dreamscapedeluxe

[mayihaveyournameplease]

TIMING: current PARTIES: Siobhan & Beau LOCATION: Tupperware SUMMARY: An unusual fae pair work together to escape and unwelcomed kidnapping. CONTENT WARNINGS:  Unsanitary tw. WRSPICE because IYKYK.

Siobhan didn’t sleep much; the night was for having fun and the day was for having fun and there was no time left to not have fun. Terrible things happened when Siobhan wasn’t having fun, anyway. So, when she did sleep, hopefully so thoroughly exhausted that dreams didn’t dare to knock on her skull, she coveted the time; it was sacred. When the smell of varying stale foods flooded her nose and pulled her up from sleep, she was angry. When she looked around and noted the thick, cloudy plastic walls and bright blue ceiling above, she was livid. Siobhan screamed; if anyone was asleep before, they certainly weren’t now. The plastic, for its part, simply quivered a little—being reinforced by its trips through the microwave, into the freezer and the fridge and then back into the microwave. It technically wasn’t freezer safe but that hadn’t stopped it from showing up in the freezer. 

Little Beau Beep was counting sheep. They danced and pranced in his dreams, and every time he got close to one it would snap its teeth at him. “I’ll turn you all into lamp chops!” He declared, pulling a flamethrower from the dimension dream items came from. Dinner was cooked well done. Deep in slumber, a cartoon figure donned in a sleeping cap with a singular puff at the end, and a onesie, buttflap unfortunately unflapped. The smell of old food wasn’t what woke him, it lingered well with the greasy feast he was partaking in. Instead, he woke up relaxed, and happy. A big stretch and a yawn, eyes blinking wearily. “Good morning world.” He announced, as if he was the star from which the universe revolved around. It wasn’t his bedroom he caught sight of. Beau blinked, rubbing the slumber from his eyes and eyes darting around. “I am not cheesed to be here.” He mumbled in his plastic container. Spotting another contained individual, Beau raised a hand in greeting. “Hello! There seems to be a mistake. I shouldn’t be here. Haha! I’m going to be late for work! Haha.” 

There weren’t many people Siobhan decided she hated upon first sight. To hate someone was usually far more care and attention she wanted to give. Yet, as a chill struck down her spine with the familiarity meeting another fae often did, and as he laughed the way that was too fake and utterly useless, Siobhan decided she hated him. Perhaps it wasn’t fair, they were stuck in a plastic container and that was sure to be what was really souring her mood. She forced herself to smile, in a way that was also too fake, and tried to be polite. “Unfortunately, I’m not the person that put you here! So I can't get you out. Haha.” She imagined jamming his head under the lip of the lid; she imagined it squeezing and popping off like a pea freed from its pod. The image brought her peace. “I’m also not…” she sighed. “…cheesed to be here.” She stepped closer to the man, despite herself. “You wouldn’t happen to know how to get out, would you? I would like to leave.” She paused. “Haha.” 

The tingle down Beau’s spine told him that this was another fae, which was nice. Beau hadn’t made many fae friends since coming to Wicked’s Rest. He had met that dumb fae child, but she was a lost cause. Then there was the Doctor fae that kept turning him down. Beau had stolen the knowledge that he was fae from her, so they couldn’t bond over that. Then there was the goat, who didn’t like him. All these Ls and Beau never couldn’t figure out why. Maybe this fae was a chance at redemption. “Haha!” Beau responded, at least this fae had a good nature. Full of laughs! Even if her laughs sounded a bit dry and flat. “Seems like we’ll be tasked with figuring out how to get out ourselves, haha!” He placed his hands on his hips, very much looking like that one construction worker who only ever watched as the others constructed. Beau turned in a slow circle, staring up at the plastic lid. “It would appear we are in very large tupperware.” Beau announced, as if it wasn’t the most obvious thing he could have said, and it was something helpful. “I’m just swissed about this. Haha!” His forced smile burned his cheeks. Beau did the most manly thing he could think of, he kicked the plastic container with his foot. His foot was only covered by the onesie foot. His toes crushed into the plastic causing him to topple over and curse with pain. “I HATE THIS I FUCKING HATE THIS.” He screamed into the air, before remembering he wasn’t alone. One cough. Two coughs. “I mean. Haha.”

“Haha,” Siobhan said plainly, using the idiotic phrase to hide the anger that roiled inside of her. As much as she didn’t want to admit it, saying ‘haha’ was an easy way to stop herself from saying ‘I don’t care if you’re a fae I’m going to skin you alive and use your flesh as a wreath’. “Haha.” Watching him hurt himself was nice, like a sitcom one might leave to play in the background; amusing enough but largely a waste of time. Even if the live studio audience in her head broke out in laughter, the more sensible director was keen on keeping them on task. As this man was a fae, despite his obvious flaws, Siobhan decided she would pretend like she cared about him. “Oh! You poor, sweet thing!” She walked very slowly to his side, bending down to try and help him out. “Your toe! Oh, how that must have hurt--this terrible, evil box wants to destroy your strong manly foot. Oh! If only you could use your big, smart brain to get us out of here. Oh! If only, maybe, you could stand on my shoulders and see if the lid will lift!” She smiled tightly at him. “Haha.” She was thinking his eyes would look lovely in a jar. 

