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kamiversee · 2 months

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➶-͙˚ ༘✶ 𝙏𝙃𝙀 𝙁*𝘾𝙆 𝙇𝙄𝙎𝙏

✧.* CHAPTER 31 || The Breakdown (continued)

[ { SYPNOSIS } ] ➤ A tale in which Gojo Satoru blackmails you into seducing a list of people to clear his debt. Sounds easy enough, right?

[ { CHAPTER CONTENT } ] ➤ language & angst.

[ { WORD COUNT } ] ➤ 3k

[ { PAIRINGS } ] ➤ jjk men x f!reader. gojo x f!reader. geto x f!reader. toji x f!reader. choso x f!reader. sukuna x f!reader. nanami x f!reader.

[ [ chapters mlist } ]

——GOJO LEFT YOU WITH a lot to think about.

Before doing so, he dropped you off at your apartment after a passionate and almost final makeout session in the car lot just outside your apartment...

You knew it was your last time kissing Gojo.

It just felt like it. Like the final kiss of a romance film, Gojo's hands were so gentle against your body, his lips slipping and sliding over yours sensually and his tongue getting lost in your mouth. You'd hum into him and he'd moan lightly, the kiss lasting long enough to fog up his car windows.

Even then, it still took some time for the two of you to stop. It felt like another forty-minute make-out but in reality, the two of you sat outside kissing for an hour and a half.

He was so addicting, you felt so light and loved under his touch, allowing all your confliction to dissipate as he sucked and licked at your lips.

You don't even remember why you let him kiss you again but as soon as the car was parked, the soft sound of the radio quietly playing some R&B songs filled your ears and the two of you gave each other a look. Did he ask to kiss you or did you ask him? You have no clue.

All you know is that when your lips connected, they hardly ever parted. Gojo would whisper 'I love you' into your mouth every chance he got, refusing to let you forget that fact. You were still wondering why he sobbed earlier that night but the questions were forced into the back of your mind-- you'd get them answered in some years apparently.

When his lips finally peeled away from yours, a wet smack filled the car and Gojo had a bit of drool slipping out the corner of his mouth-- showing just how sloppy the kiss had been. You smiled and wiped his face off with your thumb, to which he grinned.

Gojo had this almost dazed and fucked out expression plastered across his handsome features. Meanwhile, you had a look of satisfaction.

The two of you stared deeply into each other's eyes, uncertainty, doubt, regret, love, passion, and a surplus of other emotions floating in the air between you two. It was easy for you to get lost in his eyes, easy for you to forget all he's done to you for a moment.

Hell, you could even picture what life would've been like for you if he'd stopped the list months ago. Perhaps the two of you would've dated, maybe you would've fallen for him and maybe the two of you would've lived happily ever after like some twisted fairytale.

But, instead, the two of you live in this twisted and awkward time where fate and reality have set all the pieces in place for you to hold nothing but hate in your heart for him. Even so, you reject holding only such an ill emotion-- never will you be able to look into Gojo Satoru's eyes the same after the day you've spent with him.

Something is wrong.

You don't know what it is and you probably won't ever find out but knowing that simple fact deters you from holding only ill intent.

"Can I uhm... say one last thing before you go up?" Gojo whispers, breaking you out of your thoughts.

Your faces are still close to one another and you nod your head.

"I cried like that because I've been feeling a lot of regret lately," He explains. Is he opening up to you right now? "I don't want you to pity me for it or feel sympathy for me because, trust me, I don't deserve it-, I don't deserve you."

"Satoru, how can you tell me not to sympathize with you after all that?" You ask, your voice filled with this sweetness and tenderness that he feels himself fall for even more, "I can't ignore-"

"I need you to." He says sternly, "Ignore it. I can't fix what I've done, sweets. A-And I'm not gonna try to. You're meant to be with someone who makes you unyieldingly happy and that will never be me." He sighs, brows tensing.

He looks so utterly distraught.

You can even tell he's trying to keep himself together, "Even if I explained it all to you and you were to somehow catch feelings for me and want to choose me over Choso, I-"

"Whatever you're about to say, you don't know that." You cut off, "You can't predict the future Satoru, any scenario you play out for me is nothing but an educated guess of what may happen but you truly don't know what'll occur if you just tell me the damn truth."

"The truth will undo everything I've worked for so far," Gojo claims.

You sigh heavily, "What does that even mean?"

"It won't make you happy, that's what I mean," He clarifies, "I can't make you happy, sweetheart. I wish I could but I can't. And the truth?" He scoffs a little, "Once I explain that all of hell will break loose."

"Satoru it can not be that bad, you're being dramatic-"

"I'm not." Gojo cuts off, his eyes deadly serious, "When you get the truth, I think you'll understand me but you definitely won't forgive me."

Your eyes narrow and you tip your head to the side, "Why don't you just tell me and find out, what's stopping you?"

"Fear." He claims.

For some reason, the slight shake in his voice brings that very emotion to you. Fear? What could Gojo Satoru have to fear?

You blink, "Of what-"

"Everything." Gojo says, his voice a tad bit louder, "I don't want to go down that path at all. I just want you to finish the list and go be with the man you love."

Do you even love that man? It's such a strong word... Maybe if Gojo had said what he just said a few weeks ago you would've said you loved Choso but now... Well, you haven't talked to him and even though he plagues your mind and heart often, you almost feel as though your feelings have faded.

That would probably change if Choso sent you even one text but the distance he's drawn between the two of you is solid. He made it very clear that unless you want a relationship, he doesn't want you around him. Choso feels so strongly around you that it hurts him to be in your presence and not be your boyfriend-- he explained that to you.

And naturally, you admire the way he avoided that toxic situation. But... it's also created some heafty dissipation of your feelings. Obviously, you think about him all the time but not talking to him does make you feel conflicted.

Do you love Choso? Do you like him? Is it just a crush? Has this one day with Gojo changed the way you think about everything and now you're sitting here confused about who you want and why you want them? Have you forgotten everything you've experienced with either man?

Choso made you happy beyond belief and Gojo has only brought you confusion.

But, Choso was also so much of a green flag that you were blind to his red ones. And Gojo was so much of a red flag that you didn't see the white one he held behind his back.

You remained quiet for too long and Gojo tilted his head at you, "Do you not?"

"H-Huh?" You stammer, breaking away from your mind.

"Do you not love Choso?" He asks.

"I don't know." You whisper.

The confusion of it all has officially gotten to you. You don't know anything anymore.

Gojo raises a curious brow, "Is it because you haven't seen him in a while?"

Your brows furrow, "N-No-"

"Winter break is just a month away," He tells you, "Maybe you should try to see him during that time."

A slight chuckle escapes your lips and you sigh, "It seems like you want me to get with Choso more than I want me to get with Choso."

"He makes you happy in ways I can't." Gojo points out, shrugging casually.

You scoff and words leave your lips faster than you intend them to, "That's not true."

"Sweetheart, I'm using you." Gojo emphasizes, "Stop forgetting that. Y-You..." He struggles to get this part out but he knows he has to. He has to create that distance between you and him, "You're nothing more than a t-"

"Don't." You cut off, shutting your eyes as your expression sours, "Don't you dare say something you know you'll regret even more, Satoru. C'mon now, we've been doing pretty good thus far but if you call me a fucking tool that's gonna fuck it all up-"

"That's what you are for me though." He cuts off. The claim didn't even sound right leaving his lips. His ability to be an asshole toward you has faded entirely.

"No, it's not." You argue back, opening your eyes and seeing his head turned away from you.

He swallows "Yes, it is-"

"Look me in the eyes and tell me I'm nothing more than a tool for you, then." You challenge, your gaze unwavering, "If that's the truth, look at me and say it."

Gojo struggles, refusing to meet your gaze, "You're-"

"I said look at me, Satoru." You emphasize.

He does, very slowly. "You... are nothing more... than a..." Gojo trails off, staring so intently into your eyes, losing himself, his mind, his breath, all of it as he can't even finish his statement properly.

"That's what the hell I thought," You utter, "Stop trying to make me hate you when I don't have to."

"You're supposed to," Gojo claims.

You don't know what that means. You don't know what any of it means. When will the confusion end? When will it all make sense? When will you get the chance to have a clear and focused mind??

A simple and unrelaxed sigh leaves you, "Okay."

"That's it? Just okay-"

"I don't know how to feel right now, Satoru." You huff out, turning away, "I don't understand anything and I hate not understanding shit. I don't know why you do the things you do, I don't know if I love Choso, I don't know if I still hate you, I don't know anything!" You rant, "I have so many fucking questions. There's too much going on and too little being explained to me and I can't take it anymore."

"I'm sorry, I really am-"

"That's all you ever are. Sorry sorry sorry sorry sorry sorry sorry, when does it end Satoru?" You whine, so beyond tired of it all, "When do I get to understand? When are you going to stop keeping me in the dark so that I can help you?"

"You can't help me," Gojo claims.

You grit your teeth, "You don't know that."

"Yes, I do." He argues.

"Earlier, you said we're the same. I didn't know what you meant, and I still don't but, if that's the case then the only person that can help you is me so, god damnit Satoru, let me in. Open up to me for fucks sake!"

He's like a damn wall, something that even you, his literal weakness, couldn't get through. Nothing you say will make him reveal the truth to you.

Gojo says your name in a chillingly calm tone, his eyes going all dull again, "I'll let you in when the time is right-"

"When?! When will the time be right?? When are you going to let me help you?"

"That's the fucking problem!" He snaps so suddenly that it almost frightens you. Just like that morning, it's another random outburst of anger, "That's why I'm in this damn mess, b-because of you. Y-You and your fucking kindness. You should hate me right now but here you are too busy trying to help me? To fucking understand me?"

"How can I not? This is your second time getting upset with me within the past twenty-four hours and you fucking cried into my arms! Am I really expected to ignore that?"

"Yes! About two months ago, you were hellbent on hating me but just because I shed some damn tears you're ready to fucking baby me? I don't need that from you, I don't need anything from you." He's so clearly rambling by this point, not even realizing what's coming out of his mouth, "I just want you to keep hating me like you always do." He continues, his voice angered to mask his hurt.

You go quiet for a minute and just listen to him.

"Stop trying to figure me out like I'm some damn puzzle. There's no problem for you to solve here; I need you to fuck people, not care about me. I need this list cleared, I need it to all just be over." He spits out, his voice wavering at the end, "T-That's all I need, sweetheart. Stop tryna' understand me, just finish the fucking list and let it be over-"

"Gojo Satoru," You cut him off, the use of his full name making him freeze. His mouth shuts like a trained dog and he feels as though his blood just ran still. "I'm not gonna stop trying to understand you because I'm in this mess with you, whether I like it or not. I've been paying attention to you all day, y'know that right?"

He simply shrugs, too frozen to even speak anymore.

You take a deep breath, calming your heightened nerves, "Even a blind man could see that something happened that triggered you recently. You've never blown up on me or broken down on me like today. And, dare I say, I think it was something from Sukuna's party that started all this."

He swallows, hard.

"Were you the one that called the cops?" You question.

"N-No," His voice is shaky but not because he's lying. He's nervous. "That uh, t-that was some guy who was pissed about getting knocked out, I think."

"Okay, so what happened while we separated, Satoru? Because you've been snappy and emotional ever since. First, you cursed me out about calling myself a whore, then you cried when I said I love the way you kiss me, and now you got mad at me because I want to understand and help you. So tell me, what happened?"

"...Nothing." He mumbles.

You stare at him with this look in your eyes, deciding to give him one last chance to tell you because you're so beyond tired of the stress his answers and mood swings are bringing you, "Are you sure? If you don't tell me now... I'm going upstairs. Then, I'm gonna finish the list and I'll go on with my life without caring anymore."

