Let's Talk About Thaumanova!
This is undoubtedly going to get long, as I want to dig into a few things, including the potential name of the city that was destroyed in the meltdown, how much was/is known about the reactor, and theories/wild mass guessing. So it goes under a cut.
So for reference if you somehow don't know, most people know Thaumanova as one of two things:
A named area within Metrica Province where the Fire Elemental world boss spawns. There's a great deal of magical temporal displacement that takes place in this location, and NPCs can be found that refer to the disaster.
The fractal that encompasses the timeframe roughly one year before the beginning of the Personal Story that shows the events of the reactor meltdown that destroyed the city far above it.
According to in game dialogue from a researcher you can talk to at the entrance to the named area, the location was formerly an asuran city. Research the Inquest was conducting far below the city caused a chain reaction/meltdown that caused the reactor to go critical and level the area, leaving the city a ruin.
The implication provided here is that the location we're in is a city high above where the Thaumanova Reactor actually was located, where the Inquest was doing its research with Scarlet. He provides no details of what transpired here, nor does he name the reactor or the city itself.
It's implied that basically an entire city was wiped off the map, but NOT that the city itself was Inquest. The city was a simple asuran city cube, and the Inquest research was apparently secret... until the year before the PS.
On the other hand, nearby, you can visit a camp with survivors. It can be hard to get the applicable dialogue here, as there is a repeating event chain where Inquest from the Inner Complex will attempt to or have succeeded in kidnapping survivors from the city/reactor meltdown.
Gliga is a peacemaker you can speak with at the encampment.
She has some interesting dialogue regarding the reactor that contradicts (somewhat) what the researcher above spoke in regards to.
Gliga seems to indicate some knowledge of the reactor, but while she mentions the reactor itself, no name for the city itself is given. I have theories on this! But we'll come back to that in a moment.
Next up is Refugee Ejint. He was in the city when the reactor melted down and destroyed it. He's one of the lucky survivors, and gives us some clues on what happened to people in the city who weren't lucky enough to make it out.
Yikes!
This does go along with the thought, however, that a number of people did die- probably a significant number. If they didn't die, they were transmuted into Something Else. I'd also like to theorize that being displaced from reality or tossed into the mists is also a possibility, considering you can see animals being popped in and out of existence in the reactor (and in Brisban and the Iron Marches!).
There aren't any other refugees or survivors we can speak to here, but this is a good start. (Note: if you try to speak to other refugees, they'll cough, start crying, moan, or mutter things like "oh no no no.")
I won't get into the reactor itself too much, as it doesn't give us much more detail into the city itself, and we mostly know what transpired there.
(It is interesting to note that Dessa clearly knew two researchers, but didn't quite recognize them, stating they changed... but Dessa's fractal echo appears to be from about 20 years prior, so my general theory for that is one: her friends aged 20 years, and two: they're Inquest where they may not have been before. She also has dialogue from LWS1's initial drop that mentions knowing about the Thaumanova lab itself! Which is interesting! But we don't really get anymore detail on that.)
That being said... on to the Brisban Wildlands!
The reactor's explosion had far reaching effects, and the nearest location we can see that is in the Brisban Wildlands. The most notable of which is the Toxal Bog. Here, you can see the remnants of a ton of magical residue, and creatures that pop in and out of existence. My guess is the reactor's meltdown affected this area significantly.
Also in Brisban is the Thaumacore Inquiry Center POI and hero point. It appears the core of the reactor was eventually removed by the Inquest, though there's no indication as to when. It's possible this may also be what affected the Toxal Bog, but there's no way to know for certain.
I sometimes wonder if the orb you see at the end of the Thaumanova fractal isn't the power source seen here, but that's neither here nor there.
The final spot (that I'm immediately aware of) on our Thaumanova Tour is the Iron Marches! This is an interesting one, since we learn that the reactor's explosion didn't just affect the city and the immediate area... it also affected the location the crystals used in the Inquest facility were mined in: the Chaos Crystal Cavern Jumping Puzzle.
And the effects of the chaos rifts are varied indeed.
So with all this information in hand, what can we conclude?
It's time for theories!
In general, we know painfully little. We know there was a reactor called the Thaumanova Reactor, and there was (at one time) a city above it. We know there was a loss of life, be it from people dying, being transfigured, or a variety of other things that may have affected them (displaced, yeeted out of existence, etc).
We also know that the reactor meltdown happened in a lab deep below the city, not in the city itself.
My general theory is that the reactor was in the city, or at least underneath it, and WAS a known item. I do think the Thaumanova Reactor was what powered the city cube that was there at one time. I don't think, however, that they shared a name. Large asuran settlements have very standard naming principles, as seen with the known examples below:
Quora Sum
Rata Pten
Rata Novus
Rata Arcanum
Rata Sum
Rata Primus
I do think it may have been something like Rata Thauma or Rata Nova (though Rata Nova is a stretch... it's very close to Rata Novus, which may a) have the implication of bad luck and b) call to mind Zinn, who was pretty unpopular, to say the least).
My guess in this regard, since no one was aware the lab was under the city, was that the laboratory didn't even have a name, or at the very least if it was named for the reactor, it was sold to the people in the city as not actually being down below so as to allay any fears the citizenry may have about having a giant Inquest laboratory right under their feet.
(I am aware that Dessa mentions the Thauma lab, and that she was aware it was "a nasty place to work," but it's the only line that exists and iirc it was ONLY in the og LWS1 drop, so it's equally possible she didn't know exactly what it was or what research was taking place there. I could be wrong, though, and if anyone has screens of that dialogue, please feel free to add them on! That said, we do know from the researcher the lab was not known about prior to the reactor meltdown. That fact is, at least, solid.)
So what happened to the city cube?
My personal theory is that the city cube is the Uncategorized Fractal. Having Dessa's former partner (supposedly) there doesn't disprove this, either: we know Dessa in the fractal echo is from roughly 20 years prior. Her being so hesitant about the empty city doesn't necessarily mean that she was aware of the reactor meltdown. If sh e and her partner had a falling out, or if she's seen this loop enough to know what's at the end...
It could elicit the same response. And we know things can be ripped OUT of the mists, so why not placed into the mists as well? The Raving Asura's dialogue also pairs neatly with some ambient dialogue from a survivor in the Survivors Encampment.
(My Gyazo busted and I didn't catch the dialogue in a screenshot, but you can read it here at this link... it's the first piece under At the Survivor Encampment, and there's other interesting dialogue below!)