The throbbing pain in his big toe was infuriating. He hopped around on his good foot for a bit while the other fae started talking. The fae, a woman, she was hot. A bit old looking for his normal tastes, but he could forgive a fae for aging since she was so nice. Beau preened as she doted on him, calling him strong and manly. He is strong and manly. He definitely could use all his big strong manly brain power to get them out of the box. Beau put his hands on his hips, he’d seen superheroes do it on posters and he was about to be the savior of this woman’s world, it seemed fitting. “Have no fear. You should stand on my shoulders. Since I’m so strong and manly. I wouldn’t want you to hurt yourself with effort. Besides, I like a woman on top.” He added a wink, just to let her know that if she was interested in staying in this weird large tupperware container with him, he wouldn’t be against it.

The man looked like a simple tap would have him keeled over, Siobhan didn’t want to think about what having the full weight of someone on his shoulders would do to him. Thankfully, at least, she had fallen asleep in the same clothes she’d gone out in, so there was no free show for Beau if he decided to look up between her legs; pants could be a wonderful thing. “Oh, but shouldn’t we uplift men?” She tried to smile; she didn’t enjoy the fact her words seemed to work so well on him. “In this current political climate, shouldn’t men stand on top of women and push up heavy tupperware lids? What if my weak woman arms can’t do it?” Siobhan might have been born over a hundred years ago, but growing up in a matriarchal society that largely sacrificed its men had given her a very pointed view of the sexes; it was a very spider-like idea of feminism. Even joking in this manner had her stomach twisted into knots; she’d have to be careful about how she was complimenting the sad, small man. “I don’t want to damage your…” Siobhan gestured to his sad excuse for muscles. “...manly shoulders.” 

Beau’s chest started to puff out with each passing statement coming out of her mouth. This was a woman chasing after his own heart. Beau bravely ignored the throbbing in his left foot and straightened his back, chasing that extra inch that he knew would make him all the more handsome and impressive in her eyes. “I don’t say this a lot, but you might be the smartest woman I’ve ever met.” His tongue slipped against his upper lip. He’d seen tiktoks of younger men doing the same sign to look attractive to women. He hoped it was working. “Alright, I’ll get on your shoulders and I’ll use my strong manly arms to get us out of here. Anything for you, my excellently aged cheese.” He hoped it wasn’t too soon for fond nicknames. Every marriage needed fond nicknames. Oh wait. Maybe marriage was getting ahead of himself? He mulled it over before deciding it wasn’t. Beau walked closer to the woman, craning his neck up to look at her face. God. She was an amazonian of a woman. “Uppies.” He stated, holding his hands up as if he was the petulant toddler he acted like. 

If this man died right now, Siobhan was sure it would be her happiest memory. Nothing would fill her with more euphoria than being able to scream for him and then stab him several times. She was thinking twenty seven times but the count went up every time he opened his mouth. Suddenly, she didn’t want him on her shoulders. Maybe it would have been better if she had just crushed his trapezius with her heels. “Maybe you’re the smartest man I’ve ever met.” A muscle below her eye twitched. “You’re my hero, my egg,” she said, imagining cracking his skull like one. She hoped she never had to see him again. When he said ‘uppies’ she amended her thought: she hoped that she did see him again, thoroughly dead. 

Siobhan bent down, lifting the annoying gnat with ease--as, unlike the man, she was strong. A lifetime of rigorous training to be an instrument of Fate had changed her deceptively thin physique into the sort that could easily lift up another person. The feat was probably lost on him. “How are you?” She asked, straightening up slowly. She kept a firm grip on his legs, trying to stop him from falling over; she wasn’t sure what lies she’d have to tell about his manly body to get him to shut up if it happened. “Are your strong, big, thick, manly arms doing anything?” 

The woman lifted him up in his big strong arms, and Beau was a little breathless for a second. Strong and a man enjoyer? What did he do to get the whole package? His heart began palpitations. Then she was speaking again, honestly she spoke too much. That was another downside she had. When they got married she’d need to talk at least 95 percent less. Beau stretched his arms against the clear blue plastic cover and started pushing and pushing. At first it seemed like it wouldn’t budge.Then sound of plastic scraping against plastic, and it was becoming loose! “I’m doing it! I’m doing it!” Beau shouted, his feet doing little joy taps against the woman’s shoulders.