"I-I..." Gojo's heart sinks, the moment presented to him so perfect.

"This is your last, and final, chance to open up to me. Speak now," You sigh, "Or forever hold your peace."

His eyes soften, "I can't tell you."

You nod your head slowly, "Okay." You then turn away from him and look down to make sure you have all your things, "When you're ready to grow some balls and explain yourself, I'll be ready. But until then," You move to open the car door, "I'm done with this shit."

Your feet swing out the car and just as you're about to step out, he calls your name, making you freeze. Gojo can't tell you the truth but he means it honestly when he says, "I'm sorry for loving you."

You squeeze your eyes shut, "What does that apology do for me? Hm?"

"That's why you're in this mess." Gojo explains, just barely, "Because I stupidly fell for you, you're wrapped up in my bullshit."

"You're still confusing me." You point out.

"I'm not trying to explain it. I can only give you that as of right now. All of this is because I made the mistake of loving you and for that, I'm sorry."

"Okay." You hum, your voice small and exhausted, "Then," You turn around and meet his eyes one last time, "I forgive you."

"W-What-"

"For loving me, Satoru. It's not a crime," You say, mocking a comment he made to you earlier, "You're allowed to love me. So, for that, and that only, I forgive you."

Those words healed so many more wounds in his heart than you realized. It was like that was all he ever needed to hear. If Gojo's mistake was loving you and that's what caused this, then you forgive him.

If in some twisted way, his feelings started the list, you forgive him.

Deep down, you know the truth will be revealed someday but, you can't keep stressing yourself over it-- you're digging yourself into a hole and opening up doors that can't be closed. By some miracle, you could recognize that it was best you stopped asking all your questions and instead moved on.

That's all you can do; move on.

Complete the list.

Nothing else matters.

Free yourself from this cursed predicament and live your life.

That's what you want, that's what Gojo wants, that's what's needed.

Freedom.

GOJO SATORU ✔︎ 𝘛𝘳𝘶𝘦 𝘋𝘪𝘧𝘧𝘪𝘤𝘶𝘭𝘵𝘺: 𝙀𝙖𝙨𝙮

GETO SUGURU ✔︎ 𝘛𝘳𝘶𝘦 𝘋𝘪𝘧𝘧𝘪𝘤𝘶𝘭𝘵𝘺: 𝙀𝙖𝙨𝙮

TOJI FUSHIGURO ✔︎ 𝘛𝘳𝘶𝘦 𝘋𝘪𝘧𝘧𝘪𝘤𝘶𝘭𝘵𝘺: 𝙈𝙚𝙙𝙞𝙪𝙢

KAMO CHOSO ✔︎ 𝘛𝘳𝘶𝘦 𝘋𝘪𝘧𝘧𝘪𝘤𝘶𝘭𝘵𝘺: 𝙎𝙚𝙢𝙞-𝙈𝙚𝙙𝙞𝙪𝙢 / 𝙀𝙖𝙨𝙮

ZEN'IN NAOYA ✔︎ 𝘛𝘳𝘶𝘦 𝘋𝘪𝘧𝘧𝘪𝘤𝘶𝘭𝘵𝘺: 𝙀𝙭𝙩𝙧𝙚𝙢𝙚𝙡𝙮 𝙀𝙖𝙨𝙮

ITADORI SUKUNA ☐ 𝘛𝘳𝘶𝘦 𝘋𝘪𝘧𝘧𝘪𝘤𝘶𝘭𝘵𝘺: 𝙎𝙚𝙢𝙞-𝙀𝙖𝙨𝙮???

NANAMI KENTO ☐ 𝘛𝘳𝘶𝘦 𝘋𝘪𝘧𝘧𝘪𝘤𝘶𝘭𝘵𝘺: ???

mlist || previous chapt || next chpt

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carolperkinsexgirlfriend · 6 months

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Steddie Upside-down AU Part 23

Part 1 Part 22

Plans are made around Eddie. They talk about traps, and blood, and trips to the army surplus store. But Eddie’s not there: he’s in his trailer, curled up on his single bed with Steve, trading truths like the world is ending. He wants Steve. He wants Uncle Wayne.

He stands from the table, voices cease around him as all eyes look up. “I’m going to get Wayne.” He looks around the table. Will still looks too trusting, and Jonathan and the red-head look uncaring, but Nancy is biting her lip like she’s got something to say.. “What, Wheeler?” he asks, combative. “What the hell is your problem now?”

Her lips purse, and she crosses her arm atop the table primly. So in control. So dainty and pointed, and clean. Eddie wants to strangle her. “I’m not sure if we should bring any more people into this”

Eddie has to take a few deep breaths. “As the reigning authority on all things that crawl out of our new hell creature feature, you need me,” he says. “And I’m going to get my Uncle Wayne.”

Nancy’s nose scrunches, mouth snarling even as she keeps her lips shut. The red-head sighs, standing as well. “He’s not going to budge, let’s just go.”

Eddie wants to leap over this table and kiss her straight on the lips. Jonathan and Will stand as well. Nancy stays seated for a few moments, glaring at her friend before standing with a huff. “We can’t waste this much time,” she says, striding toward the door, expecting everyone to follow. “We should split up.”

“Said every person in a horror movie before they get brutally murdered,” Eddie mutters. The redhead snorts. No one else notices he talked at all.

“I can go to the army surplus,” Jonathan says.

“I’ll go with you,” Nancy replies.

“Well, you’ll have to drop us off at my house because I don’t have my car.,” the redhead says.

They all pile back into Jonathan’s car, taking their same seats. It’s a matter of minutes before they’re pulling onto a suburban street and stopping in front of a suburban house and with a suburban car parked in the driveway. The redheaded’s house, presumably, by the way she slides out of the car.

Eddie turns to Will before he leaves. “Will?” he asks.

Will looks between him and Jonathan in the driver’s seat, making eye contact with his brother in the rearview mirror. Something must pass between them because Will turns to him and says, “I’m going to stay with them.”

It comes out like it hurts. Eddie feels it, too – the way there’s a string tying them together, and each step away from one another pulls it taught. The way the one connecting him to Steve lies flat and dead on the pavement. He doesn’t want to let Will Byers out of his sight. “Okay,” he says, dawdling until the redhead honks impatiently.

He gets out of the backseat of one car and slides into the passenger seat of another. It’s clean and new. Matches the house and the girl and the life, he bets, before monsters crawled into it.

“You live at the trailer park, right?” she asks, turning the key in the ignition and backing out of the driveway.

“Yeah,” he says.

The car’s quiet. She doesn’t turn on the radio. Neither does Eddie.

The girl’s voice breaks it like a shot. “Why are you so focused on Steve Harrington?” She says his name like a curse. He wants to blame her, but he remembers that little kerfuffle in the Harrington backyard before all of this had started.

Responses run through his mind, unsaid. Things like, he saved my life, or, he looked so scared when that thing broke down his bedroom door, or, he told me things in the quiet of my bedroom that I can’t stop hearing, or, I think he’d rather be dead than alone.

He doesn’t say any of that. It’s too much for this nameless girl who wasn’t there with them when it counted. “He’s not what you think,” he says, not looking over at her to see how the words land.

She’s quiet for a minute, Eddie sits in it. She doesn’t respond until they’re pulling into the entrance to the trailer park. “Coming from you, that might actually mean something,” she says, quiet, like it’s a secret. “Now, which one’s yours?”

He directs her, a right and then a left. Wayne’s truck is in the driveway.

She parks parallel to their small plot, pristine and practiced, probably in driver’s ed. Eddie stares up at his own home, heart beating like a demogorgon is waiting for him inside.

“Four days?” Eddie asks.

A sigh. “Yeah.” She doesn’t reach out, doesn’t comfort him. He’s glad. “Are you going to be in trouble?”

Eddie laughs – it’s all air. “This is the longest I’ve stayed away since I ran away at thirteen.” Wayne’s probably sitting in his recliner right now, a game on, and a bear slowly warming in his palm. “He’ll be scared shitless.”

Eddie gets out of the car and approaches the front door, the girl a step behind. He gets the insane urge to knock. Like four days in a hell made this place alien to him. Like this is no longer his home. Ho opens the door.

He forgot what it smelled like; musty, yeah, but like Wayne’s laundry detergent, and coffee brewed too strong. Like home. There’s staticy cheering coming from the small, piece of shit television in the living room. Wayne’s sitting in his chair, looking at him like a ghost had just walked through his front door.

He looks tired, ragged in a way that’s more than a couple doubles at the plant. The chair’s not reclined. There’s no beer.

“Wayne?” he says.

Like that’s the kick in the ass he needed, Wayne jumps up, striding over to pull him into a tight hug, palm clasped to Eddie’s neck, bringing him down until his forehead is resting on Wayne’s shoulder.

“You’ve got some ‘splainin’ to do, boy,” he says, gruff.

Eddie laughs straight from his lungs. “I missed you,” Eddie says, quiet enough for his ears alone.

The redhead clears her throat from where she’s dawdling at the front door. Wayne pulls away, keeping his hands on his shoulders and holding him at arm’s length like he might disappear if Wayne doesn’t keep two hands on his person. “Who’s your friend, son?” he asks, reprimanding for the lack of manners.

“Oh, uh, Uncle Wayne this is–” he stops talking entirely, looking at the girl with wide eyes as he suddenly realizes he doesn’t know her name.

She rolls her eyes. “Barbara Holland, sir,” she says, reaching out a hand for Wayne to shake. Wayne does, tightening his other hand on Eddie’s shoulder in the process.

Eyes shifting between the two, Wayne asks, “You got something to tell me?”

Apparently that’s all it takes to break him. He’s crying again. Hard and ugly, snot immediately clogging his sinuses. “So, much Uncle Wayne,” he says around his tears. It comes out like he’s choking. “I have so much to tell you.”

“Alright, alright,” Wayne says, gruff, even as he leads Eddie to the couch, welcoming Barbara to make herself at home with a wave of her hand. “How ‘bout you start with taking some breaths, huh?”

It takes time they don’t have to spare for Eddie to regulate his breathing like Wayne taught him, and by the time he’s calmed, he feels like a dishrag, wrung out and used. Barbara’s sitting at the kitchen table, analyzing her nails so critically that he can almost pretend she wasn’t here for his breakdown at all.

“Now, tell me,” Wayne says, like he always does. The same gravity over a scraped knee or a failed test as coming out as queer or moving states to live with Wayne permanently. It’s all important.

“I went to hell, Wayne,” he says, unable to meet his eyes. Maybe this is the thing that’ll finally stretch his Uncle’s credulity past recognition. “There was this thing, and it dragged me to hell.”

“You Catholic now, boy?” Wayne asks.

Eddie sputters, indignation and laughter mixing, and when he looks up at Wayne, he looks just the same. Just like his Uncle who would follow him to hell if he asked, who would believe him if he said the detention wasn’t his fault. Every time, no questions.

“Maybe not hell,” he says, rolling his eyes. “But it was somewhere else, and I left Steve there.”

“We left Steve there,” Barbara said, as if she’d been on the other side at all.

Wayne looks between the pair, brow furrowed. It’s a small town. This won’t take him long. “...Steve Harrington?” he asks, incredulous.

“He saved my life,” Eddie says, knowing nothing will convince his uncle quicker.

Wayne looks at him the way he always does, intense and searching, but trusting. On his side, no matter what. “You got a plan?”

“Yes,” Eddie says just as Barbara says, “a stupid one.”

