#because the film was good and moving? that just means it had a good writer not that its a good charity????

[summer-fruits-and-cream]

@internetcatholicism is blocking people who are brining up OUR's problems on their post asking for donations to support the org

I'm all for blocking people on social media but conservatives will complain about how biased and close minded people are, and how no one's willing to have a conversation. And then when it's pointed out that a charity may be sketchy, they refuse to even do any research.

I'm tired of all these people who have decided that liberals only hate sound of freedom because "oh they think it's connected to qanon". As if there aren't multiple accounts of problems

They're screaming about child trafficking but God forbid they give their money to someone who will actually make a difference

#I noticed another reblog to that post saying our is sketchy and she replied saying you should have sources for that claim #so I was about to reblog with sources and breaking down how charity navigator only looks at certain aspects of the org not all #but she blocked me and the other person while I was writing it up #the sound of freedom #operation underground railroad #ugh #like... why would you be defensive about this SPECIFIC charity #where is this emotional investment in defending them coming from #because the film was good and moving? that just means it had a good writer not that its a good charity???? #hollywood will make you believe whatever they want you to they cannot be this dumb

[cleo-fox]

Movie Night

Summary: You’re not really sure why Loki shows up for your movie nights. He never seems to like the movies, even when he picks them, and every movie you watch together is accompanied by a litany of dry complaints and general sarcasm from him. This is partly why it always ends up being just the two of you—the others don’t have the patience to put up with it. You generally think it’s funny, so you’ve never rescinded his invitation.

That and…you kind of have a thing for him.

Pairing: Loki/Female Reader

Warnings: Smut, 18+, Minors DNI, couch sex, quiet sex, praise kink, friends to lovers, making out, vaginal fingering, semi-public sex, praise kink.

A/N: I’m working on cross posting all my stuff from AO3. I wrote this a little while ago in an effort to address some writer’s block (it didn’t work, but I had fun writing it). This is also on AO3.

You’re not really sure why Loki shows up for your movie nights. He never seems to like the movies, even when he picks them, and every movie you watch together is accompanied by a litany of dry complaints and general sarcasm from him. This is partly why it always ends up being just the two of you—the others don’t have the patience to put up with it. You generally think it’s funny, so you’ve never rescinded his invitation.

That and you’ve got a little bit of a thing for him. You think he might have some interest in you, but you’re not certain enough to make the first move.

You look forward to your movie nights, but when this particular Friday night rolls around, you’re absolutely dragging by the time the clock strikes eight, thanks to a bad night of sleep the previous evening. Before the movie even starts, you’re wrapping yourself in the soft throw from your room and curling up, pillowing your head on the arm of the couch.

“I didn’t realize I would have such riveting company this evening,” says Loki dryly.

You roll your eyes and stretch obnoxiously, purposely shoving your feet into his lap. “I was up ‘til three this morning, give me a break.”

“Surely you need your full wits about you to appreciate the nuance of this fine cinema.”

He’s being sarcastic; you decide to ignore it because that will annoy him the most. You stifle a yawn and give him your most beatific smile before hunkering back down under your blanket. Loki grumbles something indeterminate, but he doesn’t shove your feet off his lap—in fact, he drapes his arm over your ankles like it’s not a big deal at all.

This simple gesture warms you from the inside out and sends a flurry of butterflies fluttering through your stomach. You are pretty sure nothing is going to come of it—stuff like this has been going on for months and nothing has happened—but it’s still nice. You have no idea what it means, but it’s nice.

You’re not entirely surprised that you fall asleep during the movie—you are tired and while you don’t necessarily want to admit that any of Loki’s cinematic complaints have merit, the movie really wasn’t very good. Between that and your cozy blanket, it’s a recipe for an unintentional nap.

It’s dark when you wake up. You don’t really remember falling asleep, though you think it must have been about halfway through the film, based on the last hazy bit of dialogue you can recall.

You certainly don’t remember Loki sliding over on the couch to join you. But here he is, spooned up against your back, arms snaking around your waist, and the blanket tucked neatly over the two of you.

It’s dark and quiet and his breath is warm and even against the back of your neck. You’re reasonably certain that he’s asleep, though you wouldn’t necessarily bet money on it.

You consider your options. You probably should get up before someone wanders in and finds you like this, but…you don’t want to. You are wildly attracted to Loki—there’s no denying that—and the feeling of his strong arms wrapped snugly around your waist and the warmth of his broad chest pressing against your back is far too intoxicating to give up, even though you’re currently tangled up with him in a common area.

Still…you’re not entirely sure what to do about this. At some point, you’ll both need to go to your respective beds. Pretending to be asleep when he wakes is almost certainly not an option—he’ll somehow know that you’re faking and he’ll absolutely call you out on it, which will make the whole thing worse. Going back to sleep is tempting, but it presents its own set of risks.

But then…why did he curl up with you like this? Surely he wouldn’t have done this if he didn’t find you appealing in some way. Maybe you don’t actually need an exit strategy? Maybe you can just enjoy it. You’re a bit too comfortable, sleepy, and distracted to think properly, anyway. You allow yourself to relax further into his embrace.

And then you feel his cock twitch against your ass.

It’s almost impressive how quickly your body shifts from content and pleasantly sleepy to wide awake and intensely aroused. Somewhere in the back of your mind, there’s a calm and rational voice saying you’re being ridiculous, but this is easily drowned out by the growing ache between your thighs.

You press your thighs together and try to take slow and even breaths, but it doesn’t really help. If you weren’t sure what to do before, now you’re at a complete loss. The safe assumption would be to chalk it up to biology and timing and move on, but it’s really difficult to do that when you’ve been locked in this flirty back and forth with him for months and you want him as much as you do.

You feel him twitch again and you bite your lip as the ache between your thighs pulses in a kind of answer, the slickness growing. Your breath is quiet, but shallow, your heart thrumming in your throat.

You’re trying to keep perfectly still, but between your aching core and the slight kink in your hip from the way you’re positioned on the couch, doing so is easier said than done. You hold out for as long as you can before you give in and shift your hips slightly, trying to be as subtle as possible.

He stirs in his sleep and pulls you closer, his cock pressing hard against your ass. You’re not sure if he’s awake—his breath is still coming slow and even against the back of your neck—but you can’t quite suppress the way your own breath stutters in your throat when you feel him against you. 

God, you want him.

He flexes his fingers where they are splayed against your stomach. You feel the tip of his nose brush against the curve of your neck.

“Will you admit now that you want me?” he says. His voice is low and intimate and calls to mind dark silk and smoke.

“I didn’t know that you wanted me to,” you say, which is true—whatever’s been brewing between you has been subtle, more sidelong glances than lustful stares; you’ve never spoken about it.

“Don’t play coy with me, pet,” he says, his voice a soft growl against your neck. “I have enjoyed the chase, but I’ve no more patience for games.”

The slickness between your thighs increases at the slight roughness in his voice. His lips graze the shell of your ear and you let out a sharp breath.

“Admit it.” He catches your earlobe between his teeth and gently sucks it into his mouth.

“Fuck,” you gasp, your back arching slightly against him.

“In due time,” he says, his hips pressing back against you. “Answer me first.”

You roll over so that you’re facing him. The sharp, angular planes of his face are flattered by the faint, moody blue light from the sleeping city outside. He stares openly, brazenly, at your lips, his hand resting on your waist.

“What happens if I do?” you ask.

He gives you a wolfish smile and his hand strokes down your waist to your thigh. He pulls your leg up and over his hip, drawing you toward him so that his cock presses against your clothed heat. You have to bite your lip to hold back a moan, but you’re pretty sure he catches the slight hitch in your breath.

“You’re a clever girl,” he says, “I’m sure you can work it out.”

When you’ve thought about this moment before—and you’ve admittedly thought about it a lot—you’ve always imagined yourself smirking right back at him, meeting his clever quips with barbs of your own until he’s forced to admit how much he wants you. But you’re not quite prepared for the way that your brain abruptly short circuits at the feeling of his thick, hard cock pressing against your clit through the thin fabric of your leggings or how his gaze is a thousand times hungrier in the dark than it was in your imagination. It feels thrilling and sexy being here with him like this, tangled up in the dead of night in the middle of the common area. Clever quips and keeping him hanging seem like an impossibility several times over.

He seems to sense that your resolve is faltering because his hand slides to your lower back and he rocks his hips against you ever so slightly, giving you just a taste of that beautiful friction.

“Admit it.” It’s not a question this time and a pleasant shiver runs up your spine.

You lick your lips. “I—I want you.”

His smile is like sin. “Good girl.”

You’re practically trembling with want when he kisses you, so slow and sensual that it makes you whimper when his tongue strokes past your lips and into your mouth.

He moves in a languid, almost lazy way that makes you dizzy with need. He’s completely unhurried, but there’s a tension in his body that tells you he’s barely holding back, that he wants you a lot more than what he’s saying.

You almost don’t notice his hand sliding from your back to your hip and then ghosting along your stomach until he slips it under the band of your leggings.

“How much do you want me?” he asks as his fingers trail lightly along the fabric of your underwear.

“You can’t tell?” you ask, trying and mostly failing to keep your voice level.

“I like to be certain,” he says.

“You just like hearing me say it,” you say.

His eyes glitter as his hand slips under the elastic of your underwear and slowly creeps downward. “And why shouldn’t I like hearing you tell me how much you want me?”

“I—” His hand is so close to where you need him. He runs one finger right along the edge of your slit and your breath catches. “I—I don’t…”

He raises an eyebrow expectantly. “You don't…?”

“I…” Your mind is blissfully blank and every fiber of your being is focused on his hand and your aching clit. “I—I don’t…remember the question.”

You think you must have surprised him a little because he laughs in a way that makes his eyes light up, even in the moody blue half dark of the room. But after a brief moment he refocuses and his fingers slowly part your dripping folds and finally stroke your throbbing clit.

“Oh fuck,” you breathe, a moan catching in your throat.

“As I thought,” he tuts. “You’re desperate for it, aren’t you?” You nod and he makes a scolding sound. “Say it. Tell me what you need.”

You can feel your cheeks heat, which is ridiculous given that he’s got his hand down your pants. You lick your lips. “I need to come.”

“And what do you want me to do about that?” His fingers circle your clit lightly and retreat.

You shiver, your hips rolling forward, searching out his fingers. “Touch me.”

“How?”

You bite back a whimper as his fingers trace a circuit around your clit, avoiding your obvious need. “Please, Loki.”

“I need you to be more specific, darling,” he purrs. Your hips roll forward and he retreats again.

“You know what I want,” you say.

His smile is sharp. “Have we not established that I like hearing you say such things?” His fingers bypass your clit again. “Tell me how you want me to touch you. Tell me what you want.”

Your pride—or what remains of it—has slowly eroded to nothing. You lick your lips. You need him.

“I—I need you to touch me,” you say again. “I want you to rub my clit until I come on your fingers.”

His smile is vulpine but his fingers finally roll over your clit, lightly circling it. You breathe out, your hips rocking with his hand.

“Absolutely drenched,” he murmurs. “You’re a proper mess, my love.”

“It’s because you’re such a fucking tease,” you say, your hands sliding up to grip his shoulders.

His eyebrows rise. “I’m a tease? Am I not giving you everything that you asked for?”

“After amping me up,” you retort.

“And I’m taking care of that now, aren’t I? I’m touching you just like you begged me to.” He changes the movement of his hand slightly, fingers rolling across the most sensitive part of your clit. You suck in a deep breath and his eyes darken as he readjusts his hand to hit that spot again. “And you obviously like it. I daresay you need it.”

Your head tips back as your hips rock with his hand. You can feel your orgasm beginning to build and for the first time, it occurs to you that you are doing this in the middle of a common area. Reluctant as you are to stop, you can’t help but think it might be best to relocate.

“Should—fuck, yes, just like that—should we go back to your room? Or mine?” you manage to gasp.

