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howlett-variants · 16 days ago

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"I've got you"

a/n: I love Charlie Kenton sm, he deserves more love. Also, I haven't written an X reader fic in like 10 years forgive me.

Prompt: Charlie gets his ass kicked, thankfully he has you to patch him up! Words: 2,975 Tags: gn!reader, post movie, hurt/comfort, Charlie is very dog coded to me and I don't know how to tag things anymore

You could have never guessed your day to go like this. Work had been boring as all hell. The only thing keeping you going was the thought of getting to hang out with those you cared about most over at Tallets Gym. Bailey was basically your closest friend at this point. She was kind and caring but could always match your energy- especially if that energy was being angry with Charlie. Speaking of Charlie, seeing him was always one of the best parts of your day. Even when he was being an idiot, or impulsive, or both- he always knew how to put a smile on your face. Which was much needed after a boring day at work. You even looked forward to seeing Max most days. The kid was the spitting image of his father when it came to personality, which definitely had its downsides. Max was probably the most independent eleven-year-old you’ve ever met- he was always determined to do stuff by himself. Even if he ended up asking you or Bailey for help in the end. Things were never boring with the Kentons.

Today would be no exception.

Your phone rang mere moments before you were about to park in front of the rundown gym.

“Hel-” You started, but were quickly cut off by the sound of your good friend Bailey in a panic.

“Charlies hurt.” “What?” “Max just called, and he’s freaking out-” You could hear her voice quicken on the other end.

“Slow down Bail, where are they?” “Some gas station twenty minutes outside of town, they were on their way back from a fight and-” She gave you a few more vague responses, clearly not sure of the situation herself, but that was okay. You could work with that. There weren’t that many gas stations on that side of town, plus it would be hard to miss Charlie’s massive green truck.

–

Ten minutes, and a few potential road laws broken, later- you finally spotted the truck. You pulled up next to them, attempting to not fully slam on your brakes. Your panic had slowly grown over the last few moments, and panicked driving is not a good idea.

Tossing the door open in a quick motion, you stepped out and ran over to see Charlie sitting on the tailgate of his truck. Max was next to him, holding a makeshift ice pack to his face.

“How’s he doing?” You plant your feet in front of them, doing your best to keep your arms at your side to not fret over him. At the sound of your voice, Max looked over with a smile. Charlie attempted to look at you, but winces the moment he tried to open his eyes.

“I’m fine- just a black eye.” Charlie replied weakly, still unable to fully open his eyes.

“He might need stitches this time.” Max’s smile fades, returning to a worried expression.

“Let me see.” Max nods before jumping off of the tailgate, making room for you to take his place. You carefully move to sit next to him, close enough for your legs to touch. You reach a hand up to his face, slowly peeling away the ice pack. It took everything in you to not visibly tense at the rather nasty wound on his face. Whoever beat him up this time actually used a weapon, brass knuckles, if you’d have to guess. He had a large gash right next to his eyebrow, reaching almost to his ear, as well as a black eye and numerous other bruises all over his neck. You can only imagine the amount of bruises he was hiding on the skin you couldn’t see. “Yeah…that’s going to scar. Where’s your first aid kit?”

“Don’t have one…” He mumbled.

“Come again?” You can’t help but sigh, “With how much you get beat up-”

He avoids your glare and refuses to respond, which is Charlie for ‘You’re right, but I will not admit it’. With a slight roll of your eye, you reach into your back pocket with your free hand and take out your wallet to hand to Max. “They should have bandages, or at least some cotton balls I can use to stop the bleeding. Grab what you can- if nothing else, your dad can save it for later.”

The kid nodded as he took your wallet before running back into the gas station. It probably wasn’t your smartest idea to just hand your wallet to an eleven-year-old, but you knew Max would at least grab what you asked- even if he came back with a few extra snacks.

Seconds after he left your eye-line, you heard Charlie suck in a sharp breath. The sound caused your full attention to turn back to the man next to you. He was no longer sitting upright, but instead leaning on the side of the truck as if the metal wall was the only thing holding him upright. You were quick to notice the stiffness in his shoulders was far worse than a few seconds ago, and you didn’t have to ask why to know what was going on in his head.

“Char, the kid just watched you get your ass kicked- again. You don’t have to act all tough. Hell your face is bleeding like some kind of horror movie victim. He knows that you’re not alright.” It broke your heart to see him like this. He was always putting on a front of the big strong unfeeling douchebag, but you knew better. You also knew better than to question it. Max was a strong kid, but he was still just a child. No kid should have to watch this dad getting beat up as much as Charlie did. You moved your hand from his face to his shoulder, using your thumb to rub soothing motions in a small attempt to comfort him.

“How’d you get here so fast?” He questioned, completely avoiding your concerned comments.

“Max called Bailey. Bailey called me. Here I am.” You moved your free hand up to his face, attempting to inspect the wound a bit more. Fingers lightly holding his chin, making it easier for you to move his head if needed. He couldn’t help but lean into the small touches. “I think I still have some pizza in the car. It’ll be cold by now though.”

He let out a light chuckle, mouth struggling to turn into a smile without pain. “Maybe when my face is done bleedin’ out.”

You smile at him, grateful to hear that his sense of humor was still intact. The moment he winces again, your smile falls. “What the hell happened?”

“Just some assholes that I used to owe money to, what else-” He pouts, “I would have been able to our run em but-”

“Max…”

He didn’t have to even look at you for you to understand what he meant. From what Bailey had told you in the past, getting his ass kicked out of the ring was nothing new for Charlie. He was constantly coming back to the gym with cuts and bruises, and the occasional broken bone, but ever since he regained custody of his son, he’s tried to be a lot more careful. He had always been reckless and almost uncaring when it came to what happened to him, but now he had someone to protect. Thankfully, the Atom fights had helped pay off practically every debt he had ever owed, but there were still some people who had it out for him that couldn’t give less of a shit if his son was watching or not.

The hand on his face slowly moved to the back of his neck, before you carefully pulled him closer to you. You positioned his head to rest comfortably on your shoulder. Your other arm snaked around his back, holding him in a secure hug. “It’s okay…I’ve got you.”

Your hushed tone was all he needed to melt completely into your hold. His face hid in the crook of your neck, like it was the only thing keeping him in one piece. His arms found their way around you, holding onto the fabric of your shirt like a lifeline. Charlie Kenton was many things. He was a boxer who had seen his fair share of violence, as well as a man who routinely went to shady places for robot fights, but he was also a father who had no idea what he was doing. To him, there was nothing more terrifying than the idea of his son watching him bleed out (and potentially die). Whoever had attacked him this time didn’t hold back. He honestly didn’t know if he was going to make it out in one piece.

He was in pain and scared shitless, but you were there. You kept him grounded, like you always knew what to do or say to keep his anxieties at bay. You were his rock, and he was yours. The two of you had this unspoken thing that not even Bailey dared to bring up to either of you. You could feel your shoulder becoming damn, from both tears and the blood from his wound- but you didn’t care. The stains would come out, and even if you ended up having to throw the shirt away, it didn’t matter. What mattered was the man quietly sobbing in your arms.

He would never admit it, but Charlie cried a lot. Never in front of you or anyone else, but you’d always catch him silently crying to himself in the middle of the night. You knew that Bailey and Max were aware, but all three of you knew better than to mention it to him. Anytime that you gathered the nerve to ask him if he was alright in the middle of his crying session, he’d just yell at you to go away. You knew he never meant to actually yell at you. Normally he’d even apologize the next morning with a vague ‘sorry about last night’ while avoiding any actual questions about whatever he had been upset about. But right now, he didn’t care. There was nothing he needed more than you.

—

Time passed by in a small blur. The only sound you could hear was Charlie’s heavy breathing finally beginning to regulate itself to the sound of your light humming. His arms were still wrapped around you, but the grip on your shirt had loosened. You still had one arm around his back, the other had found its way to his hair- playing with the short brown strands.

“I got some stuff!” Max’s sudden voice startled you both. You turned your head in his direction to see that his hands were filled with an assortment of bandaid boxes, a bag of cotton balls, and a few snacks that he bought with your money (which you fully expected would happen). Charlie’s body went stiff under your arm at the sound of his son’s voice, embarrassed to be caught in such a vulnerable state. “This is all they had.”

“Thanks kiddo,” you smiled at him. The arm around Charlie’s middle let go, so you could reach out for the ‘medical’ supplies. He silently mourned the loss of the touch the second you let go. You placed the items next to you before your gaze returned to Max. “Why don’t you sit up front and update Bailey, tell her we’ll be back in a little bit. I’ll get to work patching up your dad’s apparently very punchable face.”

It was a poor attempt at a joke, but Max still smiled. Charlie made a mental note to thank you later for the small attempt at saving what was left of his pride. Thankfully, Max obliged and left to go sit in the front seat, giving you two a bit of privacy.

Using both your hands, you carefully lifted his head off of your shoulder. He made a small noise of disappointment as you pulled him from his safe spot. You couldn’t help but chuckle to yourself. You held his face in between your palms as you examined his face one more time. His eyes were a little swollen from the crying, and he looked like he was about to fall asleep. The adrenaline must have finally worn off.

“Okay, I’ll do what I can, but I’m taking you to actually get this checked out first thing in the morning.”

“Fine by me.” his words were beginning to slur together. Something told you that you’d be the one driving the truck back to town tonight. It would be safer to leave your old car than the massive truck holding one of the most popular boxing robots at the moment.

Your humming continued as you cleaned up the drying blood from his cheek. There was only so much you could do with the limited items (and skill) you had, but you stayed focused. With the bleeding stopped and wiped away, the wound wasn’t as bad as you originally thought. It would still leave a nasty scar, but it was small enough that a trip to an actual medical professional could wait. As you worked, you could feel Charlie’s head become heavy in your hands.

“You falling asleep on me?” You teased lightly.

“mmmno.” It was more of a noise than an actual word.

“Almost done, big guy. Then you’re welcome to crash on your little cot back there.” Between the warmth of your hands, the soft touches, and your quiet humming as you worked- Charlie was practically melting. Bailey and you liked to joke that he was like a dog sometimes, from the bursts of impulsive energy, to the unapologetic joy over the smallest things, and of course his mastery of the ‘puppy dog eyes’ that he often used on you and Bailey to get what he wanted. He would always scoff or roll his eyes whenever you would tease him or whenever you called him a dog. You couldn’t help it, especially at times like this- with his eyes comfortably closed and melting into your every touch. It was adorable, despite the fact that you were actively cleaning up a wound.

“Can’t sleep yet-” His body betrayed his words by interrupting his sentence to let out a yawn. “Gotta drive back.”

“Not like this, you’re not. I’ll drive.” Driving the truck wasn’t your favorite, but you have done it before. As long as you didn’t get pulled over, you could drive it home without a problem. “C’mon, let’s get you into bed before you actually pass out on me.”

With a light pat to his cheek, he dutifully allowed you to help him stand. His head immediately seeking your shoulder to lean on again. He was taller than you, but still seemed perfectly comfortable once he found the crook of your neck again. You blamed the blood loss and the crying for how touchy he was being. It’s not that he wasn’t a touchy person. He had a lack of personal space with those he was close to, but this was different. For a second, you questioned if this was even beyond him seeking you out as a source of comfort.

Ignoring the swirl of worry and emotions you had yet to even fully admit to yourself, in your stomach, you carefully led him over to the cot inside the truck. You gave him a small nudge to sit down. He listened with only a small sound of complaint. The disappointment was short-lived. You could almost see ears perk up the moment you returned to sit by his side.

“Thanks…for doing all this.” Standing must have woken him a little. His voice was much clearer than it was a few seconds ago.

“It’s not like I was going to let you bleed out.” You rolled your eyes with a small smile across your lips, as you finished putting the last bandaid on his face. It was a haphazard job, but it would do the trick- at least for a few hours.

“I know. Glad to have you on my side is all.” Your eyes moved from the collection of bandages to his eyes, feeling a little shocked by the genuine emotion they held. Charlie didn’t have a lot of people to count on. You knew that better than anyone.

“I’m happy to patch you up anytime.” Your hands left the sides of his face where you had been diligently working, moving down to find his hands. He took the hint and intertwined your fingers, giving them a light squeeze. The two of you were bonded, neither wanting to question of risk actually talking about what that bond was. You were waiting for him to say something, and he was in between being far too chicken shit and waiting for you. So many days spent dancing around either other like this. You knew, even now, that neither of you would mention the softness and tenderness from tonight’s interaction. He’d go to sleep as you drove him, and he’d wake up not remembering much of the night in the first place. Still you sat with him, foreheads pressed together, basking in each other’s company.

“I gotta take you home, Char.” You whispered, not wanting to leave this moment yet. His grip on your hand tightened, but he still allowed you to pull away.

“Tomorrow, let me take you to dinner.” His voice wasn’t as quiet as yours, but it was even more unsure of itself. Speaking before thinking, as always, but looking deep into your eyes this time. “As…thanks.”

You couldn’t help but smile at the offer. The two of you went out for dinner alone all the time, but something about this felt different. You gave his hand one final squeeze and planted a small kiss on his cheek before standing up. “It’s a date.”

#charlie kenton #real steel #charlie kenton x reader #hugh jackman x reader #fic writing #I guess I'm doing fics now

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scoops-aboy86 · 7 months ago

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Not Dating, part 2

part 1, part 3, parts 4 & 5, part 6, part 7, part 8 - also on ao3

This is 1949 words and it was excruciating to write because, like. That internal struggle of how to bring up an out-of-the-ordinary kink with a partner is, uh, yeah. Hm. So, here it is.

cw: panic attack, robin worrying about internalized homophobia, steve worrying about internalized fatphobia

Robin flings her front door open to stop the frantic pounding on it. “Jesus Christ, what—Shit, what’s wrong?”

Steve pushes past her on the right and into the house, swiping his left shoulder against his cheek to buy another few seconds of pretending he even kind of has his shit together. He’d been practically shrieking through the door though, and he’s still breathing hard. “Your, ah. Your parents are still visiting your aunt, right?”

“Yeah—Why? Steve, what’s happening!?”

She’s practically running to keep up with him as he charges up the stairs to her room. It’s not until he’s reached it that he turns around, both hands scrubbing over his damp, reddened face and up into his hair. “It’s not a code red, I just… Fuck, I fucked up, Robs!”

Robin finally catches up and grips his shoulders, peering hard into his puffy eyes. “Dingus, breathe. You look like you’re having a panic attack.”

“Of course I’m having a panic attack, I fucked! Up!”

She’s never seen him like this before, not even after nightmares about being trapped back under Starcourt listening to Dustin get tortured.

Steve almost never cries—it’s like his parents had berated it out of him at a young age, which personally she thinks is short-sighted and dumb and one of the many, many things wrong with the patriarchy. But he’s crying now, tears running down his cheeks as he blinks furiously and paces and kicks at the carpet every few steps. He winds his hands into his hair and tugs on it so hard she’s almost worried it’ll come out. And his lips keep moving like he’s trying to work something out, or berating himself, or both on top of heavy, too-fast breaths.

“Steve, can you talk to me? You’re kind of freaking me out.”

He glances at her, then drags his hands down his face and throws himself down onto her mostly-made bed with a muffled scream into the nearest pillow. Which is probably as close to a ‘Okay, just give me another minute and I’ll tell you everything Robs’ as she’s going to get. So she sits cross-legged on the bed next to him, passes him one of her childhood teddy bears because he likes soft things when he’s upset, and waits.

After a while, he lifts his head, says, “Eddie,” and drops his face back down.

Ah.

Robin has been trying to gently prod Steve into talking about the way he and Eddie have been dancing around each other for months. She’d clocked Eddie’s crush on her best friend all the way back in the Upside Down and silently empathized with the hopelessness of his position, knowing well the pain of falling for a straight person. It was the way he and Steve had both gravitated to each other since Eddie’s release from the hospital, though, that had caught her by surprise. She’s witnessed them cuddling on the couch, for god’s sake. Multiple times! And that’s considered so much weirder between two guys than two girls. But Steve has always shied away from the topic… until now.

“Okay,” she says slowly. “Did something happen with Eddie today?”

Steve shakes with something she first takes for more crying, but he peels himself up again with a peel of croaky, slightly hysterical laughter. “Yes and no. We were going to hook up, but… I didn’t say what he wanted me to, so I guess that’s done.”

“You were—” Robin rests a hand on Steve’s shoulder. “Really? Wow, I didn’t realize you—”

“We’ve been hooking up for a couple weeks,” Steve interrupts bluntly, sounding absolutely wrecked to have to say it.

… Last week she’d been trying to coax him towards realizing that draping himself all over Eddie or pulling Eddie half on top of him during movie nights had to mean something. When he hadn’t taken the bait, she’d made some comment about how they lived in each other's brains and were incapable of keeping secrets from her, “You know that, right Steve?” And he’d nodded and agreed.

So. Wow.

“Oh,” she says softly, and despite her best efforts some of the hurt creeps into her voice. It’s not like she doesn’t know how hard something like this can be to talk about, how saying the words can make it terrifyingly real. The only reason she’d told Steve had been the temporary death-defying insanity of both escaping actual, literal, pee-yourself-in-terror-a-little-bit torture and whatever lingering truth drugs said torturers had shot them up with; bringing it up a second time, after all that had worn off, had been scary even knowing he was safe.

But he has to know that she would’ve understood, right? That she could have helped him figure things out so neither Eddie nor him would’ve ended up getting hurt?

And weeks. Steve is her soulmate, her other half, her Platonic with a Capital P, had been doing gay stuff with another boy and she’d had no idea! The guy she only has to look at to know when he’s hoarding the last of the Red Vines for himself, or that he did forget to rewind something before reshelving it, or that the kids put him up to something really stupid that’s going to take up half their day because it involves driving to the game store two towns over or something. How had he kept up that good of a poker face for so long?!

Robin takes a deep breath and tries again, because her best friend is upset and that’s way more important than feeling left out of the loop.

“Steve, it’s okay.” She reaches out and starts rubbing his back the way he likes when he’s just thrown up from a migraine, in the hopes that will help now. “It’s okay if you like boys. Instead of or in addition to, whichever, both are totally fine and allowed and only make you a freak in the eyes of small-minded bigots who feel trapped in their own lives and hate joy!”

He rolls onto his side and stares at her with red, watery eyes with a little sniffle. “I know,” he says sadly. “I know, that’s… that’s that Eddie thinks the problem is, because I fucked up when he asked me. He asked what we were doing and I couldn’t… I couldn’t think of any words, Rob.”

She shuffles around to lie down facing him from the other pillow, and Steve automatically positions the teddy bear between their mouths because he knows she has this thing about feeling other people’s breath on her face.

“I still like girls,” he continues while she’s still getting settled. “And guys, sometimes. Or maybe just Eddie, I don’t know. I know liking a guy doesn’t make me a freak, but I’m—Part of what I like about him isn’t—If I tell him, he might think it’s… weird. Or insulting, maybe.”

“Okay,” Robin says slowly, trying to think through the utter blank she is drawing. “Uh, do you wanna maybe walk me through exactly what you’re talking about? Tell me what we’re working with here.”

Steve hesitates, his gaze sliding away to fix blankly on a loose thread from her quilt that he’s fiddling with. “Yeah, uh…”

Maybe he still can’t think of any words to explain himself. Robin nudges the bear aside and pulls him into a hug, scooching up on the bed a little so he can tuck his head under her chin. “Hey, it’s okay Steve. I'm on your side no matter what, alright? I one thousand percent promise you that nothing you say will make me look at you any differently, no matter what, because you’re my dingus and we’re platonically bonded together by fate and that shit is forever.”

A weak, muffled laugh tickles wetly at her neck. “What if I killed a guy and cannibalized him to hide the body?”

“I’d get you mouthwash and an antacid,” she replies promptly. “Your alibi is that we were watching Flashdance again and I had to wrestle the scissors away from you before you made irreversible surgical corrections to your own sweatshirt.”

Steve snorts. “Fuck, okay. But stop trying to tell people I did that, I was joking about that.” He pulls back, chewing on his bottom lip, and then takes a deep breath. “You know how Eddie’s… gained weight since he got out of the hospital?”

“Yeah?” She does, because at first everyone in their monster hunter club had been worried about how stick-thin the bat attack and subsequent coma had left him. Since then he’s filled back out at then some, definitely no longer underweight and with a good amount of color finally back in his cheeks.

“I like it,” Steve admits in a small voice. “I like touching him where he’s… soft. I don’t know how to tell him that without calling him fat, though. No one likes to be told they’re fat, right? I don’t really like someone telling me I’ve gained weight, because most of the time people only say that when they’re being critical assholes. But… he looks so happy when he’s eating, you know? All relaxed, and he deserves that after everything he went through. And we get high together and I can’t stop touching him, I… I see skin where his shirt rides up I want to bite it. And I actually have! I’ve been freaking out that he’s going to notice and call me on it, but instead he said he doesn’t want to be ‘just’ anything with me and I choked. Bad!”

“Oh,” Robin says, understanding dawning. Not that she gets the appeal of what Steve is talking about, but she doesn’t get the appeal of guys in general so it kind of falls in the same category… And she could’ve done without that fun biting fact. “Oh, Steve…”

She can definitely agree, though, that after a town-wide manhunt and helping to save the world, Eddie Munson deserves to relax and unwind however he wants. They all fucking do, but Eddie nearly died.

The way Steve’s face crumples up hurts her heart to see. “H-he asked me what we were doing and all I could think about was what I was doing and I just… sat there. I fucked it up.”

She hugs him tightly again. “No no no, this is fixable. We’ll come up with a way for you to tell him, okay? It’s just a misunderstanding, that’s nobody’s fault.”

“We’ve been hooking up for weeks and I’ve kissed him everywhere but the mouth,” Steve mutters miserably into her shoulder.

“…Okay, that bumps it up to like, sixty percent your fault,” Robin admits, frowning. That doesn’t sound like the Steve she knows. The Steve she knows loves kissing, he’d literally been known for that back in school; everyone had always gotten to see him and his girl of the week (or Nancy, during the twelve or so months they’d dated) sucking face in the hallways between classes, by their lockers, in the parking lot before and after school. “Why the hell not?”

“Because I was already being weird about it, kissing him felt like it’d be… Fuck, what’s that big word Dustin likes to use? Oh, presumptuous. And… he didn’t try to kiss me either, so I wasn’t sure…”

“Dingus,” she sighs, and hugs him tighter. Then—knowing that when Steve gets going about his trysts he does so comprehensively, no detail spared, and there’s nothing wrong with that, but she mentally braces herself to hear more talk about penises in the next hour or so than she has before in her entire life—she says, “Alright, from the top. Tell me everything so we can figure out how to get you your man.”

Part 3, parts 4 & 5, part 6, part 7, part 8

Tag list: @steviewashere (since your ask kicked this off in the first place 😘), @hotluncheddie

#wg steddie #scoops words #chubby eddie munson #feeder steve harrington #this is not the kind of coming out robin expected #robin buckley #wg not dating

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my-supernatural-rewatch · 11 days ago

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Episode 9: Home

Dean Winchester in the Supernatural episode Home

Oh yay. The episode that began my lifelong hatred of John Winchester.

When Sam has visions of a woman in trouble at the old Winchester house in Lawrence, Kansas, he makes Dean go back home in an attempt to both help the new homeowner and possibly discover what really happened to their mother.

This episode annoys me so much I almost don't even want to write about it...but I will.

So it's been 22 years since the fire and John presumably selling the house. (By the way, where did the money from the sale of the house go because it didn't go to housing or feeding the boys, but I digress.)

It's been sold more than once (if they mention how many times in this episode I missed it) because this new family just moved in and shit is happening that Sam dreams about. Now you're caught up.

We know it's the old Winchester house because the new owner finds a wooden box with stuff in it including what looks like could be a handmade card that says DAD across it (which would have had to be from Dean) and some pictures. Another question, why did John leave this box behind? Especially when it gets established in this episode that Dean has family pics. Why save some and not all, John? Huh?

Sam has a dream something bad is going to happen and demands they go back to Lawrence. As anyone not self-involved would be able to guess, Dean is not so keen on this idea given the last time he was in the house he saw his mother burning.

"I swore to myself that I'd never go back there."

Now I know Dean swore this when he got older but I did get a kick out of the idea of a four-year-old making himself a solemn oath to never go back to that house. Actually,that would be very Dean-like.

