#like yeah he doesn’t know how to use a roundabout

[heartz4shauna]

who is correct when it comes to road rage

[sundaynightlive]

Soft (Steddie + Platonic Stobin)

Hey Steve?”

“Mmm?”

“Can I say something? And can you promise not to get mad at me?”

Steve looks over at her curiously. He can hardly imagine what she could say that would really upset him, or why she’d feel the need to preface anything she had on her mind with a question like that. Usually, she’s all gung-ho about pissing him off—it’s just how they are, constantly bickering like an old married couple. Steve really doesn’t blame anyone for thinking they’re together—they sure act like it, in a roundabout sort of way.

“Sure.”

“Say you promise.” Steve rolls his eyes.

“Seriously, Rob, I’m not gonna—”

“Say you promise.”

That actually slightly unnerves him. He keeps his eyebrows raised, but relents.

“Alright, I promise.” She shifts in her seat, glances up at Eddie and the kids on stage, all chattering about something he doesn’t understand—attack rolls? Natural 20s? Owlbears?

“He makes you soft,” she says. Steve follows her gaze.

Oh. She noticed.

Steve tends to be oblivious, but he had noticed this, mostly because it was so… new. Irregular. Confusing. Around Eddie he just… softens. That’s about the best way to describe it—he’s glad Robin said so, because now he can put a name to the feeling. His brain seems to stop its mile-a-minute, mamma-bear rampage and just… quiet. He can’t put a finger on why—well he can, but it’s… a lot. He’s spent many a night staring up at the ceiling, trying to discern whether he really is romantically attracted to Eddie, or if he’s projecting. Maybe he’s been alone so long he just can’t tell anymore. Maybe his and Nancy’s little dance around each other is just confusing to the point of insanity.

But Robin noticed. And they should talk.

“Can we move back a few rows?”

“Sure.”

They stand and none of the kids nor Eddie take notice. Their voices are getting progressively louder, and Ed is perched in his chair like he could spring up on to the table at any moment, hands motioning excitedly in all sorts of ways. He talks with his hands, just like Nance and Robin.

“Are you mad?”

“No,” Steve says as they take seats in the mid-section, a little farther towards the back of the auditorium. He settles in, both to the seat and his own uncomfortability, not sure how to start the things he needs to say. He has questions, answers, concerns—but where to begin?

The beginning, probably.

“Do you remember that night the three of us were hanging and then Vickie came and picked you up and I told you I left right after?”

“Yeah.”

“I didn’t.”

He looks over to make eye-contact with her, and finds just Rob, gazing at him. A little curiosity, a little surprise at his blatant lie—but he hadn’t known how to talk to her about it. Or how to explain himself. He had thought it easier just to hide that he and Eddie could ever get along without her, because she felt like an essential intermediary. A reason that it isn’t what it actually is.

He can’t really explain himself. He doesn’t really get why he lied, either.

“Liar,” Rob accuses, but there’s no bite.

“I stayed,” Steve confirms, breaking their shared gaze to look back out toward Ed. He’s got this feeling in his guts like he’s about to get into trouble, like he’s broken one of his mom’s nice antiques and is about to lose his swimming pool privileges—

“We talked for the entire night. Until six in the morning. And then I went home, and I wanted to call him. And I… I’ve been having these thoughts like maybe I like him? And I don’t get it because—” Robin takes his hand “—I like girls, you know? I know I do, you know I do—”

“Can I interrupt? Just a two second thought.” Steve nods, “Some people like boys and girls, it’s called being bisexual. I just want you to have that in mind for the rest of this conversation.” Steve blinks at her. Nods slowly.

Maybe he should’ve gone to her sooner.

Not maybe. Definitely.

“Okay… right. So… I’m fucking stupid,” Steve breathes. Robin shakes her head vigorously, adding a second hand to the mix.

“No no no,” she insists quickly, “But I want you to—“

“No, I like him,” Steve realizes, a million—maybe a billion—thoughts and feelings invading him all at once. Fear, uncertainty, excitement, relief, anxiety—he can’t even latch on to one of those. He doesn't know how to feel or think or anything except for this stark, pervasive understanding— “Holy shit, Robin.”

“Steve, you’re getting ahead of yourself—”

“No, I’m not,” Steve shakes his head, kind of probably in shock, “No, I… I’ve been trying to figure this out for weeks. I should’ve just… Oh my god.”

He puts his free hand over his face, absolutely mortified. Not about liking Eddie, of course, but because he had stupidly never considered that liking girls didn’t automatically make him unable to like guys.

Jesus, he's an idiot.

“I’m sorry,” Robin says, and for what, Steve has no idea. She’s just fixed his whole problem—or at least, half the problem. Now he has a crush he has to deal with, and of course Nancy, but at least— “It’s not a bad thing, though. I know it’s a lot to deal with and if you need anything I’m here. I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have—”

“Rob, I’m fine,” Steve assures her, “Other than having a fucking pathetic crush on Eddie.”

Silence.

“So… you’re good with liking guys?” Steve looks up at her, sighing again for what feels like the hundredth time in this conversation.

“Yeah, that’s fine. It’s just I totally could’ve been doing something about it if I had just asked you sooner.”

Robin stares at him.

He stares back.

What, is he supposed to have some sort of breakdown? He’s had all sorts of thoughts about Billy and Tommy and Harrison Ford—of course he likes guys. Of course that’s not a “straight person” thing, he’s not stupid. But if he’d just applied a tiny bit of critical thinking—

“Are you serious right now?”

“Of course I’m serious,” Steve scoffs, “I could’ve already had, like, eight boyfriends if I had just thought about it. But I’m a fucking meathead.”

The unintentional hilarity of that statement doesn’t miss either of them, but now’s probably not the time.

She stares.

He stares back.

“You astound me, Harrington.”

“Do you think Eddie likes guys?”

“You can’t be serious.”

“Of course I’m—seriously, do you think he likes dudes?”

“I hate that you just said dudes.”

“Robin.”

“How many times has he suggested we watch Rocky Horror?”

“Enough for us to shorten the name.”

“There’s your answer,” she says, still sounding flabbergasted at his nonchalance, “Man, I hate you.”

“No, you don’t.”

“I cried for forty-eight hours after I realized I liked girls.”

“Do you want me to cry?”

Robin grimaces, “You’re right, I don’t.”

“That’s what I thought.”

She shakes her head, clearly done with him. It’s uniquely comforting how quickly she can go from a supportive shoulder to a hateful best-friend. He admires that about her, the many facets of her personality that make her, her. He truly doesn’t know what he’d do without her. He wishes they had talked in high school, that he could’ve been someone else in those days, especially seeing where being the “coolest guy in town” has really gotten him.

Nowhere, that’s where.

“I love you,” he says. She’s still holding his hand, and she stays holding it.

“I love you, too.”

[warlocksoup]

⋆.˚⟡ ࣪ ˖ AKAASHI KEIJI undone ⋆.˚⟡ ࣪ ˖ CHAPTER ONE: evidence

HOW TO TRICK THE LOVE OF YOUR LIFE INTO DATING YOU BY DATING SOMEONE ELSE (YOUR BEST FRIEND)(JUST PRETEND THOUGH)

STEP ONE: GET YOUR MOST PUSHOVER, IN LOVE WITH YOU FRIEND TO AGREE

She tries to say no, at first, for the sake of preserving at least some of her dignity. But it’s Akaashi. She was always going to say yes, eventually.

“I dunno,” she pretends to muse, slumped out on the couch with her fingers deftly moving from button to button on the controller in her hands, eyes narrowed at the television screen in front of her. “Do you really want to start out being like, deceptive? Doesn’t seem like the best way to get a girl’s attention.”

Akaashi groans, head dropping back and his arms thrown up, exasperated and defeated. “Yeah, I know, but I’ve tried everything else, and nothing gets her attention. But if she sees you, a pretty, cool girl, going out with me, then maybe she, another, pretty, cool girl, will start to see me as someone dateable.”

She snorts. “Are we in junior high? What the fuck kind of logic is that?”

He drops on the couch opposite her. “I know, it’s just,” he pauses, and sighs, “I’m desperate.”

She allows herself a string of self-lambasting thoughts, centered mainly around how pathetic she is for that selfish lurch in her chest. To say yes would be to take advantage of her best friend’s desperation, allowing him to play pretend and act out some of her most suppressed fantasies, for some plot to get the girl that, in the end, probably won’t work. She swallows and tries to make him change his mind once again. “I really don’t think this would even work, Kaashi.”

“Yeah, but I’m driving myself crazy,” he insists as her thumbs start to button-smash frantically, “and you’re the only person I trust enough to do this with. I know it’s stupid I just have to try something.”

She’s reached the end of her protests. The screen in front of her flashes red, and the word DEATH splays across her vision; she sighs. Her head lops to the side, and she blinks at a wide-eyed, completely desperate Akaashi. “Fine.”

STEP TWO: START PLANTING FALSIFIED EVIDENCE

Akaashi’s hand is intertwined with her. She stares down at it and tries to memorize it. The way his fingers look pressed into her skin, how it feels. The warmth. The callouses. The way their forearms press together and settle in the space between their thighs. Her nail polish is chipped. His thumbs are wide. The slight rocking of the train slightly rocks them, and their bodies move in tandem without trying.

Akaashi leans back slightly and uses his free hand to take a photo.

“Here,” he says after a moment of contemplation, shoving his phone in her face. “How does that look?”

Maybe she looks for too long, but there’s something off about it. It looks so much more contrived, converted to pixels on the screen of his phone. Or maybe it’s just that it’s harder to pretend this isn’t a ploy for someone else’s attention when his affection is documented like that. When she looks at her hand in his in a photo it’s a reminder that this is simply evidence captured just to inspire jealously.

Her eyes drift between the screen and the hands between her. He hasn’t let go yet, which she’s trying not to read into. “Yeah, that’s good.”

“Good,” he says, his thumb tapping against her knuckle. She watches as he opens Instagram. “Should I tag you?”

She shakes her head. “No, let people wonder who it is, at first. Maybe she’ll ask.”

This brings a slight smile to Akaashi’s face, and it makes her feel oddly sick.

Ever since he asked her, she’s given into a few delusions, considering it a serious possibility that this could just be Akaashi’s convoluted, roundabout way of getting closer to her. An excuse to hold her and post pictures of her and maybe even kiss her, eventually. That maybe he wants her just as badly as she wants him.

But no amount of mental gymnastics or bending of logic can deny that unabashed giddiness at the mere suggestion that she might speak to him. It’s hard for her to deny, when he talks to her like it’s nothing, when he holds her hand like it’s nothing.

She swallows and bounces her knee. “What are you going to tell people? I mean, like, when they ask about how we got together.”

Akaashi shrugs. There’s something loading on his phone screen as he lowers it to look at her. “I dunno. Maybe that one night we just like, hooked up and then decided to date.”

“That’s it?”

“Yeah, is that bad?”

“No,” she offers with a slight shake of her head. It feels bad. It feels the same way food poisoning or maybe the plague would. But she can’t logically explain that one, so she just says, “That should work, I guess.”

STEP THREE: LEAN INTO THE RUMORS GOING AROUND (THAT YOU STARTED)(ON PURPOSE)

INSTAGRAM akaashikeiji has tagged you in a post!

INSTAGRAM kuroo_tetsuro: bro that’s for sure you in akaashi’s post kuroo_tetsuro: since when are you guys going out???

IMESSAGE yukie: you and akaashi are dating?? since when??

IMESSAGE iwa: so were you planning on tell me that you started going out with someone?

