#coming home 'verse

[mohini-musing]

Whumpmas in July 2023 - Day 3 Stitches

I'm dreadful at keeping up with these events, but here's a little something for Day 3, several days late.

Coming Home 'verse, the usual warnings apply

--

“A little help?”

Those words never mean anything good. Nat doesn’t ask for assistance until she’s practically on the edge of consciousness. Clint looks up from today’s honey-do project in the barn and sees her pants slung lower than usual on her narrow frame and the fly undone to expose a sunken expanse of too pale skin and a pad of combat gauze pressed beneath slim fingers to what’s bound to be yet another self imposed punishment for sins she won’t confess to anything but an unholy blade. 

“What now?” he asks her, after scanning through available options for conversation and settling on sidestepping the elephant in the room via direct action on its results. 

“Won’t clot,” she murmurs.

“C’mere,” he beckons, rising from his crouched position near the tractor engine and patting a mostly intact kitchen chair a few feet away. 

She sits with the leg on the injured side stretched out rather than sitting properly. That tells Clint whatever she’s done went deep enough to hurt with movement rather than just bleed. 

“Show me,” he instructs. 

Nat lifts the combat gauze and it’s immediately clear that this one isn’t self imposed. 

“You said you weren’t hit.” The words are calm, measured. 

“It’s a graze,” she counters, face ashen.

Clint pulls his phone from the back pocket of worn work jeans and calls his wife, asking Laura to bring supplies out to the barn and warning her to leave the kids with whatever bribery is necessary to ensure no one is coming with her. 

She appears a few minutes later, a duffle slung over one shoulder. 

“Oh honey,” she murmurs when she peels back the gauze and examines the ragged, swollen wound that’s definitely infected before taking Nat’s face in her hands and leaning in close to kiss her forehead.

“You know better than this,” she chides her.

“It was fine,” Nat counters. 

“Mmhmm, so I see,” Laura returns. “Very fine indeed. Don’t barf on me while I clean it, huh?”

Natasha nods, but it is obvious that’s a command she’s probably not capable of obeying. 

Laura removes the combat gauze, rinses the wound with a saline syringe and ignores Nat’s stifled groan as she does so. 

“You do realize I could have sewn this up without the funk a couple days ago?” Laura tells her conversationally. She might as well be commenting on the clouds outside.

“I glued it.”

“That seems to have worked well for you,” Laura tells her as she takes a pair of sterile qtips from a package and wipes along the edges of the swollen flesh before rinsing the lot again with more saline. Nat’s swallowing convulsively now, her face two shades past night of the living dead. 

Next come tweezers and the careful removal of glue flakes from the decidedly ineffective dermabond. Nat’s trembling all over and Clint moves to support her from behind, guiding her to rest her head against him while he wraps his hands around her wrists and brings them above her heart. It won’t stop her from passing out, but it will make sure she doesn’t get hurt if she does. 

Laura’s hands make quick work of the rest, irrigating the gash until the saline no longer runs yellow with infected fluid. 

“You know I can’t actually stitch this up right now?”

Natasha nods, sucking in a breath as Laura bathes the surface in antibiotic spray and presses a fresh pad of combat gauze with its integrated styptic powder onto the wound before slapping a sheet of tegaderm over the lot. 

“Done,” Laura tells her before rising from her knees and wrapping her arms around Natasha. They stay there a long while, Nat resting against Clint and Laura holding onto them both while reminding the pair of them in a tone that doesn’t match her words that if she’s going to keep their idiotic selves in one piece it helps if they don’t make her pretend she can’t see them favoring a goddamned bullet wound they aren’t admitting to having. 

[foolsocracy]

lyla kill these idiots

[technically-human]

The hug!!

This one was once again commissioned by our dear @i-am-as-normal-as-you-are and we actually talked about this scene quite a lot. Charles is still going through it, and he doesn't even feel like he should be getting the hugs he needs. Poor boy.

[splendidcyan]

MEOWS MORALES !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

[livwritesstuff]

Honestly, Eddie doesn’t know why it had taken so long for him to realize his and Steve’s children could understand the shit that came out of his mouth.

(It took an embarrassingly long amount of time).

Even when Moe’s third or fourth word was fuck, he didn’t realize it (and she was using it mostly correctly too, which should have been a serious flag, but nope).

