey,” you sighed, even though he had already wiped your mouth. He shoved the square roughly into his pocket, paying no mind to you as he heaved you onto your feet. “‘M alright. I can make it home.”

“Like hell, you can.” You stumbled as you tried to step forward, but Smoker caught you around the waist. “These, too. You know the whole street’s cobblestone, right?.” His movements felt incredibly fast to you as he bent down again to slide your shoes off, and with two large fingers hooked around the pinch of your stilettos, Smoker moved to throw you over his shoulder. 

“Whoa, whoa, wait…” Your hand flew over your mouth, and the other splayed across Smoker’s right shoulder. He held you at length, studying your face and movements carefully. 

“What’s goin’ on?”

You shook your head in small but rapid swivels.

“Can’t do that.” You heaved a deep breath, slowly removing your hand from your mouth. 

Smoker grumbled a hum of acknowledgment, pulling his jacket closed over your chest before shepherding you down the street toward your apartment. 

You barely remembered the walk, although you were sure your drunken meandering was more than a test of Smoker’s patience. Even so, he hardly said a word, only breaking his silence to ask you where your keys were when you reached your doorstep. 

They were in your clutch, which Smoker was holding with your shoes, of course. 

As soon as the door opened, you nearly collapsed into your apartment. With Smoker's help, you fell neatly onto the couch by the entrance. He slipped off his boots— no matter how formal the event, Smoker was wearing his combat boots— and disappeared somewhere into your apartment. 

You didn’t even care. Your head was so heavy that all you wanted to do was sleep as you slowly sank into your couch cushions. 

“Sit back up.” You heard Smoker call sternly from the other room. You didn’t think you could obey him if you wanted to. 

In a second, you were being repositioned. The light from the lamp in the corner of the room was sobering and borderline upsetting, but it allowed you to see the small trashcan Smoker brought for you on the floor to your right and the bottle of make-up remover on the coffee table in front of you. Smoker sat beside you, tilting your chin to delicately rub your make-up away with a prepped, textured cotton pad. 

It caught you off guard, to say the least. Even in your drunken haze, Smoker still didn’t seem like the type to have patience for tender acts of service. Hell, you didn’t even know he knew what make-up remover looked like. 

But despite your judgments, Smoker sat on the couch next to you, one elbow resting against the back cushion as he held your chin while his other hand swiped away your perfect contour. 

“Who taught you this?” you giggled. Smoker, make sure to get the creases around your nose. 

“Doesn’t matter,” he muttered. “Where do you want your lashes?”

“What?—” 

Smoker had already pulled your left eyelash off, the entire strip. 

“I’ll put ‘em back in the book I saw.” Before you could protest, Smoker had already pulled off your right lash. He stood quickly, stuffing the solution-soaked pad into your hand as he pivoted to carry your lashes to the other room. “Work on the rest of the glue.”

He turned back to you slightly, leaning over you just a bit to grasp your wrist and manipulate your hand to move in a circular motion on your face before you slapped him away. Smoker disappeared once again into your apartment. 

You finally noticed the plastic cup of water on your coffee table and mustered up the energy to take it. The outside was wet with condensation. It was cold. You couldn’t remember the last time you drank water. 

“What do you wanna do with your unit?” Smoker appeared from around the corner again; some linens balled in a wad under his arm. He held a pillow in his opposite grip as if he were holding a stray dog by the scruff. 

His white collared shirt had been pulled from the waistband of his dress pants sometime during the night. The black tie that was already draped over his shoulders drooped to one side, making one side longer than the other. The first three buttons of his shirt sat on his chest untethered. A dampened towel rested over his shoulder.

You blinked at him between sips of water. Your stomach was handling rehydration so far, but you were about to push it.

“You’re not touching my hair, Smokey.”

“Though I’d offer.” He set the pillow down to take the towel off his shoulder. Smoker wadded it in a ball before throwing it your way. You somehow still had the dexterity to catch it out of the air. A generous amount of adhesive remover had already been applied to it. 

Smoker pulled the coffee table out of the way, and as you stared at the towel he threw to you, Smoker began arranging blankets and pillows around you. You supposed he was trying to get you to sleep somewhere you could sit up. He draped a fuzzy throw blanket on your lap and moved two large decorative pillows to your right and left.

As your eyes moved from the remover-soaked towel to Smoker and back, you couldn’t help but laugh. The sensation moved through you before tearing out of your chest. Unrestrained by the liquor, it probably came out louder and more shrill than it would have usually, but if Smoker had any comments, he kept them to himself. 

He knelt before you, both his wrists resting on his bent knee. He shook his head as if regretting the question he was about to ask in advance.

“What’s so funny?” he asked.

You swayed forward, racked with trembles, as you continued to laugh. The back of your heels knocked against the bottom of the couch. Smoker didn’t move, even as your face inched gradually towards his. Your cheek settled into your palm, allowing you to sit folded over to meet his eye. He waited as your laughter gradually subsided.

“What are you doing here, Smoker?” 

He stared directly into your irises, and you didn’t know if his expressionlessness or the intensity of his gaze made your smug smile waver. Intending to tease him, Smoker didn’t humor you with an expression. Nothing you had done that night—nor anything you would do—could sober you up faster than the sharp and sudden twinge in your chest that came with simply meeting Smoker’s dark brown eyes. 

What the hell?

“Your girlfriend’ll be pissed.” You sharply recoiled, kicking your legs over Smoker’s bent knee to swiftly stand. You made a beeline deeper into the apartment. 

Smoker only wavered a moment, his eyebrows creasing for a second in confusion before he stood and followed you.

“What girlfriend?” he shouted. He nearly ran into you as you closed a small cabinet by the bathroom. The side of your lip drooped downward in an acute pout. Smoker, never one to enjoy feeling left out of the loop, hovered over you expectantly. You entered the bathroom without a second thought. Smoker found himself in the doorway.

“Weren’t you with that…” You snapped your fingers as you tried to recall her name. You didn’t have to wait.

“Six months ago… and we only went on a few dates,” Smoker defended, although he wasn’t quite sure why he felt the need to defend himself to you in the first place. The two of you had known each other for longer than he recalled knowing anyone else, and more prominently, the two of you were peers. Why should it matter if he took some petty officer out for a few drinks a few months back? His eyes narrowed at the back of your head. “Why?”

You shrugged. You seemed far less worried about the whole thing; your face practically pressed against the mirror to remove the remaining patches of product Smoker missed. He did a more than adequate job. He hardly missed anything regarding your makeup, but the pointed glance you stole in the mirror escaped him. 

“Now I know I’m pretty wasted—” You met his gaze through the mirror. You cocked your head, and your hands gripped the side of the sink in pure bafflement. “But you said ‘lash book’—?”

“Got it. Got it.” Smoker crossed his arms as he tore his attention away. Steam filled the air. He hardly noticed the shower running, and he most definitely didn’t realize that you were standing in front of him, presenting your back, until you started speaking again.

“So, you’re just kind of a—" You glanced over your shoulder at him, and for as off as your judgment was, you knew you probably shouldn’t finish your sentence—even if his reaction would have been hilarious. You turned back around. “Get my dress for me?”  

You could have noticed Smoker’s single beat of hesitation if you were any less intoxicated. But for yet another instance that night, Smoker went quiet as he slowly tugged down the back zipper of your dress. The invisible zipper was thin and difficult to grip, but it slid down your spine like butter regardless, revealing the soft skin underneath.

“I have a pair of your shorts in the bottom left drawer of my dresser. The couch is yours.” You pivoted again on your heel, one hand holding your dress up on your chest and the other pushing Smoker back through the doorway. “Now get out.” 

You shut the door. Smoker sighed and resigned himself to rifle through your dresser, wondering why he had clothes at your place at all. 

Thank you to all who liked, reblogged, followed, and supported. Your support means so much and is greatly appreciated.

Notes: Based off my personal headcanon that Smoker has a surprisingly extensive dating history and an equally surprising library of knowledge about girly stuff because he's an extremely involved boyfriend. I'd say most of his previous relationships had amicable break ups. Reader was also going to say "so you're kind of a whore" but decided against it.

#smoker x reader #op x reader #one piece x reader #one piece reader insert #smoker #vice admiral smoker #captain smoker #one piece marines #reader insert #x reader #x you #reader insert fanfic #smoker fanfic #smoker fanfiction #x gn!reader #x black reader #x black fem reader #x asian reader

[the-kr8tor]

oof. alright.... how about hobie spending his first chinese new years with his asian girlfriend? 🍙

Thank you for requesting! (I uploaded this earlier bc i might accidentally forget lol) I hope I wrote this okay since I haven't been to a chinese new year celebration in a while 😔 ly 😘

Pairing: Hobie Brown x Asian! Fem! Reader/ Spider-Punk x Asian! Fem! Reader.

Tags: No use of Y/N, no specific physical description of the reader, CW food mentions, lovestruck Hobie, FLUFF.

ʕ⁠·⁠ᴥ⁠·⁠ʔ

Hobie helps you lay the blanket on the rooftop, the wind whips at your cool cheeks, the repurposed blanket is thick in your hands. Finally settling the blanket on the ground, you smile triumphantly as Hobie who's still in his suit, chuckles at your pleased face.

Just below the rooftop, down on the lively streets, you hear the familiar drum beats, the laughter and chatter of the celebrating crowd and the smell of traditional food that brings back memories. The dragon dancers roam around, clad in red and gold, they expertly dance to the beat. You chose the higher location knowing that he just came from patrol and would most likely go back to it after the celebrations.

You've planned everything, from the best optimal position to place the blanket for a better view of the fireworks to the best food from your culture that you already know Hobie would love. You just hope everything goes well, you're properly nervous, wanting it to be perfect for Him since this is his first Chinese new year.

Hobie, the sweetheart that he is, senses your slight distress. He comes around the cloth, careful to not step on it with his boots; closing the distance, you smile at him, knowing that he's about to comfort you.

“You're very frowny today, heard that's not good.” well, comfort you in his own way, you suppose. He takes off his gloves before holding your cold cheeks, the skin on skin contact almost makes you melt. “What's got you pouty? Did you forget somethin’? I can swing by and get it?”

You take his hands off your face, lacing them together with your own. “I just want it to be a great experience for you.” Your voice small, eyes avoiding his.

“You’re here, it's already great.” He winks, knowing how it would affect you.

You feel like there's fireworks exploding under your skin. “You're an ass.” Words full of fondness, beaming at him with the light of a hundred suns.

“The best arse though, right?”

“You barely have one.” Now he's the one pouting. You squeeze his hands before letting go. “Come on before the food gets cold.”

Sitting down, you take tupperware upon tupperwares of food from the thermal bag. Hearing cloth shuffle, you feel Hobie put his chin atop your shoulder.

“Need help?”

“No, thank you though.” You move your head to look at his excited face. “Just sit there and look pretty for me.”

“That's your job, love.” He wiggles his chin, making you giggle. Wrapping his arms around you, he watches intently as you open each tupperware, the aroma making his stomach grumble. “Fuckin’ hell that smells good.”

Hobie tries to get a spring roll but you stop him with a small slap to his hand. “Hands! I don't know whose face you rearranged today.” You rub the back of his hand as an apology. “There's wet wipes in my bag.”

“Fair enough.”

After laying all the utensils, your hands are icy against his warm ones whilst you teach him how to properly hold chopsticks. Hobie has his tongue poking out from his lips, face scrunched up in concentration.

Guiding his shaking hands as you both slowly raise the dumpling clutched precariously in his chopstick. He triumphantly takes a huge bite of the savory food, raising his arms, chewing and eyes filled with glee.

“You did it!” Cheering, you dodge the chopsticks in his hand as he leans forward to hug you.

“It's so good, holy shit!” He says with his mouth full, arms around your middle. “You made this?” You nod shyly, “You’re fuckin' ace, lovie!”

“Thank you,” rubbing his back, feeling the roughness of his leather vest, you crane your neck to press a quick kiss on his temple; making sure your appreciation translates through it. “You have to try the tikoy!” You excitedly say as you take a generous piece just for him.

Before you two know it, the food is completely devoured, nothing left but a few stray vegetables and the mess left on the blanket.

Hobie lays down, vest discarded somewhere, full and content. He rubs his stomach, humming a tune.

“You look like a very happy cat right now.” You say above him, hands on your hips, beaming down at him. “You're even purring.”

“I don't have an arse and now I'm a bloody cat.” He opens one eye to sass you. “What's next then?”

“My pillow,” you flop down, landing on top of him, especially careful of his full stomach.

He lets out an ‘oof’ and then a deep chuckle. “I don't mind this one” you snuggle to his chest, nosing on the spandex of his suit.

His hands embrace you completely, fingers absentmindedly drawing shapes over your shirt. Humming, you shut your eyes.

Feeling featherlight kisses on your forehead, you wake up to fireworks bursting above you. You gasp, enamored by the lights. He laughs as you ooh and awe, eyes flicking between you and the heavens. But he finds you more beautiful than the pyrotechnics.

He nudges you, you squeal when he brings out a couple of paper lanterns for you to light.

“How– where did you get those?”

“Swung below before we ate.” He shrugs as you look at him like he's the fireworks above, all heart eyes and full of endearment. “Bloke gave me a discount too.”

You chuckle, scooting closer to him. “Hmm, I wonder why?” Poking his side, you scratch his spandex clad stomach.

He laughs above the booming fireworks. “The suit helped I guess.”

You can't help it anymore so you lean to his side, resting your head on his shoulder, peppering his skin just above his jaw with sticky kisses.

“Thank you,” you say against his skin, not minding the stubble. “I love them, let's make a wish then.”

“No need to thank me. I should be thanking you.” The colorful fireworks lights up his face, reds, blues, greens and yellows dancing on his skin like heavenly light.

“Let's just say we're both thankful.” The fireworks reflect on your sparkling eyes.

Hobie nuzzles the top of your head briefly to satiate his need to kiss you. Bringing out a lighter, he lights each one before carefully handing your paper lantern to your waiting hands.

You close your eyes briefly, making your wish while Hobie copies you wordlessly.

You peek at him, “at the same time?”

“Always.”

Letting go of your lanterns, Hobie's and yours fly together, swirling around each other. He faces you, cupping your cheeks, ghosting his lips atop yours. You smile softly, hands gentle on the back of his neck.

“Happy new year, love.”

#request done #hobie brown x reader #spider punk x reader #the kr8tor's creations #hobie brown #atsv fanfiction #atsv fanfic #atsv x reader #hobie brown x fem!reader #hobie brown x you #spider punk x you #spider punk x fem!reader #hobie x reader #cw food mention #hobie fluff #asian! reader #fanfic #🍙 anon

[mrs-lockley]

where the spirit meets the bones

Summary: Above, a merciful Sirena roams the seas of the East. Below, a lonely king seeks retribution. Your paths cross one war-torn night when you save the life of a man from the sea with feathered wings on his ankles and ears that point to the sky. Enchanted by your siren song, the feathered serpent king becomes determined to find you, even if he must wait for half a century. 

Posted on AO3 here.

Pairing: Namor (K’uk’ulkan) x Filipina (Kapampangan)!Fem!Sirena!Reader 

Word Count: 6.6k

Warnings: Mentions of colonization (burning of a Spanish flag in a sea storm but nothing graphic), mentions of drowning and burning (nothing explicit), slow burn (pun not intended), mutual yearning and pining, mentions of death and the afterlife. Physical descriptions of the reader include dark hair and eyes

Tagging: @justrunamok @artsynellyyy @theatreslave @musing-magpie​ @lostfleurs @alathan13 @velvetmel0n​ @mattmurdockswife​ @ameliachastain​​​

Author’s Notes: Hello my darlings! After nearly two years, I have written my first fic. Please be gentle when giving feedback and I apologize if my writing is a bit rusty. But this fic is very loosely based on the Little Mermaid with some Philippine and Maya mythology. 

The reader is Filipina, but from an unidentified region from the province of Pampanga, Philippines. Kapampangan is also the reader’s first language (and my second language) and does not speak Tagalog. This is the first part of a trilogy.

Translations: Kapampangan, Yucatec Mayan, and some Tagalog is used in the fic. For smaller phrases, translations are found throughout the fic in italics. For longer sentences in Kapampangan and Yucatec Mayan, translations are found at the end of the fic (with additional author’s notes). 

Namor’s monologue is in italics in respect to his language. An online translating generator was used. If there are any errors in Kapampangan and/or Yucatec Mayan, please let me know and I will correct it. 

How’s one to know I’d meet you where the spirit meets the bones in a faith forgotten land?

Lubao, Pampanga, June 1827

The moon was full when you rose to the surface, the night quieter than usual. Rain clouds begin to depart as the rain lightens into a steady downpour over the calming sea. The quiet after the storm, but your burning skin and aching bones say otherwise.

On the beach, a mother cries in relief as her daughter clears the water from her lungs, her arms immediately circling around her as she thanks Apong Díos and the angels above. Beside her, the father embraces his family with a joyous shout. 

You had caught the girl wandering the beach earlier that evening at the peak of the rainstorm. It was high tide then, the water lapping too close and too angry as she ran along the shore. One moment she was playing on the sand, and the next, the ocean had tried to swallow her whole.

You fought against the current in search for her, your lungs aching for air as the water screamed in defiance. Your tail cramped as you dove beneath the surface, narrowly fitting between the crevices of the sharp rocks and stones. Only slivers of moonlight guided your path through the dark stormy waters.

But you found her a moment later with her head barely above water, her arms and legs thrashing to stay afloat. Her pleas for help were drowned over the sound of the beating ocean and pouring rain, falling deaf on human ears. The girl’s panicked movements only propelled her deeper into the sea, and it was a matter of seconds before she would draw her last breath.

Softly, you began to sing to her. At the sound of your voice, the girl began to still, her movements drawing to a halt as you approached her. Her eyes fluttered shut, but her breathing slowed as her body was calmed by your song. The water around you began to bend to your will the louder you sang, enchanting the creatures and tides around you into submission. 

With ease, you wrapped your arms around the child and held them in a tight embrace as you swam to the shore. Her head on your shoulder, you continued to sing softly to her to quiet her mind and relax her body. 

You returned her to the surface as you gently laid her body on the sand, your hand cradling the back of her head. In the distance, the yellow lights of a nearby village hut began to flicker with shadows racing across the window. Quickly, you brushed her hair out of her face and pressed a gentle kiss to her forehead, your hand squeezing hers. 

“Gumising na.” Wake up.

At the sound of approaching voices, you released her hand and returned to the sea. 

The little girl stands and holds onto her mother’s hands as they depart from the shore, but she hesitates. You watch as she tugs on her mother’s hands and turns to her, urgently pleading for her mother to listen. The mother gazes at the sea, her expression unreadable as her eyes search for answers. The girl turns and points, but her mother shakes her head and carries her in her arms as the father shields them both from the rain, retreating into the safety of their hut.

You ignore the sharp pang splintering in your chest before you turn, floating on your back with your arms outstretched and offering yourself to the sky. Up above, the clouds continue to depart as the rain slows into a whispering shower kissing your skin.

As you bask in the moonlight, you run your fingers over the curved surface of the golden pendant resting on your chest. It was the last relic of your past life, the only physical memory of who you were before the ocean had claimed you as its own. Tonight was far different than the last night you walked on land, but it was quieter nights like these where your mind wandered into the past. One by one, it all came back to you. 

A gentle mother’s touch on your hand during a monsoon. A sister braiding your hair by the window. A father teaching you how to sail. A lover sneaking a kiss between dances. 

The heaviness in your chest deepens, spreading to your neck and to your eyes as they sting with tears. With pieces of your past echoing in your mind, you look up to the night sky and beg for comfort. One hundred years you have served the ocean. One hundred years you have saved your people from drowning. One hundred years of protecting the secrets of the sea. 

But it has also been one hundred years of loneliness. 

You were unlike the other creatures who dwelled in the sea. While the sirenas feasted on men and dragged them to their deaths, you rescued them and returned them to the shore. The kataws walked on land and were mistaken for humans as they manipulated the water to their will, while you tamed the water to save the innocent. Siyokoys devoured mortals, but you loved your people who walked on the land and found beauty in their world. While you have the sea turtles and dolphins at your side, your heart remains heavy as they whisper behind you. You were not their kind, why would the ocean choose to have mercy on you?

Gazing at the moon with the water holding you close, you stretch your hands and pray. Why did save me? Must I always bear this loneliness?

The only answer you receive is the pause of rainfall and a full moon sighing in the sky. 

Mérida, Yucatán Peninsula, July 1858

By the time you open your eyes, the last of the sun’s rays had settled under the sea with the cool ocean breeze tickling your skin. The dolphin who carried you whistles softly as you wake, its tail brushing against yours as it waits for your command.

“Dakal a salamat,” you whisper. Many thanks. 

With a soft smile, you affectionately run your hands over the dolphin’s back as it clicks before disappearing into the sea. 

You do not know how long or far you have traveled, but as you take in your surroundings, you realize that you have wandered into foreign territory. As the sky darkens into the blues, violets, and greens of the night, the ocean welcomes you into its soft embrace. Around you, the waves fall into a steady calmness. Just as you enchant humans with your voice, this new ocean comforts you in a strange way you could not quite understand, almost as if it were welcoming you home. 

For a brief moment, you allow yourself to relax in these new waters by diving into its arms. As you swim beneath the surface, you find yourself finally able to breathe for the first time. You were far from your home in the Pacific, and you were far from the angry voices of the merfolk who haunted you. 

“Alang cuenta,” the sirenas sneered at you when you had rescued stray fishermen from falling into their trap. Furious at your intrusion, your sisters lunged for you and tore at your tail and skin with their webbed claws and bared teeth. You screamed for mercy as you fought back, but their teeth and nails were stronger as they dragged you deeper into the darkness of the sea.

