#*itself not on me on that first speaking tag.. idk how i fucked that one up

[arielluva]

look within

#my art #puella magi madoka magica #pmmm #homura akemi #man. i took these pictures of myself looking into the mirror reflecting on me a while ago with the intention of drawing one #(because i mean. its cool as hell. i used to stare at all my reflections for so long bc mirrors reflecting each other is neat) #but i never got to drawing it until now and i think it turned out well!!! #madoka magica #*itself not on me on that first speaking tag.. idk how i fucked that one up #listen its 3 am i cant type #2023

[d3arapril]

wait for your love | abby a

pairing: abby a x gn!reader

tags/warnings: 18+, language, oral (a!receiving), infidelity, owen mention (this is a warning in itself), reader is a bit toxic maybe idk i’ll let you decide that. honestly think that’s it. short and (not) sweet!

a/n: a little something to get me out of my rut. i wrote this very quickly but i just wanted to get something out. i’ll be back properly soon!

HOW TO HELP PALESTINE

“Tell me you love me.”

It’s 6pm, you think. You hadn’t checked the time since she arrived, not wanting to bring attention to the fact that she had to leave, go back to him.

She wasn’t even supposed to stay. She was just supposed to be collecting her things. She wasn’t even supposed to stay.

“Please.”

She doesn’t respond, just wraps her legs tighter around your head and hopes to herself that your head might actually explode from the pressure.

Much to her dismay, it doesn’t. Instead, you dig your nails into her thighs so hard that it leaves marks as though you’re trying to claim her, leave her a reminder. You pull back slightly to spit her wetness back onto her clit and then watching it drip down her pussy, to her ass and onto the already damp sheets. You wonder if he does this to her, too.

“Abby,” you’re breathing heavily, breath coming out in quick huffs that you know Abby can feel because her eyebrows are pulled in tight, the crease between her brows deepening when she finally looks down at you when you speak her name. “Please.”

You think this is the first time she’s looked you directly in the eyes since she got here. When you opened the door to her she couldn’t even look up from where her eyes glued to the floor, sheepishly asking to collect her stuff.

She hasn’t spoken once since you got between her legs, just writhes around on your bed and holds her breath in her lungs whenever you suck her clit into your mouth in the way you know she likes.

You want her to admit it. Admit that she still loves you, admit that leaving you was a mistake. Admit that Owen is just a placeholder in her life for when she finally decides to come back to you.

But she doesn’t, instead just comes on your eager tongue with a groan and a hand covering her mouth as though that would hide how much she fucking loves it.

You let her catch her breath and clamber off the bed in a slight haze. She bends down to pick up her pants and jeans from the floor and you find yourself staring between her legs from your spot on the bed, still laying on your front where she left you.

“We can’t do this anymore.” her voice is raspy as she speaks, shaking hands fiddling with the zip of her jeans. You nod, wordless. You’ve heard that one before and you’ll wait for her to come back around with her tail between her legs like she always does.

Her eyes are bloodshot, freckled cheeks tinted pink. You hope he tells her that she’s pretty when she’s like this.

You watch her leave, still in your position on the bed. You’re inches away from the wet spot on the sheet and you have to tell yourself not to press your lips against the soiled material and get one more taste.

She’ll be back, you tell yourself, rolling onto your side. A small shadow by your door catches your eye and when you squint you realise it’s the bag of Abby’s things you’d packed for her to take prior to her arrival.

Heavy legs carry you from the bed to the dresser where your phone was abandoned. You open your texts and the very much one-sided conversation with her is already open. Convenient.

19:43pm

you left your stuff

20:03pm

Ffs

Tomorrow?

Maybe she’ll admit it tomorrow.

divider cred @/rookthorneartistry

#next post wont be smut but its the only thing my brain could actually compute #H word hours baby! #My writing #abby anderson smut #abby anderson x reader #abby anderson angst #the last of us smut #the last of us angst #abby tlou

[blitz0hno]

Why I'm Voting Inno Mikoto even tho He Definitely Did It

or should I say DID i-*🏏smacked*

TL;DR like many I do not believe a word John says, but I also don't think he has the entire truth. Meanwhile Mikoto's amnesia is near undoubtable. With two unreliable narrators and solid evidence of self-defense, I think we need more before declaring him guilty.

I'm here to be Mikoto's lawyer cuz John ily but you suck at it 😭

Now onto why I'm voting Inno:

Mikoto isn't lying when he says he doesn't remember murdering those people, at least not entirely. The memory is in his subconscious, but he can't even remember the faces of his victims because they were both so out of it.

I believe what we see in MeMe is safe to assume to be his first. The first mannequin smashed onscreen is this one:

That looks like a damn FNAF jumpscare lmao this tells me that his baseball hobby probably saved him from getting jumped at that train station, but it came at a heavy price.

That's where John comes in. To handle the feelings that undoubtedly came with taking a life and having to hide the evidence.

Generally in DID alter's memories fall into one of 3 categories (my observations of myself and other systems):

That event happened. These are all the details. I feel nothing about it.

That event happened and I remember everything I felt like it was seconds ago, but I couldn't tell you specifics

That event happened??

The latter two can safely be assigned to John and Bokukoto. The first one is what we're missing.

I saw someone point out how the train could symbolize that he can never go back (credit urself in the tags if u see this it was a good one) to before he killed.

That brings me to our final scene.

Remember how John split to handle the feelings of that stressor? The feeling of unsafety, pure adrenaline, and righteous anger at the attacker is a horrific thing, but once you experience it you change. In order for an alter to handle the reality of something, it must be accepted somehow. John's way of accepting it is not remembering their faces, only his expressions and actions. That's probably why he's so aggressive; constant fight-or-flight mode.

Mikoto (Bokukoto), like with whatever happened to him in early childhood to cause DID, is unable to accept these realities because doing so would shatter his world (it turns out constant fight-or-flight isn't great for your social life).

So about John's statement that he didn't know any of the victims even though he totally did, at least a little;

John is reading the room and there it is: unsafety, pure adrenaline, and righteous anger at the attacker. That's all he needs to feel to know that it's time to protect Mikoto.

That's not the face and mannerisms of a man who bashes skulls in for kicks. This shit was personal.

I can't tell if it's one or two victims in the second clip here, but I strongly believe they had something to do with his work. His subconscious is really harping on how much his boss got on him and how stressed it made him. Something happened that pushed them over the edge. You don't call your mom after you kill for fun (or maybe you do idk). You call your mom when you know you're fucked.

John initiated the second killing but I don't think he was the only one making a conscious decision. That said, I don't have enough details to condemn Mikoto to another unforgiven verdict.

So, where will we find that info? Well remember RGB Mikoto/Trikoto theory (kudos to whoever coined those too)? Well when I broke down the compartmentalization earlier I hinted that there's a strong chance that SOMEONE remembers every detail, but feels nothing and lays dormant.

Good old green Mikoto, the only one we haven't seen speak yet the one who's given us the most detail so far (via MeMe).

Even if not and Bokukoto remembers more than he's letting on/gets in contact with John, the crime itself isn't unforgivable beyond a shadow of a doubt yet even with multiple victims. His reasons are still cloudy.

Also I like him

#milgram #mikoto milgram #mikoto kayano #mikotoposting #john milgram #TW Flashing #tw blo0d

[chaifootsteps]

It’s honestly so sad to see how little solidarity here is in the indie animation community. If this stuff with Viv has taught us anything, it’s that indie makes it for too easy for people like Viv to get away with being awful to their artists because they’re able to easily target younger, less experienced, and less financially advantaged people who just want to do what they love.

I’ll just go ahead and say it. Indie is where most artists get their careers started these days because mainstream animation is so insular and the bar to entry is higher than ever. Plenty of amazingly talented artists will get turned away over and over because their resume doesn’t use the right words, or their portfolio is good but it’s not the exact thing the producers are looking for at that particular second.

And even when they have the right stuff, entry level positions have pretty much vanished. They pretty much don’t want you unless you’ve worked on like x amount of award winning big budget blockbusters so if you weren’t lucky enough to have graduated from school 20 years ago when the job market was less hostile, you’re fucked.

That means indie is CRUCIAL to the success of younger artists. And look at the state it’s in. By now it’s obvious that people in the community have known about Viv and her horrible behavior for a while, but no one wants to say or do anything. They don’t want to start ‘drama’ which is just…when did standing up for the right thing become synonymous with ‘starting drama’????

I understand being afraid if push back, but at some point you have to ask yourself wether or not it’s worth it to keep being part of the problem. Even if you aren’t doing what Nico did snd outright refusing to hire her artists, you are still doing her work for her by saying nothing. I’m sorry, I know it’s harsh, but if you stay silent when you see abuse then you are knowingly allowing it to continue and therefore a part of the problem. I’m not trying to shift the blame onto other people in indie Viv has burned, but that’s the sad reality of stuff like this. Keeping silent about injustice isn’t the same as doing it yourself, but your silence empowers the abusers to keep going.

I remember when Erin first came out there was a lot of talk about Dave and Ashley. People wanted to know their opinions on the situation, and as far as I’m aware neither of them spoke up. Again, I understand the fear of backlash, but Ashley is a pretty big name in indie now. She has influence in the community, and that means she has a responsibility to speak out. Same with Goose, who I’m pretty sure has worked with Viv extensively in the past.

If relative no names with no social parachute like Ken and Erin can have the guts to speak out, then what’s stopping those with bigger reputations from doing so? Why let vulnerable people keep getting eaten alive like this? Where is the solidarity?

I think I remember Erin saying they went to TAG about Viv but TAG was powerless, because Viv, her studio, and her artists aren’t part of the guild. Do you know what that means? It means that indie workers, especially the younger ones, have no one to protect them. They’re more vulnerable to abuse because there’s no structure in place to protect them. The only thing that comes close is the indie community itself, and idk if you’ve noticed but indie is kind of cannibalizing itself right now.

It’s just so sad. Indie was supposed to be better than mainstream, but right now it’s honestly kind of worse. At least people in mainstream are entitled to benefits, get paid a living wage, and have some form of push back when treated badly because of the union.

It’s just….sad. This whole thing makes me so sad.

Anon, know that I really did sit here for a good while trying to think of something heartening to say, something hopeful. And I've got nothing.

Well, not nothing. I get the rhyme and reason to why certain people are keeping quiet and I do think things will be okay eventually, but I don't know. This whole thing has revealed a side of indie to me, a side of people, that I don't like.

#Anonymous #viv stuff #actual blog post

[queenie-blackthorn]

FINALLY, ive finished 25% of exile, the second book in the kotlc series. here are some thoughts i had :)

tags: @aylin-hijabi, @that-multi-fandom-hijabi, @tastetherainbow290, @nerdy-girl3791 (im tagging everyone who asked to be tagged in my notes for book one, but lmk if you wanna be tagged too / dont wanna be tagged anymore)

first off, why are second books in a series always the ones that take the most time / are harder to start? ig it could be that we've already established the worldbuilding n main characters, but its still that dragging stage between *where you already know mostly everything in the universe* and *where the climax builds up in anticipation of the "final battle" or the beginning of the third act, usually*. nothing to do w the book itself, just an observation

second off, alicorns are so much more important than being just "another species to save", im sure of it. theres wayyy too much of the council getting involved n talk abt how alicorns are sooo important. to anyone whos read percy jackson it kinda reminds me of the ophiortaurus (bessie) from sea of monsters, who seemed to be a recurring animal side character who turned out to have a lot of significance to the very universe they were in. im expecting smth similar, why else would everyone go to such lengths to ensure alicorns dont go extinct? or maybe im overthinking it lmao but what gives it away is the heckses literally tryna kidnap silveny-

speaking of the heckses, who the fuck tries to steal an alicorn. stinas parents are the whiniest bitches ive ever seen, and im a fifteen year old girl. like cmon ive seen some drama queens over the years, but those two- also, fucking stina. i mentioned before that i hope to see some character development w her, so shes not just the boring one-dimensional mean girl thats prevalent in literally every piece of media thats come out since mean girls w regina george. clearly not yet, tho, but im waiting on it (if it does not happen i will be majorly disappointed)

also, delving into theories now. its kinda far-fetched, but, was brant w the black swan ? i mean, it would add up pretty decently. it would explain why his guilt for jolies death runs so deeply (since grady rlly rlly seems to believe that the black swan killed her) because he would be with the literal organization that killed her. it would also explain reeeeaaaaalllllyyyy well why he recognized sophie. the fact that he knew her was wayy too emphasized to mean nothing. idk JUST A THEORY, its not based off of anything other than it would fit nicely w everything else.

but also if grady is so adamant that it was the black swan, and (hypothetically) brant is w the black swan, then would it be improbable to assume that he killed her? which would explain the guilt even MORE. but then again, he does seem to love her, so that last part is added very tentatively. (maybe he killed her by accident... but then would the note to grady three days before her death just be a coincidence? im sure that has some deeper meaning.)

maybe it wasnt the black swan who sent those notes to grady...

to end on a funnier note: alicorn poop. sophie faceplanted into alicorn poop. it happens to all main characters, it always has to be someone walking in at the worst moment. i thought id be the vackers w keefe who show up n embarass her, but who better than the council to get humiliated in front of ? i dont hate sophie i just laugh at her pain

i think thats all for the 25% mark, im gonna keep reading today. im gonna go to my grandmas house so maybe i can get a couple hundred pages in !!!

#kotlc #kotlc thoughts #keeper of the lost cities #kotlc exile #first read #first time read #silveny kotlc #kotlc silveny #silveny #stina heks #stina kotlc #kotlc stina #brant kotlc #kotlc brant #brant alger #grady ruewen #kotlc grady #grady kotlc #sophie foster #sophie kotlc #kotlc sophie

[sheisjoeschateau]

“You’re there. You were always there.”

A MULTI-PART FANFICTION SERIES, INSPIRED BY STRANGER THINGS, WRITTEN BY MISHA ST. JAMES.

Steve Harrington x fem!character. Childhood friends to lovers.

Slow burn. Angst. Romance. Smut with plot. Spin-off of pre-existing character.

A note from the writer:

—

Hello there darlings. What started off as a rough one-shot concept inspired by my rewatching Stranger Things season one for the billionth time evolved into my new favorite fan fiction series that I have written and created. This truly has become my baby. I said it in my original post when leaving a sneak preview of this work of mine…but I’ll say it again. This piece really has become my baby.

I overthink everything. I like to dive deep beneath the surface of things and overthink things into magnificent new realities. A seemingly random (almost forgettable) character in this show ended up making my mind spiral. As a writer, I believe that all characters in books and cinema have purpose. So naturally, my mind wanted to make something of a character that only appears at random yet crucial parts of the show’s story.

Nicole only appeared in season one and she was assumed to be a friend of Steve’s. To us, she was no one. Yet the Duffers introduced us to her as if she was an already established character in the series. Steve seemed almost too comfortable with her, like there was history between them. But we never explored that past the first season. That really started to bug me during this last binge-watch I had. So being the over dramatic writer that I am, I decided to make something of it myself. And damn, did it just…flow. I had no plans of making this such a big series but yeah, here we fucking are.

I gave her my last name because, well, *hair flip* I’m a narcissistic bitch like that when it comes to writing. ;) So in this series of mine, she is written Nicole St. James. I took some inspiration from The Breakfast Club because, ya know, Claire Standish? Molly Ringwald was an iconic redhead in the 80s film world, and that role in particular really seemed to fit how I wrote Nicole while fitting how she was presented in the show. I also did not want to give her a predictable personality either (because, again, as a writer I’m complex like that). So I did not take the typical “mean girl” route with her character because that honestly would just hit a wall. I wanted there to be a reason for her her in this show. I think the actress who played her did a good job with it, given there wasn’t much for her to work with.

I actually researched the actress a bit (Glenellen Anderson) and she’s actually very talented. She said something in one of her interviews about her role being small in ST but serving a crucial part in the first season of the series, given her being the reason that Steve finds out about Jonathan taking the pictures in his yard that night. Idk tbh I lowkey feel like a stalker who’s obsessing over an actor before they make it big so that one day I can be like YEAH I KNEW SHE WAS COOL WHEN SHE WAS STILL UNDERRATED. Lol ok moving on —

So I guess that’s it then. Time for me to shut up and just let the story I’ve created speak for itself. Thank you to some of my favorite writers on here and fellow Steve Harrington fanatics for inspiring me to release my own work into this universe. I’ve been very hesitant but I am glad to finally be doing it. I want to hear your thoughts and honest opinion while also asking kindly that you keep my emo heart in consideration when doing so 👉🏻👈🏻 If I forgot to tag you, I sincerely apologize. Please remind me in comments so that I can remember next time!

*disclaimer: this is based on pre-existing characters. in the show, nicole is portrayed by a redheaded white female actress so I based my writing around that. I do not discriminate against ANY race or preferred gender roles who choose to read and engage with my stories.

Enjoy and please leave feedback :)

x, MISHA

PLEASE DO NOT REPOST MY WORK ON ANY PLATFORMS WITHOUT PROPERLY CREDITING ME AS THE WRITER. I DO NOT GRANT PERMISSION FOR YOU TO CLAIM MY WRITING AND WORK AS YOUR OWN. YES, THIS IS A FAN FICTION BASED ON A PRE-EXISTING SHOW. HOWEVER THERE IS BASIC COURTESY TO BE EXPECTED IN THE WRITING COMMUNITY SO PLEASE RESPECT THAT. 🖤

Warnings: This is very much an 18+ written fan fiction series. Please read at your own risk. There is language, eventual mentions of blood and violence, drinking, sex, etc. There is also going to be mention of homophobia because the 80s were full of misogynistic men and women who were so unforgivingly dense (like fucking Tommy H. and Carol Perkins), so I want to address that as we eventually introduce Robin and Will into the series so that we can have our outstanding LGBTQ darlings welcomed and given the representation that they deserve.

—————

VOLUME I

“You’re there. You were always there.”

——————

Steve Harrington is six years old when he meets you: the girl who carries the other half of him with her. 

He first spotted her playing outside alone, in the yard right across from his. She has a big treehouse, and no one but herself to share it with. And even though you seem content — he doesn’t know why, but it makes him sad. Watching you alone, in your own great big world, and no one begging to share it with you. 

So after a week, he walks across the street to do something about it. He had watched you climb the little red ladder up to the top, making round trips with your backpack and various items. 

The door to your treehouse is made of wood, painted pastel yellow with tiny butterfly stickers adorning it in random places. He hears you, talking to yourself the way you would talk if you had company. Maybe it’s to an imaginary friend. Or maybe, you just like to talk to yourself. Regardless, he knocks, and your gibberish ceases. Eventually, he hears your feet padding closer and closer.  The door creaked open, revealing your curious grey eyes. Your red hair framed your small, heart shaped face, and the cream knit sweater that you wore looked almost as warm as you were.

“Hi,” Steve said. “I’m Steve. I live in that house over there.”

He pointed to the big house that loomed just across the street from you, and you briefly peeked out to look at it before looking back at him. Your full pink lips pressed into a shy smile.

“I’m Nicole,” you told him. “I’m six.”

“Me, too,” Steve tells you, proudly and with a dashing smile. But then he furrows his brow. “Why are you having a tea party by yourself?”

You look back into your little safe haven, following his gaze that stares at the eclectic assortment of tea cups and teapots set for multiple people when it was just you. 

“Oh, well I just like to be ready,” you tell him. “In case I make any friends.” 

Suddenly, you beam at him. Your usually shy demeanor dissolves as the gleam in your eye shines through. 

“Do you wanna be my friend?” you ask Steve, who raises his eyebrows in response.

“Umm, yeah,” he finally responds, nodding his head. He stuffs one hand into the pockets of his little Levi jeans, fastened with a belt and all, already a charmer with his polo sweater. His other hand goes to push back some of his floppy chestnut hair. “Yeah, let’s be friends.”

You smile brightly.  “Okay.”

And so you are, just like that.  Friends.  As you pour Steve a cup of chocolate milk, which you both confidently call hot tea without remark, you quietly hum to yourself.

Steve watches you, thinking you’re really pretty.  Whenever you go to pass him a teacup, he takes it and quickly looks around, pretending he wasn’t just staring at you.  He was in awe, really.  Fairy lights were strewn about, with potted flowers in the windowsills.  There was a table with lots of crayons, markers and gel pens, unfinished drawings scattered underneath them.  A few completed drawings were hung up on the walls.  

“Doesn’t it get scary up here all by yourself?” he asks you, genuinely curious.

As you set the little teapot back down, you shrugged your shoulders and shook your head. “Mm-mm,” you tell him. “I’m safe up here.”

You raise your teacup to your little pout to sip.  You seemed so content all by yourself, as if the word ‘lonely’ was completely foreign to you.

Steve is six years old when he sees the reflection of his better self in you.

_______

Steve is 7 years old when he calls you his best friend.

You’re both playing at recess, roped into a game of duck-duck-goose. A little girl named Carol is sitting next to you, and Steve watches her roll her eyes and huff throughout most of the game. You’ve been smiling and laughing this whole time, except when she gets mad that you don’t pick her when you’re circling the group of kids and selecting someone to chase you.

“Nicoooole,” she whines. 

You look at her as if you’re terribly afraid of what you could have done wrong. Carol crosses her arms, pouting.

“You’re supposed to pick me,” she complains.

“Oh,” you said, eyes wide.  “I-I didn’t know you wanted me to.”

You shuffled your feet, your loafers twisting in the grass.  Your ponytail blew in the breeze, along with the little flyaway baby hairs, and you looked a little embarrassed – almost ashamed – as the kid you had picked goes to sit in the assigned mush pot, since she couldn’t catch you.

“Well I do,” Carol said, matter of fact. 

Steve grimaces. He hated seeing you so uncomfortable, and he really hated the way this girl was talking to you.

“Those aren’t the rules,” Steve argued, defending you. 

You looked at Steve, a little relief becoming evident in your timid eyes.

“It’s not not in the rules,” Carol snarks back. Alright, now Steve is just plain bothered. This girl is annoying. And shamelessly entitled. 

Carol looks back at you, glaring. “Pick me next time.”

You slowly sit back down next to her, sinking into the grass with a frown. You look so timid, sad even. Steve wanted to drag you across the circle to sit next to him, but he didn’t because you were suddenly standing again, stuttering a little “Oh,” realizing it was still your turn. 

You cautiously made your way around the kids, placing your hand on top of everyone’s heads while saying “duck.”  You started to sweetly grin as you approached Steve, who grinned back. You plopped your hand on top of his head, definitely messing up his hair, but he didn’t mind. It was you, and that was okay. Anyone else, no. 

You fearfully dubbed Carol duck as you passed her, and her jaw clenched. She kept her arms tightly folded, watching you like a hawk. Steve narrowed his eyes at the snarky girl, already hating her. You patted his head again, “duck,” and Steve watched you curiously. Surely, you weren’t gonna pick her. Then again, he was afraid of what would happen if you didn’t. 

But sure enough, you did pick Carol. 

Goose. 

Carol smirked so fast before bolting upright to chase you around the playground. 

Steve was wildly chanting your name, along with the others.

“Go, Nicole!” he shouted, rooting you on. The others echoed his cheers. Your red hair flipped in the wind, ponytail bouncing behind you as you dashed back towards him in your school dress and loafers. 

Carol looked so convinced that she was gonna take you down, but you were faster. She chased you with a devilish smile, which began to quickly dissolve once she saw you getting closer to homebase.

Suddenly, you plopped down beside Steve, out of breath. He and the others hurrayed, and you smiled as you panted.

But Carol scoffed, finally making it over to you all in the circle. She buckled over her knees, trying to catch her breath.

“Ha-ha, Carol,” some boy sneered jokingly. 

“Yeah Carol, mush pot time,” Steve chimed in, a little too happily.

She scoffed again, louder this time. “No way, that’s not fair.”

Steve twitched incredulously. “W’you mean it’s not fair? She beat you.”

