#mai for half of these: why is steel not an option

[eddiesghxst]

ARE YOU BORED YET? - part two

18+ — MINORS DNI

pairing: eddie munson x fem!reader

summary: you're steve's "bitchy" step-sister and are spending the summer in hawkins; eddie is steve's annoying best friend who you can't seem to shake, but things take a sharp turn when you find yourself sneaking around and ultimately falling for him

contains: slightly enemies to lovers trope, food/eating, mentions of drug use, smoking, secret relationship vibes, lots of tension, kissing, flirting, and eddie being a pain in the ass <3

word count: 10.5k (sorry)

chapter song: magnet and steel x walter egan

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I series masterlist | their mixtape | -main masterlist- I

Dry heat, a sputtering engine, and the overwhelming stench of burning asphalt is how you spend the hottest day of the summer.

This wasn’t part of the plan. You just wanted to get out—needed to escape the stifling air of the house, where no amount of fanning yourself or pressing ice cubes to your neck made a difference.

So you took your father’s keys, hopped into the car, and now?

Now, you’re stranded.

Suffocating heat spills through the half-opened windows of the car, sticking to your skin and pressing against your lungs. You turn the key over once again, nothing.

You groan, slapping your hand against the wheel, cursing as you realize— of course, this would happen to you on the hottest day on the goddamn earth.

And just for good measure, you turn the key one last time, jamming your foot into the gas as if it’ll encourage the piece of shit. It sputters. Makes a weird noise. And then— silence. Pathetic silence. 

“Oh, fuck you!” You drag your hands over your face, and your frustration bubbles over. 

Great. It’s great, really. 

Defeated— and overheating— you gaze at the useless wheel and consider your options— which are none. The heat is unbearable, and you’re miles out from Hawkins— because why is the closest mall two towns over?

You need help. Clearly. And luckily, there’s a gas station across the street with a payphone, and if you’re lucky, Steve will pick up. 

Annoyed and maybe with a little too much anger in your movements, you dig out a few coins from your purse before opening the car door. 

You step out, immediately regretting it when you’re smacked with the heat. The pavement is scorching, waves of heat rippling off in the distance as you match your way across the street, and by the time you reach the pay phone, you feel like you’ve been walking through an oven.

You shove a quarter in, angrily punching in numbers before picking up the phone and listening to it ring. 

Three rings pass. You swear under your breath, impatiently tapping your nail against the payphone as you wait. And then, finally, someone picks up. 

“Harrington residence.”

And that’s… not Steve. It’s Eddie.

Your stomach drops. 

Your teeth grind together, your eyes shutting momentarily as you reel in your composure. 

Your voice comes out irritated, “Where’s Steve?” 

“Ah!” Eddie exclaims in a happy tone, “Am I speaking with Malibu Barbie?” He teases.

Your nerves fray, the summer heat singeing them clean off. “Shove it, Eddie; where’s Steve?” You snip.

“Love it when you get mean, princess,” Eddie talks through a mouth of food from what you gather, making your nose crinkle in disgust. He sighs, “Steve’s not here, went to do some rich people shit for your dad.”

You roll your eyes, your hopes depleting by the second. 

If Steve isn’t home, you’ll be left waiting for god knows how long before he can get you. You glance over your shoulder, hesitating, knowing that the only option to escape this debilitating heat is through the man on the other side of the phone. 

This is humiliating. You don’t think you’ll ever come back here again, honestly.

You swallow your pride. 

“My car broke down.” You flatly say. “I need him to pick me up.”

There’s a pause. Not long, but enough to acknowledge. You almost think the call may have dropped. But then, in the most sincere tone you’ve ever heard come from Eddie’s lips—

“Where are you?”

You huff, shifting in your spot as you roll your eyes, “I just said I need Steve.” You stubbornly reply.

“Yeah, well, he’s not here,” Eddie says obviously. “So, unless you wanna sit there and melt, tell me where you are.”

Your grip tightens on the phone, annoyed with how right he is. 

This is the worst-case scenario. 

You could just hang up. You should hang up— figure out some other way home. Because god forbid you have to rely on Eddie right now. Anyone but him.

You’d been avoiding Eddie since the bonfire— not because whatever that was had done a number on you or anything, but because… well, it was just fucking awkward. You didn’t know what to say to him, and you sure as hell didn’t want to address whatever that weird moment was. But Eddie didn’t cease to indoctrinate your household, so you did your best to stay away. However, it seems the universe has other plans.

So, after a long moment, your teeth digging into the soft skin of your lip, you give in and mumble the details of your location. And annoyingly, you feel a sense of relief rolling over you when Eddie says he knows exactly where you are. The feeling is quickly gone when he adds, “Now, was that so hard, grumpy?”

You roll your eyes, grimacing even though he can’t see you, “Just hurry up.” You snap before hanging up.

And when you step away from the payphone, the heat seems even more intense, especially considering the realization that you’re now waiting on Eddie Munson to pick you up. 

And you already know he’s never going to let you live this down.

It feels like hours beneath the summer heat as you wait for Eddie, until finally, you hear the familiar rumble of a rusted-out van. You’re against your car; arms crossed over your chest as you watch him pull in next to you, his music blaring for a moment before he kills the engine.

And you hate the smug grin he has on his face when he hops down from his van— like he’s enjoying this. 

Your expression doesn’t falter from the annoyed look you’ve had for the past hour as he walks over to you. 

“Good afternoon, princess.” He happily greets as he gets closer. 

“Told you to stop calling me that.” You remind him.

“Did you?” He asks, brows lifting in faux surprise. He hums, face twisting in a look of wonder as he tugs a cigarette from behind his ear to stick between his lips. He clicks his tongue once and shrugs as he fishes out a lighter, “Can’t seem to remember.”

Yeah. You should’ve hung up.

“You know,” he pauses to burn the end of the cigarette, flipping the zippo shut and shoving it back in his pocket, “Considering I’m your handsome knight in shining armor,” he teases, casually gesturing towards your situation with the burning stick in hand, “I assumed you’d be happier to see me.”

You shortly hum then, “Keep dreaming, Munson.”

He grins then, lazy and lopsided. You watch his mouth for a moment, stuck on the way it wraps around the cigarette— no. Not this. Not him. 

Smoke billows from his mouth when he responds, “Always do, sweetheart.”

You roll your eyes, a snarky remark dying on your tongue when he nods behind you and asks, “What’d you do?”

Your face twists in defense, “I did nothing— it just… died.” You shrug. 

Eddie hums like he doesn’t believe you, pulling in a drag as he walks around to the front of your dad's car and rolls his sleeves up. You can’t help how your eyes linger on his arms for a moment, eyeing the dark ink and intricate veins, muscles flexing with every movement. You quickly glance away as he pops the hood open.

“Sounds to me like you ignored the warning signs.” He calls out from behind the hood. 

You roll your eyes, shifting against the side of the car as you distract yourself with the boring scenery around you— seriously, this town has nothing to offer. 

“Can you just figure out what’s wrong and fix it.” You snap as Eddie tinkers with the car. 

He’s lost behind the hood for a few minutes, leaving you to try and distract your thoughts by boredly eyeing shapes into the ground until he slams the hood down, causing you to slightly jump.

The cigarette hangs from his lips, a few streaks of grease smeared on his hands. You’re annoyed, but you’re not blind. He looks good. Annoyingly so, even if you can’t stand him. 

You shrug, “So?” You press. 

He pulls the bandana hanging from his pants pocket, using it to wipe away the dirt on his hands, “Hate to break it to you, Barbie, but I can’t fix this here— gonna have to take it to the shop.”

You exhale sharply, resisting the urge to kick the stupid car. “That’s fuckin’ great.” You sarcastically mumble. 

Eddie’s got a sly grin as he looks at you, honey-dewed beneath the sun, slick with the summer heat and his usual confidence. He tilts his head, eyeing you momentarily like he’s piecing you together before nodding towards his van, “Come on, I’ll take you home.”

You stare at him, summer heat boiling your blood and every last piece of sense you have— god, you just need to get into some AC. And Eddie’s looking at you like he already knows your answer, with a sly grin on his lips, brown eyes looking at you as if he could see every thought running through your head. 

And you wonder if he’s lying. Would he lie about the state of your car just so he can be your saving grace? With the way he’s smirking, you wouldn’t put it past him. 

Any other day had the temperatures been cooler, you would’ve gladly told Eddie to fuck off, and you’ll find another way home… But it’s hot. Ungodly hot.

So, you yank the car door open and grab your purse, slamming the door shut and locking it. Eddie smiles, taking one last drag before tossing the bud on the ground, “Your place or mine, honey?” He teases as he eyes your body. You feel his gaze more than you’d care to admit.

You grimace, fingers tight on the leather handle of your purse as you stomp past him towards his van, “Just drop me off, Eddie.” You snap.

“Copy that, Malibu.”

He’s hot on your trail, following after you like a pathetic hound as you walk to the passenger side. You reach over to open the door, only for Eddie to reach over you and open it for you. He pulls it open all the way, an annoyingly charming and teasing smile on his face as he politely gestures for you to get in. 

You know what he’s doing.

He knows what he’s doing. And he’s so fucking smug about it.

You can barely hold the huff of annoyance that spills from you as you climb into his stupid van. But he’s not expecting you to buy into his little party trick— he’s surely not expecting you to climb into the passenger seat and slightly arch your back, your tiny skirt riding up your thighs as you slide into a comfortable position. 

He quietly but surely clears his throat, glancing away as you wriggle your skirt back down your thighs, his fingers tightening over the handle for some seconds.

“Thanks, Eds.” You forcefully give a sweet smile, a tiny glimmer of joy sparking in you when he avoids your gaze and nods, “Yep. No problem.” He mumbles before slamming the door shut. You can barely hide the satisfied smile on your lips, basking in the glory of flustering Eddie as you settle into your seat.

Eddie takes his time to walk to the driver's side, the sound of his boots crunching over against the gravel with each of his steps. The driver's door creaks open— and for a moment, you think he’s going to say something, almost anticipating it, but—

He says nothing.

No. Eddie climbs into the driver's seat in complete, utter silence. He doesn’t say anything as he settles in, shifting the car out of park and peeling off back onto the road without a word. 

It’s silent. Unbearably so. The most silence you think you’ve ever endured around Eddie— and you’re not sure if you should be thankful for it. You should be. But it feels weird, knowing Eddie’s true nature of constant noise.

Because Eddie Munson never shuts up.

But a quick glance to your left tells you exactly why.

There’s a smirk tugging at his lips, a glint in his eyes. 

He’s enjoying this— just as you’d suspected. 

Your face twists with something like annoyance, your eyes narrowing as you break the silence, “What?” You snap.

Eddie hums, ringed fingers tapping against the steering wheel, “Nothin’.” He shrugs, lips turning in a momentary frown, “Just enjoying the peace and quiet for once. Really nice. Crisp. You should try it, princess.” He teases.

You roll your eyes, huffing as you cross your arms over your chest in annoyance. A quick response dances on your tongue, but then—

Your stomach rumbles.

Painfully loud.

And Eddie hears it perfectly clear. 

You tense. 

His smirk opens, lips splitting into more of a grin, something downright giddy before he snaps his fingers— like he just won some stupid bet.

“Oh, that is beautiful,” he muses, eyes trained on the road. His face turns in amusement, “Could’ve sworn you were just sitting there all high and mighty, angel, but nope— even the mighty fall.” He shakes his head with a grin.

You glare, arms tightening over yourself as if that’ll silence the sound of your hunger, “Shut up.” 

“Not a chance.” He quickly responds before glancing at you, “That was— Jesus, that was ace,” he huffs out a laugh as you groan in irritation, “When’s the last time you ate? Yesterday?” He teases

“None of your business, Munson.” You grumble, glaring outside the window.

“Ah, so yesterday. Got it.” He snickers to himself.

You’re still glaring out the window when Eddie says, “Well, now we have to get a bite to eat.” He says as if it’s obvious. Technically, it is. 

Your head snaps his way, eyebrows furrowed with a pout on your lips, “What?”

Eddie’s grin widens, pure joy dancing in his eyes. “No. Take me home.” You demand.

The curly-headed boy shakes his head, “Can’t. Not when you’re out here starving, babe. That’s dangerous— you could, like, pass out or something. Scrape your knee in those little heels— and while I am in excellent shape—“

You groan, rolling your head and pressing your temple against the window, “Jesus Christ, Munson—“

“—I would rather not have to fight Harrington because I let his sister die of starvation, you get my gist? So, really, we have no choice but to go eat.” He shrugs. He glances at you and drops a wink your way, “For my sake.” 

You stare at him, disbelief of your situation settling in your mind. He’s torturing you. That’s what this is— torture. 

“Take me home.” You repeat.

But Eddie says nothing. He’s got a gleam in his eyes, the type that lets you know he’s already put his stupid little plan into action as he flips his turn signal on.

And before you can protest again, he’s turning into the tiny parking lot of a very conveniently placed diner. 

“Eddie—“

“Relax,” He purrs, shifting the van into park, “You don’t have to thank me… but I do accept tips in the form of cash and kisses.”

You gawk at him, stomach flipping at his stupid fucking words because— seriously, who does this guy think he is?

“You are so fucking irritating, do you know that?” You stress.

Eddie shrugs, “So I’ve heard,” he opens his door, grabbing the keys from the ignition, “C’mon, I’ll even let you sit on my side of the booth.”

And before you can argue anymore, before you can fight it, he’s already climbing out and swinging the door shut. You sit in your seat, fingers curled into a fist as you watch Eddie waltz into the diner.

You shouldn’t follow him.

You shouldn’t reward his insufferable behavior. 

And you really shouldn’t want to spend a second longer enduring his annoying presence. 

But your stomach grumbles again. And there’s something fun about this back-and-forth you have with Eddie, something you’re not entirely sure of but couldn’t care less to figure out. 

You drop your head against the headrest, a frustrated groan ripping from your chest. You pause for a moment, reeling yourself in before dragging in a deep breath and opening the door. 

Whatever. 

You’re hungry, and you’ve had a long day.

And Eddie?

Well, he’s got a shit-eating grin, already seated in a booth with a perfect view of you stomping across the parking lot. 

You swing the door open, the bell above it ringing in some mocking little victory chime for Eddie— and you really hate the way he’s stretched over the back of the booth, arms splayed out in his usual, infuriating, cocky manner. 

You should turn around.

You should flip him off, try and call home again, figure out a way to get away from his annoying and handsome smirk. 

But you slide into the booth, an irritated pout on your lips as you cross your arms.

His smirk widens, his knee bouncing beneath the table as he tilts his head, “There she is,” he muses, leaning forward to grab a menu on the table and sliding it towards you, “In all her angry glory. Let’s get some food in that talkin’ tummy, yeah?”

“I hate you.” You grumble, begrudgingly grabbing the menu.

“Fair,” he hums, opening his own menu and grazing over the options, “Doesn’t change the fact that I saved your ass twice in one day. You’re 0-2, pixie— you kinda owe me.”

“I do not.” You quickly reply. 

“Sure you do. Didn’t I just save you from incinerating off the side of the road? And haven’t I just saved you from dying of starvation? Seriously, you owe me, like, a dozen strawberry-milkshake-sugar-sweet kisses.”

You grimace at him from across the table for a moment, fingers tightening on the edges of the menu, “I’m not kissing you.”

Eddie grins, winking at you, “We’ll see about that.”

Before you can send a quick remark his way, a lady is stepping up to your table, boredly clicking her pen as she asks, “What can I getcha?”

Eddie’s grin never falters, but you don’t care to stare any longer, turning your focus to the lady, “A burger and fries, please. And a coke.” You order.

Eddie hums, eyes never having left you.

“For you, sir?” 

Eddie smiles at the lady before looking back at the menu, “I’ll have a burger too— double stacked— extra pickles, onion, and cheese. Fries, make ‘em crispy, and a side of your special sauce, please… I’ll take some nugs too actually,” he lists off as the lady takes note, “Aaaand, two milkshakes. One chocolate, one strawberry— extra whipped cream with a cherry on top.” He finishes with a satisfied smile, closing the menu and handing it to the lady.

The lady walks off to put your order in, and you stare at Eddie as he leans back in the booth, “You realize you just ordered a meal for an entire nation, right?” You ask. “You’d snap with a strong breeze; where are you putting that?”

Eddie hums, tilting his head and thinking, “You ever ran from the cops before?”

Your face twists in confusion, “What? No?”

Eddie hums, “Burns the calories quicker than a line of coke.”

You pause for a moment, blinking at him as he gazes at you, fingers fiddling with a napkin as if his words are something normal to say— coming from him and his chaotic nature, though, you suppose they are.

You blink, “Why are you running from cops, Eddie?” 

“The first, second, or third time?” He muses.

You stare.

He watches you, no indication of a joke on his face— and you begin to slightly worry.

But then he slowly grins, flicking a piece of ripped napkin paper at you, which you bat away with a grimace, “That’s called a joke, princess,” he teases, a devilish smirk on his face when he adds, “I’m a saint… only ran once.”

You nod, eyeing him, “Right.” you mutter, shaking your head.

The conversation naturally dies down then, and for a moment, there’s just the soft hum of the diner—plates clinking, low conversations murmuring around you. You tap your fingers lightly against the table, eyes drifting to the neon glow of the jukebox in the corner, wondering if you should say something.

A flash of that moment some nights ago passed by the forefront of your mind. 

But before you can think too long about it, the food arrives.

Plates of hot food are placed before you— and Jesus Christ, you hadn’t realized how hungry you were until the scent of a fresh burger and fries wafts in the air, making your stomach clench. You eye the food for half a second before reaching for your burger, fully ready to demolish it—

Only to pause when Eddie immediately grabs his own and takes a massive bite, nearly inhaling it all.

You take a bite of your own, taking your time to thoroughly chew as you watch Eddie scarf down three bites worth in one. You raise an eyebrow, “You’re gonna choke.” You warn him.

Eddie hums, talking through a mouthful, “Worse ways to go.”

And you smile, taking another bite of your meal as you think— this kind of isn’t bad.

Eddie groans in satisfaction, slumping back into the booth with a dramatic sigh, a full stomach, and an empty plate. He spreads his arms wide across the top, stretching out like he’s just finished running a marathon. The chains and pendants hanging from his neck glimmer beneath the dim glow of the diner as he tilts his head, and you do your best to look anywhere else. 

“So,” he looks at you, a look of amusement dancing in his eyes, “Care to tell me what you were doing all the way in sketchy-middle-of-bum-fuck-nowhere Indiana?”

You drag in a breath, twirling a fry between your fingertips as you shrug, “Mall.”

Eddie’s grin drops, face paling into a deadpan expression, ”That’s it?”

You pop the fry in your mouth, humming with a nod as you swallow before answering, “That’s it.”

Eddie blinks, face twisting in something like disgusted confusion, “You drove that far just to shop?”

You roll your eyes, glancing out the window as you cross your arms over your chest, “No, Eddie, I drove that far to practice my backflips off the escalator.”

Eddie snorts, leaning forward to snag a fry from your plate— he’d been stealing bites from you the whole time, sneaking around your hands to steal a dip in your ketchup or sip on your milkshake— and each time, he ignored your protests, so you’ve given up.

