So Arizona Launched An “education Hotline” That Allows “concerned Parents” To Report “””critical

these two keep getting gayer and gayer with each other. that’s it, that’s the post.

Thank you for documenting my campaign from the following accounts:

@sar-soor @heba-20

@90-ghost @soon-palestine

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I love you all 🙏🙏♥️🌹

I am Mohammed Almanasra, 32 years old, married, and a father of three children: Abdulrahman, 6 years old, Sarah, 4 years old, and Lina, 3 years old.

My story began with the loss of my parents and four of my sisters who were bombed and lost their lives along with their children after the events of October 7 and the severe war on Gaza. Now, my wife, children, and I are displaced, without parents or siblings, living with our little cat that we embrace among us.

Recently, I moved to the south of the Gaza Strip, fearing for the lives of my children. We left behind our memories and our new home, for which we had not finished paying the installments, in addition to losing my job. Currently, I live in a tent that does not protect me from the heat of summer or the cold of winter, and without the minimum necessary livinng basics including water, food medical care, clothe and even bedding .

gofundme.com

Donate to Save Mohammad family and children to escape from the Gaza, organized by Mohammed Almanasra

I am Mohammed Almanasra, 32 years old, married, and a fath… Mohammed Almanasra needs your support for Save Mohammad family and children t

I suffer from a chronic asthma and severe attacks from tightness and an extreme allergy in the ear and I need medicine that are not available, or very expensive .

Under these difficult circumstances, after five attempts at displacement and narrowly escaping death from the bombing, I am trying with all my might to protect my family, the most precious thing I have.

My dreams were shattered, and my house was destroyed, and I found myself living in a tent no larger than 4 square metres. My work turned from a tailor to a street vendor in order to barely buy a few crumbs of bread to feed my children.

Look at what happened to my children because of the intense heat and the insects that thrive in the summer season. Every day, I take them to the hospital to treat them due to poisonous insect bites. I implore every kind-hearted soul to help me protect my children.

My son, Abdul Rahman, has a deep passion for playing football and is a devoted fan of Real Madrid. He always dreamed of playing football at his school, but the war prevented this dream from coming true.

Where are you, Real Madrid fans ?

Help Abdul Rahman achieve his dream.

Every donation will make an enormous difference in helping me save my family.

I feel very sad and embarrassed to ask for help, but I have no other options left. I know that this request is difficult, but I also know that there is still humanity and living consciences and I believe in miracles.

Your support during this extremely difficult time will give us hope in the midst of devastation and despair.

If you have any inquiries or questions, feel free to ask me, please!

To everyone with a compassionate heart,

To all who understand the essence of humanity,

This is a message from my innocent children, who trust that their words will reach everyone who truly understands the meaning of childhood.

We cry out to you, asking you to feel our sorrow and pain, and to extend a helping hand to us in this time when we are in desperate need of your mercy and compassion.

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Hello,

My name is at the top of the list. Please donate and share my story 🙏. My old account has been closed, and I beg for your help in promoting

@communistchilchuck 🫶🇵🇸

@nabulsi

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Sincere greetings & thanks

Mohammed & the family

! EMERGENCY COMMISSIONS !

my dad's business isn't faring so well, so i'm opening up writing commissions to try earning some cash. you can commission me through ko-fi (linked here). info on commissions will be posted underneath the cut, but the same info is also available on the commissions tab of my ko-fi.

note: if you would like to simply donate to ko-fi, that would also be highly appreciated!

Commission Instructions:

I will need a detailed description of what you are looking for. This includes the character(s), the fandom, a specific scenario or concept, and any themes that might trigger you.

!!Note!! I do NOT write: explicit suicide, drugging, dd/lg, self-harm, omegaverse, underage, incest, smut I DO write: soft yandere, non-yandere, x reader content, horror, slight gore, oc content, oc x reader content

Fandoms I write for:

Genshin Impact

Twisted Wonderland

The Arcana

Tokyo Manji Revengers

MXTX Novels (SVSSS, MDZS, TGCF)

Kpop (SVT, TXT, ENHYPEN)

Please specify if I am permitted to post the commission to my blog. If so, please also specify if you would like to be tagged as the commissioner or simply attributed as anonymous.

