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[feyrevelry]

⸺⸺ ✨ SYLVERIAN'S (Companion-) QUEST

His grandfather, King Oberon, persistently tries to take Sylverian to the Feywild and make him a Prince of the Seelie Court.

Sylverian has his reasons for not wanting to become his Warlock and/or go to the Feywild (explained HERE), but in a nutshell:

The Feywild is fucking CRAZY, man. It's dangerous. It... changes you. Also, time moves differently there ; a short trip to the Feywild = decades or even centuries in the material plane, so moving there means Syl has to leave his friends, family, everything he knows and cherishes, behind.

If Sylverian accepts Oberon's offer and becomes his Warlock, he will have to come with him to the Feywild. It's literally the only pact condition he has.

Your muse/companion/Tav could either encourage him to accept the pact, or advise against it (Wyll 2.0?? kinda??).

⸺⸺ ✨ If he accepts:

Accepting the pact overrides the remnants of his father's magic to keep Oberon away from his son, so Oberon and/or his minions will defintiely be around in some way.

The Fey will be your allies during the final battle.

Sylverian will get really cool powers, which will come in handy, especially in confronting a foe like an ELDER BRAIN.

After defeating the Absolute, Oberon allows him to stay 77 days to get his affairs in order.

Not without keeping an eye on him aka he will be spied on (that suspicious looking bird? Probably a Fey making sure Syl doesn't get into too much trouble).

77 days will pass fast. If your muse has developed a romantic connection with Sylverian, they will have to decide if they want to come with him to the Feywild or not.

One day, he will become an Archfey and can become someone's Warlock Patron.

Staying in the Feywild may change him profoundly ; the Sylverian his dear companions have known will cease to exist if he goes there alone.

⸺⸺ ✨ If he doesn't accept:

His grandpa still keeps an eye on him, but he can't do much without Sylverian explicitly saying so. No cool powers and no allies to assist in the final battle.

If romanced, Sylverian wants to stay together. He'll either accompany your muse or suggest returning to Amn to his palace, where Sylverian will be anointed Knight and High Lord of House Selemchant. His mom will be proud and can retire.

But soon the next adventure awaits! As a Knight, he won't stand idly if a threat arises!

[hippiichi]

me watching video essays on the theory of creating horror (as in analytical theory not matpat game theory) and being like ah yes i can use this for my dnd campaign yes...

[sweetiecakesss]

Not Lower Than 9 | Aventurine (18+)

⋇⋆✦⋆⋇ Synopsis: Land lower than 9 and he fills you to the brim.

⋇⋆✦⋆⋇Tags: Aventurine, Breeding, Lots of CUM, Feral and Touch starved Aven, Biting, Unprotected Sex (wrap it before you tap it!!) No plot just pure smut.

⋇⋆✦⋆⋇Note: The game reader and Aven played is based off of Aven's Boss Battle <3

How long has it been since Aventurine and you started playing his little game? At first, It was innocent and a friendly bet. You didn't expect him to take it far and then burying himself inside you, letting your warm cunt wrap around him and filling you to the brim with his seed with every roll that you failed to reach due to your stupid luck. Putting him in an advantage from that alone.

Your hands held onto Aventurine's wrist for dear life, the pads of his fingers rubbing small circles around the bud of muscle in between the folds of your pussy. Your legs shook as he moved his hips up to you in a slow manner.

"Doll, We're still playing." He let out in a breathy tone against your ear, pausing as he kissed the side of your face before lightly biting on your ear. "Pick up the dice and roll…Remember our rule, No lower than 9."

Turning your head back to look at him, you saw how his eyes narrowed at you as you cried tears of extreme pleasure. Your legs continuing to shake as you moaned.

"Aven--- I can't…Need youuu.." You let out as I squirmed on Aventurine's lap, your hips unconciously circling against him and only making things worse as you let out an over stimulated babbles of cries.

"Yes you can, My pretty gem. You can do it, o be a good girl and play the game…" Aventurine let out in a growl as he snapped his hips up, you let out another cry as your eyes widened. Trembling hands slowly reaching for the two dice that was ironically ominous and placed on the table in front of you, grabbing it you shook the dice in between in your hands before tossing it down on the table. Revealing a five.

Your eyes widened as you eyed the number on the two dice, turning your head; you looked back at Aventurine. He only gave you a smirk.

"Would you look at that…" He let out before his hand pulled away from clit and wrapping it around your neck as his other held onto your hip, guiding you to stand up as he then bended you over against the table before fucking you senseless.

His hips never faltering as his hands gripping onto your throat with enough force to make you roll your eyes back.

fuck fuck fuck fuckkk! was all you could think about from all of this, this game has been going on for about an hour now, your pussy filled to the brim from all the loses you got from playing a silly dice game with Aventurine.

"C-can't…! 's too much!…" You let out, your hand reaching back to much Aventurine away but unfortunately all he did was hold onto your hand that tried to push him away and pinning it against your back.

"Don't lie, Doll…You can take it. Just one more and we're done, yeah?" He let out, kissing your shoulder as he continued to snap his hips and fucking his cock into you. The tip of his cock hitting the deepest parts of you, skin against skin resonating in the room along with the sound of Aventurine's cum seeping out of you with every thrust he made.

"Doing so good for me," He let out pausing as he let out a soft growl and bitting harshly on the skin of your shoulders earning a loud cry from you. "Sorry, My little gem…Just so hungry for you--Fuck, gonna cum."

Aventurine then lets go of you, briefly pulling out.

"N-No…!" You let out in between your babbles of cry as he turned you around to make you look at him, he chuckled.

"Don't worry, Doll. You'll get what you want." He assured you as he then easily lifted you up and placing you on top of the table, His hands guiding your legs; lifting it up and placing it against his chest before he used his free hand to line the head of his cock against your slit before pushing in with a snap of his hips.

"Fuck!!" You screamed. Leaving your mouth agape in an O, back arching as he bit on your ankle while snapping his hips against you. Your entire body shaking under him, his hands keeping your legs stable against his body so you wouldn't accidentally kick him.

Plap! Plap! Plap!

With one thrust, you lost it. Your eyes rolled at the back of your head as you sprayed Aventurine, letting it out and squirting on him. Your body trembling as you continued to cry nonsense. Aventurine chuckled before kissing and rubbing onto your legs, his hips still not faltering.

Low growls escaping his mouth, arms wrapping around your legs. Your limp body growing tired as the only noise escaping your mouth was nothing but quiet and soft cries and whimpers.

"gonna cum…Gonna Cum--FUCK!" Aventurine growled before fully snapping his hips against you, coating your walls in white. Pulling out of you, Aventurine's gaze moved and stared at your oozing cunt.

His cum from earlier endeavor oozing and mixing with the recent one, dripping onto the floor with each breath you took. Aventurine smiled as he looked at your fucked out expression; Leaning down he placed a soft kiss on your stomach as he wrapped your legs around his waist.

He kept quiet as he just peppered your body with nothing but love and affection, a silent appreciation for how good you were to him.

"We should play this game often…" He let out in between soft kisses, you raised your head and glared at him, earning a chuckle from Aventurine.

[greenunoreversecard]

HEYYEYHEY CAN I REQUEST LLOYD (ninjago) HEADCANONS PLEASEEEE (ty :3)

A/N: Ofc!I'll do general character ones, as well as x reader ones :) hope ye likey likey:pp

Lloyd, The Greenest and Geekest mf.

General character headcanons:

Half Japanese half Chinese

His hair is box blonde dye and you cannot change my mind.

Left handed

Severely dyslexic and hands off all scroll reading and just reading oriented tasks to kai.

Def gen z vibes. Like, the others give off more inbetween z and millenial, so they dont always get his humor. And sometimes he uses that to his advantage and "Speaks in code" (uses as much slang as possible)

Has LED lights in his room set to forest green.

Has given himself a smiley face tattoo.

Cried over a dead goose once.

OK, just to preface i see cole as a stoner of Sorts and uses the excuse "it gets me closer to my element"

With that in mind cole let lloyd try it and now sometimes when he is told to unwind, of feels like he needs to take a chill pill he and Cole spark up

in the beginning of his leader ship role, he used to Say;"kick ass and take names" and if things went wrong he had the fuck it we ball mindset, but got better with time. There are still times they wing it, though.

if he isnt in his gi he almost exclusively wears his pajamas (aka a Hoodie, tshirt and sweats)

Vv tired, and now has a raging addiction to energy drinks due to his lack of Sleep.

He used to eat worms as a kid bc he Thought he it was evil.

Has a eyebrow piercing, and wants a tongue piercing.

Wears "reading" glasses, that he should technically wear all the time because he can't see up close and has a astigmatism,, but he says yolo. Zane then make him contacts after he almost ran into a moving blade and got his head severed.

Adhd and OCD, as well as the normal line up (anxiety, depression, cptsd)

Lloyd in a relationship:

Hes very distant in the beginning, it'll take time to warm up to you.

He tends to be orage cat vibes.

On the cat trend, he gets close for a bit Before becoming distant. Going through waves of affection, kinda.

He hasn't had like, any good relationships in his life so he tries to "protect" himself when he feels he gets to close to you, and so he pulls away.

He does the fuckboy face when your sad bc it makes you laugh, as well as That weird dice roll

He actually does the face/dice roll combo whenever he Sees you as he walks over, it's an inside joke now

primary giving love language: acts of service and quality time

Primary receiving love language: gifts and words of affirmation. But physical touch is also high up there.

Also, not expensive gifts. He hates those. Give him a stick you saw on a walk that made you think of him. He'll cherish it forever. And maybe cry.

He will cry.

will make noises at you and expects a noise in response or he'll be sad.

Also randomly bites you. He's a nommer

also sends you memes throughout the day.

As well as random pictures with the caption;"BABY LOK THIS IS S. US IF WE WHERE *insert whatever item here*

Called you babe, baby, love, shitface, asshole.

Expect kind and loving gentle bullying.

Doesnt know how to express his emotions to just expect him to come up to you, lightly shake your shoulders and aggressively say;"I love you bitch.i ain't Evea gon stop lovin you. Bitchhhhhhh" (vine reference)

Sends you .5 of everyone, himself included. He's addicted to Taking them. You will not get out of it.

Also sometimes just walks around in nyas stilettos for fun.

You two have fashion shows.

You also take over the Living room sometimes and build giant ass forts to watch shitty reality tv in and make fun oF The people

Overall, once he realizes you won't leave he's the most funniest loving chaotic guy.

But expect it to take a hot minute for him to realsie this

give him time,, but also have some deep talks..

Let him vent

and for the love of God don't hurt the baby's heart.

Expect inside jokes

[oldschoolfrp]

Alarums & Excursions 139, March 1987, with Ward Miller's cover illustration -- This issue included the first printed appearance of Richard Aronson's tale "Eric and the Dread Gazebo," which quickly made its way to the early Internet:

The Tale of Eric and the Dread Gazebo by Richard Aronson [aronson@sierratel.com]

In the early seventies, Ed Whitchurch ran "his game", and one of the participants was Eric Sorenson. Eric plays something like a computer. When he games, he methodically considers each possibility before choosing his preferred option. If given time, he will invariably pick the optimal solution. It has been known to take weeks. He is otherwise, in all respects, a superior gamer. Eric was playing a Neutral Paladin in Ed's game. He was on some lord's lands when the following exchange occurred:

ED: You see a well groomed garden. In the middle, on a small hill, you see a gazebo. ERIC: A gazebo? What color is it? ED: [pause] It's white, Eric. ERIC: How far away is it? ED: About 50 yards. ERIC: How big is it? ED: [pause] It's about 30 ft across, 15 ft high, with a pointed top. ERIC: I use my sword to detect good on it. ED: It's not good, Eric. It's a gazebo. ERIC: [pause] I call out to it. ED: It won't answer. It's a gazebo. ERIC: [pause] I sheathe my sword and draw my bow and arrows. Does it respond in any way? ED: No, Eric, it's a gazebo! ERIC: I shoot it with my bow. [roll to hit] What happened? ED: There is now a gazebo with an arrow sticking out of it. ERIC: [pause] Wasn't it wounded? ED: OF COURSE NOT, ERIC! IT'S A GAZEBO! ERIC: [whimper] But that was a +3 arrow! ED: It's a gazebo, Eric, a GAZEBO! If you really want to try to destroy it, you could try to chop it with an axe, I suppose, or you could try to burn it, but I don't know why anybody would even try. It's a @#$%!! gazebo! ERIC: [long pause. He has no axe or fire spells.] I run away. ED: [thoroughly frustrated] It's too late. You've awakened the gazebo. It catches you and eats you. ERIC: [reaching for his dice] Maybe I'll roll up a fire-using mage so I can avenge my Paladin.

At this point, the increasingly amused fellow party members restored a modicum of order by explaining to Eric what a gazebo is. Thus ends the tale of Eric and the Dread Gazebo. It could have been worse; at least the gazebo wasn't on a grassy gnoll. Thus ends the tale of Eric and the Dread Gazebo. A little vocabulary is a dangerous thing.

The above is Copyright © 1989 by Richard Aronson. Reprinted with permission. The author grants permission to reprint as long as all copyright notices remain with the text.

[cassowariess]

Look, I'm not a Gaiman fan, I've just been keeping up with the tag for updates about the allegations, and I have to say I'm deeply disturbed at how many young people I've seen say things like: "I want to kill myself" over the possibility of Good Omens 3 being cancelled.

I'm not going to scold you, but I cannot stress enough that this is not a normal response to have about a tv show, let alone any form of media. So as someone who lost a family member to suicide last year(for reasons unrelated to fandom) here is some advice I hope you will heed. Some of this advice is geared towards people with hyperfixations as I know the neurodivergent brain works differently.

First of all, for the future:

Do not put all your eggs in one basket.

It's going to become more and more likely in the future that you will be disappointed in someone who created something you loved. That's why it's important to have multiple things going in your life that keep you tethered instead of projecting all your emotional well being on the status of one thing. I know hyperfixations cannot be chosen, but extra interests can, so you need to cultivate a bunch of them. Go for walks and keep a nature journal, learn a new skill with free videos online (there are also communities built around certain hobbies like knitting etc so there's the possibility of making new friends too). You might not feel better right away, which is why it's important you do these things as a routine (such as once a week or more). It will flex and strengthen your emotional muscles.

It's not always possible, but have at least one of these interests be something that has nothing to do with being online. Maybe there's a book group in your town. Check local boards or listings for activities. Once again, there's the opportunity to make friends.

If you're stuck online, watch a movie with your online friends in Hyperbeam. Do this every week and pick a movie from a list of films everyone has chosen. Pick entertainment that has nothing to do with your fandom. Roll a dice for each week's movie.

If it is available to you, access therapy.

I realize this is not always possible due to costs or waiting lists depending on what part of the world you live in. Sometimes there are free groups that talk about depression. I live in the UK so unfortunately I don't know how prevalent this stuff is in the USA or other parts of the world, but your local council might have leaflets about community services and activities that are good for your mental health too, like community gardening once a week.

You don't need to tell the groups about why you are specifically upset, but you can tell them "life feels dull and pointless" which is why you're reading this, right? But the more you talk to people and try to do activities around other people, the less dull and pointless it will feel. I know it's hard to drag yourself outside, but it becomes easier the more you do it.