What made him realize it was when they started repeating the shit that came out of his mouth. 

To strangers.

In public.

The first time Eddie had been really caught off guard by something one of his daughters said was when Moe, who was three at the time, had proudly announced to an unsuspecting grocery store cashier, “Daddy says my Papa’s a DILF!”

And, like, Eddie had just heard the term for the first time, and obviously he was goddamn delighted by it because…duh. Steve. 

It just hadn’t occurred to him that his toddler might have caught it too, but little pitchers have big ears, or so the proverb suggests, and Eddie had taken it as a wake-up call that Moe isn’t a baby anymore (tragic as it may be).

He’s not the only problem though – Steve is just as bad, (if not worse, because he really doesn’t bother to check where their kids are before he starts running his mouth).

One particularly damning incident was at a restaurant, which is something they don’t even do all that often because, seriously, going to a restaurant with very young kids should be an Olympic event or something.

(The last time they all went out to eat, Nancy and Robin had made a drinking game out of all the times Steve and Eddie had to take a child to the bathroom and ended up so far gone that Eddie had needed to drive them home).

The incident started with the waitress asking, “Can I get you started with anything to drink?”

And it had ended with four-year-old Moe confidently announcing, “My Papa needs a fucking margarita.”

Thank god, the waitress had been a twenty-something college student and thought it was hilarious, but Steve had still been completely mortified.

[cherrywhite]

Silt Verses protagonists // Returning Home

[propertyofsamcollins]

I already know Dear is fine as hell. I'm relistening to their first audio and they literally SAT ON HIS DESK.

Like, I just KNOW they're a baddie.

[yuwuta]

PLS PLS PLSSSSS keep talking about kids with olympic athletes! gojo and nanami pls pls pls i have to Know. everything u wrote about yuuta was already so so cute

(prev olympics au here)

the gojo twins are hilarious because your baby boy looks exactly like satoru, but has very little of his personality—it seems like the only things he inherited was satoru’s love for sweets and love for you. still, even though he’s a strong swimmer, he much prefers to relax in his floaties alongside you if you’re also in the pool, or chill by your side on a lounge chair, glasses too big for his face keeping the sun out of his eyes as he shares his smoothie with you, and asks to borrow your phone to take pictures of his sister and daddy in the pool. 

your baby girl on the other hand… she might have your face but she’s got satoru’s everything else—his competitive streak, his confidence, and definitely his mischievous nature. she’s the one who tiptoes into your bedroom at five in the morning, tapping at her daddy’s shoulders, and putting her little finger over his lip to shush him before he can wake you up; she’s always the one to convince satoru to take her swimming the backyard at the crack of dawn, and why by the time you and your baby boy wake up, she and satoru are already past warm up laps and swimming lessons and onto who can make the splashiest canonball competitions (she always wins because while her tiny body can endure a belly flop, satoru’s years of training physically doesn’t allow him to do it… and maybe because he’s not so competitive when it comes to his baby girl, he’ll always let her win). 

kento’s professional judo career honestly doesn’t last very long. after his first olympic games, you two start dating and he proposes just after he wins gold the second time he’s in the olympics; he does maybe two more years of national competitions while you’re pregnant, and decides that the intense training for the next two years in preparation of a third olympic competition isn’t worth missing time he could spend with you or your baby girl—plus, with all the money he’s made from competitions, winning gold medals, brand ambassadorships, commercials, and collaborations, he had enough money to provide for all of your for the rest of your lives. so, that’s what he does (his dream has always been to be a househusband, anyway...) his previous salaryman career comes in handy when deciding how to invest his money, how to buy a house, how to take care of his friends, how to set up a fund for your daughter, and an extra account or two… just incase more babies come along… 

by the time your baby girl is four, she’s already kento’s biggest fan. she loudly and proudly proclaims to everybody that her daddy was basically superman and won all the shiny trophies and medals in the house from when he was being a superhero. if anyone recognizes kento when they’re out together, she always confirms their suspicions, proudly boasting, “yeah kento is my daddy! he’s a winner!” it always makes kento’s heart swell to hear her praise. he doesn’t compete professionally anymore, but he does train from time to time, and has taken on a few mentees, and your daughter LOVES to watch him coach/train. she’s got her own uniform that she always puts on whenever they go to the gym together, and gets so excited when kento or ino or yuuji pretend to spar with her. 

she’s honestly kento’s mini figure. she’s respectful and reserved, but strong and knows when to fight and how to use her voice. there’s a time when he gets a call from her school saying that she got in a fight, the principal frames it as your daughter needlessly pushing around an older kid, but your daughter is certain in her words when she tells her dad that it was because the kid was being mean to the younger kids, and to her. kento doesn’t say a word to the teachers—doesn’t even fight them sending her home early for the day, because he’s happy to scoop her up and take her out for ice cream and tell her that he’s proud of her.

