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chromecutie · 4 years

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Not A Ghost - part 24

A/N - Multi-part fic. Colossus x OC where OC has come home after being wrongfully imprisoned in the Icebox. Warnings for whole fic - references and flashbacks to harsh prison environment, including various types of abuse. Takes place shortly after events in Deadpool 2. Whole thing will end up on my AO3 eventually.

Taglist: @emma-frxst @ra-ra-rasputiin @holamor @empressme-bitch @marvel-is-perfection @hazilyimagine @marvelhead17 @rovvboat @angstybadboytrash @whitewitchdown @master-sass-blast @mori-fandom @mooleche @dandyqueen @emberbent @leo-writer . Wanna be added or removed? Holla at me.

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The first time she met the Juggernaut, she had been hiding during a riot. Rhonda had slipped into the sector labeled MAXIMUM SECURITY without realizing, and was hyperventilating against a wall when she heard a deep, booming voice grumble, “Keep it down, will ya, some of us sleep here. Asshole.”

Rhonda jumped away from the wall and out of her skin. The wall was a door--for an enormous cell. Whoever was in it must be huge. And strong. The noise of the riot was still audible from where she was, and she couldn’t make herself go back out there. She tapped the most polite knock-knock she could with one knuckle on the giant metal door, “Who’s in here?”

There was an impatient groan, and she swore she could feel it reverberate through the steel door. “I’m the Juggernaut, bitch!”

“Shit!” Rhonda hissed and backed away a few paces, silent in the prison-issue shoes.

“Heard of me, huh?” the Juggernaut grunted, his sneer audible.

She thought she might piss herself. “Uh...y-you could say that.” The X-Men had fought him several times, and Rhonda had always counted herself lucky she hadn’t been pulled on those missions, but her husband was always top pick. Colossus was the only one strong enough to give Juggernaut a good run for his money, but they were so evenly matched that she worried he might come home injured or worse.

Years later, she would still wonder what possessed her to do this, but she crept closer to the door again, and saw there was a slot at the bottom for sliding meal trays in and out. Out of her pocket, she pulled the little sealed cup of chocolate pudding--the only thing she had been able to save from her lunch when the riot broke out. Down on all fours, she slid the pudding cup in with her right hand, which was already injured and she figured if she had to choose a hand to risk losing, better her non-dominant hand. Still, she yanked it back as quickly as she could, in case he decided to stomp her.

“Jesus Christ, that the fuck happened to your hand?”

Rhonda scoffed and glanced down at the scabs where her pinkie used to be less than a week ago. “Welcome wagon my first day,” she grumbled sardonically. “They heard about my other yellow suit--” she gasped when she realized what she was saying, and who she was telling.

After a thick pause, the Juggernaut started laughing his ass off. “How does one of the X-Men land in the Icebox?”

“I’d rather not talk about it,” she muttered.

The seal on the pudding cup popped, and there was a slurping sound. “So what’s this for?” Juggernaut asked, referring to the pudding.

Rhonda folded her arms tight across her chest and huddled against the Juggernaut’s door. “This is the longest I’ve talked to anyone here without getting stabbed, punched,” she glanced down at her hand, “or dismembered.”

His snicker vibrated through the door, absolutely insidious, “Sweetheart, there’s no tellin’ what I would do to you if it weren’t for this cell.”

The Icebox was chilly, but Rhonda didn’t know the chill could sink deeper into her bones. The collar around her neck felt heavier. “S-still,” she forced herself to say, “Thanks, I guess.”

“Tch,” Juggernaut grunted, and there was a rustling sound. Maybe he was settling to go back to sleep. “You’re not gonna make it a month here, X-Girlie. If you’re lucky, they’ll kill you quick.”

Despite some inmates’ best efforts, Rhonda did make it another month. Then another, and another. She made a point to keep visiting the Juggernaut, if for no other reason than to say she was still kicking. It was safest to visit during riots, and only if those got loud enough for the guards stationed at MaxSec to jump in and get it under control. She usually brought a pudding cup for Juggernaut, sometimes her own, sometimes one she stole from someone else to start the riot in the first place.

Rhonda learned what it took to survive the Icebox. She got smarter about hiding what she wanted to keep, she got better at reading people’s body language, better at guessing who would be a threat and when, better at sneaking around to look for potential escape routes. But above all, survival in the only penitentiary for criminal mutants meant being more brutal than the person attacking you.

Over time, Juggernaut--his real name was Cain--admitted that most inmates trying to talk to him were trying to enlist his help in this riot or that jailbreak. None of their attempts ever worked, so Cain stayed out of all of them. But Rhonda never asked for anything, and that was confusing and suspicious to him. Sometimes he asked, “Why the hell you talkin’ to me, anyway?”

Rhonda drummed her fingernails on the steel door, “Same as the first time we talked. I kinda like this thing where I can have a conversation without getting stabbed.” She popped the seal of a pudding cup before sliding the cup under Cain’s door (always with her right hand), keeping the foil seal for herself to lick it clean.