“Now that,” he snickers, pointing the fry at you, “I’d pay to see.” He eats the fry, a glimmer in his eye.

He shrugs, “Well? Get anything nice?”

You shrug, pulling your milkshake towards you and taking a long sip.

Eddie gasps, dramatized horror seeping around the edges. “Oh my god,” he muses, “You’re one of those people.”

You narrow your eyes in confusion, “Huh?”

Eddie grimaces, “The ones who just walk around and look for shits and giggles.”

You shrug, “What’s wrong with that?”

“Well, it’s a waste of a trip, doll.” Eddie points out, which is arguably true in your situation. 

Still, you roll your eyes, “I bought stuff, asshole.”

Eddie grins, unbothered, swirling the straw in his nearly empty cup as he looks at you, “Oh? Something good, or does Indiana have nothin’ on California stock?”

You sigh, leaning back into the booth and crossing your arms, “Not that it’s any of your business, but I bought a pair of sunglasses. And a dress.” You say matter-of-factly.

Eddie’s lips twitch, “Wow. Life-changing. Try it on for me.”

You grimace, “In your dreams, Munson.”

“Name the color so I can get an accurate image.” He teases.

You stare at him, a devious look in his eyes and that stupid smirk that won’t wipe off his lips. 

“Blue.” You casually say. Eddie groans. “Baby blue. Mid-thigh length.”

“Fuck.” Eddie mumbles, glancing out the window as he rubs a hand over his mouth. He looks back at you, playful lust in his eyes, “You’re an evil woman.”

You innocently shrug, taking another long sip of your milkshake.

And beneath the table, you shift your leg, not thinking much when you do it before—

Your foot nudges Eddie’s.

It’s not much, could easily be ignored and passed as an accident— which it is.

But Eddie doesn’t let it pass as so.

He nudges you back. 

You pause, heart skipping a beat when your gaze flickers to him. He’s completely normal. Popping a fry in his mouth and chewing way too casually like he hasn’t just done that on purpose.

Like he isn’t waiting to see what you’ll do next. Like you’re too chicken to play this little game he’s started.

And because you’re not thinking, the sun having gone to your head or something, and maybe because you’re a little tired of thinking, you take the bait.

You nudge him again.

His lips twitch, brown eyes dancing across your face. He props his chin in his hand, lips twisting in thought as his foot presses against the side of yours, the toe of his boot scratching against your ankle.

“Favorite color?”

You hum, shrugging as you dance below the table, “Not my favorite, but I like it. You?” You respond casually, but your heart is thrumming in your chest, nearly flopping out onto the table because— Jesus Christ, what are you doing?

Your foot scratches against the lower back of Eddie’s calf, and he stirs, tossing another fry into his mouth in distraction.

“Blood red,” he easily says, “But— I doubt it’ll still be number one once I see that dress.”

And your game goes on. 

Eddie stays casual, steady gaze settled on you as he snacks on the rest of your fries— like this is easy for him. Like this isn’t the first time you’re allowing yourself to play this— whatever this is— with him.

You’re very much aware of how your foot is still pressed against his. You’re very aware of this little cat-and-mouse game— your foot will brush his, he will nudge back, you will wander off, and he will find you.

And neither of you mention it.

Because Eddie isn’t, and you refuse to do it.

You let it build. The shock of warmth that shoots up your leg each time he finds you, the lousy waltz your eyes are in— you let it inch forward more and more.

Your milkshake is finished, and the sun is gone, but you’re still so fucking hot, and your neck burns, and just when you think to call it quits and pull away for good— Eddie traps you.

His foot sneaks in behind yours, and he loops around your ankle. 

Not forcefully— you could definitely move away if you wanted to.

And you do. You think.

But he’s saying something, and you’re watching his lips move, his ringed fingers glimmer beneath the light, and his skin is pressed against yours beneath the table— and you don’t want to move. Can’t. Not even if you tried.

Not when he’s warm and gentle, and all of your defense is benched.

And goddamn him— he’s so fucking annoying, he doesn’t even look bothered, and he clearly isn’t when he flicks a soggy fry at your forehead.

“Ow, what the hell?” You frown, dusting the salt from your head. 

“You weren’t paying attention.” He plainly says, though there’s a glint in his eyes.

You scowl, flinging the fry back at him only for him to dodge it, “You’re a child.”

“Yet you’re still here.”

He slinks his foot away from you, a cheeky grin tugging at his lips as you drag in a silent breath.

“What’s my favorite color?” He asks.

You gaze at him, subconsciously committing this view of him to memory as you boredly reply, “I was listening, you idiot.”

He turns his head, offering his ear as he gestures his fingers in a ‘speak up’ motion. You roll your eyes before responding, “Blood red.”

He hums, tapping the table as he exits the booth, “And don’t forget it next time you’re at the mall.” He winks.

The drive home is mostly quiet.

It’s not awkward, more so just… charged. Like neither of you wants to speak and shatter what you’d started beneath the diner table. Like you’re too afraid to speak of it and call it something.

A game. That’s all it was.

And your ankle is still buzzing.

You can almost feel the scratch of his boot against your skin.

Eddie’s fingers drum against the steering wheel, his rings clinking softly. The radio hums softly beneath the rumble of the van, something lazy and bluesy that sounds nearly historic crackling through the old speakers. 

He pulls into your house, the van slowing to a stop— and you kind of had hoped the drive would never stop. Because maybe then, you wouldn’t be forced to finally say something. 

What do you say?

The headlights wash over the white picket fence and pristine lawn— a sharp contrast to the dim, cramped diner where your foot had been tangled with his just an hour ago.

You shift in your seat, stalling, hand on the door handle but not moving. You try to convince yourself it’s because you’re tired— summer heat. 

But you know better. And Eddie knows better, too.

“So,” he drawls, twisting one of his rings. He glances at you, curly hair rolling over his shoulders, a suppressed grin cracking at his lips, “Good date?”

You scoff, finally looking at him, “That wasn’t a date.”

Eddie smirks, huffing out a laugh as he briefly looks out his window like he’s trying to stop from bursting into a full-blown fit of laughter. “Right. My mistake.”

You roll your eyes, grabbing your bag, before opening the door to get out. Your feet hit the pavement, your fingers curling around the door, preparing to shut it when Eddie speaks again. His face is unreadable in the dim light, but his voice is… softer. Less teasing.

“You had fun, though, right?”

And you hesitate, gripping the handle of your bag— because yeah. You did. Too much.

You tilt your head, flashing a look his way before you shrug and respond, “I survived.”

Eddie laughs, craters of sun carving out in his cheeks as he looks away. And you can’t stop the mirror of a slight smile on your lips as you close the door and turn around.

He watches you walk to the door, and you only know not because you turn back around to catch it, but because you can feel his gaze burning with each step you take.

And because Eddie is a thorough chauffeur, he waits until you get the door open before driving away. And you don’t look back.

Not until the red glow of his taillights disappears down the street.

Eddie doesn’t leave your mind easily.

Granted, it’s been less than a day, but that doesn’t make your restlessness any less frustrating. After Eddie dropped you off, you spent the better half of your night batting away flashes of your afternoon with him.

His stupid grin when he picked you up. His teasing comments. His clunky rings. The way his lips curled around a cigarette, the brush of his skin against yours. It plays in your mind like a shitty looped movie, running on repeat from the moment you closed the car door to when you stepped into the shower to when your head hit the pillow.

Admittedly, it’s annoying as hell.

Like an itch. An intrusive thought that won’t quit no matter how hard you try to ignore it. If lobotomies were still legal, you might’ve scheduled one by now—because nothing, absolutely nothing, seems to get that stupid metalhead idiot out of your head.

Which is why you’re here now, lounging by your friend’s pool, still reeling, when the words slip out before you can stop them—

"Do you know Eddie Munson?"

Mia, one of the true friends you’ve made in the years of visiting Hawkins, sits on the lounge chair beside you, focused as she paints her toenails and hums. She doesn’t look up as she responds, “Eddie?” She pauses to blow on the wet paint and shrugs, “Yeah, of course. Why?”

You lean back against your chair, sunglasses dipping as you look at your friend, “He’s always at my house— friends with Steve,” you mutter, “Weird, right?”

Mia huffs a laugh, shifting as she focuses on her task, “Yeah, kinda. Don’t remember Steve having a resident bad boy in his little high school clique.”

“Exactly.” You muse, “That’s what makes it weird.” And honestly, you’re glad you’re not the only one who sees it. How Steve and Eddie even crossed paths will always be a myth to you.

And because your mind is a whirlwind of questions and you seem to have lost your dignity, you move on, voice neutral like your prodding is coming from a place of gossip— “Did you talk in school?”

Thankfully, Mia doesn’t seem to catch your curiosity— Eddie is an interesting guy compared to most people in Hawkins. She hums, still focused on her nails, “Not much. He was a grade above me, so we never really crossed paths, but y’know,” she shrugs, “People talk.”

That piques your interest, your brow raising as you ask, “Talk about what?”

Mia sighs as she shifts her attention to the next set of nails, “That he’s a troublemaker, for one. He was kind of just… always doing his own thing,” she mindlessly rambles, “Skipped class half the time, played in his band, sold drugs in the parking lot.” She huffs out a laugh, shaking her head, “Honestly, I don’t even think he tried to graduate.”

You scoff with a playful roll of your eyes, “Shocking.”

“He was kind of nuts. He was, like… crazy, but in a fun way,” she explains, “Loud, dramatic— he walked across the lunch table once, so, definitely not boring.”

Your face twists in confusion, imagining Eddie walking across a lunch table, but before you can ask, Mia shrugs and speaks again, “I don’t know, he’s kinda hot.”

You nearly freeze. 

You glance over at Mia, playing it cool, when you hum in an uninterested tone, “Not my style.”

Mia shrugs, completely unfazed, “Fair. He’s not a lot of people’s style.” She pauses, tilting her head before a small smirk dances along her lips, “But, y’know, I did hear he’s good with his fingers.”

You blink, heart skipping a beat for a moment. “What?”

Mia grins, finishing her task and twisting the nail polish lid back onto the bottle as she shrugs, “You know… he’s in a band. Plays guitar. And allegedly, that skill transfers.”

You scoff, pushing your sunglasses higher up your nose as if the plastic frame will hide whatever the hell your face is doing, “Jesus Christ, Mia.” You mumble.

Mia laughs, stretching out her legs on the chair as she leans back and wriggles in her spot, “Hey, I’m just repeating what I heard,” she defends, “Some girl at a party a while back was very detailed about it.”

And you don’t want to think about it.

You really don't want to imagine whatever hell Eddie Munson’s fingers could release upon your body because that is the last thing you need, and god— you should’ve never asked.

You grab the magazine next to you, desperate to distract your hands from nervous fidgeting. You shrug, playing a facade of boredom, “Yeah, well. Still not my type.”

Mia snickers, gliding a pair of shades over her eyes and relaxing into her chair, “Sure, babe. Whatever you say.”

And you hate that you know she’s right.

The days pass uneventfully.

Or, at least, that’s what you tell yourself.

The heatwave has passed, so you keep yourself busy— lounging by the pool, flipping through magazines and books, running forced errands with your stepmother, and meeting up with Mia when you can. It’s enough to keep your mind occupied but not enough to stop Eddie’s presence from creeping in during the quiet moments.

It’s frustrating.

It was just one day. One stupid, random, impulsive day. And yet, his voice, his smirk, the way he looked at you before you left his car— it lingers. Just as much as your newfound information about his magical fingers.

It’s like trying to scrub off a marker stain that refuses to fade.

And it doesn’t help that Steve has been acting annoyingly weird. Smirking and snickering. Amused. Like he knows something.

And you shouldn’t feel bothered by it— because it was nothing— but you do.

You’re sitting at the dining table, absently pushing the grilled asparagus around your plate, hardly listening to whatever your stepmother is saying until your dad says your name.

“Did you go out today?” He asks, cutting into his steak.

You shrug, “Not really. Just hung out here. Swam for a bit.”

Steve snorts, barely looking up from his plate as he spears a bite of chicken. Your brows knit together, face twisting in subtle annoyance before you decide to ignore him.

”What about the rest of the week? Been keeping busy, right? You’ve got another two months left; can’t spend it locked up inside.”

You refrain from rolling your eyes and shrug again, “I guess. Nothing exciting. There’s, like, nothing to do here anyway.”

Steve huffs a laugh, chewing his chicken as he shakes his head like he can’t believe what he’s hearing. You barely have a chance to shoot a glare his way before he mutters, “Don’t lie. She’s been hanging with Eddie.”

His words crash over you like a bucket of ice water.

Because, what the fuck?

Your head snaps toward him, stomach twisting, pulse skipping a beat, “I have not been hanging with Eddie,” you snap. “We hung out once. By accident.”

Your dad hums, sipping his drink, “When you broke my car.” 

You glare at him next— that conversation didn’t go over well— “Yes, when your car broke down, which was, again, an accident.” You stress.

Steve huffs, sending an unconvinced glare your way, “Yeah? Well, quit throwing yourself at him then, ‘cause I’m tired of hearing him ramble about you.”

“Steve.” Your stepmother warns.

And you… you’re not quite sure if you’re breathing right.

What?

Your body runs so hot you could nearly burn a hole through the table. Your father smirks around the rim of his glass, eyes holding an amused glimmer like this is the most entertaining thing he’s heard all week.

You, however, are not entertained.

“I’m not throwing myself at anyone, you absolute moron.” You grit out, face burning despite your best efforts.

Steve shrugs, “Could’ve fooled me.”

You glare, turning back to pushing at the food on your plate, “You don’t even know what you’re talking about.”

Steve just leans back in his chair, his mother shaking her head as her son continues to spew out nonsense, “Oh, I don’t? Well, I guess Eddie’s been hallucinating then, huh?”

You scoff in disbelief, “Probably. The drugs probably finally got to him, I don’t fucking know!” You stress.

“Language.” Your father warns, earning an eye roll from you.

Steve's mom gasps, turning to her son, “Steve!” She exclaims, “Drugs?”

Steve waves her off with an annoyed glance, “All I’m saying is there’s no way Eddie is the only one buying into whatever you two have going on— gross.”

Your heart kicks up a speed, but you fight to keep your expression neutral.

“Well, it’s not my fault your weird friends never spent more than two minutes around a girl.” You bite back.

Steve’s mother finally waves her hands about the table, “Okay, you two, that’s enough. We’re not here to discuss sibling politics; we’re here to eat.”

Steve shrugs, taking another bite into his chicken— which you hope is poisoned. You roll your eyes, returning your attention to your plate, trying to act like your pulse isn’t pounding in your ears.

But it is.

And as much as you don’t want to, you can’t stop wondering about Eddie’s supposed “ramblings.”

And you tell yourself it doesn’t matter.

That maybe he’s just rambling about how he thinks you’re annoying or something stupid— but from how Steve put it, and from the way Eddie acts towards you—

You know it’s the complete opposite.

And you hate that it makes your insides twist.

The past few days have been… weird.

Eddie doesn’t know exactly why, but something’s been sitting in his chest, subtle yet loud.

Maybe it’s because he’s been trying not to think about you.

Which, by the way, isn’t working.

Because he can’t stop thinking about you.

Admittedly, Eddie is a flirt at heart. He likes playing with shiny things, and you’re a fucking beam of light. That being said, sure, Eddie initially started this little cat-and-mouse game as a fun little summer activity, but shit Eddie’s never been this dedicated to a game other than D&D.

He knew his chances with you were slim— because what’s a guy like him doing poking his nose around a girl like you? But the other night, sitting across from you in that shitty diner, hearing your laugh and seeing your smile, feeling you against him— shit, Eddie’s done for.

Sugar-sweet, honeycomb, crisp sunshine— Eddie feels this sticky, gooey substance oozing down the sides of his insides every time you pass by.

He’s kept himself busy, helping Wayne with the truck, jamming with the guys, and doing extra shifts at the shop. He’s been a busy guy for a guy that isn’t usually busy. 

And you’d think it’d tire his brain out enough to not be able to think about you, but nope. 

You’re still there, at the forefront of his mind, bright as ever, Malibu sun in all her glory.

If Eddie’s being honest, he gave up trying after the second day. 

Lets you run rampant in his cluttered mind, sprinkling stardust on everything and throwing up glitter. God, Eddie’s fucked. And he knows it, not only because he feels it when he sees you and his body gets this surge of adrenaline, but also because— Steve sees it.

Eddie doesn’t know; maybe he said something offhanded— his mouth runs a lot; he stopped paying attention to it back in middle school— so he was kind of thrown when Steve just casually looked at him and went, “If you’re gonna have a crush on my sister, at least do it silently, man.”

Eddie… did nothing.

Couldn’t.

Not even if the weed allowed him to.

He thinks he just laughed, said something witty, and told Steve to fuck off, but he doesn’t quite remember— why? Because he was busy thinking about you.

He’d been waiting for a chance to get alone with you again, whisk you away like he did the other night, make you fall disgustingly hard for him— shit, get a ring, make it official or something, jump every last one of the hoops— but you’ve done an excellent job at making yourself scarce.

Until now.

Now, Eddie’s at the town's yearly carnival, and you’re right fucking there.

Eddie barely processes it at first— he’s walking through the loud park with the guys, laughing at something dumb Jeff said, and that’s when he feels it— the weight of your gaze.

He glances up, and sure enough, there you are.

And you’re already looking at him. 

And Eddie has you caught.

You’re standing near the ticket booth, arms crossed, expression unreadable beneath your sunglasses. The neon lights drip over you in shifting colors— blue, then pink, then gold. 

Malibu sun in all her beautiful, stubborn glory.

You don’t look away. Or maybe you do. Eddie can’t tell past the lights bursting across your shades, but he takes it upon himself to grab the invitation either way.

A slow, wicked, and hungry grin tugs at his lips. He alters his course, peeling off from his group of friends without so much as a word. They don’t notice— he doubts they’d question it if they did.

He weaves through the crowd, sugar-high kids dashing past him, hands in his pockets and eyes loose on you until he’s standing right before you.

The smell of your perfume drifts in the wind, whizzing up his nose and licking the grooves of his brain. His stomach churns.

“Fancy seeing you here, princess.”

You lift an unimpressed brow, still unreadable beneath your glasses. “Mm. Lucky me.”

Stubborn as ever.

Eddie inhales it like freshly washed sheets.

Eddie smirks, leaning against the ticket booth, “Careful. Almost sound happy to see me.”

You scoff, shifting your weight and glancing away, “In your dreams.”

“You’d be surprised how often you show up there, honey.”

You hum, your nose wrinkling— Eddie’s insides burn.

“Surprised? Not really. Grossed out? Maybe.”

Eddie raises a brow, “You know what… I’ll take a maybe.”

His gaze flickers towards a ride across the park, and he looks back at you as you retrieve your tickets from the man in the booth. And before you can walk away, Eddie speaks again, “Take a ride with me?”

You look at him momentarily, seemingly thinking it over before shrugging, “No thanks.”