Carol’s jaw clenched again, and she stared daggers in your direction as she put her hands on her hips with a sour attitude. Steve cringed at the sight of just how nasty she looked, hating that it was being directed towards you. You shrunk back in your seated position on the grass, looking afraid. As Carol stalked over to sit in the middle of everyone, she kept staring at you with a look that could kill. You looked to the ground, and Steve kept his place next to you with a newfound wave of protection washing over him.

“Fine, well,” Carol sneered.  “I’m not your friend anymore.”

Carol’s words were nothing but laughable. To any mature adult — hell, any human not in kindergarten — her remark would have meant nothing. But to you? A seven year old with a heart of gold, and the desire to just make everyone feel included? Her words were detrimental. They meant you were a horrible person. You were to blame.

“I-I’m sorry, I didn’t —“ you stumble, voice shaking. “I didn’t mean to, Carol, I-I…”

Carol whipped her head around to not face you. Your eyes were really sad now, and Steve’s heart sank.  You brought your knees to your chest, and your grey eyes went a little glassy.

“I can switch w-with you,” you kept trying. “I’ll sit—”

“Shut up,” she barked. “I said you’re not my friend.”

“Yeah, well she’s my best friend.”

Steve’s words landed hard. 

Carol whipped her head around again, now facing him. Everyone in the circle stared at the perfect-haired boy, including you. Sweet, innocent you. Your grey eyes peered over at him nervously. But there was a glint of hope in them, too, and if you weren’t so shaken up and close to crying you would have smiled. 

Steve shot one last disgusted look in Carol’s direction, then rose to his feet.  He reached out a hand, taking one of yours from your knees.

“C’mon,” he told you.  “Let’s go play somewhere else.”

You blinked, but didn’t hesitate to follow his lead.  You looked at him, giving him a small smile before looking downwards again.  Steve wrapped his fingers around your hand so tightly, and your little heart fluttered.  He was so warm, and you felt so safe.

Carol huffed, appalled.  “Since when are you best friends with ugly redheads, Harrington?!”

Your heart sank even lower as you saw Steve’s eyes go fierce, his jaw clenched.  He whipped around to look at Carol.

“The only ugly redhead here is you,” he shot back at her, and her jaw dropped.  All the kids reacted, some laughing and some making amused remarks.  But Steve didn’t pay them any mind as he stalked off with you, hand in hand.

You kept up with him as best you could with your little legs, feeling his grip on your hand tighten.  He looked so mad, and you gulped.

“Steve?” you asked, voice quiet.

“Don’t listen to them,” he mumbled, shaking his head.  He was staring straight ahead, mind racing.  You could tell he was really upset, and it made you feel bad.  “Or her.  She’s a bitch.”

You gasped, eyes wide.  “Steve!”

“What?  She is.”

You were shocked to hear him curse.  A few moments passed as you kept walking beside him, completely taken aback.  But then, you felt a grin tucking your lips upwards.  You stifled a giggle, and Steve turned to look at you in surprise.  You glanced up at him shyly, really giggling now.  His hard expression turned soft, a smile of his own creeping on his lips.  Eventually, he laughed too.

The two of you made it over to the swingset, and Steve let go of your hand.  You already missed his touch, the warmth of it.  He walked to stand in front of the tire swing, nodding his head at you to join.  You walked in front of the tire, reaching up to grip the chains from which it hung.  Steve crossed over to stand behind you.

“Here,” he said, placing his hands on your small hips.  You felt yourself flush, heart fluttering again.  A whole flock of butterflies swarmed your stomach.  Steve was happy you couldn’t see his face, because he felt himself flush too.  He wasn’t sure why a surge of electricity shot through him as he lifted you up into the tire swing, but as you swung your legs into its open middle he could smell your lavender shampoo.  It made him melt, and his hands lingered just a little longer than needed on the hips of your jeans.  You were safely seated now – had been for a moment.  Maybe two or three moments.  

Steve cleared his throat, rounding the wheel to climb onto it and sit across from you.  He tossed his feet into the hole, hands wrapped around the chains.  You looked at him with that signature warm, slightly shy smile of yours, and he returned it.  His smile was definitely more confident, though.  Charming, even for a first grader.

Your feet dangled in the air, so Steve used his to touch the ground and help you both begin to swing.  For a little while, you both just listened to the breeze.  The leaves were beginning to turn brown, a sign that autumn was approaching.  Kids laughed in the distance, buzzing with energy.  You figured you both only had a little time left, before you would have to return to classes.  But spending the last bit of playtime alone together was more fun than with the bratty kids you’d been spending time with earlier.

“Am I ugly?”

Steve had been watching a butterfly swarming nearby when you spoke.  He almost hadn’t heard you, with the way you spoke so quietly.  You sounded so small, fragile.  You were staring at the ground, your loafers criss-crossed as the two of you swayed on the swing, looking so vulnerable.  It made his heart split in two, the fire inside him burning again.  

“No,” he said, a little too harshly.  Your eyes shot up at him, a little surprised at his tone.  But he continued with no filter, cause what 7-year-old boy has one of those?  “Carol’s a liar.  You’re not ugly.  At all.  You’re beautiful.  Way more than her.”

Your eyes shone, and Steve watched your cheeks go rosy pink.  A small but real smile found its way onto your little lips, and you looked at him so sweetly before you glanced back down at the ground.  You kicked at the air, thinking to yourself.  While you weren’t looking, Steve memorized each eyelash concealing your grey eyes and the curve of your eyebrows.  He noticed that you only had a small sprinkle of freckles on your nose, but nowhere else on your porcelain skin.  He felt his heart skip a beat, losing himself in you.  God, you were perfect.  How could anyone ever call you ugly?  

“Wanna come over for dinner?” Steve asked.

You looked up at him, snapped out of your own thoughts.  “Yeah.  I’ll have to ask my mom and dad if that’s okay.”

“I think my mom is ordering pizza,” Steve continued, mouth watering.  “Do you like pizza?”

“Yeah, but I like mushroom pizza.”

Steve scrunched his nose.  “Eww, why?”

You giggled, shrugging.  “They’re really good!”

“Bleck.”

“You should try them,” you insisted.  

Steve would normally say something along the lines of hell no, but to you?  That was impossible.  He pursed his lips, nose still scrunched and shivering at the thought of eating fungus on pizza.  But he relented, sighing.

“Alright, I guess,” he said, kicking to swing you both again.  “But if I don’t like it, you have to help me with the dishes.”

You smirked.  “Deal.”

You both swayed, listening to the trees rustle.  Steve watched the teacher approaching everyone from her perch, knowing she was about to whistle for everyone to make their way back for school.

“Hey Steve?”

He turned back to look at you.  ‘Hmm?”

You paused, contemplating your words.  But then you gave him the kindest smile in the world, and it rendered Steve speechless as you spoke with more certainty than you had all day.

“You’re my best friend, too.”

__________

As the next few years went by, you and Steve continued to become a permanent part of them for each other.  

Your parents had easily become friends with his parents, making it a regular thing to have each other over for holiday parties and gatherings, or even just casual dinners.  Both your parents and his were too wealthy for their own good, too caught up in their own worlds to really pay either of you any mind.  Sure, they knew that the two of you were friends.  Close even.  But they didn’t really know much beyond that.  Steve’s parents were just glad to know that their kid had something to do other than bother them every day after school and on weekends, and your parents were so used to you playing by yourself that they didn’t really notice much difference.  Your families both lived in a swanky neighborhood, so becoming acquainted with one another hadn’t been something that required much consideration on their part.  They ran in the same circles.  Timeshare mutuals, and plastic veneer smiles who shared travel itineraries for whatever bougie seminar was happening that month, or the next.

Until you came along, Steve had been a lonely kid destined for a life of abandonment.  Once Chet Harrington had been given a son by Paula, he stopped the bloodline there.  “Good,” he’d remarked.  “Someone to carry on the family name.”  As far as he was concerned, that’s all his kid’s purpose served.  Take over the family business, get a trophy wife and repeat the cycle.  Siblings?  Why bother?  One kid was enough to handle.  They cost money and time, and the Harringtons didn’t just hand those out like charity.  If it weren’t so heavily frowned upon, or a threat to their reputation, they wouldn’t have even bothered with hiring a babysitter.  It was mainly Paula Harrington who insisted on it.  After all, she did love her son.  She just wasn’t a nurturing mother, giving her care to her pearls and pristine walk-in closet maintenance far more than her little boy, so her love was never felt by her son.  As far as Chet was concerned, once Steve turned 10 years old, a babysitter was no longer a needed expense.  Because that’s all it was to him: an expense.  So come the double digits, and Steve would just be a kid left to fend for himself, all alone in his great big house with no parents.

But so were you.  You, Nicole St. James, were just as doomed as he was.  Your parents were more aloof than anything.  They weren’t quite as cold as the Harrington’s.  But they weren’t all that warm either.  Ken had impregnated his wife, Alison, on a spontaneous trip overseas.  You’d been the result of a heavy night of gin, blue curacao and dirty talk.  Filthy sex and silky sheets in a Five Seasons were the blissful combination the night that you were conceived.  It had been a surprise for both of them, when that little strip read positive with a pink stripe.  They’d made a fuss of it, planning a frivolous baby shower with tons of guests and a plethora of gifts for their baby girl on the way.  They had found out the gender as soon as they could, not wanting any more surprises.  Your arrival had been a very anticipated event, so when you had been actually brought into the world the excitement fizzled away.  It seemed more exciting to celebrate having you, rather than actually having you.  Granted, your parents loved you.  You were spoiled with toys, new clothes every week, and social outings.  Not that you ever asked for any of those things.  The only thing you ever sought out from them were hugs, which they half-heartedly returned with barely a fraction of the love that radiated through your tiny arms.  

You had your mother’s hair, though hers was more auburn while yours was pure fire.  And you had your father’s grey eyes.  But what you had that they didn’t, was your spirit.  They were boisterous, loud and shallow.  You were quiet, shy and soft.  You radiated only genuine kindness, oftentimes just observing your surroundings and being in your own little world.  Your parents were party animals, constantly busying themselves with events and planning vacations.  It’s why they busied you with the same types of things by default, assuming you to be just like them.  Constantly wanting company, people to distract you and noise to drown out the silence.  But you weren’t like them.  You loved the silence, the chirping of the birds and the whoosh of the breeze.  You loved books instead of toys, and gardening tools instead of dolls.  Not that they paid attention to that, though.  Instead, they just bought you whatever the flashiest new item was.  Or, if you just so happened to take a liking to something, the St. James’ bought it to appease you quickly and not bat an eye.  Screw sentimentality, if it made you happy then by all means you could have it.

The only reason they had a treehouse built for you, was because Ken St. James had discovered his daughter’s makeshift fort outside.  It consisted of amateruly constructed cardboard boxes, with random blankets propped up on sticks.  He and Alison had just gotten home from a business trip, and your aunt had shrugged her shoulders when they asked how her stay had been.  She told them you had spent the whole time outside, playing in your disastrously built utopia.  Your parents didn’t give much thought to it, hiring a few carpenters to come and build you a proper treehouse for your sixth birthday.  You had beamed, telling them thank you a thousand and one times.  They’d thought it was cute, at first.  Until one night, as they got ready for a gala, you had gone to hug your mother as she coated her lips with a red rouge.  She’d yelped, surprised at your sudden touch.   

“I love you, mommy,” you whispered to her.  

“Nicole, darling, what are you–” she stammered, one hand holding her lipstick and the other swatting at you.

“For my treehouse,” you continued.  “I love it.”

“Oh, psh, honey,” she scoffed wryly, slowly peeling your little arms off of her shoulders.  “Enough now, you’ve thanked us too many times to count.  It’s a little exhausting.”

She had chuckled humorlessly, resuming her pampering.  You had watched her reflection, and if she’d cared to look at yours instead of her own she would have seen the look of longing and saddened wonder that filled your eyes.  She would have seen the way your full lips parted, no more words being spoken.  And she would have seen you quietly pad your way back out her bedroom door, where you made your way back to your room.  

Instead of finding love through your parents, you found it in your treehouse.  You found it in the swaying of the trees, and the butterflies that swarmed your front yard.  You found it in yellow crayons, and glitter gel pens, and the weeds you insisted were flowers as you pulled them and placed them into little pots.  You found love in the changing of seasons, and the twinkle lights that glowed at night in your safe haven.  You found love within yourself, and you found love in Steve Harrington.

The bike rides down the neighborhood streets, and down to the convenient store to buy snacks with your little weekly allowances.  The swapping of ice cream cones on hot summer days — when Steve noticed the way you eyed his chocolate waffle cone, as he secretly wanted your strawberry sugar cone instead.  The afternoons into nights spent in your treehouse together, playing make believe and coloring.  The fairy wands and pirate swords, and the battle of neverland that you fought side by side in your tulle dress while Steve wore a green polo and birthday hat with a red feather crudely taped to the side of it.  The field trips and summer camps with your classmates, always sitting beside each other on the bus and whenever you all had to eat in between activities.  Lord knows, if you two were sat apart, one of you would complain until it was made right.  The innocent secrets you told each other, and the way you both laughed at the silliest of things until your sides split.  The countless hours that you spent at his house, no parents or nanny in sight, playing hide and seek.  One time, it took him so long to find you that he panicked.  He was pretty sure you had actually disappeared for good, and his breathing quickened.  It took him calling out your name several times, until eventually it sounded like he was blubbering.  You had made your way out of his closet, where you’d proudly buried yourself underneath all of his clothes.  Steve saw you crawling out with a worried look on your little face, saying his name in such an assuring tone.  He had run over to you and hugged you tight, sniffling.  But when he pulled back, he’d already roughly rubbed his eyes so that no tears spilled.  The two of you resumed playing like nothing had happened.  

Most days were spent in your treehouse, except when a thunderstorm was coming.  That’s when the two of you would throw a bunch of blankets and pillows together in his or your room, making a fort.  A shelter, if you will.  The thunder rolled as the lightning streaked across the sky.  One night, you had both curled up with a big bowl of popcorn, boxes of cereal, pop tarts, sodas and candy, no trace of actual substance in sight.  You had flashlights and cards, playing Go Fish and War.  At some point, Steve had asked if you believed in ghosts.  You shuddered, nodding your head yes.  His eyes had gone wide, clutching the blanket tighter around his shoulders.  You pulled the pillow in your arms closer to your chest, your grey eyes just as wide as his.

“Do you think…” Steve had started, his voice soft.  He gulped, a thought crossing his mind.  “D’you think we’ll ever have to fight monsters?  You know, like aliens or something?”

You gulped, too.  “I dunno,” you started, voice soft like his.  “I think that monsters in books and movies are really scary.  I don’t wanna fight them in real life.”

Steve nodded, thinking.  “Well, if we ever do… I’ll protect you.  Promise.”

You hugged your pillow tighter, your worried eyes shining and a shy smile meeting your lips.  “You will?”

“Yeah,” Steve assured you, with absolute certainty.  Because he meant it with all of his heart.  No monster would ever hurt you.  No ghost would haunt you.  And nothing would ever take you away.  “I always will.”

CRACK.  That’s when lightning struck the electricity box, and all the power in Steve’s house went out.  You screamed, and Steve gasped.  He grabbed one of the flashlights, shuffling his way over to you.  He wrapped the blanket around both of you, as the two of you huddled closer together underneath the pillow fort you both built together.

“S’okay, I’m right here,” he soothed you, feeling you shiver against him.  Your little arms were wound around his torso, your grip fierce.  He clung to him with so much trust, melting into him, even though you were scared.  He melted right back into you, holding you close.  “I got you.”

The winds howled outside, thunder still rolling and lightning flashing around you both in the quiet, still room outside of the walls of blankets enveloping you both.  

“Do you think there’s a monster out there?” you asked him, your frightened voice the cutest whisper in the world.

“Nah,” Steve said, but even he wasn’t so sure.  He couldn’t be scared, though.  He had to make you feel safe.  “But if there is, it won’t get you.  I won’t let it.”  He rested his chin on top of your head.  “Not ever.”

Even at nine years old, Steve knew he would never break a promise that he made you.  You did, too.

And right now, as you turned ten years old, you were surrounded by a bunch of faces.  Most of them, you didn’t really know.  Some were kids from school, and others were their parents.  Lots of random adults, buzzed with champagne and spirits.  But as you sat in a chair behind your pink birthday cake, all aglow with ten gold candles, there was one face you recognized and loved.  Steve’s.

He grinned at you, his smile growing more charming each day.  His hair was still iconic, always styled just right.  He wore a preppy polo with a collar, and khaki slacks with nice shoes.  His brown doe eyes shone in the candlelight – and even though the others spoke loudly over each other, he spoke so that only you could hear him.

“Make a wish, Nic,” he said, seated right next to you.

“HAPPY BIRTHDAY, BABY GIRL!” your mom squealed, the inebriation evident in her voice.

“Wait, honey, wait,” your father chuckled, gripping his whisky.  “We gotta sing first.”

“Damn,” Mr. Harrington remarked, also laughing.  “These women just don’t have any patience, do they?”

The two men snickered, and Mrs. Harrington playfully scoffed and swatted at them before wrapping an arm around your mother.  She, too, was a bit tipsy.  

“Alright,” she purred, a smirk on her lips as she raised her glass.  “All together now.”

And so the song began.  Happy Birthday rang all throughout the house, echoing off the dining room walls of your childhood home.  Kids sang with enthusiasm, while adults sang in a million different pitches.  Some voices were happy, others were bored, and a few were drunk.  But the only voice you listened to was your best friend’s, who sat by your side with one arm resting on the table and the other perched on the back of your chair.  You beamed at him, and he beamed at you.

Steve swore in that very moment, that you were perfect.  The way your little baby hairs still escaped your hair that was pulled into a little half-up do.  You were wearing the simplest, most feminine pastel yellow dress.  The sleeves had tiny ruffles on it, your shoulders peeking out and arms bare.  Your face was clean of any makeup, aside from the white face painted butterfly wings around your grey eyes.  It was so whimsical, making you look even more like a princess than you already were.  Steve watched you look around the room, enchanted by your enchantment.  And as your gaze circled back to meet his own, he smiled bigger.  Your smile grew, too, and the crowd of people in the room ceased to exist.  You’d both forgotten them, until they started to cheer wildly as your birthday song ended.

“Nicky!” your mother squealed.  

God, you hated when she called you that.  You broke your gaze from Steve, looking at her.

“Come on, baby, make a wish!”

You looked back down at your candles, scrunching your eyes shut and thinking.  Steve’s eyes never left you, entranced with the way you looked in the orange glow of the birthday candles.  Selfishly, he made a wish too.  It wasn't his birthday, but it didn’t have to be.  Steve wished for all your wishes and dreams to come true.  He wished for this to be the best year yet, for you and for him.  He wished for you to never move away, to always be his best friend across the road.  He wished for you to never outgrow him, or want to be better friends with somebody else.  He wished it would always be like this, that no matter what changes came he would always have you.  He wished that he knew what you were wishing for, and he wished for you to be wishing for him.

Little did he know, he was your only wish.  It was already true, and as you blew out the candles, you wished for it to always be true.

________________

Steve was twelve when you saw him cry for the first time.

His parents had gotten his report card, appalled at the C and D despite all other A’s.  Paula Harrington was disappointed and embarrassed, but Chet Harrington?  Well, he was furious.  

“I didn’t raise someone stupid,” he spat at Steve, who leaned against the kitchen counter with his head down, shoulders slumped and arms crossed.  They had been arguing over this for at least thirty minutes.

Steve swallowed.  “I’m not stupid, dad,” he murmered, voice defeated.

“Sorry, what was that?” his father egged him on, voice bitter.  There was zero trace of kindness or understanding, and Steve’s mother could only watch them from the dining table with a pathetic pout.

Chet stepped closer to his son, sneering.  “Speak up, son.  Couldn’t hear you.”

“...said I’m not stupid,” Steve tried again, hating the way his voice still shook despite talking a little louder.

“Stop being a little bitch and look at me,” his dad spat, the air escaping his lips and onto Steve’s face.

“Chet, please –” his mother tried, pathetically. 

Steve felt the hurt inside of him bubbling into anger, unable to control himself.  

“I said I’m not stupid!”  He shouted back, having taken enough of his father’s bullying for the past thirty minutes.  The past month.  Several months.  Years.

But he was only rewarded with a slap to the face, so sharp it felt like a knife.  If it weren’t for the ringing in his ears, he would have heard his mother gasp.  The impact had made him turn a full 180 degrees, and he was stunned into silence as tears sprang to his eyes from the harsh blow.  Slowly, he turned back towards them.  He first made eye contact with his mother, whose hands were clasped over her mouth.  Eventually, he made eye contact with his father, who seethed and showed no sign of remorse.

“Your report card says otherwise,” he slithered.  He slowly backed up towards the kitchen table, taking his seat again.  He took a sip of his brandy, clicking his tongue at the taste.  “Raise your voice at me again, and you’ll see stars next time.”

Steve could hear his own breathing, could feel the anguish that spread throughout his mind, body and soul.  His heart ached, and he longed for comfort.  But the two people who sat in front of him wouldn’t offer him that.  Nobody would.

Except you.

So he bolted his stairs, seeking privacy so that the unshed tears threatening to spill over wouldn’t show his weakness any further.  He held them at bay, biting his lip so hard he was pretty sure it would bleed soon.  He ran into his room, throwing open his drawers as he breathed hard.  Adrenaline coursed through his veins, his only thoughts consisting of getting a change of clothes and heading over to you.  He threw a backpack over his shoulder, locking his bedroom door and sneaking out his window.

He knew the route all too well by now, having done it since he was six.  He crawled down the side of the house, walking towards the house next to his and the one after that.  Then, he made his way across the street, where he walked behind one house, then two, and then made it to yours.  This way, his parents wouldn’t see him heading to your house out their window.  

Once he was there, he climbed up the side of your home where your window was dimly lit by the glow of your bedside lamp.  Good, he thought.  You were home.  His heavy heart swelled with relief, and he mounted the side of the house and up onto the roof the way he always did when sneaking into your room at night.

Your window was cracked open, always ready for him.  The curtains were drawn, and he saw you sitting on your bed, reading a book.  Your brows were closely knitted together, your eyes intensely focused on whatever you were reading.  One leg was crossed over the other, glasses perched on your nose and hair tucked back into a messy topknot.  

Steve swallowed back the large lump in his throat and tapped the windowpane, just enough for you to hear him.  Your head snapped up, pulled out of your bookworm trance.  Grey eyes met brown, and you went to smile until you saw the distress in his features.  You set your book down and removed your glasses, padding over to him, quietly but quickly.  A large t-shirt hung to your thighs, landing just above your knees and accentuating your slim legs.  You pulled the window all the way open, looking at him with the most concerned expression.

“Steve?” you asked, voice gentle.

The dam broke.  Steve couldn’t hold it in any longer, any plans of trying to do so completely demolished as a choked sob left his lips.  His shoulders heaved forward, and you felt your heart break at the sight.  This was new.  This was very new.  You’d never seen him like this.

Without hesitation, you wrapped your arms around him tightly.  He gripped you back like a lifeline, crying into your shoulder.  You stayed there for a moment, before pulling back to bring him inside.  He clung to you, not wanting to let go, but when he realized that he was still in the window frame he allowed you to move away from him and followed you inside to stand behind you.  You quickly closed the window, turning to face him again.  

He was a good several inches taller than you, so you looked up at him.  Your expression was so soft, so full of empathy it only made him break down more.  You wrapped your arms around his waist, pressing your cheek to his chest.  He buried his face into your shoulder again, weeping until the sleeve of your shirt was soaked through.  He shook in your embrace, the sound of his cries the saddest sound you had ever heard.  You stroked the nape of his neck, fingers playing with his hair.  His arms around you were so tightly wound, you thought he might never let go.  And you didn’t want him to, so neither of you made a move to do so.  You just stood there, holding one another, letting Steve cry until he couldn’t any more.

After a while, you slowly pulled back to look up at him.  Steve’s brown eyes were bloodshot, his stylish hair ruffled and messy – yet somehow, still perfect.  Even when he was sad, he was still so pretty.  