INSTAGRAM heyheyheybokuto commented on akaashikeiji’s post: HOLY SHIT IS THAT WHO I THINK IT IS? alisahaibi commented on akaashikeiji’s post: aww so cute! love you two

IMESSAGE kaashi: holy shit did that just work

The constant buzzing of her phone provides a pretty consistent distraction from her essay on the socioeconomic conditions of the working class that led to the Bolshevik revolution. Her head is swirling with thoughts of Akaashi’s post and the failed provisional government.

Her face drops to her hands, and her phone continues to buzz on the desk beside her, just as her laptop screen goes dark, nudging her unfinished essay out of her thoughts.

She takes a moment to press the palms of her hands into her eye sockets, enjoying the pressure and the way shapes sprout up behind her closed eyelids. Akaashi’s sitting out in their living room, probably, phone in his hands staring at notification from Alisa.

He’s probably going through her account, looking through her posts, careful not to let his thumb slip and like something on accident. He’s probably smiling down at her smile, heart pounding in his chest as he thinks about her and whatever comment she left on his post.

Akaashi’s been in love with her this whole time. For as long as they’ve been friends, for as long as she’s known him; his love for her completely integrated into his personality. When prompted to list what he likes about her, he will ramble about her sweetness and beauty and her intelligence. He will list off things that Alisa has and she lacks: grace in social situations, a distinct and unique sense of style, her ability to read and understand the people around her so easily.

It seems like, everything there is to Alisa, Akaashi loves it. Whatever it is.

Her phone buzzes again. She reaches for it.

IMESSAGE iwa: you can tell me about things, yknow

Her tongue twists in her mouth, and her head bangs. It crosses her mind, briefly, that this is a bad idea, and the fallout is not worth the maybe few weeks where she can hold Akaashi’s hand and pretend that he feels an ounce of what she feels for him.

She clicks on the notification from him, the post he tagged her in, and is surprised to see her own face, grinning back at her, bare-faced and nose scrunched. There are freckles on her face she didn’t hadn’t ever noticed before. She didn’t know he had this photo. He captioned it: My pretty girl.

It’s worth, she decides instantly. It’s so immediately worth it.

She opens up her photos, and scrolls passed blurry photos of crowded whiteboards and half-eaten vegetarian lunches to find a photo of Akaashi. One of him just outside their apartment in the middle of last winter taken when he wasn’t paying attention. He’s smiling, eyes crinkled and glasses falling down his nose as he buttons up his jacket. It’s a favorite of hers, as indicated by the small white heart in the corner. Every time she sees it, she smiles.

Without stopping to think of how both wrong and vulnerable it feels, she posts it, matching it to his. My pretty boy. Undeniable evidence planted.

taglist: @charlotterosea13 @quikhs @mdmraz @mollyrolls @nazwrites-2002 @hanadulsetaad @nokjhg @alexithemiyatic @kvrokasaa @wyrcan @baylz @soobin1437

[bleucommelhiver]

look alive, ulric

nyx ulric week 2024 | day 3: teamwork RATING: T for language because it's Nyx and Pelna c'mon now WORDS: 1126 SUMMARY: On the day of the signing, the only people Nyx and Pelna can trust are each other.

The feeling of unease that’s been gnawing at the edge of Nyx’s consciousness since yesterday morning hasn’t let up. Today’s the big day. After today, he’ll put in a request for some much needed leave. Bring Crowe’s body back to Galahd, with Libertus if he’ll give him the time of fucking day, give her a proper burial. Check out the old haunts. Pay his respects to his lil’ sis and to pa. Finally see ma. Maybe you’d come along too.

He just needs to fucking get through today.

At least that’s what he keeps telling himself.

But as he makes his way past the crowds and barricades to the roundabout at the foot of the Citadel, the quietude of the day has him on high alert. Something deep in his gut is waiting for the metaphorical pin to drop.

The comm from command buzzes in his ear: “Niflheim contingent has left the hotel. Less than three hours until the ceremony. Bolster the Citadel Guard.”

Great. Looks like the circus is about to begin. Time to look alive, Ulric.

His comm buzzes again, this time it’s Luche on a private frequency. “Nyx, is the Princess with you?”

What kind of asinine question was that? Luche knows full well the captain’s relegated him to every form of grunt work since the last mission. Chaperoning the princess on the historic day of the signing was, apparently, out of the scope of his duties.

Nyx answers anyways, curious where Luche’s going with this. “No, I’m on duty at the Citadel.”

“Well, the Nifs just left for the ceremony. And she wasn't with them.”

The fuck? He was relieved from princess duty last night by Sonitus. Why’s Luche radioing him about it? The sense of unease in the pit of his stomach deepens.

It’s none of his business. He’s part of the Citadel Guard today, and all he needs to do is to get through today. It’s none of his fucking business, but his captain’s words echo in his head anyways: “Your orders are to protect her. Not to look, not to listen, not to think.”

Fuck.

Gods-fucking-dammit.

Nyx abandons his post and makes a beeline for his apartment. Along the way, he taps his comm, ready to test a theory.

“Hey Pelna, Luche says the Princess is missing.”

“No shit?” His surprised response comes quickly. “Today of all days. Real convenient.”

“Yeah, seems like the Nifs got us running about like rats.”

There’s a brief pause before he replies, “No shit.”

As Nyx rounds the corner to his apartment, his phone begins to buzz. He mutes his comm piece before picking up.

“Trust no one, huh, Nyx?”

“Figured if there’s anyone left in the Glaive that Crowe’s warned, it’d be you.”

“So, what’s the plan, hero? Off to rescue the princess all by yourself?”

“I got you, don’t I? The Robin to my Batman. Or would you be Alfred in this case?”

“Fuck off, asshole,” Pelna laughs. “How can I help?”

Nyx throws open the door to his apartment and grabs the watch from where he left it on his desk. Its face is displaying a steady 35:2720 and -13:0318 instead of the dance of numbers from earlier this morning.

“I’m running on a hunch here, but I’m going to send you some coordinates from Crowe’s watch. Can you pinpoint the location?”

“Yeah, hold on.” Nyx can hear the rapid-fire click of keys as Pelna logs in his credentials. As he inputs the coordinates, Pelna asks, “You hear from your other princess?”

Nyx sucks in a breath. “No. Not since yesterday.”

“My texts haven’t been getting through to her, thought you might know something about it.”

Nyx pauses. He was beginning to think that all his undelivered texts were some short of glitch with his phone: first Crowe, now you. Fuck, he doesn’t have time to dwell on this. It’s got to be a coincidence. You should be in Altissia now, far away and safe from whatever shitshow is taking place today. Regardless, you’re more than capable and he knows you’re fine. You have to be.

“Don’t worry about her Pels, she’s safe.”

“Right…” Pelna doesn’t sound too convinced, but Nyx doesn’t blame him, he’s not privy to your whereabouts. “It’s twenty miles south of Insomnia — outside the Wall. What the hell was Crowe doing way out there?”

“No, no, they sent her to—” Nyx catches himself. “I need another favor Pels, pull those coordinates up on the radar. What do you see?”

“Shit. There’s a whole fleet of airships sitting at that spot.”

“Niflheim.”

“Yeah, and from the looks of it, not the celebratory committee.”

Nyx runs a hand over his face in frustration. He should’ve known the armistice was bullshit; should’ve known the Nifs couldn’t be trusted. What’s the play now? If he alerts King Regis and mobilizes the troops, there’s a good chance the Nifs would catch whiff, especially if their ranks have truly been infiltrated. With the malcontent that’s been brewing from the protests on the streets to the soldiers in the barracks, he’s not confident any attempt at clandestine movements wouldn’t be immediately exposed.

So what? Does he just stay in the Crown City, pretend there isn’t a war fleet knocking at their door, and just…monitor the situation? Forget about the missing princess?

‘You’re not to look, not to listen, not to think,’ Captain Drautos’ words echo in his head again. Yeah, well, guess the King can count his lucky stars that he’s always been kind of shit at following orders.

Speaking of…

“Where’s the captain?”

“Should be on escort detail at the Citadel.”

Nyx doesn’t remember spotting the captain earlier. He scans the frequencies on his comm again, but it seems like their captain’s still AWOL.

At his silence, Pelna asks, “You thinking…?”

“Can’t be sure. Can’t rule it out either, but I need you to ready the Glaive for action.”

“What? You planning to deploy without the captain’s orders?”

“No.” Nyx dons his armor on over his uniform, pulling its zipper up and buckling its fasteners to secure the leather pauldrons in place. As he checks his weapons, he explains, “There’s no point bringing everyone along for a wild goose chase. As long as the Wall remains standing, their fleet has no way of reaching us, but if Crowe’s right, we need to be on alert for something inside the Walls.”

“You going dark?”

“Yeah, I’ll recon and assess. Low chance I won’t need to engage, but keep this to yourself for now. Give me an updated SITREP when you can.”

“Affirmative. I got your six.”

“Yeah. You always do, Pels.”

With that, Nyx ends the call and sets off.

Looks like getting through the day just got a lot more complicated.

NOTES: Please accept this excerpt from ch. 9 of Wayward Children as tribute, since as per usual, I've somehow deluded myself into thinking I'd be able to work on multiple pieces at once :)

[august-anon]

Hey! I love your BG3 work so much! Could I please request prompt 34 ("That's just a roundabout way of saying 'I like it'.") with lee Wyll and ler Astarion (or anyone else you think fits) if you feel up to it? Thank you!!!

find the list of warmup prompts and which fandoms i am taking here!

-------------------------

yeah yeah yeah sure thing!! This one feels OOC to me but idk how to fix it so i hope you still enjoy it!! Thank you for the prompt!!

-------------------------

(Not) Just Business

Fandom: Baldur’s Gate 3

Ship(s): Astarion/Wyll (pre-slash!!)

Characters (lee/ler): Ler!Astarion/Lee!Wyll

Word Count: 547 words

Summary: This was just a business arrangement, something to make sure Astarion stayed full enough to be useful. Wyll wasn't supposed to go and be all endearing about it.

[ao3 link]

--------------------------

Wyll couldn’t ever say that Astarion didn’t at least try to make his feedings enjoyable. Wandering hands massaging away any tension they found, a few coaxing kisses, warming up the neck first with lips and tongue and the barest scrape of teeth — enough pleasurable feelings to help dull the pain of the inevitable icy sting of his bite. 

It was supposed to be relaxing, to turn Wyll into putty under his fingers and fangs. To make it feel nice enough that Wyll wouldn’t take this privilege away, tenuous as their agreement was. What it was not supposed to do was raise Wyll’s tension tenfold and send him squirming half off the bedroll.

“Sorry,” Wyll said as Astarion pulled his hands and lips away, shifting back into place. “I don’t know what came over me.”

Astarion sat back and crossed his arms. “I understand that you’re the princely, heroic type and all, but there’s no need to be so self-sacrificial on my account.” 

Wyll raised his hands in surrender. “No, it’s not that. It’s just– Well–”

“Spit it out,” Astarion snapped.

“It tickled a bit, that’s all.”

Astarion paused, his brow furrowing. “It tickled.”

Wyll squirmed under him, rather flustered judging by the way he would no longer meet Astarion’s eyes.

A traitorous smile tugged at Astarion’s lips and he quickly shoved it back down. He did not think this was cute, not in any fashion. It was ridiculous and childish and wholly unprofessional. This was a business arrangement, nothing more, and Wyll was not fulfilling his end of the bargain.

Instead, Astarion dragged his gaze over Wyll’s upper body, hoping his expression landed somewhere around disdain. “Just how ticklish are you?”

“I don’t– it doesn’t matter. Look, I don’t mind it, it’s fine, we can continue. You can get what you need and then we can both forget about this.”

