#finally finished this fucking thing

[randomwriteronline]

"I trust I have chosen you well."

The structure was sprawling. On one hand, it had to be expected - the Makuta assigned to Metru Nui would not have resisted a dose of fanfare to their abode, settled as it was in the second most important location of the universe; on the other, it felt a bit surprising, because rather frankly the city had not appeared to have the necessary space for such a thing with how densely packed it was. Then again, the lair tended to develop vertically and was situated in Po-Metru, easily the most desolated district.

They had tried to commit its plant to memory as the tour went on, but with little success. They would have to acclimate to the winding nature of its shape and the position of the rooms in time.

Norik bowed his head briefly in a sort of long nod, knowing these things were heard even when unseen: "We will prove as much, Makuta."

"I do not doubt it," Teridax replied with the low hissing voice of his kind.

His feet were heavy on the floor, causing a very strange and distinctive sound that echoed between the walls and had so far determined the rhythm of their "relaxed march", if one had to describe the pace at which their group had moved through the structure.

It was as such a little bit jarring when they produced a curious muffled shuffle as he stopped, a little ways from a door leading to a staircase.

"I would request another duty for you to take on, as well," he explained. His hand gave a little flourish, akin to a (somewhat flustered) wave. "It is a lesser one, in a sense - it shouldn't be too hard for you."

"Certainly, Makuta," Norik replied. His siblings nodded with him, truthfully a little curious.

"I would like you to look after my..." the hulking being blanked for a moment, voice cutting off and glowing eyes staring into the void. His long fingers clenched into a half-hearted fist as he seemed to think as furiously fast as he could, settling on a word that he still didn't seem too sure was correct: "Apprentice. As well."

That was a surprise - information on the inner workings of the Brotherhood wasn't exactly abundant, but nobody had ever heard of them taking apprentices before. A recent member of the Makuta species, perhaps? But Teridax would have likely called them "sibling" instead, if that were the case. The being had to be something else... Skakdi weren't quite that bright, but maybe a Vortixx? A Steltian? A Matoran or Toa, even?

Teridax continued, regaining composure with a wave of his claws: "Though he is far from newly made, his experience of the universe outside of the Brotherhood is very limited, if not skewed in certain places. I hope a team of Toa such as yourselves would be a good influence on him."

They weren't sure if that was a compliment or not.

It probably was, by all means, and they were in no position to complain either way.

It was just that this whole deal sort of sounded like they were being treated as a pack of Hapaka hounds put to the ferocious protection of one singular Mukau.

Still, because they had been chosen by Teridax himself and to plainly tell him they didn't think that was a task befitting them would have been incredibly rude to say the least, Norik again voiced his siblings' carefully worded thoughts as they all bowed their heads: "We're flattered, Makuta, and we will do our best. Is your apprentice busy at the moment, or would it be fine for us to meet him?"

"I fear that will have to wait. I have sent him to one of my brothers," Teridax replied. "Guests tend to make Pohatu rather... Excitable."

Pouks made a strange face.

He regretted it when the Kraahkan turned to him.

"What is it?" the Makuta demanded.

"Ah - nothing," he tried to lie, opting then to diminish the truth: "I remembered something, but it's nothing important."

"Do share." the other insisted. "I am curious."

Oh, this was the worst. Pouks did his best not to sink into his shoulders and through the floor as he embarrassedly explained: "It's just an old legend... According to some, the Toa Mata of Stone is also called Pohatu. I was only surprised by the coincidence."

Teridax did not respond to that for a moment, completely frozen.

At last, his voice emerged from the depths of his gargantuan being in a somewhat strangled tone: "Indeed."

Perhaps he was planning to clear his throat with a half-hearted cough afterwards, and return to the topic of orientation, leading his newly appointed Hagah up to the rest of the lair.

He did not manage to do any of that as a atrong wind suddenly rushed right behind him and straight into the staircase, following its spiral design until it hit what was presumably a very far away wall with a loud 'thunk' - a sound which winds have a tendency not to make when coming in contact with walls, as they are composed of an element that under no circumstances goes 'thunk' upon impact.

Thoroughly spooked, the Toa jolted and held their tools a little tighter.

The Makuta, for his part, widened his eyes and gazed into nothingness for a second or so in horrible, horrible realization.

"Excuse me," he mumbled at the six before making his way to the entrance of the stairwell in what he certainly hoped would be a sufficiently dignified manner of leaving the scene.

He got past the doorway, though not by much; then, whatever had rushed up the steps came back down like a small slavine, and the massive being had to abruptly cut his height in half with a hissed grunt as the noticeably shorter thing slammed itself in his abdomen at the speed of a magnum bullet.

The Toa were about to intervene as they noticed his arms shoot forward to contain the menace, but instead held themselves back in baffled silence when he patted its head.

"Are they here?" an excited voice asked.

"You should be with Krika," Teridax wheezed without answering.

"He said you were getting a Hagah team so I wriggled out of his lair and ran over as soon as I could!" the voice explained still bouncing with enthusiasm, like traveling the entire distance between Metru Nui and Zakaz, apparently by foot and possibly with the same velocity it had just displayed, was a normal thing to do.

Which, considering the Makuta's reaction to the information was only to ruefully pull his head back and heave a deep sigh of disappointment (very likely regarding his more somber brother), it seemed to indeed be.

From behind the massive being the new guest finally caught a glimpse of the six warriors standing still as statues just a couple bio away: overwhelmed by excitement, it pressed harder against Teridax as if to slither through the gaps in his armor, managing to get most of its body across before the Makuta finally caught it by the legs and was this able to hold its noticeably Artakhan build in place, while its orange eyes smiled brilliantly through the elongated sockets of its brown Kakama.

"HI!!" the Toa Mata of Stone yelled at them as he waved his hand at terrifying speeds: "DO YOU WANT TO SEE MY HORNED RAHI?"

The six Toa felt the ability to speak leave them.

Before their wide eyes, the figure of legend was at last scooped up in Teridax's palms, sitting between the mighty claws as snug as a kraata despite being roughly ten times the size of one, dangling his legs like a Matoran on a ledge and still beaming at them with a wide excited grin behind his mask.

The Makuta made a small sound, like a wheezed whine. He seemed a little embarrassed.

"I was hoping to stage a more elegant introduction," he half lamented - rather melodramatically, which made the being in his hold giggle. "But I suppose Destiny is at work against me."

-

"Do you need help, Gaki?" Pohatu asked, suddenly stomping to a stop.

Gaaki thanked the Great Spirit she hand a tendency to clench around herself when scared, otherwise the crate in her hand would have ruinously slammed on the floor and whatever it contained would have likely gone to pieces.

"No, thank you," she replied as gently as she could with a wobbly smile: "I've got it all handled here, you don't need to worry."

"Are you sure? I know these are pretty heavy, and the stairs are terrible - especially when you've got your hands full," the other Toa insisted gently. He faked a little gun show for her, lifting his short arms - it did make her chuckle, and he seemed to relish in that: "I can carry one or two so you don't have to take too many trips down!"

"I don't want to distract you from your duties..."

"Oh, I don't have anything to do right now. Or ever, really. I'd love to lend you a hand."

She fumbled with the crate again.

"Alright," she acquiesced, "If you want to, I won't disdain some help."

Pohatu beamed brilliantly.

He lifted the second crate with a short grunt, settling it to the top of his head for stability, and gladly hurried in front of her to lead the way. His armored feet were surprisingly light against the ground, quick and nimble in a way they certainly didn't look: Gaaki struggled to match his pace, though it thankfully became clear she didn't need to - as he stopped to wait for her at every corner, very aware of his speed.

She hadn't expected all this eager helpfulness from Teridax's protégé.

Or from a figure of myth, either.