“Well, I ‘spose you’ll be needing this old man’s help.” He leans over and pulls his shotgun out from behind his recliner, laying it across his knees. “Let’s go save your guardian angel.”

Part 24

#steddie upsidedown au #steddie fic #steddie #eddie munson #steve harrington #stranger things #my fic

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clexa-surrogacy-au · 3 months

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Between Our Love

Chapter 10: Fifteen Seconds

Lexa floats, like a piece of driftwood, in the strange in-between world in the middle of consciousness and slumber. The car rocks gently around her, the radio hums, brief flashes of light break up the darkness behind her eyelids, and Lexa lay cradled in the center of it all, curled up in her seat with the seat warmers on, suspended in that place of limbo where time has no meaning.

At least, until the soft murmur of Clarke's voice breaks through the fog as if from a great distance. Lexa stirs, awareness gradually returning to her. Her lashes flutter as she blinks, cracking her eyes open to see Clarke looking at her with fond amusement.

"Sorry to wake you. I just— I'm coming up on the last toll and I can't find the coin purse. I think it's in the glove box. Which…" She gestures vaguely at the swell of her stomach, one hand still on the wheel. Which she can't reach. Right.

Lexa unravels her legs and spares a moment for a languid stretch before she opens the glove box to pluck out the frog-shaped coin purse she'd hidden there when they'd stopped for dinner earlier. They're already rolling up to the toll booth, so Lexa opens it up and counts out the change Clarke needs, handing it over to her. She yawns, feeling much more awake by the time they're gaining speed again.

"We're close," Clarke tells her, nodding toward her phone plugged in its holder on the dashboard. Lexa doesn't need a glance at the map to tell her that, though. She breathes in deeply and the scent of pine fills her lungs. They've already made it to the outskirts of Polis. The road ahead is flanked on either side by familiar pine trees, stretching up toward a night sky that's starting to lighten, the surplus of stars dwindling as the city's distant artificial lights bleach the sky.

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#surprise #surprise update #Clexa #Clexa fic #Clarke x Lexa #Clexa fic update #Clexa fanfic #Clexa fanfiction #Clarke/Lexa #Clexa surrogacy au #BOL

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cyazurai · 11 months

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Playing a purely survival, no zombie run of Project Zomboid, and my character is completely alone in the military surplus store... and suddenly got completely panicked.

No idea why. Thought I might have forgotten I gave her claustrophobia, but nope. She has no traits that would make her get panicked randomly. Guess she heard something on the radio she didn't like.

#project zomboid #nonsims

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silverskye13 · 1 year

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Attunement is an amazing thing. Creatures of magic and power, like the vex, thrive on it. Well, they require it to live and function. But it's not like air. You don't thrive on oxygen. You can't consume a surplus of air and become a better, stronger, faster human. You can function a little better but it's not... Quite the same thing. Attunement is like... To be unattuned is to be distant and ethereal. In Cub's experience, it makes it hard to really engage with the world. So attuning to a new world is crucial to living. Attuning well, however, is crucial to thriving. You can build an empire when you're attuned to the basic image of the world. You build a legacy, you become powerful, when you're attuned to it's pulse.

So obviously that's the first thing Cub does when he gets settled into Empires. Building underground helps a little, but it's literally just scratching the surface. He sinks his teeth into it. Building materials from every Empire worked into a house. He lives and breathes what these people value. He digs through the world, he speaks with its inhabitants, he engages with his friends. Attunement isn't always work, after all. More often than not, it's play. It's reveling in the fun, in the living. It's letting the world be an extension of yourself.

He likes it here. This place is... Old in ways Hermitcraft isn't. Hermitcraft resets itself. It's as young as its inhabitants' fancies. Empires has history, a fabric and weave to it. It settles in Cub's chest like a stone as he attunes, warn smooth by time and more obstinate for it. Attunement takes a little longer than he's used to, but he has nothing but time with the Rift closed.

That's probably what does him in, really. Vex are inherently cocky. It comes with the territory. You get used to knowing everything about magic and forget that even with that knowledge, that super-mortal disposition, you're not infallible. And it's been an awfully long time since Cub has needed more than a few days to attune to anything. He should have realized something was wrong when he fought the young god and lost. Not that Joel isn't powerful. But he did trivialize that fight. Cub's hands were clumsy. He wasn't used to the movements of his body. It wasn't second nature yet, stuck somewhere between second and third. He wasn't attuned as much as he was used to.

Shubble wants his help - as a scientist, not as a magic user. She probably doesn't know he's vex, and he's fine with that. It's a fun little surprise he keeps to himself until it's opportune to reveal it. If she'd known, she never would have asked him to go into the Mangrove. Even knowing she didn't know, Cub should have been smart enough to refuse. It's that vex arrogance, his worst enemy.

Any creature attuning is vulnerable. It's like an open radio frequency, or a valley between two waterfalls. It doesn't take much for an invader to come pouring in, drowning out whatever was there before. But it'd been so long since Cub took that long to attune, and Shubble didn't know he was vex and vulnerable.

The fog felt little resistance when it invaded his mind, and it revelled in it's catch. It wouldn't do to hoard this soul to itself. No. No. This was opportunity on its doorstep, with power and mischief and it was so, so wide open to influence. Cub might as well have put a bit neon sign over his head, "Come and use me as a weapon, a tool."

The will attached to that fog attached itself to Cub, the stone of the Empires world still settling in his chest cast out to make way for a lungful of Mangrove mist.

Spread the Darkness.

Spread the Skulk.

#the barking writer #empires x hermitcraft crossover #cubfan135 #vex!cub #mostly just a vignette but its been in my head for a few days

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losercade · 5 months

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Listening to Sherlock & Co! Thoughts so far!

EP. 12:

- yay a new episode ^_^

- CHRiStmas..

- I love John's singing wonderful.

- "a handsome single doctor"

- I was listening to this in the car, with my phone connected to the radio, and when Sherlock talked at the start my mom went "☹️"

- "you were SULKING in the shop." <- me too I hate stores

- " I'll murder that singer if I hang around here any longer then you'll have a case.."

- tf is he saying here what (I'm on my 3rd rewind..)

- peter peterson

- "have a fab trip"

- the blue carbunkle

- John don't miss your flight don't do it

- YOU WANT HIM TO WHAT

- best statement ever actually

- for real

- yea no goose or turkeys :(

- THE SINGING

- NO ❌️PLASTIC TREES❌️

- YEAAAAA CHRISTMAS LIGHTSSSSSS

- sherlock's laugh :]

- "focus! Crime! Mischief! Thievery! Blue Carbunkle. Missing."

- I've never had goose either

- "where we going?"

- "fine fine HOG IT 😒"

- "X 😒 eugh 🤢"

- "previously on stanford and Co 🎻🎻🎻🎻🎻"

- "I assume without the goose"

- "let's go get Mr. Baker the butcher!!"

- "sherlock holmes and the adventure of the surplus goose"

- "you pinched my skin 😠" "I did not pinch your skin 😒"

- 🏃‍♂️🏃‍♂️🏃‍♂️

- "take the mic!!!"

- "I walked into that one I suppose 😀"

- "stop it now Watson 😌 you flatter me"

- "will you two shut up 🧍‍♂️"

- Oh yeah Oh yeah !!!!!! I want the next episode already !!!!!!!

#sherlock & co #thoughts

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rfantennaindia · 9 months

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It's important to note that while fiberglass itself doesn't conduct electricity, the conductive elements (such as wires or metal elements) attached to or embedded within the fiberglass structure are responsible for transmitting or receiving the electromagnetic signals. The fiberglass material primarily serves as a supportive and protective structure for these conductive elements.

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toomanybandstocare · 1 year

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{Who's The Coward Now}

Program: Even though the medic somehow always finds a way to get under your skin, you hold a deep respect for Kix. That may have begun to turn into something more than a professional admiration. Until it shatters after an argument that continues onto the battlefield. Heated words are exchanged, but you'd rather hear him yelling at you than the radio silence that answers when you try to call him.

Pairing: Medic Kix x Support Agent, GN! Reader

Genre: Angst

Length: 3967w

Warnings: Reader and Kix say pretty hurtful things to each other because they care about each other type of deal, Battle scene, Medical scene, Couple of swears (as usual lmao)

Camp Resolute Masterlist

Counselor Notes: Thank you to @wizardofrozz for your help on this as a thought partner. It was so helpful & @obixwan, I hope you enjoy! Not too sure how I feel about this one tbh, but I am pretty happy with it.

“You have to be more careful,” Kix reprimands you. Though his hands carefully hold your head, he can’t control the anger burning through his veins. With one hand still holding your head, he tosses the blood soaked gauze and quickly takes another from his medical table. Pressing the fresh swab onto the cut on your forehead, Kix hesitates when you wince. His gaze softens momentarily and mumbles an apology.

“We all have a job to do, Kix,” you hoarsely explain, “I wasn’t about to sit on the side lines as our friends took their last breath”.

Kix pauses after placing a plaster on the small wound and looks away from it to meet your serious expression with one of disbelief. “We all have a job to do, but it doesn’t mean we have to sacrifice ourselves for nothing”.

“For nothing,” you exclaim and push his caring hands away.

His careless words cause your blood to boil as you look at him incredulously. In any other situation your stomach would have fluttered from his cute, wide eyed expression. Instead, knots twist your stomach as bile builds in the back of your throat.

“I would lay down my life without second thought to keep you and your family safe, Kix,” your voice breaks. “You and your brothers mean so much. Not just to each other, or to me, but to countless people across the galaxy. You have to understand that”.

You reach out with a shaky hand to try to hold onto him, but Kix ducks his head and steps away from you.

His weak voice murmurs your name before he says barely above a whisper, “We are nothing, but a surplus of pawns”.

Kix darts his tongue across his lip and swallows the lump forming in his throat. Everything feels numb and too much all at once. Pin pricks sting his skin. The fluorescent lights cause a dull ache to pound against his head. His heart shatters, and the pieces slash him from the inside.

With a shaky breath, Kix turns away from you and begins to clean his medical table. “When one of us dies, one thousand more run onto the battlefield to replace us. Clones are nothing, but cogs in the Republic’s machine. You have to understand that. There is no reason for you to risk your life for one of us when there are a million of me,” Kix explains and pulls his gaze from the bloody scraps that stain his fingers to look over at you.

Your heart pluments, and you open your mouth to try to reason with him. His raised hand and defeated smile silences you. “There is only one of you in this galaxy. I have no control over my life, or even how I die. The semblance of control I have is by helping my brothers and civvies when they need aid,” Kix’s voice subtly shakes as his eyes scan over your bandaged wound, “Do not put your life at risk for some clone”. Bile builds in the back of his throat as the memory of an assassin droid jumping at you and nearly cutting your life short. Just another reason he owes Jesse his life.

Your eyes sting as you look at the man who stands before you, completely unrecognizable in front of the one who has slowly been stealing your heart much to your dismay. Instead of the teasing, know it all of a medic, you see a man hiding behind the mask of his fallen brothers. “You are so wrong,” you firmly breath out. “And if you can't realize how much you--or your brothers-- have to offer the galaxy for just existing as individuals, then you’re truly pathetic,” you spit out.

As if your words cut him, Kix staggers a step backwards. Your steely gaze freezes him in place as you stand up from the cot. “Not because you are a clone,” you continue with a growing fire in your voice, “Because you are a coward of a man who would rather fall into society’s place and play the victim. I hear your lies, and I see right through you, Kix. You are afraid of what happens next after the war, so you’re pushing me away. You’re isolating yourself to put the blame on yourself and the situation rather than trying to make the best of it and make a difference”.

