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sheisjoeschateau · 2 months

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You sighed. “I’m good with that.

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

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

You frowned. “Not so good with that.”

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

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

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

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

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

Steve swallowed, unblinking. What now…

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yeah, but what if — w-what if —”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Lucas smacked him.

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

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

El looked worried. “How come?”

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

El held you tight, cautious of your ribs.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Fry it with what?” El asked innocently.

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

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

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

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

“Thank you, Murray,” Joyce reprimanded him.

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

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

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

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

“...have…decaf…?”

Steve’s heart swelled, his cheeks flushing.

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

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

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

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

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

“How're you feeling?...”

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

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

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

“Yeah. You can say that again.”

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

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

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

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

Her heart seized, voice tight. “Hey.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

Herself. She was mad at herself.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Eddie gulped. He hated needles and doctor tools.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hey, Mur?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

***

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

“What?” he asked you, quizzically.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Touché,” Steve nodded.

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

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

“He can honestly suck mine, too.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“STEVE, WHERE’S THE PUDDING?”

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

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

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

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

Stepdad of the year.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Jesus, Robin, a heart arrhythmia…”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Steve sniffed. “You tryna steal my girl?”

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

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

“Think she’d approve?”

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

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

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

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

Steve liked that. When.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

***

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

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

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

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

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

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

Argyle and Nancy.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Oh, that is so NOT an excuse."

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Jason," Nancy muttered lowly.

"That guy."

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

There was an awkward pause before Argyle spoke.

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

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

"Why didn't you tell him that?"

"...what?"

Oh shit, Eddie gulped.

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

Another awkward silence.

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

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

"I...I..."

Meanwhile, Nancy was uncharacteristically not sounding sure of herself.

Argyle gained speed.

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

"Whoa, what?" Nancy stuttered.

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

"Argyle...!"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Nancy and Jonathan are not alright.

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

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

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

"I'm literally whispering."

"And spitting."

"Sorry."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Robin nodded fiercely. "We will."

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Hey," they awkwardly repeated.

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

"Is uhh, is Steve here?"

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

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

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

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

DON'T YOU DARE FUCKING STOP.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

FUCK YOU BYERS. FUCK YOU.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

***

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

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littledigits · 10 months

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That time when working in animation made me realize I needed therapy

Since we're on the topic of overworking / being passionate in animation and blah blah blah. I want to share my story about working on the first season of Hilda (for context I was the animation director), specifically..how completely garbo my mental health got because

I INSISTED ON WORKING MYSELF INTO THE GROUND.

This is a story I've shared when I've had a chance to do lectures or talks, and if there is one really awesome thing that comes with ..weird ..animation clout, its that you can use those powers for good in terms of teaching people about the BS that comes with the job...anyway.

The reason why I like to talk about this is because I insisted on doing it to myself, and that was really got me thinking about the factors that do lead us into over working. Because heres the deal

Hilda season 1 was, without getting into too many details, a heckofatime...especally for the core crew. we were a small group, doing something new because most of us haven't worked on a show before that included pre production. My entire career up to that point had been working on service work for shows that were created in Burbank, so the new pipeline had a ton of challenges. We did all care, and we all believed in the project SOOOO much. I would tell people not to work over time, because I want my team to leave on time - but I was there...a lot. Leaving the studio by 11pm , working through the weekends..it wasnt an uncommon thing for me. sure , it wasnt all the time, but this stuff spans years sometimes so it went in waves. But whenever the challenges came up, i doubled down. because I super believed in it.

And the thing was - other people told me to stop. I had a lot of valid concerns given to me by my friends and team members who saw how I was burning myself out at both ends. And I thought like, well , its my *choice*. Its my chance to have a voice and be creative and try to do something different and we all have to push ourselves and yes its HARD but. THATS HOW YOU DO IT RIGHT? surely if I just make sure I’m the one overworking and my team isn't.. that's fine.

Well, no, I was immensely effecting my team maybe I wasn’t telling them to work late, but they were seeing me get more and more tired and stay later and later. I thought they would still approach me for help, or if they struggled. But the issues they had they kept to themselves without wanting to put more on my shoulders. Because they *cared* , just as much as I did ..and we all took more on our shoulders then we should have and there were a lot of things that I could have solved had I fostered a better communication environment. I became really resentful in my head over the smallest things, I actually saw myself becoming a more hateful person and easily annoyed. I came home every day rambling about the frustrations. Now, let me preface this by saying - my mental state did not only have to do with overworking. I had and have things still to unpack, but the control I had over work and the validation I got from it was a coping mechanism for me. I really didnt think i had any worth as a person outside of this job. It basically was a very nasty cycle that didnt stop until ...well I had gotten so bad I had to. By the end of the first season I was actually incredibly close to quitting . I was in big anxiety attack territory because I was so worn thin- I had started therapy but eventually moved onto getting medication as well and that was what allowed me to stick it out. ( I have the same therapist and I am on the same meds, it was very hard to do at the time, but i cant imagine my life now without making that choice ). After it was done I was immensely supported by the studio and worked part time as a trainer, which is what i requested to give my brain a break. (Only a few of my closer friends knew how bad I was getting but it was pretty obvious I needed to rest) I'm really proud of the work we did and we keep doing on the show, ..and some other people may have gone through something similar and found it was worth it, but thats not me. I still struggle not to fall back into that mindset, but it helps knowing that if i keep myself out of it , i can help my team out of it, because I know they care about this show just as much as I do. I’m not a martyr, I am a leader, and its up to me to keep myself healthy so I can keep my crew healthy. I always strive to be better, but i get to decide what that looks like - and for me ..better has nothing to do with the image on the screen. Its got more to do with the experience of the people around me. Readjusting those priorities has helped a lot with keeping my head above water and not add to the pressure that makes it so hard not to get sucked down in the first place. I do think its good to talk about though , how our passion and language and drive can lead to a lot of us being a part of this cycle. And if theres one good thing about the challenges, its sharing them so at least others can learn faster then you did ;) . take care of yourself friends.

#animation #animation industry #director talk #i still think of how many people told me to stop and how i didnt #i tell people to stop and they dont but i do understand why #thats why this shit is ingrained and its more then just words #here you go a big long animation ramble :D

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thyme-in-a-bubble · 1 year

Text

sunflower, chapter one

summary: Y/n just moved into a new apartment and meets her next-door neighbour for the first time.

warnings: talking to a therapist, flowers, a case of the butter fingers

word count: 1185

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“How did it go on the way in here today?” your therapist, Anna, asked you, tilting her head a bit and studying your reaction with warm eyes.

“It went alright,” you stated, not really thinking about it too much.

“Have you been outside, went on a walk maybe, since we last spoke?”

“Um,” trying to decipher if you should lie or not, you decided to be honest, ”no… Stevie is still buying my groceries, they offered! I swear, I wouldn’t make them do that for me, but they’ve told me many times that it’s no bother to help in that small way.”

“Is your amygdala starting to calm down a bit after the move?” she asked after letting you digest your last statement for a moment.

“Um, I think it’s getting a bit better?” you squinted your eyes to help decode the answer, “all of the boxes are unpacked now, so the apartment is no longer a chaotic mess, but I don’t think my body has fully realized that the whole moving part is over now. It still feels like I can’t fully relax, you know?”

