#pac man phone
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Pac-Man phone, 1982
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PAC-MAN PHONE ⚪️🍒🍎🍊👻
#vintage phone#weird phone#novelty phone#phone#vintage novelty phone#telephone#vintage telephone#ebayfinds#rotary phone#pac man#pac man phone#80s#video games
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tazer está aqui!!!!
@routeriver @evren-sadwrn @goooser @bdaycheesecake @snails-are-made-of-jelly
#pactw fanart#pac#qsmp pac#q!pac fanart#q!pactw#q!pac#qsmp#qsmp fanart#qsmp tazercraft#pac tazercraft#tazercraft fanart#spot the lemon demon references#he gives spirit phone vibes#not like he’d listen to them#but like touch tone telephone and cabinet man ARE pac#my alcatraz tism is showing too#fuga impossível
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Okay so after I did some rewatching I have returned to my simp mode and he has basically invaded my sketchbook. I apologize.
His younger self is just so,,,,, hgnhgnhn
#Ignore the horrible quality of these pictures#My phone is in fact a potato#my art#pmatga#pac man and the ghostly adventures#Lord betrayus
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Things to decorate your 1980s-ish home with
1 - 2 - 3 - 4
(Some of these aren’t exact I lost the original links 😖)
(Image ID: 1) A phone shaped like Pac Man with its box. 2) A Smurf painted on a mirror with blue text reading “Smurf.” 3) A framed picture of a schnauzer in a rocking chair with glasses, the background is pink with white text that says “hi!” 4) A green, pink, and yellow lamp shaped like a bird.)
#png#transparent#nostalgiacore#nostalgia#vintage#1980s#80s#80s nostalgia#smurf#pac man#bird#dog#phone#lamp#mirror
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actually the fact that i don't know how to loop videos is such an asset because there is one clip of a screen recording that if I could just put on loop and listen to while actually using my phone, I would never stop listening to it
#it's the end of gerard singing loser geek whatever btw#the way he sings the last ever scratches so many itches I didn't know I had#look ive said it before ill say it again#i love all the jeremys equally#but theres just something about gerard as jeremy that lives embedded in my soul#also the recording was posted on my birthday and the person screaming in the video kinda sounds like it could be me#making me think that in an alternate universe I was at the show and made the recording#you've probably already guessed but#sara's intoxicated musings#about me#personal#please no one ever teach me how to loop the videos on my phone#i truly never want to know#i want everyone to know peace because otherwise I would be talking about it non stop every day#like id be explaining it to my friends who don't know about it#and screeching to my friends who are deeply intimate with my knowledge of bmc and my love for gerard#fuck now i want a loser geek or whatever tattoo to go with my pac man one#update: i've talked myself out of it#sara's late night musings
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i'll put us back together at heart - s.h.
Summary: It's 1987. You haven't spoken to Steve Harrington in nearly five years. Then Dustin Henderson tells you about a sweet deal he has at Family Video, where he can rent any movie he wants.
Pairing: ex-best friend!Steve Harrington x fem!reader
Word count: 8.8k
Warnings/tags: friends to strangers to lovers. the reader is twenty in 1987 and i technically made steve twenty-one/about to turn twenty-one. s4 happened but eddie's alive and vecna's dead. no earthquakes or anything like that; reader has no idea about what really happened. lots of angst, mentions of billy hargrove (yuck) and steve's s1 asshole friends.
A/N: oh my lord. i don't know where this eighteen-wheeler of a fic came from but here it is. there is a happy ending, not to worry. i'd never do that to y'all <3 feedback and reblogs are always always appreciated!
divider by firefly-graphics
August 1981
"I wish we could stay eighth graders forever."
You lift your head from your orange pool floaty. Steve drifts on the surface of the water. His hair is longer, way longer than you've seen it in the three years you've been friends. He says it's better for styling that way; he's even bought a gel and cream for his hair. You don't understand why he wants to change something that doesn't need changing.
"Why?" you ask. "I thought you were excited for high school."
He hums. The sound echoes in his backyard.
"It's bigger than middle school. More kids, more teachers, more work. I like eighth grade."
"I'll help you with your work," you say.
Steve turns his head and smiles at you. Part of his face is in the water, the image distorted.
"You'll do great," he replies. "You're so smart."
Steve doesn't say those things to get you to help him like other kids do. Steve means it.
"You'll do great too," you say. "You're funny and nice and my best friend. People will like you."
"You think?"
You nod. Steve turns his head and closes his eyes again.
"We'll stay friends, right?" he asks.
The floaty squeaks as you move to sit up. You paddle to Steve so you can look at his face.
"Why wouldn't we?"
"I dunno." His eyes are still closed. "You might make super smart friends. And I'll just be a dumbass holding you back."
You shove Steve's shoulder lightly.
"You are not dumb, Steve."
One muggy June night had had Steve admit he wasn't thirteen, like you and all the kids in your class, but fourteen. He had been held back in third grade after his parents moved from Illinois. It's why my brain's mush, he'd said. I was born dumb.
He had made you swear not to tell anyone.
"You're not dumb," you say again. "Say it, Steve. Say you're not dumb."
His frown deepens, but he still won't look at you.
"Tommy says I am."
"Tommy Hagan is a shithead," you shoot back with so much venom, Steve's eyes fly open. "It's not true, whatever he tells you."
You hate that they've been hanging out more this summer. You can't tell Steve that, because it's not like you own him. He can be friends with whoever he wants. But you can't help that your skin crawls when Tommy and his stupid girlfriend, Carol, drops by and pulls Steve away from you.
“Promise?” he asks.
“Yes, Steve. I promise.”
“‘Kay.” Steve smiles a little. “Thanks.”
You nod and lay back on the floaty.
“Wanna get ice cream after this?” he asks.
“Just us?”
“Just us.”
Now. (January, 1987)
You slam the phone back onto the receiver. A girl playing Pac-Man carefully glances at you.
Whoops. Right. You're still at work.
You smile and give a thumbs-up. She turns around. You return to your wallowing.
You’ve called three different video rentals. Jewel Films, which is about to go out of business; More Movies, whose attendant hung up on you before you could say Molly Ringwald; and finally, Blockbuster, which is thirty minutes outside of Hawkins. None of them have a copy of Pretty in Pink.
And okay. You could just watch another movie. You don't need that specific one. But this year has been shit. You'd thought after starting college, you'd finally break out of the Hawkins forcefield that had limited your social life. You'd thought you'd make friends and not be so terribly lonely. Life is supposed to get better after high school, isn’t it?
Obviously, whoever said that is a big, fat liar.
“Dude!” you hear a familiar voice exclaim. “Stop hogging the game!”
Tawny curls peek from under a green and yellow hat. The hat hovers over an older boy who’s glued to the Tempest booth. You go to them. Dustin Henderson lights up when he sees you. You can read his hat now; it says Camp Know Where ‘85.
“Hey, Y/N!” he greets brightly. “This guy has been here for a half hour. I left to get nachos and when I came back, he was still here.”
“I’m this close to beating my score!” the kid insists.
“Come on, guy," you say, one arm on the machine. "You gotta give other people a turn."
The kid, evidently demon incarnate, sneers at you.
“Who’s gonna make me? You?”
You lean against the side of the game, considering.
“How old are you?”
“Sixteen,” he says.
You snort.
“Sixteen? And you’re still on Tempest?”
He glances at you.
“So?”
“Everybody your age is playing Rampage, that’s all.”
You wink at Dustin. He beams.
“And, uh, I saw a couple girls hanging around Rampage,” you add.
The kid turns to you. You tilt your head innocently.
“Seriously?” he asks.
“Seriously. People always flock to the new games.”
Which is true. The girls part is not, but he doesn’t need to know that. With that attitude, he won't be getting many phone numbers anyway.
You drum your fingers on the game like you have all the time in the world. And sure enough, the kid takes his quarters and heads towards Rampage. Dustin jumps in delight.
“You’re awesome, Y/N!"
You grin. “I try. Where are the others?”
Dustin sours.
“They ditched me. To hang out with their girlfriends! Can you believe that shit?”
“No way!"
He shakes his head.
“I know, right? My friend told me that that’s what happens in high school. People change, y’know? And he’d know, I guess. He’s old like you.”
You scoff. “You make me sound like some kind of ancient. I’m not that old, Henderson.”
“It’s okay, Y/N.” He pats your arm. “In many cultures, the elderly are wise. Now in my experience, this hasn’t been the case. But I think you’re wise.”
“Gee, thanks.”
Dustin smiles like the little shit he is and puts his change in the slot.
“Well, contrary to what this other friend says, I’m sure it’ll pass,” you say. “You guys will hang out again."
You swallow your acidic truth. Dustin's a good kid, and so are his friends. You don't want him to turn cynical like you have. He's too young.
Dustin shrugs, starting the game.
“I guess so. I got a copy of The Lost Boys for us to watch on Friday. They said they’ll be there.”
“Whoa, seriously? That one just came out, how’d you get a copy?”
“My friend,” he says. “The one I mentioned. He works at Family Video and reserves stuff for me.”
“Huh. I thought Family Video was closed."
You'd applied to work there last year and never got a call back. You'd gone by once and it had looked abandoned. Hence why you now work at the arcade across town.
"It almost did, but Keith took over so now it's barely scraping by."
"Ah. Sweet deal on the movies."
“Yeah,” Dustin agrees, eyes crinkling. “My friend's pretty cool. You'd like him."
"Would I now?"
"Absolutely," he gushes. "He's a total badass too. He won his first fight last year. He used to be a jock but he's recovered."
"Wow. Impressive."
"Mmhm. I could ask him to hold stuff for you too, if you wanted.”
