kedreeva

[kedreeva]

By the year 2056, an epidemic of organ failures has devastated the planet and wiped out 99% of the human population. The megacorporation GeneCo provides organ transplants on a payment plan. Clients who miss payments are hunted down by Repo Men, skilled assassins who "repossess" the organs ("Genetic Repo Man").

Every so often I’m reminded of how I won the birth lottery and was not born in the USA.

Health insurers repossessing artificial limbs is not a thing that should exist!

Like it’s someone’s actual job to repossess artificial limbs if people can’t pay for healthcare which their insurers arbitrarily decide whether or not to cover.

Some might say it’s a silly job to have in a country where people can freely own guns.

[kedreeva]

There are good things in this world still

Today, it is the winter solstice for me. This means the days will begin to lengthen again. The sun will return, and the trees will eventually become resplendent in greens once more. I will be able to lie in the grass and clover with Bug, and chase her around the yard.

Today, my partner came home after being out of state for work. It is so nice to see him again. We went to dinner at a local diner, his first time going since the diner moved back into town. The wraps were delicious and the fries were the perfect amount of salty for me (VERY SALTY).

Today, I drove my brother to the airport so he could surprise my little sister by visiting her and my parents for christmas. He left his dog here for me to watch, so I spent a few hours in my childhood home, cuddling a big dumb black lab mix. After, when it was time to pick Sark up from the airport, I asked my childhood best-friend's-mom across the street if she could check on the dog tonight and in the morning, so I could have a little more time with Sark. here is the puppy, asleep on my hoodie

Today, I put a handful of sprouts on top of Bug's crate, and she pulled them through the grating and onto her head. She got more of them in her face than intended, and in very comical ways horked them down instead of spitting them out.

Today, I laughed until I wheezed when the television played a realistic-enough rattlesnake sound that Bug reacted by LEAPING away from the ground with a stomp-kick, as if there was a rattlesnake near her. Instinct is a hell of a drug!

There are good things left in this world, however small. This is your opportunity to reblog this and share your good things with each other, or check the notes if you need a reminder.

[kedreeva]

well, at least Bug doesn't cross the weight threshold, then.

seanan mcguire writing Feed in 2010: there was a presidential election, and a perfectly normal and reasonable human was running against the personification of evil

me in 2010: i dunno that seems like a caricature, surely that would never happen

me in 2024: uhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh

[kedreeva]

how sure

A traffic camera in Montreal

[kedreeva]

before anything else goes according to plan

seanan mcguire writing Feed in 2010: there was a presidential election, and a perfectly normal and reasonable human was running against the personification of evil

me in 2010: i dunno that seems like a caricature, surely that would never happen

me in 2024: uhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh

[kedreeva]

Hey, so, have you read Feed and all the Newsflesh books by Mira Grant (aka @seananmcguire)? They're fantastic and I love them and I totally had my heart ripped out and cried several times so much fun! Highly recommended!

[kedreeva]

Seeing a marburg virus outbreak in 2024 on the heels of a global coronavirus pandemic reminds me of reading a seanan mcguire interview in 2012ish where she discussed how our societal approach to quarantine is a joke & the individual desire for freedom & autonomy over safety gets people killed. I have to wonder what going through the early '20s as someone well educated in viral mutations and infection vectors must've been like. Prophets screaming from a crumbling parapet

[kedreeva]

Here's a crack Stobin idea

It's platonic Hanahaki by instead of puking flowers, it's migraines and mind reading.

***

After they're injected with the same experimental mystery drugs in the Russian spy bunker, Steve wakes up two days later with a killer headache.

Must be the concussion.

Except throughout the day it gets worse, worse than his migraines after his fight with Billy. He tries to go to sleep early, but the pain's so intense he seriously thinks his head might implode.

Does he call Robin?

They aren't what he'd call friends. But they survived torture together, so that has to mean something, right?

No, he decides. She's got her own problems and it's almost midnight.