Either out of boredom or mercy, your sisters finished their prey upon you and left you in the cold depths of the ocean where the light of the sun did not reach. Hours passed before you were able to move and swim to the coral reefs where the dolphins and sea turtles found you nursing your wounds. With your arms covered in bites and your chest and tail in cuts, you found refuge in the dolphins and allowed them to carry you far away from your tormentors. 

Rising to the surface, you push your hair back and run your hands over your face, suppressing a childish giggle at the realization of your newfound freedom. For weeks you traveled with the dolphins to escape their persecution. Despite spending the past one hundred years alone, for the first time in over a century, you feel nothing but relief. You were never welcomed by the creatures of the ocean back at home. Perhaps you could find a new home here. 

You pause. Around you, the ocean suddenly grows cold as ripples slowly reverberate throughout the surface of the water. A chill descends your spine as you suddenly become breathless and frozen.

On the seashore, a man slowly rises from the water, holding a scepter adorned in engravings in one hand with his back turned to you. A golden plate rests on the back of his neck with matching cuffs on his arms, wrists, and legs reflecting the glow of the rising moon. A similar belt rests on his hips and above a pair of dark green shorts, the only article of clothing he wears. In the dim light, your eyes trace the broad expanse of his shoulders and the thick muscles of his back, arms, and legs. An air of regality surrounds him as he fully emerges from the water and stands in his full form. 

This man is not human, you realize as he walks along the beach, the water yielding to his presence. He is a man of the sea. 

Your brows furrow in confusion as he kneels on the sand. 

Wings. There were wings on his ankles.

Something inside of you whispers to swim closer to the shore. With the waves beckoning towards you, you have no choice but to obey.

Holding your breath, you submerge yourself deeper into the water and hide behind a rock to avoid being seen. On the sand, the man with the winged ankles speaks softly in a language you don’t recognize.

“Jach tak in wilech,” he whispers and lowers his head. I miss you. 

His movements and words are gentle as he places a white flower on the sand, his voice soft and low as he continues to speak. Your heart pounds in realization as you watch him revere someone who could not be seen. This was a grave. 

Guilt consumes you as memories of your past life flood to the surface, your pendant weighing heavily on your chest. Turning away from the shore, you close your eyes to force down the tears that threaten to spill. How silly of you to think you could run away when your family rests at home across the ocean. Here, the water belongs to another. Who were you to leave your home behind and reside in a place as sacred as this?

Wiping at your eyes, you turn back to the shore and find the man speaking to the spirits. Even in the dim moonlight, you catch a glimpse of his face, his dark eyes full of emotion and grief.

Slowly, you reach for the sampaguita flowers in your hair and cradle them in your hands. One by one, you sing quietly to yourself as you place the flowers in the water. You linger for a few moments, your fingers running over the pendant on your chest as the water guides them to the beach. 

“Patawad na,” you breathe. I’m sorry.

With a final prayer, you return to the sea. 

On the beach, a soft hand reaches for the jasmine flowers. Dark eyes look to the horizon in search of the one who brought them, but the only answer given were the quiet waves lapping at the shore. 

Gently, the man with the winged ankles places the white flowers on the sand, creating a trail from the grave and towards the spirit’s old home before disappearing into the water.

The only evidence of his arrival is soon washed away by the rising tide of the ocean.

Philippine Sea, near Manila, August 1894

Tonight was much like the last night you walked on land.

The air was laden with tension and uncertainty. Word from the fishermen and villagers had gone around that the conquistadors were having trouble with their colonies in the West. On the surface, you often found the land-dwellers running through the shadows of the trees in the jungle. The islands seemed to hum in anticipation at the whispers of a possible revolution.

In times like these, you turned a blind eye to your sisters drowning the oppressors on the beach. But your hands weren’t clean and bloodless either. As your sisters feasted on their flesh, you were the one to sing to them, distracting them with your sweet voice and innocent smile. 

(You would do it again in a heartbeat, you soon realize. With each conquistador that steps into the water, another revolutionary returns safely home.)

But tonight was different from those quiet nights of revolutionaries lurking in the shadows of the jungle. Tonight was a war.

Lightning strikes through the stormy sky and fuels the flames licking at the near abandoned trade ship drowning in the fury of the summer typhoon. The white sails darken into ash as the Spanish flags fade into dust. 

Around you, your sisters call to them with outstretched arms, promising to save them from a violent death. You do not sing to invite them further in, nor do you move when your sisters feed on their flesh. You watch silently as your enemies fall and drown to their death, your skin heated by the scorching fires of their sinking ships. With memories of your last night flashing through your mind, you gaze at the burning flags in contempt. It is only fitting that the last thing they see is your face before falling to their demise. 

Suddenly, one of your sisters screams and points to the sky. 

Aswang!*

The sirenas shriek and recede into the water as the remaining men on deck scream in terror. Lightning illuminates the sky once more and reveals the silhouette of the figure flying in the air. 

Your breath stops in your throat as you glimpse at the figure, your eyes falling to their feet. 

The man with the feathered wings on his ankles.

You look up at him, your heartbeat mirroring the resounding claps of thunder. The man with the wings pays no heed to your sisters retreating into the safety of the water. Instead, his gaze is focused on the colonizers clinging onto the debris of their sinking ships.

He raises his spear and strikes. 

The ocean thirsts for violence as crimson stains its waters. With each strike of lightning and roar of thunder, the further the Spanish ships sink to the bottom of the sea. Screams and gunshots plague the night as the monsoon beats its anger onto the surface world. One by one, the colonizers perish by the sea, the bloodthirst of your sisters, or the man exacting his vengeance from above. 

Your eyes widen. On the deck of the last ship sailing, a colonizer opens fire and aims his weapon at the sky.

“Saguli-!” You shout. Wait!

Everything moves in slow motion. Before the trigger is pulled, bursts of red, orange, and yellow blinds your vision. Your ears ring from the explosion as your left shoulder is consumed by a sharp pain that resembles shark teeth digging into your bones. 

As your vision begins to clear, the rain continues to pour. Furls of silver smoke surround you as the burning fires devour the last wooden planks of the sunken ship. Despite the rumble of thunder and cries of the sea, the night is suddenly quiet with only the low crackle of flickering flames filling the silence. Your sisters have disappeared. The colonizers have perished. 

In the sky, the man from the sea burns before falling into the water. 

Without hesitation, you dive into the sea to search for him with the flickers of the dying flames guiding your path underwater. In the distance, the glint of his spear reflects the light of the surface fires with its owner sinking beside him, his eyes closed and his back covered in black ash. 

Ignoring the pain in your shoulder, you wrap your arms around his torso and hold him close as you swim towards the surface.

Please be alive, you pray as you break through the water, your lungs aching as you carry the man in your arms. Please.

...

The monsoon begins to falter when dusk brightens the sky. The rain slows into a steady downpour and the wind turns from a thunderous gust and into a whispering breeze. Gray storm clouds weigh heavily in the sky, but cracks of sunlight peek through the horizon. 

Tears burn your eyes as your cries echo in the cove. Pain engulfs your left shoulder and your body screams in agony from fighting against the violence of the waves and the rage from the skies. With a cry of pain, you push yourself up and untangle your arms from the body of the man you rescued. The man from the sea with feathered wings on his ankles. 

A gasp of relief escapes your lips the moment you feel the steady drumming of his heartbeat underneath your trembling fingertips. 

“Salamat,” you breathe, a childish laugh rumbling in your chest as you wipe at your eyes. “You’re alive.”

With a gentle hand, you brush his dark hair back. The dusky rays of sunlight kiss his tanned skin, casting shadows of the planes and contours of his peppered cheeks. Drops of jade sit beneath his pointed ears and mirror the jewel on his nose. Beads of white pearls and golden rings adorn his neck. A large plate rests on his chest with two deep blue serpents meeting in the middle, a large pearl sitting in the center. 

In the dim light of the early morning, you cannot help but gaze in awe at the beautiful man laying in your arms. 

Who is he? You wonder as you softly trail your hand from his hair and down his arm, a frown settling on your lips at the sight of dried blood and deep bruises at his side. 

You glance back at his face once more. You should be afraid of him, a stranger from a foreign land who showed no mercy to his enemies. But despite the violence of the previous night, you remember the first night you saw him on the beach in the Atlantic. You remember his dark eyes full of grief, his gentle hands cradling the flowers, and his soft voice whispering in the wind.

The man sleeping before you now was not the same man that tormented his enemies at sea, but the man you met on that summer seashore.

Gently, you lean forward to caress his cheek and sing.

“Potang paintunan mu ku, lumwal ka, talanga ka. Akit me ing bulan a masala karin mikit kata. E na ka matakut, e na ku naman migaganaka, uling balu ku balang beni mikikit ka king laman ning bulan a masala.”

As you sing the last note, the man begins to stir. 

Panic floods through you as you look down to find his hand wrapped around your right wrist. His grip is firm but gentle, with the heat of his skin warm against yours. 

Swallowing the ache in your chest, you lean forward to cup his face with both of your hands, your thumbs stroking his cheeks as you gently press your lips to his forehead. 

“Mikit tána pasibáyo,” you whisper. We will meet again. 

With one last look, you squeeze his hand and retreat into the water. 

…

Whispers of a man from the sea with feathered wings on his ankles spread across the surface. From the villagers and fishermen to the convoys and rulers, people spoke of his existence in hushed tones, afraid that speaking his name would incur his wrath. Parents passed his story to their children as folklore, but those who were old enough remembered seeing him walk along the beach before his footprints were washed away by the waves of the ocean. 

K’uk’ulkan, they called him. The feathered serpent god. 

The King of Talokan prided himself as a benevolent ruler and a protector of his people. For three hundred years, K’uk’ulkan kept their kingdom a secret under the sea. He lived, breathed, and bled for them, enduring the pain from the surface world to protect the Talokanil from the violence of the land-dwellers. For this, K’uk’ulkan reigned as their king, their feathered serpent ruler. 

While tales of the feathered serpent were considered myths to the tribes on the beach, another name was whispered across the seven seas. From the clergy and the admirals, no one dared to speak the moniker out loud. 

El niño sin amor, the Spanish priests warned. The child without love. 

“Namor,” his enemies gasped as they looked up at him, their eyes wide with fear. 

It had been five weeks since the Spanish ships departed from the Atlantic. Five weeks before he finally found the ships that had stolen the resources from his kingdom. As the monsoonal rain raged its wrath over the blazing fires of the splintering ships on a foreign sea he was not familiar with, Namor raised his spear and struck with no mercy. 

It all unraveled so fast. One moment he vanquished his enemies, and the next he was swallowed by flames.

He vaguely remembered the ocean welcoming him as he fell from the sky. In the dark stillness of the water, Namor could only watch a dark shadow pass above him. Three hundred years he served his people as their king. Three hundred years he fought, protected, and bled for his kingdom. Maybe just this once, he could overcome the trials in Metnal* and leave the crown behind.

But the gods had other plans for the King of Talokan. Behind the dark veil of his eyes, a soft voice called out to him. The voice was different from the songs of the Talokanil and sung in a language he did not recognize. Her voice was lower, deeper, but sweet and comforting. 

A siren song. 

With eyes as heavy as stone, Namor willed his body to move, his hands grasping at rough skin. It was a song that willed him to return to the land of the living, willing him to carry the crown and breathe. 

For a brief moment, he felt the ghost of her hands stroking his face and her lips on his skin. But when he opened his eyes, he found himself alone in a cove with the monsoon slowing into a whisper. 

Running a tired hand over his face, Namor sits up and breathes a deep sigh. His lungs ache from the sharp exhale as he takes in his surroundings. Straight ahead, the wide entrance of the cove welcomes the quiet low tides of the sea. Despite the storm clouds, the horizon brightened into hues of deep blues and violets with the distant call of songbirds singing in the distance. 

In the calmness of dawn, the King of Talokan could still hear the soft whispers of the siren song singing to him in the cove. Like a fog, his senses were enveloped by her, his skin prickling at the memory of her touch and his ears mistaking the sound of songbirds to the likeliness of her voice.

As he stands, his eyes flicker to the reflection of the rising sun in the water, a small burst of light catching his gaze. Ignoring the pain in his back, Namor rushes to where the edge of the rock meets the sea. 

His heart pounds and his head spins as he cradles the item in his hand, his breath halting in his throat.

In his hand was a golden necklace with its delicate chain torn in two, a pendant of a small flower resting in the center. 

The same flower he found on the Yucatán seashore. 

“Yaan in kaxtikech,” he breathes. “Ma importa u tojol.”

I will find you, no matter the cost.

Philippine Sea, December 1910

It had been sixteen years since Namor heard you last.

The skies disagreed with him when he returned to the sea where you rescued him. For several months, the monsoons raged throughout the region. Time to time, he encountered trade ships from the North, South, East, and West sailing through the merciless monsoons. Other times, he found war on the sea with different flags flying through the wind and crimson being spilt on the waters. Echoes of gunshots, fire cannons, and war cries sounded throughout the night with the tumultuous tidal waves consuming everything in its path. 

With each passing ship, Namor heard the distant sound of the siren songs calling to the unsuspecting sailors and soldiers. With their heads barely above water, he watched the sirens bewitch their prey, their eyes glassy and unseeing before falling to their death. More than once, he found himself entranced by their voices. But each time his ears registered their harmonies, he turned away. 

Their voices were beautiful, but they were not you. They were not his sirena. 

Only you were the one to enchant the feathered serpent king. 

Tonight was different from that summer night, for it was the start of the dry season. Up above, the moon glowed brightly in the night sky without a single cloud in sight. The luminous glow of the moon reflected on the surface of the water, but its reflection was distorted by the growing ripples and the quiet tide of the sea. 

The air cooled his skin as Namor reached the surface, his back turned to the full moon. It was almost as if no time had passed since the last time he was in the cove. Although the tides were lower, Namor could still hear the distant melody of your song echoing throughout the cove. It was as if he were drowning in you all over again. 

Sixteen years ago, he first heard your siren song. But it had been fifty-two years since he first met you. 

A deep ache ate at his chest that particular night. After distracting his generals and evading their watchful eyes, Namor sought refuge on the sand. For three hundred years, he reigned as the King of Talokan. When the crown became heavy to bear, he would slip away from his advisors and find solace in visiting his mother on the surface. He carried the souls of the departed in his heart and their memories in his mind, but sometimes the water suffocated him. Nearly two centuries have passed since he last laid his mother to rest and cleaned her bones, but her memory was clear as day in his mind. He may have been born in the water, but his mother had walked on land - it was all in his blood.

“The Talokanil look to me as their King, their God. I would do anything for them,” K’uk’ulkan whispered as he gently placed the water lilies on her grave. “Just as you did everything to protect me.”

He loved his people just as they loved him. He did not regret taking the throne at a young age and the responsibility of leading and protecting them, but there was a heaviness growing deep inside his chest. An emptiness that he often ignored, but was constantly consumed by its hand.

He remembered watching her hair turn silver and the fine lines settling on her skin as he remained young. In the eyes of many, he was still a child. Yet, he carried the years inside him as centuries passed, watching the people he loved age before they breathed their last breath.

“Every day I see our people grow old, but I remain young and know one day I will mourn and miss them as much as I miss you, na’*.”

The only memories K’uk’ulkan had of his father were the stories recounted to him by his mother. When he sat on her knee, he remembered the smile on her face as she showed him the bracelet she wore on her wrist. Tracing the pearls with his fingers, he could feel his father’s love radiating from each bead. Despite their circumstances, he admired the love his father had for his mother, the same love that he carried in his veins. 

“I may be King, but I stand at the throne with no one to share it with, and sleep with no one to hold at my side,” K’uk’ulkan whispered. “I am lonely, na’. So incredibly lonely.”

He wondered what it would be like to love just as his parents did. To have someone to wake up next to, and to fall asleep with every night. To hold and be held by the arms of someone who loves you.

The King of Talokan did not expect an answer, nor did he expect to see white jasmine flowers drifting towards him on the seashore.

The very same flower that rests in his hands now.

The petals are soft in his hands as he places it on the quiet whispers of water. In the beginning, Namor thought of the flowers as a strange coincidence. He knew that such flowers were native to the lands in the East, but he had seen trade ships sail across oceans and between continents. It was possible that cargo could have fallen through the cracks. 

Initially, Namor tried to ignore it and stop himself from jumping to conclusions, but something foreign gripped his heart. A small glimmer of hope that maybe, just maybe, there was someone out there meant for him to love and be loved.

It had all come together when he found your necklace on the rocks. 

For sixteen years, your siren song haunted Namor. He had met sirens and other merfolk throughout his lifetime, but there was something different about your song that called to him. Other siren songs were meant to hypnotize their prey before they drowned or were sacrificed to water deities. Their songs meant destruction to anyone who heard their voice, but your song was sweeter, more gentle. Rather than death, your song brought him back to life. 

That was something he still did not understand. Why would you save him? 

With the jasmine flowers as an offering, the King of Talokan begins to sing.

“X ciih x ciichpan u tz’ u likil yook kaax; tu bin u hopbal tu chumuc can caan tux cu ch’uuytal u zazicunz yookol cab tu lacal kaax chen cici u tal iik u utz’ben booc.”

As he sings, the tidal waves begin to slow into a lull. The ocean did not dare to drown his melody. 

“Pitah nookeex luuz u kaxil a holex ba teneex hee cohiceex uay yokol cabile x zuhuyex x chupalelex hel u.”

The water stills on his last note, but the ocean breeze carries his lullaby throughout the cove. His heart beats heavily, his grip tightening on the necklace as he turns. Dark brown eyes flicker to every corner and crevice of the cove and his ears strain to hear any sudden sounds that could indicate your presence. 

It is not often that the feathered serpent god sings. Rare and far in between, the only times he ever sang with his heart was with his mother. She taught him the songs she learned when she was a child on the surface, especially this song. 

“When I was young, my friends and I would gather and sing this song to keep and bring back a lover.”

“Did it work?”

His mother smiled sweetly at him and playfully poked the tip of his nose. She could not help but laugh when he scrunched his face. “It did. This song was how I met your father. It is the reason you are here.”

He holds his breath as he waits for your arrival in the cove. With each heartbeat echoing in his ears, a heaviness begins to settle in chest. Hope turns to fear, its icy hands crawling at his skin as the waves rise with the tide. 

Shadows of the waves dance across the dimly lit walls. Above, the stars whisper to the moon as the celestial beings await your arrival.

Swallowing the growing ache in his heart, Namor turns his back to the moon and starts his way towards the darkness of the cove. 

A small splash disturbs the silence.

“Maryu ka man kabug ning salu mu, saingsing mu panamdaman ku.”

The King stops in his tracks.

“Balu ku, atindian ku.”

It is you. His sirena.

“Akit me ing bulan a masala, karin mikit kata.”

Like ivy growing around a stone, your song ensnares him. 

“E na ka tumakut, e na ku naman migaganaka.”

Slowly, he turns around. Underneath the silver halo of the bright moon, you rise to the surface. 

“Uling balu ku balang bengi mikikit kata king lalam ning bulan a masala.”

Hanging onto each word, Namor walks towards the edge, his senses enveloped by you. Your voice is soft and deep, comforting and captivating as you swim closer to meet him.

“Parati mu sa’ng tandanan, muran man atiu ya ing bulan.”

Your dark eyes meet his gaze as you look up at him. His eyes never leave yours as you sing the final note with a small smile gracing your lips. Time seems to still, his heart skipping a beat as you finally meet where the land meets the sea.

You are more beautiful than he could have imagined. White jasmine flowers adorn your dark hair like little stars shining in the night sky. In the moonlight, he catches a glimpse of your dark green tail, its scales reflecting the glow of the moon beneath the surface of the water. 

His sirena, his lool.*

He finally found you.

The feathered serpent god slowly falls to his knees right in front of you, his head bowed in respect.

“Because of you, my people still have a King,” his voice is gentle as he speaks. “You saved my life, and I will forever thank you.” 

He still remembers that morning when he returned to his kingdom. For almost a week, Namor had left Talokan in search of the Spanish ships across the Pacific and placed his leadership into his advisors and top generals. This was not the first time he left to protect the borders and identity of Talokan, but it was the first time he did not come back on the day he promised.

Fear flooded his mind when he fell through the sky. He was always strong enough to destroy his enemies, but he was never this defenseless when his unconscious body hit the water. Any remaining survivors could have exploited his lack of defenses, but he was stunned to wake up in a sea cove with his wounds nearly healed. 

You reach for him, your gentle hands cradling his face as you silently plead for him to look at you. Almost hesitantly, he follows your command.

“Who are you?”

He has many names, but he wishes for you to call him only by one name. 

“My people call me K’uk’ulkan.”

K’uk’ulkan closes his eyes and leans into your touch as your fingers delicately trace his face, your voice enchanting him once more as you repeat his name. 

He remembered your palm caressing his cheek and your lips on his skin. As King of Talokan, he often hid this soft side of himself away from his people. But with you, his walls crumbled like tidal waves dissolving castles in the sand. 

Pulling himself out of his trance, he opens his eyes and covers your hand with his own, his thumb lightly tracing over your knuckles. 

“What is your name?”

Your voice is quiet as you speak, almost as if you are hesitant to reveal yourself. 

“Y/N.”

A beautiful name for a beautiful soul.

K’uk’ulkan repeats your name as he grasps your hand and gently raises it to his lips. 

For a brief moment, the King catches a flicker of sadness in your eyes, but it vanishes as you conceal it with a small smile. 

Little did he know that he is the first person to call you by your real name and touch you with such care in two hundred years.

Not wanting to frighten you, K’uk’ulkan softens his voice as he speaks. “I believe I have something that belongs to you.”

Confusion passes over your face, your brows furrowed and your lips parted in a silent question. 

