#do you think it’s more mental than physical ?

[moondirti]

Hellloooo🖤 I’m the anon who asked about the Safehouse story!

My brain, unfortunately, is not nearly as wrinkly as yours so I cannot come up with creative ideas like you 😂 BUT! I have a few ideas? Maybe? If you can call them that lol.

Was the spanking the first physical interaction they had? What did the morning after that look like?

What happens if reader has a nasty mental health episode & tries to hide it from Ghost?

Does the pet thing progress? I think we all know that Ghost has a thing for the pet play. I don’t even care, that’s totally canon for me at this point.

Would you ever consider writing about the general dynamic they have? Like the “rules” Ghost might have for them?

Totally and completely a self indulgent ask from someone who just had to pull themselves out of a nasty mental health episode lmao I’m so sorry please ignore this if it’s annoying or dumb!

shh i love all of these. i have so many thoughts now / prev

cw: dubcon d/s lifestyle. petplay. controlling behaviour. possessiveness. panic attacks. toxicity. noncon collaring. financial manipulation. mention of self harm. brief fluff.

Your thing with Simon is hard to contextualise.

Or even understand, really.

Parts of it are welcome. He asserts himself in a way you haven't found in the nobodies you've hooked up with previous, happy to fuck you dumb if it means you'll surrender yourself completely. Which you do. You listen intently and follow every direction he gives in bed, and as a reward he wrings orgasm after orgasm from your squirming body. You cum more in one week than you have in the past month, never not naked and sore, wrists tender from where he anchors his hand to keep them pinned above your head. You hear puppy more than your own name, at this point. And it's a concerning because– Well...

You don't mind it.

But you still don't like him.

It isn't like you necessarily need to like your partners in order to have a good time, but it certainly helps if you can tolerate them beyond a dick-in-hole condition. Simon is an anomaly in that he is the worst person you know, whilst also serving as the best lay you've ever had.

That is to say, his habits haven't changed. He's a fucking terror to live with. Nightmare flatmate, the type you see strangers complain about on reddit forums or hear in a friends story from their sister's husband's cousin. Not something you would take seriously until you live the experience – now existing as a sore, precautionary tale you'll no doubt be pitching to anyone also considering subleasing their place as a safe house.

Perhaps it's made worse by the sexual element you share. Before, he had just been your average perverse man, stealing clothes and walking in on you in the bathroom. Now, it seems that sleeping with him has given him the go-ahead to push that behaviour to an extreme. He'll pat your ass while you go about your business, or tug your hair when you raise your voice. Treats you like a pet that has yet to be debarked; just a silly, sub-human way of entertainment.

You can't help but feel you enabled it. But no–

The pet play is cute when he's drilling your brains out – and perhaps only because you can't think straight enough to raise concern – but you're not a dog. Nor do you want to be treated like one throughout all hours of the day. The onus is on him for not catching the hint.

But of course, accountability isn't in his lexicon.

Things only get worse from there.

"An' where d'you think you're going?"

You're halfway out of the door when he catches you leaving.

If you had been more iron-willed, you would slip out and scurry away before he can continue whatever spiel he has stirring. Instead, it's instinct to shrivel in on yourself, clicking the door shut before turning to face the behemoth waiting in the foyer.

"Out." You huff, intent on cold-stoning him. But it's a fools game when your opponent in the broad-shouldered lieutenant – for he merely cocks his head, waiting your silence out with more silence, and it's all you can do to bite your tongue against the deluge of excuses that pile up. "My mates thought it would be a good idea to catch brunch. Y'know– to celebrate the start of summer break. It's a nice day out so..." You gesture to your attire, like you have any reason to justify a sundress to some man you are in no way committed to.

But you can read the possessive gleam of his eyes as they take stock of your appearance: from your expensive mules, up your moisturised legs, to the low cut of your décolletage. It's easy to connect it to that look he had when you came back home that fateful night, the look of warning before he'd taken you over his lap and slapped your ass raw.

And for some odd reason, you're compelled to dig yourself out of trouble.

"Hm. It is a nice day, innit?" You nod a bit too quick. He stalks closer. "Lots of people out." Your nod is a little less enthusiastic. He's centimetres away now. "Some bad, bad men too."

He lifts the ends of your dress, slowly. Your next words quiver on their way out your chest. It's alarming to find that they don't sound nearly as assertive as you intend for them to be, not like they do horny.

"Where are you going with this?"

Your skirt pools around your hips now, held up by one hand as the other smooths over with the gusset of your panties.

"You plan on lettin' them have at this puppycunt? Have I not been givin' it enough attention?" He mockingly coos, pressing harder against the mound between your legs. Your knees grow weak. Not of your own accord, but weak nonetheless, and you have to hold onto his wrist to keep yourself upright. "Is tha' it?"

"N-No–"

"No? But that's what they'll think seeing you walk around like this, silly thing. Poor, neglected mutt, they'll say. Don't have a firm hand to keep 'er in line." Simon tuts, releasing his grip on your dress to pull something out of his back pocket. With the way he crowds into you, you can't crane your head to see what it is. "Now we can't have tha'. I spoil my girl rotten, wouldn' you say?"

"Yes. Yes but–"

"No buts, pup. Have ta stake my claim on you somehow." Something clicks. All too suddenly, you're made aware of the new weight on your neck. It tightens against the column of your throat – not enough to constrict your airways, but enough so that it hinders the way you move. "There we go. So pretty like this."

Panic seizes you, the steel fist of paralysis capturing your muscles in a vice-like clutch. Even as Simon pulls away, you're almost scared to find yourself in the nearest mirror. Scared of what you'll find dangling between your collarbones. There's no mistaking the textured leather that presses against your skin, nor the soft clink of metal hanging from it. No fooling yourself that this is all some cruel joke, not with the sick leer of satisfaction that warps his face.

Stumbling, you navigate to the bathroom and blindly turn on a light.

That cruel fuck.

"Simon," Your voice is devoid of the anger you feel roaring through your veins, circuiting through the frenzied stutter of your heart to find new passion. Instead, you sound horrified. Near hysterical, choking on your own pleas as you run back to the foyer. Your hands tug at the collar clasped around your neck, desperately searching for a buckle that will aid you in ripping it off, despite seeing the lock latched right at the centre that tells of its permanence. What's more, he had it engraved with a crude variation of a dog collar tag. If lost, leave alone. Or else count your days. "S-Simon, Simon please. Fuck– take it off. Take it off, take it off! I don't want this, I don't want... This isn't funny. I'll change if that's what it takes. Please."

Snot bursts from your nose, cheeks wet with a hot mess of tears. You can't suppress the hiccups that interrupt your begging like pathetic shots to the chest, or the weak hits you beat across his pecs. If you could, then perhaps he would give your tantrum more weight.

As it stands, you're nothing but a feral creature resisting training.

"Shhh. Pets can' speak. Pets don't cry." His thumbs press to your under eyes, tamping the flow of brine that mark steady tracks from your lashes. "You'll ruin your makeup like this."

"Si–"

He stare hardens into something dangerous. Against your better judgment, you clamp your lips shut.

"That's it. You're s'good when you listen to me, pup." Once he's sure you've stopped crying, he removes his thumbs to instead push one into your mouth. You can taste the salty residue of your tears on his fingertips. "Now, this is the bes' of both worlds, see? You can go see your friends with this on. I know pets need their playtime, af'er all."

You arch your back in protest, but all that does is bring you closer to the lieutenant. He misinterprets that entirely, of course, and a small smile breaks his face like you've agreed to his terms. A heavy palm pats your ass.

"S'jus' so you don't forget who you belong to." He chuckles. "An' if your friends like the idea, then I have a few friends for them."

You make it one block before hightailing back home.

Nothing in you wanted to give that bastard the satisfaction, but he made it so that whatever you chose to do – stay home or leave wearing a symbol of his ownership – he'd end up triumphant. Naturally, then, you opted for the lesser of two evils: to leave his vicinity immediately. Besides, you'd promised your girls you'd see them after going AWOL the past fortnight, and you knew you'd get an earful if you decided to reschedule at the last moment.

You thought you would convince them it was a bet. That the collar is just some silly joke you have to bear for the day after a football match didn't go in your favour.

But you make it one block before a tradie on his lunch break catcalls you (you about that freaky ting, beautiful?) and decide to change course completely.

You arrive back at your flat without further incident. Ego stung from the various odd looks you received on your way, but nothing as egregious as being singled out as a freak in the midst of a crowd occurs again.

Still, your hands shake as you push your key into its slot.

Which progress to full body tremors as you turn it in place.

Thankfully, Simon isn't waiting on you on the other side of the door. He sits, manspreading on the couch instead, focus zeroed in on the telly that broadcasts Fulham v Man City. When he doesn't look away, you allow yourself to hope he hadn't heard you come in. But it's a naive pool to place your faith in. Nothing escapes the man, and soon enough, his tone of humoured indifference shatters the silence you've been precariously trying to keep.

"Miss me 'lready?"

A wretched sulk, pit of anger hollowing out anew. You swiftly snatch your laptop from the breakfast bar before storming to your room, making sure to lock the door firmly behind you.

The website is bookmarked. Taunting. Sublet your home as a safehouse for our armed forces. Serve your country and help soldiers find refuge. You would laugh if you weren't so single-minded, typing in your email and password upon being prompted to. You don't have to deal with this shit any longer, nor do you intend to. If you remember correctly, there had been a way to report any problems you face. If you phrase yours right, you might just get Simon pulled from your services.

Good dick be damned.

But when you hit enter to sign in, an error message blinks in red.

Account does not exist.

Which is fine. Shit like this happens all the time. There's no reason to work yourself into a panic, you probably just used the wrong email.

So you try your alternate. Account does not exist.

It feels unlikely, but maybe you'd created it under your school email to give yourself credibility. Only–

Account does not exist.

Your blood pressure is no doubt sky high by now. Other symptoms of stress already start to wrack through you – blurry vision, chest aches, difficulty breathing. Your hands sweat excessively as you dig for the customer care number you're sure exists somewhere, efforts impaired by the ever-present weight of the collar around your neck. You wonder if Simon can smell your anxiety like a predator does its prey. If he's in the other room, salivating, waiting for you to wobble out of your room to go for the kill. Some part of you – a needlessly paranoid part – rests on the conclusion that this is somehow his fault too.

Your phone already rings in an outgoing call once you blink back to the present. While you've been functioning on autopilot, you must have found a number to call that related close enough to your issue.

And your suspicion is confirmed when an automated voice picks up. You are currently... second... in line.

It takes five minutes. When a placating woman speaks up amidst the nauseating music they have queued, you can hardly contain yourself from word-vomiting onto her. Safehouse signup. Lost account. Need to report an issue. Please. It's urgent.

"Okay ma'am. If you could give me your name, I'll be happy to find the source of your problem today." You can't spell it out any faster. "Alright. One moment, please."

"O-okay." You sniffle miserably.

