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decks-writing-blog · 7 months

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Whatever the Fuck Benrey is: Chapter Six: Lonely

Chapter One

Previous Chapter

[A/N] I'm super far ahead on where I'm writing vs. where I'm uploading (more than the 7 chapter lead I started with) so I've decided occasionally I'll start uploading twice a week on Tuesday in addition to Friday when I feel like. Which might be every week, I don't know yet, but I felt like it today.

The initial plan had been to salvage any of their possessions that they could and search the living area for survivors and call that a good enough rescue effort. They’d already been through the hell of traveling through a large chunk of the facility, surely they could be forgiven for not wanting to do so again. But once there, it felt like a cop out. Chances of anyone still being alive in the parts of the facility where shit had really gone down weren’t great but not zero and there were still other places not hit too hard. With the military gone and the aliens no longer coming, their portals all firmly closed, rescue efforts would be less dangerous. And in hopes of keeping the military from trying to wipe knowledge of the incident off the face of the planet again – hopefully they thought they’d succeeded – they couldn’t shunt such work onto Tuefort’s emergency services.

Luckily, the living area not having been hit particularly hard meant there were a decent chunk of people willing to go on that rescue mission, had already been planning to in fact, and thus Gordon didn’t have to be a part of it. Instead he volunteered the team to bring the wounded back to Tuefort – they’d run out of health packs and such a while ago – and then bring back more fresh supplies – they’d brought some with them but, thinking they were going to do a half-assed rescue mission, it wasn’t much. Bubby groaned about the long drive but Gordon told him to suck it up. After all the chaos, violence and murder they’d partook in, they could at least try to balance it out by doing some good too. … And it would help keep Gordon occupied and not thinking about things he didn’t need to thing about. And it would give him a bit more time before he needed to decide what he was going to do next.

And so they decided to spend the night and head out in the morning. They’d have multiple cars this time too as several had been brought over from car park that had once been only a tram ride away but was now apparently a whole adventure to get to. But Gordon didn’t care because someone else had gone on it, bringing several cars back for transport. Meaning he’d get to drive this time.

One more night in the facility wouldn’t even be so bad because his old living space wasn’t nearly as trashed as he’d feared. The combined living room and kitchen area was a mess. It had been ransacked and even a little gooed, no corpses or corpse stains though which was a big win. And the bedroom seemed to have been left alone, meaning it was clean, safe, and thus good to sleep in.

Upon finally heading to it for the night, he wasn’t too surprised to find it’s where Benrey had disappeared again to. He’d made himself at home, playing Gordon’s Xbox 360 – it had been stored inside the rather sturdy TV cabinet and thus had been spared whatever violence had occurred here – seemingly uncaring about the crack in the corner of the TV’s screen or the massive goo stain on the couch next to him. The power in the remaining generators was limited so maybe he should be scolded for that but really, what else did he have to do? Lest he be recognized he needed to avoid the rest of the Black Mesa personal out there. Asking him to just sit and stare at a wall would’ve been unfair.

“Yo,” he said, not looking up from the screen as Gordon closed the door and set the deadbolt as the proper lock and doorknob was broken. “You only got three games, none of them that good. Why is that? I thought you were a gamer.”

“Work took up a lot of time so I didn’t have much time to play or keep up with which games were good or not.” Looking back he’d let work take up more of his time than he should’ve. “But at least you got something to do, right?”

“Yeah, guess so. Didn’t you say you also have a son? Josh or… something like that? Where’s he at?”

Damn, Gordon had hoped everyone forgot about that. “Uh… Joshua is technically a real person but he’s my nephew, not my son. And I haven’t seen him in person ever and haven’t talked to my sister in like… five years. She’s the one who sent me that picture… back when we still talked, obviously.”

“You lied.” How much it was a accusation versus just a statement of fact was hard to tell, especially with Benrey’s eyes still glued to the screen.

“Yeah… I lied. But look, I’d been lying about him for a while, okay? So I didn’t stop to think about lying to you guys too. Not that I had any idea we’d become…” he cut himself off before saying ‘friends’ he wasn’t ready to voice that word about Benrey yet. “I just lied out of habit and didn’t think anything was likely to ever come of it.”

“Why’d you lie about it so much?”

“Because… I wanted my coworkers to think I had more going on than just work stuff. So I made up a story about having an ex-wife and a kid. Everyone else had family and friends outside of Black Mesa and I wanted people to think I did too so they wouldn’t think I was a weird freak who only worked and occasionally played video games alone in the dark.” No way was he going to admit to how much effort he’d put into figuring out the exact story. His personal laptop, once left on the coffee table had become a casualty of the violence following the resonance cascade and thus he at least didn’t have to worry about Benrey snooping on it and finding the shitty story he’d wrote to keep his lies about his fake life in order. “It’s pathetic I know but… no one was ever supposed to know it wasn’t true.”

Benrey finally took his eyes off the screen to look up at Gordon. “That’s kinda sad, bro. You’re a real lonely boi, ain’t’cha?”

“Shut up, asshole. Lots of people are lonely, it’s normal. And there are way worse ways of handling it so you’re not allowed to tease me about it. Now, I’m going to bed. It’s much smaller than the one at the hotel so when you’re done gaming you can sleep on the couch, it’s since obtained a mystery stain though so, I guess you can…”

“I could sleep at the foot of the bed, next to your little feeties.”

“First off, my feet aren’t little, you should fucking know that. Second, there’s not enough room for that, I’m too tall. And third,ew, no, absolutely not, stay the fuck away from my feet. You can sleep on the couch or, if you would rather not because it’s gross, you can sleep next to me. Just don’t be weird about it and try not to wake me. Good night.” Before Benrey could respond, Gordon marched off to his room, closing the door firmly behind himself.

He’d didn’t lock it though because… wait, there were plenty of empty living spaces some of which had to have serviceable beds, he could’ve told Benrey to go find one of those instead of offering to share his. What the fuck was wrong with him? … They were in his old home and he’d committed to keeping Benrey around earlier so he’d defaulted mentally to this being a space they had to share. And Benrey had been being annoying and he was tired, making it hard to think.

Whatever, it was too late to easily take back now. But Benrey would probably fall asleep on the couch anyway. Either intentionally or because he stayed up too late playing video games. It’s not like he seemed to care that it was nasty. So probably Gordon’s blunder was fine.

***

Even if Benrey could entertain himself for a while playing even the worst video game, there was still a limit to how much he could bear and he was quickly reaching it. These couldn’t be the only games Gordon had though, right? If he was really a gamer he had to have more and maybe a whole other console somewhere. After turning the Xbox and TV off – if there was nothing else to play, Benrey was done with it for now – Benrey set to searching the space.

Such a small area, it didn’t take long search every inch of it. If there’d ever been any more games or another console, the headcrab zombies had got it. Or more likely someone had stolen it because the place had clearly been busted up and raided for stuff. But it was funny to imagine headcrab zombies sitting around a TV and playing something like Resident Evil or some other zombie killing game. Or perhaps when sorting through his stuff earlier, Gordon had moved the good stuff somewhere safer. Regardless, Benrey was out of luck here.

He moved on to the bedroom. To make sure his steps would be quiet – it’d be rude to wake Gordon on accident – he slipped his shoes off before phasing through the closed door. It was dark inside but adjusting his eyes a little to make them work better in the dark, he could see just fine. Gordon lay on the bed, his back against the wall. … Next to him was indeed enough room for Benrey to lie down as Gordon had invited him to.

After spending so much time phasing through so many large chunks of earth and rubble earlier, Benrey was a bit tired. Nothing major and he hadn’t been planning to sleep yet, he could easily keep going for a little while longer before he truly felt the need for a nap. But that first night in the hotel bed, when they’d lain back to back had been comfortable. Gordon was pleasantly warm. A general human trait; Benrey had been touched by them before, though not often and never in ways that were easy to enjoy the way his casual contact with Gordon had been so far. So maybe he could lie down and bask in the warmth Gordon’s body gave off while he napped for a little bit. It was pretty cold in here after all; deep underground and made of concrete meant the facility was often rather cold, especially at night without anything running to regulate the temperature.

He crept closer and before he could second guess himself, lifted the blanket and crawled underneath it. With Gordon facing him, he didn’t dare press directly into him but he did get as close as he could without actually touching him, made easier by the fact that Gordon was curled up in a ball under the blankets. Even not touching him, it was pleasantly warm so close to him where his heat sank into the softness around them. Rather nice except… he was tense, his expression scrunched up as he mumbled under his breath. Muffled by the pillow his face was partially pressed into, it hadn’t been audible by the door but certainly was when so close to him.

Another nightmare. Damn, that meant Benrey had to wake him again, huh? No basking in his warmth for Benrey. … It had been a kind of weird thing to want anyway though. Probably best to not indulge it.

With a sigh, Benrey started to sit up but stopped as Gordon, seemingly still sleeping but sensing his presence so close anyway, uncurled a little to reach for him. Like in the car, he found Benrey’s arm and pulled on it, gently enough that Benrey could’ve resisted but… curious to see what sleeping Gordon intended to do with his arm, didn’t. He pulled it to his upper chest, forcing Benrey’s wrist to bend under his chin. It… seemed to sooth him, the tightness of his curl easing a little as he quieted. Interesting. Perhaps Benrey could enjoy his warmth for a little bit after all.

He shifted a bit closer so that their bodies were touching. Gordon opened himself a little more, his lower arm moving to wrap around Benrey’s shoulder, the gun hand right next to his head, pulling him the rest of the way over so they weren’t just touching but Benrey was pressed into him. … Wow, okay.

Gordon had relaxed, his breathing deep and steady. Nightmare apparently over. Benrey was so good at this fixing nightmares thing he’d done it just by letting Gordon touch him.

Carefully, Benrey shifted a little so he could use his free hand to pull the blanket back up. Shifting a little more, putting his face against Gordon’s chest, he pulled it up and over his head, hiding himself under it. … Not that he was going to stay here the whole night and thus possibly get seen by someone else but… Gordon was so soft and warm.

Benrey had never been this close to someone before; so close he could hear the breath in Gordon’s lungs and the rhythmic beat of his heart. It was new and weird and… he liked it. So much so it seemed to simultaneously fill him with energy, making him need to do something with it, while also making the idea of lying here forever sound pleasant. He resisted the urge to do the former, pressing it down until he was just relaxed and comfortable; doing anything more than lying here quietly would be bad. But he could stay for a little bit, maybe even indeed take a nap. It’d be nice to nap in a spot so warm and cozy. He could easily be up and out before Gordon woke. No one but Benrey ever needed to know about this. … Gordon’s reaction to it might be funny though so maybe he’d stay until Gordon woke after all. Not an excuse to stay longer but to enjoy annoying Gordon.

***

A loud wretched but familiar blaring woke Gordon from a blessedly dreamless slumber. Never had he hated his alarm more. How dare it still be set? He should’ve unplugged the foul, evil thing before going to bed last night.

“Make it stop,” Benrey whined, sounding more upset than Gordon had ever heard him before as he pressed himself more into Gordon’s chest. “Why’s it so loud?”

More concerned with silencing the damn alarm than why Benrey was pressing into him, Gordon reached over him and, with the familiarity of reaching over to shut it off more times than he was proud of, unerringly smacked the snooze button. He held it long enough to make sure it turned off instead of just going to sleep to torment them in twenty minutes because fuck that.

Blessed, peaceful silence restored, Gordon relaxed with a sigh, his arm going limp around Benrey as the tension left his body too. Prior to Gordon freeing his hand to reach the alarm, he’d been all the way under the blanket, his face resting against Gordon’s chest. His arm was draped over Gordon’s side, their legs tangled together.

“Bro, why’d you set your alarm?” he asked, a slight whine still in his voice. “It’s sucks. And why’s it so horrible? You should change to… to music or something.” If he was at all bothered by their current position, he made no move to remedy it.

“I forgot to turn it off last night. Why are we cuddling?”

“Because you said I could join you and then uh… you hugged me.”

Gordon should push him away. He hadn’t agreed to cuddling, just sleeping next to each other, there was room to do that without being this close, but… that would take so much effort and he was tired. Benrey was soft against him and not particularly warm. Gordon ran pretty hot and thus during the handful of other instances in which he’d found himself cuddling someone, the heat the other person gave off was a bit much and thus had always quickly grown uncomfortable. Such wasn’t an issue with Benrey, he was just soft.

So instead of pushing him away, verbally and/or physically, Gordon moved his hand to touch his face. A bit awkward with the way Benrey lay against his chest but he did it anyway.

Benrey flinched away from him. “Whoa, hey, bro, what?”

