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#i wish ppl hated me

inkskinned · 7 months

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the thing about art is that it was always supposed to be about us, about the human-ness of us, the impossible and beautiful reality that we (for centuries) have stood still, transfixed by music. that we can close our eyes and cry about the same book passage; the events of which aren't real and never happened. theatre in shakespeare's time was as real as it is now; we all laugh at the same cue (pursued by bear), separated hundreds of years apart.

three years ago my housemates were jamming outdoors, just messing around with their instruments, mostly just making noise. our neighbors - shy, cautious, a little sheepish - sat down and started playing. i don't really know how it happened; i was somehow in charge of dancing, barefoot and laughing - but i looked up, and our yard was full of people. kids stacked on the shoulders of parents. old couples holding hands. someone had brought sidewalk chalk; our front walk became a riot of color. someone ran in with a flute and played the most astounding solo i've ever heard in my life, upright and wiggling, skipping as she did so. she only paused because the violin player was kicking his heels up and she was laughing too hard to continue.

two weeks ago my friend and i met in the basement of her apartment complex so she could work out a piece of choreography. we have a language barrier - i'm not as good at ASL as i'd like to be (i'm still learning!) so we communicate mostly through the notes app and this strange secret language of dancers - we have the same movement vocabulary. the two of us cracking jokes at each other, giggling. there were kids in the basement too, who had been playing soccer until we took up the far corner of the room. one by one they made their slow way over like feral cats - they laid down, belly-flat against the floor, just watching. my friend and i were not in tutus - we were in slouchy shirts and leggings and socks. nothing fancy. but when i asked the kids would you like to dance too? they were immediately on their feet and spinning. i love when people dance with abandon, the wild and leggy fervor of childhood. i think it is gorgeous.

their adults showed up eventually, and a few of them said hey, let's not bother the nice ladies. but they weren't bothering us, they were just having fun - so. a few of the adults started dancing awkwardly along, and then most of the adults. someone brought down a better sound system. someone opened a watermelon and started handing out slices. it was 8 PM on a tuesday and nothing about that day was particularly special; we might as well party.

one time i hosted a free "paint along party" and about 20 adults worked quietly while i taught them how to paint nessie. one time i taught community dance classes and so many people showed up we had to move the whole thing outside. we used chairs and coatracks to balance. one time i showed up to a random band playing in a random location, and the whole thing got packed so quickly we had to open every door and window in the place.

i don't think i can tell you how much people want to be making art and engaging with art. they want to, desperately. so many people would be stunning artists, but they are lied to and told from a very young age that art only matters if it is planned, purposeful, beautiful. that if you have an idea, you need to be able to express it perfectly. this is not true. you don't get only 1 chance to communicate. you can spend a lifetime trying to display exactly 1 thing you can never quite language. you can just express the "!!??!!!"-ing-ness of being alive; that is something none of us really have a full grasp on creating. and even when we can't make what we want - god, it feels fucking good to try. and even just enjoying other artists - art inherently rewards the act of participating.

i wasn't raised wealthy. whenever i make a post about art, someone inevitably says something along the lines of well some of us aren't that lucky. i am not lucky; i am dedicated. i have a chronic condition, my hands are constantly in pain. i am not neurotypical, nor was i raised safe. i worked 5-7 jobs while some of these memories happened. i chose art because it mattered to me more than anything on this fucking planet - i would work 80 hours a week just so i could afford to write in 3 of them.

and i am still telling you - if you are called to make art, you are called to the part of you that is human. you do not have to be good at it. you do not have to have enormous amounts of privilege. you can just... give yourself permission. you can just say i'm going to make something now and then - go out and make it. raquel it won't be good though that is okay, i don't make good things every time either. besides. who decides what good even is?

you weren't called to make something because you wanted it to be good, you were called to make something because it is a basic instinct. you were taught to judge its worth and over-value perfection. you are doing something impossible. a god's ability: from nothing springs creation.

a few months ago i found a piece of sidewalk chalk and started drawing. within an hour i had somehow collected a small classroom of young children. their adults often brought their own chalk. i looked up and about fifteen families had joined me from around the block. we drew scrangly unicorns and messed up flowers and one girl asked me to draw charizard. i am not good at drawing. i basically drew an orb with wings. you would have thought i drew her the mona lisa. she dragged her mother over and pointed and said look! look what she drew for me and, in the moment, i admit i flinched (sorry, i don't -). but the mother just grinned at me. he's beautiful. and then she sat down and started drawing.

someone took a picture of it. it was in the local newspaper. the summary underneath said joyful and spontaneous artwork from local artists springs up in public gallery. in the picture, a little girl covered in chalk dust has her head thrown back, delighted. laughing.

