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wynnyfryd · 6 months

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Trailer Park Steve AU part 3

part 1 | part 2

(tw: guns, accidental death)

Robin’s already in full panic mode by the time Steve pulls up to her place, flinging the passenger door open and throwing herself into the car with so much force that the car bounces on its wheels a little. “Drive!!”

“Jesus Christ, good morning to you, too.”

“Steve!”

Steve starts to drive.

Beside him, Robin flips the visor down to look at her reflection; groans and scrubs her hands down her face in misery at whatever she sees. Steve doesn’t really get it. He thinks she looks beautiful, with her hair gently moving in the breeze from the open window, with her freckles lit up by the early morning sun.

“Ugh,” she says, turning to look at him, “I can’t believe I look like a zombie and you’re gonna make me late to the first day of school.”

“Wow.” Fuckin’ ingrate. And when he was just being so nice to her in his head. “How about a thank you, huh? ‘Thanks for picking me up, Steve. Thanks for bringing my backpack, Steve. Sorry you almost got shanked by your neighbor, Steve.’”

“You what???”

“Doesn’t matter.”

“Um, yes it very much does matter, what the—”

“—I’m just saying, a little gratitude? Wouldn’t hurt you.”

He licks at the corner of his mouth, spritzes wiper fluid to clear the bugs off the windshield. Robin’s eyes are bulging out of her head, but he really doesn’t want to talk about how he still feels the ghost press of steel against his throat, so: “You’re not even right, by the way; I don’t know why you’re complaining.”

“Huh?”

“School started yesterday. I’m making you late for the second day of school.”

“Yesss,” she draws the word out like he’s stupid, rolling her wrist in a hurry up and get it motion, “but everyone knows that syllabus day doesn’t count. The first pep rally is the real first day of school.”

Ah, there it is.

Steve steals another peek at his best friend while they’re on a straightaway, notes the nervous twitch of her hands as she goes back to fussing at her reflection; the way she’s clumping her lashes together with seven coats too many of some drugstore brand mascara. She’s wearing lipstick. “This is about Vick—”

“—Don’t talk about—”

“—It’s about Vickie, isn’t it?”

“Ughhhhh.” Robin folds forward and thunks her head against the dash. “Fine, okay? Fine! Yes! This may have something to do with a distressingly cute fellow marching band member. Are you happy now?”

“Ecstatic.”

“Oooh, big word for you, Steven.” She swats him on the shoulder, face all twisted up in offense. “Stop laughing!”

“Stop hitting me,” he laughs. “I’ll dump your ass out on this highway.”

She gasps and narrows her eyes at him. “You wouldn’t.”

Steve eases his foot onto the brake.

“Okay, okay! Mercy! I’m being an asshole, alright? I’m sorry. I’m just— I’m stressed! Being gay is very stressful.”

The knife incident pops back into his mind. “Yeah,” he mutters, “I imagine it is.”

—

He catches himself slouching down into his seat a bit when they pull up to the school. Has to force himself to sit upright, hears his mother’s tutting in his ear about bad posture and the message it projects to the world.

It’s not that he’s embarrassed to be here; really, he isn’t. He’s just hoping to avoid being spotted by the nuggets now that they go here, too, lest he be accosted for evading his chauffeur duties.

God.

Dustin’s nerd shit is infecting his brain.

Robin grabs her bag out of the back seat, plants a parting peck on Steve’s cheek as she gets out of the car. “See you later?”

“Yeah, I’ll pick you up for work.”

“Love you, dingus.”

And then he’s alone again.

With Robin gone, Steve finds himself driving. Wandering and aimless, like a ghost who doesn’t know he’s gone. It’s not like he has nothing to do — he’s supposed to be out finding a second job, finding a way to support himself and his mom, because he’s the man of the house now. Because his life has turned into one of those shitty, overcomplicated word problems from math class.

If a recently widowed mother works no hours and her minimum-wage son works as many as Family Video will allow, how much mold-riddled dogshit housing can they afford?

Not much.

Inevitably, he finds himself circling the scorched bones of Starcourt, driving tired loops around the barbed wire perimeter. His ghost likes to guide him here; can’t shake the place where he shook off the mortal coil.

He didn’t know it at the time, but Steve Harrington died the day the mall burned down. Embarrassing, to not hear the death knell as his family name went up in smoke.

It was hard to hear much at all that night, between the concussion and the fireworks and the shrieking of a monster being torn apart, but the memory caresses his mind now in cruel whispers: the headrush of victory; the blood and the sweat; the relief that they’d won, they’d done it, it’s over, they won.

Steve tugs at his bad ear ‘til the ringing subsides.

Some fucking grand prize.

The thing is, you can’t go around exploding an eldritch horror without alerting the US government, and the US government can’t go around letting major investors in a hostile commie invasion keep their assets once they find out about their treasonous schemes. It happened fast: the arrest, the bail, the impending trial and the seizure of property. Richard Harrington was once a small town god on an invisible throne, making deals with devils in shadowy boardrooms, and suddenly he was looking at life in a cell.

Maybe it was a blessing he died before his reckoning was due. Maybe it was no accident at all.

The second, and perhaps more important, thing is: stray bullets don’t care about your looming court date.

Dad had a habit of cleaning his guns while he was drunk, nursing a whiskey in one hand while he polished the gleaming barrels with the other. Pointless, really, because the guns were always pristine to begin with. Dick Harrington didn’t hunt. Didn’t shoot. Claimed the pistol was for home defense, that he kept it loaded in case anyone ever tried to hurt his family, but Steve knew the truth.

His dad just liked to flirt with death. Liked to handle pretty, deadly things, stroke his fingers over ruthless metal and feel the rush of power when he walked away unscathed.

He didn’t walk away that night.

Didn’t even face death standing.

Sliced through his femoral artery and rolled right out of his chair.

They found him lying on the ground in a dark, sticky puddle, gasping like a fish as blood spurted from his thigh. Crazy how fast it happened. Steve had been in his room when the shot rang out, and he barely managed to reach the bottom of the stairs before the gurgling noises stopped. Just boom! whizz! bang! and Dick Harrington was gone.

Maybe it’s a good thing, too, that they lost the house.

The image of his mother in the hallway that night — shellshocked in the doorway, one pale hand shaking in front of her open mouth, features wide and wet with waking horror as she stared into the room — was enough to make him never want to step foot in the place again.

So now they live in a rundown piece of shit on the wrong side of town, with hideous burnt orange carpet and wood paneled walls, with cracks in the ceiling and cigarette burns in the walls, some parting gifts from whatever feral hick lived there before them, and it feels like another cruel, cosmic joke. Like the universe is delighting in the Harringtons’ comeuppance; like the blackened beams and brick rubble of Starcourt are all twisting to form one great, mocking mouth; the better to smile and laugh at their misfortune.

You bought your bed, now you have to lie in it.

He didn’t even know that the Harringtons owned Forest Hills until it was the only asset left to their name.

He’s pretty sure his dad bought it more as a joke than a genuine investment. Meant to teach Steve a lesson, like how he used to bring home Waffle House applications whenever Steve got a C on a report card. This is your future if you don’t straighten up, son.

Kill yourself, dad.

Oh, wait.

You already did.

—

part 4

#trailer park steve au #steve harrington #robin buckley #platonic stobin #eddie munson #steddie #steddie fic #my writing #my fic #tw: guns #tw: death

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leggerefiore · 2 months

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Villainous Team Boss's S/o Sneaking a Team Uniform and Wearing It For Them

(being a grunt uniform, the boss's uniform, and their own admin uniform. thanks to @whoisthatcreepoverthere for the original idea!)

cw: fluff,

characters: Maxie, Archie, Lysandre, Guzma, Giovanni, Cyrus

☀️Maxie🌋

🪨 Sneaking one of Team Magma's grunt uniforms is harder than one might expect. Maxie prefers everything to be quite organised, so it would be rare that they have extra uniforms around or that a grunt would misplace theirs. However, as Maxie's partner, you had an advantage somehow in sneaking one. The Magma Leader looks up from his laptop on his desk, ready to scold the grunt who just walked into his quarters without scheduling a meeting beforehand or even buzzing themselves in. He then feels bewildered as to why you were wearing that. Did you join Team Magma? Why had Tabitha and Courtney not alerted him? Why did you not tell him yourself? He then realises you managed to sneak one of the few spare uniforms they had around when you started laughing.

🪨 Maxie feels embarrassed for getting so worked up over what was essentially a prank on him. You are asked to please return the uniform, as they need to keep track of their inventory and whatever else. Before you go off to do it, however, he does admire how nice his team's colours look on you… The maroon compliments you nicely, and the knitted fabric looked strangely… cute on you. He has to snap himself out of it because he feels less like he is ogling his lover and more like he is staring at one of his grunts.

🪨 If you manage to steal his somehow, he will be mildly annoyed. He likely only has three – a spare at home, a spare at the hideout, and the one he usually wears. He cycles through them as needed. Today was an “as needed,” and he had headed home quickly to grab the spare since it was closer than the hideout. He could only stare blankly at you, imitating his poses in front of a mirror in his uniform. There was only an ask for you to please return his clothing. He feels more embarrassed than anything about this – especially if his uniform fits you well.