“We’re literally cuddling, dude. How can you possibly have a problem with me touching your face?” Despite his words, Gordon did withdraw his hand. Him being the one making it weird would be awfully hypocritical… and it was rude to touch people in ways they didn’t want to be touched.

Benrey relaxed again, adjusting himself only slightly. Seems he didn’t have any more desire to move than Gordon did. “Why you wanna touch my face?”

“Uh…” How did Gordon explain he wanted to know what Benrey’s skin felt like without it sounding like he was a serial killer thinking about skinning him to make a purse or something? Probably it wasn’t possible and so no need to be honest about that. “I just want to. So can I?”

“Hmm… all right, only ‘cause you’re warm though.”

Gordon returned his hand to Benrey’s face, this time he leaned into it a little instead of flinching away. He ran his fingers down from his forehead to his cheek to slightly under his jaw; an almost caress but he was just feeling. His skin was unnaturally smooth, the texture not like human skin at all, which might’ve made it creepy except it was fairly pleasant, almost a little like running his hand over the surface of a toy slime. Which brought with it the sensation that if he were to press his fingers into it hard enough, it would deform and that was a bit creepy. It was also fairly cool, as expected given that the whole of him wasn’t giving off much, if any heat, despite how close they were. The forehead down to about where the preternatural shade over his eyes ended could even be described as cold. Outside of the danger and hectic chaos of the resonance cascade’s fallout, Gordon could finally start to appreciate how odd and interesting of a specimen he was. He might have to take a thermometer to him later. For now though, he was satisfied.

He pulled his hand away and draped his arm over him again instead. An almost hug but really, with Benrey pressed so close, where else was he supposed to put his arm? “I think you might be cold-blooded.”

“What does that mean in uh… sciencey terms? ‘Cause it means something different, right?”

Given that this wasn’t Gordon’s field of scientific expertise, he perhaps shouldn’t have drawn a conclusion based off so little evidence. But did it really matter that much? “It means your body doesn’t produce much heat.” Obviously it was more complicated than that but Gordon was way too sleepy to try to explain better.

“Is that why warm stuff feels so nice?”

“Maybe, yeah. So… I guess we can stay like this.” It was a bit of an awkward position to cuddle someone in but most of the discomfort it would cause was on Benrey’s part and he didn’t seem to mind.

“Sweet.”

“Just don’t tell anyone ‘bout this.” After the assumptions the others had made upon Gordon complaining about sharing a bed, he didn’t want to know what they’d say if they found out he’d willingly cuddled Benrey.

“’Course not. It’s uh… our little secret.”

“Good. Want me to pull the blanket back up?”

Benrey hummed an affirmative.

Gordon pulled the blanket back up to his chin, encasing Benrey in his arms under it. He then shifted, curling around Benrey a little more, entangling their legs a little tighter. Nothing weird or strange about this. The dessert got cold at night and the heaters and air conditioning had been turned off to save power so he was just helping his cold-blooded buddy keep warm. Yeah, temperature probably couldn’t harm him in any substantial way but that didn’t mean the cold wasn’t unpleasant. So this meant basically nothing other than Gordon felt bad enough for him to put up with cuddling him. He could relate to being lonely after all.

Over the next few minutes, Benrey’s breathing deepened as he went lax against Gordon again. Had he ever had anyone fall asleep so easily in his arms before? … Not that he could remember. The last time he’d even cuddled anyone had been a boyfriend he’d had in his first year of college. Cuddling had never lasted long though; too warm and they were both too busy with school work to have much time to lounge around in each other’s arms. The latter being what ended their relationship and why Gordon hadn’t been in serious relationship since, work taking the place of school once he’d got hired on at Black Mesa upon graduating.

This was nice though. When awake, Benrey was an annoying, dangerous bastard. Asleep, he was soft, cuddly, and quiet. Gordon could get used to this. He probably shouldn’t let himself sleep though. The alarm had been set to go off at 5am, way too early to be up, but the drive back to Tuefort was long, an early start would be wise. So probably he should get up in maybe an hour or two? Surely he could…

An odd rumbling sound interrupted his thoughts. He blinked opened his eyes to look around the room for its source, not that he could see much in the dark without his glasses. But as it grew stronger and louder he didn’t need to see to tell where it was coming from.

Benrey, still snuggled in his arms under the blanket. Him snoring? … No. Even if it followed the rhythm of his breathing, it was too continuous to be snoring no matter how weird an animal he was. Gordon could feel its source in Benrey’s chest and back where his arm touched. Having grown up with cats, it wasn’t the exact same sound or feel but it did have some very familiar vibes.

“Benrey, are you… purring?”

No response of course, Benrey was fast asleep. One wasn’t needed though because what else could it possibly be? Given that he wasn’t a cat, his reason for purring might be totally unrelated to why cats purred. Maybe it just meant he was in a specific stage of sleep; instead of REM, he purred. But while they were cuddling? And he’d made it very clear he liked how warm Gordon was. So maybe it was because he was comfortable and content.

Regardless of why though, it was something Gordon could tease him about it later. … Unless he didn’t find it embarrassing. But he had to, right? He liked to come off as cool and purring was far too adorable for anyone to ever find it cool. So yeah, Gordon would tease him about it later. For now though, it was soothing, pulling him back towards sleep. Maybe not a pull he should listen to but… he didn’t really have much choice in the matter.

Next Chapter

#hlvrai #frenrey #benrey #hlvrai gordon

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izvmimi · 1 year

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#2 and shouto for the random dialogue prompts !!!¡¡¡

kissing the top of ur pretty head mwuah

The lunch rush at the agency is finally over by the time the clock strikes 2 pm, but only two of you remain in the break room, having both taken late lunches, and the air is so frigidly tense, you wonder if Shoto is actually surreptitiously using his Quirk.

He hasn't said a word to you since you entered thirty minutes ago, and you had two options - 1. to ignore him too, or 2. to confront him dead on - and you chose the former. After all, Shoto must be used to getting whatever he wants from others, just because of the simple fact that he naturally already has it all, whether it's looks, charm, money, ability, you know it. Why indulge him this time too?

So rather than step around him sitting in the center of the room, picking at an elaborately decorated bento, you decide to set yourself down directly in front of him, loudly unwrapping your bowl of instant ramen noodles right where he can see you.

Time passes.

Shoto and you are not the best of friends, but you are not enemies. In fact, some would say you are rather fond of one another for coworkers, or at least he hangs around you like a lost puppy looking for guidance. Perhaps you're the one slighted by the lack of attention. Ever since the company party two days ago, it's been as though you no longer exist to him, and you wish he would simply tell you the truth -

that he saw you get handsy with one of the younger rookies, and that he's mad because he wishes it were him.

You've wanted Shoto to ask you out properly for weeks, and your patience is wearing thin...

And then it tears to shreds the moment he gets up to leave, the leg of his chair scraping obnoxiously loud against the flooring. It might be intentional.

"Why are you mad?" you finally say. Your voice is a little less bold than it means to be, and rather pleading; you feel like it betrays you.

Shoto looks at you with an expression that isn't really disdain or really hurt, but just the faintest bit of irritation. Then he looks away.

"I'm not mad, I just think you can choose better people to kiss."

You pause again, but a mixture of annoyance and desperation spurs you on.

"Like you?"

Shoto had already started walking towards the door but stops in his tracks as he marches just past you. You turn and he's glaring at you again, and the room grows still colder even if his skin has not started to frost.

"What are you implying?" he asks. There's an edge to his voice that makes you bolder. You want him to feel something, hopefully as much as you do for him. Anything.

"Would you be a better person to kiss, Shoto Todoroki?" you press.

By now he should leave, and let you sit in shame alone in the break room with your instant noodles and your shaky pride but instead he replies simply,

"Yes."

You blink. You didn't expect to win this easily, and now you're not sure what's next aside from the quickening of your heartbeat.

And then he moves quickly - leaning in, his lips brush ever so gently against yours, his hand rested on your shoulder, somewhere between intimacy but also keeping you still, in your place.

It's only for a split second that he kisses you but time seems to stop. Perhaps infinitely.

Shoto rises and smiles, triumphant.

"I guess I am better. You didn't make that face with him."

#shoto x reader #shoto todoroki x reader #mimi's notes #mimi replies #daydreams: bnha

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theladyragnell · 7 months

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i have my first ever dnd session next week and i’m. nervous-excited! any tips?

Oh, wonderful! I was about to demur and say I'm not an expert and take everything with a grain of salt, and then remembered I've been playing a game most weeks for most of the past decade and played two 1-20 campaigns and am now DMing another. So I guess maybe I do have some right to give advice?

Engage! Truly, this is the biggest piece of advice I can give you. You and your table are telling a story together, and it's a better story the more engaged people are. Be the kind of character who picks up plot threads the DM leaves dangling and chats with NPCs, be the kind of character who asks their party members about themselves, even if your charisma score isn't high. It doesn't take improv skills unless you're playing at a table that's recording a podcast or something, just a willingness to be curious, and it makes a huge difference.

Communicate. With your DM especially, but with your fellow players too. Let them know you're feeling nervous and might be a little shy but that you want to engage! If someone tries to engage you in roleplay, go for it and don't worry if you feel a little silly doing it. If you aren't having fun with an aspect of your character ("whoops, I should have taken a different rogue subclass") or the game ("heyyy, I didn't realize that killing wolves and elk would bother me so much, is there a plan to fight more magical monsters I'll feel less guilty about in the future?"), chat with your DM before it gets to be a bigger problem. And hopefully your table has chatted about triggers and systems to make sure you're all safe around that, a lot of tables do these days, but don't be shy about your needs.

Try to go with the tone presented! Hopefully your DM has told you what kind of game you're in, but a lot of table frictions can come when one player is playing Smeef Smeekle, jolly halfling weed dealer whose goal is to get into as much trouble as possible, and everyone else is playing A Team Of Heroes. Or, for that matter, when one person is playing Bluhdborne Pahth'ojenn, world's angstiest rogue, and everyone else is a fantasy k(obold)-pop band that fell into a dungeon (though comedy games do love a straight man, so that's mostly not fun for Bluhdborne).

Give kudos! When the DM or another player does something cool or creative, improvs a line that gives you chills, anything like that, let them know it! Either in the moment quickly, or after the session in some way. It can be a bit of an emotionally intense hobby, and it's nice to check in with your fellow players and tell them how awesome they are.

And last, some Common D&D Good Manners Things: in combat, have some idea of what your action is going to be before your turn comes around (some players make flowcharts, which I have never tried but might be your jam). Know your abilities as much as is realistic, and have descriptions of abilities and spells close to hand so your DM can ask you instead of looking them up. Take notes if you're playing longer than a one-shot, even if it's only a few words, both to keep yourself engaged and to give yourself the assist later when you need to remember whether this shopkeeper likes you or hates you.

Okay, that got very wordy! But really, just jump into the story, communicate with your table, and come at it with curiosity and collaboration, and it's hard to go wrong if your table is on the same page as you.

Enjoy!

#anonymous #answered asks

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thebiscuiteternal · 3 months

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For the B-day jam:

Somewhere in the fox-meng-yao universe.

Once a (12-ish) Huaisang figured out that his friend could take the shape of anyone, he uses it to get out of everything he doesn't want to do. Meng Yao genuinely likes the lessons, taking everything in like a sponge. Though it's a bit sad that no one even suspects him, never. His little lordling hadn't left his room for weeks now.

Hm, this ended up a lot mushier and more feelsy than I intended when I read the prompt. Oh, well, hopefully it's still good.

------------

Nie Huaisang looked up as his double came through the door that separated their rooms. "I finished your copy of the tutoring notes. How did training go?"

"Fine," his own rasping voice answered, before the double reached up and pulled loose the ribbon holding up his hair, causing him to transform back into Meng Yao. "Your brother might finally be catching on to us, though."

"Shit," Nie Huaisang muttered, slumping against the cushioned board that was propping him up. "You remember what to say, right? That I ordered you to do it?"

"Calm down." Meng Yao shed his borrowed boots and outer robe, then called forth his fox shape as he hopped onto the bed. 'I don't think he's going to say anything. In fact, judging by his reactions to me today, it's almost like he's avoiding the idea.'

"Well... that makes sense. He's probably happier with a fake that can keep up instead of-"

Meng Yao cut his little lord off by butting his head up under the human's chin in a demand to be scratched behind his ears. 'Your brother loves you,' he insisted.

Nie Mingjue did love his brother.

There was a 'but' in there, however, and it had been the basis of their deal that if Meng Yao took his place in the physical training, Nie Huaisang would suck up his annoyance with studying and make him copies of each day's lessons in return.

