#definitely gonna talk about that conversation with my therapist

[splendiferous-bitch]

looooooooove having shitty phone calls with the father 🙃✌🏼

[pretentious-blonde]

discovery

pairing: steve harrington x reader

summary: both you and steve discover some information that really should have remained buried

warnings: therapy, canon stranger things lore, so violence and death, lowkey blackmail???

a/n: i got a distinction on my essay so gets go!! here we are into the story's real drama, where i wanted this to go from the start so sorry if it's a little shorter, but it's only the beginning.

series masterlist

Steve quickly slammed his car door behind him, his nikes hitting the tarmac floor. He was five minutes late and knew his therapist wouldn’t really chastise him—still, the knot in his stomach refused to unravel as he rushed toward the entrance.

He blamed you, in the best possible way, for those extra minutes he’d spent tangled in bed. Your pout had always been impossible to resist.

He’d claimed that he had to see Robin for breakfast the following morning, and he was grateful you never questioned the odd shiftiness in his tone. You had to work the next day, making it the perfect excuse. But the second you looked so disappointed that you couldn’t come along, wanting to pick up the conversations from the other night at the bar, he caved and stayed the night. 

Those big, pleading eyes of yours were gonna be the death of him.

That turned into sharing coffee over the covers, lingering kisses that inched from sweet to teasing, and hush-hush morning bliss under rumpled sheets. Next thing he knew, he was barreling across the car park, hair still mussed from where your fingers had combed through it not even an hour prior.

And now here he was—running past the receptionist without so much as a nod, abandoning their usual routine of morning pleasantries.

He pushed open the familiar door with more force than intended, breath hitching from the sudden stop. Dr Avery was already on his feet, adjusting the sleeves of that soft wool cardigan, the kind that looked completely at odds with the decor. Beneath the bright overhead lighting, the doctor’s polite smile glowed.

“Steve,” he greeted, pleasantly unruffled. “Good to see you.”

He bent forward, hands on his knees like he’d just run a sprint.

“Hey—Hi. Sorry I’m—uh—late. I got… tied up.”

He cringed internally the moment he said it, cheeks colouring at the memory of exactly how he’d been tied up—not literally, but definitely preoccupied. He cleared his throat, straightening up in a way that hopefully didn’t look too sheepish.

“No worries,” the doctor assured him, ushering him inside. “Come on in.”

The door clicked shut behind them, the sound sounding in the empty hallway. The room itself was the same as always: soft yellow lamp in the corner, plush chair facing Dr Avery’s own seat. A bookshelf lined one wall, books stacked neatly with spines that looked barely touched, and not a single family photo anywhere. 

He always found that strange—like it was a stage set rather than a personal space.

He collapsed into the chair, sinking deeper than expected, exhaling a bit too loudly. In the reprieve, he could hear the dull hum of the building’s ventilation.

“Feels like it’s been longer than a month,” he remarked to break the silence, raking a hand through his messy hair. He had made a mental note to smooth it down in the car ride over—though it was probably too late for that.

“That tends to happen when things are changing,” Dr Avery responded smoothly. 

They both knew the significance of the last few sessions. Steve had been talking about you—gushing, would be the more accurate term—and the doctor seemed more than happy to help him navigate this new chapter.

“Yeah, they are—changing, I mean,” his voice trailed off. He felt a small smile growing on his face at the idea of talking about you—like he hasn't done enough of that already. 

“Tell me,” the psychiatrist pressed gently.

He let out a short laugh, rubbing his palms on his thighs. He felt fidgety, like a teenager about to confess a crush. Maybe because that’s exactly what this was—he was still completely infatuated with you. The emotions he felt at the start were almost identical. 

In fact, he would bet now they were even stronger. 

“It’s official now,” he started. “Like, we’re together. We had that talk.”

He tried not to let his mind stray to how that conversation had truly started—hot breath on his neck, you on your knees, the laugh you’d made when he blushed deeper than you’d ever seen. Absolutely not something he needed to share right now. 

Some details were private, no matter how relevant the story may be. 

“That’s great to hear.” Dr Avery’s eyebrows rose fractionally, a small, pleased smile touching his face. “You’ve been hoping for that, haven’t you?”

“Yeah,” Steve admitted, his grin turning almost bashful. “I mean—I didn’t expect it to actually work out, but… here we are.”

Here he was. 

His heart thumped harder, excitement and nerves all tangled into one bigger emotion. He laughed awkwardly, brushing at his hair again—a gesture Dr Avery probably recognised as his default anxious habit.

“She’s just… she’s so good,” he went on, losing himself in the new memories. “Like—I just like being around her, which is what it’s supposed to be, right? I dunno. Probably start making her sick of me soon.”

He was practically glued to your hip these days.

“I’m sure that’s not true,” Dr Avery said, always encouraging.

“Yeah.” He ducked his head, trying and failing to hide the ghost of a smile. “Hope you’re right on that one.”

The two men paused, letting that optimism breathe. Then Dr Avery clicked his pen, the soft snick loud in the stillness.

“So… how’s the actual relationship going so far?” 

Steve felt his chest tighten as he recalled your shop—cinnamon and old books—and the sparks that flew every time you looked at him. How you still were looking at him. 

“Also good,” he said, automatically grinning. “It’s still early days, but… I introduced her to Rob, which was kind of a big deal.”

He also decided to leave out the rest of the details from that night—once again, that part was just for him. Besides, he didn’t even want to imagine the doctor’s reaction to the way he’d acted. Probably would’ve been thrilled. 

That was some real fucking progress.

“I’m also trying to get better at—y’know—explaining how I’m feeling. I still suck at that sometimes.”

“What makes you say that?” Dr Avery tilted his head, pen hovering over the notebook but not yet touching paper. 

“I mean—it’s not like I’m not trying, which I think she gets.” He takes a moment to figure out the correct way to phrase it. “She’s been really… patient. Wants me to open up more—and, like—I’m getting there? Well, at least I think I’m getting there.”

He felt a flicker of pride in himself. He really was making progress—less flighty, more honest about his struggles, more willing to trust someone with the darker parts. Hell, he was actually sleeping through the night now.

Still had nightmares—sure—but he hadn't felt one coming on in a while. Not one that had him half-cognisant, clutching at whatever was closest to him, not one that made him terrified to open his eyes.

That was when the pen finally met paper. The faint scratch of it felt louder than it should.

“That’s promising, Steve. Really promising.” The elderly man nodded, not looking up from his notes. “So tell me, what else have you two talked about?”

Steve blinked, rummaging mentally through the many conversations you’d shared—movie nights, your favorite authors, those silly debates over what to have for dinner.

“Uh… just stuff. Life stuff. Movies. Books—obviously. I try to keep up, but she’s pretty damn smart—feels like I learn something new every time she opens her mouth.”

The positives of dating a bookworm.

“Anything deeper?” Dr Avery pressed, that same mild tone in place.

Steve felt a sudden unease at the question. 

“I mean—not really.” Self-consciousness twisted in his stomach. “Not like… real real talk. She knows I don’t like to get into it. She’s cool about that.”

For the most part. 

He could practically see Dr Avery’s ears perk. The man never pounced, he just… waited. The pen still hovered. The blank page, waiting to be filled. His throat felt dry.

“Uh…” he continued, shifting in his seat, the silence drawing the words out of him. “I told her a little bit. About my old job, at the mall…”

“Starcourt,” the man clarified, writing something down.

“Yeah. Just that it, you know… burned down.”

“And what else did you share?”

A prickle of defensiveness rose along his spine. The memory of it all—Starcourt, Russians, the Mind Flayer—flashed through his head, but of course he’d never told you the real story.

“That’s it,” he said firmly, crossing his arms slowly. “Just that it happened. She doesn’t know the weird parts.”

He also neglected to mention you’d teased him about the sailor uniform he used to wear, but that was hardly the point. He definitely hadn’t told you about vent-crawling with Dustin and Erica, about the secret lab beneath the food court. 

Those secrets he’d rather bury if he had to.

“Alright.” The pen kept scratching. 

His gaze lingered on the ballpoint gliding across the paper. He felt a creep of discomfort—the same sensation as finding out you were being watched through a camera lens.

“What are you writing?” he asked, voice tighter than he’d intended.

“Just keeping track of progress,” Dr Avery answered lightly, not looking up. “It’s a good sign that you’re opening up.”

“…Yeah, but it feels like I’m being graded or something.”

The man paused, lifted his eyes. He kept that soft, almost paternal smile. 

“I assure you, Steve, there’s no grade. Just documentation.”

Documentation. 

The air felt heavier at the word, a thump of anxiety in Steve’s stomach. He shifted again, foot tapping on the waxy floor.

“You don’t usually write stuff down,” he insisted, voice nearly catching. 

Not like this. 

“This is a new development,” he explained, placid calm in every syllable. “A relationship is a significant emotional step.”

There was no warmth in his voice, no congratulatory tone—just an observation that felt clinical. His palms started to sweat and he curled his hands into fists, pressing them into his knees.

This was strange. 

“She doesn’t know anything,” he said, jaw clenching. “I wouldn’t… I wouldn’t do that. I wouldn’t put her in danger.”

Dr Avery blinked, pen tapping quietly against the pad. 

“Danger?” He repeated, mild as a summer breeze. “Who said anything about danger?”

Steve’s mouth went dry.

“You’re right, of course,” Dr Avery continued, setting the pad aside. “But you see why it’s something we have to monitor. These things, they could have consequences.”

“What do you mean?” he managed, voice rasping.

Dr Avery finally met his eyes, no trace of the earlier, kinder smile. 

“Relationships end. Sometimes amicably. Sometimes not.”

A sharp sensation punched through Steve’s chest. He thought of you, how you were the last person on earth to betray him. His therapist wasn’t entirely wrong about people—he had lost friends and lovers in messy, painful ways before. Though that was years ago, and surely something this big wouldn’t be twisted into a form of vengeance. 

That would be downright cruel.

“You think she’d talk?” he asked, though he already knew the answer in his heart. 

You wouldn’t. You weren’t like that. 

But fear is a nasty thing, and it bloomed in him anyway.

“I think people say things they don’t mean when they’re hurt,” Dr Avery said, leaning back. “And if someone were to repeat details about certain… incidents, we’d have to intervene.”

That word—intervene—landed in his chest like a weight. Vague, but heavy as lead. He clenched his hands tighter, nails biting into his palms.

“I didn’t tell her anything,” he repeated, half to reassure himself. “Not really. Just that there was a fire.”

“Good,” Dr Avery replied calmly. “Let’s keep it that way.”

Silence stretched, thick and charged. Steve could feel his pulse throbbing in his ears. The golden light in the corner lamp seemed too harsh all of a sudden.

“You’ve come a long way,” the doctor added, posture relaxing—almost like he was switching back to his normal, friendly mode of business. “You’re building something here. Stability. A job you care about. A life.”

Steve’s throat constricted. He thought about the second graders who always drew him stick-figure pictures with hearts around them. He thought about the paycheck he needed to keep up his home. He thought about how nice it felt to have you in that space now, in his bed, in his arms.

“I’d hate to see you lose that progress,” Dr Avery said lightly. Almost as if he were discussing the weather.

It took him a moment to register the subtext.

Lose that progress. 

Lose that job. 

Is this a threat?

A chill went up his spine, memories of government men in uniforms from years ago stirring in the back of his mind.

“Yeah.” He swallowed, forcing a tight nod. “No—of course.”

He didn’t stand up. He stayed planted in his seat, but it felt like the floor was tilting beneath him. He dropped his attention to his jeans and started picking at a loose thread, anything to occupy his trembling fingers. 

He knew the session wasn’t over. He couldn’t exactly bolt. He was too polite, and he had to keep going. 

This was supposed to help him. He’d made so much progress. He needed the psychiatrist to sign off on it.

“So,” the older man said with an air of near nonchalance, “is there anything you want to work on with this session?”

He blinked, staring at the pen still perched in the desk. He felt like a turtle retreating into its shell. Something in him just… closed off. Suddenly reluctant to let anybody into his head. 

Outwardly, he only gave a stiff shrug, forcing his knee to stop bouncing. The tension hung in the air, so heavy it nearly choked him, but he managed to keep his face carefully composed. Even if his insides were twisting in knots, he’d learned over time how to mask it—how to fight through the fear.

He cleared his throat, voice coming out quieter than before.

“I—uh… yeah, I guess we could… talk about my… coping strategies.”

As he said it, the spark in his eyes had dimmed, the floodgates of honesty closed a fraction. Right now, the only thing he could focus on was that single, ominous word echoing in his mind.

Intervene.

You push open the heavy wooden doors of the Hawkins Public Library, letting a small gust of morning wind in behind you.

Your scarf feels a little too warm in the heated interior, so you tug it loose as you take a few steps forward. You clutch the strap of your tote, you’d told yourself you’d come just for research, but it’s not exactly your standard brand of casual reading. 

No, you’re here for answers.

Tunnels, national labs, and the unsettling stack of government letters you found tucked away in Steve’s hallway table. Maybe you’re prying, but you can’t let it go. He’s been so cagey, and you care about him too much to ignore the little hints.

Archives first. Some old newspapers, maybe some town records from the 80s, see if there’s anything about that fire at Starcourt Mall. That would be the starting point. 

You mentally rehearse your polite request, even It still sounds weird in your head. You imagine the librarian’s puzzled expression and you debate claiming you’re writing a paper for a local history class. It would make your story more believable than the reality, the one in which you are purposefully going behind your boyfriend's back, digging up his traumatic past in order to settle your own mind…

The more you think about it, the worse it sounds. 

Your steps slow as you notice a flicker of movement in your peripheral vision. Someone stands between two towering shelves in the fiction section. At first, you can’t make out their face—just a short, choppy bob, flannel tied around the waist, black combat boots squeaking softly on the shiny floor. 

You squint. Then it clicks.

Robin?

You halt, your eyebrows arching in surprise. Robin, who was supposed to be at breakfast in the diner across town. Yet here she is, half-hidden behind the 800 Dewey Decimal section, looking anywhere but at you. She’s clutching a book to her chest like she’s trying not to be seen.

Suspicion runs through you, but you brush it aside. This might be nothing. Maybe they had breakfast before, and now she’s just here on her own. Either way, you’re intrigued enough to veer away from the front desk and head in her direction.

The silence of the library only amplifies your footsteps, and you try to be gentle. You don’t want to startle her—but it's too late. She’s already glancing up and sees you approaching. There’s a flash of panic in her eyes as if she’s been caught in the act of something scandalous.

“Hi, stranger,” you say softly, letting a little amused lilt into your voice.

“Oh—hey!” She fails to act surprised, leaning on the shelf feigning nonchalance. “Sorry. You scared me.”

You doubt it. 

“Didn’t mean to sneak up on you,” you say, a friendly smile tugging at your lips. You feel a pang of sympathy for spooking her—she seems wound tight, as though she’s mid-espionage.

She exhales and recovers, offering a slightly awkward hug. You catch the faint scent of peppermint gum and laundry soap clinging to her form. It's oddly comforting.

“What are you doing here?” She asks, pulling away and brushing the hem of her shirt as though trying to smooth her nerves too.

“I was about to ask you the same thing.” Your tone remains playful. 

You don’t want her to suspect you know about the alleged breakfast meeting with Steve—not yet. Nor your true reasoning for your outing when you're supposed to be at work yourself. 

“Oh, just… browsing,” she says quickly, glancing at the row of books as though they might offer backup for her story. “For books. Y’know—in the library.”

Hmm.

“You do know I sell books for a living, right?”

She flushes, a wash of pink creeping up her neck. 

“Yeah—yeah, I do—sorry.” She clears her throat. “Traitorous impulse.”

“Unforgivable,” you tease, rolling your eyes in mock indignation. 

She laughs, the tension in her posture easing a fraction. But then, almost on reflex, she shifts the book in her hand to her side, like she’s trying to hide the title from view. You notice immediately—part of your job is noticing what titles people pick up or avoid.

“What you got there?” you ask, nodding at the paperback pressed against her thigh.

“What—this? Nothing, really.” Her voice is quick, a little defensive. “Just looking.”

You tilt your head, taking a small step to see the cover. It’s a stylised image with a bold title you recognise. 

“Is that Written on the Body?”

He eyes flick from you to the book. She hesitates, clearly torn between doubling down on her lie or coming clean. 

“...It is.”

Interesting. 

“Jeanette Winterson, right?” You smile, careful to keep your tone nonjudgmental. “That one’s… intense.”

She studies your face, as if checking for any sign of disapproval. 

“You’ve… read it?” She ventures.

“A couple years ago,” you say with a slight shrug. “Borrowed it from a girl I was trying to impress.”

You hope she is catching on to the insinuation. Her guarded posture softens marginally. Eyes sparking with interest, maybe a little relief. 

“Did it work?”

“Nope,” you reply, a wry grin curving your lips. “But I kept the book.”

Her laughter comes easier this time, a huff of amusement that leaves her shoulders looking looser. 

“Steve didn’t tell you?” she asks, the question surprisingly gentle.

“Tell me what?” You tilt your head, though you have a vague idea. 

Robin shifts her weight from foot to foot, hugging the paperback closer to her chest. Her voice drops a notch, tinged with vulnerability. 

“That me and Vic… we… y’know.” She swallows, waiting for your reaction.

You’d had your suspicions—maybe even put two and two together when you noticed how often Robin’s name was tied to this mysterious Vicky in Steve’s stories. So you’re not exactly shocked. More like pleased you were right, and also that she trusts you enough to say it out loud.

“No.” You give her a warm smile. “Guess he figured you’d tell me yourself.”

Her relief is palpable, like someone unclenching a fist around her throat. 

“I do trust him. It’s just—” She glances away, exhaling. “He has this thing where he blurts stuff out and then immediately regrets it.” There’s a real fondness in her tone, but also exasperation. “He’s great for the most part—don’t get me wrong—but I’ve learned half of the town’s gossip from what he lets slip after parent-teacher night.”