Beau was not doing it. A large face appeared. It belonged to a man. The ugliest man Beau had ever seen. “Hahaha! Some feisty ones.” The person’s voice was loud, causing Beau to shake a bit. “Get down. I’m here to deliver your daily milk.” Beau was manhandled. Could you believe it? Man handled! He was lifted off the woman’s shoulders and placed onto the plastic ground as milk began to pour over and around them. Beau was disgusted and a little aroused, if he was being honest. “Hey! Let us out!” He shouted, fist flying against the air. But nothing changed. Milk was delivered and the tupperware was closed. 

The only thing worse than having to deal with the annoying, short man would be a shower of milk. How strange it was that the next thing to happen was precisely that. Siobhan seethed, vibrating with the force of her rage. Milk dripped from her hair and soaked into her clothes, which clung tightly to her body in a way that was flattering, though that was the only fortunate thing about it. Milk covered their tupperware in a pool of white, coming up to Siobhan’s knees. She waded through the liquid, ready to be done with it. She’d plunge his body below the milky wavers and drown him. Escape would be more steps away from her but at least the last shreds of her sanity would remain. She stormed over to him, milk sloshing; she felt a little like a slow-motion attractive lifeguard coming to shore. The milky hair flip didn’t help with the image. 

She was close, close enough to strangle when she remembered that killing fae was the sort of thing that had gotten her wings ripped out. As much as Siobhan hated him in this moment, as he was the vehicle for her frustrations, he couldn’t be harmed; a fae was a fae and fae were family. “Looks like another case of someone trying to keep men down, my sweet, sweet omelet.” Her hands balled into fists by her sides; she spoke between clenched teeth. Her shoulders ached from where he had tapped in excitement on her. She wanted to crush him like a bug. “What now?” Her gaze dropped, she noticed a strange lump in her pocket--cylindrical. What did she have in there? She pulled it out, staring at the drenched knife. She twisted it, watching the blade catch light. “Would you look at that, my egg?” She grinned.

The worst thing about the milk was not the fact that it was seeping into his onesie, congealing against his toes and setting on his skin in a thick and sticky film. No. The worst thing was the milk was warm. Warm milk? What kind of sin had the woman next to him committed to cause them to end up in this place? Surely Beau had done nothing to deserve such a treatment from whatever giant had opened the container and doused them in warm milk. “Haha.” At this point the laugh had lost any and all luster it once had, the smile which never reached his eyes was starting to not reach his lips. How was he supposed to thrive under these conditions? Then Siobhan was pulling out a knife, and for a second, when she was calling him egg, he thought she was about to poach him. Beau blinked, a little bit of a laugh and went. “Haha, my finest aged cheddar, what are you going to do with that knife?”

Siobhan thought about how lovely the man’s blood would be against her knife; she pictured his skin ripping in layers when she would stab him, flesh given to blood given to bone. What sort of expression would he make, she wondered. Would he haha? She looked at him and then her knife and then back at him. She could not kill another fae. She splashed around the container, making her way to the wall. Siobhan plunged her knife into the worn plastic and pulled down with as much force as she could summon, ripping a jagged, vertical line into the box. It looked suspiciously like a certain anatomical opening, but Siobhan wasn’t going to make that comparison. “Come, help me open this,” she called back at the short man, pulling at one side of the tear. “I need your…strong man arms to help me…because I’m…too much of a woman.” She hoped he’d slice his hand on the plastic, feeding it to the warm wilk (which was surprisingly nice, she thought, like a bath).   

Beau smiled broadly as the beautiful and slightly too old and aged looking woman stabbed the knife into the plastic and started sawing their way out. He should have known she would be too weak to follow up. “Don’t worry, I am excellent with my hands.” Beau lied, but since he truly believed that lie to be true he suffered no ill effects. Beau stepped forward, shoving both of his hands into the gash she’d created and started tearing it open. Nothing happened. Beau coughed, adjusting his hands to focus on just one side pulling back instead of pushing the two halves apart. He started getting somewhere! The plastic gave a bit. “Big and strong, what can I say.” With each long and tiresome tug the opening got bigger and bigger until the plastic tore and Beau found himself being spilled out on the counter with the milk flowing out. Suddenly the world was no longer small and tiny and Beau was large. This was the tallest he’d ever been! Except, as he looked around, he started to get the feeling that he was simply his normal height now. Disappointing. 

Siobhan knew for certain, in that moment, that her partner in milk was completely useless. She pulled, her muscles flexing--as she’d been raised to be the perfect instrument of Death, there was an undeniable strength held in her limbs. She pulled, and pulled harder to make up for the man’s lackluster efforts. The tiny cut turned into a gash and then an opened and milk sloshed through and their bodies tumbled with it. Out of the tupperware, whatever strange--slightly perverted--magic was at work seemed to wear off and Siobhan was at her usual height, which towered over the obnoxious man. She brushed milk off of her; a futile gesture. “Siobhan,” she said, holding her milky hand out, “I forgot to introduce myself and…” She drew her hand back, which trembled in the cold, dry air. In front of her were a hundred jars, lined up in neat rows, holding their own lakes of milky fluid and a singular figure standing in the liquid. She thought she saw a unicorn in one; she wasn’t even sure those existed. Wordlessly, she tilted her head to the side and wrung milk out of her hair. “I think we avoided something terrible,” she said, “perhaps because of your manliness.” She added that only because she thought it was funny. 