Standard Terms:

For oneshots, minimum waiting time is a week; maximum is two weeks. For match-up's, scenarios, and headcannons, minimum waiting time is three days; maximum is a week.

The commission is strictly for personal use. Under no circumstances do I allow it to be used for commercial purposes.

About my refund policy, once the commission is finished and sent, it is no longer refundable. When commissioned, I will be sending a basic outline of what I will be writing. This will be sent to the commissioner to discuss any changes they would want to add to the piece. This is to ensure that there are no additional changes mid-writing that could lead to extra charge.

Communication and Delivery Method:

Email: simoneroswell@gmail.com

and/or

Tumblr: @myuni-moon

Choices:

Match-Up

A match-up with one (1) character from one (1) fandom based on the description of yourself that you will give me. Here's a brief outline you can use as a description:

Name

Description of appearance (skin color, hair color, etc.)

Sexuality

Description of personality (hobbies, likes, dislikes, habits, etc.)

Fun-facts about yourself (optional)

Other details that you would like to disclose (general age, favorite aesthetics, etc.) (optional)

Scenario

A short piece of prose centered around a specific concept or scene, generally ranging from 200-500+ words but not exceeding 1000. Only 2 characters maximum from one fandom can be commissioned in one scenario.

Headcannons

A bulleted list of ideas that contribute to a concept. A short scenario centered around the ideas will be added after the bullet points. One (1) character from one (1) fandom is the default.

Oneshot

A long piece of prose centered around certain ideas or theme that contribute into a bigger picture. Usually ranges from 800-1k+ words. Only one fandom can be commissioned.

More Info:

Only five slots will be available at a time. Once all five slots are filled, commissions will be closed until all five slots are free.

(wip?) ~<3

(wip?) ~<3

burn me down to ashes - steve harrington & billy hargrove

plot: shy, socially awkward little you, the resident nobody of Hawkins High, is caught between a rock and a hard place in the span of a day. the rock being Steve Harrington, the guy you've had a crush on forever and who just might like you back, and the hard place being Billy Hargrove--the guy who just can't seem to keep his eyes, or hands, off you.

cws: bullied!angelface, angel has low self-esteem/intrusive thoughts, 80s movie references, crushes, smoking, slight violence/roughousing, jealousy, drinking, angel makes friends, nicknames, angsty fluff but it goes up from here, non-canon character appearances, fem reader.

a/n: vol II coming soon! this is a longer fic i cut in half ♡

word count: 5.4k

You've never really thought there was anything wrong with you, at least not until you got into high school. The last four–five, now, since you had to repeat your last year–have been the most hellish years of your life.

You've been knocked around, had your books thrown in the fountain, your locker vandalized, your desk kicked by people walking by…every which way you could be tortured, you have. Even graduation served to be an opportunity for people to get their licks in, one of the girls that tortured you the most sticking her foot out when you went to walk the stage and tripping you in front of the whole school, resulting in a bellowing chorus of mocking laughter that you're certain you'll hear in your nightmares for the rest of your life.

But there's a life you've dreamed of, one you know you would never attain in this lifetime, but you fantasize about nonetheless. One where you're maybe not popular, or even liked, but one where you're at least protected. His name reads out in the scribbles at the margins of your notebook, and the smell of his cologne sticks in your mind and draws your thoughts to him whenever you pass by the scented section of the department store. Your protector, your saviour, at least in your mind–it's none other than Steve Harrington, the most popular guy in school and the one guy you know you would never have a chance with.

For one, he's widely adored–you wouldn't be able to work your way through all his fans if you tried, and most of them are far prettier, smarter, and more popular than you anyways. Two, Steve himself is objectively gorgeous, at least to you, and there's no way he would go for a…for someone like you, someone that looks or sounds or smells like you. Three, you don't even have friends, much less a relationship, so you really would have no idea what you were doing in the first place. Four, you can't even work up the courage to talk to him, or even look in his direction, even though you sat right next to each other all through chem class in your senior year and he asked to borrow your textbook on several occasions. And you now see him at Family Video at least once a week to rent a new movie. That's pretty much the extent of your interactions, and that's where the dream stops and real life slaps you in the face.

But it's on that day that you step into the store and hear excited chattering that you don't realize that might just change, Robin and Steve exchanging words and gestures that look like they're trying to agree on something.

