Ha Ha Nerd

Rest In Peace Technoblade. 💕 I just like funky little fandoms lol ……

[the-ravens-nest]

First is Worst

word count: 3,913

A fic I planned to be shorter but got a lil carried away with? Yep. It happened again folks -- Coltland Gentry + Driver fic where the boys get sick, and Court once again tries to handle it all. Definitely nooo eldest-child trauma was inflected on this, nope (I'm lying lol). Anyway, Court is around 16 here (they live with Uncle Holland and Healy, Court does not go to jail), Ryland and Colt are around ten, and Driver (called 'Casey' here) is five.

TW: illness (it's like a cold/flu but still), implied past child abuse/neglect, dubious medicine distribution (Court literally just pour some syrup in a cup and prays for the best, if that makes you nervous)

Fic below the cut and available on Ao3 <3 (@ harpie_raven).

AUTHOR DOES NOT USE AI, AUTHOR HATES IT ACTUALLY -- I JUST LOVE EM DASHES AND YOU CAN PRY 'EM FROM MY HANDS.

How much jello is too much? 

It’s a question that Courtland never really thought he’d have to ask. But standing in the biting cold of the refrigerator aisle at the local food mart he can’t help but wonder. He has at least seven small individual cups of the colorful dessert tossed into a hand basket; two orange for Colt, one red for Casey, and four green. Only two of those four were technically for Ryland, but Colt would suddenly ‘change his mind’ on which flavor he wanted. To save himself the headache of having to pry the twins off of one another, Court would just get more than needed. Uncle Holland had increased his allowance a little recently (another crazy thing to ponder that he wasn’t thinking too hard about, even if it had been ‘enough’ months), he could afford this. Besides, it was for a good cause, and if he had to, he’d probably come up with a plan to be the first man to pull off a jello-heist. 

He throws in one more orange, just to be safe. 

Making his way towards the pharmaceutical aisle feels like it takes an eternity. The whiplash from the refrigerator aisle to the stale AC pumping through the store does nothing but add to his discomfort. He feels like that’s too much effort on the machine’s part, making him grit his teeth together to keep from chattering even a little. He focuses on that though, instead of the faint sense of warmth growing under his collar. It wasn’t at all as bad as it could be, he was fine – but damn, it was annoying. 

Somehow Court always forgets how brutal brought-home-school-colds can be. Until it’s too late, and there are three sets of little eyes staring at him in the middle of the night to inform him that one of them (usually Colt, poor thing) just threw up. 

It was the first time it had happened since they’d been moved to LA, though. If he had to guess, it was probably because his brothers were still getting adjusted to their new school. (So was he, technically, but he was decidedly not trying to think about that right now. And if the flitting thought made him throw some grape flavored cough syrup into the basket a little harsher than needed? Well, it was grape flavored. It probably deserved it.)

He’d gone out to get the supplies he needed as soon as the boys laid down for a nap. He did not like leaving them. The very thought had made him stall in the doorway, fingers tapping against the door handle anxiously. The only reasons he’d been able to justify it was that the food mart was down the street, he didn’t really have a choice, and he wasn’t leaving them there. He reminded himself of these things as he filed into line, to keep from groaning when he saw the wait ahead of him. Glancing at the clock mounted to the wall he reminds himself that he really hadn’t had a choice. 

Uncle Holland and Mr. Healy had a new case. They’d been out all night on a stakeout, only stopping by the house that morning to check on the boys and grab whatever they needed to chase a lead. When Uncle Holland had asked how everything was going, if they needed anything, Court had of course debated telling them about the situation he’d been handling since the early hours of the morning. About a month into this new arrangement, his uncle had sat him down to tell him that he could bring up anything (“anything at all!”) he needed. He’d blundered his way through the explanation, but the sentiment had been nice. It just wasn’t as easy for Court to digest as either of them had hoped. No matter how genuine he found his uncle to be, he couldn’t form the words without hearing several unwanted words echoed back against his skull. 

Weak.

Through no fault or malice on their end, Mr. Healy and Uncle Holland could be a little busy sometimes. When his cousin was here, Court may have had an easier time, not saying he needed it, but letting her help him with his brothers. She was naturally assertive, and left very little room for him to protest, saying ‘no’ to a determined Holly March was not as easy as one would think. But, two months back, she’d gone off to college. Everyone had been so proud, emotions had run a bit high, but it wasn’t an absolute loss from her company, she still visits often – she was just getting adjusted to her new life. And, Uncle Holland was adjusting to her being gone. 

So, Court could handle it. Not like he hadn’t before, and in much worse conditions. 

By the time he finally got to leave the food mart, Court felt like his legs were starting to copy the consistency of the snacks in the bags. He was going to melt under the California sun. But, he took a deep breath, and started his quick (awful) trek down the road to the house. He knows the lady in front of him had practically bought the whole store, but surely the kids were still napping, right? 

The sound that greets him when he finally fumbles the key into the door and swings it open proves him wrong immediately. 

“Well I don’t wanna!” Colt protests somewhere within the house. 

“An’ I do?” Ryland argues back – Court’s already rushing over. 

