#the cobblers children have no shoes

[opbackgrounds]

Someone call the doctor, Chopper needs some assistance

#opbackgrounds #one piece #ch444 #chopper #the cobblers children have no shoes #And the doctor gets no medical attention

[vizthedatum]

"The cobbler’s children have no shoes."

Today, I was discussing the old proverb, "The cobbler’s children have no shoes."

I hadn't heard the proverb before, but it fits the various situations I was talking about.

First situation: my ex-friend, who is a doctor, would recommend/prescribe therapy to others but refused to go to therapy herself - which became such a huge problem because her behavior caused her to lash out at me, her family, and her other friends... in addition to increased stress and dissatisfaction with her own life. I do not care about outing her like this because she threw away my rent check, and I will not forgive you for that (amongst other things).

Second situation: my other friend who is a medical professional is on the search for a similar type of help that he provides professionally.

Third situation: me. I intellectualize all my behaviors and conditions because I either have the medical/statistical knowledge to do so or I can look it up easily and understand it. I understand it separately from applying it to myself, and it's nearly the same situation as the first situation I listed.

Fourth situation: me. I have historically tried to help many people (my friends, organizations, my place of work)... and it is very hard for me to accept help. When my friends helped me last Fall (and now - I still am in need of help), I didn't know what to do. I didn't think I deserved it. I was very out of it but trying to hold on. I wanted to give back even though there was no obligation (apparently??), and it was hard.

A phrase that I've been toying around with a lot lately is "Receive or you will be made to receive"

Which brings me to the

Fifth situation: a hypothetical situation told to me as a warning... a woman who over gave and, on top of that, refused so much help in her life because she wanted to do everything on her own ended up being paralyzed in a nursing home where she was forced for the rest of her life to receive help. She had no choice in the end. It was based on a true story, and I know why that person told me this story.

--

I am still trying to achieve this balance because I don't want to neglect myself. I do try to help people or even give advice like "rest more" to people... but what about me.

I want to help myself. I want to take my own advice. And I want to ask for and receive help without feeling bad about it.

#proverb #prose #reflection #life #healing #self help #help #helping others #asking for help #trauma #self love #balance #The Cobbler’s Children Have No Shoes

[krummholz-go]

Bildad the Shuhite, midwife/cobbler/improv artist

Brought over from a post I made on reddit

On a recent rewatch, I realized what a beautiful example of the "Yes, and…" improv technique the entire Bildad "childbirth" scene was. In improv, the process of saying yes, and to your scene partners (as opposed to no, but) is critical for showing and building trust, cooperation, and ultimately creativity. It shows your scene partners that they can rely on you and that you feel you can rely on them. You relinquish a sense of personal control but gain the possibility of creating something larger than yourself.

It struck me that Crowley and Aziraphale are able to do this complicated and difficult trust exercise for extremely high stakes so early in their relationship. For the first time they are "a group of the two of us," accomplishing something together that they could not have accomplished on their own.

SCENE BREAKDOWN:

Crowley begins the scene by introducing himself: “Remember me? Bildad the Shuhite?” Gabriel gives a soft no to this in an attempt to shut things down, immediately challenging Aziraphale on who he is. Aziraphale gives his first yes to Crowley in the scene by reaffirming the statement, though it is a relatively soft yes: "He says he's Bildad the Shuhite?" Crowley then doubles down on the yes with repetition: "And so I am! Bildad the Shuhite! Need any shoes?"

Michael interjects here with a second soft no, correcting Crowley's statement about shoes by stating, "Shuhite means 'from the land of Shua.'" Crowley sticks to the rules of improv by giving another yes to Michael: "Indeed! It does!" before adding his and: "Where, as it happens, I am a leading shoemaker."

Then Aziraphale picks it up with a literal "Yes," and builds on the scene by adding an and: "Well, it would be really useful if you were an expert on human births?"

Crowley is seen physically shaking his head "no" at this statement, indicating internal reluctance to go in this direction, yet he still plays along, agreeing with Aziraphale's direction by saying "Then… this is your lucky day! Shoemaking and obstetrics, those have always been the twin passions of Bildad the Shuhite." I especially love this line because he doesn't abandon the previous commitment he made to shoemaking - he literally adds obstetrics as an and to the character he's developing. During this statement we see Aziraphale physically bolstering Crowley's yes by softly clapping his hands with excitement over this wonderful "news."

Then Crowley extends a crap-ton of trust to Aziraphale by saying "What seems to be the trouble?" He has just committed himself to the part of obstetrician without knowing where it is going but is ready to press forward anyway under Aziraphale's direction.

Aziraphale now brings a new character into the scene by introducing Sitis who "has just learned she is to have lots more children." Crowley immediately says yes to this, rubbing his hands together and saying, "Oh, well, let's get started!" He prompts Aziraphale with an and to help the scene by saying "and I'm sure these angelic entities have seen it all before."

Aziraphale gives a literal "yes" to this statement from Crowley, then builds on it with an and to give Crowley more critical context by explaining that Gabriel has "personally witnessed childbirth in the garden of Eden." This gives Crowley what he needs to work with to be successful in the next part of the scene.

At this point there is a lovely little detail where Crowley has to whisper into Sitis's ear, "do exactly what I say - trust me." This is such an incredible counterpoint to what happens naturally with Aziraphale and Crowley - unlike the two of them, who instinctively work together and trust one another, Sitis needs to be instructed on the rules of this game.

Now there is a sophisticated bit of silent cooperation that happens when Crowley tells Sitis to put her hands into Job's robe. As the "obstetrician" he must be the one to direct Sitis where to put her hands, but he doesn't actually know where the ox ribs are. So he surreptitiously looks to Aziraphale who gives him a hand signal to help him. Aziraphale silently directing Crowley who turns that into verbal direction for Sitis is a beautiful and seamless trust exercise in the scene.

To complete the miraculous "birth," Aziraphale miracles the children back from their salamander states and then gives a final yes to the scene in his role as a witness to the births by applauding as if he had nothing to do with it.

Michael interjects a no, but here for the first time in a while, saying "But... they're not babies." Respecting the rules of improv, Crowley agrees with her saying "Certainly not! Was Eve a baby?"

(Interestingly, Gabriel has also become caught up in the spirit of yes, and by this point. He already agreed with / supported the sudden appearance of the ox ribs as being "part of the process" and now he agrees with Crowley that children "can arrive in any size." I feel like this is a tiny foreshadowing of Gabriel's eventual ability to be more flexible in his thinking than angels like Michael, culminating in his relationship with Beelzebub.)

Now we reach the point where the scene almost falls apart. Job, who has not understood this high-stakes game, says "Ennon, my boy!" and Crowley responds with the first no we've heard from him: "No, no, no - not Ennon, Job, Ennon's gone!" This no is shocking when contrasted with the rest of the scene and we have a sense for the first time that the whole thing could fail.

Aziraphale immediately steps in to try to turn things back around by providing a yes to Crowley's declaration that Ennon is gone: "This is your new son!" Job, stubborn and confused, tries to say no, but again, starting a sentence with "But it is…" But Sitis, who now understands the rules of the game, cuts him off with a no phrased as a yes in support of Aziraphale as she finishes his sentence for him in a different way: "…it's a miracle that our new son should look so much like our old son."

Job struggles once more, trying to deny what Sitis is saying but eventually understands the rules. This culminates with him literally changing from no to yes in the same sentence: "No, you're right - it's not Ennon!" before Ennon undermines the scene in the most disastrous way possible through a "yes" that is actually a no to what Aziraphale, Job, and Sitis have said: "Yes, it bloody is!"

At this point we are teetering on the knife's edge as to whether the scene will succeed. It concludes with the highest of high stakes when Gabriel, sensing that things are not as they should be, asks Aziraphale if they are Job's new children. Aziraphale tries to equivocate by saying something that is neither yes nor no: "they certainly seem to be." This is not good enough, however, and he must commit one way or the other. He ends the scene successfully under Crowley's watchful and expecting eyes with a yes: "They are... his new children." Crowley applauds the scene... and his scene partner, Aziraphale.

This success comes at a high cost for Aziraphale, though. In good improv the individual is subsumed into the larger whole, but here Aziraphale feels like he has literally given up his individual soul for the greater good. What he has gained, however, is a foundational piece of trust, reliability, and understanding in his lifelong partnership with Crowley.

OTHER THOUGHTS:

There is a lovely echo of this improv approach when Muriel first introduces herself to Aziraphale as a police officer but struggles because she doesn't have enough context. Aziraphale supports her hugely throughout the scene, creating more foundational trust in the process that I believe begins to immediately pull Muriel away from heaven and towards the worldly sphere that Aziraphale and Crowley inhabit together. That could be an entire breakdown on its own!

Hope you enjoyed this! :)

#good omens #go season 2 #aziraphale #crowley #bildad the shuhite #good omens 2 #gomens #good omens meta

[asongofstarkandtargaryen]

JON SNOW DAY 15 : Jon & The Smith  (Faith of the Seven)

If you were told to associate Jon Snow with one of the seven deites of the Seven you would probably draw comparisons between him and the Warrior.

When Catelyn prays to the Seven, she sees Jon's face among those who resemble the Warrior.

"The Warrior stands before the foe...[...] He protects the little children"; as a popular song of the seven kingdoms informs us. And what are the Black brothers if not protectors of the realm?

I'm not denying the connection between the Warrior's image and Jon Snow. I just wanted to talk about his less explored connection to the Smith.

So, who is The Smith?

Meribald turned back to Podrick. "I have never known a boy who did not love the Warrior. I am old, though, and being old, I love the Smith. Without his labor, what would the Warrior defend? Every town has a smith, and every castle. They make the plows we need to plant our crops, the nails we use to build our ships, iron shoes to save the hooves of our faithful horses, the bright swords of our lords. No one could doubt the value of a smith, and so we name one of the Seven in his honor, but we might as easily have called him the Farmer or the Fisherman, the Carpenter or the Cobbler. What he works at makes no matter. What matters is, he works.

AFFC, BRIENNE V

According to Septon Meribald, the Smith is someone who works and his labor is used to help other people.

Jon is the only character on a position of power  (being Lord Commander) who has also working experience. Unlike the rest of lordings/kings & queens who simply inherit their title, he had to earn his own. When he first joined the Night's Watch, he had to work, like eveybody else who was a newcomer. Jon being the previous Lord Commander's steward means that he was used to serving - and giving his personal labor- before he started to rule and give orders.

Here are the tasks of the stewards, the order in which Jon belonged before he became Lord Commander:

Chett gave an angry scowl. "I'm a steward. You think it's easy work, fit for cowards? The order of stewards keeps the Watch alive. We hunt and farm, tend the horses, milk the cows, gather firewood, cook the meals. Who do you think makes your clothing? Who brings up supplies from the south? The stewards."

AGOT, JON V

Also, according to Brother Narbert, the Smith gave horses to men in order to help them to do their work:

The jest did not sit well with Brother Narbert. "You are a knight, ser. Driftwood is a beast of burden. The Smith gave men horses to help them in their labors."

Here the Smith is presented as the asoiaf universe Prometheus from greek mythology. Just like Prometheus gave fire to men to aid them, the Smith gave them horses.

Does Jon Snow has any Prometheus - Smith moment? Tha answer to this question is, more than one. At the beginning of the first book, he gave his little sister a sword so she could learn to protect herself. He asked an actual smith to make that sword and when he presented it to Arya, he also gave her the first fighting lesson: stick them with the pointy end. Both the sword and that first lesson are significant on Arya's journey and help her survive (along with the swordsmanship skills she received later on).

During the Night's Watch journey beyond the Wall, Jon found - thanks to his direwolf- dragonglass at The Fist of First Men.  Unlike other Black Brothers who are skeptical of dragonglass, Jon believes that those materials were buried due to their importance and decides to make weapons out of them and give them to his friends and Jeor Mormont. He becomes a sort of literal smith offering weapons to those who are dear to him in order to help them protect themselves.  Sometime later, Sam will use one of those daggers Jon made to kill an Other.  Jon Snow as Prometheus - Smith served his purpose to aid men with his gift.