She couldn't say she was complaining about it, though.

"It's Gaaki, by the way," she told him him just as he began too speed off again.

That made him stop in his tracks, precariously balancing his weight on one foot in a rather dangerous way: "What?" he hollered back as he managed to set himself back upright without breaking anything.

"My name is Gaaki," she repeated, "With a long A."

"Ga-ah-ki?"

"Exactly like that. You said Ga-ki earlier."

"Oh! I'm sorry. I didn't mean to get it wrong."

"Don't worry, it's a common mistake. You'll get the hang of it."

He looked to the floor sheepishly either way.

He fiddled with his crate, balancing it a little better to take his mind off his slip-up, and headed for the stairwell leading down into the laboratory's storage.

Gaaki found him a few steps down already, waiting for her expectantly with his back to one of the walls. Imagining he was used enough to this type of architecture to know the better way to traverse such a narrow space with one's hands incapacitated, she imitated him; and so they began sliding down.

"Where are you from?" Pohatu asked all of a sudden, seeming honestly curious.

"Hm? Uh, the lower archipelago," she replied while trying to focus on where to place her feet, "The right one."

"Oh, opposite of Artidax then!"

"Exactly. A little higher, actually, but - you understand."

"And were you made a Toa? Or were you a Matoran first?"

The strange question made her steal a quizzical glance at him: "I was a Matoran, of course."

Before she could ask him about the first part of his question, he was already moving onto a new one: "So you had a job?"

"Well, yes. I was tasked with supervising the liquid protodermis flow through the canals down to Ba-Koro. Changes in gravity have a tendency to make it act up in certain places, so it was my duty to make sure everything worked smoothly."

"And did you like it?"

She looked around (checking for her supervisor's surprise visits still, after all these decades) before leaning down closer to him so she could whisper in his audio receptor with a conspiratorial tone and eyes telling of an ancient frustrated desperation: "It was dreadfully boring! I've feared for my life before, but I'd rather get turned into a lizard-headed little freak than spend a single day obsessing over tubes and pressures again!"

Pohatu snickered a little despite himself. The mortification that gleamed in his eyes for a moment disappeared the moment Gaaki joined in with her own chortle.

"Was it that bad?" he asked.

"Ah - alright, I could have exaggerated it a bit... It wasn't really bad, just mind-numbing. Which might be worse, really, but it doesn't matter. It's all behind me now - and I could be remembering things worse from how they actually were. I've been a Toa for eleven thousand years, after all, my memory's bound to get spotty."

Pohatu almost tripped as he did a double-take: "Eleven thousand?"

"Yes?"

"And you were a Matoran before that?"

"Yes, for four thousand years."

The Toa Mata seemed bewildered: "You're brand new!" he cried out.

Gaaki blinked.

A strangled cackle of disbelief left her at last, rattling through her chest: "Thank you?"

Of all the things she'd been called in her long life, 'brand new' was exactly the sort that she never would have expected anybody to one day use to describe her.

The stable pavement caught them by surprise. The lab's storage was rather large, looking almost cavernous due to its emptiness: Pohatu made a beeline towards a corner, placing down his crate as gently as he could; the Toa of Water followed suit and left her own cargo nearby, muffled tinkling coming from within.

Just to make sure everything was alright, Gaaki lifted the covers slightly and peeked inside: the crystal vats stood straight and clean, none broken or toppled.

She gave a small sigh of relief.

"Do you say that to all the females you meet?" she dared to tease him now that her concerns had been quelled.

"Of course not, all the others I know are even older than me!" Pohatu replied earnestly with a booming laugh. "Compared to us relics, you just came out of the forge!"

She snorted a little: "Alright, fair enough - and how old are you?"

"Oof, hundred thousand, give or take."

A large number was to be expected (it's really the only fitting answer, for a figure of myth) but it still took her quite off-guard. The Toa before her had every bit the design of something primitively unusual, with a certain almost wild appearance that no other being could hope to match, but his energy and attitude made it frighteningly easy to forget how truly ancient he was.

Pohatu didn't let her dwell on that too much: without fanfare he wrapped his arms around her, hefted her up in the air, and before Gaaki knew it they were back upstairs.

He placed her back down with a careful, bouncy movement, like it had been nothing.

"How many more?" he asked eagerly.

She held onto his shoulders for a moment, trying to steady her head so that her thoughts could clamber out of the basement where the fulminous speed had abandoned them and back into her skull: "How many what?" she managed once her faculties had properly caught up with her.

"The crates," he reminded her.

Oh! Yes, right, the Makuta's supplies, of course...

She turned around, still a little dizzy: a singular large box met her gaze, sitting almost defiantly right where she'd left it minutes earlier as if challenging her.

"One," she replied at last.

Pohatu leaned down to grab it: "I can handle that-"

Before she could stop herself, her hand was already gently patting the top of the brown Kakama and her voice was growing kindly stern again as though she were talking to a rowdy but otherwise well-meaning Matoran: "I've got this. You've been of great help already, but I'll assume you have your own busywork to do, right?"

Mortification crawled over her like a pack of ravenous stone rats as she realized what she was doing.

Much to her relief Pohatu could not have minded her somewhat condescending behavior less, as he leaned into her palm with great enthusiasm, soaking in her thanks like a sponge, before trying to insist more gently: "I have my Rahi, but if you need a hand..."

"Don't worry, I'll be fine," she reassured him as she retreated her hand, still embarrassed by her lapsus: "You saved me plenty of time, and even without your speed a single crate will be a breeze to carry."

"But the stairs..."

"You've showed me how to handle those earlier. I'll be fine, I promise!"

"Do you... Do you want to see them, first?"

"See what?"

"My Rahi!" the Toa of Stone started rocking in place, seeming excited. "The Makuta gifted me a few over the centuries and I'm- I mean, if you'd like to - oh, oh, have you ever met a moose? Chirox made it a few decades ago, I have one, she's huge! But she's docile, don't worry. If, if you, want, to come see a moose."

Gaaki thought about it for a moment: "You know," she said at last, silently apologizing to her brother, "Pouks actually has a fascination with large creatures."

Orange eyes beamed: "He does?"

She nodded: "I'm certain he would quite like to see a moose."

The shorter Toa appeared to be vibrating.

He fidgeted with his hands, trying to ask her a question he couldn't quite find the words for, begging for a tacit permission with a sort of eager nervousness; she huffed a giggle and winked her approval, and after barely the time to beam her a smile he was already off, a short lived forceful breeze all that was left in his wake.

-

"Iruini."

The Toa of Air stiffened.

He sincerely wished, upon Wairuha, Akamai and the Great Spirit himself, that Teridax's ability to apparently materialize out of nowhere in complete silence would one day finally stop scaring the wits right out of him.

Nonetheless he did his best to steel himself and straighten his back as he turned around: "Yes, Makuta?" he inquired.

"Pohatu is not in his chambers," the towering being spoke somberly. A tinge of anxiety spread into his words like ink staining water. "Nor have I found him in the laboratory, or any other room. He is not aiding your leader, or sparring with your sister; your brothers of Stone and Ice are with his Rahi in his place."

Ah! So it was just this, thank goodness.

Iruini waved at the Makuta to follow him while he walked fast, headed for a nearby balcony opening onto a large barren plane: "Don't worry - last I checked, Bomonga was keeping him busy."

"And where is Bomonga, if you'd be so inclined to tell me?"

"Ah, but where's the fun in that?" the Le-Toa murmured as quiet as he could while peering beyond the railing.

Teridax's much larger form hunched above him, casting a long shadow over him as he squinted in an attempt to catch at least a glimpse of the black and golden armor his Hagah of Earth wore. There were no such colors upon the dusty barren ground; all that crossed their vision a sudden bolt of brown every now and then, rushing like a crazed Rama across the stone and stopping only for mere seconds at a time to look around with feverish purpose.

