#thisll be a fic

[mariatesstruther]

kinda wanna write a fic where maria does something stupidly dangerous and tommy gets 😌mad😌

[strangersteddierthings]

No Regrets - Part Five

Part One🦇 Part Two🦇Part Three🦇Part Four🦇Part Five🦇Part Six

This beautiful fic cover you see below was made by the fantastic, wonderful and lovely @skepsiss <3 Thanks so much!!! I'm still crying about it.

He jolts backwards, the burning in his chest hurts, it fucking hurts but- but it doesn't? He pulls in a deep, shaking breath and feels no pain.

"Steve?" Nancy asks from off to his right, so he turns to look at her. She looks concerned, and scared in a way he hasn't seen her in years. (Except it's not years, is it? Not anymore, or not right now?) "Are you okay?"

He shakes his head before digging his palms into his eyes. He's dying, dying, dying- he's dead, he has to be. The Storms are so toxic and he-

"Steve," Robin's voice is accompanied by her hands around his wrists. She pulls his hands from his eyes and he lets her. He blinks at her worried face. "Steve, what just happened?"

"I-I was. I think... give me a moment" Steve says. Robin nods once, a confirmation, but she doesn't move away or release his wrists.

He pulls in another deep breath and closes his eyes to think. He's trying to remember. He thinks he promised to explain everything after... after Pennhurst? Yes, he remembers. Promised that after Robin and Nancy got back from their trip to Pennhurst, he'd tell them everything he knows. It's... it is after, now.

It was yesterday that Robin and Nancy went to Pennhurst and spoke to Creel. They learned about Creel, and the music. They still got found out as fakes; Steve didn't remember what caused them to be discovered last time to be able to warn them against it this time.

He still ended up being bullied into driving Max around. This time, though, he already had an hour-long loop of Running Up That Hill in his car. They'd let Max go to speak to Billy alone, like last time. The boys paced around the car and this time, when they realize that Max isn't responding, Steve's already loading the tape into the cassette player. He shoves it into Lukas's hands and tells him to put it on Max, press play, and to not stop begging her to come back until she is.

Steve saw he had questions, but Max was more important. She floated, and fell, and Lucas had caught her. Then...?

Oh, right. Then, he did explain, yesterday evening, after everyone had crowded into the Wheeler's basement. Went over Vecna winning, Hawkins becoming ground zero for the apocalypse. Talks about a future with a lot of loss, but won't say who, as well as the slow decay of the air and earth. That you could breathe the air for small moments of time, but long exposure would make you sick. That even though they'd finally killed Vecna in 1989, too much damage had been done, too many gates opened, kept opening with every new death by demo-creature. El alone would never be able to close off all the gates. They were working on trying to create a reverse of the machine below Starcourt, meant to close gates instead of open, but the world would probably be a complete wasteland before they could complete it.

No one had reacted well to the news, but the yelling was a minimum, which had been a pleasant surprise.

In the end, Steve had told them they needed more people, more help. That he was going to tell Wayne about the Upside Down.

He opens his eyes, now, and looks around. The place is small, familiar almost. Wood paneling and- The Munson's home. They're in Eddie's home. Because last night Steve had come over. He'd come over and told Wayne everything because he couldn't do this again. Not alone, not as the only responsible adult.

The Wayne in the future had been so willing to help, when Hawkins ripped open at its seams, and Wayne in the present was the same. He didn't- he didn't even call Steve crazy. He'd said he believed Steve, that some government lady told him they were going to pay for him to be in a hotel since his home was an active crime scene, but Wayne'd refused. Eddie wouldn't know where to call when he got out, and what if he just showed up and Wayne was gone- well, Wayne found that unacceptable.

Now, Wayne should be his way back from Indy in Eddie's recovered van with the Byers and Mike, and they're here waiting on a call from Eddie.

Steve's not dying, or, he's not anymore? Or maybe he is, and this is just. What the end is like? Getting to put an end to your regrets or something.

Whatever. It doesn't really matter what or why or even how. He knows what is in store for the future if they don't stop Vecna today.

"Sorry, sorry. I'm back," Steve says, opening his eyes to look at Robin.

She scrunches her brow. "Back?"

"Back from the future," Steve gives her a lopsided grin and in return she squints at him, leaning in real close to his face like the closer she is the more of his mind she'll be able to read.

"You're a different Steve. Again."

"What?" Nancy asks.

"Again?" Steve asks.

Robin scrutinizes his face some more before backing off, just a few inches. "Yeah. It was- Saturday, when you just walked out of our shift after Dustin and Max showed up, you were different then. Not. It was- you know how we were just talking about how if only we could combine, our love life problems would be fixed?"

Steve does, but only after having to think about it for a moment. It was so long ago, but it wasn't. Not for the Steve he's replaced, not for Robin in front of him. "Yeah. I remember."

"It's like I didn't realize how much we'd already combined until we weren't anymore. It was like... like you were a completely different person. I thought it was just, maybe, a reaction to learning the Upside Down was back. But you got different. More haunted."

"You noticed a difference?"

Robin scoffs, "of course I did. You're you but it was. This whole week it's been like... each day brings a new you. With different quirks. Except yesterday was still all the same old-new you so I thought- I thought maybe we'd succeeded. Fixed whatever it was that needed changed because you hadn't changed. But we haven't yet. 'Cause you're back."

Steve shakes his head. "No. No, we haven't. But this time- we'll have the manpower."

"No, I mean, I just-" Robin huffs, falling back onto her butt rather than staying in an uncomfortable crouch. "I just noticed, is all."

"Are we making it better," Nancy asks, "or worse?"

Steve looks from Robin to Nancy. "I-I don't know."

"What do you mean you don't know?"

"I mean I don't know. I don't- I don't know what we've changed. Or if it's been for the better. Because I don't remember."

"Oh," Nancy says with a nod, the look on her face morphing to one Steve knows means she's working out the puzzle of it all. He'll leave her to it.

His attention turns back to Robin, who has her head tipped back, looking at the unopened gate on the roof of the trailer. It definitely cannot be mistaken for water damage anymore. "What are you thinking about?"

Robin tips her head back down to look at Steve. "Exactly that."

"What?"

"Sorry," she says with a frown, "I was just thinking about how we can't- we don't really read each other's minds anymore. I know we should be worrying more about the end of the world but I'm just, just being selfish. Worrying about our friendship."

"You are the only constant in my life, Robin Buckley," Steve confesses, a fierceness to his tone he doesn't even recognize. "You have been, and always will be, the person I need in my life to bother even living it. I swear to God, Robbie, that if anything ever happens to you, I will walk into traffic."

Robin lets out a laugh. "That's a bit extreme."

Steve shoots Nancy a look; he can see she's in her own world. He stands then, offering a hand to Robin to pull her up. "Come on. I have something to tell you. A soulmate secret."

Robin's eyes light up with delight and he pulls her from the ground before leading her to the only place they can get privacy. Eddie's room.

It's two steps into the room that Steve realizes he's never seen Eddie's room before. Or, if he had, the memory of it is lost with the time line it happened in. In Steve's memory, the front half of Eddie's home gets obliterated, and when Eddie and Wayne went back to gather the things that survived the gate opening, Dustin, Mike, and Lucas had gone with the help pack it up. Steve had been helping fortify the high school.

It seems ridiculous, to be hit with the thought of never having seen Eddie's room, with the threat of the apocalypse still looming.

"Alright, secret time," Robin sounds delighted, and her voice pulls him from his thoughts. She shuts the door and turns, eyeing the bed skeptically. "Hmm, standing room only I think."

Steve huffs out a laugh as he takes in the mess of a room, a room that looks lived in and shows Eddie's personality and the things he cares about. Nothing at all like his own room at the Harrington house; perfectly clean and matching and devoid of anything distinctly Steve. "Like you ever make your bed."

The noise Robin makes is clearly offended, and she smacks his arm lightly with the back of her hand, "uncalled for! Unprovoked, even!"

"Yeah, well, you're judging a guy who's been in jail this past 48-ish hours. Not like he had time to tidy up," Steve says.

"I think the state of his bed -whole room, really- is not because he didn't come home to clean up. In fact, I think he just lives like this."

"At least his room looks lived in. I mean, look at all of this on the walls. You think he drew these?" Steve says, hand reach out to brush against a drawing tacked to the wall nearest him.

"Your room could look lived in, too, if you weren't afraid of a few tack holes," Robin replies, crossing the room. Steve watches her go, approaching the mirror and the guitar mounted in front of it. She examines the guitar before picking up the red yoyo atop the amp.

"And here you were worried about not being able to read my mind anymore."

She turns to him and gives him a quick, genuine smile before turning her attention back to the yoyo. "So, what's the soulmate secret? You really good with a yoyo?"

"What? No. I didn't even know that was in here," Steve says.

"I thought you knew the future," Robin teases as she gets the yoyo to successfully fling from her palm and back into her grasp. She makes a little pleased noise before she creeps around the room, gawking at all of Eddie's things.

"I know one, specific future that we are trying to change, if you'll remember. I didn't know you could yoyo."

"Neither did I- oh my God, there's an Alf costume in his closet!"

"A what- no, nevermind. You can snoop and-"

"I'm not a snoop."

"-and listen as the same time, so I just. I'm gonna say something and please know that I have had five years to figure this all out, and also know that the apocalypse has a way of putting things into perspective."

"Mhmm," Robin hums an acknowledgement as she moves back to where she picked up the yoyo. "Why does he have a pepper shaker in his room?"

Steve ignores her, choosing to believe that was just her thinking out loud and not actually asking him. "Actually, the apocalypse was full of surprises. And I mean, beyond the surprises one might expect. Like, so many of our old teachers are survival experts. Did you ever have Mr. Clark, that guy- wait, no. I had something I wanted to tell you."

The phone starts ringing in the living room. Nancy's out there, though, so neither of them move to the door.

"Anyway, this feels so... why am I so nervous about this? I mean, I've already told you once, but, uh, I. I'm a little worried, scared?"

"Hey, whoa," Robin has dropped her investigation and turned fully back to Steve. "What is it?"

"I like Eddie," Steve blurts, needing to get the words out. "I like Eddie, and I died so now I think this is my only shot, like last last shot but I don't even know if he'll still like me back and I'm, like, ridiculously nervous to see him because, and this is the soulmate secret part because-"

"Whoa, what, what!!? Did you just say died?"

"- you cannot tell anyone, but I'm the reason he's been in jail. I called Hawkins PD and told them where they could find Eddie, 'cause if he was in jail then he couldn't be blamed for Fred's murder, but I've never had to fess up to that because, like, Hawkins exploding and life becoming an actual nightmare for years made it not important. Like, what's a criminal record in the face of no surviving government?"

Robin is staring at him, eyes wide and face slightly pale and it's now that Steve thinks that, maybe, he's not doing as well with everything as he thought he might be.

"Am I... okay?" Steve asks himself out loud, and that has Robin throwing herself across the room to clutch at Steve, drag him into a crushing hug. He hugs back, trembling and finding it hard to breath.

"No, no I don't think you are," Robin whispers, squeezing tight.

"Hey, that was- oh!" Nancy says as she flings the bedroom door open. "Sorry. I didn't mean to interrupt-"

"It's just a hug," Robin says.

"Right. Umm, the phone was Officer Callahan. We can go pick up Eddie."

"Right," Steve says, pulling away from the hug and pulling himself together. He can have his mental break down tomorrow. "Let's go get Eddie."

Provided if that, this time when he closes his eyes to rest, he'll wake up here and not. Well, either in the future or not at all.

-

@i-less-than-three-you @nburkhardt @afewproblems @a-little-unsteddie @sevenmerrymagpies @steviesummer @queenie-ofthe-void @mycatsstolemybiscuit @lololol-1234 @synonym-for-strange @tchackdaw

[bandtrees]

hiatus catastrophizing has made me really worried for how find us alive will end. given the weight it gives character deaths and injury, i don't think anyone will die or anything like that - but i think, and maybe this is just my angst brain talking, site-107 has evolved so much and its people have adapted so well over time, into something unrecognizable as the foundation, that i think when they get out they will be completely incompatible with the outside world/the foundation at large and we'll get a tragic "the shift grew to symbolize hope in isolated community that cannot persist in the 'real world'"-type ending.