Kix clutches the edge of the cold durasteel table. Your words tear down the reality he’s tried to come to terms with. His head spins as his lungs seem to be weighed down as he desperately tries to breathe. He opens his mouth to try to … explain himself? No, that doesn’t seem right. But there’s nothing to defend, right?

“If you’re even thinking about trying to convince me that you’re right in this situation,” your voice trembles with anger, “I am walking out that door”. There’s a beat of silence as the two of you look at each other. Even with the ventilation fan whirring in the background, the air hangs heavy in a thick blanket. Kix turns his back to you to continue cleaning his workstation.

Without second thought, you turn on your heel and walk swiftly out of the medbay. A blistering heat washes over you, and only once weaving through the starship’s corridors do you feel like you can breathe again.

Fog consumes the battlefield, and the tense atmosphere weighs down on your shoulders. You peer around the boulder you’ve taken shelter behind. Blaster bolts cut through the thick blanket of mist. Surveying the area, your eyes widen when a red beam shoots toward you. With your heart pounding in your throat, you throw yourself backwards for cover once more. A flurry of embers kiss the arm you use to block the scorching rock fragments and debris flying around you from the blast.

“We need you to infiltrate the ray shields three klicks North of your position,” General Skywalker’s voice crackles through your comlink. Echoes of reflected blaster bolts and battalion commands blend in disharmony behind his tired words.

“Easier said than done,” you yell through gritted teeth. Pushing into the balls of your feet and clenching your fists, you push from your crouched position and take off across the crumbled terrain. “I can’t see a damned thing,” you relay back to the battalion as you duck away from a blitz of crossfire, “Some guidance would be helpful”.

“I can spare Kix and Jesse, but we’re not exactly in a better position than you,” Rex grunts followed by a deafening explosion.

A spear of panic pierces your pounding heart. Why does it have to be Kix? Any other clone--hell, any other 501st trooper--would be better than him.

Your feet slam into the barren wasteland as you push further into the battle. Troopers collapse all around you while clankers melt from blasters. No one is safe in this hellscape. Not man. Not machine. Not you.

You weave past the scattered soldiers, and some yell out to you in the haze.

“What are you doing?”

“Turn back now”.

“We can hold them off, fall back behind lines”.

“I told you not to do anything risky,” one voice rings clear in all the chaos. Footsteps fall in time with your own as you near the ray shields, now just ahead of you past the enemy defense.

“I’m following orders, Kix,” you wheeze. Your lungs scream for air as you duck out of the way of an onslaught of blaster shots. “Something you seem all too familiar with,” you say through gritted teeth.

“Why did you volunteer for this,” Kix hissed over his shoulder. He raises his gun to help his brother clear a path for the three of you to infiltrate the enemy’s inner lines.

With a haggard grunt, Jesse throws a shock grenade towards the surrounding droids to clear the last of the blockade. “If you haven’t noticed,” he yells, “we’re a bit preoccupied. Finish this spat when we’re in the next system, far away from this shit”.

Unable to tell if the surge of determination coursing through your veins comes from Kix’s words or the sight of possible victory, you break from the two troopers to push ahead. “I need you to flank my sides,” you say into your comlink, “we’re nearly to the center, and I’ll be able to set up the explosives. I just need you to keep the fire off of me”.

“Ten-four,” Jesse responds.

Through the roar of war, the static of your comlink rings in your ears. Filling you with dread, you hit it a few times to make sure it’s not broken.

“Kix?” you question. A gnawing pit of anxiety bubbles in your stomach when met with static. “Jesse,” you try the other channel, “Is Kix with you?”

Your skin tingles when you step through the shield barrier. Scanning the area, your eyes lock onto the target control area and power supplies. You sprint towards the control panel first, and you fumble with the protective plate before connecting the first explosive.

“What?” he asked in confusion. You hear heavy gunfire crackle through mixed with the trooper’s strained breathing. “No,” Jesse pushes out, “Saw him break off to your West when you gave the command. East generator is cleared”.

Each step you take to the East power supply is met with no resistance. With just a few strides, you reach the generator and connect the explosive to its side. Shifting your weight, you push off and run to the West generator. As blasters and explosive shells ring in your ears, your heart pounds. Prickles of fear sting your skin. He has to be there.

“Right behind you,” Jesse shouts, “Heard anything from Kix?”

“Radio silence,” you yell over your shoulder. When you face forward again, the fog billows and folds over itself as some of the enemy land cruisers shoot off into the distance. This could be it. At the thought of reaching the last moments of battle, you attach the last explosive and grab the detonator from your utility belt. Jesse stands tall as he shoots down any stray droid emerging from the shield barrier. With a click, you sync the charges and motion Jesse to move out.

“Kix, meet at the West cliff cave. The charges are set and prepped,” you shout into your comlink over the battle’s cacophony. Once again, only static hums in response. You shoot Jesse a look of confusion. Your com channels work fine, even with the frequency interference, so why was Kix suddenly unreachable? Is he really that petty to ignore com calls after our last conversation? You scoff and duck behind one of the boulder stacks inside the cave. Your heart pounds against its cage as you look over to Jesse on the other side.

“Have you gotten through to that idiot,” you shout with a shaky voice.

Jesse taps the side of his bucket a few times. “No,” his words slowly come out as he thinks, “But those droids will be getting close to the charges by now. I don’t think we can spare him anymore time”.

“What if he gets caught in the blast? We have to wait for him,” your response tumbles without thought from your chapped lips.

“We have a job to do,” Jesse reminds you as he tilts his head. “Kix is smart. He knows about the charges, and he won’t do something reckless”.

You bite your lip and look at the detonator in your hand. A cold wave of uncertainty wash over you that stings your skin with the scorching blood coursing through your veins.

“Why are you hesitating? Set them off now, or we’ll all be in trouble,” Jesse yells. Panic pushes past his usually cool demeanor.

Your thumb presses down on the small button, and you shut your eyes as a deafening whirlwind overcomes the chaos. A powerful gust of wind pushes through the cave’s entry way bringing flames and debris with it. The heat swelters around you and constricts your lungs. Sweat drips across your skin. You try to steady your haggard breathing, but the smoke lingering in the air burns the inside of you with each inhale.

“Status report,” a static voice faintly calls out. Its location seems to bounce through the cave, and you can barely register it above the ringing in your ears.

“Jesse,” you call out. A cough accompanies your hoarse voice. Slowly rising to a standing position, you lean against the wall to your side. The world sways underneath your feet, which only makes your head spin harder.

“Over here,” a similar voice coughs from where you last saw your squad mate. “You alright?”

Your comlink chirps, and you carefully nod your head. “Probably. You?”

“Been through worse”. Without warning, a beam of light breaks through the smoke and fog settling around the two of you. “We’re alright, Rex,” Jesse explains through the shared channel. “Lost Kix though when we broke off to clear the surrounding area near the generators”.

“We’ll keep an eye out for him, but he’s probably already at the temp medbay. Hurry over and get checked out. We’re trying to evac ASAP. This place is making everyone uneasy, and it’s time for well deserved R-and-R”.

Your stomach lurches with your first step away from the wall. As your heart plummets, the sense of uncertainty freezes into dread, and your knees buckle. Rex didn’t know where Kix was?

“Hey- hey,” Jesse shouts your name and rushes over to you. Just as you’re about to sink into the ground, his arms catch you and hold you up. “Kriffssake, you look like you’ve just seen a ghost”.

“I need to find Kix,” you say in a rush. Everything feels sharp to the touch as you try to pull yourself away from Jesse. “Something's not right. We need to find him”.

Jesse’s arms tighten around you as he guides your struggling form out of the hiding spot into the remnants of the battlefield. “What’s gotten into you,” he huffs. “The two of you were just arguing in the middle of an onslaught of blasterfire, and now you’re worried about him?”

An unexplainable instinct urges you to try to fight out of Jesse’s hold, but your aching muscles only want to sink into his arms. Kix may be insufferable, but he follows orders. Regardless of who gives them. “Jesse, I’m telling you- there’s something wrong. Kix isn’t okay”.

“Even if he isn’t okay-which he’s not- why do you care so much all of the sudden?” Jesse prods as he pushes you past the rubble and heaps of scrap metal.

“I’ve always cared,” you nearly shout in frustration. Your body screams in pain as you continue to shift and throw your weight to break free. Even when the ARC trooper’s hold softens, he still keeps you from running off in search of…him. What is Kix exactly? A crush is too childish for the deep respect and admiration you hold for the medic. Friend is nowhere close to describing your teasing and heated relationship. The only word that comes to mind to describe the man -- who has soft, inviting eyes and a smirk you just want to wipe away with a kiss -- would be lover. An agonized groan rumbles in your chest as you fling your body weight completely forward. “You’re not listening,” you practically scream.

“Enough,” Jesse shouts and pulls you tight into his chest as the pair of you walk through the beginnings of the Republic camp. The plastoid armor digs into your back and knocks the wind out of your chest. “Coric,” he shouts, “need you check this one out. We took in a lot of smoke and might have some minor burns”. Stares from just about everyone in the camp lock onto the two of you. A tangle of collected calmness and frantic fighting.

Before Coric can even ask what happened, you beat him to the first word: “Where’s Kix?” Nausea rocks your stomach as Coric takes you in with a careful look.

“Wasn’t he with you,” he slowly inquires. A crease of confusion digs across his forehead as his gaze flickers between you and Jesse.

At his words, you feel Jesse simultaneously lock up and loosen his grip on you. With weak knees suddenly trying to support you, you almost wish he would hold you tighter with the news. Silence settles between the three of you with an unspoken understanding. Kix never reported for medical duty. Neither his commanding officer or his medical chief knew where he was.

“Think you can hold on a little longer,” Jesse nervously asks, looking at you.

“Didn’t even want to be here in the first place. We need to find Rex and the general,” you reply and nod.

Jesse wraps one arm around you to support you and pushes the two of you to walk faster. Dust clouds kick at your heels with each determined step. You’re going to find Kix, bring him home, and give him hell for everything he’s put you through.

Maneuvering through the aisles of cots and further into the camp, you see Rex and Anakin stand around a makeshift command table. Datapads and a small hologram console crowd the table as the two men speak in tense, hushed tones. Both wear a grave expression that does nothing to hide their concern.

“Rex,” both you and Jesse call out in a rush. Feeling the subtle tremors shifting his armor, you wrap your arm around Jesse to pull him into your side. Both of you lean into each other. Ragged breaths rise and fall from your aching chests. The two of you hold each other up as the commanding officers face you and take a sharp inhale. A choked sound of protest tears at your throat.

“Rex,” Jesse tries again. Anger flares underneath his skin and continues to stoke his anxiety when his ori’vod won’t look him in the eye. His lip curls into a snarl. “Where’s Kix?” he growls.

Jesse’s body twitches underneath your touch, and you find yourself pulling him back as he tries to take a step towards the general and captain. Holding him back, you press your feet into the ground to try to do the same for yourself.

If it comes down to it, neither of you are concerned about stopping the other from running anymore. Now in agreement that something is terribly wrong, both of you are prepared to even give the commanding officers hell if needed to find Kix. The two of you try to give the others the benefit of the doubt that whatever consequence the mission’s success brings, it has nothing to do with Kix’s absence.

General Skywalker exhales a deep breath as he turns to the holo-console. With a press of a button, shaky helmet-cam footage from the battle plays in front of you accompanied by Kix’s shouts. “Always calling the shots, huh,” Kix mutters under his breath before following with, “Copy”. Your eyes flicker from where you disappear out of sight from the holograph to the West power generator that shows up a few moments later.