The Nie was very much a battle sect, and with his frequent illnesses and the damage that had been done when Nie Haoran had gone violently mad in his last days, Nie Huaisang just... well, he would be lucky if he ever managed to meditate enough to coalesce his distorted qi into enough of a core to let him chase birds again, let alone fight.

As a scholar, he was actually doing pretty well, if only for Meng Yao's sake. As a Nie...

'Look on the bright side,' Meng Yao whuffed as Huaisang obligingly began to scratch. 'As long as he doesn't call us on it, no one else will either.' He pulled back enough to lick Huaisang's nose and make him laugh. 'I like being your other half.'

Nie Huaisang wiped his nose with his sleeve, but was smiling as he cuddled Meng Yao back into his arms and resumed petting his ears. 'I like you being my other half too," he admitted quietly. "I just wish it wasn't because I'd be an embarrassment otherwise."

Meng Yao didn't have a good response for that, so he just snuggled even closer.

Maybe... maybe he should expose the ruse to his sect leader. He didn't necessarily want to risk no longer getting his lessons, since he'd been doing so well at them, but he never liked it when his little lord sank into hating himself like this.

If he could somehow get his sect leader to understand... maybe they'd be allowed to continue under less miserable circumstances.

It was worth a try... wasn't it?

#mdzs #nie huaisang #jin guangyao #fanfic #i should probably think of a tag for this timeline shouldn't i?

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cursedvibes · 11 months

Text

20 Questions for Fic Writers

Tagged by @voxofthevoid

Thank you! And congratulations to the 2 mil words 🥳

1. How many works do you have on ao3?

2. What’s your total ao3 word count?

228,925

3. What fandoms do you write for?

Only Jujutsu Kaisen so far. And I published an original fic anonymously. I also have some ideas for Naruto (or more like the Sannin), Houseki no Kuni and Monster fics, but I'm not getting there any time soon.

4. What are your top five fics by kudos?

People really seem to like the more or less wholesome Itadori family stuff

Call Me A Familiar Stranger (Kenjaku & Yuuji) - I really didn't expect this one to be so popular, since it was essentially just a scrapped idea for another chapter of Chance Encounter.

Chance Encounter (Kenjaku & Yuuji)

Familial Units (Kenjaku & Yuuji, Jin/Kenjaku)

Stitches Across the Eye (Jin/Kenjaku) - my long term project that I will hopefully finish next year...

First Time (Jin/Kenjaku) - My #1 smut fic. It's really surprising to see it this high because it didn't do that well in the beginning, but recently I've been getting a lot of notifications for it.

5. Do you respond to comments? Why or why not?

I try to, but it might take weeks 😬 It's always in the back of my head though and especially with the longer ones I feel bad for not responding quickly. Usually, I feel really stupid with the stuff I say in response, but I hope that doesn't shine through. I really appreciate every single one. I have a whole folder of screenshotted comments, bookmark descriptions and tumblr tags, asks and mentions.

6. What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

Oh boy, that's a tough pick. I'd say either Midnight Tea or In the Quiet of the Cold because they both end with Jin's corpse rotting on the floor and a deeply traumatized Yuuji.

7. What’s the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

I think First Time is my most wholesome fic so far. Lots of vivid descriptions of Kenjaku's brain, but Jin is actually really happy about how touching his wife's organs can be a bonding experience. It's how he copes with Kaori's temporal death uwu. Even Kenjaku catches some feelings.

8. Do you get hate on fic?

Not really. There was that comment recently saying I should tag First Time dead dove, but that was more weird, not hateful. Some people also have some strong emotions about Kenjaku surgically removing Gojo's eye in Familial Units, but they always end in "I didn't read the tags/didn't take them seriously, my bad".

9. Do you write smut?

I try to...it's one of the writing things I struggle with the most. I have a couple of smut WIPs, but most I don't think are good enough to be published.

10. Do you write crossovers?

No. I don't read many crossovers either. Just doesn't interest me.

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Not that I know of.

12. Have you ever had a fic translated?

I actually got asked just yesterday by someone if they could translate Don't Think About The Past into Spanish. It's a first for me, I feel really honoured.

13. Have you ever co-written a fic before?

No. Depending on the idea I wouldn't be opposed to it tho.

14. What’s your all-time favourite ship?

I don't think I have something like that. There aren't that many ships I'm really crazy about anyway. TenKen and JinKen are definitely my favourite to write about tho.

15. What’s a WIP you want to finish but probably won’t?

Feel The Life Unmade. I just don't feel that satisfied about the set-up and the characters I included in there. The topic and time period is really interesting though and I want to write more about the Death Painting experiment, but not here. I decided that I will write a little bit more of chapter 3 until I get to a specific cut-off point (around 1k more words than I already have in my draft of ch3), then throw it on AO3 and incorporate the rest of my ideas in other fics. The first chapter of Haunting Past is how I wanted to end Life Unmade and some other ideas will be included in the WIP I'm currently writing.

16. What are your writing strengths?

Atmosphere I would say, particularly writing unsettling and creepy scenes. I've also been told by people that they really like my characterizations. Recently, someone commented that I manage to write Kenjaku in a way that you feel their old age, but also connection to current society and culture, which made me really happy because that's a balance I try to pay close attention to.

17. What are your writing weaknesses?

Smut. And I really mean smut, not sex. I can write sex, but making it hot and appealing is where I struggle. It always feels so hollow and silly when I reread it. Gross, anxiety inducing sex scenes I can do, but making sex sexy is hard for me. Guess that's the reason I have an easier time with MahiKen smut. It's nastier. Action scenes are hard too, but I haven't really encountered many scenarios where I would really need them, so I just don't have much practice in writing them. I also tend to focus more on a character's inner world and actions scenes don't lend themselves well to that.

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language in fic?

It's fine I guess? I don't think I ever had to incorporate that in a fic (if we're talking about an exchange of multiple sentences and not just short phrases) and I would only include it if the POV character doesn't understand the language. I'd also only use it if it's a language I am confident I can represent properly. I suffered through a lot of broken German, I know how it is to have supposed native speakers not know basic grammar (or in TV pronunciation...it's one thing to have an accent, but German in American shows/movies is often just unintelligible).

19. First fandom you wrote for?

Technically Tanz der Vampire, when I was 14 or 15, but I didn't publish any of it. Wouldn't know where I would've done that anyway. Besides that, JJK is the first fandom I decided to invest a lot of time in to write and publish fanfics for.

20. Favourite fic you’ve written?

Picking Up The Pieces. I threw in a lot of my Heian TenKen hcs and it allowed me to explore a more manipulative side of Tengen. Also, it is very fun to have Kenjaku in such a vulnerable position, that doesn't happen very often.

I don't know 20 fic writers :') (or not well enough to dare to tag them) No pressure to do this or respond of course. Also, if anyone else sees this and wants to do it, feel free to take this as your tag

@hxhhasmysoul @perelka-l @urostakako @kaitakushi @frankenjoly @kenjakusbrainstem

#my stuff

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writeshite · 2 years

Text

You’re Not So Quick To Love Again

Summary:

You try to ignore the apparent looks of curiosity you garner from the rest of the staff; word of your possible reconciliation has no doubt already become the top story - it’s more monotonous; if anything, there are moments when Mark almost does something out of habit but stops himself almost immediately. You almost fall into familiar patterns as well, and by the end of the first day of the trial run, you’re adequately exhausted.

Pairings:

Mark Sloan x Male Reader

Tags:

Angst | Guilty Feelings | Therapy Sessions

Words: 2499

Author's Note:

The amount of shit I read for this fic has made me realize my grasp on English is hanging by a thread 😭.

Previous | Series Masterlist

30 days.

30 excruciating days.

It’s awkward, to say the least when you and Mark start the trial run - at the very least, you don’t immediately turn to hostility - that’s not to say everything is peachy keen. Derek, for obvious reasons, is a little skeptical, more so with Mark than with you; George is very much in the same camp as him, Izzy is happy that you’re working things out, and the rest of the staff seems to be divided into either camp or in most cases, neither - simply watching the events unfold. The counseling sessions don’t stop, of course; they carry on as is, but included every so often is a catch-up on how things are going.

“Good morning.”

You’re also talking again, albeit more so prompted by the trial run than anything else. “Good morning, Dr. Sloan.”

“Nice day,” he mutters.

You nod, hmming in agreement as you make your rounds; there are no emergencies for now, and hopefully for the rest of the day. You try to ignore the apparent looks of curiosity you garner from the rest of the staff; word of your possible reconciliation has no doubt already become the top story. You don’t bump into Addison much, even now, and you don’t know if you should be relieved or saddened - it’s more monotonous; if anything, there are moments when Mark almost does something out of habit but stops himself almost immediately. You almost fall into familiar patterns as well, and by the end of the first day of the trial run, you’re adequately exhausted.

The dogs are more rambunctious; it seems; Atlas practically swamps you when you step through the door, Gumdrop not far behind; the usual walk doesn’t do much for them, so you stay out a little longer. It’s not too bad. You ignore the essay-long lectures filling your inbox from Zoe and the phone calls over the week. By the end of said week, you don’t feel less likely to shove a scalpel into Mark’s neck, but at the very least, you can exchange some words somewhat less maliciously.

“How has the first week been for you?”

Dr. Saltzman doesn’t seem to show much emotion in favor of either you or Mark during the sessions - though you think he might be more in favor of you, but that may just be you. “It’s been alright,” you respond, “I’m still angry, but I feel I can somewhat co-exist peacefully now.”

“That’s good.” He says.

“I mean, I’m not over it, but I’m still unsure if I want anything other than whatever this is,” you tell him. “A part of me doesn’t even think any of what we had before was genuine, it felt genuine for me, but I don’t know if it was the same for Mark.”

The creeping thoughts never left; with this reconciliation stage, they returned, you couldn’t even look at Addison without your throat constricting and the memories hitting you back full force. “Do you see your relationship before this as tainted?”

You shrug, “Not all of it….a few moments, maybe…I don’t,” you groan, “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologize; you’re well within your right to be uncertain; most betrayed spouses can never look past that hurdle and ultimately break things off for good.”

“Should I break things off?” You ask, hoping he’ll tell you what to do, but that’s not his job; he tilts his head and redirects the question back to you. You slump back in your chair and run a hand down your face. “This’d be a lot easier if you just told me what to do,” you quip.

“It would,” he responds, “but then, you’d no doubt come to depend on me for other decisions then, wouldn’t you?”

You groan, “Before, my feelings about him were pretty angry, but the stupid optimistic side of me is resurfacing again; I hate it.” You don’t look at him when you speak further on the matter; the soft spot Mark managed to carve back into your heart is whittling away at your anger. “I miss him,” you can admit that much freely, “I miss his stupid face. I miss the little moments between us, like when he used to wake me up by rolling all his weight on me.”

“Marcus Sloan, I swear to go —”

“My name’s not Marcus,” he remarks, still not moving from his apparently comfortable position. “It’s Mark.”

“Mark…get off…” you try not to laugh, but it is, at the very least, entertaining.

“I’d push him off me, and then we’d wrestle before getting up to make breakfast,” you recount fondly. “There are times when I’d do something with the dogs, or just mundane, and then I’d turn to talk to him, and I know it’s him because I’d call out for him before….”

It hadn’t been anything major; Atlas had tried getting into the cupboards again, “Mark, get your dog out of the —“ you’d paused, placing a hand over your mouth and shaking your head, then ushered Atlas away yourself. It had been a running joke - when the dogs would make mischief, they’d be Mark’s dogs; you hadn’t done this in so long.

“Ever since I started this trial run, I’ve been falling back into habits,” you say, “I hate it. I hate myself for getting so hopeful and happy around him again.”

Mark doesn’t think the past week has been anything but good, and he responds to Dr. Saltzman’s question with that. “I’m hoping it’s the same for him,” he adds on.

“Why?”

“Because —sometimes I almost reach out like I used to, but I don’t think he’d appreciate that.”

“True. Have you at all confronted or discussed the affair since it happened with Addison?”

Mark shakes his head, “We…we slept together once after…when Gabriel was around, I think….”

“How did that turn out?”

“When I woke up beside Addison, I remembered the night of the affair,” he replies, “and all I could think about was his face when I saw him again at Seattle Grace —I couldn’t —we agreed never to do it again.”

“This agreement was mutual?”

“Yeah,” he nods, “I haven’t seen much of her anyway.”

“But given your job and circumstances, there will come a time for you to interact with her,” Dr. Saltzman points out. Mark knows this; he and Addison’s specialties don’t correlate that often, but when they will, eventually.