[milogreersleftdresssock]

“where do you want these fangs baby?” AAAAHHHHHHHH AAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHH AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH

[kyuubinosennin]

return to the mists

It had been three years since Uzumaki Naruto left for training with Jiraiya. Three years had passed since the power of the villages had begun to shift. There were a series of events over three years that occurred following Naruto's appearance before Konohagakure's Hokage and his former teammates. One of the events was the public outing of Uzumaki Naruto by some unknown source. Now the world knew that the Kyuubi Jinchuriki still lived and that he was the son of a village's heroes. The ripple effects of that left Konoha side-eyed and regarded warily, but it also alerted others that the Uzumaki Clan was not as dead as it was thought to be. Another was the start to attacks on the jinchuriki. A nearly fatal assault on Sunagakure left its jinchuriki, Gaara, wounded and in hiding while he recovered. This assault had been stopped by a timely intervention from two fellow jinchuriki - Roshi and Han of Iwagakure. Yet, it introduced the world to a rising threat: The group called the Akatsuki. A band of mercenaries with a darker plan that had yet to be figured out. Yet another event was more tragic than anything. Miraomoi Akawarai had died in his sleep to old age and his waning health. A death that put Kiri in mourning for a while. Akawarai had been a pillar of the village and had moved mountains to better the village. He had inspired others and thus his loss was felt. Yet, he had set up things to continue on past his death - including the reborn Seven Swordsmen of the Mist. It was now time for the son of the seas to return home. Kiri was experiencing a quiet transition into the evening - the moon starting to lurch into the sky. Stars filled the vast sky above while the light mist settled down across the village. It was as the evening began that the Mizukage, Mei, would be tipped off to a very powerful presence now entering her village. A familiar presence of chakra that was now at Kiri's cemetery.

There, standing before the grave of Akawarai, was a familiar head of curly red hair. A "crown" of flames that befit a prince like he was. The young man with whisker marks on his face and his patterned scars. His body was covered by a tattered red cloak - tattered and "styled" to look like nine red and black tails. Two sheathed swords peeked out from his cloak. The scabbards looked to be simple in design - a dark brown leather holding for the swords. His head tilts when he feels her approaching. "I was going to come surprise you, but I suppose I should have suppressed my chakra first." remarked Naruto with a small smile crossing his face. He turned to face Mei - having done what he came to do by the time she arrived. A bouquet of flowers laid on Akawarai's grave.

[loquarocoeur]

how turned on was yours verse max when he saw charles in the fighter pilot outfit from when he flew the jet recently?

That fighter pilot uniform definitely did not make it back to base, it went MIA

[livwritesstuff]

uh so i was feeling like writing something angsty and ever since i wrote this a little bit ago i can’t stop thinking about the idea of what the upside down coming back decades later would look like, however it’s a bummer and not the vibe i want for my steddie!dads verse so consider this an au for an au or whatever idk

It’s a normal, average, mundane, regular Wednesday when Dustin calls.

They don’t talk as much as they used to, but that’s adult life, Steve supposes. 

They both have entire lives now, spouses and children and jobs that consume pretty much every waking hour. The near-1000 miles that separates Steve and Eddie in Massachusetts from Dustin in Indiana doesn’t help things either, and seeing as how Dustin had long-since inherited the Hawkins Lab research from Owens when he retired back in the mid-2000s, that won’t be changing any time soon.

Steve is home when Dustin calls, and between counseling clients, so when the phone rings and lights up with his name, Steve picks it up with a grin.

“Hey man, what’s goin’ on!”

Nothing but silence comes through Dustin’s end for a while – such a long time that Steve checks to make sure that the call didn’t drop or his phone didn’t die or something (and neither had happened, so it’s definitely a Dustin thing).

“Dustin?” he asks, “You there?”

Silence, still.

Then –

“Steve.”