"I see. I'm sorry to be the one to tell you this, but it seems that you've been pulled from the program after a complaint was lodged against you. Unfortunately I can't provide more detail than that, but if you need anything else, I would be happy to assi–"

You hang up. The poor thing doesn't need to hear the incensed scream that tears from the deepest parts of you, or the following crack as you chuck your cell at the wall. She'd done what she could. It isn't her fault. It was that self-serving bastard that had you blacklisted from the only thing keeping you financially afloat. It is that that self-serving bastard that continues to occupy space inside your home, despite having no real right to it now.

The tantrum isn't near cathartic enough to unfetter you from your prison of aggravation, and you continue to take it out on everything in your near radius. Your duvet and pillows. The lotion you keep by your beside table. Your own skin, nails piercing into the soft flesh of your palms.

And especially the collar constricting your throat, like vines that tighten at the first sign of struggle.

You have to get this collar off. Even if you fail at everything else, you have to get this collar off.

Scrambling off your bed, you turn your room upside down looking for a bobby pin or a knife. One is unquestionably the safer bet, but you know you'll sit for hours trying to pick the lock that keeps you shackled – so when you find the boxcutter sitting at the bottom of your junk drawer, you immediately take it to your neck.

Just as Simon barges into your room.

You're so far gone, you don't even question how this must look to him. In fact, it doesn't occur to you that you locked your door, and that the only way he could've gotten in is by having a replica of your key. No. You merely twist away from the all-encompassing hold he wraps around your arms, determined to keep the boxcutter away from his confiscation until you can slice through the leather.

But you're crying. Visibly, alarmingly unstable. And Simon's breaths are a little faster than normal, faltering in a way they only do when he's close to climax. He must be worried, which is a funny thought, seeing as he's the reason you're in this mess.

"Alright thas– that's enough of that." He grunts after managing to pry the blade from your hand. You hardly mourn the loss, rather crumbling in on yourself as your sobbing escalates. No longer frustrated, nor determined. Just primed into a suffocating panic attack.

Somewhere in your auditory periphery, you hear the clinking of glass. It doesn't register until he holds a vial of lavender extract you keep under your nose, forcing you to inhale the medicinal aroma. Soon enough, your mouth opens to swallow gulps of unscented air alongside it, and the imposed breathing exercise calms you to a point of blubbering calm.

(For someone so apathetic, you admit he handled that expertly.)

That isn't the end of it, though. Moments later, you're lifted off your feet. He cradles you in both arms as he makes his way to your bed, sitting up against the headboard and placing you on his lap. Safe. Undisturbed.

You say nothing, pressing your wet face into his shirt. For comfort, first and foremost, but the makeup that'll undoubtedly stain the white fabric is an added bonus.

"Know this is hard for y'to understand, pup." Simon begins. "Hard for you ta wrap your head around ownership after bein' alone for s'long. I won't punish you for tha'."

"Y-You don't own me." You accuse.

He shakes his head in response, like your mind is truly as little as he claims. Like you're a dog, complete with two ears and a tail, and he plucked you off the street on the condition that you heel.

If anything, he's the stray.

"Oh, but I do." A large hand rubs circles on your back. Never have you been so conflicted, so torn between leaning in and biting back. "Just don't see it yet, pet. Bu' you will, in time. And in the meanwhile, we'll establish some ground rules to help you adjust."

#do not be a cute girl around this man he will ruin your life #unedited #sorry this took me ages to pump out #tumblr deleted the first draft (?) so i had to rewrite #hate this dumb site #simon ghost riley x reader #simon ‘ghost’ riley x reader #simon 'ghost' riley #ghost #simon riley #x reader #x female reader #call of duty #fanfic #simon riley x reader #ghost x reader

[buckyalpine]

Thinking about the cutest little beefy babie Bucky who just needs cuddles and kisses and to feel small. He’s spent so much of his life forced into the complete opposite, the large killing machine who was hosed down with ice cold water, fed through tubes, his mind wiped a thousand times over. He knows he wants to be babied but he has no idea how to put it into words and he’s too embarrassed to ever bring it up. That's all he wants. A safe space all just for him.

The mission takes forever, mental and physical exhausting competing against each other to wear the soldier down. He sits at the able after mustering a quick shower; your heart hurts seeing him look so defeated, not touching his food, too tried to even lift the spoon.

“Here, let me feed you” you smiled, taking his plate from him and feeding him little bites of pasta. You notice the way his eyes light up, sitting up a little straighter for you while you carefully make sure not to spill anything. Your thumb wipes away a tiny smidge of sauce from the corner of his mouth and Bucky feels warm and fuzzy on the inside.

“Thank you” he whispered, cheeks tinted pink

“What else do you need, Bub?” You caress his scruffy cheek and you swear you hear him whimper. He's in a headspace he can't quite place his finger on, desperately craving more of your affection. He contemplates keeping his mouth shut and just going to his room, not wanting to push his luck but you touch him so softly and he needs it so badly.

“Cuddles please?” He manages, immediately nuzzling into your side.

"Of course" You take his hand and lead him to your room, leaving the lamp on so Bucky isn't plunged into total darkness. He shuffles at the edge of your bed while you pull back the sheets, tugging him to lay on top of you. He’s physically much larger than you but on the inside he’s so little. He curls him self up into a ball, loving the way you wrap him up, holding him close to your body. His head rests against your chest and for the first time ever, he falls asleep to the sound of your heartbeat without a single nightmare plaguing him.

Bucky managed to keep it between to two of you, those puppy eyes always a sign that he needed his safe space. Around others he'd hold himself together, going through the motions and as soon as he sees you, he simply melts. He only lets his inhibitions' down when there is no on else around.

There are some days where he's so lost in himself, so tired, so drained, he struggles with the most basic tasks. Tears well in his eyes, his head hurting as he tries to comb through his hair, some how making it worse. You hear a sniffle as you pass by his room, gently knocking before entering and seeing his fallen face.

“Mama?” He doesn't always realize when he calls you that but he can't help it. You're the safest person on the planet for him, so soft and pretty and oh so loving.

“What it is, bear” you coo, taking his hand away from tugging with the brush, seeing his frustrations grow. He whimpered at the knot in his hair that hurts to detangle, looking at you with glassy eyes. You lead him to sit down at the edge of his bed while you work through his chestnut lock. He lets out a content sigh when he feels your gentle nimble fingers work through his hair without hurting him. You graze and massage his scalp as you detangle and your small ministrations make it hard for him to keep his eyes open.

“Sleepy” he mumbled, pushing his face into your tummy and hugging you close like his favorite stuffy. He lets out a precious yawn and pulls you to bed to cuddle.

“Go to sleep, bear" You whisper, kissing his forehead, rubbing his back in soothing circles. He nods against your skin before descending into soft snores.

Such a cute beefy baby.

#bucky x reader #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x female reader #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky x y/n #bucky barnes fluff #bucky barnes #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes x f!reader #beefy bucky barnes #beefy bucky x reader #bucky barnes comfort fic #beefy bucky barnes fluff #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes angst #bucky barnes fan fic #bucky barnes fan fiction #bucky barnes fanfic #beefy bucky barnes fanfic #bucky barnes x reader fluff #james bucky barnes #james bucky buchanan barnes #james buchanan barnes #marvel fanfiction #marvel fluff #beefy bucky x you #bucky x you #bucky fluff #beefy bucky

[morallyinept]

Close Encounters Of The Grocery Kind - A Dieter Bravo One Shot 👽

Written for the @dieterbravobrainrotclub May Drabble Challenge. Featuring the line "Do you believe in aliens?" 👽

Summary: You meet an eccentric man whilst late night grocery shopping.

Pairing: Dieter Bravo x GN!Reader (No name or physical description of reader. It’s you, bub.)

Word Count: 1k

Scoville Smut Rating: None, it's fluff. You're safe.

Check out my Scoville Smut Ratings here.

Warnings/Triggers: Eating cereal without milk, does that count as a trigger? 😋

NSFW. MINORS DNI! OVER 18’s ONLY. YOU ARE SOLELY RESPONSIBLE FOR WHAT YOU READ.☝🏻Don’t come at me; you’ve been plenty warned.

I write for me, and I share with you. If this story isn't to your taste, that's fine. Just slip quietly out the back door. No need to make a fuss. It's just a work of fiction.

Author’s Note: Hope you enjoy this zany lil' meet cute! 👽

MAIN MASTERLIST | DIETER BRAVO MASTERLIST

Enjoy! 🖤

In the fluorescent-lit aisles of the grocery store, Dieter shuffles worn and tired along, in what can only be described as, his most comfortable attire - a stretched t-shirt and a pair of patterned pyjama pants hanging low and loose, finished with a green untied robe and crocs.

He intends for this grocery run to be a quick late-night snack grab, something to satisfy the munchies from smoking blunts in the pool all day, but as he scans the shelves, his eyes land on a display of space-themed cereals.

He reaches for a box labelled Star Bitz, containing frosted star shapes. Opening the box and plastic liner, he reaches in and takes a handful, crunching them around his teeth and groans uncouthly in delight at the sugar rush.

It elicits a curious look from you further down the aisle, mid-shop and looking just as dishevelled, having gotten off a long shift.

The man greets you with a mischievous grin, sizing you up with his sleepy eyes.

"Uh, hi," Dieter manages, straightening up a little. “Don’t worry, I’m going to pay.”

“I’m not worried,” you assure.

“You want some?” He offers out the box to you, smirking. You reach in when he shakes the box and tempts you further.

"Do you believe in aliens?" Dieter asks, licking round his teeth.

“I’m sorry?” You remark, trying to process the unexpected question.

He points a ringed index finger at your chest. “Your shirt.”

You look down at the tee with a cartoon alien faded across it and arch an eyebrow, your gaze flickering between the man’s pyjama pants and the box of cereal he so casually munches in his hand.

"Well, I've never met one personally,” you say.

Dieter chuckles. "There’s a conspiracy about lizard people secretly running the government.”

“It’s not a conspiracy. They’re all reptiles.” You confirm.

He snorts in appreciation, large hands rummaging in the box and tossing more frosty stars in his mouth.

"So, do you always go grocery shopping in your pyjamas?" You query, a twinkle in your eyes.

Despite his unkempt appearance, there’s something rather appealing about him. A scruffy, tired attractiveness around tan skin, pink puffy eyes and wild, greying curls.

Dieter grins, feeling a flush rise to his cheeks. "Only when I'm in dire need of snacks and comfort."

You simply nod and glance back at the shelves with your arm looped through your basket.

“You don’t know who I am, do you?” He questions as he watches your nonchalance whilst you inspect ingredient labels.

“Should I?”

“No. I'm nobody really.”

You watch as he lingers behind you as you move up the aisle.

“Escaped mental patient?” You query with a smirk.

He shakes his head. “I’m straight edge. Promise.”

You pick up milk and some other essentials, and Dieter audibly tuts when you chuck a few instant meals for one in the basket.

“What?” You ask with mirth.

“Watch your sodium intake.”

“I think I’ll fare much better than the amount of sugar in that box…” you nod to the cereal he’s still eating.

Chuckling, he continues to talk to you, following you down the aisles until your basket is full and you both head towards the checkout.