In your next joint session, the topic of Addison is brought up again. Realistically, she can’t quit and love a hundred thousand miles away from either of you, and you can’t ignore her all that much at work if and when you have to work together.

“Since the usual options are out of the question, I suggest a meeting between the both of you, Addison and Derek.”

“Derek?” Mark interrupts, “What does he have to do with this?”

“He was also a betrayed spouse if you remember,” Dr. Saltzman responded, “he’s just as involved in this as both of you.”

“Isn’t that unfair?” You ask. “Derek looks happy; why should we drag him back into,” you gesture between you and Mark, “this?!”

“Would you rather it just be you, Mark, and Addison?”

Ah, so Derek would be a buffer for you, Mark watches as you catch on to the same train of thought, and your expression catches a slight hint of guilt. He wants to assure you it’s okay but doesn’t know if he should or if he’s allowed to. You both stand outside the building after the session ends; you stare at the sky for a second and take a deep breath before bidding Mark goodbye.

Mark isn’t looking forward to work the next day, he’s tempted to call in sick, but he doesn’t - slugging into Seattle Grace, the usual stares and whispers accompany him. “Good morning Dr. Sloan.”

“Good morning to you as well, Doctor,” he greets you. “How are you after yesterday?” You don’t usually exchange more than a brief greeting, but Mark thinks he should at least ask after you; your response is twofold - first, your expression is shocked, then tired, and second, you respond, voice laced with equal exhaustion.

“A little tired,” you reply, “should have called in sick.”

“I wish I had,” he remarks.

You respond to that with something of a snicker, shaking your head lightly. It’s not much, but Mark smiles a little in kind. Your happy snicker replays in his head long after that, and his memories decide to make an appearance - moments between the both of you start to replay, but only the happy moments, the kind that has the guilt trickling back in. When you smile at him again or talk to him without malice, he feels it amplify, accompanied by another feeling - fear. The same kind he’d felt when he’d woken up next to Addison the first time - what if he fucks it up again? There are moments where he asks himself if it's worth it, his part is far less painful than yours, and he wonders if it is better to cut this off and remain familiar acquaintances. But a selfish part of him doesn't want to let go; those feelings of inadequacy Dr. Saltzman had mentioned feel like they’re choking him.

There are nights he considers just emptying his pockets at Jo’s, he almost does, but Jo practically shoves him out the door with a warning, “No drinks until you get yourself sorted out.”

He’d like to thank the man but is mildly irritated by the gesture; the temptation of losing himself in a drink or two isn’t quite as overpowering, unfortunately, so he opts for lying face-down on his couch. Which, of course, leads to him overanalyzing every little interaction between you and him.

You’re happy, he thinks, but would you be happier if he ended things? You had Gabriel, but that doesn’t look like it’s going anywhere, or could it? He can’t ask Gabriel, and he doesn’t know how you’d react if he asked you, so he shelves that away.

“What if he can never trust me again?”

Dr. Saltzman purses his lips, “While I hope it doesn’t come to that, you might have to continue assuring him long after reconciliation.” Mark feels himself deflate; he wants to cry, but why should he? He’s the reason things are like this in the first place. “As I’ve told you, communication is key, Mark. If you don’t feel like you can do that, then communicate that, and alongside that, be patient.”

“He was hurt; he may not feel ready to be intimate or close to you in any way, but that also applies to you. You may feel ready to be with him from the get-go, but guilt is a very powerful emotion. Don’t put your own needs on the back burner, either.”

“But I was the one that cheated —”

“Bending over backward is not the way to earn forgiveness,” Dr. Saltzman sternly reiterates.

Mark runs a hand down his face at the memory. He’d had the words practically at the forefront of his thoughts, “Bending over backward is not the way to earn forgiveness.”

“Bending over backward is not the way to earn forgiveness.”

“I don’t think I deserve a second chance.”

Dr. Saltzman does a pretty good job of keeping his face neutral enough to assure Mark, and curious enough to coax further details from him. He would love a second chance - to shower you in kisses, draw you close again, and just be able to be yours again - but he doesn’t feel like he deserves it - he’s had your expression practically printed in his mind. He can’t even begin to imagine what your expression must have been like when you’d gotten the news of his infidelity.

“I think –I think he could do better,” he begins, “I’ve seen it, he’s amazing and kind, and any guy would be lucky to have him. I had him, and I fucked it up.” The words sound more like Gabriel’s than his, but it’s true.

“You’re a lucky man, Mark, a real lucky man. Congrats on the engagement,”

Maybe he should take up Estelle on her offer of conversation or something; aside from Dr. Saltzman, he hasn’t talked to anyone else about this - not that anyone’s gunning to be his shoulder to cry on.

“Don’t make a decision for him either, Mark; you might think you’re in the right, but you won’t be.”

Easier said than done, the temptation to just drop off the face of the earth is tempting - you’d be free - the feeling surfaces during the next joint session. “Did you ever sleep with her before then?”

The answer’s no. He had never dreamt of it before then, and even with his words being true, he was not a fan of answering some of the questions. “Was she the only one?”

“Yes.”

Your eyebrows furrow and you appear doubtful, glancing away for a moment. “What happened that day?” Mark’s now confused; you know what happened, he says as much, “No, I mean, tell me what happened,” you demand.

Mark’s not proud that he ran out of the room; he’s not proud that he called in sick and practically lies face down in his bed. He was sure he’d be able to do this without stumbling over himself, but hearing you ask about the affair had somehow made his shut down - palms clammy and mind racing as he tried to find the words. He’d spoken of it before with you, but those conversations had been full of rage, and he’d only ever had to divulge as little information as you could bare, but now, you were demanding everything. He thinks most of it is tucked away somewhere in his mind; he’s even less proud of the fact that he calls up Addison for the first time in who knows how long.

They meet up at some cafe out of town, miles from you, Derek, and anyone else that might think they’re reconciling. Addison looks downcast, picking at her nails as she glances anywhere but him, “We need to talk.” There’ll be another talk besides this, with you involved, but this one’s more to help Mark, help him piece everything together and have it ready for when you ask him again.

“He asked me to tell him everything about that night,” he begins, and Addison lets out a shaky breath. “But I ran away —I —Addison, I need your help to —” There’s no easy way to ask your affair partner to help you piece everything about said affair so that your betrayed partner gets an answer with no contradictions.

“We slept in mine and Derek’s room….”

They go over minor details repeatedly, details he’d never thought to have been important; he types it all down and makes a copy in case the original is lost. He reads it over and over again - until the words are intertwined in his thoughts until they paint his eyelids, and they’re all he can see when he blinks.

End Note:

This chapter was the death of me istg. Stay Hydrated.

#mark sloan x male reader #mark sloan x reader #grey's anatomy imagine #bleeding heart series #this chapter was the death of me istg

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schrijverr · 1 year

Text

I Found Myself a Cheerleader 8

Chapter 8 out of 28

Bumped to the lowest step on the social ladder after his fight with Billy, Steve gets roped in with the cheer team. What starts as a favor to help them out when one member breaks her leg in turn for protection from the brunt of the bullying, sets the universe on a different path.

In this chapter, Steve gets used to working at Scoops Ahoy and time passes by until Dustin returns back to town, pulling Steve back into the bullshit that hides in Hawkins. When he and Robin get taken by Russians, their tentative friendship turns into a bond that will never be broken.

On AO3.

