#writing long stories is hard

[panthermouthh]

And I said, “Hello, Satan

I believe it’s time to go.”

[namisweatheria]

I feel like we don't discuss Nami's relationship with gender enough. Her entire character is so deeply informed by being a girl in a male-dominated pirate world and it's so interesting and so worth talking about.

The background creepiness of Bad pirate crews, which are most of them, how they tend to not have any female crew members at all, how they beckon any pretty young woman around to come play with them and join them. It's real bad. It's also like, a totally 2 dimensional portrayal of evil that is reserved for the most background of background characters.

However I think their ubiquity says a lot about how piracy is meant to be perceived by the public in One Piece, and is one of the strongest indicators of how prevalent misogyny is in-world.

It's very normal in One Piece for regular island inhabitants to have never met a Different class of pirate in their life. There's no reason for them to withhold judgement that maybe these pirates won't be like every crew that attacked before, and to wait and judge them by their actions. I mean frankly that would be irrationally weak self-preservation.

There are people who live peacefully under the flags of Yonkos who protect them, and feel loyalty and gratitude to them for it, but that seems to only be thing with very big name pirates. The East Blue, being the weakest and least populated, has no such plethora of powerful people and resulting turf wars.

So. Nami. Is very clearly implied to have never met any Different pirates before. I'm thinking about what that means. About how every group of pirates she stole from were creepy, dangerous men. How she started going out stealing when she was still a young child. How she didn't have a mother anymore to guide her or comfort her. How Arlong would grab her chin inappropriately, talk about her as a "human female", as property, and god knows what else.

How all the men in Arlong's crew treated her patronizingly, pretending they're all friends, teasing her and playing at respect when really not a single one of them ever stuck up for her or hesitated to accuse her of betrayal. Who were always ready to kill her if she refused to cooperate. Who grabbed her and intimidated her when they felt like it.

That's what she had to come back to after a close call with stealing from other predatory men, instead of the relief of home there was a dark, cramped room filled with endless hours of misery and isolation and blood. Where any one of her captors could barge in and demand new maps, work faster, where did you go, you took too long again this time. Endless threats and incursions.

I'm thinking about that her fight scene in Alabasta, where she tumbles and rips off her cape and uses it to catch her enemy's spikes, before leaping to her feet and running out the back door, all in one moment. How it makes her enemy reconsider her and think, "so the girl's not a total novice at fighting after all." What that implies about her experiences as a young thief. The times she wasn't fast or clever enough and had to fight and claw her way out. Why she always carried a staff and a knife. Why she was the only one before Chopper who had any medical knowledge or experience.

You know she was stitching herself up. And the weapons, how do you think she learned to use those? If any of the Arlong Pirates helped her it wasn't out of kindness and it wasn't gentle.

Then I think about Nojiko, and Bellemere's memory, and the only softness in a hard life. How easily Nami connects to every young woman experiencing hardship that she meets. How completely she dismisses the struggles of men unless they mean something to her and are going through something terrible. The way that Nami only has sympathy for women and children is easily noticeable in-text, but it's also something confirmed in those words by the author. And it's clearly because of the life she lived, the men who had all the power and only abused it, who saw her as nothing but a girl to take advantage of, without anyone aside from her sister clearly knowing and caring about any of it.

Nami clearly isn't bitter, she doesn't think the world owes her recompense, on the contrary she knows she is far from the only person in the world to suffer the things she has suffered. She is endlessly reaching out and kind, but only to those that she isn't sure would get help without her. Certainly, before Luffy, Usopp, and Zoro, no man ever reached out a hand to her without an ulterior motive.

I think when she sees a girl in trouble, a girl biting her lip to hold in a scream of grief, a girl running in the woods away from a monster, a girl captured by pirates, she sees someone who no one is coming for. Who no one will stick up for. A person without allies in a world against her. Whether it's actually true in this case or not, she runs straight for that girl anyways every single time.

[deoidesign]

please please please please please please please let me tell you about this comic I want to make it so bad please I can not wait I am losing it

If I don't make the comic then I'm not going to make it... I need other people to see what is in my brain so I'm not the only one going feral over them

[choccy-milky]

bruh i need to vent about a rude comment i got on my recent chap and also about clora, cuz its something thats been on my mind for a while now. it has spoilers to my most recent chap tho so im putting it below

so in my most recent chap clora gets hit by the killing curse but thanks to seb sacrificing himself for her, it doesn’t work/she survives. and I got a rly rude comment about how that’s super cringe and that clora is a "shoe horning of every possible manifestation of Mary-Sueism I have ever seen." theyre dropping my fic after almost 500k words bc apparently THAT’S where they draw the line and that "just somehow pulling it out the bag and surviving a killing curse from the power of love. In simpler terms, it’s absolutely cringe worthy" and "forgive me if I rolled an eye at the yet again invincible nature of Clora Clemons-the-one-eighth-Veela-extraordinaire"

BUT LIKE LMAO TELL ME U DIDN’T READ/WATCH HARRY POTTER WITHOUT TELLING ME. that’s literally what happens to harry??but its only cringe when it happens to our "mary-sue" clora? like yeah sure love magic might be a bit cringe but IM LITERALLY JUST PULLING FROM THE SOURCE MATERIAL. of all the things to take issue with in my fic and interpretations, theyre taking issue with something that’s canon BAHAHA.

and since im on the topic of clora being mary sue can I just say I hate the misogyny/internalized misogyny that i've seen some people (NOT A LOT, THANKFULLY) treat her with. like i get it, im not pale and blonde and as conventionally pretty as clora is, but even if I was, is that a reason to hate me?? and does being beautiful and well-liked = mary sue? bc as far as I know, mary sue is a chara who is just naturally amazing at everything and doesnt need to try hard and theyre just inexplicably great for no reason (like mc in the base game BAHHAA) if anything the mary sue in MY fic is seb LMAO (but hes a boy so its ok). like clora has worked hard and studied magic all her life due to being a squib and wanting to make up for not being able to DO it. she isnt good at flying, seb is still better at her than duelling, shes really short sighted when it comes to doing/thinking whats best for others and can be a huge idiot.... and like. the only guys that have even shown interest in clora on a real scale have been seb and leander (and then lawley for blackmail purposes, and also bc he hates seb) so its not like literally everyone is falling over themselves for her?? like her interactions with the main cast of boys (ominis, garreth, amit) theyre all indifferent to her LMAO but still, the fact that shes pretty and guys here and there might look at her and go o shes cute! doesnt make her a mary sue SORRy thats just called being attractive idk its just annoying that ppl automatically see a nice kind beautiful female character without any VISIBLE flaws and go SHES TOO PERFECT!! MARY SUE!! WAH IM JEALOUS! and like I get it bc when I was younger I probs would have been annoyed by clora as well due to my own insecurities and internalized misogyny but hey, how about u just realize that’s ur own problem and your own jealousy, and not a real one HAHAH anyway ive since evolved bc I used to be a ‘not like other girls’ type girl back in highschool. trying to be super tomboy-y bc I thought being feminine was cringe and too basic but now ive embraced it and love girly things and dresses and charas like clora who are still strong and showcase their strengths and weaknesses in subtler ways, and I want to smooch her and make out with her. get behind me clora ill protect you🤺🤺🤺

[doverstar]

actually I love Tentoo and he is the Doctor and it was the only ending for Rose that worked and it is a huge gift to be able to have the man she loves grow old with her, they were always heading for that, y'all be quiet. I 100% understand the angst but it's okay, they're okay, good ending-

[harmonictechnicality]

Eddie’s Memory Log: Day 72

part 1 here | part 2 here | part 3 here | part 4 here | part 5 here (ao3 link here)

Of course Steve is being realistic about this, he has no other choice. That’s not true - he has infinite choices, which is the shitty yet amazing part about being a human with freewill.

But he’s thoroughly convinced himself that he only has one choice: be cynically realistic. Pragmatic. Steve actually picked up a goddamn dictionary to figure out his feelings, and that’s the closest word he could find.

He’s gotta be pragmatic about Eddie’s memories. If he’s not, he’ll fucking dissolve into broken shards of hopefulness like last time. It'll all burst out like he’s pissed off, which is so unfair. 

But if he remains neutral, he won’t get hurt. Right?

However, the kissing and the touching and the sweet words are all way too good for Steve to be a complete cynic. Because god, he wants all of that with Eddie. Exclusively with Eddie. He wants to know how Eddie’s heart monitor will sound if he kisses that caved-in spot between his neck and his ear. He wants to know if it’ll speed up or skip tones if he squeezes Eddie’s thighs. His waist. His cheeks. 

Shit, Steve can’t stay pragmatic if he’s thinking about exploring Eddie like a lickable atlas. 

He clenches his fists into his steering, holds onto the forgotten days. How miserable those days felt. How they’ll feel even worse if he’s too optimistic.

Practical. Steve can do practical.

Eddie looks better than Steve remembers (which was fourteen fucking hours ago). Still. He’s pinker in his cheeks, in his nose too. His hair is combed out at the roots, still fuzzy and wild everywhere else. Almost like he gave up because the tangles were so bad.

He’s wearing one of the faded green hospital gowns today, the color of toothpaste. Steve likes it when he wears this one instead of the off-white ones. Those remind him of outdated nightgowns, the ones that porcelain china dolls wear.

Faded green is better. More life. Less death.

“Are you glued to the door or something?” Eddie says a few seconds after Steve turns the door shut. Still just standing there.

“No.” Steve doesn’t move.

Eddie’s brows lower, forehead creasing. “Gum stuck on your shoe?”

“No.”

“Wait, don't tell me - there’s a force field in this room, and only you can see it.” Eddie points directly at Steve, wagging his finger at him. Steve inspects all of his fingers on that hand, searching. 

No ring.

Steve’s ring isn’t there. Not on that hand, at least.

Eddie snaps twice. “Very Jean Grey of you, Stevie.”

Steve exhales, rearranges the hair on his forehead. He’s tapping over his jeans, thinking up a better way to go about this. Quickly decides there is no Better Way. All Ways suck.

“Munson...”

“Harrington…”

He still needs to see Eddie’s other hand, to look closer. Peer over the stupid bed covers and know for sure. “Just… give me a second.”

“You’re freaking me out, man.” 

“That hurts coming from you.” 

“As it should.” They both go quiet after that. 

It’s definitely Steve’s turn to take the conversational baton, but he can’t. He’s too focused on getting a good view of Eddie’s hand without moving too close. If he gets too close, Steve knows he’ll be tempted to push him into the bed, connect his mouth to Eddie’s and not stop until his lip muscles lose all mobility. 

Steve gets on his tippy toes, slanting his torso sideways to get a better view.

“What the hell are you looking at?” Eddie tosses up both of his hands. Steve lasers in on every goddamn finger.

“Nothing.” Steve says. The ring isn’t there. “It’s nothing.” 

Eddie isn’t wearing his class ring. That’s all there is to it. No reason to get analytical or quiz Eddie on his foggy memories. Steve has his answer in plain sight.

Eddie doesn’t remember.

This is why Steve needed to remain pragmatic, that stupid word he looked up in the event that something like this might happen. He’s still disappointed, still actively working to keep up his decent posture and pleasant disposition. 

Fortunately, the cynicism helped. His foundation isn’t fractured. His heart isn’t skydiving without a parachute.

Steve is as okay as he can be knowing that Eddie Munson forgot about kissing him.

His legs are no longer cement blocks. He’s able to move away from the door just a bit. Moving around actually helps with the disappointment, he’s not really sure why. Maybe it’s because his neurons or whatever have multiple tasks to perform, not just all obsessing over the same fucked up feeling. 

Who knows, at least Steve is taking steps. Metaphorical and literal ones.

“Hey.” Eddie says.

“What?”

Eddie tilts his head to the side, his eyes raking over Steve’s whole body. “You should lock the door.”

“Why?” 

Eddie shrugs. Steve catches a quick smirk before Eddie covers his mouth with his ringless hand.

“Why, Eddie?”

Eddie shrugs again, and has the fucking gall to laugh this time. He pulls out the guitar pick necklace that’s sitting underneath his hospital gown. Except the guitar pick is not the only charm hanging from the chain.

The ring.

Steve’s class ring has been added to it.

His legs are locked once again. Deadbolted to the floor. Magnetized. Frozen. Whatever comic book bullshit Eddie mentioned earlier.

He can’t move.

“If I remember correctly, you told me to wear it.” Eddie’s voice turns lemony-sweet. Almost biting. “You didn’t specify it needed to be on my hand.”

“You’re…” Steve is suddenly short of breath, seeing Eddie’s thumb glide over the metal of his ring.“You’re such an ass.” Christ, he doesn’t believe how gone he sounds when he says it. Even amongst Eddie pulling this trickster douchery nonsense, he’s still fucking weak for him.

“The door.” Eddie punches out each syllable. “Lock it.”

Steve fumbles, stupidly fumbles with the damn lock, takes centuries to get the shit to click properly. He can hear Eddie snickering, which sets him the fuck off. Steve’s suddenly next to the bed, resting one knee on the edge. Gets his hands wrapped up nicely in Eddie’s hair.

Steve can feel Eddie mouthing baby into the kiss, makes him press into it more. All he wants is to feel that one word heating up his lips, pulsing sound-waves against his mouth. Steve lets his hand travel down to Eddie’s chain, pulls once, causes Eddie’s mouth to fall open. Steve does it again to see if it’s a reflex or permission to kiss deeper, fuller.

Eddie hums, closes his mouth over Steve’s bottom lip, lets the vibrations rumble there. He grips around Steve’s hand, the one holding the necklace, and he squeezes them together. 

“You remember?” Steve’s words come out choppy. Split up between breaths and Eddie’s mouth over his own.

Eddie nods, can feel his eyelashes tickling Steve’s cheek. “All I could think about.”

“Me too.” Steve gives the necklace a tiny yank. Eddie’s hand jolts to Steve’s waist, more delicious reflexes that Steve wishes he could chew on.

Steve leans away from the kiss, dipping down to the necklace instead. At first, he just places his teeth on the chain, let’s his tongue feel the small grooves. 

But something possesses him to get weird. Let loose. So Steve sucks on both charms at once, makes too much sound, spit dribbling at the corners of his mouth. He’s fully testing the limits on Eddie’s accessory-based reflexes and it’s working so damn well.

