Trickywicket-blog - Untitled

I missed the warning, and have shamefully returned to my FFN roots... If OC-inserts drag me into the depths, know that I fought with honor, and am only in three fandoms I have not consumed the original content for. Our author, who art in Archives, blessed be thy Pseudonym, AO3men.

WHAT DO YOU MEAN AO3 WILL BE DOWN TMRW????

and while we're on the subject of luigi mangione, FREE NATHAN MAHONEY (who stabbed his company's ceo during a meeting)! the reason you may not have heard this name is because the police clearly do not want to make the same mistake they did with Mangione by allowing him to become a symbol. let's show our support for Nathan Mahoney, who looks exactly how he should in his mugshot— proud of himself

edit: the stabbed was the company’s president* not ceo, and the company (Anderson Express) manufactures vehicles for the US military

edit 2: to add on, the US military at this time sends much of its supplies to apartheid Israel in the genocide and ethnic cleansing of Palestinians from their country. this company was indirectly but most certainly harming and killing Palestinians.

You Can’t Find My House

I just got off the phone with mom, and we came to the realization that my family has lived in a series of unplottable houses for a couple generations now.

-The First Unplottable House is on my dad’s side of the family, in Delphi, Iowa.  The directions to it are the stuff of Buried Treasure:  Turn off the county road with a fraction in it’s name, to the Named Dirt Road, then turn at The Discount Eggs Sign on to the Unnamed dirt road that takes a meandering path THROUGH a corn field, DO NOT take any forks on that road or the farmer will shoot your ass, then take the paved road that dead-ends on ALL the way to the end- No, farther, the road keeps going it’s not a cliff-The only indication that You Have Arrived At The Correct Driveway is that a fat gray pony will charge the car, screaming, then escort you the rest of the way there.

It’s on the side of an enormous river, they’ve owned the property since 1911, and that’s the ONLY route there.

-The Second Unplottable house is in Bedford, Ohio and belonged to my mother’s parents.  It’s at the corner of two side-streets, right across from the tiny Italian grocery store.  Due to strange development decisions, the house is about 30 feet above street level and rendered invisible by a chestnut tree so majestic Hyao Myazaki would probably put it in a movie.  The driveway, however, is VERY visible from any of the surrounding houses, the grocer, or the street.  

At least in theory and old photos, becuase if you actually GO there,  your eyes slide right past it to the neighbor’s lillac bush, or to the retro neons of the grocery store or up the Chestnut tree.  it is literally HARD to look at that driveway, all the world around it wants to pull you away.

-The Third Unplottable house is in Salinas, CA, home of my paternal grandparents.  It is the single most BORING house possible- like, if you were to ask a third-grader to draw a prototypical house, they would draw my grandparent’s house.  Utterly Unremarkable. 

Except for the part where my Grandfather, spurred by his success with the “non-fruiting” peach tree, decided to plant a California Redwood Tree, and it grew to approximately 150 feet over the course of a few short decades.  It is the tallest damn thing for miles around, and SOMEHOW deliveries keep being missed, mail is delivered to the neighbors, and any non-blood family that tried to visit would end up on the other side of town.

-The Fourth Unplottable House was the one I grew up in CA.  The Directions to it are as follows:  It’s the Bright Orange house Right Across From The School.  You know, the one with six flamingos and the Volunteer Avacado Tree.

SOMEHOW, we got everyone’s mail but OURS (we still wonder about the letter from Fort Knox for Mr. Thomas Saxophone), the other kids got lost trying to visit and ended up in Mr.Phan’s yard on the other end of the block.  Officer Brown, Mom and Dad’s friend, who had GPS back in the early 90′s becuase silicon valley, regularly got lost looking for our place.  The Flamingos did nothing.

-My parent’s current house is the second house on the right  after two right turns off the state highway that runs through town.  Sounds easy, right?  