Obviously Your Mileage May Vary, but it's REALLY fu n to speculate and think about this place. It's a great place to look to for information if you want a LOT of trauma for your asura's backstory, be it by being a survivor, losing family while they were away, being an Inquest researcher who escaped, or maybe even by being distorted by the shifts in reality when the reactor melted down.
I jokingly say the Thaumanova city cube is my Roman Empire, and genuinely, I talk about it because people who aren't playing asura may not even realize it was there.
But I hope this provides some neat information on a little known/talked about piece of asura lore!
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post fall bucky having a fear of heights?? ive always thought that he'd be afraid of heights, like he wasnt afraid of it at all before his fall, go ask steve. but after falling?? he tries to hide it from steve, how scared he is.. and steve, bless his poor soul, he blames himself for not realizing sooner, he thinks he shouldve known, he couldnt possibly have. hes always seen bucky as this brave courage man, and bucky didnt want to ruin steve's image of him worse than he already think he did. and oh my fucking god
THE POST PLANE CRASH STEVE BEING AFRAID OF TIGHT SPACES?? BECAUSE IT BRINGS HIM BACK TO FEELING THE COLD SEEP IN THROUGH HIS VERY BONES WHILE HE GETS CRUSHED BY ALL THE WATER, ICE, AND DEBRIS?? DONT GET ME STARTED OH MY GOD
HONEY I FEEL LIKE YOUR LEVEL OF CRUELTY TOWARDS ME SPECIFICALLY IS REACHING DANGEROUS LEVELS HERE
but I get it, I getchu hon, sometimes we just gotta put the blorbos in a Situation™, that's how we roll.
but holy shit 😭😭😭
I mean god, Bucky-
imagine how tough it must be for him, every time they're on a mission, 'cause he's first and foremost a sniper, isn't he? and for him, that often involves perching on the roof of really high buildings, and keeping as still as possible for as long as necessary - and above all, keeping a steady hand, because what is a sniper supposed to be if not precise and lethal and reliable?
and factor in all the other possible contingencies, too! like having to bolt if he's spotted by the enemy, and having to climb back down in a rush. or helping chase after the bad guys from rooftop to rooftop. or when, god forbid, they have to jump out of a plane and parachute themselves to a certain site.
it's an absolute nightmare for Bucky, but he just keeps trying to tough it out, right? grit his teeth, push through even when his flesh palm is clammy with sweat, even when his stomach is churning and his legs feel like jelly, even when his hands start shaking despite his best efforts to hold them still. it's scary and mortifying all at once, and he can't bring himself to say anything about it to anyone, especially to Steve. because he knows Steve would try to suggest he take it easy and stay behind, while Steve himself is out there risking his neck, and the very notion makes Bucky feel sick.
so he's just desperately hanging in there, right?
until something happens. he's dizzy, his hands are shaking too bad, he flubs a shot, Steve almost gets killed because of it. Bucky snaps. this is the last straw. he's done.
I mean, imagine how it must tear. him. apart. how horribly it must hurt him to admit to himself that he can't go on like this anymore. because on the one hand, fuck it all to hell, he's supposed to be by Steve's side! watch his six, protect him, make sure he makes it home in one piece! it's what Bucky's been doing ever since they were kids, it's a fundamental part of who he is! to even imagine letting Steve walk into a fight alone - no, not 'alone', without Bucky - is unthinkable. it's like denying himself a basic need. like denying who Bucky is, what he feels he was born to do, a biological imperative.
but. on the other hand, the thought of putting Steve in danger, of Steve getting hurt (or worse) because Bucky couldn't do his job properly, is even more unbearable.
Steve counts on him, trusts him with his life - as he should be able to do, if they're going to be a team - but how can Bucky allow that anymore, now that he can't even trust himself? how can he be what Steve needs, if he's going to let him down when Steve needs him the most? how would he ever forgive himself if something happened to Steve because of him?
he barely holds himself together until they get home, and then he just, he breaks down. stumbles over to the couch, crumples in on himself, trembling, pale like a ghost, taking in big gulps of air like he'll drown otherwise. telling a worried Steve, who's crouching next to him in a heartbeat, "I can't do this anymore".
now Steve, he had noticed that something was off for a while now, and Bucky's words just confirm what he already suspected. he thinks, of course Bucky's sick of this, of course he doesn't want to fight anymore - god knows he's got plenty of reasons to want to leave all this shit behind.
Steve could never imagine what the actual issue is, here - not until he's trying to tell Bucky that it's his right to retire if that's what he wants, that of course Steve supports him, and Bucky interrupts him to confess, in between sobs, where exactly the problem lies, and how he fears he's no longer fit to accompany Steve on missions, 'cause he'd risk becoming a liability rather than backup.
CUE A WHOLE SHITTON OF FEELS because fuck, how long has Bucky been feeling this way, and how did Steve not realize it sooner, and the way Steve's face twists with guilt when he wonders where this fear of heights might come from, and gives himself the most obvious amd most fucking heartbreaking answer, and Bucky can tell that he's hurting and blaming himself and they're just BOTH hurting and blaming themselves and hfgskfjskks HONEY WE'RE SPEEDRUNNING THROUGH ALL THE STAGES OF GRIEF HERE HELP
no, but. they're gonna have an honest conversation about this, okay? painful, yes, but also liberating. they're going to air out some of that hurt, and actually let it heal out in the open for once.
I figure there's gonna be lots of bargaining first, on both parts, like Bucky arguing that he could still fight, just maybe stick to the ground instead, and Steve telling him that he doesn't have to, and really he'd be happier knowing that Bucky's safe at home and not forcing himself into dangerous situations, and Bucky grumbling 'cause oh how the tables have turned, and just, you know, trying to find a way to compromise.
I think, maybe this is how Steve first starts to really, genuinely consider retiring, himself. like, not just picturing it in a distant, wistful way, oh wouldn't it be nice if we could do that, etc - but really, really entertaining the idea. letting himself plan it out. talking about it with Bucky, even with Sam and Nat, giving himself the chance to consider another kind of life. after all, there are plenty of battles to fight in the world, and not all of them require fists and guns, right? and if he can fight those battles too alongside Bucky, then so much the better 💖
CLAUSTROPHOBIC STEVE THOUGH OMG
somehow the first thing that comes to mind is that one scene from CATWS, when he and Nat find Zola's computerized ass and he blows up the building, and they're stuck in a tiny hole under all the rubble until Steve gets them both out. I CAN PICTURE ONLY TOO VIVIDLY HOW FUCKING SCARY THAT WOULD HAVE BEEN FOR HIM, OH MY GOD
as somebody who shares that kind of phobia, may I submit to you one of the most obvious, most mundane monsters he might face: ELEVATORS. especially of the narrow, non-see through kind, where you're literally locked inside a metal box until it releases you from that torment. IF IT DOES. like honey the anxiety is real af okay
in the spirit of putting the blorbos in a Situation™, please picture them both in an old-fashioned elevator.
