waldos-writing

[waldos-writing]

"just write a little every day" ok but what if i write nothing for 3 weeks and then suddenly type like i’m being hunted by god

[waldos-writing]

[waldos-writing]

Just A Dog Pulling at the End of a Long, Long Leash

Rating: Mature Word Count: currently 20,7k (ongoing) Tags: Graphic Depictions of Violence, nightmares, Post-Canon Fix-It, Hurt/Comfort, Happy Ending, Drugging

Summary:

Mickey Barnes. That's it, it's just Mickey Barnes now. Just him. Singular.

After the end of the Marshalls and the expendable program, Mickey's trying to figure out his place in all of...this. On Niflheim. In life. Thing is, he's just got this weird feeling that maybe...well, no. That'd be crazy. But maybe it's not just him. Maybe there was a miracle.

Or maybe he just doesn't know how to deal with the guilt of losing 18. Maybe if he just gets to live? If that's enough?

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Chapter 11 (excerpt)

“You wanna shower? Before our execution?”

“I don’t think they’re gonna….” He swallowed uncomfortably, shrinking under 18’s stare. He finally just breathed out and got up without another word, stripping off his top on his way to the shower. He figured five minutes under the spray would at least give him a chance to just zone out a little bit and pretend everything hadn’t been terrible for the past 48 h…no, 5 years. For the past 5 years. No. For the past 20 years and change. Yeah. Yeah, actually. Jesus, he deserved a break after—

17’s mind jolted to a static state of nothing as 18’s arm reached past him and dialed the heat up a little. He only flinched into the wall when he felt 18’s other hand on the middle of his back.

“Easy,” 18 said like, first, this was completely normal and, second, that he was so bone tired exhausted and he was struggling to stand upright. “Nobody’s gonna notice if we crank the heat a little.”

“We’re s’pose…to….”

But 18 just grunted, like that absolved everything, and nudged 17 out of the way to wet his hair. The water ran a cloudy gray between them, but 17 quickly lifted his eyes to the ceiling before he could see what it looked like at their feet.

“Hey. Look, it’s not weird,” said 18, rubbing his face and opening his mouth under the spray only to spit it out to the side. He scrubbed under his arms, looked at his palm, and reached over for the soap. “It’s basically the same.”

“You!” 17 blinked a little too fast, trying to remember his point. “You said…I’m not you.”

“You’re not,” 18 answered. “And I’m not you. But it’s still basically. The same.”

“Basically?”

18 had a perfect face for annoyance. It just all settled into place, sharp angles, the tilted line of his mouth. His eyebrows. And then he moved, viper fast, and put his hand on 17’s naked chest, pinning him to the wall. 17 didn’t even yelp, his throat screwed up tight as he waited for the final blow to the head or a knife to appear or something. He raised his hands, feeble, that terrible shitty tremor starting up from his knees and all the way to his shoulders as he prepared for – for something. The end. The last bit of betrayal.

“I’m not you,” 18 whispered, his expression unchanging. “You got it? I’m yours. Your mine. We’re Nasha’s. That’s the point.”

“That’s…the point?”

“Oh my god.”

Continue here on Ao3!

[waldos-writing]

[waldos-writing]

Just A Dog Pulling at the End of a Long, Long Leash

Rating: Mature Word Count: currently 26,4k (ongoing) Tags: Graphic Depictions of Violence, nightmares, Post-Canon Fix-It, Hurt/Comfort, Happy Ending, Drugging

Summary:

Mickey Barnes. That's it, it's just Mickey Barnes now. Just him. Singular.

After the end of the Marshalls and the expendable program, Mickey's trying to figure out his place in all of...this. On Niflheim. In life. Thing is, he's just got this weird feeling that maybe...well, no. That'd be crazy. But maybe it's not just him. Maybe there was a miracle.

Or maybe he just doesn't know how to deal with the guilt of losing 18. Maybe if he just gets to live? If that's enough?

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

Chapter 10 (excerpt)

“You break that?” 17 asked out of the corner of his mouth.

“The hole?”

“Yeah, the hole,” 17 answered and finally turned to Timo. He forgot he was taller than him. It was weird. Usually, he’d hunch to break even between the two of them but 17 just wanted to stretch out now that he was up again, out of that horrible dark cave down there. They could hear the wind whipping like crazy outside, the howls at the entrance something violent, grotesque even, but they were inside and they were stuck. Arrested. “Your arm, Timo. You break your arm or what?”