#writeblr #warm up #this is longer than i wanted i really considered removing that part about myself and what i went thru #but i think it really fucking bothers me that EVERY time i talk about being an artist #ppl assume i just like. had the skill and ability to drop everything and pay for grad school.#like sir i grew up poor. my house wasn't a safe space. i gave up a FREE RIDE TO LAW SCHOOL. for THIS. bc i chose it.#was it fucking hard? was i choosing the hard thing?? yes.#but we need to stop seeing artists as lazy layabouts that can ''afford'' to just ''sit around and create''#when MANY - if not MOST - of us are NOT like that. we have to work our fucking ASSES off. hard work. long and hard work #part of valuing artists is recognizing the amount we sacrifice to make our art. bc it doesn't just #like HAPPEN to us. also btw it rarely has anything to do with true talent.#speaking as someone with a chronic condition i hate when ppl are like u have it easy. like actively as i'm writing this my hands r #ACTIVELY hurting me. i haven't been posting bc my left hand was curled in a claw for the last week #this isn't fucking luck. after a certain point it's not even TALENT. it's dedication & sacrifice.#''u get to flounce around and do nothing with ur life'' is a narrative that is a direct result of capitalism #imagine if we said that about literally any other profession.#''oh so u give up 10 yrs of ur life to be a doctor? u sacrifice having a social life and u get SUPER in debt?#u need to work countless hours and it will often be thankless? well i wish i was that lucky''#we should be applying that logic to landlords ONLY #''oh ur mom and dad gave u the money to buy a house? and all u did was paint it white and rent it? huh.''

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villainvillain · 2 months

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kinda sad how davekat was like. it truly was a big deal at the time when it was confirmed by hussie. some of yall who came into homestuck after it was already over dont understand how great it felt actually to finally have a relatively healthy and affectionate m/m relationship shown in HS when all the others were typically dysfunctional, abusive, or one-sided. it was exciting!!! we were all jst kinda happy for dave and karkat yknow. even if it resulted in some pointless "which quadrant are they in?" discourse and some shipping wars but thats just par for the course in hs fandom

and then the epilogues and homestuck 2 dropped and like. ooooohhhhh my godddddd. its completely swamped in stupid melodrama and for some reason they completely ruined jades character for the sake of davekat angst and they ignored daves development in the comic for half-baked sexuality crisis plotline andlike. it feels like everyone turned on davekat and now its cringe or smth and its like. Wow . we had like . three years to feel good abt this and now its gone forever. Awesome

#homestuck #davekat #that poll reminded me of how fcking tumultuous the history of Canon Davekat has been #fucking insane honestly #i wish hs content jst stopped after friendsim #speaking of which can yall talk abt friendsim more than hs2? jesus christ #the fandom was at its most fun post-ending pre-epilogues...#can i also say ppl who REALLY hate davekat are ppl fighting air #like truly there is not much to get worked up abt so its funny when ppl get pissed over it existing

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cloudmancy · 1 year

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delloso de la rue is such an interesting character to me but I don’t think it’s for any of the reasons that the rest of the fandom likes rue for. oscar played them in such a metatextual way and it’s like, does he know? does he know how complicated and selfish and thoroughly flawed character he ended up creating? ruehob is so... fascinating to me and it’s not because I like the romance of it. there’s just such a twisted rotting core to it when you compare it to chirp & her wife, or even binx & andhera (and it’s FANTASTIC. I wish people didn’t shy away from how truly miserable ruehob is because that’s what I’m into)

it's like. you are delloso de la rue. you are an owlbear, under a spell of glamour. you have chosen to serve the court of wonder and at heart, you are a romantic. this year, you are planning what they say will be the very last bloom, and you are drowning in the narrative perfection of it.

