#only Misha would hang out and make things

[saywhat-78]

This mfr at the con doing arts and crafts side quests.

[sheisjoeschateau]

"Oh, so we do love Steve..."

VOLUME II Chapter One Chapter Two Chapter Three Chapter Four

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆ 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+

VOLUME II / CHAPTER 1-4 (WARNINGS/NOTES): t.w.'s - severe traumatic diagnosis for one of the main characters, heavy topics, language, sensitive mental health matters.

[These chapters are meant to be read directly after Part X, in chronological order.]

Tbh if you are not comfortable reading about traumatic situations that lead to trauma induced mental states, then this is jot the story for you. That said, this story has a very beautiful, warm ending and the light at the end of the tunnel is eternally bright. So in my humble opinion? It's worth every bit of the damn journey, if you wanna hold my hand and get there together (we can follow behind Steve & Bauman, as they hold each other tight through it all). 18+

AUTHOR'S NOTE: Oh we are so back. And now? We're doing a time jump skip before we travel back in time, to figure out what all led up to this moment. Not gonna say much this time, because I really wanna let these next few chapters & my writing speak for themselves.

But I will say... I *did* make sure to include the first 4 chapters since I've been away for so long... ;)

Huge immense thank you to everyone who has not only been following this story religiously, but as also had an absurd amount of patience with me in picking this back up. Life's been keeping me occupied, but I can't complain. This platform is my escape, and I've nurtured it (along with this story) so that it's never a platform that doesn't provide me joy, release and peace of f*cking mind. You all do that for me and ily all the more for it. :)

Xx, Misha

Bonus: If you listen to this song cover, wayyyylllp then you are in for a treat. It heavily inspired this series volume, and it will be back...

***

CHAPTER ONE Systems Processing

Two months later . . .

The bedroom was dim and still. The kind of quiet that didn’t feel peaceful. Just stale, heavy with breath not being taken deep enough and seconds that dragged instead of passed. 

Outside, spring pushed up from the thawed ground like it had every year, resilient and blind to the war they’d all just finished losing pieces of themselves to. Inside, the Harrington house felt like a museum. Untouched plates on the dining table, old jackets on doorknobs, too many pairs of shoes by the door. Haunted by the living.

Steve didn’t move.

He lay on his side on top of the covers, still dressed in yesterday’s shirt and sweatpants, one arm tucked under the pillow, the other hanging limp off the edge like it had forgotten it belonged to a body. He wasn’t asleep. Not really awake either. His eyes were open. Glazed over, red-rimmed, fixed somewhere past the wall, past reality, like he was watching something only he could see.

He hadn’t spoken in four days.

No one called it ‘catatonia’ out loud, not even Owens. Maybe because saying it would make it real. Maybe because nobody knew what the hell to do about it anyway. Even Robin, who normally refused to let anything rot in silence, had gone still around him now. Hopper kept pacing. Joyce kept cooking. Dustin cried exactly once in the garage and punched the wall when Steve didn’t flinch at the sound.

Everyone floated.

Steve sank.

Except when you were there.

The door creaked softly. No knock. Just you. 

Just Bauman.

Just his.

You slipped into the room with the slow ease of someone who’d already been here a hundred times. Which, to be fair, you had. First when Steve was an ass. Then when he was a friend, even though that took a solid four years in the making. And then it’d been whenever things shifted again, into something more. And again and again, as it kept being more. 

And then there was now.

Now, when he was… this.

You didn’t speak right away. Just eased the door shut behind you and made your way across the room with a quiet, practiced patience. You weren’t hurrying. You didn’t tiptoe either. You walked like it was any other Tuesday, like this was just another morning, like Steve wasn’t fractured behind his eyes and lost somewhere between what had happened and what he couldn’t stop reliving.

You climbed onto the bed.

Not over him, not around. Right in front. You lay on your side, facing him, tucking your forearm under your own head as you shifted until his vacant stare met your eyes. He was still looking right through you. You didn’t flinch.

“Morning, sunshine,” you said, voice low, dry, but warm like always. “You look like a man who got hit by a bus and is now haunted by the ghosts of every single wheel.”

Steve didn’t blink. But his jaw twitched. Just a little.

“I mean that in the sexiest way possible,” you added, deadpan. “Total roadkill vibe. My type. I’m into it.”

The corner of your mouth curved. You watched him with that unreadable, Bauman-brand expression you always wore, somewhere between ‘I might kiss you’ and ‘I might blackmail you with a secret I haven’t even discovered yet.’

He didn’t smile. Not yet.

You reached up, gently brushed your thumb under his eye. “You didn’t sleep again.”

He hadn’t.

I couldn’t, he thinks.

The nights were always worse. They always got started behind his eyelids. A twisted slideshow began the second he let them shut, VHS clicking into place and no remote in sight to keep it from pressing play all on its own, inside his own head.

Inside his own mind, the tape rolled. The images, the smells. Blood. Burnt hair. Electricity. Boots on tile. Your scream. Hopper’s fear. Dustin’s hands shaking as he pressed them against Steve’s chest, clinging, no longer play-fighting and begging him to not blame himself, no matter what. Max’s cries, raw and unfiltered, telling him she’s scared, she’s scared, “I’m so scared, Steve, please don’t leave me in there, I can’t go back there, please Steve, please.” It’s all so unfamiliar, hearing them all sound so broken, they’re not supposed to be broken like that. He doesn’t understand it. It’s foreign.

Just as foreign as his own voice had been, sobbing for you, shoving Jonathan’s chest whenever he’d stopped pumping yours, demanding him to fix you, “fix her, we have to fix her, Byers, she’s not breathing, no one stopped helping you find Will, she’s not fucking breathing—”

Steve blinked once. Just once. 

Slowly.

You leaned closer. Not to kiss him. Just to be there. In his line of sight. In the only patch of reality he seemed able to touch right now.

“I made coffee. It’s terrible. I thought about poisoning Hopper’s mug, just to keep the spark alive. But Joyce would probably revive him with a look and then shoot me in the foot.”

A breath huffed from Steve’s nose.

It wasn’t a laugh. But it was a reaction.

“Too soon?” you teased, voice of an angel, mind of the devil.

Your smile barely moved. But your eyes did. You looked at him, not through him, and didn’t treat him like glass. You never did.

“I know you’re in there,” you said gently. “Probably trapped in that stupid overachieving brain of yours, underneath that—” you inhaled, allowing yourself to sigh deeply, lackadaisical as the words finished your sentence and eyes shifted to his hair as you stroked it. “—stupid perfect head of hair that I swear has started styling itself. Because your brain just keeps overthinking that hard.” Your eyes soften slightly as you stroke his hair gently, your thumb against his temple. “Thinking about how you could’ve done it all better. How if you’d just gotten to us sooner, or stopped that Soviet with the gun faster, or stayed calmer, yelled louder, climbed faster, kicked harder…”

Steve’s lip quivered. 

You saw it.

So you leaned in a little closer, voice softer now. Letting truth find its way into the conversation without force, the way Owens had told you to do. Unforced, but not kept in an untouched vault. That’s what he’d said. Don’t mask it. Give it room to breathe.

“But I was dead, Harrington.”

His breath hitched.

“I mean, technically. Legally,” you clarified with ease, voice light, head tilting just slightly in the most subtle mock tease of the specifics. “Pulse-free and crispy. And you brought me back anyway.” Your brows lifted slightly. “You. Your hands. Your voice. Five minutes.”

Steve’s stare flickered. A slight twitch of his eyebrow. 

His throat moved as he swallowed, like it hurt. Burned.

The way that your lungs had when you…

“And before you start spiraling,” you added quickly, “Eddie kept time, so if you wanna blame anyone for the fact that my heart stopped for exactly five minutes and seven seconds, blame Munson. Pretty sure he got his CPR certification off the back of a Judas Priest album.”

Steve blinked. Once. Then again.

The silence pressed in again. He still didn’t speak. But his eyes weren’t glass anymore. They were there. Focused. Locked on you.

You held that gaze and didn’t move.

“It’s okay to rest now,” you said quietly. “As long as you want. You fought so hard, Steve. For everyone. For me. For Dustin.” Your eyes glittered, never leaving his face. His beautiful, sweet face. “You don’t have to carry it all anymore.”

His fingers moved. Just barely. A slight twitch against the edge of the comforter, like maybe they wanted to reach for yours but forgot how.

You noticed. Didn’t push it.

Instead, you let your fingers wiggle on top of the sheets. A little flutter, drumming the mattress, shifting just barely an inch towards his as you offered something lighter. “Also, I should let you know Dustin is trying to organize your VHS collection by genre and thematic arc. I told him you’d rise from the dead and end him if he even touched Die Hard, so now he’s avoiding eye contact with your bookshelf like it personally insulted him.”

Steve’s lips twitched. The faintest hint of a smile. 

You grinned gently.

Then softly, barely a whisper…

“...s’fine,” he rasped.

You froze.

Your eyes widened just a bit. “What?”

Steve swallowed hard, throat dry and tight. He blinked slowly, then looked at you, actually looked, and tried again.

“S’fine,” he finally repeated, voice hoarse. “Let him… alphabetize it.”

You exhaled through your nose like someone had just cracked a window in a smoke-filled room. Then blinked hard, as if not to cry.

Steve saw that, his hazy brown eyes never leaving yours. And for the first time in days, he moved on his own. One hand, his fingers slow and unsure, reached out. Touched your wrist. Like an anchor. 

A lighthouse in the vast sea, swelling in the storm.

You covered his hand with yours immediately.

Robin appeared in the doorway not long after. Dustin, too. Both of them froze when they saw you holding hands. Steve’s awake. Not smiling, but finally looking somewhat alive behind his eyes.

The sight of it makes Robin’s hand come up to her mouth. Dustin didn’t even hide the tears. He darted into the room and flung himself at the foot of the bed, landing belly-first on the mattress like a flying possum.

“DUDE,” he blurted. “You talked. That’s literally the hottest thing you’ve ever done. Well, second hottest. First is obviously the CPR thing, because you were like, ‘clear!’ and then—”

“Hey.” You extended your leg and lightly waved your foot at Dustin. “Hey. Volume.”

Steve’s eyes stayed on you. Watching your mouth move. Your eyes flicker, your smile fluttering upwards at the corner like you didn’t want it to, not wanting to risk overwhelming him, but couldn’t help it.

And the ghosts? They weren’t gone. But they were quieter. Just for a little while.

Because Steve didn’t see the bodies anymore. Dead and dying, bleeding and wilting. Gasping for air, pleading for help, croaking out one last breath before their eyes became lifeless… 

He only saw you. 

Dustin didn’t say anything. Not for a full minute. He just stayed right there, half-sprawled on the bed, arms curled under his chest, chin resting on the blanket like a kid watching Saturday morning cartoons. That ridiculous, familiar grin was stretched across his face. The one that used to hide the gap from the baby teeth he never lost on time. The one that now revealed a full row of permanent teeth, like time itself had forgotten how young they all still were.

He didn’t even try to stop smiling. Just beamed, at you and at Steve, even though Steve still hadn’t looked at him.

Steve’s gaze was fixed on you like it couldn’t be pried away without breaking something fragile. Like you were the only thing that could anchor him in a world that still felt too loud, too bright, too fast. His hand was still under yours, his fingers curled a little tighter now. Not gripping, just holding. Like it was something his body had finally caught up with and realized that he needed.

Robin hadn’t moved. She stood just inside the doorway, still braced against the frame like her knees had gone weak. Her hand was still over her mouth, covering the trembling edges of a sob that didn’t quite make it out. Her eyes were red. Brimming. Silent.

She hadn’t spoken since you went into the room.

You didn’t turn to look at either of them. Not yet. You kept your eyes on Steve, kept your breathing even. Your voice stayed low and calm, your expression steady, but not blank. There was feeling behind all of it. Deep feeling. But you kept it all tightly coiled behind your eyes, refusing to let it all spill out and drown the moment. 

Refusing to let it drown him.

Because you knew better than to flood a fragile circuit. And Steve Harrington, for all his strength, was cracked glass right now.

“Okay,” you murmured, just loud enough for the three of you to hear. “That’s enough excitement for one minute.”

Steve’s lip twitched again, brows furrowing. Barely. But it was there.

You smiled gently and looked past him, for the first time, at Dustin. You didn’t need to speak, just extended your free hand slightly, palm out, a soft gesture of welcome.

It’s okay.

Dustin understood immediately. He always did, with you. Always listeners, and trusted. He nodded once, moving forward slowly. Carefully, like the air in the room might shatter if he walked too hard. He knelt beside the bed, right by where you and Steve’s hands met and held onto each other. He didn’t reach for Steve, though. Didn’t talk, or ask questions, or try to make him speak. He just sat there, patiently, close enough to be seen but not felt. 

Letting Steve see him.

And Steve didn’t flinch. His eyes, still on you, subtly flicked toward the movement. Toward Dustin.

His brother. 

Steve’s doe eyes softened. It was a microscopic shift, but it was beautiful all the same. He didn’t speak. Of course he didn’t.

Owens had told you it would be like this.

“He might echo things you say,” he’d warned you all quietly, three nights ago. “That’s the easiest form of communication for someone in a post-catatonic fugue. He’ll sound lucid, but it’s muscle memory. Like the mind is bouncing off the walls of someone else’s words until it finds its own again.”

And that’s exactly what it had been. Four days of silence. Then, the faintest whisper of your own words sent back at you. Like an echo from underwater.

Until now.

Until “it’s fine.”

Those were his own words.

The weight of it still hadn’t settled. Because it was easier to hear about symptoms than to live with them. Easier to nod while Owens spoke in that tired, professional way of his, full of disclaimers and caveats, than to sit here and watch someone you loved disappear inch by inch. To see them breathe and blink and not be in the room.

But now? Now, Steve was here. Not all the way. Not completely.

But here.

You exhaled quietly and glanced at Dustin. His eyes were still shiny, but he was beaming. God, he was so bright when he smiled like that. Like he didn’t even know the room was still full of ghosts.

“Hey,” you murmured.

Steve’s eyes came back to you immediately. Locked. Like gravity.

“Think maybe,” you said, soft but sure, “you should try some water. Or, you know, attempt the wild and crazy act of swallowing something that isn’t your own feelings.”

Steve didn’t answer. Didn’t even nod. But the little flex in his jaw again, that little tick of muscle like his body remembered the shape of response, was enough.

You turned to Dustin. “Can you grab me that water glass from the dresser?”

Dustin scrambled with quiet eagerness. He brought the glass over, hand shaking just slightly. You winked at him as he handed it to you, not Steve, and backed off again. Still watching. Still smiling.

You took the glass and touched it to Steve’s lower lip gently. “Try,” you whispered.

He didn’t open his mouth right away. Didn’t pull away either.

You watched him patiently. Felt his fingers twitch again beneath yours.

Then, slow as thawing ice, he parted his lips.

You tilted the glass carefully as he lifted his head, which was progress. A little water slipped inside.

He swallowed. It wasn’t graceful. His throat bobbed like it hurt. But he didn’t choke. Didn’t flinch. Didn’t break eye contact with you for a second.

“Good,” you said softly. Your thumb rubbed his knuckles once.

Steve let out a long, shaky breath. And then something happened. Something subtle. Not movement. Not sound.

Shift.

The air changed. Or maybe he did. Something behind his eyes. Like the light finally touched a corner it hadn’t in days.

He still didn’t speak. But he blinked, and this time, the blink felt real. Felt like his, not like the mind stalling and resetting.

Robin made a soft noise behind her hand.

You turned your head finally, just enough to glance at her. Her eyes met yours, wide and wet.

You gave the smallest nod. It’s gonna be okay.

Robin’s shoulders sank like the air had gone out of her lungs. She nodded, and didn't try to speak. Just stayed there, hand still over her mouth, a silent sentinel by the door.

You turned back to Steve.

He was still looking at you.

“Hey,” you murmured. “Still with me, baby?”

Another blink. This one slower, all for you...

You smiled, soft and sure, and squeezed his hand. “Good.”

It’s been maybe three minutes since you said that. Four, at most. Steve still hasn’t looked away from you. Not really. His gaze has drifted, sure, over your shoulder, to the steady weight of Dustin leaned up against the window. Just in his line of sight past you, propped up on your elbow beside him, smiling gently. And right behind you, Dustin was grinning quietly, that toothy smile full of unspoken loyalty. 

But every time that Steve’s glossy eyes flicker over to him, they come right back to yours.

You don’t say anything about it. You just keep holding his stare. Soft, calm, right there. Because you know better than to shatter this with too many words. You don’t want to break whatever delicate thread he’s holding onto. 

And Steve? He’s holding onto you. 

With everything he has left.

He keeps blinking slowly, like it helps keep the noise out. Like he’s sorting through the thoughts that aren’t plagued, trying to cling to the rare ones that aren’t rotten. The only ones that feel real anymore.

Like how beautiful your smile is. Even when it’s small. Even when it’s sad. Especially when it’s sad. And even now, when you’re not trying, it’s there. Still for him.

All for him.

He thinks about how it was the first real thing he could remember after they dragged you back into the light. 

That fragile smile, cracked at the edges, tender around the eyes, pulled from something ancient and bottomless inside of you, had been the first thing on your face when breath found your lungs again. After you’d been sucked underneath the current. The electric current that zapped you over to the other side. Not the literal other side, as in the wall. No, the other-other side. Not upside down. Not right-side up. Past the veil. Somewhere that you weren’t supposed to reach at only 20 years old. 

Somewhere that isn’t supposed to be reached into you’re old enough to become dust in the wind. Not jolted into it by a surge of shock that takes your life decades too soon.

And yet, here you are. His.

It makes his chest hurt. In a good way. In the only way that still feels good.

When he looks at Dustin, it’s different, but not by much. That same warmth, buried somewhere deep under all the sharp panic and muscle tension. The kind of love that doesn’t make a sound. The kind he never even got from blood family. The kind you only ever feel once, and if you’re lucky, you get to keep it.

His little brother. The one he didn’t get to protect. The one they took.

The image is still burned behind his eyes. The frantic, horrible shrieking of tires on the road above, the crash through the back fence, the screaming, the uniformed men, the guns, the gag. 

But worse than all of it was watching them drag Dustin out of that basement.

Drag you.

It hadn’t even been ten minutes. One blink. One breath. Steve had been gagged by then. Arms restrained so tight they bruised deep into his joints. Robin had been crying. Hopper was shouting. Joyce had been holding him, her own wrists tied, still finding a way to be there for him and shout through the fear in her throat. Mike and Max and Lucas had been frozen, pressed together against the wall like kids in a goddamn earthquake drill. Jonathan and Nancy had been shrieking, restrained and petrified, while Eddie had blood on his nose, the heel of a soldier’s boot dug deep into his back, between the shoulder blades. And Steve? Was useless.