He forgets to take off his shoes, and gathers up the plastic bag into his arms as he rushes over. He knows he should take them off, not ruin the house, he was running like a maniac he wasn’t supposed to do that, what kind of a man scrambles like this – 

He follows the vague sounds of stuffy-nosed squabbling – and, concerningly what he thinks are tears – to the guest bedroom. The lights are off and the curtains are drawn, just as Court left them. But now that he’s closer, he can definitely hear someone crying, and flicks the lights on without warning. 

Two things happen immediately. Colt and Ryland are sat up on their knees in bed, Casey laying between them. When the lights turn on, Ryland lets out a squawk and tries to cover his eyes. At the same time, Colt throws himself backwards, dramatically, onto the mattress. “My eyes!” He yelps, hands flying to cover his whole face. 

It’s just so dramatic, but Court holds back the eyeroll. “Sorry,” he says, because he does actually feel a little guilty. 

“No you’re not–” Colt’s complaints are muffled by the mattress as he rolls over. Court doesn’t respond, already rushed over to the bed. Casey’s the one who’s crying, eyes fixed upwards in what Court unfortunately thinks is an attempt to stop the tears. 

“Hey, what’s wrong?” Court tries, kneeling next to the bed while the twins squirm to check on their youngest. He can already feel the fever before he sets his hand down onto Casey’s forehead, and the five-year-old lets out another little cry. It breaks Court’s heart, and he starts immediately looking through the nightstand drawers for tylenol. If he can give Casey half of one, maybe it’ll go down before it becomes a bigger problem. Casey sniffles too, his nose very clearly runny. 

“We tried to get him to blow his nose,” Colt says, sitting back on his legs with a sniffle of his own. “But it was not working.” 

Ryland shakes his head. “And I…I really don’t wanna touch it!” He seemed to shudder at the very idea, despite the fact that he’ll probably be in the same boat soon. Still, Court can only blame himself for their discomfort, minor as it is. He could’ve been faster, after all. 

Shaking his head gently he moves Casey into a seated position, already looking around for tissues. “Okay, okay,” He finds them knocked off the bed in an awkward upside down position not far from his foot. “It’s okay, I know it’s really gross.”

Colt hums in agreement until it seems like he might make himself cough, and Ryland, sensing the ‘danger’ of almost having to deal with the situation is over, settles back down into the blankets. He’s looking down at the forgotten grocery bag Court had discarded, like it’s just dawning on him, same as the shoes. Nestling into the blanket he blinks at his brother. “Did you leave?”

It’s a perfectly innocent question, but Court doesn’t miss the flash of nerves that cross Colt’s face, even as he cleans up Casey. “Yeah,” He nods, averting his eyes a bit, he knew he shouldn’t have left them. It wasn’t right of him, he never used to do that. “Yeah – but, I got stuff.” 

Casey tilts his head curiously, his tears still rolling down his cheeks a bit. “Yeah,” Court insists, and looks between their faces. “Your bellies still feeling weird?” He’s met with three little nods. 

He throws away the used tissues in the waste basket nearby, rushing to wash his hands in the bathroom, rushing back. Lots of rushing, but it was okay, it was nothing he wasn’t used to. Even if the pressure build up behind his eyes is making the normal run-and-go increasingly uncomfortable. While in the bathroom he roots around for the thermometer he thinks he saw there, and again, for the tylenol. Surely this house had tylenol, Uncle Holland fell off a concerning amount of high surfaces, it had to be a staple. 

He makes sure the three of them are still in the bed with no intention of leaving before heading to the kitchen. “Stay put, I got a surprise,” He’s calling, knowing damn well only the jello was a surprise. Ryland might actually fight him over the cough medicine, he’s realizing. 

Still, with slightly shaking hands (adrenaline, he tells himself), he grabs three colorful spoons, and a little cup. Hopefully his undignified method of “little sips, guys” will help. He knew it wasn’t what he was supposed to do – he’d just been doing that for so long to break away from something the boys understood at this point seemed wrong. They still probably, no, they did, deserve better. 

Coming back into the room, he’s already pouring the dark purple goop into the cup, just a little to cover the bottom. To his exact expectancy, Ryland shoots upright. “OH no!” He declares. 

“Ry it’s gonna help you.”

“No!” 

“Yes, actually, that’s how medicine works.” Court already knows he’s going to lose this battle, but he will try, damn it. Casey sees the cup and whines, frowning deeper than any five-year-old had the right to. Colt, thankfully, doesn’t seem to mind at all. 

“I won’t drink it!” Ryland wraps himself up in the blankets, as though burrito-ifying himself will get him out of this. Court doesn’t say anything, because if he does speak it will come out so much harsher than he wants it to. Instead, he reaches into the grocery bag and pulls out the jello cups. 

“Well, how about a treat?” Jello was just about the only thing he could remember their mother giving him when he didn’t feel well. Way he saw it, it was cold, easy on the stomach, and therefore practical. And, easy to give someone and walk away. Not that he was going to do that last part. 

Colt’s eyes widen and he grins, his slightly flushed face making him appear rosy and a little younger. “Orange!” He exclaims, and clamors forward a bit. You say that now, Court thinks as he hands it over along with a spoon. 

“Red?” Casey asks quietly, first thing Court’s heard him say all day. He nods and opens it for him before handing it over, 

Ryland has not emerged from his burrito pile. Court takes the green cup out anyway and holds it upwards. “C’mon,” he tries to coax him. “It’s good, and’ll make you feel better.”