Astarion raised an eyebrow, losing the battle with his smile once more – the blabbering was new, and rather disgustingly endearing. “Don’t mind it?” 

Wyll’s eyes widened, like a deer caught on the wrong end of a crossbow. Eugh, feelings. Astarion was going to be sick.

“I don’t–”

“That’s just a roundabout way of saying ‘I like it,’ if you ask me.” Astarion examined his nails, picking at a bit of dirt he found under them. “Then again, what do I know?”

Wyll didn’t answer, avoiding his gaze once more. Astarion hummed, giving him a moment to stew in it, before leaning over Wyll once more.

“Do try not to move too much,” Astarion cautioned, positioning himself over Wyll’s throat. “This might tickle.”

Wyll barely had a moment to suck in a startled breath before Astarion began his ministrations once more, though this time a bit more deliberately ticklish. Quiet giggles filled the air and though Astarion could hear Wyll’s feet shifting and kicking behind his back, Wyll was able to stay remarkably still even with the heightened sensation. It was just another way to distract Wyll, Astarion told himself, just so that the bite wasn’t too much for him to agree to come back. The smile on his face was because of his impending meal, it had nothing to do with the disgustingly adorable snorting laughter filling the night air.

This was a business arrangement. Nothing more.

[twistedisciple]

continued from here

So this guy’s got an angle after all. Truthfully, Griss would be more suspicious if he didn’t, but it’s not everyday that he meets someone fearless? daring? stupid? enough to want to get up close and personal with a wolf like that. And if this is some roundabout metaphor, then he knows even fewer people willing to have that dance with danger with him. An out-of-place serenity smooths his face as he looks ahead again, leading them both down a well-worn path back toward the center of the island, presumably toward the dormitories, and he nearly makes a quip about how Lambert must not have gotten bitten yet when the man’s revelation shuts him up before he can even start.

A dragon? Griss’ skips a step over a vine.

”Hold on.” He cuts a ‘stop fucking with me’ look over his shoulder. “Lemme make sure we got the same definition of a ‘dragon.’ Big, scaly thing with fangs as big as my hand, yeah? Can swallow a grown man whole?”

He stops and turns around, eyes the scar on the man’s shoulder. Sure, the guy’s got a few more of them, too, and sure, he looks pretty strong, but he’s in one piece. After a moment, Griss’ sneer comes back.

“Look, you don’t gotta impress me. Just say you got nipped by an overgrown lizard.” A shrug and he turns around again. “Doesn’t make a difference to me. You’re gonna be begging for a real dragon to eat you up once I’m done with you.”

He starts to laugh. “Or maybe it’ll get you the answer to that question. Why does pain fascinate me so much? Just lemme show ya—“

Whirling around, Griss swings the pocket knife he’d been using to chisel his coconut across Lambert’s chest.

@egittae

[arogustus]

Splatband Analysis - SashiMori

(Disclaimer: This analysis is based on what I get out of looking into the character descriptions we have of the splatband characters. If you disagree with what I say, that is fine, we are all beheld to our opinions. Just don't be a jerk about it.)

SashiMori. The band best known for several things. Giving us the dopest trailer of Splatoon 2, having Da Boy, Paul, as a member, and of course the ever present mystery of the mysterious former lead singer. Let’s talk about them.

The band

SashiMori started life as a loud rock band, Ryu-Chang, Karla and Taichi alongside the mysterious vocalist. According to Taichi’s descriptions, it seems he’s the one who founded the band in the first place, but lost control of it to their self-centered, authoritarian vocalist. We have yet to learn the identity of this strange, mysterious person… but we’re pretty sure it’s Pearl. Like, it’s mentioned in Karla’s section in Haikara Walker that the vocalist of the band before SashiMori (the context here either means a different band they were in or SashiMori itself before they took on the name, it’s vague) had vocals so strong only they were capable of handling it. We know Pearl was a death metal artist who wrecked her venues a lot, and it’s not a guess to say she was probably a lot more domineering before meeting Marina. They actually asked Nogami himself about this fact, and said it was up to our imagination. That’s just a roundabout way of saying “yes, but we’re not gonna tell you that.”

Eitherway, the other three kicked their vocalist and stuck together as an instrumental band before deciding to search for a new one. Clearly the three were close enough that they willingly stuck together and united against a common foe in order to keep playing without problems. So, they put out an application of fish Twitter, and that’s where Paul comes in. They laughed at first, seeing such a smol bean trying to join the big leagues. But once he wowed them, they made him the centerpiece of the band's sound, and SashiMori was born.

They also got to make an appearance in the White Day artwork, chilling with the homies of Bottom Feeders and Hightide Era. Well, all but one of them. You’ll see why in a bit.

Ryu Chang

Our big man Ryu is first. He’s a carp who grew up in a prestigious home at the base of Mount Nantai (another Pearl reference, seriously), who became a punk during his teen years and an established drummer after that. He was 35 in Splatoon 2, and that back in 2018, meaning he should be at least 41 by now (we are growing ever older every day). There isn’t much of a description of what he’s like now, but he did have a rebellious teenager phase at least, so it’s likely all that punk ideology stuff has carried on into adult life. He illustrates as a hobby, and created the little mascot you see in SashiMori’s album art, Mr. Wasabi. Wonder what the little guy is about.

He’s got a Rainmaker team going on with Kuze and Blow, Underpass Bass Drum, so he’s active in the Turfing scene. And as we established, the two also showed up in the Deep Sea Metro concert to perform for a bit. One thing I wanna note is that it’s considered an impromptu performance. They didn’t plan to perform together at the place, which begs the question: what were they doing in the Deep Sea Metro? Were they simply attending and got dragged on stage… wait, actually that makes sense. 

He’s kinda hard to read in the White Day Art. He’s sitting with Blow and Taka, and we know he’s friends with Blow. The only other thing to tell is that he’s very much watching Finn and Tangle fight, but his eternal fish face makes it hard to tell what he feels about it. Concern? Annoyance? Attraction? Who knows.

Karla

Karla is a mystery. They’re very quiet, their age is a mystery, and no one even knows how they eat! Well, actually, according to science, the Scaly-Foot Gastropod doesn’t eat at all, but rather relies on symbiosis with bacteria living inside them to get nutrition. Sooo, yeah, lady just doesn’t eat anything. Neat. 

That’s what their description focuses on, being very quiet and mysterious. Doesn’t even respond to questions during interviews, just goes “...” and that’s it. Obviously no indication that they outright can’t talk, just that they rarely do. They’re the silent type, maybe out of shyness, maybe because they just don’t have much to say, or maybe a third thing. At least it’s stated they don’t have bad intentions, so you know, they’re not evil. 

Fun fact, Karla’s design is actually reused from an old concept for one of the Denizens of the Deep that would show up in the train. While that is concept stuff that didn’t make it in, and doesn’t mean that them being from the Metro is true, the evidence does point to it being a possibility. Would certainly explain their quirks.

Out of the four, Karla doesn’t show up in the White Day artwork. Finn is there, and she’s (evidently) female, so that wasn’t really a reason to stop them from showing up. Maybe they were hiding out of frame? Maybe they took the picture? Or maybe they’re just asocial and didn’t want to come hang. 

Taichi Sawaberu

Taichi is, as can be inferred from the text, the founder of the band. He created SashiMori cause he wanted to add singing to his music after mostly being an instrumentalist, which as we can tell didn’t end well. Is the most experienced member of the band, being an experienced studio musician and all, so he’s been in the business for a while. He also has a lot of activities outside of the band. Hobbies most likely. You know, stuff like surfing, competitive knitting, high stakes bingo, whatever other kinds of hobbies exist. He must get out a lot. 

Compared to the other two, he wasn’t fond of Paul at first. He thought he was, to quote, “tiny and awful.” Now, it’s hard to say if this actually applies to Paul for real, as from what we see, nothing really indicates him being an awful kid in any way. He did change his mind after a while, at least, so maybe he was just projecting onto him? If the Pearl theory is correct, it would actually make sense that he was projecting onto Paul his last experience with a small person. His opinion must be a lot more positive now.

We see in the White Day artwork that he’s having a spirited conversation with Nishida. Far as we know, Nishida is pretty introverted, so Taichi must have somehow gotten through to him. What they’re talking about is unknown, but let’s just place this as Taichi x Nishida friendship (wow!)

Paul

Autism be damned, that octo boy can work a turntable. Paul is the highlight of SashiMori, a ten year old octoling who’s the replacement of the previous singer. Instead of singing, though, he provides vocals by remixing them from whatever sources he’s got, including ancient human vinyls. He’s a DJ like most octolings, but he’s actually labeled a particular type of DJ. A turntablist, to be precise. 

I’m gonna give thanks to @porubiteki, a moot of mine who knows a ton about DJ stuff and did all this research well before I decided to do this series. A Turntablist is a type of DJ specializing in manipulating music in real time. It’s basically the record scratching you see TV DJ’s do, but far more focused on compared to other forms of DJing. You actually hear that a lot in SashiMori’s music, which features it far more than any other of the Splatoon DJ’s. It’s also a well respected title in the DJ world due to how difficult it is to master the technique, and considering how Paul is highlighted as highly talented to the point of wowing three experienced musicians, it's safe to say he’s worthy of the title. 

Personality wise, we don’t get too much. What we know is he remixes from a lot of other DJs, meaning he’s a fan of any DJ’s work. As highlighted above, he is very talented, which can only come from extensive work on his craft, especially for someone his age. Taichi thought of him as “tiny and awful”, but if the Pearl theory applies, it’s likely he was projecting onto Paul for being small. We see him playing chess, and humiliating his opponent Jawn in the process, so his smarts extend outside of DJ work too. Also, it’s well known that child prodigies tend to be a lot more mature for their ages, so it’s likely he might have some of those traits.

And now for the big question. Are he and Acht related or not? It’s a common question asked due to the fact he wears a beanie with a tag that has the same logo as DJ Def1sh, a crude doodle of an octopus face. Haikara Walker itself brings up the question, in the same paragraph as Acht’s potential relation to Marina. Specifically, they might be blood relatives, or just follow the same brand. Side Order revealed the Marina thing to be true… and it didn’t reveal anything about Paul. You had one job, Nintendo. 

While Karla is the one with the “mysterious past”, Paul here is probably the one where the trope fits the most. It’s because his existence raises a lot more questions than it answers. Regardless of what his relation to Acht is, it’s clear from that that he’s from the domes. So, what’s a kid his age doing on the surface? When did he get there? The fact he had a Squid Twitter account implies he’s been around long enough to get familiar with all that stuff. Why is he even on fish Twitter anyway? Doesn’t he know that shit can traumatize even adults? Does he have parents? If not, has he been homeless the entire time before meeting SashiMori? Cause a kid doesn’t just show up to a band audition without at least some implication of family having taken him there. Questions and questions. Where is he now? Nintendo, please, tell us where our boy is, WE BEG Y-

—

And that does it for SashiMori. We are now left with three bands. Hightide Era, Chirpy Chips and ω-3. 

[aeoki]

Number Eight - Tripping 9

Characters: Rinne, HiMERU, Kohaku & Niki Location: Company Car

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ< One hour later. Less than an hour until the time limit. >

Niki: …Yeah, the key fits in this door.

…Excuse me~

Uh, I think this is the right place. It’s the same as the one in the photo, right?

…Woah!? Party poppers!?

There are staff members here. Which means this is the goal for “Number Eight”...?

HiMERU: Look, the tablet also says “Congratulations!”

Kohaku: So it’s finally over. I’m glad our hard work paid off.