Talk to friends in your fandom, but also talk to friends that have nothing to do with it. I've been in enough fandom spaces to know how insular fandom can get and maladpative coping mechanisms some people can share that actually make things worse, not better. Go talk to some normies once in a while. Your fandom friends will still be there.

Finally, some suicide prevention hotlines, should you need them.

Link to international phone numbers and resources.

Look after yourself, remember people love you and remember, it's just a TV show. There will be other TV shows and other joyous things in your life, and next time you will have more of them. <3

Signed,

A fandom old who is not in your fandom.

[trashmouth-richie]

the raven told me of you

eddie x female reader

crafted from this prompt list by: @bettyfrommars @somnambulic-thing @allthingsjoeq

summary: eddie is released after six months of being behind bars with a false identity, he was never lonely because you were there with him, until you weren’t. now, coming home to a new life with his old name granted back to him. he navigates flashbacks, and trying to settle back in with wayne in private protective seclusion, alone— or is he?

8.1k

tw: 18+ angst. fluff of a new relationship, light smut— s1, s4 canon events with reader inserted into the timeline, mentions of insanity, death, witness protection, government cover-ups etc. this could be a continuation or stand alone fic of your touch but is not necessary to read.

releasing: thursday 3/7

Owens’ worked his charms. The government covered up the mass hysteria and pinned the murders of Chrissy, Patrick and Fred on an accidental chemical reaction from arsenic, radiation and terpenoids. The results left their bones liquified from the toxic lick of acid and torqued before solidifying once again. 

  The Hawkin’s Post called it ‘a combination of sickly tainted water from the school cafeteria.’ 

  Parents were urged to have their children tested at the local clinic for extra precautions, and thankfully no one else had been affected. 

  On Thursday the Eighteenth of September, at approximately 1300 hours… an hour into quiet personal time, Mr. Edward Munson, was once again, a free man. 

  At first he thought it was possibly a mistake, a horrifying joke fed by his many delusions. But when they called him into the warden’s office, he sat across an oak desk from a tall man with a skin bald head, shining like a lightbulb.  

  He used Eddie’s full name—not the persona he was given— and gave him ten minutes to collect his belongings. It was then he came to realize that maybe he wasn’t crazy after all. 

  Six long months in the clink with his brain spinning hallucinations beyond his control he wasn’t sure if he’d come out of it without a government issued lobotomy— and in the blink of an eye, it came to an abrupt end.

  Prison was cold, unwelcoming in shades of gray coating the ceilings, walls, floors, any service imaginable. As if there was one color sanctioned to the American Prison system and gray was the less costly option. 

  Concrete was probably more pliable than his bed was. The food was impeccable— if you were a raven on a mealworm diet.  It was just shy of hell, and it made the inhabitants calloused to a helping hand or squirreling away from making friends. 

  Seven months prior, Eddie was in his prime. For the first time in his life he was happy with where he was at, school was almost over and he had a true chance of walking the stage of graduation. 

  And you, he had you. 

  Beautiful, charismatic, sweet you. 

  It was almost like he conjured you up himself with a hard roll against a plyboard table of a twenty sided dice. Mesmerizing eyes that seemed to shimmer in any light, a smile that could soften Medusa’s rocky stare. You were perfect. 

  The first time his eyes laid on you was across the cafeteria. Everyone moved with the mundane routine, but you were shining like a spotlight had been placed on you overhead. 

  Your soft skin beckoned him like a moth to a flame. Smooth as silk, and he started to wonder what would your flesh feel like in his hands…would you cower away from their roughness? 

  His mind raced, and his heart pumped firmly whenever you walked past him, you smelled like ripe fruit, warming by the sun, and Eddie began to understand why Eve was tempted so easily. 

  And so began the daily task of seeking you out. He was able to spot you like Waldo amongst the boring gray faces of every other girl. 

  You shone like a gem, a sapphire filled with the darkest of depths, and like an enthusiast to your craft, he wanted to know the breadth of your soul. 

  His gem. 

  It was by total chance that he stumbled upon you after months of stray glances. He was walking backwards, yelling to Gareth about being on time for Hellfire that night, when he bumped into something that yelped in surprise. 

  It was you. 

  Sprawled and landing hard on your butt. Papers scattered from the collision of your face mashing into a denim patchwork vest. 

  He stumbled over your feet, falling beside you in a mess of curls and cigarettes, the one between his lips still intact. Your eyes met his for the first time, and that’s all it took for him to fall head over feet, in this case Reeboks, Eddie was a goner. 

  Your smile spread a warmth in his chest that he had never felt before. And your laugh? Made his knees physically weak. 

  He still didn’t know how he managed to swing it, but he charmed you into agreeing to a ride home. Conversation came easy with you. You were sweet yet comical, a bit of a smart ass. He was grinning like an idiot.

  Chatting about books, then music, he bantered back and forth, teasing on your choice of horror, astounded in your tastes— but nevermore, he was enthused, enamored. 

  Witty and shit giving, you had him wrapped around your finger before the van pulled in front of your place. A permanent dimple pecked into his cheek that wouldn’t subside no matter how hard he tried. 

  A ten digit number exchanged on lined paper was the start of the end. A corny fist pump and a pep talk on his jaunt back to the trailer park. 

  Eddie was living on cloud nine. 

  He called you that night, foregoing any dumb advice he had seen in movies or heard at school at waiting a certain amount of days or hours, he went on pure instinct alone, and almost threw up all over himself after punching the last number. 

  You answered with your name after saying a proper greeting and he stumbled over his own tongue before choking out that it was him. 

  “Sorry who?” you had teased, Eddie’s heart fell into his stomach with relief when you giggled on the other end, “are you calling to sell me some boy scout popcorn, because cheddar is my favorite… but for you I might just buy a tin of caramel.” 

  A heart laugh erupted from his trailer, loud and barking. “Boy Scouts weren’t really my thing, princess.” 

  “Ah,” you reasoned, “knots too hard?” 

  He laughed again, that damn dimple achingly prominent as he smiled through the receiver, and you swore you could hear his cheeks squeak, “something like that.” 

  An hour had passed and Eddie found himself in the snares of coiled phone cords as he wore a pattern from his bedroom to the kitchen, fiddling with things left on the counter. Even going so far as to start a load of laundry and empty the sink. 

  You too were in the trenches, living solely on the scraps of information of Eddie’s life that he tossed to you like a pigeon in a park.  

  He was smart, filled with colossal amounts of knowledge on anything from cars, to reading sheet music. He had an ear for rhythm, cocky enough to have you hum a tune so he could pick up on it, and add to it. Eddie was a closeted genius under the untamed curls. 

  “Shit— I’m talking too much, huh? " he asked after a long winded speech about a campaign he was planning for the freshman in Hellfire. “I get carried away sometimes,” he admitted with a chuckle, a ripple of embarrassment heating over his body in a wave. 

  “Not at all,” you eagerly replied, “tell me more about Kas!” 

  “Well princess, I could show you, if you wanted?” He prayed you’d say yes, to whom or what he was praying to— hewasn’t sure, just crossed fingers and pinched his eyes shut in hopes that you wouldn’t think he was some loser yanking his dick to figurines and elf lore.

  But you didn’t, you had said yes faster than he finished asking. And from there— it was history. 

  He went to bed with a spinning head and a heart wrapped in lace, sugar coated with your sweet voice in his ear, the same lopsided grin he had worn since tripping over you at school. 

  —

  Stepping out into the first breath of freedom, the sun felt heavy on his skin. It itched his arm hairs, the heat touching his neck for the first time in years since he grew out his hair. The brightness stung his eyes. 

  He had become accustomed to the hollowing sag of fluorescent lights paling his skin to almost translucency, a true dracula in the pits of a four walled hell.

  A croaked caw is loud overhead, singular— followed by a fluttering of wings, and the bend of a tree limb.

  The clothes he wore didn’t feel like him, the ripped cotton Hellfire shirt wasn’t clean coming in and wasn’t clean coming out, Shredded where the demobats feasted on him like a hotdog at a ball field. 

  His jeans stunk of decay and murky water from the gate. Caked with mud, dried several times in the days of being on the run, the jeans chafed his skin raw, gnawing on his leg hairs until they popped free, giving up the fight. 

  A manila envelope held his rings, clashing together in a melodic tone. He slotted them one by one on the correct fingers, yet they felt loose, heavy and familiar all at once. 

  He was ready to pitch the envelope into a trash bin when he felt something else in the bottom, having to rip it apart to get to whatever was inside. When the ground was littered next to his waterlogged Reeboks, and his palm held the small silver item, his eyes brimmed with tears. 

  —3

The nightly phone calls soon turned to walks around the trailer park, Eddie listening intently as you strolled around the driveway, kicking up little clouds of dirt or catching the occasional rock with the toe of your sneaker. 

  He matched your steps, learning about your passions after graduation, how you favored sweets over salty treats, and the embarrassing truth of how after your friend Barb went missing, you didn’t have any friends at school. 

  “Well, now you have me,” he chirped earnestly, dark eyes squinting in the setting sun as he knocked his elbow with yours, a smirk on his lips, “I’ll take care of ya.” 

  It was as simple as that, and the easiness of it made your nose tingle with a burn as you fought back tears at his kindness. 

  Weeks of walking with you after school round and round Forest Hills— the scenery started to change. 

  The emerald grass faded into sharp tawny weeds. Foliage turned the color of autumn and the air began to crisp and chill.

  It was then, on a windy Tuesday afternoon, that Eddie invited you into his home, he made sure to kick dirty laundry under his bed, hide the Playboys in the closet behind an old pair of shoes and empty the heaping ashtrays the night beforehand. 

  A jewel in a shit shack— you equally looked out of place and fit in with the cluttered belongings of his uncles at the same time. 

  “My castle.” he announced, bending low and holding the door open like a gentleman. 

  He showed you around the small square footage, taking less than fifteen seconds to point everything out. 

  “And that?” 

  “That’s.. my room.” 

  It was silly then, how nervous he was to let you into his space, even though during your walks you acquired everything there was to know about him. 

—

  Snow was on the ground when your after school routine of going to Eddie’s was as second nature to you as breathing. 

  You were sitting on his unmade bed atop the rumpled comforter and soft sheets, socked toes dangling from the side of the mattress. A textbook balanced in your lap, pencil between your teeth. Your eyebrows pinched in a studied strain as you tried to solve a calculus formula. 

  His voice had startled you, not sure when he had gotten up or how long he was standing at his desk, looking almost sick. 

  “Got something.. for you.. something dumb that I saw.” 

  He tried his damndest to be cavalier. But Eddie was everything but. 

  Ten dollars in quarters, more hours than he had spent in a pizza joint ever, and a hoard of tiny plastic containers from a machine holding costume jewelry, he had finally gotten what caught his eye. 

  A silver ring adorning a bat with an indigo colored stone in the center. It didn’t come close to the actual beauty you possessed but the blue stone reminded him of the way you moved through the crowd that day, like a rare gem. 

  Tired eyes focused on him, a nervous little twitch in his body didn’t go unnoticed as he fumbled with something behind his back, a wanton smile smirked on his lips. 

  You smile, adjusting the book from your lap and rubbing the pressure from your eyes, “a gift? Ed, you didn’t have to do that.” 

  “Didn’t have too,” he charmed, moving closer into your space, his jeans tickling the tips of your toes, “but… I wanted to.” 

  “Should I close my eyes?” 

  He chuckled, “sure sweetheart, hold out your hand,” 

  Your eyes shut tight, eyelashes squishing against your cheeks as you giggled, “why am I nervous?” 

  He stared at the rubber eraser shavings that clung to your bottom lip. The graphite on your fingers, a small hole in your jeans atop your knee, showing a smooth expanse of skin that he itched to touch. You had captivated him since the day you crossed his lazy stare in the lunchroom, and he thought of very little else. 

  He could still hear your squeals when you opened your eyes and saw the delicate ring in your palm. Still feel the way his heart raced when you jumped up and hugged his middle, squeezing him tight against you, the smell of your hair filling his nose with notes of strawberry, or was it peach? 

  He didn't realize he had the ring fisted in a vice grip until he felt blood in his palm, salty tears collecting in the thickness of his mustache, his lip quivering.

  They’re wiped away in haste at the sound of a police cruiser. The familiar scent of thick gasoline exhaust and a camel cigarette follow with the squeak of his driver's door and release of weight on the suspension. 

  A towering frame crowds the sun from Eddie’s brow. A thick mustache sits square on an egg shaped skull, sunken cheeks replace a once plump face. But the drawl and cigarette smoke are welcoming just the same. 

  “Hey kid.” 

  —

  Eddie was nervous. 

  The time you two had been spending together was making him feel giddy. You hadn’t kissed or so much as held hands yet but the air between you both had become filled with dense clouds of lust induced tension— it was hard for him to see straight. 

  He didn’t know if you felt the same, or if you only saw him as a friend, but tonight was the night the boundaries would cross, and he stood armed like a Paladin, ready to conquer his toughest quest yet, you.

  Ice had built up on the broken concrete steps to Eddie’s trailer and your slick bottomed converse hit the glassy surface just right for you to slip backwards, falling into strong leather coated arms. 

  “We gotta stop falling into each other princess,” he chuckled, holding you tight with hands wrapped around your waist, “gettin’ too old for this nonsense.”

  His scent invades you, encompassing you with hints of camels, a stick of big red gum, and starch powdered deodorant. 

  Your laugh bubbles out of your throat like a giggly champagne, “damn, you got me, totally do this on purpose, insurance claims. All the rage nowadays.” 

  He buffers for a bit as you tip forward on your feet and spin to face him, one step higher than he stands. “Only kidding,” you tease, grabbing his chin with icy fingers. 

  His doe eyes stare into yours, lost in the way you made his heart skip and his bones feel like jello, blood ablaze. He’s searching, searching your face for a giveaway— a sign. 

  And it happens like clockwork.

  Your hands rest on either of his cheeks, thumb sweeping softly over the creamy silk of his skin, an audible sigh slides from his throat, followed by a giggle slipping from yours before your voice narrows to a whisper, “lighten up Munson.”

  The salmon tone of his lips have gone more cherry colored in the cold, a little chapped from the frigid temps. Not the usually pinkish orangey hue they drew in warm light when he flustered over History notes and Chemistry study cards.

  The apples of his cheeks were rosy like a cherub on a Valentine’s Day card, glittered with fancy text swirling of “Be Mine?” 

  Coal eyes shone with the bright overhead light from the trailer park. A deer caught in headlights. 

  Eddie was handsome in a way nobody in Hawkins was. A mane of curled brown locks, eyes to match. He was affectionate, easygoing, and you loved him the minute he crashed into you a few months ago. 

  Hands still on your waist he pulled you towards him, “Can’t,” he breathes, almost silently, a huff of air between you now, “not when I’m around you, never around you.” 

  Your fingers tangle together around his shoulders, braided in the hair at the nape of his neck, he shudders at the temperature change on his skin. 

  A quirk in your brow you tilt your head and wet your lips, “why’s that?” 

  He joins you on the crowded step, taller than you, peering into your face, heavy hands still on the waist, “for months, haven’t been able to think straight when you’re here,” his hands rub on your lower back making lazy circles under your coat with his blunt nails. 