“Yeah well,” Cain grunted, “no promises if I ever get outta this box.” Every time he made that threat, he sounded less serious.

Sometimes Rhonda even mocked his voice, imitating him, “No promises, yeah, yeah.” He grunted a short laugh whenever she did that.

Once, Cain asked, “So, girlie, did they give you a codename? The X-Men?”

Rhonda’s heart sank. She had done a few stints in solitary, and been knocked unconscious a few times. It made her completely lose track of how long she had been in the Icebox, and eventually she gave up counting. She never stopped thinking about how to escape, but plenty of times, it felt like she would never get back to her family. “Voltage,” she replied and explained, “I wanted to be Amps, or Amperage, because, you know, it’s the amps that can be fatal. But Scott didn’t want to hear it. He said Voltage was flashier and didn’t take a lot of explaining--”

“Who’s Scott?”

“Oh...Cyclops. Laser eyes. Big visor.”

“Ah, yeah,” Cain recognized the description. “Yeah, he sounds like a prick.”

She couldn’t help but laugh, “He really is!”

More time went by. Rhonda wasn’t sure anymore if she was getting better at living in the Icebox. She was in fights almost every single day. It seemed like she won as many as she lost, but she was still alive. Alive, but everything weighed on her more than it used to. Scars and tattoos started piling up on her skin--all of them against her will, except for the teardrops on her cheek. Those had earned her a break from getting attacked by anyone not brave enough to take on a known killer. She scratched at her neck under the collar a lot, and there were always scabs and calluses. She barely recognized herself in the mirror anymore, and not just because of the hollows under her eyes and cheeks.

Still, she visited Cain. She wondered if he could tell she was flagging when he asked her about home.

“You got somebody waiting? When you get out, I mean.”

“Yeah,” she sighed, “My husband.”

“Don’t tell me he’s the hairy one with the claws,” Cain grumbled.

“Logan? Hell no,” she chuckled, “He’s too--no. Just no.” She absently picked at some scabs. “My husband is...very tall. Exceptionally strong. Exceptionally sweet, when he's not kicking your ass.”

Cain groaned, “Ohhhh, of fuckin’ course. You’re married to the commie?”

“He’s not a communist,” Rhonda retorted, wincing when she aggravated her sore neck. “And yes...I just hope he’s okay right now.”

“So, uh, no offense, but you sound pretty shrimpy." Cain mumbled something Rhonda couldn't make out before he spoke up again, "When you, uh...with him...how does that work?"

Ronda paused, then rolled her eyes. "You looking for something nice to think about later?"

“Commaahhhn,” he tried to play it cool, “Isn’t everyone?”

She realized she was smiling--really smiling, not just baring her teeth. “He’s not always eight feet of chrome, you know that? He’s got dark hair, and some of the clearest blue eyes I’ve ever seen.” Rhonda rested her head against Cain’s cell door. “His dimples just kill me. He takes his time, doesn’t rush anything,” she mused. “He does a lot with his hands…” she tried to remember exactly what it felt like, and tried not to be horrified that the details were fuzzy. “And...oh god, his mouth when he--”

“A’right, a’right,” Cain whined, “Forget I asked. I still gotta fight him if I ever see him again, not...think about his mouth.” He grunted his disgust. “Now I just wanna high-five him.”

“High-five him?” Rhonda’s voice sank back into the snarl she usually spoke with these days. “For what?”

Cain grumbled, “He found somebody. That ain’t easy for the big freaks like us.” She heard some rustling and two big thumps--Cain took off his boots. Why did he even put them on if he never left his cell? “And if he married you...you’re probably all right.”

“You don’t know that.” Rhonda scratched around her collar again and got to her feet.

“I know you don’t belong in this shitbox,” he said softly--softly for Cain.

“I sure as hell didn’t used to,” she started to shuffle away. “I gotta get going before the guards catch me here and hit me with that cattle prod again. Later, Cain.”

“Try not to get murdered,” he called lazily after her. He would never say it out loud, but he knew he’d be sad if he heard about her getting killed.

That was the last time Rhonda visited before a stranger with a massive gun had shown up and caused enough damage to the Icebox that the inmates had to be loaded up for a transfer. After the transfer convoy got destroyed was the first time Rhonda and Cain spoke without a thick steel door separating them.

#colossus x oc #piotr rasputin x oc #deadpool fanfic #xmen fanfic #longfic #multipart fic #angst #colossus #piotr rasputin #icebox #mutants

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manifestoonmoralmanlove · 5 years

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Gormless Ch. 13 – Everything’s awful but lesbians are in fact REAL

A well-meaning friend gave me a book series that is hilariously bad. The first book was Souless and my riffs were entitled brainless. This second book is entitled Changless and these riff are then gormless.