In their miniature forms, the woman had towered over Beau. Old and tall, both had been marked against her in his constant judgment. However, stuck in a tupperware container, Beau had been kind enough to offer her grace. Grace that whatever had stuck them in that tupperware had messed up the shrinking process and had shrunk Beau just a little bit smaller. Now as the two of them were standing normal sized in a room full of jars, Beau felt disgust boil over him to realize she actually was just behemothly tall. That was very unbecoming of her. Old or tall. Pick a struggle. Then she introduced herself. Rage danced underneath Beau’s skin, causing it to prickle. He hadn’t asked for her name, eliminating all ease of snagging it from her. Sure. The pull in his chest informed him that she was a fellow fae, but she could have been kind enough to ask. His practiced smile pulled across his face as he turned to look up at her. “Beau. “ He returned his name, “But you can call me Beautiful. On account of how manly I am.” He struck a pose. At least she was smart enough to recognize him as the man he was.

She marveled at the ease in which murderous fantasies involving the man flooded into her mind. By the time Beau had finished introducing himself, Siobhan had mentally flayed, dismembered and tortured him in a hundred different ways. She stared down at him and knew that her favorite of the fantasies was the one where she crushed him like an insect. No, like a tin can; instead of a smear, she’d stomp down and snap bones into a perfect circle. She smiled. “Beautiful,” she said, looking beyond him and into the imagined version that waddled around with his collapsed body, slowly pulling up to reveal smashed bones and flattened skin in the shape of an accordion, dangling limply. “So beautiful.” Her imaginary arms lifted him, laying his accordion body on its side so she could separate each ring of flesh so she could twist it again to get a never-ending cord of his body. She looked around at the tupperware and jars and suddenly it all made a sort of perverse sense to her. The warm milk, however, remained a mystery. 

She knelt down to his level. “Beau, beautiful, manly Beau.” Siobhan rested a hand on his shoulder, squeezing gently. “Putting you in a jar would be such a waste. I’d want you where everyone could see. I’d want wrapped around the room like tinsel. I’d call people over, I’d say ‘look at Beau, isn’t he so beautiful’.” You wouldn’t believe it, he was such a tiny man in his life, now look at how tall and grand I made him. It was the sort of irony Siobhan liked. “You’re so special. You would have been wasted here. I’m so happy that you’re free.” Trapped, Beau’s unique, repugnant nature would have been lost to the world. He was a pacifier, sized like one too; her mind reached a new level of calm, setting all its cognitive efforts into cruel punishments. He was meditative, soothing, a zen garden for a murderer. She leaned forward and pressed a quick kiss to the tip of his nose, picturing herself with acid lips to break down his cartilage. “Beautiful Beau.” She rose to her feet. “I hope the next time we meet, there’s less milk.” And she left.

That night, she completely forgot about the stained tupperware and all questions she had about how they got there or where there even was—she didn’t even remember how she got home—but she couldn’t forget Beau. He’d given her so much peace that for the first time in over forty years, she slept through the night, carried by easy dreams of Beau dying beautifully. 

Maybe older women had their place in this society. Despite the lines around her eyes, and her probably sagging bosom, Beau was enthralled by the tenderness at which Siobhan reviered him. Despite asking, multiple times, to be referred to as Beautiful, Siobhan was the first to listen to him. She kissed his nose. She left him speechless. If only she was better looking. Beau watched as she walked away, not ready yet to escape from the room that had bound them. Milk clung to him, and he knew it would sour and turn disgusting soon, but there was one thing he needed to do first. He’d seen a unicorn, miniaturized just like they had been, only in a jar. Beau plucked it off the shelf and dropped it into his milk-soaked pocket. This would be coming home with him.

[ria-coolgirl]

Hear me out but…

The lost boys, but Michael is sleep deprived and David helps him through it!

David:Hahaha, having fun Michael?

*Michael zones out a little bit*

David:Are you okay?

Michael:Oh, yeah I’m fine.

*David grabs his hand and runs over to his bike*

Michael:Hey, where are we going?

David:I’m taking you home.

They cuddle together on Michael bed and drink warm milk with cinnamon to help them sleep.

[kingtheghast]

Hi!

Where's a good place to start reading through the Space Opera au posts? Is chronological order through the tag on your blog alright/is there a masterpost? (from what I've seen it looks super interesting!!)

Also! What inspired it? I'm curious

thanks!

Hi! I'm so sorry for the late ask but- Well. We (and by that I mean all the people involved in the au) got a bit too excited over your ask and just decided to make an entire power point presentation, idea of @riacte (thank you Ria I adore you).