  “Hmm..” you tease, twirling a curled lock of of the hair framing his face between your fingers, sultry eyes looking up at him in thick eyelashed innocence, “wonder why that is?” 

  The opening he was looking for, boundary lines down in overgrown grass as if he rolled a crit hit to whatever creature stood in his path was laid out for him. 

  His forehead comes to rest on yours, surprisingly warm in the cold, his nose like frost as it slid beside your own, bumping and sharing one breath. 

  “ ‘cause I’m crazy ‘bout you,” he finally admits, heart loosening, unrestricting, “and I can’t stop thinking what your lips would feel like with mine.”  

  He feels your smile on his mouth, the bated breath you’re holding teasing his tongue, “find out,” is all you can get mutter before his lips press gently to yours. 

  —

  Hawkins was a few hours drive, longer yet after stopping at the nearest diner for a burger and fries. After staring at a menu for more than Hopper’s liking he ordered for himself and Eddie. 

  The coffee came in white ceramic mugs, the waitress setting them down in the designated spots that were already stained with rings of taupe, years of wear. 

  “Wayne’s all set up in a new trailer, living high off the hog or whatever he said during our weekly check-ins.”

  Eddie ate in silence, chewing slowly, eating but not really tasting. What was freedom if you weren’t a part of it? 

  He’d be the first to admit that he talked to you when he was stressed. When he thought he couldn’t shut his eyes without seeing the horrific beings that crawled upside down from our world, he turned to your voice, feeling you wrap around him gave him a sense of hope. 

  “It’s not in Forest Hills, somewhere a little more private, government owned land.” 

  Eddie sipped at the bitter coffee, taking the burn in a big swig, letting it hurt. Nodding along as he watched his reflection in the dark cup. 

  —

  Kissing you was like being able to breathe underwater, like the 1986 New Year’s fireworks over Lover’s Lake. 

  He kissed you at your door before school when he showed up every morning to drive you. He stole more kisses in his van, cursing the 8:15 bell, his hands on your waist pulling you further into him.

  Standing by your locker, he kissed your cheeks as you dug for textbooks. He pressed his lips to your ear in the lunch line, making you squirm. 

  He kissed your shoulder when he sat behind you teaching you to play his guitar. Pressing the delicate pads of your fingers into the strings to play each chord with ease. 

  He’d groan into your neck, while pressing you into the couch, nipping your skin until his lips were raw. 

  “Where have you been my whole life?” 

  Your fingers are entwined in his hair, pulling his weight  further into you, your legs wrap around his waist, “led astray, lost, so lost.” 

  He leans up, dark curtains of hair dangling into your face from your position on the saggy couch in the Munson living room.  

  He smiles a toothy grin, dimples breaching, “good thing I found you then, baby,” he sweeps a rogue eyelash from your cheek, “can’t escape me now.” 

  “wouldn’t want to even if I were dead.”

  —

  “Nope, hasn’t said a word, how do you know he can even talk?” 

  Owen’s sighs on the other end of the receiver, “he’s tough, but he’s been through a lot,  needs time to recover, find out who he is again.” 

  Hopper takes a long drag of a cigarette, “yeah, don’t know about that one doc, he’s mute.” 

  Short trimmed nails scratch at a tuft of curly white hair, stationed somewhere in Nevada, “Alright, just get him home, I’ll call the uncle and let him know.” 

  — 

  Hugs lingered. Kisses deepened. Bodies pressed to one another in a staticky velcro of magnets, unable to peel apart. 

  Things were hot and heavy between you and Eddie. Smoky, tingly, a fog that had your blood pulsing places you didn’t know was even possible. You didn’t want to be apart, aching to explore every inch of him. 

  And he felt the same. 

  Together you set the plans into place. 

  He purchased the condoms, made sure his favorite mix of the slowest metal music he could find was ready to go. He washed his bed sheets and lit a dust covered candle. 

  You had done your own routine, showering and thoroughly scrubbing every surface of your skin, lathering a thick lotion on your body, and planting perfume in the direct places Cosmo described as, ‘irresistible’. 

  It wasn’t his first time. But it was yours. 

  Running his fingers through his bangs once more he took a last meticulous look around his room, crossing the trailer to answer the front door, where you had knocked quietly. 

  You were gorgeous, standing in a pair of light wash jeans and a buttoned red sherpa coat. A bag over your shoulder. 

  “There’s my girl,” he cooed, holding his arms wide and embracing you in his signature bone crushing hug. His lips found yours in a fevered second and he walked you backwards inside, flipping the deadbolt as he kicked the door behind him. 

  The duffle bag travels from your shoulder to his arm and he breaks away from your tempting lips. Holding your shoulder he pulls you into him, looking at you as he leads you to his room. 

  “Got everything you need? Toothbrush?” 

  You smile a little nervously, “check.”

  “Okay, pajamas?” he inquires, “could wear mine if you wanted, you’d look pretty damn cute in my Garfield pants.” 

  “Packed and folded last night,” you say, tickling

 his sides, “you were on the phone with me when I did it.” 

  He stops before crossing the threshold to his room, hands gently pressed to your cheeks, looking into your eyes in a serious manner.

  “Are you sure? Like really sure?” his brows knit into concern, “I want you to be comfortable with this.. with me.” 

  You tug his shirt with a pinched grip, at his waist, staring back into his eyes, the truth on your tongue. 

  “I want you.” 

  —

  Gravel spits up from the rubber tires as Hopper’s cruiser pulls off onto the secluded road. Eddie’s head hits the window hard with a thud, waking him from a dream. 

  “Home sweet home, kid.” Hop grunts, cranking the vehicle to a stop after traveling down a long twisting driveway thick with bordering trees and miles of woods on either side. A safe haven for a man deemed dead. 

  He could make out the taillights of his van, nestled in the tall grass beneath a willow tree, obscured from view. Wayne’s trusty Ford under the carport. 

  The overcast sky splayed a gray color against the new Munson home, and sitting on steps that weren’t broken, was Wayne. 

  The passenger door releases with a groan, and he inhales the fresh scent of dirt and summer grass. Finally, he feels like he can breathe. 

  Wayne’s familiar thin lipped grin is spread wide on his face, smoke lingering from a cigarette in an ashtray. His wet eyes gleam at the boy he once thought was dead, as he stands to greet his nephew.

  “Hardly recognized ya with that short hair, Ed, and that beard?” he says rubbing a weathered hand through his own scruff, “givin’ me a run for my money son.” 

  He hadn’t seen his uncle since that friday morning in March. Unbeknownst to them both, in 15 short hours a cheerleader would die gruesomely in their living room, sprouting a world of chaos and demons, destruction, uncertainty and more carnage. 

  Hop had explained to Eddie that Wayne was compensated generously for his grief by the United States Government. He was told the ins and outs of what had happened and where Eddie was, and perched on land in a new house, he was told to wait. 

  —

  Spring had sprung, the hard winter that seemed like it would never end was finally seeing its demise. March brought promises of new growth in the soil, and warmer days ahead. 

  It was a typical Friday, besides a morning pep rally for the laundry basket team after winning an important game the night before. 

  A pep rally you never attended.

  Your back was pressed against the bathroom stall, skirt rucked up with the help of Eddie’s hand. 

  “We’re… gonna… get caught.” You rasped out between kisses.

  His other hand was interlaced with yours high above your head, “probably,” he teased, tongue licking into your mouth, “it’s worth it though? Yeah?” 

  His hand travels further to the cotton waist of your panties, dragging them further and further down your thigh, his lips assaulting your neck, vibrating with your delicate moans. 

  “For you?” you question, hooking an arm around his shoulder, as your panties hit the ground, “always.” 

  He smiles into your lips as he pushes into your warm center, taking the breath from your lungs as you adjust to him, ass cheeks cold on the metal siding of the stall. 

  Your legs are wrapped into the crease where his elbow meets, his cock dragging in and out languidly, mouths hung open and tasting each other's ecstasy as your eyes drink one another up. 

  “Swear I’ve never, ever had someone like you, baby,” he gasped, bangs frizzing from being wet from a morning shower then covered in sweat. 

  Hips pistoning into you, he can feel your walls clench and tighten, your breath choked before you release, saying his name as if it’s the only word you can make out. 

  He cums hard. biting his lip and burying his face into your neck, “I love you, fuck I love you.”

  It was the first time he had said it. He had known it for months, but today in the girls bathroom skipping a pep rally he could give a shit about, he figured it was the perfect place to say how he felt. 

  He’s still inside you when you say it back, spend leaking from you and onto the tiled floor. Your own eyes wet with the happiest of tears because no one has ever said that to you, not like this. 

  But this gorgeous man, in all his reputational flaws that didn’t mean shit, loved you. And you had never felt more emotion flooding through you all at once. 

  “I love you too, Eddie.” 

  —

  Hopper didn’t stay for supper, patting his barely there belly and saying the missus was expecting him home tonight. He tipped a felt hat goodbye to Wayne and to Eddie, telling them to call if they needed anything.

  He still hadn’t spoken, only nodded and waved curtly as the red tail lights danced down the tangled web of a driveway. 

  “Gonna make pork chops if you’re interested,” Wayne chirped, holding the door open for him as they climbed the same number of steps, “learned how to cook, can y’ believe that?” 

  He smiled softly, carrying his envelope of release papers and setting them on the table. 

  Everything from the old trailer was ruined. His guitar, all the band equipment he had stored in his room, the mattress that held more memories with you in them that he’d never get back— all gone, burned to a rancid fiery crisp when the fourth chime rang and Hawkins spread open like a festering wound. 

  The only thing he had of yours was the small bat ring with a sapphire stone. 

  Ten dollars in quarters at a shitty pizza place. He should have given you something real.

  —

  “.. yeah yeah and I was full of shit then,” Eddie grinned as Jeff and Gareth teased him about his graduation timeline. “This is my year, I can feel it.. ‘86 baby!”

  He was always a flare for dramatics, dungeon master or not he amped it up for the freshman, acting like DnD was life or death, as if the cult of Vecna couldn’t be missed. 

  To be fair, he spent months on this campaign, late nights plotting and scrawling into a binder as you sat behind him, playing with his hair. 

  French braids then pippy styled pigtails, a cute bun on the top of his head with little hairs sweeping against his forehead and at the nape of his neck, perfect curls. 

  “Ten bucks says Wheeler cries when Vecna makes his return.”

  “You think?” 

  “Definitely.”

  Shoving Dustin and Mike with specific instructions to find a replacement player for Lucas, he sits down to his measly little lunch, leaning over to your space and whispering so only you can hear. 

  “After Hellfire tonight you wanna come over? Wayne bought a frozen pizza and I heard that Family Video finally got some good horror flicks in.” 

  Stealing a pretzel from his fingers you nod your head yes, “ I’ll get the movie, meet you at the trailer?” 

  The rest of the day dragged on. One boring class after another, students excited for the upcoming game, teachers unable to keep the roar of amped up Jocks under control, but alas the last bell finally rang. Releasing Hawkins High for Spring Break of ‘86. 

  Some kids went on vacation, others hunkered down with their friends. And some never made it back to school when classes resumed. 

  Walking down to his designated selling spot at the forgotten picnic table in the woods, he could have never imagined the trouble he’d be in just seven hours later. 

  —

  Pork Chops seared in a pan with some butter and a chopped onion, Wayne had the news playing on the small tv in the kitchen, listening for the weather report. 

  The trailer was identical to the one lost to the rotting flesh of the Upside Down. Newer, and a damn sight cleaner, but the layout was exactly the same, except for an added bedroom with an attached bath on the opposite wall of the living room.

  The filthy hat collection was replaced by odd cowboy decor and small wolf figurines. Eddie paced around the living room, touching the knick knacks that someone else had picked out not even questioning whether or not Wayne enjoyed this kind of stuff. 

  He had shown Eddie to his room, a navy blue carpet stretched across the floor, a queen sized bed against the back wall. New new new. Everything was foreign to him. 

  He would miss the heavy creak of a dresser drawer that didn’t shut properly, his closet door that fell off its track years before. Hell, he’d even miss the itch of the green wool blanket he kept on his bed in the winter months. 

  “Got your own bathroom too,” Wayne said cheerfully hovering in the doorway, hand rubbing the knob as he stared at the floor, “figured you’d wanna shower ‘fore supper, so I laid a towel out.” 

  Eddie turned his head nodding while he poked at the too soft blanket folded on his bed.

  “It’s good to have you home, Eddie.” Wayne said, finally looking into his nephew’s eyes, “didn’t feel the same without you.” 

  Wayne wasn’t a coddler, he didn’t want Eddie to feel like he couldn’t be trusted, so he turned to leave, “shower’s got real good water pressure.” He takes  a glance back at Eddie, and looks around the room before pulling the door shut behind him.

  “Thanks,” Eddie mumbles, turning away at the last second, avoiding the piercing color of Wayne’s eyes before they could break him down. 

  —

  Ten o’ clock on the dot your car crunched onto the dusty driveway of Forest Hills. Eddie’s van wasn’t parked out front yet, but thankfully the Munson trailer was never kept locked. 

  The trailer smelled of old smoke and musk from two hard working men. Even if the laundry was never caught up, and greasy wrappers from a quick bite of a burger littered the counter— Eddie’s home was comforting to you. 

  You didn’t have to fumble around for the light switches anymore, walking in the dark you knew where the table could connect with your hip if you weren’t careful. 

  Ten steps from the kitchen, down the hall was his bedroom door, five steps back led to the bathroom. He had cleared a drawer for you to keep your clothes in, socks, extra pajamas, some of his favorite pairs of your underwear lived in the top drawer on the right. 

  The mirror on his dresser held a collection of pictures of the two of you from the photo booth at Starcourt Mall, movie ticket stubs, and the mint condition guitar he kept sacred. 

  A yawn escapes your tired mouth the warmth of a shower calls to you.  

  Grabbing a towel from the cabinet, the water sputters under the shower head as it always did, and familiar music floods your ears from the thin walls outside. 

—

  His reflection is gaunt, different than the last time he looked at himself, the night he struck the mirror in disgust. 

  He’s too happy to rid himself of the swamp smelling clothes that itched and scraped his skin. The lick of a flame would do them justice, good riddance to the worst time of his life.

  The shower is bigger, the head double the size of the one he grew used to. The spray of scalding water hits his head like magma. Burning his flesh, washing away months of isolation, stale air, and stiff clothing. 

  The water released muscles in his back that had grown crimped from the thin cot he curled himself on. His fingers ran through the shorter length of hair on his head, just above his eyebrows realizing it now was long enough to drip water into his eyes. 

  He didn’t check the labels before rubbing whatever soap or shampoo it was into his skin, but the slide of it onto his pale and gummy mauled scars felt like butter on toast. 

  Registering the faint scent of a stixky sweet fruit he couldn’t determine if it was strawberry or peach, but the concoction had him clutching his chest, unable to breathe. 

  It smelled like you.

  You. His best friend.

You. His first girlfriend.

You. The only person he has ever loved— so intensely, it killed him. 

  You you you. 

  His gem. All sapphire blues with depths beyond comparison to anyone else who simply peaked on the surface. 

  Gone.

  “Ready whenever you are!” Wayne knocked on the door, “pork chop ain’t no good cold.”

  He wipes the tears from his eyes. Regulates his breathing with labored intakes. And finally admits the thing he couldn’t for the past six months. 

