#and she said it was cool and we just had to take her word for it

[misswynters]

Steel and sunshine

sevika x ditz! reader / short drabble

no warnings just you being annoying and sevika putting up with you

requested by @gravegoer <3

Zauns sprawling streets were filled with the hum of industry, the hiss of steam, and the faint green glow of shimmer pouring from narrow alleyways. The air hung heavy with a metallic tang, and the rattle of machinery from the Undercity’s workshops created a chaotic symphony. It was chaotic, grimy, and dangerous. A place that seemed to churn out desperation as naturally as it did smog. In the heart of it all, Sevika sat at her usual corner of The Last Drop, nursing a glass of something strong enough to peel paint.

Her steel arm rested on the table, catching the flicker of neon lights overhead. She was a picture of quiet intensity: sharp eyes scanning the bar, her jaw set in irritation at the chaos around her. She could handle a fight breaking out or someone trying to swindle her. What she couldn’t handle, though, was the sound of your voice cutting through the din like sunshine piercing a storm cloud. “Sevika!”

She groaned quietly, closing her eyes for a moment as she prepared herself for the whirlwind that was you. When she opened them, there you were, skipping toward her with all the oblivious cheer of someone who didn’t belong in a place like this. “What now?” she muttered, her tone already laced with exasperation.

You plopped down into the chair across from her, beaming as if you hadn’t just walked through Zaun’s most dangerous streets without a care in the world. “You’ll never guess what I found today!”

“Let me guess,” Sevika said, her voice flat. “Something useless?”

You gasped, clutching your chest like she’d just shot you. “How dare you? It’s not useless!” You rummaged through your bag, your fingers brushing past who-knows-what before triumphantly pulling out a small, rusted music box. Its paint was chipped, and the mechanism looked like it hadn’t worked in years. “Look! Isn’t it cute?”

Sevika raised an eyebrow, her patience already teetering on the edge. “You’re risking your life out there for this?”

“Of course!” you said, completely unfazed. “I thought you’d like it.”

“I don’t like junk,” she said flatly, though her gaze lingered on the object longer than she’d admit.

You leaned forward, your eyes sparkling with mischief. “You’re lying. I can tell you secretly think it’s cool.”

Sevika groaned, her metal fingers tapping against the table in frustration. “What am I going to do with you?”

“Keep me around forever?” you said with a grin, propping your chin on your hand.

“You’re exhausting,” she muttered, though the corners of her mouth twitched upward in a reluctant smile.

Not long after, Sevika found herself walking alongside you through the crowded streets of Zaun, her broad frame serving as a shield against the jostling crowd. She wasn’t sure how she’d ended up in this situation again, but you had a way of dragging her along. Your sheer persistence overpowering her better judgment.

“Did you eat today?” she asked abruptly, her sharp tone betraying the faintest hint of concern.

“Oh! I had some bread earlier,” you said brightly. “And maybe a candy bar?”

Sevika stopped dead in her tracks, her glare making you shrink slightly. “That’s not food. Come on.”

You blinked, confused. “Where are we going?”

“To get you something real before you pass out,” she grumbled, taking your arm and steering you toward a food stall. The smell of sizzling dumplings filled the air as Sevika ordered for you, her tone curt but efficient. She handed the vendor a few coins before shoving the steaming plate into your hands.

“Sit,” she ordered, pointing to a nearby bench.

You obeyed, settling onto the seat and swinging your legs like a child as you dug in. The first bite was heavenly, and you made a small noise of appreciation that made Sevika smirk despite herself.

“You’re amazing, Sev,” you said between mouthfuls, your words slightly muffled.

“Don’t talk with your mouth full,” she scolded, sitting beside you.

You swallowed quickly, flashing her a wide grin. “Sorry. You’re just so good at taking care of me.”

“Someone has to,” she muttered, shaking her head.

“You’re like a big, grumpy teddy bear,” you teased, nudging her side.

She gave you a flat look. “A teddy bear?”

“Yeah! You act all tough, but deep down, you’re just a big softie.”

“Keep talking like that, and I’ll leave you here,” she warned, though the faintest trace of amusement lingered in her voice.

Later, back at Sevika’s apartment, the quiet hum of Zaun’s nightlife served as background noise. The space was sparse and functional, just like her. But tucked into corners and sitting on shelves were small reminders of your influence. There was a cracked vase you’d insisted on saving, a tiny ceramic dog you swore looked just like her, and now the rusted music box, which you’d proudly placed on the shelf next to the others.

“Look at it,” you said, stepping back to admire your handiwork. “It’s perfect.”

“It’s junk,” Sevika replied, though her tone lacked the usual bite.

“Sentimental junk,” you corrected, turning to grin at her.

She leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed. “You’re lucky I put up with you.”

“You’re lucky I’m so charming,” you shot back, sticking out your tongue.

Sevika shook her head, unable to keep the smirk off her face. “Ridiculous.”

You plopped onto her worn-out couch, kicking off your shoes and making yourself comfortable. “So, what do we do now?”

“I work. You stay out of the way,” she said, already moving toward her workbench.

“Boring,” you replied, flipping through a magazine you’d found on the coffee table. The two of you fell into a companionable silence, Sevika tinkering with her mechanical arm while you lazily read. But after a while, your thoughts drifted, and the question that had been nagging at you all day finally slipped out.

“Sevika?” You said softly as your eyes still on the maganize that you were reading.

“What?” she replied as she continued to tinker her metal arm, completely immersed in what she was doing. “Do you think I’m annoying?”

The question caught her off guard, and she turned to look at you. Putting the tool that was on her hand on the desk. “Where the hell is this coming from?”

You shrugged, suddenly finding the magazine very interesting. “I dunno. I just… sometimes I feel like I get on your nerves.”

Sevika sighed, setting down her tools and walking over to sit beside you. “You do,” she said bluntly, making you gape at her. Before you could protest, she added, “But I don’t mind.”

“Really?” you asked, your voice small.

“Really,” she said, her tone softer now. “You keep things… interesting.”

A slow smile spread across your face. “You’re such a softie.”

“Don’t push it,” she warned, though there was no malice in her words.

You leaned your head against her shoulder, letting the cool metal of her arm press against your cheek. “Thanks, Sev.”

“Yeah, yeah,” she muttered, reaching up to ruffle your hair. “Just don’t get used to it.”

But you both knew it was already too late.

banner: @anitalenia

taglist: @cewl-casper @hutaotown @lunatakashi18 @shinyshayminflower @pipirka827363829 @dragonfly41777 @themostlesbianever @abbyssgf @kissyslut @ayedomino0 @amenazaaaa @usedmilkdud @diffusebread @xxblairslairxx @marinayadayada @chx-rrryc0la @komoriiis @beewwebb @pitstopsapphic @kylorey25 @cestlaprincesa @xxblairslairxx @m00nd0v3 @arevik2345 @thesevi0lentdelights

[quintessenceofdust88]

Hello everyone! Here's the sequel for Oreos and Orange Juice (a.k.a the fluff piece with pregnant!Buck and Jee-Yun). Brought to you with extra doses of fluffiness (almot 2,000 words!) and uncle Tommy being the literal best!

It’s almost nine when Tommy finally drags himself through the door, throwing his keys in the bowl and being instantly met by the bright laughter of Jee-Yun coming from the kitchen, followed by Evan’s excited voice as he tells her a kid-friendly version of a funny rescue they performed the other day. 

Even though he’s exhausted from his shift, Tommy smiles. Jee-Yun is always a joy to have around, and the sweet child’s laughter echoing through the house gives him a wonderful glimpse of their future which is coming sooner and sooner. 

“Morning, you two” He says softly, entering the kitchen, and both of them look at him with the same excited eager Buckley signature smile. 

“Uncle Tommy!” Jee says, throwing herself against his legs, and Tommy easily lifts her into his hip. 

“Hi, princess Jee” Tommy greets her while crossing the kitchen to place a quick peck on Evan’s lips, and it’s deliciously domestic. He can’t wait for the day he’ll do it with their own kids, one twin in each arm. “How was your night? Did your uncle Evan let you up past your bedtime again?” He teases, and Jee��s giggle is all the confirmation he needs.

“Only a tiny bit, right, Jee?” Evan tells her with a wink as he slides a plate of pancakes in his direction, and Tommy could just about kiss him. He places Jee back in her chair and sits beside her. 

Evan joins them on the table with a bottle of syrup and, for some reason, a slice of cheese over his own chocolate chip pancakes. At this point, Tommy has learned better than to comment on his cravings, so he just presses a kiss to his cheek, earning a blinding smile in return.

“So how was your shift?” He asks Tommy, and he swallows the bite of pancake (delicious, as always; Tommy is absolutely spoiled by his husband's cooking) in his mouth before answering.

“It was okay, nothing major; two med-evacs. What about you guys, did you have fun?” He asks, and then tenderly nudges Jee's cheek, wanting to bring her into the conversation. “Did you take care of your uncle and the babies for me?” He asks her, expecting a small giggle. 

What he doesn’t expect is the excited gasp she lets out, swallowing her bite practically unchewed. 

“Uncle Tommy, you’re never gonna believe what the babies did last night!” She says excitedly, and Tommy can’t help but smile at her enthusiasm. 

“What was that, princess?” He asks curiously, and she and Evan exchange a conspiratorial glance.

“They kicked my hand!” She answers, bouncing in her seat, unable to contain her joy. “It was just like when Kevin kicked Mama but there were two of them this time, it was so cool!”

“Wait, really?! That’s so special, Jee!” Tommy tells her, his heart fluttering warmly in his chest as he looks at Evan for confirmation. 

The babies hadn’t kicked before; they had started moving about two weeks prior, and the doctor said kicks would probably start any time now. He knows Evan has been impatient about it, almost as if he was expecting it to be a confirmation the babies were okay.

“It was just as we were falling asleep” Evan tells him, his smile wide as he caresses his bump and proudly speaks of the kicks. “They’d been pretty quiet during the day, but I guess Jee inspired them, didn’t you, Jee-bug?” 

“Yeah! Uncle Buck said they were telling me good night!” She recalls, her smile never leaving her face until she looks at Tommy, and then it falters slightly. “Oh, but! I'm sorry you weren't there, uncle Tommy! They're your babies too, I bet you wanted them to say good night to you first!”

And, well; even if Tommy is slightly disappointed to have missed it, he can't have Jee apologizing for it. He kneels down to her level, a kind smile on his face.

“You have nothing to be sorry for, darlin’” He reassures her. “The babies will kick plenty of times, I'm sure. I'm glad they did it for the first time with you; it means they know they have the best big cousin in the world, don't they? Pretty smart babies if you ask me” He says with a wink, and Jee's smile can light up a whole firehouse.

“You're the best, uncle Tommy!” She throws her arms around his neck, and Tommy hugs her close to his chest for a few seconds before letting her happily return to her breakfast.

As he gets up and goes back to his own plate, Tommy glances at Evan, only to find him drying tears from his cheek. Tommy smiles teasingly at him, offering him a napkin; Evan takes it with a glare that loses all its effect because of the love in his eyes.

“I blame your children; they're making me hormonal” He says with a wet chuckle, and Tommy chuckles, pressing a kiss to his temple before sitting down.

“I blame the crying Buckley gene” Tommy teases. “I'll bet you anything that Maddie will cry when you tell her about the babies kicking for Jee”

“Oh, Mama will cry!” Jee pipes up, her face covered in syrup, and the two of them laugh at her certainty as Tommy bends over with a napkin to clean her face.

“See? And she's not pregnant anymore. It's the crying Buckley gene” Tommy reaffirms, and Evan shoves his shoulder playfully.

He chuckles and pays attention to his plate again, at least until he feels Evan's hand squeezing his. Tommy looks up to see him looking so earnestly at him that his heart skips a beat.

“I am sorry, though. That you missed it” He says, almost pouting, and Tommy finds it so adorable that he kisses it right away (Jee coos at them, and Tommy slightly blushes).

“Me too, a little. But you had the best company for it, sweetheart. And I'm sure they'll kick plenty of times before they're out here” He reassures him, and then tenderly places his hand on Evan's bump. “Hear that, little blobs? You kicked for Daddy and Jee-Yun, so no pressure, but if you wanna kick for Papa too…”

He keeps his hand on Evan’s bump for a while, and the three of them are silent, staring in expectation. Tommy’s about to lift his hand, making a joke about trying again at nighttime to clear the disappointment in Jee’s eyes, when he feels it. It’s a soft thing, almost like a tap against his hand, but it’s there. It’s one of their babies, moving around and pressing their tiny foot against Evan’s belly, and Tommy’s feeling it. Evan gasps in delight, clearly feeling it as well (duh, Kinard, he tells himself. If he can feel it, Evan has to be feeling it at least twice as strong), and his hand joins Tommy’s over his bump. 

“You guys really love your Papa’s attention, huh?” He teases, softly caressing his belly. “Hi, little blobs, Daddy’s glad to see you’re awake” He coos at his bump, and before either of them can say anything else, they’re joined by the little force of nature that is Jee-Yun Buckley-Han, her hand looking even tinier than it is when she puts it over her uncles’ massive ones.

“The babies are kicking again?! They’re saying hi to you, uncle Tommy!” She says excitedly, and Tommy feels the kick again, two this time, one beside the other, almost as if one twin is nudging the other to also say hi to their expectant family. 

“And to you, Jee. I keep telling you, they already love their big cousin” He tells her, and Jee presses a soft kiss to Evan’s belly. 

“I love you too, babies. When you’re out here, I’ll teach you lots of fun things, I promise!” She says excitedly, and Tommy doesn’t doubt it for a second. Apparently, neither does Evan. 

“They’ll be so lucky to have you, Jee” He whispers to her. “Just like I was lucky to have your Mama when I was a kid”

As if on cue, the doorbell rings, and Tommy reluctantly excuses himself to open it, but smiles when he sees Maddie on the other side. She pulls him into a hug, her usual way of greeting him by now, and Tommy can’t deny that he loves how she basically adopted him as her brother too. He grew up an only child, desperately wishing for a sister like Maddie; it feels good to have one now. 

“Hey! I was just going home from work and thought I’d pick up my little nuisance. She wasn’t too much trouble, was she?” Maddie asks, and Tommy closes the door behind them as she comes in. 

“None at all; in fact, she’s been a great help. Come see for yourself” He invites, and Maddie raises an eyebrow, but follows him into the kitchen. “Jee, look who’s here for you, princess” He announces, and both Jee and Evan look up, but this once, the little girl makes no move to run to her mother. 

“Mama! Come here! The babies are kicking! They’re saying hi!” She tells Maddie excitedly, and Tommy chuckles at how eagerly Maddie kneels down by Evan’s chair, her hands resting against her brother’s bump. “Uncle Tommy says they’re smart and know I’m the best big cousin, so they have to know you’re the best auntie too!” Her logic is sound, and Maddie sends Tommy a grateful look that has him blushing and rubbing his neck awkwardly.

“Hi, blobs” She says affectionately, and Tommy’s pretty proud of himself that the nickname stuck (he’s sure Evan isn’t). “It’s your auntie Maddie! Can you say hi? No pressure, though, I just thought-”

Tommy can tell the exact moment the babies respond to her voice, because both her and Evan gasp. They look at each other in that infuriating way of theirs, where it seems they hold an entire conversation through their gaze. Tommy may not know what they’re saying to each other, but he knows it’s only a matter of time before they get emotional. And… yeah, sure thing, before long both of them have tears running down their faces. 

And damn, he’s starting to think Buckley genes are contagious, because he has to dry his own eyes at the sight in front of him. This is bigger than him, Evan and their twins: it's family, like the ones from commercials or Hallmark movies, and Tommy never dreamt he could find himself in one of those.

He’s ridiculously happy that his children will be born surrounded by this much love. They have two doting parents, an honorary grandpa (Bobby's own words, and yes, Evan cried when he said it), a horde of very lovingly aunts and uncles, , and the most special big cousin in the world in Jee-Yun (not to mention Kevin and their other bunch of cousins, like Christopher, who texts Tommy at least twice a week to make sure he’s ‘taking care of Buck right’ and hangs out at their place at least twice more, wanting to make sure his Buck is okay). It's love, and caring, and what else could he wish for his little blobs?

Yeah, Tommy thinks; if there’s anything in the world worth shedding some tears for, this is certainly it.

[Also on AO3!]

[More from Little Blobs Verse]

Tag list: (let me know if you'd like to be removed or if I missed anyone! Also if anyone else wants to be tagged, either on my fics in general or just the Little Blobs' Verse, let me know! ♥)

@bidisasterevankinard @unhingedangstaddict @silversky9 @music-is-the-voice-of-the-soul @asmugfirefighter @rubydaiquiri  @racerchix21 @actuallyitsellie 🩷🩷🩷

[nomie-11]

Liam Mairi x Reader - The Curse of Farsight

masterlist!