"Welcome to Fa–oh, hey! You're just in time!" Robin waves to you as you walk in, dropping the corporate greeting the second her eyes meet yours. She's always been so nice to you, kind in a way you feel like you don't deserve, but it would be impossible to try and convince her otherwise so you simply go along with whatever she says. You're not really sure how else to be friends…if that's even what you are. Maybe, maybe not. It's a little difficult for you to figure out, even though you desperately want to call Robin your friend. She leans over the counter on her elbows as you walk up, and pats her hands on it as she bounces on the balls of her feet, clearly excited about something.

"You wanna go to a house party with me? Harrington here is chickening out last minute, and I really don't want to go alone."

"I'm not chickening out! I just don't want to hang out with a bunch of dickheads I knew in high school." Steve huffs, certainly because knowing them they've been arguing about it for a while before you stopped by, and he looks so good today, even though you say the same to yourself every time you see him. His hair is a little crazy from him running his hands through it, but it still looks good, fluffy, like every sway of his locks is intentionally beautiful and not accidental.

"I've never been to a house party before! I want the full, uninterrupted experience." You're not even thinking straight when you're distracted by him, and find your mouth running before you can catch it.

"Me neither, um…it sounds like fun, though. I'll go." You say rather meekly, some part of you wondering perversely if Robin's lips will stretch into a smirk as she reveals that she was just teasing, and how dumb do you have to be to think anyone would actually invite you to a party?

"Really? Sick, I don't feel so alone now!" She does a little victory dance, celebrating her triumph with a few fist pumps and the sound of her shoes clacking against the linoleum behind the counter. Safe. Everything is safe, now, you're sure, and you take a deep breath to try and steady your thumping heart.

"Well…okay, if you're both going, I'll come with you." Steve tightens his arms, still crossed over that broad chest that you've only ever seen in its full glory during those basketball games you've snuck out of class to go watch.

"Wow! Changing your mind on a dime just cause Buttercup is coming–I feel like chopped liver, seriously!" She's joking, but it still flusters you. "Buttercup" is one of the few nicknames they've dubbed you with, on account of how many times you've rented out The Princess Bride since they've started working there. As far as you know you're their most frequent customer, so it's somewhat of a game for them to find movies you haven't seen that you might like–and to be brutally honest, it's about the fullest extent of any friendship you have. "Alright, alright, Stevie, you can come keep us safe. But don't you dare be a buzzkill!"

Robin turns back to you after prodding Steve in the chest, and her eyes are brighter than they were before. Even if the realization of what you just agreed to is only hitting you now, and the anxiety is slowly starting to creep in, the fact that you made her so happy by saying yes is all that's keeping you on your feet right now.

"Just come by after we close and we'll drive you there, okay?" You nod in agreement, and that's when Robin climbs up and slides herself across the counter, dropping down beside you on the other side to wave you over to the rows of shelved movies. "Now, what movie are we going with this week? Romcom, horror?"

You place the VHS on the counter, just as pristine as when you picked it up. The Breakfast Club is always a classic for you, you'd watched it a couple times over the week–you always tend to see yourself in Ally, while you see so much of Steve in Andrew, which might be why you've watched it so many times with your pillow hugged to your chest, your eyes glued to the screen. Somehow, though, the sight of John parading around the library tables always stirs something within you, something that reminds you of someone you know, but can't put your finger on.

Either way, you shake the thought from your head as you follow Robin down the aisles, her steps more of a skip as she saunters towards the newer tapes on the New Release rack. She picks up one after the other and chitters on about each one, which ones she thinks are bogus and which ones are diamonds in the rough–but your gaze keeps drifting back to Steve at the counter, his hips pressed against it as he leans back and steadies himself with those smooth, toned biceps, and fiddles with the tape you dropped off…and you have to force yourself to look away, to not meet his eyes when you feel them turn towards you, and focus back on your friend as your mind runs wild with thoughts about tonight.

When the time comes, it's very clear when you move through the front door that you don't belong here.

Hours after picking up your newest movie-The Neverending Story–you're trailing behind Steve and Robin with a new dress you picked out weeks ago and a bit of makeup smeared awkwardly over your eyes. You've never been sure how to do it, but Robin made a point of commenting on how cute you look when you slid into the backseat of Steve's car, so it at least calmed you down a little bit before you got there.