Then, the unthinkable: enormous metal pillars sprung from the ground around the maroon spot and snapped shut around it just as quick as an alligator's jaw. The little figure cried out a thunderous 'eep!' as it tried to escape, but it was far too late.

From up on the balcony Iruini smirked with a huffed giggle while the Toa failed to evade his brother's grasp for the fourteenth time, struggling and squirming in it like a kraata. Bomonga's head peered through the ground at last with his usual impassible expression tainted by a glint of amusement in his lime eyes that would have been much harder to notice if his Mask of Growth hadn't turned his features massive.

Pohatu certainly saw it, and replied by giving his gargantuan finger a fake kick in playful retaliation.

"Best of thirty!" he hollered at his captor.

The Onu-Toa found the challenge suitable for a being of his caliber. He placed the Mata of Stone down once more with all the care necessary, watched him zip away laughing for a few dozen bio, and disappeared back into the dirt, like a predator sinking once more into the bog to settle in wait.

Iruini dared turn his gaze away from their game.

Teridax had moved to stand by his side instead of behind him and continued to watch the scene with a relieved smile and half-lidden eyes, anxiety gone from his stance; his claws clacked gently against the railing with a slow, pleased cadence.

His Hagah of Air leaned towards him, prompting him to lower his head to hear his hushed words better: "Should I ask my brother to let him win at least one?"

A low chuckle rumbled through the Makuta: "Ah, but where's the fun in that?" he echoed, stealing an amused glance at the Toa biting his own tongue with a quiet regretful sound, like he'd just been kicked in the stomach.

Down below, Pohatu evaded an ambush with a triumphant cry.

Then he yelped as he fell into Bomonga's actual trap.

His frustrated groan tore a cackle out of Teridax.

"Do remind him to warn me next time he indulges my apprentice, if you would," he concluded while turning away from their game, walking back into the tower with slow steps. "I'd rather not have to fear about his safety again."

"Of course, Makuta."

The faint golden glow of the Kualsi gleamed in the corner of his eye: then the Toa disappeared.

Iruini blinked into the room where Teridax was busy archiving failed experiments in small stasis jars much later. He noticed his arrival only thanks to the curious sound which followed the teleportation - a sort of faint aspirated clunk clicking into place to force an empty space open around a specific shape.

"How is the score looking?" the larger being asked casually.

"They've moved on to best of sixty," the Toa answered without missing a beat.

Teridax bellowed a single laugh. If he could personally meet whoever decided all Le-Toa should have some amount of good comedic sense, he would probably give their hand a good shake.

"What brings you to me?" he drawled, gently shaking the small inert beast in its vat and watching it sway in its dreamless sleep. "I do not think you came to simply rely Pohatu's newest fruitless endeavors against your brother of Earth."

"I had a question about him, actually. Not Bomonga - your apprentice."

The quiet cautious tone was not lost on him, nor the strange feeling behind the last word: "Continue."

"Kualus recently shared with the rest of us an... Interesting conversation the two of them had, in-between their enthusiastic talks of how a horned flying Rahi would feasibly function and fly and sustain itself and so on and so forth."

"I can imagine the topic."

A beat of silence passed. Teridax set two more jars in place, careful to make the least sound possible in case his Toa Hagah had suddenly decided he preferred murmuring over speaking.

The other being did neither.

"Am I wrong, Iruini?"

"You haven't said anything I could refute."

"And yet you do not admit I am right."

"... He spoke of his siblings."

The Makuta's hand stalled for a moment before returning to his work in silence.

"Not much," the Toa added with a certain haste, his usual bite softened into an almost demure tone. "Only in passing."

No answer came.

The pause invited him to continue like a claw poking his spine.

He shifted on his feet. These sorts of dialogues of one rested on his nerves as comfortably as a spiny stone ape perched on one of the astrologers' crystal chairs.

"He didn't have much information on them, anyways," he spoke: "Their current whereabouts are unknown as far as anybody knows."

"They are," Teridax murmured.

Iruini eyed the hulking back as though kraata could have suddenly oozed out of it: "He isn't too heartbroken about that. At least - that was Kualus's impression."

"He isn't."

"Nor does he seem to hold them in high regard," the Le-Toa whispered, "Since he wishes them to be dead."

The vat hit the table with a small firm sound.

A long sigh hissed out of the Makuta; his shoulders lowered slowly, his claws raking across the flat surface without leaving marks, only producing a low grumbling growl.

The Toa withheld as much air in his lungs as he could, finding it very wise to keep quiet.

Not for a lack of questions: he had plenty of those. What the Brotherhood thought of the matter, for example. Or what Teridax thought of it, more specifically. If "apprentice" meant something other than "beloved ward" - if it was a claim of sorts on a being, if it included a certain kind of education they were not privy to, overseen by the Makuta when his Hagah were not around. Had it ever been disclosed how Pohatu had come into their midst? No, it had not. And the idea of the Toa Mata leaving one of their own behind sounded too farfetched to be true. Like a false memory planted by gentle voices, to confuse shackles for silk ribbons.

Silence hung over them like a coat of armor.

He almost jumped when the gigantic form spoke again, thundering voice hushed into the rustling of leaves: "I have told you," the Makuta echoed, "His experience of our universe is limited at best, and skewed at worst."

"And did you work to better it?" Iruini insinuated before he could catch his silver tongue between his teeth.

"We have tried," Teridax replied without any theatrics. "We have taught him what we could, what we knew, what we heard... But we are not Toa. We have our limits. And he is stubborn."

"But to wish for them to-"

"Our sister Tasaphore found him in a tunnel outside Karda Nui, alone, barely able to move through his guilt," the other cut him off. He did not snap, he did not growl; he spoke softly still, not turning around. The tone of his reminiscence colored itself with a faint distant pain. "He has told us little of his time before we welcomed him in our Brotherhood. He prefers not to dwell on those days. All he has remained firm on is that his siblings abandoned him."

"But that is - it can't - their duty-"

"He knows his duty. What do you believe? That he holds the safety of Mata Nui in no regard?"

"And what's he to do if the time comes? He can't pretend to save the Great Spirit on his own just because of a grudge!"

"Convince him yourself, then. Manage what the we, I shall admit, have failed to achieve: dozens of thousands of years we have tried to persuade him at least to forgive, and still he persists in his vitriol. He is stubborn, I told you - a stone that fights against change, against the forces of time."

He turned swiftly, making no sound: his vermillion eyes pinned Iruini in place, instilling in him a paralyzing sense of fear that seemed to snake around his neck like tendrils.

"You are his siblings now," Teridax sentenced with a murmur.

The Toa felt his muscles seize completely.

He shook his head, first slowly, then faster, faster, trying to bargain without words - they could not do it, they could not do it, how could they do it? How could simple Toa like them have taken on the destiny of the Mata themselves?

But the Makuta stared on, his Kraahkan eerily illuminated from within: "You must not share his burden," he whispered. "That is not something I can ask of you, nor order."

Then what?

What was he asking them?

What were they supposed to do?

"You are everything he has outside of this lair - outside of the Brotherhood." the enormous figure spoke with a low, begging tone, soft and quiet. Like a father on his knees, pleading for his son. "His world cannot only be a tangle of kraata, of viruses, of laboratories, severed from his own kin. There are thing we Makuta cannot teach him. There are things a Toa must learn from other Toa."

Unity.

The oppressing feeling lifted from the room.

Iruini gasped by reflex.

Teridax's eyes lost their frightening gleam in the dim light, resembling now only dots of scarlet easily lost beneath the black shape of his Kanohi. He almost looked small, for a moment.