🪨 Maxie would prefer his partner to join Team Magma, actually. So, in his ideal situation, you would have your own Magma Admin uniform. Naturally, he would have to approve any uniform you would design… Though, whether it be cosplay or an actual uniform, he would feel strangely flustered at seeing how it complimented you. Perfectly attuned to whatever you wanted it to focus on, so long as it kept to the red and knit style of Team Magma. Whether you go for shorts or a knitted dress, he appreciates the aesthetics dearly. He is notably more flustered if it was a cosplay, though, since he wishes you were a member of his team so dearly. Maybe now is a time to convince you…

🌧Archie🌊

💧 Getting an Aqua grunt uniform is too easy, honestly. Distressingly easy. Archie's filtering is mostly done by asking random aquatic facts and whether or not you support water pollution. Granted, not everyone did get approved since Shelly proved herself to almost be the brains of the entire operation. No one really questioned why Archie's partner was grabbing one, either. You just took it, put it on, and no one thought anything of it. Even Archie barely thought on it when you entered his quartets, busy tapping away and speaking with Matt and Shelly about who knows what. He popped a look over at you, about to tell what he thought was a grunt to come back later, before gasping.

💧 Archie instead gave a hearty laugh and a thumbs up before continuing his conversation. The Aqua Leader has no complaints or comments. You want to wear a uniform? Well, he trusts your interests align enough with his own that it will not cause any issues for him or his team. Besides, you look cute in the bandana and stripes. He almost wishes to ask you to wear it more, if anything. You look good no matter what, though.

💧 You likely have to sneak his uniform after he changes into something else (rare), so it is difficult to get the chance. Though, when you do, he finds out pretty quick since he probably wants it back. The sight of you in his wetsuit – whether it be horribly ill-fitting or surprisingly worn well – makes him grin. Though, he likely loses his mind a little if it is too big for you and scoops you up to laugh some more. If it fits, he is impressed by your form, however. He approves again, but he really needs it back.

💧 Like his dear red-headed companion, he would adore for his partner to be in Aqua with him, and it would only make sense for them to be an admin. Even if you are not, you are essentially an unofficial member with how you can come and go throughout the Aqua hideout with ease without question. So, he has given some thought to what you would wear as an admin. Granted, it would just be a themed wetsuit, but he loves the thought. So you were making it a reality? He is overjoyed and cheers on the cosplay while assuming this is your subtle way of asking him to join his team. Get ready for endless compliments and praises.

🔥Lysandre🍷

☕️ Getting your hands on a Flare uniform… Now, that was a difficult thing to do. No one was really eager to give up their 5,000,000 dollar uniform to just anyone. Well, except, maybe their boss's lovely partner, who seemed just so curious as to what one would fit like. Needless to say, you managed to get one of the bright red suits for your own. Wearing it, you almost wanted to say the price tag felt reasonable. Until you remembered why Lysandre even made his group in first place. Encountering Lysandre in the outfit had been difficult, as the average grunt was not at all allowed in his office. His café, however, served as a well enough hub.

☕️ Lysandre barely registered it at first, having been more focused on his many projects and getting a cup of coffee than any lonesome grunt. Something about you made him double-take, though. Upon a second glance, he registered your face almost instantly. The Flare Boss struggled to comprehend why you were in a Flare grunt uniform. There was absolutely no way you joined without him knowing. He then is pleasantly surprised by how well you pull off the suit. The bright red compliments you well and seems to bring out an elegant, almost handsome side that deeply respects. That almost makes him forget to question how you got a suit of your own. You do get interrogated, however.

☕️ He is mildly entertained by the sight of you in one of his suits. Naturally, it was not his only one he owned, but he found your attempt to wear some of his clothing rather adorable. Unless you are somehow both his height or build, the suit fits you improperly. Lysandre does debate having you made an outfit like his own since the thought of you in something properly fitting like his uniform almost seemed to suit you well. You are, however, his beloved lover and will be at his side of the helm in his beautiful world. The least bothered by it outside of Archie.

☕️ As for an admin uniform, assuming you go for the generic admin uniforms rather than one of the scientists, he finds himself intrigued by how long it took you to acquire the items to imitate it. He is an active purveyor of fashion, after all. There is also a minor concern about leaking among his group, but he just assumes you found out due to your connection with him. He enjoys the way it looks on you, truly, but he feels there is a certain lure that is missing and almost wants to design you one of your own. Perhaps… It was time he finally started involving you more actively in Team Flare. You opened a door that you can not close with this one.

🕶Guzma💀

□ Getting a Team Skull grunt uniform is easy. They are almost all DIY anyway, and the ones stashed out in the Po Pokemon Center are already selling some in there. You buying one barely raises any eyebrows, too. Boss's partner wants a uniform? Whatever, fine. Even when you pop into Guzma's room, he barely questions what you are doing. It does not even register with him at first until you try to sit on his lap. Then, he is suddenly aware that you have changed clothes.

□ He honestly feels a bit smug, seeing you in the uniform. The Team Skull cap and necklace look nice on you, and he barely cares to question where you got it. They have spares all around, and, once again, most are DIY made. He gets a chuckle out of it and just decides to roll with it. You were already an unofficial member. Why not let you wear a uniform? Besides, seeing you as an “underling” let his mind drift in some fun directions that it would not go for any other grunt.

□ Now, you stealing his uniform is less fun. Especially when he enters to see you sitting on his throne with his sunglasses over your eyes. He does not even want to know how you sneaked his watch without him noticing. He starts off with a laugh, expecting it to be over quickly, but you instead do a bad imitation of him. Guzma is now feeling annoyed about this. You get away with it until a grunt walks into the room and does not even realise that you have replaced Guzma at first. He is destroyed internally.

□ Team Skull's admin outfits… are not really a thing. It really is just your own flair to the general scheme they use, with a Skull necklace and black and white clothing being the only requirement. Or maybe you can match with Plumeria if you want. Either way, your wearing it intrigues Guzma. You are not an official member, no, but you do have some authority around Po town. He likes it a lot. There is almost an urge to ask you to join completely, but he gets you have your reasons. For now, he will enjoy your styling completely.

🚀Giovanni🐈

🟥 Getting a Rocket grunt uniform…. is likely easier than Giovanni would want it to be. They have spares in their hideouts, so sneaking one is not so hard. What proved a challenge was how unknown you are among the grunts and trying to navigate the den to even get a glance at your busy lovers. Too many questions and demands, or getting an order barked at you by some random higher-up. You felt like you were never going to get to Giovanni. Even trying to enter his office got you some looks from his guards, but they seemed to quickly recognise you. A questioning look was given, but the doors were unlocked.

🟥 Giovanni barely knew what to think at some random grunt, interrupting his busy schedule for an impromptu meeting, but before he could put the fear of whatever deity they believed into them, he felt suspicious Sure, he registered just the uniform at first, but when his eyes glanced at your face, he let out a sigh. Just what were you doing? He decided against questioning it and instead took a second glance at you. You really fit perfectly into the black clothing, and he would admit the bright red “R” almost felt like a claim on you. Suddenly, he will let this slide. His mind has gone elsewhere.

🟥 He barely responds to you wearing one of his suits. Yes, haha, very funny or interesting. You are even trying to get his sinister grin down but are not quite there. Giovanni claps but is mostly unimpressed. He instead recalls a time his son did something similar, and you get the feeling that he is calling your actions childish. He once again does find himself quite smug about the “R” logo, though it is quite a bit smaller on his own attire.

🟥 In a hand-crafted admin uniform, he finds himself more impressed with your talents in arranging such a look rather than you dressing up like a knock-off member. You even chose the correct styling uniforms his elite executives wore. Were you wanting a position in his organisation? He certainly hoped not because you were not getting one. Work and romance were entirely divided things for him. Though, you have given him an idea as you turned to show off the uniform. Maybe he should order you around like he did his underlings and give you a taste of the “boss” side of him.

🌌Cyrus🛰

☄️ It probably would not be that hard for them to get a grunt uniform since they most likely do have a bulk around HQ. Just go in, grab one, put it on, and give Cyrus a heart attack when you pop into his office. Saturn would not approve you as hire, he knows for sure. He wants to know where you got that and also to take it off right now because he does not like the idea of him viewing you like one of his grunts.

☄️ The Galactic Leader does hate how it makes his thoughts swirl, though. You do not look bad in it — no, not at all. It appeals entirely to his tastes. He feels so bothered by this. The last thing he wanted was for you to figure out his group's real intentions since he knows even those among his most trusted seemed to struggle with it. You truly do look good in the grey uniform. If he was not so restrained – no, if he did not lack spirit, he would allow his mind to wander more.

☄️ As for getting his, well, if the cat is already out of the bag, he is probably leaving a uniform at home to change into instead of having to wear a suit out instead. Sneak it out and discover how ill-fitting it is on you (or maybe well fitting it is if you match his height and body type). Cyrus is mildly disappointed and confused as to why you are wearing his uniform. You are not trying to join Team Galactic and usurp him, are you? He asks you to take it off again.

☄️ If you style your own commander costume, he presumably walks into your shared home to see you in it. He blinks a few times in confusion. That is certainly not one of the uniforms commissioned by him or a commander. It resembles the general theme well, but he is distressed by how you got that and why you are wearing it. Are you… pledging your support to his new world? He feels like he is left reeling by all this… You just get to watch Cyrus.exe crash before your eyes as he fails to process all this. In the end, you will be asked where you got the outfit and the explanation of wanting to try out a uniform in the style of his team leaves him bewildered and a little disappointed since he had hoped he could have your support.

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feybeasts · 7 months

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Here's my hot take: don't be a bully.

And here's my hotter take: A lot of you don't realize you're being bullies.

Oh sure, I see the excuses, the justifications. "I'm just riffing" or "they know I'm just goofing". Yeah, sure, and are you courageous enough to ask if the subject of your "riffing" is in on the joke? Would you stop if they asked you to?

It's so goddamned easy, so very easy to slip into it- you think you're just giving someone a bit of heat, just being cute, not really being harmful, but the 'joke' never stops, the 'riff' happens no matter what the reaction is to it. It becomes your canned response, your default state of being towards a person, and sure, you think everyone's on the same page, but all the while, it just gets more cruel, the joke less funny. It doesn't matter what the person thinks anymore- or perhaps you never think to ask, to reflect- and soon that casual cruelty is codified until, eventually, it becomes unbearable.