“I don’t see why that’s necessary.”

“S-someone might hear,” you gasp as his fingers massage your slick and swollen clit.

The white of his teeth flashes in the dark as he continues to touch you. “Then I suggest you keep quiet,” he says, his voice rough.

You manage to raise an eyebrow. “You don’t want to hear me?”

Another sharp smile. “Later.” His eyes darken. “You’ve kept me from my prize long enough. I rather think you’ve earned this little game.”

“I thought you had no more patience for games,” you manage to say.

He smiles and it occurs to you that he likes it when you talk back, perhaps just as much as you enjoy him putting you in your place. “Oh, I think I rather like this game,” he says, his fingers suddenly slowing, but still exerting a firm pressure on your clit. “How hard will you come for me? How quiet can you be?” His eyes darken again. “Or perhaps you don’t want to be quiet. Perhaps you want to be heard. Perhaps you want the others to know exactly what I’m doing to you.”

You shudder despite yourself.

“Wicked girl,” he murmurs appreciatively. “Letting me touch you out here in the open like this. Anyone could walk in here and see.”

“You’d really let that happen?” you ask. “I didn’t take you for the type who likes to share.”

The hunger in his eyes increases tenfold and you know this was the right thing to say. “Oh, I don’t share, darling. Especially not you.” He increases the speed of his fingers ever so slightly and your breath catches, the tension in your hips building. “Do you know how long I’ve waited for this? How many times I’ve thought about ravishing you until you forget every name but mine? How many times I’ve imagined you wet and begging for my cock?” His voice drops to a low rasp. “I have gone to bed hard and aching for you more nights than I can count.”

His words and his fingers are a wonderful and wicked combination. You reach for him, tangling your fingers in his ink dark hair and pulling him in to kiss you. He does, but with such a lazy restraint that you can’t help but whimper a little, trying to press yourself closer as your hips rock with his hand. You’re reaching the place in the lead up to your orgasm where you’re so desperate to come that you feel like you’d do almost anything. It’s a heady place, with an edge of danger and you think that Loki must have an inkling of it based on the way his eyes darken.

“Did you think of me like this? Did you touch yourself, imagining the feeling of my hands on your body?”

“I—”

He must catch the slight hesitation in your eyes because that firm authority returns to his voice. “Tell me.”

Panting, you nod and earn another one of those dark and hungry smiles.

“How many times did you make yourself come while thinking of me?”

You don’t know the answer to that. Partly because it was like…several times a week. For the last six months. At least.

“A lot,” you finally manage.

His smile is devilish as he kisses you. “You’re going to come at least twice as hard for me tonight.”

The muscles of your cunt clench tightly around nothing. You need him so badly. Have you ever needed anyone like this? You’re fairly sure you haven’t. You’re getting close, your hips rolling with the stroke of his hand.

“Tell me how much you need it,” he purrs. “Tell me how you need to fall apart on my fingers.”

“Loki—”

“Tell me.”

“Please—I’m so close—”

“Tell me and I’ll let you come. Be a good girl for me, darling, and I’ll give you everything you need.”

You gasp. “Fuck, Loki, I—fuck, I need to come—I need you—”

You’re not sure how he manages it—perhaps there’s some magic involved, perhaps it’s luck or skill—but you start to come the moment the words leave your lips. The edges of your vision blur slightly as your orgasm overtakes you, roaring up from your hips and bursting like fireworks in the night sky. You gasp, trying to hold in a moan, but a slight whimper escapes you before Loki’s mouth covers your own, claiming you in a hungry kiss. His hand is still moving, fingers still circling your clit.

“Oh, yes,” he breathes against your lips. “Oh that’s lovely.”

It seems to last a long time, drawing out in long waves that make your toes curl. He kisses you throughout, until you very nearly lose track of where you end and he begins. All the while, his fingers keep rubbing your clit, extending your pleasure and making you shudder.

You can feel his cock still pressing against your hip and you want nothing more than to take him in your hands and make him feel just as good as he made you feel.

“I want to touch you,” you say and you’re treated to another one of those hungry smiles before he starts undoing the fastenings of his trousers. His cock finally springs free and you suck in a deep breath. He’s big—easily the biggest you’ve ever had—and you can’t help the ache that courses through you.

It’s immensely rewarding hearing his breath hitch when you take him in your hand. You’re surprised by how warm he is—you’d expect a Frost Giant to run a little cooler, but he’s hot and throbbing. You stroke him slowly from base to tip, squeezing his shaft ever so slightly.

His head tips back and he lets out a very quiet groan before reaching to push your hand away. Your cheeks burn with embarrassment. “I’m sorry—” you start to say.

“I need you now,” he says, tugging your leggings and underwear down and off, his voice conveying both authority and desperation in a way that makes you ache.

He pulls you to him, drawing your leg up over his hip to spread you open. He rubs the tip of his cock along your slit, coating himself in your slickness and taking every opportunity to tease your clit.

He finally settles himself at your entrance and slowly begins easing into you.

He kisses you and it’s a good thing he does because you’re so slick and wound up that the dull, blunt stretch of his cock sliding inside of you unexpectedly tips you right back over the edge, pulling a soft moan from your lips as you come on his cock. You almost have a mind to be embarrassed—you’ve hardly begun and you’re already coming undone—but the feral glint in Loki’s eyes is enough to make you forget all about it.

“Like I said: you’re absolutely desperate for it, ” he says, pressing even deeper inside of you. “And you’re taking me so well.” He withdraws slightly and pushes forward again and you bury your face in his neck to hide your moan.

His fingers slide between your legs to find your clit. “I want to feel you come again,” he says, gently beginning to stroke you as he thrusts again. “You feel exquisite.”

It doesn’t take very long for him to build you back up—the steady thrust of his cock stroking your slick walls just right and his fingers expertly circling your clit is more than enough to take you there. It’s all so good and the way he’s kissing you is making you dizzy in the best way.

“I can feel you, darling,” he purrs in your ear. “Let go. Come on my cock like a good girl.”

With a few more thrusts, you do. You bury your face in his shoulder, trying to muffle your moans as much as possible.

“That’s it, yes,” he growls as he fucks you through the aftershocks. His brow is furrowed and his focus is intent and you can tell he’s getting close.

“Loki,” you breathe.

Even though he’s in the process of losing his composure, he still manages a wicked grin. “One more for me, love,” he rasps.

You’re not sure if you can manage another, to be quite frank. “Loki, I—”

“One more,” he says again, his eyes flashing. “One more and I’ll fill your tight, perfect cunt with my seed. One more and I’ll make you mine.”

His words send something electric and primal racing up your spine and quite suddenly, you find yourself hurtling toward the release you didn’t think you had in you. A choked whimper catches in your throat and you are trembling in his arms and with one last shudder, you come hard.

“Nearly there.” His words are punctuated by gasps, his hips never faltering in their rhythm.

His hips snap hard against you and he throws his head back, his face rapt in ecstasy, lost to a pure pleasure as he comes. He’s staggeringly beautiful in this moment and you’re filled with a feral kind of possessiveness—he is yours and you don’t want to share this moment or this feeling or this man with anyone else. It’s a startling thought—one you know that you know you’ll need to interrogate at some point—but you decide that it can wait until later. He starts kissing you and it nearly takes your breath away—it’s soft and tender and still so decadent it feels like it should be forbidden.

You want to stay in this moment with him, your legs wrapped around his waist, his cock still pressed inside of you, but you know it can’t last. Something in your chest aches as he pulls away from you, vanishes the mess and tucks himself back into his trousers. He slowly stands up and you suddenly feel so much colder than you were before.

But before you can start to wallow in that misery, he’s bending down and scooping you up into his arms, throw blanket and all.

Before you can even think to ask where he’s taking you, you’re in his rooms and he’s placing you gently on the bed.

“Oh, so now you want privacy,” you say as you watch him quickly strip off his clothes, your gaze lingering on every emerging detail like you’re a woman starved.

He smirks and joins you in bed, covering your body with his and kissing you deeply as he pulls off the rest of your clothes. The feeling of his bare skin on yours is so dizzying that it takes you a moment to realize that he’s hard again.

“Already?” you say with a disbelieving laugh.

His smile is sin dripped in syrup. “I am a god, pretty girl.”

The ache between your legs returns and he kisses you like he knows it.

“And this time,” he says, his eyes glittering with want, “I want to hear you scream for me.”

You are more than happy to oblige.

#loki smut #loki x reader #loki x reader smut #loki imagine #loki fanfiction #loki fanfic #loki laufeyson smut #loki laufeyson #loki x female reader #loki x female reader smut #loki x you #loki x y/n #loki x yn #loki x you smut

[justatypicalwizard]

A scrap from your book

Bakugo x reader, aged up, college! au, quirks don't matter, no warnings, just heartwarming

Roommate Bakugo who is forced to share a room with you for about three months due to unexpected construction works in the college apartment he occupied. The whole Bakusquad was moved to random rooms. To make it worse they were all shared ones. You agreed to take in a male occupant.

Roommate Bakugo who tries to spend as much time outside of the cramped college room as possible. He feels like he's kinda invading your privacy as well as just finding the whole situation uneasy.

Roommate Bakugo who has to complete a bunch of assignments but the library is packed in the late afternoon hours, the air thick with gossip, stress, sweat and annoyance. Bakugo finally wandered off to the dorm room to find some peace for his work.

Roommate Bakugo who spotts you always turn off your lamp and tune down the brightness on your laptop when he tells you he's going to sleep.

"You don't have to do that." He grunts, already wrapped up in heavy covers.

"I don't mind, you do the same." Because he does.

Roommate Bakugo who walks on you watching a film he loves. At first he just circles the small room mindlessly, more interested in the unwrapping dialogue between his two favourite characters than the laundry he's picking up.

"You wanna watch?" You ask, pausing the movie.

"No. I was going to do my laundry."

"I can wait, I can buy some snacks in the meantime, I was looking for an excuse to do it anyway."

So the two of you ended up finishing the film together, sitting on your bed.

Roommate Bakugo who talks to you more, geting used to the situation faster than he thought he would. You both sit by your desks working on the boring college stuff. He spotted you were trying hard, not slacking around and keeping most of your deadlines. Even if he didn't want to admitt it, he was impressed. Not that he didn't do the same, it's just rare to find a person who actually cares.

Roommate Bakugo who didn't know how to phrase a sentence. He was working on a piece of paper for the last two hours after an intense day of workout and his brain refused to cooperate anymore.

"Can I ask you for a favour?" Your face appeared from behind your laptop screen.

"Depends on what is it."

"I finished a short essay and I wanted to ask if you could read it and tell me if it makes sense."

Might as well take a break to refresh his mind. Bakugo read through the text and came to the conclusion that you were a good writer. A very good writer in fact.

"How would you say that in other words?" He asked after you were happy with your work, your laptop tossed aside as you lay on your bed scrolling through your phone.

You skipped to him, read through the sentence and gave him a paraphrase, one that he wouldn't think of himself.

"Thanks."

Roommate Bakugo who was eying you book collection for some time. You had a bunch. When he asked the two of you started talking and in went on and on and on. Finally, you stood up on your bed, the sheets dipping in where you stretched out to reach the highest shelve. Picking out a book you handed it to him.

"My favourite."

So he started to read it.

Roommate Bakugo who got a text from you that you wouldn't be back in the dorms for the night. After a shower he laid down in his bed, shirtless, with your book in hand. It was definitely worth it and he was way past the half already. Suddednly the doors opened only to reveal you, eying him up and down.

"The fuck you doing here?" Suddenly Bakugo felt a tad bit embarassed about his bare chest and lose sweatpants.

"My friend cancelled, sorry, you have someone over?" A small sly grin appeared on yoru lips.

"Jeez no, I'm just half naked."

"I don't mind." You shrugged, throwing your bag on the bed.

And what was that supposed to mean?