  “She’s gone.” 

  —

  “Sorry for the mess, maid took the week off.” 

  “You live here alone?”

  Murmured voices are muffled under the rush of water from the shower, “Eddie?..that you?”

  Shuffled steps get closer and the bathroom door swings open, Eddie’s eyes are wide, wild with excitement as they roam over your form. 

  He licks his lips, stalking towards you in a lazy manner with dark hooded eyes, “prettiest girl in the whole world in my bathroom?” His arms wrap around your waist, pulling you into him, a breathtaking move leaving you giggly as his hand caresses your cheek, “hope you’re naked under these clothes.” 

  He presses his lips to yours in a chaste kiss, dipping you low and swinging you back up, he tastes like Mountain Dew and lingering hints of nicotine, spread with a wicked grin. 

  “I missed you, handsome,” you say, pressing your lips to his again, “so how was it? Did Mike cry when Vecna came back?” 

  Eddie barks out a laugh, rubbing his hands together, “think I might’ve seen a single tear fall, but they defeated him— crit hit by Sinclair’s sister.”

  “Really? That’s.. impressive!” 

  “It was… shit, I’ve never been more proud of those little assholes.” His smile fades and you know he’ll miss being DM for them next year. 

  “Eddie?” A small voice asks from the living room.

  Your brow quirks in question and he looks at you voice whispering low, “Chrissy Cunningham wants to buy ketamine.”

  “What?!” you whisper back face struck in shock, “seriously?!” 

  Eddie nods, eyes wide in almost disbelief himself, “wanted a half ounce at first, but then said she needed something stronger.” 

  Your face pulls concern, honestly astonished that someone who seemed so prim and proper would want something like that. Eddie didn’t sell k normally you’ve been with him on multiple occasions and the only thing that was consistent with your peers of Hawkins High was weed. 

  “Do you even have it?” 

  “Dunno” he shrugs, lips in a frown, “told her I did because it’s an easy thirty bucks, but I could just crush up some tic-tacs… she wouldn’t know the difference.” 

  “Eddie? Did you find it?” Chrissy calls out in a nervous pitch. 

  “I can talk to her while you find something?” 

  “That’d be great,” he kissed you once more, lips buzzing, “two minutes!” He practically skips to his bedroom and shoots you a wink. Leaving you in a flight of butterflies lining your stomach. Helplessly in love. 

  —

  Inhaling the hot cooked meal that didn’t taste like warmed up roadkill, Eddie sat in silence in a clean pair of clothes that weren’t his, listening to Wayne talk about what he’d been up to since they had last seen each other. 

  He burned with questions, needing, wanting, aching to know but the only thing he could blurt out came choked and almost suffocating on the use of his vocal cords. 

  “I need to see her.”

  Wayne simply slurped his iced tea, setting the glass down heavy on the oak table, ice shifting. “Figured you would… want me to drive ya?” 

  Eddie swallows hard and shakes his head, “I need to go alone.” 

  With instructions from Wayne on the less traveled roads back to town, Eddie’s van sputtered to life in a cloud of backfiring smoke. He couldn’t bring himself to look at the passenger seat, he knew what would be there, and what wouldn’t. 

  Nothing was the same. Not anymore. 

  —

  The boat floor was cramped, quite literally packed like sardines in a can, you were somehow lulled to sleep by the sway of Lover’s Lake waters and the even breathing of Eddie’s chest. 

  Your head tucked beneath his chin, he wrapped his arms around you as tight as he could without crushing your bones. 

  Rick’s offered little comfort for an empty stomach outside of a moldy fruit bowl, an expired beer and a singular can of spaghetti o’s. But you were both safe for now. And that’s what mattered. 

  The kids, Steve Harrington— of all people— and Robin promised food and any information they could find without seeming suspicious. He was gracious for their companionship, needing something to keep him busy while trying to hide his own slip to insanity from you. 

  Your tears were endless, soft and steady one minute and the next you were wrecked, in a choked fit clinging to him for dear life. 

  Eddie’s mind played on replay of your trembling screams when Chrissy’s bones snapped like twigs and her eyes vacuumed out of her skull. Vecna, a made up character that he had been obsessing over for the past couple months for DnD was real. 

  Killing teenagers for what? World domination? Eddie and yourself were the ones on the run, knowing all too well how a dead cheerleader in his trailer would look to any cop with half a brain. 

  He’d run forever if it meant not losing you and killing Vecna for good. Everything he had ever known, books of fantasy and creatures that he drew for campaigns, it was all real, and these kids have been fighting it for years now. 

  The sound of tires crunching on the driveway had his ears perked like a guard dog, followed by three slamming doors. Instructions were given, and he could only imagine that whoever it was was in Rick’s house and it was only a matter of time before they noticed the boat house just like Mayfield had. 

  The walkie talkie Dustin left was clutched in his hand, you were both fucked, and needed help— now.

—

  The Roane Hill Cemetery was eerily foggy, dew coated the hot blades of grass from the sweltered heat. Wayne drew a map on what section you were in. Apparently the number of people lost in the “earthquake” were in the upper digits now, and they were running out of land to bury the deceased.

  Those not recovered were given markers slotted into the ground with accompanied by silk ribbons to symbolize hope. They were nestled up under a thick tree line, complete with a wrought iron fence. 

  He bubbled out a laugh when he crossed by his own empty grave. The headstone was covered in graffiti of wishes to burn in hell. Typical. His death date marked as  ‘March 27 1986’. But that wasn’t true. 

  Lots of people passed that day when hell itself opened a crimson quaking flood. but not him. Although he wished he had. 

  Pushing forward, he knew had to be close now. The air was thick in the foggy whiteness— blinding him. A high pitched croak screeched from the sky, and he stumbled backward, landing on his ass with a wet thud, a spattering of grass grown wild in tender dirt. 

  His chest cavity sunk in, gasping for breath but coming up empty. Each threatened choke chipped away at him as his fists tore at the soft ground. 

  His girl. His gem. Laid to rest.

  —

  The Winnebago rocked on uneven suspension as Steve winded down the Indiana highway back to Hawkins. It was eerily quiet. Even Robin was silent, planning her mission in her head? You couldn’t be sure. 

  Tightening the bandana around Eddie’s curls you ask him if it feels okay. 

  “Yeah, course.” 

  Days of running. Hours of growling stomachs, unable to keep down food— you prayed this plan of Nancy’s would work, that Max would be able to lure Vecna with her vulnerable mind, that Eddie could distract the bats long enough to have the others attack his paralysis ridden body—it had to work— right? 

  Eddie sits and pulls you onto his lap, adjusting the spear made by the same eleven year old girl who defeated his campaign a few nights before. Erica, you learned, was a warrior. 

  “Nervous?” you asked throwing an arm around his neck and whispering into his ear. 

  He shrugged nonchalantly, “little worried.” 

  You believed in the plan, in the younger kids, in Steve Nancy and Robin who had been fighting stuff like this from a different dimension for years. They were trustworthy and intelligent. 

  “It’s gonna work babe,” you encouraged, stroking his cheek, “we’ll clear your name, graduate, and then leave this hell hole, together.” 

  He looks at you with strained eyes, wetter than usual, “you and me?” 

  Staring back at him you press your lips to his in a gentle kiss, “forever.” 

  —

  He laid there until the sky turned to ink. Speaking to you in his head, knowing in his deepest of hearts that you could hear him. Telling you how he had missed you, how your beautiful smile played like a film in his brain. How he loved you. and hours have told you sooner, more, every day.

  He told you how he wished he was gone too. Would you like that? It could be so easy to do.

  Tracing his fingers over the formal font of your engraved name. He smirked at the silly spelling of your middle name. 

  It was comforting. 

  Eddie hadn’t felt this sense of calm since the day you hadn’t come back to him in the mirror, and he thought whatever magic spell was broken until you reached for him one last time, promising to never leave. 

  But you did, and he was alone. 

  Standing upright, he let out a sleepy yawn, “can I come by tomorrow?” he asked, “would you be okay with that?” He smiled, and bent at the knee to press his lips into the stone above your name. 

  “Oh,” he remembered, fishing your ring from the breast pocket of his borrowed flannel shirt, “look what I found.”

  He held it to your stone, “this belongs to you, baby, I want you to have it.” 

  Placing the small ring on the smooth base of your tombstone, he gets back up, knees clicking like he’s years older than he actually was. 

  “See you tomorrow, my sweet gem.” 

  —

  The night air shifted on his drive home, blowing a chilling breeze from the north that whipped his hair around his ears. The van struggled on the drive home with each gust that blew against the metal frame. 

  “Think we’re in for a storm tonight.” Wayne said when Eddie breached the front steps, straightening his arm, “ol elbow’s actin’ up.” 

  “Kinda cold for September, right?” 

  “All of a sudden it dropped about thirty degrees, somethin’s a brewin’.” 

  Wayne had his truck keys wrapped around a finger, “I gotta go check on Miss Pam, her husband died in the uhh.. anyway, she’s not doing well and you remember how those damn lights always went out? I’ll be back after while.”

  Eddie grew a smile, “should I wait up?” 

  Wayne stopped in his tracks, talking around a smirk hiding a laugh, “don’t get smart with me.” 

  They both share a glance and laugh softly, and Eddie still has a smile even after the rumble of Wayne’s pickup gets carried away in the wind. 

  He locked up, pulling the vinyl shades and unhooking the curtains, pitching the trailer into darkness right as the rain pelted the window panes. 

  Wayne must have made his bed when he was in the cemetery. A small radio was perched on a nightstand and after slipping into starched pajama pants, from the fancy dresser, Eddie fiddled with the knob until the faint guitar sounds filled the room. 

  Thunder grumbled in the distance, but what he heard next was repetitive, growing louder. Shit, maybe Wayne didn’t have a house key. 

  “Ya know,” he says, walking to through the kitchen to the front door, “you tel me not to wait up but then you bang on the door because you don’t have keys? C’mon!” 

  The door swings open with a final gust of wind. Mud sloshed on his feet, Rain splattered his face. But that was not a concern. 

  A beautiful face, covered in Earth. Eyes he hadn’t seen outside of a mirror in months. You wore the same thing he last saw you in, same tattered wear that his Hellfire shirt had, but it somehow looked soft. 

  “I promised you forever.” 

[prolix-yuy]

Olive Branch

Pairing: Francisco Morales x F!Reader

Summary: If Frankie doesn't like olives, then what does he like?

Word Count: 2.2k

Warnings: T, alcohol consumption, mention of drug use, incredibly tame for me, hints of spice. While this story is not explicit, my blog and the content shared on it is 18+ MINORS DNI.

Notes: I was challenged by @happypedrohours to write a story involving Frankie and olives, and what do you know, these are two of my favorite things! I was snickering to myself the entire time as the olive metaphor rolled out, but what the hell, we're gonna keep it in! Enjoy my friends, and Happy Pedro Hours!

Cross-posted on AO3

When it slides in front of you, you know it’s a good one. You watched the bartender make one at the end of the bar and it was just how you like it. Dry, cold, three olives on a hardy metal toothpick. You were practically salivating by the time you ordered your own and it slid in front of you, shining like the Holy Grail.

“Didn’t know you liked martinis.”

Head whipping around, you stutter out a laugh as Frankie slides in next to you. He perches an elbow on the bar, free shoulder coming close as the crowd tucks you into each other. Your eyes dart to his crinkled brown ones, then to your drink, and back again to distract from the proximity. His hand is tucked into his faded jeans, but it wouldn’t take much to cup your elbow or wrap around your waist. 

“On special occasions,” you quip, tossing your head at Will and Tatiana surrounded by your friends. She’s showing the girls the ring, the men clapping hands on Will’s back and making him laugh. The air holds the fresh taste of new beginnings.

“Never had much of a taste for ‘em. Just gasoline in a glass,” he replies. Your face must be ten levels of indigent with how quickly his eyebrows shoot up.

“Do I look like a car to you?” 

Frankie’s eyes twinkle, and it flips your stomach.

“Definitely a hot rod.”

You laugh it off, rolling your eyes. He’s never serious, after all. He likes to ply you with compliments just short of flirty and leave you high and dry at the end of the night. The first time it stung so hard you didn’t go out with the boys for weeks. 

“He’s just a little fucked in the head, don’t take it too personal,” Santi told you when he finally wrestled the reason for your absence out. “Can’t stop chasing anything messy with two legs. Last girlfriend was a cokehead, even worse before that. He likes ‘em pretty and crazy, and he bags ‘em left and right. They always leave him worse for wear.” Santi’s eyes narrowed over his knowing smirk. “So now you like him?”

“Fuck no,” you spat out, arms folded tight. “I don’t deal with boys who play games.”

Yet here you are, again, with Frankie, ready to roll the dice yet again. At least he doesn’t know you’ve still got a soft spot for him ready to land.

“I’ll ignore the fact that you called Hendricks gasoline,” you scold, sliding your gleaming prize closer on its soggy black napkin. “There’s also vermouth, and olives.” You take a sip, the warmth of the gin and sharp salt of the charcuterie mainstay sweeping across your tongue. Frankie’s eyes drifting down to your lips on the rim of the glass.

What a cocktease. At least most men who eyefuck you actually follow through.

“Shaken, not stirred?” he quips in a rough approximation of a Scottish accent. You snort, instantly regretting it as the burn of brine and alcohol decimates your sense of smell. Trying to hide it under a tiny cough, Frankie’s face turns to the bar.

“Not much of an olive guy either, so you're 0 for 3 on convincing me.” 

You don’t know why, but your stomach sinks briefly as you gingerly twist the glass stem between your fingers. 

“Perfect, more for me then,” you shoot back brightly, but he looks back a fraction too soon before the disappointment flits away. 

“C’mon, you know you were never gonna change my mind,” he teases, jostling you with his shoulder as he motions for the bartender. 

“Never said I was,” you add absentmindedly. 

Frankie will never be an option. He’s made it clear time and time again that he doesn’t choose you. But sometimes, when you let your mind drift, you think about how it could happen. Some dark room where he finally finds something he’s been looking for. The brushing of noses and near-misses before one of you finally acts and you’d know what his lips feel like. Then he would lick into your mouth and his flavor would dance with acidity and botanicals on your tongue and he’d moan at how good you taste.

But he doesn’t even like olives. Or you.

Frankie’s drink is a golden lager, malt rising to your nose. You like beer too. You like a lot of things. You could sit at this bar and talk about your favorite drinks for hours. You’re not just the martini girl. You’re so much more. 

You need some air. Your daydreams are getting in the way of enjoying the night and Frankie’s none the wiser, so best keep it that way.

“I’m gonna bring my gasoline olives back to the party,” you say, ducking out from Frankie’s body without waiting for a reply. Maybe catching a glimpse of surprise, you strut back to the girls. The warmth of their excitement and enthusiasm reinvigorate your tight throat. 

Your drink dwindles slowly, savoring the clean flavor and crushing the olives one by one between your teeth. One of the girls tries the dregs of your glass and wants one of her own, so you weave back to the bar so you can help her order. A holler rises from the boys around Will, and when you look you catch Frankie’s face again. He’s all beaming smiles, eyes barely visible from behind his crows feet and gleaming teeth. He catches your eye and his smile softens, and over the din of the bar he mouths “you good?”

You nod. Of course you are. What would Frankie know about that?