He’d screamed so hard into the cloth they stuffed in his mouth that he’d torn the back of his throat. Spit and blood soaked the gag until it stuck to his tongue like glue. And all he could see were your legs disappearing through the doorway. Your voice screaming his name, telling them not to hurt him, not to hurt your uncle. Or Susie, or Dustin. 

Dustin trying to kick someone. His own wrists tearing against the tape they’d slapped onto him. Robin’s voice trying to scream for him. Trying to scream for you. And Steve.

“Steve, Steve, look at me—Steve, look at me!”

He can still hear Robin saying it. After they’d dragged you through the same door where Steve used to let you crash after movie nights, down the same hallway where Dustin always sneaks down for snacks in the middle of the night.

The man cave. His swanky, overcompensating bachelor pad turned game room turned war zone. And now it feels like a coffin. And yet somehow, you’re all still breathing in it.

“—gonna need at least three jars of peanut butter,” Dustin now mumbles beside you, voice low, conspiratorial, but bright. Like he’s trying not to wake Steve up from something.

You glance over your shoulder, raise an eyebrow. “Three? What’re you, eating it by the spoonful?”

“You know I do.”

Robin lets out a little puff of air through her fingers, still covering her mouth. A non-laugh. Her eyes are glassy. Twinkly. She hasn’t said a word since she sat down.

“You gonna back me up here?” Dustin asks, flicking his gaze to her as he steps up behind your back.

You nudge him lightly with your elbow. “She’s in mourning. The last of her protein bars got stolen by Murray.”

“I told her not to leave them in the glove compartment,” comes a voice from around the corner.

Your uncle.

Murray rounds it like a ghost. Barefoot, carrying a mug of black coffee and a clipboard, because of course he is. He doesn’t speak too loud. He doesn’t let the sarcasm spike above a dull rumble. It’s uncharacteristically softened, the way he only does it when he knows someone’s not okay and in genuine distress. He doesn’t comment on Steve’s distant, unblinking eyes.

You don’t either.

“I’m not saying the breakfast situation is dire,” Murray continues, perching on the edge of the low dresser without asking. He doesn’t need to. “But I am saying the last two eggs were questionably expired and Argyle made something that looked suspiciously like psychedelic oatmeal.”

You smirk. “He’s still on the kale kick?”

“Unfortunately. And he brought yogurt. Vegan. Unsweetened. Tastes like damp cement.”

“Ugh,” Robin croaks through her fingers.

You sniff a laugh. Even Dustin makes a face.

“I told him to pick up normal groceries with Hopper and Jonathan.” You flick your eyes back to Steve. He’s still watching you. Barely breathing. “Hopper’s definitely gonna ignore at least half of the list I made for it.”

He stares at you.

“Not if you guilt him hard enough,” Murray mutters. “You’re good at that.”

“She’s excellent at that,” Dustin adds.

You shoot both of them a look. “I use my powers responsibly.”

“Sure you do,” Murray says, sipping his coffee. “That’s why I’m out three Twinkies and half a carton of Pringles.”

You raise your hands. “That’s called preserving morale.”

Clutch.

There’s a flicker. A movement at the edge of your vision.

Steve’s hand.

It shoots out, sudden and sharp, and grabs you by the wrist. Not hard, but tight. Tight enough that it startles you. Tight enough that the others stop talking for a good solid handful of seconds, like the oxygen’s changed.

Steve’s eyes are wide now. Not as scared like they were before. Not as panicked. Just fierce. Pleading. The kind of look that says please don’t go without him ever making a sound.

You weren’t going anywhere. Not even close. But God, it still guts you.

“Hey…” Your voice is steady. “Hey. No one’s going anywhere. I’m right here.”

He doesn’t answer. You didn’t expect him to. So you squeeze his hand back. Gently. Letting him know you mean it. That you always will.

Then, very slowly, you bring his hand to your lips. Press a kiss to the base of his palm. Another one to the inside of his wrist. One more on his knuckles. All tender. All without words. Like muscle memory, like prayer.

Steve breathes a little better. A little more audibly. A bit shaky, jaw tightening and loosening… until finally, it settles. 

You don’t stop smiling all the way through it. 

“Okay,” you say, clearing your throat, and looking back at the group like you didn’t just feel your soul split in two. “We’re making a new list. Items Argyle and Jonathan are actually capable of acquiring.”

“Chips,” Dustin says immediately.

“Done.”

“Chocolate,” Robin murmurs.

“Double done.”

“Eggs,” Murray says. “Preferably not pre-rotted.”

You’re still holding Steve’s hand. Still smiling, still at ease.

He doesn’t speak, but you feel him shifting closer. Subtly. Timidly. He lets himself move inch by inch until his head is pressed against your chest plate, tucked in tight, safe underneath your chin. One strong arm stays curled close to his own ribs. His breathing is soft, still a little shaky, but it’s steady.

You rest your cheek against his hair, willing yourself not to say anything about the way his fingers clutch tighter into your shirt.

Dustin keeps adding items to the list. Murray keeps making dry remarks about produce. Robin chimes in once or twice with a cracked voice and grateful eyes. 

And you, still holding Steve, you just keep guiding the conversation. 

Because you’re the lighthouse.

Because Steve needs to hear the waves crashing on something steady. He needs to hear life continuing. He needs to feel love in the room without it asking anything from him in return. Just letting him exist in it.

Just letting him be.

And you’re not going anywhere.

Steve hasn’t moved from your chest, his breath still faintly damp against the soft fabric of your shirt. The black one he loves so much, the long sleeve that he says always makes him feel feral, ‘because you look like a badass that looks like she always wants to be told what to do but can hold her own in a fight.’ That’s how he’d described it once and it never left your brain. It lived up there, rent free.

Right now, his hand still clutches the hem of it, tucked in against his ribcage like it’s all that’s holding him together. You never stopped cradling him, never moved your cheek from the crown of his head, your arms circled around him like a ring of protection.

Murray sits back on the shallow bureau with a grumble, flipping through his clipboard notes, his pen still tucked behind his ear. “Alright, eggs, bread, three jars of peanut butter to appease the peanut gallery…”

“Rude,” Dustin mutters, no heat behind it.

“—those dinosaur nuggets that El’s now hooked on, that soup Steve likes… Jesus, what brand is it again?”

You answer quietly, not moving your cheek. “The one with the basil swirl in it. He always gets the tomato basil swirl. From that organic aisle.”

Murray clicks his tongue and scribbles. “Right. Pretentious soup aisle.”

“Hey, he likes it,” you murmur, just enough for Steve to hear, brushing your lips against his hairline before resting your cheek right back where it was. “That’s good enough for me.”

Your uncle hums, writing it down.

Dustin is seated cross-legged on the floor by the window now, nodding along as he tosses a grape from one hand to the other. “Mm, and those cinnamon rolls from that one place. The really soft ones he warms up with butter.”

“And peach Snapple,” Robin chimes in from the wall, next to the doorframe. She pushes herself off it now, moving closer. “He always picks the peach. Even when I tell him strawberry’s better.”

“He also buys it even when it’s not on sale,” you smile softly, letting your palm drift in slow circles across Steve’s back. “It’s like his small rebellion.”

Murray scoffs a laugh. Fond, no heat behind it. He sighs. “You people spend money like you’ve never been broke a day in your lives.” 

He pauses, shaking his head, glancing up at you from his clipboard. He pursed his lips, lightly tapping his pen against the paper for a couple of beats while just taking in the side of you holding him in the morning light, tucked here safely in his bed with him, over the covers. 

Murray finally sighs again. “So do you, by the way.”

Your brow furrows slightly as you hum, glancing over at him curiously. He just lifts an eyebrow, still writing down the grocery list.

“The Peach Snapple,” he clarifies easily, not looking up from his clipboard as he scribbles. “The one he always gets. So do you.”

That makes the little knit between your brows smooth over, and your cheeks begin to warm. It’s true, you think to yourself. You’d let that become a habit of yours, opting to start liking it since you’d always go to the store with him and he’d always grab one from the cooler before you both would even start shopping. Even whenever you guys would hit a 7-Eleven, or some really nice grocery market, he always looked for it. So now, you did the same thing. It grew on you. 

Just like he did. 

You smile to yourself. And then, muffled and still buried in your chest… you hear the words again. Echoed.

“…so do you.”

Steve.

Silence drops like a pin in church. Even your newly irregular heartbeat stutters in time against Steve’s forehead.

Murray’s head ticks up in surprise. Robin’s eyes go wide. Dustin stops chewing, mid-grape.

Your arms tighten just slightly around Steve, eyes flickering to your uncle. You’re stunned. Not just because Steve had spoken, but because it was that. A mirror of Murray’s own words, mouthed back with just the faintest hint of knowing. Not entirely his voice, but not not his either.

Oh my god, you think.

Oh my god, oh my god.

Murray blinks, and then, with the smooth recovery only he’s capable of, scratches his beard. “Well. At least someone’s paying attention.”

You grin, watery and full of love, kissing Steve’s hair again. “Yeah. He always does.”

Steve doesn’t say anything else, but he doesn’t have to.

The conversation moves on, gentle and easy. Robin makes another comment about almond milk, Dustin tries to convince your uncle to get one of those pre-marinated chickens. Murray pretends not to be listening, even though he is as he lists every single thing that they ask, like the secret softie that he is.

And all the while, Steve stays right there, clinging, hidden, breathing shallow but steady.

Eventually, Murray rises from his perch, brushing his hands off on his jeans. He claps them once, casually. “Alright, you guys ready?”

It’s meant for Robin and Dustin. A polite cue. A quiet way of giving you and Steve the room.

But Steve hears it, and before you can even blink, he makes a small, high sound. Barely a noise. 

A soft hitch in his throat, more breath than voice. Squeaked. 

Steve’s whole body jerks slightly, muscles snapping taut. His grip tightens on your shirt like a vice. And then he’s pressing harder into your chest, panic blooming in every stiff line of his frame. He starts shaking his head a bit. As if to say no.

Murray looks over sharply, brows pulling tight.

You freeze, but only for a second. Then you’re wrapping him tighter, voice barely above a whisper.

“Hey, hey, no—Steve. Baby, no. I’m right here. I’m not going anywhere, okay? You’re safe. It’s just Jonathan and Hop going with Argyle, that’s all.”

Murray watches somberly, lips pressed into a hard line. Robin covers her mouth again, eyes widened with grief. Dustin looks like he wants to say something but he just swallows it, knowing better.

Your uncle waves them both down carefully, silently. As if to say don’t speak, let him do it.

You lock eyes with your uncle over Steve’s shoulder, and what passes between you in that look guts you. Because he’s never looked at anyone like this before. So carefully, so seriously, so heartbroken. Not even you, not even as a kid.

You know what that means.

He’s scared, too.

Steve’s breathing stutters through his nose a couple of times so Murray crosses the room slowly, movements deliberate. He crouches beside you both and keeps his voice low, gentle, like you didn’t know he could be.

“Kid, we’re not going anywhere, alright? You’re stuck with us. Me and her and Dustin. Robin, too. This house is on lockdown now. We’re practically self-quarantining just to annoy the government that no longer has us underneath their thumbs.”

No reaction from Steve. But no flinch either. 

That’s the win. That’s the progress.

Once he’s sure Steve can hear him, Murray reaches forward and firmly rubs his hand between Steve’s shoulder blades. Long strokes. Solid pressure. He doesn’t speak anymore. Just lets the silence hold.

Steve doesn’t flinch. Instead… he relaxes. Just a fraction. Just enough for you to notice the tension start to bleed from his spine.

You look back at Murray again, lips parted. He meets your eyes. And this time, the worry is quieter. Still there. But with something steadier. The same thing you’re both clinging to.

Hope.

Murray finally nods once and gets up. “C’mon,” he mouths to Robin and Dustin after he’s already reached the doorway.

Robin leaves first, fast. She has to. You can see the tears building on her lashes. Dustin follows, biting his lip, head ducked.

Then it’s just you and Steve.

And still, he hasn’t said another word. Just breathing now. His face turned in, almost buried against your chest. Still clutching your shirt. Still so very quiet.

You stroke your fingers through his hair, thumb brushing over the back of his ear. Your voice is barely audible.

“I’m right here. I’m not going anywhere, Steve. I swear to God. You’re not alone.”

He doesn’t respond. But he breathes. So you keep going.

“You don’t have to talk yet, okay? Not if it hurts. But I’m here. And when you’re ready to talk to me? I’ll still be here.”

A long pause. Long enough for your own throat to tighten. You bite back the ache. You can’t cry. Not right now. He doesn’t need that. He needs you to be steady. Needs you soft, needs you strong, needs you period.

So you whisper it again, lips brushing his temple.

“I’m right here.”

More silence. And then, so quiet it’s almost like breath itself…

“So do you.”

The same words again. The ones Murray said. The ones Steve had echoed.

But this time?

This time it feels like Steve.

This time it’s his.

You pull back just a little, enough to see him. His eyes are open. Glazed and distant and tired… but looking at you. Really looking at you.

And you smile. Through the tears now freely falling down your cheeks, you smile. Press your forehead to his.

“Murray will make sure they get it,” you whisper, nodding. “The soup, the Snapple. The rolls. He’ll get all of it.”

You kiss the tip of his nose. 

Peck. Peck. Once, twice. 

Then the space between his eyebrows. Each of his closed eyelids. His cheekbones. Peck, peck, peck.

“I promise.”

Steve doesn’t say anything, nor does he need to. His eyes flutter. His body softens just slightly more against you. And his hand stays right where it is, curled in the fabric of your shirt, like an anchor.

And you hold him.

You just hold him.

***

CHAPTER TWO "Steve 'The Hair' Harrington"

Steve’s wristwatch sits discarded on the bathroom sink, the clock face reading 10:03 AM.

The familiar tile is warm beneath your feet, steam still ghosting along the mirrors behind the shower curtain, thick and slow. You’ve gotten used to this space, his full private bathroom, sharing it more than you’ve ever spent inside of it alone.

You can’t hear much over the steady patter of the water, but it doesn’t matter. You’re not listening for anything.

You already know what you’ll hear.

Nothing.

Not from him, at least.

Steve stands in front of you in the shower tub, his tall frame bowed just slightly at the shoulders, like he’s holding invisible weight. His limbs are more relaxed now, despite the stiff posture, his forearms loosely crossed one over the other in front of his toned, scarred abs. 

His pretty brown-eyed gaze, hazier than the steamy air, is locked on the drain.  The water is gentler today, not the full pressure he usually likes. Because when it’s loud, it startles him. And right now, Steve doesn’t need another reason to flinch.

You’ve gotten used to this. Showering with him. It wasn’t always like this, of course. You used to avoid being in the same house with him if you could help it. You used to flinch when you passed each other inside the Byers’ hall whenever you all would meet there, or whenever you’d exchange dry barbs sharp enough to draw blood. Four years ago, you would’ve rather set yourself on fire than bathe beside Steve Harrington. And he would’ve helped light the match in a fucking heartbeat. Hell, he would’ve sponsored the matchbox with his daddy’s credit card and been all too pleased about it.

Because back when he was seventeen and dating Nancy Wheeler. And back when you, stupidly, maybe, had encouraged her and Jonathan to snap out of it, when you drove the two of them that night inside your uncle’s living to get over themselves, stop lying to themselves. Ever since Steve caught wind of that, he’d looked at you as if you’d ruined him. Talked to you cruelly, discarded you with pride, just like King Steve would’ve done. Treated you like you were the monster in the woods. 

And you were the monster, for a while. In his eyes, anyway.

But that was years ago. And since then, the two of you have clawed your way through with grudging tolerance, reluctant teamwork, long silences, longer conversations, slow trust, soft nights, warm laughter, and then…

Well. And then you kissed.

Or really, he’d kissed you.

Out of nowhere. That night in this house. His house. The one you all ended up retreating to after everything blew sideways again, whenever Vecna vanished into thin air and Max slipped into a damn end 6-month long coma. After that night you’d all gotten a little drunk on Smirnoff (thanks to Murray), a little loud, laughing way too hard at things that shouldn’t have been funny. Hopper had been there. With Joyce. And Nancy and Jonathan. Robin. Eddie. You. Steve.

Just the adults and the younger adults, all breathing in that rare quiet, like maybe for once the world was going to give you a damn break.

Then the next morning, he’d let you read Max’s letter.  The failsafes. The one she wrote to him in case she didn’t make it. 

In case she didn’t wake up. 

He’d gone quiet whenever he handed it to you. Or let you pick it up. He pretends not to remember, anytime you two bring that up, just knowing that it bugs you. Because you remember everything. Every little detail. 

You remember he definitely didn’t read it himself, nor did he want to. He couldn’t. 

So you did. And you didn’t let yourself cry until later, whenever you were alone.

Neither did he.

Then later that night, while you were in your room after brushing your teeth and coming through your wet hair, ready to try and get some sleep, he’d knocked on the door. Steve didn’t say a word when you opened it. He’d just looked at you for a moment. Just looked at you like you were the question he couldn’t answer.

And then kissed you like his life depended on it.

Next thing you know, the two of you were pulling each other close, hands desperate and shaking, mouths open and aching, both sets of limbs tangled in one of his extra beds with the extra set of sheets. All tongue and teeth, and quiet gasps, naked and exploring. Hungrily seeking warmth, seeking answers, seeking common ground. Somewhere in the bend of your knee, or the cut of his v-line, a back and forth of moans and groans sighed and hummed into each other's lips and throats.

One night became two. Then a week. Then two months.

Two whole months.

And now it was this. This silence, this ache. This boy, beautiful and battered and not gone, but not here, either.

You’re careful as you rub the shampoo into your palms, lifting your hands to his head. You don’t speak right away. Not until your fingers are combing through his hair.

“You know how many of these we’ve taken?” you murmur softly, massaging near his temples.

He doesn’t respond. Doesn’t even blink, or lift his gaze.

“At least two dozen. Maybe more,” you continue, gently. You ponder over them as you let the body wash turn to suds beneath your hands, reflecting. Remembering. “Romantic ones… steamy ones…” You carefully washed over his scars along his torso, silver and healed. Marking a mere chapter of his nightmares. “That one when we were washing bat guts off each other, which was… sexy in a very specific trauma-bond way.”

Still nothing.

You glance at him and smile anyway. “But this one’s new. You’re not bossing me around about conditioner ratios. Not telling me that my rinsing technique is flawed,” you tease gently, mock-serious.

Still quiet. Until… 

“Flawed.”

Your fingers stutter in his hair for a moment. 

It’s almost imperceptible, the way it’s spoken from him. 

You blink. And then you grin. “Exactly. Terrible technique. You should probably report me. Hair crimes, maximum sentence.”

You catch the faintest twitch at the corner of his mouth. Not a smile. Not yet. 

But you’ll take it. 

So you keep going, running the suds through your own hair while the water sheets down both of you. He’s so warm beside you. Not holding you, not quite touching. But not pulling away, either. And when your elbow bumps his side, he doesn’t shift.