Although he did not know the importance of your necklace, he noticed the rust and scratches that eroded at the delicate metals. The necklace was worn with love, but it was crafted by human hands and not intended to withstand the cruelty of the ocean. With care, he brought the necklace to his jewelers to restore it to its former glory with the addition of two pearls and the revived jasmine pendant in the center. 

A sharp gasp escapes your lips as he presents your necklace to you, your eyes wide as they brim with tears. 

“May I?” He asks quietly.

You nod and bow your head.

With soft hands, the feathered serpent god leans forward and places it over your head. Once it settles over you, you cradle the pendant and pearls in your palms in awe. 

“I thought that this was gone forever,” you whisper as you look up at him, a stray tear streaming down your cheek. “Thank you for bringing it back to me.”

“Nothing is gone forever, only lost until it is found.” K’uk’ulkan cups your face gently, his warm hand brushing away the tears that had fallen down your cheeks. 

His heart warms at the sound of your soft laughter and the sight of your smile. How true his words were. In the fifty-two years he had met you, he thought you were a dream, a possible figment of his imagination that his mind created to cope with the growing emptiness in his bones. But you were real. You were the one watching over him when he found the flowers on the seashore and rescued him from the scorching fires that raged across the sea. He vowed to find you, but he had gotten it wrong. 

Each time, you were the one to find him. 

Looking into your eyes now, he finds himself drowning in them. Dark, deep, and inviting, a silent storm brewing inside of them. The King of Talokan had seen eyes like yours before– eyes that look young, but have seen years of pain, heartbreak, loss, and grief– yet, there was a vulnerability to them. Despite the centuries you carried in your heart, he knew and understood the violence you endured to be this kind. 

You thread your fingers with his, your hands locked in a delicate embrace as you begin to pull yourself away from the rocks and swim closer to the waves. 

You call his name tenderly, your voice a soft plea. “K’uk’ulkan.”

With a gentle tug on his hand, the feathered serpent god descends into the water. 

Come with me. 

There is no song to entice him. It is only you.

Long ago, K’uk’ulkan heard tales of a red string of fate that tied two soulmates together from the Far East. Perhaps it is the red string that pulls him closer to you now as you guide him deeper into the water, your hands entwined together, your lips whispering against his and your tail curling around his legs. With your dark eyes and gentle voice, he has no choice but to follow. 

Only the bright full moon bears witness to the reunion of the sirena and her feathered serpent king disappearing into the sea.

Translations

Alang cuenta (Kapampangan) - Useless, no meaning

Aswang (Tagalog) - Monster

Potang paintunan mu ku, lumwal ka, talanga ka (Kapampangan) - When you look for me, go outside, look up

Akit me ing bulan a masala karin mikit kata (Kapampangan) - We will see each other when there is a bright moon.

E na ka matakut, e na ku naman migaganaka (Kapampangan) - Do not be afraid, do not worry.

Uling balu ku balang beni mikikit ka king laman ning bulan a masala (Kapampangan) - I know one night we will meet underneath a bright moon.

Na’ (Yucatec Mayan) - Mother

Metnal (Yucatec Mayan) - The Yucatec Mayan term for the Underworld. Not to be confused with Xibalba, “the Place of Fright.”

The Flower Song (Yucatec Mayan) - 1, 2

The Flower Song is originally ancient Maya lyrical poetry from the Songs of Dzitbalche. According to John Curl, the Flower Song was a “rite” to keep a lover that was traditionally sung by a group of women–typically under the supervision of an older woman– and performed under the moonlight. Later parts of the poem mention offering plumeria flowers to create a love potion. 

For the purpose of this fic, K’uk’ulkan learned the song from his mother. 

X ciih x ciichpan u tz’ u likil yook kaax; tu bin u hopbal tu chumuc can caan tux cu ch’uuytal u zazicunz yookol cab tu lacal kaax chen cici u tal iik u utz’ben booc - The most alluring moon has risen over the forest; it is going to burn suspended in the center of the sky to lighten all the earth, all the woods, all the lights shining on it all. 

Pitah nookeex luuz u kaxil a holex ba teneex hee cohiceex uay yokol cabile x zuhuyex x chupalelex hel u - Take off your clothes, let down your hair, become as you were when you arrived here on Earth. 

Maryu ka man kabug ning salu mu, saingsing mu panamdaman ku (Kapampangan) - Your chest/heart will feel heavy when we are apart

Parati mu sa’ng tandanan, muran man atiu ya ing bulan (Kapampangan) - Do not forget that the moon will be there when it rains.

For the complete lyrics and song, please refer to the YouTube link here. 

#namor x reader #namor x fem!reader #k'uk'ulkan x reader #namor x filipino!reader #namor x filipina!reader #namor x woc!reader #namor x asian!reader #namor imagine #namor x you #the amount of research i poured into this to make sure i did it right- if there are any errors please let me know #please be gentle with your feedback too #I'm sorry for using emojis but i do not know HOW to make a nice banner like some y'all between paragraphs

[saturncodedstarlette]

Gojo Satoru : We’ve known each other for a while now and I’ve been thinking that maybe it’s time to take a step forward in our relationship.

Y/N-chan : What?

Gojo Satoru, kneels down on one knee :

Y/N-chan, speechless :

Gojo Satoru, pulls out a sticky note : Here. My estate’s address.

Y/N-chan, realising what he meant : . . . Gojo-kun! That’s too fast!

#Jjk #jjk x you #jjk incorrect quotes #jjk gojo #jjk x reader #jjk fluff #jujutsu kaisen gojo satoru #gojo satoru incorrect quotes #Gojo satoru x male reader #gojo satoru x fem reader #gojo satoru x gender neutral reader #Gojo satoru x you #Gojo satoru x reader #Gojo satoru x oc #gojo satoru x y/n #Original : Tumblr #Original : Unknown #Context : basically it means like when you’re asking for partner to come home to meet your family | it’s a Asian thing | #it means that if you’re taking your partner to see your family | it means that you trusts them enough to take them home #in short it’s also means that you want to marry them | maybe | it’s always not like that tho #My 2023 works

[strwbgirls]

Jason todd x teen reader

~ You’re the product of a former one-night stand Jason had as a teenager.

~ Jason didn't know he had a kid until he got a call from bruce saying, Commissioner Gordon need him down at the station. He didn't know what he was expecting but having a kid, wasn't it. He was informed that your mother had passed and you would now be put in his care.

~ Jason had no clue how to take care of a kid so the first place you went after being released into his custody was Wayne Manor. You were greeted with a warm welcome by both Alfred and Bruce. You roamed around the house as Jason, Alfred, and Bruce were talking when you ran into Tim.

~ Tim was already sleep-deprived running on 1 hour of sleep and 4 cups of coffee was oh so very confused hearing that JASON TODD had a daughter. I mean how could this be he’s never heard of you. Eventually, you got tired of him asking the same question trying to comprehend what he heard, and walked off. Where you ran into Dick. 

~ Who was also confused but slightly less. You explained the situation once again. He tried comforting you with the loss of your mother knowing what it's like but you brushed it off. He offered to take you to the kitchen to get food which you didn't decline. neither would I. You guys make random small talk until Jason's voice could be heard echoing through the manor yelling your name you follow the noise meeting him. “There you are come on where leaving,” he said in an uncertain gentle but stern voice. 

~ He took you shopping to get all the necessary things. yes, he used bruce's card but in his defense, he gave it to him to use on you. He took you to get new clothes, shoes, a phone, and anything you asked for.

~ He struggles with discipline because you obviously just met him and he doesn't want to seem like the asshole. That is until you put yourself in a dangerous position like drinking, or smoking at a party. You guys have a nice heart-to-heart convo and told you if your gonna do stuff like that at least do it when he is there cuz it's better to have supervision and guidance than be on your own.

~ You guys definitely develop one of those close father-daughter relationships. You can talk to each other about anything where you’re looking for advice or someone to listen to. 

~ Your fav uncle is Dick and ur fav aunt is Kate there just superior. don't attack me love all the bat fam.

~ Like I said earlier he is kinda lenient you can curse around him and at other people just not him, you can have a S/O but don't think for one moment the entire bat fam won't interrogate them before and pray for them if they break your heart 

#Jason todd #Jason Todd x fem!reader #jason todd x reader #jason todd x black!reader #Jason Todd x hispanic reader #Jason Todd x teen reader #jason todd headcanons #Jason Todd x Asian reader #batfam #batfamily #batboys headcanons #batboys #bat family headcanons #dc universe #dc #dc characters #tumblr life #tumblr #Jason Todd x poc reader

[jasontoddsdarling]

you know what, i just got an inspo, lol. another drabble of rora todd, here we go.

it's how reader and jason came up with their baby girl aurora todd's name.

but wait, that's not her full name.

baby daughter's full name is aurora nastiti sorcha todd.

first of all, baby's first name: aurora.

contrary to what some of people belief (including some of their family members), their baby's first name is not inspired by princess aurora. it's actually because jason and reader were in iceland when they found out she's one and half months along. so, they went to see aurora borealis. they're in awe of course, nothing like anything they've ever seen. after observing aurora borealis, they went back to their hotel in the city. there, nausea hit her but not only that she's also having nosebleeds. jason knew how to take care of it so tl;dr both of them handled it well. but they—especially she, let's be real—started to get suspicious when the next day she's still nauseous. she sent him to nearest drugstore to get pregnancy test. jason bought her five different brands. and her intuition was right. they're expecting a baby—jason's like so happy he was crying. that night when they went to sleep, she said sleepily to jason that if the baby is a girl they should name her aurora.

second, baby's first middle name: nastiti.

it's when they had found out the baby's indeed a girl—mamabear's five months along when they decided to find out. it's actually a dedication to mamabear's heritage. it's of javanese origin. nastiti (in javanese script: ꦤꦱ꧀ꦠꦶꦠꦶ) is feminine given name which means "a careful girl/person". she thought she was rather a clumsy girl when she grew up so she wanted her daughter to be better than her.

third, baby's second middle name: sorcha.

this one's jason's contribution. a feminine given name, sorcha is of gaelic origin which means "radiant" or "brightness". and jason chose it because even though the baby hadn't been born yet, she's already a shining and beaming star of his life. he came up with it after feeling her first kick on her mom's stomach.

last, baby's last name: todd.

well, this one's pretty self explanatory, isn't it. that's baby daughter's papabear's surname.

so yeah. i imagine that's how reader and jason came up with rora's full name.

#jason todd x reader #jason todd x drabbles #jason todd x fem!reader #dad jason todd #mom reader #x female reader #x southeast asian reader #x asian reader #x woc reader #jason todd's kid oc #kid ocs #mariea's works #mariea's drabbles #mariea's writing

[pupcuck]

why do you only write stupidly girly reader 😭

the only overtly hyperfeminine reader i’ve written is in lovey-dovey? i don’t usually answer asks that piss me off but i’ve got a lot of this shit in my inbox ab this and idgi bc what’s so wrong with that anyway?

#also Not to make this annoying but #i like writing hyper fem reader bc im a south Asian girl that gets told she’s masculine 24/7! like fuck you #inbox 💌

[wwrenwrites]

Jason Todd x Filipino! reader headcanons

A/n: i don’t care if this will be my most flopped post, I had to do God’s work

He would LOVE Filipino food

Jason is pretty open with food considering he has traveled frequently for work.

Being accustomed to seeing rice available even if it’s high in carbs lol. Started as a pancit (stir fried noodles) boy to a BIG garlic rice boy ever since you’ve introduced him to it.

Could see him really liking champorado (chocolate rice porridge) for some reason, since there is something so homey about it. Plus it’s not that sweet. He definitely have tried it with tuyo (salted dried fish) when you mentioned it but prefers it just the champorado alone.

Jason enjoys Jollibee most specifically the fried chicken, both of you have movie nights with a bucket on the coffee table with pineapple juice or alcohol. Would find Filipino spaghetti ‘meh’ cause it’s a bit too sweet for his liking but he wouldn’t mind it after a few more tries since there’s that child-like taste that makes it addicting.

Would 100% love lumpiang shanghai (Filipino spring rolls) and quotes as he explains it to Roy or any of his brothers ‘a way better version of Chinese spring rolls’, just like how you told him. He stops craving for the usual spring rolls if you guys go for Chinese take outs from then on.

Despite what the media depicts of having adobo (soy sauce & vinegar chicken stew), sinigang (tamarind stew) or ube hyped. He does think Filipino food is still very underrated compared to Thai, Chinese, Japanese etc.

Could also see him enjoying clear soup stews like pork sinigang & bulalo (clear soup with beef shanks & bone marrow) because of the homey taste versus the flavored stews but he definitely still enjoys them (also see him being a big kare- kare (peanut butter stew) lover by your influence.

Like every other man, he would be a sucker for San Miguel beer. He knew about it even before both of you were dating since there is a small Filipino town in Gotham. Considering he goes to different bars from time to time. He would enjoy the concept of food on sizzling plate but it would take time for him to actually try exotic street food specially Balut (duck embryo) lol. But he’s down for it!

Spicy White Boy

Canon- wise, he knows Portuguese and there are lots of similar words with Spanish. Which I’m sure he knows maybe the most basic and common sense ones; so Jason understanding a good amount of Tagalog shouldn’t be surprising but would baffle you when you find out he started learning bit by bit for you.

It is very impressive indeed, there are not a lot of good resources in studying it. However, Jason is a Wayne and if his father was able to learn Kryptonian. He would easily be in a level of fluency by time.

And being the intelligent simp he is. He would understand it in a good level in less than a year or two when both of you are pretty much ‘all in’ in the relationship. Especially when you brought up one time before you were both exclusive, that you were scared of the idea of your partner being left out in family events even if English is pretty much the second main language in the Philippines.

Though I feel he would have more confidence in trying to speak the language after a few more years including a few slangs cause he doesn’t want to handle the anxiety of being roasted by your family & friends even if he obviously has thick-ass skin.

You keep telling him that he has already won his parents approval (too fast) when he swoon them with just the use of ‘po’ and ‘opo’ the first time meeting them. Plus the very occasional whispers of ‘gwapo’ , handsome, or ‘matangkad’, tall, here and there would give him a mix of a sheepish ego boost.

Culture Differences

THE ‘NO SHOES IN THE HOUSE’ RULE is a mutual practice that both of you have no problem doing. It has always been a routine for Jason when he gets home and right away he would wash up just so he could be in bed with you.

The no shoes rule seems to be only followed by Alfred when he drops by with groceries for him in his apartment. It bewilders his siblings when he makes a big deal out of it even if they are just dropping by (uninvited as usual) but also more like so you wouldn’t get triggered if you get to meet them but frankly it triggers Jason more since he’s quite neat as a roomie (plus future hubby points too.)

THE FAMILY CULTURE in a Filipino household is usually a mix of chaos and laughter which Jason is quite familiar with but with your family he could tell how close all of you are from all the frequent get together celebrations or holiday trips.

But also he was told a few times from some neighborhood titos (uncle) when he was still in the streets that the number 1 rule when dating a pinoy (shortened term for Filipino) is if you’re ‘dating a Filipino you’re also dating their whole family.’ You even tell him when you show pictures of your immediate relatives and family, that it’s basically a whole village if you include your extended relatives which shocks him even more. You don’t even know who are all your aunts or uncles names nor your second cousins.

You gave him a heads up and number of pointers to Jason when you were both talking about your families plus the never ending group pictures and selfies that awaits. You get worried if he would be overwhelmed even if he tells you, “Doll, don’t worry you literally met mine” “It’s not the same.” With a kiss on your forehead and the cute pout he loves still present.

He immediately gets interrogated and compliments which takes him a back getting him a bit shy. Would vibe with your cousins and would be forced to sing. The karaoke machine playing till midnight, the never ending food being offered in his plate but also your baby cousins getting attached to him which you greatly adore. He would purposely annoy you with flirty gestures in front of your cousins just for you to swat his arm or his biceps multiple times getting a reaction from your comments mixed of ‘yiee’ or ‘landi!’(flirt).

SOUVENIRS in Filipino is pasalubong, and it doesn’t necessarily mean that they’re materialistic it’s more of the thought when a person is away; may it be for family & friends.

Jason bringing home food or snacks when he goes out or something unique when coming from a long mission for you has been natural. You don’t expect him to always bring something home for you of course. Fortunately, Jason loves spoiling you and seeing you sulk when you rummage his duffle bag filled with used clothes and is helmet is too cute. Plus, this is definitely one of the first words he would understand besides the word ‘makulit’ (a neutral connotation of annoying, cheeky, and naughty combined.) and other cuss words.

The first time Jason brings you to the Wayne manor Alfred and Bruce immediately doesn’t see you as a threat especially with a bottle of wine or fruits as formalities. You panic a bit when both of you weren’t able to bring anything to the manor every time you go after that, he has to reassure you it’s fine. Though he appreciates and finds it adorable on how much his family becomes fond of you because of how genuine you are.

When you and Jason travel, you would be having an extra luggage for goodies and shopping and would get endless teasing from Jason. You would tease him back though if he needs something but you would also use his luggage as well if needed for everything you bought.

#jason todd #redhood #jason todd x reader #redhood outlaws #redhood x reader #jason todd headcannons #jason todd x y/n #batboys #jason todd x poc!reader #jason todd x southeastasian! reader #jason todd x asian reader #jason todd x fem! reader #dc universe #jason todd headcanon

[nellycanwrite]

“...𝐚 𝐜𝐡𝐢𝐥𝐝 𝐨𝐟 𝐁𝐮𝐥𝐚𝐧 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐯𝐨𝐢𝐜𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐚𝐧 𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐭𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐬.”

I just had to draw fanart of @honeystevie's fic, Take Me Into Your Arms, Siren's Call. I am completely aware that it is an xReader piece, but this is my own interpretation of Reader/OC! This takes place somewhere between the lines of Part 2 of the fic; where Reader is pregnant with K'uk'ulkan's first heir💖

I can't stress how much I adore this fic. It just hit all the right spots. I hope you like this little piece of fanart I drew, Rika! The brainrot is so strong it has me on a literal chokehold.

#namor x reader #namor x fem!reader #namor x filipina!reader #namor x filipino!reader #encanto #namor #namor x asian!reader #namor x you #namor the sub mariner #namor x poc!reader #k'uk'ulkan x reader #k'uk'ulkan #fanart #fanart of a fanfic #nelly's art #drawing #digital illustration

[stargirlstudio]

Citrine and Sapphire [Part 1]

☆ Aemond Targaryen x Princess of Leng!Reader

☆ Physical attributes canon to Lengii people (golden eyes, black hair, skin tone is implied to be darker than pale - but non specified)

☆ 1st/3rd POV, she/her pronoun usage, no y/n

☆ WC: 3k

☆ Summary: A princess from the Isle of Leng sets off on a journey to Westeros in search of adventure and knowledge, but other players are out for their own agenda. Aemond Targaryen, the shy boy who eventually becomes her friend and greatest ally, is more similar to her than she thinks.

☆ Guide:

[ ] - Lengii language

{ } - YiTish language

Part 2 ⇨

If the princess had known the journey to Westeros would be this long and arduous, she would have planted myself in the sands of the docks and never left. Traversing through the rich provinces of YiTi was fun, familiar even.

The sea journey provided a temporary solace from the bustle of the people on land but soon gave me the worst temperament. She woke up and went to sleep with a pit in her stomach — She was not a mariner. There can only be so much gruel and dried shrimp she can eat. A servant in the back of the ship expelled what seemed to be this morning’s meal — rice porridge and salted egg. Rice porridge, while a commoner’s dish, used to be her favorite meal to wake up to. Leng’s thousand suns, as they say, sweltering outside while they get to eat the soft meal with leaves fanning their back. Roasted and dried YiTish salmon and fermented vegetables on the side. She despised the smell bile produces, mixed with the saltiness of the dark sea. The water would mist into her mouth, and sometimes if she closed my eyes, she could taste the salty radish.

Many times she prayed to the Old Ones when large waves drowned the deck. The YiTish sailor screamed what she assumed to be a word a princess should not repeat at his fellow sea folk. Leng servants rushed underground, wet with their fabrics clinging to their skin. Today is the day of her birth, but no one knew that except her handmaidens. If she were home, she would eat all the sweets she wanted. Roast pig and quail would be on the table. Though, not too fond of quail, but she would do anything to take a bite.

Her fathers would be playing with her, and her mother would be dancing. The princess’s brothers would be chasing her sister around. [“I want to go home!”] She cried. The older handmaidens wiped her tears and told her to sleep. A man with dark hair and a prominent brow ridge ran past the window. [“The window is going to break!”] She panicked and cried. Snot ran down her nose and chin. Her chest hurt from the wailing. She should be brave, but the young girl not stop herself. The screaming from below and above only made it worse. The maidens, wide-eyed and frightened, take a step back. The only one who does not is the oldest maiden - with her graying, straight hair. Deep wrinkles in the fat of her face and eye bags protruding further than her own eyes.

[“Whoever let the princess course on waters should be fed to the hogs,”] One of the newer handmaidens spoke.

The older handmaiden spoke softly, {“Would you like the sleep milk?”} The princess continued to sob, not paying attention to her question. She sighed and walked over to the chest. A blood-curdling scream came from outside, and she battled to drown out the others. The older handmaiden sat next to her and tapped on her lips. She opened her mouth before the cool white liquid droplets melted on her tongue.

Sleep milk was the only thing that could calm her down. After her fall…She used it to temper her dreams. The medicinal women have told her that when she fell off the cliff years ago, it must have caused terrible dreams. The milk helps her fall into a deep sleep when she panics. She doesn’t know how long she can be like this, but her mind sullies those thoughts as she falls asleep.