Steve hasn't mentioned his fear to Bucky, he's just been lucky so far, so he didn't have to bring it up. but the stupid thing is so slow, and the space inside is so small, and sure, Steve never minded being in Bucky's close proximity, but he can't stop thinking about getting the fuck out of there asap.
at some point the fucking thing stops, and oh good god they're stuck inside, and it's gonna take a while for help to come.
and Bucky, sweet, horny, unsuspecting Bucky, just makes a little joke about knowing just how they could pass the time until then, wink wink. he crowds Steve back against the already narrow wall, starts sucking languid kisses into Steve's neck-- and Steve's frozen, breathing in quick shallow breaths that could be mistaken for gasps of pleasure, holding onto Bucky with an iron grip because he can feel himself spiraling into panic, heart racing wildly, eyes darting from wall to wall like he can see them rapidly closing in on him, suffocating him, squeezing him in--
and it takes a moment for Bucky to realize what's really going on, but when he pulls back and sees Steve so terrified, hyperventilating and about ten seconds away from passing out, he switches into Protective Boyfriend mode like *snaps fingers*
he's like, "sweetheart, what's wrong?", and the second Steve gasps "out, I need to get outta here, now", Bucky springs into action and pries the elevator's door open with his bare hands, helping Steve climb out (the next floor was already into view) and following suit.
of course they're gonna talk about it (and realize that they should maybe stop hiding their respective fears from each other), and from then on... yep, they stick to stairs <3
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My ask is about the golden core transfer and what it would mean for jc. So, if it triggers you, don't read it! I feel the need to alert about this! Be safe!
I don't know you, ( and yes! wwx was just a traumatized teenager!), but the golden core transfer gives me so much negative emotions. Fandom focuses on wwx's pain (and it's interesting! ) but jc's situation is dismissed with "you have to be grateful about it. What a disprectful brat he is" and I am like, dude, you okay? (maybe their opinions are influenced by what wn says, without understanding that what he says isn't the truth, but only what he knows would hurt jc, because he *wants to make jc suffer*). I tried to think about what *I* would feel and I triggered myself, lol. I would get insane if I knew that someone put my brother's golden core in me (transferring organs is okay, but in this? I don't know that it's from my brother! Also when people say that jc agrees to the surgeon, I don't know if they understand the concept of "informed consent") . It's disturbing. I can't even imagine how jc feels about it! How can you live in a body which is modified in this way? Do you feel shame? (this is something a lot of victims feel). And I am not even talking about what this would do with jc insecurities! No one ever appreciated his efforts! Maybe in the moment doesn't , but wn's "you would never compere to him!" would destroy jc! And that's terrible and unfair. And more unfair it's how fandom treats this argument! My loved ones manipulated me for my sake : this doesn't make anything better! I can't imagine jc's feeling. This ask is messy, but my emotions are messy about this. The only thing that I know is that disturbed me the way fandom treats all of this. I don't want to be too harsh but I would see wwx and wq as monsters more then heros for this. And I am not even thinking about how can you trust again someone who did this to you! People can't forgive cheating in a relationship, lol. Oh, and the "jc and wwx's relationship is destroyed by jc's jealousy" : I am like: you okay, dude?? But maybe I am the weird one. Sorry if I seem rude! But this argument just triggers me
Thank you for the warning. 🥰
(Under a cut for both length and content. Reminder that I'm a CQL-only fan.)
Fandom focuses on wwx's pain (and it's interesting! ) but jc's situation is dismissed with "you have to be grateful about it. What a disprectful brat he is" and I am like, dude, you okay?
From what you're saying, I think I'm hearing that while the whole golden core scenario itself is upsetting for you, what's worse is really more about how fandom tends to talk about it. If I'm interpreting that correctly, then...yeah, honestly, I agree. 😕 And it sucks, because I think the characters of MDZS/CQL are supposed to be messy, and there are some truly delicious, nuanced discussions about justice and love and sacrifice to be had! Unfortunately, I've had to be more liberal than usual with the block button to avoid losing my love of the show due to the impact of fandom discourse.
Honestly, I feel like the whole fandom response thing often comes down to a few overlapping things:
a person is inclined to defend whichever character they like more and/or reject the character who reminds them of people who have hurt them in some way, which is totally normal! But doesn't lend itself well to textual analysis so much as an analysis on this how a piece of media affects me personally, which is an entirely different thing;
whether some element of the golden core transfer reflects a personal trauma (e.g. bodily autonomy) closely enough to shape their perspective on this whole episode in a way that's different from someone who lacks a similar experience;
a person's comfort level in allowing a character's actions -- especially a favorite character's actions -- to be complicated, messy, and maybe even morally questionable;
whether or not someone has access to evidence-based, accurate information about larger social issues like abuse, consent, etc.
I tried to think about what *I* would feel and I triggered myself, lol. I would get insane if I knew that someone put my brother's golden core in me (transferring organs is okay, but in this? I don't know that it's from my brother! Also when people say that jc agrees to the surgeon, I don't know if they understand the concept of "informed consent") . It's disturbing. I can't even imagine how jc feels about it! How can you live in a body which is modified in this way? Do you feel shame? (this is something a lot of victims feel).
Tbh, I also have some pretty strong feelings of my own. I talked about some of that here, from the perspective of a religious person whose faith has some distant parallels to Taoism. And as a survivor who hasn't always had a say in what happens to my body, I struggle with some of exactly what you describe when I think about the golden core thing and especially fandom's common responses too deeply. (It's why I'm writing a JC-centric fic like Crashing Like Stars in the first place, honestly, lmao.)
I think what I struggle with most is the pageantry that's shown in CQL: how WWX and WQ have a whole theater around it that somehow feels almost as bad to me as the act of transfer itself, maybe because it shows how much premeditation went into what is, by definition, gaslighting. I always have to skip this scene on rewatches, tbh. The non-consensual core exchange is bad enough; the playacting feels like a humiliation to me.