He rubbed at his snot sodden nose with his elbow, fruitlessly trying to wipe it away.  He sniffed roughly, not used to being the one who needed comforting.  But as you reached up to thumb away a few of his tears, he didn’t pull away.  Anyone else, he wouldn’t have let seen him like this, let alone touch him.  But you were the exception to every rule, and he wouldn’t dare pull away from you.  Not when you were so understanding, not casting any judgment towards him.  Any walls he had built around himself in front of others, he let come down in front of you.  Because when he was with you, he didn’t have to be strong, or brave, or cool.  He could just be Steve, a boy with big hair and an even bigger heart.

You smiled at him gently, waiting for him to speak.  He sighed.

“My dad said I was stupid,” he started, voice shaky.  “He said I – he said…”

Your small smile faded, your eyes boring into his.  He looked shown, shuddering a breath.  You took his hands in yours, guiding him to the bed.  You both sat down, your hands still intertwined.  You sat facing him, your legs crossed in Indian-style.  He mirrored you, matching your position and staring down at your dainty fingers in his.  You wore a few rings, minimal sterling silver bands.  Steve always loved how they made your piano fingers look even longer, delicate.  He twiddled in thumbs around yours, absentmindedly tracing shapes as he spoke.

“They saw my report card,” he continued, sniffling.  “I got a C in math.  And a D, i-in science.”

You furrowed your brows, still listening.  You wanted to say so much already, but you will yourself to stay quiet and let him finish.  He needed to let it out.

“It didn’t matter about the other grades.  Dad, h-he just cared about the bad ones.  Like no matter what, I’m j-just a failure.”

You shook your head, not having any of it.  “Steve,” you started, voice firm but kind.  “You’re not stupid.  And you’re not a failure.  You’re smart, and you study just as hard as anyone else does.”

He sniffled again, eyes still downcast.  “Doesn’t matter,” he mumbled.  “S’not enough.”

“You’re enough.”

That made him look up at you, his sad glassy eyes meeting your fierce ones.  The love that poured from your grey irises shot straight into his brown ones, and he knew you were being as honest as they come.

“He hit me, Nic,” he murmured, tasting bile as he admitted it. 

You felt a wave of emotions hit you all at once.  Anger.  Heartbreak.  Anguish.  Rage.  Pain.  And love.  So, so much love for this beautiful boy, who you got to call your best friend.  The thought of his dad hitting him – anyone hitting him – made you see red.  He didn’t deserve this.  Any of this.  And as you noted a slightly red mark on his cheek, you felt your soul split open.  Tears of your own sprang to your eyes, and you couldn’t stop yourself from reaching a hand up to cup his cheek.

“Steve, I’m so sorry,” you whispered.  

His face crumpled, and you pulled him in close as he started to cry again.  You silently cried too, grateful that he couldn’t see you.  He kept one hand in yours still, resting on your laps.  The other wound around your waist, the hand you had placed on his cheek now draped around his neck.  You lightly swayed, allowing the silence and Steve’s breathy cries to wash over you both.  

Eventually, Steve’s tense shoulders sagged and his cries subdued.  He relaxed into you, and you could tell that sleep was finding him.

“Hey,” you murmured into his neck.  “Let’s get some sleep.”

Steve slowly pulled back, watching you pull the covers down.  Normally, it would be weird.  A boy, watching his female friend offer to sleep in the same bed without their parents knowing.  But you’d both fallen asleep together so many times over the years.  In your treehouse, on his bedroom floor, on the couch while watching a movie.  Even in the same bed, when studying or doing homework. Now was no different, as far as you both were concerned.

So as you nestled yourself underneath the covers, gesturing for him to follow, Steve didn’t hesitate to crawl in next to you.  He pulled the covers over the two of you as you turned out your light, only the moonlight illuminating your face in the dark room.  You both laid on your sides, facing each other.  You placed a hand on the mattress, in the small space between you both, palm up. He placed his hand on top of yours, wrapping his fingers around yours.  He sighed deeply, eyes fluttering shut.

“You can stay here anytime you want,” you whispered beside him, your eyelids drooping but still watching him.  

Steve squeezed your hand tightly.  He felt an overwhelming sense of relief, his heart swelling with love for you.  He peeled his eyes back open, taking in your beautiful face.  If there was an angel watching over him, it had to be you.  God couldn’t have possibly given him a better one, because you were it.

“I don’t wanna go back,” he whispered back, timid.  “Unless you’re there.”

You sighed, nuzzling into your pillow with a little nod.  “Okay, then you won’t.”

Both your voices were tired, but the words you shared with one another held so much truth and conviction. Because you meant what you had said. Steve never had to spend a single night alone in his great big house, whether or not his parents were there.  You stayed there, or he’d stay with you.  It became an unspoken routine, refuge.

No matter what pain life threw his way, or yours, you both knew that so long as you had each other, it would be okay.

____________

But one morning, several months later, Steve’s mom found you in his bed.  

The two of you were sound asleep, her son starfished across the mattress and you curled up into a little ball.  At first, Mrs. Harrington just froze.  How long had this been happening?  That’s the question that sprang her into action.  Her motherly instincts decided to actually make an appearance, storming over to the bed to jostle you awake.  

“Nicole St. James, what in blazes are you doing here?!”

Your eyes shot open, finding Mrs. Harrington’s frantic eyes.  She had a firm grip on your arm, and you shrunk deeper into the mattress.  

“Steven,” she said through gritted teeth.  “Wake up.”

Steve stirred, not really waking up.  Such a boy.  A tornado can’t wake boys when they’re not even thirteen yet.

You, on the other hand, were wide awake.  Groggy, but alert.  You felt your cheeks flush crimson, knowing this looked bad.  Sure, at twelve years old you’re not fully aware of just how bad this actually looked.  But a boy and a girl, sharing a bed, behind their parents’ backs?  That had trouble written all over it.  As far as any adult was concerned, that screamed bad news.  And nine times out of ten, it was often a result of youthful scandal.  

But for you and Steve?  It was simply comfort.  Safety.  Codependency.

That’s not how his mother saw it, though.

“Steven!”

He bolted awake, shaking his head and rubbing his eyes.  When he looked over to find you staring at him, your grey eyes terrified and lean arm in his mother’s manicured grip, he began to come to.  The reality set in, and Steve felt his chest clench.  You both had been caught.

His mother’s eyes held a fire that he had never seen before.  Even in all her beauty – loosely curled blonde hair, wispy bangs and silky white blouse to match her high waist trousers – she looked intimidating.  Steve realized at that moment, he had never truly felt intimidated by his mother until right now.  She looked absolutely furious, appalled even.  Her lips were pursed together into a tight, thin line, and by the looks of her clenched jaw he could tell she had gritted her teeth.

Steve swallowed, feeling the panic seep in.  “Wait, mom –”

“Not a word,” she cut him off.  “I didn’t raise you like this.”

You didn’t raise him at all, you thought to yourself.  If it weren’t for the fear you held, you would have had to really fight to stay quiet.  But as Mrs. Harrington kept going, you couldn’t have found your own voice if you tried.

“Bringing girls up to your room to sleep with them?  What filthy movies have you been watching?  Did you… Oh my god, did you find one of your father’s?!”

Steve’s eyes went wide with horror.  “What?!  No!  Mom, please –”

“I don’t know what vile things you’ve had put in your head, Steven.  By your friends, your father, porn or whatever the hell you kids are doing these days.  But this.  Ends.  Now.”

Your terror-stricken eyes expression became all the more terrified, and as Steve’s mother wrenched you off the bed you let out the most heartbreaking little yelp.  Steve felt his heart jump into his throat.

“MOM, PLEASE, DON’T –”

“And you,” she turned to face you, dragging you beside her out of his bedroom.  “You’re a young lady.  You should know better.”

You felt absolutely sick to your stomach.  Hearing Steve’s mom accuse you of being capable of doing something so grimey – of being a slut – made you feel so small.  And Steve’s panicked shouts weren’t helping.

“But I–I,” you stuttered, your voice so shaky and low it was almost inaudible.  How could she think you and Steve would do such a thing together?  It wasn’t like that.  He was your best friend.  Your safe haven.  Your favorite person in existence.

Mrs. Harrington slammed Steve’s bedroom door shut, trapping his shouts.  She was dragging you down the stairs as you heard him fling the door back open and barrel after you.  She whipped around, waving a finger up at him.

“You stay right there,” she ordered him, voice fierce and booming.  Then, as she kept going, she told you, “I’m taking you straight home to talk to your parents.  This friendship is over.”

The way that Steve wailed ‘no,’ had to have been the most excruciatingly painful sound you had ever heard.  Tears sprang to your own eyes, and you didn’t even try to conceal the whimpers that fell from your lips.  Mrs. Harrington couldn’t have cared less, ripping her car keys off the wall next to the front door.

“Mom, wait, just wait!” Steve’s voice was strained, but desperate.  

You tried to look back at him, only catching glimpses as you were being hauled away by his mother.  You could see the petrified anguish etching Steve’s features, his tired eyes practically popping out of their sockets.  His hair in complete disarray, his sweatpants hung low and his t-shirt all twisted.  He was the most beautiful mess, and you were being taken away from him.

“Not another step, Steven Harrington!” his mother barked, voice shrill.  

Steve came to an abrupt halt on the sidewalk, and even though he was a good distance away now you could see his shoulders shaking and bottom lip trembling.  Your heart thudded in your chest, and you felt like throwing up.  

Paula Harrington was now standing next to her car, opening the passenger side door.  No way in hell was she going to march you over to your house, directly across the street, just so that all of your neighbors could watch and stare from inside their respective homes.  She ushered you in quickly, giving you no choice but to obey.  You crawled into the front seat, pulling your knees to your chest, crying into them.  You felt so ashamed and embarrassed – and for what?  Falling asleep next to your best friend?  Yeah, that���s exactly what you had done that caused this twisted guilt to stir up inside you.  

“I’m taking you straight home,” she told you, cold and fierce.  “And you’re not to step foot over here again.  Do you understand?”

You bit into your knees, clenching your eyes shut in shame.    Mrs. Harrington slammed the door shut, making you jump.  The sound, along with her words, rang in your ears.

This friendship is over.

Your mind was reeling, stomach churning.  You clutched your legs, tugging them impossibly closer to your chest and you rocked in the front seat of Paula’s car.  You looked out the window, watching Steve run towards you.  His mom held out a hand, and you could hear their entire conversation through the thin glass window as you sniffled.

“Mom, nothing happened,” Steven insisted, voice broken.

“You expect me to believe that?!” Mrs. Harrington shot back at him with zero sympathy.  “How many times has this happened, Steven?”

Steve raked his fingers through his chestnut hair, distressed and breathing hard.  “You don’t understand, we just fell asleep –”

“How many?”

“Whenever I can’t sleep!” Steve screamed at her, and his mother visibly pulled back.  “Because y-you –”  Steve gasped for air.  “D-dad, it’s just –”  Steve pressed his lips together, words failing him, so painfully frustrated with himself and this entire situation.  “God, it’s nothing, Mom.  Nic comes over here, and s-sometimes I go there –”

“You sleep at her house?” his mother interrupted, shocked.

“It doesn’t matter!” Steve cries.  His mother is now frozen, taken aback by the hysteria in his voice.  As her son stares back at her, tears threatening to spill over and lips parted, she finally shakes her head.

“You’re almost thirteen years old, Steven,” she says, voice low and bitter.  “You’re too damn old to be having little sleepovers with girls.  You know how this looks.  I know what you were doing.”

“No, you don’t,” Steve shook his head, violently.

“Yes.  I do.”

“NO, YOU DON’T.”  Steve wailed, completely falling apart.  “You don’t know anything.  And I don't care that you don’t, because Nicole knows and that’s all I care about.”

His mother gawked at him, and Nicole could tell that his words stung her a bit.  Still, Paula stood her ground.

“Well whatever you two are doing, it’s over,” she said, coolly.  

Steve’s face crumpled.  “No, please –”

“You’ve got plenty of guys you can hang out with, Steven,” Mrs. Harrington said, tongue sharp.  “They can sleep over whenever you want.  Go call them.”

Steve flung his arms up in the air, running his hands through his hair again as he whirled around in a full 360 before facing her again.

“I don’t care about them –”

“Start caring,” she said simply, turning to walk towards the car again.  She was approaching the driver’s side to open her door.

“Mom, no, NO!”  Steve lurched forward, trying to grab her car keys.  His mother jumped back, reacting just in time.  Her reflexes served her justice as she whipped the keys out of his reach.  

“What is the matter with you?!”  Paula looked absolutely stunned now.  

But Steve wouldn't listen, still trying to wrench the keys from her hands.  They rustled, arms and limbs tangled as they both struggled to overpower the other.  Paula stuttered verbal protests, while Steve whimpered and grunted.  You couldn’t help but feel your heart swell, despite how utterly broken you felt.  Because Steve wasn’t letting you slip away that easily – and while you were too timid to speak up for yourself, he wasn’t.  He was always the brave one.  At school.  Whenever you fell off your bike, or slipped on the playground.  Nobody could pick on you, so long as Steve was there.  Not even his parents could, apparently.  

Eventually, Mrs. Harrington got the upper hand.  No doubt due to the fact that Steve wouldn’t actually be physically aggressive towards his own mother.  She tugged hard, causing Steve to lose his footing and stumble back onto the ground.  He collapsed, landing on his side and barely catching himself.  Paula gasped, watching him make a harsh impact with the concrete sidewalk.

“Steve, baby –” she breathed, noting the bad scrape on his arm.

Steve began to convulse with ugly sobs, curling in on himself.  He gritted his teeth, lips stretched thin.  Mrs. Harrington stared in horror for only a moment before kneeling beside him to assess the damage.  She might not have been a warm person, but she wasn’t a violent one either.  That was all his father.  She didn’t believe in putting a hand on her kid.  She just didn’t do anything to stop it when Mr. Harrington did.

“Give me your arm,” she said, her voice shaking now.

“Please, mom, please,” Steve bawled, pulling away from her and cowering back.  Paula noted the way her son wouldn’t look at her now, and she hated it.  It reminded her of the way he was around his father.  And she was not his father.  She was hardly a mother, but more importantly she was not his father.  She swallowed hard, pride overcoming any deeply buried traces of warmth and love within her.

“Listen to me,” she tried again, voice still shaking.  “Give me your arm.”

But Steve just unabashedly wailed, now feebly sitting up.  Tears streamed down his cheeks, drops of blood forming on his freshly scraped arm.  The guttural cries escaping his lips were so agnonized, Paula couldn’t understand it.  She had never seen him like this.  He just kept murmuring unintelligible things that sounded like don’t, don’t, don’t, and please, no, and pathetically trying to get the keys from her.  His efforts were futile, but he wouldn’t back down.

“Steven,” she said, incredulously.  “Stop.”

“Mom, she’s the only friend I have.”  

Steve’s tortured words landed hard, on both you and Paula.  They hit you like a freight train, piercing your heart.  

Steve cried and cried, finally looking at his mother again as he admitted this treacherously painful confession in a wrecked voice.  Paula couldn’t believe it.  There was no way that Steve didn’t have friends.  She had seen him.  At his games, and social gatherings.  He got along with everybody.  She didn’t have to be at school with him to know he was popular.  All the girls had a crush on him, and all the guys wanted to be around him.  No way were you the only friend he had. No way was he as lonely as he was saying that he was.  He wasn’t, he just wasn’t… Was he?

But then Paula realized it wasn’t a matter of him not having friends.  It was only a matter of you.  You, his other limb since he was the age of six.  You, who spent every birthday and holiday with him.  You, who sat with him on the bus, and at lunch, and any party you both went to together or with your families.  You, who somehow seemed to be everywhere, in every memory.  She’d never really thought much of it, assuming it was just some childhood crush or next door neighbor that you would both eventually outgrow.  And when she had found you in his bed, naturally, she assumed the worst.  You and Steve were both in middle school.  This was prime time for puberty, and exploring sexuality.  It was the pre-high school danger zone.  No way around it.  But come to think of it, she’d never seen you act as anything other than friends.  Not that that mattered.  Friends liked each other, too.  It all had to start somewhere.

Paula glanced up at the passenger window of her car, spotting you.  You still had your knees to your chest, fresh tears of your own spilling down your cheeks.  She would never admit it, but the sight of you looking so hurt – thanks to her – made her heart ache.  She knew you were a good girl.  If anything, you were obnoxiously good.  Sometimes she wondered if you had a single mean bone in your body.  It was infuriating, really.

She turned back to her son, who was still weeping uncontrollably and waiting for her to respond.  That really drove the knife deeper into her heart, and she could feel herself cracking.  The brutal truth of it all was landing, the realization dawning on her.

You were Steve’s home.

Mr. and Mrs. Harrington would never be that for their son.  Nor would their great big house.  No social status, or money, or upper class school would give him refuge.  But you?  You did that.  Have been doing that for the past six years.  

Steve didn’t lack friends.  He lacked family.  And you were far closer to family than his actual family was.

Mrs. Harrington took a deep breath, pinching the bridge of her nose, keeping her emotions at bay.  She pushed her bangs out of her face, slowly rising to stand.  She closed her eyes briefly, mustering up whatever strength was left in her.  Then, she made her way towards you with a collected yet somber expression etching her feminine features.

All you could do was watch her, unable to breathe as you anxiously waited to see what she was about to do.  To your surprise, she reached for the handle…and opened your door.  You sat there, frozen in place.  Mrs. Harrington didn’t hurry you back out of her car, seeing how visibly afraid you were.  Instead, she just tilted her head slightly, and you knew that was your cue.  Newfound relief surged through you, and you felt the ice pick that was lodged in your chest finally melt.  Cautiously, you made your way out of the passenger’s seat, your bare feet touching the grass.  You looked up at her timidly, finding her expression to be blank.  

Then you turned to Steve.  Beautiful, sweet Steve.  He was still on the ground, his cries steadying.  When he saw you step out of the car, he stumbled to his feet, hiccuping.  You kept your head low, shoulders slumped as you made your way towards him.  You crashed into his chest, feeling the weight of the world lifted off your shoulders as Steve’s arms wrapped around you.

Steve’s entire world had ended just a few minutes ago, and now it had begun again.  The second you were back in his arms, everything was alright.  He still hiccupped and whimpered, but you did too.  You just held each other, crying softly.  

All Paula could do was watch.  Something about the way her son held you – so protectively and so full of love – made something inside her stir.  A sour taste filled her mouth, wanting to feel touched by it but too bitter at her own miserable reality to let it do so.  Because her son resonated more love than her husband ever could.  The way that Steve clung to you, burying his face in the crook of your neck as he swayed you both side to side, was the truest form of love that Paula had ever seen.  Her friends had never held her like that, when she was a little girl.  Even all grown up, Chet had never held her like that.  Not even close.  Not even at their happiest, years ago.  Maybe she had assumed that their son would naturally be the same way.  

God, was she wrong.  Because as you fiddled your fingers in the hair at the nape of Steve’s neck, whispering how sorry you were, causing Steve to just shake his head against your shoulder and tell you not to be, Paula Harrington saw the epitome of true love shine through her son.  And, by extension, you. 

She hung her head, unable to look any more.  It upset her too much.  So she quietly made her way back inside, refusing to speak of this ever again.  Not with Steve, or with you.  Your parents would never know, and Chet Harrington would never know either.  

As Steve held you close to him, refusing to let you go, somehow you both knew that you would never have to worry about this again.  You weren’t going to be pulled apart, or stop being there for each other.  Because even if you had been driven away from him today, Steve would have persisted.  You would have done the same.  Tethered souls cannot be untethered.

Steve was twelve years old when he found that out.

___________

It was Steve’s fifteenth birthday when he kissed you for the very first time.

His parents were out at some party that night, having brought yours along too.  So the house was his for the night, until they drunkenly stumbled home.  All of his friends were elated.  Big house, no parents.  That’s the way Carol Perkins always puts it.  Steve Harrington’s house was the coolest on the block.  Huge pool with a deck.  Two stories, plus a man cave basement with a fully stocked mini bar that felt like an underground speakeasy.  And best of all, no parental supervision.  

Steve had become quite the hit, come freshman year.  He was captain on the swim team, and his body showed it.  His charm was as enticing as ever, winning every heart of every girl at school.  His boyishly handsome features blossomed day by day, growing cuter by the second.  His hair had become his statement piece, coining his nickname, Steve ‘The Hair’ Harrington.  He had it goin’ on, and everyone knew it.  Including you.

You, too, were a catch.  Your hair was longer, and you’d trimmed layers into your long red locks so that you had little side swept curtain bangs that all the girls wanted.  You were a cheerleader, but you really loved photography.  So you took that up, too.  You also had a great house for parties, which your mom was always too willing to host for you and your cheer squad girlfriends.  You never really planned those, so much as she did. And sure, you shared the same circle of friends as Steve.  But you still had that introverted loner streak in you, liking to do your own thing.  Steve was the social butterfly, his posse of admirers increasing more and more.  You were popular, given that you were the freshman heartthrob’s best friend.  ‘Steve’s girl.’  

Except you weren’t his girl, though.  Not really.  Yeah, you two were inseparable as ever.  That hasn’t changed.  But you weren’t technically his.  At least, not romantically…

“C’mon, big boy!  Chug the rest’a that beer so we can play some spin the bottle!”

Tommy H.  Somehow, that rowdy kid had gotten into your circle.  You weren’t really sure how.  He played basketball, but he was mostly on the bench.  His daddy was rich, too, but he was a drunk and a slob.  His step-mom was somewhere in her twenties, probably leaning more towards the younger end.  No one really knew much about his actual mom, but the mommy issues definitely showed.  Not that this had stopped Carol from being all over him.  Those two had their tongues down each other’s throats all the time, ever since she hit on him at one of the games.  They had snuck behind the bleachers to make out.  Probably more.  They bickered, sometimes being downright cruel to each other.  But it seemed to be their thing.

Oh yeah, and about Carol.  She was pretty much the same as she was in kindergarten.  Bratty.  Obnoxious.  Loud.  But when she had noticed you and Steve were still friends, and Tommy H. had made it clear to her that that wasn’t changing anytime soon, she’d retired her days of picking on you.  She pretty much had since that day at recess, but especially after seeing you were this untouchable princess in Steve’s world.  She didn’t get it, but she didn’t care to try.  She merely accepted it, and so you let it be.  You were stronger than you had been back then, having more of a voice.  But you were still a good girl at heart, soft spoken and a little too forgiving. 

“Oh Jesus,” Steve muttered, chuckling as he swiped at his perfect hair.  

Tommy H. has an arm slung around him, getting everyone to cheer him on.  You sat on the couch next to Stacy and Liz, your Paps Blue Ribbon in hand, grinning.  Chug, chug, chug, everyone chanted.  Soon enough, Steve’s bottle was empty and a circle was forming on the floor.  You settled on the ground across from him, shooting him a cute smirk.  He winked — and it didn’t matter how long you’d known him, it always made you blush.

“This seat taken?”

You looked up to find Christopher Cazaway standing above you, a soft smile on his lips.  You returned it, patting the empty space beside you.

“Be my guest.”

He obliged, not hesitating to take you up on the offer.  Christopher was a sophomore.  Blonde, handsome, 6’5” and a basketball superstar.  He was bound to get a scholarship somewhere great, no doubt in anyone's mind.  He was every coach’s dream, along with every girl at the school.  But as far as his personality goes, he wasn’t the jock type.  He was sort of a gentle giant, with a heartwarming smile and hearty laugh.  He could dribble and shoot hoops like no other, and he was drop dead handsome, but there wasn’t a vain bone in his body.  Christopher was surprisingly soft spoken, almost shy.  He was mature, sometimes seeming a little wise beyond his years.  He seemed to talk better with adults than teens in ways.  Still, everyone adored him.  He got invited to every party, hosting a few of his own but rarely.  