A laugh bubbles up in your throat. You picture Steve in a little second-grade classroom, animatedly chatting with parents. You can just hear him reciting what their kid had been up to in his company. All big gestures and wide smiles, maybe an occasional detail about other students because he’s that excited to share. 

There’s something endearing in that mental image—Steve with a heart so big it can’t contain all the stories.

You feel guilty for being here in the first place.

“I can so see that,” you say, shrugging off your apprehension. “Does he also keep you up to date on the politics of second grade?”

“Ugh, yes.” She groans good-naturedly. “Who knew eight-year-olds could be such a soap opera? It’s like a never-ending stream of who’s got a crush on who, who fell off the monkey bars and demanded a duel… It’s concerning.”

You chuckle at the idea. It’s a perfect fit for him, actually. Caring for a bunch of hyper little ones, returning home with comedic tales of playground drama. You can practically feel your chest tightening at how well he’s found his calling. 

Peace after a life of trauma. 

Peace that you’re threatening to disrupt.

“Thanks for telling me, though,” you say, gently drawing the conversation back to the reason she’s been acting so secretive in the first place. “Next time, if you want any more queer fiction, you know where to go. Friends and family discount applies.”

Robin brightens, her grip on the book relaxing a little. 

“I might take you up on that,” she says. “I’ve been trying to be… less cagey. It’s easier with people who don’t make it weird.”

You can only imagine what that’s like.

“I’m not going to make it weird,” you promise.

“No, I know.” She nods, glancing at the cover like it’s become a security blanket. “I just—sometimes I still brace for it. Old habits.”

A sympathetic understanding settles over you. You reach out and give her forearm a gentle squeeze. 

“Makes sense.”

She shrugs, but there’s no dismissiveness in it—just acceptance that this is part of her journey.

“For what it’s worth, I think you have great taste in books…” You glance up at her, gauging her reaction. “...And friends.”

Your eyes lock. She knows you’re referencing both Steve and maybe yourself. 

“Yeah,” she murmurs. “You too.”

You let her words settle, you feel safe with the validation she’s offering. She’s someone you always sensed was a fiercely loyal friend. She’s been a rock for Steve—maybe she’ll be one for you, too. If the need arises. 

You could see yourself growing to care for her the way your boyfriend does, and with that comes a deeper respect for him too. For her to entrust him with something so personal, she must think extremely highly of him.

A thought nudges at you. The reason you first approached, the clearly false breakfast date. You decide to test the waters, keep it casual in your questioning.

“So… any other plans for the rest of the day?” Your tone is light, only the faintest undercurrent of curiosity so as to not give away your true motive for asking.

She pauses, then lifts the book slightly, as if that explains everything. 

“Nope. Just me and my… well, my lesbian trauma reading.” She flushes faintly, but there’s a playful glint in her eye as she says it.

You both burst into laughter, the sound of which draws a disapproving glance from someone behind the next aisle. You muffle your giggles, pressing your lips together, and she does the same. 

The moment is human—two people letting their guard down. Though this interaction has only left you with more questions. As you calm, you file that little discrepancy away. Robin isn’t meeting Steve. She’s definitely not at any diner right now.

So why would Steve say so?

And if he’s not with Robin…

Where is he actually? 

You watch her leave and force a casual smile as you step up to the librarian’s desk, heart pounding. The woman was in her fifties with neat grey hair and glasses on a chain, she glanced up. Her eyes flick over you, polite but probing.

“Hi,” you say, keeping your voice light. “I was wondering if you have any public records or newspaper archives from the eighties? I’m doing a little personal research on the Starcourt Mall fire. Just local history stuff.”

That sounded believable enough. 

She tilts her head, a hint of wariness in the lines around her mouth. 

“That’s not a very cheerful topic.”

“No, but kind of fascinating, right?” A half-laugh slips out, and you shrug. “My boyfriend mentioned it, and I realised I don’t actually know anything about it. Figured it was a pretty big deal.”

At the mention of the fire, the librarian’s gaze switches—like maybe she remembers that day, or at least remembers the number rumours that once engulfed the town. Her expression softens a fraction. 

“You’re looking for newspapers, or…?”

“Newspapers mostly,” you say, pushing your shoulders back in a show of confidence. “But if there’s anything about building permits or public works around the mall site, that’d be amazing. I’m… kind of a nerd for this stuff.”

She studies you, then gives a short nod. Opening a drawer beneath the counter, she removes a heavy iron key and places it in your outstretched hand. Cool metal presses into your palm, and you realise your fingers are a bit sweaty from the tension rising under your skin.

“Archives are down in the basement,” she says. “Back left corner. Bring the key up when you’re done.”

That was easy. 

Relief edges into your chest. 

“Thank you. Really.”

She just nods, returning her attention to something on her computer screen, as though she’s already dismissed you. You turn away and slip the key into your jacket pocket, hyperaware of its weight. A guilty thrill shoots in your stomach—like you’re about to dig up something you absolutely shouldn’t.

The stairs leading down are narrow and creaky, each step sounding with a groan. The air grows noticeably cooler the farther you descend, the scent of cardboard and dust wraps around you. It reminds you of the back corner of your own bookshop—where neglected boxes sometimes wait for sorting, usually with the help of your boyfriend nowadays…

A row of lights hang overhead with a low electric whine. In the gloomy space, time feels distorted, like the clock upstairs doesn’t quite apply here. The silence is thicker than the quiet you’re used to in libraries, completely devoid of another person's presence. You catch your reflection in a dulled metal panel—your eyes look sharp, and there’s a trace of apprehension there too.

You already feel like you don’t belong here. 

You pass rows of metal filing cabinets, their labels faded at the edges. Oversized newspaper folders line one wall, stacked so tall you’d need a stepladder to reach the top. There’s an ancient-looking microfilm reader in the corner, the plastic shell yellowed with age. 

You set your bag down on a rickety wooden table and carefully pull out one of the large bound volumes:

Hawkins Post — 1985.

Seems like a decent enough place to start. 

The cover is cloth, frayed slightly. It’s heavy, so you ease it open, scanning the dates on the top of each page until you land on July of that year.

A headline you have been searching for leaps out on the front page:

“Gas Leak Causes Deadly Explosion at Starcourt Mall — Four Confirmed Dead.”

Your eyes skim the blocky print. The paper is slightly brittle; you take care not to tear it as you turn the pages.

“A faulty gas line and electrical overload are believed to have triggered the explosion…”

“Authorities are urging citizens to remain calm. There is no long-term danger to public safety…”

“We are working closely with federal partners to determine the exact cause…”

You notice the name Police Chief Calvin Powell quoted beneath a photograph of the rubble. The corners of your mouth tighten. 

Federal partners? 

Since when would a run-of-the-mill mall fire require federal aid? Even as an outsider, that strikes you as odd, it’s too formal.

Orchestrated.

The article feels sanitised—curated words like “gas leak,” “electrical overload,” “containment.” No real emotion from the reporter, no heartfelt quotes from eyewitnesses—just a neat, glossy narrative. It sounds almost robotic. 

You lift the edges of the page and shift them gently, scanning for more details or follow-ups. Another small piece catches your eye. In the same volume, just a few pages later, tucked away in a smaller column of the community news section, you see a brief update. It’s dated five days after the initial report.

“Further Details on Mall Fire Unavailable”

Your pulse quickens as you read.

“At the request of federal authorities, the Hawkins Fire Department has declined to comment further on the incident at Starcourt Mall.”

“Residents are advised not to speculate or spread misinformation while the investigation is ongoing.”

The room around you seems to close in, pressing against your ears. The basement feels darker, though the lights haven’t changed.

Well, that just makes no sense. 

The complete lack of information about a fire that massive is absurd. Wouldn’t their first priority be putting the town at ease? There’s a clear warning not to spread details—a red flag if there ever was one. What could possibly be so out of the ordinary here?

No official story, no explanations. Just silence. 

The whole thing reeks of something being buried.

Fuck, Steve. What are you hiding?

Setting the newspaper volume aside, you hunt for anything labeled “Starcourt” among the older building permits and public records, there had to be something more at play here. Eventually, you come across a thick, dust-streaked folder.

“Starcourt Development / Expansion Plans.” 

You tug it free from the shelf, coughing as a small cloud of dust billows around you.

You find folded-up blueprints. The paper is stiff and smudged with dark grease marks at the corners. A quick scan of the top page shows the mall’s recognisable layout—wide corridors for shops, a large food court, loading docks. 

As you peel back the layers, you spot something more:

“STARCOURT COMPLEX — Site Development Plans, 1984”

Arrows and lines scrawl below the main building. Your mouth goes dry. There’s a sub-level beneath the mall. Narrow corridors designated as “ACCESS ROUTES” and “UTILITY” passages. 

Then, In red ink:

"RESTRICTED: NO DIG ZONE — PERMIT WITHHELD (INTL.)"

The corridor extends off the edge of the blueprint, vanishing into a blank expanse of white. Not just under the food court, either—farther, reaching what looks like the edge of the property line, maybe even toward the woods. There’s no note explaining the restriction, just that cryptic note. 

Permit Withheld (INTL.)

International?

Your stomach twists. The rest of the plans look standard—retail square footage, ventilation routes, plumbing grids—but this corridor is… different. 

No dimensions. No annotations. 

Just a thick red stroke and that vague, bureaucratic warning.

The idea that a foreign entity might’ve had pull in the construction of a Midwest shopping mall is equally absurd. It makes the hair on the back of your neck stand up. 

Whatever this place was built over, someone didn’t want it disturbed. 

Not the city. Not the state. 

Someone else.

The realisation sends your stomach twisting.

Should you even be looking at this?

Your eyes return to that bold, red-ink “NO DIG ZONE.” You can’t help imagining men in suits telling construction crews to skip certain areas, never explaining why.

These pieces of information didn’t explain anything—not even close. If anything, they only raised more questions.

Steve had made it all sound so cryptic, but the papertrail matched his version of the story perfectly. He said he’d stuck his head where it didn’t belong, found something he was never meant to see. 

But how old had he been when it happened? He couldn’t have been more than twenty…

That was young. 

Too young. 

Barely out of high school, probably still figuring out how to do his own laundry—and already carrying something like this.

What had they done to him?

The uneasy feeling inside you still felt unsatisfied, it was clear there is more to this story. If it was this censored, it meant that something big had occurred. Something you were even more desperate to understand. 

You find yourself flipping through folder spines again, now looking for any mention of the next year—1986—scanning for local headlines. Maybe there would be some new information a little further down the line, perhaps a rogue reporter uncovering something new. 

Your fingers land on a battered red folder. Hawkins Post  — 1986. 

What else happened?

You open it up. The first few pages are mundane—ads for local car dealerships, a brief mention of a new pharmacy. You’re about to give up when you catch a bold black headline stamped across a newspaper clipping.

Earthquake Rocks Hawkins: Dozens Missing, Entire Town Evacuated. 

Earthquake? 

Nobody ever mentioned a natural disaster before, something the town was clearly not interested in bringing up if the title is anything to go by. You run your fingertips across the grainy newsprint, reading each line slowly.

“Officials confirmed a natural fault line ruptured beneath Sattler Quarry, leveling several blocks of East Hawkins.”

“Emergency services have reported over 50 injured and multiple fatalities. Residents are advised not to return to the fracture zone.”

A pang tightens in your chest. 

Why did Steve never mention how devastating this was? Or Robin for that matter, she would have been a resident here too. 

“One local student, Edward ‘Eddie’ Munson, identified as prime murder suspect...”

That name. Eddie Munson. Something about seeing it spelled out in official print makes your gut lurch. It’s a snippet, a half-buried footnote. You have no idea how murder tied to this event, but the language feels similar to the Starcourt articles, aimed at stifling real questions. Another big tragedy in Hawkins, another clipped explanation that doesn’t quite add up.

Why was Hawkins the site of so many horrors in such a short span of time?

Your eyes scan the rest of the article. There’s no mention of secret labs or mysterious tunnels—just damage, rescue teams. You see a pattern in the phrasing, residents advised not to speculate. 

Sound familiar? 

You swallow, a metallic taste on your tongue. 

This reads like another cover-up. 

You decide to make a snap decision, folding the clipping into your notebook. This is technically theft—yes—but what choice did you have? 

You didn’t have a camera, nor the time it would take to write out every sentence piece by piece. You also didn’t know if you could access these archives with as much ease next time. This felt like a justified crime considering the circumstances. 

It’s not like anyone’s going to notice.

The next pages in the folder are mostly more coverage—pictures of shattered streets, interviews with sobbing residents. But something near the back catches your eye. 

You find a single, highly redacted document. The black bars are fresh and bold, blocking out entire paragraphs and lines of text. A small logo near the top—smudged and half torn—looks like it might belong to the Department of Energy, or perhaps some other federal agency. 

You gently flatten the page beneath your palm, trying to read what remains.

At first glance, you see only scattered fragments:

“…seismic event registering 7.4… multiple fractures… pattern incongruent with standard tectonic profiles…”

Your breath catches. You skim deeper, eyes darting across the page.

 “…unconfirmed sightings of anomalous flora, potential contamination risk…”

A knot forms in your stomach. 

Anomalous flora? 

What the hell did that even mean?

The silence around you felt suffocating but you couldn’t look away. Your eyes raced across the barely legible text, the dim lighting doing nothing to ease the mental strain as you tried to make sense of it all.

Every fragmented detail added another twist to an already labyrinthine mystery. You pushed on, desperation motivating you as every new discovery felt like another obstacle. 

You see a name repeated in the tiny corner of a clipped paragraph:

“…missing individual: Edward ‘Eddie’ Munson (status: presumed fatality). Further details withheld at request of…”

That name appears again—Munson. 

You glimpse it, a jolt firing through your nerves. He was plastered over that old newspaper article you found not ten minutes ago—the local student turned murderer. The next lines are almost completely blacked out, except for a single snippet:

“…survivors displayed acute stress responses, some presenting with inexplicable wounds or testimony.”

Your temples throb with an uneasy question. 

What happened to these survivors? 

Another black bar covers the rest. Carefully, you tilt the paper toward the meager light, hoping to glean even a faint silhouette of text beneath. 

Nothing.

You flip to the back, where you find a small note pinned with a rusted staple. It’s typed, minimal, and partially redacted, but at least you can make out a few more lines:

“…secondary injuries observed among multiple local residents… site infiltration suspected…”

You feel sweat bead on your temple. 

Site infiltration? 

By who? 

Your gaze drifts down to the final paragraph. Half of it is still blacked out, whole lines swallowed by darkness. You’d just been trying to make sense of it—events, scattered names, pieces of something bigger, something twisted you thought you could piece together into a puzzle with edges.

But then you see it.

Three fragments, set apart by a bullet point, still visible in the wreckage of the page. A name.

And not just any name.

A name you’ve whispered in half-sleep, murmured with laughter through the phone, gasped in the dark like a prayer. A name that’s fallen from your lips with care, with tenderness, with certainty.

And now it’s here. Cold. Formal. 

Clinical.

Filed and formatted between voids of black ink—the same blackness that clouds his mind, the same blank spaces he’s tried so desperately to protect you from.

SUBJECT: HARRINGTON, S.

Status: [REDACTED]

Observed: [REDACTED]

A tremor tears through you. Your eyes snap back to the text. 

Harrington, S.

Steve Harrington.

Steve.

You blink, but it doesn’t change. No matter how much you stare at the page.  

His name. 

Your Steve. 

Buried in more secrets than when you first entered the basement.

taglist: @daisy-is-a-writer @chiliwhore @kvroomi @just-lilita @negomi123 @catluver02 @tinythebunni @everythinghasafacee @irrelevantbutembarrassing @almostfullstarfish @aurora-austen

[sheisjoeschateau]

“Oh, so do WE love Steve…” | Part VIII

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆ SERIES MASTERLIST ⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆

Steve Harrington x Bauman!fem!reader enemies to lovers, heavy angst, hurt/comfort, upside down mayhem, S2-S4, post S4 universe hot-take, end-of-the-world / dystopian setting, ugly fights turned smut (...but with hella plot). 18+

CHAPTER VII WARNINGS/NOTES: t.w.'s - strong language, more angst, mentions of death, injuries, Max in a coma, fearful tears, shared sadness, end-of-the-world terror talk, tough conversations and brutal honesty, jealousy and regrets. 18+

AUTHOR'S NOTE: Not a super action packed chapter, but we unpack a lot in this one. Sh*t gets addressed that needs to be addressed. Dr. Owens delivers some hard news. Robin to the rescue, big time, for her platonic soulmate with a capital P. Platonic Stobin in full swing. Eddie still has no chill, but is the zany friend that everyone needed. Eddie & Robin bonding. Argyle becomes a therapist. Nancy faces some hard truth. Jonathan faces harder truth. Jopper being the ever-observant grandparents. Murray being Murray. Steve and Bauman Squared are more in love than ever. And the kids? Little legends.

ANOTHER LONG ONE. AGAIN: PROOFREAD UNTIL MY EYES BLED. IF THERE ARE STILL TYPOS, SORRY BOUT IT. 18+

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆

“Dislocated the shoulder, but no break.  Popping it back into place isn’t going to be a picnic, but it’s way better than a break.  So we’re off to a great start.  Let’s take a look at your ribs now…”

Dr. Owens had you seated on the edge of the bed in Joyce and Hopper’s room downstairs.  Murray, Steve and Robin all stood nearby, alongside them.  They all watched anxiously.

Argyle and Eddie were on kid/teen duty.  They made sure to keep them out of the room, which they managed to convince them of by going upstairs to sit with Max and read to her out loud. 

You hissed as Dr. Owens made contact with your ribcage, and he frowned.  “Possible fracture there.  Good news is, if they were broken, you’d be on the ground in pure misery.  They might even just be really badly bruised.”

You sighed.  “I’m good with that.

Murray felt both relieved and frustrated at the same time.  God, he hated doctors.  Especially ones who served as double agents for the government.  But Dr. Owen’s had more than proven himself to be trustworthy, so your uncle was putting up with him.  For your sake, especially.  You were basically the only kid he was ever gonna have.