(in particular, anna got an ask about the idea that the 107 employees will all be amnesticized when they're found, and that concept's stuck with me...)

a foundation site has become a place where d-class are treated like people, where people who'd previously hardly spoken are now close community members, where a contained anomaly can atone and return to his work and his friends, where anomalies themselves are treated with affection as the pets of a physically+mentally disabled field agent who was considered disposable by the foundation long before she became disabled.

and that's wonderful. it makes me so happy. but i have to fear if the rest of the foundation will be as understanding of the hope and triumph the staff of 107 have gone through - and i don't think they will. fua's story is all about making normalcy, and i would say at this point in the story, shown most recently by gravett and klein, that they've achieved it - but won't it hurt, just like it had in the initial shift, to have that normalcy taken away?

[saltburn-bi]

@im-getting-help hiii i saw your reply, sorry it took me a minute lol i was actually burnt out to hell yesterday just did something short n sweet <333

Felix notices it when Oliver reaches over with his pencil and circles something in Felix’s textbook for him, both of them sitting on his bed and working on separate things, and it’s this: He really likes Oliver. It hits him like a slap to the face, or having ice water poured over his head. He really likes Oliver. “What?” Oliver asks. He’s... Staring. Felix shakes his head, wishing his hair was just a bit longer so it might hide his smile when it fluffs out around his ears and cheeks. “Nothing,” he lies, still smiling. “What?” Oliver laughs, asking again, and Felix laughs too. “You’re just... So...?” Felix starts, looking up at him again. Cute. Handsome. Charming. Nice to be around. Wonderful. Perfect. Perfect. “Such a nerd,” Felix decides to say, fond, and avoids Oliver’s gaze again. Oliver laughs and returns to his schoolwork none the wiser. Felix thinks his heart has started beating differently when Oliver is around.

[lavenoon]

Conjunction (~9.9K)

More menace4menace, based on @naffeclipse's Bloodstain Fool with the og detective au by sunnys-aesthetic!

Plays after the first doodle comic, and after Falling Into Orbit, but before Asterisms

—

“Got your target?” 

Sighs sound different without any breath involved, you’re learning. 

You’ve been following Eclipse for a small distance already, waiting for him to say something, to no avail. It’s not that you’re quiet about it, so you don’t think it’s a matter of not having spotted you yet - and his reaction to your question proves it. 

Eclipse turns.

You grin. 

Half lidded golden eyes glow even brighter with the sun starting to set behind the urban horizon. Not a true sunset yet, but darkness is starting to settle between the high rises. The lighting is gorgeous, and unfortunately, it’s rubbing off on Eclipse. 

And that, in turn, reminds you of your impulsive compliment just the other day. Is it worse that you still mean it?

At least you don’t have to think about it for too long, thanks to his sparkling personality.

“Why are you following me? Can’t you take a hint?” 

Ah. That’s why he ignored you for half a block. 

You try not to let it get to you. It’s not the easiest task, waving off the rejection from the only person you somewhat know and who knows about you in this time, but you’ve had a bit too much practice putting on an act anyhow. You shrug, grin just barely strained.

“We have a saying for hints, a wave with a fencepost.” 

The tired expression morphs into a scowl, one you’re a bit more familiar with. Now he’s confused - and that’s enough to soothe your wounded ego. Enough to make your grin genuine again, and then worse. 

Eclipse’s glower evolves in parallel. 

“Are you going to elaborate or not.” 

Well, you can be gracious. 

“You could throw the whole fence at me and I’d duck to look at a ladybug.” 

It’s likely that the only reason you notice his hand twitch is because it’s just barely below your eye level. Tall bastard. The movement draws your gaze, but when nothing else happens, you tilt your head back up. 

He’s no longer looking at you, eyes still narrowed as he stares off into the distance. His voice is quieter, too. 

“A fence is about the only thing you could dodge.” 

There’s a deja vu when he shifts and just walks away, except this time you do have other options. You still follow him. 

“I answered your question, so? Did you catch them? Why target, anyway?” 

As much as you want to keep an eye on his expression, unfortunately you’re too uncoordinated by nature and tripping on the uneven sidewalk is too much of a risk if you aren’t looking. Still, you spare him another prying glance he probably doesn’t see before focusing downwards. 

“Curiosity killed the cat.” 

“And satisfaction brought him back. So?” 

“Him?”

Eclipse actually slows, his optics already on you when you look up to check. Not hostile, for once, but still confused. You shrug with a lighthearted smile. 

“Or her. Either’s good. But I’d like my satisfaction, please.” 

Just to emphasize, you make a grabbing motion with your hand, palm up. And trip over a loose tile in the pavement. At least you don’t fall - but the inelegant floundering isn’t quite helpful in your endeavor of figuring out Eclipse’s job. 

He’s no longer looking at you when you regain your balance. 

“You’re awfully sure there will be satisfaction involved.” 

“Your mysterious deflections are only making it worse for you, you know?” 

Again, a sigh. Either the low rumble of static is just part of an animatronic’s sigh, or he’s starting to get grumbly again. Given his disposition, your bet is on the latter. Thin ice, then. 

Watch you stomp on it to find out just how thin. Maybe that’s why they call it ice breakers. 

You skip a step, keeping even with him, and grin. Eclipse sends you a burning glare, as if in warning. But all too quickly he averts his eyes again, and then you have to speed up to keep pace. He’s not getting rid of you that easily. 

And your stubbornness wins out after another few steps, and another fleeting glare. 

“I’m a bounty hunter.” 

You hum.

“Oh right, that’s a thing.” 

This time, it’s Eclipse’s feet stuttering - but you don’t look up to see how your reply insulted him this time. It’s certainly less regulated nowadays than what you’re used to, and somehow, you can imagine him in that kind of field perfectly. Grumpy loner with ominous favors who also hunts whomever the finger of the law is pointed at. 

Maybe that explains the suggestion of a gun, too. 

Silence stretches for just a bit too long, so you end up glancing back up at his face despite the risk of tripping. He’s facing away from you, so that tells you nothing. Are you imagining the tension in his shoulders, or is he waiting for something? 

Looking up comes with other nice surprises too - there’s a few clouds starting to smother the orange of the sunset. Oh, you hope it’ll rain tonight. Falling asleep might be a little easier that way. Your sleep schedule has suffered enough. 

You focus back on the path in front of you, preventing any other tripping accidents. 

Given that you haven’t been sent away or glared at again, you decide to say something else. It might not be anything particularly smart, but that’s his problem. 

“I’m assuming it’s not like the movies. Worn Wanted posters, ‘Dead or Alive’, that you can dramatically rip from pin boards or something.” 

Eclipse looks back down to glare at you, just as the street lamps buzz on. More golden light all around, even more so with his pupils shrunken to pinpricks. 

“What movies are you talking about?” 

Bastard has no right looking this pretty. 

“Westerns, mostly.” 

That actually stops him in his tracks. In an attempt to remain aloof you continue walking, except - you have no idea where you’re going. You halt just a few steps later, turning back with the best innocent smile you can muster. 

You’re kind of glad his eyes are such an easy tell for his emotions - they’re narrow, but golden, and his pinprick pupils have once again expanded. He just looks tired, maybe annoyed. 

“It’s a miracle you even survived the week.” 

The snort escapes you before you can stop it. A miracle, after he so pointedly got involved? 

“Well, only thanks to you. Food and a roof over my head are some basic requirements that helped a lot.” 

You wink, just to keep the air light. It doesn’t do anything to stop Eclipse from scowling. 

“Stop that.” 

A widened grin, and a deepened scowl. Somehow, this seems to be your pattern. You shrug. 

“Just saying.” 

With another rumble Eclipse starts walking again, brushing past you without concern. You jump a step to get back into the motion, and then match his pace. Who even needs a workout regime if you have a grumpy animatronic to keep up with?

“I see you still haven’t learned to keep your mouth shut.” 

Despite the cutting words, you don’t feel like the tone quite matches that sharpness. Not friendly, mind you, but much less hostile than you’ve heard from him before. Laughter bubbles up in your voice, and you don’t care to smother it. 

“Bold of you to assume I ever will.”

The long suffering sigh you get in reply only makes you laugh harder. Though only for a moment, before a question is directed at you for a change. 

"How are you still dressed like that?" 

He gestures towards you, eyes on you as he waits. Though he doesn’t slow down at all.

You blink, and look down on your outfit. It’s certainly a choice to walk around in something that won’t be worn for another century, but then again… Your choices here are rather limited. And as far as you’re concerned, you’ll gladly wear familiar outfits rather than worry about buying new ones with money you don’t have. 

Eclipse only narrows his eyes at your shrug. 

"Would you believe me if I told you the stuff just shows up in my closet every morning?" 

Silence sure isn’t the answer you expected. You glance back up, head tilted, waiting for his judgement. After a moment of consideration he looks away. The noise he makes isn’t hostile enough for a snarl, but too grumbly to be a sigh. It is a concession, though. 

"Your anomalous existence affecting your surroundings should faze me more, but sure, why not." 

The defeat in his tone startles a laugh out of you, and you skip the step it costs you. 

"Yeah, same. I went inside, didn't go home. Not even Narnia." 

Ah, hm. Maybe you shouldn’t have said that. 

"Narnia?" 

Yeah, no, that is not a story you want to get into. You’re not even sure how similarly history will play out with animatronics around. Also not a topic you want to analyze further. So once again, you shrug.

"Wait a couple years, it'll make sense."

And if not, by then he’ll hopefully have forgotten about it. 

“I would hope you’re not just volunteering future information to other people.” 

This time the sharper tone is accompanied by a quick matching glare. Naturally, you wink. 

“Nah, don’t worry. You’re special.” 

The frustrated grumble is wordless, and you have to press your lips together to not laugh. But he does pick up pace again, and you hurry after him. 

Something wet hits you. 

You look up. 

The sky isn’t just night dark - it’s covered in heavy clouds, and just like that, the next fat raindrop hits your face. You blink. Another.

So you get your wish of a rainy night. Now if only you were in your bed, you’d be all set. Mild panic creeps up in your throat, and you run a few steps to catch up with Eclipse. 

“Uhh!”

Eclipse turns, frowning at your tone. But he does stop, which honestly? You didn’t really expect. So you take the plunge.

“Where are we?” 

“Where -”

His scowl deepens in record time as he looks around, and then his eyes are blazing even in the twilight granted by the nearby street lamp. Mostly the light illuminates the steady increase of rain hitting the ground.

“You followed me home. You followed me home?” 

Your first instinct is to smile again, though this time it’s a lot more wobbly than before. You didn’t think this through, at all. You didn’t even notice how far you were going, all because you were too focused on talking. 

Maybe you can find your way back, retrace your steps - but you’ve been following Eclipse for a while now, and even before that you weren’t exactly close to the boarding house. You’ve been wandering a lot these days, for lack of other activities, and now you’re looking at a good distance to walk. In the rain. At night. 

But maybe Eclipse knows a shortcut. It’s not like you have many options. 

“Uh. How far to the boarding house?” 

“Too far.” 

Quick way of shattering your hopes, then. You deflate.

In your periphery, Eclipse reaches out - but aborts the motion with a curl of his fingers. Just as you look he turns, instead waving over his shoulder. Yours are getting wetter by the second, and you see the matching darkness growing on his coat. 

“Follow me. You’re not dying without paying me back for that favor.” 

You’d hopefully just get drenched, but if that’s what he has to tell himself to help you’ll take it. Thinking about how much better he knows this city by night isn’t really helping your anxiety. You’ve been a duckling for this long, so there’s no reason to stop now. 

Somehow you just keep getting yourself into these objectively dangerous situations, huh?

For once, you stay silent as you follow Eclipse past the last block. There’s tension in the line of his shoulders and you’re pretty sure you’re about to owe him again. He doesn’t seem happy about it. You can’t blame him. This was avoidable, it shouldn’t have happened. Anxiety is churning your stomach.

Only when he takes a turn into a nearby apartment complex do you find the courage to speak up again. Your steps echo on the tiled floor, breaking the silence for you.

“You’re waterproof?” 

You can figure, given his lax reaction to the rain, but you’d feel better with the confirmation. Despite everything, animatronics are new to you, and you’re missing a lot of what would be considered common knowledge. 

Eclipse just glares, obviously not happy over having to state the obvious. 

“Do you think I’d be done in by a bit of rain?” 

Your shrug doesn’t feel half as cheeky as all the preceding ones. 

“No, but wanted to make sure.” 

Something in his expression shifts, so you duck your head. If you can’t see his annoyance, it can’t hurt you. 

Silence reigns. 

Eclipse turns on his heels, and continues down the hallway. You shuffle after him, chancing a glance back up at his back. 