He's up, can't sleep. At 6:30am he wraps an ice pack around his head and sits in a warm bath. At 7:30am he's throwing up water and bile. By 9am he's got a bloody nose and he's popped a blood vessel in his right eye. Just as he's about to pick up the phone, there's knocking on his front door that feels like a hammer to his skull.

Robin's on the front stoop, the front of her Fleetwood Mac sleep shirt covered in drops of blood and she's holding a wad of napkins to her face. She's crying and practically collapses into his arms.

The pain recedes so quickly he gasps. He didn't realize how difficult it was to breathe. The sharp stabbing behind his eyes is gone and it feels like he hasn't eaten in days.

Robin's still holding his shoulder, looking at him with wide eyes. She moves the napkins and even though her face is a mess of dried blood it's clear the bleeding has stopped.

"Steve, what's going on?"

"How the hell should I know?"

Her hand slips from his shoulder as he backs into the house, and suddenly the pain's creeping back in. It's minimal compared to before. Robin grabs his hand again and the pain recedes.

He looks up and she's staring at him wide eyed, mouth hanging open like a fish.

"I do not look like a fish!" Robin scoffs.

He didn't say that.

"Oh holy shit you didn't say that!" she practically screams at him.

She grips his other hand, squeezing them both tight as they stare into each other's panicked eyes.

Oh my god playing on loop between them, yet Robin's mouth isn't moving and he's pretty sure his is closed.

Can we read minds?

I have no idea Steven I've never done this before! You're the freaky stuff expert.

It's called the upside down Robs.

He's so bitchy.

I'm not bitchy!

"OK we have to stop this," Robin finally says. He knows she said it. He saw her mouth move and everything.

"Jesus I'm not sure I can handle your brain Harrington I've already got enough going on up here on my own."

"Yeah tell me about it," he replies as he thinks about her rambling about nothing for hours on end during shared shifts.

Robin sighs, squeezing his hands again as she scuffs her shoes on the white tile.

For what it's worth, I like your rambling.

A light smile ghosts her face. He always feels better when she's smiling, and that gets a wet chuckle from her as she wipes her teary eyes.

"Ok," Robin says, putting her game face on. "We're going to figure this out and I've got some ideas."

~~~

s4 follow-up ficlet

[kedreeva]

“IT’S A SWORD, IT’S NOT MEANT TO BE SAFE.” My favourite scene from The Hogfather. ___ See how this comic was made here.

[kedreeva]

A follow-up to my Hanahaki Platonic Stobin drabble

Platonic Stobin, Steddie, past Stancy || rating: T || wc: 2.7k || tags: dialogue heavy, VERY excessive use of italics, fluff and flirting and humor, no beta

~~~

His sides are ripped to shreds, insides only kept inside because of the torn, dirty scrap of sweater Nancy wrapped around him. Steve’s been downplaying it as much as possible, mostly to keep Munson calm, but Robin knows better.

What’s wrong with your back?

Steve sighs, trying to mute his thoughts into a scramble like they’ve practiced so well over the past nine months, but the scorching pain on his shoulder blades, feet, and arms makes it rather difficult.

Don’t you dare ignore me Steve Harrington.

She glares back at him from her spot next to Nancy. They’ve been walking for miles, every rock and crack in the ground digging into his feet with every step. Munson’s next him, going on about something like bats, or metal music. Steve’s not sure, he’s having a hell of a time focusing.

But the guy crowds into Steve’s space, dipping in and out of orbit like he can’t help being as close as possible. Eddie keeps looking at him. Steve’s never been great with eye contact, but can’t help it when Eddie starts saying things like “the kid worships you, dude” and “insists on the matter, in fact.”

Told you the kid loves you even though he has another older adult male friend.

Steve can practically hear her giggling, but she’s just balancing her out-loud conversation with their mind-reading conversation. She’s better at it than he is, talking to two people at once. Hell, sometimes Steve has a hard enough time keeping track of just one conversation.