“Best bet is to rest, ice them regularly and let them heal for about six weeks.”

You frowned.  “Not so good with that.”

“Welp, you’re gonna have to be,” your uncle told you.  Steve and Hopper nodded.  You huffed, and Steve was selfishly grateful to know that you would have no choice but to stay home and out of danger. 

“Alright, let’s check that heartbeat, shall we?” Dr. Owens asked with a smile.  He took out his stethoscope, placing the instrument inside of his ears and blowing hot air onto the cold circle that would be placed over your heart.  You brought the collar of your shirt down so that he could place it on your chest, and he listened closely while you waited. 

Dr. Owens' smile slowly faded, and a prominent crease began to form between his brows.  Robin clocked it, along with Steve.  Hopper tried not to react, but Joyce’s fidgeting definitely gave it away.

“W-what’s wrong?” Joyce asked, unable to help herself.

Dr. Owens just held up a finger, politely gesturing for them to wait.  You furrowed your brow, suddenly aware of the fact that something seemed to be the matter.

Steve swallowed, unblinking.  What now…

Murray was not happy at the tension in the air, looking over at Joyce anxiously. 

Dr. Owens eventually cleared his throat, pulling the stethoscope out of his ears with a deep inhale.  He looks at you kindly, eyes solemn.  You stare back, questioning. 

“Well, umm…it’s normal.  Not surprising, given the electric shock, but uh…your heartbeat’s not at its normal steady rhythm.”

Robin heard Steve suck in a breath, placing a hand on his forearm as they all looked at Dr. Owens. 

“Cardiac arrhythmias is normal in these cases,” he tells you. “A heart arrhythmia occurs when the electrical signals that tell the heart to beat don't work properly. The heart may beat too fast or too slow. Or the pattern of the heartbeat may be inconsistent.  A heart arrhythmia may feel like a fluttering, pounding or racing heartbeat. Some heart arrhythmias cases are harmless.  Most, in fact.”

“Well, what about this one?” your uncle asked, voice grave. 

Dr. Owens sighed.  “Too soon to tell,” he said apologetically.  “But it’s important that it remains monitored.”

“What do we do.” …Steve’s question sounded more like a statement, laced with worry and dangerously voice low. 

Dr. Owens looked at him sympathetically.  “I can get a prescription that will help.  An antiarrhythmic medication.  No surgery is needed unless it’s severe.  It might not be.”

“How can you tell?” Joyce asked, worriedly.  “I mean – what are the signs that we need to look for?”

“Fainting, chest pain, dizziness.”  Then, to you, “If you feel like the heart is fluttering, or leaping inside of your chest, definitely make note of it.  Scale it, 1-10, how bad it is.  Be honest with yourself.  Don’t tell yourself you’re more fine than not, and vice-versa.  Don’t let it panic you, but just…stay alert.”

Steve wanted to pull every single one of his perfect hairs out.  How the hell was that supposed to help?  What happens if you wound up passed out on the floor, dead before they would get you proper help?

“Yeah, but what if — w-what if —”

That's all that Steve could mutter.  Robin squeezed his forearm tighter, masking her own fear as she gnawed at her bottom lip relentlessly.  Murray stared at Dr. Owens, visibly upset.  Hopper looked pale, along with Joyce.

“How fast can you get us that medication?” Hopper asked, like a protective papa.

“I’ll get it to you tonight.  Maybe tomorrow morning,” Dr. Owens promised.  “I can bring as much as you may need.  Meantime, I’ll leave the stethoscope so that you can monitor the heartbeat.  Here, let me show you what to look for.”

Dr. Owens instructed Steve and Murray on how to monitor your heartbeat, and you ached as you watched Steve look consumed with dread as he did his best to keep it together and not freak out.  Hopper and Joyce took notes, too.  Everyone listened to your heartbeat, Steve most of all.

You took his hand.  “Remember, it’s still there,” you murmured to him softly.  He nodded, knowing you were right but still not content with the reality of things.  Robin gave you a sympathetic smile, grateful for you and your courage.

Then, you looked at Dr. Owens with gratitude.  “Thank you.  For being here, and…helping out.  I know you’re putting yourself on the line.”

Dr. Owens gave you a deeply appreciative look, along with Hopper.  He wrung his hands.  “Appreciate that, kiddo.  Truly.” 

Everyone went over the plans that would go into effect, given the mandate taking place in just a few short days.  Hopper mentioned that it might be best for Dr. Owens to seek shelter with them, if things went south for him — given his compromised identity as an accomplice to them vs. the government.  The doctor couldn’t argue that, saying he would think about it.  Steve and Robin mentioned to him that Eddie needed looking over as well, which he said he’d do before he left.

While the adults talked, Steve and Robin walked with you out the bedroom door.  You looked outside the living room windows, hating the thick cloud of infected air that had only gotten worse — seemingly overnight.  It was dense, congested with alternate dimension disease. 

“Seriously, hate that I can’t even get some damn fresh air,” you sighed.

“Last thing you need is bad air in your lungs,” Steve told you, his fingers reaching to massage the crown of your head.  You sighed, knowing that he was right. 

The kids heard you all walking out of the room, Mike and Lucas peeking their heads around the doorway leading into Max’s room upstairs.  They made for the stairs, followed by Dustin, Will and El, rushing towards you all.  Eddie and Argyle shouted after them, but they quickly rushed over to you. 

They swarmed you all with questions.  Is your shoulder broken?  What about your ribs?  Are you hungry?

“One at a time, kiddos,” Robin warned. 

“No broken bones,” Steve told them, “But possible fracture.  Ribcage.  So no bear hugs, no tackling, no…rough-housing.”

Mike cocked an eyebrow at him.  “Speak for yourself.”

Lucas smacked him.

“Thank you, Wheeler,” Steve said wryly.  Mike smirked.

“Also, we gotta keep watch over Bauman’s heartbeat,” Robin pointed out. 

El looked worried.  “How come?”

You gave her an assuring head rub before carefully pulling her in for a hug.  “Just a bit of an irregular heartbeat.  You know.  Given the shock and astral-planing and all.”

El held you tight, cautious of your ribs.  

“…guess this means no coffee then, huh?” you asked, depressed at the mere thought. Caffeine was no longer your friend.

“That is correct,” Steve told you with a light kiss pressed to your head, then El’s.  “Alright, kitchen everyone.  Breakfast.  Let’s go.”

“Bauman, we need to pop your shoulder back in place,” Dr. Owens hollered after you, and you dreaded the pain that awaited you.

Eddie made it downstairs with Argyle.  “I’ll fix up a feast, big boy,” he told Harrington, giving him a quick couple pats on the shoulder.  Then he squeezed your cheek.  “Keep that heartbeat in rhythm, sweetheart.  I’ll make you a sweet mixtape for inspiration.”

You chuckled deeply, appreciating his sense of humor deeply.  Even Steve did, shaking his head and grateful for the cooking assistance.  “Don’t kill my toaster, Munson.”

Steve walked back into the bedroom with you, holding your hand while you had your shoulder popped back into place.  It was gnarly.  Plenty of pain medication followed that, one that took your heartbeat into account.  It was bound to knock you out at some point, so Steve and Robin made sure to get you back into the kitchen for some food before you’d need to head back upstairs and knock out asleep.

Hopper and Joyce helped out by adding some pancakes, sausage and eggs to Eddie’s cereal bar.  Murray was already day-drinking.  Dr. Owens stayed behind to join you all, at the invitation of the adults.  Currently, he was going over notes that Hopper had given him in a seat next to Murray.

Argyle saw Jonathan round the corner – looking glum.  “Yooo, bro-cha-cho.  Purple palm tree delight?”

Jonathan blinked, slowly brought out of his trance.  He looked tired, head hung low.  Honestly, he looked like shit.  “Oh, uhh…maybe later.  Yeah.”  He gave Argyle a sad smile before sulking off towards the front door while pulling a bandana over his mouth and nose — leaving the house.

“YO, GIMME SOME.”  Eddie spoke with a mouthful of fruit loops.  “Air’s shit anyway.  Why not fry my lungs s’more?”

“Fry it with what?” El asked innocently.

Eddie swallowed the sweet cereal awkwardly.  “...candy.”

Steve rolled his eyes as he poured everyone a glass of juice, and Robin held back a snort with all the strength that she could muster while divvying out plates.

“Really lame, gross candy,” Hopper threw back over his shoulder while flipping pancakes.  He eyed Munson with a protective dad look on his eyes.

“The weird peanut butter smelling kind,” Murray added, reading a newspaper and gritting at the taste of his straight vodka.

“Thank you, Murray,” Joyce reprimanded him.

You were seated next to El and Mike, not allowed to help given your sharp shoulder pain and the medication beginning to sink in.  Steve placed your food in front of you, along with the kids’. 

“Fresh pot of coffee going on,” Hopper announced while cooking.

You sighed, turning to Steve.  “Baby, do you —”

You stopped, catching yourself.  But so did everyone else.  Too late now.

“...have…decaf…?”

Steve’s heart swelled, his cheeks flushing. 

Lucas and Dustin made eye contact, trying not to laugh or get giddy.  Mike and El did, too, along with Will.  All the kids were in on it now — thanks to last night’s impromptu sleepover in Max’s room, unbeknownst to the rest of the household.  The OG party knew the secret, but they also agreed (thanks to Dustin’s firm warning about Murray’s rampage last night) not to press either you or Steve about it yet.  Big emphasis on yet.

Robin poured syrup in slow motion, and Eddie bit back a shit-eating grin.  Argyle looked unfazed, though, dishing up a plate of food. 

Hopper was grinning down at the pancakes he was serving up, back turned to everyone still.  Joyce unabashedly looked like a very happy mama, as Murray’s eyes peeked over the newspaper gleefully.

“Yeah, baby, I do,” Steve said, shooting you a wink and moving to go get some.  You blushed at Steve’s returning the pet name.  Steve walked towards the large pantry, passing Nancy — who you saw was now standing in the doorway, having heard it too.  She looked tired, similarly to Jonathan.  You gave her a soft smile, which she reluctantly returned. 

Walking towards you, she asked in the smallest of voices —

“How're you feeling?...”

You could tell that something was wrong, wanting to ask but also not.  “Shoulder’s screaming, but not broken thankfully.  Just out of the socket, Dr. Owens’ popped it back into place.  I’ll be alright.  Thanks, Nance.”

She gave you a relieved, tight-lipped smile.  You gave her as soft a look as you could, and Mike chimed in to break the tension.

“Nancy, I swear, Jonathan’s gonna turn into a palm tree if he keeps blazing it up,” he snorts, the joke very ill-timed.  But Dustin’s chuckling, along with Lucas’s, keeps him in a state of oblivion.  Something flickers in Nancy's eyes, and to your surprise she chuckles too — humorlessly.  Darkly.

“Yeah.  You can say that again.”

…so she agrees with her brother’s joke?  Nancy moved to dish herself up a plate, expression bitter and her movements aggressive.   You felt bad and you didn’t even know why.

Mike definitely looked confused, along with his friends.  Will looked concerned, along with Joyce.  Mother and son made eye contact.

Steve returned, ready to make a pot of fresh decaf.  He brought an extra coffee pot with him.  Rich kid perks.

“Morning, Nance,” he acknowledged her, moving to make the coffee. 

Her heart seized, voice tight.  “Hey.”

Hopper made uncomfortable eye contact with Murray, who buried himself deeper into his chair with the newspaper.  He did not account for this sort of awkwardness when going on a rant last night… Hopper shot him a high-raised eyebrow while flipping another pancake.

Steve heated up the pot of decaf, taking a plate that Joyce dished up for him and moving to sit next to you.  Mike made room for him, not even questioning it.  That made Nancy scoop more than enough eggs onto her plate than necessary. 

Hopper clocked it.  “You, uhh…need some cheese, or…?” 

Joyce gave Hopper a disapproving look, old married couple behavior in full swing.  Nancy looked down at her plate, embarrassed.  “Oh…n-no, I’m —”

Nancy awkwardly moved to sit down at the table next to Dustin.  Robin gulped, knowing what this was all about.  Finally, everyone was seated at the table – aside from Steve, who stood to pour you a cup of hot decaf coffee before bringing it over to you.  You sipped it, eyes becoming hooded with exhaustion as the pain medication set in.  Steve scooted his chair closer so that you could lean on him if needed.  Nancy had to peel her eyes away, staring down at her food — playing with it, unable to stomach eating it now.

She couldn’t even be mad.  How could she?  What right did she have to be mad?  And who would she even be mad at?  You?  Steve?  Jonathan?

Herself.  She was mad at herself.

That’s what she realized last night, when she and Jonathan didn’t get a wink of sleep in their room.  They’d stayed up, hashing it out once and for all.  It was a hurricane of sadness, harsh truth and reality – all at once.  Words that had been left unsaid.  Feelings that had never been expressed.  Regrets, empty promises and words of disappointment.  All aired out like dirty laundry.  He had asked how long she’d been falling for Steve again, which she had countered by asking him how long he had been planning to dump her while he was in California.  Jonathan had been stunned into silence, asking how the hell she knew that and if she had spoken to Argyle.  Nancy’s eyes, filled with tears, had stared at him with the look of utmost betrayal.  “It was a hunch.  Until right now.”

Neither of them got closure that night.  Nearly 5 hours of back and forth, and it got them nowhere.  They went to bed angry.  Sad, heartbroken and lost.  But sleep didn’t find either of them.  Instead, they both stared in opposite directions — backs turned to one another in a shared bed.  The morning had re-ignited the argument whenever they heard Dr. Owens arriving, because when Jonathan had moved to get up, Nancy asked him bitterly: “need to go hide your stash?”  That started back up all sorts of hissed, whispered arguing.

“Nancy, where’d Jonathan go?” Joyce’s question, soft and a bit worried, rattled Nancy’s thoughts.

“He just…wanted to get some fresh air.”

Everyone was silent.  Dr. Owen’s looked up from his files.  “It’s really bad out there.  He really shouldn’t be breathing any of that in.”

Nancy grit her teeth, fork scraping across her plate and making Robin cringe at the jarring sound.  

Mike snorted as he ate more pancakes.  “His lungs are already in rough condition as it is.  Probably doesn’t even matter.”

Nancy narrowed her eyes down at her plate of toyed breakfast food, nauseas.  She nodded her head bitterly, speaking through gritted teeth: “Agreed.  What’s it matter?  Likely irreparable anyway.”

No one missed the double meaning behind that as she rose to stand and dump her plate into the trash.  She quickly made her way out of the room, knowing the damage was already done but not having it in her to care.  Nancy couldn’t get away fast enough.

Eddie looked so uncomfortable but also sympathetic.  He knew this was a result of last night, along with Robin.  They shared a quiet, concerned glance.  Mike and the kids were just confused.  What was her deal?

Steve’s brow was furrowed, along with yours — however, you were already feeling the medicine kick in so everything was starting to feel fuzzy.  Your fingers were wrapped around the hot cup of decaf, warming them.  You were wearing a few rings that Eddie had gifted you while in the upside down, and as Steve focused on them now he realized just how hot you looked wearing them.  He took in your slightly hooded eyes, moving to stand.  “Wanna go lie down?”

You nodded, excusing yourself and thanking Dr. Owens again.  He told you that he’d make sure to get the medication later today, then to Eddie — “Hey Munson, let’s go check on how those stitches are holding up, yeah?”

Eddie gulped.  He hated needles and doctor tools.

Robin smirked.  “Let’s go show him my handywork.”  They all moved off to the living room, followed by Hopper.

Joyce looked perplexed still, unsettled by Nancy’s exit.  She turned to Will, speaking softly, “Did Jonathan tell you anything?  Is something wrong?”

But Will shook his head, shrugging, just as confused and concerned.  “Nothing,” he whispered back. “I was gonna ask you that.”

The eldest and youngest Byers looked pensive, thinking.  Wondering.  Worrying.

Mike’s face was quizzical. “What do you mean?  Why would anything be wrong with them?”

An incredulous scoff from behind the newspaper made everyone turn in Murray’s direction.   The grouchy man just sipped on his morning cup of poison, minding his business — even though he stuck his nose in everybody else’s.  

Joyce’s eyes narrowed at the front page of the Hawkins Press.  Of course…

“Hey, Mur?”

Murray cringed at Joyce’s sugary sweet, all-knowing tone… Hesitantly, he lowered the paper by just barely an inch.  He internally winced at the motherly eyes that bore into his soul from the table.

“Wanna go help me start clearing out the basement?”

Oh my god, Joyce Byers is going to murder me in Steve Harrington’s basement.  

That’s all Murray thought while he set down his newspaper, swigged the last of his drink and followed her downstairs.  He began to mentally write his eulogy.

Hopper grunted, setting his fork down.  “Ahhh, geez,” he huffed, standing up to follow them.

The kids all eyed each other, left alone at the table — no adults or older teens in sight.  What the hell just happened?

***

Steve got you upstairs safely, tucking you into bed and making sure you had water at your bedside table along with a walkie so that you could signal for him if you needed anything.  It made you chuckle. 

“What?” he asked you, quizzically. 

You shook your head.  “Still wondering why you’re considered the mom?”

Steve shot you a wry look, no heat in his eyes.  You were already beginning to doze off, the better pain meds doing their thing – thanks to Dr. Owens. 

With a little shake of his head and fighting a smirk, Steve crouched to kiss your forehead, then your neck.

“Careful, Harrington,” you murmured sleepily.  “Don’t wan’g’my heart rate up.”

“Shush, I’m keeping it steady,” his lips murmured into your jaw.  You hummed in approval, feeling yourself beginning to drift off as his breathing tickled your neck.  Steve whispered that he loved you, and you faintly whispered it back as you fell asleep. 

Unable to contain himself, Steve placed his ear to your chest for a moment — listening to your heartbeat.  He frowned to himself, hearing the sporadic beat.  Thump.  Th-thump, thump.  Thump thump.  His throat started to burn, along with his eyes.  But your fingers gently scratching his head, ceasing as you finally fell asleep, kept his emotions at bay.