“Yeah, that makes total sense. Your system has been through a lot the past few weeks, it needs a bit of time to process everything. Not to mention all the new sounds and smells and stuff that your body has to get used to,” she nodded, reassuring you, then changed the subject. “Have you started working again after the move?”

“I’ve set it up, but I haven’t really been that inspired lately, so no. Maybe I’ll paint some stills? Just to do something, get the juices flowing.”

“Oh, that reminds me,” Anna said enthusiastically, “the sunflowers in my garden looked so beautiful this morning, and it made me think about you, so I actually plucked some, if you want them?”

“You did?”

“Yeah, they’re in the breakroom. You can get them on your way out.”

“Anna, that’s so nice, thank you!” you beamed, “Oh, now I have to paint when I get home! Some sunflowers? Yeah, I’m-, yeah, I’m gonna do that.”

The new route home had discombobulated you a bit, but you did it, you made it home in one piece. With sunflowers in your arm, up the still unfamiliar staircase, you went, looking down at your keys, wondering which one was the right one for the front door. Raising your head quickly to check if you were on the right floor, you quietly muttered the new address under your breath, just to remind yourself what it was.

Stopping and looking around to make sure you were standing in front of the right door, you just went for it. One key at a time, trying each and every one of them, to find out which one was the door’s partner.

Sighs constantly flowed out of your mouth with the rejection of each key, the sound of a different door slamming shut caught your attention and you whipped your head around to find the source.

Heart raising, you prepared for the worst, it wasn’t that at all. What your body thought was some kind of monster coming here to kill you or whatever, was instead more akin to a white knight.

Tugging his brown satchel back in place on his shoulder, he swiftly locked his door behind him. Turning to leave, he stopped right in his tracks, staring at you.

“Uh, hi,” he said with a surprised, yet chipper voice, “you must be my new neighbour!”

He didn’t move closer, giving you a chance to take him in completely. Short, yet messy brown hair, big kind eyes, and all clad in a professional, yet comfortable garb, he flashed you a small smile.

“I, um- “your sentence was cut short by the sound of your keys hitting the floor. Looking down at them, you didn’t bend down to pick them up, your brain not really processing that that would be the logical thing to do next. Instead, you just stood there, frozen in place.

Rushing over to help, “oh, here, let me,” the stranger kneeled in front of you, “you already have your hands full,” and plucked the bundle of keys off the ground and offered them to you.

“Thanks,” you said in a small voice, not moving to obtain the dropped item that he so kindly offered in front of you, but still just standing there, looking down at him. God, he was pretty.

Registering that you weren’t going to take the keys back, he stood up. From far away, you hadn’t noticed just how tall he was, but up close, it was crystal clear just how much he towered over you.

Looking down at the yellow flowers in your grasp, he stated out of the blue, “adoration”

“Excuse me?”

“Um, sunflowers, they symbolize adoration, among other things like optimism and loyalty,” he nodded, ending his sentence with a small bite to his bottom lip.

“Oh!” you giggled, letting out a nervous breath, then tilting your head slightly in a questioning manner “are you a botanist?”

“No, what I do for a living has nothing to do with plants, I just read a book once about the language of flowers,” he explained.

“Ah, okay,” you nodded, “adoration you said?”

His smile now growing, he nodded softly, “yeah.”

Feeling your body starting to loosen up by his warmth, you decided to keep going, “so, if you don’t work with plants, what do you do for a living, Mr., um- “pausing, realization hitting that you didn’t know his name yet.

“Spencer” he quickly filled in for you, “my name is Spencer Reid, um, Doctor Reid.”

“Oh, you’re a doctor?” you said, impressed.

“I am, well, not that that kind of a doctor, um, they are PhDs” he stammered, gesticulating with his hands, ”I work for the FBI.”

Only now, you looked down to notice the revolver strapped to his belt. “Really?” you asked, wanting him to keep going.

“Yeah, the BAU. I’m a profiler.”

“Profiler, that’s like psychology and stuff, right?” you squinted my eyes.

“Y-yeah,” he smiled, “it is.”

Biting your lip, you looked down at your shoes. You were still standing in the hallway. Why were you still just standing here? A minute ago, you were so eager to get inside to relax, but no, here you were, chatting up your very pretty new neighbour. Or well, you weren’t chatting him up, just the normal amount of getting to know the person you live next to. He was probably in a hurry to get to wherever he had to go, and you were holding him back. So, you reached out your hand, palm up, and smiled politely, “it was nice to meet you, Dr Reid.”

Dropping the keys in your outstretched hand, “yeah, you too. Welcome to the building, um, what’s your name?”

“Y/n. My name is Y/n Y/l/n.”

“Y/n.” he muttered, tasting your name on his tongue, “I’ll see you around.”

“Yeah, see you,” you smiled, watching his lanky frame make its way down the hall and the stairs, offering a small wave before disappearing completely from view.

next chapter

#sunflower #lea’s writing #spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid series #spencer reid fic #spencer reid x you #spencer reid headcanon #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x fem!reader

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the-dendrophile-bookdragon · 10 months

Text

Remedy

Pairing: Modern!Surgeon!Aemond Targaryen x fem!reader

Warning: rehab, children, mental illness, therapy, fluff

Summary: When your mind blocks you from going on you tear the wall down.

Part 4/9

Series Masterlist

Please support me by liking my post and reblogging and maybe leaving tags. Thank you!

Your rehab was slow, to say the least. Your leg was healed but in your head, you still felt like you couldn’t use it. Every time you wanted to take a step without your crutches you stopped yourself. You stood in front of your physical therapist before you gave up. He walked over to you and smiled softly, “Maybe you should see a therapist. There is a lot of trauma you have to unpack.”

You looked down at the ground and nodded. “Enough of that! Let’s take a break!” He takes out his phone and scrolls through it before showing you a picture of a small boy. “That’s Rickon, my son.” My eyes went wide. “Oh, he is a cutie!”

We talk about Cregan’s family, about his first wife Arra, who died in childbirth and his second wife, Alysanne. “Well, this brings me to the topic of therapy. Come on. The doctor is waiting.” You were confused until Cregan waved over a tall, platinum-haired woman. “Can I introduce you to Doctor Rhaenys Velaryon? One of the best trauma therapists in Oldtown Hospital.” The older woman chuckled softly.

Cregan stood up and walked away with an encouraging smile. Rhaenys sat down and smiled softly. “It’s your leg. Isn’t it?” I nodded. “Where should I begin?” The older woman smiled. “Tell me how it happened.”

Cregan was walking into the cafeteria and was stopped by a concerned Aemond. “Don’t you have a session with one of my patients?” Cregan smiled softly at the young doctor. “Don’t worry, she is in good hands right now. She needs to get out of her head before we can resume our work together. Can’t work with a patient blocking themselves.”

Aemond nodded. He wasn’t sure what the physical therapist meant but when he walked into the rehab room he saw you sitting with your hands over your face in front of Rhaenys Velaryon. He felt the rush to run over to you and hold you in his arms.

Cregan was next to him with a mug of coffee in his hand. Both watched as you suddenly stood up without your crutches and hugged the therapist. Cregan and himself rushed in so if you would fall they could catch you.

“Well looks like you are taking over, Rhaenys.” The older woman laughed. “I could never! You are our best physical therapist. I just break the barrier in the mind.”

Tears ran down your face. You were relieved the wall in your head was gone. You resumed your rehab and before you knew it you were stepping stairs. A big smile adorned your face. Aemond who stayed and watched the whole training felt his cold heart melt. He couldn’t understand what he felt but it was a welcomed warmth he only felt in the presence of his mother and sister.