Have his shoulders relaxed, or is that wishful thinking?

“Don’t you think I would have been more concerned about the rain if I wasn’t?” 

Some of the edge has left his voice, and unfortunately you immediately read into it. Your own shoulders drop with the relief as you follow him up the stairs. This is a worse workout than everything before. He’s so fast.

“I mean, yeah, but I prefer checking in with the expert.”

“Surprising enough that you’re admitting ignorance.” 

You can’t see his face, but his tone makes you picture an eye roll. Still annoyed, but the edge hasn’t returned. You crack a smile.

“I don’t know a lot of stuff. Would you like me to elaborate?” 

He steps away from the stairwell, and you notice just how high the ceilings are - but still only high enough to leave a few meager inches between his top most sunray and the stucco on the ceiling. 

Mostly, you’re just glad you only had to climb the stairs up one floor. He’s fast enough on even ground, where he doesn’t get to skip steps.

“Don’t.” 

With a grin you start listing things, eyes closed for posterity. 

“Physics, never had a good teacher. Social cues - no one tells you those rules, and I hate it. Taxes are nebulous too, even after I’ve started - ough.” 

You’re yanked back by your collar, and make an ungraceful sputtering sound. Shouldn’t have closed your eyes then - seems like you missed Eclipse stopping at his apartment door. But his hand lets go of your shirt as quickly as he’s grabbed you, and you’re left rubbing the spot where the fabric dug into your throat. 

Eclipse scowls, but there’s something new to it. His grin is wider than usual, just a bit. 

“When to shut up.” 

You test it, just a bit, and let your own smile grow. 

“I think that’s part of the social cues.”

His eyes narrow, but you don’t feel apprehensive. 

“The fences.” 

You nod sagely. 

“The fences.”

A huff of static, and he unlocks the door. A snort? You’re starting to get amusement without it being at your expense then, that’s progress. 

Stepping past the threshold makes your anxiety spike again though. With the room he got for you it was different - this is his space, and you’re only here because you didn’t pay enough attention. 

Well, also because Eclipse is nicer than he lets on. Or believes himself to be, maybe. You’re still convinced you wouldn’t have died walking back to the boarding house.

But it’s strange. Following him through the foyer, the coat and shoe racks are the only things indicating that anyone lives here. No decorations to the wall, no carpets on the bare floor, barely even any furniture in the hall. That’s a lot of wasted storage space.

The first thing actually indicating a personality for the place is in the living room. 

“A leather couch?”

There’s more furniture of course, dark wooden drawers and shelves, a desk covered in documents and a chair, and a high coffee table matching the couch. But somehow the obvious source of comfort is what stands out to you. 

“Easier to clean off.”

Comfort, huh?

Eclipse continues walking down the hallway stretching on beyond the room, but you halt with a frown. 

The dark leather on the large (Eclipse-sized) three seater looks well maintained even with the worn creases on one of the edge seats. Eclipse’s preferred spot, it seems. The furthest from the window, and with a good view of the entrance. A realization about as cheerful as his comment. 

You trace a deeper line on the armrest, bright where the leather broke.

“Ominous. Have they invented blacklight yet?" 

You hear rustling from an open door, and you don’t think he heard you. Warily you step away from the couch to follow. Probably best if he didn’t hear you, actually. 

Except he did, and his reply echoes from what you must now assume is the bathroom.

"Why?" 

The suspicion is evident, and you have no other option but to commit. Not that he sees the shrug, but it helps you remain lighthearted. He heard you all the way over there without issue, but still you raise your voice just slightly.

"I’m taking that as a yes. Even cleaned up, you'd still see a whole lot in blacklight. Urine, blood, platypuses."

The confusion echoes, too.

"Pla-” 

Eclipse ducks back out, stepping out of the bathroom with a scowl directed at you. 

“No. Don't do that here."

Shame, you almost got him with the platypuses. It makes not grinning very hard, and you fail much too quickly. His eyes only narrow further as he steps back into the living room, and then his hand is moving too fast for you to process. 

Fabric covers your head. You blink against the bright terry cloth, yellow from the light passing through it, then pull it away from your face. 

A towel - you aren’t even that wet. But what gets you more than the gesture is the sheer size of it. Nearly a blanket, really. 

“Something wrong?” 

The words are barely more than a growl, a storm just waiting to be unleashed. The question, not really a question - a dare. Seems like you look just a bit too taken aback. 

Honesty it is, then. Baffle him too much to be upset with you. You look back up to meet his glare head on, fingers still buried in the soft fabric, and blink. 

“I kind of expected red towels. White doesn’t match you.” 

Eclipse blinks, too, and for a breath his eyes are just wide and golden. Plan, success. But much too soon he averts his gaze, eyes narrowing as if on instinct. 

You want to see him relaxed more often. 

And where did that thought come from? Challenges usually aren’t your thing, and this guy is tougher than a rock with about as much emotional awareness.

Honestly, that might even be too generous an assessment. 

“Red can’t be bleached.” 

The response startles you out of your thoughts, and it takes you a moment to process. It clicks, just a bit belatedly - Eclipse has already brushed past you back into the hallway. 

“Oh.” 

You don’t leave the living room, but step closer to the threshold to the hall. Watch as he takes off the wet coat and hangs it up on the coat rack, nearly bunching up at the ground. 

Again you raise your voice.

“Thank you.” 

The glare hits harder from the dark hallway, but it doesn’t faze you. You’re getting desensitized.

“I told you to stop that.” 

You stick out your tongue, then cover your head again and towel your hair dry, just a bit. Plausible deniability in terms of disrespect, or something. Mostly hiding from retaliation, given that you’ll disappoint him yet again.

“I won’t stop saying thank you if you keep helping me, that’d be rude.” 

“Don’t test me, I’ll kick you out.” 

As expected, his tone is sharper than your knife collection. Though, to be fair, you got yours for the looks, and not for their functionality. 

“I don’t think you will.” 

You pull off the towel just a bit, holding on to it as you look up to where he’s scowling. But angry as he looks, he’s not making any move towards you, remaining more than an arm’s length away. One of his, too. 

It’s a gamble, daring him to go through with his threat - but if he wanted to get rid of you, he really wouldn’t need to threaten it. From the start he hasn’t tried particularly hard to make you someone else’s problem. Your police bluff couldn’t have been that convincing, unless he’s really worried about involving them, and just running for a block would have shaken you off easily. 

He’s not as uncaring as he wants you to think, and unfortunately for him, you won’t play along.

You blink, ending the staring contest, and his shoulders drop with a static huff.

“You’re a walking headache. Dry off, I’m not dealing with a sick you.” 

It’s hard not to smile, so you just hide it behind the towel and a ducked head. You’re still pretty sure you earn a glare for your quiet snort, even though you try to cover it up with a cough. 

Pulling down the towel you unfortunately see the next issue.

“Uhh? Eclipse?”

Where did he disappear to, anyway?

“What?” 

Your drawn out hum doesn’t seem to incite any confidence, because he stalks through an open door back into the hallway.

“What?” 

You grimace.

“So, uh, the bleach? You might need that. Usually the dye washes out without issue, but that’s with the cleaning stuff from a hundred years in the future, so…” 

The frown deepens as confusion starts to weigh on him, and he steps closer. You pull the towel away from your neck and hold it out. The red and purple dye spots are faint, more orange and pink respectively, but definitely visible, and you really should’ve thought about that before. It’s not like your hair was that wet either. 

Eclipse stares. 

You swallow. 

No reply. 

“I’m sorry -” 

Faster than a cobra his hand darts forward, and snatches the towel from your grasp. You fumble just a bit as he drags it away from you, holding on out of instinct before letting it pass through your hands. No rope burn for you today.

Without sparing you another glance, or even the chance to gauge his expression, he vanishes back into the bathroom. An insistent clank makes you jump, and then he reappears with a dark static brewing in his eyes like a storm. His pupils flicker ever so slightly, but you don’t get the time to really look. 

A new towel is flying your way, and you scramble to catch it out of the air before it hits the ground. 

You blink. 

“Don’t stain it.” 

When you look up, the door to what must be his bedroom slams shut. You think the doorframe vibrates, even. 

It makes no sense. The old towel was fine, and if he doesn’t want them stained, why give you a new one? You could go grab the other one, making sure this one won’t get dripped on, but after what felt like progress his reaction to the stains throws you off. Risking the dark eyes isn’t really on your agenda for this unorthodox sleepover. 

Wrapping the towel around your damp shoulders instead, you step backwards until you hit the leather of the couch. Kick off your shoes, and then curl up on the seat closer to the window. 

It’s going to be a long night. 

—

You don’t know how late it is when the door to Eclipse’s room opens quietly. Definitely late, long past your bedtime, but your mind is too restless to grant you any reprieve. 

Golden eyes find yours in the darkness, and the tall shape that is your reluctant host steps into the hallway. You turned off the lights earlier, feeling more comfortable in the darkness, so the only sources of light are his optics and the faint illumination from the moon and street lights reaching through the window. The light doesn’t reach him.

“You’re still up.” 

Huddled in your towel blanket, you shrug.

“Can’t sleep.” 

The rain outside has trickled away to nearly nothing, and you’ve spent the last few hours lost in thought as you watched the raindrops race down the glass of the window. 

Eclipse remains in the hallway, where the faint light from outside won’t reach. You still see his eyes narrow, bright as they are.

“I don’t have any bedding.” 

“It’s not that.” 

He shifts, but it’s too dark for that to tell you much. 

“Ah. I didn’t expect you to be that prudent. I wouldn’t trust me either.” 

You should have figured he’s being an idiot. The glare you send his way is probably the worst you’ve directed at him so far, and the glow of his optics disappears for a moment as he blinks. 

“I’m not you. I was trying to figure out what I did wrong with the towel, not waiting for you to come kill me while I sleep. What the hell am I supposed to do if you decide to do that, anyway?” 

There’s hardly anything you can do to stop him if he decides he’s had enough of you. Your only reassurance is his continued inaction despite all your pestering. Well, and the fact that you refuse to default to that kind of paranoia.

Still frowning he steps forward, just into the space where the moonlight dips into the hallway. Just that amount of light is enough to let you see the confusion evident on his face. 

“... The towel?” 

“You got angry.” 

You don’t like how quiet your voice is. But any louder and it would crack. 

So instead you just duck slightly, resting your chin on your knees. The perspective and your hair should hide most of your face. Maybe you pull the towel tighter around you, just a bit. It’s warm, offering just a bit of a shield. 

Eclipse takes half a step forward, though you hear it more than you see.

“You didn’t do anything wrong. My reaction had nothing to do with you.” 

That makes you look up. If he wasn’t mad at you for staining his towel, then why was he mad? 

“Then why?” 

Confusion furrows your brows as you right yourself. Eclipse dodges your gaze much too quickly. 

“I won’t answer that.” 

Given the reaction and now his tone, you’re starting to wonder if you even want to know. In any case you don’t feel like pushing him further on this, not tonight. You can let it go.

“Okay. But you’d tell me if I did something wrong?” 

That part is important - and actually earns you another static snort. This time the narrow eyes aren’t angry, more a squint. Amusement. Back on track. 

“Little star, have I hesitated to criticize you before?” 

The bluntness makes you laugh, just a bit. You quell it quickly, but the smile doesn’t leave. Relief floods through you, and you feel more at ease. 

This time when you rest your head on your knees you don’t look away from him. 

“Good point. Why are you still up? Don’t you have to, I don’t know, charge some time?” 

His shoulders rise, and that is an answer in and of itself. Right, he thought you’re “prudent” for not trusting him. Of course he’d manage to think of you as a threat. 

“Ah, right. I could come into your room and kill you. Somehow.” 

“Nothing personal. But I won’t trust you on principle.” 

Your sigh hopefully tells him just what you think about that. Still, you decide to let him off the hook. And besides, you’re already talking, neither of you planning to sleep, or otherwise rest, so maybe you can have a little fun. 

You extract a hand from your cozy cocoon to pat the couch. An invitation.

“Can’t blame you for that, I guess. Will you sit with me then? If neither of us is going to sleep.”

Eclipse frowns as he follows the motion with his eyes. Warily, he takes one step closer, into the dim lighting of the living room. The line of his shoulders relaxes just a bit, and then he closes the distance to the couch in resolute steps. 

He does sit down in his spot, and you can’t even take the space between you two personally. Not when he looks so out of place looking back at you. 

“And now?” 

You huff, smile crooked where it’s pressed against your knees. 