Dustin sounds…not normal, and Steve feels the grin slide off his face.

“What?”

“Steve,” he chokes, “It’s…it’s back.”

Steve feels his heart stop for a second, feels it like all the blood in his veins came to an abrupt halt for just a moment.

“The Upside Down,” Dustin continues, “It…all of…it’s back.”

He sounds like he’s underwater, or maybe Steve’s the one sinking beneath the surface, just like he’d done forty years ago when he’d taken Dustin’s place on that boat and got dragged into hell through the depths of Lover’s Lake.

Steve hangs up the phone, his hands shaking.

His knees feel shaky too, like they can’t support his weight anymore despite doing so for nearly sixty years.

They’ve been giving him problems lately – his knees. Nothing too crazy; he can still go on his runs and putter around the yard and all that. It’s just a part of aging, he supposes, and he hadn’t minded aging before – liked it, even. Liked his greying hair and the crow’s feet around his eyes and his achy knees, because there’d been a period of time many years ago when he wasn’t sure he’d make it long enough to experience that inevitability of life.

Right this second though, he hates it, hates the way it makes him realize he’s not as nimble as he used to be, the way his reaction time isn’t the same anymore, because he knows that’s what had gotten him through those horrible years back in the mid-eighties.

He lowers himself down, and as his ass hits the tile floor of the bathroom – his daughters’ bathroom, the one they’ve shared practically their whole lives, the one Moe lost her first tooth in, the one Robbie pierced her own ears in, the one Hazel will be getting ready for prom in soon – Dustin calls him again.Steve doesn’t pick up, too busy kicking himself for not considering sooner the possibility of this sooner, for not having a plan ready to execute to keep their daughters safe the way no adult had done for him.

He can feel an old instinct – the urge to gather his loved ones close – starting to kick in, his mind starting to race as he catalogs the people who make up his small corner of the world. 

Hazel is easy – she’s at the high school just down the road. He can have her back home, back within arm’s reach, in a matter of minutes.

Robin and Nancy are next closest, still living in Boston after all these years. Steve would wager a guess that they’ll be hearing from Dustin soon if they haven’t already, and then they’ll probably head Steve and Eddie’s way, and then they’ll all regroup. 

They’ll figure out what their next moves are.

Moe and Robbie are trickier with both of them living in New York City and likely unwilling to leave their school and their jobs and their friends without any warning whatsoever. Moe is getting more and more reasonable the older she gets, so Steve may have to start with her and hope that Robbie follows.

Moe is twenty-two now. 

Moe is older than both of her dads had been when Eddie had nearly died, when Steve had carried him out of hell and made sure he didn’t. All three of their daughters – even seventeen-year-old Hazel – are older than Steve had been when he got sucked into that horrible mess, and they’re still so damn young. 

With two decades of parenting under his belt, he finds it kind of unbelievable that anybody had looked at his sixteen-year-old face and seen anything but a child, nevermind actually asked him to do the things that he’d done.

Dustin calls him two more times before he gives up. Only a moment later, Steve hears Eddie’s phone ring downstairs, and then he hears Eddie’s jovial tone as he answers the call. 

He goes quiet real quick after that.

Just as Steve is deciding who to call first – Hazel’s school or Moe – his phone vibrates, two quick buzzes that can only indicate a text from Robin.

He opens it.

did dustin call you?

Steve lets out a heavy breath because, fuck, it’s real.

Yeah, he texts back, then adds –

This fucking sucks

40 years

As Steve watches the bubbles of Robin’s incoming response, he can vaguely hear Eddie’s ascent of the stairs, still on the phone with Dustin. 

The bubbles disappear.

“Fuck you, Dustin,” he hears Eddie snarl, “This is on you.” There’s silence for a while, and Eddie seems to pause in the hallway just in front of their bedroom door. Then, “Yeah, I’ll talk to him…I know��later, man. Love you. Be safe.”

Steve looks down at his phone to see that Robin is still typing, only for the bubbles to disappear again a second later.

Finally –

nance is going back

i’m going with her

Steve could throw up.

He almost does, he’s pretty sure, although he’s not positive because he might be having an out of body experience, or maybe he’s dissociating, or maybe it’s a fucking PTSD flashback or something. He doesn’t know.

