#catastrophe canyon

[frogshunnedshadows]

Disney-MGM Studios Backlot Tour section of the park map, 2002.

I still do love that behind-the-scenes stuff. Also, great theming / branding for the tour itself. *chef's kiss*

[moonshynecybin]

i really do need to write rosquez whitewater kayaking au don’t i. like actually and for real.

[flwrkid14]

Training the Bat Way (aka Bruce’s Terrible Parenting 101)

Bruce Wayne, aka the Dark Knight, aka the absolute worst, has this little training exercise that the entire family unanimously despises. He calls it “building resilience” or “preparing for the unexpected.” The rest of the family calls it Bruce’s stupid sleep-deprivation kidnapping game.

Here’s how it works: Bruce waits until you’re at your absolute lowest—after a grueling week of non-stop patrols, minimal sleep, and a near-catastrophic Gotham meltdown. Once you’ve finally collapsed into a dead sleep (and sometimes, after he’s sneakily slipped you a sedative to make sure you stay asleep), he picks you up, sticks you on a plane, and drops you off in the middle of nowhere. Sometimes it’s a remote village in the mountains; sometimes it’s the bustling heart of a city on the other side of the planet. The challenge? Find your way home.

Occasionally, Bruce will leave you with some supplies: a wallet, maybe a burner phone, a little equipment if he’s feeling generous. But more often than not, you’ll wake up with absolutely nothing. No money, no ID, no tools—just the clothes on your back and a pounding headache from whatever the hell Bruce drugged you with.

Some highlights of Bruce’s 'training' include:

• Dick waking up in the middle of Germany with nothing but his expired driver’s license and missing socks (He'd hidden cash in them, so he can only guess Bruce found it).

• Steph regaining consciousness in Iceland with a crumpled €5 euro and zero idea how to exchange it for local currency.

• Damian waking up in the middle of the Sahara Desert. No gear. No money. Nothing but sand and the distant memory of Bruce’s smug face.

• Tim once took over a month to get home from a tiny town in Thailand. By the time he made it back to Gotham, he’d created an entire fake identity, complete with forged documents, an elaborate backstory, and several new international contacts. Bruce called it “impressive.” Tim called it traumatizing.

• Cass, of course, took this completely in stride. Woke up in India, dismantled a shady criminal organization she stumbled across, and then casually returned to Gotham two days later like nothing had happened. When asked how she managed it, she just shrugged.

• Duke waking up in the Grand Canyon with his phone at 1% and a granola bar in his pocket. He got home in less than a day, having hitched a ride, bartered his way onto a train, and charmed a group of tourists into helping him. He also got himself a pet chameleon on the way, somehow.

• Jason refuses to talk about his turn, but based on the suspicious amount of diplomatic immunity he now has in several Eastern European countries, it’s safe to say he didn’t play by Bruce’s rules.

If they’re lucky, Bruce leaves them somewhere within the U.S., in which case the Wayne name might help speed up the process. But outside of the States? Forget it. Flashing a “Wayne” credit card can cause more problems than it solves (That's if they're even lucky enough to have a credit card to flash in the first place).

To the rest of the family, this whole thing is less of a “training exercise” and more of a weird, sadistic game Bruce plays when he thinks they’re getting too soft. And no matter how many times they complain, Bruce insists it’s “for their own good.” Because of course he does.

The thing is, they all do get home. Eventually. And yeah, maybe they come back stronger or sharper or whatever excuse Bruce uses to justify it. But at what cost? (Mostly their sanity and a burning hatred of international airline fees.)

Still, the Bats have learned to adapt. They’ve formed their own set of unspoken rules:

1. Always keep some emergency cash hidden somewhere on your person (And hope Bruce doesn't find it, because he will take it).

2. Never, ever fully trust that glass of water Bruce hands you after patrol.

3. And if you wake up in the middle of nowhere, the first step is simple: curse Bruce Wayne’s name as loudly and creatively as possible. Then get to work.

Because at the end of the day, they will get home. And they’ll probably sucker-punch Bruce the second they do.

[thecreelhouse]

one breathes life unto the other

Paring: Steve Harrington x Reader (GN terms & pronouns, reader has breasts & a vagina)

This is part two of one sin leads to another (both also on ao3), I highly suggest reading this first so you’re not lost! Also, this is the end of this little two-part fic. MDNI!

Summary: The catastrophic destruction of Hawkins leaves Steve utterly hopeless. You refuse to give up on him, trying to find a shred of comfort to offer among tragedy.

WC: 10k+

Includes: angst, hurt/comfort, a lot of grief and survivor’s guilt, suicidal ideations, PTSD, mentions of blood and wounds, mentions of memory loss, brief appearances of other characters, friends to lovers, fuck-ton of feelings, smut— handjob, soft dom!reader, sub!steve, dirty talk, PiV sex (unprotected), nipple play, oral fixation, praise kink, etc.

A/N: I wanted this out months ago, but life happened. This one is heavier than the first, focusing on Steve’s feelings/pain post-s4 destruction, but there’s comfort smut and a realistic happy ending as promised. If it’s not your cup of tea, I understand. Please heed the warnings if you decide to read! I appreciate y’all so much<3 title is from dusk - chelsea wolfe, and dividers from @strangergraphics!

Despite only just reconnecting with your childhood best friend again, you still knew the way to Steve’s house like the back of your hand.

What you weren’t so great at navigating were the roads all torn to shreds, cracked wide open. Down the street, you can see the front of Steve’s house, with no smoke or fire in sight; you assume his was one of the lucky ones that weren’t sucked into the ground.

Rolling to a stop, feet away from a fissure in the ground, you sigh; foot on the brake, chin atop your resting hands on the wheel, you break the silence.

“Steve?”

He barely has the energy to acknowledge you, weakly humming in response. It’s hard to fight the weight tugging his eyes shut, but he somehow manages to.

“I don’t think I can get any closer to your house from here.”

You offered to drive, after all was said and done; everyone was hurting, emotionally, physically, but you knew Steve was in no shape to be behind the wheel.

“S’just a bump in the road,” he murmurs, not bothering to peer out the windows. 

“I’m not wrecking your car trying to get through this shit.”

“Drive in the grass. Who cares?” He still won’t look out the window, stare landing on you instead. “All these fucks are gonna move after tonight anyway.”

Steve’s not wrong about his neighbors, wealthy enough to quickly find homes elsewhere, you know that. Hell, his parents will probably never set foot in Hawkins again after tonight; won’t even come home to assess the damage, gather personals, just leave a mess for their son to handle.

But the damage hasn’t discriminated what paths to take; some houses are crumbled wrecks, too, falling into the mini canyons the earthquake created. If you could even call it that.

“It’s not safe—“

“I don’t even care if the car gets scratched up—“

“Even if I found a way around this shit, there’s a chance we’d fall right through the ground.”

Silence falls between the two of you, and you wonder if Steve fell asleep. Seconds of quiet feel like hours, but he eventually answers, and it’s not one you’d like to hear.

“Fuck it. Not like this was worth surviving anyway.”

Your heart sinks, and it sinks fast. Never once have you heard him so hopeless before. Not even in the past day.

“Steve, don’t say that—“

“Bet it was nice to just… be asleep during this shit.” He throws a hand out to the ruins of a nearby house, void of any faith left in existence. “Not even know the ground opened up wide under your house, die in your sleep— it- it’d be so quick, you’d never even know. You’d be stuck in a dream, forever.” 

You want to counter that with the fact his dreams— more often than not, are nightmares— but you hold your tongue.

The last 24 hours alone have changed you drastically; you can only imagine the amount of change Steve has undergone time, and time again these last several years. But this isn’t him; no past, present, future version of him would ever sound like this.

 This is a polar opposite of the Steve you’ve always known.

You blink away tears, scorching hot, while your throat threatens to close, aching as you do your best not to give into your emotions.

Don’t be a crybaby. Don’t cry, don’t cry, please don’t fucking—

“How can you say that?”

No tears, not yet, thankfully. You’re shaking, though.

“It’s true—“

“It’s not true, Steve. I- I can’t imagine how awful this all feels, how heavy this weighs on your heart every time something terrible happens, but you can’t believe that.”

“Well, I do, so deal with—“

Rage shoves sorrow into the backseat, takes control before your mind can catch up with your mouth. You slam your hand on the steering wheel.

“Don’t you dare tell me to “deal” with you feeling so hopeless like it’s… like it’s some fucking chore. I know you feel awful, you have every right to, but I’m not going to ignore the way you’re talking, either.” Resting your head on the wheel, you sniffle harshly. “Eddie is dead, an- and Max… she’s barely hanging on. I am not trying to guilt you, but goddammit, Steve, this group can’t afford to lose you, too.”

You take a deep, shaky breath, sitting up again.

“Dustin looks up to you and Eddie, you’re both practically older brothers to that kid.” Steve slinks down in his seat, almost trying to make himself small, picking away at the callouses on his fingers. “Don’t make that harder on him.”

A mirthless laugh bubbles out of his chest. “Now you’re definitely guilting me—“

“Fine! Maybe I am! A- and maybe that’s fucked up, but we all need you. We need you here.”

“Always needed, but no one ever wants me to need them.”

You’re balancing on a line between empathy and anger, a very dangerous, thin, wavering line. So, you don’t respond, you only reverse his car away from the fissures, find a safe enough spot to park it on the street, cutting the engine. 

“Get up. We’re walking.”

“What?”

You’re already out of the car, slamming the door behind you; rounding the hood, you tug his door open, hand outstretched towards him.

“Out.”

“Just leave me here.”

“I—“

A shrill static flows out of the walkie on the floor of his car, followed by a tinny voice.

“Hey… what’s the status on your house, Dingus?”

Dustin cuts in, “Robin, you’re supposed to say ‘over!’” He sighs dramatically.

The sound of the kid’s voice— somehow strong enough to still be a little shit after the traumatic night— brings tears to Steve’s worn eyes, fixated on the floor. He can’t bring himself to grab the walkie to respond, so you do.

“Uh, we have to park a few houses away, the street’s all torn up. I think his house is safe, though.” You’re quick to add, “Over”, before Dustin can scold you. While Steve rubs his glazed-over eyes, a hint of a chuckle escapes him. It gives some relief; an ounce, but it’s relief, nonetheless.

While you give the others the rundown, you watch Steve disconnect from the present, face blank and weary stare off in the distance. They agree to meet at his house, since everyone else’s are blocked off by carnage, or completely uninhabitable from the destruction.

Next step: convincing Steve that rotting away in the car isn’t an option.

“Do you want me to help you out? Or do you want to wait for Robin? Because she might drag you out.” You feel like you’re trying to bargain with a child mid-tantrum. He scoffs, crossing his arms; how fitting. “And if she doesn’t, you know damn well Dustin will. Do not make that child drag your grown ass out of this car—“

“Okay, okay, Jesus.” Cautiously, he climbs out, hands gripping the door’s frame. His stare flits to yours, only for a moment; it falls to the cracked ground. “I’m sorry. This— I can’t stop thinking— it just feels like…”

Steve trails off, unable to either find the right words, or unable to speak them into existence. You give him a moment, but he just runs his hand through his hair with a sigh.

“C’mon.” Gingerly, you wind your arm around his torso, tucking it under his arms to help him walk. It’s impossible to remember where his wounds are under his shirt and jacket, so you do your best to keep a gentle hold; he winces as your hand brushes against a raw spot. “Sorry, should I let go?”

It embarrasses him how quickly he responds, swallowing down his pain as he gasps, “Please don’t.”