Cregan, who saw the blush creeping up Aemond’s neck, smirked. After Baela picked you up, cheering as you walked over to the car without crutches. Aemond smiled softly at the scene. Cregan stood next to him. “You should ask her out. She isn’t your patient anymore.” Aemond glared at the man next to him. “Please, I know that look. Get your big boy pants on and ask the girl. She can run away from you now again.”

Aemond watched the car drive away. He sighed, Cregan was right.

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#aemond fanfiction #soft aemond #aemond targaryen headcanons #aemond targaryen #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond x you #aemond x reader #aemond x y/n #aemond one eye #aemond targaryen x you #aemond targaryen modern au #prince aemond x reader #aemond x fem!reader #prince aemond targaryen #prince aemond #prince aemond x you #prince aemond fic #remedy

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roo-bastmoon · 1 year

Text

"so in that kumbaya post u just openly admit ur a fat ugly single abused people pleasing jkker? not suprised. u all r. id kms if i were u."

Hmm.

Okay.

Quite a bit to unpack, there.

To answer your question: Yes, I'm a bit overweight right now--it's part the hormone blockers for the cancer and part my own emotional eating the last few months because, ya know, it's a bit stressful battling cancer. I plan to get back into working out after Yoongi's concert, though! And I'm not hideous, but I'm definitely not gorgeous. You're right, I'm single, have been for years, by choice. I do tend to people please a LOT (working on boundaries with a really sassy wonderful cognitive behavioral therapist--10/10, highly recommend CBT!). And I absolutely love and adore Jikook, for sure, as well as all of BTS.

So... guilty as charged.

But no, my "flaws" aren't a reason to DIE. I still have value, dear throw-away-account-in-my-inbox.

Despite my many shortcomings, I still have purpose. I still get pleasure. I can still do amazing things in the world and create some meaning in this life. All people are works in progress. Me, too. Who told you you had to always be exceptional to ever be worthy?

I'm not perfect. But I can try to be good.

In case you need a reminder, here's what "good" looks like:

I hope you heal from whatever wounds others gave you to make you calloused and aggressive toward total strangers.

I hope when you read this that you unclench your jaw and relax your shoulders, because you are safe and sheltered and you know there's no immediate threat.

I hope you can afford a nourishing meal and a long hot shower with amazing-smelling soap to restore some of your energy, which must be flagging, since you're spending it on Asks like this.

I hope you get a great night's sleep in a comfy bed, and wake up feeling refreshed and ready to face whatever challenges are a part of your days. Because I'm certain you have challenges just like everyone else.

I hope you have someone you trust, who you can talk to, who will listen to every word intently, and try to empathize and understand you and give you good counsel.

I hope at the end of your day, when all the work and chores are done, you get to read a really engrossing story, or listen to a thought-provoking podcast, or check out some amazing music that makes you feel alive and excited to be so.

I hope you remember yourself--your true self--the kind of person who can be kind.

Because the universe returns your energy back to you. I promise you, eventually, it does.

So here's some kindness from a random overweight absolutely flawed single Jikook fan on Tumblr, who genuinely wants you to be healthy and whole as soon as possible. We all will be better off when you start to heal.

Now, to get us both back into a place of calm and gratitude, you inspired me to make a donation to NAMI. If you ever need mental health help (and who doesn't?) they have some great free resources that you can check out HERE. Please never seriously consider killing yourself, or even joking about it, for any reason. Every day, every moment, is a new chance to start from scratch and make your life into something you prefer.

And if you're not open to talking to a therapist right now, there's a free app called Insight Timer with tons of great meditations, calming exercises, insightful podcasts, and mood-resetting music.

So, this is as much of my time and energy as I can give to you. I wouldn't have even answered you, except the K-pop community just suffered a loss from suicide this week and I felt it important to address what you said. But now I've got some streaming and voting to do in between my real-life responsibilities. So this is the last we will interact under your sock puppet account. But I hope you see this post, and I hope you know I really mean it. I really mean that you deserve to heal from this toxic anger you're taking out on others. I know you can be better.

"Who says a dream must be something grand?

Just become anybody.

We deserve a life.

Whatever, big or small, you are you after all."

--Paradise, Love Yourself: Tear, BTS

For everyone else, if I keep getting Asks from sock puppets like this, I'll turn off the option to message me unless we follow each other. I already turned off anons ages ago because of these types of messages. I will limit access to me, not as a punishment, but just because it's important to protect my (and my friends') energy against negativity. I am here for BTS, not drama.

This fandom needs to work harder to reflect BTS' values, or else what are we all doing here?? You don't have to agree with anyone about anything, but you do have to at least be civil.

If you're looking for a fight, you won't get it from me. My tongue is ruled by the law of kindness.

With sincerest respect,

Roo

P.S. Jimin and Yoongi are close to record-breaking milestones. Please don't waste any time or energy on this sort of thing--keep streaming!

#Spotify

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smokee78 · 9 months

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This is such a vague question but how did you do it? I'm assuming therapy helped a lot but like. Idk did you have to unpack all of the trauma or like. Idk. It sounds like a whole lot of effort and honestly congrats. I'm just curious how you managed to achieve it

Yes thank you so much for the question!

So I started EMDR therapy in April 2022, which is a type of therapy that helps process and desensitize trauma memories, and negative beliefs held due to trauma. You don't need an exact clear image/memory of the trauma for this to work, and in my experience it worked really well for my complex/ongoing traumas (ex. neglect and long term bullying) as well as for our "one time incident" more PTSD-like traumas.

shortly after beginning EMDR, a lot of our DID symptoms began to fluctuate, some weeks they were really bad, some they were noticeably much better. this is because EMDR doesn't only happen during sessions- your brain actually continues the reprocessing being the scenes in the background, which can cause extra stress in the meantime! but the end result is worth it.

of course, EMDR comes with a lot of safety measures and checking in before starting the therapy to make sure you are safe, and have a plan if things get to be too much.

I'd say maybe a few months in, we had a big even we dubbed "the fusening" in which many of our fragments "gave up" their form as they no longer felt it necessary to stay separate. some "larger" and more dominant parts fused at this time too, some 1:1 with another part, and others just seemed to dissipate.

I'd say by 4-5 months in we'd gone from over 90 identified parts down to a nebulous 30-50. We were also nearly (80% of the time?) always blurry, so it was hard to identify who was left.

we also identified some new parts at this time, who had been dormant and stuck behind a layer that previously was not able to contact us before processing trauma.

we stuck around 10-20 parts for a whole, working our way through traumasostly chronologically, and hit some big targets. it was hard and exhausting work, and left me on edge almost 24/7. but I could tell despite the exhaustion, I was getting better. I was still getting amnesia, but switches and headaches were much less noticeable, we were no longer finding new parts or splitting new parts, and it felt like I had the control to find healthy coping mechanisms on my own with out my brain trying to cope for me (by splitting).

these past few months I've actually been on a break from EMDR- my therapist noticed my avoidant behaviours to dealing with a lot of the trauma I faced from my parents, and I have a big school exam coming up. so we left it for the summer, to reconvene in October after my exam.

at that point I'd had about three alters left, two nearly identical, the current host and a similar alter, and in the process of trying to meld, and one of the earliest alters and most developed, and distinct we'd had.

in the meantime, I started regular talk therapy with a new therapist, less intense but to hopefully get some help with non trauma processing based issues, maybe try to grapple some of the parental issues without trauma targets.

