#thanks nonny i appreciate it

[savage-rhi]

"noodle?" "yes, you are a noodle. my noodle. it's cute."

PROMPT AND GLADIO!!!!!!! ITS LITTERALY THEM

"You're growling again," Ignis sighed as he once more pointed out the noise Gladio made every so often at Prompto and Noctis's antics.

"Can it Iggy," Gladio muttered as he sipped on the cup noodles broth he had left in his cup. He let out a breath, shaking his head at seeing Prompto suddenly chasing Noctis around while attempting to get his camera back. He made a fist and adjusted in his seat next to the camp fire.

"May I ask why you're so angered at their play?" Ignis inquired.

"Look," Gladio began. He felt somewhat irate at Ignis's attempt at playing therapist, but decided to come clean. "It's not that I don't want them to have fun. We could all use some laughs after everything that's happened..."

"But?"

Gladio sighed. "We lost our home, Ignis. The Niffs took everything. We don't know if our loved ones are going to be okay, and the fate of the world is riding on the shoulders of a twerp who can't be bothered with, and he's messing around with blondie over there acting like it's another day in high school!"

"You sound quite exasperated."

"You think!?" Gladio exclaimed. He made a face, realizing he was a bit harsh and apologized to Ignis under his breath.

"It's quite alright," Ignis reassured. He hummed for a moment, observing the boys from afar. "I see where your concerns lie. I admit to feeling a sense of apprehension, but.."

"But?" Gladio raised a brow, turning his head.

"Maybe a soft heart during a tough time isn't so bad. Perhaps you could try and join them in the fun? It might unburden the mental load you're carrying."

"Don't make me laugh!"

"Suit yourself." Ignis shrugged. He dusted his gloves, and prepared to make dinner for the night; leaving Gladio to his thoughts.

Gladio muttered a few curses to himself, and decided to take his mind off everything by making another cup noodle while waiting he waited for Ignis to complete the main course. If there was anything that could soothe his thoughts, it was cheap food and silence.

"Gladio, look out!"

"Incoming!"

Before he could dodge, Gladio felt his body tumble forward. The cup noodle flew into the air, and he heard the distinctive yelp Prompto was known for when he was harmed. Gladio grunted as the world stilled, no longer a chaotic mess of dirt and gods knew what.

"Son of a---" Gladio paused as he leaned up and looked to his right. Prompto was sitting beside him in a daze. His skin turning white as a ghost upon seeing the anger that flashed behind Gladio's gaze.

Gladio's eyes combed over Prompto. His hair was coated in noodles and pieces of beef. The smell of the broth mingling with Prompto's hair product created a pungent odor that had Gladio wishing he was sniffing shit from an Anak instead.

His hair was coated in noodles and pieces of beef. His nose grimaced at how the smell of the broth and Prompto's hair product created a pungent odor that had Gladio wishing he was sniffing shit from a Flexitusk.

From afar, Noctis was covering his mouth to suppress a laugh.

Gladio let out a sigh. "Noodle."

"Noodle?" Prompto gulped.

"Yes. You are a noodle." He picked up a noodle fragment from the cup and placed it upon Prompto's head as if crowning a king. "My noodle. It's cute."

"What the--?!"

Gladio laughed as he grabbed a hold of Prompto, trapping him in a playful headlock while he messed with his hair further.

"Gladio! Hey, hey! You're making it worse!" Prompto exclaimed in between fits.

"Noct! Help me out here! He's flailing like one of those fish that slapped you earlier!"

"Right behind ya!"

"I hate you both!" Prompto yelped.

Ignis looked up from the grill to watch as the three descended into chaotic play. He let out a huff, shaking his head and smiled before going back to preparing the meat from the fish Noctis had caught.

If you like my work and feel generous, feel free to donate to my ko-fi account or my cash app account!

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[mausinly]

BIG BURLY FLUSTERED MEN with a/o who takes one of their hands and kisses their knuckles - knuckles that have been covered in blood - and big burly man (I’m imagining König) just self destructs. Blue screens. Combusts.

Unwinding after operations is always a hassle. There's this limbo between finishing the mission and arriving back at base where adrenaline is still high, but you can't stay in one place long enough to come down from it.

Everyone is still milling about the building your unit is using as a temporary base. Counting your dead, if any, and treating the wounded before heading to the drop ships to fly back to KorTac's base.

You and König are holed off in a corner of the courtyard, you being seated on a bench with your back pressed against the wall while he sits on the ground between your legs. He rests his head back on your thigh, and you can feel the way he fidgets. Itching for something when there is nothing left to do but wait. His mask is still on, along with the rest of his gear. One of his hands idly tap your ankle, trying to find some way to release this anxious energy he has until you both can get back to base, where he knows it's safe.

You look down at him and remove your gloves, placing them aside before sneaking one of your hands under his hood and the balaclava beneath. Your fingers drag against the column of his neck, and your nails gently scratch his nape, making him groan and tilt his head back further to look up at you.

König let's out a grunt and fixes you a curious look. You hold out your free hand toward him. "Give me your hand." You murmur, and he does so compliantly.

He melts a little at the pleased little smile you give him, eyes darting down to where your hand holds his. His are so much bigger than yours, thicker too with the bulky material of his gloves. The fabric is stained red, speckles of blood still wet and crimson. He frowns a little at the idea of your hands becoming stained as well.

König thinks to rip his hand from yours, but falters when you begin to tug the leather off his fingers and down his wrist until his skin is released from the suffocating material. His hands are rough, pale and scarred and calloused. Your hands aren't perfect, but they are much more delicate and pretty than his in comparison.