The drinks come, followed by cheers and hums of contentment. You will definitely be tipping well tonight. Before you can make it back to the group Benny cuts off your path, swooping one arm behind your back and your free hand into his. 

“No no no, Benny, I’ll spill!” you shriek, feeling the telltale wetness of a sloshed drink over your fingers. “Shit, I think I got it on the back of your shirt…”

“Ah, I’ve had worse,” Benny says, mock-dancing with you to the barely audible music. 

“How’s Will?” you ask, leaning over his shoulder to snag a healthy sip of the martini. Now a more manageable level, you let Benny lead you away from the bar.

“So in love it makes me sick.” You raise an eyebrow. “In a good way!” he adds, turning you so the man in question is visible. Tatiana’s tucked under his arm, and his mouth drifts to kiss the top of her head.

“You know what, I get it,” you agree, the both of you snickering as the tempo of the music changes. It might be a Hozier song? It’s hard to tell over the babble of voices.

“How are you?” he asks, feigned innocence a red flag flicked in front of your eyes.

“Peachy. Why?”

Benny’s hand squeezes yours in a soothing rhythm.

“Hey, don’t bite my head off. Fish mentioned you seemed down. Something about olives?”

The flash of heat rocketing to your face has to be combatted, so you choose comedy.

“Oh yeah, the fact that they never give me enough in my damn drink. Could drive a woman to tears!” Your put-on mid-atlantic accent doesn’t sell it. Benny chews on the inside of his cheek before leaning to bring his mouth to your ear.

“I know you’re gonna tell me to fuck off…”

“Then you don’t have to say anything.”

“...but you and I both know this ain’t about olives.”

You lean back, jaw set and eyes cool.

“You’re right. It’s about absolutely nothing.”

“Hey…”

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

Benny lets go and you down the rest of your drink. It burns and you hate yourself for it, but it feels good to let liquid frustration carve through the center of you. 

“It’s late, and bar snacks aren’t gonna soak up the hangover I’ll have tomorrow. I’m gonna say bye to Will and Tatiana, get a cheeseburger, and go home.” Benny puts his hands on his hips, blue eyes filled with a brotherly care you know better than to try and tamp down.

“And it’s not about olives?”

Plucking the toothpick full of metaphor out of the glass, you point it at him.

“It’s not about olives.”

Benny relents, and walks you over to the happy couple. Promises of more drinks and a bachelorette party are half shouted before you pick through the crowd and exit the front of the bar. 

The air is just starting to get cool, alcohol thrumming in your blood. You love the way a martini buzz feels, your mind crystal and your body sharp as glass. It’s different from the smoky haze of scotch or the sluggish thudding of beer. Martinis make you diamond.

Which is why you notice Frankie immediately upon his exit, even though you can tell he wanted to go unseen for a few moments longer. He fumbles his hands into his pockets, ambling up to stand beside you while you glare at the Uber app.

“Got a ride coming?” 

“Eventually.”

He nods and stares at the toes of his boots, which you observe surreptitiously. The progress bar keeps filling and emptying as the silence stretches. 

“I’m sorry for shitting on your drink.”

You can’t help but snap your face to him, eyebrows raised.

“I sure hope you didn’t shit on my drink.”

The poor choice of words quirks the corner of your mouth as Frankie tries to recover.

“Jesus Christ, I mean…you know what I mean! I didn’t mean to be a dick,” he says, now contemplating the sky with resignation. There's still a fight in you, but you try to meet halfway.

“S’all good, I shit on your terrible beers all the time. We’re even.” You glance back at the app and shut it out of frustration. You’ll try again in a minute. 

“I don’t hate olives, either,” he rushes out. You roll your eyes, shoulders slumping. God, could they just let this go? You’re embarrassed enough about it. Before you can make another joke, another deflection, he barrels on.

“To be honest, I’ve never tried…olives. I see them all the time - at parties, at the bar, at friend’s houses - and there always seems to be some reason not to try them. I’m always having something else, or just had something, and I don’t want to…I’m afraid if I try the olives, I’ll really like them. And I don’t know what I’ll do if that happens. And that’s been scaring me off from even trying.” 

Frankie looks up at you, mouth parted and brow furrowed, as realization rises slow and fizzy.

“Because I think I could really, really like them. Enough that I’d want them all the time. But I’ve never had anything like that before. And I don’t want to hurt the…olives.”

Your heart is thudding in your ears, lower lip close to a betraying tremble before you force it between your teeth..

“You don’t want to hurt…the olives,” you parrot back and Frankie sighs, lifting his cap enough to rake his fingers through his hair before resettling it. 

“Fuck it, you know what I mean, right? It’s not about…it’s not about the fucking olives,” he says, and one of his hands wraps around your shoulder. It’s hot and strong and your chest swells at the touch.

“If it’s not about the olives,” you say, tentative, voice dropping into a lower register. He’s closer, almost as close as in the bar, thumb worrying back and forth over your shirt. “Then why don’t you show me what it is about?”

You expected more hesitation, but with that permission he lunges for you, cupping your face with both hands as he crashes your lips together. It’s fast and messy, teeth pressed against your lips and his tongue slipping in to taste. He groans and your knees go weak, head spinning worse than any drink could hope to do. You clutch the lapels of his canvas jacket and pull him closer, sweeping strokes of your kiss filling your mouth with bitter hops. With a lurch he pulls back.

“M’sorry,” he mumbles against your lips, but he continues to clutch at you, arm banding around your waist to keep you snug against him. 

“For what?” you tease, sliding your nose along his proud profile. 

“Takin’ so fuckin’ long.” His teeth graze your jaw lightly, heat pooling in a place that’s demanding a more private location for proper penance.

“I think you owe me a lot more than one very good kiss, after everything you’ve put me through,” you contemplate, his grip tightening. 

“Still waiting for your ride?”

Your fingers wander to the nape of his neck, and his curls are just as soft as you imagined.

“No.”

A gentler kiss follows, broader, somehow still able to make your head spin.

“Good, you’re coming home with me so I can properly apologize.”

The next morning as Frankie opens his front door for his breakfast delivery, he finds a pristine jar of olives resting on his welcome mat. The scrawled note - better start getting a taste for these! - is clearly in Benny’s handwriting. The memory of your body, soft and sleeping in his bed, pulls him back inside. 

After everything that got him here, he could learn to like olives.

END

"This is where righteousness ends It’s a relief to wave this overdue white flag and My blind spots have tortured you enough How much salt could I pour in To think that I called myself a friend."

Alanis Morissette, Olive Branch

[the-griffons-saddlebag]

💎 𝗡𝗲𝘄 𝗶𝘁𝗲𝗺! Medium’s Rod
Rod, uncommon (requires attunement by a spellcaster) ___ While holding this rod, ghosts and similar incorporeal creatures have disadvantage on attack rolls against you, and you can’t become possessed. The rod has 3 charges and regains all expended charges daily at dusk. 𝘾𝙪𝙧𝙨𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙁𝙡𝙖𝙢𝙚𝙨. You can use an action while holding the rod to expend 1 or more of its charges to hurl ghostly flames at a target within 60 feet of you. Make a ranged spell attack for each expended charge, using your spell attack bonus; each attack can be against the same target or different ones. On a hit, the target takes 2d4 fire damage and is cursed for 1 minute. While cursed, the target can’t benefit from being invisible, and you can use an action to automatically deal 1d4 fire damage to it for each flame it’s cursed by. The curse ends early if the target is ever more than 60 feet away from you. If the target is reduced to 0 hit points while it’s cursed, the curse ends, and you regain 1 charge for each flame it was cursed by. The fire damage dice become d6s and deal radiant damage if the target is undead. 𝙎𝙚𝙚 𝙄𝙣𝙫𝙞𝙨𝙞𝙗𝙞𝙡𝙞𝙩𝙮. While holding the rod, you can use an action to expend 1 of its charges to cast the “see invisibility” spell from it. For the duration of the spell, you have advantage on Charisma checks made to interact with undead. ___ ✨ Patrons get huge perks! Access this and hundreds of other item cards, art files, and compendium entries when you support The Griffon's Saddlebag on Patreon for less than $10 a month!

[peggyao3]

Relic - Pt. 3 "Dying of the Light"

PAIRING: Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen x Unnamed Ambiguous FMC

SUMMARY: ✧༺༻ Dreams are messages from the deep ༺༻✧ A woman from the unknown comes to Feyd in his dreams and his nights become his days as he flees to the dreamscape to escape the nightmares that haunt his waking hours.

TAGS: 18+, smut, she/her AFAB FMC, vaginal sex, vaginal fingering, oral sex, Porn with Plot, Feyd-Rautha's black cum, Feyd-Rautha's big cock, Praise Kink, Body Worship, angst/hurt and comfort, drama, fluff, Frank Herbert would frown, some politics, implied/referenced (child) abuse ❗, Trauma, mentions of suicidal thoughts ❗, Healing, Strangers to Lovers, falling in love, Vulnerable!Feyd, Emotional!Feyd, Possessive!Feyd, Feyd is a sweet baby who did nothing wrong and I WILL pamper him, nurture not nature, Stockholm Syndrome but in a consensual way, lucid dreaming, implied/referenced cannibalism ❗, implied/referenced murder

WORD COUNT: 3.4k

A/N: I must warn you of the "implied/referenced (child) abuse" tag very insistently for this chapter 🥺

Reposted from my Ao3 💕| Masterlist under construction ⚠️| Relic Masterlist

Divider by @saradika-graphics

Tag list? Do let me know if u want me to tag u 👉👈

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Day 48

"Since when do you prefer golden glow globes?" 

"What?" Feyd snaps sharply, fingernails leaving crescent shapes in the apple he's been reluctantly eating, scarfing it down despite his lack of appetite.

"The servants have reported to me that you prefer the glow globes in your quarters golden now." 

A shiver rolls down Feyd-Rautha's spine, cold like fear, wet like the sweat that comes with fear. The sanctity of his quarters hasn't been defiled in a few years, but even though his uncle's older, frailer body may not come and visit him there in the flesh anymore, his eyes watch him always, and he has many eyes, too many to count.

"And since when do you prefer your livers sliced instead of diced? Is a man not allowed to have moods?" Feyd takes a bite of the apple that tastes like ash and bile.

"A man, yes…"

"You accuse me of not being a man?"

"Well, physically you are, I can't deny that." Feyd's jaws are tense as a coiled spring, his guts shriveled, his sweat cold against his armpits. "But mentally, dear nephew… You still remind me so much of the boy you were."

Feyd stands abruptly and throws the rest of his apple on the floor where it splatters into a myriad of soggy pieces. A servant hurries over at once to clean up the na-Baron's mess and Feyd stabs them in the stomach not once but six times. Their crumpled body lands face down in the smashed fruit and Feyd whips his blade, spraying blood across the servant's white plastic robe and the tall polymer pillar that supports the arched ceiling of the royal dining room.

The baron chuckles as his nephew stomps away and Feyd is livid with himself. He shouldn't have let him crawl under his skin, shouldn't have thrown a tantrum like the child he accused him of being, shouldn't have provided his uncle with a fresh meal. At his back, Feyd hears the dead body being hoisted on the table by four pairs of trembling hands, a knife being whetted.

Without delay, Feyd's feet carry him to his chambers. His earthly presence may not be safe there, but this is where the door to a better world awaits him, standing open every night. All he needs to do is step through.

He goes back to the dream where his soul comes to cry.

Night 61

Soft fingertips caress Feyd's chest as they lounge in bed, bathed in the gentle, golden shine of a glowglobe which keeps the achromatic daylight at bay. His woman is in distress today and Feyd sees it as his utmost duty to hold her and soak up every word of hers to fragment it in his head, analyze it and piece it back together to provide solutions to all of her problems.

"I'm always so glad to see you," she mumbles against his clavicle, tickling him with her lips. "You're soft," she adds, sighing.

"Do you like me soft?" 

"Oh, yes, very much so." Her lips twitch into a smile against his skin and she exhales a shuddering breath. Feyd's hands calmly dance across her back, creating comfort as easily as the waves wash up on the beach.

"What troubles you?" Asking this with genuine care makes a new flower blossom in Feyd's garden of discovery.

"I know nothing but fear when I'm awake. But I never need to be scared with you."

"And what's so scary when you're awake?" How warm his chest feels, how full his heart.

"The war," she mutters flatly, tracing the dent between his pectorals mechanically.

The great Houses currently aren't at war and Feyd can't remember all the meaningless little wars and feuds on lesser planets. No doubt there are plenty of them, no doubt they are terrible for their populaces. Fascinating, how he's never even considered wars on smaller worlds as events of importance.

He almost asks - Where, how and why? Is she safe? How can he help her? House Harkonnen has all the means to liberate one of the lesser of the thousands of planets of the imperium from a local war. But if he takes that step, she will take the next and there will be no stopping this avalanche. If he asks about her world, she will ask about his. If he intervenes, she will find out his name, his status, all of his tainted colors.

It would destroy everything they have. Their treasured place of peace would break down like a house of cards, so he better not touch it.

Feyd decides that he is glad for the war. It means that his woman looks forward to being with him at night. Selfishly, he hopes her waking hours are as miserable as his, so their shared nights will always be the light of their days.

"And how involved are you in the war?" He carefully prods, holding her body closely against his quicker beating heart, fingertips dipping I to the little spaces between her vertebrae.

"Not as much as others. I have a safe place to sleep at night." Why does she sound so guilty saying that? Feyd battles his own guilt upon realizing that this is the most important information of the night. So much for wanting to solve all of her problems. As long as she is safe, he will not shake the pillars of their peace, just like he won't chop his own leg off.

"That's good, my darling, don't get involved, can you do that for me?" She begins to cry, nodding as she curls up against Feyd's chest, tearful face hidden in his neck as if she's only been waiting for someone's permission to disengage. 

Feyd holds her tight, whispering sweet nothings: "It's okay, it's okay… My poor darling." Her tears slip down his neck like fresh rain on Feyd's flowers. 

Night 83

Tonight he gasps like a drowning person when he falls into the dream, floundering as he squeezes her body to him with damp hands. Feyd's heart drums like thunder against his ribs. He has finally escaped, yet he hasn't. Sticky imprints of real nightmares still cling to him even in the dream, too fresh, too disgraceful.

"My love? What is wrong?" She flinches upon his tightening grasp on her clothes and sudden frantic breath Feyd exhales. He had been breathing and cuddling her so peacefully only a moment ago.

"I o-only just arrived," he grates out, swallowing down a big lump in his throat, but it comes back up twice as large immediately and he turns his face away, fighting with the last vestiges of his strength and dignity against the humiliating torrent.

"You're hurt," she notes and touches his shoulder so gently that he starts weeping.

"Can I-, ju-ust, hah, just c-cry to-ni-ight?" His eyes burn like acid, his face scrunched up into a painful grimace and he is blinded by the wetness that veils his eyes and slips down his cheeks in hot rivulets. Anyone could stab him in the back in a state like this

"Of course, my beloved, please come here, please, please…"

Feyd-Rautha curls up on her chest, crying like a child until his tears and his saliva have soaked her gown. She cradles his head so softly, touching his scalp and the nape of his neck. His legs curl into a fetal position, surrendering to the choked sobs that shake his chest.

The breathing exercise hadn't helped this afternoon.