you do not like the court of wonder. you do not like the duty you hold. you do not like that you are in this pretty, lithe form you have chosen for yourself. but here are things you do like: love, romance, and EXCITEMENT. you meet two lords of the wing and you want to bear witness to love matches so badly that you make a wager for it. you want this to be the last, best bloom. you want this so ardently and selfishly that you are willing to fall for the first person you see who will fit this narrative (star crossed monsters in courts that don't accept them, what could be more perfect?) while ignoring everything you already have - because it's not enough for you.

you say want love but you HAVE love. you say you want acceptance - but you could have that, too. you don't want love, you want the CONCEPT of love - the kind that people read storybooks about, that little owlbears dream of at night. you want romance. you want to be swept off your feet. you don't want acceptance, because acceptance and love is duty and you are beginning to hate the concept of duty. acceptance is (as hard as a knight pledging themselves to a different court for the sake of someone they love) as easy as realizing that of all the forms that the fae can take an owlbear is nowhere NEAR the most monstrous. the queen of air and darkness isn't even corporeal, half the courtiers of hoof and claw are feral beasts - but that realization is not grand enough for you.

you meet hob and you hold his paws in yours and you tell him (with tears in your eyes, so they sparkle better in the moonlight) that you feel - not alone - for the first time in your life (because it's something someone in a sweeping romance would say) and you (forget wuvvy, who followed you from her own court and accepted everything of who you were and repackaged herself smaller, neater, tidier like you, because that's what you wanted in the court of wonder) tell him that no one will ever use him again (while you use him to satisfy that hungry selfish hole in yourself that demands not LOVE but ROMANCE) because you love (what he represents, could represent for the grand romance of the sweeping fairytale you imagine your life could be if only someone loved you) him.

#a court of fey and flowers #delloso de la rue #wuvvy #ruehob #acofaf #sorry I have like. so many feelings about this #and meanwhile chirp and her wife and binx and andhera are like.#they love and it's not beautiful it's not picturesque but it is real and true #like actually I don't hate ruehob I just wish people realized it's uhmmm Fucked up lol #can we all make a pact to get into howfucked up they are like if someone told me they were toxic I'd be into it #but no ppl treat it as such a perfect romance and it's like. Divorce be upon ye #repackaged from a convo I had with fiovske #i looove your wuvvy art

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sorrelpaws · 1 year

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proper refs for my new r&m ocs :-) more info BELOW

morty v-37 - basically gets used as a human shield and then promptly left for dead by his previous rick(which is why hes got the scar and prosthetics), y-4441 finds him and fixes him up + erases his memories of the whole nearly dying thing. he’s pretty chillaxed and a bit more cynical than an average morty, more “rickish” i guess idk. tends to be skeptical, likes poking holes in rick’s arguments/inventions etc etc but like in a teasing way

rick y-4441 - very peppy, upbeat and emotional. he kind of reeaalllyyy dislikes the cfc and stays away from it as much as possible, especially after finding and unofficially adopting v-37. he’s not as tech savvy as most rick’s, his abilities are more akin to s1 rick’s skill level? as in, he lives off of scraps of materials and creative solutions, less god-like and more “old man in garage who happens to know physics and chemistry”. loves to ramble about basically anything and happily indulges in morty’s hypotheticals/questions whatever. EXCEPT! for why morty doesnt have his fingers he shuts that topic down immediately just does not want to deal with that can of worms at allll

#rick and morty #rick sanchez #morty smith #ocs #idk #theres no name or real story for this au #except for like their backstories i mea #like they have no direction they're just chilling #but i like drawing them #theyre kind of? role swapped versions? buuutt like okay.#i usually hate roleswap aus bcs the way most ppl do them is by just tweaking designs AND ALSO switching the personalities #like ok this is just me rambling abt a pet peeve now but listen to me #it is much more interesting to take the characters and Keep Them The Same while putting them in a different position #that is a neat au in my opinion #but just ugh.#like ok if u just wanna draw alternative versions of the charas thats fine OBVIOUSLY #but i wish there was a biiittt more thought in there. like just a shred of idea #'scientist morty but he's still empathetic and loves his family' + 'regular grandpa rick who is just such an ass for no reason at all'#ok im over it. tell me my ocs r cool

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minthara · 1 month

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it's my birthday bitches joining all u hoes in ur late 20s ✌️✌️✌️✌️😔 anyway here's some pictures of me when i was young and still slayed ARIES SEASON 👹👹👹👹

#petra.txt #can't update my about until i'm at am so i'll be 26 for a few more hours ago #please don't send me any asks abt this i hate when ppl post 300 asks saying the same thing #if u wanna wish me happy bday reply to this post #amazing how much i wrote wrong in that first tag but i will not fix it.