And I hear the excuses already.

"They should have told me"

"Well if it was a problem, that's on them"

"They need to have thicker skin"

"I know it was a joke, they should too"

It's so easy, isn't it? To deflect like that- now you don't have to self-reflect, confront your actions- no, it's their problem. I've been on both sides of this, I know how readily a person just... brushes off their own behavior. It's almost insidious, really. But I'm asking you- begging you- to stop and think about how you interact with people, with friends, with family, with acquaintances, coworkers, and ask yourself- are they laughing too?

It is distressingly easy to become casually cruel, especially for those of us who have had to become self-protective and quick-witted to protect ourselves. But I want you to know that those tools can easily be turned on others if you're not mindful- and I'm asking you to please, please pay them heed for a moment.

You might just save a life.

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stobinesque · 11 months

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talking could, if we'd just dare (you know that i'll forgive you), pt. 1

@steddie-week day 6: misunderstandings / "You Lookin' at Me Lookin' at You" by Ozzy Osbourne | ~5.5k words | G or T inspired by this post from @inklessletter!

If Eddie was being honest, he’d never actually paid that much attention to Steve Harrington. Sure, it was impossible not to know of him. But for most of his life it had simply been…unimportant, to know about the various goings on of the Class of ‘85’s royal court. Harrington was rich, a bit of a bitch, and kept company with other rich bitches, and so Eddie neatly categorized him with all the other pretty, rich jocks, and went about his day. Life was easier when there was an order to such things. Keep the smalltown, upper-middle class heroes to one side, and the freaks and degenerates to the other, and everyone could live in an uneasy sort of harmony until they walked the stage and left this rathole behind.

Of course, repeating senior year thrice had put a wrench in that plan.

Meanwhile, Dustin Henderson had thrown the whole damn toolbox into the whole not-paying-attention-to-one-Steven-MiddleName-Harrington plan.

And whatever the fuck was going on now had just blown everything out of the water.

(Or into the water, as the case may be—except the freaky parallel hellscape they’d all dove into seemed to be utterly devoid of the substance, so maybe the original metaphor worked just fine.)

So now he had to contend with the fact that Steve Harrington was a) a pretty nice dude to recent victims of smalltown witch-hunts who had just been thrust into what was apparently a years-long government conspiracy involving monsters and mind-controlling wizards, b) a bit of a dork, c) friends with a whole bunch of dorks, most of whom were four or five years younger than him, d) admirably—though perhaps self-destructively—protective of said dorks, e) just as much of a badass as Henderson claimed, and, most distressingly: f) extremely hot while doing so.

The being a protective badass part, not all the other ones.

(The other parts Eddie was retroactively filing under “adorable,” and “cute.”)

The expression Steve got on his face when Eddie lobbed his battle vest at him was also priceless, so at that point Eddie figured, fuck it. What did he have to lose from some harmless flirting? The chances of him making it out the other side of this both alive and un-incarcerated were dwindling by the second, and it’s not like he ran any risk of things going anywhere. (Harrington might be a good dude, and alternate dimensions and monsters and superpowers apparently existed, but Steve Harrington being anything other than a straight man with Traditional American Values™ strained credulity—and the Munson Doctrine—far past any acceptable limit.)

After all, if there was one thing that Eddie had actually learned from D&D, it was that a little bit of flirting and fun could take the sting out of any TPK.

🦇🦇🦇

If Steve was being honest with himself—which he’d been making a concerted effort to try to do since fall of ‘84—he could admit that his…jealousy…of Munson predated Dustin joining Hellfire. His whole climbing-on-cafeteria-tables schtick was kind of obnoxious, sure. But up until he’d wound up flunking his first try at senior year, Eddie'd had this sort of dorky-but-cool aura that Steve wished he was apathetic enough about other people’s opinions to achieve.

For a man who seemed to genuinely believe he was a coward, Eddie Munson was so…loudly and unapologetically himself. In Hawkins, Indiana—a place that quite literally wanted to kill him for how much of a freak he was. And, sure, some of that came down to the whole wanted-for-murder thing. But the man had also spent the better part of the past twelve hours flirting with a former jock—whom Eddie himself admitted to thinking was a douche up until a couple days ago!—so Steve had the sneaking suspicion that there was probably a corner of the town that already had it out for Munson long before Chrissy Cunningham’s body was found in his trailer.

And it wasn’t that Steve wanted to get into metal, or that Dragons game, or start wearing hand-printed t-shirts and attaching his wallet to a chain. He just wished that even after all the years of monsters, and government threats, and Russian torture, he didn’t still feel the need to hold himself to standards set by other people.

If anyone was a coward, it was Steve.

And there was something kind of…nice—reassuring, even—about the fact that Eddie seemed to feel the same way—but in reverse—about him. Like together maybe they could take the bravest parts of the other and make them their own.

And underneath it all, Steve could admit, was the fact that Eddie was…pretty.

So. Steve was having a bit of a crisis

“Robin, I’m having a crisis.”

“We’re all having a crisis, dingus,” she shot back, slapping at his shoulder with the back of her hand.

“No— no, not that.” Steve started emptying one of the bottles of vodka they’d procured into the half-dead grass. “I’m talking about the whole—” Steve waved a hand over towards where Eddie and Dustin were horsing around. “The Eddie thing.”

“Oh, you mean the fact that he’s been blatantly flirting with you since you got eaten by bats?”

Steve rolled his eyes. “Yes, Robin, I’m talking about the blatant flirting.”

“And…why is that causing a crisis?”

Steve fish-mouthed at her. “B-because…” He leaned forward with a finger held aloft, ready to waggle it in her face. He paused. Frowned. “Well, because…” Steve threw up his hands. “I don’t know! A few days ago the man thought I was a douche. Literally just yesterday he was, like, hot-and-cold trying to throw me at Nancy, while also ogling my chest hair, and now he’s calling me ‘big boy’ and trying to get into my personal space? It doesn’t make sense, Robin!”

“Welcome to the club, buddy.” She raised her brows at him pointedly. And, yeah, that was fair, he guessed.

“And,” He started again, “And– I’ve also got Henderson insisting that I win Nancy back—he does seem to have finally dropped the whole are-you-secretly-dating-Robin thing, though, which—”

“Oh, thank god.”

“Yeah. But, on top of that Nancy has also been making eyes at me, but she’s still with Jonathan so I don’t know what to do about that. And it’s all just a mess, Robs! I’m a mess.”

“Yeah, well, that’s been true for ages, Stevie.”

“Thanks, Robin. That’s very helpful.”

“What? I’m just saying, if you’re going to tell me that I’ve got to ‘be myself,’ and put myself out on a limb with Vickie, while you’re out gallivanting with Helen or Jackie or whoever—”

“Heidi—”

“Whatever.” Robin waved her hand dismissively. “My point is: you keep throwing yourself at all of these girls who only know the old you—even if you’re trying to give them the new-and-improved model—and you haven’t even tried to go after a guy, and I think we both know why. And now you’ve hit the jackpot of what every tragic gay teenager in smalltown America can only dream of: you’ve got someone blatantly, and undeniably into you, who you also like back, and you’re telling me that you’re having a crisis? Need I remind you of the tableau we were treated to back at The War Zone?”

Steve sighed. “I know, Robs. You’re right.” Steve jammed a funnel into the neck of the bottle he was working on, and the two of them kept building molotov cocktails in the dying evening light, as Steve tried to reassure Robin that she still had a chance with Vickie—which she did, and Robin took his mind off his own impending disaster. But, if Steve had even a shadow of a chance of getting to hook up with a guy, Robin deserved to have a romance of her own. As much as Robin was afraid to see it, Steve was pretty sure he recognized that conflicted look Vickie’d had in her eyes when she’d spotted Robin in the store. There was something there, he was sure of it.

But maybe Vickie was like him. Maybe she’d only just learned this new thing about herself. Robin—and presumably Eddie—had had at least a couple of years to sit with this knowledge about themselves and come to terms with it. But for Steve (and Vickie?) it was still so scarily and terribly new. With girls, Steve knew how to play the field. He knew what was expected of him—what role he had to fill. But with Eddie a guy, all the rules went out the window; all of his scripts: useless. He’d have to start from scratch, and build something completely different from anything he’d been taught to want or expect before.

Maybe he was getting ahead of himself, though. Because Robin was right: they had more important things—end-of-the-world shaped things—to worry about. His love life could wait. Eddie could wait.

They all just needed to make it out of there alive.

🎸🎸🎸

Eddie survived.

They won.

Eddie survived, and so did everyone else, and they won.

Eddie kept repeating it to himself, because he couldn’t quite believe it.

He couldn’t make heads or tails of the fact that in the end running away was exactly what he needed to do to make sure they all made it out in one piece—more or less.

He’d walked right out of hell with nothing more to show for it than a few scratches up his sides, and a ring of bruises ‘round his neck. In the end, Steve was the only person other than Red who needed a hospital stay of any kind, because what would have been manageable wounds on day one, had become life-threatening after days of infection and improper care.

A future in a state penitentiary also seemed to be out of the cards. There was probably nothing any of them could say or do to convince the general Hawkins populace of his innocence, but Dr. Owens and his ilk had crafted a cover story believable enough to win over Powell and Callahan, at least. More to the point, though: all charges had officially been dropped, and the case was closed.

Now there was just the mortifying process of figuring out how to move on. Or at least forward.

That was the part you didn’t see in movies. No one showed the recovery. Because what was so interesting about watching someone pull their life and body back together? As though healing wasn’t just as much a part of the story as the falling apart.