Steve reluctantly pulled himself a way, pressing a lingering kiss to your hand before making his way out of your bedroom door.

He jogged downstairs to meet with the adults again, checking on Eddie as he was finishing up with Dr. Owens.  The older man smiled at Steve.

“I gotta say, Harrington.  Your friend’s a natural caretaker.  Could be a nurse one day.”

Robin gave a smug grin.  “See?  I’m not just a band nerd.  Turns out, I’m a real geek.  A medical one, at that.”

Steve smirked back at her.  “Yeah well, hope you like blood and needles and guts.”

“Psh.  After the shit we’ve seen?” Robin scoffed.  “Think I can handle it.” 

“Touché,” Steve nodded.

“Speak for yourself,” Eddie grumbled.  “I never wanna see my own blood ever again.  I feel like a voodoo doll.  Vecna can suck my whole hairy ass.”

“Thaaaank you, Munson,” Robin cringed.  “Love that visual.”

“He can honestly suck mine, too.”

Dr. Owens muttering that was ten times more disturbing than Eddie.  The three teens were awkwardly quiet, aside from Eddie finally chuckling out of pity.  The older man didn’t even notice as he packed up his belongings.

“Alrighty then,” Dr. Owens said politely.  “Best be off.   I’ll be back tonight with the prescription for your lady.”

Steve blushed slightly at that, giving the doc a thankful nod.  

“Keep an eye on her,” Dr. Owen’s said kindly.  “She’ll be alright.  She’s a tough one.  Murray’s got one helluva soldier for a niece.”

“She’s bad to the bone,” Eddie reveled.

“Made of steel,” Steve agreed, fondly and voice soft.  But he nibbled at his lip, mind elsewhere.  He was still worried, and the doctor could tell.

“Just make sure she stays horizontal and lets those ribs heal.  That’ll do her heart some good.  And don’t fret.  I’ve seen way worse.”

Dr. Owens’ gave a firm pat and squeeze to Steve’s shoulder, hoping it would give him plenty of assurance. Steve gave him a quick, tight-lipped grin, pretending it helped.  Robin looked at her best friend worriedly. 

With that, Dr. Owen’s made his way out.  Hopper met him at the doorway, walking out with him.

“STEVE, WHERE’S THE PUDDING?”

Dustin’s sudden shouts from the kitchen made everyone jump.

“Jesus H. Christ —” Eddie hissed, clutching his heart.

“Henderson,” Steve exhaled, raking a hand through his hair as he turned to march towards the kitchen.  “I swear to god.”

“Lemme handle it,” Eddie huffs.  “Yo, BUTT MUNCH.  WE JUST HAD BREAKFAST.”

Stepdad of the year.

Steve would normally wave off the offered help, being the assigned mother of the group.  But even as the kids all made noise with Eddie, he found himself just…letting him take care of it.  He needed a break.  Needed to think.

“Steve, Joyce is asking where the keys to the basement breaker are,” Erica was asking him as she rounded the corner.

Steve blinked, nodding and wrapping his head around the request.  But Robin stepped in, sensing his internal overwhelm.

“I’ll get them,” she told Erica, shooting a quick look at Steve.  “Kitchen drawer, yeah?”

He nodded, sighing with relief.  Robin made her way there with Erica, and Steve took that as a chance at escape.  He could feel his chest tightening, breathing constricting a bit.  Yikes, he needed some air.  But that wasn’t an option either.  Best bet was the nearest empty room.  Max’s room was closer than his.  Steve quickly bound the stairs, pinching his nose and slipping into the room quietly — needing a moment, just a moment.

El walked out of the hallway restroom, right after Steve had closed the door.  She made for the stairs, heading down to find Hopper.  When he walked back inside from his chat with Dr. Owens, the two of them made for the basement — telling the kids to follow, while Robin told Lucas she would handle replenishing Max’s feeding tube upstairs.  She knew how to, since Dr. Owens had given strict intrusions to not only the adults but also to her.  She, along with you and Steve, knew how to handle it thoroughly.  Robin found herself oddly keen on helping people with the medical stuff.  It gave her a newfound sense of purpose.  She headed upstairs, pep in her step — who knows?  Maybe she’d found her calling, she wondered to herself.

She opened Max’s door, freezing when she found Steve on the other side of it.  Her heart sank.

Her best friend stood leaning against the wall to the right of the door frame — facing Max’s bed.  His face was scrunched, pained.  

“Steve…” Robin murmured, heartbroken.  She quickly shut the door, locking it and placing a hand on his shoulder.  The sight of a tear-track on his face, glistening in the gloomy natural light of the room, made her frown.

Steve looked at her for all of a millisecond, feeling caught but unable to stop now.  His emotions were definitely catching up with him, and Robin wasn’t surprised — given just how long he’d been keeping shit in.  She’d known for a while now: Steve Harrington needed a good, long fucking cry.  She watched him pinch the bridge of his nose, his pretty face crumpling even more and shoulders shaking as he bit down on his lip hard. 

“Steve, hey, it’s just me,” she whispered kindly, hugging and rubbing his shoulders while resting her chin there.  He kept as much noise trapped inside of his throat as possible, mainly just letting it all come out through a quiet flow of steady tears as he stood tensely.  He gratefully clasped onto one of Robin’s hands — with the one hand he wasn’t holding to the bridge of his nose with, willing the tears to stop.

“You’re really overdue for this,” Robin nudged him gently, squishing her cheek deeper into the curve of his shoulder.  “Seriously, I’ve been wondering when the hell you were gonna let it all out…”

Steve coughed on what seemed to be half a laugh, half a sob.  He was frustrated with himself.  With everything.  Your heart is failing you now and maybe forever.  Max is still in a coma.  His loved ones are all in danger.  His kids can’t catch a break.  His parents left.  Hawkins is basically dead.  And the upside down just gets closer, no matter how many gates they’ve closed over the last 3 years.

SO YEAH.  Robin was right.  Steve needed to fucking cry.

She stood there with him for a little while, letting her presence comfort him and not pushing.  Steve really did hit the jackpot with her in the best friend department.

“Sometimes, I wonder if she’s still there.”

Steve’s voice was thick, low and vibrating the room.  Robin knew who he meant, following his gaze.  Max.

Robin hummed.  “Trust me.  That little firecracker is very much alive and can’t wait to tear into all of us with her redheaded temper and sarcastic wit.”

If Robin had been looking at him, she would have seen the corner of Steve’s lips quirk up briefly in amusement.  She was right, of course.

“Think she knows?” Robin asks softly, still leaning onto Steve.  “About…anything?”

She felt Steve take a deep breath, exhaling deeply as he rubbed his face.  “M’not sure,” he murmurs, thoughts grim.  “Honestly, I hope not.  That’d mean she’s still trapped in there.  Somewhere dark.  Vile, and awful.”

Robin shuddered at that, hating the thought.  She decided to ask something different.  Lighter.

“Think she knew you were head over heels for a girl you swore you couldn’t stand?”  She turned her head on Harrington’s shoulder so that she was looking up at him with teasing eyes and a wiggling brow.  “Vowed to hate, forever and always, cross your heart and hope to die?”

Steve shook his head, beginning to grin.  He looked at Max the whole time while doing so, imagining his little sister/daughter figure giving him hell for falling for you but completely loving it.  Because while he knew that Max loved him — that little shit loved the hell out of you.

Steve’s frown suddenly returned, face crumpling all over again.  It broke Robin’s heart as she watched fresh tears fill his eyes, which he trapped from falling by quickly scrunching his eyes shut again and digging the heels of his palms into them.  It made Robin want to bawl.  But she held it together for Steve’s sake, lifting her head to turn and hug him tight.  She shushed him softly, desperate to calm him.  Comfort him, assure him.

Steve sunk his teeth into his bottom lip, forbidding his cries to make noise.  He couldn’t.  Not right now.  He could scream into a pillow later.  Right now, he just let Robin hold him until he got it together again.

Eventually, Steve pulled back — swiping at his eyes and nose, sniffing hard.  Robin looked at him sadly, rubbing his arms and letting him steady his breathing.

“Jesus, Robin, a heart arrhythmia…”

Robin had a feeling that was what was weighing heavily on Steve’s mind.  You, and your newly failing heart.  It made her upset, too.  Deeply upset.  It worried her sick.  But she couldn’t let Steve sense that.  Not right now.  She needed to be there for him — and by extension, you.

“We’re gonna steady it, Steve,” Robin promised, voice low but fierce.

Steve shuddered a sigh, eyes downcast and mind racing as he carded his fingers through his hair.  “It’s the end of the fucking world and all our heart rates are already on edge as it is —”

“So we keep her here,” Robin interrupted, gently.  “Out of harm’s way, as best we can.  We don’t let her put herself in a position to freak out.”  She paused, thinking.  “Yknow, come to think of it, Bauman’s probably the coolest outta all of us big kids.  Pretty sure that chick has freaked out the least.”

Steve rolled his eyes fondly.  Oh, you.  “Yeah, because she’s a fucking sociopath like her uncle.”

Robin genuinely laughed at that, unable to help it.  Steve smiled, too.  But a few tears met the smile and the breathy laugh he let out.  Robin thumbed them away sweetly.

“She’s great,” Robin told him.  “Really great.  Stupid great.  Maybe my favorite lady I’ve had the pleasure of meeting.  Aside from Vicki.”

Steve sniffed.  “You tryna steal my girl?”

Robin cocked an eyebrow, happy to hear him teasing.  Good, it’s working.  “Oh, so she is your girl now, huh?  Exclusive, off-limits?”

Steve bit back a big, bashful smile — looking at her almost shyly and nudging her foot with his shoe.  He turned to look at Max, nodding in her direction.

“Think she’d approve?”

Robin looked at the sleeping girl, too.  She smiled sadly.  “Depends.  Of you two as a pair?  Yeah.  You’re mom and dad.  As far as she’s concerned, neither one of you has anyone else out there deserving of you both.  So I’d assume she feels you guys deserve each other more than anyone else deserves either of ya.”

Steve actually smiled at that, eyes sparkling as he looked at Max.  He took a minute to take in her still form, thinking back to when he first met her with the kids.  She was a badass.  You’d have thought she’d been fighting monsters all her life.  She actually took better to the whole upside down shit than he had, whenever he went over to Jonathan Byers’ house to apologize then got roped into all the madness.  He had to give it to her: Max was hardcore.

“I really need this shithead to wake up,” Steve chuckled humorlessly.

Robin did, too, squeezing his arm as she shook her head at Max’s sleeping face hooked up to a breathing tube.  “When she does…it’ll be a helluva reunion.”

Steve liked that.  When.

“And whennn your girl gets her strength back,” Robin continued, “along with her ribs back in tact, you know…given you, Byers and Munson took her to pound town…”

Steve made a face.  “Gross.  Don’t say that, no.”

“Damn, Harrington, get your head outta the gutter,” Robin popped her hip into Steve’s side.  “Even when I’m being serious, talking about resuscitation — not sex…you’re still jealous…at a hypothetical.”

Steve gave her a wry look, but then placed his cheek on top of her head as he looked at Max.

“As I was saying…” Robin murmured, a smile in her voice.  “When your girl is back up to speed, she will give you all the heart attacks to make up for it.  You won’t be able to stand her guts but you’ll be so in love with her it won’t matter.  And then Max will wake up…give you two shit for it…then be a mess of joy because the two babysitters turned enemies have suddenly become lovers.”  Robin paused, smiling to herself.  “And I’ll be the happiest, proudest, most sappy-go-lucky best friend in the world.”

Steve breathed a sigh at that, content.  It brought him peace in this moment — the idea of you, perfectly fine and all in one piece.  The idea of his kid waking up, her memory still intact along with her sarcasm and quick wit.  The idea of his best friend being so happy to see him so happy.

He threw an arm around her, and the two best friends just stood there for another several moments to revel in the quiet of it all — allowing themselves to dream.  Allowing themselves to believe.

***

Meanwhile, Eddie definitely did not feel guilty for having eaten the last 3 puddings that Henderson had selfishly stashed for himself.  Little bro’s just gonna have to cope, he thought to himself as he jogged up the stairs.  

He almost broke into song, Master of Puppets rambling on inside his head -- but stopped himself when he heard voices.  Tense voices. 

Eddie’s pace came to a slow, and he became not only more aware of his steps — but the voices, too.  Where they were coming from…to whom they belonged…

"So he was then. He was going to break up with me."

"Listen, I...I realllllllly don't wanna...speak outta term here..."

Only one guy under this roof talked that slowly, and only one lady under this roof spoke with that crisply.

Argyle and Nancy.

"Look, just -- tell me exactly what he said."

"That is what he said, man, I swear..."

Eddie could hear Nancy huffing exasperatedly. For a rich family, Steve's parents' house had some really cheap, thin doors...

He crept closer, still standing a few paces down. Just in case he needed to bolt, should someone catch him listening in -- or in case one of the two speaking on the other side of the door barged out of the room. Eddie listened, his senses on high alert and his curiosity burning.

"Then he was going to break up with me -- God, I knew it. I just knew it!"

Wait, Eddie thought. Jonathan was going to break up with her...? And Argyle knew...? But then...wait, then how did Nancy...?

"Look, Nancy," Argyle was sighing, sounding pretty worried despite his usual lackadaisical tone. "He didn't want to, alright? I'm a bro. I know when a brother's down bad, he was just freaking himself out, you know -- because of where you wanna go to college...where he wants to go to college..."

"Oh, that is so NOT an excuse."

"Which is whyyy I told him to talk to you --"

"Then why didn't he. Huh? Why didn't he??"

Eddie gulped. He could hear the genuine hurt and betrayal in Nancy's voice. Sheez, Byers was in for one helluva fight...

"Honestly, I'm asking myself that too, Nancy," Argyle was huffing this out, matching her energy. Even he sounded exasperated with his best bro. "But I'm also remembering that...like...that creepy Vecna dude kinda threw off everybody's groove. I mean -- I came to pick them up from the house and it was all getting shot up and stuff, liiiike...shit kinda hit the fan...you know...?"

"That's...still, that's not..."

"Annnnd you guys were all caught up in the shit going down back in Hawkins, man...you know? Chrissy, and...that coworker of yours, annnnd...that other random dude who hung out with... shiiiit, what was his name...? Jake...?"

"Jason," Nancy muttered lowly.

"That guy."

"Look -- Argyle." Nancy huffed again, flustered at life but regaining her edge. "Upside down stuff aside, Jonathan still took the time to talk this out with you. Not me, you. For weeks."

There was an awkward pause before Argyle spoke.

"...yeah, that's pretty bad..."

"He could have called. He could have written me. He could've, he could've, he could've. But he didn't."

"Why didn't you tell him that?"

"...what?"

Oh shit, Eddie gulped.

"Whenever we all got back here," Argyle explained. "Back in Hawkins. Why didn't you confront him about it?"

Another awkward silence.

"...I..." Nancy stumbled.

"Why didn't you go up to him, call his ass out, and call him out for not talking to you?" Argyle was suddenly sounding pretty sure of himself. It was out now character for him. Oddly? It suited him.

"I...I..."

Meanwhile, Nancy was uncharacteristically not sounding sure of herself.

Argyle gained speed.

"Think about it! You say you knew something was off...you say he was giving you mixed signals...you say he got back and suddenly acted like everything was fine, but that you sensed things still were not fine...so then why let it go? Why not tell him yourself? You're a loud woman."

"Whoa, what?" Nancy stuttered.

"You are!!! That's a compliment! You're loud and proud. You wear the damn pants. You have a gun collection. You don't hold back, even if you don't say fully what it is that you mean. Your poker face is shit."

"Argyle...!"

"You've been avoiding it too, Nancy," Argyle cut her off.

At this point, Eddie was frozen as he listened. Damn. When did Argyle become a therapist?

Clearly, Nancy was asking herself the same thing. Because it was quiet. Severely quiet.

Eddie started tracing shapes into the carpet with his mind while he stared at the ground, waiting to hear more dialogue. But it was crickets.

Finally, he heard Argyle sighing deeply. "Maybe if you both just...I dunno, man...listened to each other. Like...heard one another. You both just keep using whatever it is that you ask each other to like...one up each other...and it doesn't get either of you anywhere, man... Just hear each other out."

A tap on Eddie's shoulder made him flinch back, nearly jumping out of his skin. He whipped around to see Robin, staring at him with wide eyes. She held a finger to her lips.

Eddie couldn't believe that he managed to keep the scream trapped inside of him. He sagged with relief, heart pounding and silently pantomiming strangling her. Don't scare me like that. Her head bobbed back and forth as he shook her by the shoulders, and together they realized that they were both in on the secret:

Nancy and Jonathan are not alright.

Together, they softly crept down the hallway into Steve's bedroom. As Robin closed the door, Eddie whirled around to speak in a hissed whisper.

"Holy shit, what the fuck, this is like a soap opera --"

"Shhhhh," Robin hissed back, swatting at him to keep quiet.

"I'm literally whispering."

"And spitting."

"Sorry."

They continued whispering through gritted teeth, relieved to have each other to confide in. Eddie and Robin were beginning to feel like the zany aunt and uncle of the group who knew too much about everything going on around the house. It bonded them for sure. They knew about you and Steve, which also became a topic of whispered conversation right now as they sat cross-legged on the floor of Steve's bedroom.

"Sorry, but can we talk about how off we were trying to push Wheeler back on Harrington?" Eddie's eyebrows were raised practically to the top of his hairline.

Robin scoffed at themselves, shaking her head. "I'll say..."

"It was right there under our noses and we just..." Eddie moved his hand in a straight line, "...breeeeezed onnnnn past it."

"Yeah, but honestly?" Robin whispered eagerly. "I thought Bauman hit a sore spot that could never be repaired. Steve seriously was in love with Nancy. Like, really in love."

Eddie chuckled lowly, shaking his head. "Trust me. I said the same thing. To his face directly, while we were in the upside down. Told him that what Wheeler did -- diving into the lake after him -- was the most unambiguous sign of true love I'd ever seen in my life." He paused, thinking. "But what I failed to realize was that...it was Bauman who freaking lunged for him first on the boat. And the way he clung to her hand, despite also looking mad at her for doing that --"

Eddie was reliving the memory, realizing something. Robin was, too.

