screams into the microphone: We need more Precure AUs!
This is so stupid lol. I'm thinking of putting together a collection of fic ideas that never went anywhere, and this would be one of them. Even though I think this is crazy, I am a firm believer in putting all your ideas on paper. Some of my best work has come from one or two lines of an idea that sounded dumb.
You should note, I treat crack fics/ideas very seriously lol.
Working Summary: Robin and Steve have been chosen to save the world. It goes as well as everyone expects
Steve
“So, explain it to us again,” Nancy says, brow furrowed. Steve can’t blame her. They practically broke her door down, screaming about fairies and monsters while she struggled through Holly baby sitting duty. She took it in stride, didn’t hesitate to put Holly to bed before grabbing a gun and calling the cavalry, but she…stalled somewhere around the floating stuffed toy that followed them in.
It only took half an hour for the rest of the team to filter in. Steve’s still amazed by how quickly they can mobilize. How battle-ready and focused they get when a Code Red filters over the radio waves. This, though, this air of comical skepticism is new. Although they clearly believe some of it, they’ve huddled away from him and Robin…and the creepy thing smiling over their shoulder.
“Right,” Robin repeats.
She’s all nervous energy, bouncing off all four corners before flopping on the couch. Steve makes a gagging noise, and Robin flips him the bird. The couch has lived in the Wheeler basement since the Party was twelve. Who knows what disgusting things those shi-buttheads did to the poor thing?
Steve jerks away from the wall, an electric current of disbelief nearly toppling him over. In my own head? He thinks, seriously!?!
“Right,” Robin repeats. She’s on her back now, her face hidden behind shaking hands. “So we were in the park. Eating ice cream, talking crap, regular teenage stuff when um-” She waves to the floating elephant in the room. Well, not an elephant. More of a tiger, cloud…blob…thing? She turns to Steve, eyes pleading, and he sighs. It’s his turn to say it anyway.
“Luvluv,” he mumbles, and the entire room turns to him. His face burns, “Its name is Luvluv.”
Told you this would be a quick turnaround! The original plan was to post this with the last chapter but...things got really long lol Anyway, no chapter warnings. Just characters talking to each other (dialogue's my favorite part if you couldn't tell). I'm glad I'm able to post this so close to the last chapter. Personally, I think it flows better as one giant chapter, but 🤷🏾♀️
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
So, I think I'm finally unlocking the argument scene between Jonathan and Steve that's been holding me up. Admittedly, previous drafts were too in favor of Steve. I think I was focusing too much on Steve's feelings that the conversation/argument was unbalanced.
Also, I think Jonathan was too meek in my earlier drafts, and that's not something I would ascribe to his character. Jonathan will bite back when pushed, and I think adding that has really helped with the scene. I like the below A LOT better, but it still needs work!
Sneak Peek
Jonathan stiffens, and Steve can almost feel the temperature drop. Nancy drops his hand, her gaze cutting to Byers before looking away. Steve crosses his arms. Looks like this wasn’t hashed out during their sudden alliance. Good. Nancy may be too nice to bring it up, but he’s not. Carol’s cruel, but she was right about one thing.
“I’m allowed to be pissed,” Steve tells him. “You didn’t say anything when we saw the pictures, either.”
“You weren’t supposed to see them!” Jonathan snaps. “If it weren’t for your goons-”
“My goons,” Steve mocks. “Is that what we’re calling friends now?”
Jonathan turns to Nancy, his hands tucked tightly in his elbows. “No one was supposed to see them, Nancy,” Jonathan pleads. “I swear-”
“Oh, and that makes it ok?” Steve steps between them, forcing Jonathan to face him. He leans in and lets Richard bleed through. “Bet you’ve always had eyes on my house. Or worse, my girlfriend. Which is it, huh? Is it me or her that made you creep through the woods like the perv everyone says you are-”
“I was looking for my brother, you prick!” Jonathan shouts. He surges forward, nearly lifting Steve off his feet. He stumbles back, but Jonathan doesn’t let up until his skull cracks against rough bark. “I didn’t go in there for either of you,” Byers spits. “I’ve been walking these woods every night since Will went missing. I couldn't care less about some vapid suburban assholes.”
His face pulls into a terrible grimace. “You think you’re so different? So special? There are a million boring rich jocks who throw parties during a tragedy. Who think they’re being so daring and edgy when they’re just crossing off a checklist passed down from their boring parents.”
So, I had this idea today where Steve's parents have an entire second family, which is why they are gone all the time. They have a home in Georgia where they raise their son, Michael (12), and daughter, Stephanie (9).
They make sure they're always home for dinner, and Maria helps the kids with their homework, Richard practices with Michael in the backyard (even though sports aren't the boys' strong suit), and they never miss any of Stephanie's recitals. Sure, they leave once a month for about a week on business, and the kids aren't allowed to touch a locked drawer in the basement, but their lives are good.
It all changes when Michael's friends convince him to see what his parents are hiding. Instead of drugs, porn, or any number of crazy things, it's pictures upon pictures of a young boy. One with hair like his father's and eyes like his. Who's holding trophies and surrounded by friends.