Ships: eventual steddie & buckingham

Warnings: period typical homophobia, torture, f-slur, child abuse mention, internalized homophobia mention

~~~~~~~~~~

Chapter 8: The Mall

June is steadily passing. Steve is still working with Robin, whom he’s cautiously friends with now. She still sometimes looks at him like she expects him to punch her or like he’s going to explode, but that’s rarely.

Chrissy comes by often too and Robin is starting to be normal around her too. Less anxious rambling and more laughing about stupid shit.

Things with Chrissy have been a bit odd. They’re still friends and she hangs around Scoops Ahoy more often than not, but Steve has to deflect to stop her from finding out he’s still staying at the Byers house.

Still, he maintains that their camping sleep over they had at the lakes was great. They even got to stunt without a back spotter, because they were doing it in the water.

However, Chrissy has been send off to bible camp for a few weeks, which has given Steve a reprieve from keeping up the lie. Hopefully when she gets back Steve will have his own place and he can play it off. If Steve had known then what would happen between now and her getting back, he might not have thought that, but still.

Will has also warmed back up to him, which he is more grateful for than he wants to admit. There is less connection between them than there had been in his kitchen that morning when he came by with Dustin, but still. He’s no longer overtly hurt by Steve not admitting he’s gay.

The kids are annoying him quite regularly at work ever since Will figured out over dinner that Steve can sneak them into the movies with his job. Steve doesn’t mind, though he pretends he does, those little shits make him happier than he’ll ever tell them.

All this to say that he’s been settling in okay at Scoops Ahoy. It’s become a familiar place where he found his groove and though his flirting has gotten him nowhere, something Robin delights in for some reason, he isn’t getting confused looks anymore.

Besides, he doesn’t care that much that the girls don’t take him up on his offer for a date. He can’t really spare the money for it and despite fooling himself that he liked girls for many years, now that he’s aware, he can’t really see the appeal that much. They just don’t do it for him.

Still, he has pick up lines that he can pull out and he knows his hair is well liked, though the latter is covered by his stupid uniform.

He’s getting off topic, the point is that he’s gotten comfortable at Scoops Ahoy, which means he doesn’t expect Eddie Munson to walk into the place, looking like a walking wet dream. The man is still jeans, but he has dropped the leather jacket in favor of just wearing his battle jacket and a cutoff band shirt, which show off his arms in ways that should be illegal. Like, since when does Eddie have tattoos?

Steve shakes himself out of it, trying to be casual, as Eddie rolls up to the register with a: “Stevie, hey, man.”

“Ahoy, are you ready to set sail on an ocean of flavors with me? I’ll be your captain,” Steve finds himself greeting back. His cheeks light up at his own words and he ignores how this is a line he used on some of the girls, because it was honestly instinct and not something he wants to say to Eddie.

Fuck, he wants Eddie to think he’s cool, or at least not a massive looser that got kicked out. So, he aims to make it goofy halfway through. To play it off as a joke, because part of him knows the greeting might make Eddie laugh.

He’s right in that regard and is rewarded by one of Eddie’s deep laughs that make his insides curl up in the best way. “Wow, that is truly something,” Eddie grins. “I can’t believe you’re an ice cream slinging sailor.”

“Shut up, dude,” Steve huffs, the annoyance not landing as anything he means.

“Not judging, not judging,” Eddie assures him. “It’s not like I have the best ways of obtaining some money.”

Steve shrugs in a way that says ‘that’s fair’ because drug dealer indeed isn’t the best occupation to have. He moves on. “So, I’m guessing you came here for ice cream and not to laugh at me? What flavor do you want?”

“Uuuhm,” Eddie replies, tapping his plush lips with one of his long fingers in a way that has Steve fighting not to stare. Then he gets hit by Eddie’s big eyes, now a tad apologetic. “I’m gonna be honest, don’t know, man. I just want to cool down. The heat is killer.”

“We offer samples,” Steve tells him, because he wants Eddie to have a nice treat. It’s clear he doesn’t go out often and Steve want his experience with Steve to be nice. He’s aware that’s slightly pathetic, but he doesn’t care.

Eddie lights up at the offer, which makes it worth it, and asks: “Really? That’s cool, dude. What do you recommend?”

“I don’t know, what do you like?” Steve shoots back.

“Chocolate?” Eddie offers.

“We have peanut butter chocolate swirl,” Steve says, remembering the flavor because it just came in and Robin forced him to carry the heavy tub.

“That’s sounds nice,” Eddie says, eyes lighting up at the name.

A sense of pride and satisfaction rises up at the reaction that Steve attempts to push down as he scoops up a sample for Eddie. He hands it to him with a: “Here you go.”

“Why thank you,” Eddie replies, taking it with a courtesy, which makes Steve roll his eyes, though any snarky response to it dies in his throat as Eddie licks off the ice cream. Steve’s eyes tracking his tongue and his insides lighting up at the small moan Eddie lets out. “This is fucking good.”

“Glad you like it,” Steve squeaks. “Want a whole scoop?”

“Fuck yeah,” Eddie grins. “In a cup, please.”

“So polite,” Steve manages to joke, re-finding his post-puberty voice. He busies himself with scooping Eddie some ice cream, missing how Eddie’s eyes are glued to his arms, as he asks: “So, what brought you to the mall?”

“I have refused here to come on principle. Malls are a capitalistic hellscape that are here to create a monopoly and run local people out of business,” Eddie informs him, like that is a casual thing to say and, for Eddie, it kind of is. “However, even I can’t resist the siren song of a record shop that carries more metal. So alas, I have crumbled under the pressure of The Man. But don’t think I’ll be back here again!” he exclaims at the end.

The statement makes Steve sadder than he wants to be. He reminds himself that keeping his distance for Eddie is smarter, that it is good that Eddie isn’t going to come by every day and lick ice cream obscenely in front of Steve’s face. But that doesn’t squash the disappointment in his chest completely.

“Well, the enjoy ice cream on the house for your hardship,” he says, offering Eddie his cup with a charming smile. Eddie blushes a bit, Steve is almost sure, but he pushes the observation down as far as it will go.

Eddie ignores it too, taking the cup with a dramatic gesture as he proclaims: “My many thanks, kind shop keeper! Your generosity shall not be forgotten.”

“Yeah, yeah, stop making a scene,” Steve laughs. “Just take your ice cream and enjoy it.” Preferably somewhere I can’t see you lick it or I’ll combust, he adds mentally.

“I will. Thank you, Stevie,” Eddie says as he takes a bite from his ice cream using the sample spoon still in his hands. He hums happily, before waving at Steve and skipping out of the store, leaving Steve to stare at the place he occupied earlier.

“Your turn to take a break,” Robin snaps him out of his staring as she comes out of the backroom and Steve is grateful that he has a chance to gather himself, before getting back to work.

A few days later and he is coming out of that same backroom with excitement. Dustin is back in town and he has missed the squirt. He’s missed him so much. Dustin, who hasn’t heard what’s going on, who will never see the bruise that has already faded, who comes with grant tales of his adventures and who still treats Steve like the cooler older brother.

If Steve is honest, he doesn’t believe much of the Russian message story, but it’s a distraction.

Dustin’s excitement is infectious, despite all that has happened to the kid, he hasn’t let that dull his excitement about adventure. Steve doesn’t share much of the sentiment, but goes along with it. This way he can also keep Dustin safe, should it go wrong.

Helping Dustin with his project also means he isn’t out there serving ice cream. It says a lot about how far he and Robin have come from those first awkward days that she lets him bail on her like that to spend time with Dustin.

It also gives him a break from flirting with girls he doesn’t like, which is nice. He’s lost motivation for it pretty quickly, especially after finding out about the changed lock. He still feels the need to do it to protect himself, unable to stop himself from noticing how the targeting has gone down ever since he started flirting with girls again. But he doesn’t want to find a wife just to get back in his father’s good graces again. He’s happy to never see him, if he’s honest.

So, he’s happy to hide in the backroom and even happier to wipe away the fail board Robin made for him. He wants to tell her that he’s failing on purpose, but he can’t so it stands there as a reminder.

The two of them are not really getting anywhere with the translation. Steve honestly isn’t sure why Dustin even asked him, both know he’s not the smartest. But then again, he told Steve something about the others ditching him and Will also mentioned something about everyone getting more distant, busy with their girlfriends. Ahh, shitty old puberty.

Not that Dustin isn’t terrible with how he keeps bringing up Suzie, how amazing she is, how Steve should also find his Suzie. But he manages to ignore that for now.

Steve is sure that when the shine wears off, they’ll all return to how they were before. With what they have shared, it’s impossible not to. So, he just basks in getting to spend time with Dustin and tries not to worry about the kids too much.

However, Robin’s good graces run out at some point and she demands Steve do his job again and let her have a crack at the code. They obviously haven’t been hiding it as well as they thought they were, yet Steve feels the need to deny it and not let her get involved.

They’re not dealing with the Upside Down, just a Russian transmission. It’s not like they’re going to run into trouble in Hawkins over this, but still… Robin is nice. Well, she can be a bitch, but in the best way and Steve doesn’t want to see her get hurt over another one of Dustin’s projects.

But Robin is also stubborn and by the looks of her, he isn’t going to get her to back off. She’s also crazy smart on top of that, so if they actually want to succeed, they need her help.

So, he folds, like he so often does and goes to scoop ice cream again as Robin helps Dustin translate his coded Russian message.

As he scoops, he can’t help but perk up at every head of curly brown hair that walks in. He knows what Eddie told him about not coming back and he also knows he promised himself to keep his distance from Eddie, but still… He can’t help but look. Hope that Eddie will come back and he’ll get to hear more of that banter and watch him eat another scoop of ice cream.

Instead, however, he is stuck with the masses, who are indulging themselves on their outing to the mall or just because the weather is so hot. The most thrilling thing that happens is Robin popping in with the first sentence, which isn’t thrilling at all.

It’s only that evening that things take a turn for the weird. Well, weirder, this is Hawkins after all, it is never truly normal here.

But, things always manage to get weirder and while Steve hasn’t been much help in translating, the music that played still bugs him. And it is not until they’re walking through the mall after closing the shop that he realizes why.

He is naturally teased by both Dustin and Robin as he suddenly stops at the horse and asks for a quarter, however he shuts them up when the music starts playing and they all recognize it. The same music as from the intercepted message.

The Russians aren’t in Russia at all, they’re in Hawkins.

Mentally Steve rearranges what this means. Russians in Hawkins. They probably don’t have an army here, people would notice that, so it’s a small spying operation at best. They can take a small spying operation, right? Can’t be much worse than the demodogs or demogorgon.

For a second, Steve wonders why he ever let himself caught up in this all. He knows he’s going to go along with it again, he can’t bear to let Dustin do this alone, or with Robin, who seems equally excited about the prospect. Though he can forgive Robin, because she hasn’t been nearly gnawed to death a few months prior. Dustin has no excuse though.

They all agree to go on a spy mission tomorrow, assigning tasks to everyone and agreeing on times to meet up. Then Steve drops Dustin off at home, waving at Mrs. Henderson, who has always been nice to him, albeit a little confused, before driving to the Byers House.

When he gets there, it’s already late. And he feels bad about not calling when he sees how relieved Joyce looks that he’s alright. He isn’t used to anyone wondering where he is.

“I saved you some dinner,” Joyce tells him, not mentioning that she worried and Steve doesn’t either.

“Thanks,” he says, then, because he feels the need to apologize, he add: “Sorry, for missing it and not saying.”

“It’s okay,” Joyce immediately assures him. “But it should be criminal they keep you this late.”

“Oh, no, I stayed late, because-” Steve hesitates, not sure if he wants to involve Joyce in this nonsense again. He knows it’s different, it’s not the Upside Down and her boys aren’t involved, with all she’s been through, she probably doesn’t feel the need to go investigating again. Best to leave her be. “Because I was still chatting with Robin,” he decides on.

“You went on a date!” Will suddenly speaks up from his place at the table, managing to sound surprised and betrayed.

“What, I-” Steve reacts, before he can think about it, stopping himself in his tracks. He doesn’t want to confirm anything. He definitely doesn’t want to put Robin in a spot where she has to lie for him or himself in a spot where he has to explain why. But it’s also a good way to continue building his safety net.

So, he stays quiet and blushes when Joyce smiles teasingly and chides Will: “Leave the man be, Will. He can go out if he likes. No need for the yelling.”

Will obviously disagrees with that statement and turns back to his notes, probably a campaign, with a huff.

Great.

Fucked that up again.

Morosely Steve eats his cold dinner as he looks at Will scribbling away. He wants to ask about what he’s doing, but he’s not in the mood for the inevitable attitude. So, he finishes his dinner and gets ready for bed, he has a weird day tomorrow.

The next day, he finds himself hiding behind the potted plants in his stupid uniform with some binoculars and Dustin by his side. He takes back all he’s thought about wanting Eddie to come back, he would probably die with humiliation if Eddie saw him like this.

Still, Dustin seems to be enjoying himself, which is good. However, Steve doesn’t want him to get too caught up in the whole thing when it might end up in disappointment. So he pretends to be annoyed a guy is talking to some girl, which sets Dustin off on a tangent.

He starts regretting it when Dustin starts up about Robin again. It’s a little on him. He should have known that for a straight guy a coworker would have been an obvious person to try and date, but he never even thought about it.

“No, man, she’s not my type,” he says to try and curb the conversation, trying to balance shelving the topic and not saying anything incriminating. “She’s not even in the ballpark of what my type is, all right?”

His plea for Dustin to drop it is not heard as he moves on to constructs of popularity and high school ecosystems.

It reminds Steve of the fact that Dustin has no clue how far he fell and what he faced at school when he became a cheerleader. And that Dustin has no clue how high school works if he thinks Steve didn’t face massive amounts of shit for that. Fuck, he hopes Dustin finds a place next year.

Before he can spiral or Dustin’s rant can get further out of hand, they’re distracted by a possible Russian spy, who turns out to be a jazz aerobics instructor. A very hot jazz aerobics instructor, though Steve is denying that to anyone who asks.

When they get back, Robin has cracked the code. Steve watches her mouth move as fast as her brain as she stands there, explaining her findings.

Starcourt mall is a drop off point for the spy operation they have going on here. They’re going to drop shit off here and then a Russian spy will come in and get it. It takes Steve only one glimpse at Dustin for him to realize that the kid is planning to get to that drop off first.