Nevermind. Bakugo wanted to get back to the story when he spotted something horrific. His hand gripped a nice chunk of the page, torn out of the book. He must have done it when you startled him with the grand entrance. It was readable as he only torn the cream white but it still looked nasty.

"Shit, I'm sorry." He didn't even look at you, opting on eying the damage, embarassement creaping up his cheeks for destroying someone's else belonging. One of yoru favourite belongings.

You came over, looked at the book and started to laugh.

"What's so fucking funny?" From embarassed Bakugo quickly merged into defensive.

"You look as if you killed my grandma. It's just a book." You saw that it didn't make him feel better, in fact the frown in his brows deepened. "I like my books being used. Lets treat it as a memory of you reading it. Give me the torn piece, please." Your hand reached out and he put the scrap into your open palm.

You skribbled something down on it using a pen fished out of your drawer. When you gave it back to him, the paper read 'Don't stress so much, dummy.'

"You can keep it." A smile brightened your face as you turned around to do other things.

Roommate Bakugo who would never admitt to anyone that he kept that scrap in the back of his phonecase at all times.

Roommate Bakugo who would never admitt to anyone that it took you roughly two months to steal his rock-like heart away.

#bakugou #katsuki bakugou #bakugou x reader #bakugou katsuki #bakugo #katsuki bakugo #mha bakugo x reader #katsuki bakugo x reader #bakugo x you #bakugo x y/n #bakugo x reader #bakugou katsuki x reader #katsuki x reader #mha

[sergle]

Every time YouTube nonsense happens I'm always like "I can't wait to see what Sergle says about this" because you're the only person I follow that talks about YouTube nonsense.

Please take this is an invitation for you to talk about the Watcher's apology video lol

I am a filthy youtube enjoyer so you can absolutely count on me and GODDDDDDDDDDD... I mean the apology is not NEARLY as funny as the blunder, so it hasn't kept my attention as much but like the obligatory upfront thing is that, like, it is good that they posted it, they apologized for being insensitive and whatever, they're not scraping their channel clean or going forward with their old plan to only post their shows on their own platform, and these are technically good and correct things, because they could have pretended not to notice all the negative feedback. So like, responding is good. BUT LIKE I HAVE QUESTIONS NOW... Because they took SO LONG to film and upload a video that basically is just "we fucked up, we're sorry, we're not gonna do that anymore", which doesn't exactly take a writer's room several days to cook, but I DIGRESS... They were quiet for long enough for everyone to LOOK REALLY CLOSE. After the initial reaction, people had time to do some pretty comprehensive cost breakdowns for their stuff, and for what they have to be pulling in from adsense, sponsored segments, patreon, merch, and touring Like, they'd need to be really mismanaging their finances, because they're doing very well for themselves, making good, stable money, and the vids they make are super duper advertiser friendly. SO... you take long enough without putting out a holder statement or a quick heel-turn apology or anything, it gives people more time to get comfortable with not liking you, and also to dig around and google things about you, or scrape up info/trivia about you to corroborate their new opinion of you. It gets personal, is what I mean. So pulling this move has still, at BEST, caused some permanent damage to their relationships with fans, in both directions. They all got a huge flood of negative feedback, and even a perfect, emotionally mature, non-entitled person would have a negative reaction to people being upset with them at such a high volume. But now they're gonna remember the things that people have said about them, and there's no way that at the very least, Steven isn't gonna feel spiteful about this. People TOTALLY unloaded on him (funny) (valid) about his evangelical christian conservative leaning tesla privileged out of touch boy gold flaked ice cream eating ways. He definitely is going to remember that ppl said they never liked him in the first place. As for Ryan and Shane, people didn't have any dirt on them, but they definitely still received a lot of angry messages from people, most of which will have been reasonable, but they're gonna remember the really really mean and intense ones. Anyway, they made a booboo dumb enough for jack to want to make a skit about it, so for that I'm very grateful, because I thought it was really really fucking funny

#it's no big deal and it's whatevs because it's Low Risk youtube scandal which is why I like it so much #but it still never fails to amaze me how much this didn't need to happen #like this would have been a totally preventable blunder. I can think of a million different ways to increase profit before trying this move #personally I think it's funny to mess up this badly because the Second Messup would be to respond REALLY quickly #You see it trending and you immediately need to act bc it will only get worse the longer you stay quiet #sergle answers #long post

[seasidepierre]

how about tink and charles blurb about the bee hotels - i feel like seb would be grinning so much about it all and tink would be filming everything 🐰

If there was one thing Seb that missed about Formula 1, it probably was the way Charles was still hanging over every of your words and moves. You’d just be breathing and he’d be there, thinking you’re the absolute best at doing so. It was hilarious and endearing, reminding him of how much of a sap he was back then when he met his now wife and the mother of his children. He must have been just as bad. You had arrived in the team right at the same time as Charles, only a few months later. Same age as him, young and full of life, unable to sit still for more than fifteen minutes, but with an overflowing passion that felt like a tidal wave most of the time. It had been a huge pleasure for Seb to watch you come up with ideas for the Ferrari socials and growing into your job, that he still sometimes felt like you might have been too young to be thrown into that quickly. There had been that sense of protection that he couldn’t have ignored when it came to you and Charles, which truly had meant more to you two than he ever thought it would.

Needless to say, on the rare occasions Seb came back to the paddock after his retirement, he made sure to visit his two favourite people and tease them to no end about their change of relationship status that he called for since they met, pretty much.

So in Japan, when an invitation was issued to the Ferrari lineup and com team to decorate and inaugurate the buzzing corner, you were sure to be up for more teasing, which didn’t wait too much to arrive because as soon as Seb saw you, he was on it.

“Tink!” He yelled at you, sweeping you in his arms to squeeze the life out of you. “How are you doing, little fairy?” “I’m doing amazing,” you giggled. “How are the kids?” “They’re doing great! Look, the girls made me bracelets!”

Seb proudly showed off the black and yellow bracelets branded with letter beads that spelled “Papa” which made you grin even bigger.

“Where’s your shadow? Peter Pan is still looking for it?” Seb smiled. “He’s coming, you know how he is with his hair when it’s not exactly like he wants it to be.” “Heh, he has to be handsome for you,” Seb shrugged, a teasing grin on his lips. “He doesn’t need anymore, he’s already secured the deal, we’ve signed a new contract just a few months ago,” you joked.

Charles made it just in time for the small drive around that Seb had organised, so he could proudly show the work he had done for his little buzzing corner. The bee hotels looked incredible and if you trusted the whole installation around, you knew you were up for a good time to inaugurate this new and special place. You took heaps of photos and videos of the Ferrari boys painting their canvas and bee hotel, made sure you had plenty of content to post and finally, finally, came to a stop when Seb came by to check on Ferrari’s bee hotel.

“You guys did a pretty good job,” he smiled at Charles. “Heh, we tried our best,” he blushed. “I feel like you had an advantage, because you had literal Tinkerbell to help you out,” he smirked and grabbed you for a quick side hug. “I barely did anything.”

Charles grinned at you, in that very Charles way he had when he looked at you and Seb couldn’t help laughing at him a little. It had always been so obvious, it shouldn’t have taken that long for the two of you to finally get it together.

“You do realise I made that happen,” Seb proudly announced, grabbing Charles on his other side. “You did not,” Charles huffed. “I didn’t lose so many challenges on purpose for you to look good to her, just so you could downplay it three years later.” “I beat you fair and square!” Charles gasped. “Nah, you won because I knew it’d mean Tink here would look at you like you were a champion,” the former racer admitted. “I also may have dropped so many hints that she actually liked you back, I’m surprised it took you so much time to finally understand!” “You didn’t know,” it was your turn to huff and blush. “I knew from the moment you two met.” “I call bullshit!” “Call it as you wish, but I knew,” Seb laughed. “Jokes aside.. I’m really happy for you two, you know?” “We know,” you smiled, dropping your head against Seb’s shoulder. “Thanks for taking care of us for that long.” “My pleasure.. Now.. Who’s gonna tell me why that prancing horse looks so ugly?” “Charles doesn’t know how to use a stamp.” “You said you wouldn’t tell anyone!” Charles yelled with indignation.

An hour later, the entire world knew, because the video was posted on Instagram, with a caption full of bee puns and with a picture of Seb and Charles together, of course.

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Support a writer, reblog their works!

Tell me what you liked the most about this! If you want to help me support my writing, you can also buy me a ko-fi 🥺🤍

taglist: @lu-morningstar @zayniegal @baueoud @letsstarsfalling @alliss19 @sirlewismybeloved @spiidergirlsworld @mae-266 @vioaglkvs @simxican @lewispool @its-astrotea-love  @toofarintomcu @pizza-portal @carotrujillo @parkerbunny @layazul @avsensio @gothicwidowsworld @sirlewismybeloved @paprikabadger @mazzbarnes @ireallydontknowdudee @charlesleclercje @obxcalm @darkice99 @mayamess @j-briefmalfoy @superdeath  @pedrodaddypascal @allison-rosewood-maximoff @honeybadger03 @altalin @adiaz-25  @theduchessinme @idkiwantchocolatee @actual-spawn-of-satan @spideyanakin @multilovebot  @marauvdersfate @dr3lover @reiding-and-writing @lovingroscoee @enjoymyloves @eternalharry @teamspideyman @iamasimpingh0e @calmleclerc @andziiiiaaa @spngi @yeolsbubbles @ophcelia @coffeehurricanes @haloxmendes @ohthemisssery @im-an-overthinker @blueflorals @wintergilmore3 @honethatty12 @gayyvodka6 @tempo-rary-fix @organasith @buendiabebeta @copper-boom

#cozy night #cozy nights #charles leclerc fic #charles leclerc imagine #charles leclerc fanfic #charles leclerc fanfiction #charles leclerc x you #charles leclerc x socialmedia!you #charles leclerc x yn #charles leclerc x reader #formula one fan fiction #formula one fanfic #formula one fanfiction #formula 1 fanfiction #formula 1 fanfic #f1 fic #f1 fanfic #f1 fan fic #f1 fanfiction #my writing #snmg

[rottmntsimp]

Hey! Love your writing! if reqs are open, would you be willing to write rottmnt Casey Jr x reader? Maybe something fully and/or cozy, like them having a lazy night or doing some housework or something? There’s such a drought of CJ content :c

Leisurely Love [Domestic Headcanons]

Pairing[s]: Casey Junior x Reader A/N: Finally posting after months of writer's block!! 💪 Anyway, sorry the order's a bit scattered 😅

Casey Junior

💖 - GAH I LOVE DOMESTIC HEADCANONS OK

💖 - Starting off with the kitchen <33

💖 - I've said this before in one of my earlier headcanons, but CJ does not understand the concept of good food. To him edible = food, regardless of taste or texture. "What do you mean it's burnt? It's still food!"

💖 - If you like cooking, you're in luck! He'll gladly be your personal taste tester!!

💖 - And with enough effort, care and love, my boy will be cooking you a small meal in no time!!

💖 - He definitely has a habit of hoarding things he likes

💖 - Back in the apocalypse, keeping things was a risk on its own, especially when you never know when you're gonna have to move.

💖 - But now that he's safe, my boy will keep anything and everything. You guys will probably have a drawer or two dedicated to things that remind of him of his family from back in the apocalypse, you, or just something really pretty :]

💖 - Baby boy loves gardening! Or at least getting to watch the plants grow :]

💖 - He doesn't exactly trust himself to care for them, seeing as the last few he tried to keep withered within a week.

💖 - But if you're into gardening or keep a pet plant, he'll gladly let you keep some around the house!! Hell, he might even help with planting some outside if you really wanted.

💖 - Animals, oh boy...

💖 - Personally, if not for the apocalypse, I feel like CJ would've LOVED dogs-

💖 - But due to his experience with the Kraang, some of them shaped like animals...best to say it'll take some time for him to warm up to them.

💖 - My boy has warm hands. How do I know? I just do.