And I am not even talking about what this would do with jc insecurities! No one ever appreciated his efforts!
True, but to be fair...why should they? As far as most other characters are concerned, JC is unfriendly, probably not very fun or pleasant company to sit down to tea with, very obviously cares more about his own sect than anyone else's**, and has had the reputation of a disfavored son for years. The only reason to make nice with this guy is purely for politics, but everyone else has enough of their own stuff happening that there's no incentive to try giving JC the benefit of the doubt -- which he wouldn't even accept anyway, since he'd probably interpret it as condescension or pity.
**Which is true for everyone, of course, but he doesn't have the charm or charisma to at least fake concern for people or 'play the game' like JGY.
If you mean that fandom doesn't appreciate his efforts...I'm not really sure what to say to that mostly because I'm still puzzling over HOW DARN POLARIZING this fictional character is. 😂 Even his haters can't be chill about him and it's rather fascinating to watch, like a trainwreck.
And more unfair it's how fandom treats this argument! My loved ones manipulated me for my sake : this doesn't make anything better! I can't imagine jc's feeling.
I think a lot of people confuse things like context and motivation for justification, and even more so when it's a family member and emotionally charged beliefs about family relationships get pulled into the mix.
This ask is messy, but my emotions are messy about this. The only thing that I know is that disturbed me the way fandom treats all of this.
Unfortunately, when not treated carefully, discussions about fictional characters can cross into more real-world consequences. I've certainly blocked people less because of a disagreement in interpretation and more because their line of argument betrayed much deeper biases that made me feel actively unsafe, and I don't always have the resources or bandwidth to try educating folks who aren't here in good faith.
I don't want to be too harsh but I would see wwx and wq as monsters more then heros for this.
I think it's a false dichotomy, honestly. I don't think WWX and WQ are heroes or monsters: I think they're young people put in horrific circumstances with limited resources and support, forced to make decisions with no good possible outcomes. Again, not meant to justify anything, but I think recognizing that the things we label monstrosity is, itself, a very human thing to do is the best way to begin recognizing why it happens so that effective interventions, preventions, and methods for taking responsibility for one's actions to encourage real healing can be put into place.
And I am not even thinking about how can you trust again someone who did this to you! People can't forgive cheating in a relationship, lol.
Oh man, forgiveness is complicated. Some people DO forgive cheating and even worse, for a whole host of different reasons and motivations! (Me, I hold grudges for years.) But forgiveness can also be customized to a situation: maybe forgiveness is earned, not freely offered; maybe it means letting go of one's resentment towards another but not letting that person back into one's life; maybe the refusal to forgive is itself an act of self-empowerment because forgiveness was always coerced and guilt-tripped prior to that. But again, we come back to folks in fandom not always having a solid grounding to have productive, informed conversations about this sort of thing, which can lead to some REALLY unhelpful hot takes going around.
Oh, and the "jc and wwx's relationship is destroyed by jc's jealousy" : I am like: you okay, dude?? But maybe I am the weird one. Sorry if I seem rude! But this argument just triggers me
I don't think you're weird at all. 😊 JC and WWX's relationship is thorny and messy and multi-layered, compounded by unaddressed trauma and mutually conflicting coping strategies and perspectives, exacerbated by the people around them playing political games with their relationship because of their respective positions of power. I think JC's jealousy is a factor, but it comes from being constantly compared and found wanting since childhood, and we have multiple scenes in CQL where WWX does something Cool (TM) and JC will do that half-exasperated smile or roll his eyes with a laugh or something that clearly isn't mean-spirited. The evolution of their relationship is made by a progression of smaller decisions on both of their parts in the context of family dysfunction, loss, war, and political powerplays, and I think flattening it down to "JC is just a jealous bitch" or, conversely, "WWX is just an arrogant asshole" does a disservice to WHY these goddamn characters have taken so many fans emotionally hostage, lmao.
LONG STORY SHORT I agree or am sympathetic with a lot of what you say, anon, with maybe some different perspective on other pieces, but I found that MXTX fandoms became a lot more lovely when I began using blocking features liberally (and, frankly, avoiding Twitter altogether).
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who did this to you. part 2
🤍🌷 read part 1 here
pre-s4, steve whump, protective (but scared) eddie
This is not happening. None of this is happening, he’s… He’s dreaming. He’s high. High as a kite somewhere where reality doesn’t matter, where it can’t fucking reach him and he’s— He’s not panicking behind the wheel with Steve Fucking Harrington bleeding against the passenger side window.
It’s not happening.
Because if it were happening, Eddie would simply throw up. He’d leave his van on the side of the road and run the fuck away. Away from Harrington and his trouble, away from his rattling breath that’s so loud and unsteady, Eddie doesn’t even dare to turn on any sort of music, even though he’s itching for it, his hands clenching and unclenching around the wheel until his knuckles go white.
“Shit, shit, shit,” he mumbles under his breath, barely aware of his surroundings at all, his eyes flitting from Harrington to the red stain against the window, back to the road and then down to the white-knuckled grip and the speckles of dried blood that is decidedly not his.
Lost in his panic and disbelief, Eddie almost runs a red light.
It’s harsh, the way he hits the brakes, and the sound Harrington makes is pathetic enough that Eddie feels like maybe this might actually be happening.
“Sorry,” he breathes, his voice no better than Steve’s — and he’s not the one with a concussion, a broken rib, and that… fucking fear. Of something. Or someone.
Who’s hurting you, Steve?
Jus’ everyone, sometimes. God you don’t… You don’t even know.
He doesn’t even know. He doesn’t wanna know. All he wants is for Harrington to stop fucking bleeding, to keep his eyes wide open and—
“Ed,” the boy says, wheezes, and it sounds like he wanted to say his full name, but had to swallow first. Blood, Eddie thinks. Don’t let it be blood. “Think I’m… ‘M gonna throw up.”
“Please don’t throw up,” Eddie says before he can stop himself, hating how small his voice sounds, how urgent — like that’s the thing to be urgent about. God, he’s such an ass, but he… If Harrington throws up, Eddie will lose it. He knows he will.
He chances a glance over at Steve, who has somehow managed to get his right arm tangled with the handle at the door, keeping himself upright and safe from Eddie’s rather frantic driving style. His head is drooping, moving this way and that against the red-stained glass, and he blinks unseeingly as blood begins to trickle down from his nose and temple again.
