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constancecunningham · 4 years

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Fetch Quest || Constance & Remmy

TIMING: Current

PARTIES: @whatsin-yourhead & @constancecunningham

SUMMARY: Remmy tries their best. Constance learns about fetch.

CONTIAiNS: Implications of past abuse.

“Moose, fetch!” Constance threw the ball as far as she could. Without any body strength to speak of, it didn’t go very far. The dog caught it in mid air and dropped it just off of where Constance sat hovered in front of a park bench. Without Nancy to show her how to be calm in the world, she struggled to grab anything except in frustration. Every time she tried, she saw her disappearing into the air and rage blazed through her. She threw the stick again, scowling into the horition as Moose made a big circle around the grass to give himself a few more moments of joy before picking up the ball and delivering it the short distance to her. Constance stared at it. She had never been allowed a pet of her own, and whatever ‘fun’ this was supposed to bring was beyond her. “I think I spent too long in the ether” She said. Moose panted and wagged his tail, expecting something from the non-magical nothing in the air.

Mourning someone who was already dead felt strange, even to Remmy. They didn’t know how to properly mourn something like that, even for themself-- but perhaps they’d need to start finding a way. “What do you mean?” they asked when Constance spoke up again. This time, Remmy leaned down and grabbed the slobbery ball, tossing it a rather commendable distance across the park for him. Moose took off with the utmost joy and Remmy turned to look back at Constance. “Spent too long? Do you… remember what it was like there or something?” They’d pondered what it was like between life and death, wondered if that was a place they’d ever get to know, or if their undead life now meant they never could know. Was dying supposed to be peaceful? They didn’t know that answer either. Moose came trotting back with the ball but Remmy was still looking at Constance.

“Not really,” Constance shrugged. “I don’t see things when I think about it. But I feel...different. Wrong. In a way I didn’t before. Or at least, wrong in a way I don’t believe I was before, even in the ether. There’s just darkness over all those years, like one dark, dreadful sleep. Like when you know you had a nightmare, but you can’t recall of what.” She tried to unclench herself, finding ease in the air the way Nancy had been trying to teach her over the past few weeks, visiting the house, even staying some nights.

When Remmy didn’t throw the ball again, Constance reached for it, and watched in anguish as her hand fell though. Constance sulked back. “Do you remember what it was like? You must have been dead once, for a little while. Did it feel like a bad dream then, or am I the only one?” Again.

“I don’t remember being dead,” Remmy said quietly. The wind rustled through the valley and the only way they knew it happened was by the movement of their own hair. It had gotten so long again, nearly down to their shoulders. They drooped a little. “I barely remember dying in the first place.” They watched Constance’s hand sink through Moose’s ball, and they bent down to pick it up and hold it out to her to try again. “Sometimes I think not remembering is better,” they explained after a moment, “it...hurts a lot when I do. I had to have someone else tell me how I died because I guess my brain blocked the memories and I couldn’t, like, reach the memories anymore.” They glanced at her again, concern on their face. “What makes you feel wrong?”

“Perhaps you are right,” Constance said. “At least your body anchors you to this plane and the grass bows to your weight. You belong here. If you don't remember being different, you cannot confuse yourself by thinking otherwise.” She ran her hand through the ball again before deciding she didn’t care about it anyway. “It’s just a feeling. Mind, I was always told so, by everyone.” Well, almost everyone, but they had been liars and traitors, so what did that count for? “But I never felt half so wicked as they told me I should until I was returned here, as this. I feel as though this world does not want me. I feel as though there is something missing, and sometimes as though I might come apart, but perhaps that thing is merely my body. Or perhaps now that I lack it, I can see that they were right. I am wicked and wrong.” But she was also very powerful. And when she was certain she had the strength for it, she would continue, and she would win. Glancing sidelong at Remmy, she smiled and said, “Don’t trouble yourself about me. And don’t let me keep you from your fun. I can watch just fine.”

