#its like one of my 3 problems with stampede | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

peachy-posy · 9 months

Text

Counting Steps (Vash the Stampede x Reader)

Summary: While traveling with Vash, you get a wound and decide to hide it from him.

A/N: Howdy! This is my first Trigun fic, please be nice hehe. This was originally written with Tri Stamp Vash in mind, but then it turned into me mixing him with 98 Vash, and so now we have this.

I'm considering making a little series about the reader and Vash because I am so whipped for this silly blonde man, the brain rot is insane. If that's something you'd be interested in lmk!

I hope you guys like it <3 ALSO this was cross-posted to my AO3

Warnings: Mild violence, mild blood/injury, fainting

Word Count: 2.5k

This was inspired by this quote from @creativepromptsforwriting: “When were you going to tell me you were bleeding? When you’re already dead?!”

98. 99. That’s another 100 steps. Start over.

You grit your teeth, clutching your side fiercely. Luckily, you are wearing black, so Vash hadn’t seen the sticky, dark stain appear. Your faithful traveling companion walks several paces ahead of you, leading the two of you to a nearby settlement. You couldn’t be that far away now, right? God, you hope not.

You lose your footing, stumbling briefly before catching yourself. White hot pain shoots through your abdomen, and you can’t stop the hiss that slides out between your teeth. Fortunately, Vash doesn’t seem to be able to hear it over the sounds of the wind. A bead of sweat rolls down your face, and you pause, allowing yourself to pant for a moment. Not for long, though. You have to keep moving.

Counting your steps in increments of 100 has been your method of keeping yourself focused. It was a simple task, something to devote all of yourself to for the time being. If you could keep going, one step at a time, you knew you could make it to the town.

17. 18. 19. That’s another 20.

Your mind wanders to the very situation that caused you to get an injury in the first place. What a mess today has been.

You have been traveling with the infamous Vash the Stampede for months at this point. Shootouts and run-ins with bandits and bounty hunters made for another Tuesday. Usually, that was no problem for you guys. You knew your way around a gun and could certainly hold your own, so what the fuck happened today?

30. 31. 32.

The two of you had stopped at a small plant you’d come across while traveling in the desert, thinking it was a good chance to take a breather. Little did you know, you were walking right into a stick-up, with a small group of bandits robbing a family that had stopped there as well. You and Vash stepped in quickly to help, easily incapacitating the bandits. Vash’s attention readily became focused on helping out the family, noticing that the oldest child had gotten a gash on the head.

Allowing Vash to handle the damage control inside, you had stepped back outside to catch your breath. You walked over to the side of the building, leaning against it and resting in the shadow it produced. Out of the corner of your eye, though, you saw movement. Apparently, there was another person involved that had slipped away. You sprung into action, running around the building to where you’d seen the figure disappear. After that, everything happened really fast.

The man was quick, and he lunged at you with startling speed. You were able to dodge the initial thrust of his knife towards your gut, but you didn’t sidestep fast enough, feeling the blade tear a gash into your side. The adrenaline in your system helped you to ignore the pain, and you whipped around, kicking the knife out of his hand and twisting his arm behind his back. Before he knew it, you had him pinned on the ground, arms pulled uncomfortably behind his back. Drawing your small revolver from its holster, you swiftly hit the back of his head with the grip, feeling his body go limp under you.

After he passed out, the tension left your body and you leaned back with a sigh. It was at this point that you started to feel the sharp, stinging pain radiating from your side. Glancing down with a wince, you moved your jacket aside, laying your eyes on the gash that had been so generously given to you by your friend here. Because you wore your jacket open, it looked like it had blown out of the way and been spared by the blade. So, at the very least, you wouldn’t be spending the evening sewing the jacket up. Your body was a different story, unfortunately.

It was a small, but deep, clean cut. It wasn’t anything worse than what you’ve had before. But, it would definitely need some stitches. You were almost positive you could patch this up with the first aid kit inside.

You released your jacket, heaving yourself off the ground with some effort, applying pressure to the wound. Once on your feet, you made your way back around front, finding the entrance to the small building.

Vash was crouched, chatting to the teary-eyed children, calming them down with a practiced ease that came from many years of experience around kids. He smiled at them, and said something that drew a giggle from the children. Their parents watched from nearby with grateful smiles, eventually pulling him into a conversation with them as well. A soft smile formed on your lips, as it often did when you saw him have these types of interactions.

Your pain brought you back down to reality though, and you grimaced. Your eyes scanned the room for the first aid kit, and you found it lying on a small table. You quietly walked over, and immediately grabbed some gauze to hold against the wound. You sifted through the contents, searching for the thread, knowing you definitely had some. It wasn’t until you remembered that one of the kids had gotten a cut to the head that you turned around, seeing the last of your thread stitched up in a wound already. Vash might be holding onto some more, but even if he were, it likely wouldn’t be enough.

Well. Shit.

You faced away from everyone again, trying to think of what to do. You were less than half a day’s walk from the next town. You didn’t have any supplies other than some gauze that would help. Telling Vash would worry him, and he’d definitely want to carry you the rest of the way, even though you knew his prosthetic had been causing him soreness recently.

You were just gonna have to suck it up and walk. You stuffed gauze into your pockets as discreetly as you could, before hearing your name called from behind you softly. You turned your head to the side, heart skipping a beat at seeing those gorgeous blue eyes gazing at you.

“Everything okay?” he asked quietly, concern creasing his brow. You wanted to reach out and smooth your fingers over it, not wanting him to worry about anything.

Instead, you gave him a convincing smile. “Yeah. I found another guy outside. We should probably tie him up with the others before leaving.” The person running the plant assured you both that they would be fine while they waited for authorities to arrive to take the men away. You made sure your body was angled to where he couldn’t see your bloody hand or the gauze.

He raised his eyebrows, surprised to have missed one, but ultimately nodded, letting you know he’d take care of it. “I don’t know what I’d do without you, Mayfly. I’m getting sloppy!” he joked, and you’d giggled in reply, heart fluttering every time he called that. It was just friendly, of course. Because that’s all you were - friends.

That’s another 60 steps. Or was it 70?

You jam your eyes shut, breathing through the worsening pain. You sigh defeatedly. You ran out of gauze an hour ago. The bleeding has slowed, but not fully stopped. Not with all of the pulling from walking. At least the sun is starting to go down, giving you a break from this damned heat.

You look up, seeing Vash’s back ahead, his red coat blowing gently in the wind. The distance is getting greater between the two of you. You’re starting to regret not filling him in about your situation. After noticing your silence not long into the walk, he’d asked once more if everything was all right. You smiled, told him you were fine, and that you’d tell him later tonight. He accepted that begrudgingly, giving you a Look, but had ultimately given you space.

You stop walking, your breathing uneven and heavy. Your vision wasn’t quite right either… had you really lost that much blood? The chill settling into your bones screams ‘yes’ at you. Vash is getting too far away. Fuck, fuck, fuck.

You feel your body trembling, and you close your eyes, a dull ringing in your ears beginning. Your grip on the gauze pressed into your side is getting looser, but you’re starting to care less. It’s not like it’s working anyway.

You are startled out of your thoughts by the feeling of hands gripping your upper arms. You gasp, opening your eyes, struggling to get them to focus for a moment. Once they do, you see Vash in front of you. His mouth is moving, and he looks worried. Oh. They’re his hands, you note, glancing at his arms.

The ringing in your ears subsides enough that you can hear his voice again. He’s calling your name.

“…you okay? What’s wrong?” He asks, searching your eyes.

“Huh?” You manage eloquently.

He sighs, closing his eyes, but he doesn’t let go of you. “You’ll be the death of me, Mayfly. What’s wrong?” He asks. “I know you said you’d tell me later, and, well, it’s technically later now, so…” he trails off, but his words have an expectant tone to them. This doesn’t really seem to be something he wants to budge on.

Not that you’re planning on withholding what’s happening at this point. You are almost certain you’ll pass out here soon.

“Um…” you start, averting your gaze. Finally, he seems to notice the way you’re holding yourself. Specifically, the placement of your arm, tucked into your jacket. His expression shifts into something more knowing, and he seems to have caught on.

He gently reaches down to pull your hand away so he can take a look, but as he does so, your knees buckle and you start a hard fall to the sandy ground. You shut your eyes, waiting for the impact that never comes, as you are wrapped up in a pair of strong arms before falling very far.

You are slowly lowered the rest of the way, and find yourself resting against Vash’s chest on the ground. He’s muttering something under his breath, and you’re murmuring an apology. He pulls your jacket back, sucking in a sharp breath when he sees the bloodied gauze.

“When were you going to tell me you’re bleeding? Once you were already dead?!” He asks, and yeah, you probably deserve that. He’s peeling back the gauze gingerly, scrutinizing the wound, concern etched into his gorgeous face. He’s talking, likely scolding you, but that annoying ringing in your ears is back, so you can’t hear him. You should not be thinking about how pretty he looks right now, but your vision is turning black and you don’t really care anymore. His head turns to face you, his eyes widening. There’s something in his expression you can’t quite identify.

But everything feels heavy, and you are very tired. You slump into his chest, closing your eyes.

✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧

The next thing you know, you are lying in an uncomfortable bed, tucked into itchy, white sheets. You groan, taking in how dry your mouth is and how bad your side hurts.

Oh yeah.

You open your eyes, sitting up with a gasp. You blink hard to clear your vision, but curl into yourself as pain shoots through your abdomen. You feel a set of familiar hands take you by the shoulders.

“Woah! Take it easy! Just take a deep breath for me, okay?”

You feel one of the hands move from your shoulder to rub your back soothingly, and you look up. Those beautiful blue eyes meet yours, relief flooding his features. Vash murmurs your name with a relieved smile.

“There you are. Are you okay?” He asks softly, gently pushing you to lay back down. You put up no resistance.

“Yeah, just a bit sore,” you manage, glancing down to your wound. You move your hand to touch it, applying pressure experimentally, but he moves your hand away, holding onto it instead. Like a worried friend, you remind yourself. You take a moment to glance around the clinical-looking room, and think you already know the answer, but ask anyway. “Where are we?”

His thumb moves slowly across your knuckles, just like a friend would do. In a friendly way. “The local clinic. We weren’t very far out of town when you passed out. I just brought you here right away. That was last night.” His expression shifts from soft to scolding, and he runs his other hand through his blonde hair. “You nearly gave me a heart attack! Don’t do that again!”

You offer a small, apologetic smile. “I’m sorry, Vash. We’d used the last of the thread for stitches on one of the children, and I thought I could tough it out.”

He stares at you, and you wilt a bit at his hurt expression. “Why wouldn’t you tell me though? We may not have been able to stitch you up right away, but I could have-“

“Carried me into town?” You finish, and he nods. You reach up, gingerly touching his prosthetic arm. His eyes widen slightly, not expecting your touch. “I know your arm has been bothering you lately, and I didn’t want to make it worse.”

His expression softens endearingly once more at your reasoning, the look he’s giving you making you fall in love with him all over again.

“Oh, Mayfly,” he murmurs, “let me decide what I can handle, okay? It wouldn’t have been so bad.”

You understand, but you also frown a bit at his words, raising an eyebrow at him. “But who looks after you? You have and would push yourself past every limit you have for the sake of someone else.”

He sighs, but doesn’t deny what you say, either. “How about we work on compromising a bit? We’ll look after each other, and make sure we aren’t pushing ourselves too hard.”

You try to level him with a stare, but end up relenting with a sigh and a smile. “Fine.”

He smiles back at you, mirroring your tone. “Fine.”

There’s a beat of silence, and it seems like something comes to his mind at that moment. His smile becomes something more like a smirk, and you regard him suspiciously.

“What,” you deadpan, somewhat dreading whatever he has to say.

He props his elbows on your bed, resting his chin on his hands, leaning forward.

“Nothing! I’m just flattered,” he replies, and you really, really don’t like the mischievous glint in his eyes.

“By…?” You ask, narrowing your eyes.

“I didn’t know you thought I was pretty.”

You scoff, rolling your eyes. Of course you do. But you’d never just say that.

“Yeah, right.”

“No really! You said so yourself! Remember? Something like, ‘I should not be thinking about how pretty you look-’”

You choke, blushing furiously. Oh my god. Right before you passed out. You must’ve accidentally said that out loud, delirious.

“I-I did not!” You sputter back, but you know it’s futile. He’s laughing too hard. You hate it, but even now, as he is laughing at you, you can’t help but love the sound of it. You’d do just about anything to keep him laughing and smiling like this.

He pokes your cheek, his laugh dying down. “For the record, I think you’re pretty too. ‘Specially when you’re blushing like this.”

Holy. Shit.

Never mind. You wish you had bled out.

#trigun #trigun stampede #trigun 98 #vash the stampede x reader #vash the stampede #vash x reader #vash x you #i love this man #peachy writes!

343 notes · View notes

beep-beep-sunny · 1 year

Text

Reddie week!!! Day 3- Meet-cute! This is based on my experience visiting Manhattan!! I did NOT like it.

You learn quickly in Manhattan that people never just want to talk. It's always something. There's always an angle. Once you stop and make eye contact, they've trapped you. They've won. Eddie Kaspbrak logically knew he grew up in Maine, but he always felt like he was shaped by New York. The fast paced hustle and bustle. He perfected the "I'm a businessman and I'm far too busy to stop and chat" demeanor.

It was obvious when someone didn't belong. Tourists in Manhattan stuck out like a sore thumb, if the thumb had on one of those yellow hats with the sting keeping it on its head and a camera around its…neck. Do thumbs have necks? Around it's knuckle which in this analogy functions more like a neck. Regardless, it was obvious. To some, these things were walking dollar signs or lambs to be led to slaughter. Eddie just kept his head down. He had no use for tourists. They were a minor inconvenience at best. They never walked fast enough, always gauking at the various "landmarks". Sometimes, they even stared, wide eyed, in awe of the majestic and rare pigeon.

Eddie almost felt bad for tourists, he knew the city would do nothing but chew them up and spit them, like gum, back onto the street, penniless and sore. Though, what was he realistically going to do for them? He had his own problems. His wedding chased him like a creature chasing a teen girl through the woods in a hoodie movie. He knew it was approaching, but he couldn't bring himself to look. He'd just keep walking forward until it caught up with him. His mother was also recently spending more and more time in the hospital. No, tourists were not his problem. They were as numerous as the pigeons and nothing he could do for tourists or pigeons would make any difference.