I typed a little on it, because I like the idea. This might be a one-shot fic that I work on to give my brain something else to do. I probably won't post it until it's finished. Excerpt below!
Michael
“Do you think your Dad,” Sammy hesitates, “had an affair?” he whispers the last word like a curse. It might as well be. Michael feels the magic seep into his foundation, twisting and transforming concrete to brittle limestone.
There are dozens of photos in the drawer. Dozens of this-this kid on basketball courts, holding trophies, cutting strong lines through the water, surrounded by friends, living a life Michael never knew existed. There’s fraying fabric clipped to one photo. A first-place ribbon in the Indiana State Free-style swim.
Dad always wanted me to play basketball, he thinks, and when that didn’t stick, it was swimming.
He’s going to be sick.
“Lin?”
He jumps at Mark’s voice. Mark leans toward her, but she doesn’t say anything, just holds out a framed photo.
Michael swallows as he takes it. The frame is nice, a deep mahogany that’s seen better days, with a thin layer of dust in the grooves. He wipes the entire thing clean, but he can’t ignore the photo forever. It’s the youngest picture of the boy, about four or five, with a head full of hair and a contained smile aimed at the camera. He’s bundled in a smart sweater and slacks, similar to the ones his parents force him into when they hustle into church. There’s a hand on each tiny shoulder, and Michael follows them up to the stone faces of his parents.
“Holy shit.”
“Shut up, Mark!”
“Mike,” Lin says. She places a hand on his shoulder. “Are you ok?”
Michael can hardly hear them over the pounding in his ears. He flips the frame, shaky fingers pulling the picture free of the glass, and turns it over. “Richard, Maria, and Steve Harrington,” he reads, and his friends fall quiet. “1971.”
Thinking about this some more, and Dustin and Michael would absolutely hate each other lol.
This would be set directly after season 3. Michael and Stephanie make (sneak) their way over to Hawkin's and stay for a few days.
All Dustin sees is this kid, Steve's real brother, coming in to take his spot. It doesn't help that Michael's a bit shy and nerdy. He likes music and space, but can still talk to Steve about sports and Pop music. He's the perfect brother for Steve.
Meanwhile, Michael can only think about missed time when he looks at Dustin and Erica. They have secret handshakes, inside jokes, and carpool schedules. It's like Steve unconsciously knew he was a big brother and started collecting siblings when Michael and Stephanie took too long to show up.
I imagine that they come to some sort of agreement over the years, but they still hate each other lol. Though it's less about Steve and more about how incompatible they are.
I'm chipping away at this idea
Dustin
The ‘supposed’ brother rounds the corner, and Dustin freezes. Michael's older than he expected. Closer to his age, if he had to guess. Familiar brown hair hangs around the other boy’s eyes instead of styled up like Steve’s. He walks in a little hunched, his Milky Way pajamas dragging as he zeroes in on Steve. Dustin watches as Steve twists, and Michael slides into the newly open spot like he belongs there.
Dustin hates him instantly.
He scowls while Steve introduces this-this interloper. Dustin grumbles a short, ‘hey’ when Steve points to him. Jonathan frowns at him, but Dustin crosses his arms, leaning mullishly against the island. The conversation becomes stilted as Steve moves around the kitchen. Michael fumbles his way through a story, detailing how he and Steve stayed up late watching movies, and Dustin hates him even more.
A hand pushes down the brim of his hat before a plate of pancakes is shoved under his nose. “What’s got you so down, Henderson?”
“Nothing,” he mumbles and tugs at the plate. Banana curls under his nose, and Dustin blinks. “Are these banana pancakes?”
Steve raises an eyebrow. “I told you I’d make them for you, didn’t I?”
“Yeah, but,” he trails off and glances at Michael. That was before. “Thanks,” he says, finally smiling.
So, I had this idea today where Steve's parents have an entire second family, which is why they are gone all the time. They have a home in Georgia where they raise their son, Michael (12), and daughter, Stephanie (9).
They make sure they're always home for dinner, and Maria helps the kids with their homework, Richard practices with Michael in the backyard (even though sports aren't the boys' strong suit), and they never miss any of Stephanie's recitals. Sure, they leave once a month for about a week on business, and the kids aren't allowed to touch a locked drawer in the basement, but their lives are good.
It all changes when Michael's friends convince him to see what his parents are hiding. Instead of drugs, porn, or any number of crazy things, it's pictures upon pictures of a young boy. One with hair like his father's and eyes like his. Who's holding trophies and surrounded by friends.
I typed a little on it, because I like the idea. This might be a one-shot fic that I work on to give my brain something else to do. I probably won't post it until it's finished. Excerpt below!
Michael
“Do you think your Dad,” Sammy hesitates, “had an affair?” he whispers the last word like a curse. It might as well be. Michael feels the magic seep into his foundation, twisting and transforming concrete to brittle limestone.
There are dozens of photos in the drawer. Dozens of this-this kid on basketball courts, holding trophies, cutting strong lines through the water, surrounded by friends, living a life Michael never knew existed. There’s fraying fabric clipped to one photo. A first-place ribbon in the Indiana State Free-style swim.
Dad always wanted me to play basketball, he thinks, and when that didn’t stick, it was swimming.
He’s going to be sick.