“S’okay, I got you.”

What should be a five minute walk feels like an hour long trek, weaving around the fissures and splits in the ground; illuminating red, the sweltering heat radiates out, while thick smoke billows out of a few. Some neighbors are missing their cars, or parts of their house have been swallowed by the ground beneath them. You wonder how many of them were home when this happened.

You wonder how many of them are still alive.

Steve has to pause every now and then, catch his breath and assess the surroundings; one wrong step could be fatal for the two of you. 

“God, I can’t wait to sleep,” He murmurs as his house comes into full view. A sigh of relief spills out at the sight of his house completely intact— at least, from the front, it seems. “Gonna crash as soon as we get in.”

“You can’t go to bed like that, you’ve got…” You give him a once-over, grimacing, “… Upside Down gunk on you.” He snorts as you make your point. “And you have to clean your wounds.”

“Yeah, do I? Thought I’d let them get gross this time around.”

“Ha-ha. Very funny.”

The rest of the journey is uneventful, much to your relief; you get Steve inside and help him up the stairs. He begins to wander to his bedroom, but you gently redirect him, hands on his shoulders, pushing him into the bathroom. 

“Nope. You’re gross. I’m gross. I can guarantee we’re both still covered in each other’s—“

Steve groans, more out of disgust than anything.

“God, yeah, okay. Yeah.” He carelessly shrugs his jacket off onto the tile floor. Dirt, soot, and dried blood sprinkle off the leather, tainting the pristine surface. “I’ll… tomorrow.” He’s too tired to care about complete sentences right now.

Removing his shirt is another story; the fabric catches on his bandaging before he can pull it over his head. He winces, hissing in pain. 

Blood soaked through his makeshift bandaging from his wounds— which really should’ve been re-dressed by now, but there were bigger concerns at hand. Now, it’s been— and still is— seeping through the fabric, through his shirt, sticking it uncomfortably to his skin as it dried over, and over, against the gashes on his torso.

The discomfort makes his head spin, like he hadn’t paid much attention to the severity of his injuries until this moment; he reaches for the edge of the bathroom sink, breathing shakily.

“Did it— is it kinda hot in here?”

“Hm? No, I kinda think it’s a little cold— shit—“

Steve’s knees buckle, and you don’t completely catch him in time, but you attempt to anyway. Quickly, you throw your arms out behind him as he falls; you lose your balance as he stumbles back against your chest, slamming against a wall.

“Okay,” you groan, holding onto him tightly. “You need to be at the hospital, not here—“

The fear in his eyes reflects in the mirror before you, breaking your heart.

“Yeah, no, that’s not an option—“

“It’ll have to be if you’re just gonna bleed out on the floor—“

“Well maybe that’s for the best,” he grumbles, finding his footing again only to lower himself clumsily to the floor. “The room’s spinning like I have the worst hangover, I have a headache the size of Alaska, and—“ He squints up at you, frowning. “There weren’t four of you before, when did that happen?”

“Yeah, I’m calling 911–“

Steve uses the little strength left in him to grab your ankle, anchoring you in place to the floor.

“Don’t.” He forces himself to sit up, wincing with a sharp hiss. “M’fine, and there’s no reason for me to take up a bed a the hospital when someone else might need it more.”

You drop back down to the floor in front of him, “Are you fucking kidding me right now?” Sounding more wounded than pissed, Steve can’t meet your gaze; he averts his stare as he tilts his head back against the wall, staring up at the ceiling. “For once, can you stop putting others needs before your own? You mean well, I get it, but you need help, too.”

“I can’t go.”

“Give me one good reason why not.”

That’s when you notice a tear cascade down his face, then another, and another.

“I’ve never seen anyone outside of our friends deal with this shit. What if I— shit, this is so stupid—“

You take his hand in yours, embracing it with a reassuring squeeze.

“If it upsets you, it’s not stupid at all.” 

His eyes screw shut, attempting to stop the tears, but his body betrays him, only letting them flow freely.

“I can barely handle seeing any of our friends getting hurt, and I just know if I see anyone else we know, it’ll make all this shit more real. A- and I can’t see Max. I know we should visit, but—”

“Steve, it was only a few hours ago. They’re taking care of her, and probably wouldn’t allow visitors anyway, and you’re in no condition to check on others right now.”

His shoulders jump as he suppresses a sob, but it’s no use when the dam breaks. He blankets his face with his empty hand, splaying it over his spiraling expression. He shouts into his palm, voice raw from agony, “We shouldn’t be living through this shit- why the fuck are we living through this shit?!” 

Sliding closer, you keep your voice calm, even as it wavers with the threat of your own cries; somehow it’s easier to push your emotions aside to take care of Steve, though.

“We shouldn’t… and I don’t know why, but we’ve survived it this far, so we gotta keep going.”

Steve shakes his head, his cries steadying into full-blown sobs. Hand falling away from his face, you notice how swollen his eyes are already.

“I don’t want to, I don’t fucking want to!” He removes his hand from your own, glaring back at you. “I don’t want to be strong, or brave, or any of this fucking bullshit.  I just want to go to sleep, and never wake up. I want th- this shit to go away. I want to go away.”

It’s years of turmoil, torment, and trauma, all spilling over into what he believes to be a last ditch effort to end the suffering.

“Can’t help my friends—“

“You do, Steve—“

“One of them is dead!” He’s inconsolable; while it’s better to let out the emotions than bottle them up, you’re scared of the way he’s spiraling so rapidly. “One of them is dead, one is barely alive, we all got hurt one way or another— I couldn’t— I just want everyone to be safe, but I can’t even protect anyone.”

“It’s not your job, and realistically, you can’t protect everyone. No one can. We do our best to watch each other’s backs, help out where we can—“

“And you,” his bottom lip curls into a trembling pout, while his bloodshot eyes bore into your own. “You could’ve been killed, and it’s my fault you were hurt to begin with. Then those— the fucking vines, god, the more I think about it, the more I realize how insanely fucked up that was.”

“But we survived, Steve. I’m okay, I promise.”

“That shit was against our will,” voice cracking, he runs his hands through his hair, tugging with stress. “Wh- what the fuck do you mean you’re okay?!”

You scoot closer, hands softly grabbing his face on either side. 

“I’m okay, ‘cause it was with you. I wish you never went through that, never even saw what happened, but you saved me anyway.” Calmly, you reassure him you’re fine. Granted, you’re not, you’re far from fine, really, but you’re more stable than he is right now; if he won’t take care of himself tonight, you will.

His grip slips out of his hair, expression softening with your touch. 

“We’re beat up, and mentally, we’re fucked. For life, probably, just from those stupid fucking vines.” Tilting your head forward, you rest against his, sighing. Steve shudders with a small, broken noise, face twisting up with grief. His tears drip onto your cheeks while he reaches out to you. “But we’re alive, we’re home.”

He brings you closer, cautious of the physical state you’re both in. The moment he ducks his head into the crook of your neck, the cries build back up.

“I don’t want this to be home anymore.“

“I know, sweetheart,” you hold him close, choking back your own tears. 

There’s no bright side to look to, no silver lining hiding in the clouds; you have no words of comfort that’ll actually relieve his pain. Reassuring he’s not alone won’t do much here either.

What the fuck do you do? How do you convince him surviving this tragic, reoccurring, living nightmare is worth it?

Instead, you let him sob it out, whisper anything you can think of to remind him you care, his friends care, that it’s worth sticking around than disappearing forever.

 Time is lost on the both of you, and if he needed all the time in the world to cry on your shoulder, you’d let him. When he starts calming down, he begins to murmur something into your shoulder, but makes a frustrated huff.

“What’s on your mind?”

“Will you… would you mind… helping?” He nervously asks, face still squished against you shoulder, breath tickling your throat. “Helping me, I mean… with the- in the—“

Steve has put everyone first for so long, it’s as if he forgot how to ask for help for himself. You realize it’s not that he doesn’t want to ask, he doesn’t really know how. Not without feeling like a bother to others, or that his problems are minuscule to anyone else’s.

“Of course, I’d help you with anything, y’know.”

He slides back, loosening his grip with a teensy, tiny, fraction of a smirk, “Anything? You’d rob a bank with me?” 

“I’d even bury a body for you,” you joke, but cringe at yourself; the timing isn’t the best.

Read the fucking room.

Yet he allows his smile to grow, not much, but enough for it to be visible. “For me? Not with me?”

Snorting, you roll your eyes teasingly, rising to stand with your hands held out. “Can you stand?”

It takes patience, soothing encouragement, and keeping him upright to get him undressed and into the shower safely. Unfortunately, that’s not the hardest part of this process.

Steve leans against the shower wall while you strip quickly, worried to watch him collapse again. As you fiddle with the water temperature, you hear his breath hitch; you glance over your shoulder to check on him, still facing the shower head.

“What’s wrong?”

His gaze is fixated on your back, eyes wide with concern.

“Why didn’t you tell me you were hurt?”

Your brows scrunch together, turning to him as the water finally feels comfortable enough. “What are you talking about?”

Trembling hands gently spin you around by your shoulders while he examines your back.

“Shit…” He breathes, fingers gliding along your skin. “Your back is all scraped up.”

“Goddammit.” Poking your head out of the shower, you glance down to your shirt on the floor; sure enough, there’s blood stains on the back of the garment. “Is it bad?”

“The marks don’t look deep—“

“Then I’m fine.” You push past the sharp stinging in your wounds as water rolls over them. 

“Bullshit.”

“Fine, okay, yeah. Compared to you, though, I’m okay, so let’s clean you up first, alright?”

Steve’s first instinct is to argue, but one glance at the look you give, and he bites his tongue instead. Allows you to guide him under the water, murmuring for him to take his time. You brace yourself for his cries as the blood and grime washes out of the gashes on his body, but they’re nonexistent.

It hurts, it really, really fucking hurts, more than any other injuries he’s had in the past— and that’s saying a lot after everything he’s endured, yet he can’t react. His emotions feel frozen, stuck in between bottling them back up, and breaking down all over again.

“I hate that you’re quiet right now,” you suds up soap between your hands. “If you need to cry, or scream, or whatever helps, you can.”

Steve shakes his head, stare far away in some distant thoughts, exactly like earlier, while trying to coax him out of the car.

“Okay… well, you’re safe with me. You know that, right?”

“Don’t want to scare you after… all of that.” He means the outburst he had— minutes, maybe hours, who fucking knows— ago.

“After tonight, you’re the farthest thing from scary.”

The light teasing leads him back, just enough, to the present, to you; he snorts, and it brings you some relief.

“Was I scary before?”

“Oh, the scariest,” you quip, careful to keep your touch light as you massage soap onto his forearms. He groans as you sweep your fingers along his biceps, aching from exertion. His limbs feel heavy with pain and grief, but your touch is a soothing balm amidst the suffering. “Never met anyone as scary as you.”

He’s not used to this, being doted on with extra care and precision, and the bonus hint of playfulness, too— but maybe he can get used to it, as long as it’s with you.

You take your time, washing around his wounds, trying to avoid and divert any soap slipping into his wounds. It surprises you how still he stays, but you notice the way his jaw tightens when your fingers wander too close to some of the gashes. 

“You doing alright?”

“Kinda, y- yeah, nothing I can’t handle,” he mirrors your words from earlier, after the vines finally released you. 

“Can you turn around for me?”

Steve’s eyes snap wide open, “What? Why?”

Your brows knit together, “So I can clean up your back too?”