💖 - If you have cold hands, believe me when I say he is never letting go.

💖 - He's not much of a cuddler, or so he claims. There's an underlying fear in his head that he might accidentally kick you or push you away in his sleep, so he chooses to instead just fall asleep facing you. It comforts him to wake up to the sight of you, messy or not.

💖 - Daily reminders that his life is not constantly at stake? Yes please.

💖 - Favorite place to kiss you? Your forehead <3 [We love a gentleman 😌]

💖 - If you're terrified of bugs, fear not!

💖 - Casey will kill them in the blink of an eye, maybe even pick them up and leave them outside if you ask.

💖 - When it comes to cleaning, he doesn't like to throw things out, as I said earlier.

💖 - He's the kind of guy to organize the mess instead of actually cleaning up. "Messy? But I know where everything is!"

💖 - When he discovers music, it's like his eyes had just opened for the first time. Help him go through this journey please.

💖 - Introduce him to your favorite artists, help him find his type.

💖 - Eventually, this will become "your" thing.

💖 - He will run over to you, excitedly rambling on about this new song he'd just listened to, before making you listen to it too, saying how "-you've got to listen to this!"

💖 - Lazy days consist of introducing him to modern culture!!

💖 - I'm talking memes, shows, films, games, everything- Hell, consider it a sleepover at this point, because my boy is willing to give anything a try. Show him the wonders of the modern world ♥

💖 - Now if we're talking about the FAR future? I'm sorry, but he does NOT want kids, adopted or not.

💖 - He saw how much of a handful they could be back in the resistance, and he'd be dead by the time he admitted wanting that.

💖 - If it's any consolation, he might become more open to the whole pet situation.

💖 - Regardless, indulge in the poor boy's hobbies and interests please. Give him some love and you're bound to get some back <3

💖 - Anyway, 11/10 roomie/partner ♥♥

Taglist: @lemme-be-cringe-damnit@sleepytime-fics@ray-of-midnight-storm@hamthepan@charismakat@flapajacker

#simps fics #rottmnt #rottmnt x reader #casey junior x reader #rise casey jr #casey junior #cj x reader #rottmnt casey x reader #save rottmnt #casey x reader #rise casey x reader #rise of the tmnt

[normal-internet-user]

ok first, your one of my fave tmnt writers here and I really love your writing!! I hope you keep up the good work!! <3

Second, Can I request 2012!tmnt hc to befriending a famous (fem or gn!) reader? She’s Like a famous teen actress and met one of the turtles by accident ^^ (also April and case’s reactions if you write for them too pls)

thanks and have a great day normie!!❤️❤️

OH OH, this is gonna be good @urfavarab

2012 BEING FRIENDS WITH A FAMOUS READER

You met the boys while they were on patrol.

You had snuck away from your security to go for a walk on your own, and you got jumped by some thugs.

They saves you and instantly Mikey recognized you.

He asked for your autograph and you gave it to him with a smile, even offering them your phone number and telling them to keep in touch.

You are more than happy to lend them funds,

You have wayyyy to much money and are more than happy to spoil you pals.

When you meet April and Casey for the first, they literally freak out.

I mean, you're the (Name) (Surname),

Who wouldn't totally freak?

They get over it after a while, but it's still really strange to think about.

April and Casey visit you at your penthouse alot,

You love spending time with them because you actually get to be a teenager.

Your manager was not happy about your new human friends,

He thought they looked "TrAsHy" since they weren't wealthy, and that they'd damage your reputation.

Yeah you fired him.

It made the news and Raph thought it was fucking hilarious.

You often sneak away from your security to go visit your sewer dweling pals.

It freaks them the fuck out, and you've been told multiple time to stop, but you'll just shrug it off.

Security was your parents idea anyway.

Obviously, you're pretty busy sometimes, you are an actress after all.

Sometimes you'll go weeks without seeing any of your friends, and it makes you super sad.

But you make sure that when you see them, they get the inside scoop of your current film, behind the scenes footage, and they're usually the first to ever see it finished.

You often buy them really expensive gifts that they tell you to stop buying, but you'll just tell them to shush and let you spend your money.

There are theories all over the internet about who it is you're hanging out with.

People are always trying to find out why you keep sneaking away from your bodyguards.

It goes from secret S/O, to you buying substences, to you trying to run away etc. etc.

You've had interveiwers ask you about it, and you'll just smile, say, "None of your fucking buisness." and move on.

When you do spend time with the turtles, you make a point to spend and even amount of time with everyone.

You'll play games with Mikey,

Meditate with Leo and April,

Help Donnie in his lab,

And go tag buildings with Casey and Raph.

They're your best buds,

And if you have to use hush money to keep their secret,

You will.

#tmnt #tmnt x reader #x reader #leonardo x reader #raphael x reader #donnie x reader #leonardo x reader tmnt #platonic #friend reader #famous reader #april o'neil #casey jones 2012 tmnt #casey jones #tmnt 2012 #tmnt hc #Normie writes

[aliypop]

My Babe

Word Count: 2,123

Writers Note: My first hardcore smut fic y'all! Thank @sissylittlefeather and my Graceland Trip for this masterpiece! I hope you all like it!

Warning: SMUT MINORS DO NOT INTERACT AT ALL

Pairing: POC OC x Elvis

Plot: It's 1971 and the Memphis Mob are hanging out in the TV room indulging in some delights of films until Mrs. Presley shows up.

Taglist

@darkmoviesquotespizza

@sissylittlefeather

@richardslady121

@thegettingbyp2

@presleyenterprise

@sissylittlefeather

@dkayfixates

@rjmartin11

@thetaoofzoe

@your-nanas-house

@zayurir

@60svintage

@sillybookmarks

Graceland 1971

The movie room had been a well-missed room. With Elvis on tour and his wife Cecelia home tending to Jesse and Elaine, he needed some time to hang out with his boys, the Memphis Mafia. Well, some of them, sitting in the mirror-tiled ceiling room, there was Joe, Jerry, Red, and Elvis, who was puffing on a cigarillo, the smell filling up the room burying itself deep into the carpet. But there was something else that the men were buried deep into the picture show on the projector. It was a porno that was lying around if you'd asked Elvis about it. It was just on the table when he'd gotten there. Usually, he'd hidden those things so the kids and his wife wouldn't find it.

"You ever do anything like that with C," Jerry asked as Joe and Red egged Elvis on for an answer, 

"It looks uncomfortable," Red commented, looking as the actors went on to do one of many positions 

"It is." He winked back, taking a long drag. 

"You're kidding?" Red questioned, but Elvis had that sly smile on his face that said everything without his lips moving, 

"E, you mean you've done that?!" Joe laughed as Elvis nodded,

"Pleasurable for her, though," Elvis smirked,

"Cece is a loud one..." Jerry mumbled as Red agreed.

"Listenin in gets you off or something?" Elvis glanced at Jerry,

"I've been on the plane with you two." Jerry smirked, "Not to mention. My God Niece and Nephew are what seven now?"

"You make a good point." Elvis rolled his eyes as his friends laughed at him. 

Coming down the stairs in her pink nightgown and heeled slippers were Cecelia. Though she'd never admit it, she always loved the mirrored ceiling staircase. Because it reminded her of the day they had first installed them and their "test" run view with them. Inching around the corner, Cecelia could hear the sounds of laughter and moans coming from the TV room. As she finally arrived, Cecelia tried not to hold in her laughter from the sight she saw. Cecelia tried to hold in her laughter as she heard Elvis and the boys had been in a heated debate.

"What'cha watching, boys?" 

Joe, Red, Jerry, and Elvis got quiet like little boys caught with their mother's lingerie magazines. 

"Mrs. Presley, We were uh!" Joe started out,

"How'd that even get up there?" Red laughed bashfully,

Jerry just stared at her as if he knew there was a setup of some kind. 

"B-Baby, you shouldn't be watchin this crap!" Elvis tried to find the remote to stop the movie. 

"Right, a lady like you shouldn't-"

"Well, of course not. After all, it's not like I wasn't the one who purchased it." Cecelia smirked as Elvis' eyes went wide, "Who'd you think bought it, surely not Red?" she smirked as Elvis glanced at her. The robe over her shoulders and the feverish hue on her tawny skin was she sending him a message.

"You're one dirty girl, C," Jerry commented,

"You just now figured that out." She chuckled as she sat on her husband's lap to watch the rest. Elvis could feel his pants getting tight and the blood rushing to his cock as her straps fell from her shoulders. 

"You should tell 'em to go," Cecelia whispered in his ear, her fingers in his sideburns. 

"But honey..."

"Elvis, I'm not wearing any panties... And not to mention, I've had to touch myself lately." 

"Mmm, is that so..." Cecelia nodded,

"Mhmm, dripping wet right now," her voice had a whimper in it. Elvis trailed his hand up her dress and in between her legs as he brushed a finger against her lips, slowly pulling his finger back from under. He had a boyish grin that was devilish.

"You know this was a great time, but-"

"E, you're not kicking us out!" Joe asked, "Jerry, it's getting good he's not kicking us out!"

"No, but I am, Joe, Red Jerry out!" Cecelia projected as they got up and scattered out,

"Bit rude, don't you think..." Elvis joked as she straddled him,

"Elvis Aaron Presley, I'm hot and bothered, and I need you to fuck me. None of that soft shit tonight, just pure grade-A sex." she pointed to the projector. Elvis touched her skin as it was feverish with lust, her body grinding on his thigh to get some friction. "

 Fuck baby, tell me what you need, baby."

"Uh- uh, you've... Ah~ been so bad, which means..." her body still grinding in a rhythm that was driving her on edge,

"Means what..." He shivered, feeling her wet slick through his pants

"You can't touch me til I say so." her breathing was getting thin, and her eyes were fluttering, 

" You ain't gonna last long, darlin." He whispered, bouncing his knee against her clit as she moaned louder, her hands on her breast as if she were trying to rip her own clothes off, 

"Elvis! Fa! Fa!Fa!" slipping the dress off her, he plunged his fingers deep inside her, massaging her G-spot as his other hand was around her breast, massaging and sucking on her nipple, giving it a bit of a nibble and tug as she erupted in a pleasurable scream. 

"What was that about til you say so?" Elvis smirked as he looked up at the ceiling. Her face was even more heavenly in its reflection. Lying her down on the couch, Elvis was between her thighs as he lapped at the bud of nerves with his tongue like a kitten needing milk. He wouldn't lie and say that this wasn't his favorite fruit he couldn't get from any store, but with his fingers and tongue deep in her pussy, he couldn't help but fall more in love with his wife, 

"ELVIS FUCK ME FUCK ME FUCK ME!!!" was all he could hear in between her pulling his hair, glancing up she could see the sight that she'd forever have in her brain, Elvis between her thighs, eating like a man on death row, devouring her wet waters like a man who'd been thirsty for years, her legs squeezed around his head. But he didn't care. Elvis knew Cecelia was close to the light at the end of the tunnel. Watching as her eyes rolled back and legs shook, he'd begun to rub her lips and speed up his fingering and eating as she had soon squirted all over the couch.

"You okay, baby?'

"Mhmm."

"Good, cause I ain't done with you." zipping his pants, he took his cock out, stroking it some more to get it ready for Cecelia, who was now between his legs kissing his thighs as she focused all her attention on his pretty blue eyes. There was already loads of pre-cum on the tip, but Cecelia didn't mind. Her pretty lips were wrapped around the base as she bobbed her head to a steady rhythm. His head fell back on the couch as he looked up, almost finishing just from the sight of her on her knees, 

"Think you take it all down. baby." 

Cecelia nodded as she took a deep breath and deep throathed him. Her nose brushed against his balls as she massaged them with her free hand, 

"Fuck baby, you're doing so good." his hips sputtered as he got closer, "Mngh!" was the noise he made when he felt her swirling, her tongue in between his tip. It was as if she were sucking his soul from out of his cock. 