“Are you 18?” Timo asked instead, squinting at him like 17 was a cop. “I thought…noooo. No. You’re 17. Pretty sure.”

“Okay?”

“Cause he has a mark on his...wait.” Timo looked past 17 and slowly touched his own cheek. “I thought Marshall burned him.”

“That healed,” said 17, purposely focused on the gravel in front of them. Timo was avoiding him again. Usually, he’d let that slide, but for some reason he just couldn’t let it go. Maybe it was guilt? That was the usual suspect of things that drove 17 forward and he figured why change the formula now? So, he prompted again, “why’re you holding your arm?”

“What? Oh, this? No, nothing.”

“It’s okay if you did,” said 17. “Break it, I mean. You shouldn’t hide it.”

“I didn’t,” he insisted. “Nasha….”

“Nasha, what?”

“No, she just grabbed me. Kinda…bruised my arm. Look!” And Timo rolled up his sleeve to show it off. There was barely a mark, but 17 hummed over it, giving it attention, giving him sympathy, which pissed Timo off for some reason because he dropped his sleeve and shrugged his shoulders, all stiff and angry. “Whatever. It’s nothing. Don’t even worry about it.”

“No, man, it’s okay. You can get that looked at, y’know. It’s okay.”

“Shut up? Yeah, obviously I can. Who hides a broken arm? I’m fine.”

Continue here on Ao3!

[waldos-writing]

You Didn't Hear This From Me

Wayne pulled up to the trailer, his truck lurching on old abused shocks, just as tired as he was after surviving his third double of the week. It was fine work. It was fine. He supposed the routine was…it was fine. Maybe he recalled rolling out on the streets with a bandana up over his nose to block out the smoke as they took good, hard baseball bats to cops knees, pushing off the bulldogs who tried to bully them back into the work for the shittiest pay in the world, but this? Canning on an assembly line? Was…it was fine. It was fine.

The thin line of his mouth was only a tiny taste of disappointment, the weakest bit of annoyance as he spotted a beat up bike tossed up against the side of the trailer. Mostly, it filled him with something warm and sad, the memory of his late sister bundled up in a twiggy package with ugly uneven curls and big ol’ puppy eyes that’d get him into all sorts of trouble. Hell, he was just glad it was there. But he was playing parent now and he killed the engine, a cigarette already to his lip, lit, in the space it took to get out and walk to the front door. He hooked one hand under the handlebars and dragged her up the two short cement block steps.

“Eddie?” Wayne backed into the trailer. “How many times I tell you, you leave this out there and somebody’s gonna walk off with it.”

There was a low hiss of something, the boy cursing to himself, just as the door in the back of the trailer banged shut.

Wayne had Eddie take the room on day one. He felt like a growing boy should get his privacy, given how little he’d been afforded under Al, sleepovers on any old sofa and such. He understood how hard it was, but he had a bedroom, and Eddie tucked away inside while Wayne slept on a cot he folded up nice and neat during the day; no fuss, no muss and nobody said nothing about how he fell asleep on the old busted recliner more often than not. The arrangement worked well for them. Eddie was a good kid. Angry. Hungry for attention. But he was a good boy. Wayne didn’t care if he closed the door. He was just past fifteen and maybe he’d brought home a girl or some other. Wayne would tease him later, moreso about the bike.

(more on Ao3)

[waldos-writing]

Just A Dog Pulling at the End of a Long, Long Leash

Rating: Mature Word Count: currently 9,7k (ongoing) Tags: Graphic Depictions of Violence, nightmares, Post-Canon Fix-It, Hurt/Comfort, Happy Ending, Drugging

Summary:

Mickey Barnes. That's it, it's just Mickey Barnes now. Just him. Singular.

After the end of the Marshalls and the expendable program, Mickey's trying to figure out his place in all of...this. On Niflheim. In life. Thing is, he's just got this weird feeling that maybe...well, no. That'd be crazy. But maybe it's not just him. Maybe there was a miracle.

Or maybe he just doesn't know how to deal with the guilt of losing 18. Maybe if he just gets to live? If that's enough?

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

Chapter 9 (excerpt)

“I told you,” 18 said.