Eddie gets a handful of Steve’s thigh, gives him a firm lift. It’s practically impossible to balance over the bed when Eddie does that maneuver. Steve starts toppling over, smushing Eddie’s face, not sexy at all.

“Cut it out.” Steve whispers, trying to get back up. Trying harder not to laugh.

Eddie groans. “Just get on top of me already.”

“You’re injured.”

“And you’re still not in my lap.”

They transition back to kissing, Eddie’s tongue flits around Steve’s gums. Steve can feel the flicks in his fucking core, deep in the middle, all warm flashes that make his muscles tense up. Like the nerves are connected, like Eddie could alert his whole body to gleam under his touch. 

If it weren’t for this horrid hospital layout, Steve would have Eddie all over him. Tangle them up in unholy ways. Pray mercilessly that no one ever finds a key to unlock the door. Goddamnit, this public respect thing is getting old.

“Can’t touch you how I want like this.” Eddie nestles into Steve’s neck, sucks on his skin till Steve’s head falls back. Steve already can tell that it’ll leave a mark from how sensitive it feels, raw and tingly. 

It only takes one more dig into his thigh for Steve to give up his Respectful Guy charade. Crawls into the bed, throws one leg over Eddie’s side, sinks down into the spot. Christ, he can feel how warm Eddie is from here, and it’s jostling up his mind. Steve can finally comprehend why every girl he’s ever hooked up with insists on making out like this. It’s a fucking recipe for sin.

“Shit, this is…” Steve claws his hands over Eddie’s chest, over the gown. Hopes he doesn’t undo any wires or bandages.

Eddie grins. “Different view?”

“Yeah.”

“You like?”

Steve gets lower, cages his arms around either side of Eddie. “Like the guy I’m looking down at.”

“Good answer.”

Kissing like this beats every other position that Steve’s horned-up mind can think of. It’s all muted moans and wet lips. Eddie’s still in his sweatpants from yesterday, thank every star in the sky for that. Steve can already feel how turned on he is, has to keep resisting the urge to hook his finger into Eddie’s waistband. Mess around with the fabric until Eddie whines.

“Steve.” 

Just like that.

Eddie keeps targeting the bruise he made. Nurses at the skin like he could make new colors if he sucks hard enough. Maybe teeth-marks, maybe speckled blues. Fuck, Steve wants both. More.

“Feels so fucking good.” It does, it really does. Steve can’t think about how dumb and slutty hickies are when it feels this good.

Eddie kisses over it, washes the sting away. “Like making you feel good.” 

Eddie is starting to smell less like hospital disinfectant and more like Steve. Like Steve’s bedroom and Steve’s shower gel. Like Steve’s laundry detergent and Steve’s car freshener. God, Steve wants to roll his hips just a little harder, tongue him a little deeper. Get his hands on every inch of Eddie until they smell unrecognizable from one another.

“Can I?” Eddie tugs on the hem of Steve’s sweater, eyes fully blown, lips naturally pouting from all the kissing. This is how he should always look, make a goddamn monument out of this adorably fucked-up expression.

“I’ve got it.” Steve straightens back up, peeling his sweater over his head, undershirt going with it. His hair is already tousled and ruined from Eddie combing through it so aggressively, he doesn’t even mind all the static making it worse.

Eddie’s devilish smile drops to a regular smile, then disappears altogether. His hooded eyes are now wide, unblinking. His hands go straight to Steve’s stomach, fingers splayed out completely.

“Holy fuck, Steve.” 

It takes longer for it to register than it should. Steve has royally screwed up. Majorly. Eddie starts skimming over all of Steve’s scars, the ones shaped exactly like his. 

Those distinct ones that Eddie doesn’t remember receiving. Believes whatever bullshit story the doctors told him when he woke up.

This is bad.

This is terribly bad.

Eddie’s hands fall, returning back to his side. His voice sounds flimsy. Small. “They’re just like mine.”

“Yeah.” Steve agrees. Cause what the fuck else would he do? “They are.”

“I wasn’t in a car crash… was I?”

A car crash? Real original, very creative for a group of people that spent a decade of their life training their brain muscles to be the size of the Titanic. Bravo, geniuses.

Steve just shakes his head. Doesn’t let his bitterness show too much, upset Eddie further.

“Fucking knew it.” Eddie deflates back into his pillows, slamming his fist over the side railing. The sound makes Steve’s shoulders jump, decides now would be a good time to un-straddle himself from Eddie. Sit in a chair like a non-horny person might do. 

“So whatever happened to me… it happened to you too?”

Steve can’t get the words out just yet, still giving Eddie non-verbal answers. Head nods, shoulder-shrugs, depressing looks away from his intense stares.

The room is way too quiet. Steve’s silence is stifling. Even the empty spaces feel crowded.

“Shit.” Eddie must feel it too. The mysterious claustrophobia brought on by full disclosure. “What… what happenedto us?”

Steve forces the words to come out this time. “You’ll never believe me.”

“Well you’re in luck. Cause even if I do believe you, I might not even remember.”

“That’s not funny.”

“Didn’t say it was.”

Steve hates this. Hates that he caused this by being careless. Hates that it’s his fault and he can’t blame it on anyone else. 

“Fine.” He shakes off the hatred because it’s stupid and it’s getting them nowhere. Just dead-end roads and abandoned streets. Steve gets somber instead. “The door stays locked.”

“Is it that bad?” Eddie asks, straightening himself up in the bed.

“It’s that bad.”

“Jesus christ.”

Yeah. Any explicit response is fitting for what Steve is about to attempt.

“Exactly.”

Steve is doing a shit job at explaining all this interdimensional monster fuckery. Having Dustin here as backup would’ve been handy, especially since he gets all the DnD references that seem to further confuse Eddie. 

Like… Eddie is taking all the references way too literally to how he uses them in his complicated board game - they have to pause every time a new term comes up. Has to elaborate that ‘no, it isn’t the same as those scarily intricate drawings in your guidebook. It’s just whatever the twerps came up with on that day.’

Honestly, Steve expects the subject matter to be the difficult part, not the skewed fantasy terminology. All the making out has shuffled Steve’s brain, made him forget how strange Eddie is.

He kinda likes it though. Hell, he’s fawning over the strangeness.

It’s been almost two hours, Steve can’t believe he’s gone over everything in such a short duration. Definitely missed some details, but whatever. Eddie gets the gist, that’s what matters.

“So…” Steve says.

“So…” Eddie copies.

“Thoughts?”

“I have them.”

Steve rolls his eyes, crosses his arms. “Do you think I’m bullshitting you on any of this?”

“If you were Mike Wheeler, maybe.” Eddie jokes. He jokes all the damn time, but Steve is fairly certain that this is one of those self-defense jokes. The side of his humor he wears as a shield. “I swear to god, that kid thinks up the craziest fucking scenarios. Almost scared to hand over the reins of Hellfire to a twisted mind like that.”

He takes a minute, snorts at his own commentary, then unwinds. Settling down.

“But you…” Eddie says, pointing at Steve, staring hard. “Well, I don’t exactly think Steve Harrington, Lord of Frenching, would be able to conjure up such reveries with your particular flavor of imagination.”

“That sounds like an insult.”

“Maybe.” Eddie says. “But if you were somehow both a total hottie and a total nerd, I’d be thoroughly wrecked.”

Steve perks up, twirls a finger into Eddie’s hair. “I’d like to see that.”

Eddie shoves him away, definitely giggling. “This is precisely what I mean! Trying to seduce me right after telling me there’s another world directly beneath our feet. You’re just…”

“Ridiculous?”

“Exceptional.”

How can Steve feel this flattered after explaining the most traumatic timeline of events? He’s blushing, the kind of blush that girls would sit in front of their mirrors to apply perfectly, apply evenly - Steve is doing that kind of blushing, just naturally. And yeah, he might have that effect on Eddie, but Eddie has the same effect on him.

They let the far-fetched truth resonate for a while. The silence is back gathering the space between them, but it’s less suffocating this time. It feels valid.

Eddie shifts his weight in the bed, looks at a scar on the inside of his arm. “So, I was almost a bat feast, huh?”

Steve touches the scar in response. Hopes Eddie understands the confirmation.

Eddie sighs. “Did anyone else… did we lose anyone?”

“Verdict is still out on that one.”

“Missing?”

“Coma.”

“Oh.” Eddie looks away. “Fuck, I’m sorry.”

“Yeah.” Steve is sorry too. Should’ve been him.

“Someone I know?” 

“She was your neighbor, so probably.”

Eddie looks down at his lap, eyebrows knitted together. His go-to frustration face.

Right.

Eddie doesn’t remember where he lives.

“Her and Sinclair used to date.” Steve tells him. “He’s with her right now, actually.”

“She’s here?”

Steve sings an ‘mhmm’ through closed lips.

Thinking about Max never gets easier. She basically sacrificed herself and Steve just let her do it. He let a fucking child convince him that they had no other choice. Of course they had other choices. 

Infinite choices. The shitty yet amazing part about being a human with freewill.

It should’ve been him. That should’ve been the choice.

“Can we go visit with her?” Eddie interrupts Steve’s intrusive thoughts, probably for the best. “Would that be weird?”

Steve studies Eddie’s expression for a minute. It’s uneasy, distressed. Just plain sad. All of that is more than understandable. This is heavy shit. 

“Not weird.” Steve gets up. “Think it’d be pretty nice actually.”

Eddie waits outside Max’s door while Steve heads in first. Just checking to make sure Lucas is cool with them covering his shift for a little while. 

Steve gives a few taps over the door before peaking in. “Just me, Sinclair.”

“Good to see you, man.” Lucas looks up from his book. He’s been reading Max the whole The Dark Tower series to her since July. She has an undying love for Stephen King, they’re all pretty optimistic she can hear powerful words - and all of his are.

“Heya, Mayfield.” Steve lays a hand on her shoulder, rubs his thumb back and forth. “All the other losers at the skate park are gonna be so jealous of you. You’ll have the sickest scars there, no competition.”

“Steve.”

“What? She agrees.”

They all refuse to whisper around her or talk about her in the past tense. Like she’s not even there. Like she’s already gone.

She’s not. She’s in there somewhere, Steve just knows it. If Eddie can come back, so can she. Max is a goddamn powerhouse. 

“How’s Eddie doing?”

“He’s… you know.” Steve instinctively rubs the purplish-gray bruise on neck, face prickling up. “He’s good.”

The best, actually.

“Glad to hear it.”

“He’s here, by the way.” Steve sneaks that in there. “Wanted to visit with our girl, if that’s cool.”

Lucas does a double take. “Wait - he remembers?”

Surprise, surprise. Steve opens his big, fat (pretty) mouth for a second time today. “No, no… I told him.” Way to go, dumbass. 

“Steve!”

“Hey! He saw my scars.” Steve matches volume. “I had no choice!”

“How exactly did he see your scars?”

Damn damn damn. “That’s…not… never mind.” Steve is stumbling, the words are all scrunched together, total nonsense in his throat. “It’s sort of irrelevant now. He knows. And he’s here, so…”

Lucas sighs, gives Steve a good ol’ fashioned Eye Roll, and looks over towards Max. “Guess I should take a lunch break anyways. I’ll be back in a half hour.”

Steve nods, pulls a chair right up next to Max. She’s in better condition than she was after her last surgery. Less gaunt. Sure, there’s no major changes, but still. None of them are giving up on her. She’d kicked their asses in whatever afterlife that may exist.

Lucas drops a kiss into Max’s hair, whispers something in her ear. Steve does his best not to eavesdrop, doesn’t seem like it’s any of his business. Lucas gives Steve a pat on the back and sighs again. The two of them are in this place the most, Steve completely relates to how draining the atmosphere can be. Exasperation is so warranted.

“Send Eddie in on your way out.” Steve says.

“Will do.”

Lucas and Eddie chat outside for a while, so Steve takes the opportunity to catch up with Max, keeps his hand on her forearm the whole time. He tells her about Eddie, how he likes him. Really likes him. Knows she wouldn’t give a shit about something like that, about liking guys. She’d probably make fun of him for making a lame ass mixtape though. So he tells her about that too - lets her imagine how nauseating he can get when he crushes this hard on someone.

He tells her that everyone misses her, Mike included, even if he’d never say it out loud.

“He’s always buying new stickers for your casts.” Steve says it like it’s the juiciest gossip. “Tries to convince us that Lucas asked him to. The kid’s a shitty liar though, but you already know that.”

Her heart monitor is nothing like Eddie’s. It’s a dull pattern, never changing. There’s no ballad or pop song fragments. No song at all. 

Steve tries not to dwell on how much that hurts, leaves splinters in his chest.

The door squeaks and Eddie slides in. He seems kind of nervous, anxious maybe. But he meets Steve’s reassuring gaze and lets go. Smiles. All the splinters in Steve’s chest turn into petals. He loves how happy he can make Eddie, just by looking at him. That feels genuine and rare. Veryrare.

Steve signals his head towards Max, needs Eddie to greet her properly. Present tense, no whispers.

Eddie looks back at Max, takes two steps forward. “Um…”

“Something wrong?”

“Remember when I told you I have crazy, vivid dreams?”

“Yeah?”

“Well…” Eddie scratches the top of his head. Looks at Steve in disbelief. “She’s in almost all of them.”

Shit. “Are you serious?”

“Little Miss Charlie McGee.” Eddie sings, arms waving toward her. “In the flesh.”

Steve’s voice goes flat. “That’s not her name.”

“Be cool, babe. She gets the reference.”

Eddie quickly picks up on their Max Etiquette. He approaches her like they’re old friends, shows off his visible battle scars, makes her feel included. Steve is captivated by Eddie’s ease, his summery energy he develops with her.

“So you two talk?”

Eddie waves him off. “I talk. She just…”

“Right.” Steve assumes the answers. Finally wraps his head around what Eddie is telling him, that he dreams about Max, often. “Still - this is huge. Like… this is a big fucking deal!”

“Mellow your vibes, please.”

“Says the most un-mellow person I know.”

Eddie shushes him, gives his full attention to Max. “We gotta get you out here, McGee. If I had known you weren’t just my little dream angel, I would’ve busted you out of this joint months ago.”