This will be our masterpost too so hopefully we're able to keep up to date and gather more of the countless documents we've got with lore and such, and arrange them into here. The posts in my blog are not really in chronological order, and most of the recent art I've got are meant to be like random screenshot of random boring scenes, which intentionally adds nothing to the perception of chronological order- but that's where the story part of the power point comes in, that one's definetly in order!

In the spopera power point aka the spowerpoint, we go in depth into the story of the au, each main character and a few of the other ones, the space racing sport made up for the story, planets and alien species, a few written publications in AO3, and the in-universe social media aspects.

Here's a very small preview of what's in the presentation; this is just a tiny snippet of the written premise we've got, so I absolutely recommend checking out the actual slide presentation. We're like, ridiculously proud of it and had a lot of fun.

As for what inspired this au, literally this single message sent by @jazzyjesse. It sort of sparked that "I love space" part of everyone's brain in the server and we just started to brainstorm immediately on top of it.

Thank you for the patience on this answer, hope you enjoy the presentation! As you can see from the message above this au is a few years old and it's quite beloved by all of the people involved, and having people ask about it makes us very happy. So thank you for the ask!

[juuchiruru]

New Year RKGK

[hereforanepilogue]

everything that i say and do (in your eyes is always wrong)

read on ao3

After Vecna, Eddie tried to make himself…not different, but more palatable. It wasn’t even hard - the doctors had shaved his head while he was out, and all his clothes had sunk into the Upside Down with the trailer.

He wasn’t normal - he never would be - but if he tried to quiet down? Wore plainer clothes, and played his music quieter in the van, and didn’t go back to playing with the band (as if their parents would have let him up the driveway, as if he had a guitar to play)? It wasn’t hard. 

It made it easier on Wayne, on the kids. On Steve.

And wasn’t that a surprise? He hadn’t expected to be left in the dirt, after Vecna, if he survived. He just expected the slow withdrawal, as the kids aged out of hanging out with a high school dropout, and as the older group went off to college. But they clung, and people weren’t kind to them, and Eddie being a little less made that a little easier.

Then Steve kissed him, and told him he wanted more, and that one day they would get out of there together. If only Eddie could hold out a little while longer. He watched Robin and Wheeler the Elder go off to college, and the little sheepies got busy with their own campaigns in the secret, under-the-table Hellfire, but Eddie had Wayne and Steve.

Eddie almost forgot why he started acting like he did in the first place.

“You know,” Wayne told him one day - they were even more like ships in the night now, with Wayne still working nights from the new trailer and Eddie shacked up with Steve half the time - “I don’t know what happened in March, but you ain’t been this quiet since you were about this high.” He’d held his hand up in front of his ribs.

Eddie had been twelve when he moved in with Wayne, and he guessed he must look closer to that kid now than he had in years. So he started trying to fix it. He hunted in earnest for a new leather jacket, and a new denim jacket so he could cannibalize his bloodstained old vest, and band shirts to replace his old ones. It was thrilling, honestly, after he stopped mourning for what he’d lost. 

Still, the transformation was a slow one. He still got glares when he showed his face around town, and even when he was with Steve [his knight, his ever-present guardian] they couldn’t be affectionate. And he understood that, obviously. He was always being watched, they had to be extra careful, and he knows it would be worse for Steve, who’s always been golden. A freak can get away with a certain level of freakiness, even when he’s playing at normal.