“Just has to have the last word, kriffsake,” Kix mutters. His helmet scans the area as he approaches the West generator. “Maybe you should come down from your throne and walk amongst the common people for a day. Nothing’s fucking good enough to you,” Kix spits out. His boot kicks a rock tumbling as he rounds the corner to clear the area. “Instead of thinking you’re all knowing, try looking in the mirror. I bet you’d shatter at the sight of your reflection. A person who’s so desperate to prove their worth to others that they insert themselves where they aren’t needed. Even when it puts their life at risk,” he groans and hits the side of his helmet with his fist. The generator hums quietly as the battle rumbles around him, but the area is void of any life. No rubble littering the coarse dirt and rocks. Not a single stray piece of metal or plastoid lurks in the mist. No immediate threats to pull Kix out of his spiraling thoughts. “Calling me a coward when they’d rather sacrifice their life, so they can die a hero rather than fight another day to be a better person”.

Kix’s words knock the wind out of you, and you stagger a step backward. Bumping into Jeese, your chest aches as you choke on your breathing. Dust and realization sting your ears as tears prick at your lash line while you watch Kix check the boulder mass just beyond the generator. As he approaches the obstacle, a blunt impact crashes into his helmet causing the footage to fizzle through static snippets. His com connection cuts in and out as Kix’s shout of surprise quickly turns into noises of combat. Until the hologram fades into the table, and you’re left with his words echoing in your head.

As if a cord has snapped, you feel as if you’re disconnected from reality. Your body feels like it weighs nothing while you do everything to balance the crippling fear trying to push you to your knees. General Skywalker and Captain Rex’s voices sound like they’re systems away even though you could reach out with your hand to either of them at the moment.

The only thought cycling through your head -- the only thought that burns itself into your memory -- is how Kix is missing and he thinks you're a coward.

At least that’s something the two of you could agree on.

You pull your gaze from the holoconsole and look Rex dead in the eyes. Rather than the collected captain you’ve worked with so often, Rex’s apprehensive expression and concerned eyes further stoke the rising flame of determination that courses through you. The sensitive pinpricks that sting your skin heighten the sensation of breaking through your consciousness’s fog.

“So, how are we going to bring Kix back home?” you demand. The finality of your words rings clear through the camp, and the four of you share a look of mutual agreement. None of you would be returning to the Resolute without the medic.

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drabbles-mc · 2 years

Text

Arm’s-Length

Eddie Munson x F!Reader

Summary: Your family upping and moving to Hawkins for your senior year certainly hadn’t been in your original plans, but now there you were. You were thankful that you quickly were accepted into Eddie’s rag-tag group of friends. Against all odds, things seemed to be going well, until everyone started to pull away. You tried to ask, and they tried to answer, but you were left in limbo until you got one frantic call from Dustin in the middle of the night.

Warnings: language, description of blood/injuries, angst (with a happy ending), no use of “y/n”

Word Count: 7.7k

A/N: I was in the middle of working on chapter 3 of my Eddie fic when I got hit with this idea and I just had to run with it. My requests are sort of half-open, half-closed these days, but I’m contemplating taking requests for Eddie since I’ve really been enjoying writing for him. Anyway, hope you enjoy this journey, that started off with literally just three random lines of dialogue that popped into my head. xo

Stranger Things Taglist: @garbinge @winchestershiresauce @thatpunkmaximoff @xbunnysbrainx (If you want to be added to any of my taglists, please let me know!)

When Dustin had first insisted on you having one of their super powered walkie-talkies, you thought it was overkill. You didn’t know what you would need it for, what kind of emergency scenarios would arise that would require you to have immediate contact with the entire Hawkins crew. More than that, though, you wondered why any of them thought that they might need immediate communication with you.

You’d only been in Hawkins for a little over a month. Your parents up and moved claiming that there was a work opportunity to be had. It didn’t matter whether it was true or not—it wasn’t like you could stop them even though moving to a new town for your senior year felt like cruel and unusual punishment. So now you were in a tiny little town in Indiana. A town that you’d heard rumors and read weird articles about, but you weren’t sure if you really believed any of it. Tabloids would print anything to make a quick buck. Besides, from what you’d seen, the place was so normal. Almost boring, compared to where you moved from. Just like any town, there were people who seemed determined to make life worse for everyone around them, but despite that you’d still managed to land yourself in the midst of an eclectic group of friends. They always seemed to have a surplus of chaos and stories to tell. Whether or not you believed it all, it sure was entertaining.

Which was why you hadn’t fought them on the walkie-talkie thing. It wasn’t worth the argument, plus you thought it was a little amusing if nothing else. The snide comments between the boys that would come over the radio never failed to make you laugh.

“You have one of these too?” you asked Eddie as the two of you sat in the living room, walkie in the middle of the coffee table surrounded by both your homework.

He shook his head, “No.”

“Why not? I thought, you know, like, everyone in the crew has them?”

Eddie chuckled, rolling his eyes, “Henderson thinks I’ll break it if I bring it home.”

You laughed, “Oh. I guess that’s fair.”

“Besides,” he tapped his pencil against his notebook, “if I’m getting into trouble, I’m usually with one of them anyway. If anything, we'll be calling you. Or Steve.”

“Co-Captains of the Babysitters Club,” you laughed.

Eddie smiled over at you even though your focus had returned to the work pages in front of you, “Yea, exactly.”

That conversation had happened about three weeks ago. Things had been a little different since then. You couldn’t quite put your finger on it, though. For the first time since being absorbed into their friend group, you felt like you were on the outside of things. The walkie-talkie channel was dead these days. You wondered if you had accidentally changed it, but you knew that you hadn’t touched it. You wondered if they switched it on you without telling you—you wondered why they would.

Hellfire still happened every week like clockwork. You were fairly certain that the world could be burning down around him and Eddie would still make sure the table was set up to play every week. But even so, the energy felt different. Eddie, Mike, Dustin, and Lucas all seemed like they were more or less going through the motions. They still loved it, of course, but their minds were somewhere else. It was easy for you to see it, since you pretty much just spectated and provided commentary when you felt the need, but you had to wonder if the other guys saw it too. You wanted to ask Eddie what was going on, but you figured that if he didn’t tell you, that meant he didn’t want you to know.

The final bell of the day rang and everyone started to head for their buses, or cars, or bicycles. You on the other hand, stopped by your locker to grab the few books you’d need for homework that night and started your walk home. It wasn’t a short walk, per se, but it was doable. A lot of times Eddie would meet up with you and he’d drop you off on his way home. But with the way things had been lately, he always seemed to be somewhere else. You tried not to take it personally.

You were walking along the side of the road when you heard a car coming up behind you. Not bothering to look and see who it was, you tried to walk as close to the edge of the road as you possibly could to give the vehicle space and hopefully save yourself from getting hit.

It wasn’t until the car started to slow down that you turned to see who it was. Cars slowing down by you always gave you an uneasy feeling. When you saw that it was Eddie's van, you felt safe at least, but still unsure given how things had been.

“Hey,” he leaned out his open window as he rolled to a stop next to you, “I went to look for you but you took right off. Need a lift home?”

Truthfully you wanted nothing more than to hop right into the passenger seat of Eddie's van. You wanted to argue over what music to listen to and tell him that you were going to fly out of the window if he took his turns any sharper. You missed it. But you still hesitated.

“That’s okay,” you shrugged, fiddling with the straps of your backpack, “I know you’ve been busy. I can walk.”

His mouth curled down into a small frown, “C'mon. Hop in. I miss you.”

For the sake of your own sanity, you were going to ignore the butterflies those words put into your stomach. You nodded as you started walking around to the other side of the van. Climbing in, you collapsed back into the seat with a quiet sigh. The beat-up upholstery felt like it was made for you and your comfort only, but you knew that it was just years of wear and tear.

Neither of you said anything for a minute as he drove, the only noise was from the music blaring out of the radio. You took solace in that, not needing to try and come up with a conversation. There were things you wanted to say, wanted to ask, but you didn’t know how.

Reaching forward, Eddie turned the music down to make it easier to talk to you. It was evident by the drumming of his fingers on the steering wheel that he also felt the difference in the vibe between you, the lack of ease that once was there. Clearing his throat, he said, “Aced that English report you helped me with by the way.”

You smiled at that, “Yea? Aced it?”

“Well,” he let out an awkward chuckle, “C+.”

Leaning back against the headrest you said, “C's get degrees, Munson.”

He smiled, nodding, “Damn right they do,” he paused, “I’m sorry, by the way.”

You couldn’t lie that it was nice to hear him say it, but you still didn’t want him feeling bad. He had a whole life with his friends before you showed up, and you knew that meant that there were some things you probably just weren’t going to be a part of. Knowing it and experiencing it were two completely different things, though.

Glancing over at him, you watched him as he watched the road, “Sorry for what?”

He nervously adjusted his grip on the steering wheel, “I know we’ve all been scattered lately. It’s just, uh,” he mumbled a few curse words under his breath, “it’s all kind of complicated. I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine, Eddie, really. I know you guys all had your own thing before I got here. I’m not part—”

“That’s not it,” he cut you off, shaking his head, “Shit that’s not it at all. We all love you. We’re glad you’re here. There’s just…some long stories we haven’t gotten into yet. Personal shit. We just don’t…don’t wanna drag you into it.”

You wanted to believe him, but you weren’t sure. Still, you said, “I’m here for whatever you need, whatever anyone needs.”

He glanced over at you with a soft smile on his face as he turned onto your street, “I know,” less than a minute later he was pulling into your driveway, unable to miss the fact that it was empty, and that the house was dark, “Just you?”

You nodded as you scooped your backpack off the floor, “Yea. Mom and Dad left on a business trip a couple days ago. They’ll be gone for like a week.”

“You’re here alone?” the sympathy was palpable in his voice.

You shot him a reassuring smile as you opened the door of the van, “I’m fine, Eddie. Not my first tour of duty,” you saw him open his mouth to argue so you cut him off with a, “Thanks for the ride,” before swinging the door shut and walking up your driveway.

Eddie watched as you made your way up to the front door, and it wasn’t lost on him that you never looked back at him. Not even a smile or a wave. Letting out a groan, he rested his head against the steering wheel while he tried to figure out what the best thing to do was. He hated that you felt like you were being pushed out, but the things they were dealing with weren’t exactly easy things to fill someone in on. Hell, he wouldn’t have believed most of it if he hadn’t been thrown directly into the middle of it. But you were new, and safe, and had enough of your own shit to be dealing with without piling this onto it.

Peeking through the sliver between the curtains, you could see the van, and Eddie's exasperation. You felt a little bad, and you were almost about to go back out and invite him to stay for a little while when he started reversing the van out of your driveway. You frowned, shaking your head as you started to unpack and settle in for the night.

When you woke up the next morning, you were surprised at how good you felt despite the fact that you were up before your alarm. You sat up, slowly rubbing the sleep from your eyes. The sun was bright on the other side of your curtains, and you felt your stomach start to twist. Looking over at your bedside table, you checked the time on the clock and your eyes immediately popped wide open.

Flinging yourself out of bed, you started to scramble to get ready, “Fuck, fuck,” you yanked a t-shirt and a pair of jeans out of your dresser, “Shit,” you were trying to pull your clothes on while also running down the hall to the bathroom to brush your teeth.

You were stuck looking at yourself in the mirror, and for a moment you thought about the fact that since you were already running so late, it might not be the worst thing to just skip for the day. Huffing out a sigh, you spit toothpaste into the sink and washed it down the drain. You knew that you weren’t going to skip, even though with your parents gone there would be no real consequences to it.

You almost took off out the door without tying your sneakers. You were half a step below running, but only because there was no way that you were going to be able to run all the way to school without keeling over on the side of the road along the way.