He’s making himself small, and Eddie wants to pull him upright and tell him to stay like that, tell him to stop looking so terrible, so horrible, so…
So much like Eddie’s fucking problem.
He hates it. Hates everything about that vision. Boys like Harrington shouldn’t look like this, shouldn’t hold themselves like this, shouldn’t… Shouldn’t have no one but Eddie to take them somewhere safe.
It’s just not tight.
“Don’ wanna throw up,” Steve says at last, the pause too long for Eddie’s liking, and he sounds so solemn about it, yet so helpless, and Eddie kinda wants to scream. Wants Harrington to scream. Anything to stay awake and maybe not ruin his car. Anything to not fucking die in it.
“Tell me something,” he says then, because he knows he has to keep Harrington awake and speaking. Just for another ten, fifteen minutes, he tells himself. “Anything, yeah? Tell me anything. Gotta keep you awake there, you hear me? Sounds great, right, staying awake?”
He’s rambling and he knows it, desperation shining through his words and the god-awful way his voice breaks a little. This is not about him, he knows it isn’t, but still he wants to punch himself, wants to pinch himself and stay fucking calm.
But who could stay calm in a situation like this? The silence is filled with the horrible wheezing and rattling of Harrington’s breath barely audible over the engine, and Eddie has to look over several times to make sure he’s still there, still with him, still alive. His panic spikes each time.
He’s just about to reach over and shake him a little, snap in front of his face to get him back, when—
“I don’t know what.”
It’s quiet, that voice, breathy and tiny and almost invisible, and Eddie wants to scream again.
Tell me why you’re so scared. Tell me why your old buddy did this to you. Hagan would never touch you, so why did he now? Tell me what happened to Hargrove. Tell me why you sound so fucking small.
“Tell me about your…” He fumbles for a moment, taking a sharp left and pretending not to hear the choked-off whimper. Focusing on good things. On normal things. “Your favourite person.”
Eddie cringes at himself the moment the words leave his mouth. Your favourite person? Really, Munson? He scrambles to find something better, something cooler, or maybe something easier like asking his favourite fucking colour, but the overthinking really doesn’t mix well with the already panicked state of his mind. And Eddie just blanks.
Beside him, though, Harrington sits up a little straighter, smearing more blood against his window in the process that Eddie pretends not to feel nauseous about.
God, he never did like blood.
“You wan’ me to tell you ‘bout Rob?”
“Sure, yeah,” Eddie says, a little too loud, a little too shrill, actually running a red light this time because he doesn’t want to brake again and hurt the boy some more. There’s no one around anyway. This is Hawkins. Fucking dead-end of a town. It doesn’t need red lights, or boys who look like Harrington. “Rob. Tell me ‘bout him, what’s he like? Favourite colour, all that shit.”
“Her.”
Eddie blinks, looking over to find Harrington looking at him — or trying to, his eyes still drooping and empty. But it’s a good sign. People don’t die when they look at you, right?
“What?”
“Her,” Harrington says again. “An’ blue. Deep ‘n’ dark blue. She’ll say something corny when, when you ask her, jus’ to fuck with you. Sunset gold or rose, jus’ to mess with… But is blue.”
Eddie doesn’t really listen, doesn’t really process what Steve is saying, already thinking of the next question just to keep him talking. But then he continues on his own.
“Mornin’ blue dep— de… makes her sad, though. So only dark blue. Says it’s why we’re friends. You’re so blue, Stevie. Got half’a my clothes, still, she does. All the blues.”
That's... really fucking endearing, actually.
And he says it with a half-smile, too, bloody and pathetic as it is. Like it’s a secret that only the two of them are in on, only Steve and Robin. It’s kind of sweet.
Not for the first time today does Eddie find himself wondering, Who the hell are you, Steve Harrington?
He exhales through his nose, ignoring the way he’s started to shake with all that panic that’s been sitting inside him for a little too long now with no way to let it out.
“Not much longer,” he mumbles under his breath again, or maybe he just thinks very hard. Maybe he doesn’t know where he is at all. It’s like he blanks every few seconds, too busy thinking and trying not to.
Before he can tell Harrington to talk some more about that girlfriend of his, there’s a pained, confused little whine that forcefully tears Eddie’s eyes from the street for a moment only to meet hazel eyes widened in confusion.
“Wh— Where… Where’re we going?”
Oh no.
“Why’m I in y—“
“You’re safe,” Eddie interrupts him, speaking slowly because suddenly his tongue is too big for his mouth, and not entirely sure if he’s reassuring Harrington or himself. “You’re hurt, okay? It’s bad, but it wasn’t me. I’m taking you to… to someone. My uncle Wayne, he’s— He knows about that kinda stuff. You were telling me about Rob. Remember her, Blue? How about you tell me some more, hm?”
Eddie’s voice is unsteady with worry and fear and panic, and he’s doing a piss-poor job at hiding it. The thing is, he’s going to cry. He’s actually, absolutely, no-doubt-about-it going to scream and cry and punch a fucking hole into something when this day is over, when his van is no longer bloody, and when Steve Harrington won’t have reason to look at him any longer.
Oh, how he wants to skip forward. Past the nausea, past the fear, past everything that’s happening right now. Maybe past the insomnia that will come with a day like this, too.
Past all of it.
Or better yet, travel back in time and never get to that fucking boat house.
But he can’t. So he breathes.
At first, through the ringing in his ears and the racing of his own heart so loud and so forceful he’s shaking with it, he worries that Steve’s gone silent again, that he’s gonna ask again, ask what happened, ask where he is, ask all the questions that make Eddie feel like he’s been doused in ice water because they’re questions that only get asked in stupid movies where terrible things happen to people.
But then he hears him mumbling something. Numbers.
“What’cha mumbling there, Blue?”
“‘S her number,” Steve says, his voice slurring again, worse than before, and Eddie hits the gas a little harder. “‘S jus’ her number. Robbie’s number.”
And he mumbles again. Over and over and over, until Eddie couldn’t forget it if he wanted to, ingrained into the frayed edges of his mind now.
He lets him ramble, lets him repeat the number until the words slur together and he can’t separate a four from a nine anymore. Each time Harrington hesitates, each time he stumbles over the words or forgets a digit, Eddie wants to punch the wheel.
He doesn’t. He only grips it tighter and counts down the turns he takes, the streets he passes, the fucking trees that are familiar, before, finally, the trailer park comes into view.