So, he just kept walking. Keeping his head down and moving forward with purpose, clutching his briefcase with white knuckles as he made expert turns and pivots around fake monks raising money for fake temples or this costumed off brand SpongeBob that's face was just a little off in the way you'd see in a kid's creepy jumpscare game. Someone else could get suckered into taking a picture with Spongecreep that they think is free, but oops, that'll be twenty dollars.

It was like a dance. A dance that Eddie did everyday, so he knew the chirography by heart. Dodge, dodge, duck, dip, pirouette, slide, and SMACK.

The smack was not a normal part of the dance. What the fuck. A big sunburnt hand broke through the haze, reached out to him. "I am so sorry." Said a man in a voice that was deep, but also deeply unserious. The humor in his tone boiled Eddie's blood slightly as he took the man's hand with a hard squeeze and a tug, he pulled himself off the greasy Manhattan sidewalk Disgusting. Oh my god. When was my last tetanus shot? No. Die later, Kaspbrak. Kill this guy first. What a klutz. A big stupid lug. A-

Eddie looked forward and got a look at the man. Dark messy hair clumping in sweaty chunks on his red forehead. Big black plastic frame glasses that were already leaving a stupid tan line. His eyes were bluer than the muddy Manhattan sky. He was lanky and big. Eddie felt small with his hand …still clutched in this stranger's large paw. He quickly ripped his hand away and straightened up his suit. The guy was obviously a tourist. Everything about him said tourist, from his yellow hat, to his camera hanging off his neck, to his kind smile and friendly eyes, but especially the fact that he stopped to help Eddie up instead of letting him get trampled like Mufasa in a stampede of antelope. No, instead, they both stood in the middle of a Manhattan sidewalk with people washing around them like they're two rocks in a stream and the sound of rushing water was the cursing Newyorkers they were mildly inconveniencing.

Then, Eddie realized it had been a weird amount of time that he'd just been standing there, staring at this man and saying nothing. "... it's fine" he forced out, knowing he looked like an idiot even though he wasn't the one that crashed right into a stranger with his stupid long limbs.

The guy laughed at that. What the fuck was so funny about all this? "You're pretty cute for a curmudgeonly business man." Cute? Cute?? What the hell was that supposed to mean? His eyes met Eddie's and it was like the words even surprised himself. Like he didn't know that's what he was going to say until it fell out of his mouth. "Well," he broke the eye contact. "I'm sure you have places to be, you walked right into me after all." He winked and ran off. "Bye cutie business man." Eddie should have said Excuse me? You are obviously the one that ran into me with your stupidly long limbs, you floppy man they put outside of car dealerships.

He didn't though. Instead, he kept standing. Now a lone rock, the water only having him to slosh around. Cute? He felt something unpleasant turning in his stomach. It wasn't strictly unpleasant, but perhaps nostalgic. The kind of feeling you get when your limb just starts falling asleep or what he imagined it might feel like at the top of a roller coaster just before the big drop. It was similar to dread, but he couldn't understand why he'd be dreading something. Maybe that guy looked like a mugshot on America's Most Wanted and he was subconsciously remembering. Cute. It kept playing on repeat in his head. He could almost hear someone saying that. Cute cute cute. Probably just his mother. No one else would have called him that. Just his mother and some jackass tourist trying to make fun of him.

He watched the man keep walking until he crested over the horizon and disappeared into a crowd of faces going every which way like a page out of a Where's Waldo book. Then, Eddie did all he could really do, and kept walking too. He wasn't even going to make it to work early. Never talk to anyone in Manhattan. Just keep walking.

Eddie shook his head as he fast walked towards inevitability. "Cute." He repeated under his breath, and if he smiled, no one saw.

#reddie #reddie week 2023 #reddie week #reddieweek #day 3 meet-cute #fanfiction #sunnywrites #long post

63 notes · View notes

inairbinad · 1 year

Text

Heaven, Indiana

A re-imagining of season 3, where Eddie and Robin are already looped in on the Upside Down madness, and Eddie joins Scoops Troop. Part of my Barb Lives AU from the Petals Verse, where everyone lives and the timeline gets wonky as a result. Can be read on its own. @steddie-week day 4 prompts: Familiar / Here Come the Tears

Eddie woke with a jolt from the same, familiar nightmare he’d been having since November. The one where he found himself right back in those unnatural, revolting tunnels beneath Hawkins, on the brink of death with Steve Harrington grasping his hands in fear.

On the dark of his bedroom ceiling he could still see the imprint of Steve’s eyes, wide and terrified that they were about to die. Even now that he was awake Eddie could still feel the pit in his stomach, the burning in his calves from running, the ache of wishing he’d kissed Steve in that moment with a stampede of demodogs charging after them both.

Eddie didn’t need to have creative nightmares anymore, not like he did when he was a kid. The reality of what he and Steve had gone through—and Robin, and the kids, and the rest of them—in the course of trying to save Hawkins from a swarm of actual demogorgons and a goddamn Mind Flayer was more than enough to keep Eddie haunted for the rest of time.

It didn’t help that every single one of those terrified, cursed memories was tied up in want.

His desperation to kiss Steve in that moment haunted his dreams nearly as often as the version where they never made it out of the tunnels all.

Or sometimes Eddie would find himself back in the bus in the junkyard, waiting for Steve to come diving back inside the bus with a hoard of demons at his back. This time Eddie would catch Steve in his arms, breathless and sweating from staring down the gaping maw of death with nothing but a nail bat. Then Eddie would slide his hands into Steve’s hair and his tongue into Steve’s mouth, caring for nothing and no one else while the rot clawed and scratched at the door, desperate to consume them both.

Eddie felt so inexplicably deranged for how much of his lust was tangled up in the violence that he wanted to scream.

Instead he groaned, then finally dragged himself out of bed to take a cold shower and get ready for work.

Eddie wasn’t entirely sure how he’d ended up dressed like a sailor—or rather more like a pirate, considering the tattoos he refused to cover up while he was working, like he was supposed to—and toiling away in the shiny, brand new, and brightly colored Starcourt Mall. But there he was, on time for his shift of scooping ice cream and pretending to be happy about it.

Well, that wasn’t entirely true. Eddie already knew he’d ended up there because of Steve goddamn Harrington: bane of Eddie’s existence and possibly the love his life, all wrapped up into one monster-hunting, child-defending, short-short-wearing package.

The problem with all of this—working with Steve, being friends with Steve, spending way too much of his every waking moment with Steve—was that now Eddie knew Steve was bisexual, and Eddie didn’t know how to deal with that bit of intel. Because knowing that meant every minute Steve wasn’t kissing Eddie, Eddie was going insane. It was one thing for Eddie to quiet the delusion that Steve would ever look in his direction before, back when Eddie assumed Steve was straight. But once Eddie realized he’d accidentally stumbled into some kind of queer-alliance-slash-part-time-monster-hunters club last fall, he’d been decidedly less capable of coping with his crush.

Sure, learning that alternate dimensions and monsters actually existed was enough of a mindfuck to last Eddie a lifetime. But then he had to go and get clobbered with the news that Steve was bi, and Barb and Nancy were dating, Robin was also a lesbian—and Steve Harrington is bi, dear god does that mean I have a shot?

The demogorgons seemed kind of quaint, after that. Even the ones Dustin tried to raise as pets.

It was nice, though, having more people like himself to hang out with. The thought of ever finding other gay friends in Hawkins used to seem laughable to Eddie, but now there was a whole flock of them.

All of this led to Eddie thinking he would enjoy working with Steve and Robin at Scoops Ahoy for the summer, just to have an excuse to be around Steve all day, every day. In that goddamn uniform, too. But it was only making Eddie fall for Steve harder.

So, yeah, Harrington was undoubtedly the reason Eddie was here. And he was late for his shift.

Rather than daydream about him until he showed, Eddie opted to kill the time between customers by having some fun with Robin.

“What about her, Birdie?” Eddie asked, nudging Robin to look across the food court towards a dark-haired girl near the Orange Julius.

Robin twisted to follow Eddie’s eye line until she landed on the girl in question. This was typically how the two of them liked to pass their shifts at Scoops Ahoy together—by playing each other’s wingmen while pretending everyone in Hawkins was draped in a rainbow flag and available to flirt.

“She looks like Nance,” Robin said, scrunching up her nose.

“Is that a problem?” Eddie asked, laughing lightly. He didn’t have much of a peg-leg to stand on, but he was nearly certain that Nancy was objectively pretty.

“No,” Robin shrugged, then started scanning the crowd for a girl more her speed. “I just wouldn’t want Barb to think I’m secretly lusting after her girlfriend.”

“Ah,” Eddie said, nodding slowly. “I forgot how seriously you took this imaginary game of ours.”

Rather than reply, Robin gave him a hearty shove until he went toppling off the counter he’d been perched atop. Eddie laughed as he stumbled to stay upright, but tripped over his own feet in the process. He was already halfway to flat on his ass, a smart remark about Robin’s clumsiness rubbing off on him already perched on his tongue, when he felt a pair of strong arms catch him around the waist. Eddie knew from the solid feel of the chest against his back who had caught him, but the whole thing was a little too ironic for words.

“Good catch, Steve,” Robin laughed, just as Eddie turned his face back and upward to look into Steve’s. “Thought I might’ve killed our friend for a second.”

“I thought I told you to stop throwing him around,” Steve said with a grin. Eddie was still staring at him, still happily leaning into the feel of Steve’s arms wrapped around him. “He’s precious goods.”

Eddie couldn’t help the swell of satisfaction it gave him to hear Steve say that.

“I can’t stop my clumsy from rubbing off on you two,” Robin shrugged. Eddie grunted when at least part of his brain registered how Robin had just stolen his line.

Reluctantly, Eddie reactivated his own legs as he stood up of his own volition instead of relying on Steve. He brushed himself off and tried to act somewhat normal.

“Thanks for the save, Stevie,” Eddie said, doing his best to put on a charming smile. “And for trying to stop Birdie from trying to murder me.”

“Anytime, Eds,” Steve smiled back at full strength, plopping his sailor hat on as he did. “Sorry I’m late, I forgot where I left my keys again. What did I miss?”

“Robin’s got the hots for Nance,” Eddie said, earning himself a thwack from Robin’s own hat to accompany her squeak of indigence.

“I do not!” she cried, looking between Steve and Eddie—who were both giggling under their breath at her—like she couldn’t believe they’d treat her like this. “Assholes. Stop fucking with me.”

“Chrissy Cunningham’s on her way over,” Steve said next, elbowing Eddie in the side and nodding towards the front of the store.

“Oh, ha ha,” Robin grumbled. “Get Robin even more flustered by telling her the prettiest girl in Hawkins is near by, you’re so hilarious, dingus.”

Eddie, obviously a better friend than Steve, was frantically dragging his forefinger back and forth across his throat, trying to signal to Robin to shut the fuck up because Chrissy was, indeed, on her way up to the counter. Robin noticed too late, though, and Steve was having the time of his life watching her face turn red and her eyes get wide as a full moon.

Chrissy, sweetheart that she was, didn’t do much more than take in Robin’s distressed posture with a look of concern. “You okay, Robin?”

If she’d heard Robin calling her the ‘prettiest girl in Hawkins,’ she was doing an excellent job of hiding it. Eddie still noticed a sparkle in her eye that made him suspect she’d heard every word.

Robin gave Eddie a pleading look, like she wanted him to fix this for her, but he shook his head resolutely. She narrowed her eyes at him, then spun on her heel and beamed at Chrissy.

“I’m great, sorry,” Robin said, recovering impressively. “What’s up, Chrissy?”

“Oh, just shopping with some friends,” she shrugged. “Thought I’d come say hi. So, hi.”

“Hi,” Robin repeated, looking a little thunderstruck as Chrissy smiled at her. Eddie couldn’t blame her. Chrissy wasn’t in her usual cheerleader getup, and ironically enough she was in a rainbow colored t-shirt and jean shorts. But Eddie really knew what was driving Robin nuts was the fact that Chrissy was wearing suspenders, and her hair was loose and flowing down past her shoulders.

Eddie had heard many whiney monologues from Robin about how pretty Chrissy was over the last few months. He knew what to look for at this point.

“So, I’m having a party for the Fourth of July,” Chrissy started, then bit her lip as she paused to assess Robin’s face. Eddie zeroed in on it, wondering if maybe there was something reciprocal there that he hadn’t noticed before. “You should come.”

“Me?” Robin asked, really playing into the awkward teenage romcom angle, even if unintentionally.

“Yes,” Chrissy laughed, then she seemed to notice Steve and Eddie for the first time. “All of you should come.”

“We’d love to,” Steve said right away, elbowing Robin in an attempt to make her remember her words, probably. “Right, Rob?”

“Totally!” Robin finally exclaimed, and Steve stepped back to Eddie’s side again as Chrissy filled her in on the details. They tried to pretend like they were minding their own business, talking shop about ice cream like it was extremely important, but naturally they were eavesdropping half to hell.

“So can I get you some ice cream?” Robin asked eventually, slipping into her professional persona.

“Do you do samples?” Chrissy asked, leaning over the glass container to get a look at the flavors.

“Sure,” Robin said, and Eddie knew she’d break the sample limit for Chrissy in a heartbeat.

Steve finally lost control of himself, desperate gossip that he was, and dragged Eddie in the back with him so he could let loose his own commentary with a breathless laugh.

“They’re like, actually really cute. But I thought Rob’s head was going to explode,” Steve whispered. As Eddie moved to listen just on the other side of the passthrough’s sliding doors, Steve sidled up behind him. Then, just to drive Eddie further into the deep end, Steve hooked his chin into the crook of Eddie’s shoulder and rested it there. A shudder ran through Eddie at the feel of Steve’s breath on his neck, and he did his best to cover it up by telling Steve to shut up.

“Shh, you goober,” Eddie grumbled, despite the fact that he was laughing, too. “I’m trying to listen.”

Steve mercifully quieted down but stayed exactly where he was, making it difficult for Eddie to focus on Robin, anyway.

“Do you have a usual favorite?” Robin was asking Chrissy about ice cream flavors, Eddie had to remind himself. That was the important thing happening right now, not Steve’s mouth in such close proximity to his neck.

“I tend to like the fruity ones,” Chrissy answered, and Steve honest-to-god cackled. Eddie did his best to shush him, but he had to literally bite down on his own fist to keep the hilarity of it bottled up, especially when Steve pressed his whole face into Eddie’s shoulder in a poor attempt to stifle himself.