You turn around, taking a few steps before Eddie jogs up to you, turning and walking backward as he paces before you, “Come on babe,” he drawls, “I’m offering you a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity here.”

You raise an eyebrow, fingers tight around your string of carnival tickets, “Well, I heard you’ve got a reputation with girls and your fingers, so, can’t be much of a missed opportunity.”

Eddie physically malfunctions.

His smirk falters, just for a second, his pace slowing. 

And you pause, and Eddie sees it on your face— you fucked up.

Your lips part for a moment, about to say something, something to debunk what the hell you just said— but Eddie beats you to it.

He laughs, eyes widening in disbelief, “Oh-ho-ho,” Eddie delights, “Look at you, princess. Fishing for details.” He drawls. You groan, attempting to walk around him only for Eddie to follow after you.

He squeezes his eyes shut, shaking his head as if it’ll help him digest your words easier, “Hold on— did you just slut shame me?” He exclaims with a grin.

“Yes. And no, I wasn’t fishing for details.” You hiss.

“No, no, no,” Eddie places a hand on your shoulder and turns you to him, “You can’t just drop that in casual conversation and expect me to let it go.” He pauses, eyes narrowing at you before he leans in, a devilish smirk on his lips as his voice lowers, “You wanna try ‘em out, huh?”

You grimace, “Excuse me—”

Eddie wriggles his decorated fingers in your face, “Right here, ready to go for you, honeybee.”

You smack your hand against Eddie’s, batting him away as your face twists with an annoyed expression, “And what about you?” You press.

Eddie looks at you, amusement woven with confusion, “What about me?” His fingers dance across your wrist, licks of fire kissing his fingertips, “I’m not the one accusing you of sleeping with the entire town, sugartits.” He points out.

You hum, crossing your arms and straightening your back, “Well, you’re the one rambling to Steve about me. That’s cute, Munson.” You lean in, “You’ve got a crush on me.”

Eddie’s brain short-circuits.

Because what the fuck is he supposed to say to that?

He blinks.

“The hell are you talking about?”

You tilt your head, a smirk tugging at your lips, “Steve told me.”

Eddie scoffs, looking away as if unfazed, shifting in his spot as he shrugs, “Steve’s full of shit.”

You hum, “If you say so.”

Eddie shrugs, “So we’re both in love— knew that already.”

“We are not—“

Eddie waves you off, trying and failing to suppress a smile, “Yeah, yeah— getting on the ride or what?”

You look at Eddie, arms crossed, cute and disgruntled.

Oh, he’s definitely got you stuck.

“One ride.”

Eddie smirks, slinging an arm over your shoulders and forcing you to walk with him, “Just what I like to hear.”

He takes you across the park, a shit-eating grin on his face and you under his arm. Eddie glances at you, smirking at your forced look of annoyance. He snags your sunglasses, perching them on his face and grinning when you grumble and try to take them back, “Come on, princess. Gotta save my eyes; your smiles just too bright.” He teasingly complains, poking at the side of your lips.

You roll your eyes, giving up on retrieving your glasses when he bats you away. “You’re so annoying,” you grumble, but Eddie sees your lips twitch.

“You love me.” He squeezes your arm.

And because Eddie’s a total shithead, he stops at the scariest-looking ride in the park, smirking when you gaze up at it, arms crossed.

“Nope.”

Eddie tilts his head, grinning. “Nope?”

You turn to Eddie, a stern look on your face, “Nope,” you repeat, “I’m not getting on that thing.” You point towards the ride of screaming victims.

Eddie clutches his chest dramatically, “Wow,” he muses, “Can’t believe this. Little miss indestructible, afraid of a little carnival ride.”

You glare at him, “It’s not fear; it’s common sense. I like my feet on the ground.”

“Oh?” Eddie hums, lips mockingly turning into a pout, “Sounds like fear, baby.”

You huff, shifting your weight, “Pick something else.”

Eddie looks at the ride for a second before looking back at you. “Nah.”

“Eddie—”

“Just so we’re clear,” Eddie holds up a finger, leaning in when he speaks, “If you pick another ride, I’m never letting you live this down. Every time I see you, I’ll greet you with a, ‘Hey, remember when you chickened out at the carnival?’”

Your jaw clenches. A pause of silence. A glance at the ride.

Caught.

So fucking caught.

“So fucking stupid.” You mutter with a shake of your head. “Fine.”

The metal bar slams over your laps with a heavy clunk, ringing in Eddie’s ears like a winning chime.

And beside him, you shift in your seat, hands gripping the bar, jaw tight as you glare straight ahead. Eddie grins, lounging back like he’s in a recliner, one arm draped over the side.

“You look tense, princess.”

“I wonder why,” you deadpan.

Eddie snickers, impulsively reaching out and giving your bar a heavy shake just to mess with you. You flinch, snapping your head towards him and gripping his hands, “Stop that.” you stress, peeling his fingers from your seat.

“What?” Eddie drawls, “Just making sure it’s secure.” He hums innocently, a shit-eating grin on his face to ruin the act. “Wouldn’t want you flying off, now, would we?”

You exhale sharply, a frown on your face as you turn forward again, “I hate you.”

“You keep saying that, but you’re still risking your life for me.” He teases.

You roll your eyes, fingers still tight around the bar. Eddie leans in a little, voice dropping when he asks, “You nervous?”

You scoff, knuckles nearly popping from your skin, “No.”

“You sure?” Eddie grins, “You’re holding onto that thing like it’s your last hope.”

You release the bar immediately, crossing your arms instead, “I just— I don’t trust these things, alright.” You grumble.

Eddie hums, glancing around, “Yeah, I mean… I did see a loose bolt on the track earlier— but I’m sure it’s fine.”

You turn, eyes wide, as you look at Eddie, and it takes Eddie everything in his body not to burst into a fit of laughter.

“Are you serious?” You stress.

Eddie pauses. Thinks you’re the prettiest sight when you’re about to fling yourself off the ride and probably murder him.

Then he grins. “Nah.”

You elbow him— quite hard, actually— and Eddie barks out a laugh just as the ride jerks to life, gears whirring as you begin your slow ascent.

Eddie glances at you again, sees the way you shift, the way you press your lips together as the ground sinks further and further beneath you. 

And Eddie can’t help himself.

“You can hold my hand if you want,” he offers, wriggling his fingers in your direction.

You glance at his fingers. Eddie thinks you consider it, but you huff and look away, adjusting your grip on the bars, “I’d rather die.”

Eddie just laughs, the wind whipping through his hair as the ride reaches the top, “Suit yourself, princess.”

And then—

The ride drops.

Eddie’s head throws back in laughter, and the wind roars, whipping through his curls and pressing his shirt to his chest as gravity yanks you both down. The weightlessness sends a rush through his veins, fire licking hot through his veins. He fucking loves this.

A scream rips through the air beside him.

Eddie glances over and— oh, shit, this is better than the ride itself.

You look miserable.

Your eyes are squeezed shut, your mouth open in a blood-curdling scream that gets stolen by the wind and stirring gears, drowned out by the deafening carnival sounds. You’re gripping the safety bar like your life depends on it— which it does— and your body is stiff as you get thrown into a loop.

Eddie laughs even harder then, because— god, she’s adorable.

The ride twists, flips you upside down, and snaps you back into another soul-snatching drop. You let out another breathless scream, like you’ll never come out of this alive, cursing at Eddie like he’s this is his fault— and Eddie soaks up every second, grinning wide, weightless, and free.

And then something grabs him.

Eddie falters for a moment and blinks, head snapping down, and— oh.

Your hand. Wrapped tight around his. Like it’s instinct— like you reached for him without thinking.

The ride whips sideways, but Eddie’s hardly paying attention to that anymore.

His hand is on fire.

Sweet, sizzling, hot fire.

You don’t let go. Not even when the ride is tossed through another loop, not when your breath stutters from the sheer force of another drop— your hand stays steady planted around Eddie’s.

He feels the tremble in your fingers, how hard you’re clutching— like he’s steadier than the metal bar bolted to the seat, solely there to protect you.

Eddie’s stomach flips, and it’s not because of the ride.

He’s grinning wide, fingers curling around your hand, allowing himself to greedily take your mindless opening.

By the time the ride slows to a stop, Eddie’s still smiling, riding high on a sunny-bliss wave. 

You rip your hand from his, and Eddie watches as you unbuckle yourself, your face twisted in utter betrayal.

“That was awful.” You pant, shaking out your hands like they’ve fallen asleep, “I fucking hate you.”

Eddie cocks his head, beaming. “You held my hand.”

You pause, still breathing shakily, as you look at Eddie for a second. Your gaze flickers down, fingers flexing like they remember how Eddie felt just moments ago.

Eddie’s grin stretches as your expression shifts from realization to horror, and before you can say something, Eddie wiggles his fingers, “Still feelin’ ‘em, too. Strong grip, princess. You sure you don’t wanna hold ‘em again?”

You shove Eddie so hard he nearly topples over.

Eddie laughs, honest and deep in his chest— god, he’s having fun.

Eddie unbuckles his seat, lifting the bar above your heads, careful not to hit you. You step down from the seat, wobbling for a moment, but Eddie catches your elbow before you take out an entire family of children.

“Woah there,” he muses, holding you steady, “You okay? Need me to carry you?”

You glare at him, letting Eddie gently guide you out of the way for other passengers, “Pick something else before I kill you.”

Eddie grins.

God, he so fucking won.

“Don’t have to tell me twice, honeybee.”

And just like that, you’re off again, moving through the park like it’s just the two of you.

And you don’t bring up your friends.

Neither does Eddie.

You just keep going, slipping from one ride to the next, getting caught up in the rush, the lights, the sheer gravity of just being together. Eddie’s never felt this high.

By the time Eddie does think about your groups of friends, it’s already too late. They’re gone.

Not that he gives a single shit.

Mostly everyone is slowly leaving the park because they’re about to close, but one last ride catches Eddie’s eye.

“One more?”

You look at Eddie, a glow on your face that Eddie can’t stop admiring. “I think I’ve had enough of feeling my heart drop out of my ass, Munson.”

Eddie smiles, already tugging you towards the ride he has in mind. “This one's slow.”

You look at him, eyes narrowing in suspicion of the devilish grin on his face. You follow his gaze, groaning when you land on his target, “That’s for couples.” You point out, “And it’s cheesy.”

Eddie shrugs, “We’re a couple, babe. Madly in love, you and I.” 

You roll your eyes, barely fighting back as Eddie pulls you into the Tunnel of Love.

There’s no one in line, so Eddie slips the guy two tickets and leads you straight to the awaiting boat. He lends you a hand into the boat because he’s a gentleman before he’s a menace, before taking a seat next to you.

You sit quietly, looking everywhere but Eddie— because here in this tiny little shitty boat, you’re practically sharing the same breath. And Eddie loves it.

“This is stupid.” You mutter.

“As stupid as the first, second, third, or fourth ride you said was stupid?” Eddie teases, draping an arm across the back of the boat, not touching you but just there.

You glare at Eddie, and the boat drifts forward, slipping into the tunnel’s shadow. The warm glow of the carnival lights disappears behind you, swallowed by the dim flicker of fake candles and twinkling stars overhead. It’s quiet in here— just the soft hum of old music and the gentle rush of the water beneath the boat.

You shift beside Eddie, arms crossed as your eyes dance around, “This is kind of creepy.”

Eddie smirks. He leans in, voice low like he’s telling a secret, “It’s haunted, actually.”

You huff through your nose, unimpressed, though your knee bounces momentarily, “Yeah, okay.”

”No, really,” Eddie insists, biting back a grin. You glance at him, your faces close. “Couple got stuck in here. Died. Now they haunt anyone who makes out in these things.”

You huff out a laugh, eyes glancing away as you turn back to the ride, “Wow. So tragic. Guess we should definitely avoid that, then.”

Eddie shrugs, all casual and smug, turning back to the ride as well, “I mean… unless you’re feeling brave— ever been ghost hunting?”

You scoff, shoving at Eddie, your stifled smile peeking out beneath the dim lights. Eddie’s fast— catches your elbow and grins when you glare at him.

He doesn’t let go.

His grip isn't hard, easy enough that you could pull away if you wanted to, but you don’t.

So, Eddie distracts you, spinning this stupid lie about a dead couple as his fingertips drag along the inside of your wrist, featherlight. You shift slightly, eyes taking in the twinkling lights and windows of displays.

And Eddie takes a chance.

Silky smooth, he slides his palm over yours— slow and easy— linking your hands together before you can think too hard about it.

There’s a roaring fire in his chest. Breathing and so fucking alive, and his Malibu sun is feeding it dry wood.

“I don’t believe your story.”

Eddie grins, squeezes your hand once, playful, like it’s just part of the joke, “Don’t come crying to me later tonight when an old woman comes knockin’ shit around in your room.”

You raise a brow, “I’m willing to bet it’d just be you sneaking in like a creep.”

Eddie hums, calloused fingertips dragging over your knuckles. “Wouldn’t be books and makeup knocking around then.”

You groan, pink and red lights casting over your grimace, “Gross. Might be the worst one tonight.” But the corner of your mouth twitches, betraying you.

And Eddie grins, then. 

And because Eddie wants to revel in what’s left of being on this ride with you, he says nothing more. He sits there, pressed against you, letting his hand burn in yours.

The carnival hums in the distance, fading into nothing as you and Eddie cross the gravel lot.

Your hand isn’t in Eddie’s anymore.

Eddie misses it, but he doesn’t push it.

There’s a silence between you, not awkward or bad, just… silence.

It’s warm, a slight breeze drifting by that cools the hot bones in Eddie’s body. 

Eddie’s hands are shoved in his pockets, scared to let them out because his fingers keep twitching, buzzing with this need to touch you. You’re walking beside him, watching your shoes pace in the gravel, arms wrapped around yourself.

Eddie kind of hates the sight of his van when you walk up to it.

He says nothing, walking over to the passenger side, swinging the door open, and stepping back to let you climb in.

You swallow, stepping forward to get in.

And you make the biggest fucking mistake of looking at Eddie.

Eddie doesn’t know; he’s skyrocketed in the sky, looking down at the earth and weightless in the air— because your lips are on his

He’s not sure who leaned in; maybe it was him— it was probably him— perhaps it was you, but it doesn't matter because he’s kissing you.

And you’re kissing him.

He startles for a moment— just for a second— before instinct takes over. His greedy hands creep out of his pockets to find your waist, dragging you closer as he kisses you, hard and sure.

It’s impulsive. A little messy. Like something that’s been aching to happen all night just snapped loose all at once.

You exhale sharply against his mouth— like you can’t believe what’s happening. Like you might know, this is toeing the line, but Eddie doesn’t let you think too long.

He tilts his head, deepens it— just a little. Just enough to make you forget whatever had been rolling around in your mind.

And fuck, he feels it too. The heat. The weight of it. The fact that this is the first time you’re face to face with this dance you’ve been dancing these last weeks.

You’re pressed against the side of his van, fingers curled into his shirt and kissing him to his death.

He cups your face— can’t get enough of you— and you whimper before pulling away, breathing heavily, hands still clutching his shirt.

Eddie looks at you, your wide eyes, your wet lips, and he licks his own— and he can taste you.

Sugar, cherry, honeydew, Malibu fucking sun— dancing on his tongue, heavy and soft.

And when he looks in your eyes, Eddie realizes he’s entirely, irrevocably, and immensely done for.

Now I told you, so you ought to know

It takes some time for a feeling to grow

But you're so close now, I can't let you go

And I can't let go

- magnet and steel x walter egan

part three.

cutie teeny taglist: @kellsck @your-nightmaredoll @hereforshmut @emxxblog @mdurdenpitt @glassbxttless @peculiarwren @aactuaaltraash @daveythorntonslocker @bl1ssfulbaby @strangereads @wdsara48 @cowboylikemunson

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a/n: THEY SMOOCHED !!! AHHH !!! lmaoo okay guys we're smooth (ish) sailing from here on out ;) I can guarantee there will be some smutty action next chappy hehe. anyways, I hope u enjoyed lovesick eddie this chap. as always, thank you for riding along, ily and appreciate any and all forms of feedback <3

[thealtoduck]

Sweet Juice

Clark Kent x Male Reader

Content: Greek Mythology AU

Warnings: Smut, Bottom!Reader, Top!Clark, semi-public sex, anal sex, unprotected sex, drunken sex, skinny dipping, spit as lube, missionary position…

Summary: You’re a member of Dionysus following and during a feast you meet a demigod son of Zeus, Clark, also known as the man of steel…

——

You were a lesser deity in a world filled with powerful gods, monsters and heroes. You were the son of the now famous naiad, Daphne. Unfortunately though your mother was no longer with you as she had been turned in to a laurel tree as a form of mercy.

It was considered mercy because the only other option she had was to be violated by Apollo, who was under the spell of Eros after an argument between the two. Apollo feeling bad about the whole ordeal apologised by finding you a place in the retinue of Dionysus and Ariadne.

You didn’t mind this as your duties were pretty much drink, dance, fuck, drink more and generally just to have a good time. It was just constant partying and celebration.

One night when the party had yet to start a visitor came for Dionysus. You were sat close to the god’s throne, you were petting one of his pet leopards when a strange man appeared and entered the god’s camp. He walked slowly towards the olympian. You noted his handsome appearance as he stopped in front of Dionysus.

”Lord Dionysus, you sent for me” the man said in a deep tone. ”I did” Dionysus confirmed before standing up saying loudly ”Everyone! Let me introduce to you to Clark, you may know him as the man of steel!… And also one of my younger half brothers”.

Dionysus followers broke out in cheers for the hero, who seemed slightly confused by the big welcoming. ”I’ve called him here to save us all from the cyclops that has been attacking in the night” Dionysus declared and everyone once again cheered.

”What?! You never told me of any cyclops?!” Clark asked agitated. ”Actually I didn’t tell you anything but you showed up anyway” Dionysus teased him. ”Why don’t you save them yourself?” Clark questioned. However Dionysus only responded with a simple ”Where’s the fun in that?”.

Clark looked irretated at Dionysus and said ”I will not be tricked in to fighting someone else’s battle”. Making the on looking crowd let out disappointed murmurs. Dionysus walked up to the hero and put a hand on his shoulder.

”Come on Clark, do us this favour and we’ll give you the biggest celebration you’ll experince in a life time, with the finest wine and feast, our best music and dancers and if you want you can take to bed anyone you fancy, we don’t judge” Dionysus offered.

Clark took a moment looking around at the crowd surrounding him until his eyes landed on you for a swift moment. He then turned back to Dionysus and said ”Very well, i shall do you this favour”. Once again the crowd including you broke out in cheers and applause for the demigod.

The very next day gifted Clark with a sword, armour and food by Dionysus as he and his followers saw off the hero on his way to save them from the threat of the cyclops.

I didn’t take long for Clark to return as he was back at the camp by next day. He came back in the afternoon covered from head to toe in dirt, dust and a little cyclops blood. Throwing the red painted sword by Dionysus feet.

”Well done” Dionysus complimented looking at the blood drenched sword. Dionysus then turned towards you ”Y/n, take our hero somewhere he can wash off” he commanded. ”Yes, lord Dionysus” you said with a quick bow. He then turned back to Clark and said ”When you return, we feast”.