“Oh. Right.” He turns, hands planted on the shower wall for support. You continue your meticulous work of cleaning away dried blood and soot from the Upside Down off his skin. In time, he’s free of any filth that hell left behind.

Tenderly, you massage any areas far enough away from the wounds, hoping it brings some relief.  It’s relief in itself to watch his shoulders relax, while he releases a soft sigh. It goes on like this for a bit, until you get closer to Steve’s hips. That’s when he tenses up again.

“Does it hurt?”

“No,” he strains out.

You’re not buying it. “Steve, what’s wrong?”

He doesn’t answer you, rather, mutters to himself, “Christ, am I really—“ Steve forces a laugh, hair flopping forward as the water weighs it down. Sighing, he leans his head against the wall, eyes shut. “Ah, fuck.”

“What’s up?” Your hands wind around his hips, fingers brushing low against his hard-on. “Oh. Well, I guess you’re up.”

It bubbles a laugh out of him, a real one; it’s weak, but you’ll take it.

“Wow, that was—“

“Smooth, right? I know.”

He doesn’t answer, only turns slowly, hand splayed out against the tiled wall for support.

“Second time in 24 hours I’m hard when I shouldn’t be. That’s fucking embarrassing,” he mutters, shaking his head with a bashful smile. You quirk a brow at him, a smirk curling along your lips.

“Second time? When was the first?”

Steve’s eyes meet yours over his shoulder, before looking away. He murmurs, “When I found you.”

Oh. Duh.

“Why are you embarrassed? It happens. The— getting hard part, I mean. Not the whole… weird mind-controlling pollen that turned us into insatiable freaks thing, that… that doesn’t happen. Often. Ever. At all.”

The two of you hold one another’s stare for a second before bursting into a fit of laughter. He’s caught up in the brief moment of joy, he doesn’t notice you step closer, eyes pinching shut as he snorts. Not until your hand slides around his shaft, then the laughter dies abruptly; his breath hitches for a moment, then he shakily exhales.

In a languid motion, you stroke him with one hand, while the other finds his face, palm resting on his cheek. His head lolls into your touch with a whimper.

“Hey, you don’t— it’s— don’t feel like you have to do this.”

“I know I don’t. I want to.” Your thumb rolls over the head, catching a bead of pre from the slit. You laugh softly, hand sliding down to his neck while you kiss the opposite side.“Actually, what I really want is to get on my knees for you, but there’s no way I’d get back up right now.”

Steve begins to smile, but you stroke him just right, enough pressure over that prominent vein to lure out a beautiful, breathy moan.

Without disturbing his injuries, you lean as close as possible into him, head resting on his shoulder to gaze up at the pleasure written all over his face. The blush on his face has crept down his neck, spreading along his chest; you can feel the heat under his skin turning red. His eyes screw shut as he bites his lip, muffling the sweet sounds you’ve grown to love in the last 24 hours.

For a split second, Steve appears tortured in his expression, but sinks deeper into bliss. Your hand on his length slows, while the other lets go of him, concerned.

“Are you alright? Does it hurt?”

He shakes his head frantically, managing to look down at you without losing it right there. 

“N- no, it— pl- please keep going.”

 His back arches off of the wall, reminiscent of the way he writhed on the floor for you earlier. Now, though, he’s not bound by vines, nor is he in a frenzy, looking for a way to put the fire out. It’s your gentle touch turning him to putty; a drastic contrast from the way you treated one another in the Upside Down. One hand slides around your waist, holding you even closer, while the other cradles the back of your head, kissing the top and lingering there. His moans are quieted while he nuzzles into your wet hair.

 God. This man is un-fucking-real.

“When you said no one ever wants you to need them… that just isn’t true,” you mumble into his neck. “I need you, and I want you to need me, too.” You’re trying not to get emotional while giving your friend— boyfriend? whatever— a hand job, but the vulnerability won’t stop pouring out. “I’ve always wanted you. I’ve always needed you. And I’ve always wanted you to feel the same.”

Steve tucks his head against your shoulder, “Close…”

“You’re so good, Steve. So good to everyone. So good to me.” You wish you could shut up, you’re probably ruining the moment, but it’s true. It’s all true. The praise seems to spur him on, regardless; he’s thrusting into your fist and panting. “Shhh… let me take care of you, for once. I got you. Do you trust me?”

“Yeah, I- I do,” he’s whining into your skin, sucking marks along your shoulder. “I trust y- you, I  really—“ He chokes back a wavering whimper.

“Don’t be afraid to be loud with me,” you reassure him, stroking him at a steady, delicious pace. “S’okay, Stevie. I got you.”

Just as Steve finally reaches his peak, about to release some of the most sinful, beautiful moans you’ve ever heard, the front door slams shut.

“Hellooooo?”

Eyes clamped shut, he bucks wildly in your grip, whimpers building into those sounds you were oh so lucky to hear earlier. You already know from experience he is loud, and you just encouraged it, but you’re forced to mute his audible bliss, throwing your hand over his mouth.

Steve’s eyes spring open, glancing down at the hand over his mouth, trailing his gaze to you, only to nearly cross as they roll back. The vibrations from his moans shake you to your core, but never mind that. He spills over— your hand, the shower floor, his stomach, your leg— it’s all a mess, matching his demeanor. 

“Good boy,” you whisper, rewarding him with soft, slow kisses, planted along his neck, under his jaw. He shudders, your hand still guiding him through the last of his climax, but then he jolts under your touch, squirming and panting under your palm. Barely finished, another wave of pleasure rolls through him, and he’s shooting pearly, thick ropes everywhere again.

“Is that really all it takes to get you off? Just some praise and kisses?” Steve nods aggressively, eyes fluttering shut as he slumps against the wall. “Fuck, that’s hot.”

“Are you guys here?!”

His head falls back against the tile, catching his breath. “Ah, shit.”

“Yeah… um, sorry for the whole ‘be loud for me’ thing… kinda got carried away and forgot they’re coming over.” When your hand slips away, he gives a drained, yet content smirk. 

“Thought this whole time—“ He holds a finger up, trying to ease his breathing steadily. With lids still hooded, he glances over your way, smirking ever so slightly. “— You weren’t into taking control.”

“What? Why do you say that?”

“I thought it was just that pollen and the vines earlier.”

BANG!

“Christ on a fucking—“

“I hope you’re not dead in there!”

“We’re actually far from it—“ Steve slaps his palm over your mouth this time, glaring as you whine.

Well. This is horrible timing.

“We’re alive, just— just give us a minute!”

“Us?” Nancy’s tone would pair well with a pearl-clutching expression. “Are they—“

“You two are gross!” Robin chastises through the door, kicking it for emphasis. “Wasn’t once enough?!”

 Dustin gasps, “Once? Wait, are you saying—“

“I can’t believe this is happening right now,” Steve grumbles under your palm, head falling onto yours, sighing. You pull his hand off your mouth, rolling your eyes.

“Steve was bleeding out, and I was trying to— ugh—“ Frustration overwhelms you while calling out your defense; to be fair, you’re not lying, just… not telling the entire truth. “— can y’all for once, just once, not make it weird?!”

Though they don’t sound like they’re buying it, Robin, Nancy, and Dustin murmur apologies through the door before walking away.

Sighing with relief, Steve’s arm slides around your waist, reeling you in closer. Water continues to tumble down between your bodies, rinsing away evidence of his arousal. Under calmer, lighthearted conditions, you’d be happy to clean him with your—

“Hey,” Steve’s hand cradles your face, leaning in to kiss you softly; it’s quick, but reassuring, breaking you from your thoughts. “Thank you. For taking care of me, I mean.” He’s got a dazed smile on his face, one that doesn’t reach his eyes, but he’s content, just enough in this moment.

“Not sure if you’re thanking me for making sure you didn’t bleed to death, or for the handjob, but you’re welcome—“ He clasps a hand over your mouth again, eyes wide.

“Shhh!”

“Not even 24 hours ago, you were railing me with a buncha’ fucking vines—“

“Oh my god.” With a groan, he glares at you, “Please shut up—“

“And now you’re too shy to talk about a handj—“

Both hands fly up to cover your mouth, which you only giggle under them.

“You’re so lucky we’re not alone right now.” It’s cute, watching him try to take control all on his own; he’s a flustered mess without the pollen running through his system.

“Oh, please, like you’re in any state to fuck me at all.” You slip out of his grasp before he can pathetically try to silence you once more. He rolls his eyes, but again, a hint of a smirk lingers.“Lemme bandage you up before we go downstairs.”

“Hang on,” he grabs your hand, stare falling to your back again. “Gotta take care of your back, first.”

“It’s fine, really—“ Hands flying to your hips, Steve gently leads you under the water again. His forehead rests against yours, lips brushing together.

“Let me take care of you, too.” 

He sounds so broken, desperate to repair something within him by doing what he knows best— putting others before himself.

You don’t have the heart to deny him right now; with a simple nod, you allow him to dote on you, too.

“Fucked up we can’t order food right now,” Robin grumbles, digging through the kitchen cabinets. “Could really go for some comfort pizza.”

Dustin frowns, “Robin, people died.”

“Like I don’t know that— I’m trying not to think about how many people we might know that didn’t survive tonight, so let me whine about pizza, okay?!”

“Pizza would be in the freezer, not the cabinets,” Steve, fighting sleep that he needs in the worst way, counters. He’s leaning against the kitchen island, chin in hand, elbow on the table, falling asleep every so often. It’s when he begins to fall over that he wakes up, and repeats the process all over again.

“Okay, y’all just go— go be comfy somewhere, I’ll make something.” When Steve lingers while everyone else files out, you narrow your eyes. “Steve, babe, that means you too.”

“You don’t need help?”

“With what? I still know where everything is.”  You begin opening cabinets and drawers, not looking when you name the contents correctly. “Plates, silverwear, mugs on the bottom, glasses on the middle shelf, top shelf has the nice glass—“

“How the hell do you remember this?”

“— The really fancy glass is in that hutch,” you throw a thumb over your shoulder in its direction, rummaging through a drawer. “The one your mom hated us running around when we were kids.” Steve’s silence catches your attention, finally looking up. “You alright?”

He opens his mouth, ready to speak, but can’t find the words he needs. He loses them, like a dream slipping away after waking up, just dissolving the longer he thinks about it.

“Steve? Did I say something wrong?” You step closer to him as he shakes his head, running a hand over his face with a sigh. “Is it weird that I remember this stuff? I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable.”

“You didn’t, you don’t,” his voice splits with despair as he gets up suddenly. “I— I need to lay down.” You don’t get a chance to comfort him as he rushes to the stairs, wincing and hissing from the deep aches and stabbing pain all over his body. 

Instead, you’re left standing alone, stumped, and a little hurt.

What did I do?

“What happened?”

Nancy’s soft voice, laced with curiosity, startles you out of your thoughts.

“Sorry,” She grimaces, but notices how tense you are. “Are you okay?”

“I… don’t know. Not really, I guess.” You still stare where Steve was moments ago. “I have no clue what’s going on. I think I upset him,” You tell her what happened, slumping into a chair nearby, sighing with defeat. “He just… froze, and left.”

Nancy seems to catch on immediately, nodding with her lips pursed. “He didn’t tell you?”

“Tell me what?”

She slides into the chair next to yours, sighing with a shake of her head.

“He’s been pretty beat up the last four years, but the damage left behind is worse than he likes to let on.” She glances down at her hands, folded in her lap, speaking carefully. “He’s still himself, but sometimes he— he has these memory lapses, and gets really frustrated with himself, even if it’s out of his control.”

