i’m not messy, i’m busy

24 • Frances • she/her • minors dni

[girlfailurearchivist]

"i'm so embarrassed. i'm not a real person yet."

frances ✧ 24 ✧ teacher by day ✧ writer by night ✧ history nerd always ✧ masterlist

welcome welcome welcome! i'm so glad you're here. before we start chatting, here's a little about me <3

✧ i write for joe keery characters, not joe himself! this includes steve harrington, walter 'keys' mckey, travis 'teacake' meacham, and kurt kunkle.

✧ in my day to day life, i am a high school social studies teacher and i love it!

✧ my inbox is always open! i love to chat/talk about characters and scenarios, so come by any time. send requests for blurbs/short fics!

✧ i will never post or engage with AI generated content.

✧ at the moment, the kinks/concepts that i have a hard line boundary for are incest, any form of ageplay, and ddlg/cgl. i will not be writing about or engaging with this, so please do not ask!

✧ i love any and all historical aus! especially knight/medieval and western :)

✧ i do not accept or tolerate any form of racism, homophobia, transphobia, xenophobia, or misogyny.

✧ like it says in my bio, please do not engage or interact if you are under 18.

[chestharrington]

born in the usa || s.h.

summary: steve doesn’t like the Fourth of July anymore. (can be read in the same universe as tcogb, but works as a standalone as well!)

a/n: thinking about everything steve went through on this day… here’s a little blurb i threw together

The nightmares always started in the last week of June. That’s when things had started to go south, even if he hadn’t known it yet.

The power surges, the weird deliveries passing by in the service tunnels. If he’d just have noticed sooner, if he would have told Hopper or Joyce.

If. But he didn’t, and that was why he woke up in a cold sweat, heart pounding, chest heaving as he sucked in gulps of air that did nothing to ease the tightness in his chest.

You noticed. You would stir and turn over and put a lazy hand on his chest and mumble something about going back to sleep. And every time, that gentle reassurance, as mindless and instinctive as it may be, let him relax enough to fall asleep.

Steve wouldn’t talk about what had happened, save a few vague references. You knew that he had been tortured and then there was the monster in the mall that he fought, but that was all. But, sometimes, he’d slip up when a nightmare has its claws in him, and you’d hear more.

Frantic pleading, begging for it to all just stop. Desperate thrashing as he tried to escape whatever memory he got trapped in.

In the morning, you’d be a little gentler with him. You’d bring him coffee and tread lightly, pretending that you hadn’t heard it all. Steve didn’t seem to know that he talked in his sleep sometimes, and you wouldn’t break the allusion that he was better at holding himself together than he actually was.

“The kids want to come over and swim,” he said at breakfast. His appetite wasn’t all there, so he absently used his toast to soak up runny yolk without any indication that he was interested in taking a bite. “Do a cookout, or something.”

“You want to host?” You questioned. “We don’t have anything to cook out, baby.”

“I’ll just run to Bradley’s and figure something out,” he said with a sideways smile, the kind that he put on when he wanted you to stop worrying about something. “We’ll do hot dogs, or burgers, or something. Or I can make a mean grilled cheese if all else fails.”

You acquiesced, because Steve wanted to pretend it wasn’t bothering him and you wanted Steve to be happy.

And it was all fine until night fell. Until that first whistle and pop of a firework in the sky beyond the trees. You could see the flash of color behind the canopy of trees, blue and white sparkling against the inky sky. After that, it became a cacophony of booms and pops, a war in the sky.

Steve sat on the deck chair, his swimsuit more a decoration than something practical. Just like he had problems with the fourth, he had problems with the pool too. His spine was straight, like someone had pulled him taut on a string. And you watched his chest begin to heave with short, urgent breaths.

“Hey,” you said, settling in beside him. Your thighs slung over his lap, warm, comforting, heavy. “You wanna go inside?”

“No,” he insisted. “No, I’m fine.” But his hand shook where he had it wrapped around his Coke, making it slosh around in the glass. When you met his gaze again he frowned. “I’m fine, stop worrying.”

You nestled into his side and pressed your lips to his jaw. His pulse thrummed rapidly, too fast for anything like excitement. He didn’t want to admit it, you didn’t want to push.

When you weaved your fingers in with his, he squeezed your hand so hard it started to ache, but you swallowed it down and pushed through, just like he was.