“Uh uh.” 

“Ry-guy, c’mon out.”

“Uh uh.”

Court’s eye twitches and he has to squeeze them both shut to keep from making any solid facial expression. Normally he’s much better about being pragmatic for this, but…he’s running a little low in reserves now. “It’s…” He takes a deep breath, still holding it up. “It’s green…?” He tries, hoping that works. 

After a pause (in which Colt and Casey have already started slurping their jello down), Ryland’s blonde tufts poke out from beneath the blue fabric. Holy shit, that actually worked. 

The older boy gets to his feet and walks to the other side of the bed, holding it out to him. “See?” Ryland’s suspicious eyes study him from behind his glasses, and he really must not feel good, because he gives in way too easily.

That’s how Court finally finds himself in bed, giving very small sips of medicine to his brothers and watching them eat their jello. He finally, mercifully, found the tylenol, giving the appropriate dosage to all three of them before allowing himself to settle back into the bed with them. Ryland had fought him at first, but maybe he’d sensed how desperate Court was, unintentionally and openly pleading with the ten year old. So, he took at least a couple sips, squirming and kicking through it the whole while. Thank god though, for small miracles. 

With the weight of his brothers against him, Court was starting to feel a little drowsy. Well…drowsier. He didn’t mean to, honest. He’d fully intended to stay there and watch them – check their temperatures again, get The Bucket if he had to (please no), administer more medication when need be. He had to make sure they had enough tissues – oh god, he had to make them real lunch, jello wasn’t a substitute for lunch, not while sick. He’d been up with them since the early morning and he still hadn’t even done everything yet. Always rushing, wasting time. 

Casey settled into his side, resting his head against his stomach as Colt coughed into his arm, laying to the left of him. They were warm – normal warm? Hopefully? Ryland had pulled up the blankets around them, and Court was just going to rest his eyes for a second. He still had to do all of that and more, but his head hurt, he felt spent, comfortably warm and still like he was outside – he just needed to close his eyes for two seconds. Just two seconds… 

Court didn’t know when he fell asleep, all he knew was it felt like he got hit by a truck when he woke up. Somehow the build up in his head had increased to the weight of a brick, pushing down uncomfortably on his nose, making even opening his eyes something far too daunting. He wanted to groan – but that would just make his throat hurt, maybe. 

He shifted to the side slightly, pulling the blanket up towards his shoulders. He needed to drown himself in it, soak into the warmth so he could stop feeling a shudder in his bones. Colt was a furnace, always, that could be good in this situation. He was cuddled against him last he checked, Ryland by his legs and Casey to his other side. He reached out a little, eyes still closed, just to make sure the blanket was tucked around them all. It took a minute of padding his hand around the bed to realize…he should accidentally be hitting someone by now. He moves his hand down, but there’s nothing there. 

No soft hair, or baggy t-shirts, no stuffed animals of dinosaurs or even the stray toy car Casey tended to hoard in bed. He reaches behind him – still nothing but empty air. He makes a sound he thinks might be a whine, it’s pathetic, and starts to open his eyes. The lights are off again, and he’s laid down fully against the bed. More alarmingly, though, is not a single one of his brothers is in bed. 

Through his haze alarm bells start ringing. Maybe they went off to go get some more medicine and accidentally took too much. Because of him and his poor planning, they never really knew what the correct dosage was. Or maybe they’d gone out to try and make some food, because he’d been awful at making their actual lunch on time, and accidentally hurt themselves with a knife. Maybe their father was going to run into them, and be upset that Court had let them out of the room, that they were sick, if Casey started crying again Dad would just get mad, and Court was stupidly sleeping through it like an idiot. He throws the blanket off of himself and calls out for them. “Colt? Ry? Case?” 

He shouldn’t have fallen asleep, or left them alone when he went to the store, or ever thought it was okay to let them take medicine like that, what kind of a caretaker was he? They needed him, and he fell asleep? 

He takes a second to stabilize himself before going to get out of bed, just as the door creaks open. His hair sticks to his forehead in sweaty strands as he makes eye contact with the door – his chest is already heaving, great. There was very little commendation for pretending to be brave, especially when whatever reaction he was about to receive, he probably deserved. 

Instead of their father’s scowling expression (he knew this, he should know this, it had been months since he’d seen that face) peeking through the door, Uncle Holland comes into focus. He doesn’t look upset, just – concerned, maybe? If Court had to put a word to it. “Hey kid,” he starts, nodding in Court’s direction. “What’s your hurry?”

Seems like a silly question, Court’s always in a hurry. Even if it doesn’t seem like it, there’s probably something to be done that he’s forgotten. “I…” He starts, instead suddenly at a loss for words other than a small, frazzled sounding, “My brothers?”

Uncle Holland probably expected that answer. He nods his head to the left, out towards the hallway and eventually, the living room. Through the stuffiness of his ears Court thinks maybe he can hear the sounds of the TV being on, now that he thinks about it, and the twins’ voices here and there. Oh. They were just in the living room. “With Healy,” Holland confirms, stepping into the room. “Think they’re watchin’ Scooby Doo or something. I was gonna come check on you anyway cause I can’t stand that show – it’s always the real estate manager, I tell you.” 