"He-, he just-" Feyd tries to convey his thoughts, trying to form a sentence that doesn't make the bile rise in his throat.

"I know, I'm so sorry. Listen to me, Feyd, you deserve none of that, do you hear me? You are so precious, you are so loved."

"By who?" He asks. She's told him she loves him already.

"By me, I love you more than there are stars in the universe."

Feyd's teeth scrape against her chest as he cries with his mouth open, emitting sounds that he's never heard himself make before, not as a grown man. He sounds like a dying animal. She holds him as long as it takes to drain the river of his tears until only the drying salt is left on his cheeks. His throat hurts like he has cut himself open with razor blades and his head radiates a throbbing ache with each exhausted heartbeat.

Throughout it all, while she holds him and coos at him, she cries quietly as well, feeling his suffering like physical pain that throttles her heart. She feels bad for lamenting about the war when Feyd has gone through all of this all his life. It wasn't hard to figure out that he has no one to talk to and his suffering has accumulated, layer after terrible layer around a vulnerable core. She wants nothing more than to free him from this pain, but he had asked her to only let him cry tonight, so she will not offer advice.

Eventually, the room falls silent. Feyd hasn't cried for a few minutes, only breathing against her neck while she tirelessly caresses his smooth scalp. She thinks he might have fallen asleep and is surprised that it actually worked within the dream, but then she feels his lips moving along the column of her throat, peppering it with soft kisses. She doesn't complain about the intimate touch and kisses his head. When she told him he is so loved, she meant it with every cell of hers. Feyd stirs in her arms, raising himself on his forearms.

"Can I fuck you?" Red-rimmed eyes look at her feverishly, lips parted for breath because his nose is stuffy.

She is caught by surprise, momentarily not knowing what to say. "Are you sure you want that tonight?" 

"Yes, I'm sure. I'm so sure." Feyd delves for her mouth, capturing it in a kiss, though he quickly has to part for breath. His lips taste of salt and his warm, hectic breath flutters across her skin as he lets out little sounds of desperation.

She kisses him back with a sliver of reluctance, letting her hand slide from the back of his head to his neck and over his muscled shoulders as he leans over her, slotting himself between her legs. Already he unlaces his trousers and bunches up her gown, rubbing circles over her clothed clit in a way that feels rushed. His cock is half hard and brushing against her inner thigh. While her eyes are closed, she feels the frantic rhythm of Feyd's hand, stroking himself.

He isn't usually this impatient.

"Feyd, wait a moment, I'm not wet enough," she objects when he tugs her underwear aside.

"Why?! Why the fuck not?" Hurt raptor eyes snap up, lips pressed into a tight, trembling line. The tension in his jaws adds a bump on each side like extra bones protruding from his skeleton.

"Because you've been crying!"

Feyd viscerally pulls away. He is a pathetic excuse of a man.  How dare his eyes cry more at her words? He will never cry again. Never. 

"My beloved, don't go," she pleads, wrapping her arms around Feyd's narrow waist from behind. How easily he sinks back into her embrace is just as pathetic, he thinks, trying to stifle his tears with anger, but he can't stop crying while his woman holds him so softly against her chest like he is only half of the size he is. He slumps back down with no energy left, crying dry sobs into her breasts.

Very gently, she turns him on his back, making sure his head is on the pillow before she climbs on top of him, covering every part of him with her warm, soft body. Instinctively, Feyd's arms wrap around her middle, squeezing her close like he would have hugged the stuffed animal he might have had as a young child.

"Can you just touch me to make it go away?" He pleads into the crown of her head.

"Of course." She lifts her face, regards him earnestly, like she isn't at all deterred by the sight of his puffy eyes and lips and his salt-crusted cheeks. "Where do you need me to touch you?" 

"Everywhere," he confesses, shuddering at the terrible truth and his head won't stop swaying from left to right.

"Okay," she softly hums and starts by kissing under each eye, letting him know that his tears will never stand between them. She loves him with tears on his cheeks as much as she loves him without. Her lips tickle his lashes as she kisses his half-closed eyelids, the softest, tenderest part of him. Then across his smooth, thick brow bones, over his scalp and down on one side while she caresses the other side with gentle fingers.

Sweetly, she nuzzles his ear with her nose, placing pecks on the shell that make him sigh. From the corner of her eyes, she sees his lips part.

Proceeding downwards very slowly, she draws a trail of kisses down his throat, lingering just under his jaws for several minutes, increasing from light pecks to generous suckles that tint his skin pink. Soft moans chime after the first few love bites and Feyd's fingers twist into the fabric of her gown. 

"Would you like your clothes off?" She whispers and licks gently over his Adam's Apple which jumps when he speaks.

"Yes, please."

She begins with his tunic, fingers slipping under the hem and across his smooth, twitching belly, lifting the fabric as he lifts his arms so the shirt can be discarded on the side. Each dip and curve of his muscles receives loving attention, a wet tongue sliding between the subtle mounds of his abdominal muscles, into his navel, between his pectorals while her fingers are splayed across his ribs, feeling the corded muscles flex there when her mouth caresses each  hardening nipple.

Humming softly, she nuzzles her cheek against his chest, fingers dancing lightly across his side. Tentatively, her hand dips lower, thumb drawing a line from Feyd's navel to the hem of his trousers. His muscles flex, hips jumping. The tent in the fabric can't be missed, yet she doesn't free him until he sighs: "Everywhere please," and a one hand settles on the top of her head, pushing her down.

While sliding his trousers down, she kisses over his hip bones, and down to his smooth, muscled thighs which fall open, hard length twitching and flopping back down on his tummy.

"Ahh~" Feyd moans.

"Not yet, my love. Soon." She continues her journey, pulling his trousers over his feet as he angles them downwards. Her hand glides over the smooth back of his foot and he is distracted by that, not realizing how she lowers her face to his other foot. Only when her lips brush against him softly, he flinches.

"You don't need to kiss my feet." He sounds so worried all of a sudden.

"But what if I want to?" She  peppers kisses around his ankle, up his shin and then back down "You have cute toes for a man."

That makes him chuckle and her heart blossoms with warmth at the sound. A tearful thickness still clings to Feyd's voice, but his laughter sounds genuine and his raspy moans are sweeter than anything when she kisses his feet goodbye and lets her hands and lips journey upwards, following the corded muscles of his milky legs. Again, she stops before his cock, noting how his balls have grown plump and taut against his writhing pelvis.

"You said everywhere," she apologizes and Feyd allows her to lift his right leg slowly, without thinking about anything except how good her lips feel and how nicely his skin prickles in all the places where she's touched him. Tenderly, she kisses the back of his thigh, sliding her nose across the smooth skin, down towards his ass cheek, inwards. 

Feyd instinctively grabs her hair to pull her to his leaking cock, but he only ends up holding her in a loose grip as she continues the worship of his milky skin, every plane, every bump.

"You're so pretty everywhere." Her hot breath brushes over his balls as she switches to the other thigh and a heavy blush heats up Feyd's cheeks. He can't help the writhing of his back and hips against the mattress, legs shifting further apart, neck arching so that his Adam's Apple sticks up like the peak of a snowy mountain.

Teeth nibble at the back of his thigh, closing in on the protruding tendon that connects leg to pelvis. Feyd shivers, fingers tightening in her hair, staring down at her bowed head with rapt anticipation. Finally, her tongue delves over that tendon, eliciting a fierce shiver from his body, nerves screaming their gratefulness for being almost touched where he needs it. The side of her tongue just barely slides against his balls and the moan he lets out is guttural, toes flexing against the sheets.

"So, so pretty. The prettiest I've ever seen. I'm so lucky to get to see you like this. Do you have any idea how lucky I am?" 

Feyd can only whimper when her lips wrap around his ridiculously hard and flushed cock head, tongue swirling across the slit to taste the salty, heady beads of inky pre cum. She is no longer afraid of the foreign color. Her hand is wrapped around the base, massaging him almost too gently, but even that gentle touch licks at his overly sensitive nerves like white-hot flames.

"Do you want to close your eyes for me and relax?" She whispers, kissing the saliva-wet head of his cock. Feyd hesitates, slightly tensing, and shakes his head. "That's alright, then keep them open and look at me, okay?"

That he does, watching her take the thick head in her mouth, tongue lapping at the sensitive underside. The hand that isn't holding him begins to dance across his inner thigh, making him spread his legs wider. Her hand drops from the base of his shaft to his balls, squeezing them which makes his cock strain and twitch against her teeth. She doesn't release him from her soft, wet mouth, bobbing at a slightly faster pace, fondling his balls.

Feyd's moans increase in pitch and a  big, gentle hand with long fingers caresses her head incredibly softly for someone who is used to meeting violence with violence and forcing himself down a partner's throat with no respect for their well-being, who gets off on the sound of choking and gagging.

He cries out when she pulls off his cock, drawing strings of saliva after her which snap and create a web across his shaft  as she leans down, tracing the thick veins with the tip of her nose, then with her tongue. Feyd lets out one long, guttural whine when her tongue delves all the way down and she sucks his balls into her mouth, one at a time, hands splayed across the back of his thighs, holding them open. Feyd grunts, heels ruffling the sheets as he pulls his knees closer to his body, hips jerking. 

Sweat beads on his forehead and he watches incredulously as she opens her jaws as wide as can be and takes both of his balls into the hot, wet cavity of her mouth, creating pressure and suction. Feyd's core coils with heat, the wave of release approaching at near impossible speed.

"Oh God, oh please, oh fuck~"

She feels the throbbing of his climax with her tongue first and hums around his sac, wrapping her hand around the head of his spit-wet cock, jerking him off until the crescendo of his moans peaks and topples and inky seed splatters all across her hand and his tummy. His hips keep twitching until moans turn into whimpers and his head sinks into the sweat-damp pillow. Only relief occupies Feyd's mind when his muscles go completely slack, save for the pleasant shudder that passes through him when she releases his sac with a wet pop.

Some of the rot has been cleaned by the cathartic touch of her hands.

Feyd meets her gaze, blue eyes drowsy and full of bliss. Meanwhile, she looks up at him with eyes like wet fire. If only there was a way to save her beloved from his waking nightmares.

Curse, bless me now with your fierce tears, I pray. Do not go gentle into that good night. Rage, rage against the dying of the light. - Dylan Thomas

[Tag list: @nostalgichoya, @sebastianswallows]

[highvern]

Teach Me

or the first time we hooked up it was so disappointing I thought about faking my own death so you’d leave me alone

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6

Pairing: Lee Dokyeom (Seokmin) x fem!reader

Genre: smut, humor, college au

Warnings: kind of virgin shaming, first time, OC knows she’s wrong but no one’s perfect, descriptions of bad sex, mentions of death (in a joking way), frat!svt, chemistry

Length: ~2.3k

Note: there used to be a time i had to memorize the entire greek alphabet bc i was a sorority girl so im drawing on my roots for inspo lol

Also virginity is a construct! don’t let people make you feel bad about it!

read more here

Friday Night Approx. 11:37PM, undisclosed bed room, SBT fraternity

Dokyeom is great. He’s funny, always does his share of your lab assignments, and when you go to parties at his frat he gives you the good shit out of the fridge instead of whatever concoction his brothers whipped up in the communal cooler for everyone else to drink. The fact that he’s easy on the eyes doesn’t hurt either.

That’s why the last ten minutes have surmounted into what has to be the most disappointing hookup of your life.

His fumbling hands and clumsy movements would be endearing if he wasn’t drooling on your neck in a way that is less than attractive. When his hand slides down the front of your jeans he’s at least receptive to the gentle corrections and cooed suggestions you provide. Is it mindblowing? No. Will he get you off? Probably not. But he’s enthusiastic so you’ll let it go for now.

“Can I, like,” he starts, leaning back to sit up right above you, face bright red, “take your pants off?”

“Ugh, yeah. Sure.” 

It’s a weird escalation given you still have your shirt on but to each their own.

The heat of his muscular chest against the back of your thighs is pleasant enough but doesn’t make up for the way he dives straight in, immediately sucking and licking vigorously. Jolting nerves force you to curl in onto yourself at the discomfort, thankfully unlatching his lips from your abused clit. Twisting a fist in his hair, you pull him up and away from your crotch, distracting him with hot kisses and nips across his throat. He doesn’t seem to mind the change, teeth clenching as your opposite hand tickles down his front to his waistband. Stuffing your hand into his boxer, Dokyeom releases a noise somewhere between a whine and groan. Hot and heavy in your palm, his tip leaks obscenely when you give him a tug.

“Shiiiiit,” he whimpers against your mouth. 

Well, at least one of you is having a good time.

In a flurry of motion, his pants are down just enough to get his cock out, allowing him to roll a condom on before pushing inside you slowly. The stretch isn’t painful but it’s less than comfortable as he starts to rock his hips. With an awkward rhythm he’s providing you little friction and thus no pleasure. You try tilting your hips to change the angle. It helps some, letting his pelvis grind gently against your clit but still no dice. Your fatal mistake is wrapping your legs around his waist to pull him deeper.

When you clench around him as he hits deeper, Dokyeom’s hips buck a little too enthusiastically, head falling back and belting long low groan. All you can do is gape as he finishes, leaving you in the dust.

-

Sunday Afternoon Approx 2:40 PM, coffee shop near campus

“He did what?”

“Don’t make me repeat it.” You grimace.

“Like, no warm up at all? Just straight P in V?”

“I mean he kissed me but other than that, not really, no.”

The look on Seungkwan’s face is that of a child realizing Santa isn’t real.

“And you’re sure it was Dokyeom? Like the Lee Dokyeom, your lab partner, my fraternity brother Lee Dokyeom?”

“I didn’t ask for his ID but yeah I’m pretty sure it was him.”

“What did he say after?”

The look you give tells him exactly what Dokyeom asked you after he finished.

“No!” Seungkwan gasps.

“Yes.” 

You’ve abandoned your diluted iced coffee, pushing it to the middle of the table. There’s a gentle thud as your forehead meets the cool vinyl surface.

“What are you gonna do about your lab Tuesday?”

“Pray I get hit by a bus.” You grumble, not moving an inch.

“I’m being serious.”

“So am I! It’s that or drop the class.”

“It’s too late for you to drop.”

“Death it is.”

You can feel the eye roll Seungkwan responds with.

“Have you two talked at all since then?”

“He has, I haven’t.”

“What does that mean?”

“He’s texted but I haven’t responded.”

“Let me see!”

Prying your head away from the table, your phone is unlocked and snatched away by your best friend. He reads the messages with mild horror.

[SATURDAY 1:07 AM]

Lee Sock-mint: hope you got home okay :)

[SATURDAY 1:08 AM]

Lee Sock-mint: I had a lot of fun btw

[SATURDAY 2:07 PM]

Lee Sock-mint: you left your jacket at the party but i snagged it, i can give it back tuesday

[TODAY 9:14 AM] 

Lee Sock-mint: wanna meet at the library tonight to go over this weeks lab?

“Oh sweetie…”

“I know!”

“Well, you fucked in this bed so now you have to lie in it.”

“You always know just what to say.”

“It’s a gift.” He shrugs.

“And it was Jihoon’s bed actually.”

“I take it back. You probably will die before Tuesday.”

You end up texting Dokyeom but only to tell him you’re already busy and you’ll see him on Tuesday. You feel bad for blowing him off but the disappointment from your tumble in the sheets still echoes in your head.