You seem to disagree, though, with the way your hands trace the shape of his. You spread his fingers a little, dragging your nails along each callous and faded scar. It's almost devout in the way you study each line of his palm, the pads of your fingers so gentle against his skin.

You lift his hand up to your lips, tenderly pressing a kiss to each knuckle. You start at the base before moving down each finger, almost as if you don't want any of them to be left out. He would have laughed at the thought if his body wasn't frozen like a deer in headlights.

Your eyes fall down to his and your smile widens at the absolutely mystified look in his eyes, stormy blues flickering between yours and your lips against his hand as his pupils dilate.

His mouth opens and closes underneath his mask, but any attempts to speak die in his throat. How could you put so many thoughts in his head that he is unable to fabricate them into words? Do you have any clue what you do to him?

You let out a small chuckle and go back to kissing his hand, trailing your lips down across his palm and the back of his hand. You pull down the edge of his sleeve just to press your lips to his wrist. König groans as your affection doesn't let up, long and pained as his head lulls against your thigh and he drapes an arm over his eyes.

"Du wirst mein Tod sein, Engel..." He murmurs, thankful that his mask hides the stupid grin on his face.

[afewproblems]

In My Heart is a Memory (And There You'll Always Be) Part One

So! Awhile back now I received an anonymous prompt - which I can't post all of (yet) since it will spoil this new WIP which has gotten away from me in terms of length (as always). Needless to say we begin with Steddie childhood friends AU and continue from there!

Thank you to the nonny who sent me this beautiful prompt, I can't wait to take you on this journey!

Steve never thought it would end this way. 

He tries desperately again to loosen the fishing line that has wrapped itself around his foot, trapping him in the frigid grey water. Steve paddles up again to take a deeper breath only to find that he's unable to fully breach the surface enough to breathe.

He gulps down a mixture of water and air, sputtering as it hits his lungs and chokes his throat. He realises, deliriously, that he might actually die here, alone in the woods at twelve years old. 

This is why his mother had forbidden him from swimming in the lake, especially by himself; she had told him a million times not to go down there alone. 

Steve slips under again, watching as the last few bubbles of air fly towards the surface above him, his vision begins to tunnel as he belatedly wishes he had thought to tell someone that he was going to lovers lake that afternoon. 

Two strong hands suddenly appear on both sides of him, grasping Steve by the arms, hauling him out of the water. 

"Shit, he's caught on something, Ed, hand me my knife, hurry," a gruff voice says as Steve is dragged into a boat, he sputters and coughs, gasping for air as his lungs burn and seize.

"Is he okay?" another younger voice says anxiously. 

Steve opens his eyes just enough to find a wide pair of brown eyes staring back at him, a boy with a mop of curly hair sits beside Steve, he chews his lip nervously as the older man works on cutting away the tangle of old fishing line that had caught Steve earlier.

"This is why we always take our lines with us instead of leavin' em in the lake," the older man huffs as he severs the last knot holding Steve's leg, "he should be okay, you're lucky we were here kid".

All Steve can do is nod, his chest and throat still sore from his near drowning.

The other boy, Ed, inches closer but doesn't touch him, he looks around the boat with raised hands as though looking for some way to help.

"I think we're done fishing for today," the old man huffs, if he's anxious his voice doesn't show it, but Steve can see the worry in his dark eyes. 

"Give him your coat Ed, let's bring our catch home to warm up".

The words seem to jumpstart the other boy as he hurriedly shrugs off his jean jacket and draps it clumsily over Steve's shoulders.

"You got a name kid?" the man asks gently before his expression finally shifts to one of panic, "aw hell, we gotta warm you up, you ain't even shivering". 

"His lips are blue," Ed blurts out, his brow pinched with worry, "Wayne--"

"I see it, sit with him would ya, I'll get the engine going again," Wayne grunts out as he switches places with Eddie. The boat tips slightly as they move making Steve hiss as cold water tips over the side and onto his legs. 

"My name's Eddie," the teen yells over the roar of the engine motor as it jumps to life; he sits down on the bench across from him, "what's your name?"

"S-Steve," he manages to get out between chattering teeth, his body finally beginning to shake in an attempt to warm itself back up.

"Don't worry," Eddie murmurs sagely, "we'll take care of you, right Uncle Wayne?"

Wayne nods with a tight smile as he begins to steer the boat back to shore.

"I don't need the hospital," Steve grumbles from the back seat of the pickup truck, eliciting an exaggerated eye roll from Wayne in the rearview mirror.

Heat blasts from the vents as soon as they pull away from the dirt side road by the docks and Steve is finally starting to warm up. Wayne had helped him step his shaking limbs into his discarded clothing they found on docks, but his damp swim shorts had soaked through his jeans, leaving a small persistent shiver running through him.

"We ain't leaving it to chance kid," Wayne grouses at him, "you inhaled a lot of lake water back there and I've spent enough time in a boat to know you need to be checked out by a professional".

Steve pouts in the back seat next to Eddie who looks between Steve and his uncle with a sharp furrow between his brow.

"Couldn't we take him to our place Wayne, we can look after him there," Eddie says with a toothy grin, he winks at Steve before catching Wayne's unimpressed glare in the rearview mirror.

"No, hospital first," he grumbles but the words are without heat and if the fond smile is anything to go by, Wayne seems more exasperated than angry.

Which is good. 

Steve can't begin to picture how angry his own dad will be when he gets home. 

Maybe enough for the belt again.

He shivers again and feels a bony shoulder connect lightly with his own; Steve looks up to find Eddie staring again, this time with a shy smile.