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stevebabey · 2 years

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it’s too late for me now (i need you sticking around)

a/n: ruby?? finishing something?? u better believe it! this was inspired by future me hates me / the beths & i STRONGLY recommend it for the VIBES + much luv to my dearest kenny for the threats so that this finally got finished <3 intended lowercase + fem!reader. word count: 3.1k summary: it’s hard to believe in love after so many bad first dates — you’re desperate to make sure the next one sticks.

your run with love had its history.

consider it the lore of your life, but the winding tales of your many failed dates — that road was long. counting them went off both hands, much to your distaste. though, you’d hardly say you dated around; especially considering none of the guys seemed to make it past date three.

what was the problem? you were splendid company if you did say so yourself. you tried to not be too loud, nor too quiet, a good balance of serious and flirty, all loud or odd parts of your personality packed away to try not to scare off any dates. it didn’t seem to make a difference — the fault had to be the male population of hawkins.

so why did you keep accepting dates?

well, it wasn’t your fault for getting swept up in it each time. somehow, you never managed to learn your lesson — but when a boy slips sweet notes into your locker or plucks a flower to ask you to dinner, it kicks your heart into a fuss that won’t settle and you swoon.

you daydream about holding their hand, pressing a soft kiss to their brow, finding a soft spot in their heart where you can nestle & live and become someone that someone loves.

it doesn’t matter if you’re cradling your still bruised heart from being stood up by jeremy jones last month because when the next boy asks, your stupid heart still flutters out what if it’s real? what if this time it’s different?

and it never was.

perhaps, worst of all is that you were still so tangled up with the idea of love. there was no helping the flip of your stomach, the nervous anticipation, the skip of your heart when thought about love. the track record of your battered heart didn’t seem to matter, there was no shedding the hopeless romantic in you.

however, it meant you were a tad pickier these days. standards high enough to warrant being called a bitch from the guys who couldn’t handle the rejection but hey, if they can’t bother with flowers on the first date, it told you everything you needed. you wouldn’t get yourself pathetically worked up on boys that only asked you out over the phone and had different intentions.

but still, your poor heart loved to latch to whatever it could.

so, when steve harrington asks what you’re doing friday night on shift at family video, you have to curse the skip of your heart.

for the last couple of months, you had gotten to know steve as your co-worker. as anyone who grew up in hawkins did, you were well aware of his prior reputation with the ladies — so it was a pleasant surprise to find you actually enjoyed his company. maybe it helped to have robin who called him dingus in the most endearing way and introduced him as her best friend.

and if robin buckley, certified band nerd, and king steve could be best friends, then maybe you could give him a chance.

and somewhere between the dorky jokes and his handsome grin, you had melted into easy friendship with steve. between bad customers that you gossiped about after and both of you attempting to distract the other while on the work phone, the two of you drew close. so much that you started looking forward to shifts with him.

so naturally, you accidentally grew a crush the size of jupiter on him.

how could you not? he always picked you up for your friday shift, knowing your brother got dibs on the car and you’d have to walk otherwise. whenever it rained, steve would trot to the café down the road and return with a steaming cup of hot chocolate for you, extra marshmallows in your cup — even though you didn’t remember ever telling him your affinity for mallows.

this time, however, you were determined to not ruin a friendship just because your heart had different plans. for perhaps the first time, you were not going to fall for the delusions you fed to yourself, no matter how much you’d like to believe that steve was different. even though you had sworn you’d caught his gaze caught on you one too many times.

you didn’t think you could take another crumpling of your heart, your ideas of love crushed once again, especially from sweet steve. friends it would have to be.