"He was mad that she put her life on the line," Robin nodded along, slowly stitching together his thoughts.

"But it was just so fast," Eddie pointed out as he agreed. "Literally, one moment Harrington's back to the surface, getting ready to hop back on the boat. Next, he's being tugged down by that -- that thing... And Bauman just -- lunged for him. And he grabbed her hand, but the look he shot her?... It was so...conflicted..."

Robbin nodded, swallowing hard. "Like he grabbed her hand back gratefully, but also hated what she'd just done to herself by putting her life on the line."

"Which is whyyyy," Eddie continued, figuring it all out. "Whenever she got dragged underneath with him, and the two of them went at it -- bickering like crazy when we all got down there with 'em and fought off the bats...he was so mad at her. And she was mad that he was mad."

Robin scoffed a laugh, pace palming. "And all we saw was Nancy diving in after him --"

"After Bauman already beat her to it," Eddie muffled into his palms. “Duuuuude, they’re so in love. Been love. Unambiguously in love.”

"We are idiots," Robin giggled, face palming.

"Not as big as they are, though," Eddie corrected, snorting. They both snickered like big kids into their hands, trying to keep quiet.

Eddie finally sighed, thinking fondly. "Those two are actually stupid fucking adorable."

Robin smiled wistfully. "Yeah. Yeah, they are." She bit her lip, thinking. "Honestly, I've...I've never seen Steve this torn up."

She told Eddie how worried she was for her best friend. How worried she was for you. How desperately she wished that all of this would go away. How she prayed that Max would wake up, and that Vecna would choke on his own guts and that the upside down would cease to exist.

Eddie nodded, eyes solemn as he gnawed on his cheek. "I wish I could've known Chrissy better."

Robin's brows pinched together. She could see the genuine remorse -- maybe even regret -- in Eddie's eyes. Had there been...feelings there...?

"Wish that I'd..." Eddie mumbled, eyes on the ground searching for the words. "That I'd just...I don't know. Tried to notice, or care about something other than living in my own world all the time."

Robin gave his hand a squeeze, shooting him a synaptic tight-lipped smile. Eddie squeezed her hand back, gratefully.

"You're doing that now," Robin reminded him softly. "Chrissy sees that."

Eddie looked at her, his eyes going glassy. He looked like a sweet puppy when he got emotional. Robin noted just how wholesome that was as she placed her other hand on top of theirs.

"We seriously need to kill this son of a bitch," Eddie whispered, angered anguish briefly flashing in his dark eyes.

Robin nodded fiercely. "We will."

They took a few moments to just be in silence, letting it all land.

A light knock at the door broke through the tranquility of the silence, concluding the tender moment. Eddie and Robin looked at Steve's bedroom door, taking a second before Robin rose to answer it. Eddie figured that was best, given she is the platonic soulmate of the room's owner.

Neither of them were sure what to expect exactly, as far as who was on the other side of the door. Robin half expected it to be Steve himself. Eddie's expectations looked a lot like one of the kids.

So when they saw Jonathan standing on the other side, that made them all go stiff.

He still looked awful. Eyes rimmed red from exhaustion, a little bloodshot. His hair was messy, not sure how to sit on his head. These days, Jonathan looked haggard. While he was never the pretty-boy type, Jonathan was always good looking in a moody, brooding sort of way. The unconventionally attractive type. Lately? He just looked worn down, tired and a little bit like a bum. Definitely not the type of guy you would expect Nancy Wheeler to be going steady with, given how polished and precise she is. Opposites attract, but at this rate the two of them were becoming contrasts of one another.

"Hey," Jonathan said softly, timidly. He looked caught, but so did Robin and Eddie as he looked at both of them.

"Hey," they awkwardly repeated.

After a long, awkward, pregnant pause, Jonathan finally cleared his throat and gave his legs a little pat -- as if that might help break the tension.

"Is uhh, is Steve here?"

Robin shook her head. "No, he's with Bauman. I told him to go take a nap, since Dr. Owens got her so early and I know he's not sleeping."

Jonathan's eyes softened, looking sympathetic and giving her a light nod. He scratched his neck. Eddie clocked some weird sort of guilty glint in his eye. Like something was really on his mind and he needed to get it off his chest. There was almost an anxious twitch to him.

Eddie began to realize that he knew what this was about. About why Jonathan was looking for Steve, and why he looked so glum. So anxious.

Because Eddie was there that day. When you fell. When you died. When Jonathan tried to step in and bring you back, before Steve was finally able to step in. Eddie was there, watching it all happen. He watched Steve fall apart, fraying at the seams. He watched Jonathan exhaust himself with the attempted CPR. He watched how it completely exerted him, no doubt thanks to the lack of decent nutrition and lung damage that was due to the purple palm tree delight. That had to have to have set Jonathan's lungs on fire, as he desperately tried pumping air back into your lungs. Eddie had watched Jonathan lean back, only for Steve to verbally tear into him.

DON'T YOU DARE FUCKING STOP.

IT'S NOT WORKING, IT'S TOO LATE.

NONE OF US GAVE UP ON YOUR BROTHER. FUCK YOU, BYERS. FUCK YOU.

The storm of words between Harrington and Byers was no doubt long overdue. That was evident with every single word that Steve spat at Jonathan, and every word that Jonathan bitterly wept. Both men had shrieked at each other, shrill and angry and hurt.

Eddie had watched as they both went at it, Steve lashing out and Jonathan feebly fighting back. He might not have been close with them in high school. He might have run in completely different circles than them. He might not have known anything about the two of them, or what sort of crucial role they played in each other's lives, or how the upside down not only existed but also forced them to merge worlds. But fast forward to yesterday, when you were dead at everyone's feet and no one knew if they would save you -- Eddie saw 3 years of unspoken words go flying between Steve and Jonathan. He watched it all unfold, ugly and loud and anguished.

Because while Steve might have found some sort of silent (albeit avoidant) peace that he inwardly had made with Jonathan Byers, his bitterness was still there. Festering, festering, festering...never truly unloading itself whenever he projected onto you.

Because you hadn't taken Nancy away. Jonathan had.

Maybe that's partly why Steve got so livid with Jonathan. Because he could now. Now that you were gone, or so they'd thought, he had no choice but to scream at Jonathan. To finally let him have it.

FUCK YOU BYERS. FUCK YOU.

Steve had screamed that in Jonathan's face, voice wrecked from angry tears and shrieks of pure fear. It was fucking personal.

And Jonathan had taken it. Like he deserved it. Because maybe a part of him did. Maybe, just maybe, a big part of him did. Not because he wasn't a decent guy. Hell no, Byers was a great dude. He had just...lost his way. And that was fine. But really, he wasn't as present as usual -- given his more frequently ~high~ state, and his newfound friendship with Argyle. That wasn't a bad thing. It just...changed things.

Eddie had watched Byers go from the super observant, introverted wallflower to a nonchalant, low-key absent-minded, slightly lazy guy. Not nearly as driven as before. Not that he was ever this super academic, wildly driven type to begin with. Still, there had been something more to Byers prior to now. Something alive. Lately? Byers looked like he was simply surviving. Doing just a bit more than the bare minimum to get by.

Meanwhile, Steve had grown exponentially. He'd gone from being an entitled, snobbish rich kid who made C's and D's to a street-smart hero who knew how to protect and care for both kids and his friends, along with being trusted by the adults involved in all of these terrifying circumstances. He wasn't the teacher's pet growing up, but he certainly was the favorite now. He was Steve Harrington: bad boy turned supermom/superboy. He wasn't quite superman. He'd lost the girl, because Lois Lane had chosen Bruce Wayne over him. But along the way, he'd unexpectedly fallen for Gotham City's badass princess who floated under the radar until she found her way into the circle of Hawkins Heroes -- the upside down underdogs. Steve was strong, he was loyal and he was true.

So that afternoon next to the electric fence, those two men were having a 3-year standoff without even truly acknowledging it. It was bound to blow up in their faces at some point. And you had been the catalyst.

Eddie took all of that in by looking at Jonathan Byers as he stood in Steve Harrington's doorway, looking into the eyes of the former jock's best friend and his new unexpected friend of a metalhead.

"When he's up...I need to speak with him."

Jonathan's voice shook a bit, nervously. But he made eye contact with both Robin and Eddie. His eyes were sincere, remorseful and eager. "Please."

***

:) thank u all for reading. thoughts on this chapter? guesses as to what might go down? TAGLIST: @xprloki @erastourvip  @get0ut0fmyr00m @Eddiemuns0nl0ver @marrowfrog00  @poppet05 @wiltedflowersundertowers  Originalthingparadise Pleuviors pumpkinonice Ihaveproblemsihaveproblems Brinleighsstuff Definitelynotherr sucker-4-angst notlilyyyy

[choccy-milky]

Status update on the dark relic nsfw comic please ma'am 🙏 my family is dying

ITS DONE!! 🎉🎉🎉🎉...well, the DRAWING part is as of yesterday BAHAHA. now im just adding all the dialogue/speech bubbles/sfx, SO ITS DEFINITELY GONNA BE SOON!! DEFS BY THIS WEEKEND!! ive just been very nitpicky on the font which i cant decide on LMAO and im also nitpicky abt other final touches LOL. i didnt wanna show anymore cuz ive already shown so much but HERES THE FINAL SNEAK PEEK

and speaking of fonts, i normally use handwriting by jeremy paz!

oh man its so random, but i either use the name lumi or clora for everything whenever i play rpgs (baldurs gate 3, dragon age, you name it) and clora originated from rune factory 4 LOL. theres a character named 'clorica' and i really liked that name, it sounds so elegant and fantasy ish, so i eventually just shortened it to clora bahaha. now its my go-to. i like how simple it is but it also sounds unique and works in modern AND fantasy settings, imo

my first and ONLY playthrough was as clora! i originally did try to make myself at the start, but i have short brown hair and straight across bangs, and they didnt have a style that felt 'me', so i went with just making a ravenclaw that i liked, and then gave her my go-to name of clora HAHA. and yea, i built up her and sebs relationship in my head as i was playing, especially with all the running around the castle i did. i just liked to imagine her constantly out of breath and flushed and seb just watching like ....🧍girl chill...

AND SPEAKING OF MY DARK RELIC COMIC/SMUT, my biggest advice for writing smut id say is to have a reasoning behind it, i guess? i focus a lot on their headspace/WHY they're fucking at that moment when i write it LOL instead of just the movements/sex for the sake of sex. in your case, the sexual tension leading up to the first time gives you SO much to work with, since you can just be in his head with how much hes looking forward to it, how much hes savouring it, how he's also nervous but enjoying it and trusting the other person, etc. the thoughts are hotter than the actual deed a lot of the times (which is why when clora and seb did it for the first time it ended up being like, 15k words of just foreplay and build up from sebs perspective LMAOO) so yeah id just try to focus on their emotions and desires if you can! and a lot of the times with consent stuff it CAN feel forced, and you dont even really need your characters to talk about that stuff verbally, at least not too much. you can do it in body language, or just something as simple as 'ill stop if you want'. it doesnt have to be a long therapist-like conversation about consent, which CAN tend to sound a little awkward and unrealistic (esp in the heat of the moment), if thats the problem you're having. HOPE I COULD HELP

also i love this for you and for me. YES GO ON AND MAKE A BUNCH OF CLORA CLONES, I COMMAND IT👉👉👉

and last but not least the most important question. honestly i like plain sweets a lot with no icing/filling. im a slut for shortbread cookies and also just plain glazed donuts. and also custard/portugese/egg tarts, which i also forced clora to like in my fic HAHA. IF YOU HAVENT HAD THEM YOU HAVE TO, THEYRE SO GOOD😩😩💖💖

[0viraptoraskblog]

Do you have any head canons for the main three btd boys having an an0rexic captive whose body is visibly affected? This might sound uncomfy so u dont need to answer if u dont wanna

It’s alright, but this is my fair warning for anyone else who might find it uncomfy. Some of the answers mention vomit. Take care of yourself please ^^

and I hope you don’t mind, I did everyone because I kept getting ideas.

Strade- Not much different, but he would definitely bring it up in conversation. This could be just out of curiosity, or to make MC uncomfortable if he can tell it’s a touchy subject.

Ren- Ren would notice this almost straight away; he notices more subtle signs of things. Since he’s in charge of you now, this might worry him. He wants to take care of you; he’d be gentle about it, but he would try and get you to eat something. (I mean, he has the collar remote. You don’t have much of a choice.) and he’ll monitor you afterwards. If he can tell it bothers you, he’ll just explain that it’s for your own good. It’s a little forceful, but he does have good intentions.

Lawrence- Lawrence might not catch on at first, even if your body is affected. He’s not as perceptive of other people, and might just think you have some kind of health issue and not inquire past that. If he figures it out specifically he might be torn to if he should try to change something or just let it be. He’s not the best at caring for a captive anyway, so he might end up brushing it off and doing nothing. He would be a bit interested if he could feel your bones more clearly (the thinner you are, the more you can see/feel the skeleton through the skin). If he gets too caught up in that, he might be tempted to keep it that way.

Sano- Sano’s a doctor; he’d probably treat it like a medical issue more than a personal one. It’s something that can be fixed, if he has anything to say about it. He doesn’t want you to be weak. If you don’t listen to him and eat, he’d keep you in his lab for a while with a feeding tube. I wouldn’t test him.

Akira- I honestly don’t know. I think his reaction would be kind of underwhelming normally, like he’d notice but wouldn’t do much. If he’s grown attached to you, he might try and talk about it with you (not the best approach for some, but he’s no therapist). He just wants you to take care of yourself, but he might not know the right things to say. Maybe he doesn’t realize how serious of an issue that can be, and that you can’t just snap out of it or something.

Rire- Not much of a change, but if he discovers it he might offer to ‘help’ you (meaning he just gags you with his tentacles until you throw up, much like in game). It would give him another way to play with you, but overall it doesn’t phase him.

Cain- Normally, he would probably encourage it somehow, but in a subtle manipulating way. Like, he’d praise you for how good you look, implying that you should keep doing whatever you’re doing (he knows, and he can tell it’s not good for your body). It’s really just another effort to mess with your head. If he likes you, he might have a more thoughtful approach and talk with you about it. Similar to when he asked for your sins, but a bit more caring- he wants your reasoning, the thought process behind it. It might be a hard conversation, but he will offer some advice, whether you take it or not.

Vincent- As much as I hate to say it, he’d probably find it hot. He likes vomit and stuff. Even though that’s not always involved, he would assume it is. Long term, if you lived with him, he might try and talk you out of it, but it’s not something that’s easy to be ‘talked out of’. That’s not really how it works. He cares, but he’s not the most sentimental in terms of helping.

Farz- Farz isn’t very touchy-feely in BTD. He wouldn’t bother with it much, but if he catches you one day he might offer his support. He generally disapproves of it but it depends on how close he is to you if he’s gonna do anything about it.

Derek- He’d make fun of you for it, mocking you and probably making your body image worse. He’d find a way to torture you with it, somehow. Just imagine something awful he could do— that’s my answer. The horrible possibilities are endless for him.

Celia- Celia has body image issues (and very possibly an ED) herself. She would feel a bit of empathy towards you. Side note: I think part of the reason she force feeds you it’s to live vicariously through you, because she won’t eat that much sugar herself to preserve her image. That’s why she asks you to describe it and stuff. You being an0rexic might sway her one way or the other. On the one hand, she understands your motives, and might be nice enough to treat you more carefully in that regard. On the other hand, she might see it as an opportunity to double down on the force feeding for her own mentality.

Mason- Probably wouldn’t notice, if it was just a normal hunt. He might assume you’ve been with Fox and his workers for a long time, and look the way you do from lack of food while there. And this is a do or die situation.. you only have so much to eat before you actually starve. That might change things.

[punsmaster69]

12/APR/20XX

i think that was my goal.

remember? the one i was mentionin' about twenty nine pages ago? i'd said something like...

"and when i achieve it?"

"...guess i'll finally close this book for good."

so, i'll count that to be my goal.

therapist agrees, so you can't get on me about that.

sharing inner thoughts was never something i'm great at. so much so that you might've forgotten that's what this was for.

can you believe that? s'posed to be a thought journal. daily mental-state evaluation.

ended up talking about my friends instead.

wasn't for me, i suppose.

...after some amount of pages, huh? geez.

[This calls attention to the fact that the book is much thicker than it was when it started. Seems instead of switching to another one, his journal just... gained pages.]

point is.

seems to me like a good place to stop things at.

i'll give you a final update, and we'll call it. alright?

——

breaking the news went as smoothly as if we'd entered the room and broke a vase on the floor instead. (undyne about did just that.)

the second calamity was when mettaton and my bro show up kinda late

holding hands.

turns out my bro is much more decisive than i am.

apparently it was mettaton first, then paps who decided after a few serious dates.

congrats to 'em.

been deflecting questions best i can all day from the announcements, so i was thankful my bro showing up like that took enough of the heat off me n' tori.

i...

can't stop smiling.

well- alright, that's a given.

but i mean this doofy grin i haven't kept up this long in ages.

i'm not even trying for this one.

all this talk about relationships, i think undyne's gotten excited. talking about marriage and all that. alphys has gone beet red.

grillby and the bar gave me a hell of a lot of pats on the back. i'd be bruised if i weren't bones.

if it wasn't that which would've bruised me, it definitely would have been the punch flowey gave me. the comment that earned me it?

"so..."

"this makes me your dad, right?"

he didn't take it well.

despite the petal-haver's apparent hatred... i think he's secretly glad that toriel's happy.

my bro sure took the news well.

granted, since he already thought me and her were dating, he just was happy for the public announcement.

"WAIT."

"DOES THIS MAKE ME AN UNCLE?!?"

"Are we gonna get another sibling??"

"WAIT, are we gonna get a SKELE-sibling?!?"

"whoa, slow down-"

"Frisk, NO??"