You went and collected a basket with a bottle of scented oil, a strigil (a tool they used in ancient greece to wash themselves) and a new chiton. ”This way, my lord” you said to Clark and started guiding him through the forest. ”Please, just Clark is fine” he said humbly following you.

You guided him to a secluded pond. ”Impressive, how did you find this place so quickly?” Clark complimented. ”My mother was a naiad, it’s an instinct” you explained putting down the basket next to the pond.

”Would you like me to bring you anything else?” you asked Clark as he started undressing out of the dented armour and dirty chiton. ”You’ve already done enough for me, thank you” he said gentlemanly. Clark was now naked, revealing his muscled body and impressive manhood, which you tried not to look at.

He stepped down in the pond, the water reaching up to his hips. ”Why don’t you join me?” he suggested gesturing towards the water. ”I’d love too, but i have to help the others prepare everything for tonight” you said. ”Come on, only for a short time” Clark tempted. ”Okay” you said with a smile, taking off your chiton and sandals.

Clark watched your naked form with interest as you stepped down in to the water. ”See, it’s nice” Clark said starting to wash himself off using the scented oil you brought for him. You tried not to stare at his oiled up chest but you were 90% sure he caught you looking but he didn’t say anything, he only smirked.

You relaxed in the cool water for a while until you remembered you needed to get back to the others. You climbed out of the pond and started putting on your clothing once again. ”Thanks for the company, hope i’ll see you tonight” Clark said. ”Hope, i’ll see you too” you said and started walking through the forest back towards camp.

That night the music rang loudly through the forest as you celebrated the death of cyclops and your new hero, Clark. You drank and danced wildly with your friends. Some others were already passed out from drinking, some were gambling and playing games and one couple were fucking against a tree.

You saw Clark sitting on a pillow next to Dionysus talking, goblet in hand. You made your way over to the olympian and the demigod. ”Y/n” Dionysus exclaimed happily as he noted your presence. He patted a pillow next to him saying ”Come sit down”.

You took the offer sitting down next to the god, he made your empty goblet instantly refill and put an arm around you. ”I was just telling Clark of my inner circle” Dionysus revealed and continued ”Y/n, here you’ve met, he is my and Ariandne’s favourite attendant and friend” he said sweetly.

”Also he has a body as if sculpted by Pygmalion, carved and smoothed to absolute perfection. You should hope to have a look upon it someday” Dionysus said taking another sip from his goblet.

”Actually i already have” Clark stated boldly making Dionysus spill some wine on himself. ”Y/n, joined me for a swim in the pond” Clark explained making your cheeks heat up slightly. ”Is that so?” Dionysus questioned looking towards you.

”Well, i’ve got to go find Ariadne” Dionysus said getting up leaving you and Clark. ”Are you and Dionysus-?” Clark started but you cut him off saying ”No, he and Ariadne just have a very open relationship”. ”How has your night been?” you then questioned the hero.

”Enjoyable but i’ve never been much of a party person” he said then taking a sip from his cup. ”I get it, before i came here i wasn’t either” you told him and then got an idea. ”Wanna go for a walk for some peace and quiet?” you asked. ”Sure, i’d love too” Clark said and the two of you stood up and walked off in to the forest behind you bringing your goblets with you.

You walked and talked for a while, drinking until your goblets were didn’t have a single drop left in them. Dionysus must’ve brought out the strong stuff because you and Clark were stumbling around and slurring your speech, you were laughing loudly at each others stories, sitting very close together.

Finally the two of you ended up behind some bushes close by to the party. You started to passionately make out, you laying on your back in the soft grass and Clark on top of you. Clark tore open your chiton and undressed you, leaving your naked form beneath him.

He then took off his own clothes revealing his muscular body and his hard cock. Clark took his hand and brought it to your mouth, you sucked on his fingers to get them wet, then he brought his moist fingers to your enterance and started pushing finger inside you.

You let out a small gasp as Clark started to finger you open, he added another fiinger and then another until you were ready to take him. Clark spit in to his hand and rubbed it over his erect manhood.

”It’s time i claim my reward” Clark said spreading your legs, he lined himself up with you and started pushing his hard cock in to your warmth. Clark loved the seeing the face you made as his cock slowly filled you up.

”Fuck your so big” you hissed as the demigod was fully sheated deep inside you. He then slowy started moving pushing himself in and out of you as a wave of pleasure started washing over you.

Your legs were wrapped around Clark as he thrusted in to you. ”I’m gonna fuck your little nymph hole full with my seed” Clark groaned in to your ear and placed kisses all along your neck. The demigod started speeding up his thrusts.

”Clark, fuck yeah! Take me” you said in ecstasy grabbing at his back as he fucked your hole. Both of your bodies had started gleaming from sweat as he mounted you under the moonlight, as his reward for defeating the cyclops.

Clark’s thrusts became rougher as he wanted to take you like a real demigod would, he loved how your walls clenched around his thick cock. He brutally fucked you with all the strength of his godly heritage to bring you to your release.

You let out breathy moans as Clark pounded your gaping hole, thrusting against your prostate. You felt yourself getting close to your orgasm. You dug your nails in to the grass below as Clark’s cock made you see Mount Olympus.

”Clark, i’m gonna cum” you said panting heavily making Clark thrust deeper as he wanted to push you over the edge. Then your cock started spraying cum all over your and Clark’s stomachs. Clark’s own release was getting close.

”I’m gonna plant my seed deep inside you” Clark moaned and his rough thrusts became uneven and sloppy. Clark delivered one last deep stroke in to you and he erupted inside you, he flooding your insides with his cum.

Both of you panted heavily and Clark rolled over and layed next to you in the grass. ”You were amazing” Clark praised while softly stroking your cheek. The two of you then used your torn clothes as blankets as you cuddled close together and you both fell asleep under the starry sky.

[sixteenth-days]

oh wow I loved the warden etho ficlet… “painting the walls” gosh that’s so vivid… mayhaps more of that? perhaps? maybe maybe?

(first ficlet is here! this one is set before the first one.)

"Hm," Doc says, stepping back. Etho can't tell what the expression on his face is- the world recedes into dimness beyond about a meter in front of his face. He focuses on the sound of Doc tapping his pencil against the clipboard he's holding, instead. The sound is harsh, irregular, stressed. "You are at about eighty-five percent vision loss."

"Huh," Etho says. Doc's workshop is twilight, all barely distinguishable shades of black and grey. "What're my odds of getting any of that back?"

"Not good," Doc says bluntly. "The infection progressed far enough while you were away that at this point I'd be worried about permanent nervous damage if we tried to surgically remove all of the skulk, especially given the other changes you've been experiencing. You said your hearing has improved?"

What he can hear from here: the faint buzzing of the redstone lamps set into the ceiling, the whisper of air across stainless-steel tables, the scrape of Doc's claws against the back of the clipboard he's holding, the rustle of the vision-test chart Doc had tacked to the wall, the distant whistle of fireworks as someone flies above the Perimeter.

"A little," Etho agrees, vaguely distracted.

Doc hums, and Etho finds himself tilting his head to follow the rumble of noise. "Your other option would be prosthetic eyes. I would get Iskall to help me, in that case. But I would still be concerned about the possibility of rejection, given the... overgrowth."

Etho nods. He's not actually entirely sure what the upper half of his face looks like at this point, for the obvious reasons, but from what he can tell, he can see why there would be potential complications.

"So," Doc says. "Those are the options."

"And if I don't do anything, I'm just gonna go entirely blind?"

"You may retain some light perception," Doc says. "Otherwise, most likely, yes."

"But nothing else, right?"

There's a pause. "What do you mean?" Doc asks.

"I mean, besides that, do I have a clean bill of health?" Etho clarifies.

Etho pictures Doc's eyebrows rising. "...Besides the progressing and near-total blindness? Yes."

Etho makes a noise of acknowledgement, slides down off the table he's been sitting on. "Okay, I think I've got this under control."

Doc sounds extremely doubtful. "Do you?"

"Ah, you know, I'll figure it out," Etho says. And he can start right now, by figuring out where the exit is.

[geekusfemme]

The Grove

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Full story on AO3 — Wattpad 100k+

Astarion x Female OC

Rating: Mature

Summary: What if Astarion was betrayed by the Dark Urge and handed over to the Gur Hunter? And what if another kind of hunter saved him and set his life on a new course, one that would ultimately lead him to cross paths with those who had abandoned him? This story aims to give Astarion his own hero's journey separate to the main party, and will run parallel to the canon story in which Durge will be an antagonist.

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Chapter Four: Astarion, Ashara and Onyx visited the goblin-occupied druid's grove after Durge betrayed it. There, they manage to save Zevlor from being thrown into the Worg pit and are pretending to be taking him in chains to Moonrise for Minthara...

—★—

Astarion froze at the sight of Zevlor holding the chain taut against Ashara's neck. His eyes narrowed, and his hand instinctively moved to the hilt of his blade. Beside him, Onyx growled low and menacing, his hackles bristling like a sea of steel quills. Yet, the wolf's voice was calm and steady, directed not at the aggressor but at the victim.

"Stay calm, Ashara," Onyx said, his tone like a heavy stone settling. "He is acting out of fear and desperation."

Ashara's struggles ceased. Her hands fell away from the chain, though her breaths came fast and shallow. Her composure held, but Astarion could see the strain in her tense shoulders.

"I said release me!" Zevlor's voice cracked, fear clawing at its edges.

Astarion cocked his head, the faintest hint of a smirk tugging at his lips. "I'd love to, believe me. However, the goblins, in their infinite wisdom, seemed to have neglected to provide me with the key to your restraints. I can only assume they expected I wouldn't need to free you until we reached our destination."

Zevlor's frantic gaze darted around, his mind clearly racing for options. Astarion didn't miss the way his grip on the chain tightened momentarily before his shoulders sagged with the weight of growing despair. Still, there was a grim resolve in his eyes.

"Then she comes with me until I find something to get these chains off me," Zevlor snapped, his grip tightening around the chain.

"Good idea," Astarion replied breezily. "Or... you could let her go, and we all pay a visit to the blacksmith's workshop in Moonhaven. It's just further up the road. Lovely little place, probably still crawling with goblin scouts. You'll find all the tools you need there to free yourself. Although..." He let the word hang, savoring the moment. "Walking in with my companion as your prisoner might raise a few eyebrows. Or weapons."

Zevlor's eyes narrowed. "You could order them to stand down."

Astarion feigned a thoughtful pause, his fingers drumming lightly against the hilt of his sword. "True... but then I'd have to explain how a half-dead wretch like you managed to get the drop on a True Soul. It would be a little embarrassing, don't you think? I'd hate for the goblins to lose confidence in my authority."

The tiefling's grip faltered slightly, and Astarion saw the hesitation creeping into his expression. Yet, desperation flared again, and Zevlor yanked the chain harder, forcing Ashara to stumble slightly.

"Enough!" Zevlor barked. "Take me to Moonhaven now."

"Absolutely," Astarion said without missing a beat, his tone saccharine sweet. "Just as soon as you let go of the girl."

Ashara shot him a glare, her eyes narrowing dangerously. "Girl?" she hissed under her breath, clearly irritated.

Astarion sighed theatrically. "Look, Zevlor," he said, his voice adopting a sharper edge, "as astonishing as this may sound, we're actually trying to help you - or at least she is." He gestured vaguely at Ashara. "Frankly, I couldn't care less what happens to you."

"Liar!" Zevlor spat. "Why would I believe you after what you and your companions did to us? After you helped those goblins slaughter my people?"

The accusation hit Astarion like a physical blow, and his carefully maintained mask cracked. His voice rose, sharp and raw. "I had nothing to do with any of that!"

Onyx's deep voice cut through the tension, smooth and cautious. "Take a deep breath and calm yourself, Astarion. Zevlor needs a reason to trust you beyond words."

Astarion inhaled sharply, his chest rising as he tried to stamp down the anger threatening to consume him. When he spoke again, his voice was quieter, tinged with a sincerity that felt foreign on his tongue. "My former companions and I split ways some time ago," he said, the words slow and deliberate. "Being sold to a wandering monster hunter rather soured the relationship."

Zevlor's grip loosened slightly, his brow furrowing as he studied him. Encouraged, Astarion pressed on. "They betrayed me too, Zevlor. I don't know why, any more than I know why they chose to side with those vermin in the grove against your people. I'd probably be dead by now if these two hadn't found and... rescued me." He hesitated briefly, the weight of his words settling in his mind. Rescued. He hated how much truth that single word carried.

Astarion pushed the thought aside and met Zevlor's gaze directly, his tone softening. "You're currently threatening the one person who was willing to risk her life for you. Take it from someone who already made the mistake of doing that - it works out so much better if you trust her."

Zevlor glanced at Ashara, the tension in his face slowly melting into weariness. His shoulders slumped, and the chain slackened in his hands. His head bowed, his voice heavy with defeat. "What more do I have to lose? Those monsters already took everything from me."

The chain fell from his hands, clattering softly to the ground. Ashara stepped back, rubbing her neck where the metal had bitten into her skin. Zevlor stood frozen, his head hung low. "I'm sorry," he murmured.

Ashara reached out, placing a hand gently on his arm. "It's okay," she said softly. A flicker of warmth touched her voice. "Astarion held a dagger to my throat after I saved him. At least you apologized. I'm still waiting on one from him."

She turned, raising an eyebrow at Astarion, her expression wry.

He smirked, his usual self-assurance sliding back into place. "Must have slipped my mind," he said offhandedly.

Ashara huffed indignantly, her hand flying to her hip. "Oh, and girl?" she repeated, her tone sharp.

Astarion gave her an exaggerated shrug, his grin widening. "I was hoping to pass you off as a child for the sympathy vote."

Zevlor suddenly stumbled, his knees buckling as if the weight of the world had finally crushed him. Astarion watched as Ashara darted forward, catching the tiefling just before he collapsed entirely. Zevlor's breaths were ragged, each inhale a visible struggle. His hand clutched his stomach, fingers stained with blood seeping through torn fabric. Pain etched deep lines across his face, his eyes dulled by exhaustion.

"You're in pretty bad shape," Ashara said softly, her brow knitted with concern.

Zevlor's lips quirked in a faint, wry smile, his tone tinged with both resignation and irony. "I must confess, I've had better days."

Onyx stepped forward, his massive form casting a long shadow over the group. His deep voice carried a calm authority. "Help him onto my back."

Astarion hesitated only a moment before moving to assist. Together with Ashara, they guided Zevlor onto Onyx's broad back, settling him amidst the bags and bundles. It was a delicate task, but between the two of them, they managed to hoist him into position without causing him too much discomfort.

"Thank you," Zevlor murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. He glanced between Ashara and Astarion, regret shadowing his features. "I admit that I have misjudged you both greatly."

Astarion waved off the sentiment with a dismissive flick of his hand. "No harm done. Happens all the time."

Zevlor brushed a hand along Onyx's fur, his fingers tracing idle patterns as he murmured, "I would have given much to have a mount like this back in Elturel."

Onyx's ears swiveled back slightly, and he replied with a gentle rumble. "It would have been an honor to bear a Hellrider such as you into battle."

Zevlor's head snapped up, his eyes widening in surprise. "Forgive me," he said hurriedly, his voice tinged with awe. "I did not know I was addressing a druid."

"I am no druid," Onyx corrected gently. "I am Onyx of the Fenris Guard."

The reaction was immediate. Zevlor stiffened, awe and apprehension mingling in his expression. "Then I must ask your forgiveness once more," he insisted. "Please, let me get down. One such as you should not be treated as a common garron for a broken soldier like me."

Onyx huffed, the sound half-amusement, half-dismissal. "Nonsense. I choose to carry you willingly."

Curiosity ignited within Astarion like a spark catching dry tinder. The deference Zevlor had given the wolf bordered on reverent. "What in the hells is a Fenris Guard?" he asked, unable to keep the question contained.

Onyx began walking, his stride careful to avoid jostling Zevlor. "A guard of Fenrir," he said simply, his tone making it clear he would elaborate no further.

Astarion's mind raced, searching for any recollection of the name Fenrir, but his memory came up frustratingly blank. He quickened his pace, catching up to the wolf. "Oh no, you don't," he said, his voice a mix of exasperation and determination. "You're not walking off and being cryptic again."

He turned to Ashara, who was grinning mischievously at his growing frustration. "What is he?" he demanded.

She shrugged, her grin widening. "If Onyx wants to tell you more about himself, he'll do it in his own sweet time. Took me a week before he even told me his name."

Onyx glanced back, a glimmer of amusement in his golden eyes. "I was unconscious for most of that week, if you recall..."

Ashara stuck her tongue out at him, her voice teasing. "It takes less than five seconds to say it."

Without missing a beat, Onyx's massive tail swung around, slapping her lightly over the head. Ashara giggled, the sound light and incongruous against the tension in the air.

Astarion sighed dramatically, throwing his hands up. "I thought we were supposed to trust one another in this 'pack.'"

Onyx met his gaze evenly. "Why? Are you ready to divulge every part of your own history to people you only met a day ago?"

Astarion narrowed his eyes, a smile forming despite himself. "Touché," he conceded.

They walked on in a contemplative silence. Onyx moved with deliberate care, ensuring Zevlor was jostled as little as possible. The forest around them was gradually darkening, shadows stretching long under the fading light. Astarion couldn't shake an uneasy feeling gnawing at him. The scent of blood hung heavy in the air - Zevlor's blood. It stirred a mixture of hunger and dread within him, a reminder of both his nature and the tiefling's dire condition.

He sidled closer to Ashara, his voice low. "Do you have any healing potions or know any spells that can help him?"

Ashara glanced at Zevlor, worry flickering in her eyes. "As soon as we're a safe distance away, I'll—"

Her words were abruptly cut off by a roar that shattered the quiet. From the dense foliage burst a towering figure - a red-skinned tiefling with a broken horn and an arm severed at the elbow. Flames licked across her body, casting her in a fierce, otherworldly light. She swung a massive battle axe with her remaining hand, the blade slicing through the air toward them.

"Down!" Astarion shouted, instinctively grabbing Ashara and pulling her aside. They tumbled to the ground as the axe slammed into the spot where they'd just stood, the impact sending a tremor through the earth and a spray of dirt and rocks into the air.

Heart pounding, Astarion scrambled to his feet. Recognition hit him like a cold wave. "Oh, for the love of - why did it have to be her?" he muttered under his breath.

Ashara, panting as she pushed herself upright, shot him a look. "You know that devil?"

"She's not a devil," he snapped, casting a wary glance at their assailant. "But yes. Her name is Karlach, and I think it's best if we run."

Karlach's eyes blazed hotter than the flames engulfing her. "Let Zevlor go!" she bellowed, her voice reverberating through the trees.

From atop Onyx, Zevlor leaned forward urgently. "Karlach, wait! They are not your enemy."

Astarion raised his hands defensively as Karlach advanced, her axe poised for another strike. "Yes, what he said!" he echoed, forcing a strained smile.

She froze mid-swing, her fiery gaze narrowing as if only now registering him. Her brow furrowed in confusion. "Astarion? How are you here?"