"Hey, um, do you maybe wanna grab a bite to eat?" He blurts out, his heart pounding in his chest.

You smile as he dumps his open box of cereal on the conveyor belt behind your shopping.

"I'd love to. But only if you promise to wear your pyjamas." You say, eyeing his comfy attire.

Dieter grins, feeling a surge of excitement. "How about now?”

“Sure.” You smile.

He pays for the cereal, leaving the cashier eyeing him with a flicker of recognition, when he puts his finger to his lips and snickers, following you out the automatic doors.

Once at your car, you watch as Dieter sits on the bonnet and taps for you to join him. He takes the milk out of your grocery bag, unscrews it and pours some over the cereal.

You laugh when he simply pulls a spoon out from one of his gown pockets.

“You always carry that around with you?”

“Never know when you might need one.” He shrugs.

“You’re very odd.” You smile as you dip into the cereal box.

“I’ve been called worse.” Dieter remarks. He looks up at the dark sky and sighs.

The cool night air wraps around you both, carrying the faint scent of gasoline and asphalt.

"So, space," you say, your eyes scanning the star-studded sky above. "What's your take on it?"

Dieter leans back against the car, gazing up at the vast expanse of darkness dotted with pinpricks of light.

"It's... mind-blowing, you know? The sheer size of it all. It hurts my head to think about it.” He pauses and frowns. “You ever wish you could be insignificant?"

“I already am.” You smile, handing him the cereal.

He scoffs looking at you, a gold hoop in his ear glimmers, catching the light from a car pulling into the parking lot.

“Can I kiss you?” He asks softly.

You baulk. “You want to kiss me? I don’t even know your name or where you’re from…”

“Dieter. Sherman Oaks. So, can I kiss you now?” He says, scratching under his chin. A patchy beard and moustache lines his jaw and upper lip, and you’re drawn to it, wondering if it’ll feel soft or scratchy.

“Well, odd Dieter from Sherman Oaks, you can kiss me. On one condition.”

“Always a catch…”

You plonk the box of cereal on the ground, shuffling closer as he sits up.

“You’ll like this catch.”

“Will I?” He smirks as you lean in, grabbing the lapels of his soft corduroy gown. He smells faintly herbal and minty.

“You promise that once you kiss me, you won’t stop.”

Dieter bites his lip, his eyes dropping to yours and then back up to your eyes again.

“I promise.” He confirms, smiling, as your lips brush together, both moaning into each other’s mouths.

Thank you so much for reading & I really hope you enjoyed this lil' Dieter drabble. If you did, please consider re-blogging so others can enjoy it too. Thank you! 🖤

MAIN MASTERLIST | DIETER BRAVO MASTERLIST

#pedro pascal #pedro pascal x reader #dieter bravo #dieter bravo x reader #pedro pascal characters #dieter bravo x gn!reader #dieter bravo fluff #dieter bravo the bubble #jett's writing

[von2dutch]

Sugar baby | Jey Uso

Part three

Synopsis: Sex is not a big deal. ...You can have a no-strings-attached arrangement with someone you don’t care about.

Pairing: Jey uso X Black Fem reader | word count: 2.1k | warning: smut, toxic behavior , protected sex | 18+ ONLY

Hey you all this is part three to the series if you haven’t read part one and two here they here! Part One | Say the word & Part Two | Same Mistake

Tag list

@shayaaaaaaa

@trashbin-nie

@blacst4r

@paigereeder

@whatdoeseverybodywant

@empressdede

@superpietom

@bebesobrielo

@solefae

@skyesthebomb

@reci1996

If anyone doesn’t want to be tagged anymore please let me know!

Lastly, Enjoy.

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As the first rays of sunlight peeked over the horizon inside Jey’s hotel room , a chorus of birds greeted the dawn with a symphony of chirps and songs. The melodic sound filled the air, announcing the arrival of a fresh day full of possibilities.

The calm and tranquil feeling in the bedroom is one of comfort and safety, as if the world is at peace. With Dakota by his side of course.

Joshua slowly opened his eyes to a warm and radiant morning light filtering through the window.

As Jey looked over at Dakota, he saw her sleeping peacefully beside him. He couldn't help but feel a surge of warmth in his heart as he watched her snuggled up against his chest, her arms wrapped around him tightly. The moment felt serene, and he took a deep breath, savoring it. He couldn't help but admire Dakota's beauty in that moment, as the soft glow of the moon illuminated her features and added an ethereal quality to the scene. It was a simple yet beautiful moment that he would always cherish.

He gently pulled her close with his arm, and planting soft kisses all over her face and neck, waking her up slowly but lovingly.

Jey had felt horrible about how he treated Dakota especially what he said to her a couple weeks ago when discussing being with her more than just a client.

He initially took in what his brother was saying and realized he loved Dakota not just what she did for him sexually but what she did for him mentally and physically because as much as he was there for her in those needs she was also there in those needs of his. With him being on the road 25/7 it sometimes gets lonely and sad but she always made sure to brighten his day even when she didn’t know she did.

His affection for her was not just a fleeting infatuation. It was a profound feeling that surpassed any previous experience he had ever had. This love penetrated through the depths of his heart and soul, and he had never felt anything like it before. He was completely consumed by her, and she had become the center of his whole universe. In his life, she was the beacon of hope that illuminated his path through even the darkest of times.

She's got him wrapped around her little finger, and he'd do anything to see her smile. He just needed to show her more than tell her and he was going staring today.

“Mmm Josh stop.” Dakota groaned moving her face away to stop the kisses he repeatedly left on her cheeks.

Chuckling he kissed her exposed neck annoying her even more “Ko baby get up I’m bored and I miss you.”

Opening her eyes staring back at his brown precious big eyes she could almlsh Melt into them but at moment all she felt was her love fading away from him because like he said she was just a client. “Josh don’t think cause we had sex last night that every is all dandy and cool cause it’s not.”

Joshua, sighed flustered, sat up abruptly. "Ko, I apologize. What more do you want me to say?" he asked, his tone reflecting a hint of desperation.

Getting out of his grasp she folded her arms looking at him like he was stupid “It’s not about what else I want you to say, I want you to acknowledge what you said.”

“Matter fact I’m done explaining myself cause remember I’m just your client it isn’t nothing else to it so it don’t matter I’m leaving.” Dakota attempted to get out of the bed to grab her clothes and leave but Joshua grabbed her pinning her arms down on the bed hovering over her as his sliver chain dangled in her face he stared in her eyes deeply.

“Dakota, you're more than just a client...I can't be away from you, can't go without seeing your radiant face or hearing your angelic voice. I want to be around you, soak up life with you, and just be beside you. Losing you would kill me. I love you with all of my heart.I don't want to miss a minute without you by my side. I love you Ko.”

“I want you and I’ll prove it by showing you then just telling you.”

That was it. Those words was something she thought she’d never hear but she did. All Dakota could do was stare back into his eyes taking in everything he had just told her. He was in love with her but she was also hesitant to believe maybe he was right he did need to show her.

“Joshua you don’t mean that you’re just telling me that because you want me to get over what you said.” Dakota said being stubborn no matter how much it melted her heart to hear him say those words she just couldn’t believe it.

Laughing to himself softly he knew she would be stubborn and he could handle it he just had to show her how much he meant it “Ko I mean that shit and if it takes me a million hours, years, or months to show you I will. I apologize for I what said I love you and I’ll show you.”

As he hovers above her, his gaze never wavers.He stares down at her with such intensity and passion, as if he owns her.He wants her back in his home, alone, just the two of them for a whole month.

He wants nothing but her all to himself, without any interference or distractions.

“That’s why I want to ask you to come back home with me while I’m off for the whole month just me and you…that’s if you want to mama.” He asked with pleading eyes.

Dakota pondered for a moment, her mind racing with thoughts and doubts. She wanted to believe him, to trust that he was sincere in his words. Could this be his opportunity to prove it? She took a deep breath and looked up at him, searching for any sign of insincerity. When she saw only a warm smile on his face, she felt a sense of relief wash over her. With a smile of her own, she answered, "Yes, I'll go with you."

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Instagram Story • Dakota Valentine

“It’s so beautiful here.” Dakota covered her eyes from the hard sunlight while she admired the beautiful landscape of Pensacola, Florida. The beautiful trees and water was something that amazed her how beautifully it was.

After a long flight from Atlanta in Jey’s private Jet alone just them two the more they spent alone the more she became to believe he actually meant what he said.

“Here ko.” Jey handed Dakota the keys to his home while he grabbed her luggage from the car his driver sat in. “Go unlock the door and chill I got everything and you better be laying down Frl ko.” He glared at her knowing how much she didn’t listen.

Rolling her eyes she caught the keys walking towards the door she threw the middle finger up at him “You already did.” He shot back smartly.

As she turned the doorknob and stepped inside, she found herself mesmerized by the sheer beauty of his home. Every time he had flown her out to his place when he was off, she was left in awe at the stunning interiors and the breathtaking exteriors. It was as if the first time she had visited his home was replayed in her mind every time she visited.

Dakota walked towards the refrigerator grabbing a drink of water before she plopped down on his white comforting couch she watched as the sunset rose in more beautifully the water waving softly the trees flowing through the wind she was so caught up into the sight that she didn’t hear Josh calling her name.

“Mama you good?”Jey asked sitting next to Dakota on the couch, gently and lovingly takes her feet into his hands.He removes her blue Dior slides and begins to gently rub and massage her feet, caressing every inch of her soft, smooth skin.

He places a gentle kiss on her foot, sending tingles through her body, before rubbing the other foot. She leans back into his hands and sighs contently as he spoils her with this attention and affection.

With a gentle nod of her head, she replied, "Yes, it's just that this place is so breathtakingly beautiful. It's been quite some time since I last visited, and I almost forgot how much I missed it."

“I know I changed some things around here too, remember that painting you wanted back in September when I took you too that art show? I got it hung up right there for you Ko.” He pointed towards the white painted wall where the panting hung.

“Aww thank you baby.” She blushed cheesing happily resting her head and back against the couch.

The two of them sat there in silence for what felt like an eternity. Eventually, Jey spoke up, his voice soft and gentle, breaking the comfortable stillness that had enveloped them. As he looked into Dakota's eyes, he spoke with a sincerity that could not be denied, “Dakota I meant what I said earlier.”

Sighing she looked back at him “I know but I want you to show me Joshua not tell me.”

“And I will trust me.”

Park West Beach

“Joshua you bet not have me at no damn water park! For me dressing up when I should be sleeping some damn where.” Dakota stressed as he had his hands covering her eyes leading her towards the beach she felt sand at her foot.

“Dakota shut up and be patient.”

“You shut up! You better not throw me in the water cause I feel sand at my feet and we are at the beach sir.”

Huffing Joshua smiled finally being at the location he desired for her he spoke “okay ima count to three and then I’ll uncover your eyes aight?”

“Yes.” Dakota answered softly geeked with anticipation and eager.

“1,2,3.” Removing his hand from her eyes he stood back watching as she took in what was in front of her.