Secretly introverted kids like you noticed other like minded souls when you spotted them.  But little did you know, it was Christopher who had noticed you first.  Sure, he liked your vibrant red hair and ocean grey eyes.  Yeah, he noticed the lean build of your legs and slim curve of your neck and jawline.  Absolutely, he thought you were beautiful.  He liked the thin little rings you wore on your fingers, and he thought your laugh was adorable.  More than anything though, Christopher liked the way you carried and presented yourself.  He liked that you were so aware, observant.  You weren’t aloof, or like all the other girls that flung themselves at him.  You were real.  And he liked that.  A lot.  He kept liking more things about you, the more you both sat together in chemistry class or saw each other at basketball practice, since that’s where you had cheer meets.

“Man,” he said, crossing his legs.  “Haven’t played spin the bottle since middle school.”

You hummed a light chuckle, setting down your drink.  “Well if it makes you feel any better, I’ve never played period.”

He cocked an eyebrow, grinning at you.  “Is that right?”

You smiled sheepishly.  “I don’t get out much.”

He had to chuckle at that, knowing you were half kidding.  But he didn’t doubt that you’d never played before.  Not because you seemed awkward or uncomfortable, but because you weren’t like the other girls.  Or anyone here, for that matter.  You weren’t the typical snobby rich girl, from her snobby rich family.  You were different.

From across the room, Steve watched you two talk.  He found it interesting that Christopher and you talked with such ease, never having realized you two might be friends.  But Stacy and Liz chimed into your conversation eventually, and Tommy H. was back to hollering again.

“Everybody, shut up!” he shouted, silencing people for the most part.  He clapped his hands together, grinning like an idiot.  “Let’s fuck some lips.”

Girls made faces and sounds of disgust, while most of the dudes snickered in agreement.   You kept a straight face, not really phased by his antics.  Christopher found the kid gross, but knew he was just an ignorant freshman who thought he was hot shit.  So he didn’t really let it irk him much.  

“Wait,” Carol interjected, cracking open a peach schnapp.  “What if, like, a guy lands on a guy?”

Tommy H. snorted.  “Then you roll again.  No one’s gay up in here.  This isn’t a faggot party.”

Steve’s nose scrunched at that.  “Tommy, c’mon, man.  Don’t say that.”

You squirmed, adding softly, “that’s really not nice.”

“What?!  It’s true.”  Tommy H. took a swig of his beer, shrugging.

“Okay, then what about girls?” Carol pressed.  Her boyfriend smiled devilishly.

“Nah, that shit’s hot,” he sneered.  

“Ugh, that’s not fair!” Carol whined, but her grin contradicted her complaint.  You internally rolled your eyes.  Oh sweet misogyny, you thought to yourself.  The selective homophobia of an insecure male asshole was enough to make you wanna puke.

“Okay, can we just — play?” Someone interjected.

“Alright, alright,” Steve said, waving his hands.  He placed his empty beer bottle in the middle of the circle, looking up to wriggle his eyebrows at everyone.  “Who’s first?”

“You are, big guy,” Tommy H. said, clapping him in the back.  “Birthday boy always kicks us off.”

Some of the teens oooh’d and giggled, dramatically.  All the girls were just itching for it to be them that the bottle landed on, so that they could smooch the hot new heartthrob of Hawkins High.  Their very own small town Prince Charming.

Steve shrugged, reaching to give the bottle a spin.  

As you watched the bottle turn and turn, you couldn’t help but feel the anxious butterflies dance in your stomach.  You weren’t sure why you hoped it landed on you.  Then again, you were.  In fact, you totally were.  You’d loved Steve for as long as you could remember.  It was inevitable, given your history.  You knew he loved you, too.  It just probably wasn’t like that.  Still, you wondered if maybe he wanted the bottle to land on you too.

But it didn’t land on you.  It landed on Becky, who couldn’t help but gasp.  She looked absolutely ecstatic, giggling like a school girl.  Steve look at her with a grin and raised an eyebrow, somehow looking both shy and confident.

Oh shit.  Were you about to watch him kiss another girl?  You hadn’t had to see that before.  Sure, you knew he’d kissed another girl before.  A few, actually.  Steve’s first kiss had been Elsie Fitzgerald.  8th grade, behind the P.E. building.  You knew that, because Steve had told you first thing.  He’d nudged you in line at the cafeteria, telling you in a low voice as he plopped a milk carton on his tray.  And you’d listened, pretending that it didn’t make your heart break.  He was pretty happy about it, more so for himself than he was actually lit up about having kissed Elsie specifically.  She had passed him a note in class, asking to be his Valentine.  Your heart really sank after hearing that, wishing it had been you.  After that, Steve had a few kisses with girls under his belt — none of which were with you.

You were still waiting on your first kiss.  

And as that reminder floated around in your head, you watched Becky crawl across the floor to lean in and kiss your best friend on the lips.  He sat still, kissing her with ease.  You wondered what it felt like.  The touch of his lips, which you always thought looked so soft.  Becky lingered a little while, and eventually Steve pulled away with a charming smile.  She squealed, flitting back to her seat and flipping her hair.  The butterflies in your stomach felt blue, but you kept a light smile on your face to mask it. 

Now, Tommy spun the bottle. One by one, teens kissed.  Some girls even kissed, making you flush.  You watched Steve kiss a couple other girls, all of them doing a horrible job at concealing their giggling fits.  At some point, it was your turn to spin — and it landed right between Steve and Tommy H. 

Now you really felt butterflies in your stomach. Their dance was a little angry this time, though.  Your anxiety spiked, dreading the thought of kissing Tommy but nerves wrecked as you thought about getting to kiss Steve.

Your eyes glanced up at your best friend by default, finding that he was already looking back at you shyly.  Tommy barked a laugh, clapping his hands.

“Look, I don’t wanna make any calls here,” he said, putting his hands up in surrender.  “But uhhh, I’ll let the birthday boy take this one.  As much as I’d love to rock your world, princess.”

Your eyes narrowed at him.  “That’s one way to put it.”

“C’mon, birthday boy,” Carol snickered.  “Kiss your best friend.”

Steve felt himself blush, hoping he didn’t look as nervous as he felt.  God, he had wondered what it felt like to kiss you for so long without even realizing that he had until this very moment.  The way you were looking at him right now, looking so calm and content, he never would have known that you were so completely in love with him.  He was pretty sure that he was a party of one, in that department.  

Tommy kept making gross kissy noises.  Steve cleared his throat, feigning lighthearted cockiness as he looked wryly at Tommy.  

“Knock it off, man,” he mumbled, turning back to face you.  

You watched him eye you with curiosity, as if he was silently asking you if this was okay.  But you just smiled warmly, welcoming the contact.  So Steve got on his knees and crawled over to you, meeting you halfway.  As he got closer to you, he could see those tiny sun kissed freckles that lightly dusted your nose, and the smooth surface of your porcelain cheek.  He could see the light whisk of mascara on your eyelashes, and the very neutral shade of lipstick on your full lips.  He felt himself swallow, his usual bravado failing him.  You looked so gentle, sweet as ever.  He wondered if your tongue tasted as sweet as you were…

You sat back on your knees and heels, hands placed in your lap as you looked at him, patient and a little sheepish.  Steve was so close to you now, basking in the scent of your soft perfume.  It smelled like the ocean, with faint traces of coconut and vanilla.  He wanted to kiss you.  He really did.  

“Oh my god, kiss already!” Carol screeched.  

But neither of you flinched, even as the others echoed their sentiments.  You breathed a tiny laugh, making Steve grin.  Without thinking, he found himself placing a hand to the curve of your jaw.  Oh.  He hasn’t done that with the other girls.  His breath lightly hitched at the contact, realizing he’d never actually been this close to you.  Which made no sense, given you’d fallen asleep in the same bed for how many years now?  But this was different.  This type of intimacy wasn’t the same.

You subtly leaned into his touch, eyes never leaving his.  His thumb stroked your cheek, the corner of his lip tugging upwards.  Your noses touched, the sharp tip of his against the little perky end of yours.  His breath was warm against your skin, feeling like a blanket wrapping itself around your face.  You both kept leaning in, slowly.  Ever so slowly.

Finally, his bottom lip grazed yours.  And those butterflies in your stomach were doing a full blown ballet now.  Steve felt his heart skip a beat.  Maybe several beats.  

Damn, he thought.  Since when did kissing feel like this?

It was the way your lips moved against his, so graceful and supple.  The way your fair skin felt like satin beneath his finger tips.  Steve felt a rush of euphoria overcome him, reveling in the feeling of your mouth against his.  Becky didn’t kiss like that.  Elsie didn’t, or any of the other girls.  People always said that kissing is an art.  Steve did have a reputation for being a good kisser, even at just fifteen years old.  He just didn’t really think much of it until he was enchanted by your kiss.  

Part of him thought that there was no way you hadn’t kissed somebody before.  Not with how incredible you felt brushing your lips with his.  Then again — maybe it was because you had never been kissed before that it was so magical.  That innocent bliss of being ‘untouched,’ not yet tainted by anyone or anything.

Meanwhile, you reveled in the rhapsody of Steve’s kiss.  It was everything you ever could have dreamed it would be, and more.  His lips were soft, cloud-like to the touch.  He was gentle in the ways you thought he might be rough, and tame in the ways you thought might be wild.  He didn’t rush anything, taking his time with even the most microscopic of movements.  The light yet firm grasp of his hand on your jaw was slightly edging down towards your neck, and it was all you could do not to hum with lovesick satisfaction.

Yeah, no, everyone thought.  He definitely hadn’t been this tender when kissing the other girls here.

It made those other girls watch you with envy, guys cocking an eyebrow and making immature, snide remarks under their breath.  It was so obvious, the magnetic pull between the two of you.  Anyone could see it.  Even the two of you did, but neither of you would ever admit that.  At least not anytime soon.

And as the kiss ended all too soon — well, too soon for you guys, not necessarily the others — Steve’s pillow soft lips parted from yours as he ever so slightly pulled back to look at you.  Your angelic face was still just an inch or so away from his, your eyelashes fluttering open to reveal your grey irises, exposing a new tint of lovesick blue.  They sparkled, dancing as you looked into his brown eyes that now looked more like the color honey.  You bit your lip, a timid smile finding your freshly kissed pout.  

God, Steve thought.  He would've kissed you again, right then and there.

But as Tommy H. hooted and hollered, snapping your two out of your gaze, reality sunk in again.  This was a party, and it was just a game.  It wasn’t a real kiss.  It was prompted by a bottle and reckless youth.  Nothing more.

Right?

“Well alrighty then, lovebirds,” some guy chided with a dark laugh.

You blushed, casting your eyes downwards.  You composed yourself, watching Steve do the same.  Yep, it was just a dream.

“Yeah, since when did this become a love making session?” Tommy H. jested.

Steve shot Tommy a scowl, before watching you scooch back to where you’d been sitting.  You gave him a shy smile, twiddling your thumbs in your lap.  Steve quickly scooted back to his place too, across from you in the circle.  He smiled back at you softly, before Tommy gave him a macho shove.  Steve shoved him back, but with half the strength.  He was still snapping out of it.  Soon, he cleared his throat, forcing his mental fantasies to the back of his brain again.

“Alright, next up,” Steve said, straightening his hair.  Fuck, did anyone else see how nervous he felt?  Apparently not, because everyone seemed to resume the game like nothing had ever happened.

Christopher clicked his tongue and slapped his hands on his knees.  “Welp,” he said, leaning forward.  “Guess it’s me.”

He gave the bottle a good spin.  

Lo and behold, it landed on you.

“Oh shit!” Tommy H. exclaimed, rolling over into a ridiculously unnecessary fit of laughter.  

Carol made obnoxiously loud remarks, too, along with lots of people in the circle.

Yeah.  Oh shit, indeed.

“Aww, little princess is getting all the kisses tonight,” she cooed condescendingly, her high pitched voice so fake and sugary sweet.

You felt your cheeks flush again, allowing yourself to tinker a laugh.  You turned to face Christopher, finding him rubbing his neck with a bashful smile on his face.  He looked at you with slightly timid eyes, chuckling nervously.  He was nervous?  Why would he be nervous, you wondered?

Oddly, you felt very at ease about the situation.  It was just Christopher.  He was always kind to you, and a good friend since you started high school.  If you’d had to kiss anybody else in the circle, you would prefer it be him than some guy you hardly knew.  And you certainly hoped it wouldn’t land on Tommy. 

You shrugged your shoulders, giving him a little grin.  He grinned back, brightly.  The corners of his eyes crinkled, and it was adorable really.  

Given that he was seated right next to you, no awkward crawling towards each other had to take place.  You just pivoted to face him, comfortably.  This kiss didn’t make you nervous.  You’d just gotten your first one out of the way, with the one guy you had been in love with your whole life.  So a second one with someone who was just a friend?  It seemed pretty easy.

Christopher had his eyes intently on you, which dropped down to look at your lips then back up to your eyes.  He leaned back on one hand, which he placed slightly behind you firmly into the carpet.  It gently brushed against your hip, his tone arm ghosting over the fabric of your dress.  He leaned in closer, slow and calculated, so that he was slightly looking up at you.  You still weren’t nervous, though, even as you looked into his dark blue eyes.  You just smiled, waiting.  His loods became hooded as he tilted his head just right, so that yours could tilt the opposite way whenever your lips made contact.  Sure enough, his lips found yours, and it was the most grounding kiss.  It was sweet, a little firmer than Steve’s.  He was soft, just a little more assertive.  Suddenly you felt his other hand cup the back of your neck, his touch tender and caring but secure.  It surprised you, but you didn’t pull away.  In fact, you instinctively placed a hand on his knee. 

If you hadn’t been busy locking lips with Christopher, you would have seen the melancholy expression on Steve’s face.  But you didn’t.  

Steve hopelessly watched you kiss the handsome sophomore, overcome with a sense of dread.  He hadn’t taken this into account when playing the game.  You know, that he’d actually have to watch you kiss another guy.  Maybe that wasn’t really the problem, though.  No, the problem was the way that Christopher kissed you.  Was still kissing you.  Steve could have sworn that he saw the blonde athlete move his lips against yours a second time, and envy creeped up his spine.  Christopher definitely hadn’t kissed Linda or Molly like that earlier in the game, when the bottle had landed on him during their turn.  Nah, this was just with you.  Why the hell was he kissing you like that?

…why the hell was he still kissing you like that?

Steve squirmed.  He felt as though he might laugh, or shout, or blurt something without being able to control himself, and he probably would have had it not been for you finally breaking contact with Christopher.  Oh thank Christ, Steve thought, as he let out a breath that he hadn’t realized he’d been holding this whole time.

You simply gave Christopher a warm smile, but your eyes looked slightly dazed and confused.  Because you were.  It had caught you a little off guard, the way that he’d just kissed you.  It definitely lasted a little longer than needed.  Not that you minded it.  You didn’t really know what to think of it, actually.  One thing was for sure, his gaze on you was not one he’d given any of the other girls that night.  You knew that much.  You might’ve been uncharacteristically oblivious to Steve’s feelings for you, but you weren’t blind to someone else’s.  Before now, though, you never really thought that Christopher felt anything for you aside from friendship.  But now, it seemed that he did.  It seemed he very much did.

Huh, you thought.  Interesting.

You still hadn’t looked over to see Steve’s disheartened expression in the midst of all the immature teenagers in a circle, making a series of noises and comments following the kiss.  He hoped that no one was watching him.  Then again, would he even care if they did?  That didn’t matter, not when he cared way more about the fact that some other guy was looking at you like that.  It didn’t sit right.  It really didn’t sit right.  

But what was he gonna do about it?  Say, “Hey Christopher, it’s my birthday, so maybe back off my girl?”  No, because you weren’t technically his.  You were your own.

…but your heart was his.

…and his heart was yours.

Steve doesn’t really remember much after that.  He knew they hadn’t been playing for much longer, and that eventually everyone wanted to shotgun some more beers.  He knew that Linda and Becky had been saying something to him in the lavish living room, as they twirled their hair and batted their lashes.  He knew that Tommy H. had been daring everyone to jump in the pool, dragging Carol in with him.  Teens screeched and hollered, splashing and laughing while the Eagles blasted in the background from the Harrington’s flashy stereo inside the house.

Steve does remember when “Sweet Emotion” by Aerosmith had started to play.  He was leaning against his kitchen island, making small talk with some of the guys.  You were out by the pool, red solo cup in hand, and you had started to sway to yourself.  The skirt of your dress flicked at the corners, your toned legs sashaying you from side to side.  You turned a little, so that he could see your profile.  You were grinning ear to ear, in your own little world.  He loved when you did that.  You were so damn adorable when you did that.  You lifted a hand into the air – the one not holding your cup of booze – closing your eyes, and singing the words.

Sweet emotion…

Sweet emotion…

You talk about things that nobody cares

Wearing out things that nobody wears

You turn so that you’re now facing the open sliding glass door, opening your eyes as you fix your gaze on Steve.  Your eyes are a little hazy, but still glow.  You point your finger at Steve, serenading him in your buzzed stupor.  Your grin deepens as you sing the next words along with Steven Tyler.

You’re calling my name, but I gotta make clear

I can’t say, baby, where I’ll be in a year

Steve can feel himself smiling like an idiot, shaking his head as he lets out a throaty chuckle that’s drowned out by the music.  He bites his lip absentmindedly, watching you just exist.  You throw your head back, smiling at the sky, hips still swaying.  

Stacy makes her way over to you from the other side of the pool, definitely more drunk than you were.  She sings loudly, catching your attention.  You look down from the black night sky to look at her, and you laugh when you see her wanting to join you.  She grabs your hand, twirling you around and singing everything off key.

Some sweat hog mama with a face like a gent

Said my get up and go, must've got up and went

Well I got good news, she's a real good liar

'Cause the backstage boogie sets your pants on fire

As the guitar solo rips through the stereo speakers, your dancing intensifies.  Everyone in the pool seem to be getting rowdier, also singing Aerosmith at the top of their lungs.

Stacy’s footing betrays her and she stumbles, laughing drunkenly.  You catch her, making sure that she’s okay and stifling a laugh.  But once you see that she’s clearly fine, you laugh too.  Liz makes her way out of the pool to check on her, squatting down and clutching her hands and still singing while Stacy just keeps laughing.

Steve takes the opportunity to approach you as you stand alone again, sneaking up quickly to grab you and spin you around.  You squeal, feeling his chest pressed to your back as your legs dangle off the ground.  You hold onto his toned arms tightly, giggling uncontrollably.  When he sets you back down, you turn so that you’re looking directly at him.  

Sweet emotion…

Sweet emotion…

Your stomach does flip-flops, seeing his signature Steve Harrington smiled directed only at you.  His brown eyes hold a certain mischief in them, and you can’t help but feel a rush of love for this boy you’d known since you were just barely in kindergarten.  He lifts your hand to twirl you, and suddenly you’re six years old again, dancing in your treehouse with Steve.  The real world ceases to exist, and it’s just the two of you in your own fantasy world.  No matter what ups and downs, highs and lows, good days and bad days, heartache and joy, that reality throws both of your way – the one constant you both have had is each other.  Somehow, that’s never changed. 

You both sing to each other, hand in hand and hips in time with the music.

I pulled into town in a police car

Your daddy said I took it just a little too far

You're telling her things but your girlfriend lied

You can't catch me 'cause the rabbit done died

Yes it did

Now everyone around you is losing their mind, screaming the words and partying like animals as the song continues to blare.  It’s an 80’s rock-n-roll kind of vibe, full of teen angst, booze and sexual tension.  Guys shotgun more beer by the pool, couples make out in the deep end.  Girls hold each other with limp limbs and sloppy smiles, slurring the words and proclaiming their girl power love for each other.  They won’t remember it tomorrow, but for tonight it’s the glorious eternal truth.

As for you – Nicole St. James, the freshman mystery girl and princess in the making – you’ve only got eyes and moves for your best friend in the world.  Steve Harrington, Hawkins High’s soon-to-be very own King Steve.  Two best friends and lovers in denial, hopelessly devoted to one another, just without the title.  You both dance around the truth together on his posh pool deck.  The confident shake of his hips and thrusts of yours fool you blind from seeing that you are just as equally afraid as he is to make the wrong move.

Stand in the front just a shakin' your ass

I'll take you backstage, you can drink from my glass

I'll talk about something you can sure understand

'Cause a month on the road and I'll be eating from your hand

Steve knows that something’s gotta give.  He knows that it can’t go on like this forever.  But for him, this is safe.  This is forever.  What you two have guarantees that you’ll both make it.  That you’ll never go away.  You won’t abandon him, or lose interest in him.  If he keeps his distance, even tangled up in your arms when dancing in his backyard or falling asleep next to you, then he’ll always keep you close.  All the money in the world, but he could never afford to lose that.  Not ever.

And you don’t say anything to make him change his mind.  To make him ask you to be his.  To make a move beyond a kiss shared in a public game of spin-the-bottle.  To tell you that he doesn’t just love you – but that he is in love with you.  You don’t confess it either, no matter how fiercely you want to do exactly that.  Because as selfish as it was, you were content too.  You never minded being on your own, but a world without Steve stopped being fathomable in 1972 on that brisk afternoon in your treehouse.  The second he had knocked on your pastel yellow door, in his little sage green sweater, jeans and converse, your solitude had made room for a second person.  He was your other half, so it really wasn’t even surrendering solitude.  It was simply completing it.  Steve completed it.  Completed you.

_________________

To be continued…

VOLUME II next month 🖤

TAG LIST: @loveshotzz @creelhousesteve @t-lostinworlds @freezaz123 @zbeez-outlet @cutiecusp @unhealthyobservationsloves @sunioli

#steve harrington #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington angst #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington x you #steve harrington smut #steve au #steve the hair harrington #steve harrington fic #steve harrington one shot #team steve #joe keery #king steve #steve harrington au #steve harrington blurb #steve harrington fanfiction #steve harrington oneshot #Steve Harrington x fem!character

[engagedtobefree]

I’ve been struggling the past few weeks a bit with my mood. I feel kind of apathetic, I guess you could say. My usual optimism has been a struggle to tap into, but I think it’s finally coming around. To be fair to me, this new year has been a bit rough, and I don’t think I’ve actually had time to stop and process everything. I rang in the new year in bed, sick from a virus, then 3 weeks later just as I was starting to feel better, my friend Craig died. Then two days after his viewing, I was sick with covid for the first time ever. After I got over that, I developed a UTI, which luckily wasn’t as bad as it usually is. I tend to get them fairly easily because of my bladder disorder, but of course after I was getting back into the swing of things after covid, I fell asleep super early one night with a completely full bladder, and that was that 🙃 Then a few weeks later my mom and I had to put her dog to sleep. And really, the rest of it has been me trying to catch up while also focusing on trying to improve my mental health, which is a plate full all on its own. 

Oh, and Idk if I mentioned I’m writing a poem a day this year. Me, who is not consistent with anything, struggles with routines, and has never kept a streak of anything beyond maybe 2 or 3 weeks, has written 100 fucking poems this year!! Today will be day 101 once I write it. I’m actually so glad I started this, because I have needed it to process so many things and also it’s been one of the few saving graces of this year so far. It was a last-minute decision too. I didn't really plan for it, write it down as a goal, or think too much about it; I asked for a notebook for Christmas and my mom ended up getting me 3, one of which has 366 pages, which is perfect since it’s a leap year. That meant I could use a page a day. I wanted to increase my vocabulary, relearn and learn anew about poetry itself, get creative every day, and also write more often so I have the chance to not stay stuck writing about one thing for months and months and months. I take forever to finish a poem because 1. I write inconsistently and 2. I overanalyze every single word because I want it to reflect as accurately as possible what I’m writing about and I also want it to be “good”. My poems have always been deeply personal, so the truth of how I speak through them has always been very important to me. Since I’ve started doing this though, I noticed that I can still do that without spending forever on something, and that the more I write, the more inspiration blesses me. I still have my separate book for my other stuff, but I’ve almost exclusively been focusing on my daily poems since this year started, mostly because that’s all I have time for. No doubt once I get back to my other book, I will still take my time lol, which is fine, cuz now I still have my dailies. Also I realized that it’s okay that my “good” looks different every day, and not everything I write has to be a masterpiece. I’ve always been very self-critical, and this has helped me realize that expecting only “good” material is treating myself as a machine rather than a human being. If I don’t like what I write that day, at least I wrote something, and there will be another opportunity to write again tomorrow. I will probably still be really anal about editing stuff later, but right now, writing every day has been a lot of fun. 