-

Tuesday Afternoon Approx 3:00 PM, Chem 326 Laboratory 

When Tuesday comes, Dokyeom is suspiciously absent from class and you have to work on the lab with Soonyoung instead.

“Heard you’re ghosting my bro.” 

It’s a statement, not a question and the look on Soonyoung’s usually cheerful face scares you a bit.

“Where’d you hear that?”

“You know, just hearing things.”

“I heard you cried Friday night about how much you love Eunha but she won’t give you the time of day.” You shrug your shoulders. “So maybe we’re both just hearing things.” 

“Well I heard you popped his cherry and ditched him right after!”

“I did what?”  You whisper yell, grabbing Soonyoung’s arm as your eyes go impossibly wide.

A few of the groups close to your table have turned around in curiosity but Soonyoung’s prone to random bouts of shouting so they’re interest fades quickly.

He has the decency to look ashamed of his outburst. You two are actually friends when it boils down to it but guy code has him siding with his best friend on this one.

“He said you basically ran out the door.”

“You know that’s not the part I’m questioning.”

“Wait, you didn’t know?” Soonyoung is shocked.

“No!” You shoot. “Do you think I’d deflower him at a gross frat party if I did?”

“Idiot.” He curses. “Sorry, not you. Well also you, but him mostly.”

“Why the fuck wouldn’t he tell me that?”

“Probably because he’s a junior and has barely even seen a girl naked?” He looks at you like you have two heads. “It’s a pride thing.”

“Yeah well his pride made him cum in two seconds.”

“Probably the two best seconds of his life.”

“You’re disgusting.”

“Can you just, I don’t know, like, talk to him? He thinks you hate him.”

“I don’t hate him.”

“Tell him that, not me.”

-

After class is dismissed, you trudge across campus to your dorm replaying the conversation over and over. You’re both mortified and pissed. How could you not tell you?

You open your messages to send him a long overdue text.

[TODAY 4:27 PM] 

You: sorry I’ve been MIA :( wanna get dinner?

It’s cowardly but you’ve done worse.

[TODAY 4:48 PM] 

Lee Sock-mint: sorry, busy

Like hell he is. Dokyeom brags every Tuesday that your lab is the only thing on his schedule, unlike your four morning lectures in addition to your shared class that packs your day.

[TODAY 4:49 PM] 

You: we really need to talk

When your message goes unopened and unanswered for hours, you call in reinforcements.

“Are you home?”

“Well hello to you too.” Soonyoung greets sarcastically.

“Hi.” You deadpan rubbing your eyes, patience wearing thin. “Are you home?”

“Yes, what do you want?”

“Is he home?”

Silence.

“Come on Hosh, is he home?”

“Yeah but he hasn’t been out of his room all day.”

“I’m coming over.”

“What?”

“I need to talk to him!”

More silence.

“Fine but whatever the hell is going on, leave me out of it.”

“You’re the best.”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever.”

-

Tuesday Night Approx. 9:34PM, Soonyoung and Seokmin’s shared apartment

To say Dokyeom is shocked to find you gently knocking at his bedroom door on a Tuesday night, expression bashful and eyes filled to the brim with apologies, is an understatement. He knew Friday night didn’t give you the best impression but what could he do when the pretty girl from his chem lab he’s had a fat crush on all year let’s him fuck her after another one of his frat’s parties? 

The entire night you flirted with him, pressing your ass into his crotch as the shitty trap music Chan insisted on playing buzzed on; wrapping your arms around his neck, letting your fingers comb through the short strands of hair at the back of his head. Then all of a sudden your kissing and next thing he knows you’re pulling him up the stairs and into the first empty bedroom you can find. It was a whirlwind.

“Hi,” you whisper, a little afraid he’s gonna slam the door in your face.

“Hi,” he whispers back, still in disbelief that you’re in front of him.

“Can we talk? Please?”

He doesn’t answer but steps aside to open his door wide enough for you to walk past him. Taking a seat on the corner of his bed like you usually do when you study at his apartment, your eyes look everywhere except him.

“I, ugh,” clearing your throat, you start again. “I’m sorry about Friday.”

Dokyeom doesn’t know what to say so he remains silent, firmly planted by his door.

“Soonyoung told me about how you hadn’t, and I just,” You’re rambling from the guilt coursing through your veins. “I’m really really sorry.”

When your words register, Dokyeom finds himself simmering somewhere between anger and annoyance.

“You feel bad because I was a virgin?” He scoffs. “I don’t need you to pity me.””

“I don’t!” You insist. “I just, if i knew it was your first time I wouldn’t hav–”

“Wouldn’t have what?” He ventures.

“Done it in some gross frat house.” You mutter. 

“So you regret it?”

You think hard about your next words. Dokyeom is both your friend and your lab partner for the next two months. The latter is far less important to you now than it was this morning before Soonyoung spilled the beans.

“No.” Your voice is firm, “Okay, well maybe the fact that Jihoon is gonna kill us for doing it in his bed but no, I don’t regret it.”

“But you didn’t like it?”

“I liked…some of it.” You stutter.

“Oh.” 

“I’m sorry.”

“Which parts?”

“Huh?”

“Which parts did you like?” Dokyeom rolls his eyes.

“Um, well, you’re a good kisser!” You assure.

“Is that all?”

“When you went down on me it was okay.” You wince.

“So basically everything besides kissing was bad.” 

“No!” You lie but he’s pinned you in place with a glare. “You, uh, you have a lot of potential!”

It’s Dokyeom’s turn to wince. He shuffles across the room to sit next to you on the bed, leaving a sizable distance between your bodies.

“When Soonyoung told you I was a virgin, did he tell you I had never done any of that before?”

Now that’s shocking. Shocking because you’ve seen girls flirting with him before. At parties, in class, at the library coffee shop; hell even a few dudes approached him. Dokyeom is liked by pretty much everyone on campus, including your own friends who have tried to get you to introduce them.

“No, he didn’t really go into specifics.”

“Oh.”

The atmosphere is already awkward so what’s one more question?

“So how much have you done?” 

“Well, after Friday…” Dokyeom trails off.

“Before Friday.” You clarify. 

“Well I’ve made out obviously. And, I mean, a girl went down on me freshman year.”

“That’s it?”

“Did you come here to make fun of me?” Defensiveness rolls off him in waves.

“No, it’s just…surprising is all.”

When you look over at him you can see the question on the tip of his tongue. 

“I’m just shocked you don’t have girls lining up because you’re like hot and nice and yeah.” You trail off, blush burning the tips of your ears.

“You think I’m hot?”

“Well I didn’t let you in my pants because I thought you were ugly!”

You both let out snorts of laughter.

“I’m sorry.” he apologizes.

“Why are you sorry?”

“I was just really excited to finally have a shot with you and I ended up looking like a complete loser.”

“Hey! That’s not fair,” you smirk. “I thought you were a loser before we hooked up.” 

Dokyeom grabs for the pillow behind him, gently tossing it at you as a bark of laughter leaves his mouth.

“How ‘bout we just agree to move on?” 

He does his best to suppress a crestfallen frown from bloom on his lips. Dokyeom tries to look at the positives of ignoring the fact that he’s seen you half naked, felt your mouth on his, how you feel spread on his fingers, spread on his cock; even if just for a short moment. As much as it would suck to never experience those things again, at least you’ll still be his friend. It also means you’ll forget that he’s a two pump chump. Bright side.

“Yeah.” He agrees, resolving himself. “Sounds good.”

After a beat of silence, you open your mouth again.

“You know, you’re the first virgin I’ve ever been with.”

“I thought we just agreed to forget about it?”

“No, we agreed to move on from being weird about it.”

“What’s the difference?”

“Well, since I took your virginity, I feel I have a… responsibility.”

“Responsibility?” 

The sly smile twisting the corner of your mouth has Dokyeom choking on his own tongue. As you turn to face him fully, his breath catches in his throat.

“Yeah, what kind of friend would I be if I just let you be bad at sex and did nothing about it?”

Dokyeom can feel his pants tighten at your implication.

“Ugh, not a good one?”

“Exactly! I would be a bad friend if I didn't help you and I don’t want to be a bad friend.”

As you speak, you shift until you’re kneeling between his spread legs, maintain eye contact the entire time.

“Yeah that would be… bad.” His brain is working at half capacity due to your hands pushing up his thighs towards his zipper.

“So,” you blink slowly, smile shy with a subtle tilt of your head, “you’ll let me help you?”

Dokyeom feels himself nodding in agreement.

“Then let’s get started.”

[metafoldmaze]

Day 29: Hypno

behold the god of knowledge! been enjoying watching him play Elden Ring lately :]

@hermitadaymay

edit: my brother built him in 4th edition D&D for today! i've placed the character sheet under the cut.

Hypno, Level 9 Githzerai Avenger

Str 11 AC 24

Con 12 Fort 18

Dex 20 Ref 22

Int 11 Will 22

Wis 20 Initiative: +15

Cha 8

Hp: 66 Bloodied: 33 HSV: 16

Healing Surges: 8/8 Speed: 6

Weapons: Falchion: +15 vs. AC, 2d4+7 damage.

Languages: Common, Deep Speech

Skills: Acrobatics +16, Athletics +6, Heal +14, Religion +9, Stealth +14

Githzerai:

Danger Sense: You gain a +2 bonus to Initiative checks.

Defended Mind: You gain +2 to saving throws against effects that daze, dominate, or stun.

Shifting Fortunes: When you use your Second Wind, you can shift 3 squares as a free action.

Iron Mind (1/1 per encounter): Immediate Interrupt, when you are hit by an attack, you gain a +2 bonus to all defenses until the end of your next turn.

Avenger:

Armor of Faith: When you are neither wearing heavy armor nor using a shield, gain +3 AC.

Censure of Pursuit: If your Oath of Enmity target moves away from you willingly, you gain a +7 (2+Dex) bonus to damage rolls against them. (4+Dex at 11, 6+Dex at 21).

Channel Divinity: Once per encounter, you can use a Channel Divinity power. You have the Abjure Undead and Divine Guidance powers.

Oath of Enmity: You have the Oath of Enmity power.

Oath of Enmity (1/1 per encounter):

Minor, Close Burst 10, targets one enemy in the burst that you can see.

Effect: When you make a melee attack against the target and they are the only enemy adjacent to you, make two attack rolls and use the better result. This effect lasts until the end of the encounter or until the target drops to 0 Hp, at which point you regain the use of this power. If another effect lets you roll twice and take the higher result, this power has no effect on that attack. If another effect forces you to roll twice and take the lower result, this power has no effect on that either. If another power lets you reroll an attack roll and you rolled twice because of this power, reroll both dice.

Channel Divinity (1/1 per encounter):

Abjure Undead:

Close Burst 5, One undead creature in burst, +12 vs. Will, 4d10+7 Radiant damage, and you pull the target 6 (1+Wis) squares. The target is also Immobilized until the end of your next turn.

Miss: Half damage, and you pull the target 1 square.

Divine Guidance:

Immediate Interrupt, Close Burst 10: When an ally within 10 squares of you makes an attack roll against your Oath of Enmity target, they can roll twice and use either result.

Equipment: +2 Vicious Falchion, +2 Ghostphase Cloth Armor, +2 Holy Symbol, +2 Amulet of Protection, Standard Adventurer’s Kit

Magic Items:

Vicious Falchion: +2d12 damage on crit

Ghostphase Armor: Daily, Minor: Become Insubstantial until the end of your next turn.

Feats: Versatile Expertise: +1 to attack rolls with Heavy Blades and Holy Symbols (+2 at 11, +3 at 21).

Melee Training: Use Wisdom instead of Strength for Melee Basic Attacks.

Improved Initiative: Gain +4 to Initiative checks.

Miryath’s First Strike: The first time you hit a creature that has not acted yet during the encounter, that creature takes 6 (1+Wis) extra Psychic damage. (2+Wis at 11, 3+Wis at 21).

Rapid Assault: On your first turn during an encounter, you gain a +2 bonus to damage rolls with melee attacks. (+4 at 11, +6 at 21).

Powers:

Bond of Pursuit:

+15 vs. AC, 2d4+7 damage, and if the target doesn’t end its next turn adjacent to you, you can shift 6 (1+Dex) squares as a free action, and must end that shift adjacent to the target.

Radiant Vengeance:

Ranged 10, +12 vs. Reflex, 1d8+7 Radiant damage, and you gain 5 (Wis) Temporary Hp.

Whirlwind Charge (1/1 per encounter):

+15 vs. AC, 4d4+7 damage.

Special: You can use this in place of a melee basic attack when charging. If you do, you gain +4 to AC against Opportunity Attacks you provoke during the charge.

Sequestering Strike (1/1 per encounter):

+15 vs. AC, 4d4+7 damage, and you teleport the target 6 (1+Dex) squares. You then teleport to a space adjacent to the target.

Blade Step (1/1 per encounter): +15 vs. AC, 4d4+7 damage, and you teleport 10 squares to a space that must be adjacent to an enemy.

Resonant Escape (1/1 per encounter):

Immediate Reaction, when you are hit or missed by a melee attack, you can teleport 3 squares.

Aspect of Might (1/1 per day):

+15 vs. AC, 6d4+7 damage.

Miss: Half damage.

Effect: Until the end of the encounter, you gain a +5 bonus to Athletics checks, a +2 bonus to Speed, and a +2 bonus to the damage rolls of melee attacks.

Bond of Foresight (1/1 per day):

+15 vs. AC, 4d4+7 damage.

Miss: Half damage.

Effect: When the target hits or misses you or shifts, the target provokes an opportunity attack from you (Save ends).

Aspect of Speed (1/1 per day):

Effect: Before and after the attack, you shift 5 squares. +15 vs. AC, 4d4+7 damage.

Miss: Half damage.

Wrath of the Divine (1/1 per day):

Immediate Reaction, Close Burst 10. When an enemy scores a critical hit against you, your Oath of Enmity target takes Radiant damage equal to the critical hit’s damage if they are in the burst.

[kanatashinkaifr]

here's the remainder of belphegors selfie story!!

had to split it up cuz it was too much text.. I kept everything the exact same, with the exception of occasional mistranslations and making it somewhat gender neutral (but this is afab MC!!). link to the first part can be found below. NSFW below the cut, hope you enjoy!! :3

link to the first part

@adelaine-rose

Swoosh, swoosh, swoosh-!

As the soft skin and flesh of your breasts repeatedly stroked up and down furiously against the hard surface of his reversely hard cock, Belphegor's lower stomach heaved and his abs became even more defined.

Each time the slightly cool piercing rubbed against your hot flesh, you shivered, feeling the irritation of something scraping against it, despite its smooth surface.

His cock made a hissing sound as it rubbed against your sweaty cleavage, and you heard Beleth make a distressed 'Mmmm...' that overlapped.

Then you realized that your ass, which was still being hotly massaged by someone, was steaming hot.

MC: (I'm... Rubbing Belphegor's cock against my own chest... Listening to Beleth's voice...)

You closed your eyes, unaware of the weakness in your knees, unaware of your hips moving, unaware of your gasping for breath, lost in the hazy, sweet sensations as if you were dreaming.

Then, once again, the sensation that should have been felt only in your chest traveled elsewhere.