“I...don’t know if that’s entirely true, but I am grateful to be...whole, I guess,” Remmy mumbled. They’d already tried to talk to Nadia-- er, Cordelia-- about what it felt like being a ghost, and it sounded even more miserable than being a walking corpse that felt nothing. That remembered nothing of what soft fur or sheets or grass actually felt like. “You were never wicked, Constance,” they said, “and you still don’t have to be. You can move on, you know? Peacefully. Happily.” They let out a long breath and threw the ball again, watching it bounce as Moose chased it down loyally. “I trouble myself about everyone. I just want to make the world a better place, even if it’s just a tiny bit. Even if it’s just making one person feel better, or even just okay.” They picked up the ball once again, “that includes you. And people like you.”

“You don’t know who I was, Remmy,” Constance said. “How can you argue for such a thing when you have no clue? Do you not think me wicked for trying to kill your so-called friend? And I killed many a rat, bargaining with the heavens for small favors. I was desperate, and it was the only power in the world I had, but there are some who believe that it was no kindness or necessity. And those are only the crimes I meant to commit…” There were others, so many others. Constance saw that girl in the classroom with the bleeding head every time the shadows swirled in the corners, how her lifeless eyes had stared... “I was never a gentle person, even when I meant to do good. And I am so beyond happiness and peace, I cannot even make true meaning out of those words.” She sighed. “I am afraid we do not understand each other very well, Remmy. But I think it would have been nice to have known someone like you before.”

“Because I see who you are now,” Remmy answered simply. And it was simple as that. “You’re suffering, Constance. You’re suffering and things could be better if you just...let go of that pain. I know it’s hard...but the people who hurt you have long since died. Morgan isn’t the person who hurt you, she’s not even close.” They let out a long breath, rubbing hands through their hair. “I don’t think you’re wicked, Constance. I never did, even after…” they paused, “...and I guess if Morgan knew that, she’d probably hate me, too, but...I can’t find it in me to feel that way about anyone. Not you, not Lydia…” They tossed the ball, a bit harder this time, “For the longest time, I thought I was wicked, too. That I could never find peace, or happiness, or any of that feel good shit everyone always talks about. But the thing is...I learned it’s never just gonna happen. You have to go and find it.” They picked up the ball once more, and held it out. “Kinda like how Moose finds his ball every time I throw it.”

Constance scrutinized Remmy the whole time they spoke. She had never been able to tell when someone was lying to her before, but she thought if she squinted at their strange face, she might be able to tell for certain so she could stop wondering when this facade might come apart. “Her presence is an insult to my own in a way I don’t believe anyone in this time can understand. There is no sense of collective responsibility, nor legacy, scarcely any duty. But I suppose I shouldn’t be cross over you doing something that would make that ugly cow seethe. I should rejoice, if I had any sense. But you’re wrong, so it is only a bittersweet victory. Although maybe it doesn’t matter. If the heavens opened up and stamped me as a no-good heathen once and for all, I would still refuse to accept what was done to me, what was made of me. I would simply be dragging myself to hell with her. And maybe that will be something like peace, if it comes.” Around them, autumn was losing its grasp to winter, pointing with spindly fingers toward the gray-white horizon, as if something important might materialize from it. “Morgan doesn’t know you’ve been coming to see me, right? I’m a secret not to be shared?” She tried the ball again, and found that she gripped it with ease. She threw it before she could resent summoning the power because of Morgan Beck. But it was as she had said all along, wasn’t it? This was her purpose, no more and no less. “Will you still think such pretty things about me if I succeed? Even if I turn out to be right?” Moose came back with the ball and Constance threw it again, thinking this time on what the world would feel like after she had won. She imagined forgiving the sun for not making her warm, and the moon for casting no shadow on her. She imagined giving Remmy and Blanche one last smile, and saying that it was always meant to be this way, but she was sorry for making them sad. It wasn’t so different from this moment, she realized. And yet it felt so far. She threw the ball again. “Perhaps a better question would be…” She hesitated to speak it, the thought alone seemed blasphemous in its own way, “...what do you propose I do if I am wrong? All of you love to say ‘let go’, as if she were a ball I could throw. And I imagine if I could kill her by picking up her body and throwing it into the sun, I would understand perfectly. If I were to cut her throat, I would certainly let go of her body then. But that isn’t what you mean and I don’t understand how to entertain this fairy story you want me to partake in.”