Court thinks he’s nodding but he’s not sure why. Sometimes it was, other times it was the greedy oil execs. 

“But, you don’t gotta worry about them,” Court isn’t sure when his uncle made it to his side of the room, but before he knows it Holland’s next to him, gesturing vaguely to the bed. “We already got ‘em dinner, and they’re still scarfing down that jello you got them. Good call, by the way. I’ll have to remember the flavors, since Healy’s fuckin’ color blind, I swear.” As he rambles, he’s started gathering up the blanket, already pulling it up on Court’s legs again. He pauses a moment to give him a look Court doesn’t want to call ‘scruitinizing’, maybe…’puzzled’? 

“Did you go out and get all that, by the way?” He asks. Court thinks he doesn’t have to answer. Private investigator or not, it’s obvious. Uncle Holland nods as though he’s received confirmation, and resumes his tugging on the blanket. “You know you didn’t have to. We coulda picked it up on our way home, or hell, come home earlier and got it ourselves then.” 

Court wants to argue against being slowly maneuvered back into the bed, but really, he’s too tired to argue. He lets himself be laid back a bit as Holland haphazardly drops the blanket against him, still covered enough to not be unbearable. “You guys had a case…” He says instead. “I-I coulda handled it, you didn’t have to come home…” Piss poor job he did of that. He’d fallen asleep and not even noticed his brothers had left the bed. 

Holland takes a set near his legs and clicks his tongue. “Nah, we finished up earlier anyway – lead was a bust and so was the whole case,” He told him, sighing a bit in disappointment before his expression turns a bit serious. “But even if it wasn’t…you know we’re still the adults, right?” he asked. 

Court wants to argue, again, but is cut off by his uncle’s calmly raised hand. “I know you’ve had to do…a lot of stuff, that you shouldn’t have to worry about at your age. And it’s probably been real hard to train yourself out of. But, you boys are our responsibility, okay? Gettin’ sick is irritating as shit, but normal. All you had to do was let us know, and not run yourself ragged. No more of that.” 

Against his better nature, Court almost whines with the effort it takes not to snap out. He has to, it’s not easy, those boys are his responsibility, he has to look out for them why does no one understand that, if he doesn’t then what will happen? What will happen then? Instead of saying all this and freaking out like he wants to, he bites his tongue. He’s so tired…he’s so tired he can almost fully believe Uncle Holland. So, he nods, his eyes stinging. 

And of course, he knows his uncle picks up on it. Luckily for him though, it seems that’s all the Parental Wisdom Holland has at the moment. He sighs just a bit, and pats Court’s leg before getting up. “I mean it. You’re…you’re okay to just, be a kid, Court.”

He adjusts the blanket one more time and nods, satisfied with his work. “Get some rest, we’ll be around when you need something, okay?” 

Court just nods. He can still faintly hear the sounds of Ryland and Colt – probably arguing over the jello, now. Healy’s low grumble of a voice comes shortly after, and though they’re broken up by little coughs or sniffles, he can hear the twins giggling. They’re safe, they’re alright. Skepticism aside, he knows Mr. Healy and Uncle Holland wouldn’t do anything to them, wouldn’t let anything bad happen to his brothers. 

Seeming satisfied with Court’s response, Holland starts to leave. “Love ya, kid.” He says as he leaves, leaving the door open just enough for Court to still hear the sounds of the family, just enough for some light to poor in from the hall. 

Court loves him too. He just hopes that one day soon he can let it all go like the man wants him to. Believe that he does not have to jump through every hoop that presents itself. He just hopes one day, he can just…be. Maybe he can, while he’s there. Until then, he decides, maybe he should take up the offer of ‘rest’. He pulls the blanket up over his shoulders again and rolls over, closing his eyes and letting the faint sounds from the living room lull him to sleep. 

Sick or not, his brothers sound happy, then. They don’t need him right now. Right now he can just close his eyes, and sleep. 

[the-ravens-nest]

GIFT

A short story of how Driver (called 'Casey' before 'Driver' was born) got his iconic scorpion jacket.

Word count: 2,601

Dedicated to, drumroll please, @gottabegreyhound, for getting me excited about writing again cause I told myself I could do blurbs and big stuff too ! (it's @harpie-raven by the way, this is an alt I made) So thank you very much Grey, I hope you don't mind the tag. And I hope any and all who want to read, enjoy. I have more stuff planned but literally wouldn't let myself go to sleep till I finished lol. Fic below the cut and available on Ao3 (harpie_raven)

Casey, admittedly, did not like how Shannon’s truck drove. 

The shock absorbers had been worn to hell by gritty asphalted roads and time, making it jostle slightly in a way just noticeable enough to be irritating. Shannon had plenty of cars at his disposal in the garage Whether they actually be his, the studio’s, or even a client’s left overnight – there were options. But, as he’d told Casey on more than one occasion, where the boy hadn’t even said anything yet, Shannon seemed to read his mind somehow, that this truck was the best. Because it was undoubtedly, and irrefutably, his. Casey wasn’t sure he related. He didn’t really have anything like that to his name, nothing he could so fondly and wholeheartedly take ownership of in that degree. 