Niki: Yeah. Sure, this is a variety TV show, but we really went through a lot.

Especially Rinne-kun. He didn’t feel well because he wasn’t used to the place… I wish the staff did a better job taking care of us.

Rinne: Don’t sulk so much, Niki. I’ll say something to ‘em on behalf of “Crazy:B”.

Niki: Okay. Make sure you give it to them straight!

Rinne: Hey, staff members, how dare you put us through all that.

We went back and forth on the West Coast… It was hell, ya know?

But we also got to have a nice trip thanks to you guys. We’re really thankful.

Niki: …Excuse me?

Wha? Did I hear that right? I thought you were gonna complain to them.

What did you mean by a “nice trip”...?

Rinne: Sure, I didn’t feel good at some point in time, but that had nothing to do with the show, right?

This sorta crazy show is perfect for us and yeah, I’ll stir up some trouble for the staff, but once the show’s over, it’s normal to get along with them, right?

Niki: Well, sure, that’s normal in the industry but… Oh, geez. I’m not gonna know how to feel if you give a sound argument like that!

Rinne: Oi, oi, Niki. You’re makin’ an enemy outta the wrong people.

The conflict that occurs between the corrupt staff, who only care about business, and the idols, who’re being used by ‘em, don’t happen that frequently.

Or what? Have you started to believe in those online conspiracies too?

If that sorta stuff kept happening, then the entertainment industry would’ve disappeared a long time ago.

HiMERU: I see. In other words, Amagi knew everything from the very beginning, but didn’t tell us.

Amagi didn’t say a word, so we misunderstood. But both parties had reached an agreement from the beginning.

Rinne: Yeah. It means that the majority of the people working in this industry are good people deep down. They’re just members of the general public who want to work with public entertainment.

Sure, sometimes there are those who stir up trouble ‘cause the industry’s huge, but those are just the outliers in the grand scheme of things.

“Number Eight” was originally supposed to be revived in Japan without a budget. But I asked ‘em for a big favour and changed it so that it’d be filmed overseas.

In exchange, they’d go easy on the variety aspects and we’d have to give good reactions.

Kohaku: I–I see.

Staff, I’m sorry. We tricked you in order to get a phone call out…!

Rinne: Wait, hold up! Whaddya mean by that…!?

Guys, you didn’t do anything rude while I was asleep, right?

Niki: It wasn’t anything violent. We just lied to them and borrowed their phone for a bit!

HiMERU: I don’t think we did anything rude, but it’s true the staff began distrusting us. That certainly showed in their behaviour – I can’t deny that.

Niki: Hmm? “We originally intended on messing with you guys, anyway, so it doesn’t bother you? If anything, you were glad we went along with all the craziness…?”

I’m grateful you think that way. If only Rinne-kun told us this earlier.

But why did you make such a roundabout request and ask them to change the location?

If the show didn’t take place overseas, then there wouldn’t have been a misunderstanding between you and the staff.

Rinne: The answer’s obvious, right? ♪ This is the land of my dreams – it’s the place I can hit it big, ya know?

Once filming is over, we’re gonna hole ourselves up in Las Vegas!

Niki: …Wha!? You put us and the staff through all that trouble just for that!?

Ugh, looks like my worst enemy was right next to me all along! HiMERU-kun, Kohaku-chan, this useless human here is the real root of all evil!

He’s just gonna do this all over again if he doesn’t learn his lesson!

Rinne: Gyahaha! Why don’t you try and catch me then?

Let’s see if you can catch Rinne Amagi-kun, who’s made a full recovery after a good night’s sleep…☆

Niki: Ah, wait, Rinne-kun! I’m gonna make you stop with your oppression today once and for all~!

Kohaku: Niki-han and Rinne-kun are the same as usual.

I didn’t expect Rinne-han’s goal to be Las Vegas, though.

HiMERU: Hehe. That certainly sounds like something Amagi would do.

I don’t think it was necessary to travel around the West Coast on a TV show if that’s where he really wanted to go, though.

Kohaku: ?

HiMERU: He could’ve made the location for the show Las Vegas instead. Since the show was to be filmed overseas, he would’ve had numerous chances to change it to Las Vegas.

I think what he truly wanted was to go on a drive on the West Coast with “Crazy:B”. That’s probably why he wanted to film the show overseas.

Kohaku: Ohh.

He’s really one awkward guy, huh. He should’ve just been honest from the start.

Well, I guess that’s the type of person our leader is – pretentiousness and all…♪

Rinne: Come on, Niki, try and catch me! I won’t run nor hide ☆

Niki: You’re running away as you’re saying that! Why, you–!

On second thought, I’m always getting pushed around by you! You’re still recovering from not feeling well earlier, so stop moving about so much, geez~!

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ← Previous Chapter ᠂ ⚘ ˚⊹˚ ⚘ ᠂  Next Chapter →

[doctor-hopper]

(Previous posts, now I want to ramble a little more!)

But yeah, “Servant” to me stands for the things Komaeda feels he’s been cheated out of.

My original view was that he would probably just give up the Servant thing soon after Monaca goes to space. Whatever happens next, he’ll need new names, new roles. But now I see the sense in the idea he might just keep it, too. After all, he still wears the hand, the symbol of the Despair that Enoshima awakened in him. Why not the chain, to stand for the Despair that’s been in him all along?

He’ll idolize Naegi, a true Hope, or even Kamukura, who I think he’d quickly come to see as something of a false Hope and an equal middle-finger to his past ideology in the other direction. But his love will come with a lot of weird envy, all buried down somewhere in the mix. Whether he’s fully aware of this or not (and either way, he sure is weird about it—“huh huh huh huh huh huh huh?” [funny evidence №3]), it would also serve to feed whatever Despair now rules him.

If it’s Kamukura, his servitude would carry a special sting as he retraces well-worn patterns that mean nothing to him anymore—the over-sung praise of talent on something he knows doesn’t deserve it, the pleas to be used for something that fall on ears he knows won’t listen.

If he decides to work with Kamukura in any way that treats him as Hope (which he very well might not, especially once he knows the full story, Kamukura’s origin, serving Enoshima, etc.), I can’t quite see Komaeda just accepting Kamukura’s apathy either, though. Hope lies in motivation and struggle—even more, now, with his new focus on the underdog. What good is a Hope that Komaeda can plainly order around, and when he doesn’t, does nothing at all? It could be something—an obstacle Komaeda could put in the path of someone like Naegi, perhaps—but it’s not Hope. Komaeda’s here to serve, to facilitate. He pits one force against another. He keeps himself out of the equation, at least on paper.

So if he took an interest in Kamukura and wanted to make him Hope, he would have to find something that actually kind of motivates him—then press his buttons and pull his strings in that roundabout way, until whatever results from that can be roughly passed off as “Kamukura’s idea”. Depending on what sort of motivation Komaeda latches onto (because glimmers of it do exist for Kamukura), how he goes about fostering it, and whether Kamukura actually ends up becoming more motivated or just decides to play along like he has with everyone else who’s ever wanted something of him, this could go wonderfully or horribly or somewhere weird and ambiguous in between.

Talk to me about them they’re fascinating

[shadowthief78]

You’re an idol and BLLK boys love your music:

They listen...

Blast your music every time they can, whenever they can, at the highest possible volume, completely ignoring the consequences and demands for them to turn down the volume

KAISER (bastard man), SHIDOU, Karasu, Otoya, Zantetsu (probably doesn’t know how the volume dial works), Raichi, Aiku, Igarashi (he sings along very badly and pretends to duet all the time)

Will use speakers at a reasonable volume

Barou, Sae (mostly when it’s his turn to pick music for workouts in Spain, he’s super glad nobody else can understand Japanese), Bachira, Naruhaya, Chigiri (yeah, he likes your music, why? Only unbothered on the outside lol), Nanase, Reo, Aryu (headphones mess with his hair)

Use headphones because they’re considerate people and not uncivilized animals with no manners

Kunigami, Nagi, Gagamaru (once he figures out how to use them), Kira, Niko, Yukimiya, Kurona, Hiyori, Sendou, Ness

Use headphones because they’re shy about liking you

Isagi (you’re just really cute and he gets flustered when someone teases him for liking you!!), Barou (denies it but would get really flustered under the right circumstances), Rin, Tokimitsu (he’s shy about everything)

How they sing or dance along along...

Enthusiasm like you’ve never seen:

BACHIRA, NANASE, NARUHAYA, Barou (probably scolds everyone else for not doing the motions correctly and demonstrates himself), Reo, Aiku, Shidou, Aryu (knows all the moves, does them nearly as well as you lol)

If persuaded, does well:

Yukimiya (he’s just a classy guy), Hiyori, Kurona, Niko, Nagi (kinda mumbles the lyrics), Chigiri, Isagi (tries his best!! baby), Kunigami, Kaiser (smug all the while), Sendou

Under no circumstances:

Sae and Rin (they both have reputationsTM to keep up), Ness, Zantetsu (he doesn’t know the words so he sings nonsense studd that soudns similar instead... how does an athlete like him manage to be so uncoordinated at dancing?)

Their merch buying habits...

Is that a shrine in your room?

Ness, Rin, Shidou, Sae (probably VIP tickets everywhere + extra to have his identity concealed, he called a million yen a “small” amount of money), Aiku, Reo (and Nagi by extension)

A few posters, occasional concert tickets, CDs, but nothing overboard:

Chigiri, Yukimiya, Raichi, Bachira, Hiyori, Shidou (but they’re all kinda niche like a bedspread or underwear), Kurona, Yukimiya (one of the lucky ones who sees you after a live show, brings flowers to give you)

One or two nice things, but nothing else:

Naruhaya (makes his own merch!), Isagi, Tokimitsu (is it really okay for him to buy this? it feels like taking advantage of something! oh, but, you get the money, so it’s fine... unless it’s not???), Barou, Karasu, Otoya, Niko (sets his phone background to you)

What they’re like on social media...

Gets “bro they’re famous, they’re not going to fuck you” comments on half their posts for good reason:

SHIDOU, KAISER (responds with “yes they will” and wholeheartedly believes it), Sendou, Aiku, Reo, Otoya, Igarashi

Leaves cute comments, posts the occasional photo of them at a concert/with merch, etc:

Karasu,Chigiri,  Bachira, Isagi, Kunigami, Zantetsu (takes fifteen minutes to spell “beautiful”), Yukimiya, Hiyori, Tokimitsu, Nanase, Kurona (puns in all of them)

Lurkers:

Ness, Niko, Nagi (all N names there), Sae and Rin (they can’t hide the family similarities)

If they met you in real life...

Proposes marrage on the spot:

SHIDO, Bachira, Barou (in a roundabout way of letting you know he disapproves of all your other suitors), Aiku

Visibly nervous but can speak fine:

Chigiri, Hiyori, Yukimiya, Aryu (covers up his nerves with ✨glam✨), Kira, Kurona, Niko, Sae, Nagi (surprisingly laid back, asks you to sign his phone case), Reo,

Too shy to do anything but shake your hand and get an autograph/picture together:

Tokimitsu, Isagi, Raichi (prepared what he had to say in advance and then stutters over every third word), Rin, Nanase (another baby!)

[slashingdisneypasta]

That things to incorporate in smut post got me thinking. In a roundabout way that’s prob only indirectly smutty. Ok, say Jim had managed to acquire a younger girlfriend (which he totally thinks gives bragging rights because let’s be real, he’d be forever going on about it), pre-chow time. Post…well, look at how obviously different he moves. Not just the limp, but the caution. He’s more AWARE now that he’s an old guy *coughwithmoobsbutilovethatforhimcough* Very mortal. Very missing half his parts. GF still has more than half her life left, barring any unfortunate circumstances.