He’s so fucking great with her, so normal about all of this. Within a few hours, Steve has turned Eddie’s perspective on life inside-out, yet he’s still so attentive. Totally adopting Steve’s patience and gladly offering to Max, the person who needs it most right now.

Steve steals a quick kiss onto Eddie’s cheek, sort of misses and pecks his chin instead.

Eddie bites his lip, scolds Steve halfheartedly. “No kissing in front of Little Red.”

Max would definitely deck him for calling her little.

Steve kisses Eddie’s cheek again, doesn’t miss this time. “Just… really like you.”

“Like you too, Stevie. Could bake you into a pie, save you for dessert.”

“Barf.”

“Uh huh - get used to it.” Eddie hugs Steve from behind, sways them back and forth like a cheesy prom dance. “It’s gonna get so much worse. Red is probably so sick of me yapping her ear off about you.” 

Steve twists his neck around to look at Eddie. “So… she knows?”

Eddie nods, scratches the back of his neck. “I don’t ever shut up about you.”

“Could’ve ended the sentence with I don’t ever shut up, and it would still be accurate.” 

“Feisty.”

Steve looks towards Max. He smiles, thinks about how she’d tell them they’re both total dipshits before doing a kickass flip on her skateboard. “She brings out the best in me.”

They fill Lucas in on the fact that Eddie dreams about Max almost every night. Of course, Lucas wants as many details as Eddie’s mangled mind can give him.

The dreams are simple: a dark room, almost pitch black. Max is sitting cross-legged in the center, staring directly at Eddie. She doesn’t say anything, doesn’t stand up either. But if Eddie talks, she’ll non-verbally respond in some type of way.

For instance, Eddie says he told her his top five favorite movies of all time. She stared at him blankly until he got to number four: Firestarter. She smiled. He says it was brief, but it was the first time he discovered that she was listening to him. Understanding him.

“Hence the name -“

“Charlie McGee.” Lucas chuckles, getting the reference. Steve doesn’t - pretty sure he was necking Sydney Sawyer for the whole duration of that film.

They’re all sitting in the stairwell outside of Max’s room. No point in discussing this in there, upsetting her with their schemes and impractical theories. No one has concrete answers, not even the doctors. Why should three losers be an exception to this?

Pointless as it may be, they continue to brainstorm. 

“Any new Kate Bush albums?” Steve asks.

Lucas shuffles back and forth. “We have the stereo playing all the time in there. I think that would’ve woken her up months ago if it were that easy.”

There’s another long pause. A few sighs ripple out, echo.

“Eddie?” Lucas says.

“Yeah?”

“Remember that character you came up with in your last campaign?” Lucas’ energy changes, fills the corridor they’re standing in.

Eddie’s mouth opens, then shuts. 

Steve has to tackle back the urge to remind Lucas that Eddie struggles with recent memories like that. He’s an expert on All Things Eddie, but that’s not exactly something he should flaunt right now. Steve knows how to read the room for christ’s sake.

Lucas faces Eddie, seems determined. “Come on, man. It was so badass.”

“I don’t doubt it.”

“The oracle’s assistant…” Lucas nudges eagerly. “Ring any bells?”

Eddie sheepishly looks away, looks at Steve for support maybe. He should know better, Steve isn’t going to be helpful with nerd shit. But Steve elbows Eddie’s side, gives him a weak smile. Just a subtle bit of encouragement.

They both glance over to Lucas who is deep in the thought, mumbling to himself.

“They relinquish all their autonomy while the sun hangs in the sky…” Lucas recites. Steve thinks he’s imitating Eddie’s narrator voice. It’s not too bad, actually. “But when darkness falls and their eyes grow heavy with sleep…”

“The lowly assistant governs the slumber of their ruler.” Eddie finishes the phrase with a wolfish grin. “Sinclair, you’re a certified genius!”

“You came up with it.” Lucas pats Eddie's shoulder, grinning just as wide. “Do you think it’ll work?”

“It’s worth a shot.”

“Do you even know how to -”

“Not really.” Eddie squints, contemplating. “But how hard can it be?”

“Dunno. Never tried it.”

Steve finally cuts into their little exchange. “Would either of you care to translate your dweeb-ology to me?”

Both Lucas and Eddie stop murmuring to each other and gawk at Steve. They’re not laughing at him, not yet at least. More so, they’re staring as if they somehow forgot Steve was even there. Like their board game bullshit sucked them onto their own nerdy planet, far from Earth.

Eddie places a hand on Steve’s cheek, still wearing that performance smile he gets when his fantasy lingo takes hold of him. Steve is fully aware that it doesn’t look sexy, the way Eddie does it, but his breath still gets caught in his chest at the contact. 

“My dear, sweet Stevie.” Eddie sings, sounds sinister. He playfully smacks Steve’s cheek a few times before removing his hand. “Have you ever of a lucid dream?”

Steve scrunches his nose. “Sounds gross.”

Eddie: Nope - your mind is just filthy.

Steve: Least my mind works…

Eddie: For a harlot, sure.

Steve: A what?

Eddie: Nothing.

They’re about to continue their bickering when Lucas clears his throat. Gives each of them a disturbed expression. “You two sound like my parents.”

Steve and Eddie both gag at the implication, denying any resemblance to fucking grownups. No way. They may not be in high school anymore, but they’re definitely not adults. They’re both trapped in that state of maturity limbo, where age is merely a suggestion, not a law. Sort of like Steve with speed limit signs.

“Whatever.” Lucas heads for the door. “I’ll go keep Max company while you fill Steve in on the plan.”

“You got it, Sinclair.” Eddie gives Lucas a stern salute as he leaves the stairwell.

As soon as the door shuts, Steve's hands are all over Eddie. Pulling the drawstring of sweatpants closer to him, curling his fingers at the back of his neck. He can hear Eddie make a surprised noise, but doesn’t dwell on it. Just presses him into the wall, kisses him hard. Steve tries to kiss quietly, minimal lip smacking, but Eddie heaves into his mouth and Steve loses all of his control.

“Distracted?” 

Steve mumbles something like, ‘so hot,’ but his lips can only do so many tasks at once. Right now, he’s way too preoccupied with running his tongue over the ridges of Eddie’s teeth, tempting him to bare down. 

Eddie gives into the temptation too easily, grazes his front teeth over Steve’s tongue, Steve’s bottom lip, Steve’s jaw. Goddamnit, the dull pricks of teeth turn Steve’s insides into custard. So fucking decadent and absolute mush.

“Was it my Dungeon Master voice?” Eddie sneers, pulling down the collar on Steve’s shirt to lick over the bruise he placed there earlier today. “Did that get you all horned up for me?”

“Do you ever stop talking?” Which is a backwards way of saying yes. One thousand percent yes. Fucking christ, who knew Eddie’s gravelly narrator voice would be borderline audio porn for Steve?

Eddie swirls over the bruise again, then leans back into a slobbery open-mouthed kiss, real messy and wet. His hands slip into Steve’s jean back pockets, cupping his ass, makes his knees lock.

“Wish you weren’t in such a bulky material, darling boy.” Eddie uses that voice. His nails dig into the scratchy fabric, so many dirty noises bouncing off the walls. Eddie isn’t even asking Steve to take off his clothes, but he doesn’t have to. The voice, the desires, it’s all there. All heavy and whirling in Steve’s mind.

“Oh okay fuck,” Steve’s words all sound whimpery now, almost depraved. He sinks into one more kiss. Makes it last, makes it sting. Finds the willpower to create a non-ass-cupping distance between them. 

Eddie wipes his mouth with the back in his hand and smirks. He tilts his head up at Steve’s hair, which Steve already knows is proabably fucked up. He’s always teetering on a stylized sex hair look, so it’s gotta be wet dream worthy right now. Steve smooths out the sides, minimal effort to look presentable, and Eddie just spectates. Enjoys the show that is Rattled Steve Harrington.

“You’ve got a freaky side.” Eddie says, way too vile. 

Steve keeps flattening out strands on his head, ignoring the heat settling into his cheeks. Ignoring Eddie’s comment too. “Just tell me about the gross dream thing.”

“Fine.” Eddie plops down on the top step of the stairs. “Take a seat, fellow freak.”

Turns out, it’s not gross at all. It’s actually kind of cool. Really cool.

From Steve’s understanding (and Eddie’s elaborate explanation), lucid dreams are kind of like directed dreams. Like the individual who’s experiencing them can actually decide their own actions. Change outcomes and shit. If Steve had known that was an actual ability, he would’ve done things a lot differently in that dream he had about getting snowed in at the Playboy Mansion.

Okay… maybe Steve is the one that’s making it gross.

“So, you’re gonna lucid dream tonight?”

“I’m gonna try. Try being the keyword because I don’t think it’ll be that easy.”

“Sam will be back on Monday.” Steve reminds him. “We could see if she knows anything about it.”

Eddie clicks his teeth, nodding along. “That’s not a bad idea, Harrington. That woman is a wealth of knowledge.”

“If she runs for president, I’m endorsing the shit out of her.”

“Oh, absolutely.”

They head back to Eddie’s room, writing down anything that seems helpful or significant to their plan. Steve leaves a bit early to beat traffic. It’s not ideal, he’d rather stay the night. 

Leaving Eddie is tough, gets tougher every time. Steve makes him put the ring back in the drawer, just in case he forgets. Can’t take any chances.

“How could I ever?” Eddie circles his thumb around Steve’s palm. Traces small shapes into his skin.

Steve shrugs. “Just to be safe.”

“Okay.”

“But… don’t.” The word forget stays unsaid. It already holds too much power amongst them. No reason to give it more fuel, more gravity.

Eddie brings Steve’s palm up to his lips, kisses away all the invisible patterns he put there. “I won’t.”

It’s not a promise, they know better than to promise things that are radio static. Fuzzy and unclear. Mental fog. Even so, Steve lets those two words fuse his broken expectations back together.

Just until morning.

That’s all he needs.

Day 73:

The phone is ringing. It’s four in the fucking morning and the phone is ringing.

Steve decides after the third time that he’s not answering - out of spite.

But then it rings two more times and he cracks. Swears every curse word he knows walking over to the phone, invents some new ones too. His eyes still refuse to open, he’s blindly picking it up off the hook.

“Who is it?” He whisper-yells. That’s the only volume his voice has at four in the fucking morning.

There’s an obnoxious kissy sound coming through on the speaker. 

“Damnit, Munson.”

“Don’t be rude, you love it when I tease.”

“I don’t love anything at four in the morning except the inside of my eyelids.”

“Ouchie.” He can tell Eddie is pouting into the speaker. Can practically hear his lips pushing out, being a real dick about it.

Steve yawns. “Is this important? Did the dream thing work”

“Wouldn’t know. Can’t sleep.”

“And how am I supposed to help?” Steve gets to be a dick too if he has to form coherent thoughts at four in the fucking morning.

“Bedtime story? Lullaby? Dirty limerick?” Eddie suggests, sounds totally wired. “I’m not picky.”

Ugh. Steve is such a pushover in general. But for Eddie Munson? He’s a lovesick fool. “I can stay on the phone and you can listen to me snore. Final offer.”

“Sure, I’ll take it.” He hears Eddie clapping. “But at least tell me what you’re wearing.”

“You’re joking.”

“Most of the time, yes. I am.” Eddie says. He waits for an answer that he does not receive because fuck, why would Steve talk dirty right now? Eddie fake-coughs into the speaker, puts on the most pathetic voice. “Just give a dying man some x-rated visuals and I’ll shut up.”

“Good god, you’re not dying.”

Now Eddie is fake-crying because of course he is. Such a drama queen. As soon as they get his memory back, Steve is getting him a goddamn talent agent. Let him win a few awards for his untimely performances.

“Red pajamas bottoms.” Steve gives in. Classic pushover style. 

“No shirt?”

“No.”

“Fuck.”

Steve laughs, can’t help it. “Thought you said you’d be quiet now.”

“It was an involuntary fuck, I promise.”

“Whatever you say, babe.”

He falls asleep hearing Eddie hum the last track on his mixtape that he made for him. The one that’s always at the top of his stack.

There’s no visual torture from Eddie today. The necklace is in plain sight, Steve’s class ring sitting directly over top of Eddie's guitar pick. No need to make assumptions or compose his cauldron of feelings. 

Nope. Eddie remembers. Eddie likes him and didn’t forget. Steve could toss the binder of progress into the dumpster, let it live out the rest of its days in a goddamn landfill for all he cares.

He’s not gonna do that though because he’s nowhere near Eddie Munson on the Dramatics Scale.

They spend the early part of the afternoon working through questions that Eddie can try to ask Max in his dream. It keeps them busy while they wait for Sam to arrive on her shift. Steve picked up quite a few packets of gum at the gas station - both to sweeten their request and replenish her supply.

Eddie is pretty exhausted from not sleeping much during the night. Anytime Steve fiddles with the mismatched necklace charms, Eddie answers him with languid, plush kisses. The slowest, most mindless kind - the type of kisses that makes Steve feel as if they’ve been kissing each other for years, not days.

“You’re scrumptious.” Eddie praises, his tone is all tipsy from the affection.

“You’re heavily medicated.” 

They’re pretty disgusting today, probably from all the happiness that breeds gross shit. Steve is whirling strands of Eddie’s hair, watching it stay curled. Eddie is tickling Steve in inappropriate areas. A fuckton of tongue-kissing.

So gross.

“Stay tonight?” Eddie says randomly.

Steve uncurls Eddie’s hair from his finger, thinking over the request. “What if I mess up the lucid dream process?”

“Sweetheart, you are a mess repellant. You dust away all the bad shit and make things shiny and clear.”

“Can’t clean your messy memories though.” Steve points out.

Eddie purses his lips. “Yeah well, that’s asking for a miracle.”

“I guess so.”

“I know so.”

“You and Max deserve miracle-level results though.”

“See what I mean?” Eddie peppers kisses into Steve’s hair. “Scrumptious.”

Unlike Steve, Sam is a miracle worker. Anytime there’s a lull in her shift, she sits with the two of them, discussing the mechanics of lucid dreaming. Tells them how she did sleep studies during her last two semesters of college.

“Lucky for you, some of the medications you’re on, calm your mind to begin with.” Sam explains. “That helps with your long term memories, but it also eases your mind in general - sleep included.”

