When U Get This U Have To Put 5 Songs U Actually Listen To, Publish. Then, Send This Ask/tag 10 Of Your

🎶✨ when u get this u have to put 5 songs u actually listen to, publish. then, send this ask/tag 10 of your favourite followers (non-negotiable, positivity is cool)✨🎶

Thank you @coolestjoy30 for tagging me!!!

I don't really have that many favorite followers, I only really got 2, so um @lesbians4munson @coolestjoy30 (you don't have to do this again if you don't want to) and anyone else that follows me if free to do this if they want.

shout out to ace and aro kids who are constantly bombarded with the opinion that sex and romantic love are directly connected to living a happy life.

any time that white old lady in the tumblr ads changes position I get scared I feel like the next ad is going to be a picture of the couch empty and I'm going to start seeing her around town

So, like, I made this kinda fast so it might not look the best but I tried my best. Here is Steve Harrington dressed up as Steve from Blue's Clues. Hope you like it.

Steve Harrington is actually Steve from Blues Clues

Steve had always felt that he never understood the idea of a home. 

He remembered, in fourth grade, his teacher asking the class what “home” was. Tommy Hagan had said home was where his bedroom was, Carol said that it was where her clothes were. Other kids said that it was where their parents were, their house, where they didn't have to be scared, where they were happy. Steve didn’t have an answer to the question, because what was a home? What was his home?

He thought about his bedroom, maybe, like Tommy, that could be his home? But yet, he couldn’t help but feel a twisting feeling in his gut at the thought of his room. With its beige walls with brown stripes, matching curtains, plain bedsheets and a plain desk covered in books that he could barely understand, he didn’t think that it was home. His dad threw away all of his toys a couple of weeks ago, all but a basketball and a football, so there was nothing there that he loved. Why would Tommy feel at home in his bedroom? Steve hated his. Was that wrong?

Steve didn’t have any clothes that he liked, so that couldn’t be his home. His mom always bought his, telling him to wear them without complaint. He didn’t complain. Really, he didn’t! He just never liked the shirts she bought him, they were too plain, and the pants he had to wear were too itchy. 

Home was where his parents were? His parents had been going on longer trips, did that mean that his home was where they were traveling? Was that his home? But, he’s never been there! That didn’t make sense, did it? 

And, Steve was always scared at his house in Loch Nora. It was so big, filled with empty space, echoing hallways that sometimes creaked. Anything could jump out at him, and his dad was never home to stop the monsters from crawling out from under his bed! How was he not supposed to be afraid? 

And, he knew for a fact that he wasn’t happy there. He hated going back to his house. He would rather spend his time playing with Tommy and Carol in the park, or in the school gym, or even at someone else’s house. Never his own. 

So, what was his home? Was it somewhere far away, where his parents were? Was it his strange bedroom that felt like it was meant for someone else? Was it the clothes he hated, the empty hallways that never ended? He didn’t know. He didn’t know. 

And, that day, in fourth grade, Steve Harrington realized that he didn’t have a home, and he probably never would. 

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At 20 years old, Steve finally realized what a home was. 

Home wasn’t a place, it wasn’t a bedroom, and it certainly wasn’t parents that didn’t care for him. 

Home was a girl who never pushed him away, who loved him for who he was, who was his platonic soulmate, the one person he never knew that he needed but was so, so thankful to have.

Home was a child genius with curly hair and a ballcap, spouting nerdy science facts every second, who teased Steve endlessly but cared for him like a brother. 

Home was a young girl with a heart of fire, one who had been through too much pain and suffering but never gave up, who lay in a hospital bed, waiting for rescue. 

Home was a group of people who cared for him, who had fought in countless battles with him, beside him, who gave him names that meant more to him than they knew. Babysitter. Dingus. Friend. Hero. 

Home was an army of over a dozen people, each with their own weapons, their own strengths, their own weaknesses, their own passions, their own struggles. 

Home was a family of misfits, every single person cracked and bruised from one thing or another, but still standing strong, holding each other together in unity, in strength, and in courage. 