That alone is worth more than gold.

You take turns on both of your behalf, just like that. Soaping your arms, then his. Your neck, then his. And whenever he looks like he might be trying to make sense of things, like he should probably be doing something, you don’t let him. You’re already on it. Steve’s always on it, so now it’s your turn to be. You don’t rush. And you also don’t stop kissing his shoulder every now and then. Or brushing the curve of his jaw with your mouth. Or pressing your lips to the soft, damp place just beneath his ear.

He never leans in. But he never leans out. 

And sometimes, he echoes something. Not a response. Just a mirror. A parroted echo, your uncle had once referred to it as. A faint repeat of your words, like maybe they mean something if he says them too. Which is why you treat it just like regular conversation. Like nothing’s wrong. Like this is your usual morning routine.

You talk about Dustin’s hair gel, how it still smells like pineapple and about how he needs to chill on it before his hair becomes uncooked ramen. About Robin’s meltdown over almond milk yesterday and how you’re pretty sure she’s going to end up getting arrested for smuggling raw milk by the time she’s thirty. About how Murray keeps writing oregano on the grocery list, even though there’s literally 5 bottles of it in the damn spice cabinet. About how Joyce and Hopper need to just get hitched already, how Jonathan and Nancy aren doing better. How they’re talking again. You even go on about how Mike and Lucas and Max have all actually started learning how to play instruments with Eddie, which is helping shape him out to be a great dad one day. Or maybe just the crazy uncle that he was born to be for those kids.

Steve listens, even when he’s not looking at you. He hums sometimes, looks at you sometimes like he wants to speak but can’t. He watches the bloodless water make sweet scented bubbles at his feet, where your toes kiss the top of his.

And finally, when it’s time to rinse, you ease him under the spray, guiding his head down so you can tilt it back. You’re on your toes a little, reaching, palms steady on either side of his head.  You chuckle softly, deep in your chest. The sound of it bubbles out before you can stop it.

“God, you really are happiest when someone’s doing your hair,” you whisper, smiling as the conditioner starts to rinse. “I swear, if I ever wanted to propose to you, I’d probably have to do it while rinsing your bangs.”

That’s when it happens. So fast and soft you almost miss it.

A smile. 

Steve Harrington smiles.

Not big. Not ultra wide. But it’s there, it’s right there and it looks just like him. Like one of those signature smiles of his, all charming and cocky and proud of himself. The one that you used to wanna smack right off his face with a bitch slap, only to end up chasing after it with your lips every goddamn day.

His lips just now had curved up into a flicker of that. Just barely. But enough to wreck you.

“Oh my God,” you whisper, grinning so hard your cheeks hurt. “There he is. The King of Hair. The Crown Prince of Conditioner. My one and only shampoo deity.” You nuzzle your nose to his gently, teasingly, all featherlight and fond. Your hands keep working through the strands, rinsing the last of it out. “I should be charging for this. This is high-value spa work.”

He doesn’t say anything. But he lets you nuzzle him with hooded eyes that swim with love and don’t look completely lost as you do...

And that? That feels like a miracle.

After carefully flipping the water off, you go to reach for the towel hanging on the rack, one hand still in his, fingers loose. It’s right behind him, where he stands underneath the nozzle where the waterfall has ceased. It’s right within arms reach where you can still see him, still hold onto you as you do it.

But right before you move, Steve catches you.

Not fast. Not suddenly, not with a desperate grip on your wrist like he’d done this morning. Just a slow, deliberate lean forward.

…and then his nose presses into yours.

Just once. Gingerly, sweetly. 

Just Steve’s turn, to nuzzle your nose right back, albeit delayed. Just a few steps behind you.

You stop breathing. But only for a second. Then you smile again, steady and warm and careful not to show how badly you want to fucking cry.

Because he nuzzled back.

You nod like it’s nothing. Like it’s normal. Like it’s just another Sunday morning, another moment in the life you’ve built together. Even though it’s not. Even though it’s everything.

Because Steve might not be talking. But right now, at just past 10AM, in the quiet hush of a half-steamed shower, with conditioner still dripping from your fingers, and hot water is clinging to both your skin instead of blood and grime… 

Steve Harrington is saying something.

And you’re here to listen to every single word of it.

***

CHAPTER THREE "Girlfriend"

It’s not long after the shower. Maybe twenty minutes, tops. The sun has risen higher in the sky now—barely peeking through the heavy curtains of Steve’s room, just enough to cast warm little streaks of light across the bedspread and rug. The room smells faintly of his shampoo, the one you use on both of you now. Cedarwood and citrus, clean and bright.

Steve is sitting at the edge of his bed, dressed in the off-white Henley you love most on him. The sleeves are pushed up to his forearms, loose and rumpled just enough, and he’s wearing those goddamn black joggers that cling perfectly to his hips, hanging just right off his thighs. The Henley and joggers combo? Criminal. It should be illegal how good he looks like this—towel-dried hair falling soft and boyish across his forehead, skin warm and pink from the shower, eyes somewhere far away but still… somehow home.

He looks like a dream. Your dream. Even hollowed out and lost inside himself, he’s still the most beautiful person you’ve ever seen.

And he’s letting you choose what he wears now.

That part, morbidly, makes you a little happy. You’re the one dressing him lately—picking out what’ll make him feel safest, softest, most like himself again. And selfishly, you get to choose all your favorite things on him. Because now you can. Because he lets you. Because you’re his. And he’s yours.

You’re still in your towel. Haven’t even gotten around to dressing yourself yet. You’re standing at his dresser, rifling through the drawers like you live here. Like you belong here. Because you do.

“Okay,” you mutter aloud, holding up one of his old Hawkins gym t-shirts and smirking to yourself, “I’m not even gonna pretend I’m not stealing all of these. I’m just—these are mine now. Sorry. That’s just the girlfriend tax.” You glance back over your shoulder. “You understand.”

He’s looking at you. Not in that faraway, glassy kind of way. Not completely. There’s something behind it now. A flicker. Something dancing in the honey-brown of his eyes like maybe he’s listening. Maybe not all of him, but enough. Enough to know you’re talking. Enough to be caught staring.

You flash him that grin of yours. The one he used to hate. That cocky, sunbeam grin he once swore made him want to walk into traffic. Back when you were seventeen and he’d still been with Nancy. Back before everything changed. Before the two of you grew up and broke down and clawed your way to this strange, undisturbed place. 

That’s the precise grin you wear for him right now, the only thing you’re wearing right now except one of the plushy towels that hangs around your frame. You tilt your head.

“Girlfriend,” you say again, real sing-song and light. “You like that word, don’t you?”

Steve doesn’t answer, but you see it. The way his shoulders shift, the way his mouth twitches. The way his eyes trail you as you take one slow step closer.

You say it again, quieter this time, eyes dancing. “Girlfriend.”

Another step.

And again. “Girlfriend.”

You’re barely a foot away from him now, towel still wrapped around you, your hair still dripping a little. Little beads of hot water are still clinging to your bare skin. You’re warm and damp and buzzing all over. And you’ve got this graceful saunter in your step. It’s lithe and teasing and slow, like a lioness, like something delicate and dangerous all at once. You watch him drink you in, even if he doesn’t mean to. Even if he doesn’t realize it.

You don’t reach out right away. You just kneel in front of him, slow and smooth, until you’re eye-level with where he’s sitting on the edge of bed. You’re smiling like you’re the happiest woman on the planet.

Because you are.

Because Steve makes you that.

You reach up, gently, and cradle his face in your hands.

He leans into it.

Oh, God, he leans into it.

Your thumbs press into the hollow of his cheeks, and you feel his skin… It’s still warm from the shower, still baby-soft and damp in the way that only Steve Harrington ever gets. His pretty eyelashes flutter for a second, like he doesn’t know if he’s allowed to look at you. But he does. He keeps looking. And it hits you all over again, just how much you love him.

How much you love him in the way that makes you ache and burn and swear to yourself you’ll never let anyone hurt him again. That nobody, nobody, is going to take you from him. Or take him from you. Not after everything. Not after what he’s survived.

And then, barely above a whisper… 

“…girlfriend,” Steve says.

Just that. Mild. Hesitant. Like he’s testing the sound of it.

You nod through the rush of heat in your throat, through the sting in your eyes. You smile wide and wicked, all fondness and joy, and you tease him like it’s no big deal, like yeah, you knew he liked it. Of course he likes it. You’re his fucking girlfriend.

Then Steve reaches up. Slowly, a larghetto movement. His fingers wrap around your wrists, right where your delicate hands still cradle his face. His touch is feather-light, but it’s real. He’s grounding himself. Holding on.

He says it again.

“Girlfriend.”

This time it’s stronger. Not loud, but his. It sounds like the way he says your name whenever he’s teasing you. The way that he says it when he’s kissing you and shutting you up. Like he’s not just saying the word, he’s claiming it.

Your chest tightens. Your hands tighten just a little around his jaw, and your eyes glisten even as your smile spreads wider. You lean in, just a fraction, and your nose brushes his.

“Yeah,” you breathe, so quietly. “Yours.”

His sad eyes twinkle, piercing into yours despite the trauma that hazes over them and tries to kill the light inside of them.

"All yours," you breathe against him with a gentle smile, eskimo kissing him the way that the two of you always do.

And for the first time in days, maybe weeks, Steve’s eyes don’t look lost. They look like they’re finding their way back.

One patient, soft second at a time.

***

CHAPTER FOUR "Frozen Exstinction"

It was exactly 12:31 PM when the front door burst open like someone had just returned from war. Not the type of war that this crew was used to dealing with, though. 

Instead? They’d conquered a war waged in the fluorescent battlefield of supermarket aisles.

“Operation: Grocery Heist complete,” Argyle declared grandly, arms overloaded with a precariously teetering stack of brown paper bags. “We bring you tribute, o mighty household.”

Jonathan followed right behind him, far less theatrical, sunglasses still pushed up on his head and a bag of apples hooked onto his wrist like a purse. “He means we spent an embarrassing amount of money on exactly what everyone demanded, down to the five separate coffee listings.”

Hopper was already at the kitchen counter and halfway through pouring himself what had to be his third or fourth mug of coffee. He grunted like he had every intention of making it to five. “Six. That list said coffee six times.”

Murray didn’t even look up from the bag he was already rifling through. “That’s because we knew you’d think four was too low and five was some kind of trap. Six is your psychological sweet spot. You’re welcome.”

“You people are insane,” Joyce muttered, already reaching to help you unload the loot, her voice thick with amusement. “Who needs six kinds of coffee in one day?”

“You, apparently,” Murray quipped without missing a beat. “You’ve got Hopper’s taste in men, why not his taste in caffeine dependency?”

“Ouch,” you chimed in, stifling a laugh as you moved alongside Jonathan, digging through the mountain of groceries now overtaking Steve’s kitchen. “I felt that one from across the room.”

“I liked that one,” Jonathan grinned, elbowing you lightly. “We should start writing these down. Volume One: The Strangest Things That Piss Off Hopper and Murray: A Sibling Guide to Survival.”

“We are not siblings,” Murray snapped, already tossing a rogue orange back into the fruit bowl like it had personally offended him.

“Yeah,” you smirked beside him, “you wish you were in this bloodline.”

That earned a bark of laughter from Jonathan as you and your uncle high-fived. 

“See? Dangerous combo,” he warned the room, nudging Hopper’s shoulder in passing as he walked past. “You let two people like us exist in the same kitchen? Mistake.”

“I’ve made worse,” Hopper muttered into his coffee. “I’ve married worse.”

Joyce rolled her eyes, laughing. “Oh, please, spare me your sob st—”

“Ayyyye,” you and Murray both said in harmonic unison, your Cheshire-grinned faces both alight with wide eyes. 

You both snapped your fingers at Joyce, who buried her head in her hands, immediately catching onto what she’d just done. Hopper gaped at her.

“It’s sticking,” Murray sing-songs. 

“Exhibit A, Hop,” Jonathan gestured to his mother while looking at him. He gestured wildly between all three of you now. “Exhibit fuckin’ A.”

“Language,” Joyce feebly attempted, muffled into her hands.

In the middle of the chaos, Steve just sat there. Perched on one of the kitchen island stools, still wearing that off-white Henley and those loose black joggers you’d laid out for him earlier, his hair still slightly damp and towel-dried, like he hadn’t moved since you’d pulled it back from his face with your fingers and whispered how stupid hot he looked. Because he did. Even like this. Despite being this quiet, depleted, soft-edged and shell-like, Steve Harrington looked like a goddamn dream.

He wasn’t talking. Not contributing to the mayhem unfolding around him. But he was watching. You could tell, just from the way his eyes flicked from person to person. He tracked the lackadaisical way Argyle dumped a bunch of boxes labeled ‘snack cakes’ onto the counter with a proud “for morale” falling out of his mouth, to the way that you giggled beside Jonathan while Murray muttered “morale’s a scam.”

Steve didn’t smile. Not yet. But he was watching.

That was new. First time he’d actively done it like this in a group setting, for the last four days.

It was progress. And it mattered.

You kept sliding things out of bags, laughing with your uncle as you discovered the outrageous number of hot sauce bottles he’d sneakily requested, when Jonathan suddenly dropped a cold six-pack of peach Snapple right in front of you on the counter with a light thud.

“For the Harrington,” he said with a casual sort of grandiose, handing off another pack to Argyle to put in the fridge.

You blinked, then looked at the label, and instantly smiled. 

Without missing a beat in the flow of conversation, you plucked one cold bottle from the pack and wiggled your eyebrows at Steve, flashing him a tiny grin. Then, you set it down gently in front of him. He blinked at it, then looked up at you, eyes soft and slow and warm in a way that told you yes, he sees you. 

And the truth is, he always did, even when his catatonic state was at a level 2.

He watches as you pick up a second bottle, thinking that the first one had been for him, but then he watches as you silently pop the seal off this one. Not loud, not startling.  And then, you place it down in front of him — exchanging it with the first. And all the while, you kept talking to Murray and Jonathan about who was going to organize the pantry this time.

“Not it,” you said. “Not it,” Jonathan echoed, barely squeezing it in. “Absolutely not,” said Argyle like he had ten minutes to spare.

Out of the corner of your eye, you caught Steve finally reaching for the bottle. His fingers curled around it like it was made of porcelain. 

His blank expression flickers with glimpses of thoughts. Oh. 

You’d let the first one, kept sealed, register with him… 

…and then you actually opened a second one for him, and let him drink it…

…since he wouldn’t open his own.

Steve warily brought the opened peach Snapple into his lap, looking at it for a moment. And then slowly, so gently, he leaned sideways, his shoulder brushing against yours, the full weight of him subtle and seeking.

You didn’t stop talking. Didn’t react like it was precious, didn’t patronize or praise him. You just kept socializing and let him press into you, gradually and wordlessly, as you reached across the island for a box of granola bars and launched right back into teasing Hopper for having labeled beef jerky as “emergency rations.”

Steve just kept sipping. 

Just kept sitting there, watching and absorbing.

Letting himself be included.

And then, right on cue, like a sitcom entrance with stage lights behind him: Eddie Munson rounded the corner, freshly showered, black hair wild and damp, sporting jeans and a band tee that somehow made him look like he’d just wandered off a stage in 1987.

“Ladies, gentlemen, and traumatized royalty,” he sang, making a grand sweep of his arms as he entered the kitchen. “I bring peace, hydration, and the lingering smell of herbal shampoo.”

“Good god,” Joyce muttered with a fond smile.

Murray didn’t look up. “You’re worse than Argyle.”

Argyle gave him a thumbs up. “I taught him.”

Eddie leaned dramatically against the fridge, letting it hold him up like he was the star of his own soap opera. “So what’s for lunch, huh? What do you feed a recovering hero with a six-pack and the sad eyes of a wounded golden retriever?”

There was a pause as you hummed, pretending to consider that. Murray actually sniffed out a laugh, head still down, while Jonathan drummed the table and squinted as if he actually was searching for a witty answer. 

Joyce pursed her lips from the bread basket, starting to answer as she stocked it. “Well…” 

But then a tiny sound escaped and entered into the mix.

…from where Steve sat quietly nestled beside you, still leaning.

Not a word. Not a sentence. 

Just a soft, breathy puff of tinkered laughter. 

Like surprise had pushed the air out of him without asking.

Every head turned.

Eddie was frozen mid-lean, eyebrows raised high.

Joyce looked like someone had just handed her a puppy. Hopper went still, the coffee cup halfway to his mouth, mouth hung open behind the rim, while Murray flicked his eyes up towards the sound. 

Jonathan’s fingers drumming the counter ceased immediately. And you? Your heart just cracked open like a sunbeam through a stormcloud. You turned to look down at him, your eyes wide, seeing now that Steve’s expression had shifted just the smallest amount. It had the wholesome, innocent appearance of someone who had just caught onto the joke.

His mouth was tilted in a quiet, barely-there, subtly open-mouthed smile. And his eyes were on Eddie, having just processed the lighthearted joke that he’d tossed into the ring a good five or so seconds before he’d reacted. Delayed, larghetto, and wholesome.

It felt like watching a flower patiently turn toward the sun.

You moved before you even realized it, circling behind him and wrapping your arms around him from behind, arms looped around his chest with your hands dangling against his sternum. You leaned in to kiss his cheek. Then again, before moving to kiss his temple. Balmy, light presses of your lips like promises.

“Oh you heard that, huh,” you murmured against him fondly. Kiss kiss, promise promise. “Of course you liked that.”

“You sly dog,” Hopper murmured, shaking his head and finally sipped his coffee while grinning at Steve from behind it. Joyce was right beside him, eyes round and hazed over with emotion, watching Steve with motherly hope.

“Don’t let it go to his head,” Jonathan mumbled, but he was smiling so warmly, looking right at you and Steve.

You couldn’t even help the twittery, breathy laugh that caught in your throat but managed to escape anyway. “Oh yeah, you’re okay,” you murmured, quiet and gentle and just for him. “You’re so okay. And I love you so much.”

Steve still didn’t speak. But he did lean into you. And then, with one hand still holding onto that peach Snapple in his lap, the other reached up. 

Found your wrists. 

Held them there.

And when you murmured, “You’re safe,” against his ear, barely audible… 

He echoed it back.

“Safe.”

Soft, faint.

But there.

Joyce closed her eyes like she’d been praying for that exact moment.

And Eddie just stood there, jaw slack, blinking slowly as his eyes misted. “Holy shit,” he whispered to her. “Steve Harrington just laughed at my joke. I’ve peaked.”

Hopper spun it into something witty and roast-worthy towards him, to help “deflate his ego” but also keep the conversation flowing so that Steve wouldn’t retreat again. And also to keep from letting whatever thickness was crawling up his throat and made him have to keep clearing it every ten damn seconds.