#jonsnowfortnightevent2023 #asoiafcanonjonsnow #canonjonsnow #jon snow #valyrianscrolls #a post of ice and fire #asoiaf meta #jon snow meta #mymeta

[thoughtfulfoxllama]

My Pioneer Heritage

So, my Biological Family has pioneers in it. Matta Maria Rosenlund (who went by her Middle Name when she got to Utah) & her husband Daniel Dewey Corbett are among them

Daniel Corbett

Daniel was born in Maine on May 16 1807. He and his wife joined the Church in 1839. They moved to Nauvoo in 1844, and only learned about the Martyrdom when he was en route (which means, unfortunately, they never saw the Prophet personally). He was ordained as a Seventy when he arrived in Nauvoo, and used his skill as a Cobbler to help finish the Nauvoo Temple. They received their "partial Endowments" (I am unsure what this means, but if you're familiar with the Endowment, he got at least the Adam part) on January 12, 1846, before they & their family were forced from Nauvoo

They moved Kanesville, Iowa for years. They were able to plant & harvest their own crops, and even had a daughter who would later marry Martin Harris Jr. On July 5, 1849 the family joined the Allen Taylor company, and completed the journey to Salt Lake

When they arrived, they were allotted land between 4-5 East & 6-7 South. In the early years, he was extremely charitable (given the hardship of all the Saints during this era). He would make & mend shoes for little to no charge, collected firewood for widows, and gave what flour they could spare to those in need (they would take a brass kettle of flour to them as their Fast Offerings)

They wore homespun clothes, dying & spinning the yarn, then sending it to the mill to be made into cloth. They ate Pork, Cornbread, Jonnie Cakes, and Sugar Cane Molasses. They fasted on Thursday Morning (Fast Day was Thursday in the Early Church)

He lived close to the school, and was one of the few Saints who had a clock, so students were often sent to his home to determine the time. Daniel's family was unable to afford the 25¢ a week cost, so like many students, they paid it with vegetables

Daniel loved his wife, Elmira (born 1811). They were Sealed by Brigham Young on June 30, 1853. Unfortunately, she passed in February the next year. This lead Daniel to have to care for 6 children (ages 5-24, with the oldest being married the year before). He remarried Ann Jones, an English Convert, on November 8, 1861. Ann was married before she immigrated in 1849, but it is unknown if she was widowed or divorced. Ann had poor health, and was infertile. As her health became worse, she told Daniel to find a Second Wife, to help care for her & the 2 children left at home. This wife was Matta Rosenlund. Ann died in December 1888, and always held love for her sister-wife (although we know more about Elmira & Matta, Ann is relatively unknown, possibly because she had no children to tell her story. I hope, when the Resurrection occurs, I will be able to learn at the feet of the woman who brought my 3rd Great-grandmother into her family)

He lived many years, supporting his family, and living the Gospel until his passing on June 26, 1892. He was buried next to Ann

Matta Maria Rosenlund

Matta was born November 1, 1826 in Malmöhus, Sweden. She was the first born of Wilhelm Jonas Rosenlund & Boel Jonsson. She had 2 sisters & a brother: Anna (March 20, 1829-? She survived to Adulthood), Hannah (May 25, 1831- May 25, 1832), and Johan Wilhelm (April 10, 1834-October 2, 1836)

Both of her parents died of Cholera in Stockholm when she was 13, leading her & 10 year old Anna being placed in an Orphanage. Despite this, Matta (and presumably Anna) were educated at the King's School, given her father's illustrious military career (being the equivalent of a 4-Star General by age 30). After her education, she got a job in a bakery before marrying Ockar Victor Leonard Svansberg on May 29, 1849

Oscar was a French Sculptor & a Mason "of high degree." She was seen as more Spiritually inclined, while her husband was more Worldly. However, they were often seen together at high society events, such as Masonic Balls ("where Mr. Svansberg was usually the leader because of his pleasing appearance and personality")

Together, they had 4 Children in Stockholm: Victor Mauritz (June 25, 1850-), Maria Lovisa (July 4, 185è-), Oscar A. (1853-? Died in Infancy), and Hilma Ida Constance (May 4, 1863-)

Maria was a faithful Lutheran, but joined the Church in 1859. She spent the next 5 years trying to bring her husband to the Church. When he wouldn't join, she left him, and brought their daughters (Lovisa age 11, Ida under 1) to England with her. They sailed on the Monarch of the Sea under the direction of John Smith (Church Patriarch)

The journey was treacherous. They sailed from April 28, 1864 to June 3, 1864. There were 973 immigrants, and they were provided with little water and whatever provisions the Church could gather (Hardtack, Pork, Peas, and a little White Flour, Sugar, Coffee, and a few other things). The next day, they saw the logistical errors of feeding nearly 1,000 people when it took them 8 hours to get everyone Rice. It was also on this day the first baby died on Measles. Ida was the only baby to survive the voyage, with the other 20 either dying from the disease, or being thrown to sea. The Capitan was determined to throw Ida to sea as well, but Matta hid Ida in her Shawl. In addition to sickness, the sea was so violent that the sickbay was often full of people injured by being thrown around, and there were days when the cook was unable to safely cook (meaning there was no food those days)

After arriving in New York, she took a number of trains until she arrived in Nebraska. On July 4, 1864, Matta & her Daughters joined with the William B Preston Company, arriving in Salt Lake on September 15th, 1864. Her grandson reported that "although Zion did not appear to her as she had anticipated, she many times made the remark that when she set her feet on Utah soil it was the happiest moment of her life. The struggle to exist was a very difficult one, but she seemed obsessed with the desire to make good, and through toil, struggle, and undying faith she succeeded." Soon after her arrival, she heard from friends back in Sweden of the death of her husband

Her son, Victor wanted to join his mother & sisters on their journey, but was unable to due to his service in the Swedish Military. He arrived on July 14, 1877 (after a mere 3-weeks journey). He lived with his mother for 2 years, before disappearing without a trace

When in Utah, she became a Nurse, and helped Ann Jones. Ann & Matta (platonically) loved each other, and Ann asked Daniel to take Matta as a Plural Wife. This marriage resulted in 2 Children: George Q (November 28, 1866-September 20, 1867) & Otis (December 21, 1868-Febuary 4, 1940). Ann helped watch the Children when she was away from home, and adored all of Daniel's Children (as well as Matta's Children from her first marriage) like they were her own

Matta continued her career for over 20 years, sometimes accompanying Ella Shipp (honestly, I can write a whole essay about this badass female doctor, but you'll have to Google her for now). She was eternally optimistic, and was known for helping her patients recover rapidly. She delivered hundreds of children

I love learning about family history because of the lessons we can learn from those who came before

Daniel was a loving man. He never had much, but he was generous with what he did have. Maybe he only had a kettle of flour, but he gave that flour to those who needed it more. Although Matta's Children weren't his own, he loved them unconditionally, and gave whatever he could

Ann may have been infertile, and invalid, but she didn't let either stop her. She rejoiced in all the children of her husband's wives. She cared for them when she could muster up the strength

And Matta went through a lot. Orphaned at 13 & having to care for a sister, fearing having your daughter thrown overboard, having a son go missing without a trace, and being constantly surrounded by sickness. But she never lost hope. She was born in high society, and married into it. But her happiest moment was after she gave it up. She fought for everything she had, and that brought her joy, because she knew she had earned every blessing

I want these stories to be known. Every story deserves to be told, to live through the Ages, to inspire the Children of Men to do better

I want to hear your stories. I chose my Pioneer Ancestors because they speak to me the most. But I want to hear about the people who's stories you most value, whether your parents' story, or some obscure knight in the 12th century.

𐐔𐐰𐑌𐐷𐐲𐑊 𐐔𐐭𐐨 𐐗𐐫𐑉𐐺𐐮𐐻- 𐐕𐐰𐑉𐐮𐐻𐐨 𐐮𐑆 𐑄 𐐑𐐷𐐳𐑉 𐐢𐐲𐑂 𐐲𐑂 𐐗𐑉𐐴𐑅𐐻

𐐣𐐰𐐻𐐲 𐐣𐐲𐑉𐐨𐐲 Rosenlund (unsure how to pronounce her last name...)- 𐐆𐑁 𐐷𐐨 𐐸𐐰𐑂 𐑁𐐩𐑃 𐐰𐑆 𐐩 𐑀𐑉𐐩𐑌 𐐲𐑂 𐑋𐐲𐑅𐐻𐐲𐑉𐐼 𐑅𐐨𐐼, 𐑌𐐲𐑃𐐮𐑍 𐑇𐐰𐑊 𐐺𐐨 𐐮𐑋𐐹𐐪𐑅𐐲𐐺𐐲𐑊 𐐲𐑌𐐻𐐭 𐐷𐐭

#mormon #lds #tumblrstake #queerstake #lds church #ldschurch #family history #pioneer heritage

[ramblingmoon]

pavlevi :3

Not a romantic fic but I'll give you something.

No boots, no style, no personality.

Pav wasn't so much toying with the other side's ex-addict-heroin-child-soldier, Levi, as pissed. After all this shit, both sides of this war killing each other killing themselves. They even started throwing kids out to fight like starving dogs. Destroying everything living, they could have at least provided the damn kids some goddamn boots!

No goddamn boots for the children soldiers!

That was totally the reason why Pav was so pissed. Definitely had nothing to do with the needle injections on the kid's arm and that vacant look on his face. This kid was only looking for the next rush to give himself relief. Pav knowing damn well it was the adults in the kid's life that gave him the drugs in the first place.

Well Pav wasn't going to let Levi die without looking like a damn soldier that the kid was. So was not because Pav want to keep an eye on him like some older brother or more like a mother hen.

But Levi followed him. His eyes open not focusing on anything and shuffled on by. He was like a zombie. Hell, if someone had told Pav that the kid was a zombie he might have believed them even without the brain eating.

They made their way to the destroyed shopping district. Pav spotted a cobbler store and dragged Levi in. There Pav grabbed any boots that he thought was appropriate for a soldier. There was some in the store and Pav was going to make them fix!

“Take your shoes off and try these on.” Pav tossed a pair over to Levi.

They landed at Levi's feet. The kid was still standing in the doorway, the sunlight still on his back . Levi just stood there staring.

“No,” Levi finally spoke.

Pav spun around and if looks could kill Levi would be 10 times over. After Pav had taken the time out of his grand revenge story to help this damn kid. The nerve of the brat.

“And why the hell not?” Pav didn't even bother trying to keep his voice even.

“Because they are a size 8 and I'm a size 13. Also this is a woman's store so something will fit me in here.” He said it so monotone Pav wouldn't have thought a human could sound so dull.

“Well then…”

There was a long awkward silence.

“Guess those,” Pav pointed to Levi's shoes. “Will have to do for now until we get to civilization and a mall. How are you at sniping?”

“Good.” No emotions, made Pav's skin crawl.

���Want to help me kill the Kaiser?”

“Okay”

“Okay, really okay is all you have to see when someone ask you to help them kill the most powerful man on this earth?”

Levi gave a shrug and didn't say anything.

Pav gave a long sigh and rested his head in his hand. This was not gong to be a fun partnership with someone so dead.

“Remind me to get you a personality.”

“Okay.”

“Okay, okay? For fuck’s sake doesn't anything get into that thick skull of yours?”

“Do you want help with killing the Kaiser because of your lack gun abilities or not?”

Pav was so stun that he fell so the ground. His mouth hung open.

“Holy shit, was that a joke. Hold the presses there is a personality in there..”

#fear and hunger termina #fear and hunger #fear and hunger pav #fear and hunger levi #not into them romantically but each to their own #I think Pav would be a great mother

[bimrwolf]

Promise? to Leave the Window Cracked Open

steve harrington x afab!reader words: 14,379 warnings: mentions of cancer (minor details of aftermath of treatments), minor character death, implied smut summary: Dealing with his father's presistance that he become a perfect son and being told he can't be "just friends" with girls, Steve has to learn the hard way that being popular is not what it's cut out to be. Growing up is a lot harder than it looks. a/n: i'm not *entirely* happy with this piece but my friend told me to post it anyway. so here you all go!!!

The red brick house at the corner of Dearborn Street had gone through many inhabitants. There was the weird Gibson family whose grandfather lived with them, occasionally he stood on the front porch in nothing but his house shoes. Then there were the Weirs. Their kids always came to school smelling of salami. Finally, there was the Lyons. The small town life did not set well with Mrs. Lyon, forcing her husband to sell the home after two months of living there, leaving the red brick house up for sale once again.  

One day when Steve Harrington was in the back of his father’s car, playing with two green army men, he noticed the large SOLD covering the for sale sign that had been up there for exactly seven months and three days. The next day, there was a car parked outside, boxes in the driveway, and a woman yelling at two children running in the freshly mowed grass. 

A week later, while his dad was at work, his mom drove them to the red brick house. She knocked on the door, a casserole in her hand, looking down at her son, straightening the collar of his shirt.

A woman with a bright smile answered the door, greeting the two enthusiastically. 

The two women began to talk and five minutes turned into ten. 

They weren’t paying attention so he wandered off into the yard, noticing a few toys strewn about. The summer sun beamed down on the back of his head as he hopped on the stepping stones next to the rose bushes. 

His ears perked up when he heard shouting around the corner of the house. 

He looked behind him, his mother still in deep conversation. Curiosity built inside of him, peeking around the corner he saw a younger boy covered in mud, looking up at the side of the house. Steve followed his gaze, catching the sight of a girl leaning out a window, holding a wooden sword that was pointed towards the boy. “The treasure is mine.” The girl proclaimed.

“Come on, Y/n. I wanna play something else.” The boy complained, kicking up some of the mud at his feet. There was a water hose laying a few feet away from him. 

The girl, Y/n, sighed. “Please, Aaron. Mom made her peach cobbler tonight and I’ll let you have my slice if you play.” 

“That doesn’t matter. You hate peach cobbler.” He crossed his arms. Steve could see her pucker her lip and bat her eyes. Aaron groaned, holding up a sword himself, unenthusiastically. “Come down and fight me you coward. The jeweled crown will be mine.” 

“Arrrggh!” Steve watched in bewilderment as Y/n stepped out of the window and onto the ledge, climbing down on the lattice panel that was covered in dead vines. Steve gasped when the small girl misplaced her foot, causing her to fall on the ground. She landed with a thud. 

He was amazed she didn’t cry or scream. 

He remembered two days ago when he had stepped on one of his toy race cars and cried for twenty minutes, maybe longer if his dad had not come home. 

The girl looked up, locking eyes with Steve. She smiled at him, revealing her two front teeth that were missing, quickly pushing her body up and pointing the sword in his direction. “What do we have here?” 

Steve cowered behind the corner, his cheeks were red, too shy to answer. 

“Another pirate looking for the crown, eh? Looks like you have no weapon but that stick by yer foot.” Y/n pointed to a long thick stick that had fallen off the oak tree next to her house.

Steve stepped where they could see him. “M-my mom will be upset if I get mud on my shirt.” 

Y/n rolled her eyes. “Pirates don’t listen to their mommies.” 

Her brother spoke up. “Mom did tell us not to get dirty before-” 

“Shut up.” She scrunched her nose up, examining Steve up and down. His hair was short and slicked back. His teeth were too big for his mouth. A few freckles were scattered on his face. “What’s yer name, matey?” 

“S-Steve.” 

“Pirate Steve?” Aaron laughed.

Y/n nudged him to be quiet. “That’s a lame pirate name, but it will do. When you’ve been sailing the seas as long as I have, you’ll come up with something better. Now, Pirate Steve, you will have to fight us both to the death if yer want the treasure.” The two siblings held up their weapons higher, mutually deciding to team up to fight the strange boy in their yard. Y/n took the first step toward him, her brother close behind. Finally, the tip of her sword was only inches away from his chest. 

Steve noticed the dried up mud caking her cheek, but she didn’t seem to care. 

Steve looked down at the stick, then looked back up at the siblings, then over to where his mom once stood. She had gone inside once the two mothers saw their children were talking.