In spite of that, Dean knows that they have to go check it out. Dean tries to lie to the new homeowner that they're FBI but Sam interrupts with the truth...kind of. He gives their real names and says they just wanted to see the old house.

This happens a lot in fiction and I have to tell you if strangers came to my house and said "we used to live here can we look around" I'd say 'fuck no" for various reasons, among them, I'd need time to clean the damn house but more pressing would be WHY WOULD I LET STRANGERS IN MY HOUSE?

They find out about the weird stuff happening at the house and when Sam tries to get Dean to open up about how he feels about being home Dean drops a truth bomb Sam didn't expect:

"I'm just freaked out that your weirdo visions have come true."

Thus begins the storyline of psychic Sam and how somehow this freaks Dean the fuck out. I guess because Dean doesn't want to look at Sam like he's a 'monster' but I still always thought they went a little overboard with how much Sam being psychic weirded Dean out.

Also, I'm team Psychic Sam all the way. They should have never taken his powers away from him.

We have another episode where Dean's instincts about what the monster of the week is - is. I get that Sam is out of practice but we end up hearing about what a great hunter Sam is and, really, from the get-go Dean had it all over him.

We do get some good tidbits in this episode about the night of the fire. 22 years later and Sam JUST learns that Dean was the one who got him out of the house that night. How does that not get mentioned in all that time?

Oh here's how: John never told Dean or Sam what he thought killed Mary. So 22 years of running around the country chasing monsters and almost getting killed and John never actually discussed specifics with the boys. Nice. Nice.

After sharing with Sam about getting him out of the house, Dean ducks out under the guise of having to use the bathroom and makes a desperate call to John's cell phone and we learn that Dean has been leaving messages for John ever since they discovered the phone was turned back on...and, of fucking course, John hasn't responded to any of them.

"...I’m with Sam. And we’re in Lawrence. And there’s something in our old house. I don’t know if it’s the thing that killed Mom or not, but….(at this point his voice starts to shake and he's trying to keep it all together)…I don’t know what to do. (THEN HE STARTS TO CRY) So, whatever you’re doing, if you could get here. Please. I need your help, Dad."

So of course the next scene is John calling Dean back right?

RIGHT?

Of fucking course not. I hate that (fictional) man so much.

We find out that John was co-owner of a garage until the fire made him nuts. Dean and Sam talk to his former partner who tells them that John "sure loved Mary and doted on those kids." Also, the partner begged John to get help so someone saw John going down a bad path and tried to do something.

This dude gives them a lead: John hood up with a "palm reader in town" and the boys track down Missouri (again, thanks to Dean remembering something John wrote in his journal about Missouri).

A side note about Missouri. I know everyone loves her but she was at the very least counseling John and knew about Dean and Sam and STILL John ended up being John. As a psychic, she could have done more, IMO, to protect those boys.

"I went to Missouri and I learned the truth." Is what John wrote in his journal. So he knew all along and never.told.the.fucking.boys.

You'll note I usually write Dean and Sam. That's because normal people usually say the older sibling's name first. On Supernatural Sam gets first billing, I'm guessing, because Jared got first billing. It's stupid. I always thought it was stupid and I will always hate it.

I only bring it up because when they go see Missouri they don't even have an opportunity to lie about how they are, she clocks them as "Sam and Dean" immediately. She only knew Sam as an infant. It makes so much more sense that she would have said "Dean and Sam" is all I'm saying.

As an aside, in my notes I made a point of writing down that this episode is rife with dramatic close-ups of Dean. This is supposed to be Sam's story, really, but the director reminds us at all times that it's also Dean's.

We get an obligatory dumb thing to happen to move the plot along when the mom in the Winchester house leaves her baby alone in the kitchen after all kinds of sketchy stuff has been going on...only to give us a truly frightening moment when the kid crawls into the open fridge and gets locked in. Christ, that was scarier than most of this show's monsters.

Dean makes it his job to make sure "no one else dies" in the house/ Because it's always on him.

I think this is the first episode where we see hex bags (although they don't call them that). Missouri and Dean are making them and are going to shove them into the walls of the house. Okay, let's go.

I don't know if it was my tv, my eyes, the time of day I watched the episode or the actual episode itself, but man this one seemed to be shot much more darkly than other episodes.

The poltergeist basically kicks Misssouri's and Sam's asses while Dean fends it off...and comes to Sam's rescue...of course.

They trash the house in their efforts to get rid of the poltergeist...and Dean seemingly does just that according to Missouri.

When the owner comes back to the house, Missouri tells her Dean will clean up. She's been giving Dean shit the entire episode with no explanation. It makes no sense. Dean is the one who was old enough that she would have remembered, connected with. Why is she so shitty to him.?

They all leave with literally no proof that they've done anything but destroy the house and the new owner is all "Thanks!"

Just like the film Poltergeist, even though they thought the thing was gone...it wasn't. And Sam senses it so luckily they are right outside the house when Sam's vision starts to come true and they rush in to save the day.

The poltergeist is still in the house...but so is another ghost...Mary Winchester.

And she's a bit of a drama queen...appearing to them in flames. And she only says three things, their names "Dean." "Sam." and then she says "I'm sorry" to Sam. That's it. Then she turns around, yells at the poltergeist and he leaves.

Who knew it was that simple?

We get a shot of Dean holding a picture of him holding Sam and it is just too squee for words.

So according to Missouri, Mary "destroyed herself" when she yelled at the poltergeist so the house is clean of ghosts and hopefully (I guess) that means Mary got destroyed to Heaven.

The last thing Missouri says to them is "Don't you boys be strangers." Dean's response? "We won't."

Twelve years later Dean and Sam see her again.

We get a huge reveal at the end of the episode which isn't that huge a reveal since Jeffrey Dean Morgan's damn name was in the opening credits but when Missouri goes home, guess who's there? Fucking John.

Missouri can't figure out why with his psychic powers Sam couldn't sense John was there. She tells him Mary DID save the boys and she's upset he won't tell them he's there. He tells her he can't until he 'knows the truth.'

Oh shut the fuck up, John. You suck so goddamn hard.

Some notes for posterity:

THERE IS NO MUSIC IN THIS EPISODE. None. WTH?

Dean tries to tell the new homeowner they're FBI but Sam tells the truth. They pose as cops investigating the house fire/John's disappearance when interviewing his ex-business partner.

Movie References: Dean brings up both The Shining and a reference to Poltergeist in this one.

This hunt takes place in Lawrence, Kansas.

Dean wears John’s jacket in this episode but only at the end.

Not including the pilot and John's outgoing voicemail message, this is the first time both John and Mary are in an episode taking place in the current day.

Recognizable Guest Stars: Jeffrey Dean Morgan, Samantha Smith, Loretta DeVine

#dean winchester #ramblings of a fan #spn #spn rewatch #supernatural #supernatural rewatch #episode rewatch #spn 1x9 #supernatural 1x9 #Dean Wears John's Jacket #SPN Home #Supernatural Home #Location Kansas #Going Back to Lawrence #Monster Poltergeist #Writer Eric Kripke #Director Ken Girotti #Recognizable Guest Star #Season One

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leiawritesstories · 2 years ago

Text

Don't Have To Hurt Anymore

Frederick and I have been on a little bit of an angst kick recently, but I promise, I PROMISE, that this ends well. I PROMISE. i feel like this is horrible and rambling and goes nowhere but yeah here's a thing

inspired by "Broken" by Isak Danielson yes yES it sounds awful but i swear on gavriel's grave that it ends well

Word count: 2.7k

CW: swearing, references to abortion

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

She’d fallen so hard, so fast. The first time she caught a glimpse of his pale hair, near-silver beneath the kaleidoscopic strobe lights, when she caught a flash of his grin, she was captivated. There was something familiar about that hair, something she couldn’t place. She laughed and spun her way across the floor until she stood beside him–half a turn and they’d be face to face.

He turned.

Aelin still remembered the way Rowan’s face slackened upon seeing her, the way his jaw dropped and his eyes widened, sweeping over her with something so much deeper than brazen appreciation. Despite her tiny little skirt, her skintight gold top, the stiletto heels she could barely keep upright in, the thick layer of makeup, he didn’t see the persona she put on, but the person beneath. He saw her.

Nobody had ever looked at her like that. Like they saw her, and were not afraid.

None of her worthless exes ever had, for damn sure.

“Hi,” he said–well, yelled over the thumping music–his tattooed hand nervously rubbing the back of his neck. “I’m Rowan.”

“Aelin,” she called back, her lips tilting upwards.

That quicksilver grin of his flashed over his face. “Dance with me?” She grinned right back and took his hand, falling effortlessly into his arms.

They lasted all of four songs before Rowan bent his head down to her ear, whispering the question she simultaneously wanted and dreaded. Want to go upstairs?

Yeah, she breathed, ten different ways to quietly slip out of the party rapidly forming in her mind. He linked his fingers through hers and walked her across the floor, weaving through dancing bodies and the thick stench of alcohol and sweat, guiding her up the staircase into fresher air.

She heaved a deep breath. “So much better.”

“Yeah,” he agreed, keeping his fingers laced with hers. A hint of something almost vulnerable– probably just the alcohol, though–flickered across the planes of his face. “Here.” He pushed open a door, standing back to let her walk in first. “This one’s mine.”

“Didn’t know you kept a room at the frat house,” she teased, cracking a joke to cover up the way she could feel herself starting to shake.

He chuckled and closed the door. “I lock up whenever I leave so none of the other guys can dump their shit in my nice clean room.”

Aelin snorted a laugh. “So, a frat guy who’s a clean freak? Who are you, Rowan?”

“Nobody important,” he mumbled. He sat down on the neatly-made bed, a gentle tug on her hand asking her to come sit with him.

She flinched.

He released her hand and held both his hands up, palms out. “Hey.” His voice was soft, wary. “I’m not going to make you do anything, Aelin.” A few seconds of silence passed. “My door’s unlocked; if you need to go, then go. I promise I won’t try anything.” He swallowed thickly. “I…I guess I just thought you might want some space.”

Gradually, Aelin relaxed, remembering to count her breaths like she’d practiced over and over again with her therapist. “I…thanks,” she whispered. Finding her power of movement, she stepped to the bed and sat down a few inches away from Rowan’s side, still keeping a hand’s breadth of distance. “I needed some space, yeah.”

That searching look of his was back on his face. “Aelin?”

“What.”

He exhaled deeply. “Punch me if I’m being an asshole, but–did something happen?”

She twisted the rings on her fingers, a hundred million incoherent thoughts rampaging through her mind. Then, she looked up, properly meeting his gaze for the first time that night. “Before I say anything, Rowan, do you know me?”

His forehead furrowed. “You…no? We just met downstairs, you must know someone else in the frat–probably Fen, he’s friends with everyone.” Confusion clouded his handsome face; his eyes scanned hers, looking for something, anything, any detail that might jog his memory.

She blew out a breath. “Can I use your bathroom really quick?”

“Sure.” He gestured towards the bathroom door. “Help yourself.”

“Thanks.”

Aelin locked the bathroom door behind her, turned on the tap, and gripped the edge of the sink, hands shaking. She lifted her eyes to the mirror, staring into a face that wasn’t hers. The makeup–how clever of her to use her artistic skills to adjust the shape of her face so nobody would really know it was her. She’d thought she could enjoy the frat party, throw back a few drinks and scream-sing along to a few songs and have a fun night.

Until Rowan wrapped his hand around hers, and every emotion she thought she’d shoved away came crashing back.

Reaching for a towel, Aelin shut off the water and patted her face dry, carefully hanging Rowan’s towel back up before turning–slowly–back towards the mirror to face her reflection. Her face now, no longer hiding behind makeup. Gingerly, she opened the bathroom door, half-hoping Rowan would have gone back downstairs since she was taking so long. He was still sitting on the bed, and his head lifted when she opened the door, mild concern on his face as he glanced towards her.

She walked hesitantly across the room, stopped right in front of him, met his gaze head-on.

His eyes widened, jaw slackening as he looked into her face and recognized her. “Aelin,” he whispered. “You were–”

“Yeah.” Her voice was a hollow rasp. “I didn’t think you’d remember–it’s been more than two years, I thought I wouldn’t remember anything about it.”

Cautiously, he offered her his tattooed hand, letting her touch her shaking fingers to his solid, steady ones. “Do you…do you need to say anything?

She really thought she loved him. Stupid, childish Aelin.

She was nineteen when she met Chaol Westfall, still a big-eyed freshman amazed at how huge the world of university was. He was a year older, the rising-star sophomore baseball player that half the student body had a crush on, but for some reason he only had eyes for Aelin. She thought she was nobody–sure, she played on the basketball team, but she was only a freshman; she wasn’t getting tons of minutes or anything special. They met in a class, a 150-person psychology lecture at 10 a.m. Aelin sat in the middle of the lecture hall, in the sweet spot where she knew she wouldn’t really be noticed but she still had a good view of the professor. Chaol strolled into class and sat down a couple rows in front of her, and she paid him no attention, thinking he was just another guy. About a month in, they both showed up to a study session with a few other student-athletes from the class and quickly found they had a lot of shared interests.

Their first date had been a few days later. He took her out to dinner at a nicer restaurant, laughed and flirted and wooed her over dinner and dessert, drove her back to her building and kissed her goodnight. She’d gone upstairs to her dorm with a giddy smile on her face, incredibly excited for the potential of a relationship.

Then he took her to one of the baseball team’s parties, and she started to have doubts.

She shoved those silly doubts away, though, drowned them out with laughter and flirting and cheap beer and Chaol’s kisses. She told her apprehension to go fuck itself and wound her fingers into Chaol’s hair, pressed her body closer to his. One of his teammates wolf-whistled at them, earning a dirty gesture from Chaol, who laughed wryly as he took Aelin’s hand and led her through the chaos of the party into a quieter room, locking the door behind them. Don’t need anyone walking in, he chuckled.

When he kissed her again, tongue tangling with hers, his hands drifted to the hem of her dress, sending sparks shooting through her blood. He paused, leaning back enough to find her eyes. Is this okay?

And Aelin nodded, sliding her dress off her shoulders, and kissed him back, closing her eyes, losing herself in his surprisingly gentle touch. It only took a few moments before he was less gentle, before clothes disappeared in a hazy, half-drunk blur, before a condom appeared from gods knew where and he was laying her down, promising he’d make her feel so good. And he did, he made her feel things she’d never felt before, made her feel pleasure like she’d never experienced it. He told her she was beautiful, she was gorgeous, she was stunning.

She really thought he meant it.

The next morning, she woke up in Chaol’s arms. She smiled lazily, sleepily wondering if this could become her life. And for a while, it was her life. For at least a few months, she grew used to tumbling into Chaol’s bed, falling asleep in his arms. She grew used to wearing his jersey, which meant she caught looks from other girls. She grew used to the idea of him as her boyfriend.

Then she passed out during her chemistry lab.

When she came around, her professor and her lab partner and some of her classmates were clustered around her, varying degrees of concern on their faces. She waved them off and sat up, taking her lab partner’s arm for stability. Probably just the chemical fumes, she joked. It’s like I forgot basic lab safety, right?

She got through the rest of the lab before racing back to her dorm, dumping her things, grabbing her car keys, and driving straight to the pharmacy. Once she got back, she locked herself in the bathroom and opened the cardboard box with shaky hands, unfolding the ridiculously large instruction sheet. She almost couldn’t focus because of her nerves, but she steeled herself, followed the instructions, and waited. And waited. Gods, three minutes was an eternity.

The chiming of her phone timer just about gave her a heart attack. She scrambled to turn off the timer, then grabbed the little plastic sticks. She swore she could hear her own heartbeat thundering as she forced herself to look at the tests.

Two blue crosses stared her in the face.

Of course, she told Chaol. Why wouldn’t she? He was the father; he deserved to know. She showed him the tests late that night, sitting by his side. She wrapped her arms around her knees, suddenly reverting back to her little self, terrified of the great big world. He dropped the pregnancy tests with a soft, dull clatter and swore under his breath.

She managed to look over at him, tears pooling in her eyes. “What should we do?”

“I don’t know,” he admitted. “Fuck, I didn’t–we were safe–”

“We were.” Until they weren’t.

He sighed. “We’ll figure it out. I promise.”

She believed him. Stupid, stupid Aelin.

It hadn’t even been twenty-four hours after telling Chaol when Aelin knocked on his door and walked in, like she’d grown used to doing, and stopped short, gasping. The sight of one’s boyfriend shirtless and making out with someone else tended to do that.

At her gasp, Chaol jerked away from the…the guy? Well, shit. Good for him? Or something? Aelin didn’t wait for him to try and explain, she just slammed the door and walked away, ignoring his half-assed attempt to call after her. He barely even tried–he didn’t even run after her. He just called her name once or twice, then gave up and went back to his room. And his probable boyfriend.

Aelin expected to feel…something. Instead, she just felt numb. She walked back to her dorm, sat down on her bed, and stared at the wall. She didn’t know how long passed until voices sounded in the hallway and she snapped back into reality and picked up her phone, pretending like she’d just been casually scrolling through Instagram when her roommate walked in.

The next day–it was a Saturday, she remembered it like it had been yesterday–she got up quietly, made her bed, got dressed in comfortable leggings and an oversized Nirvana t-shirt that had once been her dad’s, picked up her car keys and her purse, and slipped out the door. On autopilot, she drove into town, pulled into the clinic parking lot, locked up her car, walked into the building, and went upstairs. The receptionist at the desk was a sweet-faced, middle-aged lady with graying hair who only asked a few check-in questions before handing Aelin a clipboard with a few forms and telling her where to sign. In moments, she was being escorted into the clinic, a nurse in vibrant purple scrubs at her side. The nurse sat with her through the whole thing, squeezing her hand, and wheeled her into the recovery room, saying something about how someone would come by in half an hour to discharge her.

She remembered exiting the clinic feeling tired, ready to go back to her dorm and have a good long nap. She remembered walking back into the waiting area and suddenly having the need to sit down, a wave of lightheadedness washing over her. She remembered how she all but collapsed onto the floor, waving off the staff who came to check on her. I just need a moment.

She remembered a tattooed hand reaching down to her. Hey. Do you need a lift?

She remembered looking up into pine-green eyes filled with concern. She remembered the sticker on his t-shirt: VOLUNTEER. She took the outstretched hand, let the young man help her to her feet, and took a deep breath, steadying herself. When he asked her again if she needed a lift, she shook her head and started walking. Her legs quivered and buckled, betraying her, and he was right back at her side, gently insisting that he at least get her out to her car.

She was much more stable by the time she got to the parking lot, stable enough to wave at the guy before driving herself back to campus, heading upstairs into her room, curling up on her bed, stuffing her face into her pillow, and releasing a long, stifled scream.

The tears followed immediately after that, bursting uncontrollably from the depths of her being. Aelin tucked herself into a tight little ball, clutched her pillows, and sobbed, her whole body shaking with the force of her tears.

Until now, she’d spent the last two years deliberately forgetting that day had ever happened.

She was sobbing by the time she’d finished speaking, slumped onto Rowan’s bedroom floor with her arms wrapped around her knees, overcome by every broken feeling she thought she’d locked away. She didn’t even realize he was kneeling next to her until he said her name, softly at first, then a little stronger. Aelin. Aelin. Aelin. “What?”

He faced her, close enough to touch but not wanting to reach for her lest he frighten her, lest she pull away. “You don’t have to hide yourself from me, Aelin, I promise.”

She sniffled. “How can you say that?”

“Because you deserve to hear it,” he murmured. “It’s true. That asshole–he never deserved you, not for a godsdamn second.”

Despite herself, she managed a teary chuckle. “He never fucking did.” She looked up through a film of tears, finding muted rage clouding Rowan’s face. “Don’t.”

“Don’t what?”

“He–he’s not worth it.” Chaol wasn’t worth it. She’d failed to see that for so long, still clinging to the hope that he’d come back to her, that he would change into someone who cared. He’d left her broken on the floor, left her without a care in the world.

Rowan had started to pick up the broken pieces of her the moment he held out his hand in the clinic.

“Okay.” Rowan’s whisper was gentle. “I…Aelin?” Her brows lifted in question. “Can I–” Words failed, so he just held out his arms. She all but fell into his embrace, clinging to him like a lifeline. Hot salty tears dripped into his shirt, her shoulders shaking as she cried.

When she raised her head, a hint of a smile curled at the corners of her lips. “Hey.”

“Hey.” His tentative smile was everything she needed in that moment.

She’d fallen for him so fast, so hard–like she always did. Like she had with Chaol. And with her handful of high school boyfriends before that. This time, though, it was different.

This time, it was Rowan.

~~~

TAGS:

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@superspiritfestival

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@wordsafterhours

@elentiyawhitethorn

@morganofthewildfire

@backtobl4ck

@rowanaelinn

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@llyncooljones

@silentquartz

#my writing #aelin galathynius #rowan whitethorn #rowaelin #rowan x aelin #rowaelin fanfic #rowaelin angst #sorry not sorry for the pain #fluffy ending though i promise #I PROMISE

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schrijverr · 1 year ago

Text

I Found Myself a Cheerleader 6

Chapter 6 out of 28

Bumped to the lowest step on the social ladder after his fight with Billy, Steve gets roped in with the cheer team. What starts as a favor to help them out when one member breaks her leg in turn for protection from the brunt of the bullying, sets the universe on a different path.

In this chapter, Steve runs into Eddie at the quarry and they share a moment, before Steve is found by Hopper, who takes him to the Byers house.

On AO3.

Ships: eventual steddie & buckingham

Warnings: f-slur, homophobia mention, child abuse mention, internalized homophobia

~~~~~~~~~~~

Chapter 6: The Night

“What am I doing out here?” Eddie repeats. “I’m ignoring everyone who did graduate while I am still stuck in this hellhole. A more curious question is: what are you doing out here?”

He seems unconcerned with the fact that he has to do senior year for the third time as he scrambles up onto the car to sit next to Steve. Though there is a little edge to his voice that is definitely dulled by the joint that is hanging from his lips.

Steve lets out a deep sigh and looks back over the quarry. Eddie already knows him better than almost anyone, despite the fact that they have barely spoken. So he just replies honestly: “My parents kicked me out for being a fag.”

Eddie’s nonchalant pose changes as he turns to look at Steve with big eyes. In a soft voice he says: “Shit, dude. Are you okay?”

“Not really,” Steve answers, looking Eddie in the eye, which reveals the shiner he has on his face. It is clear Eddie sees, because he sucks in a shocked breath of air.

Carefully Eddie reaches out and cups his cheek. Steve lets him, because he’s been craving some sort of kind contact ever since it happened and Eddie is on the top of the list of people he wants touching him. Not that he’ll ever tell Eddie that. Especially not after tonight.

“What happened?” Eddie asks, those sweet brown eyes boring into Steve’s own.

“Billy called me a fag, my dad heard,” Steve explains. “He found out about the cheerleading and hit me before throwing me out. Said I can come back if I have a wife and a son. I’m no longer their son until then.”

“He sounds like a fucking asshole,” Eddie tells him.

The blunt statements gets a laugh out of Steve, who agrees: “Yeah, he is.”

There is a moment of silence between the two where they look at the stars. Then Eddie asks: “So, what are you going to do now?”

Steve doesn’t want anyone to know he’s homeless, not even Eddie. He shrugs: “Going to find a wife, I guess. But a job first. Not like I got into college.”

“What?” Eddie exclaims in a bewildered tone. “You’re gonna try and get back in their good graces after that?”

“Yeah,” Steve says. “What else can I fucking do, Eddie? Frolic around and find a boyfriend to live happily ever after? That’s not going to happen. We both know that. The best I can hope for is that no one finds out I got kicked out and find a girl willing to date me after that spectacle. He landed the first hit right there in the parking lot. Everyone saw!”

The words must feel like a slap in the face for Eddie, because he rears back, the hand that had fallen from his cheek to his shoulder leaving all together. Steve tries not to miss the warmth.

“Well, fuck you, dude,” Eddie frowns. “You don’t know what can happen. There’s a whole world out there.”

Steve crosses his arms and says: “Well, I’m stuck here, aren’t I?”

“And that means you have to conform to what they want?” Eddie argues back. “Just say fuck them and be whoever you want to be. They can leave if they don’t like it.”