“You would?”
The game makes a sad game over noise. Dustin sighs and takes a gulp of his slushie.
“Yeah, totally,” he says through a mouthful of blue raspberry ice. “Which one do you want?”
��Pretty in Pink? I missed it in theaters."
“Sure. I’ll tell him to hold it tonight and tomorrow you can pick it up.”
“Cool. Thanks, Dustin.”
Dustin gives you an apple-cheeked grin.
“Gotta stay in good graces with the arcade attendant who lets me play Tempest as long as I want.”
"I don't know what you're talking about," you say, walking away. "Don't get slushie on the game."
"'Kay!"
Dustin only gets a little bit of slushie on the game, but he cleans it up with about a million of the cheap snack bar napkins. When he leaves, he tells you to mention his name at Family.
"Who do I ask for?"
"You can talk to either of them," Dustin says. "Doesn't matter. Except Keith. You know Keith, right?"
"Unfortunately.” Keith used to terrorize the arcade before he blessedly moved on. “He works there?"
"Barely." Dustin scoffs. "He's almost never there, so don't worry. And feel free to ask for more movies. They owe me one."
Your sole interactions are with professors and a gaggle of high school freshmen. But now you get to watch any movie you want. Maybe this year won't totally suck.
The bell rings pleasantly as you step inside. There's a few people on line, so you take your time walking in. There's a movie display with about thirty copies of RoboCop. A cardboard cutout of RoboCop stares back behind his red helmet.
"Can I help who's next?"
You go to the counter. A girl about your age with a choppy haircut smiles at you but it's sort of strained. She has a pin on her green work vest that says Ask me!
"Please don't ask for Adventures in Babysitting," she says.
"Oh. No, I'm, uh, Dustin's friend?"
You can't believe you're name-dropping a high schooler.
She nods in realization.
"Oh, yeah. God, I keep telling that dweeb not to promise holds."
You wince.
"Sorry. If it's going to get you in trouble…"
Her brows raise. She smiles a bit.
"No, it's okay. Usually my coworker deals with it but, well. He's taking an extra long break today. So, what movie was it?"
"Pretty in Pink," you say.
"Classic," she replies. "John Hughes fan?"
"Somewhat. I didn't get to see it in theaters. I like Molly Ringwald."
She grins.
"Me too. She's pretty."
"Super pretty," you agree.
The girl considers you, then sticks out her hand.
"I'm Robin," she says. "Nice to meet you."
You take her hand. "Y/N.”
"Did you go to Hawkins High?"
"I did. Graduated last year."
"Oh, cool. Are you in college?"
You nod.
"Hawkins State. Twenty minutes from here."
"Sweet! I'm taking a gap year, but afterwards, I’m gonna apply there. It's cheap. College is college, right?"
"College is college," you agree. "But I wish I'd gone away for school."
You don't know why you're telling her this. You've known Robin for all of two minutes. But she seems friendly. And her sense of style is cool. She wears a blue blazer and tie underneath her vest.
"How come?" she asks.
"Everybody from Hawkins is there," you say. "And I… I just want a new start."
Robin smiles sympathetically.
"They're jerks," she says.
You huff. "Yeah."
You'd turned yourself into a social recluse a million years ago. It's your own damn fault you can't befriend anybody in this town. At least, not anymore.
Robin types into the computer, then smacks the monitor. She groans.
"Ugh. Gimme a second," she says. "Stupid technology."
"No problem," you say, smiling. You like her. Maybe you can integrate Family Video into your regular routine, become friends. You can see Robin becoming a good friend. One you wouldn't grow apart from.
She disappears into the back room. You browse the old releases and stop at Die Hard. This one you saw in theaters. John McClane is a badass.
You think of Dustin, and his supposedly badass new friend. It's too bad you didn't meet today. Dustin has a good sense about people. If he says so, it's possible you and this friend really would get on.
The bell rings again. You're slow to look up. The entrance is empty when you do. You keep reading about John McClane's adventures.
"Have you been waiting long?"
You turn at the new voice. The video slips out of your hand and clatters onto the counter.
Steve’s hair has grown since you last saw it. He looks different too, though he has yet to break out of his signature church boy polos. There's a smattering of stubble on his jaw. His arms are lean with muscle. He wears a matching work vest like Robin's, name tag printed Steve in blocky font.
He looks at where you've dropped Die Hard and smiles.
"This is a good one," he says. "John McClane is a total badass."
You blink.
"Did you want to rent that one?" he continues, meeting your eye.
"No," you manage.
"Okay, no problem. Just browsing?"
He doesn't remember you.
You stare and stare. Steve leans in, concerned. He's changed, but he hasn't. He's still handsome with his swoopy hair and big, dark eyes, but the Steve you knew wouldn't have been caught dead working at a video store.
And he doesn't remember you.
"Are you okay?" he asks, sounding genuine.
You take a step back from the counter. The blood roars in your ears. Robin comes back in, Pretty in Pink in hand. She looks at you, then at Steve.
"Got it!" she tells you. "Computer should work now."
"I have to go," you say.
You don't look at Steve again, instead focusing on Robin.
Her brows rise.
"Oh. Is everything—"
"I forgot my wallet," you blurt. "I can't pay for the movie. Sorry."
"That's okay, we can just—"
You run. The bell chimes over her words. You keep running until you get to the bus stop, three blocks away.
Only there do you stop to catch your breath.
And then you cry.
February 1982
"What do you think about Marie?"
You look up from your textbook. Steve is doodling in the margins of his notes. You gently prod his arm. He returns to reading but his leg starts to bounce under the table.
"Marie Iverson?" you ask.
"Yeah."
Steve glances at you. He pushes his hair back. It had taken him freshman year to get his bearings with all the gels and creams, but now, his hair is a point of pride, always perfectly coiffed. Seniors call him "The Hair" and high-five him in the hallway. You hate it.
"I don't know. I don't know her that well."
"She's cute."
"I guess so," you say.
It's harder to get Steve to focus on homework these days. Last year, he happily made flashcards with you and even bought fancy gel pens to share for your notes. Now, he prefers to talk about girls or—
"I was thinking of asking her out."
The tip of your pencil breaks. You really ought to start using pens, but you don't like being unable to erase.
"Shit, here. Take mine."
Steve offers his still perfectly sharpened pencil. You stare at it.
"Y/N?"
"Yeah." You take the pencil. "Thanks."
"Sure. So what do you think?"
"I don't know, Steve. I thought you talked about this stuff with Tommy."
"I would, it's just…" Steve shifts uncomfortably. "He can be rude about it sometimes. He doesn't even get why we're friends, y'know? Doesn't understand why I don't just date you."
Tommy is a moron, but you've said that since last year, and Steve's never listened before.
"Some people don't get it," you say mildly, because you have an upcoming French test and there's no use in getting upset over Tommy Hagan right now.
"But you do. And you know about this stuff better than me. Girls and all."
"Just because I'm a girl doesn't mean I know what girls are best for you to date, Steve. It's weird to talk about."
Steve deflates.
"Oh. Yeah, I guess so. Sorry."
You sigh and rub your temple.
"I thought you knew all about that," you say, extending an olive branch. "Asking girls out and stuff."
"Well, I mean, I've kissed girls but I've never… you're, like, the only girl I really know."
Something like pride swells in your chest. Selfishly, you want to keep Steve. You don't want to help him if it means losing him. Oh, you're so greedy, aren't you? You watch Steve run off with Tommy and Carol and nameless seniors and seethe, because Steve was yours first. Steve is yours.
"Y/N?"
"Yeah." You give him back his pencil and fish for another one in your bag. "Did you ever think about writing how you feel?"
"Writing?"
"Yeah, like a poem or a letter."
"I'm terrible at writing," Steve laments. "The letters get all jumbled and I never spell a damn thing right."
He'd told his mom once how letters melt into each other, how b's become d's. She'd taken him to get his eyes checked, and when the doctor said Steve was fine, Deborah Harrington had told her son to stop begging for attention.
"Someone who really likes you won't care about spelling mistakes, Steve," you tell him. "As long as you write from the heart. Don't do that cheesy shit and quote Romeo and Juliet. They're young, impulsive, and they die at the end, and that's not romantic."
Steve laughs, nose scrunched.
"What!" you demand. "What's so funny?"
"Nothing, 's just—of course you'd have something to say about quoting Shakespeare."
"It's overdone," you say, crinkling your nose. "And girls would much rather read your own words."
"So you think I should write Marie a letter?"
"If you really like her," you say. "Only write letters for girls you really like. Otherwise they lose their meaning."
Steve frowns. "I don't know if I should write her a letter, then."
Don't, you want to say. Don't write any of them letters.
You shuffle your papers into a stack.
"Can we study now?" you ask.
"Oh, sure, yes. Sorry."
"You don't have to keep apologizing, Steve."
He shifts closer to you. His leg has stopped bouncing.
"Lemme take you out," he says.
You nearly swallow your tongue.
"Wh–what?"
"For ice cream," Steve clarifies. "Like we used to. Dairy Queen."
"Oh. Okay, sure. But after we study."
Steve beams. "I'll drive you."
Steve's dad had bought him the BMW as a birthday present this year—not that Richard Harrington actually knows when his own son's birthday is, considering the gift was three months early. Still, it's another point of pride for Steve and about all anybody talks about whenever his name comes up. Steve is the only person in your grade with a car. Junior girls hit him up for rides. You make yourself scarce when they do.
You don't care. You liked Steve before the car. And the clothes. And the hair.
Your throat feels tight. You want your best friend back.
"Just us?" you check.
You can't tell these days. Steve seems to hang out with everybody but you. You're shocked he'd even asked to study together.