I think he’d be an absolutely tragic nightmare combo of clingy/flirty/tell him still think he’s hot/you can be the sexy nurse, but then when the phantom pains get bad enough to make him really THINK about it, he’s all cranky from wounded ego. No, he DOESN’T want a massage (because that’s a thing you can do for phantom limbs, apparently). He’s not taking his pants off for THAT, thanks. Maybe tries to spin it into something dirty, like “but if you’re asking for more fun reasons…” Before he just gives up and goes back to sulking. Says just hand him the booze and go away, he’s got things to drink about for awhile.

OMG YES- AND PROSTHETICS TOO! If I make smut for Jim, or Long John Silver, or Captain Hook- will absolutely be putting detail in about that. Thank you for the reminder!

And, yes!! He is a lot more cautious and grounded in the second movie! Obviously- because of trauma (I mean- look at my last post.). And I like how you're suggesting that only getting mauled by a croc made him realise he's old. Like, the general aging process did not do it for him (Which honestly makes sense, considering how he watches the coach get attacked in Final Chapter- he's watching like he's invincible. That would n e v e r happen to him right?? Sure, to his father and his mother and his aunt- but not him. Nooo.); he had to lose his limbs to get humbled. (Crazy person.)

Once again- yes! XD I totally agree on how he'd be after that with his S/O 😅 She can play sexy nurse, fine, but as soon as the concern gets real she's got a grumpy old man on her hands. He doesn't need anyone worrying over him, he's a grown ass man and (At least this is my HC) he's been on his own for a l o n g time (I mean he's a sleazy alcoholic low-life illegal poacher- I doubt he's got a whole lotta trustworthy friends.); he can take care of himself. He'd be stubborn as fuck, very very used to doing shit on his own; Gritting and bearing it; D r i n k i n g his problems away. Accepting help? Pff, nah.

I couldn't help it- I had to write a little something for this XD

Jim Bickerman x YoungerGirlfriend!Reader || Oneshot

Plot: A typical night trying to make Jim take care of himself causes a couple revelations for you both. Mostly for you, because he's too damn stubborn to believe you.

Warnings: Very evident age-difference relationship (Its a major theme this time). Insecurities regarding aging and prosthetics. Unedited.

Tagging: @marinerainbow , @masqueradeball and @slxsherwriter

Its a stand-still. You imagine a tumbleweed blowing by in the untidy above-bar apartment; between the ratty old couch and the beer-damp coffee table, and across old jack bottles and a loose-strand mat thats seen far better days. But your focus is stead-fast on Jim across the room by the window. You're half concerned he's going to try and climb out of it to get away from you.

Well- not concerned-concerned, not in a way where you're worried he's going to hurt himself (Thats his prerogative), but more because then he'll escape. And you wont be able to get his damn leg off.

"Jim." You start, a very firm frustrated tone moulding itself to the sound of your voice; not taking your eyes off of the old cowboy so he knows you mean business. "The doctors said you need to take it off at night so the wound can b r e a t h e. If you don't, it can suffocate and get worse. You could lose more of your leg."

"Yeah, well, then it'll get worse! I'll lose more, wont I?" He exclaims, giving a shrug and you throw your arms up in frustration at this quick responce. This man!!- "Its my leg and I'll decide when I take it off."

"Just let me help you, you old coot!"

He waives his hand and the new hook around and shrugs. "I'm fine! Don't need aany help, thank you very- hey." The sudden dark tone that enters his voice creep in as soon as you move to approach and makes you halt immediately in your tracks as he sets you with a very stern look. Jim points his hook prosthetic threateningly at you. "You stay right there."

Well, it would have been threatening if you didn't know him so well. He was not going to hurt you, so you take another step. "Or what?" You ask, shrugging.

"Don't be cute." He warns, a growl in his voice and a snarl on his face.

"Whatever do you mean?- Oh, come on, Jim!" Mid-sentence, Jim had turned around and opened the window. "Its dark, its raining, and its slippery. how do you suppose you're gonna climb down??"

"I already left a ladder out there, assuming you were gonna start this shit again t'night." Of course he did. "Just gotta slide to it. Hm... " The way he's peering out the window suggests that he kind of forgot, though, the exact location of the ladder on the other end of the porch cover below the window sill. Would that stop him, though? No-

Ughh. You groan, and drop your face into your hands out of exasperation.

~

You managed to compromise- he gets to keep his leg on but you convinced him to take off the hook, so long as you handled opening his beers for him. Now you sit side by side under the window (The cool air from the rain is nice after the heat of the stand-off and negotiations). Carefully, you pull the tab on a can of gross beer and pass it across to him. "... so. Same time tomorrow night?" You ask, a worn-out smile on your face.

He chuckles darkly beside you, taking a sip of his drink. "Probably. 'nless you plan on leavin' me alone?"

"No." Nice try on that wishful thinking.

"Then yeah. Same time, same place then."

"... you know you have to give in eventually," You pipe up again, turning your head to look at him, leaning your temple on the wall. When he looks back, you flash him a sleazy smirk (You learnt from the best). "I have better stamina then you do."

That unlocks a real chuckle from him, his shoulders jumping and a smile flickering across his face in a way that makes your smile turn genuine. "Yeah, well, you might be right about that princes but I'm a lot older then you- I know things a lotta you don't, right?" He looks away from you. "And I don't anticipate you stickin' around here forever, so eventually I'll be home-safe." Your heart falls, and the smile slowly disappears from your face listening to him- but he doesn't seem to make any note of it as he flashes you a dirty look of his own. "No matter how good your stamina is."

"... what, on earth, do you mean?"

Jim gives a shrug. "Well sweetheart, just- you're a sweet young little thing. I'm uh- well," Chuckling, his eyes move away from yours again. "I'm a little past my prime, hm? Pretty sure I know how this story plays out. Eh?" There isn't a self deprecating vibe about what he's saying, he just sounds certain. And that baffles you all the more.

You straighten up. "No?? Well, you'd be wrong. Because, I- I- "

"Aw, sweetheart, you don't needta reassure an old man. I'm fine with all this is. Sure, I like ya, but I know what I am, hm? A little bump in the road, right? I'll be fine when you go off an- "

Oh you have never wanted to smack someone so bad. "Jim!" You exclaim in exasperation and a lick anger, cutting through the absolute bullshit. "First of all- " You take the beer out of his hands, set it clearly out of his reach, and then sit down very firmly in front of him; hands on his shoulders. Holding his attention. He looks bemused, and you wish he'd wipe that little grin off his damn face. "Second of all, listen up. I'm serious, here. I'm not going anywhere, not as far as I'm concerned right now. You're a pain in the butt sometimes but I really don't know where this idea that our relationship has an expiration date is coming from. When we met you were in this- what changed??"

"Well," He chuckles, sounding like he thinks whatever he's thinking is just obvious before he looks meaningfully down at himself. "Uh, I'm not exactly g.i. joe fresh outta the box, am I sweetcheeks? Don't even got all my pieces anymore."

Your jaw drops, and for a moment you don't know what on earth to say. You feel like you cant even breathe. Is that what this is about?? Oh- for gods sake. Setting your face in a frustrated frown, you get up- only momentarily- and climb on into Jim's lap; wrapping your arms around his neck and getting comfortable with a sigh.

"Listen," After taking a deep breath, you force your voice to be low and soft, and start again. "You're hot. How can you not know that?? I knew you were crazy but I didn't know you were out of your mind."

A slow, mirthless grin spreads across his haggard face. "... uhuh. Now I think you're just trynna get in my pants, hm?" Oh, he's deflecting. You refrain from the urge to roll your eyes, but come on man. How transparent.

"Maybe I am. Know why?"

"... " he sighs and rolls his remaining eye.

"Cuz you're hot!" You insist blatantly, putting your hands on either side of his face now so the tips of your fingers disappear in his short grey hair. "Please believe me, I'm nuts about you."

"Sure... "

"Everything about you is perfect. I like you; how you are and how you look." You say gently, tilting your head to the side. "... which is why, no matter how difficult you are or what you do to yourself, I'm not going anywhere. You can refuse help all you like, be as stubborn as you can old man, but I'm in this for long haul. So unless you don't want me, anymore, in which case I'll leave and thats fine, I- "

He had let you speak and do whatever you wanted this whole time, only interrupting when you paused, but when you move to get up and off him now Jim uses his one good hand to catch you and keep you where you are, with a finger in one of your belt loops. "Hmmm, now why would I want that?... "

Happily, you settle back down, wrap your arms back around his neck and lean your forehead against his. "... do you believe me?"

...

...

"... Not really." He says bluntly with a cheeky grin, making you groan in defeat. Stubborn. Old. Goa- "But I believe you believe all that crap right now- so I'll just enjoy the ride, huh? Long as it plays out."

Closing your eyes, you give a drawn-out sigh. "... you'll see."

"Maybe."

[badpancakelol]

They finally have a true and proper heart to heart. It’s completed with sitting down in Wayne’s new apartment, Eddie bringing over cookies that Steve had made. It kind of makes him feel like they’re the two little old women who used to live in the trailer across from them — bickering and bitching about anything and everything over a cup of tea. But they have the heart to heart, because things have finally settled, and for once, they have time.

He didn’t really know where to start. Eddie doesn’t really know when Wayne had started slipping out of his life, or when Eddie had started pulling away, but he knows that it definitely started way before everything that happened with Vecna. Maybe it started when he fell off his bike, when his mother didn’t show. 

(“How am I even meant to start?” Eddie asks Steve, watches as he shapes the little handfuls of cookie dough on the tray. “There’s just— so much.”

Steve hums, and stops his hands for a second, wipes them down on his apron. “Well, you know I like lists,” He points in the vague direction of where their first sticky note has been framed on the mantle. “They help me look at things from a different point of view. Make things that seem overwhelming and suffocating into something smaller. More manageable.”

He turns back to the cookies after giving Eddie a small smile. Eddie thinks he likes this domestic aspect of their relationship. Where they can now stay at home on days that are too cold or too hot, and not have to worry about the things that they used to. Now, it’s just them, living and breathing within each other’s space.

“Help me?” Eddie asks.

“Always.” Steve answers).

And so, they had made a list. It had rationalised it in Eddie’s mind, had let him make headings and subheadings, how to move from one subject to the other, how to prepare himself and what he wanted to say. 

The Upside Down.

Steve.

Eddie’s mum.

It’s not a long list, but it still feels daunting. They should be easy, quick, enough to talk about, and yet. Steve had said that’s how he felt when he was trying to fix things. Making a list that only held three or four items — items that by themselves would be fine, that combined, made his teeth hurt in a way that spelt trouble.

Eddie knows that he’s probably not supposed to tell Wayne about the Upside Down, what with the letters and legal notes that he had to sign, but when he had admitted it to Steve, had said that it hurt to keep it a secret, Steve had just held his hand, had said if you trust him, as if it were even a question.

“You know that story that went around about the serial killer, and Steve and I—”

“The one that was very obviously a cover story?” Wayne snorts, takes a sip from his mug. This time, it’s one that Steve had made at one of the pottery classes out of town. It’s smooth to the touch, with a green glaze along the edges, ants and frogs and spiders in a cute-simple style littered across it. Wayne will never admit it, not to his face, but it’s his favourite.

“Yeah.” Eddie says. He knew that people didn’t really believe it (as someone who didn’t really buy it, himself), but hearing Wayne say that it was so obviously fake, and to know that he never questioned Eddie about it? Well. It’s definitely something to process.

“So, you’re ready to tell me about,” He waves his hand in a roundabout movement. “Whatever happened to you two?”