The few clothes he owned were hand-me-downs from the Smith’s children from his time with them, which he was certainly appreciative of. Even his beloved Ford Galaxie wasn’t his, not really. 

(Another gift he took from them when he fled into the night almost a year ago. He couldn’t thank them enough, even if he couldn’t, he just couldn’t, stay with them.)

All that was to say, that he supposed, he could understand Shannon’s attachment to this thing. This clanky, shaky thing that he very much wanted to reach into up to his elbows, and mess around with until it was perfect. Shannon would tell him that was unattainable…but then remind him through a barked out laugh if anyone could get close, it would probably be him. The thought was enough for the corners of Casey’s mouth to raise just slightly, and make the feel of the road beneath the gas pedal slightly more bearable. 

They were driving back to Shannon’s place from the bar, some place with an odd name and too many conflicting neon signs that was currently ‘all the rage’ amongst LA’s ever vivid night life. Neither of them had actually wanted to be there, Casey knew Shannon preferred his usual dive bars, something he had started sharing the sentiment of. But, there had been some new hot-shot producer that Shannon had to talk to, trying to pitch the idea of a crazy car chase he would probably oversell for double payment.

“And if they take the bait,” The older man was saying, his seat reclined back as far as it would go against the small back of the truck. He barely glanced over at the person behind the wheel, window rolled down so the wind could steal his cigarette smoke as it rushed by. “Then we’ll be lookin’ at some pretty big wrecks…shame, I used my best hero shots to sell it.” 

Casey nods. He knows, he was the one who’d set up the lighting. Shannon half mumbles to himself in a question, wondering why he did that. The wind almost carries Casey’s voice away, quiet as his response is, when he says, “Because it sells.” 

It’s simple, really. Thankfully Shannon does most things simply. Like laughing in response and nodding, shaking his cigarette in Casey’s direction in agreement. 

“Damn right it does, Kid,” he said, humming around the filter. 

Casey takes the turn towards Shannon’s place with a little speed, primarily just because he could, and Shannon wouldn’t mind. He’s proven correct when the act gets a hoot, and stops short outside of the apartment complex. “Jeez, you tryna check my brakes or something?” He asks. 

Casey shrugs as he pulls the truck around to the parking garage. 

They fall into the rhythm that Casey had unintentionally registered as ‘normal’, after four months sleeping on Shannon’s couch. He turns off the truck while Shannon grabs his new six pack from the back, and slowly lowers himself to the ground. Casey has the urge, again, to offer him an arm – if only, so the impact from the raised door panels to the ground would be a little more forgiving. He doesn’t move though, and guiltily he’s unsure why. Maybe it’s not his place. 

Shannon’s a few steps behind him as they make their way to the elevator, Casey holds it open and hits the button without a word. The ride up is slow, even if their – Shannon’s, Shannon’s apartment, is only on the second floor above the parking garage. 

By the time they’re inside, Casey admittedly already wants to go to sleep. Or rather, he wants to try and go to sleep. All odds point to him laying folded up on the weathering brown couch in the living room, staring at the ceiling. He’ll try and make pictures out of the watermarks, and listen to sirens and motorcycles outside like they were coyotes, or owls crying out into the night. Not that the sounds back home ever helped him to sleep easily anyway. 

He sets himself up on the couch regardless, and accepts the beer Shannon passes his way with an appreciative nod, toothpick rolling to the side across his tongue. The stuntman takes up residence on the recliner beside it, pulling up the footrest with a satisfied sigh. “Well, I gabbed as much as I could to that guy,” Shannon says, and flicks the cap off his bottle. “So, happy birthday to me.” 

Casey’s just nodding again, following Shannon’s suit of taking a sip a moment later. He settles himself back into the cushions as Shannon hums, like he’s suddenly thought of something mid swallow. He sits forward a bit and gestures loosely to Casey with his hand. 

Finally getting the beer down, he frowns at Casey. It’s a look he’s unintentionally used quite often, like he’s trying to think up some kind of backstory or explanation Casey might offer before he even asks the question. For someone who initially didn’t care about any of Casey’s background, he sure does seem to do that a lot more now. “When is your birthday?” He asks curiously.

That wasn’t what he had expected. Casey blinks a moment, mentally bringing up a calendar as he brings the bottle up to his lips. Today was the twenty-seventh, so… “Last week.”

Shannon almost chokes. The almost comical scramble to wipe away any liquid that may have gotten out coupled with the amount of swearing he’s doing almost makes Casey laugh. “Shocking answer?” he asks, watching the recliner sop up some of the mess. 

“'Shocking' – why didn’t you say anything?” He asks, and then thinks better of his words, rolling his eyes. “Or like, point at a calendar and mime, whatever you do.” 

It wasn’t that important, Casey figured. Just a day. Didn’t mean much back when he was a boy, shouldn’t now. “Didn’t think it was important.”

He can’t ever really remember it being important, anyway. When he was younger and still in school, sometimes someone’s parents would bring in cupcakes if it was their birthday. He vaguely remembered debating if he should ask his mother, can he have some too on his birthday? But she’d been having a hard time leaving her room that week, usually that week, no matter the year, so he never really bothered. That sort of thing seemed more for other people, really. 