“What, like you do?” Steve shoots back. “I can’t live like that, Eddie. I’m not that kind of person. I’m not like you.”

Eddie looks even more hurt and says: “Like me? A freak, you mean? Someone who won’t settle down with a girl I won’t love?”

“No,” Steve says, realizing his mistake. “I’m not brave like you.”

It looks like Eddie is about to argue, snap back, when the words hit. He looks a little stunned, as if what Steve is saying is ludicrous. “What? Stevie, you are so brave. What are you on about?”

Warmth explodes in Steve’s chest at the words. He wants to lean into them, bask in Eddie’s attention and kindness. But he can’t. He meant what he said. He is going to try and find a girlfriend to settle down with. He’s too scared to try and be gay. He’s not ready to be out there. So, he shakes his head and says: “I’m not. I hide. I run away.”

“You know how fucking brave it was to join the cheer team?” Eddie argues. “I couldn't believe it when I first heard. That takes some balls. You did that. You didn’t care. That was fucking badass, man.”

“I guess,” Steve sighs. “But that bravery only lasts until someone looks at me.”

“Your parents don’t seem like they deserve your efforts, sweetheart,” Eddie tells him. “You don’t need to make them proud if you don’t want to.”

“But it’s not just them,” Steve says. “It’s this whole fucking town. It’s everyone, who looks, who talks, who knows, who judges. It’s- It’s like I can feel their eyes on me. I could ignore them for a bit, but not like this. I don’t want them seeing me like that.”

“Not everyone sees you like that,” Eddie says quietly. “I don’t.”

Steve looks at him, there seems to be a layer to the statement that he can’t quite get. He could read into it, but he’s not going to. It’s not going to happen between them. They’re too different. Eddie is too out there and Steve can’t deal with that.

“I know,” Steve answers anyway, equally soft. “I know.”

They fall quiet, looking out of the silent quarry together. Eddie relights his joint and takes a deep drag. Steve tries not to stare as Eddie’s lips suck on the filter and how the smoke slowly falls out of his mouth.

Eddie catches him looking and grins. Steve blushes and looks away. Eddie makes a soft noise at that and Steve looks back with a confused look to find Eddie offering him the joint. His brain short circuits at the idea of putting the joint that had been in Eddie’s mouth in his own.

He nearly takes him up on the offer just because of that, but in the end he refuses. He isn’t in the mood to get high, he gets emotional when he gets high and the last thing he wants is to cry all over Eddie.

When he does Eddie shrugs as if to say ‘your choice’ before taking another hit. He looks relaxed like this, leaning back on the roof of Steve’s car. The moonlight illuminates his face beautifully, almost ethereally.

Steve lets his mind drift off in the silence, until it is broken by Eddie, who says: “There is no shame in hiding.”

“What?” Steve replies, more as a prompt to elaborate than a question.

“I don’t want to make it seem like you need to be out and proud,” Eddie explains. “God knows I’m not either. It’s okay to hide that you’re queer. I just meant that you don’t have to try and strive for that heterosexual dream that your parents want for you. You don’t have to force yourself to change. It’s okay to just be you.”

No one has ever told Steve it’s okay to be him. He has never been good enough for his parents and all the choices he has made for himself have been judged by his peers. Just Steve has never been okay. Except with Chrissy, but even she doesn’t know he’s gay.

The fact that Eddie, who barely knows Steve, who should hate Steve for who he used to be, thinks he’s okay just by himself makes something comforting curl up into his chest. Steve can feel the blush on his cheek as he whispers: “Thank you.”

“Course,” Eddie smiles back, almost a little shy.

They break eye contact and fall quiet again. This time it’s Steve who breaks it by saying: “I would, you know, not try.”

“But?”

“But I can’t.” Steve doesn’t know why he feels the need to explain to Eddie, to get some sense of understanding from the other boy, but he does. “Everyone saw the fight with my father. If I don’t show that it wasn’t true, I’ll be the town pariah.”

“That’s already my job,” Eddie protests, though it falls flat seeing the circumstances. So, he sighs and says: “Yeah, I get it. That sucks, man.”

“Tell me about it,” Steve smiles, feeling that understanding and camaraderie he was craving.

“I won’t tell anyone about you getting kicked out,” Eddie promises suddenly.

It honestly hadn’t crossed Steve’s mind that he would. Eddie doesn’t seem the type to do that, especially not with what they share, but he’s glad nonetheless. “Thanks.”

“No need to thank me for not being a dick,” Eddie says. Then he offers: “You can crash at mine for the night if you need. It won’t be the most comfortable, but a roof is nice.”

For a moment Steve considers taking him up on the offer. However, he knows it’s not smart to get closer to this boy. This boy that he likes, who is sweet to him, who makes him laugh, who he can have a chance with if he lets himself get close. This boy, who could break his heart.

And the part he hates himself for, the practical part that assesses risks and thinks strategically, warns of the rumors that will go around if people find out he spend the night at Eddie’s. It would be smarter to keep his distance.

So, he shakes his head and politely lies: “Thanks, but it’s okay. I have a friend to crash at.”

“Alright,” Eddie shrugs. “Just know my door is always open. Me and my uncle Wayne both have a habit of taking in strays.” His face splits open in a cheeky grin as he winks.

Steve remembers the day in the cafeteria when Eddie stood up to Billy for him, when he told Steve he was under his jurisdiction now. That it was Eddie’s task to protect him. He doesn’t bring that up, however, instead saying: “You’re a fucking dork, Munson.”

“Oh it’s Munson now?” Eddie laughs. “Well alright then, Harrington.”

“I take it back, I take it back,” Steve laughs too, not wanting to loose the bit of closeness with Eddie, even if he knows it’s stupid to get close.

“Okay, okay, you’re forgiven, sweetheart,” Eddie smiles, taking another hit, before stubbing the joint out on the sole of his shoe, which shouldn’t be as hot as it is.

After that conversation drifts to less serious topics. They talk about all sorts of things. At one point Steve goes off on a tangent about why cheerleading is way harder than it looks and why this girl from another team was a total bitch during the competition. Meanwhile, Eddie explains DnD to Steve, when he can’t follow his new campaign idea.

It’s fun, Steve is pretty sure he hasn’t laughed this much in ages. They share dumb shit their friends did, like Gareth’s pants ripping on stage and Chrissy tripping over air. And just talk about stuff without having to hide.

They sit there for hours until Eddie breaks a natural lull in the conversation by saying: “I should probably get home. I want to catch a bit of sleep before my uncle gets home. And you shouldn’t show up at this friend’s place too late either.”

Steve’s mood drops at the reminder that this moment isn’t going to last forever and that he’ll have to sleep in his car tonight. It’s already a bit too late to be socially acceptable to show at some house and Steve suspects that Eddie doesn’t believe him, but he is glad the other doesn’t push.

“Course, I should get going too,” Steve nods. “Your car close to here?”

“Yeah, big boy, don’t worry your pretty little head about me,” Eddie tells him. After that he hesitates, making Steve wonder what he’s about to do. Then Eddie pulls him into a quick hug, before he skips off into the darkness with a wave and a: “See you around, Stevie.”

And just like that Steve is alone again.

He sits on his car for a little while longer and looks up at the sky as if it will give him better answers than the ones he has now.

The stars don’t grant him any further wisdom, so he sighs and gets into the backseat of his car, locking all his doors. He’s glad it isn’t winter, because he would have frozen his balls off. But tonight the temperature is comfortable.

Still, he tosses and turns for quite a bit, not really managing to fall asleep, but managing to doze off at least.

A knock on his window startles him for his sleep-awake limbo. He rubs his eyes, before he realizes what that knock means. Someone has found him. Someone knows he isn’t sleeping at home. He wonders if he can spin it as having had sex when he looks up and meets Hoppers eyes on the other side of the window.

Hopper might be more sympathetic, he hopes, but it will also make this a thousand time more awkward. They’ve been the two protectors of the group during all the Upside Down shit, which created a bit of a bond. However, this isn’t Upside Down shit, this is real world shit and Steve has no clue where Hopper stands in all of this.

Reluctantly he opens the backdoor and scoots so he’s sitting on the edge of the seat. He doesn’t look up yet, hoping Hopper hasn’t seen the bruise on his face. He greets: “Hi, Chief.”

“Hey, kid,” Hopper greets back. “So this is where you’ve been hiding. You’re not easy to find, you know.”

Hopper makes it sound like he’s been looking for him specifically instead of stumbling upon his car in a bout of bad luck. In his confusion, Steve forgets why he’s looking down, so he looks up and frowns: “What do you mean?”

He has a front row seat to how Hopper’s face morphs from amused exasperation to anger when he sees the bruise. Steve ducks his head again, as if that will undo it being seen, and says: “It’s nothing, it was just an accident.”

“Jesus, kid,” Hopper breathes. “No need to lie to me. Jonathan said you got into it with your father, but that looks worse than just a slap. What happened?”

“Jonathan?” Steve repeats, unsure if he heard correctly.

“Yeah, Jonathan,” Hopper confirms. “He was taking pictures at the graduation, saw it happen and told Joyce. She called me in a worry. I’ve been looking all over town for you.”

Of course, Jonathan. Steve now remembers Will over the radio talking about it. He hadn’t thought that Will worrying would be because Joyce was worrying, but now he also remembers Will in the arcade telling him that Joyce asked her boys to keep an eye on him.

Joyce has been worrying about him. She probably knows why he and his father fought, has heard all about it from fucking Jonathan. But still she’s worried. She called Hop. She send him out to look for Steve, because she’s worried.

He can barely believe anyone would care this much for him. His own parents have just tossed him aside like he is nothing, but Joyce, who he barely knows, whose son he insulted and fought, who’s only interaction with Steve has been through the Upside Down, just cares about him.

Without his permission tears start to slide down his face and sobs wrack through his body, bruised ribs aching with the movement.

“Hey, hey, now, come on, it’s okay,” he hears Hopper say, sounding a bit panicked at the sudden crying.

Steve wants to explain that he’s okay, just overwhelmed and tired, that he also doesn’t want to cry, but he can’t. All he can do is make a gesture with his hand, a vague waving motion, before more sobs overtake him.

A hesitant hand rests on his shoulder, heavy and comforting. Unconsciously Steve leans into it, which makes Hopper step forwards, until Steve can bury his face into Hopper’s stomach. Together they stand there until Steve is done crying about the unfairness of today, the unfairness of the world, for himself and for the parts of himself he has lost.

When the crying finally slows down, Hopper squats down with a groan so he can look Steve in the eyes. Steve doesn’t want to look him in the eyes, aware of the wetness on his cheek and the bruise that resides there, but Hopper cradles his face like he imagines a good father would and forces Steve to look at him.

“Kid,” he starts. “It’s gonna be okay. Just tell me what happened. Why are you all the way out here? What did he do to you? You can tell me, I promise.”

“I- I-” Steve says, stumbling over what he wants to say. He doesn’t want Hopper to hate him too, but he’s scrambling to find a good lie to explain it all. In the end he chokes out: “I tried to tell him it wasn’t true.”

“It’s okay, Steve,” Hopper soothes him. “Just tell me what happened.”

“I- I kept trying to tell him, but he wouldn't listen and then- and then he punched me again,” Steve hiccups. “And I went down and my- my mom, she just st- stood there. And he- he kicked me. He threw me out, Hop. He threw me out.”

Steve is near hysterical again as he remembers all he has suppressed throughout the night. The moment he has deliberately not thought about.

“Oh, kid,” Hopper says in sympathy, pulling Steve into a hug as he sobs without tears. He holds Steve tightly and angrily says: “We’ll get the bastard. Don’t worry.”

“No!” Steve exclaims, before he can think about it, pulling away from the embrace.

“No?” Hopper frowns, confused by the reaction.

“No,” Steve shakes his head, confirming what he said. “I don’t want to talk about it. I don’t want to press charges. I just want everyone to forget about it. He’s probably already gone by now anyway. Don’t bother.”

“Are you sure, kid?” Hopper checks, looking into Steve’s eyes as he does. “I can make sure he never sets foot in Hawkins again.”

“I’m sure,” Steve tells him.

“Alright,” Hopper nods, letting it go. He sets a step back and says: “But Joyce is going to want to know what happened when you get there. She’s probably blowing up my radio about if I found you yet. Don’t think you’re getting out of that one.”

Steve had almost managed to forget about Joyce and having to leave the safety of the quarry. He pleads: “Do I have to go?”

“What was your plan?” Hopper asks, with the air of someone that knows there wasn’t a better alternative plan.

“Uhm, stay here?” Steve offers anyway.

“No,” Hopper shuts it down without remorse. “I’m not letting you sleep in your car. Now you can pick, leave it here and drive with me or drive to Joyce yourself.”

“I’ll drive myself,” Steve gives in, wanting to have his car should he have to escape a second house tonight.

“Good choice,” Hopper nods. “I’ll see you there. No funny business.”

“Yes, Chief,” Steve says dully as he gets behind the wheel of his own car. Hopper stands there and waits until he turns on the ignition, before he turns to leave for his own car, parked a bit off from Steve’s.

Hopper drives behind him the entire way, ready to set chase should Steve try anything he doesn’t like. Steve almost hates how well Hopper has estimated his character. Because while he knows Joyce loves her boys, Steve isn’t one of them and it is harder to accept someone, who isn’t close to you like that.

And yeah, Steve is aware that she has had Jonathan and Will keep an eye on him and hounded Hopper to go find him when he went missing after the fight with his father, but still… A part of him is terrified of what he’ll come to face.

He already knows that he’ll deny it all if asked. He doesn’t care if they will accept it or not. He wants to ignore it exists. He wants to forget about it.

He meant what he told Eddie, he’s going to find a girl willing to date him. He’s going to make the town forget that there was ever any doubt about his sexuality. He’s been the target of this vitriol for only a few months, but that has been enough for him. He isn’t brave enough to face more of that, despite what Eddie might think.

So he can’t help, but feel like a man preparing for the gallows when he parks in front of Joyce’s house. Hopper must have radioed, because she is waiting for him under the porch light, looking relieved as he pulls up to the house.

Steve stays seated behind the wheel of his car, unable to make himself leave the safety of it until Hopper is standing next to the door.

Slightly unwilling, Steve opens the door and follows after Hopper, able to admit to himself that he hides behind the older man. He doesn’t know why the small, unassuming figure of Joyce scares him so much. Maybe because he knows her rejection will hurt almost more badly than that of his own mother.

Shyly he greets her: “Hey, Joyce.”

“Oh, Steve,” she sighs in a sympathetic yet unpitying way, as she steps forwards. Without thinking Steve sets a step backwards. With Hopper he’d been too out of it, but now he can’t help but think about all the ways he can get hurt again. A small frown appears between Joyce’s brows that she quickly wipes away, instead asking: “Can I hug you, Steve?”

That has him fighting tears again. He didn’t know a human could produce that many tears in one evening. Fortunately he manages to fight them off as he nods.

Immediately Joyce hugs him. It’s a bit awkward, because she has to bring his head down to let him hide in the crook of his neck, because she is so much shorter than him. However, once he’s situated, he can tell that this is one of the most comforting hugs he has ever had.

He takes a shuddering breath, but doesn’t break down again. Instead, he just clutches to Joyce and lets himself be held.

Joyce doesn’t let go for a good long while. When she finally steps away, it’s to inspect his face under the light hanging on the porch. She asks: “Do you want some ice for that, honey?”

“It’s okay. Barely feel it anymore,” he lies with a small smile. He doesn’t care that he’s lying, he can live with the dull ache. It feels like a deserved punishment, like the concussion Jonathan gave him back in junior year.

“Are you hurt anywhere else?” she asks.

Steve bites his lips and chances a look at Hopper, whom he told about the kicks. Hopper raises a brow, which sends a clear message. Still, Steve doesn’t want to admit the extend of it and he tries to rationalize it because it could have been worse. “Just some scrapes and bruises.”

“Alright,” Joyce lets it go for now. Steve doesn’t know if she believes him, but he is glad she changes the subject. “I’ve got two curious boys in there. Before we go in, do you want to talk about it with me? What do you want me to say to them?”

Indeed, behind her Jonathan and Will are trying to watch the three people on the porch through the window, while also trying to be stealthy about it. It reminds him a bit of the time with Billy and he has to swallow at the thought.

Then the question hits him and the feeling of getting watched creeps over him again. His shoulders tense as he says: “Not much to say. Nothing happened.”

That is a lie to all of them, but the message comes across anyway. Steve doesn’t want to talk about it. Not with Joyce and Hopper and definitely not with Jonathan and Will. He knows Will must have questions and he should probably assure the kid that he’s fine and it’s not all bad, that Will will be okay too. But he’s not in the mood for that now. He doesn’t know if he’ll ever be.

“Okay,” Joyce says, easily. Steve is sure she’ll get Hopper to tell her everything Steve told him, but he tries to ignore that. Just like the two adults are doing. “Jonathan can sleep with Will tonight and you can take his room. I’m sure you can use the rest.”

When she mentions it, he can feel the exhaustion hit him with full force and he nods tiredly.

She leads him into the house, sending Jonathan and Will a look that has them stay right there and not say a thing. Steve is grateful for it. Joyce shows him to Jonathan’s room, where she lends him a pair of pajamas, something he has forgotten in his haste.

Before she leaves him to change and sleep, she says: “We’ll probably need to talk about it a little more in the morning. Just some schematics, nothing to worry about. Try to get some sleep now, okay?”

“Okay,” Steve agrees. Though he would have agreed to anything if it meant getting to sleep and letting oblivion take him. “Goodnight.”

“Goodnight,” Joyce smiles.

She goes to leave the room, but Steve stops her before she can. “Joyce?”

“Yeah?”

“Thank you.”

“No problem,” she smiles. “You never are.” And with those earth shattering words, she leaves him alone.

He stands there for a few seconds, trying to comprehend the words, before he gives up. He’s too exhausted for any more emotions. So, he changes and crawls into the bed. Sleep taking him before his head can hit the pillow.

When he wakes up the next morning, his head is pounding and his eyelids feel like they weigh a thousand ton. He lets out a groan and curls into himself, in doing so falling off the bed.

“Wha?” he mumbles, blinking his eyes open, an unfamiliar room coming into view. Jonathan’s room, he realizes. Fuck.

All that had happened the day before comes flooding back. It hits him in the chest and leaves him breathless for a second. He still can’t quite believe yesterday is real and he is actually at the Byers house instead of his own. It seems like he always ends up here when something life changing happens, he wonders if the house is cursed. If the Byers are. Or he is.

Steve sits on the floor, staring at the ground. He should get up and drink something to negate the crying headache, but when he leaves he’ll have to face Joyce, maybe even Hopper. And Jonathan and Will. He can’t face Jonathan and Will.

Jonathan, who had seen it all. Who had witnessed his shame, his humiliation and who told Joyce it happened. After all they had been through together, the names Steve had called him, it had to be Jonathan, who saw.

And Will? How can he face Will? Will always looks at him with those eyes that are half awe, half desperate reaching for the connection they share. Steve has never confirmed it and he doesn’t think he’ll be able to now. What can he tell Will, who knows what happened? How can he explain, when he doesn’t want to understand himself?

With that he isn’t even thinking about Hopper, who found him sleeping in his car, because Steve is homeless now. Or Joyce, who told Hopper to find him, because she wants him at her house for some reason.

It’s all too much.

So, he sits on the floor of Jonathan’s room and hugs his knees to his chest and stares. He doesn’t really think about it – he doesn’t want to think about it – he just looks at the ground.

A soft knock snaps him out of his revelry and he looks up. Steve isn’t sure how long he’s been sitting there, but apparently is has been long enough that he can’t keep ignoring the outside world anymore.

“Steve? Are you okay?” Joyce’s voice comes through the door. “There is breakfast if you’re interested.” Steve can’t bring himself to answer her, feeling frozen. Joyce speaks up again: “Can I come in?”

He can hear the worry in her voice and instantly feels bad about his silence, when she has been there for him. Still, his mouth doesn’t cooperate beyond a humming sound.

Joyce must take the sound to be an okay, because the door gets pushed open and she poked her head in. Her eyes lock onto Steve, still curled up on the floor, and her expressions softens into something sympathetic that makes Steve’s skin crawl.

Quickly he uncurls into a normal seating position, acting as if his location is a very normal one. He croaks: “Good morning,” voice rough with disuse.

“Good morning,” Joyce greets softly, entering the door and sitting down on the desk chair, before turning to Steve, who has gotten up and now sits on the bed, legs folded. She asks: “How are you feeling, honey?”

“I’m fine,” he says, the reply an ingrained reaction. To make it more believable, he adds: “Just- you know- It hasn’t landed yet, I guess.”

“That’s totally understandable, Steve,” Joyce tells him. “Can you tell me what happened? I heard some of it, but I want to hear it from you.”

“My father got the wrong idea about me and kicked me out,” Steve shrugs. He is determined to keep up the facade as long as he can. He isn’t confirming shit to anyone. That only gets him hurt and he is tired of hurting.

“You know,” Joyce offers tentatively, “it would be okay if it was the right idea. I won’t judge you, if it is.”

“Well, it isn’t,” Steve snaps, not in the mood and feeling cornered.

“Okay, okay,” Joyce immediately backs off, her hands in the air in a disarming manner. “Just in case, honey.”

Steve still doesn’t fully trust it, but he needs as many people as he can get in his corner right now, so he is a little more forgiving than he wants. So, he huffs: “Thanks, but not necessary.”

The hiccup creates a small silence between them. It’s clear that Joyce has been preparing to have a very different conversation. If Steve has to guess she expected tears and a confession, worries she could soothe and support she could offer. But that’s not what’s happening.

It is admirable how she bounces back after a moment, saying: “Hopper mentioned you were sleeping in you car?”

“Of course he did,” Steve sighs.

“We’re just worried about you,” Joyce responds to that, pointing to the one thing Steve still doesn’t understand.

“Why?” he asks. Too curious not to. When Joyce looks confused, he explains: “I was a dick to Jonathan in junior year and you barely know me. Why do you even care that my father thinks I’m a fag and kicked me out? Just why? I don’t get it.”

“We don’t say that word here,” she snaps with a force that has Steve blinking.

“Sorry.”

“It’s okay,” Joyce smiles. “Just don’t do that again.” Then she lets out a breath and says: “You saved my boy’s life. Jonathan told me what happened here. How you came back. I owe you so much, Steve.”

At the words, a lump appears in Steve’s throat. He has never really thought about how he saved Nancy and Jonathan. It was just something he felt like he had to do, to make it right. He never expected to be thanked for it. He looks away, slightly bashful.

“And last fall, you held down the fort, you kept those kids safe,” she goes on. “You’re still so young, honey, but you were the third adult here. I know I can count on you. You did so much for my family. Of course I want to make sure you’re okay.”

“Oh,” Steve says, stumped for anything else to say.

Joyce luckily doesn’t push him, instead she repeats: “There is breakfast if you want. I can also come bring you a plate.”

Steve is tempted the moment he hears the offer. He’s not quite ready to be looked at yet. So, he softly says: “I’d like to say here, if that’s okay with Jonathan.”

“I’ll talk to him,” Joyce says. “Should I bring you some breakfast?”

“Yes, please.”

She leaves with a squeeze to his leg. He’s still reeling from what she said, he never thought he would have impact on anyone, not anything positive. And he’s never been trusted. But apparently Joyce has him higher than he ever thought possible.

When Joyce comes back with a plate with eggs and toast, it hasn’t fully landed yet. So, he just takes the plate a small: “Thanks.”

“No problem,” Joyce smiles. “It’s fine to stay here for a little. Jonathan is off to his internship for most of the day. We’ll look later about a more permanent sleeping arrangement. You can stay as long as you like.”

The lump from before comes back in full force. It’s an odd feeling to be wanted. He has only experienced it with the cheer squad. And Eddie.

He remembers Chrissy’s look at graduation. She might be worried. He can’t face her yet, doesn’t want her to know what happened between him and his father, but he does want her to know that he is okay.

“Can I call someone?” he asks.

“Of course, honey,” Joyce assures him. “I’ll ask Will to go play at Mike’s today, so you can have some peace. I have to go to work soon, but feel free to anything in the house.”

Fuck, she’s so nice and Steve isn’t sure he deserves it. However, her words remind him of the others, who might have heard Will over the radio last night. How they might know. With fear he asks: “Who knows I’m here? Who knows what happened?”