Remmy thought and pondered quietly. They didn’t truly understand Constance’s line of thinking, but then again, she was from a completely different time. It must’ve been so jarring coming here, to this world of technological advancement and strange machines. “What’d they do to you?” they asked her quietly, after a long silence, in which Moose sat and waited patiently for them to throw it. They were preoccupied, though, and turned fully to face Constance and her fading form. “Well, yeah...if you continue to do bad things that hurt people, I’ll change my mind. But I still think that you’re worth saving and that you can be saved. But you have to let go of your anger. I know you didn’t choose to be here, but you can choose to leave peacefully. Don’t you want that? I want you to realize that revenge isn’t going to make you feel any better. I want you to realize that you deserve something good, Constance,” they muttered, “that’s all.” And they tossed the ball again, this time as far as their strength would let them.

“Which time?” Constance asked, smirking bitterly. “When my family was left to fend for themselves in caves, or when only one family would take me in as a servant because my mother was suspected of being a witch, and scorn was thrown on them for their pity, never mind anything else about me, never mind the power of true magic. How dare a woman fend for herself and bargain with a God that will hear what no human ear will. Or do you mean when that family, when Agnes--” The ball lifted on the power of Constance’s rage. The leaves drummed a skeleton tattoo on the ground. Constance whimpered and tried to calm herself. “I can’t,” she whispered. “I can’t talk about it without… I don’t want to become lost and changed, like others say I will. I want to stay myself. I’m sorry.” She concentrated. She tried to remember how breath once soothed her, imagined lungs and veins moving in and out. “I don’t know what something good is. I don’t know if I have the time to find that out. Your Morgan is so determined to destroy me for my supposed crimes…” she shook her head. “I don’t think I was destined to ever find out.” The ball settled and Constance threw it to Moose, further than she had yet, smiling into the distance. After a silence between them she said, “If I were to believe you, if I were to...consider something else, would you help buy me the time it will take to learn?”

Remmy felt their heart sinking again. How were they supposed to have the power to fix something like this? The truth was, they didn’t. All they could offer now was their sympathies. “I’m sorry,” they mumbled, “I...think you would’ve liked it here, in this time. If you’d been able to be here.” They watched the ball rise, the leaves swirl. They winced a little. “It’s okay. Whatever happened, I know it hurt a lot. But…” they looked out and around at the park, “...there’s no one left in this world that deserves the anger you feel. I’m not saying you shouldn’t be angry-- there are things I”m still mad about that happened to me ages ago-- but you just...you can’t keep holding onto it. I wish I had more to offer than that, but that’s all I know how to do. All I know to offer. Is just...help letting go.” They held out their hand to her, knowing that they would not be able to feel it or truly hold it. “I would, yeah,” they said, smiling gently, “of course I would.”

Constance stared ahead, watching the ball come back and throwing it again. Perhaps her star had been crossed and cursed by time. Perhaps in a life in this new world, in Morgan Beck’s world, she would have found someone to suffer with. She didn’t know how to tell Remmy that they should be angry too, that they didn’t have to lay like a corpse and accept the wrongs done to them. They had hands that could grasp and break, feet that could crush, teeth that could tear. They could do so much. So much. But she could not imagine them doing so, even if another of their kind showed them how. She felt a strange pity for the zombie then, a kinship with the starving cats that roamed the streets, innocent and yet so full of potential. She put her hand through theirs, shuddering with longing that she couldn’t hold it. Theirs seemed like a hand that would be gentle, and it had been so long since she had felt that. “Thank you, Remmy,” she said. “And it isn’t much I ask for. I just need you to find Morgan Beck’s stash of exorcism magic and steal it.”

#fetch quest #wr remmy #wr chatzy #wr remmy chatzy

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su8arandspite · 6 years

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Cheerleader

Summary: Steve’s feeling neglected by his parents, but his girlfriend’s always right there to cheer him up.

Steve Harrington x female OC pairing

warnings: angst, allusions to sexual activity, mushy fluff

a/n: requested by the lovely @casaharrington . This took me forever and a day to finish, but I hope it was worth the wait!