“I mean, it’s not like it’s a holiday,” Shannon seemed to be choosing his words carefully, toeing the line between making it genuinely a bigger deal than it needed to be, and still marking its importance. “But it still woulda been nice to know, we coulda – I dunno, gone out or somethin’.”

Why did they need an excuse to do that? They went out plenty, more than Casey had ever personally imagined himself doing. He went with Shannon to the bars, he went with him to set sometimes, and he’d get to drive around some of the cars. Shannon made sure he had food, and he stayed in the garage to work the odd hours as a trade off, before eventually going back to their – Shannon’s apartment. That seemed plenty to him. That seemed more than he deserved after taking those nice peoples’ car. 

“It’s okay,” He said, because it was. Hell, he thought more of the day he did take that car and leave, drive all the way across the desert and never stop until the road led to LA, as more of a significant day than his birthday. He had no say in that, no choice in the matter of what early-morning he was brought into the world. This though? Everything that led him to this moment, sitting on this couch in this apartment, was his choice. 

Shannon’s still giving him an odd look though, almost planning, for half a second longer before it folds itself back into obscurity, and the older man moves on. “Yeah, well, you’re not much for celebration’,” He said. “Just wait till we land you that stunt gig, though. Then, we are hitting the town for real.” 

Casey thinks that if he does get that gig, he actually won’t mind that too much. 

The night went on like it mostly did, Shannon polished off the remainder of his six pack with a little help from Casey, and retired to his room. Casey did end up staring at the ceiling, though not as long as he usually did.

Maybe it was the silent giddy hope, that if he did get that job, he’d never have to worry about feeling this still again. 

Shannon had taken off early the next morning, with a hastily scrawled note telling Casey to just go to the garage like normal. He followed the motions of dragging himself into ‘awake’, as though he were deeply asleep enough to begin with for it to be a problem. Even still, he eventually made it to the garage before anyone else, letting himself in with the master key Shannon had given him. It was nice, to be alone there in the mornings. It was quiet, and the smell of oil and metal were a familiar greeting. 

Casey got to work making sure he had all of his tools and materials where he needed them, double checking mainly just to run the pad of his thumb over them another time, their touch was grounding and familiar. They weren’t really his tools though, they were Shannon’s. Casey didn’t really own anything like that. 

Shannon arrives as Casey is pulling up the garage hoods, yanking down hard on the manual chain to give them a raise, and inadvertently alerting the masses that they were open. He gives Casey a wave, hopping almost excitedly out of the driver's seat in a way that doesn’t make Casey envious of his knees. With a wince he starts his way over. In one arm he has a big black trashbag, tucked beneath and pressed against his side. “Mornin’ Kid,” he greets, and ducks underneath the partially-opened garage door to enter. 

Casey gives him a nod, finishes, and wipes his hands down on his shirt. He hadn’t planned on following Shannon, content to finish his rounds before any customers appeared, but there’s a hand beckoning him from the other side of the garage, and he should probably go check that out. He takes a toothpick from the pack within his pocket, rolling it between his teeth as he walks over, already peering a bit to try and see around the car, at what Shannon’s doing. 

He has the black trashbag on a stool now, but that’s only the secondary thing Casey is looking at. There’s a medium sized, red plastic bow crudely stuck to the top of the trash bag, right near the draw strings. Not being one for expressions doesn’t even stop him from raising an eyebrow at Shannon, looking from the bag to him finally. 

Shannon’s leaned against one of the stationary tool kits, already lighting a cigarette between his teeth. It takes him a second to realize Casey hasn’t moved, and he nods at the bag. “Well? It’s not like it’s gonna open itself.” 

In all fairness, Casey wants to argue, he hadn’t realized he was supposed to open it. He takes his hands out from his pockets and stars grabbing the draw strings, the back of his hand brushing the slightly-prickling bow as he tugs. Just as he’s getting them loose, and finally stretching the bag open, Shannon exhales a puff of smoke with a chuckle. 

“Happy late-birthday, Kid.” He says as Casey reaches into the bag. 

His hands immediately pull back out with the nicest white fabric he thinks he’s ever seen. It’s soft, satin quilted little patches gathered up under his fingertips as he pulls the whole thing out. A bomber jacket, dark at the collar and edges with a dark inside, equally as soft and comfortable looking. Feeling almost in a trance, he flips it over, and sees It immediately. A golden scorpion stares at him from the back of the jacket, standing out embroidered against the white. He traces a finger over it as Shannon talks. 

“Got it from Dorris in costumes, actually,” He’s rambling, glancing at Casey from time to time as he smokes. “You know Dorris, the nice older lady? Yeah, well, I called to ask if she had anything close to your size – even if you still gotta grow into it – and what do you know, she’s actually got this thing leftover from some scrapped hero-guy movie,” he said. “She tried to charge me an arm and a leg for it, I tell you, but there’s only one like it, and I guess it made sense for that reason. You uh…you like it?”

There’s only one like it. And it was his. 

It didn’t matter that it wasn’t even cold, Casey flipped it back the correct way and started slipping his arms inside. Shannon laughed, half relieved and half entertained as he watched him. “Okay, I’ll take that as a ‘yes’,” He said, and watched the kid tug the sleeves over his wrists. It was still a little big, Casey would admit, but he had never felt so determined to not let that bother him, already zipping it up around him. It was perfect, it would be even more perfect when he grew into it more, and it was his. Not a hand-me-down, not something stolen, something given – a birthday present. 