And that’s how they stood now, standing on the edge of a red gate, a gray sky above them, weapons in hand, an enemy below them. 

Steve now had a home. And he would do anything to protect it. To protect them.

Vecna didn’t stand a chance.

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Author's note: This was written in an attempt to get me writing again (I haven't had the motivation to write in a week or so...so I needed to get it back lol). So, I'm not sure how good this was, but I hope that you all enjoyed it! It should be posted on AO3 soon!

Max woke up to most of her family and friends surrounding her, doctors instructing her about what was wrong with her, what the next steps were, and what would never heal. She woke up to a fixed world, a dead Vecna, and a strange peace. She also woke up to a letter. 

Her mother had given it to her solemnly, saying that it was sent to their trailer two months before Max woke up. That she hadn’t read it, and kept it in good condition until Max could read it. But Max couldn’t really read it, not yet. Her vision was blurry, and her fingers couldn’t hold anything. 

Her mom asked if she wanted to hear it read aloud to her, but Max disagreed. She would wait until she could read it herself. 

Weeks later, as well as a lot of doctor’s appointments, she finally could. A part of her wished that she had read it sooner, but there was no turning back. The words, written in pen and in disjointed handwriting, meant more to her than anything, and she couldn’t help but read it over and over again. 

Dear Max, 

Hey. It’s Steve. 

If you’re reading this I guess that you’re awake. Well, welcome back, Mayfield. I wish I could give you a big hug and tell you that I’m proud of you, but I’m obviously not there. I'm proud of you, though. I’m proud of you for surviving, for making it through, for staying strong. Not many people could survive what you did. You’re one of the strong ones, that I’m sure of. 

You’re probably wondering why I’m not telling you this in person. As I’m writing this out in my horrible handwriting, I wonder the same thing. But, I guess that some things just can’t be fixed. 

I just…I couldn’t stay, after everything that happened. I disappointed everyone. I ruined everything, and I couldn’t even save Eddie. I didn’t deserve to be in Hawkins, at home. Everything I saw, everyone that trusted me, everything reminded me of how much I had failed. How much I failed Eddie, Dustin, Nancy, El, Lucas, you. So, I left. I’m sorry that I didn’t say goodbye, I really wish that I did. It’s now one of my newest regrets, but I hope that you can forgive me.

I also felt trapped, I guess. You know when you feel trapped, like an animal in a cage? Like, you can’t see anything, you can’t feel anything but the cage you’re in? That’s how I felt. So I ran. Classic Steve Harrington, huh? 

Anyways, I didn’t mean to make this depressing. I tend to do that, I guess. But, hey, guess what? I’m in the army now. I can’t go into the details of it, but I got enlisted and now I’m in training. It’s pretty demanding, a lot different than what I’m used to at home, but it’s a nice change. It’s sort of familiar, in a way. The preparation parts of it. But, instead of swinging a bat or making spears, it’s learning how to take orders, how to be disciplined, how to save lives, how to think on your feet. (though, granted, I think I have a lot of experience with that already). A lot of it is head knowledge, which I'm not so good at, but it’ll be useful when I’m sent somewhere to fight in a battle or war. 

Wait. Forget I said that, I don’t want to tell you that. You deserve peace, a normal life, you probably don’t want to read about what I’m doing, or what I might be doing in my future. I’ll stop talking. Writing. Shoot, I’m rambling, aren't I? I thought that was more Robin’s thing, but I guess I do it a bit, too. Even in a letter. 

All of that aside, I hope that you’re doing well, Max. I know that the road ahead is probably scary for you right now, but I know that you’ll get through it. You have a fire in you, Max, a fire that won’t be stopped by anything. And, you have a great support system. Don’t be afraid to lean on others for support. It’s something that I never learned, and I hope that you can learn from my faults. 

I hope that, one day, our paths will cross again. I hope that one day I’ll be ready to come home. I don’t know if that day will come, but I need to believe that it will. I feel like it’s one of the few things that’s keeping me going right now, you know? 

Good luck with everything, Max. Stay strong for me, okay?

From, 

Steve