On Thin Ice
"Olympic material"? Seriously? So goes the assessment of random white dude. Or Chuck. Interestingly, I am not sure Goldberg was drawing Chuck there -- it makes more sense in the narration that Chuck would already know -- it just happened that a later coloring decided he was Chuck.
I can never understand the prerogatives and values of everyone in the 'Archie at Riverdale High' universe. They sure have school spirit. And this is a universe where some high school athletes are all set for the Olympics, and these Olympic caliber athletes are fickle enough to quit at the slightest setback.
So. Dilton pretends to be a bad female skater so Betty can be horrified by how her (pretend) replacement will represent good old Riverdale High.
Crisis averted. Betty goes back to skating so cross dressing Dilton won't sully the good name and reputation of Riverdale High. Like, poor athletic results in individual competitions are enough to do that.
She take off her tights between the competition and awards ceremony?
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i cant stop thinking about Grover and the way satyrs age differently and how he will slowly fall behind. About him seeing Annabeth and Percy grow, mature, come into adulthood and eventually die while he could never catch up to them.
Its not only that, but also the fact that they already know this. In the last olympian Percy remarks how alarmed he is at the fact that he is gaining a significant height over Grover. He knows this is only the begging. He knows that at some point he will be an adult, possibly with children, and Grover will still be a teenager.
And imagine Grover at Yancy academy, slowly becoming ACTUAL FRIENDS with Percy instead of being some homework to do to get his license as searcher. Because this kid is his age, they share interests. And maybe he didn't think about it back then, with the naive look of a 12 yr old that cant see what will come. But what if the other satyrs warned him of the dangers of it. What if, even though he tried to dismiss them, it slowly grew on him and became one of his biggest insecurities. What if he started to put Percabeth at arms lengths, trying to make the inevitable more manageable since at least it was his choice.
And while Percy would try to guess what he messed up with, Annabeth would. She would recognize what was scaring him and reasure him that it wouldnt happen.
And maybe they stayed friends through out most of their lives, but the gap would become increasingly bigger and bigger and even if they managed to stay friends for Annabeth and Percy's entire life times, he would still have to see his friends slowly get away as they died. And he still has like 200 more years to go. But even then he isnt mortal. He doesnt have a soul. He wont have some heartfelt reunion with them in the underworld. His time spent with them will actually be less than half the life he will live. And still he will miss them through out it all.
brb gonna go cry about Grover Underwood for a while.
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”How do you do it?” Eddie asks.
The question slips out far too late at night, anxiety thrumming in his chest—he’s not escaped the feeling ever since the boathouse, when he simply couldn’t sleep, felt like a fox just waiting for hound dogs to get his scent, ready to run—
Steve doesn’t need him to explain further, as if he can somehow hear a whole lot of what Eddie’s not saying: like when he picked up the phone an hour ago and hadn’t even let Eddie tie himself in knots, had just said, so easily, “I’ll come get you,” like it wasn’t a huge inconvenience, like he’d been the one to call Eddie instead.
He’s considering Eddie from where he lies in bed, leaning on his elbow, and he’s still got the covers off pointedly—and that’s a big thing, Eddie thinks, a big thing he doesn’t know what to do with, because they’ve not talked, not really, not got much beyond the dizzying relief of still being alive.
But even fraught with profound lack of sleep, Eddie doesn’t think he’s misreading the look in Steve’s eyes.
I know, those eyes say, illuminated by the warm light of the bedside lamp. It’s okay, there’s no rush. I’m right here.
Eddie’s never seen that kind of look before. Not towards him.
“Sometimes Robin sleeps over,” Steve says thoughtfully. “And sometimes the kids are around, and they’re so annoying and I get, like, three hours, tops.” He says it with all the fondness in the world. “And sometimes I’m alone, and it’s fine.”
“What about the other times?” Eddie can’t help but whisper.
If it were a reasonable hour maybe he wouldn’t dare to ask at all, but exhaustion’s worn down the filter in his head—at this point it’s practically see-through.
Steve shrugs. “Yeah, they’re shit,” he says with such honesty that Eddie nearly asks it again, how do you do it?
“But then it’s, like, a new day,” Steve says slowly, like he’s carefully weighing up what to say, “and I can… drive.” The pause tells Eddie he means go to someone. “Or, like… call, if it’s really bad.”
Hey, I’m glad you called, man, Steve had said when Eddie got into his car earlier, like they were just going to the movies or something normal—like Eddie wasn’t shaking, forehead pressed against the passenger window.
Eddie feels his throat close up a little. Tries to sniff as quietly as possible.
“Eddie,” Steve says patiently. He moves back in the bed. Gives Eddie space. “C’mere.”
Steve keeps the lamp on which helps; this isn’t the boathouse, Eddie thinks, and the slightest bit of tension leaves his body. Even that feels like a miracle.
He’s just resigning himself to lying there, staring up at the ceiling so at least Steve can get some rest, when Steve turns and catches his eye, still wide awake.
“Tell me about The Lord of the Rings,” Steve says.
The tightness in Eddie’s chest loosens; he laughs in surprise. “What?”
“You heard me.”
Eddie turns so he’s facing Steve properly, attempts a casual shrug, knowing already that it’ll be too rigid. “I don’t know, man. We, uh. We kinda lived through Mordor already.”
His hand twists in the bedsheets, knuckles turning white.
I don’t know how to do this. I’ve never had…
Steve’s hand reaches across, eases Eddie’s grip on the sheets, like he’s saying, neither did I. Just give it a shot.
“The shire, then,” Steve says.
Eddie smiles. “Steve Harrington,” he says, suddenly finding enough lightness to tease; he’s missed it. “Are you asking me for a bedtime story?”
“Nope,” Steve says. “We’re just gonna lie here and talk.”
And they do.
Steve asks questions which works out for the best—Eddie can’t quite remember the last time he read the books. To tell the truth, anything that happened before March often has a kind of fog over it.
He’s sure he’s dropped at least a couple of plot points somewhere along the way, but Steve never once complains that he’s not making sense, just gently prompts Eddie until… until…
“Mm, I know what you’re doing,” Eddie mumbles through a yawn that catches him unawares.
“Oh, do you now?” Steve says, sounding smug. God, Eddie loves him. “Is it working?”
“Maybe.” Eddie says. His eyelids are heavy. “Um.” He yawns again. “Where… where was I?”
“Don’t worry about it, man,” Steve says. It sounds like he’s smiling—Eddie would check, but it’s suddenly impossible to keep his eyes open.
It’s okay, he thinks hazily, melting into sleep without even thinking about it. He can ask Steve in the morning.
There’s no rush.
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