“Lin?”
He jumps at Mark’s voice. Mark leans toward her, but she doesn’t say anything, just holds out a framed photo.
Michael swallows as he takes it. The frame is nice, a deep mahogany that’s seen better days, with a thin layer of dust in the grooves. He wipes the entire thing clean, but he can’t ignore the photo forever. It’s the youngest picture of the boy, about four or five, with a head full of hair and a contained smile aimed at the camera. He’s bundled in a smart sweater and slacks, similar to the ones his parents force him into when they hustle into church. There’s a hand on each tiny shoulder, and Michael follows them up to the stone faces of his parents.
“Holy shit.”
“Shut up, Mark!”
“Mike,” Lin says. She places a hand on his shoulder. “Are you ok?”
Michael can hardly hear them over the pounding in his ears. He flips the frame, shaky fingers pulling the picture free of the glass, and turns it over. “Richard, Maria, and Steve Harrington,” he reads, and his friends fall quiet. “1971.”
I'm so close to finishing this chapter, I can almost taste it. I'm going to turn my focus to Brute after this update. See if I can knock out two chapters for a double upload. Oh! I also created a Twitter, don't know how active I'll be there vs here, but we'll see!
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
Chapter 4 Sneak
Steve jumps around the tree, blade raised, right into the path of a swinging bat. He stumbles back, wood catching against the hem of his shirt. Nancy’s eyes bulge as the knife jerks through the air. Their shouts overlap, nearly the same pitch, and Steve lets the blade drop harmlessly to the ground.
The forest falls quiet after the commotion, the only sound left their panicked breathing. “Jesus Christ, Nancy!” Steve shouts. He runs a shaking hand through his hair. “Fuck, I almost-what the hell are you doing out here!” His gaze flickers, and his jaw drops. “With Byers?!”
Jonathan’s eyes are wide behind the slowly lowering revolver. “Harrington?”
“Steve!” Nancy gasps. The bat shakes before she scowls. She sinks a surprisingly solid fist into his shoulder. “You idiot! I could’ve really hurt you!” She blinks again, and then she’s reaching for him. “What happened to your face!”
He grabs her hand. “What? Nothing, just a stupid fight, who cares? I could’ve killed you, Nance,” he hisses. He points at the metal shining in the leaves. “Shit, I swung it at you!”
He drops her hands, heart in his throat. Bile grows as he steps away, and it does nothing for the lingering jitters in his limbs. Calm down, he thinks. He’s going to end up hurting the people he’s trying to protect at this rate. What is she even doing out here on today of all days?
His steps slow as he takes them in again. Nancy’s hair is pulled up high on her head, with dark jeans and a bat held readily in her grip, while Jonathan stands behind her, gun still poised between both hands, in his typical beat-up pants and rumpled shirt.
Neither one is dressed for a funeral.
He frowns, “What are you guys doing out here?”
They tense, sharing secret glances that only make him frown harder. It’s Nancy who lifts her chin. “Jonathan’s teaching me how to shoot.”
It…doesn’t sound like a lie, but it doesn’t make sense. Why would she go to Jonathan? How would she even know he had a gun?
“Jonathan is,” Steve says flatly. “Really.”
“He is,” she nods.
He raises an eyebrow, “I didn’t know a bat was necessary for target practice.”
The wood twitches in her grip. “What are you doing out here with a knife of all things?” She pivots. Her eyes narrow before stepping fully in front of Jonathan. “Did you…follow me?”
Steve snorts. Loud and derisive. “You sure that question’s for me?”
Jonathan looks away, jaw tight, and Nancy huffs. “Steve.”
He lets the silence linger until Jonathan’s shoulders are nearly touching his ears. “No, I didn’t follow you. I was looking for something.”
Finally! After months (3!) of writer's block. I don't know why it took so long to get the dinner scene to work.
Summary:
“Steve!” Dustin hisses. “You’re literally Rapunzel!”
“I am not!”
“Yes, you are!”
“How can I be Rapunzel if I’m standing right here, dipshit?” Steve fires back. “I’ve been driving you shitheads around all week! My Dad’s an asshole, sure, but wouldn’t I be locked up in some-some tower right now if I were Rapunzel!”
“But there are locks,” Hopper interrupts. “On all your windows, your clothes, your door.” Rage claws at his throat, ready to roar and tear into Richard Harrington. “Lucas said there’s no handle on the inside of your room.” Who modifies a door to trap a child?
Steve stares, slack-jawed as if he hit him. The boy closes his eyes, hands running through his hair, and the room falls quiet. “Ok,” he says after a moment. “I know how it looks, but my Dad switches to a regular handle when they leave. I’m not exactly stuck. And he only locks the door when I’m grounded!”
__
Or
Steve’s father, while often away, is very controlling. Steve doesn’t see it, and everyone else worries.
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
Just wanted to say your fics are soooooo good. My Ao3 isn’t letting me comment (keeps having errors) b hr if it would let me id comment on every fic I’ve read of yours.