Okay, so now it's time to dive into my personal problems! Wooo! I’m going to start with the one issue I have been hoping for a very long time now would be irrelevant, and that’s Scott. I don’t even tag his name anymore in any personal posts I’ve vented about him in because I just want this to go away, but he has been incessantly trying to get my attention. Literally. Things ended between us a good year and a half ago, but he tried to come back last summer and I was very, very, VERY clear about not wanting to try again and just being friends. He would occasionally reach out to me but it was just niceties and nothing to really worry about, though it did annoy me when he would contact me. But ever since the new year began, he was pestering me almost weekly, asking if I wanted to hang out, commenting on literally every single Snapchat story I post, and asking how I’ve been and saying he misses me. I had legit excuses for the first month and half with getting sick 3 separate times and then my friend Craig dying, but since then it’s mostly been me going to bed before he messages me, ignoring his messages till the morning, him skipping a week in not contacting me, or me just saying I’m too tired for company, which wasn’t actually a lie tbh. I ignored the situation as long as I could before I finally succumbed to the reality that I couldn’t ignore it forever. 

Not this past Friday but the one before was the day I finally decided to deal with it. He was messaging me much earlier in the day than usual, like literally I wasn’t even done work yet, but that also gave me time to feel out what I wanted to do. He asked if he could come over and I told him yes, but then added something pretty close to “I don’t know what your expectations are, but I want you to know that everything I said last summer still stands. I haven’t changed my mind about anything. I am only interested in friendship and nothing more.” I didn’t want him here without me first saying anything to him because I knew he wasn’t going to say anything to me beforehand and I didn’t want to feel like I was caught in some sort of trap in my own home, aka my safe space. He opened my message then didn’t respond for maybe half an hour or so. When he did respond, he said he wanted to hook up with me but he respected if I didn’t want to. Then he said he did really want to be friends at least because he likes me as a person. I told him I know it’s not what he wanted to hear, but I didn’t want him coming here with some idea that something could happen, and that a friendship is really all I want. He responded back that he thought he should tell me before coming over. Okay, so I have a lot to say (vent) about all of that. First off, he wasn’t planning on telling me shit until I said something. He was going to come here and then ask if I wanted to hook up, putting me in an awkward situation when I previously established very clearly I only wanted a friendship and have not even once since then indicated that I have any interest in anything more. This leads me into the second thing which is that he wasn’t even considering what I wanted, just what he wanted. I am very intentional with showing interest. I do not flirt or lead people on. If I flirt, it means I am interested. I have not flirted with Scott since before we even ended things. I send a lot of emojis to anyone and everyone when I message, but I have not sent him any since we broke things off. I also only say someone’s name when messaging if they say mine first or if I am interested. There are some more exceptions to that rule, but if I am consistently saying your name when reaching out, I’m interested. I have not said Scott’s name in messages since before we broke things off. I know that it might not seem like much, but all of that paired with me literally saying I don’t want to try again and only want to be friends should be more than enough to indicate I’m not interested. Thirdly, of course you are going to respect my decision because you’re not going to force me to change my mind. (When he did come over that night, I had a knife and my Simplisafe alert button near me just in case. I don’t think I will ever need them with Scott but you never know.)

I wasn’t sure if he would actually still want to come over after I turned him down, but he was not deterred. Everything went smoothly and it wasn’t awkward, thankfully. He was, however, acting very differently than usual. He was friendly, engaging, talkative, and gave me a bunch of compliments. If he had done this switcheroo like 2 years ago, I might have fallen for it, might have second guessed the fact that I wasn’t being treated right and that I wasn’t happy and ignored that deep down I didn't actually want to be with him, but I’m way past that now. The way he was acting was how he always acted with everyone else except me, which in the past, hurt me a lot. When it came to me, he was often cold, distant, non-communicative, inconsiderate. So for me, him doing this now only really solidifies him in the friendship role. It’s weird in a way because I previously wanted him to act this way with me, like how he did with friends and acquaintances, because it was the nicer Scott, not realizing that if he treated me like other people, it would put me in the same role as them. But now, me actually fulfilling my wish from years ago puts me in the friend/acquaintance role by him being nicer to me. I got my wish, but it happened much later than past me wanted and in a way I hadn’t intended, and it does me more service now than it would have then. I mean, I know there’s the extra caveat of him hoping it will get him laid, but in reality, it pushes him even further away from that than he was to begin with, which was already pretty dang far. I guess in his mind, he thinks there’s a chance I could eventually want him again, or at least enough to sleep with him, but that chance is zero. If I decided I’m done with someone, that means I spent a long time thinking over the situation, how I’m being treated, how I feel about them, who they really are as a person, our relationship and dynamic, if it’s actually really love or something else, what a future with them would look like, etc etc etc. I don’t make decisions like this lightly; I look from every angle and leave no stone unturned, so when I decide I’m done, that means I’m done. For good. Forever. Scott does not know this, but as I’ve said, I haven’t given him a single reason to hope. He’s decided on his own that something could still possibly happen in the future. When he left, he told me to not be a stranger and that we should catch up again soon. I don’t plan on that, but I was happy with how things went, oddly enough. I didn’t really want to see him, but the fact that I did and that I was able to set a clear boundary made me happy, and I felt a sort of completion around the situation. No doubt he’s still going to contact me (he already has lol), but I don’t feel worried or annoyed by it anymore. I’m happy with my decision, restated my boundary with a lot more confidence than last time (not that I should have had to repeat it though), and I feel like I can look forward now without having to worry too much about this. I didn’t feel unsafe, though I figured I wouldn’t, but I wanted to take some extra precautions just in case since I do live alone.

It’s funny because a few years ago when Scott and I still worked together, I had reached a place of complete acceptance with the situation and was able to be completely content with what it was without needing any answers. It was actually during that time that I think we formed a pretty decent friendship, and that’s when I felt we did best. At the time, I thought that what I was feeling was only because of how I was able to find my peace with everything, but looking back now, I think it’s also because that was just where we thrived best together: in a friendship. I’m not going to actively work at being his friend now, especially because I know he still has hopes that I’ll change my mind (I won’t) and something will happen (it won’t), but at least right now, I don’t need to block him or cut him off, which means I don’t feel in danger or like I’m being harassed. However, I don’t like that he still treats me like I’m stupid. I know why he is suddenly making such an effort and doing a total 180 in how he’s treating me. I saw it immediately and haven’t fallen for it for a second, so the fact that he thinks I might actually fall for this is a bit insulting to my intelligence. I’m sure some of it is actually genuine, like him saying he’d like to be friends regardless, which is fine, but just don’t insult me in the process, dude. Also, if he continues to not respect my decision and tries to pressure me, I will block him and cut him off. He can be my friend, he just needs to accept that nothing more will come of it.

Anyway, I feel like I was able to work through that finally. I’ve also been working on some of the past trauma from him, though I had to put a lot of that on hold because of everything that went on this year. I know I can’t move forward until it no longer has such a strong effect on me. I think how I handled the situation now says a lot. When he tried to come back last year, I was anxious, emotional, and very uncomfortable with having to handle the situation and tell Scott I didn’t want to try again. I was still processing a lot of past trauma and while I was positive about not wanting to be with him, I was afraid of hurting him. This time was so different!! I 100% put myself first, and I didn’t feel an ounce of guilt for stating what I wanted and not compromising where I shouldn’t. Growing up in an abusive household where there was a lack of boundaries and respect instilled a false belief in me that caring about how I’m treated is wrong and that attempting to do so is insulting and harmful to the other person. I do still have to deal with this from time to time, but I handle it much better now, and I hope I only continue to grow in that regard. I am 32 years old and still learning to untangle the web of lies that abuse taught me, but here I am, fucking doing it and making so much progress with it. I’m so proud of myself.

So now I’m going to unsmoothly segway into talking about Chris now. This poor guy lol. Anytime I write a personal post on here he ends up in it, and he doesn’t even talk to me. Sorry, Chris, but you’re still on my mind. Some of this is also actually relevant to what I was just talking about though so I’m going to start with that. So back in November when I had my last appointment with him, I struggled a lot. I felt I did some things fairly well, but when it came to flirting and asking if he was single, I failed. If I had to choose a physical representation of it, it would be someone falling flat on their face, trying to get up, then falling again and conceding to lay there till it was over. Chris has no way of knowing why I couldn’t. I mean, if he happened to guess, I’d be very impressed. Back when I worked with Scott, it was difficult. I was unknowingly flirting with a married man for months, who flirted back with me, and then after I found out he was married I was mortified. We ended up on friendly terms and then I developed feelings for him. We stayed friendly and I would talk to him all the time at work. He would start flirting with me again and then I’d naively think maybe something was going on, maybe he separated from his wife or was going through a divorce, so I’d flirt back. Then after several weeks of that, nothing would happen, he’d never bring anything up, so I’d ask him what was going on and he’d tell me nothing, he was married, it is what it is, this can never go anywhere. Then I’d get upset and mad that I fell for it, stop talking to him for a while, and then the cycle would repeat. There was one period where I accepted I wasn’t going to get answers (I mentioned it above) and so we were just friends and nothing more, and that was really the only good, healthy period we had. That was like the second half of 2019 up until he left in October 2020, of course with most of 2020 being working from home. Other than that, it was mostly turmoil, and mostly for me. I was 26 when everything started, and Scott was 44. I kept placing my trust in an older man to do the right thing and to not come into work and flirt with me unless he was available, but I was really naive. I talked to him because I wanted to, not because I expected anything to happen, which I didn’t want anyway unless his marriage broke off, but when he would flirt with me again, it would give me false hope that something could actually happen. I always felt such extreme guilt every time too, knowing that once more I was pursuing a married man who was leading me on while his wife had no idea about any of it. I still carry guilt from my actions during that time, because had I known from the beginning that he was married, I would’ve never looked again in his direction. I was so ashamed of myself for so long because I had a choice to say, “No, this cannot continue, I cannot trust this man unless he gives me an explicit reason that I can”, but instead, I chose to keep trusting. I chose to keep flirting. I have worked through some of that shame and guilt, but not all of it. I recognize that I did try over and over again to not interact with him and to avoid him, but his office door was literally 5 feet from my cubicle, which made it hard. To be clear, I never would have had an affair or taken it outside the office at all. He did bring that up fairly early on during a period when I wasn’t pissed off about things, and I told him I did not want to have an affair with him and he agreed. Now that I think about it, I wonder if his answer was dependent on mine though. This scenario kind of happened again after we reconnected back in May/June of 2021. Since he and his wife had separated recently, he made it clear he didn’t want to enter anything new, no dating or romantic partnership until later down the line, but he wasn’t sure about sexual, so he left that up to me to think about. When I told him no, he agreed, but I was never sure if his response would’ve been different if I had said yes.

Anyway, continuing…I felt very stuck, and it was something I brought up all the time in therapy. I didn’t know how to get unstuck. I was only a temp at my job at the time, and I didn’t have health insurance or any time off. NJ didn’t enact the statewide mandate that all employees must be given at least 2 sick days a year until the same month I was finally hired permanently, so if I took any time off, I didn’t get paid for it. (I just looked it up to confirm the date it was enacted to make sure I had it right, and apparently it’s 40 hours now that are mandatory, which is cool they improved the policy!!) I worked a second job and still lived paycheck-to-paycheck. I couldn’t afford to spend more than $20-$30 a week on groceries, which included toiletries and cleaning supplies. I had to stop paying my electric bill because I couldn’t afford it and I needed the shut-off notice to get assistance to help pay for the bill, which thankfully covered several months and also covered my past-due amounts. My apartment was old and shitty, but it was the only place that was affordable for me at the time. My first year there was $715 a month then the 2nd year was $740. It was definitely a health hazard though: the carpets were musty despite several cleanings; there was water damage in the wall and on the ceiling; the water damage on the ceiling was above my bed, which I couldn’t move anywhere else, and kept forming mold that my complex just kept painting over; the front door wasn’t fit right so there were huge gaps between the door and the frame; the water heater would switch to cold after only 5 or 10 minutes in the shower; and the heating system was so old that in the winter it cost me $200+ just to heat my tiny little 400 square foot studio apartment (it was all electric). I couldn’t interview for other jobs because that meant I wouldn’t get paid if I took time off and then that meant I’d have to stress even more over what bill wouldn’t get paid or if I’d have to eat even less than my 2 meals a day. I had to make sure my cat and guinea pig were fed before I fed myself. At my other job, I worked Sunday brunches, which were the most stressful and busiest shifts, so no other hostess wanted to partner with working on them let alone working it by themselves, which often led to me working the whole shift by myself, and I took up other shifts if I had the time or energy to. My mental health was not great and was only made worse by my life circumstances, and I had to go on a second anxiety medication for a while to stop my anxiety attacks.

I wanted to be out of the situation with Scott, even if that meant leaving to go work someplace else, but I was already doing everything I could and I still couldn’t find a way out without jeopardizing my well-being even further. Moving back in with my mom, which was something I eventually did and regretted, was not an option for me because I worked really hard to get out of the abusive household I grew up in. I say all of this not as an excuse but for context. And for forgiveness. I look back at my younger self and she was dealing with so much stress. My basic needs were not even being fully met, but I continued to show up and to handle things in the best ways I could, and sometimes the decisions I made weren’t actually good ones at all. Still though, I kept believing in people, I kept hoping for the best and trusting, and I was actually really grateful for my life at the time, probably even more so than I am now. I didn’t have much, but I had my own place, my own life, freedom, and that was always something I held onto, even during the worst of things. I tried desperately to find a way to let go of my feelings for Scott, but I couldn’t help how I felt because I kept choosing to see the best while ignoring the rest. It took me a very long time to realize Scott was not the one for me and that he wasn’t the type of person I wanted as my romantic partner. I didn’t accept him fully, flaws and all, and we were not compatible in the ways we needed to be. I wouldn’t have been happy if we did get together, but unfortunately I didn’t see all of that until after he left my work, separated from his wife, and reached out to me on Instagram to connect again and start what would eventually become a “situationship” between us. Still, I’m glad I saw it sooner rather than later and before it devolved into an actual romantic relationship. 

So when I could feel myself hesitation the first time and then shaking the second time when I went to ask Chris if he was single, it was from that past period of my life. I saw it all flash in my mind immediately: all the times I confronted Scott and the answers I got back, and all of the sureness and trust I felt about Chris was immediately squashed by those images. I wrote about a bunch of parallels in my post after my appointment with him, but I wanted to dive a bit deeper into that here in a broader sense. Man at his work flirting with me. Check. Man makes it known he’s interested, then doesn’t take it anywhere. Check. Man offers no explanation whatsoever for that. Check. Man does not willingly mention his relationship status. Check. Man is cautious about what information he gives about himself and words things so that while he can respond, he never actually reveals anything about himself or his life. Check. In someone else’s mind, those might just be indicators of someone who is reserved, guarded, private, whatever. In my mind, those checks are potential red flags. Those checked boxes come with the thoughts, “Oh no, am I going to flirt with an unavailable man again? Am I going to get caught in a similar situation that causes me a lot of duress and emotional pain? Am I going to unwillingly be complicit in some man’s selfish attempts at getting attention from me?” Chris doesn’t know any of that. I felt disappointed in myself after my appointment, and I felt like I had probably disappointed him too, though I don’t know for sure. If I had the chance to tell him why, I would, even if I had to sum it up briefly. I mean, I guess I could just say how I was in a situation with someone before where they weren’t trustworthy and it affected me more than I realized. Turns out traumatic things actually traumatize you. Who knew? 🙃 That’s assuming it’s even necessary for me to explain, since I have no idea at this point if Chris is still interested. He hasn’t brought up the date, and I have tried to initiate meeting up twice with no luck. I’m willing to be patient and wait, but I don’t know exactly what it is I’m waiting for. Is there really a possibility this can go somewhere, or am I being duped again? I didn’t reach out for 2 ½ months, but then last weekend I texted him, and it took several days for us to send only a few messages. He only responded once or twice a day, and then he did that thing again where he told me to have a wonderful day at the end of his message, then when I responded back with a bit more, he never responded back. I still don’t know how to take that. He did say he’s been getting sick like every other week, which is weird cuz that’s exactly what happened to me in the beginning of the year, so I can understand he may not be up for talking to anyone or even checking his phone at all, but I don’t know if that’s what it was or not. I don’t mind slow responses, but it would help to know what was going on and where I stand. Otherwise, it confuses me and I don’t know what to make of it.

I also don’t know if I’m being too impatient? He gave me his number last May and didn’t mention going on a date until December. Obviously, with how this year has gone just for me alone, not including him being sick and whatever else he has going on, nothing could have really happened since he mentioned the date. Maybe I’m being too hopeful? I don’t know 😕 I also don’t know if I have worked through what I needed to regarding Scott, because I have nothing to trigger it. That time of my life when we worked together was triggered only when an outside catalyst brought it up, one that placed me back in a moment that was similar and reminded me of it. The only way I’ll really know for sure that I’ve overcome all of this and am ready to step forward without the past holding me back is when I’m with Chris. There’s no one else I’m interested in, I’m rarely ever into anyone anyway, I don’t like random dating, and I have no interest in hooking up with random people, so there is literally not a single other person who can do this. I can’t know on my own; I can only do the work and hope that I’ve made progress with it and healed from it. At this point, I guess I’ll find out soon enough if I can pursue Chris without old baggage weighing me down since my appointment is coming up. I know I will still probably have some trepidations and fears that pop up, but as long as the most traumatic things are taken care of, I can push through all the other stuff.

I had my yearly appointment with the oral surgeon scheduled for the 15th of this month to make sure the dense spot in my jaw bone hasn’t grown, but he won’t be in that day so it got pushed back to the 29th. My next cleaning with Chris is scheduled for 2 ½ weeks later on May 16th. I feel nervous even thinking about it. At my last appointment I wasn’t sure what to expect since over the course of 6 months he only reached out to me 2 or 3 times, and after a while I gave up on reaching out to him because I was confused. I was determined to see him during this current time frame before my next appointment, but it looks like that isn’t going to happen. I feel like I’m going to really put myself out there and take some risks when my appointment does come around. Nothing is moving along, which I know we’re both contributing to, so I want to at least feel good knowing that I did my part, and I don’t feel that way yet. So far, I’ve relied on past trauma and doubt to take the lead more than I’ve allowed the present and trust to do so, and I want to flip that now. I have been trying not to think about everything with Chris that has been shouting “GREEN FLAG!!” at me because a lot of it isn’t logical but rather intuitive and spiritual, but I think that those places are where the answer actually lies. Overthinking gets me nowhere, so I have to stop letting it be an option. I can still be cautious, but not to a degree where it is detrimental to anything happening at all.

Aside from past trauma interfering there’s definitely been a few other things that have contributed to my lack of pursuit here. In general, I never know how people perceive me. I have always felt like I come off as unlikable, so even when people tell me good things about myself, I struggle to hold onto those things and believe in them. I’ve been trying to shift that because I know that is a belief I hold and not necessarily one that is true. I’m sure there have been people who genuinely have not liked me as a person, but with 8 billion people in the world, odds are at least some of them do or will like me. I mean, I do have friends and the one and only yoga class I teach at the moment continues to get a lot of students, so that all has to say something. I think a big part of that belief I hold also stems from childhood trauma, but I can’t remember when it started. For as long as I can remember, it feels like I’ve always felt that way about myself. So when Chris literally doesn’t talk to me, takes a whole day to respond when I reach out, and then hasn’t actually planned the date that he brought up months ago, I just assume the worst. Logically, I know there could be a whole host of other reasons that might not have anything to do with me, or maybe even something else that does, but it’s hard for me to shake off how I’ve thought about myself for pretty much my entire life. So in my mind, a quick assumption that pops up is that I’m bothering Chris when he wants nothing to do with me. I don’t want to place any assumptions or expectations on him, but untangling those is difficult and is taking longer than I would like them to. This is something that I actually personally started working on years ago, and while it might not be apparent, I’ve made a TON of progress with it. I used to be a lot worse with it, but I still have some ways to go. I know that it’s my responsibility to find peace within myself no matter what external circumstances look like. Anway, back to the other stuff. There’s also been the other things that have been taking forever, like feeling at peace with the Scott situation, which I feel like has finally freaking happened, and then personal accountability I have with other things, like my ADD, which I’m still working on finding the right medication for. I have to remind myself though that it’s okay to be a work-in-progress. I tend to be in this “Everything needs to be perfect before anything can happen” mindset (with everything, not just romance), but in reality, things will never be perfect. If anything is ever 100% perfect and nothing is going wrong, it won’t last forever. Even the bad stuff doesn’t. The person meant for me won’t care and will want to handle all our messes together. But first I have to show up and be willing to tackle all those things on my own to the best of my abilities. I think I have been doing that, but I need to expand it a bit more to everything, and not just the more immediate things. My mental health struggles don’t make it any easier, but that only means I have to be more gentle and understanding with myself while continuing to work towards finding solutions, that’s all.

I’ve also struggled with that aspect of forgiving myself for past mistakes, not just the ones I made regarding Scott but with other things as well. I wonder why I deserve the relationship and connection I desire, what makes me so great and special as to receive it, and whether I’m even worthy of someone looking at me and knowing that I’m it for them. I wrote about this in my daily poem the other night. It was about a bunch of stuff but Chris was included in it. I’m not going to post the actual wording of what I wrote because I’m not ready to share that poem yet, even though that particular section is my favorite within the whole piece, but essentially what I said was how being with Chris would be like accepting forgiveness for myself. I want that, I just haven’t fully gotten there yet, and I’m not sure whether it needs to be mostly complete before anything can happen or if it’s okay that it remains a bit of a work-in-progress if and after things do get rolling. I’m hoping for the latter. I know it might sound kind of crazy that I fear forgiveness, but that is really what it is at its core: fear. I am tired of fear. I know that it’s a survival mechanism that kicks in and so I will never be able to be completely rid of certain ones, but I can at least shift my relationship with it. Taking a page out of Elizabeth Gilbert’s Big Magic here in saying that fear will always be in the car, but I do not need to let it steer the wheel or even sit in the passenger seat. It can stay in the backseat where it holds no control. I’m afraid of making the wrong choices again with someone and of getting myself in a similar situation as before, but that fear isn’t going to get me closer to anyone; it’s only going to keep me alone and afraid. I asked myself what is the worst that could happen if I do end up in the same situation, and the outcome was honestly not that bad. At the worst, I’d block Chris, find a new dentist office, and work on healing again. I could be grateful that it isn’t exactly the same as before, that I have more agency and options now and am not stuck like how I was in my situation with Scott, and that me being deceived would only say something bad about Chris and not me. Of course I'll be really disappointed, and I might also struggle with trusting myself and relying on my gut to tell me if someone is trustworthy, but I can work through all of that with time. When I take a look at all of that, it’s really not that bad. Yes, it would suck, but I’d get through it. Even as I write this though, I don’t think any of that will come to fruition. When I question and second-guess everything, asking the “what ifs” and doing the whole comparison thing, that fear builds in my chest and I think about how I can’t do this, I must be crazy to think that I can trust that trusting feeling that I feel with Chris. But when I close my eyes and take a moment to think clearly about Chris, letting myself remember his energy - the curiosity, comfort, warmth, gentleness, brightness, and pureness of it - that is when I know. That is when the truth of who he is makes itself known. I will never find the truth of him by looking at someone else’s actions, words, and energy. I will never find Chris by looking back at my relationship with someone else. I can only find Chris in Chris. I can only find any truth about what is going on by looking at my experiences with him and him alone. That is a very difficult and enormous shift I have been trying to make, but despite the doubts that creep into my mind, I believe that I can do it and that it is possible. Yes, I have to keep in mind that I could be wrong about him, but right now I am not giving enough energy to the thought that I could be right. 