Eddie wasn't ashamed to admit that it was driving him a bit mad. Because these kids all seemed to be seasoned veterans at it. They hadn't just snapped back to their relatively-easy-going-but-bitchy baselines by any means—Lucas and Dustin especially seemed incredibly subdued in response to the extent of Max's and Steve's injuries, respectively—but they moved around one another with a care and familiarity that spoke to years of experience.

“How did you do this?” Eddie scrubbed a hand through his hair, yanking at the roots. He and Robin were posted by Steve's bedside—he still spent most of his days semi- to unconscious. And while Eddie didn’t necessarily think it made a whole lot of sense for him to be spending more time at Steve’s bedside than the kids did, Robin was only ever dragged away from him kicking and screaming, and as the newest member of the apocalypse posse above the age of twelve, he was in desperate need of her guidance.

“How’d I do what?” Her typically-raspy voice sounded paper thin, and there were deep, dark circles under both eyes.

“I don’t know—!” Eddie flapped a frantic hand around, like he could manifest words and meaning into being. Something about it made the corners of Robin’s mouth twitch up. “Any of it? You–you dealt with a flesh monster, apparently, and you’re just...walking around on two feet, probably ready to graduate—which is more than I could guarantee for myself—”

“Hey, you will—”

“Not the point, Buckley! The point is, up until this new bout of freaky shit popped into existence, you seemed like you were walking around Hawkins without a care in the world. So how’d you do it? What’s your secret?”

Robin scoffed. “If you think I was walking around without being terrified every day, you either weren’t paying attention, or you’re a lot less smart than I gave you credit for, Munson.”

Eddie grimaced. “Sorry, sorry. That’s not what I meant, I just…you seem like you managed to pull yourself back together—whereas I feel seconds away from total collapse.”

“Yeah, that’s not just a you thing.” Robin twisted one of her rings around her finger. “But you wanna know what kept me upright? It was Steve. I don’t think I would have made it through the last eight months without him. And I know he’s gonna be alright, but I am still terrified that something will happen and he’ll get ripped away from me.”

Eddie frowned. He didn’t think he’d been picking up on those kinds of vibes between Harrington and Buckley, but the way she spoke about him… “Are the two of you, like, a thing?”

Robin barked out a laugh. “No! Not at all. I mean, he is the most important person in my life, and I would both kill and die for him. But, like, in a normal, platonic way.”

“...I’ll take you at your word for the ‘platonic’ part, but there is absolutely nothing normal about what you just said. You two are freaky for each other.”

Robin giggle-snorted, and it scrunched her nose up in a way that filled Eddie with warmth. Despite everything about his…everything, he’d never been short on friends—but it always felt nice to find another one. “Yeah, yeah I guess we are.”

“Mmm…Bobbie? ‘Zat you?” The beeping of Steve’s heart monitor picked up a little speed, and the man in question’s eyelids fluttered open. Robin immediately unraveled from the folded-up position she’d adopted in the hospital chair, and reached out to take his hand into her own.

“Yeah, Stevie, it’s me.”

Steve squeezed her hand, before his eyes started scanning the room—going wide when they landed on Eddie. “Oh. Eddie.” A light pink flush broke over his face, and he averted his gaze almost as quickly as he met Eddie’s. That kept happening whenever Steve woke up, and Eddie didn’t know what to make of it, but it always left him off-kilter in a way he didn’t want or know how to put a name to. He always took it as his cue to leave.

“Well,” he started, with forced cheer, and a shit-eating grin. He pushed himself up from the chair and dusted off his knees. “I’m gonna leave you two lovebirds to catch up,”

“Not lovebirds—” Steve slurred, at the same time Robin exclaimed, “Ew, Munson!”

Eddie just cackled and sauntered off with a jaunty salute.

🦇🦇🦇

Steve felt like he was losing his mind.

He'd been out of the hospital for a few weeks now, but he almost wished he was back there, because every waking second was just a never ending parade of pain and confusion.

Fuck, why did almost dying always hurt so much?

The upside of being awake and ambulatory, was that Eddie had finally stopped running out of the room whenever Steve was awake for longer than two seconds. The down side—which was unfortunately directly connected to the aforementioned upside—was that Eddie was being weird.

And, okay, Steve had an admittedly shallow pool of evidence from which to draw his comparisons from. But the fact remained that Eddie’s behavior towards him pre- and post-Vecna-slaying were worlds’ apart. And he didn’t know how to fix it. He’d tried everything: playing coy, bringing him small gifts, finding excuses to talk to him one-on-one when the rest of the group was gathered together. But none of it seemed to work.

What Steve wanted was to just be able to rock up to the trailer with a bouquet of flowers and ask him out to a night at Enzo’s. But even without the whole recently-wanted-for-murder thing, the two of them going out on what was obviously a date in Hawkins was not only a bad idea, but actively dangerous. And without his typical romance rituals to fall back on, Steve was at a loss as to how to proceed, when the object of his affection was acting so damnably fickle.

“I just don’t get it, Rob. One minute he’s calling me ‘big boy’ and getting all up close and personal, and the next he’s looking like I killed his cat!”

“You have got to stop using other people’s trauma as analogies for your love life, babe.”

Steve waved a hand. “Mrs. Henderson’s not here.”

Robin threw up her hands. “And that makes it okay?”

“Uh, yeah.”

“Fine, whatever.” Robin ruffled her hair in frustration. “Maybe he’s just nervous!”

“Nervous! Why would he be nervous?”

“I don’t know, Steve. Why are you nervous?”

“Because I like him, and I don’t want to get hurt again!” Steve shouted, startling himself by the force with which the words came tumbling out.

“Oh.”

“Yeah.” Steve sighed. “I mean, it’s not just that, though, it’s…” Steve waved a hand into the open air between them. “I don’t know how to do this, you know? If this was a girl, I’d be thinking ‘oh, she’s playing hard to get—’”

“I can’t believe that’s a real thing people do,” Robin deadpanned.

“I mean, sometimes it really is just that they don’t like you—except that then they don’t keep trying to, like, hang out and joke with you—which Eddie does, he’s just hopelessly awkward about it.”

“Steve. Eddie is a hopelessly awkward person. It’s like a defining character trait.”

“Well he wasn’t with me.” Steve wiped a hand over his face and groaned. “I’m just nervous I misread the whole thing, you know? And if I did, and I ask him the wrong thing in the wrong way…what if he doesn’t want to see me again? Like, at all?”

Robin reached out and took his hand. “I hate that you have to know what that feels like,” she said, soft and careful. “But even in the wild event that Eddie is either a: entirely straight, or b: just not into you, I don’t think there’s any version of him that wouldn’t want to talk to you at all. So you should ask him out.”

“Okay, Rob,” Steve sighed. “Only on one condition, though.”

“Oh, no. Ohhhh, no you don’t—”

“You’ve gotta ask out Vickie,” Steve finished, holding out his hand with a smirk.

“Uggggh, fine. Deal.”

🎸🎸🎸

Steve was acting weird.

He’d been acting weird since getting discharged from the hospital—acting all shy and blushy one second, and then turning around and bringing him a new set of dice the next—but it’d really been cranked up to eleven for the past week.

And, look, Eddie knew he was new to the monsters-are-real crew. He knew that in order to make space for him they had to alter whatever their established dynamics were to fit him into them. But that didn’t account for the fact that all of a sudden Steve seemed to be completely unable to string two sentences together in front of him.

Maybe the two of them weren’t quite friends yet, but he missed the ease with which they’d been able to talk and be honest with each other only a couple of weeks ago. Hell, they’d had more chemistry together down in the Upside Down.

Oh.

Oh, fuck.

Maybe that had been the problem all along. Maybe Steve had finally clocked his doomsday-flirting for what it was, and was trying to establish boundaries. Eddie thought he’d pulled back since they'd all crawled out of hell—broken, but alive. As soon as the danger was clear there was no reason to play the bit anymore, right? It’s not like his flirtation attempts had ever been more than a way to liven up what had been an unmitigated shitstain of an experience. Sure, Harrington was pretty, and nice—and there was clearly more to him than met the eye. Eddie had really enjoyed getting to know him over the course of the past few weeks. He wouldn’t mind getting to know him better, if he was being honest. But it looked like the door was closing on that chance if he didn’t straighten things out.

“Hey, Harrington?”

“I thought I told you to call me Steve, Munson.”

Eddie smiled his ‘malicious compliance’ smile and clasped his hands behind his back, rocking onto his heels as he said. “Alright: Steeeve.”

Steve rolled his eyes, but there was a little smile on his face that belied the general bitchiness of the rest of his demeanor. “What do you want, Eddie?”

Eddie spread his hands out in front of him like he was unfurling a map into the air between them. “Just figured I ought to clear the air.”

Steve frowned. “What are you talking about?”

“You know—the whole reason you’ve been all weird around me lately? I figured it’d be best if I put all of my cards on the table.”

The frown dropped off of Steve’s face—replaced by an expression that Eddie couldn’t decipher. It wasn’t…bad? There was no apprehension to be found there. Steve looked almost expectant. Hopeful, maybe. Which didn’t make a whole lot of sense—but Harrington didn’t make a whole lot of sense, so maybe Eddie was just misreading whatever he was seeing there.

“You know it was all just in good fun, right? That it didn’t mean anything?”

The frown returned. “What are you talking about?”

“Back in the Upside Down. You know I was just messing with you, right, man? Just a bit of good ol’ fashioned I’m-about-to-die flirting, you know? Nothing to get all worked up about.” Eddie kept a wide smile fixed in place, tried to really lean into the whole ‘non-threatening gay guy’ vibe—an uphill battle for him, specifically on one of his best days. He’d do jazz hands if it’d help sell the performance any better. But each word out of his mouth felt more like a lie than the one before.