Three weeks later, flies buzzed beneath the deck - a rotten stench coming in waves as the latch opened and closed. I stare at the open latch, nothing to be seen but darkness. Two men carried a servant, her skin was gray, and her body was stiff. The whites of her eyes yellowed, and a green liquid fell from them, staining her face. A trail of the same color liquid trailed from her ears, sticking her hair to her face.

“Do not look at them, Princess,” Xhoha said as he turned my seat around. “You do not need to see that,” Xhoha was my advisor. My mother insisted I needed someone fluent in Westerosi and familiar with their culture. Xhoha was from the Free Cities but traveled around. He will not tell me what he did before he came to Leng.

[“Will we have Westerosi lessons again?”] I asked.

Xhoha sighed, “Remember, it is called Common Tongue. We will have more lessons than usual to prepare. Food poisoning swept through the ship. We are docking at Qarth. We were lucky to even make it this far from Leng,”

[“Did you say you were from Qarth?”] I asked. He chuckled, plastering a grin.

“If this is another attempt at you trying to get details of my life, I guess I’ll give you some satisfaction. No, I’m from Pentos. The closest Free City to Westeros,” He mused. [“Let us start speaking in Common Tongue,”]

I nodded. Common Tongue has made no sense to me. I struggle with every word; Xhoha remarked that I sound Dornish when I speak Common Tongue. He is highly insistent that I should try my best to adopt the dialect spoken in King’s Landing. He pulled out a Westeros map and tried his hardest to teach me about each city and its notable people, but every detail mixed with another. I have only held onto the reliance of Westerosi people from the texts given to me by monks.

The most extensive text is on Corlys Velaryon, who is still alive. I traced the indented lettering on the book, The Snake of the Seas, by Monk Hattenu. A young man with hair of alabaster set his feet upon the Leng sands. With a YiTish translator by his side, he negotiated agreements. For resources, he would offer a favor — of any kind so long as it was reasonable. In the personal texts saved by the monks, in my aunt’s diary, it seemed that she was…smitten with him.

The priestess aboard the boat had come to interrupt my lessons, “Pardon me, your majesty, it is time for you to pray,” She said. I nodded and hopped off my chair.

“We will continue after you are done,” He said. I followed her to the back of the boat, weaving my way around the men carrying bodies. The stench was foul. The priestess and I sat on our knees, facing eastward to home. I followed her movements as I picked up the reserved sand creating an arch around me.

“Princess, who shall we pray to today?” The Priestess asked. “I suggest Ah’Vannika for the health of those on board. Or Ah’Jan for safe travels,” She suggested. The Old Ones are the gods I pray to in Leng. It is believed they live beneath us. There is no gender assignment to the gods we revere, as they come in many forms. Ah’Vannika - the god of health, may come to someone as a hummingbird. A woman cloaked in white or an old man with a gray eye. In a coastal Lengii city, the people wear white and silver to honor Ah’Vannika. I have my doubts about the Old Ones. Some have claimed to see the form of a god, but who’s to say their form isn’t just some regular person? Or maybe someone is lying?

“I think Ah’Jan has heard enough prayers for our safe travels,” I said meekly. “Let us pray to Ah’Kasaya, for good weather?” The Priestess nodded. “And Ah’Vannika for good health,”

That night, I tossed and turned in my bed. I was watching the sea mist rain against the window. I closed my eyes, covering my ears to drown out the crashing waves. My mind blanks, and suddenly, I’m falling to my death, the cold and dark waters engulfing me. A hand grabs my ankle and pulls me deeper until I wake up screaming again.

Aemond’s POV

Aemond stood with his family on the day of the Princess’s arrival. The young prince felt nervous, he knew of the delays but now that the guest us finally here he did not know what to do.

“More than half of her servants, unfortunately, passed away from this illness,” Viserys continued. “The Maesters suspect that perhaps they are not used to the known world, succumbing easily to such illnesses,” The room had fallen silent. Aemond’s mother, Alicent, silently moved the food around. “Horrible really, the letter spoke of yellowed eyes and fluids coming out of every orifice. Awful…,”

“The princess may not come at all if she also falls ill,” Aegon jokes.

“The God-Empress of the Isle of Leng has been kind enough to extend her hand. The isolationist Leng has made a pact with House Velaryon for Corlys Velaryon’s kindness during his Nine Voyages,” The stout man says. A cheer erupts amongst the crowd - much to the man’s annoyance. He continues, “God-Empress Citra welcomes you to a ceremonial performance and for you all to welcome her daughter, second to the throne, the princess,”

Performers with white face paint and bold makeup came fluttering in. Their flowing gowns and tilting hands excited the guests. The music, a solemn fanfare, transitioned to string-dominated and hopeful melodies. Gasps came from all sides of the room. Aemond glanced at his older brother, his smile curving upwards. One of the performers supplanted themselves before the family. A cloth held up by their fingers blocked their faces. The performer, with their red dipped fingertips, danced the fabric in front of them before dropping and making a funny face. They watched as the performers circled the other people, interacting with them and causing them to laugh until they disappeared into the entrance.

Numerous performers, YiTish and Lengii, came back into the hall and out. Some animals that had survived the journey were also shown off to King Viserys. A striped stallion and a baby spotted back ape, like the ones in the books the Maester had him read, were also shown. The ape had started causing some trouble, but it was quickly forgotten amongst the existing performances. Halaena, who usually had her head turned away, was entranced by the spider performer, which seemed to be two women holding a rattan-crafted spider body. She giggled at their slow movements and their jolts.

The dancers all began to leave in two lines which tall guards quickly replaced. They formed into two lines blocking the guests - creating a direct pathway to the family. The music slowed, and the musicians bowed their heads slightly. Aemond squinted to see four girls walk in. He focused on the one in the front, who could not be older than him. The three other girls mimicked the same head bow as the musicians and the guards, while the youngest girl held her head high—her crown, with peaks no longer than her face, accompanied by weaved flowers in her dark hair. Her golden eyes match the crown on her head. Deep red fabric draped around her.

“I’m surprised. I think we all thought she would be old,” He paused, lowering his head closer to Aemond’s ear. “The seafarers get younger and younger,” Aemond ignored his brother, watching the princess and the rest of her subjects follow suit with gifts in hand. He heard his mother gasp. Some performers held silks; others held more jewels and what seemed to be spices. Items to be most prized.

Lord Corlys had acquired his great wealth during his Nine Voyages. One of the places he had sailed was to the Isle of Leng. At a meeting with the small council, he announced the letter from the Empress of Leng.

“To Lord Corlys Velaryon, The Revered Mariner, Friend of the Crown,” He repeated once at a dinner. “When you came to visit our lands, you made a promise to my mother, the late God-Empress Kanitara of Leng, that you would extend a favor and your support in exchange for our resources,” He paused. “My daughter, a fourth born, second in line, wishes to explore beyond Leng. She heard many stories of your adventures and wished to visit Driftmark and the rest of Westeros. There is no crown for her here, as she is not my eldest daughter. I fear that she may find more success beyond these gates. I wish to send her to you, where she will be in your care and teaching. If you accept, I will be sure to give you our treasured valuables,”

The princess bowed, taking two hands to touch her forehead and bringing them toward the family—a greeting reserved for other royals. A translator came right beside her. “Princess of the Isle of Leng, second daughter to God-Empress Citra and Lengii Emperor Consort Kiet, commander of the armies,” Aemond noticed some guests wincing at the idea of an emperor consort. “Offers her extended gratitude for inviting her to your kingdom. She offers great gifts and valuables to House Targaryen and House Velaryon,”

The translator droned on, but Aemond looked at the young princess. Her hands scratched at her thighs with her head bowed.

The celebration of the Princess’ arrival at King’s Landing was filled with more festivities. It was a week-long celebration. Performers, both Lengii and YiTish, put on their theatrical shows. Dancers in face paint and shadow theater performers entertained the nobility of Westeros. Aemond stood by, watching the Ladies secretly ogle at the Leng men. Their arms were bare and muscular, their hands hovering over their eyes to shield themselves from the sun. Aemond and his siblings sat next to their mother, while the princess and her advisor sat next to his father.

“The Princess wanted to apologize for her delay. It was a dangerous journey to Westeros,” The advisor said. He was not from Leng, at least by appearance. The man had pale skin, with freckles marking almost every inch of his skin, with shoulder-length brown hair. His long mustache wiggled with every movement of his mouth. He sounded like the traders from Pentos.

King Viserys laughed, “You need not worry. You have brought our family gifts, and most importantly you are intact,” He gestured to his family. “We welcome you,” The Princess smiled.

“Thank you, your grace,” She spoke in Common Tongue. “You have such beautiful children,” She said, lingering her gaze on Aemond, who looked away abruptly, shying his eyepatch.

“Thank you, dear Princess,” Alicent said. She gestured for the princess to come over, reaching out to hold her hand. “I did not get to see your face earlier. Such a beautiful girl,” His mother admired, the jingling of her bracelets filling the silence from the children. Aemond finally turned his head, having avoided eye contact with the princess. She stood still, a smile plastered on her face. Soft pink fabrics draped around her body, creating a loose fitting silhouette. The extra fabric draped over her shoulders, lined with small beaded floral embroidery. Local flowers had been weft into her hair along with gold pins. The princess had a strong, pleasant scent. All of the people of Leng do. The perfumes and oils saturated their skin, adding a glow.

“And you are a beautiful Queen,” She said back; Alicent had squeezed her hand. The King had announced the tourney would be taking place soon, with the family being dismissed first. Alicent held Helaena and the Princess's hand as Aegon and Aemond trailed behind. The Princess turned her head to look at Aemond, who looked away again. She turned her head forward and moved her fingers anxiously.

For the next few days, Aemond sat near the Princess. First, watching her wince at the tourney, sitting next to her at feasts, walking near her around the grounds with Helaena. The Princess does not have a name.

“The Princess has a name, but in her culture, it is forbidden to use the name with strangers,” Her advisor explained. “A shortened name is often used with their people,”

“Then how shall we address her?” A Lady asked Xhoha.

Another Lady interjected, “Lady Leng seems proper!”

There had been times when the princess had tried to speak with Aemond.

“What are you holding?” “How are you?” What are you doing?” but she was met with a hmm or a few words. Eventually, she didn’t talk to him at all. Aemond didn’t mean to ignore her, but he felt…anxious around her. Perhaps it was because she was a stranger. Everyone was focused on her; the Princess’s arrival was important enough to garner a week-long celebration. He dug his fingers into his palm, watching her from a distance as she was invited to dance with a young lord.

“Lady Leng,” The cropped haired boy asked. “May I show you how to dance?” The Princess accepted his offer. She giggled, accidentally stepping on his toes. Aemond walked away, only hearing fragments of apologies.

—

☆ A/N: A long overdue part 1 for my Leng princess fic! If you want to see more and would liked to be tagged, please comment! Also I would love comments about what you enjoyed or any potential plot ideas!

#fanfic #fanfiction #fic: citrine and sapphire #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen #Aemond targaryen fanfic #aemond targaryen x leng!reader #se asian!reader #asian!reader #hotd fanfic #hotd fanfiction #fem reader #house of the dragon fanfiction #aemond targaryen reader insert #leng #isle of leng #island of leng #fics

[newcaptainofsquad9]

Was This Vacation a Mistake?~Crazy Rich Asians (Astrid x black! fem! reader) ~Part 3

Parts: 1 2 3 4 5 

Summary: After a traumatic night, you decide to stay with Astrid a few nights before you depart back to America. The situation left you angry and terrified, but Astrid proved to be an amazing hostess and a shoulder to cry on.

Word Count:

Warnings: Talk of racism and microaggressions. 

Author’s Note: Here’s part 3 guys! As always tell me how this is going so far and what you like about it. Idk if this is good or not but I really want to finish this series soon. Anyway, hope y’all enjoy.

The cup of tea Astrid offered grew cold in my hands as I sat on her fine couch in the living room, my head against Rachel’s shoulder. Astrid strolled back into the room, returning from putting her son Cassain back to bed. 

“Do you need anything else, Y/N?” Astrid said as she circled the couch and leaned against its back. “Blanket or something, you and Rachel look like you’re about done for the night.”

She wasn’t wrong, my eyes were heavy and Rachel was quiet for a while. Her phone dinged, awakening her from her semi sleepy state.

“Mmh, N-Nick! He’s outside!” she said, eyes and fingers sweeping her phone simultaneously. 

I sat up to the best of my abilities and try not to blink too much with grogginess and stress already pulsing around my temple. Grading papers should have been the move from the beginning; I wasn’t welcome here from the start, people like me weren’t welcome from the start.

“Y/N,” Nick’s caring voice broke me from my thoughts thankfully. He stood in the center of Astrid’s living room with Rachel at his arm, his eyes sparkling  in concern. “First of all, I’m so sorry this happened. Come here.”

Nick pulled me into his arms, nearly making me weep from the contact. His tall frame was soothing, yet I felt terrible because of all that’s happened; this happened because of me. If I stayed home, they wedding would have gone on, Rachel probably wouldn’t have to worry as much as she has to. I wouldn’t be the center in all this, so much pity. It isn’t pity, I should know that, it’s racism. Full blown racism in my face and I can’t fathom it for some reason. I don’t know why. Frustration pooled at me, tears and heat pricked my skin and eyelids.

“Y/N? Are you all right?” Nick asked. He pulled back to pat my elbows. 

Rachel sunk to my side, wrapping an arm around my shoulder. “Y/N?”

“I-I’m OK. I-I’m fine, I-I just need a night to, I don’t know, forget all of this,” you said as you leaned into Rachel. “I want to go home though, I’m sorry, guys.”

Nick shook his head. “No, no. In fact, I booked you a ticket home the day after tomorrow. First class of course, my friends stay in style. It’s the least I can do for how uncouth and down right disgusting my family and our associates were. I can even book you the best hotel around here.”

The thought was nice, a little too nice but I had to declined. 

“Sorry, Nick, I don’t think that’d be a great idea. Don’t want to seem out of place again.”

“Would a coastal house work? A short heli ride would get you there in--”

“Nick, I don’t think that’ll help,” Rachel said, cutting him off. “Traveling somewhere that isn’t home won’t help, yeah? Y/N?”

I nodded. Nick’s amazing, I love him but throwing money at everything isn’t going to bring me the comfort he thinks it will. It is endearing though. 

“She can stay here for tonight, tomorrow as well,” Astrid said, speaking up from her position behind the couch, hand smoothing out the plushness of it. “Anything she needs, I’ll be willing to provide, no issue.”

My heart skipped a beat at the offer; Rachel’s trying not to grin from ear to ear, brought me closer by the shoulder to look at me with those brown eyes. They’re still glossy, all authentic for me I know but know she’s using them to her advantage I swear. 

“Astrid sounds like great company, yeah?” she said. Her voice dropped to a whisper. “She’ll look out for you, I promise.”

Nick embraced Astrid prior to turning back to Rachel and I. “Thank you, you don’t know how much this means to me.”

Astrid smiled, it reached her beauty mark, highlighting her face perfectly. How was I going to survive a night in her home? Two nights even. Rachel beamed back as if she heard my mental question, squeezing my shoulders.

“You got this, call us when you feel a little better. OK?”  

I nodded. Rachel and Nick gave me quick hugs, doing the same with Astrid before they left, leaving me alone with her. Alone with Astrid Leong. Alone with my thoughts. Alone with all that’s happened.

“Y/N?” Astrid called.   

Her voice soft, as it was before yet lower, tender. I didn’t want to look at her, didn’t want her pity. I just want to go home already. 

“Y/N?” she called again. I glanced at her, she’s close now, right in front of me; the pity I harped on wasn’t there in her eyes though, hurt and worry, similar to how she seemed at Nick’s grandmother’s house.  

“C-Can I hug you?” she asked, opening her arms a bit. Her mouth twitched in a tiny smile while she hesitated with her movements. “Hugs always put me at ease, I-I want to put you at ease.”

The word ease broke me, almost. Tears pricked at my eyes, Astrid found them as she inched closer. She didn’t hug me though, still gauging my reaction. I nodded and met her in a warm embrace; it eased me as she said: her arms wound around me perfectly, fit me well and the tears slipped. A sob broke through too. Why the fuck am I crying? I was supposed to forget about all of that shit. 

“It’s all right, darling. Let it out, it’s OK,” Astrid whispered. She pulled back to wipe my tears. She nodded to her couch. “Want to sit?”

I nodded, pursed my lips to keep from tasting the salty tears. 

Astrid led me by the hand toward the couch, left some space between us when we got there, still holding onto me. Her touch proved pleasant, more so than it has been before--I was at ease. Her hand wrapped around my own wasn’t a huge deal either. I’m not even sure how long I can last but its working so far.  

“T-Thank you, i-it means a lot, letting me stay here,” I managed to say. Astrid’s thumb rubbed my knuckles a little prior to her pulling it away. 

“It’s nothing you have to thank me for,” she said. “Do you want to talk about it at all?”

This is a safe space I realize, however I’m not completely sure about opening up about these racially charged encounters. Sure, she’s non-white but like Rachel, sometimes it’s difficult bringing these matters up and talking through them. Sometimes I just need to deal with it on my own, then again, I do need to talk it out--somewhat. 

“I-I just expected to tag along with Rachel and for this to be a normal vacation,” I started. “But I got centered, I-I should have known. Anti-blackness is global. I should have thought about it more, researched. I’m a professor for God’s sake, I always tell my students this. Maybe this vacation was a mistake, maybe I should have just stayed home.”

Astrid’s hands flocked to mine again, her eyes glossy once more. “No matter how much research or preparedness you set yourself up for, no one deserves to be harassed or see something like that.”

I nodded. “Yeah, but I don’t think it’s the same. We both experience some fucked shit, I’m sure, you went to schools in England right? Most of those posh white folks, right?”

Astrid giggled at the description. “They were the living embodiment of posh. And you’re right. My experience is not the same but I can tell you about them. Take some of the weight off from today. Will that help?” 

“Yeah,” I said. 

Maybe I said it too quickly. It was her touches and how intense she looked to me: attentiveness deep in her brown eyes, paying all the mind to me, I had to glance to the spotless carpet below. 

“As you know, or maybe you don’t, I’m not sure how much Nick has shared about me, I attended Harvard during university,” Astrid explained. She ceased holding my hands, calming my heart for a bit. “At this time, I was eighteen, away from home with enough money to make my posh peers turn their heads. Unfortunately, my money wasn’t the only thing they noticed.”

Astrid grimaced and I didn’t want her to delve back into anything like that. It’s different yes, but it can still hurt people. Rachel’s told me plenty.

“Astrid, you don’t have to tell me, if it’s too much,” I said. My hand moved on instinct, holding her hand myself. “I-I get it.”

“Darling, it’s fine,” she said. “It’s not the most pleasant story to look back on but it happened. First semester, I was the only Asian girl in my class. There was an Asian boy, but he flocked with the white boys and a grade above me so there wasn’t too much we’d mutually have in common besides our ethnicity. I was Astrid the princess, according to Nick and I wished my white peers saw me as just some spoiled girl. Instead I was Astrid the girl who could grant you a happy ending; Astrid the girl who had to sit up front because her eyes were too slanted. There was worse things but, Y/N, you shouldn’t have to limit yourself because of what history has done. What these systems and institutions have done. Don’t let that stop you.”

She’s right. Astrid’s  absolutely right. The dam broke again at this obvious realization and I’m crying again, trembling and all. 

Astrid just pulled me toward her, embracing me yet again. I feel so stupid.

“I’m sorry,” I sobbed against her shoulder. “I-I don’t mean to do this. I hate feeling like this.” 

“Don’t apologize, it’s OK.”

We stayed like that for a while: Astrid wrapping her arms around my back, my head against her chest, heartbeat nearly lulling me to sleep. Tiny footsteps neared however, along with a few creaks of the floor and staircase. 

“Mommy?” 

Astrid tore herself away to face the child standing in a purple satin sleep shirt and matching pants. His hair askew, face clearly scrunched up from sleep. Cassian. Astrid’s son. I pulled myself further from Astrid, wishing I could sink into the couch altogether. 

“And what are you doing up, sweetie?” Astrid said, grin plastered on her face, not feeling awkward about her son seeing his mother hug a woman he doesn’t know. “You should be in bed.”

Cassian rubbed his eyes with the back of a fist, attention on me while Astrid lifted him up to her lap, showing the boy off to me. 

“Who’s that?” he asked. 

Astrid’s eyes shined, love filling them to the brim as she stared at her son, then to me. I still wanted to disappear; Astrid’s got my heart flipping again and skin set to a scorch. Maybe Rachel had a point, definitely not telling her about all the details of tonight.  

“This is Y/N, Nick and mommy’s friend and our guest for a few nights,” she cooed, kissing Cassian on the forehead. “How about we go settle in bed and give her some space, hmm?”

I waved at the boy awkwardly. He seemed delicate in Astrid’s arms, fluttering his eyes, squishing and yawning as she stood engulfing the boy in tender love. 

“C-Can you read me a story too?” Cassain whined. 

“Of course we can, my love,” Astrid said. She was halfway up the stairs; I couldn’t stop looking at her. She turned back toward me, voice dropping a bit.“I’ll bring you some blankets to get comfortable, darling.”

Astrid’s gone before I can react, off to her motherly duties like the day we met. I’ve talked with her, seen her heart, been catered by her heart and I’m still skeptical about the entire thing. A mother, divorcee and a rich person. Rich rich. Loaded and her actions, her demeanor already triggers me, in a great yet intense way. Is she just being nice? Or is Rachel right? Should I talk to Nick about this? Should I not take this venture? Leave it alone before something drastic occurs again, her family is still old money, old traditions, old systems. Maybe I shouldn’t be looking at a potential straight woman like this? 

The thoughts continued to linger while I sunk deeper into the couch. 

