#how has no one posted this on here yet i thought i was having a stroke when i saw this page

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

i am confused

Making this its own separate post + expanding on it so it doesn’t get lost in the quagmire that is the book 7 part 8 update 💀

Feel free to let me know your own thoughts or theories too, I’m just rambling here.

***Spoilers below the cut!!***

So like… Is anyone else confused as to how Silver can use his UM Meet in a Dream so many times with NO ONE making a comment about how he's building up a considerable amount of blot???????

Vargas Camp seems to suggest that using one's UM typically uses up a considerable amount of magic compared to a non-UM spell. (The boys felt it would be dangerous to cast UM without at least a sizable magestone.) This is not true of all UMs though; Kalim's Oasis Maker, for example, allows him to offer up a small amount of magic to produce a great amount of water. So let's say for argument's sake that Silver's UM is similar to Kalim's and does not require a ton of magic per use. (Edit: this detail is confirmed true in the recent update.)

But??? That still doesn't make a ton of sense???? Silver was in constant battles against Silver Owls while in Lilia's dream, meaning he is physically being chipped away at. No matter how physically fit, capable, or well-trained he is, Silver is only human and his stamina and perseverance has its limits. He also suffered immense emotional distress in Lilia's dream after realizing that he is the son of the man who killed Malleus's mother ON TOP of having doubts that he is worthy of Lilia's love AND fixating on how no matter how hard he tries, he can never truly "pay back" his father. I guess it can be argued that the pixies healed them on their trek (+ there was that one scene where Lilia and co. rest in a Silver Owls camp) and that Silver "got over" his feelings after Sebek shouted at him about how much Silver is loved... Even then, that's not really a good explanation??? Silver climbed up those daunting mountains surrounding Castle Blackscale--mountains which have oppressive magic that harms humans. This is POST-pixie encounter, so he'd still be walking in with damage from that, not to mention the blow of lightning magic he took from Maleanor???? I'd also think that while Sebek's pep talk (well, pep shout) helped clear Silver's head, it wouldn't invoke a sudden character change on the spot; Silver would no doubt still have lingering feelings and would need time to properly sort them out and reconcile with them. They haven't been addressed in full yet, at least not until Silver can like get some closure on his own terms, maybe by sitting down and talking with Lilia about everything they learned. (That's definitely a topic for post book 7 though.) Now think about how many times Silver is expected to use his UM. At minimum, he has already used it 4 times (to show up in Yuu's dream, then to hop into Sebek's dream, then Lilia's, then Idia's). In the most recent update, Silver has used it no less than an additional 4 times (to jump from Idia's dream to Epel's, then to Rook's, then to Vil's, then to presumably a Scarabia boy's which is where the next update will likely pick up). THAT'S ALREADY 8 TIMES????? And he has like 11 or 12 more dreams to visit, including having to jump back to Idia’s dream and then prep for fighting Malleus???? It's like 20 times Silver is expected to use his UM, with very little down time in between because... oh yeah, TWISTED WONDERLAND IS ABOUT TO HAVE ETERNAL NAP TIME IF THEY DON'T HURRY TF UP 🤡 That's not even mentioning the increased loads each time Silver casts his UM (since they're collecting students like Pokemon to gang up on Malleus). If previous UMs imply anything, more people should make it more difficult to pull off a spell. Ruggie had to use a magic-enhancing potion to control a whole statium, Cater is strained the more clones he creates at any given time. Jamil's hypnosis magic cast upon a group causes him to accumulate blot so much faster. Shouldn't this be a major concern for Silver??????? Should I be concerned for Silver????????

Don't get me wrong, I love that we're able to dream hop and see what each of the main cast characters are dreaming of, but 💦 I don't know if I should be worried or not about Silver's health???????? Because I could see why the devs would just hand wave it off in this instance (cuz how else are they going to travel to each dream and save the world? They're kind of on a time crunch here...), but at the same time I can see it going the other way and sort of breaking immersion?? Unless this is all intentional and they're going to jumpscare us with a Silver OB or him struggling against it later in book 7 💀 (I mean... the guy hasn't gotten his limited SSR for book 7 yet, so maybe it'll be related to this???)

Or is it just possible for him to break the limits of his magic since this is a dream...? We’ve seen other characters OB at will and be able to seemingly stay rational while in that form... but if that's the case, then why does Silver still feel tired and physically worn down in Lilia's dream after fighting so much? Why do they worry about taking too many hits and actually dying within the dreams? Can't he theoretically stay at "perfect" health after using his magic so much???

Does it not count as using “real” magic since they’re in a dream and therefore have much more flexibility in how they spellcast?? Or is it that it’s their dream!selves casting so it’s not real magic since it’s not their physical forms spellcasting…? Is blot accumulation slowed since Silver is technically sleeping and rest helps with healing from blot?? But then how does that impact their real bodies if at all?

I DON'T KNOW, I'M CONFUSED OTL

[seawing-vibes]

Decided to fill out a template from @/falling-skyzz I feel normal about . The dragons ! List of characters & design & dynamic thoughts under the cut <3

Also If anyone else fills out thus template feel free to send me the post,, I would love to see other people filling this out!!! I love templates !!

Secretkeeper & Moon • I understand theres a lot of reasonable hate for Secretkeeper but!!! I find her & moon to be a very fascinating pair! To make a long ass thought short, I think Secretkeeper is the embodiment of “product of her environment & deeply traumatize & projecting”. I think she genuinely really loves moon but obviously expresses that through being “”protective””. But I think shes genuinely a character with a capacity for change & realizing the autonomy Moon has over her own powers. Also from the perspective of Moon I think her arc around her relationship with her mom could be really interesting, especially as Secretkeepers authority becomes challenged in Moons life & she has to confront the bullshit her mother has put her through. Overall very very interesting pair I think about them a lot.

Design Note: Secretkeeper is duller in color than Moon & has less stars due to lack of moon light on the island! Also the scales around her mouth are almost completely black, making her mouth barely visible, giving her the name “Secretkeeper” as she “has no mouth to tell others secrets.”

Tsunami & Starflight • Just one of my fav siblings! This specific illustration is from the Arena Scene in Dragonet Prophesy! I really really love Tsu & Starflights dynamic of looking up to eachother & their development together just. So neat!

Design Note: Starflight has very few constellation marks in this illustration as he hasnt spent much time under moonlight quite yet!

Shark & Abalone • One of my more out-there ships! I based this on the thought that Shark was once close with Abalone (cough. Husbands.) and that relates to why he was willing to give Tortoise a lunch-break from watching the eggs. He already saw someone close to him die from being overworked to watch the clutch, he didn’t want to watch another dragon die from his sisters selfishness. I could write an essay on these two I swear

Deisgn Note: Shark is based on a tiger shark & abalone is based on real abalones! hes one of my fav designs here

Six-Claws & Ostrich • He’s just a sweet dad! the little we see of him he seems to really love her & vice-versa <3 they’re just neat

Design Note: Six-Claws is based on a king cobra & is a specific sub-“species” of hooded Sandwings ! Burn found his hood mutation & six-claws super interesting

Tamarin & Pike • My fav background friendship! They’re just fun. I like Pike just chillin out around Tamarin & describing flower colors to her to the best of his ability (she just likes to hear him ramble about a shared interest)

Design Notes: I updated how I draw Tamarins eyes to properly resemble a blind-born dragon ! Also Pike’s deisgn got some yellow in it and I really like it <3

Whiteout & Thoughtful • I just think they’re neat!! They just seem like a sweet pair love them

Design Note: none really! Just experimenting with a rando Thoughtful design that I tossed together for my “ships tier list”

Tsunami • Its just her :) my fav dragon <3!!! I definitely dont think she upholds the “princess” title once she gets older, her only link to the throne is by Coral insisting monthly visits but Tsu otherwise wouldn’t be any interesting in royal life I would imagine

Design Note: Shes caught a waaururrghh something im going bonkers I cant remember what fish that is and my reference photo seems to have dissipated into the cosmos

Anemone • I LOVE HER. SO MUCH ! Anemone haters BACK OFF!!!! Her relationship to her powers is so fucked man. Something you’d think would give her power & control is just a key by which others use to manipulate and abuse her like . Man :( shes literally never had any autonomy over her own identity & intermingled her powers into her identity So Much only for that aspect of herself to also be revealed to be a facade for someone else’s desires like. GUH I love her so much I hope shes having a good day I dont care what anyone says she deserves to be a brat and I support her for it

Design Note: none really! The stars in her talons are just metaphorical though

Snowflake & Snowfox • THE OGS!!!!!! MY FAVORITE PROBLEMATIC LESBIANS <3 Ahhh remember in the early days when they were considered the #1 most problematic ship because they were gay and also evil. I love the evil lesbians so much they’re so shitty sorry Darkstalker Snowfox should’ve been queen I would’ve loved to see that go down it’d be so silly

Design Notes: Snowfox is based on an arctic fox shedding into their summer coat!! I know its p . Away from canon descriptors of her but it was sm fun to illustrate so shhh <3 Snowflake is just grey & blueish per-canon but shes sooo fun. love her.

Okay thats all here are the individual illustrations now !!!!! Because why not !!! If these aren’t transparent its all over

[sand-jam]

MORRO RANTING (through my old art)

the drawing above is like a year old?? most of the drawing that are coming are at least half a year old so just yeayea noticed i never posted these bad boys because i didnt have an account yet so im doing it now

anw thats morro with punk clothes because i thought he seemed punk-ish but mmm not so sure anymore but it looks fun

^heres a little headcanon of mine: morro used to help out mystaké!! Basically the idea was that yknow how Wu was always off and gone on some journey at least in the earlier seasons?? So like what if he did that with Morro around too so mystaké had to look after him sometime?? IDKIDK honestly just like the thought that Wu isn't the only notable person in morros life so im headcanoning everything

^ undecipherable sketches while brainstorming morro's training + first sketch i found of the aunt mystaké headcanon

feel like morro wouldve been a really creative kid with his powers (at least before the green ninja shit) and would be trying out stuff like the parachute or the little arm glider flappy flaps

theres also some familial sketches with Wu and Morro like the one where Wu cuts Morros hair because who else would yknow its all just headcanons

also really like the one where he jumps off the monastery mountain like a baby bird love that canon 100%

^drawing i did mainly to practice my side profiles but also to play around with morros hair which is sometimes more of a mullet when i feel like it

^old exploration of what if those weird eye things he has are actually burns

still draw him with these every now and then

^this is the first ever time i drew him!! I think its more than a year old by now?? I think my art improved a bunch since then

self explanatory

^this ones from a few day ago

Really love wojira duo and I like the fact that their powers are different from the rest because they didn't come from the first spinjitzu master

I like to think that wind and water are more 'sentient' elements and the masters of them have to sort of listen and understand them?? ykwim?? I think Morro was more naturally attuned to his element so he basically trained himself because Wu didn't understand and years later when Wu trained Nya he just made her do the same stuff he saw Morro do

I think thats enough for now

[rebo-chan]

Something I was thinking about lately is Tsuna's daddy issues. Specifically this frame.

Like that's such a loaded thing to think about. He's got so much resentment built up. Obviously, there's no direct connection to any of Tsuna's issues made but I think a few fun things can be said from this. In general, Tsuna clearly didn't have a father figure in his life which sorta results in him leaning on Reborn pretty often. Tsuna doesn't have a very stable self-esteem with him going from confident to "Aah, Gokuderas going to become disillusioned with me now that all my flaws have been pointed out." GOKUDERA. His FIRST SUBORDINATE. The guy who literally has been LOYAL FROM DAY ONE. Not that we consider them canon, but this happens also during the filler arcs where Daemon points out that Tsuna's not worth following to Gokudera and it seems to make Tsuna a little antsy. He DOES NOT THINK THE PEOPLE HE LOVES ARE GOING TO STAY WITH HIM, THIS IS LITERALLY RUINING MY LIFE. What Daddy Issues DO TO A MF. But that's a post for another day. But okay, back to Reborn, Reborn proves himself to be immovable from Tsuna's life. The story points out that Tsuna very much has two fathers. The one who won't leave and the one who is always gone. Tsuna really leans on Reborn throughout the series. "Reborn, what do I do?" Is a common thing he says, until Reborn is literally swept away from him against his will in Future arc where he's forced to think that he's half a person in Reborns absence. Meanwhile, we have Iemitsu who Tsuna has resentment built up towards, does not respect, and is forced to acknowledge in order to win his fight. Throughout the rainbow arc battle, they try to point out that Iemitsu is trying to teach Tsuna something here and unless I'm confused (someone feel free to tell me?) it's not really clear WHAT that is. And I've always thought that was neat, because it's obviously coming from Tsuna's inability to respect Iemitsu enough to want to learn anything from him. Yet when Reborn comes in, hell he doesn't even recognize him in his Adult form, but he politely listens and takes his advice seriously. In the grand scheme of the series, Reborn is a good teacher and father figure in his life. When Tsuna is made to feel like that he can't do anything in Reborn's absence during Future, Reborn takes a step back in that arc and lets him learn to survive without his guidance. (Notice how the training almost entirely disappears after Future.) He lets him learn how to be a person without him, only stepping in to help when Tsuna really needs it. When he's unable to light his flame, with Spanner, or when he's freaking out about the Irie reveal, the list really goes on. There's a scene I recall I believe when Yuni asks to join their group, Tsuna still turns to ask Reborn what to do, and Reborn redirects him by asking him what he wants to do. That it was his call as a boss. And Tsuna ends up making the decision to help her off his own accord.

It's with Reborn's guidance that Tsuna ends up learning to be his own person, it's this guidance that allows him to make the decision and gather everyone on his own accord when it was Reborn's turn to be shaky and give up. Where Tsuna tells him that he's got this under control, without his guidance. To just watch him. "you've always knew I could win before." It's this arc where Reborn's pride in Tsuna shines. Multiple times. "Surprise me again, Tsuna." And he does. It's in Reborn's second absence where Tsuna feels himself get shaky again, feels the old feelings of poor self image crop up, that Reborn comes back. Because Reborn is not Iemitsu, and he wasn't someone who left him in that house alone forever. Because he's still young and has much to learn before he's ready to do this on his own. It's at this he feels a little embarrassed about how glad he is that Reborn came back, but then recalls the "mean words" that Reborn said before leaving. It's here that Reborn tells him it's a good thing he hasn't changed much. Another sliver of guidance that Tsuna takes in from the figure in his life that won't leave him alone in that house.

[snowdropluck204]

A Date With Death - Spencer Reid x Unsub Fem! Reader

Hi my lovelies! After a lot of people seemed interested in this story, namely a few that commented who I am tagging below! If anyone wants to be tagged in these chapters from now on, let me know! I am going to try and plan this out okay, I'll post a separate post with the release dates of the chapters! With that! Enjoy!

Also, I'm a Brit writing about America... Specifically Colorado! So if there is anyone from there that would be willing to help me, please do!

Tag List: @vexis-world @inexplicableeee @flowercrownsandtrauma

TW: Murder, gore, blood, vomit, mentions of rapists, pedophiles, abuse, y/n being mistaken for male.

Spencer pov

The BAU hadn't had a case like this for a while...

This case had gotten media attention across the country, further even. All because this unsub was doing things that many a soul had thought about, hell even acted upon, the difference between their unsub and the average person, is that he was getting away with it.

For the last month, bodies had been cropping up all over Denver, Colorado, all with the same MO. People, both men and women, had been found dead in different locations, the only things that the victims had in common were the ways they were killed and that they were all once convicted of a crime. These crimes have ranged from rape, domestic abuse, paedophilia and stalking, but each of the victims had been killed using three consecutive methods.