“No one, except for us and Hopper,” Joyce assures him.

“But the radio?” Steve asks.

“Will used a private frequency to contact you. No one heard,” Joyce explains. “It’s okay. I’ll ask them not to tell.”

“And Jonathan?” Steve presses, needing to be sure that Jonathan won’t tell Nancy. They work together if he remembers right and she’s his girlfriend. He really doesn’t want Nancy to know.

“Jonathan knows not to say,” Joyce tells him, a grimness in her voice that has Steve remembering Lonnie.

He doesn’t want to prod as to how Jonathan would know, but he realizes the Byers might have more reasons than Steve’s saving their life to be worried about him. It aches that this family has to go through so much. And he feels a bit bad that Joyce is comparing, because his father never hit him before yesterday, he mostly just left.

However, he doesn’t say anything about that and just nods. He takes a bite of his breakfast and thanks Joyce again. She assures him once more that it’s fine, then goes to get ready for work. Steve listens to her going around the house, hears how she ushers Will out of the house as well, before he is blessedly alone.

He creeps into the living room and calls the Cunningham house. Mrs. Cunningham picks up: “This is the Cunningham household, to whom am I speaking?”

Steve freezes. He doesn’t know who’ll have heard about what happened at graduation and he doesn’t want Mrs. Cunningham to forbade her daughter from seeing him. He lilts his voice up slightly and says: “Hi, ma’am, I’m in Chrissy class. I’m Stttt-an? Stan. She helped me with English this year, I- I have to take the summer classes. I wanted to ask her something before I have to go today. Can I speak with her?”

Mrs. Cunningham tuts a little as Steve holds his breath, then she says: “This stays over the phone,” in a threatening manner, before calling Chrissy’s name.

There are some noises over the phone, before Chrissy’s confused voice asks: “Stan?”

“You actually know a Stan?” Steve asks.

“It’s you,” Chrissy smiles. “Great cover.” Then her voice dims again. “Are you okay? What happened? Should I come get you?”

“No, no, I’m fine,” Steve says. “I’m staying at a friend’s house until my parents leave town again. Let him cool down for a bit. Just wanted to let you know I’m okay.”

“I’m glad,” Chrissy says, sounding a bit relieved. “They’re saying all sorts of horrible things about you. I was worried.”

“Don’t listen to them,” Steve assures her, with a dull pain in his chest. “It’s just stupid lies by rumor hungry people. It was a misunderstanding. We’re cool now. I do need to find a job. I’ll call you when I have one and you can come by. How’s that sound?”

“Sounds good,” Chrissy answers. She sounds a lot happier than she did earlier and Steve is glad for that. He hates when she’s sad. “Oh, my mom is glaring at me. I’m gonna have to hang up. Please call me when you can, okay?”

“Sure, will do,” Steve promises, before he hangs up.

He’s going to have to lie a lot more, to a lot more people and it fucking sucks. But he doesn’t want to deal with the alternative. And it’ll only be temporary, he promises himself, just until people forget what they used to say about him and move onto new rumors.

It’s not like he has many people, who want to come by his house. He still has to figure out what to do about the kids, but Dustin will be off to camp soon and the others have a summer break to spend with each other. He has dealt with Chrissy and he knows Lisa is off on a big vacation, because her parents want to spend as much time with her before she is off to college.

Maybe he can do this. Yeah, he can totally do this. Just find a job, get enough money that he can pretend that he just moved out of his parent’s instead of being kicked out. Find a girl, convince everyone he’s straight.

Easy peasy.

A/N:

I'm not gonna be able to make the next two upload moments, but i'll be back before you know it with the next chapter :D

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dirty-bosmer · 1 year ago

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WIP Wednesday

Tagged by @atypicalacademic and @thequeenofthewinter. Thank you kindly, friends ❤️

Shifting focus this week to my Skryim fic, Slither and Writhe. It's much longer than I anticipated, oops. All the comparative anatomy classes have turned me into a necromancer apologist. Is it obvious 😅

Tagging: @atypicalacademic (for the new week, heheh) @gilgamish @justafoxhound @dumpsterhipster @sheirukitriesfandom @skyrim-forever @nuwanders @wispstalk @druidx @goddess-of-sorrow @burningsilence @lucien-lachance @chennnington @thana-topsy @kookaburra1701 @sylvienerevarine @expended-sleeper

“You should have absorbed me in the womb.”

“We’re not twins, Syl.”

“Yeah, but you were there.”

“As an egg.”

Sylawen sighed and kicked the rock down the hillside where it rolled into the silvery, serpentine creek below. The splash it made was only rumor, feeble and far away, and just as soon the forest silence returned to congeal upon her ears. Even with the magelight and Masser in full, the night was such a dreary, swallowing gray, and even with Rillion beside her, she felt terribly alone. He’d been distant ever since the disaster at the party. She couldn’t resent him for it. Had she the option, she’d choose to be a little farther from herself too.

“Am I repulsive?”

“Sometimes.” Rillion shrugged, and Sylawen lashed him with a baleful glare. “What?” he said. “By the eight, Syl. You asked.”

“Well, I didn’t expect you to be so bloody honest.”

“You enjoy gross things, and your experiments are creepy. Necromancy isn’t a subject most people even want to think about, so it shouldn’t be any surprise that people are uncomfortable when your thralls walk into the house uninvited. I’m sorry. It’s just… it’s unnatural.”

“Death isn’t unnatural.

“Okay, but stitching random pieces of dead bodies into some macabre pastiche is.”

“They're not random pieces," Sylawen said pointedly. "They were carefully selected, and no one complains if I stitch flesh back together for a healing spell."

"Syl, please. Don't be dense. It's not the same.'

"You mean you don’t think it’s even remotely interesting?”

Rillion grimaced, shook his head without pause. “No, it freaks me out. It always did.” Sylawen's frown deepened. When Rillion caught it, his eyes flooded with guilt, and she hated how quickly he resorted to carrying it for the both of them when her poor decisions were usually at root. But she always let him. She hated that too. “How about you tell me when you discover a cure for aging," he said with feigned hope. "Maybe then I’ll be intrigued. Just make it into a salve and make it smell pretty and don’t tell me what it’s made from.”

A scoff escaped her. "Tch, immortality is for losers. Everyone and their scamp is after the secret to lasting life.” She tried to force mirth into it, tried to turn it into laughter, tried to unburden the air that had grown so unwieldy between them. She couldn't.

“Then why do you do these things? If not to help people, why?”

“I like creating, Rillion. I want to make something new. It’s that simple.”

“So make art. I’ve seen your sketches. Even the anatomical ones are beautiful. Imagine if you tried drawing something that wasn’t a dissection for once.”

“What I do is art,” she replied, a bit more harshly than intended because no matter how many times she’d explained it before, Rillion still didn’t understand, didn’t want to. “And it breathes. It exists beyond the canvas. It lives.”

Rillion shifted, placing even more space between them. “Okay,” he said. “I guess.”

“It really is a shame you can’t see that.”

“I know. I wish I did.”

With another disgruntled sigh, Sylawen laid herself flat against the grass. The sky above was charcoal black, ripe for burning. She didn't try to tell him again. Only Tazara had understood, and even then she'd left Sylawen. She'd abandoned her, given up on all they'd discovered, on all they'd almost built together. Eventually Rillion slumped down to join her, and they fell into a strained quiet, the torchbugs winking in and out all around them, and she recalled summers when they were younger, catching them in jars, the way Rillion's eyes shined with awe when she explained how the green fire in their bellies was made. Just once, she wished he would look at her that way again. That she could show someone, anyone, her work and see something other than fear reflected back. But she didn't try to explain her studies to Rillion again. She didn't say, we’re all animals when we’re dead. We can’t talk. We can’t tell our stories, but it’s all written there on the body. Muscles made stronger by so much strain. Soft mounds of flesh from kind years and warm meals. The callouses on the fingers of a writer, how they sit differently from those on the palms of a sailor. The wounds we’ve survived. The ones we didn’t.

Rillion cleared his throat. “So… if I died, what part of me would you preserve for your experiments?”

“Your hands,” Sylawen said, reaching for the one nearest her. “So I could hold them when I miss you. “

Rillion smiled weakly, and his face was bronze in the moonlight. She’d remember him like this in the days to come, a ray of warmth when alone in the bleak wastelands of Winterhold. “That’s so disgusting Syl,” he said, but he didn't let go “I can’t believe we’re related.”

#Slither and Writhe #tes fic #skyrim fic #necromancy #I'm convinced functional morphology is basically modern day necromancy #Tag Games #WIP Wednesday #I love mages #Will I ever have a protagonist who is not a mage? Dunno #seyda writes

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apocalypticavolition · 10 months ago

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Let's (re)Read The Great Hunt! Chapter 30: Daes Dae'mar

Putting on that fancy jacket sure was a mistake, huh? Everyone knows you're up to something now. Oh you can say you're just an innocent lamb, but that's just what a scheming noble would say. Consider this post an invitation. Accept it, and I'll give you all my Wheel of Time spoilers. Decline and... I won't really be able to do anything because I have no way of knowing when someone sees this and moves on. I didn't think this through. But I guess you won't be spoiled for the whole series, so if that's your goal, that's nice.

Another rising sun chapter because we're in Cairhien. I hope these icons start getting a little more obscure soon.

The Illuminators were on everyone’s tongues in the city, even now, days after the night when they had lofted only one nightflower into the sky, and that early. A dozen different versions of the scandal were being told, discounting minor variations, but none close to the truth.

Note how distorted these tales are in comparison to the Seanchan because of how much is being deliberately kept in secrecy.

It was an effort for Rand not to sigh again. “Hurin, I’m sorry. I should not have shouted at you.”

This whole conversation is of course a microcosm of Rand's upcoming dealings with humanity as a whole and a rehearsal for when Rand gets really shitty to Hurin much, much later.

“He hasn’t done that before. Loial, do you think he was listening at the door before he knocked?”

As Loial says, Rand is starting to understand how the game is played. That said, Cuale probably was just freaking out over the senders of the invitations more than eavesdropping.

“Whatever they make of it, at least it’s the same for everybody. I am not for anyone in Cairhien, and I am not against anyone.”

You can't blame the kid for trying I suppose. But this is just the Pattern trying to teach Rand that he doesn't get to sit in holding patterns and have everything work out. He's got to move forward and act.

With most Houses, it wouldn’t matter. Even when they’re plotting against each other to the knife, they act like they aren’t, out where everybody can see. But not these two.

Again, Rand doesn't get to just wait it out. He has to make a decision.

“I won’t break the seals. That way, they will know I have not answered either one yet. As long as they are waiting to see which way I jump, maybe I can earn a few more days. Ingtar has to come soon. He has to.”

Of course, Rand really doesn't want to learn any lessons at all, so he's still kicking and screaming.

After a moment, he pulled the two invitations from his pocket and studied the seals, then stuck them back.

This chapter uses the word "seal" so much that I'm trying to find a way to tie it into the actual seals but so far I've got nothing. Rand does hang onto the unbroken seals he finds, but his hesitance in breaking those is a lot more about not being ready for the final boss fight yet than refusal to play and he doesn't really showboat with them for obvious reasons.

He avoided thinking of the way he might, just might, deal with ten Trollocs. It had not worked when he tried to help Loial, after all.

At least his denial here is based on practicality instead of just pigheadedness.

Rand thought a man, dressed in what had once been good Shienaran clothes, ducked back into the crowd at the sight of him, but he could not be sure.

Almost certainly that's exactly what Rand saw, and the news that he and Loial are so far away from the Horn spread quickly.

“It is my pleasure to do what I may,” the man said with his false smile.

The question here is, is he outright lying of his own accord because that's what he always does or is he being specifically instructed from above not to cooperate?

Moiraine, he thought bitterly. She’s still causing me trouble. Almost immediately, though, if reluctantly, he admitted that she could hardly be blamed for this. There had always been some reason to pretend to be what he was not. First keeping Hurin’s spirits up, and then trying to impress Selene. After Selene, there had not seemed to be any way out of it.

Points to Rand for having the self-awareness to admit that all Moiraine did was give him the rope to hang himself with. All things considered, many would just be angry with her and move on with their lives from there.

Thom’s nephew had lasted almost three years by channeling only when he thought he had to. If Owyn had managed to limit how often he channeled, it must be possible to not channel at all, no matter how seductive saidin was.

Well sure Rand, but you've literally just established that you have a hard time not using every available tool at your disposal so plot-convenient ultra-heroin is probably not a drug you can just take a little hit of at parties, you know?

The closer they came, the more certain it was, until they rounded the last stone-terraced corner and there was The Defender of the Dragonwall, smoke pouring out of its upper windows and flames breaking through the roof.

If Tuon were here, she'd likely explain to Rand that a military-themed inn bursting into flame was a Seanchan omen foretelling the fall of its city to the depicted enemy within the year.

She's not here, thank the Light, but that's probably what she'd say and she'd be right.

The common room hardly seemed as if the building were on fire. The double line of men stretched up the stairs, passing their buckets, and others scrambled to carry out what furniture was left, but there was no more smoke down here than if something had been burning the kitchen.

The Cairhieniens are probably pretty big on fire safety after the last invasion anyway. Without industrial pipes and hydrants to supply water for you, city fires can be downright apocalyptic.

“You cannot carry Hurin and the chest both, Rand.” The Ogier shrugged. “Besides, I won’t leave my books to burn.”

The books are obviously Loial's number one priority here but he has the decency to feel a bit guilty about that.

The banner was still in there. The banner of the Dragon. Let it burn, he thought, and an answering thought came as if he had heard Moiraine say it. Your life may depend on it. She’s still trying to use me. Your life may depend on it. Aes Sedai never lie.

Yeah this boy can't even leave behind the thing that would get him killed anywhere in the known world for possessing it. No way he's not going to be shooting up ultra-heroin every chance he gets even if his life didn't turn into an epic fantasy.

The onlookers stared at him, with his face blackened and his coat covered with smut, but he staggered to where Loial had propped Hurin against the wall of a house across the street.

I'd be staring too, who walks around with a coat covered in por-

"A small flake of soot or other dirt".

Oh. Do you know this may be literally the only time I've ever seen this word used in its non-sexy context?

Rand felt a shiver run through him. “It’s too late,” he told them. “You came too late.” And he sat down in the street and began to laugh.

It's cool Rand, nobody is going to think your acting like a crazy person is suspicious behavior AT ALL.

#let's read #wheel of time #wot #robert jordan #wheel of time spoilers #wot spoilers #rand al'thor #hurin #loial #cuale #aldrin caldevwin #mat cauthon #perrin aybara #ingtar shinowa

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drivingsideways · 2 years ago

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Fic projects 2023 (and beyond?)

Making a list just for kicks! (So I can beat myself up at the end of the year? PERHAP.)

Cheongdam-dong couple ‘verses :

1) Strawberry ‘verse: Han Sung-hyun is a rockstar and South Korea’s first openly gay musician/celebrity. Park Do-won is...just some ex military guy who runs a laundrette while trying to keep his family of seven (5 daughters and 2 grandmas) afloat. After almost accidentally saving Han Sung-hyun from death-by-bullet, Park Do-won gets bullied into hired as Sung-hyun’s bodyguard. Why yes, they do fall in love, but first Sung-hyun must PROBLEMATICALLY flirt with his new LORGE employee and get social media cancelled for it, have a couple of near-death experiences, become Fraulein Maria to Do-won’s five girls, and generally be rescued from his life of fun and depravity to become a BORING DAD (spoilers: he loves it), and also maybe rescue a whale. I have lots of ambitions for this project; for one, I want to imagine what having someone like Han Sung-hyun out there between 2000 to date might have meant. I know there are a few prominent gay celebrities in SK, and I plan to read up whatever I can get my hands on about queer culture in SK as well as the music industry in the last twenty years. The latter is probably easier to access. So far all the google search on LGBT issues in SK has given me is..fairly depressing pieces that are centered around the very real homophobia and discrimination. If anyone has any recs- either in fiction or non fiction about being queer in SK, and about the music industry as such, throw it my way! Thank you. :D

2) Wooster -Sageuk verse: Yes, you read that right. Ok, this is the one in which (JWS/Bertie) is the fourth son of the current king, and a completely useless royal. His brothers, both elder and younger are in a death match for the throne; our guy is chilling out on his small estate up north doing the bare minimum to keep the barbarians at the gates. Into his life comes one Very Brilliant Person (Kim Tae-ri/Jeeves). Now, Tae-ri isn’t a noble born AND she had the misfortune to be afab in those Neo-Confucian times but is she going to let that stop her? NO. So she wiggles her way into (useless) spare heir’s household dressed as a man, and quickly becomes indispensable to him. Meanwhile, LJJ is a soldier in JWS’ army and also a conman with a business on the side; he’s basically sticking with JWS because he figures this guy is not basically interesting enough for his life to be in any kind of real danger, so he gets his soldier’s pay as well as quietly makes money selling contraband. What he *doesn’t * know, and couldn’t possibly begin to guess is that JWS has been PINING for his low born soldier for A WHILE. So, the main plot would be around how Tae-ri, having realized that all the other princes are genocidal freaks, starts an elaborate game of thrones to put the Useless (but not genocidal) Spare on the throne of Joseon, while also solving his Love Problem (which is the only problem that Useless Spare is actually interested in solving.) I want to write this because I love Wodehousian shenangians and queering history, but I’ve also watched like- three sageuks in my entire life- so I feel like I don’t know enough about the genre or you know, actual history, to pull it off with any degree of competence. Still, it *is * one of my favourite ideas, so I’m going to keep it on the list.

The above two are probably the more “high difficulty” writing ideas, and realistically, I’ll have time for one. At the moment, it’s going to be Strawberry ‘verse, but well, you never know.

Other Fics:

3) Lucky Star: This is the next instalment in Terms ‘verse, and is the story of how Do-chul and Hong-gi adopt their son, Min-woo. This fic was meant to be a bridge fic to the final instalment of the ‘verse, but quickly expanded itself in my head. I’ve been trying to crack it for some months now, and it’s not going anywhere, because I can’t seem to figure out what I want this fic to be about. I hope I can do that *sometime * this year because I love these characters so much, and I want to just keep writing in this ‘verse.

4) Sequel to Juche/ Part 2 of The Exiles: This one feels like something I’ve made unnecessarily difficult for myself by throwing the characters into mid 1980s Patagonia, for god’s sake, at the end of Juche. I mean, I did it for Reasons (good Reasons), but I also know very little about that era, so this is basically the classic “bit off more than you could chew” problem, which, come to think of it, maybe the problem with all my fics. Still, I have a much more solid idea of where I want this fic to go than Lucky Star and I think I can fudge some stuff and hopefully get away with it, so!

5) Christmas Fic : This is the one F/F fic I want to write about [Kim Hye-soo] and [Tang Wei], long time frenemies, who both got out of the small town where they grew up and made good. Christmas sees them back together in their hometown for the first time in many years: Hye-soo’s boyfriend has just dumped her, and Tang Wei’s fiance is looking for an excuse to break up with *her * although she doesn’t know it yet. Cue small town Christmas event shenanigans between the two women as they try to one up each other; with the stakes getting progressively crazier until everyone around them can’t wait for them to just leave; they WILL, and they’ll also kiss (and other things), and go back to their fabulous big city lives where they get even richer and make men cry. (The good thing about this one is that I don’t have to start writing this until October at least.)

I suppose there are chances that some show or movie might come along that grabs me by the hair and derails my nebulous plans for the above, but it’s unlikely. Kdrama- at least the ones I enjoy watching- doesn’t seem to trigger the fic writing part of my brain, and I don’t feel enthused by most of what I see the mainstream fandom producing either. I’ve had the most fun last year creating these imaginary worlds that are largely untethered to any particular show/ canon, while retaining the fannish aspects in terms of world building and style of story telling.

Fellow writers! Tell me in notes/ replies what you’re hoping to write this year, if you had unlimited time and energy. What’s ticking inside your lovely brains? TELL ME ALL!

#writing #wips #fanfic

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carolmunson · 2 years ago

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starting from zero, got nothing to lose (V)

part i part ii part iii part iv part v

two new bombshells have entered the villa. (jk, but we do get a brief appearance of dusty and steve and it’s cute.)

tony and eddie have a chat about the fight, dose makes eddie embarrassed, steve isn’t having luck with the ladies, and eddie and ron hash it out in a diner.

(i wanted to make eddie awkward but also he sort of ended up really hot in this?)

i don’t think there’s any CW’s here, it’s a pretty fluffy chapter all around. they do smoke cigarettes at one point, and there are some bodily threats that don’t go anywhere.

A few nights had gone by since Eddie's fight with Rhonda and he honestly could not stop thinking about it. He replayed it in his head over and over, heat and anger bubbling in his chest every time he recalled her saying ‘Betty ‘Apple Pie’ Cunningham’ with her stupid smug face. It helped whenever he’d practice with the punching bags at Gleason’s before or after his shifts, numbing that ache in his chest with every hit. Deep down, he knew leaving her there alone was bothering him the most – She deserved it , he would justify, she was being a bitch .

She doesn’t know about Chrissy, she doesn’t know about Vecna, you have to cut her some slack – she just doesn’t know , the rational part of his brain would argue. The internal struggle of hating her but trying to see it from her point of view was frustrating. Eddie hated maturing, it made him less right all the time.

He gathered up his stuff in the men’s locker room to leave after another tiring mid-day shift. His balled up his coverall fell haphazardly out of his leather satchel while closing it up.

“Munson,” he heard a familiar gruff voice call to him, “Haven’t seen you in a few days, you been hidin’ out on me?”

Eddie blew his bangs out of his eyes, “Hey Tone, long time no see.”

“Where’ve you been, dude? Haven’t seen you here or at Skid since Saturday,” he said, “Ron scare you off?”

“No, man,” Eddie said, fatigue tugging at his eyes, “Just two ships passing in the night, I guess.”

“Look, Ron told me what happened, she’s been feelin’ real bad about it,” Tony said in a low, apologetic tone, “Don’t tell her I told you that, I’ll never hear the end of it. You told her, her music sucks, huh?”

“Let me guess,” Eddie said, rubbing the back of his neck, “That’s the worst thing I could’ve done?”

“Oh no, the worst thing you could’ve done was leave her in the bar by herself at night,” his face was smiling, but his eyes were dark.

“Tony, things were getting heated, I would never do that–”

“I don’t need to hear it man, I promise,” he said, “I’m not mad at you, I totally get it. Rhonda makes guys wanna rip their hair out all the time. But I’ll promise you this…” Tony got quiet and close to Eddie’s face, he could see a smattering of gray in his stubble and smell the Listerine on his breath. Tony’s dark blue eyes flashed a bit, keeping steady contact with Eddie so intently, he almost wanted to look away.

“If I ever find out that you left Ron alone, or in a position where she could get hurt, I will kill you,” his voice was grisly, “Capiche?”

Eddie nodded, a shiver ran up his chest into his throat, his brown eyes like saucers, “Yeah, c-capiche man. Won’t happen again.”

Tony’s smile broke across his face again, showing off his straight white teeth, “Don’t mean to freak you out dude, but I told you – that��s my Ronnie.”

“She told me you dated,” Eddie said, putting his bag on one of the benches and adjusting the buckles at the bottom.

“So then you’ll believe me when I tell you that it’s like pullin’ teeth to get her to apologize for something,” Tone explained, “And she wants to.”

Eddie looked up at him, surprised, “Wants to?”

“I don’t know what magic you have trapped in that fuckin’ mullet of yours kid, but suddenly she’s feelin’ all bad. Waiting for you to come in the door like a kicked puppy so she can say sorry – I wish it were me! She’s still on my last nerve,” he was exasperated, almost annoyed.

“So I’ll level with ya, make this easier for both of you. You work tomorrow? Got any plans?” he asked. Eddie shook his head no.

“That’s what I like to hear. She’s up at Roosevelt hospital on Thursdays, all morning into the afternoon. She gets out around three through the front lobby, you should go meet her when she gets out tomorrow,” Tony took a seat on the bench, unlacing his Doc Martins to switch into his sneakers.

“What’s in it for you?” Eddie asked, slinging his bag over his shoulder again.

“I don’t have to deal with that little sad sack moping around my bar,” he said, “You know she’s already got a bad attitude, imagine her when she’s a little bummed out? The worst. Again, please do not tell her I said this, I will not hear the end of it. She’s everywhere, she haunts me.”