I know, I know. I need to focus on my other stories, but my mind goes a mile a minute. Anyway, here's a snippet of the beginning. It's Party-centric and in Will's POV. Hopefully, I'm hitting the character voices. Post-season 1
Party (Working Title)
Summary:
Will swallows huge lungfuls of air like he hasn’t taken a breath in days. Maybe he hasn’t. Maybe all that fear and cold and snow only left enough room in his chest for gasping. Will grips them all tighter as tears drip down his face.
“I wouldn’t stop looking either,” he sobs, and it’s a promise, a pact, a vow. “I would never stop e-even if it were just me. You guys are my-my,” he sucks in a breath. He can’t find the words to describe what they are. “My-”
“We know,” Mike says. “You’re ours too.”
They don’t name it then. Hell, they hardly recognize it, but they feel it. Something has changed. Has tempered and hardened and linked them into something unbreakable. They’d go to the ends of the earth for Will. Rip holes in time and space to see him again, and he’d do the same. Knows it like he knows his own heartbeat.
They don’t name it then, but they will.
______________________
Or, in a world where packs don't exist, the Party navigates the sudden change in their priorities.
Chapter 1 - Change Snippet
He remembers the rescue in flashes.
Mom encased in yellow plastic. Strong arms carrying him across a destroyed Hawkins. A pulsing red tear in space, and night cut by beautiful moonlight. There’s no ambulance waiting for him, just the Chief's car and flashing sirens racing down an empty street.
Will filters in and out of consciousness after that. Waking up when doctors shine bright lights in his eyes and shuffle him to rooms with giant X-rays and MRI machines. He’s worn out but awake by the time his friends flood the room. They crowd him instantly, talking over themselves as Jonathan hovers in the background.
He wants to reach for them, to collapse in their arms and cry like he’s wanted to do for days, but he’s afraid it will all disappear if he does. He dreamed of this very moment for days, but now that he’s here, it doesn’t feel real. Dustin snorts a laugh at something Lucas says, and Will smiles back on instinct. I didn’t think I would make it, he wants to say. I thought I’d never see anyone again when it grabbed me. He swallows the words down, coughs like something’s stuck in his throat, and lets his gaze catch on movement just outside his room.
He can make out Nancy just beyond the door. She looks nothing like he remembers. She’s completely still, her hair pulled back in a sharp ponytail with an expression carved from stone. Will doesn’t remember Jonathan slipping out, but he stands beside her, whispering with someone just out of sight. Jonathan mutters something, a rare smile growing, and the person sinks a fist playfully into his shoulders, and Nancy laughs.
She’s breathless with it before crumbling. Will watches as they rush around her. There’s a flash of hair, an expensive jacket sleeve curling around Nancy’s shoulders, and Will blinks, “What’s he doing here?”
Mike follows his gaze and sneers. “Hell if I know. He came with Nancy and Jonathan.”
“But,” Will frowns. Memories float in half-formed clouds, whisping frustratingly between his fingers. “But you hate Harrington.”
“That hasn’t changed,” Mike promises. “Don’t worry.”
“Nancy said he helped,” Dustin adds. “When the Demogorgon-”
His brow furrows. “From the campaign?”
“It’s what we called it,” Lucas buts in. “The thing that took you to the Upside Down.”
“Upside?”
“Down,” Dustin finishes. “A mirror of our world. The Demogorgon was creating gates after El-”
“Dude,” Lucas hisses. “Shut up!”
“Right,” Dustin says, looking around. “Sorry.”
There’s no reason to stop. It’s just them in this small hospital room, but Lucas stares suspiciously at every doctor and nurse who runs past the door. It’s a look he’s not familiar with.
“We’ll tell you everything later,” Mike says. “I wanna ask your mom about the lab anyway.”
Demogorgon. Upside Down. Gates. They’ve created an entire mythos around the nightmare beneath their feet. He picks at the sheet. He never thought to label it. A place like that shouldn’t have a name. It makes it permanent. Becomes something to revisit instead of forget.
“He helped?” Will prompts, desperate to push the conversation away from shivering nights and floating snow. “How?”
Mike grumbles, and Lucas rolls his eyes. “Nancy said he came back.”
His confusion must be obvious because Mike throws his hands up. “Exactly! Like, what does that even mean? She won't give me any details!”
Lucas rolls his eyes. “It literally just happened. She’ll tell you later.”
“She was looking for me, too?”
“Jonathan was,” Dustin says. He moves to the other side of the bed and collapses into the chair. “Nancy was looking for Barb. She went missing a little after you.” His face changes, crumbles like he’s going to follow Nancy’s lead before steadying. “She didn’t make it.”
It lands like a gut punch. That could’ve been me, Will thinks, and the world blurs around the edges. If his mom didn’t put up lights, if his friends didn’t scour the woods. If they, at any point, stopped looking.
His hands tremble at the thought, fire burning up his throat to settle heavy behind his eyes.
“You guys never stopped looking,” Will says, voice small. “Not once?”
They all reach for him. A callous hand on his shoulder, an octopus-like hold on his entire right forearm, and a grip strong like stone on his left hand. “Never,” Mike says.
Will swallows, enveloped from all sides, and squeezes Mike’s hand as hard as he can. His jaw tightens as he buries his fingers into Dustin’s sleeve and drops his head against Lucas’s arm. He takes a breath. And another. And another.