“Like a muscle relaxer for his brain?” Steve chimes in.

“Essentially.” Sam says. “This should make the lucid dream process fairly easy for you. Your mind is already open to new perceptions.”

“I do sometimes feel like I’m steering the actions in these dreams.” Eddie agrees. “It sort of feels second nature to me.”

That checks out. Steve grabs the binder, shows Sam a few notes he took on the first day:

‘It doesn’t take long, sleep seems more natural to Eddie right now than being awake.’

She scans over the words a few more times before speaking again. “You’d be surprised. A lot of head trauma patients that take a cocktail of treatments say the same exact thing. They describe it as the dream world being easier to navigate than the waking world. Less pressure to meet societal standards.”

Sam gives a few more tips while she goes through Eddie’s nighttime medication routine. Most of them have to do with Eddie checking in with his surroundings, noticing differences or passage of time, things like that. They could potentially wake him up during his REM cycle, but she sort of doubts that they’ll need to do that. Her assurance seems to rub off on Eddie. Steve is fucking grateful for that.

“Should I leave?” Steve gets up, noticing the time. Visiting hours are about to end. “I mean… Will I be a distraction?”

Sam doesn’t look up from her chart, just motions towards Eddie. “Does Steve bring you comfort or stress?”

“Comfort.” Eddie answers fast, noticeably red. “Definitely comfort.”

She clicks her pen, looks up at Steve, and smiles. “Then he can stay.”

Eddie spends over an hour constructing a solid argument as to why Steve should sleep in the hospital bed with him. He even includes a thesis statement and a variety of credible sources (if one considers Nightmare on Elm Street to be a credible source). 

“What if a doctor walks in and sees two dudes cuddling like teddy bears? What the hell do we say?”

“We tell them it’s for science. Duh.” Eddie folds the blanket back, pats the spot next to him. “Besides, they’re fucking surgeons, Stevie. I’m sure they’ve seen weirder shit.”

“Valid point.”

After an excessive amount of maneuvering and soft-pretzeling their limbs together, Steve is in Eddie’s hospital bed, under the covers. He places a few chaste kisses onto the back of Eddie’s neck before sinking into the cushion of their shared-pillow.

“Hey, Steve.”

“Yeah?”

“Did you ever think this would happen?”

“Did I ever think I would be spooning a guy with a memory-deficient brain and plotting a way to wake up a girl who survived an unsurvivable death?” Steve squeezes the two of them together. Lets the rhetoric of his question oscillate along with the shitty fan in the corner of the room. He can feel Eddie laughing against his chest and it makes him squeeze harder. “Yes. This is exactly where I thought my life would take me. Thank you for asking.”

“Smartassery and pillowtalk.” Eddie smacks Steve’s hand that’s wrapped around his stomach. “I’m a lucky guy.”

Steve thinks he’s the lucky one. He’s earned the trust of someone that has every reason to resent the whole world. He has a second chance to get to know someone that shouldn’t even be alive. Steve is the luckiest idiot in this dimension and every fuckstorm alternate dimension that may exist out there.

The beeps on Eddie’s heart monitor are slowing down. Steve knows what that means, it’s his second most fluent language these days. Eddie is drifting off, almost asleep.

“Bout gone?” Steve keeps his voice hushed, barely audible. 

Eddie hums a grumply, ‘mhmm’ and moves Steve’s hand over his heart. No need to listen to the monitor now. 

This is it. This is their chance to make a difference, reverse the injustice. Be heroes.

“Go find our girl, Munson.”

“You got it, babe.”

Day 74:

This is the best night of sleep Steve has had since… well, since that reality-shattering night back in 1983. Nancy Wheeler cocking a gun at a goddamn creature and spitting in the face of cowardice. Sleep hasn’t been the same since then.

So to sleep throughout the whole night, not jolting awake, not once. That’s an outright win for Steve fucking Harrington.

Eddie sleeps longer, more soundly too. That’s nothing new, he always sleeps like this - since day one of the memory log that Steve started keeping, but stopped needing. Stopped relying on it. 

His brain has made extra space, exclusive storage, just for Eddie. It’s weird to reflect on, but that’s a common thing Steve has done when he falls for someone. He automatically creates a penthouse for all of their quirks and isms to reside comfortably in. Live luxuriously inside his fucked-up head.

It’s around eight in the morning by the time Eddie starts stirring, scooting in closer to Steve’s touch. Fucking hell, it makes he feel wanted. Important. 

Eddie slowly flips around to face Steve, twisting himself up in all his tubes. Doesn’t matter. Steve is certain that Eddie knows by now that he will untangle him without making it weird - no arm scribbles necessary. They’re beyond that.

“Morning, demonic tinker bell.”

“I remember that.” Eddie is still groggy. “I remember you.”

It’ll never get old hearing him say that. “Would’ve been so fucking awkward if you didn’t.”

Steve’s lips are all chapped from sleeping with his mouth open, but he kisses Eddie anyways. Honestly, Eddie doesn’t seem to care. Might be too sleepy to notice.

He’s lost a lot of weight, being on a hospital diet and throwing up all the damn time. Even so, Eddie looks doughy and sweet in the morning. Steve wants to squish his drowsy little face, smush his nose, honk it like a car horn.

They kiss a little longer before the anticipation becomes too much. Steve has to know what happened in Eddie’s dream. “So… any luck?” 

“Are you a gambling man?” Eddie asks through a yawn. “Cause if so, then yeah.”

“Holy shit, really?” Steve starts shaking Eddie’s shoulder. “Did she tell you what might help wake her up?”

“She didn’t speak, but she was holding something this time.” 

“Holding what?”

“Think it was Corduroy.”

“The material?”

“The bear. You know, the children’s book?”

No, Steve doesn’t know that children’s book. While most of the kid's parents were reading Little Golden Books, Steve’s nanny was reading him excerpts from her murder-mystery novels. Although, his dad did occasionally hand Steve the comics out of the morning newspaper. Whenever he was around, that is.

“I asked if the bear was hers and if she still has it.” Eddie pokes Steve’s cheek. “And she nodded yes to both. That’s a start, right?”

“Definitely a start. It’s gotta be.” Steve sits up in the bed, stretches and cracks every fucking bone in his back. “I’ll go grab us some coffee and fill Lucas in once he gets here.”

Eddie gives him a thumbs-up, reaches onto the desk for his walkman. Steve’s walkman.

Nah. Who is he kidding? He’d put a goddamn bow on it. He’d let Eddie keep it forever.

It’s Eddie’s walkman now.

Lucas heads to Eddie’s room once he arrives. They drink their coffees while Eddie fills him in on the dream updates. It’s nice to see Lucas all perked-up again, he’s been pretty dejected for several months now. Even if they’re just clinging to scraps of hope, it’s better than grasping at maybes and question marks. That’s all they’ve been doing up until now.

“I’ve seen it.” Lucas says. “Green overalls? Ripped arm that’s missing all of its stuffing?”

Eddie hums into his coffee cup. “Looks like she sewed it back together with yellow threads?”

“That’s the one.” Lucas confirms. “It’s in her bedroom - she keeps it in a box of stuff from her grandma.”

He fills Steve and Eddie in about her grandma, how she took Max in during the worst part of her parent’s separation. Whenever the fights were unbearable, she’d take Max to the park for some fresh air. Lucas says he’s pretty sure that she bought Max her first skateboard. The bear must be a gift from her too, must be pretty meaningful.

“Do you think you can get it?” Steve wonders, looking towards Lucas.

“For sure, I’ll drop by tonight after I leave.”

“Wait.” Eddie interrupts their order of business, wildly waving his hand. “When is McGee’s birthday?”

“November 6th.” Lucas answers.

Steve checks the weekly calendar on the wall, the one used to track Eddie’s medical schedule. “That’s three days from today.”

“Do it then.” Eddie demands. 

“Why?” Steve and Lucas say it at the same time. 

“The song.” Eddie begins to hum the tune of happy birthday, conducting himself along with his index finger. “It was very quiet, but I heard it during the whole entire dream.”

Lucas has a skeptical look on his face. “So, you think we should… wait?”

“It’s a gut feeling.”

Lucas huffs, seems apprehensive about this idea. He’s been incredibly patient, more patient than Steve on his best days. But even the most tolerant individuals have boiling points. This might be his.

So Steve tries to intervene, uses his coach voice for good measure. “If Eddie says wait, then we wait.”

And that’s exactly what they do. 

They wait.

Day 76:

It’s the day before Max’s birthday. Steve hasn’t really left the hospital since Monday, too busy checking in on her and keeping Eddie stress-free, just in case he needs to lucid dream again. They’re doing that Inseparable Thing - that obnoxious clingy shit that lovesick people do. Is that what Steve’s experiencing? Lovesickness? Ugh, he needs to ask Sam if she can write a prescription for him - get the gooey feelings under control or whatever.

Lucas arrives with a box, probably the one he mentioned to them a couple days ago. Carefully, he pulls out a raggedy teddy bear.

“That’s the one!” Eddie almost chokes on his potato soup from the excitement. “That’s the bear from the dream!”

“It’s… falling apart.” Steve makes an unpleasant face.

“It’s well loved.” Lucas corrects him. “Clearly, this means a lot to Max.”

Steve gets up, starts pacing the room with a pestering thought. “Remember what El told us? About happy memories being stronger than the hateful ones?”

“George Lucas would eat that shit up.” Eddie replies.The name sounds familiar, but Steve doesn’t catch on. “I mean, come on. That’s very Dark Side versus The Force.”

Lucas high-fives Eddie. “Dude, you’re so right.”

“This is a Star Wars thing, right?” 

They both look at Steve like he just murdered their silly little nerd vibes.

“I’m gonna pretend like he just didn’t refer to Star Wars as a thing.” Eddie shudders. Lucas joins him the theatrics.

Steve rolls his eyes, recalls Eddie’s reaction to his dice collection. “Let me guess: it’s not a thing, Star Wars is phenomenon.”

“Pretty boy catches on fast.” Eddie winks, gives Steve a dark look that makes him think they’re gonna be up to some fairly vulgar stuff later.

“Steve might be onto something…” Lucas admits. Honestly, why is it so hard for people to admit that Steve has good ideas sometimes? “Maybe what she used against Vecna the first time wasn’t her happiest memory.” 

Steve studies the bear, examines its matted fur and the questionable stains on its overalls. Max must’ve had this for a long time, considering all the wear and tear. “Maybe this is connected to her happiest memory.”

Lucas nods. “She probably repressed a lot of her childhood, there was too much crazy bullshit going on with her family splitting up.” 

Eddie sighs, they both look up at his thoughtful expression. Deep, comtemplative eyes. “I bet some of her good memories may have been shoved aside with all of the bad memories she tries to avoid.” 

Of course Eddie can relate to memories getting shoved aside, hidden away whether he likes it or not. There’s pieces to this scenario that each one of them can link to their own past. It’s not surprising, but then again, not much surprises Steve anymore. 

He learned early on with all of this monster fuckery that the phrase common ground, gained its notoriety for a reason. It’s much more common than anyone thinks. Finding it, even amongst a group of clashing personalities, is easy. 

Common.

Lucas hides in Eddie’s room in order to stay past visiting hours. They plan on taking the back stairs to sneak into Max’s room just before midnight. Eddie suggests that just Steve and Lucas go - he doesn’t want anyone getting suspicious if he’s not in his bed.

Steve offers to stay with him, but Eddie is insistent. Stubborn. “You’ve gotta help Sinclair. Make sure he doesn’t royally fuck things up.”

They both know that’s bullshit. Out of the two of them, Steve is the fucker-upper. “What if you need help?”

“I’ve got Sam.” Eddie reminds him, places a quick kiss over Steve’s wrist. “And besides, I’ll just be sleeping. Nighttime meds usually knock me out cold.”

“Usually.”

“I’ll be fine, sweetheart.” Eddie speaks in the kindest register Steve has ever heard from him. It’s really nice. “I’ll be here when you get back.”

There’s an unwanted fear taking over Steve’s mind right now. A selfish fear.

“Remember me. Okay, Eddie?”

Eddie’s kind register doesn’t waver. “Okay, Steve.”

It’s almost midnight. Steve places the stuffed bear in the crook of Max’s right arm. Lucas slings her arm over it, keeping it secure. Eddie told them that’s the arm she holds it with in his dreams. Might as well be as accurate as possible with this.

They keep the conversation light while they wait for the clock to strike twelve. Little topics like how uncharacteristically warm it is for November and how no one has been able to conquer her Dig Dug high score at the arcade. Things like that.

“It’s almost showtime, Mayfield.” Steve leans in two minutes before midnight.

Lucas laughs, stroking her shoulder. “Still annoying that you’re older than me.”

“Oh, it shows.” Steve teases. “She’s more mature than both of us combined.”

“And she never lets us forget that either.”

“Never.”

Day 77:

The clock alerts them that it’s midnight. Both of them are holding their breath, staring hard down at Max. Watching. Waiting. Wishing for change.

A few minutes go by, but nothing happens. No difference whatsoever.

“Maybe it’ll take awhile.” Lucas says. Hope trembling in his voice.

Steve gives a half-smile. “Yeah. That could be it.”

An hour goes by.

And then another one.

By three, Steve stands up. Mainly to keep himself from falling asleep, but also, to give his nerves something to do.

“Witching hour.” Lucas states blankly. As if Steve is just supposed to know what the hell that is. Steve peers over and sees that Lucas isn’t talking to him. He’s talking to Max. “You love witching hour.”

“Is that right?”

Lucas nods. “She says it’s that time of night where her mind is most clear. Which I always found equally bizarre and cute.”

Steve chuckles, sits back down. “Why is that?”

“Witching hour is said to be the hour where ghosts and demons are most likely to… materialize.”

“Materialize?”

“Show themselves.”

The phone next to Max’s desk starts ringing as soon as those words leave Lucas’ mouth. Both of them jump in their seats, Steve’s pretty sure he mumbles something explicit and incoherent.

He picks it up so that Lucas doesn’t have to let go of Max’s hand. “Hello?”

“Just me.”

Steve sighs at the familiar voice. “Speaking of demons…”

Lucas whispers, ‘is it Eddie?’ And Steve nods, laughing a bit at the impeccable timing.