We focused a lot on identity, as, despite having over 90 at one point, I felt completely lost! I didnt know who I was, what I wanted, and who I could be if I let myself. I was trying my best to "go along with the flow", but I didn't realize that didn't mean I had to like *everything*, even if I was open to new experiences!

I learned how to be on my own and still have fun in the absence of other people. I started broadening my horizons and going to local punk shows and learning it was okay to not be mainstream and still be safe! I came out to more people about my gender identity and started the process to transition medically, and started being more open socially about being gender non conforming. I learned I really, really, hate cooking, and that's okay.

about a few weeks ago, I had a falling out with my parents. I won't go into detail because I don't think it's relevant, but I decided our relationship wasn't healthy, and I cut them off for good. I'd previously done this two years ago as well, but we reconciled and tried to make it work. but this time, it was clear the only person that was interested in changing to make things work was me, and after finally getting a taste of figuring out who I could be, I was done sacrificing myself for the sake of making them happy.

stem, the last part to fuse with beau, held pretty much all the resentment for sacrificing ourself and not getting to be ourself. she held all the bitterness, the teenage and adulthood angst, all the rage. she'd been very stubborn about it all. to the point where beau as the host (this is getting confusing to type- I'm both sten and beau now. I'm one. but I'm trying to talk from beaus perspective about stem), had finally said "look. I know we wanted final fusion. but I'm okay if you want to stay stem and we'd changed our minds. we don't have to final fuse to still be an advocate for compassion towards those who choose final fusion, and we're not betraying ourselves or anyone else if we stay separate."

stem said "thank you" to this, which was the first time she'd shown any genuine positive emotion towards beau or the rest of the system. (she was a persecutor at one point, turned to no role/sort of protector ish role).

beau was shocked, as he never thought stem would let go of the bitterness she'd held to the rest of the system, the fact that she'd gone dormant and lost the host role at one point, and many other traumas.

there was genuine understanding and compassion towards each other as individual parts.

that night, stem was around and feeling list and hopeless about the reason we'd cut off our parents again. we vented to our friends, they listened, validated our feelings and... we felt better. the feelings laid to rest a little, though the grief was still fresh.

we left the conversation, and noticed we had a headache+foggy feeling we usually associated with a split. we commented to a friend we may be splitting, which hadn't happened in a while, but was understandable with the stress we were dealing with

except. it wasn't a split. we fused. stem was heard by herself and her system, and validated and respected by her friends. despite losing her adoptive family (not blood- we were adopted at birth), stem had found acceptance and love from our new chosen family and friends. that was enough to let go of the hate and bitterness and rage and let herself be one with the full range of emotions and personhood final fusing could give us in this way. I also use Stem as a preferred name in addition to Beau now, which I feel is fitting. I'm them, they are both a part of me even though we're all one now.

I hope this answered your question! one other thing to note, through a lot of hard work and cooperation, we were previously able to fuse a fragment and an alter together before any therapy, with a lot of help from those who'd already experienced fusion. it's not impossible to fuse some alters on your own. (though I would say it would be very unlikely to final fuse without outside help)

#syscourse #final fusion #did #osdd #didosdd #actually did #actually osdd #plural #pluralgang #diary #recovery #living with cptsd

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naranjapetrificada · 9 months

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I came to this hellsite to talk about gay pirates and my therapist, and my next therapy session is still a few days out.

The problem is that I still need to finish processing In Favor With Their Stars, and it only raises even more questions about things that engaging with the show and its fanworks have prompted discussions with my therapist about recently. Why I didn't think to avoid fiction guaranteed to raise existential questions in the middle of a prolonged moment of IRL existential turmoil is beyond me, but here we are.

(it's not beyond me, I seem to have an unconscious drive to test the limits of my emotional regulation and resilience that makes it incredibly difficult to avoid looking into an abyss, even knowing the second half of that Nietzsche quote.)

It's remarkable (and appropriate) that this fic has received the kind of attention and discussion that it has, but that has left me feeling like so many others in the AO3 comments: what could I possibly say that hasn't been said dozens of times? I guess the only "unique" things I can offer on it is the Therapy Stuff it brings up. Also profuse apologies to my therapist that yes, we do once again have to talk about fanfiction that wrecked me, why it managed to unlock things that nothing else in my 3[redacted digit] years of life ever had, and what questions it's left me wrestling with.

Namely:

Why does the question of Stede's personhood makes me feel compelled to try to resolve an ethical debate that people who have spent their entire careers studying AI and consciousness and self-concept and science fiction will never agree on?

Also related to compulsion: what is that drive to engage with devastating media like wiggling a loose tooth?

Why do I assume I'm being judgemental just for asking myself if Ed's "happy ending" could actually be read as incredibly, distressingly lonely in some ways depending on how one feels about the origins and nature of Stede's consciousness?

How will Stede survive without the very of-biological-origins Ed? Will he want to? Should I actually write that fic I had an idea for that would wrestle with that question?

Why in the world is so much of my experience in this fandom wrapped up in grief? I can't seem to shut up about it.

How do you decide if the strong feelings art provokes in you are something you need to unpack or are just part of the experience? Especially as someone whose response to beauty is to cry with the same intensity as when she's crying over actual emotions?

Anyway thanks @mxmollusca for the emotionally fraught questions I can't stop mulling over right now and for the profound beauty of the story that provoked them. I may not be able to distinguish between potential reasons it all made me cry but I'm still so thankful for the chance to shed those unidentifiable tears regardless.

And thanks to everyone else out there making OFMD stuff too. I've never been part of any other fandom with this level of skill and creativity, nor with so many creators doing so much good work. If there's something in the water it must be the source material.

#ifwts #in favor with their stars #go ahead and grieve yourself #spoilers #ifwts spoilers #in favor with their stars spoilers #ofmd meta #ofmd #our flag means death #gentlebeard #edward teach #blackbonnet #stede bonnet #my therapist will be hearing about this #therapist: 1 me: 0

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spicybylerpolls · 2 months

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Cafe anon is SO REAL for sharing their story. You’re not alone. I think that’s the elephant in the room not just here on spicy byler tumblr, but in any coming-of-age media contexts, so I applaud anon for directly facing the elephant.

And thank you spicybylerpolls for giving us a platform to express our unfiltered thoughts!

I remember they tried to cancel gracie abrams for saying something similar even though she was (a. not that much older than Finn, and b. correct lol). Even to this day people on twitter won’t let her live it down, even though it shouldn’t even matter cause Gracie and Finn are, you know, both legal adults now and within dateable range.

I think in anon’s case, being older than Gracie was at the time, it makes sense that they were especially freaked out by their “less than kosher” thoughts at the time since they were inherently scandalous. But any therapist will tell you not to dwell on your shocking thoughts as they don’t define you. They don’t make you a bad person. They just are what they are, shout out to Ke$ha.

In our world we have lines, and these lines are good cause they protect real-life kids from harm and abuse. I think we can all agree with that! But they weren’t created to protect us from our OWN thoughts. They CAN’T really do so. They don’t have that power. Cause then it becomes a maze of, “Your thoughts are bad and you need to be fixed and re-educated” which isn’t healthy. I feel like a better approach is to reflect and mediate on the potential deeper reasons for things.