Migraines had become an integral part of Liam’s life since he developed his signet. His eyes hurt, his head hurt, and all the bright lights and small noises felt like knives twisting in his mind as he trudged down the hallway. 

Head throbbing, he just let his feet take him one step after another down the winding, narrow hallways of Fourth Wing First-Year dorms. He wanted to be in her arms, in her bed, as her cold hands ran over his back in soothing circles.

Liam’s vision blurred as he turned a corner, his breath shallow, each step an effort. The migraines were getting worse, more frequent as he trained his signet. The curse of farsight was something he hadn’t expected and hadn’t been able to fully escape. Yes, seeing far was a blessing in battle, but in everyday life it was a storm he couldn’t outrun. It was a constant, grinding pressure, leaving him dizzy and disoriented. 

But there was one place where the pain dulled. Over person who could ease the ache, even if just for a moment. 

He reached her door, the familiar weight of her presence pulling him in like a magnet. He knocked once, softly, and waited. A moment later, the door swung open, and there she stood—her eyes warm, her expression soft but worried when she saw him. 

“You’re here,” She sighed, stepping aside for him to come in. “You look terrible.” 

He grimaced a small smile, his hand squeezing hers as he shuffled in past her, shedding his layers of swords and leathers onto the floor quickly before flopping down onto her bed. “‘M sorry,” he said, words muffled by the covers. “Head’s killing me.” 

He sighed as, with a flick of her hand and a display of superior control of lesser magic, the blinds on the windows drew shut and the mage lights dimmed. 

He felt the mattress dip as she climbed in next to him, her cool hands from an ice wielding signet brushing the hairs from his forehead. 

“Didn’t we talk to Xaden about your head and maybe taking it easy in training for a little?” She murmured, fingernails dragging slow circles over his skin.

Liam let out a long, slow exhale, rolling onto his side to face her, his eyes bleary but full of gratitude. “Yeah, but I can’t. Need to keep up. Can’t just… stop.” He closed his eyes, wincing at the throb in his temple as he whispered, “But this—this helps.” He relaxed as her cool fingers traced gentle patterns along his jaw, down his neck, the chill of her touch dulling the sharp edge of his headache. 

After a few moments of silence, he rolled onto his back, then onto his stomach, pressing his face into her shoulder, his arm coming to drape around her waist. She stifled a laugh. “Liam, what are you doing?” she asked, voice laced with amusement. 

“Getting comfortable,” he murmured, voice muffled against her. “Hope you don’t mind if I just…” he shifted a little, laying completely on top of her with a satisfied sigh, his cheek resting against her shoulder. She could feel the warmth radiating from him as he nestled in, her own cold skin contrasting with his as if he were a living blanket. 

She smirked, giving a playful sigh of resignation. “Well, I guess I’m stuck here now,” she said, feigning exasperation as she brushed her fingers gently through his gorgeous blonde hair. She felt the chill of her hand sink deeper into his skin, soothing the heat pulsing at his temples, her touch melting him into a state of calm. 

Liam let out a small, contented groan, shifting slightly so that the flushed skin of his face rested on the cool skin of her exposed neck. “You’re like my own personal ice pack,” he murmured, pressing his forehead into the crook of her neck. “If I ever get a say in anything, I’m picking you to follow me everywhere.” 

She laughed softly, tracing her fingertips over his temples, gentle enough to quiet his ache. “I don’t think Xaden would approve of me being your portable headache remedy, but… I suppose he would have to make an exception.” 

“Good,” he replied with a faint, sleepy grin, his voice soft and warm. “Because I’m not going anywhere. You’re perfect just like this.” He shifted his weight just a little, wrapping himself around her even more tightly, his breathing slowing as the headache’s sharp pangs finally ebb away. 

As his breath evened out and his weight settled comfortably over her, she felt a smile tugging at her lips. The warmth he radiated felt like a gentle fire melting away her perpetual chill, and she knew—just as much as he needed her cold touch, she needed his warmth, here in the quiet safety of the darkness and silence of her room. 

-------

If you enjoyed this one shot, please check out my other series!

Taglist: @awkardnerd , @hannraumari , @minjix , @glaciuswduo , @wolfbc97 , @heeseungthel0ml

[dunmeshistash]

Greetings, Mr. Meshi!

This is perhaps a bit of an unorthodox question, but one that has been bothering me for an unreasonable amount of time.

Now, here's the thing: I OBSESS over Marcille outliving everyone she holds dear. It's a theme very close to me, but even beyond that I just find it to be one of the most interesting elements of Dungeon Meshi's story for me personally. I've written an embarrassing amount of lengthy essays on it that will never see the light of day - that's how obsessed I am over this specific element of her character. But, there's something that bothers me...

A lot of poignant stories and artworks that tackle this topic get comments on 'em whenever Falin is the subject of aging, each one some variation of "Everything points to Falin having an extended lifespan after her revival!" which... Seems weird to me?

I don't know why this bothers me so much, but setting aside my personal annoyances, I don't remember anything pointing to this at all. At least, nothing concrete.

I don't know if this is a question you'd want to answer or not, but since your blog is a hub for all sorts of opinions and headcanons, I'd love to know where this line of thought could originate from.

I really wouldn't blame you if you didn't answer this question, though. Part of me feels I'm just asking this because I want to see if others share in my confusion or not.

Rrrregardless, though! Lemme take the opportunity to say that your blog is delighful. Love it! Also, that mushroom man with the funny face that sometimes responds to you with lengthy essays is also really cool. Everyone is cool. At least here on the northern hemisphere! It is smack dab in the middle of fall, after all! Coolness all around! Stay frosty! Or don't! Maybe warm up at a fireplace. I don't know!

Hi there! Thank you for the kind words, I love reading other's opinions on what I post so I also love the additions by the mushroom <3

It's quite hot over here in northeast Brazil, send some coolness my way please I'm dying.

Your question isn't strange at all! And I don't mind answering anything (unless it's rude or sounds like shipping war bait) so don't worry.

(Decided to put the rest under a readmore, TLDR: Kui said "maybe so, right?" about Falin having a longer lifespan but I have arguments why I don't think this actually confirms it. Anyway if you're someone who likes the headcanon you might want to skip this post)

To be honest those type of comments bother me too because I also LOVE Marcille's struggle with mortality and sometimes "Falin will live much longer!" feels undermining of the lesson she had to learn. I don't mind it in the headcanon sphere where everything is allowed and happy endings grow on trees but when it becomes intertwined with canon it starts to make me a little disappointed.

Just a reminder of the lesson she has to learn

She has to come to terms with the cycle of life and death, that something she wants (everyone to live longer) shouldn't be forced upon others just because it causes her grief. So, to me at least, Falin being made into something that will end up outliving other tallmen would undermine the message? In a canon sense ofc, if you're writing a wish fulfillment story then her living longer would have a different meaning, I just wanna be clear I have nothing against it in that sense, it all depends on what story you're trying to tell.

Anyway, actually answering your question that idea comes from the fact she was fused to a Red Dragon, and the fact her body has been affected by it, her sight was fixed and she grows feathers for example, so people theorize maybe her lifespan has been affected too. But we don't really know how long dragon's live so it's hard to say how much it would have been affected if at all.

It also comes from this answer Kui gave in a QnA

Q: Would Falin have an extended lifespan after the whole chimera thing? A: Maybe so, right?

To me this reads as the usual non-answers Kui gives, like, "I'll leave it up to your imagination" but for other people this read as a confirmation of the headcanon, in another questions she answers "I hope so" about Thistle leading a happy life after having his desires eaten and it's even debatable if Thistle survived at all so I don't think those comments indicate much of canon (I'm that way about most QnA answers tbh, unless it's something inconsequential like confirming Mithrun's Brother's name or stuff about very minor characters)

Another argument I have against her having a different lifespan is Izutsumi, Izu has been mixed with a monster but continues to age at the same rate a Tallmen would, even tho she also has different biology because of the Great Cat she's fused with (ears, reflexes, eyes etc etc) she is still a tallman

Falin isn't really the same thing as Izutsumi tho, I understand, but it's the closest example we have, if we believe the AB descriptions and demi-humans are really mixes between humans and monsters that's also another argument about it not affecting lifespan, since all of them are short lived and have an average lifespan of 55.

All of this *can* be dissmissed tho, the other demi-humans and beastmen are all mixed with mammal monsters and nothing nearly as powerful as a Dragon, so there is arguments to be made that Falin is different and that she *might* have an extended lifespan, all I'm saying is that there's no solid confirmation of it, it's fine to believe it but going around "correcting" other people saying it's a fact wouldn't be right I don't think, especially if you're saying that in a conversation about Marcille journey of death acceptance.

Death is a touchy subject and everyone is at different stages of their own journeys with it so I really don't want to judge those who would rather have Falin or even Laios live longer. I'm not really sure how to talk about this in the proper way, but I hope I didn't make anyone upset!

[sturnswrites]

drenched in us

matt sturniolo x fem!reader

⤳ angst, fluff

⤳ you and matt aren't officially dating but after you see him flirting with another girl at a party, you're forced to question your feelings for each other.

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

The party was everything you hated—loud music, sweaty bodies, and fake smiles plastered on unfamiliar faces. You hadn’t even wanted to come, but Matt had begged you. It’ll be fun, y/n, he’d said, his signature grin making it impossible to say no.

But now, you regretted it.

You leaned against the wall in the corner of the living room, nursing your cup of a barely-touched drink, eyes scanning the crowd. You were trying to find him—not because you needed him, or so you told yourself, but because he’d asked you to be here. You’d shown up for him, not for this mess. The least he could do was not leave you alone to fend off boredom and the occasional sloppy flirtation from random guys.

Then you spotted him.

Matt stood across the room, his face illuminated by the flickering neon lights. His messy brown hair was perfectly tousled, his shoulders loose, and that stupid smirk you couldn’t get out of your head was aimed at her.

You didn’t recognize her but she was gorgeous. Laughing at whatever joke he’d just cracked, she leaned in close, her manicured hand grazing his tattoo covered arm.

You froze as the world seemed to stop. 

Your stomach twisted, tightening with every second he didn’t pull back or look uncomfortable. In fact, he looked like he was enjoying it. That smirk wasn’t one you saw often—it wasn’t the soft, teasing one he gave you when you tried to argue about something dumb, or the one he used to get you to smile when you were in a bad mood. This was different.

And it broke something inside you.

The worst part? You didn’t even have a right to feel this way. Matt wasn’t yours. The two of you weren’t dating, weren’t anything official.

But you couldn’t take it anymore. You slammed your cup down on the nearest surface and pushed through the crowd, weaving past people who were too drunk to notice your stormy expression. You needed to get as far away as you could from the boy before something more unraveled in front of your face. 

By the time you reached the front door, the cool night air combined with the rain that had started to fall hit your face, but it did nothing to cool the fire raging inside you.

“Y/n!”

You knew that voice from anywhere. His voice. Stopping you dead in your tracks. 

You turned, your heart pounding as Matt stepped out onto the porch. His brows were furrowed, his chest rising and falling like he’d run after you. “What’s going on?”

“What’s going on?” you repeated, bitterness dripping from your words. “You tell me, Matt. Because from where I was standing, it looked like you were having the time of your life with her.” 

His confused expression faltered for a moment. “Are you—wait.” He stepped closer, his voice dropping. “Were you…jealous?”

“Yes!” you snapped, your voice breaking, wet streaks streaming down your face, you couldn’t tell what was tears or rain. The word tumbled out before you could stop it, raw and unfiltered. “Of course I was jealous! Do you even get how hard it is for me to see you with someone else? Whatever we have right now is not enough, Matt. I can’t keep doing this—watching you look at someone the way you look at me.”

The words hung in the air between you, heavy and undeniable. Suddenly the roles had reversed and now Matt was the one who was frozen. 

Matt’s face softened, his wide eyes searching yours as the rain dripped from his lashes. “Y/n…”

“No,” you interrupted, your voice trembling. “I mean it, Matt. I need you to make this official. Right now. Because I can’t keep pretending this doesn’t hurt. You can’t keep acting like I don’t feel anything, like you don’t feel anything. You take me to dinner, hold me until I fall asleep every night, hell, I’ve met your parents, but you can’t even make me your girlfriend.” 

The rain fell harder, the sound drowning out the muffled music from the party.

Matt took a step closer, his eyes locked on yours. “I wasn’t flirting with her because I wanted to,” he said, his voice soft but firm. “I was trying to distract myself. Because every time I look at you, I want things I’m scared to mess up.”

His words made your breath hitch, your anger faltering under the weight of his confession.

“But I can’t do this anymore either,” he continued, rain streaming down his face as he ran a hand through his wet hair. “I want you. I’ve always wanted you. I was just too scared to ruin what we have.”

Your lips parted, but no words came out. You didn’t know what to say, how you felt. 

Then, without warning, Matt stepped forward and cupped your face with his hands. His palms were cold from the rain, but his touch was warm, grounding.

“I’m sorry for making you feel like you weren’t enough,” he murmured. His voice cracked, a vulnerability in his tone that you’d never heard before. “You’ve always been more than enough for me.”

Before you could respond, his lips were on yours, crashing into you with all the emotion he’d held back for so long.

The kiss was everything—soft and desperate, warm and urgent despite the cold rain pouring down. It was everything you’d wanted to hold on to forever but never thought you could have.

When he finally pulled back, his forehead rested against yours. His blue eyes searched yours, and for the first time that night, you saw no hesitation, no fear.

“No more distracting myself from how I really feel. Let’s do this,” he whispered, his lips curving into a small smile. “Officially. You and me.”

A watery laugh escaped you as you nodded, tears mixing with the rain on your face. “You and me,” you echoed, the words feeling lighter and truer than anything you’d said in weeks.

And just like that, the storm between you two finally passed.

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

hiii first fan fic bare with me I don’t really know what I’m doing 😀

⭒ margot

[sunny-knight]

Do you guys think when skeletons have kids they are like, so excited to find out what font/name their kids have. it's like a huge milestone, like taking their first steps or saying their first words

Then when Papyrus and Sans were born and they had these silly ass fonts their parents were like

Obsessed with skeleton lore Toby please Toby you gave us Boss monster lore now give us silly skeleton lore please Toby, ANYTHING, Tobias Radiation Lupus Deltarune kinda gives me hope with the whole THIS situation

Like the acknowledgment of that gives me hope by maybe its just a little joke but IDK YOU CAN NEVER TELL WITH THIS MAN

I remember when I first played Undertale in like 2016 cause my sister said she “thought id like it” (this is all her fault)

She told me about Sans and the fact that Humans and Monsters were the 2 races, my immediate ask was “Oh was he a human before and turned into a Monster?” and she said “…I mean some people theorize that-“

THIS IS A LONG WAY OF SAYING I don’t personally believe that, but I am interested in if there is any cool reason for a Monster to be SHAPED LIKE A HUMAN and technically be a part of one. Or if its just cause Skeletons are a popular type of “classic Monster”…

Okay Ive restrained myself from talking about Forgettable for… checks watchless wrist….long enough.

IMAGINEEEE AUGH imagine their parents reaction to one of their kids having a dingbat font like “oh boy- this kids gonna have a rough life”

Since S n WD are fraternal twins, do you think identical ones would have the same font? gimme an AU where Sans also talks in wingdings

hehehehe I still vaguely remember how big it was when Deltarune Sans said “little brother” and everyone was like YEAAAAAHHH ITS FINALLY CONFIRMED!!!!!! Like I completely forget there was a time when we didnt know who the older one was/if they were twins

Anywho. Tangent over until I think about more cool/funny skeleton lore headcanons

[nevernonline]

✧.* pancakes for dinner; svt smau

chapter 08; old wounds. (written)

✧.* synopsis: y/n while in her third year at greenwood international university finally gets an opportunity to move off campus into a new complex, she has to deal with the realization that her childhood rival is her new next door neighbor.

 paring: seungcheol x fem! reader. 

feat: non-idol! svt, nct mark&jaehyun, other passing idols ykyk.

genre/s: reader is super oblivious, fluffy, sexual themes. 

content: swearing, mentions of sexual relations, some drinking& mary jane 🍃

updates: weekly

tag list - open

word count: 5.5k

masterlist ▸ 07. shaken up not stirred ▸ 09. are we really doing this?

The cool night air nipped at Y/N's skin as she strolled briskly down the dimly lit street. It was far too quiet for comfort, but Y/N tried to shake the nerves prickling at the back of their neck. Her phone buzzed furiously in her hand as the group chat lit up like fireworks.