“Can’t keep your mind off me, huh?”

“Something like that.” Steve replies. “Is everything okay?”

“I saw something.” Eddie whispers. “Well, I heard something. She’s not up yet… is she?”

“Not yet, no.”

“You know the happy birthday tune I’ve been hearing?”

“Yeah?”

“It was louder tonight, more distinct.” Eddie states. “So I walked closer to Max, and it got even louder.”

“What does that mean?”

“I don’t know, man but I think… I think the song is inside the bear.”

Steve looks at the toy, tries to connect the dots. Not doing such a swell job. “You mean like a voice box or something?”

“Something like that, yeah.” Eddie yawns, the medicines must have really done him in tonight. “Just test out the theory and give me a call back, yeah?”

“Yeah, okay.”

“Good luck.”

“Sweet dreams.”

And the line clicks dead.

“What did he say?” Lucas jumps up, adrenaline must be kicking back in.

Steve heads toward Max’s bedside. “He thinks that song is coming from inside the bear. Does it have a button or anything?”

They carefully inspect the bear, without moving it from Max’s hold. Neither one of them notice anything resembling a button or a pull-string. Steve takes a step back, while Lucas continues to search. 

Before they left tonight, the position she needed to be in seemed weirdly important to Eddie. He made a big fuss about it, rambled for quite a long time:

‘It’s wrapped under her right arm, every damn time. Other things change, like her clothes or her hairstyle, but never her position. Always hugging that damn bear like it’s her long lost twin.’

“Hey, Sinclair. I might know what you can try.”

“I’m listening.”

Steve hopes this doesn’t come across stupid but… “I think you need to hug Max.” Okay. It sounds a little stupid, for sure. He tries to elaborate. “Well… hug Max and the bear. Eddie said she's always hugging it - that must be what’s making the song play.”

Steve bends down, pushes the green overalls to the side, just to check.

“No fucking way.” Lucas gasps, looking over Steve’s shoulder.

There it is. Right in the middle of the bear’s body, lays a red heart sticker. There’s words printed on it, but most of the lettering has faded away. Steve squints and thinks it might have said something like ‘press here.’ No way to know for sure though.

“Go ahead, Sinclair.” Steve motions for Lucas to take his place. “Hug the birthday girl.”

Lucas gulps, slowly switching spots with Steve. He glances back one more time, maybe for reassurance, which Steve gladly gives to him. Just a few pats on the back. Three times for three in the morning. The witching hour.

Max loves the witching hour.

He leans over, almost kneeling, and wraps Max into a gentle embrace. “Happy Birthday, Mad Max.” Lucas squeezes her lightly at first, then tighter. Nothing too tight, nothing that would undo all of her intricate wiring. But enough to make the song start playing.

The birthday melody is almost inaudible. The speaker inside the toy sounds extremely eroded, overused. Steve isn’t the biggest music expert, but even he can tell that it’s out of tune. All the notes are distorted and boxy. 

It’s playing though. It’s working that much.

Lucas doesn’t let go of Max the whole time. He keeps squeezing her and the bear. Steve stays incredibly still, not on purpose, just out of anticipation. Caution, too.

The last note plays out for a long time, much longer than it needs to. Steve almost wonders if it got jammed, but it eventually clicks off. Letting the room go silent. Just their heavy breathing, the air conditioning, and Max’s heart monitor.

Her heart monitor…

“Oh my god.” Steve hears it almost instantly. The change in pattern. A new tempo of beeps. Faster or maybe slowly or maybe it’s switching between the two, he’s not quite sure. But it’s definitely something…

Something new.

Almost a key change. Almost a song.

“Steve…” Lucas lifts up, keeping one hand over Max’s arm. “Something’s happening.”

The pattern changes again. It’s picking up the pace, becoming more lively.

Steve and Lucas both shift their focus to her face, her eyes. They’re still closed, but they’re moving now. They see all the rapid movements underneath her eyelids, causing her eyelashes to twitch, to flicker.

She’s still in there. She’s still in there and she’s responding.

“Get a nurse.” Lucas says urgently, never letting his focus leave Max’s face.

Steve rushes into the hallway, grabs the first nurse he can find. He’s not even sure if he forms a full sentence to her, just a jumbled mess of exclamations. But it must be enough to get his point across because she jumps into action. Pages the medical team on staff and makes a mad dash to Max’s bedside.

Within ten minutes, her room is swarmed with nurses and doctors. Her eyes begin to crack open, muscles working harder than they have in months. The monitor is getting stronger, steadier. Might be the best tonal-based arrangement Steve has ever heard in life. 

There’s a brief lull while the doctors add a few notes to her chart. Steve takes the opportunity to pull Lucas aside, tells him he’s going to fill Eddie in on the good news. Lucas is all smiles, waving Steve off. Steve is all smiles too as he jogs up the stairs.

Max is waking up, there’s no reason for any other expression to occupy his face at this time. Smiling is the only appearance that seems suitable for this sort of occasion.

That’s the philosophy circling Steve’s mind when he gets to Eddie’s room, and it immediately vanishes at the sight of Eddie sobbing in his bed.

“Oh my god, what’s wrong?” Steve hops onto the creaky edge, pulling his sweater sleeve over his hand to rub away all the tears and snot. It’s fucking gross, but Steve can’t process anything besides comfort right now. Gross shit is secondary to sadness.

But… Eddie’s not sad. He’s laughing. He’s still sobbing, but he’s laughing too. What the hell? Steve is fucking baffled.

Eddie grabs Steve’s drippy sleeves and waves his arms wildly before placing Steve’s hands over his tear-stained cheeks.

“It all came back,” Eddie chokes out, smiling through his sniffles. “All of it. Every last pesky memory.” He moves Steve’s hands from his cheeks to his temples. “It’s all right here, Steve. I remember it all.”

Oh. Oh fuck.

Steve keeps his hands there, bringing Eddie’s face forward to kiss him madly. His lips are extra wet, everything tastes a bit salty from all the teardrops. They’re kissing with the damn door still open, but fuck anyone who dares Steve to remove his lips from Eddie ‘Unabridged Edition’Munson.

They’re laughing and kissing and mopping up tears with mouths and tongues and Steve’s sleeve yet again. 

Steve brings their foreheads together, feels more powerful now that they’re on the same page, memory-wise. He’s fucking elated, can hear it every damn word he utters. “When? How? When? When?”

Eddie sniffs again, kisses the corner of Steve’s mouth. “A few minutes into the devil’s hour.”

“Is that different from the witching hour?”

“No, Stevie, they’re the same thing.” Eddie’s forehead wrinkles, his face is blotchy from all the crying. “Color me impressed that you know what the witching hour is.”

Steve gets up to shut the door, lock it, anything to avoid the explanation on how he just learned what the witching hour is - thanks to Max’s obsession with it. “Wait… shortly after you called me?”

“Not long after that, yeah.” Eddie finally blows his nose into an actual tissue this time. “I would’ve called, but I’ve been a blubbery mess ever since. It’s just…”

“Overwhelming?”

“Very. A fucking monsoon of emotions.”

Steve dries the last few tears off of Eddie’s face. “Do you think Max waking up helped unlock the rest of your memories?”

He recalls Eddie’s birdcage tattoo, rephrasing the question. “Like maybe, you were both trapped somewhere else? Somewhere less -”

“Less normal? Supernatural, maybe?”

Steve has flashbacks of red lightning bolts and floating ash particles everywhere. “Yeah. That.”

“Feels like it, yeah.” Eddie nods slowly, still processing probably. “Almost like we needed each other to shut down the whole system. Break free.”

“Escape.” Steve touches Eddie’s side, right where the tattoo is located.

“Exactly.” Eddie grins. “We escaped.”

“Fucking wow.”

“Couldn’t have said it better myself, Steve Harrington.”

Steve crosses his legs on the bed, fully facing Eddie. They stare at each other for a moment, before Eddie tackles Steve with a hug. He wraps his arms around Eddie’s waist, laughing at the abruptness. Not complaining though. Steve would never complain about receiving an Eddie Tackle Hug.

However, an unwanted fear, similar to the one he had last night, enters the forefront of his mind.

Eddie remembers everything now, even the bad shit. He probably remembers Steve being the ultimate shithead in high school. He also probably remembers Steve having a massive crush on Nancy Wheeler just a few months ago. 

Steve slips out of the hug, shrinking into his stupid fears. “Does this change anything?”

“Like what?”

“About…” Steve gestures over himself. Tries to play it off like it’s no big deal, but it is. Masking that is impossible.

“About you?” Eddie scoffs, taking Steve’s hand. He deliberately rubs his thumb over Steve’s left index finger, where Steve used to wear his class ring - the same one that’s sitting over Eddie’s chest, next to his guitar pick. 

“My naive little Stevie boy. You think that I, a mere mortal who used to wait around Starcourt Mall for hours to catch a glimpse of your impeccable backside, would just be over you like that? Please. Be serious.”

“Okay.” Steve un-shrinks himself, gets stuck in Eddie’s shimmery eyes because he can. “Just checking.”

“Well if you’re just checking, let me help you get a more thorough analysis.” Eddie is the one in Steve’s lap this time, tongue going straight down Steve’s throat. It’s fucking predatory, the way Eddie’s kissing him. Way too dirty right away. 

Minutes earlier, Eddie was bawling his eyes out and now he’s actively trying to tongue-fuck Steve in a goddamn hospital. Patients are probably coughing up blood two doors down, but here they are - panting and getting hard just from licking into each other’s mouths. It’s sick and demented, but so is all the bullshit they’ve put up with this year. 

An eye for an eye, or whatever those bearded proverbs say.

Steve keeps his hands gripped over Eddie’s hips, twisting at the material of his sweatpants. He knows that he’s being noisy now. Every time Eddie grinds the slightest bit over his thigh, he’s moaning, chanting Eddie’s name like a slutty hymn. If they don’t slow this the fuck down, Steve’s sweater won’t be the only damp article of clothing amongst them.

“Driving me crazy here, Munson.” Steve grits his teeth, stays as quiet as possible which somehow makes the pleasure hit harder when Eddie nibbles on his ear.

“Like you this way.” Eddie snarls, blows into Steve’s ear this time.

Steve does a full-body shiver, wants to fucking ride off of that motion, but no way. Not here. Not in the godforsaken medical inferno. Absolutely not. 

He releases his grip on Eddie’s sweatpants, cracking his knuckles. “Can we like… not let the first time we fuck be in a head trauma ward?”

“You mean to tell me you don’t find the smell of formaldehyde to be a turn-on?”

“Quite the opposite actually.”

Eddie tries to bribe Steve with massages so that he can stay in his lap. He promises to be on his best behavior, but Steve isn’t a complete moron. Eddie’s Best Behavior, is still naughty, still vulgar as all fuck.

He makes a big scene out of it, collapsing onto his pillows, complaining how cold he is to no longer be in the arms of a ‘real man.’

Such a weirdo. Steve loves it.

“Do you want this back?” Eddie flips Steve’s ring over the chain around his neck.

Steve shrugs, shaking his head. “You should keep it.”

Eddie continues to fiddle with the chain. His shoulders drop, settling into their natural position. “But you don’t need the visual indicator anymore. I’m not gonna forget.”

They can say that word now. Forget. It no longer holds the same power over them. 

“I know you won’t.” Steve stops Eddie’s fidgety fingers from clanking the ring against the chain anymore. He keeps their hands pressed together, resting on top of their two charms. 

“I want you to wear it to remember instead.”

One month later…

Unlike the weirdly warm November, Hawkins is having a freakishly cold December. Steve dresses in layers to begin, but the extra-puffy jackets and hair-flattening beanies are concealing some of his best assets.

This wouldn’t be such a mega bummer, except it’s Eddie’s first day out of the hospital. So Steve is losing his shit that this is how Eddie is going to see him for the first time in months. Out in the wild. On a fucking date.

A real date, not a hospital-adaptation of a date. A real one. One that Eddie insisted on planning out entirely, start to finish. Refusing to tell Steve a goddamn detail about it.

They’re meeting in the Hawkins High School parking lot, right after sunset. Eddie is celebrating his homecoming with Wayne during the day, before his shift at the plant. Steve keeps the heat on when he parks, mainly because he’s expecting Eddie to be fashionably late. The guy’s never been known for his punctuality, neither has Steve though.

Steve listens to three and a half songs on the radio by the times Eddie’s van screeches into the parking lot, braking way too fucking close to Steve’s car. Several months in a hospital bed has made his already dismal driving skills even worse. He turns down the radio and watches Eddie slip out of his van. 

It’s dazzling, seeing Eddie outside, back in his preferred attire. Steve feels dazzled. One time, Steve spotted Ralph Macchio on the sidewalks of Indianapolis, was totally starstruck by him.

Eddie Munson has the same effect, only much much better. Cause Steve gets to kiss Eddie and mark up his neck like he’s a fucking coloring book.

Eddie thumps his row of silvery rings on the window, breaking Steve’s dazzle-induced trance. Steve smiles, rolls the window down halfway.

“Cold much?” Eddie grimaces at Steve’s heavy coat. Immediately knocks off his stupid beanie.

“It’s the middle of winter.”

“Guess I’ll need to warm you up then.” Eddie unzips a small portion of Steve’s jacket. “Get you out of these ridiculous clothes.” He sticks his cold fucking hand into Steve’s shirt, against his bare chest.

“Jesus!” It’s so cold that Steve’s teeth start chattering at the contact. “See - I think you’re just using the weather as an excuse to get me naked.”

“I’m always looking for a reason to get you naked.”

Steve rolls the window down the rest of the way. “Well the joke’s on you then, babe. You don’t need a reason.”

“No?”

“Nope. I’m a sure thing.” Steve kisses him, gets his hand on his leather jacket, decides right away that he likes this material way more than the gauzy cotton on those hospital gowns.

Eddie playfully chomps at the tip of Steve’ nose, a weird little habit he’s formed over the last month. It never fails to make Steve snort with laughter. “That sounds a lot like something a hometown slut would say.”

“The one and only.”

As soon as Eddie gets in the car, he’s begging to drive it to the secret date location. Steve would rather gnaw off his non-dominant hand than let Eddie Munson drive his precious baby around town. He’s crazy about the guy but not that crazy.