"Oh, sure," Steve says. "I just have to drop off Tommy and Carol first, okay?"
You check your watch and close your book.
"I have class," you lie. "I'll see you later."
Steve catches your wrist. He looks at you and you're struck by how sweet his face is. It's not like you didn't understand why girls want him but it's Steve. Your Steve, who still sleeps with a nightlight and who framed a picture of a sports car he cut out from a magazine because he'd thought it would make him cooler (it didn't. You still tease him about it.)
"Please," he says. "For helping me."
Your eyes slit. "I didn't help you to get stuff, Steve. I helped you because you're my friend."
Steve blinks like he's forgotten what it's like to be friends with someone just for the sake of being friends.
"You're right," he agrees. "You're not like that. I'll tell Tommy and Carol to find another ride. It'll be just us. I promise."
You perk up at that. "Really?"
"Really. You can sit in the front with me and we'll play Bruce Springsteen, like we used to. Please?"
"Okay, Steve." You ache. You’ve never been very good at telling him no. "I'll meet you in the parking lot."
And maybe… maybe your best friend is still in there after all.
Now
You ask your shift manager if you can work at the snack bar today. It's in the back and you won't have to deal with any game hogs.
"You didn't put enough syrup in my slushie."
You might have overshot the perks, though.
Slushie Girl's hair is bleach blonde and hairsprayed to God. You want to tell her that all that hairspray doesn't keep friends. Or brain synapses.
"I don't make the slushie," you say for the third time. "That's how it comes out of the machine."
She shoots you a mean look.
"I'm complaining to the manager."
You paste on a smile.
"You do that. Have a nice day."
She finally walks away, probably on the hunt for your manager, who's definitely smoking a joint outside to avoid this exact situation.
Dustin comes around the corner and this time, he's with the rest of his party. You smile.
"Hey, Y/N!" Dustin greets.
Lucas waves at you. Max and Mike are arguing and therefore are in their own world. And there's their newest addition, El, whose story you're still not clear on, as well as Will, quiet as always.
You lean your elbows on the countertop.
"What'll it be, gang?"
"Six nachos and six slushies, please. One blue raspberry, three cherry, and two Coke."
You fill up the slushies first. Dustin dances on his toes.
"So did you pick up the movie?" he asks.
"Oh." You try to smile. "I went there but I couldn't. I forgot my money. Pretty dumb of me."
Dustin accepts this with no argument.
"Well, you can go back. They'll hold it for a few days."
You're never setting foot in there again, but you don't tell Dustin that.
He takes his slushie and immediately starts drinking.
"Slow down, dude. You'll get a brain freeze," you say.
"You sound like Steve," Dustin informs you. "Doesn't Y/N sound like Steve?"
Lucas nods.
"Yup. They're both parents."
You feel queasy. You focus on making the nachos, the cheese pouring out thick and gooey.
"Did you meet Steve?" Dustin asks. "You probably know him from high school, but he's different now."
"Yes," you say quietly. "I knew him."
"I promise he's different. Even Mike likes him, and Mike hated his guts. Right, Mike?"
Mike pauses in his animated discussion with Max and looks at you.
"What?"
"I'm telling Y/N about how Steve is cool now," Dustin explains.
"Oh." Mike shrugs. "He's fine. Much better now that he's not dating my sister."
"He's not?" you ask. "But they were in love. I–I mean, that's what I heard, at least."
"She dumped his ass," El says, and it sounds a little ridiculous in her soft monotone.
Max scoffs, taking her Coke slushie.
"Did you live under a rock? It was a huge thing."
"Now Steve is lame," Mike says with a snort.
"Getting dumped doesn't make somebody lame," you say with an old ferocity you'd thought had disappeared.
"Okay, jeez." Mike holds up his hands. "Steve's alright. He's different, that's for sure."
"He's our paladin," Lucas says. "A protector."
Dustin nods eagerly.
You blink. "He protects you guys?"
Max elbows Lucas. You have no idea what that's about. El steps forward and smiles softly.
"Yes," she says. "He's our babysitter."
"Aren't you guys freshmen? I thought you were too old for babysitters."
"Oh no, Steve doesn't get paid for it or anything," says Mike. "He just does it 'cause he has nothing else to do."
"That's not true!" Dustin argues. Then he shrugs. "Well, it's a little true. But he does like us. He's a good guy. He cares about his friends."
You bite your tongue, not wanting to reply to that.
"That's great, guys. The girl, Robin? She seems pretty cool too."
"That's Steve's best friend," says Dustin. "She's great."
"Oh." You wince. "Best friend?"
Dustin huffs. “Yeah. They don’t date. He won’t say why."
"Platonic with a capital P," Max confirms. “It’s obviously because he’s in love with somebody else.”
“Not Nancy!” Lucas protests.
“There are other girls besides Nancy, Sinclair.”
You busy yourself with serving the last set of nachos. The kids pull out crumpled bills and coins in return. You count the money and stack it directly into the register; you know there won't be any change.
When you turn, they're still there. Dustin has his signature grin on, eyes squinty.
"Yeees," you drag out. "Can I help you?"
"We need a favor," Lucas says. "Please."
"Hmm." You lean over the counter. "What's up?"
"They're showing Prince of Darkness on Friday," Dustin explains. "But it's rated R."
"So just sneak in. Isn't that what you guys did at Starcourt?" you ask.
"We had an inside man then. They're a lot stricter at the new one," Lucas frowns. "They ask for IDs 'cause some mom complained after her kid snuck in to watch Risky Business."
"And why can't your babysitter take you?"
You sneer at the thought. Steve spending his Friday nights herding a bunch of adolescent teens into a movie theater. There's a reason you consider Dustin affectionately delusional.
"He has a stupid date," Dustin groans. "He's a serial dater, Y/N. It's terrible. He gets lucky once and totally ditches us."
Now that sounds like the Steve you knew.
"I see. I don't really like horror stuff."
"You don't have to stay!" Dustin insists. "You can watch whatever you want after we’re in. I'll pay you back for the ticket."
“This would be so much easier if Steve still worked at Scoops,” Mike grumbles.
You blank for a moment, the image of Steve in a sailor’s hat and those ridiculous shorts whiting your brain.
“Um,” you begin. “You know I don’t have a fancy BMW to cart you guys around in, right?”
“It’s cool. We’ll get there,” Max says.
“So?” Dustin bounces on his toes. “Sooo?”
You sigh. It’d been nice of Dustin to get you the movie, even though you’d chickened out and ran. And it’s not like you have anything better to do.
“Okay,” you say. “I’ll get you guys in.”
Dustin pumps his fist. “Thanks, Y/N! You’re my favorite old person.”
You roll your eyes. “Funny. Any funnier, and I might rescind my help, Henderson.”
“Byeeee!”
They all disperse to the arcade. You wonder how on earth Steve got involved with them.
March 1983
“Okay, but if you had to choose.”
“Pass. I would literally rather swallow pennies than kiss Principal Coleman’s bald-ass head, Steve.”
Steve takes a triumphant swig of beer. “So you’re saying you’ve got the hots for Benny the janitor.”
“No!” you insist through giggles. “I don’t. God, you’re gross. Can’t believe I’m being treated like this on your birthday.”
“Exactly! My birthday.”
He rolls onto his side in his deck chair and nearly faceplants on the cement. You reach out, reaction time delayed.
“Steve!” you yell. “Careful.”
“I am, I am,” he mumbles, and rights himself on the chair. “Jus’ wanna see you better.”
“I keep telling you you need glasses.”
“I do not,” he whines. “My vision’s ten outta ten. Could a guy who needs glasses do this?”
He crumples up a Twinkies wrapper and throws it towards the garbage. The wind picks up and sends the wrapped into the pool.
“Shit,” he says.
You belly laugh in delight.
“Wait, wait, redo. Go fish it outta there.”
“Oh, as if. I’m not going in there. I told you you need glasses. Even Mother Nature agrees.”
"She does not. Mother Nature thinks I'm a doll."
You hum and close your eyes. Alcohol always makes you sleepy.
The chair scrapes against the concrete. You hear a crinkle of a chip bag. Those are your only warning before you’re crushed by two hundred pounds of drunk boy.
“Steve!” You wheeze, squirming as his hair tickles your face. “Get off!”
"’M sleepy,” he mumbles.
“Well, don't sleep on me, weirdo.”
“‘S cold.”
“You run, like, a hundred degrees, don’t lie.”
He lifts his head. “So you’re saying I’m hot?”
“I’m saying all that booze cooked your brain,” you reply sweetly.
“I’ve been wounded,” he moans and plops onto your shoulder.
“Ugh.” You resign to your fate and lean back. Steve’s not actually that heavy; even drunk, he has a lot of control over his weight and he’s situated himself so he isn’t crushing anything important. No, you squirm underneath him for a very different reason.
“Steeeeve,” you whine. “You’re gonna squish me into a pancake.”
“Can’t believe no one else came.”
You still. Steve’s face remains buried in your shoulder. His body is beside yours, and he has an arm slung over your belly.
“I didn’t—didn’t want a party,” he continues. “I always throw parties. I thought I’d do somethin’ different. An’ none of them even wished me a happy birthday. ‘Cept you.”
You rest your hand on the back of his hair. It’s wind-blown and messy from the drinks, free of his heady hair gel. You’ve never loved it more.
“Did you tell them your birthday is today?” you ask gently, even though you know he did.
“Yeah,” he says. “Told all of ‘em. Guess they weren’t listening.”
“I listen.”
Steve looks up at you. His eyes are glassy.
“God, I miss you,” he says.
You feel the wall you’ve built this year crumble, just a little.
“I’m right here, Steve.”