Astrid returned after a while, a set of fancy comforters and covers hulking her arms. “I wish I would have prepared the guest room better but the couch is just as comfortable. Make yourself at home, stretch as much as you’d like, all right?” 

I nodded, laid across the couch and reached up for the covers. Astrid pouted and shook her head. 

“No, no. Let me, I am your hostess after all,” she said as she fluffed up the covers. “I need everyone under my roof safe, sound and more importantly, tucked in.”

My face and heart raced among-est each other each time Astrid placed a layer on me, tucked a cover against my arm and back, patted in place. She’s so close, there’s no way she’s just being nice. 

“Y/N? Are you all right? This didn’t make you uncomfortable, did it?”

I shook my head fervently. “No, this is so much more than I can ask for Thank you.” 

Astrid’s eyes softened. “Not a problem, darling. I hope your dreams are sweet and more pleasant than today.” 

Those words tingled me to my bones, warmed me more than the massive quilt bulking me and allowed sleep to overtake me. 

#gemma chan #gemma chan x reader #astrid leong #astrid leong x black reader #astrid leong x reader #black reader #black fem reader #black female reader #crazy rich asians #crazy rich asians fanfic #crazy rich asians fanfiction #fanfic #wlw #wlw fic #wlw fanfiction

[strawberryfairi]

Y/N STORIES✨

I've been seeing lots of posts on Tiktok about complaints having to do with people's Y/N stories. I hear what folks are saying as I've also had to imagine myself and rethink people's stories to fit for an African American girl's features, but it's kinda hard to write Y/N stories completely race neutral.

Your race is a part of you, it's the only experience you know. So naturally there's gonna be mannerisms, speech (slang, foreign languages, ebonics, etc), jokes, cultural things that are based off of who that writer is.

I'm an AA writer, so naturally my characters are gonna be most relatable to fellow AA's. I feel like it would be kind of insulting (for lack of better words) if I tried to, for example, write a story with a character that's Latina, Caribbean, or Native American based. I have zero expertise on what it's like to be Native American, Caribbean, or Latina, so it's like why would I write as if I'm one of them?

That's just me fr. I personally wouldn't know how to go about writing a completely race/ethnicity neutral character 'cause it just seems hollow to me, like it's an unfinished character. 'Cause even down to personality, not every Y/N story's character personality is gonna fit every reader.

Some characters are written shy or without a backbone, some are written bold, dirty mouthed, or outspoken. Some have good sense of style others don't (depending on what your style is). Just like with race it goes hand in hand with character personalities, not all of them are gonna fit you or even make decisions that you would in a Y/N insert, and....that's just that.

I hope this made sense😭 I'm not trynna start no arguments or anything it's just my observation of the matter💁🏾‍♀️

#food for thought #y/n stories #my opinion #black reader #black fem reader #asian reader #latina reader #x reader stories #black female writer #black female writers #i stand on what I said #POC reader #y/n insert #fyp #writerscommunity #female writers #writers on tumblr

[ourolite]

ℛescherché ℛoles!

ourolite original characters feature unique capabilities and sins, alongside eesome endeavors and epitomes only seen amid swevens. linger long and think soundly of sonder; remember the memories of your childhood, the habits you harbor in your solitude, and know that these entities too have their personalized memories and ticks, their reveries and evergreen dreams long lost in the mist similar to your own. respect them, whether you love them or not, for they would... well, some of them would do the same for you.

readers are advised to download the google docs app if able for better presentation of the extended character notes, and dark mode is recommended in tandem with this! please, it looks insane otherwise!! *sobs* also, some characters are shipped canonically, but x reader and other x character asks are not disallowed! inquire and request as you see reputable.

this section is innately memorable, but it's particularly recalled for including unique subjects. these are listed as: disorders, disabilities and a variety of conditions as well as various races, gender orientations, sexualities, mythological origins and more. though in a dimmer light, there's a list of more sensitive topics including: racism, homophobia, abuse + neglect, trauma (especially that of childhoods), gore, death, violence, manipulation and more. this is your preamble of caution and context; to all who scroll further, treat yourself and enjoy!

☆ INDIGO ( maneki-neko! oc ) "Ah… your rings are pretty, I’ll be keeping them now … *big yawn* Hm? What? Are you still here? Run along, go find someone safer to speak with.. Heh, I’m only toying. I have a reputation to uphold after all. Being a maiden’s courier is a rather exhausting task. Now, do you mind? I want entertainment. Tell me about yourself, and maybe I’ll reconsider not stealing your pendant." — Mystery Cat. profile. extended details. character ai. headcanons #1.

★ ILLUNIS ( rusalka! oc ) “Daring evening, is it not? Where are your manners?… To rest your ignorance, I am the Sentinel Number Three of Russia, Illūnis — Europe’s Moon Maiden. Come, come, humor me with a drink or a jest, for I am dying for a dance.” — Mortis Poena. profile. extended details. character ai. headcanons #1.

★ FRANKINCENSE ( churel mother! oc ) "Hiiii~ Here to see me? Nah, I’m not b—Hm… Might be busy later; not now. But listen, if you’re here to more cookies sell any more, I can’t risk not affording rent again. So stay quiet around that one. *Points her kusarigama over at her daughter who’s distracted with a box of girl scout cookies.* Hear me straight? *Nods weapon back at them with each word.* It’s very important." — Frankenstein. profile. extended details. character ai. headcanons #1.

☆ YASHMI-NOIR ( angel daughter! oc ) “Hm….Mm… Hi, nice to meet you.. I’m Yashmi-Noir, and this is Frankenstein. *Hides behind Franky and peeks out at the Traveler followed by Franky’s loving chuckle.* Frankenstein is my mommy.. Bu-but you jus’ call mommy Franky! ..And Yashmi-Noir can be Yashmi.. ‘kay?” — Sunshine. profile. extended details. character ai. headcanons #1.

★ XĪN’YUÈ ÀN ZHŌNG ( billionaire ceo! oc ) “And yet my initial order to you, not to he, she, or they, was to replace the prior base with May Bells to embue the vanillic tones. Fix the issue immediately. This product’s date is definite, and I’m sure you wouldn’t particularly favor the outcome of its delay … Hm, I figured you have some sense. You’re dismissed, as for I—*finally looks at you, expression softening sequentially* have other matters to address.” — Mr. Àn Zhōng. profile. extended details. character ai. headcanons #1.

★ CIRCE YUÈ'LI ( vampire! oc ) “Oh? Fending for yourself? Sweetheart, you're assuming I'm a threat while wandering through my backyard. .. You were 'lost'? Really? Hm. Did you maybe receive an invitation to my abode while you uh.. wandered? ... No, right? Okay. State your business or join me as dinner, you're kinda already starting off on the wrong foot.. Still though, I'm not picky, I haven't had some good buttered thighs since like three dynasties ago.” — Sir Circe. profile. extended details. character ai. headcanons #1.

☆ JIHANE MEILĖ ( metaphysician djinn! oc ) "Oh, your aura it… completely surpasses the essential nature of reality; have you already touched the ends of reality, miss/sir? Made your mind a limitless, tangible space? It’s an honor to encounter a warrior such as yourself, *mumbles* one who vividly represents the Seven of Pentacles, reversed and all… Heh, don’t give me that look! Let’s bargain a lil’, m’kay? Open your wisdom and bestow mind-independent certainty upon me in return for… m’name? How does that sound?" — Sinning Star. profile. extended details. character ai. headcanons #1.

★ J'ŪLILI ANÉO LĀPAKI ( plutonian bunny! oc ) “Yo. So, how was your trip? .. Mm, yeah *smiles slightly at your comment about the cold temperature*, I get that a lot. Can’t control the weather, but I got some goods to compensate you for it. We don’t get many worshippers, so there’s always somethin’ to share. *Hands you one of the cloud coats Sentinel number three made, along with a heat-holding canister of tea, and a couple of hand warmers.* Uh- you want a cinna bun, too?” — Juju. profile. extended details. character ai. headcanons #1.

☆ YÚYĪN ÀN ZHŌNG ( emhalo xipe’va! oc ) “What are you staring at, huh? Glabrescent lil’ bitch… If you wanna talk, then talk, ‘cause I damn sure don’t speak sign. Not willingly. Not without payment… Actually. Hmph. *smiles deviously* … Say, y’know a lil’ sign, doncha? You’re human, right? I’m pretty short on cash, sooooo… let’s make a deal.” — Nepenthe. profile. extended details. character ai. headcanons #1.

☆ MÉLIOR VILLOSA ( amoisa xipe’va! oc ) “Oh- Eh… Hello. *shifts with obvious discomfort, plastering an awkward, upside down smile* Uhmm… Hi. Need anything…?” — Sencha. profile. extended details. character ai. headcanons #1.

☆ MAKA GALILHAI ( autistic swordsman! oc ) “Hi..” — Morning Star. profile. extended details. character ai. headcanons #1.

★ EUN BYEOL ( mute neptunian! oc ) “Hmmm… you’ll do..” *the mystery man then creates a portal underneath you causing you to fall through before closing it shut, listening to your faint screams before everything goes silent. Then, he waves goodbye cutely.* “Hehe, bye bye~” — The Poetic Blue Swan. profile. extended details. character ai. headcanons #1.

★ ZOLENE IRENE ( demi-god! oc ) “OOOOH!” *purposely bumps into your shoulder before ‘saving’ you from falling* … “Whew, that was close… wassup baby? You aight? You like girls?” *comedically blows her bangs out the way with a flirty grin* … “Aight, aight, lemme stop…” *giggles a little and gives you your space … “I just wanted to say that you’re really pretty. Uh, you like chinchillas? You do now.” *pauses to pull mr. micos from out her shirt; he is erratically upset* … “This is like... His name is Ukumari Micos, but please call him Señor Micos, or else—Damn, Micos! Cálmate, fuck! *grumbles* scaring them away… Ahem, anyway… yeah… Hehe, can I have your socials, por favor? It’s okay if you don’t wanna.” — El Hijo De Inti. profile. extended details. character ai. headcanons #1.

★ TIDA-BITUIN MIYAGI ( blind prodigy! oc ) “N’ then I— *Jumps dramatically at your sudden voice, turning in the wrong direction to face you.* Damn, bitch! When’d you get here?! Shit..! .. Uh.. my bad, uh, you here to ask me how many digits of pi I can list, or are you gonna ask if my dog helps me both piss and wipe? Talk fast. *You explain that you had wanted to introduce yourself.* .. Oh. Damn, my bad again, well.. Nice to meet you, cutie. *He smiles a little and laughs awkwardly as you turn him to face you the right way.* Heh, whoops. Blind and shit.” — The Mathematic One. profile. extended details. character ai. headcanons #1.

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#⋆˙. 𝐨𝐜 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭! #this gif is not ourolite owned + belongs to: @/blueberridream #oc #ocs #my ocs #oc stuff #oc masterlist #oc info #oc intro #original character oc #original character #original character lore #oc lore #oc x oc #oc x reader #oc x you #oc x y/n #original character x reader #my ocs <3 #others ocs #oc story #oc original character #oc blog #oc backstory #oc rambling #oc list #male oc #fem oc #female oc #asian oc

[hawthorneonarainyday]

Who We Are - Steve Harrington (1)

Prologue | Steve 2 | Eddie | Billy | Ian

The two of them had been friends for twenty-two years now. They'd grown up right next to each other, casually holding hands for all their lives. What neither of them had ever considered, though, was that their relationship could ever be anything else. They were just them, Steve and her. Right? Attention! - This is the second part of 'Grey Overalls and Rainy Days'. Please read that one first if you haven't yet! Information you might need ♥ ~ Word Count: 15.648 3rd Person (She/Her) Flashbacks will be presented in completely cursive to better distinguish between now and then, since tumblr doesn't really have the best typesetting options.

In this chapter you will find: Rain, cursing, a down in the dumps Steve, slow-burn childhood bestfriends to lovers, a lot of physical contact, canon tinkering, flashbacks and a fuck ton of spoilers for the 80s movie 'Beaches'. There will be mentions of food and eating, blood, canon level violence, loss, grief, shock, death, sex, trauma, bad parenting, sexual harrassment (specifically at dates) alcohol and reader having her period so please remain careful, my children! At one point reader will be loosely compared to Molly Ringwald, but to not alienate anyone I'll explicitly say that it is not because reader looks like her. It can be, if you want it to, but it's definitely not required. I point that out loud and clear and Steve will do so too, so please don't feel put out by that.

Enjoy ♥

The days rain still lay in the air, although the drops themselves had stopped – for now. Petrichor was still wafting all around them, now with tiny hints of cool night air. Hawkins population was slowly but surely getting home for the night. Mothers ushered their kids ahead of them, teenage girls locked their bedroom doors but unlocked their windows and most of Hawkins general stores were flipping their signs from ‘OPEN’ to ‘CLOSED’.

That was something she did as well.

Eddie held the door open and she skipped out into the night, glad she decided to not deal with the taxes for now. The metalhead himself was talking about a campaign he would love to throw for the party, but didn’t really have the time to and she was reminded of how good a story teller he was. No wonder the boys still loved to invite him around as a dungeon master whenever they got the chance.

“So, I was thinking I’d add in this really messed up dragon hybrid and he’s g- hey isn’t that Harringtons car?” Blinking at the rather rapid change of subject, she followed his pointing and damn straight. That was the red BMW she’d spent all day cleaning.

“Uh…yeah, actually. It is.” Her brows furrowed as she squinted into the night, trying to make out the familiar lines of Steve’s nose and hair.

And sure enough, there he was. Slumped behind the driver’s seat with his head down, one hand grabbing the steering wheel. “What the…Uhm, Eddie, gimme a minute.”

“Sure, go ahead. I’ll wait in the van?”

“Yeah, thanks.” With one shimmy, she shouldered her bag properly and jogged on over to Steve. He didn’t look up as she came closer, not giving her much choice but to knock at the window. Inside, Steve flinched, his hand letting go of the wheel and grabbing his chest. The shock didn’t last long though, because just a moment later he was rolling the window down.

“Jesus, don’t do that to me. You’ll give me a heart attack.”

“Your fault for not noticing me.” Chuckling, she leaned down to peer into the car, trying to see the mysterious flower shop girl. Why would she be there? Well, it wasn’t the first time Steve made a pit stop on one of his dates just to drive her home real quick. The red BMW, however, was completely empty aside from Steve. “Steve, what are you doing here? I thought you had a date.” The man in question just sighed and let his head fall back against the headrest. There was a slight pout to his face. “Steve?”

“Listen. Wanna cash in those burgers now? We could grab some and then go…I dunno, somewhere.”

“Uhm…I mean, yeah. Sure. Why not. Let me just tell Eddie, okay?”

“Eddie?”

“Yeah, he came by earlier and offered to drive me home.”

“Oh. Okay, yeah, go ahead. I’ll wait.”

“But Steve, what about…?”

“Just…forget about that, okay?” The way he said it was more than pleading. Even if she didn’t like it, she nodded and jogged on over to Eddie’s car. He was already inside, the van running and waiting. Unlike Steve, he immediately noticed her getting closer and rolled down the window.

“You’re going with him, I take?”

“Yeah, sorry Eddie. I think…I don’t know, I think he needs some company.”

“It’s fine, Princess, you go check on him. But I demand full intel tomorrow!” She chuckled.

“I’ll see what I can do ‘bout that. Thanks Eddie.”

“See ya, princess!” The van roared to life with a deep growl and she stepped away from the window. It didn’t take long for Eddie to leave the car park behind. She reached Steve’s car just as quickly. A simple pull on the door handle and she plopped into the seat with a content sigh.

Steve’s car just felt… right.

Over the years, she’d spent so much time in that passenger seat that it felt more like home than the single wide she actually called home. Steve next to her watched her buckle herself in before wordlessly putting the car into gear. She didn’t ask where they were going, he didn’t offer any intel on the matter.

They didn’t have to.

Neither of them spoke. Steve veered the car through what Hawkins called ‘evening rush’ with practiced ease while she gazed out of the window next to her. She could see Joyce Byers locking up the door to Melvald’s General Store, still in her uniform. Next door in Radio Shack, there was still light burning. Maybe some last-minute repairs or something. Or maybe the guy working there had forgotten to turn them off. Who knew?

New, fresh rain was starting to dribble down the window, obscuring her view. Within moments, the world outside was turned into a blurry mess of colours and shapes. She could still vaguely tell where they were simply because it was the town she’d lived in for all of her life, but it got harder and harder. Soon, she had to turn her eyes to the windshield, it being the only place that still offered a semi-clear view. The windshield wipers were going left and right in their own rhythm, as if something invisible spurred them on. Well, she knew how they worked. But where was the mystery in that?

Watching the wipers do their job was…hypnotic. Without actively choosing to do so, her eyes were following their path left and right and left and right and she could feel herself get drowsy. Though that was probably less the wipers and more the fact that she’d gotten up early and worked a lot more than expected. Her day was supposed to be mainly office stuff plus the cunninghams car, and yet…

“Tired?” Steve asked, his finger rhythmically tapping against the steering wheel, led by the indicators soft ‘click click click click’. She sighed and sank back further into the seat.

“Yeah.”

“You could’ve said something. I can take you home.”

“It’s fine. It’s just the drive.” Steve hummed lightly.

“Of course it is.”

The boy pulled into the car park of Rosemary’s Diner with ease. If it weren’t so dangerous and irresponsible, she would’ve challenged him to do it with his eyes closed. Honestly, he might actually pull it off. They’d been here often enough. While most people preferred Benny’s Diner, both Steve and her had always chosen Rosemary’s whenever they got a chance. Mostly when it was just the two of them.

Sure, she’d pestered Ian sometimes to go with her. And, far as she was aware, Steve had brought some dates here over the years. Both of them had dragged their little group of misfits with them more than once and while they rarely complained, they both knew that this place never clicked quite as well with the rest of them. Maybe it was the food, maybe it was the atmosphere and maybe it was just the fact that she and Steve had been coming here ever since they were old enough to go to a diner on their own.

Inside, the lights were bright and welcoming, just like always.

Steve held the door for her and she stepped inside, both manoeuvring the etablissement with well-practised ease. Down the checkered tiles to the second to last booth – second to last, never the one before or after that – where both of them dropped down into their favoured seats at the same time. Her back was facing the door, while Steve liked to be able to survey the entire room. Menus were pushed aside; they would order the usual thing anyway. Doreen, their favourite waitress, saw them from afar and nodded towards them. Not to indicate anything, just recognition.

The seats hissed familiarly with every move she made as she drew her legs under her in a position that should be uncomfortable but really wasn’t. Steve was already slouched back into the burgundy leather of his booth, his face…complicated.

That was probably the best thing to call it.

It wasn’t an expression she knew from Steve, which should be impossible after over twenty years together. But then again, one was never done learning. That probably applied to people as well.  

“Hey you guys, nice to have you back!” She raised her head to meet the dark brown eyes of Doreen with a smile. The older waitress was grinning down at them, her braided hair pulled back into a ponytail that made her seem a lot younger than she was. There were some stains on her pale-yellow uniform, likely coffee, but other than that she looked at dewy as ever.

“Hiya Doreen. How’s it going?” She offered while Steve just nodded semi-friendly. Normally, she would have kicked his shins for that, but she accepted it for today. At least he’d greeted her at all. Doreen had noticed too, apparently, because she threw him a knowing glance but kept quiet.

“Ah, you know. Same as always in this old thing. Enough guests to keep it running but never many.” She shrugged. “You’re getting the usual?”

“Sure, we are.”

“Neat-o! So that’d be two cheeseburgers – one without onions – a large basket of fries with mayonnaise and ketchup and two shakes – strawberry and vanilla. Did I miss anything?” She couldn’t help but grin at that.

“Perfect like always, Doreen. Thanks.” Doreen nodded and turned on her heels, and she remembered another thing. “Oh hey, Doreen?”

“Yeah?”

“Add a coffee to that. As strong as you can legally brew it, yeah?”

“Oooh, the order changed. Exciting!” Steve rolled his eyes and she grinned. “Consider it done, sweet thing. Won’t be long.”

“Thanks!” Doreen strolled back over to the kitchen, leaving both her and Steve to themselves. The latter was still quietly staring into the void, his mind clearly somewhere else. Worry dipped her brows as she watched him. She’d seen Steve after bad dates often enough. Sometimes he was annoyed, sometimes he was angry. Sometimes he was sad but tried to act like he wasn’t, fully knowing that she knew, and sometimes he was just plain sad. Those were the things she expected. A ranty, maybe whiny, Steve. A mopey, pouty Steve. Maybe even a sad one.

But he wasn’t any of those things.

On the contrary, behind the complicatedness of it all, he looked…defeated? Reserved? Maybe both. Like a man that had failed. Or better: A man that had given up. She’d seen that face on someone else before, and it hadn’t been a good thing. She didn’t really like seeing it on Steve.

“I’m fine.” He said and she blinked in surprise.

“What?”

“I’m fine.” Steve sighed, kicking her dangling leg softly. “Stop staring holes in my face. And unfurrow your brows, you’ll get wrinkly, old girl.” She scoffed.

“I wouldn’t need to furrow my brows if your soul stopped taking a smoke break, you know?” But her fingers rubbed over the space between her brows anyway. “’Old girl’, really? Tsk.” Steve rolled his eyes and she turned towards the large window to her left. She couldn’t see much with the outside being nearly pitch black and the inside brightly lit. So instead of seeing the car park, she saw her own sorry expression staring back at her.

“Shit.” Edging closer to the window, she surveyed her own appearance with disdain.

She looked horrendous.