A thin fissure appeared on Steve’s face—a crack that Eddie could almost see through, but not enough to be able to make any sense of what was on the other side. “Oh,” Steve said. His voice was shaking and Eddie couldn’t figure out why. It set off alarms in the part of his brain that was always primed to run at the first sign of danger. “So you’re…not gay?”

Eddie frowned in confusion. Of all the ways he thought Steve might react, that was not one of them. So Eddie forced a laugh, trying to disarm the question. “Oh no, I am a flaming homosexual. I just want to make sure you know that doesn’t mean I’m interested in you.”

The frown slid off of Steve’s face, and the fissure smoothed itself away like it’d never been there. The Steve standing before him was blank-faced as a statue, and it made Eddie want to puke. In all his worrying about Steve being uncomfortable with the idea that Eddie was hitting on him, specifically, he’d entirely forgotten to be worried about Steve being straight up homophobic. At least he wasn’t throwing punches. That was something, right? But Steve was looking at him with such a totalizing coldness behind his eyes that Eddie felt like he’d been left out to sea.

Steve gave a stiff nod. “Right, of course not,” he said, but the words came out wooden. He threw a thumb over one shoulder and twisted on his heel, back toward the beemer. “I’ll just…I gotta go.”

And then Harrington turned his back to him, and walked away.

Eddie didn’t have a crush on Steve.

So why did it hurt so much to watch him leave?

⛵⛵⛵

Robin sped down the stairs when she heard the banging at the door. There weren’t many people who would bother turning up on her doorstep unannounced. Even fewer who would make such a concerted effort to try to knock it down with the force of their pounding fists.

She swung the door open to find a tear-stained Steve standing before her.

“What happened?” She gasped out. Was it back? It couldn’t be back. El and Will had both sworn on pain of death that it was over. Maybe there was a new horror in town? Maybe Nancy had gone missing? Or Dustin? One of the other kids? Maybe Eddie?

Steve cut off the racing of her thoughts with a sobbing gasp. “Nothing, Robs.” Somehow, he looked worse than he had after the Russians. His head was hung low, and Robin could swear there was a shadow of phantom-bruising around his eyes. Like he’d been emotionally decked in the face. He took a step forward to come inside at the same moment that she took him by the wrist and yanked him across the threshold.

“What do you need?”

“Bathroom,” was all he said. And then Steve swapped his-wrist-in-hers for her-wrist-in-his and he pulled her further into her own house, toward the second-floor bathroom. When they reached it, Robin plopped down on the floor with her back against the tub while Steve took up his position with his back pressed up against the toilet bowl.

“What happened?” She whispered.

Steve was silent for a long stretch of time. He turned his head to the side, as though he was trying to look out of the small frosted window high up on the wall beside him. “He doesn’t want me.”

“Who? What? What are you talking about, Steve?”

Steve turned back to face her. “Eddie. He doesn’t want me.” Steve no longer sounded sad—he sounded vacant.

Robin’s nose scrunched up like she’d smelled something wrong, because that didn’t make sense. Robin might not be good at clocking other gay people—she wasn’t that good at reading people, period—but it’s not like Eddie’s flirting with Steve had been subtle. And even beyond that, he was always looking at Steve while he was asleep in the hospital bed, in a way that Robin thought meant something… There was just no way that Eddie didn’t have at least a little bit of a crush on Steve, right? So what had he said to make Steve so certain about that he didn’t? “How d’you know that?”

Steve laughed, half-hysterical, as he tipped his head back onto the lid of the toilet. “He said it didn’t mean anything—the flirting.” Steve wiped a hand clear across the length of his face—chin to forehead—before digging his fingers into his hair. He laughed again. Or—it was more a puff of air, than anything else. And there was definitely no humor behind it. Just a bitter kind of resignation. “And then—he said—he told me he was gay, but that he just wanted me to know that it doesn’t mean he’s interested in me.” Steve covered his face with both hands and let out a broken sob. “God, he and Nance should compare notes.”

Robin could feel the lines carving an angry space between her eyebrows, and a fire in her heart. How dare he? Maybe Robin had misread Eddie's whole vibe toward Steve—but how dare he just trample all over and discard his heart like that? It didn’t make sense—but it was happening, and she had to fix it, because no one was allowed to break her other half.

“Hey Stevie?” She asked, trying to keep her tone light.

“Yeah?”

“Where do you keep your little nail bat nowadays?”

🎸🎸🎸

Let it not be said that Eddie Munson didn’t know how to pull off a top-tier wallow. Ozzy’s pleading vocals were pouring out the speakers, while Eddie was laid star-fished out on the mattress, staring at the ceiling like it might give him answers, and torturing himself with the memory of Steve Harrington biting into the tail of a hell-bat.

Is it me or is it you?

Things are so much different now

But nothing lasts forever

He really should have known that whatever kind of rapport he and Harrington had going was too good to be true. Once a rich dickhead jock, always a rich dickhead jock, right? He almost felt bad thinking that. But what else was he supposed to think? The second Steve Harrinton had found out he was gay he’d turned his back on him. That was pretty cut and dry.

A loud banging at the trailer door cut through his thoughts and over the sound of Ozzy singing looks and glances can't repair, talking could if we'd just dare.

Eddie had half a mind to just ignore it, but there were even odds that it was one of the UD Crew as it was a member of Hawkins’ resident angry mob. So Eddie peeled himself off the bed, leaving Ozzy blaring behind him, and yanked open the door. “What—?” He started, but came up short when he registered an absolutely livid Robin Buckley staring back at him.

Eddie hadn’t thought to take into consideration the idea that the person at the door might be a UD Crew member taking up the role of angry mob members. But Robin Buckley was standing on his stoop looking half-ready to commit a murder. The second the door was open, she shoved past him and into the trailer.

“What the fuck is wrong with you, Munson?”

“Wh-what are you talking about, Buckley?” Covering his face with a piece of hair wasn’t enough—he wanted to melt into the floor. Had Steve really sent Robin to beat him up for being gay? That was some next level gymnastics in avoiding making physical contact with another man so that you don't seem gay.

Robin yanked at her hair and started pacing around the common area, glaring daggers into the floor (but thankfully not at him). “What am I talking about, he asks! You really are a medical grade idiot, aren’t you?”

“I—”

“No, shut up, I don’t want to hear it.” Robin abruptly swung around on her heel to rush at him and jab a finger into his chest. “You broke Steve’s heart. And I don’t care if you were never into him—because I know that you can’t help who you like, or love—but you had no right to be so fucking cruel about it!”

A penny dropped.

“Robin. What are you talking about?”

Steve was heartbroken? That didn’t make any sense. He should have been relieved, he should have—

Robin laughed, hysterical, and threw her hands into the air. “I am talking about the fact that you told my best friend who has been pining over you for fucking weeks that all of the very obvious flirting you’ve been doing ‘didn’t mean anything,’ and that you just had to let him know that you weren’t interested in him specifically.” Robin paused to take a deep breath and kept barreling on. “And I get not wanting to lead someone on, Eddie—but even I know that was the least tactful way you could have gone about letting him down.”

Eddie shook his head, backing up toward the nearest wall like a cornered animal, because what Robin was saying didn’t make any sense. “I— I don’t—I mean, I do like him. I thought he didn’t like me! I thought he was straight!”

That brought Robin up short. Her shoulders remained set into a tense line, and her brow was still furrowed in distrust, but some of the unrelenting ire slipped away. “You didn’t—? Did he not—? What the fuck, Stevie!” The last part Robin muttered under her breath.

“Did he not, what, Buckley?”

“He didn’t ask you out?”

“No. What? Was he planning to?”

“Yes, numb nuts! Steve’s been trying to ask you out for weeks! I mean I guess mostly this past week—but that’s because before then he’d just been trying to beam the knowledge directly into your head through your thick skull.”

“Oh, shit.” Eddie’s heart dropped into his stomach as the full ramifications of what he’d said caught up to him.

“Yeah, ‘oh, shit,’ Munson.”

“Buckley—” Eddie rushed over to clap both of his hands onto Robin’s shoulders. “Robin. I’ve gotta fix this.”

Robin rolled her eyes. They were still creased at the corners, but the rest of her seemed to have softened a bit. “Yeah, you do,” she said—all low and serious. “You’re gonna have to fucking grovel.”

Eddie nodded. “Can you help me?”

Robin narrowed her eyes at him. “Yes.” She crossed her arms over her chest. “But let me make one thing fucking clear, Munson: I am doing this for Steve, not you, capiche? You put one toe out of line and I’ll go to the Wheeler house and grab one of Nancy’s guns.”

Eddie held up his hands in placating surrender. “Message received, loud and clear.”

Robin nodded, satisfied.

Eddie grinned back. “Let’s go get my man.”

there is now a part two!

#stranger things #stranger things fanfiction #steddie #steddie week #steddieweek2023 #steve harrington #eddie munson #(albeit a couple hours past mignight my time but that's just been my pattern thus far)#I don't want to put a steddie fic in the robin or st/bin tags but please know that robin is central to all things in steve's life #including this fic #for everyone who wanted a part two: it now exists #read writes

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onbearfeet · 2 months

Text

Kat watches Moon Knight

Okay, so with the encouragement of several people on here and the emotional support of my roommate, I have finally (in February 2024) started watching Moon Knight, a show whose basic concept scares the shit out of me.

Context: I had an adopted older brother with DID. Note that I said "had". That's past tense because life treated him so appallingly poorly that he died (horribly, in prison) when I was 19. Part of that abuse was enabled by pop-culture depictions of DID in the 1980s and 90s that convinced everyone who knew about his condition (including the court system) that he was a walking time bomb.