Bodies are packed in everywhere, laughing, talking, drinking. Further into the house you spot a living room down the hall, where the music is loudest and people are dancing so close together they almost look like one full unit. People are stumbling to and from each room with solo cups filled with coloured drinks, most of them drunk already–and you find yourself trying to stick close to Robin, except that she and Steve are hurrying down the hall to go talk to someone they know, and beckoning you after them. There's no going back now, especially since you'll have to walk home if you try to leave alone. And after what happened last time you did so, you just have to swallow the lump in your throat and start putting one foot in front of the other.

You move stiffly down the hallway they had weaved through, people leaning against the walls and moving in groups with their friends to get more drinks or migrate towards the dancing area. Alone, you feel like too many unfamiliar eyes are drawn towards you, you know you must stick out like a sore thumb–but there's one face you recognize, and it immediately makes you regret ever choosing this hallway to work your way down.

Billy Hargrove leans against the wall by his arm, jacket open to reveal a white wifebeater and a packed chest that must be an absolute nightmare to face in a fight, many of which you know he's been in. He's got such a reputation, despite not being in Hawkins for too long, and he was even present at the infamous Starcourt Mall fire–that in itself is evident by the burn scars you can see peeking out from the sides of his leather jacket. Some girl is flirting with him, or trying to, because he looks like he's not paying much attention. You don't even realize it's the girl that tripped you at graduation until you get close enough to sidle past them, but that's unfortunately close enough for Billy to lock eyes with you and stand up off the wall.

"Hey, pretty girl. I don't think we've been introduced." He turns completely towards you, fully engaged, and holds out a hand to you with half-lidded eyes. Thinking about it for more than a few seconds, which is about how long it takes for you to realize that he's actually talking to you, the thought that he must be drunk crosses your mind and your shoulders tense a little bit. He frightens you, and you know he has a temper even at the best of times–you don't even want to know what he might say or do if you piss him off. So you shut your mouth and tremble as you place your hand delicately into his, hoping nothing terrible comes out of the conversation, especially when the girl's eyes are burning a glare into you. Vanessa, you're sure her name is, even though you've tried so hard to forget it. "Billy. You can call me whatever you want, though."

"Hi…uh, I think we've met before." He squeezes your hand, not hard, just an inkling of pressure. The desire to reach out and grab those words to shove them back into your mouth is so strong, but you can't, and your chest tightens so much you might just collapse right then and there. But Billy, on the contrary to what you think he might do, just smiles enough that you can see a glimpse of those pearly teeth past his plush lips.

"I can't believe that," He winks, his thumb rubbing the the heel of your hand before he finally lets it go. Is he…is this what flirting really is? It feels like it's too much like the movies, but you've really got no frame of reference since you have no experience yourself, so you truly have no idea. Including whether he's being facetious or not. "I would've remembered a gorgeous girl like you. Or, more like, I wouldn't have forgotten you. No matter how hard I tried."

Now you're stuck. Dreaded small talk. You can't believe he's doing anything but trying to fuck with you, especially with Vanessa standing right next to both of you, so that's just how you end up thinking about it. But you would be such a liar if you thought his comments didn't raise a heat to your face that must be obvious even under your touch of makeup.

"Um…I, uh…we were…calculus partners.." You're trying to get it all out fast so you can try to catch up to Steve and Robin again, but the words just strangle themselves when they leave your mouth, much like any time you try to speak to someone you're not comfortable with.

"No shit," He breathes. "I do recognize you." He says it in a way that feels more sincere than anything else he's said leading up to this. "You've really changed since then. Really…filled out that figure. Or maybe this is the first time I'm seeing you in clothes like that. You look great."

Billy's eyes roam unapologetically, drinking you in from feet to forehead and every spot in between. It doesn't feel right to be looked at in such a way, it feels perverse–not like how a partner or a love interest would do it, but more like the creepy older men that try to pick you up when you're walking home from work. Even though Billy is far from that, and he's actually a little nicer than you thought he was, it just feels wrong for you to be looked at that way. Because you're not pretty, and you're not special. You're not the type of person that people look at like they want to see you naked, and treasure you while they do so. Not like how Billy's looking at you now, until something seems to strike him that makes him finally pipe up.