He should know, or so his handful of psych degrees would suggest, and he probably would know if it was happening to someone else, but then again, he’s always worn blinders when it comes to himself.

That was true about him when all this shit started in 1983, and it’s still true now, almost forty years later.

Forty fucking years.

He doesn’t look up when Eddie comes into the bathroom, joining him on the floor with his back against the bathtub.

“Dustin took offense to you hanging up on him,” he says, and Steve can hear the way he’s forcing humor into his tone.

As if any of this shit is funny.

“Erica and the kids left with Claudia,” Eddie continues, answering a question Steve probably would’ve gotten around to asking Dustin himself if it weren’t for the whole hanging up on him thing, “Erica went kicking and screaming, obviously. I offered up our house, but they’re still deciding where they want to camp out. And everyone has agreed not to say a word to Jim and Joyce.”

Yeah, that makes sense, seeing as they’re both in their eighties and perpetually acting like they’re thirty years younger – at a minimum.

Not that Steve would know anything about that.

Definitely not.

“He said he’s one-hundred percent positive that it’s all still contained to Hawkins, so…” Eddie pauses, “We don’t have to, like, track down the girls or anything. Just make sure they don’t go anywhere near Indiana.”

And that, at least, is an actual relief.

“Robin’s going back,” Steve tells him, because there’s no point waiting to address that particular issue in this whole fucking mess.

The so I’m going too is implied, because that has never needed to be said when it came to Steve and Robin.

The way Eddie’s face changes evades Steve’s ability to describe. It makes him regret saying anything – that’s for fucking sure. Makes him wish he’d just snuck away in the dead of night.

“C’mon man, we’ve picked up a whole fuckin’ litter over the years,” Eddie says, and he’s still forcing humor into his tone, “You can’t leave me to fend off the masses alone – the years have made me weak-willed, I’ll surrender immediately.”

Steve manages a snort, but he still looks down at the floor all the same.

Eddie doesn’t say anything else for a while, but his hand wraps around Steve’s ankle as if there was enough brute strength in the one appendage to keep him rooted to the bathroom floor.

(Strangely enough, it feels like there might be).

“Steve,” Eddie finally says, his voice stiff and hard in a way Steve doesn’t think he’s ever heard before, “We are way too old for this shit – Robin and Nance too.”

Eddie pauses.

“Steve,” he says again, “I know how important Robin is. I know, but our children would be fucking devastated if anything happened to you. Don’t think they wouldn’t – and something would most certainly happen to you.”

“Eddie.” 

He’s still avoiding his husband’s eyes.

“Steve,” he pleads, something desperate in his voice, “We talked about this. Remember? Last spring, when we watched that stupid zombie show with Hazel? And there was the episode with the old gay guys? We talked about this. You told me not to let you go if this shit came back.”

Steve makes no response. Ed lets out a heavy breath, looking to the ceiling.

They have this conversation every now and then – one of those conversations that always teeters on the edge of an argument – in which Eddie insists that Steve could be fine if their relationship ended in a way that Eddie himself would not. It’s a conversation that Steve hates, because he hates the idea that Eddie – his husband of twenty years and the love of his whole entire life – could still be thinking so low of himself, that there’s any part of him that doesn’t think Steve would be fucking wrecked by losing him.

Still, it had always been a hypothetical. It had never been real.

Suddenly, Steve feels claustrophobic sitting on the floor of his daughters’ bathroom. He gets to his feet and, as he heads for the door, Eddie scrambles up after him.

Halfway down the hall, Eddie lunges for him and catches his arm, wheeling him back around to face him.

“Steve,” Eddie says one more time. 

Then, because he apparently has no words ready to follow with, he stops.

“Steve,” Eddie starts again, “Please. You’re everything. I love the girls and I love our life, but Christ, Steve, you’re my entire world. You changed everything for me. You showed me how life could be worth living, and you keep showing me, and I’m not ready to let go of you yet – not even fucking close. Please don’t let this be the way we leave each other.”

Steve finally lets himself look at Eddie’s face, the face he’d fallen in love with decades ago, the face he’s still in love with decades later. He looks at his big eyes and the hint of grey at his hairline and his crows feet and the scarring that creeps up his neck from underneath the collar of his shirt (it’s a shirt he’s had for ages – since before even Moe was born by the looks of it, but so is the rest of his half of their closet).

And he finds himself nodding.