They all resumed chattering. But you didn’t look at anyone else except Steve right now as you leaned closer, pressing your nose against his hair while he leaned against your chest, silent and sipping peach Snapple, surrounded by found-family absurdity, love, warmth, dry wit and everyone who mattered to him.

Safe.

Safe.

Safe.

And alive.

Jonathan has also learned how to immediately clock the hesitation in Steve’s eyes before it ever even forms in his body. It’s why he doesn’t hesitate, just like you and Murray, before drawing the reins of the conversation back into his own hands like it’s second nature.

“So what I’m hearing is,” he says, plopping a stool over for himself and resting on it with his hip, a half-empty bag of dried mangoes in one hand. “None of you trust me and Argyle to buy groceries unsupervised.”

“That’s what you’re hearing?” Hopper asks dryly as he settles into the bench near Joyce, arms crossed, legs kicked out. “Because I’m pretty dog-gone sure what I said was: ‘next time, I’m writing the list in crayon and attaching it to Eleven’s bike handles.’”

“Oh come on, man,” Argyle chimes dreamily from the fridge, holding a Tupperware of watermelon like it’s sacred. “You said you needed snacks, we got snacks.”

Hopper chews his doughnut hole very slowly.

Jonathan gestures at the kitchen like it's the Wheel of Fortune board. “We hath delivered!”

“Touched by an angel,” Hopper deadpans, mouthful of sugary dough.

“Um,” Murray lifts his head without even looking away from the receipt he’s been silently combing through for the last two minutes. “Did you or did you not purchase a novelty bottle of glow-in-the-dark pancake syrup?”

Jonathan doesn’t even flinch. “It was on sale.”

“You bought two.”

“Two-for-one.”

“I rest my case.”

“No one asked you to be the attorney general of the snack aisle,” you mutter, biting down on a smirk, one hand still draped gently across Steve’s chest as he stays leaned back into you, Snapple halfway to his lips. 

He hasn’t said another word yet, nor has he engaged or reacted, but he hasn’t checked out either. He’s looking at Jonathan. Then at Murray. Then back again. Following. Listening. His lips are slack but not grim. His eyes…they’re a little less glossed over now. A little brighter. They keep shifting from one speaker to the next, not unlike a lazy volley at a ping-pong table.

Joyce is already nodding toward the pile of grocery bags. “Please tell me you didn’t get the edible glitter sprinkles again.”

“No comment,” Jonathan mumbles.

“Jesus Christ,” Murray sighs, while Argyle tosses a grape into his own mouth without even blinking.

“Know what, I say let ‘em buy what they want,” you say breezily, leaning in to rest your chin a little more comfortably on top of Steve’s head, your voice like silk just for him. “Let them spend their money on stuff they’re clearly emotionally attached to.”

“Oh, like the inflatable margarita pool float,” Murray fires.

Jonathan lifts a finger. “That? Is for crowd surfing.”

“You live in Indiana.”

“And it was five dollars.”

Eddie whirls on him, grinning. “Whose five dollars?”

Hopper’s shoulders had started to shake, quietly at first. But then his chest joins in as you all keep jabbering, and the gruff, growling sound of him trying not to laugh just makes everything worse. You and Jonathan exchange a glance that only adds gasoline to the fire.

“I mean, let’s be real,” you grin at your uncle. “You’re just pressed you didn’t get the pool float first.”

“Oh please,” Murray snaps. “Sp—”

“Spaaaaare meeee,” Joyce says it for him, cupping her hands over her lips for emphasis, and not helping Hopper’s failed attempt at keeping his laughter in check.

Murray glares. “I wouldn’t be caught dead inside that avocado-shaped monstrosity. It has sunglasses.”

“And a cup holder,” Argyle points out like he’s reading the back of the damn box. 

You gasp lightly at that and tilt your head towards him, all while looking at Murray with the most robotic doll-like smile. As if you’re on a Truman show infomercial. “For your good ole buddy Smirnoff.”

“Oh, don’t encourage him,” Hopper groans, covering his face with both hands now.

“Smirnoff doesn’t help me float,” Murray your uncle quipped at you. “It helps me sink.”

“Poetic and emo,” you murmur into your Snapple.

“Don’t knock it till ya’ve floated in it,” Eddie sings, pleading your case.

Hopper wheezes miserably, like a dying animal behind his hands while Murray keeps failing miserably at holding his own and Jonathan bobs his head along with literally no music playing. Steve just stares at them, and you just snicker warmly next to his ear and let yourself sway with him a little bit. He honestly looks adorable right now, despite the fact that his expression is pretty blank. But the poor baby looks so focused right now, it makes your heart swell.

But it’s too late. The floodgates are open.

Eddie’s now cracking up from the freezer, tossing something into it without looking. “Hey Hopper, who’s responsible for this?”

“Responsible for what?” Hopper says on an exhale, not even looking up yet. Already dreading it.

“Three boxes of frozen dinosaur nuggets.” Eddie turns, holding one aloft in triumph. “Three. That’s a cry for help.”

Hopper drops his hands and just stares at Jonathan and Argyle. “Why.”

“They were on the list,” Jonathan says automatically.

“They were not on the list,” Murray deflects.

“Oh but they were,” you counter, already snickering.

“Well I didn’t jot it down,” he scoffs.

You clicked your tongue. “Marie Antoinette, why you lyin’ like dat?”

Eddie snorts hard, looking up from the box of frozen extinction. “Did you just call him—?”

“Really?” Your uncle literally gapes at you. 

You lift your eyebrows once, grinning like Satan’s spawn as a little sksksksk escapes from Jonathan.

Hopper, meanwhile, sighs so deeply it could trigger a weather system. 

“Let me guess,” he says in full-blown dad mode. “Ten plus one?”

Everyone knows exactly who they’re for, and that’s Eleven. No one says it, but the fat grin on Joyce’s face and the way Argyle nods solemnly confirms it before anyone has to verbalize it.

“Jesus, she’s obsessed.” Hopper huffs. “First it was Eggos, now it’s fucking prehistoric poultry.”

“She’s your kid,” Jonathan says.

“Your future sister,” you chime in, sipping your Snapple.

“Your daughter,” Joyce echoes, pointing a wooden spoon at him like a gavel, then at herself. “My future daughter.”

Hopper points at them both, then you, then them again. “Enablers.”

“Welp,” Eddie chirps. He’s now crouched like he’s proposing to the freezer. “I’ll eat the evidence if it helps.”

“I’m sure you will,” Hopper mutters, but he’s grinning now, and not just with his mouth. His eyes are soft. There’s no question who El is to him anymore. Not in the way he talks about her, not in the way he sighs, not in the way he pretends to be exasperated while looking at three goddamn boxes of chicken-shaped love.

Jonathan is all sksksksk again, when you absolutely deadpan at Hopper.  “C’mon, Jimothy, let our six little nuggets enjoy their Jurassic Park nuggets in peace, like goddamn.”

It’s the timing.

It’s the phrasing.

It’s the fact that you say it so completely straight-faced, while Eddie starts wheezing and Joyce just shakes her head like she regrets every life choice that led to this moment.

Hopper barks a laugh. It escapes him loud and fast, bouncing out like it was ripped from his chest before he could stop it. And then he schools his face immediately, glaring at you with narrowed eyes like that didn’t just happen.

Jonathan nearly collapses behind the counter trying not to fall over. Eddie is now bracing himself on the freezer door, head ducked into the ice box. And you’re grinning like you know you just won.

Hopper points at you as he walks by, heading toward the remaining bags. “You’re on thin ice.”

You just blink at him. “What’re you gonna do about it?”

“Send you back to college.”

“It’s trade school.”

“I’ll send you back to trade school.”

“I’m on break.”

“Then I’ll revoke it.”

Argyle hands him a cantaloupe slice without breaking rhythm. “Eat something, Hopper.”

“Yes,” Murray says with a sarcastically wry smile, looking like a fucked up informercial. “Please. Eat. You’re not you when you’re hungry.”

And somehow through it all, the back-and-forth, the rhythm, the pacing, the hum of warmth and memory and familiarity… you feel Steve move again.

Not flinching.

Just leaning.

Tilting his head back, so that he’s looking up at you now. His pupils are steady, glassy in a way that’s soft, not quite so distant. There’s something underneath that stare, something warmer than before, something quiet but whole.

“Oh hi,” you whisper, blinking down at him, cracking a smile.

He doesn’t smile back, at least not with his mouth. But his eyes… They dance. Right there in the middle of the chaos, they dance as they look up at you.

And then, barely above a breath, he murmurs, “six little nuggets.”

Your heart stops. Then flutters. Then folds in on itself, slow and radiant.

Because it’s not a joke, not to him.

It’s the dream he once told you Nancy about, but now shares with you. The one where you’ll both hit the road one day in a busted-up Winnebago, long after the world came crashing down again. Where the two of you will pull over wherever you want, whenever you want. Six kids. Loud. Happy. Messy. Yours. His. 

Both of your shared six little nuggets.

You lean down to him without hesitation, brushing the tip of your nose to his, nuzzling his tenderly.

“Yeah,” you whisper, smiling into him. “Our little nuggets.”

And this time, when he nuzzles back, it’s slower. Not quite in sync with you. Not as easy as it used to be. But also not as delayed as it was this morning. But it’s real. It’s movement, it’s progress... 

It’s Steve. 

Your Steve.

You stay right there, cheek to his temple, arms still around his middle.

And none of the others see it, except Murray. He watches from across the kitchen, arms crossed now, leaning against the fridge with a soft, unreadable smile.

Then he clears his throat. “Oh, yeah. Harrington?”

Steve turns his head almost immediately, his reaction so instinctive it’s almost childlike. Like he thinks he’s in trouble. But when he looks up, all he sees is Murray wagging that little tub of butter in the air, smug as hell.

“They found this hiding in the dairy,” Murray says, all too proud. “You’re welcome.”

Steve’s eyes catch the label. His go-to butter. The bougie kind. You all talked about it this morning, with him curled up in bed facing you, Dustin pressed against the wall, Robin leaning on the doorframe, Murray perched like a crow on the dresser.

His eyes flicker. There’s something shy and sad and grateful that curls its way into his eyes, piercing through his blank expression.

“Psssshhh,” Eddie puffs out a laugh through his lips. “Knew you were a bougie butter bitch.”

Everyone laughs. 

“My bougie butter bitch,” you purr affectionately, rubbing your hand up and down one of his arms with your free hand. The one that he’s not still holding onto with one of his hands.

Murray winks at Steve, while Hopper walks by and squeezes Steve’s shoulder. And the conversation starts right back up again, full throttle, ridiculous and warm. But Steve puts the Snapple down. And instead, he wraps both of your wrists tighter against his chest, like holding onto you is the only liferaft keeping him from floating straight up into the ceiling. His face folds in a little, not enough for tears, but enough for you to feel that sting behind his silence.

You just kiss the crown of his head and keep joking about nonsense with the rest of your friends.

You don’t need him to say anything else.

He’s here. You’re here. He’s yours, and you’re his.

And that’s enough.

***************************************************************

TAGLIST

@xprloki @erastourvip @get0ut0fmyr00m @Eddiemuns0nl0ver @marrowfrog00  @poppet05 @wiltedflowersundertowers  Originalthingparadise Pleuviors pumpkinonice Ihaveproblemsihaveproblems Brinleighsstuff Definitelynotherr sucker-4-angst bookkeeperlove notlilyyyy @xblueriddlex madaboutjoe ucannotcompare @goosy-goose nevillescomslut

[multiheadcanons]

EVERYONE LOVES SNIPER!

scout: scout can get real jiggy with sniper when sniper is in the mood for him. and this is just fine for scout, scout has learned he is a lotta man to handle at once for sniper. something about him being australian or something. but when sniper is willing to hang around, scout loves the guy! he’s real funny when he’s not staring at you like you kicked his dog. and snipes will never say this about himself, but he’s a real sweetheart. holds doors open for people, lets other cars go first. real polite guy!

soldier: soldier likes sniper! appreciates his effectiveness on the field, and he’s a good man off the field as well! reliable and consistent. the only mercenary of which soldier actually appreciates the caution he naturally exudes, because sniper is just that good at picking his moment to shine. and it makes watching sniper in action that much more satisfying. and when snipes’ competitive streak comes out, then soldier is really ready to play with the man, because sniper gets aggressive. the game is how many blu heads can soldier sever from bodies before sniper blasts them into colored rain. most heads win. it’s their favorite game to play together, fuck monopoly.

pyro: pyro loves sniper! that’s their best friend! pyro doesn’t normally get to hang around sniper unless scout is hanging around sniper, they suppose hanging out with sniper as an offense class is an invite thing. but when they think about it, sniper isn’t really around unless the whole team is. but they don’t mind snipes’ shyer nature. it makes them feel like they can chat with him when they do get moments alone! and it tickles them pink when sniper remembers what they talk about. when people ask sniper how they’re understanding pyro, he responds “vowel sounds”. pyro doesn’t care, they are just flattered he bothers.

demoman: demo and sniper don’t get to interact often, much to the scot’s dismay. demo wants sniper in on more bad plans. sniper is a man demo only really gets to observe. in battle and in the base. and he likes what he sees! though sniper is generally quiet, and arguably neutral, demo insists he is a good man. and he doesn’t need to interact with him to know this, he can tell by the look in his eyes. and demo appreciates his well meaning demeanor. their schedules are just so conflicting they are rarely in the same room together. but when they are, demo always takes the time to chat with his support team member. sniper always seems appreciative!

heavy: heavy greatly enjoys sniper. everything about him has passed misha’s sniff test. even his flaws. of which he would argue are few, if any at all. heavy really likes that sniper’s whole is greater than the sum of his parts. something about a man who keeps his cards so close to his chest is fascinating. it seems to be a rich inner life the australian leads. and not to sound like the doctor, but it’s a brain he wouldn’t mind poking at. he just wants to talk with him more. but the silence is better. they wave to each other if they catch each other’s eye, and sniper does give heavy’s safety preference as he scans the field. don’t tell heavy that, though. he already knows.

engineer: engineer loves that aussie! what a good natured guy! sometimes, sniper’s vibe checks knock engineer out of the running of being a man sniper wants to be around all the time. but sniper does give the man some attention. he also gives engineer additional preference for his safety. the team needs those buildings up at all times. if they’re able to be destroyed, it cripples the red team. engineer has found that sniper is not a man who does things out of spontaneity, or on a whim. he appreciates it! that is rare in this team. at least, it’s rare to do it as well as he does.

medic: see, medic likes sniper, he is a fine man. quiet. calm. solitary, but dependable. these are all things that the doctor appreciates, which makes sniper a man he could potentially befriend. the issue is sniper does not like him. at least, he doesn’t act like he does. so the doctor can only assume. this, on its own, doesn’t bother him. it’s the fact that he’s the only person on either team sniper seems to particularly dislike that bothers him. and sniper doesn’t need him like the other teammates do. sniper is adept at caring for himself in all areas, and that includes medically. so there’s no real opportunity that the doctor sees himself having to better his standing with the man. so he tries to act “normal”. makes casual conversation. tries to ask him whether he needs anything. sniper has been very good at dodging him. but medic maintains faith. he will be this man’s friend! even if it kills him!

spy: spy appreciates sniper. appreciates his work ethic, appreciates his professionalism, appreciates his commitment to his lifestyle. the man has been there and been an entirely neutral party to some of spy’s most unsavory moments. and sniper never lets him run with it. never lets him decide to completely throw what little morals he has left to the wind. also never lets him berate himself into a spiral. sniper is a grounding man to be around. he knows who he is. he knows what he thinks of spy. and sometimes, that’s enough for him. he would never tell that filthy bushman any of this a day in his life, and you’d better not either.

[illusionremember]

Chuck is so much smaller than he thinks he is.

Like, okay. Supernatural said God is a writer, yes? Let's carry out that thought. We've talked about Chuck being a representation, by the end, of the CW executives, pushing for a particular narrative. God as the creator and God as the controller of the narrative. But Supernatural has always been about Free Will within the context of a narrative that someone else controls, yeah?

God is a writer. Chuck isn't the writer, not really. He's just another character. He too is at the whims of THE writers, the showrunners, the network executives. God isn't just a writer. God is a network exec who's never even been on set or watched the show but just stares at viewer stats tables and sends notes off to the writer's room. More of this character. Dial back the homo here.

But primarily, God is a creator. And there are more creators in TV than just writers. God is a set designer, crafting the Bunker to be their home, their safe place. God is the makeup artist, painting blood on their teeth. God is the director, the cinematographer, who choose what we see of the world.

God is each actor. God's touch is in every acting choice, ever gesture and touch and glance. God's control isn't just looking at the script and hitting backspace over the parts he doesn't like or approve of. It's resetting and doing 27 takes because they need this emotion to come across just right, it's the actor that incarnates the character saying "no Dean wouldn't say I love you here, but he would say I need you" which is so much bigger and deeper.

God isn't just about controlling the narrative. God is about exploring the narrative. Throw these characters in a box and shake it and see what they do. Any author can tell you that their characters will surprise them sometimes with something that they didn't plan on. Fall in love with a character they weren't scripted to, make choices or reveal backstory the author didn't know about. The best writers will follow those threads and see where they go. God is seeing Misha Collins as lightning in a bottle and saying let's see where this goes, because Castiel had so much more to say and do, because Cas looked into Dean's eyes and said yeah well. We're making it up as we go.

Sometimes there are threads the author didn't even see being drawn out of the tapestry. I read once that Amy Tan had talked about reading student analyses of The Joy Luck Club and being pleasantly surprised by the poignant things students noticed, the patterns they traced out, things she wasn't even consciously aware she was writing.

God is every viewer and every fanwork creator. Every fanartist who says wait, i see something here, let me show you. If God is a writer, than God is also every fanfic writer who says wait, I see a different version of things, I see more of this moment, I see this missing scene, let me show you. Let me share it with you.

You will never convince me that Cas and Dean only fell in love in one universe. I read. I write, too. I see glimpses into thousands of other universes. I see them fall in love in coffee shops and penthouses and gardens, as demons and angels and mermaids and witches and normal-ass humans with normal-ass jobs.

Chuck isn't the all-powerful God he thinks he is. He's just a character. He has no power here. He has no more power over the narrative than Dean or Cas or Sam do. Their choices matter. Free Will is a length of rope, and God may want you to hang yourself, but instead, we're throwing it out the window and climbing out.

[fatherfigurefusion]

Hi new friend!!! :D

Would you happen to have any..OTHER inspired RTC directional/directorial ideas you'd like to share? ^^ /nf

Hi to you too, Finley!

My stage design would look something like this (West Virginia University), having a revolving stage in front of a platform with stairs (plus a ramp for Ricky) and a curtain, but with extra emphasis being placed on the crooked and broken Cyclone tracks. Particularly passionate people would hang onto the tracks when making speeches.