Except that due to a couple small trees and a bend in the road, the house is invisible from the road.  I have to stand out in the road if i want my pizza delivered.  The Mailman is the only person who could reliably find the box, but he drives a subaru that’s older than my sister from the passenger side by leaning over, and delivers mail based on the aztec lunar calendar, so he’s probably not actually human.  I tried to host a party, tied rainbow balloons to the mailbox, and all nine friends had to be waved in from the street.

-My current apartment building Does Not Exist, according to my Bank, medicaid, Google, and City Hall which was a bit exciting when I first moved in and had to call everyone that yes, I was sitting in a building that really exists.   

Unless it’s my classmates, becuase they can apparently come to parties I don’t host. This Friday I had a friend telling me she had a great time at my place last Teusday… when I was home alone.  She assures me that I held a houseparty with “Those polish things you make” (I make great mini klatchky, but haven’t served them to her) and that “You were definitely there, we talked about Carvaggio and you drive me home”

He's not evil he's just drawn that way.

Steddie Upside-Down AU Part 92

Part 1 Part 91

Eddie laugh cuts off with a snotty scoff directed toward Carol when she’d immediately walked to the thermostat to crank it up. Eddie’s face is a mess of blood and bruising, and he’s listing slightly as he walks. Will wants to grab the phone and call for an ambulance. Have all the doctors in their white coats scan Eddie’s brain for damage, his knuckles for breaks.

He clutches Steve tighter into his side, and stares at Carol as she whirls toward Eddie, brow furrowed as she mutters out a tired, “what?”

Her face is just as bruised and swollen, but there’s no blood clotting along her hairline or pouring out of her nose. And her steps are steady as she moves through the house.

The years of friendship and history trail her every movement in this house. The way she fished the key out of its hiding spot, the way she works the Harrington’s fancy thermostat with minimal fiddling. The way she moves with such purpose, like she knows every spot the floorboard creaks and what every cupboard contains.

It makes Will ache somewhere deep, where Mike and Dustin and Lucas live within him.

Did Steve and Carol have sleepovers, performing late-night missions for forbidden snacks and risky science experiments? Did they grow together, here in the Harrington’s empty mausoleum – elementary, to middle, to high school – chained at the hip until the chain snapped?

Will knows Steve in the way he’s a sword and shield. In the way his words take shape, and his body holds space. But he doesn’t know what haunts him through rooms, trailing behind like a ghost he can’t shake.

He knows the shape of his parents, looming in unreturned calls from hospital rooms, and the way sometimes other high schoolers will walk up to Steve around town, clapping his shoulder and shaking his hand like he’s someone they recognize, even while Steve’s smiles turns fixed and blank.

He knows what he’s observed from the edges of ghosts Steve hasn’t been able to hide.

Will wants desperately to know what’s knocking around inside Steve’s head.

They’ll get him back, so Will can ask.

“You really think that’s going to be enough?” Eddie asks, scowling at Carol with crossed arms.

Carol hits the button a few more times before turning back toward Eddie with a raised eyebrow. “What would you suggest?” She says it calmly, sweetly, but Will’s known enough scary people to see the murderous intent in her eyes.

“We run him a bath!”

Carol scoffs. Apparently, they’re trading them back and forth. “You think that’ll be hot enough?”

“The Harrington’s heat their pool in the winter. I should know, I got dragged into Hell through it!” Eddie gestures expansively at the closed blinds blocking their view of the pool.

“What are you—”

“I think they’re boiler can handle a measly bathtub!”

His Mom chimes in agreeing with Eddie’s plan, but Will barely notices. He stares out at the pool past the closed blinds, trying to capture the scene. The Demogorgon getting it’s claws into Eddie and dragging him through the pool. Steve, ever the hero, jumping in after to save his friend.

Had the chlorine burned? Had they been scared?

Will pulls their connection into himself, desperate to feel their liveliness pulling back. Eddie whips his head around, meets his eyes as he tugs back. Steve doesn’t stir at all.