When I had last year’s appointment with the oral surgeon, I was also kind of in the same space, but it was only about whether or not Chris was interested in me. I didn’t really have much to go off of except 3 things: he did a double-take when he saw me, he was asking me questions that I was sure he was not asking everyone else (or at least with the same intention), and I just had an overall feeling. Well, okay, there was a bunch of other stuff, but I meant things that are a bit more tangible, I guess you could say. I’ve never been wrong in my life about someone being interested in me, I always just know, but I was accepting of the possibility that I could be wrong this time. I had told both of my best friends about everything, and it was kind of similar to what was going on in my head: Stacy was really supportive, said he was definitely into me, and that I should go for it, while Amanda said I could be reading things wrong, that intuition can’t always be trusted, and that it wasn’t enough to go off of. It’s funny cuz Amanda and I tend to have more views in common than Stacy and I do, but I ended up taking the more positive route, the one that Stacy supported. Amanda also is not very optimistic on the romantic front whereas I am, so this is something that we differ a lot on. I also don’t believe that intuition ever lies. For me, there’s always been a very strong distinction between emotions, thoughts, and intuition, so while I was still open to being wrong, I decided to trust my intuition more than my mind. Then when I was at my appointment with the oral surgeon, as soon as I crossed paths with Chris and our eyes met, I knew instantly that he was going to give me his number, and at my next appointment, he did. I have not been wrong about anything so far, and I’ve been trying to trust myself more, open my intuitive capabilities even wider, and I can’t do that if I’m always in my head about things. This one poem by Erin Hanson popped into my head and it feels relevant here: “There is freedom waiting for you, On the breezes of the sky, And you ask "What if I fall?" Oh but my darling, What if you fly?” I keep asking myself over and over, “What if I’m wrong?” but then there’s also a voice that follows it and asks, “But what if I’m right?” I won’t know unless I take a chance. I have always taken chances on the wrong people, and I don’t want that to deter me from trying again, because then I could miss out on the right person. I have to try. If I’m wrong, then I’ll deal with that when the time comes, and at least I can say that I tried and took a chance. If I’m right, then my life could possibly be changed forever.

I have tried so hard not to have hopes, because hope always brought me disappointment, but before, I only thought I knew, when in reality I was ignoring the actual knowing voice. This is different. I don't think I know, I do know. I've always known, and I've tried not to know. It's the opposite of how it's always been. If I trust this, it could potentially have a different outcome than all those other times too. I’ve been questioning and second-guessing and doubting, when deep down inside I’m being told to trust. I can’t predict the outcome of this situation, but I know I can trust whatever this is, and I need to lean into that without any more hesitation. I know. I know it’s safe to trust this. I read a lot of comics/manhwas in the Webtoon app, and right now I’ve been trying to read completed ones so I can focus more on current ones, and one I’m reading right now is called Aerial Magic. It’s about a young witch who can’t read spells, and she had trouble finding an apprenticeship that would take her. She applied to over 400 different places, and only 1 responded, which is the place she’s apprenticing at. While on the phone with her dad, she said she got lucky, and her dad responded that she was dismissing her hard work and that “It isn’t luck that you found the right person. It’s because you kept on reaching out and you refused to stop until you found someone who reached back.” How many people give up? How many people settle? How many people stop trying to grow and do better, or think there’s a limit to how much they’re able to improve, or believe it’s only the other person who needs to be improving and doing the work? I have never given up on myself and what I know I can have and is possible for me. Despite any doubts or perceived limitations, whether from myself or others, I’ve always pushed through. I may move slowly, but I never stop moving. All of my previous failed attempts at finding my person were stepping stones. I let those people and situations rip me apart, and then I put myself back together again, even when I didn’t want to do it. The thought that I have to has always driven me. I’ve never seen any other choice. When I looked at myself and adjusted to the newness of who I was with those pieces put back together, I realized that I somehow was more beautiful and more resilient. I grew, and while those growing pains hurt, they never stopped me. Growth is never easy, and more often than not the most growth comes from the hardest circumstances, but it’s necessary if we want to become our best selves. The growth we are looking for doesn’t come without the sacrifice of our own ease and comfort. We must go through it and heal it, and then we come out better for it. 

Also, things I’ve felt and experienced with Chris have never happened before. There’s been a lot, and I wrote about some of them in past posts, although now that I’m thinking about it, some of it I might not have actually posted. I never made my one private post public, made a second private post I also never made public and then forgot about, and I started a Google docs draft writing about a ton of stuff last year that I never finished or posted, so some things I think I posted might not be on here. Oops lol I like to have all my stuff in one place, but whatever. I know certain things I definitely didn’t write about, but there’s less of those than ones I did write about. Anyway, my point is, I’m skipping that to write about something else I haven’t yet, or at least haven’t written about in great detail. It’s Chris’s energy, and how I can sense it. I’ve always been able to pick up on other people’s energies, like the essence of who they are, to a certain degree, but mostly I just feel emotions coming off of people, especially strong ones. I’m not sure if everyone is like that? I used to think so, until I was watching some astrology reel on Youtube not too long ago and of course a bunch of grown ass men who think they’re amazing for shitting on people’s interests that have nothing to do with them infiltrated the comment section. One of the comment threads was how people don’t give off “energy” and that there’s no such thing, from a scientific perspective, which didn’t sound right to me cuz I thought science literally explained how everything was energy, but sure go off, dude, whatever. That really confused me cuz I thought I was in my head a lot but maybe there are people so disconnected from themselves that they literally do not pick up on these types of things. Anyway, people I am closer with or was close with at one point have stronger energies to me. But ummm I’ve never felt anyone’s energy as strongly as I feel Chris’s. Especially considering I have only met him a handful of times, so it shouldn’t be that way. It was actually the first thing I noticed about him. I mean, he did have a mask on, but even then, I’ve been to plenty of doctors or other health places where they wear masks the whole time, and this has not happened with any of them. I remember the two times I was there before my first appointment with Chris, he was up at the front desk with his mask on, and both times he said we had similar last names. He didn’t look at me either time when he said it, just kind of tilted his head toward his right shoulder in my direction, and I didn’t think anything in particular about him; I only remember feeling curious, but even that wasn’t something I noticed consciously until later, so I quickly forgot about it each time. At my first appointment, I remember he did a double-take, and I didn’t look at him as a natural self-defense mechanism, but when I got back to the room with him, my defense was gone. That doesn’t happen. I always remember to keep it up, no matter what is going on around me. I didn’t even notice I had dropped it when I was with Chris. When I walked into the room behind him, he asked if I wanted him to hang my bag up for me, which I declined. That’s when my first impression of him hit: he was warm and bright. Not just because of his gesture, but his whole being. I felt the warmth and I saw this glow around him. I was thinking earlier about how I am virtually unphased by a lot of things that should probably phase me. This moment - well, my entire first appointment tbh - should have been one of those moments. Even at all my other appointments, there are things I have no logical explanation for and yet, I have remained nothing but calm and collected during all of it. Honestly, now that I’m thinking about it again, that is so insane haha. 

I wasn’t going to write about this other thing, but since I probably already sound like I’m off my rocker, might as well just keep going a bit longer. Okay so, Chris’s eyes. I don’t know if he believes me cuz I’ve only ever commented on his eyes after he’s said something about mine, but asdfghjkl. I lose my absolute MIND over his eyes. This is going to be so freeing to write about. I can feel it. Okay so yeah, at my first appointment I only looked into his eyes once. It was when he was shocked I said I was 30 and I turned my head to look at him. His brown eyes were wide in disbelief. In that moment, I felt like 100 different things. I didn’t look long, but when I turned my head back, I had this strange sort of feeling. Well, first, I corrected myself by saying I was actually 31, and then I remember feeling some sort of weird intensity I had never felt before. I didn’t know what it was, so I felt embarrassed and didn’t look into his eyes again the rest of my time there. Later though, I figured it out. Chris’s eyes are so deep, yet still so bright. There is a depth there that seems to go on endlessly, like an entire other universe, and I wanted to know what was there. That was what I felt embarrassed about, but I couldn’t figure it out at that moment. I had no idea because I had never felt that before. I felt like I wanted to explore everything behind those eyes. I also felt seen and understood, which made no sense to me because there was nothing to see or understand. Maybe in general, like me as a person overall, but not in that particular moment. I still feel all of this when I look into his eyes, and after my last appointment with him, a few times when I was looking in the mirror, I had to do a double-take because I kept seeing his eyes before I saw my own. I know, I sound so psycho 😭 I wish I didn’t. I wish I had some sort of explanation, but I don’t. All I have is all this stuff that has happened and all the things I have felt, and this isn’t even the craziest of it. I still haven’t written about one thing that happened because it wouldn’t be fair to not tell Chris first, though that may never happen anyway. Maybe this is all nothing. Maybe this is…fake? Not real? A blip in the universe? Well - many blips in the universe? I can’t even take any guesses because what am I supposed to even guess at? He’s still just my dental hygienist and I’m still just his patient. There’s no relationship to comment on, little progress to point to, and barely any further interaction to make this stuff feel more tangible and less like I’m a little psychopath. There’s literally nothing to even guess at because these weird little things are all that exist from this. I can’t even talk to Chris about it because he doesn’t talk to me 😑😑😑 These intangible things are all I have. They’re all that’s really tethering me to trust because in the physical world, everything only points to confusion and doubt. This is all I have. I’m either being spiritually led in the direction of something really great, or I have some sort of serious brain injury that only makes itself known in Chris’s presence. I don’t think there’s anything in-between that would rationalize all of this stuff that I’ve seen and experienced.

That brings me around to what I’m going to do. First, I have to decide what I’m willing to live with: the pain of being used again or the pain of missing out. I already know which option I’m going to choose though, and I know what I’m going to do about it. Just like this time last year, I’m going to take the approach of seeing how Chris responds to me at my appointment with the oral surgeon. I assume we’ll cross paths like we have at all my other appointments. If it’s negative, sucks for me, and the result will probably be me crying when I get home because it does not take much to make me cry lol. If it’s positive, great, I plan to make some moves during my next appointment with him. I may have lost my chance at this point, but I’m hoping I haven’t. If I haven’t, awesome, I plan to treat my next appointment with him as a pivotal point in regards to whether things progress or not. So far, Chris has really put himself out there. He’s taken chances on me and I really haven’t responded positively back to him. I mean, I guess you could say the same for me taking chances on him in regards to trying to meet up and him not really responding great, but I’m not going to count that. I’m going to count in-person stuff only. I have roughly 5 weeks to: make sure I work through any lingering potential past romantic trauma that could interfere (this is also for myself too), come up with a coping plan in case something does come up, brush up on my flirting skills so I don’t freeze in the moment (tbh idk how I’m going to do this, maybe in the meantime just keep taking mental notes of all the stuff I like about Chris and hope it helps me seize an opportune moment to be flirty when the time comes), and continue to prioritize my mental health so I don’t get overwhelmed and overstimulated by all the excitement, which will also help with the flirting aspect. That….is a small list but actually a huge load of stuff to take care of in a month’s time. Anyway!! I’m still going to hope for the best. The other stuff doesn’t have to be 100% dealt with, but my #1 priority is making sure Chris feels good and that I make it apparent that “Yes I am into you and I’m sorry I’ve been struggling so much to show you that!!”. Well, I can leave out the apology bit, but yeah, the first part gets a thumbs up. Maybe that’s why Chris hasn’t initiated anything. Maybe he thinks I’m not that interested or only in it for self-gain, neither of which are true at all. I struggle a lot. I struggle with so many things and then I suck at articulating and explaining myself. In fact, when I do try to articulate or explain, I somehow always end up making things worse. It’s better for me to just wipe the slate clean, start fresh, and then hope that if he asks about something I can explain without embarrassing myself further. Maybe he wants me to ask about our date, but since he’s the one that brought it up in the first place, I feel kinda weird asking “So uhhh our date?” Maybe I’m overthinking all of this and it really is as simple as: if he’s not reaching out, then he’s not interested or is just fucking with me for whatever reason. 

I’m tired, man. I’m tired of always being in a place of always waiting for the other shoe to drop. Waiting for the pain. Waiting to be treated poorly. Waiting for the betrayal. Waiting for the anger. Waiting to be told or shown how I’m not enough. I think to myself, Who will not make me flinch? This all goes way beyond Scott; a large part of my experiences with men, for a majority of my life, have not been positive. Some have even been dangerously negative. I think a part of me is always going to have some fear about being hurt until I’m with someone who doesn’t hurt me in big ways, and the little ones they work with me on and try to make up for. I will gladly give them the same in return. I’m never going to find that person unless I take a chance on them. I want to take the chance on someone who is worth it, and I feel that Chris is. I want my choices in life to reflect that I didn’t give up, that I kept believing in something higher and took the steps I needed in order to actualize that higher life for myself, even if I did so imperfectly with mistakes along the way.

I had a bunch of other stuff I was going to write about but I’ve already been coming back to this over the course of two weeks and it’s getting too long, so I’ll end here for now.

Umm Chris if somehow you’ve found my anonymous blog, which I’m hoping you haven’t, I apologize if any of this sounded weird or made you uncomfortable 😭 Feel free to never talk to me again if that’s the case. If not, see you in a few weeks 🥰

#here's the novel no one asked for #personal #chris #idk what else to tag #i feel bad only tagging chris aside from personal lol #my overthinking strikes again #even in the tags #whomp whomp

[daz4i]

I have two for you! How about top 5 tropes/AUs you like to see in fandom and top 5 BSD ships? ^^

ehehehe thank you my dear 🥺🖤

top 5 tropes/aus:

1. i gotta put it first bc it's severely underrated (to the point of not even having an ao3 tag the last time i checked smh) and deserves appreciation. fwbs to lovers my beloved. there's so much you can do with it to keep it interesting and it's naturally super spicy and fun. every fic i read with it was flowing and lighthearted and this is what i like uwu

2. fake dating!!!!!!!!!!!!!! no need to elaborate on that one it speaks for itself i think

3. idk what it's called but um ig when the characters play a game? i think it's a good way to explore who each one of them is (think the dnd episode in she-ra) and it's generally a really interesting setting imo. also really cool when the game is affected by real life somehow, or highlights character dynamics through it (like for example all the skk fics where they shred everyone at charades bc they're just so in sync). just the use of in-universe games for narrative

4. lotus machine aka what every character's ideal life would be (<- maruki kinnie) + its inversion, aka what their biggest nightmare is. again i think it speaks for itself (tho idk if it's exactly what you meant when you said in fandom i apologize. but. it's cool to see in fics too! just more rare)

5. soulmate au 👉👈 it's less about the idea of soulmates to me and more how versatile it is. anything could be a soulmate au. there's so much to do with it and many ways to play even with the basic, most common premises of it. and it slaps every time

top 5 bsd ships:

1. i already mentioned them so it's only natural to start with them. soukoku ofc uwu they're like everything at once i swear. they're partners they're exes they know each other better than anyone they haven't talked in years they're in perfect sync they're divorced they fell in love at first sight but neither of them got it until years later they're gonna kill each other they live for each other they're enemies they have 3 kids together. etc. average gay couple in yokohama

2. ranpoe!!!!!! they just make me so soft and so happy, i never tire of them i swear. they're such a delight

3. nikolai x me. best ship actually. coincidentally also the only canon one. who'd have thought

4. fyozai! not in a romantic way, but in a character-foils-who-destroy-each-other-but-it's-sexy way :) I'm a sucker for chess metaphors unfortunately (and also for someone who is so much like you that you have to kill them. and the only person who can get under your skin because they're the only one who gets you. and-)

5. shin soukoku! yet another pair of foils except it's very prominent with them even with their designs. i am currently showing my friends the bsd anime and have to restrain myself from making comments abt them being gay bc to my friends they're very much just trying to kill each other at this point. i do love me reluctant-partners-to-lovers like any other guy. also sacrificing yourself for your rival is gay as hell. why is it so important to you that he lives? so you can (come back as a vampire and) fuck him?

#sorry it got long i have a lot of things to say! #and thank you again it is a very good distraction 🥺

[golbrocklovely]

I was checking an oldish tag on here and saw some of your old asks about Stas where people told you everything she was doing, full transparency and you defended her like no other. Everything they spoke about came to light and we are now or have been seeing since Europe everything and more that people mentioned . So im curious (maybe you’ve said before but i didnt see it) what made you change your stance and open your eyes to her odd behavior especially towards Colby? The asks were pretty blunt and straight forward and you still found a way to curve every answer.

I checked the tag btw because i noticed today that not only did she promote Katrina on twitter, but made a tiktok to her song, told people shes her biggest fan, and has been liking a bunch of C4 edits and pics. I remembered seeing asks talking about her never supporting Kat only Colby so after seeing that i came back here to try and find what else those asks said and saw everything everyone has been saying is pretty legit.

i did say a while back why my feelings changed for stas, but i'll just state them again i guess lol

also holy shit this is long sorry about that lmao

so, originally, when ppl would come to me saying why they didn't like stas, to me it didn't feel like it was a legitimate reason. and i felt that way bc they would come on here, talk about her, but give no proof to their claims. just say that "oh i heard this" or "i think she did this" or "did you see she did this" and to me, none of it was enough proof to throw her off the island, so to speak. i mean, some anons talked about her liking edits as proof enough that she was shady or up to no good. ppl would use her likes on twitter as main example of "see! look how bad she is" and the tweet in question was either not there (bc she probs unliked it) when i would go looking for it or if it was about colby and her… it was harmless and not something like "colby and her should be together. they have something going on".

also, no offense to anyone that sent me asks in during that time period, but i don't exactly have the most faith in the fandom towards ppl outwardly hating on a girl bc she's close to colby. it's happen countless times. the amount of times i've been told that the reason a girl that colby's friends with or hooking up with or JUST STANDING NEAR is bad bc "she just gives me bad vibes"… let's just say, if i had a nickle, i'd be a rich woman. so when it started happening with her, i didn't think much of it. thought of it as jealousy or just over-protective fans.

but things started to change a bit, i would say, by summer. i think after one too many trips to vegas, my liking for her was dwindling. idk if she did something or what (bc at this point i don't remember), but the vibe changed around her and what she was doing. at least to me. not to mention, no matter what she did, it was drama. and that itself was exhausting.

then colby made that tiktok with her. and when he started deleting comments shipping the two of them together, that's when i knew oh, he really doesn't want to be shipped with her and i thought this was him actually laying down the law and finally putting his foot down to all the shipping that goes on between him and stas.

then europe happened. and i fucking KNEW this trip wasn't gonna end well. i felt it in my bones. or maybe i'm just really good at picking up patterns lol

what first started to gross me out, was finding out about her mom posting things. and look, i'm all for a supportive mother. and tbh idk if her mom ever responded to fans. but what concerned me was how much info she was sharing publicly. and then how many fans were searching for her mom, finding her page, and basically narrowing down where they were in brussels and all that. snc have been stalked before, have had their house broken into before, what they DO NOT NEED is someone with them basically giving their every location just bc those fans are subscribers.... or random ppl on her mom's facebook.

that's when i also noticed that her roommate was at least cognizant of fandom drama that had happened not too long ago bc she liked a tweet about it while it was happening. that turned me off quite a bit as well. and i know a lot of ppl bring up stas posting the video from colby's bedroom and honestly…. ngl that flew under my radar. it just didn't feel like anything to me at the time.

and then finally: tomorrowland. the amount of fans that upticked their talks of colby and stas when they were basically forced to hang out with one another the whole time bc kat and sam wanted their own time away (which is fine, don't get me wrong. but it just really didn't help the already existing issue of colby and stas being shipped) was super fucking annoying. i basically was getting upwards of 10 asks a day, and that's a light guesstimate, about the situation. and while i don't mind talking about something…. i don't want to talk about it that much.

then, the malishka thing happened. i literally ignored it on here bc i just couldn't talk about it. at first, i was angry at colby. like why would he post this this is so stupid. but as time has gone on, i've basically come to the lovely realization that stas is the one that posted it (also, according to some whispers i've heard she basically told her subs that she did. idk tho that's alleged). realistically, colby doesn't understand russian. he probably filmed her, showed her the video, and she typed that and posted it. she also had earlier post the pic on his story of her face zoomed in. at least, that's what i personally believe. and when asked what malishka meant, she probably lied or just didn't tell him bc he probably didn't rewatch his story.

bc something to note is that they had terrible wifi in tomorrowland. so he might not have even known about this whole thing until a day later or so.

and what made all of it worst was the fans' reaction on twitter. and the fact that a lot of the fans that came out and congratulated colby and stas for "finally being together" after "all this time of us knowing" were both ppl i followed and ppl my age……….. i basically was about done with the situation. and then of course she had to like a tweet about the malishka thing. and that solidified it for me.

and if THAT WASN'T ENOUGH, they came home from the trip and colby hung out with her one more time right before moving to vegas. he literally told us on xplrclub that he was gonna be THIRDWHEELING in vegas (aka laying it on AS THICK AS HE COULD that he was single), and that fucking night stas told her subs that she was going on a date. and wouldn't you believe it, but it was her and colby hanging out ! along with others, but no one saw them on her story. just her and colby.

after that, colby mentioned multiple times about being single, being young, and wanting to have fun while in vegas. and i think that's when the tides personally turned for stas. she had fun playing house with colby in europe, she had her fun of living the fantasy of what it would be like to be colby's gf, to be Y/N. but reality set in when they came home. i think the last night they hung out, i think she confessed how she felt, and he rejected her. and look, she has every right to be upset about being rejected. i get being rejected, especially by someone you feel you have a connection to, SUCKS ASS. i'm not denying that. however, you caused your own delusions. colby was literally hooking up with six flags girl multiple times this past year, LITERALLY BROUGHT HER TO A HANG OUT SESSION WITH THE CORE FOUR, …..and you think he was into you???? the same man that deleted comments about the two of you together????????? the same man that FOR YEARS has begged the fandom to stop shipping him with every girl he's friends with??????? that man… was into you?

i mean, he went on a (assumed) date with a girl in vegas and stas tweeted like four things that night about being hurt or whatever (idk at this point i don't remember all the details) and then on top of that deleted said tweets. maybe something happened between them. i doubt it wholeheartedly tho. i think she loved the fantasy of them being an item, but he wanted no parts of it.

bc that's the thing: colby loves to tease us sometimes. like with amber. he loves making the fans freak out. but when he does shit like that, he chose to be part of the game. this is the only time he asked not to be included…. and she did it anyway. i don't think he knew the extent of breadcrumbs she was leaving for fans to speculate. i think when he saw what happened with the malishka shit (bc again he probs didn't see it until a day or two later bc of wifi and just wanting to enjoy his vacation) i think stas left a soured taste in his mouth. and then she made it worst by telling fans that her and him were going on a date…. and that was enough for him to be done with her. that's why at kat's bday party he sat as far from her as possible and seemed to not want any parts of the party. and that's why she's talking about being rejected now. bc i personally think they are done being friends as of rn.

i mean… it would make sense too. bc the moment he was hurt by what stas did, who did he run back to after all this time? shea, the original stas lmao

and as for stas all of a sudden being up kat's ass, to be as bluntly honest as i can be, i do not fucking care. i've gotten a bunch of asks about it. i can't be more frank than literally telling yall i don't care. i'm tired of talking about stas. bc even tho i don't like her, and i do think she is a bit of a snake, not everything she does is newsworthy or needs to be talked about. she liked something that implied feelings for colby? who cares. she wrote a poem about him? who cares. she wants to leave comments about how much she loves kat? omg who cares. we all know at this point she wants attention.

STOP GIVING IT TO HER.