Dakota's face lit up with a wide smile as she gazed at the mesmerizing sight in front of her. She could hardly believe that he had gone to so much trouble just for her. The ambiance was absolutely perfect, with flickering candles casting a warm, inviting glow all around them. Her favorite foods were carefully laid out on the table, tantalizing her senses with their mouth-watering aromas. The comfortable chairs beckoned to her, inviting her to sit down and relax. And all around them, fragrant roses bloomed, their delicate petals bathed in the soft light of the moon, as they sat beside the tranquil waters.

“J-Joshua you did all this?” She looked back at him with tears filling her eyes that she so desperately wanted to held back.

Smiling he embraced her into a hug leaving a few kisses on her face “Yeah I had Jimmy and trin help me, you like it?” He asked nervously, he was worried that she wouldn’t like it considering he wasn’t much a romantic partner but he tried and he always with over and beyond for Dakota no matter what.

His love ran deep for her that some would say he was infuriated with her.

“Do I love it? Of course!” She jumped into his arms Jey caught her with one arm wrapping her legs around him he held her tightly then two laughing.

“I can’t believe you did this for me.” She gushed once more before he sat her down gently on the circle chair he sat beside her holding her hand.

As she glanced around she couldn’t help but ask what did he do all this for? Was it to apologize? Because if so she wasn’t accepting it from him no matter how beautiful everything was.

“So what is all this for?” She asked knitting her eyebrows together while she looked into his eyes waiting for an answer.

“Well that’s what I wanted to talk to you about.” He took her hand into his moving closer to Dakota he stared directly into her eyes watching as she became nervously because she was biting her lip which he took notice of a few months back of when she was nervous.

“I know what I said a few weeks ago hurt you Ko and I apologize but not only that but I wanted to confess my love for you Dakota.” Jey left a few kisses on her Hand before taking a deep breath.

Jey's eyes burn with the passionate fire and desire he's had for Dakota for so long. He wants to express his love for her with a burning intensity, wants to claim her as his, and make her his in every way possible. It's not just an infatuation anymore, it's something so much more than that.He's obsessed, addicted, and obsessed with her.

As he watches her, he's hit in the gut with the depth of his feelings.It feels like a burning hot flame that's raging within him and he can't deny or stop. He's consumed by his love for her, intoxicated by her beauty and presence.

“I love you with every breath I take, with every beat of my heart", I couldn’t imagine life with you Ko and no matter how stubborn you are I’ll show you I mean it.” he confesses.

Jey holds her hands. He looks at her with pure adoration and devotion, his feelings so deep and his love so real.

"Dakota Kamire Valentine..." he whispers, taking a moment to take in her whole beauty and being.

He takes in a deep breath and continues. "Will you be my girlfriend? My partner in life? My soulmate?"

He stares deeply into her eyes, waiting for her answer, his heart pounding and aching.

Dakota's eyes widened in surprise as she gazed back at him, feeling a mix of emotions bubbling up inside her. She tried to avoid looking directly at him, scanning the surroundings instead, to control her tears. It was hard to believe that Jey Uso, the Joshua she had grown to know so well, was confessing his feelings for her on a picturesque beach, with just the two of them as witnesses. The beauty of the moment was almost too much to handle.

He wanted her and only her and he was going to show he meant it.

“Y-yes I’ll be your girlfriend Josh.” She stuttered tears leaving her eyes Jey embraced her into a hug before wiping her tears away she kissed him deeply.

“I can’t believe your silly ass just asked me to be your girlfriend.” Dakota chuckled wiping away her tears pushing at his chest playfully while smiling at him shyly.

“Yeah it took me a while but I had too I couldn’t stand you possibly being with someone else other than me Ko, I love you.”

"Josh, why did it take you so long to come clean about this? Was it because you were hoping I'd forgive you for what you said, or was it because you saw me at the club with another man and felt guilty? I need to know the truth, Josh," she said, her arms folded as she fixed him with a curious gaze.

“To be honest… It was because of what my brother said.” He spoke “I had realized that I fell in love with you ko and I was scared to admit it because of past experiences as far as my divorce I had a year ago I didn’t want to go through another heart ache if we never worked out Dakota with me being on the road I feared you’ll fall out of love with me too and find someone else new.”

“I feared that maybe you didn’t want this as much or I wasn’t enough but most importantly my one fears made me push back my feelings for you but no matter how hard I tried I always seemed to fall for you deeper and deeper.”

"You probably think I’m bullshiting, but there is truth to these words..You are the air in my lungs, the light in my eye, the smile on my face. You are everything to me, and without you...I feel lost and like a ghost of who I used to be.”

“Your gaze upon me is simply enchanting, it's like a magnet pulling me closer to you. Your mere presence ignites a flame of passion inside me, and I feel alive in your arms. The warmth of your touch sends shivers down my spine, and it's a sensation I never want to lose. You're the missing piece of my puzzle, the one who completes me in every way. I can't imagine my life without you; you're my every breath, my lifeline, and my everything. I love you more than words can express, Ko.”

Dakota couldn’t even spare a word to him after hearing him confess his love for her. She was stunned she couldn’t believe it that the one thing she wanted was happening before her eyes.

She love him just as much as he loved her.

“Aww Josh you gon make me cry…I hate you.” She said playfully before she wiped her tears falling from her eyes. She was in such awe.

“Don’t cry ma I just want to tell you how much I love you uce and I meant it.” Jey kissed her, her lips so soft and so sweet. He wrapped his arms around her, holding her close against his chest, the heat of their bodies making them close and intimate. He touches her body slightly, caressing the curves of her hip before letting his hand rest on her ass. He stares at her with desire, wanting to never stop touching her.

Dakota's eyes sparkled with love as she gazed at Joshua. "I love you, Joshua," she whispered, her voice filled with tenderness. "There's nothing else in this world that I want more than this moment with you." As she spoke, she reached up to caress his face, her fingertips gently tracing the contours of his beard. The touch was soft and delicate, but it conveyed a deep sense of affection and intimacy. Joshua felt a surge of emotion as he looked into her eyes, knowing that he was the luckiest person in the world to have her by his side.

While the two sat and watched the waves of the water flow by quietly Josh spoke “I got something for you.” He said before grabbing a gift from the side of him it was red roses and a jar full of poems of letters that he wrote confessions of his love for her.

“Since you said you liked hand written notes, I decided to do this , here’s 365 hand written notes.”

“Jey you didn’t.” She smiled grabbing the jar opening it she read a few notes in complete awe she couldn’t wait to tell Jasmine she was going to flip about this.

She chuckled softly, unable to contain her surprise as she looked at him. 'You really do have a memory like a steel trap,' she murmured, a hint of admiration in her voice. 'I said that months ago, and yet you remember it like it was just yesterday.' Her laughter was infectious as she leaned in to kiss him, grateful for his thoughtful nature.

“But I did and I wanted to it’s always the littlest things that matter and this is one of them baby.”

Jey gazed at Dakota with a look of compassion and sincerity, and spoke in a gentle tone, "I want to take away any pain that you have ever experienced, Ko. I want to help you heal and feel better."

“What if I told you that you did.” She admitted.

“You Frl ko?”

“Yes I’m Frl, when my mom passed you were there for me every step of the way Jey. With you being on the road and busy 24/7 you still made time for me, you still made sure I was okay no matter how many miles away you were from me it always felt like you were there with me. You made me feel whole again through those dark times and I appreciate and will always love you for that.” She stared at him watching him smile brightly hearing those words.

Jey looked at her, an adoration in his eyes as he stares.

"You deserve all the happiness in the world.”

His eyes are soft and tender, yet there is a desire in them.

"I only want you to be happy, Dakota, even if you'd be happier with someone else."

They both were in love and there wasn’t anything getting in the way of it.

Lovers till the end of time .

To be continued…

Hey my baby dolls I hope you all enjoyed this lovely chapter! I told y’all he would do better but next chapter will be not so great that’s all ima say na!

Happy Mother’s Day as well hope you all are having an amazing Sunday with your families.

Till next time. Love you all for tuning in🎀

#jey uso #wwe jey uso #wweedit #wwe smackdown #wwe raw #main event jey uso #jey uso smut #jey uso x reader #jey uso imagine #jey uso fanfiction #the usos #roman reigns #jimmy uso #the bloodline #original photographers #fashion #foryou #makeup #black beauty #natural hair #35mm #black girl magic #black girl moodboard #90s aesthetic #romantic #original story

[munsonsmixtapes]

My hurt/comfort request:

Reader and eddie somehow survived the upside down together, despite spending time in the hospital afterward for a good few weeks. Now it's well after all that hell, but reader isn't doing well mentally. They keep pushing Eddie away, indulge in drinking far too much, and rely on pills to feel numb. But the PTSD is strong, and nightmares won't go away. Sleep is a luxury now.

One night reader risks calling Eddie while drinking, only to hang up after a few words feeling like it was a mistake. Eddie doesn't take it lightly and comes over to find reader on the floor with a bottle of alcohol, crying and shaking from their last nightmare. Comfort ensues.

Feel free to change anything if you write this!! I know it's a pretty heavy prompt but I rarely see people explore the PTSD side of things with these characters. We forget how much hell the show actually portrayed. (Apologies for the long request lol)

Thanks so much for the request, lovely! This is exactly what I was looking for!

cw: mention of PTSD, reader’s deteriorating mental heath, and abuse of both alcohol and medication, hurt/comfort

You didn’t know how you did it, but after being dragged through hell and back, you had barely escaped death in the Upside Down. Both you and your boyfriend Eddie had been experienced the most unimaginable injuries, seeking immediate help at the hospital even though you knew that they wouldn’t believe how you had gotten hurt so badly.

Both of you had spent weeks there, racking up outrages bills as you were nursed back to health. Eddie had been worse than you, though, having to be on life support, but you were definitely suffering more mentally. Even though you had escaped the Upside Down physically, you hadn’t been able to in your mind.

All of the horrific, traumatic images replayed in your head on a torturous loop that you hadn’t been able to shake. It was as if you had never left even after months of being back in the real world. You couldn’t think of anything else. Especially when it was time to go to bed. Even falling asleep next to Eddie didn’t help. You still somehow always woke up screaming.

Eddie did his best, but it was so hard to watch you fall apart right before him. The person that he loved the most was in absolute shambles and you wouldn’t let him help you. You just insisted that you were fine and told him to leave it alone whenever he suggested alternatives to your unhealthy coping mechanisms.

Instead of seeking therapy like you probably should have, you resorted to the pills you had been prescribed for your anxiety and alcohol to numb your pain. If you weren’t drinking, you were popping pills after pill, and when you were really desperate, you’d combine them, even though it said very clearly on the bottle not to mix them with alcohol.

Over time, you favored your new obsessions over your own boyfriend. You found yourself pushing him away, not wanting to hear his judgement, even though you knew very well that he’d never judge you. He just cared for you in a way no one else did and it made him sick to sit by and watch you self-sabotage.

You sat on the floor of your bathroom, surrounded by empty beer bottles, your phone right in front of you, practically begging you to call your boyfriend who you hadn’t spoken to in weeks. And it wasn’t because you didn’t want to. It was because you couldn’t. You had convinced yourself that he had been upset with you and you just didn’t want to hear it.