As the car arrived at the scene of the crime, the body being found outside his own home, I wasn't massively shocked to see the crowd of media representatives surrounding the scene, I was a little perturbed to see a separate crowd of protesters.

"How many of them are there?" I asked confused, "God the street is crawling with them!" Morgan nodded from beside me, as we both stepped out of the car. Hotch grumbled under his breath, "Clearly the local cops didn't secure the area very well." The reporters seemed to have noticed us, we weren't exactly inconspicuous in our suits and sunglasses, but we still flashed the badge, asking them to move as politely as we could.

Immediately we were swarmed, questions being fired at us left and right, "Do you have any idea who was behind this killing?" "What is being done to keep this community safe?" "Why has it taken this long for the FBI to become involved?"

We tried to answer as many as we could without giving away too much of the investigation, including how little had been discovered so far. The police here had no leads, so we were working off of very little, and, until we had analysed the crime scene, we had no working profile of the unsub to make up a suspect list. This was square one...

Morgan walked over to the protesters, myself following close behind, they were all carrying banners or picket signs, they each read various forms of propaganda, 'He's Saving Lives', 'Let Him Live', 'Grim Will Save US.' I tilted my head as we walked closer to the crowd. Derek very clearly hadn't assessed the situation as strongly...

"Don't you worry folks, we'll have this guy behind bars soon!" He called out, trying to get the group to leave peacefully, only to get angry faces and practically being spat at.

"Why? He's doing what our government is too scared to do now! I say let him go!" A woman cried, beginning a chant of, 'Let Him Go.' The chanting became louder, Hotch began seeming more nervous as they advanced. He turned to shout over his shoulder at the local police.

"Can you hold them back please?" At the authority in his voice, the cops quickly rushed to attention, herding Morgan and myself into the front yard. The crime scene.

The body had been placed, almost gently, into the flowerbed in the front yard, some of the blood that decorated his body had even been mopped up. "Do we have an ID on the victim yet?" I asked Hotch, receiving a negative, apparently the neighbours knew of the victim, knew that he lived here, but rarely spoke to him and didn't know his name, so I crouched down to see what we were working with.

This victim's demise, also followed the same MO of the last seven victims the unsub had killed. Each of the victims before this one, had been killed with three separate methods, asphyxiation, the throat was slit and then the victim was garroted. "Reid." Hotch asked from behind me, I turned to look at him, showing him he had my attention, "What have we got?"

I looked back to the body, fiddling with the gloves on my hands, "The victim seems to have been killed in the same methods of the unsub's MO, it's called the threefold death, it's a religious method of killing going as far back as Druid-Irish folklore. The threefold death obviously entailed a person being killed three separate times, in this case, asphyxiation, a form of stabbing and then a mixture of the two... It was said that this method of death was saved and used as a punishment for those who didn't deserve to die only once..." I told them, trying to be as concise as possible.

Hotch nodded, whilst Morgan began taking a closer look at the garrote around the man's neck. Each of the previous victims had been convicted of a crime, violent and sometimes sexual in nature. Each of the garrotes used seemed to be personalised, a single word scratched roughly into the wooden handle of them, this garrote in particular had the word, 'ABUSER' carved into the grain of the wood.

Morgan pulled out his phone, pressing it to his ear, "Babygirl, newest victim apparently has a history of abuse or domestic violence, can you work your magic?"

I focused back on the body.

Like all the previous victims, the body was as clean as the unsub could get it, he seemed to have cleaned up any blood that pooled on the skin, before laying them to rest, in an almost respectful manner. Laid flat on their backs, hands and arms crossed over their torso, with a single white lily laced delicately between their fingers. The only thing that didn't seem as respectful, was the plastic bag tired around their face, using the same garrote that was used to kill them. I decided to speak up my thoughts to Hotch.

"The unsub almost seems to have feelings of remorse, the funeral like way of displaying the bodies is another part of his signature, strange for what we would assume is just a spree killer, it's more likely that he was targeting these people, or that there was an extreme trigger involved.

"The white lily represents the transience of life and the emotions of grief and mourning, also strange for your average serial killer. There is the possibility that the unsub knew his victims before he killed them... That could prove that he has anti-social personality disorder, he's trying to replicate an emotion he has seen around death, like copying the process of mourning at a funeral." I finished, even I felt confused...

Hotch nodded along, before the three of us walked over to the front door of the victim's home, judging by the track marks through the blood, the victim was murdered in the home and dragged out to the garden. "The unsub must have been surveying the house and the neighbours, because most of them work nights or have late night activities, the victim was found outside his home at around one in the morning. Somehow, the unsub made his way into the home, killed this guy using three separate methods and dragged the body out of the home and positioned it the way he wanted in a small window of about three hours." I told the room.

Hotch nodded, following the trail of blood around the house, leading to a chair in the middle of the kitchen, the kitchen tile had a clear tarp laid over it, the chair on top, both were coated in a thick layer of dried blood, the knife used to slit his throat wasn't at the scene, so the unsub still had it...

(y/n) pov

The sting in my throat and eyes was horrid as I retched into the toilet bowl, the tears running down my face were falling hot and fast. Eventually, the vomiting stopped, I took a deep breath, now that I could, I flushed the toilet and shuddered.

I stood up, my legs shaking, almost buckling underneath me, I stumbled my way to the sink, looking up I saw myself in the mirror, the blood spattered across my face, my arms, my hands. My eyes were different to how they used to be, they were clouded by this grief, this agony I didn't know how to get rid of anymore. The colour was faded, the whites were blemished with deep red veins and my pupils were so dilated, so scared. Memories of the night flashed behind my eyes.

I was walking slowly, stalking forward, making my way to the front door of the house. I'd been watching the house for the last few weeks, he was a monster. Beat his previous wives, now he was alone. Beat his children, now he wasn't allowed to see them. The bastard was too scary for those poor women and children to keep charging him with the abuse, so now he was a free man...

Once I got to the door, I smiled seeing the electronic lock, I pressed a small device to the side of the lock, hearing a small buzz before the door clacked open. Taking my time, both so as not to alert my target and also partially dreading what I was about to do, I pushed open the front door, sneaking through the hallways, until I found the kitchen. The pig was drunk, he hadn't been home longer than half an hour, and he was almost passed out wasted, beer bottles lying around where he was sat on the couch, staring listlessly at the television.

I wobbled over to the shower, flinging back the curtain, my head reeling, I waddled carefully in, trying not to slip. I turned the shower head on, full blast, almost blistering hot, and began to scrub at my skin as hard as I possibly could. The water ran off of me in dark red waves, before they faded to pink and then clear. Once all the bloody water was sucked down the drain, I finally began to relax, which was a mistake.

I slunk up to the guy, leaning behind him before pulling out a plastic bag, the crunching sound of the bag alerted him. He turned and met my face, hidden by a mask, a cheap, crappy masquerade mask, a candy skull, hiding my face. A flash of realisation on James' face made me fear he had recognised me, instead, he began to stutter. "You're h-him, aren't you? The k-killer, t-the Reaper?" He whimpered. Coward. I leapt forward, wrapping the bag around his face and pulling.

I curled myself into the corner of the shower floor, the hot water making me more dizzy and in a deeper haze as tears filled my eyes.

"Please..." He kept begging, pleaded with me to spare his life as he tried to rock himself back and forth in the chair he was now tied to, "I'm sorry! I haven't gone near my family since the restraining order!" He shrieked, the most pathetic sounding noise. I almost spat at him, "Then your a liar as well as a beater." I growled, once he heard my voice, he realised that I wasn't the guy everyone was thinking of. "You're a pathetic excuse of human life, weak. You target the people who you're supposed to care for, children, your own wife." I snarled, stalking forward with a small, but extremely sharp, hunting knife.

The blood went everywhere, the walls, David James' face and clothes, the floor, me. The smell was metallic and bitter, it made me feel vile, hideous, tainted.

He was gasping, struggling for breath as I wrapped the bag around his face again, pulled out the garrote, bound the bag taut around his neck and began twisting, the wire digging painfully into the deep gash already across his neck. Eventually, he stopped struggling, stopped breathing. I let go of the garrote, the handle provoking me with my own handwriting, PAEDOPHILE. Taunting both David James, the beater and myself. (y/n) (l/n), the reaper.

I placed him in his car, and drove the short while down to the cemetery, I huffed as I pulled James' body out of the trunk, dropping him rather unceremoniously outside the gates, in a patch of half dead grass. I closed his eyes through the plastic bag, crossed his arms over his chest, and threaded a single white lily through his hands. After I had finished, I stood slowly, bowing my head, a moment of silence for the deceased, however undeserved it may be.

I left the shower, the water still dripping off of my body quickly becoming cold. I knew there would be little to no physical evidence that I was at the scene. I shuddered once again, the shiver continuing down my body. I quickly got changed and curled up in my bed, trying to remember who I was doing all of this for...

Spencer pov

After examining the crime scene, we all went back to the station, Garcia's face appearing on the laptop screen as we began to review the case, what we knew so far. Gideon was writing on the whiteboard, pictures of the victims taped to the surface, annotations lining them. Elle was pacing the room, fiddling with a pen as she asked about the scene and, in turn, the unsub.

"The protesters outside, they sounded like they were supporting him, how popular is this unsub?" She asked, Garcia quickly typing up on her computer, finding the information in quick keystrokes.

"Oh, he's huge, most of Denver population believe that he's saving their children and friends, he's only killing off people who were convicted of a crime, there's never any witnesses, never any tips called in. These people believe that the government was wrong to get rid of capital punishment in Colorado, that these people deserved it.

"A lot of people also think that the unsub deserves the death penalty too, but that he's some sort of public figure, he knew the risks and the punishment, but took out those who were a risk to their society. The unsub has a lot of names, The Grim Reaper, Charon, The Wraith, lot of mythological connotations..."

I sat, stuck, staring at the whiteboard. "What's going on in that big, beefy brain?" I heard Garcia ask, I finally looked up at the team, all looking at me worried. I felt my brow furrow further as I stood and walked quickly, over to the board. There were seven victims up on the board, the ones we had found, who knew if there were more. Now there was an eighth.

"None of this makes sense." I murmured, "All of the evidence contradicts itself, we can't make a linear profile of the unsub..." I trailed my hands along the pictures, "The unsub should be someone who shows little to know emotion, but he sets his victims to rest in a nice place, with flowers, almost mourns them. He gruesomely murders his victims with an ancient religious process, only to have no showing of any other religious motif or ritualistic killing.

"They clearly have been watching their victims, their neighbours, their homes, but there is no physical evidence of that! The places the victims are left were proved by relatives to be special to them, so the unsub leaving the bodies there shows some sentiment and that, somehow, the unsub knew them but none of the victims had ever met each other and have no social circles in common with one another!"

I had never felt so frustrated and confused. Hotch patted me on the shoulder as I sat down again, running a hand through my hair. He began a pep talk that always begins the investigation, "True remorse from the unsub might only be capable if they were compelled to commit the killing for reasons unknown to even them, or he's being forced to..."

[hsllfirescoopsreblogs]

╰┈➤ 18+ none of these stories belong to me! this is a masterlist of all steve harrington stories i’ve read and reblogged! just thought it would be nice to have them all in one spot! (if your fic is on here and you wish not to be, let me know <3)

a/n: so embarrassing please ignore this. this is the same post. i couldn’t edit it whatsoever. some links weren’t working so i deleted the original. so i apologize for doing this again and retagging writers. (had to split it into two parts)

MASTERLIST • STRANGER THINGS • 05/13/24

✰ steve harrington one

✰ @bimbobaggins69

          ☾ his good luck charm

                    ⌗ king!steve getting a little frisky before the basketball game because he swears you’re his good luck charm

✰ @forever-rogue

          ☾ friends with benefits

✰ @nexusnyx

          ☾ dirty dancing

                    ⌗ When Steve went to the address for investigating purposes, the last thing on his mind was stumbling upon one of the most beautiful sights he's ever seen. It happens, though, and he convinces himself that meeting you was only a thing of the moment, until he encounters you outside the cinema a week later, crying. He does something about it.

✰ @silkscream

          ☾ power trip

                    ⌗ you and steve settle your differences when he drives you home

✰ @thursdaygxrls

          ☾ fast times at family video

                    ⌗  steve’s great a flirting. that is, until robin gets involved.

✰ @quin-ns

          ☾ crushes, chaos, confessions

                    ⌗dustin knows how steve feels about you and he can’t stop himself from spilling his best friend’s biggest secret to you.

✰ @familyvideostevie

          ☾ henderson!reader

✰ @yellowharrington

          ☾ favor for a favour

                    ⌗ steve has a big ol' crush on the girl that trades him pastries for movies every week.

✰ @freelancearsonist

          ☾ whole

✰ @superblysubpar

          ☾ sincerely, yours

                    ⌗ a movie night, a confession, an offer, your Calvin's bunched up on the floor of your best friend's BMW...and other places

✰ @murdockparker

          ☾ paralyzed

                    ⌗ She walked in on a Friday afternoon. Steve needed nothing more than to get to know her--if only he could find it in himself to speak to her.

✰ @appocalipse

          ☾ that guy

                    ⌗ After he's been to yet another failed date with yet another random pretty girl, Steve Harrington, your best friend, stops by at the diner your family owns for a late-night chat, same as he'd done a thousand times before. Steve is totally unaware of how much he's hurting you with his endless parade of dates, because after all — the two of you are only friends and nothing more, right? It's not like you have any secret feelings for him…

✰ @megxplryxb

          ☾ romance is dead, isn't it

✰ @hellfireclubmember

          ☾ pretty girl part 2

                    ⌗Dustin can't stop talking about the sub he got to fill in for Lucas, making Steve want to smash his head into a wall. That is, of course, until he sees you.

✰ @calumfmu

          ☾ baby, no attachment

                    ⌗ the 5 times Steve Harrington was an asshole to you, with the 1 time, he revealed his true self.

          ☾ the kings reign

                    ⌗ King Steve, the stupid nickname you had heard your entire life. The rumors, the huge ego to match. It was everything that made you hate him, especially when your best friend wouldn't shut up about him. Robin was forcing you to be friends with him, but it wouldn't stop the passion you had dedicated to wanting nothing to do with him. 

✰ @judeswhore

          ☾ tell me that i'm all you want

                    ⌗ everyone in hawkins knows about steve harrington’s somewhat infamous past and with your relationship being new and a little devil on your shoulder you start to worry if you’re simply just his next play thing

          ☾ blurb

✰ @taintedcigs

          ☾ fall into pieces

                    ⌗ steve comes in his pants from eating you out. that's the plot.

✰ @strangerstilinski

          ☾ it just takes a kiss

                    ⌗ based on that scene in tasm where peter spins gwen around to kiss her — with just a dash of enemies to lovers

✰ @thecreelhouse

          ☾ handle with care

                    ⌗ Eddie and Robin think Steve needs to get out more, but he ends up in what he believes to be the wrong place at the wrong time, until he meets you.

✰ @s-brant

          ☾ jealousy, jealousy

                    ⌗ Nancy and Y/N are best friends. The problem is, Y/N and Steve have been secretly hooking up for weeks, and when Nancy asks for advice about possibly getting back together with him, Y/N doesn’t know how to feel.

hopefully all links work, let me know if not <3

[hwanchaesong]

omg i got a good idea for an ateez song imagine: like i can -sam smith.

idk who but alive you feel like could match the vibes best. im kinda thinking yunho or seonghwa but they could be so different like shsbvsjsnd ily

a/n: this is SO SO VERY LATE I APOLOGIZE. THIS HAS BEEN ON MY DRAFTS FOR TOO LONG. I HOPE YOU'LL STILL ENJOY IT THO. AGAIN, FORGIVE ME FOR POSTING THIS AFTER SO LONG 😭

also, let's make this a seonghwa x reader x yunho cuz y not

suggestive (kinda smutty) & angst, no fluff here. love triangle, and mentions of other sins are in here so read at your own risk. also mdni!