"Do not encourage this BONEHEAD to-"

"I think that is quite enough."

tori puts her foot down on that conversation.

living situations shouldn't change much for now, but maybe we'll figure out something else in the future. (staying with my bro. don't panic.)

concerns about my health have slowed down, as i've gotten more used to daily magic usage. noticed way less bad days recently, right? papyrus still insists on teaching me to use attacks better, so i've got that to look forward to. there might still be ups n' downs health-wise, but i'm confident in getting through 'em now.

paps is noticeably still somewhat anxious about it, fidgeting whenever everything is brought up. which is fair, but. still.

i'll get him a therapist like i've been seeing. an in-person one'll work better for him, i think.

not sure what else'll change, really. everything feels mostly the same.

other than (gasp) public handholding. (scandalous.) every time we're beside one another, tori's finding some form of physical contact.

that's different.

...in a good way.

right now, it looks like the aftermath of a wild party. friends knocked out in random spots; dangling half-off the couch or sprawled across the floor. i think frisk and i are the only ones still awake, since they wanted to put blankets on everyone.

"(Psst. Is one blanket enough?)"

they raise a large blanket in gesture with a questioning look.

i speak extra softly so i don't disturb toriel laying at my side, with her head on my shoulder and an arm across my torso; hand met with mine.

"(yep.)"

"(Kk.)"

frisk lays a blanket over me and tori. they stare contemplatively before speaking.

"....."

"Goodnight, Dad."

"...'night, kid."

welp.

guess that's it, huh?

....

i'm happy.

caring is nice.

———★

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐄𝐍𝐃

[thewatcher-ofmedia]

🔥CHARACTER REVIEW TIME🔥

(Can you tell that my portuguese teacher didn't come so I have 100 minutes without shit to do)

ANYWAYS, since I'm in the 4th episode I think it's a good time to see first impressions

MAIN CHARACTERS

CHARLES

I love him so much, like I was 10 minutes in and saying "I would die for you, I would kill for you, just ask and I'll do it"

Favourite character obviously

Wanna put him in a jar and protect him from everything bad in the world

He's brunette, has curls, is the sunshine character, has daddy issues and uses humour to cope so obviously he's also on the list of fictional crushes

Also something that I absolutely love about this show is that they pick this "stereotypical characters" and make them better.

Like, in this case the always happy character would have a ton of trauma but the show (or the characters, but that's a talk for another post) would not acknowledge this, they would show real depressed shit and then completely ignore it for the rest of the show.

Or just show it in the end of the series then kill him off.

But here they're letting people know from the beginning AND it's visible that the fact that he hides it is gonna be a major plot point in the show which makes me SO HAPPY

And in the loop scenes they made sure to focus on Charles face and reaction every. single. time.

Anways, I'm soo curious to learn more about his trauma and death and to see his character development

And he's so cute and trying so hard to make sure everyone likes him and lighten the mood and to not be a bother and to make everyone happy and I'm gonna cry

EDWIN

I also love him so goddamn much

He's also going in the jar, don't worry I'll protect you from everything

He's my baby (he was born more two hundred years before me and is my age BUT HE'S MY BABY)

Seriously someone needs to sit him down and say that everything is going to be ok (and get death the fuck away from him, my boy does not deserve hell, he deserves to be with his boyfriend best friend)

Also love this concept that everyone around him knows he's not straight, he knows that he's not straight but somehow he's still in the closet. Like, he never says he's straight, but he says to Niko that Mounty and him both boys, so one cannot be into the other and when Niko says that boys can like like each other he just turns the conversation around

I think they're writing that so well. It's subtle yet obvious, it's so good

Also, he's autistic, definitely in the spectrum. He obviously doesn't know because the first diagnosed case of autism was in 1943

And the dynamics that he has with everyone is SO GODDAMN GOOD

CRYSTAL

Someone give this girl an aspirin, a therapist and a bed

My girl cannot catch a break

One more in the protection jar, don't worry, I'll find your family for you, you need to rest

Overall great character, she's sassy, she's funny and she's the only emotional intelligent one

She's definitely gonna be the bridge for Edwin and Charles' romantically relationship

Like she's Miss "Edwin is acting weird because he's jeaulous of the sexual tension that we have, Charles" and Miss "Charles got stuck in the loop because he has strong feelings towards abusive fathers because he had one, Edwin"

Really love that we have someone to smack this idiots and say "You're in love with each other" because they are not gonna realise that by themselves

Also, DAVID GET THE FUCK AWAY FROM HER, SHE DOES NOT DESERVE YOU. I'LL GET THE CROSS, I SWEAR I'LL DO IT.

NIKO

She's so cute, I wanna protect her from this cruel, cruel world

This means that I already have her in the jar, no one else is gonna get to her

At first I thought she was gonna be this really closed and introvert character that was gonna talk when absolutely necessary and was a bit emo. But like her hair her personality lightened up as soon as the parasites got out (she was sick it's normal that she was wuth a really depressed attutude but Bea's too focused on the story to remember how people act socially)

I really wanna hug her, I need to

Also love how eager she is to help and how she has nothing to do with the boys , she's a "cas closed" but even Edwin can't say no to her

I feel like her "almost dying" trauma is gonna be a bit underrated (although I see that they are not completely ignoring because of the 3rd episode where she felt like she couldn't deal with death since she almost met her the week before) but I want to believe the opposite because until now the show has not disappointed me in terms of traumas (or in other terms really)

SIDE CHARACTERS

ESTHER

I don't have much to say, I like her in the twisted "this is a fun villain" way

I'm really curious to know more about this Lilith and immortality thing

She did loose some points in my book with the whole torturing the crow thing

I am ✨️traumatised✨️

CAT KING

I'm so confused about his character

Like, he's a really fun character

And his outfits are great

But at the same time, get the fuck away from Edwin, in both the scenes with both of them I was so scared that he was going to the "no consent" zone

I do love that both the scenes where he's in he slays the outfit, tries to drag Edwin out the glass closet, fails, keeps him trapped so he can try to do this one more time and goes away

Like, he has one objective and one objective only and honestly, respect

JENNY

My patient queen

I have not much more to say

She accidentally adopted two really weird teenagers and regrets that so much

I respect her so much

As an older sister, if she snaps, grabs a knife and kills them both out of annoyance I would support it

That's it 🫶

If you haven't understood yet I have way too many thoughts about this series

[butts-bouncing-on-the-beltway]

When are you able to tell that emotional abuse is mutual (perpetuated by both sides)? I do the same things to my mother that she does to me (implicitly threatening physical abuse by moving closer, starting arguments with her, calling her demeaning names, ect). She said that I was emotionally abusing her, and that terrified me. I only act that way around her, but I really don't want to ever act that way. I know that I start the majority of the arguments. Where's the line between a fight response to emotional abuse, reactive abuse, and just abusing someone? How do I stop acting like this? (I'm over 18 for context, by the way).

Oh man, anon this sounds really tough, and I understand how scary it can be to find yourself trying to break these kinds of cycles.

You're gonna get an answer that isn't necessarily actionable for you yet, but I'll do my best:

It will not be helpful for you to try and figure out "when the emotional abuse is mutual" because ultimately that's not really how emotional abuse works. Instead you need to be able to have a conversation with yourself about form and function. *why* are you and your mom both leaning on these kinds of interactions and behaviors? What behaviors and interactions would you prefer to lean on and why? What do you need to get there.

I have no doubt that some of the choices you end up making can be hurtful or harmful to others, because that's true of everyone, but the idea of mutual abuse comes from the nuance that unreasonable behavior can BE reasonable under certain circumstances, not from an honest truth about victims and survivors being blamed for their own history of abuse.

For what it's worth, we cannot learn what we have never been taught, and one of the biggest "hurt people will hurt people" outcomes in abuse is that people don't learn how to regulate their own emotions. A personal disclosure for the sake of example:

My wife and I both come from households where emotional and ohysical abuse was common, and where the avoidance of acknowledging this truth led to SEVERE alcoholism on the part of our parents. Addiction is often the outcome of feeling totally unable to endure your life safely, and both my wife and I understood that our parents loved us, but lacked the emotional skills to stop inflicting their fear and pain on us. We tried to help them, cut them off, reunified, set boundaries, and a million other things, but ultimately these are our parents. We cannot force them to get help.

But what about ourselves? What about five years in when we started fighting, and fights turned into screaming and throwing things? What about the day I moved too suddenly in an argument and my wife legitimately believed for a moment I was going to hit her? What about the way we would say our cruelest feelings to each other before finding out what they meant? What could we do about that?

The answer has been....complicated. I've been in therapy my whole life, and that will likely never change due to my lifelong severe and disabling symptoms, regardless of trauma. So for a while I tried to "fix myself". That helped, but not enough, and it made me painfully aware of what I needed to be different in my life without actually goving me the skills to change it. We tried family therapy, and that helped a lot! We started to learn more about how to talk to each other about things. Our therapist kept trying to get me to understand how much control I was trying to have over our life though, and that wasn't super tolerable at the time because I felt so helpless to intentionally seek an outcome at all times, plus therapy is expensive and we couldn't really afford to meet with our therapist as often as we needed to.

But this year has been different. We definitely had some fights early on, but no one really even raised their voice. *once* I started getting aggro, then stopped myself and said "I can't keep talking about this right now and still be kind" and I just. Walked away. Went upstairs for a few hours. Came back when that wasn't true and I'd done some journaling to better understand what I needed. Once, wifey started blocking doorways while trying to restart a conflict convo, but when I pointed it out she was able to go "that wasn't intentional/conscious choice on my part I was trying to get your attention" and I was able to say "yes, I understand, but how did you choose to get my attention" and she got a little pale for a second and agreed "yeah, I stood in front of your walking path and blocked it, I'm really sorry."

Like. We will probably always have fuck ups or overwhelm moments. Just last night I got snippy because I was getting overstimulated really suddenly and couldn't steady out, and wifey was visibly hurt by how I was talking to her and I didn't WANT to apologize I wanted to be like "this isn't about you but you're helping!!!!" And then I took a deep breathe and said "I'm sorry, I'm being mean, this isn't at you, but still" and wifey felt better! Because I acknowledged I was lashing out a bit. And she offered to snuggle while I listened to my headphones for a bit, and what do you know, I felt WAAAY better in like 20min. From that point on we were laughing and smiling and having a blast.

I'll be real, learning a lot of the skills it has taken to get here felt really fucking painful. When you have been abused, your abuser's framework of the world (filtered through all the cruelty they feel from the world, all the hurt and humiliation they carry about themselves and others, etc) is inflicted on you like a cage. At first you might fight the cage, try and break out of it. But after a while you stop even really thinking about it. You don't walk far enough across it to run into the bars anymore and maybe you even convince yourself it's not there anymore. Maybe you really do start to dismantle it, but all you get is room to lean out of the cage, grab something you need, and retreat back into it. The bulk of the cage remains, gnarled and sharp and broken in the mind, wounding you again every time you stumble into it. And it can be hard to realize how different the world really looks and feels once that stops being true.

I want to encourage you to put boundaries and physical space to facilitate those boundaries between you and your mom for a while, maybe even get the fuck out of that house if you can. But see if you are able to be a different person with others. What is different about those others but also about YOU in those moments such that you're able to act and feel differently?

I also want to encourage you to start becoming really aware of your breathing. It sounds like a nothing skill, but the thing is, hyperventilation and short sharp breaths can make our agitation worse, and those of us with trauma histories often experience physiological constriction secondary to our ANS dysregulation, often bad enough to physically restrict our breath. It is WILD gow much easier it is to keep calm under pressure when you don't immediately get so tense you can barely breathe. I started by just noticing and counting my breath, and what I realized is that I never breathe more then like 2-3secs in and out, which is WAAAY too short. So my first goal was box breathing. In through the nose for 4 count, hold for 4 count, out through the mouth for 4, hold for 4, repeat. This gradually forced my body to learn how to breathe normally again. Once that pattern was even comfortable to do (it took months to be able to inhale for more than 2secs without pain) I started just using it EVERY time I noticed ny breath. Usually my breath was tight, but the more I did it the less often that was true. My breathing is still often constricted, but no where near as badly, and it's often a little easier now for me to have the thought "nothing productive can happen until I calm down" and then ACT on it.

Now I can't control other people. My wife has been GREAT about trying to grow with me here. My mother? She still barely tolerates me walking through this stuff with her if I couch it entirely in "I'm worried about YOU" and make myself and my hurt invisible in the conversation. This means that if I ever get too close to accountability with her, she gets angry and lashes out. But good news! I've been doing this with her for about 4 yrs now, and last year she started apologizing to me, unprompted, when she has recognized that happened. She has literally never in my life done this. During a family reintegration session she had once fully told the therapist "I think if you apologize to children, you teach them to disrespect adults" and the therapist looked at her and said "that is one of the most cruel things I've ever heard a parent say about their child". So this is growth! Is it enough???? Who knows. But I'm in my 30s and haven't lived with my mother since my 17th birthday, and only talk to her for like 2hrs a month at most now. So like. Her role in my life is now such that this is tolerable for me actually. Some of that (very little of that) is due to actual growth on her part. Mostly, it's me. I'm safer in my life, I have more effective (for me) boundaries with the people I choose to make room for. I know how to walk away from things that are escalating. I know how to wind through "the feelings that come first that are tainted by trauma and rage and betrayal" to "the feelings that indicate a need or want going unmet" to "how to communicate those feelings to others in a way that actually conveys useful meaning".

It can sound, when I say this stuff, like I'm blaming myself for what my mother has done. But quite the opposite. It was HER JOB to raise me, care for me, and TEACH ME THESE SKILLS. If she lacked them, parenting classes, therapy, peer support, and so many other things were available to her. Were all of them actually functional? No, but plenty were and I know this for a fact. When I was in high school, I finally started making friends. My mother has ALWAYS been closer with the emotionally abusive parent of one friend than to the 3 other parents involved in those kids lives who knew how to have healthy conversations with their kids. One friend, with two parents who loved each other well, loved their kids well, and loved me well, my mother barely ever talked to these people. Mrs L never said a bad word about my mom, but she also never let me hear a bad word said about me in her home, even if my mom was the one saying it. She would just quietly and gently redirect the conversation and subtly give me a reason to leave the room.

It is notable to me that my mother saw this and became upset about what I must be saying to Mrs. L rather than noticing how well the other woman was parenting me and learning from it. Mrs L would NEVER have shamed her for it, I know that, but my mother was too ashamed to even admit to herself she was failing to be an appropriate parent. That is HER FAILURE, not mine. I was a fucking child.

But I'm not now. And if I blame her forever for how I act to others in my life, than I really AM doing the same thing as her. Because it's not the yelling or the lashing out! Everyone does that! I've learned that it really is true everyone has bad days like that! But most people understand they still need to curcle back, apologize, and repair any harm caused by their venting. I can learn how to do that too, even if it sometimes feels like there's something wrong with me for needing to. That feeling is the shame creeping back in and I already know that shame is a paralytic for me here.

One day, anon, you will have the chance to learn these skills and to make the little changes in your environment that help you start to access your autonomy again. When that happens, you will be able to start deciding how you value acting or reacting at any given time. The changes will smow ball, and you will wake one day realizing you no longer experience the bulk of your life as an attack or assault. Things will relax. Improve. Stabilize. And reorient a little at a time forever.

In the meantime, just remember that nothing is forever, including this relationship with your mom.

[alllgator-blood]

okkk wait this is the anon that sent an ask about autistic narinder and leshy hc 😅 i retract my statement they're all autistic 🤯🤯🤯🤯

I WAS LITERALLY IN THE MIDDLE OF ANSWERING THAT ASK TO SAY "I FEEL LIKE THEY'RE ALL AUTISTIC" BEFORE THIS ONE GOT SENT IN, I was two sentences in so your comedic timing was impeccable actually

I know there's like no evidence in-game to back my claims so this is purely a vibe check (and also me being unable to write for neurotypical characters) but yeah no I 100% feel like all the bishops have autism for some reason. They definitely express it in different ways and I was actually thinking about that in the car ride back home tonight??

SEMI-DETAILED HC EXPLANATIONS BELOW THE CUT

For leshy, I feel like since he's the youngest...when he came along, everyone was like "yep. We don't even need to get this one tested" after seeing him in his natural element. Which sounds cruel but that's just personal experience after people in my family started getting diagnosed and we started noticing things about each other better LMAO. I kinda actually designed my iteration of him to be like a big stim toy, I did that shitpost sketch in the last post but even the first time I drew him I was like "this dude is made out of orbs that make satisfying noises when they click together", so if I had to categorize the way his neurodivergency manifests, it's definitely "I NEED TO MOVE AROUND!! RIGHT FUCKING NOW!! MAYBE SCREAM A LITTLE IDK IT JUST FEELS RIGHT!!"

Heket is for sure the one that fights the most against people labelling her with it, just because she's like I'M SO NORMAL GUYS. LOOK HOW NORMAL I AM. LOOK HOW WELL I CAN ADAPT TO CHANGE AND LOOK AT ME NOT FREAK OUT AT ALL WHEN I'M OUT OF MY ELEMENT!! She's the new leader of the family so she does her best to hold it together but if you make plans with her, she's gonna be in Waiting Mode as soon as the plans are made and might tear you limb from limb if you flake or reschedule. Something my therapist told me recently is that me getting absurdly upset over injustices (small or big) is likely directly related to being autistic, so if heket feels like something is wrong she will absolutely be vocal about it. If someone says something mean to her, they are her fucking arch nemesis from that point on. The block button is NOT enough she wants them DEAD

For narinder, I feel like he maybe bonded a lot with shamura over the fact both of them feel pretty disconnected from everyone else? The way his autism manifests is probably the feeling that he's on a completely different wavelength than everyone else, and can't experience empathy the same way his siblings can. He'll like have conversations with people but it feels like someone just talking at him, and him having to mentally choose the dialogue options that make the conversation end the quickest. He probably feels like a completely separate species from everyone else on more levels than just "I am a cat and you are not". I know this doesn't line up with my narinder art so far but I have a distinct characterization of him pre-schism that's completely different from post-schism. I feel like he also resented the other siblings for having the same condition as him but presenting so differently, he felt like he got the short end of the stick.