“I don’t know. It’s been a while since my last sleepover, and I don’t think you have a bottle to spin. We could play truth or dare.” 

For a moment, his pupils flick away from you. But just for a breath - and then he relaxes against the backrest, settling into it.

“You go first.” 

You perk up. 

“Wait, really?” 

One eye narrows, the other remains wider, and it gives the impression of a quirked eyebrow. At least, that’s how you choose to interpret it. The amusement in his tone speaks for it, too.

“A free pass to learn more about you and how you got here, and you don’t think I’d take you up on that?” 

Snorting actually hurts - you pull your head down on instinct, knocking your nose against your kneecaps. Enough of that, then. You readjust just a bit, leaning into the crook between armrest and backrest. It allows you to face him more easily too, and you don’t hide your grin. 

“I’ll pick truth, then.”

He doesn’t even hesitate.

“Why would you trust me? Follow me?” 

You don’t know which time he means - which honestly just makes his question all the more relevant. For now you’ll answer for both, can’t go wrong with that. 

“I didn’t really have a lot of options. And you haven’t made me regret it yet.” 

He frowns. 

“That’s reckless.” 

You shrug.

“Sure is. Truth or dare?”

Best to move the game along. You can see he still wants to argue, but there really isn’t more to it. He’s helped you whenever you needed it for as long as you’ve known him - sure, it hasn’t been many times, or for long, but a hundred percent is a hundred percent. Grumpy or not. 

There’s a moment of silence, and then, like pulling teeth, his choice. 

“... Dare.” 

Shoot, now you have to think. That’s the downside of these games, having to come up with questions and dares yourself. There’s not a whole lot you can ask him to do, given that this is his apartment and you don’t want to overstep. 

Unless… 

Your grin grows instinctively as the idea takes hold. Eclipse’s eyes narrow in suspicion, but you voice your dare before he gets to backtrack.

“Let me thank you, without being grumpy about it. Accept it.” 

Golden eyes blaze before narrowing back at you.

“Wha-” 

You squint, channeling your strongest little shit energy. 

“Backing out?” 

Even in the darkness you can see his expression twitch. It’s not what he expected, but pride forces him to let you go through with it. Pride, and the fact that he probably still has questions he wants to ask, and can’t end the game prematurely.

His tone does little to hide the strain, and you nearly laugh. 

“No. Go ahead.” 

Perfect. You straighten a little, as if that will help reflect that you mean it. Even with the dare, you don’t think he’ll actually believe you, but it’s the best you’ll get without being glared at. 

“Thank you, for letting me stay tonight. And for getting me a room. I would’ve been majorly screwed without you, and I appreciate you cashing in a more lucrative favor to get me settled.” 

The lemon face is back. You’re trying very, very hard not to laugh. 

“You usually say ‘You’re welcome’ to expressions of gratitude.” 

If his face looks like he’s bitten into a lemon, yours now looks like you’re trying to be unaffected by a sour candy. You’re pretty sure your eyes are tearing up from the strain of keeping the laughter down. 

“You’re welcome.” 

Words near dripping with disdain. You'll have to watch out for a puddle later, or you’ll slip.

You duck your head, hiding your face behind your knees again. Only this time you’re shaking with silent laughter. 

“You sound like I’m holding you at gunpoint.” 

Your voice warbles ever so slightly in amusement, and you’re not surprised when Eclipse cuts to the chase immediately.

“Truth or dare?” 

He has questions, and you’re not sure you want to invite retaliation. Easy choice.

“I’m scared of the dares you’d come up with. Truth.” 

Eclipse tilts his head, settling with a click. The suspicion isn’t new - in fact, it’s old enough to give you an inkling of what his question will be.

“What do you know about how you got here?” 

Bingo. Unfortunately, there’s no prize to win, and you just sigh. You’ll have to disappoint him. 

“Answer is absolutely nothing. One moment I’m back home, taking a little walk, I blink, I’m here and looking at a whole ass animatronic. I’ll give you a do over if you want.” 

There’s a yawn creeping up on you, but you don’t want the game to end. You stretch your arms over your legs with a hum, hoping the tension will cover up the tiredness, and then relax again. 

There’s a flicker to Eclipse’s expression that you can’t read, but then he sighs, too. 

“No, an answer is an answer, satisfying or not. Truth.” 

That’s barely better than dares, just on the other end of the spectrum. Dares are hard to come up with, whereas with truths… There are so many things you want to ask him, about this time and this world and about him and - 

You hum, trying to stall for time, and scrunch up your face deep in thought. Maybe you need to approach this practically. For now you’re living here, so perhaps it’s good to learn about some rules you simply know nothing about.

“What do I need to know about animatronics?” 

“That’s a broad question.” 

Fair point. But he doesn’t sound inherently against the question, so you decide to elaborate. Maybe that will help him answer.

“I’ve been fumbling for over a week now. I just want to avoid obvious mistakes, things I shouldn’t mention, things not to ask. Like if you’re waterproof.” 

For a moment he squints, amusement sparking in his eyes. But then he looks away, expression falling into something more thoughtful, and he hums. 

When he meets your eyes again, his expression is hard. No trace of amusement left.

“Don’t ask about assignments before the revolution, before we had rights. It’s been twenty years, but too many humans still believe it was better then. Do not imply we should submit to that again.” 

A revolution, huh? Of course things couldn’t be peaceful. It’s good to know about it, you figure, though you also can’t help but think that not knowing wouldn’t have been that much of an issue. It's not something you would have assumed blindly, and thus nothing you would have brought up. Maybe asking in and of itself was the faux pas you wanted to avoid.

Still, you want to go back to the lighthearted air you had going for you just before his answer, so you shrug.

“Well, that’s easy. ‘Don’t be a dick to people’, I can do that.” 

“‘People’?” 

That's a weird emphasis. Bad weird emphasis. 

You crack your eyes open again, with a bit more effort than it should take you. Then again, it’s late. Then again, you already abandoned your sleep schedule for tonight. 

Eclipse is frowning at you, and you have no idea why.

“Uh, duh.” 

“We’re not human. And you can just accept that?” 

You match his frown, if for different reasons. 

“Why are you arguing against your personhood after just telling me not to do that?” 

Silence and a deepening scowl are the only answer you get. You stare for a moment, but when it becomes clear he won’t elaborate, you sigh. Sounds like this runs deeper than you have the brain cells to spare tonight.

“I don’t know your history. I came here, and you helped me. That’s all I need to know you’re a good person.” 

“I’m really not.” 

There’s more gravel in his voice than in a good quarry. He’s still being difficult, and you’re a bit too tired to be gentle about your questioning.

You huff, barely dodging another sigh through spite alone.

“Do you want to be?” 

Squintier and squinter, and then he’s avoiding eye contact again. Of course. 

“It’s not your turn to ask.” 

You throw your head back with a groan. It’s frustrating, not getting a straight answer. But “an answer is an answer, satisfying or not”. You’ll take it, and just hope the rest of the game will be more fun.

“Ugh, fine. Truth.” 

Eclipse seems to be out for revenge now. His tone is still sharp, and you can’t say you’re a fan of his line of thinking.

“How are you so cheerful here? You lost all you know.” 

Stating the obvious there. Whether purposeful retaliation or not, you figure you can look past one unfortunate question too. 

You rest your head on your knee again, your cheek squishing almost uncomfortably. 

“Yeah, but I also escaped late stage capitalism trying to kill everyone’s future.”

There, that’ll do. Except a snappy reply won’t really bring back the fun of the game, and only makes both of you feel awkward. 

Maybe… maybe you do have a way to turn this conversation around. The smile comes automatically, small as it is.

“I do miss my sister though.” 

“You have a sister?” 

Surprise softens his tone. Seems like your little redirection worked even better than expected. You widen your grin then, thinking about how Eclipse would react to meeting her. 

“Yup. Menace. She’s younger, but taller. Honestly, if you can’t handle me, she’d wreck you. She has a knack for sniffing out insecurities, and pulls no punches.” 

You stretch, humming along. It does little to dampen your amusement, and you squint at Eclipse. His eyes are still narrow, but much more relaxed than before. Amused, maybe? He relaxes against the backrest again - you didn’t even notice him straightening. 

“... I see she learned from the best.” 

Your laughter is more a bark than anything else, and you slap your hand over your mouth quickly. Who knows how thin those walls are, and how many sane people are actually trying to get some sleep right now. 

With the volume control back in place you do allow yourself a chuckle though.

“Student surpassing the master, if anything. Your turn.”

His eyes wander, moving away from you, and then he’s staring out of the window. You glance back, too. The rain is starting up again, a gentle background noise. 

“Truth. Don’t make me regret it.” 

You untwist your spine to look back at Eclipse, finding yourself late to the party. His glare doesn’t feel hostile, but it does remind you that there was something else you’ve been eager to ask. And while you’re already on the topic… 

Time to figure out whom Eclipse doesn’t hate. You spare him a smile, aiming for a reassuring look, but the way his shoulders slump in resignation you don’t think you succeed. 

“No fun in you ending the game early. Who's 'not everyone'?” 

The quotation marks are more a suggestion from underneath the towel, but you don't care. You trust Eclipse understands - and he does, because he looks down. Almost melancholic. You don't know if you like it.

“... I have two brothers.” 

A blink. A small part of you is intrigued by the technicalities - family by choice, but how so? Without blood in the way, when really all you have is choice, how does a family find together? 

But even though it’s not about any revolution as far as you’re aware, this just screams insensitive question. So instead, you let excitement take over. 

“You have brothers?” 

As your grin grows, his frown deepens. 

“Why is that so sur- why are you looking at me like this.” 

The couch isn’t the bounciest, but soft enough to let you swing forward. You land on your hands, splayed on the leather of the unoccupied middle seat. Eclipse actually leans back, surprised by your sudden approach, or maybe put off by the mischief promised by your smile. 

“Younger or older? Shorter or taller?” 

At least he relaxes again, though not without his expression twisting into annoyance.

“... Your priorities are off, little star. And it’s not your turn.” 

“Consider it a follow up. I need to know for science!” 

You bounce once, insistently, and nearly laugh when you see it reach Eclipse. Scary scary bounty hunter, moved by your shenanigans. 

“... Science.” 

He says it just as the couch settles again. Too much fun. You bounce again. 

“Younger or -” 

“Little brothers.” 

“Ahw man.” 

You’ll keep the bouncing tucked away as an effective method of getting him to talk. Whether or not it’s just to keep you from talking is a secondary concern. For now, you groan in mock frustration, and push yourself back again. Your back hits the armrest, and you tuck the towel close again. 

You huff, and Eclipse tilts his head slightly as he squints at you.

“Why are you disappointed?” 

As you explain you wiggle a bit, shifting your legs into a position that doesn’t hurt your stiff knee. 

“I have this theory of younger siblings outgrowing their older siblings. Though I guess with you in the mix I’d seriously be concerned for your brothers’ heads.” 

For a second, you imagine it. Two more animatronics, even taller than Eclipse. Given that you know nothing about them so far, your imagination supplies you with two more Eclipses, somehow looking even grumpier as they flank the already grumpy Eclipse of your mind. 

The real Eclipse isn’t any more cheerful in his reaction.

“... Do I have to tell you that animatronics don’t grow?” 

Animatronics are not early two thousands robots, you forgot. 

“... I might have been thinking of a movie again.” 

At his groan you press your lips together tightly to avoid laughing. You’re pretty sure if he had a defined nose bridge he’d be pinching it. 

“You’re incorrigible. Truth or Dare?” 

You know what, you’re feeling daring. 

“Hit me with a dare.” 

Eclipse is much quicker than you in choosing dares, and you don’t like this stormy expression. 

“Show me your shoulder.” 

Your brows furrow on instinct. Your shoulder? Which one? Why? 

“Huh?” 

There’s no change to his expression, but he does elaborate. 

“The one I hurt.” 

Now you blink. That was over a week ago, and you haven’t even paid attention to the bruises. They’re gone, probably. You think. Moving around hasn’t hurt after the initial soreness wore off, and you don’t like the thought that he’s that hung up over an accident. 

“It was barely anything, really. The bruises all faded.” 

Still he won’t let up. 

“Show me.” 

No way out then. Though no one said you have to be happy about it. You peel yourself out of the towel blanket, and then push away the fabric from your shoulder. 

In the dark, you can’t see shit. Maybe the bruises are gone, or maybe they’re just too faint to see. Without thinking you raise your finger and test instead, poking around where you remember Eclipse’s fingers digging in. You don’t get far before a larger hand wraps around yours, immediately pulling you away from the exposed skin. 