“Just give me the directions and I’ll drive us there.”

“No fun.” Eddie stomps the floorboard. 

Steve clicks his fingernails over the buckle on Eddie’s belt. “I think I’m very fun.”

“Fucking drive, you tease.” Eddie groans, reluctantly moves Steve’s hand back to the steering wheel.

It doesn’t take long for Steve to figure out where Eddie is taking them, Steve catches on after the second left turn. 

“The library?” Steve questions at the stoplight. “It’s past six, there’s no fucking way the library will be open.” Besides, why the fuck would he want to go on a study date with a guy painted in leather?

Eddie doesn’t respond, just keeps navigating and humming along to whatever Billy Idol song is playing on the radio.

Steve parks in the corner of the library lot, just in case this is all a ploy to get them somewhere dark and alone. Eddie might just want secluded car sex, and Steve would not complain at all if that’s the big surprise. 

Clearly that’s not the surprise, because Eddie skips to the front doors, messing around with the lock.

Steve hurries after him. “You wanna get us arrested on our first real date? That’s your idea of romance?”

“I’ve been in white-walled prison for the last seven months.” Eddie takes the bobby pin that’s in between his wicked grin, jiggles it into the lock a few times, gets it open with ease. “Let me earn my troublemaker title back, okay?”

He spits the bobby pin onto the ground and swings open the door. Steve doesn’t know why his thigh muscles clench at the aggressive spitting action, but fuck, it happens. Definitely not an innocent reflex, that’s for damn sure.

Once inside, Eddie takes Steve’s hand, guides him through a maze of bookshelves. If Steve had been a brighter pupil in school, he may know where they are headed, what section they will end up at. But he skimmed through most classes, only gave his full attention to the subjects that piqued his interest (which weren't many, especially not ones of practical use). 

“Here.” Eddie motions down to an aisle with empty shelves. There’s three books stacked together at the end of the corridor, along with a few candles. There’s probably some unspoken law amongst librarians that candles should never cross the threshold of library, although Steve doubts Eddie gives a fuck about library laws - or any legal system for that matter. 

It’s dark and warm, streams of smoke coming off the illegal candlelight. Steve takes a few steps closer to examine the books under the dim flames. Reads each title on the bindings.

“You didn’t.” Steve peers over at Eddie.

“I sure did.”

They’re Eddie’s literary references, the ones used to describe his varying moods in the hospital. Taming of the Shrew, Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde, andBeowulf.

“What the hell did you do with all the other books?”

Eddie shrugs, slides his hands into his front pockets. “They’re safe.”

Fucking suspicious. “That’s not reassuring at all.”

“It's not?” Eddie invades Steve’s space. “This isn't reassuring?”

Eddie kisses Steve’s neck, pulls him in by the waist. Steve peels off his stupid puffy jacket so goddamn fast. He naturally lets his arms drape over Eddie’s shoulders, allows himself to get dizzy in his heated touch, soft lips. His hands meet at the base of Eddie’s neck, clawing all up his scalp. Steve can feel Eddie’s muscles tighten, exhaling into the kisses across Steve’s collarbone.

“So, what am I today?” Eddie whispers.

“Hmm?” Steve’s listening abilities are hazy from the wandering touches. Not comprehending thoughts so well anymore. Not like this.

“Kathy?” Eddie pecks Steve’s left cheek. “Hyde?” Then his right. “Grendel?” Then the bridge of Steve’s nose, before biting it like he always does now.

Steve feels seduced - at least, he thinks this is what seduction feels like. Usually he’s the one doing the whole Mrs. Robinson routine, he’s not used to being Dustin Hoffman in the seduction scenario.

He trudges through the dreamlike fog that Eddie has constructed in his mind, finds a way to reclaim sobriety in this moment.

“Which one is it?”

“How about…” Steve takes a deep breath. Kisses Eddie on the lips and pulls away. “How about boyfriend?”

Eddie’s nails dig into Steve’s back, clutching way too hard.

“Would that title work?” Steve asks, only a small inkling of doubt seeping into his confidence. 

Eddie stops digging, his forehead un-wrinkles, his gaze becomes gentle. He takes Steve’s hands into his own, just dangling between them and finally smiles.

“Boyfriend works.” Eddie answers - the smile turns into a dopey grin. “As long as you’re cool with sharing titles.”

Steve looks at Eddie’s chain necklace and nods. “Sure. We can share.”

They stay like this for a while, Steve only notices the passage of time from the dripping wax over the candles. The flame is getting weaker, the room is getting darker. They stay the same. They stay grounded. Steve’s not in any rush to move or stop spewing mushy nonsense back and forth with Eddie, but he’s aware. He’s aware that the rest of the world is keeping a schedule, while they quietly riot against Time altogether.

Eddie is the one that eventually breaks the frozen moment. “We haven’t seen my favorite section of the library yet.”

“Oh really?” Steve’s voice is rich and buttery from the pure swooning he’s been doing all evening. “Are you planning to burn that section down with your pyromaniac tendencies as well?”

“You’ll just have to see for yourself.” Eddie blows out the candles and starts dragging Steve away once again.

They jog up two flights of stairs, race to the fire exit, and wind up at a sketchy looking ladder. Eddie doesn’t hesitate, starts climbing, skipping every other wrung.

“What the living hell, Munson?” Steve doesn’t even know why he’s whisper-screaming, but he is.

Eddie bangs his fist at the top, cracking open the square-ish door on the ceiling. He looks back down at Steve with a crazed expression. “Don’t tell me you’re scared of heights.”

“No, just…” Confused. Steve’s often in a state of confusion though, so what’s fucking new? “Out of the way. Coming up.” 

Eddie hoists himself up and disappears. Steve lets out a string of swears, still whisper-screaming as he climbs. When he gets to the top of the roof, he sees Eddie sitting directly in the center. He’s looking up at the stars, seems happy. Seems alive. Free.

There’s a grocery bag beside him, rustling in the night breeze. Steve smooths out his jeans and joins Eddie on the ground. Or roof. Roof-ground. Whatever the fuck people call it.

Steve is about to snoop through the bag, when Eddie grabs something from behind his back, cradles it against his chest. “This is my favorite book. Right here.”

Steve squints his eyes, but it’s hard to see the binding in the dark. “The Hobbit?”

“No.” Eddie leans in for a quick kiss. “But it’s so fucking sexy that you’d guess that.”

He holds the book flat out in both palms, offering it to Steve, who realizes it’s not a book at all. It’s a binder.

Eddie’s Memory Log binder.

“Did you…” Steve takes the binder, trembles from his sudden nerves. “Did you read this?”

“Every page.”

Fuck. Steve is fully embarrassed now. Yes, Eddie has seen him writing shit down in this for months, but parts of it are personal. Some pages are less about the notes, and more about how Eddie made Steve feel. It’s like someone just told Steve they published his goddamn diary (which he does not have a diary, fucking gross).

“I actually added some notes.” Eddie flips the cover open. “You should take a look.”

On the first page, next to this bullet:

Eddie doesn’t remember he has a sense of humor.

Eddie has scribbled in tiny lettering:

Not true - you’re just not as funny as you think you are, Steve Harrington.

Next to this note of Day 5:

Eddie remembers Grease? (Of all the movies Steve thought this guy would reference… Grease? Is it the leather? Hm.)

Eddie had added:

First of all, I will poison your stupid grape sodas if you ever tell anybody I like Grease. And second… of course, it’s the leather. And Frenchie is comedy GOLD, obviously.

On Steve’s corner-note on Day 38 that says:

Eddie notices Steve’s ass…

Eddie has edited to say:

Eddie notices touched Steve’s ass…(as of Day 72. Put in the history books, folks. Teach the kiddies about this in schools across America).

There’s so many random notes, Eddie manages to fit them on the busiest of progress days. Steve flips further along before Eddie stops him, picks out a specific page.

Day 66.

The day where Steve stapled Eddie’s card to the page.

The day where Steve wrote this:

Robin was right. Definitely think I’m falling for him.

Eddie has added his note underneath, in dark red ink:

That’s good. Because he’s definitely falling for you too.

Steve looks up, almost gets a head rush from moving so fast. Eddie seems nervous too. For once in his life, he seems to be reconsidering his boldness.

“Are my rewrites okay?” Eddie snags the binder back, sets it to the side so he can scoot in closer.

“Hell yeah.” Steve closes the gap, leans in for another kiss.

“Good. Because now I have bad news.”

“What?”

“I lied. I didn’t get back from the hospital today.” 

Steve’s stomach drops. “You didn’t?”

“I got back yesterday.”

“Why would you lie about that?”

“So I could get this done and surprise you.” Eddie lifts his leather jacket and undershirt to reveal his side, his rib cage. He still has some bandages from the hospital in certain areas. However, Eddie has clear wrapping in one spot. Steve bends forward to examine the markings.

It’s a tattoo. A bird tattoo, the bird on the opposite side of the broken cage, escaping its enclosure. Free like Eddie. It’s the same one he planned on getting after graduation. But… he didn’t graduate. Not necessarily.

“Felt like I still deserved to get it, ya know?” Eddie says, shaking a bit from the cold. “After all, I did escape death… and that damn hospital room. It still works.”

Steve nods, fights the urge to touch it because he knows it’s probably still sore. “What kind of bird is it?”

“A canary.”

Steve studies the tattoo even closer, a sideways smirk creeps up on his face. “Is it… yellow?”

“Yeah, yeah.” Eddie quickly lowers his shirt and jacket back down. “But the least vomit-inducing yellow they had available.”

“Did you get this bird for me?” 

“Absolutely not.” Eddie says, very defensive. “I’m not a trashy white girl who drunkenly gets a tattoo at her bachelorette party.” 

“Got it.”

Eddie pauses, hesitates. “You may have helped inspire the color choice though.”

“I see.” Steve is so fucking glad that it’s dark outside because he knows he’s flushed. Can feel the blood spreading all over his face.

“Do you like it?”

“I love it.” Steve is able to say it this time. Means it. “I love you.”

“I love you too.” Eddie grabs Steve’s hand, kisses the spot where his class ring used to reside. “Would be a complete idiot not to fall in love with you, Steve Harrington.”

Saying it isn’t terrifying. Hearing it isn’t alarming his flight senses. All the usual declaration jitters have departed. Packed up and left town. 

Maybe it’s because there’s a clarity over their relationship that Steve has never had before. A clarity that is only obtained by coming face-to-face with Death so many times. Eddie is alive, Max is awake. Why would three little words scare Steve when he almost lost them both?

And besides, Eddie isn’t going to forget that he’s in love with Steve. That Steve loves him back. That’s no longer something they have to worry about either. Yeah, the world may be an apocalyptic fuckshow, but Eddie’s memory is sublime. Never forgets a goddamn thing anymore.

Looks like Steve’s wish came true in that regard. He really is un-fucking-forgettable.

“What’s in the bag?” Steve takes a peak, can’t see shit in the dark though.

“Our dinner.”

“You made me dinner?” Steve isn’t sure how he’ll politely decline Eddie’s food. He may have fought monsters with homemade weapons, but he’s certainly not brave enough to eat something prepared by a dude that considers Vienna sausages to be gourmet.

“I bought dinner.”

Thank god. 

“What’s on the menu?”

“For me? Lo mein. For you…” Eddie pulls out two separate containers and winks. “Kung Pao Chicken.”

Steve smiles, positively beams at his boyfriend. He takes the container and plastic silverware, digs right in. He takes a big bite, watches Eddie’s goofy, lovestruck expression while he chews.

“What do you think?” Eddie seems eager for his approval.

Steve doesn’t keep him waiting. He swallows his bite and answers Eddie the same way he did many months ago. “Excellent choice.”

“The food?”

“The food, the date, the guy.” Steve reaches out to hold Eddie’s hand, knotting their fingers together. Once a gesture of helpless support. Now meaning exactly what Steve says out loud:

“Everything.”

It means absolutely everything.

💌 The End 💌

[eldritch-vibe]

one of these days I'm going to write a hypnos fic about how people are seen as worthless if they are unable to work and how a culture and society that perpetrates the valuing of people exclusively based on how much they can produce can make such people who are unable to work and hold steady jobs isolated from even the most well meaning friends, family, acquaintances because as they are unable to work they are seen as lesser and pitiable. I'll make him cry. he's going to have a bad time. I might make him go into a coma and nothing changes without him. will it have a happy ending? who knows! not me....

[pinkeoni]

It is a little fascinating that there are certain fans who view Will through a strict lens (either as a “weak” crybaby or as a potential villain) which reflects how people of Hawkins percieve Will in show (either as a weak “fairy” or as a predatory “zombie boy”)

[desultory-novice]

"Apologies AU" Summary Part 1

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Long, long ago, Earth experienced a radical climate shift that meant within as little as two generations, the planet would no longer be habitable for humans. A desperate humanity sought a new home for themselves and their progeny, eventually discovering the perfect place to start over, a planet they dubbed "The New World."

The New World was to be more than humanity's second chance at life. It would be an ideal society: all of humankind's greatness and triumph built side by side with nature, so the problems of the old world would not follow. Humanity began migrating in waves, the most privileged and wealthy and their loyalists first, of course.

Eventually, everyone would get a new lease on life.

Yes... surely...

One day, upon this fresh new world an alien life form crashed. Mysterious. Powerful. Dangerous. Also weak. Too weak to evade capture. And soon...life began to change. The people of The New World slowly turned their eyes away from those they'd left behind in their ugly past, their gaze fixed on a dream-like future. Advancement. Progress. Technology akin-to-magic. A galaxy of possibilities.

It could be theirs. It would be theirs. At any cost. Those in power would make sure of it.

Animal experiments... Human experiments...

Among these experiments was a woman with a voice so beautiful hearing her was to feel like your greatest Dream had come true...  She would fall in love with a man with a Heart so great he left his home to try and return this troubled species to the right path...

...From their union, two children would be born. 

The eldest, a boy, bore great Darkness within him. The abstract nature of his gifts proved of small interest to Lab Discovera at first, and he was tentatively returned to the care of his parents.

The second, a little girl, was a powerful vessel for Soul matter. The ability to create life, not just manipulate it. To bring something into being from nothing.