“Cross my heart,” Eddie smiled, “Yeah, I can make it to Roosevelt tomorrow.”

“Ugh, brother, you are saving my life,” Tony said, grabbing his ringed hand.

Eddie laughed, shaking his hand free and clapping him on the shoulder the way Tony always did to him. As he got to the door of the locker room he heard Tony's soft singing to himself echo off the tiled walls.

“ Matchmaker, matchmaker, make me a match. Find me a find, catch me a catch…”

— “I promise you Dose, it’s not a date.”

“Even if it’s not Edward, you can not wear that you look so…you look like you don’t care about impressing her,” Dosia complained from the couch.

Eddie pinched the bridge of his nose, but couldn’t help but smile through his sigh at her, “I am never asking you if I look okay again, if this is how you’re gonna react.”

“It’s just…can’t you wear a little less black? Something more cheery? It’s a date right? To impress her? You told me you hurt her feelings,” she asked.

“Yes, I’m going to apologize to her, no it’s not a date,” he said, “I’m meeting her at a hospital.”

“Well, the shoe fits then,” she said, gesturing towards his outfit, “You look like you’re going to a funeral, anyway.”

Eddie laughed, “You’re still so sharp, you know that?”

Dosia crossed her legs and huffed, smoothing the muted pink velvet blanket over her. Her frosty white nails skated over the green and white striped couch, “Do not ask for my advice if you’re not going to take it, kochanie . Oh by the way, your friend, the little one, he called.”

“Dustin?” Eddie asked, his chest bubbling with excitement.

“You should call him back, he said it was important,” Dosia held her hand to her forehead dramatically, “Go, go, I cannot bear to look at you anymore, it’s making me depressed.”

Eddie shook his head at her, walking into his room to pick up the landline on his bedside table. He looked at the clock while he dialed the number and thought it was weird that he’d call while he was at school.

“Eddie?” he heard on the other end of the line.

“Hey Henderson,” Eddie said, a smile plastered onto his face at the sound of his friend’s voice, “How’s it going, shouldn’t you be in like, fourth period right now?”

“I skipped,” Dustin said, matter of factly.

“Ooooh, not cool man, c’mon, don’t be like me,” Eddie said, untangling the coiled cord on the phone so he could give himself a once over in the mirror.

“It’s just one day, I’m trying to get my character sheet ready for tomorrow,” he said, “I wanted your help.”

“Erica’s on your ass, huh?” Eddie chuckled, “That’s my girl. Knew I left Hellfire in the right hands. I wish I could help you more dude, but I kind of have to get going. Dose said it was important, is everything okay?”

“I always say it’s important so you’ll call me back,” he said.

“It doesn’t have to be important for me to call back, Henderson, just call,” Eddie told him. He held up the orange sweater Dosia got him for Christmas to his chest, balancing the receiver between his cheek and his shoulder.

“Where do you have to be? Hot date or something?” Dustin teased, a chuckle reverberating through the earphone.

“Uhhh, sorta,” Eddie responded, a little distracted, tossing the sweater on his bed.

“Wait, really?” he asked, his interest perking up, “You have a date tonight? Steve hasn’t even talked to a girl since last year. ”

“Last year was a week ago, man.” Eddie could hear Dustin laughing on the other end of the phone, talking to someone else in the room, “Eddie’s already getting more action than you .”

“Henderson, are you kidding me right now? Eddie ‘the Freak’ Munson has a date tonight and I’m here with you twerps?” Eddie could clock that bored, annoyed voice anywhere.

“Is that Harrington?” Eddie asked, he heard the clatter of another line picking up.

“Yeah, it’s me, don’t lose your shit,” Steve’s voice was much clearer now. Eddie could still hear Dustin laughing behind him.

“Having some trouble finding love in the ‘90s, Steve-o?” Eddie asked, checking himself out at every angle in the mirror, still, “Need some advice?”

“Yeah, ha, ha, I get it, it’s very funny – look, I don’t need dating advice from someone who still plays Dungeons and Dragons, but I do have a favor to ask,” Steve said shortly.

“Ask away, big boy.”

“Are you gonna be around, we uh,” Steve’s voice hushed a little, “We gotta get Robin the hell outta dodge.”

“Oh shit,” he said, grabbing the phone with his hand and switching ears, “Is everything good?” “As good as it can be, but I think her folks are starting to catch on man,” Steve said, “I was gonna drive with her over to you. We were gonna see if we could find her a place. You gonna be free at all, soon?”

“I mean yeah, but – my roommate–”

“The old Polish lady? Yeah, Dustin told me about that, that’s weird man–”

“Sh-shut up, Harrington. Dosia’s going to visit her son in Jersey for a week really soon, you can come around then. Do you have that much time?”

There was a brief silence, “Uh yeah, yeah. Just keep me posted so we can ask for some time off work.”

“Make him go to class, dude,” Eddie pleaded, “I gotta go.” He hung up and took a deep breath. He missed his friends, even if they were stupid kids.

He checked his watch and cursed a little, heart thumping in his chest. He had to go before he’d miss her leaving the hospital. He shrugged on his leather jacket, expertly sliding his vest over it, and double checked his pockets for his wallet and keys. Both were secure on the chain dangling down his thigh.

“Good luck, przystojny!” Dosia called out while the door shut behind him, "Go fetch me another daughter-in-law!"

— Right on time.

From the base of the steps, he saw her struggle to push open the door, he tried not to laugh at her.

“Hey!” he called out, waving her over to him. She stopped in her tracks, peering down at him from the door.

“Munson?!” she called back.

“Yeah! It’s me! I came to say sorry!” Oh my God, Munson, why did you just yell that? She pattered down the steps, making quick work of getting over to him.

“Hi,” she said, hoisting her back pack high on her shoulder.

“Oh,” he said, looking her over, “You look different.” Her hair was up in a claw clip, just her permed bangs and some fallen hair framing her cheeks fell out of it. Eyeshadow replaced by a swipe of mascara, the bite of the cold as her blush. The only thing that he recognized was the scent of chapstick on her lips. He could see a smattering of freckles across her face. She looked younger, but more lived in.

“I mean I don’t wear makeup to the hospital, it’s not that kind of gig,” she confessed, looking down at her winter boots. She rubbed her knees together nervously, the light wash denim swishing together.

“I don’t mean that you look bad!” Eddie backtracked, “You just look different. You still look, you know, you still look like you. You still look pretty.” He felt his stomach turn, hoping desperately that the next thing out of his mouth sounded cool.

“Thanks,” Rhonda said, not meeting his eyes, focused on a loose string on her jacket.

“Um, uh, have you eaten? Can I get you some lunch or coffee or something?” he asked, “There’s a diner like, a block away.”

“Kind of late for lunch, don’t you think?” she asked, finally looking up at him. She put her hands in her pockets, rocking on her heels.

He shrugged, “Late lunch, then?”

“I guess,” she smiled at him. Eddie's heart jumped to his throat as he walked with her away from Roosevelt.

‘Every SINGLE time she comes in from that clinic she spends the first hour of her shift going “I’m hungry, I’m hungry.” And I tell her every time, eat some fuckin’ LUNCH, Rhonda. You never even eat breakfast, no wonder she’s always in a bad mood. She lives off spite and Marlboros, I swear t'God.’ A rant of Tony’s from a week ago played back in Eddie’s mind. Tony owed him, now she’d be fed and feel better about their fight. It’ll be the best shift of his life.

They slid into a booth, Eddie nervously drumming his fingers on the table and smiling up at the waitress who poured them each a cup of coffee, “Thanks.”

“Don’t mention it,” she drawled. He watched Rhonda reach for the little creamers and three packs of sugar. She slapped the packs on her hand, ripping off the top of two, pouring them into the cup, and then only adding a quarter of the other in.

“Two and a quarter?” he asked.

She smiled while pouring one of the mini creamers in, “I’m sure it doesn’t make a difference but I’ve always done it like that. My dad was the same. Medium, hot, cream, two-ish sugars, whatever ‘ish’ means. He’d have me go in the morning and get it for him–”

“Y’know, until I started stealing the change,” she tapped the spoon off the edge of the mug after stirring and put it on the napkin next to her. Rhonda held her coffee with both hands, resting her elbows on the table and looking at Eddie through the steam.

“Tony told you to come here, didn’t he?” she asked. He choked on his own coffee.

“Uh, no, no,” he said, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

“Don’t lie, Munson, how else would you know when I got off?” she asked.

“So he might’ve told me to come meet you, is that a crime?” he asked.

“Not in the same way that Motörhead shirt is,” she said, smirking into a sip from her mug.

“You know,” he said, leaning on his forearm and elbow, gesturing to her, “In fifth grade, my teacher used to tell me that if girls were mean to me it meant they had a crush on me.”

“Oh honey,” she cooed, putting her hand down on the table, “He was lying. They were mean to you because you’re weird.”

Honey. Honey. Honey. He wanted to reach down and grab her hand, feel how warm it was, see what it would be like to lace her fingers with his — ‘Betty ‘Apple Pie’ Cunningham’. His nostrils flared.

“So, I came here to apologize to you for leaving you at Skid,” Eddie started, a small jolt of anger flashing in his chest, “But I feel like you need to apologize to me first. You said some really awful shit.”

She was quiet for a minute and put her coffee down on the table, skating her hand back to rest on her forearms.

“I did,” she said, “And I felt really bad about it after, but I also was mad that you left me at the bar, that wasn’t cool. I thought you’d at least come by and fix the gate Saturday so we could talk about it.”

“I’m sorry I left you at Skid,” he said sincerely, “I’m really sorry. I was just feeling like — I wouldn’t have left if you hadn’t made up that name.”

“What name?” she asked, cocking her head.

“Oh!” she remembered, surprised at that being the reason, “The Betty Cunningham thing?”

He sighed, quickly trying to come up with a watered down version of the truth, “So, like you so poignantly pointed out, I did have a crush on the head cheerleader in high school. I liked her for like…ever, since I was in middle school.”

“And one day during my uh, my third , senior year, she asked if she could buy some weed off me which like, wow, y’know. Hawkins’s little princess asking me, Eddie The Freak Munson who she hasn’t spoken to since like, 8th grade, for drugs was pretty wild. So we met up in the woods and like, she was just so nice? We had such a good time talking to each other and I gave her a ride to my place to sell her some shit. And I thought for a little you know, ‘Hey, maybe this could be something,’” his voice fell to something a sullen, “‘Cause I was feeling some kind of connection…I don’t know, maybe I made it up. But it didn’t really matter cause um…”

Eddie bit his lip, his chest still getting tight at the memory. He laced his fingers at the center of the table.

“She passed away,” he said looking down at the table. He heard Rhonda let out a soft gasp, “Her name was Chrissy. Chrissy Cunningham. So, yeah…now you know.”

“Ed I’m — I’m so sorry,” she said, placing her hand over his fingers, “I’m so sorry, I didn’t know.”

“I know you didn’t, and it’s okay, I just wanted you to know why I left. It doesn’t excuse anything or whatever, it just really hurt my feelings,” he confessed, his cheeks burning at the feeling of her hand on his. Her dark red manicured nails were shining in the harsh light of the diner, her thumb slid back and forth on the back of his hand. Eddie's heart thrummed in his chest again.

“What can I get you folks?” The waitress asked while walking up to the table, order pad in hand.

“Can I just get the house burger and fries, please? Medium rare.” Ed asked, “And a coke.”

“And you, sweetheart?” she asked.

“Uh, I think I’m good—“

“Order some fuckin’ lunch, Rhonda,” Eddie muttered, his cadence sounding a lot like—

“Oh, I didn’t know Tony was here,” she murmured sarcastically, turning her attention to the waitress, “I’ll have the same.”

“How do you think I know you never eat lunch after a stint at the hospital, and then complain for your whole entire shift about how hungry you are?” Ed asked while the waitress walked away scribbling down their orders.

She held her mouth open in fake shock, a smile pulling at the corners of her lips, “Stop, he didn’t say that.”

“All he does at Gleason’s is complain about you, can’t imagine why. You’re not stubborn, or mean, or impatient, or scathing at all,” he said, unlacing his fingers to lace her hand into his own, “Don’t know where he gets those ideas.”

She blushed, “Shut up, Munson.” She gently pulled her hand away, her fingertips lingered on his for a moment before grabbing her coffee again. His hands felt clumsy and empty when he wasn't holding hers anymore.

“Oh, I talked to Spike,” she said, quickly swallowing a sip, “About your weird game. Dragons and Draping, or whatever.”

“Dungeons and Dragons, Ron,” he said, “It’s Dungeons. And. Dragons. D, and, D.”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever. Anyway, one of their guys just got put in Rikers so, they are looking for someone to do the um..the…story! To tell the story? I don’t know what the fuck it is,” she said.

“He needs a new DM for their campaign?” he asked.

“YES! That,” she pointed at him, “That, whatever that means. He’ll be at Skid tonight cause Deb’s working and he has a big fat crush on her, you should come by.”

“I was gonna offer to take you to work anyway, I took my car up here,” he said, drumming his fingers again, “If you want.”

“Oh, I’m not supposed to get in the car with strangers, sorry,” she said, “Better luck next time.”

“If I leave you up here to take the train when Tone knows I could’ve driven you, he’s gonna kick my ass.”

“Yeah, that’s—that’s funny to me. That’s the point.”

“Ron, I’m not asking. I’m telling you I’m driving you to Skid,” he said, “I’ll forgive you quicker if you let me ride you—um—I mean, drive you–Jesus. Christ.” He hid his face in his hands, his face red with embarrassment.

“I mean you got something right, Munson. A lot of people have forgiven me quicker after I let them ride me,” she laughed.

“Oh god,” he said, rubbing his eyes, laughing too, “Pretend you didn’t hear that.”

They had to eat quickly, her shift at Skid was at 5 and she had to put her face on in the diner. With traffic, Eddie didn’t know how long it would be to get back downtown. When the check came, they stared at each other, daring the other to try and reach for it.

“I’m paying, Munson, it’s my apology lunch,” she argued while pulling her wallet out of her backpack.

“Rhonda Jean Riccio, if you don’t put that wallet away–” he warned, tossing a twenty on the table from a wad of bills in his hand. He slid the roll of twenties back in his pocket as discreetly as possible.

“My full name?” she ‘tsk’d, “Are you and Tony giggling about me at sleepovers or somethin’?”

“Oh no, just complaining about you,” he said, sliding out of the booth. He straightened out his jacket while Rhonda put her coat back on. Red lipped and pretty, like the day he first met her. They walked outside in the cold air, the wind sending their hair spiraling. Eddie hunched into his leather jacket.

“Wait inside, I have to go grab the van from a little down the street. I’ll swing around and get you,” he said, jamming his hands in his pockets.

“You need a winter coat, Ed,” she said, adjusting her scarf.

“M’alright,” he said, “Just wait inside while I get the car.”

“You’re gonna freeze to death,” she laughed, stepping closer to him, “On second thought, don’t get a winter coat. You should freeze to death.”

He nudged her with his shoulder and she nudged him back. Back and forth until they were both giggling.

"I have to get the car, Ron, c'mon," Eddie pleaded.

“Thanks for um, getting me lunch,” she said a little breathily. The tips of their feet were touching. He looked down at her, her eyes glinted in the light of the setting sun. Her lips were pouty and parted – he went numb. Eddie's bangs brushed her forehead while their eyes locked, noses brushing. Rhonda blushed while she looked up at him, his eyes serious but caring. Eddie swallowed hard, his heart hammered in his chest. He ran his tongue over his lips to wet them, cursing himself for not putting on chapstick. For eating something with onions on it. Rhonda could feel his breath on her cheek while he leaned in, sme–

“Oh! Shit, I forgot my lipstick in the booth. Let me go get it and I’ll meet you in the car,” she squeaked, “I’ll be right out.” He watched her spin and hop back into the diner, scurrying over to the booth. Eddie took a deep breath, watching the exhale smoke around him.

“Get it together, Munson,” he muttered to himself, “It’s not a fuckin’ date.”

He hustled to the van, feeling lucky he got it detailed just last week so she wouldn’t be sitting on cigarette ash and the back wouldn’t be filled with empty beer cans. He turned the ignition and cranked the heat so she wouldn’t be too shivery when she got in – uh – wait, no, it was so the van would be warm for him, it’s not about Rhonda. It wasn't a date.

He drove around the block to pull back up to the diner, seeing her in the doorway. Eddie beeped twice, tapping two cigarettes out and putting one in his mouth, lighting it with his zippo that made it out of the Upside Down with him. Rhonda hopped in, bouncing a bit on the seat.

“Here,” he offered, passing her the cigarette between his fingers.

“Oh thanks, um,” she put it in her mouth, “I don’t have a light on me, I left it at Skid.”

He beckoned her forward, “I got it.”

She leaned in while he put the tip of his cigarette to hers, blowing while she inhaled enough to light her own. She took a long drag, rolled the window down a crack, and let the smoke drift out of her mouth.

“Whew!” she said, “Something about that lunch really made me crave a cigarette. Probably those fries, they were like, better than sex, right?”

He changed gears, pulling out from in front of the diner and turning onto the road. He smirked, the cigarette still dangling out of his mouth as he did. Confidence swelled in his chest while putting one arm out behind her headrest and letting the other one lazily man the wheel. Metallica blared through the speakers, covering up the thrumming of his heart against his ribcage.

“Yeah,” he smiled, “Better than sex, Ron.”

‘I promise you, Dose, it’s not a date.‘

#eddie munson fan fiction #eddie munson smut #eddie munson x ofc #eddie munson #eddie munson fanfiction #eddie stranger things #stranger things au #stranger things fanfiction #stranger things fix it #eddie munson fix it fic #eddie munson fix it #eddie munson takes NYC #eddie munson fluff

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alienssstufff · 2 years ago

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If you get the time and inclination pls do share with us your beef with the existing zombie apocalypse genre, I have my own feelings about it (I think it overshadows other types of fictional apocalypses a bit too much in most ppl's heads) but I'd love hearing someone else's take on it (and also how you would improve the genre if you like :3 )

oh ABSOLUTELY it does! One way its probably the easiest type of apocalypses to write abt just cuz there’s already so many and such an established I guess wwww scenario and tropes to it (?) In consequence bc of how ‘easy’ it is, it becomes so damn samey and the zombie apocalypse genre (and apocalypses genres as a whole) gets such bad rep for that reason. [The rest atp is me ranting abt zombie apocalypses specifically those are the ones I have beef with]

When I ask ppl why they don’t like apocalyptic stories most answers is just the amount of carnage that’s in them it’s horrible— to put it better: unnecessary violence in an already terrible world is what they think abt. When people think of apocalypse stories they think of the movies made in Hollywood. Muscular, American white man whos good at everything who kicks ass and saves the world singlehandedly. And the rep for zombie-driven games aren’t any better either… Not saying that stories of kicking ass taking names are ALL bad but most of it is very surface level reasoning as to why . That being said I wish there was more focus on mental health in zombie stories, realisations that the world ended and they’ll never go back to how it was before, instances of the struggles of learning how to adapt to this new way of living. There’s many topics that could be discussed and so many themes that haven’t been fully developed (or done poorly) in zombie apocalypses but seldom media’s deliver u_u

I think the zombie stories that stand out to me the most are the ones that revolve around normal people. There’s an vid essay somewhere that talks abt the success of Train to Busan as a movie, it’s still just as action packed as the ones above but it’s also rly freaking emotional as the characters and cultural themes they represent can hit p close to home for the target demographic. Also I cannot recommend enough Gakkou Gurashi (School Live)! It’s almost never talked about solely cuz of Episode 1 and even now I’m trying to be as vague as I can Please watch that anime/manga you will not regret it.

And finally worldbuilding always a sucker for worldbuilding I need more of it. Not how to stop it but more of How The Hell we fucked up that badly to ended up in this situation. Give me zombie stories of patient 0s, pov scientists fumbling in the lab etc I want THAT. I freaking love the worldbuilding in The Last of Us , such a unique way in designing zombies inspirations from real life (I believe funghi that controls dead ants). That freaking hospital part in TLOU2 will always have a lasting impression on me the environmental storytelling of the flooded hospital and the whole backstory of how the Rat King came to be an amalgamation of all the victims of Seattle’s Patient 0 zone forced to fuse because of the such claustrophobic and wet conditions of the basement OHMYFUCKINGVGG its so well thought out.

Overall my frustrations with apocalypses is just - the amount of untouched potential and themes that SHOULD be addressed but aren’t - to get creative with it. And even without mention of the worldbuilding stories of the average joe like u and I trying to do smth as ‘simple’ as going to the store but there are mental and physical struggles along the way would be fine too - u don’t need to fly a jet and shoot a rocket launcher to make things interesting. Relatability and/or creativity is what I wish.

[this was so fun to think abt anon if u have things u wanna share feel free to shoot another ask I’m all ears!]

#ask stufff #stufff rambles #long post #for a hot min thought u asked abt apocalypse!vintage beef and I was like irl:#HOW DID YOU READ MY NOTES???!!#this is… SO LONG -but I’m determined (finished this at 3am)#I’ll check it again in a few hours but remind me ti add a Read More when I get back xwz #forgive if these make no sense im sleepy

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ziracona · 11 months ago

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Christmas season always is nice because I have some more time to write, so have a The Kid chapter. ^u^ Lots of fun to be laying ground work. As always, tumblr gets the chapter first. [Fate/GO AU – The Kid (pt: 1, … 22, 23, 24, 25, ?)]{Some spoilers for original Grand Order run/through Temple of Time, vaguer situational spoilers for later arcs}

“Okay, I think I got it,” says Ritsuka.

“Good. I know it’s a lot,” replies Doctor Romani with some chagrin, giving her a sad little smile, “Are you sure you’re up for it?”

“Well, that’s the thing—I mean, I am,” she answers, “But, uhm. What do you need me for?”

He blinks. “Huh?”

“Well…?” she flushes a little and kicks the dirt of this barren landscape with a shoe, glances at me. I’m not sure what she needs reassurin’ for, but I guess it’s what I’m here for, so I smile and give her a thumbs up. “Uhm,” she continues, turning back to the Doctor, “Can’t you do it yourself?”

Oh my God.

I look at Robin. He looks at me, eyes slightly bugged.

Oh, she’s totally right! We all forgot he’s got free access to her mana supply. Oh, that would be a scary thought in other circumstances.

The Doctor blinks a second more, then opens his mouth, thinks, looks back. “…Oh you’re right.”

She gives him an awkward smile. “I mean, I’m happy to, if it would help. But uhm, I think you understand better than me what we need, so you might do a better job asking right. Or uhm—we could take turns trying!” she suggests helpfully, “If it doesn’t work at first, and you get tired!”

“No, sorry…I…” He blinks again, thinks, straightens up. “I’m…processing a little slow today. At…everything.”

He gives her a smile, and for the first time since the world ended, I kinda think looks almost…relaxed. Honestly, it’s reassurin’ to see. Poor guy has been freaking out. I mean, we all have, but, he’s got I think the rest of us all pooled together still easily beat, the way he’s been sweatin’.

“I…forgot for a second, but.” He holds up his hand, looks at it. Touches his throat, and I can see a faint blue line glowing around his neck. Guess that’s the crest he transferred. Wonder why it’s on his neck? Gotta say though, I kinda appreciate this happened during our outing, because I feel less stressed getting these speeches from him in that dumb little shirt David picked out for him, than I would in the lab coat. Hard to feel like were at Final Defcon or whatever when he looks like that. “I can do magic myself again, now, thanks to you.” He laughs at himself softly and shakes his head. “Well, I’d appreciate you here just the same. You can let me know if the pull on your reserves are too high. If you feel like it’s bad enough, I can always abort. We need Unlimited Blade Works to keep functioning, no matter what else happens. Everyone inside here is depending on it.”

She gives a nod.

“You actually managed to find a leyline?” asks Robin as Mozart meanders over to the rest of us.

He stretches his arms lazily above his head and grins. “Oh, absolutely! Well no—not absolutely or at all. But, the Doctor was right about there being a higher concentration of mana in a part of the marble than anywhere else. Best we can do, and I think it works as a focus pretty well, especially given our odds! Honestly.” He comes to a stop by us and glances around at the giant gears standing like mountains along the horizons in every direction, the endless sand dunes with swords embedded in them beyond count. “I’m just astonished by this phantasm.”