Eddie’s exhale is all desperate relief as he tugs Steve into his arms and wraps them around his shoulders. Steve immediately reciprocates the hug, pulling him in even closer, surprised to feel tears pin-pricking his eyes

“I love you so much, Steve,” Eddie tells him, gripping the back of his t-shirt so tight he feels the collar pulling taut against his throat, “I don’t say that to you enough.”

“You say it all the time,” Steve replies with a wet laugh.

“Not enough,” he shakes his head, and Steve decides there’s no point in arguing.

A minute goes by.

“Fuck,” Steve half-laughs, half-chokes as he lifts his head to meet Eddie’s eyes, “This fucking sucks.”

“I know,” he says. 

Again, he reels Steve in, and again, Steve lets him, holding onto his husband like a lifeline, like they’re standing somewhere far more perilous than the carpeted floor of their upstairs hallway.

“I know,” Eddie repeats, “And we’ll…we’ll talk about it but for now, just – can I just hold you for a bit, okay?”

Steve nods again.

“Okay.”

read the extended version on AO3 (i.e. feat. added “flashbacks” so it fits the formatting of the rest of the series)

[keycarabiner]

Thinking about all of the working parents of Hawkins slowly beginning to leave their babies with Steve because he is so good with kids and soon enough he’s running an unofficial daycare out of his home

[barclaysangel]

I heard you wanna talk about tiffany 🤭🤭🤭

Oh absolutely, let's talk about our wife 🤭🤭🤭

[myremnantarmy]

𝐒𝐞𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐦𝐛𝐞𝐫 𝟏𝟗, 𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟒 𝐆𝐨𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐥

Thursday of the Twenty-fourth Week in Ordinary Time

LK 7:36-50

A certain Pharisee invited Jesus to dine with him,

and he entered the Pharisee’s house and reclined at table.

Now there was a sinful woman in the city

who learned that he was at table in the house of the Pharisee.

Bringing an alabaster flask of ointment,

she stood behind him at his feet weeping

and began to bathe his feet with her tears.

Then she wiped them with her hair,

kissed them, and anointed them with the ointment.

When the Pharisee who had invited him saw this he said to himself,

“If this man were a prophet,

he would know who and what sort of woman this is who is touching him,

that she is a sinner.”

Jesus said to him in reply,

“Simon, I have something to say to you.”

“Tell me, teacher,” he said.

“Two people were in debt to a certain creditor;

one owed five hundred days’ wages and the other owed fifty.

Since they were unable to repay the debt, he forgave it for both.

Which of them will love him more?”

Simon said in reply,

“The one, I suppose, whose larger debt was forgiven.”

He said to him, “You have judged rightly.”

Then he turned to the woman and said to Simon,

“Do you see this woman?

When I entered your house, you did not give me water for my feet,

but she has bathed them with her tears

and wiped them with her hair.

You did not give me a kiss,

but she has not ceased kissing my feet since the time I entered.

You did not anoint my head with oil,

but she anointed my feet with ointment.

So I tell you, her many sins have been forgiven;

hence, she has shown great love.

But the one to whom little is forgiven, loves little.”

He said to her, “Your sins are forgiven.”

The others at table said to themselves,

“Who is this who even forgives sins?”

But he said to the woman,

“Your faith has saved you; go in peace.”

[coyotetatertot]

Promotional for Tate's company in my interp of A Better World AU.

FULL TEXT BENEATH THE CUT‼️‼️

God, I love exploring what he can do if he hadn't suffered through his father abandoning them and then YEARS of caretaker burnout as he tried in vain to heal his dad. What if he hadn't learned to fear his intellect and skill. What if Appalachia hadn't been cut out of him by being raised in the Bay Area. What if his abilities and cultural identity were both nurtured and encouraged by loving parents and a strong educational support system. What then. 👁️

I think he definitely still has his issues, because public figures often do lol. Fame causes so many problems. But fuck if I don't wanna let this lil scruffy genius out of his mental cage of repression, burnout, and depression. I think he's wild, enthusiastic, and has so much heart and spirit underneath all those layers of bullshit. 30 years of suffering and he is in his 30s, the divergence of the AU puts him on a radically different path from childhood and that makes him a TOTALLY new person.