After the kids were gone and you were nestled into bed, the fireworks kept on popping outside. He tossed and turned, until finally he just turned to watch you. His brown eyes scanning over your sleepy features until his brain started to feel normal again.

You blinked against the dark and stared right back. The scar on his lip, the one you would always kiss first… that was from the Russians. So was the bump on his nose where it had fractured and healed a little wrong. He didn’t have to tell you anything, you didn’t want him to have to relive it any more than his brain already forced him to.

You closed the gap of cold sheets between you and laid your head on his chest, where the rapid thump of his heartbeat thrummed, and slowed as you breathed with him.

By midnight on July 5th, Steve Harrington could sleep again.

[girlfailurearchivist]

happy fourth to tumblr's favorite history teacher

let's not be hasty, John Green is on this website

[aropride]

opened my wip and didnt immediately write a thousand new beautiful and perfect words so i'm going to smash my laptop with a hammer

[girlfailurearchivist]

What if I said knight Steve 3 up Monday

[djohours]

i love this picture so much

[girlfailurearchivist]

People I graduated high school with are posting pregnancy announcements in droves lately so now I feel like this all the time

[levanswrites]

hi Lev… this morning I am thinking about Steve Harrington and his new freckles… he did yard work yesterday and there are four new ones on his jaw… I want to call him Stevie and kiss on him and make him blush…. that is all!!!! 🫡

sorry this is soo late but ily for this lulu... what started as a smutty drabble abt scent/sweat kink evolved into something very soft... still, 18+ mdni!

.   *　✦　　.　 ˚　✦　 .

You find him in the kitchen, chest heaving where he's bent over the sink. One hand braced against the countertop, the other gripping the edge as cold water streams straight into his mouth.

It spills faster than he can keep up, dripping over the curve of his lips, tracing shiny rivulets down the column of his throat. His neck works with each swallow—slow, heavy gulps that make his Adam’s apple bob.

You watch, mesmerized, as the water escapes his mouth in scattered drops, sliding down his chest and into the damp fabric of his tank top.

The shirt clings to him the way summer clings to skin, thin white cotton turned sheer in places, stuck to the soft swell of his stomach as he breathes through the exhaustion.

Still flushed from being outside all day, the gold-burned tone of someone who overcommitted to the idea of a backyard garden because you mentioned—casually, just once—that homegrown tomatoes would be nice this summer.

Steve Harrington heard that and thought, I should build an entire garden from scratch.

He notices you staring and emerges from the basin, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

“What?” he huffs, chest still heaving.

“There’s new ones.”

“Hm? New what?”

“Freckles, Stevie.”

The nickname alone turns the tips of his ears pink.

You grin, slowly closing in on him until he’s cornered between your body and the cool marble countertop he insisted on installing himself last year, because trust me, baby, it’ll look classy.

Now, he’s very much trapped.

Pinned against it while you slide between his knees, fingers hooking into the sweat-damp collar of his tank top.

Steve stumbles forward, laughing breathless, both hands landing on your waist to steady himself.

“Baby,” he pants, “I’m so gross right now.”

You shush him softly, fingers threading into the damp strands of his hair, curling at the nape of his neck. His face is hot beneath your touch, flushed with exertion and sunlight.

When you tuck your fingers under his chin, tilting his head toward the late afternoon light spilling across the kitchen, he goes easy for you.

Four new freckles bloom along his jaw.

Tiny, perfect sunspots on golden skin.

“Baby...”

You kiss the first one before he can keep talking.

Just a small press of your lips at the edge of his jaw, his skin hot under your mouth—salt from sweat and the faint sweetness of coconut sunscreen, baked in from the July sun.

Sweat and sun and Steve.

You could drown in it.

The next kiss lands on the second freckle.

Then the third.

By the fourth, he’s laughing, helpless, shoulders shaking under your hands while his whole face turns steadily pinker.

“Okay, okay,” he huffs, ducking his head, grin wide and embarrassed. “Jesus.”

You smile against his jaw. “No, hold still. I’m inspecting.”

You love him like this.

Your confident, smooth-talking boy caught off-guard, flushed and vulnerable. Blushing so hard you can’t tell if it’s the sun baking him pink from hauling lumber all afternoon, or the way your lips won’t stop chasing his freckles, dragging across sweat-slicked skin.

Your nose drifts to the side of his neck, the first deep inhale rushing to your head.