URANIUM SUITE

"Uranium Suite" will start with the choir being projected onto the curtains. Throughout the song, Misha and Ocean would fight over the former's phone. Although my hypothetical production uses the old script, Ricky still plays the tambourine.

I am debating over whether to have them appear on stage during the "sailing through space" part or after the song. It would be pointless to not have them on the revolving stage during the "round and round and round" part, but it would be funny to have collapse onto the stage after the end of the song.

Much like with "Fall Fair Suite", Jane would sing "Spinning" after the rest of the choir sung their "all been spinning" part, but only Ricky would be able to hear it, to which he would be frantically looking around during the "round and round and round" part.

WHAT THE WORLD NEEDS

Ocean swaps out her ordinary blazer for a more sparkly one, and puts an equally-sparkly tiara on her head, which remains throughout the rest of the song.

Much like with Station Theatre, Misha and Ricky forcibly pull themselves away from the controlling "aura" of Ocean, only to be forcibly dragged back in, during the roasting bits. Only Noel and Constance dance alongside Ocean, during the first chorus. They all get a cheerleader-style pom-pom, as well.

Speaking of which, during the roasting bits, Ricky would try and talk to Jane, only to get pulled towards Ocean during his roasting bit. (The same thing happens during Jane Doe's introduction.)

From that point onwards, Ricky plays his tambourine.

NOEL'S LAMENT

Misha, Ricky, Constance, and Jane pull out instruments and sombreros during the mention of a mariachi band, only for them to throw away their instruments, the second Ocean butts in.

Ricky plays the "squeeze keys" throughout the song.

Ocean plays "Claude" (the pimp who gets stabbed ten times in his back).

Misha asks as lovestruck as possible, even when getting slap-slap-kissed by Monique.

Monique gets thrown to the ground and abused by the entire cast throughout the song.

LOTS of stomping and clapping for rhythm, especially during the end.

After the song, Noel switches from pants to a skirt.

EVERY STORY'S GOT A LESSON

During the song itself, the choir all sit criss-cross applesauce around Ocean and bop their heads to the song.

While Ocean is distracted, the boys mock her movements and speech, making each other silently laugh, as if she's done this spiel a million times too many.

Constance drags Jane in to play the methhead biker up the road.

THIS SONG IS AWESOME

During the start of the song, Misha rips open his shirt and tears away his pants to reveal a BadEgg-brand T-shirt and tracksuit pants, colored like the Ukrainian flag. Ricky also places his own cap on top of his head.

Ricky plays a portable DJ set, while also wearing a boxy-robot head.

Throughout the whole song, Ricky and Constance hang alongside and follow Mischa, along with interjecting with their verses. Misha supports them big time!

Ocean is the valet, while Noel is the hottie.

During the final line, Ricky puts on Misha's vyshyvanka and red waist sash, serving as a segue into the next song.

TALIA

"Talia" (Jane) comes out from behind the curtains and goes to the opposite side of Mischa and the rest of the choir.

Misha uses Ricky's hat to symbolize his masculinity, and slams it in the middle of the circle, during his line about it.

Ricky plays the guitar.

The remaining members of the choir take turns dancing with different partners, while simultaneously watching what is happening with bated breath.

Talia does not turn around until Misha finally breaks free of the circle and runs over to hug her, just before the beat drop.

The choir dances wildly, while Misha cries into "Talia's" shoulder.

During the final parts of the song, Misha pulls the veil back to reveal Jane, causing him to collapse on the ground in tears.

Everybody group hugs, until Ocean ruins the moment.

SPACE AGE BACHELOR MAN

Misha and Constance are the Zolarian rulers (wearing black helmets and matching capes), while Ocean, Noel, and Jane are the sexy cat people (wearing cat ears, paws, and colored tiger-striped vests over their clothes), with the lyrics changed to match.

Misha and Constance mime driving a spaceship to Zolar.

Ricky's Bachelor Man costume comes complete with a Random Star guitar, which he plays during the second half of the song.

Karnak plays Count Dogulous, engaging in a spaceship-to-spaceship battle with the Space Age Bachelor Man.

Ricky slow dances with Ocean, Noel, and Jane.

THE BALLAD OF JANE DOE

The other choir members wear black trench coats, black bowler hats and glow-in-the-dark Buskin masks.

The revolving stage spins around slowly with the other choir members surrounding an aimlessly wandering Jane, blocking her from escaping with their black umbrellas.

During the final long high note, Jane slowly raises her head on the "Jane", only to scream in anguish on the "Doe", ending with her crumpled on the floor in sorrow.

THE NEW BIRTHDAY SONG

Everybody gives up a part of their new outfit to either give to Jane as "birthday presents" or as a part of her "birthday outfit". Ocean gives up her tiara, Noel gives up his feather boa, Misha gives the flowers he wanted to give to Talia, Ricky gives up the fluffy coat of his Bachelor Man uniform, while Constance gives her the Hello Kitty Cupcake.

Ocean has trouble coming up with lyrics to the song, so everybody has to give her ideas on the next verse.

Ricky plays the xylophone during the song.

SPACEDOLLS SLOWDANCE!

Everybody stops what they're doing, when Constance punches Ocean in the boob.

SUGARCLOUD

As opposed to the flashy outfits of the other characters, Constance just gets a necklace with a recorder on it.

During the telling of her story, she's sits cross-legged and starts out melancholy and self-deprecating, almost bitter. When she gets into the positive parts of her life, she starts getting more cheerful and accepting of her small town, and slowly sitting back up, after fidgeting and bouncing in her seat for too long.

Everybody just freestyles in the dancing part, and Ricky plays the ukulele.

Ricky and Misha hyping her up throughout the whole song and monologue.

IT'S NOT A GAME/IT'S JUST A RIDE

Just go ham with the dances, just reference the choreography of each of their respective songs.

[winchesterwild78]

Behind the Scenes pt 2

Master List

Minors DNI 18+

Warnings: jealousy, sex scene filming, language, SMUT

A/N: You are newly hired on Supernatural. Your character was supposed to be a one and done but the fans loved you so they wrote you in the story. You were supposed to play Sam’s love interest, but things get complicated when you fall for someone behind the scenes. This is a work of fiction. No disrespect to Jensen or Jared or their families. *kinda a long chapter, just wanted to set up the story*

I edited this fast- please forgive any mistakes

This is my original work, do not take it.

✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨

The next few days were somewhat relaxing. You hung out with Jared, Misha and some of the other cast and crew. Noticeably absent from the get togethers was Jensen. One night Misha joking around said Jensen must be held up at his apartment with his latest flavor of the month. You looked at Jared and he offered you an apologetic look. You smiled softly and turned your head, tears pricking your eyes.

You got up to walk in the kitchen to grab a water and Jared followed you. “Hey Y/N, you okay.” He questioned. You told him what happened the other day before Jensen left and he was just as confused as you were. He sent Jensen a text.

Jared: Hey man. We are all hanging out at Misha’s if you’re around.

Jensen: We might swing by. Not sure yet. I’ll let you know.

Jared: “we” who’s we?

Jensen: Katie. You met her a few months ago. We ran into each other the other day and have been hanging out.

Jared: Yeah I remember her. Um, what about Y/N? I thought you liked her.

Jensen: Yeah, it didn’t work out. It’s for the best. She’s your love interest on the show and I just think it would be for the best if we didn’t hook up.

Jared: okay man. Whatever you say. Maybe see you later.

Jared looked at you and said “I’ve been friends with him for years and I don’t know what he’s thinking. He’s out with some girl right now. He said they might come by. I’m so sorry Y/N. I swear he told me he wanted to be with you.” A lump formed in your throat and you felt sick. “It’s okay Jared. I mean we only kissed and I guess he decided he really didn’t want to see where we went.” You said fighting back tears.

You took a sip of water and went outside to the deck. You sat listening to the crickets and the laughter from inside. You couldn’t believe your heart was breaking. It was just a kiss. He changed his mind. He’s allowed to do that. It’s for the best. Getting involved with a coworker is always a bad idea. You kept telling yourself this over and over. Then you heard his voice. You turned around and saw Jensen with his arm around a very attractive, slender, blonde woman.

Everyone was greeting Jensen and her. You noticed he kept looking around. You wondered what he was looking for. You heard Jensen introducing the woman as “Katie” and she seemed really sweet. You stayed on the deck unable to move. Jared saw you and made his way outside to you. “Hey, you okay” he asked throwing an arm around your shoulder. “Yeah I’m good. Just wanted to get some fresh air. I’m not feeling great so I think I’m gonna head home.” You said fighting back tears. Jared nodded and walked back inside with you.

You made your way through the people saying goodbye as you walked. You were almost at the door when Misha stopped you. “Hey, Y/N. Where are you going” he asked. As you turned to tell him goodbye you saw Jensen with Katie standing next to him. “I’m heading out. Not feeling too good. I think I had a little too much to drink and not enough to eat.” You said not making eye contact with Jensen. Misha completely clueless said “oh okay. Yeah that sucks. Before you leave did you get a chance to meet Jensen’s girl, Katie.” “No, I don’t think I have. Hello, I’m Y/N. It’s nice to meet you Katie. I don’t mean to be rude but I really should be going.” You said after shaking her hand.

You looked up at Jensen and nodded. He looked at you almost apologizing but you had to be mistaken. “Well good night everyone, nice to meet you Katie. I’m sure I’ll see you around again soon.” You spun on your heels and went out the door.

Jensen followed you outside. You knew he was there. You could smell his cologne. “Hey, Y/N wait a second please.” He almost whispered. You looked at him “what Jensen”. “I need to explain. I” “No! (You cut him off) You don’t need to explain anything. You kissed me, wanted to be together, then you said you didn’t. There’s nothing to fucking explain. Go back inside to your girlfriend. I’m going home.” You hissed at him. You climbed in your car, slammed the door and took off.

Jensen stood in the driveway for a few minutes then went back inside. He went over to Jared and asked for your number. Jared hesitantly gave it to him.

*Time jump 3 weeks*

You started to become more comfortable with the set, the cast and the crew. Today however was going to be a more challenging shoot. Your character and Sam have sex for the first time. You’ve read over the script multiple times, met with the crew who would be present during the scene and Jared. They explained everything to you and assured you none of your body would appear on screen. Just your bare back and the only crew on set would be the director, Jared, you and two female assistants to help you in any way you needed.

Your wardrobe was flesh colored intimate covers and your robe to get you to and from set. Jared’s was pretty much the same thing. You were in your trailer reading over the script trying not to be nervous but you couldn’t help it. There was a knock at your door and it was Jared. “Hey, um Rick is sick and can’t direct the shoot today. They have called in another director.” He said reluctantly. “Oh, okay. Are they aware of the scene today and everything we have in place for it.” You asked. Jared nodded. “So Y/N, the director is Jensen.” Jared said. “Wait, what?!?” You exclaimed. “This can’t be.” You said. “Why would they have him direct?!” You practically yelled.

“He has experience and he was available today. The studio didn’t want to push the schedule so we were behind. It’s going to be okay. I promise. Jensen is very professional and I’ll be there.” He assured you. You sighed. “Okay Jared. Let’s get this over with.” You stood heading towards the door.

As you and Jared approached the set you saw Jensen looking incredible. You instinctively bit your lip. He was dressed in jeans and a t-shirt that hugged his chest and biceps. It wasn’t fair how this man could look like sex on two legs no matter what he was wearing.

Jensen’s voice boomed over the set asking for everyone to clear out unless they were part of the scene. He approached you and Jared and asked if you two were ready. You both nodded. He went over the scene and how he was going to get multiple angles and shots so they can piece together the best ones. He called for places. You and Jared removed your robes. The assistant helping you held up a sheet to wrap around you until you got in the bed. You climbed in and snuggled to “Sam”. “And action” Jensen called.

The beginning of the scene was you laying beside Sam and he was making sure you were ready for the next step. You nodded and he cupped your face kissing you. Things started heating up and the scene moved on. Sam was hovering over Lilah. “God you’re so beautiful, Lilah. Are you sure you’re ready” Sam asked. “Yes I am. Take me Sam. I need you” you said. Jared positioned himself in between your legs and “pushed in” as he started to move and you moaned you heard Jensen yell “cut”.

“What’s wrong” Jared asked. “I don’t know. I just don’t think she’s giving a convincing scene. I need more from you. Sam is a moose and he’s big. I need to believe it.” Jensen said. “Okay” you said in a small voice. Jared leaned down and said you did great but to follow his lead. You shook your head in agreement.

“Action” Jensen yelled. Sam pushed in again and you gasped loudly grabbing his shoulders. Moans from you and Jared filled the room. It was very convincing. Jared leaned down and said in your ear “you’re doing great. Now let’s get this party started”. You stifled a giggle. Jared sped up and flipped you over on your knees. This took everyone by surprise. Jensen’s jaw was on the floor but he couldn’t call cut. The way the sheet laid over your body and the moans falling from your lips turned him on more than he cared to admit. If anyone had been looking at his they would have noticed he was getting hard.

Sam and Lilah were moaning and filling the room with the sounds of pleasure. Jared moved and had you straddle him. The sheet pooled around your hips exposing your breasts. Jensen bit his lip but kept rolling. You started to ride Jared and ran your fingers in your hair. Your breasts were bouncing up and down and Sam sat up cupping them. You moaned his name as he took a nipple in his mouth. You knew he couldn’t really because the covers on them, but your moans were pretty convincing. So convincing Jensen yelled cut.

“Jared what the hell man. None of this was part of the scene” Jensen yelled. “You know we improvise a lot of these scenes. What the hell is your problem man. You keep stopping the scenes” Jared demanded. You looked over your shoulder and saw Jensen had a noticeable bulge in his jeans. Jared saw it too and reality struck him. Jensen was jealous. Jensen called for lunch and everyone cleared the set except you, Jared and Jensen. You covered up with the sheet and Jared got up to talk to Jensen.

“Dude what the hell is wrong with you. The scenes are going great. She’s an incredible actress. Give her a break. You’re the one who decided not to pursue her.” Jared reminded him. Jensen ran his hands down his face in a frustrated sigh. “I know. The scene was perfect. You guys have incredible chemistry and I guess I got jealous. I want her to moan my name and be mine. I fucked up man. She wants nothing more to do with me. Not that I blame her.” Jensen said. Jared looked at him and said “Man you have to figure out what you want. If you want her then tell her. Stop being a coward. If you don’t want her then let her be. It’s not right man.”

“You’re right man. Can you give us a minute to talk” Jensen asked his friend. Jared nodded and left the building. You sat on the bed covered up as Jensen approached you. “Hey Y/N. Can we talk” he asked. You nodded and he sat on the bed. “Look you were doing an incredible job with that scene. I’m so sorry for being an ass.” “If I did so well why did you keep interrupting the scene” you asked. “Honestly, I got jealous. I wanted you to call my name out and me being the one having you. I’m so sorry.” He said as he put his head down.

You took his hand and said “I don’t understand. You’re with Katie and you made it clear you didn’t want me. Why would you be jealous.” “I’m not with her. I don’t want her. I want you. I’ve always wanted you. I was scared. I’m sorry.” Jensen said kissing your hand.

You took your hand and lifted his chin staring into his green eyes. You leaned in and kissed him. At first it felt like he was hesitant but then he deepened the kiss. Pulling your body flush with his. His hands dancing up and down your bare skin. Goosebumps erupted all over and you moaned into his mouth. You both pulled away gasping for air and as soon as you both caught it you were kissing again.

Jensen pulled away and looked at your still naked body and bit his lip. “Can we take this to my trailer” he asked. “Yes. Please Jensen I want you”. He helped you up and you put on your robe. He took your hand and the two of you walked to his trailer. As soon as the door was closed and locked his hands were on your body again.

He led you to the bedroom and laid you on the bed. He helped you out of the robe and body covers from the scene. Jensen stood back admiring your body. “Fuck you’re sexy baby”. He said and your face flushed. You bit your lip and told him he was overdressed. He smirked and said “yes ma’am” and he removed his clothes. When his rock hard cock sprang free from his boxers you gasped at the size. You made eye contact with him and he smirked.

He licked his lips “I want to taste you sweetheart”. He parted your legs and crawled in between your thighs kissing all the way up to your dripping folds. He took his fingers and parted your folds. He smirked when he felt how wet you were. “You’re dripping baby”. He stuck two fingers in and hooked them. You gasped and your walls clenched around his thick fingers. He moved them in and out getting you ready to take him. He leaned down and started to lick your engorged clit. You moaned his name as you arched your back. Your fingers found his hair and you pulled him into your dripping pussy. He was licking and sucking like a man starved. You felt yourself close to the edge. “I’m going to cum Jensen. Oh fuck. Right there baby” you screamed. He licked faster and pushed you over the edge. As you came you screamed his name and he kept licking and sucking as your body grew more sensitive. You screamed again as another, more intense orgasm hit. Jensen grinned as he pulled his fingers out of you.

“Damn baby, you taste delicious and you came so hard.” He said smiling. “Oh my god, Jensen. That was amazing.” You said as you laid back. “You sure you want me, Y/N” he questioned. “Yes, please. I want you in me” you begged. Jensen grabbed a condom and pumped himself a few times before rolling the condom on. Once it was on he lined himself up and asked if you were ready. You shook your head yes. He pushed in slowly. You gasped and grabbed his shoulders. Jensen leaned down and kissed you as he pushed further in.

Once he was all the way in he lifted your legs and set a steady pace. Moans and the sounds of pleasure filled the room. Jensen and you were exploring each other’s bodies with every thrust and movement. He felt incredible and he fit perfectly inside you. The perfect combination of pleasure and pain.

He moved at an easy pace and each thrust he hit a spot inside you nobody ever had.

He pulled out and laid down having you straddle him. As he looked up at you he said “damn this is an incredible view”. He cupped your breasts as you lined him up and sat down on him pushing him all the way in. The new position had you seeing stars. He was in so deep and when he lifted his hips he pushed further in. You grinded down on him and arched your back. You threw your head back moaning and gasping in pleasure.

Jensen leaned up and kissed your lips and made his way down to your nipples. Each bounce brought him closer to his release. He bucked his hips into you causing you to gasp loudly. “I’m gonna cum Y/N” Jensen said in a low voice. “Cum for me baby. Fill me up” you said with a seductive tone. He grabbed your hips pulling you down onto him. He grunted and came hard. Filling the condom with his hot seed. You climbed off of him when he finished and he got up to clean himself up.

When Jensen got back in bed he pulled you close to him. He kissed your head and you snuggled into him and giggled. “What’s so funny, Y/N” he asked with a smile. “So this was taking it slow” you laughed. Jensen laughed and said “I guess for us it was”.

You laid in his arms as he pulled you tight. “How much longer do we have on lunch, Mr Director” you giggled. “About an hour. Why what did you have in mind” he asked smiling. “I can think of something to fill that time” you whispered in his ear. He smiled, growled and pulled you to his lips. Giggles and laughter filled the room as you and Jensen kissed and held each other.