He turned back to his task, his claws curling gently around the fragile vats as he grasped them, inspected them, set them away: "At ease," he murmured without looking at the being behind him as he dismissed him.

The Toa remained still at first. His feet tapped against the ground when he finally began to walk backwards, a little stunted; then a faint aspirated clunk clicked into place, and he was gone.

[bacchuschucklefuck]

soon it'll be dawn again

transcript under the cut ⏬

page 01

Fig: no way? - you're still up?

Riz: Wh– yes?

Riz: Why'd I not be.

page 02

Fig: I me~~ean - that took.

Fig: whole day.

Riz: Yeah?

Fig: 'm beat.

Riz: you should sleep.

page 03

Fig: nah. my guy's still up

Fig: I wanna hang out.

page 04

Riz: That's really nice.

Fig: Hah! - Nobody ever expects an Archdevil rockstar to be nice.

Riz: … yeah. - 's just budget work tho. (the stuff I'm working on) - I've heard it's boring.

page 05

Fig: yeah, but you do it…

Riz: It keeps things going, right? - Nothing happens if nobody sits down and - does the thing.

Fig: That's right… - though. Yeah.

page 06

Fig: sometimes it's someone else who - doesn't want the same thing to happen.

Riz: … - mm.

page 07

Riz (off screen): …It took me a long time to get that not everyone likes doing what I do. - 's probably because you guys are so nice– - or. - kind.

Riz (off screen): to anyone too, not just. - the people you /love/.

page 08

Riz: that's not how it is elsewhere. - The world's– not. hostile. - but 's not like it's kind.

Riz: So I'm doing as much as I can now… 

page 09

Fig: Hey.

Riz: ?

Fig: Go dig some dirt with me.

page 10

Riz: [blank speech bubble] - oh you meant like - actual dirt. (not incriminating information)

Fig: o yea.

Fig: there's clay in the backyard soil. - sometimes when I'm sun deficient or something I go touch dirt for a bit.

page 11

Fig: here u go

page 12

Riz: uh

Fig: now we make a thing! - 'm pretty good at freehanding a bowl.

Fig: I'll show u

page 13

Fig: just– yep, flatten that out as evenly as u can, then–! - actually ur nails'd be so good at cutting out the strip. [larger than usual space] wait. - wait. wait u can carve patterns with them! we HAVE to try

Riz: uh - What. do I carve?

Fig: anything!!!

page 14

Fig: and– yep just seal the inside uh. seam?

Fig: yep that works - okay time's up! all contestant hands up

Riz: [blank speech bubble] - okay - wh. what's next?

Fig: haha - watch this.

(sound effect text): FWOO—MP

page 15

Riz: WH– DON'T JUST DO THAT???

Fig: Now it's fired!

Riz: THAT WAS NOT SAFE

Fig: (actually it's just dry. if u add water rn it'll dissolve)

Fig: ok catch!

Riz: [blank speech bubble] - careful!!

Fig: dw no need haha

page 16

Riz (thought bubble): oh - it's warm…

Fig: now I want you to throw this.

page 17

Fig: u gotta do it - c'mon

page 18

Riz: wh– - It's like 3AM right now

Fig: oh it's not /fired/ fired it's not gonna make a loud noise

Riz: And then just? leave a pile out here?

Fig: pour water over it & it'll be gone I told u

Riz: but

page 19

Fig (off screen): RIz.

page 20

Fig: I've done all this before.

Fig: Can you trust that at least?

page 21

Riz: no, I– - I do. - I trust you.

page 23

Riz: okay what happens now

(sound effect text): glob

page 24

Fig: we do it again!

page 25

Riz: wh. [larger than usual space] What do you mean. (this clay's too wet also)

Fig: see! you're already learning

Fig: [blank speech bubble] - there are flows that are futile to fight. - The world changes.

Fig: Things change.

page 26

Fig: I've learned my lessons with "forevers". - But - as an artist

Fig: I can give you one thing: - You can always do it again.

page 27

Fig: most of everything depends on the rest of the world, - but this. - making new. - that's yours as long as you want it.

page 28

Fig: So?

page 29

Riz: Yeah. - Yeah! - let's make another one.

[sp0o0kylights]

Part one here:: link

"oh i dunno if Im going to finish this" I say, right before the plot ate me. anyway this was too big to post in full to tumblr. If you want the full, completed fic (with bonus Fun Fic Facts tm) it is finished and up on A03 here:: link

TW vomiting, drug use

Eddie is good.

Eddie is kind.

Eddie does not run over Henderson’s bike, laying haphazardly in Harrington’s pristine driveway, even if it would make him feel better. 

He does slam his van into park with enough force to make the brakes squeal, which he decides is an excellent way to announce his appearance to the entire neighborhood. 

It’s a move he’s pulled countless times. Charging in and making a scene meant people forgot that he couldn’t actually fight for shit, and equally, took their attention off whatever their original target was.

Which in this case, was Eddie’s too fucking nice freshman. 

The rage pulsing through him is white hot and all encompassing, and it’ll get him through a lot--but the switchblade he carries ensures everyone’s safety in these little matters. 

It makes him brave.

Braver than he should be really, but Eddie spent the entire drive over here chain smoking out the window while prepping for this little confrontation and the more he’d thought it all over, the madder he got.

That a washed up jock thought he could still take advantage of actual children. 

Nevermind Hellfire, or Henderson ditching, or Sinclaire’s ranting. 

This was about their relationship with Harrington. 

A picture has been building in Eddie’s head. One that’s only gotten clearer after today, and one he will be putting an end to, because he doesn’t believe for a second Harrington has a headache. 

Henderson might always be the smartest person in the room, but he’s dumb as hell socially. Too honest, too blunt, and frankly, too goodhearted. 

That makes him easy to take advantage of. 

Sinclair was worse--the guy was too easy to guilt trip. 

It was a noted issue with his ranger, and apparently, himself, and Eddie could easily see how Harrington could have twisted the idea of some ridiculous life-debt to keep Lucas in his clutches.  

Even Mayfield, Billy Hargrove’s former stepsister, was wrapped up in Harrington enough to have a go at her own friends over him! 

She wasn’t even one of his flock, but Eddie was her neighbor. Saw how her mom was barely home. How she was practically raising herself, head down, doing her best not to ever let people see her cry. 

Yeah.

Wouldn’t exactly be difficult for a guy like Steve Harrington to swoop in and take advantage there. 

Wheeler clearly wasn’t a fan and Eddie can only come up with reason after reason as to why--King Jackass had the poor kid’s entire friend group under some kind of--of sick spell.

Well. 

Eddie was here to break it. 

Even if it meant storming into the King’s castle by himself and calling him out on his shit. 

Nobody fucked with his people. Especially not douchebag, washed up jocks. 

He’s up to Harringotn’s ridiculous double doors in a flash, banging hard on the wood with a closed fist, positively fuming and uncaring of who sees. 

Surprise, surprise, it’s Henderson who opens it.

“Eddie?” He says, blinking up at him like he’s not sure of what he’s seeing.  “What are you--hey!” 

Hey, because Eddie’s pushed past him, storming into the house. 

“This has gone on long enough.” He announces, loud as he ever has been. “Where the hell’s Harrington?”

Henderson, frustratingly, does not weep or throw his hands up in celebration of Eddie’s incoming rescue. 

Which is fine--Eddie hasn’t broken the spell yet.

Unfortunately he is bitching, in that infamously annoying tone of his.

“Dude, shut up, Steve’s pills really only work for like, an hour--” 

“Fantastic, he’ll be clear headed for our little talk.” Eddie tells him, head sweeping left and  right as he looks for his target. He’s been in Casa de Harrington a few times before to deal, but it was always at night.