Your brain was running at a mile a minute, trying to figure out just how much of school you were going to miss, how much work you were going to have to scramble to try and make up. You were so lost in your thoughts that you almost didn’t realize a very familiar vehicle barreling from the other direction.

Looking up just in time, you saw Eddie skid to a stop right across from you. Both of you were frozen in place, but you eventually willed your legs to move and you went over, climbing in the van. You knew that you didn’t need to wait for an invitation.

The two of you looked at each other for a moment, both of you looking frantic for very different reasons. Eddie had a white-knuckled grip on the steering wheel, and even though you were sitting safely in the passenger seat next to him, you could still see the panic in his eyes.

“Uh,” he tried to force himself to loosen his grip on the wheel, “hey.”

“Hey…”

“You weren’t in English this morning. I got worried.”

“Worried?”

“Yea,” his face seemed paler than normal, “thought something might’ve happened to you.”

Your eyes narrowed slightly, “Like what?”

He pressed his lips into a thin line, realizing that he was dragging himself into territory he wasn’t sure that he was ready to get into with you, “N-nothing. Just, I don’t know, you never miss school.”

“Right.”

The rest of the ride back to the school passed in awkward silence. You hated it—silences with Eddie had never been awkward before. You picked at the rips in your jeans as he drove, and pretended not to notice when he would look over at you. He wanted to skip the whole day, go sit somewhere with you and tell you everything that had been going on, but he couldn’t do that to you. So, keeping you uncomfortably at arm’s length would have to do for now.

He parked at school, but even after he cut the ignition, he didn’t make any move to get out of the van. And, despite how anxious you had been to get to school since you woke up and realized what time it was, you didn’t move either. He drummed his fingers on the steering wheel for a moment before looking over at you. You could tell by his expression that he was trying to figure out what he wanted to say.

“I can drive you home after school,” he offered, still seemingly nervous about whatever he thought had happened to you in the first place.

“You sure?”

He nodded, “Yea, just come by my locker and we can leave after ninth.”

“Okay,” you managed a small smile, “sounds good.”

Despite the fact that you missed a good chunk of the morning, the school day still felt like it dragged on forever. You were going through the motions at best, but you still felt like you weren’t completely present, your mind still scattered from the hectic start to your day.

Sitting down at the lunch table, you looked over at Eddie and then scanned the rest of the table. Everyone was having their own conversations, but you immediately noticed that Dustin and Mike looked exhausted. And, now that things were a little less chaotic, you took a long look at Eddie and saw that he looked more tired than usual as well. He wasn’t exactly known for getting a good night’s sleep, but the tiredness in his face looked different today. You wondered if it had something to do with the fact that he had shown up so worried about you.

Reaching over, you rested your hand on his forearm. He flinched slightly at the contact but neither of you pulled away, “Hey, you good?”

He cleared his throat, plastering on a smile, “Yea, why wouldn’t I be? It’s another beautiful day here at Hawkins High,” his laugh was almost convincing.

“Eddie…”

He took his other hand and placed it over yours for a moment, “I’m good. Really. Promise.”

“Okay,” you weren’t going to argue about it, especially not at the lunch table. But you didn’t miss the quick concerned looks from the two young boys sitting at the table with you.

Eddie didn’t come to the afternoon class that the two of you shared. Him skipping classes wasn’t out of the ordinary per se, but usually when you had them together, he’d show up. It was hard to focus on whatever your teacher was trying to explain when you kept looking at the empty desk beside you.

After ninth period ended, you practically ran to your locker to get your things. You were halfway to Eddie’s locker when you came face to face with him in the hallway. He looked frazzled, and winded. Before he even opened his mouth you already knew that you were going to be walking home on your own.

“I’m sorry,” it was evident in his eyes that he meant it, “I gotta go, though.”

You felt the lump building in the back of your throat but you fought through it, “O-okay. You guys okay?” you could see the younger boys a few strides behind him, waiting for him to wrap up the conversation with you.

“Yea,” he lied, “All good. I, I’m sorry.”

“Eddie,” Mike sounded as impatient as ever, “let’s go!”

You had a sick feeling in your stomach about whatever it was that they were all getting into. Reaching forward, you gave his hand a light, fast squeeze, “Be careful, okay?”

“Yea,” he nodded, already backpedaling towards the other boys, “I’ll, I’ll call you later.”

You nodded, but you weren’t going to count on it.

You had never felt so glued to the walkie-talkie as you were that night. You kept it with you, always trying to keep it within arm’s-reach. You set it on the counter while you cooked dinner, on the table while you ate, on your nightstand while you laid in bed and tried to catch up on reading for your classes. You kept looking over at it, willing it to give you some kind of message from the guys to let you know that everything was alright. You’d settle for being an unwitting third-party to their silly banter and inside jokes that you were certain you’d never understand. That would at least put your mind at ease.

It was getting late, and you had yet to hear anything on the handheld radio on your nightstand. And, despite his promise to call, the phone had hung silently on the wall all night. You tried to keep yourself busy with homework, with reading, but it didn’t do you much good. It didn’t even make you tired, and you would’ve been willing to just sleep the stress away.

You were staring at your ceiling in the dark, far from falling asleep. Dragging your hands down your face, you forced your eyes shut. If you weren’t going to get answers tonight, you just wanted it to be tomorrow already.

“Fuck this,” you huffed, sitting up and climbing out of bed.

Going downstairs, you got yourself a glass of water. You were sipping on it on your way back up, and that’s when you heard the familiar crackling sound of static coming from your room. You nearly let your glass drop to the ground as you ran towards your bedroom.

Dustin’s voice was frantic as he yelled your name into the walkie on his end, “Code red! Are you there? This is a code fucking red!”

You fumbled with the device for a moment but finally held down the button, “I’m here! What, what the hell is going on?”

“You’re home, right?” he ignored your question completely.

“Yea, of course. It’s the middle of the night, Dustin, where else would I be?”

“Not helpful” the panic was plain in his voice, “We need to come by. We need your help.”

“We?”

“Can we come by or not?!”

“Yes!” your heart was racing in your chest, “Yea, just, get here in one piece.”

The line went dead after that. You knew that they weren’t going to keep talking to you, especially since they were all dealing with whatever chaos was happening wherever they were, but you still wished that you had more to go off of.

Clutching the walkie tight in your hand, you raced back downstairs. You threw all the lights on in the house and unlocked the front door. You wished you knew what was going on, if you needed to get anything ready. It sounded chaotic on their end, but you had no idea who was there or what was going on.

You were pacing in the living room when you saw headlights shine through the front window. Running over to the front door, you flung it open and raced outside to meet them in your driveway. Steve hopped out of the driver’s side of Eddie’s van and already you had a terrible feeling about whatever had happened earlier in the night.

Mike hopped out of the passenger seat while Steve opened the back door of the van. He climbed in, resurfacing moments later with Dustin and Eddie—Steve and Dustin were on either side of him keeping him propped up. All of them were covered in sweat and grime and who knows what else. What you couldn’t miss, though, was the red seeping through the stark white of Eddie’s Hellfire Club shirt, or rather, what was left of it. You felt like you were going to be sick but you couldn’t afford that right now.

“Shit, shit, shit,” you wanted to try and help but you didn’t know how. Instead, you just went and held the front door open so that they could get Eddie inside.

You ran to the closet and grabbed an old sheet to lay down on the couch. Steve and Dustin did their best to carefully lay Eddie down on it, but it still wasn’t very graceful. Eddie winced as his back hit the cushion. His arms were covered in scratches, and so were Steve’s arms and neck. The younger boys looked a little worse for wear but not quite as beat up as Steve, and none of them seemed as in of rough of shape as Eddie.

“What the fuck happened?!” your hands were shaking.

“It’s a long story,” Steve ran his hands back through his hair.

“Then get talking, Harrington,” it was the angriest any of them had ever heard you sound.

“I’ll explain later, but we gotta,” he gestured to Eddie, “Can you help with this?”

You scoffed, interlocking your fingers behind your head, “I’m not a fucking doctor, Steve!”

“You said you took first aid!” Mike interjected.

“Eddie needs a fucking hospital!” you argued.

Eddie tried to sit up but wasn’t successful, “No hospital!” he winced, “No hospital. Please. You just, you gotta get the bleeding to stop.”

“Fuck me,” you shook your head, “Alright, alright,” you turned to the boys, “Dustin, I need you to go and fill a bowl with warm water, and grab all the washcloths out of the bathroom. Mike, you go with him and grab the first aid kid from under the sink in there. I’ll grab some spare clothes for Eddie,” you paused, quickly running to the kitchen and grabbing a towel to hand to Steve, “Keep pressure on his cuts with this. Don’t let him move at all if you can help it, alright?”

Everyone went off on their missions. It felt so weird to be going through your dad’s dresser for an old t-shirt for Eddie to wear, but it wasn’t like the man would be able to wear one of yours. You grabbed the plainest one you could find, one that your dad probably wouldn’t notice was missing. You grabbed a pair of sweatpants too, for good measure, even though they’d probably fall right off Eddie’s hips. Your hands were trembling as you kept a tight grip on the fabric. Popping into the bathroom after the boys had already gone back downstairs, you dug around the cabinet to find some extra gauze and bandages, not knowing what you were going to be dealing with.

Dustin and Mike had all of the things they’d grabbed set up on the coffee table. Taking a deep breath, you set the clothes down and tried to figure out the best way to start addressing all the problems at hand.

“Alright, um, first thing, you’re gonna have to lose the shirt, Eddie. Can, can you move if we help you?” you knew that he wasn’t going to want you to cut his Hellfire shirt of all things even if it had already been slashed.

“Yea, yea,” he paused, looking over at Steve, “C’mon, Harrington, don’t make me beg at a time like this.”

Steve rolled his eyes but helped Eddie get upright so you could peel the shirt off over the top of his head. They watched you toss it to the floor and Steve couldn’t help but to say, “I don’t think those stains are gonna come out.”

Eddie laughed and immediately cringed, “Real funny. Thanks for that.”

“I mean,” Dustin shrugged, clearly still freaking out a bit but not able to pass up the opportunity to jump into the conversation, “It’ll be a good look for Hellfire.”

Eddie pointed at him, a weak smile on his face, “He’s got the right idea.”

Everyone fell quiet after that as you started to figure out what you needed to do to keep Eddie in one piece. There was something in the pit of your stomach telling you that he was probably going to need stitches for the gashes across his chest. There was no way that you were qualified to do that, though. You could get them covered and try to stop the bleeding, but without real medical care of some kind they were gonna scar.

It was like Eddie could read your mind because he said, “Doesn’t have to be pretty, you know. I got my face for that.”

“Glad you feel that way, ‘cause this is not gonna be pretty,” you dipped a washcloth into the warm water, “And it is gonna sting.”

“Got any good news for me?” Eddie was trying to play it as cool as possible but you knew he was freaking out. Who wouldn’t be?

“I won’t let you bleed out?” you offered.

Steve cocked an eyebrow, “Can you not phrase it like a question?”

You said it with a little more conviction, gaze not wavering from Eddie as you spoke, “I won’t let you bleed out.”

His weak smile turned into a cringe as you started to wipe at his skin. You were gentle, but it was still pulling and he already felt like he was coming out of his own skin. He tried to hold as still as possible with the hopes of not making it worse. You tried your hardest not to look at his face, not wanting to see him in pain, although looking at the blood and cuts on his chest wasn’t providing you with any sense of reassurance either.

“You know,” you tried to hide your panic behind a joking comment as you wiped the blood off of his chest, “I don’t think this is where your blood is supposed to be.”