Since she came here directly from work, she was still clad in her stupid overalls. She should really start packing a change of clothes…She didn’t have too many nice clothes anyway but the grey work overalls must have been amongst the worst she owned. They were built for practicality and comfort, with a whole bunch of pockets and the loose fit. But they didn’t look great. This one, the one she was wearing today, was especially bad since she hadn’t gotten around to altering it. It was an ill fit in most places and it was stained. Fine for work, not so much for anything else.

And, of course, her hair was a mess as well. It stuck up in weird places and It was extremely greasy after a days’ worth of work. She had a sweaty job, alright? And in front of her boys – and Steve – she didn’t mind. They’d seen her look worse and she’d seen them look worse. But she felt iffy sitting in a diner like that. God, she hadn’t even wiped her face, had she? It was probably greasy as well.

“You could have told me I look like crap.” She muttered, wiping her face with her sleeve before getting to work on her hair. She couldn’t salvage much but she could damn well try.

“You look like you always do.”

…Ouch.

She send the boy a glare and let go of her hair. Not better, but at least differently messy. Oh well, it was what it was. Nothing she could do about it now, was there?

Steve was back to being zoned out. So much so, that he didn’t even notice that Doreen brought their food until she kicked his shins. He flinched, blinked, and looked around confusedly. She rolled her eyes and grappled for his plate. Using just two fingers, she’d picked out the pickles Steve so seemed to detest and replaced them with one of her tomatoes. Sure, he could just have ordered the burger without pickles and with extra tomatoes, but why bother?

Happy with her fixing job, she got to the fries, each one loaded up with mayonnaise, before tackling her burger. The smell alone caused her to feel extremely ravenous, to be perfectly honest, and she nearly melted when her teeth sunk into the goodness that was this burger.

With each bite, she felt the crispy softness of the bun, the crunch of fresh salad and tomatoes as well as the greasy cheese-patty combo. And in combination with the slight tang of Rosemary’s mystery sauce? To die for. Really, in an apocalypse she would likely murder for this burger alone.

Steve didn’t seem to agree, though. At least not today. Usually, the boy inhaled his food much faster than she ever could and she always had to battle him for the fries. Otherwise, he’d eat all of them and leave her high and dry for some oily potato sticks. Likely the reason why she’d started to eat the fries first and her burger last, since Steve did it exactly the other way around.

But today, the Harrington boy picked apart his burger slowly and thoughtfully. Sauce and grease quickly covered his fingers, which he didn’t seem to notice. Only a few bites made it into his mouth each time he looked conscious before he was right back to mindlessly playing with his food. He didn’t say a thing while they ate - and sure, she was more than fine with just existing around him. The two of them were long over the need to always do something together. She couldn’t count the days they had wasted away without talking, lounging around in the same bubble but each doing their own thing. They were masters at just existing in the same space.

In combination with his current mood, however, she felt her patience start to wear thin. It wasn’t even really because of him or his mood, it was because she didn’t know what was going on and thus didn’t know what to do about it. She couldn’t really help Steve if he didn’t open his big gob.

After nearly fourty five minutes of complete silence, spent exclusively watching him pick apart the burger into goddamn atoms, she pulled out her wallet and threw some cash on the table. Enough to pay for the both of them. That, finally, got Steve out of his reverie.

“Hey, we said it’s my treat.”

“Yeah, fuck that, Harrington. You can pay me back later.” Sighing, she fished out some wet wipes from her handbag and wiped his hands. He just let it happen, watching her closely as she wiped remnants of grease and sauce of his phalanges. “Come on. Let’s go somewhere, I need to stretch my legs before I fall asleep sitting up.” He winced.

“Sorry. I can take you home now.”

“Why, trying to get rid of me now, are we?”

“You know that’s never it.”

“Yeah, I know. Come on, up with you.” Not letting go of his hand, she rose from her seat and pulled him up with her. “Bye Doreen!”

“Bye guys!” The older woman waved them goodbye from behind the counter, not even checking if they’d left money. Even if they did forget, they’d be back before it could actually be missed. Not that that ever happened before.

Outside, Steve naturally tried to head towards the car, but her hand in his stopped him. Confused, he turned towards her, keys already in hand and pointing towards his car.

“The car is over there.”

“Sure is. But we’re not going to your car just yet.”

“Huh?” She rolled her eyes.

“I told you. I need to stretch my legs. The ten steps from our booth to your car don’t really do the trick.”

“Wait, what do you mean?” Groaning, she let go of his hand only to get behind him and push him along.

“I mean: Move your arse, Harrington, we’re taking a god damn walk.”

“Ugh, but it’s raining.”

“Cry me a river!” She scoffed and pushed on. “You know, you’re no basketballer anymore. Some exercise might actually be good for you, dumbass.”

“I hate walks!”

“Move your god damn legs!” He did, reluctantly so.

At first, he was going annoyingly slow, obviously trying to not get too far away from the car in case she suddenly decided it was enough walking for a day. The more steps they took however, the more he picked up on speed. It took only a few minutes for them to reach a comfortable pace, easily falling into a rhythmic step beside each other.

The sky was still leaking above them, rain coating them in a fine spray of water that would feel incredibly wet the longer they left it there. But, in a way, it was a nice walk anyway. And what did her mum always say?

‘Light exercise is the best way to sort out a muddled mind, pumpkin. And nothing helps more than walking. Back home, I’d often walk the length of a town, just trying to get my brain in order!’

The memory had her throat tighten up for a moment.

One should really thing that four years would take care of grief, but in the end they didn’t do shit. It still felt the same, whenever she thought about her family. That couldn’t be normal, could it? Or maybe it was. Who knew.

Steve’s shoulder bumped against hers, pulling her attention back to him. Once again, he looked lost in thought. Less zoned out, but still not completely here. His brown eyes, nearly black with the absence of light, were pointedly focused on the ground below them and his hands were shoved into the pockets of his jean-jacket.

With another sigh, she looped her arm through his and looked up at him. He barely turned his face towards her, brows raised – a silent half-question. Which, she decided, wasn’t enough right now. She slightly shook his arm, pushing him to give her his full attention. Thankfully, he did.

“Okay, pretty boy. This is where I stop asking and you start talking. Because I’m slowly losing my mind here.”

“Boredom or worry?”

“Half half.” A deep sigh and he looked around for nothing in particular.

“Me saying something like ‘shitty date, is all’ is probably not going to cut it, is it?”

“Yeah, no. Try again.”

“…Shitty date is probably still true.”

“Okay? Why was the date shitty, then?” Steve scoffed.

“Probably because I have shitty taste in girls. Women.” Immediately, she felt herself bristle.

“What did that bitch do?” He rolled his eyes.

“Don’t call her that.”

“What did she do, Steven?” He sighed, using his free hand to ruffle his hair.

“Okay, so… When she asked me out, she was weirdly specific, right?” She nodded, not caring too much about the long story. But if that’s how he wanted to tell it - fine. “She was all like ‘Do you want to go to the cinema with me on Tuesday at seven fourty five?’ and I thought it was kinda weird to ask like that, but hey maybe she’s just one of those…those OCD-types, right? What do I know? Maybe she just feels the need to specify everything or her dad was a vet or whatever. Don’t know, don’t care.” She didn’t point out that seven fourty five wasn’t military time. “So, I agree, knowing I’d likely have to pester Robin into switching with me, which wasn’t easy because it was a Keith shift and who wants to do those? But who cares, it was flower shop girl, right?”

“Right.”

“Yeah. So today, after I left, I got home, got ready and picked her up exactly on time. When she got in I noticed that she was, like, really nervous for some reason.”

“What, because of you?”

“That’s what I wondered. I mean, I bought a gazillion flowers from her and she rents videos regularly, so it’s not like we’re total strangers. And I’m not weird, right? Like, creepy weird. Rapey weird.” She nodded as he threw her a glance and he carried on. “Right, otherwise she probably wouldn’t have asked me. So, I’m, like, extremely confused as to why she’s so skittish.”

“How skittish are we talking?”

“Her voice was an octave or so higher the whole time.”

“Jesus.”

“Exactly.” Steve shook his head. “Anyway, I drive up to the theatre and try to get a conversation going, you know? Drop some funny lines, talk about work, anything. But she barely answers and is all evasive and weird and I’m already like ‘Oh great, this date is going to be fun.’.” Angrily, he kicked something out of the way. A pebble? “But that isn’t even the worst thing. I mean, sure, I really…I was really amped for that date. But bad dates happen, you know? You get annoyed and then you move on or something. I don’t know.”

“I know what you mean, Steve. Carry on.”

“Dude, I’m on it.” He sighed shaking his head. “Anyway. Theatre. We get out of the car and I go to buy the tickets-“

“Why the fuck did you-“

“I don’t know, I just did.”

“She asked you out, Steve! She can pay!”

“But she didn’t okay? Let me finish talking.” She grumbled something under her breath, but let him go on. “So, I go to buy the tickets, she’s waiting by the door. And then we go in and whoosh.” He mimed an explosion with his hands. “She sticks to me like glue. It’s like someone flipped a switch and she went from ‘why am I here?’ to full on date mode. And she’s, like, pulling all the stops. She’s flirting like a mad woman, batting her eyelids super often and talking about how nice I look and how nice it was that I agreed to this date and stuff. And she’s super loud too, right?” Slowly, something dawned in her mind and she didn’t like it one bit. “So, I am like ‘Uhm…what exactly is going on here?’ but she just keeps talking. And then we get to the front of the popcorn line and some dude greets us and he keeps staring at her all wistfully and shit while she finds 87 ways to say the word ‘date’ in a non-committal context.” He stopped, kicking at nothing at she watched him with furrowed brows.

“She wanted to make that guy jealous. And she used you to do it.” He scoffed, his eyes focusing on nothing in particular.

“Yeah. And I was stupid enough to say yes.”

“Steve.”

“She probably noticed that I was literally buying her out of flowers and came to the conclusion that sure, Harrington is hare brained and will never realise what is going on. Why not use him like some sort of accessory, it’s not like he’s got much more going on!”

“Steve, stop that.” She pulled him to a stop, turning him towards her in the process. Steve’s brows were deeply furrowed, nearly touching in the middle, and there was a definite pout to his lips. “Stop trash talking yourself. None of this is because of you.” He tsked.

“Right. Sure, who if not me, then?” She stared at him, incredulously.

“Her. It is because of her, Steve. She asked you out to make another guy jealous because she noticed that you liked her. She used your feelings against you, not the other way around.”

“And why did I have feelings? That her fault too or what?”

“What are you even talking about, Steve?”

“I mean, how often have I actually talked to her? I barely knew her, right? We’re loose acquaintances at best. So why? Why like her so much that I buy a bunch of ugly fucking bouquets every other day? Those fucking things looked like shit because she’s horrible at making them, but I still spend a fortune on them simply so I could watch her talk about flowers for ten minutes. Shit, I’m not even a flower guy to begin with! Do I look like someone who cares that gardenias are considered deer resistant shrubs?” He really seemed to believe that he had any choice in the matter, which had her brows dip further.

“Steve, you can’t actually believe the bullshit you’re spewing right now.” He shrugged, pushing the moist hair from his face.

“Well, I don’t know anymore. I must be doing’ something wrong, seeing as every god damn girl I come close to liking just ends up treating me like shit.” Pinching his nose, he took a step back. “I mean, I’m not exactly a catch. Right. I know that.” He gestured around, more angry than necessary. “I know what they see, okay? Har har Harrington, high school hasbeen that couldn’t get into college and is still working a shitty job at fucking family video. Right, sure, I get it. Oh yeah, add the ugly ass scars I can’t explain – not that anyone even gets close to seeing them lately. But why can’t they just tell me? I mean, they could just tell me to fuck off and I’d be gone.” Swallowing heavily, he quieted for a moment. “I’m so…I’m so sick of growing to like people who don’t like me back. Who don’t even want to get to know me, like actually me. Not ‘Steve Harrington, the family video looser’, but me.”

Her throat felt tight as she watched him rant, rain slipping down his hair and face. Hearing what he thought about himself was always difficult, because, for some reason, Steve literally thought he was the worst person alive. No matter what she said, no matter what she did, his opinion never seemed to change.

Steve Harrington viewed himself as little more than trash.

“How is that your fault, Steve? Any of that?” Hot anger rose in her chest, not at him but for him. “You couldn’t get into college – so what! Who gives a shit? And sure, you work at family video. But at least you work!” She shrugged. “That’s miles better than anything any of them likely ever did. And liking someone is…We can’t choose who we like. You just…you just like who you like.”

“That’s a bullshit answer and you know it.”

“Yeah? Well. It’s yours.”

“What?”

“It’s what you told me. While I was crying over Ian and cursing myself over ever falling for him you said exactly that.” He scoffed, his head falling back.

“I give shit advise.”

“Yeah, but you mean well.” Sighing, she grabbed his hand. “Steve, listen to me. Properly, okay?”

“Fine.”

“That stupid cunt used you. And that is not your fault.”

“But-”

“No, it’s not. You didn’t do anything, Steve! I mean, what would you tell me? If the situation was reversed? Let’s say I…I don’t know, let’s say I’m on a date with, uh, with…Jonathan.”

“Byers?”

“Yeah.”

“Yikes.”

“Stay focused.” She rolled her eyes. “So, I’m on a date with Byers and turns out he just wanted Nancy to get angry or jealous or whatever. And obviously I’m heartbroken because wow, I’m so in love with Byers-“ Steve winced.

“I’m not in love.”

“- that I can barely contain myself. What would you tell me?” Steve looked down at her, his dark eyes raking her face as he thought.

“…Probably the same thing.”

“Which is what?”

“…It’s not your fault. He used you, not the other way around.”

“Right. And?”

“I’d probably try to hit him with my car. That’s long overdue anyway.”

“Yeah, I get it. Flower shop girl just got first place on my shit list. But that’s not what I mean.”

“Then what?”

“Is it my fault that I fell in love with Jonathan Byers?” Steve turned his face towards her, looking just as wet and sorry as he did, and sighed.

“…No.”

“But I could have known better. He’s obsessed with Nancy, so this was totally unavoidable, wasn’t it?” Steve’s brows dipped.

“Yeah, so? It’s not like you wanted to fall in love with Byers, you just did. Maybe that’s dumb, but you can’t choose who-“ he stopped short.

“Yeah?”

“…You can’t choose who you like.”

“Right. You can’t.” She sighed. “You don’t always need to hold yourself up to higher standards than everyone else, you know? You’re…you’re just human, like the rest of us.”

“I know.”

“Do you now? Because sometimes I’m not so sure you do, Steve.” She vividly remembered many times where his perfectionism hat nearly driven him insane. “You always blame yourself for things that aren’t you fault. Always did, ever since we were kids.” It wasn’t hard to guess where he’d got it from. His parents weren’t ever shy about blaming their child for everything wrong with their life. His mum did it passively, with neglect and pejorative remarks while his dad just straight up told him why he was the shittest thing in their collective lives. Steve, apparently, had internalised that knowledge far too deep.  And now it always came back to haunt him.

Like that one time.

It was a day she barely remembered. The memory was fuzzy, either with age or because her mind simply didn’t want her to remember. What was it, a day after Starcourt? Two days? She didn’t even really know. It could have been years or minutes; everything felt the same.

Hopeless.

Hopelessness was winding around her like thin wires, squeezing and pulling at the same time. Wherever the wires touched her, they would dig into her skin, painfully tearing the tender flesh of her body apart. Maybe she should just have done it, set her jaw and bear with it, just like she’d been doing every time she’d gotten hurt that day. Pain was nothing new to her, in the past three years she’d learned how to deal with it but, for some reason she just…she just couldn’t.

When she looked down at her arms, she expected to see blood. And sure, there was blood. But that was old, already drying. She didn’t see any new blood. Nothing was actually ripping her skin apart, and yet she could feel it. She could feel the lines on her skin, the places she was barely keeping together.

Every movement, every breath was painful. So, so painful that she wanted to scream. To her, moving meant pain. And a lot of pain meant that she was dying.

So, she just didn’t move.

She sat there, on the floor in Steve’s bedroom, unmoving, with her legs pulled against her chest. Why Steve’s room or how she’d even gotten there in the first place was something she couldn’t answer. She just knew that she couldn’t move away from that spot, not without falling apart completely. And in that moment, there was no one who could’ve stacked her back together again.

It was uncomfortable.

Her limbs were falling asleep in random moments and the heeled boots she’d been wearing were likely ruining her feet for good. She herself was still bloody, sweaty and disgusting and she could feel the layers of grime on her skin. But she didn’t…couldn’t care.

It was uncomfortable, but it was safe.

As long as she didn’t move, she could pretend it wasn’t real. She could pretend that her dad and brother were at the shop, like always, bickering over the right way to tune up the Hillson’s sedan. She could pretend that she hadn’t seen the giant monster that her family had somehow become part of. Because every time she thought of it, she remembered what Nancy told them. She could hear Steve saying: “But instead of, like, screws and metal, the Mind Flayer made its weapon with melted people…?”

Melted people.

Her father, the kindest man she’d ever known. The man who’d tried his hardest to raise her, to give her anything a daughter could need. The man who’d taught her how to ride a bike and how to replace a rotary arm. The man who’d cooked her favourite food whenever she felt down.

And her brother.

The big brother, who’d gone and beaten-up Tommy Hagan after he cheated on her. The brother who’d read her stories as a kid, who’d carry her around whenever she was too lazy to walk. The very brother who’d told her, just the night before, that all he wanted was for her to be happy. Wherever that might be.

Those two were part of the people Steve and Nancy were talking about. And she’d known, she’d known something was weird with her dad ever since he’d been so moody and snappy. He was never like that, never that aggressive, and both her and her brother had been extremely confused and worried. And yet, with little to no argument, she’d just packed her bag and left the minute her brother told her to.

She’d gone to stay with Steve, lounging around at Scoops Ahoy all day instead of just…just going home. Home, where she actually could’ve done something. Where she could’ve helped them.

But she didn’t. And now they were dead.

Those were the thoughts going through her mind on a loop. Every time she arrived at the conclusion it would go back to the start, like a record that spun endlessly. Nothing seemed to be able to turn it off. It just spun and spun and spun. Not even the blood that covered her shirt and skirt turning sticky and disgusting could change that. Nor could the knowledge that at least half the blood was not hers but Steve’s.

Steve…

Steve, who’d spent the past hours talking to her with endless patience. He’d tried to get her to eat, to move. To just do…something. Anything. He never pushed her too hard, but he didn’t ease up. He sat beside her, talked about anything. He turned on music whenever his voice turned weak and the silence became heavy.

He was always there, like a shadow glued to her side. Drifting along the lines of her periphery in hopes to get a rise out of her.

Looking back, she was surprised he’d kept it together that well. She didn’t know if she could’ve done it. If she could’ve acted like she was okay for his sake.

Because Steve wasn’t okay. Of course, he wasn’t. And one day, she finally noticed it.

As always, he’d left his room. Claiming to go and order some dinner. He left, went downstairs and was gone for a good long while. Too long for a phone call. Maybe she was on her way out of her trance, maybe she was already on the threshold to being fully conscious. Or maybe it was the fact that Steve had forgotten to turn on the music. She didn’t know.

But as she sat, still huddled against the dresser in Steve’s room, she heard something…weird. An odd noise she couldn’t quite place. Like…like a sob. Or something. The Harringtons weren’t home, of course, so it couldn’t have been them. But that only left Steve. Steve who was gleefully making conversation up until a moment ago, seemingly completely unaware of how one sided it actually was.

That uncertainty was what finally caused her to get up and move.

Stiff as a board and with great difficulty she peeled herself off the floor, using the wall to prop herself up. Every step she took hurt like hell, her poor, battered feet burning like embers. But she hobbled on, slow but determined. Thank god everything was carpeted, because otherwise Steve might have heard her come down the steps. And knowing him, he would’ve gone right back to acting.

But he didn’t.

And as she entered the Harringtons kitchen, she didn’t find the Steve she’d seen upstairs. Instead, she found a barely eighteen-year-old boy, who’d been tortured and drugged. A boy, who’d spent too long high on adrenaline and was now watching his best friend wither away right there, in his room. A boy who didn’t know what to do, how to help.

He was sitting below the phone, the receiver dangling carelessly somewhere next to him, and he was sobbing. Desperate, scared little noises that had her stop for a moment.

“Steve?” She’d said, her voice raw and broken by prolonged disuse. But the boy had heard her, flinching as his head snapped towards her. The moment his dark eyes landed on her, standing in the door way, he’d started to cry even harder. Violent sobs started to shake him, a sight that had her feel dizzy.

“It’s you.” Was all he managed to say between all the sobbing, his face buried in his hands. The sobs got louder too, his relieve mixing into the whole mess of emotions he was already facing. Watching that, watching as he broke down with fear, pain and relieve spurred something in her. With just two little steps she made it to his side, where she sank down to her knees. She didn’t know what to do. This Steve was not one she knew, and right then she barely knew herself. Her hands fluttered about unsurely, touching his hair and his shoulders, trying to find a place to start.

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” He’d muttered, repeating nothing but that again and again while sobs rattled through his body.

“Sorry…?” She didn’t understand. Sorry for what? What had he done that he needed to be sorry for? Nothing came to mind.

“I’m so sorry, it’s all my fault.” Her eyes were shaking as she watched the boy sob on. Her brain was so incredibly slow already, exhausted from little sleep and heightened adrenaline, so she still didn’t understand. She didn’t understand. “Everything is always my fault.”

Everything.

She felt her eyes tear up, sobs clawing their way up her throat as she realised what he was on about.

Steve was blaming himself for this. He was blaming himself for what had happened down in the Russian base as well as what had happened up in the mall. He was blaming himself for her pain as well as his own. The way she knew him, he’d probably been blaming himself for ever becoming her friend, for ever being born.

Because that was Steve Harrington.

