#falling through the ice

[iwritewhump]

screams | falling through the ice

characters: whumpee, caretaker (not named until nearly the end of the fic), whumper (very minor)

warnings: young whumpee, dissecting a rabbit (not super graphic, just kinda detailed (I think there's a small difference)), cursing, almost drowning, failed escape attempt, captive whumpee

2982 words

a/n: the "read more" is a little earlier than i'd like but I didn't want the whole "rabbit dissection" to be there without some kind of warning to it, so it starts pretty much right after the cut

part one

~

Whumpee watches as the woman pulls a chair up to the short cabinet by the stove and gestures for him to do the same. She sets her two rabbits down on the top of the cabinet and opens it, pulling two knives out from it. 

She lays the larger knife near her and the other on the opposite end of the cabinet top. 

“Just move the clothes to the floor, he can get over some dirt on ‘em,” she says, using the knife to gesture to the closest chair. 

Whumpee nods and sets the pile of clothes on the ground with one hand, he smooths down the top so they sit flat. He carries the chair over to her and sets the rabbit on his side of the cabinet top, then sits down. 

“Watch me,” She says, pausing, she points her knife at Whumpee and narrows her eyes. “Do exactly as I do, you’re going to eat that, so treat it with respect.” 

She holds her knife over the rabbit’s foot and uses the heel of her hand to strike it, the bone cracks and she slices the skin until the foot comes off cleanly. She does the same with the other three, laying the feet in a pile in the center of the countertop. 

“Your turn,” She says, watching Whumpee’s shaking hands. 

He nods and swallows thickly, staring at the knife in his hands. He lays his rabbit out in front of him, its legs laying flat on the table and sets his knife above the rabbit’s foot. He makes sure the blade is straight up and holds his hand over it, ready to strike it. 

Oh god, he’s going to throw up again. 

With too much hesitation, his palm falls down on the blade and cuts through the skin, but the bone doesn’t snap like hers did. 

“Try again,” she says, putting her hand over his wrist. “You can’t hurt it, it’s already dead.” 

She guides his hand a few inches over the blade and brings it down, the heel of his palm striking the blade and cuts cleanly through the bone. He cuts through the rest of the skin and sets it on her pile. 

“Good job, now the other three.” she lets go of his hand and watches as he grows more confident with each strike, eventually getting the foot clean off in one motion, skin and all. 

He exhales shakily and sets the knife down on the table, as far away from him as he can without it crossing onto her half of the countertop. 

“What’s your name, kid?” She asks, picking her knife up again. 

He looks at her and blinks, “Whumpee.” 

“Well, Whumpee, you’re doing great.” she nods at him, a small twinkle in her eyes and inhales sharply. “Pick up that knife and do this with me.” 

He does, the handle of the knife sits nicely in his hand and this time, his hands don’t shake. 

She moves the rabbit so it’s laying horizontally in front of her and puts the blade down over its neck. She waits for Whumpee to do the same, and strikes the blade, cutting the neck clean apart. Whumpee follows suit, only struggling to cut the skin against the countertop. He exhales sharply when the head rolls with the motion of the knife, eyes staring at him. 

The woman puts the head of her rabbit on the pile with the feet and she reaches over to Whumpee’s to do the same. 

“The first one is the hardest,” she says with a reassuring smile. “You did great.” 

“We’re done?” He asks, hope sneaking into his voice. 

“Almost.” 

She turns the rabbit on its stomach and pinches some of the skin at the nape of its neck. The blade cuts into the pelt like butter and she pulls it up until it cuts through. She grabs both ends of the skin and pulls them apart, the pelt sliding off. 

Whumpee watches as she pulls it off from the nubs of its legs and the neck, setting it in a separate pile from the feet and heads. 

“Try to keep it all together if you can, I’m going to make gloves.” she says, pulling the other rabbit in front of her and starting the process all over.

Whumpee nods and pinches the skin at the nape of his rabbit’s neck, then drives it through the skin and pulls it up, creating a sharp, clean cut. He sets the knife down and holds both ends of the skin, then pulls it apart. It’s more stuck on than he expected after watching her pull it off so effortlessly, but he manages to clear it from the back and stomach, then over the neck. But it catches on the nubs of the feet, the skin rips and hair pulls off from the pelt. 