I mean to say I have entitled them gormless! Not that my riffs are dumb, and the effort I spend on them stupid since I’m the only one who enjoys them. HAHA!

The story is SUPPOSED TO be about how a badass lady wearing a rad-looking carriage dress hits baddies with her umbrella and bangs her hot werewolf husband. In reality it’s mostly poor attempts at being witty, flirty, and superior.

For the last book check out the brainless tag.

If you want the TL;DR version but want to read these new riffs anyway?

This story is set in supernatural Victorian steampunk England. Alexia is our NOT LIKE OTHER GIRLS protag. She is a soulless, which means she’s able to negate the abilities of vampires and werewolves by touching them. She’s recently married a big oaf, named Lord Connel Maccon. He’s the manchild in charge of the supernatural police with a zillion dollars and he’s totes super hot too ok. Their relationship is mostly arguments about how Maccon can’t tell her fucking anything. Alexia has also recently become head of ~Soulless affairs~ in Queen Victoria’s government. She has a dumb friend named Ivy, a gay vampire friend named Akeldama, a family who’s evil because they do the same shit as her but while being blonde, and most importantly Alexia is better than everyone cause…cause.

Last time on Gormless:

Turns out a preserved corpse of a Soulless person that the Kingair pack stole from Egypt is causing the humanization problem. However somebody is after that coprse, and knocked LeFoux and Lord Maccon unconscious. Alexia gonna have to fix everything herself HURMPH!

Chapter 13 – Everything’s awful but lesbians are in fact REAL

Wowzers! Here’s the climax chapter. It won’t be the height of tension, but it will be the height of my irritated confusion. My apologies for length, it was a long chapter, and full of a lot of bullshit. LET’S GO!

We get a rare good moment where Alexia looks at the passed out Maccon and worries about him. She makes a cute note about how his eyelashes are super long and once when she commented that she was jealous of his long eyelashes he tickled her neck with them. This will be the last genuinely good thing in this chapter.

Alexia goes to a recently woken up LeFoux. LeFoux is all distraught, and there’s a bullshit line about how being upset made her look slightly more feminine and Alexia, “Didn’t know if she liked that.”

CAUSE SADNESS IS A WOMAN DISEASE AND ALEXIA ONLY CARES WHAT LEVEL OF CURRENT FUCKIBLITY YOU ARE! THE LEVEL OF EGOMANIA ON THIS BITCH!

LeFoux is like, “Hey don’t be mad at the woman who shot me and your husband. She didn’t ~mean~ it.”

YES TURNS OUT THE BIG BAD OF THIS BOOK SERIES I FUCKING CALLED BACK IN CHAPTER 4 OF THE LAST BOOK! It was Angelique! GOSH WHAT A FUCKING TWIST! YOU KNOW THE CHARACTER WHO, AT THE END OF THE LAST BOOK WAS DESCRIBED IN TEXT AS A BLATANT SPY! Yet the entirety of this book Alexia thinks its LeFoux and goes so far as to think she’s faking being shot? She turns out of the room and all the werewolves are sleeping and instead of…I DON’T KNOW letting them know she’s identified the attacker? She just huffs that she must do everything herself.

GOD STUPIDITY AND A POINTLESS MARTYR COMPLEX IS REALLY FUCKING HOT! ALSO I’M GLAD THAT EVERY SINGLE WEREWOLF FELT COMFORTABLE FALLING ASLEEP WITH AN ACTIVE SHOOTER IN THEIR CASTLE THAT WAS EVEN ABLE TO PUT DOWN THEIR FORMER ALPHA!

So Alexia goes to the room where the mummy is, but Angelique is not there. So instead of disposing of the body that Angelique is clearly after, she’s runs up to the Aethongrapher room. Angelique is there and shoves her aside to escape the room. So they go back to the mummy room, and Angelique is trying to drag the body out of there. Alexia goes to shoot some of her sleepy darts at Angelique but just as she’s about to Ivy shows up to stand in front of Alexia and whine that Alexia is being callous to her. But as I have described before, this is not Ivy’s fault. Ivy’s kink is inconvenient timing. Blithering obtusely in front of a weapon while the bad guy gets away makes her CUM. The TV hasn’t been invented yet so she can’t stand in front of it during a crucial part of a show/game. SHE HAS TO FIND SOME WAY TO GET OFF!

DO YOU WANT THIS WOMAN TO NEVER ORGASM!?

Despite that Alexia is able to catch up to Angelique and knocks her unconscious with a hefty umbrella swing. She takes the mummy outside, and dissolves it using the acid function on her umbrella. I mean, I was hoping she’d go whole hog and it would come to life and fight them but WELP guess that would be stupid fun and we’re only allowed one of those things in this book and it ain’t fun. When the corpse is just about pudding, Alexia goes back in and hears Ivy scream.

OH NO!