LIKE I CAN - SAM SMITH

Seonghwa's piercing gaze cuts through the plethora of people in the dance floor of the smoky club, straight onto your figure latched onto his nemesis.

Jeong fucking Yunho.

Out of all the other guys you can mess around with, you really had to go to the person he least expected.

Seems like you know how to play a game of terror.

He scoffs when he sees you giggle at the other man's whispered words, biting your lower lip when his hand drops on your exposed thighs, crawling higher until it had you closing your legs in a failed protest.

Oh, how he hates seeing you like this. Like you weren't chanting his name like a mantra a few days ago. Like you weren't panting for more in his sheets. Like he didn't carved your body to accommodate him and only him.

He smirked when he saw an opportunity to lock you in, watching you saunter towards the restroom, and he stood up himself, boldly following you in there.

You were minding your own business, not until someone rudely barged in, pinning you on the wall with their face dangerously close to yours.

"What the f-"

"Watch your words, babe."

You almost shrieked when the person that you don't wanna have an encounter with shows himself without any warning.

"Seonghwa?" you muttered his name, and the way you called him sent the blood rushing down in his member. He loved it whenever you sounded meek in his presence.

"Let me go. I don't have time for this shit." you said, voice firm and he was shocked at how confident you are.

Is this what that Yunho has been teaching you? After all his hard work in shaping you into his submissive baby girl. Oh, he has to remind you where you stand in here.

"I don't have time for your attitude, princess."

Seonghwa's hands went into your waist, pushing your lower half into his own while he sticks his leg in between your thighs, causing you to let out a small squeak when your clothed pussy rubbed against his jeans.

It sent you down the rabbit hole, back to zero when he's intoxicating you like this again.

How do you even escape from him?

Park Seonghwa, the guy that every girl wanted yet you had him as your trophy after a one night stand during a drunken stupor of his frat's party.

He was once a stranger that you glanced at, maybe once or twice, you couldn't remember but you do know that he made you laugh. He made you happy for a short while before giving you an entirely different kind of serotonin. One that you could acquire when the waves crash you into euphoria.

He showed you a world of situations that sailed on ships made of sands. Thus, it crumbles easily, making you seek a home made out of bricks, a shelter that winds cannot destroy.

Yet here he is, in all his glory, kissing you like there's no tomorrow.

"I thought you were better than this. Care to explain yourself princess, hm?" he mumbles against your bruised lips as he nibbles on it, his hands going over your breast to grope it rather harshly.

"I don't need to explain myself to you." you panted, clenched fists weakly punching his chest, but you both know that no matter what you do, his temptation would be difficult to resist.

You moaned when his mouth slid down to your neck, biting your sweet spot while his hand wandered onto your damp panties, circling your garment-clad clit, it had you thrashing around in his arms.

Seonghwa chuckled darkly, murmuring the exact words that had your knees buckling for him, "Oh my sweet, little princess. I think I have to remind you that no one can show you passion like I do."

---------------------------------------------------

You were quietly sitting on the bed, the television's volume nothing but white noises to you.

Then you slightly jumped on your spot when a splash of cold water dripped on your cheeks, "Ah!"

You glared at the perpetrator, fresh out of the shower.

"Yunho! You scared me!" you whined, making him chuckle at your adorable countenance.

"You are the one scaring me, actually. You're too silent. Is something bothering you?" he asks, concern lacing his voice as he sits beside you, landing a palm on your leg and tenderly massaging it, giving you a sense of solace.

Yunho really is something, you think.

With him, it feels like all your sins will be forgiven. A gentleman that could cleanse your soul, a once in a lifetime chance and you'd be a damn fool if you let him go.

But it does plague your mind, the way you let yourself be consumed by the demon when you already have yourself an honest man.

"It's nothing, it's just-" you began to speak, but you were astounded when he cut you off with a groundbreaking fact that's been eating you inside and out.

"Is it what happened in the party?"

You and that Park shithead Seonghwa, he thinks.

You looked at him, wide eyed and anxious but he only waved you off. Still, there's a mayhem of vibes that surrounds him, and you have no idea of what will happen next.

"Y/N, my love, you must take for an idiot no?" he sniggers, then halts to tilt your chin up and he leans onto you, the tip of his nose brushing yours.

He's another kind of poison, and a pattern seemed to click in your mind on what kind of men you are drawn to.

"Yunho, it's not like that." you tried defending yourself but he shushed you with a peck on the lips, his hands brushing your arms lightly until he reached your shoulders.

Goosebumps trailed on where he touched you, then he abruptly pushed you down the bed, eliciting a surprised gasp from you.

"Darling, it's okay." he reassures, positioning himself on top of you and discarding the towel around his waist. Droplets of water fell on you, soaking your shirt that he hoisted up, revealing your breasts to him, your nipples perking up at being exposed in cold air.

His warm hands explored your smooth skin while he inhaled your scent, smooching on the crook of your neck and his eyes squinted when he saw the remnants of Seonghwa's disgusting mark.

His fingers tickled your stomach, reaching for your tits and playing with your nipples, tugging on it and you felt yourself getting wet with his ministrations.

"Y-Yunho.." you mewled, arms wrapping around his broad shoulders.

He merely hummed before biting the same spot where Seonghwa soiled you, mumbling curses at the thought of that shitty fuck boy.

"It's okay," he repeats what he said a while ago, "because at the end of the day, you'll still come back to me. No one can show you heaven like I can."

He already has you, and in Yunho's perception, you are his. You belong to him, you belong with him.

Dwindling roads and outreached hands are presented to you, so, which one do you choose?

[chemicallywrit]

Iiiiiiit’s Audio Drama Sunday! And I’m sick but I’m still writing this post because this week in audio drama absolutely slaps. Beware of some light spoilers ahead, let’s GO

🔥 oh man, @camlannpod landed this season finale beautifully. I’m so glad our crew triumphed and that the world is fuller than any of them thought and that the story can go on and change. I have to relisten, this is such a good show. If you haven’t listened to Camlann yet, now is the perfect time, go LISTEN.

🐷 @hellofromthehallowoods is dark but it only occasionally truly scares me. This episode, I was scared. WHAT is Shanks and WHAT is up with that freakin puppet and WHAT ARE THEY GONNA DO? I feel the weight of these stories tangibly and I worry, just like our eyes in the skies, for the fate of the people I care about.

👽 One of the strengths of Among the Stars and Bones is its ability to put extremely normal people in absolutely harrowing situations, and in this episode, when it's your second harrowing situation in less than half a year, what are our heroes going to do but be like "Well Sure, This Might As Well Happen." Contrast that with the reactions of Captain Francis and Johann (played with deftness and skill by Oliver Smith and Jerron Bacat), who are experiencing the horrors for the first time and Not Doing Well and that's horror babe. I'm especially interested in Johann, what a fascinating character.

🙃 I started @worldgonewrongpod this week and it is everything I like. It's a) a fictional advice show in b) extraordinary circumstances that's c) very funny and sweet and d) hits like a brick in a sock. If that tweet by John Rogers ("every day i remember with gritted teeth that people lived perfectly fulfilling lives in during the fall of the roman empire," if I may paraphrase) was a show, it'd be this show. I love it.

✨ Call me Rion, because I'm here to take on things that aren't my responsibility and ask you to pLEASE support season two of @storiesfromylelmore. In maybe the cutest crowdfunding announcement I've ever heard, ItMe has called for our help and I don't have any freakin money, but if you do, you should consider giving it to Stories from Ylelmore!

🧛🏻‍♂️ In Hannah News, to borrow a phrase from fellow producer, friend, and all-around badass Tal, it's so much fun to listen to Re: Dracula without having to make it. I'm having a great time now that Drac is back. Won't you join us? Inn Between is also about to hit all our early access folks with a gut punch, get ready.

Hey! Certain entities that owe me money are not paying me in any kind of time, but nevertheless I have to pay bills. It's rude how the bills do not take that into account. In any case, if you like what I make or enjoyed this post, consider leaving me a tip!

[usedpidemo]

Update - 3rd year anniversary! (and some future plans, a reflection, etc.)

Hi everyone! π here.

By the time this post is up, it'll be the 13th of May. Three years since I began my writing journey and this Tumblr blog. Three years. Time flies by so fast. I was close to graduating senior high after it was delayed because pandemic, had my graduation in an empty room basically, now I'm hitting my third year of college. Crazy stuff.

With that said, here are the stats + timetable of the blog so far:

First work: Sandwich (Wendy) (published 05/13/21, 4:03 a.m)

Highest note count: Tell your friends (Yujin x Wonyoung) (published 01/14/23, 1274 notes)

Number of works published: 91 fics (1 fic every 12.03 days)

500 followers: June 18, 2021 (36 days)

1000 followers: October 12, 2021 (152 days)

2000 followers: June 18, 2022 (401 days)

3000 followers: November 12, 2022 (548 days)

4000 followers: May 22, 2023 (740 days)

5000 followers: December 18, 2023 (950 days)

Current follower count: 5615 (1 new follower every 5.12 days)

It's been a hectic final month of college, so I apologize for the lack of activity in recent times :< But summer is coming up very soon, so hopefully I'll have all the time in the world to write more till then! I will say, a new fic is on the near horizon, so please be on the lookout!

I would like to take the opportunity to thank every single of you, whether reader, lurker, or a fellow writer for your support! Especially during these lull times, your unwavering support has kept me afloat and has been a motivation in continuing to write. Love you guys as always. Here's to another fruitful year <3

From this point, this part will be an overall reflection and life summary of the previous year, my thoughts on some personal matters, and some ideas I've been contemplating. If you don't wanna read this, you can stop here.

I miss 2023 quite a bit, not gonna lie. I know nostalgia can quickly grow warm and fuzzy, seeing the past through rose tinted lens, but I'll admit that 2024 hasn't been off to the start I envisioned it to be. That year was mostly peak for me, and I could even argue it's my favorite year to live out based on all my experiences. Traveling to new places, finally attending live events, interacting with my K-pop biases, and so on—it really felt like the best was yet to come with how 2023 flowed and transitioned into the new year.

Five months in, and I am struggling. Horribly. Most plans, dreams, and ideas have gone up in smoke, and it's just one devastating gut punch after another. I have a shitty professor in one major that basically made me check out of that class, and I don't know my family will react when I tell them I have to repeat said class because that professor was a dick. My family's been infighting on a daily basis, and I'm mostly collateral damage to them. Not one week can go by without some serious confrontation between them. There was a brief health scare with my mother, but that seems to be a nothing matter; thank God she'll be okay.

All this just makes life so deflating, in all honesty. I get that no life is without struggle, but I genuinely don't know when we'll be in the clear. Not anytime soon, I reckon. In these tough times, there's very little comfort except the past, when everything was pretty all right for the most part. It's been demotivating to write when mom comes forward with another grievance with my sister. It's hard to write when you have a professor who likes to power trip their students into submission. It's hard when you don't know how to admit to your mother that he failed his one class because of said power tripping professor.

But that doesn't mean I will let it eat me alive. I know we've been through some utter lows in the past. And we always get back up. If no one has us, then God does.

Summer break is fast approaching and I want to fix things. Even in my own little way. I know none of what I'm saying has anything to do with writing degenerate stories about hot K-pop idols, but real life circumstances have definitely affected me more than I can brush off. I should be calm, unfazed, undeterred.

After all, some stories are meant to be finished. They just take a more unconventional route. Ask Cody.

With all that being said, I will finish these commissions over the next two months. I'm really sorry to everyone who requested and paid for their stories months and months ago; I genuinely feel bad for not getting these out on time, but I am very mindful of quality control, and I have no one to blame but myself for being a slacker and lazy worker. Despite my feelings, I should remain professional—that's what being a worker means.

A lifestyle overhaul is definitely in my list of things to improve over the summer too. Figuring out how to get writing done, finding ways to alleviate my PokeRogue addiction (GOTY), whilst having a healthy work/life balance and not losing my sanity over it. Or worse, burning out.

And I want to take this opportunity to thank all my friends—peach, caps, majorblinks, chunk, frisky, raf, c.o, levi, sins, iz, ken, v1n, ddeun, notions, kevin, eros, brandon, kaede, svn, frisky, cray, rpg, prael—for putting up with my shit for another year. This life is tough, but you guys make it tolerable. Thank you for letting me air out my grievances even when it wasn't the best time to. I pray that when everything passes, I'm able to repay you all in some shape or form generously.

And to you, dear reader, for making it this far, thank you. Whether you've been with me since day one, or day 1094, as a commenter, reposter, liking, or just passing by/lurking, thank you for giving me a chance. Without you, all of this would have been for nothing. I don't know where I would be now if I didn't take that chance, that leap of faith back in 2021, and it's because of you I am able to keep doing this for the love of the game.

With grace,

Peter / π

[intimacyequalsdeath]

Greif (Bo Sinclair x AFAB Reader)

This has been sitting in my drafts for awhile now cause I never felt good enough about it to actually post. I wanted to make a good hurt/comfort but not make it too over the top extreme and I'm really confident in this version of it to finally post it. This is the first time I've posted a heavier fic like this so please head all the trigger warnings I put for this one.

Notes: Minors DNI, This fic is written with an AFAB reader in mind though no specific descriptions are used the pronouns She/her are used in relation to the reader. Trigger warnings: Pregnancy, abortion talk (Briefly). Bo is really mean at least in the start, Hurt/Comfort. Afab reader with she/her pronouns used. Excessive Cursing.

"If you fuckin' think I'm lettin' you bring a fuckin' baby into this town you're fuckin crazy!"

Bo yelled as he paced around the living room of the main house. You had finally come clean and revealed to him that you were most likely pregnant. He was taking the news about as well as one would expect Bo Sinclair to.

"I didn't ask to get pregnant Bo! Maybe you should've been more careful!"

You screamed right back at him. Bo scoffed at your argument and shook his head, a nasty grin overtaking his face.

"I shoulda never let you fuckin stay here. I told myself the day you rolled into town that you were gonna cause me nothin' but trouble"

"Maybe you should let Vincent make me into one of his wax figures then Bo, or better yet, you can keep me in the basement under the station."

Bo froze at your statement and fixed you with an expression you had never seen grace his face before.

"You better watch your fuckin' mouth if you know what's good for ya"

"Why Bo? You can't handle the truth of what you were doing in that basement before I came along?"

"You have not got a fuckin' clue what you're talkin' about. When what you need to worry about is what your gonna do with bastard you got growin' in there cause it's not gonna have any relation to me"

He spat, motioning to your stomach.

"If you don't wanna keep the baby what do you suppose I do then?"

"I mean hell if I know, I'm sure the pharmacy in the next town over has some pills or somethin' to nip the problem in the bud"

"Y- you'd really want me to go through with that? After everything we've been through together? Are you fucking serious?"

"No darlin' I want you to go all the way over to the next town over and go on a fuckin' shoppin' spree!"

"How could you even suggest something like that Bo? After everything we've been through?"

"A baby ain't nothin' but a liability, a liability ain't a single one of us got time for. 'sides do you really fuckin' think Ambrose is the place to raise a baby?"

"You, Vince and Les grew up here! Plus it's not like you'd let me fuckin' leave and go somewhere else to raise the baby. You'd turn me into a wax figure before that ever happened"

"Exactly, so what happens when that rug rat grows up and starts askin' questions? Askin' shit about what his daddy and uncles do? Askin' about the figures? What the fuck are you gonna do then?"

"You explained what the 3 of you do to me pretty damn near perfect didn't you?"