“Fuck,” he whispers under his breath. He looks up at her, “I’m sorry.” 

“Kid,” she says, “It’s your first try, I wasn’t expecting perfect, trust me, it’s fine.” 

So, he pulls the remaining fur off of the nubs of feet and puts the mostly-intact pelt next to hers. 

She’s done with the other rabbit by the time he’s finished getting all the stray fur off of his rabbit, both of hers are laid out in front of her, so he does the same with his. 

“One last step,” She says, putting the tip of her knife on the sternum of one of the rabbits. “Don’t cut too deep or you’ll bust the innards, just cut the muscle and then tuck the tip of it under like this-” she pauses and flips the knife so the sharp side is pointing up, then slices through the center of it all the way to the bottom-”and slide it through.” 

He does, and the knife catches on something, but he stops mid-cut and puts the tip of the knife closer to the skin before continuing. She smiles, but doesn’t acknowledge it otherwise. 

“Pull the innards out,” she says, reaching into her rabbit and cupping the organs with her hand, “and cut the parts that keep it in,” she pulls them out with one hand and uses the other to slice through what holds them in the cavity. “Then pop them onto this pile, the dog will eat those.” 

Whumpee perks up, “Dog?” 

“He’s probably already at the door, once we’re done with this, you can go check.” 

With quick movements, Whumpee pulls the organs out from the rabbit and cuts what tries to stop them. He sets them on the pile and stands up, the chair scraping against the floor. 

She smiles softly and nods to him, “Here’s the key.” 

She holds it out to him and he stares at it. The key to the door? The door that would lead him to the car? The car that he could (in theory) drive away in? 

He nods enthusiastically and takes it from her and walks to the door he and Whumper came in through. The key sticks in the lock and he has to shake it in the keyhole before it slides all the way in, but then he turns it. 

He wraps his fingers around the cold doorknob and twists it, looking over his shoulder at the woman, setting another pile of organs on the others. She looks up at him and smiles softly. 

He pushes the door open and steps outside, his foot just over the threshold. A gust of freezing wind bites through his shirt and he shivers, then he takes another step out, then another, and now he’s running. 

The woman’s chair scrapes against the floor as she stands. She chases after him, yelling at him to stop. 

But he ignores her, he runs past the truck, there’s no way he’d be able to start it and drive away before she catches up to him. But she looks slower than him, so he can outrun her. 

“Whumpee stop!” She screams, voice echoing through the trees. 

He looks over his shoulder and presses on, not deterred by the thin branches whipping his face as he runs past. They cut into his cheeks and tear into his clothes, but he keeps running. 

He can hear her chasing after him, her boots stomping against the ground with each bound she makes, her breath comes in quick bursts and for a moment, Whumpee thinks she’s gaining on him. 

He looks over his shoulder again and shakes his head, she’s losing him. He would almost smile, but he looks ahead and narrows his eyes. He can hear a road, just ahead. Just a little further and he can flag down a car. 

He’s too busy looking for the road that he doesn’t look at the ground beneath his feet. Suddenly, he’s sliding on ice. His feet give out underneath him and he’s spinning out of control, there’s nothing he can do to regain his footing. 

The woman appears, out of breath and red faced. She stares at him, eyes wide. 

“Don’t move!” She shouts, looking around anxiously. She runs a hand through her hair and paces around the edge of the pond Whumpee’s found himself on. 

But Whumpee doesn’t listen. He manages to get his feet under him again and he shuffles his feet back, toward the sounds of the road. 

“Whumpee, it’s not safe!” she screams, voice breaking. There’s a haunted look on her face and she looks at the ice under his feet. 

He continues to ignore her and he’s gotten into a rhythm of shuffling his feet backward on the ice, he’s gaining momentum and suddenly, it’s like that two hour ice rink trip from boy-scouts comes back to him. He straightens his back and looks behind him, he’s almost halfway across the pond. He smiles to himself and looks back at Caretaker, who’s found a long branch and is crawling onto the ice. 

“Whumpee, stop! The ice is going to crack and you’ll drown. Your body will go into shock from the cold and you won’t be able to move, then you’ll sink.” her voice wavers as she slides a bare hand a few inches closer to him. 