You feel sick. This is a detail he shouldn’t have left out while reconnecting with you. You’d never judge him for what he can’t control, and of course one could only take so much damage before there’s heavy consequences.

“I think the trauma kicked it off, because it’d happen at times when we—“ She cringes, pausing, not wanting to cross a line, but you’re not bothered by the past they have.

“S’okay, you don’t have to tiptoe around it, Nancy.”

Offering an apologetic smile, she continues, “He’d forget things here and there, when we were dating, but it wasn’t enough for the alarms to go off, at least not for me. It changed quite a bit after Billy nearly beat him to death. We weren’t really close anymore at that point, but it was still noticeable, even from a distance.

“Some days seem to be better than others… at least that’s what Owens said. Then last summer, he was even more roughed up, and this time has to be the worse yet.”

Yet.

God, you want to vomit.

“It’s the trauma and head injuries combined,” she explains, voice wavering. “Steve’s still Steve, but sometimes he just… loses himself for a bit. It’s not so life-altering that he can’t be independent, but it’s gotta be terrifying just… forgetting your own life, even for a second. Especially while we’re still young.”

“So that’s why he left,” you realize aloud; Nancy nods solemnly. You need to check on him. “I— do you care if I go—“

“I got it under control, it’s all good.” She rushes over to the pantry, pulling out boxes of pasta— angel hair’s easy enough to make with low energy. 

“Thank you so much, Nancy.” You wipe your eyes as you head for the doorway, but she calls your name, spinning you back around.

“I’m glad you two found each other again, even if the timing is shit.” Her sincere sentiment eases any lingering tension. “He needs someone like you.”

The door to Steve’s bedroom is ajar, and he’s sitting on the edge of his bed, looking through a book.

“Steve?” You call out softly, poking your head through the door. He whips around, dropping the book, facing you with a bloodshot stare. “Shit, sorry, I just— I wanted to make sure you’re okay.”

He gives one, dismal laugh, “I think you know the answer to that already.”

You step inside, gently shutting the door behind you. As you move closer, you notice he wasn’t holding a book, but a photo album; when he dropped it, some of the photographs spilled out onto the floor.

Most of the images are of you and him throughout your childhood years.

You crouch down, collecting and handing them back to him. Your eyes meet his own, soaked and swollen in sorrow.

“Why didn’t you tell me about the memory loss?” It’s not out of anger, or hurt, it’s out of concern, if anything at all. 

“Would you believe me if I said I forgot?” He chuckles, but again, it’s lifeless. “I wanted to say something, but I kept pushing it off, and really did just… forget.”

Shuffling next to him on the bed, you wind your arms around him as he continues.

“When you brought up that old memory, it scared me that I couldn’t remember. The photos help, and shit eventually comes back to me, but those moments where everything dissolves away is—“ He chokes up, “It’s fucking terrifying.”

Steve rests against you, head on your shoulder as his arms lock around you, like you too, would dissolve at any moment.

“I scared you enough earlier, didn’t wanna do it again.”

“It scares me for you, but really, I could never be afraid of you. This is out of your control.” You kiss the top of his head, fingers running through his hair, gently scraping along his scalp in soothing, slow repetitions. “But you can’t get rid of me that easy, Harrington.”

The two of you sit in a comfortable silence, holding onto one another for dear life.

After managing to stomach some food and water— all five of you weren’t hungry in the slightest, but needed something in your systems before sleeping— you finally get Steve alone again, cozying up to one another in his bed. Clothes strewn around the room, you burrow under the covers, tangling around one another without fabric barriers— aside from bandaging, wanting to feel as close as possible.

You figured the two of you were both far too exhausted and depressed to fool around, but he’s determined to try and return the favor; you’ve tried telling him there’s nothing to return, you were happy to distract him, make him feel good, even for a little bit, but he wouldn’t have it.

“As much as I want this right now, we both really need sleep.”

“Please? I jus’wanna be good for you,” He nuzzles his face into the crook of your neck, sporadically leaving kisses on your skin. “Please…”

It pains you to say no, but you shake your head anyway. “Steve, you were ripped apart earlier, a- and flung around like a damn rag doll. I need more than anything for you to rest, okay?”

Silence hangs heavy above the both of you, buried beneath the sheets of his bed. Steve’s the first to shatter the quiet, barely above a whisper:

“What if you leave? What if I go to sleep and wake up and you’re gone?”

You lean up on your arm, trying to get a better look at him, but it’s too dark to make out his expression.

“Why would I leave?”

“Everyone always leaves.” He shudders a breath, adding, “You did.”

“Whoa, wait…” You’re baffled. “Steve, you left me behind. You walked away from our friendship for some—“

“Earlier, I mean. When you ran off. You just… left.”

“Because you were saying awful shit to me—“

“‘Cause you didn’t need to get tangled up in this mess!”

“It’s too fuckin’ late to argue that, Steve. It’s said and done— why the hell are you upset over this now? I don’t get—“

“I could’ve lost you!” His voice breaks into a pitchy rasp, trembling against you. “All of this has been so… so… confusing. Do you know how relieved I was to see you come through that gate, but how badly it pissed me off you’d even put yourself in danger to begin with?!”

“We talked about this—“ The sheet covering your naked form falls as you abruptly sit up, scoffing. “I was scared, and you never even asked what I was afraid of. Did it ever cross your mind I was scared to lose you?”

Steve shakes his head with a mirthless, forced laugh. “You said you were scared because everyone left—“

“And you never let me finish that thought, ‘cause you were too focused on being some… some know-it-all dickhead.”

“Yeah, yeah that’s real mature,” He sits up, close to you, but it’s still too dark to make out the details of his expression, whatever that may be right now. “Did it ever cross your mind that I never wanted you to see that place? That maybe I never wanted you to experience a hell like that? That— this— all of this has ruined my life. I’d never want you to feel what I feel— or what I don’t feel sometimes.”

“I’d follow you into hell, any form of it, if it meant helping you stay alive.” You say it so calmly, like it’s a no-brainer, and it is. 

To Steve, it’s just another display of your well-intentioned naivety. He grabs you by the shoulders, hands shaking through his grip.

“What don’t you understand?” His voice cracks, weakened by exhaustion and hopelessness. “Why would I want you to do that? I want you safe. Not down there with me. I wanted to you stay here. Stay safe.”

“Well, sometimes, when you care about someone, you do stupid shit for them—“

“No, no way, you don’t get to use that as an excuse,” He flatly laughs. “You don’t see me pulling stupid shit ‘cause I love you.”

Your ears ring, nearly drowning him out as he begins to nervously ramble.

He what?

“A- and look, I get— I’m sorry. I really am. I know we said earlier we’d leave that shit behind, but I need you to know it was out of—“ He pauses, catching himself before letting the word slip again. “It was never a mistake fixing our friendship. Not for me, at least, but you’ve always deserved better. Fuck—“ His hands leave you to press the heels of his palms into his eyes as he sighs; that much you can tell from the sliver of moonlight creeping in through the window. “I never wanted you down there ‘cause you deserve better. You always have. If anyone deserves to live a normal life, it’s you.”

“Oh, fuck normal, Steve.” Pulling his hands away from his face, you lace your fingers between his. “When has normal ever been my thing? I don’t care how much it pisses you off— I love you enough to follow you into hell, and did.” 

This is the version of you he knew all those years ago, before leaving you behind for a chance of a higher status that never would matter in the real world. A version so unapologetic your own skin, to defend what and who your heart embraces the most.

You’re climbing onto his lap, swinging a leg over to straddle him, and all he can do is watch you with a perfect balance of hearts and stars in his eyes.

 One hand leaves his to cradle his face, skin tingling as he turns his head, kissing your palm. “I’m sorry I caused so much trouble, with the— y’know—“ Talking about the vines is a little difficult without the intoxication of that sinful, stupid, demonic plant you found. “But I’m not sorry for loving you.”

Steve’s struggling to find the right words, eyes searching your own for any doubts, any signs to keep his guard up; all he can find is the sincerity you’ve always shown him, but it’s deeper now, rooted in love. 

His hand reaches to the back of your neck, fingers splaying out and up to clumsily pull you towards him. You gasp once his lips meet yours, matching the hunger he kisses you with. It’s passionate, but slow, at first; in mere moments, he’s pressing his free hand to your back, pushing you even closer into him, whimpering into the lip lock.

Bucking up against you, his bare length glides along your slick heat; you’re caught off guard, completely forgetting the two of you never bothered to get dressed before bed.

“Shit—“ You throw your head back and grip tightly onto Steve’s shoulder. He hisses in pain, pulling you from the haze you’d began to lose yourself in. You immediately release your hold, realizing he was bruised badly. “Fuck, Steve, I’m sorry.”

“S’okay, I kinda— I forgot the vines did that,” He rests his head back against the headboard, wincing as the burning ache lingers. “You were right, we should just go to sleep. Neither of us are in the best shape right now, and—”

“What if I do all the work?” Your offer catches his attention as you run a hand through his hair. “I’ll be gentle, I promise, and you wouldn’t have to do a damn thing, ‘cept take it like a good boy.”

Steve shudders, cock kicking underneath you, still nestled between your folds. He wants it. Wants it bad. Real fucking bad. But, ever the gentleman that he is, there’s still concern over your current state.

“Yeah, but you’re not… you’re pretty beat up, too.” He swallows a gasp, hips twitching as he holds himself still. “Don’t wanna hurt you just to make me feel good.”

You shrug, like the pain’s not a big deal, and really? It’s not, not one bit. All you feel is love and heartache all at once, and you both need a distraction, to channel out the energy built up in that confession.

“I’ll let y’know if it’s too much,” You kiss his forehead, leisurely making your way down to his lips, only ghosting yours over his own. “But I’m gonna be so real with you, Steve—“ When you shift your hips, sliding tauntingly slow along his length, he whimpers, biting his lip to muffle what would’ve been a beautiful sound. “Can’t stop thinking about fucking you since yesterday.”

“Oh, fuck…”

“Shh, gotta be quiet for me, honey.”

It’s a surreal sight, having Steve writhe underneath you with overwhelming desire, whimpering again with his eyes rolling back as you call him honey.

That’s when it clicks; all Steve’s ever wanted is someone who can be as soft with him as he is with them. He just wants to be seen as precious and important as he sees you— wants to feel as treasured as he tries to make you feel.

And god, Steve Harrington is the most precious, important soul in your life. He’s so treasured, every fiber of his being— everything, even the stubborn, bitchy moods— you love all of him. Always has been near and dear to your heart, and always will be.

“Do- don’t think I can,” He pants, desperately trying to keep his voice at a whisper as the head of his cock catches at your entrances. Bucking up into you, he’s rushing out, “Just need t’be inside you. S’all I want, all I need— I- I need you so bad, angel.”

“I know, Stevie,” You grind down onto his cock, biting your lip to mute your own pleased sounds. “It’s all I want, too.”

His arms wind around you, reminiscent of the vines in their selfish urgency, but otherwise, his embrace is filled with a tender adoration.

Eyes flicking down to where your bodies meet, you glance back up at Steve, and oh, what a fucking wreck he is already; stare hooded with lust, mouth parted as he pants, the anticipation of your next move has him on edge, to say the least.

You search his expression for a final grant of consent, and he offers it in the form of a frantic nod, whimpering, “Mhm.”

The stretch as you slowly impale yourself onto him will take time getting used to; it was easier under the spell of some fucked up aphrodisiac, but completely tuned into reality has you taking it slow.