He huffed out something between a sigh and a laugh as he tried to ignore the pain he was in, “What’d I say about the goddamn commentary?”

A tiny smile curled the edges of your lips as you thought back to Hellfire nights, “That it needs to either be helpful or funny,” you wiped away some more of the blood so that you would be able to put a bandage down, “Lucky for you, everything I say is hilarious.”

You handed the bowl of now-bloody water off to Dustin, asking him to dump it and fill it with fresh water. He scampered off to do just that as you grabbed the medical alcohol and some cotton balls. Eddie saw the apologetic look on your face before you even started talking and he already knew that it was going to be bad.

“This is the part that’s really gonna sting. Sorry,” you knew it was going to suck, and you tried not to look at Eddie as you dabbed the cotton ball over the gash on his chest.

He sucked in a breath, hand reaching and gripping onto your arm, “Fuck,” he dropped his head back against the arm of the couch, still holding onto you, “You weren’t lying.”

You continued to work while he held onto your arm. It didn’t hurt, not nearly as much as you were hurting him at the moment, anyway. If that was what was going to give him some kind of comfort, you weren’t going to tell him no. Steve was anxiously pacing in the living room while you cleaned Eddie up, both Dustin and Mike standing still as statues hoping for the best.

Eddie was still bleeding, but it had slowed considerably. You got a few bandages out along with some gauze and looked over at Steve, “I’m gonna need you to keep pressure once I put these on, just to make sure that the bleeding stops all the way. It’s not going to be comfortable but…none of this really is…so…”

“Okay, uh, yea,” Steve nodded, “Whatever you need.”

The bandages went on fine, and Steve was a big help. Eddie was wincing and trying not to fidget the whole time, and every time you heard him suck in a breath you couldn’t help but send him an apologetic look. He’d offer a weak smile in return and all you wanted to do was hold him, but there was work to be done.

You were applying the last bandage to his chest when Dustin said, “Is now the right time to tell you his leg got messed up too?”

Your eyes widened, hands stilling for a moment, “What?”

“Uh, yea,” it was evident on the boy’s face that he instantly regretted being the one to speak up, “They took a chunk out of his thigh.”

“They??”

Dustin knew immediately that he had put his foot in his mouth. Steve shook his head as he kept pressure on Eddie’s chest, “We’ll explain later. You think you got enough stuff to take care of his leg?”

“Well looks like I’m gonna have to,” you shook your head, looking up at Eddie, “I can turn these jeans into jorts or you can take them off. Your choice.”

He let out a tired chuckle, “Always knew you were just trying to get me—”

“Which is it, Munson?” you were trying not to give him the win of smiling in the current situation.

He smiled at you, “Jorts have never been my thing,” turning his gaze to Steve, the amusement was still audible in his voice despite the circumstances, “What do you say, Harrington? Wanna get into my pants?”

Steve shook his head as he started to help Eddie shift on the couch, muttering, “I hate you,” quietly while Eddie tried not to laugh too hard and hurt himself. While Eddie was upright, Steve helped him put on your dad’s t-shirt, and you had to admit it was funny to see Eddie in something that you’d also seen your father wear.

“Want me to take my underwear off too?” Eddie asked, mostly joking.

You rolled your eyes, trying not to laugh at Mike and Dustin’s reactions to the statement. Shaking your head, you said, “Pretty sure I can take care of your leg even if you keep your underwear on.”

Eddie chuckled as he collapsed back against the couch again and you let out a sigh of relief at the fact that the cut on his leg was much shallower than the ones on his chest, and there was only one. You tried not to think about the fact that Eddie Munson was lying on your couch in his underwear. If it hadn’t been for the profuse amount of blood there at first, seeing him without a shirt on would’ve been much more of a distraction.

It was a quick process to clean and bandage his leg. The scratch was long but it wasn’t deep so you didn’t need quite as much to make sure it was alright, although Eddie still tensed up when the alcohol hit the wound. There was nothing you could do about that though.

Between you and Steve, you managed to get Eddie into the sweatpants that you’d grabbed for him. And, just like you thought, if he wasn’t holding onto them, they would almost immediately slip right down off of his hips. He had to stay sitting, though, which helped in that regard.

While you cleaned up your kit and threw some of the stuff away, Steve scampered off to the bathroom to wash out some of his cuts and clean off his face. Once he was done Mike and Dustin took turns doing the same, none of them needing the extent of care you’d given Eddie. When you were done, you came back to the living room. All of them were sitting on the couch and chairs, no one saying anything. There was an air of relief in the room now that they knew Eddie was going to be alright. But you didn’t feel much better at all—you still had no idea what was going on.

“Now that no one is bleeding,” you sat down on the edge of the coffee table, facing Eddie and Steve more than the younger two, “Want to tell me what the fuck happened tonight?” you saw the look on Steve’s face as he opened his mouth to talk and you pointed at him, “And if you tell me it’s a long story, I’m gonna beat your ass.”

“It’s just…it’s complicated,” Steve shook his head.

“Try me.”

Eddie was exhausted, half passed out on the couch after everything he’d been through, but he still lifted his head to look over at you. He said your name so softly that you almost missed it. When you looked over at him, he continued, “Know all that weird shit you said you read about Hawkins before you got here?” when you nodded, he continued, “It’s all true.”

You laughed, “What? A fucking government-run lab with demons from another dimension?” you saw the way he nodded and you looked at the other boys, who were all doing the same thing, “You guys are fucking with me.”

“We’re not,” Dustin insisted, “I swear. I know it sounds insane but we were in the Upside Down tonight and Eddie was—”

“The Upside Down?” you asked.

“Alternate Universe Hawkins,” Mike piped in.

Your eyes were wide, trying to figure out if they were really telling you the truth or if they were just making up a ridiculous story because they didn’t want to tell you what actually happened, “Alternate…universe…”

“Yea and it fucking sucks down there,” Eddie huffed, “You think it’s bad in regular Hawkins…”

“Let’s,” you dragged your hands down your face, “Let’s say this is true. What the fuck did that to you in this Upside Down Hawkins?”

“We call them demodogs,” Dustin said. When he saw the look of confusion on your face, he elaborated, “Imagine a vicious alien plant had a baby with a demon dog.”

“Oh,” you shook your head, “That clears it all up. Right. Perfect.”

“I told you, it’s,” Steve shook his head, “It’s a long story.”

The adrenaline of the situation was starting to fade, and you could feel exhaustion settling in. You had a million questions but you weren’t going to be able to stay awake to ask all of them tonight, “Where are you guys gonna sleep tonight? You wanna crash here?”

Steve shook his head, “It’s fine, we can—”

“My parents are still gone. Why don’t you guys crash here. I’ll scrounge up some more clothes for you and I’ll wash what you have now so you don’t have to go home tomorrow looking like you went to war. We got a guest room and my parents’ room. Each bed can sleep two.”

Steve nodded, unable to hide the relief at someone else having a plan besides him, “Thank you.”

You let Eddie rest on the couch while the others got ready for bed. He was already changed anyhow. Mike and Dustin got the guest room and Steve stumbled into your parents’ room immediately after his shower. It wouldn’t surprise you if he was already asleep. You’d thrown all of their clothes in the wash and finally made your way back to the living room to help Eddie upstairs to bed.

“You saved my ass today, you know,” Eddie said as he slowly got himself to sit upright.

You offered a weak, tired smile, “Told you I wouldn’t let you bleed out,” you paused, “You guys are serious? All that stuff you said?”

He nodded slowly, “Uh, yea. Unfortunately. It’s…even more crazy and terrible than it sounds.”

“That’s what you’ve been dealing with lately?” you couldn’t stop the emotion that snuck into your voice.

He heard it, too, and his heart sunk, “Yea. I didn’t want…I didn’t know what to tell you. None of us did.”

“Something would’ve been better than nothing.”

“I know,” he rested his hand on your knee, “I’m sorry.”

“I’ve been sick to my stomach since the end of school today. The look on your face? I just, I had the worst feeling. And then to hear Dustin freaking out and you show up like this,” you gestured to his injuries even though they were covered by clothing, “What the fuck Eddie?”

“I…I got nothing,” he shook his head, “The more I explain it, the more insane it’s going to sound.”

“I’m not gonna grill you now, because I’m exhausted. But we are gonna finish this conversation, alright?”

“Alright.”

“No more lying. No more secrets.”

He drew an X over his chest, a goofy but tired smile on his face, “Cross my heart.”

You carefully helped him up off the couch. His arm was draped around your shoulders, and he leaned against you as the two of you made your way towards the stairs. He was a little steadier now than when he’d shown up, but still wobbly. You figured he might be limping for a little while still. You didn’t even want to think about what the healing process for the gashes on his chest was going to be like.

Stopping outside your parents’ room, you both looked in to see Steve passed out. He was starfished across the entire mattress, and you couldn’t help but to laugh. Shaking your head, you gave Eddie a gentle nudge towards your room, “C’mon. I won’t make you get kicked all night by Steve.”

You did your best to ignore the pounding in your chest as you helped Eddie carefully sit down on the edge of your mattress. He managed to get under the covers just fine, and even though you were silently freaking out in your head over everything that was happening, you managed to keep your outside demeanor fairly calm. Climbing into bed next to him, you made sure that he was alright before reaching over and shutting off the lamp beside your bed.

Both of you were silent for a few minutes before you carefully reached out and slipped your hand into Eddie’s, his fingers instantly interlocking with yours so he could give you a gentle squeeze. Your voice was barely a whisper but it sounded loud against the silence of the room, “I thought I was gonna lose you.”

Even in the darkness, you could make out the way that Eddie turned to look at you, able to see the frown on his face, “What?”

“At first I thought maybe you were just sick of me, you know?” you felt your bottom lip quivering, “Which already sucked. But then tonight I, I thought I was going to lose you. Like, for real. Permanently.”

He squeezed your hand again, “I won’t ever get sick of you,” a hint of amusement tinged his voice, “No one does smartass commentary quite like you.”

You laughed despite the tears stinging at your eyes, “I’m serious, Eddie. You’re like, my favorite person. These past few weeks of limbo really made me come to terms with that. I just, I can’t lose you. I know that sounds dramatic, and cheesy, but I just—”

“Hey,” he shifted a little closer to that your shoulders were touching, “I’m not goin’ anywhere. I’m here, thanks to you, by the way,” he let out a quiet chuckle, “But I’m staying. And, for what it’s worth,” he paused, “you’re my favorite person too.”

You smiled, face feeling hot, “Don’t tell Dustin.”

“He’s gotta find out sometime.”

You chuckled, shaking your head as you rolled on your side to face him, “I’m glad you’re okay.”

“Me too,” he paused, opening and closing his mouth a couple times as he tried to figure out if he wanted to say what he was thinking, “Is…is now a really good or a really bad time to say that I wanna kiss you?”

You laughed, squeezing his hand, “Will it make you feel better?”

He let out a soft laugh as he nodded, “So much better.”

Propping yourself up on your elbow, you leaned over and softly pressed your lips against his. You expected yourself to be nervous, but after everything the two of you had been through over the last couple of hours, this seemed like a much less daunting task. You’d been wanting to hear Eddie say that to you for weeks now—you weren’t going to chicken out now that the opportunity presented itself.

It was soft, slow, almost lazy but still sweet. His hand that wasn’t entwined with yours came up to rest on your shoulder, and you could tell that he wanted to pull you closer but he couldn’t because of the state he was in. You were in no rush to end the kiss, continuing to move your lips softly against his. A hum of approval reverberated deep in his throat and you couldn’t help but to let out a small laugh. Pressing your lips back to his one more time before finally pulling away.

“Are you healed now?” your voice was still a whisper.