A thud sounded from the other side of the wall, which Eddie was pretty sure came from Robin kicking it in annoyance. Poor Chrissy was just out there being a normal person, and Steve and Eddie had to go and turn into a puddle of giggles over it.

“I swear to god, Stevie,” Eddie sputtered, trying not to give in to Steve’s contagious laughter. “Stop it before Birdie murders us with an ice cream scoop.”

That only made Steve’s shoulders shake harder, because apparently he enjoyed the threat of dying at his best friend’s hand. Then he rested his hands on either side of Eddie’s waist, holding on in a squeezing grip, until Eddie felt his muscles twitch beneath Steve’s fingertips.

“I’m sorry,” Steve wheezed. “But fruity.”

“You’re fruity,” Eddie said under his breath, which only made Steve double over again, clutching onto Eddie harder.

“No shit,” Robin said, suddenly just on the other side of the passthrough. She slid the doors open and glared at them both. “Chrissy definitely thinks I’m insane now, and you’re lucky I don’t come back there and kill you both with my bare hands.”

“Have you considered using the ice cream scoop?” Steve suggested, and now it was Eddie’s turn to let out an ugly, surprised guffaw.

“I deserve a raise,” Robin deadpanned, then slammed the doors shut again.

Steve pulled away from Eddie then, much to Eddie’s dismay. He dabbed at his eyes with the hem of his shirt, revealing a whole lot of abs and a tantalizing bit of hair disappearing beneath his stupidly small shorts.

Eddie swallowed and looked determinedly away, until his eyes landed on the baffling supply of bananas that were waiting to be hung on the wall. He groaned inwardly and tried to focus on getting through the rest of the day in one piece.

Eddie went from doing his usual amount of pining after Steve and surviving just fine, thank you very much, to decidedly not fine at all when the jacked guy who taught aerobics upstairs showed up in the Scoops line.

Eddie didn’t even know why he bothered coming into Scoops in the first place. All he ever did was order the low-fat bullshit that wasn’t even really ice cream, in a tiny portion, and tip like shit.

And somehow Steve found this attractive.

“Would you like to set sail on an ocean of flavor with me?” Steve opened with his usual, company-approved line that he somehow had turned into a come-on. Every time Steve said it like that, with his hip popped and a charming smile on, it made Eddie want to kick himself for being hung up on him. And yet it was wildly adorable in a terrible kind of way, and Eddie had to admit it would have worked on him in an instant.

The buff one didn’t even appreciate it.

“Just the usual, please,” he said with an easy smile. Eddie hated him.

So he decided to give him some shit.

“How was the Jane Fonda tape today?” Eddie asked, leaning across the counter and definitely not doing his actual job. He heard Steve stifle a little laugh, though, so Eddie figured he wasn’t on thin ice just yet.

The aerobics guy’s face pinched, as if there was something wrong with Jane Fonda. Another red flag, as far as Eddie was concerned.

“It’s Jazzercise,” he corrected in a flat tone. “And it was fine. How’s slinging ice cream?”

“Oh, it’s the best job in the world,” Steve cut in just as Eddie opened his mouth mouth in retort. “Especially when we get such great and attractive customers like yourself!”

Steve winked, and Eddie barely held in a scream.

“Right,” the idiot on the other side of the counter remarked. Then he took his ice cream and fled the store.

“Mark one more in the ‘You Suck!’ column,” Robin announced with fanfare and a uncoordinated drumroll as she whipped out her white board. She also gave Eddie a long, knowing look behind Steve’s back. Steve stayed none-the-wiser to Eddie’s misery or to Robin’s ribbing him over it, since he was begrudgingly digging out the Polaroid that they used to mark such special occasions as tallying the board.

Eddie moved over to where Robin stood, knowing she’d want him in the photo with her, despite the fact that he was all but slumped into a pout.

“Photo evidence, please?” Robin cooed at Steve, positively buzzing with satisfaction. Literally, Eddie could feel her glee just from sitting beside her, as she marked another tally on the ‘You Suck” side of Steve’s exploits in flirting.

It wasn’t as bad as if Steve had finally landed a mark on the ‘You Rule’ column, but it still stung in particular every time Steve tried it (however innocently) with another dude—especially the ones that were nothing like Eddie.

It only reminded him that he never had a shot in hell.

“Isn’t the tally evidence enough of my failures?” Steve whined, but he was already moving to take the picture.

“Nope!” Robin said, smacking her lips for emphasis. “Because you could secretly erase some and we both know I’d forget it. Plus, this is the second time you got nothing but a blank stare outta that guy. So. Photo, please!”

“Yeah, yeah,” Steve grumbled, then snapped a picture of Robin holding up the board with a broad smile, and Eddie doing his best not to look like a complete grump about it. Somehow, despite this whole thing being at his expense, Steve still managed to drop the camera from his face with a small smile.

“So, what are we doing tonight?”

———

Robin decided she wouldn’t be joining Steve and Eddie in hanging out at the trailer for the night, because she “didn’t care about getting high nearly as much” as they did, apparently. Instead, she was going to whatever Sapphic movie night Barb and Nance had planned, to which no boys were invited.

Eddie didn’t mind, considering that meant he got Steve to himself. Since Wayne was out at his weekly poker game, they opted to give in to Robin’s assumptions and smoke. Not that Wayne really would have cared, but Eddie liked to give his uncle the option of turning a blind eye when he could.

“Since when do you pout in pictures more than Robin or Max?” Steve asked as Eddie rolled them a joint, killing time by looking through the photos from their shift today.

Since I’m sick of watching you flirt with anyone who isn’t me, Eddie answered honestly in his own head. When he opened his mouth, though, lies poured out.

“I’m starting to feel sorry for your lack of game, man,” Eddie said with a blinding smile. “At some point the board just starts to feel like bullying.”

“I’m fine, Eds,” Steve snorted, clearly unbothered. “But thank you for your concern. Now let me get a better shot of you.”

Eddie sighed, but then relented and gave Steve a fond smile. “Fine.”

After his second bout with the creepy crawlies of the Upside Down last fall (Eddie’s first), Steve had taken to photography as a hobby, and started documenting everything he could in film. Steve said it helped with his nightmares, at first, to be able to look back on the group making good memories while trying to work through the shit ones. Eventually he admitted to Eddie that it was also because he wanted to capture everything good, in case they all died tomorrow.

Jonathan still did most of the heavy lifting there, but Steve carried his own camera around with him almost everywhere, now. Then, once they’d all started at Scoops, he’d swiped his dad’s Polaroid specially just to keep it in his work locker over the summer. He spent entirely too much money on film, despite Robin’s frequent protestations.

“Stop wasting all of your money on the same photos of the kids laughing at us in our uniforms,” she’d say every time Steve came back from spending his break in the camera repair shop restocking on film.

“It’s memories, Rob,” Steve would sigh and reload the camera. “You can’t put a price on those.”

Eddie and Robin would usually exchange a glance imparting their desire to give Steve a lesson in being poor, and pronto, but neither of them really had the heart to do it.

Steve loved that damn camera, though, and Eddie had long ago established that he couldn’t deny Steve anything. So Eddie sat back, trying not to be self conscious as Steve once more studied him through the lens of a camera. His favorite seemed to be trying to catch arty shots of Eddie blowing smoke out of his nostrils, and looking like the burnout that he was.

Much like the Scoops Cam stayed at work, the one Steve was using now tended to hang out on Eddie’s nightstand most of the time. It was a testament to how much time Steve spent at the trailer, if anything. The thought made Eddie smile, and Steve tutted happily at however it looked through the viewfinder. Eddie tried not to run away with delusions of grandeur about what that could mean, but he felt all warm over it anyway.

Eventually Steve seemed pretty satisfied with what he captured, so he set the camera aside, presumably for the next time he came over.

“You were grumpy today,” Steve said, waving the post-flirting Polaroid from earlier in Eddie’s face. Eddie slapped his hand away, but couldn’t keep his face straight. He couldn’t keep anything straight.

“I just don’t understand how you find that preppy asshole attractive,” Eddie said around a lungful of smoke, staring Steve down as best he could, considering they were sitting eye-to-eye on the floor.

“What,” Steve drawled, making grabby hands for the joint until Eddie passed it over. He seemed completely unbothered by the fact that Eddie found his crush on the Jazzercise guy distasteful. “You’ve never been attracted to a preppy asshole before?”

Just you, Eddie thought, grateful that the weed hadn’t loosened his lips enough to let the words spill out into the sticky-sweet ether between them. Eddie had been hopelessly in love with Steve for no less than eight months, now. But who was counting?

“Can’t say that I have,” Eddie lied. Though, was it technically a lie, if he didn’t think Steve was an asshole anymore? Eddie took the technicality and ran with it, but he almost thought there might’ve been a hint of disappointment on Steve’s face. Eddie told himself that was just wishful thinking on his part.

“I just think he looks nice in those shorts, is all,” Steve shrugged before finally taking a drag.

Eddie was really starting to think he’d miscalculated, opting to work the summer at Scoops. Not only was the job shit—the only non-Steve-and-Robin related reason he even remotely enjoyed it was because Erica would come in and boss everyone around, and he would give her shit about the evils of capitalism and watch her nose scrunch up—but it also required watching Steve flirt with and ogle all the customers, regardless of gender, and drive Eddie nuttier than a scoop of butter pecan over it.

The only reason Eddie had any semblance of sanity left was because Steve usually struck out. Or, pretty much always. It was almost like Steve was flirting badly on purpose, some days. And then he’d come home with Eddie anyway. They’d watch movies or get high, fucking around and making fun of whoever had worse sailor-hat hair at the end of the day. It was nice.

Eddie was a real goner, was the point, and he resented the aerobics instructor guy. And his shorts. Eddie had shorts, too, goddamnit.

“He’s not even gay,” Eddie scoffed, flopping backwards to lay flat on the floor of his bedroom. Sometimes he and Steve would lay sprawled across his bed, or stay in the living room where things felt safer, but tonight it was too hot to be anywhere but on the floor. At least down there, Eddie could catch a little bit of a draft from the rickety old air conditioner that was valiantly chugging along to cool the whole trailer. “He just likes watching sweaty women bounce around for a living.”

“Don’t talk about my soulmate like that,” Steve scoffed. He nudged Eddie’s hip with his foot, then laid beside him on the floor, facing in the opposite direction as Eddie. Steve propped his feet up on the bed, then twisted is face to look at Eddie’s, practically pillowing his head on Eddie’s chest as he did. He smirked like he was proud of his joke.

Eddie knew Steve was just kidding around. If anyone was Steve’s soulmate, after all, it was Robin. Eddie was almost used to that jealous demon that lived in the back of his brain, resenting his status as the spare friend in the trio. It was silly and Eddie knew it, especially since he loved the fuck out of Robin. But even in jest, Steve’s comment plunged Eddie into a river of envy. What about me? The demon cried, scraping along the recesses of Eddie’s mind and demanding to be acknowledged.

Eddie did his best to shush it, listening instead to the Judas Priest record he’d put on because somehow, someway, Steve had come to love it.

“Take me now, in your arms, let me rest, safe from harm,” Steve sang along to Hear Come the Tears. The lingering smoke made his voice scratch in just the right kind of delectable way that left the demon doing backflips in Eddie’s mind. “Oh I want to be loved.”

Another thing Eddie had learned about Steve, since his reformation of character had started sometime last year, was that he got handsy when he was high. He took one of Eddie’s hands into his own, then firmly pressed the joint into it. Steve didn’t let go when Eddie’s fingers grasped around it, either. Instead he started playing with Eddie’s rings.

“This one new?” Steve asked, voice low and buzzing right through Eddie’s ribcage.

It wasn’t new, but Eddie couldn’t blame Steve for thinking so. He hardly ever wore the bat carved of silver that Steve was still lazily twisting around Eddie’s index finger. It was one of the first rings he’d ever bought for himself, but once he got his bat tattoo, he thought maybe wearing the ring was overkill. Most of the time, anyway.

That all hardly seemed relevant when Steve was basically holding Eddie’s hand, and noticing little details about him that no one else ever did.

“No, but I don’t wear it much,” Eddie answered, hoping he didn’t sound as desperate as he felt.

“Pretty,” Steve hummed. He stopped playing with the ring and moved to tickle the back of Eddie’s hand with soft fingers, instead.

“It’s probably better suited for you, then,” Eddie admitted aloud, and Steve turned a bashful shade of pink.

That was the other thing about Steve when he got high. He was more prone to blushing.

“Alright,” Steve said with a sly grin, before slipping the ring off Eddie’s finger in a rush. Then he sat back up, crossing his legs beneath him as he put it on himself. He held his hand out in front of his face, assessing. “Oh, yeah. I like it.”

Steve had taken things much too literally, and Eddie saw fit to correct it.

“Gimme it back, you thief!” Eddie cried, snatching for Steve’s hand again. Steve was too quick for him, though, and all Eddie achieved was grazing his fingertips across the heated skin of Steve’s forearm as he dashed out of Eddie’s grasp.

Carefully, Eddie snubbed out what was left of the joint in the ashtray, then scrambled upright and dove at Steve.

For maybe thirty seconds, Eddie had the upper hand. He’d managed to get a grip around Steve’s wrist, and the hand that now housed Eddie’s stolen ring. But once Eddie realized he was practically straddling Steve’s lap, knees locked on either sides of his thighs in a death grip, Eddie was momentarily distracted from his goal. He fumbled sliding the ring off Steve’s finger, accidentally tossing it until it rolled under Eddie’s bed.

Instead of going after it, though, Steve took the opportunity to wrestle Eddie to the floor. In half a stuttered heartbeat on Eddie’s part, he was under the whole weight of Steve, wrists pinned in a surprisingly gentle but firm grip on either side of his head.

Steve laughed above him, pressed so close that Eddie could feel the way Steve’s chest contracted and then swelled again as he breathed. Eddie didn’t know where to look first—the flop of Steve’s hair that hung down between them, the curve of Steve’s perfect mouth, curling up in a self-satisfied smile, or the way Steve’s glassy eyes still sparkled as he looked down at Eddie with a quiet confidence that was driving him wild.

Eddie didn’t know how Steve was still this strong while impaired, but if he didn’t get out from under him soon, Eddie knew there’d be a problem somewhere south of his belt loops to deal with between them. He tried not to wiggle his hips too much as he attempted to break free of Steve’s grasp, but it was no use. Steve only smirked down at him, completely focused on Eddie’s face alone.

“I win,” Steve murmured, then deliberately let his gaze drop to Eddie’s lips.