“friday?” you ask nonchalantly, looking up from the returns cart and blinking at steve. “no plans, i think. why?”

on the other side of a shelf, steve looks as though your response surprises him, lips parted and you swear a patch of pink has crawled onto his cheeks. he clears his throat and ducks to place a tape on the shelf. “i was— do you like parties? there’s a party on friday.”

your pulse jumps for a moment, a nervous feeling settling in your stomach and you try to shake it off. “a party? yeah, who doesn’t like parties.”

it’s enough of a casual answer you hope, continuing to slot tapes back on the shelves slowly. without meaning to, your eyes dart back up to steve, trying to gauge what he’s building up to ask. butterflies swarm in your stomach and you clench your fists, willing them to dissolve.

“did you wanna go?” for the second time in one minute, steve clears his throat. you wonder if he’s nervous. “with me?”

you pick over his words, trying desperately to ignore the way your heart sings. no matter how much you’d like it, it seems far more likely that steve isn’t asking you out. is this how king steve asked girls out? all suave and chillaxed? steve wasn’t like that anymore and it leaves you with no hints to the true nature of his question.

even if he was asking you out, you’re not supposed to track that road you remind yourself. a beat later, you realise as the word date hasn’t even passed steve’s lips and feel embarrassment flush up your neck. friends. you were friends. friends go to parties together! all the time!

“yeah, that sounds cool.” you smile at him, pressing down the hot flush you can feel fighting onto your cheeks. casual. friends. not a date. you could do this.

speeding back to the task at hand, you miss the fist-pump steve does, hidden behind the shelf and the quiet ‘yes!’ from his lips.

—

how do you dress to go to a party with your friend, that you secretly wish was a date, without giving it away?

apparently, you don’t know the answer. at least half of your closet is strewn across your floor, a dozen different combinations tried and failed as you stare at yourself in the mirror. you twist back and forth, eyes analyzing like a hawk and a groan escapes you when you realise you don’t like this outfit either.

your hands pull at your face, dragging down your cheeks dramatically as you lean closer to the mirror and lock eyes with yourself. “it’s not even a date.” you whisper, trying to shake the nerves that are ruining every outfit you try.

it works; at least long enough for you to pull on one of your better pairs of jeans and the new top you had yet to wear out and finally, feel satisfied. you’re just swiping the last of your mascara when the horn of a car outside startles you, your hand nudging forward and dolloping black onto your cheek.

“shit.” you mutter and move to the window, peeking through the slats to spy steve’s bmw in the driveway.

“shit.” you repeat, wetting your thumb and doing your best to wipe the black from your cheek. in the mirror behind you, you catch the blink of your alarm clock. god, he’s 10 minutes later than you both agreed and you’re still not ready.

gathering your jacket and bag, you nearly stumble down the stairs, your footsteps thundering as you speed towards the door. rushing in a blur past the kitchen, you call out your hasty goodbyes and step outside, the door swinging closed behind you.

the night air is cool, the moon nearly full in the sky and beyond the rumbling of the engine in passing cars, it’s nearly peaceful outside. you don’t keep him waiting.

despite the chill, steve’s been waiting outside for you, leaning back on the hood of his car with his arms folded over his chest. he looks good; his navy shirt stretched deliciously over his biceps, hair fluffed in his usual style, looking a picture of cool. it’s broken immediately when he stands up in a rush to meet you, feet stumbling for just a moment before he catches himself. you must imagine the tips of his ears tinted redder than normal.

“hey!” the word is tinged with excitement and steve’s smile betrays it as well, wide and bright. “you look— you look great. amazing.”

it’s impossible to fight the hot glow that surges to your face, forcing you to duck your head to hide it for only a moment. god, the plan to not swoon has immediately foiled. you’re about to undoubtedly fumble through an awkward thank you when steve steps closer, one of his hands reaching for your face.

“sorry, y’just got some,” his thumb grazes your cheek, gentle as he can, over the swatch of black you hadn’t managed to rub off. your breath catches in your throat, the skin burning where he touches it and you fight the urge to follow his warmth when he drops his hand. “makeup— there was something, uh, on your cheek.”

when you don’t say anything, words stuck in your throat as you rein yourself in, steve ambles on nervously. “sorry, i’m late i just— shit, i hope you weren’t waiting, i just thought since when i pick you up for work, you’re always a bit late and—”

“—steve.” you cut him off, finally finding your voice. “you’re perfectly on time; any longer and i would have started fussing over something silly.”