She, they wanted desperately! For they did not see a child or even a living creature, but a tool from which they could wrest their desired future of absolute control. The wielders of Dream and Heart would not hear of sacrificing their progeny for these twisted goals!

Considered fugitives from The New World for fleeing with precious "experimental equipment" they hid themselves the only place they thought safe: Old Earth, now little more than a dumping ground for exiles and failed or "disappointing" experiments, often sent down as trinkets to pacify the urban warlords who ruled over the depressed, powerless survivors of this slowly collapsing society.

The family of four lived as best as they could in the increasingly cold and harsh modern wasteland, seen as traitors to their neighbors for having worked closely with Old Earth's privileged oppressors. The children were able to avoid capture, at least.

But their parents would not live to see them grow up...

--

It is the beginning of summer, the only time of the year on "Shiver Star" where it is warm enough to be outdoors for most of the day. The planet awakens from another three season long hibernation...

Adeleine and Noir Fontaine are orphaned siblings, two young kids in their early and mid-teens just trying to survive amongst a tired and deeply bitter populace who knows that they, for one reason or another, are the ones humanity has chosen to die while the rest migrated to the bounteous and rich future of The New World.

Only Noir is old enough and wise enough to fully grasp that no matter how hard they pretend otherwise, there's no long-term survival for the two of them. And god knows, the day-to-day is hard enough.

Still, the two make it work. They thrive, even, due to Noir's endless tenacity and strong desire to save his little sister from the crushing despair he feels, even if he can save her no other way.

With society opening up again, the two quickly find themselves reunited with their childhood friend of several years. It is a happy reunion for Adeleine and an awkward one for Noir. Though even he can't help but admit, having Raquelle around makes the weight on his shoulders feel a little more bearable. Even if the slightly older girl's good-natured teasing flusters him in a complex way...

Still, they could have gone on like this together for many years, the three of them. Until the snow forgot how to melt and all life fell into a gentle sleep, buried under the white drifts. They could have.

...They could have but...

One fateful day, Adeleine's art supplies, her only personal treasure, are ruined beyond repair by people who did not care for their warm-hearted escapism. Alone, Noir follows a secret hunch and sneaks into the Museum of New World Technology, a wrecked and abandoned building formerly used to host hundreds of the broken and often dangerous tchotchkes left behind by the New World.

He finds just what he was looking for amongst the looted remains of this experimental display of new world glitz – the perfect gift for his sister. A "magical" paintbrush that ensures she will always have the tools to do what she loves. Adeleine now finds herself slowly able to bring her yet unrefined art to a fantastical new level!

While they start out as little more than animated sketches, she will in time learn to tap into powers deep within herself, powers as natural to her as breathing, to bring real items, even food, into being.

Noir finds a gift for himself as well. A sword with a strange dark aura. It speaks to him. To his soul. Anxiety. Dread. Anger. Negative emotions that Noir had been able to push aside for most of his troubled life with seemingly endless patience and resilience.

It tempts him: a weapon that does not require strength nor training to use, and effortlessly concealable as something no more noticeable than a chain necklace he can hide beneath the scarf he always has on him. Before he knows what he is doing, he has donned it.

Their summer takes a dramatic turn for the better. Long days of magic-fueled safety and silliness sponsored by "dream-like" technology. Adeleine continues to hone her skills. Noir trains with his gift as well and the inexplicable powers it grants him. He plays with being a hero, disappearing night after night to hunt "monsters."

...But this isn't a story about a hero...

Noir is disappearing more and more lately. He's tense. Frightened of something lurking just over his shoulder. He never takes his scarf off now, and he's begun to wear gloves over his hands, even inside.

One day, he reports to Adeleine that he and Raquelle had a bad fight; that she said she never wants to see him again. Adeleine, seeing the changes in her brother as a sign Noir's been deeply hurt by this experience, loyally sides with him and gives up her oldest friendship...

And so, things go back to normal for the two Adeleine...

What she cannot see is that Noir's hands and neck have begun to turn dark and withered; it is almost as if something other than blood is starting to run through his veins. Underneath his scarf, the chain necklace that gave him control over the dark sword has transformed into a collar he can neither remove nor destroy. His attempts to do so cause the sword under "his" control to attack him, violently.

Frightened, he manages to contact an exiled New World scientist, a man with a shattered mind who informs Noir of the horrible secret behind The New World's precious "miracle." That their wondrous advancements all stemmed from the extensive torture of an alien life form, a powerful psychic who even now, a planet away, is able to toy with the fates of those who gorged themselves on Forgo's pain.

Worse than the knowledge of what this information might mean for him is the realization that he has cursed his little sister to the same terrible end as he. Noir runs to her, frantic! Perhaps it is not too late! There may still be time to take it back!

Please!! Not Adeleine too...!!

And yet...

...She is fine! To his great relief! Adeleine shows no signs of the frightening, irreversible transformation he is seemingly undergoing!

Indeed, she hasn't changed one bit since her gift...

Time passes for the siblings. Slowly and quickly. Noir becomes desperate to continue to conceal and somehow free himself of his "gift." For if he were to die now, what would happen to his sister? She has no one left. But her joy at her growing abilities only makes his guilt worse. And negativity speeds along the change...

Realizing at long last that the fragile life he wishes he could return to is now forever out of reach, that he was the one who destroyed it, and that the monstrous transformation he is going through can only end in harming Adeleine as well, Noir makes a decision...

There is no escape for him. But Adeleine will be free.

At any cost.

Noir touches his sleeping sister's cheek with a hand she would recoil from if she knew what her "hero" has done and disappears into the night one last time...

Days later, Noir and Adeleine arrive at the spaceport. He has come along to bid her goodbye. He tells her not to worry. That he will follow once his paperwork is all sorted out. Unable to fully disguise his intentions, he smiles with tears in his eyes and begs her to be happy.

Happy enough...for the both of them...

Only he knows this is the last time they will meet in this form.

After she departs, Noir walks out into the snow, alone. The distant eye that had been closely watching the child born to Darkness from afar for years, that had begun to lurk inside him since he took the Dark Matter Blade, that sunk its claws into its prey for good the moment his unstoppable resilience finally slipped and he allowed himself, in his fear, to murder his best friend and consign her soul - along with the others he killed - to be enslaved to the darkness too, bursts forth, consuming his physical body.

His last thoughts are not for his own fate. He knows what he deserves.

No. They are for she whom he always thought of first. To the one he had given up everything for and knew, deep inside, he would give up his life for as well, the moment she gave him that scarf...

-

"Was I a good brother... Adeleine...?"

-

[Apologies AU Masterpost] [Noir's Field Trip Masterpost]

[cyndaquillt]

Briefly taking a break from mourning the end of the 73rd Demon Realm to appreciate Sing-Shong's use of pov in storytelling. KDJ's 'death' somehow hit harder/different at the hands of the outer god when seen from Jung Heewon's perspective and I realized, that despite him dying multiple times so far and despite reading about his companions' pain during those times, I didn't feel a trauma of this level because I was still reading through KDJ's perspective. He always has a card up his sleeve and getting an in into his mind eases some tension for me as a reader. The third floor of the demon castle was particularly stressful because 1) it hadn't appeared in the TWSA that KDJ had read so we couldn't be so sure of what he was gonna do, 2) 'Fate' was built up to be this inevitable thing that despite believing KDJ would have something up his sleeve, it was mostly unknown as to what would happen when Fate gets realized. I felt a dread of the unknown and pain for the people KDJ was leaving behind.

With the Outer God moving in to devour the 73rd Realm and reading it through Jung Heewon's perspective, I genuinely felt trauma. Despite there being foreshadowing of what he would do, I was genuinely not sure if KDJ did have anything up his sleeve this time. And this strong, even footing that reading from KDJ's pov had provided me so far was turned into a bumpy ride in a just a few chapters with HSY's pov of her nightmares and LSY's fortune telling, Breaking the Sky Sword Saint and Kyrgios' pov of their inability as transcendents to deal with the Outer God, and finally, the nail in the coffin was JHW's pov that really conveyed the helplessness Kimcom feels every single time KDJ chooses to sacrifice himself alone. It's never 'Oh he's dying again, he'll probably come back. Get used to it'. It's experiencing the death of a dear friend right in front of your eyes again and again and again in excruciating ways. And each time you think, "I'll save him next time" or "I'll be there to die with him next time" or "I'll protect him so that he never has to do it again" and each time that chance is robbed from you as you helplessly watch him die and leave you behind. That trauma adds up and it scars, you never get used to it and JHW's pov conveys that impeccably.

Then we flip back to KDJ's perspective and Secretive Plotter asking him about all the worlds he couldn't save. And KDJ meeting 1863rd round YJH and recalling his middle school years and making notes in the back of his notebook about how he would change YJH's story if TWSA became real and then realizing 1863rd YJH would be hopeless. KDJ also helplessly watched/read/experienced as YJH died and lived countless lives. He didn't have the luxury of thinking "I'll save him next time" or "I'll be there to die with him next time" or "I'll protect him so that he never has to do it again" because YJH was a fictional character and a "Fourth Wall" (heh) does protect him from that level of excessive immersion as a reader. But now that TWSA is very very real KDJ can save him, protect him, die with him, etc. But in the course of it all, he makes his friends, including YJH, experience all the pain and trauma of seeing their friend die time and time again while he continues to save YJH the pain of countless deaths.

Really masterful sequences of pov switching to build this broader picture of KDJ's sacrifice and what it means.

[brynnmclean]

saw a post questioning shipping Senua and Thórgestr and started to reblog it with a tag novel-- felt weird about doing that since this is lengthy and potentially derailing, so making my own post instead. Spitballing under the cut:

First off, any time someone is like, "the real reason people ship this is because they find the dude attractive," this is SO funny to me as someone who doesn't find men attractive IRL and has fiercely loved Senua since I played the first game, like-- actually I find the dynamic between those two characters to be compelling and interesting precisely because of all the baggage between them re: their backgrounds, the rough (put mildly!) beginning of their relationship, all the things they don't talk about, and them finding a common enemy/common ground to work with. The explicit parallels between them stated in-game scratched an itch in my brain. The minute they pointed out the dark rot on his arm, it was like, "oh! hello there! NOW I'm interested in whatever your whole deal is" for me. Also, idk man, I too would follow Senua around after she knocked me into the dirt and then showed me a way to fight the giants that I very much wanted to fight instead of appease.

The idea that Thórgestr was part of the Orkney Raid that killed and mutilated Dillion is VERY interesting food for thought, even if I don't personally have that headcanon (surely there are more viking raiding groups than just the Bjorg). I think the Furies or the Shadow said something similar about Fargrimr (his kin murdered yours, you shouldn't save him, etc.) so I completely get that line of thought, but I think the game left it ambiguous enough that it's up for interpretation. Would I read fic with that premise? Yeah, I'd check that out. Could Senua forgive Thorgestr if his people were involved? Sounds fun to explore.

If (ha, when?) I write fic, I'd have to think more about it especially wrt timelines, like when did the Bjorg start specifically raiding for slaves for giant food sacrifices vs. killing people for resources and wealth? How far off are we from the old gods "dying" and the volcano erupting? Was it indeed a different group of raiders who made a deal with Zynbel, attacked Senua's home, and made the sacrifice at that time to Hela?

At the very least, I think there's a time jump between the end of Hellblade I and the beginning of Hellblade II since Senua wasn't alone on that slave ship and at least one of the (brief) survivors knew her by name. I wouldn't mind exploring that gap of time, too.

In any case I do agree that it would take a VERY long time for Senua to consciously catch feelings for anyone let alone Thorgestr with all their collective baggage. The idea of them having a relationship beyond friendship in the far off future of an AU where he survives is the only one that can make sense in my brain, personally. It would take time! Time they didn't get in the game! But I think there are a lot of different roads that could take, and some of them might be healthier than others. Shipping them certainly isn't forgetting or excusing what happened to Dillion-- or even mutually exclusive from still shipping Senua and Dillion. Or, frankly, also shipping Senua and Astridr, because I can see that ship too.

One of the nice things about all the details Ninja Theory didn't expand upon and that they left that ending so open is that the sky's the limit. I'm VERY interested in seeing fandom tackle this game as we get farther from the initial release.

[cordeliawhohung]

sighs.

in limbo chapter out tomorrow <3

[gurathins]

toby + drastic!

YEAA ‼️ have a drawing too (also found here)

Summary: As one of its attempts to disturb the doomed project, Tobias hides very important information regarding it behind a passcode only it knows. Without the data, there is no way Samuel could continue the project. But what Toby forgot is that despite everything, the man was chosen to lead the project because of his ability to always get what he wants.

Captured, Tobias tries to survive for as long as it can, or at least to wait for a perfect opportunity to escape.

Warnings: blood, violence, death, (mild) torture, injuries

----

"You're surprisingly strong," the guard, Amanda, murmured into Tobias's face, "for some lab loser."

It smirked slightly, looking into her eyes, and spat blood at her face. "Gee, thanks, trying my best here. First time for everything, am I right," it giggled, ignoring the pain in its right side.

A cracked rib, possibly. Tobias tried to think when was the last time it had one. Possibly back when it was still figure skating?

It wasn't as annoying as the guilt in its head, feeling deeply bad about its actions. It wasn't like this, why the fuck would it do this?

Amanda stepped back, almost tripping over a cable behind her, shaking her head. "You little bitch, you-" she tried to reach for the tissue box on the table, but it kept sliding away from her bloody hands. Another guard, Robert, came closer, took out several tissues and wiped her face. She thanked him, grabbed the box and threw it towards Tobias, missing its face only a few centimeters.

It tried to keep its expression as calm as possible, despite the feeling in its stomach, and the heart beats so loud it thought the others could hear if they were close enough.

Tobias knew what they want, what Samuel wants.

It could just say it and have the whole thing end. Not suffer more and more until Samuel could finally get what he wants, or until-

It groaned at the impact of Robert's fist into its cheek.

"You think you're funny?" Amanda said loudly, gesturing the guard to hit again, "The only thing you are is annoying."

Tobias looked at her. "You know, you're probably the only one who has said that to my face."

It knew how desperate its actions were, and how they were based on a pathetic little hope it had that someone could maybe get here in time, to save it from all of this.

And if drastic, unusual behavior was what could let it hold on until that, then it really didn't see another choice.