One of my earliest memories is of my brother as a young adult, playing Super Mario Bros with my toddler self. Another is of him patiently teaching me how to make friends with a large dog. I never met any of his alters, afaik; I was small and cute and safe for him to be himself with, so he probably didn't need them around me. He was a profoundly gentle man when he was allowed, and it hurt like hell to see him turned into a monster in movies and on TV. I've turned off a lot of "psychological thrillers" in sorrow and disgust.

Ironically, I loved Moon Knight comics as a kid in the 90s, BEFORE he was retconned to have DID circa the mid-2000s. Because those comics came out right after my brother died in 2002 and leaned HARD into making people with DID seem like violently unstable monsters (for reference, see the cover of Moon Knight: God and Country), I stopped reading them around 2008, when I couldn't take being poked in the trauma by a comfort character anymore.

But I do love Werewolf By Night, and there's been a lot of good fic mashing Jack up with Moon Knight without dehumanizing anyone, and several people have encouraged me to try the show. So this post will be a place for my thoughts as I try to work my way through with my Essential Editions in one hand and my memories of my brother in the other. I'll add to it as I watch.

If this entertains the Moon Knight fandom or provides useful fic reference, so be it. Just don't be jerks on my post.

Also, anyone who chooses to be shitty about my brother will be eaten by bears. I don't make the rules.

Episode 1

Okay, we open with Steven as our POV character, and he's...convinced he's a sleepwalker. All right, not terrible. Steven is now a bumbling nerd, which is probably an improvement; good luck making a billionaire playboy sympathetic in the 2020s. Jake would be the logical everyman POV from the comics, but I understand from fic that he's got a different role now. I'm confused about the accent, but it's only episode 1, and Steven clearly doesn't yet know who Khonshu is, or that Marc exists, so obviously there's a ways to go here. (Is Marc ... undercover inside Steven? Ugh, this is a trope I have seen and do not like.)

Did Marc kill Steven's fish? Did Khonshu kill Steven's fish? I'm baffled by the fish. Which is a nice break from the larger anxiety. I'm gonna try to worry more about the fish.

The bits with Steven losing time and finding himself in odd situations were distressingly close to the old tropes, but both of those happened to my brother, so I'm not going to bitch about them quite yet. I want to be as fair as I can.

Oh, hey, I recognize Harrow from the comics. What up, dude. How's the cult biz treating you?

The end of the episode, with the jackal thing chasing Steven into the bathroom, came RIGHT up to the line for me. I realized that what I was most afraid of was that the story would assign "good" and "bad" labels to the alters--make Steven the sweet, innocent one and Marc (or maybe Jake, I guess) the monstrous killer. The early flashes of Steven covered in blood didn't really help allay that anxiety. And now Marc is demanding that Steven let him have control in a pretty threatening manner. But so far, it seems like the contrast between Marc and Steven is one of competence--Marc is better at fighting and Steven is better at ... panicking? Unclear. At least Oscar Isaac is playing the protagonist, so his character(s) might remain sympathetic. Nobody has been monsterized quite yet.

I finished the episode with every muscle in my body locked up, waiting for the emotional punch in the face. But I did finish it, and I think I'm gonna try episode two.

#kat watches moon knight #moon knight #marc spector #steven grant #i guess I'm processing trauma again #hello trauma my old friend

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ikeromantic · 3 months

Note

You're cat is so cute 😍

Could I request something with Gilbert and your room and hot cocoa?

Thank you and Happy New Year.

Awww thank you! I won't tell her though - she already thinks she's a princess! Here's approx 1300 words of a warm and sweet Gilbert. IkePri New Years Event story!

Emma stumbled down the palace corridor, silently cursing herself for being an idiot. She should have paid attention to how much she drank, to how often the servants topped her glass off. Her head was pounding and the floor kept twisting and turning beneath her feet.

Was this the hall her room was on? The doors all looked distressingly familiar.

She paused and leaned against the wall. At least no one could see her, she thought. It would be so embarrassing to -

“Little rabbit.”

Emma spun around and nearly fell. Only Gilbert’s gloved hand on her arm kept her upright. “Where d-did you come from?” She would have pulled away from his grip but the prospect of falling over in front of him kept her still. Well, kept her merely swaying anyway, she admitted to herself.

“Most recently?” He smiled, his eye gleaming with a certain mischief. “The party, of course.”

“Right.” She tried to give him a polite smile but the expression felt off, as if her face hadn’t quite remembered how to do that.

Gilbert laughed and shook his head. “Ah, little rabbit. You’ve made yourself easy prey tonight. How much did you drink?”

Emma shrugged. She wasn’t sure. How much did one glass count for if it was topped off every time you took a sip? “O-one glass.” She pulled herself up straight, and for a heartbeat, managed to hold it. Then the world tilted and spun again, sending her stumbling against the Obsidian prince.

“Must have been a very big glass,” he murmured. He loosed her forearm, and then slid his arm gently around her back, holding her up at the midsection.

In this position, her face rested comfortably against his chest, her hip to his thigh. Emma felt as if she fit to his side quite nicely. And he was warm. She felt a sudden urge to snuggle into him. The impossibility of this moment, the Belle in the embrace of The Conquering Beast, made her pause. A breathy laugh escaped her as she tried to remind herself who she was, where she was, and how dangerous the situation could be.

Gilbert sighed. “Come along, little rabbit. Let’s get you in bed.” He wore a bemused smile as he guided her slowly forward, his cane tapping along the marble floor with each step forward.

“I don’t - you - you shouldn’t - Prince Gi-gil. Bert. Gil. Bert.” Emma giggled. “It’s like you have two names.” Emma tried to rally herself, but the wine was doing its work. Her head felt full of sand, heavy and hard to move through. Her thoughts were sluggish, and spun off into strange territories.

“Do I?” He arched an eyebrow. His cane stopped its tapping as they came to a familiar door.

She nodded. “I - I like them though. A-and you.” Emma smiled up at him, feeling an odd ache in her chest.

Gilbert’s expression softened, a half-smile turned up one corner of his mouth. He studied her for a moment, as if gauging her words. “I -” He stopped and took a breath. A heaviness seemed to settle in his shoulders as he opened the door rather than replying.

Emma felt she ought to say something to comfort him. She didn’t understand the sudden change in his demeanor. But her eyes swung to the sitting room of her chambers and she felt an embarrassed heat creep into her cheeks, replacing other concerns in a heartbeat. “You should . . . probably go. C-can’t. Have you. I-in my bedroom.”

“It’s a little too late for that, little rabbit.” He guided her in, though she tried to pull away from the support he offered. Tried and failed, as her legs didn’t seem to understand what she wanted from them.

Gilbert settled her on the edge of the bed and took a step back. He’d regained himself in the moments between the door and the bed, his usual grin back in place.

Emma reached down to take her shoes off and nearly fell forward onto the floor.

The prince caught her, his cane clattering to the floor. His knees hit the carpet beside her bed with a dull thud, his hands bracing her shoulders. “Sit back, Emma.” His tone was gentle, low and warm like a summer sunset.

She didn’t argue. Her head was spinning and she could feel his hair tickle her cheek and his hands were so warm and - Emma shifted back to a sitting position and put a firm lock on her straying thoughts. There was no reason to think about how soft his lips looked, or to wonder what his kisses might taste like. He was a scary beast! Not a - not a handsome prince, even if he looked like one.

Gilbert’s hand caressed her from shoulders down her arms and for a moment, his hands laid atop hers on her lap. His thumb stroked the back of her hand before he let go, and bent down to unstrap her shoes.

It felt so strange, she thought, to have someone take your shoes off. Nevermind that the one doing it was the first prince of an enemy nation. A dangerous man she ought to fear. But she didn’t. Gilbert could be terrifying when he wanted to be. His ability to move from placidity to sudden violence was scary, as was the depth and breadth of his knowledge.

Despite that, there was a kindness in him. A gentleness, belied by his usual demeanor. There was more to him, she thought, hidden behind a veil of mystery. She wanted to know him, she realized. To understand him. Emma reached forward, brushing his hair lightly with her fingertips.

Gilbert’s crimson gaze froze her with her hand still extended. “What are you doing?”

“N-nothing?” Her fingers curled and she began to pull her arm back.

“Do it again.” His eye pinned her in place, a butterfly to a board.

Emma’s hand opened, her fingers extended. Trembling, she lightly touched his hair. It was silky soft, thick, with a slight curl that sent it in all directions. She slid her fingers through it, smoothing it down and back, enjoying the feel of it against her palm.

Gilbert’s eye narrowed with pleasure, then closed. He leaned his head against her knee, his breath shallow, pulse racing.

She could feel his warm breath against her thigh, his cheek lying on the soft inner part of her knee. The position felt vulnerable, intimate, a trust they exchanged to share this moment. Emma wasn’t sure how long it lasted. Forever and not nearly long enough.

He sat up, blinking. He still had one of her shoes in hand, and he set it down as he straightened. His eye flicked toward the door and then back to her. “You’re dangerous for me, little rabbit.” His smile took any sting from the words.

“Me? D-dang-dangerous?” Emma couldn’t encompass how ridiculous that idea was to her. She wasn’t dangerous at all, but her mouth wouldn’t cooperate with her mind to explain that. All she could manage was a snort of disbelief.

“Indeed.” He smiled down at her as he stood. “Are you comfortable?”

Emma considered the question for a moment, then nodded. She felt warm and relaxed, her body abuzz with the alcohol and Gilbert’s touches.

“Good.” Gilbert tugged her sheets down, and plumped her pillow. “Lay back for me.”

The request sent little alarm bells shivering through Emma’s body, but she was slow to heed them. By the time she realized how inappropriate this was, she was already on her back and the prince was lifting her legs to tuck her beneath the soft sheets. “W-what?”