It comes to a head almost a year after the boathouse.

~~~

“When are we getting out of here?” Eddie moans, draped over the couch. His hair is long enough to tickle the base of his neck annoyingly. Steve is in the other room, cooking - he never liked to use the trailer if they could avoid it. He didn’t want to get in Wayne’s space. 

“Soon, man. When the kids graduate, maybe.”

“Maybe?”

“I mean -”

“I just. I don’t know how much longer I can do this, you know?” Steve walks into the living room, glancing at the hook in the foyer where Eddie’s new and improved battle vest was hanging. Some of the patches still had blood stains on them.

“You could make it a little easier for them, I guess.”

“What?” Eddie is suddenly, painfully aware of the awkwardness of his pose, his arms twisted to press his hands into the crevice at the back of the couch, feet stuck between the cushions, head hanging over the edge. But he’s frozen.

“I just -” Steve sighs and scrubs his hand down his face, then rests it on his hip. He leans into the doorframe, in a move that Eddie knows is one of his worst plays at being casual. “You’re - you know I - you’re getting weird again, and people are still freaked out by everything that happened.”

“I’m getting weird again?”

“That came out wrong, you know -”

“I’ve always been weird, Steve, what are you talking about?”

“I mean you’re showing it now! I know you want to dress how you want to dress, but it just - maybe it’s not time yet.”

“Should I cut my hair again too?” Eddie scrambles to sit up, and ends up having to slither off of the couch on his belly. He just stands up instead.

“I mean, it wouldn’t hurt, you could grow it out later?” Steve protests. Something is starting to burn in the kitchen, but neither of them move.

“It’s not -” Eddie takes a breath. This is why he never tried hard to talk to people who didn’t come to him, he thinks. He’s never had to explain this before. “I’m not just dressing like this because I like it. I mean I am, but it’s not…it’s not just that.”

“What do you mean, it’s not just because you like it? That doesn’t make any sense. And I’m not saying don’t dress like you want at - at my place, and at home and stuff. Just maybe not when you’re -”

“What, in public? Around the good, God-fearing public of Hawkins who were just out for my blood a year ago? I’m not like you, Steve, that doesn’t work for me.” 

And Eddie has never been good at thinking fast, when it comes to serious things. He’s snappy, sure, he’s never not had a comeback to a bully, or to his friends’ ribbing, but he could never figure out how he felt, and he’s no better at it now. He’s just empty. Faramir on the way to Osgiliath, knowingly doomed.

But he knows he isn’t that, either, because he’s never been destined to win. And Steve still hasn’t said anything. 

“Is that it? You - what - you’re just gonna bait them until they kill you?”

“I don’t want to be here anymore,” Eddie says.

“We can’t leave yet, Eddie.”

“I can’t stay here,” he can feel his brain melting into a stuck record, and he doesn’t know what will happen if he tries to move but he has to try, right? “I want to leave, I don’t want to be here.”

“Is that all you have to say?”

“Yes.” He feels possessed. “I will say no more yet.”

And he leaves, and Steve doesn’t stop him. He has the forethought to grab his jacket, at least, and when he gets to his car it occurs to him that he left a stack of tapes in Steve’s room last night, but Steve didn’t follow him and he can’t go back, so he pushes them out of his mind and drives away.

One of them was his new copy of The Last in Line and he thinks about having to replace his favorite album twice in one year, and then he’s home and he doesn’t know how he got there.

“Wayne?” he says as he walks into the trailer. Whines, really, his voice has gone all weak, but Wayne hears it (he always does) and sits up on the couch. It’s early for him to be up, earlier than they would usually eat their breakfast/dinner, but Eddie had planned to bring leftover’s from Steve’s.

“What’s wrong, kid?”

“I - remember when you talked to Ray about transfers?”

“C’mere,” Wayne says, and Eddie lets himself be pulled into Wayne’s space like a magnet. He sits next to him, close enough to feel his body heat and get overwhelmed by the scent of oil and metal that follows him home from the plant. Wayne rests his hand between Eddie’s shoulder blades, and he’s twelve again.

“It’d be nice not to have to wash paint off the walls every weekend, right?” Eddie says. He can feel the pause where he might have laughed, if he could’ve landed the tone he wanted.

“What happened?” Wayne says. It’s not the “let’s go, grab your bag” that Eddie is secretly barely-not-hoping for, but Wayne has always known him better than anyone.

“I just can’t do this anymore,” Eddie says. Wayne opens his mouth, so Eddie reassures him. “Nothing happened. I mean, something - I just can’t keep acting like this. I’m not. I tried, I really did, but I can’t make it work.”

“Ah, kid,” Wayne says. It’s the voice Wayne had used when Eddie got sent home in the fourth grade for crouching on a desk and barking at a kid who made fun of him, when Eddie had gone to Wayne’s trailer instead of his parents’. He’d used it when Eddie showed up with his hair buzzed off the first time when he was seven, and he’d used it after the cop that dropped Eddie off after his dad’s last arrest had left, and he’d used it both times Eddie told him he’d flunked.

Eddie leans into it, lets his forehead drop on Wayne’s shoulder.

“I’ll - I’m not just running, okay? I just thought I could hold out, and I can’t. And I don’t think he’s ever gonna leave, you know?”

“S - Harrinton?” Eddie’s mouth twists at the correction, and Wayne taps on his back - once, one finger - when he tenses up. Eddie leans towards him, just a hair, then leans back. 

“Yeah.”

“Did he say that?”

“I mean, I don’t really remember. He - he told me I’m weird again and that I should tone it down.” Wayne rubs his hand up and down Eddie’s back once, then stills again.

“Well, that’s bullshit there, kiddo. I’ve never met a person alive that wasn’t a bit weird, and anyone who says they ain’t is kidding themselves. How’s that song you like go again?”

“‘You’re no dif-’ It’s not the same, though.”

“Look, Ed.” Wayne sighs. “You were never good at hiding how you were different, and that ain’t a bad thing, but it means you’ve gotta find people who’ll stick to you anyway.”

“I know. It’s not his fault, though. That I’m hard to stick to.”

“You ain’t, though,” Wayne says. “You know this kind of thing ain’t easy, even if it’s just your time isn’t matched up to his.”

“I just don’t think he’s ever gonna leave, and I can’t - I can’t stay here. I can’t be like this anymore.”

“So do what you’ve gotta do, and tell them what it is and why. Give them a path to follow you down, if they’re ever ready.”

Eddie takes a shaky breath - he doesn’t know when it got so hard to breathe, but it’s starting to get better. 

“Okay. I. I’ll call tomorrow?” He looks at Wayne’s hand, curled loosely over his uncle’s knee. It’s as close to Wayne’s face as he can get his eyes to go.

“Sounds good, Ed. I’ll start looking into a transfer - nothing permanent, if you change your mind, but I know you’re not like to bring it up if you’re not serious, so just get your end of things worked out and I’ll get mine.” 

“Thank you. I’m sorry,” he says. “I’m sorry I’m not easier.” Wayne is quiet for a moment.

“Don’t be sorry, kid. You being miserable isn’t easier.” He taps between Eddie’s shoulders again, then gets up. “I think it’s breakfast time, anyway. Eggs good?” Eddie nods, but Wayne is already on his way to the kitchen.