“Fuck. Fuck— Were you this—“ A moan attempts to leave him, until he strangles it into a grasp while you sink further onto him. “T- this fucking tight yesterday?”

Jaw falling open, you keep the cry of bliss to yourself, fully sheathing him while your breaths fall shallow. “M’sorry, I— give me a—“ Steve surges forward to kiss you, hoping it calms at least one of you. 

He breaks the connection, just barely, to whisper against your lips, “I know, s’okay—“ The way you scrunch your eyes shut catches his attention, drags him out of the fog of lust, just for a moment. “Hey, hey, look at me,” Gently, he holds your face. “If it hurts we- we can stop.”

Your gaze is glassy as you open your eyes, shaking your head as your body trembles.

“I- I don’t know how to— it’s like you’re—“ You take a deep breath, then another, for good measure. “Yesterday was… intense, but you… you’re here, we’re both here.”

Steve’s puzzled. “Well, yeah, f’course we are—“

“I thought— shit, m’sorry, I was trying so hard to— I didn’t want to fuckin’ cry.” You mirthlessly laugh at yourself; the action flutters your walls around him, but again, for your sake, he finds the strength to ignore it, pushes back a throaty groan. “S’like… knowing we’re somehow still alive makes it I- I sound insane—“

“Not even close, honey.”

“I feel— you feel closer, somehow. I- I- don’t know how to describe it, but I feel you everywhere, and now that I know y’feel the same, it’s— you—“

“Shhhh, sweetheart, just breathe for me,” You take a deep breath, inhaling rapidly and constricting around him; with a sharp gasp, his cock throbs inside of you. “Okay, not— fuck— not like that, or I’m gonna lose it.”

The lapse of restraint gives you a step up, helps you regain control over your emotions. With a few more slow breaths, you settle down, anchor yourself into the present.

“Are you okay?” You manage to ask, and Steve, in need of rest more than anything, smiles dopily at you.

“M’good, you?” He grabs your hips, lazily guiding you back and forth on him. 

“Uh-huh.” When you discover a rhythm gratifying enough for you both, he moans out, too tired to react in time to quiet down. “Steve.”

“Can’t help it,” He leans into your neck, kissing and failing to keep his mouth busy. “Not with a pussy like this.”

Flexing his hips into you, there’s nothing you can do in time to cover the quick yelp you make,“A— ah! Oh my god…” 

Steve tries his hardest to hold back his needy sounds, but has to bite down onto your shoulder to muffle the noise somehow. 

You rush out in a whisper, “Oh, fuck, Steve! Shit…” Riding him with a steady pace, you pant, “Wish I had something to gag you with.”

“M’sorry, m’so sorry,” He whispers frantically as you bounce on his cock. While you keep a gentle hold on his face, he parts his lips, turning his head towards your thumb, inches from his mouth. A brilliant idea crosses his mind, “Shit… use those.”

“Use… what?” He manages to flit his tongue out to the pad of your thumb, whimpering some more as his taste buds hit your skin. “Oh. You want this?” You bring your hand closer, and happily, greedily, he sucks your thumb in, tongue lapping around your digit.

“More,” He mumbles around your thumb. “Please… more.”

How could you deny his simple, yet sweet, request?

Sliding your thumb out, you replace it quickly with your pointer and middle fingers; selfishly, Steve takes in your ring finger, too, sucking sloppily on all three. With his mouth stuffed, just enough, he begins to drool a little at the corners of his mouth, while gazing up at you so lovingly.

“You’re fucking perfect, Steve.” You praise him, grinding down into his lap. He twitches, desperate to fuck up into you, but holds his composure. “So good for me, so, so good… this feel okay?”

Tears prick his lash line as he nods wildly, still gagging himself on your fingers as you fuck him.

“Here I was, trying to make love to you, but you still need it to be filthy, huh?”

“Mhm,” is all he can manage to reply with, but nearly loses it when you remove your fingers. “N- no, wait—“ The noise of protest dies on his lips as your hand curls around the back of his head, guiding him toward your chest.

“Would this help?”

“So fuckin’ much— mnph!” You push his face into your chest the moment he latches onto your nipple. He laps and sucks with abandon, drooling all over your breast as you lift and fall over his length.

You push his hair away from his eyes, running your fingers through it softly a few times. A rosy blush dusts over his cheeks, watching you watch him; he’s a bit embarrassed by how turned on he is just from this alone, but that’s clearly not stopping him.

“You’re so pretty like this, Stevie.”

Against your fluttering walls, he pulsates over your sweet words. He paws at your chest, toying with your neglected nipple, still swirling his tongue around the other.

“Can’t wait ‘til we’re alone so I can hear all those pretty moans you make,” You murmur to him, feeling him twitch inside you again. He’s whimpering again, stifled by his oral fixation. “I wanna take care of you, all of the time… would y’let me?”

He nods feverishly, teeth grazing along your nipple, earning a pitchy gasp from you. Lips glistening as he pulls back, a thread of spit still keeps him leashed to your skin.

“You’ll let me do the same, ye- yeah?” Steve asks, tucking his bottom lip between his teeth to quiet a groan; you lean back, arching yourself into him and finding a delicious angle for you both while you still ride him. “Jesus… you’re unreal.”

“Mhm… just gotta…” You trail off, biting down on your fist as a squeal threatens to form. “Gotta heal up for me first, okay?”

Steve shoves your hand away, holding your face again; he whispers his promises of healing, ones he plans on keeping. As he babbles on, drunk off the shared bliss while you meld together, he begins to get emotional. “I promise, yeah, I really do, I mean it, m’gonna get better, gonna be okay,” He whispers, kissing up your neck, avoiding any heavy bruising from the vines left behind. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry…”

“Sorry? For what, Steve? Nothing’s wrong—“

“I fucked up, saying I didn’t wanna be here anymore. It’s so… fuck, it’s so hard sometimes to find reasons to stay.”

Your thrusts begin slowing to a stop, “Don’t ever apologize for telling me how hurt you are. I want you safe, and happy, but if you need to get it out, you get it out—“

“Yeah, but I shouldn’t—“ Steve attempts to guide you back into your steady pace, needing the physical connection to steady his train of thought. “I really wasn’t thinking—“

“I love you, and I mean that.” You’re as careful as can be, but wrap your arms around him, leading him to rest against your shoulder as you start grinding on him again. “This has to be hell… to relive over and over…” He can’t help it, bucks up into you, taking your breath away. 

“Y’got every right to want the pain to end,” He’s going to leave aching bruises behind with the grip he’s got on your hips, fingers digging into your curves. “B- but it can’t end like that.”

What an emotional rollercoaster to ride while fucking.

“It won’t, I swear,” Voice wavering, he lifts his head. His eyes, filled with endless emotion, meet yours; pain, adoration, fear, passion— it’s all on display in his bloodshot, spent, tear-lined gaze. Resting his forehead on yours, he whispers, “Never, ever.”

“Good, ‘cause I- I— o— oh— kay—“ Steve finds your clit with ease, toying with it slowly. “If I c- can’t disappear, you can’t either— christ, Steve, don’t stop.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it, honey.” Your thighs tense up, squeezing around his body. His hips jerk up, slamming himself into you, so he plants his feet on the bed, intentionally fucking up into you. “Shit, you’re close, huh?”

You barely nod as your jaw slacks, body trembling as pleasure hits you all at once. Steve kisses you, just in time to muffle your cries of bliss. Your high racks through you in convulsing waves, coaxing him to the edge of his own climax.

He practically swallows your moans and mumbles against your lips, “M’gonna— I’m— honey, please—“

“Let go, Stevie,” You manage to tell him through pathetic whimpering. “I got you, a- always.”

Returning the favor, you smash your lips against his, muting his symphony of ecstasy, much to your disappointment. He forces gravelly groans down your throat while he sloppily runs his tongue over yours, sucking softly on it. With a borderline violent grip, he pins you closer to him, as close as physically possible, spilling over into you. Your aftershocks are enough to milk his cock for everything he’s got; he better sleep well tonight after this.

You’re so lost in the moment, drunk on passion, it takes a moment to realize he’s babbling something between kisses and winded breaths.

“Don’t let me go.”

Shaking your head, your nose brushes against his, feeling the dam of your emotions finally crumble. Your tears mix with his, holding him with great care.

“Wouldn’t dream of it, honey.”

Sleep breaks itself apart for you both; if one of you has a nightmare, the other stays awake to provide comfort. Steve’s taken more painkillers than his stomach lining can handle, and still continues to toss and turn from the deeply embedded ache in his bones. You have a harder time falling back asleep than he does— after all, it’s not his first rodeo.

Maybe, at most, you gain an hour or two of continuous rest, but daylight breaks far sooner than either of you would prefer it to.

It’s a little bizarre, hearing birds chirp outside among the never-ending sirens that have droned on through the night; the early morning skies paint the world outside his window in soothing hues of orange and pink.

You don’t dare to look longer, fearing the billowing smoke will break the little bit of illusion left that things are alright. If you avoid peering through certain windows in his house, you can’t see the bleak reality; you stay put, shielding yourself from the truth, just a little longer.

“Hey, Steve?” You’re draped over him from behind, cautious of where you rest your body onto his. You’re quickly learning you like any position where you’re wrapped up in one another, but being the big spoon for him might be your favorite yet.

“Hm?” His voice is gravelly, and you wonder if it’s always like this in the morning, or if it’s just free of charge with the suffering he’s endured all night.

It’s a naive question to ask, but you still want to know how he feels; after all, he is the seasoned veteran out of the two of you. “Do you think the world’s really ending?”

He exhales roughly through his lips pressed together, falling into a pause. “… I don’t know, honestly. It’s, uh, pretty scary, huh?”

Burying your face into his neck, you shrug. “Yeah… but it’s not as scary as it’d be going it alone.”

Squeezing your hands, holding them close to his chest while carefully pulling you closer against him, he sighs. His lips meet the backs of your hands, warmth lingering as he keeps them close.

“I take back what I said last night.” He whispers into your skin, “M’really fuckin’ glad we made it home alive.”

“Even if home’s hell right now?”

“Yeah,” Rolling over, Steve’s hand embraces your jaw, resting softly on your neck. He traces your bottom lip with his thumb, stunning hazel stare holding your own; it’s still bloodshot, but there’s now faint traces of rest, at least. “‘Cause it’s still home with you.”

[bonefall]

As someone with P-DID(Partial DID. I still have headmates but I can't really hand the body over to them) I am so fucking concerned about Moonpaw. I don't like the idea that she has DID because she's a chimera, that's not how it works, and I don't like the idea of them demonizing chimeras(I am not one myself though I just think we should all dislike that)

But I'm also super concerned because people aren't acknowledging how ableist this is. The voice is stated in the blurb to be sinister and people are ignoring that. I even saw someone say "It's not plurality it's a SPIRITUAL thing" and like. That's not any better. You know that's not better right? It still promotes the idea that hearing voices is always Bad and chimeras murder their siblings.

Idk I'm just super worried.

It's difficult to get through to certain folks on "Why This Is Bad" because most people don't have an understanding of non-overt bigotry.

Guy calling you a slur on the bus? That is overt. It's obvious. It makes "sense" to an observer that he is threatening you, by calling you to attention, trying to provoke a reaction. It's less overt when, say, you're stimming on the bus and that same guy starts huffing and growling in discomfort, but they can still follow the logic that Bus Guy's behavior towards you is altered based on his prejudice.

But they'll have a hard time making that final leap-- that Bus Guy's idea of your disorder is tied to something harmful.

