a fic prompt - Steve gets introduced to El and internally he's like 'guess ive got 5 kids now' :3
frICK this is cute thank u for this prompt omg
hopefully!!! i did okay!!! ahfsdlfkja
Steve finally properly meets Eleven three days after the fact, on a bright and sunny morning. It’s a busy day in Hawkins - people seem to be getting a head-start on holiday shopping early this year - but beneath all that surface-level hustle and bustle, The Party is busy with their own excitable rush.
(Inwardly, Steve winces every time he subconsciously refers to the group of traumatized humans he’s unwittingly become a part of as The Party. He really, really needs to stop spending so much time with Dustin.)
If their fellow citizens notice the fact that Hopper, Joyce, Nancy, Jonathan, and Steve have been driving back and forth along the same path over and over again all day today, they don’t seem to care. Dustin doesn’t seem all that bothered by it, either; he just chatters away into his walky-talky radio…thing in Steve’s passenger’s seat, pointing out various window fronts to his friends as they drive along ahead of them or behind them, oblivious to Steve’s occasional side-long glances. Every now and then Lucas or Mike will answer, usually in the form of an exasperated groan or else yelling at him to shut up, but Dustin is completely unperturbed.
It’s hard to admit, but Steve almost envies him.
At age 13, Steve was already obsessed with the social hierarchy in place at Hawkins Middle School. He knew Jessica Lang threw all the best parties when her parents were out of town and had already developed an uncanny talent for making the bottle land on her every time he spun it, thus quickly propelling him to the very top by the time they hit high school; all it took was earning his place on the basketball team for King Steve to be born. King Steve never showed that much excitement over any single thing. King Steve was cool at every possible moment, from the way he stood to the way he dressed to the way he styled his hair. King Steve was carefully and meticulously designed and was really a bitch to maintain.
He thinks with a faint smile that he really doesn’t miss that old stodgy monarch as he listens to Dustin fawn over some Star Wars toy on display in a passing window.
Robb’s powers manifest first, and dramatically - he has splitting headaches for a week and then suddenly, inexplicably turns into a direwolf at the dinner table
(Grey Wind is not impressed)
Jon is less than three months later, and with significantly less fanfare
He’s pyrokinetic and cyrokinetic
There’s a cyromage in every generation of Starks, and Catelyn is pissed, because it should be her trueborn Stark son spilling ice from his fingertips (Ned reminds her firmly that turning into a direwolf is a perfectly Stark-like power)
The pair of them and Theon (energy manipulator, with the easy arrogance that goes with that power set) run around Winterfell for a while stopping petty crimes and getting into a ton of trouble
“You can’t call yourself Kraken, Theon, that’s so lame” “You call yourself Direwolf” “I turn into a direwolf”
Jon goes by Elemental
They get caught eventually, because gods know none of them are masters of subtlety, and Ned wants to let them stew in jail for a while for being idiots but eventually bails them out
The Stark kids are firmly banned from any and all vigilante activity
Sansa’s an empath and she hates it - they hire a therapist specializing in mutants who calls her an empathic mirror. She mimics the emotions of the people around her and it’s hard as hell to control
She won’t learn for years that she can manipulate other people’s emotions as well
Arya’s a shapeshifter as well, but changes faces instead of forms
For a while she has to concentrate constantly just to keep her own shape, but she’ll be good at it eventually - years in the future she’ll entertain the next generation of Starklings with a new level of impersonations
Bran’s probably the most powerful, but the least in control. He’s precognitive and retrocognitive, but he can’t control what he sees (at least not yet)
They won’t learn it for a while, but he has the potential to be a reality warper as well, the most powerful since Brynden Rivers
It’s Rickon (super strength and invulnerability) who decides to follow in his big brothers’ footsteps and start superheroing around again
If Rickon is doing it, then Bran is doing it, and if Bran is doing it, then so is Arya (they go by Wildling, Greenseer, and Huntress, respectively)
They actually manage to be less subtle than their brothers, and have a tendency to spraypaint “THE NORTH REMEMBERS” on the nearest wall every time they stop a crime (Bran has a flair for the dramatic and Rickon has a flair for spraypaint)
They’re fooling nobody, especially Ned
Robb is a Responsible Adult, but Jon laughs and tells them all the best hideouts in Winterfell
Bran works comms most of the time (his powers aren’t great in a fight). Sansa will join him eventually, as Lark
Rickon and Arya are a hell of a team, and the local police want to hate them, but honestly it’s so much less paperwork when you don’t actually have to stop the robbery yourself so they don’t try all that hard to catch them
Just wanted to say I loveeee switchblade and thank you so much for writing it. I love your writing and all the prompts you do. Just wondering what you though about Neil having a nightmare that Andrew died and left him like his mom. Maybe some ooc comforting or just the hand neck thing reassuring Neil that Andrews right there he didn't go anywhere
aw, thank you, glad you enjoy my writing! little post-canon nightmare fic for you:
Andrew woke up to the mattress shifting as Neil levered himself out of bed. There was no explanation for where he was going – there usually wasn’t. Neil wasn’t as good with words as he liked to think he was, especially when he woke himself up in the night.