We take a break from this regularly scheduled programming to swap over to Biffy, Channing, and Lyall at the Westminster Hive. Biffy apparently snuck in and broke their Aethonographer. This is just to let us all know that the message Angelique tried to send before didn’t get through. I mean targeting the Aethongrapher only, doesn’t make any sense AT ALL from their perspective and honestly you could have written the entire thing out to tighten up the story. But like I guess it was real important to have that bit where Alexia has to try 2 rooms to find Angelique.

FUCK ME RUNNING!

So Ivy screamed because a woken up Angelique puts a knife to Ivy’s throat and is leading her up the stairs. All the werewolves are there as well as Tunstell. Tunstell gets out the magic gun, which by the way they start calling the ‘tun tun’ which makes a lot of sense and is totes keeping it tense. Shouldn’t it be the tun gun? WHATEVER!

They go up to a room and Angelique makes Ivy open a window. Meanwhile Tunstell tries to sneak around the side while Alexia tries to distract her. By the way this is the first time we hear that Tunstell is apparently a big dude. I had totally assumed that since he was described as a meek servant/actor coated in freckles that he was a 5’5” adorable waif boy who weighs 110 lbs on a good day. I’m glad you waited till now to tell us that. After a bit of a scuffle Tunstell wrestles the knife away, saves Ivy, and Angelique tumbles to her death out the window. The gun is never shot and Chekov leaps out to die on the cold hard Scottish earth like Angelique.

Apparently there was a rope ladder leading down that window that Angelique was really hoping she’d be able to escape down, with the knife to the throat of a hostage? OKAY THEN! When Angelique woke up, why didn’t she just try to make a break for it, to avoid being persecuted by the supernatural police? What was the point of the hostage thing? Why did she have this rope ladder prepared?

JESUS FUCKING CHRIST BOOK! IT’S NOT GOOD ACTION IF THE ENTIRETY OF IT FALLS APART LIKE A BISCUIT IN TEA WHEN YOU ASK LITERALLY ANY QUESTION REGARDING IT!

You know what would have been a thousand times better? If Alexia goes to question a recently recovered Angelique, and Angelique in a panic puts a knife to a dipshit Ivy’s throat by a window. Angelique demands to be given the body. Alexia explains that she destroyed it. Angelique at first doesn’t want to believe it but eventually concedes. Saying something along the lines of, “…If I can’t deliver the body…then…then they’ll kill me…” The people there try to reassure her that they can protect her. However in Angelique’s stunned grief she slips from the window, Tunstell is able to grab Ivy but not Angelique. Was it an accident? Did she want to die on her own terms? WE’LL NEVER KNOW? The chapter ends where the crowd goes to check on her and Angelique is FOR SURE dead. LeFoux seeing the shattered body of her former lover, clutches Alexia and wails.

BUT NOPE IN FACT THIS HAPPENS NEXT!

So Alexia is the only one to go check the body. Angelique is in fact dead, but turns into a ghost. Angelique tells Alexia to perform the exorcism, which means kill her for real real. Alexia wants questions answered first. Angelique says she’ll answer 10, Alexia agrees to this.

So like…why are you going to respect her wishes now? Doesn’t she need to be persecuted under the law, or have proof of the Hive’s wrongdoing? You maybe want to give LeFoux a chance to talk to her, since she was obviously really upset and protective of her before? GUESS NOT!

Angelique, before the questioning is revealed to have done this whole task for the immortality, since she previously and is still working with the Westminster hive. She is GIVEN immortality in the form of being a ghost and is immediately like NOPE I’D RATHER DIE. HUHHHH? MAYBE IT’S NOT IDEAL VAMPIRE THING BUT REALLY?

GOD WHATEVER IT JUST GETS WORSE ANYWAY!

Angelique says that it wasn’t her who tried to break into her bag or poison her. Alexia asks if LeFoux is trying to kill her, Angelique says probably not cause you’d already be dead. AND LIKE WE ESTABLISHED THIS EXACT ANSWER TO THIS SAME QUESTION BEFORE. WHY ARE YOU WASTING YOUR QUESTIONS YOU COMPLETE IMBECILE!

It’s revealed that Quensel, the kid LeFoux was taking poor care of before, is Angelique’s son. Angelique was trying to hide the fact she had a son from the vampires cause the vampires won’t turn her if she has any family. Apparently LeFoux, was trying to get Angelique to take care of her son and to stop the vampire biz by threatening to tell the Vampires about her son. That didn’t work apparently. We also confirm that yes, SHOCK OF SHOCK, Angelique and LeFoux used to be an item for many years. So we have this OH SO DELIGHTFUL paragraph:

“Alexia had seen something of the kind in her father’s collection, but she had never imagined it might be based on anything more than masculine wistfulness or performances put on to titillate a John’s palate. That two women might do such things voluntarily with one another and do so with some degree of romantic love. Was that possible?”