And it’s as if she’s called it into action. There’s a deafening cracking sound underneath his feet. It feels like the whole world is in slow motion. He sees her eyes widening and she starts to crawl frantically toward him, terror painting her face. 

As for him, the ice scrapes against his legs, cutting into his calf and thighs. Every muscle in his body tenses as the cold envelops him. Cold isn’t an accurate descriptor for the water, it’s freezing. He breathes in water and his lungs seize, stopping him from expelling it. 

His head goes under and his scalp pulls against itself, tightening on his head. Is he really going to die here? 

He needs to tell his mom he’s sorry for being a shit the past few weeks, he needs to let his cousin know that he didn’t mean to miss his soccer game, he really didn’t. His teacher needs to know that she got him to work harder than he’d ever thought he’d want to and that her class is the only one he’s tried to pass. The plants on his desk need watered and his mom won’t do it, she’s always working. And oh, god. He can’t die today. He has to make it to eighteen, show his old guidance counselor that he can do something more than fast food. 

Something grabs his arm and pulls him up just as his feet graze the bottom of the pond, sinking into the murk. 

He looks up and blinks slowly. He can’t make out more than a dark figure in the water, holding onto him and kicking its feet to pull them both to the surface, maybe she’ll save them. 

Black spots creep into the corners of his eyes and he shakes his head furiously, he’s going to make it. 

His world goes black. 

~

Whumpee coughs himself awake. He shoots up and pushes himself back against the wall, hitting his head in the process. He looks around and his heart drops, he’s back in the cabin. 

He groans in pain and slouches forward, “Why does everything hurt?” 

“You almost died,” the woman says, sitting next to the stove. She’s got a dog at her feet and is stirring something in a large cast iron pot. “What the hell were you thinking, don’t you know how many people die every year from falling through ice?” 

Because that’s something everybody knows. 

Whumpee inhales sharply and looks down, he’s in a new set of clothes, they’re soft and warm, but too big on him. He’s on a thick blanket next to the stove and warmth radiates from it, lessening the cold deep inside of him. 

The woman inhales deeply and shakes her head, “You were stupid for doing that. Just be glad Whumper won’t find out about it, I don’t want to think about what he’d do if he did.” 

She gives him a look that says, ‘this stays between us, no matter what, got it?’ and all Whumpee can do is nod.

It occurs to him that maybe she’s just as scared of him as he is, maybe more. Who would stay out here, living in this small cabin, hunting for their own food, and not having any privacy in their own home willingly? 

He picks at his hands, still red and stiff from his plunge in the water. He holds them up next to the stove and some of the cold melts away. Warmth shoots from his fingertips into his arms and he shivers, unprepared for the sudden temperature change, but welcoming it. 

With a too-tired sigh, the woman pushes herself up with her hands on her knees and takes a few steps to a tall cabinet in the corner of the cabin. She pulls out two bowls and sets them down on the countertop. 

With a deep ladle, she puts two scoops into each bowl along with a slice of bread and a spoon. She hands Whumpee one of the bowls and sets the other on the countertop before filling the ladle again and walking to a small matching set of bowls Whumpee hadn’t noticed before. Her hand catches the dripping stew from the bottom of the ladle and she squats down to pour some of it in the bowl. The dog walks over and looks to her, then at the bowl. 

“Not yet, love,” she says, pulling him by the collar back to the stove, “It’s too hot for you, let it cool down.” The dog lays next to the stove, his back nearly touching the hot metal, as if he understood her. 

The woman smiles softly at the dog and she sits down on the floor across from Whumpee. She reaches up and pulls her bowl off of the countertop. Nodding to Whumpee, she gets a spoonful, “I was going to roast the rabbit with some potato and carrots, but with how you were shivering it was best to make stew. Warms you up faster.” 

Whumpee puts a generous amount of the stew onto his spoon and inhales deeply. He looks at the woman and nods, “Thank you.” 

The door bursts open and Whumper walks in, clutching a small bird’s feet in his hands. The woman almost chuckles as she looks up at him, mouth full of stew. 

“How were your traps?” She asks, almost tauntingly. 

It’s like a flip switches, the dog cowers next to the stove, Whumpee swears he can feel a draft from the window that wasn’t there a moment ago. 