"Oh God!" his eyes rolled as he pumped thick streams of his cum down her throat, coating her tongue with a heavy amount of the nearly translucent fluid. 

"Open wide, baby." He commanded as she did so. "Good girl." he pulled her up, kissing her swollen lips. The two exchange their separate tastes with each other. 

Picking her up, he walked over to the bar. He had her facing forward toward the mirrors, "Look at yourself, baby. Is this what you want." He asked as she nodded, "Baby, I don't read head nods."

"Yes~" She moaned, feeling him slide his cock inside her slippery wet cavern. 

"Hold on tight." He ordered as he began a steady pace, her breast knocking into the yellow leather as his balls were knocking into her skin. Cecelia looked up, and she saw the fucked out look on her face. Mascara smudged, her eyes rolling back, and her curls ruffled up. 

"Look how sexed up you look, baby." he pulled her hair as he kept going, his pace faster, 

"Deeper! Harder, faster!" That was what she commanded until he pulled out and carried her to the wall towards the Jukebox, her legs straddled him as she was up against the wall, 

"Put me in darlin?" He asked as she did so, his hips driving into her as her nails dug into his back and her curses began to sound like sinful prayers. 

"OH GOD, ELVIS FUCK ME!"

"SHIT, you feel so good," he began to rut in her until he carried her back to the couch, 

"Ride me?"

"Like your name was Charro." She smirked as Elvis reached for his Cigarillo again, taking another drag from it as she slowly began to bounce herself on his cock, his hand giving her a nice smack on the ass, telling her to go faster, blowing the smoke away from her face. Elvis put it back in his mouth until he felt it missing. Cecelia was bouncing faster, and his cock was brushing up on that familiar spot she loved so much. Hanging from her mouth was his beloved Cigarillo taking a big drag from it she sat it down inside the astray as she kissed him passing the smoke to him as her tongue wrapped around his. Pulling away slowly Cecelia felt his hands on her cheeks as he pulled her into another kiss, when she pulled away she was then leaning back almost into the position of the bridge as he began to ram himself inside her, 

"Baby you're so... Fuck! Sexy!" 

"Does this turn you on?" her fingers fiddling with her sensitive clit as she kept riding him, he had begun to lick his thumb placing it there to give her more pleasure, 

"Yes oh God yes," he groaned as he kissed her neck and bit down. Changing the position Elvis was lying down as she was still going, her breast bouncing in his face, reaching to grab them he squeezed and pulled on them, 

"You know these are mine right?"

"All of me is baby."

"Good." He said both of them were breathing harder as the coil in her stomach was getting near, she could feel the hot sensation of his cum shoot inside her "as she collapsed on his, a grin on his face, 

"Come on Angel I know you got one more in you."

"El..." her eyes were glossy, but there she was on her knees his cock between her breast as she began to rub him down with them, with the tip would hit near her mouth she'd open and lick the pre-cum off him as she'd nearly slurped him down. 

"Baby more." his eyes caught sight of hers. The way the curve of her breasts simply drove him insane. He couldn't help but believe that he was the most blessed man to have his own pornstar hidden in his wife, 

"Can't get this kind of lovin from those movies, can you?" she smirked as Elvis shook his head,

"I can't read head nods, darlin." 

"N-N Oh fuck faster!" he growled as she blushed hard,

"Good boy," She smirked, peppering his cock with kisses and love bites, 

"Getting closer, sugar?"

"C-C- Cece!" he began to shake as ropes of cum decorated her perky breast, a laugh escaping her lips as Elvis blushed,

"Baby, I'm sorry I didn't mean to,"

"Shush... It was sexy..." taking her fingers as she licked some of it off, like frosting from a cake. 

"You give me fever doll. a hot blistering fever." he laughed. Walking down the hall he grabbed a towel and cleaned them both off as they were lying on the couch now watching the news. Elvis was buried deep inside her his hands on her waist as she took a nice big sigh,

"Hey, can I get my jacket..."

"Jerry, you're still here!" Cecelia blushed, popping up from behind the couch."

"I'll come back tomorrow." Jerry sighed,

"That makes two of us," Elvis smirked, kissing Cecelia.

"Elvis..."

"Yeah Jerry."

"Shut the hell up." He sighed. "And put some clothes on Cece!"Elvis and Cecelia laughed.

"Sheesh guess someone's been getting railed by life lately..." Cecelia mumbled.

"I heard that!"

#oc #fanfiction #new stuff #new #romance #elvis presley #elvis fanfiction #elvis x oc #elvis the pelvis #70s elvis #cecelia valmos #poc oc x elvis #elvis fans #elvis smut #oc x elvis #memphis mafia #i hope this is okay! #I tried my best #Spotify

[absolutebl]

This Week in BL - Dog Days of BL but July is Incoming

June 2023 Wk 4

Being a highly subjective assessment of one tiny corner of the interwebs. Organized by which ones (in each category) I’m enjoying most.

Ongoing Series - Thai

Step By Step (Tues WeTV & Gaga) ep 10 of 12 - I’m finding the time frames confusing. Still, a lovely crying kiss + a very high drama-lllama gay confession. Kitchen counter make out, my fav! The actor who plays Jeng kisses at MaxTul levels, which is to say = like a man who has actually done it before with genuine desire and is capable of portraying that on screen. (What makes MaxTul kings is that they BOTH do this.) Pat caught up, thank goodness. Also P’Jeng!!!! P’JENG!!! I love how intimate phi is when it’s been all khun prior. This is the Thai version of hyung slinging. Errotic linguistics, my fav. And ALL the work drama and homophobia fall out when you sleep with the boss. I really enjoy that the angst concerning their relationship has to do with the fact that this is an office romance. Lastly? I love Chot so much. Everyone needs a gay auntie. Also Bruce is SO DAMN GOOD. (I mean we knew he would be from Lovely Writer, but this... chef’s kiss.) 

La Pluie (Sat iQIYI) ep 10 of 12 - There are enough meta-analysis on this one for me not to have to weigh in. Suffice it to say that I like what it’s trying to do, and I certainly appreciate the levels of consent and so forth but I’m not sure I actually like it as much now that we are swimming in high concept. Too much lying. I’m not sure I want my BL to make me think this hard. Also poly, boys = final answer. (Anyone else getting Color Rush flashbacks?) 

Be My Favorite (Fri YouTube) ep 6 of 12 - I love Max now and forever, and I made some very bad puns in the Trash watch here. Otherwise I’m not super invested. 

Dinosaur Love (Thai Sun iQIYI) ep 1 of 10 eps - from Ultimate Troop (The Yearbook people) so I shouldn’t watch this as it airs, after Remember Me? I swore never again. But there’s so little on right now, I’m falling on the pulp sword...  My initial thoughts? It’s an En of Love installment? What is going on? Why all this opening with the sides in a bar? Are we framing? Just move on to the 2 boys kissing! Don’t try to be clever, for fucks sake. Okay, good, the pulp has begun. I like soft wet-blanket Rak and his sad love life. I’m not wild about how aggressive Dino is plus insta-SINGING but I DO LIKE THAT HE’S OUT and knows what he wants which is refreshing. It’s trope filled nonsense (crash into me, instalove, sing feelings, floppy drunk, he’s in engineering, fast and bi-curious) also Dino used ter at first (how forward!) then he went to gu/mueng after rejection, while Rak uses khun & phi/pom. Love this for them. Despite my justified reservations with this production team imma stay watching. I need something on Sundays. * 

Luminous Solution (Sat Gaga) ep 6fin - That’s it? Bullsheiit. No seriously. That’s my review. 3/10 I DON'T KNOW WHAT I JUST WATCHED AND NEITHER DOES IT AND I’M MAD ABOUT IT.

* I got to say, you have only yourselves to blame for Dinosaur Love’s ranking. Once upon a time, I lived happily in ignorance of the Thai film industry. And then you all kept asking me extremely intelligent questions about it. And because I am a nosy little shit, I had to figure out what was going on. And now a BL like this, which ordinarily I would just love unconditionally, is a really scary place for me, because I know too much about the production house. The evils of too much information are all true. Remain happily in ignorance, I advise you, especially where BL is concerned. 

Ongoing Series - Not Thai

Love Tractor (Korea Weds iQIYI) eps 7-8fin - Yechan is such a frank character it confuses all who meet him, also a truly terrible flirt. This is such a puppy/cat relationship. It was cute but it went too far into cringe for a KBL (for me). I don’t think Kdramas are good at farce (sorry), better if they stick with more subtle humor. It was a sweet ending tho, not too cheesy. Nice kiss for KBL but pretty rather than sexy. Full review below.

Tokyo in April is... AKA Shigatsu no Tokyo wa (Japan Thurs Gaga) ep 3 of 8 - Oh, it’s GREAT. Damn it. There is a lot of subtext and things not being said. This is going to be one of those shows where it’s endlessly frustrating that they don’t just talk to each other. The crying first time was gut-wrenching. Ren is complicated & scarred & closed off. Kazuma is earnest & empathetic & thinks he’s unworthy - so will take whatever crumbs are handed to him. They are both giving parts of themselves away in a desperate attempt to shape themselves to the expectations they have of each other. These 2 are gonna fuck each other up while they fuck and fuck with our hearts. Japan is giving us the Bed Friends that Thailand can never even imagine. There is absolutely no guarantee this will end happily (it’s from the Eternal Yesterday people) but it is guaranteed to be painful and beautiful along the way. Oh Japan, must you? I guess you must. 

Stupid Genius (Vietnam Fri YouTube) ep 4 of 6 - I’m mostly confused by the catfishing & tarot side plots. But the mains sure act like bfs. To the point of our tiny jock idiot getting gay panicked by how much bfs they are. Surprise kiss! For everyone, it turns out. Yes I laughed. What? It was pat but also… FUNNY.

Tie The Knot (Pinoy YouTube) ep 3 of 8 - The main couple is adorable, but I’m not wild about the gay bashing blackmail side story. Still, it’s the best we’ve had from the Philippines in a while so I am keeping my fingers crossed. 

Vian the series (Vietnam YouTube ) ep 9 of 12 - Seriously? Bah Vinh = chemistry with EVERYONE. 

Naked Dinner AKA Zenra Meshi (Japan Fri Gaga) ep 12fin - So Souta just disappears off to Singapore and doesn’t say anything to his boyfriend about it? And then comes back with the perfect plan and life for both of them? Oh Japan, must you? Review below. 

It’s airing but ...

House of Stars (Thai Mon iQIYI) 12 eps - I bounced at ep 3. Will binge if told it is worth it at end.

Stay (Pinoy YouTube) 7 eps - It’s mostly English & set in LA (shudder) so I’m not bothering.

Ever After (Pinoy YouTube) 12 eps - Spies reported that it's a real mess and not a hot one.

Stay With Me ... NO I WILL NOT! And you can’t make me. 

In case you missed it

BL Express reviewed The Egoest. Oh boy am I never going to watch that. 

One in a Hundred - Gaga dropped all 12 episodes (c.10 min ea) at once. This is a 2020 Chinese show. It’s not BL. And it has a laugh track. I watched the first & final eps and won’t bother with the rest. DNF

I finally watched the 2022 thing I should have. 

To Sir, With Love - REVIEW

This is a true lakorn with scenery chewing performances from an ensemble cast focused on family obligation and past sins, especially from the mother characters. It is a Thai tellenovella + Gone With the Wind but gay. That said? I loved it: A glorious central brother relationship (the best, made me cry), het romances, class divide + gay *gasp* main romance, the camp of it all! It’s like it was invented by drag queens. Arranged marriage, rebellion, cut sleeves, dramatic death with curses and regrets, beautiful if inaccurate costumes, secrets unraveling, cover ups, sparkle murder, sex herbs, coils within coils including snakes and death by glitter (is anything gayer on this earth?). It’s a WILD ride. It’s not BL. It’s not a romance, it’s a family drama Thorn Birds style but it does end happy for our gay boys. Like Manner of Death I’m struggling to rate something on a BL scale when it patently isn’t a BL. I think I have to give it exactly what I gave that show, 7/10 

I loved it, but not as a BL. 