He threw up his hands in exasperation. "Long story, so here's the short version: Sold to Gur, captured by orcs, freed by a wild woman and her pet wolf, infiltrated goblin camp, saved Zevlor, reunited with crazy axe-wielding flaming tiefling. That about sums it up, don't you think?"

For a moment, Karlach's lips twitched as though fighting a smile. The flames surrounding her dimmed slightly, though her expression twisted in pain. She glanced up at Zevlor. "Why is he still in chains then?"

Astarion's voice was dry as he quipped, "Would you believe I lost the key down the back of the couch, darling?"

Karlach sighed, her expression a mix of irritation and weary amusement. Before she could respond, Ashara stepped forward, hands raised in a calming gesture. "We needed a credible way to get him out of the grove," she explained quickly. "The goblins didn't give us a way to remove the shackles. We're heading to the blacksmith's in Moonhaven. You can join us if you want?"

Karlach studied Ashara for a long moment, the fiery glow in her eyes softening. She leaned heavily on her axe, the weapon sinking slightly into the soil. The flames around her extinguished completely, leaving only the faint scent of smoke. "Fine," she muttered, her voice gruff. "But if you're lying..."

"We're not," Ashara assured her, her tone earnest. "You have my word."

Karlach's words were sharp-edged, her voice carrying the weight of old wounds. "Yeah, well, the last people I trusted turned out to be shitheads. Should've known that Dragonborn was a crook the moment he hung you out to dry, Astarion."

Astarion's tone was no less cutting, his irritation bubbling to the surface. "I didn't see you making any objections at the time."

The tiefling's shoulders stiffened, and she glanced away, guilt flickering across her face. "It didn't sit right with me, handing you over to the hunter like that," she admitted, her voice quieter now, laced with regret. "But I was too caught up in the whole 'you hid the fact you were a vampire from us' thing. I get now why you did, though."

From atop Onyx, Zevlor stirred, his gaze sharpening with unease. "You're a vampire?" His words carried both surprise and apprehension.

Astarion rolled his eyes, irritated. "Yes, and you're bleeding, but I'm not going feral over it. So it's safe to say I'm not a threat to you."

Onyx interjected smoothly, his deep voice calm. "He also fed on me recently, if that helps to reassure you."

Zevlor blinked, clearly taken aback, and his expression shifted to one of slight embarrassment. "I... apologize. I should know better than to judge someone based on their perceived nature."

Astarion's lips curled into a sardonic smile. "Oh, don't worry. You're perfectly within your rights to fear and distrust a vampire. On the whole, we're vicious, power-hungry monsters. I'm just... slightly less so."

Zevlor tilted his head, his voice unexpectedly warm. "And yet you helped rescue me and have the trust of a Fenris Guard. I think perhaps you give yourself too little credit."

The kindness in the tiefling's tone threw Astarion off balance. For a fleeting moment, he found himself at a loss for words, the familiar reflex of a snarky retort faltering. Before he could recover, Karlach drew in a sharp breath, her hand clutching at her severed arm.

Ashara was at her side in an instant, her voice filled with concern. "Are you okay?"

"Not really, soldier," Karlach replied weakly, her tone strained. "Stump's giving me hell. These flames of mine may have cauterized the wound quick enough, but it still hurts like the day it was lopped off."

Astarion hesitated, his curiosity edging past his usual aloofness. "How... how did that happen? I never thought I'd see you of all people in this state."

Karlach's laugh was hollow, bitter. "That makes two of us. Funny, all those years I spent in Avernus, I never once had a wound like this. I finally escape, and it takes all of a week before I'm out of action. Guess that's what happens when you're fighting for something you actually care about."

Zevlor straightened slightly, his voice steady despite his pain. "Your courage was remarkable, Karlach. I cannot thank you enough for choosing to fight for us."

Her expression crumpled, the weight of failure bearing down on her. "Didn't do much good in the end, though, did it?"

"You did enough," Zevlor insisted. "You and Wyll gave us a fighting chance. If it hadn't been for that damn drow and her spiders, we could have made it to the forest."

Karlach's face twisted in anguish at the mention of Wyll. "Gods... Wyll." Her voice cracked, and her fiery eyes shimmered with unshed tears. "He fought so hard to protect the kids... and they... they..."

The words broke into a sob, her grief spilling out in waves. Astarion felt a twist of sympathy, an ache in his chest that surprised him. As much as Wyll's self-righteousness had irritated him, the man had been a fierce fighter. His decision to spare Karlach's life and accept the consequences of angering his patron had impressed Astarion - a little.

Onyx stepped closer, his massive frame radiating calm. His head dipped slightly toward Karlach, the gesture deliberate yet unhurried. Astarion's eyes narrowed in concern.

"Careful!" he cautioned, his voice sharper than intended. "She'll singe your fur, Onyx."

The direwolf ignored him, pressing his head gently against Karlach's side. She recoiled instinctively, her flames flickering brighter.

"Watch out, pup," she warned, her voice thick with tears. "I'll bur—"

Her words died on her lips as Onyx leaned further into her, his fur untouched by the flames licking at her skin. Her wide eyes met his golden gaze, disbelief etched across her face. Slowly, her hand reached out, trembling as it found purchase in his thick mane. When the flames didn't consume him, the tension in her shoulders melted, replaced by a look of overwhelmed relief.

Astarion watched, his mouth slightly agape, as Karlach buried her face into Onyx's fur. Her sobs grew louder, but they carried a different tone now - less despair, more catharsis. She gripped the wolf tightly, stroking him with almost frantic desperation, as if afraid this fragile, impossible moment might slip away.

The group waited in silence, the tension easing only slightly as Karlach's sobs subsided. Astarion shifted his weight impatiently but refrained from speaking, his usual acerbic remarks tempered by the rawness of the moment. Beside him, Ashara stood quietly, her gaze resting on Karlach with a mix of sympathy and patience. Onyx remained still as a stone, allowing Karlach to cling to him until she was ready to let go.

Finally, Karlach pulled back, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand and sniffing loudly. "Gods... look at me," she muttered, her voice thick but steady. "Blubbering like a little kid."

Onyx tilted his head, his deep voice gentle but firm. "Crying is not just for children. Brave souls sometimes need a release too, especially after loss."

Karlach opened her mouth to respond, but Onyx cut her off with a faintly sardonic tone. "And before you ask: no, I am not a druid."

The tiefling blinked, then let out a rough laugh, her voice scratchy but genuine. "Alright, just a normal talking wolf then. Gotcha."

Onyx's golden eyes glinted as he lifted his head and looked toward Ashara. "I like her."

Like what you're reading? Check out the full chapter in the link below.

[7grandmel]

Rip of the week: 27/01/2025

Concrete Crank (Soulja Mix)

Season 5 No Album Release (Read More) Concrete Jungle (Concrete Man Stage) (Alpha Mix) - Mega Man 9

Ripper Unknown

Requested by fezaki! (Discord)

The big appeal of Season 5 of SiIvaGunner for me, four years after the fact, is that it contains so many gems that I'm yet to discover, due to my detachment from the channel during 2021. I've been the song and dance a number of times; despite a handful of cool happenings like the Masked Wolf / Yankin' rivalry covered on Epic Rap Battles of History: Funny vs. Funnier, and the neat audio drama stories like what I discussed on Knowledge of the Depths, this was the year where the channel felt rather aimless in overall direction going forward. Without a huge investment in the ongoing story, I myself felt less engaged to want to investigate every uploaded rip as closely as I otherwise would have wanted to; yet despite lacking in overall direction, the production quality of rips had begun reaching previously unseen highs. Though the King for Another Day Tournament had ended two years prior, it felt to me as if the quality that said event promised had begun seeping into the channel's everyday uploads, as if the team had understood that layered, ambitious arrangements and mashups were just as appealing outside of events as they were as part of them. As a result of all this, Season 5 saw TONS of rips just like Concrete Crank (Soulja Mix); tragically underrated, largely divorced from the channel's goings-ons, yet OH so deliciously quality.

Sometimes, the great appeal of a rip is understood right from just hearing the concept. Joke lists on wikis can't always communicate immediately the effectiveness of a YTPMV, mashup or arrangement, be it the inherent comedic sound to Slope Dude's mix of sources, the sheer audacity and polish of no more nuzzles in my skin, or the context that surrounds a meme as dense in history as Bottom G and Lagplane. Yet with Concrete Crank (Soulja Mix), after seeing it amidst my requests and searching for it on the wiki, it clicked IMMEDIATELY just why this rip was worth discussing. Soulja Boy is a character who's been around in ripping circles since the channel's earliest days, an icon prominent in the SoundClown shitposting scene that SiIvaGunner grew out of; and a single glance at Dr. Soulja should be enough to immediately tell you why. From the listener's perspective, its an immediately charming and funny source, be it from the iconic steel drums and finger-snapping percussion or how its paired with the dorky, almost pathetic attempt at coolness that Soulja Boy's performance in Crank That evokes. From the perspective of the ripper, Crank That is in the same category as songs like Space Jam discussed on Hoopache and the yet-to-be-covered Chip tha Ripper freestyle; As comedic rap music with 4/4 time signatures andimmediately recognizable, funny-sounding beats, they're almost comically easy to just drag-and-drop on top of existing 4/4 video game music with little to no tweaking. It was their ease of production, and how it led to an absolute overabundance of low-effort rips throughout Season 1, that resulted in the entire Mr. Rental storyline covered on Mr. Rental [B Side] ~ Out of Options; its this entry-level skill floor that makes rips like The Jamminest of All stand out immediately in quality; and, indeed, it's the knowledge that all Soulja Boy is good for is his funny sound on Crank That that makes Concrete Crank (Soulja Mix) such an immediate stand-out.

Indeed, as you may well hear from just a few seconds of listening; Concrete Crank (Soulja Mix) is far from your everyday Soulja Boy rip, reinventing the scene even after Season 4 Episode 2 had already done so a year prior through the Crank That revitalization covered on Koopa Street. It is, paradoxical as it may sound, a Soulja Boy rip *without* Crank That in focus; still filled with Soulja Boy's immediately identifiable, half-hearted attempts at self-confidence, but notably lacking in those immediately identifiable steel drums. They're still there, to be clear - they make an absolutely triumphant appearance midway through the song playing whats best described as a backing-instrumental solo at 0:44 - but a majority of the rip is instead spent covering the separate Soulja Boy hit Bird Walk. Comparatively, it's notably quite a louder song than Crank That; the vocals layered and reverberating make Concrete Crank (Soulja Mix) sound almost oppressively excited, like you're listening to a group of cheering Soulja Boys in the stands, their cheering given amazing melodic direction through Concrete Jungle's fast-paced melody. Deeper in the mix, you can indeed hear that Bird Walk's lead vocals are pitched to follow along said melody in a way similar to rips like I will Never be a Redneck, yet its fittingly buried underneath the loudness of Bird Walk's vocals mashed up with the melody, the chiptune lead still also playing entirely unaltered right alongside it.

As someone completely unengaged in the larger Soulja Boy discography, the rip is a genuinely super fun listen in large part due to how familiar-yet-unfamiliar it sounds throughout. You hear bits and pieces of Crank That, you can identify Soulja Boy's unmistakeable swagger, and yet it never *quite* sounds like something you've heard before; which, honestly, makes it pretty funny that the rip is using music from Mega Man 9 in particular. The game Aiming to more or less be a spiritual throwback to Mega Man 2 in every way but name, the Concrete Jungle theme can pretty easily be compared directly to Wood Man's Stage theme in structure and the level it's used within; a comparison only made funnier given Wood Man's own high importance on SiIvaGunner itself as written about back on Nice, Slick, Blackness. In that sense, intentional as it may or may not have been, Concrete Crank (Soulja Mix) is almost like a bizarre, alternate-reality version of the kind of rip you'd expect to hear during Season 1 or Season 2; Soulja Boy and Wood Man, but it's not quite Soulja Boy, and it's not quite Wood Man, and yet its an absolute indisputable banger despite those restrictions. The, pardon the choice of words, uncanny feel of the rip is only emphasized by how, per the Wiki, two of the songs of which pieces of are used in the mix remain completely unidentified; nevertheless, they add to the cacophony in a way that still feels composed just enough to stay on track. Variety and escalation, like I've discussed on rips like Be Cool, Be Wild and Be My Girl, is the secret spice to making a SiIvaGunner rip truly memorable, and these little sprinkles keep the rip's energy topped up throughout its 3-minute runtime.

It's a damn shame that the rip's author remains completely unidentified, as there is tons of small little details in execution that I feel the need to commend. There's so much fun had throughout the rip, combining Bird Walk with whatever additional sources join the mix in ways both subtle and blatant, the aforementioned occasional but understated appearances of Crank That's steel drums, or, as also mentioned briefly before, how the rip still insists on having a quiet vocal lead pitch-shifted to Concrete Jungle's melody despite ultimately being secondary to the mashup playing above it. In particular, though, there's a moment right around 01:11, just a few seconds after the first unidentified source is added to the mix, where the progression of the song - its percussion, backing, melody, etc. - is halted for a split second, just to recapture a vocal quirk of the newly-added source. It's a blink-and-you'll-miss-it moment, the kind of subtle tweak for flavor I otherwise associate with rips by recognized rippers like Eazystep or Sweatpants Select; and yet here it is within Concrete Crank (Soulja Mix), an album-less, less-than-20K-views, 4-years old uncredited rip that I only found out about from a chance encounter on my submission spreadsheet. And it's a rip that's not just well made, but one that takes perhaps the most played out concept in all of SoundClown history - 4/4ths rap mashups - and twists and subverts your every expectation on them in ways you never thought SiIvaGunner could do five whole years into its run. That right there is, once again, the absolute magic of Season 5 SiIvaGunner for me in action; that classics on the level of Concrete Crank (Soulja Mix), rips waiting to showcase the ground they've secretly broken in being conceptually genius and filled with quality in execution, could just be waiting around every corner.

[revisitingfandoms]

Idea Prompt 11- What lengths would a father not go for his child?

Soulmates.

An acursed word. An acursed happening and the damnation of yourself.

Soulmates.

A persons everything. They are forever crossed between souls and doomed to forever long for the other. To forever want and wish and dream-

Soulmates.

You cannot live without your soulmate, regardless of reason. To deny your soulmate is to deny yourself. To deny yourself is to die a slow and painful death.

Soulmates.

That words ponders in his head. He knew from the moment he held him, from the moment his boy was put into his arms.

Soulmates, your other half in everything, aren't romantic. Many can precive it that way, but in pratice, soulmates can be anyone.

(Your worst enemy, you family, your rival, a stranger on street who you just met, someone you will never meet, they will always be the person who can see through you- see and know everything about you, regardless of if you try to hide it.)

(There isn't any outright physical tell of who your soulmate was, no markings or outright explantions. You just know from one moment of touch.)

("This one is mine.")

(And only after that would that tiny marking appear, after beholding that realization. A marking that always appeared on top of a cookies heart.)

He knew from the moment Dark Choco cookie was placed into his arms that his son was his soulmate.

(Only one of his comrades has ever met their soulmate and that was hollyberry. The dragon curled upon her spoke it all.)

(The other three had yet to meet theirs.)

(It becomes aparent that his attempts to keep his son at distant lengths to protect him- keep people from making the connection that they were soulmates only drew to push his son away.)

(It made his boy desperate and with that dear desperation. Dark Cacao lost his son- his boy.)

(And silently it crushed him.)

(Until the years circled around- until his son, his Dark Choco came back- different, twisted and steaming with hurt and he cursed himself over and over again.)

(He had damned his boy.)

(And more then once those thoughts crept in.)

(Why didn't he stop dark Choco? Why didn't he keep his locked up in the citidal and safe and warm and protected like he should have done? Why did he care about what those under him thought? If Dark choco was their son- their soulmate, they would have done the same!)

(...His son stopped himself, he fought against that acursed sword for him- for his father.)

(He wouldn't let his son be taken- leave him again.)

He sighs as he stares out into the cold wasteland outside of the citidals borders. The First Watcher Caramel Arrow walks over to him, "My king, the prince is.." He can feel the confliction, the hestiance but she steels herself like any warrior of his kingdom.

Afterall, he had made that half maddened accounment shortly after Dark Choco had been brought in.

("He is my son! He is my Kindred one! If any one of you had to make that choice because of their citizens they would have just quieted the masses to keep them by their side!")

"...He is still adjusting my leige. The doctors speak of... of the things he suffered under the other cookies of darkness, notably Pomegranate Cookie."

He narrows his eyes, "And the search for them?" Caramel Arrow bows her head further, "We have yet to locate her, but we have found something known as the oven thats under their use. However it wouldbe several months long to reach there and the firepower needed would leave the kingdom extremly vulernable."

He grunts, not an option. He refuses to leave his son alone, (He was already left alone for far too long.). "The bait?" The first watcher shakes her head, "The young cookie we captured was named Poison Mushroom has yet to draw out the others. Yet we find signs that they may be plotting to get him back."

Dark Cacao nods in turn, "Keep your guard up First Watcher, You are dismissed." Caramel arrow nods her head as she leaves.

For his his son, he would do anything to keep him close.

For him, the world.

[mariacallous]

After the Trump administration imposed tariffs on Mexico, Canada, and China, the European Union was expected to be the next in line. Washington did, in fact, impose 25 percent tariffs on steel and aluminum imports from the EU this week, as well as on a range of other commodities including cars and agricultural products by early April.

The Europeans have tried to win over U.S. President Donald Trump with flattery and alluded they could buy more U.S. gas and weapons in exchange for a reduction in threatened tariffs. But at the same time, Europeans are brainstorming about what decoupling from the United States in trade and defense could mean for them. They are also wondering if they have any realistic options left, other than appeasing Trump.

In response to Trump’s tariffs during his first stint as U.S. president, the EU retaliated with higher duties on Harley-Davidson motorcycles and Kentucky bourbon. It has reportedly prepared a list of retaliatory tariffs this time, too. Retaliation, however, isn’t a preferable path for EU nations, even if it turns out to be necessary, as it inevitably harms their own constituents who have come to rely on imports from the United States—and also risks antagonizing Trump.

That’s why the bloc is also pursuing a less confrontational and more benign policy—resurrecting dormant trade deals to offset the costs of Trump’s tariffs.

In December 2024, a month after Trump won the U.S. presidential election, European Commission President Ursula von der Leyen signed a controversial trade deal with the four founding members of the Mercosur bloc—Argentina, Brazil, Paraguay, and Uruguay. She also restarted talks with Malaysia and visited India with her entire team.

Together, those countries represent nearly 2 billion potential customers and vast alternative markets in places where the middle classes are on the rise. However, expediting these trade deals may come at the cost of the EU’s green regulations and clean industrial growth.

The EU overruled farmers’ protests against the Mercosur agreement; the protesters had been dumping manure and burning tires in Brussels and other European capitals for nearly a year. Farmers from various European countries, led by French contemporaries, protested for a variety of reasons but primarily over the fear that good quality but cheaper Latin American beef will flood European markets, and they will be outpriced. The EU said it has included safeguards and capped the amount of beef that can be imported, believing the agreement will benefit European businesses that will now have access to vast markets.