Their new super powers had been a learning curve, to say the least. It’d taken them months to learn how to tune each other out when needed, which was more often than not. Working Family Video shed a new light on how absolutely down-bad horny Steve was for almost every mildly attractive woman who walked through the front door. Including Joyce Byers, to Robin’s horror.

Steve was cursed with Robin’s almost near-constant thoughts about her newest crush, Vickie. He’s never met her before, doesn’t remember her from school, but could describe what she looks like down to the small, rust colored freckle on the corner of her left eye, just below the lash line. 

But even with the extensive learning curve, they discovered some severe consequences of their powers almost immediately. 

The first day Robin came over, bloodied and crying, with him no better off, Steve was so shaky he’d dropped a mug, slicing his hand as he scooped up the pieces. She rushed over, said she heard his pain more than felt it, like loud static. 

So, no sharing physical sensations, just mind-reading. Which is great for me, considering how slutty you are. She’d laughed when he lightly knocked her on the shoulder, but she’d thought it with such fondness that he couldn’t be mad if he tried.

The worst of their situation came to light when Robin’s parents called her home, said a weekend away after Star Court was more than enough. So she’d left him alone in that big, empty house, suffering from a severe concussion and dizzy spells.

Which only grew worse the longer they were apart.

Steve didn’t have anywhere to go, now jobless with the mall gone, and none of the kids came to visit. So he’d holed himself up in his room. The headaches grew worse, handfuls of pills doing nothing to help.

By the fifth day, he was vomiting again, shaking and crying, head throbbing, nose bleeding into the toilet bowl all over again when there was a knock on the door. The knock might as well have been inside his skull, but he couldn’t move, could barely see past the haze clouding his periphery like it had after his fight with Billy. He cried as the knocking grew louder, more persistent, until it finally stopped.

He slumped forward, pressed his head into the cool porcelain. Lifting his hand to flush, he noticed a small, vibrant white petal floating amidst the red and black water, all of which, presumably, came out of him.

–can’t find it. Must be… rock. The mat?

Robin?

There was a click, then the sound of his front door opening. Slow, heavy footsteps up the stairs.

Dingus where the hell are you? Not in the bedroom… Please, Steve, I need help.

That got his attention, but as he’d gone to move, the bathroom door opened to a bloodstained Robin, eyes rimmed red, hair a mess, pale and gaunt like a ghost. She dropped to the ground next to him, practically draped herself over his back. And just like before, the pain receded so violently he vomited one last time. A full, yet slightly crumpled, flower floated amidst the yuck inside the toilet. 

It was a daisy.

“Daisies are my favorite,” Robin whispered. She held out her hand to him, dirty and covered in the same green stains as the ones on her shirt, and handed him a very small, miniature sunflower. “So I’m guessing–”

My favorite.

Eventually they’d figured out what works and what doesn’t. Talking on the phone everyday never helped, back to throwing up flowers after only a week. He’d started to pull the daisies out to dry, which Robin said was gross. She took them home with her anyways. 

But he’d borrowed Robin a sweatshirt that she took home with her, and by the fourth day, she was in better shape than he was, only a slight headache instead of Steve’s encroaching migraine. So they started exchanging clothes and quickly learned it wasn’t necessarily their clothes or possessions, but their scents. 

You smell kind of like sunflowers

“Robin, sunflowers don’t have a smell.”

She was face first in his pillow, day seventeen after a two-week family vacation to Key West, returning his comforter, and a myriad of t-shirts. They’d both gotten migraines, but no vomit-soaked flowers or bloody noses. So it was an improvement, overall.

I know they don’t. It’s more like, I don’t know, sunshine. Or fresh grass. A warm rain… like summer.

He’d jumped on her then, smothered her into his mattress until she was tickling him to get off her.

“What do I smell like?” she’d asked, casual but not quite casual enough. He smiled.

Like daisies. An open field full of wildflowers. A new song, or driving with the windows down. 

She smiled back at him, wide and genuine, packed full of love. And he knew, in that moment, he was happy to spend the rest of his life with her.