“I know but—been a jerk lately. I know I have. You’re my best friend, okay? Nothing’ll change that. I–I love you so much.”
Your breath hitches. Steve barrels on, not noticing.
“And I’ll be better. We’ll hang out more. Not–not here, drunk. But for real. We’ll go to the movies. Y’wanna see a movie?”
“Yeah,” you whisper. “I wanna see a movie.”
“‘Kay, what movie? Anything you want. We’ll get popcorn and Raisinets.”
“You hate Raisinets,” you choke through a watery laugh.
“I’d eat Raisinets anytime with you.”
You lay there, in the dark, the only sound being the pool filter.
“Let’s watch the new James Bond.”
“Hmm, okay. But you’ll have to say the name eventually.”
Your nose crinkles. “I am not calling it by its name.”
His laugh is warm in your neck.
You don’t tell Steve to get up again. He snuggles into you, leg over yours. You fall asleep like that, curled underneath him.
Now
“Wait.” Max stops. “Shouldn’t we have, like, a game plan?”
“Game plan?” El asks quietly.
“Yeah. Some of us aren’t so great at playing it cool.”
She stares at Lucas.
“I play it cool!” he squawks. “I am so cool!”
“Right.”
“Just let Y/N do the talking,” Will says. “She’s technically the adult so she should act like this is a conscious choice.”
You shrug. “Makes sense to me.”
Dustin beams. “This is gonna be great!”
“Or a total disaster,” Max says.
You go to the counter, the kids trailing behind like ducklings.
“Six tickets for Prince of Darkness, please,” you say. “And uh, one for Dirty Dancing.”
The attendant looks at you, then at the kids.
“Don’t you mean seven tickets for Prince of Darkness?” she asks. “It’s rated R.”
Shit. “Right, yes. Sorry. Seven tickets. And one for Dirty Dancing. We have another friend who’s late.”
“Uh-huh.”
The attendant, whose bored expression you’ve recognized on your own face after long days in the arcade, hands you your tickets without any questioning.
“I think we’re in the clear,” Lucas whispers when you enter the concession area.
You wait for them to buy their snacks. Max persuades Lucas to let her mix M&Ms into their bucket of popcorn. He agrees and shuffles closer so they’re pressed shoulder to shoulder while they share.
“Okay, last stretch,” Mike says, shoveling a frighteningly large handful of sour worms into his mouth. “We just have to get past the ticket guy.”
Said ticket guy is a kid who can’t be much older than you. You think you might’ve gone to school together, but you’ve made it a point to eviscerate everything about high school from your mind.
“Hey,” you say, trying to act cool. Maybe you’re the one Max should’ve been worried about, instead of Lucas. “Uh, here are our tickets.”
He takes the tickets, then looks behind you.
“Prince of Darkness is only for people seventeen and older,” he says.
“I’m an adult, so I’m with them,” you explain. “I’m, like, their guardian?”
“Yeah, uh—” He hands you your tickets. “No can do. There needs to be an adult for each person under seventeen.”
“Come on,” you cajole. “They’re high schoolers. It’s not like they’re gonna be scarred for life watching some zombies, or whatever.”
He shrugs. “Rules are rules.”
“She’s an adult!” Dustin argues.
“Look, if you’re gonna hold up the line, I’m gonna have to—”
“Yo, Gillespie! That you?”
Dustin turns and lights up. The seven of you part for Steve Harrington and his date, a pretty strawberry blonde you think you had biology with.
“Harrington, man, what’s up!”
Ticket Prick gets up to slam Steve into a bear hug. You barely resist an eye roll.
“Shit, I haven’t seen you in a year! Where’ve you been all this time? Hey, did you hear about that shit with Munson?”
Steve flinches. It’s a tiny movement, indiscernible to the trained eye. But it’s there all the same.
“Gillespie, c’mon. Don’t bring the party down with that,” Steve says, all sweet charm.
“Sorry, sorry. Daisy,” he greets the girl attached to Steve’s arm.
“Gil,” she replies with a giggle. “You smell like popcorn butter.”
America’s future taxpayers. Terrifying.
“Are you gonna let us in or not?” Max interrupts, arms folded.
You feel a burst of pride.
Gil shoots her a dirty glare and puffs up, ready to fight a fourteen year old. Steve cuts in smoothly.
“Gillespie, listen. I know her.” He points to you. You bristle. “I can personally vouch that she’s just trying to do right by these kids. They wanted to see Prince of Darkness, y’know? Get away from the parents.”
“It’s a sick film,” Gil agrees. “You seen it?”
No, of course Steve hadn’t seen it. He hates horror.
“Planning on it,” Steve says, the ultimate image of playing it cool. “Look, you remember sneaking into the movies. Fast Times? Ring any bells?”
Max rolls her eyes. You’re inclined to do the same.
Gil laughs dopily, and nudges Steve. “Hell yeah, I do. That was a crazy night, Harrington.”
Steve smiles thinly. “Sure was. So whaddya say? For old times’ sake?”
Gil considers your little troupe. Then he shrugs.
“Why not. Manager’s not here anyway.”
He takes the tickets and tears them to stubs, then gives them back.
“Theater six. On your left. Enjoy.”
The kids stampede into the left theater wing. You hang back with your own ticket.
“Appreciate it, man,” Steve says, all smiles. “Take care, alright?”
“Hey, you too, Harrington! We gotta catch up!”
Steve and Daisy go in. You expect them to walk right past you, and Daisy does, predictably. But Steve stops.
“I’ll catch up, okay?” he tells her. “Find us some good seats?”
She paws at him a little, then goes, sodas in hand. You stiffen as Steve walks and stops three feet away from you.
“Hey,” he says. “Sorry about that. Gil’s an asshole.”
“I know. He yawned during my poetry reading sophomore year. And then you guys went to the movies together.”
Steve shrinks. “Your poems were great.”
You’re suddenly exhausted.
“What do you want, Steve?”
“I just… I wanted to see you. Say hi.”
“Okay.” You cross your arms. “Hi.”
“You forgot your movie,” he says. “The other day.”
“I didn’t want it that much.”
“Dustin said you looked everywhere for it.”
“Well, in the end, it didn’t really matter,” you say. “Not enough to stay.”
“Y/N—”
“I think your date’s waiting for you,” you interrupt. “Better get back to her. Wouldn’t want to taint your reputation.”
Steve makes a noise like he’s been wounded. You turn on your heel before you can think better of it.
“Wait.” He catches your wrist. Steve’s grip is light, like you’re something precious to hold. You wrench your arm away. “Y/N, I want to apologize. I’m sorry.”
“For what?” you ask. “For forgetting me? I didn’t expect you to remember, Steve.”
“I didn’t forget you,” he insists. “I could never forget you. I wasn’t—please, can I just explain?”
“I don’t need your explanations,” you snap. The hurt corrodes your tongue like acid. “I know what happened. We were both there. You left.”
Steve’s eyes are huge and dark. He looks like you just stabbed him in the heart, and that makes you feel worse. You’d thought telling him how much it hurts would put you back together, but all it did was break you more.
So you run. Again.
You slam through a back exit and rip your ticket into a million pieces. The wind is cold and unforgiving. Your eyes sting.
You call out sick for two days in a row. You kind of expect to get fired, but then again, people have been leaving Hawkins and if you’re not here to serve the masses their slushies, who will be?
So, after lying in bed not thinking about movies and strawberry blonde girls and how sick you are of this town, you get up and put on your arcade vest.
Now it is two in the afternoon. You’d heard it was supposed to snow today.
Robin eyes the snack counter like it holds the next plague outbreak. You don't blame her; you make it a point to wash up to your elbows after work.
"Slushie?"
She looks at you like she’d forgotten you were there. "What?"
You point a thumb at the machine. "Are you here for a slushie?"
"Oh. No, sorry. Red dye makes me insane in the brain. Steve actually—"
Robin stops, grimaces. So he's told her. Probably everything, if the kids had been telling the truth.
You're honestly surprised she's here. Unless it’s to, like, swirlie you in the vat of artificial cheese.
"Are you here to drown me in nacho cheese?" you ask.
Robin's eyes go wide as dinner plates. "What? No!"
"Just checking." You lean against the counter. "What can I do for you, Robin?"
Robin suddenly looks like she's never interacted with a human being before. You like her a lot. Steve probably does too.
"I came to drop off your movie." She holds the tape over the counter like it's a pool of lava.
"But I didn't pay for it." You shove your hand in your jean pocket; you only have a couple dollars on you. "I guess I can get you the money tom—"
"It's on the house. For a fellow Molly fan."
Robin wiggles the tape with two fingers. You take it and wait for a catch. There is none.
"Thank you," you say. "You didn't have to do that."
"Actually, it wasn't me," she confesses. "I'm just the mailman."
You prepare to hand it back but Robin shakes her head.
"He's not going to pop out of the slushie machine, okay? He's just trying to make it up to you."
"He doesn't need to make it up to me," you bite, except those aren’t the words you mean. "Why does he even care? We're not in high school anymore."
Robin smiles a sad smile.
"I know," she says. "We’re not. I know he should've known to fix things earlier. He's received a lot of blows to the head, though, so he's still catching up."
The thought turns your stomach. More? More you weren’t there to protect him from?
"He doesn't owe me anything," you say and wave the tape again. "You can take it back and leave it for somebody else."
"Y/N, I know we don't know each other, like, at all. But it's important to me you know that Steve cares about you, because you’re important to him. And you knew him way before I did, and you probably know a lot of stuff I don't, and that's good because he has a friend like me, but he should also have a friend like you too, Y/N."
"I don't want to be his friend," you mumble.
"Yeah," Robin says. "I figured. But I don't think that's a confession he should hear secondhand."