The sob Eddie lets out when, with shaking, trembling hands he pulls up to his home to find his uncle having a smoke outside is deafening to his ears after the quiet weakness of Harrington’s voice.
It startles him, makes him stop his rambles and sit up straighter when Eddie finally kills the engine. For a moment, without the steady, rolling hum, the car is filled with the small, tiny whines Steve makes on each exhale. Like it hurts to even breathe.
“Wha’s wrong?” He asks, but Eddie can’t really hear him. Can’t turn to him, can’t— “Eddie?”
He’s out of the car before he can take hold of another thought, stumbling out of his open door on legs that feel numb and heavy. The urge to cry is back again, the burning in his eyes only getting worse when Wayne takes in the dried blood on his clothes and hands with careful, calculated worry.
“Ed?”
“I didn’t know what— where—- I’m… Wayne, I’m sorry.”
“Slow down, kid,” Wayne says, raising his hands as if to calm a spooked deer. Like Eddie is the one who needs his help. And he is. He really, really is, and he shouldn’t be, because this isn’t about him, but—
Wayne grabs him by the shoulders to keep him still, and only now does Eddie realise he’s shaking again, restlessly moving his weight from one leg to the other. His uncle steadies him, gently pressing down on his shoulders to ground him, and Eddie nearly sobs again.
“Ed. Are you in trouble?”
“No,” Eddie scrambles to say, becoming aware of what this looks like, hiding his hands behind his back on instinct, like that’ll make Harrington’s blood disappear. “‘S not my blood, I didn’t do anything, I swear! I swear. It’s, uh. I just found him. In the boathouse, I found him, and he was… God, he looked so bad, okay, but he didn’t want the hospital, and he was, like, so scared of something, and we don’t even talk, we don’t even look at each other, but I just… I didn’t know what to do, and you know something about concussions and people who were beat to shit and, again, I’m—“
“Eddie,” Wayne says, his voice so calm but so assertive that Eddie shuts up immediately, gladly handing over to controls to his uncle now. “Who’s the kid?”
He nods towards Eddie’s van, where Harrington looks to be halfway unbuckled, but his eyes are closed and his face smushed against the door again, like he just gave up.
“Shit,” Eddie says, adrenaline and panic slowly falling from him with Wayne’s hand on his shoulder. He sags into his uncle and rubs at his face. “It’s Steve. Uh, Steve Harrington, I mean.”
“Okay,” Wayne says, and he’s so calm. So calm. Eddie feels like he’s about to fall apart, and Wayne is the only one keeping him together, with that’d steady, warm hand on his shoulder. “And you promise me he didn’t give you trouble? Or anyone else who’ll come finish what they started?”
Eddie shakes his head profusely, getting a little dizzy with it. “I promise I’m not in trouble. He said Hagan did this to him, was alone when I found him. No trouble, Wayne, I swear, I’m not like that, you know I’m not.”
“Okay,” Wayne says again, and Eddie wants to weep. “I know you’re not like that, but some people are, y’know? You did good, son. You did good. Now help me get him out of that car.”
It takes his uncle tugging him towards the van for Eddie to kick back into motion, nearly falling over his feet turning back around. It’s only Wayne’s “Easy” murmured under his breath that keeps the ground from opening up and swallowing him whole.
He climbs in on the driver’s side while Wayne rounds the car and gets to Harrington’s side.
“Hey there, Blue,” Eddie says, his voice shaking and the nickname slipping again — but it’s easier to call him that than his real name, it’s easier to pretend it’s literally anyone else in here with him, bleeding against his door.
It’s easier to pretend it’s not Harrington’s breath rattling the way it does, easier to pretend those pained groans so high in their cadence they can only count as whines don’t come from Hawkins High’s Golden Boy who graduated a few months ago and was supposed to be done with bullshit like this.
“Come on, up you get,” he tells him, not daring to raise his voice too much.
He looks so frail. Like he’s already broken. Or like he’s trying not to. Like he’s holding on.
Eddie pretends not to think that the hand he places on Steve’s cheek to gently pry him from the window is not the only thing keeping that boy together right now.
Harrington groans, whines, wheezes, but opens his eyes to meet Eddie’s. Jesus, we’re they this blown before? Or this swollen?
“Hey,” Eddie says, just to say something. Just so he won’t have to hold the boy’s face in silence, just so he won’t have to focus on all the blood. Just so he won’t have to hear more questions that people aren’t supposed to ask.
Steve opens his mouth, his breath coming out a little sharper, like he wants to say Hi rather than Where am I? or When will it stop hurting? Like he wants to say How can I help you help me?
Somehow, Eddie manages a smile.
Wayne chooses that moment to open the door — just unclicking it, not pulling yet; giving Eddie enough time to support Harrington, make sure he doesn’t fall.
“Careful,” he whispers, though whether it’s for Wayne, for Steve, or for himself, he can’t quite tell. Maybe it’s a plea to the rest of the world, and to anyone else who will listen.
Steve is still staring at him. That’s probably not a good sign. He leans back a little, turning Steve’s head to make him follow him. Slowly, of course. Gently. Eddie can’t remember ever having touched something like it was going to break if only he looked at it wrong, but somehow he’s hyper-aware of it now.
Because Harrington is staring at him. Entirely too still, like he has no strength, no coordination to do anything but stare. And yet Eddie is the one who, now that the adrenaline has fallen from him, now that he can let someone else take over, now that Harrington doesn’t need him anymore, finds himself unable to look away.
Because Steve is just a boy. And so is Eddie, who can feel Steve’s breath against his wrist. And maybe, out of the two of them, Eddie is the fragile one. The one about to break.
“Blue, you with me?”
Steve nods. Doesn’t speak again. Doesn’t move. Eddie swallows, briefly looking back down at Wayne to see if he’s ready. His uncle nods, ready to catch Harrington should he go down, and Eddie turns back to the boy who’s smeared with his own blood.
“I’m gonna take off your seatbelt now, yeah?” he tells him, not entirely recognising his voice anymore. “That man out there, that is Wayne. My uncle. He’s safe. He’ll take care of you, okay?”
“Safe,” Steve breathes, and that shouldn’t be the one thing he focuses on. It shouldn’t sound so unsure. So insecure. So hopeful, so relieved, so— Fucking earnest.