“Harrington,” Eddie cuts through his reminiscing. The guy looks like he’s trying not to be annoyed, which makes sense considering he’s attempting to be nice and Steve’s completely zoned out. 

Do you have another concussion? Is it rabies?

He sighs, quiet enough that hopefully Eddie doesn’t assume it’s aimed at him. No, Robs. Just a normal dingus-where-did-you-go zone out. Relax.

She shoots him another glare over her shoulder, but ultimately lets it go.

“Harrington, you still with us?” Eddie laughs it off like a joke, but his eyes are wide, and he’s pressing in close again.

He’s warm, and without thinking, Steve finds himself leaning towards him, too– like magnets.

What magnets?

Never mind, Robs, shut up.

“Yeah Munson, I’m still here.” Steve chuckles, and Eddie relaxes a tad. “Can’t get rid of me that easy. I’ve dealt with worse.”

“Worse than an under-water tentacle monster dragging you through hell on your bare-back and almost choking you to death?”

When Eddie puts it like that, Steve really does have to think about it. “What about throwing fireworks at a giant, mind-controlling flesh monster and getting tortured under Star Court by Russian spies who shot me and Robin up with mystery drugs?”

DINGUS! If we haven’t told the Party about our super powers you can’t tell a goddamn stranger like Munson!

Eddie’s eyes are wide and dark again. He chuckles a little too loud, almost deranged. “Yeah, you know what, Harrington, that might be worse.”

They continue to walk in silence. Well, Steve’s silent. He lets Eddie ramble, talking about Dustin, something called a Munson doctrine. He calls Steve a ‘good dude’ at which Steve hopes the sky is dark enough to hide his embarrassed flush.

Eddie says something about the girls jumping in to save him, but he leans in again when he says it, and all Steve can think about is how close he is, the light brush of Eddie’s knuckles against the back of his hand–

What…?

– and the comfort that settles over Steve when he catches Eddie smiling at him. They stop in unison, Eddie leans in close to whisper like it’s a secret.

“But Wheeler, right there, she didn’t waste a second. Not one second. She just dove right in.”

Eddie’s barely shorter than him, just enough that he looks up at Steve through his dark lashes, big, brown, puppy-dog eyes hooked onto his own. He knows guys can be handsome, but he thinks Eddie might be more pretty than handsome.

I’m sorry? What the fuck is happening back there!

“Now, I don’t know what happened between you two,” Eddie says, low and slow. His voice full of honey that soaks into Steve’s brain, the actual words lost in the overwhelming sweetness of everything that is Eddie. “But if I were you, I would get her back. ‘Cause that was as unambiguous a sign of true love as these cynical eyes have ever seen.”

Steve can’t stop staring at his lips. They’re so pink and fluffy and biteable, so he leans in, like instinct tells him. Eddie looks surprised, but brushes his finger tips against Steve’s own. He whispers, “Steve…?” like it’s more revelation than question. Eddie’s so close that Steve just–

“Are you fucking kidding me, Steven?” Robin shouts, incredulous and much too loud. Eddie flinches away from him, hides behind his hair like a turtle shrinking back into its shell. Steve’s shoulders droop in disappointment.

Disappointment? Wait. Did I almost just kiss–

“Eddie Munson?” Robin finishes his not-out-loud sentence.

“Buckley?” Eddie asks, nervous as the girl marches towards them, her eyes locked on Steve.

“Yes, Dingus!” Robin completely ignores Eddie’s response in favor of barreling up to Steve, finger so close to his face he goes cross-eyed. “Yes, you were, and oh my god I can’t believe you!”

Robs, I’m kind of freaking out right now. Can you please relax?

“You’re freaking out?” she shouts. Nancy shushes her, but it goes unnoticed. “I’m freaking out! After all this time, after Tammy fucking Thompson, this is happening right now? With– with– ” Robin wildly gestures to Munson. “Goddamn, Steve, you reek of sunflowers right now, oh my god! Just like when Joyce came into the store.”