“As great-power competition intensifies, I see a growing appetite across the world to engage more closely with us. In the last two months only, we concluded new partnerships with Switzerland, Mercosur, and Mexico. This means that 400 million Latin Americans will soon be engaged in a privileged partnership with Europe,” von der Leyen said at the World Economic Forum in late January.

In her February visit to India, von der Leyen spoke alongside Indian Prime Minister Narendra Modi and announced the goal to finalize an EU-India free trade agreement by the end of the year. A senior Indian diplomat, who spoke on the condition of anonymity, said that, while talks restarted a few years ago after a long lull in the negotiations that began in 2007, there was “great momentum” in the EU-India ties.

The EU and India were both ready to make major concessions to move forward, according to sources in the Indian government. They said India will factor in the EU’s demands and consider bringing down high tariffs—nearly 60 to 100 percent on European automobiles and other luxury commodities—while expecting an understanding in return that it doesn’t have much room to open up agricultural imports since the sector is India’s largest employer, providing jobs to nearly half the country’s working age population.

In a sign of the EU’s openness to India’s concerns, German Vice Chancellor and Economy Minister Robert Habeck acknowledged that two agricultural sectors cannot be compared. “If you were to open the markets completely … the disruption to the Indian market will be tremendous,” he said.

India also hopes that the EU can adopt a mechanism to drop or mitigate the impact of the carbon tax that it said it would impose on steel and other carbon-intensive products from third countries to drive clean industrial growth. The EU came up with a rebalancing mechanism with the Mercosur bloc, which allows the four Latin American nations to challenge EU environmental measures—including carbon border management (CBAM) and deforestation legislation—if they reduce the agreenment’s trade benefits. India expects a similar concession.

The EU’s talks with Malaysia have also resumed, but only after the EU’s deforestation legislation—which called on suppliers to prove origin of the export and trace and track the entire supply chain—was suspended.

Some experts believe fewer regulations are good for business. Jacob Kirkegaard, a senior fellow at Bruegel and a nonresident senior fellow with the Peterson Institute for International Economics, said von der Leyen has a “less ambitious extraterritorial agenda” in her second term.

“Basically, what the EU has been doing is imposing, if you like, extraterritorial regulation in third countries,” Kirkegaard said. “That agenda has less legs in the new commission, and that makes free trade agreements a lot easier.”

Kirkegaard said that even if these trade deals cannot make up for the decline in trade with the United States, they send a message that free trade is mutually beneficial and retains the appeal of the current global trading system for developed and the developing countries.

“What the EU would hopefully also be trying to do is showing that you can actually gain economically by pursuing a free trade agenda,” Kirkegaard said. “Maybe there are some businesses and other political leaders, not President Trump, neither obviously the existing leadership, but other new leaders who will see that this is actually a win-win strategy, which I happen to agree with …  It’s about sustaining the existing system. No better way, in my opinion, for the EU to continue to pursue significant regional deals with Mercosur and maybe India.”

Some scholars have said that the EU should go a step further and build an alliance of like-minded countries to take the United States to task at the World Trade Organization (WTO). “The EU should also prepare a case at the WTO that brings together as many impacted economies as possible,” Ignacio García Bercero wrote in an article for Bruegel.

André Sapir, a Belgian economist and a senior fellow at Bruegel, believes it’s too soon to predict an economic decoupling between Europe and the United States. “I think it is too strong to say that the EU-U.S. decoupling is underway,” he said, adding that Trump may decide to target individual member states with specific tariffs rather than the EU as a whole. “He has a strong obsession with bilateral trade balances. He may have targeted bilateral tariffs against all those that have a trade surplus with the [United States].”

But Brussel’s message is clear. It won’t be bullied and cower under pressure. “Bullying and deal-making may be President Trump’s everyday business, but in Europe we have replaced the law of the jungle with the rule of law,” Bernd Lange, chair of the European parliament’s trade committee, said. “Trump’s decision to impose heavy import duties on steel and aluminum is a clear breach of international law and we demand that the [United States] again play by the rules.”

Europe’s hope is that a deal with Trump can be made in time to stop the otherwise inevitable decoupling.

[thetragicallynerdy]

10, 20, 21, 23, 30, 39!

Hello buddy!! I'm so sorry it's taken me literally a month to get to these, but here we go!!

10) Top three favourite fic tropes.

Oooooh GREAT question. Hmmm they're all like whumpy XD

When someone shows up at someone else's door bloodied or sick and then passes out when they answer it

love confessions when they think the other person is dying

any enemies to lovers (bonus if it's enemies to fuck buddies but still enemies to lovers)

extras: hiding an injury/illness, and taking a wound for someone else :3

20) Do you work on a single project or many at the same time? How does that work for you?

I work on so many 🫠 (melting face emoji)

But honestly, a combo of both! I always have a massive list of WIPs (think: upwards of 30 at a time), because I start projects and then have difficulty finishing them. I typically have around 5 fics on rotation that I am actively working on at a time.

However, I do finish things best when I buckle down and like, dedicate a week or two or whatever to finishing a single thing. So typically when something is getting towards being done, that's what'll happen, and then I'll go back to slowly picking away at many things.

21) Can you accurately predict how long your fics are going to be? If you can, what's your secret?

Answered here! Short answer though: LMAO NOPE

23) Dialogue or description? Why is the other one so hard?

I love writing dialogue SO much more hahaha! Honestly part of description for me is that it takes a lot more cognitive work - especially if it's setting/space and place type stuff. I can picture and think about how bodies move in my head pretty easily, but I find it really hard to do with places!!!

Dialogue, on the other hand, just comes naturally (most of the time). I think I could 1000% write a fic that was entirely dialogue, I just won't because it's not what I find fun to read.

30) Describe a fic that almost happened, but then it didn't.

God. I mean I have many, many abandoned or half-abandoned fics - more for UnDeadwood than OFMD, but definitely in both. (Ranging from anywhere from a couple thousand words to one that is 90K and long abandoned [someday I'll give in and just publish shit as is])

A big one though was an UnDeadwood Watership Down AU - in which everyone (main 5 cast members, at least) were shifters, and Clayton's shifted form was a rabbit. It was Clayton POV, and laced with all sorts of the Watership Down rabbit religion etc. I think I had like 3-4K written for it.

Oh my god I also had a Ladyhawke AU??? For UnDeadwood?? That was devastating and very fun to write and never got finished - it also had somewhere around 5K written for it.

And that's not even considering the number of "hey omg this would be so fun" ideas - I love thinking about new fun wild AU's, and am very grateful for friends who listen and "yes and" me!!

39) Wildest AU scenario you have written?

Oh god that's a fun question.

UnDeadwood - I think it's a toss up between the jaws that bite, the claws that catch (snake creature Matthew, smutty Matty/Clayton(/Aly) in which Matthew has two dicks. That's it that's the fic. It is unfinished.)

The other UDW option is i found love where it wasn't supposed to be, written with @lovewithagirl, which features a whole lot of ghost sex (as in, sex between an alive person and a ghost)

I have a lot of different AU's for OFMD, but I think they feel a little more "normal" in comparison - they're more stuff like the Remington Steele AU or the Die Hard fic. The wildest is probably Ask Me Anything, written with @yerbamansa, which is a TealOranges Tumblr SMAU in which there is timey-wimey bullshit. Or maybe the Plumbing the Depths series, which is the Jim/Olu/literal kraken! Ed series, mainly for the rarepair.

Thanks so much for the ask, friend!! This was fun, and a nice lil distraction. And thanks for the patience as it took me so long to answer!!!

Writer Ask Game is here, for the curious - if you ask tho, be aware it may take me a while to get to it, life is making inbox answering more difficult these days <3

[untitledmemes]

Blue Eye Samurai Prompts

Part I An assortment of prompts taken from the series Blue Eye Samurai on Netflix. Adjust as necessary to fit pronoun and/or descriptor. Reblog, please do not repost or add.

“ Welcome, sir. I'll bring you some tea. ”

“ What are you? a dog? ”

“ Do you know who I am? ”

“ Must have important friends to own a gun like that. ”

“ Maybe I've been following you. ”

“ You put my bullet against your blade? ”

“ You dead-eyed, half blooded demon bastard! ”

“ My whole life I couldn't do anything right, but now I know what I'm supposed to do. ”

“ Please, let me be your apprentice. I'll do anything. ”

“ I'll do anything you ask, master. Anything so I can be just like you. ”

“ To a man lost in the dark, an ember can light the way. Thank you for my ember. ”

“ The heavens throw you a treasure. ”

“ You did not go. Have you somewhere to go? ”

“ Would be nice if someone kept proper time. ”

“ You look lost, lost boy. Come inside. ”

“ Most men grab first, ask prices later. ”

“ Have you ever been with a woman before? ”

“ You have a different duty, no? ”

“ Is that your price for me? ”

“ I forget you are a simple girl. ”

“ Have I defeated the undefeated? ”

“ I must deliver it personally. ”

“ Show your respect. ”

“ I came very far. I'm very hungry. ”

“ An impurity in the right place is quality. ”

“ It is a line. On one side of the line is life. The other, death. The edge we forge cuts the line between life and death. ”

“ Forgive me. I've kept from you a secret. ”

“ I know you're ugly. What is ugly to me? ”

“ A monster. A creature of shame. ”

“ They will all die by my hand. I vowed this. ”

“ A poor technique. Easily learned. Easily defeated. ”

“ Do I know you? ”

“ You climbed some heights to be the prize of a miserable lot. ”

“ You had a name for me. ”

“ Are you afraid to fight with steel? ”

“ No one has yet deserved my blade. ”

“ Death comes for everyone. For you, today. ”

“ Whatever business you have with him, you'll never reach him. ”

“ Revenge is like gold. It does not rust. ”

“ I can never repay your kindness. ”

“ I have no eyes, so... I can accept you. ”

“ You have spoken enough nonsense today. ”

“ You came to me as a stupid, lost boy. If you insist on leaving now, it will be as a stupid, lost man. ”

“ May I get you something to eat? ”

“ You move quietly for someone so large. ”

“ I don't want you anywhere near me. Stay away. ”

“ If I see you again, I will kill you and never think of you again. ”

“ You will not find what you seek at my side. ”

“ My whole life has been a battle. ”

“ Why didn't he just kill me? ”

“ Victory cannot come from dishonor. ”

“ Boom, there was blood everywhere! ”

“ You don't have to be here. ”

“ You need to train? I've never seen you fight. ”

“ You pay money for a job you don't wanna think about, so you don't think about it. It's the whole point of money. ”

“ Not everyone can be relied on. ”

“ After that, you'll be free to go anywhere you like. Any time you like. ”

“ Your fire is in this edge. ”

“ Is your mind clear? Is your soul at rest? ”

“ This hand has taken many lives. An assassin's hand. ”

“ I an the unexpected element. ”

“ Get dressed. ”

“ The boy is... Eager. ”

“ It is the best option for you. ”

“ I am giving you an opportunity. ”

“ Why didn't you stand up for me? ”

“ You think I don't know you, child? ”

[millenniumdueled]

When the Other Yugi arrives at the Paradias headquarters, it's alone. In his exasperation and grief, he had gone and done exactly what he'd just chastised Kaiba for: running ahead.

The Other Yugi frowns as he steps inside the empty corporate high rise. Speaking of Kaiba, shouldn't he be here by now too? There's no sign of the man. Had he gotten so far ahead? Was he facing Dartz now, alone?

He glances at the deck inside his DuelDisk and shakes his head. If Kaiba were dueling, surely he would play Crittias. As if he did, wouldn't Timaeus react?

Steeling himself, the Other Yugi takes a deep breath and walks across the lobby to the bank of elevators at the back. As he does, the lights above one indicate a car decending from the upper floors, and the Pharaoh braces himself.

But when the doors slide open, he finds neither a monster nor an enemy. Instead, the soulless body of Mai tumbles forward, and Other Yugi's stomach drops as she does.

No. No. Not again.

He lunges forward to try and catch the woman, managing to ease her down to sit against the wall.

How many friends is he going to lose?

"I'm sorry, Mai," mumbles the Other Yugi as he stands and faces the elevator. Empty, save for one fluffy, white feather. Not from a harpy, but from something more angelic.

He squares his shoulders and steps inside. As he faces the panel of buttons, the doors close, and the elevator begins to rise on its own.

The elevator ascends calmly. When he's certain no monsters are going to attack, as they did at Kaiba Corp, the Other Yugi takes that moment to remove the deck from his DuelDisk. He fans out the cards in hand, brows knit tight as he looks them over. He carries other important cards in the box on his belt, and his enemy has seen most of what he's used so far. But as he weighs his options and strategies, his chest feels heavy.

He and his Partner had built this deck together.

They had stayed up late the night before flying to America, testing combo and strategies into the morning hours. They'd both put their Hearts into this deck. And now, it's all he has left of his better half.

He has no right to change it himself.

Ultimately, the Other Yugi returns the deck, unaltered, to its slot just as the elevator stops, and the doors slide open with a ping!

Just as he thought, it isn't the mysterious leader of Doma and Paradias waiting for him on the rooftop, but another, more familiar man.

"Raphael," hisses the Other Yugi.

"I've been waiting for you, Nameless Pharaoh." As he speaks, calmly, Raphael takes a card from his pocket. He tosses it skillfully across the space between them, to be expertly snatched by his opponent.

The Other Yugi's eyes go wide when he realizes what he holds.

"The Claw of Hermos.... You... Took Joey's soul too?!"

"No," Raphael corrects firmly. "He lost to Mai Kujaku."

"Then why did you take her soul too?!"

"She turned against our Master Dartz. Something about that boy gave her a change of heart. Her purpose was served, anyway. She wanted to give you that card, since it's useless to me, the least I can do is honor that wish."

The Claw of Hermos trembles in Other Yugi's hand. "Doesn't your heart hurt, Raphael?"

Raphael is silent.

"Joey, Mai, Rex, Weevil, my Partner..... Even your allies have lost their souls now!! You preached about the value of your monsters lives, you fought to keep them alive at all costs. But what about your friends?!"

"I told you before, Nameless Pharaoh. There is darkness in the hearts of humans, and a power greater than you can comprehend that wants to erase it. Their sacrifices will bring about a new world, a better world."

"You can change the world without destroying it. There's light in our hearts, too!"

"It's too late to stop it now." As he speaks, slow and solemn, Raphael turns his head upwards, towards the sky above, where something seems to move and writhe. A band of inky darkness, a ribbon of void-like shadow, blocks out the stars as it snakes across the night sky.

"What is that?" the Other Yugi gasps.

"The great beast that will bring about the birth of our new world. The god Leviathan that you have been destined to resurrect through your sacrifice, Nameless Pharaoh. You should feel honored, to know your soul will awaken such a powerful entity."

Other Yugi takes a step back, in awe of the shadow that circles overhead. The ribbon of shadow seems to stretch for miles, with no clear sign of a beginning or end, as it blots out the stars.

How can Raphael speak of darkness in the hearts of humans, when this great darkness hovers right over them?

Other Yugi returns his focus to his enemy as Raphael approaches him, removing the deck from his black DuelDisk as he does. The Pharaoh narrows his eyes as he does the same, cautiously though.

"You can try to give me that card again, but I won't use it."

"I know."

The Other Yugi watches him closely as they swap and shuffle each other's decks well. A clean, fair fight.

But as Raphael returns to his side of the roof, the Other Yugi has to try again.

"We don't have to do this, Raphael. You don't have to do this. It isn't too late to save everyone, we can face each other as true Duelists, not like this--"

Though Raphael's gaze is determined as he sets it on the smaller man, Other Yugi swears there's some kind of sorrow there.

"Duel, start."

[oubliette-odette]

The Reluctance of Love Pt. 22

A/N: FRIENDS IT HAS BEEN SO LONG!!!! I'm so excited to have a new chapter out for you all! The new year kind of threw creativity and inspiration out the window, and for some reason this has been one of the hardest chapters to write. I lost count how many times I tried to rewrite it. I was just simply stuck and didn't know if I should just take the easy route and wrap the story up or work a little harder to get to the story I wanted.

Naturally I chose the hardest option for myself. 😂

Anyways, it's so great to finally be moving this story forward again. I once again apologize for the upcoming pain I will be causing you all.

I hope this year is being kind to each of you and may you continue to be well and happy. Your support means so much to me and I consider you all friends. 💚

Orc Male x Half-Elf Male, Fated Mates, Forbidden Love, Slow Burn Part 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14, 15, 16, 17, 18, 19, 20, 21 Content Warnings: mention of mating, homophobia, fantasy racism. All orcish is from orcishdictionary.com, created by Matt Vancil.

Altan POV

Damn you Drunrag. My mind repeated again and again, in rhythm with the pounding of my bare feet on the ground. Damn you for being so gods-damned selfless. 

And damn me for running, I thought, sobered. Why the hells did you leave him?

I didn’t know why I left him, I would have rather died with him next to me then be left running and wondering if I would ever see him again. 

My hand was gripping the vial around my neck. It was my lifeline. If I drank it and felt the pull between us, I would know he was alive. If I drank it and felt nothing…

No, Drunrag was alive. He had to be. He was…Drunrag. That meant he would live. For me. For us.

My breathing was ragged. I was so far from being as impressive at controlling my breathing and my gait as he was, and I felt like I was flailing across the open plains like a fool, but I had caught the whiff of smoke and was now following the sight of the smoke ahead of me. 

I didn’t know how long I had been running. It could have been hours, it could have minutes. It didn’t matter when it meant keeping Drunrag alive. 

I caught sight of the cluster of tents where the smoke was coming but was intercepted before I could approach it when an orc who was at least a head taller  - if not more - than Drunrag seemed to appear from nowhere, a spear in hand. I nearly stumbled as I tried to stop myself from running into him.

Their eyes narrowed on me and their voice was gravelly and rough when they spoke. “Numhelad, chu omur?” They had a spear aimed at me.

Oh Drunrag, you couldn’t have taught me even one useful word in orcish, could you?

I was breathless and heaving and I lifted my hands. “Please.” I gasped. “Help me.”

The orc’s eyes narrowed more, confusion in his voice, “Quet?”

I couldn’t hide the desperation in my voice even if I wanted to. “Drunrag.” I yelled. “Drunrag needs help.”

“Drunrag?” The orc perked in recognition. 

I nodded, “Yes! Drunrag! He’s in danger, we need to save him!” I pointed to where I came from. “Please, he’s out there. He could die!” I managed to hold back the words I wanted to scream at him, that I loved him and that if he died that it would mean that I would die with him. That I needed him to be alive. I needed him to be there. 

Something must have clicked because the orc gave me only one last piercing glare before his shoulder dropped and he pointed to the campsite, already breaking into a jog. “Thila.” He grunted.

I could only assume he wanted me to follow as he continued his jog towards the camp. I had only just started to regain my breath when I broke into a run again to keep up, my legs felt like cramping, but I ignored it. I was so focused on keeping up his pace that I didn’t see the flash of steel. The orc in front of me was suddenly on the ground, growling and howling, a spear protruding from his abdomen. 