Y/n leaned her head closer to him, breaking character. “Promise to not get mud on you.” She held out her pinky, and he hesitantly took it, watching with wide eyes when she kissed her thumb, telling him that’s what seals it. So, Steve also kissed his thumb. “Have any last words?” She asked, pointing the sword at his neck. 

Without a beat, Steve picked up the stick, swinging it against hers. The three of them chased each other in the yard, yelling, giggling, and clanking the wooden objects against one another. When finally, Steve had softly tapped Y/n on the side of her stomach with the sword, declaring he had killed her. She did not accept the defeat, arguing that Steve had cheated. When Steve wouldn’t let her continue on, she balled up her fist with one hand and shoved him with the other, so hard he fell backwards in the mud. 

Soon, the three kids were talking over one another in the kitchen of Y/n’s house, trying to explain to their mothers what had happened. It was clear that Steve’s mom was irritated that her son’s shirt was dirty, but still put a fake smile on, claiming kids will be kids. Then she grabbed the ten-year-old’s hand, said goodbye, and took them back home. 

Two days later, Y/n and her mother had shown up to the Harrington household. Steve was forced to come downstairs and stand in the doorway so the toothless girl could apologize. It was obvious she wasn’t that sorry, but when she revealed a wooden sword from behind her back, telling him that he could come play pirates with her anytime, a toothy grin spread across his face. 

That afternoon she also promised her window would be cracked open for him to call her to come down and play. 

Although Steve and Y/n had outgrown playing pirates together, the pair never seemed to separate. Their families thought maybe it would have been Steve and Aaron that ended up childhood best friends, but Y/n’s mom sometimes would have to beg them to include him in the things the two older kids did. 

The evening before the first day of middle school, Steve had convinced his parents to let him go over to Y/n’s, promising to be home before dark.

The bike ride was only fifteen minutes, plenty of time to see his best friend before their big day. 

Two years had gone by since he first met Y/n. Their yard was decorated differently. Her mother had exchanged roses for petunias, hydrangeas, and lilies. There was now a tire swing on the big oak tree. Aaron used to make Steve push him so hard that he went so high that he almost wrapped around the big branch. 

Steve got off his bike, setting it in the lawn, walking past the front door and over to the side of the house. He smiled when he saw the window cracked open slightly, Dreams by Fleetwood Mac drifting out. 

Her parents had accepted the fact Steve had no intentions of using the front door, never surprised to see him in her room if they opened the bedroom door. They would just ask if he wanted anything to drink, and he would always ask for a Dr. Pepper. No one in the household drank Dr. Peppers, but they always had a case just for him. 

Steve climbed up the lattice panel, the old vines had been ripped off. When he got a view of the inside of her room, he expected to see her reading or painting her toenails. Instead, she was in front of her dresser, throwing clothes behind her, groaning loudly. A messy room wasn’t shocking, Y/n was always getting in trouble for never cleaning it. But the sight Steve was looking at was horrific. “Are you rearranging?” Steve asked, sliding the window up, crawling through. 

Y/n didn’t seem phased that he had shown up unannounced. “What are you wearing tomorrow?” 

“I dunno.” He answered, smiling because there was already a Dr. Pepper can on her desk. 

“I forget. Your mommy still dresses you.” She teased him.

She loved to poke fun on how much of a momma’s boy he was. “Why are you worried about clothes?” 

She let out an exasperated sigh. “It’s the first day of middle school.” 

“So? It’s no different than fifth grade.” Steve shrugged, taking a sip of his Dr. Pepper. 

“To you! I spent the night at Tammy Thompson’s last night. Tina is a B cup now and Carol had her first kiss at summer camp.” The girl pulled out a pair of shorts, sighing when she saw the tag. 

“That stuff doesn’t matter, Y/n.” He downed the rest of the drink, belching loudly. He started to giggle, but quickly stopped when Y/n gave him a disapproving look. He frowned. She always laughed when he burped. 

“No girl is gonna kiss you if you do gross things like that.” Y/n put a hand on her hip. 

Steve still didn’t understand why his friend was making a big deal about clothes, other girls, or kissing. Why did any of it matter if they had one another? “I could be your first kiss.” Maybe if they kissed then maybe she would stop worrying about it. 

Y/n’s expression didn’t falter. It was like she hadn’t heard him. “Very funny, Steve. Kissing you would be gross.” 

When Steve had rode his bike back home— after finally convincing Y/n to wear the dress his mom had bought her for her birthday— he kept thinking about how she had reacted to the idea of kissing him. 

What made him gross? 

He was one of the cleanest boys at school. He took a bath every night, and his mom started making him wear deodorant. His hair was nice and neat. He didn’t eat his boogers like Tommy Hagan or ate dirt like Reed Booker. He’s never even had lice before. 

Had she even thought about it before? Did she lay awake thinking what if she and Steve kissed? Is that when she came to the conclusion kissing him would be gross? 

He couldn’t even sleep properly that night, tossing and turning, irritated that Y/n decided to make these thoughts appear in his head. 

It was so stupid. He didn’t even think about kissing girls until now.

Then it seemed like seventh grade came in a blink of an eye. Steve’s dad was getting harsher about grades and what Steve’s plans were for extracurriculars. “A good Harrington boy is well-rounded, who doesn’t run around and play pretend.” He would tell him at dinner, whenever he wasn’t away on business trips. He had recently been promoted at work, making him less and less available to stay home. When he was home, he was always sitting in his office, smoking a cigarette, yelling on the phone. 

But one good thing about seventh grade was that he had changed. It seemed like he had gone to sleep one night and woke up the next day two feet taller. His clothes were too small and sometimes he found himself tripping over his new long legs. 

Girls were starting to put letters in his locker, and sometimes he caught them giggling on the other side of the gym during PE, watching him play basketball. He would blush when the other boys would nudge him, pointing out which girls they thought were cute. His attention would then turn to Y/n, standing in a corner by herself jump roping, obviously annoyed that the other girls were gawking at him.

Steve didn’t understand that she had no friends except for him. All the girls pretended to be friends with her and then they would ask about Steve. Steve this. Steve that. Quite honestly, she was sick and tired of them always talking about her friend. There wasn’t anything even spectacular about him. He still had too large teeth for his face and he always burped or gave her wet willies. When Y/n fed them the answers they wanted, they’d never speak to her again. She never told him that was the main reason she stopped going over to Tammy’s slumber parties. 

Steve on the other hand, didn’t mind the attention. His new popularity with the girls changed his social status with the guys as well. Soon, he was roped in with Tommy Hagan and spent his lunch period, sneaking off in the woods by the school to smoke cigarettes with one other boy, Carter Adams. 

One particular chilly day, Tommy shushed them when he heard giggling coming from their spot. They all hid behind the wall that bordered the school, peering over to see two high schoolers making out against a tree. 

Steve immediately felt uncomfortable, whispering they should probably go, but Tommy grabbed him by his jacket, pulling him back. “Ten bucks says he’ll grab her tit.” Tommy told the boys. 

“Ten bucks he’ll grab her ass.” Carter challenged. 

“What about you Harrington?” Tommy asked, looking at him with a smirk. “Tits or ass?” 

Steve shrugged, glancing nervously back at the school, praying a teacher would catch them so he could get out of the situation. “I dunno.” 

“Have you even kissed a girl before?” It had been known that Tommy had kissed lots of girls. 

Steve looked at the ground, shaking his head, regretting telling the truth when Tommy and Carter laughed quietly. “What about your girlfriend?” Tommy raised an eyebrow. 

“What?” 

Carter poked his side. “He’s talkin’ ‘bout that girl you’re always with. Have you kissed her?” 

“Y/n? She’s not my girlfriend. We’re just friends.” Steve answered. 

The two boys next to him exchanged a knowing look, trying to hold in another fit of laughter. “Boys and girls cannot just be friends, Harrington.” 

Steve furrowed his brows. He didn’t understand why it was so wrong to be friends with her. She wasn’t mean. Except the other day she did smack him upside the head because he put his armpit in her face. He understood he had it coming. 

He should have told the boys he didn’t care what body part the high schooler grabbed. But he knew if he didn’t say anything, they’d stop wanting to hang out with him. He peeked back over the wall to see the couple again. “Tits.” 

A part of him regretted participating in the bet, mostly because he had lost ten bucks, but also because it seemed to be the rite of passage to be personally invited to Tommy’s girls and boys party the next Friday. 

Steve was nervous. He had only been to birthday parties with parents watching their children closely as they swam in the pool or played on the swing sets at the park. This was different. 

Tommy’s parents were out of town, his big brother in charge and Tommy gave him two months worth of allowance to buy everyone beers and keep quiet. 

He kept looking over at Y/n, who was walking next to him, pulling down the uncomfortable itchy yellow dress she decided to wear. “Did you really have to wear that? You look like Big Bird.” Steve poked the puffy sleeve, warranting a slap from her. 

“Shut up, or I’m going home.” She warned him. 

“You can’t because you promised.”

Steve had climbed through her window, begging her to come with him. He had to lie to her that Tommy wanted her to come. She still wasn’t convinced, but agreed nevertheless. 

“Maybe fun for you. You’re cool in their eyes.” She crossed her arms and pursed her lips. 

“Once they get to know you they’ll see how cool you are too. Listen, we’ll stay an hour tops and if you are ready to leave, we’ll go. I promise.” He stopped walking, looking at the white house that belonged to Tommy. He stuck out his pinky towards the girl. 

She gave him an unimpressed look. His attempt to pull the pinky swear trick they used to do three years ago was a cheap gimmick on his part, knowing she was a sucker for nostalgia. She tried her best not to break, but when he leaned forward, looking at her with his wide brown eyes and toothy grin made her roll her eyes, sighing in defeat. She wrapped her pinky around his and they both brought their thumbs to their lips, locking the promise in place. 

Tommy’s brother was the one who answered the door, leading them to the door of the basement. 

Y/n scrunched her nose up when the smell of cigarettes and beer greeted them at the top of the stairs. Steve decided to ignore it, walking down the creaking wooden steps. When Tommy saw him, he immediately jumped up from an old battered brown couch, announcing the arrival to everyone in the room. He tilted his head slightly, frowning when he saw trailing behind Steve. He quickly wrapped an arm around Steve’s shoulder, pulling him to the side away from the girl. “I told you not to bring her, Harrington. The girls here are gonna think you two are a thing.” 

Steve looked over at Y/n. She was looking over at a group of girls huddled in a corner, looking between her and him, whispering. “Tommy, give her a chance. She’s cool and really funny when you get to know her.” 

The lanky boy whose breath already smelled like beer and cigarettes sighed, agreeing to let her stay. He then turned around, clasping his hands together dramatically, announcing it was time to play truth or dare. Steve felt his heart drop in his chest, looking over at Y/n who seemed to still be observing the room and the people that filled the space up. She always did that before interacting with anyone, studying them quickly in her mind.

He was about to tell Tommy he didn’t feel good and had to go home, but was shocked to see Y/n confidently walk towards the circle forming on the floor, plopping down next to a boy he didn’t recognize. Steve gulped, deciding to sit between Carter and Tina. 

The rules were simple, either tell the truth or do the dare and if anyone chickened out, they had to take a drink. 

Secrets were spilled, kisses were exchanged, someone was dared to lick the bottom of Carter’s foot, but no one was chicken enough to take the first sip. The longer Steve sat on the cold concrete floor of the basement, the longer it felt sticky, hot, and damp. The air was almost suffocating as he anticipated his name to be drawn out of Christopher Smith’s baseball cap. When his name finally did get drawn, it took him a moment to process when Carol had said it. 

He knew Tommy would give him shit if he said ’truth’ but he was afraid of what Carol might ask him to do. “D-dare.” 

Carol smirked, sharing a look with Tommy. “I dare you to kiss the prettiest girl in the room.” It dawned on him that this party had been a set up the entire time. Tommy was throwing Steve into the lion’s den, forcing him to finally catch up with the rest of the grade and kiss someone. But Steve had never thought about anyone in the room like that before. Sure Heather Holloway was cute, but once in second grade she threw up on his new pair of shoes. He could still smell the fish sticks burning in his nostrils. 

Then there was Beth Johnson, she wore braces and was always wiping dripping saliva off her chin. No way. 

Carol was pretty, but Tommy had a crush on her.

Which meant the only two girls left were Tina and Y/n. 

He tried to see how Y/n felt, maybe she would give him the face that said “Kiss me Steve!” But there was no sign whatsoever of what she wanted him to do. He remembered a year ago when he had suggested being each other’s first kiss, but she was revolted by the idea, telling him kissing him would be gross. He remembered from then on, he couldn’t stop wondering what it would be like to kiss her. 

Carol had said he had to kiss the prettiest girl in the room. To him, Y/n was by far prettier than any of them. The longer he looked at her, the more he began to admire her features. Her puffy cheeks, her nose, the way her eyes gleamed from the bright yellow dress she wore. The other girls in the room looked so dull compared to her. 

He debated the consequence of taking a sip of the beer to get out of it. 

The choice was so simple and easy to him, but he was confused. Y/n was his best friend, he couldn’t think of her like that. He most definitely couldn’t kiss her either. 

So instead of crawling across the circle to kiss her, he turned and gave Tina a quick peck on the lips. 

The basement erupted in hoots and hollers, making Steve blush. 

It was Steve’s turn to pick a name. When he reached in the hat, he frowned, realizing there was only one piece of paper left– Y/n. Her face was still stoic. “Y/n, truth or dare?” He asked her, mind buzzing with what he should say. 

He should have known she would pick dare, never backing away from a challenge. However, a few minutes passed by, struggling to come up with anything. He looked at Carol for help, who immediately accepted. “Write down the name of the one person you want to kiss in this room, then put a blindfold on and wait for them in the closet.” She pointed to the closet that went under the stairs. 

Y/n didn’t hesitate once, scribbling a name on a piece of paper that was handed to her, standing up to give it to Carol who then put a bandana over her eyes and walked her to the closet. Steve watched her disappear inside, almost immediately Carol put a hand over her mouth when she shut the door. “Where’s Rosie?”