You look at her, stunned. She's such a clever girl. You hope she treats Steve well.
"If you two are—"
"We're not," she says, like this is a regular explanation she goes through. "Steve and I are friends. Steve has crashed and burned with every single date since his fall from regency. Steve is the best person I've ever met."
"Yeah, I’ve heard. You and Dustin are his biggest fans."
Robin snorts. "Trust me, I'm not proud of it."
You shake your head. Your eyes feel hot.
"This town is so shit," you say.
"Yeah," Robin agrees. "It really fucking is. But I'm not asking you to give this town a second chance. Just him."
"Why are you trying so much?" you ask. "You don't even know me."
Robin shrugs. "No, but you're the one person Steve used to be friends with who's not an asshole, and I think us non-assholes need to band together."
"I can sometimes be an asshole."
"Me too. So are those little dweebs. How about calling ourselves the Semi-Assholes Club?"
You laugh. "We'll get jackets."
"With partially drawn butts on the backs," Robin says with a giggle.
You look at the tape in your hand.
"Does Steve like John Hughes?"
"He does. He's a total sap for those. He thinks he's in his own coming-of-age movie because he's delusional."
He sounds perfect. He sounds like the friend you loved.
"I did want to watch this one," you say.
"It won't hurt you to," Robin promises.
You suppose not.
December 1984
You don't believe the whispers. All week, the rumor mill spins tales of Billy Hargrove finally pushing the King off his throne. There's no way he'll show his face, a girl at the adjacent lunch table astutes. I sure as fuck wouldn't.
Steve Harrington is a loser. Steve Harrington got dumped for Jonathan Byers. Steve Harrington may as well be dead, and on and on.
Every line gets you angrier. A boy who sits behind you in chemistry taps his pencil like he always does. Tap, tap, tap.
Halfway through class, you snap at him to quit it. He does, but not without a tinge of embarrassment. You’re so angry this year. Angry at your loneliness, angry at the unfairness of said loneliness. You might’ve done this to yourself, and that fact only gets you angrier.
You see Nancy Wheeler in the hallways with Jonathan Byers, and the confirmation of that rumor should make you happy. It doesn't.
A week later, most of the excitement has died down. Everybody’s moved onto the next big thing, which is to deduce who fucked in Vice Principal White's office. One look at V.P. White, and it had been decided that it can't have been White himself.
You can't care less. Once upon a time you might’ve laughed about it with a friend, but you don't have any more of those, and high school is bullshit with or without them. So.
Steve walks in twenty five minutes into the period. Mrs. Kaplan gives him a downright beastly glare and demands to know where he had been.
"I'm sorry," is all he says. "If you give me detention, I understand."
There are a few snickers that rub at an old hurt, one that had flared up whenever somebody dared to make fun of your best friend. It doesn't bother me, he'd said, and you'd known it was a lie.
It bothers me, you’d replied, and Steve had hugged you tight.
Mrs. Kaplan seems more stunned Steve hadn't swaggered past her like a peacock escaped from the zoo and lets him go sit down without a fight. He takes the only empty desk, two rows across from you. You stare. You can't not.
Half of his face looks like it was mashed in a garbage disposal. It's purple and a sickly yellow. His eye and lip are still swollen. You stare and stare. You feel queasy.
Billy had done that. You're so angry. You think you might never get past this grief, this loss of a once permanent fixture in your life.
No one wished Steve a happy birthday this year, you realize out of nowhere.
You stare and stare and stare until Steve looks right back. You're blindsided by thick guilt, like blinking through a milkshake. And then the familiar curl of anger returns because why the fuck should you feel guilty? You aren't the one who fucked everything up, who mascerated this good thing. Steve did this to himself. Steve deserves to walk the halls alone. It's Steve's fault.
But when you look at him, at his raw wounds, at his bruised knuckles, you know that he already believes he deserves every punch Billy Hargrove gave him.
You hate Steve Harrington. But you really wish you'd been there to drive him to the hospital.
Now (And Forever)
The tape sits buried in your drawer for three days. You don’t know what Family Video’s return policy is, but you hope you’re not racking up late fees. You doubt name dropping Dustin will work again.
It’s Saturday when you decide to watch Pretty in Pink. You remove the video from its sleeve. An envelope falls out.
The front has your name printed in squished, loopy script. You remember January at Steve’s house, a stack of thank-you cards courtesy of his mother awaiting the Harringtons’ sign-off. Steve’s hand would cramp and you’d take over while he made grilled cheese for the both of you. Love, The Harringtons, and there was no love in that house, but you think maybe Steve loved enough to make up for it.
Hi, the letter begins. I hope you’re good. Robin told me you’re going to Hawkins State.
That’s fucking amazing. I’m so proud of you. Are you still writing poetry? I liked that one you wrote about the birds who shared a branch and kept each other warm. I still have it in my notebook in my room.
I’m sorry for the other night. I’m sorry for every night since freshman year, honestly. I’m kind of a dumbass, but you know that, so it doesn’t really excuse anything. I think I’ve actually lost brain cells since we drifted apart.
You crumple the corner, suddenly hot with anger. Who keeps telling him he’s dumb? You want names.
I didn’t forget you, you know. I got scared and I thought maybe I could ease into it, but then you recognized me and… well. I don’t blame you for running.
Anyway. I’m talking too much about myself, when there’s nothing to say. I’m really sorry about what I did, or, actually, what I didn’t do. Somebody told me I was living on autopilot, and that it wasn’t really living at all. I think it was you.
I’m not living on autopilot anymore. I woke up. And I realized that you’re the best fucking thing that’s ever happened to me. I love Robin and the kids and this little family that has apparently invayd invaded your life too. Sorry about that. They never leave and they eat all your food. Good luck.
But I miss you. I always have.
Shit happened these last few years that I’ll tell you about one day, if you want. I’d rather not, though, because you’ve always been the paranoiac (like that one? Robin said it’s an SAT word) of the two of us and I feel like this would just make you even more of one. But I will tell you, if you want to hear it. I want to tell you everything. I want you to tell me everything too. Like we used to.
I want you to tell me how college is going. Who the annoying jerks in your classes are so I can go beat them up (kidding). I want you to stop by to rent movies so I can lend them for free and you’ll yell at me about taking advantage of fre friendships.
Fuck, I miss you. It’s always been there, bubbling below the surface. I never stopped missing you. I never stopped loving you. I’m sorry I didn’t write this sooner. I know you said writing is how we express things we can’t say. You were right. You always are. Can’t believe I forgot that.
It’s okay if you don’t want to be friends. I mean, it hurts, but I respect it. I understand. Most days, I can’t believe people can bear to be around me. But then I hear your voice in my head, telling me that most people are shitheads and that I’m golden and. Well, I don’t know if I believe that, but you were right that most of the people I surrounded myself with were shitheads. Except you, of course. And then I went ahead and fucked that up.
I’ve been working on finding the non-shitheads of the world. I think I’m doing pretty well. And I wrote this because I realized that while I will probably end up buried in this fucking town, you’re going to do something incredible. And nothing incredible ever happens in Hawkins, so I figure you’ll be far away when you do it.
I didn’t want to miss this chance to write things I never said. So here they are. And you can do whatever you want with them. You’ve always been the best of the two of us. I trust you.
You should watch Dirty Dancing. You’ll like it. I did. I’ll see it again if you want. I’ll watch anything with you.
Did you know there’s another Bond movie coming out in the summer? We could watch that one together too. If you wanted more time to decide.
Sincer
Lo
Your friend,
Steve
You don’t bother ejecting the tape. You run all the way to the bus stop, Steve’s letter in hand.
You have to see him. No other thoughts register except that one. You have to know if Steve wrote these words because he can’t say them or because you won’t listen.
It isn’t too late when you get to Loch Nora. The neighborhood is dead, which is weird. Steve’s house looks frozen in time: his parents’ car isn’t in the driveway. You wonder if they’ve ever come back since you’ve been gone. You wouldn't be surprised if the answer is no.
There’s a tarp over the pool. The gate is locked with a chain. You can’t sneak in through the fence like you used to. Not that you would. You don’t think strangers can sneak through pool gates.
You knock on the door three times. And wait.
Steve’s car is in the driveway, a duller burgundy than when he first got it. There are a few scratches in the paint. No longer a prized possession. Maybe well-loved instead.
The door swings open.
Steve says your name like a prayer. You swallow and steel your spine.
“I got your letter,” you say.
“Oh.” He rubs the back of his neck. His hair is damp like he’s just showered. It curls around his ears. Waves of want hit you.
“I don’t want to be friends,” you continue before he can speak. “I don’t—I can’t do that again.”
Steve’s mouth draws into the saddest frown you’ve ever seen.
“Okay,” he says softly. “Thank you for telling me.”
“No.” You shake your head. “No, that’s not—I don’t mean it like that.”
His brows knit. “What?”
“I…” You pull out the letter and wave it. “Did you mean it? Do you love me?”
“Yes,” Steve whispers. It’s like a shout in the quiet street. “I meant it.”
“Like a friend?”
“If that’s what you want.”
“Will you love me like a friend forever?” you ask.
“Always.”
You squeeze your eyes shut.
“I love you as something more,” you blurt, watery. “I have for a long time.”
You hear the door shut. This is it: your heart on the line, all for nothing—
“Then I’ll love you as something more back,” Steve says. “I’ll love you any way you want me to.”
And he holds you the way you’d held him so many times. You inhale and wrap your arms around his neck. You’ve got an iron grip around the letter. Tears slip down your cheeks.
“I missed you,” you confess.
Steve nods against your shoulder.
“Yeah,” he says, and it sounds a little wet. “I missed you too.”
