Hi hello 👋🏻

I just wanted to say if you recently followed me bc of my story ‘Right Where You Left Me’ I am going to do a part 2 🙂

I also just wanna say thank you so much for all the love on it, it’s been so so so sweet! I literally feel like a pile of goo anytime someone comments on it/reblogs it/likes it!

But yeah! Happy Valentine’s Day and I guess be on the look out because I’ll start writing part 2 soon! 💕

mattoidmeerkat:

Bobby taught him well

[Image ID: two gifs explaining that no room is safe from breaking into

GIF 1: In Brawl in Cell Block 9-1-1, Bobby is explaining to a doctor that, “there is not a locked room anywhere that the right tools and enough time can’t break open.”

GIF 2: In In Another Life, Buck tells his coma alter ego, that “there is not a locked room anywhere that with the right tools and enough time you can’t break into.”

/end ID]

crappymixtape:

stevethehairington:

Dustin swings.

The first punch to Steve’s hands is unexpectedly hard enough that Steve has to step back to steady himself.

Under any other circumstance, that would’ve had Dustin grinning and laughing and teasing the shit out of Steve.

Today, he doesn’t even bat an eye at it.

His mouth stays twisted, an anguished gash that feels so out of place on a face that stands for everything Steve has come to associate with Dustin: bright, bubbling laughter, a permanent grin so wide it shows off every single one of his teeth; nothing but pure happiness and joy.

But there’s not a trace of that in Dustin anymore. There hasn’t been since… since.

It fucking hurts to see Dustin like this. So broken, so pained. And the worst part is, Steve doesn’t know what to do with it. Doesn’t know how to fix it. Because, well, he can’t fix it. He can’t bring Max back. He can’t bring Eddie back. He can’t undo all of the death and destruction and pain and suffering. No matter how much he wants to.

Steve knows, all too well, that handling Dustin with kid gloves won’t do shit either. Gentle touches and kind words and the kind of taking care that comes in the aftermath of such great tragedy isn’t going to help. Dustin has seen, has experienced, has survived through far too much for empty promises of “it’ll pass” and “it will get better” and “it gets easier” to mean anything.

Four times around and it hasn’t gotten better or easier at all.

The only thing Steve can do to help is to be there. To be a steady presence in Dustin’s life, to offer him the silent support he needs, to let Dustin work through his grief and his anger and his pain at his own pace.

So he does.

He stands there and he lets Dustin pummel his hands, pounding his tightly wound fists over and over and over. Lets him scream and shout and grunt and cry as he streamlines every overwhelming feeling into this one action.

(Steve’s hands hurt, they sting from Dustin’s punches, and he thinks they might bruise, if palms even can bruise, but he thinks of it as some sort of penance. For letting Dustin go through all of this. For not protecting him better in the first place.)

Steve can’t quite make out all that Dustin’s saying as he hits, but he catches bits. A couple of “why”’s, a few “it’s not fair”’s, one “it should have been me” that tears through Steve’s own chest and has him losing his breath and his footing, briefly, once more.

After a couple of minutes, Dustin’s energy starts to lag. His breathing comes heavier, but his punches come slower and slower, until all of the sudden he’s collapsing into Steve’s arms, burying his face into Steve’s chest as his sobs wrack through his body.

Steve catches him, secures his arms around Dustin and holds him close, holds him tight. He swallows down his own sobs threatening to break through because fuck, fuck, fuck he never wanted this for Dustin. The horror, the hurt, the guilt. That was supposed to be Steve’s to carry, and Steve’s alone. But he couldn’t even do that right either.

He can feel Dustin’s tears, hot and wet, down the side of his neck. Can hear the snot that stuffs his nose and clogs his lungs. Can hear the absolute heartbreak in his words as he mumbles out his desolation into Steve’s shirt.

But Steve holds his own grief in. Holds his own pain. Because he needs to be strong for Dustin. Needs to be his rock right now.

Steve can’t stop it. He can’t take it away. He can’t fix it.

But he can do this. He can let Dustin punch him until he can’t anymore. And he can hold Dustin as he cries.

It’s not much, but it’s something.

I AM A SOBBING MESS OMG 😩😭😩💔 this is so beautiful and poignant and raw and real and ughhhhh. thank you for writing this 😮‍💨

delusioner:

i’m not “mentally ill”, my brain is just haunted. by ghosts. and spooky spirits and shit. idk what else to tell you, man

givehimthemedicine:

El touching peoples heads when she hugs them <3

bonus: she learned it from Joyce

btw this hug is so massively important to El you can see it echo through the seasons in the way that El adopts the head-cradle move into her own hug style, beginning with Max at Starcourt, which is the first time that El’s ever had to seriously comfort someone as far as we know, and these two hugs look similar because El is drawing on her memory of Joyce to know how to show tenderness and comfort to Max. if you even care.