it seems to relax steve a bit, hearing your voice and your assurances and you see the drop in his shoulders. he turns and opens the passenger door, a handsome smile back on his face as he nods at it. “after you then.”

the radio fills the airwaves on the drive to the party, crackly as you move between towers and you bounce your foot in time in hopes to iron out some of your nerves. you take a deep inhale but it manages to make things worse; the alluring scent of steve’s cologne floating through your nose, a musky mixture of bergamot and something sweet.

as steve parks up down the road, your eyes latch onto the house of the party, obvious from its flashing lights and occupants that spill out of every entrance. even before you open your door, you can hear the faint notes of a duran duran song playing inside. you clip the door closed and lean against it, waiting dutifully for steve to lock it and join you on the sidewalk.

the two of you begin to wander, steve’s pace slower than expected but when he nudges his shoulder against yours and begins to speak, you know why.

“y’know,” he begins, nervousness wrapped around each of his words. “i’m actually surprised you agreed to go on a date with me.”

the word hits you in the throat, halting your feet. it shouldn’t shock you too much but considering you had spent the better half of this evening convincing yourself this wasn’t a date, you can’t help your next words.

“wait, this is a date?”

you cringe as you watch steve take in your words, expression dimming and shoulders slumping like he can’t control it. fuck.

it’s like you’ve kicked a puppy and through the elation in your heart, you feel a sick twist in your stomach knowing that you’ve accidentally hurt steve. head spinning, you try to grapple with explanations but steve beats you to the punch.

“well, i guess that explains why you said yes.” the deprecating tone hurts your heart, a thousand thoughts competing for your attention but none as loud as the one that says tell him the truth!

“steve—” you begin, but he’s already speaking.

“would you have still said yes... if you knew that i was asking you on a date?” steve’s voice is smaller than you’ve ever heard it and his adam’s apple bobs as he swallows tightly, his words tinged with worry.

it’s a good question. the battle between your head and heart pulls you in both directions; your lovesick feelings denied by your desperation to never experience another failed date. especially with steve.

“i don’t know.” you answer honestly, only to desperately want to reel the words after you said it having seen steve’s face fall further.

the next words come out frazzled, too loud, as you try explain. “it’s not that i didn’t want to! i’ve just had so many— too many first dates that go nowhere. dates where they want to end in a parked car or stop calling or—”

cutting yourself off with a sigh, you try not to feel embarrassed at the ramble of your shitty love-life attempts. man, this evening was not going how you expected. you dig into your feelings, knowing that you owed steve the truth, that he deserved to hear what you truly meant. he waits patiently, his face giving away only a trace of his hopelessness.

“i like you steve.” you say, voice closer to a whisper at your admittance, eyes fluttering closed as you swallow your nerves. “i like you a stupid amount and i-i don’t think i could handle the heartache if you were just another failed first date.”

a beat of silence. and then, the softest oh falls from steve’s lips in his realization which forces your eyes open again, seeing some of the sadness lift from his figure. you can feel his gaze scan your face and he chews his lip in thought for a moment. your heart all but purrs in delight when he reaches out, his warms hands unfurling your clenched fists (when did you do that?) to hold in his delicately.

without thought, you begin to commit the rough feel of his hands, the curl of his fingers that keep your own warm and toasty.

“unfortunately, i can’t see the future, so it would be wrong to tell you i know we’ll be perfect for each other.” he smiles, a hint of teasing hidden within it.

the joking tone hits you the wrong way and you frown, pulling back a little. is he making fun of you? steve senses it instantly, tugging you closer and this time his tone is all serious, raspy and earnest.

“but, i can promise i will take every date you offer because i like you stupidly.” he blinks, seeming to register that he hasn’t said what he meant. “a stupid amount! i like you a stupid amount, too. as well.”

your words. he’s using your words to tell you how he feels. shit, you two haven’t even been on a date yet — somewhere in your mind, it quietly occurs that this means steve must have liked long before he worked the nerve to ask you out. you think your knees might be wobbling from the wonderful feeling in your chest that aches in the best way; you want it to live there forever.

“which means even if you offer me just tonight, i’ll—” he pauses and smiles so sweetly it makes your knees weak. “i’ll take it.”

you can’t help the hesitation in your bones, the feeling after another first date that crushed your thoughts about love running reminiscent under your skin.

but there’s something about steve. something that yearns, that makes you want to risk the future heartbreak, the wide-eyed late nights, and potential stupid mistakes all for the chance of his love.

oh well, if it went wrong, future you could hate you.