In cafe anon’s case, she and her friend noticed something w/out any filters, and then they had to make sense of what they noticed cause it raised their alarm bells. Did it make them a “creep?” I don’t think so. I also feel like a true “creep” wouldn’t freak out. They would just be creepy.

I like the explanation of this not being a case of perving on a 13-year old actor and actually wanting to be with them in a tangible sense, but rather an act of putting yourself in your past teenage shoes. Speaking for myself, I know I constantly have dreams where i’m 14 or 15 again, and maybe even dreaming of someone I used to have a crush on. In my mind, they are still 14. We are both still 14. Is that weird? Some might argue that it is, but is it really? I think it’s normal.

But I also think this is a deeply psychological subject that gets at the heart of what we’re comfortable with, and what we SHOULD be comfortable with, and there’s no doubt it’s controversial. But if you can’t be controversial anonymously on an already anonymous platform, where can you be controversial? Nowhere.

Many are uncomfortable with this convo cause they conduct themselves in such a way that no incorrect thought EVER slips in. The more filters you put in, the less you allow yourself to ruminate and reflect upon all aspects of human psychology, the less familiar anon’s admissions will be. But a part of art, a part of being an artist, is to embrace the gray area, no? Is this a slippery slope? Maybe. But slip n’ slides are also fun.

It doesn’t mean dwelling on it, ofc. It’s wise to stick to age-appropriate crushes. Please don’t misinterpret my words. My point is that it’s totally normal to have thoughts you shouldn’t have from time to time. That’s called being human.

There’s this idea that everyone is a perfectly upstanding citizen and no one ever goes where they shouldn’t in their brain, and if you do you’re a creep and the FBI will knock down on your brain’s door, but that’s silly IMO. I applaud café anon for unpacking her physiological reaction to the photoshoots and then moving on with her life.

Of course, not everyone has the same filtering system or comfort level. Some us needed the clear line of demarcation of S4 byler to think spicily, and some of us have no such filter have no such filter and have always been thinking spicy thoughts about these characters, aged-up ofc!

I think now though, I’m so glad that more and more of us are recognizing the clear sexual innuendos and subtext the Duffers have placed into the show. And I hope we will approach S5 and the potential consummation scene with maturity! The Duffers aren’t creeps for telling this story. And you’re not creepy for noticing it.

Many would say that 13 is too young to use terms like “hot” even if you recognize their potential/recognize their cuteness, and I’d agree. But then the question becomes, where is the line? Lots of us here believe Finn and Noah are “hot” now. But at what point did they become hot, hmm?

Obviously on their 18th birthday and not a second before, you degenerates /s

I think if most of us are being honest, even if we wouldn’t say it out loud, we know that isn’t true. You grow into what you become. It doesn’t happen overnight with a birthday. And no one should be attacked for being honest.

Honesty isn’t a crime.

Thank you sharing your thoughts! There's a lot to unpack here. I agree that no one should be attacked for their honesty. And I agree that those who still try to cancel Gracie Abrams are ridiculous.

#byler #spicy byler #finn wolfhard #noah schnapp #spicy byler meta #potentially controversial spicy byler discourse #gracie abrams #no poll

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wreckmetoji · 1 year

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idfc

An ongoing fic in which you don't realize you have both Fushiguros at your feet.

↳ Megumi Fushiguro/Reader Part 13/15

Part 9 , Part 10 , Part 11 , Part 12

content warning. afab reader, profanity, angst, fluff, mention of death, is hitman/serial killer toji a tag or is it implied because he’s Just Like That, reader has bad sinner thoughts horny jail now immediately

This is part 13 of a 15 part story

2.2k words

You heard your front door click, ensuring you were now truly, and utterly...

Alone.