“Yeah, no shit,” agrees Robin.

Me too, I think, studying the place again. It’s huge. I’m pretty sure it goes on a long way past what I can see, too. Full of swords. I heard Emiya’s incantation. ‘The bearer lies here alone, forging iron in a hill of swords.’ No kinda hyperbole, I guess. I think ‘over a thousand blades’ is actually, well, not a lie, but underselling it pretty drastically. Whole thing is crazy!

“You know how long reality marbles tend to last?” asks Mozart, glancing at Robin on one side, then Salieri on the other, “Five minutes, if you’re trying.”

“Cú Chulainn said he’s seen Emiya use Unlimited Blade Works for well over fifteen before,” answers Robin, watching Ritsuka and Doctor Romani continue to discuss logistics.

“Indeed, and we’ve all now seen him run it for about five hours now,” agrees Mozart, “Astonishing.” There’s a silence, and then almost like he can’t not say it, the Caster adds. “The world record? One day.”

Robin looks at him then. So do Salieri, who’d been staring off into space, and Kotarou, who like me has been trying to watch everything.

“So…” I say.

“Will he be able to go longer?” asks Kotarou anxiously.

“Yes,” says Cú Chulainn.

SHIT – where did he COME from?

“Where were you?” asks Robin, jumping almost as much as I did.

“Checking on him,” says the Lancer, stretching. Damn he can be quiet! And fast. Mental note to never fight that guy if you got any kinda choice, I tell myself. “He says he can tell how much he’s got to work with, and even if they burn through a lot the next few hours, he’s got at least four days in him.”

“Damn. We shoulda talked to him before offerin’ suicide,” I say.

“You all did what?” says Mozart.

“She turned us down,” says Salieri.

“Well I should HOPE so. I didn’t consent to that,” he huffs.

Salieri considers saying something to him, sighs, and doesn’t.

“You were part of the conversation where we decided to do it,” says Robin, miffed.

“Well yes, and I said ‘if it comes to it,’” says Mozart.

“THIS isn’t ‘coming to it’?” asks Robin, gesturing to the reality marble around us.

“No,” says Mozart with panache.

“Enough,” says Salieri, “She refused, so it doesn’t matter anyway.”

Mozart keeps huffing just the same.

“So,” says Cú Chulainn to Robin, ignoring everyone else, “They about ready?”

“Yep,” says Robin, “Here’s hoping.”

And how, I think.

The focal point of the reality marble seems to be a hill. Kinda near where we appeared, so, we had to get some of the humans to move away from it. Which means we also kinda got a hell of an audience. We could wrangle them, try and get privacy, but honestly, they all know about magic now, and we ain’t takin’ that shit back any way you slice it. They’re neck deep; deserve to know what they neck deep in, if you ask me. Seems Doctor Archaman and Ritsuka decided the same thing.

So weird, to be workin’ with mages like that. Nice change. –Well, I guess Doctor Archaman ain’t a proper mage. He’s a spirit. Or. Was—is more one of us than one of them, for sure. Rits is a one of a kind draw though.

But I guess in his own way, so is he.

Weird. All this almost feels meant to be. Makes me feel a lot more assured than I should! But hey, that’s how I lived as long as I did! Attitude’s half the battle, like Salieri said. I mean, sure I died young, but I made it through like five or six scrapes that woulda had anybody else well and dead ‘fore I did. I’m proud of that. Here’s to one more!

“Oh—looks like he’s doing it,” comments Robin, interrupting something Mozart was sayin’ to Salieri that I didn’t catch.

Doctor Archaman seems to catch that and turns to look, gives us the kind of tired smile mostly I remember seein’ my mother give Joe and me.

“Need anything from us?” asks Robin.

“Uhm, quiet, I guess,” he says, considering, and then ruefully, “I could do without the audience.”

It’s mostly said like a joke, and it’s uh, at least as much about the 200-odd people around the hill, basically all of whom are watchin’, but my condolences Doc. Let’s see—Rits said 206. Minus us, the doc, and the kid, that means 196 humans. Kinda proud of that. It’s such a small number, but, it’s a lot more than the ten of us. It feels like a lot right now, and I’m really glad we were able to save somebody. Ain’t over yet, I remind myself, Just getting’ started.

“Alright,” he says, and he turns to the sigil he’s drawn in the sand around the hill, and raises his hand. He hesitates then and glances back at all of us though, lingers on his dad and smiles, then addresses the whole group. “Actually, there is something you can do. This is going to be a hell of a gamble, and we really, really need it to work. If not the first time, then, by the third, if we want any kind of working odds moving forward. So. Pray.”

He means it, and I do.

Growin up Irish when I did, New York, to Indiana, to Kansas, to New Mexico, the only constants were that everybody with somethin’ distrusted and hated me just in case it turned out to be merited, and only outcasts like me were worth pallin’ with or trustin’, mostly. But, they were pretty solid. Always figured God for one of those, myself—outcasts. Got killed for bein’ different, gets used to justify 100 different things by sunup, and my Mom told me to be good ‘n pray, and I gotta say, I made a lot of appeals in my life—to the government, to the sheriff, to my Dad, my neighbors. Think God ‘n Lady Luck are the only two who ever answered. So why not? Nothin’ to lose here, and a lot to gain.

I close my eyes, think, “Please. Whatever’s the best thing you got, send it on over, sir.”

Ahead of us, Doctor Archaman raises a hand like he did before, but this time, he shuts his eyes and begins to whisper—or—no, he’s singin’, under his breath. “Shema, Chaver.” Just those two words. The information that isn’t really mine that the grail gave me translates the Hebrew in my head: “Hear, Friend.” Again and again. “Hear, Ally. Hear, Companion.” It changes, but I understand the word. He’s calling for anyone who would be it, in any form.And around him, wind starts to whip up in the desert around us. I see the sun glint off swords, and for a moment, the sky above me flickers and it ain’t empty grey, it’s blue, with white clouds. Stunningly different.

And Doctor Archaman opens his eyes.

“Every word of God is refined,” he says in Hebrew, with the cadence of a poem. His voice is different than I’ve ever heard it before. If I hadn’t already believed he was who he said he was, I would now. “A shield for all who take refuge in Him. A shield for those who walk in integrity; to keep the paths of justice. Hear me if you hear, and answer. Wisdom come into your heart, knowledge pleasant to your soul. Let thought watch over, discretion guide you; let it save you from evil. Return to me: As iron sharpens iron, a man sharpens the countenance of his friend. As in water, face answers to face, so is the heart of a man to a man. Abide our call!”

There is a massive spike in mana around him, and bright aqua blue and white energy flickers like a pillar of fire. From it I hear what seems like two voices, distorted and overlapping, so intense a frequency even as a spirit I feel it in my bones—I-I see humans past me overing their ears, Mozart wince: “A woman of valor who can find.” It tears through us.

Doctor Archaman looks even more shocked than the rest of us, but he recovers, almost stumbling over himself for a second, and calls back “For her price is beyond pearls.” Like a call and response. And he extends his hand.

The light shatters over him and us, force so strong it pushes me back even though I keep my footin’, leaving two little Billy Boot shaped drag lines in the sand for about five feet. Mozart goes over backwards and is caught by Salieri, Kotarou seems to dodge it some way, and Cú Chulainn slams his spear into the ground and hangs on to it, but Robin, and David over way up closer to Doctor Archaman, get pushed back like me. The whole thing is so bright and loud, even a spirit, I squint my eyes a second, and when I open them full again, the light is sliding to the ground and dissipating like melting snowflakes, and a woman is standing there.

“ROMANI!” calls the woman, brown hair, light skin, dropping a giant staff on the ground and making a mad dash for him like a bat outta hell. He looks so taken aback he almost trips backing away from her, but she football tackles him and knocks him flat on his back, then drags his upper half up into her, almost weeping with giddiness.

“I—Huh? –Yes—what??-p-please-“ tries his muffled voice, failing to disentangle himself and getting wrapped around more thoroughly while the rest of us stare.

“Oh my GOD! I can’t believe it! You’re back! You’re here! How are you…-?” She lets go to hold him at arm’s length, hands on his cheeks, eyes brimming, beaming. “I don’t understand! This is amazing!—it’s-“ She can’t finish and starts crying, and pulls him against her again.

He’s clearly got no idea who she is, by the look on his face, like, not even a clue, but no doubt in my mind she ain’t mistaken him for someone else; she knows exactly who he is. The way she’s weeping with joy, she must have known him really well before. Memories the throne took from Doctor Archaman, then? Poor lady. She’ll be awful sad when she realizes that.

She looks past him then and sees Ritsuka and says, “Ritsuka!” letting go of Doctor Archaman and crawling off him, snagging his wrist as she climbs up and starts to tow him after, and then her expression changes. Fear. A flicker of disbelief. She scans Ritsuka again: confusion, fear, sadness. Analysis. Acceptance. She blinks, and then the ability to read her expression so easy vanishes like she’s locked it behind a vault.

She turns to look at the Doctor again, and her expression is happy still, but it’s sad too. “…Roman, when is this?”

“When?” he echoes, clearly lost, “Who--?” He makes it to his feet and dusts himself off. “–Uhm. 2015. About two months before the end of the year. And…?”

She looks at Ritsuka again, and her expression softens, but in a sad way. Ritsuka is giving her the same blank, big eyed look the Doctor was when she arrived.

“Ah. …Wait.” Her brow furrows. She looks back at the Doctor. “Two months before? -Are we…IN Blade Works?”

“Bl—yes,” he says, confused, but regaining a modicum of composure now that he’s not being climbed like a tree, “How do you-? You know me. I mean, you must, but?”

The woman glances from one of us to the next, taking the whole situation in, sucks in a breath, and lets it out slow.

“Alright,” she says, opening her eyes and turning back to face him fully, letting go of his hand, and pressing her fingertips together, “Sorry. I thought I was…some time else. You haven’t met me yet, poor you, but I know you.”

“Oh,” he says like that makes any sense.

“Luck for us, I didn’t open my mouth more. I’ll uh, try to keep a lid on that, to not cause any more wrinkles in time than I already have,” continues the woman grandly, all composure and charisma and control, like she wasn’t soaking his shirt with tears a second ago. Like this is light, and easy. “I guess you’ll need proper introductions, then.”

“Yes, although, uh, if any of your knowledge would help us,” he tries, clearly curious.

Yeah man. A lady reacted that way to me, I would be curious too. –Wait he means tactically.

She regards him and smiles. “Hmm. I guess some of it might. First things though: I,” she continues grandly, with a sweeping arm gesture, “am Leonardo Da Vinci.”

wait she’s a what now?

“Although, given my choices-“ she pauses to gesture to her extremely female lookin’ self, “I would prefer to just be called Da Vinci. The expert inventor, the renaissance woman, the genius; class: Caster. At your service once again, Roman.” The name she says quiet and fond, not like the rest of it at all.

He seems flustered by this, but nods. “Well, glad to have you, uhm, Da Vinci. I’m – well, you’ve got me at a disadvantage, because it seems there’s a lot you already know, including me and the young lady there, but, I’m Doctor Romani Archaman, that’s Ritsuka Fujimaru, and these are King David, Archer, Antonio Salieri, Avenger, Fuuma Kotarou, Assassin, Cú Chulainn, Lancer, Billy the Kid, Gunner, Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart, Caster, and Robin Hood, Archer. We’ve got one more Archer, but he’s focused on this reality marble. But, you knew the marble, so I’m guessing you knew that too.”

“Not my first time meeting any of you,” she says with a very self-satisfied smile, eyeing us in turn, and then zeroing on Salieri, ��Exceeept you. Antonio Salieri? Avenger…Interesting…”

She truly does seem both interested and deep in thought, like this must be significant. Salieri begins to look uncomfortable.

“But, anyway,” she adds, looking up, “happy for you to make my acquaintance. Unless, anybody remembers…?”

I don’t. Sure think I woulda. I lean over to Robin and whisper, “You met her before?”

“No,” he whispers back as he gives her a nod.

“I didn’t know the throne ever did anybody favors,” I observe.

He glances over. “Huh? Do you not like her already?”

“No! No—I didn’t mean like, did you a favor forgettin’ her. I meant --Like, if she can choose to get a new body made to order, who did it take six inches off my stature?” I ask.

“It did?” he chokes out.

“Yes! I didn’t used to be five-two!” I reply, incensed.

He laughs silently and shakes his head. “Guess it liked her more.”

“What did I ever do to the throne??” I ask, “I thought it was just terrible to all of us, but if even the throne is giving me the short end of shit, where the hell is justice in the world?”

“Never to be found unless you make it,” replies Robin with a grin, turning his attention back to them.

Damn if that ain’t true. I mean happy for her, but damn. It really didn’t have to do me that way…

“Well, well,” says Da Vinci, turning slow, hands on her hips, proud smile and she glances the area up and down, then turns her laser focus back on Doctor Archaman in full, “What happened?”

“Uh—I can tell you the short of it,” says Doctor Archaman. He runs a hand through his hair and awkwardly adjusts a glove. “But, you know me. How is that possible? –You said ‘when’ is it-? Does that mean…?”

“Mmmm,” she nods, shutting her eyes, “In short form, I have memories of you I haven’t earned yet.”

“But you can’t have residual memories of the summon you’re on,” pipes up King David with a note of anxiety in his voice.

“No,” she agrees thoughtfully, “But I didn’t say they were from ‘this’ summon. Just that they’re about you,” she smiles at Doctor Archaman, “Some time in the future.”

Doctor Archaman has a look on his face like he doesn’t quite believe that, but I dunno why. Seems likely enough to me. And I mean, if she’s lyin’, it ain’t out of any kind of ill will. We all saw that greeting—you’d think she was the guy’s wife or somethin’.

“Al…right. You might be able to help a lot then,” he replies, eyeing her, “but-“

“—Are you hurt?” asks Ritsuka with a note of panic in her voice, stepping forward.

Da Vinci blinks, and turns like a cat trying to see its own tail, reaches blindly for her back. Rits is right. How did we not notice that? Her hair I guess? It’s so long, must be it was in the way before she bowed and it fell over her shoulders in front, but, her dress is torn, and there’s blood around it, like somethin’ stabbed her between the shoulder blades…only, it’s a sideways cut. Not the way you’d usually use a knife to the back…? Maybe I’m wrong-

As Ritsuka sees it better, she hurries forward holdin’ her little medkit. “You are! –Here, let me-!”

Da Vinci reaches out a hand and catches her shoulder and stops her, smiling softly. “No, I’m alright. That’ll vanish on its own in a minute. Here, look.” She takes a knee and turns her back towards Ritsuka, and they’re facing my side, so I can see from here that there’s skin past the tear, not a wound.

“Oh,” says Ritsuka, calming down.

“Thanks though,” says Da Vinci brightly, “Don’t worry! I just got here. I’m not about to leave you.”

“Odd thing to say,” I hear Salieri say quietly. I can tell he’s thinking very hard.

I mean…is it? Maybe a little odd, bein’ so new. She just seems real friendly to me.

“You were right,” observes Doctor Archaman, kneeling and tilting his head to inspect the tear too, “The fabric is resetting itself.”

That ain’t odd—our clothes mend just like wounds if we get hurt, generally. Just a little flash of magic—after all, that’s what makes our forms in the first place, clothes and all. What’s weird is her being damaged on summon. Ain’t supposed to work that way.

Doctor Archaman touches a piece of bloody fabric and it tears free in his hand. He looks down at it, an odd expression on his face. Below him, her dress shimmers and closes and the blood that was soaked into it vanishes with the tear. Doctor Archaman looks at where it was, and place his hand on her back, brow scrunched up, then looks at the front of her chest. For a second I’m confused, then enough of the parts of me that have been shot realize he’s checking for where he thinks an exit wound would have appeared.

“Were…? …You shouldn’t have been wounded on summon,” he says to her.

“I wasn’t,” she points out.

“You were damaged, then—if slightly,” he corrects, brow scrunching up again. He looks at Ritsuka, then back at this new Caster, straightens up, and offers them each a hand. Both take him up and stand with him. “How did…?” Something else occurs to him. “How did you remember me?”

“Would you believe luck?” she asks with an impish grin.

“No,” he replies.

Her grin widens, and she puts the back of a hand to her forehead. “Oh Doctor, you wound me.”

“You’re being awfully cagey,” he comments, relaxing at her manner, “You did something wrong with the summon.”

“ME?” she asks in mock innocence, “You’re the summoner! Tch, some workman, blaming his tools.” She smiles at his expression, breaks into a laugh, and then shrugs, “Well. You can hardly blame me. You said you’d give me the short version of the situation here, right? Well, the short version for my situation is I was on my way back to the throne after my last summons still, when I heard you calling, and I wanted it bad enough it looks like I made it.”

“That’s insane,” he says, deeply impressed.

“That is, it’s like a millisecond, but good for her,” agrees Robin quietly to me.

“No kiddin’,” I whisper back, logging away that that’s apparently barely logistically possible.

“I am a genius inventor,” she says smugly.

“Yeah, I g—” He chokes mid sentence and falls to a knee, clutching his throat.

“Oh no!” calls out Mozart in the understatement of the year, dashing forward. I got no clue what I and my gun can do to help, but I go too.

“Roman!?” calls Da Vinci. She takes a knee to be by him, but before she can, he’s jerked physically backwards, towards the tip of the hill and the staff our new caster dropped there. His crest is lit up in full brightness on his neck, dragging him back with it with force as he clutches at it, then tearing him up into the air at the hill’s pinnacle and holding him there.

I hear King David shout his name, Ritsuka too, most of us. The only one who gets to him is King David though, whose hand just touches the tip of his shoe as he jumps to reach him, before the summoning circle explodes with light again and blasts him back out of it, the doctor’s shoe with him. The light changes color from white to aqua to pink and purple, then shatters into a pillar of smoke, and a second woman stands on the hill. She’s taller than the first, dark skin, and black, almost purple hair, covered in jewels and bright fabric and a really elaborate headpiece like ears and horns, and she’s holding him in her arms bride style as he coughs his lungs up.

“Oh heaven,” says David in astonishment before Doctor Archaman can manage to choke out anything.

“Makeda?” the Doctor manages in utter disbelief between gasps, gaping.

“Solomon!” she calls ecstatically, dragging him forward and smashing him into her chest in a hug, burying her face against his. WHOOPS she weren’t supposed to say that out loud I’m pretty sure!

“What?!” he manages, too stunned for a moment to do anything at all, “But—you aren’t even on the throne! How in the heavens did you-?”

She relaxes her hug and beams at him, eyes bright, and sets him on the ground. He unsteadily regains his feet physically but I’m pretty sure not mentally.

“You called! And I heard,” she replies excitedly, “I had to fight pretty hard though! There was a spirit in there that wasn’t even on the throne who was fighting like a black rhino at full hate! I—”

She sees Da Vinci.

“YOU!” Her arm goes up, eyes and mouth wide, pointing at her.

Da Vinci just stares, mouth wide as well, for a second, like she’s blanked on what to do.

“Uhm. Yes,” says Doctor Archaman with extreme anxiety and discomfort, “I seem to have, uhm. –Wait—I don’t understand? How are you able to come at all, when…?”

Never seen a man so out of his depth. My heart goes out to him.

“My Qu—Makeda—Queen of Sheba,” he tries desperately.

WAIT THAT’S WHO?!

“Why were you summoning her?” asks …the Queen of Sheba?? “Don’t you—” She pauses, looks him over, and grabs his left hand. He’s so stunned he lets her, and she rips the glove off and immediately action comes back to him with a vengeance and he yelps and snatches it back like a man who’s burned his hand on a stove.

She blinks at him, processing something, as he turns a sorry color and fights for his life to get the glove back on quick. What the hell?

“Oh,” says the Queen of Sheba, in a voice like she can’t decide if she’s sad, glad, or disappointed.

“Queen-“ he starts.

“-Wait,” cuts in Da Vinci, “Are you? From?” She makes an insane hand gesture.

“Does ‘Tituba’ mean anything to you?” suggests the Queen of Sheba, “Maybe familiar with the uh…?” She makes a gesture like a noose for some goddamn reason.

“Oh!” says Da Vinci ecstatically, “Yes! Yes! Then, you’re the-“

“-Please!” interrupts Doctor Archaman desperately.

They stop and look at him.

“Please,” he manages with slightly more decorum, but uh, not much, “Da Vinci, uh, Queen Makeda. Say anything that makes sense. I’m begging you.”

They both look at him.

Da Vinci bursts out laughing. “Oh, I’ve missed you Doctor Roman,” she says, walking over and taking his hands. He almost warily lets her, beyond confused.

Behind him, the Queen of Sheba walks up and drapes her arms around his shoulders. Ooooooh, right. He had like 1000 wives didn’t he? Famously? No wonder, I remember, I guess he’s still a ladies’ man? “Don’t worry. It’ll be different now,” says the Queen of Sheba, leaning her head against his.

“W-What?” he says, low-key terrified by that and I gotta admit I wouldn’t just love the sound of it either.

“Do you have any idea what’s going on?” whispers Robin through his teeth, leaning close.

“Not a drop,” I reply the same way.

“Me either,” agrees Kotarou, who I forgot has gotten close enough to hear, “If she gets to look exactly how she wants though, why did I get stuck as a teenager now?? I wasn’t even famous back then?!”

“I said that too! But about my height!” I say excitedly, turning to him, “If it can be fair and good, the hell did we two do to it?!”

“Maybe she figured out how to get on Alaya’s good side? Maybe she could give us advice?” says Kotarou hopefully.

Damn I didn’t even think of that!

I eye Da Vinci with some renewed interest.

Across the way, Salieri looks almost out of it, watching this scene unfold. Damn, I didn’t even think about that. Height and age got nothin’ on what the throne did to him, poor guy.

“Any other beautiful women coming out of that summoning circle to answer your call?” asks David cheerily, walking up to Dr. Archaman, “Or just these two?”

Da Vinci smiles at him, and Queen Makeda gives him a slightly uncomfortable look.

“Well, there were some others who heard,” replies Da Vinci, playing along and making a muscle for show, “But she’s the only one I had to fist fight.”

Dr. Archaman looks deeply worriedly at the circle now.

“Alright then,” says Da Vinci, clapping her hands together and then stretching them above her head, before waving a wrist and summoning the staff she discarded on summon back into her hand, “What’s the emergency, Roman?”

“Ah—Right. Uhm,” says Dr. Archaman, running a hand through his bangs and trying to straighten up, but failing because the Queen of Sheba still has her arms laced around his neck, “Uh?” he adds towards her.

She smiles and lets go.

“Okay. Well, the short version is we’ve got a very limited amount of time before everyone here dies, and if we die, the world ends,” he says.

“Oh, just that,” says Da Vinci.

He smiles back at her, “Just that.”

“A reality marble?” questions the Queen of Sheba, taking a few steps further onto the hill, and touching the hilt of one of the many swords embedded in the ground.

“Yes! Right, sorry,” says Doctor Archaman, turning to her, “You aren’t familiar with it like Miss Da Vinci i—”

“—Oh please never call me that again,” interjects Da Vinci happily, “Just ‘Da Vinci.’ Or ‘Technical Advisor.’”

“You’re gunning for a position after being summoned for two minutes?” asks Doctor Archaman.

“Well, it was mine the first time, and I want it back,” she says innocently, batting her eyes in a way that is more like teasingly bumping someone with an elbow than sincere flirting.

“Whatever,” he says in complete distraction, turning back to the Queen of Sheba, “Sorry. Uh—This is the noble phantasm of one of the heroic spirits working with us, Emiya, an Archer. His Master-“ he indicates Ritsuka, who immediately looks incredibly uncomfortable at the title, “-has an almost impossible fount of magical energy, and according to our lancer there, Cú Chulainn, he’s already able to sustain it for far longer than most reality marble users can, considering its sheer mass and scope, but that all considered, we’re still working under a finite time constraint-“

“—And you decided to burn energy summoning TWO MORE heroic spirits??? CASTERS at that?” asks Da Vinci, delighted.

“—Well, I didn’t mean to summon two,” he replies awkwardly, “Or specifically ask for Casters, but, yes. We didn’t have a choice.”

“Because you die if the reality marble goes down?” ask the Queen of Sheba.

How the hell did she?