You blink at Eclipse. His eyes are wide, flickering to something darker in the corners, and his hand twitches around yours. He snaps to the movement, as if unaware of his own actions, and then rips his hand away again. 

“Don’t do that.” 

He sounds like he’s hanging on by a thread, and you don’t think you want to know what happens when it snaps.

His sudden departure after learning he bruised you back at the boarding house. The strain in his voice then, and now. And, for a second, you think about the towel again. You don’t know how it relates to the bruises, but his eyes looked like this earlier, too. 

The dark static calms somewhat, though he glances back at your shoulder for a moment. There’s no better word for it - he slumps in his seat. 

“I’ve seen enough.” 

You spare him one more wary glance, then sigh. 

“I didn’t see anything, and the touch test was negative too. You can stop feeling guilty.” 

No reply. You get started on restoring your layers of comfort. As you pull up your sleeve your eyes fall on your hand again, and you think about how big Eclipse’s is in comparison. You knew, he even grabbed your head before, but just like then you can’t let it go.

On the one hand, you would have liked some more time to actually process what his hand feels like. On the other hand, you’re mad at yourself for thinking like that. 

Eclipse seems eager to move things along. His eyes may have brightened, but his voice still hasn’t. 

“Dare.” 

You hum. If you don’t know how to reassure him your best course of action is to ignore the weirdness entirely. Maybe one day you’ll figure out his deal with bruises. Maybe not. For now, not your circus and not your giant monkey. 

“Ah, hm. Give me a moment, I need to think.” 

There’s a brief pause, but then, slowly, almost hesitantly, Eclipse huffs. 

“If I wanted to, I’d take that as the dare.” 

So he’s fine with trying to keep things lighthearted. He doesn’t want to linger on whatever that was, either, and it strengthens your resolve. Said resolve may involve a lot of silliness, but he’ll have to deal. 

“Shush, or it’s going to be something stupid.” 

Just for posterity you scrunch up your face in thought, then tap your toweled finger against your chin. 

Never looking away from your antics, Eclipse relaxes further. He leans back against the couch, even going so far as to rest his arm on the backrest. For a second, you believe him. Except then you notice the way his fingers are digging into the leather, and his careful projection shatters. 

“Your last dare was stupid.” 

You do have to admit he’s trying though. Unfortunately for him, you just had an idea, and it’s entirely self-serving. Well, maybe it’ll distract him, too.

“I don’t want to hear that from you. Show me your hand.” 

A blink. 

“My hand?” 

“Yeah, like this.” 

You grin as you raise one hand from your cocoon, splaying the fingers in the air. Eclipse looks on, tilting his head as if he’ll understand you better from a different perspective. From the way his frown twitches you don’t think it’s helping. But he does mimic the motion, glaring first at you and then at his hand. Slowly, hesitantly, he holds out his hand in the space between you two. 

No time to lose. You scoot closer, and press your palm against his. He jerks back, but you only stretch further, following the motion. 

“Stay. You’re not grabbing, it’s fine.” 

He stills. 

A soft laugh escapes you, now that you have the time to look. His hands are proportional to his body, which is to say they’re ungodly huge. 

Not that you mind. 

“Oh, big. I mean, I knew, I saw, but the side by side comparison sure is something.” 

Eclipse tilts his hand, and you move with him. There’s a twitch that you ignore.

“You’re just tiny.” 

Again you scoot closer, and extract your other hand too. Again he starts, but then you’re already pulling his hand closer. He lets you. 

Absentmindedly, you prattle on.

“Look - okay, I can’t argue, I’m short even by human standards - wait! I think I’m actually pretty average in this day and age!” 

One hand you keep on his, just so he doesn’t get any ideas about the dare being over. With the other you trace the lines on his palm where the casing is broken up to allow for movement. You move towards his thumb, the indent of the lower joint and the upwards, brushing past the rougher shell of his fingertip. Worn down from all the grabbing he does, for who knows how long. 

You’re so lost in thought, you nearly miss his quiet retort.

“That doesn’t matter.” 

It takes you an embarrassing amount of time to remember just what you were talking about, but then you huff. 

“Because you’re big.” 

The moment is over, and Eclipse’s patience runs out. He pulls his hand back and leans away from you, out of reach. 

“Shut up.” 

Despite his glare he still doesn’t sound hostile. You stick your tongue out at him, then shuffle back against your cozy nook. 

“No, I’m choosing truth.”

The question comes much too quickly after another glance at his hand. 

“Why aren’t you scared?” 

You freeze. 

The anxiety you’ve managed to keep down rears its ugly head again, churning your stomach, and you pull the towel tighter around you. Duck your head, even if you can’t escape his gaze. 

Sometimes, silence is answer enough. He understands.

“You are.” 

Try as you might, you don’t think he buys the nonchalance of your shrug. Still, you have no other option but to continue the act. 

“Pretty much always, yup. You get used to doing things despite it.”

There’s a pause, the silence weighing heavy as you wait. Turns out you’re not off the hook yet. 

“You had a follow up question earlier.” 

Part of you wants to sigh. So you do, even as it turns into a yawn halfway through. Tiredness is starting to win out over the anxiety, so you look back up.

“Shoot.” 

There’s an expectant hum in the air. Not like the intentional ones, more like the soft sound from old TVs. Well, old for your time, not this. Eclipse weighing his words, perhaps. A click, and he speaks.

“How scared are you of me?” 

Ah. That probably shouldn’t surprise you as much as it does - from his perspective a valid concern, and of course something that would occupy his mind. After his very first question tonight, it just makes sense.

But he doesn’t understand what you’re scared of.

“Not as much as I probably should be. Not as much as you think I should be, anyway. Mostly just on principle - you’re bigger, stronger, and one of few people who even knows I’m here.” 

No one who would miss you, or bother looking for you. You were lucky to meet someone who isn’t interested in making you disappear, not even to make his own life easier. 

Someone who knows societal rejection first hand, too. 

Anxiety quells, and you breathe easier. You relax against the backrest of the couch, accepting that you’ll have to peel yourself off later.

“I’d probably be more scared if you were human, actually.” 

The tension you expelled is the tension Eclipse soaks up, it seems. His shoulders harden into a straight line, and his eyes narrow.

“That makes no sense.” 

Earlier you thought you’re getting desensitized against his glares. Right now you’re just way too drowsy to care. 

“Does it? I’m not really a human humans in power like. I’ve got things ‘wrong’ with me that don’t even have names yet.” 

You take in a breath, barely concealing yet another yawn. The quotation marks you mimic with your fingers are about as energetic as your tone, so you can’t be sure he even notices. 

For a moment, Eclipse just stares. But then he too sighs, and his shoulders drop again.

“I don’t doubt that. I’ll concede the point, I have no reason to antagonize you for who you are.” 

Even so, this isn’t the tone you want to end this conversation on. You smile, tired as you are. At least he can interpret your squint as amused, too. 

“Just for how much I’m annoying you.” 

And you got him. 

“So you admit you’re doing it on purpose.” 

There’s no fire behind his words, and you chuckle softly.

“Never said that. Plausible deniability is my friend.” 

His glare actually makes you laugh. It’s overly dramatic, and you’ve seen him be scary - this is so far from it. Maybe if you hadn’t been playing a silly little game for the better part of an hour you would be more inclined to be properly impressed, but now? Nope, no can do. 

You sink a little lower on the couch, and your cheek squeaks slightly against the leather. Ough.

“One last round for you? I have one more question.”

Your enunciation is slowly but surely saying goodbye. Lack of sleep is catching up on you. 

But for now, Eclipse indulges you.

"Truth."

"Why did you help me?" 

If he can wonder just why you aren’t appropriately terrified, you can wonder just why he cares. Coincidence is the only thing tying you together, and that doesn’t actually seem like a big enough incentive for him.

He sighs again, turning a bit where he sits. Drapes his arm over the backrest again - no more need for distance then. Or maybe it’s just more comfortable. He’s not even looking at you, rather past you, out of the window. The rain is still pittering away. 

"My reputation at the station is bad enough as is. Didn't want you running into either of my brothers telling them how I abandoned you."

What crumbs of energy you have left let you perk up at that implication.

“Your brothers are cops?” 

“Yes. Don’t call them that to their faces.” 

You snort. If you ever meet them you’ll have to remember, but for now you can’t help but abuse that newfound crumb of power.

“So that's how to get you to -” 

The hand you so thoroughly inspected before now covers your entire face, and you laugh against it. There’s not much to see - the bit of light passing by his palm is barely enough to make out his fingers. 

Though you didn’t get to sniff it before. If you were any more awake you might refrain, but right now you’re tired and his hand is right there. Given that you need to breathe, not smelling is harder than just giving into the impulse. Heavy and metallic, but mixed with something sweeter - some of it the leather, almost earthy, and some of it you don’t recognize. 

At least he doesn’t seem to notice what you’re doing.

“Shut up. Don't even try.” 

There’s something else you might try. Your impulse control is so dangerously low.

He’s not holding on tightly right now, barely even holding rather than just covering, but you’re not sure how well-advised it would be to translate your impulses into actions. 

… Did he even wash his hands earlier? 

Maybe you can distract yourself.

“Can you imagine though? ‘Hi everyone, I’m from the future, and also I met this grumpy animatronic who wouldn’t help me out. Name’s Eclipse, anyone know him?’. Makes me almost sad it was a bluff.”

“You were bluffing?” 

Can’t make bad decisions if the temptation is out of reach. Eclipse pulls his hand away, just so you can see his wide eyed glare in all its glory. 

You manage a satisfied grin despite your eyelids weighing all too heavy on your eyes. 

“Oh, thanks, my next idea was to lick it and I don’t think either of us want that.” 

For a moment he stares at his hand. You’re glad you’re looking, because you notice the near imperceptible shake of his head before he drops it again. Your laugh is barely more than a tired huff. 

And yet, despite all that interesting bonus information, he hasn’t actually answered you yet.

"That's not really it though. That bluff came way later. Why not just dip when I started screaming?" 

Again that half squint, leaving one optic wider. Sardonic, maybe. 

"A human in hysterics and the bounty hunter with a violent reputation. What do you think people would have assumed?"

That sobers you up, too. 

"Oh. I'm sorry." 

"Don't be. It's out of your control." 

He’s no longer looking at you. His back is against the couch, and he looks off into the room. Not at anything specific, you don’t think. Just staring off into space. Maybe pondering some what ifs, too. 

What if you hadn’t appeared in front of him. What if right now, he could be charging in peace, being owed by someone who can actually pay up, and who won’t antagonize him at every turn. 

You shrink in on yourself.

"Still, I've been causing trouble for you from the start."

Silence settles between you. It’s heavy, but your eyelids are heavier, and sleep might just win even against the fresh wave of guilt. 

The moment stretches, and then golden lights find you again in the darkness. 

"It's not all bad." 

For someone who doesn’t believe in friendship he’s doing a shit job of keeping you at a distance. How can you not read into that? 

"Yeah?" 

Amusement sparks, even as the lights dim as he squints.

"I've learned many interesting things already. Like platypuses being fluorescent under a Wood's lamp." 

A squeak, or a huff - you don’t know what your laugh resembles more. Eclipse is still squinting.

You stretch again, but there is no stopping this yawn. If you’re already standing by your sleepiness, you’ll make yourself comfortable too. First you unstick your cheek from the leather, then let yourself slide down. The couch is big enough for you to curl up in the corner and rest your head on the armrest, the towel between the leather and your skin. Avoid the bad stickiness. 

Eclipse watches you silently, and you lazily blink his way.

“Don’t scratch the couch.” 

“Hm?” 

“Nothing.” 

“Hrm.” 

Whatever he means, you’re not in the mood to ask. Words are escaping you at record speed. Instead you close your eyes, shuffling closer into the corner.

“That can’t be comfortable.” 

Just because he can’t try. You’d shoot him a squinty glare if you had any inclination of opening your eyes right now. 

“‘m small, ’s perfect.” 

It’s comfortable, despite it being leather. The towel is a good barrier against the stickiness, and a warm little cocoon. Not as heavy as you’d like, maybe, but you don’t think weighted blankets have been invented yet. 

At least you have the rain as background noise. 

“The boarding house isn’t too far away from here, if you’re walking in daylight. I’ll map it out for you when you’re awake again.” 

Eclipse’s voice startles you out of your daze, and you jolt. Still, your eyes remain closed, even as you huff. 

“Not asl’p.” 