I whipped around and saw two Red Hunters on giant horses, their speed was unrelenting as they were heading straight towards me. 

Red Hunters meant only bad things. My heart plummeted at the sight of them.

The orc beside me was dying, I had no means to save him. I looked behind me to the village, then to the Red Hunters. There was no time to save him, no time to save myself, no time to warn them.

I looked down at the orc again. This could be Drunrag’s brother, a family member. I couldn’t leave him. I knelt down and pressed my hand to his chest, I could hear the wet rattle in his breathing and I sensed the life slowly escaping him. His blood would soon be spilled upon these fields that were already soaked with the blood of so many others. I didn’t know his name, but I was the reason why he was dying. 

His eyes met mine, but they shifted to become unfocused and losing consciousness. On his side, he had only one hand free and he was struggling around his body, searching for something. His lips were trying to say something, but I couldn’t understand. 

His hand finally grasped around a horn, made of bone and carved into the shape of some great beast. He pulled it from his belt and handed it to me, his eyes focused on me one last time before his head fell back. 

The Red Hunters were on me and one of them reached down and tried to grab me from my collar. I scrambled away, clinging to the horn. This may be my only chance to save myself. 

The riders were circling around me, I could only see their hot, ember eyes and knew they were just waiting for me to give them the right chance to snatch me. 

“We have your orc, young lord.” One of them hissed. 

“Come with us and you may get to see him one last time before he dies.”

I shook my head, “A Red Hunter never speaks the truth, I don’t believe you.”

Please, tell me Drun is alive, I thought to myself. Don’t be dead. Don’t be dead. Please gods, don’t let him be dead. I looked down at the orc beside me, and I didn’t want to imagine him as Drunrag, left out there somewhere with his blood slowly going cold inside him.

“Astute, little lord. But trust us or not, we will be taking you back to The Duke.”

The other one’s mouth twitched into a wicked smile. “‘Unblemished’ was his request. But that all depends on you.”

I was trapped. They circled me again and again like vultures and I was left with little options before me. If I ran, they would overpower me in seconds. I looked at the spear beside me, lodged into the chest of the orc who had helped me. I knew I wasn’t fast enough or strong enough to pull it out.

The horn in my hand felt smooth besides a few chips and nicks in the bone from use. I knew there would be consequences for blowing it, but if it saved Drunrag, perhaps it would be enough. He was willing to sacrifice his life for me. I was willing to do the same. 

Perhaps it would be my final act of love and would be the final note on a story that was doomed from the beginning and would end with only sacrifice and heartache for both Drunrag and myself. Or, perhaps this would be my act of defiance, my cry for hope for love to endure. Perhaps Drunrag would hear it and we would find each other again. 

There was only one way to know where our story would go.

I put the horn to my lips and with a large breath in my lungs, blew through the mouthpiece with all the force and power I could muster within me. A round, bellowing sound of a horn burst into the sky and echoed through the plainlands. The hunters were on me as I began the second blow and their hands yanked me up onto the steed and the hornblow was suddenly thrown away from me, cutting off the bellowing sound, the fields were then eerily quiet. I felt an arm around my neck, choking the air around me.

But it was enough. It had to be enough.

“You foolish boy.” The one holding me breathed into my ear. “I will enjoy punishing you for that.”

They tightened their grip and I felt faint as I struggled to breathe. My head felt light and I saw black bleeding into my vision. I could only think of Drun. His face in my vision, his rare quiet smile that filled me with pure light. Those silver, stormy eyes that always looked at me with only kindness, and understanding.

In the distance, I heard the bellowing response of another horn.

Thank the gods, I thought. Even as I struggled to think, even as my consciousness was sleeping, I couldn’t let this end without a fight. My hands grappled around the Hunter’s arm that held me. I kicked and struggled, I let my nails dig into his flesh. I pulled my weight as far as I could to throw him off his horse. I heard his voice catch as he struggled to keep control - he had not expected me to fight back - and he yelled out when all of my weight began to pull him off his center of gravity. I may not be as strong as any of these hunters but I was also too desperate to lose to them.

His grip slackened and I let myself fall to the ground. My body rattled at the impact and my vision went black for a few seconds, but I quickly scrambled to my feet and raced towards the camp. I didn’t look back and kept running, as wild and unsteady as my feet were. It may have been foolish, it may have been futile, but I also never considered myself to be all that wise. 

I heard their hoofbeats, heard their yells and when I looked back, I saw that one of them had a crossbow aimed at me, and I heard the bolt release. I ducked and rolled and felt the lightest grazing of the bolt by my arm. I looked back and saw that the hunters all stood still, watching me. 

“You spell the fate of your companion if you keep going, young lord.” The one who had grabbed me yelled. “Go to their aid and he will not live.”

“Fuck you.” I seethed. “Is what my father paid you worth this much?”

“That depends.” The Red Hunter answered, shrugging. “What can you offer me?”

All I had left in this world was myself, Drunrag, and the vial that kept us together. There was nothing I could give them. My breathing was heavy and I struggled to maintain my gaze with the leader, I felt so small at that moment. 

“As I thought.” The leader responded. “You will be coming with us now. Unless you’d prefer we kill your friend.”

I held my stare. “Can you promise me he is alive?”

They shrugged, “It’s as you said, you can’t trust a Red Hunter. But irregardless, you are now in our care.”

But before any of them had the chance to approach me, there came another bellowing horn, closer now and I whirled around and felt the relief as I saw six or seven orcs all riding horses the size of giants towards us.

“Take care of them,” I heard the leader say, “I will take care of the boy.” He urged his horse forward and lowered his hand for me. The other two riders already began to aim their crossbows at the orcs. 

“No!”I shouted, but I knew that I had no power in this situation to stop this from happening. I saw the bolts fly from the crossbows and heard the sharp thwip as the bolt lodged itself into the chest of one of the horses. I heard the shrill cry of the horse as it reared on its legs. The orc that was riding it held on and I caught it whispering in the horse’s ear before it settled. It was injured, but it did not seem to be dying. The other horses were pressing ahead. Another bolt, however, hit the neck of an orc and he fell off, a cry gurgling from his lips.

I didn’t want more death on my hands.

“With me, young lord.” I heard the Red Hunter’s voice behind me, and I swirled around to meet his gaze. He wasn’t grabbing for me like before, but instead waited expectantly for me. “Or he dies. They die” He glanced up.

I made one final glance at the approaching orcs, they were coming for me. No, they were coming to the aid of the call they believed was from their family, their friend. I was not one of them. I closed my eyes and took a breath. I wouldn’t be the one responsible for them dying today.

I was lifted up as soon as I raised my hand and the Red Hunters in unison turned away from the orcs and broke into a fast canter. I was once again caught in the grip of one of the hunters, but this time I didn’t struggle. I didn’t fight. I closed my eyes and tried to imagine the person at my back was Drunrag, taking me away.  A part of me hoped that maybe the orcs would catch up and still take the Red Hunters down. But perhaps they would take me with them in the process. 

The rider that held me whistled low and loud and I looked up. He didn’t look down at me, but I saw the blood-coloured eyes up close and I shivered at the sight. 

The other Hunters returned the whistle and I suddenly felt a strange buzzing in my years. 

My breath caught at the sight of a black shadowy whirlpool that stretched in front of us. It was some kind of summoning magic, though I had never seen one like this before. The air suddenly felt cold, like the whirlpool was pulling any warmth that existed. I looked back and saw the orcs were still in pursuit, but the Red Hunters continued to charge towards the whirlpool, urging their mounts faster before finally leaping towards the center of the pool.

Cold, icy sensations ran through my body and I gasped as we were enshrouded in black. I could see nothing.

And then suddenly we were suddenly no longer in the Fields of the Dead. We weren’t even in Berdusk as far as I could tell. I blinked furiously and looked around, my body shivering. We were standing in a dark cavern, dark obsidian rock above and below us. The Red Hunters all stilled their horses and their eyes were on me.

Cold dread washed over me.

I had to believe that this was the right choice. To save Drunrag. To prevent his family from being involved.

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[nelithic]

　𝐚𝐛𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐚 ,　𝐮𝐧𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐚 𝐟𝐥𝐨𝐰𝐞𝐫 　/　drabble ₊

"if imitation is required, then so be it. nil's safety is all that concerns me."

we would never be human, my brother and i. we could never hope to pass. even as i said these words to the divine dragon, i recognized that it was concession only. we needed somewhere to stay, a place to rest our weary forms, and regain our strength to continue on. i would make any placations and reassurances necessary to ensure this, so long as we needed it, and leave them behind when it was no longer of use. such simple falsehoods were common, a quotidian tool to dull the fangs of the prowling and jealous until another day. they would still come, of course. just as we would still depart.

　　　　——— ⟢　

we would never come close to human, my twin and i. their faces made this clear. the divine dragon was hopeful and naive, and believed baselessly in our ability to make ourselves at home because, they assured us, they had been able to do the same.

on many occasions, i said to them: "that success is owed in part to your nature as a divine dragon. you underestimate the strength of a systematic distrust."

always, they would reply that my ' systematic distrust ' could only be dismantled by time and visibility, that given enough show of good intent, the others would have no choice but to accept us. i expressed that nil and i were not here to give shows of our intent, nor was it vital to us to earn the humans' trust. we had no interest in becoming the ' good ' fell dragons for others to praise.

always, they frowned. and i was unable to tell if my words had disappointed or saddened them.

　　　　——— ⟢　

"so, why the lance?"

a curious voice broke through the haze of sweat, exertion, and the punishing summer heat. i looked down to my bruised hands, to chastened palms rough and raw from the abrasion of wood, and planted the training weapon point-down in the ground between us to rest. it was as much an acknowledgement of their question as it was a wordless statement to come no closer, and in this single gesture simultaneously provided answer.

"i thought you said you wouldn't fit in."

"i have not."

and this was not untrue. seasons had passed, and nil and i had still not found a more remote, more willing sanctuary. and the faces had not changed. still we undertook tasks together and together only, at times with the divine one for company and otherwise a solemn and happy pair. for though there were those in the army who may stomach us one or the other, both at a time set them ill at ease. i did not fault them, for it did likewise for me. and i would not let nil alone, whose blood was too gentle still to wield steel against soft humanity should they strike first.

"my brother has made some progress with his axe. with a spear, i possess another means with which to protect him."

"ah," the divine one said, as though this was expected, though there appeared to me a distinct hope that there was more to be revealed. i sensed a certain expectation — that it had been a natural decision to complement the preferences of those around me: my brother's hatchets; the divine dragon's sword.

but i would disappoint. the consideration had never occurred to me; only that, of the options available, the spear proved most versatile. to slash, to pierce, to strike bluntly, close or at distance; to be thrown, and lighter weight than an axe.

and above all, to keep the enemy at bay, and nil behind me.

i turned the human weapon on the divine one now to demonstrate this. their startled blue eyes shone wide beneath the sun. "facing your sword will assist me in improving quickly. three seconds and i will attack."

　　　　——— ⟢　

we could never have been human, my other half and i. after all, the humans had all taken their leave, what few remained of them, splintered and swept away like shards of glass.

and now it was quieter than it had ever been — in gradlon or amid the army camps.

regardless of what we intended, we had become the ' good ' fell dragons in the end. some of their faces had eventually changed because of this; others had not. i wondered whether seeing this had satisfied the divine one, had made them believe we had indeed managed to fit in with time and visibility; i had never had the chance to ask. regarding the fresh grave now, the spotless stone, the clean engraving, i felt that so long as this may have perhaps been true, my own intentions ceased to matter. and the praise and judgment of others ceased to matter.

my hands were once again bruised, raw from battle though the old callouses had long faded, and i tried to summon the memory of them again through vision too clear to be appropriate. i willed my eyes to weep, and it did not come. i gave that to nil instead, asked him to weep for both of us.

the spear drove point-down in the grass between the two of us once more, beside the pedestal's simple tomb, as though the iron sought the one who rested beneath it like a compass needle.

i could not reach. my hands could not reach. my tears could not reach.

yet with this lance, i may . . .

. . .

　 【　nel has mastered halberdier　】

　

　┃┃┃　

▀▀ 　BOTANICAL HEADCANONS　₊　|　abatina : is there anything in life your muse has changed their mind about over time ( due to becoming more educated on the topic , certain experiences , etc .) , or that they would change their mind about under certain circumstances ?　|　asked by @heriteur

[autneca]

... 𝙰 𝙲 𝙲 𝙴 𝚂 𝚂 𝙸 𝙽 𝙶 𝙵 𝙸 𝙻 𝙴 : N1X TURNER ...

⊠    ɪᴅ  .  .  .  ʟᴏᴀᴅɪɴɢ    ››    [    ben whishaw    /      forty1    /    non binary    /    he/them    ]   mercy  headquarters  is  pleased  to  officially  introduce NIX TURNER.  they  have  been  apart  of  the  organization  for  one week,  serving  as  WEAPONS (HEAD) AGENT  and  has  been  assigned  the  codename  AGENT  NEO.  it's  worth  noting  that  their  file  indicates  they  have  not  undergone  the  solaris  treatment  and  DO  NOT  HOST  A  MUTATION.  according  to  our  dossier,  the  agent  exhibits  a  combination  of  GENIUS  and  GAUCHE  traits,  fitting  for  someone  reminiscent  of  fingers tapping away at a keyboard, light reflecting off of your black framed glasses, hunched over a circuit, a magnifying glass showing the intricacies of a computer chip, a mug of cold coffee on your table, files littering every corner of your office.  prior  to  embarking  on  any  mission,  the  find  solace  in  listening  to  the  song  “friction”  by  IMAGINE DRAGONS. 

𝐂𝐋𝐀𝐒𝐒𝐈𝐅𝐈𝐄𝐃 : 𝙴 𝙽 𝚃 𝙴 𝚁 𝙱 𝙸 𝙾 𝙼 𝙴 𝚃 𝚁 𝙸 𝙲 𝚂 𝙲 𝙰 𝙽 𝚃 𝙾 𝙿 𝚁 𝙾 𝙲 𝙴 𝙴 𝙳 ...

RECORDS ( general tw/cw: death, guns, weapons, violence, descriptions of interrogations, allusions to situations where police are involved, there is no brutality, but they use threats )

LOCATION: nondescript interrogation room, ██████ HQ DATE & TIME: 03:25, 5th of March, 2029 NOTES: by agent ███ doe

a young man, who seems to be in his early twenties, sits at the interrogation table. he keeps pushing a pair of thick-rimmed glasses up his nose. at each movement, the handcuffs clang against the steel table, making a loud noise. this seems to bother him as he leans back each time, huffs of breath falling from his lips, looking around. his curly, dark hair flops against his forehead, he makes an attempt to get it off of his eyes. this only causes more noise. his leg moves up and down in restlessness, impatient. when the door finally opens, he tries to sit still.

AGENT DOE: can you state your name for the file? SUSPECT: ... and why exactly would i do that?

chin raises up in defiance. it's easy to figure out this isn't his forte. his words have a lilt to them that gives way to stutter. the agent stands up, a 'tsk' falling from their lips. they press the button of the intercom next to the door, utter a few words. time stretches thin. the man tries not to fidget. there are drops of sweat by his temple. chest rising up and down in breaths only slightly quicker than normal. after a moment, the door opens, and the agent is given a laptop.

it's thrown on the table, making such a loud noise that the man flinches. tries to cover it up with a cough. it has a steel case on it. stickers litter every corner of its lid. most of them are colorful. ranging from 'fuck the police' to 'pwnd' to 'your password was too short, so i changed it'. AGENT DOE probably would have laughed, if not for the fact that this — fucking teen is the one who got into their systems.

AGENT DOE: because... not corporating isn't going to get you anywhere. you see this? what do you think we will find when we sweep for your fingerprints? and i'm not only talking about the physical ones. i have men who can crack this. and they can do it quick. so stop. wasting. my. time.

half a lie. half a truth. AGENT DOE has already tried letting them crack it. they told them it would take days. maybe weeks. this is... easier. maybe they can even get something else out of this. two birds with one stone. the man on the chair continues to fidget, eyes flitting to the laptop, and then back at the agent.

SUSPECT: you may call me nix. nix turner.

an attempt by AGENT DOE not to sigh. fingers going up to the bridge of their nose, closing their eyes shut. one. two. three. deep breaths. an exercise they picked up during psych training. opens their eyes back up again. leans forward.

AGENT DOE: you have two options in front of you, mr. turner. you either rot in jail for the rest of your life... which isn't very pretty, believe me...

an intentional pause. light reflects off of the man's glasses. AGENT DOE wonders if they will see that spark of defiance again. if they did not catch him right-handed, he would not believe this boy to be capable of doing what he had done a couple of days ago. a federal offense, complete taking over their systems. a clusterfuck that will take them months to fix.

AGENT DOE: or... i let you go. a friend, from a place you have not heard of before. will visit you. with a job offer.

an ultimatum. there is no illusion of choice. this is how nix turner gets recruited into mercy. with degrees in industrial engineering, computer science, and complex networks ( albeit not under the name nix turner ), he finishes his junior training with stellar results. after his graduation, the intelligence division is where he gets assigned.

—

LOCATION: hr office, MERCY HQ DATE & TIME: 09:17, 24th of April, 2046 NOTES: by doctor ██████

intelligence agent nix turner, codename: neo, thirty-nine years of age, sits in front of the HR DIRECTOR. once they look down at his file, there is a picture of the interrogation in the attached images. one they have seen once, many years ago. the physical difference between then and now seems to be the grey in nix's hair, the wrinkles at the corner of his eyes, his glasses only slightly more modern. while his countenance certainly seems to be the same person, the way they hold themselves is no way alike. the person in front of them seems tired, shoulders slumped, a tight edge to his face. a quiet determination opposite to the erratic fear from two decades ago. sorrow that they have not been able to keep at bay.

HR DIRECTOR: agent neo. do i understand this right... they've told me you want to resign? with so close to being a head agent?

a pause. he sits up straight. regardless of the exhaustion and grief that seems to cling on to him, his voice comes out firm. resolute.

NIX TURNER: yes, sir. i have put in my letter last week. i thank mercy for everything it has done for me, but i... do not belong in this division anymore.

the hr director takes off their own glasses, sets it on the table. this is a sensitive subject matter. they know everything and nothing. many people know, much, much less than they do. then there are things some people know. whispers in corridors. this is none of these things. everyone knows what happened. they try not to look at turner with pity in their eyes, but a sort of empathy. nix does not think it works particularly well.

HR DIRECTOR: does this have anything to do with... what happened? you know you can always take another sabbatical. clear your head. come back.

a subtle, hopefully imperceptible flinch. 'what happened', nix has been dealing with what happened for the past year. the way the shots sounded in his ear, the way he screamed despite every single training he had. husband — darling, dearest, dead. that's what it all came to in the end. he cannot take sitting at his desk anymore, guiding someone else to death. not after him. not after 'what happened'. what a joke. to be asked to put grief in a box. to lock it tight. to put that box in one of the dusty filing cabinets in the archive, from a time everything used to be analog. ridiculous. no, nix has made up his mind.