"y/n where’d u go??" It was Hoshi, always the anxious one. Y/N grinned to themselves, typing back a quick reply. "I thought you guys left?? omg i'm walking rn?? LMAO"

Not even a second later, another notification came through, this time from Yuqi: "we told you we’d be outside when you went pee??? wtf."

Y/N rolled her eyes, her thumbs flying across the screen. "LMAO im not alone, plus im fully sober rn so im okay!!"

A dramatic gasp emoji popped up from Yuqi, followed by: "i saw you take a shot? also not alone? 👀👀👀"

Y/N chuckled, thinking back to the single shot she’d taken hours ago at the party. One shot, one drink. That didn’t count, right? She glanced up briefly, spotting the tall, broad-shouldered figure of Mingyu walking beside her. He towered like a protective shadow, his face illuminated faintly by the pale moonlight.

"You're quiet," Y/N teased, nudging him. "Are you plotting something, or just sad your phone died?"

Mingyu groaned dramatically. "Sad. Definitely sad. I feel cut off from the world, Y/N."

Y/N snorted as she tapped out another message to the group chat. "okay one shot at 8pm and it’s now almost midnight, so pretty much. also im w/ mingyu and wonwoo if you guys were even remotely concerned about him. his phone died but he said he’s sad."

Yuqi’s response came almost immediately: "Mingyu is like an over 6 foot beef cake he’s okay??"

Y/N burst out laughing, Mingyu glancing down at her with a puzzled look.

"What?" he asked, leaning in to peek at the screen.

"Nothing," Y/N said quickly, shoving the phone back into their pocket. "Just our friends roasting you. Again."

By the time Y/N and Mingyu made it back to the house, the rest of the group had already gathered in Hoshi’s room, sprawled across the mismatched blankets and cushions. Hoshi looked up immediately, relief washing over his face.

"Finally," he said with a smirk. "We were about to send a search party."

Y/N rolled their eyes. "I had bodyguards, okay? Mingyu and Wonwoo had me covered."

Mingyu chimed in from the other side of the room. "Why Hoshi’s room, though? This place looks like a tornado hit it."

"He literally offered to help me clean it yesterday. Now he’s just being a dick." Hoshi fired back, crossing his arms.

As the room filled with laughter and banter, Y/N’s phone buzzed again—this time a private message from Chaewon: "y/n y/n y/n on the shuttle!! I saw your friends, where are you?!!"

Y/N quickly typed back, "just got to the house rn. we grabbed you some food for when you come 🫡"

Moments later, a reply came: "omg shut the fuck up ily. also wait so… some tea."

Y/N’s heart raced at the sudden change in tone. She leaned against the doorframe, typing back cautiously. "oop ✋ spill."

Chaewon’s next messages came rapid-fire: "well im behind seungcheol and seungkwan on this bus rn. and they’re not talking out loud but i can see them texting each other. and did you know seungcheol has a crush on you?"

Y/N’s jaw dropped, her pulse thundering in their ears. She stared at the screen, her friends’ laughter fading into the background.

"Y/N?" Mingyu’s voice broke through their thoughts. "What’s up?"

Y/N quickly locked her phone, plastering a grin on their face. "Nothing! Just… tea. You know how it is."

But inside, y/n’s thoughts spiraled. Seungcheol? A crush? On her? No fucking way

The night wasn’t supposed to spiral into chaos. Y/N had planned to stick with her friends, sip on vodka, and head home to her cozy ass bed. But now, surrounded by laughter, whispers, and more drama than a reality show, things were unraveling faster than they could process.

The moment they read Chaewon’s message, her world tilted.

"Seungcheol has a crush on you."

The words replayed in her mind like a broken record, even as she shoved the phone into her pocket, desperately trying to act normal. Chaewon didn’t elaborate, of course. She always left the juiciest details hanging, probably cackling on the shuttle right now.

"Y/N, you’re zoning out." Wonwoo’s voice brought her back to the room. His tone was calm, but his eyes were sharp—he noticed everything.

"I’m fine," Y/N lied, forcing a smile.

"Fine doesn’t look like that," Mingyu said, plopping down on the couch beside her. He nudged her shoulders with his. "Spill. What’s got you looking like you saw a ghost?"

"Nothing. Seriously, I just need to catch a second wind. Can’t we just go downstairs and drink and shit now? Come on." Y/N said, a little too quickly.

Before anyone could press further, the door creaked open, and a familiar figure stepped in. The room went silent for half a second before someone shouted, "VERNON?"

Y/N whipped her head around. Sure enough, there was Vernon—hands stuffed in his pockets, looking effortlessly cool yet slightly awkward as he took in the chaos of Hoshi’s room.

"Hey," he said casually, his gaze flickering to Y/N almost instinctively.

"You came!" Y/N blurted out, standing up before she had even realized it.

"Guess I did," Vernon said with a small smile. "Figured it was about time."

The room erupted into cheers and jeers, the group immediately teasing him for finally showing up to a party. Mingyu pulled him into a one-armed hug, ruffling his hair like an annoying older brother.

"Look at you, Mr. Social Butterfly," Mingyu teased. "Did Y/N guilt-trip you into this?"

Vernon’s ears turned pink, but he shrugged. "Maybe. Or maybe I just wanted to see what all the hype was about."

Y/N felt their cheeks heat up but quickly changed the subject. "Alright, leave him alone. Vernon’s here to have fun, not be interrogated."

"Fun? Here?" Vernon smirked, raising an eyebrow.

Y/N shoved him lightly, the playful banter putting them both at ease—at least for the moment.

As the night wore on, the group split into smaller clusters. Mingyu and Wonwoo disappeared to the kitchen to grab snacks, Yuqi and Hoshi were locked in a heated debate about whose room was messier.

That left Y/N and Vernon sitting on the porch steps, the cool air buzzing with unspoken words. The lit end of a joint sitting between them.

"You good?" Vernon asked, breaking the silence.

"Yeah," Y/N said automatically, but Vernon wasn’t buying it.

"You’re a terrible liar," he said, leaning back on his elbows. His voice was soft, teasing, but there was an edge of concern.

Y/N sighed, debating whether to spill everything. But Vernon had this way of making her feel safe—like she could tell him anything, and he’d never judge.

"Okay, fine," Y/N admitted. "Chaewon may or may not have just told me that… someone has a crush on me. But, it’s not someone I really.. Uh, enjoy to put it sort of lightly."

Vernon’s expression didn’t change much, but Y/N noticed the way his fingers twitched slightly against the step.

"Yeah?" he asked, his voice calm. "And how do you feel about that?"

Y/N hesitated. "I don’t know. It’s Seungcheol."

This time, Vernon’s poker face faltered. His lips parted slightly, and his gaze dropped to the ground.

"Seungcheol," he repeated, his tone unreadable.

"Yeah," Y/N said, suddenly feeling awkward. "I mean… I didn’t even know he thought about me like that. To be honest I can’t understand why he’d ever, like we always hated each other. It’s fucking dumb."

Vernon was quiet for a long moment before he finally spoke. "Have you ever thought about him like that?"

Y/N blinked, caught off guard. "I mean… no? Definitely not anymore, maybe for a brief moment in time when I was in highschool, but."

"But?" Vernon pressed gently, looking at them now, his eyes searching y/n’s as he inhaled the flower.

"But…" Y/N trailed off, feeling her heart pick up speed. The words hung heavy in the air, unspoken but crystal clear.

"You’re too nice to everyone, you know," Vernon said suddenly, his voice quieter now. "Sometimes I wonder if you realize how many people look at you and wish they were the one you noticed. So I get it. But, you also don’t owe him anything especially with what went down the first time."

Y/N’s breath hitched, the weight of his words sinking in.

"Vernon…"

"I’m not saying this to mess with you," he continued, his gaze steady. "I’m just telling you the truth."

Y/N felt like the ground had been ripped out from under them. Vernon’s calm, collected demeanor was gone, replaced by something raw and vulnerable.

"I…" Y/N started, but their voice faltered.

"It’s okay," Vernon said quickly, standing up before she could respond. "I just needed to say it. You don’t have to say anything back. Chaewon is coming straight for us and you guys should talk, I’ll find you inside, okay? I expect you to make it worth my time out of my room later.” 

“You got it. But you don’t have to leave.” 

Before Y/N could stop him, Vernon handed her the rest of the joint, gave her a small kiss on top of her head and walked back into the house, leaving her alone on the porch with their thoughts.

Y/N stared at the lit joint in her hand, Vernon's words replaying in her mind like a haunting melody. The faint sound of laughter and music from inside the house drifted through the open door, grounding y/n just enough to notice Chaewon stepping onto the porch.

She wasn’t alone, of course—Chaewon was never truly alone. She had an effortless way of carrying an aura of confidence that turned heads. But tonight, her sharp gaze was focused entirely on Y/N.

"Are you hiding out here, or did Vernon leave you for some deep, weird, emotional soul-searching?" Chaewon asked, sliding onto the step beside her without waiting for an invitation. She reached for the joint in Y/N's hand, taking a drag as if it were hers to begin with.

"Both, maybe?" Y/N muttered, running a hand through her hair.

Chaewon blew out a puff of smoke, raising an eyebrow. "Both? Interesting. Spill it, bitch. I can tell you’re on the way to spiraling."

Y/N groaned, tilting her head back to look at the stars. "You’re literally part of the reason I’m spiraling."

"Me?" Chaewon gasped dramatically, placing a hand on her chest. "What did I do?"

"You told me about Seungcheol," Y/N hissed, sitting up straight to glare at her. "And now my brain won’t shut up about it."

Chaewon shrugged, looking entirely unbothered. "I just thought you deserved to know. Not my fault if you’re overthinking it. Also, I cannot sit on a juicy secret like that for too long."

"Of course I’m overthinking it." Y/N laughed. "It’s Seungcheol. You know how much history we have. And not the good kind."

"Exactly," Chaewon said  "Which is why I figured you’d want to know. Better to hear it from me than to have him confess out of nowhere, right? Or someone else finding out, as if Seungkwan hasn’t run the college gossip page before."

Y/N sighed, leaning forward to rest her elbows on her knees. "What ever happened to that? I mean not the point right now I guess. But still it’s just weird. Like, why now? And why me?"

Chaewon smirked. "Have you ever considered that maybe he was pretending not to know you so you can start fresh with him because he likes you? Men can be dumb asses like that."

"Chaewon," Y/N groaned, burying their face in their hands.

"Okay, okay," Chaewon said, laughing softly. "Let’s backtrack. Do you like him? At all? Like, are you willing to try to be his friend or co-exist or whatever?"

"No," Y/N said firmly. Then, after a moment’s hesitation, they added, "I mean, I used to. A long time ago. But that was before all the shit happened."

Chaewon nodded, her expression thoughtful. "Fair enough. So what’s the problem, then? Just let him down easy and move on. You’re not obligated to feel the same way."

"It’s not that simple," Y/N muttered.

"Why not?" Chaewon pressed.

Y/N hesitated, her thoughts swirling. "Because.."

"Ah. Wait– I see." Chaewon’s eyes lit up with understanding. She leaned back, a sly grin spreading across her face. "So that’s what’s really going on."

"Don’t," Y/N warned, but Chaewon was already on a roll.

"Vernon comes out to a party for the first time in forever, and suddenly you’re out here sharing a joint and having heart-to-hearts. Sounds pretty romantic if you ask me."

"It’s not like that," Y/N said firmly, but even she didn’t sound convinced.

"Sure it’s not," Chaewon said, rolling her eyes. "Listen, Y/N. You’re my friend, so I’m going to give it to you straight. You’ve spent so much time worrying about everyone else’s feelings—Seungcheol’s, Vernon’s, whoever’s—that you’re forgetting to think about your own. So what do you want?"

Y/N opened her mouth to respond, but the words didn’t come.

Chaewon took one last drag from the joint before stubbing it out on the porch step. "Figure it out, my baby girl. Because if you don’t, someone’s going to get hurt. And it’s probably going to be you."

With that, she stood up, smoothing out her skirt and tossing her hair over her shoulder.

"Oh, and one more thing," she added, glancing back at Y/N. "You’re a fucking catch and if you don’t see that by now, you’re even denser than I thought."

Y/N’s heart skipped a beat, but before she could respond, Chaewon grabbed her hand pulling her back inside and distract her with the party.

The night didn’t end on the porch for Y/N. By the time she re-entered the house after her conversation with Chaewon, the energy of her day had shifted into something more chaotic but liberating. The dim lighting and thumping bass created a atmosphere that wrapped Y/N in its haze, making her forget her issues even just momentarily 

Mingyu was now on the coffee table, dancing without a care, and Yuqi had somehow coerced Hoshi into an impromptu dance-off. Wonwoo, seated on the couch, shook his head at them, nursing a drink with a quiet grin.

“Y/N! Finally!” Yuqi shouted over the music when she spotted her, grabbing her arm and dragging her into the middle of the room. “You’ve been moping for too long. Time to drink.”

“I wasn’t moping—” Y/N began to protest, but Yuqi cut her off by twirling her into a spin.

“Yes, you were, you little lying whore. But not anymore.”

As the music shifted to an upbeat track, Y/N decided to let go, her earlier tension melting into the rhythm. She danced, laughing with Yuqi, dodging Mingyu’s wild arm movements, and matching Hoshi’s exaggerated moves just to get a rise out of him.

Chaewon appeared by her side, her hair slightly disheveled but her grin wide. “See? Told you this party would be good for you.”

Y/N rolled her eyes but smiled. “Yeah, yeah. You’re always right, aren’t you?”

“Don’t you forget it,” Chaewon quipped, raising her cup in a mock toast.

As the song changed again, Vernon emerged from the kitchen with a red solo cup in hand, his eyes scanning the room until they landed on Y/N. He didn’t join them at first but leaned casually against the wall, a small smile tugging at his lips as he watched her laugh and dance.

“Are you going to stand there looking mysterious, or are you going to stop being a little bitch and join us?” Y/N called out to him, her breathless voice cutting through the music.

Vernon chuckled but shook his head. “Na, I love being a little bitch.”

“Oh, come on.” Yuqi chimed in, grabbing his wrist and attempting to pull him into the middle of their circle. “You can’t just stand there looking cool. It’s fucking illegal.”

Vernon resisted for a moment before reluctantly stepping forward. “People do assume I’m a bad boy, officer.” he said dryly.

The group cheered as Vernon finally joined in, his movements understated but in perfect sync with the beat. He wasn’t trying to impress anyone, which somehow made him even more magnetic. Y/N caught herself watching him a little too closely.

At some point, Mingyu decided it was time for shots and disappeared into the kitchen, returning with a tray of tiny glasses. “One for everyone.” he declared.

Y/N hesitated, but Chaewon nudged her. “Just one. Come on.”

With an eye roll, Y/N accepted the glass, clinking it against Chaewon’s before downing the liquid. It burned on the way down, but the warmth that spread through her chest was worth it.

The night blurred after that, a mix of laughter, terrible karaoke when Yuqi found a microphone, and group photos that would undoubtedly resurface in their group chat the next day. At one point, Y/N found herself sitting on the floor, her back against the couch, as Chaewon rested her head on her shoulder.

“You look lighter,” Chaewon said quietly, her voice cutting through the noise.

“Maybe I am,” Y/N admitted, glancing around the room. “I think I needed this.”

Chaewon smiled, her eyes warm with understanding. “You’re welcome.”

As the night stretched into the early hours, the group gradually began to disperse, some collapsing into makeshift beds while others lingered to talk. Y/N found herself sitting by Vernon again, this time in the living room, the noise of the party replaced by a comfortable silence.

“Told you I’d see you later,” Vernon said softly, nudging her shoulder with his.

Y/N smiled, resting her head against the couch. “I’m glad you came out tonight.”

“Me too,” he replied, his voice steady but tinged with something she couldn’t quite place.

“How has everything been? Med School finally getting the baddies down?” 

Vernon just laughed and nodded his head, before he could get another word out Seungcheol entered the room and stopped in his tracks redirecting his attention from his phone to Y/n and Vernon sitting together, Hoshi sleeping on their feet like a small dog. 

“Hey guys.” Seungcheol called out quietly, creeping over, trying to not disturb Hoshi as he walked passed and sat on the couch to Vernons side. 

“Hey.” The pair just mumbled at the same time, now noticing the awkward shift in the energy. 

Vernon stood up and turned his head to y/n, ignoring the other boy's presence. “I’m going to carry this one to his room, you good?” 

“Yeah, yeah. Just make sure to come back.” Y/n giggled knowing Vernon wouldn’t leave her hanging for too long. 