#ask #personal #i'm not angry i'm just disappointed lol

[jimothystu]

Writing Questions Tag

thank you for the tag @hard4softthings!! sorry it took me a little bit to do this it's been sitting in my drafts jdnkjfnsdadkdas

i'll tag @30-x-family @make-me-imagine @katetheworm @lam-ila @andreburakozy and any other writers who'd like to join in!

what is your absolute all-time favorite idea you’ve ever had?

oh god there are so many.

fic wise... one that i've posted it's probably my 187 fic intoxicated in which a drunk and high timmy can only speak german lmao. it was just a lot of fun to write.

but one that i haven't posted that i am loving is my married in vegas 972 (josh/chabby) fic!

original story wise i am absolutely loving writing my current romance novel. it's a gay hockey story (yes bc i have loved writing fics so much djkfndkjndd) BUT i've created a team and made up the logo and everything and it's been so fucking fun. i also have like. 4 more gay sports romance novels planned

what is your favorite part of being a writer? which parts could you take or leave?

oh my god everything????? being able to escape into the world i'm creating and letting myself just submerge into a world where i have complete control.

being able to just create something out of nothing; forming these characters, worlds, relationships, plots, everything. it's just so fucking fun. i feel god-like lmao. kind of, no but really the act of creating something is just... i don't really know how to describe it. it's so fulfilling and rewarding mentally.

having people tell me that my writing helped them or made them happy or made them laugh or whatever just gives me such a joy. it's nice knowing that my creations affect people in positive ways!

and when people are inspired by my work??????? or are inspired to write their own stories???????????? oh my god there's no better feeling. truly.

one thing i do not like is the burnout and writer's block lmao. and the imposter syndrome i feel with my original stories. but the act of writing itself? perfection.

what is your greatest motivation to write/create?

to get my brain to shut up. no, lmao (i mean kind of). but to just... idk, create. to bring life to the characters in my brain. to write these stories and share experiences with others. to affect others positively. and selfishly, to make myself feel good. writing just feels good for me.

what is your favorite story you’ve written to completion? link it if you’d like and can!

i cannot choose just one. fic wise, probably my 972 fic je t'aime where josh drags thomas to a double date with brady and timmy thinking it's just for show but it's actually a real date. and my 718 fic don't break the dam or you might drown in the current where the weight of the world just crashes onto brady's shoulders. it's more so like, brady angst with timmy and other sens sprinkled in.

original story wise, i have a fantasy novel written (it's technically complete but i'm still working out a few details). it's called keeper of the wild and it's kind of a lot to explain but it's new adult fantasy with magic-like powers, royalty, a dangerous threat, romance, and other fun things lol.

what is your favorite out-of-the-box quote?

i have no idea lmao

which of your characters would you say has the most controversial mindset? why do you say so and how do you personally feel about their ideals?

uhhh. maybe a guy name Liam Nox in my hockey romance. he's kind of like. typical jock, yanno? like he's a Man who plays Hockey and does Man things. toxic masculinity and stuff.

if you, when you first started writing, met you now, what would younger you think?

oh god. well, technically i was like 6 when i first started writing stories. but i didn't write seriously until i was 14. 6 year old me would probably be just amazed at how many stories i've made up lol. 14 year old me would be confused as to why on earth i'm writing romance novels (and gay ones at that, only bc i hated romance novels and if my stories had romance they were straight bc i was straight). but i think 14 year old me would also be pretty amazed at how much i've written and so happy that i've continued writing and am working towards actually being an author!

#long post #tag game #writing talk #about me

[brujahinaskirt]

rank your fics

PROMPT: Rank your own fics from best to worst. Reasons optional. Don't be too hard on yourselves; appreciate how far you've come! (Bonus challenge: Find some good things to say about the fics you don't like anymore.)

Tag some other writers when you're done! Tagging @mangocats, @jawanaka, @plummeting-plum, @weterali, @mourningafterdark, @maranzalla, @angels-heap, and anyone who wants to do it! (If you do it, tag me so I can read yours!)

A Strange Hunt (Kingdom Come: Deliverance)

This is my best fanfic. I’m proud of most of the lines even 3+ years later, and I love how the individual chapters resonate/communicate with each other. There are certain lines I would have written differently now and some mistakes I should have caught during the first drafting, but I think it has a ton of heart. I love it a lot and I’m happy I wrote it, mistakes and all.

2. Lost in the Trees (Kingdom Come: Deliverance)

This one wrote itself, and did so pretty fucking well if I’m any judge of my own work. It was supposed to be a quick 8k max piece and it wound up at 22k—and I’m actually glad about that for once. I planned out the vignettes and their parallels extensively and it paid off. Writing-wise, it's flowery emotional imagery built with plainclothes language; I think it “sounds” like Henry’s soul (at least as I depict him), and I believe it brings out the best of my strengths. This is the one I revisit when I feel like shit about my writing.

3. Instead of Stars (Half-Life)

A structurally complicated and sometimes too-dense behemoth, as was its predecessor, but one that I feel honors my roots while showcasing how much I’ve improved in a decade. Feels kind of like a “hey, kid, I didn’t forget you” love letter to the young writer I used to be ten years ago. And given that the central character is also older and more mature, that feels… idk! Appropriate. Nice. We grew up.

4. Fortune Favors the Bold (Kingdom Come: Deliverance)

Probably contains the lines I am proudest of across all my fics. There’s huge range in this story. But right now… it’s sloppy and there’s just too much of it, and the best chapters haven't been uploaded yet. Will definitely need a stern editorial beating when it's done.

5. With Horn and Leash (Kingdom Come: Deliverance)

A clean-faced and inoffensive child. Not a particularly ambitious fic, but serviceable and satisfying enough in its conclusions, I think. The writing is newer and fresher than the below entries. Doesn’t live up to its admittedly killer title which I was smug about for a solid week.

6. In Spring (Kingdom Come: Deliverance)

It’s okay. Too maudlin in parts, too sparse in others, but I do still enjoy the symbolism. I'd say I’ve nailed POV character’s speaking style and I think a lot of these lines could pass for game dialogue.

Also: I adore writing Hans. He is such a beloved mean little cunt.

7. Without Home (Kingdom Come: Deliverance)

This piece always felt to me like it could have done more.

8. Half Full (Thief: Deadly Shadows)

My favorite of my Thief works. Its strength is its dialogue, which still holds up for me.

9. The Jackal (Thief: The Metal Age)

Dusty but I think I really had my finger on Viktoria's pulse here.

10. In Caes of Disastur (Kingdom Come: Deliverance)

Truthfully, I like this little bugger quite a lot. But it’s too short and silly to rank any higher.

11. Black Coffee (Half-Life)

Old, but I feel great affection for it. I put a lot of myself in my depiction of Barney Calhoun, intentionally and unintentionally—in part to fill blank spots in Valve’s writing, but also because… well, I felt a bit like Barney back when I wrote the original. I was just entering college, I had a thick country accent, I desperately wanted to be more grown-up than I was, and I felt like everyone else thought I was the dumbest no-interiority shit-for-brains redneck on campus. Sorry for giving you so much of my teenage trauma, Barney, damn.

12. The Princess-Boy (Red Dead Redemption 2)

So far so good, but it’s too new for me to rank higher (or lower).

13. Words Unanswered (Tolkien)

This one’s just too old. It was written in large part to match a dear friend’s stylistic tastes, not necessarily my own. I’m no longer proud of the writing, which makes it difficult to work on. Many of the early chapters now strike me as flat and kind of babyish. I’m not outright embarrassed of it yet, but I know I’ve come a long way since I started, and I’m ready to lay this one to rest.

14. Desert of Ghosts (Vampire: the Masquerade - Bloodlines)

L o r d.

(I still love-hate my Ms. Woeburne, who is The Worst.)

15. Regaining Balance (Thief: The Dark Project)

Now in relic territory, but I don’t hate it! I feel fondness for it, even if I no longer think it's well-written.

16. Haggling Freedom (Dragon Age)

Frankly stupid, but some of the descriptions still slap.

17. Running on Faith (The Walking Dead)

Not good, but not in truly awful territory yet. Some genuinely cute sentiments and images.

18. Killing Snakes (Vampire: the Masquerade - Bloodlines)

Getting into profound oof territory here. This is ancient, so I don’t feel too terrible that it’s terrible, but I am kind of relieved canon materials have since been released that render my take completely invalid.

19. You Do Not See (Tolkien)

Kind of boring, but at least it’s short.

20. You Do Not Know (Tolkien)

Boring as hell and too long for what it does.

21. You Do Not Hear (Tolkien)

Boring as fuck.

22. On White Shores (Vampire: the Masquerade - Bloodlines)

Kill me.

#rednightmarefics #fanfic

[ineffablestardust]

oh thanks :) this is gonna be fun~ (sorry I’m late!!) Thanks @flopsy-art​

favourite colour: purple!!!! kind of clear from the colour of my blog tbh lol

last song you listened to: UrbanAngel1999 by Thomas Headon (the one from heartstopper haha)

last movie you watched: UHHH not sure, haven’t been watching many of late... probably my rewatch of Into the Spiderverse?

last series you watched: Heartstopper (and it shows lol)

sweet, spicy or savoury: I tend to go for sweet (I definitely have a sweet tooth) but I love spicy and savoury just as much !!!

coffee or tea: tea all the way !!! I’m such a slut for tea I did my chemistry project in high school on the caffeine levels in tea (I also adore traditional chinese tea) tho I can drink iced coffee and the occasional caramel latte

three ships: gonna just go ahead and put the main shipping ones for now, otherwise I’ll be here all day (multi-shipper alert)

but uh, dinluke (but like. minus the toxicity y’all I’m in my own little dinluke AU bubble okay), codywan (tho I do ship obitine too, bi obi for the win), wangxian (the danmei pining got to me ok, plus I speak chinese I know exactly what those fuckers saying when they confess and so help me why is chinese such a romantic language y’all fr)

first ever ship: oh boy I’m going to be exposed here HHHHH

ok fine: Jack Frost/Elsa (yes the fucking animated characters okay) (I also now realize Elsa is a bit of a lesbian but case in point, I was like. 11, okay?)

OR Percy Jackson/Annabeth Chase but idk which came first, probably Percabeth iirc (thank god)

currently working on: The Starlight Path (my dinluke prince Romeo and Juliet war AU set in the Clone Wars kinda) and possibly a Wangxian one shot who knows

favourite clothing item: uhh probably this purple pair of skirt/pant bottoms I got from Myanmar while I was there doing touristy things when the whole situation ... wasn’t as bad. but they’re flowy and fun and don’t really feel like pants when they are kinda pants? I wish I bought two tbh I only own one

comfort food: too many to count, my first ever one was Mac and cheese, and then it evolved into Laksa, and then it evolved into pineapple tarts and so like. idk currently would say all three

favourite time of year: not sure, autumn seems nice tho but this is coming from someone who had never rlly experienced Seasons until I moved out so still unsure (how do y’all do it like. you have to track the weather everyday, shit sucks y’all tf?)

favorite fic: oh boy I love so many, but this fic in particular has like. impacted my writing style and just my life in general it blew my mind and made me feel like there was so much you could really experiment with in terms of metaphor and pacing and style and like, muah

it’s Spock/Kirk and a Star Trek fic

I will warn y’all tho... TW: it gets pretty intense from around chapter 212 onwards. There are TW openings to chapters that are potentially triggering. Obviously as much as I love the fic it’s not without it’s faults and I’m more than happy to point it out if need be.

it’s: Observations by anon_j_anon on live journal and hoooo boy did I not do anything else but consume this fic for weeks y’all when I picked it up it’s 300 chapters of jaw dropping narration, like to the point that you can see Spock’s character growth from the writing style itself as it changes? just fucking delicious fr

passively tagging @ourpolestar, @merisscatteredbooknook​, @that1libra​ and anyone else who wants to join !

#tagged

[gontagokuhara]

Also I was thinking about that one ask someone made in like 2019 when you said nagito had a shitlist that makoto and byakuya were on bc they're gay people he doesn't respect and I was like WHYYY im literally so used to nagito being up makoto's arse in both canon/fanon it was surprising!!! Also peep the nagito with hooves reference to Mr brunner in that post

Like since I went through the old asks earlier today idk if you were serious about it but nagito with hooves is quite literally just Mr tumnus and I kept laughing at the imagery while I was at work Ngl I was procrastinating on the 4 quizzes and 1 test I have tomorrow by reading some of the old pointy objects asks 💀

okay last thing I just wanna say I can't remember who named gonta but to me it was so unhinged and random so it was probably nagito wasn't it LMFAO also the idea of baby baby gonta literally makes me want to cry please keep doing him right in this fic PLEASE😭 okay that's it BYEE

Okay I just wanna say idk what rantaro looks like when his power is activated but I cannot imagine anything other than a That's So Raven mid-sentence freeze where he looks like the "Monday left me broken" cat. Just like "yeah so anyway I was—👁👁...." and shuichi has just,,,, never questioned it LMFAOO

hiiiiii <3 when i saw this last night i ALSO went deep in the pointy objects tag to find the asks ur referencing but also a littol trip down memory lane ahead of getting started writing. we all know the drill by now all of my ramblings are below the cut <3

first of all (because u sent this one first) ur very right about shuuichi being a little bit of a bozo wrt: noticing rantarou's having a Precog Moment. he's (rantarou) has grown pretty used to getting hit with brief flashes of the future, so he's pretty good at maintaining a poker face when he's struck by one. we see it the sliiiightest bit way back in ch1 while rantarou is driving, and in the middle of speaking he is hit with a vision — it's not something he elaborates on but he does see more or less what ends up happening once the monsters rush the car. naturally makoto and byakuya are good at sussing out when he's having one — and as a very heavy aside, it was a vision of him and shuuichi as best buddies his first day of school that had him pursuing the friendship so ardently, and ultimately got them where they are now. brothers <3

and yes back to those asks!!! they are up to like.....jesus christ late-2019 was over 4 years ago at this point so THEREfore so are the asks. that said, in reading over them all again i don't think there's anything i said way back when that doesn't hold at least slightly true currently (with one exception, being the mystery poly relationship ending, and that's more to do with issues i foresee in incorporating it into the fic itself in a way that makes sense). the ones about nagito though? DEFINITELY still bang all this time later

which leads me into: your questions! there is definitely a level of respect nagito allows towards makoto (byakuya....not So much LOL) but when you know a guy for thousands and thousands and thousands of years.....and he marries the obnoxious rich guy in what is so *obviously* a downgrade for a big five god like himself (not unlike how nagito at least somewhat views hajime as having somewhat "settled" for nagito; i could go on and on about the inner machinations of po!nagito i love that stupid fuck for how comparatively little he's on-screen)...............nagito is a little disappointed. even all this time later. he is not byakuya's biggest fan LMFAO

tbh so much of my early answers on nagito (aside from how he was actually Present the first few chapters, so it made sense) stem directly from the fact he (+ shuuichi) are the direct inspiration for pointy objects as a whole. specifically this video, which i credit ch1 as being the catalyst for pointy objects becoming.......well almost 200k and counting. shuuichi as percy's counterpart and nagito as dionysus the unpaid, eternally cursed camp counselor (with hajime as mr brunner, thankfully hoofless) was the starting point for pointy objects FOR sure, and it's just expanded quite a lot past that over all this time. that video jumpstarted the idea in my sister (who handed it over to me pretty much from the get-go), and the pjo musical is what i loosely structured the lore/plot around, but i think the observations i've heard from readers that pointy objects does well at expanding well past the boundaries of the source material hold true! if you do happen to take a peek at the linked video, though: pretty much the whole of ch2 was very heavily inspired by the song which i think is obvious on reread. that sprite edit started it all fr thank you youtube user evie

and yes: it was nagito who found and subsequently named gonta! 8 years and counting of gonta being camp's designated favorite by literally everybody (nagito) (hajime) (most of the campers) (the mioda triplets) (me, connorlizabeth bazwrites). as is probably obvious [gestures at my entire tumblr] i am gontas #1 ride or die, he's my pride and joy, and i will definitely continue having fun with po!gonta TRUST <3 in the spirit of not saying too much ill leave it at.........gonta enjoyers. we are going to eat good.

#ask #bittercideristaken #pointy objects #this had the exact intended effect im primed and ready to get started on ch21 WOOHOOOO #VALENTINES UPDATE WILL BE REAL BABEY

[silversatoru]

Hi, I just finished burdens and OML 🥺🥺🥺

May I request some sort of megumi x reader continuous where the reader ends up becoming a powerful sorcerer (or a cursed spirit👀 whichever you’d like tbh) megumi and the reader somehow cross paths again a little while after the break up and he witnesses her fighting for the first time? I just know that boy would fall in love all over again but she’s moved on and he feels guilty and just angst? And maybe fluff idk. I’m new to requests so I hope I did this right, thank you so much❤️❤️

burdens pt. 2

a/n: hello, part two of this not-so-lovely story is finally here. every single one of you is allowed one free punch to my face for taking so long to write it,,, i’m so sorry. this is its fourth rewrite and it got a little darker than expected but it’s finally done,, i hope you enjoy <3

fushiguro megumi x f!reader

synopsis: you finally see megumi again at the kyoto sister school goodwill event

tags/warnings: angst, some graphic depictions of violence, character death

word count: 3k

“Do you know how tired I am of watching the people I love die? Things would be so much easier for me if you just stayed the fuck away”.

Megumi’s bitter words were on repeat in your head — the harshness of his voice leaving a hollow feeling carved into your chest. Tear-stained cheeks and shaky breathes had become your new normal these past few days. Tight, sharp pains filled your empty stomach, waves of nausea coursing through your body.

You’ve had no motivation to get out of bed lately, nevermind to shower or cook yourself a proper meal — honestly, for all you cared you could rot away in your blanket filled bed. You checked your phone like a fiend too, thinking that eventually, a miraculous text from Megumi would appear and make everything better. It never did.

He’d completely ghosted you since that dreadful day, and that hurt more than anything. You’d held onto a sliver of hope that maybe, just maybe, he hadn't meant what he said. But as the days continued to pass, your hope quickly dwindled.

To say your current state was shameful was putting it lightly, and you were embarrassed at how poorly this was effecting you. You liked to think that you were strong, motivated, independent — that you didn't need some douchebag just to feel happy. But truth be told, breakups are fucking hard, and it's okay to not be okay for a while — or at least that's what you kept telling yourself.

So when you were trudging miserably down the street to your local convenience store and you saw a familiar pair of jujutsu sorcerers, you wanted desperately to sink into the ground. You made a quick turn to head to a different shop, but it was too late, you were spotted.

“y/n! hey!” Two lighthearted voices sang through the air, filling your ears and making your heart clench in your chest.

You turned around and anxiously approached them, your unkempt hair and baggy eyes sending looks of concern across their faces.

“Hey girl, you good?” Nobara shot you a sideways glance, Maki raising a suspicious eyebrow.

“Yeah, uh, ice cream,” You croaked, speaking for the first time in a couple days, “I’m here for ice cream, that’s all”.

“Yeah, but why do you look like a fucking zombie?” Maki pushed her eyeglasses further up her nose, her sharp eyes looking you up and down.

“Ah, he didn’t say anything to you guys, did he?” You shook your head, heavy eyes falling to ground as you refused to meet theirs.

“Don’t tell me…” Nobara’s face contorted, “Did he break up with you?”

You nodded, a pitiful chuckle falling from your lips, because if you didn’t laugh, you’d start sobbing right now.

Maki threw her arm around your shoulder, pulling you to her side and ushering you into the store, “It’s okay, men suck. Hang out with us today”.

Meanwhile, Nobara trailed quickly behind the two of you, anger seething from her teeth and steam practically billowing out of her ears.

“That fuckhead! I swear I’ll fuck his shit up big time, he won’t even know what fucking hit him. I knew that boy was stupid but shit, this is a whole new low for him! I-,” She continued to ramble and rant as Maki led you through the store, picking out drinks and snacks to help ease your pain.

The three of you ended up in a nearby park, sitting around a small picnic table and gorging on the massive array of snacks. Lighthearted conversation and lots of food make your chest ache a little less, and you even found yourself laughing and chatting as if things were normal. You’d told the two of them all about that day, about Megumi’s irrational words and his tragic breakdown that led to some kind of fucked-up break up sex.

“So, how are we gonna get back at him? Egg his car? Put bleach in his shampoo? Bugs in his food? God - it’s a shame his dad is dead because from the pictures I’ve seen that man was FINE and revenge sex—,”

“Nobara,” Maki shot her idiot girlfriend a dirty look, and the orange-haired girl quickly shut her mouth, “As much as I support any idea that revolves around ruining a man’s day, I don’t think revenge is the healthiest coping strategy here”.

You were tracing your eyes around Maki’s face as she spoke, and you found yourself carefully inspecting her purple glasses that rested softly on the bridge of her nose. And that’s when it clicked, the light bulb ignited in your head and you knew exactly what you wanted to do.

“Maki,” your voice was urgent, “You don’t have cursed energy, you can’t even see them without your glasses!”

Her face twisted and her nose scrunched, a look of distaste in her eyes, “I know?”

“So, you could teach me, right? You could help me learn how to use some cursed weapons?”

“Yeah! You have to Maki, then she can beat his ass with me,” Nobara chimed in.

“That’s not a bad idea actually,” Maki’s mouth formed an evil grin, “Could you imagine his face after watching you exorcise a curse?”

The three of your conversed for a bit longer, speculating and potting about training, weapons, and your very own pair of curse-seeing glasses. By the end of the night you had a plan, and a pretty good one if you say so yourself.

From that day on, teary eyes and achy hearts were a thing of the past, not because it was that easy to get over Megumi, but because Maki didn’t even allow you the time to feel dismal anymore. You met her everyday after classes without fail, and everyday she would train you until you thought your arms would fall off. After months and months of sore muscles, sweat, and the occasional injury, you were convinced that Maki was incapable of feeling pity or remorse for other living things. Every time you speculated about quitting, she’d set a fire under you, unafraid to remind you how weak you still were.

The green-haired sorcerer had ultimately decided that you worked best dual-armed -- a long, lightweight blade in each hand. On your final day of training, she officially gifted the two swords to you, as a “graduation” gift.

Skill-wise, you were by no means as incredible Maki, but you definitely held your own, and the progress you’d made in a mere 8 months was astronomical. They’d introduced you to a strange silver-haired man at some point, Gojo, who had taken not only an interest in you but also your plot against your ex-boyfriend. He cackled to himself when you told him why you were here, going on and on about how priceless Megumi’s face would be when he saw you.

Your appearance was highly anticipated, so why not debut at one of the biggest jujutsu events all year? The Kyoto Sister School Goodwill Event — Gojo thought it was the most perfect idea.

You tried hard to exude confidence as you walked at Nobara and Maki’s sides, but behind your arrogant facade your stomach was twisting itself into knots. Truthfully, you were scared to see Megumi again after so long.

And when your eyes met with his as you walked into the meeting room, you thought you just might pass out. You thought you were ready for this — but the look of complete shock, fear, and anger on his face as he looked you up and down almost made you regret all of it.

“What’s going on?” Megumi’s words were incredibly calculated, an edge on his voice.

His question was pointless, however, because judging by the fact that you were wearing a jujutsu tech uniform and had two swords sheathed at your sides could only mean one thing. Your hair was longer now too, and your frame was wider with an extra layer of muscle from all the training — you almost looked like a different person.

“I’ve been training with Maki, I-,” You spoke up to explain yourself, but you weren’t even granted the opportunity.

“No, no, Maki, what the hell did you do?” His eyes were shaky and laced with concern.

“I only did what she asked me to. I’m not the one who gave her a complex about being weak, you did that,” Maki shrugged, “and she’s not your girlfriend anymore dude, what do you care?”

Absolute confliction flashed through his eyes, uncertainty and madness swirling in his irises, “You’re right, I don’t care. Let me know when the event is starting”.

He took a sharp turn out of the room and let the door slam a little too hard behind him. The sound of his icey voice and the door shutting with unkind force was all too reminiscent of the night you broke up. Burying every emotion you had deep into your stomach you gave Maki a small, reassuring smile and plopped down on one of the couches.