“Okay, okay,” 17 groaned out, forcing himself to sit up. “Sorry.”

“I don’t need your—”

“Yeah, and you got it anyways,” 17 said, clapping his hands over his uniform. He shook out his hair and had to wave away more dust that rained down from the top of his head. “People like apologies.”

“Says who?”

“We do.” 17 looked up and made a pathetic, angry little sound. “How’re we getting outta here?”

18 finally sat up, too, the same eerie dead-like vault upwards, his mouth set in grim determination. He stepped over the rubble, over 17, tip toeing his way back towards the mouth of their destroyed exit, and crouched down to a squat while his eyes scanned all over. He wet his bottom lip before spitting away from himself, leaving a bright pink patch surrounded by the soft gray dust. 17 worried, briefly, if this had suddenly become their tomb.

“Pretty sure we don’t.”

“What? That’s not…that’s not an option, though,” said 17, who scuttled over to join him. He made sure to squat too, though he put his elbows on his knees and hunched over into a tight C shape, chewing his thumbnail. 18 barely looked at him. Didn’t answer. “That’s not an option!” he repeated. “Nasha—”

“Nasha can’t get us,” 18 said and it sounded so heavy, so…defeated as he said it that 17 stopped moving. 18 sat back at last, watching the wall ahead of them. Like it’d have the decency to recede and let them out if they just asked it nicely. Like maybe he’d asked it a thousand times while he was stuck down here, all alone. “She’s not allowed. You? I think it was waiting for you. You and me.”

“But—”

“You were right,” 18 said. He laid back, tucking his hands behind his head, and closed his eyes.

“I was?”

“It’s our tomb.”

Continue here on Ao3!

[waldos-writing]

Just A Dog Pulling at the End of a Long, Long Leash

Rating: Mature Word Count: currently 9,7k (ongoing) Tags: Graphic Depictions of Violence, nightmares, Post-Canon Fix-It, Hurt/Comfort, Happy Ending, Drugging

Summary:

Mickey Barnes. That's it, it's just Mickey Barnes now. Just him. Singular.

After the end of the Marshalls and the expendable program, Mickey's trying to figure out his place in all of...this. On Niflheim. In life. Thing is, he's just got this weird feeling that maybe...well, no. That'd be crazy. But maybe it's not just him. Maybe there was a miracle.

Or maybe he just doesn't know how to deal with the guilt of losing 18. Maybe if he just gets to live? If that's enough?

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

Chapter 8 (excerpt)

I wish I liked swimming. Maybe not as much, considering where are we even going to get a pool, right? But, like, I dunno. Floating in space is kinda like that, without the pressure of the water folding all around you? Plus, I know this is kinda weird, but I hate having to get wet. Once you’re in the water, fine, the deed is done, but it’s that first step that’s some kinda torture. The smallest, easiest kinda torture. Showers are weird that way. Comforting, easy, and terrible.

Anyways, I wish I liked swimming, because then I’d feel, I dunno, happy. About where I was right now? In the middle of a huge lake of nothing. No caves, no snow, just a big empty sky and a big empty body of water.

Except water’s usually not empty. There’s usually stuff under there. Creatures. Critters. Oh god, something big, probably. I can’t be the only thing here. I can’t. And I can’t even thrash about because my arms are barely mine right now, and I just have to lay very still on this pile of water and hope … I have to hope! Oh god, nothing grab me, please? Please?

I can feel it. The lurking thing behind me. I can feel it doing a turn, sizing me up. Do I look tasty? Will it be one big gulp or is it just more chewing and grinding and breaking and I’m so tired of breaking everything. You think anybody would be mad if I just started crying again? I’d do it real quiet this time and I wouldn’t even thrash about.

God I hate swimming.

I

“Wake up.”

Continue here on Ao3!

[waldos-writing]

Just A Dog Pulling at the End of a Long, Long Leash

Rating: Mature Word Count: currently 9,7k (ongoing) Tags: Graphic Depictions of Violence, nightmares, Post-Canon Fix-It, Hurt/Comfort, Happy Ending, Drugging

Summary:

Mickey Barnes. That's it, it's just Mickey Barnes now. Just him. Singular.

After the end of the Marshalls and the expendable program, Mickey's trying to figure out his place in all of...this. On Niflheim. In life. Thing is, he's just got this weird feeling that maybe...well, no. That'd be crazy. But maybe it's not just him. Maybe there was a miracle.