He can now say with perfect honesty that the place looks worse in the bright light of the day. 

“Was that Eddie?” Sinclair calls, and Eddie orients towards him instantly, storming down the hall. 

It doesn’t take long to find the kid. 

 Lucas is standing in a kitchen larger than Eddie’s entire trailer, a too-large pink apron drowning his frame. 

He turns, revealing the front of the thing has  ‘Whisk Taker’ written on it in syrupy white font. 

(Baking puns. Disgusting.) 

“Are you cooking?” Eddie accuses with a sneer, though his disgust isn’t aimed at the freshmen. 

This is exactly what he was afraid of finding. 

Lucas just stares at him. “Uh--yeah?” 

“What did I say about too many people, Munson?” Mayfrield spits angrily. It takes a second to locate her--the kitchen is enormous and far too white--but eventually Eddie realizes she’s perched up on a counter next to the largest sink he’s ever seen. 

For a second, Eddie thinks that’s just where she’s chosen to sit. Then she moves, and he realizes she’s washing and drying a series of water bottles. 

He never in his life thought he’d witness Maxine Mayfield willingly do someone else's dishes. 

“Someone get me Harrington.” He’s not trying for anything dramatic, but his voice must sound dangerous because all three freshmen stop dead, eyes wide as if he's just spoken in tongues.

He zeroes in on Dustin with a glare. “Now.”

Who huffs, throwing his hands up in the air like Eddie’s the one being unreasonable here. 

“Absolutely not--we just got Steve to sit down. He’s been following me around the house insisting I’m causing more problems than I’m fixing!”

“Because you are.” Steve says, voice dripping with calm condescension as he appears like a wraith in the doorway. “And I know you’re all into the whole dungeon game, Munson, but this is a little dramatic, even for you.”

Eddie whirls to face him, already vibrating with fury. “Oh, that’s rich, coming from the guy who’s treating them like his personal minions. What’s next, Harrington? Gonna make them re-shingle the roof? Paint your house? Wax your car?”

Steve gives him a flat, almost disbelieving stare. “Do you seriously think I had Henderson miss your game just so I could lounge around while he’s doing chores?”

Eddie doesn’t bite, too busy unloading. “Oh we can both see it’s more than that.”

He doesn’t notice the way Steve’s jaw tenses, or how his hand creeps up to the side of his head, rubbing at his temple. 

“Anything else you want done, Harrington? Maybe make ‘em mow the lawn?” Eddie sneers. “Or teach ‘em to plump your pillows just the way you like—”

Steve finally snaps, pushing himself upright. “You know what Munson, you're right,” he says, voice tight with barely-contained frustration. “I’m clearly a terrible person they need to be rescued from so--”  

He cuts himself off with a hiss,  eyes squeezing shut as his hand goes to the side of his head, and spits out his next words like they hurt. 

“You can play the good guy and take them all home.” 

Dustin, with an exasperated sigh, steps between them. “No,” he tells Steve sternly, as if managing an unruly child, before spinning on his heel to say the exact same thing, in the exact same tone--to Eddie. 

(Jackass freshman can’t even appreciate when they’re being actively rescued!) 

“Eddie, I promise that this isn’t what it looks like.” 

For anyone else it would sound like a plea, but Henderosn somehow makes it condescending.

“We can explain, alright?” Dustin says, raising his hands as though coaxing a skittish animal. “Will you let us explain? Please?”

Eddie glowers. 

“You clearly do not, in fact, know what this looks like. Because if you did,” 

Eddie can make himself menacing and he does so now, pulling on every single year of drama and theatrics and lying to cops he’s had, pushing his shoulders back and making his body tall.

“You would know that it looks like a guy who peaked in high school is forcing a bunch of fourteen year olds to do his bidding.” 

He takes an aggressive step towards Steve, boots thunking hard on the floor. “And that isn’t happening on my watch.” 

“Aren’t you like an extra super senior?” Mayfield says, arms crossed over her chest. 

“Irrelevant!” Eddie swats the air in her direction, as if to physically bat away her words. “I’m still in high school and I’m not emotionally blackmailing a bunch of kids into waiting on me hand and foot while I fake a headache!” 

“Oh ew.” Max’s nose scrunches in disgust, a mixture of disbelief and fury warring on her face. “That is not what’s happening here.” 

“Were you even listening earlier?!” Lucas says, like he can’t quite believe Eddie is this dumb. 

(His character will be the next to die, so Eddie swears.) 

“I did.” Eddie points a finger at him, triumphant. “I heard all about how he’s tricked you into thinking you owe him a life-debt!”

“A what?” Harrington’s squinting, like he’s struggling to follow along what is happening. It’s a halfway decent sick act, Eddie will give it to him, but he knows the facade will drop in a moment. 

As soon as the asshole loses his temper and decides to try and throw Eddie out, he’ll switch from the Poor Me act into the usual pompous, rich dick on a rampage persona. 

“How he’s saved you all, convinced you and Henderson that you’re in debt to him.” 

“Could we just---please stop yelling?” Steve says in the background, heel pressing hard against his eyes. 

Then winces like his own voice hurts his head.

“What the hell, Eddie?!” Dustin’s cut across the room, stepping in between the two older teens. “Where did this even come from!?” 

“Guys.” 

“The mouths of babes, Henderson. Which you would know if you witnessed Sinclair’s rant instead of missing out because King Dickhead demanded your presence at his castle!” 

“Guys.” Steve’s voice abruptly takes on a weird tone, and it’s only Mayfield’s eyes popping wide that has Eddie realizing something is wrong--right before Harrington shoots past him, noisily hurling in the sink.

“Gross!” Max shrieks, throwing herself off the counter. 

Harrington aims a shaky middle finger in her direction. 

“I just washed those bottles Steve, I'm not washing them again!” Mayfield rants, but she’s not fooling anyone. Not with the way she’s already edging back towards him, like she’s afraid he might fall over. 

(Worse, like she might try to catch him, as if Harrington’s broad, barbarian-like shoulders wouldn’t flatten her instantly.) 

“Al-’right.” Harrington slurs a moment later, still panting over the sink. “Everyone--out. Now.” 

“Steve--” 

“Nope. Making it worse. Out.” 

He manages to stand and turn, leaning hard against the counter and for the first time since this all started, Eddie looks at him. 

Properly, and not through the lens of righteous fury. 

Harrington’s pale.

The shirt he’s wearing is stained with sweat marks, his sweatpants clearly old and worn for comfort rather than style. 

His hair…

Eddie has never seen Harrington without his infamously perfect hairdo, and the messy, slick waves plastered to his forehead is more of a shock then him vomiting in the sink. 

He’s got his hands pressed hard against his eyes again, and there’s a slight tremble in his fingers that belay he’s likely in a lot more pain than he’s letting on.

In short, Harrington looks like absolute shit, and Eddie, maybe, possibly, the tiniest bit believes he actually has a migraine. 

Well, it was that or he was really committed to the bit… 

The tense silence that has befallen them all is ruined when Harrington makes a ‘hurk.’ noise.

“I’m going to throw up again.” He decides after a moment of contemplation, before whipping back around to the sink and doing just that. 

“Steve’s right.” Mayfield decides suddenly, over all the nasty noises. “We should leave.” 

“I’m almost done cooking!” Sinclair protests, as if Harrington isn’t presently throwing up the contents of his stomach. 

“You’re almost done burning things, you mean.” Max mutters, but her words can’t hide the blatant concern written all over his face. “I don’t think he’s going to keep anything down.” 

“He needs us to finish what we started.” Dustin argues passionately. “You know how bad he gets, he’s not gonna be able to get up in an hour!” 

(A clear exaggeration, because Harrington looks like he’s not gonna make it across the kitchen unassisted.) 