“Oh, yea,” he nodded, “All better.”

You chuckled, shaking your head as you laid back down beside him, curling up as close a you could get to him without hurting him. Both of you were listening to the other’s breathing, finally starting to calm down for the first time in so long. You knew that the next few weeks were going to be filled with more questions and insanity, but it felt a little more surmountable now, especially with the way that Eddie’s thumb was tracing back and forth over your knuckles.

Epilogue:

It was weeks later and you and Eddie found yourselves back in your room again. Your parents were off on another trip and you were going to take advantage of it while you could. Things were quiet in Hawkins, for now, but you and Eddie both knew that it wasn’t going to last forever. One round of messiness was over but there were more to come, you were sure of it. But you were both soaking up the chance to rest while you could.

Eddie was sitting on your bed, back against your headboard as he watched you flit around the room putting some of your laundry away. He offered to help but you insisted that you were almost done, so he made himself busy getting comfortable and going through the box of cassettes that were next to your bed.

You heard the sound of plastic cases clicking against each other and looked over once you finished putting your last sweatshirt away. Eddie shook his head at some of the music you had and you couldn’t help but to laugh. It was wild to you, how far the two of you had come in such a short time. Almost bleeding out on your couch proved to be a good catalyst for your relationship, but even so, things were much more comfortable much more quickly than you thought they would be. There was no awkward stage. And now, Eddie was sitting on your bed, going through your things, with just his pajama pants on and no shirt like it was the most natural thing in the world. And it was.

You walked over, flopping onto the bed beside him. He instinctively draped his arm around your shoulders and pulled you in as close as he could. You smiled, nestling into the closeness. You watched him rifle through your tapes for a moment before your attention drifted to the large scars that went across his chest. No one besides you ever really saw them. Your lips dipped into a small frown as you reached and lightly traced your fingers over the raised, slightly discolored skin there. He flinched at first, not expecting it. When he looked down and saw the expression on your face, he gave you a light squeeze.

“What, you don’t think they make me look hot?” he joked.

You rolled your eyes, “I always think you look hot.”

“Then don’t look so sad about it,” he set your box of tapes down and placed his other hand over yours, “You saved my life, you know.”

“It was fucking scary.”

He nodded, “Yea, but now I got these sick-ass scars,” he hugged you tight, “and a cool-ass girl. So, you know, I think it all turned out alright.”

It got you to smile, which was a definite strength of his. Looking up at him, you asked, “You think it was the kiss that did it?”

“For sure,” he responded with no hesitation, laughing as he did. His smile softened, “But give me one more just for good measure.”

Smiling, you pressed your palm flat against his chest so you could lift yourself up, meeting him halfway to press your lips to his. Laughter vibrated in your chest as he pulled you close, right on top of him in a way that he hadn’t been able to the first time he kissed you. His arms draped lazily around your waist as you situated yourself on his lap. His lips were always so soft and gentle against yours.

“Yea,” his voice was quiet when the two of you broke apart, “I think we’re gonna be alright.”

#stranger things #stranger things season 4 #stranger things 4 #stranger things fanfiction #eddie munson #eddie munson fanfiction #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson x you #my writing #fanfiction #drabblesmc

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aronarchy · 8 months

Text

One other thing, I don’t know what you think about this, but a failure on the… whatever we want to call it, but the Left or an anti authoritarian perspective that comes to mind. I’m thinking about this particularly in relation to children. This gets to another point that I want to ask you about: In most left or radical or anti authoritarian spaces, there are still spaces that are segregated adults and children. Usually, there are no children there, maybe in an occasional space, there’ll be some kind of childcare, but children aren’t integrated into it at all. So I feel like in that way, by reproducing the adult and minor hierarchy that we’re limited to in thinking are about the kind of collective care that you call for and Family Abolition.

To tie this historically to what you’re talking about, part of the gay liberation, the historical gay liberation movement of the late ’60s and ’70s, part of what they were calling for or in the idea of family abolition was a liberation, a Youth Liberation too, I wonder if you could talk a little bit about that, where children fit within this idea?

SL: Yeah. Well, Youth Liberation or Children’s Liberation are concepts I feel people have heard of even less than abolition of the family, somehow! Sometimes people have heard of “smash the church, smash the state, smash the family”—those three used to go together in Gay Liberation history. But “children’s liberation,” and the analysis of adult supremacy, those are currently forms of memory cultivated, I think, almost exclusively among anarchists, in North America, at least, as far as I can see. There’s a really great collection that came out from AK Press, by carla bergman, called Trust Kids, which has stories about confronting adult supremacy, in small, voluntarist, small-scale ways, but trying to develop scalable radical democracies intergenerationally.

I do think that, for me, abolition of the family is very much about dehierchalization. I don’t know if I really feel attached to the word “democracy,” but I do feel sure about the need for a truly de-hierarchized space in which we negotiate our need for care. This is also linked to the abolition of work and the productivism of capitalism. Because, under capitalism, elderly people and very young people are positioned, culturally and socially, very much at a disadvantage, because of their relation to the labor market. When capitalism is not yet able to use you for the production of surplus value because you’re too young, or is not anymore able to use you because you’re too old and you’ve been used up, or when you’re never going to be usable because you’ve been classified as disabled (disability can be thought of as a form of inutility, non-usefulness to capital), then you’re being marginalized by capitalism’s ageism and ableism. In that sense, there’s quite a lot of similarity and overlap between Youth Liberation and Disability Liberation. I think some people find that quite startling. They want to hit back and say, “Are you saying that disabled people are like children?” And it’s like: “Do you think that children are not people?”

TFSR: Yeah. Why is that a bad thing?

SL: Yeah. I think the history of experiments in children’s autonomy and equality with adults is quite easily criticized from a Marxist or revolutionary perspective, because they’re so piecemeal. Often it was quite small projects, or, I don’t know, clearly compromised things like fee-paying schools. Things that weren’t necessarily outside of the marketized field of education. For example: There was a school called Summerhill that was quite famous. It was in England. I think it began in the 40’s or even 30’s, I can’t remember. But it became famous in the 60s and ran for a long time. Summerhill was a radical free-school, anti-hierarchical education project. Parents sent children there and paid fees, but while the kids were at Summerhill, there was all this radical pedagogy that was being put in place, with horizontality around decision making and the making of “rules” and agreements, no obligation to go to classes whatsoever. Well, that was the theory. And people spoked holes in it and said, “Well, no, the school master, in a sense, is still a school master. He still pays the taxes on the property.” Lots of people were really keen to poke holes in it from all directions. It was ultimately a private school, right? But it was also an an anti-school. I really found it quite delightful, reading about Summerhill, and reading accounts of some of the big meetings where everyone, young and old, was equal.

It was always asked, “Could the children who came through Summerhill get jobs in the normal world?” And the answer to that was always like, “Yeah, in fact, actually, they were creative individuals who excelled at whatever vocation they decided to study in the end. Because they had only studied what—and when—they wanted to.” Sometimes, apparently, young people would not do classes or schooling for two years at a time before they felt any desire to go to a class, because they were so burned and traumatized from the world of hierarchized schooling they’d left behind. Then one day they would suddenly decide, “No, I do want to learn engineering.” They’re these stories like that. It’s quite inspiring as a tiny little glimpse into what might conceivably be possible in terms of relations between the young and the not-so-young.

With all the caveats I’ve already given, I’m in a way more and more inspired by the youth-led or youth-run collectives and social centers that are talked about in the anthology Trust Kids. Like the Purple Thistle in Vancouver. That social center is the subject of some of carla bergman’s writings. I don’t think it necessarily has the same utopian aspirations that radical pedagogues like A. S. Neill of Summerhill did back in the ’60s and ’70s. But in many ways, it’s more true to its own form, because of its attention to the actual voices and thoughts and writings of actual children, who may or may not actually share the same sorts of Youth or Children’s Liberationist ideas that people like I do!!

You run into these sorts of paradoxes and problems when you try and liberate people—against their will?—at the abstract level of theory. There’s a contribution by carla bergman’s young comrade, or kid, who isn’t really sure about the idea that “children do not belong to anyone.” That is a phrase and a concept that comes up in a poem by Khalil Gibran (“On Children”): “Your children are not your children / They are the sons and the daughters of Life’s longing for itself.” There’s a commentary on that by this teenager. And they aren’t sure it sounds good to them.

The idea that children “don’t belong to anyone but themselves”—and belong to all of us equally as a responsibility—was very popular among Black and so called “Third Worldist liberationists,” or Black and Third World gay and lesbian conferences in the ’70s. There was one caucus that resolved that children must be liberated, not just from the patriarchy, but also from the ownership model of parenthood, full stop. Lesbian parents, for example, would say, “we’re not trying to mimic the proprietary structures of patriarchal parenthood in our own lesbian communities. We want to completely revolutionize the whole concept of parenthood and the private-public distinction all together.”

But then again, you need a model for how children (who have entitlements to very specific forms of care) will be guaranteed this care. There often need to be, especially for the very early years of human life, very stable, very reliable arrangements of care provision. Extremely young people need round-the-clock hands-on care. It’s not at all clear that it has to be the same exact adults delivering this care. Clearly, it can be several. But we have to come up with imaginings for what the model might be.

For that reason, it’s nice to visit speculative fictions, or science fictions, like Marge Piercy’s Woman on the Edge of Time, where there’s a society called Mattapoisett. I think she wrote this in 1976. She was influenced by Shulamith Firestone’s Dialectic of Sex, with its ambivalent openness to the possibility that some forms of technology could help liberate proletarian gestators—pregnant people—from the burden of necessary compulsory pregnancy if they want to be. That’s very much in a post-capitalist scenario, rather than in the present scenario of techno-patriarchal capitalism, which (Firestone is very clear!) is evil. If something like an artificial womb were to be developed in the present, it would be a nightmare, because it would necessarily be for all the wrong reasons. And indeed, ectogenetic technology is being developed right now by people with very strong pro-life commitments and “fetal personhood” commitments.

But anyway, in this speculative fiction [Woman on the Edge of Time], where working-class gestating pregnant people have thought about their needs for gestationally assistive technology, there’s a communal tank with fetuses. After the fetuses are finished gestating in this “mechanical brooder,” as it’s called, the community does the parenting, according to a three tier system. There’s an expert called a “kid binder,” who’s professionally given over to the vocation of looking after kids, because it’s a serious business, it’s a serious art. Then, everybody else is also responsible, all together, for all kids. Then the third level is that every single individual child has three designated parents.

I quite like those concrete proposals, because it gives your mind something to work with. If you know children and can talk to them about what they think about that, I think you can advance a little bit into a less abstract level of Children’s Liberation in 2023.

TFSR: Right. My experience of reading those things is always like, “Oh, my God, that sounds so exciting.” But then, that reaction that you mentioned of like, “Well, I’m not so sure. That’s such a good thing.” That speaks to another desire that could get lost in some of the discussions about wanting to be cared for. And what the distinction is between wanting to be cared for and wanting someone to have power over you. In both of the situations of caring for children or caring for sick or disabled people, that can be transformed into power and control. I mean, that’s what the right wing literally calls it, in terms of parental rights.

But there’s another kind of care, that doesn’t totally destroy your autonomy. I think maybe it’s hard to see that from our perspective now. Right? Maybe even from our desires, because we’re so exhausted of caring for ourselves, that the desire to be cared for might be some kind of totalizing desire, just like an escape, you know?

#repost of someone else’s content #The Final Straw Radio #Sophie Lewis #nuclear family abolition #youth rights #youthlib #youth liberation #children’s rights #adultism #adult supremacy #childism #ageism #leftism #anarchism #queer liberation #ableism #disability justice

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