But you did want to hear his voice. It was one of the only things that brought you instant comfort, never failing to make all your worries fade away. You knew he would have picked up if you called so you didn’t know why you were so nervous.

You picked up the phone and used the rotary to dial his number, surprised you could do it with how drunk you were. It rang once before your picked up, Eddie’s lovely voice ringing through the phone.

“Y/n?” He asked, breathless, like he had been holding it for too long.

“Eddie,” you cried, feeling tears welling up in your eyes, desperately wishing he would hold you in his arms. You knew he would if you just asked. Why couldn’t you ask?

“Y/n, oh my god. It’s so good to hear your voice, honey. What’s wrong?”

“The nightmares-” you cut yourself off, terrified to tell him what they were really about. You felt like talking about them would make them even worse.

“What about them? Have they gotten worse?” Eddie could always somehow read your mind. Maybe that was why you worked so well together. If you were even together anymore. You wouldn’t have been surprised if he would have broken up with you because of you pushing him away. You thought you deserved it.

You didn’t know why, but you pulled the phone away from your ear and put it back on top of the rotary, scooting away from it once it rang again. You knew it was Eddie and you didn’t want to talk to him anymore. Calling him was a mistake.

You curled up and buried your face into your knees, letting out soft sobs as the nightmares flashed in your head. They were always the same. Always a reminder of the trauma you had gone through. You in Vecna’s clutches, so close to death until you found yourself in Eddie’s arms, him cradling your almost lifeless bodies in his hands, letting out wail and wail as he begged for you to come back.

You cracked open another beer and shotgunned it, before laying on the cold, hard tile, left alone with nothing but your thoughts. Nothing could fix it, nothing could save you. You were just hopeless.

The bathroom door bursted open and you sat up, startled by the sudden noise. There, in the doorway was your boyfriend Eddie, a duffle bag in his hand. He let it fall to the floor and headed toward you before dropping to the tile and pulling you into his lap.

You wrapped your arms around him and buried your face into his neck, sobbing into it while he ran his hands up and down your back as a way to comfort you. He was always so good at it.

“I’m sorry I hung up on you,” you told him when you had run out of tears. He just shook his head and brought his hands up to your face, stroking your cheeks with the pads of his thumbs.

“You have nothing to apologize for. You’ve been going through things that people couldn’t even imagine.” Eddie knew how much you were struggling and it broke his heart that you were blaming yourself for doing what you needed to do to heal.

“But I pushed you away.” Your eyebrows furrowed and you suddenly felt silly for thinking that Eddie would have been mad at you. He couldn’t have been mad at you if he tried.

“You needed your space. I’ll always wait for you, you know that.” You did know that. He had told you those exact words time and time again, especially in the past few months, when you had been going through your darkest times.

“I-I thought you were going to break up with me.” Tears started welling up in your eyes again and Eddie was quick to wipe away the ones that fell.

“Why would I do that? I love you. Nothing could make me want to leave you. You know that, right?” Sometimes he was concerned by how much he loved you. That he would defend you even when he knew you were wrong. He was always just so desperate to be on your side.

“I do now,” you nodded then looked around at all of the empty bottles that surrounded you. You couldn’t believe that you had consumed all of that alcohol in such a short amount of time. Maybe it was time to quit and get some help. You owed that to yourself after all you had gone through. “I-I think I want to go to therapy. I’m sick of feeling this way, so empty and hollow.”

“Honey,” he pulled you into a hug before pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. “I’m so proud of you.”

“You are?”

“Always,” he nodded. “Not everyone can see that they need to make changes in their life and you did. Even if it took you a minute to get there.”

“You’ll help me?” You asked, twirling a strand of his hair around your pointer finger.

“Don’t I always,” he chuckled. “Now c’mon. Let’s get you some water and then head to bed. I feel like you could really use some sleep.”

Eddie helped you up from the floor and carried you to the kitchen to get some much needed water. You looked up at him as he took you down the stairs, wondering how you had gotten so lucky as to have someone like him that was so caring and willing to help you even when you had treated him like absolute shit. You never thought that you had deserved him, but maybe after getting some help, you’d be able to work on that and realize that you really did deserve to have him in your life.

#stranger things #eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie x y/n #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x gender neutral reader #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson hurt/comfort

[pedroshotwifey]

To the Flame chapter 16

Series masterlist

Pairing: Dark!Javier Peña x afab!reader

Chapter w/c: 3k

Chapter warnings: mentions of physical abuse, talk of suicide, manipulation, mental abuse, description of injury, controlling behavior, comfort, crying, javi being a dick, javi being "nice", reader being ✨delulu✨, idek how to tag this shit anymore, i think i might be gaslighting myself 💀

Chapter Summary: You get a glimpse of the man you used to know while you try to sort out your feelings in the hospital. You're faced with a tough decision---did you make the right one?

A/N: Don't know what to say about this one. Yes, we all want to scream at reader, yes, we all want to scream at Javi. Scream at me if you'd like and I'll happily scream back 😭 Love you babes!

******

You’re not dead, but you really wish you were. Your body aches more heavily than it ever has. Every breath you take is a massive effort and every twitch of your fingers sends a twinge through your entire body like a shock of electricity. You don’t know what’s easier—breathing deeply or taking in shallow breaths. Deeper means that your chest has to rise and fall painfully with the movement, but shallower makes you feel like you're not getting an efficient amount of air. You don’t want to decide, so you just lay on the kitchen floor and let your body do it for you. 

You don’t think Javi’s here with you, but you honestly could care less if he is or not. All you have to do is turn your head and look around, but you don’t think that’s possible for you right now. You can feel the way your throat has swollen and would pull tight if you tried. You just want to lay with your pain for a while and let it consume you so you don’t have to think. Though your head pounds painfully, it’s the clearest it’s been for weeks. You know you’ll have to get up at some point, but that point is not now. 

You can feel every organ individually, the way they struggle to work with every second that passes. Your lungs heave and sputter as you try to suck breath into them, and you’re suddenly curious to how they’re working at all. There’s no way for you to tell how long you were out or how much water you consumed, but you can only assume it was close to your limit. You thought you were going to die, you really did. 

You have no idea how long you lay there, staring up at the ceiling, before you hear the click of the door opening, then several sets of footsteps making their way inside. Their voices are muffled by the staticy noise in your head, and you frankly don’t care enough to try to figure out what’s going on. 

Javi’s blurry figure comes first, leaning over you as more people crowd in. 

“Sweetheart?” 

His dampened voice sounds panicked. You couldn’t give less of a fuck. You know that you’re probably going to be fine at this point, but you almost wish that you weren’t just to spite him. Suddenly, the light comes on, and your head starts to pound even harder. You close your eyes. 

***** When you open them again, you’re in a bed. Not yours, though, you can tell immediately. There’s daylight in the unfamiliar room coming from the window on the other side. So you know you’ve been out for a while. 

It takes a moment for you to remember what happened—why you’re probably here. And it’s with that realization that the pain returns. It’s more dull this time, immediately making you thankful for whatever meds they have you on. Just the underlying tightness throughout your body is enough for that. 

You blink and look around a bit, trying to scan your surroundings without moving too much. But when you spot the chair in the corner closest to you—who’s sitting in it—your adrenaline spikes. Javi sits up out of the chair as soon as he sees your eyes open and on him. He moves to the side of your bed and your body jerks away from him on instinct. 

“Get away from me,” you bite, though your voice is so strained it’s nearly incomprehensible. 

You can see hurt flash in his eyes for a split second, but it’s quickly replaced by anger. You don’t have time to dwell on that short moment of vulnerability before he has his hands on you, trying to hold you steady as you thrash and try to yell for help. He knows you won’t be able to muster up enough noise to be heard. 

“Fuckin’ stop and listen to me,” he spits, and you do, letting your body go limp before it gets any worse. You lay there and look him in the eye as silent tears sting your cheeks. 

“You’re going to tell them you tried to kill yourself,” he says calmly. You don’t realize you started shaking your head until he grabs your chin and stills you. “You’re going to say you couldn’t handle the stress of the move and you tried to drown yourself in the sink when I got home and found you.” 

You say nothing, because you know there’s no point. Why waste your breath and hurt your throat even more? 

“You tied a scarf around your neck, attached it to a weight, and threw it into the sink.” 

Oh, God. It makes you want to throw up, how elaborate his lie is. That would explain the bruising on your neck. He thought of everything, covered every track. You know you must be looking at him with pure disgust, but you don’t dare change your expression. You want him to see you, what he’s done to you, how he’s made you feel. 

There’s suddenly a knock at the door, and Javi’s expression changes to something almost tender. The hand tightly gripping your face moves to cup your cheek, the other to pet your hair. You feel panic and frustration crawling under your skin, consuming your body until you think you might scream. This is your chance to get away from him, but you know you won’t.  

All you have to do is tell the doctor you want to speak alone, tell them what’s happening, and you’ll never have to go back. But what if he didn’t believe you and you only make it worse for yourself? Or worse than that, what if he does, and you’re taken away from Javi. Exactly what you want, but also the last thing you can ever imagine happening. He’s still there, you can’t leave him. He’s still there. 

So, even as it crushes your soul and makes your heart jump wildly in your chest, you say nothing as Javi calls for the doctor to come in, and a man in a white coat steps inside with a clipboard. He smiles at you, his eyes full of so much pity that it makes you swallow. 

“Glad to see you up, honey. We were real worried for a second there.” 

You say nothing, just watch the doctor as Javi continues to stroke your hair, then places a kiss on your head and backs away for the man to check on you. He comes to your bedside, opposite of your husband, and places his hand on your forehead. 

“Still no fever,” he mumbles to himself, jotting something down on his clipboard. He brings a hand to your neck next, lightly pressing on the skin there with three fingers. He grimaces slightly. “Throat’s still very bruised and swollen. How bad does it hurt when I touch it here?” 

He moves his hand up and places his fingers on a spot right under your jaw and to the left, putting a small amount of pressure there. You try not to flinch. It’s not a lot of weight at all, but it hurts like hell. You can only guess that’s where most of the bruising ended up. 

“Hurts,” you rasp. The doctor puts his lips into a thin line and brings his hand back away. He writes something down and then sets the clipboard on the nightstand. 

“How long have I been here?” you question, voice barely a whisper. 

“You’ve been in and out for about forty-eight hours now,” the doctor tells you, glancing at his watch. “I’m not surprised you don’t remember it, you weren’t very cognizant.” 

You nod, resisting the urge to look at Javi. Instead, you let your head lay back on the pillow and inspect the water-stained ceiling tile above your bed. 

“When will she be cleared to come home?” Javi asks from where he’s sat in the chair. 

The man sighs contemplatively. “If all her vitals stay about the same as they are now for the next few hours, hopefully tonight. We would like to have somebody come talk to her to see where she’s at mentally first, since you’ve said that you work and she stays home. We don’t need her trying something like this again while she’s alone.” 