Eddie felt like he might be hallucinating, to the point where he wondered if Reefer Rick had given him a particularly weird strain, or something, last time they did a deal.

Especially when Steve then darted his tongue across his own bottom lip, a brief flash of wet pink that left Eddie floating, despite being pinned to the ground.

“You—” Eddie began, but the creak of the trailer door opening shocked them both out of whatever had been brewing between them. Steve let go of Eddie in an instant, sitting up and running his hands through his hair as Wayne grunted out, “Ed?” from the living room.

“Back here, Uncle Wayne,” Eddie said, sounding completely dazed.

Wayne poked his head into Eddie’s room and smirked down at him, still sprawled on the floor and probably looking—and smelling—high as a kite. Then Wayne waved at Steve, and said, “When you get the munchies, don’t eat my chips.”

Wayne was gone as fast as he’d come, probably to watch TV and have a beer, but he’d altered the vibe significantly. Steve reeled in whatever had started to peek free just a few moments before, sighed, and snatched the bat ring from under the bed. He handed it back willingly.

“You can wear it,” Eddie tried, but Steve shook his head.

“It’s more your style, anyway,” he said, sounding a little sad about it. Eddie didn’t know what to say in reply, so he silently took the ring and slid it back on his finger.

“The chips might be off the table,” Eddie said, feeling a devilish grin creep onto his face and hoping it would draw Steve back out of whatever shell he’d shrunk into. “But he didn’t say shit about his banana popsicles.”

“I like the way you think, Munson,” Steve smiled back, then they both darted for the freezer in perfect sync.

———

For his next shift with Steve, Eddie was trying not to act weird after whatever the hell had happened in the trailer the night before. He was determined not to get distant or awkward about it, or make Steve feel self-conscious. He didn’t want to be too touchy afterwards either, though, and make Steve assume that Eddie was expecting anything from him.

But that didn’t mean Eddie wasn’t flirting. Eddie was a flirt by nature, after all. It would seem weirder if he didn’t.

“Ahoy, sailor!” Eddie heartily whistled in appreciation just when Steve arrived in all of his short-shorts glory—all in the name of keeping up appearances, of course.

Steve shuffled around a little uneasily in response instead of returning the sentiment, like he normally would have. Robin, who was sitting with Eddie at the table in the ‘captain’s quarters’, squinted at him in question. Eddie shrugged.

“Didn’t get enough beauty sleep?” she asked Steve.

“Huh?” he responded distantly, trying to fix his hat to his hair in a gentle enough way so it wouldn’t flatten what Steve thought was his best feature. (Eddie thought Steve’s best feature was probably his perfectly kissable mouth, or his big brown eyes that Eddie frequently found himself getting lost in, or even that little constellation of moles on his neck that Eddie wanted to bite. But that was neither here nor there.)

“You seem…fidgety,” Robin pointed out.

“Oh. I’m fine,” Steve tried for an unaffected shrug, but it looked more jerky and stilted than anything.

Eddie was doing his level best not to assume that was about him. But considering the fact that Eddie was almost certain Steve had wanted to kiss him the night before, even after the haze of smoke had cleared from his judgment making skills, he didn’t really think it was a coincidence.

Robin seemed to agree that this was between Steve and Eddie, as she started eyeing Eddie suspiciously again. If her face hadn’t been full of questions, Eddie would've assumed Steve had already told her what was going on with him. The fact that he hadn’t only worried Eddie further. Since when did Steve not share every thought in his head with Robin?

Had Eddie seemed too eager last night, maybe? Had Steve sussed out how deep Eddie’s feelings actually ran? Maybe now he wanted to put an extra bit of distance between them, because to Steve it wasn’t that serious. Eddie wanted to kick himself at the thought.

If distance was what Steve wanted, Robin wasn’t allowing for it. Her solution was to find every excuse to stick Eddie and Steve in the back room together most of the afternoon, doing tedious tasks while Robin worked out front. Her excuse was that it was a “slow day” anyway.

So Eddie tried to act as normal as possible in the hopes of signaling that everything between them was fine, whatever Steve’s worries might be. But every time Eddie tried to strike up a conversation, Steve didn’t give him much back by way of response.

“Do you know what happened after the kids snuck in to see Day of the Dead the other night?” Eddie asked, hoping the temptation to gossip might spur Steve into talking. One of their favorite topics of the summer so far had been speculating on what seemed like a gay little love triangle forming between Mike, Eleven, and Will.

“Not really,” Steve shrugged noncommittally.

“At the very least you’d think we might’ve gotten some innocent hand-holding,” Eddie mused.

“Maybe,” Steve merely grunted in response.

Eddie bit his tongue for a while after that, and began to consider if whatever was going on in Steve’s head had nothing to do with him at all. Eddie knew Steve’s parents were in town, and that usually led to most of Steve’s grumpiest moods. Maybe all he needed was the promise of not having to go back to a house he hated after getting off from a job he also hated.

“Hey, you wanna come over tonight?” Eddie offered eventually, then wondered if maybe he should give it more of a veneer of friendship, just in case. “We can probably entice Robin into coming if we let her pick a movie. You guys can stay over, even.”

“Maybe,” Steve finally smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. Eddie thought he might finally be on the right track, but Steve dipped away again. “I should go check on Robin.”

Eddie tried not to pout in Steve’s absence.

He also wasn’t one to give up in the face of a frowning Steve Harrington, so for the rest of their shift he kept trying to do all the things he knew would make Steve laugh. At first, Steve didn’t seem all that impressed with Eddie’s walking him through the several layers of monstrous traps he was laying for the boys’ first official Hellfire campaign, so Eddie switched to stronger tactics. He moved on to his impersonation of Hopper going full Hulk and threatening to kill Mike in new and creative ways, which did earn a pinched smile out of Steve, at least.

But when Steve’s favorite bit—Eddie’s acting out his own mascot creation, Scoop, who was a pirate with spoons for fingers—didn’t do much more than eke a small chuckle out of him, Eddie was just about ready to throw in the towel and ask what the hell was the matter.

That was when they heard the unmistakable sound of Dustin Henderson’s arrival, however.

Steve turned to Eddie with wide eyes, matching Eddie’s in excitement. If Dustin’s long anticipated return from camp couldn’t cheer Steve up, nothing would.

“Steve, Eddie!” Robin called back to them both. “Your child is here!”

“Don’t act like you don’t love me, too, Robin Buckley,” Dustin said, accompanied by that bizarre purring noise he liked to make.

Steve and Eddie simultaneously sprung into action. Eddie led the way out of the swinging door to the front, with Steve hot on his heels and his hands squeezing Eddie’s shoulders in delight.

“Henderson!” They both chorused, as Dustin broke out in a wide, gummy grin upon seeing them. They all launched towards each other, and Steve quite literally squealed, “He’s back!”

Then the three of them immediately proceeded into their complex secret handshake, while Robin looked on in bewilderment. It didn’t matter how many times she’d seen them practice it in minute detail, apparently, it still made her wrinkle her nose in secondhand embarrassment.

Eddie didn’t care. He’d missed Henderson more than he ever expected he would have of a fourteen year old hellion, but Dustin had that effect on him and Steve both. In the months since they’d tracked down a baby fucking demogorgon together, the three of them had only grown further attached.

So when Dustin immediately jumped to exclaiming “We have so much to talk about,” Eddie and Steve didn’t hesitate to set aside the weird vibe between them and buy Dustin a USS Butterscotch.

Twenty minutes later, the two of them had listened to Dustin talk about his “camp girlfriend” ad nauseam, while exchanging a healthy amount of skeptical looks between them. Steve didn’t entirely seem to believe that Suzie was real, and Eddie was mostly with him, but there was something dreamy in the way Dustin talked that Eddie felt a kinship with.

It reminded him how he felt around Steve.

All that went out the window, though, when Dustin started yammering about intercepting secret Russian codes.

“We can be true, American heroes, guys!” Dustin finished his lengthy speech about saving the world, like he hadn’t done enough of that already.

Eddie was beyond skeptical now, but Steve seemed amused, so he played along.

“Heroes, eh?” Eddie asked, casually spinning his sailor cap around in his hands.

“Yes! It’ll be great, I swear. And once we are, you two can have all the ladies you want, and more. As long as her name isn’t Suzie,” Dustin promised them both. It was sincere, if admittedly a little creepy and off base.

Eddie darted a quick glance towards Steve, who obviously found the irony in Dustin’s promising the ladies to Eddie, of all people. He chuckled lightly as he gave Eddie a knowing look, like he was thrilled to know Eddie’s secrets, before breaking eye contact and turning back to Dustin.

“Yeah, alright,” he nodded. “How can we help?”

(part two should be coming with tomorrow's prompts!)

[PART TWO] [PART THREE]

#it's officially past midnight est and if I don't post this before I go to bed I'll forget so #happy day 4!#yes the Fall Out Boy powered Steddie brainworm has indeed infected me as well #hence the title #steddie #steddieweek2023 #fanfic #steve harrington #eddie munson #dani's drafts #stranger things #petals!verse

32 notes · View notes

lizkreates · 9 months

Text

Trigun Vol 1 - Part 1 (Ch 0-3)

*cracks knuckles* I'm going to throw a bunch of stuff down, like some story-structured thoughts (which might be a bunch of nonsense, but I'm gonna try!) and parts that catch my interest. Sorry if I repeat anything, I started lurking at TriMax Vol 5. :'D Here we go!

Trigun wastes no time jumping into the mysterious destruction of July. The prologue was short sweet, and now lives in the back of your mind.

The phrase "The same song of humanity sang." paired with the artwork implies that humanity's path was not one that flourished but one of destruction. Humanity brought our problems with us. Without the drawing, the line itself can be looked at positively or negatively depending on your outlook. **SPOILERS for new readers** For a story whose main protagonist isn't human, it is a gut-wrenchingly human story.

Vash looks so baby-faced here!! I love how contradictory the idea of a pacifist gunman is, at least in the story's context, where most of them choose violence.

Oh so THIS is how violent No Man's Land is.

That's Tonis!! I totally didn't catch that in any of my reads before; he looks so different in TriStamp.

Ow Vash's first signature smile. :')

The girls!! I love their intro so much, it sets them up, idk how to explain it, as people, they have their own goals. I love how the guys who made the crude jokes were immediately met with consequences. 98 really leaned into "the expense of women as a source of entertainment" which bugged me, glad to see that the manga does it less and less as you progress. Trigun would be a very different story without its feminine undertones (not just in gender) starkly contrasting the world. (I'm sure someone's written an essay on it, I'd love to read it!)

"This is the first time the name Vash the Stampede appeared in the annals of history, about a shadow of a blonde-haired man, who still lingered among the mountains of rubble."

Interesting choice to frame this as already written history! That means at least someone survived to tell the tale.

So about Vash's outlaw name "The Stampede" - HOW LONG HAS HE HAD IT?? Was it given to him after July? Before? Did he give it to himself? Did some coin it for him? How about Humanoid Typhoon? I need to know. (If you know any fic that covers this, I am chopping at the bit for it, plz send it to me.)

Come here. Closer. We need to talk about RESOURCES. Briefly. I understand I need to suspend my disbelief when something is drawn to look cool and emphasize the scale of a threat, but I like hard science. In a resource-scarce environment like No Man's Land, manga-size Goseff would be a costly and massive drain on supplies, unless Father Nebraska has his own Plant. Stampede did a more realistic take, which was nice to see!

Anytime I see wood or a lot of organic material in abundance I die a little on the inside. :') *cries over world-building* But we're here to enjoy the story! The world-building given to us is just enough so we can follow the plot.

The first mention of "Him," Knives! I love it when Nightow does an extreme vertical, half-face, close-up, of Vash, it's so dramatic. I want to appreciate how skillfully Vash's revolver is drawn here too, this man thrives on complicated designs.

98 was my first introduction to Trigun, so I didn't realize until I read the manga that they dropped his bounty here. In 98 they dropped it after the 5th moon incident. Trying to keep the canons straight is hard sometimes. :')

#Trigun #trigunbookclub

14 notes · View notes

vetrenar · 1 year

Text

So... I've finally watched the new Trigun and I'm completely swept off my feet! It's so beautiful, and incredible, and I like the new character designs (though I'm a bit sad that they decided to put Milly aside. I like Roberto and I love to see his "grampy dad" dynamic with Vash and Meryl but why can't we have +1 character instead of "that one or this one") and I have SO MUCH hope for this show...

Anyway, it made me think how different from each other all parts of the franchise are:

1. OG Trigun anime. "The First One" for many, for some of whom it's always will be The Best One.

In comparison with other variants of Trigun, the old anime feels the most like a goofy "classic" tale, with a bit of melancholic vibes. Yeah, it still has its share of sad moments but mostly the corners are smoothed. With 60% of the story being filler, it generally has more light hearted tone than the original manga. Also, the characters of the anime are much closer to the... I wouldn't say "ideal", but more like "archetypal" versions of themselves. Rem was a downright angel, July's destruction didn't kill anyone (although people still fought and killed each other afterwards), the philosophical question about kill not to kill is answered with "put a bullet through each of his limbs until he can't move and hope for the best" (ok, it was a strange one. But I'm still baffled with what Vash's plan was afterwards). What's more important, Vash's ideals, while are hard to reach, don't feel impossible.

2. Manga.

Oooo, I love this one. After the old anime, I totally wasn't prepared to how much more raw, brutal and unhinged the manga is. People who ask for FMA: Brotherhood treatment for the manga seemingly forget that such an anime would have to be shown only veeery late in the night, with the "for adults only" disclaimer.

At the same time, I find the raw, honest energy of the manga absolutely beautiful and love it much, much more than the old anime because of how down-to-Earth characters are there. They may not to be ideal, but they're undoubtedly, 100% human.

Yeah, it's Rem, after her symbolic "the ticket to the future" dream.

And Knives. So much more about Knives, his motivation and determination. And unlike the anime version, where he, being the odd one from the beginning and a bit of philosophical soul, took the problem of spiders and butterflies just too far, the manga version clearly shows that it's not really about good and bad ones. It's about how, after an excessive trauma, Knives' mind went to shit and never fully returned. He was more sensitive than Vash, and more open to dialogue with humans but, when cutting wood, it's a surgical scalpel that breaks first, not a kitchen knife.

Manga Knives doesn't just make scary faces. He sincerely asks his sisters to lend him their powers and, while the level of plant's self-conciousness is arguable, I think it's won't be so far fetched to say that they do care about him.