Whumper slams the door behind him and growls at her, “Shut the fuck up, Caretaker.” 

The woman’s-Caretaker’s- smile stays plastered on, but there’s fear behind her eyes as he stomps through the cabin. He stops in front of the pair of them and glares at Whumpee, “What happened to you?” 

Caretaker looks between them and stands up, putting herself between him and Whumper. “Almost passed out,” she says, taking a step toward him. She ghosts her fingers over his bicep and trails her fingers down his arm to his hand. Whumper smiles, tilting his head and closing his eyes. “Why don’t I…” she says, taking the bird from his hands, “Clean this up and you have some stew.” 

She bends down and picks the bowl up from the ground where she set it and puts it in Whumper’s waiting hands. He lifts it up to his nose and inhales deeply, “Are we running out of garlic?” 

His voice is scarily chilling, but Caretaker doesn’t blink an eye. “I wanted something simple. There’s not enough for leftovers so I gave it to the dog. Garlic isn’t good for him.” 

She opens a cabinet door and pulls out a jar of a white powder, “We still have some, want me to mix it in?” 

“Forget it,” he snaps, sitting down in one of the chairs. He looks at Whumpee and tosses a phone over to him, “Call that sheriff, let her know you’re fine. Anything other than that will get you killed.” 

Caretaker looks over her shoulder, brows knit together in concern as she closes the cabinet and lays the bird down on the countertop. “Don’t you think that’s a little extreme?” she asks, plucking a few feathers off from the bird’s breast. “You brought him here to help work, not to dig a grave.” 

Whumpee pushes himself up off the ground and walks over to his pile of clothes, all nearly dry, and pulls out the sheriff’s business card. 

Whumper mutters under his breath, not loud enough for Caretaker to hear, “You’re not worth a grave.” 

Whumpee tries to ignore him, looks at the phone and dials the number with shaking hands and presses the call button.

~

part three (maybe, idk yet)

~

tag list: @morning-star-whump

[phrxgs]

Oh, arkastadt, how your fanfics make me cry, but, oh, how well-written they are.

LOVING THE SKK ICE SKATER AU. GO READ IT IF YOU HAVEN'T.

[ddringo]

Kōri

Fire comes alive under his feet. Flames flickering and licking against his calf. Not warm, but cold and sharp. Grows louder and louder. Higher… higher…

Breath… Yuuri lets his eyes open slowly. Sees how far he’s gotten for the edge of the pound. How the figures behind him leave a story for kids to follow when they come home from school. He wonders if Victor will recognize it. His love for him. His love for the ice.

Before him a map. His map.

Yuri on Ice.

He could admire his work for hours when suddenly, the world slows. A moment stretches into a thousand. But even in slow motion, Yuuri can do nothing.

Ice, fragile and thin and abused by the sharp blades of Yuuri skates, cracks with a loud sound and shatters his masterpiece. Shatters his love for home and ballet and skating and Victor. Shatters the place that he’d called home.

Prompt: Falling through the Ice @badthingshappenbingo

[yellowcry]

A cold trip

Luisa stepped on the ice unsurely. Well, it was most like the only time in her life when she would be able to try ice-skating Bad things happen bingo: Falling through the ice

The snow sparkled in the sun. The wind was still. It was strange for Luisa; this little trip to the USA made her experience a lot of abnormal for her things. Like winter. Back in Encanto, the only way for them to see snow was if Tía Pepa got especially scared, and it was only for like a few meters around her. The Colombian climate did not allow for seasons except for wet and dry. And here, everything was white and cold. Taking a vacation still felt kinda off for her; even after all this time, the idea of spending even one day without work seemed like something alien, let alone the whole week.

She leaned against the bench, looking at her sisters and cousins, who were happily ice skating on the frozen lake. Luisa heard a giggle and couldn't help but smile at it. Grown-ups and Antonio were currently at the hotel. The young boy really liked the warm fireplace in their room. Luisa couldn't blame him, but she wanted to look at this beauty outside instead of listening to the crackles of burning wood.

"Hey, Luisa, come join us!" Mirabel slipped from the ice, coming closer to her sister, stepping on the outside of her feet. Her cheeks were red from froze, hair awkwardly protruded from the warm hat.