Swallowing all these thoughts, all this desperation and all those questions, Eddie reaches over Steve, one hand still supporting his head and feeling the overheated skin of Harrington’s cheek against his palm, the hint of stubble and the crust of dried blood. As if in slow motion, not daring to make a wrong move and hurt him more than he already does, Eddie frees him the rest of the way, letting the seatbelt slide into its hold behind his shoulder.
“Careful,” he says again, just to say anything, but he is careful, and his hold on Steve is steady.
“‘M careful. Not gonna break, Eddie.”
“I know.” But maybe I will.
“Good. ‘Cause… Don’ wanna break.”
Eddie smiles, despite everything. “You’re not gonna break, Blue. Wayne’ll catch you.”
Harrington loses his focus then, his eyes glazing over, but the small smile on his lips widens. “Blue. ‘S nice.”
Yeah, Eddie thinks. He kinda is.
Somehow, miraculously, they get Harrington out of the van and into the trailer. He throws up halfway to the doorstep, and Eddie curses under his breath while Wayne talks quietly, asking him yes and no questions that Eddie can’t really hear through the ringing in his ears — a strange mix of fear and relief, a panic not quite over, but soothed by his uncle’s familiar voice; even if it’s not directed at him.
“Don’t worry about it, kid, the next rain’ll take care of that. Stop apologising.”
It throws him then, rather suddenly and violently, watching Wayne supporting Harrington, watching the blood smeared boy with the swelling, angry red bruises in his face. Somehow it’s different, seeing him in his home.
This was always a safe space. Always void of everything terrible.
And now there’s a broken boy on his doorstep who’s not Eddie.
He remembers the fear, the panic, the plea for no hospital, Eddie. Can’t go there.
Why not? You need a doctor—
Monsters. Only monsters there.
It paralyses him and he stays where he is, holding the door with an arm that’s heavy like lead, standing on legs that begin to go numb again. He watches, but not really, as Wayne sits Harrington down on the living room couch, between magazines and brochures and some of Eddie’s calculus notes from last night that he was searching for a sketch of a monster he was so certain he’d drawn in the margins a few weeks back.
Now there’s blood on his calculus notes. And Eddie is helplessly keeping the door open as though he’s going to run away any second now. Letting in more trouble to join Harrington on his couch.
He should… He should close the door. Help. Run. Disappear.
“Ed,” Wayne calls, snapping him out of his stupor. “The first aid kit, please. A bottle of water. A clean, wet cloth. A blanket, too.”
Wayne talks him through it, takes it one step at a time, has Eddie bring him one after the other like he knows how much he’s keeping his nephew together by keeping him on the brink of usefulness.
Soon, Wayne has everything he needs, taking care of Harrington and his wounds, keeping him awake and talking so much better than Eddie did, even making him smile here and there, hiding his wince when the motion pulls on his split lip or the huffed breath sends a jolt of pain through his rib that Eddie is absolutely certain must be broken with the way he holds himself — with the way he lets Wayne hold him up.
Wayne is doing his thing and Eddie is hiding, gripping the kitchen counter like a vice, staring both unseeingly and hyper-vigilantly as exhaustion washes over him, dragging him under and draining him of more than adrenaline. He slumps against the cupboard behind him, rubbing at his face like that’ll make it all go away.
It’s not right. It’s not. This is Eddie’s home, it’s supposed to be safe, it’s not…
He breaks away, ripping his hands from the counter and all but stumbling outside, heaving a deep breath and giving in to the urge to cry. Tears spring to his eyes and he wipes them away angrily, because it’s dumb, it’s so stupid, it’s absolutely fucking insane that he should be so worked up when Harrington talked about dying earlier.
These things don’t happen. They don’t!
“Stop fucking crying,” Eddie grumbles, sniffling and wiping away more tears as he closes his eyes against the afternoon sun. “Get a grip, Munson, Jesus Christ, there’s no reason to cry you big fuckin’ baby.”
Nobody’s there to contradict him. Nobody’s there to make it worse. So he lets his eyes sting for a while, lets his lips wobble, his jaw clenched shut, the balls of his hands pressing into his eyes, breathing deliberately.
In. Hold. Out. Hold.
He doesn’t even scream. Doesn’t punch the still bloody side of his van, doesn’t run into the woods and disappear into the void.
He simply breathes. Tries not to think about boys dying in mall fires, and even less so about boys beaten and abandoned in boat houses.
Doesn’t think about fucking Hawkins in Bumfuck-Indiana and the cursed way it has, driving its people mad.
Doesn’t think about, They said my brain is hurt, Eddie. Doesn’t think about the Monsters Harrington mentioned. Doesn’t think about Blue, doesn’t think about I’m tired, Eddie. Don’t wanna hurt anymore.
Doesn’t think about blue, blue, blue.
He’s shaking when he comes back inside. He’s shaking when Harrington meets his eyes, looking a little clearer now, the blood washed away and everything bandaged a lot better than Eddie managed. He’a bundled in Eddie’s blanket. It’s wrong. It’s so, so wrong.
Eddie can’t move, and neither does Steve.
“Steve,” Wayne says, waiting until those eyes tear themselves away from Eddie and back to him, though Eddie sees them fill with such trepidation, he almost asks what’s wrong. “I won’t hear a no on this, and I won’t let you go home. I’m taking you to the hospital. Especially if you tell me your head was hurt like this before, more times than one.”
“Three,” Blue breathes, a little dazed still. Not magically healed, not even from Wayne. Another thing that doesn’t feel right.
“Three times,” Wayne says, nodding, like he’s encouraging Steve to continue.
“But I don’t want a hospital.” Again with that tiny fucking voice. Like the Monsters are hiding under hospital beds.
“I know, son,” Wayne sighs, tugging the blanket a little tighter around Steve, and Eddie’s eyes begin to sting again when he notices the tone Wayne uses. When he realises. When he remembers.
”I want my mom.“
”I know, son. But she’s not coming. Your mama is gone, Ed, and this is your home now. Think we can make that work, hm? You and I?”
Eddie had never felt so lost as he did then, clutching his blanket to his chest, burying his face in the wet fabric even as this man — his uncle — tugs it tighter around him. Like he is fine with Eddie wanting to hide as long as he doesn’t run away.
He had shrugged, then, even though we wanted to shake his head, tell him no, tell him he wanted his mama.
”I’m scared, uncle Wayne.”
And Wayne had smiled a little, and nodded. “Then we do it scared, Eddie.”
Actually, Eddie feels like he never stopped doing it scared.