Will swallows huge lungfuls like he hasn’t taken a breath in days. Maybe he hasn’t. Maybe all that fear and cold and snow only left enough room in his chest for gasping. Will grips them tighter as tears drip down his face.
“I wouldn’t stop looking either,” he sobs, and it’s a promise, a pact, a vow. “I would never stop e-even if it were just me. You guys are my-my,” he sucks in a breath. He can’t find the words to describe what they are. “My-”
“We know,” Mike says. “You’re ours too.”
They don’t name it then. Hell, they hardly recognize it, but they feel it. Something has changed. Has tempered and hardened and linked them into something unbreakable. They’d go to the ends of the earth for him. Rip holes in time and space to see him again, and he’d do the same. Knows it like he knows his own heartbeat.
Here it is! Only two more chapters (hopefully) until we're done with Part 1 - Beginning! I honestly can't wait for chapter 4+. I'm having so much fun writing Steve with the main cast. Chapter 4 might be a quicker turnaround since most of it is already roughed out.
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
This has been so fun to write on! It's getting progressively longer, but we're finally tackling season 1! I'm hopeful that I'll have Chapter 3 up in a few days. Anyway! Here's the sneak peek!
Chapter 4: Contraction
He’s cooking dinner when he feels it. Steve goes ramrod straight, hands knuckle-white on the pan as something ripples across his senses. His vision goes first, vanishes into inky darkness before his hearing cuts with an audible snap. He’s floating in horrible stasis, disconnected from his body, his tether pulling and tangling and flipping until he’s nauseous from the movement.
The energy passes, quick as a shock wave, and it’s like Steve’s tumbling back to Earth, consciousness falling painfully in place. He folds forward and jumps back when heat lights down his arm. “Shit!”
The burn anchors him. He stumbles away from the stove, terror climbing up his spine. “I’m in the kitchen,” he pants. He’s home. He’s making, or was making, fish. He reaches blindly for the burner until it clicks off. Steve sucks in a breath, then another, and opens his eyes.
He checks his tether first. It’s still pointing up, and the sight of it, drifting and connected, sends Steve to his knees. “Holy fuck,” he breathes. “Holy fuck.”
The world comes slowly into focus. The salmon pops in the dying pan, the sharp sting of lemon juice in his nose, and the numb warmth of a burn on his forearm. The house is still standing. Whatever it was didn’t affect the physical world, but it hangs dangerously in the air. A threat visible to all who know how to read it.
He fumbles to his feet and sprints for the front door. He doesn’t stop until he’s standing barefoot in the middle of the empty cul-de-sac. The Indiana air is still cool, and he spies two lone birds chirping on the flat end of a humming streetlight. A squirrel runs by, and fireflies flicker peacefully in the treeline.
That’s not possible.
Nature always reacts, or they should if he felt it. Hell, he can still feel it. There’s something pulsing on his tether, like an unending breeze from a cracked door or car window. The woods should be in an uproar, birds and animals fleeing for the borders, but they aren’t. Why?
His shoulders draw up as doubt settles in. Maybe it was normal? Despite all his arguing, Richard is right about him. Steve’s not as plugged in on this plane as he should be. Steve knows the basics. Checks the woods occasionally for fae rings and marks Hawkin’s perimeter once a month to deter some of the nastier creatures that stalk this plane, but that’s about it. Maybe whatever happened is… cyclical.
He stands under an undisturbed sky, in this completely ordinary neighborhood, and jogs toward the house. He kicks on a pair of shoes before hastily grabbing his keys.
“You’re just going to check,” he mutters. For what, he doesn’t know. He’s not much use with his magic, caged as it is. Hell, he can’t even heal himself. The Harringtons stopped allowing that when he didn’t burn down the house on their third trip.
The ignition roars to life as he peels out of the neighborhood. It doesn’t take long to reach Hawkins' perimeter, and he slows to a crawl so he doesn’t miss anything. Steve keeps his head on a swivel, waiting for something, but nothing happens. He’s thirty minutes into the drive, nearly halfway through his check, when his shoulders start to sag.
Which is exactly when it goes wrong.
Something darts across the street, and Steve curses. He swerves, narrowly avoiding crashing into the steep slopes on the side of the road. He takes a breath as his head drops on the steering wheel. It was barely a glance, but it was taller than any human he’s ever seen. Probably. Couldn’t exactly get a good look at it with night painting this old access road in black shadows.
“Go home, Steve,” he mumbles. He can always find it tomorrow. Call his parents and see if they’ll allow magic for hunting, but the inexplicable draft drags against his tether, and the need to know outweighs rationality.
The road is deserted when he steps out of the car. Steve stares at the dark tree line. Nature is finally reacting in the way he expects, which is dead silence. Even the insects are gone, digging into the earth to cower from something that doesn’t belong. Definitely not human, then, he thinks, and takes a step forward. He slides slowly toward the trees, leaves crunching as the slope flattens out for the pitch-black woods.
“Just a glimpse,” he says and sets his shoulders. He stalks forward and trips immediately in a tangle of legs and hidden metal. The handlebars dig into his sternum, and Steve curses. “Shit,” he hisses. He scrambles away from the bike, giving the wheel a kick for good measure.