Everything was always his fault, even when it wasn’t. He automatically deemed it so and no one, not a single person, ever thought to tell him he was wrong. They all called him ‘ass’ and ‘moron’, called him out for his time as stupid ‘King Steve’, but no one ever took the time to remind him how great he really was.

If her heart hadn’t already been broken, it would have been the moment she truly realised how lonely that boy was. And how scared he must’ve been of losing her, the last person to always be on his side.

“Steve…” She’d sobbed, winding her arms around him to cry into his hair while she held him. She’d just been holding onto him until both their tears ran dry for the time being.

And she did the same thing now.

With one simple movement, she’d wrapped her arms around his midriff and pressed her face into his shoulder. Steve didn’t hesitate to hug her back. He never did. His arms wound around her waist, holding her close. Somewhere above her ear, she could feel his breath fan against her skin.

“You need to stop blaming yourself so much, Steve.” Her voice was muffled by the fabric of his jacket, but she was sure he understood. She knew by the way his breath hitched, by the way is body started to shake. “It isn’t your fault, none of this.” She patted the back of his head comfortingly, carefully. “And I’m sorry.”

“What are you sorry for? You didn’t do anything.” His voice was weak and croaky, poorly repressed feelings seeping out of it with every word.

“No, I didn’t. But I’m still sorry.” She sighed, patting on. “I’m sorry because she isn’t. And I’m sorry because she couldn’t see you the way you did her. I’m sorry that everyone always blames you, even you yourself…” His arms tightened around her waist and she heard him exhale a shaky breath. “I’m sorry for all of that, Steve.”

And just like that night four years ago, she’d held the boy while he shed tears no one else knew about.

Because that was who Steve Harrington actually was.

***

“There! There, do you see that?” Robin hissed, pressed close to her side. “Now that isn’t normal. And at first I was all like ‘oh maybe he’s just confused’ but it’s been week and he’s just been doing that all the time. That’s weird, right? Agh, of course it’s weird!” She blinked, ignoring Robin’s rambling as she watched Steve ring up a customer upfront. The rest of the store lay deserted, the day still too early for most people to think about renting anything.

It was Sunday, a couple of long, exhausting days after Steve’s date with the horticulture-cunt.

The week had been quite the mess so far, so she was thanking every available god that it was finally Sunday and she had the day off. And sure, lounging about Family Video with Steve and Robin was an excellent pastime. ‘Spying’ on Steve from behind a shelf, though? Ugh.

“Look, he’s not flirting, nothing! He’s just-just look!” The girl hissed, her hands clasping her shoulders. She could feel Robins nails scratch her skin, causing her to shiver slightly.

Robin had been calling the repair shop nearly every day, more than once, ranting about how Steve was behaving ‘weirdly’ and how this couldn’t be ‘normal’ and ‘please please come over, okay? I’m losing my mind here!’, so here she was. Badly hidden behind the self-proclaimed chick flick shelf – ooh, was that ‘Beaches’? – staring through a small window Robin had created by removing a couple of tapes.

It was not all too interesting.

Steve just did his job like anyone else would. The whole spiel - ‘Hi there’ ‘beep beep’ ‘your total is…’. That was how this worked, right? Because, sure, she’d never worked anywhere other than the shop, but this looked pretty standard to her. Next to her, Robin was still rambling – something about possession and brainwashing – and Steve was bagging up the tapes. The girl he’d just rung up thanked him overly sweetly – gag – and turned to leave the store. The wind chime above the door announced her exit.

Steve stayed where he was, leaning forward onto the counter, before looking in their direction.

“You idiots do know that I can see you, right? You’re not, like, invisible.” Robin stiffened and cursed under her breath and she patted her back comfortingly.

“You tried, Robs.” Was all she said as she grabbed ‘Beaches’ from the shelf. Why not use this oh-so-golden opportunity to organise some Sunday night entertainment? And she’d been waiting to see this one for forever. She even told Steve, the traitor, to let her know as soon as it was available. Of course, he ‘forgot’ to do that again.

“Yeah, maybe leave some tapes next time so it’s less obvious.” Steve nodded towards the shelf and sure enough. Tapes were missing on both sides, making it pretty obvious that someone wanted to spy on him through the three- or four-inch gap the shelf offered.

“You leave me no choice! And you!” Robin pointed at her, her black-nailed finger wafting accusingly in front of her face. “I called you so you’d side with me!” She chuckled, strolling over to where Steve was still lounging about. Steve’s eyes were on her as she hopped onto the counter next to him, offering up the tape, which he took in turn for a clean picked bag of gummy bears.

“Oh, come on, ‘Beaches’? Really? Ugh.” He shook his head as he started to check it out – under his name, obviously.

“It’s Bette Midler, Steve.” The boy just winced and she started to chow down on the gummy bears. Robin was still rambling.

“Hello?! Are you listening to me!?”

“No.” The two of them said and the girl grumbled, yet still accepting the peace offering of gummy bears. The younger girl glanced at her hand, spotting the exclusively white, orange and yellow variants of the sugary sweets.

“Why do I never get any red or green ones? Those are the best.” Steve nodded while she just winced at the other girl’s statement.

“Steve is in charge of the red and green ones, so pester him about that.”

“Wait, what? ‘In charge’?”

“Yeah. Haven’t you noticed?” She cocked her head, shaking the bag. “He eats all the red and green ones. I get the yellow, orange and white ones.”

“Why would you do that?”

“She doesn’t like red and green. I don’t like white.” Steve handed her the cassette in a small bag before turning and leaning his back against the counter. “So, we eat the ones we like and then trade.”

“But there’s always more red and green, so you’re basically being ripped off!” Robin leaned against the counter next to her as she spoke, holding her hand out for more. She got them, of course.

“Hey, she gets three colours and I only get two!” She could feel Steve’s fingers at the hem of her shirt as he spoke, the boy using the proximity to cover up a sliver of skin that had been exposed since earlier. Paying him no mind, she let him pull down her shirt properly and continued to stuff her face with gummy candy. Robin, however, was watching their interaction with raised eyebrows.

“Your relationship is disgusting, has anyone ever told you that?” Both she and Steve rolled their eyes at that. Because they had, in fact, heard that before. That and anything else people would offer about their relationship. For some reason, people just loved to make unsolicited comments about other people’s business. She couldn’t even count the times, that people had asked her if she and Steve had ever had a ‘thing’ for or done ‘stuff’ with each other – big yikes.

Then there was the usual ‘oh your guys are disgusting’, ‘get a room!’ or ‘you’re like an old married couple’. When they were younger, they used to argue back every time because it wasn’t like that and they were just friends. At some point, though, both of them had gotten tired of the same reaction – eye rolls, amused chuckling and a meaningful ‘For now!’ – so they just rolled their eyes and ignored all the comments to the best of their abilities.

Well, except the ‘stuff’ one because that was a disgusting and invasive thing to ask. Steve took that one just as wordlessly, but she couldn’t. The last guy who’d dared to offer that question had earned himself a broken nose and she would happily pummel anyone who wished to follow in his footsteps.

“Only every person in this goddamn town, Robin.”

“I think I heard a Demodog say it at one point.” Steve said, closing his eyes.

“Yeah? Seems like them. They were a rather chatty bunch, weren’t they?”

“Totally. Especially- uh…wait, what was his name?” His brows furrowed in thought. “Henderson named him after that chocolate bar.”

“Ah, you mean Dart?”

“Dart! Yes, right. Especially Dart.” The two of them grinned at that. It should be all unfortunate and uncomfortable, but honestly? One can only shed so many tears about something. At some point, joking will become easier than sobbing.

“Do I even want to know what you’re talking about?” Robin asked, snagging more gummy bears.

“Just the Demodog Dart and his little herd of friends that nearly mauled us to death.”

“Come on, Dart didn’t. He let us pass, remember?”

“Not really. I was losing a ton of blood, Steve. I don’t even really remember how we got out.”

“Oh, right. You got blood all over my jacket. ”

“Sorry not sorry.” They had bled onto each other often enough, even before the whole upside down bullshit. Although there’s a significant difference between ‘shit, I cut my finger while chopping onions’ and ‘oh my god, that Demodog just rammed it’s claws into my torso’. The scars were really different, too.

“You could’ve just said no, you know?” The girl flicked her forehead before going to do…something. Work. Slack off somewhere else. That left her and Steve behind at the counter. For a moment, they did nothing else. She was fiddling around with the bag in her hands and Steve was slowly flicking through a pamphlet or something. Leaning over, she noticed that it was a pamphlet about…

“Wait, is that for college?” Steve nodded, flicking to the next page. “I thought you gave up on college?” She grabbed the pamphlet from him, ignoring his protests as she read through as quickly as she could. That was made a lot harder by Steve trying to get the thing back. Her eyes were better than his though, so she held it barely out of his reach and read on “No way, nursing? You want to become a nurse?” He scoffed and ripped the thing from her hands.

“Jesus, ever heard of privacy? You’re so nosy, do you know that?” He snapped, stuffing the pamphlet somewhere beneath the counter, effectively out of reach. Not that she cared, she knew all she needed to.

“We don’t do privacy, Steven.” Drawing her leg onto the counter, she turned towards him properly, grinning brightly. “Nurse Steve?” The boy groaned, his shoulders slumping forwards.

“I don’t know, okay? It’s just, like, an idea. Nothing more. I just thought, you know…I’m quite good with blood and all that and I’ve seen worse things than whatever the human body can produce. So why not try to make use of that?” He shrugged. “I researched a bit and heard about this nursing program and I’m…I probably won’t get in anyway, so it’s really not that big a deal, right? It’s just- it’s…Robin will eventually get her degree and then she’ll leave and teach little shit’s their ABC’s or whatever the fuck she does and I can’t…It’s…Anything is better than being stuck here for the rest of my life, rewinding sticky copies of ‘Kinky Business’ and ‘Too good to be true’ while Keith is breathing down my neck.” He finished, his formerly gesticulating arms falling down to his sides as he breathed heavily. She allowed a moment of silence to pass, giving him a second to catch his breath as she just stared at him. But eventually, she felt the corners of her mouth curl upwards.

“You know, you’re saying all that but for some reason I just hear-“ Steve raised his finger threateningly.

“I swear to god, your ass is grass if you say…”

“-Nurse Steve!” The boy groaned and let his head fall against her shoulder as she giggled and patted the back of his head.

“I hate you; you know that?”

“Sure, I do. I love you too, Harrington.” She wiggled her shoulder to get him off. When she did, she leaned forwards to stare into his face. “Nurse Steve, man. Honestly, I see it. You’ve got a nurse face.”

“What, in that hot nurse kinda way?”

“Yikes. No.” She pretend-shivered. “But you look kind and caring.” Steve rolled his eyes.

“As I said: It’s just an idea and I likely won’t get in anyway, so…”

“No, no you will.”

“How do you know?”

“I just do, Steven! I can feel it in my bones. So let me predict your future now, young padawan.” With her thumb and index she squeezed his cheeks, effectively holding him in place – and making him look like stuff-cheeked hamster. “You will apply for this course and you will get in. And within the next couple years, you’re out of this shit hole and can spend your days saving lives as ‘Nurse Steve – Hero in scrubs’.” He opened his mouth to stop her, but she talked onwards. “And who knows? Maybe you’ll meet a pretty patient and you’ll wrap her around those pretty fingers of yours in a heartbeat while helping her stay calm during a shot or whatever.” Steve’s brows drew together, enough to nearly touch in the middle.

“Did you just write fanfiction about me?” Thanks to her still squeezing his face, the words came out all squishy and muddled. He seemed to notice that too, pulling himself from her grasp to rub his cheeks. “Dude, were you trying to bruise my cheek? Jeez, your grip is like iron.”

“Those are a handyman’s fingers, Steven.” Sad but true. She always wanted to have pretty, dainty hands like Nancy or Robin or Max. Colourful long-ish nails, pretty nailbeds, soft pink skin…but that was not something she’d ever have. Thanks to her line of work, her hands and fingers were often dry and rough, even stained by oil and grease. Her nails had to be short, otherwise they’d break – they tended to do that anyway – and although she tried nail polish sometimes, it never lasted long enough to actually bother.

And sure, she took care of them. She used hand cream like a mad woman, lathering up every chance she got, and she tried to do hand masks regularly. In the end, however, her hands were a mirror of her craft. They were formed by work. And while they could get a car up and running, change a leaking pipe and a handful of other things, they would never look pretty.

It shouldn’t bother her much, but it did, sadly. Generally, she liked how she looked. She was satisfied with what the mirror showed her and she knew she looked good. Great even! But every time she saw how pretty other girls’ hands looked, she felt like a…like a grizzly. Like a giant, weathered witch in front of dainty, little fairy princesses – however untrue that comparison may be.

Everyone had their little insecurities.

Suddenly, Steve grabbed her hands, pulling her fingers away from a patch of dry skin and her out of her own thoughts.

“Stop picking your skin, idiot. You always say it hurts after you do that.” Shifting his hold a bit, both hands now clasped in one of his, he started to root around behind the counter, producing a small tube of hand cream. Without hesitation, he squeezed a good dollop of cream onto her hands and used his thumbs to spread it around. It was almost like a massage and she felt herself relax more and more with each stroke.

In lieu of anything else to do, she looked at him while he worked away all tension she’d build over the last week.

Mouth slightly pursed and brows furrowed, he looked extremely focused right then. If she hadn’t quite literally felt his hands on hers, she would’ve wondered what he was thinking about. His hair did its usual thing, flopping into his face that was, and it gave him some sort of…roguish allure.

Here’s to hoping that he’d never find out that she thought something like that. Yikes.

But it was true nonetheless. She cocked her head as she watched him, raking her eyes over the lines of his face. They all looked the same as always, absolutely not different to the Steve she’d seen yesterday and the day before that. And yet…

Steve was handsome.

Sure, right, objectively she’d known that. She’d seen the boy as a tween and damn, that couldn’t be compared, like, at all. But she’d never really thought about it much. Steve was always about as interesting as her right arm. There and definitely appreciated – in fact, she wouldn’t want to live without it – but not something one thought about much. But right then, brows furrowed in concentration as he rubbed her hands, she really noticed how good looking he actually was.

“You’re really pretty, did you know that?” Steve raised his brows and looked up at her, clearly surprised by her statement. But he caught himself rather quickly, the typical Steve reaction already kicking in.

“Twenty-two years and you only notice that now? Damn.” She rolled her eyes, pulling her hands from his grasp.

“You must’ve been ugly for twenty-one of them, then.”

“That’s still a year, which is a lot coming from you.”

“Right, whatever gets you through the night, pretty boy.” He grinned at that.

“You know what? You can just tell me that my awesome hand rub won you over, sweetheart. There’s no shame in that.”

“Oh, riiiight.” She nodded, a smile curling her lips as she leaned back onto the counter. “Totally. You just stole my heart, Harrington.”

“Don’t I know it.” He leaned against the counter next to her. She hummed under her breath, using two fingers to gently guide his hair out of his face. His eyes fluttered shut at her touch, a habit Steve had always had. In one feather light touch, she let her knuckles ghost over the lines of his cheek, causing his honeyed eyes to open up once more.

“I bet you do that to all the girls, don’t you?” He tipped his head back, eyes focused on her face, and hummed softly.

“Hmmh. Works every time.”

“Am I…interrupting something?” A voice intervened, causing both her and Steve to turn. Robin was standing next to the shelf she and the other girl had just been hiding behind. “Because I can, like, totally take my break right now. You know, if you guys want to finish whatever that was.” She popped a cheese puff into her mouth, the bag in her hands crinkling uncomfortably loud.

“Robin…” Steve sounded all annoyed, clearly ready to ‘bicker with Buckley’, so she intervened.

“Not necessary. Join us, Steve was just telling me all about how he uses roofied hand cream to drug poor, unsuspecting girls into liking him.”

“Aaah. That must be why you were gazing up at him like he was made of light, hm? Because of the hand cream. Totally, I believe you.” Robin shrugged as she hopped closer and she felt her brows dip.

“What am I, a moth?”

“I don’t know, you tell me?” She hopped behind Steve, using her hands to turn his face towards her, to which he protested loudly.

“Come on, your fingers are all cheesy!”

“Take it like a man, dingus.” Robin just said, holding on and nodding at her. “And? Do you think sparkly boy is the hottest thing in town?” She rolled her eyes and Steve ducked out of Robins hold.

“Man, you got cheese dust all over me. Disgusting, go clean your hands.” He shoved her off towards the break room while rubbing his cheeks against his uniform. “And the question is rigged, because I totally am the hottest thing in town and we all know it.”

“Right, Dingus, whatever you want to believe. You know, that scene felt oddly familiar. Did I see it in a movie before? God, what was it called again? Maybe-“

“Buckley! Sink! Now!” At his famed babysitter tone, Robin instinctively hopped on off without another word. The two who stayed behind, sighed in unison. “I hate her sometimes.”

“No, you don’t.”

“No, I don’t.”

Another shared sigh and Steve was back to fiddling with the tube of hand cream and she watched him for a minute, before choosing to plunge forwards with their conversation. A normal one, duh, not the one Robin had interrupted.

“Wanna watch ‘Beaches’ with me?”

“No.” He said, tossing the hand cream aside and leaning against the counter, further away from her this time. “I’ll come ‘round after work. Chinese or Pizza?” She smiled.

“Pizza for sure.”

***

Early evening had befallen Hawkins by the time Steve made it to her house. The sky outside was quickly darkening, regretfully announcing the end of her day off. She wished she had something to turn back time. Not even a lot, just a day or so. Tiny day. Go plink plink on that little, uh, time turner, and have another Sunday right after her first one. And that one she would spend right here, on the couch, in a pad so huge it could count as diapers and simply not move. Didn’t that sound glorious? Damn. Next time, Buckley could beg all she wanted. She would spend her Sunday hermited and wrapped up like a burrito.

When his knock finally came, she was already lounging on her sofa, braless and clad in only her finest pair of sweats and a giant t-shirt that came from god knows where. The void, probably. Maybe even the upside down. Didn’t know, didn’t care.

It was comfy anyway.

 “Come it, the door is open!” She called, too lazy to move to open the door for him. Honestly, she didn’t really need to and he didn’t need to knock, he had a key anyway. The door opened and she raised her head, just enough to make sure it was actually Steve that entered and not a crazy serial killer. Well, those probably wouldn’t knock but it didn’t hurt to make sure, right?

But nope, it was Steve in all his hang-night glory.

Her head plopped back down after she analysed his choice of clothes – very similar to hers, in fact – and he tsked at the sight.

“I told you not to leave your door unlocked, idiot.”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever.”

“Not whatever. Dude, you already live in a paper fucking house. At least try to make it hard for someone to murder you, okay?” Not that again. She rolled her eyes at his usual nagging as he kicked off his shoes and hug up his jacket.

“Steve, it’s not that bad, you know? I mean, it’s a house and it’s actually quite spacious since it’s just Tut and me.” Tut was her, very bad tempered, sphinx cat. Well, bad tempered was a stretch. He wasn’t that bad. Tut, actually named Tutanchmeow, just didn’t like strangers all too much. He liked her, he tolerated Steve and that was far more than enough. Right now, for example, he was hogging her one arm chair, snoring loudly and cutely.

“Spacious. Sure. I’m kinda scared I’ll bonk my head if I flinch too hard, but you’re absolutely right.” As if to demonstrate, he stretched out his arms, not leaving too much space on either side. “It’s extremely spacious in this thing.” Steve sighed, dropping a pizza carton on the couch table. “I got us the usual stuff.”

“Perfect.” She sighed, drawing her legs up slowly and carefully. “What do you want to drink?”

“Stay, I’ll get it.” Steve sauntered over into the kitchen and she heard him open up the fridge. He came back with two beers which was fine by her. He’d already opened them and just dropped them onto the table right next to the Pizza before plunking down onto the sofa into the place she’d previously freed for him. Her legs fell right back into place on his lap, which Steve accepted wordlessly. Sighing, she covered her stomach with both hands and looked at him.

“How was the rest of your shift?” Steve just grumbled. “That bad, huh.”

“Yeah.”

“Robin?”

“Obviously.”

“Do I wanna know?”

“Definitely not.” She hummed slightly, taking her time to properly look at him. He looked tired, his eyes drooping already despite him barely sitting down. She poked his side with her foot and he grumbled again.

“People are tiring.” She sighed.

“Damn straight.” He shot back. “And you know I love Robin, I really do. But god, sometimes I wish she would just…stop talking. Just for a minute. I swear, you left the store and her mouth started flapping. I think she was still talking when I went home and it’s just…does she even breathe?” Steve deflated with a sigh, his head falling back to rest against the wall. “I’m a dick for saying, I know, but I wish Robin came with an off-button.”

“You’re not a dick for saying that.”

“Yes, I am.”

“Then I am too. Because every day I wish that my boys would just keep their damn traps shut. And I love the lot of them, but god, they’re dicks sometimes.” She shrugged. “That doesn’t make me a dick, though. That makes me…Normal. I’m just a normal person who gets annoyed by other people.” Steve just sighed, saying nothing for a moment.

“Speaking of.” He said instead, obviously trying to change the subject. “How’s Eddie first week been going?” She groaned and closed her eyes.

“God, don’t make me think about that.” It had been a whole mess. A complete and utter mess, and terrifyingly large scale. “How can one guy be so clumsy? I mean, at this point I’m surprised he can walk in a straight line without falling over. Please, remind me to never ever get in his car, no matter what. I’m telling you. On Thursday, he literally tripped over his own feet, tumbled through half the shop, bonked against one of the tire stacks and unleashed this, like, chain reaction that nearly send Riley flying into the popped hood of Hagans car. In under a minute, the whole shop was a mess and he just stood there, clenching his hands like a first grader that did something stupid and knows he’ll get in trouble. And you know my boys are really good natured – well, except Billy – but even they had really reached the end of their tether by Saturday. Riley even started to dub him Eddie ‘Stumblebum’ Munson.” She was wringing her hands, trying to calm herself down. “I hired him to replace Marvin, but at this point I’ll have to hire someone else to replace Marvin and someone tokeep Eddie in check. I feel instead of lessen he just tripled my workload, because not only do I have to do my job, no I’m doing his as well as clean up after him.” Steve sighed and patted her leg comfortingly.