Your heart leaped with every touch, and kiss. You could see yourself giving him your heart, you just hoped it would be safe in his hands. Your y/e/c eyes looked into his green as the giggles and laughter quieted. He brushed a stray piece of hair from your face and his hand ran down your face. “So beautiful” he whispered as he placed a soft kiss on your lips. You smiled, blushed and knew in that moment you could definitely fall for Jensen. It was exciting but so terrifying. For now though, you were perfectly content just lying in his arms.

Forever tags: @nescaveckdaily @kr804573 @k-slla @jackles010378 @jawritter @xx-spooky-little-vampire-xx @roseblue373

[ketamine-bolus]

katawa shoujo commission - excerpt

note: this takes place after a significant timeskip. the characters are college-aged. (CW: surgery, pulmonary embolism, resuscitation, F/F with male nurses)

Dr. Kaori was known to fight hard for her patients, and Misha would prove to be no exception. She ordered her team around with an edge to her voice that, to them, was particularly pronounced. Though she had reprimanded Dr. Tashido for his attachments, it was only out of denial of her own: she couldn’t save Shizune from an early death, but she would not damn Misha to the same fate.

Regardless, it didn’t make sense to her. Misha didn’t have any of the risk factors of deep vein thrombosis. She hadn’t had surgery. Wasn’t pregnant. Wasn’t on birth control. Stayed physically active. And yet, her bloodwork had all the markers of a massive pulmonary embolism. The doctor believed the answer lie in the only unknown variable: Misha’s family history. But seeing as this was no better than nothing at all, she put it out of her mind.

“Where the hell is that radiologist?” Dr. Kaori hopped off the table and pressed her fingers into Misha’s neck. She had a pulse now, but it was extremely tentative. “She’s not responding to the streptokinase. We need to find this clot so we can manually break it up, and we need to find it now."

The aforementioned radiologist filed in as she was speaking.

“About time.” Dr. Kaori grabbed the wand. In tandem, the radiologist squeezed more conductive jelly onto her chest and powered the device on.

The room was tense and quiet as she massaged the transducer over Misha’s body. The sonogram flashed with images of her heart, struggling to beat, and then to her lungs as the ventilator opened and deflated them.

“There,” the radiologist pointed to the partial blockage deep in a pulmonary artery.

Dr. Kaori was relieved. The streptokinase had helped—it just hadn’t completelydissolved the clot. “Get the cath kit. And hold her up for a sec—I want to get a good look at that bruise.”

A nurse propped her up while another hurried away to get the requested supplies. Dr. Kaori was quick and decisive in her diagnosis: the clot had formed at the site of the bruise and moved into her heart and lungs. But, as if to spite the speed of the doctor’s decisions, her rhythm began veering off-course in short bursts. Her heart rate climbed and climbed.

“She’s throwing lots of PACs. Should we get her into surgery?”

“There isn’t time. We do it here. Establish the sterile field—we’ll go in through the right femoral.”

Her assistants immediately jumped to the task. They draped dark green cloth over her body so that only her groin and chest were in focus; dabbed the impending incision site with golden brown antiseptic. The radiologist took her post with the ultrasound wand, Dr. Kaori administered the sedation, and the procedure began posthaste.

“BP’s holding.” A nurse reported when the skin was broken. “Pulse is dropping.”

“Right.” Dr. Kaori glanced up to Misha’s face. “You just hang on a little while longer.”

The surgeon quickly snaked the catheter up Misha’s femoral artery, assisted by both its own tiny ultrasound equipment and the radiologist’s expert hand at the site of the clot.

“Stabilizing at one-ten,” the nurse again chimed in.

Dr. Kaori nodded without taking her eyes off the displays. “Alright. Let’s bust this damn thing.”

More thrombolytic medication was forced into the remaining clot. Misha’s vital signs began to stabilize. The catheter was pulled back out.

For all but a fraction of a second, things seemed to have gone off without a hitch. All at once, her monitors became animated—the traces were erratic, the numbers fluctuated wildly, and several alarms went off.

“We’re gonna lose her… Everything’s bottoming out!” The nurse watching her vital signs exclaimed.

Dr. Kaori’s mind raced.        

“Start the dopamine and chest compressions,” she ordered flatly.

“Could she be bleeding somewhere else? We don’t know how she got that bruise or how old it is.”

“Physical exam didn’t turn up anything else.” The doctor prepared a shot of epinephrine. “Sudden cardiac arrest. Nothing else fits.”

But the liquid adrenaline gave her no quarter. The doctor ordered the nurse off, but the line still came up flat. “Resume. Prepping more epi.”

The second infusion had Misha’s poor heart thick with fibrillation, but Dr. Kaori was simply grateful for something to work with. She dialed in three-hundred joules, unslotted the paddles…

“Off. Going at three-sixty in three, two, one…”

[pressure-operationqna]

Just a little writing for the House Party event :} Interaction between Misha and Astor hehe (Song bc I listened to this while writing this hehe)

Hour one of the party had come and passed. Things were shaping up rather nicely in the hosts eyes, people were talking, dancing, imbibing. Indulging in humanities, as they'd both hoped people would. Still the draws of warmth and music could only remain so strong for so long. Eventually people would be bound to start wondering off to quieter spaces. Mischa was just shocked that he'd be the first among them. The parties he went to when he was younger, he'd usually stay to help the hosts clean up, not host and then leave first. Things were very different though. That part didn't need spoken out loud, though. From the scars upon his face to the echoing sounds of rusting walls around him, that much was obvious. That fact only makes itself more pungent as the clacking steps of a familiar corpse come to join the ex-assassin. "You do look nice, I hope you know." The words slip from Astor's lips. Sounding more like an offering to calm an angry god then anything. Everything Astor had to say sounded like that, Mischa found. A certain hesitance, an appeasing nature about his tone. Even now as he sits to join him, swooping the skirt of his sweater dress under his rear. Letting the blood warped leather of his MaryJanes hang over, grazing the murky water beneath them.

"Yeah." Mischa answers shortly at first. The compliment still alien in his mind. "I'm sure your date looks better." Mischa tries to redirect the cadaver's train of thought, back to the party, away from whatever he has going on out here. "It can entertain himself for a few minutes... I'm worried about you." Astor sighs, brushing Mischa's tail away, granting themself a little more space to sit. "Shouldn't be. I can manage myself." Mischa shrugs, straightening his posture. He lets his tail sag into the water. The receptors along it lighting up with every push and pull of the tide beneath. It distracts him from why he came out here for a moment, the calm and cold plunge of the water. "Just because you can doesn't mean you should, Mischa." Astor brings him back. And The Bloodhound is forced to focus. He fidgets with his belt, eyes darting across the water beyond the two of them, and then to Astor. A powerful sigh escapes his lips, chest nearly caving with the sound. "Your hair isn't horrible." "Oh- you noticed?" The slight tonal change in Astor's tone is small but there. Mischa restrains the laugh that bubbles up in his throat in response. Instead he shrugs and bows his head, eyes going to his hands in his lap. "Boy toy not- smother you in compliments about it yet?" Mischa teases him. Astor laughs small, rushed. Clearly needing to get back to his topic of concern. "I believe his response was 'Oh! Wow...'." Astor mimics his sweetheart's surprise, a soft smile falling to his lips as he finishes. Mischa let's out an entertained noise, nodding absent mindedly, pretending to understand Astor's intended statement. The one he gives with his hands and face along with his words. It's happy, it's content. It makes Mischa so jealous and angry his stomach nearly spills from his mouth. "He make you happy?" Mischa asks, tail circling slowly in the water below. Voice straining to hide every once of grief his bones still manage to hold. "Yes?" Astor answers, tilting his head in confusion. "I've- I've spoken at length about Archie and I- I figured this would have made you ill at this point, how sweet we are on one another-" "It does." Astor falls quiet, and Mischa straightens out, letting the other man read over his body language. letting him take in every insecurity he currently holds in his frail frame. "Mischa... we've... we've spoken about this." "I know and- and I couldn't give less of a damn about your happiness and how it affects me or about you and Archie... i just..."

[darkness-falls-tarot]

Jensen Ackles: what his true personality is like, his feelings towards Jared and Misha, and his feelings towards his fans.

All readings are alleged and for entertainment purposes only; please take each reading with a grain of salt.

What is Jensen’s general personality: ace of pentacles reversed, queen of wands, 4 of cups - Jensen is a bit self centered and has an ego to him for sure. He makes sure to let others know when he enters a room that he’s arrived and he is all about some pomp and circumstance. But at the same time as all this Jensen is a bit bored; this could be with his life or just when things are not going a certain way. He likes to have something to do and keep him busy otherwise he’s going to make sure you know he’s unhappy. Definitely not one to hide his feelings.

What is the bond between Jensen and Jared: 3 of swords reversed, justice reversed, temperance, engagement ring - these two miss hanging out as often as they used to when they filmed supernatural; they have a sibling bond now that development naturally and when two brothers have to be separated for any means of they have a deep connection they find the circumstances unfair no matter what they are. They were both unhappy the show ended more so because they would no longer get to be together as they were but I think over time they have become more accustomed to the situation and are finding new ways to hang out or keep in touch. It’s not as it once was but there is a lifelong bond between these two that can never be severed.

Jensen and Misha’s bond: death reversed, 5 of swords reversed, 8 of cups reversed, self indulgence - these two have had a bit of a issue in the past that caused some lack of communication for a period. They may have both been too stubborn to apologize to the other or to try and see things differently. Time has been kind and given each a little bit of an understanding and I think they’ve held out an olive branch to mend the relationship. The bond is going to take time to repair but I think they are making the effort to do that now and it’s just going to take time.

How does Jensen feel about his fans: page of pentacles, 9 of wands, ace of cups, twin flames - Jensen thinks his fans are quit the strong bunch; these people never gave up on the show and stuck with it through thick and thin, gave it their all and have shown their appreciation through art or music and it’s mind blowing to him. Now on the other spectrum there are some fans who’s obsession gives him some weariness and makes him a bit cautious of them at times but the overall vibe here is he loves his fans deeply and finds them to be wonderful people who have shown himself and his cast mates an abundance of love and support which he is forever grateful for.

[narrynukezankielover]

Finally got to the siren ep. HOLY MOTHER OF GOD. I completely understand why people are obsessed with this ep. A few things tho that got me. When the doctor misses was explaining oxytocin to Sam she said you get it when you are giveing birth, lactating or sex. She even described falling in love to explain her point. Then after Sam specifically said that the siren goes after guys sexually Dean says “whatever floats your boat that’s what it looks like.” They didn’t say anything about people you love like family members or friends them and the doctor specifically were talking about sexual relationships. The siren suggested going to a strip club which obviously is not a Sam thing it’s a Dean thing so it definitely was aiming for Dean. Dean and the siren hanging out wasn’t sexual but when Dean got the spit in his mouth the siren got very flirty. Dean obviously wasn’t giveing birth or lactating the only other thing was sexual arousal. Yes Sam gets under the sirens power too but he had just had sex so the oxytocin is probably still in his system. Plus at the end the siren said he wanted to fall in love again and again. He didn’t say he wanted to experience love he said fall in love. Who the f*ck says they’re in love with their brother. If you are you need help that’s disgusting. The writers tried to make it sound like it was a brotherly love thing but they didn’t succeed. I was actually thinking ok maybe it is just a brotherly thing until I heard the siren say in love.

I also watched On The Head Of A Pin (season 4 ep 16). I found it cute that when Dean and Sam walked into the room Sam had no idea anything was out of the ordinary yet Dean took one look at Cas and knew right away something was wrong that Cas wasn’t the one up front like the other times. I love how much they protect each other when they’ve only known each other a short while. I think Dean only did the tortureing because after talking to Cas and finding out Cas really doesn’t want him to do it he only did it for Cas. He didn’t want Cas to get into trouble and Cas even came to his rescue. Only thing I don’t really understand is why Uriel thought Cas would let Dean die. He was the one that said that Cas has a weakness and that was that he likes Dean. He seen them protecting each other yet he thought Cas would just let Dean die?

Sorry for keep putting up my opinion of the eps but I only have 1 friend who has watched Supernatural and she can’t even remember most of what happened. She literally has Mishas bad memory. Plus she’s half homophobic (she’s not against it but she doesn’t want to see it) so I can’t really talk about Destiel to her.

[dotthings]

spn 6.03 rewatch. Oh there's a lot going on in this one.

I know at the time production said the makeup department forgot to add Cas's handprint scar onto Dean's shoulder, and Jensen and Misha had to pad that with talk of how Cas healed all of Dean in 5.22 so the scar is gone. I'm going to suggest a third thing, which is about subtext, and the fact that in Dean's dream where he's having sex with dream Lisa, the scar is gone, and it's like Cas has to be erased for that, and why would Cas (his mark on Dean's body) have to be erased for Dean to have sex with his girlfriend. Just saying. The subtext there is loaded.

Cas and Sam are both in kinda cold places, but Cas still cares and it's obvious he does. He's anguished, but having to be ruthless, when he doesn't want to be. Whereas Sam is Soulless Sam and actually doesn't care. With Dean in the middle, acting on his compassion and keeping things grounded.

LOL the way Cas goes from Dean and I do have a more profound bond to switching over to a sarcastic "you think I came because you called" as if Cas had given too much away, as if he has to distance himself, there's so much at stake, he can't get too close, and that was getting way too soft and he can't afford it. Cas avoids Dean a lot in S6 and we know Cas is keeping secrets and why he's doing this, and he has a good reason, but there's this component where he's avoiding Dean because feelings, and that would make him vulnerable in ways she cannot afford. Dean is very complicated for Cas in S6.

When Dean prays, Cas answers. Oh sure he has his bigger agenda. But are we really going to pretend this isn't personal. Likewise Dean does the same kind of thing. Calls Cas when they have something biblical to deal with, but actually misses having him around and wants to see him.

The way Cas just grabs Dean's hand and cuts his palm then doesn't even heal it afterwards. This is Cas in his anguished ruthless mode, but it's also that by this point, Cas is still very feral angel. In S6 he's being devoured by a lot of feelings, but he's spend a year as a multidimensional wavelength of celestial intent and some of what he's learned from hanging out with Sam and Dean in S4/5 has receded a little bit, and he cares a lot, but he's also...ruthless angel still. And I'm torturing myself thinking about how Cas grows over the course of the series and the tenderness that develops in him and how much S6 Cas is very much S6 Cas but not later Cas and specifically Cas healing Dean's hand after it was cut for a ritual, without Dean even having to ask.

Even with all the ruthlessness, Cas is still Cas, and his softness is showing, he sides with humans, helps Sam and Dean, sticks up for Dean fiercely with Balthazar--"I believe the hairless ape had the floor." Yet also gives his old friend Balthazar a chance to run.

Cas in this ep is just. He is so!!!!!!!!!! "Why don't any of you listen" he's trying to save everyone. His human family, his angel family. There's a power vacuum in Heaven and civil war and it's chaos. And he can't hang around with Dean even though he wants to and he just vanishes.

The souls. It's all about the souls. The only currency worth having. It's all!! About!! the souls!!!!

Dean knows Sam very well and knows something's off and it's interesting how this ep, in dialogue, presents it as if Sam somehow has more ability than Dean to mentally bounce back from torture, and Dean says "do that means you're stronger" and oh it turns out to be nothing of the kind. But that is how it's presented as of this episode.

[eisforeidolon]

I am sorry but I just need to vent about misha being an absolute creep. I am so goddamn tired of him constantly trying to insert himself into jensen and danneel's relationship saying danneel is his girlfriend or in the recent purgatory 8 con, his wife. It's so disrespectful towards their marriage, kids and family. I understand it may be a joke but there's a limit and misha always seems to cross that. It's like he's in love with the idea of having a threesome with the ackles. He always has something or the else to say about danneel sexually which is honestly creepy to me. And I've noticed how that makes jensen so uncomfortable, like dude that's his wife back off. He has done this soo many times over the years. Ughhh I strongly dislike him, idk how the others stand him after he makes such crass jokes. And the fans who ship the 3 together are soo toxic and delulu like which sane couple would want to include such a problematic person like misha into their relationship and make it an unhealthy environment for their children to grow up in. I'm sorry for the vent, I'm just very disgusted by him😶

No apologies necessary, because I agree, it's just so fucking weird.

We know the the Ackles primarily (if not exclusively) only hang out together with Misha around work-related events. On the one side, while Danneel has made some vague noises about being a fan of Misha/Castiel, and Jensen does talk about him as a friend? Most of Jensen's comments about him are dunking on him for being awkward, for saying shit he can't back up, and just generally ribbing him for the weird shit he gets himself into and what a strange guy he is. Then on the other side you have Misha frequently making these very sexual and/or suggestive quote unquote jokes about both of them. Like, I'd still think it was odd if they were all publicly sharing that kind of sexualized banter back and forth on a regular basis, but they aren't. It's always Misha starting it and often Misha doing it alone, metaphorically behind their backs. Which is a huge part of what makes it so creepy, because it makes him come off more like some weird invasive fan failing at boundaries who they have to publicly be nice to because ~*SPN fambily*~ rather than it being an understandable friendship that genuinely exists between them.

Which is bad enough, but you can't separate his behavior from the context of the fandom he's pointedly doing it for. The loud majority of people still buying his crap (ops/autos/merch) and potentially following any future projects he might have? Are hellers/cockles shippers. Who only really care about him in terms of fantasizing about him and Jensen together (and pointedly include Danneel to contrast themselves against the wife haters in the extreme J2 tinhatter camp). Which takes the whole thing from just awkward creepy into a very calculated, opportunistic user kind of creepy.

I'm not sure there's anyone or anything Misha wouldn't "joke" about being intimate with if he thought he could make a buck off it. He's shown over and over he has no integrity and blatantly lacks respect for other people if throwing them under the bus (or talking about them as a sex object) will play well with his audience.

[pharaohbean]

dreaming of feelings, feeling the dreams

original upload: january 8th, 2025 on ao3

summary: "Following the events occurring at Paperfold University, after the Express has departed Penacony, the famous singer Robin, the Dazzling Ninja Rappa, and the cyborg cowboy Boothill encounter three unique people, all having traveled to Penacony to find something - or rather, the person who made such a thing. The facts that come out from the three of them, however, are just as interesting as the place they're looking for."

tags: Akiyama Mizuki & Shinonome Akito & Tenma Tsukasa, Boothill & Robin (Honkai: Star Rail), Boothill & Rappa (Honkai: Star Rail), Boothill & Rappa & Robin (Honkai: Star Rail) | Crossover, Penacony (Honkai: Star Rail), Post-Penacony Trailblaze Missions (Honkai: Star Rail), a lot of shenanigans happen here, but in a nutshell, wd1 trio meets robin+rappa+boothill, and madness happens from there, written for a secret santa, How Do I Tag, no beta we die like nagi + gallhager + misha, gotta get both sets of fandoms in that tag <3

warnings: boothill's typical censored swearing. yeah thats it.

author's note: i wrote this for a secret santa! i was given a few things, one of them being wd1 trio from pjsk and the penacony cast from hsr! i ended up writing. uhm. 5k in about 3 days. before vacation. yyeah! (also yes my secret santa liked it)

Paperfold University was slowly picking itself back up and returning to normal life—well, about as normal as it would get, putting a bunch of college students on a campus together.