Aaah, yeah, manga's nice little body horror...

Also, manga is much more merciless towards Vash's pacifism. While anime says "yeah, it's hard, but if you try enough you can reach it", the manga is more about "It's impossible and everyone, including you, know that. But it doesn't means that you should stop trying, because even it's impossible, it's still the path you chose for yourself". And I think that this message is much stronger and more important.

3. Trigun Stampede.

Well, it's really a dark horse, isn't it? With so many controversy about changes in characters's design, story and everything. But from what I've seen so far, I can say that, while reboot doesn't try to repeat the original - original manga, not the old anime - word to word, it stays completely in tune to its main message and Vash's emotional journey, and it's the most important thing to me. And again, it's so incredibly beautiful and well made, and I really have so much hopes for it. My only fear is that there won't be a second season announcement because there is no way that they will be able to contain everything into merely 12 episodes.

Well, we'll see. Until that, Love&Peace, everyone!

#trigun #trigun stampede #trigun manga #vash the stampede #million knives #vash trigun #anime manga comparasion #i'm just so glad that Trigun gets more love #and the new anime is so good #and I'm ready to kneel before the genius that let Vash call Knives Nai #it wasn't in the manga but its a total canon to me

30 notes · View notes

cimeret · 1 year

Text

I seem to have a thing for tragic "old soul" characters who end up trapped on desert planets in a binary star system, who are made for infinite sadness, and who are legendary fighters but would rather not fight. Also, there should be an evil brother figure and metal limbs, please!

Anyway, this is about Trigun Stampede. I'm so hyped for the new series. Time again for Deep Space Planet Future Gun Action!

Spoilers for the new and old anime under the cut.

I went in intending to like it, and I was not disappointed! The old anime has a special place in my heart. When I first watched it, I was at a really low point in my life, and I could so relate to the struggles of the characters who find themselves in these perceived hopeless and often unfair situations, having to decide what is the morally right thing to do. The new anime can't capture that (yet?), but it's only been four episodes, Wolfwood has just joined the squad, and Knives has been very effectively established as a threat. It feels like most of the characters are now on stage and the plot can truly unfold!

Even if it doesn't become the emotional spectacle I'm hoping for, this anime is worth watching for its visuals alone. I wasn't prepared to love the CGI so much. At the latest, Hōseki no Kuni convinced me that CGI can work well in anime. How I wish Disney would take inspiration from this regarding its computer-animated movies and try to recapture the traditional 2D look this way. Especially for the action scenes, the CGI feels perfect and creates pictures that are just jaw-droppingly stunning and beautiful to look at. The moment when Wolfwood whipped out his Punisher? Perfection. (Wolfwood in general is such a mood, he just adds so much to the series)

(Just look at this gorgeous gif made by genorium)

It took me a bit to get used to the new character designs. Looking at Vash and Meryl makes me feel so old, haha! But I like them. Vash's prosthetic arm looks beautiful. At first, I wished it wasn't so obvious because I felt it would make the gun reveal more of a surprise. But I think older viewers know the arm is a gun anyway, new viewers will still be surprised by the reveal, and anything along the lines of "omg, the shock, my arm is actually a prosthetic and not flesh and blood, isn't it tragic??" feels outdated these days. Don't need it.

Once again, however, I have a problem with the directing. It's not so much the overall pacing, it's more some small details or how certain scenes are set up. A lot of it just feels cold to me, a bit detached and stiff. It's hard to describe. Shots that linger too long or not long enough to really work. Music that swells or fades in the wrong places. Sometimes the characters don't react at all or react inappropriately to things that are happening. For example, in ep. 3, Meryl's and Roberto's reactions to the destruction of the city or to Tonis' injury. It's a lot better in ep. 4, so either it's a conscious part of the style and I'm getting used to it, or it's not as noticeable in this episode. The many discussions and banter between the characters also helped create a nice flow between scenes.

This is only partly related to the new series, but I adore Vash as a character so much. All the emotion and the softness and the big, pretty eyes, but he is also badass and guns and just so physical as a hero, and then there's his wackiness that is mostly portrayed as annoying rather than cute or endearing. It's a lovely combination and never feels forced. I don't mind that he's less goofy in the new series and that he doesn't chase women; especially the latter has always bugged me in the old series, but unfortunately, it's standard for many male anime heroes. As a result, Vash seems more serious and tragic in the new anime but the new dynamic that unfolds when Wolfwood joins in ep. 4 helps make him seem less melancholy. Compared to ep. 3 with the destruction of Jeneora Rock, the last one was less dark and even had a bit of humor, which is necessary and good. I want to see Knives try and break Vash, and for that to really have an impact on the viewer, we need to see all the beautiful moments and his connection with the humans he wants to protect.

(wearing shades in the club, yo!)

I like that they don't hold back on the weird and gory stuff. Severed limbs and spurting blood, yay! And everything about how they handled Knives so far is great! He's such a dramatic creep, I love it! Zazie, too! Their new design looks awesome and I can't wait to see more of them. The scenes in ep. 4 inside the worm were all great, the goo, the slight horror vibes, characters crawling around in dark, cramped spaces, Wolfwood eating bugs ... good stuff!

I'm slowly warming up to Roberto and his dynamic with Meryl. Although from a narrative point of view, I still don't understand why they swapped Milly for another character. What's the idea? Aside from liking Milly per se, I also found Meryl more interesting when she could play off of Milly and her contrasting sweet personality. The relationship between Meryl and Roberto feels so generic, and so far I don't think it offers much to the story. I'm also not completely on board with Meryl as a journalist. Hm. We'll have to see how things progress. In general, though, I'm quite optimistic about this series. I only hope they slow down the pace a bit in the coming episodes and leave room for some strong character moments. So far, the nostalgia factor and my fanfiction brain are helping me get over the fact that the series takes less time to develop the characters in favor of pushing the plot and creating mysteries. I still have no idea how many episodes there will be, so theoretically anything is possible.

#trigun #trigun stampede #stampede spoilers #vash the stampede #if nothing i'm just here for the pretty #and the nostalgia #just want to bawl my eyes out over these characters is that to much to ask?#love how unhinged everyone already is #wolfwood i'm counting on you #huh there's not as much trigun x star wars as i expected #feels so obvious to me #last year gave me old obi-wan and young dooku and now vash is back what's going on?#good times indeed

29 notes · View notes

monkey-network · 8 months

Text

Good Stuff: FLCL Grunge

or How Not to Grasp Why "Bottled Lightning" Exists

I'll preface this by saying that these recent "seasons" of Fooly Cooly have not ruined the original. That's like if you got a bottomless bag of tropical Skittles, every other minute you get a black Twizzler or flavorless candy corn piece thrown in that you aren't forced to eat but constantly get weirded out that they were in there in the first place. What is bad is that we're up to three sequels of FLCL & none of them even range to being on par with the original in terms of engaging memorability. I'm not the type to rag about X or Y being forgotten online days after it was just released, but it stings seeing a beloved anime have sequel series that everyone wants to forget because nobody asked for them. This isn't like Trigun Stampede where it got to have a newfound fanbase in spite of the backlash of diehards, we're on the 4th story and you might as well imagine the tumbleweeds. It doesn't help that the expectations didn't come with presentable execution... because Grunge was bad.

I'm honestly just waiting for Uzumaki at this point

It's ironic that while my reviews are about animated media, I don't really discuss the animation given my minimal expertise; I'm more of an emotional critic than a technical one. FLCL Grunge is the exception because it feels like a mess. It's like an enhanced PS1 game that looks graphically better than Berserk 2016 but has that same quality of stiff, choppy action and inconsistent blending of 2D imagery. You just wonder why this couldn't just be 2D? You would believe the CG studio responsible had this as their first-ever credit, but it's not as Montblanc's actual first feature had somehow better animation than this, and that was back in 2012. So either it was rushed or Production IG had no clue what they were going for. Worst aspect just has to be the rock humans because they can be so awkward to see and oh yeah, close but different topic.

Why are there Thing people?

Fooly Cooly I don't think anybody was ever in it for the lore. It was a miniseries where the pieces you could put together offered some sense while having open-ended questions. Even though the OG was far more grounded despite itself, I'm not against having aliens in these sequels because I'm all for things getting weird to spice up the purposeful mundanity. My only issue is the rock people are all we really have in this story when there could exist other species. It's a symptom of a larger problem these sequels have where things exist with none of the deserved flesh. Most enjoyed the OG more for the personal journey, not really piecing everything involving Medical Mechanica. With this, it just feels like they're trying to get Matpat's attention with all the stuff Haruko does with very surface-level backstories regarding the main characters. You know as much about what happened to Rockies as you do anything about Shin or Orinoko, which heavily pales in comparison to the previous three MCs. All this wrapped in an undercooked 3 episodes that is, and I'm not kidding...

Just a worse take of The Simpsons "Trilogy of Error"

One of my favorite story tropes is when everything takes place in one day, bonus points for interconnecting multiple stories into one. They do that here like in The Simpsons episode where everyone's involved in one crazy night. The problem again stems from that I barely care about the MCs enough and while there exists setup, you only get to know so much before it's over. It took episode 3 for me to give somewhat a fuck and even then they had to rush the climax all for a shitty reveal that it was a prequel this whole time. Giving Progressive its credit, at least we got time to grasp the characters. Any interconnected throughline is all for the climax which misses the point of the story structure. In the end, it felt like nothing. Whether it's a positive or not that it was only three episodes is debatable, but man...

Haruko was still hot. Take your pennies for a nickel

Making this review wasn't so much about disliking Grunge as it was about saying the original Fooly Cooly wasn't a fluke. To say that is like saying the unique animation structure of Into the Spiderverse was a fluke that couldn't be utilized well anywhere else post-release. I don't hate Grunge or think it's the worst anime ever, but this didn't subside the disenfranchisement that stemmed from an OVA that could work as an anthology. Something is only lightning in a bottle when you otherwise don't paint forgettable story elements with average to subpar imagery and have The Pillows carry every scene with their music. If this wasn't FLCL, it was a pretty underwhelming anime. As it is, it's another sequel that mistakes having ambition and familiarity for being engaging and resonating.

2 Out Of 5; An Erectile Dysfunctional Season

#flcl grunge #flcl #fooly cooly #adult swim #toonami #anime #reviews #Good Stuff

9 notes · View notes

theviceadmiralswife · 21 days

Text

One piece chapter 1113

Salute recruits and soldiers on this saucy Saturday ⚓️🌊⚓️🌊⚓️🌊⚓️🌊⚓️🌊⚓️🌊⚓️

Chapter 1113 has dropped with some major bombshell or so, here are some screenshots please support the official release.

And oh boy Vegapunk looks more and more like a fool. And I hate nothing more people who pretend to wish to help humans without thinking things through, the consequences in the future and for their own selfish agenda.

Saint Saturn calling Akainu a fool just cements the fact that the Marines are being used by the World Government as much as slaves are used by Celestial dragons

Well thank you , you "genius" Vegapunk...genius my artistic backside 🙄.

So Vegapunk just threw the world into anarchy and chaos, you think civilians will not go into panic mode now, wrong. Essentially a worldwide "stampede" and battle for survival will happen, civilians going nuts and rogue as criminals, utter chaos is about to blow.

Vegapunk hasn't thought that through really what this "truth" will cause in people emotionally and that it will freak people out.

Also I thought islands float so how do they sink into the ocean, how much water does it need? Is it a slow process? Or is over night a giant rogue wave swallowing every island? Please provide context Vegapunk.

Also does it matter? NO! Looking back at Water7 Iceburg is working on how to make the island of water7 float like a ship... apply this to all island around the globe problem solved.

Plus it's time the Marines split from the world government, coup d'état!!!

PERSONAL OPINION INCOMING 🥳😵🤭🧐🤓🙈🙉🙊🫠🙃😅🤣🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥

Don't be offended is my opinion I might be very wrong... at least it would make for a good one piece fan fiction...JUST MY THOUGHTS

I solved the one piece!!!!! First let me unmask the Gorosei and world government and Celestial dragons...they want to be the only one human race in existence, civilians don't matter to them and neither do the Marines which they call insects...

The 3 ancient weapons are Pluton (giant battleship), poseidon Shirahoshi able to control sea Kings and Uranus.

I tell you Uranus is the one piece its in Laughtale, and it is a portal into another dimension and therefore another earth.

Hear me out... people during the void century found out the world sinks in the ocean so they researched and developed the Pluton as a battleship but also doubles down as Noahs ark saving people from around the world (I know noahs ark was in the fishman island arc, I consider that a prototype), they know of a mermaid princess able to control sea Kings will be born, they need the sea Kings to pull Pluton and Uranus is a device in Laughtale to open a portal to another earth saving everyone.

Except the Gorosei try to make sure that only Celestial dragons and some slaves reach the new earth...

Have fun with this idea..

#one piece #one piece marines #one piece egghead #egghead arc #one piece spoilers #one piece chapter 1113 #chapter 1113 #siege of egghead island #one piece solved #one piece vegapunk #dr vegapunk

5 notes · View notes

eternalwritess · 2 months

Note

Thank you for doing a matchup trade with me <3 here's my matchup!

FANDOM: I would like a ADULT MALE MATCHUP for hazbin hotel, I don't wanna be matched with angel dust or husk (I have no problem but I don't see myself being romantic partners with them) and since I’ve been matched with Lucifer and alastor a lot of times I would like a different character for this one please : ) also no Valentino… please…

ABOUT ME: My name is Jaxrel! People call me "Jax" for short. also use other names like Himawari, Rin, etc, He/Him (They/Them is acceptable), I'm a Trans Man who's pansexual and I've been diagnosed with mental illness and disorders that I do not wish sharing ATM.