(Irritated Stare with the phrase [stares in gay judgement])

You’re 26 years fucking old, you’re well aware that gay men exist, LeFoux has been hitting on her blatantly this entire book and has been pretty much screaming how much of a lesbian she is. Like you can have Alexia in bi-denial, sure, but for her not to even realize two girls can have sex and romance at one another outside of men JACKING IT!? FUCKING WOW! I want to be clear and say that there is a myth that Queen Victoria didn’t think lesbians were real when she was enforcing the no homosexuality laws. TO BE CLEAR THAT IS A MYTH! PEOPLE IN VICTORIAN TIMES KNEW LESBIANS WEREN’T JUST A MALE CREATED HORNY MYTH LIKE HOW WOMEN LOVE THE TASTE OF JIZZ, YOU THICK-HEADED TWIT!

The last questions that Alexia asks basically are, “Is it possible for women to love each other?” and “You’re a cold bitch aren’t you?” QUEEN PICKED TOP INVESTIGATOR HERE! She then FOR REAL kills Angelique. Also I’m glad she didn’t ask Angelique what they were planning on doing with the humanization corpse, because that mystery is probably what the entirety of the 3rd book is about.

So we head back in the castle to try to wrap this all up, and boy is it pointlessly messy. I’m going to recount the items in order, so you TOO can realize what a clusterfuck this is.

Alexia tells LeFoux that Angelique is dead which makes LeFoux cry. Alexia has a normal human response to seeing a woman she likes grieving.

“Lady Maccon envied her skill of crying with aplomb. She herself went all over splotchy, but Madame Lefoux seemed to be able to execute the emotional state with minimal fuss.”

By performing some pretty sweet mental gymnastics to make it about herself. CONGRATULATIONS! She does later say that the scene was painfully sad…but…your first thought, and the one you dedicate more than a sentence to is… “I wish I could cry as hot as she could?” MOTHER OF FUCK LADY!

Maccon takes Alexia aside and explains that LeFoux and he are besties despite not interacting with her at all this entire book. He told his BFF4EVAH to keep an eye on Alexia. Don’t know why he would have lied about this? Maybe Alexia would have felt patronized? Alexia was attacked 5 times last book and needed to be saved 3 of those times. There’s nothing wrong with that ratio, but there’s also nothing wrong with wanting to have back up if you’re in a dangerous profession. Besides that the two both love science and gadgets, and if he couldn’t predict that LeFoux would awaken his wife’s bisexuality too, it seems silly to lie to her about it.

But my pity for Alexia runs dry again when, upon hearing Maccon and LeFoux are buds…she accuses Maccon of sleeping with LeFoux. And it’s like…

(Honestly, you people, and by that I mean straight people…are ridiculous.)

If Alexia is bi, it don’t matter she’s still in denial and acting like a straight up straighty.

You just found out that lesbians are real and that LeFoux is one of them, and YOU were the one to almost cheat on him with her, and you ACCUSE HIM? Are you FOR REAL!? I mean this is just a set up for Alexia to realize SOME MORE that lesbians are real. I’m glad I’m reading one of those books where everything needs to be explained 5 times.

Alexia brings up the fact that Angelique turned into a ghost but exorcised her right away without considering if literally anybody else wanted to talk to her INCLUDING THE LONG-TERM –EX-GIRLFRIEND WHO WAS RAISING HER KID. LeFoux is rightly upset at this and Alexia retorts with

“There’s no need to wallow.”

Now even Lord Maccon steps in like, “THE HELL IS WRONG WITH YOU, SHE’S RIGHTLY UPSET!” To which Aleixa points out OH SO RIGHTLY that LeFoux didn’t want to be girlfriends with Angelique again, so like…it makes no sense why she’d want to have some parting words or care about her living or dying.

THEN THIS TRANSITION SHEESH VERBATIM:

Lord Maccon looked at his wife appreciatively. “Good Lord, woman, how could you have possibly known that?”

“Well” – Lady Maccon grinned – “Madame Lefoux here did play a bit of the coquette with me while we were traveling. I do not think she was entirely shamming.”

I’m sorry what? We already established that LeFoux is a vagatrian and had a relationship with Angelique. Is she saying the fact she was flirted with PROOF that LeFoux is not in a relationship? Alexia, you were flirting back and you’re married. This is not a brilliant deduction. We only have this transition so that Alexia can brag about almost BUT NOT ACTUALLY cheating on her husband. And like…it’s one thing to take the piss out of him because he’s irrationally jealous. However Alexia herself was like REALLY, REALLY irrationally jealous a second ago and it’s not really irrational since Alexia might have had sex with her if she came to the conclusion earlier that girls can like other girls. SoOOoOOoOOoo great!