Steve didn’t know why he expected anything from his father or where that tiny sliver of faith he had in him came from. His father had never given Steve much. Any small promise Mr. Harrington tossed at his son fell empty. In hindsight, Steve should have known that his father couldn’t be bothered to get involved in his life a long time before he actually did learn. Probably should have learned his lesson the day his Dad shirked his third grade Career Day and left Steve feeling embarrassed and unimportant. Then, his eight-year-old mind couldn’t fathom that, maybe, he really was unimportant in his father’s mind.

Now, although on the cusp of adulthood, Steve clung still onto that little shard of ignorance like a stubborn child might refuse to sleep without their safety blanket. Not once- not even when he outplayed several upperclassman for his spot on the varsity team as a freshman- had either of his parents bothered to actually watch their son in action. It had only ever mildly disappointed him before, so why did he care so much now? Why had he allowed himself to think that tonight would be any different?

Steve was used to Dad disappointing him. He eventually came to the bitter conclusion that until he no longer served as a disappointment to him, he would be disappointed in return.

Half-heartedly tossing a ball back and forth with Todd Ackerman, Steve tried his best to keep his pregame spirits high. The surrounding bleachers slowly filled with his peers and people from across Hawkins who came to cheer on one player or another. Although surrounded by people, Steve had never felt lonelier as he realized that his parents were nowhere in sight.

Steve only partly listened to Todd’s attempts at small talk. His mangled mind mistook the concern in his friend’s brow as an echo of the disappointed scowl he received from across the dinner table the night before. For someone who he saw so little of, his father sure took up some prime real estate in Steve’s insecurities.

He thought over the previous night’s dinner conversation. Steve replayed the scene in his mind while going through the motions of warmup.

“So, Dad. We’re playing Northern tomorrow,” he had said casually.

Steve forked absently at his peas, craving some form of praise. With Billy Hargrove benched after an altercation on the court, he finally felt like he was back at the top of something.

Between his lackluster transcript and last year’s fall from social grace after his falling out with Tommy and Carol, Steve Harrington felt like an entirely different person from the King Steve he once was. The new Steve didn’t command attention from those around him, and often didn’t get any in turn. Secretly, though, he had hoped that generalization excluded what he did on the court.

After all, Steve didn’t think he was good at much. He accepted that his essays were subpar at best and that his jealousy often interfered with his relationships, but he counted on sports as the one thing that he was really good at.

From across the mahogany table, his Father merely huffed in acknowledgement. Nervous, Steve pressed the matter further.

“Are you coming, uh, to the game? It’s tomorrow”

His father paused momentarily, cocked an eyebrow, and promptly returned to his dinner plate:

“We’ll see, Steven.”

The words rang around Steve’s head like a prayer. It wasn’t much, but it wasn’t a no. He just really wanted to prove himself. What better way than to score the winning shot against Hawkins’ biggest rival?

“Harrington!”

“Hm, yeah?”

“C’mon! Let’s get out there and kick some Titan ass!”

As the cheerleaders assembled on the sidelines, tossing around green and white pom-poms, Bethany found herself distracted by the sullen demeanor of her boyfriend. She frowned. Steve always seemed in his element at games. Something was off today, though.

He scanned the crowd as a last ditch effort to find his father. Instead, Beth, standing in the center of it all, caught his eye and broke into a grin sweet enough to warm Steve’s cold spirits, if only a little. She looked adorable in her cheerleading uniform; he liked her in green. Her blonde locks were curled and pulled half-up into a dark jade bow. Altogether, that pretty little skirt and that smile he loved so much which always tasted like strawberry, it sent a spark of white heat up Steve’s spine with the notion of what he wanted to do to her- with her- later, when he got her alone.

Momentarily, Steve forgot all about the new promise his father had broken. He started the game with a smile, comforted in part by the knowledge that Beth would cheer him on just a little bit louder than the other cheerleaders.

Despite the heavy pump of adrenaline dispersing through his veins, Steve fell from his excitement pretty soon after sinking the final, victorious shot of the game. It took one glance over the bleachers to confirm his fears. His heart sank. Dad never showed. Wiping sweat from his brow, Steve wanted little more than to retreat to the locker room for a pity party in the showers.