Personality(+ Notes): I'm a ENTP Ravenclaw, 5w4, Extroverted. I'm a very chill and intelligent person, I'm very polite and sweet! at first awkward, shy and distant when meeting people, extremely independent, when comfortable I talk about a lot of stuff for hours, loud talker, emotions come off as sarcastic or silly (due to autism), confident, straightforward (I have a urge to correct someone of faulty information), uses "big" words, good sense of humor, playful, entertaining, optimistic, mischievous, curious(l'm nosy and I love gossip), i can be a rule breaker(sometimes don't mean to), dad/ tharapist friend, when | go out | bring water bottles, first aid kit, chapsticks) just in case, chill but some people would say I have some "repressed anger issues, get a reallyyy overractive Brain, tend to get deep and philosophical when I'm left on my own for to long, I can be verbally aggressive when prevoked. If this helps more the characters I kin a lot are: Victor Nikiforov (Yuri On Ice), Tei (Nameless), Cutthroat (Akudama Drive, Except the Bloodlust cutthroat has.), Ranpo Edogawa (Bungo Stray Dogs), Dazai Osamu (Bungo Stray Dogs), Space Ishtar (Fate), Okita Souji (Fate), Langa Hasegawa (Sk8 The Infinity), Sherlock Holmes (TGAA), Zack (Final Fantasy 7), Vash The Stampede (Trigun), Roy Mustang (Fullmetal Alchemist), Otonashi Yuzuru (Angel Beats), Karma Akabane (Assassination Classroom), Vanitas (Study Case of Vanitas), Zoe Hange (AOT), Shinoa Hiragi (Seraph of The End) + more

things I love about myself: when someone is going through anything or needs help with anything they will call me before anyone else, i have an ugly laugh so guaranteed if i laugh someone else will as well, how much i love animals if i see a stray around my house i will adopt it immediately, if i see a stranger crying in public my eyes will not leave them alone until i get the courage to walk up to them and ask whats wrong, i am very confrontational i will always stand up for whats right no matter how scary the situation may be, how greedy i am for money but when i love someone i will spend the world on them, how excited i get for little things like when someone buys me redbull, monster, cherry pepsi or chocolate pretzels/strawberries my day cant be ruined, how in touch i am with being grateful if someone helps me in anyway or does something in general to benefit me i will never forget it, dont take people for granted, ive been told anytime someone hangs out with me that being with me feels safe and peaceful, pay attention to the little things, how even though i dont care about plushies i have been given some and i make sure to kiss them all goodnight in case they are actually real and see what happens, if i know someone is having a hard mental health day i will clean for them/ get them icecream and be patient till they are ready to talk about it, without fail a quiet person will always be loud with me, i am the type of person who just wants people i love to be happy even if its not with me, i will always choose them i dont say i love you until i mean it i will celebrate the people i love, i am very observant if i see that someone wants something i will get it for them no matter what, i will make it my mission to compliment a stranger that looks like they are having a hard time so their day is a little better, how i say i love kids even though if they can be annoying i will protect them with my life and im so gentle with them, I am not ashamed of what i love like anime for example even though when I was teased for it when I was little i never once hid that i loved it even if i dont like a song that someone shows me i will be hyper while listening to it so they dont feel small and embarrassed around me, how soft i become when someone holds my hand, I love psychical affection a lot so it's not a problem for me, i love how hardworking i am, whether its how much i love actually working or just getting out of bed knowing how hard my mind is fighting i love how i have gotten up despite how challenging it is to, i am an emotional person but i will always cry for a sad scene in a movie, if i love someone, they'll be seen.

MORE KINS: hiyori tomoe (enstars), yoosung kim (mystic messenger), jumin han (mystic messenger), hanako (tbhk), felix kranken (twf), albedo (genshin impact), shoya ishida (a silent voice), tom (eddsworld). eridan (homestuck), karkat (homestuck), shu itsuki (enstars), miyamura izumi (horimiya), micheal afton (FNAF), lolbit (FNAF), mangle (FNAF), natsume sakasaki (enstars), sora harukawa (enstars), urumi akamaki (alice in borderland), V (mystic messenger), hagumi kitazawa (bandori), matsubara kanon (bandori), shinji ikari (neon genesis evangelion), minami kotobuki (oshi no ko), lain iwakura (serial experiments lain), hajime hinata (danganronpa), k-angel (needy streamer overdose) and more hehe

Looks: Half Polish and Vietnamese and Half Middle Eastern(Iraqi)/Filipino, I'm very skinny like just flat, I have hazel eyes and some slight flecks of amber and blue, I have upturned eyes but they seem like they are almond shaped but they aren't too noticeable, I think I have a heart shaped face but from different angles it looks more diamond shaped(?), I'm approximately 5'8, I have a dimple only on my chin, I have dyed black hair, I also have bangs too, my clothing style tends to stretch widely from comfy to... a lot like this! I wear gyaru (hime gal, himekaji, agejo, gyaruo, rokku, manba, banba, kogal, tsuyome, and kigurumi), goth (trad goth, romantic goth, mall goth, cyber goth, and victorian goth), scenemo/emo (ofc), & vkei ouji and lolita, I can also pull off a kpop idol look, i also wear a lot of cool dresses and suits, I also wear Y2K and I also dress in alternative clothing a LOT, I wear a lot of other harajuku styles such as, jirai kei, decora and more so on.

hobbies: gaming, anthropology, pathology, theology, zoology, music, dancing, filmmaking, art (drawing, painting, pottery, digital art, etc), learning different instruments/languages, cosplaying, skateboarding, tabletop RPG's, taking pictures of things that I think are pretty, collecting figurines/stuffed animals and puppetry, science/history, soccer(football)/volleyball/ basketball and swimming, cooking/baking, art is definitely my main hobby I dedicate a lot of time to it, I can play 5 instruments which is the piano, cello, koto and bass/electric guitar, I know 6 languages and I'm learning more right now (which are hindi, chinese, vietnamese and taglong if your interested).

Likes: Chocolate, Strawberries, Iced Coffee and Boba Tea, Anime/ Manga, Music, Food, Winning in arguments online or irl, Reading, Cats, Sharks, Animals in general, Cold/or Rainy Weather, Shopping, Playing Tabletop RPG's, Abstract or Romance movies, Kdrama(pretty much any asian dramas), Spicy or Sweet Food, Ramen.

Dislikes: Loud Noises, Slow Walkers and hot weather.

Love Languages: pretty much all of them, LOL. (giving). gift giving, words of affirmation & physical touch (receiving)

Thank you so much! Have a good day!

𝕐𝕠𝕦 𝕙𝕒𝕧𝕖 𝕓𝕖𝕖𝕟 𝕞𝕒𝕥𝕔𝕙𝕖𝕕 𝕨𝕚𝕥𝕙…

𝓢𝓲𝓻 𝓟𝓮𝓷𝓽𝓲𝓸𝓾𝓼!

You were most likely the second resident at the hazbin hotel (who actually wanted to be redeemed... sorry angel dust-)

He was probably crying and or scared that he wasn't doing enough and you walked up to him and started talking

You got him to open up about his fears of most likely not working hard enough to be redeemed or being enough to be redeemed

"Thank you ssso much missster"

You were slightly awkward but he didn't care and just took it as you being shy

As you two got to know each other you became good friends. He loved hearing your rambles and your latest interests sometimes even begging you to talk about them just because he wanted to hear you

He doesn't mind you correcting him. In fact he encourages it. He wants to make sure he's not getting anything wrong and you help him in that sense.

You and him get up to all kinds of mischief when no ones looking and sometimes you even help him with his latest invention of sorts just to surprises or even maybe slightly terrify the gang

"Thisss onesss gonna be huge!"

He adores your curiosity and will always encourage it sense he himself is curious about most things

He loves the fact that you bring things like water bottles and medical kits wherever you go because he gets hurt a lot and would probably do the same at times

You both also probably help out the group a lot and do a lot of volunteer-ish activities together

He also just adores your laugh in general and will do whatever to make you laugh because he thinks its beautiful

You probably really get along with the egg bois as well

He also loves pets with all his heart so you would both probably (most likely) get some kind of pet

Keekee loves you and Sir Pentious a lot. So you both play with her constantly

"Itsss a kitty!!"

He's give you gifts every now and then. Most likely things that he ended up creating

He also loves the fact that you're confident. Honestly you might have to be confident enough for the both of you as he might back off a little but you always stand up for him and teacher him to stand up for yourself

He loves the fact that you don't hide what you like and that you're a very honest person. He feels like he can really talk and open up to you

He doesn't feel like a joke around you and he loves that you don't make him feel that way

You buy gifts for him often most likely soft things like plushies or such and it makes his day 10x better <3

He is very much a physical affection type of person so he'll always hold your hand, hug you, and or just touch your shoulder in general. He likes touch because it makes him feel like he's doing something right

"Can I have a hug my dear?"

You both watch a lot of movies together and commonly have movie marathons

He loves how emotional you are during a movie and will tend to get emotional with you

He also cries during movies so you both most likely cuddle when something sad is happening

He'll lean on your shoulder if he gets really sad and will start curling himself around you to get comfortable

*sniffles* " I don't think I'm very happy right now dear..." :(

He loves seeing you dress up and will tend to try and dress up with you but might fail a few times before actually getting a style down right

He loves playing video games with you even though he might not understand some of the mechanics all that much he's still willing <3

He loves hearing you rant about anthropology, pathology, theology, and zoology as he always loves to learn and as of currently you are his main source of learning

He'll also awkwardly ask you to play an instrument for him while he's working or thinking. Or when you're practicing he'll go in the room and start working on something as he loves hearing you play

He isn't much for skateboarding but he likes seeing you do all kinds of tricks or just watching you skateboard and making sure that you don't get hurt whilst doing so

"Watch out for that bump!"

He also likes running into your room and looking at all the things that you've collected over the years.

He'll try to find new things for you to add to your collections or sometimes even make something himself for you to add

He'll watch all of your films no matter what they are or what they're about. he might have trouble understanding some but nonetheless he'll applaud and get excited most likely bowing down to you.

He'll also want to show the other members of the hotel

"We mussst sshow thisss to them!"

He loves and I mean absolutely loves baking with you. In fact that how he asked you out. He wanted to bake with you

It was just some simple cookies but the whole time he was blushing and tripping over his tail and trying to keep it together

Not to mention his fact began blushing too when you laughed causing him to brighten up and laugh also

He always watches you draw or paint or just create art in general. He watches you add the colors like you're creating something out of thin air and with such diligence that sometimes you think that he zoned out into the art

You teach him how to draw every now and then too and how to paint and the first time he spilled paint all over himself and he was so embarrassed but you cheered him right up

Sometimes you'll speak a different language to him and he'll ask you to teach him but he might forget every now and then...

"What doesss that mean again my dear?"

He's not a big sucker for spicy food... but he is one for sweets

Sometimes he'll take you to a bakery just so you both can get something sweet to eat and if you're too busy? Thats fine he'll bring you something back anyways

Also if you're too stressed he'll most likely try to get or bake something sweet for you to enjoy and make your day as once again he loves seeing you smile and be happy

You'll try to get him to eat something spicy every now and then but he denies it and tells you that he's all good

"Itss jussst too hot my dear"

You both listen to music daily and sometimes blast it around the hotel

You both are always the first to pick the music and you like it that way. Although you do take suggestions from the others... but not Angel Dust because he wanted you to play a rather... inappropriate song

You both are the sweetest couple in hell (after chaggie ofc we love them <3) and when he died you were wrecked and couldn't sleep for a while

Everyone tried comforting you but you found yourself just going through his old inventions instead and taking some solace in that

Overall you're both very wholesome and make for an amazing couple and don't worry about being separated as you'll soon be redeemed with him <3

#hazbin #hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel matchup #hazbin hotel matchups #match up #matchups #matchup #hazbin hotel match up #hazbin hotel match ups #sir pentious #sir pentious hazbin #sir pentious hazbin hotel

3 notes · View notes

weirdcat1213 · 11 months

Text

Its time for the weekly horrors- I mean Trimax vol 3 >:3

The Thoughts:

chap 1:

-AH EVERYTHING IS FALLING

-bro you are about to get into a fight can you stop thinking about your bf for 5 minutes

-fr tho, vash's words making him hesitate/angry is so dcfgjhbkml

-why everyone wants my babygirl dead :c

-now now, comparing someone with their brother isnt a nice thing to do

-oh so now we're not even making an allegory, he actually called him jeesus

-also "your soul is forced to endure the sorrow by the hundreds, suffering by the thousands, and the rage by the hundreds of thousands" im gonna throw up cuz of how that GOOD and PAINFUL that shit is

-the polar opposite of being a human huh...i mean besides something i said weeks ago about how he's further away from humanity more than he would like that point is interesting cuz most of the time we call him someone who is more human than any other person. he carries more pain than any human could endure and definitely has more patience than anyone will ever have but...hm...i want to come back to this

-ww pls dont make me cry today pls honey

-oh im gonna cry

-"your ideals will join you in the grave" i fucking hate thats the reason why we all try to be better people, thanks to that fucking wet cat of a man i cannot deal actually

-MILLIE :D

chap 2:

-i dont have much to say about battles but let it be on the record that I'm enjoying ww's eyes sm

-oh page 38 is cool as hell

-OH SHIT IS THAT HIS FUCKING SPINE????

chap 3:

-ww stop having pretty eyes youre distracting

-meanwhile :3

-ah geesus the body horror (so good but creepy)

-EYES :D

-so many fucking details. nightow got down even the smallest scribbles, as 98 vash would say

-oh right that....thats still upsetting

-i fucking swear people need to leave my son alone

-also fucking hate that he had to SHOOT A BABY even if it was fake

-I FUCKING HATE THIS ACTUALLY

-i can feel his fucking mind breaking i cant do this

chap 4:

-"i cant do this" yet here i am lmao

-i think if vash held me like hes holding that girl a lot of my problems would be resolved ngl

-characters reciting names always get to me :c

-also HA EAT THE PTSD ASSHOLE

-"why are there so many" brad you may want to sit down for this one

-..................i deadass thought "oh the doctor is here" IVE READ THIS BEFORE AND I FELL FOR IT AGAIN

-vash with his hair down :3

-nah hes not gonna kill you BUT HE FUCKING SHOULD

-oh i will kill so many people (vash is bleeding)

-hm. this reminds me of something in houseki no kuni (i wont spoil but maybe ichikawa had trigun as inspo which would be cool af)

chap 5:

-oh im yeeting myself (ww thinks about the children) -ww gives in his anger and fear when punching those weirdass faces but I'm gonna say this once: that doesn't make him weaker or worst. i haven't seen anyone think that of ww, i just feel that when he compares himself to vash he feels that way and i cant stand it :)

-vash i fucking swear-

-oh god the fingers...the fucking fingers...

-oh you are NOT talking to my vash about pain and agony

-OH WAIT I FINALLY UNDERSTOOD THAT PANEL OH GOD NO I HATE REREADS WTF

-XD my girls

no wait i need to get back to that. i thought that was emilio's dad not fucking vash himself oh my god I'm sick so sick actually wtfffffffffffff

chap 6:

-is this the chapter with the gays eyes cuz I'm not ready for that-

-oh fuck you nightow. fuck you for putting knives in the title page and the title being "families"

-i want to punch so many things but I'm at work. fuck

-also i forgot about this stampede parallel GOD WHEN DOES MY SUFFERING END

-NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO THE GAY EYESSSSSSS

-yeah i agree this is literally the moment. like fuck. fuck actually. fuck what else is there to say.