“Don’t miss me too much.” As Vernon hoisted a half-asleep Hoshi into his arms, he shot Y/N a wink before making his way out of the room, leaving her and Seungcheol alone. The air seemed to grow heavier the moment the door clicked shut, the silence now sharp and charged.

Y/N shifted uncomfortably on the couch, suddenly hyper-aware of Seungcheol sitting just a foot away. He leaned back against the cushions, his hands clasped together as he stared at the coffee table.

"So..." Seungcheol started, his voice tentative, breaking the uneasy silence. "You and Vernon seem close."

Y/N glanced at him, raising an eyebrow. "We’ve been friends for a really long time, yeah. Why?"

He shrugged, a faint smile tugging at his lips. "No reason, I guess."

Y/N wasn’t sure how to respond to that, so she let the comment hang in the air.

Seungcheol hesitated, then leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. "Look, I know this is awkward. I wasn’t trying to interrupt anything."

"You didn’t," Y/N said quickly, though her tone was clipped

“So you guys aren’t da—” 

“No. Just two old friends.” Y/n gave him a smile just out of politeness trying to not lead on too much that she had an extreme desire to not be around him. 

“How did you guys meet?” 

Y/N knew the answer didn’t need much thought, but the weight of the conversation—and what it might lead to—hung heavily in her chest. She forced a smile, her fingers idly picking at the hem of her sleeve. "It was forever ago. Our moms were childhood friends. Vernon and I practically grew up together."

"Ah," Seungcheol said with a slow nod. "That explains it. You guys have that effortless thing. Like you’ve known each other forever."

There was something about the way he said it—soft, almost wistful—that made Y/N narrow her eyes. She didn’t like where this was going. "Yeah, I guess we do, but you knew that didn’t you? Why are you pretending to not know me? To manipulate me to make my life hell again? What?" she said, her tone neutral.

Seungcheol leaned back against the couch, studying her. "I don’t remember you mentioning him much back in high school."

Y/N let out a dry laugh, shaking her head. "Maybe because every time I tried, I’d get interrupted by someone making my life hell?"

The jab landed hard, judging by the way Seungcheol flinched. His lips parted as if to respond, but no words came out.

"Sorry, but you know it's true." Y/N said quickly, though her tone was anything but apologetic. 

"No, you’re right," Seungcheol admitted, his voice quieter now. "I deserve that."

Y/N looked at him, her expression unreadable. Part of her wanted to push further, to let him feel even a fraction of the frustration and hurt she’d bottled up for years. But another part of her—the part that was sick of carrying that weight—wanted to let it go.

"Why do you care so much about Vernon, anyway?" she asked suddenly, her voice sharper than she intended.

Seungcheol seemed taken aback by the question. He hesitated for a moment before answering. "I don’t. Not like that. I guess I just wanted to know more about the people you let in."

Y/N scoffed, crossing her arms. "Why does it matter to you who I let in?"

His jaw tightened, and for a moment, he didn’t respond. Then he let out a breath, his shoulders slumping slightly. "Because I used to be one of those people," he said quietly.

Y/N froze, his words hitting her like a punch to the gut. She wanted to deny it, to tell him he’d never really been "in." But the truth was more complicated than that, and she hated it.

"You were one of those people," she said finally, her voice steady but cold. "And then you weren’t. That’s on you."

“Look,” he began, his tone uncharacteristically unsure. “I wanted to say I’m sorry. For everything.”

Y/N raised an eyebrow, leaning back against the couch. “Everything?”

“You know what I mean,” he said, his voice quieter now. “High school. What my friends did to you. What I did to you. It was—”

“Cruel,” Y/N interrupted, their tone sharper than she intended. “You humiliated me, Seungcheol. You and your friends took something personal, something I trusted you with, and ruined my fucking life for a long time.”

Seungcheol winced, his gaze dropping to the floor. “I know. And I’ve been carrying that guilt with me for years.”

Y/N laughed bitterly, shaking her head. “You’ve been carrying guilt? Try carrying the humiliation of walking into school and having everyone know something you didn’t want them to. Of being laughed at, whispered about, avoided. You think your guilt compares to that?”

“I’m not saying it does,” Seungcheol said quickly, his voice desperate. “I just… I need you to know that I regret it. I regret all of it. And if I could take it back, I would.”

Y/N stared at him, her chest tightening with the weight of old memories. Memories of tear-streaked nights and the sting of betrayal.

“What do you want from me, Seungcheol?” she asked finally, her voice low. “Do you want me to forgive you? To say it’s all water under the bridge?” 

He looked up at them then, his expression raw. “I just want you to know I’m sorry. That I’ve changed. That I never meant to hurt you the way I did.”

Y/N felt her defenses waiver, but the anger bubbling beneath the surface was hard to ignore. "You can regret it all you want," she said finally, her voice steady. "But that doesn’t change what happened. It doesn’t change who you were back then. People say they change, but they often don’t. You don’t just get to say you’re sorry and expect everything to be okay.”

“I’m not expecting that,” Seungcheol said softly. “I just… I needed you to hear it. Even if it doesn’t mean anything to you.”

There was a long silence, the air between them thick with unspoken words. Finally, Y/N sighed, running a hand through her hair.

 Seungcheol's gaze dropped to the floor. "I know I messed up. I know I hurt you. And I’ve spent years regretting it."

"Regret doesn’t fix anything," Y/N shot back.

"I’m not trying to fix it," he said, looking up at her now, his eyes filled with something she couldn’t quite place. Desperation? Guilt? "I just don't want you to think I didn’t care. Because I did. I do."

The room felt impossibly still, the weight of his words pressing down on Y/N’s chest. She didn’t know what to say, didn’t know if there was anything to say.

"You had a funny way of showing it," she said finally, her voice barely above a whisper.

"I was an idiot," Seungcheol admitted, his voice cracking slightly. "I cared too much about what other people thought. I let them get in my head, and I let you down. I’ll never stop regretting that."

Y/N stared at him, her emotions warring inside her. She wanted to believe him, to let his apology wash away the years of hurt. But she couldn’t ignore the voice in her head reminding her of all the times he hadn’t stood up for her, hadn’t been there when she needed him most.

 "I wish I could go back and do things differently."

Y/N looked away, her throat tight. "Well, you can’t. And honestly, I’m not sure it would make a difference even if you could."

The silence that followed was heavy, suffocating. Y/N stood abruptly, needing to put some distance between them.

"I’m going to check on my friends," she said, avoiding Seungcheol’s gaze.

He stood too, his movements hesitant. "Y/N..."

She turned to look at him, her expression unreadable. "What?"

"I’m sorry," he said again, his voice barely above a whisper.

Y/N didn’t respond. She just turned and walked out of the room, leaving Seungcheol alone. 

The hallway was quieter now, most of the partygoers either gone or passed out in various corners of the house. She made her way towards Hoshi’s room where Vernon had carried him to earlier, her steps quick and purposeful, as though walking faster might help her shake off the weight of the conversation with Seungcheol.

When she reached the door, it was slightly open, and she could hear Vernon’s low voice murmuring something. She pushed it open gently and found him sitting on the edge of the bed, tucking Hoshi under a blanket. Hoshi was completely out cold, sprawled across the mattress like a starfish.

"Hey," Vernon said softly, glancing up at her as she stepped inside. His voice was calm, but his eyes scanned her face, picking up on the lingering tension she hadn’t quite hidden. "You okay?"

Y/N nodded automatically but then hesitated. She let out a shaky breath, leaning against the doorframe. "Seungcheol," she said simply, her tone carrying all the weight of what had just happened.

Vernon frowned slightly, standing up and walking toward her. "What did he say?"

She crossed her arms, her gaze dropping to the floor. "He tried to apologize. Again. Said he regretted everything. But I don’t know… It’s just—he doesn’t get to do that, you know? He doesn’t get to say sorry and expect it to fix everything."

Vernon nodded, his expression serious as he leaned against the wall beside her. "You’re right. He doesn’t."

Y/N looked up at him, searching his face for something—validation, reassurance, anything to help her make sense of the storm in her head. "But a part of me… I don’t know, Vern. A part of me feels like maybe I should just let it go. For me, not for him."

He tilted his head, considering her words. "Letting it go doesn’t mean forgiving him or forgetting what happened. It just means you’re not carrying it around anymore."

"Yeah, but how do I do that?" she asked, her voice cracking slightly. "How do I let it go when it’s just… there? Like this permanent scar."

Vernon reached out, his hand brushing lightly against her arm. "You don’t have to do it all at once," he said gently. "It’s not about pretending it didn’t hurt or that it wasn’t real. It’s about giving yourself permission to move forward, at your own pace."

His words were like a balm, soothing the raw edges of her emotions. She let out a shaky laugh, wiping at her eyes. "When did you get so wise?"

He grinned, the warmth in his smile instantly making her feel lighter. "Med school, obviously. They teach you all kinds of emotional shit there."

Y/N rolled her eyes, but she couldn’t help smiling. "Right. Emotional bandages 101."

"Exactly," he said, his tone playful but his eyes still soft and steady on hers.

For a moment, they just stood there, the quiet hum of Hoshi's snoring wrapping around them like a cocoon. Y/N felt the tension in her chest begin to ease, replaced by a comforting sense of safety.

"Come on," Vernon said suddenly, straightening up and taking her hand. "Let’s go."

She blinked, caught off guard. "What? Where?"

"Anywhere," he said with a shrug. "The backyard, the porch, I don’t care. You need a breather, and honestly, so do I. Plus, I think Hoshi might start snoring louder any second now, and I’m not ready for that."

Y/N laughed, the sound breaking through the heaviness she’d been carrying all night. "Alright. He’s lucky he’s cute."

They slipped out of the room quietly, making their way to the back porch. The cool night air hit her skin like a refreshing wave, and she breathed deeply, letting it fill her lungs. Vernon let go of her hand but stayed close, leaning against the railing as they looked out at the quiet yard.

"You always know how to make things feel less complicated," Y/N said after a moment, her voice soft.

"That’s because they’re not as complicated as you think," Vernon replied, his tone light but sincere.

She glanced at him, a small smile tugging at her lips. "You make it sound so easy."

"It’s not," he admitted. "But you don’t have to figure it all out tonight. Just be here. With me. Right now."

Y/N nodded, the tension in her shoulders melting away as she leaned against him as he enveloped her in his arms. The stars above them shimmered faintly, and for the first time that night, she felt like she could breathe again.

As the silence stretched between them, comfortable and unspoken, she realized just how grateful she was for her friends—for their steady presence, the unwavering support, and the way they always seemed to know exactly what she needed, even when she didn’t.

note: hi. omg. I really did drop the ball on posting this for a hot second, but we will be back to our regularly scheduled programming from now on <3

taglist: @minhui896@sun-daddy-yoriichi@luchiet@miles-sketchbook@kissesfrmwonwoo@readerlozies@vcutparis@mxnhoeuwu@writingbarnes@headlockimnida@odxrilove@jeonghaniehaee@bath1lda @wonwootakemyheart @dokyomis@hanniesdegree @blvkkeddcc@gyuguys @rakshithanotrao @multiplumes

[biblical-chronicles]

Addressing the unspoken

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where Noel can't stand the sight of the reader chatting with Damon Albarn and finally decides to address the unspoken connection he has had with her for the longest time now.

________________________________________________________

The studio was alive with energy, every corner humming with the chaos that came from trying to make another Oasis album. You had been brought on to help streamline the process—part assistant, part coordinator, part mediator when things got heated (and they always got heated). At first, you thought you’d be blending into the background, but it turned out working with the Gallaghers often meant being at the center of the storm.

Though somehow, you’d managed to carve out a strange kind of harmony with them. Liam was easy to handle once you knew when to give him space and when to challenge him, while the rest of the band respected you for keeping things moving without losing your cool. And Noel?

Noel was different.

He was sharp, sometimes prickly, but you’d figured out how to sidestep his walls. Over late nights in the studio, you’d become something like confidants, sharing quiet conversations about life, music, and everything in between. He’d ask your opinion on lyrics, and while he’d never outright say it, you could tell your feedback mattered to him.

You weren’t blind to the fact that there was something unspoken between you two. The way his gaze lingered a second too long when you laughed, or the rare times he’d catch your hand when passing you something—like he forgot to let go. Even the rest of the band had noticed, with Liam taking every opportunity to wind Noel up about it.

“Oh, here she is, Noel’s muse,” Liam had said one night, waggling his eyebrows as you entered the studio.

“Shut your gob, Liam,” Noel shot back, his ears visibly reddening.

“Don’t get your knickers in a twist. I’m just sayin’—she’s got you writing love songs, hasn’t she?”

“Do one,” Noel muttered, glaring at his brother, but you swore you saw a flicker of a smile before he turned back to his guitar.

You didn’t take Liam’s jabs seriously—after all, he teased everyone. But sometimes you caught Noel watching you in a way that made your heart flutter, and you couldn’t help but wonder if there was some truth in it.

When word came about the upcoming awards show, it felt like a collective sigh of relief rippled through the band and the crew. A night off, a chance to celebrate, and a rare break from all the work—it was just what everyone needed. You didn’t think much of the invite at first, figuring it was more for the band and their inner circle. But the boys wouldn’t hear of you sitting it out.

“Don’t be daft,” Liam had said, lounging on the studio couch with a cigarette dangling from his fingers. “We need someone there who doesn’t look like they’re gonna lamp someone after two pints. Bit of balance, y’know?”

“He’s not wrong,” Bonehead had chimed in with a grin. “You’re the only one who keeps this lot in line.”

You’d glanced over at Noel, expecting some kind of teasing remark, but he’d just given you a small, almost imperceptible nod. That subtle encouragement was all you needed to say yes.

By the time the night of the awards show arrived, the band seemed in good spirits, the tension of the studio replaced by a shared sense of excitement. You’d been seated at their table, tucked between Bonehead and Noel, and although the glitz and noise of the event made you a bit nervous, the familiar banter of the boys quickly put you at ease.

“You alright, love?” Noel asked as the show went on, his voice low enough that only you could hear.

“Yeah,” you said, smiling. “It’s just a bit stuffy in here. Think I’m gonna step out for some air.”

“I’ll come with you,” he offered immediately, his chair scraping as he started to stand.

“No, it’s alright,” you said quickly, touching his arm. “You should stay—it’s a big night for you lot. I’ll be back in a minute.”

Noel hesitated, his blue eyes scanning your face as if he wasn’t quite convinced. But eventually, he nodded, sitting back down. “Don’t go getting lost, yeah?”

You laughed. “I’ll try my best.”

As you weaved through the crowded tables, you caught sight of Blur’s table out of the corner of your eye. Damon and the rest of the band were deep in conversation, but when they noticed you passing by, a ripple of laughter erupted from their group. You glanced over just in time to see Damon being nudged by one of his bandmates, their grins unmistakable.

Frowning slightly, you shook it off and focused on finding the exit. The air outside the main room was cooler, you took a deep breath, leaning against a wall as you tried to collect yourself. Award shows weren’t really your scene, and the overwhelming energy inside had been starting to get to you.

Just as you were about to head back, a voice interrupted your thoughts.

“Bit loud in there, isn’t it?”

You turned to see Damon Albarn standing a few feet away, his hands tucked casually into his pockets. He looked almost sheepish, which was a far cry from the confident image he usually projected.

“Yeah,” you said cautiously. “Needed a breather.”

“Same,” he said, stepping closer. “Thought I’d escape before someone shoved a mic in my face.”

You nodded politely, not quite sure where this was going. Damon was friendly enough, but you weren’t exactly keen on striking up a long conversation.

“Anyway,” he said, tilting his head slightly, “I’ve seen you around with Oasis, haven’t I?”

“Yeah, I work with them,” you said simply. “Helping out with the new album.”

“Sounds like a handful,” Damon said with a wry smile. “Especially with those two.” He gestured vaguely in the direction of the main room, clearly referring to Noel and Liam.

You chuckled despite yourself. “It’s... entertaining, to say the least.”

He laughed, the sound soft and a little self-deprecating. “Well, if you ever fancy a change of scenery, you’re welcome to pop over to our camp. Might be less shouting, at least.”

It took you a second to realize he was flirting. You blinked, caught off guard, and tried to formulate a response that wouldn’t come off as rude. “That’s, uh, kind of you to say.”

Unbeknownst to you, Noel had been watching from the moment you left the table. He’d tried to focus on the show, but when he saw Damon stand and follow you out, his stomach twisted.

“Oi, where you off to?” Liam asked as Noel stood abruptly, grabbing his jacket.

“None of your business,” Noel muttered.