It had happened all so fast. Tommy had gone upstairs, bringing back his pet beagle. Steve was confused, until Carol and the other girls let Rosie lick their hands. Tommy started towards the closet door. Steve jumped forward, blocking his way. “What are you doing?” 

“Giving her a kiss to remember.” He tried to step around him, but Steve stepped back in front of him. Tommy scowled, narrowing his eyes. “Always knew you were a pussy, Harrington.” 

Steve swallowed, feeling like he was drowning in thick molasses. “No, I was just volunteering.” He stuck out his arms. 

Tommy smirked, looking back at the others. 

Everything seemed to go slow, Rosie being put in his arms, the closet door creaking open, taking heavy steps inside. Even when they closed the door, his back hitting against it, darkness enveloping the room, Rosie whimpering, he was still able to see Y/n in the bright yellow dress. Like the sun. 

She tilted her head up, the black bandana covering her eyes. Steve walked closer to her, taking in the smell of mothballs, dust, and copper. When he crouched down, the closet scent faded away. Y/n’s sweet honeysuckle fragrance and mint toothpaste overtook it. 

He knew what Tommy and the others wanted him to do. But being this close to her, led him to put the dog down who immediately found a place in her lap. She giggled when Rosie licked her hand repeatedly. 

Steve reached out, putting his hand on her shoulder, letting the tulle of the puffy sleeve scratch against his fingers. 

“Are you gonna kiss me or what?” He almost wanted to laugh at how bored she sounded. 

He should tell her what was going on, that an hour had passed and it was time to go. When they got back to her house, they could laugh about how ridiculous seventh grade was. Maybe they should have never hung up their wooden swords and eye patches. He didn’t want to grow up and do the things that Tommy Hagan did. 

However, she licked her lips and he realized from the way his tummy flipped and breath hitched in his throat, he couldn’t stop from growing up.

He leaned forward, pressing his lips on hers, tender and saccharine. 

He pulled back, smiling, lifting the blindfold up, catching her eyes with his. 

“You’re not Tommy.” Y/n’s eyebrows creased.

Steve didn’t understand why she looked disappointed. 

He didn’t have time to ask because the door swung open. The two quickly shot up, eyes wide like kids who had their hands in the cookie jar. Rosie barked, running out of the closet. “Wait a minute… did you two kiss?” Carol snickered. 

Steve saw the piece of paper in the blonde’s hand, suddenly remembering that Y/n was asked to write down who she wanted to kiss, making out the cursive ‘T’ in her neat handwriting. 

She wanted to kiss Tommy. Not him. 

He clenched his jaw, balling up his fist as they laughed at them, ignoring the look on her face, silently asking if he was going to say something. “Me? Kiss her?” He scoffed. 

He noticed the way Y/n’s mouth fell open, shocked he had said that. 

“Rosie took one sniff of Y/n’s dog breath and cried. I wasn’t gonna take a chance.” He instantly regretted the words leaving his mouth when he saw his friend clench her jaw, eyes glossy as she fought the tears forming. 

Someone made a comment about being able to smell her breath from across the room, and soon the others chided in, all laughing at the made up lie that Steve couldn’t take back. 

Y/n had stormed past him, exiting the closet. The others started making barking noises as she ran up the stairs, bending over in laughter when they heard the front door slam shut. 

Later that night, Steve had to retrieve his bike back from Y/n’s, having left it there so they could walk to the party together. He had worked on his apology on the walk back from Tommy’s, even picking zinnias out of The Wheeler’s garden for her. But when he walked over to her window he felt his mouth go dry. 

Her light was on, but the window was sealed shut and the bubblegum pink curtains were closed. 

The next week, Y/n didn’t come to school. 

Steve tried to go over to her house and apologize, and every day her window was shut. He even knocked on the front door, her mom telling him Y/n wasn’t feeling good or wasn’t home. Which he knew was a lie, because one day he saw her peeking through the blinds in the living room. 

When she did come to school, kids barked at her in the hallway until the principal sat everyone in the gymnasium to speak about bullying and if any of the teachers caught them making dog noises at any student, they would be suspended for a week. The principal tried to keep Y/n’s name out of it, but everyone was looking at her, knowing. 

Two days later was when Y/n finally acknowledged him. 

He was alone at his locker, cramming answers for a quiz he was about to take for math. His locker slammed shut. He jumped up, locking eyes with her. She looked like she had just been crying, eyes red and puffy, shoving a box against his chest. “Tell your friends they’re so funny.” Steve looked down to see the contents. There was a toothbrush, cheap toothpaste, and a dog bone tied in a red bow. 

He gulped, not sure what to say to her, the rehearsed apology slipping from his mind. When he noticed Carter lingering by, pretending to tie his shoes, Steve felt himself speaking before thinking. “Maybe next time we should get you a shock collar.”

He took note how her face fell, the little bit of glitter in her eyes flickered out. Whatever little bit of hope she had left for him to fix everything, vanished. As she walked away, head hanging low, Steve realized this wasn’t like the time she pushed him in the mud. He wouldn’t be able to show up to her door with a wooden sword and she would forgive him. 

That night he rode his bike down her street three times before he finally walked to the side of her house. 

The window was still shut. 

As the seasons changed, Steve would check every day if it would be open. But it never was. 

Finally, there came the day when he stopped checking.

–

Hawkins High felt intimidating when Steve’s mom pulled to the front, tears in her eyes because her baby boy was growing up on her. He kept begging her to calm down. If his friends saw her reacting like that, they would give him shit. He allowed her to give a kiss on his cheek, before hurriedly grabbing his blue book bag and climbing out of the car. He saw Tommy and Carter hanging over by the railing, scanning the crowd of high schoolers, greeting them both with fist bumps. 

“Who knew high school was full of babes?” Carter nodded at a redhead walking into the school. “Is that Becky? Jesus, look at the rack on her.” Tommy laughed, closing the boy’s mouth, making a comment about him drooling. 

Steve observed the lawn, taking in the sounds of kids chattering amongst themselves, basking in the sun, trying to get the last few moments of summer into their systems. He then stopped, staring at a girl whose back was facing them, wearing a pair of Levi’s. “Shit.” He said out loud. 

“Looks like Harrington has scouted his first victim. Damn, what a sweet ass.” Tommy exclaimed. 

“Don’t let Carol hear you say that.” Carter chuckled. 

“What? You don’t think I know she’s looking at other dudes? This is why we work out, because we respect and trust one another.” Tommy explained. It was true, they always made comments about other people in front of each other, but neither of them got jealous. In fact, Steve swore they got hornier, knowing that there was nothing to worry about. “Why don’t you go over there, lover boy?” 

Steve turned to face them again, running a hand through his hair. “I dunno. What if she’s ugly? Like her face covered in warts or something.” 

“Just go, and if she’s ugly, tell her Carter wants to take her out on a date.” Tommy slapped his hand on Steve’s back, pushing him to walk over there.

“Wait, why me?” Carter asked. 

“‘Cause even the ugliest girl wouldn’t want to go on a date with you.” 

Steve rolled his eyes, their arguing voices drifting away as he walked closer to the girl with the sweet ass. She was talking to another girl he didn’t recognize. He coughed, but neither of the girls heard him. He took a deep breath and tapped her on the shoulder. 

He felt the world freeze around him when she twisted her body to face him. His jaw fell, and her beaming smile turned sour. It was Y/n. 

Everything about her was different. Her face, her hair… her body. He swallowed, hard. He knew if he turned around, Tommy and Carter would be bent over in laughter. He was unsure what to say or do, except gawk at her. 

“Something I can do for you, Harrington?” She was the first to speak, and her voice had changed too. It was calm and soothing, but he could hear the tone of hostility. 

“I er… hi.” He wanted to hit himself in the head for sounding pathetic. 

“Really? You haven’t talked to me in over a year and you start with, ‘Hi?’”  She raised an eyebrow, eyes burning into his skin, waiting for him to answer. Instead, he stood there stupidly. “Oh, am I not standing in the right area? Sorry, I couldn’t find the dog park.” She turned to her friend, telling her they were leaving. She turned her head, “Nice outfit, Harrington. Did your mommy pick it out?” 

He watched her walk away and he could see Tommy and Carter covering their mouths so they wouldn’t burst into laughter. Steve walked back over to them, hitting Tommy’s stomach. “Shut up.” 

If Steve hadn’t gotten the picture he and Y/n were no longer friends, he had gotten it now. 

–

If there was one thing Steve loved most about his home was the swimming pool in the backyard. The house itself was way too big for the family of three, and recently, it’s just been him around. He hated to admit the loneliness creeping around the corners of the rooms, following him around. 

Whenever he was bored, but still wanted to be alone, he walked outside and got in the pool. Today, however, he had invited Tommy and Carol over. They, of course, took the liberty of inviting TIna. Steve didn’t mind, more nervous than anything. Last year she had gotten prettier, no longer wearing pigtails or clothes that didn’t fit. 

He also enjoyed kissing her. 

Steve had kissed a lot of girls since the eighth grade. Now it was the summer before sophomore year, and a week before his sixteenth birthday. Him and Tina had been on a few dates, always ending up making out, tongues, salvia, heavy breathing and touching each other in places they shouldn’t. 

The blonde was sitting between his legs, laying her head on his chest, placing soft kisses on his jaw. Tommy and Carol were on the lawn chair next to theirs. Tommy was rubbing Carol’s shoulders, a cigarette hanging out of his mouth, listening to Carol ramble on about her uptight step-mom. “Did you find someone to get us some beers?” She asked Steve, rolling her eyes when he wasn’t answering, his lips locked on Tina’s. 

She hit him with a towel, forcing him to break away from Tina, lips red and wet, giving Carol an annoyed expression. She repeated her question. “Yeah, they’re in the kitchen.” He tried to go back to kissing Tina, but Carol asked her to come with her, making the girl slip off the chair and follow the brunette back into the cool house. He watched the way her hips swayed side to side in her blue bikini bottom. 

“Jesus dude. When are you gonna man up and fuck her?” Tommy asked once the girls walked inside. 

Steve licked his lips, staring at a water bug as it skidded across the surface of the clear pool water. “We’re not even anything serious, yet.” That was always his excuse. Like the girl before Tina and the girl before her, they were never official enough to sleep with. Tommy and Carol always gave him shit for it, having done it since the beginning of freshman year. 

The growing popularity in high school was overwhelming, girls coming up to him and saying their friend thought he was cute, landing a varsity spot his freshman year, being invited to upperclassman parties. A lot had changed for him.

His hair was thicker, his teeth were no longer big, his legs were longer, his shoulders broader and arms stronger. Last Christmas his grandmother made a sweater that ended up ripping because she didn’t realize how big he was. 

He hated to admit that although the attention was staggering, he enjoyed it. In fact, he no longer blushed when girls would express their interest in him like he did in PE. Instead he would smirk, flirt, and occasionally, if he thought the girl was cute, he would give his number to them. 

Tommy scoffed, “It’s just sex. It doesn’t have to be serious.” 

Steve wanted to tell Tommy that it wasn’t just sex. 

It wasn’t that he didn’t want to do it. Oh god, no not at all. There was an embarrassing amount of wet dreams, or uncomfortable hard-ons in class that proved otherwise. But it was nerve wracking to think about being so young and stripping down to show the most vulnerable parts of yourself to somebody. 

Then there were the expectations. What if it wasn’t good? What if he wasn’t good? 

Steve was about to give Tommy an answer until the large gate to the pool opened. The boys turned their heads. 

Y/n was pushing it open with her back, then closing it with her foot. When she turned around, she stopped in her tracks realizing they were staring at her, holding a rectangular glass platter covered with tin foil. “Um, your mom called my mom and mentioned you were by yourself. She was worried about you being fed. No one answered the door and I… well I don’t know why I came back here.” 

Steve knew exactly why, especially when her eyes flickered to the second flower pot by the back door, the flower pot that always had the spare key underneath. 

Steve sighed, pushing himself up off the pool chair to help the girl into the house. When he opened the door to the sun room, Tina and Carol were coming out holding beers, giving each other a look when they noticed Y/n was behind Steve. 

He motioned for her to go in, closing the door quickly when he heard Carol say, “Since when did Steve get a dog?” 

It was silent between them as she walked in front of him to the kitchen. Although they didn’t speak, or hung out, their families still had dinner every now and then. His mother may redecorate when she’s bored but it was nearly impossible for Y/n to forget how to get around the Harrington household. 

She set the dish on the kitchen island, running the back of her hand over her forehead, wiping off the beaded sweat from the blazing summer sun. “Mom is trying out a new recipe. M’sorry if it’s not any good.” 

“It’s okay. Tell her I said thank you.” Steve shifted uncomfortably, his bare feet stinging the cold linoleum. Y/n’s eyes were anywhere but on him, trying to ignore the fact he was shirtless and wearing only his swim trunks. “How’s Aaron doing?” 

She shrugged. “Has his good and bad days. Yesterday he couldn’t stop throwing up.”

“Cancer sounds like an asshole.” He joked, earning a small smile from her. 

The two of them were still far from being friends, but the second semester of freshman year they were partnered together for biology and now Y/n would actually have a conversation with him without scowling. 

“How are you doing? With everything going on, I mean.” He asked her. 

Something flashed across her face that told him she hadn't been asked that. “Alright, I guess.” 

“You wanna stay? We have beers. Tommy and Carol aren’t that bad anymore. Tina’s cool too.” He could tell by the way she bit her lip and nostrils flared, she wasn’t going to stay. 

“Preheat the oven at 350º and reheat it for ten minutes.” She left the room, making her way to the front door so she could avoid walking in the back again. 

He joined the group outside again, Tommy and Carol wading in the pool, Tina laying on her stomach soaking up the sun. If this was seventh or even eighth grade, they would have interrogated him about Y/n showing up unannounced. But they never brought it up, at least not in the way they used to. 

“How is it possible for someone’s ass to get even sweeter?” Tommy gave a cheeky grin when Carol splashed him. 

Steve sat on the edge of the chair Tina was on, rubbing her back, slick of tanning oil. 

“Why don’t you ask Reed? Tammy told me the other day they did it in the back of his dad’s car. Chief Hopper was the one who caught them.” Tina said.