We continue to have pissing contests. Maccon is mad that Alexia never told him she was almost poisoned, even though you’d THINK Tunstell would have brought that up to him since he’s his servant and he was the one actually poisoned. LeFoux admits she was looking around for Alexia’s bag and that she wanted the humanization weapon too. However she wants it NOT because she’s in the Hypocras club, but in the Organization of the Brass Octopus (OBO.) The Organization of the Brass Octopus is a secret group of Scientists that is working to curb the power of Supernaturals and that the Hypocras Club was a ~militant branch~ of the OBO. Alexia is bothered that Maccon didn’t tell her about OBO, since YANNO Alexia spent half the book thinking that her crush LeFoux wanted to genocide people like her husband. Which yanno REALLY STOPPED HER FROM A LOT THERE! Alexia tries to ask more questions about OBO and Maccon just answers them all with, “But it’s a secret!”

Really love that Maccon gets super mad when Alexia doesn’t talk to him, but when she asks questions he huffs and won’t tell her. You could maybe argue that since it’s a secret society thing that Maccon shouldn’t tell her. He was sworn to secrecy or some shit. But like also…a branch of this club nearly killed them both… and she’s in charge of the entire English government’s Supernatural balance system….Maybe it’s okay for her to know a little about a powerful organization in that country that’s supposed to do the same thing?

WHATEVER!

We end with LeFoux admitting she was LOOKING FOR Alexia’s bag but never went through it or messed up her room to find it. Alexia for once has a normal reaction which boils down to, “FUCK THIS SHIT!” and storms out. CAUSE WHY BRING UP SHE WAS LOOKING FOR IT AT ALL? That is pointlessly confusing.

So below I made a little chart with how easily it could have been to make this conversation flow better. Even if you want to keep in jealousy pissing contest which is also an EVEN WOMEN WOULD SEX ME STUPID HUSBAND!

I’ll admit I don’t know a lot about editing books…but I feel as if either the editors gave this a soft touch. It seems like a simple fix that could have tightened it up and made it an easier read.

Say something nice Faps:

It was technically a climax

They technically tried to wrap things up

It has been acknowledged that yes LESBIANS ARE REAL

I did genuinely like Alexia having a vulnerable moment looking upon her knocked out husband and feeling protective of him.

#gormless #senseless #riffs #riffing

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myspookysunshine · 6 years

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Moonlight Drive 1/1

Summary : It’s Steve’s birthday. What should be a celebration turns into hell, then recovery, then something approximating Jonathan’s idea of heaven.

Pairing : Steve Harrington/Jonathan Byers (pre-slash)

Rating : Teen

Warnings : Hurt/comfort, blood, injury, aftermath of a fight, language, not being at all nice to Billy Hargrove

Reposted on AO3 as dustyirish

Author’s notes : Written for Stonathan Week - badly written, I’m afraid to say. This is the sappiest mess I’ve ever ended up with, and that’s saying something, but this is (no exaggeration) the SIXTH version of Stonathan birthday fics I have started over the last three days, and the only one I was able to completely finish in time. I have no damned idea what to do with the other five. I’m lucky I can still see straight at this point. Anyway, bless you if you take time to read.

Come on, baby, gonna take a little ride Down, down by the ocean side Gonna get real close Get real tight Baby, gonna drown tonight

~ The Doors

Jonathan drove towards Linda Shane's house. He didn't know who the hell Linda Shane was, or how Steve knew her, or why she had been chosen to host his birthday bash. But Steve had invited him, and that meant that Jonathan had to make the effort to show up, even if he would most likely park in the woods across from the house, debating with himself for half an hour or so before promptly returning home.

He looked down, fiddling with the radio dial, then glanced back up only to see a blood-covered Steve Harrington standing in the middle of the road, waving his arms wildly over his head.

Jonathan slammed on the brakes, screeching to a stop about two feet in front of him. His heart was threatening to pound out of his chest as Steve ran to the passenger door, wrenched it open and flopped inside.

"Step on it, Byers!" he was screaming, even before the door was closed. "Go go go!!"

Jonathan stomped the accelerator and obeyed, hands shaking on the wheel.

He drove like a madman for a couple of miles until they hit the edge of town, then dropped to a safer speed, finally daring to take his attention off of the road long enough to look at Steve. His stomach sank. When he had first spotted Steve in front of the car he had thought - if he had time to think anything - that Steve had maybe done something to someone and needed to escape. It was clear now, that whatever had taken place, it had all been done to Steve.

His face was a bloody mess of scrapes and cuts, his nose was bleeding freely down the front of his shirt, there was even a horizontal gash across his neck that looked so much like an attempted throat-slashing that Jonathan had to choke back bile.

"Jesus! What happened?!"

"Fucking Hargrove happened!"

"Are you all right?" It was an idiotic question, but Jonathan was still in shock from nearly turning the man he secretly loved into roadkill.

"I wouldn't go that far," Steve muttered, and lay his head back against the seat, groaning.

Jonathan reached a hand out, not retracting it even when it landed on Steve's thigh. He was too worried to stick to his usual avoidance plan. "Do you need the E.R.?"

"No, it was only six or seven punches as opposed to the usual dozen."

Fury swept through Jonathan, rapid and intense, and he jerked the steering wheel hard to the left.