He’s docile at Will’s side, something else holding Steve’s body upright as he’s trapped in his head. It should be a relief, not to have to lug Steve’s weight up the stairs, but it’s not.

Will wants him to settle his hand on one of Will’s shoulders, let go of some of the burden, show he’s still a person somewhere in there, with limits and needs.

But he goes where Barbara and Will prompt him, nudging him forward with a branding hand on his

“How are we going to keep the headphones and blindfold dry?” Carol demands, but she’s following closely behind, hand brushing Will’s side every now and then, like she’s got her palms raised to catch Steve if he stumbles.

“How hard do you think it’ll be to keep his head above water?” Eddie calls from a few steps above,  not turning around but shaking his head hard enough that his frizzy curls fly around, almost smacking them in the face. “Babies manage it.”

Carol doesn’t reply, but when they reach the second floor, she shoves past them all to lead down the hall, past the plaid bedroom where they’d found Steve curled up in his closet last time.

The room she leads them could fit the Byers entire living room and kitchen in it. It’s large and airy, but empty aside from a soulless painting of a cityscape across from the largest bed Will’s ever seen and a chest of drawers with nothing but a vase and a bouquet of fake flowers arranged atop it.

Will stops for a second, gaping around at the lifeless husk passing as living quarters until his Mom clasps his shoulder, pushing him along.

Carol leads them to a bathroom. It’s sterile and white, lighting like a hospital, tub large and deep enough to fit three grown men.

Will stops, staring down at the empty tub, bubbling with trepidation.

Steve’s vulnerable, possessed, and vacant, and now they’re, what? Throwing him into the fire?

This house is already so vast and empty, swallowing Steve back up like it’s been starving for him since he left. Should they do this here, of all places?

Will’s hesitation doesn’t stop anything. Steve’s placid enough that Barbara can lead him on her own. Once she reaches the lip of the tub, she leads Steve’s foot up and over the lip, settling it in. He follows with the other on his own, foot raised at the exact same height before he lowers it to join the other.

Once both feet are in the tub, Barbara pushes on his shoulders, urging him down in the bath, fully clothed.

Eddie’s shuffled up beside Barbara, reaching into Steve’s pocket and fishing Jonathan’s Walkman out, setting it gently on the porcelain tile below the tub. The headphone chord stretches taught, but the jack stays firmly in the port, just barely reaching its destination.

Carol reaches around Barbara, hand on her shoulder to keep steady as she reaches down to stopper the tub. Eddie reaches down, hands on Steve’s shoulders as he pushes him down until he’s prone, head propped up on the lip of the tub to keep the headphones and blindfold dry and in place.

“I’ve got you, Stevie,” Eddie whispers, but his voice carries in the confines of the bathroom. “You’ll be just fine.”

Everyone stares down at them for a moment, stalled at the threshold. Steve’s skin’s turning pink where Eddie’s hands are still holding Steve’s shoulders, pushing down with force, like he’s a mother getting ready to drown her young.

What will the hot water do to his skin?

It’s Mom that moves first. She turns the knob of the tub as high as it will go, and water cascades down.

It only takes a moment for the steaming water to reach Steve’s feet. He gasps, curling his feet into his ribs until he’s in the fetal position.

Eddie just keeps holding him there, whispering things into Steve’s ear that Will can no longer hear over the sound of the water filling the tub and Steve’s own whining gasps.

Everyone else stares, watching his skin turn a vibrant pink, darkening to red as it crawls up the back of his calves.

It’s not until the water starts raising, engulfing his back and ribs that the screaming starts. It’s guttural and loud, deep in Steve’s throat. It’s reverberating, like static from a misfiring radio, echoing strangely off the walls of the bathroom.

It sounds wrong, like nails on a chalkboard. Like the Demogorgon, screeching before it devours its prey. Like the Demodogs howls echoing from beneath the earth.