Or maybe he just doesn't know how to deal with the guilt of losing 18. Maybe if he just gets to live? If that's enough?

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

Chapter 7 (excerpt)

Hilde touched Nasha’s arm, giving it a quick squeeze as they both smiled at each other. She was tired of smiling. She wanted to take it off same as her earrings, utilitarian things but heavy. Made her earlobes itch. A gift from her late aunt and she could’ve saved the space for something, anything in her allocation, but even as she dragged her hands over them, pulling them free, she remembered a small room lit with an antique lamp, a worn velvet chair, and the jewelry boxes as her aunt set little pieces of gold on her weathered palm and told Nasha little stories of how they’d made their way to her. Nasha forgot most of them. She wasn’t sad about that, really, she just remembered the hands and the jewelry box when she pulled the earrings free and rubbed her earlobes to relieve the ache.

God but she could use a drink. She didn’t miss a lot of things back on Earth. Everyone here on the colony came for a reason, same as her, and leaving was the best – or only – option. But can’t fault anybody for missing a good red wine, sprawled out on a well-worn sofa, telly on in the background tuned to something neither of them cared about, with her feet up in her man’s lap while she talked about her day.

Maybe smiling wasn’t so hard as she went to their room and backed into it, already reaching for the zipper of her council robes.

“Mickey?” she called out, sliding the zipper down enough to shrug out of the robes. She set the earrings down on one of the entry shelves next to her holster in a little pie tin from Mickey. It fell in next to ID cards – nobody used those on Niflheim, but it felt silly to throw them out for some reason, seeing as neither of them had many pictures of each other – and some bits and baubles that Mickey had been twisting together into little standing figures. She nudged one with her finger and scooped it out. Washers, screws, wire. She set it to stand next to the bowl and smiled. “Mickey?” she called louder. “You in?”

Only the quiet answered. Nasha sighed as she stepped out of her shoes, curling and popping her toes with a happy groan. She stretched. She shook off the weight of the day and unzipped her body suit a little as she wandered into the room to check if Mickey was sleeping. Not exactly red wine and a sofa, but she could crawl up behind him and tug him to her chest, put her hands under his loose grey shirt and feel his heartbeat as he smiled in his sleep. She could kiss the back of his neck, gently wake him, and have him help her peel out of the rest of her clothes with that cute sleepy face of his.

Nasha clicked her tongue when she saw the bed was empty. It was a small disappointment, but nothing crucial. She stretched again and went over to flop onto his side of the bed; a full starfish sort’ve flop with her head mashed into his pillow. She breathed in, breathed in, and turned to her back to stare at the ceiling.

Continue here on Ao3!

[waldos-writing]

Just A Dog Pulling at the End of a Long, Long Leash

Rating: Mature Word Count: currently 9,7k (ongoing) Tags: Graphic Depictions of Violence, nightmares, Post-Canon Fix-It, Hurt/Comfort, Happy Ending, Drugging

Summary:

Mickey Barnes. That's it, it's just Mickey Barnes now. Just him. Singular.

After the end of the Marshalls and the expendable program, Mickey's trying to figure out his place in all of...this. On Niflheim. In life. Thing is, he's just got this weird feeling that maybe...well, no. That'd be crazy. But maybe it's not just him. Maybe there was a miracle.

Or maybe he just doesn't know how to deal with the guilt of losing 18. Maybe if he just gets to live? If that's enough?

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

Chapter 6 (excerpt)

Mickey put his hand out and brushed the crystal wall beside him as he followed the tunnel deeper into the cave. It ran like water under his gloves. He wondered about taking those off, letting the cold bite his fingertips, if the wall would feel like glass. If it would burn. If pushed the button light on his chest to see if the walls would go dark and he’d see himself swimming in there? Or somebody else.

But it wasn’t that dark far long.

Damn, but it really was pretty inside.

Mickey walked into the center of the big geode room again. The place had been big, yeah, but he didn’t realize just how huge it really was. Didn’t let himself take the time to just…be. With himself. He breathed deep as soon as he stepped through, out of the tunnel, and the star-fractures glittered as though they were waving to him. He tilted his head up, scanning the ceiling that was brighter than the bottom, thinner in places, until he found the punched out scar where he’d been lowered through before.