"Wasn't that the class that the ginger kid pulled your hair in?" He's right, and it couldn't be more humiliating for him to remember that above all else. Sam Dunner had grabbed your ponytail in third period calculus and yanked it hard, hard enough to sting, and earned himself a cacophony of laughter when you shrieked that you felt, at the time, would be the soundtrack to your entire life. Billy had been out that day, maybe sick, maybe late–but regardless, he hadn't been there to say a word and you had always figured he wouldn't. Up until now, at least, when you nod and mumble a quiet "Yes", and his brow furrows.

"That reminds me, actually." Billy turns to the girl he's been ignoring up until now, her face lighting up when he finally looks down at her. You're surprised she's kept quiet up until now.

"Vanessa, weren't you the one that tripped this nice girl at graduation?" What he says, and the way he says it, renders you completely shocked. You could never imagine talking to someone like her like he just did, because you know she would chew you up and spit you back out for all her friends to laugh at. But evidently Billy is a lot different, because she starts visibly floundering with a stutter when he calls her out right in the open.

"Y-Yeah, so? It was a joke. It was just…in good fun." She recovers quickly if nothing else, and says it with smug venom flicking off her tongue, and you just want to disappear so that she never looks at you with that expression again.

"I think you owe her an apology, actually." He leans into her ear and says it so quietly, almost gently, that your eyes widen as you wonder whether you actually heard that right.

"Are you serious? It was a joke, it's not my fault she got all upset."

"I'm dead fucking serious. Now, why don't you apologize, before I get really pissed off." The tension you feel between them would break a butcher's knife.

"O-Okay! I'm sorry, like…I'm sorry. Jesus." She mutters that last part under her breath.

"That was pathetic, but whatever. Get out of my face." She huffs in frustration but does as he says, pushing past you and knocking shoulders in a way that's definitely intentional–but for you, it's so much of the norm that it doesn't even really faze you. You also don't catch the harsh glare he shoots at the back of her head either, since it disappears as soon as you turn to look at him again and he's pulling out a cigarette from a pack with his teeth.

"You wanna puff, sweetheart?" He reaches into the pocket of his jacket to produce a lighter, but you're quick to shake your head as he cups a hand around the end and lights it up.

"N-No, I have to…get back to my friends. Um, thank you."

"Not a problem, princess. Anyone else gives you problems, you just come to me, mkay?" He winks at you over his burning cigarette, enthused over the way you trip over your words in front of him. You just nod, pseudo-politely, and move to take a step away.

"That's my girl." He breathes out a puff of smoke as he says it, eyes following you until you've moved into the main living room and presumably out of sight. It's a little dizzying when you finally get there, the familiar thumping beat of Love Shack resonating through the walls as you shuffle into what feels like a whole other world.

"Buttercup! Thought we lost you back there." Your one and only friend's voice rises above the crowd as she spots you, and she strolls over to rescue you from the rest of the party. Robin's smile lighting up when she takes hold of your hand soothes you at once, and you breathe deeply as she pulls you along to a more open area of the house where Steve and two other people are standing and chatting.

"Oh, hi! Is this your new friend?" Once she turns to look at you, you recognize both her and the guy standing next to her immediately. The brunette is Nancy Wheeler, one of the most popular girls when you were in school besides being Steve's ex-girlfriend. And standing next to her–

"I know her," Jonathan Byers cuts in, a soft smile tweaking his lips as he waves in your direction. "She and I were in gym together freshman year."

It does come as a surprise that he remembers, but then again, if anyone would, it would be Jonathan Byers. You two were famously bad in your class, constantly being overlooked by the more athletic students and criticized for your pathetic performance in any and all sports by the coach. But your saving grace had been that you were terrible together, even though you were both shy and socially awkward freshmen who could barely talk to each other, much less anyone else. He's the only other one that was really reaching the same level of an outcast as you in school, aside from the infamous Eddie Munson, whom you've only spoken to a handful of times when you've seen him at Family Video but has been one of the few to treat you with familiarity and kindness….two things you rarely find with people your age.

"Really? I feel like I should remember you…did we have any-?"