RECOMMENDED WITH RESERVATIONS (over its BLness) 

Zenra Meshi - REVIEW

AKA Naked Dinner 

I have to be honest, I didn’t really like much about this show. The central premise was too odd and the main character too clumsy & slow on the uptake. I like the food, but there have been food-set BLs before that failed to meet expectations. Too many of them. This one joined that throng. Good ending tho. 7/10 

RECOMMENDED WITH RESERVATIONS

Love Tractor - REVIEW

Most of this country-set BL had me feral for the beautiful broken city boy and his hot young farmer. Hyung romance, puppy/cat pairing, open frankness meets jaded reserve, language play, water hose frolicking, only one bed, all my favorite tropes. This show was basically a light-weight Restart After Come Back Home and I’m not even slightly mad about that. 

But (and you knew there was a “but” coming) something about the cringe of the final 2 eps and the impermanence of the ending (both of which highlight the fact that ultimately these 2 are I’ll-suited: too different & too far apart) left me with the feeling that they probably won’t last as a couple. However, in this case, rare for me, I forgive it this finale for my love of the rest. 

I did dither a lot though, it’s not an 8 but not a 9 either. Better than Love Mate (8/10) not as good as The New Employee (9/10) but in the end I’m value adding up for the premise and the cast, giving it a 9/10. 

RECOMMENDED 

(Gotta say, because this is rare for me, that this had a great OST. Not the credit music but the refrain, Rainbow.) 

Next Week Looks Like This:

July 2023 Supposedly... 

7/3 Be Mine SuperStar (Thai Mon Viki) 12 eps - JaFirst whipping boy/spoiled prince, obsession, celebrity/mundane. Third-year film student Punn (Ja) gets an internship on the set of a drama. He’s come to learn, but "what lights his passion even more than the work" is leading man Achi, Thailand's sweetheart. Adapted from the novel “The Superstar and the Puppy on Set” (พี่พระเอกกับเด็กหมาในกอง) by Orpheus, cast includes Benjamin Brasier (2moons2), Bosston Suphadach (UWMA), Jo Kavinpat (War of Y), Kokliang (TharnType). Directed by David Bigander (Bite Me) which makes me nervous. Maybe he'll do better with an adaptation?

7/6 Minato's Laundromat Season 2 AKA Minato Shouji Coin Laundry Season 2 (Japan Thu ????) 12 eps - The story is a continuation of Minato & Shin's love story, and it picks up 10 years after the events of season 1 but the characters don't seemed to have grown at all. Very Japan of you, Japan.

7/7 Stay By My Side (Taiwan Fri Gaga) 10 eps -  Gu Bu-Xia has the ability to hear ghosts, except when he is around his new roommate Jiang Chi. So he starts to find ways to approach Jiang Chi. But is it  the ghosts or Jiang Chi’s charm?

7/8 Low Frequency (Thai Sat YouTube?) 8 eps - ghost boyfriend, celebrity/mundane - Mon's life as a spirit-seeing interior decorator is full of headaches. On good days, he helps settle problems for his relative, who is a star manager. But then he gets involved with the spirit of Thames, a famous young actor who is in a coma.

7/9 Hidden Agenda (Thai Sun GMMTV YouTube) 12 eps - JoonDunk are back. Zo, a college freshman whose never been in love, decides to change it by making the college’s star Nita as his gf. He approaches Joke, Nita’s ex, for dating advice. What he fails to realize is that Joke has had his eyes on him for a long time and uses this opportunity to approach Zo. TMS 2.0.

7/15 Laws of Attraction (Thai Sat ????)  Stars the pair from To Sir With Love and with the same production team, cryptic description, but it seems to be Manner of Death esk.

7/19 Wedding Plan (Thai Wed YouTube & iQIYI)  - It's Mame and she's coming for our GL. She's such a misogynist IMAGINE what we will get with a GL? It's going to be absolute carnage. To crane your neck as you drive by the car wreck or not... that is the question. Me? I'm wallowing in the guts.

7/20 Jun & Jun (Korea Thu Viki) - From 2022 (TutorYim rumored to cameo) this office romance features 2, yes 2! Bls. Seme looks aggressive, we in classic yaoi territory. There is an idol involved. Past failed flirts. I am very excited about this one.

2023 forthcoming BL master post (see comments, some are inaccurate, NOT KEPT UPDATED)

THIS WEEK’S BEST MOMENTS

To Sir With Love

Best execution of the piggyback trope ever? I think so. 

Fucking GENIUS piece of acting. Bruce we LOVE you! 

All Step By Step 

It was stupid funny, okay? (Stupid Genius) 

Ridiculous man, you don’t have to eye fuck THAT hard. But we all appreciate it. (Vian) 

Dangerous thing to say in a show about identity in relationships. 

Brave boy.

I said this show was deep, not that I was. Although Patts seems to be going there. 

I’ll stop now.

All La Pluie. 

(Last week.)

#this week in BL #BL gossip #bl news #upcoming BL #July 2023 BL #BL reviews #korean bl #thai bl #Japanese BL #Vietnamese bl #pinoy bl #live action yaoi #Rakutan Viki #gagaoolala #GMMTV #Luminous Solution review #Love Tractor review #The Egoest review #To Sir With Love REVIEW #Zenra Meshi REVIEW #One in a Hundred review #Step By Step the series #La Pluie #Dinosaur Love #Tokyo in April is... #Shigatsu no Tokyo wa #Stupid Genius #Tie The Knot the series #Vian the series #Bah Vinh

[the-last-rat-standing]

NCIS S21E02- The Stories We Leave Behind

Is that too harsh? Maybe it's too harsh.

Let me preface this by saying, I can only imagine how hard it must've been to write and film this episode. It's one reason why I don't write DeathFics, and those are only fictional people. Writing the passing of a real person, a friend and a colleague? Must be one of the hardest things to do as a writer.

So maybe that's why this felt so incredibly flat. Maybe trying to find that balance between dealing with the death and moving on dulled the emotional punch of it all? Because beyond the opening and closing, this was barely more than a clip episode shows throw in the middle of a season to save money. And of those flashbacks, we could only get ones with 3 characters who are still on the show, because Knight, Parker and even Torres didn't really know him. (I'll mention the Gibbs flashback in a second.) So you had this random assortment of clips that were supposed to engender emotions, but did the opposite in a way- because they weren't immediate reactions (they were memories), it actually lessened the emotional impact. You know what flashback would've been a kick to the gut? How about someone mention Cate, and then show us the clip of Ducky and Cate together? Then you would've gotten the one-two punch of 2 beloved characters now gone. Because if you're going to show a scene between Gibbs and Ducky that no one was present to see (using Ducky's journals as your 'out'), you could've shown Cate or Jenny or Ziva.

By not showing the funeral, fans missed out on a proper send off and a true tie-in with the past. I know Brian Dietzen said they didn't want it to be crammed full of guest stars, but the only guest star we got was a 3 minute cameo by Michael Weatherly?? If they'd had a funeral, they could've filled the church with faces we remembered and given characters/actors a chance to pay their respects. Imagine the nostalgia in seeing Hollis Mann, Jordan Hampton, Gerald Jackson, Ziva David (would've made sense since they brought Tony back), Abby Sciuto (I know, there are off-screen problems w/PP), Rachel Cranston, etc. I know Jessica Walter has also passed away, but what about the rest of Ducky's detective group? What about Jack Sloane? Yes, I know these may have added more storytelling time (particularly Abby and Jack) but did we need McGee's poison ivy flashback?

Other issues:

What happens to Nicholas Mallard? You know, Ducky's half-brother.

What happens to Gibbs' house?

What was the actual proof that the senator was dirty? I mean, real forensic proof? I didn't seem to hear anything other than Parker reading off the autopsy report and the Marine. Or I guess we're just meant to think that ruined his career? Because they didn't charge him with murder or anything.

The entire story hinged on McGee remembering one of the pictures hid a safe? Like Ducky's only clue to an important case was a cryptic line in his journal? smh

This was... this was just not good. One of, if not THE most beloved character on this show and we got a clip episode.

Which brings me back to the Gibbs flashback: As soon as they showed the picture of Gibbs and Ducky on the bookshelf, I knew we weren't going to see Mark. And that disappoints me more than it should, really. After tonight, we should never, ever see Gibbs on this show again, because there will be no bigger reason for him to return than Ducky's death, and he didn't show. Any reason after tonight will be bullshit and a slap in the face to the fans who supported and fell in love with the Gibbs/Ducky friendship. I'm so bitterly disappointed.

#ncis #david mccallum #ducky mallard #jimmy palmer #leroy jethro gibbs #mark harmon #as an aside #tiva fans never fucking learn #I'd be laughing if the rest of the episode hadn't also been shit

[yourlilkaiju]

K, now for some original Shiz....

My mom runs a blog on here and I fully support her. Mind you, I'm adopted-and very recently so. And I couldn't ask for a better parent. She's a supernatural mom and HOLY SHIT GUYS! This is probably going to be the first post I have that has to do with the SuperWhoLock fandom. Namely Supernatural. (I have stayed silent and kept my distance for a long time because tbh, you guys...no words. I mean it. )

Moving forward on this topic.

I've mainly been in the shadows, observing your antics for years. I've enjoyed your colts. Your devils traps. I have even enjoyed "I'll interrogate the cat", references. But I am more of an animation and video game person. I will read more manga and smut novels than a person can comprehend and I am, BY ALL IN TENSE AND PURPOSES-a monster hugger.(I can't say the other thing, there might be desperate and impressionable younguns reading this....its Tumblr.)

But in all honesty, seeing her enjoyment of the series lights my heart up and actually makes me really happy to see her happy. It even made it really easy to get her a gift for mother's day. With her I gained an awesome kid brother and a family I never really knew that I could have. Keep in mind it was weird. It was awkward and it took time for her to get used to my antics. I'm actually a super weird person irl and often say the most unhinged bs. When she did get used to it, horror was still kind of ooky to her. But thriller was, and is definitely on the table. Hence why Supernatural is now a vital part of our lives. It is ensuring that my mom is keeping afloat. She is coming out of a difficult time and the series is one of those things that has managed to keep her afloat. She's one of the most logical and forthright people I know. She has her highs, she has her lows. Some days, it's hard for her to get back up. What's more, in our house, I'm the only one who drinks coffee or alcohol. So it's a good thing that stimulants are off the table. 😅

Namely for her.

Now to the point.

She has read ahead about how she hates how abrupt the series ended-she's not alone in that department. Dean should have had more of a life. Sam should have been able to continue hunting while balancing his picket fence family man lifestyle. But how can this be fixed? Well, she has been wanting to be a writer in the film industry and I am fully supportive of her going in. Its a difficult field, however it's not impossible and I am a very pushy individual when it comes to personal goals and ambitions. Especially for others. I like seeing people thrive. But not at the expense of their health.

Tea, biscuits. The whole shebang. That nonsense.

However, knowing CW, abc and the like: it's more or less going to end up feeling as though one is pulling teeth. Not only that but trying to get your work to the right resource and not get plagiarized is like trying to throw a baby in a pool to teach them to swim (You just don't do it.). She does her research and she does it well. She even does her best to figure out how to network for television networks and streaming services, so that she can determine how to get a foothold in the industry.

And I am very proud of her for that.

I am also proud of her for not being a twilight mom.

Thank. God.