“So weird,” he said slowly, thinking back on it. What a wild surprise idea. Timo’s fault. And Mickey smiled to himself when he put all the blame on his friend. Trust Timo to talk them into this because of course he could. “Jerk.”

Without everybody else, without even the creepers like Loto and Akka burbling around, his voice echoed. It wasn’t overwhelming or anything; it was pretty quiet, in fact. The echo was so far away it didn’t even sound like him. Like human speech, really. He looked down at the mossy patterns on the ground and maybe that was muting it a bit. Mickey made sure to step around each little growth, taking his time to pick the safest, cleanest rocks, until he was standing directly in the center again, under the opening. He put his hand in his pocket and squeezed the little glass vial Arkady had given him, his heart just pounding.

“Happy birthday,” Mickey said quietly, his voice croaky and weak. He screwed his mouth to the side, everything starting to climb up, too much, behind his teeth. That wasn’t truth drugs making him narrate, that was the shitty day piling up. He was alive. This place felt alive. This cathedral, this dome, this big fucking bubble in the ground or whatever, got to celebrate him. And nobody, nobody celebrated 18. Cause he didn’t….

Continue here on Ao3!

[waldos-writing]

Just A Dog Pulling at the End of a Long, Long Leash

Rating: Mature Word Count: currently 9,7k (ongoing) Tags: Graphic Depictions of Violence, nightmares, Post-Canon Fix-It, Hurt/Comfort, Happy Ending, Drugging

Summary:

Mickey Barnes. That's it, it's just Mickey Barnes now. Just him. Singular.

After the end of the Marshalls and the expendable program, Mickey's trying to figure out his place in all of...this. On Niflheim. In life. Thing is, he's just got this weird feeling that maybe...well, no. That'd be crazy. But maybe it's not just him. Maybe there was a miracle.

Or maybe he just doesn't know how to deal with the guilt of losing 18. Maybe if he just gets to live? If that's enough?

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

Chapter 5 (excerpt)

There were a few places on this ship that were “secluded.” There hadn’t been too many crimes recently, so the prison block was probably quiet, except for the guard and Mickey was never technically on good terms with him, but doubly so after that embarrassing stint with the chainsaw. Not even his fault! He was just swept up in Timo’s latest bullshit sch—

Mickey stopped dead in the hallway. Someone bumped his back, just as startled as he was.

“Oh. Sorry, Mickey.”

“That’s okay,” he said, looking over their head. “I was distracted. I mean, sure, I’m half a foot taller than you and you could’ve stopped sooner, but, honestly, I’m not thinking too good either today, so I think – yeah, I totally get the expression, actually. Ross, I’ve been drugged. It’s okay. I’m going to walk around you now and pretend this didn’t happen.”

“I – druh – wait!”

“I’m sorry I didn’t get out of the way, Ross!” Mickey said, waving behind him. “I hate getting in the way. I wish I wasn’t so small sometimes, but I wish I was smaller too. I wish people would see me, though. Like, I’m still a person, just like you. Do you forget that, Ross? Okay. I gotta go find Timo. Wait, actually.” He turned back and extended a hand to the technician, taking a couple of steps to rejoin him in the hallway. “Have you seen him?”

“So – uh, I think…he’s cleaning out the cycler again.”

“Wow, really?” Mickey laughed, his eyes bugging out at the thought. “He almost died there. Twice! Wow. Maybe Karma does come for us all. That’s good. That’s good. I mean, not for me, but that’s good. Does Karma transfer after you’ve died? You don’t have to answer that. Okay, bye again, Ross.”

“Bye, Mickey,” Ross said, quieter, as Mickey headed down to check out the cycler chutes.

Continue here on Ao3!

[waldos-writing]

Just A Dog Pulling at the End of a Long, Long Leash

Rating: Mature Word Count: currently 9,7k (ongoing) Tags: Graphic Depictions of Violence, nightmares, Post-Canon Fix-It, Hurt/Comfort, Happy Ending, Drugging

Summary:

Mickey Barnes. That's it, it's just Mickey Barnes now. Just him. Singular.

After the end of the Marshalls and the expendable program, Mickey's trying to figure out his place in all of...this. On Niflheim. In life. Thing is, he's just got this weird feeling that maybe...well, no. That'd be crazy. But maybe it's not just him. Maybe there was a miracle.