“Oh, it’s business, alright,” Liam said, grinning. “What’s the matter, can’t leave your missus alone for five minutes?”

“Shut it, Liam,” Noel snapped, ignoring the hoots of laughter from the table as he headed toward the exit.

Noel found you just as Damon was inching a little closer, his tone becoming more confident as he spoke.

“So, what do you say? Think you could handle working with someone a bit... softer?” Damon asked, his smile shifting into something sly.

Noel’s fists clenched at his sides. For a moment, he thought about walking away, convinced he’d already lost his chance. But then he caught the look on your face—not too interested, just polite—and he knew he couldn’t leave it like this.

“Oi, Albarn,” Noel said sharply, stepping into the space. “Think you’re in the wrong place, mate.”

Damon turned, his expression slipping into something more guarded. “Noel. Didn’t see you there.”

“Yeah, well, I’m here now,” Noel said, his voice cold. “And I reckon she’s got better things to be doing than listening to your bollocks.”

“Noel,” you started, surprised by his sudden appearance. But before you could say anything else, he turned to you, his tone softening.

“Can I talk to you? Alone?”

You hesitated for a moment, glancing at Damon, who raised his hands in mock surrender. “I’ll leave you to it,” he said, stepping back.

Once Damon walked away, you turned back to Noel, crossing your arms as you tried to make sense of his sudden appearance. His jaw was tense, and there was something unreadable in his expression—a mix of frustration and vulnerability that you weren’t used to seeing.

“What’s all this about, Noel?” you asked, your voice calm but edged with curiosity.

He exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair. “What do you think I’m doin’? I came out ‘cause… ‘cause I saw him follow you out, and I thought, ‘That can’t be good.’”

You frowned. “Damon was just making conversation. It wasn’t a big deal.”

Noel huffed, avoiding your gaze. “Looked like more than conversation to me.”

“Oh, come off it,” you said, shaking your head. “Is it jealousy that I'm sensing here Gallagher?”

His head snapped up, and for a second, he looked like he wanted to deny it. But then he sighed, the tension in his shoulders easing slightly as he muttered, “Maybe it is.”

The admission surprised you, Noel Gallagher, jealous? It didn’t quite compute—not the Noel you knew, who always seemed so self-assured, so untouchable. You stared at him, searching for the right words, but he beat you to it.

“Look,” he said, his voice low and hurried, “I know I’m actin’ like a right knobhead, alright? But I couldn’t just sit there and watch him… I dunno… try his luck with you.”

You softened at the crack in his voice. “Noel—”

“And before you say it,” he interrupted, holding up a hand, “I know I’ve got no right to get a cob on as I never said owt, so if you’re not interested, that’s fine. Just say the word, and I’ll drop it.”

You blinked, stunned by his sudden vulnerability. Noel had always been guarded, careful not to let anyone see too far beneath the surface. But here he was, laying it all out, and for once, he looked almost… nervous.

“Not interested?” you repeated, your lips twitching into a small smile. “Are you really that daft?”

He froze, his eyes narrowing slightly. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means,” you said, stepping closer, “that I’ve been waiting for you to say something for months, Noel. And I was starting to think I’d imagined the whole thing.”

His brows furrowed as he processed your words, but then his expression softened, and a faint smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. “You’re serious?”

“Course I am,” you said, your voice dropping to a near whisper. “Why d’you think I was so polite to Damon? Didn’t want to cause a scene when all I could think about was you.”

For a moment, neither of you spoke. The air between you was charged, and you could feel your pulse racing as Noel’s gaze flickered to your lips.

“Well, then,” he murmured, stepping closer, “guess I’d better stop muckin’ about.”

And with that, he kissed you.

It was everything you’d imagined and more—soft at first, but it quickly deepened as he slid a hand to the back of your neck, pulling you closer. His lips were warm and insistent, and you melted into him, feeling as if the rest of the world had faded away.

When you finally broke apart, you were both slightly breathless, he rested his forehead against yours with a quiet chuckle.

“Can’t believe I waited this long,” he said, his voice rough but tinged with amusement.

“Neither can I,” you teased, brushing a strand of hair from his face. “But you made up for it.”

“Good,” he said, his lips quirking into that familiar smirk. “’Cause I’m not lettin’ you off the hook now.”

You grinned, your heart soaring as he laced his fingers with yours. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

When the two of you returned to the Oasis table, still holding hands, the reaction was immediate. Liam was the first to notice, his eyes widening before he burst out laughing.

“Oh, bloody hell,” he said, nudging Bonehead. “Would you look at that? Noel’s gone and pulled. About time, too.”

“Shut it, Liam,” Noel muttered, though the corners of his mouth twitched in amusement.

“You’re smilin’, mate,” Liam teased. “Don’t think I’ve ever seen that before. Must be love.”

The rest of the table joined in, their laughter filling the air as Noel tried to maintain his composure, but then Liam leaned closer, a wicked grin on his face.

“You might wanna sort that, though,” he said, gesturing to Noel’s face.

“What are you on about?” Noel asked, frowning.

“Lipstick,” Liam said simply, leaning back in his chair with a satisfied smirk. “Big, red, obvious.”

Noel groaned, scrubbing at his mouth with the back of his hand as the rest of the table erupted into laughter. You couldn’t help but join in, your cheeks flushing as Noel shot you a playful glare.

“Next time,” he muttered under his breath, “I’m wearin’ a bloody disguise.”

You leaned closer, pressing a quick kiss to his cheek. “I think it suits you.”

His expression softened, and he gave you a look that made your heart flutter all over again.

As the awards show finally got underway, you settled back into your seat, your hand still intertwined with Noel’s under the table. The teasing had died down, and the band’s attention shifted to the stage as the first category was announced.

But every so often, Noel would glance your way, his thumb brushing over your knuckles, and you’d catch the faintest hint of a smile on his lips. For the first time that night, the stuffiness of the room didn’t bother you at all.

__________________________________________________________

another day another story

This was another request, so I hope it was at least close to what you imagined love xx I sort of twisted it and made the reader part of the crew since it felt weird to write her as a member of the band itself, so hopefully that's okay.

as always let me know how you lot liked it x

** also working on summat with Liam as me focus has been Noel for now (can you blame me), so let me know if you like how I wrote him here.

[whosscruffylooking]

steve harrington x fem! reader Open Arms Masterlist word count: 6.3k ~1984~

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Later that evening, Steve finds himself pacing the length of his living room, running a hand through his hair for what feels like the hundredth time. The silence of the house is unbearable, filled with his swirling thoughts and unanswered questions. He doesn’t know what to do, and the frustration of it all is starting to feel like too much.

Finally, he grabs his keys and heads out the door. He doesn’t have a plan, but somehow, his feet lead him to Dustin’s house. If there’s anyone who might have an answer—or at least say something that could make sense of this mess—it’s the kid who seems to know way too much about life for his age.

When Dustin opens the door, he’s holding a partially dismantled walkie-talkie and wearing a look of mild confusion. “Steve? What are you doing here? And…why didn’t you drive your car?”

“I need to talk to you,” Steve blurts out, stepping inside without waiting for an invitation. He sinks into the nearest chair, his head dropping into his hands. “It’s about Y/N.”

Dustin’s eyes widen, and he immediately shuts the door, tossing the walkie onto a nearby table. “Oh man, this is gonna be good. Spill.”

Steve hesitates, unsure how to even start. “I don’t know what to do. Last night, things… things got intense, and I thought we had this moment, you know? Like, we finally said what we’ve been too scared to say for years. But now she’s pulling back, and I don’t know if I should—” He stops, rubbing the back of his neck. “I don’t know if I should keep pushing or just… leave it alone.”

Dustin crosses his arms, tilting his head as he considers Steve’s words. “Okay, first of all, what exactly did you say? Because if you half-assed it, that’s on you.”

Steve groans, leaning back against the chair. “I didn’t half-ass it. I told her she’s my whole world. That I couldn’t survive if something happened to her. I meant every word.”

“Okay, cool. So you laid it all out there,” Dustin says, nodding approvingly. “And now she’s avoiding you?”

“Pretty much.”

Dustin shrugs. “She’s probably just freaking out. I mean, think about it, Steve. Last night was crazy. People don’t just process stuff like that overnight. Plus, she’s probably wondering if you meant it or if it was, like, adrenaline talking.”

“I did mean it,” Steve says quickly, his voice firm.

“I know that, and you know that, but does she?” Dustin points out, raising an eyebrow. “You’re gonna have to prove it.”

“How?”

Dustin smirks. “By being the guy she already knows you are. You’ve been in love with her for years, right? So don’t stop now. Show her you meant what you said. Don’t let her run away just because she’s scared.”

Steve leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees as he takes in Dustin’s words. “And what if I push too hard and just end up making it worse?”

“Steve,” Dustin says, his tone surprisingly serious. “The only way you’re gonna make it worse is if you give up. She’s worth it, right?”

Steve doesn’t hesitate. “Yeah. She’s worth it.”

“Then stop overthinking it and just… be there for her. Give her time, but don’t let her forget you meant every word.”

Steve nods slowly, Dustin’s advice sinking in. Maybe the kid’s right. Maybe it’s not about pushing or pulling back—it’s about being steady, being there, and letting her see that his feelings aren’t going anywhere.

“Don’t let her forget I meant every word,” Steve takes a mental note. “Thanks kid.”

“Anytime, big guy,” Dustin replies, grinning. “But, uh, maybe next time, bring snacks. We’ve got brainstorming to do and we’re doing it on an empty stomach.”

The kid pulls out a notebook and begins scribbling ideas into it. 

Steve leans back in Dustin’s chair, arms crossed as his mind drifts, until he blurts out, “I wrote her a note once.”

Dustin freezes mid-sentence. “A note?”

“Yeah,” Steve says, rubbing the back of his neck. “Back in ninth grade. It was, like, this stupid thing where I wrote down all the stuff I… liked about her.”

Dustin’s pen drops onto the desk, and he swivels around in his chair to face Steve, his expression somewhere between shock and delight. “Hold up. You wrote an actual love note, and you’ve just been sitting on this information? What did it say?”

“I don’t remember,” Steve lies, avoiding Dustin’s eyes.

“Bull,” Dustin says, narrowing his gaze. “You remember every word, don’t you?”

Steve sighs, defeated. “Okay, fine. I remember some of it. But it doesn’t matter because I never gave it to her.”

“You still have it?” Dustin asks, leaning forward like he’s about to discover buried treasure.

“I think so,” Steve mutters. “It’s probably in some box in my closet or something.”

Dustin practically leaps out of his chair. “We’re going to your house. Right now.”

“No way,” Steve says, shaking his head.

“Steve,” Dustin says, crossing his arms and giving him a look that’s far too confident for a 13-year-old. “This note could be the key to unlocking her heart. You’re always telling me to take risks and go after what I want, so why don’t you take your own advice for once?”

Steve pinches the bridge of his nose. “Fine, but only if you agree to stop badgering me about it.”

Dustin smirks. “And?”

“And,” Steve adds, “I’ll help you prepare for the winter formal.”

“Sold!” Dustin says, already grabbing his coat.

They rummage through Steve’s closet for nearly half an hour, tossing aside old yearbooks, basketball trophies, and forgotten sneakers, until Dustin shouts, “Found it!”

He holds up a folded piece of paper, yellowed slightly with age, and waves it triumphantly.

Steve snatches it from him, his face already burning. “Give me that.”

“Absolutely not,” Dustin says, dodging out of reach. “This is a historical document. It belongs in a museum!”

“Dustin, I swear—”

“Relax,” Dustin says, finally unfolding the note. He scans the page, his smirk slowly fading as he reads. “Dude,” he says quietly, glancing up at Steve. “This is… actually kind of sweet. ‘The way you always sticks up for people, even when you’re intimidated.’”

Steve shrugs, avoiding Dustin’s gaze. “Yeah, well…”

“‘Or how you always get mad when I cheat at Monopoly,’” Dustin’s voice softens. “That’s… wow, man.”

Steve shifts uncomfortably. “Can we not make a big deal out of this?”

Dustin keeps reading. “‘The way you bite your lip when you’re thinking too hard.’”

“Okay, now you’re just embarrassing me,” Steve mutters, trying to grab the note again.

But then Dustin freezes, his eyes widening as he reads a particular line. A slow grin spreads across his face. “Oh my God.”

“What?” Steve asks, suddenly nervous.

“‘The dream I had about you in that red bathing suit….” his eyes gleaming with mischief. “What dream, Harrington?”

Steve’s face turns beet red. “Nope. Not happening.”

“Was it romantic? Or… did you have to wake up in the middle of the night to take a shower after?” Dustin teases, wiggling his eyebrows.

“Dustin, I swear, if you—”

“Does she know about this dream?!”

Steve grabs the note and crumples it in his fist. “Forget you ever read that.”

But Dustin is already cackling, doubling over with laughter. “Oh, this is too good. You had a secret ninth-grade fantasy about her, and now you’re still pining after her? Man, you’re pathetic!”

Steve groans, running a hand down his face. “Why do I even talk to you?”

“Because I’m your only hope,” Dustin says, still laughing as he throws an arm over Steve’s shoulder. “Now, let’s go use this note to win her over. Minus the dream part, obviously. Unless you want to make things really interesting.”

Steve sighs, shaking his head but unable to keep the small smile off his face. “I’m so going to regret this.”

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Steve grips the steering wheel a little tighter, his knuckles turning white as Dustin leans over from the passenger seat with that insufferable grin plastered on his face.

“You realize the more you avoid it, the worse it sounds, right? Like, was this dream so scandalous it could ruin your life?”

Steve groans, rolling his eyes as he pulls up to a stoplight. “No, it wasn’t scandalous. It was… Look, it’s none of your business.”

Dustin leans closer, his grin widening, “Was it one of those superhero moments where she saved you from drowning?” He pauses dramatically, tapping his chin. “Actually, no—let me guess. You were the one saving her…chest compressions, mouth to mouth.”

Steve nearly chokes on his own breath, his hand slamming against the wheel. “Dustin, I swear—”

“Oh my God,” Dustin cuts him off, gasping in mock realization. “Was it one of those dreams? Like, she’s there in slow motion, water dripping off her, and you’re there rubbing tanning oil all over her body?”

“Cut it out, Henderson!” Steve snaps, his ears burning.

Dustin smirks, leaning back in his seat. “Man, you’re so red right now. It must’ve been some dream.”

“You seriously need a hobby.”

“This is my hobby,” Dustin says proudly. “Now, tell me about the dream, or I’ll tell her there’s a dream.”

“You wouldn’t,” Steve says, eyes narrowing as the light turns green. He presses the gas a little harder than necessary.

“Oh, I absolutely would,” Dustin replies, grinning ear to ear. “She’d love to know how much you’ve been thinking about her—dream Steve and all.”

“Fine!” Steve shouts, throwing one hand in the air. “It wasn’t even that bad! It was just… we were at the pool at my house, and she was… laughing, okay? It wasn’t some weird thing. It was just her, and she was happy, and it stuck with me. End of story.”

Dustin blinks at him, unimpressed. “That’s it?”

“Yeah, that’s it,” Steve says firmly.

Dustin leans back, letting the silence hang for a moment. “You’re the lamest romantic I’ve ever met.”

Steve sighs in relief. “Thank you.”

“But I’m still going to tell her about it.”

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The next afternoon, you sit cross-legged on your bed, staring at your phone and chewing on your bottom lip. Inviting Nancy Wheeler over wasn’t exactly something you’d planned on doing in this lifetime. You’d always been friendly enough, sure, but hanging out one-on-one? Never happened. Still, if there’s anyone who might understand what you’re going through, it’s her.

When Nancy arrives, she hesitates in the doorway, tilting her head curiously. “Hey,” she says, giving you a small, cautious smile. “This is… unexpected.”

“I know,” you admit, stepping aside to let her in. “It’s weird, right? Me, asking you over. But I—well, I need some advice. About Steve.”

Her brows shoot up, and she gives a small laugh of surprise. “Steve?”

You nod quickly, leading her to your room. “Yeah, and before you say anything, I know it’s probably strange. I mean, he’s my best friend, so I should probably know how to handle this myself, but…” You flop onto the bed with a groan, running a hand through your hair. “I just—I feel like I need a different perspective. And you probably know him better than anyone else—aside from me, of course.”

Nancy sits at the edge of the bed, folding her hands in her lap as she listens. “Okay,” she says slowly, her tone thoughtful. “What’s going on?”

You exhale sharply, tugging at the hem of your sweater. “The other night, during all the chaos, Steve said some things. Big things. About… how he feels about me.”

Nancy blinks, her expression unreadable as she processes your words. “What kind of things?”