“What I need is for everyone to stop talking so fucking loud.” Harrington moans, before appearing to give up on life entirely. 

He sort of sags against the counter, resting his head against his arms while bent double, as if that would help things. 

It was at this point that Eddie had the most unfortunate realization that he might be the asshole here. 

Because Harrington looks rough--and if he actually does in fact, have a migraine, then Eddie has done nothing but make it worse.

(Very likely the freshmen have as well, given Dustin is incapable of talking in anything other than a loud yell, and the smell of Lucas’s burnt food has permeated the air.

Mayfield seemed to have accomplished a small amount of actual work, at least.

…If Harrington managed to miss throwing up on the water bottles.) 

“Look,” Harrington interrupts with an audible, thick swallow.“You guys did great, and I appreciate the uh, help. I’m fine, I promise, you can all go home. Munson,” 

He doesn’t turn, but his voice does change into something that’s half pleading, half demanding.

“Can we please fight about this tomorrow? Or next week?” 

“No fighting!” Dustin shrieks, which has the effect of making Harrington cringe into the counter--and that is what finally kicks Eddie over.

Bows to the instincts that now want to wrap up Harrington in a blanket over the ones that want to strangle him, (though both are very much at odds in his head with each other.)

“We can put a pin in it.” He says, all the venom dropping out of his voice,  already knowing what’s going to happen next and hating himself for it. 

Even at his absolute worst, Eddie has never been able to resist trying to fix a problem he’s been presented with--or turn down someone who needs help.

Harrington, clearly, needs help. 

“You heard him.” He tells his freshman, then immediately holds up a hand when all three try to protest at once. 

“Ah-ah, inside voices.” He himself uses a harsh whisper, and then has to fight not to laugh aloud when all three abruptly eye him like he’s lost his head.

He probably has.

(Fucking King Steve.

No one who is that much of a douchebag should ever look that pathetic without deserving it, it’s against the Munson doctrine.) 

“Henderson, have you done anything actually useful while you’ve been here? Like, say, getting a warm washcloth?” 

“I--oh.” Dustin’s on the defense instantly, but for once actually listens before he finishes his sentence. “Uh. No.”

“Go do that then.” Eddie instructs, making sure to keep his voice quiet and even. 

“Sinclair, toss out the eggs, then take the garbage out so it’ll stop stinking up the place. Mayfield, see if these windows open. Harrington…” 

He pauses, watching as Harrington tries to gather himself, moving slowly and deliberately like even breathing hurts. His entire appearance is grating Eddie’s nerves—not because he doesn’t care, but because he does, and that’s infuriating. 

“Go lay down, man.” He finishes lamely. 

He expects the freshmen to listen to him. Knows they will, in his heart of hearts, even if they bitch back, because that’s just how things are when he decides to take charge. So few people truly want to, that others are often relieved when he does. 

Steve Harrington is not most people.

If he argues, he could very well tip things out of control again, which means Eddie is likely going to have to force the trio of fourteen year olds out of the house. 

Henderson and Sinclair he can manage but Mayfield…

Thankfully, Steve pushes off the counter with a groan, muttering something under his breath, but slowly making his way toward the couch without any other protest. 

The freshmen exchange glances, all of them looking just as unsure as Eddie feels. Like they’re waiting for instructions now that their default leader is down for the count.

He clears his throat pointedly. 

“Hello? Did I not give you marching orders?” He bats his hands at them. “Go march!” 

Mayfield mutters something that sounds an awful lot like “hypocrite” but thankfully, does as asked. 

“Are you gonna give us a ride home?” Henderson asks as he finally starts moving around--hopefully to get a damn washcloth. 

“You got yourself here, you can get yourself home.” Eddie scoffs back, taking stock of Harrington’s kitchen. 

He eyes the line of pain pills laid out on the counter, quickly noting not one of them is anything that would help with a sneeze let alone a migraine. 

Typical. 

“Why not?” Dustin disappeared down a hallway, but the fact Eddie can still hear him plain as day speaks to his ability to keep quiet. “You have your van, don’t you?” 

“Because I’m not leaving when you three are leaving.” 

It’s an absentminded comment, given his mind is elsewhere. 

Weed may be his bread and butter but he does have a handful of more serious things on offer. 

Of those things, one or two have some fun little unexpected side effects, and if Eddie recalls Rick’s yapping right, one of said things was stopping headaches. 

Said magic little mushrooms might even be in a pocket or two, here, if he remembers right… 

“Wait, you're staying here?” Lucas protests, far too loudly. 

"Ssszzhh!" Eddie hisses, drawing out the sound dramatically, mostly for the sake of cutting off whatever protests were coming his way. 

“No arguing. Your beloved King clearly needs a nap, and that means you’re all off duty. Unless," he adds with a raised eyebrow, "you intend to watch him sleep?"

Dustin looks torn, but mutters a quiet, "No," his eyes shifting sideways like he's weighing the logic.

"Good. Then if you’re all finished…?”

He waits for the nods he knows are coming. 

“Excellent. Now leave." Eddie says, pointing towards the door. 

They hesitate for a second, but then finally begin to shuffle out, the door clicking quietly behind them. 

And just like that, Eddie’s left standing there, watching Steve breathe shallowly on the couch--with a washrag over his eyes.

(At least Dustin managed that.) 

He could leave now. 

Should leave, really. Giving out drugs for free is not exactly a good business move and Steve will no doubt sleep the headache off without it. But Eddie’s feet don't seem to agree with him, rooted in place as his gaze lingers on the sharp line of Steve's jaw, the slight twitch of his brow every time a muscle aches.

Feels the pull, deep in his gut, to provide the relief he knows he can give. 

Before he knows what’s happening, he’s moving, crossing the room toward him.

“Munson?” Harrington squints up at him as he registers his presence, washcloth nudged upwards by shaky fingers. “Why’r you still ‘ere?” 

“Because I’m stupid.” Eddie mutters, right before realizing he actually said that outloud. 

“What?” 

Thank God for Harrington’s headache. 

“You look terrible, man.”  Eddie says slightly louder. “That hair of yours is so flat I think your crown’s gonna fall right off.” 

He’d meant it as a joke--spoke it like one, but it seems to snap Harrington out of his pity party. 

The sigh that blasts out of him is a whole body affair, and gets his feelings across better than his words do. “I get it. You thought this was something else and it wasn’t. Not the first time that’s happened.” 

He turns, cheek scraping against the fabric of his shirt, red rimmed eyes squinting against the light to look at Eddie. 

“You got your laugh in, so you can go.” 

There’s defeat in his voice. Like he’s accepted this might as well have happened. 

(Like he’s just as beaten down as anyone Eddie has ever saved.) 

“I didn’t stick around to laugh.” Eddie keeps his voice soft, and that somehow, makes the next part easier to say.  

“I honestly thought you were messing around with Henderson and Sinclair, and I uh, I’m used to being the only person who gives a shit. When that kind of thing happens.” 

Harrington grimaces. 

“It’s okay.” he mutters, eyes sliding closed once more. “Most people still think I’m an asshole.”

His tone has gone odd again, wrecked and rasping, migraine clearly trumping whatever strong feelings he had on the matter. 

And the stupid thing was, Harrington himself was never really an asshole. 

Sure he went along with the assholes, and he definitely egged them on if not outright participated in some of the lower tier shitty activities, but he wasn’t the guy slamming people into lockers. 

(Eddie, in fact, has a hazy memory of Steve telling off Hagan for doing said locker slamming.) 

It didn’t make him a good guy--he’d had slung too many insults around to get that label--but in the rankings of assholery, his was of the average variety. 

Which means that Eddie cannot logic himself out of his own stupid desire to help.

Even if he really, really wants to.