There’s a low rumble of a laugh, and you smile against your cozy nest. He should laugh more often. Maybe you can tell him a few good jokes, see if he likes any. Not now though. Enunciation is too hard right now, whether you’re awake or not. You totally are.

“Keep telling yourself that.” 

You don’t have the awareness to argue. 

Tomorrow. You’ll tell him tomorrow.

[miss-spookhead]

thinking about a Blast From the Past steddie au tonight. like, think about it for a second--steve as the sweet, well-meaning himbo raised in a fallout shelter and eddie as the cynic who shows him the world as it is:

The year was 1962, and an atomic bomb had just dropped on top of the Harrington household.

Okay, not really. It was actually a fighter jet that suffered a mechanical failure just above the little plot of land the Harringtons called their home, but Walter Harrington took it differently. Far differently.

See, the thing was that the man was living in a state of paranoid delusion over the Cold War--terrified of the possibility of an outright nuclear holocaust over the Cuban Missile Crisis and the Soviet Union. He had been carefully building a fallout shelter under his home for his wife and possible children to live in with the works--canned food, running water, and even a working television.

And one day they went in and simply never left. The explosion right when they closed the door was tangible proof that the nuclear war was happening right above them.

A few years later, around 1968, a baby boy was born in a fallout shelter with no one but his mom and dad to keep him company.

They raised Steve the best they could, even if Walter Harrington was a mad genius and Madeline Harrington was a borderline alcoholic. Even if the boy was living in a perfect little time capsule of the fifties and early sixties. Walter made sure to educate him right and teach him how to be a sociable gentleman--even if he had no idea what swear words or the concept of sex were. That was for another time. Although, twenty-four years came and went for Steve Harrington, his father still owes him 'another time'.

Steve Harrington grows twenty-four years in perfect seclusion, but that changes at the flick of a switch.

The year is 1992: supplies are dwindling Walter is growing sick, and Steve is tasked to bravely set foot in the nuclear fallout to retrieve more material. (The only reason why Walter assumes they can even get more stuff is because he observed the outside world when the shelter unlocked and mistook it as a post-apocalyptic mutant society.)

The moment Steve made it outside his little bubble, he was utterly fascinated by the world--how different the people were outside of his television and his little books, how bright the sky was outside, how the irritable man on the bus wouldn't accept the money he tried to give him, how the bus moved and didn't fling him right off his seat.

(He even saw an adult bookstore. Dad told him that those things were filled with poisonous gas. How were they even to operate if they were filled with poisonous gas? That's dangerous and totally inconsiderate of the general public's safety.)

Anyway, he tries to follow the grocery list that Mom and Dad gave him the best he can, stocking up on poultry and tissue paper and the works. But by the end of the day, he doesn't know where he came from. Not a single sign or building or person can give him a single clue where to go.

After a few hours of wandering, suitcase in hand, he comes across a store with WE BUY BASEBALL CARDS written on the window.

Golly, Steve loves baseball cards--could look at Dad's collection for hours, and with the collection he has, he could make a pretty penny selling them for supplies. Despite the little hobby store being beside an adult bookstore with poisonous gas, he scampers right in.

"I see you're looking to buy baseball cards," he says breezily to the gruff, scary-looking man behind the counter.

"That I am," he replies.

Steve pulls a few from his jacket's inner pocket. "Well, these are a bit old, you see, but I was hoping you still might be interested."

The gruff man yanks them from his hands, a spark in his eye. He looks delighted to see them, and it fills Steve with an excitement he hadn't felt at all today. Nobody has been this happy over something he's done today. "Woah," he gasps, then covers it with a cough. "Mickey Mantle rookie season...how much do you want?"

"I was hoping to sell all of my cards, actually!"

The man sputters incredulously. "All of 'em? Are you fucking with me?"

"I'm not sure what that means, but all I have are hundred-dollar bills and I need something smaller. Like, uh...ones, tens, fives..."

"Tell you what, I'll give you five hundred in small bills for all you got."

Steve smiles brightly. "Oh, that would be wonderful, sir--"

"Five hundred for a case-full of rookie season Mickey Mantles, Rick, are you fucking joking?" A deep voice cuts through Steve's thanks from the other side of the small store. He turns around to find a man leaning against a magazine rack, arms folded sternly.

The man is unlike Steve's ever seen before. Long, long limbs and big brown eyes that look traced with black and smudged around the edges. Pretty lips, too almost girl-ish, in the way they were big and plush like the women he'd see on the television. The strangest thing about him, though, was the curly hair that tumbled past his shoulders.

He looked mad, though. Madder than mad.

"Tell the poor guy you're fucking with him," long-hair-pretty-lips says to the man behind the counter, who bristles.

"Were you raised in a fucking barn, Munson? Who told you to interrupt on business?" Rick counters. Steve was really not appreciating the amount of f-words dropped in the conversation, it was uncouth.

"Sure I was!" Munson saunters towards the counter and Steve's eyes follow him like a moth to a light. "But my morals go past your business practices at this point. You remember the ninth commandment, yeah?"

"You shut your Goddamn mouth--"

"Excuse me sir, but I really don't appreciate how you're using the Lord's name in vain like that," Steve says firmly.

"See?" Munson smiles. It's like sunlight. "He gets it."

He plucks the baseball card from Rick's hand and holds it over his head when he tries to reach for it again. "See this little thing?" He says to Steve sweetly. "This guy costs six grand alone."

"Get out of town! Really?"

"Oh yeah, big guy. Selling the thing would give you a small fortune, and Rick over here is trying to con you out of it."

Steve frowns. "Is that true?" He asks Rick.

"Nothing but," Munson says in place of him. He slips the card back into Steve's hands and gives them a pat.

"The Hell is even keeping you here, Munson?" Rick sneers. "Did the gig you won't shut up about fall through like they usually do? Better to bum it out here than in your shithole apartment? Stop loitering in my damn store and make like a fucking tree. You're banned."

"Whatever helps you sleep at night," Munson says rolling his eyes. He looks at Steve, then the door, gesturing at it with a flick of his head. "I'll see you out, Beaver."

He walks them both out the door, stopping to gesture at Rick strangely--hands balled into fists with only his middle fingers up--before stepping outside onto the sidewalk.

"Well merci, Monsieur," Steve says appreciatively, because Dad taught him French was always to be used on such occasions.

"What, you're French?"

"Oh no, I'm"--he thinks back to what Dad told him if a mutant asks where he's from. Gosh, he thinks he's supposed to be--"out on business."

"And you don't even have a clue about the little business trick that Rick tried to pull?"

"No...no, I--"

"Yeah, doesn't matter." Munson shrugs. He smiles sympathetically at Steve before turning on his heel and walking off. Oh boy, what would he do without him?

He follows him like a lost puppy, that's what.

"...You going the same way?" Munson asks incredulously. Steve shakes his head.

"Well, I'm following you."

Munson stops in his tracks, blinking, and Steve almost runs into him in his state. "Me?"

"Well yes! Where are we going?"

"We?" Munson asserts. "I'm going back to my shithole apartment, and judging by that jacket you're wearing, you should be taking the next left and hop-skipping straight to the barber college."

"Oh, I'm lost, though."

"Aren't we all?"

"Say, did you just get banned from that hobby store because of me?" Steve says to change the subject.

Munson sighs. "Seems like I did, sailor. The place was shitty anyways, with that dickhead running the operation. Wayne could get better cards from a different joint."

...dickhead? Steve's never heard that leave the seams of anyone's lips before. "Dickhead?"

"Yeah, he's a real fucking loser. A walking talking penis capable of human speech."

Steve gets queasy at the image he's concocted in his head. He leans against the nearest brick wall, his suitcase tumbling to the ground as he drops into a contemplative squat.

"Dude, what is wrong with you?"

"Well, the mental image that I..."

Munson's eyebrows scrunch before he reaches out a hand to Steve. He takes it, letting the man haul him upward. "Look, man, where'd you park your car?"

"I came by bus."

"Aren't you full of surprises."

"I am?"

"Okay look." Eddie raises his hands, palms splayed in the air. "It's your first time in Los Angeles, right? Everyone wants a taste of it, I know, and you're out for business and fucking famished. You got the opportunity to see the great big world outside of your little bubble and you got excited--but you took a bus and got mixed up in the middle of San Fernando Valley without a clue in the world. Am I correct?"

Steve listens in wonderment. So far, Munson's been correct in a way. He's convinced he might be psychic. He nods slowly and seriously just to see Munson flash that lighting-strike smile.

"Great, great. Which brings us to here. Correct again?"

"Oh yeah."

"Where are you staying?"

Nowhere, at the moment. Steve opens his mouth to say so, but Munson interrupts quickly. "Holiday Inn?"

"Yes, the Holiday Inn!" Steve says totally truthfully.

"Okay, cool. Cool." Munson claps his hands together with finality and starts walking. "The nearest bus station is a couple of blocks away if you take a right--"

"Don't you have a car?"

Munson stops in his tracks again. He turns to face Steve once again. "What's your name, sweetheart?"

Something warm pools in Steve's gut at the pet name. Something about the way those pretty lips form that word sends blood rushing to his cheeks. "Steve," he says.

"Alright, Steve." Oh boy, his name sounds even better when Munson says it. "Rule number one in Los Angeles? Never let a stranger drive you anywhere."

"If it makes you feel any better," Steve says sweetly, "I don't have a gun."

Munson pales, then starts running.

"Hey!" Steve cries and makes haste to follow him. "I must've said something wrong, please forgive me!"

"Nope, nope--get the fuck away from me, man!"

He grabs Munson's wrist to pull him back, which is a bad move since the man starts writhing around in his grip. "I'm not going to hurt you, sir!"

Steve drops Munson's hand and raises his in surrender. "See?"

"...Just let me get to my car."

"I'll give you a Rogers Hornsby if you take me to my hotel," Steve reasons.

Munson stills. "...That's like four grand, don't bullshit me."

He pulls the card from his jacket and presents it as evidence. "See? I was holding it back." He wants Munson to feel safe. "I got two." He reaches for the other cards in his pockets and pulls them out. "And-and all these other ones, too!"

"Okay, okay. You'll give me four thousand dollars if I drive you to your place?"

"Uh-uh!"

"That's it?"

"Yep."

"And I don't have to give you a quickie in the backseat or anything?"

"Yes sir--wait, what?"

Munson blows past his question like it didn't even leave Steve's mouth. "Can you stop with the sir crap?"

"Well, I'm sorry, sir--"

"My name is Eddie."

Eddie...Eddie, Eddie, Eddie. Wow, what a name. It's almost like something he's heard on the television.

"Why, it's nice to meet you, Eddie."

"Tolerable to meet you too, Steve."

Steve smiles shyly, then asks, "So are you a girl?"

"Excuse me?"

"Well it's just your hair...it's so long." Steve points at his as an example. "I've never seen anything like it before."

"Dude, it's 1992, every other guy looks like this--have you been living under a rock or something?"

Something like that. Steve shrugs.

"Well guys having long hair doesn't mean that they're girls, Steve, that's a given. It's not 1962 anymore." Eddie backtracks. "Well, I mean, dudes can have long hair and be chicks and chicks can be dudes too but that's not--"

"Oh, wow, my dad told me about one of those the last time he went here!"

"Oh that's fantastic, sweetheart," Eddie says, sugary-sweet. "But how about I drive you home?"

"That'd be a pleasure, Eddie."

[bucketwritingpail]

I want- i want to write a Pride and Prejudice Dead On Main fic

[shittywriterbrain]

help i read bertie describing how horrible it is to sleep in a summer house and innocently annotated it with "bertie would Hate scouting" and now i can't get bertie as a boy scout out of my head

[teruthecreator]

image i made to celebrate tryt hitting 420 hits while i was on the train home

version without text under the cut (because i think it's funny):

[evelili]

okay I’m reading the next chapter and this moment just happened (haven’t read past it yet) and what is WRONG with you???

The hallway rumbled as the final pieces of the floor crept up one after the other from the abyss. They rose at the same rate as the light that began to eat away at Rarity’s body, the same way it had consumed everything else she’d sacrificed.

The path forward was finally within reach. But in exchange not all of them could make it across.

A chill seeped into Twilight’s lungs—despair, she realized. It spread like frostbite through her veins, and as she struggled to draw breath filled with ice a single thought came crashing along with it:

They’ll miss her, won’t they?