“I can take time off,” comes Javi’s quick reply, making something twist in your stomach. If you weren’t so mentally exhausted, you might be surprised about that. He had told you before that it was hard for him to just take days off. Though you suppose it would make sense for him to be able to request time for a family emergency. 

“I think that would be best, but we’re still going to have someone in to talk. We need to assess her cognitive functions as much as we need to make sure she’s not planning anything drastic.” 

Even though you’re not looking at him, you know Javi’s jaw is clenched. You know he’s smart enough to hold his tongue to not give himself away, even though he wants to protest more. He doesn’t trust what you might say while you’re alone, and frankly, you don’t either. 

“Can he stay in the room with me?” you croak. 

There’s a beat of silence as you look back to the doctor. He looks at you, then to Javi, then back to you. “Are you sure you don’t want to talk alone? The social worker we have on staff is very—”

“I’m sure,” you cut him off. “I want him here.” 

There’s a sickening sense of betrayal coming from yourself as you decide your fate. You don’t know why you’re doing this, but you do. It hurts your head to try to decode what you’re thinking half the time these days.

The man watches you for a few seconds, obviously trying to gauge how much of a mistake it would be to let you make this decision. “If that’s what makes you comfortable, we can do that.” 

There’s a wave of relief as Javi leans forward slightly to cover your hand with his. 

“I’m here, sweetheart,” he comforts. You visibly relax, letting your body slumping down into the mattress. You let yourself zone out for a bit while Javi and the doctor talk for a minute more, just savoring the warmth of Javi’s hand touching you so gently, so caring. You know you have his approval right now, and it feels so good to bask in it. 

You close your eyes and pretend to be asleep when the doctor leaves, trying to have Javi like this for as long as you can. You’re transported back to one of the first dates you went on with him, leaning up to him in his truck, his free hand over yours as it is now. The smiles you exchanged, the kisses, the laughs. It hurts so fucking bad. To think you’ll never have that again. 

Tears trickle from your shut eyes, a quiet sob leaving your lips even as you try to contain it. 

“Oh, sweetheart,” Javi consoles, genuine sympathy in his voice. It makes you want to cry more. You open your eyes and Javi gets up from the chair, coming to the bed as you begin to sob. You don’t know how to explain to him the grief you’re feeling over him when he’s right there, but you don’t have to. You sit up the best you can and he cups your chin again, watching you tenderly with furrowed brows. 

“I know, honey, I know,” he coos before tucking your head to his chest. “I’ve got you. Get it all out.” 

And you do, you wrap your arms around him and cry into his chest until you can feel his shirt soaking your cheek. You shake and heave and clench the fabric until your tears go thin and start to burn your skin. 

He’s patient with you, holding you the entire time, whispering reassurances and rubbing your back, holding your head to him. It feels like your Javi. Yours. But it only makes you miss him more because you don’t know if it’s true. Don’t know if he’s snapped out of this awful trance that’s consumed him, or if he’s only here momentarily when you need him most. Either way, you let his care overwhelm you, let yourself drown in the affection. 

****

It’s only when you open your swollen eyes a few hours later that you realize you’d cried yourself to sleep in his lap. You’re laying down now, Javi in the same spot he was the first time you woke up. There’s a woman in the room talking to him, but you’re too groggy to think about what they’re saying. More nonsense about your mental state, you’re sure. 

And just like that, the love that had consumed you a few hours ago starts to fade. Your mental state. The carefully constructed lies you’re about to tell this woman. She turns to you when she sees you try to sit up, rushing to your side with a gentle smile. 

“Careful, don’t want you straining anything,” she says, placing her hands on your arms to help you. You nod at her, still trying to wake back up. Your eyes hurt from crying and your head is throbbing again. You really don’t want to talk right now, but you know you have to if you want to get out of here. 

“You know why I’m here?” the woman asks gently. Her name tag reads Chloe. She looks a bit older than you and has the most beautiful green eyes you’ve ever seen. You decide you like her. 

You nod, then realize it’s probably better to be verbal. “Yes,” you tell her. 

She nods understandingly, rubbing your upper arm in a comforting motion. “I’ve been told you’d like your husband to stay in the room while we talk?”

You confirm again, glancing at Javi, who seems to still be in whatever state he was earlier. 

“Alright, I’m just going to ask you a few questions, and then we’ll get you out of here. Sound good?” 

You nod, swallowing the thickness in your throat. “You mind if I sit?” Chloe asks, gesturing to the side of your bed. You shake your head no and she makes herself comfortable, clipboard in her lap. She doesn’t even look at Javi, which relaxes you a bit. Her sole focus is you.

“I know it’s not going to be easy, but I promise to be patient. You can take all the time you need. Are you ready?” 

“I’m ready,” you reply before you change your mind about doing this with Javi. 

“Okay. Can you tell me how you tried to take your life last Friday? In as much detail as you’re comfortable with.” 

You take a deep breath, force yourself to not look at your husband, and pray you don’t mess this up. 

“I tried to drown myself,” you lie quietly. “I tied a scarf around my neck and attached it to a weight. Then I filled the sink with water—.” You have to pause, emotion hitting you hard all of a sudden. You blink and swallow the lump in your throat. “I filled the sink with water and threw the weight in.” 

Chloe nods somberly, watching you with the same pitying look the doctor had earlier. “It’s okay to cry, honey. It’s a hard thing to talk about. You’re very brave for doing so.”

You listen to her, bowing your head and letting your tears overflow. They’re slower than the ones you’d cried with Javi. More quiet. They feel more like defeat than grief. Chloe writes something down and looks back at you. 

“And why did you feel like that was the best way to achieve what you were trying to do?” 

You bite your lip, contemplating for a second. “Because I knew it would work over everything else. I thought it would.”

She jots something down.  

“There are no firearms in your house?” 

“Only mine, and it stays on me all day,” Javi provides before you can say anything. Chloe whips her head around to him. 

“Did I ask for your input?” 

“No,” you say, before whatever just happened could escalate. The last thing you need right now is Javi getting angry. “Just his.” 

She turns back to you, gentleness returning to her face. She again scribbles something down. 

“Two more,” she tells you. “We’re almost done. You’re doing really well.” 

You nod at her, giving her a small smile. 

“Do you wish you had succeeded? Why or why not?” 

You answer quickly, maybe a little too quickly. You hate the way you still feel like you’re lying when you tell her no. “I was just overwhelmed that night. I was lucky that Javi came home when he did.” 

She nods, writes something down, and asks you the last one. 

“You’re not going to try to take your life again?” 

“I’m not. I don’t want to die.” It almost hurts to have to say it. You don’t even know if that’s true. You put on a brave face though, needing her to believe it even if you don’t. 

She writes the last thing down and smiles at you. “Okay, I’m going to go talk to some staff and get you ready to go home. It was very nice to meet you. I hope things go well in your future.” She holds her hand out for you to shake, and you do. 

“Thank you, it was nice to meet you, too,” you tell her honestly. 

You wait to hear the click of the door before you look at Javi. He doesn’t look angry exactly, but you can tell he didn’t like Chloe at all. But he still nods approvingly at you, taking your hand again. 

“You did good, sweetheart,” he says. 

***** A couple of nurses come in about an hour later to take you out to Javi’s truck. They watch as he helps you in, waves his thanks, and gets in the driver’s side. You cuddle up next to him like you used to, and a calm feeling starts to ebb its way into you. He holds you tight the entire way back to the apartment, and after cooking you dinner, holds you tight as you fall asleep.  This. This is why you stay.

*****

What are we thinkin'? 👀

Series taglist: @corazondebeskar @yorksgirl @nerdieforpedro @axshadows @melaninmommy

@survivingandenduring @kewwrites @oldenoughtoknowbettersstuff @missladym1981 @sofiparallel

@koshkaj-blog @sheepdogchick3 @movievillainess721 @jessie8605 @casa-boiardi

@justlulu @iamsherlocked-1998 @hjzghi-blog @glitterymanboy @letstalkaboutshtufff

@untamedheart81 @1nsommia @joelmillersblog

#pedro pascal #fan fiction #ao3 #pedro pascal smut #smut #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal fanfiction #javier pena x reader #javier pena narcos #javier pena fanfiction #javier pena x you #dark javier pena #dark pedro pascal #dark fic #ttf #to the flame

[hymnsofheresy]

Hello there. I hope it's okay to ask you this question, but I was wondering, what are your thoughts on forgiveness? Particularly when someone like a parent has abused you to the point of causing extensive psychological damage that you're not sure you'll ever be able to fully overcome?

For me, it's my mom that I'm having trouble forgiving. I've been struggling with angry thoughts towards her for decades and oftentimes turning my anger inwards on myself. It got to a point where I was hospitalized recently for ten days on account of wanting to hurt myself physically and not being able to convince myself that I could keep myself safe... I feel wrathfully angry towards her for hurting me and my younger brother for our entire childhoods and doing her best to sabotage my father's life for more than a decade after they divorced.

... Personally, I think I've been giving my mom too much power over my mental wellbeing by ruminating on her so much. I haven't lived with her in ten years now (I'm 28), but still I'm hurting badly... I think the first step will be for me to start forgiving myself, but when the time comes, I'm wondering what people's thoughts are on forgiving an abuser for your own sake... Do you have any thoughts?

Forgiveness simply means to put down the sword. To release the hatred and resentment you feel towards that person. It does not mean you necessarily have to restart a relationship with them. Nor does it mean that excuses the things that they did. Forgiveness isn't entirely linear nor is forgiveness a one time deal (a dropped sword can be picked up again). Your desire to forgive is already miles ahead of most people.

I am of the opinion that sometimes healing is required in order to eventually truly forgive (and not the other way around). I agree that you must focus on forgiving yourself which will consequently help you forgive your mother. When it is time to release some of that anger, forgive your mother slowly... don't try to do it all at once. You can put down the sword as many times as you feel is necessary... but it does feel better when you aren't carrying that sword around all the time.

Anyway, Anon I hope you are staying safe. I am so glad that you are receiving psychological help from the damage you have received from your mother. Whatever she did to you and your brother, you both did not deserve it. Stay dignified in this process, you are so much more than what your mother did to you.

[rarityroo]

Hi there!! Is there anyway where we could get a Ragatha x reader. Where the reader comforts Ragatha who starts to feel somewhat unappreciated by some of the other members of the circus. Maybe the reader could give Ragatha a small present they working on just for her to show her she does have someone who cares and appreciates her. Please I just want her to feel some form of love and appreciation. She is legit such a sweat heart and I wanna tell her how amazing she is.😭😭😭

Giving thanks

Ragatha x Gn!reader

Hi! This seems like such a great idea, I literally stayed up until 1AM to finish it. I agree Ragatha is such a sweetie she deserves the best, also in this fic she has a small mental breakdown but it’s all okay because the reader is a sweetheart. Enjoy!

A simple thank you would have been enough, that's all she wanted. She wanted the others to finally notice all the mental and physical help she gave. The comfort she provided to Pomni when she first arrived, whenever Gaggle's mask broke because Jax made the trip. Ragatha always made sure to help. When Zooble or Kinger were having a rough day she’d take time out of her day just to make them feel better. She never minded doing it, until now at least.