Steve furrowed his brows.

It was no secret some of the boys at school started to find interest in Y/n, the rumor of her having dog breath had been set aflame when she allegedly sucked face with Connie Phillips at a party the beginning of freshman year. 

“Can’t believe she lost her virginity before you, Harrington.” Carol sniggered. 

He felt the heat on his cheeks rise. 

It was odd to talk about her in such a way. He knew they were older, grown out of their awkward bodies. He knew they weren’t friends anymore. He knew he shouldn’t care what she’s doing or who she’s hanging out with.

So why did he feel his chest tighten?

–

Steve had never lost someone before. Any funeral he had gone to was as a visitor. Sometimes he would get asked how he knew the family, he’d look up at his mom, because he had no idea. 

He didn’t know the pain of having a loved one ripped away suddenly from your life, having to adjust and adapt to a life without them. 

He guessed that’s why it was hard to understand Nancy. He loved her, but in reality, he didn’t understand the things she had gone through.

He realized that when he looked her in the eyes at the Halloween party, and he finally saw her for the first time in their entire relationship. She didn’t love him— she couldn’t. She resented him. 

He sat outside on the sidewalk of Tina’s house, cigarette in his hand, recalling his entire time with the eldest Wheeler. Anytime they were intimate, it was like she disappeared inside of herself, and it wasn’t until now that Steve realized it only reminded her of Barb. How they creeped up the steps of his house to his room, giggling and carefree while Barb was killed. 

How the hell was he supposed to know Barb would be dragged to another world by a monster? 

Shit, he thought to himself, taking another drag of his cigarette. 

Not only was the first long-term relationship he had ever been in was over, but school wasn’t any better. Tommy and him stopped being friends last year. The new kid, Billy Hargrove, was now Hawkin’s High golden boy. He wasn’t anything special anymore. 

He felt like the failure his father always said he’d be. 

“I should have known you’d dress as Risky Business.”

Steve snapped his head towards the mysterious voice. He felt his stomach dip. Y/n was standing behind him, a beer in her hand, and a smirk on her face, wearing a Wonder Woman costume. He watched her walk over, plopping right next to him on the sidewalk. 

“Your girl was fucked up.” It was a statement. He wondered if she knew about the argument in the bathroom. He wondered if it was her way of comforting him, telling him Nancy was drunk and they would be fine tomorrow. 

But Steve knew there was no going back to the way things were before. 

“It’s whatever.” He mumbled, resting his arms on his knees, flicking the butt of his cigarette he wasn’t hungry for anymore. 

Her costume was shiny, gleaming underneath the streetlight softly glowing above them. “Still sucks. I could tell you were really into her. You somewhat stopped being a dickbag.” 

A corner of Steve’s mouth turned upwards. He had wondered how she really felt about him. 

She had to grow up, watching him go from the boy who played pirates, the boy who still slept with a baby blanket until he was eleven, the boy who attended tea parties willingly, the boy who was disgusted by the idea of kissing girls. She had to grow up, watching him become something the opposite of everything he once was. Cruel, self-obsessed, and seemingly heartless. 

Although he was different, nothing could change what he had done to her what seemed forever ago in that damp basement closet. That’s the Steve Harrington she knew. 

But he didn’t know anything about her. Was her favorite color still lilac? Did she leave the window cracked open for the boys she’s been with? 

“Do you think you could take me home? This party is kind of lame.” She asked, taking one last sip of her drink, tossing the can into the yard. 

It made Steve chuckle, past Y/n would have been angry if she caught someone littering. 

The car ride was mostly silent, besides the soft crackling of the radio. One point, Y/n reached over and grabbed the Ray Bans hanging off his shirt, putting them on, resting her head on the window. 

“You going to college?” She asked him. 

Steve felt his body tense, thinking back on the evenings his dad forced him to send applications to every possible school in the United States. If it weren’t for his mom, Steve would have probably been shipped off to military school by now. “Hoping to. You?” 

“Just got my acceptance letter from UCLA.” He was envious of the proud tone of voice she had; nevertheless, he was happy for her. 

He pulled into the familiar driveway, but she didn’t rush out of the car once he put it in park. There were a few trick-or-treaters walking through the lawn from getting enough tooth rotting candy that would make a dentist cry. “I miss trick-or-treating.” She sighed. 

Steve agreed. 

There was a beat.

“Wanna come up?” 

His jaw slacked, chestnut eyes drooped, brows creased. Did he hear her correctly? She didn’t say anything else, getting out of the car, sauntering inside her house. He could see her greet her mom in a hug through the frosted glass on the door. He waited until he saw her bedroom light turn on when he turned off the engine of his BMW, getting out. She still had his sunglasses, that was the only reason he would go in. At least, that’s what he told himself as he crossed the yard to the side of the house. 

He turned the corner, stopping when he was greeted by her brother, Aaron, leaning against the wall, a cigarette between his fingers. 

He looked Steve up and down. “Harrington.” He was skinny, face sunken in. Usually he wore a cap to cover the lack of hair on his head, but tonight he wore a pirate hat, almost making Steve laugh. 

“Should you be smoking?” Steve asked him. 

Aaron looked up above him, smiling knowingly. “Should you be sneaking through my sister’s window? Neighbors might get the wrong idea.” 

Steve wanted to answer, but Y/n voice interrupted him. “Aaron, if you don’t piss off I’ll tell mom you’re smoking again.” 

“I’ll tell mom you’re sneaking boys in again.” He challenged. 

“You’re the one dying, she doesn’t care what I do.” 

Aaron gave her an unimpressed look, smashing the cigarette into the wall, flicking it to the ground, mumbling insults. He set a hand on Steve’s shoulder. “Careful, I hear she bites.” 

Steve swallowed. He had always been embarrassed when he thought that Y/n probably told her family what he did to her. He always assumed when her mom stopped inviting him to go to Indiana Adventures– an amusement park outside of Indianapolis– or when her father gave him a narrowed eye look if he walked into the room. But now, Aaron confirmed it. 

Steve looked up at the window, wide open. Just for him. He climbed up the lattice panel, remembering where to avoid because the wood was weak. Although now, he had to be careful because vines had grown back, that would be morifying if his foot got stuck. 

Fortunately, he successfully slipped inside the room with a smooth landing. 

Y/n’s room was different from the last time he had been in there. The walls were still white, small holes from nails and chipped paint. There were now posters from her favorite bands and the Karate Kid. There were a few trophies and medals from academic meets and debate club. Pictures decorated her bookshelf. He smiled at the one of her frowning the summer her mom forced her to join gymnastics. 

Y/n, now changed into an oversized shirt and shorts, was rummaging through her dresser. Finally, she pulled out a jewelry box, opening it up and taking out a blunt. Without a word, she walked over to the window seal, plopping down criss crossed. Steve just stared at her stupidly, watching her light the blunt and inhaling it, tilting her head when she noticed his uneasiness. “Have you never smoked before?” 

“I have.” He joined her, crossing his legs as well, giving a small thank you when she handed the blunt to him. 

The two sat there, listening to crickets chirping, the doorbell ringing, kids yelling excitedly down the street. It smelled like banana bread and pine. 

“I’m sorry.” Steve blurted out. He felt like he was a balloon airing up for years, the needle finally closed in on him, forcing him to burst. 

She made a face, knowing what he meant. “I get it. I probably would have done the same to you. Remember me at the beginning of sixth grade?” 

“No you wouldn’t have.” Steve said sternly. “You would have never done that to me. Not to anyone. You realized quicker than I did that some people are full of bullshit.” 

By now the blunt had been passed between them so long that it was only a nub. She put it out in a glass bowl, setting it to the side. “Then why did you tell them that? What was so bad with them knowing you kissed me?” Her tone was soft and sad. He imagined her staying up late at night, wondering what was wrong with her all because her friend had rather made up an outrageous lie than admit he had kissed her. 

Steve ran his hands over his face. “No one was supposed to even kiss you. They were going to make the dog lick you, and I just couldn’t do it. But then when you looked disappointed that it was me and not Tommy… anyway, it’s stupid.”

Y/n didn’t look at him, instead her eyes were focused outside the window. “I didn’t want to kiss Tommy. I mean, not really.” 

“Not really?”  

“I wanted to kiss you.” 

There was a beat. 

“Oh.” He felt like he was back in that closet, heart thumping and mind racing. So long he had questioned what was wrong with him that made her not want to kiss him. His eyes fell on hers and his mouth parted. He couldn’t help that they wandered over to her lips. 

She noticed.

“You wanna kiss me right now?” This time she was looking at him, eyebrows raised, part of her mouth upturned. 

Steve licked his lips, swallowing when she leaned forward, placing a hand on his thigh. Her face was close enough he could lean down and close the gap between them. It was an easy task. However, he sighed and looked down at the floor. She took the message, leaning back and taking her hand off of him. “If this was a year ago. I would with no hesitation. But I can’t. Not like this. I love Nancy and I…  just can’t.” It was hard for him to explain that even though she was pretty, things were different than before. He was different. 

He realized tonight, he never needed a wooden sword to apologize to her. It seemed like she had forgiven him a long time ago. 

But maybe he needed to apologize to his younger self too. Putting so much pressure on the young boy with too big teeth to grow up faster than he really wanted. It was uncomfortable, outgrowing his old self, becoming the version of himself that he always envisioned. 

Maybe that’s another reason he didn’t kiss her. 

He’s rushed so many things before he could properly think about the consequences or after math. 

He needed to learn how to be a friend to her again. 

–

Since junior year, Steve had always dreamed about being crowned prom king. That would be the moment he knew he made a mark in high school. 

Yet, when they announced his name and set the plastic crown they probably got at the party store on his head, slightly messing up his styled hair, he didn’t feel satisfied. He looked out onto the dimly lit gymnasium streamed with cheap decorations, sweaty bodies, and the spiked punch with cheap tequila. 

His date, Betty Simpson, had ditched him the first ten minutes they had arrived, somewhere in the crowd with her friends, only finding him whenever a slow song came on. 

There was only thirty minutes left of the dance, people already treading out to get ready for the after party at Tammy’s house. He stood to the side, watching everyone jump or sway to the music. Some people came up and patted him on the back to congratulate him, something he did to the prom king before him. 

“There you are.” A pair of hands wrapped around his arms. “I think I’m going to catch a ride with Billy to Tammy’s. Is that okay?” Betty asked. He could smell the hint of alcohol from her breath. His eyes flickered over to the exit of the gym, a couple of girls were standing by the long haired boy, whispering to one another as they watched him. Billy had a smug look on his face, waving tauntingly. 

“Yeah, whatever.” Steve shrugged the girl off his arm, thinking about how he wasted his entire night bringing her. He bet Billy wouldn’t have taken her to Enzo’s or would have even bought dessert like Steve did. 

Betty didn’t notice the irritated expression on his face, happily telling him goodbye, picking up her dress and running towards her friends. 

Steve walked over and sat down on a chair, dropping his head and taking the crown off. Cyndi Lauper’s Time After Time came on, he glanced at the couples dragging their dates to dance, sighing. “The prom king shouldn’t be moping around.” The familiar voice of Y/n made him look over, straightening in his seat. He had seen her earlier, it wasn’t that hard to point her out in the yellow dress she wore, outshining everyone in the room. Sometimes he’d tune out Betty talking his ear off, and just stare at her. Admiring how pretty she was. 

He wouldn’t say things had gone back to the way they were between them, but they’ve made progress the past seven months, hanging out, having movie nights again, talking at dinners with their families. 

“You know, you made a pinky promise to dance with me at prom.” She didn’t wait for an answer, grabbing his hand, pulling him up, dragging him towards the group of people. Y/n took the crown and placed it back on his head, smiling, settling his hands on her waist before placing hers on his shoulders. “Why do you look so sad?” 

Steve motioned his head over to a couple. Y/n looked, “Ah.” It was Nancy and Jonathan, looking ever so in love. Although he had given up pining over her and letting her go from his thoughts, he still sometimes felt that pang of hurt whenever he saw moments like that. “Well, she can’t say she danced with the prom king, can she?” 

Steve managed to smile. “Is that why you wanted to dance with me?” 

She laughed, rolling her eyes. “Yes, you caught me. Wanted to tell my kids someday that I danced with the prom king in high school.” The sarcasm was thick, but it still made him chuckle. Her face softened. “Also, like I said. You promised me.” 

“Do you remember every pinky promise we made?” He noticed that his hands had relaxed, mindlessly thumbing the fabric of her dress. He may have even slightly pulled her in closer. 

“Only the important ones.” She shrugged, clasping her hands around his neck. “A lot of the broken ones.” She mumbled, looking at their feet. 

“Can I make a new promise to you?” Steve asked her, bringing her chin up so she would look at him again. “My promise to you is if I ever lose you again, I will do anything to make sure to find you.” To her, the promise was at surface level than what he meant. Steve had gone through a lot the past couple of years, and although she knew about it, saw it first hand herself, she had no clue how terrified he was that he’d never get a chance to say how much he missed her all these years apart. How much he missed the silly pinky promises. How much he missed hearing her laugh. How much he missed crawling through her window and opening a cold Dr. Pepper that she set on her desk for him. 

He held up his pinky in front of her, smirking. 

She shook her head, her smile betraying her. She wrapped her pinky around his, neither of them forgetting to kiss their thumbs to secure the promise. Normally, they would drop their hands and go on about their business. However, their eyes stayed locked on one another, pinkies still clasped together, lips parted, a tingling sensation moved from his pinky through his hand up his arm to his chest, his heart beating fast. “Wanna get out of here?”

The clatter of bowling pins and cigarette smoke greeted Steve and Y/n when they walked into the bowling alley, still dressed in their prom attire. They replaced their dress shoes and high heels for uncomfortable smelly used bowling shoes. A large cherry slush was shared between them, slurping, sticking their tongues out occasionally like they did as kids, comparing whose tongue was redder. 

“How is it possible to get worse at bowling since middle school?” Y/n laughed, climbing triumphantly into his car after undeniably beating him. “Don’t say ‘cause the suit. I wore this dress and still kicked your ass.” 