Steve shot back up in his seat, "Where are you going?!"

"Back there to kick Hargrove's ass," he growled. "He's not going to keep doing this shit to you!"

Steve was staring at him, open-mouthed. "Fuck, Byers, that was unexpected. And almost disturbingly hot." He lay a hand on Jonathan's arm and gave him a gentle pat. "Turn back around, man. It is so not worth it. Besides, he'll already have bailed. He got what he came for."

Jonathan knew Steve was right, but he also knew he himself had meant what he said. It was going to stop, one way or another. He sighed and made another U-turn, this time at normal speed.

After another minute Steve reached around, groaning, and plucked something off of the back seat. "Can I use this?" he asked in a strange, muffled voice.

Jonathan looked over. "If you don't mind smelling like wet dog. It's Chester's blanket."

Steve pulled it into his lap, ducked his head, and spit a mouthful of blood into the cloth. "Sorry. Don't want to swallow it or I'll wind up puking, and we don't need to add that to the festivities."

Jonathan was sure the concern was plain on his face.

Steve tried to smile and it was ghastly. "Tell Chester I'll wash it before I give it back."

Jonathan pulled off the road into a gas station parking lot. "I'll be right back," he told Steve. "Just take it easy."

He was in the store for five minutes, gathering paper towels and water and a bag of frozen peas in lieu of an ice pack.

When he got back outside, he found Steve leaning out of the car, spitting more blood onto the pavement.

He climbed into in the driver's seat, flipped on the dome light and lined up his purchases on the dash, waiting for Steve to finish. Once he'd settled, Jonathan passed him a wad of paper towels for his nose and got to work.

"I'll try not to hurt you any more than I have to." He reached out and brushed back the side of Steve's hair, exposing his cheek. "There's a pretty bad cut along here." He gently cleaned the blood away as well as he could manage with a bottle of Evian and a swatch of Bounty.

Steve winced at the touch. "Fucker's ring probably caught me."

Jonathan worked silently, trying to tamp down the rage he was feeling. It wasn't going to help the situation any at the moment. Right now he needed to focus on tending to Steve, making sure he wasn't more injured than he'd let on. He gently turned Steve's head so he could start on the other side.

Steve met his eyes and grinned. "Would you really kick his ass for me, Byers?"

"I kicked yours, didn't I? And I didn't even get any pleasure out of that. With him it would be nothing but." His eye landed on the neck wound again and he brushed his thumb over it, careful not to press too hard. "Just tell me that wasn't a knife," he grated out.

"What?" Steve looked down, startled at Jonathan's tone. "God no. I don't know what did that; I remember slamming against a table at one point. Hargrove doesn't want to actually kill me - that'd be like taking away his favorite chew toy."

Steve's eyes darkened suddenly and he startled the hell out of Jonathan by screaming "Goddammit!!!" at the roof, pounding both fists on the seat and drumming his heels on the floorboard. It reminded Jonathan of the tantrums Will used to throw when he was two and denied extra pudding.

"Stop that!"

"I'm fucking pissed! I'm sick and fucking tired of that asshole jumping me around every corner!"

"You're also bleeding all over my seat and hurting yourself more!" Jonathan yelled back, then lay his hand on Steve's shoulder, voice softening. "We'll figure it out. Just please let me take care of you." He'd meant to say 'take care of this', honest to Christ he had, and he blushed scarlet at the realization of what had come out of his mouth.

Steve was still silently fuming, and if he had heard the slip-up he didn't give any indication.

Jonathan mopped up the left side of Steve's face and went to work on his neck, having to dodge around Steve's Polo shirt to reach the errant streaks of blood.

"This thing's had it anyway," Steve grumbled, pulled the shirt over his head and, in a final fit of pique, tossed it out the window into the parking lot.

Jonathan tried not to react audibly to the suddenly bare chest next to him, but he couldn't stop himself from admiring as he wiped the cloth over skin. Admiration, however, turned to more worry - and a re-firing of anger - as he noticed the smattering of darkening knuckle marks along Steve's side. "You're already bruising." He lightly touched an area on Steve's rib cage with a finger, then quickly pulled back.

"Yeah. It'll be really spectacular tomorrow." Steve spit one last time into a paper towel and made a face. "Is there any water left?"

Jonathan pulled a Pepsi out of the bag and handed it over.

Steve sighed happily. "Have I ever told you how much I love you?"

Jonathan froze. Of course it was a joke; with Steve Harrington it could hardly be anything else. But Jonathan's imagination had always been too rampant for his own good, and at the sound of those words it threatened to lead him places he had no business going. He put the remainders of the clean-up items back into the bag, trying to compose himself. "I'm all finished," he finally said, voice only a little shaky.

Steve rolled his head to look at Jonathan. "Take me somewhere, Byers."

"You mean the hospital?"

Steve snorted. "No, not the hospital. Take me somewhere you'd take me on our first date."