Or maybe he just doesn't know how to deal with the guilt of losing 18. Maybe if he just gets to live? If that's enough?

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

Chapter 4 (excerpt)

“Can you just – can you check it again?”

“I don’t know what to tell you. The cultures—”

“Negative, right, no, I know. I know.” Mickey scratched behind his ear, inadvertently bowing to this man. Again. Shrinking when he wanted to explode. His own body fighting him this way and that, and he checked his fingernails. Empty. Or, er, clean. Maybe the fungus was just really small? Maybe, maybe, maybe it was nothing. Maybe. “I know, you said. But can you check it again.”

It was not a question.

It barely felt like him saying it.

When Mickey returned to the medical suite the neck day, he did so alone. He’d convinced Nasha that he was checking on something and she was as busy as ever, so it’s not like he had to make a lengthy excuse. Bye, love you would have been enough but he had hurried out of the room so he had to say something.

He also found Douglas Arkady all on his lonesome and, honestly? Probably the man he needed to see anyways. Dorothy was sweet but Arkady strived for results. He had a deceptively gentle voice and this enthusiasm for his work that, hell, that felt contagious. He might flagellate himself now and again on the failures, but, damnit, he sought shit out.

And Mickey was kinda desperate.

Continue here on Ao3!

[waldos-writing]

Just A Dog Pulling at the End of a Long, Long Leash

Rating: Mature Word Count: currently 6,2k (ongoing) Tags: Graphic Depictions of Violence, nightmares, Post-Canon Fix-It, Hurt/Comfort, Happy Ending

Summary:

Mickey Barnes. That's it, it's just Mickey Barnes now. Just him. Singular.

After the end of Marshall and Ylfa and the expendable program, Mickey's trying to figure out his place in all of...this. On Niflheim. In life. Thing is, he's just got this weird feeling that maybe...well, no. That'd be crazy. But maybe it's not just him. Maybe there was a miracle.

Or maybe he just doesn't know how to deal with the guilt of losing 18. Maybe if he just gets to live? If that's enough?

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

Chapter 3 (excerpt)

They liked Dorothy. Yeah, she’d been on the team that experimented heavily on him, but she also held his hand when he was bleeding out of every orifice and did her best to make things painless. He trusted her and if it wasn’t trust, at least he didn’t fear her, which felt close enough to the same thing. She was, as they say, good people.

Nasha was the one who closed the door and turned the chair around so they didn’t have to look at the isolation chamber in the bay next door. Somebody could probably argue enough applications to warrant keeping it but, yeah.

“You should have come sooner,” Dorothy said, her eyes so big and worried behind her glasses. She was holding an instrument over his arm, a soft whirring sound growing a little louder and Mickey swallowed uncomfortably. “Oh. Oh! No, don’t worry, this is just to scan your bones. Safer than an x-ray.”

She wanned herself to make a point and then put it back over Mickey. Dorothy was nice. Good people. He relaxed again.

“Sorry,” he muttered in thanks and shifted his weight in the chair. “Yeah, and, uh, I – it was my…my birthday.”

“Oh, gosh, that’s right!” Dorothy dropped her hands, looking over their heads. “Oh, Mickey, I’d meant to be there. I got you something!”

“If it’s anymore protein cake, I gotta say.” Mickey covered his stomach with his left hand. “I’m good.”

Continue here on Ao3!

[waldos-writing]

Just A Dog Pulling at the End of a Long, Long Leash

Rating: Mature Word Count: currently 4,2k (ongoing) Tags: Graphic Depictions of Violence, nightmares, Post-Canon Fix-It, Hurt/Comfort, Happy Ending Summary:

Mickey Barnes. That's it, it's just Mickey Barnes now. Just him. Singular.

After the end of Marshall and Ylfa and the expendable program, Mickey's trying to figure out his place in all of...this. On Niflheim. In life. Thing is, he's just got this weird feeling that maybe...well, no. That'd be crazy. But maybe it's not just him. Maybe there was a miracle.

Or maybe he just doesn't know how to deal with the guilt of losing 18. Maybe if he just gets to live? If that's enough?

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

Chapter 2 (excerpt)

“The bottom?” Mickey twisted to look down the crevasse, trying to spot either of the creepers below. Those two were regulars. Good guys. They really liked most of the crew and were real playful and stuff, but even so, Mickey felt his throat start to close at the thought of being dropped into the dark. “How far is the bottom?”