Luisa shook her head nervously. "Mira, I don't know how to..."

Camilo cut her off as he jumped from the ice too, rubbing away the snow from his orange jacket. It was strange to know how many clothes they had bought just for this trip since none of them had winter clothes at home. "Do you think any of us know how to skate?" He waved to Dolores, who was awkwardly trying to balance on ice. "Cmon, don't stay aside."

Luisa pursed her lips, looking at her younger sister and cousin, trying to think about this. She felt strange doing something like this... 

Mirabel pulled her sleeve. "Please, you don't know if you will ever be able to do this again."

Luisa sighed, unsurely taking the skates that she offered for herself from the hotel where they stayed. "Okay... I'll give it a shot." After all, she definitely wouldn't be able to ice skate in Encanto. 

Camilo and Mirabel exchanged a proud look and gave each other a high-five, obviously glad that they managed to get Luisa to join the fun. Luisa stood on the ice and slowly skilled after Mirabel, spreading her arms to hold balance. After a minute, she had to admit how fun it was, even if she almost tripped twice. She started to move more confidently, still following Mirabel.

But there was a thing that Mirabel and Camilo didn't think about—a thing about which Luisa didn't think herself. She was bigger than them, heavier. And the ice wasn't that solid, at least not for Luisa. For a moment, she heard a crack, and then the surface under her legs broke.

Normally, Luisa knew how to swim; she was on the river beach not so rarely. But she didn't expect this to happen; this situation, as well as the sudden freeziness around her, made her shocked. The water was too cold.

Everyone was stunned at the splash of the water, followed by Luisa's scared scream, "AAH!" as she felt the cold water surrounding her. In her life, Luisa expected to face many things; she definitely was the type to be read for most of the possible dangers. But she definitely wasn't ready to fall through ice because, back in Colombia, she would never need it. There wouldn't be any ice at all. And now she was splashing in the water, helplessly trying to hold onto the ice, but her panic was too strong. She clenched her hands so hard that the ice shattered in her grip like glass. She just couldn't focus enough to put the proper pressure in her grip.

"Luisa?!" Somebody yelled; her family was trying to approach her, but now the ice on the lake seemed to be dangerous, not only in Luisa's scared thoughts but by everyone witnessing this scene. The only thing Luisa was able to do was try to hold on to the water, not letting the cold freeze her muscles. Her brain was working on it's primary instincts, helping her not to drow, but didn't trying to find any way to help herself except for keeping her breathing when she gasped for air, unable to catch onto the ice because of how fragile it was. (It was more a problem with her immense strength, but it changed nothing.) Her hands turned blue from the cold, heavy with water clothes were pushing her down.

It continued for a good minute before Luisa felt vines tightly wrapped around her waist, pulling her out as Isabela came out of her shock state. Luisa was shaking from both fear and cold; her ice-wet clothes stuck to her body. As much as she was grateful for getting out of the iced water, being soaked to the skin wasn't a really pleasing feeling.

Luisa lied on the snow, breathing heavily. Still shaking in the frost. The layer stuck to her neck and pale palms. Dolores pulled her up (or, rather, tried to), whispering worriedly. "Don't lie on the snow; you're already cold." Deep inside, Luisa completely knew that it was true. But she was exhausted and wanted nothing more than to lie wrapped in the blanket. One of her boots flew off her feet when she was still drowning her pockets were filled with icewater.

"Hey, let's get you home..." Mirabel smiled, trying to make Luisa feel better. Yes, right now she would really like to sit next to the fire and drink a hot cup of café con leche with some marshmallows.

Luisa chattered her teeth from the cold as she was trying to link letters into proper words. She felt a big, strong arm, just like hers, wrapping under her shoulder and lifting her up; obviously, Camilo shapeshifted as her. The others helped as well, even if their physical strength was lesser. Luisa tried to move by herself, but her joints were chained by cold.

Despite being out of danger of drowning, she was still horrified way more than she was willing to admit. 

[sylvanfreckles]

"And I'd choose you; in a hundred lifetimes, in a hundred worlds, in any version of reality, I'd find you and I'd choose you." (Kiersten White, The Chaos of Stars) In time after time, in life after life, Chrom and Robin will always find each other. This is thirty-one of those times.