He pauses. Tries to think of a way to delicately say, I fought monsters, and monsters killed those teenagers, and my boyfriend can bend time. But there isn’t one. There isn’t a manual that dictates how to approach any of those topics. So Eddie does what he does best, and pulls the bandaid off as fast as he can.

“Monsters.” Eddie spits. “And time travel?”

“Kid, please tell me you’re pulling my leg.”

“Not joking. At all.”

And then, the gates are open. Eddie talks about his point of view — hearing the sounds of the monsters every year but not really understanding the gravity of the situation. He talks about Chrissy coming over to buy, and how she had stood still, and how she had floated. Skips over the details, because, while he’s getting better at not feeling sick about it, not feeling guilty about it, he doesn’t think she should be remembered that way. 

He talks about running. Hiding. How the group had found him, how he had been chased by Jason, how he had seen Patrick die. Wayne keeps his gaze the entire time, but he doesn’t interrupt or say anything, because Eddie is still really only at the start of his story, at the start of it all. So he keeps going. Max, the kids, the gate. Lover’s Lake, Steve’s change in demeanour, Vecna, the battle, the monsters. 

“So that’s why they moved us out? Set us up in this place?” Wayne asks, nods his head to his side, to the apartment walls.

“Because of one of the gates, yeah.” Eddie says, feels his leg bouncing up and down. Wayne holds onto himself like a man lost, and Eddie supposes that he is, right now.

“But you two are — you’re safe, now?”

“Yes.” Eddie replies. Realises that he means it. “We’re still — working through it. There were a few things that we figured out, after everything had happened. You’ve seen some of Steve’s scars, so. I’m sure you know.”

Wayne nods, and his eyes look misty. “You boys are happy, though. I can see it whenever you talk about him, or whenever he talks about you. It’s— I’m happy for you, Ed. Proud of you. I know I never said it when you was young, but. I’ve never been anything but proud of you.”

“Don’t make me cry just yet,” Eddie jokes, brings his sleeves over his hands to wipe at the corners of his eyes. “We, uh, Steve helped me make a list. ‘Cause, you know how I called to have a heart to heart, and then I wouldn’t say what about, because there’s kind of— a lot. Like, a lot, a lot.”

He nods, and he smiles, and there is a fondness in Wayne’s eyes when Eddie mentions Steve. 

“I don’t think I ever officially said it, but, well. You know about us already.”

Wayne nods, but says: “If you want to say it, you can. I won’t take that away from you.” 

Eddie breathes in. He knows that Wayne won’t act any different, won’t look at him weird or say anything that would hurt. Wayne went to their housewarming, and had seen the way they looked at each other, held hands. They had dinners over at Wayne’s place every couple of weeks, and Steve would greet him with a warm hug. There is love between the three of them, and it makes Eddie wonder why he never really, truly, told Wayne about Steve.

“We’re dating. I love him.”

Wayne nods, and he smiles, and he had said it before, Eddie had heard him say it not only a few moment ago, but now he can see it in his uncle’s eyes: the pride. 

“He’s a good kid — Steve. Now, you better treat each other right, because I do care about the both of you, and I don’t want to see anyone getting hurt.” He breathes out and reaches towards the platter of cookies between them, now, almost gone. “And ask him to make more of these, will you?”

Eddie smiles and says yes, sir, because he knows that Wayne hates being called sir. He makes a face at the title, and then Eddie smiles like he’s been caught doing something bad, and Wayne just remarks making me feel ancient, over here. And nothing changes. 

The tea has gone lukewarm, but Eddie still holds the mug between his hands, just so that he can grab onto something. Because those were the easy ones. Because Wayne hadn’t been a part of them.

“Um, and I wanted to talk about my mum.”

Wayne’s smile pauses, and Eddie can see the way that it crumbles from his position on the couch. In his mind, he’s already trying to find a way to backtrack, and smooth the conversation over, try and point it back towards Steve, and how that seemed to make Wayne happy, and how they’re going good, and how much he loves him, instead of—

“What about her?”

“Why did she—” He tilts his head, and moves his hands, and makes a small noise to try and convey everything and nothing that she had given him. That she had done to him.

Wayne simmers down, and he folds in on himself in a way that Eddie has seen before on Steve. Trying to make himself smaller, trying to make himself seem less imposing, or terrifying, looking for comfort and forgiveness. Forgiveness for what? He hadn’t done anything wrong.

“I don’t know.” Wayne says, quiet. “I tried to talk to her about everything, when it happened the first time. But she would never listen. I know I wasn’t the best growing up, and I’m sorry, Eddie. Sorry that I couldn’t just— make her go away. That I just let her keep coming back and raising your hopes up, only for to— to leave.”

None of it is his fault, though. Or, maybe it was, but Eddie doesn’t see it that way. Wayne wasn’t the one to leave, Wayne wasn’t the one to break promises, Wayne wasn’t the one to tell him to be quiet, and pretend to love him, and then never return a call, and then love-bomb him the next time they met. That was on her. Not Wayne.

“That’s not your fault—”

“Eddie—”

“—And even if it was, I’m not going to— to blame you for it! We were in a shit situation, and there was so much stuff going on, even before the monsters, and the night shifts, and I know I wasn’t an easy kid to take care of—”

“You were wonderful, Ed, I couldn’t have asked for a kid so kind—”

“—but there was nothing you could have done to make me feel more loved!” Eddie breathed. The noiselessness of the apartment seemed so loud, now. Wayne sits across from him, leaned forward on the couch, hands by his sides. He wipes at his eyes with the edge of his sleeve, and he looks Wayne in the eye, because he needs him to know.

He needed Wayne to understand that there was no one else that he would have wanted, no one else he would have loved as much. He went above and beyond in every possible way, even when Eddie was making it difficult, even when he was being difficult to love, Wayne had still done it. Wayne had still loved him.

“You were there.” Eddie whispered. “Every day. Even when I was acting like an asshole, and taking out my anger for her on you, or when I kept fucking everything up. You were there.”

Wayne stood from the couch, crossed to where Eddie was sitting. He knew it was coming before the arms had even wrapped around him, and yet when it happened, when he felt how warm Wayne was, how soft and firm and comforting his hold was, he let his tears run. Eddie closed his eyes as tight as he possibly could, and he tried to imbed his hands into the back of Wayne’s shirt. And when Eddie had felt that noise make it’s way up his throat — loud and ugly and so very human, he let it.

-- -- --

one of the sections from my epilogue, and finale of my steddie series!!!

[f0point5]

I think Lando’s friends “milk” it in the sense that he’s employing almost all of them in a roundabout way. His family seems fairly separate from the fame tho they also dont need him for money.

Charles is probably the one I notice the most bc he employees multiple friends and family to do jobs directly for him where as Lando’s are kind of for his side projects/non personal things.

Carlos is an interesting case study though because I think Sr. and his rally career throws everything off. To an extent Jr. is kinda of used but I think Sr. is still more of the family claim to fame. In my mind Jr. is stuck as the show pony that you give your kid when they want a horse and they maybe win a few ribbons but he’s not the horse you bring to the track when moneys on the line like Sr is

As much as Lando’s family clearly doesn’t need the money, I think his dad and brother have leant on the connection (with the scooters and sim rigs respectively). Not to say that they shouldn’t though. Business is all about connections, and using familial connections and investing in family ties is how you build generational wealth. People get uncomfortable about it because of the “pull yourself up by the bootstraps” fallacy but realistically, what skin is it off Lando’s nose to help out his own dad? So yeah while I’m not commenting on it negatively I do think they’re not entirely separate.

His friends…I don’t know them or the dynamics really so I won’t comment.

I could have sworn Carlos’s manager is his cousin or something? I think Sainz Sr just has less fame globally because rallying is not as popular as F1 but idk if I’d say he milks Carlos for fame. I think it’s interesting though because while Jr is the more famous on outside of strictly the motorsport community, Sr is still the one with the clout in motorsport because of his achievements. Must be an interesting dichotomy. But for example, the obvious parallel is Max and Jos, where Jos races sponsored by his son, and he is “father of” whereas Carlos Jr, within motorsport, I still think is “son of”.

[atinylittlepain]

Part Two

climbing expeditionist!steve harrington x f!oc

series masterlist

Past, present, and future dance and daunt in the shadows of Mount Everest. He just wants to get home. She just wants him home.

chapter warnings | 18+ angst, pregnancy, commentary on eco-tourism, steve is a little depresso at 17,000 feet, non-invasive descriptions of altitude sickness and the injection of medicine to treat it, tispy steve is a menace and requires a warning

word count | 3.8K

.....................................................

April, 1996 - Boulder, Colorado

Time starts to warp and reel in on itself, she finds. Somehow, it’s already been a month since he left. And even though the days seem to stretch and thin, interminable, the nights too, she can’t fully account for the last four weeks. 

Somehow, April, the middle of it. Somehow, spring, the snow starting to melt, flowers pushing up from dark, damp earth, life bursting and buoying forth in Colorado. She takes her students outside for class as much as she can, they go for walks around the school while asking and answering questions about book reports and vocab quizzes. They’re reading The Little Prince as a class, she asks them what they think about the fox and the pilot while they meander in the cool air. The other teachers say that it’s a brilliant idea, but she knows that she needs that time uncloistered just as much as the students do. And because it makes her the cool teacher, of course the kids know what she does, what Steve does, and is doing. Mrs. Harrington climbs mountains and her husband is on top of the world. 

Teaching had seemed like the most efficient job to accommodate what she loves, weekends and summers off, and a handy deal worked out with the principal to take off at the end of March, what she had done for the past two years years. Not needed this year though. Instead, the kids ask her where her husband is, when he’s coming home. It had nearly knocked the wind out of her when one of them, a boy in all his young earnestness, had asked her can he breathe up there? 

At the very least, work eats up the weekdays, grading tests and lesson plans and rushed lunch hours in her classroom. Phone calls come fewer and farther in between, and she knows that they have to because he’s getting ready for the push off from base. And then, well, there won’t be any phone calls for at least three weeks, just updates from Robin still at base, a roundabout game of radio relay. So for now, she’s grateful for the lost sleep, for the phone ringing in the middle of the night, him telling her about the shifting Icefall, the strange new crush of crowds around the ladders over the crevasses. She asks if Eddie’s using oxygen this year and he tells her he is. Getting older, he says, getting smarter, she replies. 

Steve has been keeping meticulous track of the weeks, and she knows him, knows that when he asks after how she’s feeling, what she did that week, that he’s writing it down somewhere, a habit of his she learned early on. Not wanting to miss anything, trying to pin down time with pen and paper. Before she can even tell him that her 24-week scan is on Thursday, he’s already asking after it, my Friday, right?

“Yeah, in the morning, I’ll fax the scans over soon as I get home.”

“I know we’re not supposed to, but I’ve been keeping the ones you sent in my jacket pocket when we’re climbing. Been showing them to anyone who will give me the chance to whip them out. They’re perfect, honey.” And then almost as an afterthought, he breathes out thank you. When she asks him what for he laughs, just once, just thank you, that’s all. 

“Are you pushing off soon?”

“It’s looking like this Saturday is gonna be it.” Quick catch, quick drop of her heart into her stomach before it slings taut and tight up into her throat. She swallows hard before she responds.

“Oh, that’s early isn’t it?”

“We’re trying to get a jump on the crowd here. It’s gonna be a jam if we don’t, Josie, a total mess.” She doesn’t like it, not at all. Mid-May, there’s a reason everyone aims for mid-May, and even the difference of a handful of days can spell a quick-weaving fabric of disaster, of weather that would make even the best of them turn around, or die trying to persist. But she knows she can’t say that to him, knows that he needs her confidence right now. So she says okay twice, okay, okay, takes a deep breath before saying any more so that her voice is steady when she speaks again. 