Kallamar........is a FREAk ABOUT TEXTURES. Bro will actually throw up if he has to eat or touch something gross. He would probably excuse himself to go hurl if he sees leshy combining everything on his plate and shovelling it into his face. I'M actually about to hurl just thinking about it. I have to have lotion on at all times or I freak out when I touch things with my hands, and I feel like kallamar needs to have that famous Cephalopod Mucus Layer in order to exist in his body without wanting to implode. Maybe even a special oil he formulates himself? I also feel like he probably has the most freakouts and has been left crying inconsolably + hyperventilating on the floor over something seemingly stupid MANY times, but shamura is understanding enough to be patient with him and not try to grab him or repeat phrases at him over and over.

LASTLY, SHAMURA DOESN'T THINK THEY HAVE AUTISM. They're like "I love my Neurodivergent Family :) can't relate tho" but all the siblings have unanimously agreed they have something going on up there, even before the TBI. I think they're very book smart, and have little file cabinets of their brain of stuff like "arthropod husbandry" and "dreamcatcher making techniques" but are totally clueless to how other people operate. They don't really know *why* people do the things they do; in my prequel AU thing, they gain most of their social knowledge through people watching rather than like...being normal and just knowing how to behave. Out of all the siblings, they've probably been told the classic phrase "but you don't look autistic!" the most LMAO

Also shamura 100000% has misophonia and that's the reason I didn't have them sitting at the table with the other siblings in the voidpunk comic I did of them. They love their family to death but they have to make the conscious decision to not shake baby leshy every time he loudly chokes down his dinner, so they just sit out meals and eat on their own time. If shamura was real I would build them a shrine and sacrifice my noise cancelling headphones cause idk if they have sound reduction methods in cotl world <3

I know autism kinda encompasses ALL of these traits and isn't something that can be categorized into "this one hates noises, this one needs to follow a schedule..." but I also don't want to just point at one bishop and go "YOU. YOU WILL BE MY VESSEL" because I'd never get to write all that I have in mind if only one character had it. There's definitely overlaps in symptoms between them but I just wrote down what I felt would be the most notable to that specific character. I've been wanting to do a comic about their special interests or the times they just like sync up and have a brain blast jimmy neutron moment, cause usually they're all over the place. I have literally never said the word "autism" so many times in my life I think I gotta cut it here, THIS IS SO LONG. I REALLY DID WANT TO TALK ABOUT THIS THOUGH SO THANK YOU FOR THIS ASK GENUINELY. IDK IF YOU EXPECTED A SMALL ESSAY ON THIS BUT I WROTE ONE ANYWAY

[mbti-notes]

Anon wrote: INFP, 26. I have a problem I don't know the origin of. (Prefacing this by saying I've always been this way but I don't want to keep pretending I can live like this anymore. It's limiting my life, the opportunities I can take and everything I could be.) So. Let's say I'm at a bar, someone jokes about something and the joke is either one of those you come up with on the spot or just a reference, a quote, a proverb - basically something people hear once and then in the right moment recall and say to make others laugh. Most people seem to have their own "mental library" with other references like that, so they're able to reply and start this ironic back and forth of puns, maybe doing wordplay or imagination games and just amusing each other until they're laughing. This happens pretty quickly and they literally have no hesitation at all. They come up with stuff, share it, bond over humor, strengthen their relationship. They have everything so neat and tidy in their heads, or so it seems to me. I don't.

First of all, I am not that fast. And this is probably not to say I'm not smart, my QI's supposed to be 135 or higher (I don't remember right now cause I took the test a while ago). It's just that my mind always feels empty (or maybe it's filled with the wrong things the entire time). I don't recall anything that quickly, it really takes me a while to even recall a name I've read online the day before, sometimes. I need to focus and it takes a lot of energy and social times are faster, nobody waits for me to come up with the words I can't recall.

Second, I don't have a mental library with references, quotes and sayings I can pick from to sound funny in conversations. It's always the same two or three, and just because I've heard them since childhood. Other people seem to constantly learn more, register more, with no limit.

I can also be pretty oblivious sometimes. For example, it's obvious to everyone that the guy is speaking in a serious tone but it's ironic - and I still think that was a serious speech.

People treat me like I'm an idiot because of this. They always have to explain things to me, even basic information about life, and they look down on me cause they can tell I don't memorize.

I struggle with memory even when it comes to learning simple notions about what interests me by myself (alone) and then recalling them in a group of people. By myself, I do just fine, I take my time and mostly remember. With other people, I end up looking ignorant about most topics cause my mind is empty. They're able to spit fun facts about this and that, even using numbers, stats, making connections - and I can't even remember the basic fact itself, even though I did read about it multiple times. Let alone stats.

Same thing happens with improvisation. During the holidays we tried a fun game where we had to improvise a funny character and everyone could instantly think of someone except me.

Someone suggested this might be autism, but I'm not sure since I've been to therapy and no one ever told me that. I can only add that I've always had a hard time making friends growing up, I used to read a lot when I was a kid and then because of bullying had a long period of depression, so I stopped enjoying my hobbies. I've just recently started feeling better after years of therapy, and I'm about to get medicated for ADHD (which it's confirmed I have).

I really wanna fix this, honestly, because it's starting to impact my mental health and I still struggle to make and keep friendships since I'm not fast enough to participate or open up. I don't feel seen because I don't express my internal world fast enough for me to actually get some screen time. In the end, people tend to gravitate around each other more and ignore me. l'm definitely gonna talk about this with my therapist once the ADHD meds process is over, but what do you suggest? Even just a little practical advice would help a lot. I'm, like, miserable. Thank you.

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

While it's possible that there is a neurological explanation for this matter (such as ADHD, depression, or autism), I'm not really in a position to confirm that for you. What I can do is set aside extraneous possibilities for a moment and look only at the data as it pertains to personality type. This may or may not help you, but it could open up a door for getting one step closer to discovering the root causes.

Since this matter is directly related to the way your mind works, there should be plenty of evidence of each cognitive function in the stack doing wonky things. From there, I would normally provide some practical advice about how to use the functions more optimally.

However, in your case, I don't see the functions doing the wonky things I expect to see. Rather, there is a complete absence of certain function activity. This gives me great pause. When the description of a psychological issue doesn't align properly with the personality type someone claims to be, then the first possibility to consider is that they are mistyped. You will have to explain to me how you came to conclude you are INFP. Just so you know, it is quite common for ISFPs, ISFJs, INFJs to mistype as INFP.

Even if I were to proceed under the assumption that you are INFP in hypothetical terms, I would still struggle to think of suggestions for function development because you seem to lack the basic building blocks of Fi, Ne, and Si from which to make a start. Taking ADHD back into consideration doesn't help much, either. I've worked with a number of INFPs with ADHD and they normally suffer from unhealthy Ne, which generally presents as a mind that is too messy due to being too full - not empty - the opposite problem from yours.

I take mistypes very seriously because this blog is specifically about type development. I have experience working on type development with people, including people who were mistyped, so I can tell you that trying to develop the wrong functions can produce very negative effects. It basically means operating with a false self-image, which has the potential to damage self-esteem. It's important to exercise an abundance of caution and avoid harm. I can't in good conscience suggest things that might ultimately send you in the wrong direction.

If you would like for me to continue helping you, the first thing you need to do is submit a thorough type assessment (by following the instructions on the contact page). The process would allow me to understand exactly how your mind works and then connect how you normally use functions to this specific matter at hand. Until then, my ability to help is very limited.

I understand this matter upsets you and you want nothing more than to fit in and feel normal. But psychology can be complex and it sometimes takes many steps to unravel a problem and understand it. To help you properly, I have to be able to determine where exactly your true potential lies, which means I have to consider the possibility that your social strengths lie elsewhere. I'm not yet convinced that the INFP growth trajectory is the right path.

The only practical advice I can leave you with at this point is: Exercise more intellectual curiosity. This shouldn't be a problem if you are indeed N. Broaden your horizons by taking up more interests, seeking out new experiences, learning more about the world, caring about important causes... and gradually build a stronger foundation of knowledge. From there, you should be able to contribute better during social interactions. To put it simply, the remedy to an empty mind is to start filling it.

-----

EDIT: An anonymous reader wrote in and requested I pass along a message, which I will present without comment for OP's consideration:

Message for the maybe-INFP anon with empty mind: You're not alone, I have adhd and struggle with a similar (INFJ). Social situations move too fast for me-- a relevant joke or anecdote comes to me too late. I miss the real meaning of words, not recognising tone, irony, or implications because I process things slowly. And my memory is unreliable, so I don't recall enough info to engage. Once, I forgot what the street I lived on looked like; things don't always stick. Draining despite being "empty".

[laniemae]

hell naw it’s analysis time

Going to expand more on my short Ojima analysis especially on the Library Unlocked episode because oh boy I have so many thoughts on it. Essentially gonna be retreading some of the same ideas I had but properly expand on it.

I always come to think back about Ojima’s speech about pity that one episode. How after his secret in confession game was revealed everyone started treating him completely differently, especially with how he was almost a sub leader to Sasaki in the beginning helping organise the group and stuff. Being viewed by the group as a strong willed leader. And the massive change in everyone’s attitude towards him becoming very noticeable, especially after he mentioned it. It’s in a way where subconsciously, people tend to look down upon people who’ve been through severe trauma through pity. Pity inherently places the person being pitied on a lesser value than the person pitying them, viewing some as someone who’s small and weak and has been hurt by the world and unable to defend themselves. It seems extreme but it’s a very easy mindset to fall into. Going from seeing Ojima as a tenacious leader to a subject of pity, only seeing him from further on as his trauma, and forgetting who he is as a person.

Looking back into the story it’s interesting how Ojima first gets angry when Hama asked him if he wanted to talk. Going back to the whole pity idea it could fall into the whole placing the person being pitied on a lesser value, “do you want to talk” implying that there is something wrong with the person in question and you can fix it. It’s exactly how Ojima says it about everyone trying to get in his head. And Hama isn’t the first person to bring this up, both Hiroaki and Sasaki have said the same thing to Ojima in ways that are very interesting. Ojima mentions how he tolerates Hiroaki because he’s the only person who still treats him like an equal after confession game. But it strikes me as noteworthy how even he partially slipped into that by saying the same thing. But looking back at that scene Ojima actually appreciates what he says, and I feel like I have an idea to why. Hiroaki isn’t being overly pushy in that scene and they already have an established relationship, and he specifically brings up how it’s easier for him to ignore his problems but if he feels as if he is ready to face his trauma he won’t be alone. Hiroaki usually isn’t the best at handling things but him actually treating Ojima as an equal here makes his speech much more impactful.

Now Sasaki’s treatment of Ojima is very different in this matter. She definitely seems to be the person who’s most fallen into this pity for Ojima after confession game, and eventually salvation game where it’s revealed he’s dropped out of therapy 8 times. From the beginning these two have been the ones to organise the group and construct ideas on how to escape. But mostly with Sasaki and Ojima investigating together and her getting mad about him constantly spacing out and forgetting things. But this duo kind of fell apart as Sasaki became more desperate and Ojima hanging out with Hiroaki more. So the episode Follow Up with their conversation really highlighted how much the confession game, and to an extent salvation game’s statements changed her opinion on him. Sasaki’s attitude changed very starkly from constantly getting annoyed at him to almost being more disappointed, and very quickly bringing up to him if everything is ok. She turns the conversation onto specifically him with the stress from the killing game rather than in the context of everyone saying stuff such as “So let’s try and figure out ways to help you cope.”. And in a way Sasaki’s almost playing a makeshift therapist towards him which would be very jarring after Ojima’s salvation game statement, but I understand how Sasaki only wanted to help. But through this behaviour of Sasaki only treating Ojima as pitiable from what was revealed about him and putting herself in a higher position, with the subconscious idea that Ojima isn’t strong enough stand up for himself, is what caused him to get angry. Him noticing that this is only because of the games and getting upset how she’s prying into his business like that when he really doesn’t want to talk about it break’s Sasaki’s therapist act. And she almost becomes argumentative with him, not being able to fully understand why he doesn’t like talking to people and feeling disappointed in him because of it.

Sasaki’s approach on Ojima’s problems is inherently flawed due to this mindset of pity and not being able to understand where he’s coming from. As in her case she managed to escape her own trauma through talking to people and with Ojima being very insistent on not doing that was very much confusing to Sasaki here. At first it seems as she’s being fully sweet and kind here but it’s not always that simple.

With Hama’s approach to talking with Ojima like this it’s different in a way how Ojima immediately shut him down before he could give the whole typical speech that he hates so much. But I’ll still analyse this scene as it’s noteworthy how Hama very much understood Ojima’s feelings on this matter and being treated like some helpless little kid. It’s mostly the talk they have about the whole therapy thing which shows Hama’s insight into the situation, being more blunt about things than other people but acknowledging why Ojima got so angry. And bringing up his experiences with therapy not in a way to try and push him to sign up again like what Sasaki did with how she talked to people. But Hama acknowledges how he’s not trying to get involved in his business and saying that she should be in therapy. Rather bringing up how since he’s signed up so many times, if he knows he needs it then it won’t hurt trying again. 

Onto taking about specifically Ojima himself, it becomes very clear that he’s a person with a very strong mental fortitude. Actually having the willpower to sign up to attend therapy so many times is an incredible feat, even if he dropped out so many times and didn’t even attend a few. In a way this makes the pity thing even more dehumanising as he probably more than a lot of the cast has the power to stand up for himself. Even so Ojima putting up this shield around him has proven itself harmful, having dealt with so many people looking down on him once they know his past very much solidified himself into a mindset of not needing to talk. He has a point with how people treat him but closing off all communications and insisting you don’t need help will only lead to further stagnation and an inability to change. Which as Ojima has shown to very much try to improve himself, could lead him down a rough spiral. His coping mechanisms often deal with daydreaming to pass stressful situations and burying all his problems. But a bandage can’t stifle an eternal wound and one day its influence will bleed out if it isn’t confronted. Which makes Hiroaki’s take on this matter very meaningful. How other people both look down on him by pitying him and try to bring up his problems which he always tries to hide from has lead him down into this path and made him a much colder person. I really want to see how his character develops throughout the series as his mental fortitude is a very strong attribute to have in a situation like this but his bitterness towards other people separating him from the rest of the group. But I’ll guess we’ll have to see where this goes.

Thank you for coming to my TED talk this is my first proper character analysis on tetro and from this you can very clearly see why Ojima is my favourite character, well clearly if you can understand my 1,000+ word wall of text lmao.

[kaep-jjang-veryjjang]

Tomorrow it's gonna be 7 years since my best friend Alan committed suicide. Here's what I've learned about grief and healing:

1.- It never stopped hurting. I talked to many therapists, to friends, family of mine and his. For seven years I thought that just talking about it was gonna make it hurt less, but it never happened. Eventually, I just came to terms with the fact that time was never gonna heal anything. Time isn't real. What's real is loss and when you finally understand that it's an unchangeable fact, pain becomes bearable. But it never stops.

2.- You say you're okay talking about it, but it's always a lie. You talk about the person you lost, about the pain, about the way they died, but never about the real issues you'd like to discuss, the kind of things that would hurt people, that would bring out the guilt, so you just don't.

3.- Grief never really ends. It may evolve, become bearable, or worse sometimes. There are days it hits like a wave of cold water, like I'm in the middle of the ocean in a deadly storm and I let it drown me. Other days I'm standing alone at the beach, staring at a calm ocean under the sun, and I know I'm fine. If I'm honest, sometimes I miss him, but I'm thankful I got to know him, to have him in my life. Other times, I can't stop myself from crying and it makes me hate him.

4.- It'll always be there, in the back of your head. It'll always be the difficult part of the conversation. Whenever you're getting to meet someone and you're being honest about yourself, it'll come up, and you'll never have the right words for it, even after you've rehearsed it a thousand times. And they'll say "oh, I'm so sorry, it must have been really awful for you." They're right, but you'll always try to downplay it, because you wanna show people you've "healed" and that means swallowing the need to say "it was definitely more awful for him, or he wouldn't have shot himself." It's dark humour, or that's what you tell yourself.

5.- When they say "You're so strong" or "I'm glad you're doing well/better now," it'll feel odd. I mean, what choice do I have? He's already gone, that's it. Although, after seven years, I've become more open about it and I get to talk to people about the whole process of getting to where I am now. But I always skip the part where I wish he had stayed, where I wished I had seen that text message before he died so I could tell him I loved him. I skip the part where I talk about our potential as a power couple. It's easier. Unless it's a close friend; then, we could share some wine and all those stories from the past and what we imagined the future with him would have been like. That's always nice.

6.- Finally, as the anniversary approaches, it'll hurt again. And you'll try to force yourself to be okay, because you have to heal. Maybe you'll visit a graveyard, or maybe there's that one place where you like to go, or maybe you'll commemorate it in your own way. That's ideal, right? Good job, do that. But maybe you moved out. You left that shit hole and you're trying to make it somewhere else. Maybe you can't afford to visit them or that place anymore. Honestly? Who cares? Dead, dried flowers on top of a grave, that doesn't mean anything. After all, all of that is not for the dead, it's for us. The dead don't smell flowers. You'll feel guilty for living, specially in those days, but the thing is: You are alive. Miss them; I still do. That's more than enough.

[courtofmatchups]

Hi! Here's my half of our matchup exchange. Could I please get a romantic matchup for Tokyo Debunker and Twisted Wonderland?

Pronouns: She/Her

Sexuality: Straight

Age: 20

Zodiac Sign: Gemini

MBTI: INFJ-A

Ennegram: 5w6

Appearance: I'm 164cm (5'4") and have an average build (not too curvy but definitely not straight up and down). I have green eyes that everyone thinks are brown and curly/frizzy dark brown hair that is down to the middle of my back. I don't think I really have a specific aesthetic but I usually wear denim shorts or jeans, and a comfortable/stylish top. In winter, I tend to lean towards middle ages poet (including a corset belt) or dark academia outfits.