“Close your eyes, little rabbit.” He brushed the hair back from her face. “Yes, just like that.”

She felt her eyes drift shut, heavy lids giving in to gravity. Something warm and satin-soft brushed the skin of her forehead. A heartbeat, and it was gone, ephemeral as a dream.

“Sleep well.” Gilbert’s voice sounded close.

“W-will I see you? Tomorrow?” She reached for him and felt his hand catch hers.

He laughed, a low, sweet sound. “Tomorrow will tell.” With one last, gentle squeeze, he let go of her hand.

#ikemen prince #ikepri #ikepri Gilbert #gilbert von obsidian #fanfiction #fanfic #otome #otome guys #fluff

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tossawary · 11 months

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Hope you’re doing well! Ive been following your an ding lbh au since it started and I loved the ending SO MUCH! Now I like to believe sy transmigrates only just in time to fall victim to sqh‘s empty nest syndrome.

Hi! Thank you! I'm doing well, though I'm also trying not to fall asleep on the couch while chilling. Again. I hope that you're doing well as well. (SPOILERS for "Stepping Up"!)

I considered bringing Shen Yuan in at the end, honestly, and my strongest idea was having him transmigrate in as Gongyi Xiao or something for a Meet Cute or Meet Ugly with Luo Binghe at the Immortal Alliance Conference. Because I thought it would be really funny for Shen Yuan (who had, at that point, probably been suffering years of his own difficulties in whichever role he'd been given) to be anticipating an abused and neglected disciple of Qing Jing Peak, making all his plans based around The Plot, only to get Head An Ding Disciple Luo Binghe who is shamelessly Shizun's Favorite and an author who has utterly abandoned all original outlines.

But I didn't feel like writing that when I still felt pretty uncertain about the idea. I'm interested in writing about Gongyi Xiao and about Huan Hua Palace politics, but I don't want to "spend" those ideas (for lack of a better word) and that writing energy on a side fic for Bingqiu that I wasn't really feeling excited about. If I'm going to write about Gongyi Xiao, then I have a post-Abyss Luo Binghe/Gongyi Xiao canon divergence AU idea that I'm much more passionate about.

Shen Yuan's place in this AU world is fun to think about, I like Bingqiu a lot, but I also didn't want Shen Yuan to be the only thing people focused on in a fic that was very much not about Shen Yuan or Shen Qingqiu or Bingqiu, but rather the relationship between Shang Qinghua and Luo Binghe. I like to use canon as my launchpad and sometimes find things more difficult to write the further I get from canon. If I'm going to write about Shen Yuan and Bingqiu in an AU in the canon setting, then I have another fic idea about Shen Yuan and asexuality that I'm also more passionate about.

I can totally see myself writing a Bingqiu one shot for the An Ding Peak Luo Binghe fic, whether Shen Yuan transmigrates in as someone like Gongyi Xiao or an original character. I think Shen Yuan would probably end up finding An Ding Peak Lord Luo Binghe distressingly attractive, especially because of the undeniable similarities between LBH and SQH accentuated by this AU, and I think that would be fucking hilarious. But I want to sit on the idea for a while longer. I like having a distinct plot idea or a strong aesthetic vision or a really distinct theme in mind before I get started on a fic, and I just don't have that yet.

It felt a little... hmm... I don't have a good word for this. After I explicitly covered Luo Binghe's awkward teenage romantic/sexual feelings for Shang Qinghua and Luo Binghe was, in a way, gently rejected in AU, it felt a little weird to then immediately bring Shen Yuan in and say, "Look! It's fine! Binghe finds love with someone else and everyone is safely paired off so we don't have to think about any awkward feelings anymore!" I liked wrestling with the ambiguous nature of Shang Qinghua and Luo Binghe's relationship, as SQH dealt with his disciple (and insert character) becoming like a real son to him, and LBH dealt with his desperation not to be thrown away and to receive real affection. I like the idea of Luo Binghe having to go out into the world and find himself.

I think there's a lot to be said still about LBH's relationship to love, to family, to loneliness, to SQH, to MBJ, to Tianlang-Jun and Zhuzhi-Lang, and to any potential future romantic/sexual partner, and so on. So, I didn't want to jam anything in at the end at the last minute while I was still thinking about it.

#fantaasi #ask tossawary #tossawary svsss #spoilers #an ding disciple luo binghe au #bingxiao enemies to partners fic #shen yuan versus asexuality fic #luo binghe #shen yuan

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thethirdromana · 4 months

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Rewatching The Dalek Invasion of Earth

Is this the first moment when we get a glimpse of how long this series could go on for? The seed of the idea that the main cast could and would come and go? Obviously it's nowhere near as significant as the Tenth Planet, but it still feels like the start of something.

Also, it's bloody good.

My thoughts:

DO NOT DUMP BODIES IN THE RIVER would be a lovely, sinister bit of environmental storytelling if they didn't focus on it quite so much. But probably that would have been a bit more subtle on a smaller, fuzzier TV screen.

"What do you do?" "I eat" is an amazing Susan moment that gives an insight into how great her characterisation could have been.

I'm struck by the practicality of "What I need is an acetylene torch". Ian knows how to deal with Daleks and metal girders alike.

Ian is, incidentally, very hot in this.

The whole storyline is staggeringly bleak. You can feel the shadow of WW2 and the Cold War hanging over it all. When they do this kind of thing to Earth in modern Doctor Who (see: the Last of the Time Lords) it gets magically reversed, but I guess they were made of sterner stuff in the 60s.

So much of the hope in this rests on Susan's excitement to rebuild the planet, and Carole Ann Ford sells it perfectly.

Barbara driving a van into a Dalek is fabulous. Her attempt to bamboozle the Daleks with a fake plot is great. And I appreciate the way her hair gets steadily more dishevelled as this story goes on. I think this might be all three companions at their best.

It's a Terry Nation story, and there's a countdown, down your drinks.

The incidental music in episode six is fab.

Susan is definitely too young to be getting married, and the ending is distressingly melancholy for what should, I think, be a moment of hope and excitement. It feels like the focus is the viewers' and the Doctor's feelings about leaving Susan behind, and not the joy at her getting to start a new life.

But she and David are genuinely cute together. Good luck, kids.

#doctor who #classic doctor who #terry nation #william hartnell #the dalek invasion of earth #first doctor #romana rewatches doctor who

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actual-changeling · 2 months

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do not share/copy/repost my writing in any shape or form unless you have asked for my express permission.

There is something deeply uncomfortable about the insistence that Crowley is never actually upset or in distress and it's just one big "game" to them.

I'm sorry, but whatever dynamic you think they have is nothing but fabrication based on your personal idea of what Aziraphale is like.

Canonically, Aziraphale repeatedly and violently crosses boundaries Crowley does not even want him close to, let alone result in enjoyment for him when they do get ignored.

No, Crowley did NOT want to give Aziraphale his car.

He did not want to stay behind with Gabriel.

He did not think it funny or "cute" that Aziraphale not only ignored all of his concerns but invalidated his emotions every single time he tried to communicate them.

Aziraphale hurting Crowley is not fucking funny or part of some sex game you are convinced they're playing, it's a gross disregard for Crowley's needs and autonomy, and exactly the kind of shit people throw at abuse survivors whenever they try to talk about it.

"Oh, but they're just joking. Oh, but it's harmless. it's fun."

"No, that boy is not hitting you because he wants to hurt you, he loves you, stop complaining."

Before you pop some capillaries, not I am not saying Aziraphale is abusive. I am saying that his behaviour towards Crowley is very often hurtful and of selfish origin—aka it is all about what he himself wants, never about Crowley's needs.

Write fanfic and headcanons all you want, I don't care about that, but insisting that all the plain, factual evidence of Crowley's emotional states is actually one big game is disrespectful, disgusting, and distressingly common.

There are reasons for Crowley never getting much fun out of spending too much time with Aziraphale or sharing vulnerable experiences with him.

#alex talks good omens #good omens #crowley #aziraphale #good omens season 2 #go2 #aziracrow #crowley x aziraphale #ineffable husbands #ineffable wives #ineffable spouses #ineffable divorce #the final fifteen #let the fucking witch hunt begin i guess

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mimithealpaca · 11 months

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DAILY PRIDE MONTH DOODLES #2 - cute aggression

it's one of the most popular bkdk tropes and look, sometimes i am distressingly mainstream. so here you go

#bkdk #ktdk #bakudeku #katsudeku #bnha #mha #bnha winter au #doodle #sketchbook #ink #traditional #pride month #mimithealpaca #daily pride month 2023 doodles

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youlikefanficdontyousquidward · 1 year

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Why so blue?

Prologue, one, two, three, four, five

Chapter Six

tag list: @luciddasher

You shivered and pulled your shawl tighter to your body. Quaritch watched you pull your legs up closer to yourself. He'd made Spider sleep far from you, across the now dead fire, he didn't trust you. Up so high you'd be at an advantage if you tried to escape together. Both being far better climbers you'd make short work of the decent and would likely figure out a way to rid Spider of his tracking mask. He wouldn't risk it, so you slept far apart and cuffed.

Zdog had seemed upset at this, frowning when he'd interrupted her stories about her party days back home to cuff Y/N. You'd barely reacted only changing your tune when he'd demanded Spider move from your side. Zdog's attitude shift bugged him, it would be easier if he was the only one dealing with softening thoughts towards you. Your rescue today had only further cemented his pull to you. Whatever instinct nudged him from the back of his mind was tugging for the reigns around you now. Your scent mingled through the air with his comrades, with Spider's and most distressingly his own. He wanted it all over him and his all over you, he wanted to hiss at Lyle with Zdog over his comments. He wished he could hold you in his mind the way Wainfleet did, it would be so much easier to deal with you then. It wouldn't make him feel guilty cuffing you or not letting you be near your boy.