"You good," Eddie asks, a hint of nervousness in his voice, "sorry 'bout him".

He holds up one hand to block Wayne's vision of Eddie's face and points towards his uncle into the palm of his hand, "the old man’s stubborn sometimes".

The absurdity startles a wild giggle out of Steve that Eddie soon matches.

Wayne keeps driving, his eyes travelling between the road and the rearview mirror at the two boys giggling in the backseat. Wayne shakes his head and smiles slightly as they pull onto Main Street.

"Are you at Hawkins Middle? I don't know if I've seen you there before," Eddie asks abruptly, interrupting the laughter.

"I'm going to the highschool next year which is kind of cool," Eddie continues, not waiting for Steve to answer which is almost a relief given the strange exhaustion settling in Steve’s bones the longer they sit there. 

"I heard from one of the other older kids at the tra--the park that there are a ton of clubs to join and even one for Dungeons and Dragons --you heard of it?"

Steve shakes his head, "is that like a board game or something?" 

Eddie barks out a laugh and launches into an explanation, the words tumbling out at a mile a minute to the point that Steve isn't sure what he's even talking about anymore.

"And you use your character traits to help decide what to do, then the roll you get from your dice determines if you are successful or not!" 

Steve frowns slightly, it doesn't sound like any board games he's ever heard of but it has dice, what else could it be? 

"It's hard to explain without like showing you the books," Eddie admits, picking at a stray thread from the hole in his jeans, "I'll show you later at school, maybe?" 

Steve can count on one hand the number of times he's actually been invited to hang out or play with another kid over the years that wasn't orchestrated by his mother.

He's not much for board games, but if that's what Eddie's inviting him to play, who is Steve to say no? 

"Do you get to fight Dragons? Like a knight?" Steve asks quietly, his throat still sore from earlier. He laughs when Eddie nods so excitedly his whole body practically vibrates before jumping into a new explanation of the different characters people could play.

Steve spends the whole time listening with a wide grin on his face. He doesn't think he's ever met someone who talks so much, but Eddie has so much to say and he wants to tell Steve of all people. 

He's too tired to add anything himself, the adrenalin from earlier seems to flow out of him, sinking into the back seat.

"Do you have Newson for English?" Eddie asks as they enter the hospital and Wayne takes them to the counter, he speaks with the nurse at the Emergency Room intake desk in a hushed voice, letting Steve and Eddie continue their conversation.

Steve shakes his head, feeling suddenly warm, much too warm and tired.

"Maybe we have the same lunch period, I want to show you the players handbook on Monday," Eddie practically vibrates beside him with excitement, "you can sit at my table and…Steve?" 

Eddie suddenly sounds so far away, Steve struggles to stay upright and sways heavily into the other boy's side. 

"Steve?!"

There's a commotion around him, people yelling and touching him suddenly, but he doesn't want that. He's so warm, it's hard to think, his vision begins to tunnel again.

The last thing he sees as a pair of gentle hands lay him down is Eddie worried brown eyes staring into his own as his world goes dark.

***

The first thing Steve realises when he wakes up, is that he's in a hospital bed.

The second is that he's alone.

The steady beat of the heart rate monitor almost lulls him back to sleep but he fights to stay awake. 

Steve peers around the room, spotting his mothers coat and purse on the chair in the corner. 

Shit. 

This is what he was hoping to avoid, his parents finding out he deliberately disobeyed their rules and landed himself in the hospital. 

Steve tries to sit up but the movement pulls at the strange tubing around his face and the IV in his arm. He hisses at the tug of the needle and flops back down against the flat pillow behind his head.

The heart rate monitor ticks up slightly at the movement, seemingly calling out to the nurses at the station outside.

As if on cue, a nurse steps into the room, followed by his mother. 

Diane Harrington always looked put together. Pearls, heels, never a hair out of place.

Today however, Diane's pale wane face stares at Steve in stony silence. No makeup, her hair sits flat against her head. A fine tremor runs over her clenched hands but she smooths down the front of her shirt to hide it.

"Looks like someone's awake," the nurse says with a kind smile. 

She picks up the chart at the edge of the bed as his mother walks around to the chair that has been pulled up closest to Steve's side. She doesn't sit.

The nurse is around his mom’s age, maybe a little older if the laugh lines around her mouth are any indication. Her blond hair is streaked with grey as well and pinned back to let the small white hat sit properly on top. Her light brown eyes trace over the page of his chart and a slight crease begins to form between them as she frowns slightly.

"What is it?" Diane says, the words come out smoothly; Steve tries to make eye contact with her, to see just how mad she is about this, how mad his dad will be when they get home, but she ignores his gaze.

"The doctor will be in shortly, he'll explain," she says apologetically before placing the chart back down at the edge of the bed.

"Steven," the nurse says softly as she walks towards him, on the side opposite his mother, "my name is Claudia, and myself and Doctor Sattler will be taking care of you today".

Steve nods, suddenly shy as Claudia reaches into the pocket of her white apron and shows Steve a long black tube with a shiny metal circle at one end, the other is split down the middle into two angled sections at the other end.

"Steven, this is a Stethoscope, I'm going to use it to listen to your heart and your lungs, so I'm going to need you to sit up, can you do that for me?" 

He nods and begins to shift, slowly this time to avoid jostling the IV this time. 

"Steven," Diane says sharply from her place beside the bed, she still isn't looking at him, "you need to answer when you're asked a question."

"Sorry," he mumbles, abashed at his mother's words.

Claudia's frown returns as her eyes dart between Steve and Diane, but she remains silent and simply places the stethoscope into her ears.