Steve threw his white suit jacket in the back seat of his BMW, visibly pouting at the loss. “Whatever, next time I’ll prove to you that it is the suit.” He pointed his finger at her before pulling out of the parking lot.

“Oh, next time?” She tilted her head, giving him a ‘yeah right’ look. 

He nodded ferociously. “Yep. How about next Friday?” His brown eyes flickered towards her. 

She rested her elbow on the center console, setting her head in her hand. “Did you just ask me on a date, Harrington?” She moved the crown on his head from leaning over. 

“No.” He said, maybe a little too quickly. His brows creased, recollecting what he had just said, trying to figure out what words specifically made it sound like he was asking her on a date.  “Henderson will be there and probably the other dorks.” 

She leaned back in her seat, crossing her arms. “Really shouldn’t call them dorks.”

“I find it offensive you would think me, Steve Harrington, would take a girl bowling on the first date.” He looked at her with a lopsided grin. 

“I don’t think you take girls bowling on the first date,” She replied. “I think you take them to your bedroom.”  

Steve rolled his eyes. “Okay, Big Bird. That hurt a little.”

He saw the way she looked down, fidgeting her fingers, a bashful look on her face. “Shut up.” 

“What? I think you make a cute Big Bird.” He poked her cheek. 

She opened her mouth to say something. However, loud sirens and lights rolled into earshot and eyesight, quickly passing Steve’s car. Y/n grabbed his hand, panicked breathing coming out of her as the emergency cars were still moving in the direction she prayed they wouldn’t. It felt like slow motion, stopping in the street in front of her house because the driveway was crowded with vehicles, blinding lights flashed as they ran inside. 

Steve watched as Y/n’s mother engulfed her daughter in a hug, rubbing her back, telling her how much she loved her.

They waited twenty minutes in the living room for the paramedics to come downstairs, assuring the family everything was okay. 

Y/n had been sitting on the couch with Steve, holding his hand the entire time. It was because she was scared, he told himself. 

She asked him to come up with her to see Aaron. Knowing she didn’t want to be alone, he agreed. 

Aaron’s room had changed too since they were kids. It still looked like a teenager’s bedroom, decorated in posters and pictures, but in the corner there was a hospital bed with beeping monitors. He remembered the day Y/n was upset that he had to be put on bed rest, because he no longer wanted to do treatments. Although she claimed she came to terms with her brother’s numbered days, Steve could tell by the way she picked her fingernails, or jumped whenever she was called to the office, she really hadn’t. 

Aaron weakly smiled when they entered. “Look, I’m E.T. now.” He held his finger up that was covered with a heartbeat monitor, moving it creepily towards his sister. “E.T. phone home.” His horrible impression made the three of them laugh. Y/n sat at edge, grabbing his hand. “Harrington, you’re prom king.” 

Steve touched the cheap crown on his head that he had forgotten about. No wonder they were giving him odd looks downstairs. “Yeah.” 

“Y/n was pissed you didn’t ask her to prom. Ow!” Aaron took his hand away, rubbing it after she had squeezed him ‘accidentally’ too hard. 

Steve crossed his arms and leaned against the wall, giving her a smug look. “Was she?” 

“Oh yeah. Now that I’m quite literally on my deathbed. I have so many secrets about Y/n I can share. Once I found her diary. Every page was always Steve this and Steve that. ‘Dear diary, I cannot stop thinking about that kiss-” Y/n’s hand found its way over his mouth. 

“If you don’t shut up now, I’m going to start unplugging shit.” She took her hand off of him, placing it back in her lap, avoiding the look that Steve was giving her. 

There was a moment of silence. 

“Always wanted to be prom king. The ladies were obsessed with me in middle school.” 

Aaron grinned, fidgeting with a loose thread on the bed sheet. “Because they thought you were dying.”

“I am.” 

Steve had always wondered what it would have been like to have a sibling. He once asked his mom why they never had any other kids. His father had interjected the conversation. “If we weren’t so worried about how you turn out, maybe we'd have time to have another kid.” He guessed that’s why he had taken such a liking to Henderson. A kid he once never thought twice about and now if someone even looked at him funny, he’d kick their ass. 

Steve looked down, a smile flickered at the corner of his mouth, bending down to pick up the familiar wooden object. Memories of laughing, falling in the mud, swinging too high on the tire swing, flooded his mind. He looked over at two of them, still bantering. “Hey, how about some fresh air?” 

The spring air was cool, a light fog casted down the street of Dearborn, the lawn was damp and muggy from the rain yesterday, Y/n’s mom’s lilies had just bloomed. Steve held the wooden sword firmly in his hands. Aaron sat in a wheelchair, covered in a blanket and a knitted toboggan on his head. He was opposite of Steve, holding Y/n’s sword, while she held the handles of the wheelchair to push him since he was too weak to do it himself. 

It took their mom a lot of convincing to allow Aaron to come outside, but even she couldn’t stop smiling ear to ear when Steve carried the boy down the stairs and outside. He even caught a nod of approval from her dad.  

“Aye, we meet again to fight one last time for the jeweled crown. If yer want it, you have to kill me first.” Steve spun the crown on his pointer finger. 

“Pirate Steve-”

“It’s now Pirate ‘the Hair’ Harrington, matey.” 

Y/n snorted, but didn’t say anything. 

“Pirate ‘the Hair’ Harrington. That crown will be mine!” He motioned for Y/n to start pushing, holding the sword out, charging towards the dark locked boy. 

It was like a messy dance as Steve ran in circles while Y/n and Aaron chased him. Occasionally the wooden swords would clatter against one another, Steve careful not to hit too hard. His shoes and the bottom of his trousers had mud and dirt splattered on the slick black. He would get an earful when he got home, but he didn’t care. 

Finally, Steve put himself in the position for Aaron to hit his waist, signaling he had been defeated. Y/n had been giggling the entire time, and it only got louder as Steve dramatically coughed. He took the crown off his head, placing it on Aaron’s over the toboggan. “You won it fair and square.” 

Aaron’s expression changed, quickly shaking his head. “Steve, I’m not taking your crown.” 

Steve smiled tenderly, “You didn’t take it. I’m giving it to you.” His eyes flickered to Y/n. Her head was tilted slightly and a toothy grin was painted on her face. 

He couldn’t help it, his feet started going towards her. When she saw the mischievous look in his eyes, she held a hand up, grabbing the bottom of her yellow dress, running away from him. She squealed when he easily caught up with her, grabbing her waist, her feet twisting underneath forcing her to the ground, pulling him down with her. He could feel her belly rumble against his own, laughing, smile beaming in the soft glow of moonlight. She had a spec of mud on her face, Steve brushed it off with his knuckles, chuckling because he had made it worse. 

“Did you mean it when you said I was cute?” She asked him in a low whisper so that Aaron couldn’t hear. 

He felt his own voice go down. “Of course I did.” 

She hummed, brushing her fingers through his hair. “Promise?” 

A breath of air hitched in his throat. His jaw slacked and eyes widened. She gave him an innocent smile, eyelashes fluttering when she blinked. 

Their noses bumped when he leaned down, connecting their lips. His stomach felt like it was doing flips as he drowned himself in her. He could taste the cherry slush that still lingered on her lips. He could feel the longing desire as her fingers touched the nape of his neck, pulling him deeper. 

This was his promise. 

“Guys? It’s awfully quiet back there. Did you kill one another?” Aaron asked, trying to look behind him. 

The two broke apart, sharing a giggle and a secret that only the two of them would know. 

–

Steve had never had a girl cry in front of him. He could always tell if they were about to or if they were sad, but never did they cry. He had always thought maybe they were too embarrassed, not wanting him to see their red puffy eyes or snot running nose. He had shrugged it off until he dated Nancy. 

He realized that none of them were flustered. They never trusted him enough to see that side of them. None of them felt safe enough. 

So when he laid in Y/n’s bed, holding her shaking body, her tears staining his polo, he was unsure what to do. 

It had been a week since her brother’s funeral.  Since then, he had seen a few tears fall when she thought no one was looking, but would always wipe them off and smile if he said something. 

It wasn’t until he had snuck in her window— her parents now disapproved of this since they assumed more might be happening between them, rightfully so. 

They were laying in her bed, his hand on her stomach, she was playing with his fingers. Until all of a sudden, she burst into tears. 

At first, he thought he might have said or done something wrong. All he knew what to do was pull her even closer, allowing her face into his chest, assuring her it was okay whenever she cried out an apology. There was no reason to apologize, he told her. She was allowed to be sad. She was allowed to cry. He would be there for her, always, even if he didn’t completely understand how she felt, even if she didn’t want him to be. 

The room fell silent besides her quiet sniffling. 

She turned over, making Steve believe she was ready to be alone. He slipped out of the bed, walking over to the window to put on his shoes. Y/n turned her body, watching him with creased brows. “Where are you going?” 

Steve looked up. “Thought maybe you wanted to be alone.” 

She shook her head, biting her lip. “Please stay.” 

Steve took his shoes back off, closed the window, and crawled back on the bed next to her, flushing his chest to her back and holding her tightly, never wanting to let go. 

—

Y/n had always hated peaches. Even the smell of them made her gag. Whenever the school served them and a tiny drop of peach juice touched her food, she wouldn’t eat it. Finally, her mom started packing her daughter’s lunches to prevent any further peach contamination.

So when the boy came up to the counter at Scoops Ahoy, smirking, asking about the pretty girl in the booth reading a book and what Steve thought her favorite ice cream flavor was. Steve couldn’t help but smile wide once he handed the guy a double scoop of Peaches and Cream flavored ice cream.

When the ice cream was offered to her, she smiled and gave a thank you. 

After he left, Y/n narrowed her eyes on Steve. She stood up and walked up to the counter. “Why did you do that?” 

Steve acted clueless. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.” 

She scoffed, holding the ice cream cone that was already melting and running down her fingers. “There’s other ways to make it known you’re jealous than making me come in contact with my mortal enemy.” 

His face pinched up. “I’m not jealous.” 

“Oh, so you won’t care if I call him?” She showed a piece of paper that Steve didn’t see earlier when he was watching them. 

Steve’s jaw ticked. “Let’s not go that far. I mean, did you see that unibrow?” He pointed to the space between his brows, grimacing. He then leaned on the counter with his elbows.

“Well, at least he’s man enough to ask me out on a date.” Her voice had raised, earning looks from some of the customers sitting down. 

Robin, his co-worker who had made a silent oath to make any second working with him miserable, pretended to come outside and check the toppings. 

This was ridiculous, he thought. He didn’t realize it was a big deal to play a harmless prank. Besides, Y/n was way out of his league. No, he was not jealous because there was nothing to be jealous of. If she was implying that he hadn’t asked her out because he was a wimp, she was wrong. Completely wrong. 

What was the point of starting something with her if in a couple of months she’d be across the country in California? He’s seen the posters of those surfers in her bedroom. That’s all he could imagine, her pathetically splashing around in a yellow bikini and a tanned, long hair blond saving her, complimenting how beautiful she looked and that yellow was definitely her color. He would stare at all her supple curves and her boobs and her sweet ass— Jesus what was he even thinking? 

She was his friend. 

A friend he’s kissed. 

A friend that he had only gotten back recently, and he was too selfish to let her go. 

Y/n wasn’t pleased with his lack of words. She pursed her lips, took the ice cream cone, smeared it on his dark mop of hair, and then pivoted on her heels to storm out of the ice cream shop. 

Steve poked his tongue against the inside of his cheek, nodding to himself. He probably deserved it. 

He turned to look at Robin, seeing her smile for the first time since he started working there. “Dude, you kind of suck.” 

He muttered something about her getting off at his misery as he scooped the broken cone and melted ice cream off his head, trying not to think about how it screwed up his hair routine for the week. 

“So, why isn’t she your girlfriend? She comes and sits in here nearly every day.” Robin never took interest in his personal affairs, so why now? 

“Not that it’s any of your business, Buckley, but it’s complicated.” He used a rag to clean the counter off. 

She hummed, going back into the breakroom, leaving Steve alone with his thoughts and a group of familiar looking teenagers. 

Steve couldn’t sleep that night, tossing and turning, uncomfortable because his hair was still damp from the shower he took. “Screw it.” 

When he got to Y/n’s house, he didn’t even care that her bedroom lights were off and the window was closed. He still climbed the lattice panel, knocking loudly on the glass. He was relieved when he saw a dim glow appear through the curtains which snapped open. Y/n’s face had no expression whatsoever, her eyes were half-closed and pajamas were rustled against her body. Nevertheless, she unlocked the window and opened it. “It’s two in the morning.” 

She still let him crawl through, shutting it when he stepped further into the room. “I couldn’t sleep.” 

“So you came over to wake me up instead? Did the ice cream freeze your brain cells?” She poked his forehead, giggling a little at her joke. 

“No. I came over to talk to you.” His serious tone made her wake up completely. He took a deep breath, already overwhelmed. “You’re my best friend, Y/n.” 

“Sure it isn’t Dustin?” She joked, sitting down at the edge of her bed. 

Steve rubbed his hand over his face. Why was she being so difficult? “Can you just let me talk?” 

Her jaw slacked, surprised at the mini outburst. “Losing you as my best friend was one of the worst things that happened to me. I became a douchebag and didn’t care about anything or anyone. Now, I’m scared that you’re going to leave for California and you’ll realize I’m just a nobody still stuck in this shit hole because I realized too late high school doesn’t matter.” 

Y/n eyes softened. “This is all about me going to UCLA?” She asked, disbelief laced in her words. He only shrugged, avoiding her sympathetic look. “Steve.” 

He still wouldn’t look at her. She sighed and stood up to walk over to him. “Steve.” She said again, softly, placing her hand tenderly on his face. His hooded eyes found hers, warm and sweet. “I made the decision to go to Indiana State.” 

“What? Why?” 

“To be closer to my parents. I don’t want to be across the country worrying about them all the time.” She paused looking down bashfully then back up at him, thumbing the collar of his sleep shirt, batting her eyes. “I also wanted to be closer to the boy I like.” 

Steve felt his heart beat fast. “Indiana State is about an hour and a half drive from here.” 