He doesn’t register that he’s smiling so openly until his cheeks start hurting. 

Shannon gives him two thumbs up, chuckling again around his cigarette. “Lookin’ good,” He says, and his attention drifts to a car pulling in the driveway. With a bit of a groan, he pushes himself away from the tool kit, already looking around for his cleaning rag. “Lookin’ good…might wanna take that off though before we get workin’ on a car, y’know, cause it might get dirty?”

With his ears a little pink, Casey nods quickly, and starts unzipping. Shannon hasn’t gotten too far away before he asks, voice only slightly louder than normal, “Shannon?”

The couple in the car are already getting out, but Shannon stops. “Yeah, kid?” 

“...thank you.” Casey tells him, carefully setting the jacket back into the bag, to keep it safe, until he got back to Sha– their, for now, apartment. “I love it.”

Shannon says he’s glad, and seems to really mean it too, before he makes his way over to the couple, already greeting them. Casey stays where he is a moment longer, the pad of his thumb caressing over the scorpion. He knew he'd received a few things in his life for his birthday before, he must’ve. But this may have been the only one that mattered. 

Undoubtedly, and irrefutably, his. 

[harpie-raven]

My alt acc I created for fan fic!

Tadaaaa …. Hopefully I can ride this motivation wave out for a looong time —

[d-ark0]

So I was on TikTok and I stumble on a slide video about some Ryan gosling characters. One of them where Driver and I almost exploded because what that person said was so real.

Their account is @pix.innit on TikTok go give them some love

BUT LIKE THIS IS SO FUCKING REAL. DRIVER WOULD HATE TO BE A "ALPHA MALE" MODEL.

Driver is kind, he is gentle and loves people deeply. He HATES that he needed to kill people to keep Irene and Benício safe, also hated that standar and Shannon got killed. He was almost crying the whole movie because everything was going wrong around him.

Also he was nervous. Driver is a really methodical person, he plans everything. But when Standard is killed that whole plan was thrown out the window, he had to improve now and he fucking hates it because it makes him so fucking scared.

He is just like a comment I saw a few years ago, it was under a video of some little cats scared of the person recording it. The person who made the comment said "The one in front of the others trying to protect them is not that older, he is also scared, but there's younger ones so he needs to be brave for them". Like this is so Driver man, he is fucking scared, but he needs to protect the people he loves so he needs to be brave for them.

[darkiplierblog]

I’m just a Stunt guy!

[quasi-paradoxically]

The scene at the very beginning of Grace's involvement with the Project, before he even knows what Project Hail Mary IS, when Stratt's quietly guiding him into a meeting room to do a high-pressure task involving what he's learned about astrophage that he wasn't expecting to have to do? While she and three men are blocking his attempt to leave the room? And Grace is saying "I can't do this." and Stratt is gently trying to get him in there, "Come on. Yeah—" and Grace keeps repeating "I can't. I can't. I can't."? And Stratt doesn't let him go, the men don't allow him to escape, but she also doesn't stop reassuring him about his capability in a situation he desperately wants out of, because she doesn't doubt at all that if he gets in there and does the task he'll do it well? "You're doing great."

[in-a-different-timeline]

people who vilify stratt make me so mad because yes, grace is the main character of project hail mary, but he’s still just one man. it would be insanity to sacrifice a quarter of the world’s population because one man said no. there’s no one who would’ve chosen to abandon two billion people to save grace if they had been in her place. it’s a tragedy for grace, but it’s the only hope of survival for the rest of the planet.

[local-demon-in-your-area]

"You have no immediate family. You don't even have a dog" SHE WAS PROJECTING PEOPLE

SHE WAS PROJECTING

SHE WAS TRYING TO JUSTIFY BOTH THEIR SACRIFICES

IT'S ABOUT HIM BUT ALSO ABOUT HERSELF

SHE WAS PROJECTINGGGGGGGG

[kyri45]

Ahaha foreshadowing-wait what-

(Next part will be out today on my Ko-Fi!) Excuse them. They’re having a moment This is the most self indulgence thing ever but i love them so much. And i had the idea of the upside down fist bump for so long i had to. Some fluff before the REDACTED.

PILOT - ISSUE #5 - ISSUE #7 (will be on my Ko-Fi today!)

Concept by me and @sam-i-am-27 !

[mouldyshrooms]

The Scorpion on my back

[sermna]

trying to figure out how many times I can bring this movie up in conversation before people start avoiding me

[celenequinn]

Saw a post about Stratt and Grace getting married so he couldn’t testify against her in court and I believe the interaction goes something like as follows:

“Grace, I need your signature.”

Grace looked up from his work in his closet of an office. Stratt closed the door behind her.

“An autograph? I’m flattered.”

She pushed the work off his already disheveled desk and set a single paper on top. It kind of looked like his degree, it kind of looked like-

“A marriage license? Well, now I’m really flattered.”

“For legal reasons. Just sign.” Stratt muttered.

“Are you serious?”

Of course she was serious. She only was serious. But she seemed…uncomfortable? The feeling looked strange on her. Eyes dart between the paper and him. Arms crossed over her chest as if hugging herself. It was definitely a new look. They were in new territory.