"This will be a little cold," Claudia warns as she lifts up his shirt to place the metal against his back, "okay, you're going to give me a big deep breath," she instructs softly, giving him a smile.

Steve breathes in, it's not painful, but there's an awful pressure in his chest that makes him wince, the strange whistling sound his breath makes also doesn't help.  

Claudia must notice because she tuts and tells him she just needs a few more breaths from him.

She moves the metal from his back to his chest and asks him to take two more deep breaths for her, on the last one his chest spasms and his throat constricts just enough to make him begin to cough horribly. 

Steve doubles over, uncaring this time of the pull on the IV, he can't seem to catch his breath this time.

Steve registers his mother and Claudia trying to speak to him and a gentle hand on his back rubbing in a soothing circle but all Steve can think is, I can't breathe, as he coughs up a glob of frothy pink liquid into the sheets covering his legs.

The steady beep of the heart rate monitor begins to increase to a constant frantic pulse, I can’t breathe, he wants to scream but his throat constricts around the words, it feels as though an elephant has sat itself in the middle of his chest as he registers something being pressed to his mouth and nose.

"Try to take a deep breath, one mississippi, two mississippi, that's it sweetheart," Claudia pats his back gently and keeps a steady hold of the mask over his face.

The pressure in his chest slowly begins to relent as he follows Claudia’s direction, one mississippi, two mississippi, in and out. The constant puff of air around his nose and mouth seems to finally be helping.

"You're going to give us even more grey hair before we discharge you huh kiddo," a new voice rumbles from the door.

Steve looks up wearily at a man in a white coat with horn rimmed glasses staring down at him. There is a kind smile on his face, much like the one Wayne had when he helped Steve exit their truck earlier that day. 

Was it still Saturday? Steve looks around again for the window, he could have sworn it was still light out.

"What are you giving him?" Diane whispers above Steve, she hazards a brief glance at him before looking back at the doctor who lifts a syringe to pump something into the IV tubing, but Steve isn’t paying attention, he’s trying to find the clock he had seen earlier on the far wall.

"Just something to help him breathe a little easier, that's all," the man says gently as he takes Steve's chart from the end of the bed where Claudia had left it.

"BP is a little low," Claudia murmurs, she lets go of the mask and lays Steve back down onto the bed, smoothing his hair back lightly as she leaves his bedside.

"Steven, my name is Dr. Sattler, I heard you had an interesting morning today?" 

Dr. Sattler gives Steve and his mother a warm smile as he places the chart back down on the bed, he eyes the machines at the bedside for a moment before taking Steve’s wrist gently in his hand and lifting the face of his watch up to meet his eyes.

He nods and lays Steve’s hand back down onto the bed, above the covers. 

Suddenly a bright light is shining into Steve's eyes, he winces slightly as it moves quickly, “Steven, can you tell me if you hit your head at all when you were in the lake today?” 

Steve tries to think back to the lake. He remembers getting his foot caught in the discarded fishing line, the feeling of water running down the back of his throat, filling his nose; the way the light began to fade as he sank down--

“Steven?” Dr. Sattler prompts again, his brow creases in the barest of frowns.

Steve swallows once and shakes his head as a shrill beeping noise fills the room, everyone flinches, whirling around to the machines before Steve's mother snatches her purse from the nearby chair and rips the buzzing pager out to turn it off.

She glares at the message, "I need to make a call, I'll be back". 

Dr. Sattler frowns but steps aside to allow Diane to sweep out of the room.

"Well Steven-"

"Can you call me Steve?" He asks, the words so quiet that Dr. Sattler and Claudia both tilt towards him to hear.

The doctor reaches for the chart again, his eyes flick to Claudia once before landing back on Steve with a small patient smile.

"Of course, Steve," he says deliberately before clearing his throat, "I'll wait for your mother to come back to go over our plan for you okay?" 

"Are you," he whispers, "am I going to need a shot?" Claudia tuts this time, coming around to the side of the bed to brush his hair away from his forehead, "you were so brave for your IV," she says brightly, "if you need another I'll hold your hand, how does that sound?" Steve blushes as his little face scrunches into a grimace. He knows he wasn't awake when they gave him the IV.

After a beat, he shakes his head, "It's okay, I'm not a baby". Claudia purses her lips and pats his hand gently, "I don't like needles either, sometimes I need someone to hold my hand, no shame in it, okay?"

Steve chews on that thought for a moment, rolling it around in his head, why would adults be scared of anything?

His dad had made it perfectly clear over the years what real men were like, and being afraid of things never once made the list.

Steve looks up at the nurse and meets her kind eyes, a softer brown than he'd ever seen before with fine lines in the corners creased into a smile.

"I'd hold your hand, Miss Claudia," Steve agrees eventually.

She smiles at him and pats his hand again before stepping away.

"I'll go find your mother, there's only one payphone on this floor so she can't be far," she asserts to Steve before making her way to the door. She whispers something to Dr. Sattler on her way out before disappearing through the door.

"While nurse Henderson tracks down your mother, I'll see if radiology has your scans ready, sit tight kiddo”.

Steve nods as the doctor tries for a small reassuring smile but the effect is lost in the tightness around his eyes. Dr. Sattler pushes open the door which swings back and forth as he disappears into the hallway, leaving Steve to lay back against the flat pillows and scratchy hospital sheets, with only the steady sound of the monitors and the clock on the wall to keep him company.  

A new wave of exhaustion sweeps over him suddenly, now that he’s alone. 