The warm reception he received from his teammates and friends, instead of fulfilling that gap of loneliness he felt like it usually did, only made him feel even more miserable. The Pope himself could congratulate Steve on yet another win and it wouldn’t mean a damn thing unless it was coming from his old man, too.

He made his way through the wave of gratitude with only half a heart. Part of him knew he should have been just as excited as the rest of the team, - maybe even more so- and yet Steve wasn’t looking any more forward to the Playoffs he had just guaranteed them a spot in than he might like one of his mother’s stuffy dinner parties.

Steve dragged his feet to the locker room, stalling before the inevitability cold return home. He could already picture his father perched on his living chair, unphased by his entrance, not caring or not knowing how his son felt, or perhaps swept away from Hawkins on another last-minute business trip. His bruised ego tempted him with the half-used bottle of tequila he kept under his bed and a night in with his sorrow.

No sooner had Steve revamped his beeline for the showers than Todd flagged him down in the hall. Amy, the redhead he recognized as one of Beth’s girl friends hung off of him, giggling softly.

“Hey, man. Reed is throwing a party to celebrate. You in?”

“Maybe I’ll drop by later.”

“Oh, all right. Great game, Harrington!”

“Thanks. You too”

He watched his friend disappear down the hallway with a sigh. A party sounded like the last thing he needed. Steve didn’t feel much like celebrating tonight. He’d rather just drink alone in his room. No matter how many winning shots or passes Steve pulled off, it was never enough. He didn’t feel good enough for his own father. How pathetic was that?

“Steve!”

The familiar voice lifted his spirits some. Steve turned his head to find Beth, her golden hair reflecting off the cheap fluorescent lighting like an angel’s halo, standing with her arms wrapped around herself. She exhaled slowly.

“What’s wrong? Is it your Dad again?”

She hadn't needed an answer. One of the many things Beth loved so much about Steve was his deep sense of loyalty, of faith. His father and, in her complacency, his mother, too, were the anomaly that made Steve’s greatest asset also his Achilles heel. Beth already knew the answer.

“I just,” he exhaled. Steve tugged at his sticky-sweat hair, kicking his feet against the wall for good measure. He knew he likely looked like a toddler midway through a temper tantrum, but Steve couldn’t be bothered to care.

Hell, he thought bitterly. Maybe I really should just start breaking shit. That’ll get his attention!

Steve, however, had already tried acting out to grab his Dad’s attention. It failed when he punched Johnny Cross right in the nose for no real reason, when a five-person party turned his backyard into a possible crime scene, and again when he took the blame for Tommy H and Carol’s obscene spray paint job on the Hawk.

When the police started asking questions about Barbara Holland a year ago, most of Steve felt a deep fear of his father’s punishment. The vulnerable parts of him, on the other hand, felt a demented delight in the attention it earned him- even if it was for all the wrong reasons.

“‘My father is-“

“An asshole. I know. So you’ve said.”

Beth approached him slowly. She glanced up at him, her eyes soft with concern. Despite the height difference, Steve slouched easily into her touch.

“What did he do now, Steve?”

She grabbed at his hands, squeezing them in reassurance. Just her presence made Steve feel touched by angel. Bits of heaven dripped from her fingertips, her lips, and in her embrace Steve finally felt worthy of something ethereal. In the simple shine of love in her eyes, he finally saw a boy worthy of something as holy as her golden heart. She might not have been perfect, either, but Steve really thought she was an angel sent for him. It didn’t matter what his father, or anyone else for that matter, thought of Steve Harrington as long as Bethany Sullivan looked at him in that way that made him feel invincible. Steve swore that was why Beth was his saving grace.

“He promised… um, I thought he was coming to the game. He lied to me. Jesus, I mean, I bet he doesn’t even remember there is a game tonight! Am I really so unloveable that my even my own Father doesn’t want to be seen with me? I wasn’t good enough for Nancy-“

“How can you say that?”