“Alright, so when does this thing start?”

after the start of the event

Fighting the Kyoto students was proving to be much harder than you initially expected, but you were holding your own at Maki’s side. The two of you had easily taken down a small, kind, blue haired girl named Miwa, and now you were watching an emotional battle between Maki and her sister unfold.

Wait here, she’d told you, I want to do this one myself. Take some notes on my form and watch our backs, okay?

Okay, you’d said, a little confused but ultimately finding a nice spot up in a thick tree to carefully observe from. Maki was truly a force of nature, and it seemed like the other girl never actually had a chance of winning. It was honestly only a few minutes before the small black, haired girl was slumped against a tree and Maki was making her way back to you. Things were looking good, two of Kyoto’s student’s were down already and adrenaline was pumping through your veins.

You couldn't quite shake the awful feeling churning in your stomach though, and Megumi’s face was haunting your thoughts. You hadn’t seen him since before the event started, when an odd, pink haired boy jumped out of a box and freaked everyone out. Nobara had later explained who he was and what had happened, and you wondered how many awful surprises Gojo had planned today -- first you, then that.

A small rumble rippled under your feet, and Maki grabbed your arm as you watched a giant brown vine lurch it’s way out of the ground a few hundred yards in the distance.

“That technique doesn’t belong to anyone from Kyoto,” She shot you a look of concern and determination, “let’s go check it out”.

You gave her a firm nod, the two of you making your way towards the horrifying wooden vines. By the time you managed to arrive, Inumaki was already down and so was a dark-haired boy from Kyoto. A muscular, white curse with black markings and wooden branches for eyes was moments away from taking Megumi on all by himself — thank god you got here in time to help.

Megumi, however, was horrified when he saw you jump over the tall roofed building with Maki at your side. He’d just watched two incredible sorcerers get their shit rocked by this curse, there was no way you would stand a chance against this thing. But before he could even try to stop you, you and the green-haired sorcerer were flying through the air and taking shots at the curse. The two of you worked perfectly in sync, the months of daily training finally paying off.

He watched with intent glazed over his eyes, his heart threatening to lurch up his throat. You were a spectacle, and he always thought you were beautiful but seeing you now with dirt and blood stained clothes, cursed weapons gripped firmly in your hands, you truly were ethereal. He hated it though, he hated that he was falling in love with you all over again, especially under these circumstances. Guilt and anxiety was eating away at him — why did you have to get involved? Why couldn’t you have just stayed away like he told you to?

He was quick to join the two of you, sticking close to your side to protect you if need be — but, even with all three of you together the curse still had the upper hand. Maki had been swatted to the side, her back slamming hard against one of the tiled roofs and knocking her unconscious. It was down to just the two of you now, beads of sweat causing your hair to uncomfortably stick to the back of your neck. This was something that Maki’s training could have never prepared you for.

Megumi was getting tired, taking one wrong step and losing his footing momentarily. The curse saw this as a perfect window of opportunity, sending a spiral of vines and branches hurling for Megumi. It was fast, but the adrenaline coursing through you helped you to move faster, launching yourself through the air and intercepting the attack. The barky, wooden vines twisted violently through your stomach, shooting clean through your back and ripping a violent scream from your throat.

It hurt so bad, feeling the plant wriggle through your organs and tear you apart from the inside out. The curse retracted his vine a few moments later, leaving your mangled body to fall helplessly to the roof. Tears rippled from your eyes, your body shaking and seizing as you coughed up a few sprays of blood.

A long, strong pair of arms scooped you up instantaneously, and your head was resting against a firm chest — probably Megumi, but you didn’t quite have the energy to open your eyes to check.

“We’ll take it from here, get her to Ieiri!” You heard a pair of deep voices yelling to Megumi, but it was too foggy and far away for you to understand what they were saying.

Megumi was seething with anger, moving as fast as his feet could carry him and he ran through the school. As you waved in and out of consciousness, you batted open your eyes, stealing quick glances at his twisted features and — were those tears on his face?

“I- I’m sorry Megumi… I think I finally understand what you were so afraid of all this time,” Your voice was barely a croak, “when I saw it coming, I couldn’t stomach the thought of having to watch you die. I suddenly just thought I would do anything to keep you safe”.

Yeah, those were definitely tears, you could see them a little clearer now. His eyes were red and his cheeks were dried with salty streaks.

“You’re so thick-headed,” he mumbled, his grip around you tightening slightly as he picked up his pace, “I wish you would have made that realization before there was a giant hole in your stomach”.

“Me too,” You hummed, but you weren’t really in any pain anymore. The pain had subdued to a sweet warm sensation inside your stomach, and an intoxicating sleepiness was washing over your head, “I was angry for a long time, but I’m not mad at you anymore, Gumi. I hope you can forgive me too”.

You offered him a tiny smile, but the blood leaking from between you keeps made it anything but sweet.

“There’s nothing to forgive you for, you never did anything wrong,” He spoke quickly, his voice quiet and cracking.

“No, but we’re not gonna make it to Ieiri, I know that and so do you,” You fell into a violent fit of coughs again, sputtering red splatters all over the front of his uniform.

“Shut up”.

“It’s not your fault, none of it was ever your fault,” you choked out once the fit of coughs subsided — and you weren’t just talking about yourself, you were talking about all of the unfortunate tragedies he’d witnessed throughout this life.

“And you’re allowed to be selfish sometimes, you know? I hope that when you meet someone, your soulmate even, you can allow yourself to love them with every part of you”.

The words painfully left your lips, but you meant every single one of them. You were starting to realize that you and Megumi were never meant to make it to the end. You weren’t his soulmate, you were here to help him grow, so that when he did finally meet them he’d be ready.

“You deserve to be loved, Megumi,” You looked up at him with big eyes, but his face was starting to get really fuzzy now.

Your fingers were going numb and your mouth felt like it was filled with sand. You were so tired, letting your eyes flutter shut and your head rest softly against Megumi’s chest. You felt him stop running, you could even hear him screaming at you — but it was too far away for you to hear. You drifted closer and closer to eternal sleep, your soul swollen with love for the boy who broke your heart.

Megumi didn’t even feel sad when you stopped breathing in his arms — he just felt hollow. More empty and broken than he’d ever thought possible. You were the most incredible person he’d ever met — someone with extreme motivation, who acted with no fear or hesitation, who always had love to give, even when he didn’t deserve it. He’d never forget you, not for as long as he’d live anyway.

Even when he did meet a new girl a few years later — a compassionate, brave girl, who reminded him a lot of you — he wouldn’t forget. He wouldn’t forget your words and for the first time in his life he’d let his walls down for her. He’d allow himself to truly love, and be loved in return.

And maybe you were right, maybe he did deserve to be loved like this, because god, he finally feels whole again when she’s around. He just wishes you were still here so he could say thank you.

#megumi angst #megumi fushiguro #fushiguro megumi #fushiguro megumi x reader #megumi fushiguro x reader #megumi x reader #angst #fushiguro megumi x you #fushiguro x reader #megumi x you #megumi fushiguro angst #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsukaisen #jjk x y/n #jjk angst #jjk x reader #jjk oneshot #this is sad i’m sorry

[needs-to-stop-looking-at-valves]

i can’t stop thinking about bruno x félix bc of you and bc the thought of bruno being taken care of by a bigger man is just sooooooooo 🚴

I've seen MANY people give Bruno a big man to take care of him,

(You guys want big men and Bruno BTW? Check out my-gunpowder. I'd tag them but idk if we're on that social level or if they're cool with being tagged in smut- point is their stuff is great)

But I ABSOLUTELY agree that the idea itself is just. Fucking beautiful. And thankfully for you, a buddy of mine loved this idea, sooo here's some Bruno and Fèlix (I decided to keep them to their 50's like in the movie, just because they're just. Handsome bastards. And possible long term angst-we'll see where my ass goes).

Bruno appreciated the Encanto opening up after all this time. It brought in all sorts of people, ideas, and realms to explore. In this case, him and Fèlix. They were supposed to have a guy's camping trip (Fèlix always insisted the three of them hang out here and there, often calling it 'bro time'), and while Bruno was here with Fèlix, Augustín was unable to make it. Apparently they planned their camping trip during Augustín's and Luisa's 'daddy and daughter day'. Bruno suggested they just pick another day, but Fèlix insisted it was fine, just the two of them.

"Okay, this should keep for a while."

Félix dumped some firewood by them, ready to keep the fire going. Bruno sat close to it, huddled for warmth. Félix sat next to him, reading into his bag for snacks. Bruno nodded, a look of content on his own features.

"This is nice, honestly. I wish Auggy could've made it, but hey, when was the last time me and you hung out?"

"Too long, Brunito, way too long."

Félix chuckled. He pulled marshmallows, chocolate, and Graham crackers. He always brought other snacks, but Bruno was craving sweets. They hung their marshmallows over the fire, sitting and basking in the fire's light. Bruno glanced over at him for a moment, and thought about how much he had changed from when he was a teenager. Bigger now, more aged and defined hair. Crows feet. But on the whole, he remained unchanged. He seemed to notice Bruno's look, and he chuckled.

"What? You having a vision or something? You're staring."

"Hmm? Oh no I was just thinking. We really changed since we were kids. It's jarring."

Félix nodded in agreement, handing his burnt marshmallow to Bruno. Bruno always liked them crispy, but he always over did it, often with them falling to the ground. Félix always knew exactly how to do it, and it was sweet how he did it for him, without thought. That was one of the things that hadn't changed.

"Oh we've definitely changed. I remember when I first met you-you were kinda snarky. And a little creepy, I'm not gonna lie."

"You DID catch me essentially climbing the cabinets like some kinda monster."

"And your eyes glow in the dark, that definitely didn't help."

They both snorted at that. Upon both treats being assembled, they bumped them together with a quick 'salut'. Bruno nodded in satisfaction, sinking into the slightly bitter, yet overly sweet warmth. He took too big of a bite, struggling to speak past the gunk now in his mouth. Félix wiped his mouth with a grin.

"Your sweet tooth definitely hasn't changed. So thin but you keep stuffing your mouth-I guess Camilo got that from you."

Bruno finally swallowed, and was tempted to take yet another full bite, before deciding to give himself a second.

"Hey, future visions, they require energy. And social skills. I got one of those, and that's barely."

Félix nudged him with his shoulder, scooting over a bit closer in order to do it. Even sitting down on their blanket amongst the dirt, Félix was still a much bigger man, and Bruno couldn't get over that.

"Hey, you didn't do too bad! A few people liked you, and you clung to me pretty fast."

Swallowing the next big bite, he nodded.

"I did. I really liked you. I still do, obviously, but back then you were pretty much my favorite person."

"The wonders of treating people like people. It's incredible. You know, I didn't want to give you a shot either, because you gave creepy vibes. But I'm glad I did, you were a cute kid."

He felt blush creep to his features. He didn't have any crushes on him anymore, but Félix was still incredibly charming. Hell, name another man that could get Abuela to dance (even without Alcohol).

"Looking back, yeah I was a cute guy. Little weird, definitely confused, but cute where it counted. Surprised I didn't get a girlfriend with looks like that. At LEAST an offer, ya know?"

Félix raised a brow as he started preparing the next marshmallow.

"Thought you liked hombres?"

"Well-I don't have a specific type I like. I've found girls attractive, and guys, but it was more the person themselves. Like, I can't see someone in a physical way if I don't like them."

Félix still seemed a bit confused, but he shrugged.

"I can't relate. I've liked PLENTY of girls, and I had a bit of a reputation before I met your sister. Pepa was the end all be all for this little Romeo. I ever tell you when I first realized I loved her?"

"No, but I love a good story."

Félix made Bruno another s'more as he went on, watching the embers with such love in his eyes.

"I've known her all my life, just like everyone else. But I remember seeing her by the church steps, summoning just a blanket of rain. I've never seen a girl so sad. I walked up to her, and gave her my umbrella. When she told me she was making herself cry to help the crops, so she was thinking sad thoughts-it got to me, right through the heart. And watching the clouds part when I made her laugh, and watching her face get all misty when I told her her hair was pretty when it was wet-I knew it had to be her."

It was so sweet. Bruno knew they were meant to be married for a LONG time, but seeing Félix so in love and affectionate-it made him happy to welcome him to the family. Félix turned to look at Bruno, and he should've seen the question coming.

"So what about you? Who did you crush on back in the day?"

Bruno choked a bit on his treat, needing a hand as Félix leaned over and pat his back.

"Easy, easy Chamaco! Don't die on me, Pepa is going to KILL me!"

Bruno shook his head, trying to clear his throat.

"Sorry, sorry, I just. Oh you surprised me there. Well I mean...I've had little crushes. Osma was one. Hates me now, but I remember once she asked me to put up her hair and...well. I thought it felt nice, and her smile when I finished. It was a very small crush, but I think it was one of the cutest ones."

"Ha! You ARE a romantic, I'd believe that. Falling for a girl just because you put up her hair? That's very Bruno of you."

Bruno raised a brow, snatching his next treat suspiciously.

"What does my name mean in that sentence?"

"No no, it's good! It just means you made it all romantic and sweet. You always kinda. Just blew stuff out of proportion, you know?"

Bruno munched on his third one now, nodding with Félix's words. He expected Félix's words, but he hated it.

"Who was your biggest crush?"

Bruno hesitated. Then Félix, ever the charmer, wrapped an arm around him, giving him a little shake.

"Come on! Tell your hermano! No judgement!"

"...you gotta swear. Because it's...uhm. Hard for me to say."

"Bruno, we were young! We've all had weird crushes! Hell-I had a crush on my teacher, Mrs.Diaz. And I was friends with all her kids."

Bruno hesitated, before deciding to just being open. It's been thirty ish years, he couldn't call him creepy after all that, could he? He sighed.

"Okay. My biggest crush was definitely on you."

Félix blinked, looking over at him as if he was confused. Then he snorted into his fist, trying not to lose it.

"On ME?! No way! I charmed two whole ass Madrigals! I had NO idea!"

Bruno rubbed his arm uncomfortably. He was making a show of it, but at least he wasn't disgusted.

"Yeah when I was like. Fourteen. HUGE crush on you. It was bad. I remembered, when I'd write love stories in my plays- I'd base the main character after you. A lot. Ugh this is, embarrassing."

Félix knelt down a bit to look at his face, rustling his fingers through his hair. It brought him back, and he swore he felt something in his heart, just for a second.

"Aw, that's so Lindo! Little Brunocito wanted my attention! Is that why you kept burying your face in my shoulder? I thought you were just shy."

"It was...both. You just. Were nice and warm and it's a bit weird, but I always thought you smelled nice."

Félix was still laughing. Not in bad spirits, but in surprise.

"Geez Bruno-I had NO idea. Oh, that must've been hard with me and Pepa."

"It was, for a bit. But hey, I'm a big boy, I got over it."

Bruno saw that in his eyes. He was going to ask an uncomfortable question.

"I gotta ask-"

"Please don't."

"Did you touch yourself thinking about me?"

"And you just did, okay,"

Bruno chuckled awkwardly, letting his fingers run through his stubble.

"A...few times. I just. Really wanted to get to know you. I saw how you kissed Pepa and I'd read her diary about the stuff you guys did. I wanted that, so badly. But you know, some things in life we just can't h-"

His eyes moved from the ground the second Félix touched his face. His hand was so...big as it caressed his face. Soft, yet calloused from work. Then Félix leaned in, and kissed him. Bruno sat there, eyes wide open as shock overcame him. Oh no. Oh no, he was getting kissed. He wanted it to be bad, but it wasn't. It was SO good, it melted against his lips like ice under the spring sun. When Félix pulled away, Bruno just sat there, gawking.

"Félix what did you-"

"You've been treated badly all your life, Brunocito. I'm sorry I was one of those things. Let me make it up to you."

Bruno was suddenly VERY self conscious about his appearance. Oh was his hair a mess? Did he have chocolate on his stubble? How big were his bags? Could he hear his pounding heart beat? Bruno brushed some hair out of his face, shriveling up like a raisin in the sun.

"Félix y-you. You shouldn't have done...ooh okay, my head is. Spinning. You're a REALLY good kisser. I shouldn't be saying that to you at all-"

"Do you want me to do it again?"

"Querido dios por favor."

Félix gave it to him. Then again. Then again. Bruno's mind was drawing a blank the further and further he was being pulled into those heavenly lips. They were so soft, and the occasional flick of his tongue against his bottom lip made him pant so damn fast. His heart was pounding, he couldn't think straight. Félix parted, looking so composed, he hated it.

"Bruno. To make up for the bad things in your life, tell me what you want me to do to you."

Bruno's fingers fumbled, he licked his dry lips, his body absolutely panicking. He needed to stop. He didn't have feelings for Félix anymore. He was a friend, that was it. He could tell him that, and they could forget about all of this.

"I want to ride you."

That was the OPPOSITE of what he was supposed to say. He was about to retract that statement, when Félix started to move, holding Bruno's chin as he pulled him into another kiss. He heard the buckle from his belt clink, heard the sound of his clothes fall to his ankles. Bruno peered down, and tried not to faint. Even though he wasn't totally hard, Bruno could tell he was THICK. He wanted it inside of him, and wanted it now. Félix laid back, holding onto Bruno's face, and using his thumb to caress his lips.

"You're going to need to suck it. Okay?"

Félix softly opened Bruno's mouth, and Bruno could feel himself drooling as the thumb grazed against his tongue. He was SO hard right now. Bruno nodded, and knelt down, putting his hands on his thighs. He was such a big, thick man, these thighs could crush his skull, and he was ready for it. Bruno didn't bother with just the tip- he just pushed whatever fit in his mouth, making Félix swear a bit in surprise. It was such a sexy sound, he wanted MORE. He'd never sucked a dick before, but he'd seen it.

His visions helped him explore such lustful thoughts. He'd seen many images, often involuntarily, that ignited something in him, that forced him into touching himself. He'd seen the way lips wrapped around cock, seen the way the drool dripped down the fat gerths. And it was no different here. Bruno sat there, sucking without any poise, any manners. It was loud, it was wet, hungry. Fèlix should've treated him roughly, like a little bitch. But he didn't. Instead, he dug his big fingers into his scalp, and grabbed a handful of his curly locks, giving it a light pull. He groaned around the precum soaked cock, absolutely adoring it. Félix looked down at him, In kindness, in a way that said 'I'm in charge', and it made Bruno's heart, and cock throb.

"Easy Bruno, easy. You're just getting me wet. Now, relax your throat. I won't hurt you."

Bruno gave no resistance as Félix pushed himself into his mouth further. He gagged, it made his throat hurt, it made drool cascade down his mouth like a waterfall. And he loved it. It tasted so hot, so bitter, he should've hated it. But he didn't. He loved it. He wanted this cock rammed into his mouth forever. Unfortunately, Félix pulled him away by his hair, getting that thick, wet cock out of his mouth. He wanted more. And Fèlix was somewhat sweet, letting it rub against his face and smearing fluids all over his face. Félix was panting so dreamily now, and knowing it was because of him practically made him swoon.

"So good, Brunocito. Such a good boy. Now don't forget the balls."

Félix pushed his head down till his nose was smothered against his balls. Bruno had seen a peek of them before whenever he saw Félix in shorts, but seeing them up close, feeling their warmth, smelling the hot, natural musk, it made him go NUTS. Bruno dug his nails into his big, plump thighs, trying to beg for more of it.

"Ellos son tan grandes...there's just. So much."

"And they all have cum for you. You want it all don't you?"

His pubic hair tickled his nose and his tongue. He nodded, looking right up at Félix's brown, soulful eyes.

"All of it. Please. I want every drop."

"Such a good answer. Open."

He opened his mouth, and let Félix practically smother him with his balls. They tasted a bit of sweat and of skin, and he felt them pulse deliciously in his mouth. He couldn't believe how good all of this felt. He knew he'd wanted this, knew that deep down, his lust for this man never truly went away. Félix pulled out of his mouth, despite how much Bruno wanted to chase after him.

"Up. Come on."

He let go of his hair so Bruno could shakily get up. Bruno was about to be pulled in, when he stopped him.

"I...I wanna take my clothes off. And I want yours off too. Please."

Félix looked him up and down, hard cock and pulsing balls at the ready.

"Thought you didn't like people seeing your body?"

"Just. Just you. Please?"

Félix nodded. Bruno took off his clothes as Félix took off his own, and Bruno tried not to cum on the spot. He had such a wide frame; a firm gut, and LOTS of curly, gray spotted chest hair. Félix patted onto his thighs, signaling for Bruno to sit. Bruno obeyed, immediately digging his fingers into his chest hair. He wanted to lick him up and down, it wasn't fair. He didn't get to keep contact as Félix softly cupped his face in his hand. So big, so soft, like a man should be.

"Sit on it. Take as much as you can, be gentle."

Bruno nodded as he took a hold of the hot gerth, and lined himself up, before pushing him inside. It was a wet, searing hot pain that his body begged to stop. But Bruno didn't care. Instead, he sank down lower and lower, till his sopping wet balls touched his own ass. He was seeing stars, his head was spinning. Félix lifted his head up a bit, peppering kisses from his chin, down his neck.

"Que buen chico...such a good, good job. You're so tight. Did you think I'd feel this good?"

Bruno gently shook his head, swallowing the spit from his suddenly dry mouth.

"N-no. You're better. So much...better. Félix, tómame ahora, PLEASE!"

"Anything for the pretty boy."

His words were so gentle, as was the hand keeping his face up, but the actions weren't. His hips bucked against him with such force, with such carnal desire, it was unlike anything Bruno had ever experienced. And to make it all so much better, so much more tempting, Félix kept speaking against his skin and against his stubble.

"I didn't know baby Bruno was so dirty. I wonder how much you looked at me. I bet you looked at my cock whenever I changed clothes. Did you picture yo dentro de tu culo apretado?? I bet you did. I bet you got your sheets so messy thinking about me."

It was a mistake, pumping his cock to the speed of these fast, almost animalistic thrusts. Félix's hand gripped around his throat, and Bruno wanted him to SQUEEZE. But he didn't. No, he was restraint, at least for now.

"You're dripping all over me. You're squeezing around me. You're going to cum with me inside of you. Who's mi pequeña perra?"

"M-me."

"I can't hear you. Maybe if I say it like this-whos my little BITCH?"

Oh he squeezed. Not too softly, but definitely not too roughly. Unlike the cock ramming into him and destroying his ass. Bruno swallowed, before excitedly nodding.

"I-im your bitch! It's me! It's y-your Brunito!"

He couldn't get enough of this big, charming, sexy man. He wanted every single bit of him. He yelped in surprise as he was suddenly on his back, with Félix's massive weight on top of him, and his hands pinned above his head. Bruno's long, gangly legs tried (and failed) to wrap around such a thick frame, and was helpless against the pounding cock in his ass. Félix kept looking into Bruno's eyes. They say eyes were the windows onto the soul, and Félix's were intense, passionate, much like the still roaring fire beside them.

"I'm going to cum inside of your tight ass. You're going to thank me after. ¿Comprender?"

"Si! Dámelo! ¡te estoy rogando!"

A few more thrusts. Just a few more, and a swear escaped those beautiful lips as he came. And it was everything Bruno could've dreamed of, and more. It was hot, it was thick, it poured into him and it felt as if it was violating every part of his body. His belly hurt from the way it poured into him, nowhere to go as the thick gerth blocked him. Félix kept pumping, balls seizing and relaxing, before he stopped. Bruno had no clue when he came, just that he did, with his own thick cum littering Félix's stomach. Félix let go of his hands, instead reaching for his hair, and yanking him to his soiled stomach.

"Lick off your fucking mess. Every drop. Or I'm going to pull your pretty hair till you scream for mercy."

Bruno shouldn't have done any of this. But as his tongue glazed over the sweat soaked skin and the cum covered curly hair, Bruno realized something.

He never really did get over his crush.

#asks #encanto #not transformers #lemon #its 4am #so you know this shit was INDULGENT #enjoy