He wishes Eddie had managed to convince his uncle to let them just go back to their place, he would have been okay if they had just stayed in the truck - he probably wouldn’t have passed out if they had just gone to Eddie’s house.

Steve glares at the ceiling at the unfairness of it all, a small part of him knows that it’s for the best that Dr. Sattler and Miss Claudia are looking after him now, but what will his dad say about the hospital bills, or the bed rest?

He’s not sure how much time has passed. It’s been harder to keep track of here without a proper clock in the room but the sun has moved, carving long shadows in his room in between the copper evening light. He must have drifted off at some point since his mother has suddenly returned as well as Dr, Sattler. 

Miss Claudia is nowhere to be found and Steve finds himself feeling rather bereft at her absence. 

Diane Harrington stands beside his bed, her hands wrapped so tightly around the strap of her purse that her manicured nails dig into the palms of her hands and her knuckles have been stained white.  

Dr. Sattler stands in front of a large box affixed to the wall, it’s lit up with two translucent black and white images on it that the doctor keeps pointing to different areas of the strange lumpy white images while he talks.

“To put it simply, Mrs. Harrington, it’s not good”.

Oh.

Steve feels as though the bed beneath him has dropped away while Doctor Sattler continues speaking. 

Steve had aspirated a lot of water into his lungs while in the lake and was already in the beginning stages of pneumonia because of it. So Steve would need to stay on his course of antibiotics and oxygen for at least a week to let his lungs heal and rest as much as possible. 

Diane’s expression does not shift during the conversation, remaining artfully neutral the entire visit. She nods and asks questions about Steve’s medication and when he would be allowed to come home.

A flicker of something crosses her face when Dr. Sattler mentions the inhaler Steve would likely need to carry with him at all times.

“For how long?” she asks sharply as Dr. Sattler flips through Steve’s chart once more.

He hums and purses his lips, “honestly, it depends, he could need it for a few months, he could need it for the rest of his life,” he shakes his head and sets down the chart, “we need to see how his lungs look after the inflammation goes down to really be sure”.

“What does that mean?” Steve blurts out, drawing their gaze towards him. 

Steve bristles slightly as Diane shoots him the barest of glares. He’s the one in the hospital bed, he can’t even ask questions about what will happen to him?

“The tissue in the lungs is very sensitive and delicate,” Dr. Sattler continues, his words come out slowly as though he is carefully sifting through to choose the best ones, “so, what that means is you may need medication to help your lungs function properly”.

“Steven’s father was hoping for him to join the varsity swim team in the next few years,” Diane says wearily, the first hint of emotion finally seeping into her voice as she sinks into the chair holding her purse. 

Steve winces. 

It’s no secret that his father’s goal for Steve, his…expectation, is for his son to follow his example to the letter. 

Varsity swimming --perhaps even basketball if he takes after his father’s lithe frame of six foot two. Get into college on an athletics scholarship, graduate with a business degree to eventually take over the family business --not that Richard has ever once explained just exactly what he does for a living. 

Steve would then marry a nice girl, one he'll meet at college since Hawkins won't have any girls good enough for the Harringtons, and eventually pump out two grandkids for Diane to fawn over.

This was the plan for Steve’s life, there was no room for error.

“Mrs. Harrington, there’s no reason to think he won’t be able to do these things--”

But the words fall flat as Steve’s mother gets up from her chair and stalks out of the room, leaving a wake of disappointment and silence behind her. 

A lump begins to form in Steve’s throat and he tries to blink away the harsh sting in his eyes. He knew he shouldn’t have gone to the lake that morning, he’d been told so many times never to go by himself, not when the Harringtons had their own beautiful inground pool installed just three summers ago. 

Dr. Sattler breathes out a long weighty sigh and lifts a hand to scratch at a missed patch of stubble on his chin.

He looks between the closed door and back at Steve, seeming to make a decision.

"Okay son," Doctor Sattler sighs, "you're going to hear things over the years about what you will or won't be able to do".

Steve lifts his hand up to wipe at his eyes as discreetly as he can with the doctor at the edge of his bed and nods.

"This does not need to define you, there are plenty of athletes out there with lung conditions and I would encourage you to keep active, it might actually benefit you to do so". 

Steve manages to hold back a scoff just barely and nods, dropping his gaze to his feet beneath the blankets.

"I'm not saying you need to go out and run a marathon," Doctor Sattler says dryly at the incredulous expression on his face.

"But you will need to keep them strong and exercise will help with that, so if you like swimming, keep swimming, okay kid?"

He pauses again and adds, "no smoking while you're at it". 

Steve's mouth drops open in protest, he's never smoked, well, not a full cigarette at least.

One of the neighbour kids, Tommy, had smuggled cigarettes out of his dad’s pants pocket and taken them to school for everyone to try. Steve had nearly thrown up at the taste and the feel of acrid smoke filling his nose and mouth.Tommy had laughed so hard about Steve spitting into the grass outside the baseball dugout and proceeded to tell everyone he could find. 

Steve still associated the taste of cigarettes with Tommy's laugh, the sound turning his stomach just as easily now.

Steve shakes his head under the doctor's unimpressed gaze, "I-I dont--"

Doctor Sattler raises his eyebrow and cuts Steve off with a sweep of his hand, "sure son, just make sure you don't continue, especially because your lungs are still growing and we want to capitalize on that as much as possible".

The doctor pats Steve's shoulder awkwardly, letting his heavy hand rest briefly before he turns away towards the door once more. 

"Anyway, I have a feeling you'll be getting a few more lectures in the future so that's enough out of me, you best settle in kiddo, you'll be here for at least a week".