“Well, it sounds like early is best then. Just a few days shouldn’t snarl anything too bad, right?”

“That’s the hope, a nice clean send to finish things off here.” He sighs, he’s tired, she knows, she can hear it. The push before the push, packing out oxygen tanks and checking ladders and ropes, and making sure the clients are keeping their own packing light and aren’t getting sick, coordinating with the other guides. Of course he’s tired, starting to wear thin around the edges, so she makes her voice light as air alright, baby, better let you go, and yes, send the scans over and yes, love you, love you so much, call before Saturday, before you leave. The phone clicks and she’s suspended into silence again, the darkness of her bedroom. Hand on her stomach, little life answers with a kick.

“That was your dad on the phone.”

…

May, 1990 - Camp Four

At first it was pain, and getting used to it. Weak and wan, cold all the time, a rattling cough that seems to get worse the further up they trek. Food became tedious somewhere along the way, trying to keep down instant noodles and peanut m and ms, about all he can stomach, and the errant thought that it’s because his body is quite literally shutting down the higher they climb. The nights are sleepless, wind whipping at the sides of their tents, fabric walls closing in around them, the only sound rising above the howls being the cacophony of hacking lungs in the night, deep pauses whenever someone takes a pull of oxygen from their mask. 

It’s no longer pain, it’s something past pain. It’s sheer endurance at this point, a numb sort of will to continue, to see this through. He didn’t think he had romantic notions about this climb, did plenty of reading about what happens to the body after reaching a certain altitude, reading about the bodies left behind, frozen into the face of the mountain, about ice blindness and hallucinations, vomiting blood and swelling brains, gone mad in the cold and the wind. But still, but still, there are some things not even the imagination can reach. 

If there is a perfect distillation of agony, he thinks it would be this, curled up in a tent, willing sleep while he coughs so hard he thinks he might start to puke, and knowing that the next morning, he will push himself even further, even higher. They all will.

There’s a shout of his name, and he’s nearly certain his mind is crafting it out of thin air, but then the flap of his tent is coming unzipped and it’s her, it’s her, ducking her head in and holding out a first aid kit. Past the point of pretenses, of any sort of peacocking, he simply shrugs over to the side of his tent to make room for her to crawl inside, breathing hard, ice in her eyelashes and around the neck of her jacket. 

“Do you want pills or a shot?”

“What?” She doesn’t look at him, just keeps rummaging through her kit, pulling out a box of pills and a syringe with shaking hands, her head lamp laying between them, casting strange shadows over her face, the walls of the tent.

“You sound awful, Steve.”

“We all sound awful.”

“Yeah, but your tent is next to mine and I can’t fucking sleep with you hacking up a lung. So, shot or pills?” He knows what it is, though he hasn’t had to take any yet. Dexamethasone, acetazolamide, nifedipine, take your pick, some kind of anti-inflammatory, considered cheating by some (Eddie) and a necessary evil by others. 

“The shot works faster, doesn’t it?” She nods, smiles just a little, one that doesn’t quite meet her eyes, too tired, too cold, too bloodshot, and he’s certain he looks the same. 

“Gonna have to pull your pants down for me, I need a thigh.” He doesn’t think twice about it, not with the near promise of even a little relief, fumbling to unzip his sleeping bag, tugging down one leg of his pants, enough that his ass is out and his thigh is too. And Jo works with a studied precision, uncapping the needle and leaning over him, her hand on his hip and okay, okay, he can’t hear it over the wind but he can see her mouth move around the words, quick pinch that he barely notices, taking simple pleasure in the brief closeness of her warmth, there and gone as she leans back to re-cap the needle. 

“That should kick in pretty fast.” Quick to tug and zip everything back up if for no other reason than the cold, what clarity is left in his mind kicks up with a halfway giddy thought of how close she is, shoulders hunched and sitting on her knees. He offers her his oxygen mask for a breath that she happily takes, leaning in again, so close he can see that freckle beneath her eye before she pulls away.

“How are you feeling?”

“Like I’m dying. Par for the course, right?” He can’t argue with that, shrugging a little and trying for a smile that he’s pretty sure looks more like a grimace. 

“You take anything?”

“Two pills, dying less. You ready for tomorrow?” Tomorrow, right. The final ascent, the top of the world, the thing, the final thing that they have all been in this death march toward. 

“I don’t know, I hope so. Are you?” 

“Mmm, to be seen, I guess. I, uh, I like being near you when we’re moving though, it helps.”

“Helps?”

“You move very steady, very sure. I figure as long as you’re confident in where you’re stepping, I can keep my ass in gear.” She leans in for another breath, a murmured I owe you some inhales tomorrow that he shakes his head at. 

“I’ve been thinking the same thing about you, for the record. You’re impressive.” She shrugs, pauses for a cough that shakes her whole body, eyes scrunched closed, enough to make him wince and offer her his mask again. She shakes her head, wave of her hand, and he watches the rise and fall of her shoulders as she works another breath into her lungs. 

“Just trying to keep up with the mountain. Are you feeling a little better now?” He is, he tells her, cough simmering into something more manageable, the pain dulling into something more like a second heartbeat. 

There’s a beat, a breath, within which both of them stare at each other in the shared absurdity of where they are and what they are doing. He knows she needs to get back to her tent, back to her own oxygen tank, and he knows that he’s being selfish by asking her another question to keep her here for an answer longer. That trite question that essentially amounts to why are you here? Why did you decide to be here? Why, here? And she smiles, big and everything, really, tilts her head and doesn’t answer him, but asks him the same thing. And he says that thing, that thing that any self-respecting climber knows because it’s in the blood of their history, Patagonia t-shirts and North Face ad deals slinging it around like a mantra, like a prayer, like a war cry. The thing that George Mallory said, 1923, before he would try for Everest for the third time, and die doing it. Why, why, why? Because it is there. 

She grins even brighter, repeats it back to him with her hand held out, and he takes it for a moment.

“I’ll see you bright and early, Steve, get some sleep.”

…

April, 1996 - Base Camp

“At dawn tomorrow morning, you are going to begin your ascent toward the summit. We have this meeting the night before to make sure that everyone understands what is coming over the next two weeks.” Take no shit, no prisoners either, Nancy has always had a talent for this talk, he thinks, holding both the crew and the clients in rapt attention as she runs through her lecture with the efficiency and steel of a military commander, pacing at the front of their main tent with a map of the mountain behind her. She had gotten to base a week after them, Eddie wrapping her up in his arms, a smacking kiss to her cheek, her mouth, and doctor wife, so good to see you. Steve still has a hard time summing that equation up, but somehow they make it work. 

“You’ll begin your climb through the Khumbu Icefall, which I understand Ryan has been taking you through over the last two weeks. From there, you’ll set camp at about 19,500 feet, you’ll spend a lot of time at this camp, making acclimitzation trips further up the mountain and coming back down in between, before passing up through the western cwm to get to camp two at 21,350 feet. It is imperative as you continue to climb that you pay attention to how you’re feeling. Nausea and fatigue are expected to a certain degree, but if you’re feeling dizzy, or lethargic, you need to let one of the guides know as the risk for cerebral pulmonary edema increases with each altitude jump.”

“You’ll move over the Lhotse Face to get to camp three at 23,500 feet. You’re not going to want to eat or drink at this point, but it is imperative you continue to do so. Stick to simple carbs and small sips of water, as the digestive tract will begin to slow down with the rest of the body at this altitude.” Her rundown fades in and out of his focus, eyes glancing up from his journal every now and again to make sure the clients are listening. He’s heard this many times before, after all, knows it by heart.

“After you leave camp three, you will be in what is known as the death zone. Your bodies will begin to rapidly decline at this point. Everyone is going to need supplemental oxygen at this altitude–”

“I heard Munson did it without, twice!” One of the clients, American, trying to earn a few cheap laughs. Eddie looks sheepish across from Steve, and Nancy doesn’t smile. 

“Well, he does now if he wants to stay married. Everyone will be using supplemental oxygen and guides will have first aid kits if medication is needed. The push after camp three will be quick. A brief stop around the south col to camp, and then the summit. You’ve probably all heard this, but it bears repeating, the tricky part won’t be getting you up there, it’s coming back down that’s going to be difficult.” He’s heard this too, lived this too. By the time you get to the summit, you’re usually half-blind, half-suffocating, and half-human from the adrenaline coursing through your body. You’ve touched the top of the world and you’re nearly certain you’re going to die and also live forever because of it. You’re not thinking about the next step, the next rope you need to clip onto, the next hold of your ice ax, as you make your way down. You’re thinking about going home, about a warm bed, a warm meal, about never doing that again. That’s when mistakes happen, he knows. 

“We say all this not to scare you, but to make sure you know what you’re about to face. It’s our goal to make this experience as safe for you as possible. Steve and Eddie will be your lead guides with Ryan assisting. Robin and I will be here at base, coordinating and watching the weather.” There’s a glance, always a glance exchanged between him and Nancy and Robin and Eddie, and Ryan too this year. The new hire, and he likes him well enough. Young guy, capable, Robin says he looks a little like Matthew McConaghy. All Steve knows is he’s good at his job and friendly enough to want to suffer with. And so the team is set, eight clients and three guides, and one local sherpa that they work with every year, reliable. 

They dismiss the clients early, advising them to get as much sleep as they can, and when the last stragglers are out of the tent, Eddie drums his hands on the folding table, grinning wide. 

“Well, birdy bird told me you got a very important fax today, so let’s see the little dude.” They all circle around him, Nancy and Robin, Ryan too, who Steve learned has two little girls back at home. And it feels good to take the folded piece of paper out of the breast pocket of his fleece, good to spread it out on the table and have everyone fawn over what amounts to black and white smudges, something prideful feathering and fanning up in his chest because that’s their kid, that’s their kid. 

“Oh they’re perfect, Steve, look at that. How is Jo? Did you talk to her today?” Yes, he tells Nancy, on the phone that morning, told him to wish them all luck for the next morning. Eddie whistles a low sound, shaking his head. 

“Phew, have a feeling we’re gonna need it without her. Ryan, if you think Steve’s the boss, you should’ve seen those two working together. A thing of beauty, I tell you, and probably the reason we’re one of the only outfits that hasn’t lost a client.” That spurs a groan out of Robin, don’t even say that, Ed, don’t even like, put that into the air right now, seriously. Always the superstitious one, he already knows she’ll be wearing a particular pair of socks tomorrow to send them off. 

“I bet you’re ready to get home, Steve.” It’s quiet, Ryan says it with a smile that tilts into something sad, tired eyes that pull at the corners, a knowing. He nods, shares the same smile with him, he knows he feels it too. 

…

May 1990 - Base Camp

“What’re you doing out here? Party’s in there.”

“I can see you’ve been celebrating. How much have you had to drink?” He laughs a little, stumbles over his feet as he comes to sit down next to her camp chair, his legs sprawled out in front of him and his head lolling to the side, and that’s enough of an answer for her. Meanwhile, the sound of music filters out from the main tent, all the other climbers and crew inside, yawping and whooping in their merriment. They made it up, and mercy, they made it back down to base. Everyone all in one piece, and she knows that’s something of a miracle. 

“Just a little, warming myself up.”

“Uh-huh, right.” He grins, face cast in shadows from the camp lanterns, his eyes crinkled, shamelessly staring at her as he lets out a contented-sounding sigh. She isn’t sure what to make of him, him, with his long hair, and his silver hoop earring, and his bright blue Patagonia pull-over, and his pretty little smile that she admittedly thought about for large portions of their ascent. Pretty boy, wild boy, beautiful boy that she probably won’t ever see again.