-fuck

-like hes so fucking terrified that he was afraid for him, what his journey is causing ww, but even if he wanted ww to stay away and safe he knows ww would say fuck off, but also vash would not be able to take it

-THERES SO MUCH FEAR AND LOVE IN THOSE EYES IM GONNA BITE MY HAND

-OH I CANT ACTUALLY WHY DOES THIS HURT SO MUCH WTF

-im so fucking upset cuz the last 3 chapters were basically fights. they were full of energy and shit but now that is over and they are in a rare moment of peace, and everything fucking hits.

-im gonna go outside and step into oncoming traffic

-YES LUIDA MY QUEEN SHUT HIM UP

-WOLFWOOD :D pls never leave me

-i....*implodes*

-i am nothing. i just remembered that.

-OH CMONNNNNN

chap 7

-maybe i dont want to read trimax anymore. maybe a little person like me isn't strong enough for a 2nd round of the pain. with that in mind, lets keep reading :D

-WHERES THE NIGHTOW PUNCHING BAG WHEN YOU NEED IT

-wolfwood what he is it doesnt matter i swear pls cant you just love him?

-:c

-i dont like vash being emotionally attached to stuff cuz that means i have to yell HES LIKE ME FR FR

-oh that....that beautiful panel...amazing

-i think my mind blocked this out because of the previous sad things that happened, so now my brain is allowing me to process more sad things :3

-"i still have so much i must do" and i see i still have many tears to cry out huh?

-ofc wolfwood would ask about redemption

-cant my man show an important part of his past and show vulnerability in front of his friends in peace? damn

-im gonna start bitting my glasses

-GAY MOMENT PART 2 INCOMING

-luida pls i want to stop crying

-oh wolfwood honey....you just fell so hard for my man didnt ya

-i just realized the chapter is called "life as a" and I THINK the idea is to complete it with "life as a 'vash the stampede'" cuz he's not human

OK GREAT NOW I CAN RUN TO THE WASHROOM AND FUCKING CRY :D

#trigun #trimax #trigun maximum #trigunbookclub #nightow sir #i will meet you and i will end you #and then buy you coffee

22 notes · View notes

hankwritten · 5 months

Text

A Tavern Named Keep [4/6]

Demoman-centric Modern AU

[1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6]

In a small uni-town in New Mexico, DeGroot Keep serves liquor and succor to an eclectic yet loyal group of patrons, and has for many years. The Keep owes its success to its equally colorful owner, who always seems to know what you need—whether that be a stiff beer or a word of advice. But, between setting up his patrons or sifting through his friends’ problems, will Tavish remember to take care of himself?

“Alright lads,” Tavish says, sliding forward a napkin holder and a small bottle of hot sauce, “this one’s Helen and that one’s Miss Pauling.”

Mick and Scout groan.

Dell, whose quest to finish his after-work beer without issue sees that as increasingly unlikely, lowers it. “Am I missing something here?”

“DeGroot wants us to play matchmaker again,” Mick says, eyeing the tobasco like it might bite him.

“Like getting Doc to talk about his sex life wasn’t scarring enough the first time,” Scout grumbles.

“You’re all acting like I had you do a caber toss with a live hornet’s nest,” Tavish says. “And I never bloody asked you to talk to him about his sex life.”

“Well he still volunteered it free of freaking charge!”

“Let me get this straight,” Dell intercuts. “The reason Misha and Ludwig started making out in the middle of the bar that one night is because you set them up?”

“Ye make it sound so nefarious,” Tavish says.

Dell shakes his head. “Well, it’s definitely an accomplishment, I’ll give you that much.”

“It kinda is,” Scout admits. “You know, for a straight guy, you are weirdly good at hooking up all your gay friends.”

Tavish spreads his hands out magnanimously. “Everyone has their talents.”

“I don’t care how talented you are,” Mick points the knife that had been dissecting his shrimp flambé, “you’re not going to be able to pull on Helen what you pulled on those two drongos. That sheila eats cactus spines for breakfast and spits out the flechettes at passing prams.”

The company’s eyes turn to the piranha in question, a dry martini in one hand as she scours the tavern for even the faintest iota of something that doesn’t displease her. She has the aura of someone who knows she could get every person in the room under her employ in a matter of hours, and a viselike grip on her drink that indicates she would eviscerate anyone she couldn’t.

Tavish rotates back. “Ach, she’s not so bad once you get to know her.” He receives dissenting murmurs in reply. “Oh come on now! Can’t I get at least one of you to help smooth things out between Helen and Miss P?”

“I gotta say my interest is piqued,” Dell hums thoughtfully.

“There we go!” Tavish claps his hands together. “Now, I think our first step should be-”

DeGroot Keep, ever-sensitive beast that she is, knows when something momentous is about to occur. It is not conscious, but when the door slams open and the wall-mounted swords rattle in their sabers, every person in the tavern freezes in their cups and turns toward the young woman about to make the greatest announcement of her life.

“I quit!” Miss Pauling yells at full volume.

Two-dozen heads glance at Miss Helen who, like they, looks as though she’s been told that the sun is purple.

Wildly, Pauling repeats, “you hear that Helen? I quit!” She says it with such unrepentant glee, of which her audience has never heard the likes of before, and are shocked further still when she begins to laugh.

The laughter, speaking of years upon years of pent up underappreciation, bursts forward like a stampede of wild horses, unlike Pauling herself who has turned and fled joyously out into the street, manic whooping chasing her all the while.

“Oh,” Tavish says. “Okay.”

Dell whistles. “Never thought I’d see the day…”

“…Anybody else scared to look at Helen?” Scout already has a hand up, side pressed to the bar and strategically blocking the administrator from view.

Tavish, like all reasonable men when told not to look at something, looks. But where he expected a seething, vengeful harbinger, Helen only looks confused, no trace of the lightning quick rebound she’s mastered in even the most dire straits. Tavish, who’s never met a woman he’s more convinced is a steel automaton come to life, finds this infinitely puzzling.

This is not, however, the Keep’s only spectacle for the night.

Where Pauling once stood, a well-dressed man enters, out one problem and in another. His upper lip is curled in utter superiority, his black hair slicked back as though its gel is the only thing keeping it attached to his skull; the look of controlled arrogance could rivals Helen’s, except for the fact that (while she considers most things beneath her) she does not exude disgust while looking around a simple tavern. This stranger sizes up Tavish’s pride and joy like it’s the greasiest spoon he’s ever stepped in, instead of being merely kitsch.

This is the first obvious sign. The second is when Scout yells, “aw crap!” and promptly rolls full-body across the bar top and into the under bar.

“Oi!” Tavish says, now with a tangle of baseball player around his legs. “What the bloody hell was that about?”

The look Scout gives him from the floor is of disdain wrestling with mortification. “That’s my freaking dad, that’s what it’s about.”

Ah.

Tavish glances up at the stranger who, having finished his initial scan of the establishment, is now walking over to the bar itself. From what Tavish knows of Scout’s ongoing academic situation (not to mention all the labels back-and-forth they’ve been doing lately) he completely understands why they might not want to be seen by the elder Mr. Fortier at this precise moment.

“A glass of whatever passes for your finest in this place,” Scout’s father says by way of greeting.

“…Are you trying to order a glass of wine?” Tavish ventures a guess.

“Yes you simpleton, wine, and if you cannot handle that much then perhaps you should rotate out with one of your more competent coworkers.”

Hm. It’s been awhile since he’s considered throwing a customer out on their arse within the first twelve seconds of meeting them, but strange times do abound.

The bastard isn’t making himself popular with the others either. Mick—who caught a laser beam of distaste as the stranger sat down—is returning the favor, lip curled in his direction. However, Dell was close enough to the scuffle to hear at least part of Scout’s hissed warning, and his face has folded itself into something frighteningly stern. The engineer is slow to anger, but Tavish thinks he might be seeing the beginnings of it.

The Keep’s finest does not spend more than ten seconds in Mr. Fortier’s gullet before he makes an exaggerated gagging noise.

This lasts for eleven seconds. During this time, the act of three men honing their spite into a veritable orbital strike is practically audible.

When he’s quite finished, Mr. Fortier takes two fingers and deliberately slides the glass of wine away from himself, returning to glaring at the front of the house with frightening purpose.

Tavish grits his teeth. That curb-kicking is looking pretty good right about now, but he might as well give the snake one chance. “Looking for someone?”

“Yes, my son. I was told he frequented this establishment, though it seems I was misled.”

“What’s-”

“Proof you should never trust hairdressers,” Mr. Fortier continues before Tavish can even assemble the syllables. “Incompetent. It appears I will have to go to the registrar after all, and God knows how inept those secretaries will be. It is a disgrace that these events were allowed to get this far, no doubt the fault of that defective institute that this whole pathetic town is leaning on.”

Dell, who’s working his way toward his 12th PhD at that ‘defective institute’ while still putting in full time at the oil field, breathes in hard through his nose.

Scout, similarly, lets out a growl only Tavish can hear. Discreetly as he can, Tavish sneaks a glance at them, and to his surprise they’re sporting an expression that puts Mick’s open sneer to shame.

“Honestly, why I allowed this is a mystery.” Good Lord does this man ever stop blustering? “His scholarly pursuits weren’t always a disappointment you know, at least when I had my say in the matter. Yet when I put forth my selections for respectable universities, the boy’s mother vetoed me!”

The glance-sneaking is no longer subtle. Scout’s face is turning bright red as they’re involuntary made to listen to the conversation above them, one hand scratching nail marks in the liquor shelf. Tavish is starting to worry they might do something they’ll regret later.

“Scout…” he says softly.

“-I swear, the only thing more disgraceful would have been somehow winding up in community college.”

“That’s all your freaking fault!”

Scout’s return to the scene is so sudden, so bombastic, that Tavish is nearly bowled over with their sudden verticality. In fact, Mr. Fortier is knocked over, though from shock and mismanaged weight on his barstool.

“Jeremy?” he says, shaking his head as he lifts it from the floor. “What on Earth are you doing behind there?”

In a skillful rendering moot of the subject, Scout hops the bar and lands on the other side. “The only reason I couldn’t go anywhere else is because you’d only cover half of it!”

To his credit, Mr. Fortier recovers quickly. He stands and adjusts his tie, saying, “what I provided would have been more than sufficient if your mother cared enough to add a single cent. I am no longer paying child support. My contribution to your education was a gift, a gift with the condition that you would not fail your way out of this glorified diploma mill!”

“Yeah well I would have failed my way out of whatever snooty shithole you’d’ve picked too, so the least you can do is stop bitching about it.”

Those that hadn’t cleared out in anticipation of Helen’s oncoming meltdown are beginning to trickle away now, except for a few stragglers seeing if anything exciting will happen. Maybe they’re the wise ones, since when Tavish looks, the administrator is nowhere to be found.

“That is besides the point,” Mr. Fortier snaps. “I came to see if you were in need of assistance, and clearly the trip was necessary. Already I’ve seen that your leisure hours are spent in this place, you’re beginning to show signs of malnutrition, and you obviously haven’t had a haircut in weeks.”

That sputters Scout to a halt, whether having forgotten it or merely that they were meant to be hiding it, their hand jumps to the stray hairs curling around their ears.

Thankfully, their second trip across the bar has realigned them with allies. Mick moves to put an arm around Scout’s shoulders, and Dell has had just about enough.

“If you’ve come to see if Scout’s alright, you’ve a funny way of showing it.” He moves in between Scout and their father, leveling a glare at the taller man’s lightly stubbled face.

“Scout?” Mr. Fortier’s anger almost seems eager to jump to a more unfamiliar target. “My son does not need nicknames from a den of drunks.”

The fingers of Dell’s left hand curl, and Tavish is just beginning to think that as a responsible bar owner he should maybe do something about all of this when the engineer says, “you’re bothering our friend, and I think it’s best if you get along now.”

“I will not take instruction from the likes of you,” Mr. Fortier hisses. “And I will not be questioned on my parenting from a illiterate, mouth-breathing, redneck-”

Dell socks him right in the chin.

Both Scout and Mick leap back, the former saying, “holy shit Dell!” A startled laugh erupts from them in sheer disbelief. “Haha, oh my God. You actually freaking punched him.”

Tavish does some quick mental calculations and decides to pick up a cleaning cloth and turn the fuck around.

For the second time tonight, Mr. Fortier struggles off the (reasonably clean) tavern floor. “How dare you-”

Doing his best impression of someone who’s just heard a startling noise, Tavish rounds on the scene. “Oi! No fighting in here. The pair of you take it outside.”

“The pair of-” Mr. Fortier squawks. “But he punched me.”

Tavish shrugs. “Well I didn’t see it. When in doubt, throw the louts out.” This Tavish has just made up, but he’s immediately very proud of it. “Go on.”

Scout’s father will protest this for a bit longer, but Dell humbly nods his head with a, “real sorry for all the trouble,” before bowing out. He doesn’t wink, but the grateful smile he fails to hide tells all.

After a few low not-quite-threats, Mr. Fortier departs too, bristling all the while and pointing at Scout, “we will speak later.”

When the tavern’s finally empty, Scout lets loose with a long held breath. “Whew. Thanks for that guys.”

“Anytime,” Tavish offers.

“Y’ gunna be alright, Roo?” Mick asks.

“I think yeah. That shit bought me some time at least, I gotta go home and figure out what the hell I’m going to do about,” they wave their hand recklessly. “Him. But uh…might leave through the back door if that’s alright right with you.”

“Be my guest.”

By the time true night has heralded in Jane at the end of his shift, blessed silence has crept into every cranny of the tavern, comforting Tavish and he flips the last of the chairs onto its table.

“You missed a hell ‘o a day today,” he informs the ranger. “Romantic entanglements, family dramas, an exchange ‘o fisticuffs: was like the old classics come to life!”

“Fisticuffs! Without me? The gall.” Jane reaches behind the bar and helps himself to a beer.

“Aye, but that’s not the craziest part. Miss Pauling quit.”

Jane pauses in his attempt to liberate the pry-off with his bare hands. “She did not.”

“She did! Came right in here, smart as you please, and told Helen right off. Didn’t even say why, just had her piece and skedaddled.”