You countered Bo's argument. You watch his face as another unreadable expression crossed it as he finally sat down in his recliner and put his head in his hands. You sat and watched him in sick curiosity before the overwhelming feeling hit you like a truck.

Bo Sinclair was afraid.

An emotion you quite honestly never thought you'd see Bo experience. Sure Lester had told you stories from when they were kids and scared of their parents, storms or the usual childhood fears. But this was different. Bo wasn't a child and this wasn't a storm that would just pass if he hid under his covers and waited long enough.

You sat looking at a broken son in the body of a man, a son who had never healed from the torture his own parents put him through. The cracks that Bo tried to conceal so well from his own upbringing were crumbling in front of you. The fears coming back to him, his mother's voice echoing in his head that he would just grow up to be like his father.

The fear that it would be twins, like him and Vince and he'd have to watch them be separated and not be able to do a thing for them. Not being able to take them to a hospital just to protect Ambrose and his brothers.

"You're not going to be like them Bo"

You broke the silence with a whisper. You could hear Bo sharply suck in a breath, you were treading on unprecedented territory with Bo. His childhood was just something he didn't talk or think about at all and now it was at the forefront of his thoughts.

"Shut up"

He mumbled back. A usual response for when Bo felt like you were trying to back him into a corner and he was running out of ammo to fight you off.

"You're not going to be like them Bo. You aren't them and you never will be."

You exclaimed louder. Bo threw his hands off his face and stood up so fast the chair tipped on it's back legs. He stood, in front of the chair, just starring at you, breathing heavily as emotions swam through his eyes. You decided to be bold and test the waters, you began to take small steps toward Bo, he wasn't attempting to walk away so you continued this until you were right in front of him.

"Bo"

You said softly as you stood directly in front of him. He finally snapped his eyes down to meet yours.

"Bo, you're going to be better then them. You're going to be a good dad Bo, you've had a first hand experience of what not to be like as a parent, it's going to be rocky sure but-"

"My mama always told me I'd end up being just like daddy, Just a mean son of a bitch who never had anything nice to say to no one."

Bo cut you off, a much softer tone then before when his fear was translating to anger.

"Do you want to be like you dad? Are you gonna hate this baby if it doesn't come out to be what you were expecting?"

Bo look at you as if you had grown three heads.

"Of course not, it's my kid, how could I not love my own flesh and blood."

"If you know that, and aren't planning to emulate your father, then why are you so worried about ending up like him?"

Bo was stunned, no one had ever talked him through his emotions like that.

"T-that was the only image of a father I ever got. I don't know what a good dad is like. I don't know how "normal" kids who parents actually wanted 'em around had it"

You reached down and grabbed his wrist gently. Bringing it up and rubbing your fingers over his scars, the scars that told many glaring stories of what shaped him into the cold man he was today. You were thawing him out though, slowly but surely.

"You'll learn, No ones saying it'll be easy, but you're capable of running this whole town and taking care of the four of us, I'm sure you'll pick up fatherhood just as quick as anything else."

"Well that ain't my only issue with this whole baby thing though"

"What else is wrong then Bo?"

"It's- It's fuckin'" He sighed and ran a hand over his face. "What if it's twins, and their conjoined like- like me and Vince were."

"Oh Bo"

"We ain't got no doctors here, and it's not like we could go stay in another town for the duration of it that would be too risky, god forbid you have complications too. I just- I don't know if I could do that darlin'"

Everything was coming together and your vision on why Bo was so angry was becoming clearer and clearer. Bo wasn't angry at you, he was scared of loosing you. Scared of being alone when he had finally found something he never thought he would ever get to have.

"Bo honey, I know it's scary, but what happened with you and Vince was rare. There's no guarantee that this baby will even be twins. You should've brought this all to me instead of just yelling."

"I know darlin', I should've went about it better. But I guess when you told me you were pregnant I- I got scared. The entire time you've been here I've had these scenarios in my head, worryin' about what would happen"

You were speechless as you watch as he turned away from you and began pacing again, this time without the yelling. The entire time you had known Bo you had never known him to be one to talk about his feelings. "I'm not a fuckin' pussy" He was remark to you when you would ask him what was wrong.

The front door swung open as Vincent returned from the wax museum. Bo stopped as your gazes moved to Vince who was now frozen in the doorway of the living room.

"Am I interrupting something?"

Vincent signed. You looked at him apologetically before flicking your eyes over to Bo to see what he would say.

"Nah Vince it's nothin'. Just uh- She's pregnant is all"

Vincent perked up and his gaze immediately flicked over to you.

"Really?"

He signed, giving off an aura of excitement. You nodded at him and mustered a smile

"I'm gonna be an uncle!. I'll start reading dad's old medical books and learn things to help with the delivery"

"Now Vince we ain't even-"

"I know he had an entire book about it, I'll start getting set up for prenatal appointments too. Maybe we could even go to the next town over for checkups and stuff, we'll need stuff for the baby too"

Vincent kept rambling in sign, something he did often. You couldn't help but laugh at his childlike wonder at the prospect of being an uncle. You looked over to Bo, who was noticeably less tense as he watched his twin's excitement over the new member of the family.

"Vince chill out for a sec, having this baby is so risky. What if it's twin and they come out like us? You're gonna separate 'em?"

"Well all things considered, the pregnancy only has a one in 250 chance of becoming a twin pregnancy. Plus we're identical twins, only fraternal ones run in families which means two separate eggs would have to be fertilized instead of the egg splitting."

Bo and you look at Vincent in dumbfounded shock as he signed the information as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

"Where the hell did ya learn all that?"

Bo asked still in shock as he looked at his brother as if he had grown another head.

"In dad's old medical books" Vincent shrugged "I'll leave you two alone now though, I should go get researching"

Vincent signed in reply before turning and heading upstairs to his bedroom. When you heard Vincent's bedroom door close you turned back to look at Bo who was already looking at you when your eyes met his. A lighter mood fell over the living room and smile at him.

"A one in 250 chance huh?"

"Yeah, I reckon so"

"You wanna take that chance daddy?"

All the emotions of the night wash over Bo's face as he thinks for a moment then answers.

"If you think it's a good idea, can't really argue with facts I suppose. But there's gonna be rules."

With that Bo is back, the rule making irritable Bo you fell in love with when you rolled into the gas station all those years ago.

"What rules are we talkin' about?"

"For starters your gonna take it easy, when someone comes into town your gonna stay here at the house and out of sight. No heavy lifting, no helping Vincent anymore, no walk-"

"Bo, Just wrap me in bubble wrap then yeah?"

"I mean I could go to the next town over and find somethin-"

"I was joking Bo, You're not wrapping me in a protective layer"

"I can if I want too"

He mumbled under his breath. I bit back a laugh and rolled my eyes.

"Whatever you say Bo"

"Hey I run this town-"

Bo begins the spiel you've heard about 20,000 times since you began living here as you walk into the kitchen, the cravings starting to take over, as he follows you to explain how he runs the town and how what he says goes and if he has to make more rules to keep you he will.

As you stand in the kitchen, eating your snack and listening to Bo's spiel. Something deep down inside you, lets a feeling wash over you that maybe just maybe, everything will be just fine.

[toadallytadpole]

I've been enjoying fallout content again recently and it got me thinking...

Has anyone made an AU for Sunny and Moon [DCA from FNAF] yet?

Cuz if not... Y'all mind if I throw them boys into the nuclear apocalypse microwave for a bit??

I already thought of their stats and what perks they might have lmao

~~~

Here Me Out:

Sunny would be the tank style character, he'd use mainly melee weapons and heavy armor.

Moon would be the sneaky smartass that can pick locks and use explosives, but he hates wearing armor so he dips from fights and then pops back in after Sunny deals with raiders or whatever?

And then for a human counterpart [like how people make Y/n characters to go with Sunny and Moon in their AUs], I think a Mechanic style player character would be fun. Super good at tech weapons and can repair the boys as needed, they're the one that always talks them outta trouble with human settlers, but their Luck stat is absolute garbage.

~~~

I can make a dedicated post for their stats, but I just wondered if anyone else had similar thots and ideas?

I think it'd be cool if they were like combinations of different types of robots within the fallout storylines, like part assaultron and securitron? Like they have the face screens that Yes Man has, so they can keep their cute goofy faces but maybe it's more animated than just one image so they can express emotions that way?

I dunno, just some fun thots :o] feel free to share your ideas if ya want too!!

[serial-serializednovelreader]

Nova’s Notes - DD - May 8th

That’s right, I’m deciding to give my thoughts a cheesy name because why not (also it’s late oops).

So this may be one of my favorite entires of the entire book. My first go-around it was for the mirror-yeet scene (because that’s iconic) and Dracula being The Housekeeper of all timeTM, but now it’s also one of my favorites because of how much we learn about Jonathan.

They say you learn the most about a person when they’re in crisis mode, and while I don’t always think that’s true, Stoker definitely wanted to let Jonathan’s personality shine through here.

From the first passage, he’s literally guessed that Dracula is undead. “I fear I am the only living soul here.” Sure, he might mean that he’s the only present soul, if Dracula’s left the building, but since he describes the mirror yeeting scene right after…idk, I’d like to think he knows way more than we ever gave him credit for. “Clueless Jonathan” who? Is the clueless in the room with us?

Also going back to the first sentence where he describes worrying he was getting too wordy, but now being glad he did…oof. I feel for him here. If my theory is correct that he was initially writing in a more detailed way for Mina so he could remember his travels for later…I’m sure it’s hitting him now that while it may be saving his life that he’s more detailed, it’s so twisted that something he did as a note of affection has soured. I wonder if he’s thinking about how he may never get out of this, or if that hasn’t fully hit him yet.

Moving on to everyone’s favorite mirror-yeet scene, think about how Jonathan reacts when he’s caught off guard by Dracula because he didn’t see his reflection. How would most protagonists react? Probably laugh nervously and brush it off. Attribute it to some mistake on his part, which is exactly what Jonathan does *at first*. But after, he looks at Dracula and then looks back at the mirror to confirm his suspicions are correct, which they are. It’s an interesting moment and not one I think we see often at the beginning of a horror story (I don’t consume much horror though, so correct me if I’m wrong!). Usually, a character won’t get to this level of observation until towards the middle/end, when more supernatural elements have occurred. Jonathan may have second guessed his instincts, but checking them again is what makes him more likely to survive Castle Dracula.

Plus, when Dracula makes a move to attack him, his first instinct is to dodge the attack, showing that he’s not just going to freeze up at the first sign of trouble (which I want to emphasize isn’t a problem normally, but he is dealing with a thousands-of-years-old vampire…so, he has to be quick on his feet to survive).

Afterwards, he says he is annoyed at losing his mirror rather than disturbed, but I saw another post saying he’s repressing his panic as annoying (I’ll link it if I find it again) and I definitely think that’s true!! I can totally see that as his coping mechanism. Plus, compared to the rest of what happens for him today, it really is more of an annoyance than anything else. Would you rather your host throw away your mirror or lock you in a castle?

So after that horrific scene of terror, Jonathan is proactive in searching the castle. After finding a beautiful — but slightly horrifying landscape (you know it’s bad when he doesn’t stop to describe the view) — he decides to explore further, which leads him to figure out almost every other door is locked, including the front one to find, yep you guessed it…he’s a prisoner in the castle.

As I imagine most people would, at first he reacts by frantically running around trying to open locked doors like “a rat does in a trap.” The fact that he admits this in his diary (and, by extension to Mina/us) is admirable because it already shows he’s not afraid to be open about his emotions, even if it makes him look weak (which — unfortunately, he would, considering the time period). Most heroes of this period were expected to accept their fates with stoic determination, but that’s not human and that’s not how Jonathan is, either. We’ve already seen that he’s more open-minded than most English men by accepting the crucifix even if he doesn’t understand it and of course the way he shows his love for Mina is atypical for Victorian men as well. Most men wouldn’t go to the trouble of writing down descriptive notes just to recount it for the benefit of his fiancée later. It’s sad, but true.

Once he’s able to regulate himself a bit, it’s time for thinking and strategy, determining that he needs all of his wits to get through this! Once he sees that the Count does the cooking AND the cleaning, though, is when my love for Jonathan reaches an all-time high. He comes to a series of conclusions most protagonists don’t figure out until the end of a novel after way more obvious clues have been laid out for him and it’s only his 3rd day of being in the castle!! They go as follows:

A) Dracula = servants

B) Dracula = driver

C) Dracula = control wolves

D) Villager’s concern/gifts = this is worse than I thought

E) Crucifix = actual help?

F) Get Dracula to talk about himself (not hard) = find more information, but not in an obvious way

I also love that he questions his own biases about the crucifix he was given!!!! When else do you see an Englishman do that in the 1890s of his own volition (aka without someone snarkily telling him to - see BBC’s Dracula if you want an example). I certainly haven’t!

He also noticed that Drac talked about his “ancestors” as if he had been present for their battles (hmm wonder why that is). Hasn’t quite figured it out yet, but there’s evidence that he doesn’t write something down as a fact until he knows it is a fact, so perhaps we’ll see him write more on this later.

Final thought - his reference to Arabian Nights and Hamlet is significant and tragic, but also relatable. I too like to relate my life to my favorite blorbos, Jonathan!

All in all, we learned that Jonathan is very good in a crisis. He’s not stoic like most protagonists of his time period, but he is instead strategic and observant, willing to play the part of oblivious to keep himself alive another day and keep Dracula’s trust. This is likely what’s keeping him alive right now, as an aggressive approach would get him killed. Dracula is all about playing with his prey and keeping the illusion of benevolent host and willing guest — it’s a game of control for him. Breaking this game would mean it’s no fun and no fun would mean Jonathan is no longer needed….

While I know how this story goes, I’m as excited as first time readers to see how Jonathan plays what is, essentially, 4D chess with Dracula!

[thecreelhouse]

accident prone

part two - I laugh often, so, I suppose, I’m gonna be fine

Paring: Steve Harrington x fem!OC - Francesca “Frankie” Amato

Summary: Steve and Frankie really get to know one another, and the friendship blossoms quickly. So fast, Steve can’t keep up with his own feelings, even in the face of an emergency.

WC: 8.6k+

Includes: angst, hurt/comfort (like, a lot), internalized ableism, language, PTSD, revolving around Hawkins/the Upside Down, discussions of chronic pain/illness and disabilities, a teensy bit of fluff and flirting if you squint, medical emergencies, etc.

series playlist ⋮ masterlist 

here, here and here - meg & dia

↻ ◁ || ▷ ↺

“I’m a wanderer now, sorrow befalls me / I laugh often so, I suppose, I’m gonna be fine”

A/N: hey there! Wow. I didn’t think this would really gain any attention— this fandom seems to hate OCs (y’all’s loss tbh), but the support I got on the last chapter, though small to some major blogs, means a fuck ton to me. I don’t want to tag everyone, but thank you to whoever sent me a kind message or pep talk after posting the first part— I really am glad this is relating to others with chronic health concerns, one way or another. Even if it relates to one person, it means more than meaningless notes. Also, may 12th is Fibromyalgia Awareness Day! So, consider this my contribution lol. As previously stated, for anyone with fibro, or without, but living with a chronic illness/condition, mental and/or physical, I am sending all my love, and this is for you <3

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The next morning, Steve’s up early; if he can’t push past the pain, he’ll try working with it. He refuses to let the opportunity to get to know Frankie slip away. 

And the opportunity for a possible job. That’s important, too. Just… not right at this very moment.

What the hell do I wear? 

He glances at the pair of glasses he’s been neglecting lately, just annoyed he needs yet another tool of assistance to help him function; his vision blurs easily these days, especially with migraines. And while it’s not severe, he’s been warned to wear the glasses to prevent further deterioration of his vision.