My stims tend to be facial (blinking rapidly, scrunching face, shaking head, etc), but even without the classic "hand flapping," Bus Guy will tie these traits to unpredictability, "weirdness," or stupidity. If we weren't just on the bus and this man had power over me in some way, like if he was my teacher, or boss, or even a coworker, his assumptions about me would influence my life negatively.

Then, of course, multiply Bus Guy by the entire bus full of people and their social biases, and this is how systemic problems are perpetuated without a single person exercising overt bigotry.

THAT is why "Sinister Voice In Head" is a harmful stereotype. In Bus Guy's mind, a link is being formed; Voices = Make You Bad.

Just like how it doesn't actually matter if the "stupid character" is stimming because they're autistic or not, it's still reinforcing that bias. "Spiritual Thing" or not, she is being negatively influenced by Evil Sinister Voice.

Worse; there's barely any counter examples-- no humanizing portrayals of how stimming can help you focus, no discussion of real problems some stimming can cause (skin picking can be really destructive for example), no honest stories of what living with a difficult headmate truly feels like, etc.

...Digressing. My hand on your shoulder, Nonnie. It's gonna be ok.

Even if it is WORST case scenario, total catastrophe... this isn't the first or last time that headmates are handled badly in media. Remember; cultural bias is ingrained in people the same way that canyons are carved. Slowly, steadily, over many examples and many years, lapping away at rock that is already wet.

One more bad example is just another drop in that wave. It will not bring the wall down. It's worth concern! It's worrying, I know! We can do something about it.

[koboldfactory]

Tell me more about Rad!

Rad's a scavenger who grew up in a strange metal canyon surrounded by glowing floating spheres called stasis fields. her village thrived by fishing scraps out of the stasis fields from the ancient civilizations locked in them. A catastrophe struck that destroyed the village. In the chaos she lost her arm and mother. A future not entirely related event is what caused her to be radioactive and weird though. She eventually comes across a strange lab dedicated to protecting anomalous and mutant entities that would be at risk in the wasteland and decides to work with them a bit!

assortment of rad lore focused pieces:

[victusinveritas]

Mike Davis, a prophet of California, wrote "The Case for Letting Malibu Burn" (link to the full piece) which earned him the wrath of developers, proven right, again, as catastrophic flames destroy enclaves of privilege and power and, like below, Pasadena. The Chumash and the Tong-va knew this. Controlled burns as a yearly occurence stretches back into time immemorial.

"Malibu, meanwhile, is the wildfire capital of North America and, possibly, the world. Fire here has a relentless staccato rhythm, syncopated by landslides and floods. The rugged 22-mile-long coastline is scourged, on the average, by a large fire (one thousand acres plus) every two and a half years, and the entire surface area of the western Santa Monica Mountains has been burnt three times over the twentieth century. At least once a decade a blaze in the chaparral grows into a terrifying firestorm consuming hundreds of homes in an inexorable advance across the mountains to the sea. Since 1970 five such holocausts have destroyed more than one thousand luxury residences and inflicted more than $1 billion in property damage. Some unhappy homeowners have been burnt out twice in a generation, and there are individual patches of coastline or mountain, especially between Point Dume and Tuna Canyon, that have been incinerated as many as eight times since 1930.

...

From the time of the Tapias, the owners of Rancho Malibu had recognized that the region’s extraordinary fire hazard was shaped, in large part, by the uncanny alignment of its coastal canyons with the annual “fire winds” from the north: the notorious Santa Anas, which blow primarily between Labor Day and Thanksgiving, just before the first rains. Born from high-pressure areas over the Great Basin and Colorado Plateau, the Santa Anas become hot and dry as they descend avalanche-like into Southern California. The San Fernando Valley acts as a giant bellows, sometimes fanning the Santa Anas to hurricane velocity as they roar seaward through the narrow canyons and rugged defiles of the Santa Monica Mountains. Add a spark to the dense, dry vegetation on such an occasion and the hillsides will explode in uncontrollable wildfire: “The speed and heat of the fire is so intense that firefighters can only attempt to prevent lateral spread of the fire while waiting for the winds to abate or the fuel to diminish.

Less well understood in the old days was the essential dependence of the dominant vegetation of the Santa Monicas—chamise chaparral, coastal sage scrub, and live oak woodland—upon this cycle of wildfire. Decades of research (especially at the San Dimas Experimental Forest in the San Gabriel Mountains) have given late-twentieth-century science vivid insights into the complex and ultimately beneficial role of fire in recycling nutrients and ensuring seed germination in Southern California’s various pyrophytic flora. Research has also established the overwhelming importance of biomass accumulation rather than ignition frequency in regulating fire destructiveness. As Richard Minnich, the world authority on chaparral brushfire, emphasizes: “Fuel, not ignitions, causes fire. You can send an arsonist to Death Valley and he’ll never be arrested.”

(Yes, I'm reusing some of the same images that I posted earlier. The point is the words that go along with the pictures. Mike Davis was brilliant and will be missed.)

[adventurealldays]

Lower Falls at Bandelier National Monument on 12/15/24. A flash flood after the 2011 Las Conchas fire wiped out all the sediment used to build a trail to the bottom. No one has been able to find a safe way down on foot since then. You can very carefully stand off to the basalt side to see it from the top, or access outside the park and walk many many trail less miles to see it from the bottom.

Left photo is pre fire from the now wiped out switchbacks. Right photo is from a few years after the catastrophic flooding from a brave soul who bushwhacked along the Rio Grande. Note the house sized boulder at the top was washed away by the flood!

About 3/4 of the length of the canyon burned, followed immediately by heavy monsoon rain. There were multiple catastrophic floods with thousands of cubic feet of water per second in an area that normally flows at 0-3 cubic feet per second. In some places the fire burned so hot that the volcanic soil turned to glass. Some of the park’s picnic tables washed up dozens of miles down the Rio Grande in the Cochiti Reservoir.

Even 13 years later, a large flood happened this summer in this canyon that wiped out nearly all the footbridges and carved the canyon so deep near the upper falls that the pool at the base can no longer be access by foot. See the new ledge created in the left photo below. Compare to the right photo from spring 2024- all that vegetation got washed away

[ur-mom-did-69]

Did We Say Goodbye?

Nika Muhl x oc

Word count: 1.2k

I really really suggest listening to the song!!

The party, which was a big one at Nika’s friend's house, had turned out to be a bust right from the get go. The keg had been tapped out way too quickly, and the lukewarm cans of beer that were left over that hardly anybody wanted to drink. Added to that, the air around the gathering seemed thick with loud conversations and not enough personal space that everybody was trying their best to ignore. Cameron leaned silently against the railing on the porch, her cell phone clutched in the palm of one hand and a plastic cup squeezed in the other, which she had not drunk from in at least an hour. She sat in anticipation, waiting for Nika—or rather, she was just hoping that something would turn up, some sign that tonight was not going to end in utter catastrophe.

The night was deceptively calm, the kind that should have been perfect for sneaking off with your girlfriend to sit under the stars and talk about everything and nothing. But Cameron's stomach churned, a mixture of frustration and dread. They'd been fighting more lately, the strain of their schedules and mismatched priorities pushing them apart in ways that felt irreversible.

She heard the unmistakable and familiar hum of Nika's car before she actually saw it come into view. The sleek sedan pulled smoothly onto the gravel driveway, and for a moment, a wave of relief washed over her, bringing a moment of temporary ease. But as Nika emerged from the vehicle, her body language spoke volumes beyond any words. Her shoulders were stiff, and her lips pressed firmly into a thin line-clearly, this wasn't going to be a peaceful or easy conversation.

"Hey," Nika said as she approached Cameron, cool and clipped, without any hint of warmth.

“Hey," Cameron replied, with a hint of urgency in the sound of her voice as she promptly shoved her phone into her pocket. "I didn't think you'd actually come."

"You texted me five times," Nika said with one raised eyebrow. "I figured it must be important enough to warrant that much communication."

Cameron winced a little at the reminder. "I just… I really wanted to talk to you about some things that have been on my mind."

"Great," Nika said, crossing her arms in a gesture indicating she was ready to listen. "So, talk.”

The words did not flow so easily from Cameron's mind and out of her mouth. Cameron turned to Nika, who wasn't just her girlfriend but someone who had been there through the thick and thin, she was overcome by a deep sadness that tore at her heart. They once had a connection that seemed impossible to break, profoundly strong. Yet now, it seemed as though they were standing on opposite sides of a huge canyon, each one yelling into the vastness that separated them.

"I really don't know how much more of this I can handle," Cameron finally managed to utter, her voice shaking with emotion. "It feels like we're always either fighting with each other or just ignoring each other altogether.

Nika’s jaw tightened as she felt a surge of frustration. “You really think I don’t feel the same way you do? I’m literally killing myself trying to manage everything, including school, basketball, and our relationship. And every single time I make a mistake, it feels as if you’re just sitting there, ready to remind me of it.”

“That’s not fair at all,” Cameron shot back with equal intensity. “You honestly don’t think I’m trying just as hard? I’ve been waiting for you to make an effort to meet me halfway in this, but it feels like basketball is the only thing that truly matters to you above everything else.”

“Because it is," Nika snapped with frustration. "It's my future, Cam, the very thing that defines me. It's the only thing I've ever been good at in my life, and I simply can't-I won't-allow it to slip away from me.”

The words hung in the air, unbending, their tension tangible. Cameron felt the sting of those words deep in her heart, but she could also feel the deep pain lurking behind Nika's eyes. It wasn't just anger that she was seeing; it was fear and desperation combined, oozing out so powerfully that it was unmistakable. Nika was fighting for her dreams, and in that fight, Cameron found herself wrestling with the unsettling feeling of losing her girlfriend in the process.

The silence stretched on uncomfortably until finally Nika let out a sigh, running a hand through her hair in frustration. "Look, I didn't come here with the intention to fight or argue. I just… I really don't know what it is that you want from me."

Cameron swallowed hard, the words hanging heavily in her throat, her voice emerging barely above a whisper. "I just want you, that's all."

Nika's eyes softened ever so slightly for a brief moment, but then she quickly looked away, her gaze becoming fixed on some distant point in the vast night beyond. "Maybe that's not enough for us anymore.”

The words hit her like a punch to her stomach, and she stood there for a moment, too stunned to react. Cameron blinked several times, her vision beginning to blur as tears welled up in her eyes, threatening to spill over and run down her cheeks. "So that's it? You're just going to give up on us completely?"

"I don't know," Nika admitted with a heavy sigh, her voice tinged with uncertainty. "I genuinely don't know how to fix this situation we're in. And honestly, I don't think you have a clear solution either."

Cameron felt an uncomfortable tightening in her chest, but despite the overwhelming urge to cry, she refused to let the tears fall. Not at this moment. Not in this place. "So what does that mean? You're simply going to leave us behind?"

For a moment, Nika stood in a daze, as though weighing her options and pondering the consequences of each choice. Then, as if after an eternity, she nodded her head slowly. It was a reluctant, almost agonized motion-as if the weight of this action was like driving the final nail in a coffin. "I think I need to," she said, her voice tinged with resignation.

Cameron stepped backward, crossing her arms carefully to hold herself in place and prevent her automatic instinct to reach out to Nika. She watched intently as Nika turned around and began walking toward her car, the crunch of loose gravel beneath her shoes loud with every step. The door slammed shut with a solid thud, and almost immediately, the engine roared to life in a surefire sign of her leaving. For one brief second, Cameron clung to the hope that Nika might turn around, say something that would somehow make everything between them different.