You didn't remember falling asleep. You'd been up crying until some godawful hour, left to your own devices, but it must have been disastrously late, considering it was now half past noon and you were only just gaining consciousness. With a heavy sigh, you sluggishly slid out of bed, holding your aching head hoping for some merciful deity to grant you the patience to put up with a migraine first thing. It was dehydration, you knew that, and you also knew not doing anything with the water given to you was another self destructive behavioral habit. Maybe I should start talking to my therapist again, you thought, opening your bedroom door before promptly freezing in place. It smells like coffee and toast– why does it smell like coffee and toast? You were going to investigate, find out if maybe you were finally having a stroke and on your deathbed, until you heard a tinny unfamiliar voice coming from your living room. It was quiet, and you tried to listen in. Something something could be chalked up to a psychological something, any questions? "This is all based on theory, not observation, is it not?" Megumi? You poked your head around the corner to see a mop of spiky black hair on your couch, dressed down in baggy black lounge pants and a well worn shirt. Sitting in front of him was an expensive looking laptop, a video call open on one half of the screen, and a document filled with writing and notes on the other. You could have come out from hiding and asked exactly when he welcomed himself into your house again, or why he decided not to go to class in person today, but from the tousled blanket and shitty pillow haphazardly tossed on the end of the couch, you could take a guess that he stayed the night. Didn't he leave though? "Oh, you're awake." With three words you were shot back to what started this whole mess, eyes locking with aquamarine. "I made some coffee a couple hours ago, I left it on so it should still be warm." Megumi stated matter-of-factly before pressing the unmute on his laptop again and prattling off a couple questions. You were dumbfounded, blinking stupidly at him. Was he going to act like none of this happened? Was everything back to some semblance of normal? Upon realizing you hadn't moved from your spot, Megumi muted himself again, leaning on his forearms resting on his legs and glancing in your direction, as if he could sense your apprehension to the entire situation. There were too many questions you wanted to ask, you didn't know where to start. So, instead, you said nothing. You turned, grabbing a mug from your cupboard and filling it with the very much two plus hour old coffee, putting in your desired cream and sugar. You couldn't shake the feeling of unease, why had he stayed? Why was he acting so... normal? "If it's okay with you, I'd like to stay over the next couple days," Megumi spoke, and when you glanced up you could see him typing away lecture notes on the second half of his screen. "I think it would be wise." Completely unsure where to even start unpacking his request, you decided to take a sip of coffee to give yourself a moment. "You're always welcome over, Megumi," You saw his lips pull into a small frown at his full name, still typing away. "But... why? Why did you stay over last night?" "Because I want to keep you safe." What was he going on about? Sliding his laptop shut, Megumi leaned back into the couch, folding his arms over his chest. You held eye contact, expecting him to elaborate, but obviously today was one of those days where he made you play twenty-one questions to get any semblance of a conversation going with him. "Okay, I'll bite. What are you keeping me safe from, exactly?" You sneered, taking another sip from your coffee. Megumi was never a roundabout type of person, he was blunt and courteous enough to never beat around the bush, so this was new. If he was worried about you and your mental health he could have just said so. "There are a lot of things you don't know about me, and even more you don't know about my family," Megumi stood from his spot, shuffling over to the kitchen, empty mug in hand. "What does that have to do with anything?" You trailed after him, leaning against the counter beside him. "How does that translate to me being unsafe?" His lips parted, heaving a small sigh, obviously thinking very hard about his choice of words. "I didn't always live with Toji when I was younger," Megumi began, leaning against the counter beside you. You make note whenever he refers to him as Toji instead of father or dad. "For a period of time, I was in a different home with strangers that acted like I was family." "Have you ever heard of witness protection?" Obviously confused by where the conversation was going, you slowly nodded your head, brows furrowed, was he just trying to get a rise out of you? "It was kind of like that. From age seven to fifteen, I was in 'witness protection'. I'm sure I still would be if a few strings weren't pulled." He sipped his coffee. "Do you know why I was there?" You shook your head, leaning in at his sudden confession. "I watched Toji kill an innocent person." Wait. What? Your jaw was slack, unable to pick itself off the floor. He had to be fucking with you, was this all an attempt to get you to feel worse? An attempt to get you away from him? So many questions circled your head, and Megumi simply watched as the gears turn and your mind reeled. "No, that– that's just cruel, Megumi. Don't say something like that just to..." You trailed off, watching his unmoving, stoned over expression. You swallowed back the rest of your words, setting your mug down on the counter. The room felt warm, were you going to faint? "He's killed plenty of people. Most of them for his job, but the one I saw was his... girlfriend, or whatever she was at the time." The hand on your arm didn't go unnoticed, grounding you in the moment. "I saw lots of women come and go, only a couple of them I saw more than once. She was one of them. It didn't take much to put two and two together, I understood why I never saw any of them again." "I was angry when I walked in on you. I thought maybe you had reached out to him, and everything progressed from there but... Now that I know he reached out to you, I realized you're not safe. The only reason he's still walking around a free man, the only reason he got Tsumiki and I back, was because he knows some powerful people and he was forced to retire." The room was spinning, was the room spinning? "You're not fucking funny, Megumi. This isn't funny," You snapped, pulling your arm from his grip and taking a step back, wobbling in place. It felt like your entire body was heating up, starting at your gut and moving up to your head. Megumi heaved another sigh, reaching around his back, and pulling a sizable handgun from the waistband of his tied off lounge pants. He set it down on the counter beside you with a clunk, hand pulling back to cross his arms over his chest once more. "Believe me now?" All you could do was exhale sharply, stumbling back into the counter as the air that surrounded you got heavier. You couldn't breathe, your eyes couldn't focus, you could only uselessly grip the edge of your countertop to prevent you from tumbling over at any second. "Hey– careful," Megumi jumped forwards, arms hovering around you, but not touching you. "It's... a lot." The look he gave you was concerned, pleading, and with a small nod from you, his arms caged you in, pulling your shaking body against him. Tears tumbled from your eyes, wetting his shirt as you held onto him. He was here to protect you, you were in immediate danger, but how much danger were you actually in? Toji was making you dinner last night, he was being so soft, so kind, so intimate, something you didn't expect from him. Could a killer do that? Could he hurt you like that? Would he hurt you like that? Barely able to register Megumi saying let's go sit down, you were gently shuffled over to the couch, sat down right in the center. His hands held your shoulders, lean form crouching down in front of you, his eyes trying to provide some sort of comfort. You could only gaze through him, past him, mind gone somewhere else. His lips were moving, he was saying something, but you couldn't hear him over the ringing in your ears, or the pounding of your heart. You could feel his warm hand cup your jaw, you could feel him give your head a little shake, watching his expression grow more and more urgent. What you thought was a blink turned into a bottomless pit of water engulfing your body and consciousness. You woke to a click, eyes flying open and body shooting up with a gasp. Your heart filled with panic, trying to get your bearings as quickly as possible ended up disorienting and distorting your surroundings. "Hey, it's okay," A disembodied voice spoke, comforting and familiar. You felt warmth at your side, eyes finally focusing on your surroundings. It was your living room, you were laid out on the couch, blanket over your body, the entire room engulfed in warm orange light. It looked surreal, how everything was blurred around the edges, soft, deceiving. An echo of your name had you turning your head, looking up for the source. Megumi was crouched beside the couch, an arm around your back keeping you steady, his other hand warmly encasing your still numb fingers. It was safe, comfort, more than enough to let your shoulders relax, your eyes droop, and a slow, shaky hand reach out to grab the front of his shirt. It was like a gravitational pull, that or he weighed as light as a feather, considering the lack of force and effort you had to exert to pull him into a tight embrace. The silence was sweet, comforting, granting you just a sliver of relief in the mess you had managed to make of yourself and your life. Breathing in, breathing out, all you could see and smell and feel was Megumi, putting you at ease, assuring you he would keep you safe, keep you out of harms way. Slowly, hesitantly, you pulled back just a bit, which seemed to encourage him to do the same. His eyes always amazed you, how easily you could read him by looking into them, sapphire windows to his soul. And, oh, his eyelashes. He was beautiful. You didn't know who had leaned in, or when, or how you got so close your noses were touching, but you did know the small flutter in your stomach when he slotted his lips against yours quite well. The kiss was as short as it was desperate and eager, only lasting a breath or two before Megumi had pulled back, resting his forehead on yours. "I promise I won't let anything happen to you," He whispered, placing another kiss on your lips, then another, each longer than the last. "I'll keep you safe." Another kiss, then another, before he was leaning you back into the plush cushions of your couch, hovering over you. His thumb stroked your jaw, his other hand loosely gripping your waist. Your own hands had found purchase on his shoulders, arms slowly moving to wind around his neck the closer he got, and the closer he got the more you wanted to simply sink into him, drown in his love and care and safety. His tongue pressed against your own with soft urgency, pulling back when you whined. He was panting, eyes half lidded, and you found yourself staring a little too long, burning this image of him to your memory. Had he always been so beautiful? "I got us food," Megumi breathed, wiping his thumb across your plush, wet bottom lip, "The door lock is probably what woke you up." The sudden burst of passion had muddled your thoughts, made you fuzzy, blurred around the edges much like the golden orangey glow encasing your home. "I don't want food," You pressed, trying to lean in for more of him. He simply exhaled an amused sigh, giving you another kiss, this time much more quick and chaste. "You haven't eaten since yesterday, and it's already dinner time." It was a reasonable request. He was here to keep you safe and take care of you, and that's what he was trying to do, but how could he expect you to want anything else except him. You could still feel how softly he handled you, how gentle his hands were brushing up your sides and gripping your hips– "Just relax," Megumi sat up straight, reaching behind him on the coffee table to fish through a large paper bag. "We have plenty of time, and I got your favorite." The grumble in your stomach spoke volumes for you at both the mention and smell of the food in front of you. Perhaps you could be swayed, just this once.

#megumi x reader #toji x reader #megumi fushiguro #toji fushiguro

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starstruckunknown-princess · 1 year

Text

You Can Go Your Own Way - Black Rose Part 3

Summary: Niamh hatched a plot to keep Rhys away from her while she had time to heal. Rhys finds out. Part 3 of the Black Rose series.

Pairings: Rhysand x OC (Niamh of the Spring Court, no physical descriptions), slight Azriel x OC

Warnings: ANGST, a bit of betrayal, therapy session, slight stalking, rage rage rage

Word Count: 2965

A/N: So I totally didn’t mean to make this into a series, but I guess that’s the way it’s going. I’m thinking 2 more chapters and I’ll wrap it up, but who knows. Title comes from “Go Your Own Way” by Fleetwood Mac.

Likes/Reblogs/Comments mean the world to me and help me write faster! Thanks in advance!

Banner by me, dividers by firefly-graphics

Part 1 | Part 2

After pouring Rhys into bed for the third time in as many days, Azriel flew his usual patrol around the city before landing softly in the front yard of a small ivy-covered house on the outskirts of Velaris. He knocked on the front door three times, paused for two beats, then knocked once more.