“Like… intense things. Like, ‘You’re my whole world,’ kind of things.” You let out a nervous laugh. “And now I don’t know what to do with it. What if it was just the adrenaline talking? What if he doesn’t really mean it?”

Nancy leans back slightly, tilting her head. “Why would you think he didn’t mean it?”

You shrug helplessly. “Because… it’s Steve. He’s been in love with you before. He’s dated other girls. What if I’m just… another phase? Or worse, what if this ruins everything between us?”

Nancy softens, a small smile forming on her lips. “Steve doesn’t really do phases. Sure, he’s dated other people, but he’s never looked at anyone the way he looks at you.”

You blink, her words catching you off guard. “What do you mean?”

“I mean that even when we were together, it was obvious how much you meant to him. He talks about you like you hung the stars, Y/N. And I know you’ve been there for him in ways I never could be.” Nancy pauses, then adds gently, “But this isn’t about me. It’s about you. What do you want to happen?”

You hesitate, your cheeks warming as memories of that night with Steve flash through your mind. You almost tell her—that one time, late at night, when things between you and Steve had finally boiled over. When you’d crossed a line that had been hovering between you for years. But instead of making things clearer, it had only complicated everything. And you’d been the one to say it: We should just stay friends.

You stop yourself before the words can escape and opt for something safer. “One time, we… broached the topic of maybe having feelings for each other. But I was the one who shut it down. I was scared of losing him, and I told him it’d be better if we stayed friends.”

Nancy nods slowly, her gaze thoughtful. “And do you still feel that way?”

Your throat tightens, and you struggle to find the words. “I just… I’ve always loved Steve. Not just as my best friend, but more than that. But I never thought he’d see me that way, you know? And now that he’s said this, I don’t know if I can let myself believe it.”

Nancy offers a small smile, her voice steady. “If Steve said it, he meant it. He doesn’t just throw those words around, especially not with you. But I get why you’re scared. It’s a big leap, and there’s a lot at stake. I guess the question is—do you trust him enough to take that leap?”

You sit in silence for a moment, her words sinking in. Finally, you let out a shaky breath. “I want to trust him. I just don’t want to lose him.”

Nancy stands up, grabbing her bag. “I don’t think you’re going to lose him. But you’re never going to know unless you talk to him. Steve’s stubborn, but he’s also patient. He’ll wait until you’re ready.”

You follow her to the door, her words echoing in your mind. “Thanks, Nancy,” you say quietly. “I needed that.”

She offers you a knowing smile. “Anytime. And Y/N?”

“Yeah?”

“You’re not just his best friend. You’re his person. Don’t forget that.”

 Nancy’s words settle into the air, and a pang of guilt twists in your chest. You sit back on your bed, nervously picking at the frayed threads of your sweater.

“Nancy,” you start, your voice quieter than before. “Can I ask you something? And you can be honest, okay?”

She tilts her head, curiosity flickering in her eyes. “Of course.”

You take a deep breath, feeling the weight of what you’re about to say. “Did I… ever make things harder for you and Steve? When you two were together?”

Nancy looks surprised for a moment, but she recovers quickly, shaking her head. “What? No. Why would you think that?”

“I don’t know,” you admit, guilt gnawing at you. “It’s just… he was my best friend, you know? And I guess I always worried that maybe—maybe I got in the way. Like, maybe my relationship with him made things weird or caused tension between you two. Every other girl broke up with him and blamed me.” 

Nancy’s expression softens, and she sits down beside you on the bed. “Y/N, listen to me. Whatever issues Steve and I had, they weren’t because of you. It’s on Steve and I. It’s on me. And, honestly… I’ve felt bad about it for a long time.”

You glance at her, your brows furrowing. “What do you mean?”

Nancy exhales deeply, brushing a hand through her hair as she glances at you, her expression tinged with guilt. “I guess I should just say it,” she starts hesitantly. “Everything that happened at Murray’s last week… it wasn’t exactly planned. But it also wasn’t some spur-of-the-moment thing, either.”

You blink, confused for a moment before realization dawns. “You mean… when you were with Jonathan?”

Nancy nods, her cheeks flushing slightly. “Yeah. I feel awful about it, especially because—well, Steve and I weren’t officially broken up yet. We were in this weird place, like we both knew things were falling apart, but we hadn’t said it out loud. And then…” She pauses, guilt flickering in her eyes. “I said some things I can’t take back.”

You hesitate, “Steve…kind of hinted that you did.”

She sighs, dropping her gaze. “I told him I didn’t love him. Not really. And I was drunk, so I just blurted it out. And after that, I… I slept with Jonathan when we were at Murray’s.”

Her voice is heavy with regret, and for a moment, you’re unsure of how to respond. She looks at you again, her eyes searching yours. “I hate that I hurt Steve like that, but honestly? After everything with Barb and Will last year, I waited. For a whole month, I waited for Jonathan to make a move, to say something, to give me some kind of sign. But he didn’t. And when he didn’t… I went back to Steve.”

You frown slightly, the pieces of their complicated history falling into place. “So, you and Steve…”

Nancy nods. “We weren’t perfect, not by a long shot, but it felt safe. Familiar. Like maybe if I tried hard enough, I could make it work. But deep down, I think I always knew it wasn’t going to last.”

Her words leave you quiet, a strange mix of emotions swirling in your chest. “Do you think he… knows how you felt?”

“I think he does now,” she admits softly. “After everything that happened last week, I think we both finally faced the truth. We weren’t holding onto each other because we were in love. We were holding on because it was easier than letting go.”

Her honesty feels like a weight lifted, and yet it also leaves you with a strange pang of guilt. “Nancy, I never meant to… I don’t know, make things harder for you two.”

She shakes her head quickly. “You didn’t. Trust me, Y/N, you were never the problem. If anything, I think you were part of what kept Steve grounded when everything else was falling apart.”

You open your mouth to argue, but she cuts you off, her tone firm. “Listen. Whatever happened between Steve and me, it was on us. You’ve always been his best friend. And honestly? You were what he needed—what he always needed. Don’t feel guilty about that.”

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Nancy pulls into the driveway of her house just as she spots Steve’s unmistakable car parked at the curb. She furrows her brow, stepping out of her car as Steve gets out of his.

“What are you doing here?” she asks, crossing her arms.

Steve jerks a thumb toward the passenger side of his car, where Dustin is already halfway out, slinging his backpack over his shoulder. “Dropping off the little twerp,” he says, his tone teasing.

“Hey!” Dustin protests, shooting a glare at Steve before turning to Nancy. “Don’t let him fool you—he’s practically begging for my advice every time we hang out now.”

Steve rolls his eyes. “Get inside, Henderson.”

Dustin smirks but doesn’t argue, heading toward the front door. As he disappears inside, Nancy tilts her head at Steve, her curiosity piqued.

“So,” she says, leaning casually against her car, “what’s really going on?”

Steve shifts uncomfortably, shoving his hands into his jacket pockets. “What makes you think anything’s going on?”

Nancy raises an eyebrow, giving him a knowing look. “Because I just came from Y/N’s house.”

Steve stiffens, his expression guarded. “Yeah? And?”

“And,” Nancy says slowly, “she’s… confused. But in a good way. If that makes sense.”

Steve lets out a bitter laugh. “Confused. Right. That’s one way to put it.”

Nancy frowns. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means she’s the one pulling away,” Steve says, frustration creeping into his voice. “And it’s not the first time, either. Every time things get close—too close—she just… runs. Like I don’t mean enough for her to stay.”

Nancy crosses her arms, her expression softening. “Steve, that’s not fair.”

“Isn’t it?” he snaps, before immediately sighing and running a hand through his hair. “Sorry. I just… I don’t get it. I put myself out there, and she shuts down. What am I supposed to do with that?”

Nancy steps closer, her tone firm but gentle. “You’re supposed to remember that Y/N’s been through a lot. She’s not pulling away because you don’t mean enough—she’s pulling away because you mean too much, and it terrifies her. You know that.”

Steve leans back against his car, his jaw tightening. “I’m tired of being the one who’s always chasing, Nancy.”

“I get that,” she says softly. “But you’re not exactly easy for her, either. You think it’s been simple for her to figure out where she fits into your life? Especially with… everything that’s happened?”

Steve looks at her, his frustration giving way to something more vulnerable.

Nancy sighs, her voice softening. “Steve, she cares about you. So much. But she’s scared—of hurting you, of getting hurt, of all of it. You’re both trying to protect each other in the most backward ways possible.”

Steve looks down at the pavement, her words sinking in.

“You know her better than anyone,” Nancy continues. “If you really care about her—and I know you do—you’ll be patient. She needs that from you right now, even if she doesn’t know how to say it.”

Steve nods slowly, a flicker of understanding in his eyes. “And if she keeps running?”

Nancy smirks faintly. “Then you stop chasing her like some knight in shining armor and just be her friend. Show her you’re not going anywhere. That’s what she really needs.”

Steve exhales, the tension in his shoulders easing just a bit. “You really think I have a shot?”

Nancy nods firmly. “I do. But you’re going to have to stop letting your ego get in the way and start listening to her.”

Steve offers a small smile. “Thanks, Wheeler. You’re not half-bad at this advice thing.”

Nancy chuckles, stepping back toward her car. “Don’t let it go to your head, Harrington. Now, go figure it out.”

Steve watches her head inside before climbing back into his car, her words still echoing in his mind. For the first time in a while, he feels like maybe he has a chance.

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Steve stands on the porch, his hand hesitating over the doorbell, unsure if he’s doing the right thing. Every nerve in his body is telling him to turn around, to give you the space you’ve been demanding, but something in him refuses to walk away. Not this time.

He knocks. A soft, quiet sound that somehow feels louder than it should be. He waits, but when the door finally creaks open, he’s not sure what he’s expecting. There you are, your eyes red, face blotchy, but it’s the exhaustion in your expression that hits him hardest. Like you’ve been carrying the weight of the world, and he hasn’t been there to help you with it.

You stare at him for a long beat, silent. Then, your eyes flicker away, and you step aside, almost reluctantly, like you want to pull away but can’t quite make yourself do it.

Steve steps into the dim hallway, pausing for a moment before looking at you again, his voice shaky as he finally speaks. “We’re good,” he says, the words feeling foreign on his tongue now. He calls to mind what he told you the other night, the words that had earned him a response from you that felt so much more promising than this silence between you now.

You look away, a small, almost imperceptible shake of your head. He swallows hard, the rawness of what he’s saying clawing at him. “Look, we don’t have to talk about it, okay?” he mutters, stepping closer, but careful not to push you. “I just need to be with you tonight. Like we used to. Listening to Queen, being there for each other. We’ve been through so much the past few days, so much we haven’t even—”

He cuts himself off, his voice trailing off in the heavy silence that fills the space between you. He wants to say more, wants to explain how terrified he is that he’s losing you, how much he’s been aching in this silence, but the words catch in his chest, too painful to speak aloud.

Your gaze softens for just a second, but it’s fleeting, and when you look at him again, there’s a distance that wasn’t there before. The ache in Steve’s chest grows sharper, but he doesn’t move. He’s here now. He’s not leaving.

With a sigh, you slowly nod, and it’s the smallest of gestures, but it feels like a concession, like you’re letting him in even though you’re not sure you should.

Steve steps past you, the weight of the moment pressing down on him. He doesn’t know how this will play out, or what the next day will bring. But tonight, for a few hours, he wants to hold onto the part of you he still knows. Maybe tomorrow he’ll figure out what to do with the mess that’s left between you. But for now, he just wants to be there.

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You lay on the bed, your eyes tracing the familiar cracks in the ceiling as silent tears slip down your face. The weight of everything—the words, the feelings, the confusion—presses down on you in a way you can’t escape. You’re torn between wanting to stay close to Steve, to believe that there’s something real between you, and the fear that maybe all of this is just a result of the chaos surrounding you.

Steve lays next to you, the soft hum of the record player filling the room, but the silence between you is thick and suffocating. Neither of you speaks. Both of you are lost in your thoughts, drowning in the unspoken tension that’s become impossible to ignore.

After a long, painful silence, you reach out, your hand trembling as you pick up a crumpled-up note from the bed beside you. It’s a familiar weight, one that you’d hidden for years, and now it feels like the only thing you can offer him. You hand Steve the crumpled letter. Your fingers linger for a second before letting go, your voice barely above a whisper.

“Read it when you get home, okay?”

Steve hesitates, glancing between the letter and you. “Are you sure?”

You nod, eyes fixed on the ceiling, unable to meet his gaze. “Just… not here. Please.”

He doesn’t push, sensing the fragility of the moment. Instead, he tucks the letter carefully into his jacket pocket and lays back beside you, the weight of unspoken words thick in the air. For the rest of the night, neither of you speaks, the silence both comforting and charged.

When it’s time for him to leave, Steve rises quietly, his steps deliberate and slow. He pauses at the door, glancing back at you one last time, curled up under the covers, your face turned away. He reaches into his jacket, pulling out a folded piece of paper—the note he found with Dustin.

Without a word, he places it on your dresser, hidden just enough for you to find it later, and slips out of the room.

As the door clicks shut, you close your eyes, the heaviness of the night settling over you. Little do you know, the words Steve left behind are waiting to change everything.

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Steve steps into his darkened house, the familiar silence pressing in around him. Tossing his keys onto the kitchen counter, he pulls the crumpled letter from his pocket and unfolds it carefully, smoothing the creases as if the words might slip away if he isn’t gentle enough.

The handwriting is unmistakably yours—slightly slanted, the ink smudged in places. His chest tightens before he even reads the first word, the weight of what this letter might hold hitting him like a freight train.

Dear Steve,

I’m not sure I should even be writing this. Maybe I won’t even give it to you. Do you remember in the fifth grade when you asked me to marry you? I told you boys were gross and I’d never marry one. Later that night, you climbed the tree outside my window for the first time and knocked on the glass to propose again. You said your mom had told you about Romeo and Juliet, and how Romeo climbed up to her window because he loved her. You promised you’d never stop climbing my window until I said yes because you loved me.

As his eyes scan the page, memories flash through his mind like a reel of film. A small smile tugs at his lips, bittersweet and nostalgic. He does remember. He remembers the way you rolled your eyes at him, how he’s never stopped climbing that tree outside your window and he never will.

A year later, when we were twelve, some kids in our class started talking about kissing, and everyone thought it was gross. So we tried it. We both liked it. A lot. I think that’s because we liked each other. 

His breath catches. He’s suddenly back in that moment—young, nervous, and exhilarated. He remembers the way your laughter had bubbled up after, the way you had looked at him like he was the only person in the world.

Here’s where the problem is, Steve—I don’t think I ever stopped liking you.

Steve swallows hard, his fingers gripping the edge of the paper as his heart pounds in his chest. He reads the words again, slower this time, as if savoring them will make them feel less surreal.

I didn’t fully realize it at first. Sure, I’ve had crushes on other boys, but none of them made me feel the way you do. You’re the one I actually enjoy spending time with. When Mom and Dad fight, she always tells me that if I ever get married, I need to marry someone who’s my friend first. She says the key to a happy relationship is falling in love with your best friend. (I still think marriage is kind of gross, and boys are too. You’re just the least gross, I guess.) And, well… you’re my best friend.

Sometimes I think about being an adult with you—no school, just us. We could listen to music and watch movies all day long. We could kiss whenever we wanted to. (I’ve wanted to kiss you again for a while now, but you’ve been kissing Julie from science class, and I don’t want it to feel like I’m kissing her by kissing you.) Honestly, I’d love to just laugh with you for the rest of my life.

A soft, shaky laugh escapes him, but it’s lined with something deeper—regret, maybe, or longing. He presses a hand to his face, trying to process the flood of emotions washing over him.

The letter feels like a window into a version of you he never fully understood, a version that had been hiding in plain sight all along. You had felt this way for so long, and he had been so blind to it, too caught up in his own confusion and fears to notice.

You’re always telling me how much I annoy you because I can never pick a favorite anything. But the truth is, I do have a favorite—and it’s you.

You’re my favorite person. My favorite way to spend a late night at Lover’s Lake. My favorite pair of eyes to get lost in when we’re hiding under the covers, trying not to get caught after you’ve snuck in. My favorite arms to wrap around me. My favorite voice.

You’re all my favorites.

Okay, I’m grossing myself out now, so I’m going to stop writing. But I guess… I hope I fall in love with you. And maybe one day you’ll feel the same. I think I’d like that a lot.

Y/N

As he reads the final lines—You’re my favorite person… You’re all of my favorites—he feels something inside him crack open.

“Jesus, Y/N,” he murmurs, his voice barely audible in the empty room.