“Yeah well, even assholes need assistance sometimes, and since I kicked your help out, it’s on to make up for it.” 

“No offense,” Steve slurs tiredly, “but I don’t think you’re any quieter than Dustin.” 

A smile ghosts over Eddie’s face. 

“I live in a tiny ass trailer, Harrington. Trust me,  I know how to be quiet. I simply choose not to be.” He moves, slow and careful, until he’s seated next to the fallen King on his stupidly huge (and very uncomfortable) couch. 

Steve’s eye follows him over, staring up as he white knuckles his sweatpants, washrag sitting crooked on his forehead. 

“I’m not sure I’m not gonna throw up again.” He admits after a moment. 

“And that right there is one of the things I can help with. Provided,” Eddie waggles his eyebrows, “that you don’t mind taking a more recreational route for your recovery?” 

“....are you offering me drugs?” 

“I am indeed.” Eddie confirms with a real smile, plucking the offending baggie out of a pocket. 

“You ever done shrooms, your majesty?” 

Steve huffs a quiet noise that might have been a snort, had he put any effort behind it. 

“How is that going to help?” 

“Be-cauuuuuse,” Eddie draws the words out, still a showman even if he is doing his level best to talk as quietly as possible, “shrooms are what we call a psychedelic, and those are pretty well known among certain circles as the headache healer.” 

Provided one took the medicinal amount and not the down-the-rabbit-hole amount. 

Harrington’s eyes are back open, only this time they’re looking at Eddie’s fingers the same way a dog looks at a nail trimmer: concerned and not entirely unsure it wasn’t going to bite him. 

“I’m not…” He cuts himself off, frowning. 

“You’ve bought plenty of my weed, Harrington. Trust me this isn’t any different.” Eddie tells him. 

Isn’t offended in the slightest--this reaction is pretty typical for people who have only smoked the ganja. 

Even the ones who asked to try for something with a little more ‘umph.’ 

“S’not that.”Steve admits quietly. “I uh. Had a bad trip. While back.” 

“Ah, gunshy.” Eddie says it without a lick of judgment, because Eddie’s been there.

Or rather in the shower, at two am because he accidentally spilled LSD on his hand and promptly tripped balls for 48 hours after.  

 “I’ll hang around a bit, if you like.” He offers casually. “Make sure things don’t go sideways.”

He gets another huff-snort as Harrington’s watery eyes return their attention to him. 

“And what are you going to do if they do go sideways?”

“Put you back together again.”  

Eddie knows his grin is crooked, but can’t help it. He’s thinking about Humpty Dumpty and the King’s Men.  

Somehow he doesn’t see Steve Harrington cracking that easily—at least, not without putting up a good fight—but drugs did worse things to better people. 

“It really helps?” Steve asks, voice quiet. Doubtful.

Eddie presses his hands to his chest. “Scouts honor.”

“You were not a boy scout.” Steve tells him, but he’s struggling to sit up anyway, looking game. 

“Alright, so how do I do this?” He asks, though he’s already halfway down again, propped up on his elbows.

“First, you lay back down, and I’ll brew it into tea,” Eddie explains. 

“Tea?”

“Well, you could eat them straight, but I don’t think they’d taste too great. Not that I wouldn’t mind watching you try.”

Steve scowls. “Sadist.”

“Guilty,” Eddie replies, biting back the urge to sing-song it, keeping his voice down and steady. “Just a heads-up: they kick in fast, but I’ll go light on you—nothing like the ‘fun’ dose for the usual crowd.”

Which is how he ends up back in the kitchen, this time making tea and humming to himself, before offering the final brewed concoction to Harrington.

Who downs it like a shot, because he’s a fucking frat-bro at heart. 

“I didn’t find a teacup for you to do that.” 

Between a full-body shudder and a dramatic grimace, Steve chokes out “Not gonna lie I didn’t think we owned a teacup.” 

“What, do you think I just have them in my van?”

“Honestly? Yeah.” 

Which is kind of hysterical, and something Eddie may be doing--not that he’s telling Harrington that. 

“And now we wait!” He announces instead of rambling about teacups, nearly clapping his hands together before he remembers the migraine Steve is soldiering through with surprising grit. 

Eddie himself would have turned into a whiny mess, so he can’t help but admire the guy’s restraint.

“Waiting to see if I hurl again, you mean?” Steve mutters, flopping backward onto the couch. “That tasted like battery acid.”

“Think it’s coming back up?”

“No clue.”

They sit in silence for a second, then Eddie pokes, “Maybe it’s best if you crash in your room, man. You look like death warmed over, and this couch sucks.” 

An understatement, if there ever was one. The fucking thing didn’t seem to be made for people to actually sit on. 

Reluctantly, Steve pulls himself up, heading toward his room. Eddie tags along, snarky grin covering the way he holds his hands out in case the jock ahead of him slips on the stairs and takes them both out. 

(Unlike Mayfield, Eddie does not pretend Steve doesn’t outclass him weight wise. The man was built like a brickhouse, and he has to fight to keep his eyes up toward Steve’s hair instead of on his ass.) 

Thankfully, he’s saved from all R-rated thoughts by the sheer horror of Harrington’s bedroom. 

“Harrington, I’ve found the source of all your migraines.” Eddie tells him, tone as serious as he’s ever been.

“Ha-ha.” Steve deadpans, stepping into his plaid fucking room. 

“I’m not kidding, I’m getting a headache and I’ve been here less than five seconds.” 

The whole place truly is a nightmare--like someone took one of those plaid hunting jackets and themed an entire room around it. 

Fucking rich people. 

“Trust me, it’s not the wallpaper.” 

“Given how you’re weaving on your feet, I think it’s safe to say I don’t trust you at all.” Eddie tells him, half helping half dragging Steve towards the bed. 

It’s a comfy looking thing and Harrington falls into it gratefully, immediately crawling under the covers. 

“You know where to find me?” Eddie asks him, refusing to think Harrington snuggling up in his bed is something cute. 

“Yeah?”

“Good. Hit me up next time your head gets bad. I’ll make sure to keep some of this,” He shakes the little baggie, “on hand.” 

Steve’s pulled the covers all the way up past his chin, but he moves it down a little to properly cock an eye at Eddie. 

“Dare I ask what you're gonna charge for that?”

“Let’s call it a fair trade for all those times you’ve driven the freshman home from Hellfire.” 

If Steve even recalls this conversation, that is. Eddie hadn’t exactly given him the “fun” kind of dose, but then, he himself has never tested out what dose is needed to cure headaches rather than simply having  fun destroying one's own ego. 

He supposes that’s something he and Harrington both will have to test, between them--because Eddie meant it when he offered the drugs for free.

No one deserves to suffer from the kind of migraine Harrington clearly had. 

“Think you’re good to drop off.” Eddie tells him, after making sure Steve is happily content in his bed. 

Checks his watch to make sure enough time has passed to safely call it, before beginning to attempt his way out of Steve’s god-awful bedroom. 

Which of course, is when Harrington reaches out, looping his fingers around Eddie’s wrist. 

It freezes him in place. 

In a moment that is so utterly selfish and stupid that Eddie will loudly insist it was a hallucination should Harrington ever dare ask about it, he turns his palm and moves so that he’s clasping Steve’s fingers with his own. 

“Thanks. For all this.” Steve whispers, as they hold hands for a moment. 

Eddie squeezes his fingers against the younger man’s before he moves to make his retreat, flashing a peace sign over his shoulder as he goes.  

“Anytime, big boy.” 

Anytime. 

xxx

The thing no one tells you about creating a doctrine, is that at some point or another, someone’s going to hold you to it. 

In Eddie’s case it’s four very pissed off teenagers.

He has a gold medal in mental gymnastics and a silver in denial. Left on his own devices he could easily excuse everything that happened yesterday. 