To Steve, it’s another reminder of how broken he feels. If this was about anyone else, he wouldn’t feel that way, but when it comes to himself, the internal ableism never ends.

Just like the day before, everything hurts terribly. It’s one of those days where even certain fabrics and elastics add to the widespread ache, and it’s not like he has to dress up, but he doesn’t want to just show up in sweats, either.

At least I don’t have to wear that ugly, stiff uniform anymore.

He opts for a well-worn, loose cardigan with a pair of jeans that he ripped at the knee years ago; the tear is conveniently over his bad knee, making it easier to wear the brace he has on his bad joint days. And today, he really needs it. 

Steve also needs a boost of confidence and a way to shake his nerves; the thought of seeing Frankie again and possibly getting another job have him on edge.

Too bad there’s no medical device to assist him on that one.

ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ

Noticing the ‘CLOSED’ sign on the door of the record shop, Steve hesitates, realizing he should’ve asked Frankie about the hours; a tiny note taped to the bottom of the sign catches his eye. “Unless your name is Steve,” is scribbled in disheveled handwriting, with a small smiley face drawn at the end.

Entering the record shop, he first sees Frankie, sitting criss-crossed on the checkout counter; her cane is laid over her lap while she’s meticulously applying stickers to the aluminum. The door’s chime goes off, and her head pops up, immediately breaking into the warm smile Steve had thought about since the last time they spoke. 

“Steve!” There’s an urge within her to hop off the counter and greet him with a hug, but she holds back, reminding herself that they’re barely even friends. “Hi,” She opts for a wave instead, eyes falling to the coffees, one in each hand.

He shyly nods with a sweet smile, all bundled up in layers most folks would consider unnecessary. For him and his temperature intolerance, the obnoxious amount of warmth is very necessary.

“Hi, Frankie,” He hands her coffee over to her, in all its icy, sugary sprinkled glory. She takes it, eyes crinkling as she smiles wide. Steve can’t help teasing, “Cade’s right, you really are sick for liking iced coffee in the winter.”

Her smile flips into a comical frown before snarking, “He’s never getting that damn tape now.”

“The one about dinosaurs?”

Frankie snorts just as she takes a sip of her coffee, covering her face with her sweater bundled arm.

“Robin told me you’d say something like that.” 

“… So it’s not about—“

“Steve, it’s the name of a band,” She giggles, moving her arm away from her face. Steve notices the way her sleeves cascade over her hands completely; the sweater she’s in is way too big, but with that and her flowing skirt, she looks comfortable, and warm. 

“Right. I knew that!” He tries playing it off with a shrug, “They’re great.”

“You’ve never listened to them before have you?”

He laughs at the knowing smirk Frankie gives him, shaking his head, “Yeah, no, not at all.” If this was high school, he’d be trying to save face right now, to look cool, pretend he knew what he was talking about. Mid-twenties Steve is able to let it roll off his back, poke fun at himself, move on.

Plus, Steve knows this interaction wouldn’t happen at all in high school. Labels and useless popularity would keep them far, far apart. He’s alright with that; Frankie definitely didn’t need someone like ‘King Steve’ and his bullshit to deal with. 

“Okay. What about Jawbreaker?”

“… The candy?”

Frankie giggles, shaking her head, before running down a list of bands off the top of her head; The Cure, Joy Division, Siouxsie and the Banshees, Strawberry Switchblade, Sonic Youth, Nirvana, the list went on. Steve says most he’s heard of, but never listened to. Some, he’s heard some of their singles on the radio.

“You’re into all that… punk stuff, right?” He’s a little lost, but he’s headed in the right direction. Frankie doesn’t tease him for it, though. 

“To an embarrassing degree,” She smiles, crinkling her nose, and oh, god, Steve’s not expecting the way that sets off butterflies in his stomach. “And new wave, grunge, honestly some pop, too— oh! Dolly Parton! Just her, though, can’t get into any other country otherwise. I’m a mess when it comes to music interests.” She shrugs.

He shakes his head, shrugging his jacket off before unwinding his scarf; Frankie catches on immediately, pointing to the coat rack behind the counter.

“No… it suits you.”

“Is that an insult or a compliment?”

“O- oh, no, I meant that in a— it’s a— nice way, promise!” Frankie smirks as he stumbles over his words. “So… got any recommendations on what to start with?”

“Oh, don’t you worry, Steve. I’m gonna make you a mixtape later.” No pretentious undertone can be found in her words; Frankie’s just really excited to introduce someone to music they haven’t heard. “What do you listen to, then?”

Steve sits on the stool behind the counter while Frankie still hangs out on the countertop, kicking her legs over the side now. He watches as she continues sticker-bombing her cane; it’s got quite the variety of holographic stars sprinkled about.

“Uh…” He shrugs, tugging at the edges of his sleeves before shoving them in the pockets of his cardigan. “Whatever sounds good, I guess.”

Frankie narrows her eyes at him, “C’mon, you can do better than that.”

Steve nervously laughs as a hint of red creeps across his face.

“Okay, uh… Queen, Springsteen, some of Bowie’s stuff—“

“Some?”

“I just- I can’t get into it all!” He stammers out. Frankie dramatically sighs, throwing her head back with a hand over her forehead, pretending like she’ll faint. When she levels her gaze to him again, she gives a teasing smirk, and he carries on, red in the face. “I like U2’s last album… uh, shit. What’s it called?”

“Achtung Baby?” She’s so quick to answer in a nonchalant tone, like this is common knowledge.

“Yeah! That one.”

“Oh, you’d really get along with my dad, then,” She teases, watching Steve’s expression flatten in a playful annoyance. “That’s not a bad thing! Bring it up in your next appointment— actually, don’t. He’ll talk about it for hours.”

Steve laughs, pushing his glasses up his nose with his pointer finger, “Alright, I’ll try to remember that.”

“Might want to write a reminder with the brain fog,” She quips, and it easily earns a chuckle; if anyone else tried to joke about his symptoms, he’d be bothered. To laugh it off with someone else equally as sick as him, though, is weirdly… cathartic. “Sorry, I’m distracting you. Go on.”

“Okay, don’t make fun of me, but Blondie’s got some good stuff, too.”

“Yes!” Frankie throws her hands out excitedly. Steve admires how animated she can be.

“I like a lot of other stuff,” He’s becoming more comfortable talking about this, not as afraid of rejection. Frankie didn’t give that kind of attitude off, but he second guesses himself always these days. “But it’s just singles and stuff.”

“Gimme a list one of these days, I’ll give you some recs.” She looks up from her sticker work on her cane, warmly smiling, but it falters seconds later. “Not pushing that on you, but it might— you don’t— don’t be afraid to tell me no—“

“Frankie.” Her name comes out of Steve’s mouth like the night before, a combination of reassurance and teasing. “I’d like that. I’d like that a lot.”

Dusting over her cheeks is a tint of rosy pink as her smile returns, ever so slightly. “Okay, cool.” She plucks a star sticker off the page, leaning towards Steve to stick it on his forehead. Her touch makes Steve’s heartbeat quicken, but it’s over as soon as it began. “Congrats, Steve, you’re hired.”

Brows furrowing, he doesn’t bother to remove the sticker. “What? Seriously? That was the interview?”

Frankie nods enthusiastically. “You already seemed nice, and got a good review from your best friend—“

“Seriously, what did she tell you?”

She pretends to zip her lips shut and shrugs, holding back giggles. 

“I’ll get you all that boring ass paperwork later, but yeah, I’m serious.” She holds her cane out, rolling it in her hands to make sure the stars are placed the way she wants. Her tongue pokes out while she’s focused, and Steve thinks it’s the cutest thing in the world. Directing her attention back to him, she continues, “I don’t wanna work with someone I just tolerate.”

Though Steve’s flattered to find he’s more than just tolerable to her, he’s still skeptical; not of her, but how this friendship is growing so easily, so suddenly. “Frankie, we barely know each other.”

“I don’t know anyone else my age that’s disabled, and you just… you get it. I wish you didn’t, but you do. If you don’t wanna work here, no hard feelings, but I want to continue getting to know you.” Her words, her tone, even her facial expression, they’re all sincere. “If you’re up for having a new friend, that is.”

Steve nods embarrassingly fast, but he doesn’t care. “My friends get it to an extent, but I don’t have to explain shit to you, and it’s… well, I don’t want to say nice, ‘cause like you said, I wish you didn’t know what this was like, either. But it makes me feel a little less alone, I guess.” His fingers grip the edge of the stool between his legs, arms straight, as he looks away shyly. “And I- I’d like to make you feel a little less alone too— jesus, that makes me sound like a douche. You get what I mean, right?”

“I get you, Steve, don’t worry,” Frankie picks up her coffee, holding it out to Steve. It takes a few seconds, but he catches on, grabbing his own coffee to hold out to her. “To a sick friendship. Get it. Sick? ‘Cause we’re both—“

Steve knocks his cup against hers, smirking, “Yikes, I thought my humor was corny.”

“Fine, no more jokes at all, then.” She deadpans, but her expression immediately cracks, breaking into a laugh, one that scrunches her nose and crinkles the edges of her eyes. It’s contagious, pulling Steve into her fit of laughter, too. “Yeah, I got a good feeling about you, Steve.”

“Huh? Like what?”

“Oh, we’re not that far in the friendship, buddy.” She props her cane onto the floor, sliding off the counter. The proximity between her and Steve when she’s on her feet is a little too close for him to handle, breath hitching in his throat. “Gotta earn the sappy moments, man.”

With that, Frankie rounds the counter, heading towards an aisle of vinyl records. She turns back to him, “Well, you want a tour?”

Steve’s eyes widen as he scrambles off the chair, “Y- yeah, that’d be— I probably need to know where things are.” Frankie resists teasing him further, leading him around the shop.

The pair walk slowly as she points out the main sections, split into three— vinyl records, cassette tapes, and CDs. 

“I still can’t get behind ‘em. They’re too flimsy for my clumsy self.” Frankie’s lips curl in a snarl as she eyes up the racks of the shiny discs, tucked away in their jewel cases. 

“At least they’re not LaserDiscs,” Steve murmurs, cringing. “I hated those things.”

“Yeah, never was a fan myself,” Her brows crinkle. “They’re like frisbees.”

“But vinyl… isn’t?”

“No. And I’m not elaborating.”

“Francesca, you’re something else.”

She scoffs playfully, “Can’t believe you just called me that. You’re fired.”

“Mhm, sure.” He smirks before glancing around the shop; it’s on the smaller side, but jam-packed with nearly anything and everything music related. Beyond CDs, tapes, and records, are band shirts, Walkmans, headphones, record players, tape players and boomboxes, useless novelty items, and so on. “So, when’d you open the store?”

“Oh, I didn’t. It’s not mine, only running it for now… kinda took over when the owner had to take a sick leave.”  Frankie begins leading Steve towards the back, through a worn, beaded curtain. She points to an open door, “Stockroom,” Then, to the door across the hall. “Break room.”

Steve acknowledges her directions with a nod before asking, “Oh, are they okay? Well, wait. Shit. I guess not if they’re on— my bad.”

Frankie gives him a half-smile, more for the sake of reassurance, along with an answer, “Dementia. So, uh, yeah. Probably not coming back.” A pained expression washes over Steve’s features. “The own— Mr. Fisher wanted to close the shop when his health continued declining, so I told him I’d keep it going for him. This was before the diagnosis, he just knew something was wrong and warned me he’d most likely shut down.”

“That’s… fucked.” 

“Yeah. He actually lived a few floors up, now he’s in a senior living home.” She wanders into the break room, falling onto the worn couch hanging out in the heavily used space. Steve sits on the opposite side, not wanting to invade her personal space as he listens intently. “Cool dude, hired me years ago, and he was really into jazz when he was younger. Like, used to play the sax for a living. He knew nothing about punk music, but he loved asking me about it. I learned a lot about jazz from him, too.

“He was empathetic with my pain, too. The couch is back here ‘cause he felt bad I had nowhere to rest on break.   Then he ended up using it more than I did.” Frankie’s a little dazed as she retells the circumstances. “I knew he’d never get better, and he knew it too, but I told him I’d love to watch over the business until he’s ready to come back. Couldn’t stand watching this place close, so… yeah. S’why I asked you.”

“I’m sorry, Frankie.” It’s all Steve can come up with, but it’s genuine, and she can tell.

“I hope it doesn’t come off like I’m telling you this so you’re guilted into being here, ‘cause if you wanna find another job, don’t feel like you have to st—“

“You do that a lot,” Steve blurts out, but it’s not mean-spirited. He stammers, “N- not that— it’s not bad— sorry—-“

“And you do that a lot,” Frankie observes bluntly. “Guess we’re kinda similar in the whole ‘overly apologetic’ department, huh?”

Steve glances at her, sighing with a hint of a sad smile. “Guess we are.” He rests his head on the back of the couch, blowing air between pursed lips as his eyes fixate on the ceiling. “Anyway, you’re not guilting me. I’m staying.” Then he sits back up, narrowing his stare at her. “Unless I’m still fired.”

She sits up, shoving her hand out towards him. He grabs it as she shakes it obnoxiously, snorting, “Steve Harrington, you’re re-hired.”

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“Fibro’s just like… a bag of jellybeans.”

Steve scoffs out a laugh, lost on Frankie’s words. “I’m sorry, what?”

At the end of the day, Frankie and Steve wound up at a diner, still caught up in the excitement of getting to know a new friend.

“Y’know, it’s always a mystery over what color and flavor you end up with ‘til you get it.” Frankie begins to explain, hands on the diner’s table; Steve’s noticed she talks with her hands, a lot. She’s always so animated, even talking about the most mundane subjects. “And you might have ‘em all, but there might be more of one flavor, or another. Fibromyalgia is just a bag of symptoms, ‘cause you don’t know what’s gonna hurt that day ‘til it does— does that make sense?” 

“Oh, like, I get a lot of headaches, sometimes ocular migraines— the first few times, those freaked me out, and joint pain the most, but the other symptoms still exist, too, just not as frequently.” Steve scrunches his eyes shut with a nod, pushing his glasses back up the bridge of his nose. “Right? Or maybe I’m way off—“

“No, that’s exactly it! 

“That’s actually… a really good analogy,” He tucks the comparison away in his mind, for future use. “Wait, so you also have fibromyalgia?”

Frankie’s about to answer, until the waitress brings their milkshakes and fries to the table. Her smile over something as simple as a milkshake is contagious, and Steve finds himself grinning along with her.

“Yeah, but we found out lupus was a bigger concern,” She shares casually. “Y’know, I wouldn’t wish fibro on anyone, but I’m pissed you have to deal with it.”

Steve’s face distorts into confusion. “Why d’ya say that?”

“It’s such a fucking mess of a disability. Tests come back normal, x-rays show nothing, MRIs are clear, too— shit is so infuriating. You’re living in constant pain and most people don’t believe you. Then ya’ got these fuckin’ misogynistic doctors who see it as a “woman’s disease”— yeah, it’s more prevalent in women, but men get it too, and it’s like y’all are told to just… suck it up. “Man up”. Deal with it.

“Honestly… not sure which sucks to be told more, that you’re just “hysterical and attention seeking” for being sick as a woman, or being told you’re just a “whiny baby” if you’re sick as a man.”

Steve only stares at her; Frankie feels warm under his gaze, sinking into the booth.

“Sorry, I— you’re so spot on, I have nothing to add.” Steve’s shaking his head, fidgeting with his napkin. “But I can’t get over that someone my age fucking gets it.”

Frankie sighs, relieved to hear she wasn’t overdoing it with her rambling.