Steve nods tiredly, he can hear his dad's voice in his head now, 'this is the stupidest thing you've ever done Steven--'

"Get some rest, no sense worrying about it now," Doctor Sattler says as he slips out into the hallway without a knowing furrowed brow.

And with that Steve is alone once more. 

The light outside his window is beginning to fade into the horizon; he wonders belatedly if Eddie will look for him on Monday.

Steve rolls over, ignoring the new sting behind his eyes and the heaviness in his lungs as he wonders how he can miss someone he just met this much.

Part Two Now Up!

[foibles-fables]

hi foibs, hoping you’re doing well. there’s something i’ve wanted to ask you since burning shores…can you say more about why you weren’t impressed by seyka/seyloy? i’ve valued your hzd opinions for a long time and am curious and interested to learn more about this one. but if you’d rather not answer that’s fine!

Hi nonny!! I told myself I wasn't going to answer any of these, but I really appreciate your kind tone and am happy to address this again for you!

I won't go into a list of specific reasons why here. I do enjoy a good bit of piece-by-piece analysis a LOT but--frankly, picking apart another ship in a public zone like this is not what I want to exemplify on my blog, at all. It's not the kind of environment I'd like to create or discourse I'd like to foster. If those conversations are to be had at all--which, let's face it, they're probably not--they're to be had one on one, with a promise of good faith and open-mindedness between participants.

So to answer your question, I'll give a little more info, but still in generalities.

First and foremost, it's the simple fact that their dynamic, as portrayed in HBS, didn't spark for me! If y'all know me, you know that there is a very specific ship dynamic that I tend to latch onto, and this repeats ad infinitum across fandoms. I just wasn't compelled by the material, which is fine! More power to you if you were, for sure.

That loops into the second reason I'll give: yes, I did find the writing of HBS to be lackluster in many aspects, including the relationship between Aloy and Seyka. The sloppy writing absolutely influenced the way I viewed/reacted to Aloy and Seyka as a ship. To me, it did feel rushed and very much removed from the character and pacing of the series we've known for years. And that was not a boon for connecting with the presented narrative, the same way I began to feel disconnected from HFW. Once again, though, totally subjective and valid if it did hit for you!

I wanted to like Seyka so much more than I did. (This is--as I've shared other posts before--commentary on the writer's room character work, not on Seyka.) I wanted her to oust Alva as my favorite Quen babygirl (A HARD CHALLENGE, I'll admit). I wanted to be compelled by her, and by her dynamic with Aloy. She didn't, and I wasn't. And that's not an attack on Seyka herself, or on folks who enjoyed her. That's my own peeve with the writing and the way she was presented both in the narrative and in the HBS marketing.

If I can also use your ask to be a little vulnerable, nonny? It's been a hard six weeks. I feel like the posts I've put up and the opinions I've offered with regards to this have been nothing less than respectful and pleasant and, in a lot of cases, that grace hasn't been returned. From being blocked/unfollowed/vagued by other Horizon wlw shippers with whom I've built a rapport over the years (which of COURSE it's anyone's right to curate their feeds--still stings on the other side, in this situation especially)--to being directly compared to the Actual Homophobes for supporting the idea of romance options in game three (the same Actual Homophobes sending death and other threats directly to my inboxes)--it's an unfortunate state. I'm doing my best to be positive for the whole fandom, but some days it's harder than others.

In any case--I'll say, contradictorily--there is a Seyloy idea I've been working on, in attempts to connect more with them and sublimate my quibbles with what was presented in canon. So I hope any Seyloy enjoyers who might read it eventually (and this!) will take it in good faith when it's finished, as it's being written in nothing but good faith!

And, FINALLY, because every single time this question comes up, I say "I DON'T DISLIKE SEYKA" out loud in Nadja's voice, and this is the perfect opportunity to finally make the joke in public:

[kjack89]

Hii I love your writting! do you by any chance take fic prompts? if you don't, please ignore this, but if you do, would you consider exr meet by chance at a coffee shop where E is studying and R is waiting for a date, they meet eyes and flirt a bit but then R's date arrives and it ends up being a friend in common. Cue pining and flirting and pining some more bc R's date didn't go well but E doesn't want to mess with his friend's potential relationships. All good if you're not up for writing it, at least I got to share this cute idea with someone!!

I’m really not taking prompts at the moment because I still have 7 giveaway fics to write, but this ask made me think about which of Enjolras’s friends Grantaire could possibly be on a date with, and, well…

Date is a generous word, for one.

It’s what Grantaire tells Enjolras, of course, because even though he should be lying and saying that he is 100% open and available, he somehow can’t bring himself to fully lie to the beautiful stranger so blurts out a semblance of truth: “Oh, I’m waiting on a date.”

Dinner preceding hookup as facilitated by Grindr is more accurate, if more crass, and honestly Grantaire should’ve just said that because then the hot guy would be thinking about him naked and in Grantaire’s experience, there’s very little downside to that.

But he doesn’t say that, just like he doesn’t see a brief flash of disappoint cross the guy’s face at the news. But as a casual hello to a hot stranger stretches into a full-on conversation, he would have to be blind to miss the look on the blond’s face when Grantaire finally asks him, “What’s your name, by the way?” at the exact moment someone entering the coffee shop shouts, “Enjolras?”

Of course it’s Grantaire’s date, and apparently a friend of Enjolras’s to boot, and all too soon Enjolras is waving them off with a forced, “Enjoy your date!” and Grantaire is wondering how soon into said date would it be rude to ask this guy to ignore the (solicited! And reciprocated!) dick pic so that he can go back to find Enjolras again.