Niamh opened the door and let him inside. The boxes he and Cassian had moved for her were mostly unpacked, stacked in haphazard piles about the room. Her hair was frizzing out of her braid that had been neat that morning. The purple circles under her eyes made their color stand out all the more. Her plush lips were pulled in a tight line.

“He bought it?” she asked quietly, closing and locking the front door.

“He did,” Azriel confirmed, tucking his hands behind his back. “Spent quite a lot of time debating over which court you’re in while he drank the townhouse dry. Are you okay?”

Niamh chuckled mirthlessly, “Not really. I’m still not convinced this is the right thing to do.” She started wringing her hands in front of her, glancing about the small living room.

Azriel wrapped her small hands in his, capturing her attention. His shadows encircled her wrists, stroking her forearms in an attempt at comforting her. “It’s just for now. You know he wouldn’t stop trying to bring you back into the fold, and that would only hurt you more. This is best until things are…settled.”

“I know,” she muttered, leaning her head into his shoulder. His shadows made room for her and she wrapped her arms around his waist, hugging him fully. “I just wish I could skip ahead, you know? Skip all this pain. Get back to normal.”

Her voice was small and muffled against his leathers. Without thinking, Azriel hugged her back. Seeing her like this made his heart ache for her, but he knew she didn’t want pity. She needed a friend right now, which is why he and Mor had worked so hard talking her into staying.

They’d agreed to her terms — only one member of the Inner Circle at her new home at a time, otherwise they might draw Rhys’s attention. Her location was to remain secret until she said so. If Rhys found out before that time was up, they would let her leave Velaris without asking any questions.

But, they had countered with some demands of their own. She had to seek professional help and not wallow in her depression. If she got too unstable or unwell, they could alert Rhys but only if it was absolutely necessary. And finally, her sworn duty to Velaris would remain intact. If Velaris needed her, she would break her isolation.

Their deal had caused a new tattoo to bloom on his left obliques. A rose with dark swirls surrounding it. Mor’s was behind her ear, easily hidden under her long hair, and Niamh’s circled her wrist.

“You’ll get there, Sweetrose,” he reassured, stroking her hair with his damaged hands and delighting in the softness of it. He didn’t know which of them started it but soon they were swaying gently together, slowly rocking from one foot to the other. Like a slow dance, but more sedate.

“I have my first therapist appointment tomorrow. The office is down by the river, will you take me?” she asked, pulling back just enough to look up at him.

“Of course. What time?”

“Ten. You’ll be done with training then, right?”

“Don’t worry, I’ll make it work. This is important, Niamh, you’re important.”

“Thank you, Az.” She looked up at him and brushed a curl that had fallen in his face, “You’re important too.”

His heart stuttered in his chest as her fingers brushed along his cheekbone, down his jaw. The look she was giving him caused confusion. Years of working together had given them a close bond, he felt like he knew her as well as he knew Mor, perhaps even better. Still, this look of softness was new to him. He’d been on the receiving end of her caring and comfort, this was not that.

‘Fatigue,’

‘Affection,’

‘Kiss,’

His shadows whispered at him but he ignored them. What kind of male would kiss her when she was so vulnerable? When her situation was so tenuous? Her eyes held a hint of expectation, so he compromised and bent forward to rest his forehead against her own. Still they swayed together, even though there was no music playing.

Neither of them had felt this at peace in a long, long while.

One Month Later

Hypatia’s office was impeccably decorated. Tasteful columns framed the carved wooden doors, the furniture was dyed leather in the softest lavender hue, and she had a seemingly never-ending supply of tissues. Niamh wouldn’t be surprised if they magically replenished.

She leaned forward and took another one, dabbing her eyes and blowing her nose. Today’s session was intense. They’d dived much deeper than Niamh thought possible and now parts of herself she’d wondered about started to make more sense.

Mainly, the reason she didn’t want to speak to Rhys was so she wouldn’t appear vulnerable. If she wasn’t vulnerable, she couldn’t get hurt. Her avoidance, this whole charade she’d set up with Azriel and Morrigan, was to protect herself. But it was isolating, even with Mor and Az stopping by and her coffee dates with Cassian. She was alienating them from Rhysand, unintentionally, but alienating them all the same by making them lie for her.

Moving on was hard work. Her journey wasn’t over, but she was quickly approaching a fork in the road. One way led to the ruin of her friendships, one led to their salvation. Salvation required but a single step, yet it felt insurmountable all the same.

“Do you think I’m ready?” She asked, voice trembling.

Hypatia’s citrine-yellow eyes regarded her with compassion and the female tilted her head. Like her office, Hypatia was carefully styled. Her gray-white hair was swept up in a tight bun, her makeup was subtle and accentuated her gracefully aging features. The dark blue suit she wore was tailored to perfection — when Niamh had asked, Hypatia insisted she tailored all her own clothing. Niamh believed her.

“I think you’ve done some great work in this room,” she said, her low melodic voice soothing Niamh’s nerves, “and you’ve come a long way in a short amount of time.”

“I sense a ‘but’,” Niamh said, a poor attempt to lighten the mood in the room.

“But I can’t make that decision for you. If you feel you’re strong enough, you are. And you are strong, Niamh, but don’t feel the need to rush.”

Niamh considered her words. “I think it’s time. I’ve been…hiding, running away, for too long. My friends deserve better. Rhys deserves better.”

“You also deserve better.”

“Right,” Niamh sighed, not quite believing it but knowing that she could trust Hypatia’s judgment.

“Can you say that for me? I deserve better?”

Damn her.

“I deserve better,” Niamh said, looking down at her hands.

“Once more, louder,” Hypatia encouraged.

“I deserve better,” Niamh responded, a little louder.

“Last time, like you believe it!”

“I deserve better!” she half-shouted and for the briefest of moments, she believed it. She deserved better than living in fear that Rhysand would find out where she’d hidden herself away. She deserved better than only having part-time friends who needed to maintain distance so as not to spill her secret. She deserved to live her life and be happy and this unresolved tension wouldn’t allow that.

“That’s my girl!” Hypatia nodded and glanced at her wristwatch. “That’s a good place for us to pick up next time. Thank you for sharing today, Niamh.”

The two females stood and Niamh went to the door, “I’ll see you Thursday?”

“I’ll see you then,” Hypatia said, opening the door and Niamh exited through the waiting room onto the street.

A ways away, someone was playing a snappy tune on a trumpet. The day was nice, not too warm, and sunny but not too sunny. Niamh left her therapist’s office feeling lighter, like a Rhysand-sized weight had been lifted off her shoulders. She made her way down the street, footsteps in time with the music.

She was getting better.

Azriel had been oddly tongue-tied about his afternoon plans when Rhys had asked him, so he decided to follow the Shadowsinger. With his shadows and his keen senses, it wasn’t an easy task. A few times, Rhys definitely thought he was caught but if Azriel knew his High Lord was following him, he gave no indication.

The male flew his normal circuitous patrol above the city before heading toward the newer section of Velaris, which had been outskirts fifty years ago but was now full of small charming homes and new businesses.

What is he doing here? Rhys wondered. To his knowledge, Az hadn’t moved. Then again, he was the spymaster for a reason. Perhaps he had moved and just hadn’t mentioned it.

Azriel landed gracefully in front of a small stone-facade house that was mostly covered with ivy. Light shone through the thin curtains in the windows — someone was already here.