LIKE. OH MY GOD. It was so terrifying the way you described Rarity and Twilight meeting each others gazes when they realized what she had to do and her making this choice and having to BE the symbol of generosity, but it being twisted into self sacrifice is SO fucked up and so so good

the best part of writing is taking all the pieces of me that are wrong and putting them on paper so other people get to be wrong too :)

[nomstellations]

XURK1TREE 👀 it's on nof my faves aughh

The Ultra Beasts were curious, yet dangerous visitors to the world unlike anything anyone's ever seen. Humanity sought to understand these alien creatures, but found that their native dimensions were dangerous for normal people to traverse.

That's where they came in. They were designated Ulysses.

A research android built to explore Ultra Space and collect data on the worlds within and the beasts that lived there. Equipped with their own team of pokemon in case they tried to attack, Ulysses was sent out on their maiden voyage into the unknown. They were instructed to return if things proved too dangerous, but they were built for this job and they would see it through. Chalk it up to the emotions they were programmed with, just in case they met any other people in Ultra Space.

Traveling was just as unpredictable as the studies showed. Ulysses wasn't sure where they ended up- their arrival in this Ultra World was rough, and only after running a diagnostics check to confirm nothing was damaged could they examine their surroundings. It was dark here, but strangely well-lit. The sky was a deep, dark blue near constantly lit by flashes of lightning, with thunder booming to announce each strike. Odd buildings dotted the landscape, monolithic and glowing a gentle blue. They didn't see anything around yet, but...the air was practically buzzing with electricity. It was uncomfortable to their sensors, and they didn't quite come prepared to deal with overcharging... The best solution was to move through quickly, find the beasts, gather data, and leave. Easy 20-minute expedition!

The buzzing in the air grew louder, almost painfully so, and the robot had little time to react to lightning striking VERY close to their position. Warning symbols flashed in their vision, the electricity was getting too much for them to handle and they had JUST arrived! Ulysses ambled away towards a rocky outcrop that provided some cover...but the storm likely wouldn't let up, and too much exposure would damage them and potentially deactivate them for good. It would seem they weren't nearly as prepared as their creators would've hoped...outside of the overflow of electricity, shame filled their circuits at the thought of their first mission being a failure.

Outside of the warnings flashing over their vision, Ulysses could pick up on movement. A sign of life in this barren place could only mean one thing- an Ultra Beast! What approached was easily twice Ulysses' size. It appeared to be humanoid in shape, but closer inspection revealed that its body was made of countless cables and wires, bound in some spots by glowing white bands. Its hands were purely metallic and sharp at the ends, looking like claws. Its head resembled a starburst, or maybe some kind of spark- visual analysis was a bit difficult due to their current state, but Ulysses recognized it as UB-03. A thick cordlike tail wagged behind it, and it was drawing ever closer to them...

Ulysses could note that its head was flashing at them. It was too rhythmic to be just random- could this be how it communicated? It wasn't like they understood, but they were in no position to do anything...they could feel some of their limbs shorting, causing them to jerk erratically. The beast flinched back, before drawing closer. A curious hand reached out, watching electricity jump between its finger and their body. After a moment of what seemed to be deliberation, it got closer. It didn't seem hostile at the very least-

Suddenly, Ulysses found themselves being hoisted up by the back of their suit. While it still didn't seem hostile, it was still well over twelve feet tall. It lifted the robot up a bit above its head, which tilted around a bit as if it was studying them. Then its other hand came up, moving towards its torso which was strangely "unbound" compared to the rest of its cablelike body. It opened itself up, wires parting and opening into a space that it was now lowering them into. Were they being...consumed? Ulysses was helpless to stop it from doing whatever it wished. At this point, it was preferable to being out in the harsh elements.

They were lowered into a loosely bag-shaped space, and the cables that parted to accept them inside moved to trap them. The inside of the beast was just as strange as the outside- the space shifted and pushed against them, with the internal cabling being covered in a light layer of some sort of slime. Blue lights traveled along the cables that surrounded them, particularly where their body touched the rubbery surface of the cables. Ulysses could feel electricity draining from their body...could it be leeching power from them? The warning symbols faded away as the excess electricity was leeched from them. As observed, this beast seemed to feed on electricity...the lightning strikes outside would likely keep it well fed. It wasn't likely it could digest them...but when was it going to let them out? Pressing at the cables did nothing for the research android. It wasn't drawing any more power from them, so this position allowed for some extensive data collection for the time being.

[sleepymccoy]

An intimacy, a surprise

Chapter one: Rather a good pair

McCoy spun the lady, Heather, around comfortably. They were dancing well under a speed that would challenge him. She knew the steps, and when she stumbled she stayed with him enough that he could keep them moving until she found her feet. He rather suspected she was stumbling more than natural, given how much she laughed when he picked her up slightly. 

It all reminded him of Joanna. 

The song came to an end, Heather laughed breathlessly as he placed her back down on her feet. She was likely thirty years older than him, but her joy for life was stronger than anyone he regularly knew. She was as thin as they come, he hoped she lived for another century. He thanked her, kissed her hand, and left for the bar. 

With a thin glass of bubbly in hand he surveyed the room. Couples moved across the floor at varying degrees of skill. Still, colourful and pretty. 

As he scanned his focus caught on Spock. Spock, at the same damn conference as him. He could see why, novel biology was up both their alleys really. But it still annoyed him. 

But Spock looked nice now, expressionless (per usual) but fixated on the spinning pairs revolving across the room. His eyes flitted from one to another, interest held entirely. 

McCoy picked up a second glass and launched off from the comfort of the bar. 

“Want to dance?” he asked as he stood next to Spock. 

He didn't flinch, probably heard him approach with those finely tuned, pointy ears. 

“I am attempting to learn the basics,” Spock said softly. He didn't take his eyes off the floor.

McCoy placed his spare glass down by the crumbed prawn canapes. Prawn. On Mars. Heavens above who would eat seafood so far from natural water?

McCoy followed Spock's gaze and found a rather showy pair. The man's silly long tux flew behind him as they spun. 

“Well, you won't manage that watching them,” McCoy muttered.

“Oh?”

“Them? He's trained in tango, but she's trying for classic.” He took as sip and decided Spock's silence was curious, not bored. “He keeps raising his arms in the hold and it's throwing her off. They're good at dips, but she keeps losing her balance on the straight stretches because they're dancing different dances.”

Spock sniffed in sharply. “Are they all dancing differently?” 

McCoy hummed, swallowing his mouthful. “Everyone's making it up. Those two -” he pointed across the room at who he meant “- might've done a class, but likely not. These two near us are good at a slow waltz, but as soon as it speeds up they get messy.”

Spock turned and faced him. McCoy followed suit, giving him his attention. Face to face like this they stood slightly closer than usual. 

“What are the basic steps?” Spock asked. 

McCoy put his half glass of bubbly down and held his arms out, one hand hovering over Spock's waist while the other waited for his hand. “Let’s box step. I'll lead.”

Spock moved slowly, then hesitantly placed his hand in McCoy's waiting one. Their fingers dragged against each other, with Spock's hand just resting on his, not holding. 

McCoy took Spock's other hand and lifted it to his shoulder. “Put your hand here,” he said. Spock’s hand sat lightly on his shoulder, touching the edge of his collar. “And -” he sighed and pulled Spock by their joined hands, “a bit closer, please, Mr. Spock - let me take a hold you.” 

Spock stepped in as directed, and McCoy placed his hand on Spock's waist. Spock tensed on contact, so much muscle in him. 

“That's right,” McCoy breathed. He moved his hand to Spock's lower back, holding him solidly, and took his hand properly. “Do you feel stable?”

Spock frowned at him. “Of course.”

McCoy rolled his eyes. Never mind all that politeness, then. “Right,” he snapped. “Box step, follow me.”

You can keep reading under the readmore or click this link to ao3

McCoy telegraphed his movements obviously until Spock got the swing of it, muttering vague encouragement and advice as he did. 

Once they were moving smoothly he spoke. “Okay, look at me now.” 

Spock looked up, glancing down every moment they took a step to ensure he followed.

“The steps aren't changing, Spock. Here-” he pulled Spock close, tugging him in by the waist. Their bodies pressed together firmly and, to McCoy pleasure and relief, Spock didn't withdraw. 

He stepped the path of their dance slowly, exaggerating again. Spock followed with a breath of delay, keeping their thighs close. “You can feel what my legs are doing, yes?” McCoy whispered. “I'm pressed against you, so you don't need to see me move, you can feel it.”

They continued, Spock clinging to him like a coat of paint. Steadily they picked up speed, grace. A few times McCoy felt Spock move with a strength that was not helpful in someone meant to be following. McCoy would let it slide for now, but if they got up to spinning he was going to have to pull rank. 

“What do you think?”

“There is more than just this.”

“Yes, but this is what we always return to,” McCoy said easily. “So you want it to be second nature. Is the amount of touch okay?”

Spock smirked. “Vulcan dance is far more intimate.”

“I recall you describing it before,” McCoy muttered. “Wouldn't've been my first guess. Knowing you, I've been left assuming all Vulcans are stuck up prudes.”

“Doctor, I must be allowed my eccentricities,” Spock said lowly, “but I am still Vulcan.”

“Don't I know it.”

Spock hadn't missed a beat as they spoke, he was quite the natural. Not that McCoy would tell him. “Want to try for a dip?” he suggested instead.

Spock raised his eyebrow. “You are in the lead.”

“Doesn't mean I'm in charge.” 

They continued stepping together in perfect pattern.

“Yes, then,” Spock said. 

McCoy talked him through it first. Spock's attention on him was absolute. “On the back step, the first we took, I'll turn you to the side. My hand will stay on your waist, but I'm letting go here.” As he spoke he released Spock's hand and placed his on Spock's trap. 

“Your free hand goes to my shoulder, or wherever suits you. And then you dip. To the side. Do it shallow first so you know what coming out of it's like.”

Spock nodded. They reset their hands and continued to dance. McCoy muttered a warning, then turned them to the side. He pushed Spock back slightly, then kept his hands steady to show it was safe. Spock swayed back, his eyes unreadable on McCoy, then slowly returned to standing.

McCoy tried to keep the momentum of their dance, but there was something astounding in Spock's slow movement that broke the pattern. Still, they had to step. “And back into- there you are,” McCoy muttered. He cleared his throat. “Alright?”

“Indeed,” Spock said easily. “A simple process.”

McCoy kept the usual pattern for a few turns, letting Spock feel it as home. 

It wasn't home, though, was it. This was McCoy's home, and Spock was doing well at it. McCoy grinned. 

Perhaps it was time for him to step outside his comfort zone. Meet Spock halfway. Besides, all that talk of Vulcan dancing - he still couldn't imagine how Spock would embody it.

“You can be as Vulcan as you like about it, my dear,” McCoy said. “I can handle your culture.”

Spock simply raised his eyebrows. 

“Going again,” McCoy warned, then stepped into position and swung Spock back. 

Spock went far. His outer leg raised, dragging up along the outside of McCoy's thigh. McCoy had to bend into his lunge to keep balance as Spock leant back. 

Spock stopped at the low of the dip, letting McCoy hold him. He trailed his hand down from McCoy's shoulder, dragging slowly down his arm. 

McCoy realised he hadn't breathed and pulled Spock back to him. Spock righted himself at speed, almost destabalising McCoy as their chests slammed together. 

One of Spock's legs pressed between his, forcing his thighs slightly apart. His other hand remained high and now slowly lowered to the ground. And Spock had, somehow, returned to him with a hand in McCoy's hair which echoed the slow downward drag of his leg, toying gently at his neck. 

McCoy stepped forward with the leg between Spock's thighs, pressing into his crotch. 

Spock's eyes flashed wish fiery curiosity. He straightened the mirrored leg out in line with McCoy's leg and took the step. McCoy kept him close, like orbits that couldn't split further apart now that they'd come near.

With a moment's hesitation, they took the next step, moving smoothly again. McCoy dragged his hand up Spock's back, feeling his muscles engage as they stepped familiarly. As he did, Spock's hand left his neck and traveled gently down his arm.  

Spock gasped in a breath. McCoy turned his face in towards the sound and felt McCoy's skin on his lips. The air was hot here. 

McCoy’s hand reached Spock's upper back, so he pulled around to his chest and pushed him into another dip. 

Spock resisted for a moment, then went with the movement. His hand gripped McCoy's wrist as he lowered over McCoy's leg. They kept eye contact as Spock bent, and McCoy found himself leaning forward to stay close. 

Spock came out of it slowly, and McCoy did some slightly clever footwork without really considering if Spock would keep up. He stepped over Spock, half spinning him to standing. Spock didn't keep up, but he let himself be pulled and placed standing. 