But for maybe the first time in Grantaire’s life, luck is on his side, because this is the Worst period Date period Ever. The guy is rude, and boorish, openly flirts with their waitress, takes a phone call at their table five minutes into the date, and then tells Grantaire, in graphic detail, about his most recent “conquest”.

Grantaire has never chugged a beer so quickly in his entire life, which given, y’know, everything about him, is saying something.

“It’s been, uh, real,” he says, grabbing his jacket. “See you, uh…yeah. See you.”

Not even an hour after he left, he’s back at the café, giving Enjolras a sheepish grin. “Back so soon?” Enjolras asks, surprised.

Grantaire just shrugs. “Didn’t work out,” he says, before throwing caution to the wind and adding, “But I thought this might.”

Outside the café, Courfeyrac leans his head against Combeferre’s shoulder. “Thanks for calling when I texted you saying I needed an interruption,” he says.

“No problem,” Combeferre says, glancing down at him. “Are you going to explain?”

“Dark-haired guy in there with Enjolras was my date tonight,” Courfeyrac tells him.

“Ah.”

Courfeyrac nods. “Yeah. Took one look at the way Enjolras was looking at him and, well, knew I needed to get that date over with. And it’s not easy, you know.”

“What’s not easy?” Combeferre asks, amused.

“Making a date with me bad,” Courfeyrac says, like it’s obvious. “I am a goddamned delight and anyone would be lucky to have me, and it takes a lot to overcome that.”

Combeferre rolls his eyes fondly. “I’m sure it does,” he says patiently. “And whatever else you are, you’re a good friend. Now c’mon. Let’s let Enjolras have his date.”

“You mean my date,” Courfeyrac grumbles.

“Sure. Let’s let Enjolras have your date.”

[nani-nonny]

Apologies if I’ve missed something or got it wrong, I had to rush these as it turned out 🫠 so please excuse the coloured one, I don’t really like colouring…

But you really did fill my need to drawing tots 😂 I was getting art block on my wips I hope you like? 🫣

Lil Lou-Boo :(((( /pos

She’s so— *crumbles* in her dad’s scarf too??? *melts* aksjakasjgagahsjaag

Thank you so much :(((((( /pos /pos /pos

I’ll skip all the plot just to get to the fatherhood solely because of this /j

Sweet lil bean baby, que linda preciosa :((((

<33333 thank you so so much!

[rebrandedbard]

you might want to turn anon off for a while. don't feed the troll. :/

asdfghjkl I literally just said this in discord that I was feeding the troll. But as I told my friends, I love a good rant. Also, I can't talk back to the rude old people at work (one shook a ROCK in my face today), so I gotta do what I can here. Nonny's in my house now, and I'm looking for the catharsis of snapping back when people are acting rude. This is like enrichment to me; my pumpkin in the enclosure.

[navybrat817]

Sugar daddy thanos?

Hmmm...

Appreciate you asking though. Love and thanks! ❤️

[wildpeachfarm]

Also! I can't remember if you're a recent twt refugee or if you've been here a while, regardless sometimes people don't know things

But if you're wanting to stop as many asks from coming in or stop asks in general, you can go into your settings and disable anons (less people are willing to send things when their name is attached) or you can just straight up disable them all together!

Idk if you know this or have any interest in doing that but it's there if you want it 🫶

oh yep I've been here for 8 years haha, but this is a good note for some of the newer folks here because I have acquired MANY twitter refugees!

I typically don't turn off anon unless I get nasty people in my inbox, and I think at this point most of my anons know their ask might not be answered because if my inbox gets too full I will usually just delete everything and start from scratch

[thetarttfuldickhead]

three words for a three sentence rjk ficlet: cold, concern, touch

"Fucking hell, man, you're that cold? You're shivering."

And Roy's opening his mouth to tell Jamie -- to tell them both -- to fuck off, to shrug off their concern and soldier on as he always has, but they're already wrapping their arms around him, sharing their heat, and there's nothing he can do and nothing that he wants but to lean into that touch and let it warm him.

[purple-babygirl]

COOKIE ANON HERE 🍪 ❤️ ❤️ ❤️ DON'T CALL ME DADDY PART 3 WAS SO GOOD!!! AHHHH PURPLE I LOVE IT!!!

-🍪

OMG HIII💜💜💜 I can't believe you read it already I'm so happy rn:"💜 Thank you so so much, cookie anon you're too kind to me💜💜💜💜

[sigmoon]

*PUTS YOU IN A JAR AND SHAKES YOU AROUND A LITTLE BIT* i love your work

*me in the jar*

[happi-tree]

plot or storyline(sent those the same thing?) for your beloved Witch AU? It Tis beautiful.

Hi there, Nonnie!!! Hope you’re doing well and sorry I took awhile to get around to this. And thank you so much for the compliment! 🥺🥺🥺

There are multiple ways to approach this question, so I guess I’ll start with an overview of the basics and then get into the central plot/storyline. 

Marcy in this AU is a witch, and Anne is a cat shapeshifter who is Marcy’s familiar! The two of them live together in a tiny cottage at the edge of a small town named Wartwood. Wartwood itself is very open to magic and is something of a safe haven for casters and magical creatures, so Anne and Marcy have no need to hide their abilities. Sasha is a regular ol’ human with no knowledge of magic who got cursed to live as a toad for the foreseeable future. They’re all adults here, around their mid-twenties. 