"No, uh, no we didn't." You don't have the heart to tell her you sat behind her in biology for two years straight, because she seems like a nice girl and you know it'll just make her feel bad and turn the conversation into an awkward mess. So it's easier just to avoid it. And it's already difficult for you to imagine her and Steve…it just hurts, even though it shouldn't. If they didn't last, what chance would you ever have?

"Aw, well, it's really nice to meet you! Steve's told me so much about you, so has Robin. You're a movie buff, huh?"

"I-I…yeah, I like movies."

She's so pretty that it's honestly kind of intimidating, not to mention you're stood in the same circle as not just four other people, but four very cool and charismatic people. You've got no chance, especially with Steve being one of those four, and so you know you just want to say as little as possible to minimize the inevitable embarrassment. But it soon becomes very apparent that you're just destined to be the center of attention.

"Like? She's seen like, every movie in existence." Robin backs you up, maybe intentionally or not, and the way she gushes about you makes you want to hide…but not in the bad way. It's flattering, genuinely flattering. Not something you're all that used to, at all. "She just dropped off Breakfast Club today. Classic."

"Ooh! Who's your favourite?" Nancy looks back at you, sincerity in her eyes. She really is so pretty.

"U-Um…An..Andrew…I like Andrew." That's not entirely a lie, but it also serves as a convenient enough answer to avoid drawing suspicion.

"I, uh, I like Ally." Steve pipes up from nowhere, shoulders shifting as he readjusts his jacket.

"I'm surprised you're not a Molly Ringwald fan, Steve." Jonathan pipes up, and Steve shakes his head with a laugh, but his eyes stick to yours and they don't flicker away this time. And he nibbles his lower lip between his teeth, bites down–oh, he bites down, and suddenly nothing that anyone else says makes it to your ears as you stop and stare. A warm feeling stirs within you, like the words you want to say are bubbling up to your throat–

"C'mon, let's dance! I love this song!" But before they have a chance to come out, Robin's tugging you by the hand over to the dance floor, leaving the other three looking on at the two dorks who have no idea how to function at a party. Robin pulls you to the center of the crowd and giggles as you shyly stick close to her, allowing her to take your other hand too and move them around as the two of you bounce along to the rhythm. You don't really know what you're doing, and neither does she, but the more you realize that nobody is really looking aside from the two of you at each other, it slowly becomes easier and easier to just let the beat move you and a smile to work its way on to your face as Robin twirls you around and laughs free-spiritedly. Song after song comes and goes, you occasionally get a glimpse of Steve watching you through the throng of people–and he looks like he's smiling. Some small, selfishly hopeful part of you prays he's smiling at you.

When you finally tear your eyes away and turn back, Robin's gone. Glancing around to try and find her, you only then distantly remember her speaking in your ear just loud enough over the music that she was gonna go get a drink, but you should've been paying more attention–without her around, you feel small, and scared again. Someone bumps you hard with their elbow and you squeak at the pain in your side, someone else cursing at you for bumping into them in the process, and once you have a chance after that you're slipping through the crowd to get out of the most concentrated area of people. And when you do, you still don't see her, not over by the kitchen or out by the front door.

You can't spot Robin over the crowd you just wormed your way out of, can't really see anyone with so many people in one place. Somebody jostles you as they shove past, and in the heat of the moment, the only option you have is the guy standing just a few feet away, who just pushed his way past a few people in his way–the one you've been too mortified to try and talk to one on one since you were fourteen years old.

"Steve?"

"What's up?" He's strangely alert, focused completely on you like nothing else about the party exists.

"I'm gonna walk home, I…I just need to go home."

"Already? Are you alright?" It's a little shocking to hear that, and to see how concern spells out across his pretty features as he reaches to touch your arm–your arm.

"I'm…I-I'm fine, I just…it's a little too much for me. I don't.." You can't get the words out. I don't belong here. They feel too painful to say in front of someone you admire so much, and you pull away from his touch despite wanting it so badly.

"Aw…okay, wait by the back door, I'll go tell Robin and I'll drive you home."