Ragathas posture was slumped with tiredness and her shoulders were stiff showing her stress. She sat in her room contemplating, she felt so out of it. All she wanted was for someone to notice the effort she offered every day.

You could tell Ragatha was distressed, at first you thought she just felt like being quiet, you had days like that yourself but today felt different she seemed somewhat depressed. Her pretty smile gone and her chipper attitude deflated. It made you sad to see her that way, you hoped a small gift would lift her spirits, a red paper flower, it was a similar red to her hair and just thinking about it made a small smile grow on your face. But first, you wanted to make sure she was okay, she was the backbone of this circus and God knows without her we would all be lost.

You made your way to her room hesitantly flower in hand and approached her room quietly, you softly knocked on the door, not to startle her. "Hey, Ragatha," you said softly, your voice holding concern.

You heard a muffled shuffle in the room, then her door slightly opened, only being able to see part of her face, "Oh, uh hello," she murmured awkwardly, forcing a weary smile.

"I noticed you've been off lately," You said, gently “Are you alright?” You asked, it felt like such a silly question, clearly, she wasn’t alright she’d been avoiding everyone all day.

“I-um well-“ Ragatha stumbled over her words, nobody had asked her that in a while, that thought alone hit her like a title wave of emotions. She started to break down, and through broken sobs, she barely choked out, “I just, I’ve been doing so much and no one has shown an ounce of gratitude!" “I’ve done so much and it feels like it’s for nothing, no matter what I do it’ll never be noticed…” You looked at her with wide eyes, is this really how she felt this whole time? How could you not notice? “Ragatha..” you use your hand to push up her chin so she can look you in the eyes. “I hear you. It's completely understandable that you're feeling this way. Trust me when I say your kindness and support haven't gone unnoticed, even if it may have seemed that way. We all rely on you more than you might realize, and your efforts haven't gone unappreciated. You're not alone in this, and I'm here to support you, just like you've supported everyone else.", “Here, I have a gift for you.” You said bashfully, “I know it’s not the prettiest thing in the world but I was hoping it was enough to make you feel a bit better.”

With trembling fingers, Ragatha carefully took the paper flower. Tears welled up in her eyes as she realized the effort that went into it. Finally, even if it was as small as this it was still so perfect.

"It's... it's beautiful," she managed to choke out, her voice thick with emotion.

You smiled warmly. "I wanted to express my gratitude for everything you do," "You're always there for others, offering comfort and support. Your kindness hasn't gone unnoticed, Ragatha."

Ragatha's heart swelled with warmth as she looked at the gift in her hands. At that moment, she felt a wave of adoration wash over her, lifting the weight of loneliness from her shoulders.

"Thank you," she whispered, her voice trembling with emotion. "Thank you for seeing me, for hearing me, for understanding."

As Ragatha looked at the thoughtful gift before her, "It’s so lovely," she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper. “Something you both got in common" you replied, God that was embarrassingly sappy, Ragatha let out a sweet laugh, leaning in closer, your eyes locked on hers. "Seriously though please know that I care about you, Ragatha. More than you'll ever know."

Ragatha's breath caught in her throat as she felt the warmth of your hand on hers, her heart racing with nervousness. "I... I care about you too," she finally admitted, a shy smile spreading across her face.

She finally had someone who cared, someone who appreciated her for the kind-hearted soul she was.

And in that simple gesture of kindness, Ragatha found the love and appreciation she had been yearning for all along.

#the amazing digital circus #the amazing digital circus ragatha #ragatha x reader #tadc ragatha x reader #ragatha x reader tadc #ragatha x reader the amazing digital circus #the amazing digital circus x reader #the amazing digital circus fanfiction #tadc x reader #tadc

[chimerahyperfix]

Being frozen in time definitely does something to you. Physically it cages you. Mentally it throws you into the longest dream you could ever have. It's not comfortable-- far from it in fact-- but you've grown to look forwards to it, when you loose. It's better than being mashed to dark paste at least.

You're frozen right now, in fact. Waiting in silence for time to loop back. Stuck with your thoughts and a vauge feeling of a dream. The house is around you and you're moving through it. Empty rooms and endless hallways, curling and twisting in ways that make them feel alive despite the lack of any living thing that isn't you. No sad monsters, no frozen bodies, no dark stains. There doesn't seem to be an exit.

The dreams you have when frozen seem to correlate to how you're doing emotionally. Most of them have been lost to time, like most things in your life now. Dreams, wounds, emotional bonds; everything is turning back with you, and that’s started to do something to you, because now you can predict the actions of those around you with quite a bit of accuracy. You can recall little bits of things, but the further back you go is just static. There was a bunch of dumb things that you can’t piece back together anymore, there were times with those you love, there was endless rage flowing through your very being, and there was this. The desperation. The empty halls of the very House you’ve worked so hard to protect.

You want out.

You've kept count of how many times you've been frozen. How many times you've died. How many loops. 61 is the counter and it's far, far too many times to relive the same day over again. You grew tired of the monotony by the tenth go around. Twenty five felt like a stab wound. Forty, like you were being split in two. Big 6-0 felt like drowning. You don't feel real anymore.

But that's fine! You can still see the good in this, if you stretch your imagination like taffy, as far as it'll go. It's better to be just you, just one person, than everyone else! You can live with the weight of the country on your shoulders for a bit longer, if only to keep it off of Euphrasie's. You’re doing this for her! For everyone. You can do it for a bit longer. You just need to find the King’s weakness, or something. Make a more powerful potion, or scrap together the materials to make a second craft bomb, or, or something! You’ll find it soon enough. You’re smart! You can do this!

You have to.

You turn down the hallway. Find yourself on an entirely different floor. Just as much of a ghost town. Just ice and cold and tiredness, your breath forming clouds in the air. That’s fine. This is just a dream or something, anyway. You’ll wake back up at your desk any time, with the looming vials of all sorts of toxic stuff you keep drinking that you crabbing neglected to put away because you didn’t think time would crabbing loop, because realistically, WHY would you assume that would happen? Preposterous! Ignore the burning feeling in your throat and the smell of sugar and push on. Wait for it to start all over again.

Because it has to be you, doesn’t it? You wished for this, or something. You don’t remember. It was a long time ago. It has to be you, because only you have the power. It HAS to be you, because who else would it be? Euphie? She’s already got enough on her hands. Mirabelle? You’d rather die. It’s better you do this than the ones you love.

It has to be you.

it has to be you it has to be you it has to be you it has to be you it has to be you it has to be you it has to be you it has to be

It's sucks, having to be the one to do it. Your limit was a long time ago.

You can't do this forever.

#isat #in stars and time #isat au #isat claude #claude looping au #come get y’all’s food ig #girl is reaching despair point! smiles #a decent sized one so got the big read more split #I keep cooking. there’s smoke in the kitchen #like genuinely I’m on fire this is like? over 1000 words in the last week with this au? shit #the motivation I have to write this au is absolutely CRAZY like where did all this energy come from? #anyways here’s another round of me bullshitting my way through timeloop writing LMAOOO #I am Making Shit Up for 99% of this au lmao. minimal knowledge haver #I’m gonna make an actual fic at this rate lmao. cracking open the google doc #I should join the discord at this rate actually. get over the anxiety hurdle and run at yall at max speed #when I get in there yall will NOT be safe lol I will not shut up. #chimera writes #isat spoilers #<- just in case? I’m stretching it this time I think?

[dustorange]

opinions?… 😬😬

https://www.tumblr.com/melmov/750293558453501952?source=share

link

Wfa =free, comics = $3.99 per -> subsidized demand -> market distortion -> :/ :(

The claim of that post—“people have gotten tired of unrelenting grimdark” e.g. actual DC main runs and therefore prefer “slice-of-life fluff [that] also presents a coherent, easy-to-enter, balanced storyline” e.g. WFA—is directionally accurate but its also sort of talking about a Different Group of People than DC Comics Readers.

in particular there is a group of people who have been pretty much totally deracinated from developing or being capable of developing their own opinions on media or humor or life. because of social media and maybe also they r very young. there is a general valence to that part of fandom: the incorrect quotes, the Canva-post-derived politics, the memetic vocab + jokes and like this weird very limited view of redditizedhistory and culture+literature consisteing of the binding of Isaac and twoheadedcalf poem. and so there is just genuinely not the ability to process things that haven’t been run through a filter of accessibility. and WFA, which has BEAUTIFUL art and lots of very sweet moments, IS super accessible and its also sort of been through the preapproved foundfamily neoliberal kitsch machine and come out with a passing grade. but yes it is missing that like elusive Something and it also lacks a seriousness and it isnt the Characters. it’s something else. And its so pretentious to say its for people who don’t have the like stamina ??? for longerform storytelling but yes if you pressed me i would say its a bunch of people, primarily young genz and millennial girls/women, whose critical mental faculties and attention spans have been fried by social media and underexposure to challenging original content

that’s a different new group being lassoed into dc stuff from the previous existing audience. The DC Comics Reader People. i don’t know how much of this to do gender politics with but comics fandom has DEFINITELY gotten MUCH more female in the last 2 decades and there was a distinctive male comic book go-to-the-LCS-and-get-physical-copies and rigorously-autisticslly-fight-about-minutia-of-canon culture. Men also r going to be the one who GENERALLY prefer your fightheavy “”””grimdark””” comics, as opposed to women who doooo generally prefer social relational content. And also women-dominated comics fandom spaces are obviously qualitatively different from men’s fandom spaces. So PART of the reason WFA outsells real DC stuff is market distortion and PART is the DCfan genderdemographic shift that favors content like WFA

I rly hesitate to endorse a lot of Canon dc tumblr’s posts about the fanony WFA-style stuff bc it seems so clear that a the latter is enjoyed primarily by a group of very young people and it also feels like there’s a weird power imbalance intellectually between fanon and canon people. AND I AM A BIG BELIEVER IN LET PEOPLE READ AND ENJOY THE CONTENT THEY WANT and they shouldn’t be shamed for enjoying something as visually sweet and cute as WFA. and a lot of canon tumblr’s rants abt fanon stuff r clearly sort of excessively vicious and insecure attempts to feel superior. although admittedly quietly they r correct but it comes off cruel idk. also i think that BATMAN and superman and to some extent some others ARE indeed very flexible in terms of what is canon and what you have to consume to have consumed The Character and The Story. ive never seen BTAS but as far as im concerned, someone who has only watched BTAS is someone who has the right to do whatever batman stuff they want.

Related questions are: Is mainline DC batman stuff GOOD right now? and Is WFA good? I agree that mainline DC stuff isnt the best right now and i haven’t read WFA so i can’t comment on its quality but i honestly don’t think its the case that “WFA is better written than actual Batman comics, so thats why WFA is more popular” lol

#THANK U FOR ASKING LEGEND MUAH kissing your forehead this was super interesting to think about i hadn’t seen that post before!!! What are #your opinions???

[fangirlwithoutafandom]

“He’s more myself than I am. Whatever our souls are made of, his and mine are the same.”