It’s as dark as it always is, but a flash of red lighting illuminates the red painted across Eddie’s cheeks as he bites on his lip, looking nervous yet almost bashful as he pulls another larger strand of hair across his face.

“Sunflowers? What’s happening right now,” he whispers to Nancy, who shrugs. She answers with a casual, “I’m not sure, they do this a lot.”

“That’s not fair!” Steve quietly shouts back at her. “What’s wrong with–” he glances at Eddie, who flushes again. He’s so pale I bet he’s red down to his…

“Shut up, shut up, shut up!” Robin throws her hands over her ears and pinches her eyes closed.

Steve forces a smile to cover his gay panic. Shit, am I gay?

“No!” Robin slaps both her hands on either side of his head, mushing his cheeks together. “You’re not g–” she mushes her mouth shut, catching her slip-up just before it tumbled out of her. “And that’s not what that kind of panic means, so don’t call it that.”

“Panic?” Eddie asks, stepping towards them. His eyes are trained on Steve, flashing down to his lips, then back up to catch his gaze. Steve sees something like hope buried beneath Eddie’s tough guy demeanor. “But I thought–” he glances at Nancy before quickly looking away.

Robin rolls her eyes at him, and Eddie backs off a bit. Except his look doesn’t go unnoticed.

“Me?” Nancy asks. “What about me?”

Robin, don’t–

But it’s too late, because at that question, everyone turns to look at Steve.

Over the past few months, Steve’s started growing out his hair. It’s not really in style, but he’s seen a few guys with long hair, and they looked really good. Right now, he wishes it was long enough so he could hide behind it like Eddie. But, then again, he’d also tried growing a mustache, since Freddy Mercury had amazing style– Steve’s always like Queen.

Except my mustache never looked as good as his, so I bet long hair wouldn’t either. Maybe the short hair helps highlight it, like his cheekbones.

Jesus Christ, you’re so obvious. I can crack Russian spy code phrases enough to break into an underground military base but apparently I can’t spot a bisexual within five feet of me.

Steve sighs, dragging his hands down his face at Robin’s inside-mind rambling. Nancy, however, takes it to mean something much different. “Oh, Steve, no.” Her voice is pitying and too nice and it reminds him painfully of the last few months of their relationship. Like she’s talking to a child. “Steve, I’m so sorry, but– I still love Jonathan.”

“I know, Nance, that’s not–”

“Are you kidding me, Wheeler?” Eddie screeches. Steve really doesn’t understand how they’re so lucky that they haven’t been hunted down and eaten by now. 

Eddie’s thrown his hands up in the air, all theatrics as he gawks at her. She backs off, surprised, but quickly recovers and squints her eyes at him, crossing her arms as he continues to ramble. 

“After everything that’s happened? Steve ripping off his sweater, jumping out of the boat and beating a bat to death, then biting its head off, all while soaking wet. I mean, the way he spit that blood out.” Nancy cringes, and yeah, Steve feels the same way, knows he'll be tasting that black sludge in his nightmares. 

Now that’s gay panic.

I thought that’s not what that means, Rob

Ugh, I regret teaching you things.

Eddie’s still on a roll. “He was so… I mean,” Eddie throws his arms out towards Steve, showing him off like he’s a prized cow, “look at him, Wheeler! And you’re picking Byers?”

To Steve’s surprise, the glowering ferocity in Nancy’s face morphs into a coy smile, eyebrows raised in question to an answer she’s already figured out. Because that’s how Nancy Wheeler, journalist extraordinaire, gets her story. She reads people.

Before Eddie well and truly freaks out at the turn in Nancy’s demeanor, she winks at Steve out of the corner of her eye. “Joyce Byers?” She giggles and rolls her eyes. 

Then, in a mortifying turn of events, Nancy pulls a strand of her brown, curly hair in front of her face, forces her eyes open, doe-eyed and almost brown under the dark sky, looking up at him through her lashes, then darts her gaze to Eddie. 