The main plot kicks off with Anne finding and dragging a cursed Sasha to the cottage she shares with Marcy. Anne found her in the woods while foraging for potion ingredients to bring back to Marcy, and since she was able to sense that Sasha was actually a human inflicted with a really nasty curse rather than a regular toad, brought her back to Marcy as a “potential customer.” Marcy does a lot of magical jobs and favors for people in Wartwood, and while curse-breaking isn’t exactly Marcy’s specialty, Anne is confident that her witch can help this girl out.

Sasha is… quite the piece of work at the start of all this. Rude, haughty, manipulative, selfish, a know-it-all, and overall very unpleasant to be around (which is why the curse on her is so strong - its potency builds off of the negative feelings others have towards her as well as the ones Sasha herself exudes). She doesn’t know exactly who cursed her, and her memories of the time spent as a toad before Anne found her are very foggy, but together, the girls eventually figure out the cure. Over the weeks she spends in Marcy and Anne’s cozy cottage in the countryside, Sasha reevaluates what is most important to her and learns quite a few new things about herself. Anne teaches her to find happiness and fulfillment in the little things, and Marcy teaches her that she can be helpful without burning herself out in the process.

That said, Sashannarcy is indeed endgame with preexisting Marcanne. However, both relationships are actually queerplatonic! So not friendship and not romance, but a very, very close bond that is different categorically from both. I feel like I haven’t seen a lot of fics that attempt this concept, and while I am by no means an expert I thought it’d be fun to take a shot at it!

Outside of the main plot, though, I actually have quite a few ideas for how exactly Anne and Marcy become witch and familiar, so there will probably be a few tiny ficlets around that! 

Lastly, just to clear things up: I won’t be updating in multi-chapter format (it intimidates me too much >.<), and they won’t necessarily come out in chronological order either. I’m planning on doing a sort of collection of one-shots, if that makes sense? They’ll all be tagged under “#ccc au” and I’ll likely link them all together, too!

Apologies for the VERY long-winded response, but I hope that answers your question! Have a good rest of your day/night, lovebird! 💗💗💗

[nalyra-dreaming]

Hi there!

I saw your previous post about hallucination lestat crashing the Louis and Armand meeting/date (or as you suggested armand crashing Louis and hallucination lestat’s date 👀) but I don’t think that scene where he’s toasting (maybe) ghost lestat is the same scene at the bar with armand. His hair seems to be in a very different style. It seems more like how he has it in that still of Louis that was released where he’s in the woods. It seems more likely that might be from around ep 1 when before they get to Paris and Louis isn’t using any product in his hair and presenting himself in a similar way to how he was in S1e5 when Claudia left:

It doesn’t really matter because we know Sam was filming as part of that scene anyway but I have my doubts the toasting moment is from that scene.

It so exciting we can piece all this together with so little. It’s a little wonderfully bizarre that likely the first time we see a version Louis, lestat, and armand all sharing a scene together in an adaption will be in this context lol

Can’t wait to hear from the actors what it was like to film a scene like that

Hey!

I know, I edited the post (and marked it as EDIT) bc I mixed up the gifs (they were loading and I was already skipping ahead, definitely my bad, I was also more looking at Armand’s eyes and … well. My bad^^). ((It was then reblogged so I didn’t edit it further)). And yes, it seems to be the still style, so ep 1 would also be my guess!

I do think Louis toasts Lestat there (in the first gif), that is not Armand’s hand imho - and Louis‘ eyes are (still) dead.

(The confirmed scene is the other gif, the one I linked in the other post)

But yes, it is all so exciting and I cannot WAIT to see it all come together 😈🙌

I really really hope we will get lots of panels, podcasts and interviews with them. I neeeeeeed to hear what it was like!

[flowercrowngods]

do you ever feel weird just constantly liking or reblogging from someone’s blog? bc i do — i feel weird but i do it daily for you. YOURE JUST SO GOOD

i know it’s just my anxiety telling me this and i know for the most part it’s appreciated but like??? everything you write needs to shared and stored so i can go back to it

i’ve been thinking about this ask all day 🤍 first of all hhh i wanna say thank you, that’s so endlessly sweet 🥺😭🤍

and secondly, you are right, it is appreciated!! wholly and entirely!! i see you, i recognise the regular urls, i see those mutuals and regulars who always appear in quick succession and in my head you’re all friends. i am very attached. so please don’t feel weird, i really really do appreciate it, even if there are no tags added for gushing or yelling purposes, if it’s just a reblog, plain and simple. for safekeeping.

and that’s also a point you’re making: safekeeping. i know there’s this (very rightfully) writer-centric attitude of “reblog to spread the word, reblog so other people can see it too, reblog so the thing gets more exposure, reblog so the writer will keep going.” and yes. a thousand times yes. but this is a two-way street, and honestly if you reblog for safekeeping? if you reblog because you wanna read it again? if you reblog because you wanna collect art and fics like little trinkets in your safe little comfy place? then please by all means, never never never stop. go do nice things for yourself, go keep those little ficlets we put out into the world, go like and reblog from the same person constantly because you’ve found that person whose stuff you enjoy so immensely!!!

i know you sent me this ask to compliment me, and i appreciate it so much!!! 🤍 but more importantly, i want to put a hand on your shoulder and wipe that smile of self-deprecation and anxiety away and tell you, it’s okay. it’s so so fine 🤍 like and reblog and keep things for yourself. do whatever feels best, nobody can take that away from you 🤍 don’t feel weird. i see you and i appreciate you 🥰🌷🫶

[pilferingapples]

re the shower, eat, sleep poll; no sewer-bread for you?

Who am I

Who am I I'm NOT THE PERSON WHO HATES THEMSELVES ENOUGH TO EAT SEWER BREAD