Most of the others look surprised, but King David don’t. I try and remember all I know about her. I know she’s super wise, and a queen with a lot of riches and power, but I got no clue if she had some kind of foresight or mental abilities. If she does though, that’s great! The Doc said we needed someone with time travel, mechanical marvels, or clairvoyance, and if we actually got one of those three on the first try?? Or uh—first and a half?? Second? Whatever—right out the gate? Then hell yeah, go us!

“Right,” says Doctor Archaman, “There’s a lot more I’ll go into detail with you, but the short of it is, the world was supposed to—or—going to end, at the start of the next year. A demon, Goetia, was going to do it. Is going to do it. Or, in a way, has.”

“But you said it’s…” Da Vinci furrows her brow and blinks, puts a gloved hand up to her chin. “…That shouldn’t happen for another two months.”

“It shouldn’t,” agrees Doctor Archaman, “It can’t, as far as I can figure it out, any way I look, but it did. Two months early. Or, it hit us, two months early. We jumped into the reality marble to escape it-“

“-Smart,” says Da Vinci.

“-Thanks—and it worked,” he continues, barely missing a beat, “But. Now we’re stuck here. And once the magic supply for Unlimited Blade Works runs out, we go back to history, and get erased with the rest of it-“

“-Unless you can move to a fixed point in time, somewhere not destroyed by Goetia, before then,” finishes Da Vinci, thinking it through with him.

Oh, she’s smart. I bet she’s gonna be real useful! The hell am I sayin ‘she’s smart’—duh she’s smart!! She’s one of like, the world’s most famous genius inventors ‘she’s smart’ yeah and bread tastes good.

“So…You know of another fixed point then, if this was your plan?” asks the Queen of Sheba hopefully.

“Yes!” replies Doctor Archaman, relieved, “I do. Chaldea Security Organization, in the North Pole. I could give exact coordinates. I would put –well, I was going to say ‘cold hard cash’ but given the circumstances, I’m betting lives on it which is a lot more. I would bet anything—no, it’s not even a bet—I am sure, that they’re there.”

“But you can’t move a reality marble,” says the Queen of Sheba, more like she’s thinking than as a disagreement. She walks along the hill and runs her hands along more of the swords, thinking.

“You can’t no matter what?” I ask Mozart mentally, since he’s our caster.

He shakes his head and mentally replies, “No. Reality Marbles don’t exist in space. –In reality’s space, I mean. You inverse reality to make them. You turn inwards, and move yourself and others into your inner world, and shut out reality completely. This worked because we don’t exist in reality right now at all. Reality Marbles by nature shut reality out, to make the internal reality of one person the truth for as long as they last. Like stepping into a reflection’s reality, if that reflection was your mind. But the downside is that, since they aren’t in physical space of the world’s reality, when they end, even if you move around inside them, you always go back to wherever you were when the marble was initiated.”

That makes sense I guess. I knew how they worked after the Doc’s explanation, but I had figured there must be some way to cheat the movin’.

Romani gives a shrug. “So we need a way to…cheat the system.”

“Again,” says the Queen of Sheba.

“Again,” he agrees, “And, to do that, I knew we needed someone with mechanical expertise well beyond what I could imagine, time travel abilities, or clairvoyance.”

“Wow, two out of three in one go,” says Da Vinci, “You hit the jackpot.”

“There’s not a third coming, right?” he asks her nervously.

She sparkles at him.

“So, with some future-vision clairvoyance,” Da Vinci gestures to the Queen of Sheba. Ah that answers that. “And mechanical expertise at your disposal,” she gestures to herself, “What’s the plan?”

“I was really hoping one of you would have one honestly,” he says tiredly before thinking he shouldn’t say that out loud, then quickly clears his throat and straightens up, “Uh. Okay. With both, the plan is to have Makeda—The Queen of Seba—divine anything at all that can help us figure out the how to get to Chaldea alive, and then you, with whatever resources the rest of us can pool, build whatever it is that would get us there.”

Da Vinci starts to say something, but the Queen of Sheba’s, “I can do that,” beats her to it.

Makeda—wait is it disrespectful for me to think of her by her first name since she’s a queen and all? –uh, the Queen of Sheba—walks back to the center of the little summoning circle Romani made, and waves him over with a hand.

He points to himself questioningly, and when she nods, walks over a little hesitantly, and sits opposite her, legs folded. She holds out both hands, and he places his into hers.

“Shut your eyes,” she says, doing it herself, and he complies. She starts to say something else, then stops, opens her eyes, and looks at him. If I was a normal human still, I wouldn’t be able to see anything from as far back as we are, but with the sight of a heroic spirit, I can see her expression perfectly from this angle, and she watches him…sad, and painfully, deeply fond. Then she shuts her eyes.

“I won’t predict your future,” she says quietly, but voice firm and commanding, like the queen she is, “You know the rules. I don’t want to cause something we’d both regret. But you focus, on this place you want to get to, and the situation, and the problem, and everything you know. And I’ll read our future, this whole group, for the next week. If everyone would be quiet, please. This might take a minute.”

We all shut the hell right up.

Even Mozart, who’s usually annoying Salieri by whispering to him, is just watching. Even as bad as my magic perception is as a modern spirit, I can feel this weird change in the air. Like…the way ridin’ a horse with no real destination felt in the early hours of the mornin’, under a full moon. Liminal, and like time was tickin’ in a way where every second was worth about 60 more than it’s meant to. Like time ain’t quite, but is almost, standin’ still.

It's a good feeling, but kinda a sad one in a way, because you know it’s about to be gone.

And then it is. I blink, and I can tell we’ve been standin’ there for what must have been around ten minutes, but it’s like I jumped through it in one.

The Queen of Sheba opens her eyes.

“Da Vinci, you need to make the Shadow Border and you’ve got 71 hours to do it.”

“ARE YOU CRAZY?” sqeaks Da Vinci in the manic space between outraged, ecstatic, and mental breakdown, “By myself?!?! Here??? In a reality marble?!?! BY MYSELF?!!?”

“What’s a shadow border?” I ask Mozart.

“Why on earth do you think I know??” replies Mozart, “Do you think I know every thing every single Caster can do??? I’m only human. : ( …ish….”

Salieri sighs as if he’s somehow sensed this exchange.

“You can do it,” says the Queen of Sheba, very certainly, “And you won’t do it alone. That won’t work, actually. You need the Archer to make it.”

Every one of us looks at a different Archer.

“No, not them!” says the Queen of Sheba like this should be obvious, pulling Doctor Archaman up behind her and then gesturing to the group at large, “The one making the marble!”

“You’re crazy!” says Cú Chulainn, staring, “Archer can’t do that. He’s running the marble.”

“He can do both,” says the Queen of Sheba like it’s easy.

“Can he?” asks Salieri.

She nods.

“If he fucks that up, we’re all dead,” says Cú Chulainn in vehement disagreement.

“He’s the only one who can make the Shadow Border,” sighs the Queen of Sheba with a shrug, “So if he doesn’t try, we’re all dead anyway.”

“This is the only way?” Doctor Archaman asks.

“There is rarely an only way, in life,” says the Queen of Sheba, placing her hands on her hips and cocking her head, thinking, “But you asked me to find a way. Predictions aren’t always accurate. They show the future as it was when I read it. Telling you to do this, telling you why, any action I take, or you take, could change the outcome. And that goes for anything we do, or any prediction ever seen. Time is in flux, always. Not even the past is set in stone. As…Goetia is making example of. Time is its own kind of thing, almost like space, which is constantly interacting with true space and matter and energy around it, and can be moved upon and in as well, in all kinds of ways. This isn’t the only way, but it’s the way that I believe in. No matter what we leave up to chance, no matter what could change because of what we say or doubt or do differently, this is the one I am convinced will work, Solomon. I can’t say more; I won’t say more. But in all my wisdom, and sight, and knowledge, this is the path I know we live on. Is that not good enough for you anymore?”

She stares up at him with her big, bright eyes like the ocean in a reef. He meets her gaze for a moment, then smiles softly.

“Of course it is. It always will be.”

“You’re both crazy,” says Cú Chulainn to himself with a sigh.

“Why does she keep calling him Solomon?” Ritsuka asks King David very quietly.

Ah yeah, shit!

“Mm, good question,” says King David, not missin a fuckin’ beat, “It’s a bit grating. They obviously know each other, and she was once intimate and quite close with my son as well. He was a pinnacle of a man—handsome, intelligent, charismatic. I suppose it’s a bit like calling him ‘Romeo.’ –Our Doctor must remind her of him in that way. I should be insulted at the comparison perhaps, in more ways than one, I mean—he’s my son, after all, but, I like the good Doctor pretty well myself, and given Solomon’s…” He clears his throat. “Uhm, proclivity, for romancing women. With the 700 wives and all his extra concubines, well. I can’t really argue he doesn’t deserve to become a term of something in regards to romance. That’s his own fault. The real question is more if that’s a compliment-compliment, or a very backhanded one…”

Doctor Archaman, who has heard all this, looks like he wants to die.

The Queen of Sheba looks deeply confused, and Da Vinci taps her on the shoulder and whispers something for a moment.

“…Ah,” says the Queen of Sheba, “It was a compliment,” she adds to Ritsuka and King David, “The Doctor is very wise.”

Kind David shrugs. Doctor Archaman does not look any less like he wishes lighting would emerge from the sky to strike him dead immediately.

“Okay well that’s all sweet and I guess a little reassuring,” says Da Vinci, patting the Queen of Sheba on the shoulder as she steps back, “But uh. On to things that actually matter, how the hell am I supposed to build the Shadow Border again in under three days, with no materials? I built that thing over months and months, with a lot of help, and the best resources a girl could get, and even then, it wasn’t easy.”

“No,” agrees the Queen of Sheba, moving away from the doctor to talk to Da Vinci, “And you’ll have to pilot it yourself. But think about it! It’s not impossible. Emiya can replicate anything he’s ever seen and studied.”

“But he hasn’t,” says Da Vinci.

“No, but you have. We just need to sync you two up, and give him your memories. So long as we keep that link going, and you oversee, he can make it for you,” says the Queen of Sheba excitedly.

Da Vinci considers this. “…Damn, that might actually work.” She starts to look kind of excited. “No, you’re right! She’s right—this could—someone get me a chalk board or some papers—something! Right now!!”

Everyone starts fumbling and looking around. Doctor Archaman reaches into his pockets with the pleased face of a man who knew carrying a pocket notebook would pay off, and comes back aghast to remember he’s wearing the stupid slutty little V-neck his father picked out and not his lab coat with the notebook. Shit, do I have anything the lady could use? Uh…Shoot. Uhm…

“Here!” calls someone from the crowd. A girl with long brown hair and a cut someone has bandaged on her arm, sprints through the ranks and produces a pretty sizable sketchpad and an assortment of pens and pencils.

“Thank you!” says Da Vinci excitedly, “Here, hold this!”

She shoves it back into the girl’s arms, open now, like she’s a podium stand, and starts writing on it while the poor girl awkwardly complies and goes rigid, trying to hold it for her.

“Okay, so—the issue usually is you can’t move a reality marble, because it doesn’t occupy true space. Now, the thing Miss—what do you like to be called? Queen? Sheba? Makeda?” asks Da Vinci.

The Queen of Sheba shrugs. “Sheba is fine for now.”

Da Vinci nods and goes right back to drawing a really complex looking chart. “-the thing Sheba said to make—the Shadow Border? It’s a transport vehicle,” she explains, looking at Doctor Archaman, who comes over to study the chart with her, hand to his chin, “But not a customary one. It’s meant to travel sliding between realities, through void space.”

“Isn’t that…impossibly dangerous?” asks Doctor Archaman.

“Oh, we’re well past that,” says Da Vinci happily, “We’ll all die in three days if we fail anyway, so in for a penny. Anyway! It traverses through the reverse side of the world, the sea of imaginary numbers—uh, in layman’s terms—” she mercifully adds to the rest of us, “Think of that like…the reality marble, the inverted, internal landscape, of the entire world itself. –And doing that, you can re-materialize anywhere, because what you do is erase yourself from existence, essentially, while maintaining a proof you exist so you don’t actually die, and then transform back from a theoretical existence, to a physical one, at whatever anchor coordinates you chose.”

“Like teleportation in execution, but since you’re using realities that already exist to genuinely traverse the space, you’d cheat things like boundaries and magecraft, that otherwise would stop you,” says Doctor Archaman in fascination.

“Exactly! It’s like what you did—removing yourself into this marble so that, as technically you aren’t ‘in reality’ at all anymore, you can’t be erased from reality. Only, instead of a stationary jump, it is made to move.”

“Can you jump from a reality marble into void space?” asks Doctor Archaman.

Da Vinci shrugs. “Actually, it should be easier than leaving reality. Void space is essentially the reality marble of the world. Instead of having to make jump from reality to the reverse side, which is quite a jump, the initial entering of the sea of imaginary numbers should be easier, as we’re already in a place between realities and sealed off from the world. The only really dangerous jump will be re-entering reality at Chaldea, but since you’ve got a solid anchor point and know exact coordinates it should, in theory, work.”

Doctor Archaman studies the charts she’s drawing as she circles the last point on it and steps back, and the rest of us move collectively a little closer, trying to see. The human girl who brought the sketch pad looks down, trying to see it from upside-down herself, an some of her hair falls in the way. Da Vinci moves it behind an ear for her without looking up.

“See?” she says, taping a line of equations with a pencil.

“…Yes, although, the idea of depending on a magecraft replicated paper moon created by a heroic spirit who’s never actually seen the original makes me want to throw up a little bit,” agrees Doctor Archaman slowly, “I mean…maybe, maybe, with us all pitching in to help but…”

“It just has to work once,” says Da Vinci, eyes practically glowing, and very sold on this now. “We can do it. One time.”

Doctor Archaman looks at her, looks back at the Queen of Sheba, looks finally to his father, and then turns to Ritsuka.

She’s watching with big eyes, I think like uh, well, me, and some of the others, about half of this gone right over her head, but just the same, when he looks at her, she straightens up and squares her shoulders, and nods.

“Alright,” says the Doctor like he can’t quite believe it, “Let’s get started.”

---------------

“And once it’s been scanned, replicated, and constructed, I and Mozart and Sheba can do the finishing touches, so you can go back to focusing on the reality marble,” says Da Vinci cheerily.

“Oh, is that all,” replies Archer dryly.

He’s still sitting on the rock a little ways from where we came in that he’s been camped out on the whole time, and he looks tired. Usually, I’d enjoy watching him sweat a lot more, but they really aren’t fuckin’ around with the workload on this one.

“Ohhh, you’ll do fine!” encourages Da Vinci, taking his arm and trying to pull him up. He very unhappily obliges, and gets to his feet with a grimace, poor bastard. “The prophet says so! Plus, you’re made for this, right?”

“I’m made for replicating things I’ve seen,” he replies, “Especially if they’re weapons. This is both notably not a weapon, and not a vehicle I’ve ever even seen a picture of, forget seen in person and scanned.”

“That’s where the mind-meld comes in,” says Da Vinci patiently, arms still wrapped around one of his.

This woman is an agent of pure chaos, I think, watching her with a little interest and a little caution. I appreciate that in a woman, but even I am not exactly chomping the bit to do what, to the best of my ability to understand the science, constitutes a jump from inside the closed internal world of a reality marble, to the reverse side of the world itself, by erasing your existence mathematically and then re-establishing it to an anchor point in reality as the worst form of pseudo-teleportation ever conceived. I’ve been killed all kinds of ways, but physically deconstructed to the atom by the universe itself, and denied re-entry, if this goes wrong, ain’t high on my list of fun new ways I’d like to try. No version of vaporized is ever just super fun, and I’ve been dying for most of the last three days. I want one 24 hour fucking break. That really so much to ask??

“Sure,” agrees Archer tiredly, “Which makes it theoretically, in maybe the most horrifying way conceivable, possible. But you’re asking me to use someone else’s memory, to scan an object I don’t specialize in, in their memory via some fucked-up astral projection walk, and then rebuild it physically, while on hour eight, now, of maintaining the entirety of Unlimited Blade Works.”

“You love to complain,” I say automatically despite the fact I actually agree with on this one. It’s just too much more my nature at this point to want to hit him.

He gives me a grimace. “Yes, I’m completely unreasonable and thankless in how I handle my 18 tasks at any given moment. What are you even still doing here? Weren’t you supposed to get sent back to the throne to stop draining my resources?”

“Easy—guys, come on,” says Ritsuka, raising a hand toward each of us, “Cú Chulainn saved us all back in the vault, remember? And Emiya’s working really hard to keep us alive. He can complain if he wants, it’s okay.”

That takes him down like another hour of me ribbing never would have, and he guiltily looks at the kid and exhales.

“It’s fine. If it’s all we’ve got, it’s all we’ve got,” says Archer. He straightens up a little and turns to Da Vinci. “Let’s do it, then.”

She grins.

“One little problem,” says Robin Hood, stepping forward, “We’re all working off one source of mana, yes, but you two don’t actually share a master. Doctor Archaman summoned those two,” he indicates the girls, “But the kid summoned the rest of us.”

“Well, that is unfortunate and does make it harder,” agrees Da Vinci, letting go of Archer for a second, “But we can still do it. We just have to enter a deep state of rapport some other way.” Behind her, Archer gets a look on his face and rubs miserably at an eye. She whips around on him. “Get your mind out of the gutter. Not that one.”

“Thank God,” says Archer.

“You’d probably break concentration on Unlimited Blade Works,” she adds, turning away.

He almost laughs, and I see him give a smile for the first time in a while as he turns and glances at the back of her head.

“So, what did you have in mind?” asks Kotarou.

“Dreams won’t work, obviously,” adds Billy, “Since neither of you can originate one.”

“Really a shame, because that’s easily the easiest way,” observes Da Vinci sadly.

“It’s going to essentially be the world’s worst game of telephone,” says Doctor Romani sadly, tired I guess of everyone else beating around the bush.

“If it would help, we could swap contracts?” suggests Ritsuka worriedly.

“No, I think that would kill him and everyone else,” says Da Vinci, “But it’s sweet of you to offer.”

“Yeah, I did think about that,” says Doctor Romani, turning to her, “But the instability it would cause even temporarily to leave him uncontracted in hour eight of that phantasm, even with the odds for us with his Independent Action, I can’t justify taking the chance.”

She nods.

“The world’s worst game of telephone?” reminds Mozart with evil glee.

“Yeah, uh. Basically, he needs to focus. I have spells that I know that can help, but I’m not his master,” says Doctor Romani, rubbing his head. Maybe I feel worse for him than anyone else here. That guy got steamrolled by the universe and it just keeps coming at him. Man, and I thought the throne hated me. “Memory partition would be ideal, because it would make it so he can completely focus on both this, and Unlimited Blade Works. Even though it admittedly will take a little time to set up, I genuinely think it’s his—our—best bet, because the time and general risk it will lower once it’s up, are much more valuable than even the longest getting a partition going could feasibly take. If he can temporarily memory partition and focus at 100% on both the shadow border, and his phantasm, that’s our best shot at accurate construction and safety, and getting out of here before the what are we at—70 hours and counting, mark?”

He glances at the Queen, who nods.

“If he’s willing, I can cast the spell alright even without being his master,” continues the Doctor, “But it’ll go a lot faster if Ritsuka works with me as a focus. Once we do that, he can have half himself focus on the reality marble, and the other half of him can safely work on the shadow border. The memory is the tricky bit. But, if Da Vinci focuses on it, I can link up with her, share her memory space. Ritsuka and I can link through the crest she gave me well enough with some reinforcement and a little practice, and I can walk her to and through the memories she needs, which she can them pass on to Emiya, who can, with a little tampering of the memories on our part, explore them mentally to scan the border, and then start building.”

“This is insane,” says Emiya genuinely.

Yeah no shit.

“Terrible game of telephone indeed,” says Mozart with fascination, “And you better be careful, because if you pass the message wrong, he’ll make it wrong and we’ll all die on the first jump.”

“Yeah…” says Doctor Romani who clearly wishes he hadn’t said that.

Poor Ritsuka looks terrified.

“Well! I can help you a little,” says Mozart happily, “I’ll set up an area back where we did the summon circle since it’s an easy focus point in here, and I’ll reinforce it to amplify the spells and provide some stability. Don’t worry,” he pats Ritsuka on the shoulder comfortingly as she stares glassy-eyed at the world in front of her, “You’ll do amazing! I took a peek at some of the stuff the inventor Caster is carrying, and I bet she could whip up a mystic code to help you focus, while you’re working on the mental partition and with the doctor.”

“WHEN DID YOU GO THROUGH MY THINGS?!” shrieks Da Vinci, pulling items as far as I can tell right out of the ether around her and tearing through them like a bad PI tossing a house for clues.

“I didn’t take anything,” dismisses Mozart, who is conspicuously now wearing a hat he didn’t have before and is clearly in her colors, “But you really should put locks on your magecraft.”

“Keep your Caster under control!” she says fake angry-tearful to Ritsuka, who I think can’t tell she’s putting on a scene for fun.

“Uh,” manages Ritsuka.

Casters, I sigh internally. “Okay. Burning daylight then. Can you actually make her something to help?”

“Oh, definitely,” says Da Vinci. She finally notices the hat and narrows her eyes at Mozart.

“You had six of them!” he protests, “Plus, you’re packing enough energy to make a temple to yourself for free, become invincible, and create a clone at the same time without your Master even noticing. You don’t need another hat! I mean Territory Creation AND Item Construction rank A?! Please, you’re sneaking EX under the radar by lying about your specs.”

She opens her mouth, closes it, and sadly to the ground says, “But I really like that hat…”

“Mozart, give her her hat back,” sighs Doctor Romani, “It’s the end of the world. Can’t three Casters get along for the next 70 hours? Please?”

Mozart sighs and takes the hat off and throws it at her, materializing his own purple, green, and black hat as he does. She catches her hat with a thud against her gut and gives him a hateful look, but there’s about as much sincerity in it as a sibling stealing food. I think they’re both enjoying this shit.

“Alright. Miss Da Vinci, if you could make something to help Ritsuka, it’d be much appreciated,” says the Doctor, “We shouldn’t need that or the focal point for the partition, but get it done as quick as you can and let us know, in case we have issues. So long as they’re ready before the memory-walk, though, we should be alright. Ritsuka, Emiya, stay here with me. If everyone else could give us a little room?”

“Sure,” says Da Vinci as we back off to give them room, to herself more than to him. “Just like old times…” It’s off, though. Girl’s got a look on her face like she’s remembering someone she loved. Emphasis on the past tense.

Closer to me as we go, I hear Salieri tiredly say, “Why do you feel the need to start conflict with everyone you meet?” to Mozart.

“I don’t!” protests Mozart, “Just other Casters. –You wouldn’t get it, Schatz. It’s a Caster thing. You have to butt heads and mark territory to see if you’ll get along. And she’s trouble, so I think we will, famously.”

Salieri sighs.

“The other Caster’s the hard read,” muses Mozart, hand to his chin, eyeing her from a distance, “I really can’t say what she’s like yet. On the other hand, though, I don’t really care; the woman’s got titties and half, if you know what I mean.” He happily elbows Salieri, who doesn’t even bother looking at him. “She can be however she wants!”

I mean, he’s not wrong. And I enjoy free dinner and a show as much as the next guy most days, but I’m trying to tune their conversation out, because I think I’ve clocked these Casters now to a point of certainty. It was something in the way Da Vinci said ‘old times.’ No…there’s been something about every damn thing that woman, and the Queen, have said, since the moment they got here. They ain’t subtle, and even exhausted, I got eyes. I give Da Vinci a glance, assessing that look that still lingers.

I check back over my shoulder, at Archer and the two humans. Back at her. So, I wonder, taking in the look our other new, equally distracted Caster has on her face like the last piece of a puzzle you didn’t need to see the picture, just a few final details to make it more whole, How does he die?

#The Kid (fic)#fgo fic #fate fic #fgo au #fate au fic #fate au #the Kid #me writing

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thetaylorfiles · 1 year ago

Note

This whole 'friend dating Taylor' thing reminded me of something else from way back in the day - didn't you have a friend who took a photo of Taylor and Karlie when they happened to be at a gym at the same time as her? Or am I remembering incorrectly and that's a different tumblr account altogether? Anyway, been following you for ages. Whenever Taylor does something, I check your tumblr to see the takes on Kaylor nonsense lol

Aw! I love that you come back here. I miss this place a lot just because I had so much fun with you guys. Sometimes my inbox would be so full I literally couldn’t answer them all. You guys and interacting and laughing is the best part of tumblr and conspiracies and Kaylor and everything!