“You were wrong,” you say into his neck.
“Hmm?”
You pull back to look at Steve.
“Incredible things do happen in Hawkins.”
“Oh, yeah?” Steve smiles, cheeks blotchy. “Like what?”
“We found each other again.”
#steve harrington x y/n#steve harrington x you#steve harrington x yn#steve harrington x reader#steve harrington fanfiction#steve harrington fanfic#stranger things x reader#stranger things fanfiction#stranger things x you#stranger things imagine#stranger things fic#steve harrington imagine#steve harrington angst#friends to lovers#strangers to lovers#friends to strangers to lovers
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PAC: Dirty (20+) and sexual letter from your future spouse❤️🔥
Disclaimer: 20+ mature. This is about a sexual letter from your FS. This is what they wanna say to you sexually. Or what they wanna say to you in the bedroom.
Pil1:
“Hey, Sexy… let me clear my throat for a minute. It's so sexy how your mentality touches my spirit. I will be getting the turn-on by your mentality. Yes, I'm a sapiosexual. The way you speak. I wanna fuck the brains out. A lot of my kinks will destroy you. I wanna put my fingers in your mouth. Juice! Mouth of yours. Damn! You are so fuccin sexy. Damn! Our angels bless us together. A lot of dirty thoughts going through my mind. I wanna tie you up in leather rope. So your skin has Wales. I mean fuccin Wales. Damnnnnn! You’re such a goddess. I ain't type man/girl or unicorn isn't gonna beg for you. Come to me why don't you? Give Daddy a 😘. Wait a minute? You are on the phone while I'm talking to you. Hmmm 🤔 how rude is that? Fuccin get on your knees right now. Don't fuccin look at me? I want you to stay on your knees for 30 minutes! I don't care if your knees start to hurt. Hush you! Tell me something about yourself, I want you to slowly turn me on. (groaning) You're sweet soft voice makes my knees weak. Mmmm, let me cumshot you in your mouth 👅 while I kiss you tasting my cum. You're a freak, baby. Me too, I bite you softly, while you mean underneath your sexy breath. You fucking like it when I put my big fingers in your hair and pull it softly. I'm the best you ever had! Ooh, touch my dick. I'll choke you hard while you gasp for air 💨. Breathe baby breathe. Look into my eyes while you gasp for air 💨 I can see in your eyes 👀 what you want. But I'm gonna let you go to bed soaking wet now. Hush, not another word. Be careful now you better sleep with one eye open.”
♏️♏️♏️♏️♏️♏️♏️♏️♏️♏️♏️♏️♏️♏️♏️♏️♏️♏️♏️♏️♏️♏️
Pil2
“My Empress, I'm going to be very gentle with you. I'm kind of guy/girl, and unicorn 🦄 I love to make love to you. I'm a dirty talker but I'm gentle. I'll try to behave myself. Can I touch you? May I lay up next to you? Am I am supposed to be in bed with you. I'm simp. I know it's funny how simpy people get made fun of. But I wanna mommy take care of me. Okay, let me tell you what I want you to do to me. I want you fucking slap me. Keep on slapping me until my face is red. Then spit in my mouth 👄. Do I like that? Fuck yeah, I do. It turns me on. I want you to dominate me. I'll shut the fuck up. Yes, Mommy. I've been a bad boy. I touch your stuff without your permission. Now what you wanna do to me? I'm trying so hard to behave myself but you pushing it. I'm about to pick your ass up and slam you on the bed. Yeah, I can see that sexy smile on your face… Mmm, oh you fucking like it when I talked to you that way. I've tried to make sure you behave yourself. Stop, you pissing me off! Lay on the bed, it's my turn. You’ve done enough. Turn over! I bend over and let slap that ass. Rough you up and down, while you scream 🙀 my name. We can give each other a code. Oh, momma, you're bleeding. Are you okay? Let me suck the blood off your lips 💋. I promise I won't hurt you. But don't worry I'll be gentle. Come lay on my lap.”
🌸👅🌸👅🌸👅🌸👅🌸👅🌸👅🌸👅🌸👅🌸👅🌸👅🌸👅🌸👅🌸👅🌸👅🌸👅👅🌸👅🌸👅🌸👅🌸👅🌸👅🌸👅🌸👅
Pil3
“I’ve wish upon a lifetime with you in it. Okay, no love talk here. So I’ve heard that you’re a freak ain’t you? Do I make you feel special? I better fucking do. I like what you wearing right now. Mmmm… is that Chanel perfume I'm smelling 👃. Smell so sweet on you. I can't lick that off you because that's poison. Sorry, I'm bad at dirty talking. So why don't you teach me? I'm a shy person. But I'll try to make you as wet as possible. Nah, just kidding already am. I'm soaking too from working out a lot. Wanna hop in the shower together? I wanna know what's your body like when it is wet. Push me against the wall, bite my neck. I want your teeth sink into my skin. Mmm. Yes, right there is the spot. Tell me how you want to be touched, soft or rough and hard. Because I'll do it both ways. Haha 😂. I'm sorry I'm a goofy ball. I wanna role-play with you. So how about you and I start fucking in the shower 🚿 and then let's take it to the bedroom floor. You have such beautiful breasts. Special those beautiful nipples. Damnnnn! That shift fucking beautiful. I love your body. I don't if you are big, small, or wide. You are still an Empress in my eyes. I know dirty talk. Can I tell you something I fell for you the moment I saw you?”
#pac reading#tarot reading#free tarot reading#tarot cards#fs pick a pile#pick a pile#divination readings#love reading#intuitive readings#pac reblog
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Love reading for singles💋
Hello, my dear oysters 🐚
Hope you doin' well.💎 There's some PAC mainly for singles but if you're just looking for the love, it can work for you as well. There are some messages about your meeting, first date etc...
Please let me know if anything resonated, I always love your comments.
Now, take a deep breath and... shall we sea??🌊
Pile 1. ❤️
Why haven’t you met the one: Your current goal is independence, right now you’re mainly focused on building up your position. There are a lot of things on your mind right now, but you kinda like it that way? Or it’s more like you need to keep yourself occupied all the time lol. You have a lot of determination and strength to do what’s right, but it keeps you far from creating connections. + You haven’t always been very strict and conscientious towards duties (other things have always come first). BUT now things are starting to shift. You were put in a situation or position that requires a lot of responsibility out of you.
What should you do to attract your partner: Rest. Sleep. Allow yourself to feel, to have desires about your future and to act on them freely. It’s YOUR future. If you know what you want, others wouldn’t have to guess what’s on your mind. So allow others to see you without your shell. I also see a man kneeling in front of a woman. Let them worship you as you deserve, you’re the goddess.
The first meeting: Opposites attract. You two may be quite opposites and this will be very much visible in the circumstances of your meeting. For example in the place where the dress code applies, one of you would be wearing a bright outfit or stand out from the crowd. But both of you will have the energy of „I’m on mission”. Also, one of you follows the law, while the other prefers to break it lol.
The first date: 333 Longing and desire. Some anxiety at the beginning, but there will be strong attraction regardless. Some bold action might happen rather quickly if you know what I mean heh. And again, there will be a duality of energies - strong confidence on the one side and some uncertainty on the other. First kiss is very likely to happen! And even something more. As for physical things I think there won’t be any awkwardness, you will be exploring each other’s bodies at ease. Even if you're not usually that kind of person who would have sex on the first date, everything will feel just right with them. Also, if you have some body insecurities (I’m getting especially stomach and breasts) - that person will show you how beautiful you are. Gosh, they are so… empowering. loVE IT.
Etceteras: They might call you princess or something like that (some nickname for sure). For some of you, after the unearthly first date (and night??) some circumstances will keep you separate for a short while and it might be tough for you. I’m seeing both of you talking to yourself „It was just one date, I need to chill out duh. What is wrong with me??” *than checking phone and opening messages for 45782 time*. And for some of you - important words: Winning. Golden crown. Sooner or later. See me through. Neck kisses. Honoring. „Winning you will be a damn price itself.”
Pile 2. 🖤
Why haven’t you met the one: „Just chill for a minute, ok?” Lol. Maybe you’re too quick to judge people, you try to rationalize everything instead of listening to your gut. Definitely an overthinker. You feel the pressure to change your life or whatever (looks, personality) every damn week and it’s tiring. I’m hearing „take a deep breath, look around you - you’re safe”. You probably keep some distance between yourself and the world around you and the change of perspective might do some good to you, you will see.
What should you do to attract your partner: Omg, this message is really damn strong - connect to your inner child! For some reason your inner child wants to communicate with you, they have some important message for you. Also, you might feel better if you would openly embrace your sexuality, your passion - in your mind and soul as well as your body. Don’t be afraid to express yourself and your feelings through your body.
The first meeting: Very romantic scenery, maybe evening, night time - it will feel like a proper date (for some it might be on the roof of a tall building or sth like that). Even if your first meeting will be purely accidental or happen to be in a very crowded place, the moment when you notice each other, will make you both feel like it’s just the two of you in the world at the moment. It’s giving me the Darcy and Lizzy moment when they danced and the whole world disappeared for them, gosh, that’s sooo beautiful.
The first date: 11. One of you might come late and feel awful about it. This date, I feel, will take place after a really hard day at work or after a tiring week - perfect distraction from everyday problems. You might be surprised how good it felt to just talk with this person, how smoothly and charming the meeting and conversation went. You will be bewitched and you as well will be casting a damn spell on them. I’m seeing dark dresses and dark lipstick. Quite an elegant place. Expensive alcohol. Butterflies in the stomach while putting-on a straight face. But surprisingly open and sincere conversation. You may dance around each other (or literally dance!), and flirt and all, but the connection will be serious af.