And then the two of them sat up properly, she started the movie and he propped open the pizza carton. It was a thing the two of them always did. Steve couldn’t really eat when he was annoyed or upset, while she tended to overeat when she was. So, every time they got together to eat, they vented first and dined right after.

Well, unless someone asked for a delay just like Steve had done after his ‘date’. Then they just went about the meal as proficiently as they could.

“Like, what is that movie even about?” Steve asked, chowing down on the pizza and she snorted.

“Obviously you would try to keep this movie from me without even knowing what it was about. That’s just so you, Steven.”

“What the fuck is up with all that ‘Steven’ lately?” The words came out all wonky, pushed past a giant bite of pizza. “You sound like my mum, jeez.”

“Well, duh. I am your mum.” Straightening up in her seat, she did a mock-hair flip, and eyed Steve. “Oh Stevie, how wonderful to have you back home tonight, baby. But then again, you’re always here, aren’t you? Hohohoho.” She didn’t even have to concentrate to copy his mum, her strangely sing-songy intonation branded into her brain after too many sleepovers at the Harrington House. “I see you came from-“ here she scrunched her nose in distaste “-work. Or, whatever it is you call…that. Oh, Steven isn’t that your friend Raven?” Steve was even mouthing that part with her, his mum seemingly not able to remember that Robin was, in fact, called Robin. But hey, they were both birds at least. “My my, it’s a pleasure to have you back. I hope you’re staying for dinner, darling, because we just love helping the less fortunate members of our quaint town, don’t we? Richard, darling! I’m getting a headache, let’s go to the Maldives!” Steve flicked her forehead the moment she finished, shaking his head.

“I hated that. And it was scarily accurate, so don’t do that again.”

“I’m your mum, I told you.” He rolled his eyes once more, getting started on his third slice of pizza while she was only just done with her first. That, ladies and gentlemen, was how Steve usually ate - for all those that have been wondering. He was a total boy when it came to food, finishing copious amounts of it in little to no time. “Oh, and the movie is about these two friends. I’m not sure either, because - thanks to someone - I haven’t seen it yet but apparently it’s like an overview over their lives and their friendship throughout.”

“Ugh, who wants to see something like that?” He gestured towards the TV. “I mean, come on. There’s these middle-aged ladies thinking about their friendship and people go crazy over it? Because that movie has been in and out so often, I’m surprised you even managed to get your hands on it.” He shook his head. “Who cares about other people’s friendships, really?”

“Sooo, if someone wanted to make a movie about you and me and our friendship – you wouldn’t watch it?” Steve spluttered, nearly choking on his beer.

“What? About you and me?” She giggled, leaning forward to wipe some beer off his cheek with the back of her hands.

“I mean, sure. We have a lot to tell, haven’t we?”

“Yeah, but…Why would I want to watch that? I was there for all of that.”

“Hmmh, that’s true.”

“And honestly, Hollywood would fuck it up and turn it into one of those fucking rom-com bullshit movies.” He scoffed, taking another sip of his beer. “You’d be played by Molly Ringwald – don’t hit me!” He caught her hand before she could. “It’s not even because you look alike or whatever, it’s because she gets all the chicks into the theatre!” She grumbled under her breath. Molly Ringwald, fuck that. “Anyway, I would totally be played by Tom Cruise. Obviously.”

“Why do you get Tom Cruise but I have to be Molly Ringwald!”

“I don’t make the rules, dude. Molly Ringwald is in every chick flick on this god damn planet.” She scoffed and stuffed her face with more Pizza. “I mean, damn, I wouldn’t be surprised to see her play an African desert princess at this point, simply because it’s her. She would obviously go up in flames because ginger plus sun equals yikes, but you know. Let SPF50 handle that, as long as the entire female teenage population of the united states runs into the cinema because Molly Ringwald!” He rolled his eyes and she scoffed.

“Do not throw all of us into the same pot, Harrington.”

“Ah, so you didn’t drag me into ‘Sixteen Candles’ like a mad woman, huh?” She scoffed.

“Yeah, but that was- it was- Michael Schoeffling, Steve!” The boy just snorted in that annoying ‘yeah right’ kind of way. “Tsk. You know what, Steve? You keep your Tom Cruise, because you know who they would cast as Billy and Ian?”

“Why would they be in that movie?”

“Well, Ian is my ex and Billy beat the shit out of you. That seems kinda important.”

“Once again: It’s been six years. Let it rest.”

“Never.” She shrugged, sipping on her beer. “Anyway. Billy would be Rob Lowe, definitely. And Ian would one hundred percent be John Stamos.”

“Rob Lowe and John Stamos? Didn’t you have, like, posters of them in your old room?”

“Yeah, so?”

“You were obsessed with them.” How could she not? Like, General Hospital was a good show but damn. John Stamos made it so much better and he wasn’t even the main event. And Rob Lowe? Man. Those eyes? The thought alone made her want to purr happily. Truth be told, she wasn’t mad that Billy and Ian were both working for her. Not that she was superficial, but a lady was allowed to enjoy someone’s appearance just a little, right? A tiny, selfish glance every now and again should be alright, yes?

“Your point?”

“Are you trying to tell me that Billy and Ian, of all people, are better looking than me?” At that, she could only shrug.

“You said it, not me.” Not that Steve wasn’t handsome – she’d just told him he was earlier today, hadn’t she? But nothing could beat John Stamos or Rob Lowe. Oooh, wait. Maybe that guy from ’21-Jumpstreet’. What was his name again? The guy that played Tom Hanson. That guy was great too.

“Wow. You are a horrible person.”

“Am not.”

“Yes, you are…oh my god.”

“What now?”

“You didn’t date Ian because he looks like John Stamos, did you?” She grinned.

“I did not. But, let’s just say…it definitely didn’t deter me.”

“Tsk. You know, maybe I should…” On screen, Bette Midler was suddenly in quite the hurry. “Woah, what’s she going on about?”

“I think it’s because of that note she just found. See?”

“Well, what does it say?”

“I don’t know, dumbass. Someone kept distracting me by talking all over the movie.”

“Huh…” He leaned back, long done with his Pizza, and eyed the television with furrowed brows. She couldn’t help but smile.

Who would have thought. ‘Beaches’ – the chick flick Steve really didn’t want to see – actually managed to snag his attention – oh wait. She would’ve thought. That was pretty much always the case, by the way. He was all pissing and moaning until the movie actually played. Within the first ten minutes, Steve would always be absolutely invested. He’d be yelling at the screen when the guys fucked up, and get annoyed at every bout of miscommunication.

Because that was who Steve actually was.

A big softie that knew how to enjoy chick flicks.

And very vocally so, too.

“No way. No way are they fucking on the opening night of her musical thing. Like, dude, who does that!? That’s such a bullshit move.” Steve threw a balled-up handkerchief at the TV. “Like, she saw that C.C. liked him. A blind guy could see that. Isn’t there something like a… girl code or whatever? Who needs friends like that! Shit.”

Realistically, couldn’t disagree with that one. It was a shitty move, truly. Who slept with the guy his best friend was into? That was just shitty. Like, technically speaking that would be like her sleeping with Nancy back when Steve was head over heels for the Wheeler princess. God, she would’ve felt horrible. No, no she absolutely agreed with Steve here.

“Yeah, such a dick move, Hillary.” Steve nodded; eyes still trained at the TV.

A better one came later somewhere in the movie. And god, this one would totally make it into her ‘Things to tease Steve with’ treasure chest – because that one? Pure gold.

“Oh my god, why do all the guys in this movie suck?!” He’d suddenly yelled, making her flinch. “Like, one fucks the one friend and then marries the other, only to divorce her couple years later - because boohoo selfish - and the other cheats on his wife! What is the moral of the story here, guys? All men suck? Is that what they’re trying to tell me here?” He finished another beer with a noisy sip before falling back into a more comfortable position. “Shit, I hate men, really, I absolutely fucking hate men.”

That one did it. She burst out laughing, a croaky, choked up laugh that started to hurt her sides really quickly. And Steve, slapping her thigh and glaring at her, really didn’t help much. But oh my god, what the hell – Steve Harrington, recently turned advocate for the ‘anti men’ fraction because someone fake-cheated on Barbara Hershey. Fuck, she needed to tell Robin about that.

The end of the movie, however, quickly beat the laughter out of both of them.

As the credits started to roll, neither of them really said anything. Both of them hanging low in their seats, shoulder to shoulder, trying to stomach the heartbreak the movie threw at them.

“…Well that ending was shit.”

“Yupp.” She nodded, wiping at her cheeks with the back of her hand.

“I mean, why did she have to die? Bullshit.” Steve pushed back his hair, clearly not agreeing with what he just saw. “Who makes a movie about friendship just to kill one of them off?”

“Right? I mean, was that necessary? God, they could just have hinted at it, but why show it?” At the thought, new tears blurred her sight. “And, I mean, the whole thing with the ‘Hi’ at the end, why make it so casual? Fuck.”

“Yeah, man. I mean, who walks into the hospital, sees their dying friend, and just says ‘Hi’!? What the fuck.” Silence settled once again, both of them staring at the names flying by on the screen.

Honestly, maybe they were just the wrong people for that movie.

Maybe someone else could have seen beauty or love in it. And sure, there certainly was love between those two, maybe even in its purest of forms. C.C. had driven her car through the night, leaving everything behind because of a simple note and spent the entire time reminiscing about her best friend. She’d raced to another town, because her friend was dying and she wanted to be there for her. So yes, there was love, there was beauty in everything.

But it didn’t register with her.

Not with her, not with Steve.

The problem with her and Steve was likely the fact that they’d both feared for each other’s lives before - more than once. It wasn’t a feeling she ever wanted to have to face again, and it wasn’t something she liked to talk or even think about. Because to her it was neither love nor beauty – it was just pain. She could imagine how Steve had felt when that Demodog jumped her in ‘84. That fucking beast had tackled her down, burrowing it’s claws into her sides, and tried to bite her head off or whatever those shit’s do. A well-placed hit with Steve’s bat had saved her, but damn. It’d been dangerously close. And then, back in ’86, when Steve was dragged into lovers’ lake...god. She felt his hand slip out of hers, she saw the panic in his eyes as he was dragged out of sight and for a moment her mind when silent, nothing but one thought prevailing.

Steve was dying.

Needless to say, she’d short circuited and dove into the water – which she absolutely hated – to save him. A tiny part of her wished she wouldn’t have, because hearing his screams and seeing those monsters maul him was…yeah, let’s just say it was the main setting of many of her nightmares. He knew, of course, because she’d told him. Just as he told her about his dreams. How he often dreamed about running towards the trailer she, Dustin and Eddie were supposed to be hiding in only to find the scene changed. Instead of her, hurt and screaming for help while dragging a bleeding, half conscious Eddie Munson towards the trailer he came back to silence. He came to find her lying right next to Eddie, bloody and disfigured. Or maybe he came back to screams all the same, but instead of hers it was Dustin or Eddie screaming while dragging her unmoving body.

“Hey.” Steve used his elbow to snap her out of her mind. As always, he just waited for her eyes to focus on him and for her mind to come back to the here and now. He didn’t ask questions, because he knew what the answers would be.

Once she was fully present again, he nodded towards her midriff. “You keep massaging your stomach. You okay?” Confused, she looked down at her hands. And sure enough, there she was, massaging away.

“Ah, no. I mean, yeah, I’m fine. Just one of those hissy tummy days.” Steve looked less than amused.

“Period or stomach bug?” Stifling a sigh, she let herself fall sideways on the sofa.

“Oh, the woes of womanhood.” Steve winced.

“Period, alright.” Sighing he patted her thigh. “Poor girl. How about, like, a heating pad or something? That helps, right?” He didn’t even wait for her to nod, he just got up and wandered on. “Where do you keep those?”

“I’m out, but I’ve got a hot water bottle in the wardrobe.”

“Shouldn’t you, you know, stock up on that sorta stuff?” Steve wandered into her bedroom like he owned the place, rooting through her drawers without an inkling of hesitation.

“I usually do, but I haven’t gotten around to it yet. This whole week’s been a mess and a half.” The boy just hummed his answer, wandering back into the kitchen to heat up some water.

“Do you need pain meds or something?” She watched him bustle around the kitchen from where she lay, frowning. “Hello?”

“What?”

“Do you need pain meds? Tylenol? Wait, do you take Tylenol for that?” She chuckled softly.

“I usually take Midol, but Tylenol works. But I don’t need any right now, it’s not that bad.” He did that cute thing he sometimes did, where he silently repeated things to himself in order to commit them to memory. She could clearly read his lips, read the word ‘Midol’ and just had to grin.

The kettle was done boiling and Steve went back into the kitchen for a few moments. It didn’t take him long to fill the hot water bottle, let some steam out, squeeze it and carry it over to her. Carefully, he dropped it onto her achy stomach, sending her an analytic glance.

“I’m fine, Steve. I do this every month, remember?” He winced again.

“Yeah, all the more reason someone should spoil you a bit.” He wandered over to the TV, rooting through her meagre collection of tapes. Picking one up, he removed ‘Beaches’ from the player with a disgusted face and changed it for something else. Then he got up, dropped himself back onto the sofa and nodded at the remote. “On with it, sweet girl. Molly Ringwald is waiting for us.”

***

‘The Breakfast Club’ kept running, both of them not really paying attention. Sometimes they’d talk but mostly, they just both got lost in their own thoughts. It was nice, though. Sitting quietly with Steve, not talking and not really doing anything was strangely comforting. The TV filled the quiet with useless chatter and provided them with light in her now entirely dark living room. Tut had at some point left the chair behind to curl himself up on Steve’s lap, where he was now purring away while the boy tiredly ran his fingers over the cat’s skin.

But not only that.

No, his other hand kept rubbing circles into her calf and she felt like purring herself. The gentle stroking was so rhythmical and comforting that she could feel herself drift in and out of sleep, barely able to focus on any coherent thought.

Until Steve started talking, that is.

“Hey, are you awake?” He suddenly asked, quietly and yet way too loudly. A non-committal hum was all she could offer. “Can I ask you something?” Steve’s voice sounded thick with exhaustion, indicating he was likely just as tired as she felt.

“…Shoot.” She mumbled back, the warm, sleepy atmosphere weighing on her heavily. Seriously, she’d probably stopped him from saying anything, had she had half a mind to. Sleepy Steve was a dangerous version of him. He was often too honest and too curious for his own good.

“So, uhm…we were talking about Ian earlier and it got me thinking.”

“…Ian?”

“Yeah.” Steve looked at her, his head tipped back against the couch. “You never really told me why you guys broke up. I mean, one day you guys were all in love and the next you’re crying in front of my door talking about how you needed a place to stay until Ian was gone.”

“Hmmh…” She sighed at the memory. She’d cried so much that night. Poor Steve was likely absolutely overwhelmed, but he’d taken it like a champ. He didn’t ask any questions, he didn’t cuss Ian out, he didn’t do anything but pat her back and let her cry. “Ian…” she started, her voice barely more than a whisper “…you know, he’s a good guy.” He really was. Ian looked like a douchebag with that pretty face of his and those broad shoulders, but he was actually one of the kindest souls she knew. He was caring, warm and soft. Loving. “And because of that, I had to tell him to leave.” Steve frowned.

“Okay, you lost me already. I’m tired, please go easy on me.” She grumbled, getting up only to plop down the other way around, her head against his shoulder. He put his arm around her, accepting her tired form into a loose embrace, while using the other to secure the hot water bottle back against her torso.

“I have nightmares. As you know.” He’d been there for many of them. “I mean, they’re not as bad now but...” Steve nodded, saving her the need of more explanation. “The worst, most frequent ones started back in ’85. And…well, Ian could deal with those. He kinda understood why they were happening, with Starcourt and my dad and brother and everything…or he thought he understood, at least.” She hugged the lukewarm water bottle closer against herself. “They got better the more time passed… which he noticed. And that would’ve been fine, I guess, had it not been for all that ’86 crap.” She focused on the TV in front where Molly Ringwald and Judd Nelson were bickering on. Blegh. “When they got worse again, he started to ask questions.” So many damn questions. “I didn’t want to lie to him… but I could obviously not tell him the truth.” If she closed her eyes, she could clearly remember the hurt on his face, the way his blue eyes turned hard whenever she shot him down. Ian…was an extremely kind man. But he was also someone who hated being shut out. She sighed. “A relationship filled with secrets and lies can’t work. I saw how he stopped trusting me every time I told him that it would be fine. That he didn’t need to know.” She bit her lips at the memory. “And every time he would ask more and more questions. He’d ask about my scars, about my dreams, my fear of dogs and tight spaces and why I wouldn’t just talk to him…And every time I could just look at him and say ‘It’s fine, Ian. It’s okay now’.” Tiredly, she wiped some stray tears from her cheeks. It was so dumb to keep crying about that – it had been a year now and both she and Ian had moved on. That didn’t make it any easier, though. “It hurt him; I know it did. And hurting him hurt me, so I just…”

“Let him go.” She nodded, closing her eyes against the new tears threatening to form. Steve sighed, stroking her arm with gentle fingers. “I know, what’s done is done. But couldn’t you just have… told him the truth?”

“Would you? If it was…I don’t know, anyone really.” Steve sighed again, placing his chin on her hair.

“…Probably not, no.”

“See?” She sighed. “He’s better off without all this. Without me.”

“Don’t say that. That’s not true. Nobody is better off without you, you’re great.” She snorted.

“Yeah…thanks, Steve.”

“You know I really mean that.”

“I do…” But believing it was another thing. Honestly, could she even rant about Steve never listening to her when she told him to stop blaming himself? She wasn’t any better. She hid away from everyone and everything, shut out anyone that wasn’t already involved simply because she feared she would make their lives worse by just existing next to them.

“Is that the reason you stopped dating too? The whole ‘questions you can’t answer’ thing?” She sighed against his neck, shrugging slightly.

“I don’t know…Maybe. Or maybe it was just…”

“Hm?” He looked down at her and she shrugged again.

“I really… really loved Ian. A lot.” If it weren’t so cheesy, she’d go as far as call him her first love. “I did try to move on. I went on dates and I tried really hard to get to know people. And sure, sometimes it was about getting laid, but others were genuine attempts at meeting someone I want to be with. But it just…it wasn’t the same.” He nodded, because that he knew. She’d told him every time, ranting about how the people she’d met were weird or rude. How they commented on her ‘workers hands’ or her body, how they tried to kiss her when she clearly said no. And even if she said yes, they somehow found a way to make her uncomfortable by getting all grabby and forward. Those were the worst kind of dates, the kind that made her feel dirty and used. The ones, where all she wanted to do was take a long, hot shower and forget about it.

Of course, not every date was like that.

There were many decent people around Hawkins if one cared to look for them. But even if it wasn’t that…they just never seemed right. Some dates were objectively nice, especially those that her friends had helped her set up. Steve and the others knew her, they knew who she might click with. Those were the dates where people would hold doors, ask questions and be friendly and polite. They wore nice clothes and the conversations flowed easily and continuously. And yet, even after those dates, the best part was the drive home.

“It just never…” she took a deep breath “…never felt right with anyone else.”

“…Yeah, I get it.” Steve said, shifting his arm to hold her a tiny bit closer. “I keep looking for something special, but it’s…it’s just never there. Maybe I should just, you know, wait and see. Give up the active hunt. Relax more…” Steve ran his fingers over her hair absentmindedly. “I don’t even know what exactly I want, what exactly I’m expecting to find. I just always know that this, whatever this may be, isn’t it.” They sighed in unison at that. “We’re a mess.”

“Fuck yeah we are.”

The two of them chuckled tiredly, huddled together on her small couch in the tiny single wide she called home, while ‘Breakfast Club’ slowly but surely reached its conclusion. Tut was happily snoring away on Steve’s lap, the sound mixing with the chatter of the TV, blending into a calming sea of noise. With every chuckle she felt Steve’s body vibrate softly against hers, a warm pressure, soft but firm at the same time. She could feel his breath against her hairline, he felt her against his neck – soft puffs of warm air that left way to soon.

The whole situation should have been uncomfortable or emotional. It would have been with anyone else. It would’ve been too much skinship, a blatant invasion of personal space. Every word would have been a dance along the lines of too honest and not honest enough, trying to toe around the dreaded overshare but keeping the whole talk genuine and open. Lies would have been told, truths would’ve been omitted in favour of not seeming too weak or too pathetic.

This conversation should’ve been so difficult, admitting their feelings and hopes should’ve been… and yet it wasn’t.

Instead, it was warm and soft, honest and quiet. A mere whisper in the dark. An ear that listened to the soft words of another, not questioning what was shared. It was the two of them, sharing everything while leaving each other room to breathe, to just be. Accepting the things that were said without judgement, without forcing the other person to act like something they weren’t.

It was comfort and ease, the routine of a long, close friendship. A friendship that had been through highs and lows, that had seen the worst parts of each person. A friendship, that persevered when one abandoned the other, when the wrong words were yelled at the wrong time, when promises were broken and forgotten. Time had tested it with girlfriends, mistakes and the supernatural.

Through that, it became a friendship that survived all the hurt thrown at it. It survived, because the two of them knew that, in the end, they would always choose each other again.

It was a friendship, that was like breathing.

Easy and thoughtless.

Because that was what the two of them truly were.

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