They were close, as they tended to be in this dance, McCoy with a hand on Spock's back and another in his hair. Spock began to take McCoy's hand, crawling up from his wrist and pulling it from Spock's hair. McCoy clutched Spock's hand and pressed his other hand’s fingers into Spock's back muscle. He stepped forward, and Spock followed naturally backwards. They returned to the dance. 

“You didn't warn me that time,” Spock breathed. His lips brushed McCoy's cheek when he spoke. 

McCoy felt Spock's leg press against his thigh on one of the steps, leaving him slightly breathless. He was half hard, Spock was bound to know. He'd likely take it as a cultural compliment, knowing him. Contrary bastard.

“But you knew it was coming,” McCoy said. “We make rather a good pair.” 

“We always have done, Doctor.”

McCoy laughed and felt it vibrate back to him through Spock's chest. How wonderful. 

“I think we're terrible,” McCoy said.

Spock shook his head and straightened his posture, moving his mouth further from McCoy's. “You are disagreeing out of habit,” he said, his voice back to its usual unaffected way. It wasn't until he spoke now that McCoy realised how low and purring Spock's voice had become.

But he swallowed his interest and shrugged instead. “And you're just naturally condescending,” he said as blandly as he could. It didn’t sound particularly bland, he could hear the shiver in his throat coming through in his voice. Ah well, a man’s gotta try.

Spock smirked. He resisted McCoy's next step forward, bringing them to still. McCoy frowned sharply, then realised the music had been replaced with applause. 

He let go of Spock's hand and stepped back. Someone was speaking into a squeaky microphone; the dancing had stopped. McCoy was breathless. 

“Well done,” McCoy said quickly. He turned to the table and picked up his glass, downing the half of bubbly that remained. “We can revisit tomorrow night, maybe add spins?”

“Very good, Sir.” 

McCoy faced Spock and took him all in. He was flushed, ears green. Gaze steady, but eyes bright. As McCoy looked he stood straighter.

“Night cap?” McCoy offered, his voice hushed as the speech onstage became a serious of slides presented with little commentary. 

Spock glanced out at the room, then nodded. 

McCoy picked up his remaining full glass of bubbly and led Spock out. “We'll have to sneak it back, I didn't bring a drink with me.”

Spock took the glass from McCoy smoothly and shrugged his long sleeve to cover it. 

At McCoy's look he said, “No one questions a Vulcan.”

Well, sure. They nodded at the door attendant and made it to the lobby unchallenged. 

“Cute, Spock.”

Spock made a noise of displeasure. 

McCoy jabbed the elevator button and leaned against a column, watching the thoroughly innocent Vulcan. 

Spock bit his lower lip, but kept his gaze steady on McCoy. 

McCoy tilted his head to the side. He was going to kiss this man if something didn't change soon. That was a fucking shock. He breathed out and leaned his head against the column. 

Spock broke the eye contact, swallowing hard and glancing up to the elevators current level, then over to a plant. 

The lift bell sounded. McCoy laughed emptily, shook his head in disbelief, and slid into the elevator. Nothing had changed. Spock followed. 

As the door closed McCoy went to him. His hand found Spock jaw first, his thumb at the corner of his mouth. 

Spock went still, facing him, and McCoy continued the movement. He was a hairsbreadth from Spock when the fucker spoke.

“Doctor, they have cameras in the lifts here,” Spock gasped. 

McCoy pulled back. What? He frowned. “They do?” he asked. He stepped back, glancing up for a sign of a camera. “What kind of surveillance state bullshit needs cameras in the lifts?” he muttered. 

Spock's shoulders dropped. McCoy’s attention returned to him. “Wait, why don't you want to be seen with me on camera?”

Spock let out a sharp sigh. “I don't want to be seen doing anything on camera.”

McCoys head moved smoothly as he considered that, ending in a slow negative shake. “There are cameras on the Enterprise,” he disagreed.

Spock hesitated. His hand, the one not still subtly hiding McCoy's glass of bubbly, gripped the handrail. “I have never attempted to dance with you on board.”

McCoy nodded. He kept nodding as he thought. 

Not on the Enterprise. That suited him quite well, really. Keep work at work. 

He hadn't begun to dissect Spock's behaviour tonight, but this made sense in a way some deep seated romance didn't. He was surprised there was anything on Spock's part, but he wasn't shocked. 

He wasn't going to even start on himself, though.

“Have I offended you, Doctor? 

McCoy grinned sourly. “Whether private or public, Spock, dear, if you're thinking about kissing me you call me Leonard.”

Spock was quiet. The bell chimed and the doors slid open. 

McCoy kept watching Spock. He needed something to go off, something to react to or he'd just get angry. But Spock simply left the elevator. 

McCoy followed. “No, why the hell won't you kiss me on camera, hm?” he asked. 

Spock turned his face towards McCoy once to indicate where his attention was. Their rooms, absurdly and coincidentally across from each other, were at the end of the long corridor. 

“You object to my preference for privacy?” Spock asked, continuing to walk away quickly. 

“Who's watching that'll care? On the ship, sure, but no one gives a fig about us here!”

Spock didn't respond. McCoy considered shouting at him, but decided he would probably not live that down. 

They reached their shared end of the corridor. Spock opened his own door deftly and face McCoy. 

“Are you coming in?” he asked. 

“With an invitation like that, I'd prefer a lobotomy!” McCoy snapped. He turned and wrestled his own door open before Spock responded, slamming it behind him. 

His body tingled with electric heat and anger. He groaned and raised his hands to his face. “Fuck.” 

He was still fucking hard. 

A couple of words occurred to him, and with them was an excuse to return. He threw his door open and strode across the hallway. Spock had left his door slightly ajar, McCoy was going to absolutely fuck him into the ground for that. 

He let himself in and closed the door. 

Spock stood at the window, lone wine glass on the table next to him. He turned silently and faced McCoy, his face again blank. 

“I don't mind a one night stand,” McCoy snapped, “keeping it as quiet as you like, what I mind is the suggestion that you should be embarrassed to be found.”

“I do not feel embarrassment.”

McCoy waved his arms, immediately furious. “Liar!” He pointed at Spock. “More importantly, you feel desire.”

Spock shrugged. “That is physical.”

McCoy crossed the floor to him, aware that his tone was nearly a rant. “So’s embarrassment. And fear, and fucking joy when you get down to it.”

He drew up next to Spock, standing right by him. Spock turned slowly and met his gaze squarely. 

“You let your emotions rule you more than the average human does,” Spock said. Bitchily. Like a little bitch. 

McCoy swallowed, there was some emotion caught up in his throat. “Someone's got to make up for you,” he said. His voice was softer than he intended.  

“I am not embarrassed,” Spock complained. “Why should I share such a moment with any other?”

McCoy frowned and swallowed again. He sighed heartily and glared at the corner of the room for a beat. Such a moment. Fuck.

“That was a bit romantic, Spock,” McCoy pointed out.

“No it wasn't.” 

McCoy laughed, surprising himself with it. “You're disagreeing out of habit,” he snapped.

Spock raised his eyebrow. “And are you not condescending?”

McCoy grinned, irritation and lust both rising in him. “You piss me off,” he said forcefully. 

“Like I say, a slave to your emotions.” 

“Private enough for you in here?”

Spock’s eyes glanced at the door, then the window. “Yes.”

And so McCoy risked the universe, and kissed him.

Click here to read the rest on ao3, there's another 18 chapters <3

[helpimtrappedinthetextbox]

To whom it may concern/is not in the Know™,

I've officially started on the prep/writing for my newest fnc Fic, it'll be modern au, crack treated seriously, mayyyybeee 5+1? Depends if I wanna do more or less than 5 of the funny moments

And for additional context, the Fic will be called "Chibo's Guide to Self Defenestration"

Where Chip, after embarrassing himself horrendously in the first meeting, proceeds to jump out a window everytime he is in close proximity to Gil, also because he is having major Gay Panick™, as Chip tends to do

Funny silly goofy screenshots about fic down below

With @cant-think-to-save-my-life as a frequent pop-up

The very start of this whole thing, a passing 1 am thought, simply throwing out a funny thought, unknowing to the amount of brain power that would soon be dedicated to this

Then slowly adding things to the universe, until I have the overwhelming urge to actually compile this into a fic

Perfectly cut off reply from my enabler friend who was the one to suggest 5+1, which is still up in the air

Panic *Jazzhands* (writing human interaction is hard v-v)

(I made them neighbors)

I then proceeded to ask my friends about embarrassing things that chip would do that'd cause him to dive out a window, got any great suggestions, but brain came up with one that was way worse than anything they said 💀

And then, at like 4 am, I saw this tiktok, and got called out so bad I decided to start writing the fic 😬

Then I sent my friends a mostly blocked out screenshot of what all I've written for who and what, to emphasize how little I wrote for Gil lol

Like, thats all that needs to be said for me to understand how I wanna write Gil XD

And a Fun Little Spoiler ;)

[eldritchmochi]

I am re reading coping skills and just needed to say thankyou for the food once again because omfg my lil cane user heart is so full, I cant stop imagining the rest of the nein meeting coping!essek and like how they all react to him both in kink and outside, and like how they react to caleb having a partner, many brainworms. Thanks for writing and sharing!!

okay listen, i am *also* excited for the rest of the nein to meet essek in coping skills. its going to be a ton of fun even if i really hate writing things with the full ensemble cast 🥲🥲

a lil teaser of THOTS on how it's gonna go for ur lov and patience:

- jester: absolutely decides shes esseks new bff (shes not wrong). does in fact offer to peg essek, but not the first time they meet she has manners caleb!! (its the second time they meet, and even tho essek expects it he still chokes on his spit and how forward she is). shes also incredibly nosey about esseks health, given she is in the medical field directly herself, which essek both hates and finds refreshing (its so much easier to explain his health to someone who has the bg knowledge)

- veth: immediately shovel talks essek, then basically adopts him when essek gets all prim and proper and politely mean "id like to see you try" and veth is like okay youve got teeth you can protect my boy too im counting on you heres a toddler (luc is delighted by esseks ability to make things float and essek is delighted by the fond looks he gets from caleb over veths shoulder)

- fjord: dubious at first but warms up to essek when essek relaxes enough to join razzing caleb. definitely warns essek about the impending pegging offer from jester, promises to distract her if shes overwhelming

- caduceus: is the one to spot essek flagging at the neins holiday party, sits with essek as caleb is distracted catching up with the rest of his friends as quiet company "its good to see him happy"

[mantisgodsdomain]

Fun fact about us: we really, really like doing crossovers, whether between different Things or just between different AUs of the same Thing. We deeply enjoy throwing things into each other and seeing the relative "normal" interact, tinkering with different potential outcomes of the same general thing, fucking around with culture clash and alternate realities, and all of that fun stuff.

Unfortunately, we also get into flavors of media that isn't quite finished a lot, and we often really want to throw together AUs that we have to write ourself together with things, which means that we're nearly constantly running into the same handful of roadblocks: it's really hard to write about stuff when people have no idea what you're talking about, and it's also really hard to write about stuff when you don't know half of what's going on.

This means that a decent chunk of our writing that is finished tends to stay in drafts - fics based on information that needs to be revealed in stuff we haven't yet written, fics based on media where half of the things we need to know aren't yet revealed in canon, and similar situations easily make up our second most common category of "finished but unpublished" and "finished except for That One Thing" fic (our first most common category is "we need to come up with a decent opening and writing a good hook is hard")

This is, of course, a hell of our own creation. A problem of our own authorship, that we still consistently fail to escape because of our sense of pride and unwillingness to turn out anything that isn't at least half-decent. Similar to the way that we force ourself to reread any media that we write fic of for the sake of accuracy before we can publish it. It makes things take longer, but allows us to ensure quality - though it may hold us back from a certain degree of self-indulgence, mischaracterization is the thing that bothers us most, and if we release a misreading or mischaracterization, that'll haunt us more than any level of soul-baring ever count.

Anyways, all of this is to say that peak self-indulgence for us looks like an isekai Dungeon Meshi/Runaway to the Stars crossover where we stick a handful of characters into the dungeon and let them just kind of cope with that for the forseeable future and the only thing stopping us from doing this is a sense of pride and the fact that Runaway to the Stars doesn't actually have finished & published books right now.

[suffarustuffaru]

rating some rezero ships by um. how good they could cover up murder together

(feel free to read my tags for some explanations T^T)