Etceteras: Spider and the full moon. For some of you, the decision about starting a relationship will be at odds with your rational mind, but the answer in your heart will be one big fat „YES”. I’m also seeing that one of you might debate with themself about whether to start something serious, but then see the picture of the other person and any doubt immediately fades away. „It’s you”. After this everything is developing quite rapidly between you. You know each other so well! In this relationship: seduction and courtship will last. ALSO: this person might come across as rather sophisticated and official but they might be really kinky in bed. I’m also hearing: „hypersensitivity to details” and „This person will be the one you want to look at all the time.”
Pile 3. 🧡
Why haven’t you met the one: 8 You party a lot lol. You also know how to take care of yourself, you don't need others for that. You have a lot of self-assurance and I love that for you. However, coz you prefer to focus on the part of your life which is profitable, stable and gives you joy - you can’t really see whenever you lack something. Maybe it’s just this quite timid voice in your head that tells you that you want more. You keep your circle of friends tight, you do not expand it. You may come across as fearless, but change is always scary af. And your potential to create is enormous.
What should you do to attract your partner: Share your sun. You can make the first move or just tell yourself mentally that you’re ready for something new. You are able to balance your life and make place for somebody unique. I also wanted to know what your person loves about your body and they said „everything”. Everything, it is. You have every right to feel powerful and confident. I think your person will be at first very much attracted to your look, your demeanor and then they will fall in love with your mature soul and fresh joyful mind. Sorry for the cliche, but just be yourself. And don’t be afraid to show your loneliness to others - ultimately, we are all alone.
The first meeting: Winter or spring solstice. You will meet „the one” when some cycle in your life comes to the end and something new will start to grow. Of course it will be scary, even though the change will bring you a lot of abundance and strength. There may be some trip or vacation journey. You will have to make a responsible decision that will likely affect your future (and that’s itching you). I'm seeing the garden (nature for sure!) - that might be the place where you meet them. Air heavy with tension. The connection is so strong and all-consuming it might even start as a one-night stand (in your case rather one-day and night stand lol you can’t keep away from each other). But both of you will be motivated to go further no matter the possible complications. You both will be equally engaged in this relationship.
The first date: Your first date might be the extension of your first meeting. Having breakfast together the day after something like that. Picnic, nature again. Roses. Peace and harmony. Trees around you. I think both of you will quickly think about the next step. Your date will be very emotional and I think it might be very new for you to be that open with someone you barely know. Very much thanks to your lover's energy - you will be revealing your darkest secret lying naked in another person’s arms. Sealing your union.
Etceteras: Spiritual connections. Soulmates. Eros and Thanatos. Tree again! (Nature might be important for both of you). You might get married very quickly if that’s what you’re into. You and your person have a very mythical bond, your conversation might sometimes get very deep and philosophical. I think you will get to grow old with each other. Your energies are quite similar - this strange combination of steadiness with complete chaos and impulsiveness. Strong love and friendship.
#tarot reading#pick a card#love#pac reading#tarot#intuitive#pac tarot#pick a card tarot#love reading#tarot witch#romantic couple#pick a picture#pick a photo#pac#relationship
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VINTAGE PAC MAN PHONE FROM THE 80S VINTAGE PAC MAN PHONE FROM THE 80S
WHAT THE ACTUAL FRICK I LOVE AND NEED THIS
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#tumblrtop10#loool of course powerfuck stands above all others (tho mind you this is th enon powerfuck version#love that the pac man phone is in there the rest is all scifi and brba
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When was the last time you saw a phone booth? For me, it had been awhile. The phone company flew in and ripped out the one near me as soon as they got the go-ahead. Inefficient, they said. Expensive, they said. Dangerous, they implied. Now, I have to drive for a couple minutes to find a payphone. Does it work? I dunno. I don't carry quarters anymore, not since the good doctor cured my Pac-Man Fever with a double-fisted dose of electroshock therapy.
As a kid, the humble payphone was my gateway to the rest of the world. It was calling my parents collect to come get me from the pool. It was prank-calling the local pizza production palace to see if their refrigerator was running (it was not; I saved a lot of cheese from spoilage, an act which in some faiths would give me a get-out-of-Hell-free card for light-grade homicide.) And, above all, it was the place where Mr. Stereotype, the nice guy who ran the Italian restaurant down the street, would tell me to wait for a call and then run to tell him as soon as I got one.
Now, it's become just another disappearing technology in my lifetime full of disappearing technology. There has been a lot of that in my life: my grandmother did not experience the rapid market-driven obsolescence of technologies such as "shovel" and "bicycle." Soon, I will resort to becoming a coot who barks out ridiculous, long-lost names of the past: Beanie Babies. Motorola StarTac. Flooz. Those around me, who did not engage in such a world, will at least have the experience of seeing payphones in classic works of film, and realize that at least in this one case I should not be remanded into one of those nice Danish senility clinics, where you get to interact in an idyllic fake village that has no cars.
What's the next thing to be pulled out of the public square during my lifetime? Nobody knows, but if I had to guess, it's probably going to be trees. I never trusted those leafy bastards, and they've been around for millions of years. Ripe for disruption. Put 'em all on the internet instead.
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{SFW}
loser ellie;
❀ it’s so obvious she has pizza socks , like TONS of pizza socks. especially teal ones .
❀ she likes silly little songs about poop (as a joke tho , obviously)
❀ she just has a whole bunch of National Geographic books about dinosaurs that she reads when she can’t sleep
❀ she has a Pac Man alarm clock but she NEVER wakes up to her alarm because she sleeps like a bear. (she also has like 7 other alarms on her phone that she never wakes up to)
❀ her favorite cookies are oreos. i don’t know why , i just know that they are. and if she sees something in a cookies n creme flavor , she gets it.
❀ her favorite movie is Madagascar 2 , and her favorite character from it is Moto Moto because according to her they are ‘so much alike’
❀ she loooves going out to get froyo
❀ her favorite planet is uranus because she thinks the name is funny and she likes the color of it
❀ she uses this as an reaction pic:
when you guys are texting and you say something that shocked or surprised her
❀ she blushes so hard when you kiss her or tell her that you miss her
___________________________________
(any interaction is very highly appreciated<33)
#ellie the last of us#ellie tlou#ellie williams#ellie x reader#the last of us part 2#the last of us#tlou#tlou part 2#hhayden222#ミ★#ellie williams tlou#ellie x fem reader#the last of us part ii#the last of us part two#tlou ellie
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that one time tubbo called pac a dilf 😵💫
okay wait…
young teacher tubbo and dilf pac comes to collect his son from class…..tubbos got such a crush on him and maybe he asks pac to stay back to talk about richas’s behaviour but it turns into something else….
you've come to the right person (guy who is obsessed with pacbo)
Tubbo wasn't quite sure how he ended up with this job. He had never in any of his years considered being a teacher of any sort. But after he adopted his daughter, he needed a second job. Mechanics weren't paying him enough. Luckily there was a daycare nearby that was hiring. It was a more difficult process than he had expected, much like the adoption. But he got it.
His daughter stayed with her “other father”. Tom's name was always said in a sigh like that. They were young and stupid and drunk and Tubbo didn't know what he was doing when he signed the stupid paper that Tommy had slid him across the dirty bar table.
Tommy, and unfortunately Molly, found it hilarious. They both insisted on watching Sunny while he was at work. Thankfully Sunny loved them. Tommy would do her hair in braids. It was something they did when they were younger. Tubbo remembered sitting in fields with Tommy's older cousin braiding his long hair.
As soon as Tommy saw Sunny's thick 3C curls, he stayed up two nights in a row researching and watching video after video of how to do cornrows and other braids in her hair.
Molly often sent him videos while he was at work on Sunny prattling on while Tommy listened intently, braiding her hair as best he could. As much as Tubbo joked about divorce and threatened, he was glad to have two people he loved watching his child and caring for them so well.
He closed his laptop with a sigh, rubbing his eyes. He was the last one there, his co worker had to leave because she had to pick up her own child but they needed someone to watch the singular child whose parents were incredibly late.
Opening his eyes, Tubbo stared down the young boy in front of him.
He was a Latino boy, probably around 7 or 8 with an oversized yellow jersey that he wore every single day. He was staring at Tubbo with large brown eyes. It was almost unnerving but he was a cute, decently well mannered child.
Tubbo remembered the day he joined the daycare. A man with shoulder length brown hair and a singular white streak through it brought him in and explained how the boy had been born without part of his leg but was still very capable of movement with the prosthetic his Pai had made him.
The owner of the daycare had nodded, assuring the man over and over that his child would be well cared for and that they would make sure the other children didn't say anything nasty as children tended to do.
Richas, Tubbo remembered, as he continued to stare down the boy. His name was Richas.
“Hello,” he said.
The boy grinned. “Ola!”
Tubbo laughed at his enthusiasm before picking up his phone to attempt to call the boy's parents once again. It rang and rang, like it had three times before click.
“Holy shit, we are so sorry. Our schedule got all mixed up and we didn't know who was supposed to pick him up today. Fuck!”
“Hey, hey,” Tubbo said calmly. “It's okay. I'm here with him. Get here whenever you can.”
The voice on the phone that Tubbo didn't recognize took a few deep breaths. “Sim, sim, of course. Peqi is on his way already. He should be there any minute.”
Tubbo smiled at Richas who bounced up and down excitedly, trying to climb up the front of the desk to reach the phone. “Sounds good, Mr…?”
The voice laughed. “Just call me Mike yeah?”
Richas made the saddest noise possible and Tubbo's heart melted. “Wait, before you go, I think he wants to talk to you.”
He removed the phone from the side of his ear and carefully handed it to the boy who cradled it with both hands and held it up to his mouth. “OI, PAI.”