Was this the home of one of his informants? Or had Az finally given up on Morrigan and found love? Hope fluttered in Rhys’ chest for his friend as he watched him approach the front door and knocked thrice, paused for two beats, and then knocked once more.

The door opened on an all-too-familiar face. A face Rhys had only seen in memories. A face he had been told had left his Court. A face he had once loved more than anything.

Niamh’s face lit up in a smile as she welcomed Azriel. Rhys was too far away to hear what they were saying, but she was clearly happy to see Az. They exchanged pleasantries, then the door closed with both of them on the other side.

No way would she have been that happy to see him, no way she would welcome her High Lord into her home like that. Jealousy turned his blood to acid in his veins. It took the entirety of his self-control to not bust down the door and demand an explanation.

Instead, he winnowed to Amren’s street and burst into her home. The cat-eyed female was lounging on her sofa, looking entirely unbothered by his intrusion.

“Hello to you too, Rhysand,” she said, not getting up. “What’s got your hackles up?”

“Niamh,” he panted, “She’s still in the city. Azriel knows. Even though he told me he flew her to the border, she’s still here!”

Amren only nodded, “I know this.”

He gaped at his second in command. “What?”

“Azriel and Mor made the deal with her to get her to stay.”

His stomach was in his shoes. His mind was racing with questions. He needed answers, so he sent out a blaring mental message to all of his Inner Circle.

House of Wind, NOW.

“I’m sitting right here, Rhysand.” Amren droned from her seat, and he flipped her a rude gesture before winnowing to the House of Wind.

Cassian was already there, shirtless and damp with sweat. He toweled himself off as Rhys started pacing the living room.

“Everything okay? That was a pretty intense message,” Cassian asked. Rhys didn’t answer. Amren appeared and draped herself across the sofa much as she had in her home moments ago. Morrigan was the next to arrive, wearing a dress that was meant for Rita’s and her makeup half-done.

“What’s so urgent? Are you okay?” she asked, worry in her tone.

“I am absolutely not okay, Mor. Where the fuck is Azriel?” He asked no one, pacing becoming more intense. Of course, he knew exactly where Azriel was. He was with Niamh in the house he’d hidden her in, right under Rhys’s nose.

Mor and Cassian exchanged a nervous glance. The shadowsinger appeared a moment later. Tension filled the room as Rhysand caught sight of the male, halting in his tracks but not saying anything.

He could feel rage building inside him, but took a deep breath and closed his eyes.

“Everyone sit,” he demanded, using his High Lord tone. Cassian and Mor joined Amren on the sofa, Azriel took a chair. Amren was the only one unaffected by the stifling atmosphere — the remaining three members of the Inner Circle were glancing between them, trying to figure out what had caused their High Lord to scream into their minds.

Rhysand moved behind the open chair and gripped the back of it. The velvet felt soft under his fingers. His anger was simmering in his chest, tensing his shoulders. Gathering his thoughts felt like a herculean task, but he managed it.

“The thing about betrayal,” he started, “is that it never comes from your enemies.”

“Betrayal? What are you talking about, Rhys?” Mor asked, trying to make eye contact with him but instead he glared at each member of his family in turn.

“You’ve all been lying to me. I know Niamh is still in Velaris.” He held up his hand to stop Mor and Cassian’s interjections, “And I want to know just what in the Mother-fucking fuck you all were thinking when you decided to lie to me.”

He lowered his hand and stuck both hands in his pants pockets. Azriel’s shadows flickered around him like the tail of a nervous cat. Mor looked between the Illyrians, then rose to her feet and approached him.

“Okay, yes, we lied to you about Niamh leaving,” she explained gently, “But we never meant to hurt you. We did it for her. She was…not well, Rhys. Not leaving her apartment, not sleeping, barely eating. She needed us, but she was dead set on leaving Velaris because she couldn’t handle your presence looming over everything. So Azriel and I talked to her, got her to agree to stay.”

Mor was too good at conciliatory explanations. His anger was nearly quashed, replaced with guilt and curiosity. He raised an eyebrow at her. Sweeping her swath of golden hair away from the left side of her neck, she turned her head, exposing her neck to him. He took a step closer and noticed a tattoo of a small rose behind her ear — the symbol of her agreement with Niamh.

“You had to make a deal with her?” he asked, imagining where Niamh’s tattoo appeared.

“Yes, we did. Only Mor and I, though, so Cass and Amren could have plausible deniability.” Azriel explained.

Rhys looked at Cassian and Amren, “Plausible deniability?”

“I only knew she was still here, not where,” Amren answered with a shrug.

Cassian held his palms up toward the ceiling, “I only met her in public.”

“So you were protecting her? From me?”

“Only until she gets better. Once she feels she’s ready, she’ll move back to her apartment and return to the Inner Circle.” A low tone from Azriel, like the growl of a panther.

“Do you really expect me to give her space now that I know she’s still here?”

“Yes,” Azriel snapped immediately, the growl becoming a snarl, “You will stay. Away. From her.”

Rhys stalked toward where Azriel still sat, slow steps to make sure the spymaster understood the danger in provoking him. His eyes locked onto Azriel’s hazel ones. First one to blink loses, becomes the prey. “Are you going to make me?”

“I will if I have to,” Azriel’s tone was dangerously protective. His scarred hands clenched into the arms of the chair he sat in, holding himself back.

Mor moved between them, intercepting Rhys before he got much closer to Azriel. “One of her conditions was if you found out, we would have to let her leave. No questions asked, she could just disappear and we’d never see her again. You don’t want that, right?”

Rhysand broke his eye contact with Az, instead taking in his cousin’s beseeching look. Her hand on his chest, above his heart, provided the first grounding sensation he’d felt since he followed Azriel to Niamh’s home.

She was right, of course. He knew that if he showed up at Niamh’s door now he would lose her forever. Flushing her out would only serve to put more distance between them and decimate any slim glimmer of hope that he had for their reconciliation. He sighed, relaxed his shoulders. The adrenaline fueling his anger finally left his body and his chin dropped to his chest.

“No. I don’t.” He squeezed his eyes shut and shook his head. “Fuck. I hate it when you’re right.”

Mor smiled gently, “You think you’d be used to it by now.”

Mirthless chuckles left his lips. He took a few steps away and collapsed into the chair he’d gripped before. All eyes were on him. Azriel regarded him with a blank stare tinged with suspicion, but Rhys brushed it off.

“Is she okay?”

Mor nodded enthusiastically, “Much better. She’s almost back to her old self.”

“Now that we’ve got that settled,” Amren interrupted the silence, “Can I go now? I have a hot date with my own sofa and a bottle of Day Court wine.”

Rhys waved his hand in front of him absentmindedly. “Go, enjoy your wine.” Amren disappeared, but the other three fae remained.

“How about you, Rhys,” Cassian piped up. “You okay?”

Rhys let himself relax, let his mind wander a bit until a cold hand gripped his diaphragm and squeezed — fear, he was feeling fear but not his own.

‘Please, somebody, say something! Help me! Save me!’

He snapped to attention at the pleading voice in his head. All he said was, “Feyre,” before he winnowed away.

His mate was in trouble, and he had to help her.

Niamh could wait.

Part 4

#acotar fic #acomaf fic #acotar #acomaf #rhysand x oc #rhysand fic #rhysand angst #rhys x oc #rhys fic #azriel x oc #azriel shadowsinger #inner circle #spring court princess #therapy #fae therapist #velaris

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