“you better not break my heart, harrington.”

the sunshine grin that breaks on his face could be bottled and sold, you think as it sets your body buzzing with giddiness. steve grins boyishly, tilting his head back as if he really has to think about it, pretending to hmm.

his eyes catch onto the house party and another emotion ripples across his face, gone as quick as it was there. the genuineness in his response touches you with surprise. “only if you promise the same.”

you want to kiss him. the urge has twisted into your heart-strings and you’re sure that steve’s gaze has dipped to your lips for just a moment. turning your head to survey the party, you realise that if this time you’re actually right this time, that there will be plenty of time for all of it.

you tuck the desire to taste his lips into your heart, bookmarked for later, and instead shift your hands in his, intertwining your fingers. you tug him along and finally begin the both of you walking in the direction of the party again.

“next time,” you begin, your smile already giving away your teasing. “use the word date, idiot.”

steve’s hand tightens in your own and when you glimpse at him, unable to help yourself, you can’t miss the beautiful blush on his cheeks.

“oh, i’m sorry, sweetheart. i’ll make sure to be clearer next time.” he drawls, a touch of sarcasm in his words. he pulls you even closer, close enough that you can feel the heat radiating from him. your arms are touching, you realise fondly.

“you better be.”

he leans in, breath warm on your ear and you can’t help but melt at the next words that fall from his lips, soft and natural. “do you wanna go on a date tomorrow?”

you can’t help your giggle, flustered and hot in the face because man, is he good at this. it makes you ache with want, wanting and wishing with every part of your being that this works.

even though you shouldn’t be promising anything dates before the first has happened, you know steve and you nod eagerly — then tug him into the music, your hands keeping you connected as you step into the dark together.

tomorrow, when he picks you up in his car, bouquet in his hands, you will let the buzz in your body take over because god if that doesn’t make you weak in the knees.

when he takes your hand, a thought will niggle in the back of your head, something about waiting for the other shoe to drop, for this date to be the last and for him to stop calling, stop dropping off flowers and kisses, for him to stop gazing at you like you hang the goddamn moon.

another thought, steadier and sure, will tell you that you might be waiting awhile.

—

just tagging ppl below! hehe sorry mutuals u HAVE to see this but also this means u shud tag ME in everything <3

@hawkinsindiana @harringtonbf @parkerroos @cptnleviackerman @skylergisondo @cultivatingkindness @aphrodites-perfume @lurkymurker @familyvideostevie @rogersharringtons @sattlersquarry @yellowharrington @upsidedownwithsteve @milkiane

#i left this alone long enuf that when i reread it to check for posting i was like DAMN WISH THAT WAS ME #anyways its a tale as old as time and that tale is that i LOVE steve harrington #he's my wife he's my babygirl he's the man for me <3 #ruby writes #steve harrington #steve x reader #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington fic #steve fic #steve harrington imagine #stranger things #stranger things imagine #stranger things fic #bada bing bada boom #i hate ppl who misuse tags so thats all from me folks #other than that enjoy!! <3

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lesbiansanemi · 9 months

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Sometimes I just think about Soi Fon. Like that shit was so insane. Easily one of The characters of all time. You’re going to give me a woman who hates the physical manifestation of her soul because it’s loud and explosive and she doesn’t think it’s “proper” that it suits her, but it’s so obvious it does because she’s angry and stubborn and loud and explosive!!! And then the fact that she never ever calls upon that physical manifestation of her soul until things are so dire it’s practically that or death? The fact that in so many ways she lets her emotions build and build and build until they quite literally explode???? And then!!! AND THEN!!!! Add in that she hates her bankai because it’s “inappropriate” for an assassin… for her role as captain of the Stealth Force… the position she inherited from Yoruichi after she abandoned Soul Society for Urahara… She despises the physical manifestation of her explosive nature, the nature she hides until she can’t, just like she shoved down her feelings for Yoruichi, the betrayal, the hurt, the love, until she quite literally couldn’t anymore and it all came back up in a BANG!!! Like god… oh my god, no one will ever do it again and kubo did not deserve such a cool fucking character in the least