Beth’s heart dropped down to the floor, beaten and deflated by the sight of her goofy boy so downtrodden. She always understood that Steve and his parents had a cold, complicated relationship, but she never imagined that it hurt him so badly.

“Come on, Beth. It has to be me, right? Everyone’s always leaving me. Nancy, Mom and Dad, my old friends… This feels like one hell of a coincidence”

Steve tried to swallow past the gumball lump in his throat. He didn’t want to cry in front of Beth. Not because he saw it as a sign of weakness, but in compliance with the tiny voice in the back of his mind- his Father’s voice- that told him that she would only find it pathetic and leave him, too.

Rubbing stray tears into the pad of her thumbs, Beth cupped her hands to his cheeks and held his gaze firmly on her. She had to lift up on the balls of her feet to reach his eye level, but Beth didn’t waver one bit.

“That’s not true, Steve. Nancy just didn’t know what she wanted. I do think she should have handled it a little differently, but I know she didn’t intend for any of that to happen. You did the right thing by telling Tommy and Carol to shove it. I never liked them. Not since 1972, when Carol ruined my favorite dress and Tommy told the whole class I kissed him behind the swing sets-“

“I remember that,” he says. Steve’s eyes lit up slightly at the memory.

If being abandoned was a series of coincidences in Steve's life, then his run-ins with Beth as kids was another. The pair were friends in preschool; Beth was pretty sure her Mother still had that framed photo of them squished cheek-to-cheek hanging in the hallway. Steve remembered perhaps more than Beth did. Years later, when asked, he might cheekily remark that he gave her his heart as a gap toothed six-year-old and he never truly needed it back.

“Ms. Gardner gave me a time out for cutting off Carol’s ponytail. And I swear Tommy was sneezing sand for weeks after you pushed him-!”

She calmed her laughter, rolling her lips nervously inward. Beth stroked his cheek in soothing circles. Her emotions teetered somewhere between a cry and a laugh.

“You’ve always wanted your Dad to be someone he isn’t, Steve. Even back then, as kids…

She sighed.

In his mind's eye, Steve saw Beth again as the bright-eyed girl who, back in grade school, silently wiped his tears and offered up her last cookie just to see him smile. His heart swelled with undeniable love for her just as it had then.

“Look, I’m not defending him. In fact, I think he needs a reality check himself, but I just want you to look at this in a different way. Your father, his actions- they don’t reflect on you. You are a good person, Steve. The fact that your Father didn’t want to be here tonight doesn’t mean that you’ve done something wrong or that you aren’t enough. It means that he doesn’t even realize what an amazing son he’s got. And I feel sorry for him.

“Your Dad being gone doesn’t have anything to do with you. It says a whole lot more about him than it does about you. You know that, don’t you?”

He hadn't considered the possibility, but Beth made it sound clear as day. Thinking, he rested his chin atop her head, arms scooping her closer. His bottom lip trembled. He didn’t deserve her.

“Do you really mean all that?”

“Of course I do, Steve”

She flattened her chin against his chest and held his gaze with doe eyes full of sincerity and raw love. He looked hopeful, enamored with her. Steve ran his fingers through her silky hair, a sad smile on his lips.

“I don’t deserve you, Bethany Sullivan.”

“I love you, Steve Harrington, so that’s just too bad. You’re stuck with me now. I can be your own personal cheerleader”

He hummed from deep within his chest, smiling devilishly, and pulled her into into a kiss that said everything Steve didn’t know how to. The kiss was mostly soft whimpers and gnashing teeth, hands much too grabby for a public place. Steve pulled away, hands balling up the hem of her skirt.

Beth pulled from his embrace and sauntered down the corridor towards the showers before he even registered the loss of touch. Grinning, he called out to her:

“So, does that mean you’ll keep the uniform on tonight?”

“Oh, shut up!”

He jogged to keep up, his parents the last thing on his mind.

“That’s not a no!”

Steve quipped in return. She thrust her middle finger upwards, but offered a cheeky wink as she led him into the nearly abandoned locker room.

“C’mon, lover boy. Let’s get you cleaned up.”

Steve scrambled to follow her. For the first time all night, he finally felt like a winner. His father might not have believed in him, but Beth sure did.

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