Zeke’s kind face tilted as he clicked his tongue, unsure about the answer. That’s never a good sign.

“A hundred—”

“Two hundred?”

“Maybe 50?”

“Ballpark?”

They were arguing back and forth and Mickey was trying to do the math on that, his hand hovering up by his chest and trying to remember what his height was, exactly, and how to divide by 6. Or multiply, maybe. He mouthed ballpark with them and licked his lip.

“Okay, okay,” he finally said, pumping his hands to lay their guesses back into the ground, right where he was headed. “So. A hundred.”

“Give or take,” Zeke said.

“Okay,” Mickey said, giving it a little more oomph. It’s what Eighteen would’ve done. Well, he’d probably pick one of these guys up by the neck and chuck them down the chute, but the very least would be telling them to shut up. Maybe Mickey couldn’t do it, but he could try “forceful.” He touched his goggles, glad they were quiet, and crouched down to sit at the lip of the crevasse. “Alright, guys. Wish me luck.”

Continue here on Ao3!

[waldos-writing]

Just A Dog Pulling at the End of a Long, Long Leash

Rating: Mature Word Count: currently 1.6k (ongoing) Tags: Graphic Depictions of Violence, nightmares, Post-Canon Fix-It, Hurt/Comfort, Happy Ending Summary:

Mickey Barnes. That's it, it's just Mickey Barnes now. Just him. Singular.

After the end of Marshall and Ylfa and the expendable program, Mickey's trying to figure out his place in all of...this. On Niflheim. In life. Thing is, he's just got this weird feeling that maybe...well, no. That'd be crazy. But maybe it's not just him. Maybe there was a miracle.

Or maybe he just doesn't know how to deal with the guilt of losing 18. Maybe if he just gets to live? If that's enough?

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

Chapter 1 (excerpt)

Nightmares work better when it’s dark, I think. Makes everything closer. I touch the walls, wondering if my gloved hand is suddenly going to disappear, and I follow the narrow path set out below me. My feet hurt. I don’t know why I don’t look down, but I want to see if there’s something wrong with my boots and I just don’t. I gotta keep walking. Figure out where the end of this cave goes. Figure out of it’s going to swallow me, drop out under me. Maybe crush me, like Jennifer. Maybe like I deserv—

“Stop that.”

I do. I stop. The voice came out of me, but it didn’t feel…like. Me. I try to look down and catch a glimpse of something yellow out of the corner of my eye when my feet start shuffling under me like I’m on some kind of conveyor belt and suddenly I don’t think I’m in control anymore. I don’t know if I ever was.

The cave’s going further down. It’s cold. It’s definitely cold, cause my teeth are chattering until suddenly they’re not, like somebody else remembered to clench my jaw shut. The pressure is squeezing around my head, making this dull, throbbing sound that matches my heart rate. It’s so fast. We’re moving so fast. I’m moving so fast and I wonder if creepers are pushing me, if I’m going to be spit back out of a fissure somewhere and sent on my way, if I’m just remembering something when I’m squeezed like toothpaste through an opening and the world goes white at the edges. I see g—

Continue here on Ao3!

[waldos-writing]

In Sweetest Dreams - Final Chapter

Thank you to my beta reader @meleerage and FANTASTIC artwork by @gilove2dance (instagram @ gilove2draw go check em out!)

Rating: Explicit Word Count: 17k Tags: No archive warning, accidental voyeurism, sex dreams, drinking, smoking, mild angst, happy ending, Upside Down Fix-It, Eddie Lives

Chapter 7 of 7 (excerpt)

“Did you pack your toothbrush?” Steve shoved a couple of apples into the grocery bag, leaning over it to survey the contents and nodded his head as he ticked off each item on his memorized list. “Okay,” he muttered, sure he had it all, and turned to see Eddie and Robin almost asleep on the couch. Steve clapped his hands. “Hey. Hey! Toothbrushes.”

“Oh my god,” Robin groaned, flinching from the sound. She tugged her knit hat down over her ears. “It’s, like, five in the morniiiiing.”

“It’s 7:13 and we’re late.” Eddie made a noncommittal sound as he curled into Robin for sympathy. “This is your fault. We live too far away.”