On the highest peaks in the world, the strongest tethers aren't your rope, but the emotional ties which unite your climbing team and keep you connected to those waiting for you back home. Whether it's by blood or by choice, Tater Higgs McGucket understands the importance of family. Son of revolutionary inventor and co-founder of the Institute of Oddology Fiddleford Hadron McGucket, Tate describes his father as his closest friend, collaborator, and mentor. In collaboration with family friend and other co-founder of the Institute Stanford ("Ford") Pines, the three first designed their renowned supplemental oxygen delivery system after an expedition studying anomalies in the Himalayas.

"Our investigation took us to Camp 1 of Manaslu," Tate described in an exclusive interview with Mountaineering Monthly last week, "And I was shocked by the amount of traffic. This was some of the roughest terrain on the planet, but we saw more people out there than on some of my hiking trips back home in Oregon. . . Ford was our interpreter, and after talking with the locals, we realized that there were all these companies selling tickets to the top — with sherpas puttin' themselves on the line just to ferry tourists to the summit."

The influx of inexperienced climbers has had disastrous consequences, as Tate witnessed firsthand. "A lot of these people, they're physically and mentally capable of makin' that kinda climb, but maybe they don't follow best practice. You can summit without any oxygen, if ya stop and acclimatize along the way. But that takes a while, so it can be really temptin' to ignore your body and throw an oxygen bandaid at the problem. But then you're puttin' yourself in an emergency situation if it fails. While we were there, one of those climbers ran out, and a sherpa had to run more oxygen up there. I told him there was a storm a-comin', but he went up anyway. And we ended up losin' 'em both."

Tate's growing twang was underscored by a nervous bouncing of his leg, and he took a moment to collect himself before resuming the interview.

"Dad and I had a look at these open circuit breathing apparatuses. While they were reliable, we saw they were plum wasteful. Knew we could make somethin' better. There's a growin' culture of risk-takin' 'round them mountains. And maybe we cain't stop the industry that's causin' these problems, but we can at least make it safer for them climbers. 'Cuz at the end of the day, regardless of what ya think about these people? With an accident like that, there’s people left behind that're a-hurtin' somethin' fierce. Partners, friends, kids without parents. I mean, just the thought of losin' my dad like that is enough to break my heart — but that's reality, for both the families of that climber and the sherpa who died tryin' to save him. . . Naw, I reckon we can do better."

That was how the youngest McGucket, who had become a household name in the 1990s for his work in designing personal computers with his father's company, first ventured into the world of alpinism. But what he hadn't expected was to fall in love during the process.

"I always needed nature," he explained, "I get overstimulated awfully easy, and so I go out there to clear my head. Been hikin' and fishin' since I was a kid. . . And so, after workin' with climbers to test this equipment — I saw a lot of them eight-thousanders up close, right? And one day, I just knew I had to see it from the top."

But having become familiar with the dangers involved, Tate knew that preparing himself for such a climb would be no easy task.

Luckily, he found a trainer in Ford's twin brother, Stanley Pines.

“Stanley is a stand-up guy. Real old school. Throws a hell of a punch, catches a hell of a catfish.” Tate said of his mentor, “He’s a fighter. So I knew I needed him, because all it takes is one slip up or act of god for these expeditions to turn life-or-death. And he’s been great. Neither of us knew much about rock climbin’ or mountaineering before all this. But we’ve learned together. And having summited a few eight-thousanders now, I can tell ya, I wouldn’t be here without his help.”

Also aiding in his expeditions were his prototype real-time weather and vital monitoring systems, which have since become standard issue in all McGucket brand protective wear. But Tate is most proud of his high-frequency beacon system, which allows climbers to communicate with their partners and first responders — even from inside perilous crevasses.

"The danger of avalanche or serac collapse is real. There are times when your life just ain’t in your own hands. Our systems allow climbers to communicate when they’re entering or exiting a perilous area, and can send out an SOS. They’re also constantly pinging, so in the event somethin’ does happen, they’ll help your climbing partners or first responders find you.”

But high altitudes aren’t the only place you’ll find the twin peaks of McGucket Mountaineering. Tate’s inventions have seen heavy use by first responders of all stripes, from firefighters to wilderness search and rescue — and he has recently signed a contract to manufacture respirators for medical use.

"At the end of the day, it’s all about making it home safely.” Tate concluded, “You gotta prioritize what matters most. You can do incredible things in this world, but none of it matters if you can’t share them with the people who love you.”