Reclassify the fallen King as pathetic, and the kids' weird loyalty to him as a holdover from his babysitting days. 

Blame their nosy-ness on them being involved in Harrington’s life, and happily go back to mocking their relationship with renewed vigor because now he’s not going to handwave their behavior as being afraid of Harrington. 

Nope, they clearly and willingly, have attached themselves to the King, which means Eddie gets to make fun of them for life. 

Pity they don’t leave Eddie to his own devices. 

In fact, the little shits hit him up first thing in the morning, early enough that he's’ a little suspicious that the boys slept over at Max’s trailer. 

“We’re not done talking about Steve.” Mayfield tells him and given the determined (Henderson) angry (Sinclair) and put out (Wheeler Jr.) faces glaring at him from over her shoulder, Eddie figures his chances for getting out of this conversation are slim to none.

“Good morning to you too.” He snarks, voice gravel-deep with sleep. “What do you little shits want?”

“I literally just said.” Max rolls her eyes so hard he thinks about commenting that they may stick back there, only to decide that makes him sound too much like a teacher for his liking. 

(Besides if they get stuck, he’ll have an excuse to whack her on the back of her head without getting murdered for it.

…well. 

An attempt at an excuse, anyway.) 

“And who says I have anything I want to talk about?” He fires back, leaning a shoulder against the old metal doorframe. 

Just because he understood what they wanted didn’t mean he was going to make it easy. 

“Would you just let us in?” 

“No.” 

“Eddie.” Dustin whines, and Eddie redirects his frown his way. “Come on.” 

“Well I suppose if you say it that way,” Eddie hums thoughtfully. “No.” 

“Steve’s sick, you asswipe.” Max snaps angrily. 

“I know,” He volleys back, brightly sarcastic. “I saw him yesterday.”

Because it’s Mayfield, she matches him tit for tat, a mimicry of his sarcastic drawl entering her voice. “Good! You get to see him today too.”

And just like that their little ambush makes sense.

(He’s got to find a new way to get the damn kids to fear him, clearly his usual menacingness  just isn’t cutting it anymore.) 

“And why would I do that?” 

He’s done his good deed. He helped Harrington out, and even offered free drugs to help him get his migraines under control. 

Checking up on the guy was overkill.  

“We were gonna do it, but someone let it slip that Steve was sick.” A cutting glance is given to Henderson, who makes a face but otherwise holds his ground. 

“And his mom called everyone else's parents with instructions that we leave him alone until he feels better.”  

“So now if we go over there,” Sinclair finishes for his girlfriend, “we get grounded.” 

Which neatly answers every question that just popped into Eddie’s head. 

The threat makes sense for the boys--Eddie’s met Claudia Henderson and though she has that bubbly, easy to confuse nature of suburbanites everywhere, there was an undercurrent in her eyes of someone who knew more than she was letting on. 

Or perhaps, someone who simply knew what they wanted, and was happy to settle and wait for it. 

 Likewise the Sinclair and Wheeler parental units seem to want to keep in her--and Steve’s, no doubt, given he carts their kids around--good graces. 

Given Mayfield’s mom wasn’t even home last night, her participation in this farce does not make sense and Eddie narrows his eyes at her in warning. 

“I fail to see how this is my problem.” He says instead of directly calling her out.

She knows he knows, and he’s smart enough to figure out how to relay that without saying it directly. 

(An action taken out of respect for surviving a bad home life, and absolutely not because he’s terrified she’ll crawl through his window to enact revenge in the middle of the night.) 

“It’s your problem because you owe him one.” she tells him firmly. “And us.”

Oh no he does not. 

“How so?” He challenges with a snorted laugh. 

“You did kind of storm into his house and yell a lot.” Sinclair points out. He’s doing better at speaking up, Eddie realizes with a twisted sense of pride and dread. 

Not quite so easy to steamroll after his outburst yesterday. 

A part of him hopes that sticks around--Sinclair needs a spine, and not just because Mayfield will keep running circles around him until he grows one. 

The rest of Eddie is pissed off that he decided to get one now, when it directly impacted Eddie’s Saturday morning sleeping plans.  

Leave it to these dickheads to use a good deed against him.

“Look--we can’t make sure he’s okay. You can.” Mayfield steps up to jam a painted fingernail in Eddie’s chest. “He won’t let us do anything that will actually help him. You, he can't stop.” 

He does not take a step backward and thus lose all the cool points he has left in the eyes of the younger Hellfire members, but only because he’s already leaned up against the doorframe. 

He bares his teeth at her in a silent snarl instead. 

“We made it worse.” She admits, voice sharp. “And I don’t know how to make it better, but you seem to be able to, so congrats Munson--you get to go again!” 

Which gets Eddie’s back right up. 

He pushes off the doorframe, ready to tell Mayfield--and all his little dipshits--right off, except this is when Wheeler Jr., of all people, decides to add in his two cents. 

“If you don’t go, no one else will.” He looks off to the side while he says it, arms crossed tight across his chest and spitting the words out like he's admitting to a crime. “Robin’s not coming back until Monday and Nancy's got some stupid thing, so you’re literally the only person who can go.” 

Well just stab him in the heart, why don’t you. 

“What are the chances of you fucking back off to whatever hole you crawled out of if I refuse?” He asks, already knowing that he’s done for.

Accepted his fate, because he knows what it’s like not to have someone to rely on, when you need them the most. 

“Zero.” Sinclair and Henderson chant as one. 

“Well then.” He tells them with the biggest, most put upon sigh he can manage. “Guess you got me in a box here.” 

Mayfield grins at him.

It reminds him vaguely of a shark. 

A bloodthirsty, slightly demonic, mean shark. 

“Good. Go get dressed.”

“Oh I’m doing this right now, am I?” He complains, but he’s already moving to go back into his trailer. 

“We’re not leaving until you do!” Mayfield yells at him.

Eddie slams the door in her face. 

(He’s never adopting freshmen again, as long as he fucking lives.)

[eg515]

don't you just love it when a series has a good ending that takes care of all of its characters, shows how their futures will look like, ties up all loose ends, reminisces about old times, references important moments from before, and brings back elements of the very first episode, giving a nice frame to the whole series?

[cactusdying]

hi tptm-ers. use with freedom...

[fireflysugarpie]

I fully believe that if Shen Yuan transmigrated before Luo Binghe existed, he would have shifted all of his weird obsessive fangirl/antifan energy onto Airplane bro

[spkyart]

Under the red sky

[skywerse]

figured that sometimes putting projects on hold cause you're like NUH UH my style isn't good enough yet isn't always a bad thing,,,,

these are almost a year apart btw

[armandyke]

forgot to include this in my memes post

[allegorism]

good for them.

[marzipanladyart]

Hojo sketch but I had no idea where I wanted to go with it

[tastywormfood]

Finally finished it, holy fuck. Hope you like it<3

[cradle-of-darkness]

CODE FORETOLD CO-OP

an epithet erased fanfic in the form of a simple visual novel in google slides I made for funsies :)) (over the course of 4 months)

Synopsis: The museum trio visit an arcade Giovanni used to frequent and find an obscure game with an alleged secret. The three encounter some familiar and unfamiliar faces, explore the arcade, and unearth a mystery lurking within its walls.

you can check it out HERE!!!!

and the second part HERE!!!!!!!!

and if not, enjoy the art I made for it anyway!!! waow!!!!!

[lotus-pear]

what is childe doing in bungou gay dogs😟

[nikuttek]

here's Thorin and Bilbo being oblivious and in love at the Carrock

[drkcatt]

but i've been anywhere and it's not what i want and i wanna be still with you

in the minvaya sauce tonight!!!!!!!!!