Andrew, who preferred silence anyway, waited until the aching urge to just close his eyes and sleep again faded, and then dragged himself upright. He grabbed his hoodie from where it was sprawled over the top of the dresser and put it on, folding his pack of cigarettes into the pocket before following.
The entire apartment was still dark, but the sliding door to the balcony was cracked open to let in the sound of the street below. Andrew went to it, ignoring the bite of cold air across his bare feet. He made sure his steps sounded on the floor as he walked.
Neil had folded himself down into the spot between the lonely outdoor chair they’d inherited from the last tenants and the railing, a black shape huddled in on itself. Andrew reached for the light switch just inside the door.
“Don’t,” Neil said roughly, hearing the tap of Andrew’s nails against the plastic.
Part of Andrew wanted to anyway – there was nothing for Neil in the dark and the cold. He didn’t because he could just make out the bowed line of Neil’s neck, curved down, the press of his arm to his scarred left cheek. This was less run-and-hide than it was reaching for control. And when it came to coping methods, Andrew didn’t have much of a leg to stand on, even compared to Neil.
He stepped out onto the balcony but didn’t get close, dropping the pack of cigarettes on the ground within Neil’s reach so the lighter inside rattled. Then he turned around, sliding the door all the way closed behind him.
He went for his sneakers, first, tugging them on. Then he pulled the duvet off of the bed and threw it over his shoulder. The cats both protested the rude disturbance as they were sent sprawling onto the mattress, but he ignored them. It was payback, as far as he was concerned.
Back in the kitchen, he made a mug of decaf coffee – white, no sugar – and one of hot chocolate. Any remaining adrenaline in his body from being so abruptly woken drained out of him through his hands as he went through the motions he could probably remember in his sleep.
They had a routine, these days. Andrew sometimes struggled with the idea of that. Tonight wasn’t one of those times, though.
The pack was in exactly the same place when he returned to the balcony, untouched, which meant that this was one of those nights. Andrew put the mugs down on either side of it, then took the duvet off of his shoulder and threw it into Neil’s lap.
He took a spot on the concrete on the other side – the balcony wasn’t that big, but it was enough that they both had their space like this. Once situated, he folded his mug between his hands and let the heat sear his palms a little. The sensation chased away the habitual desire for the taste of nicotine, the steady inhale-exhale of smoke.
Neil had told him about what that smell meant to him back in Andrew’s junior year, why he used it as his anchor after all this time. Andrew hadn’t started to pick up the relationship with nights like this one until months later, but he was familiar with the idea of a stimulus riding the edge of comfort and trigger. Neil knew that, too: that was why he was always so careful with his touch.
After a few minutes, Neil moved. The duvet rustled as he unfolded it from his lap and then pulled it around his shoulders. He reached for the second mug and held it up to his face, letting the streetlight-orange steam wash over him.
Andrew looked away, taking a sip of his own drink. It was too hot, but the sting was a contrast with the rich sweetness of the chocolate. Comfort, trigger – they were all the same to him.
Neil said, “Can you…”
He cut himself off, and then made a frustrated noise. No more talking for the man who lived for the damage his words-turned-weapons could do.
Andrew made it simple, the same way he always did. He shuffled closer, and put his mug down, and held out his hand to where the barest trace of light silhouetted Neil’s jaw. “Yes or no?”
At his murmured yes, Andrew touched his knuckles to the sharp line of it – damp to the touch – and then curled his fingers just this side of too firm about the back of his neck.
The sound he got in response was just a breath, shaking on the way out, written all over with relief.
Neil said, “You’re here.” It wasn’t quite addressed to Andrew, and it wavered between statement and question, but the way his eyes, just barely visible, flickered to him and away again was telling.
Andrew didn’t reply - his grip was his answer, anyway, unyielding as stone.
Apparently you're on a some "potentially triggering" list for Voltron lmao
ALREADY? Oh my god, legit ugly laughing right now.
I guess it’s because I said I ship shklance? I mean, klance is my first Voltron love, sure, but Shiro is hot af so if he gets thrown into the mix then I won’t complain. If any of my new followers have a problem with that, please feel free to unfollow.
Happy Halloween! It’s my favourite holiday, so here are some spooky reads.
Amityville Horror - Jay Anson The Historian - Elizabeth Kostova A Good Idea - Cristina Moracho There’s Someone Inside Your House - Stephanie Perkins From Hell - Alan Moore The Occult, Witchcraft & Magic: An Illustrated History - Christopher Dell
avpd is not calling the credit card company back even though someone has clearly stolen my number and charged me for things because i just can’t do it i can’t pick up the phone i don’t want to listen to them and to talk and to deal with this