He sets the letter down on the counter, staring at it as if it might disappear. A lump rises in his throat, and he swipes at his eyes quickly, irritated at himself for being this emotional.

But he can’t help it. The words you wrote, the vulnerability you had poured into them—it’s everything he’s ever wanted to hear and everything he’s terrified of.

Grabbing the letter, he folds it carefully and tucks it back into his pocket, a newfound determination lighting his eyes.

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You stand in front of the mirror, smoothing out your dress for the winter ball. It feels strange dressing up for an event that’s not even about you—but the kids deserve this, and chaperoning is part of the deal. The fact that Steve might be there too only adds to the weight pressing on your chest.

As you reach for your jewelry box on the dresser, your hand grazes something unfamiliar. You glance down to find a folded piece of notebook paper, tucked just out of sight beneath your hairbrush.

Curious, you pick it up, noticing the boyish scrawl of handwriting on the front. You immediately recognize it. Steve’s.

Your heart stutters. You sit on the edge of your bed, fingers trembling slightly as you unfold the note. The edges are frayed, and the ink is faint in places, as if it’s been folded and tucked away for years.

You start to read:

Y/N,

I don’t know why I’m writing this, but if I don’t, I think I might lose my mind. I can’t say this to you out loud, and maybe I’ll never give this to you, but at least it’s out of my head.

You’re my favorite person. You’re the one I think about when I’m having a bad day, the one who makes me laugh so hard I forget about everything else. 

But it’s not just that. It’s so much more. So, I put in here a list I’ve made of all the reasons why you’re my favorite person.

The way you always sticks up for people, even when you’re intimidated. It’s the way you bite your lip when you’re thinking too hard. Or how you always get mad when I cheat at Monopoly, even though you know I’ll never stop doing it. It’s how everything feels easier when you’re around, like nothing can touch me. Don’t even get me started about the dream I had about you in that red bathing suit. You know the one…Yeah. I’m definitely never letting you read this.

Anyways, I think I like you, Y/N. Scratch that—I know I do. I like you in a way that feels way too big for me to handle. But I don’t know if I’ll ever tell you because what if it messes everything up? You’re my best friend, and I’d rather keep you in my life like this than risk losing you completely.

So, yeah. I like you. A lot. And if you ever find this somehow, just know that even if I never say it, it’s how I’ve always felt.

Steve

You lower the note slowly, your vision blurred by the tears pooling in your eyes. The boy Steve was back then—earnest, vulnerable, and so full of quiet, unspoken affection—is written all over these words. And now, looking back, you can see him in the man he is today.

He’s always felt this way.

Your chest tightens as the truth settles over you, undeniable and steady, like the weight of the letter in your hand. This wasn’t adrenaline, or chaos, or the heat of the moment making him say what he did at the Byers’ house. It’s always been there—this love he’s carried for you, just like the note. It was there the day you told him it was best to just stay friends. It was there on every night he’d sneak under your covers or you under his. And it was there in every knowing look from your friends, every teasing question about where you’d both disappeared to when no one else could find you.

Carefully, you fold it back up, your hands trembling as you slip it into your jewelry box like a secret you’re not ready to let go of but need to protect. You glance at the clock, realizing you’re running out of time, but the thought barely registers.

Taking a shaky breath, you brush away the stray tears threatening to streak your makeup. And for the first time in days, there’s no confusion, no doubt. Only the exhilarating, terrifying truth: Steve’s feelings weren’t born in a single moment—they’ve been there for years. Just like yours.

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[bird-in-the-space]

Echoes of the Unknown

You reunite with the Autobots and decide to become an official member of their team.

Warnings: none, except Ratchet being the angry worried grandpa.

Chapter 20 (Final)

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

After calling in the Autobots and asking for a ground bridge, you drove through the vortex and arrived at the welcoming sight of the bots and the kids. You stopped to let Emily out before transforming and removing the face plate. The kids ran down the steps to greet her. “Emily!” Miko and Raf hugged her, making her smile and hug them back. 

“Hey! Kids! I wasn’t gone for that long, was I?” Emily asked. 

“It’s really good to see you okay. We were dead worried about you,” Jack said. “The cons didn’t hurt you did they?” he asked. 

“Nah. I was hiding most of the time. I only got a couple of bruises from falling from high places but nothing serious,” Emily assured. 

Ratchet then stepped toward you and grabbed your shoulders. “What were you thinking?! Following the cons to their ship on your own! You are lucky to have come back at all!” he shook you, startling you. 

“Do you have any idea what they would have done to you if you got caught?!” he yelled at your face. 

You recovered from the sudden shaking and looked at him. “I’m sorry, Ratchet. I wasn’t really thinking when I followed the cons, but I don’t regret doing it. I couldn't just stand there and let the cons take her, especially when it was Airachnid who took her. It’s a good thing I did because she intended to do something horrible to Emily,” you explained calmly. 

“Yeah, she wanted to dissect me and put me in a tube,” Emily backed you. 

“So… considering that. It was a good thing that I followed them. She wouldn’t most likely be here if I didn’t,” you added. 

Optimus placed his hand on Ratchet’s shoulder. “Seeing them both return safely. I believe this is the best outcome we could have hoped for. (Name) had a reasonable cause to follow the Decepticons and now she had managed to return Emily and herself with no severe harm done to them,” he said. 

Ratchet relaxed under his words. “Very well. It’s good to see you both back,” Ratchet patted your shoulder. “But do not think you will be leaving the base anytime soon,” he said with a serious tone before releasing your shoulders from his death-like grip. 

You smiled. “Wasn’t planning on it,” you said as he returned to the main computer. 

“If I can ask, how did you escape the Nemesis?” Arcee asked. 

“It…. “ You tried to think how to explain it. “It was in the heat of a moment. When Em was captured again, I caused a diversion with the drills, shocked their medic unconscious with the shock rod thing, and then hid Emily in my chest, and then I used their ground bridge console to bridge us to a random location,” you explained. 

“Oh, don’t forget how you used the Holly to make them follow the hologram you into a different location before trapping them there and then using the ground bridge yourself,” Emily added. 

“Yeah… the Vehicons were a bit close so I used the first ground bridge to make them follow my hologram before closing the bridge and then using a different bridge to bridge myself out of there,” you explained. “I managed to blend in with the walls, so they didn’t notice the real me,” you added. 

“You got the Holly to work more accurately?” Raf asked. 

“Yeah. The ship was full of vehicons with a similar face. It was an opportunity I took,” you replied. 

“Show me,” he said. 

You activated the Holly. The device then created a perfect replicate of you standing next to you. You waved your hand and it followed your motion. 

“Woah!” the kids said in marvel before you turned off the Holly, making the hologram disappear. 

“That’s so cool. You were like twins,” Miko remarked. 

“Yeah. However, I do not think the cons will fall for that the second time if we ever meet again,” you crossed your arms. “They might also be aware of my existence now,” you added. 

“Taken the circumstances it might have been inevitable. However, you should be safe as long as you decide to stay in the base,” Optimus said. 

“I think I will be staying at the base for now. That was way too much excitement for my taste,” you stated. 

“Well, it was not a useless trip. While I was hiding in the vents, I decided to take the chance to do some recon and managed to capture a lot of pictures of Nemesis” Emily said as she took out the memory card from her camera. She then handed the card to Raf who then inserted it into the slot in his computer. His computer then connected to the main monitor, showing pictures of different parts of the Decepticon warship. “From those pictures, we could construct a map of the Nemesis, so we know where to go in case we have to make another visit for some other purpose,” she explained. 

Then came the picture with you and the datapad you asked her to take. 

“Oh, there was this picture (Name) asked to take. The content of that datapad seemed important so I took a few,” Emily explained. 

“Those are locations of energon mines,” Ratchet explained as he zoomed in. “A few of those are active while some of them are unconfirmed energon veins,” he added.

“Seems like you were on the right track (Name),” Emily smiled toward you. 

“Well, It seemed important because I read ‘mine’ and ‘energon.’” you explained. 

“This could actually work out in our favor taking our depleting energon supply,” Ratchet said with genuine surprise. 

Bulkhead laughed. “Seems like (Name) hit a jackpot for us!” he said, giving you a rough pat on the back. You smiled, slightly flustered. 

You then remembered what Steve said about dark energon and the prophecy that was supposedly occurring soon. 

“That’s not all. “ You started. “When I blend in among the vehicons. I came across something that mentioned dark energon, and when I asked about it, they told me about this prophecy that said something about Unicron and his awakening. Do you know something about that Optimus?” you asked. 

Optimus was quiet at first, thinking what you said. 

“Like who is Unicron? I recall hearing that name before,” you asked. 

“Unicron is the opposite deity compared to Primus. He is the harbinger of chaos and destruction while Primus is the giver of life. He was defeated by the thirteen original primes and cast out from Cybertron,” Optimus explained. 

“So, he’s like… your version of a satan?” you asked. 

“Correct. And the prophecy you mention tells about the planetary alignment though how it involves Unicron and his awakening I do not know,” Optimus said. 

“Should we be concerned about that?” you asked. 

“Perhaps in time, the prophecy will become clearer. For now, let us rejoice in your and Emily’s safe return,” he said. 

You nodded. 

Bumblebee beeped, saying something you didn’t understand. 

“Bee’s right. You have a lot of guts and brought back more to us than yourself and Emily,” Bulkhead said. 

“You know you have what it takes to be an Autobot,” Arcee added. 

“About that… “ you said and they looked at you. “I thought about it and… I would like to join you guys officially,” you said. 

“Really?” Bulkhead asked. 

“Yeah. I mean the Decepticons are an active threat and Earth is my home. I can’t stand idly by if they threaten the people I care about. So, I would like to contribute even just a little. I’m also not good at doing nothing when there’s something I can do,” You explained. “So… would it be alright for you guys if I became a member of your team?” you asked. 

“Absolutely!” Bulkhead slapped your shoulder enthusiastically. 

Bee whirled something but it sounded approving. 

“Fine by me. We could use an extra hand,” Arcee said with a rare smile. 

You then looked toward Optimus. “Is this truly what you wish?” he asked. 

“Yes, Optimus,” you nodded. 

“Then we would be honored to have you (Name),” he smiled. 

“Awesome!” Miko yelled. “But now, we need to do you a complete makeover. Time to give up the vehicon look,” she said. 

You glanced at Emily and you two shrugged with a smile. 

With a few tips from the bots, you left the base with Emily and Miko to scan yourself a new vehicle mode. It took a while but you found a car model you preferred and scanned yourself a new paint job in colors you liked. There were still some similarities you shared with the vehicons, but now you were designed in your own image. With the Autobot symbol on your chest, you glanced at Emily and Miko who gave you thumbs up for your new look. You then transformed, allowing them to step in, and drove back to base, officially starting your new life as an Autobot. 

[ghostlyreader09]

Crimson Thread Series: Part One

aged up damian wayne x yn

hi im just on a writing spree, let me know what you think of this one.

ps we have cool powers in this one!!!

Gotham at night was a living thing—dark, suffocating, and full of secrets. The city’s pulse thrummed in the silence between the stars, the only sounds the hiss of traffic and the hum of streetlights that never quite seemed bright enough. From the highest rooftops to the deepest alleyways, it was a place that demanded vigilance.

Tonight, however, something felt different. Not danger. Not a threat. But something else. A whisper in the wind.

And then, he saw her.

A figure, graceful as a shadow, moving through the streets with an elegance that was both unsettling and mesmerizing. She was fluid—unnaturally so—and though her cloak billowed around her like the wings of some dark bird, she made no sound. Her steps were silent, as if the very air conspired to keep her hidden. She was the kind of person who didn’t belong to Gotham, but who had nevertheless found herself tangled in its web.

Her name came to him, like an echo carried on the wind: Sanguis. The rumors were fleeting, half-spoken whispers that spoke of her power to heal. Of the strange abilities she wielded over blood and body. But no one knew her—no one had ever seen her face for more than a moment. She was a phantom in the night, an enigma wrapped in mystery.

And yet, he was drawn to her.

Damian leapt from the rooftop, his movements fluid and practiced, landing in the alley below with the grace of a predator. She didn’t notice him at first—how could she? She was too focused on the injured figure she was kneeling beside, her hands moving with precision over his wounds.

“Who are you?” he demanded, stepping into the dim light of the alleyway, his voice cutting through the quiet like a blade.

She did not flinch, did not even glance up. Instead, her hands hovered over the man, a soft glow emanating from them. “Someone who helps,” she replied, her tone distant, indifferent to the force of his presence.

Damian’s eyes narrowed. “You’re not from here,” he said, as if that alone was enough to condemn her.

She looked up then, her face half-lit by the faint glow of her power. Her eyes, dark and unreadable, met his. “No,” she replied softly, almost as if to herself. “I’m not.”

There was something in her gaze—something that unsettled him more than he cared to admit. There was no fear in her eyes, no hesitation. Only a calm certainty, like she was exactly where she belonged, no matter how strange or foreign it may seem.

“I don’t trust you,” Damian said, taking a step closer, his posture rigid, ready for a confrontation.

She stood, slowly, her movements precise, yet languid, like she had all the time in the world. “Trust isn’t necessary,” she murmured, her voice almost musical in its softness. “It’s just a word.”

He studied her carefully, something inside him pulling at the edges of his resolve. “I’ll make sure the people in this city know exactly what you’re capable of,” he said, his voice cold, harder now.

She raised a brow at him, a faint, almost imperceptible smirk curling at the edges of her lips. “They already do,” she said. “I don’t need their trust. Just their healing.”

Damian’s jaw clenched, frustration rising like a tide within him. He stepped forward again, his fists clenched at his sides. “You heal them,” he muttered, his voice taut. “But what do you get in return? What is the price?”

She looked at him then, her gaze softening for the briefest moment, though her words remained calm. “The price?” She repeated, her voice distant, almost wistful. “You wouldn’t understand.”

He was about to retort when the faintest flicker of movement caught his eye. The man she had been tending to stirred, his body slowly coming back to life, the blood that had pooled around him now starting to fade. The healing was swift—too swift.

Damian’s eyes locked onto hers, his expression darkening. “You’re not just healing them, are you?” he asked, his voice low, almost a growl.

But she didn’t answer. Instead, she turned away from him, her back straightening. The man was now breathing steadily, his wounds sealed. She didn’t wait for thanks. She simply began to walk away, her dark cloak flowing behind her like smoke.

“Stay out of my way,” Damian said, his voice taut with restraint. “This city doesn’t need people like you.”

She stopped, just for a moment, her silhouette framed by the dim light of the streetlamps. Her words, when they came, were soft, as if whispered just for him. “Then why are you still here?”

The encounters became frequent. Every time he tracked her down, every time he found her—healing in the shadows, mending broken bodies and wounded souls—Damian found himself facing the same cold, quiet resolve. She never told him anything more, never gave him the answers he sought. She remained an enigma, untouchable and distant, and for that, Damian hated her.

But it was a slow-burning hatred. The kind that ate away at you, that built itself into something more, until it twisted and turned inside him, until it became… something else.

What bothered him more than her abilities, her cold aloofness, was the way she made him question his own certainty. She wasn’t like the criminals he faced, the petty thieves or power-hungry thugs. She was something more complicated, something darker. Her powers were unnatural, yes, but her reasons—her purpose—remained hidden.

Damian’s suspicions gnawed at him, consuming him. She wasn’t human. She was something else—something beyond the simple moralities he had been raised on. He had to know.

And so, he watched her, followed her, keeping to the shadows. He tracked her movements through Gotham, always staying just far enough behind to remain unseen, always watching, always waiting for a crack in the armor she so expertly wore.

But one night, when the city was thick with mist and the stars barely made their presence known, something changed.

Damian found himself cornered. Outnumbered by a gang of mercenaries, he fought tooth and nail, pushing himself to the edge of exhaustion. The blows rained down on him, his body bruised and battered. But it wasn’t until the pain of a deep cut across his abdomen caused his vision to swim, until the edges of his consciousness began to slip, that he realized how alone he truly was.

Then, in the distance, he saw her.

Sanguis.

She appeared like a shadow, moving through the mist with the same silent grace he had come to know too well. But this time, there was no coldness in her gaze. There was something else in it now. Something almost… reluctant.

She knelt beside him before he could even protest, her hands glowing softly as she placed them over his wound. Damian flinched as the heat of her power met his skin, but it wasn’t the heat that shocked him—it was the raw, unyielding energy that surged through her fingertips. The pain in his side lessened, but it wasn’t without consequence. His blood sang in his ears as his body seemed to reject her touch, a strange and dizzying exchange of energy.

“You’re mad,” Damian rasped, barely able to speak, the words tasting bitter on his tongue.