"It's fine. I'll walk." You're saying it as you're already heading towards the open back door, one that's sliding glass that leads out to the grassy backyard, because you'd much rather dart around the side of the house than fight your way back through to the front door. Plus, you seriously need a breath of fresh air right now. You've got no idea that he's hurrying after you, and has a full view of what's waiting for you when you get out the door.

The second you step out into the cool, airy night, the sloshing shhhh sound of running water hits your ears–and then it hits the rest of you, a spray of freezing cold water crashing into your whole body and catching you completely off guard. The grass beneath you is slippery, and you stumble back and hit the ground hard on your spine, and they're still spraying you with what feels like a fire hose of water with a cackling symphony of laughter until Steve's voice rises above the crowd.

"Hey! Knock that shit off!"

The tidal wave stops and leaves you shaking only when the garden hose drops from your ex-classmate's hands, and that's because Steve's grabbed hold of it and ripped it from his grasp before shoving him, his face so red with anger like you've never seen before. But it doesn't stop the laughing of the crowd gathered around, all of them clearly having waited for the perfect victim to come out to pull their little prank–and each and every face you recognize as someone who at one point tortured you in school.

It takes you one try, then another to get up, still shaky and cold from the water and trying not to slip on the wet grass–but when you do get to your feet you stumble out of the lit area of the yard and around the side of the house, tears welling in your eyes as they laugh even louder and jeer at you with mocking insults that make the sting of humiliation burn even harder. You just want to run as far away as you can, away from the house, the people, from Steve–he must think you're such an idiot–but you hit another wall, although this one catches you in two strong arms before you fall again.

"Hey–princess? Why are you soaked?"

It's the last person you want to see right now, the most likely guy in the entirety of Hawkins to mock you for your current state. But Billy's got confusion and concern written all over his face even so, his voice laced with something a little more…strained.

"Tell me what happened." The cigarette he must have come out to smoke dangles haphazardly from his lips, but he lets it fall and mindlessly grinds it into the dirt when he actually notices it does. Otherwise, his eyes are completely centered on yours.

"I wanna go home," You sniffle.

"Are you crying?" He pulls you into his arms, uncaring as to the fact that you're drenched and freezing. He seems more attentive towards warming you up. And he is warm.

"Who did this to you?"

"I d-dunno his name…"

"Describe him. Where is he?" You point weakly towards the back of the house, still sniveling like a crying baby. You can hear a voice in your head telling you to suck it up, that you're just trying to get attention. That you deserved that.

"Wait here." Whatever words you want to say can't squeeze around the lump in your throat. You just turn your eyes down as Billy steps around you, gait heavy and purposeful as he marches towards the back and collides with someone, yet doesn't stop.

"Watch it, man–hey! There you are," Steve's voice reaches you, but doesn't, at the same time. You don't even turn to look, just stand there staring at the grass and feeling the tears fall and hit the ground as he hurries over and moves in front of you to grip your shoulders.

"Oh, god, honey, I'm sorry. I'm so sorry." You brusquely wipe the tears away with your sleeve, and soon you have your arm pinned to your chest as Steve tugs you into his arms and squeezes you so tight against his shoulder.

"Shit, you're cold–come on, let's go inside and warm you up-"

"No!" You push against his chest, and he leans back but doesn't let go, hands loosely holding you still. Your voice is strong but your touch is weak, at least too weak to get away from him. "I don't want to, Steve! I don't want them to laugh at me! I'm fucking sick of it!"

He's struck speechless. You've ruined it all, just like always. Just like you and everyone else in the world knew you would. Stupid, you're so goddamn stupid.

"Then…Then let's not go through the house." He pulls you closer to the side of the house, near the edge of the roof–a sturdy, box-shaped pressure meter serves as the perfect thing for him to step up on, and when he pulls you up with him he clasps his hands together once he's close enough the the edge of the roof jutting out from the first floor. "Here, step on my hands. Climb up–but be careful!"

You don't have the energy to argue with him. And you don't want to subject yourself to anyone else seeing your tears, since you're sure that more of your bullies will be lying in wait near the front of the house to hurt you even worse. But sometimes, you hate how stubborn Steve can be, even as he's lifting you up to climb on to the roof and out of the way of more danger. Once you're kneeling on the tiles, he hauls himself up alongside you with a few groans of effort, before carefully moving towards the window that overlooks the rooftop and yanking it up and open. He ushers you to climb inside and drops inside after you, and once it's closed, you find yourself standing in some stranger's bedroom.