“Steve, I hate that we’re both in pain, but it’s… it’s nice not having to struggle alone, for once.” She stretches her legs under the booth, resting her boots on the cushion on Steve’s side. He mirrors her, sneakers kicking up to  rest next to her. She smiles, nudging his shoe with her elbow. “Copycat.”

“You really lucked out having a dad who’s a doctor,” Steve softly chuckles, and Frankie smiles, but it doesn’t reach her eyes. Immediately, he panics he might’ve said the wrong thing. “I- I don’t mean that in a bad way—“

“No, I know you didn’t. He—” Frankie looks off, eyes fixating on the bustling traffic out the window, despite the two of them being seated in the far end of the diner. She looks back to her milkshake, swirling the straw mindlessly. “He wasn’t always a doctor. He wasn’t in the medical field at all, not ‘til I got sick as a kid.”

“Wait, really?”

“Yup. He got tired of taking me to specialists for them to always say I was being overdramatic, or “Oh, she’s a girl, she might just be faking that for attention.” I guess what I was going through made him realize shit had to change for the sake of us sick folks. I don’t know how anyone would be able to juggle a full time job, full time med school, and raising a kid on their own, but he did it. Even if shit is terrible most of the time, I’m grateful to have a dad as incredible as him.”

Steve let Frankie’s words sink in before curiosity took its hold, “He’s a single parent?”

Frankie sips from her milkshake, looking back at Steve as she sits back. “Wasn’t always, but yeah. Never met my mom, she, uh, she was sick, too. Cancer. Passed before my first birthday.”

“Jesus, Frankie… I’m so sorry.”

She shrugs, trying to let the everlasting sting roll off her back. “I heard she was really sweet, and funny. My dad showed me some home movies a few years back, and it was the first time I heard her voice. She was so pretty, and happy, and—“ She shakes her head, scoffing at herself. “God, I’m sorry for rambling.”

“You don’t have anything to apologize for. If you ever wanna talk about this… or anything, I might not know what to say, but I’ll always listen.”

“Right back at ya’, Steve,” She murmurs, gaze friendly before sipping her milkshake.

“I don’t think you want to know my story,” He tries shrugging it off, as if a chuckle would follow, but never does.

“I do, and I mean that.” She firmly states, locking eyes with him. “But only when you’re comfortable sharing it.”

Steve nods, “Yeah. Maybe someday. Kinda hard to even talk to my therapist still about it.”

“You’ll get there eventually. On your own terms.” Frankie can tell he’s uncomfortable, searching for a change of subject. She looks back at his legs, still next to her in the booth. “Isn’t your leg cold?” She nods to the hole in his jeans, right above his knee.

“Yeah, but I needed to wear my knee brace today.”

���I can sew loose, stretchy fabric in, and snaps to remove it, if that helps,” She slurps down the last of the milkshake. “You cool with hanging out longer?”

Steve can’t suppress the grin that graces his face.

ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨

Frankie’s apartment is in a repurposed warehouse; a large studio, cluttered with art supplies scattered all about. An easel hangs out in the wide open room near a window, with canvasses, both finished and unfinished everywhere surrounding it. Cups and cups of paintbrushes, tubes of paint, pastels, graphite pencils and drawing pads strewn atop nearly every surface. A sewing machine rested snug in a corner of the open room. 

Among it all was the kitchen and living room; down a hallway were the doors to the bathroom, and her bedroom. 

After Steve changes into the sweats Frankie found for him, he enters the main room, holding the sweatpants up by the waistband awkwardly, handing his pair of jeans over to her.

“Sorry, I knew they’d be kinda big, but not that much.” She has jersey knit fabric already cut, sewing snaps to the edges. As she works, she elaborates, “I keep a buncha sizes in clothes, ‘cause my weight fluctuates all the time with flare ups.”

“That’s actually… really smart.”

“Yeah, I got tired of buying and donating the same several sizes over and over. Just easier, and cheaper, to keep ‘em all on hand.” Frankie’s zoned into the impromptu project, so Steve wanders around her apartment, stopping at the kitchen table, blanketed with multiple sketches. 

“I didn’t know you could draw.” He wonders aloud, glancing over the sketch pad papers. There’s a certain style he can’t quite put his finger on with her work; for plain subjects and ideas, they’re incredible.

 Steve turns to the easel with her latest work in progress. It’s a portrait of a woman weeping, holding a mask of her face that’s smiling over her real expression. It’s gorgeous work, but he feels a pang in his chest, wondering if Frankie feels this way more often than not.

“Holy shit, Frankie…” He breathes, recognizing his own struggles through the piece; how often he feels as if he needs to bury his own pain to keep everyone else comfortable. Then again, who hasn’t felt at one point or another they need to cover up how they truly feel?

“I hope that’s a good “holy shit”,” She responds as she continues sewing.

“Your work is amazing,” He’s still staring at the painting, admiring how her art style is slightly unkempt, and leans toward traditional tattoo-style art, but she makes it work somehow; some of the paint bleeds outside the lines, or speckles in random splotches, like watercolors, but it adds character. “Do you just paint as a hobby?”

“I actually had plans to become a tattoo artist, did an apprenticeship and everything,” She murmurs, loud enough for him to hear, but still weighed down with disappointment. She pulls the denim away from the sewing machine, trimming away the loose threads. “Can’t really tattoo when you’ve got unpredictable hand tremors, though. S’why the paintings are such a wreck.”

Oh.

“Shit. That’s…” Again, Steve can’t find proper words of empathy. “I’m sorry.”

Frankie finally glances over her shoulder at him, “Kinda normal for folks like us to leave behind our dreams. Mourn what our lives could’ve been, and what they used to be.”

The familiarity of surrender in her voice hits Steve hard. He might not have had the same dreams to give up to prioritize his health, but it’s still an experience similar to hers. Giving up any dreams or goals he had to accept they probably wouldn’t, couldn’t, come to life. He’s watched his life’s potential slip through his fingers, and has no way of stopping it from vanishing completely.

Mourning what your life was isn’t easy, either. Reminiscing on better health in earlier times of your existence, proof you’ll never be that happy, that healthy again— even if Steve was unhappy deep down in high school, he wishes he had the energy to still fake it.

“Yeah. Fucking sucks.” He mutters. At the same time, Frankie turns to him, holding his jeans out for him to take.

Steve glances over her handiwork, grateful to have soft fabric that’ll finally work with his knee brace, while being removable when it’s too warm out.

“On the bright side, at least you’ve got a friend who gets it now.” She’s speaking softly, with so much, too much, understanding. It helps to finally have a friend who can relate, but with that comes sharing the same emotional hardships, ones that feel endless. 

Still, it’s better than navigating that all on your own.

ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ

It’s been a handful of weeks— maybe about a month and change— since Steve’s life began to feel good again. He’s not sure how long exactly, he just knows since finding a doctor that sincerely cared for his patients, and befriending Frankie, someone his age he could finally relate to, he doesn’t care to keep track of time like a dismal countdown.

He’s not counting the days he feels like a prisoner in his own body anymore.

Timing, though, is always perfectly unfortunate when it comes to Steve’s luck, and life.

On a dull Wednesday night, he and Frankie are closing up the shop before their plans to meet up with Robin at the diner. Steve has had a muted ache in his head since the previous night, but it wasn’t enough to keep him in bed, thankfully. He took some Tylenol earlier in the day, and that helped with staving off most of the pain. Any relief he can find, he happily takes.

The sun isn’t setting as early anymore, a sign winter’s almost at its end; he’s been looking forward to spring, because this cold has done no favors to his aching joints. Until then, he’s still bundling up ridiculously to keep from violently shaking in the cold.

“Hey, Frankie?” He’s looking behind the counter, puzzled. His head feels heavy, thoughts settling in a thick fog. Pushing past it, he asks, “Have you seen my scarf?”

Frankie returns from the tiny stockroom, keys swinging lazily on her finger. “Is it the blue one?”

“No, it’s—“ Steve pauses, hands on the counter to hold himself up from a sudden bout of dizziness. He gives a weak laugh, “I can’t even remember if I wore one at all. Maybe I didn’t.”

Frankie’s quick to notice something’s not right when Steve practically white knuckles the edge of the counter; her firsthand experience with chronic illness is setting off alarms in her head.

“Steve, you should sit down—“ She rushes around to him, pushing the stool towards him. Grabbing his shoulders, she pushes him gently into the chair. “What’s going on?” 

“S’blurry,” Is all he mutters to her. She lifts a hand to his forehead, and he shivers, speaking up a bit more, “You’re always cold.”

She keeps her panic to herself, and rolls her eyes with a tiny smile, pulling her hand away to reach into her bag on the floor; straightening back up with a heavily sticker-bombed water bottle, she hands it to him.

“When’d you last eat?”

Steve shrugs, weakly sipping out of the bottle. “Uh, a few hours ago, I think.” He’s struggling to stay in conversation as the vision in his one eye blurs. “Frankie, I can’t see shit out of this eye.” He points to the right side of his face, hand nearly limp.

“Does your head hurt?”

“Been hurting all day, actually,” He waves his hand in front of his own face, repeating, “Yeah I- I can’t see a damn thing out of this eye.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Wasn’t a big deal ‘til now— shit—“ Steve clutches his head; everything’s too overwhelming. The lights are too bright, the buzz of electricity is too loud, and he feels nauseous. The dizziness is only growing stronger, too. Curling into himself, he doubles over, head in his hands as he leans towards his legs. “God, I hate this.”

Frankie rushes to the light switch across the room, turning off all the lights inside; the only light available is what wanders in from the city outside through the windows. 

There was one crucial detail Steve left out when he confided in Frankie about his ocular migraines: the pain is so intense, it works in tandem with his anxiety, triggering flashbacks of those miserable last few years in Hawkins.

They roll through so quickly in his mind; the first time he fought off a demogorgon with Nancy and Jonathan.  When Steve became a personal punching bag for Billy nearly one year later, the same night he had been roped into fighting off demodogs with the kids, nearly dying multiple times before the sun rose again. The fucked up elevator in Starcourt that plummeted to an artificial hell that also nearly killed him and his friends. He could picture the fists flying at him, his honest answers for the countless times he was asked “who do you work for?” never enough for his captors. 

“Stop, stop, stop—“

Frankie hears Steve whimpering while his flashbacks drag him deeper into the past.

Because who can just forget nearly dying far too many times with your friends before turning twenty? Why forget it when the past just continues to help you survive even further carnage?

His lungs burn while he recalls swimming down to the bottom of the lake, in search of the gate, only to be pulled back down after resurfacing to his friends. It’s not easy to erase the way he fought for his life once dragged into the Upside Down, especially not when the scars refuse to fade, continuing to keep the nightmare alive. Even if his scars blended into his worn, tired skin now, the proof lies in each and every person in the group. Hell, the proof is in anyone from Hawkins.

“Steve—“ Frankie’s voice breaks through to him, only for a moment, too quick to pull him out of this traumatic loop of memories. 

Vecna. Stumbling upon Eddie, nearly dead, in Dustin’s arms. The “earthquake”. Max deep in a coma in the hospital. Watching the Upside Down bleed into reality on this plane of existence. The ultimate downfall of what was once his hometown— once a haven of memories, good and bad, ones that taught him life lessons, ones that he still reminisces on to this day. Leaving behind everything he loved in that shitty little town. Goodbyes with everyone as they all split their separate ways, with hopes and dreams of making the most of a new life somewhere safe.

Hawkins, Indiana was wiped off the map. Wiped from existence to keep the rest of the world safe.

Hawkins was only a memory, now.

Hawkins was gone. 

“Hi, y- yeah, we need an ambulance, my friend, h- he—“

Everyone made it out alive, but what was the point when everyone was hurting badly, one way or another?

What’s the point in surviving if you continue to live in your own personal hell? He thinks, barely making out Frankie reciting the address for the record store. He blindly reaches out for her, still folded over in agony.

Instead of finding her, he finds himself slipping off the chair, hitting the cold, hard floor before abruptly losing his grip on reality. 

ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ

The first thing Steve sees when his eyes weakly flutter open is Frankie. Everything is blurry, but not like before; his vision slowly comes into focus, while the edges of tunnel vision have faded away. A dim, frail smile appears on his face at her sleeping figure, curled up next to him.

Pressure in his head spreads, like there’s an ache about to begin, but it never does, held at bay. That’s when he notices the IV in his arm, prying his eyes open a little more, baffled and trying to sift through the brain fog.

Frankie stirs, eyes squinting open, but once she sees Steve’s awake, her eyes widen; she sits up too quickly, stumbling out of the chair she folded herself into, catching herself at the last minute.

“Steve—“

“Hi Frankie,” He smiles, dopey and sleepy, like he just woke up from a nap, and not a medical scare. She grabs his hand, and he blushes. Looking down at their hands clasped together, a dazed look covers his features. “Your hand’s not very cold. You okay?”

A laugh slips out of Frankie, “I think all the panic made me overheated.” Her bottom lip wobbles, despite Steve’s lips still curved up lazily, “You’re the one in the hospital bed, I should be asking you that.”

“M’fine, I feel great, actually.”

“That would be the drugs doing their job, buddy.” She’s surprised to hear herself giggle, but it rises a weak yet genuine laugh out of Steve. Her thumb softly swipes back and forth on his hand, still in hers. “You scared the hell outta me, Steve.”

His face drops, beginning to realize the severity of the situation, despite gaps of memory to recall on. “I… don’t remember anything.”

“Do you want me to tell you?”

He wordlessly nods.

“Your head hurt all day, but you didn’t tell me until a migraine started,” Frankie sighs, gently pushing his sweat-matted hair away from his eyes. “I think it was an ocular migraine, ‘cause you told me you couldn’t— well, in your exact words, you said “Frankie, I can’t see shit out of this eye”, and then it— you—”

It all floods back to Steve in a flash— his headache that rolled into a sudden, ocular migraine, making him dizzy and weak. How his right eye went blind, then everything hurt, sent him into a panic, and triggered the flashbacks.

“You fell, too, but thankfully you landed on my bag instead of the floor.” She reaches down to his forehead, just above his brow, gently sweeping a thumb across his skin. “There’s a small bruise, but could’ve been worse.”

That, he ignores. Instead, Steve’s heart drops at the thought of what Frankie might’ve heard or seen. Before he can ask, she gathers the courage to tell him.

“You we’re crying, saying ‘I wanna go home’ a- and ‘stop, stop, stop,’” Her fingers grip his hand, shaking. He squeezes back, sobering up fast from the pain medication. “You kept calling out names, calling for Robin, and I- I don’t know who else, but you sounded so hurt, Steve.”

Steve doesn’t even realize he’s crying until Frankie whispers, “oh” and grabs a handful of tissues from the side table, handing them over to him.

“I— goddammit. I’m so sorry, Frankie.” 

“It’s okay—“

He shakes his head, eyes falling shut; he can’t look at her right now, he feels nothing but shame. 

“It’s not. It never will be. I wasn’t trying to hide anything or lie, but I- I- I—“ In the midst of his panic, he remembers the plans they had with Robin.  His bloodshot eyes lock with Frankie’s teary ones. “Shit, does Robin know—“

“She’s on her way. Thankfully she stopped by instead of meeting us at the diner, right when the ambulance came. I asked if Robin wanted to go with you, but she asked if I could instead; she wanted to grab your meds and a few other things.” Frankie reassures him, but Steve can’t shake the guilt, can’t escape the embarrassment. “Robin’s really a great best friend.”

Steve rubs his eyes, nodding as his voice wavers, “Best friend I ever had. I- I’d be dead without her.”

“Give yourself some credit, man.” A familiar voice floats into the room; Frankie and Steve both look across the hospital room to find Robin, along with Eddie and Dustin trailing in behind her.

“It’s definitely that charming stubbornness to survive y’got going on,” Robin teases lightheartedly.