But in the end, she didn't.

The car rolled out of the drive with a soft rumble, blowing a thick cloud of dust all over the place, and kicked off down the road. There Cameron stood, frozen solid, her heart pounding loudly in her chest while her mind replayed all the moments of the night like a film on repeat. She could feel that she had seen something so deep in Nika's eyes; maybe it was regret, or at least a little love in them. And in those moments, it didn't matter anyhow. Nika was gone.

And as Cameron continued blankly staring down the void of the road stretching before her house, she suddenly realized, with the sinking feeling in her stomach, that she couldn't even remember if they had said a proper good-bye to each other.

[bcacstuff]

Even after a two-day nightmare, L.A. girds for more days of fire weather

Flames from the Eaton fire consume a home in Altadena on Wednesday. (Jason Armond/Los Angeles Times)

Much of Los Angeles County remains under a red flag warning, with forecasters warning of critical fire weather to last through Friday night.

Firefighters Thursday were continuing to fight the Palisades fire, which has burned more than 17,200 acres, and the Eaton fire, that has burned through Pasadena and Altadena areas, charring at least 10,600 acres.

But Los Angeles caught a break Wednesday, with firefighters able to limit the Sunset fire, which broke out near Runyon Canyon above Hollywood on Wednesday, and keep a house fire in Studio City from spreading.

A firefighter sprays water on the Sunset fire, which prompted evacuations in the Hollywood area. (Jason Armond/Los Angeles Times)

Unlike during the catastrophic conditions on Tuesday night, when wind gusts of up to 100 mph were recorded, on Wednesday night, aircraft were able to make water drops on the Sunset fire, which broke out shortly before 6 p.m. Wednesday. Officials initially ordered a mandatory evacuation of a swath of Hollywood north of Hollywood Boulevard but are expected to lift all evacuation orders Thursday morning. The Sunset fire has burned 60 acres, according to CalFire.

Officials urged people to still be vigilant.

Wind speeds weakened across the Los Angeles region Thursday morning, with isolated gusts reaching 35 mph in the Malibu area and 58 mph in the San Gabriel Mountains, said Mike Wofford, a meteorologist with the National Weather Service in Oxnard.

But, the reprieve is expected to be brief. Winds are anticipated to strengthen Thursday night.

“We’ll get a little bump up in winds as we get another little push of offshore flow,” Wofford said. “Nothing like we saw [Wednesday] with the gusts of 80 to 100 mph winds, but certainly enough to present some issues for the fires. ... It’s kind of like a day on, day off sort of thing. At least until the middle of next week we’re going to be in that pattern.”

Late Wednesday, the National Weather Service downgraded the fire weather outlook for the region from “extremely critical” to “critical.” Wofford said Los Angeles residents should be prepared for a succession of sustained high wind events that could intensify fire risk. Humidity levels remain low and no rain is in the forecast in the coming days.

None of the four fires burning in Los Angeles County have any containment and the cause of each is being investigated.

article source LA times

At least it looks like some good news for the residents in the Hollywood Hills (including Alex)

[darkmaga-returns]

(This is Part-7; for Part-6, go here)

Everyone knows about CONTROLLED BURNS. That’s how you keep fires from spreading in heavily forested areas. By burning, you create “empty channels”—large spaces where fires won’t spread. Fire breaks.

Well, Los Angeles has a whole bunch of these areas. CANYONS.

Here we go. Buckle up.

…they [California as a whole, but primarily in the south] need to burn 4 to 11 million acres every year just to keep the forest in check because there’s so much growing every year. They [California] only burned 36,000 acres last year. And five years ago, four and a half years ago, Gavin Newsom, he had all this fanfare with this press conference where he pledged to burn a million acres every year. It’s not enough, but it’s a start. That’d be great. They’re only burning 36,000. Here we are five years later. They still can’t get their act together. And you wonder... and people are wondering, oh why is there so much fuel it’s because they’re not doing the work... And Malibu in particular is Fire Alley… So this series of canyons from Santa Clarita through Malibu Canyon out into the ocean is where those Santa Ana winds get channeled. So that’s the outflow boundary. And so you go back every 25 years, since the beginning of time, you will see articles about Malibu burning to the ground in one of these fires…

That’s from podcast host Isaac Simpson and guest and documentary film-maker Gabriel Kirkpatrick-Mann (link to podcast via 

Tom Kudla’s substack post, here).

Newsom promised he’d deal with this. He didn’t. Neither did previous Governors.

See, big parts of LA ARE canyons. Mandeville, Benedict, Coldwater, Topanga, Tuna, Beverly Glen, etc. There are streets and homes all over the canyons.

And then in certain places, like the famous elite Bel Air, there are three canyons. I once lived in a tiny one-room annex next to a house at the top northern end of Bel Air:

[longwindedbore]

Some of my fellow Progressives are generating slogans about the LA Fires that have the same kind of accuracy as we get from MAGAhats.

I spent six decades in So Cal. Here’s what I learned

FIRST, YES, there are big farms in California and some individual Owners “use more water than all of LA combined.”

That’s not hard because farming and ranching use two-thirds of all the available water in the State to…grow food. California grows 100% of certain foods eaten all over the US.

ALL the residences of ALL the cities and towns in California - all 39 million Californians - use a whopping 6% of the State’s water - half for watering lawns and the other half for cooking, washing, drinking.

The remaining portion is used by manufacturing and retail to provide jobs so food can be purchased and lawns watered.

[These statistics are publicly available because California is irrigated and supplied largely by measurable water flow in rivers and aqueducts rather than rainfall]

SECOND, the geography of Southern California is a series of valleys. On mountain ranges surrounding the large valleys the native vegetation called chaparral spends most of the year as dry tinder.

The mountain ranges all have series of twisty canyons. When the dreaded Santa Ana winds start to blow the narrow twisty canyons help accelerate the winds.

Once a fire starts (downed power line, spark from some cigarette or open fire, arsonist) then the accelerated winds act to increase the heat like a bellows in a blacksmith’s shop.

The Santa Ana’s are a prevailing wind blowing west but twisty canyons act to shift directions unpredictably.

Unpredictable winds then supercharge the dry tinder on the hillsides. Most of the acreage destroyed inland tends to be empty of people. These acres are crisscrossed with firebreaks. Firestorms generated by high winds can blow embers too far for any break

Communities like Pacific Palisades, Altadena, Bell Canyon were built within or on the edge of twisty canyons. These areas are beautiful and fragrant even when they are brown. Palisades and frequent fire target Malibu are at the mouths of these canyons just before the Ocean.

THIRD, LA County has a sophisticated emergency system gratis bonds authorized by voters and repaid with taxes (I participated in constructing portions of it). This System allows resources to be shifted quickly from communities within the County without hiccups in communication between different fire and police departments.

So there’s no shortage of resources.

To fight firestorms, however, its essential to create wide firebreaks AHEAD of where they…guess…the fire is headed. Between the fire and the break it’s not feasible to try to save individual buildings. The death toll to firefighters would be catastrophic. Even with 100 times as many engine companies, there isn’t enough water in the pipes for all the buildings.

The rebuild will be an epic nightmare.

PSA: Conversely if you visit So Cal in one of those now infrequent wet winters DO NOT GO FOR A HIKE IN THE BEAUTIFUL MOUNTAINS to enjoy the light rainfall!!! Those narrow canyons funnel water into flash floods which will smash you against rocks before drowning you.

PSA: trying to save your home by wetting it down with a lawn hose during a firestorm is the equivalent of spitting into a blast furnace to extinguish it. Survivors who stayed to lawn hose are those lucky ones for whom the unpredictable winds shifted the fire away from them.

[dearheart42regenerated]

re-emerging from my brainstorming/writing cave to say I THINK I JUST CONFIRMED??? A BIG WORLDBUILDING PUZZLE PIECE???

on a whim after rewatching The Duke Of Detroit Presents, I googled "copper canyon detroit"...and surprise surprise, "Copper Canyon" is an ACTUAL NICKNAME for a stretch of neighborhood areas in Detroit, apparently between Far West Detroit/Parkland and Warrendale:

looking up those areas on google maps will show you this:

so. the burners have to cross "copper canyon" to get to the refinery. which means that ALLLLL OF THIS

-- a big stretch of land that was once filled with neighborhoods and surrounded by huge parks -- now looks like THIS:

all those neighborhoods, all that nature and wildlife...everything's gone. completely wiped out. replaced by craters and a literal CANYON.

why is Kane so obsessed with safety, peace and order?

why is Motorcity encased in what essentially functions as a giant metal dome/cage?

all of these environmental clues were pretty big hints (the bomb symbols/sirens, the mutants, the toxic waste issues, mentioning the areas beyond Detroit being a "wasteland", etc) but I think the sheer scale of devastation we see in Copper Canyon officially clinches it - Doomsday definitely happened and certain areas of Detroit got MAJORLY fucked up by the apocalypse/nuclear war.

so now that this IS confirmed (for me lol), I have SO many questions about where in the timeline it happened and when Motorcity's "cage" (possible shield???) was actually built.

did Kane build this cage specifically for his Deluxe project?

or did he initially do it to shield/protect Detroit from further catastrophe and then use it as the foundation?

OR did the cage already exist (in whole or in part) before Kane's time? did he simply build Deluxe on top of what had already been put over Motorcity?

WHAT THE FUCK WERE THE WRITERS GONNA SHOW US IN THOSE SEASON 2 WORLDBUILDING EPISODES THEY WANTED TO DO and more importantly WHICH POSSIBILITY AM I SUPPOSED TO CONSTRUCT MY OWN PERSONAL SEASON 2 AROUND FUUUUUUCK IM LOSING MY GODDAMN MIND HERE

[rjzimmerman]

Hawaiian monk seal. Photo: Megan Nagel/USFWS

Excerpt from this story from The Revelator:

The re-election of Donald Trump has scientists and conservationists like me worried about the wildlife and wild places we’ve dedicated our lives to protecting. This is especially true for ocean and coastal natural resource management and endangered species conservation, given Trump’s ongoing rhetoric. He’s attacked climate science and supported a plan to dismantle the National Oceanic and Atmospheric Administration. There are also reasons to be concerned about the scientists working to study and protect these species, who could find themselves out of work or actively persecuted.

During his first administration, Trump became the first president in history to un-protect a protected area when he lifted fishing restrictions in Northeast Canyons and Seamounts Marine National Monument, the 4,900-square-mile home to many endangered marine species and fragile deep-sea corals. Given his statements against national monuments and other public lands, that’s likely to repeat over the next four years. Project 2025, the right-wing playbook for his second administration, even calls for highly destructive mining practices within the boundaries of currently protected areas.

Meanwhile the planet’s biggest overarching threat — climate change — is expected to worsen under Trump, who ordered the U.S. to leave the Paris Climate Agreement on his first day back in office. Experts say there’s already basically no chance of limiting global temperature increases to 1.5 degrees Celsius, an important threshold for the survival of many species. This means that the oceans will continue to experience alarming heat waves, ice caps will melt, and sea levels will rise. Many ocean species are already moving out of their historical ranges or declining in population as waters warm above animals’ threshold for adaptation.

Both Donald Trump’s record and his promises for his second term show that marine and coastal species are unlikely to get the support they need to save them from further declines or even extinction. Experts warn that abandoning our climate goals, loosening or eliminating restrictions on pollution and habitat destruction, and failing to enact new environmental limits on industry will be catastrophic for many of these creatures.