And now there is Steve, who Eddie never believed knew what being scared felt like. It’s dumb, of course, because even Harrington is just a boy, but he was always untouchable to Eddie. They never talked. They never existed in the same space together, not in a good way and not in a bad way. Their worlds just never aligned, never collided, never coexisted.
And now…
“I’ll tell you what’s going to happen, okay? There’s a doctor, Doctor Clarke. Like— Yeah, like your science teacher, remember him? ‘S got a brother who’s just as much of a genius, and just as kind. He’ll take a look at you, yeah? Make sure your brain isn’t too hurt, clean your wounds, give you something for the pain. He won’t, uh. He won’t hurt you, kid. Whatever’s got you so scared, Dr Clarke will be nice to you. Especially when I’m there with ya, I’m an old pal of his. And I will be. Won’t let you outta my sight until you’re well enough to run away from me, you hear me, kid?”
Eddie’s hands are hurting, his fingertips raw from where he’s been biting his nails while Wayne talks Blue through what’s going to happen — and he wonders, with the way Steve’s eyes are glued to Wayne, if he ever had anyone talking him through shit like this.
“Okay,” Harrington breathes at last, still sounding way too small. “But. I’m…”
“Scared anyway?” Wayne offers. Steve nods. You’re so blue, Stevie. “Then we do it scared anyway.”
And they do. Wayne goes to get the car so Steve won’t have to walk too far, leaving Eddie alone with him for a brief moment.
He watches, from his place in the kitchen, how Steve’s face falls into a look of utter exhaustion and tiredness; the adrenaline washing from him just the same. Eddie wants to reach out. Wants to say something, break the spell of tension and silence and I know we don’t talk, but I’m glad you’re doing a little better. I’m glad you’ll go see a doctor. I’m glad you haven’t died, I guess. Do you really think you will? Are you really so scared of that?
But Eddie keeps biting his nails, and Steve keeps his eyes closed, blanket around his shoulders. And they don’t talk.
“Thank you.”
Eddie perks up, not entirely sure he didn’t imagine the words — but Harrington moved slightly, his eyes still closed but his face now turned towards Eddie.
“For, uh. This.”
“I didn’t do shit, Blue,” Eddie says. “That was all Wayne. All I did was freak out, I promise.”
Harrington shakes his head, though, slowly. “Mh-mm.”
Eddie’s mouth snaps shut, because there is no room for discussion here. They don’t talk. And he doesn’t want the bubble to burst with insecurity and sourness.
“Thank you,” he says again, and he sounds final about it. It makes Eddie wonder what he’s like, really like, when he doesn’t consist of pain and nausea and disorientation.
He has a feeling that, despite everything, despite Monsters under hospital beds and torture in boathouses and mall fires that kill teenagers, Blue Harrington might be someone good to talk to. Compassionate as shit, even when all he wants to do is pass out.
“You’re welcome,” Eddie rasps, pretending that his eyes don’t sting.
He wraps his arms around his chest like he’s hugging himself, or like he’s holding himself back. From reaching out, from asking, from telling, from talking.
Unwittingly, even with his eyes closed, Steve mirrors him, and Eddie wonders if he, too, it holding himself back, or just curling in on himself some more even though it must hurt, feeling so small.
Maybe that’s what fear of death does to a nineteen year-old. It’s so fucked up. Eddie wants to scream again.
Outside, he hears a car door fall shut just before Wayne reappears in the door, giving Eddie some kind of meaningful look that he wouldn’t mind deciphering on any other day, but today he fears he needs words.
“I don’t know how long this’ll take. Will you be okay, Ed?”
“Will I be— Yes! I’m not the one with the concussion, man, of course I’ll be—“
It’s a bluff, comes too fast, and Wayne sees right through it before Eddie even realises it, and he steps closer. A warm hand on his shoulder. His eyes stinging again.
“You did good, kid. Everything will be fine. But it might take a while. It’s fine if you need to go somewhere, just… Don’t drive. Call Jeff if you need someone, just. Don’t do anything stupid. And don’t get behind the wheel. Deal?”
Eddie swallows hard, hit by another desperate, aching wave of I wanna go back in time and skip this day. A wave of tired exhaustion and wondering, aimlessly, just who the fuck Steve Harrington really is.
“Deal,” he says, and Wayne pulls him into a hug.
Eddie follows them outside then, trailing behind them like a lost little puppy, helping Harrington into Wayne’s car. His movements are still slugged and a little disoriented, so Eddie decides to lean in again and fasten his seatbelt.
“Careful,” he mumbles, allowing the boy a moment’s warning, a moment to adjust before the weight settles on his chest.
Dejá-vù hits him and makes him pause, with Harrington staring at him again.
“I’m careful,” he says, the corners of his mouth tugging into a little smile.
More lucid than earlier, and Eddie thinks it that which takes his breath away for a moment.
“Not gonna break, Eddie.”
“I know,” he says, still not moving back, instead reaching up to tighten the blanket around his shoulders even though the seatbelt is already there to hold it in place. “You’re not gonna break, Blue.”
The smile on those lips is genuine now, gentle enough to not be ruined by the blood crusting them.
“Thanks. Again.” And then, when Eddie finally pulls away to close the door and tell Wayne to drive safely, “I really do like that name.”
It soothes the urge to scream.
Eddie closes the door as gently as he can — which isn’t much, because the car is old and not exactly smooth.
“I’ll see you later,” he tells Wayne. Promises. To stay out of trouble, to stick around, to not run away for a while again, to stay out of his car.
Wayne nods, a faint smile on his lips.
“Later, Ed.”
And then they’re gone, and Eddie is untethered again. Wonders, for a few seconds every now and then if it really happened, if this is real.
But it did. And it is.
And after sitting on the steps for a while, having a smoke and staring at where Wayne’s car disappeared ten, twenty, forty minutes ago, Eddie heads inside.
He has a phone call to make.
🤍🌷 tagging: @theshippirate22 @mentallyundone @ledleaf @imfinereallyy @itsall-taken @simply-shin @romanticdestruction @temptingfatetakingnames @stevesbipanic @steddie-island @estrellami-1 @jackiemonroe5512 @emofratboy @writing-kiki @steviesummer @devondespresso @swimmingbirdrunningrock @dodger-chan @tellatoast @inkjette @weirdandabsurd42
(a thousand percent sure i missed some but oh well such is the 3am disease)
addendum 22 jan 24: onwards to part 3
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