“Goddamn, kids.” A twig snaps, and he freezes.
He can’t see it clearly. Whatever it is blends into the dark like it was made from it, but Steve’s eyes are inevitably drawn to the eerie glow of the creature's tether. It’s shimmers inky black in the center of its chest. It’s pulled taut, almost a painful tug at the leatherly skin, and points down.
What the fuck?
Steve pushes to his feet, arms raised and movement slow. They stare at each other, two beings thrust on this plane, and Steve…takes a step back. The orientation of the tether shakes him to his core. He’s run into many beasts in his lifetime. Fought some too in the thick of Appalachia, things with no names and lines that pull in all directions, but never anything that points down.
This creature doesn’t belong here.
He takes another step, but the beast never approaches, seeming just as weary of his presence as Steve is. That’s right, he thinks, heart beating, Let’s both go our separate ways.
His back bumps against the Beamer before he knows it. He reaches blindly behind him, not wanting to risk losing sight of the creature as he slips into the car. He backs slowly down the road, and the creature disappears into the forest, swift and bent over, as Steve flees.
Right now, it's a toss-up between Brute and As You Wish for my next update, so I'm probably going to post sneak peeks for both here. I'm hoping to have something updated before the weekend is over.
I am still working on Gilded Cage (I haven't forgotten you), but there are just a few scenes in the upcoming chapter that are still eluding me. I've probably rewritten Chapter 5 going on six times now. I don't want to skip the dinner scene, but if I can't get it worked out by Friday, then it might be nixed and reworked.
Anyway, here's a sneak for Brute Chapter 4!
Dustin
Robin steps forward, sliding next to Steve and crossing her legs. “Well,” she starts. “We didn’t see them until you smiled. So, maybe just don’t,” she shrugs, looking around for help. Eddie avoids her gaze, and Dustin coughs when she twists his way. “Don’t do that. Smile, I mean.”
Steve drops his head in his hands and sighs. Deep and long to the point where Dustin’s itching to pull out a stopwatch and time it. Did Steve's lung capacity improve, or is it an effect of being a swimmer? So many questions?
“Right,” Steve snorts. “People aren’t going to notice literal fangs because Munson, Henderson, and Buckley missed it.”
“Hey!”
“I’m just saying,” Steve huffs. “They’re not calling us team brainiac over here."
“Speak for yourself, asshole,” Dustin frowns. “I’m on the honor roll! I built a radio when I was thirteen! Hell, we’re using radios I made to track Hop in the Upside Down. You can’t lump me in with you guys!”
“Excuse you?” Robin hisses. “Who cracked the Russian code while you two dinguses were chasing an aorebics teacher!”
“And I played Master of Puppets without a single mistake!” Eddie grins. Three sets of eyes turn his way, eyebrows raising and some rolling, and Eddie straightens. He taps insistantly at his temple. “What! Do you know how much brain power it takes to play that song! How much dexterity and coordination is needed to pull off that riff without a single fucking mistake!? It’s practically a Mensa test!”
“This!” Steve says, throwing his arms out. “This is what I’m talking about! The others are going to know the minute they see me!”
I finished it! This is a slow build with long chapters. I don't know if the concept will be everyone's cup of tea, but I'm in love with it!
Summary:
The color drains completely from Robin's cheeks. “Holy,” she breathes, and her eyes find his. “Y-you’re telling the truth? You’re really a genie?”
“A Jinn,” Steve corrects, but his hands are shaking.
She flips through the contract, her brow furrowing the more she reads. She works her way slowly through the restrictions and stops on the third page. Her eyes go back to the top, disbelief growing with each word.
“Fuck,” Robin gasps, and her wide eyes find his. “A child? They chose for you to be a human child?”
He nods, throat in knots.
“So,” she fumbles. “You’ve been serving the Harringtons for eighteen years?”
“Pretty much.”
“Jesus.”
______
Or, eighteen years ago, the Harringtons walked out of Yellowstone Park with a newborn and the promise of ten wishes all bundled in one. Sixteen years later, Steve picks up a bat, restrictions be damned.
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
So, I'm working on a new story (I can't help myself lol), and it's a little...different from anything I've written. I'm in LOVE with the concept though. I'm going to post a snippet of chapter 1 (which is getting long), just so it's out there. If I'm lucky, I might have the first chapter done and on AO3 before Monday. Fingers crossed!
Working Summary:
The color drains completely from Robin's cheeks. “Holy,” she breathes, and her eyes find his. “Y-you’re telling the truth? You’re really a genie?”
“A Jinn,” Steve corrects, but his hands are shaking.
She flips through the contract, her brow furrowing the more she reads. She works her way slowly through the restrictions and stops on the third page. Her eyes go back to the top, disbelief growing with each word.
“Fuck,” Robin gasps, and her wide eyes find his. “A child? They chose for you to be a human child?”
He nods, throat in knots.
“So,” she fumbles. “You’ve been serving the Harringtons for eighteen years?”
“Pretty much.”
“Jesus.”
______
Or, eighteen years ago, the Harringtons walked out of Yellowstone Park with a newborn and the promise of ten wishes all bundled in one. Sixteen years later, Steve picks up a bat, restrictions be damned.