#supernatural #superwholock #dean winchester #castiel #my mom

[aintashes]

let's talk about daryl and leah.

i think it's time that i address this on my blog, especially now that i've had plenty of opportunity to process their entire arc since watching it not too long ago. this got to be so long that i'm convinced it may be the daryl dixon megapost of the century, but it's very important ( mostly to me lmao ).

suffice to say, this will contain major spoilers for the show's later seasons. there's basically a tl;dr at the end but if you read this whole thing... i love you.

first thing's first, like it says in my rules, this blog operates under the idea that daryl's romantic relationship with leah never happened. i do believe that he did form a strong bond with her in order to line up with the reaper and commonwealth arcs, but it never went deeper than being close friends.

there are many reasons for this. i personally believe that it's a disgrace to daryl's character for the writers to simply shoehorn an entire romance arc into one episode that was filmed during the pa/nde/mic— aka, it was written to fill space while the world was waiting for safety and filming restrictions to lift. because of this, it all felt like an afterthought. it was rushed in every way, no matter how many giant "3 months later..." timestamps they slapped onto the screen.

beyond that, it simply ignores all of the character development that daryl has gone through. really, it ignores his entire personality. look me in the eyes when i say: this man has no game at all ( sorry, daryl ), and he's never been in a romantic relationship in his life. he's never been interested enough to pursue anyone. he's also slow to warm up to people, even in later seasons. so you mean to tell me that he all of a sudden fell into bed with this person who was nice to him one time after being a complete asshole to him every other time they met before then ?

they did daryl a giant disservice by showing him entering a romantic relationship with such little meaningful interaction. yes, they have a small montage of the two of them getting to know each other, but it basically only includes them: catching fish together, looking at an eclipse together, and then the implication that they're romantically intimate with one another.

it's so bland ! it's so boring ! it lacks any substance ! it's an awful thing to do to a character who has been shown time and time again to have a deep, incredible need for prolonged connection. i'm ( not ) sorry, but if you wanted to show daryl entering a romantic relationship, showing the two of them going fishing and making lovey eyes at each other one time is not cutting it for me. after everything that daryl has been through, it's pathetic storytelling.

moving on to the time period where they live together— yet another "10 months later..." timestamp that gives us nothing but what our own imaginations can provide —we see that their relationship isn't even good. that leah is literally just mean to him, as much as she cares about him ( probably in part due to her own trauma, but i digress ). and sure, you could say that with daryl's inexperience, he might enter a relationship that isn't good for him because he doesn't know any better—

but i'm sorry, are you saying that the daryl dixon that i know... the person that they had michonne verbally confirm is pretty much the best judge of character on the show... the person who deanna had working with aaron because she and aaron both knew that daryl could see through people... are you saying that that daryl dixon... would so easily become enamored with someone like her ?? this is not to say that he's incapable of trusting someone who seems okay but then turns out to be bad, but i genuinely don't know what it is he could see in her that would cloud his vision to what's underneath the surface ( especially as they begin having arguments within their relationship ).

anyways. when we come around to them living together, we see them eating dinner and daryl asks her to talk to him. that what he's set out to do that's clearly made her upset will only have him gone for a couple of days, and that he'll be back after. but she becomes angry with him and very quickly gives him an ultimatum: does he belong with his family ? does he belong out there, looking for rick, who she pointedly says must be dead ? or does he belong with her ?

and what a cruel thing to say to someone. there was no need to ask him to do something so obviously unfair; she set him up for failure in the hopes of guilting him into staying. all he did was tell her that he was going to be gone for a few days to do his thing; and then not only is she asking him to choose between her and his family, which should be a giant red flag in almost any relationship, but she tells him that rick must be dead— something she 100% knows will make daryl upset.

you could say that it's a trauma response from her, but literally it doesn't matter. daryl has always had his moments of anger and lashing out because of trauma, and it never excuses his actions or his words; it doesn't excuse hers, either. this is not to say that daryl doesn't deserve to be told like it is sometimes, either, but that's not what she was doing.

and another thing— you mean to tell me that you had daryl dixon not only fall in love with this person after knowing her for very little time, and then you have the audacity to imply that he doesn't even really tell her about his family ?? what is this weird double-life they had him living ?? like, it's clear that he doesn't even ask her if she would consider joining their communities. and maybe that's because he can't handle being back there yet, but to not even tell her at all ??

it's not because he wants a "home away from his other life," because he's still extraordinarily intent on searching for rick and even chooses that over leah at first ( before he feels so guilty for "messing up" the ultimatum she gave him that he goes running back, only to find that she's gone and has, presumably, left dog behind ). so what is it ?? why would daryl dixon of all people keep the people he loves most away from someone else whom he loves ??

it makes no sense, and it only serves as a way to keep leah away from team family long enough to then reveal her as a villain. a loving relationship between daryl and another person during the time period where he's looking for rick could have served to bring him back to his people sooner because of the level of love and understanding he could have shared with someone. but no ! villain !

and then of course, we have to put daryl through the pain and suffering of being tortured again, but this time his ex lover is the one facilitating it ! and man is it a good thing that he never really told her about his family, because then he wouldn't have been able to lie to her face about it all in order to get out of that sticky situation.

and then, at the end of leah's arc, daryl obviously has to be the one to suffer the pain of killing her to save maggie. leah is much too far gone, as daryl learns in the final battle with the reapers, and he chooses his family over her one more time to end it all.

it's such a terrible story arc. an awful dynamic that they really did not have to put daryl, or us as viewers, through. even, and especially, as a way of showing us that daryl will always and forever choose his family over anyone else— even a lover. like... duh ?? we knew that already, you didn't have to make her an actual bloodthirsty mercenary for us to believe that.

you should have just left daryl in the nonromantic, nonsexual bubble you had him in for years before then.

there's so much more that i could say, but i'll leave it at this:

on my blog, daryl had a close friendship with leah which involved them getting to know one another enough for it to hurt when she turned on him. literally basically everything is the same, except for them being romantic / intimate.

which is why it's such a tragedy and a disappointment that they went through with making it romantic / intimate in the first place, because the entire situation really could have been the same without that. daryl still would have cared enough about her to try and "save" her from her allegiance with the reapers without everything being sullied by the writers' decision to make it weird.

#details. ( daryl dixon ) #long post // #this took me..... like 2 entire days to write lol but i am very passionate about this as you can tell #if you read this just know that i'm literally worshipping u #flipping ur pillow to the cool side for u #making sure ur phone is plugged in before you go to bed #tucking u in and kissing ur head #please feel free to comment on this with ur thoughts :') i just turned rbing off to avoid personals / fandom blogs rbing it lol

[threadsun]

Me: I don't think we talk about yandere Joseph enough

Also me: Aren't you a writer, fuckin let loose

So! Picture it with me, you are the barista at some local cafe near a film set. Because of all the high class actors and their respective followers coming in and out you're pretty used to the weird shit these people order. So imagine your surprise when mister "Thesis long order" Laurent walks in with his coworker who just orders "Uh, gee, I don't know. Whatever you get, I guess?"

You make Jean's order first so he doesn't bitch and then make your favorite drink for his friend. Your fingers brush each other as you hand him the drink and you think you see him blush before taking a sip "Woah, this is really good. Thank you" You try to tell him it's just your job but the way he says it just...does something to you. People rarely thank you here anyway but that one sounded so genuine, so real

After that Joseph becomes a regular, usually picking up Jean's abomination along with something to keep him going as well. He never orders for himself though, always trusting you with his morning coffee. There's something kind of intimate about it, all the trust he holds in you, all the time he tries to spend with you even though you can tell he's both busy and exhausted. In this town of fake complements and latter climbers he's so refreshing, so charming, you jokingly tell him if you didn't have a boyfriend you'd have asked him out by now

"...Boyfriend?" The way he says it sends chills up your spine, he was so chipper a few seconds ago but now he looks like he just found out his dog died. You tell him not to worry, he's not the jealous type so hanging out with guy friends is fine "Right, yeah, um...sorry I have to go" And like that he's gone

Joseph still shows up the next day but something's off about him. He looks...guilty? You figure it's because now that he knows you're taken he feels bad about trying to covertly flirt with you everyday so you brush it off. That night you're supposed to be picked up by your boyfriend so you two can go on your date but he's running late, like, an hour late, he's not answering his phone either

After waiting out for about thirty minutes Joseph walks by the cafe "Oh, hey, are you ok? You're usually gone by now, aren't you? I mean, I have to walk by here every night to get back to my place and I've never seen you out here before" You tell him you're just waiting on your boyfriend but it's already been half an hour, so, fuck it. You'll just talk to him tomorrow

"Oh, well I'm sorry to hear that. Want me to walk you home again?" Joseph had walked you home a few nights already seeing how dangerous these streets can get at night, so you take him up on his offer. You two walk to your apartment building but once you get closer you start to hear sirens. You and Joseph pick up the pace, running until you see it, there are cop cars outside of your apartment building

You walk up to the cops and ask what happened, they tell you there was a potential homicide in the building earlier that night and that you can't go in until they've collected enough evidence. You're heart drops onto the concert and shatters when you hear your boyfriend's name fall from their lips

You don't remember much after that, just the warmth of Joseph's hands on your shoulders as he walked you to his apartment. Over the next week you stay with Joseph, both because your apartment was now littered with cops and awful memories, that and you don't think you can be alone right now. Joseph is as kind as ever, letting you stay rent free while you take some time off work to grieve

After a few months, life gets better. The scars on your heart will never heal fully but they're made easier to deal with, especially with Joseph around. He's so sweet, even helping you fully move into his place after you tell him you don't think you can go back to that apartment building again, he even makes your coffee now, exactly how you like it, always saying "I learned from the best"

It's so domestic, you don't even bat an eye when he wraps his arms around your waist while you're cooking, leaning in and giving you a kiss on the cheek while you ask him about his day. Everything is about as perfect as it could be with a mending heart, that is until you start being in charge of laundry. Joseph had a pesky habit of throwing his clothes off before going to bed so you have to really look for some of them, and that's when you find it, one of his shirts covered in old dried blood

Oughhhhhhh this is so good!!! Yandere Joseph is very underappreciated >:3c

#sunshine #sdj joseph

[flashfuture]

I know I just made a post about how nonsensical Barry's new headspace is where he's both completely apathetic to the world around him and also very concerned with speed. But I had a thought/dream last night. And keep in mind this entire theory is based on my belief the writers don't want to keep Barry around any longer but his character has become so modernly popular they're being made to. And that what they're doing with Barry right now could be a potential exit strategy after the flop of the DCU film.

There is no such thing as good time or bad time. Time has no agency or personal feelings. Time marches on independent of what is happening inside of it. Even if everyone and everything was dead Time would keep ticking. Barry Allen set the clocks to eternity.

Barry made the speed force and for DC comics that is where time began. Barry died and became one with the speed force. He popped up a few times to help during a crisis. But when he came back for good after Final Crisis Barry felt compelled to go Back into the speed force. Flashpoint happened very soon after this. Almost like Barry was trying to find a way to exist where he wasn't supposed to be disembodied time.

Barry made a comment in Aquaman & The Flash: Voidsong #2 that he wanted immortality in the speed force with his wife and friends.

The implication here being Barry can bring anyone he chooses into the speedforce to stay with him. Like Wally held onto Linda. But that's inside the speed force. Barry is only immortal if he's immaterial.

So I wonder with all this speed force fuckery that they're doing. If they're pacifying Barry like actual time is passive. In one second a hundred butterflies flap their wings and in the next someone is hit by a car it doesn't Actually matter to Time. It only matters to the people existing in the constraints of that time. If Barry is the cosmic avatar for Time losing his agency because of how much strain is mentally metaphysically and chiropractically placed on him then he would be so apathetic. He would shrug his shoulders at Ollie and wish him luck with finding Roy because he isn't going to speed up the process. He would need someone like Iris to shake him out of his let's say time flow zone and push him to help Irey and the other kids.