Something not Steve is calling out its pain from within him. Will hopes, fervently and with all he is, that Steve’s untouched somewhere in there.

Steve jackknifes up, back lurching out of the bathwater as Eddie does all he can to keep him down. Will rushes forward, dropping to his knees hard enough on the stone tile floor that he feels the reverberations all the way through his teeth. He sinks his own hands into the hot bath beside everyone else’s, pushing him back down.

Even with all their hands pushing, it’s a struggle to keep him under. Steve thrashes his head back and forth, Jonathan’s headphones falling off into the water and floating away on the waves made by his struggle.

Eddie’s sobbing, open and loud, tears trailing down his bloody nose and dripping saltwater and blood onto Steve’s own face.

They trail down Steve’s own cheeks, leaving bloody tears that look as if they’re leaking from his own eyes.

It reminds Will of the one time he’d gone to church with Mike, Christ on the cross, dripping tears and blood, a martyr of his own making as he slowly died.

Steve’s been dying by inches. Will latches onto their connection and yanks. Like he can pull him free from all that smoke, off the cross, into the boiling tub.

Beside him, Will feels Eddie doing the same, still weeping. He’s not pushing Steve into the water anymore, the rest of them strain harder against Steve’s thrashing to make up for it.

Eddie’s cupping Steve’s face, fingers digging into his cheeks like claws, opening scratches that mix with the blood already dripping down his face. “Get the fuck out of him,” he snarls, digging his nails in harder. “Do you hear me?”

“Is it working?” Carol demands, breathless with strain.

No one answers. The bathroom is growing hot even for them. It’s filling with steam and sweat and screams. It’s suffocating. Will wants to flee. To curl into the fetal position and wait for Steve to come back. His Steve. Not this thing.

But then he feels Steve pull back. It’s fluttering against Will’s ribs, like a caged bird straining against its constraints. Feathers flying until it’s free.

Eddie gasps, hand slapping against Steve’s face hard enough that the sound of skin against skin echoes even past Steve’s continued screams.

“It’s working!” Eddie cries.  

Will pushes harder against Steve as his thrashing grows stronger, more desperate.

The tubs full now, overflowing and flooding into the bathroom. Only Eddie’s iron-clad grip on Steve’s face is keeping him out of the water and breathing.

“Not fast enough,” Carol says, voice gravely like her throats all clogged up. “Aren’t you the one that said that the little punk girl doing whatever she’s doing could hurt him?”

“What do you want me to do?” Eddie demands shrilly. He’s leaning forward so far over the tub that his hair’s trailing into it, ends wet.

Will wants to tie it up in a ponytail for him the way he does for Mom sometimes when her hands are wet with dish soap. But then Carol lets go of Steve, storming out of the bathroom with a frustrating shriek down low in her throat, and Will’s got other priorities.

“Shit, hold him, hold him!” Barbara calls, and all three of them press down hard, Eddie fighting against them with his clutching hands.

Steve’s still screaming, and crying, and flailing. He doesn’t know it yet, but his oldest friend just walked out on him, just like his parents and every other friend besides those crouched over him now.

It's going to hurt, once he’s back.

Steve’s flailing more now, like that thing inside him can sense the weakness in their ranks.

Will stays and holds his friend down as he shakes. It’s not a surprise when he shakes them free, sending everyone sprawling down onto the wet tile with a splash.

It is a surprise when the first thing Steve does is lunge forward to wrap his hand around Will’s throat and squeeze.

Will gasps, fingernails raking against the back of Steve’s hands where it’s choking him. Around them, everyone screams. 

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Part 93

x

MANIFESTING

sometimes i remember how everyone in the party fought so hard to save Will and Max’s lives as opposed to how they left Billy to die without sparing him a second thought ever again.

Meanwhile Billy did not care about any of them apparently and still tried to fight the mindflayer with all he could, dying for a girl he barely knew - and his sister of course - and by proxy for the rest of them. and this is your big bad villain?