Chapter 1: Like Rain
It’s raining when his Token is found. It’s a young couple this time, draped carefully in thin plastic and thick shoes to protect them from the inclement weather. As embarrassing as it is to admit, he’s not sure which one claims him. He’d been too busy quarrelling with Bhirru to notice the humans' curious touch on his tether. A misstep on his part, one he’s sure to be scolded and teased for once the contract comes to an end.
He’s yanked abruptly from the Halls, twisting and flailing between astral planes when it should be a graceful slide to the mortal realm. He crashes hard into the Earth, a dense sapphire fog exploding from the impact. It covers everything, rushing over foliage and swallowing the trail until there’s no avenue of escape for the screaming mortals.
Sassil lies there, disoriented. He sucks in a lungful of air and stares at the green leaves high above him. They twitch gently from the soft patter of rain, and his eyes slip closed. He missed the rain, the smell of damp foliage, and ancient trees. Nature’s a living, breathing thing in the mortal plane, one of the few things that make this curse bearable.
He huffs a soundless breath and twists. He’s not ready. Sassil hasn’t served a human in ages. Sort of hoped the last one would be the end of it. That a tree or boulder fell on his Token and hid him away from prying eyes and greedy hands. He lifts slowly from the ground, an imposing twenty feet tall, and focuses on the job at hand.
The humans stumble back, but they don’t run, an admirable trait, or a foolish one, Bhirru might scoff, if he were here. Bhirru never found value in those who thoughtlessly stood against the unknown. Better to run and regroup, to survive, than find yourself posturing before something you can’t handle.
The man bravely steps forward, brandishing Sassil’s Token as if it’s some sort of weapon. “W-what the hell are you!?” the man shouts. He’s a head taller than the woman, with broad shoulders and a head full of sweeping dark hair. He’s shaking, dressed in a way that has Sassil reeling. He’s never seen clothes like it. Sassil focuses on the woman and just barely stops his jaw from dropping. She’s wearing pants.
He takes a closer look at the forest, notes the change in size and girth of the trees, and wonders how much time has actually passed. Interest sparks in his chest. It shouldn’t change anything; a job is still a job, but he’s always been…curious about the mortal realm. It’s never still, morphing and changing every few years until it’s hardly recognizable. Maybe they’re still expanding, he thinks. Still chasing after Columbia as she reaches for the West.
The man pushes the woman, trying desperately to dislodge her terrified grip on his arm. “Run, Maria!” His voice is shaking, but he doesn’t falter. “Damnit, Run!”
“Like hell I’m leaving you, Richard!” She spits. She glares through blonde fringe, steel in her gaze, and slips a small knife from her hip.
Sassil lifts an eyebrow. They’re definitely not lacking spirit. “Be calm. I do not wish to harm you.”
“Bullshit!”
He looks around for the aforementioned animal, but it’s just them in this dense forest. It does not matter; what matters is the hungry thrum of a contract in his chest. Sassil closes his eyes and breathes. Magic twists through the air, shrinking him down to a height less threatening. Smoke fans out wide in response. Licking up trees and hanging through branches like cloud coverage.
“I am Sassil,” he says. “A Jinn of the High Halls, and you,” He holds out a hand, pointing directly at Richard. “Hold in your hand my Token.”
The speech is awkward on his tongue. Stilted from disuse. Sassil’s not like those career Jinn. Whose Tokens are practically passed down from generation to generation in a constant flow of wish-granting.
The man pants hard, but the tremors fade as Sassil makes no effort to approach. Richard’s gaze flickers to the space-dark nail in his hand. It’s old, before his time, and long and thick like a forearm.
“You are granted ten wishes in reward.”
Richard blinks, and his arm goes limp. “What?”
Birds return in the ensuing silence. Cautious and noisy as they fly through his rolling fog. Richard’s jaw works, his face alternating between fear and growing wonder. Sassil waits for them to speak. He remembers enough to let the emotion play out. To let disbelief and terror transform into overwhelming curiosity.
“J-Jinn?” Maria hesitates, knife lowering. “Like-like a genie?”
Richard clasps a hand over Maria’s. “What the fuck is a-You know what this-this thing is?”
She moves slowly out of Richard’s shadow. “I learned about it in college,” she whispers. “They’re myths. Creatures who grant the wishes of anyone who finds their…” her eyes fall to the nail. “But they’re usually lamps?”
“A lamp,” Sassil allows, and they jump. “A shell, a knife, a rock, or even a nail. All can be Tokens, and all lying in wait for the mortal lucky enough to find them.”
Richard collapses to his knees, adrenaline leaking from him in waves. He stares at the nail, hands trembling as the weight of the offer finally sinks in. “Th-this is,” he swallows. “This is real? You’re offering us-me ten wishes for finding a fucking nail?”
His fingers twitch. He put a lot of work into the Token. Carved it personally from a dying star while this species was still rubbing sticks together for fire. Sassil maintains his manners. “Correct.”
“Ten wishes,” Richard breathes. He turns to Maria, a grin threatening to split across his face. He wraps his arms around her waist and laughs into the plastic covering her stomach. “Do you know what we could do with ten wishes?”