"Steve, we shouldn't be-" He hurries past you and turns his head to raise a finger to his lips, his hand shooting out to twist the lock to the bedroom door. And to make doubly sure that you won't be encroached on, he takes the chair sitting at the desk against the wall and props it underneath the door handle, ensuring that it's properly snug before he sighs in relief.

And now, against all odds, you're standing in a stranger's bedroom at a house party with Steve Harrington. Soaking wet, cold, and cheeks still tearstained from your outburst, wondering what in the world is going to come next–aside from more heartbreak.

did someone say cowboy caleb?

quick caleb doodle

Sock horse saga continues

Imagine trying to explain stuff about our time to them to, like smart phones, they'd probably just think you're crazy. Would probably have dustin contact suzie to get more of an understanding what you're even talking about, especially since she knows what internet is

OK, ellie, hear me out, I'm on a run with this idea of like an angelface, who somehow accidentally Timetravled all the way back to the 80's, from our time, (could easily be something to do with gates that somehow keep opening?) And ends up waking up in the woods that apparently all of em live by for some reason, say like eddie or Steve find you, lost, confused, scared and dirty cause god know what ever hell you saw and were in before you finally appeared in hawkins in the 80's.

They end up bringing you in and kind of gather everyone to just try and get things figured out. Get your name, information like where you're from and if you happen to know what even happened.

You end up explaining that you're from a completely different time, in the future none the less, I mean, how hard could it be for them to believe? They've fought and seen stuff far less likely to be real than some random time traveling person, right?

They get to know you, get a little attached and obviously dread of the idea of you having to go back to your time and maybe try and convince you to stay, but ultimately understand that you have to go back

UNLESS its the yabdere fruity four. Not only keeping you trapped with them in whoever's house, I'd assume steve's and would also switch between his and eddies but they're also keeping you from going back to your own time. Like, listen, I've been obsessing a little bit over your yandere fruity four and this idea of some accidental time traveling angelface has been on my mind and I think its mostly cause I started watching time wasters, but like, just having to help them fight something from the upside down again just to get home is just my current brain rot and it makes it better with yanderes. I'm sorry I'm like this oml 😭

hey felly how does it feel knowing you're literally making me feral, this is SUCH GOOD SHIT-

like, super-traumatized angelface stumbling out of a gate in Hawkins after being chased through one by some weird....dog....thing, with horrible leathery skin and way too many teeth and that piercing screech. and just your luck, you keep running through the forest without knowing whether or not you're still being chased, not knowing if you're still in that horrible other world, until you crash right into somebody and hit the dirt on top of them.

Steve, i feel like, wouldn't let you get up right away--he'd grab you by the arms and ask if you're alright, because you're shaking so bad and he can tell you must have saw something terrifying, and will help you up while trying to reassure you that it's okay. whoever you are, he won't let you get hurt. you remind him a little of the kids, his kids, in that moment, and he just hurries you back to the closest house with an arm wrapped tight around your shoulders to keep you close. there's no way you could fake terror like that, and he keeps a close eye over his shoulder, because he knows just what kind of things happen in Hawkins and he won't let someone else fall victim to them, if he can help it. especially not someone as cute as you, even with all that dirt in your hair and your face.

Eddie would be dumbstruck for a few moments, but when you scramble to get up with tears in your eyes and start running again, he chases after you until he manages to catch you. probably gets an elbow to the face or a kick to the shins when he grabs you and you start thrashing, crying and wailing for him not to kill you--but luckily he's pretty good at calming you down and promises he's not gonna do anything of the sort, he just wants to know why the hell a pretty thing like you is out in the woods so late at night? shouldn't you be at home, like, watching a movie or listening to pink floyd or something? and the look you give him when he says that makes him just as confused as you look, the "what's pink floyd?" even more so. and yeah, Eddie's not gonna let you wander around the woods when you're clearly an amnesiac or something--he's gonna take you home and let you clean up, without yet knowing just how much of this particular time you're not familiar with. and show you some real music in the meantime, while he calls the others to figure out what to do with you.

Reblog if you think asexuality is a legitimate sexuality.

I'm trying to prove something.