Day Three: Hypothermia

Still reeling from his breakup with his girlfriend, Chrom invites his best friend and roommate, Robin, on the weekend getaway he'd originally planned with Sumia. A fall through the ice may lead to new revelations.

(for @whumpcember)

(Oh my god they were roommates)

[coatl-cuddles]

More drawpile doodles, but this time MOTH edition

[wyervan]

Any fun lore you can give us about Krampus Moon? 👀

I am in love with his design!

You know I really set out at the beginning to just do fun little no-strings-attached Christmas DCA designs that sort just existed as a cool visual… but yeah, I think I literally cannot do that. I cannot help myself when I’m spending hours rendering fur and horns from making up little things about them.

Wip still. u can tell its my first time drawing a wicker basket

[missunderstood-with-ideas]

Hera: children you have not found the love of your life if you didn’t find them in the trash!

*Sabine and Ezra both look at Kanan*

Kanan: why do you assume that I was in the trash?!

Leia: no she’s got a point

Ezra: does this mean I can space Kallus cuz Zeb didn’t find him in the trash!

Kallus: Bridger I swear

Zeb: kid….Kallus was the trash

[fantasyismyonlyrealescape]

Okay, but my big question is…

When Jey comes back, is he going to be different? Is he going to be a changed man from what we have seen? He changed when Jimmy was tortured in front of him, he became more focused than ever on avenging his family.

What version of Jey are we going to get when he comes back after losing the title to the man who laid hands on his brother and left him in a bloodied heap at Jey’s feet?

[trivialbob]

(Sound on for best effect)

Overnight the temperature dropped back into the teens. The good news is that the big mud puddles at the dog park froze, though not solidly, as you can see above. The paths weren't messy either. Glass half full!

I got to see a big plane take off. Passenger jets at MSP are all twin engine these days, but UPS runs some three-engine MD-11s and occasionally even the beautiful 747 quad-jet freighters.

[djsangos]

i need to run a marathon

[cadere-art]

Almost done.

[emberlynn-sapphire-anarchy-angel]

The (Previous) Genius Middle Aged Man Gone Mad Trope!

Adventure Time

Gravity Falls

The Amazing Digital Circus

[enoughtotemptme]

a year and a day

Everyone knows that if you want to make a deal, you go to Eddie Munson.

Desperate to be rid of Jason once and for all, Chrissy makes a deal with the local demon. The consequences are…not what she expected. A story of friendship, love, and paying one’s debts.

Chapters: 9/13 Rating: Teen and Up Audiences Relationship: Chrissy Cunningham/Eddie Munson Tags: Alternate Universe - No Upside Down, Alternate Universe - Supernatural Elements, Demon Deals, POV Chrissy Cunningham, Friendship, Slow Burn, Friends to Lovers, Romance, Found Family, Roommates, Domestic Fluff, 1990s, Caretaking, Pining

Chapter Nine: February

The boys are rowdy, yelling over one another and gesturing wildly with bottles. Beer sloshes out of at least one of them, splattering onto the double-length folding table Jeff brought with him. Dustin squawks loudly and dives to protect his binder from rogue liquid; Grant says something truly foul about the dice he just rolled, and Eddie cackles from his spot at the head of the table.

Chrissy takes them in, nonplussed. “My first graders are better behaved,” she muses.

Eddie’s head jerks up at that—even with his demon senses, it’s incredible to her that he can hear her through all the ruckus—and grins wickedly at her.

She squirms internally. It’s really unfair of him to give her that look. It does all sorts of indecent things to her insides, making her go all melty and warm even while her heart flops around like one of Wayne's unfortunate fish.

“Come on,” he calls over the din, entirely unaware of her struggle. “It’s not supposed to be about behaving, Cunningham! It’s supposed to be about calculations, teamwork, strategy!”

She watches as Grant points an accusatory finger at the many-sided die that had, apparently, just betrayed him and calls it another foul name.  

“Uh huh,” Chrissy replies, dubious. 

He waves a hand dismissively in the air. “So it gets a little intense. That’s part of the fun!”

“If you would play,” Dustin interjects, hugging his binder to his chest and casting nasty looks at Gareth’s beer bottle, “you’d totally get it!”