She began to pepper kisses against his jaw. “I could come down on weekends or somebody could come see me.” 

Steve felt selfish that he was more than happy with her decision to stay in Indiana. He should be jumping up and down, celebrating, but something was gnawing on his mind, like a tiny ant he couldn’t get rid of. 

—

Never did Steve think he’d be in a bathroom, coming down from the biggest drugged high of his life, with his co-worker Robin. Granted, they had just escaped Russians who had beaten his face so badly his eye was nearly swollen shut, but never did he think he’d be sharing the most vulnerable parts to someone that he barely knew. 

Yet, there he sat, back against the cold tiles of the freshly cleaned restroom, the scent of cleaning chemicals burning his nostrils. 

“Are you in love with Y/n?” Robin’s raspy voice was soft, but the question felt like it had echoed against the stalls, ringing in his ears. 

His chest tightened and he swallowed hard. “I dunno. I’ve never thought about it.” 

“Why are boys such idiots?” Robin said, mostly to herself. “She’s your girlfriend, dude.”

“Yeah, and we’ve only been dating less than a month.” 

She let out a long exasperated sigh. “You’ve known her longer than a month.”

Steve looked at the multicolor tiles below him as his hand cradled the toilet which was defaced in his vomit and blood. Steve might have lied. He had thought about Y/n beyond just liking her. 

He slid under the bathroom stall. “I’m scared.” He admitted. “I’m scared that I’ll tell her and she’ll look at me the same way Nancy did. With that blank look because she never felt that way and never will.” 

“Y/n isn’t Nancy.” Steve had to agree with her. Maybe that’s why he dived so fast into the relationship with Nancy. She was the opposite of Y/n. She didn’t remind him every single day that he was lost without his best friend. 

“You just wouldn’t understand.” Steve ran his fingers through his hair, damp with sweat. 

She let out a breathy laugh. “You really don’t know a thing about me, Steve.” 

He glanced at her, noticing the way she was chewing on her lip and how she was slightly pulling her hair, staring at the toilet paper holder next to him. He was still astonished that this day had brought them closer. A girl he would have never hung out with in high school. Maybe because he was afraid Tommy would have made fun of him or maybe it would’ve hurt his chances to be prom king. 

He knew it was all bullshit. 

He was different now, and Robin must have seen it too, because she told him a secret that she had never told anyone, letting him know she did understand. He couldn’t tell her how his high school self would react to the news of her being a lesbian, but it didn’t matter because that person didn’t exist anymore. 

So, four weeks later, when Steve still had a fading bruise under his eye, and a healing cut under his lip that would surely leave a scar, he still couldn’t get that ant from gnawing his brain. 

Not even when his lips were meshed with Y/n’s. His back against her headboard as she straddled his lap, fingers tangled in his hair.

 It was a heated kiss, heavy breathing, tongues sliding against each other. Y/n took his lip between her teeth, forcing a guttural moan out of him, his hands slid down her back to her ass, gently squeezing, smiling when he felt the sliver of flesh peeking through her shorts. 

Y/n’s hands wandered from his hair to his neck and then down his chest, her fingers hooked his belt loops, pulling his waist up against her.

She tasted sweet like the vanilla cookies his mom used to make for him. She still smelled like honeysuckle along with a hint of his cologne. It was like he was walking in an apple orchard. He didn’t believe in a God, but Jesus, she felt like an angel. 

He scattered kisses along her neck, finding her sensitive spot that made her let out an angelic sound which drove him crazy. 

He felt her slowly mess with his belt, unbuckling it. However, when her thumb unbuttoned his jeans, Steve quickly pulled her hands away, leaning back, chest heaving. 

“Steve.” She whined. 

He cursed the ant ruining his life. All he wanted to do was explore every inch of her. This wasn’t the first time they’ve been close, and this wasn’t the first time Steve, regrettably, stopped anything from going further. She sighed, wiping the wetness on her lips, crawling off him and the bed. He closed his eyes tightly, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Y/n…”

“Don’t. It’s fine.” She started to mess with her stereo. 

“I’m sorry.” He continued, putting his belt back on and then throwing his feet over the edge of the bed. 

“Am I not attractive?” She asked him, spinning around, her nose flared. “Do you not find me desirable?” 

Steve shook his head. “Christ, Y/n. You have no idea how bad I want you.” He wasn’t going to say out loud he’s wanted her for a pathetically long time. 

“Then what’s wrong? I’m… dumbfounded that Steve Harrington is saying no to sex.” One hand was up in the air. Maybe she thought it would help her figure out what his deal was. 

There was a moment of silence except for the radio crackling. 

Steve had had enough of the ant. 

“You should go to California.”

Y/n’s expression changed, trying to process what he had just said. “Why would you say that?” 

“Because I’d be a fool if I didn’t.” He got up from the bed and walked over to her. 

She shook her head, pushing past him. “I already made up my mind. I’m staying.” 

“Why?” 

“I’ve told you! I want to be closer to home. I want to be closer to you.” She proclaimed. 

“Because you want to or you think you have to?” He didn’t want to raise his voice, but it was hard not to. She muttered something about him being unbelievable, plopping down on the window seal.

The sunset was bleeding through her curtains, illuminating all of her features. “I know you’ll be content with going to Indiana State but you won’t be happy. You don’t talk about it like you did UCLA.” 

She ducked her head but he could see the tears spilling from her eyes. He took long strides over to her, squatting down, looking up at her, cradling her face. “I can’t just leave my parents, not after Aaron.” 

“They’ll be okay, Y/n. I’ll come over every week and have dinner with them to make sure they’re okay.” His offer was serious. He’d move in if he had to. 

“But what about you, Steve? I don’t want to leave you.” She sobbed. “I love you.” 

Steve felt a lump in his throat. His stomach flipped and heart nearly jumped out of his chest. Tears ran down his cheek. He used to think he would have to beg someone to say those words to him. Beg them to love him. But there Y/n sat, his best friend, who loved him unconditionally. This made letting go of her even harder. “I love you, Y/n. I’ve loved you an excruciatingly long time. I’ve been in love with you since you wore that yellow Big Bird dress with the puffy sleeves. I’ve been in love with you since I kissed you in the closet. And I love you too damn much to not let you go to California.” 

She laughed and sniffled her nose. “You’re so cheesy.” 

He choked on his own laughter, pushing down another lump forming in his throat. She gave him a sad look, nodding slightly. “Okay, I’ll go.” She ran her fingers through his hair, already missing him. “What will you do while I’m gone?” 

He smiled, running his thumb over her lips. “I’ll be here, waiting for you.” 

“Promise?” She whispered, putting her pinky up. 

“Promise.” He took it and kissed his thumb exactly like they’ve done before since they were ten-years old. 

He then tenderly placed his lips on hers, standing up,  bringing her up with him by grabbing the back of her thighs, allowing her to wrap her legs around him. Steve carried Y/n back to her bed, laying her softly down. 

He made so many promises to her with each kiss and touch. He promised he would call her and write to her. He promised to never forget her favorite song or color. He promised he would never forget the way the color yellow complimented her skin. He promised he would never forget how much she hates peaches. He promised he would never forget the way she made sweet noises or how she moaned his name when she hit her high. 

Most importantly, he promised he would never stop checking if her window was cracked open.

#steve harrington #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x you #steve harrington x y/n #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington fic #steve harrington angst #steve harrington fluff #steve harrington imagine #stranger things fanfiction #stranger things #stranger things imagine #stranger things fanfic #stranger things fic #steve harrington smut #blaize writes #steve fic

[deusvervewrites]

I can’t see Inko as a lawyer, both my parents are lawyers and they are very logical, stay calm in difficult situations and are ‘facts over feelings’ so to speak. From what we’ve seen in canon Inko is quite emotional and lawyers need to be able to stay vigilant, not letting there emotions get in the way while working with a client or in court. This is my personal opinion and what I’ve noticed having lawyer parents but I know Lawyer!Inko is just a headcanon and if Lawyer!Inko makes people happy then go for it.

Keep in mind the saying The Cobblers Children Have No Shoes. Inko might act very different on and off the clock

#asks

[timothywinters]

'They say that children are our own future, but how can one say that of these children? They aren't going to become musicians, cobblers or tailors. Last night I saw very clearly how this whole noisy world of anxious, bearded fathers and querulous grandmothers who bake honey-cakes and goose-necks- this whole world of marriage customs, proverbial sayings and Sabbaths will disappear for ever under the earth. After the war life will begin to stir once again, but we won't be here, we will have vanished- just as the Aztecs once vanished. The peasant who brought us the news about the mass graves said that his wife had been crying at night. She'd been lamenting: 'They sew, and they make shoes, and they curry leather, and they mend watches, and they sell medicines in the chemist's. What will we do when they've all been killed?'

Vasily Grossman, Life and Fate (Robert Chandler translation)

#shoah #world war 2 #this is not really in the spirit of adar #jumblr

[moral-terpitude]

Hi, Ava! I just finished to read your last chapter (😭🥺) and I decided to jump in here to ask you about Quinn and if you have some headcanons, or ideas or something like that, about her but in 1920s. Like, what about her life a century ago? Her profession, her relationship with Tommy, etc... I'm intrigued. But not pressure, of course!! ❤️

Flor this is usually what I daydream and write little bits of when I need a break from the rest of the story!

(I’m slow moving through my notes this morning while at work but I was thrilled to see your question!)

So, there was a man that was a cobbler/shoe repairer around Waterloo Station in the beginning of the war that started doing tattoos out of his shoe repair shop. He had been in the navy and learned about it in Japan I believe, without looking it all back up again.

So, I don’t know how she ends up in London, but she does. Waterloo Station was one of the areas that soldiers passed through coming home on leave.

I’ll just post the first part of the whole snippet I’ve written instead of summarizing it 😂😂😂

But, here’s a moodboard also, and in similar fashion to Misadventures, the title of it is Selfish Machines, which is also a very good album! (The line of the song in the moodboard is from Caraphernelia, which I probably listen to on a daily basis and had the joy of hearing live with Jeremy McKinnon of A Day to Remember a few years back at a festival)

Waterloo Station, London, 1917

The bell above the door chimed, a man entering the shop as a woman deposited a few coins into the till, blonde curls of hair pressed tight against her scalp and hanging to frame her face, the pieces glimmering as light was reflected from a gold brooch, a singular peacock feather tucked amongst it all.

Tommy Shelby fidgeted with the paper between his fingers, folded in quarters, as the man exited the shop with his freshly repaired shoes.

He was, for a brief moment, under the impression that the signs on the outside of the building had led him astray.

“Can I help you, sir?”

The lilt of her voice was one he was only familiar with from the fairs and races as a child. Tommy remembered vividly attending with his parents, where American men spoke of the Natives they had brought with them as the men stood in proud position, feathered headdresses spread out like strutting peacocks as they children looked up at the men in awe.

“I apologize,” his accent was different from most of the men that Quinn heard talk on a daily basis, one that Mr. Burchett had pointed out to her was from somewhere in the West Midlands, around what they called the Black Country, “the sign outside said something about tattoos. I must have been—“

“No, you’re not mistaken,” she cut him off, gesturing for him to approach the counter where various sheafs of paper littered the workstation, pencil drawings on every one, and a singular one sitting alone was damp with ink, splotches on her fingers as she held out a hand for the paper.

She opened it, studying the simple lines he had drawn on the paper, before her green eyes met his blue ones through her lashes.

“Are you coming or going?”

“Coming or going?” His brow furrowed as he repeated the words back to her.

“Are you home on leave or headed back out—“

“On leave.”

She nodded, pushing up the sleeves of her sweater, the maroon tulle sleeves underneath revealing her forearms to be fully adorned. As Tommy looked closer, he realized all the black beneath the transparent parts of the fabric wasn’t more fabric, but ink in her skin.

Quinn sighed, handing the paper back to him before speaking, “I apologize, Mr. Burchett isn’t in today, he’s dealing with a personal matter, but if you’d like to come back in before you depart, I’m sure he could help you.”

His piercing eyes bore into her for a moment before speaking, “Are you not able to do it?”

“I’m afraid not, sir. This far I’ve only done tattoos on myself,” she held out her left arm, turning it so he could see the artwork that wrapped around it, “I’m not sure—“

“It’s just lines, eh? I'm sure you’ll do fine.”

She smiled, a blush creeping into her cheeks, not much different a shade than her rouged lips before she nodded, “Very well.”

#quinn meyer #misadventures

[offsidekineticist]

Since it's taking me a little longer than usual to finish the next chapter (I say as if the last 2 weeks have been at all usual as far as my writing pace goes), here's a deleted scene of Giliys trying to talk his way past a Reclamation checkpoint. It goes so well I had to completely scrap it and come up with a totally different plan for how he gets into Rivad.

Cw: references to slavery, torture, systemic corruption, etc.

You’ll never get anywhere near the citadel unless you can pass yourself off as someone who is supposed to be here. Trying to pass yourself off as a soldier would require a uniform–a set of the “glorious” tabards they can somehow afford to equip each of their soldiers with. But you’re a halfling. Nobody would believe that you’re a soldier anyway, even “enlightened” as Westcrown’s liberators may be. A recently freed slave, though, serving the Brave and Good soldiers that had emancipated the city? They would believe that easily–it was a common enough story in the weeks since the Reclamation took Westcrown. And the costume for that role is far simpler–a threadbare shirt, patched pants, no shoes.

There’s only one problem: paladins can sense evil. And cheerful emancipated halflings eager to serve the Reclamation aren’t evil. There are ways of masking your nature, but you don’t have access to any of them.

(Qweck had been real annoying about it, too. “The children of Irori learn to face their imperfections,” she said, having managed to reinforce the stick up her ass enough that she was back on her ‘wise student of perfection’ bullshit. “Masking imperfections creates an obstacle to removing them. We have no use for such spells”)

So you’re just going to have to hope that you either miraculously avoid any paladins, or you’re able to bluff your way through. The thing with bluffing? You’re awful at it. Thay used to say you’re genuinely the worst liar he’s ever met, and coming from a guy who plays with five year olds all day, that’s saying something. You’ve never let that stop you–if a person is desperate enough, they’ll believe anyone who says they have an answer, and if a person is racist enough, they’ll just assume you’re too stupid to lie. You’re just not sure that you’ll find a paladin racist or desperate enough to fall for your bullshit.