Like the first burn of a shot on an empty stomach. The dizzying high of a drag held too long in your lungs.

Warm and earthy—that sharp tang of sweat and the musk of a body that's been working hard all day so you wouldn't have to lift a single finger—all mixed with that clean citrus of his shampoo in a way that’s entirely, uniquely Steve.

Your fingers slip beneath the hem of his tank top, pressing into the feverish heat of him. His muscles tense under your palm as your nails drag light, teasing patterns over the sensitive skin around his happy trail.

You feel the steady rise and fall of his ribs, the faint shiver that runs through him when your fingers inch toward the waistband of his jeans.

He tries to pull back.

“Baby, wait—” he laughs weakly, flushed everywhere now. “Let me shower first, I—”

“Nope.”

“I’m all sweaty.”

“I know.”

“Sweetheart.”

“You smell so good, Stevie.”

He makes this helpless sound—somewhere between a laugh and a groan—a slow, burning smile spreading across his sun-kissed face. His forehead drops against your shoulder while you keep trailing kisses down the side of his neck.

You inhale again, deep, practically tasting him, and he shivers right through you.

“Wanna suck you off right here,” you murmur against his throat.

Steve chokes on air.

“Jesus—”

The soft thud of your knees on the tile cuts him off entirely.

His head snaps down toward his chest, one hand flying back against the counter, the other threading into your hair without thought.

“Hah—baby, you…” His laugh is weak, dazed already.

He genuinely doesn’t know what to do with you sometimes.

Whatever thought he had dissolving completely at the sight of you there, on your knees, lashes lowered, hands gliding slowly over his thighs.

His head tips back against the cabinet with a soft thunk, lashes pressing together for a moment as sweat beads at the corners.

You rest your chin against his stomach, watching as his eyes slowly flutter open.

And there’s always a moment—every time you love him like this—when he gets this look on his face.

Soft and open, clearly a little overwhelmed by how fiercely he's adored.

The freckles you find before he even notices.

The faint lines gathering at the corners of his eyes, earned from a lifetime spent laughing.

The way his old shirts fit a little snugger now, molding to his chest and stomach in ways that make your hands itch to explore.

Even the faint silver strand at his temple you discovered last month, one he tried to laugh off until you kissed it so softly he forgot how to make it a joke at all.

You love all of it. Every changing, ordinary, beautiful piece of him.

And what seems to undo him most is the wordless certainty that none of it ever makes you look away. That every freckle and every line is held, treasured.

It's the certainty that you'll still be here years from now, counting the freckles that shift and multiply, tracing smile lines as they deepen, pressing gentle kisses to every new silver strand, learning the changing map of his face the way someone memorizes the way home.

And Steve recognizes something in that.

Because it lives in him, too.

The same instinct to memorize you as time carries you both forward—to notice the smallest changes in your expression, the subtle shifts in your voice, the way your laugh sounds different depending on the day, the hour, or the light spilling through the window.

To love you, not just as you are, but as you are becoming.

[girlfailurearchivist]

[girlfailurearchivist]

hiiii i hope ur day was good :3

Hi!! It’s definitely been one of the harder days since I’ve been home but I’m having a pretty good night :) my sister and I are making flower crowns because we’re going to a traditional dress party tomorrow

[victoria-pedretti]

10 THINGS I HATE ABOUT YOU 1999 — dir. Gil Junger

[girlfailurearchivist]

Living vicariously through diva princess reader by writing about winter because it’s fucking sacrificial volcano levels of hot in Louisville rn

[girlfailurearchivist]

your voice kinda sounds like elliot page's voice did in like the early 2000s

This is actually not the first time I’ve gotten this and tbh I can hear it

[jakeyp]

[call me by blondie playing] THE STEVE HARRINGTON BABYSITTING SERVICE

[girlfailurearchivist]

who was ur first celebrity crush

Johnny Knoxville lmao

Closely followed by Princess Leia

[chestharrington]

woah u know what teacher anon looks n sounds like...next ur gonna reveal that ur married

the wedding is in November actually so

[girlfailurearchivist]

Hope you guys are excited!! the theme is silly monkeys

[girlfailurearchivist]

tbh in my head u sounded and looked like bayonetta

LMAO I am very ordinary looking I’m sorry

[girlfailurearchivist]

wait WOAH ur voice is neat but not what i thought it would sound like...

What did you think it would sound like…