“Nope,” Chrissy says cheerfully. Eddie has been working on this campaign for months, and while she’d been intensely curious about it, she’d declined to join them. But, after much wheedling, mostly from Dustin and Eddie, she’d agreed to sit on a few sessions to get a better sense of the gameplay and give Eddie a chance to convince her she should play the next oneshot with them.

Tonight is the first time they’ve gotten to start a major campaign together in years, and the excitement—and slight inebriation—overflows.  

She’s glad they’re having fun, and that Eddie appears to be in his element. He’d seemed a little…off, the last couple weeks, and she hadn’t been sure why. 

She’d thought maybe he’d been burning too many candles at too many ends: working full-time at the library, working on the mural on his weekdays off, Corroded Coffin gigs at least every other week, and now putting all the final touches onto the Dungeons and Dragons campaign. 

It’s not that he’d seemed tired, at least not in the human way she understands. But perhaps a little…quieter. Dimmer. Like whatever internal flame that sustains him was low on fuel. 

So Chrissy had fussed a little about it until he’d promised to go to bed early last night, the same time she did. 

Not together, of course. Now that the furnace is new and fully functional, they haven’t spent any more time in the same bed. But he’d brushed his teeth side by side with her, jostling her elbow, splashed water on his face while she wound her hair into a braid, and obediently shut himself in his bedroom without his notebooks at the same time she did.

Whether it was the additional sleep or not, something seems to have done the trick. In the midst of the D&D fervor, she can’t see any hint of the dimness in Eddie’s face or mannerisms—only glee and satisfaction at the response to his, according to Jeff, cruel and unusual campaign.

“We’ll make a convert out of you yet,” Eddie calls to her in utter conviction, then shoulders his way past his friends to where she sits on the couch. “Come on. Sit next to me so you get a better view of the action.”

“Won’t I see all your dungeon master secrets?” she asks even as she lets him pull her up from the couch and to the head of the table. He produces another folding chair and sets it hip to hip with his. 

“Nah.” He taps his forehead with a knowing look. “I’m good at keeping most of my secrets in here.”

It goes on for hours, but once the guys settle back into serious gameplay and stop screaming quite so much, she does have to admit it’s interesting. It’s almost like listening to Eddie read to her, the way his voice describes the story unfolding and the players advancing through the landscape and another minor skirmish. 

“It’s over?” she blurts out in surprise when everybody starts gathering up their binders and Eddie starts collecting the miniatures off the table. He chuckles and knocks his knuckles against her head. 

“For now. What, you wanna watch us misbehave for another hour?”

[click here to read the rest of chapter nine on ao3]

[checkadii]

mfs do anything but finish their wips . like startign another, for example

[lookninjas]

Ice Storm Poems

So I lost my Clozemaster streak. I lost my Ling streak, which I'm mad about, 'cause that was over 100 days. I lost a few days' work on my novel because I didn't want to drag my laptop to the warming station, and also because that persistent feeling of waiting made it difficult for me to write (any second now the power's coming back. any second now. any--)

But I did pull out a notebook and scribble a poem in every single day that I did not have power, and also yesterday when I had power but no internet. And now today it's all working again, so you get the deluge.

108.

and it won't stop raining and the trees keep snapping and the house gets colder and colder and we wait for change.

109.

At the warming station I see my first Red Cross blanket and burst into tears This stupid thing this national disaster this federal emergency this fucking rain of all the indignities how absurd what grinds us to a halt

110.

Three days in 72 hours Don't ask about the minutes

80% of my day I am heated cat bed I read, mostly I listen to the sound of saws and heavy equipment

I go to the warming station 2 small cups of coffee Whatever sandwich is on offer I walk until I overheat in my 50 degree Fahrenheit layers I charge my phone

I drive out, again, to the grocery store Diet Coke is almost gone Candles, strangely, still plentiful

Cat treats, an apology for absence

Three days in 72 hours

Even I don't count the minutes

111.

One feels or hopes to feel soon the circle of light, of warmth drawing near closing around

soon

soon

[I think the power came on literally half an hour after this one]

112.

the light fickle flickers and I look up and in the solemnity of prayer command the universe

"Ho Don't do it"

113.

and still the linemen working into the night and the patches of darkness between bright spots reminding us that it's only mostly sort of over for some of us but certainly not for all