“What’s the catch?” She demands. Her fingers curl iron-like against Richard's shoulders. “There’s always a catch.”
“A Token can be stolen,” he says, and they stiffen. “And all remaining wishes will be theirs to claim. If all wishes are used before you reclaim it, you may not use me again. Even if you brave these hills and find me again. We do not answer to the same Master twice.”
“Right,” Richard breathes. “Right. Fuck, of course, others would want this. Would kill for this opportunity.” He stands and pulls Maria close. He scans the quiet forest, as if he can see them now, lying in wait for an opportunity to act. He turns nervous eyes on Sassil. “Is-is there a way to hide you? People are bound to notice if you come out looking like,” he waves, “like this.”
Sassil does not know what he looks like to mortals, but it’s a common concern. A Jinn’s appearance can change on a whim in the High Halls. Always stretching, and collapsing, and morphing. The only proper identifier is one's energy and unchangeable tether. He lifts a hand, and a golden glow emits from his chest.
The humans step back as a bundle of aged paper materializes in the space between them. It’s Maria who moves first. She grabs the small stack and pulls it close. She scans it, eyes growing wide with each word. “This is,” she frowns. “This is a contract.”
“Yes.”
Richard leans over her shoulder while she flips through the pages. She’s a quick reader, scanning through all five pages three times before glancing up.“Guidelines…appearance…restrictions, it’s very…one-sided.” She settles on. “This gives us a lot of power over you.”
He smiles, “Such is the curse of a Jinn.”
There are limits to what mortals can do; They’re only allowed two of their own rules to impose on him, but the fact that they can always offer some relief. Maria’s shoulders drop, and she finally tucks the knife back in her pocket. “This says we can choose your form? What does that mean exactly?”
“I can be anything you desire,” he answers. “Jewelry wrapped around your wrist or a familial pet at your call. Always close and inconspicuous.”
His lips press into a thin line immediately. He shouldn’t have mentioned a pet. It’s what he’s been the last three times. A loyal dog, a winding cat, all unnoticeable and all incredibly boring.
Richard steps forward, but Maria stops him. “Richard,” she breathes, and her hands are trembling. “You know I’ve always wanted a child.”
He studies her face, the quiver in her hands and turns. “Could you do that?” Richard demands. “Still grant our wishes while being a child? An infant?”
“Of course,” He says. He has granted wishes as an animal and fancy babbles strung around women’s necks. A human child is easy. “I can answer no matter the shape I take. Just hold the Token in your hand and make your wish in my presence.”
They collapse into a huddle, whispering and arguing until they’re clinging to each other. “Ok,” Richard says. “Ok, that’s what we want, ah, choose. A human child.”
Maria pulls in a breath and wipes at her eyes. “I can’t believe it,” she laughs. “A baby, a real baby,” she hiccups and cries harder. “I’ve always wanted a boy. Steve, I imagined,” Her eyes drift, seeing something that’s not quite there. “Steve Harrington,” she huffs and pulls Richard in for a desperate kiss. “How does that sound?”
“Shit, Maria,” Richard laughs. There’s a manic quality to it. He picks her up with a spin, and her laughter rings through the trees. “Shit! Ten wishes! Ten fucking wishes at our fucking fingertips!” Smoke twirls with their jubilation, and Sassil hums. He’s never been a human before, let alone a child, but maybe, with this couple, it won’t be so bad.
If the other Jinns could see me now, he thinks. Sassil, interested in living the life of a human.
“Alright,” Richard grins. His grip tightens around the Token. “Let’s do it!”
Sassil flips a hand, and the contract drifts toward him. He reads through it and stops on the two rules they’ve filled in. The first one is easy. He’s been bound to secrecy before. Had Masters who thought he’d whisper the truth to others in an attempt to free himself. A useless request when his form was always something that couldn’t communicate.
It’s the second guideline that gives Sassil pause. Magic is only for the Harringtons' use. It’s vague yet constraining enough to bind his hands. Small magic will be out of the question without their express permission. He’ll truly be living the life of a human between their wishes. It’s…not ideal.
Another moment passes before the contract snaps closed. What choice does he have? It disappears into his chest, and the magic takes hold.
“And so it begins,” he booms. Smoke rushes towards him. Torrential and violent as it twists skyward in an angry whirlwind. Richard and Maria fall from the force, grasping for trees that have survived worse storms. “From here forth, I am at your command, bound until all ten wishes are granted, whether it takes two days or one hundred years.”
The contract sinks deep into his core, reshaping and adjusting the locks on his magic. “Be careful with your wishes.”
Smoke condenses into a single point, and for a breathtaking moment, everything is silent. All the energy just… dissipates. There’s no explosion, no breaking of sound barriers, just…quiet. The ground breathes as the smoke disappears, and the misting rain gains weight in Sassil’s absence. There is no more towering entity, no promise of wishes, or cosmic contracts. No proof of the deal the Harringtons just made.
A soft wail tugs Maria forward. She falls to her knees, and a sob escapes her throat.
Here, naked and swaddled by vegetation, a baby screams.
turnnoffyourmind
pixelskylines
gamechangershow
izzy806
tangentwithtanner
ellievsbear
germansingergirl