By now, they’re all too far in for them to stop looking now, besides Steve hasn’t seen any Russians all day. Whatever spy is in Hawkins, it can’t be a dangerous one, or a very big group.

From there it snowballs and it snowballs fast.

They get maps, they plan, they bribe Erica Sinclair to help and get the equipment. Before Steve knows it, he is in the bowels of the earth surrounded by way more Russians than should be there with the possibility of the Upside Down being back.

Panic is beating in his chest as he tries to lead Dustin, Erica and Robin to safety. In his mind all he can think of is how stupid he’s been to go along with Dustin, to underestimate the threat, to let Robin get involved, fuck, to get Erica involved. She’s only ten. Fuck.

He is also starting to realize that they’re not making it out. Not this time. He has to do something if he doesn’t want anyone to die on his watch.

They’re coming up at a door. It’s a room. A dead end. Steve makes the split second decision to throw himself against it, yelling to the others to hide and get out. Behind him, Dustin and Erica go look for an exit, while Robin throws herself against the door as well.

The action surprises Steve, he’s sure she would have run out of here as fast as she can, but instead she helps him. Despite the fact that Robin is less strong than him, her presence helps and Steve is grateful for her and the fact that he’s been spending half a year lifting girls up in the air, which helped with his muscle mass.

Russians are now fully banging against the door. Steve mentally goes through everyone, the number one priority are Dustin and Erica, they’re both children and Dustin knows what adult to go to about this to get help.

So, he and Robin hold the door, watch them go, listen to Dustin promise he won’t forget him. And the only thing Steve can feel is despair, because he knows he isn’t going to make it out.

Once the kids are far enough away that he doesn’t think they’ll get caught, he turns to Robin and says: “You get out now.” He gives her a grin neither of them believe in as the door continues to rattle. “I’ll hold them off.”

Steve expects her to back off, to leave, to maybe look back with an anguished look, or repeat what Dustin told him earlier. He expects her to run.

What he never would have seen coming is for her to shake her head, to try to smile even if she looks as scared as he feels, to square her shoulders and say: “I’m not leaving you, dingus. You can’t keep this door closed without me.”

And Steve laughs a little, because otherwise he’ll cry.

Both of them know, they’re not keeping door closed together either, but it doesn’t matter. They are going to try and then they’re going to fail and then they’re going to die, but they aren’t going to die alone.

Steve never realized how badly he wants someone to be there when the Upside Down nonsense finally takes them out. How badly he wants to be witnessed, even if it is only for his final moment. How glad he is to not be alone right now.

He grabs her hand, like they had on the rooftop and squeezes, giving her a small smile he hopes is reassuring. She squeezes back, managing a watery smile of her own, before silent tears start to slide down her face.

The door swings open, flinging them backwards. Men stream into the tiny room and Steve gets roughly dragged away. He feels Robin’s fingers slip from his own and lets out a loud yell as he struggles, but it isn’t enough.

They get separated.

He’s alone.

Well, not really alone. A man in an intimidating uniform with an equally intimidating entourage is in the room with him and he can only hope Robin doesn’t have the same company he does, especially when they start to lay into him.

The man asks him questions about why he’s here and who he works for. Steve assumes the man is expecting him to confess to being a spy, to infiltrating their base on purpose, ready to face what is happening right now.

But Steve isn’t ready to face this right now. He is scared, alone and cold. His head is racing and all he can manage is the truth.

It quickly becomes clear that the truth isn’t good enough.

They lay into him, heavy hands meeting his head and his ribs. It hurts more than Billy last fall, more than his father laying into him, more than anything Steve has experienced before. Whoever this Russian is, he is a professional and he is good at his job.

Steve is crying, unable to keep a facade of unbothered masculinity. He doesn’t want to pretend right now, he just wants to disappear. It hurts so so bad, his head is swimming and they just keep yelling at him.

In front of his eyes, flashes Eddie when he came into Scoops Ahoy. How he looked in that outfit, his arms that bulged as he moved, his tongue over the sample spoon and the little moan he let out when he tasted the ice cream.

Now Steve wishes that he hadn’t turned his line into a joke. That he’d flirted for real, maybe even made Eddie blush instead of laugh. How he could maybe have scored a date with the guy he’s been crushing on for a while now.

Fuck, he doesn’t want to die scared.

He doesn’t want to die without having kissed a boy.

He doesn’t want to die pretending to be someone he’s not.

He doesn’t want to die in another mask.

At this point Steve is screwing his eyes closed, as if he’s five, playing hide and seek with his mother, who isn’t even searching for him. How he hid behind a plant that couldn't conceal him, but because he closed his own eyes and couldn't see his mother, he was convinced she couldn't see him either. In a way that had been true.

He just hopes they haven’t hurt Robin too. He likes Robin. She’s become a friend in their time working together and he is the reason she’s down here, stuck in a base, likely dying unless Dustin gets back with backup in time.

His ears are already ringing, the hurt a part of his being, so he snaps into focus when after a particularly bad hit, the ringing suddenly stops. Surprised he looks up, then the world spins and he blacks out.

When he comes to, there is still a feint ringing and his skull is pounding, but there are no more screaming men and at his back is a warm presence, an oddly soothing smell of artificial strawberry fills his nose. His peace, however, is broken by Robin, who yells: “Help! Help!”

“Ugh, would you stop yelling,” he murmurs.

Immediately Robin moves behind him and there is relief in her voice that he doesn’t have the brain capacity to tie to his own awaking. She exclaims: “Steve! Oh my god! Steve, are- are you okay?”

With more consciousness also comes the awareness of his own body. Steve takes stock of how he’s feeling, which is pretty terrible, but he doesn’t want to worry Robin more. They’re tied back to back, so it’s not like she can check. He jokes: “My ears are ringing, and I can't really breathe, my eye feels like it's about to pop out of my skull, but, you know, apart from that, I'm doing pretty good.”

“Well, the good news is that they're calling you a doctor,” Robin laughs, sounding on the border of panic and hysteria. Maybe not the best joke.

“Is this his place of work?” Steve asks, trying again to keep her mind of it by turning up the bitchiness. “I love the vibe. Charming.”

This time her chuckle is more normal and her rib cage is no longer going haywire against his own, which had hurt. She seems more level headed and ready to think. In fact, she even thinks of a way they could maybe escape.

Their situation feels pretty hopeless, but Steve is willing to try anything. It’s not like it can get any worse.

So, the two of them hop on their chairs together. The first hop goes good, the second one also works. A bubble of hope starts to build in Steve’s chest that is immediately crushed as they crash to the ground together, more pain shooting through him.

It takes a second before he reorients himself again. Then he becomes aware of the choked noises from behind and how Robin’s shoulders are shaking. His heart hurts for her, how she’s stuck here with him and he tries to soothe her. “It’s okay, it’s okay. Don’t cry. Robin.”

Then he hears her giggle. Giggle. She’s not crying at all. Confusion and worry for her sanity go through him as he asks: “Are you laughing?” in an incredulous voice.

“Yeah,” Robin gasps.

“Jesus,” Steve sighs.

“I’m sorry!” Robin exclaims. “I’m so sorry. It’s just- I can’t believe I’m gonna die in a secret Russian base with Steve “The Hair” Harrington. It’s just too trippy, man.”

Steve ignores the call to his earlier persona. His straight persona he realizes now, his shield against eyes that could know something about him. Instead he focuses on Robin thinking she’s going to die down here. He agrees of course, but he’s going to do everything in his power to get her out of here alive, even if that means dying himself.

“We’re not going to die,” he tells her. “We’re gonna get out of here, okay? Just- You gotta let me just think for a second.”

He has never been the guy that made the plan and the whole situation looks hopeless. Still, he wracks his pounding brain for anything they can do.

A few seconds later and Robin is breaking their thinking silence again, asking: “Do you remember, uhm, Mrs. Click’s sophomore history class?”

“What?” Steve asks in turn, not sure if she genuinely asked that or if he’s starting to hallucinate her asking about school right now.

“Mrs. Clickity-Clackity. That’s what us band dweebs called her,” Robin goes on as if he never said anything at all. “It was first period, Tuesdays and Thursdays, so you were always late. And you always had the same breakfast. Bacon, egg, and cheese on a sesame bagel.”

Steve remembers none of this and he listens to Robin talk about him, her voice becoming more bitter as she goes on: “I sat behind you two days a week for a year. Mister Funny. Mister Cool. The King of Hawkins High himself.”

At her words Steve hearts starts to plummet and it breaks when she asks: “Do you even remember me from that class?”

She is quiet for a second, waiting for an answer, but Steve can’t bring his mouth to shape any words, doesn’t have any that would communicate how he feels. He can’t tell her how much he hates the guy he used to be, can’t excuse what he did, can’t make it right.

So he sits there, silent, as Robin sighs: “Of course you don’t. You were a real asshole, you know that?”

And all Steve can do is say: “Yeah, I know,” because he does.

After a second, Robin goes on, apparently not done yet. “But it didn’t even matter. It didn’t matter that you were an ass. Even though all of us losers pretend to be above it all, we still just wanna be popular, accepted, normal.”

Steve thinks back on all the nights he spend alone, wishing he was different, wishing he was normal, wishing his parents would love him, wishing he could be what his father wants him to be, and he gets it. Gets her.

He wants to reach out to her, tell her he understands, connect with her. He wants to tell her about Eddie and what he realized as he was getting his face beat in. But he can’t tell her that yet, they still have to try and make it out of here and he can’t have her be disgusted by him. Or heartbroken and unwilling to listen.

Yeah, Steve isn’t that stupid. Robin used to be obsessed with him, he knows what that means, and it hurts, because she might be one of his best friends now and he doesn’t want to loose her just because she has a crush on him.

Maybe he’ll tell her when they get out of here.

For now, he just says: “If it makes you feel any better, having those things isn’t all that great. Seriously. Everything that people tell you is important, everything that people say you should care about, it’s all just… bullshit. Besides, they turn on you just as easily.”

“Like when you did cheerleading?” Robin asks him softly. It’s the first time she mentioned it ever since she first asked.

“Yeah,” he replies equally soft, suddenly feeling vulnerable.

“I thought it was cool you did that,” she tells him. “It really sucked what they did to you, but you never seemed bother my it. Mister Unflappable, you were. For a second, I thought-” Robin cuts herself off. “Doesn’t matter. It was just really messed up.”

“It kind of was,” Steve agrees, then to lighten the mood, he says: “At least it can’t get any more messed up than this.”

Both of them laugh at that, Steve’s ribs hurting at the movement, but neither of them care, because they need to laugh at something at this point.

Once the laughter has died down again, Steve says: “You know, I wish I’d known you in Click’s class.”

“Yeah?” Robin replies, like she doesn’t believe it.

“Really, I do,” he assures her, because he needs her to know how glad he is he knows her. She can be a massive bitch and it wasn’t easy to get along with her at first, but she’s never been fake-nice like so many of the old people he hung around with, or cruel. She means what she says, it just comes out wrong sometimes. She is so weird and he loves her.

The mood is going down again and Steve hates that. The floor is already cold enough and any hope of getting away seems further and further away, they don’t need to be morose on top of that.

“Maybe you could’ve helped me pass the class,” he jokes. “Maybe instead of being here, I’d be on my way to college right now.”

“And I would have no idea that there were evil Russians beneath our feet, and I would be happily slinging ice cream with some other schmuck,” Robin adds.

It sounds crazy to think about. To not be here with Robin. To not have fed Chrissy ice cream every day for weeks. To not have waived Eddie’s ice cream costs, because he had already been through enough having to face the mall for his music. To not have been there when Dustin intercepted the message.

God, he can’t imagine Dustin being here alone, or with one of the other idiots he calls friends. He can’t really picture it. Having to hear how they got hurt, how they might have died, while he wasn’t here to protect them.

But maybe if he had made it into college, his father wouldn’t have been so mad. Maybe Steve would still be living in his old house. Maybe his father wouldn't have cared about the cheerleading and instead would have been proud of Steve.

He tries to imagine that. Tries to picture how his father would have looked, but he can’t. Holy shit, he can’t even imagine how his father would look when proud.

A big part of Steve knows that it wouldn’t have mattered if he got into college. Richard Harrington would never be proud of his son, of Steve. Especially not when Steve joined the cheer squad. When he is thought to be a queer.

Nothing can be good enough to erase the fact that he’s a fag.

And Steve wonders why he can’t let it go like he told Chrissy to do. Why he still keeps looking back and wondering, even if he stopped trying to gain his father’s approval. Why it has to come back in this dark, cold Russian bunker.

His parents might not even hear he’s died here, even if he dies as a hero. They’re not even here and Steve doubts they’ll come back.

He is so tired of trying for them.

He wants to stop.

He knows what he is. He is a fag and he’s proud of it, screw them. He’s gotten too close to death too many times for him to want to die like this. He doesn’t want to work in an office with his father, wearing stuffy suits for the rest of his life.

No, Steve wants to bitch with Robin as they sling ice cream at Scoops Ahoy, wants make Chrissy fly, because she smiles so widely that it must hurt when he does, wants to listen to Dustin talk about Suzie or complain about his friends, unable to hide his fondness under the annoyance.

Fuck, he wants to talk to Will, tell him how queer he is, how scared he is, how it is the reason and that he’s sorry he lied. Wants to see if Joyce’s promise that it was okay still holds. Wants to know what it would be like to kiss a boy.

Wants to know what it would be like to kiss Eddie specifically.

However, instead of saying any of that, he says: “Gotta say, though, I liked being your schmuck. It was fun while it lasted.”

Because he can’t verbalize all the other things. Their fate seems hopeless now and all he wants is for Robin to know that he doesn’t care how fucked up it has all been, he still liked working with her and he wouldn’t want to be here with anyone else.

And when Robin says: “It was,” Steve knows she understands and she means the same.

A/N:

My lesbian ass might have underestimated my ability to write a gay man, but I stay strong and I try xp (also pls don’t be mad if I mess up, I’m sensitive)

Also not Steve thinking Joyce wouldn't want to know he’s getting caught up into something again, im weeping, this lady has no chill, Stevie, and she caresssss. Let Her Care! Let Her Solve The Mystery! Let Her Help!

By the way, can you imagine how terrifying those last moments at the door were? How scary it must have been to be taken? I am so emotional about them <3

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inkstainedhandswithrings · 5 months