“Ah ah. You wanted to do brunch and Claudia always gets her coffee cake out at 10,” said Steve before he dropped one of the duffel bags into Eddie’s lap. “And you.” He pointed dramatically at Robin, his finger a spear in her vision. “You wanted to be dropped off at your parents for lunch so you could make it to Hops for dinner. And you said you’d call Wayne, except I called him, because you forgot. I said we could do Thanksgiving here but—”

“It’s too small,” Robin whined.

“We need family,” Eddie said in the same nasally tone. “Baby.”

“Don’t ‘baby’ me. Get your ass up and get to the car. Let’s move.”

“Friggin drill sergeant,” Robin mumbled, clutching her bag closer. She kicked out a foot and headed towards the door, with Steve carrying his own bag on his shoulder and the groceries in his hands. “This is impossible, you know.”

“Move it, Buckley.”

Eddie, at least, shuffled to Steve and tilted his cheek for a kiss, which Steve almost forgot to give him in his rush to get out the door. He sighed for the dramatics of it and pecked Eddie’s cheek, earning an honest grin from the man, and they trekked down the stairs to the garage, the Beamer waiting to take them back to Hawkins.

Continue here on Ao3!

[waldos-writing]

In Sweetest Dreams - Chapter 6

Thank you to my beta reader @meleerage and FANTASTIC artwork by @gilove2dance (instagram @ gilove2draw go check em out!)

Rating: Explicit Word Count: 17k Tags: No archive warning, accidental voyeurism, sex dreams, drinking, smoking, mild angst, happy ending, Upside Down Fix-It, Eddie Lives

Chapter 6 of 7 (excerpt)

"Are you, like.” Eddie sighed heavily and Steve could hear the back of his skull thunk gently on the wood of the door. Steve winced in sympathy. “Are you mad at me? Cause, okay, if you are, I’m sorry. I don’t really…I mean. I have an idea, but if it’s…that. And if this is going to be a problem, you gotta…you really need to tell me.”

Eddie’s voice got weaker as he went on, tripping over each word like loose rock in a cliff side and soon enough he was going to fall. Steve could hear it. He could feel it in his chest and he chewed his lip hard enough to taste the threat of blood again.

The silence stretched too long. God, it crawled forever in either direction and Steve knew it. He could feel the door shake a little, probably Eddie starting to get up, and he blurt out quickly, “No!”

Part of him wanted to look under the door, actually. Maybe he’d see the bottom of Eddie’s wrists, some of the chains he wore or whatever as he pressed them into the carpeting. Probably see his skinny little butt in black jeans, maybe the edge of his boxers and Steve smacked his temple again. No, no, he was not allowed to think about those things. Eddie was his friend, for fuck’s sake. He was not allowed to get crushes on his friends anymore. It ended the worst and he’d die if he lost Eddie because he was actually the freak here. He’d already almost lost him once, the hospital not even a distant memory. He had evidence, alright? He’d. Die.

Eddie sighed again, pulling Steve back to him.

“No what?” Eddie asked with a sharpness in his voice that made Steve’s fingers tingle.

“No,” Steve repeated. “I’m not…it’s not you.”

“It feels like it’s me.”

“Yeah, but that’s my fault.”

“Yeah,” Eddie said softly. Steve laughed despite himself and felt the door vibrate again as Eddie shifted his weight. “Okay. Say you’re sorry….”

“Dick,” Steve answered.

“You literally sprinted away from me. I’m not the asshole here.”

“Yeah, I was just….” Steve glanced around him and moved to hug his knees instead. It was his turn to knock the back of his head against the door and he closed his eyes tightly now that he was pressed in. “Taking care of my laundry.”

“Lame, Harrington.”

“Yeah.” Because Eddie was right. Mabe Eddie needed to hear it. Steve didn’t say it, though. Kept that in his chest. Either way, he smiled. “Sorry.”

“There. Was that so hard?”

“I’m basically bleeding in here,” Steve said but realized they’d been in way too many situations where that could be true and he quickly added, “Kidding. Uh. Shit. I’m…I’m going to put these away, if that’s cool?”

“Yeah, man,” Eddie said, and he sounded relieved when he did so. He started to get up, but this time Steve didn’t panic at that. “I’ll give you space. But, like. I’m here. When you wanna talk.”

Continue here on Ao3!