~~~

The next day he calls around - the guys in the band first, always. Then Steve, before he talks to Robin or Nancy or the kids. The conversations are all short, but he knows it’ll be a couple weeks before Ray can get Wayne set up at his cousin’s plant out of state, so there’s time.

“You know I l- care about you, Eds. Eddie.”

“I know. I don’t wanna not be with you, I just can’t keep living like this. And I don’t know if you’ll ever be able to leave.”

“I’m just not ready yet. When the kids graduate, I’ll think about it.”

“That’s the problem, Stevie.” Eddie feels - not numb, but distant. Like someone turned a key and his thoughts are flowing in order and he has the words for them, and he has to say them even when it feels like the worst thing he’s ever said. “You’re not even thinking about an after, and all I have is an after. The only thing I have waiting for me in Hawkins is hiding everything about myself until I suffocate.”

“I’m in Hawkins. And the kids,” Steve says. He would sound controlled to anyone else, but as always, Eddie knows his tells, and he’s breaking.

“I love you, but I can’t hide forever. And you might be able to, if you want to, but you shouldn’t have to either. We’re not going far - Wayne’s getting a job in Pittsburgh, I think. Right on the way to Robin’s, if you wanna visit.” Steve gulps, and Eddie gets the abrupt sense that Steve thinks he’s lying. “I - I mean that, really. I’m not gonna promise I’ll wait for you, not forever, but I’m not exactly gonna get over you, you know?”

“You love me?”

“I do, yeah,” Eddie says.

“But you’re leaving.”

“I’m gonna die here, Steve, even if I don’t get burned at the stake. It’s not - I’m not me, anymore, and I can’t keep pretending, and it’s not just how I dress or whatever. I know I’m not normal, but it’s not a choice any more than being a queer is, so I’ll get you my new number, and when - if - you’re ready, I’ll pick up.”

“Okay. I’m sorry.”