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so seeing as it does seem to concern some people (pour example @iiidunno):

Here’s a continuation of the apartment saga!

Little miss ma’am landlady has received a friendly text from me explaining that her actions were illegal, which included the offer to start my lease earlier than originally agreed. I sent this like 2 hours after she told me she had leased the apartment to someone else. After a day passed with no response or acknowledgement at all, my father wrote her a letter in which he explains the potential damages her decision could cause me and that she is in fact liable for those. He again offers to start the lease on an earlier date and then states that, should she refuse, we request a private settlement of 1000€.

She has ALSO not responded to that yet🥲

We did reach out to friends that are actual lawyers and they said that I definitely have grounds to sue her, but because the proceedings take very long I wouldn’t have an apartment until the end of the year or longer sooo….

We’re waiting to see if she will respond soon and if she doesn’t we might reach out to the organisation that protects tenants and inquire about what steps we need to take to get a court mandated settlement from her.

In essence, we are offering her more money (because we’d start the lease earlier), though she screwed us and are asking for way less money than she is liable for and she is simply refusing to respond. So, cunt, ya feel?

So while my dad deals with that, my mum pulled some strings and reached out to a friend who has an apartment in the city, same distance from work and uni as the other, same price, maybe a bit cheaper even, spacious and pretty. It’s available in early June, which is later than I wanted to move out but still in my window. I’m viewing it with my dad next week, so hopefully I have a place to fall back on if little miss ma’am landlady doesn’t respond

#btw thanks for the great name for this series of angry posts #that’ll be the tag going forward #apartment saga #little miss ma’am landlord

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beauty-and-passion · 1 year

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What am I currently doing?

What am I even doing? Am I dead? Have I left the fandom?

The answers are writing, no and no.

The long answers are:

What am I doing?

First I collected all answers from the survey for the fanwriting of Sanders Sides Season 3 (aka Fanders Sides Season 3). I checked them all and planned what to do. I already wrote a post with all the details, so I won’t spoil too much here: everything will be explained in due time.

I also finished the analyses of the remaining episodes.

And in the last weeks, I’ve started writing Fanders Sides Season 3. Today I finished the first 9 episodes which ideally close my first “arc” of the season finale. One third (more or less) is done.

However, these things should still be reviewed and proofread and I can do it only after I finish writing the whole FSS3. So for now it’s just a good draft.

Am I dead?

Eurovision 2023 almost killed me and the aftermath left me crushed. It has been a couple of terrible weeks and I managed to get out of them, only after a while - and after the true winner got back on his feet.

In the meantime, my job contract ended and the company did not renew it. Why? Oh, no idea. They need a person and yet, they decided to fire one they spent 6 months training for that role. The bullshit they told me was “there is no money”, which is ridiculous coming from a growing gas and oil company.

The truth is probably that the heads of administration are complete idiots and have no idea about the situation. The place I worked for is a branch of the company and the administration center for the whole Italian division of said company.

When I started working there, the administration office was down to three people (they had retired) and they really, REALLY needed help. I did my best and, thanks to my and another person’s help, the workload was reduced.

So, since now things are somehow normal, they told me that hey, the problem is solved. Which proves they have no idea how an administration works, because reducing the workload now doesn’t mean the workload is reduced forever.

And even though they do not know that, my colleagues do. And they’re all pissed. They protested and did everything, so... who knows?

In the meantime, I decided to try another route, which means teaching. I am currently studying to take a few exams and, hopefully, get into a course. If a company calls me, I will ponder the decision, but in the meantime, I’m focusing on my studies.

And writing, of course. Always writing.

Heck, this sudden change in my life gave me somehow the idea I was looking for for 10 years. I don’t know how, but I just... thought about it, wrote down a couple of things and bam, in less than one hour I had a working plot. Just like that. As if I haven’t spent YEARS thinking about how to make that fucking plot work. But that’s another story I will probably explain one day.

Have I left the fandom?

Of course I haven’t left the fandom, I’m writing FSS3!

And even after that, I will still keep an eye on Sanders Sides, waiting for the faithful day in which Mr. Sanders will finally decide to work on the season 2 finale. I will post other stuff too and other analyses I’ve planned long ago, but one part of me will still wait for the next update.

However, since FSS3 might take a while, I would like to start posting the episode analyses. But I’m also on a writing spree for FSS3 and I don’t want to lose the momentum by shifting my attention to something else.

So the answer is that, for now, I probably won’t post anything. The analyses should be proofread first, but I’m writing now and I don’t want to lose the moment. I will keep going on with FSS3 until I’ve finished it, then I will start proofreading and once an analysis will be ready, I will post it.

So if you’re still following me, please wait a little bit longer. If I start something, I finish it. All you need is just a bit of patience.

In the meantime, of course, you can ask me for updates, details or anything else. It might take me some time to reply or I wouldn’t be able to tell you everything, but I will try my best as always.

And, of course, thank you all for your time and your patience 💖

#sanders sides #blog update #fss3 #thomas sanders #seriously thank you for dealing up with me #I hope my work will be appreciated!#<3

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barncat-therapy · 1 year

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A Single Loose Thread and It All Comes Undone

TIMING: Early May PARTIES:@barncat-therapy & @rhythmicmeow SUMMARY: Two jaguars walk into the woods. Nobody has fun.

There was a line about this, warning people away from being too curious and getting themselves hurt in their recklessness. A saying that Leticia should have taken to heart considering it applied directly to the kindred spirit she shared this life with. Curiosity killed the cat. But no warning was going to keep Leticia away from the mines. What was the harm in a little look around?

At first, the smell was annoying at best. But no matter how much she held her breath, whatever was in the air was still reaching Leticia. And that feeling in the back of her head was familiar. An itch that came right before she lost control. A feeling too close to the one that had sent her spiraling into a panic on stage.

She couldn’t do that here, she couldn't do that again. Leaving Wicked’s Rest and starting over? There was no place else that Leticia could disappear into. This was it. The last stop. If she went anywhere else, how would her mother find her when she finally came home?

Leticia’s feet started moving at the same pace as her facing mind. And just as quickly, she had run into the woods. A familiar scene was replying in her head. Fleeing from New York. Transforming. Loss. Every sound and smell was overwhelming, but the crunching of leaves and snapping of twigs pulled her focus. “Who’s there?” She called out, a drop of desperation in her voice. “I can hear you!”

Funny how a bad smell was perhaps the first thing to really make him think of turning around and leaving town. The thought didn't linger for too long, mind you. But the stench did start to feel horribly inescapable this past week or so. It felt like it clung to Luis' nose just to torment him anywhere he went and tainted the taste of food and drink as it did so. Whenever it seemed the humans around him no longer smelled it, he found himself quietly cursing his own sense of smell being so much sharper than theirs.

Tonight, the mingled, though distant, smell of both the Death Pit and the foul stench of the mines had found their way into his normally safe bedroom, leaving him unable to sleep and instead wandering off towards the pines in search of a hopefully quiet and most importantly untainted place to at least sit down.

By no fault of his own, his plans would change drastically.

As Luis wandered, countless unspoken frustrations bubbled to the surface of his mind. And it felt like the smell was only getting stronger.

The next thing he knew, he realised that the jaguar was no less agitated about it all than he was. Maybe?

By the time he'd quite realised his tight grip of self control, held for years and years and well trained as it was, had slipped, his mind was growing a bit more distant and hazy.

Alongside, his skin was by now coated in a layer of fur, and sharp fangs dug into his lips where he nibbled at them in a nervous habit.

Maybe he would have welcomed it as familiar and comfortable, had it not scared him. Terrified him even.

What if someone saw him like this? Why had he shifted without thinking about it? And why couldn't he stop it and just shift back now?

He found himself briefly thinking back to what he'd overheard from behind closed doors as a kid. That his affinity for spending his time half-shifted might mean he was a danger to everyone.

And that was the last thing he really thought about before the complexities and overthinking of his mind slipped out of his grasp.

What had been something inbetween feline and human morphed the rest of the way to a large spotted golden cat. Foreign to a land so far north. All instinct, driven by all that same frustration, fear and shame, some of which he couldn't grasp or explain now even to himself.

Restless could barely begin to describe how the jaguar acted now, trotting and galloping in bursts between the tall thin trunks of pine trees. Uninterested in mice or hare, but the scent of a person proved ample to catch his attention.

Cautious still, perhaps. He moved slower now, stalking towards a scent that was so so vaguely familiar.

Not slowly enough to avoid being heard, clearly.

The pine forest offered little cover.

The shouting would be answered by a growl, and a short roar. A fairly universal signal of 'get out', under threat of a charge from where the cat stood half-crouched, eyes trained on Leticia.

The shape of the stranger came forward into the small clearing in the woods, and Leticia was hit with a wave of familiarity. She couldn't place it, but as the balam gained more power over her body and control slipped through her fingers like fog that couldn’t be held, the smell grew stronger. It wasn’t her mother; it wasn’t her father, but it was someone.

Leticia brought her hands to either side of her head, gritting her teeth as the pounding in her head got louder and harder. The warning growl of the other balam did nothing to calm her racing mind. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath, thinking of music and melodies, anything to calm herself down and give her a new focus. The thought of music coupled with the balam clawing its way to the surface - her only thoughts were of New York.

The grief of her father, the isolation she had forced herself into because of the threat, the humiliation of exposing her form like that on stage - she blinked. And she was gone.

In Leticia’s place was a jaguar, black of color, the same coat as her father’s. The spirit’s eyes made contact with the other, claws digging into the ground, marking it as hers. Growling low in response, the spirit circled the other. She had been here first, the growl reminded. They should be the one leaving. As she walked in a circular pattern, she slowly got closer. Silently demanding for the other to yield first.

The golden jaguar showed no sign of backing down, the proud creature that he was. Gold and obsidian fur was parted in places with scars, marks of old encounters that had stayed even when the body had changed so dramatically. Mirroring the other's motion slowly, waiting for the opportunity to strike and force the intruder out.

But there would be no fight. The two weren't alone, evidently. The snapping and crackling of footsteps across the forest floor was proof of that - as did the human exclamation that came from the same direction. There was no good reason why a mighty beast should care so much for something as common and fragile as a human, but amidst the jumble of emotions in the jaguar's mind was still fear of them. A sense of great danger.

Leaving his rival alone, he'd instead leapt suddenly for the lone human behind himself with a furious roar.

Watching as the other moved, the dark jaguar stilled when the sudden noise interrupted their dance. Her head eyes moved from the other to the human that now entered their area, and in the intensity of the fog that clouded her mind, there was no protective spirit to be seen. Instead, there was anger. She moved forward, roaring at the other, demanding to be heard. To be respected. This was her home, and she had no intention of sharing it with another.

The invading human was of little consequence. She lunged as the other jaguar did, not aiming to kill, but to wound as a warning. It wasn’t about saving the human, the low growl that she released in response to the human screaming was proof enough of that. This was about proving a point. This was her forest. Her humans. Her home.

The golden jaguar was caught off guard by the attack, lashing out with claws with reckless abandon to fight off the temporarily ignored rival.

There was something more important. He needed to chase the human before it could get him killed.

Worrying about how to communicate the danger properly would normally be far from consideration.

Why would a jaguar need to make such things understood to another, not even one of close family?

But then again, his body had also found itself shifting already. Rather than a whole feline, he now moreso resembled a strange almost human-shaped creature. Like a jaguar version of a sun bear.

Just enough for Luis' human mind to creep back in faintly.

The jaguar, however, did not feel so keen on backing down from the fight outright. Leave he shall, but not as a coward.

The jaguar took the attack with pride, thrilled at the newfound attention. This was a fight worth having. This was what they were looking for in the trees. The human was still stumbling through the brush nearby, but the jaguar had one focus in mind. There was territory to be protected, she had never had to share before, and the other felt invasive.

But the other started to shift, the jaguar lowered her head to the ground, her eyes focused on the partial creature. A low growl emanating from the back of her throat, a warning once more. Was this supposed to be a surrender? She huffed loudly, annoyed that the fight was seemingly over before it began. Even the bear had more bite than this other jaguar.

The desire to not harm the other jaguar grew stronger, meshing together with the opposite instinct to fight in self-defence and for pride into a confusing, muddied mess of emotions. Frustration, aimed inwardly, bubbled to the surface.

All the while, the physical signs of this struggle were clear - the almost jaguar shook itself before aiming to spring forward, only to instead leap sideways. Its form was unstable, failing to settle between returning back to fully jaguar and shifting to be more human once again.

They'd almost never properly faught for control. Not insofar as they could remember. That quarrel of emotions and impulses wouldn't last very long.

He regained his own proper feline form and lunged forward properly, to grapple head-on with the black feline. Only to seconds later find himself rapidly changing to a largely human shape and freezing in place. Mouth open to shout, though nothing came out.

The other came toward her and for a moment, she was excited. This was what the spirit had wanted. A proper fight to use up the energy that continued to buzz in her mind. The fog at the corner of her mind fed into the craze, propelling her forward as the other jaguar made his move. Preparing herself, she lowered her head to the ground, eyes locked on the other form until it wasn’t.