“Halt! State your business!” calls out the leader of a patrol. A leader you can tell, from the holy symbol on his shield, is a paladin of Iomedae.

“I’m Gil! I’m a tinker, peddler, cobbler, and whatever else you need, bringing my goods from the city, sir,” you say with a forced cheerful grin. “Can’t be fighting the forces of hell on an empty stomach, or with ‘holey’ shoes–ha! Get it? ‘hole-y?’”

“Papers?” the paladin asks, apparently unamused by the pun (which honestly wins him some respect in your eyes–it’s such a stupid pun). You don’t hide your worry at this.

“Papers? Nobody said anything about papers, sir! I was just sitting in the city with my cart of goods and sweet little Vrakky here, and I was thinking to myself ‘you know who probably needs their pots mended and their shoes cobbled and a sweet pastry? The poor knights that’ve been stationed within spitting distance of the city but have been too busy out here, making those Thrune bastards shake in their boots!’ So I came out here!”

It’s not working. You see the paladin study you, and his hand slips to rest near the hilt of his blade. Shit.

"The goddess grants her faithful the ability to sense the wicked. I can sense the darkness in you, evildoer."

You drop the cheerful act. "Oh, well, good for you. The mighty and wise paladin of Iomedae has determined the ex-whipping boy is a little bitter about his past! Someone spends their childhood being told they exist to be tortured for someone else's satisfaction, and they’re the evil one for wanting to crucify them in the town square?"

The paladin glares at you. "Public humiliation and torture are generally considered–"

"Oh, but the slavers are fine! Sure, you freed the slaves now, but where were you for the last 900 fuckin years? You know we were slaves before Thrune showed up, right? You had 900 fucking years, and you did jackshit. You let those dogs split up families in front of your temples because they paid their tithes when they showed up to worship–but, sure, I'm the evil one for wanting every fucking thing they ever done to us to be done to them. For wanting you assholes to pay back to us every cent they paid you to decide they were the good ones."

"Now, hold on–"

"No, you hold on!" You exclaim, on a roll. "I hate you, I hate your church, and I hate your fuckin self-righteous bitch goddess and you assholes who started a fucking war that kills people over a rusty-ass fucking sword, but you know what? I still gotta eat. So do ya want your shoes mended or not?"

#oc: giliys #for all his faults #giliys is a very genuine person #and is very bad at pretending to be something he's not #pathfinder wotr #pwotr pals #deleted scene #giliys traumadumping on strangers

[xxhoneymoonboulevardxx]

~ what if Nellie didn’t walk away…

A/N: this is just a short, little thing I wrote because I adored this part of the film. I hope you enjoy :)

“I’m not going anywhere without you!”

His words fluttered through my head as I reached for the car door handle. This is the car to our freedom, our future. We promised each other a life in paradise, surrounded by the music of Mexico and all its beautiful companions. I’d never been or heard much about Mexico, apart from the stories Manny has so passionately told me in between the dawn and dusk, but the place that created Manny, couldn’t be anything short of perfect. It’s the only thing I’m sure about.

My hands slide across the side of the automobile and I imagine I was sliding my hand against the white picket fence that Manny will build for me, for our children. That must be them now, excitedly squealing for more of Manny’s silly antics, his serious producer persona completely vanished from his existence. As things should be; calm, happy and perfect. Three words that I have yet to encounter in my life.

I stumble on the pavement, scraping the shoes I spent far too much money on which sums up my short lived stardom; shiny and clean when I first got into the industry but as all materialistic things, aged too fast and became out of style. These shoes are the only thing I have left from the dream I fought for. I’ve lived my whole life under the strings of another and hell, this is a lot to sacrifice. I want this life with Manny but I was a star… I am a star. That’s the first thing I told him: “you don’t become a star. You either are one or you ain’t”. The street lamp reflects onto the pavement, as bright as the stage lights I am so comfortable with. It calls to me. “Nellie, this is where you belong”. The glow is so divine. I want to be in the glow.

My eyes fixate on that light until fireworks fill my vision. I can’t see but I can feel. The pitter patter of the rain on the street plays a beat for me to dance to; much like that jazz band that orchestrated many of my acting performances. They want me to perform again. Thus I will perform. Intoxicated by the applause, by the audience, I twirl, skip, step and sway across the glistening pavement. My hands, as if by an imaginary force, levitate above my head and into the roots of my hair. This glow is so divine. Shoes do not need to stay old and worn forever; nothing a trip to the cobbler wouldn’t fix. Heck! Old styles come back into fashion soon enough… I may have my opening back into the golden gates of fame. All it takes is one leap into the unknown-

“NELLIE! WHAT ARE YOU DOING!” An all too familiar hand wraps around my arm, pulling me back to my sanity. My vision clears and all I see is a busy, angry railroad and a blood splattered vision of manny from my nightmares.

“Manny- what happened to… to you.” My once painfully joyful expression has now crumbled in to itself.

“Nellie, baby, we need to go, right now. I’ll explain later but we must go.”

Our hands entwine and we walk to the automobile, not to our freedom but our safety. From that moment I knew where I belonged… with manny. The street lamp flickers and as we drive swiftly away, turns off and covers the streets with darkness.

#babylon #diego calva #brad pitt #manny and Nellie #manny

[romeoandjulietyouwish]

Id love to hear your thoughts on what you think bells hells would be like in the ballet au

Of course!

Chetney works as a cobbler, making custom shoes for dancers. And he also has a shelf of wooden toys made to give to kids getting fitted for their first pair of pointe shoes.

Laudna is a dancer in the corps who regularly understudies for some of the soloists. She's been at the company a while but doesn't have many friends because all the other corps girls think she's weird.

FCG works as a counselor at the company. He regularly sits in on rehearsals and classes to make sure there is no toxicity from the instructors to the performers. He also does one on one therapy to the dancers who need it.

Fearne is the props mistress and her shop is full of so many shiny things and items that she most definitely stole because there's no way her budget is that big.

Imogen is a soloist, well on her way to becoming a principal. She specializes in dramatic roles and excels in her artistry and balance. Dorian is usually her partner for pas de deuxes.

Orym is also a soloist who mainly acrobatic dances and who used to be partners with his husband. He also volunteers with the children's company whenever he can.

Ashton was put into ballet by the orphanage, hoping it would give him some discipline. It didn't work and it instead just gave him a good way to sneak off from and get into illegal shit.

#ballet au #critical role #lis makes hcs #bell's hells

[klcthebookworm]

WIP Wednesday

Trigun 1998 never named the town that Mr. Belding lived in, and I haven't read the chapters in the manga to see if it was named there, so I came up with my own name. And if you recognize the name Belding or his occupation, you also know this quiet time is about to come to a violent end.

Meryl felt Vash leave the bed, but he was moving gently and she didn’t want to get up yet so she rolled up in the covers in the opposite direction. He sent affection at her before turning his attention to something else. She dosed off again until her stomach gurgled for breakfast. She reluctantly sat up and rubbed her eyes.

And then had to blink when she saw Vash’s scarred bare feet up in the air.

He was inverted in a hand-stand but balanced on his right hand only. His prosthetic arm curled around his waist. He slowly bent his right arm to lower his head closer to the floor, then pushed up as he straightened it. That seemed more intense than just doing normal push-ups, but she wasn’t going to interrupt him and cause him to lose balance. She slipped out of the bed, grabbed her bag, and went into the bathroom.

She didn’t take long in the shower and getting dressed. Vash had changed his clothes and was pulling on his boots when she came out. “Morning. I forgot to ask. What town are we in now?”

“New MacFarlane.”

“Really? Belding lives here.”

Meryl put her things away. “A friend of yours? I paid for three nights here.”

“Never met him, but he’s supposed to be the best cobbler on Gunsmoke. He can fix my boot.” He finished pulling on his boot and stood up.

“What’s wrong with your shoes?”

“Elizabeth’s assassin broke the blade hidden in the sole when we were fighting in the hotel room. Before he blew it up.”

“Elizabeth? Plant engineer Elizabeth?” Meryl straightened up from closing her bag. “Why did she hire an assassin to destroy the plant bulb she was hired to fix?”

Vash paused in taking his hair gel and comb into the bathroom. “She was trying to kill me, not the plant angel. Revenge for July. She’s over it; we both remembered me helping her in the aftermath.”

“We really need to figure out what happened then before anyone else with a grudge crawls out of the sand dunes after you.” Meryl sat down to wait on him. He only hummed noncommittally as he styled his hair. She continued, “But the children need new shoes too.”

“Did they have a growth spurt?” He called out from the bathroom.

“Not yet. Hannah’s theory is that they were not made for desert travel. They seem to be made mostly of fabric, so she’s probably right.”

#trigun 98 #my fic #three of a kind #wip #wip wednesday #biker mice from mars

[jellydishes]

yet another wip whenever:

Bethany pushed herself further and faster up the trail than she ordinarily would in an effort to outpace her thoughts, and was only half surprised to turn around and discover that she had outpaced the others, too, by a wide margin. She waited impatiently for them to catch up, shifting her weight from one foot to the other. She'd already started to turn around when the first three caught up, Varric lagging behind, but stopped when Merrill spoke.

"Are you trying to get to the top first?" Merrill asked, and the gentle curiosity in her tone was belied by the sharpness of her gaze. "Children like doing that, but I don't know if that is such a good idea, necessarily? It might even be a bad one, or a… a worst one? What would you say it would be in the trade tongue?"

"Stupid," Carver grunted, at the same time as Alistair replied.

"Short-sighted, maybe? Or… what's a good word for 'determined past the point of admiration and into worrisome'?"

Bethany opened her mouth, only for Varric to say, "Adamant, mulish, pigheaded, inflexible, pertinacious…"

"Oh, I like that last one!" Alistair said. He shrugged when Bethany glowered at him. "If the pertinacious shoe fits. It might be time to either change something, or find different cobblers for a second and third and fourth opinion."

Bethany tried to fight back a scowl with only moderate success. "Is it stubbornness to do exactly what Merrill said and try to get this done quickly?"

"Yes!"

Bethany threw up her hands before she had time to think better of it. "What's so wrong with that?"

"Mostly- the part about- giant spiders gnawing your face off," Varric panted. "All that emotional stuff doesn't seem so big -augh, who invented mountains- if you're too far ahead for us to help you."

That narrowly avoided scowl crept across her face like a thief. She didn't want to react this way, but grief and fear and that always simmering frustration were bubbling up into a combination that tasted sour on her tongue. She almost wanted to attempt to spit it out, but instead she gripped her staff in a white knuckled grip. "I'm fine. Though I could do with all of you standing on your own two feet, and getting off my back about it!"

Varric (probably very deliberately) wasn't exchanging looks the way the others were. He kept right on looking at her. It was disconcerting, and her mouth trembled a bit from some incomprehensible emotion before she firmed it when he said, "If that's what you want, Sunshine."

"It is. Let's just focus on getting this done, all right? Can we do that?"

"I think so!" Merrill replied, bouncing up and down on her toes again. "Though You might have more to focus on than spiders, soon. If you'd just-"

"I won't 'just' anything," Bethany said tightly.

"We got that part, yes," Carver said in a tone every bit as dry as hers was thin and sharp as razor wire. "But go right ahead. You were in the middle of telling us why your need to sharpen your tongue on everyone matters more than getting home in one piece. Don't let us stop you."

"That isn't my home!" Bethany snapped. There was movement at her side as Cookie shrunk away from her with her stubby tail twitching in an attempt to droop, and she had to struggle not to cry all of a sudden.

#Bethany Hawke #Carver Hawke #varric tethras #merrill sabrae #alistair theirin #Dragon Age

[fromtheboundlesssea]

NGNM Meta : How does the Smith relate to Aegon as his Seven Title ?

Let’s look at what is said about the Smith:

He is the mender of broken things who puts the world of men to right. Septons teach to pray to the Smith for strength, and sailors might make offerings to the Smith prior to launching a ship, as to keep their ships safe.

Aegon is Aemma’s savior in a lot of ways. Because of the abuse she went through and the trauma from Daemon, Aemma often views herself as broken once she understood, to a degree, what had happened to her. This is partially due to the patriarchy, but also because of the hopes and dreams she had had for herself when she was a girl.

Aegon was the one to try to “mend” her. He didn’t “fix” her because she is not broken. She’s not a thing or a doll that can be cast aside. Aegon is a naturally protective person and Aemma inspires a lot of that from him.

Without his labour, what would the Warrior defend? Every town has a smith, and every castle. They make the plows we need to plant our crops, the nails we use to build our ships, iron shoes to save the hooves of our faithful horses, the bright swords of our lords. No one could doubt the value of a smith, and so we name one of the Seven in his honour, but we might as easily have called him the Farmer or the Fisherman, the Carpenter or the Cobbler. What he works at makes no matter. What matters is, he works. The Father rules, the Warrior fights, the Smith labours, and together they perform all that is rightful for a man. Just as the Smith is one aspect of the godhead, the Cobbler is one aspect of the Smith. — Podrick Payne

There is this idea of having to labor for work and acknowledgment that his trueborn brother does not have to. This isn’t to belittle Aemond’s accomplishments or the struggles he had to accomplish what he did. However, regardless of if Aegon was made a Velaryon by name, he is still very much a bastard.

Aegon had to craft for himself a reputation that would make him worthy of the Driftwood throne in the eyes of not only his mother’s house, but also the rest of Westeros. While bastards (especially Targaryen bastards) are not as stigmatized in Westeros as they are with the current books, he is still a bastard.

The Smith, he labors day and night, / to put the world of men to right. / With hammer, plow, and fire bright, / he builds for little children. — The Song of the Seven

One of Aegon’s biggest motivations within NGNM beyond his protectiveness of Aemma, is is aspirations for his children. He wants them to be safe and will have nothing to fear. He is trying to build them a better tomorrow.

#keep the asks coming #neither gods nor men #NGNM meta