Frankie looks back at Steve, finding his face about to light up, but he just falls apart again. She releases his hand so Robin can hug him. Steve shakes in her grasp, while Robin murmurs “you’re okay, you’re safe”, soft enough for only Steve to hear; Frankie’s still able to catch it, though.

“Wh— what are you two doing here?”

“You picked the best time to go to the ER,” Dustin grins, trying to point out the bright side. “We were gonna surprise you at the diner, but now we get to surprise you here!” Steve’s smile wavers; he wants to be happy to see his friends again, but the sudden visit and multiple voices, louder than Frankie, makes him wince, too.

Still, he finds himself asking, “Dustin, why are you excited about that?” 

“‘Cause, hospitals suck. Unless Eddie and I are in ‘em.” Dustin looks over at Frankie with a questioning, yet friendly look. “Who— oh. Are you Frankie?”

Her cheeks turn rosy while Steve groans, head falling back on the pillow.

Trying to redirect, Eddie teases, “The kid tells no lies, we’re the best free entertainment a hospital can get.” He’s shooting Steve a knowing look that earns a short-lived laugh out of him. 

Now Steve knows how Max felt when she woke from her coma, when Eddie was finally stable enough to leave his room next to hers. How him and Dustin did everything they could, said whatever they could say, to crack a smile on her face.

 It’s the thought that counts, he thinks, grateful to have friends who care. Steve always felt like everyone would forget him when they all left Hawkins behind. After all, he was usually the one looking out for everyone else. Putting them first. Making sure everyone was safe and sound before himself.

How relieved he was to be wrong, for once.

“How you holding up?” Dustin asks,

“Uh… I…”

All of this is overwhelming; Steve’s still trying to process what happened, was in the middle of Frankie retelling details, and now he’s on an emotional rollercoaster from a surprise visit from two friends he hadn’t seen in god knows how long.

On top of all of that, his head is one loud, startling noise or bright light away from kicking off another migraine.

Robin can tell he’s a step away from falling apart, so she jumps in to give him some breathing room. “I think… we should get snacks from the vending machine. Do either of you want anything?” Frankie shakes her head, and Steve only shrugs without an answer. “We’ll be back, ‘kay?” She backs up, gently pushing the two curly heads out of the room despite their protests; the room falls silent once again.

Steve sighs loudly, eyes shutting as he relaxes into the bed. “I love them, but I— it’s just—“

“Bad timing, I get it. There’s nothing wrong with asking for space.” Frankie assures him, then adds, “I should’ve asked too, do you need me to leave?”

“Don’t,” Steve’s cursing himself inwardly for answering so quickly. “Un- unless you wanna leave—“

“I wanna stay,” She answers at an embarrassing speed, making Steve smile. “I— I can stay overnight, if you want. But don’t feel obligated to say yes.”

“They’ll let you do that?”

“Usually, no, but I know the nurse on shift tonight, and she’s incredibly sweet. Told me already I can stay if I need to.” Frankie smirks. “One, tiny upside of being a hospital regular. Honestly, everyone’s nice here, at least who I’ve met.” She stops herself from rambling, glancing at Steve with concern. “You need anything right now?”

Steve murmurs, “No, just cold,” and releases her hand to pull the covers over himself, shivering. As he does, Frankie catches the scar around his neck while the flimsy hospital gown shifts along with him, exposing a sliver more of him than she’s seen. 

He notices her stare, hand flying to his neck in a pathetic attempt to cover it; he’s quick to stammer out an excuse, “Oh that’s, uh, from— it’s actually a long story, but it’s not— it’s—“

Frankie shakes her head, reaching for Steve’s hand to squeeze softly. “You don’t have to tell me anything, not unless you’re ready and want to. Whatever your story is, Steve, it’s for you to tell on your own terms.”

Again, she watches him relax from a tensed state. 

“Thank you, ‘Key.”

She smirks, “Y’know, I only let people I’m close to call me that.”

“Oh- oh, shit, I’m—“ He sits up, about to stammer out an apology, but her free hand gently stops him before pushing him back down slowly. 

“That includes you.”

“Really?”

“Just one condition.”

“What is it?”

“You tell me if you’re in pain. I know that’s nearly all the time, but if you can’t come in, or can’t hang out, you tell me. Hell, if you need, you can call me if you’re home alone and just need to talk about it.” She softly demands and suggests. Steve nods; it’s only fair, especially after tonight’s scare. “Or even if you still come to work or want to keep plans, don’t be afraid to ask for what you need. I’d rather you take care of yourself than push your body past its limits.”

Steve’s mind races around for the right words to return to her, but all he can respond with is a sincere, “Thank you, Frankie.” Then he adds quickly, “All of what you just said, that applies to you too. Got it?” He tries coming off stern, playfully, of course; instead, his lips crack into a smile, but the sentiment is still true.

“Got it, Stevie,” She tries winking, but it looks more like a twitch, and the two burst into giggles. “You make it look so easy whenever you wink!”

Steve just shoots her a smooth, quick wink. In return, he gets her playful eye roll. He finds comfort and safety in the harmless teasing between one another.

Things might’ve gone to hell tonight, but at least Steve didn’t go through it alone.

ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ

When everyone returned to the hospital room, they made sure to keep their tones quiet, soft, and Steve felt some guilt over that, but he reminded himself too that he’s lucky to have friends who accommodate his needs.

He catches Robin, Dustin, and Eddie up to speed, leaving out the gory, telling details of his flashbacks; Robin must’ve warned Dustin and Eddie to not speak about the Upside Down, for Frankie’s sake. And really, for Steve’s sake, too. After his mind ran through every event, every memory, down to the very last detail, he was exhausted. The last thing he wanted to think or talk about was Hawkins, and all the horrors it once contained.

And once proper introductions were made, Steve admired the way Dustin and Eddie automatically included Frankie into every part of the conversation, making sure she felt welcomed among them, too. 

Steve needed this. He needed the distraction, needed the laughter, the inside jokes, with stories explained to Frankie to keep her in the loop. The longer the visit went on, though, the more Steve realized at some point, he’d have to explain everything to Frankie. She told him to take his time, that he wouldn’t ever need to talk about it if he wasn’t ready, but he’d rather get it out in the open sooner rather than later. 

This friendship was something Steve never had with anyone else before, and he was quickly growing attached to the dynamic. He never expected to grow attached to Frankie so fast, either. Or at all.

Visiting hours end, with Dustin hugging Steve a little too tight, apologetic as he loosens his arms when Steve grumbles in pain. Dustin narrows his eyes at Steve, repeating a sentiment from the time they were stuck in the elevator in Starcourt. “If you die, I die. So don’t die.”

“Oh, we changed that one up a bit? Alright,” Robin snorts, and Dustin flips her off.

Meanwhile, Steve only shrugs. “Okay.”

“Some things never change,” Robin mutters, shaking her head.

The older two out of the trio say their goodbyes, too, with Eddie reminding in a sing-song voice, “Gonna bother you again tomorrow, Big Boy.”

“Please, for the love of—“ Steve sighs, sinking under the covers, embarrassed. “Stop calling me that.” Frankie’s lost, but still giggling over the exchanges; he points at her, “No, don’t— do not encourage his nonsense”

“Respectfully, no, I’ll never stop.” He grins while Robin shoves him out of the room. As he’s nearly out the door, he waves and shouts, “Nice meeting you, Frankie!”

Alone, yet again, Frankie bites her lip to contain her laughter, and Steve narrows a glare at her. “Oh, I can already tell you’re gonna be trouble with them.”

“Listen, it’s not my fault your friends are funny and charming.”

“They’re anything but—“

“Oh, I’m telling ‘em tomorrow you said that.”

“Where’s your proof, Amato?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know, Harrington.” She sticks her tongue out at him.

Laughing, his brows knit together, “I would!”

He tries to conjure a better comeback to throw her way, but his thoughts fizzle out while watching her set up the chairs into a makeshift bed.

“Frankie.”

She spins around, watching Steve lean up on his elbow. “Huh?”

“You’re not sleeping on those chairs. That’s gonna kill your neck. And your back.” Steve deadpans, pulling his glasses off to set them on the nightstand. “And every other joint in your body.”

Frankie snorts, holding her arms out, “Then where am I sleeping, Steve?”

“Up here,” He’s even surprised by his own boldness, but carries through. “With me.”

If one could hold someone’s gaze in a death grip, Frankie would be doing that right now with Steve’s stare; disbelief and skepticism floods through her thoughts.

“Unless that’s too— if you’re not comfortable—“

“Steve,” Frankie pushes past the way her round cheeks flush red, “We gotta stop second guessing ourselves like this.”

“Yeah, but I just don’t want to assume—“

“When you’re close with someone, assumptions are kind of a given. When someone gets you, it’s not offensive.” She holds the extra pillow a nurse gave her earlier to her chest. “I’m okay with it, if you are. And I’m going to assume you are, because you asked—“

“Demanded—“

Her mouth falls open at his bluntness, “Okay, Big Boy, slow down—“

“Francesca,” He groans, falling back onto the pillows, “please do not call me that.”

She laughs softly, tugging the edges of Steve’s lips into a soft smile; he’s a goner. He knows he is. He’s known for awhile now, but her laugh, her smile, solidifies it. 

“Okay, Steven.”

Waving his arm out towards the uncomfortable hospital bed, he sasses, “Will you shut the hell up and get up here?”

“Didn’t know you were so bossy in bed, Steve,” Frankie waggles her brows at Steve, and while he tries rolling his eyes, his face falls back into a deep shade of red she’s been so easily able to pull out of him these days.

“Christ, Amato, do you ever sh—“

“Shut it, man. I’m moving as fast as a cripple can,” She teases, rounding the bed to climb into the empty side. Kicking her boots off, she swings her legs into the bed. There’s just enough room for her, but only if she presses against Steve by just a touch. “If this is too close—“

“It’s not—“

“Okay, well—“

“‘Key?” Steve’s voice wavers, soft and unsure of himself, despite the habitual teasing. “Can you— shit, this is stupid—“

“Whatever it is, it’s not stupid.” She reassures blindly. “Ask me.”

Steve takes a deep breath, nerves seeping through the overly confident demeanor the drugs gave him. “Can you… can—“ He sighs, frustrated with himself, before blurting out, “Can you hold me?”

Frankie doesn’t answer, not verbally; already on her side, she winds her arms around Steve’s torso, hugging him lightly from behind.

“This okay? You’re comfortable?”

He just nods definitively.

“Steve… your gown is open.”

He panics, shooting up and throwing a hand behind himself to try closing the opening, until he feels Frankie shake against him with laughter.

“You’re such a— quit laughing!” Steve laughs as he tries demanding this of Frankie. 

“M’sorry, it was just— the opportunity was there, I had to take it.”

He sighs, suppressing his grin, his chuckles, laying back down. “You’re gonna give me a heart attack.”

“Best place to have one though, no?” Frankie settles down, snuggling closer to him; her position is certain, yet leaves room for Steve to distance himself if he wants. 

He doesn’t answer with words, just tugs her arms closer around his body, her hands to his chest.

“Hey, Frankie?”

“Mhm?”

“Thank you. I know those migraines aren’t exactly life threatening, but…” He trails off, closing his eyes before admitting the truth, “They make it so… so hard to want to be alive. I’m grateful for your help. I’m sorry you had to witness that, but I— you—“ Oh, fuck it. “I didn’t expect to become so attached to our friendship, to you. But… I’m one lucky, unlucky son of a bitch to have someone in my life like you.”

Frankie feels her tears well her eyes; her and Steve are both so easily emotional— it comes with the territory of being sick on a regular basis. Who wouldn’t be? Realistically, how can you expect someone in the depths of internal and external pain to navigate this life with ease?

Neither of them are cured from the security of this friendship, but it’s reassuring to both that neither are alone in this fight against the bodies they pilot, day in, day out. No definite future for either separately, but at least they can navigate it together. 

Frankie’s almost sure Steve’s asleep, so she speaks up to make sure.

“Steve?”

“Yeah?”

She sighs, pushing her sentiment into words, solidifying the security of their friendship, at the very least.

“Whatever hell you lived through,” Her voice wavers while on the precipice of sleep, barely heard under the heart monitor’s routine beeps. “I’m glad you survived.”

He’s half asleep, heart monitor rolling to a steady crawl “M’glad I survived, too.”

[bridenore]

HD eight year fic recs : less than 10k words

Here are a few drarry eight year fic recs that are less than 10k words. Posted in alphabetical order, as always.

All I Have to Do by @fluxweeed [9k]

The Patented Daydream Charm (Adult Edition) allows you to enter a top-quality, highly realistic thirty-minute sexual fantasy. Solitude and privacy spells advised. or: Draco finally has some alone time; Harry just needs to nip in for a book.

All We Want Is Danger by @cassiaratheslytherpuff [9k]

Something weird was happening to Draco. It wasn’t something Harry was used to being concerned about. He’d spent most of sixth year sure that Draco was up to something, yes, but this was different. This was – something was off. Wrong. Harry had never in his life been scared of Draco. And yet, something about him had changed enough to make the hair rise on the back of Harry’s neck every time he entered a room. The feeling was only made stranger by the rush of arousal that usually came along with it.

Alpha by @lqtraintracks [2k]

Finding out I’m Malfoy’s Alpha and he’s my Omega might have gone a lot differently had we not still hated each other. But we do, so here’s how it goes

Aurora by @wolfpants [5k]

Eighth Year at a half-built Hogwarts, and Harry is not following Draco Malfoy anymore. At least, that's what he's telling himself.

Awake in the Night by venis_envy [2k]

H/D Post war, eighth year Hogwarts.

Back to You by aibidil & daisymondays [8k]

The eighth years make Harry and Malfoy go head to head and back to back in a question-and-answer drinking game. The worst that can happen is they end up drunk, right?

Bare Feet, Giant Squid, and One Perfect Moment by bryoneybrynn [4k]

Gryffindor may be the House of the brave but Harry’s feeling a bit nervous. It’s one thing to face a dragon or a Dark Lord. It’s quite another to make a move on the bloke who’s been your nemesis for the last eight years…

Brandishing The Wand by @ladderofyears [2k]

When four Eighth Year boys overhear Draco and Harry having sex in the dormitory bathroom, each jumps to a very erroneous conclusion.

Checking out the Opposition by birdsofshore [6k]

Harry and Draco seem quite wound up after their latest game of Quidditch.

The Comfiest Armchair by @xanthippe74 [2k]

In which Harry and Draco won’t stop fighting over the best armchair in the Eighth-Year common room, Hermione takes matters into her own hands, and Harry sees a (ahem) side of Draco that he’s never seen before.

Empty Nights by  winterstorrm [4k]

Draco and Harry have had this ‘thing’ for months now. It’s ‘just sex’ though, right?

Erase the Shame by FleetofShippyShips [6k]

An Inter-House unity party is the last thing Draco wants to go to. It's not long into a game of Truth or Dare when he is reminded why. But maybe his dare is worth it after all.

Flutter by @shiftylinguini [4k]

Being back at Hogwarts is not what Harry expected, and neither is what’s going on between himself and Malfoy, but it feels good, and that? Well, that’s what Harry’s chasing this year. Amid the rebuilding of the school and the budding relationships of the other students at Hogwarts in spring, Harry finds that the flutter of change and the new feelings it brings are exactly what he wants ― and more.

Games Night by @agentmoppet [6k]

Harry has no idea why Hermione decided that an inter-house Games Night would be a good idea, but he’s here now, and he intends to beat Malfoy, no matter what game he chooses. But, who would have thought muggle games could be full of so much... tension?

A Ghost of Blissful Feelings by @alpha-exodus [6k]

Harry hadn’t expected to spend his eighth year fucking Draco Malfoy, but it’s the only thing that helps him let go.