Mike's voice came through quietly. “Oi, Richas. Você está sendo bom?”
“Sim, sim,” the boy sang happily. “Eu sou bom.”
“Bom menino. Pai Pac will be there soon okay?”
“Okay, okay.”
“Eu te amo.”
“Eu também te amo.”
The phone clicked, ending the call and Richas handed it back to Tubbo with a smile. Not even five seconds after the phone was back in his hand, the door slammed open. Standing in the now open doorway was a frazzled and incredibly attractive man.
Richas ran over, bounding easily into his arms.
“Richarlyson!” the man cooed, swinging him back and forth in his arms. He met Tubbo's eyes over his son's head. ‘Thank you’ he mouthed.
Tubbo was almost too stunned to nod but he managed to as Richas's father slowly lowered him to the ground to step over to Tubbo.
“I have to sign him out, yes?”
Tubbo nodded, still speechless. He cleared his throat and slid the sign-out sheet across the desk. “Yeah, uh, yeah.”
The man, Pac, from the signs of his scribbled signature, smiled blindingly at him, his son clinging to his leg.
Tubbo noticed at that moment that Pac had a near identical prosthetic to his son. “You match,” he said before mentally slapping himself. You don't just fucking point out a man's prosthetic, no fucking wonder you're still married to Tommy.
But Pac just laughed softly. “We do,” he said softly, rubbing the top of Richas's head. “He is very clearly my son.”
“Are you his biological father?” Tubbo asked. Holy fucking shit, shut up you fucking idiot. He is so tired of you already, why are you asking so many questions?
Pac just laughed softly again and the twist in Tubbo's chest felt like falling off a cliff. “Sim, yes, I am. I was the one who gave birth to him.”
Tubbo stopped himself from asking any questions about that. He knew better than that at least. “That's really cool.” He tried a smile and felt so awkward.
“Thank you,” Pac said. “And thank you for watching him past time. I know you probably have places to be.”
Tubbo brushed him off with a wave of his hand. “Oh don't worry about it. My daughter is more than happy to spend more of their time with her ‘other father’.” Out of instinct, he raised his hands and made quotation marks with his hands.
Pac raised an eyebrow curiously.
Tubbo flushed. “A, uh, friend of mine. We got drunk married and now my daughter considers him her other father.”
Pac laughed. “No spouse of your own then? One that you're in love with anyway?”
Tubbo flushed darker. “Ah, no. Just my husband and his girlfriend.”
“Mmm,” Pac said, leaning over on the desk. “Good to know.”
Tubbo froze in his spot as Pac's eyes, big and brown just like his son's, stared into his soul. He gulped before clearing his throat. “Yeah, uhmm, yeah.” The heat of his face was nearly unbearable.
Richas gently smacked his dad on the leg. “Oi, stop that.”
Pac leaned back, holding his hands up with an innocent expression. “What?? What?”
The little boy glared at him with no heat. “Pai Mike told you to stop that.”
“Well, Mikey isn't here right now is he? And he also has no control over my life.” Pac turned back to Tubbo and grabbed the pen again. He motioned towards Tubbo's arm which he held out willingly.
Quickly the man scribbled a number onto his arm, his grip strong and warm. Tubbo felt dizzy.
Pac dropped the pen with a smile and a wink before grabbing his son's hand. “Call me yeah?”
Tubbo stared in disbelief, red as a beet. “...yeah,” he said softly as Pav happily bounded out the door, his son berating him in Portuguese.
“Tommy,” he said softly when he got home, holding up his arm. “I think I got hit on.”
#pacbo#qsmp shipping#my writing#fanfiction#q!tubbo#q!pac#q!sunnysideup#q!tommy#molly is also there#q!mike#and also cellbit is mentioned but not by name#i started writing and then i couldn't stop so here's this LMAO#dilf!pac au
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Vinnie & the Car-shop
It was a hot summer day, Mid-july and and I was taking my Car to work. I woke up and I was not feeling well today, my head hurt, I was tired and hungry but I needed to work so I could afford rent and have food on my table.
I sat in the car, I got the AUX and put on some music from my regular playlist. The playlist is around 10h long so I have some songs to shuffle through.
As I was driving on the highway my car started to make this strange noice, I was in a rush and needed to hurry. I continued to drive even with the strange noice but the more I drove the more the sound got worse.
I picked up my phone and called my boss " Hey Joe, I'm sorry but my car just broke down on the Highway. I might not come in on time today, but I'm making it up to you" I heard my boss laugh a little " Hey man, it's okay, take the time you need and be safe while driving on the 40 highway. "
I hang up and called my local Car-shop and they send a car to pick my truck up. They come and I get a ride to the car-shop.
I walk in to the shop seeing a young man, im his early 20's, he can't be much younger then me, sitting on a box with his face in his face.
I go up to him and start talking " Hey man, what's up? How's it going " I asked to he polite and to see if there's anything I can help with.
" Hey man, I don't know, I'm having trouble with this thing over here, I don't know how or if I can fix this thing " the young man, who I now can see is that one tiktoker... what's his name, Vinnie hacker I think.
" Okay man, give me that thing over there " Vinnie gives me the screw and I show him how he can twist this and do that " Also, my fingers are getting dirty can I Barrow your gloves real quick " I ask him.
He gives me his gloves and I start to work on the car, and a bit later I feel the place getting hotter " I'm so sorry, but it's just so hot, I need to just take my shirt off" I said, throws the shirt and start working.
As I'm working I can feel my hands heat up, but I can't take the gloves off, my hands start to cramp and I can see them grow. My arms began so gain muscles and I can see a few, not a few alot of new tattoos for. My shoulders get bigger and my pecs too. I can feel my nipples getting hard and touching them feels really Nice. I felt something that felt like a punch to my stomach and I can see a pac of abs start to appear, a hard sixpack of Washboard abs.
I feel my face starting to heat up, my jaw cracked and got sharper, my eyes burned and my eyebrows grew bushier and my hair suddenly grew a bit longer, and blond. I'm usually not blond.
" Hey vinnie, wasn't your workday over 30 minutes ago? Why are you still here?" The owner comes up to me " I'm sorry I didn't hear you, what did you call me?"
He just looked at me and laughed " Vinnie you're always such a jokester " I didn't really understand him, but if I needed to leave then I would have to get going..
I went to the Bathroom before closing and that's when I finally saw what he meant. I was really vinnie, but how? And where was he now? But my mind started remember things, everything in my mind as Vinnie's memories.
" Okay I look really good, even better then before, I think I can get used to this"
I laughed and left the shop
Hey, I'm back, I wrote this story last week after trying to get out of this writters block I have had for like a month. I'm okay with this story not being the best. Just wanted something out and to post.
#celebrity tf#body swap#celebtf#transformation#gay#male body suit#malebody swap#male shapeshift#body switch#vinnie hacker#tiktok#cars#noah beck
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Okay, so you know how when you travel a lot you usually have that one random, mostly pointless item that just stays in your suitcase for no apparent reason? I present to you: Team Red's Random Suitcase Stuff!
CARMEN: A deck of playing cards, kept in her carry-on. A pickpocket's hands always like to be busy, and Carmen busies hers with a deck, just shuffling them over and over, dealing herself a round of solitaire if there's time and a convenient table (and yes, she cheats even when playing with herself; it drives Player nuts because there's literally no reason to do that!). Or, if the sibs or Shadowsan are up for losing, a game of poker or blackjack or what have you. She taught herself a couple of tricks, too, a simple oil-and-water or force, and has rightfully earned herself the title of Really Cool Sorceress among the kids in her mother's orphanage.
IVY: A car hobbyist magazine. It's an old one; she's read it cover to cover, even the boring stories, and it's practically falling apart, but she hates not having *any* reading material more. She keeps meaning to replace it, but just hasn't gotten around to it.
ZACH: A bag of cheese puffs "for emergencies." It's probably expired, but, eh, everyone knows those dates are just suggestions.
PLAYER (during his gap year traveling with Carmen): A Gameboy Advanced complete with game cartridge (always charged; he's no slacker). Yeah, he has some games on his phone and knows how to pull up Pac-Man and Minesweeper on Google, but there's just something about a Gameboy that makes it better for unwinding in the hotel. Plus Zach and Ivy love taking turns on it; many a hotel night has been spent with the four of them (because Carmen's not about to be left out) piled on a bed crowding around whoever's turn it is and providing commentary.
SHADOWSAN: Nothing. He is orderly and disciplined and knows how to keep his belongings in their proper places; he does not have anything like that.
(he's lying, because in a little-used pocket there may be a polaroid photo of Carmen, Zach, and Ivy from that time Ivy found a camera in the closet under the warehouse stairs and wanted to see if it worked. If fell in there completely by accident, and he's been meaning to ask Ivy if she wants it but....well, he's been busy. He'll say something the next time he sees her...if it comes up.)
BONUS:
JULIA: A book. Specifically a (dense) nonfiction work about English medieval life encompassing the early, high, and late middle ages. She's read it a few times, but in her defense it's a very compelling read.
("Bah! Of course you would have a book, Miss Argent, filled with facts and things." "What's wrong with a book?" "It is predictable. Now, my suitcase: one would never guess I'm carrying-")
CHASE: Mints.
("These have an expiry date of 1997." "So? It's my lucky roll." "That is over twenty years ago. I'm not sure you should keep these. They can't possibly be safe to eat." "Always paranoid, Miss Argent. They are perfectly fine, see- MON DIEU!!!")
#carmen sandiego 2019#carmen sandiego#shadowsan#zach#ivy#chase devineaux#julia argent#player bouchard#my writing#in which i write
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