“Ridiculous.” He shakes his head. “Miss Pauling is the most hardened warrior I know. She has more gumption than the rest of this company put together; she’s no quitter.”

“It’s hard for me to believe too.” Tavish finds a spot beside Jane, indulging as well in a final drink of the night. “To be honest, I always thought she was too infatuated with Helen to ever leave her.”

“Maybe that’s why she had to go. Maybe it made staying too hard.”

Tavish opens his mouth, but the necessary commentary doesn’t arrive. The refrigerator hums in the room beyond, and he breaks the silence with a different topic, “Scout’s da showed up at the bar today.”

“The French one?” Jane blinks.

“Is that the only thing you remember about that whole situation?”

“Negative! In fact, I think the worming frenchiness can go very far in explaining the entire cesspit of issues roasting over there. Spinelessness is in that family’s DNA.”

“If you saw the argument I had, you wouldn’t be calling afoul on spinelessness.” Tavish thoughtfully sips his beer. “It seems one of those immutable facts of life that no matter how many generations we go down we’ve never quite cracked the code of healthy parenting.”

Jane doesn’t respond. Jane doesn’t respond for a while, and Tavish is so caught in picking a bit of broken skin around his fingernail as an old unpleasantness settles in his stomach that he doesn’t even notice. When he finally glances Jane’s way, he frowns, knowing he’s been staring at him.

“What?” he asks, already defensive and lying to himself that he’s not.

“You’re thinking about it again.”

Damn him. Tavish hadn’t even glanced at the battered, samurai themed calendar pinned to the bar’s back wall, but the reminder of the incoming date must have been clear on his face. Brushing aside what was supposed to be the last drink of the night, Tavish reaches over and endeavors to give it some company.

“Are you okay?”

It’s so soft, so straight to the point that Tavish could be forgiven for thinking he had imagined it. But when he looks up, the concern is there, and he finds he can’t meet Jane’s eyes. “I’m fine. Haven’t had any more incidents since the vomit thing.”

“Are you sure? Because the last time it was this bad with the anniversary of his death coming coming up-”

“-You found me with one foot off the overpass bridge, I know, I was there.” He regrets it as soon as it leaves his mouth. “Ach I’m sorry, you don’t deserve that. I just…I really am alright Jane. I haven’t been slipping up.” Jane eyes the beer in his sweating palm and he adds, “much.”

“…Acknowledged.”

And it’s a relief, because although Jane knows when to push, he also knows when to back off. After a while, Tavish says, “I don’t think I could have asked for a better stranger to walk past all those years ago. I really mean that Jane. I wouldn’t be anything without you.”

The breath through his nose is sharp and stinging, and Jane’s eyes lock forward while the rest of him tenses back. His mouth works silently for a moment, and Tavish hurries to fill the gap.

“And if you ever need me, I’ll be there for you. Aye?”

This snaps Jane back to attention, but not in the way Tavish would have thought. In fact, he seems almost angry. “Don’t. Don’t do that.”

“Do what?”

“Try to find something to help with.”

“Again with this! What’s so bloody wrong with helping people?”

“Because what I need is something not in your power to give,” Jane whips the words at him, something painful and unarticulated caught in his throat. “And I’m not accepting charity from you until you first learn to ask for things for yourself. Now, if you really are ‘not slipping up’, then you will get rid of that drink and turn in for the night.”

It feels as if he’s just been scolded, but over what Tavish has no idea. He was going to bed anyway, though, so he makes a pah and heads for the stairs, if only to get away from the mood.

Not before finishing the beer, however. He bloody pays for these things.

He’s still thinking about the argument in the morning, if it really was an argument. He’s perfectly aware that most people have issues beyond his means. His is goal isn't to grant wishes, dropping them over his friend’s heads like some glorified delivery boy; all he wants to do is provide support where he can, nudging them on toward their goals. Jane should at least be able to talk to him about whatever’s going on.

This occupies him to the point that he nearly breaks a dish from scrubbing so hard, and he forces himself to take a deep breath and put it from his thoughts. Practicing mindfulness and all that.

It’s pure luck that he’s out of the kitchen when the unwelcome visitor returns. There is the usual soft dancing of light as someone passes by the stained glass, then the true shadow when it appears in the door’s glazing, surrounded by oaken grapes carved straight from the wood. As opposed to his first appearance, there is nothing grand about Mr. Fortier’s reentrance. In fact, he more or less slinks into the Keep, crawling onto a barstool with little fanfare. A plump bruise has manifested across his right cheek—it seems the meeting with Conagher wounded his pride after all.

He half lays on the bar and says, “gin,” his tie undone and his suit ruffled.

“You still owe for the wine yesterday,” Tavish says matter-of-factly, not making a move to help.

The Frenchman grumbles something, then reaches into his pocket and slaps a couple hundred-dollar bills onto the bar. Tavish shelves his morals and gets the good man a gin.

“Surprised you came back,” Tavish says as he pours, “let alone that you thought you’d be welcome back.”

“Despite my best attempts, this is the only place I know Jeremy can be found,” Mr. Fortier says, deflecting the first accusation and ignoring the second. “I cannot simply give up. Not now that I know I wasn’t imagining things.”

“Why not? You don’t seem all that keen to be here.”

Mr. Fortier glares over the colorless liquid rolling in his glass, digging into Tavish with offense just barely held in check. “I have several contracts waiting for me in San Francisco at this very moment. Before this, I had chartered a private flight to Cancun that would have consisted of all-inclusive beverages and a much needed four-hour nap. Believe me when I say if I did not want to be here I wouldn’t be.”

Tavish shrugs. “Scout’s under the impression that Ms. Deramo sent you.”

“Sent me,” Mr. Fortier scoffs. “My ex-wife, a byproduct of raising several monkeys, does not believe in coddling. She couldn’t care a lick about our son’s education, or any crisis he may be experiencing thereof.”

“I find that hard to believe, Mr. Fortier.”

He waves the hand away. “Please, you aren’t one of Jeremy’s boorish high school friends, the formality comes across as sniveling. My name is Crue if you must.”

“Well Crue,” Tavish says as he applies one of the dozens of refills the man has prepaid for, “it seems it’s going tae be right difficult to give your kid any help if Scout doesn’t want help, you ken?”

A deep and prolonged sigh escapes from the exasperated father. “I am aware. But how can I simply turn around and go home? You know Jeremy quite well, yes? And can you tell me, looking me straight in the eye, that nothing has occurred within the past month that I should be concerned about?”

Hesitation comes swiftly and obviously. Thankfully, Tavish is saved a crisis of loyalty by the smack of a door and the demand of, “DeGroot! Your assistance is required. Now.”

Helen is not one for entrances, let alone dramatic entrances, and the surprise is enough that Tavish misses a beat.

“My what now?” he asks, but Helen has already clambered into the seat next to Crue, much to his surprise. Elbowing people out of the way while completely ignoring them is his modus operandi.

“Do not play coy with me,” she says. “I know what you do here.”

“…I tend the bar,” the bartender says.

“You deal in information. In advice. I require your counsel in getting Miss Pauling back.”

If Tavish were the sort to comment on a lady’s appearance, he’d say that Miss Helen does not look great. After years as Pauling’s unofficial caretaker, he knows the signs of a night without sleep, both by the darkening under her eyes and the few escapees from her impossibly stiff hair.

Tavish, with affected dispassion, pours more gin into Crue’s glass. “Sounds like something I could help with. Assuming, of course, you’ve completed step one of admitting to yourself that ‘getting her back’ doesn’t mean entirely in the practical sense?”

Helen bares her upper lip, which is one of the most expressive emotions he’s ever seen on her.

“If not, well,” he shrugs. “Brain Drain is a serious issue in our modern age, and there are experts who dedicate their whole lives to studying how to reverse its effects. In that respect, I’m out of my depth.”

“The idea that I would admit to something so…pedestrian is ridiculous,” she spits. “Miss Pauling is an essential employee. She cannot quit. It is…it is not allowed. My personal feelings are inconsequential to the grand design.”

“Ah, but that is not saying they are nonexistent,” Crue cuts in mildly, having found himself in the middle of the conversation and welcoming the distraction. “Perhaps examining one’s motives might narrow down your courses of action.”

“And who are you?” Helen says, as though truly not having noticed him all this time. “Why should I listen to your pathetic insight, someone who-” She sniffs the air. “-Has such little propriety he smokes Gauloises Blue Way?”

Without missing a beat, Crue says, “rich coming from a woman still wearing heels from the Manolo Blahnik collection of last year. Fall of last year, even.”

“To profess expertise on shoes when yours are clearly the inferior leather version of-”

“Helen,” Tavish snaps. “Focus.”

The bit of liveliness she’d gained by having someone to trade bitchy quips with quickly dissipates. She perches one elbow on the bar and rubs her temple.

“My feelings,” she says, “as I have discovered these past eighteen hours, may not have been entirely professional. But that matters little. What matters is that I convince her to return. She is irreplaceable.”

“That so?” Tavish lifts an eyebrow.

“Her work speaks for itself. All of the good The Facility has done in the past eleven years could not have been accomplished without her, without her conviction. Her pragmatism is sound, and her ability to improvise is unparalleled. She is the most intelligent, beautiful, hard working woman I know.”

“…Helen,” Tavish says wearily.

“And I cannot continue without her. I must get her to see reason, to understand she was loved and appreciated-”

“-Helen!”

“What?”

“Don’t you think,” Tavish’s beleaguered voice asks, “that calling her ‘the most intelligent, beautiful, hardworking woman you know’ sounds like a…” He motions her to continue the sentence.

“A what? The opening lines of a promotional announcement? A description for a hit?”

“Something you should tell her in person,” Tavish presses.

There is a noise. A petulant, disgruntled noise that had never festooned the walls of the Keep ever before or ever since, and until that very moment Tavish didn’t believe the CEO of TF was capable of making. She glares at her current elbow supporter as though it will tell her otherwise.

“Now, Helen,” Tavish adds, this time a little gentler. (He’s fed up, not completely heartless.)

“Yes. Hm. Now is the best time I suppose. Before she seeks other employment.”

Tavish thinks Miss Pauling could first do with a good scrumpy-coma as opposed to a new job, but that’s neither here nor there. “There’s a good lass. Off you go.”

As Helen hadn’t ordered a drink, she had nothing to down in one gulp before turning heel out the door. Instead, she settled for Crue’s.

“Garce!” he swears, but she’s already gone.

Tavish pats him lightly on the arm. “There there. I won’t take it out of your tab.”

Crue sighs, but offers no more complaint, no doubt resigning this to just another footnote in his terrible day. They sit in silence for some time longer, Crue failing to lower the waterline in his drink, and Tavish at least pretending to do his barman duties. Noon comes and goes.

“So,” Crue finally offers what’s been on his mind. “You are seen as a dealer of advice among these people?”

“Aye, it’s a reputation I’ve accrued. You looking for some?”

“I obviously need it.” This flirting with self-reflection is gone before Tavish can process it, and Crue continues, “if I am to provide…fatherly support, then first I must get Jeremy to speak with me. Considering you knew my name, I can assume you and he are friends, and it would be remiss not to ask if you could perhaps…parlay with him? On my behalf?”

“I’m not telling you where Scout is,” Tavish says.

“I am not asking you to. But anything you can offer is better than what I have.”

Tavish thinks on this. He taps his chin, initiates a brief staring contest with the cigar-twirling deer, then pulls out his phone.

As Crue perks, Tavish says, “I’m warning you’re here, in case Scout wanted to stop by and winds up thinking better of it.” He holds up a finger. “I will mention that you’re acting all regretful, and that it seems like you’ve come in peace. Everything else is up to Scout.”

“Merci. That’s all I ask.”

Part of Tavish, a very small part he’s trying to ignore lest it cloud his judgment and try to make Scout’s decisions for them, hopes it all works out. There’s a long history there, more than just money and parental spite, but he also knows that if anyone could use another leg for their support system right now, it’s Scout.

So when classes are done for the day, and the kid is the first to appear in the evening rush—striding to the little booth Crue has scuttled into and depositing themself with a suspicious but not outright hostile frown—he’s grateful. One by one regulars and little knots of familiar faces stream into DeGroot Keep, each paying their respects as flashes of surprise before moving on with their night. Through all this, and the general hubbub, Tavish almost misses when two flicks of purple join the influx.

He’s serving drinks to the crotchety old man who runs the law firm next door when he spots them, and can’t peel himself away until later in the night. When he does finally grab a moment, he’s stopped by Dell.

“That something we should be worried about?” he asks, jerking his chin at the familial disentanglement.

It hasn’t risen to shouting again. Crue, the bright bruise still blooming on his face, has spent most of the time with his head lowered, taking in whatever Scout has been telling him. Scout is harder to read, back turned toward the bar, but Tavish swears the tension has gone out of their shoulders as the evening went on.

Tavish hums. “I think they’ll be alright.”

“You sure about that?” Dell presses. “I know how easily family crap can suck you up again, all honeyed words and promises to do better.”

“Then we’ll keep an eye on it,” Tavish says. “Besides, I talked with him. He’s a right pillock, but he isn’t all bad.”

The grunt Dell gives is dubious at best.

“And we only hated him on Scout’s behalf, aye? If they decide to forgive him, it’s our duty to do the same.”

It again looks like Dell might fight him on this, but after a moment his shoulders sag. “I s’pose you’re right. Y’know I hate when you’re all morally upstanding about these things, makes a man feel bad.”

“Morally upstanding! Can’t say I’ve ever been accused of that before,” Tavish chuckles. “But if you’ll ‘scuse me, I have a different ado to check up on.”

With a drink in each hand, Tavish escapes to the lower regions of the tavern. Either by chance or by Helen’s follicle-melting gaze she can direct at anyone passing within her sphere of influence, the room of cushy chaises and stalwart suits of armor is uninhabited.

Save for a pair of women that is. Pauling is fast asleep, her head nestled against Helen’s shoulder and a line of drool leaking into the woven tweed of her jacket. As Tavish enters, that terrifying glare of the remaining lass is leveled solely at him.

“You will speak of this to no one,” she hisses.

Despite the venom in her words, when Pauling snorts in her sleep, she reaches up and fondly tucks a loose strand of ink-colored hair back behind her ear.

Tavish smiles and, setting down two glasses each garnished with an indigo cherry on the table next to them, he says, “wouldn’t dream of it.”

#tf2 fanfiction #adminpauling #pens & pencils

3 notes · View notes