“Me too.”

~~~

Two weeks later, the last Munsons in Hawkins pack up and leave.

read on ao3

[sm0lprism]

As I'm slowly writing chapter 10 for Bite-Sized, I'm wondering just how much I want Ria to suffer during this chapter and the next few ones 🤔

[aryxchse]

three more rquests to go.. and you don't have any idea how to write them.. come on arya.. trust your english..

[alicent-targaryen]

PSYCHO!JOHN

Narrowly escaping with her life from the bloody kitchen ruled by Mr. Solomons, Mrs. Shelby runs upstairs and locks herself in the first room she finds. It isn't until she bolts the door and rests her back against it that she sees her younger brother-in-law, John, on the floor, sitting astride a poor struggling woman dressed as a maid. He's in manic ecstasy, laughing like a deranged madman as he slashes her face without restraint. "She's a copper, you see." He says and sits back sloppily, chest panting with exertion. Mrs. Shelby simply stares in horror, listening to the wild thumping of her own heart. "Anyway, we're Peaky Blinders. We're not scared of coppers. If they come for us, we'll cut them a smile each."

for @zablife's 2k followers celebration

[riality-check]

b-sides, part 1 of who knows how many

(Related to my Daisy Jones and the Six-inspired fic, runnin' with the devil. You don't need to read it to understand this little thing. TW: mentions of drug & alcohol addiction.)

Eddie was ten years old when he found out that most other people don’t have “kids’ spoons” and “good spoons” in their houses. To him, before finding that out, it made sense. He used the plastic spoons - washed them after every meal because it wasn’t often that they got new ones - to eat, and his parents used the metal ones, the ones gifted to them on their wedding day by the few relatives that didn’t hate the idea of showing up.

It made sense. After all, plastic melts if you hold it over a lighter.

The metal just scorched. Blackened a bit due to the heat. Each spoon had a little black circle on the bottom, one that never washed out or faded, one that was never given a chance to do either.

It shouldn’t have been so surprising. Eddie found out at six that Santa wasn’t real when he heard his parents fighting over money they didn’t have for Christmas presents. He was seven when he found out that the cops would come to the door if he answered his teacher honestly about having eaten that morning, or last night. He was eight when he realized that almost everything in the house was illegal, save for the food, the cigarettes, and the beer.

He had a sip of beer for the first time at nine. The can was lukewarm, sitting by the overflowing ashtray in the living room. It was gross.

Eddie took another sip anyway.

[nguyenfinity]

frick u [enstars your OCs]

This is F4CET, a unit not actually affiliated with ES! They're a self-producing unit that mostly works abroad; though they can do work as idols, they function more as a band of sorts

Their style is literally whatever they feel like doing, they work with many genres and do whatever they think is best to express themselves in their music !

This was supposed to be done days ago but I kept drawing cats getting sidetracked yahoo

[darkhazard19]

That mood when you wanna write a fic about armyhorse or Zari interacting with the others (being Nik, Takeo and Richtofen) but dont have a concrete idea of what exactly you want the fic to be about

Yall got any ideas or requests you would like to see me write? 😭😭

[togrowoldinv]

hi bestie! ummm we all know Kate can heat up a frozen pizza like a boss but what if she wants to make you dinner one night.. really prove herself? worries me a little but maybe she could do it??

Kate Bishop is the girl who wants to take care of you. She snuggles with you, buys you gifts, and basically would do anything for you. And she always had the means to do it. So when she wanted to make you dinner, she was in for quite the task.

Kate thought her first task was to decide what to make, but as she scrolled through recipes online she learned quickly that she would need help to even do that part.

So, she called Laura Barton. The woman had quickly become like a mother to her, and she knew she could help her.

Laura helps her decide on making your favorite food. And she even takes her step by step how to accomplish it. Clint’s in the background and he grins at how Kate wants to do something so sweet for you.

When she gets to cooking, she slowly gains confidence with each step. Even turning on some music to dance to while she moves around the kitchen. She bought more utensils after being teased by a certain Russian assassin.

Kate finishes dinner with only two calls to Laura and Clint for reassurance. When you get home, she has the table set with the food plated and everything.

It looks perfect.

“Welcome home,” Kate greets you with a kiss.

“What’s all of this?” You ask her.

“I made you dinner. I hope it’s good. I’m not sure I know exactly what I’m-“ You cut her off with a kiss and she can’t help but smile.

“Thank you, baby. This is so sweet,” you tell her.

You two sit together and have dinner. It’s the best night of your relationship so far. You can’t wait to see what’s to come.

[markiecake]

currently cooking up perv yuta, size kink jisung and mark who likes to film while he fucks you 👩‍🍳

[swordmaid]

I do think that there’s a part of shri’iia that will always love lolth. she can’t help it ; she’s devoted so much of herself to that goddess before, and despite the hurt and resentment and the trauma, she was still her home, you know? and I think it will take a long time - like way past her oath breaking era to fully detangle herself from lolth just because of how much and how long she had dedicate herself to her (nearly 2 centuries worth). and before this whole oath breaking thing, and before her getting this new freedom, shri’iia didn’t even know there were other gods to worship than lolth. that a life outside of lolth was possible, and her entire existence didn’t depend on lolth. like the option to think differently wasn’t available to her, hence why she had such a difficult time fully grasping at the concept of freedom, and why she took so long actually accepting it for herself. and why an option to run back and return to lolth despite being free is plausible for her too. anyway, I think even post bg3 or whatever her dnd canon is, I think there’s some part of her that will still love lolth. she isn’t like minthara where she can fully scorn the spider queen; minthara had options and freedom that shri’iia wasn’t born with. she was afforded the luxury of being comfortable in her status as a drow woman because she was already born into that power that they’re expected to have, meanwhile shri’iia had to reach and truly fight to have a taste of the privilege that minthara was already born with - and it’s the very power that lead to her being used by her matriarch. regardless, I think that’s such an interesting dynamic to have for her, just all around complicated religious feelings. and why I think she won’t turn into an eilistraeen in the future even though her new oath aligns with eilistraee’s beliefs. I think some part of her would feel like she’s still betraying lolth - despite not following her anymore - at the prospect of worshipping somebody else, and I do think she mourns that devotion she once had. that - and the fact that she was ‘complete’ when she followed lolth, and her oath was divine and pure, but now it’s all broken and severed and she’s just making do with what she’s left with.

[hazard-15]

Me whenever I draw Ria or Leta "God why are they so pretty 🥺😭😭💖💖"

So finished Ria's outfit ref, I'm gonna be a tease and show yall a sneak peek lol maybe I'll post this tomorrow but crazy how I did her outfit ref first and I haven't even finished her info ref let alone Leta’s 😭😭😭

[kavalyera]

Tell me something about Archer Hearst that's heartwarming and fluffy! Like, who is the person he cares about most or what's something that makes him happiest?

he’s the oc i beat up the most but i can try !! :D

he really loves his daughter who is named adrianne but mostly called ria ^_^ he’s kind of mean and deadpan and also tired asf but ask him about his daughter and he’s immediately going like: “this is ria she burned someone’s house. im proud of her :)”

( fun fact: his last name is me just accidentally misspelling “heart” once and i was like yeah thats a good name )