It's not like Tobias wanted to give up and just tell everything to these fucking corporates, either.

The idea of the project being continued and reaching the next stage Samuel has planned made him feel even more sick than whatever was happening now.

"What are you doing?" Samuel's voice rang across the room, making both guards quickly turn to the door.

"Katz is acting brave," Robert began and pointed at Amanda, "and she's taking it a bit too personally."

"Too personally? Fucker spit into my face-"

Samuel sighed. "And why would it do that?"

"She decided to annoy it, I guess."

Another sigh. Samuel rubbed his chin and gave a sign with his hand. Robert turned to Amanda and shot her in face.

"What the fuck?" Tobias flinched in its chair as the body fell right next to it. "You're killing your own people now??"

"You know what's good about being in an actual lab?" Samuel said calmly, taking a few steps towards it. "The local cleaning nanobots do an incredible job. I don't know why you ever bothered to clean things by yourself."

"Wh-"

"Robert, could you please help Dr. Katz get up on its feet? I'd love to show Toby something."

The guard grabbed its shoulders and jerked it up. "Come on now, doctor."

Tobias tried to take a step, winced at the pain in its knee and fell down on the floor.

"Now, now, no drastic movements, and no smart-in-your-opinion remarks. Our friend here," Samuel glanced at his guard, "has a twitchy finger."

"Good for him," Tobias muttered while getting up slowly. It tried to stand up properly, only to wince at the pain again, "though it does sound like something he should get checked out," it added. The guard groaned and shoved him a little, not enough to make him fall but enough for the scientist to let out a surprised yet exhausted gasp.

"I warned you, Toby."

"Oh, fuck off, will you. Frankly, I doubt you'll let him blow my brains out before I tell you what you want," it smirked, "by the way, how are you going to do it? Doubt your little trick you used for Erin will work this time."

"They were more...cooperative...than you, yes."

"Didn't know turning one's back to you and getting shot counts as cooperating nowadays."

"Well, aren't you smart," Samuel said, "Robert, help our chemist walk, will you?"

The guard nodded, wrapping his arm around its shoulders.

"Where are we going?"

"Observation hall," he glanced at Tobias, "That's what you and others called it, right? Because whoever walked there could see what's happening in main lab?"

Tobias nodded slowly. "Mmhmm."

"It's good to hear office rumors every now and then."

"That the only reason you stopped by the break room?"

"Of course! I had an espresso machine in my office. It's much better than whatever you had from that coffee machine. I decided to take a sip once, it was a big mistake. But it also showed the reason why I always saw you with a latte from a neighbor cafe," he smirked, "How do you and your wife divide the cost of your little 'lunch meetings'? I know for sure she has a higher salary than you."

"That's none of your business."

"Hey, you two did meet up during work time."

"Fuck off, will you?"

"Sure, sure," Samuel stopped and rose his arms, "Ah! We're here. Now, you said this plan of yours, journalists and internal investigations, was all yours, right? No one else is involved?"

What the fuck is he doing? Tobias thought. "Yes. Why the hell would I endanger someone else's life? Do I look like an idiot?"

"Well, okay," he gestured to join him by the window, "Then what was she doing in the servers?"

Robert pushed it towards the window and stepped away. Tobias took a small step, leaned on the rail and looked down. A blonde woman, sitting on a chair, another guard standing next to her, aggressively asking questions. "Wh- Lydia?"

"Yes, your assistant. You sound surprised, interesting..." Tobias felt him standing right behind itself, watching over its shoulder. "Funny, I could swear that she was doing all this because of you. Though, of course, in a way, she is following your opinions."

"Wh- what do you mean?"

"Oh, you know. You being against my decision probably drove her to go destroy all the data we have."

"She was doing what?"

"You heard me, Toby. Funny thing, if you would've been behind it, I would've let her go. But, now-"

"Wait, wait, wait!" Tobias turned to him and grabbed his jacket, "Don't do it, I beg you, she's just doing what she thinks is right. She's just young. Who isn't acting foolish when they're young?" It shook his shoulders. "Come on now, please."

"Bargaining, are you?" He stared at Tobias and pointed at the window. "Do you have something to do with this?"

"No, I swear!"

"Then why are so keen on defending her?"

"Because she doesn't deserve to die."

"Very well. Tell me the password."

"What, no, that's-"

"Last chance."

"It has nothing to do with-" Tobias gasoed as Samuel grabbed its shoulder and pushed it into the window. The guard had taken out a gun, a blaster. "No, no, please! I-" it took a deep breath, "Okay, fine. You'll get what you want."

"God, you're pathetic," Samuel took out a notepad from his jacket and gave it to Tobias. "Write."

"Okay, okay, fine," it sat down and scribbled something on the paper, then folded it several times. "Here."

Samuel chuckled. "Now that wasn't hard, was it?" he twirled the paper in his hand for a moment, gave it to the guard still standing behind them, and took out his communication device. He turned to the window with a wide smile on his face and murmured into the device, "Kill her."

"No!" Tobias turned to the window, only to see the light blue flash of the blaster. "Why...why did you do that? You promised-"

"I didn't promise you shit, Toby," Samuel turned around, leaving the sobbing mess of a scientist leaning on the rail, and walked to Robert. The guard was still messing around with the laptop, trying to find the right program. "Did you get it open?"

"I haven't tried yet, sir. I-"

"Ugh, let me," he opened the program, "Finally, now, let's see," Samuel carefully unfolded the note, his smirk suddenly turning into a frown. "You think this is funny, Tobias? You think writing 'suck a dick, corporate shithead' will offend me, huh? Drastic, for sure, I wouldn't know you were this brave, but-" he turned to the window, only to see that there's no one there. "What the fuck? Where did it go?"

Robert shrugged. "I have no idea, sir."

Samuel ripped the note into pieces and grabbed the guard's shoulders. "Then go and FIND IT," he hissed.

----

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[thatscarletflycatcher]

Tumblr isn't letting me find again @fictionadventurer's and my own posts on epistolary novels, but I have been thinking about it again, because I fell down a Goodreads review rabbit hall and I have thoughts again.

So many people dislike the style, and honestly, I don't blame them, because it's so often done... not well. It is in some aspects, a deceptively easy one, and in others, deceptively hard. And because I'm trying to write a novel with this format myself, I have been thinking about what makes or breaks an epistolary novel.

I talked yesterday about TGLPPS, because it is an interesting case to analyze. I have thought many times about it, and cannot think of a single non-merely-aesthetic reason for it to be told in an epistolary style. A lot of it depends on -British- people who have survived some terrible war conditions willingly opening up to a stranger about their experiences, and that's made... even more difficult if the medium is letters? typically writers will appeal to tropes like making the reserved character drunk, or have them share an extreme experience in isolation with the stranger to create sudden intimacy. None of this is possible in writing; if anything, one is much more self-conscious about the things one writes than the things one says; verba volant, scripta manent.

It seems to me the story would have flowed much more naturally if Juliet had been stranded on Guernsey for some reason -like the first author herself!- suddenly Dawsey commenting that he got a book from her library makes so much more sense! Yes, certainly, if you met a stranger out there, and they introduce themselves and you realize you have a book that once belonged to them, you would tell them so! And it is in this way that the epistolary format does violence to a story that would otherwise sound much less contrived.

Another problem is the large cast of characters and multiple settings. For all I complain about Dracula, Stoker manages this pretty well (of course he has the model of The Woman in White, but TWiW has fewer povs), at least on the first half, because structurally the storylines of the characters are converging, and that does a lot to guide the reader in the understanding of the character's relationships. TGLPPS's relationship structure is more of a multidirectional flow chart, and that becomes confusing really fast.

Another novel I read reviews for recently is one set in WWI, composed of back and forth letters between two lovers torn apart by war, and one common complaint was... that the climactic scenes, the times they meet, etc all happen... off-camera. It is a fair complaint, but also one I cannot really blame the author for, because that's what usually happens with real life compilations of letters of that kind. Sure, usually the editor/compiler will fill in the blanks sometimes and add an epilogue of sorts explaining what happened afterwards, and that is possible if you are writing it fictionally too, but some may think it spoils the effect of immediacy and whatnot, which, fair too.

But it makes me think of how aware Jean Webster was of these difficulties, and how deftly she managed them in both Daddy Long-Legs and Dear Enemy. Both novels have aged badly in terms of content and message, but they are very interesting stylistically.

DLL is a bildungsroman with a dash of romance; through Judy's letters to daddy long-legs we can see how she grows as a person, gaining independence intellectually and economically, and as a writer, as her grammar and vocabulary change and grow. Between making Judy an orphan who hates the orphanage where she has lived her whole life, and one where she lived past the usual age of being thrown into the world, Webster does away with the need for letters between Judy and her friends and family: all her friends and family are her college roommates and her benefactor, who is the person she writes to. The benefactor scheme also makes it so that she doesn't have to write dll's replies, which in turns makes it much more natural and acceptable for the reader when Judy writes him the ending's love letter describing the feelings and impressions of their finally meeting in person and in truth; Judy has become a writer, and she is so used to write to him as another person all the time, that it just makes sense for her to write to him one more letter at the point where her benefactor and her lover become one and the same person. She has written a novel where the core is the correspondence between lovers AND managed to include as well all the moments of their meetings that we would otherwise miss.

Dear Enemy is a similar, but longer and more ambitious story. Instead of one relationship-connection (Judy and Daddy's), we have Sallie as a nod of connections: she's Judy's friend, Jarvis' "employee", the boss of several characters, has a tense colleague-boss relationship with the visiting doctor, a boyfriend of sorts in Washington, and a family we have met before. It is, in that way, a similar setup to TGLPPS: a urban girl of means becomes a fish out of water in a different setting till she ends up assimilating to it, and settling definitely through marriage. But Webster does a few things differently to make it click.

For starters, it is clear to her that this is the story of Sallie's maturation -I have sometimes talked of Dear Enemy as a novel where a Mary Crawford-like character undergoes a transformation arc. The happenings and stories she meets and tells Judy about along the way serve this arc, besides standing on their own as case studies to illustrate the problems, ideology and solutions proposed to the secondary themes of the story (education and social reform). I feel like TGLPPS is much more interested in Guernsey's survival through the war, in which case Juliet's story is already a frame, which, again, makes the epistolary format cumbersome rather than complementary.

Dear Enemy adds more correspondents, but it is very austere/economical with them, and narrows the letters we see to only those Sallie sends. YMMV regarding if it was too much cutting or not, but the undeniable effect is structural soundness; you are never confused by what is happening or who is writing to whom. We can guess the Honorable Cyrus Wykoff probably wrote some indignant letters to Jervis, and those would be funny to read, but... would they be worth the break in the flow of the narrative? I don't think so. To this effect, just having Sallie write a line to the effect of "I expect at this point you have at hand an irate letter from the Hon. Cyrus" is enough to paint a picture for the reader. Perhaps a letter or two from Dr. MacRae would have helped develop his character more -definitely a first read of the story obscures how much misdirection there is in Sallie's narration to Judy, which in turns tends to create an impression of suddenness to the closing letter that doesn't come across well to the reader.

The choice of Sallie mainly writing to Judy is, IMO, a really good one too. It not only establishes a connection with DLL, but it also allows for the intimacy that makes disclosure believable (something TGLPPS struggles with, as I mentioned above). When you add a few letters to the doctor and Gordon and Jervis, you also get a better perspective of Sallie's personality, how she deals not only with a friend, but with acquaintances, romantic partners and coworkers.

From all this it is pretty evident that for Webster the main function of epistolarity as format is aiding in showing psychological and moral development. But that's not the only thing the format can be really good for: perspective is another, and Austen uses it to great effect in both Lady Susan and Lesley Castle.

Both stories deal with mainly static characters, but who have very strong perspectives of the same situation, and it is this singularity of setting and story that anchors the narrative to avoid confusion, while the variety of perspective brings interest. In Lady Susan, we are dealing mainly with the marrying off of Frederica and seduction of Mrs. Vernon's brother, Reginald. There where Lady Susan paints Frederica as an undisciplined, irrational and ungrateful daughter, her sister in law, Mrs. Vernon, paints her as a sweet girl and a victim of her mother's ruthlessness and lack of love. Both agree that Reginald is being seduced, but, of course, with opposite goals: Lady Susan wants him to succumb, Mrs. Vernon, to escape, and this is a delicious struggle for the reader to follow!*

Lesley Castle being an earlier effort, and unfinished, does show some of the defects I have mentioned before (mainly, the relative confusion of having several correspondents in separate storylines), but illustrates well this same perspective effect: Margaret writes to Charlotte about the new Lady Lesley, and the new Lady Lesley writes to Charlotte about about Margaret and her sister... and in these contrasts lies the main interest of the narrative.

Some conclusions to these musings, then:

Not every story is suited to the epistolary format.

The epistolary format seems to work the best when it is used for either A) showcase psychological and moral development B) to play with perspective on people and/or events.

One of the main difficulties of the format is finding a narrative element to anchor and structure the letters around.

It must have a core couple of correspondents, or at most, two. More than that will make it confusing (unless, perhaps, the story is very short and about a single event or two).

A delicate balance must be found so that the secondary correspondence doesn't cut the flow of the main one, and if possible it must feed into it.

*It is interesting how Love and Friendship, being such a delightful -and I sustain one of the best ever- Austen adaptation, is by force of the perspective switch towards a more impersonal third person, more about a love story between Frederica and Reginald than a struggle between Lady Susan and Mrs. Vernon. Which isn't dissimilar to how adaptations of DLL end up being more about the romance between the leads than Judy's coming of age in college; tropes aside, I feel like if the epistolary format is well embedded in the story, it's going to be nearly impossible to reproduce the effect in adaptation.

[shady-swan-jones]

If you know the author of Plenty of Tales Left to Tell by autumn_lover24 who deleted her fic from ao3, tell her it is dear to me and I'd love to see it finished someday

[greenapplebling]

I am once again asking people to stop assigning family roles to found family. It beats the point of having a found family in the first place

Also: "this character is a mom friend" ≠ "this character is the mom of the group"

One implies the friend is naturally caring, nurturing and thoughtful. While the other implies there's an assigned person in the group who gets emotionally burdened by people of their same age range to act like their mom