Please note that TTB is TayTaysBeard who got kicked off tumblr for her antisemitism and outing and doxxing of people. When she got shut down, she came back as Spade Riddles. TTB = Spade. They’re the same person

As for the rest, yeah, that was me. The person you’re talking about was a woman who lived in NYC and her husband works very closely with Josh at his company. She got to see Karlie a couple times at business dinners and parties.

She also went to the same gym as Taylor. She ran into Taylor and Karlie in the same class as her one day and snuck a photo.

Here’s where it gets weird. Before she and I started talking, she had been a curious Kaylor. Since she personally knew Josh, she was fascinated by TTBs blog and Kaylor. She believed for a few weeks or months and then realized it couldn’t be true because of what she knew from real life vs what nonsense TTB was spewing.

TTB has always maintained that Josh Kushner is gay and with his best friend Mikey (who is married to a woman with a baby). She’s also always maintained that Josh is a criminal on par with his brother Jared. And TTB claimed that Josh has had gay rumors for ages, everyone knows Karlie is a beard.

So my friend, after a while, and after actually communicating with her, she was like, “I’m out. This bitch is nuts. No way is it true.” Back then, there was no Gaylors. It was Kaylor or Taylor is straight. Nothing in between.

So my friend sent TTB that picture she took of Karlie and Taylor and had shown it to TTB. She said she could post it and say what she’d overheard them talking about, which was just normal stuff. Except at one point, I guess Taylor was talking about some app and said to Karlie, “oh! You should tell Josh about this!” Pretty harmless. But to TTB image thought that if taylor had suggested showing Josh, they must be amicable. But TTB needed Karlie and Taylor to hate Josh for keeping Karlie under lock and key, due to her contract.

That used to be a thing, btw. There were years where the narrative was that Karlie got duped by Josh when she was a teen. He needed a beard to do business with Saudis. According to TTB and Kaylors, Saudis won’t do business with anyone who’s gay. So Josh needed a beard. That’s why he’s with Karlie.

My friend knew this part was bullshit too. Her husband is high up in Joshs company and TTB was spewing bad fiction.

Anyway, sorry so long! Almost done!

TTB refused to post the pic my friend took and instead sent it around to the other big Kaylor blogs at the time, making up a better story around it and using it as “proof”, saying the person who took the pic confirmed Kaylor was together. Which never happened.

So I posted the pic and told my friends story for her. She was literally scared of TTB. TTB had her real email address and she was freaked out she’s dox her and mess up her husbands career. And we know TTB has doxxed and outed people before which is so fucked up.

I think that’s it? This was way back during the time when Karlie and Taylor were still friends.

The pic is on this blog along with the story. I may not remember it all perfectly.

Thanks for being around so long. And thanks for reading to anyone who made it this far!

#TTB #taytaysbeard #spade riddles #Kaylor

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jebtlark · 2 years ago

Text

Adrift

I woke up on the ship, I know it’s the bridge, but I don’t know why I know. The tech all around me was way more advanced then anything humans had, yet I knew every function. Why do I know every function I’m just a regular joe, wait, what’s my name? Joe feels right so we’ll stick with that. Where was I before I came here? Someone has to be looking for me, like… who would be looking for me? Thinking on it I don’t remember if I have any family, or friends, do I even have a job? Maybe the aliens gave me something to mess with my memory. Speaking of which where are the aliens? I have been on the bridge for 28 minutes and 36 seconds and no one had come in. Maybe they were sleeping? Hold up, why did I know how long I’ve been awake to the second. Questions for later, right now I have to find someone. Walking up to the door it automatically opened for me, fancy. As the doors parted in the middle I started to walk through the corridors. Pretty quickly I found out why no crew had noticed me. The occasional burn mark on the wall and splatter of dried blood told me whatever had happened wasn’t good. Moving much more slowly along the silence was ominous, as I followed the dried blood to the rear of the ship. There I saw the fate of the crew. Someone had piled the whole lot into the airlock and slowly drained atmosphere from it. I knew because if it had been fast they would have been sucked into space. As it was they were still floating inside. After I had a little freak out, gotta treat yourself right, I worked out to the best of my abilities what probably happened. The former crew got boarded by someone cruel, exact goal unclear, and they had done it slowly to make it fun. Just the thought made me almost sick, also absolutely livid. What kind of sentient creature enjoyed being this demented, not just to the crew, but by the looks of the smaller ones, their families as well. Speaking of the crew, despite how sad it was that they died it did give me a good chance to look ok at them. Believe it or not they looked like those ads for sea monkeys. A few differences, like the coloration is bright blue, but that might be due to the vacuum of space. There eyes were compound eyes and they only had the two of them, but they had about a dozen legs and 6 arms. Looking at them I wished they would stop floating around, and that’s when the door to space behind them closed and the gravity kicked back on. I hid immediately until whoever activated it showed up but no one did. Just as I thought it was safe to come out, and while I was here might as well move the body’s and clean the bloodstains out of the wall, I saw motion again thus time from a small square grate in the wall level with the floor. It opened up and out came several dozen small robotic lobster looking things. They scuttled over to the bodies and crawled under them. Picking up the bodies and securing them with their claws, they set off through the ship, me following at what I considered a safe distance. As we walked through the halls I saw much smaller robots, about the size of actual shrimp, crawling along the walls and floors cleaning up the bloodstains. Well that’s convenient I thought, now I don’t have to do it. As we finally arrived at the lobstertrons location they set the bodies one by one into something that wrapped it up in clingwrap looking stuff and then they were shoved into a freezer. Well I guess that was taken care of, guess I would explore the rest of the ship and see if I had anything around here.

#humansarespaceorcs

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justkeepwalkingnothinghere · 2 years ago

Note

charm, spellbound, soulmate, and snag for the toh ask game :)

Woo! Let’s-a go!

Charm - I’m gonna have to go with Hooty on this one. I originally found him to be a bit annoying. Sure, he had a few funny moments looking back, but I wasn’t a big fan. Once he became friends with Lilith? I have found joy and a bit of comfort in his presence since then! Love the weird bird tube now!

Spellbound - It really depends on which episodes I’m watching. From Lost In Language to Reaching Out, I am completely zoned in on Lumity. They’re the reason I started watching. They’re the first couple in forever that I shipped to an unhealthy degree. They’re a pair that brings me so much unbelievable happiness that I still kick my feet and jump for joy at the kiss in CotH despite watching it hundreds of times already. I love them so freaking much my mind sometimes has trouble processing it.

But from Them’s The Breaks, Kid to now and beyond, I’m on Raeda 24/7. Almost anyone who has seen my blog will already know how much I love these two and how much they mean to me. You think I’m crazy for Lumity? Well I am completely FERAL for Raeda, so much so that words can’t even begin to explain it. I can’t explain it! Nothing can explain it! The only thing I can give you is that TtBK fills me with so much happiness and joy and excitement and a whole freaking ball of emotions in me that the only way for me to get it out is to scream into a pillow. Every Raeda moment in KT makes me cry. Every. Time. Like a stab straight to the heart.

In short, Lumity and Raeda gives me a crap ton of serotonin. (I still adore Huntlow, but it’s not on my brain as much)

Soulmate - I absolutely love Luz and King seeing each other as siblings so much (King’s line of having Luz as his little sister in KT will never not make me cry) and Eda basically being a second mom to Luz is one of the sweetest things in the show, but I’m gonna have to say that Luz and Camila is my favorite! Their talk in FTF says it ALL. It’s one of if not the best mother/daughter relationships I’ve ever seen in fiction. The biggest nerd in the show and the mom of the century who before FTF was a closeted nerd. The same person who helped Luz realize what she really wanted which in turn helped Stringbean hatch. Camila realizes now that Luz is meant to stay in the Demon Realm and is ready to do anything to help Luz understand that and make it possible. What more can I say? Luz and Camila’s relationship is fucking beautiful.

Snag - I don’t really think I have an answer for this. I guess Once Upon a Swap if that counts? But god, I would kill to get some more screen time for the other coven heads and more stuff about them, but that’s more a result of the show getting cut by Disney and not at all the fault of the writers.

Thanks for the ask!

#ask game #toh #the owl house

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quirkykaty · 2 years ago

Text

Southern Comfort - Chapter Five

Pairing: Daryl x OC(Nic) Warnings: language, mentions of injury, vague threats, Shane and Merle can suck an egg Summary: A busted shoulder will heal, but how about a busted friendship? Nic spends the day coming to terms with her injury and has a few interesting encounters. Wordcount: ~3400 Author's Note: Probably my favorite chapter of the series so far. In the original series, Nic was more of a mouse, so I tried to give her a backbone and make her feelings toward the larger group a bit clearer. Also, I alluded to an antagonism with Shane that was never established, so now it is. (and no Daryl gif because chapter contains no actual Daryl) Series Masterlist

Despite all odds and against all logic, I managed to feel even worse the next morning. I couldn’t find a single body part that didn’t hurt, though my shoulder was certainly the worst of the pains. I had every intention of falling back asleep and letting unconsciousness chase away the violent complaining of my body.

But I’ve never been that lucky.

Glenn banged the door open and strode in, oblivious to my discomfort. “Gooood morning!” He called cheerfully, flopping down on the end of the couch and jolting me roughly. I dragged myself into a sitting position with my good arm and shot him the bird. He just laughed and held up a paper plate with a dramatic flourish. “You’d be so rude to someone kind enough to bring you breakfast in bed? Shame. Guess I’ll have to eat this myself.” He grabbed the fork and lifted a bite of rehydrated scrambled eggs to his mouth.

“Okay, okay, I’m sorry,” I said quickly, reaching for the plate. He replaced the fork and handed it over willingly. With an indignant huff, I shifted my grip on the fork so I could eat. Figures it’d be my left arm out of commission. My right was awkward from lack of use. “Ruder to try and steal food from a cripple.” He snorted and I grinned at him. It was impossible to stay irritated at Glenn.

“Cripple, my ass. I give it a week before you’re trying to climb trees again, monkey girl.”

I grimaced and looked down at my arm appraisingly. “I don’t know about that. This ain’t the first time I’ve dislocated it. Last time, it took almost a month before I could use it normally.”

“Yeah, but this time you’ve got the proper motivation,” he said cheerfully. I frowned and raised a brow at him. “All the shit you own is up a tree nobody else can climb. Besides.” His lips curled into a mischievous grin. “I bet a certain redneck is gonna be missing your company on the trails. The sooner you get out of that sling, the sooner you get back to hunting.”

Heat rose in my face and I scowled, kicking him the best I could from under a blanket. He didn’t need to know just how… motivating… that idea actually was. Though I didn’t believe him for a minute. Daryl was probably glad to be rid of me. I still couldn’t figure out what had made him so angry yesterday.

As soon as I’d cleared my plate, Glenn stood, slung my backpack over his shoulder, and offered a hand. I frowned at the hand then turned my face up to pout at him. “Where exactly are you wanting me to go and why? I can’t have one day to recover? I did throw myself through a freaking plate-glass window, after all.”

He snorted again and shook his head, taking my hand and dragging me up despite my protests. “You won’t feel any better after laying around. Besides, we’ve gotta sort our finds and spread ‘em around.” He nodded to the plate. “Shane and Dale insisted on passing the food out first thing but we still have a lot to dig through.”

Knowing there was no point in arguing, I let him lead me outside to a chair by the firepit. He dumped my pack out in front of me before settling on the ground beside me and doing the same with his own pack. Something heavy landed in my lap and I looked down to find folded black fabric. Flipping it open revealed a collection of polished throwing knives, complete with a proper whetstone to sharpen them. Buckles and straps were sewn into the fabric so it could be attached to a belt for easy access.

“Happy late birthday, by the way,” Glenn piped up from his seat in the dirt. I stared at him in surprise, holding the present gingerly. Worry tinged his face. “What? Do you not like it? I know you’d been talking about wanting something other than your sword and bow and I thought those seemed like your kinda thing. You don’t have to keep them if you don’t want to. I could find you something else.”

I clutched the bundle to my chest protectively and shook my head. “No, I love it, I just-” I paused for a moment, trying to find the words. “How did you know? I didn’t think I told anyone.”

“Oh, that.” He laughed, looking relieved, and shrugged. “Daryl mentioned it when he came to tell me he was tagging along for the trip. No idea how he knew, though, if you didn’t say anything.” The look on his face made me consider kicking him again, and his face was so much closer to my feet this time.

Instead, I thought back over the last few conversations I’d had with Daryl. I could only think of one instance where I’d mentioned my birthday, but surely he’d been too far away to hear. Hadn’t he?

The thought tickled at the back of my mind while we worked. It hadn’t been a very intensive run, but we’d gotten some good stuff nonetheless. The batteries I’d found were a particular treasure and ended up going to Dale for safekeeping. All the food had been distributed already, although most of it was being saved for dinner.

Shane came over at one point to check our progress and collect the meager amount of ammo we’d managed to find. He gave the rest of the haul a cursory glance and nodded once. “Not bad. Good job, you two. Maybe next time you can even get back in one piece.” The comment seemed offhand but there was an edge in his voice that grated on my nerves like a key on piano wire.

I looked up at the former deputy from my seat, doing my best to hide the irritation in my voice. “Sorry? I think I missed that. Say again?”

The superior disdain in his eyes lit my temper like gas to a flame but I dug my nails into my knee and clamped my mouth shut.

“Just seemed like a pretty stupid move to me. Avoidable. We can’t afford to be catering to somebody that can’t contribute and from the sound of it, you’ll be outta action for a while. Just expected a bit more sense from you, that’s all.”

My grip on my knee tightened and I focused on the sharp pain of nails digging into flesh until I was certain I had control of myself. Only then did I answer him, keeping my eyes down so he wouldn’t see how badly I wanted to deck him. I couldn’t stop myself from biting back, though.

“Seems to me you talk an awful lot for somebody that never leaves camp. You join the raiders some time and then you can tell me what is and isn’t avoidable, how about that?”

Silence fell and I looked up to see Shane glaring down at me. For a moment, I worried he might actually hit me, sling or no sling. Then he gave me a poisonous smile and shrugged. “Somebody competent’s gotta stay behind to keep the camp safe.”

I held his gaze and matched his smile, mine sickly sweet in contrast to the fire that blazed behind his eyes. “You’d best go find someone competent then, huh?”

He snarled and opened his mouth to shoot back, breaking off as someone called his name from the other side of camp. He started to turn and then shot one more dangerous look at me. “And you’d best learn to watch that mouth of yours before it gets you into trouble.” With that, he stalked off.

When the red finally faded from my sight, I realized my fingernails were still cutting into my knee. I released my grip and shook my hand out, a shudder running down my spine. Fear was quickly filling the gaps left behind as my anger drained. Shane was dangerous, I knew that much. And I’d just painted a target on my back.

Glenn cleared his throat and I flinched away from the sound. He leaned over to pat my knee, grimacing sympathetically. “You two really hate each other, huh?”

“I made it clear I don’t trust him. He seems to resent having someone around that doesn’t blindly accept his authority.” I stared at the retreating man and took a long, steadying breath. “He’s got quite the temper, doesn’t he? If there’s ever some suspicious accident and I end up dead, odds are he finally snapped.”

Glenn’s startled laughter broke off when he realized I wasn’t joking. He sobered up quickly and shook his head. “If you’re so worried about him, why do you provoke him like that?”

“Ignoring his attempts to be an asshole just encourages him to be even more of an asshole. Granted, my petty comebacks probably won’t do much to change him, but at least I made my stance clear. He can go bug the sheep all he wants since they won’t do anything about it. But I’m no sheep.” I grinned down at Glenn and bared my teeth. “I’m a wolf. And wolves bite back.”

By that evening, my shoulder was burning from the day’s tasks, but I’d managed to work some of the soreness out of the rest of my body. Dinner was a brilliant affair, thanks to the food packets we’d brought back. The air was filled with the smell of cooking beef, mushroom gravy, chicken and dumplings, fajitas, chili, and macaroni and cheese. There were even ice cream sandwiches for dessert, although they tasted more than a little off after being rehydrated after who knew how long. With how much we’d gathered, it probably could’ve lasted a few weeks, but the camp needed a win and that night was a celebration. For the first time in nearly two months, people gorged themselves.

The campfire cast flickering light around the clearing and everyone was in high spirits, staying up late to tell stories and jokes. Eliza’s head was in my lap, the little girl fast asleep despite the noise and energy around the fire, and Amy was laying against my good shoulder, listening to Dale’s overly dramatic tale of werewolves in Vermont. Carol sat at Eliza’s feet with Sophia similarly asleep on her. Carl and Louis, sitting next to their respective mothers, were wide awake and enraptured by Dale’s story. The feeling of community and closeness that seemed to permeate the night warmed me more than the fire only a few feet away.

I almost hated having to return to my lonely little tree at the edge of the clearing. It had always been a comfort, keeping myself so apart, but now it seemed cold. It didn’t help that I couldn’t actually get into the tree anymore. Not until my arm healed. I’d managed to coach Glenn up to the platform to get my stuff, but it didn’t do me much good since I couldn’t fight or hunt one-handed.

Irritation washed through me and I glared at the tree defiantly. This was my place. It was safe, marginally comfortable, and I’d made it myself. I didn’t want to give it up, even for the time it would take to heal. I wanted my place.

The spacing between the branches made for easy enough climbing and several were close enough to the ground. Maybe, just maybe, with a good enough jump…

Gritting my teeth against the pain this would inevitably provoke, even if I succeeded, I backed away a few steps, then ran toward it at full speed. At the last moment, I leapt as high as I could. I caught a branch above my head, the bark digging sharply into my palm, and kicked my legs in an attempt to get a footing on one of the lower branches. My feet slipped, then my hand, and I was flat on my back a moment later, gasping for breath. The canopy of trees above me swam in my vision as I lay there, waiting for the pain to subside. My landing had, naturally, jarred my bad shoulder and aggravated the still-fading soreness in the rest of my body.

Just as my vision steadied itself, a face came into view above me, complete with cropped-blond hair and the shit-eating grin I worked so hard to avoid. The little oxygen I’d managed to suck in left me again in a miserable groan. Merle simply chuckled and folded his arms over his chest.

“Now what kinda greeting is that? You’d think you ain’t happy to see me or somethin’,” he complained, still hovering over me.

“I’m starting to think you Dixons are bad luck charms for me,” I grumbled, shoving myself into a sitting position and holding my shoulder painfully. “What are you even doing over here? You’ve talked to me all of three times since we met and all three consisted of either threats, insults, or both.”

Merle shrugged and offered a hand, lifting a brow in a way that made his too-wide smile feel like a trap. “Came to see for myself what’s got my baby brother’s panties in a bunch. I gotta side with him. You look like shit, girl.”

“Gee, thanks.” I took the offered hand reluctantly and let him pull me to my feet. “Consider me touched by your concern.” His words sank in and I frowned up at him. I hadn’t noticed before, but he was as tall as Daryl. As close as he was standing, I had to tilt my head back to look at him. With Daryl, it was a bit dizzying, but in a good way. With Merle, it was downright uncomfortable. “Wait, what’s wrong with Daryl?”

“Poor boy just ain’t been right since y’all got back. Damn near bit my head off this morning and he’s usually the nice one of the two of us.”

The blood drained from my face, leaving me cold. “He’s that upset?” Anger reared its head, sudden and indignant. “Why the hell is everyone getting so damn worked up over this? Yeah, it was dangerous but what the hell isn’t dangerous anymore? Stepping into the trees to take a piss is dangerous now! I get us out of a dead end, save Daryl and Glenn, never mind that the camp would go to shit without either of them, and everybody wants to come crawl up my ass about it! Ain’t a single thank you from anybody for taking a hit to save the camp’s main food supplier and the best raider we’ve got. No, why would that earn a thank you?”

As soon as the words were out, I clenched my jaw shut and looked away from Merle. As irritated as I was at the camp, I was even more irritated with myself at that moment. I didn’t lose my temper. Ever. And to go off like that in front of Merle Fucking Dixon just made matters worse.

Merle, for his part, clutched his side as he tried and failed to hold back laughter. “Damn girl, look at you go. Here I thought you were just a bland li’l bitch like the rest of the so-called women around here. But you got spunk. Maybe that’s why Baby D let himself get all attached.”

“Attached?” Despite my attempt to make the word a scoff, I could hear the pathetic hope in the word as clearly as Merle could. His grin widened, and he chuckled again.

“My, my, but if this ain’t just too good to be true. I figured you two were bumpin’ uglies out there, but I did not see this comin’. You’re sweet on him, ain'tcha?”

My only answer was a groan mirroring the one I’d made upon seeing him. I turned my back on the redneck’s hooting laughter. I hadn’t had time to process my strange reactions to Daryl on my own and now this ridiculous man-child was making a joke of it. But of course he was. With my luck, where else could this conversation possibly have gone?

“That’s just too good. Guess it makes sense, in a way. Y’all have been practically joined at the hip since that first huntin’ trip. Looks like even the end of the world can’t fend off puppy love.”

“Oh, shut the hell up,” I snapped, turning back to him with a scowl. “I swear, you’re more obnoxious than Shane, and that’s a hell of an accomplishment.”

He huffed and put a hand to his chest in mock offense. “Here I am just tryin’ to be a good big brother and you gotta come at me like that. I don’t know what he sees in you.” His smile faded and he turned serious, even a bit menacing. “That said, I’m gonna say this once. My brother ain’t the warm-fuzzy type but he actually likes you for some reason. I don’t give a damn what you think that move in Atlanta meant, it bothered him. So you’re gonna get off your ass and go apologize.”

He stepped closer and set a hand on my shoulder, harmless but for the edge in his voice. “Daryl and I got each other, and that’s all we need. Now he’s got it in his head that y’all are partners or whatever, so I’m gonna make myself very clear. If you’re screwin’ around with him, I’ll make going through that window feel like a gentle breeze, you get me?”

A storm of emotions fought for dominance, each wanting a say in how I responded to the threat. Rage, hope, confusion, flattery, and hurt all wove together until I nearly went numb from the force of it. In the end, I shoved them all to the side and held Merle’s gaze steadily.

“I don’t know what Daryl has or hasn’t said, but nothing’s happened between us. If something were to happen, seems like it would be between him and me. That said, I can promise you I’m not screwing around with him. Daryl is… He’s a unique guy and I do care about him. I trust him, which ain’t an easy thing to come by these days. I never meant to upset him but I think we both know if I went and apologized to him, he’d just take offense. I will talk to him, though.”

From the furrow in Merle’s brow, I figured he was expecting an argument. He’d seen a flash of my temper now and I knew he wouldn’t soon give up trying to drag it out again. Which was why I made sure to lock it away before opening my mouth. Without the drama he’d been hoping to provoke, Merle seemed to deflate slightly, like a child disappointed that a toy didn’t behave the way he expected it to.

Trying to save face, he puffed himself back up and nodded sharply. “Good. That’s ‘bout all I needed to say.” He gave another nod and started away, pausing a few feet away and calling back over his shoulder. “And I wouldn’t try climbin’ that tree again. You’re liable to pop that shoulder out again and won’t nobody be around to help ya way over here.”

With that, he was gone and I collapsed against my tree with a heavy sigh. The whole conversation felt like a bad trip and the thought of trying to process everything I’d just learned made me tired. If I was being honest, I didn’t actually dislike Merle. Compared to certain other men in camp, namely Deputy Dick and Carol’s peach of a husband, Ed, he wasn’t actually all that bad. Abrasive, sure. Racist and misogynistic, definitely. Obnoxious, petty, childish, manipulative. All these things and more could describe the man. But if he had one shining point, one good trait to balance the negative, it was how he felt about Daryl. He was an asshole, there was no argument there. But he was also a damn good brother.

While I threw a sheet over a tree limb and tacked it down to create a makeshift tent - I’d give up the thought of getting back up in my tree - I did think about one thing Merle said. Most of the thinking I’d resolved to save for the morning, but one point he’d made continued to loop in my mind. I was sure I’d be analyzing and overanalyzing the words until they lost meaning, but for the moment, the meaning was clear and blazing like a beacon against the night.

Daryl… liked me?

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