Ha! You have a type! Wait, how did Nancy clock you faster than–

“Okay!” It bursts from Steve’s chest, loud enough it shocks the rest of them. They stand quiet, listening to the mundane noises around them, and breathe a sigh of relief at the resounding silence. “This has been fun, really, but why don’t we all just keep going so we can get the hell out of here and go find my– I mean our– no, the little shits.”

This is why they call you mom.

“I’m not a goddamn mom, Robin, how many damn times do I have to tell you guys that?”

“If you’re mommy, does that mean I’m daddy?” The words slip through Eddie’s mouth and, unfortunately, bury themselves into Steve’s brain. Now Steve’s not sure who’s blush is hotter, his or Eddie’s. He’d guess maybe Eddie’s, judging by the way the man grabs Nancy’s arm and hauls her away at a half sprint. 

She laughs at him, lighthearted, and slings her arm through his as they walk side by side. Steve watches as she leans her head towards Eddie’s whispering something into his ear that finally has the man’s shoulder’s relaxing. He bumps his shoulder against hers, and she returns the gesture.

Robin turns to look at Steve, really look, with sad, concerned eyes and a twist to her mouth.

I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have freaked out like that. It just caught me off guard I guess.

Steve places a light kiss on her dirty forehead. She smiles, grabs his hand in hers, and squeezes once.

“I love you too, Rob.”

[kedreeva]

Happy winter solstice! The light begins to return tomorrow!!

[kedreeva]

#ok but like#DO hawks avoid black chickens? (via @oodles-of-boodle)

Oh. No, they don't.

Lady on Facebook: do hawks really avoid black chickens?

This guy:

I can't breathe what the fuck 😂

[kedreeva]

The flying foxes was a fair shot fired, but the sugar gliders shot was not. Sugar gliders are just as capable of gliding as flying squirrels, and just as incapable of true flight

vs "flying" squirrels

But I would also like to say australia's endemic flying squirrel is actually called a squirrel glider (which is NOT another name for sugar glider, they're different species). Just to confuse things further.

And as if that was not enough.

According to this study, "sugar gliders" kept in captivity in the USA may actually not be sugar gliders, either. DNA samples compared across native sugar glider populations and captive populations suggest they're actually Krefft's Gliders.

Anyway, this thread is why tumblr is better than facebook. if you're wrong on facebook people just believe you (and then repeat it endlessly and dig in if anyone tries to correct them). If you're wrong on tumblr people come outta the woodwork to drag you until sources start getting cited. whether or not those citations have anything to do with the original topic is a crap shoot.

Lady on Facebook: do hawks really avoid black chickens?

This guy:

I can't breathe what the fuck 😂

[kedreeva]

There are good things in this world still

Today, I sat in a parking lot and cranked up my music and ate taco bell like a raccoon at a garbage can and it was glorious. Very delicious. I am a weak autistic white girl from Michigan, the taco bell creamy jalapeno sauce is too spicy for me but I will endure it for a cantina chicken hard taco. But I can't do anything else while eating it.

Today I gave Bug the wheat grass sprouts tray to forage from and she had a blast eating sprouts. I took some to the outside birds, who were all terrified of them but I assume who actually ate all of them as soon as someone braved eating one. There's still half a tray left growing and the other half now has micro greens starting to sprout.

Today, I made myself a little charcuterie plate for dinner. The black grapes I got are enormous. They were delightful.

Today, I added words to a story I've been writing, and told a lovely story idea to try friends.

Today, I rewatched Twisters, and enjoyed it all over again. It really is a lovely movie.

There are good things left in this world, however small. This is your opportunity to reblog this and share your good things with each other, or check the notes if you need a reminder.

[kedreeva]

Lady on Facebook: do hawks really avoid black chickens?

This guy:

I can't breathe what the fuck 😂

[kedreeva]

To anyone who sees this, I hope you have an experience of whimsy today. I hope you see something utterly joyful, silly, and ridiculous, and I hope you see it and smile. I wish that for you today.

[kedreeva]

hope is a skill