And we’re not talking about a handful of fish: Overall NOAA is responsible for the conservation of 40 endangered and 59 threatened marine and coastal species in U.S. waters. The U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service is responsible for many more that live in freshwater and along beaches and coasts. All of them, and the ecosystems they depend on, face uncertain paths as Trump once again takes office.

[synnthamonsugar]

11. Sharing Secrets Eris/Ikora

With a dazzling sparkle, Ikora Rey transmats to Cadmus Ridge clad in long quilted robe and a full mask — half protection against the cold, half insurance against would-be witnesses. Still, her face burns with the sudden change in temperature between her orbiting jumpship and the inhospitable Europan air. 

Eyes watering, she spots Eris Morn, likewise head-to-toe in cold gear, shadowed in the icy crags of the cliffside, a sudden alertness in her typically hunched posture. She wants to sprint over, but maintains a casual pace until she's sure she's out of any lines of sight, closing the last few steps between them with long, fast strides. She and Eris lock in a tight embrace, comforted by each other's warmth against the biting winds, linked arms soothing the pain of each other's long absence.

This whole region of Europa is a Darkness zone. It's not the first time Ikora has had her Light suppressed, nor is there any threat of permanence. Still, she feels an amorphous ache of loss, sharpened by her inability to provide the sun's warmth in this moment. "I do apologize for the cold." 

"It's not your fault."

"What really happened here? I know about the crash — that one of the Bray facilities was destroyed in the process. There are ground reports that something inside caused this."

Whatever relaxation that settled in Eris' stance evaporates off. "In the course of removing VIP #2029's forces from the Exoscience Facilities, a fireteam led by VIP #2014 boarded an orbital weapons station. They prevented Taniks from launching a nuclear strike, but catastrophically deorbited in the process."

"By the Sky, Eris, tell me everyone's okay —"

Eris swallows, and the knot of anxiety that has settled in Ikora's chest since the beginning of all this tightens. "All six guardians and their ghosts are alive. VIP #2014 is still recovering as her Light slowly returns. She's repeatedly refused monitoring and off-planet transport. I don't believe she will budge on this matter . . . 

"I wanted to tell you — Vanguard surveillance and House Salvation signal-jamming be damned. I had half a mind to open an ascendant manifold to the Tower and deliver the news in person."

Ikora shakes her head. "Operational security is paramount. You did the right thing."

She doesn't relax. 

"And the Darkness?"

"Inside the Deep Stone Crypt lies an anomaly similar to the one on the moon. It was exposed in the collision."

"Inside—? Clovis Bray knew?"

"We recovered logs . . . he built the entirety of the exomind transfer process around it. VIP #0101 would be able to explain in further depth . . ."

Ikora's mind swims as she begins to consider the implications. Latent paracausality had long been suspected in exos, but she never would have guessed such a direct link. The history of the Golden Age would be reconsidered. Books would be written and rewritten. Scholars and theologians would debate what it meant for beings birthed of Darkness to walk among the Traveler's chosen. Her own views of humanity and the Light would change in ways she couldn't yet conceive. 

"Ikora? Are you okay?"

" — Yes. This is a lot to take in at once." 

"It has been for all of us."

The wind whistles over the canyons, a strange, reedy keening that's almost mistakable for a distant murmur of music. 

"Eris, how are you holding up?"

"I've been through worse," she replies dryly. "My companions are more troublesome than I'd like, but less so than I'd feared. Loath as I am to say it, we make a fine team, and I trust them despite everything."

Ikora feels a fraction of the weight in her chest lift. She'd been hesitant about Drifter's and Elsie's uneasy alliance with Eris — but Ikora's faith that Eris could navigate whatever challenges they presented was well–placed.

Perhaps, Ikora hoped, she was even a good influence on them. 

"And your research?"

"We have made significant progress in harnessing the powers first encountered in the Lunar Pyramid."

Rustling through the pockets of her cloak, she produces her ahamkara bone shard, alight in soft licks of green flame. Flexing her hand slightly, it extinguishes and crystallizes into silvery ice. 

"In our experiments, the use of stasis produces no insidious psychological or paracausal effects. It doesn't look impressive, but this represents a breakthrough. With the combined powers of Light and Darkness, even our most formidable enemies will crumble before us."

"The three of you are exceptional. Lightbearers are insatiable in their quest for new weapons. When word gets out, are you certain your results will be repeatable?"

"We are still people, Ikora, as vulnerable to corruption as any. We cannot stop a bad actor from using stasis to bad ends . . . but it will not induce corruption as other applications of the Darkness have. It is a tool in an arsenal; a powerful one, but without any motive of its own."

Ikora stares, transfixed, at the ball of concentrated stasis in Eris' hands. With another twitch, the ice dissipates. The bone reignites its wreath of soulfire.

"Will you learn with me?"

That was the question on Ikora's mind since Eris first spoke with certainty that the Darkness could be tamed. Was it not a Warlock's duty to plumb the depths of knowledge, to understand all that she can, to peer into oblivion, to chart her path past it? Learning stasis would make her among the first of her kind. A leader and mentor not just of warlocks, but of an entirely new class of guardians who walk in both Light and Darkness. A trusted elder of tomorrow.

She still finds herself saying what she told herself every time she considered it: "No."

"Why not?" Words that could have been confrontational from anyone else were gentle, almost pleading, from Eris' lips. 

The worry and doubt she so carefully manages threatens to overflow like sickness — does, in one rivulet of admission. "I may study it, but I can't use it. I must be a beacon of the Light."

"I won't try to change your mind."

Ikora loves this aspect of hers' and Eris' relationship: their ability to let each other be unapologetically who they are. To never feel the need to live up to or shrink away from reputations. Yet she considers a world in which she feels comfortable touching the Darkness, living up to her full potential without fear of optics, or others' judgment. 

The timer she'd set buzzes, signaling her departure.

"Please be careful. Aunor will keep looking, and I can't hold her off forever."

She and Eris press their faces together in a contactless kiss. 

"Until next time—"

"Clarity in action, love."

[aswegoalong72]

Reyal At A Glance - Therikine

Map by @nexelart (twit)

Therikine - Where Land Meets Sea

Therikine is one of the latest settled regions of Southern Reyal during their early history, but it was the most important prior to the discovery of the Yuniv-Semat Trail.

As a temperate island, deep in Alkanite territory, it was exploited for its remoteness and abundance of natural resources at first. As those who fled from South-Eastern Reyal during the Exodus didn't have many resources or much of value in terms of trade goods, Therikine was essentially a holy grail for them.

Following the first religious wars, The Alkanites had a very hard time regaining trust of the rest of the world. Those in Tyrateol and other cities refused to do business with them for almost thirty years, before one day a ship set sail from Therikine to Heryeg-Ta, a major Tenavite shipping center. There, they unloaded several tons of gifts, ranging from dried ajjen mix from Therikine, to a few major works of art from Gallak. This marked one of the first attempts of intercontinental unity and goodwill, even if it didn't last.

In the following centuries, Therikine became a massive hub for traders and civilians alike, drawing in traders all across Reyal. As things cooled down thanks to communication and treaties, Therikine became a symbol of unity; a place where anybody, regardless of their religion, could feel safe together.

Nowadays, Therikine's use in terms of ajjen production has fallen; it's still produced and exported, but in much smaller amounts. Most familial communes, no matter where they're located, have their own greenhouse dedicated to growing the plants needed for it. Instead, Therikine focuses more on its mineral wealth, and has built a few small factories with the GRC's aid to help produce and distribute household robotics.

LV-72

LV-72, or “Laren Vuuhet”, which stands for “Mining Site 72” in the local tongue, was one of the Global Resource Committee’s many prospecting regions in the area. Located in a canyon, the area was originally marked for exploitation due to its high levels of yttrium and iron. However, many were shocked to find the presence of some very well preserved fossils in the canyon walls, coming from just before the Second Reset.

The entire mining operation switched gears, focusing on locating more. As time passed, two junior specialists (Sav and Uutarb, who grew to be very respected in their fields) proposed using ground penetrating radar to see if there was anything else in the area.

They were proven right, and on one fateful cave dive, Uutarb and one of her compatriots discovered two incredibly well preserved fossils. Not from before the Second Reset, but the First. Due to the nature of the extinction events & Reyal’s resurfacing in the periods that followed, they only had a hazy idea of what life was like before these catastrophic events. These caves helped to change their understanding of not only their world, but of themselves.

As this discovery took place well over two hundred years ago, LV-72 has more or less become a tourist attraction. Most of the fossils in the area have already been uncovered, being sent to museums and universities across the globe.

Yuurat

Yuurat is the capital of the United Therikine Communes. Originally, Yuurat had just been a small farming community, forming shortly after the third Exodus wave. Settlers were those who disagreed with mainstream Alkanite beliefs back in Gallak, and set out to find a new land that had been untouched by anyone. After scouring the seas, they found Therikine; a beautiful green gem among the dark blue seas.

Initially, growth was slow. The only things they knew how to work with were the super abundant algae and seaweed that grew in the area, which they used to supplement their diet. After a little more exploration of the region, they discovered a few new fruit species, as well as some miscellaneous vegetables and herbs.

On one fateful day, a local doctor began experimenting with some of the herbs, and discovered that quite a few had some very stimulating properties. After drying some and blending them together, he made Reyal’s very first cup of ajjen; a beverage that would change the world.

Word quickly spread, and ajjen became a very important trade good for Therikine. It began to command trade deals with Gallak and other Alkanite cities, with ajjen being almost as expensive as gold as word of its properties and taste spread. However, as dry ajjen is nowhere near as potent as fresh, things began to die down as some got their hands on seeds to grow their own.

Yuurat’s population slowly declined for a few hundred years, before it had a second wave of exponential growth, thanks to the discovery of rare earth minerals.

Today, however, most mining and production has been moved off world, and Yuurat has become more of a general food producer and vacation town. With a population only a fraction of what it used to be, Yuurat barely holds the power it once did, but is still a bustling and thriving town.

GRC Therikine Outpost

The Global Resource Committee (GRC) can be very closely tied to Therikine, in more ways than one. Therikine has always been a major producer of rare and important minerals, and the GRC was a big player in the development of Therikine’s mining industry.

The GRC’s Therikine outpost was established a little over 250 years ago, initially to help scout for new deposits on one of the relatively uninhabited sections of the island. Mining was already a very important sector for Therikine, but with the aid of the GRC, production tripled. Before the push of mining into space, Therikine would be one of the GRC’s top donors of resources, and played an important role in helping to fund new projects, such as the Rev-Legaken Launch Facility.

The outpost also was a major training facility for the GRC; new recruits of various physical sciences would typically be sent here to get their bearings, before being sent out to other locations across Reyal. Calculating environmental impacts from mining and finding new deposits were fairly easy, so it was a very simple and easy first post for greenhorns.

With the discovery of numerous fossils in the region, mining was slowly toned down in the area, with its new focus becoming paleontology. This marked the slow end of the outpost, as new discoveries are eventually dried up. Choosing for the area to become a center of learning, it was converted to a museum and hotel just a few decades ago.

That’s it for this entry; thanks for your patience in waiting for this! It means a lot to me. Until next week, when we’ll be discussing the Great Central Desert Mountains! Take care!

Directory: Intro | Climate | the Land of Tenav's Dawn | the Desert Rings | Therikine | the Great Central Desert Mountains | the North Glacial Plains | the Yuniv-Semat Basin | Juleg Marrdev Technocracy | Yuniv-Semat Trail | Ro | Velgae