“Is Jo short for something?”

“What’s it to you?”

“Steve is short for Steven.” His words are a little slurred, a little buoyant laugh on the end, giddy with lingering adrenaline and booze no doubt. Awful, she finds it endearing.

“You don’t say.”

“Jody? Joanne? Joanna? Jo–”

“It’s short for Josephine, if you’d really like to know.” He says it once, slow around a smile, leaning in toward her with his arms hooked over his knees, and she finds herself leaning closer too.

“Does anyone call you Josie?”

“Oh my god, no, my sister did when we were little, but not any more.” Too late, Steve is already humming a tune before warbling into a slurred rendition of the lyrics, Josie and the pussycats, long tails and ears for hats. She would like to hate him for it, him and his smug grin beneath his dark beard, him and the little laugh he lets out at the scrunch of her nose, him, singing that stupid song at 17,000 feet, tapping out the beat of it on her knee with his wind-bitten fingers, and making her laugh with it. 

“Can I call you Josie?”

“Hmm, maybe, but only sometimes.” She says it like they’ll see each other again after all this, after parting ways in Kathmandu, her going back to Colorado, and him returning to wherever he’s from. It’s easy to grant promises when you’ve just touched the top of the world. 

“Josie, how are you feeling after checking that one off your list?”

“I think I feel a lot of things. Mostly calm, grateful for JIF peanut butter, I feel tired, but in a good way. What about you, Steven, how are you feeling?”

“Lucky that I’m here with you.” And he says it so bluntly, so plainly, without hesitation, that it shocks a laugh out of her. But he just keeps looking at her, his smile slanting, and she knows he’s being earnest, honest, tongue loosened by whatever dark liquor Art packed out.

“Oh my god.”

“What?”

“You can’t just say stuff like that.”

“Like what?”

“Stuff you’re going to regret saying when you’re not so drunk.”

“I’m not gonna regret it. I meant it.” He’s hooked his finger around one of hers, a simple sweet thing that she shouldn’t let him do. But she does, but it feels nice.

“What am I gonna do with you?”

“Keep me.” His eyes glittering and smile veritably impish, she scoffs at him, wow, as he shrugs, unabashed and unashamed. Meant it, meant it, meant it. She needs to change the subject before she does something stupid.

“When are you gonna shave this off?” A little dare and daunt, she tugs at his beard, his brows raising, she’s surprised him, and she likes it. 

“I don’t know, probably when we get back to Kathmandu, gonna be there for a few days before I fly out.” 

“I’m sticking around for a few days too.” His eyes light up at that, oh yeah? She nods, something bright unfurling in her chest.

“Maybe you and I can, you know, Kathman-do.” Waggle of his eyebrows, she has to laugh.

“I think you need to go to sleep.” Never admitting this, but she finds herself a little disappointed when he sighs and nods, unfolding himself and standing up with a groan, though he smiles at her again before shuffling off toward his tent.

“That wasn’t a no.”

“Goodnight, Steve.” He tips two fingers at his temple toward her, walking backwards with impressively minimal stumbling. And she knows that she likes him in a way that could be a problem. Awful, she really would like to keep him. 

“Goodnight, Josie.”

[sepublic]

            Can we again appreciate, also, the horror and pressure that comes from Luz’s ‘realization’? The fact that she blames herself for helping Philip find the Collector; And because the Collector taught Philip the draining spell, she sees herself as responsible for both antagonists. She gave Belos access to someone who let him become an immortal emperor with “magic stronger than anybody’s”, and King access to the Collector that is now terrorizing the isles. Belos had an actual game plan thanks to Luz, beyond just killing random witches; And let’s not forget that the draining spell led to Eda losing her arm, which she doesn’t know about yet!

         Obviously, Luz can’t be blamed. The entire isles was manipulated, what makes her think she could’ve done any better, should’ve done any better, when she wouldn’t hold it against anyone else? Dare I say it’s almost arrogant in a roundabout way even, for Luz to hold herself to that extreme, godlike standard, and herself alone; Out of a sense of self-loathing.

         But it kinda wraps around to Luz feeling the need to fix things and be responsible for them, and I can see the connection between that and her once wanting to be a chosen one, which was in itself a rationalization and attempt to make up for, justify, and explain her inadequacies in life. If Luz is a Chosen One, then her being different and rejected by the others makes sense, if Luz is a Chosen One, then it’s okay for her to assume all responsibility for everyone else, and thus blame herself over others!

         Which… Yeah, in a way she DID get to have that ‘magical destiny’ she talked about in Witches before Wizards; But in the worst way possible, WELL after she’d gotten over that. Just like her brother King getting over wanting to be a tyrant with powerful lore, only to be burdened with the curse of being a Titan after all. It’s so cruel that when Luz’s wish IS fulfilled, it’s in the most Monkey’s Paw way, technically a straight play on the idea, but also a deconstruction too. Like she and King are being ironically punished for their wish, well after they’d made up for something you couldn’t blame a child for having.

         I wonder if Lilith has made this connection, too? Does she blame herself, and as much? She DID at least catch onto Philip’s evil… Plus, she’s likely already used to blaming herself for stuff; Eda’s curse, which was only intended for a single day for her (even if her plans still meant taking Eda’s future for herself), as well as being manipulated by Belos in general. At this point, I think Lilith is just used to it, and focused on just making things right, like when she offered to take Eda’s place in the ritual sabotage; She’s self-pitied enough as is. Plus, who knows how therapeutic her time with Gwen could’ve been; And Luz is now with HER mom too!

         Anyhow I guess I want to see Cool Aunt Lilith provide support for Luz over this, and reassure her that it isn’t her fault, at least no more than anyone else’s. This does remind me of a fic I made back when Season 1 ended, of Lilith thanking Luz for helping open her eyes… Maybe when Season 3 is over and I get a sense for how circumstances turn out, I could write a counterpart sequel in which Lilith returns the favor with her advice, even as Luz thanks her as well.

         But yeah; Philip already had most of it figured out, how to get the Collector, and he just needed anyone to be a sacrificial distraction for the Stonesleeper. Lilith even points out that he did most of the puzzle to the lair; Luz might blame herself for being the reason Philip became any more than the incredibly cruel yet seemingly ineffectual human he was, instead of the worldwide threat thanks to the Collector’s knowledge.

         But Philip was ALWAYS like that he and he’d always find a way, and didn’t need the Collector to form a cult of personality, just capitalize on it with the coup de grace. And yet, I can just totally understand the wracking damage and pain, because Luz didn’t just help Belos with any menial task, but perhaps the most fateful one of all, sans killing Caleb… Philip meeting Luz and her Cool Aunt really is a turning point for the entire lore of the show. But Luz’s destiny that changes the world is no longer a blessing, but a curse.

         We’ve discussed how Luz has done SO much, has had an incomprehensible impact and legacy via her arrival; The way she’s changed everyone and then the people around them. But she really did take it a step further in a cruel way, a way she must still forgive and not blame herself for regardless, and it pairs very well with Philip being the same, in a negative way. And how BOTH affected fate together with finding the Collector, in their own mixed way. 

        Thanks to Them is a title that could have multiple meanings; Perhaps about Luz and Philip’s (and Caleb’s) juxtaposed legacies, and more! It feels like a double-edged title…  And double-edged is how one could describe Luz’s feelings towards being a Chosen One with a Destiny, her ability to do good, and conversely the risk of doing bad, and the exhausting expectation to keep up the good. My girl is like a Gifted Child but instead of excelling at grades it’s excelling at improving the world and helping people! Even if Luz focuses on not self-pitying but making up for it... How can one make up for so damage??? You can’t, but that’s not an issue because it was never her fault.

         TL;DR It is very much not Luz’s fault but I just want to remind everyone why this in particular would cause Luz so much anxiety, and in understanding the gravity appreciate more her angst. It’s not just that she helped Philip but the NATURE of that ‘help’, and seeing the Collector last episode has just intensified her understanding of the consequences. It’s a lotta baggage and Luz likely heard the Collector mention to Belos that he taught him all that magic.

[legendofzoodles]

The Chain in an Escape Room

Crackpot modern AU version of this post. 

Time helped set this up as a team-building exercise and starts regretting it seconds after the door shuts behind them. He knows most of the solutions and tries to hint at them as a passive observer but lord help him no one listens. Or if they do it’s in the complete opposite way he meant. Trying to keep things together is outside his range of skills, so whatever happens, happens. 

Warriors bragged that a friend of his did it and it was super easy, but doesn’t end up contributing much. In fact he’s the opposite of helpful. He would call the friend who’s completed it for ‘hints’, but would end up having them tell him everything and use that knowledge to mess with the team. Adding red herrings and false clues, drawing attention away from the real solutions and more importantly, wasting time. Don’t worry, the rest eventually catch on and end him, if Time doesn’t put a stop to it first.   

Twilight would be the theorist. He doesn’t actually try anything or do anything practical, he’ll just throw ideas out there based off the most irrelevant stuff and look for a deeper meaning in everything he sees. “Is that painting of a cat playing with string a clue?” “This shelf is missing a ledge could that mean something?” “That mirror has a crack in it...maybe...”

Sky, bless him, will leave helpful notes for the next group of people. He’ll have post-it notes out and ready (just because), so whenever the chain finally makes a breakthrough he’ll jot it down and leave it somewhere not to obvious. He’d also write down little compliments and motivating things like: “You can do it!” and “Almost there!” though it would get confusing when they inevitably backtrack:

Legend: [picking up a post-it note] Guys I found clue!

Note: You look nice today! :)

Legend: [scrunching it up] Dammit Sky!

Legend, will hoard anything and everything he thinks ‘might’ be useful. That random chess piece, that picture frame, maybe those marbles, all vital items. The others will help him break stuff without him even needing to ask. So long as they’re not damaging anything too expensive, Time will allow it. 

Wild will take pictures, selfies and videos of everyone suffering. He wouldn’t help since Time won’t let him cheat or break themselves out, so he’ll just enjoy himself by documenting the chaos for everyone to look back on and cringe. Or maybe he’ll live-stream the whole thing to his 10 followers.

Four will constantly remind people of the time. If they’re taking too long on a puzzle he’ll be literally counting down the seconds insisting they think faster. He won’t take any kind of goofing around because that’s wasting valuable time. When they do eventually figure something out he’ll be the one to lament how easy it was and how it shouldn’t have taken them that long.

Hyrule, the oddball, will try to get into the mind of the creators. Start psychoanalysing them from the word ‘go’, and try to figure out the thought process that went behind the puzzles. He’ll look at suspiciously places objects and clues and think, “That has Time written all over it” or “Yeah I can see him doing that”. When that predictably fails, because he’s terrible at it, he’ll ask Time roundabout questions to try and see into his mind. That doesn’t work either. 

Wind, when he isn’t co-hosting Wild’s livestream, helping Warriors mess with the chain or collecting items for Legend’s hoard, like the tiny gremlin he is, will be opening the nearest window and screaming for help into the street. 

This, to Time’s horror, actually works and a random pedestrian hears the boy and calls the fire brigade thinking they were actually trapped in the building. 

~~~

Thanks for reading!

Masterlist 

Headcanons: Parkour team, Honorary Gorons, How each member of the chain laughs, Flora is Feral, Is Malon Real?

AU Ideas: Midsommar AU, Hyrule centric idea

Short Stories: Smoke Signal (LU Wild x reader), Ancient Masonry (Sky and Wild), Blunt Crown (Wild and Flora)