Robin adjusted her mask and double-checked her hood, smiling underneath her mask all the while. Despite the events that had occurred when the Astral Express was on campus, everything seemed to have been resolved and even bursting with life—the music festival Caelus and Rappa helped with was surely a significant factor into the all-time high on campus. So here the interstellar vocalist was, giving the university another check-up before moving on to wherever she was needed next.

...After the Charmony Festival and Ena's Dream, Sunday had disappeared. Robin heard rumors that he boarded the Astral Express, but there was no way to get in contact with the Express now—wherever they had gone was somewhere where her messages wouldn't go through. But she couldn't do anything except hope and pray that he would be okay and that maybe out there he could find what he was looking for.

A distant melody brushed past Robin, the notes hauntingly soft. Robin stopped and lifted her head slightly to listen to the song, but it was so distant she only heard bits and pieces. So the singer began wandering around, trying to find the song as it grew stronger. She looked into every nook and cranny, trying to find the lone singer of the swelling harmony. It took some looking high and low (and quite a lot of making sure her disguise hadn't fallen in the crowds of students) before she found the singer.

Standing in front of the SoulGlad lake was a pale-pink girl, a blue ribbon tying most of her hair up into a high ponytail on the back of her head. She wore a moon-silver and dark-gray sleeveless top, with puffy light gray sleeves from her upper arm down to her wrists, decorated with silver and blue detailing. A half-skirt extended behind her, with some gray ribbon hanging on top of it, which was attached to a blue rose. She had a couple of hanging dark gray and silver belts, and dark gray lace-up boots extended up just past her knees. She had her hands folded as she sang softly, letting her voice alone convey the emotions in her song. Robin approached her but kept her distance, waiting for her to finish her song.

I can feel the loneliness in this song even though it's in a language I can't understand... but at the same time it's not a song of someone being alone, but more of someone being welcomed back after a terrible time. Robin closed her eyes to let the last of the song wash over her, smiling softly. The feeling of standing by someone and moving forward despite it all. 

The girl lowered her hands and stared up into the sky, her voice echoing no longer. Robin moved forward. "That was a very beautiful song just now."

"Ah!" The girl whipped around, then laughed awkwardly. "Ah, you heard that...? I'm not that good of a singer, I usually make music videos."

"I think your voice is lovely. You could become a singer if you wanted," Robin reassured. The girl waved her off.

"My friend could sing that song better; it's actually meant to be sung by her." The girl perked right up, a grin on her face. "Ah, where are my manners! The name's Akiyama Mizuki, but you can just call me Mizuki! It's nice to meet you..."

Robin looked around then moved in a little closer to Mizuki. "My name is Robin."

Mizuki blinked, then a light went off in their eyes. "Ohh, like—?"

Robin nodded, then put  a finger to her lips. Mizuki nodded back, giving her a reassuring smile. "Don't worry, your secret is safe with me!"

Robin smiled. "So are you a traveler or a resident here in Penacony?"

"Oh, I'm a traveler." Mizuki waved Robin along, walking back into the University.

"How long are you in Penacony for?"

Mizuki hummed in thought. "I'm not sure. You see, I'm looking for something—or rather, someone."

The hunt for Evil Ninja Osaru has led the Dazzling Ninja AKA Rappa, back to Pinecany.

If she had time, she would go and visit the Sound Ninjas, maybe even Baseball Bat Ninja would be there, but there was no time to do so: the Dazzling Ninja was right on the tail of the Evil Ninja Osaru, and she could not lose him again!

The Dazzling Ninja Seals Rappa was putting up around this unfamiliar place (a sign listed it as "Clock Studios Theme Park"—a training ground for trainee ninjas, surely) would ensure that her archnemesis could not come back here if he was here, or ensure he could not escape if he was inside here. It had taken many years, but finally the Evil Ninja would be apprehended and the arrows of the Great Lan would descend upon him!

—Then a loud shout echoed across the place. Rappa halted her creation of a Seal and checked her surroundings—was it one of Evil Ninja Osaru's minions, like that banana headmaster? Or someone even more notorious and powerful? Rappa pulled out her weapon and readied her Dazzling: Myriad Colors Burst—whoever it was, they would face the ninjutsu of the Dazzling Ninja AKA Rappa!

The shout echoed again. Rappa took off as fast as she could, slingshotting past all the innocent bystanders. Whoever this evil-doer was, they would not be allowed to stand any longer. Rappa scanned the crowds, looking for her adversary. And there! A boy with golden-red hair, dressed in the white, silvers, and golds of the warrior ninjas from Amber Eras ago—the blue cape hanging off his back signified he was a warrior of high standing.

"How dare you imitate the great warrior ninjas from long ago! Dazzling Ninja, here to vanquish!" Rappa announced, launching a sneak attack on the loud foe (a technique taught to her by Ninja Hiryuu). "Dazzling: Myriad Colors Burst!"

"HAAAAAAAH?!" The boy turned around, being met by Rappa's weapon, about to attack. The boy unsheathed his sword, which quickly glowed with Imaginary power. A large flag sprung out from it and caught Rappa's ninjutsu right on it! Not a single drop of color landed on the enemy; Rappa bounced back and charged up her secret weapon—Ninjutsu Secret Technique: Dazzling Obliteration!

"Wait wait wait wait! I'm not your enemy!" The loud boy shouted, his eyes wide and he readied his flag-sword again. "Can't we talk this out?!"

Rappa paused, surveying the boy for a moment. The terrified eyes, the hesitant body language—despite his firm grip on his sword and his primed attack stance, that was surely only instinct from an attacking foe. It was then that the Dazzling Ninja AKA Rappa realized she had made a mistake.

"I apologize." She straightened herself, letting her collected Imaginary energy fall away. "I am the Dazzling Ninja AKA Rappa, and I am pursuing the Evil Ninja Osaru. I seemed to have mistaken you for a henchman of theirs." She bowed to the knight-ninja. "Forgive me, Old Knight Ninja."

The boy said nothing for a few moments; Rappa straightened herself to see his sigh as he returned his sword to its resting place. "It's okay. I suppose introductions are in order: I am!" He struck a unique ninjutsu pose Rappa had never seen before—had he studied under a different school than her, one that she wasn't aware of?—pointing high into the sky. "TENMA! TSUKASA! MEMBER OF SEKAI AND FUTURE WORLD STAR!"

Rappa nodded. "It's an honor to meet you, World Star Ninja Tsukasa. Now, what brings you here to Pinecany? Are you pursuing the Evil Ninja Osaru as well? Or someone else?"

World Star Ninja Tsukasa shook his head. "I am not pursuing a foe, but rather I am pursuing someone unknown! I do not know who they are, but I must find them! I have a special art that allows me to know who they are once I find them, so my friends and I are wandering around this dream world in search of this person!"

Rappa nodded knowingly. An unusual quest, but one that World Star Ninja Tsukasa seemed perfectly well-versed in. "If I could help you in your journey and quest in Pinecany, but I fear that I have finally cornered the Evil Ninja Osaru here in these training grounds! I cannot let up, or I will lose him."

World Star Ninja Tsukasa nodded knowingly, then gave Rappa a pitying look. "Although that may be the case, I sense no evil presence around here. I'm afraid that if you had him, he is now long gone."

"Impossible!" Rappa declared. "I put up a multitude of Dazzling Ninja Seals around the training grounds. If he were here, he could not have escaped!"

"May I see these Seals of yours?" World Star Ninja Tsukasa asked. Rappa nodded and grabbed his hand; she activated her Ninja: Runawayfast technique, the boy behind her screaming briefly before regaining his composure. "A Technique?"

"Yes, one that I made myself by harnessing the Imaginary energy gifted to me by my mentor Master Kucha. It is a very effective Technique for traveling around the cosmos and little places like these alike very quickly!"

"I see! Very impressive, Dazzling Ninja Rappa!" World Star Ninja Tsukasa exclaimed. Rappa felt her power grow slightly at the praise.

"Here we are," Rappa declared, dismissing her Ninja: Runawayfast technique. "These aren't my best work as I had to put them up quickly, but they surely have enough power to keep the Evil Ninja Osaru, especially in multitude!"

World Star Ninja Tsukasa studied her Seals very closely, humming to himself all the while. "Although your seals are very powerful, I don't think they're powerful enough for the person you are chasing down, from what I've gleaned. There's not enough emotion in your Seals, meaning that they lose their power quite quickly after creation."

"Emotion?" Rappa thought about what that could mean—although Master Kucha had taught her about emotions such as love (which was the basis for Secret Ninjutsu Technique: Aishiteru), what could World Star Ninja Tsukasa mean that her Seals didn't have enough emotion?

"It's difficult to put it in the usual terms, but let's see if I can describe it like this..." World Star Ninja Tsukasa thought hard, judging by his determined expression. "Any power needs some emotion behind it to work! If you don't put feelings into your attacks, they grow a lot weaker. Additionally, your emotions help you grow to new levels and heights, causing you to grow stronger! Your Seals are the same way—they need more emotion to retain their entrapment effect longer. Your work is perfectly fine, but without the emotion and feelings behind them, they become less of Seals and more of... pretty art. The same way that without feelings behind your attacks, they become less of attacks and more of a distraction."

So emotions are a key component to any ninja's Seals, attacks, and everything they do... Rappa supposed that it made sense—it was her endless sense of justice that led her to pursue Evil Ninja Osaru across the cosmos, and her sense of confidence that allowed her to stand for as long as she was now. "I understand, World Star Ninja Tsukasa. Thank you for your insights into this."

"Anytime!" World Star Ninja Tsukasa struck another pose. "Just another day for the WORLD FUTURE STAR! That being said," he returned to his normal stance and smiled at her, "with your archnemesis missing again, could you spare me a little bit to help find the person I'm looking for?"

Rappa thought for a moment. "It is only fair, after the help you have given me in understanding my own craft. I will help you on your quest, World Star Ninja Tsukasa!"

"Much appreciated, Dazzling Ninja Rappa! Now, let us set off!"

Man, why was he back here again? He'd tried to shrug this place off twice now, and both times had been dragged back for whatever reason. But now there was no reason for the Galaxy Ranger Boothill to be back in Penacony—Dreamflux Reef, no less. The last time he was here was during the whole Banana Debacle, when Rappa was here at the same time.

"I wonder what she's up to these days," Boothill muttered aloud. "I should give her a call when I get the chance. That girl feels like she could lose her head at any moment..."

The mechanical cowboy stopped and stared at the large garden in the distance, something the Astral Express had dug up or whatever. Someone was heading up the steps, and Boothill didn't like the vibe coming off of him. A white and blue cape with silver detailing flowed from behind him, and he wore a white tunic and pants, and black and silver boots. A scabbard hung off his side, and a black gloved hand was running itself through his orange hair.

"Something about them just ain't forking right," Boothill muttered. Without a second to delay he rushed after the person, who was near the top of the stairs already; when Boothill got to the bottom and they got to the top, the Galaxy Ranger shouted: "Oi! Get back here!"

The boy turned around to face Boothill with an annoyed expression, his olive-colored eyes staring him down. "What do you want?"

Boothill grumbled, skipping up the steps. The other rolled his eyes and continued walking; Boothill growled and, upon reaching the top of the steps, pulled out his gun and launched a warning shot at the boy's feet.

"What the hell—?!" the boy yelled, whipping around. He came face-to-face with Boothill's primed stance and loaded gun; he put a hand on his sword but Boothill tsk-tsked.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you, little boy. Who are you?"

"Why do you want to know? I don't even know you!" The boy shot back, clenching his teeth and holding himself high. "You're clearly nuts, man!"

"I don't like the vibes you give off." Boothill's instincts haven't failed him this far, and he would be an idiot to stop trusting them now. "And if you don't forking confess now, you're gonna have a bigger problem, kid. So spill!"

The boy said nothing, simply staring Boothill down as his hand gripped the handle of his sword tight. His eyes were full of an unrelenting fire, a flame that was only able to burn because of all the trials and tribulations he must've had to go through—the fire in his eyes was the fire of a warrior who couldn't give up. The two of them stood in silence, a primed gun and a fast-draw sword between them. Finally, the boy sighed and loosened his grip.

"My name is Shinonome Akito. I am a wanderer. Now, who are you?"

"...Boothill. A Galaxy Ranger." Boothill grinned toothily when Akito growled. "Got something against us Rangers, eh? You're clearly someone I should just cut down now, then."

"...You Rangers are notorious for not being very forgiving. Thus, I try to stay out of your paths as much as I can." The handle's grip was tightened.

"Just you, or your friends as well?"

Silence. Then, a sigh. "Fine," Akito relented, holding up his hands. "Yes, my... coworkers and I. I am Shinonome Akito... and I am a member of SEKAI. Specifically, their third subunit Vivid BAD SQUAD. Happy?" The boy spoke through gritted teeth.

"SEKAI, huh...?" Boothill tucked away his gun, looking Akito up and down. The Galaxy Ranger knew very little about them—in fact, almost no one does. Even big-shot organizations, like the IPC and the Garden of Recollection and even the Astral Express's Data Banks didn't have much info on them past their existence and purpose. "You're the guy who believes that everyone has an inner world that's... ah fork it, what's the word?"

"A manifestation of someone's true feelings." Akito rolled his eyes. "The members of SEKAI are in charge of overseeing, recording, and preserving the Sekais of the cosmos, yes."

"So you're here 'cuz of one of those inner world thingies?"

"A new Sekai was suddenly detected here in Penacony not long ago, so I and two others were dispatched to find the owner of it. We've had no luck so far."

"And what are you gonna do to the owner?" Boothill glared at Akito. Akito glared back.

"Make a note of the owner and move on. We don't meddle with the Sekais themselves."

I don't trust this guy. He doesn't talk enough. Boothill huffed. "Whatever you say, kid. But I'm joining your investigation, alright? Non-negotiable—this place's gone through some forking bad times recently, and it doesn't need you and your friends messin' it up again."

Akito grumbled under his breath then turned around and began walking to his original destination again. Boothill cursed and followed after the member of SEKAI.

Mizuki rushed through the few people gathered up this high and barely stopped themself at the railing. They stood in awe of the dawn sky off in the distance as stars soared through the sky towards the end of the dream.

"It's so beautiful...!" Mizuki breathed. Robin walked up beside them with a smile.

"Isn't it? I come here often to see the sights like this... and..." Robin turned to the light milling behind them. "It's nice to see everyone picking themselves up again."

"Did something happen?" Mizuki wondered. They'd felt that something tremendous had happened here recently—the birth of a new Sekai was only ever more proving of such an event—but they didn't know the specifics; whatever happened to Penacony was released to the public after they, Tsukasa, and Akito had been deployed here.

"Penacony went through... a challenging time. It upheaved everything about this beautiful dream, but it brought people together in a way that only a disaster like that could." Robin closed her eyes as she thought back. Mizuki hummed, turning back to the end of the sky. Something else caught their eye, however; a floating structure off in the distance. Even from where they stood, they could feel feelings rolling off the entire building—perhaps that was where the Sekai was formed?

"What's that?" Mizuki pointed to the feelings-full building in the distance.

"That's Penacony Grand Theater. The Astral Express and... their opponent had their final battle there."

Mizuki looked at Robin, who seemed hesitant; they gave her a smile to try and cheer her up. "Hey, Robin? Can you get me in there?"

Robin smiled softly back at Mizuki. "I can't make any promises, but I'll try my best."

At the rate he was slaying monsters, Tsukasa was going to accidentally beat the monster-slaying challenge Saki and Toya were doing before either of them finished.

"This place is overrun with evil!" He exclaimed, twirling his flag-sword into another robot creature. "Rappa! Give it your all!" He slammed his flag into the ground, using his skill on the Dazzling Ninja. She grunted and unleashed a swarm of attacks, felling the rest of the opponents directly in their path.

"The unknown evil has been vanquished at long last," Rappa declared, pulling her hat over her eyes for a moment. Tsukasa sheathed his sword.

"At least for now. Let's keep moving forward, fellow ninja—my art is detecting something just up ahead."

It was a little weird to talk in the way he was with Rappa, but it was a good acting experience he told himself. Was Rappa acting? Tsukasa got the feeling that the answer to that was "no." But she was a useful ally nonetheless, so if talking a little weirdly meant he could keep her around then so be it! It was harder and harder to find allies outside of SEKAI nowadays.

The two of them found themselves in the reception of the Dreamscape's Reverie. Tsukasa approached the receptionist's desk, feeling the traces of true feelings grow stronger with every step—there was surely a Sekai somewhere in here, or at least a Sekai's birth place.

"My art is reacting quite strongly. Something is here!" Tsukasa threw his hand out towards the empty dream lobby. "But I cannot tell if it is the thing I am looking for..."

"I thought your art told you so?" Rappa wondered aloud. Tsukasa shrugged.

"There are many things similar to what I am looking for—many are broken pieces and aren't strong enough to become something bigger. I cannot tell the difference at first glance." Especially with no one to be found, and thus no Sekai owners. Finding this thing was going to be harder than he initially thought—maybe Akito and Mizuki were having better luck. Hopefully they were, otherwise this quest was going to be a lot more difficult.

"That's probably because Penacony is littered with Fragment Sekais," a voice echoed from the other side of the Reverie. Rappa readied herself but Tsukasa held a hand up. Out of the shadows stepped Akito, one of Tsukasa's allies, and a mechanical man who looked a lot like a cowboy. Tsukasa could feel Physical energy echo quietly off of him, and a quick glance at his scattered feelings gave Tsukasa the impression of someone who walked The Hunt.

"It's impossible to find the actual Sekai here with how many Fragment Sekais are floating around, honestly." Akito sighed.

"It's good to see you too, Akito!" Tsukasa turned to his ninja ally. "Rappa! Meet my good friend, the Fiery Ninja AKA Shinonome Akito!"

"Haah?" Akito drawled, giving Tsukasa his usual annoyed look.

"Meeting a friend of World Star Ninja Tsukasa is a moment to be proud of, the Dazzling Ninja can recognize! Pleased to meet you, Fiery Ninja Akito, I am the Dazzling Ninja AKA Rappa. Oh, and Lord Silvergun Shura, you're here too. Do you and Fiery Ninja Akito know each other?"

Akito and "Lord Silvergun Shura" shared a look that told Tsukasa, very reluctantly. "We're temporary traveling companions," the latter replied.