This is the Vegas that Pete is in love with.

We talk a lot about Masks in this fandom. About Pete and the masks he wears that Vegas sees past. Here is Vegas sans mask. At his most honest. A version that only Pete gets to see.

You learn a lot from abuse. Your learn to hate yourself. You learn to trust no one, especially not yourself. Because they keep hurting you but you always come back for more hoping this time they will love you .Hoping this time you will be enough. So your heart is a traitorous thing, not to be trusted.

Both Vegas and Pete live in a world that is comprised mostly of violence and is devoid of any real feelings of connection. Vegas thinks Pete must be some sort of alien to have survived it all with a conscience and a kind heart.

But Pete isn't special. He isn't whole and he isn't always honest but he escaped from his father. Not only physically (by i hope murdering him) but also mentally. Hating himself was just a chain that kept him tied to his father's approval. He's long since slipped the chains his father kept him on, he doesn't wait to be enough anymore. He doesn't think he ever will be. But he managed to keep a piece of himself safe. He keeps it safe from everyone, so they won't abuse it.

Vegas could do that too. If he was free to see it. If he could understand that he is not broken. He is just in chains. Vegas, still desperate to be good enough ,sees his heart as a traitor for being weak and broken. So he uses his hate as a weapon whereas Pete uses his Kindness as a shield.

Pete realizes that the Vegas he's known is not real. The one Kinn hates, the one he pretends to be. He gets to see the real him and he sees Pete in turn. He understands what it's like to make yourself look big and strong so people won't hurt you.

The difference is that Vegas avoids his pain by hurting others while Pete avoids his by getting hurt for others.

They are so different. And yet they are the same.

#vegaspete #kpanniversary2024 #vegas theerapanyakul #pete saengtham #i am so normal about them

[d0llcherry]

۶♡ৎ GILDED LILY ✮⋆˙

✮⋆˙ BLUE DIAMOND OVERLORD READER X ALASTOR

✮⋆˙ WARNINGS/NOTES: this is a remake of an old writing i did in my old account (we don't talk about the original writing.), depression mentions, this is short and not proofread.

۶♡ৎ SONG: I BET ON LOSING DOGS

۶♡ৎ Type: Fluff/light angst, headcanons, romantic/platonic.

ALASTOR ۶♡ৎ

۶♡ৎ You are... unusual to him, you easily could catch his attention the moment you entered the hotel, everyone was kind of astonished by your appearance and calm personality, and that included him, so, you could say you have picked his interest more fast than anyone he ever was interested in.

۶♡ৎ But you also annoyed him in certain aspects, we all know Alastor loves some good old tormenting souls in their weak spots, but you were a case where he had to regulate his teasing, or else he would be greeted by a very saddening aura.

۶♡ৎ Ah yes... your powers are also something i could see him interested in, but not as much as he is to Charlie's, well dont get me wrong but he would easily chose the princess of hell over a just peculiar demon, but you would be his plan B if his plan with Charlie fails, he still keeps an eye on you, especially since you don't die, you poof, now that's something he finds extra interesting.

۶♡ৎ Although, Alastor would find your kindness a bit weak, i mean, cmon honey, you are an OVERLORD! you are so powerful and yet so patient and kind is somewhat a waste of power since you always chooses dialogue rather than going physical, the person could be trying to eat you alive and there you are trying to talk to him, kinda reminds him of Charlie, only difference between you two is that when you want to be cruel you are CRUEL.

۶♡ৎ He finds how calm and collected you can be very admirable , he thinks you are a very pleasant person to be around, since you weren't loud nor depraved in the tiniest like some of the hotel, so Alastor would be rather happy to stay with you, it's quite relaxing to him honestly, having someone who isn't sexually depraved or trying to insult him every 5 words, not that he cares tho, its just tiring to hear so many "jealous souls" trying to get his attention (in his words)

۶♡ৎ You would probably easily grow on him if you tried, all you had to do was keep being calm, quiet and he would already be attached to you like he is to Rosie, the only difference he is a bit more of a collected gentleman since you weren't as agitated and extroverted as Rosie.

۶♡ৎ Now, what can worry him after he grows attached to you is how depressing and destructive you can get when upset or sad, we all saw how mean Blue was before era 3 events, so Alastor will 100% try to ''comfort'' you, saying that crying like that can develop a serious mental illness such as depression.

۶♡ৎ But if anything, he would try to use this emotional deregulation of yours to his advantage, lets be real, Alastor is a clever demon, he wouldn't let a chance like this slip from his fingers easily, but, if he's attached to you enough, he would actually genuinely try to help you.

۶♡ৎ Finds your voice relaxing but wont openly admit it, if you sing or hum something and he's around, he will secretly relax to the sound of you singing or humming, before being interrupted by Angel's obnoxious teasing towards him.

“You are quite divine to me my dear!”

#hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin hotel #hazbin headcanons #hazbin alastor #hazbin x reader #alastor x reader #alastor #headcanons #steven universe #sfw #୨୧ cherry works

[stardew-bajablast]

if you haven’t at least tried sewing or crocheting or knitting your own clothes, you really should. even if it’s just one time and you never do it again, i really think everyone should do it at least once

learning how to crochet was what finally made me grasp the abject horror of the fast fashion industry and realize just how laborious and time consuming it is. i have to take a few days off a week so my back/wrists don’t get sore — and i get to do this as a leisure activity in the comfort of my own home, rather than in a sweatshop. it takes dozens of hours to produce a single item. there is just something about trying it yourself that makes you realize just how little the people making our clothes are being paid for retailers to be able to sell clothes at such obscenely low prices.

i understood in the abstract that people were earning literal slave wages to make my clothes, but that concept wasn’t real to me in a way i could understand until i spent 14 hours making something that i myself wouldn’t have even been willing to pay more than $10-20 for if i saw it in a store.

i have not bought any new clothes since learning how to crochet. every time i see clothes at a store (especially obviously handmade items like crochet), and i look at the price tag i feel genuinely sick to my stomach.

i’m not saying everyone needs to make their own clothes in order to be against fast fashion, but what i am saying is if hearing about the conditions and wages secondhand has not been enough to make you stop buying it, if you find yourself becoming desensitized to the suffering of the people who make your things, you should try making something yourself.

you need to see firsthand how physically and mentally demanding it can be and imagine how much worse it would be if you were forced to sit in a sweatshop for 16 hours a day doing it nonstop, earning pennies an hour to do so. you need to spend weeks laboring over something only for it to turn out looking like shit so you realize just how much wisdom and technical skill goes into these supposedly “unskilled” and undervalued jobs. if the abstract concept isn’t enough to get through to you, then you need to get hands on.

#abolish fast fashion #fast fashion #shein #temu #h&m #sustainability #sustainable fashion #sustainable living #diy fashion #sewing #knitting #crochet #anti consumerism #anti capitalism #working class solidarity #sweatshops #ethical fashion #labor rights

[schyzotypalmind]

"If Hannigram was straight"

I am infuriated, I´m gonna get cancelled, whatever, I can´t care less. But I´m really sick and tired of fetishizers of Hannigram. Surprisingly mostly are straight and queer women, haven´t seen or heard of real gay men giving their opinion on the matter.

I come across this tiktok of person saying that if Hannigram was straight it wouldn´t work and wouldn´t be interesting, because people will make them like Joker and Harley Quinn and the relationship would be like just another abusive heterorelationship because of the power dinamics.

First, bruh... have you heard of CLARICE STARLING? 70% of the character of Will has Clarice lines, plot and personality. Will WAS NEVER the love interest of Hannibal in the original books and movies.

Second, "it wouldn´t be interesting" , ohhh but that´s because you fetishize gay relationships and abuse, do you even read normal romance gay novels or series? I bet you don´t.

So it wouldn´t be interesting because according to you, a WOMAN cannot be at the level of Hannibal. Which is basically the opposite of what happens in the novels. Hannibal LOVES Clarice because she is at his level, is intellectually equal to him, he cannot even predict her or brainwash her.

Third. "it would be just another abusive heterorelationship" , oh... and Hannigram is not one of the thousand homosexual abusive relationship that exits??? This people also LOVE Killing Stalking, Berserk for the "gay relantionship" of Guts and Griffith (the homosexual undertones are obvious, but it is abuse), the Painter of the night (I couldn´t even get past the 5th chapter for the amount of disgusting r*pe that exist in the series).

Four. "power dinamics" ahh... yes, Hannibal is clearly OLDER than Will, has double of work experience as him, he is a llithuanian COUNT, he is rich as f*ck, he is way more educated than Will and smarter than him. Is that not another "power imbalance"???? or only works because you think woman are "inferior"???? uh...

Never seen people that love the books comparing Clannibal with Harley Quinn and Joker, not a single one. We know is a fuck*d up romance, that´s the thing, the world that they live in has betrayed them thousands of times. Hannibal when he was a kid and lost Mischa and Clarice as a woman in the misogynistic FBI and real world.

The books were never written in that tone, they are a crime and thriller books mixed with artisty imaginery (beautiful indeed), they are not a moral compass to follow.

You should like how Hannibal treats Clarice, he deeply loves her, tries to help her, gives her everything, admires her. At the end of the day the only have each other in the twisted world they live in and that´s it.

But how Hannibal physically and mentally tortures Will???? Killing people he loves in front of him, making his life a living hell... and that´s not abusive and power imbalance to you?

I´m having a real hard time finding Hannigram fans that are not misogynistic or fetishizers, I swear... and is very concering.

This has impact in real life queer people. Specially teenagers. If this is all the representation that they have, abusive relationships, what do you think they are going to seek in their significant other? Is hard enough for queer people to report abuse and r*pe to the authorities.

Now imagine been a 14 y/o exposed to the internet and the thousands of toxic gay men representation out there... and reading "ohhh I just want what Hannigram has" "Hannigram for life" "that´s real love".

Now you can cancel me all you want.

#hannibal fandom #hannibal lecter #hannibal the cannibal #hannibal nbc #hannibal books #thomas harris #clarice starling #clannibal #will graham #toxic fandom #fandom problems

[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.

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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.

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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.”

#Steve Harrington x fem!oc #Steve Harrington x oc #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington fic #my fics #accident prone

[nalyra-dreaming]

what do you think sam meant when he said claudia was the most powerful of the 3 of them? something about the way he & jacob answered that question made me feel like they were hinting at something?? maybe he just means her mental resilience, but do you think she may have powers that haven't been revealed yet? physically she seems weaker than most other vamps, but they could do something with her mind gift, it would make her rivalry w/ armand more interesting if they have comparable-ish abilities.

Claudia is definitely a natural at the mind gift, we saw her blocking Louis by instinct alone in s1.

Also, she, as a vampire in a too young body, would have needed to hone her other skills even more than a comparable (older) vampire. She's more vampire than either Louis or Lestat.

So I can easily see her be very proficient with her gifts.

Also, I do think she believed that the cloud gift was something she could learn, and she researched on vampires in general, so I do think she tried to improve her gifts where she could.

I fully expect her and Armand to go head to head, yes.

Futilely, unfortunately.

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