“I’m not the marrying type.” said Grace. “And I think I forgot to propose.”

Stratt breathed in deeply. Steeling herself.

“Grace,” Her hands were fidgeting with the cuff of her sleeve. “What I’m doing here is illegal. I’ve broken alot of rules to give the crew a chance to save us. But once the mission begins…the world order will need to go back to how it was.”

Grace listened intently trying to make eye contact with her glassy gaze. He hadn’t thought to much about the legality of it all. After all, that was her job.

“I will be put on trial. I will be found guilty. I will serve the rest of my life behind bars. That is my cost.” Stratt continued, “You, the team, will all be fine. But-”

She pushed the license closer to Grace.

“Spouses don’t testify in court.”

Finally she looked at him. She wasn’t telling him to sign. If that was the case she probably would’ve just forged his signature. Hell, she probably has a whole team just for that purpose. She was asking him.

His choice. Just between the two of them.

“We don’t have to sleep together, right?”

Her eyes went big. “God Grace! No! Just sign the damn paper!” she huffed.

He smiled. And put his name under hers.

Husband and wife.

Well, more like “Most powerful person in the world” and “Some guy she kept around.” But still. Till death do they part.



[art-the-f-up]

Lyrics from Scylla- Epic the Musical

[karetypee]

Into the Goslingverse

[aroace-ryland-grace]

Hi guys! I thought I should just share my whole mini little library of Project Hail Mary-related things so they're all in one place:

It includes:

A digital copy of the movie (with subtitles in 30+ languages via download)

My transcript of the movie (more on that here)

Audio recordings of the movie

A PDF of the book

An EPUB of the book (for e-readers)

The full audiobook

A copy of Andy Weir's doc on Eridians

A copy of Andy Weir's spreadsheet on Astrophage physics (among many other things!)

A draft of the screenplay for the film from 2022

The deleted scenes from the film (VLC Media player required)

An audio recording of the director's commentary

My transcript of the director's commentary

A folder of 700+ screenshots and other reference photos

There's also a google doc with some instructions to follow if any of the files aren't working or aren't allowing you to download them, which usually happens when too many people try to access or download something at the same time.

Additionally there's a UHD copy (that's too big to fit in the drive) here!:

Proton Drive

Securely store, share, and access your important files and photos. Anytime, anywhere.

Please note that because of the way that google drive works, some of the subtitles only work if you download the file yourself.

The audiobook, audio recordings, and commentary all have their properties programmed so they (should) work just like songs with a track number, album cover, artist, and so on if you download them.

There are two audios of the movie, one is the entire film untouched and one is that same audio cut up and broken down into separate scenes for convenience.

Additionally, there are two versions of the movie transcript, one with time stamps that match the audio recording and one without. The time stamps (+ their titles from the audio) are outlined in that version, so if you double-click on that tab or click "show outline," they'll all show up and you can pick a specific scene.

Similarly, there are two different versions of the director's commentary transcript. The first is made to listen along to the commentary, while the second is more intended to be read on its own. The first is a direct transcription of everything that's said (an attempt, at least), while the second is slightly cleaned up for easier reading, meaning things like jumbled sentences and stuttering were removed or reorganised, but nothing has been actually paraphrased. Both are broken down into different scenes based on how their conversation goes, and the listening version includes timestamps. 

The first few seconds of the commentary are missing unfortunately as my US friend who was kind enough to record it for me had some technical difficulties at the start, but she was able to paraphrase the part that was missed. The commentary starts at that first red shot of Ryland Grace's face in the coma suit 32 seconds into the digital copy.

All the screenshots are ones I've taken either to use as a reference, decoration, or on request from other people. All other images are ones I've collected for similar purposes. They're vaguely organised into folders and there is also a guide explaining what is in each folder. In those folders, they're listed in the order of which they were taken, so for the most part they're in chronological order of the events of the film. However, some folders are out of order in cases where I went back to take more screenshots later. It is slightly messy and arbitrary, but hopefully isn't too difficult to navigate.

As always, if anything's not working right or you notice any mistakes in anything, please let me know and I'll fix it as soon as I can!

(Similar but smaller resource library for The Martian is here!)

[aroace-ryland-grace]

Another update: I'm sure a lot of you have already seen it, but thanks to @petrova-line, the 10 minute compilation of the deleted scenes from the movie are also now in the drive! Like the original post that shared it said, to watch it you have to download it and open in VLC media player. Additionally a transcript of it should be up sometime tomorrow!

[petrova-line]

am i allowed to drive (2011) post on this blog because i can’t stop thinking about this

[the-reblog-squad-deactivated202]

Reblog if you don't use Generative AI to write fanfics/original fics or to create fanart/original art.

[the-bedheaded-league]

Reblog if you’d rather give yourself papercuts between each of your fingers and then rub hand sanitizer all over your hands than use generative AI to write or draw anything ever

[gaydiation-poisoning]

It would kill half the 19-25 year olds online to realize "I can't help it I have trauma" is one of THE quintessential abuser excuses

[gaydiation-poisoning]

Like there is a difference between "My trauma creates impulsive urges and has changed my instinctive reactions to be irrational, I need to relearn shit." vs "I'm traumatized so I Can't Help It and you're not allowed to expect better of me"