I think a more interesting thing to do than give a fully grown man who practically reinvented the superhero an inferiority complex to the child he trained. Is have Barry worried about everyone else's speed Not because he wants to be the fastest. But because he realizes as his family draws more and more of the speed force they're drawing from him. Barry would then be dying in a sense. His ability to keep hold of the speed force and remain present is falling apart. He should be in the speed force but he's not. I would like to see Barry's body breaking down more each time his family members run. I want to see him stare blankly at Rip Hunter and tell him Time will keep moving anyways what does it matter what happens today.

I want someone to try and crack open Barry Allen and realize there is very little human left inside of him. And his family and friends to have to come to terms with what it means to let somebody go

#dc comics #barry allen #the flash

[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

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[sounwise]

“Inner Beatle Secrets: From Paul” (interview with Alan Freeman in Rave Magazine, April 1966 issue)

[Full transcript beneath the cut:]

-

No doubt, pop-pickers, millions of you would flip at an opportunity to entertain Paul McCartney in your home for a few hours. Well, if you ever do, take my tip . . . move the piano out first. Because Paul makes straight for it the way other people head for a good-looking chick.

“You eat, sleep and dream on it, don’t you?” I said. Paul grinned and rippled out another string of tuneful thoughts, the melody just growing from his fingers. Then he tried it over again, this time adding a jumping bass pattern that suddenly brought the whole thing to life. He stopped halfway through.

“That’s all I’ve got so far,” he said. “I must work on that a bit more.”

It took me half-an-hour to get Paul away from the keyboard and sit down and relax. I could see why the Beatles rarely run short of great new numbers. If someone invented a way of composing in your sleep, McCartney would be on to it like a shot.

It was nearly a year since I’d had a Heart-to-Heart with Paul, here in the same room at my London apartment. We’d met often since then, of course, on shows and in TV studios. But now, with a rare day free just to laze around and sip a long drink and chat about whatever came into his mind, you could see a big change in him.

In the old days Paul, like a lot of genuinely sensitive and creative people, used to cover up a little under a dry, wise-cracking front. Today he’s fizzing like a firework with all sorts of thoughts and theories about music, films, books and art.

People used to ask, “What happens when the time comes that the Beatles break up and go their own ways?” I don’t think we need to worry. I reckon their individual talents are possibly even greater than their achievements as a group. Even if the Beatles had never made a single disc, the Lennon-McCartney songs would have been a glowing milestone in pop anyhow.

So, if you don’t mind, Beatle-diggers, this is Paul the person talking of his ideas, his discoveries as his mind matures and the mad, hurtling pace of the world’s idols steadies down to a saner rhythm.

The phone rang outside, but I wasn’t letting anybody cut in on this revealing session with Paul. “No calls for the next hour, no matter what,” I said to Carolina, my secretary.

And Paul began to talk.

“It’s hard to know whether the Beatles have changed much in the past year as the public sees them,” he said. “But I know we have. I know I have, as a personal, internal change. I don’t mean things like getting the M.B.E. I think after the first couple of weeks we forgot about that.

“I’d say the really big change is in our tastes, in finding out about things we didn’t know before. For instance, George spends all his time now, listening to Indian music. He’s joined the Asian Music Circle. He’s really serious about it, too. It started when he got a cithar [sic]—the Indian instrument we used on ‘Norwegian Wood’.

“It’s the same with all of us. We’ve all got interested in things that just never used to occur to us. I’ve got thousands, millions, of new ideas myself. What I really want to do now is to see whether I could write all the music for a film. Not just to write tunes, but the music of the film itself.

“I want to read a lot more than I do. It annoys me that so many million books came out last year and I only read twenty of them. It’s a drag.

“What I’m reading at the moment is everything I can get on the assassination of President Kennedy . . . all the evidence, all the reports. I’m convinced that the real truth about that hasn’t come out. And I’m reading a French writer—Jarry. He’s great, weird.

“I’m reading plays like mad, too, I don’t know if I’ll ever want to write one. But there are so many things I’d like to have a try at.

“Painting. I’ve done quite a bit and I enjoy it. I’d like to do a lot more, find out if I might have a talent for that.”

Caroline brought in tea and passed the cups. “Paul,” I said, “how would you say all these new interests of yours might affect the Beatles’ music?”

He grinned, stirring his tea. “Well, if you mean are people frightened that we might suddenly go all sober or play stuff like Mantovani, they needn’t worry about that. We’ve got no intention of trying to rehash old things. The whole point is that we’re learning about new things all the time.

“Like doing ‘Yesterday’ with the string quartet instead of the big sweeping orchestra, which was the old way. But it would be a pity if we change the way which we think is better but everybody else doesn’t. It’d be a pity—but that’s the only way we’ve ever worked.

“We’ve only made the records which we think are good, and that’s the only standard we’ve ever gone by. Eventually we may get a bit too way-out. I hope not, but I don’t know.”

I pointed to the stack of newly released discs standing by the record player and said, “But if you go through those, for example, everyone can see that pop music is getting more and more way-out. People are going for it, all the same.”

Paul nodded. “Yes, to some extent it is. But there are still too many groups who are trying just to keep up. That’s no good. That’s what makes the whole pop thing dull in the end. You ought to be able to move on a bit further with every record, like The Who.

“And what’s more, they’ve got every chance. The equipment in most British recording studios is much better than it is in the States. But there’s some extra bit they get to the sound over there that we haven’t quite got. I don’t know what it is yet, but you get the sensation of that little bit more. The Stones always tell us we’d be better if we recorded in the States, but we never have. We probably will eventually.

“You put a record of ours with an American record and don’t alter the volume, and you’ll find the American record is always that fraction louder. And it has a lucid something I can’t explain. Funny, because as I say, I believe we’re technically better in Britain.”

Paul shrugged. But he had the contented look of a young man who has just come up with something else to investigate and find out about.

There must be many a group starting out now who are spurred along by visions of what life at the top must be like when you finally get up there in the Beatles class. But Paul said that although you obviously pick up the luxuries, you also discover that you’re going short of a lot of things that less successful people have more time to enjoy.

“I suddenly realised that because of the Beatles, as far as my own life was concerned, I’d got in a very severe sort of rut. And we all had, because we all just seemed to be working only towards trying to get pop things done. And we saw that obviously we must have missed out on quite a few things.”

He grinned and nodded towards the piano in the corner. “Only the other day I was working out a number and I stopped and thought, ‘What a drag. I’m twenty-three and I’ve never learned to read music.’ And I found I was thinking to myself as if I was finished. So I said, ‘Why don’t I?’ And now I’m doing it.

“Sooner or later it hits you that the average span of the British male is seventy-five years and you’ve had more than twenty of them, so you better make the most of what’s left. Then the brain starts working, and John and I rush out and buy loads of books.

“I’m lazy, but I don’t like myself being lazy. So the only way out is to do something about it. Like I made myself listen to classical records, though nobody in our house ever liked them. When one came on they’d just turn it off. But I thought, ‘I’d better sort this out for myself and see whether I like it or not.’

“And in fact I don’t like a lot of it. It’s too fruity and sentimental. But from that you get on to what the modern composers are doing. And it’s suddenly great, because you discover that there are all these things going on.

“Then I play them to John and he says, ‘What a drag—all these millions of records coming out all the time and we’ve not been getting on to them.’ Then we rush out and buy loads of modern compositions.

“The only thing to do is to listen to everything and then make up your mind about it.”

And that’s the best advice you’ll ever get on this planet, friends. Because it works, not just in the world of music, but in every profession they ever invented. I know people with no special gifts who’ve made fortunes just by listening. Not eavesdropping . . . listening. And when you know, then you can really start moving.

Paul shares with Pete Townshend of The Who a taste for the music of Stockhausen, one of the modern German composers. “His ideas are fantastic. It’s the farthest-out music yet. He uses electronic stuff that nobody else has got round to. And his records are listed under the classical section in the catalogues. So if you’ve got it in your head that you don’t dig classical music, look what you’re shutting out.”

He shook his head. “You can’t go putting music into little categories like serious and Merseybeat and so on. The great thing is that it’s music, whatever label they try to stick on it.”

Paul said with quiet intensity, “You see, you’re going to have trouble getting but unless you have fairly solid opinions on things. You live in a muddle. as soon as I noticed myself saying ‘I don’t know’ I thought, ‘Well, you’ll have to try. Why don’t I know?’ Unless you get at it, by the time you do find out you’ll be ready to die.”

The Beatles have obviously been the single influence on pop for decades. But Paul admitted that this influence would never have come about if he, John, George and Ringo hadn’t been excited and stimulated by other people’s thoughts and ideas.

“The whole thing is about trying to contact people all the time. And with everything . . . plays, books, music. Even cooking. Anything that breaks down any kind of barrier and lets you get through to another human being . . . that’s it, that’s what valuable, that’s what matters.

“I think that’s why the whole being-English explosion has been such a success in America and everywhere else. It’s a genuine effort, and it’s working. Everybody in England has suddenly got just a little bit more interested in everything and everyone else. Britain has just climbed up on to another level, and it’s a wonderful thing.

“You ought to hear the people who come over here, the ones we talk to. They’re knocked out, because the idea they had of England before was just ridiculous. They believe the whole bowler-hat thing, thought the English were very reserved and very cold. When they go to a few parties and see what we’re really like, they’re amazed.

“Oh, sure, there’s been a change in us, all of us. But there’s a lot of people who’re still apathetic, who’ve got one fixed opinion. You know, the kind who say ‘I just like pop music or rhythm-and-blues or Edmundo Ros and don’t ever tell me about anything else because I don’t want to know’. They’re still scared to lay themselves open to any new influence. And they stay in the don’t-know rut for ever.

“As far as the Beatles are concerned, we can’t just stop where we are or there’s nothing left to do. We can go on trying to make popular records and it can get dead dull if we’re not trying to expand at all and move on into other things. Unless you’re careful you can be successful and unsuccessful at the same time.”

The next the Beatles do a television film, Paul said, they want to use many more of their own ideas instead of leaving it to the network’s camera crews. “The one they did while we were in America could have been so much better. It needed just that little extra bit of imagination.

“Instead of getting someone in to do the music and the sounds, we’d like to do it ourselves. Spend a long time on it and really work at it.

“We’re getting something that’ll really give us some experience with mixing up sound and film in that sort of way. It’s a gift Capitol Records gave us in the States, and it’s the greatest little present event.

“It’s a television recorder. You just plug it into your set and you record the programme straight off, just like on to a tape. You can record the BBC while you’re watching ITV and show the film on your telly at one o’clock in the morning if you want to. They said we’ll be the first people in England to have them.

“So what we’re going to do when they come is go out and shoot film, weird shapes and patterns and light, and record special weird music to go with it and then come back and play it at home on the television. And we’ll be able to find out what works and what doesn’t, so that when we do a proper full-scale film we’ll know exactly what to put in it.”

The telephone shrilled in the other room. I looked at my watch. Our quiet hour had ended. “It’s Brian Epstein’s office for Paul,” said Caroline.

If you’re a Beatle, the world doesn’t leave you alone for long. While Paul was on the phone, the chauffeur arrived to pick him up for another business meeting. And for another while at least, all the schemes would have to wait while Paul the person made way for Paul the star.

As we shook hands on his way out, I wondered how far he would have carried his plans, what new excitements would be gripping him, the next time we have the chance of a Heart-to-Heart. More than likely, he would have come in from the bachelor cold by then and followed the other Beatles into marriage.

One thing for sure, I thought. No kid of Paul McCartney’s will turn out to be a don’t-know.

I looked at the piano guiltily as the lift hummed down to the ground floor. After all this time, I should be able to play that machine with the best of them. Why can’t I? I sat down and got a little chord shape going.

“Alan,” said Caroline around the door. “Fred Thing wants to know if you can come over.”

One note out in the bass somewhere—that’s got it.

“Tell him I’d love to,” I said. “But I can’t now. I’m working on an idea.”

Till next month—stay bright!

#i had to request this issue from a research library on the other side of the country...! shoutout to librarians forever #paul mccartney #alan freeman #rave magazine #the beatles #transcript #1966 #scans