A Good Place to Start by JET_Playin [2k]

Harry is finding 8th year rather dull until he goes to visit Hagrid and ends up helping him deliver Draco Malfoy’s baby. Now he has to protect Malfoy and keep his secrets and he might just be falling a little in love with both Malfoys just to complicate matters.

Good to Me (And I’d Be So Good to You) by AWickedMemory [8k]

Everyone returns to Hogwarts after the war, but nothing is quite the same. Harry’s groupies are creepier than ever, Ron and Hermione are snogging all over the place, and the once-proud Draco is shuffling around like a kicked puppy. But that’s okay: Harry’s got a plan.

Grow by @shiftylinguini [3k]

There’s an abandoned greenhouse, right at the back of the lot. There are unruly trees, and snagged brambles, and the grass is long and lush. It feels like the Forest, but tamer somehow, and Draco likes it. It feels like the spot where the castle meets the wild, or where the wild is trying to creep back in. There’s something mildly thrilling about it at night, the potential for danger, for something to look back at Draco as he stares into the dark, lush woods. Draco’s always loved that feeling.   This is where they meet.

Jump Into the Fog by taradiane [9k]           

Draco returns to Hogwarts for his eighth year carrying a secret that will change not just his life, but Harry’s as well.

Of the Heart's Fullness and Of the Coming Emptiness by tout a coup [9k]

Harry Potter is nineteen, and he's already peaked.

An Old Habit by fireflavored [8k]

The boys have changed a lot over the summer after the war, but Harry hasn’t got over the urge to spy on Malfoy. 

A Pain of Our Choosing by @lqtraintracks [5k]

It’s 8th year and everyone’s still a bit messed up. Harry and Draco fall into being messed up together.

Raindrops on roses and whiskers on kneazles by curiouslyfic [1k]

Harry sort of comes back to the world to the sound of sniffling, which strikes him as odd.

Room for Improvement by acromantular [2k]

Malfoy’s family-rehabilitation project is going so well. But is Potter worth risking all his hard work?

Sexplanations (Of the Horrible Sort) by @bixgirl1 [7k]

Harry’s willing to put up with a certain amount of injury, as long as he and Malfoy can keep doing… whatever it is they’re doing. Maybe. Mostly. Especially if there might be more to it than sex. Based on a tumblr headcanon.

Snug by @moonflower-rose [6k]

Potter can’t keep his hands off himself. Draco can’t look away.

Sores by mijeli [3k]

It’s been going on for weeks. They don’t talk about it.

Speechless by mayberry_rose [6k]

In which Draco can’t speak, and Harry learns to listen.

Starting Positions by @bixgirl1 [8k]

Later, Harry would wonder if Malfoy regretted that first, surprised mutter after three days of hard-pointed silence. Later, Harry would wonder about his own lack of regret over looking up when he heard Malfoy’s voice. But that would come after everything had already happened, the way events always seemed to, when even a Time-Turner couldn’t change things. The shape of a path, as Harry knew very well by then, once walked, was a lot like a paper crane — unfolded and pressed flat, you could try to fashion it into something different, but the original creases would always remain.

Storm in a Teacup by @faith2wood [7k]

For reasons he’d rather not think about, Draco is obsessed with Potter’s hair. This cannot end well.

swallow your words by icarusinflight [9k]

The truth is, not many things are known about the magic that is behind soulmarks. They’ll turn up when they want and not before. The truth is, you don’t get a choice in your soulmark. The truth is, not everyone is okay with that.

This Heart Shut Wide by @xanthippe74 [4k]

It’s New Year’s Eve and Draco refuses to talk to anyone at this wretched party in the Eighth-Year common room. He’s going to ignore Harry Potter and not think about snogging him in the staircase earlier. And he’s definitely not going to let himself fuck up both their lives by continuing the reckless game they’re playing. As usual, nothing goes according to Draco’s plan.

Trouble with your tie, Potter? by @tenthousandyearsx​ [6k]

The last thing Harry expects when Slughorn partners him up with Zabini is Malfoy shooting them furious looks throughout the whole class and then unceremoniously snogging Harry in the corridor.

the Veela codec by curiouslyfic [3k]

Potter wants obvious. Draco wants Potter. Clearly, some sort of plan will be required.

What Potter Wants by birdsofshore [3k]

Harry definitely didn’t want to do that to Malfoy. Not at all. So why did Malfoy keep saying that he did?

I hope you enjoy these stories as much as I did!

[sapphicantics]

Don’t Want Another Lover

Pairing: Janis Imi’ike x fem!reader

Summary: Janis ditches a blind date you’d spent helping her prepare for and you confront her at a party to find out why.

Contents: best friends to lovers trope, pining!Janis, talks of unrequited love, Janis is constantly talking about being alone,

Word count: 1.4K

Authors note: This was not supposed to be the next fic I posted but Towa put me in a chokehold with her song and I’ve spent all weekend working on this so here we are. Also imma say this now, I guarantee you guys are gonna get tired of me because the amount of fics running through my head inspired by this song is fucking ridiculous but we’ll see if I actually stick with them and they’ll come out. If you haven’t already, listen to the song down below.

— — — —

Janis Imi’ike can’t believe she let herself be talked into this again.

The this in question is yet another date her best friends somehow convinced her to go on with a girl they’re sure she’ll like because she needs to put herself out there if she ever wants to get a girlfriend. Janis had scoffed at this because Damian doesn’t even like girls so what would he know about getting a girlfriend.

Still, she agreed if only to get over this ridiculous crush she has.

Except getting over her crush is damn near impossible when said crush is also one of her best friends who originally started this whole ‘get Janis a girlfriend’ thing in the first place and is currently helping her get ready for date number whatever.

“Where are you guys going for your date again?”

Janis looks up from her sketchbook, watching you rummage around in her closet. You’re dressed in a white crop top and a pair of black cargo sweatpants that are hanging low on your hips, and Janis can’t stop her eyes from tracing over the skin on display.

“Janis?”

Janis wonders if your skin is as sensitive as it looks; if a single finger would have goosebumps raising on your flesh.

“Janis?”

Janis wonders how it would feel to press kisses along your skin; how many kisses it’d take to make you melt and turn you to putty in her hands.

“Janis!”

She jumps, her eyes shooting up to yours. “What? Sorry, I- I didn’t hear what you said.”

You chuckle, shaking your head in amusement. “I asked where you were going for your date.”

“Oh, uh,” Janis licks her lips in thought as she tries to remember exactly where she’s supposed to be meeting this date, Laura she thinks this one’s name is, and what they were supposed to be doing. “We’re going to an art museum.”

You nod and turn back to her closet, rummaging around for a few more moments before emerging with several items in hand. You toss them all on the bed and tug Janis up by her arm, and she has to bite back a groan as she prepares to be turned into a human mannequin.

If it was anyone else, she would’ve snatched her arm away already, but Janis has never been able to deny you anything, so she stands in place while you hold up different articles of clothing until you’ve seemingly decided on the perfect outfit for her; leaving the accessories and makeup to complete the look up to her.

She turns to you once she’s finished and her breath hitches as you reach up and adjust the necklaces around her neck, your fingers tracing lightly on her skin and it takes everything in Janis to fight back the sigh of content that so desperately wants to escape her lips.

She’s done such a good job hiding her feelings from you and she can’t reveal them now. She’s already had several close calls before and she can’t risk destroying her friendship with you over feelings you’ll never return.

No matter how much Janis wishes it was different, she knows the way you’re smoothing down her shirt and brushing off her shoulders is purely platonic.

“You look beautiful.”

Janis blinks her eyes open, unsure when exactly she closed them, and she gulps at the bright smile on your face.

You seem more excited about this date than her and you’re not even the one going on it. She wonders if you’d look that excited if you were going on this date, and her heart clenches in response because she knows you wouldn’t be going with her.

She pushes back how much that thought hurts and instead gives you a smile. “Thank you, it’s all thanks to you.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Jay, you’re always beautiful. The most beautiful girl in the world.”

Janis swears she’s going to fucking combust if another compliment falls from your mouth and she has to act like it doesn’t mean anything to her when it means absolutely everything to her.

She can practically hear Damian’s voice in her head calling her hopeless — which she is, but she doesn’t need his two cents even if he isn’t here to actually give it.

Thankfully (or maybe not depending on how she looks at it), she doesn’t have to dwell on that too much longer because it’s time for her to leave if she wants to make her date on time — which she totally didn’t forget about until just now — and while she’d much rather stay here with you, she’s not rude enough to bail 15 minutes before the initial meetup.

“Have fun, Jay,” you call. “I can’t wait to hear all about it.”

-

Admittedly, the date is nice and Janis does vibe with Laura, but she ends up cutting the date short because she keeps picturing you in Lauras’ place instead and that’s not fair to anyone.

She does not tell you that, of course.

She’s actually been avoiding telling you anything about the date which is only making you suspicious about all the things that could’ve happened and made Janis shut down on you like this.

It all comes to a head at a party which you convinced Janis ( and invited Damian because that man needs no convincing when it comes to parties ) to come to and got ample amounts of alcohol in your system.

You end up stealing Janis away from her corner where she’s spent majority of the time glaring at anyone who isn’t you or Damian attempting to talk to her and drag her into an empty room upstairs away from the party.

You’re not tipsy, but you’re also not drunk enough to where you can’t consent to anything or will forget about tonight.

Janis knows this as she’s gotten drunk with you multiple times and she knows you get bold when you’re like this, but she still doesn’t expect the words that come out of your mouth once the door closes behind you.

“Janis, what the fuck?”

Pure confusion laces her face, but you continue before she can say anything.

“I just ran into Laura and she told me you dipped out in the middle of the date.”

“Damian called me, said he was having an emergency.”

Janis can’t seem to deny you anything, but lying to you is apparently really easy. Of course, she’s lying to keep you in her life so that’s probably why it’s so easy.

“Bullshit, Imi’ike,” you scoff. “You’ve been crying about wanting a girlfriend, doing absolutely fuck all to get one, and then you keep accepting to go on these dates I’m setting up for you that are going absolutely no where, for what reason?”

Janis has the decency to look guilty, but in her defense she never asked you to do any of that. She was perfectly content to remain single and alone for the rest of her life while everyone else in her life got to fall in love and find their happy endings.

It fucking hurts that she won’t get hers.

And that combined with the alcohol in her system seems to be enough to make the truth finally come out.

“I don’t want a fucking girlfriend, I want you as my girlfriend!”

Silence falls between the two of you and Janis takes the time to process what she’s said.

Fuck.

Janis decides she fucking hates Tequila and is never going to drink again. It’s cost her a 6+ year friendship and Janis swears when she’s older she’s absolutely going to destroy Tequila manufacturers for this.

“Say it again.”

She can’t believe you’d actually be this cruel to her.

( Somewhere in the back of her head, Janis can hear a voice that is fed up with her shit calling her an idiot and a useless fucking lesbian.

It’s Damian again, she’s sure, and she wishes he’d stop popping up in her head at these times. )

“Janis, please say it again,” you whisper. “Say it again so I know it’s real and not in my head this time.”

It takes a moment for the words to register in Janis’ head and there’s a slither of hope in her heart as she stares at you. Slowly, she releases a breath and speaks. “I want you as my girlfriend.”

“Then kiss me and prove it.”

“Are you sure?”

You place your hands on her neck and her hands fall to your hips, pulling you flush against her. Your lips are inches from hers, breaths mingling together, and if she moves the slightest bit, she’ll kiss you.

“Positive.”

But that’s what you want.

And well, when has Janis ever been able to deny you anything?

[zukosdualdao]

and if you feel like night is falling, i wanna be the one you're calling

zutara month, day 12: kiss at midnight, @zutaramonth

summary: around midnight, katara realizes zuko has disappeared from his own post-coronation celebration and goes looking for him in the palace gardens.

other notes: yes it's another secret relationship fic god bless <3 it's still very New though, and this fic might be better titled Zutara Having The Relationship Talk. as it stands, the title are lyrics from someone to you by banners.

"What are you doing out here?" Katara asks as she finishes traversing the path to the palace gardens where Zuko stands. Between his thumb and the forefinger of his right hand, he is holding a pale pink petal. After months of seeing him in his casual dayrobes, finely made and threaded with traces of gold but looser, more casual, and worn over time due to their travels and battles, it's strange to see him in his Fire Lord regalia, especially with his hair pulled back into a top knot. She's gotten used to not just looking, but placing her hands against the soft, worn fabric of his shirts as they kiss in stolen moments, and to constantly pushing that wild hair out from his eyes before glancing around to see if anyone caught the too-intimate gesture.

It's not a bad look on him—nothing would be—but it is taking some getting used to.

"It's cold, you know." It is, surprisingly—colder than she thought it could in the heart of the Fire Nation, but then, it's nearing the end of the summer, and it's nearly midnight at that. It's strange for Zuko to be out here, too. "Are you alright?"

It's almost strange to look at him as it is strange to be wearing the clothes she's in, formal dress robes in the cut and style of the Fire Nation, yet in a grey-blue shade that reminds of her father's old whetstone.

Somewhere inside, her father and her brother and her friends are still laughing and eating and celebrating in the wake of Zuko's coronation. Soon, there will be much different trials to bear—Katara's dreamt bout the end of this war for as long as she could dream, but now more than ever, she knows that just because Ozai's been defeated, that doesn't mean the aftermath will be easy.

Katara wonders if that's what's on Zuko's mind.

She wonders a lot of things. Like how this... thing between them will work, now that the war's won. If it will at all.

"I just needed space for a minute," Zuko says, turning to her, lip half-quirked. "All of the... people, and everything, it was just a lot. Everything's fine."

"I can go," Katara offers, feeling sympathetic. She's not as introverted by nature as he seems to be, doesn't get as overwhelmed, but she definitely has moments when she just needs to be by herself. She doesn't want to leave, but she will if he asks it of her.

Zuko's smile grows, and he shakes his head. "That's not—I don't need space from you," he promises.

Brushing a strand of hair behind her ear, Katara laughs a little. "I don't count?"

"No," he says bluntly, looking her straight in the eyes as he does. "I always want you around."

Katara's breath catches. He has this charming, ridiculous, earnest way of saying things that always manages to catch her off-guard. And like a dam that breaks, Katara is taking one long stride after another to reach him. When she does, he drops his hand from where it had been holding the flower and places it on the small of her waist, gasping as she kisses him with urgency, rubbing small circles against the fabric of her dress with his thumb.

Katara pulls back, remembering he's still injured when he makes a small wounded noise—there are bandages underneath those fine robes he now wears—"Are you alright? Did I hurt you?" Her hands hover by his sides as she scans his body up and down.

"I'm fine," he insists, eyes sparkling. "Come back?"

Katara huffs but relents for a moment, placing another gentle kiss against his lips. The touch warms her up from the inside out.

"We really need to figure out what we're going to tell the others," Zuko says after a moment. "About us, I mean."

It's going to be an awkward conversation for more reasons than one: Toph will gloat and make constant jokes, Sokka will be happy only after he's been ridiculously overprotective (which Suki, probably her most reliable ally in this, will point out to him), she has no idea what her father will say, and Aang...

She knows he'll be hurt. That might be better as a private conversation.

Still, despite herself, Katara lights up a little. He's thinking about this long-term. "There's an 'us' to tell them about?"

Zuko exhales something that's almost a laugh and leans forward to gentle a hand against her cheek. She blinks up at him.

"There's an 'us' for me," he promises, his eyes shining with affection, "if there's an 'us' for you."

Katara has to kiss him again, then. It would go against the laws of nature not to, she's pretty sure.

They can figure out the rest of it later.