"He doesn't trust us," Akito looked at Tsukasa. The future world star sighed and shrugged.

"Can't be helped, we're not exactly sociable people. I'm not surprised that a Galaxy Ranger is wary of us."

"How do you know that?" The mechanical cowboy demanded, pulling out a gun out of nowhere and aiming at Tsukasa. Tsukasa eeped, flinching back with an awkward grin.

"You walk The Hunt, and pretty well too! It's not surprising to assume you were associated with them somehow, and you didn't exactly give off the vibe as someone from the Xianzhou Alliance, y'know...?"

The man huffed and put his gun away. "Boothill, Galaxy Ranger. You one of those SEKAI guys?"

Tsukasa nodded, then struck his signature pose. "I AM! TENMA TSUKASA! LEADER OF THE FOURTH DIVISION WONDERLANDS X SHOWTIME!"

"He's loud," Akito added. Boothill scoffed.

"World Star Ninja Tsukasa," Rappa interjected. "If this place is not the place you're looking for, then where could it possibly be?"

Tsukasa thought. "It's hard to tell... Now that I know a lot of smaller versions exist all over Penacony, it could be nigh impossible to find it." A thought struck Tsukasa as he said that aloud. "Well, there might be one! The place where the final battle of Penacony took place—something just happened here recently, correct? The Sekai would've formed—"

"Where all those feelings came to a head," Akito finished. "If the person was involved in Penacony's mess."

"Everyone was," Boothill chimed in with a bite to his voice. "The entire dream was affected. If you want a final battle, then there's only one place where that could be: Penacony Grand Theater."

The interior of Penacony Grand Theater was hauntingly empty, with only the remaining echoes of a chorus long abandoned and meant to be forgotten hanging in the grand hall of the theater. Akito could feel the vestiges of the Order throughout the hall—an Aeon meant to be long dead, yet attempted to be revived—it was impossible to miss it.

"So this is where it all ended?" Akito wondered.

"Yup, this is where that guy and his little Order revival got totally destroyed. Turns out Penacony was gonna be converted to the Order from the Harmony, but y'know, tons of problems with that idea."

"There's no doubt," Tsukasa interrupted, walking to the center of the stage. "This is where the Sekai was born."

"So probably whoever was involved in that final fight are the owners of Sekai?" Akito asked.

"Oi, what're you two gonna do now that you located this 'Sekai' of yours?" Boothill demanded.

"We need to find the owner or owners of the Sekai first, but afterwards we're just gonna leave it alone," Akito snarked back, giving Boothill a dirty look that the Galaxy Ranger returned.

"Actually, you've already found the owners of this Sekai!" A voice rang throughout the theater. "Well, mostly."

"Isn't that...?" Akito muttered.

"Mizuki?" Tsukasa called out. From on top of the stairs leading into the theater, Mizuki and another girl appeared.

"Yahoo~ Long time no see you two!" Mizuki greeted, grinning brightly.

"There's more of you?" Boothill groaned.

"What do you mean we've mostly found the owners of the Sekai?" Tsukasa asked, ignoring Akito and Boothill's impending verbal fight.

"Well, the entirety of Penacony fueled their feelings into the fight against Sunday and the Order, so probably everyone who was in Penacony at the time has a claim on the Sekai. But most likely Sunday is the official original creator of the Sekai, from what I could gather," Mizuki explained.

"It was my brother's ideals that led to Penacony almost being overtaken by the Order... if it weren't for their efforts, perhaps Penacony as we know it wouldn't exist anymore," the girl next to Mizuki bowed her head. "Oh, I should introduce myself. I'm Robin, sister to Sunday, the man who was defeated here."

The group went around in introductions, Mizuki—member of SEKAI, specifically its fifth division 25ji, Nightcord de.—being dubbed "Fashion Video Ninja Mizuki" by Rappa. Once everyone was done, Tsukasa asked, "Does anyone know where Sunday is now?"

"If I had to take a guess... he boarded the Astral Express and left with them." Robin replied. All three members of SEKAI grimaced at the mention of the Express.

"Did the Express do something to you SEKAI people?" Boothill commented. Akito sighed, folding his arms.

"It's... complicated."

"In a nutshell," Mizuki rushed forward with the conversation with a sheepish shrug, "SEKAI isn't allowed to interact with the Astral Express in any form or way."

"Not even over text?" Robin questioned.

"No form of communication. ...It's due to the Astral Express's standing when it comes to the formation of Sekais."

"Well, if he's really on the Express, there's no way for us to confirm if Sunday is the creator and owner of this Sekai," Tsukasa sighed.

"So what can be done about this thing you've been looking for if it's not here?" Rappa asked. "If you need someone else to pursue this man aboard the Express, the Dazzling Ninja AKA Rappa is ready to travel the cosmos to help World Star Ninja Tsukasa and his friends."

"No, no proxies," Akito refuted. "But the only thing we can do now is wait—now that we know this is his Sekai, we can keep an eye on it from afar. But there'll be no action with it until Sunday himself discovers it, and, well..."

"The Express has retained an all-time low Sekai discoverability rate since SEKAI was formed, to say the least," Mizuki finished. "So we'll just move on to wherever we need to go next, watching over all the Sekais we can."

"May I ask the three of you something?" Robin put a hand to her chest. "Why do you watch over these Sekais, these world manifestations of other people's feelings? Of people you don't even know?"

The three of them looked at each other, then smiled. "Because we were chosen to do so," Tsukasa replied, "because our own Sekais saved us long ago." Akito and Mizuki nodded to Tsukasa's words.

"I see. Thank you." Robin smiled back at them.

"...Well, if there's nothing else we can do, we should get going," Akito commented. "I would say 'see you later,' but I honestly don't want to see you later."

"The feeling's mutual," Boothill replied. Mizuki laughed while Tsukasa sighed.

"I hope we cross paths in the future, Rappa, and that your journey to defeat the Evil Ninja Osaru may be completed swiftly!"

"I hope your journey to find the person you're looking for is completed swiftly as well, World Star Ninja Tsukasa!" Rappa replied.

"I'll text you later, yeah?" Mizuki nudged Robin. The singer giggled and nodded.

With pleasantries (and pleasantries-adjacent), the three members of SEKAI thanked the three of them for their help and departed from the Penacony Grand Theater and Penacony as a whole.

The three of them stood there for a few moments before Rappa turned to Boothill.

"Lord Silvergun Shura," she addressed her fellow Galaxy Ranger. "Do you know what organization they're from?"

Boothill sighed. "SEKAI is a Remembrance-aligned faction that believes that some people form inner worlds known as Sekais when their true feelings are either powerful enough, or they lose their true feelings. They're so anonymous that even hotshots like the IPC and the Garden and even the Express don't know much about them outside of their existence. Didn't even know that they had divisions."

"They don't seem like bad people, they're just very careful about what they share," Robin commented.

"Bah, I still don't like 'em. Too forking cryptic for my tastes, plus I don't know what exactly they're getting up to with those Sekais."

"Well, I can always text Mizuki and ask if you'd like."

"Don't talk trash about the ninja trio from another school," Rappa berated. "From my travels with World Star Ninja Tsukasa, he and his fellow ninjas are fellow justice-hunters like you and I, Lord Silvergun Shura."

"Like the Galaxy Rangers?! Bah! More like the Stellaron Hunters, I'd say!"

The two of them launched into a bickering match, Rappa's quickfire ninja rap against Boothill's rough-edged cowboy slurs. Robin smiled as she watched them; distantly she wondered if she would ever cross paths with the members of SEKAI again, and what exactly that had in store for them and the rest of Penacony.

And I wonder... What exactly does the Astral Express mean to the organization known as SEKAI?

Astral Express Data Bank Log #14-633:

I was provided invaluable information on the Remembrance-aligned organization known as SEKAI, a group so anonymous there's less info on them than the Stellaron Hunters. According to Boothill's texts, he, Rappa, and Robin had a run-in with three of its members when they were unexpectedly in Penacony. They got to know the three of them well, and thus the following data was provided to me. Hopefully as time passes, we will come to meet more members of SEKAI.

Shinonome Akito: A member of the elusive Remembrance-aligned group known as "SEKAI," specifically a member of its third division, Vivid BAD SQUAD. A two-faced singer who specializes in street-style music and has a good taste in fashion.Combat Info: Wields a longsword with a functional microphone in its pommel that broadcasts Akito's voice; attacks with The Hunt-aligned attacks and deals Fire damage.

Tenma Tsukasa: A member of the elusive Remembrance-aligned group known as "SEKAI," specifically the leader of its fourth division, Wonderlands x Showtime. A loud and brash performer who strikes to be the greatest performer alive.Combat Info: Wields a broadsword that can summon a spectral-like flag with the sword acting as its handle; attacks with Harmony-aligned attacks and deals Imaginary damage.

Akiyama Mizuki: A member of the elusive Remembrance-aligned group known as "SEKAI," specifically a member of its fifth division, 25ji, Nightcord de. A sly and playful MV creator who seems to be hiding something from everyone.Combat Info: Wields a straightsword and is also capable of summoning components from their MVs for use in battle; attacks with Nihility-aligned attacks and deals Quantum damage.

[a-vivid-dreamer]

So, about your Mirror Image AU, I would like to ask you more questions if you don't mind. I just got so into this AU that I want to know more about it! I hope you draw more comics of this AU! It's fantastic and an interesting concept! ^^

1. So what happen to Yanqing and Misha once their powers took over their place after becoming Sentimental?

2. Will there be other characters like Jing Yuan or the Trailblazer that will appear in this AU? If so, what will they think about Yanqing and Misha's powers taking over their bodies?

I hope you notice my ask to you! I will be more then happy if you happen to respond to my questions! ^^

Haha, I don’t mind at all! Feel free to ask. I also may draw more comics but I will overall be making more art in the future. Though, for the full story/plot for any of my aus I prefer writing fics since it’s generally quicker and easier to get descriptive.

1. Misha and Yanqing have a cooperative/symbiotic relationship with their “other selves”. And they can always communicate mentally with their other self regardless of who’s in control. When it comes to their memories and thoughts, all of them have the authority to hide info from their other self or allow everything (or certain things) to be shared. However, what none of them can ever block out are emotions. Emotions will always be shared/felt.

Naturally, with only one body, they can only have one of them in control at a time. And this is as simple as breathing for them and they can switch control at any time. Whoever is not in control (or both not in control if they’re sleeping/unconscious) sort of hang out in an endless mindscape “room”. Though this is a mixture of literal and metaphorical.

Other than seemingly displaying a different personality (from the perspective of other people who don’t know), Ahsim and Qingyan have finer control over Misha and Yanqing’s powers and know how to handle the full potential of these abilities. After all, that’s literally what Ahsim and Qingyan are “born” from and made of. Additionally, they can also prevent Misha and Yanqing from using their powers partially or entirely. This is typically done as a safety feature since Misha and Yanqing could risk harming themselves or others if no limitations are put down. And of course, Ahsim and Qingyan have to be mindful of the bodies of their hosts.

2. There will definitely be other characters. For Jing Yuan, he found out about Yanqing and Qingyan later on in their life but still before HSR starts (he doesn’t know about Misha since he didn’t get to meet Misha yet). Other than that, Jing Yuan is the only one who is fully informed about the Yanqing and Qingyan situation and doesn’t mind it at all. Meanwhile there are some select few such as Fu Xuan who suspect something is going on but still don’t actually know.

As for the Trailblazer, currently they don’t know about either. And, depending on how the rest of Penacony’s current story goes, I’d imagine them learning about Ahsim and Qingyan sometime during it (since Yanqing went to Penacony in this AU). Ahsim and Qingyan have been keeping some things solely between them and with both of them highly protective of their hosts, it’s only natural they’d take control if the situation is getting a bit dangerous. The trailblazer may be in for quite the shock haha.

I hope that answers some of your questions! Sorry if it’s a bit long. ❤️

[seeingteacupsindragons]

Canvas, Adhesive, Finger painting :)

One day, us Tumblrites gotta take a stand against "weird question names that require you to consult the question list 1000 times when answering because ???"

Anyway.

Canvas: Do you ever "prep" your fics with outlines or warmups before you start writing, or do you just dive right in?

Yeah, no. Very occasionally, I will make a notepad document I call "squishy red crap" (because it is the viscera and organs and lifeblood of a story all kind of blended up into mush) before writing a thing.

They, uh, look like this. After I clean it up.

I prefer to write the way I prefer to read, which is that I slowly put things together by what details I have, and editing is when I clean this up into a sharp, pointed blade to actually accomplish something.

Adhesive: When you write, do you usually "stick" to one character or story for a while, or bounce around various characters and ideas?

I do now, because I have less time for things, but I used to have at least two or three things running at a time so I could take breaks when my brain wanted to focus on a different type of project for a while. But now it's harder to make time for all of that at once, and I'd like to finish things, so I focus more.

Finger Painting: Share a small snippet from your earliest work (or the earliest that you can get back to). How would you rewrite it today? Either share the rewrite itself or just describe how you'd do it.

HRM. Okay, I'm going to do this in two parts: The oldest thing I can find on my computer, and the oldest thing I have hanging around on paper. But I'm not retyping the paper, so you'll have to see a pic for that.

This is the oldest thing I currently have handwritten. I was 12 when I wrote this, so have some mercy. I actually tried to throw this out at one point, but my former best friend saved it and got it back from her in college, at which point it was more funny to keep than anything.

The first most major changes I would make are start this with Misha in the bathroom mirror sort of explaining what all led her to get there.

Actually, no, the first would be getting rid of these names, which are far from the worst at the time, but ah, I had a "faux Japanese name" thing for a long time.

Mostly, this just has to be cleaned up. There's a very stilted, childish voice I can hear inexpertly telling this story.

Although props to little me for shoving "futile" in there properly at age 12. Just hanging out there, lmao.

This is the oldest thing I can copy-paste from my computer. I was 14 or 15 at the time, and only have this because I'd been emailing a friend updates as I wrote them. The 16.5k words I have weren't all that was written, but it's what I have salvaged.

“Hey, cutie. What are you doing around here?” Seitou whispered suggestively to me. “Oh, screw you, Seitou,” I shot back. “You know I’m taken.” “Aw, but sweetie, you’re just too cute. That girl doesn’t deserve you,” he answered, sweet as honey, but I could taste the venom under it. “Unfortunately, I’m not interested in other males. So find someone else to prey on,” I snapped. Seitou has had a fixation on me for as long as I can remember. Even though I’ve told him I am not interested in guys from the second he started hitting on me, he seems to be too thick headed to get it. I am completely straight, and I have a long-term girlfriend to prove it. Reisha is the most unbelievably beautiful girl I’ve ever seen, supermodels included.  From her long black hair to her perfectly almond-shaped blue eyes. I’m not the only guy infatuated with her. Seitou is a completely different story. Besides being apparently gay, he has never had a known relationship, even with another guy. I have to admit; even though I’m straight, - which means don’t take this the wrong way- he is pretty decent looking. He has shaggy brown hair that is just a little long. And his piercing green eyes unnerve me just a bit. Myself, well, I consider myself average looking. The name’s Hakiro. I can’t figure how I nailed both a hot male and female. My own black hair never behaves the way it should, my brown eyes are a pretty bland color. Sure, I’m definitely my own person, never really fitting in anywhere, but will someone explain how that’s attractive? But even though I don’t fit in much, I have plenty of friends. As I was mulling over these thoughts, I noticed Reisha walking up to me. “I have something to tell you.” She said, sounding slightly grim. Even though I was completely secure in our relationship, her tone concerned me. My instincts proved to be functioning correctly. “I think we should end this.” She announced.

Okay, aside the fact that good lord is there some grammar fuckery going on here, and the names, good lord the names, there's some interesting growth you can note over the two-three years between these. Obviously I, ahhhhhh, had read some BL by then. Because wow is this BL tropey from the time.

But it also just starts straight in the action this time. It's much more active, despite the fact that Hakiro still spends a bunch of time navel gazing. Hakiro is pretty voicey--it's not the best voice, but you can start to see my real knack for dialogue and mimicking speech patterns starting to pop already. The, ah, dialogue tags are not as good. But there's some good things happening on this front that will continue to develop as I continue to write.

I think I would (after changing all the names), importantly change this story to make Hakiro a clearly bisexual kid who doesn't know that yet instead of this gay-for-you thing, because Jesus Christ is he bisexual.

I would also...not start the story here? I don't think this is where the story of Seitou and Hakiro's romance even starts anyway. And almost nothing about this scene makes sense.

Also, the way this is written just has so much unnecessary exposition and description that could be handled much more expertly.

[savetooru]

balancing act

one of my new year's resolutions was to do a light workout everyday for three months and i am currently on day sixty-four of the challenge. (two-thirds of the way there!) wish i could say i got to this point out of a real concern for my well-being, but in truth all i have is pride. if i'd been left to my own devices, i wouldn't have made it past the first week of trying. no matter how great it feels to maintain healthy habits i always struggle to commit longterm. the only thing that keeps me bolting upright out of bed at 11:30 p.m. to lift weights is the fact that i publicized my counter on an account with, like, fifty of my friends max. 1 social media is definitely a disease but it’s crazy what i can get myself to do with some forced accountability. i’m a simpleton at heart. proclaiming goals feels herculean because i’m deathly afraid of looking lame, or coming off too headstrong. i've got to make an honest effort at whatever comes out of my mouth or i'll end up feeling super embarrassed for no reason. it's a bad case of a big ego. exceeding expectations is the quickest route to seeming like you've got your shit together, so i'm prone to keeping my ambitions to myself in the hope of... i don't even know. being perceived as larger than life and endlessly indifferent about it? i forget how cool it is to just do the thing you said you would.

still, it's tricky. holding myself to a higher standard often feels like walking on a tightrope. i know too much pushing could take me out of the race completely, but too little won't get me anywhere at all. i wanna believe i'm over the bulk of my hang-ups, but god is it hard to unlearn the fear of wanting. 2 like, when you’re a kid they tell you that if you say a wish out loud it won’t come true, and that's the kind of thing that stays with you forever. but realistically speaking? i'm pretty sure i’ve only ever gotten what i wanted by clamoring for it actively— often desperately. much to think about... in any case, i feel stronger physically and am psyched about this! the whole thyroid issue i have made it so i could never hold on to muscle before i started taking medication; i'm happy to report this is no longer true.

don’t know if i’ve got the space for it, but i’m thinking about starting another accountability thread for drawing practice every week. i’m worried it’ll interfere with getting my workouts in since i still have a month to go before the all-clear, but i really want to move forward this year; take this bravado that doesn’t feel like my own and run with it as far as i can.

1: none of whom would judge whether i’m updating it consistently anyway lol 2: my friend misha wrote a really thoughtful post about this exact sort of feeling recently and it's been stewing in my brain for a hot minute ><