Personality: I'm pretty quiet in social settings but if someone talks to me first, I can keep a conversation going. I will occasionally go up to someone to initial a conversation but not very often. With people that I'm close with, I'm very open and sarcastic. I have a high sense of self worth but as part of that, I set very high standards for myself. I also usually meet those standards though. People say I have a good poker face/a scary glare but I've never seen it. People also say I look like someone who "knows what they're doing".

Likes/Hobbies: Reading, writing, anime, video games, and listening to music (musicals, pop, and rock typically but I have a pretty broad style). I want to be a fantasy writer and I am currently studying an English major at university.

Dislikes: Spiders (deathly afraid of those), being forgotten when I'm gone, and disappointing those who I care about. I'm also not too fond of really deep water.

What I look for in a partner: Someone honest and caring. Someone who treats me the way I deserve to be treated. I don't really have a preference on appearance; personality is far more important to me.

Hopefully I've put a good amount of useful information! I hope you have a lovely day and that life is treating you kindly! Thank you for suggesting an exchange!

~Eren

It seems to me you've captured the heart of...

Rui Mizuki!

Hear me out: your quiet and stoic nature might come off as mysterious at first, and Rui, being the extravert he is, would be curious about you, and start a conversation with you. He would be pleasantly surprised that you can hold a conversation. He would often go out of his way to invite you over to the Obscuary bar to have a chat/"date" for all intents and purposes. He'd hope you wouldn't have to dip after closing hours, since he wants to get to know you better. He will tell you this of course.

When you do get closer, he would absolutely love your snarky side. Also. YAP. ABOUT. YOUR. WRITING. Boy is a romantic at heart and would love to hear about your writing. He's a good listener (sometimes being a barista involves being an unpaid therapist of sorts), so if you need to get something off your chest he will be there to listen (I mean, if you work at a bar, you will inevitably hear people venting about their problems over a drink (not speaking from experience, but speculation)).

I do hope you aren't touch starved, because poor Rui won't be able to give you kisses or cuddles. RIP reaper's curse. If his curse does get lifted, I can only imagine how tightly he'd hug you, and how long he'd stay that way.

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

You've also captured the heart of...

Lilia Vanrouge!

Enter another curious man. Just from a glance from afar he can see that you are a confident person, and since you're so stoic, he can't help but feel drawn to you. He's a nocturnal fae, so he's seen some pretty curious things by diurnal creature standards. He would also be pleasantly surprised to see you're a good conversationalist. He'd gladly introduce you to his found family once you get close enough to him. I hope you don't have sensitive ears because Sebek's gonna be yelling a lot.

Silver notices his father gets really happy after a conversation with you, and I can't say he blames him.

I suppose your writing wouldn't really be considered fantastical by Twisted Wonderland's standards, as magic is pretty ubiquitous there, but Lilia would be happy to give you tips on writing fae characters regardless. Lilia also loves anime very much and would love to yap about his favourites with you.

You don't need to worry too much about spiders, since Lilia can get them to a safer place for you, but he will tease you about it.

Overall, a happy relationship

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

A/N: finally out of writer's block, yey!

[unnervinglyferal]

Hiii

idk I have anything much to say really

uhhh I have some screenshots of a Typical Straight Guy™ from a dating app if you wanna see him call me a “slapper” for not wanting to sleep with him if you wanna see them

I made a new minecraft skin if you wanna see that

I’ve been not managing to go to a sexual health clinic for like a week now (I have to plan it beforehand and shower successfully at the right time and haven’t been quite doing that)

huh ig I do have things to say

I might be too unwell for talking therapy currently? That’s what my therapist suggested might be the case (we’re thinking I should be fine as long as we stick to easier stuff). Also we’re looking to get a second opinion about me getting some mood stabilisers or anti-depressants or some such (that’s about my psychiatrist tho, not psychologist/therapist).

my bf - did I mention I currently have a bf? - anyway his phone broke and couldn’t text me so I assumed he was ghosting me but in fact he was desperately trying to reach me through other messaging methods which I don’t check regularly. And honestly although I was sad about the presumed ghosting and him not being into me anymore I was also kinda relieved? cos he says he Loves me and definitely means it but we haven’t been dating all that long so I think it’s just infatuation and I don’t wanna break his heart but idk how much I like him like that.

I might be lithoromantic honestly (meaning I feel romantic attraction only if it’s unreciprocated) but I do not have enough data points. And it might just be cos depression yada yada

I had this kinda conversation with my therapist and I just hate that I can’t get closure on any of this or resolve anything, I just need to not think about any of it cos if I properly confront it I just get suicidal and it’s just… exhausting.

ik it’ll get better and I’ll be happy in the future but I’ve been suicidal for 5 fucking years. why does it have to take so fucking long man.

ugh this turned out to be longer and sadder than originally intended so I’m gonna send the aforementioned media in another ask to make me feel better

Closure is a fake thing that's not real. Once the situation is over, you make peace with yourself and yourself alone. And it's going to take as long as it takes, but I promise life can be better than that. Even if you've never known anything else, it's out there, things can be better. A tadpole that was born in a bucket has no idea that there's a world outside of it. You've just got to hold on, try to make things better a little bit at a time.

You don't have to break things off with the guy just because you're scared of what might happen. Just be honest with him and let him make his own choices about it with the information that he has. If he doesn't want to protect himself from getting hurt by you - even by accident, without meaning to - you can't do that for him. You can't really do much on behalf of other people, really. And everyone gets their hearts broken at some point, it's like losing your baby teeth. Part of growing up.

...Also what the fuck is a slapper.

[basingstokemercury]

The Way Station:

In which Adam goes from "clean-shaven" to "basically a beard at this point" overnight. Which makes total sense. I wonder if a certain production anecdote I heard has something to do with this...

Oh. You're in a mood. Figures after all that riding alone I guess.

STOP MAKING ADAM EVERY RANDOM PERSON'S THERAPIST HE HAS HIS OWN PROBLEMS TO DEAL WITH

Mum says Robert Vaughn is pretty famous. He seems cool.

Poor Marty... I thought they'd go the "she has a crush on Adam but he sees her as a kid" route, but it seems she forgot all about being interested in him the moment Luke came along.

So her mother just... left her kid to run off with some guy? Is that the story I'm getting?

Luke, by the way, introduces himself as Cody multiple times when he comes in, but next scene Adam's calling him Luke before Tim recognises him, and nothing is ever explained about this. Insight, anyone?

Interesting that throughout the conflict over Marty's future, Luke never suspects Adam of wanting her for himself. I guess he can tell when a guy's not interested?

And Adam is extremely fidgety this episode, which I guess makes sense with the "suddenly being held captive with a bunch of strangers" business. It's absolutely adorable.

Chewing a match, playing with a spoon, assorted messing around... I think someone might be just a little bored. And the one time he didn't bring a book...

This is a very good example of Adam's brand of courage in patience - waiting his moment, knowing when the enemy's vulnerable, not wasting strength and risking lives in a premature fight.

Why is it assumed that the women will do the cooking and serving? Surely at least Adam knows enough about food to help? Or the guy who runs a saloon?

So Marty's offered a choice between being a cook or saloon girl, when she has a talent for art and success for herself - all options she's being kept from by an overprotective guardian, which is pushing her not just to jump at the sup-optimal career offers but run off with a reckless criminal just for a way out. This is definitely a commentary on gender roles, right?

And Adam confronts a man who could easily (and likely remorselessly) kill him to protect a girl he barely knows, because, as he says, anybody deserves help when they're walking into trouble.

And has a very sweet one-sided talk trying to get through to her - who in his own life rejected him when he thought they were close? How many times has he had this conversation with Joe? He clearly has practice, I'm absolutely headcanoning that he's talked Joe through many a breakup and maybe even some with this level of messiness.

Which is ruined by Luke coming back, not because he actually cares but because his escape plan didn't pan out and he needs hostages. How romantic.

I can't blame Marty for buying it though, must seem like the fairytale ending of previous episodes where the outlaw comes back redeemed by the woman's love.

And she even (successfully) misleads the posse for him...

Until, of course, he has to ruin everything with murder.

"I can't spend the rest of my life in jail-" "You won't. You're gonna hang." Adam. Friend. Releasing just a bit of pent-up frustration there?

And aww a final gesture of maybe-redemption after all to ensure she finally gets that chance to make her name. How sweet. The end.

As wonderful as the family dynamic is I do love these stories that just zero in on Adam being his wonderful brilliant kind self.

The War Comes To Washoe:

Speaking of family dynamic...

Ben. Honestly. The war is coming to your house whether you like it or not, what happened to caring about others' need? Growth opportunity and all but I did an awful lot of wanting to punch him before that.

Oh look we finally mention that slavery exists and it only took more than three seasons! Go Adam!

Adam: I don't understand how you could sympathise with the cause that believes in slavery! Don't you see it's a bad idea to get involved with the daughter of a Confederate campaigner? I'm just trying to get you to think more carefully about your actions, okay? Joe: Well uh the South has a right to make its own decisions! And you just stay out of my love life or I'll make you regret it? Ben: Calm down, both of you! You're both overreacting to something that doesn't concern us! Adam: It does concern us- Ben: Nope we have a ranch to run go be useful!

Honestly. Come on.

Mum comments that Craigsmuir looks like BJ (it's probably the bad moustache) and now I can't unsee it thanks.

Joe. Joe be intelligent for once. How many girls have you told you love them more than anything? Are you incapable of recognising seduction tactics? At least Ben came around!

Okay he's actually considering turning on his father, Adam, and morality, for love. This is a normal thing to consider.

"Maybe by the time Adam gets back he'll have cooled off" JOSEPH DO YOU STILL THINK ADAM WAS THE GUILTY PARTY IN THAT ARGUMENT?!

Go Detective Adam and Trusty Sidekick Hoss! (Does this mean the Paiutes are siding with the Union? Or did a Union agent kill him, make it look like a different faction's work, and not search the body? I thought the Paiutes were supposed to have a good relationship with the settlers at this point...)

Antagonist: How do you plan on making me give you the information? Hoss: I could beat you up... Adam: I could let him...

Yeah. Someone's in no mood to play games today. Two someones, it seems.

And Adam rushes in just in time, disrupting the order of the convention, and it seems like he won't be allowed to speak-

When Joe's brotherly protective instincts finally come back, and he trusts his brother and won't let anyone push him around! Took you long enough kid!

Well done Joe. That should not have been this difficult though.

[dis-plus-fanfic-reblog-writes]

Identity

Wade Wilson | Deadpool x Rabbit Furry AFAB Reader

A/N: Whenever I think of Wade and all his “weirdness”, my brain always wants to go to his kinks. I don’t know why but it does. AND THEN my brain said fluffy fluff schmoopy love instead. So, I wonder what it would look like if Wade was with an genderfluid pansexual AFAB who was a furry. If there is a different or more appropriate word, please tell me.

->You are responsible for your media consumption, and by continuing to read, you agree to this. Thank you.<-

Definition of Furry

Anyway, it always made me wonder how he would react. My brain went off on a tangent.

You and Wade have been dating a few weeks now. You’ve been trying to decide how you want to tell or show him about you being a furry. You think that’s the right word. You’ve had partners in the past view it as a sexual thing when it isn’t. It’s part of your identity. Yeah, you’ve even talked to therapists and they’re like as long as it doesn’t hurt you or others, you’re good—basically. It’s fine but you’re gonna have issues with acceptance since it’s not “main steam”.

When you get home, you regularly put on, at minimum, your ears and tail. You have a variety of ears of different appears—standing up, moveable, lop-like, and so forth that are the same coloration: blue-grey and two white cotton tail belts and one for…fun times. You also have pieces for your forearms and calves with matching fur. You just got the feet you’ve been wanting that you can wear your sneakers in but haven’t gotten the hang of walking in them yet.

The point is this is not a sexual thing though that is how it stated. You just want to find someone who can accept you as is. You think maybe Wade could be that. You’re just scared he will laugh in your face or think you’re crazy like others have.

So, you’ve tried mentioning it and he initially thought you mean roleplay, like pet play, which you wouldn’t mind except that’s not what you were trying to talk about. You just made out with him instead since you kept sticking your foot in your mouth. But Wade being Wade doesn’t forget these things, he’s got the memory of an elephant or steel trap or something.

Two weeks later when you two were getting intimate, he said he had a surprise for you. The moment you opened the box your stomach dropped and you felt nauseated. The box contained a butt plug bunny tail (which you already own), cheap ears from a sex shop, and paws. (The paws you were excited about since you could actually use your hands.) When you saw the items, you were disappointed that you couldn’t hide it. He watched you and was confused.

“Honey bunny, what’s wrong?” Wade asked and took your hands in his. You took a trembling breath trying to prepare for the direct conversation you needed to have. The pit in your stomach said this was gonna ruin everything.

“It isn’t sexual,” you quietly stated, trying to not cry from frustration.

“Oh,” he replied. You could feel your face warm up in embarrassment and shame. Everyone held this against you.

“I mean we can do sexual stuff but it isn’t innately sexual to me.” You closed your eyes and fell back against the couch with a heavy sigh. Your stomach roiled with nausea. Slipping your hands from his and setting the box down on the coffee table, you went into the kitchen to get a glass of water.

Wade watched you, brows furrowed. He got up and slowly walked over to you as you got water from the sink. You sipped the water and kept him to your back. You felt the hot tears roll down your cheeks. When he put his hands on your shoulders, you flinched. He didn’t touch you after that. You poured out the rest of the water and set the glass in the sink. “I’m sorry, Wade.” You felt so ashamed. You did this to yourself, again. You took a step towards the front and he stepped in front of you.

“No, no, no, sweetheart,” he tried to catch your eyes but you just looked away. “Would you tell me again?” He asked gently.

You sniffled, nodding and took a slow deep breath in and exhaled. “You know how I’m pansexual.” He nodded. “Yeah.” Inhale deeply, you admitted, “I identify as an…anthropomorphic rabbit. I’m a…a furry.” You waited for the laughter or disgusted comment as more hot tears fell down your cheeks.

None came.

He took your hands in his and squeezed. “Would you look at me please?”

It took a bit of effort before you could glance up at him. He had a soft smile on his face. He looked happy at you. “Thank you for telling me.”

With a tilt of your head and furrow of your brow, you looked over his face. As far as you could tell, he was being sincere. His shoulders were even relaxed, so you were pretty sure. You sniffled. “You’re welcome.”

“Can I hug?” He asked for permission. You immediately nodded and let go of his hands to wrap you arms around his torso as he wrapped around your shoulders. You cried hard against him. He rubbed your back and swayed with you.

“I’m sorry I misunderstood,” he apologized. You shook your head. “No, I-i-i kept…”

He shushed you. “Hey, no, I see now what you were trying to do before. So, you view yourself as a rabbit. Humanoid rabbit.”

“Yeah,” you muffled a squeak then snuffled.

“Aww, my poor bun bun just wanted me to see them.” He paused before recommending, “How about we go sit back down?”

You shook your head. “I don’t—the box.”

“I’ll get rid of it—“ He suggested. “No,” you interrupted. “You don’t have to get rid of it.”

“I’ll put it away.” He kissed your hair and petted your head before letting go and grabbing the box from the coffee table then headed into his room. You slowly go sit on the couch and wipe your face off with your shirt sleeve. A sudden wave of tiredness hit you, so you leaned back into the couch with your eyes closed.

You didn’t notice Wade had returned until you felt him display the couch next to you. He cupped your face and rubbed the apple of your cheek with his textured thumb. You opened your eyes to him with a small smile. “Hey,” you greeted.

“Hey,” he replied. “You doing ok?”

You shook your head. “Just a lot of…apprehension that…people are assholes.”

He huffed a laugh and nodded. “Yep, those fuckers are.” You cupped the hand on your face and nuzzled into it before kissing his thumb. “You’re the first one.”

“The first one what?” He asked, his brow furrowed.

“The first person to ever just be ok with it,” you quietly admitted.

His face changed so quick, it surprised you. He looked as if you personally offended his honor or something and his hand was splayed on his chest. “I’m the first?” He inquired incredulously. You nodded, weakly, worried you misunderstood the acceptance.

“Tell me who they are. I’ll make them pay for hurting my baby,” he growled.

Normally, the growl would be hot af, but right now, you were reminded that Wade claimed to be a mercenary and superhero. He can be intimidating.

Shut up, a they-dy can dream. Yes, when you learned about his claim you were curious and went on a date with him. His crazy seemed to match your crazy, so why not?

“Wade, baby, you’re not gonna go scare or worse my exes. That’s why they’re my exes,” you firmly stated.

He hummed noncommittally. “I mean it Wade, no. You have me and my heart and I’m all yours.” Quickly you added with a smirk, “You want my soul? Gimme a piece of paper. I’m sure we can make a Faustian contract.”

“There’s my bunny,” he grinned. He easily manhandled you to sit sideways in his lap, hugging you. You chuckled and nuzzled into him. “So, that’s why you always do that.”

You felt you face warm up. “I like how you smell,” you shyly admit.

“You like my smell?” His nose was wrinkled and brow furrowed deep. “Figured I’d smell rotting or more like death.”

“Wade, just because your mutancy involves your cancer doesn’t mean you have to smell like it,” you deadpanned and plunked your head on his shoulder. “What the fuck does cancer even smell like?” He shrugged.

“You’re such a dork,” you giggled. You wrapped your arms around his neck and leaned up, a small purse of your lips and Wade leaned down to kiss you. You hummed into it before pulling back. “Thank you.”

“For what?”

“Being you. Being thoughtful and trying.” You purse your lips. “Also, I already have a butt plug tail and much better ears than that. Just because it isn’t innately sexual doesn’t mean I don’t want to have sex while wearing stuff.”

“Oooo,” he smirked and quirked a brow.

“I could bring it over. I usually put it on when I get home from work,” you admitted.

“Really? Now, I definitely want to see you in it,” he smiles, teasingly.