The other jaguar was replaced with a human figure now, and the balam growled lowly. DIsappointment and frustration thrumming through their veins. She approached the human slowly this time, head still low, ready to leap at the sign of any sudden movements. Her claws would be the last thing this human saw if they continued to toy with her.

Luis stayed rooted in place despite the angry panther's approach. There was no reason to be scared of his own. His mind was still muddled and confused, an urge to snarl back and intimidate was still there. An urge to chase the human from before was still there.

It was hard to gather words together, but he did.

"We have to leave. You have to shift. If they find you here, they will kill you!"

And they'll kill me too.

In a way it was stupid to care, and not just leave for his own safety, or whatever.

It was stupid to yell at someone that, in the moment, was stronger than you.

He still had fangs and fur, and claws, but Luis' ill-advised compassion proved stronger than his self-preservation instinct right now. A fact he now felt both proud and furious at himself for.

The balam paused in her movements, the words weren't recognized by her ear, but the posture alluded to a warning. The other was standing their ground now, and she was left with little more than confusion. A new kind of cloud fogging up her thoughts.

Each step was accompanied with more words that the balam didn't understand. Maybe the words didn't entirely matter? Their intent managed to make their way into the jaguar's mind. Something stirring inside of her that wasn't entirely unfamiliar. Just... unusual.

The other spirit rarely tried to force her way back into control, which made the sensation even more uncomfortable than it already was. It felt less like claws and more like pleading. The balam shook her head, trying to shake the feeling from her mind. But the pressure persisted. And slowly, the balam gave way to Leticia.

It hadn’t really occurred to Luis to question how well a jaguar might even understand his shouting in English. In hindsight he might feel dumb about it, but now, now he stood momentarily convinced it could work.

And he wasn’t entirely wrong. That much was clear when the black jaguar in front of him began to shift. One of their problems was, though only somewhat, resolved.

“Oh, thank gods. Okay. We need to. We need to get out of here. Quickly. We were seen. And I don’t know how long we’re safe here for. Do you have anywhere to go?”

Luis’ tone was fairly flat as always, and his body language didn’t betray much more. But his speech kept pausing as his mind raced. And he started to pace in circles somewhat.

Where were his own clothes, if he had any hope of finding them at all now, for one. The same for the stranger as well, of course. They couldn’t just traipse back into town naked.

The words assaulted her mind before she had time to fully process what was going on. Leticia blinked a few times, the world around her slowly coming into view. Her fingers dug into the ground, trying to center her mind as the balam kept stirring inside her chest. The wind, the grass, the trees — she tried to focus on each piece before standing up.

When was the last time she woke up without remembering how she closed her eyes? The voice cut into her thoughts and Leticia looked toward the man. “Uh,” looking up at the sky, Leticia tried to gauge the directions. Geology, like most sciences, had never been her strong suit. “This way, I think. I’ve got a friend near Darling Lake. She’ll help, she’s—“ Not human, was the first thing that came to mind, but even knowing that this stranger was like her, she wasn’t willing to out her friend. “She’s good. She won’t judge.”

"Alright."

Luis agreed without a thought to the proposal.

Only to then stare down at his arm, still covered wholly by marked fur, the way the rest of him was. What he agreed to caught up to him quickly, and he wanted to take it back. He couldn't afford the risk of letting someone else, another stranger, see him. Not like this. But he'd already agreed, and he hardly had any other choice.

Not like Luis had much of anyone to turn to. For the most part.

"Does she know? You know, about balam. Or should I. Hide that?"

His pacing slowed to a stop, though now he didn't really look at the stranger, trying to be considerate of both of their current circumstances.

Diverting her eyes, Leticia scratched the back of her head. She felt like she should apologize, whatever the balam had done to him had been her as well, hadn't it? But he was like her... maybe she didn't have to say it. Maybe he just understood.

"Her name is Teagan," Leticia offered, glancing in his direction. "She knows about balam, yes. About me." She walked next to him, guiding him in the direction of Darling Lake. "You can hide it if you want, I am not going to tell her, or anyone else." This secret could be between the two of them, though Teagan would likely put the pieces together. "But you don't have to hide it from her."

#while in the fog and still afraid (thread rp)#rhythmicmeow

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remidyal · 1 year

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Snippet - Dig Out Followup

I shared this follow up to Dig Out on Discord a bit back but figured I'd toss it up here so it'll exist in a semi-permanent state! If you haven't read the original story, it's available on AO3 here. I'm on vacation this week so not getting much writing done, but hopefully some little odds and ends will tide people over before the norm resumes next week!

Jawbone O'Shaughnessey laid on the bed late at night in his otherwise empty motel room in Bastion City, the television on but unwatched, reviewing some of the reading for the conference he was in the city for when his crystal rang. The tone let him know it was his (remaining) daughter calling.

He'd given her her own ringtone the first time he'd had to do a work trip After; she'd still been unspeaking, at that point, but she'd called twice and he'd spoke to her anyways, one-sided conversations that were far more about trying to ground her than anything else. He would not risk missing a call from her, not even now. She wouldn't make it if she didn't need to hear him.

So, the ache as always of missing home in the back of his head, he took the call. "Hey, Aelwyn!" He said, forced cheer in his voice in spite of the hour; she hadn't woken him, and she'd feel less guilty after if she knew that.

The tone wasn't what he expected, but Aelwyn had been doing better lately. She had almost a fevered energy as she spoke, though, something he had sometimes heard from her Before but not since.

"Hey, Dad. Um. Is there any way you can get home, as soon as possible? I can teleport you back, if you need even, but…" It was a request he might have expected a few months ago, but he'd thought she'd be okay this week; Ragh and Kristen were both in the manor, for one, and Ragh in particular was pretty protective of her. Aelwyn could only teleport once a day, Jawbone knew from a lot of prior planning.

"I can, if you really need me to." He said, because of course he could, but honesty would be important too. "Do you? It might be the morning before I can get a train, but I can be there in a few hours if I drive. Will you be okay until I can get there?"

The call, in voice only until that moment, changed over to video; Aelwyn was standing in the dining room, of all places, in pajamas. In spite of the energy in her voice, she seemed almost flustered as she spoke; clearly, SOMETHING had happened. "I.. oh, this is harder to explain than I thought it would be. It's a good thing, I think. I'm sure, really…" She started muttering to herself, looking at something off screen.

Jawbone cut in, because she seemed almost ready to fold in on herself. "Aelwyn, breath in for me, okay?" She did, and her eyes flicked back.

"…I would teleport there to get you faster myself, but I don't want to leave for four hours to rest. We can talk about how and.. I think it's a good thing, and maybe we can make it permanent, but.."

"Aelwyn," Jawbone said, frustration starting to seep in just a little. "Please, can you tell me why you called?"

"Ah. Right. You'll want to be here." Aelwyn said, before tipping the camera around, and…

Three figures were sitting on the kitchen floor. Kristen and Ragh were both also in their nightwear, but the last took him a moment longer to recognize than he would have thought possible. In his defense, she was covered head to toe in dirt, her hair matted, her eyes sunken, but.. she was wearing a jacket he should have recognized instantly, because he had seen her wearing it for years. They had buried her in it; there had never been even the least bit of question that they would, once they had to bury her at all.

"Aelwyn, what..?" He said, wonder and terror in equal measures getting into his voice, because there were little signs of decay on her face, but she was also clearly speaking to Ragh.

"I know." Aelwyn's voice said off camera, and he understood her strange mood much more now. "I'll see you soon, to try to explain?"

"Of course." Jawbone said, watching Adaine move on camera for as long as the call lasted even as he was up and packing to go home to both of his daughters.

#jawbone o'shaughnessey #aelwyn o'shaughnessey #adaine o'shaughnessey #fantasy high #dimension 20 #fanfic

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ellowynthenotking · 6 months

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Mar 28

Dear Dad,

It feels like we've been on this route FOREVER. Riley thinks we’ll be at the city in a week. But it seems impossible when we've been walking and moving and constantly moving forward forever and ever. I think it’ll be longer than a week. I hope it's only a week, but it'll probably be a lot longer than a week.

That's how it goes, you know. You just go on forever and ever.

And then you're somewhere.

But we probably won't be there in a week or less.

Maybe if we don’t sleep?

But I'm not going to even think about suggesting that to Riley. She's been a real taskmaster. We're just moving and moving and moving, and even though we're not suffering as much, the horses aren't loving it. Riley would push us more if the horses could handle it, but they can't. So she's stuck going at a pace the horses can handle, which is only marginally faster than we could, but it's still a little better than having to walk.

The cart is working more or less. I mean, it's better. It's also a little more comfortable than riding horses. Not much more, but at least I can rest in the cart sometimes. It's not perfect cause it's pretty much impossible to sleep in the cart. But sometimes, I can lie down and close my eyes, and it seems like time moves a little faster. Just a little, though, because inevitably, there's a pothole or something, and then the whole cart shakes like it's about to fall apart. If I was dozing, that would be enough to wake me up so I don't want to fall off or through the cart.

We are getting more rest, though. Even if we can't really sleep on the cart, it's much better than walking the whole way. I wish we didn't have to walk this whole way, or we had planes or even a bus. I would take a school bus over having to ride in a cart the whole way. It's not much more comfortable, but it's a lot faster.

I'd even take the bus with Rodey Donald again. Happily even! Even though he's such a pain, who should have been taken out before he had a chance to be a giant jerk to everyone and anyone alive. I wonder if he's been kicked off any more school buses?

That'd probably be the only downside to getting home. I would happily trade places with him.

Let him be constantly afraid of death and starving and tired. I doubt the others would even deal with him. They'd probably just leave him in the middle of the night. And then he'd probably die here, alone, and friendless, with no idea how to get home.

At least I have my friends. Even if we disagree, I doubt they'd just leave me behind. None of us would ever do that to each other, even if we get mad.

I couldn't leave any of them behind. I wouldn't want to.

I don't want to.

I don't think any of the others would, but.

I don't think any of the others would.

We can’t keep up the pace. It's too much, we're going too fast, and we're not resting enough. I doubt the horses can keep up the pace that we're setting. Zunair and Willow thought there might be people we could talk to who might be willing to trade horses. Zunair's pretty sure that if we talk to the bard people, they'll have some, basically on standby, which would be pretty cool, I'm not gonna lie.

We need rest, though, which is what's most important. We haven't considered that even if we're trying hard not to wear out the horses, we're still keeping up this pace. We can replace the horses, but we can't replace the us. I mean, we can't keep this up, and we're really not replaceable. So maybe we should stop somewhere for a good minute.

Well, the wizard's place will be like that, a place to rest. Hopefully, it'll end, and we'll just be able to go home, but I don't think it will.

I’ve been spending too much time here, I think. The idea they'll actually be able to help us seems so far out there. Like, we're not going to get home, maybe ever.

Not for lack of trying but just because it's so far out of reach that it feels impossible.

What if when we get home, there's no home to get to? Or will we have been here so long that we forget how to live there? How to fit in?

We wouldn't even know until it was too late. But I'd rather find out too late than not at all.

So I'm going to keep believing that we'll get home sooner or later.

My hair is getting long, and that's a weird feeling. It's long enough that it's getting into my eyes all the time. Willow braided it, at least out of the way, but it feels weird. I've been assured that it's very silly-looking and that my hair is sticking up all over the place, so it probably looks really weird, too.

And I can almost hear you now, "Jack, if it's getting too long, why don't you just get a haircut?"

Well, Dad. There's no way I’m letting anyone close to my head with a knife.

Absolutely.

No.

Way.

I don't trust any of these people to cut my hair in a way that won't look like a weedwhacker attacked my head. So I'm just going to grow it out. It's the safer option.

I'm not the only one dealing with this right now. We all look so different. I mean, the girls look pretty much the same. I don't know if it's just cause I'm so used to how they look or if growing out their hair a little hasn't really changed how they look. But they look pretty much the same.

Reese grew out his hair a little, and then he's been shaving it and his face with a knife that he keeps really sharp. Like so sharp. He doesn't do it every day, though. I think only when it's getting kinda itchy.

Zunair just looks even shaggier. I think he's going to chop it all off soon. He and Grace were talking about it, and she wants to, too. I guess she prefers it when her hair isn't longer than her shoulders, and since it's growing past that, she would rather chop it all off than deal with it.

I'll keep you updated if that happens. I think they'll both look hilarious if they do. Zunair doesn't look like the kind of guy who would look good with really short hair, but desperate times and all that.

There's no way to tell how long we've been here. I'm keeping track through the letters, but even that's not really a good or even standard way of telling. And I'm mostly guessing. I don't know how long we'll be here or what we'll do in the meantime. I've done so much more than I ever thought I would while here. I think we all have.

Are you going to recognize us when we get home?

Will we?

We haven't changed that much, but we have to.

We're such different people, but we're still the same.

We're still your sons and daughters. We're still a bunch of scared kids.

But we're also changing almost every day we're here. We've changed so much, grown, learned from each other, this world, and the people in it.

I learned how to do honest to god magic. Which doesn't seem like a phrase that should be used together, but here we are. I don't know where the magic comes from. I don't know if I'll be able to use it when I get home. But it's real here.

Grace is different. She's learned, she's changed. Sometimes, I look into her eyes, and it's like looking into the eyes of a wild animal. But that doesn't scare me like it probably should. She's different, and so am I.

Does she ever look at me and feel the same?

Would she say anything if she did?

Maybe when we get home, you'll recognize us physically but not who we are under the skin. Is that better or worse?

I'll write again when we stop for a while. I don't know when that'll be.

Love, Jack

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