He'd began to think of Spider as yours. You were so sweet with him, a guiding light like any co-parent should be. He started to long for that sweetness, what it'd be like to have you fuss over his scraped hands after the days climb. He was jealous of Zdog sitting with you, sharing your space, you'd even smiled at her. Not the tight polite ones he'd seen on you before, the genuine ones you reserved for Spider when you thought he wasn't looking. He didn't want this. He kept telling himself that it wasn't him, not really but material reality couldn't be denied.

He strode over, dumping his roll on the ground beside you. You squeaked in surprise, he laughed lightly, cute. He tried to keep his movements fluid, casual, like what he was doing wasn't a problem. You stared at him, wide honey eyes growing larger with each unexplained moment. He offered none, just flopping down on his back and resting his head on one arm and the other slumped across his stomach, causal. He kept his eyes half lidded, watching you. You looked across to Zdog and Spider but both had already settled down, you were left alone to panic.

"hmm 's colder up here" Quaritch broke the tension, taking some pity on your clearly worried state.

"Uh yes" Your voice sounded forced. You were uncomfortable, of course you were. Here he lay inches from his captive and he wanted you not to by upset by this. Or did he? He was honestly not sure, your discomfort amused him most of the time but he still wanted to you. Better you didn't want him back he supposed, made the mission easier.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Oh Eywa you wanted him. You were furious at yourself for the thought but here in the dark it was clear to you. Something primal in you craved him, you blamed his connection to your son. That you already had his kid, that his scent already felt like home! It was too much having him so close. His broad chest rose and fell steadily, contrasting your rapid breathes. Your eyes traced the glowing specks from his scraped knuckles, past his large hands, up his veined arms, bulging biceps, clavicle, the slope of his lips, his chartreuse eyes. OPEN EYES. You squeaked again, caught. He smirked turning over to face you.

"Can I help you?" He teased. Whatever chill the night had held was long gone, you burned under his mocking gaze. You couldn't hold his eyes, just flipping over as fast as you could, curling into a ball. Maybe he'd think you were scared? Or angry? You hoped he would, it was better than the burning shame you felt thinking he'd understood.

Sometime during your cursing yourself you fell asleep. Morning sun was far too bright on the mountains. It stung to open your eyes fully, you groaned, sitting up. You felt something flop off your shoulders and land heavily in your lap.

Quaritch's arm. It was Quaritch's muscular arm. You felt you mind stop working, you were still inches apart but he must have slung an arm over you during the night. More distressingly it hadn't woken you. Some subconscious part of you had decided that this was totally acceptable. You scooted away, the loss of your heat seemed to wake him. He grumbled, rubbing his face and looking over to you. He frowned at your panicked look but didn't say anything. Instead getting up to get everyone else up.

Your cuffs remained as you set off across the thick vines that connected where you'd camped to the trail leading up to the Ikran's nesting grounds. You managed to calm yourself since the morning. You didn't want Spider to see it in you, he knew you too well, he'd recognize it if he saw even a glimpse. He'd spent a warm spring pushing you towards a young hunter who you'd taken a fancy too, though you were sure he'd not approve of this match. You didn't approve of this match.

Zdog remained close to your back, the rest walked ahead of you, with Spider at the lead. She seemed intently focused on her feet, the narrow walkway was a bit much for her. As she shuffled little pebbles knocked over the edge, plummeting to the ground, her tank top was soaking through with sweat. Before midday her torment was over, the short cave leading to the open area of their valley was wide and had no edges for her to look over.

The recoms seemed to plan of using some kind of strange gun to subdue the Ikran. You rolled your eyes, to add to the sting of allowing these beasts to partake in this ancient rite, they seemed intent on disrespect at every turn. Spider laughed, you and Quaritch turned to him at the same time.

"Oh come on, Na'vi younger than me do this with their bare hands." He shook his head. Quaritch ears tipped down, to your surprise he looked offended? Uncomfortable looking weak in front of him and now his fellows? Whatever it was you blanched when he stepped out towards the Ikrans and readied his kuru. He stalked towards the group and you felt your heart jump up to your throat. Spider jumped down and leant against your arm.

"This'll be good."

You couldn't take your eyes off Quaritch, a large male caught his eyes and screeched, baring its fangs. Quaritch returned the gesture before they began to fight. The group winced and reacted, while Spider laughed at your side, Quaritch was bucked and struggled. The Ikran struggled closer to the edge, you vaulted the log.

"Quaritch the bond! Make the bond!"

The Ikran fell over the edge, and Quaritch with it. The rest rushed forward, Spider leaning over the edge trying to spot them. Everything was silent, Spider kept low still watching for him, the other fidgeted not knowing what to do without their leader. You felt sick. This should be good right? One less threat? Maybe even now they'd let you and Spider go? No one here had the same attachment to the two of you. You couldn't feel relieved however, not with your own guilty feelings reflected in Spider as he turned back to you. He wanted some reassurance it wasn't his fault but your words failed you.

Lyle was the one to break the silence. Half heartedly he made an order to move out. You found yourself following after Zdog, wrapping your arms over Spider's shoulders.

The sudden rush of wind from Ikran wings startled you all. You ducked low and in front of Spider, ready to fight off a beast.

"That's right!" Quaritch yelled from the Ikrans back. He cheered and held his arm in the air, triumphantly. The recoms cheered back, and you couldn't help but grin up at him. He caught your eyes, elated in the moment you let out a cheer of your own. Even the other recoms seemed shocked by your outburst but Spider echoed you.

Quaritch landed a little ungracefully, tugging his kuru away. He kept his eyes on the Ikran, stepping away from it cautiously.

"He's your now." You spoke. Spider rushing forward but stopping himself before he made contact with Quaritch. He reached out to close the gap, ruffling his hair.

"Thanks a lot kid" he said sarcastically. He looked back to you, you stiffened. "So, its mine?"

"He." You corrected. "Did Spider not explain? Ikran is a hunters mount, he will fly with no other for all his years. You made tsaheylu, you are forever bound."

"Hmm" Quaritch hummed, his thoughts were elsewhere. He regained himself turning back to the male. "Here that Cupcake, your mine." He grinned darkly through the last part. You didn't feel comfortable talking so much with him. This was the longest conversation you had shared so far.

The rest went after an Ikran of their own, now using the binding to tie their mouths closed as Spider instructed. They didn't go smoothly at all, Lyle's sunglasses were broken and he sported a broken nose, Mansk had come close to loosing his hand but got out with only some deep scrapes. Zdog worried you most, her wounds were no worse but having been inflicted by the Ikran's mouth worried you. You'd seen wounds like that swell and poison their inflicted. Your satchel fell roughly into your lap. You stared up into Quaritch's smiling face.

"Lil' help?" He smiled down at you, there was nothing behind it. Just a genuine request for your assistance. You paused, momentarily considering letting them fend for themselves, until you heard Zdog hiss through another movement. Without a word he un-cuffed you and you straight to raking through for the necessary supplies, Quaritch left to sit with Spider.

You worked on Zdog, she remarked on the smell of the pastes you rubbed on top of her wounds. Complaining of the foul smells and sting. She still thanked you when you finished however, pulling a passing Mansk down to sit before you.

"Come on he's bleedin' more than I was!" Zdog slapped his shoulder causing him to groan in pain. He was a quiet patient at least, didn't help at all however, so you ended up manhandling him into whatever pose you needed to get access to his wounds.

"Am I next sugar?" Lyle leaned over the rock Zdog sat on, resting his face in his hands. You frowned up at his broken nose, it wasn't in need of setting and all there was little to be done for an injury like that.

"No." You stood, slinging your bag across you and walking away. Zdog howled with laughter behind you. Quaritch was deep in conversation with Spider as you approached. His ears perked up and he turned to you, his smile faltered slightly before the crueler one returned. You felt the unease rise in you again but fought it down.

"Ooo your turn! Be warned they won't warn you if it'll hurt!" Spider slipped off the log they both sat on and jogged past you over to Zdog and the others. Still seated Quaritch's head was just slightly bellow your own. He sat confidently with his leg spread wide apart, you stepped up in between them. He quirked an eyebrow up at your actions, you tried to ignore the heat rising in your cheeks. You took his face in shaky hands and gently guided him to turn from side to side. His eyes stayed glued to yours as you did this, you scanned his face for injury. He was handsome up close, very alien human features mixed well with the more familiar ones. You hummed moving to his arms, tiny scrapes but nothing in need of treatment, you still found your hands tracing up the muscles. Just searching you told yourself, but the heat in your face betrayed you.

Lastly your fingers found the imprint you'd left. Your own teeth mark on his skin. The wound was healing well but it was certainly going to scar. His own hand found yours, your face whipped up to look him in the eyes.

"All good?" Quaritch questioned, his face unreadable again. You clamped your mouth closed and nodded. He held onto your wrist, standing. You hand to hop back a little to make room, or else you'd have ended up with a face full of his chest. He took the cuffs from his belt. You sagged a little, allowing him to re-cuff you again.

The night crept up, tomorrow they'd all fly south towards the waters. Dread filled your mind, your home was that way. The recoms settled down together to rest, Spider near Quaritch. You felt too uncomfortable after your 'check up' with him, like you'd crossed a line. He acted no differently that evening but you couldn't stop the blush that he elicited. You choose to sleep closer to the Ikrans, risky or not you felt like you'd have an easier time there than close to Quaritch.

#quaritch x you #miles quaritch x oc #quaritch x reader #miles quaritch #colonel quaritch #avatar imagine #avatar #my posts #why so blue #my fics

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