Her gaze softened for a fleeting moment, but her voice remained firm. “I’m saving you.”

He gritted his teeth, his body trembling from the strain of the healing, but he didn’t pull away. He couldn’t. “You’re insane. You don’t know what you’re doing.”

Sanguis didn’t reply immediately. Her eyes were focused, unwavering, as she finished the healing process. The air around them hummed with something palpable—something heavy.

“I know exactly what I’m doing,” she said quietly, her voice distant, yet grounded. “And I’m doing it for you. For Gotham.”

The weeks that followed were a silent war, waged in the quiet spaces between their encounters. Damian began to understand the price she paid for her healing—a price that was invisible to everyone but her. She was breaking herself, piece by piece, and yet she continued.

And as much as he hated to admit it, Damian could no longer look at her with the same cold contempt. There was something unspoken between them now—a shared understanding that neither could voice, but that neither could ignore.

She never gave him the answers he sought, never revealed her true nature or why she did what she did. But in the silence between them, in the fleeting moments when their eyes met across a battlefield or beneath the streetlights of Gotham’s endless night, Damian began to realize that maybe, just maybe, she wasn’t the enemy.

Maybe, for once, they were fighting for the same thing.

——————

The Batcave was still, as it always was. A hollow echo reverberated through the cavernous expanse, filled only by the low hum of monitors and the rhythmic tapping of fingers on keyboards. The glow of digital screens lit the faces of Gotham’s protectors, but the silence between them was thick, palpable—a tension that hung like a storm on the horizon. They had gathered here, in this dark sanctuary, trying to piece together the fragments of a puzzle that eluded them.

Damian stood apart, watching from the shadows, his presence more felt than seen. His arms were crossed tightly, his jaw clenched, every muscle in his body coiled with the same restless energy that had kept him on edge for weeks. He could feel their eyes on him, even if they said nothing. Alfred was the only one who didn’t seem to care for his silence, but even the older man’s usually comforting presence couldn’t soothe the knot that had settled in Damian’s chest.

“What do we know about her?” Bruce’s voice was low, measured, as it always was. The leader. The patriarch. But there was something different in his tone now. Concern. A subtle shift, barely perceptible, but unmistakable to those who had grown accustomed to reading his every mood.

“She’s elusive,” Tim Drake spoke up, his fingers gliding effortlessly across the keyboard, his eyes flicking between lines of code. “But that’s nothing new. Whoever she is, she knows how to stay hidden. She’s got a network of data wipes around her, almost like she’s actively erasing traces of herself.”

“Not just a criminal,” Damian muttered, his voice edged with frustration. He could hear the soft clicks of the Batcomputer as Tim continued his work. “She’s a ghost. A shadow that slips through the cracks.”

“I’ve encountered her,” Bruce said, his eyes dark with a hint of the same frustration Damian felt. “She has a strange ability to heal, yes. But we’ve only seen what she does from a distance. Her powers—there’s something more to them. I need to know what.”

“Her name is Sanguis,” Damian interjected, his voice tight as he took a step into the circle of light. “And she’s more than just a healer. I’ve seen it in her eyes—the way she takes from people. The way she absorbs their wounds. I don’t think she’s just fixing them. She’s using them.”

The room fell silent. The weight of his words hung in the air like a fog, thickening the already suffocating atmosphere of the Batcave.

“Wait,” Jason Todd, the ever-impulsive second son of the Bat, spoke up from across the room, his arms folded, leaning against the wall in that way he always did. “You’re telling me she takes on their pain? She absorbs it? That sounds like a ticking time bomb waiting to go off.”

Damian’s eyes flickered to Jason, a brief flash of something darker crossing his features. “It’s not a bomb. It’s… more controlled. Calculated. But the fact remains that she’s hiding something.”

“Could be the price of her ability,” Tim suggested, his voice soft as his fingers danced over the keys, searching for answers that didn’t seem to exist. “Not a lot of data, but there’s been mention of people she’s healed—victims of accidents or injuries. The reports are conflicting. Some say they just walked away, fully healed. But others… there are no records. No follow-up. No sign of them ever being seen again.”

“Or they’ve been taken,” Damian murmured, his thoughts racing. He could feel the puzzle pieces clicking together in his mind, but none of them fit. The weight of the mystery was pressing down on him, heavy and suffocating.

“And she never stays around long enough to talk,” Bruce said with a deep sigh. “She disappears before anyone can ask questions.”

There was a brief pause, a pregnant silence that seemed to stretch on forever. In the quiet, Damian felt a flicker of something—a memory, perhaps. Something that had been gnawing at him for weeks. He saw her face in his mind—her dark, unreadable eyes. The fleeting moment when her touch had pulled the pain from his body, the agonizing sensation of his wounds closing and her own taking their place.

She had healed him. He had felt the exchange—couldn’t deny it now. But what had it cost her?

“What if she’s not… evil?” he asked, his voice quieter than before, as if testing the words in the air. The shift in tone was subtle, but unmistakable. He had never voiced such a thought aloud. It was dangerous to even entertain it.

Bruce’s gaze flickered to him, sharp and calculating, as though the words themselves were a betrayal of everything they stood for. But instead of reprimanding him, he merely tilted his head, considering. “You’re suggesting she’s… what? A vigilante?”

“I don’t know,” Damian admitted, his voice low. “But she’s doing something more than what we’ve seen. She’s healing—yes. But there’s something about her… something beneath it. She’s not like us. But that doesn’t make her a villain.”

Tim, still absorbed in his search, sighed heavily. “I wish it were that simple. She’s not giving us much to go on. Whatever she’s doing, she’s keeping her identity locked down tight. Almost like she’s afraid of being discovered.”

“Afraid of being found,” Damian corrected, his gaze distant, as if seeing something none of the others could. “Not just discovered. She’s hiding something more than just a name.”

Alfred, who had remained silent through the exchange, stepped forward, his gaze steady, his expression unreadable. “Master Damian is correct in his assumption. But I believe there’s more to Miss Sanguis than mere fear or secrecy.”

“Then what is it, Alfred?” Jason asked, raising an eyebrow. “What’s her game?”

Alfred’s gaze flickered to the darkened corners of the cave, as if he were searching for something that wasn’t there. “Perhaps it’s not a game at all. Perhaps she is… something else. Something different.” He paused, his voice softening. “We are all bound by the cost of our choices. Some of us carry our burdens in ways that are visible to the world. And some, like her, bear them in silence.”

Damian’s thoughts stirred, the weight of those words settling in his chest like a stone. Was she truly carrying something heavier than any of them could understand? Was she paying a price for her healing that none of them could even fathom?

The room fell quiet again, each of them caught in their own contemplation. There were no answers yet. No clear path forward.

Finally, Bruce broke the silence. “We need more information. Keep an eye on her. Track her movements, Tim. And Damian,” he turned his gaze to his son, the unspoken weight of expectation between them, “I want you to stay focused. We don’t know if she’s a friend or foe. But we’ll find out.”

Damian nodded, but something in his chest tightened. His father’s orders had always been clear-cut, but this was different. This wasn’t just a mission. Not anymore. Something inside him, something fragile, something unspoken, had begun to change.

The next night, as the moon hung low in the sky, casting long shadows over Gotham, Damian found himself watching from the rooftops once again. His gaze swept over the streets, the alleys, the quiet places where shadows lived.

And there she was—Sanguis.

She moved through the streets like a wraith, her cloak trailing behind her, her every step graceful and unhurried. She didn’t see him, not yet, but he was watching—watching her as she healed, as she touched the broken bodies of those who had been torn apart by Gotham’s cruelty.

Her power was a strange and wondrous thing, and he could feel it even from a distance—the way she moved, the way she shifted the very essence of life within the bodies she touched. She wasn’t just a healer. No, that was too simple.

She was a keeper of souls, a silent guardian who traded her own strength to save others.

Damian’s fingers clenched at his sides. This city didn’t need another shadow in the night. But maybe, just maybe, it needed someone who could walk between the light and the darkness. And for the first time, he wondered if he was the one who had misunderstood her.

okay so what do we think???? i like it! i can upload the next bit after i lock in for physics😢

[alchemistc]

Apparently the pumpkin pie I made two days ago is almost gone and the bf and I only had one slice each.

We live in this house for free and the bf's mom is out of state at least half the year. I have no right to make demands of her.

But she leaves her dishes soaking in the sink without bothering to even scrape off the leftover food in them, she uses entire bags of flour and a full dozen eggs she doesn't replace (to feed the people she works for, not even for the house) (and then gets defensive when I very politely ask her if there is any more of *insert item here*), every snack food is depleted by half before we can even get to it, when she offers to get groceries and we give her BARE MINIMUM shit (because again, we live in this house for free bc of her) she either forgets or gets something completely random neither one of us will use. I stock up her bathroom before every visit and still run out of toilet paper a week early. We do our best to avoid using big appliances during peak hours even though we don't pay that bill (it's just common decency to keep that energy bill low when someone else is kind enough to take care of it for us) but God forbid we ask her to wait an extra hour to load up her laundry. She got high a few nights ago during a cold snap, turned the thermostat up to 73, and then flipped the damn thing to Cool because she was cold but also not paying attention and thought the heat was OFF instead of just set low. (I literally just went through every setting and set them btw 63 and 66 bc again, we don't pay that bill). She over feeds the cat she left behind for us to take care of and every time we remind her that the cat pukes all over every time she gives her too many treats it feels like she spitefully gives the cat more treats. She hoards dishes until she's sure she won't have a witness for leaving them in the sink, occasionally soaking (see above). She fills up the trashcan out front and then gets miffed when we tell her we only pay for one can so no, she cannot leave more bags next to the can because 1) critters will get into it and 2) they won't pick it up.

I love her. She's sweet and kind and generous whenever she can be. She takes us out for dinner every time she's in town and she always brings trinkets back with her for us, makes sure we always get gifts for birthdays and Christmas even when we insist she doesn't need to. She spent an afternoon raking all the leaves on the lawn because our second cold snap FINALLY had the rest of the leaves drop and I'm doing my best to be completely normal about the fact that she used twenty-three trash bags to do it because she didn't want to crush the leaves once they were in the bag. She just spent three hundred bucks to replace plumbing that's desperately needed it that we've been putting off.

And I fucking knew that pie was gonna be gone before our mini-thanksgiving. Which is why I bought and HID a second pie crust and can of pumpkin, and only got Cool Whip for it this morning.

All this to say I'm never gonna say a fucking word about ninety-seven percent of these gripes because we live here for free.

But just once, it'd be nice if she asked if she could finish more than half a pie by herself in an evening, or even said something about it before she was back at work for two days and I had to discover it an hour before my turkey was finished.

[justmenoworries]

"You just hate that Catra got a redemption arc!"

Wrong.

I hate that Catra got a bad redemption arc. Where everyone is just suddenly cool with her because she gave a very unconvincing and very unspecific apololgy. Once.

S1-4 actually did a good job of setting it up. It's made clear multiple times that, yes, while Catra did have a shitty childhood and most of her issues can be chalked up to Shadow Weaver being a horrible mother, it still doesn't mean she's automatically in the right. Both the narrative and the characters contiuously call Catra out on her actions and on her insistence that everything bad she does is actually someone else's fault. Adora literally gets a whole-ass speech in the s3 finale where she tells Catra that, no, the bad things Catra has done and does aren't on Adora, or Hordak, or even Shadow Weaver - it's on Catra. It's always been on Catra. She doesn't get to pretend to be a victim. She made her choice. And she has to live with that. S4 has Double Trouble repeat those exact same points word for word.

S5 is where Stevenson completely fumbled it. Because starting with s5, Catra is suddenly absolved of the most important thing in a redemption arc: Taking accountability.

"But Celty," I hear you say, "Catra does take accountability! She apologizes to the people she's hurt! She says she's working on her anger issues!"

Yeah, one measly "uwu I'm sowwy" isn't enough to make up for, let's see: kidnapping, torture, attemtped murder, actual murder, attemtpted genocide, actual genocide and years upon years of physical and emotional abuse.

Two characters in the cast react to Catra suddenly showing up in Camp Good Guy like they should: Frosta and Netossa. And both are immediately convinced that Catra is actually nice now, because Adora said so and so all is forgiven. No need for Catra to actually work to earn these people's trust. No reason to elaborate on how complicated Catra's sheer presence must make everything, because how are the Princesses supposed to feel about suddenly having to work with the ex-leader of the Horde? The woman who took an active part in attacking and destroying their kingdoms?

Other SPOP crits have pointed this out, but it's very convenient that both Scorpia and Mermista, two people Catra has hurt in a far more personal manner, (the destruction of Salineas and the continued abuse toward Scorpia) are chipped and therefor absent from the Good Guy team once Catra and the Best Friend Squad return to Etheria. Once again, Catra is absolved of having to put any work into redeeming herself. Even when everyone unites in the finale, Catra doesn't get to apologize to Scorpia because Scorpia forgets all her character development from s4 and just hugs Catra like nothing bad ever happened between them. Mermista meanwhile is stuck making a joke about Hordak just being let off the hook for war crimes, which is doubly ironic because Catra is right fucking there being portrayed as an uwu poor kitty-cat. We don't get to see how Mermista feels about the woman who destroyed her homeland suddenly being acquitted because she's She-Ra's girlfriend now. Let's not even start with the non-reaction Entrapta has to seeing Catra again. Catra, who Entrapta genuinely believed was her friend, and who not only had her shipped off to Beast Island and, in her mind, certain death, but also let Hordak, who Entrapta had a bond with, believe that Entrapta betrayed and abandoned him. Gentle reminder that Entrapta was so heartbroken about the fact that she really was abandoned on Beast Island by everyone that she started to succumb to the signal in an instant and would have actually died if Bow hadn't snapped her out of it with her hyperfixation. Gentle reminder that Entrapta is capable of holding a grudge, as in s3 she calls Adora out for seemingly having left her behind in the Fright Zone. But because it's Catra, suddenly Entrapta magically doesn't mind having to tend to the woman who shocked her unconscious and had her shipped off to a violent death.

Oh and let's not forget the elephant in the room: Not once, in the entirety of s5 does Catra ever take responsibility for killing Angella. Glimmer suddenly forgets all about Catra being the one who indirectly murdered Angella. She doesn't bring it up once and instead is slowly browbeaten into making nice with Catra through solitary confinement. The Glimmer/Catra friendship in s5 is so forced and so out of nowhere. Bow also forgets that Catra kidnapped him and his best friend/love interest to the Fright Zone and that because of her, Glimmer was suffering from her powers going haywire for quite a while, which, may I remind you, left her with spasms painful enough to have her writhing on the floor unable to move. What is Bow's reaction to Catra when she joins the team? To gush about how cute her sneeze is. I hate it here.

As for the whole "she's working on herself" - no she isn't.

S5 Catra is the exact same person as s1-3 Catra. Only now she gets away with her bs because the writers decided she's a good guy now.

S5 Catra is still a violent, self-serving, abusive asshole. She still blames others for her fuck-ups, still resorts to verbal and physical abuse to deal with her emotions, still would rather have the entire world destroyed than have Adora's world not revolve solely around her. Honestly, Catra saying that she always loved Adora is laughable, because like an episode earlier she left Adora in the woods, crying her eyes out and begging for Catra to stay, during possibly the hardest time of Adora's life. "But she came back!1!!" She came back after, once again, making Adora feel like absolute shit for trying to save people. Not to mention one of the reasons Adora was so deadset on stopping Horde Prime, even at the cost of her own life, was that Catra literally begged her to. Catra told Adora that if Horde Prime wasn't stopped, they'd all be looking toward a fate worse than death. Then suddenly towards the finale, Catra changes her tune and whines that Adora has decided to take the Heart, making it out like Adora just loves playing hero, when the show literally spells it out that Adora is the only one who can do this. Everyone else would literally die if they took the Heart. Adora/She-Ra is the last hope Etheria, no, the universe has at this point. Again, that's not just in Adora's head, that's something the plot itself confirms over and over again. But we're still supposed to side with Catra when she pushes Adora into the dirt and victim-blames her.

[willyhoos]

final totk verdict.

[dodecademons]

Funny how like 90 percent of people wanting the wilds back hate to acknowledge the fact that it's partly their fault. I want the wilds to be renewed as well, however if I DARE say yall aren't ready for it and a small part of me thinks some viewers are undeserving I'm the bad guy. Right because the vast majority of you didn't openly admit to skipping over the boys parts in the show, smh. If you arent watching the whole episode why would they want to renew it? They want views, they want money. Do I want the wilds back? Of course. Do I think the gretchen clones deserve it? No. Be better.

[the-judicial-assistants-notebook]

why didn't they just use franziska for literally all of this.