Jonathan blinked. "Do you have a concussion?"

"No, I don't have a concussion. It's my goddamn birthday, and I want to get a surprise that isn't Billy Hargrove's fist." His voice softened, almost murmuring. "So take me somewhere special. Special to you."

Jonathan's mouth went dry. "Okay?" It came out more as a croak, but Steve just plopped the bag of frozen peas onto his forehead, whimpered slightly, closed his eyes and didn't seem to notice.

Jonathan sneaked peeks at him the entire drive to the pond. The way his hair curled around the shell of his ear; his bare chest rising and falling with each breath; the long line of his body as he sprawled in the seat. Jonathan ached to take Steve's picture.

He ached for a lot of things.

He sighed as he pulled up to their destination. He reached out with a hand to touch Steve's shoulder, then snatched it back, afraid to touch, not trusting himself at that moment. He settled for a low "Hey. We're here."

Steve's eyes fluttered open. "Awesome. Where's 'here'?"

Jonathan shrugged. "It doesn't really have a name. There's just the pond and some grassland."

"Why this place? What do you like about it?" Steve sounded genuinely curious.

"In the daytime, the sunlight flares off of the water in these incredible arcs; it's great for photography. And this is the best place for the sky at night. There's no city lights to dim the stars." Jonathan realized how utterly boring that must sound to someone like Steve. "I'm sure this isn't what you'd call 'special'."

"No, I'd say this is just about perfect," Steve rebutted, looking out the window. "Is this a strictly-from-the-vehicle viewing spot, or can we get out?"

Jonathan smiled. "We can get out. It's hard to see stars through the roof."

Steve hoisted himself from the car, slowly and painfully, and Jonathan followed, grabbing something from the backseat before shutting the door.

They were about a third of the way into the field when Steve spoke. "Hey, so I thought this was a date. Aren't you even gonna hold my hand?"

Jonathan had no idea if he was kidding or not, and before he could figure it out Steve decided things for him, grabbing hold and lacing his fingers with Jonathan's.

"You okay?"

Jonathan realized he had stopped dead in his tracks. "I ... yeah. Fine." He resumed walking, but his entire focus was on the warmth of Steve's skin against his palm.

"Here good?" Steve asked, and Jonathan saw they had somehow arrived at the edge of the pond.

He nodded and Steve plopped into the grass, letting go of Jonathan's hand. He missed the touch immediately. He sat a couple of feet from Steve, took a steadying breath, and handed over the photo album tucked under his right arm.

Steve squinted down at it. "What's this?"

"A present." The moonlight was bright enough that Steve should be able to see with no problem. Jonathan, however, almost hoped that it would prove too dark. This could go very badly. He had spent months taking the pictures and arranging them, but he hadn't decided whether or not to actually give the album to Steve until the moment he stepped from the car. He could only pray that his instincts were right.

Jonathan wasn't worried about the photos of Steve with the kids. He absolutely loved the one with Dustin. He had caught Steve coming up behind him, tackling and lifting him in a bear hug, growling something against the top of Dustin's head, and Steve's face was a complicated and beautiful dichotomy of 'God, this kid drives me batshit insane and I would lay down and die to protect him'. Jonathan honestly and with no bias thought it was the best photograph he had ever taken.

The ones that concerned him were the more candid shots; Steve sitting by the pool, the sunlight bouncing in his hair; Steve hiding a laugh behind his hand; Steve catching a nap on a bench outside of school. Photos that left absolutely no doubt as to Jonathan's feelings. He had handed Steve his heart right along with the album and all he could do was wait to see if it would be broken.

Steve flipped through the book silently, eyes widening a little more with every page. He finally closed it and turned. "Jesus, Jonathan. That's ..."

Jonathan cringed internally. "Creepy."

"I was going to say 'fucking amazing'. When did you take all of these?"

"Just ... whenever."

Steve picked Jonathan's hand back up and squeezed. "You're really good. Like professional-level good. I can't wait to get these into the light and look at them." Steve's fingers twined with his easily, and god help him, it was starting to feel like they belonged there. "This is seriously the best present I got this year. Maybe any year. I mean it."

Shockingly, Jonathan believed him.

Steve moved his head and winced. "Shit, everything on me hurts. Are you gonna freak if I lay in your lap?"

Jonathan swallowed, his heart racing. "Probably. But you can do it anyway."

Steve stretched out on the grass, head nestled on Jonathan's thigh.

Jonathan's hand automatically migrated towards Steve's hair, fingers wanting to feather through the strands. This time, he found the courage to let them.

Steve was looking up at the stars. He sighed contentedly. "You're right, Byers. Great view."

Jonathan was looking down at Steve, and, cuts and bruises or not, he couldn't agree more. "Happy birthday."

"You know, I think it's actually getting there," Steve said and smiled.

#stonathanweek2017 #stonathan #stranger things fic #hurt/comfort #blood #fighting

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