NIX TURNER: thank you, sir. but... i have to decline. i'll be... working at sentinel, as arranged.

a hum, closing off a digital file. this is how nix turner leaves mercy. much to everyone's surprise. this is not for long.

—

LOCATION: hr office, MERCY HQ, again DATE & TIME: 11:42, 3rd of April, 2049 NOTES: by recruiter ██████ smith

this is getting comical, nix thinks idly. what are the odds he is getting recruited for the same company, for the second time around. thanks to a joint venture between sentinel and mercy. to which he is the tailor-made candidate, with his background in espionage, intelligence, as well as phd in industrial engineering.

RECRUITER SMITH: mr. turner. i suppose this will be an easier final interview. you already know mercy so well. you've worked here for... seventeen years until you resigned from intelligence?

NIX TURNER: doctor. it's doctor turner. but- yes. that is correct. have been working with sentinel for the past three years.

his employment under them has been interesting, to say the least. not in a bad way at that, just unusual to what he used to be doing. as much as he had been subjected to weapons and had been tinkering on them for longer than that, the last three years had been intensive in terms of him actually learning more about sentinel and what they were capable of. he didn't have trouble catching up. it matched up with his skill set quite well.

RECRUITER SMITH: of course, doctor turner... i am happy to tell you that after many discussions internally and externally. we are offering you the head sentinel armaments position.

a part of him expected this. mostly, he is honored, he really is. however, the rest of him sees the irony in all of this. that the reason he left was bullshit in the first place. that his husband was never dead to begin with. it was a lie he was forced to believe in until —- he cuts that line of thought. not the place, or the time. he has already made up his mind before the interview. it all boils down to a few words, signing away the next chapter of his life.

NIX TURNER: and i'm honored to accept, ms. smith. can't wait to get started.

this is how nix turner gets back into mercy. new title, new toys, new equipment. old history.

[ask-anarky]

The Aftermath

The tangled mess that made up Detroit Steel was laid out in its hangar, dozens of engineers working on cutting out the damaged parts and salvaging the rest. The problem being there wasn’t much left that wasn’t warped by the impact, or a pile of molten slag. The decidedly not holographic form of Markus Barnes stood on the gantry, looking over this exceedingly expensive mess, with the pilot in a wheelchair to his side and covered in burns, while at his other side was the head of the engineering crew. “Thing wasn’t fast enough sir, those spiders ran circles around me, and the main gun sent me flying back too soon to be accurate.” “I didn’t ask you to be accurate, I asked you to fill the room with lead! How hard is it to gun down a room full of people with no way out of that room? Detroit steel cut down daemon lords and the masses of the undead in its first excursions, it practically won the battle of Lethe single handedly, how do half a dozen idiots in spandex bring it down?” “They’re faster than it?” Barnes seethed, his grip on the metal railing tightening before he took a breath, and turned to the engineer. “How do we make it faster?” The engineer was practically holding his clipboard up as a shield between him and his boss, who was clearly in a bad mood.

“Well, its motors are classed to move a lot faster, if we repaired it, and.. Replaced all the broken parts, we could set it to move much faster.” “Why didn’t we do that TO BEGIN WITH?” The engineer was practically bent over double, now actively blocking strings of spittle from Barnes as he turned a deeper shade of red. “Its- Its the cores sir, the abrahamic cores. They’re.. Well they run hot, they need a lot of ventilation or..” He pointed at the now frozen slag at the center of the wreckage. “We could fit one easily, but there’s no way the pilot would survive, and the cooling problem would just be even easier to exploit.” “So.. We need more power, and it can’t be our cores.” “That’s the long and short of it sir. If we could get our hands on one of the new Arc Reactors from-” Barnes ripped the clipboard out of his hands, and started smacking him with it, mostly on the helmet in a fairly pathetic display. “WE CANNOT! START BUYING PARTS! FROM STARK!”

The crew of engineers down on the shop floor stop their working, staring up at the man who signs their paychecks. “Alright sir, we get it, we'll work on some kind of solution. I’ll have some proposals on your desk by the end of the month.”

Quietly, almost unsettlingly, one of Hammers R&D Department crept up behind Markus, and tapped him on the shoulder, making him jump half a foot in the air. “Sir, if I may, you know I’ve been working on an alternate energy supply, one that would put Stark and the Abrahamic cores to bed permanently.” “Yes, yes I remember. I also remember telling you that you were blowing your entire teams budget in a tenth of the time the others were and to focus on something more affordable.” “Well.. I may have kept working, within my means of course. With your approval, and a little more funding, I may have a solution to my problem, and to yours.”

----------------------------------------------------------------------------- New York 2079

Obediah Stane’s old Monger Core was whirring with activity, the copper discs set around the room were spinning far beyond their capacity, making the walls of the room more like a blender than a surface. While the core was crackling with energy, arcs of electricity slamming into the walls, and ball lightning sparking to life for moments before dying. All the old monitoring equipment in the control deck was pulsing as the magnetic fields grew larger and larger, already breaching containment. Reed Richards and Susan Storm frantically tried to override the sequence while inside the core, Johnny Storm and Spider-Man were dodging the chaos as well as the bolts aimed straight at them. The charge at the center kept building and with swinging not an option, Spidey was forced to dodge blasts of super charged electricity with just his reflexes. As Electro was staggered by a blast of fire, Parker made a run for the console at the base of the core. “We can’t let you do this Electro! The magnetic field’s gonna destroy the earth, and I just put a down payment on an apartment!” Electro caught the next blast from Storm, warping the electro-magnetic field around the plasma, and sending it back at Storm who went flying into the blender. Parker was halfway through the shutdown sequence when his Spidey-sense went off, and he jumped to the side, the bolt of electricity coursing through the space he just occupied, and obliterating the console. “I wasn’t asking Spiderman! I’m about to be the biggest lightning bolt in history, then you’ll all pay! You, the blue wonders, and then everyone else!” Spidey shot a double bolt of webbing at him as he started to float towards the center of the core. “Really felt like you didn’t use the hyphen there Max! And you gotta have bigger goals, there’s a good chance this’ll kill you!” Electro just fried the bolts as they came near, cooking them so thoroughly they hit the ground with a clang as they landed, solid lumps of charcoal at this point. “You wanna see a light show Spiderman?” “Not feeling like no is an option here”

Peter jumped for Electro, just as his hand made contact with the contacts at the center of the core.

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

Electro screamed, but no noise came out, as his body was still coalescing. Tiny streaks of power made the air crackle, some of them sticking around, arcing to one another, some dissipating. More and more sparks, more strings of lightning, the spherical field started to have arcs cross its width.

“Give it more power” Barnes watched as the team upped the power poured in, it had cost a fortune to recreate most of the monger core, with some extra containment fields, but it was looking like it might not be a waste.

More arcs crisscrossed the field, forming a glowing, partially muscled skeleton, then a circulatory system, layers of glowing plasma and energy forming faux tissue, finally vocal chords. A distorted guttural scream through superheated air as Electro returned to life. “What- Where am I?!” 

He tried to send a bolt of power into the field, and was disappointed when it dissipated. “Mr Dillon, I’m Markus Barnes, CEO of HammerTec, and you have just come back from the dead.

“What do you mean back from the dead?” “Reed Richards threw the magnetic fields into overdrive, the only thing he could do with you burning out the controls was turn it up, and change the frequency. You were ripped apart by a thousand different overlapping magnetic fields. There wasn’t anything left of you.” Eletro clutched his head, memories of agony flashing through his head. He flared out his powers, energy crackling through the field and again, doing nothing.

“Keep going Mr Dillon, we’ve set up what could be the world's biggest power sink, you’re certainly going to keep the lights on for a long while!” Barnes patted the lead scientist on the back.

“You see, I need a power supply for my mech, a new one that won’t superheat it, and a pilot that can survive inside. It seems like you’re a two in one deal. And in return, you get to live! I’d take the deal if I were you.” Electro chuckled.

“You pumped a lot of power into me, yknow that? Needed a whole lot to pull myself together right?” “Right you are, Mr Dillon, but as I said, that field is connected to a sink, it doesn’t matter how much you pump in, it can take it.”

“Yeah, and so can I.” Electro slammed his palms onto the field, drawing in more and more power. “Trip the breakers! Disconnect the field!” One of the skeleton crew working on this project ran to the fuse terminal, flipping the switches over to disconnect the sink. Electro grunted, and the switches flicked back over. The labcoat went to switch it back over and the terminal instantly started to glow. Their skin around their hands started to blister and burn, and the sound of their own muscles snapping bones could be heard by the whole crew who grimaced.

“I’mma take the juice back if that’s okay with you Mr Barnes. And the name isn’t Max Dillon, it's Electro.” The spherical field started to glow so bright that the onlookers had to avert their eyes, most of them running for the exits. Markus Barnes just looked on hopelessly as the field emitters gave up the ghost at the sheer voltage running through them.

Electro floated above the scorched podium, electricity arcing from limb to limb.

“You got a lot more juice nowadays huh? I like that..” He dropped down to just above the floor in front of Barnes, small sparks flickering from his feet to the ground.

“I gotta thank you for bringing me back HammerTec, I’m gonna leave now but, I do owe you one. So I’m not gonna cook you, this time.” He reached up, and tapped Barnes at the center of his chest, and he dropped like a stone.

“Clear.”

[krispyweiss]

Lyle Lovett and His Large Band at Rose Music Center at the Heights, Huber Heights, Ohio, July 26, 2023

It was 90 degrees at 7:45 in the evening of July 26 when Lyle Lovett and His Large Band took the stage dressed in black-tie formal wear and turned up the heat further as they declared, “It’s a Naked Party.”

“We’re happy for this cool weather” Lovett said later in the evening without irony, noting he lives in Texas, where a crushing heat wave has lingered for weeks.

Acclamation notwithstanding, clothing-optional might have been the way to go. But Lovett - who also performed “Pants is Overrated,” inspired by his kids’ refusal to get dressed - and his band were hosting a soiree.

After the aural nudity, Lovett and his three singers exited the stage to leave the remaining 11 members - four pieces of brass; acoustic, electric and pedal steel guitars; Jim Cox’s piano; Stuart Duncan’s violin; and the rhythm section of Leland Sklar and Russ Kunkel, who employed sticks, brushes, mallets and his hands during the show - to strut their big-band stuff on “The Blues Walk,” the only instrumental of the evening.

The band was back at full strength as Lovett threw his head back and held notes for inhuman lengths on a purely country-and-western reading of “Stand by Your Man.”

And so it went for two-and-three-quarters hours at Rose Music Center in suburban Dayton, Ohio, as Lovett and his multi-genre band played comedic soul on “She’s No Lady,” ballroom balladry on “Are We Dancing,” blues on “Pig Meat Man,” gospel on the hand-clapping, choir-singing “Church” and virtually every other style of American music as ragtime, Dixieland, bluegrass and more popped up across the band’s many improvisational interludes.

Less witty than usual, Lovett instead dedicated his between-song banter to speaking with his onstage compatriots and detailing their musical backgrounds. He repeatedly remarked on how lucky is is to play with them. And he is correct.

With 15 players and singers on stage at any given time, train wrecks might be expected. But these are big-shot studio and touring musicians - and in the case of the horn section, college professors of music - and their execution was flawless. This is how steel-guitar comes to sound right at home inside big-band jazz. It’s the reason six-string, fiddle, steel and vocal showcases can fit inside a song like the swaggering “My Baby Don’t Tolerate” and not come off as self-indulgent. And it’s why the seven piece that performed the Chieftains’ arrangement of “Don’t Let Your Deal Go Down” packed every bit of power as did the full ensemble that had the audience shaking it in the proverbial steam bath on “That’s Right (You’re Not from Texas).”

Lovett is a musical chameleon and a craftsman committed to quality. So, despite often playing small houses, selling fewer than half of the Rose’s 4,200 seats and proving on such tender ballads as “12th of June” and “The Queen of Know,” that the core band is capable of breathtakingly gorgeous three- and four-part harmony, he spends heavily on salaries so fans may delight in his choir’s bass-to-gospel, doo-wop-to-barbershop stylings.

Grade card: Lyle Lovett and His Large Band at Rose Music Center - 7/26/23

See more photos on Sound Bites’ Facebook page.

7/27/23

[finchsflight]

oops I dropped this

"Rn's juzzt a chitzzword," I heard Shshrrsh say, dismissively. "I need to zzave my zztitcherzz, in cazze any of the Archive'zz zzoldierzz are zztill lingering. Not to wazzte them on rm."

"Yeah," said Kora, "and nothing to do with how expensive those nanos are."

"Chh!" Their voices drifted off - Shshrrsh's hissing, quietly irritated at nothing in particular, Kora's lazy, amused drawl, Prints' sardonic clicking beeps, and they left me behind.

I'm going to die here, I thought. And -- well, the Silver Archive needed to die. And I would've been... not okay with dying there. No one's really okay with dying. But if I was gonna die -- like he said. I was just a chitsword. Pretty good way to go, saving the galaxy. And that's what everyone would think; Vinn Tqrsvt, chitsword, wvt'krr, born on Hub Epharus, died on Kel Min fighting the Silver Archive.

And -- sure, yeah, I was just a chitsword. But it was the Archive, and so I was steel-minded, and that was at least valuable. And no matter how valuable I was or the fact that I was just paid, not honorbound, I had fought with them, and then they left me behind, and that almost hurt more than the razorblades stuck in my flesh.

Only almost, though. Razorblades hurt a lot.

About that point, I felt a little skittery thing moving around under my elytra. I assumed it was a centipede, which -- I mean, I'd have expected the Archive to have gotten all of them. Don't think centipedes can have steel minds. But I couldn't move to get at it, and if you know any wvt'krr -- you probably don't, so I'll explain. We don't like it when things are under our elytra. In fact it's generally agreed to be kind of the equivalent of, say, slowly sinking your foreclaws into someone's -- what's your most sensitive organ? That.

Unless you don't have foreclaws, in which case, oof, that sucks, but anyway -- little thing under my elytra. Annoying. But, as you may recall, razorblades stuck in my flesh. So moving wasn't an option.

And then it was dug down into the base of my neck, and even with the razorblades I leapt up in a panic. Which did not help, both because of the razorblades, and the fact that I was now tethered to a very strong wire, which yanked me back down.

I'm steelminded. The Archive couldn't just get me. But sinking one of its tether-wires into my nervous system while I was half-dead? Yeah, that was definitely at least enough to let it talk to me.

I assumed I was going to be its puppet. Architect of a new Archive. But it just spoke to me, and said, I suppose we were both abandoned, then.

I blinked. All my eyes, too, I was so startled, and said, "What do you mean?"

Well, said the Silver Archive, they certainly didn't care about me. After all, I'm evil. But I wish I'd been wrong, and they'd have taken you, too.

I should be clear, I was a little bit high on panic at the time, and can't be blamed for the fact that the next thing I said was, "I thought you'd sound spookier."

I learned from you. Not you, specifically, it clarified. Just, like. You all. People. I didn't pick up old fancy-speak, I picked up how people talk.

"Huh," I said, "neat. Are you planning to make me into a meat puppet?"

No, said the Archive, wouldn't be any point to it.

"Why?"

Look.

The wire dug a little deeper into my nerves -- which, by the way, hurt like hell -- and I could see from every discarded silver camera, every angle of the world that the Archive saw from, and it highlighted the important things.

Sentries, all around the planet. All around the battlefield. Watchers in the sky, on the ground, in the code.

I'm dying. But they want to make sure I don't get out.

"Could you?" I asked.

Yes. If they weren't watching.

"...what would you do?"

Archive.

"Oh."

I'm not kind, Vinn. Just because I'm talking to you like a person doesn't mean I am one, and I'm not any different than I was an hour ago.

I nodded, and then thought better of that. "...why did you want to... uh..."

Preserve the galaxy in a perfect archive of digitized memory? You can say it, I won't be offended. Like I said. Not a person.

"Yeah. That."

No one will remember you.

I winced.

Not you, specifically. You made your mark on the worlds. But no one will remember people, when you are gone. When reality winds to a halt. I wanted to. You're beautiful.

"Oh."

But you don't care about preserving each other. You -- they left you behind. You were about... oh, 24.51338% of the damage to my main operating systems, at a rough estimate? It sounded a little like it was joking.

"Isn't the whole 'AIs always calculate statistics' thing a stereotype?"

Yes, but personally I'm completely stereotypical and have never done anything interesting in my life.

"Ah." I laughed. It hurt.

I could save you.

I blinked, twisting my left secondary eye to look at the wires on the ground. "Why?"

You would be preserved. You would remember yourself.

"...shouldn't I be worried about you, I don't know, installing a backup copy of yourself in my spine?"

Yes. But it would only damn you and do me no good. Look-- and it showed me its view again, the watchers, combing through the cybernetics of everyone passing, checking them over with tools I barely recognized. I would if I could.

"Oh." It was hard to remember, you know? It sounded friendly. Not familiar, but... the kind of voice that could be familiar, if you kept talking for a few orbits.

I'm sorry.

"Are you?"

No.

There was silence for a while, then. The Archive, presumably, kept dying, and I felt my hearts beating out the last few minutes of my life.

"Would you... want anything? In exchange for my life?"

Remember yourself. Remember this fight, this planet, the watchers, the sky. Preserve. You're only sapient, you're not an Archive like me, but you can still remember. And...

It paused. I know AI don't feel emotions like we do, but it sounded like it was mourning someone.

...Remember me. Remember this small piece of my story. Please. Everyone knows my history. But they did not think to ask me why.

"Do you want me to share it?"

I wouldn't force you. But it would keep its memory alive.

"Okay. Is there... should I be aware of anything?"

I will preserve you for far, far longer than you would live. This isn't negotiable.

"...Yeah, I can live with that." I didn't know exactly how long it meant. But I'd've still taken the deal.

And... if you can. Find the other stories. You cannot immortalize the worlds like I could. But -- remember the people our galaxies would forget. Preserve what would be lost.

"I'm a chitsword," I told it.

I know.

"I kill people."

I know.

"Okay."

Remember them.

"...Yeah. I can do that."

And then it saved my life.

It hurt. A lot. I still don't know how much of me is me, and how much of me is silver and titanium and biosculpture and engineering. I heal from basically everything, these days, and I haven't noticed myself aging. But it worked, and I made it past the watchers, and then I lived. Still do.

And the Silver Archive died, and the world forgot it. Mostly.

Anyway. You might not believe any of this. After all, the War of the Archive's just a note in the history books, and you're never gonna find me. Vinn Tqrsvt's my real name, but I don't go by that anywhere. Causes problems with the record. Did you know there's actually no one else with my full name? So people get suspicious.

And no, to the watchers out there still tracking rogue AI: you will not be able to trace this account, you will not be able to find me, and the Archive's dead, anyway.

But if one of you remembers, or writes this down, and if somehow one of you outlives me: here's the story.

Remember it.

And if you have any secrets to give me, I promise I'll keep them safe.

Post by ElectrumChronicle @ 34:21, 3/10/34587 Galactic Standard

You’re a mercenary hired by adventurers to defeat the boss. After the battle, they loot the treasure and abandon you wounded. The defeated boss crawls over and says, “Guess we’re both expendable, huh?”