MC: Uh, that's...?!

Between your legs, where it was hottest right now, you felt Belphegor's shaft rubbing against you.

Belphegor: I ain't doin' much. It's all on you.

Belphegor said to you, still standing impossibly still.

At the same time, he licked his dry lips slowly, and the feel of his wet, hot tongue spread to your cheeks, the back of your knees, your armpits.

MC: Urgh...?! No, don't say it, don't...!

Every time he spoke, breathed, or licked his lips, you felt your entire body being caressed by his mouth, and you could barely stand on your knees.

Just then, the tip of his cock, which was being pistoned against your cleavage, rose up high and touched your lips with a soft, audible thud.

At that moment, you felt Belphegor's loins stiffen even more, and with a giggle, you managed to simultaneously piston his cock with your chest and suck its tip.

Belphegor: Mmmm... Now that's some good hustle.

An uncontrollable moan escaped Belphegor's mouth.

You tried to gather momentum and move faster, but Belphegor grabbed your shoulders.

You looked up and saw that his face was as red as yours.

Belphegor: Oh yeah, for sure. Feels mighty fine when ya work hard for me.

He said with great satisfaction. Then, suddenly, he pulled the dice out of his chest.

He threw it on the floor and... It showed a 1.

Belphegor: That's it. Sittin' still ain't my style.

Before you could ask what a one meant, he pulled you up and stood you up. And ordered.

Belphegor: Give me some sugar.

You didn't hesitate for a second, kissing him back.

No, you definitely kissed him, but...

MC: Oof...? Mmm...?!

As he slipped his tongue in, eyes wide open and staring at you, sensations raced through every inch of your body that his gaze touched.

His wet tongue slipped into your earlobe and licked the hole deeply, and at the same time, the space between your fingers was licked, and you felt like you were being humiliated by his tongue all over, from your toes, to your sensitive ankles, to your sunken navel and hard nipples.

MC: (I can't take it...!! Aah...!! No, I'm too sensitive...!!)

Tremble...!

You ended up clutching both of Belphegor's arms tightly and came just from kissing him.

The ecstasy of being kissed all over was no different from sex.

And when you finally broke away, gasping, you were about to collapse against your own weak back,

Roll...

Belphegor: Two. Ain't too shabby.

With another roll of the dice, Belphegor raised the corner of his mouth and

ordered you.

Belphegor: Spread 'em wide.

You could tell he wasn't simply asking you to change your position.

So you forced your legs, which were wobbly from excitement and languor, and spread them apart.

Then, without Belphegor's prompting, you pulled down your bottoms and opened the bottom of Belphegor's kimono.

Belphegor's cock, already wet with your sweat, was even wetter than it had been a moment ago.

Just then, Belphegor was about to roll the dice one more time, but before he could, you slipped his into your hole and swallowed him whole.

Belphegor: Ouch...

MC: Ah...! Yeah...!!

You began to move immediately, not giving Belphegor a chance to throw row th the next dice.

You shifted your hips until you were out of breath, trying to keep your heels upright so that you could stand face to face.

You gripped Belphegor's hips with both hands, feeling the uncanny sensation of Belphegor's low moans ringing simultaneously between your hip bones.

MC: It's not... Deep enough... Mmm, mmm, mmm...!

Feeling that your own movements weren't enough, you grabbed Belphegor's hips and pulled him into you.

Then the bumps on Belphegor's cock - the piercing-scraped more aggressively inside you, squeezing out your moans.

It made Belphegor feel like a full-sized, living, breathing dildo, but although he said he couldn't be bothered, he was now sneaking in and out of you.

To anyone watching, it looked like Belphegor was being fucked by you, but you alone were feeling quite the opposite.

You only had one hole that was full with his cock, but it felt as if you had a second and third hole somewhere, and they were all being pierced by Belphegor.

MC: Ahhh...! There are so many...!

Beleth: ...I ain't sure what ya up to, but looks like a darn good time.

Beleth furtively turned around to look at you with dark, shining eyes, but Belphegor grabbed his head and turned it back.

Belphegor: Ya ain't got no room left for more marks on yer body, huh?

Beleth: What ya mean? Still got plenty of space...

Crunch-!

You bit Belphegor's collarbone, causing Beleth to stop what he was saying and watch you with an odd look in his eyes.

The fact that Beleth and Belphegor were casually talking to each other while you were bare-chested and moaning to yourself somehow fueled your

arousal even more.

And then, as soon as your fevered head heard the word 'teeth marks', you bit down on Belphegor's collarbone.

But that was the end of it. In the back of your languidly molten mind, you harbored a command that said, "I must mangle him obscenely," but you had no rationality left to carry it out.

Right now, your instincts were focused on being touched by Belphegor, as if being touched by more than one person, your entire body surrendering to his touch in a warped sense of time and space.

Belphegor: Keke, Solomon's daughter, with you 'round, I don't gotta roll no dice. You find what I need and make it happen.

MC: The answer... You want...?

You asked, panting and clenching downward in ecstatic pleasure, as Belphegor pulled you into his arms with one hand and whispered.

Belphegor: Solomon taught me how to throw them dice.

Ya know why he never lost?

Cause he knew how to roll 'em just right.

MC: ..?!!

As if he didn't need an answer, Belphegor suddenly thrust hard, causing you to straighten up and tremble as if you'd been skewered.

The problem was that even this sensation was spreading through every inch of your body at the same time.

You choked and sobbed as you felt his invisible cock enter your open mouth, filling your throat with its hard length.

And before you could even get used to the pressure and the tightly packed pleasure, Belphegor began to move roughly at your waist, which he had never moved properly before.

MC: N-no...!!! It's...!! Too much...!!! Too, hard...!!!

Belphegor: Hold this for me.

Belphegor lowered his head good-naturedly, and the black halo came into your shaking gaze as your entire body shook, pierced by him.

Without a moment to think, you grabbed the halo as he commanded.

Then the thing you thought was fixed to the top of his head wobbled as if you'd tugged at the brim of his hat.

Belphegor: That's irksome. But wear it for a spell.

Belphegor didn't stop thrusting as he removed the halo from his head and placed it on top of yours. And then...

Thump...! Thump...! Thump...!

Your heartbeat quickened like a bad headache, and the vibrations thudded against your temples, forehead, brow, and eyes.

The moment you thought your vision seemed to darken slightly, you realized it was due to the black, ominous energy flowing from your body.

MC: Ah, urgh, ugh, wa-it, this... What the Hell,

Beleth: The halo of a fallen angel.

Your pupils dilated as Beleth finished the answer for you.

Like a nocturnal beast waking up from a long sleep to finally go on the hunt.

Crunch-!!!

You bit down on Belphegor's chest, not at anyone's request, but simply by blackened instinct.

Feeling Belphegor thrashing wildly on his own, you grabbed his ass, not to pull him away, but to dig your nails into it and rake it roughly.

Every time the pure lust of a devil and the black instincts of a fallen angel clashed inside you, Belphegor thrust inside you in time as if he knew the beat of those sparks.

You didn't even realize how strange it was that you didn't feel the slightest bit of guilt or hesitation as you drove your teeth and nails into every inch of his body.

It was so sweet to feel Belphegor scratching at your fingertips, at the tips of your teeth, at the very edge of your body, at the sharpest part of you, that it made your mouth water.

But it felt a little different than pure sexual pleasure, and Beleth, noticing that, tapped Belphegor's on the side.

Beleth: Hey, Your Majesty. Gotta mind yer step if ya don't wanna tumble too far. Don't wanna make this our last dance, ya hear?

Belphegor: Oh, fer real? Ain't lookin' to get all riled up.

Belphegor scratched his head, enjoying the moment regardless of whether or not his body became a mess, or the person who was fucking themself standing up lost their mind or not.

With a rueful look, he then took the halo from back your head and put it back on his own.

Your vision brightened a bit again, and your hot stomach cooled a little. But your arousal hadn't cooled at all.

As your senses returned a little, you recognized Belphegor, who had looked like prey only moments before, as the heart-stoppingly handsome man he was, and you savored the pleasure of having him in your arms.

Belphegor also seemed to be waiting as the light returned to your eyes, and he spurred his hips, squeezing the back of your head hard enough to hurt a little.

Naturally, the sensation spread throughout your body as well, and you bit your lip as you felt your empty breasts and neck gripped firmly in his hands.

Belphegor: Ya held it down. 'Cause of you, I nearly got everything I wanted.

Maya: Nearly, everything...?

Belphegor: I wanted to know more 'bout ya, but this ain't quite enough.

Belphegor started to explain more, but quickly pulled an expression that said, 'Annoying.' and grinned.

Belphegor: Ain't got the patience. Should I twist it up and narrow it down again?

With an 'It's annoying-' Belphegor picked up the pace of his thrusts with the words, and you were left with your mouth open, unable to say anything, your chin quivering as you tightened the inside of your ass.

And just before the last syllable of his words ended.

Fwp!!!

Belphegor's cock pierced deep inside you in one swift thrust, leaving thrusting his smooth piercing in your most pleasurable spot.

MC: ...!!!!!!.... Ah....hh...!!!

As you tightened your muscles with every fiber of your being, Belphegor's body jerked and shuddered, spurting his cum inside of you.

But the very next moment.

Something hot and wet filled you, and at the same time, you felt a strange sensation from beneath you, where his cock was inserted into.

It felt as if you were being corrupted from there. As if your entire body was turning black from there.

MC: Bel, phegor, wait, my, body, feels, strange...

Your eyes and tongue were completely unhinged and dripping, and for a moment, as if you had borrowed the corrupted halo for a moment, you felt a black energy swirling through your body, energizing you.

You opened your mouth wide and swallowed Belphegor's lips, as if to feed another surge of ferocious lust that had just climaxed.

Your eyes and tongue were completely unhinged and dripping, and for a moment, as if you had borrowed the corrupted halo for a moment, you felt a black energy swirling through your body, energizing you.

You opened your mouth wide and swallowed Belphegor's lips, as if to feed another surge of ferocious lust that had just climaxed.

But just before your lips touched his, Belphegor chuckled and muttered, 'I liked that' and something bigger than your predatory arousal opened your mouth.

It was the black, silent, overwhelming aura that flowed from Belphegor's body.

He swallowed your lips as if he steal the moment, and your tongues entwined...

MC: (I'm being swallowed...?!)

The sensation of your presence, not your tongue, but your very existence, rushed past his lips, past his tongue, down his esophagus and stomach.

You were being sucked somewhere, in Belphegor's warped sense of time and dimension.

It felt like something sticky, hot, and narrow was swallowing your entire body, from head to toe, and then you were being sucked downward, downward, downward, into an unknown place.

There should be a few seconds of the highest point of pleasure, heightened as if time stood still, followed by a slow fading afterglow,

But in that slow buildup, your climax was at its peak the whole time.

MC: (It... feels... like... something... is... in... My... stomach...)

Finally, after the sensation of your body being pulled downward, you relaxed. It was a sweet languor that was unlike any post-sex afterglow you'd ever felt.

You thought that if you were going into someone's stomach the way you felt right now, you might as well be digested.

Slowly, your consciousness drifted away, and you drifted into sleep.

Plop.

Your body shuddered as the power drained from you, and Beleth reflexively sat up and took you in. The next moment.

Click-!

You heard Belphegor take a selfie in the full-length mirror on the wall.

Belphegor: Hand it over now.

Belphegor reached out to Beleth without even straightening his clothes, wet with sweat, cum, and Maya's saliva.

Beleth: Huh????

Beleth asked, startled into a rare look of stupidity, then recovered himself when Belphegor didn't ask, 'What.'.

Beleth: Would just one picture do? You said you wanted to take first place in that contest.

Belphegor: You want me to snap more? What a bother.

Beleth asked again when Belphegor still held out his arm as if to say, 'Give it to me.'

Beleth: You said you don't do sweet 'cause it's annoyin'.

Belphegor: Thought leavin' it be might be more of a hassle.

Beleth: Huh?

Belphegor: I'd feel like I'm missin' out. That feelin's the worst.

Beleth grumbled and looked at Belphegor, who took Maya's body from Beleth's arms and Beleth spat out a hollow laugh.

Beleth: You said you couldn't be bothered, but you went all the way. You chowed down on them again, huh? MC's one thing, but you gonna be so full you'll nod off again!

Belphegor: Don't rouse me for a bit. Reckon I'm fixin' to have a sweet dream.

Beleth: Just gotta jab at an insomniac underling, huh?

Without answering Beleth's words, Belphegor turned irresponsibly to the bed and laid you down, lying down beside you.

He stretched out one arm and placed it under your head... And within five seconds you were asleep.

Beleth: ...Even a tranquilizer gun'd put me to sleep slower'n that.

Beleth smirked, but still made sure to tuck Belphegor's covers over him, and his loving touch was no exception as you fell into a deep slumber.

Beleth: My. Clampin' your jaw like that'll give you nightmares.

He smirked as he gently stroked your chin, then suddenly yawned.

Beleth: ...Ugh, startin' to feel a mite sleepy myself.

Beleth folded his large body into a folding motion and snuggled down next to you.

For two people who had just done the most adult thing possible, there was a pleasant scent that ironically smelled like the flesh of a child.

Beleth: (...I'm sleepy...)

As Beleth settled down, Belphegor and you snuggled up next to him as if looking for pillows, and Beleth smiled pleasantly in his sleep, extending his arm to tuck it in under your head.

You fell asleep on the arm pillows of two men at the same time, and when you woke up, you were asleep and unaware of the world...

MC: ...Huh? When did I get back?

You woke up feeling refreshed, as if you had slept for days.

All of your senses were back to normal, and thankfully, you only heard the ticking of the clock or the rustling of the sheets once in the right direction.

But the afterglow of pleasure still lingering in your body didn't go away easily, so you quietly pulled the covers back up and slid your hand down between your legs.

MC: (It was like being digested naked... like being rolled around on someone's tongue in a big mouth and then swallowed...)

While you were masturbating alone in the quiet of your room, the winner of the latest Phenomenon's contest was announced outside.

His picture was plastered all over Hell, and everyone cheered like it was a festival.

It wasn't until late the next afternoon, when you fell into another deep sleep after another round of masturbation, that you heard the news,

And it was only after waking up after two weeks of contented slumber that Belphegor, the devil involved, heard the news.

[glassrowboat]

🎲 muehehehe get diced >:3 🪐

13. Kiss to the chest.

Anatomy. Welt Yang.

Word Count: 1,500+

Thank you for the ask, Stardust <3 Now we just gotta fan over Welt together

The mattress hit your knees as you stepped backward, the cushions something you barely had the chance to register the comfort of before you were tripping over your own two feet and falling backward. The form on top of you doing little to help. Rather, it was only making it worse as Welt fell on top of you with an over exaggerated oof! Hair askew and glasses nearly falling off his nose from the game of tag you two were playing only minutes before around his room.

Having ducked around the desk, the trashcan full of crumpled up paper, a giant stuffy March gifted him as a thank you for helping her on their last shared Trailblaze mission, and lastly workout equipment.

All over one pencil.

His favorite, or so, Welt claimed. Apparently, it had the perfect grip, so it sat comfortably in his hand. To draw, it proved the best one was familiar with the materials they used. Like how every painter has a favorite medium as either watercolor, gouache, ect, seeped into the bristles of their brush.

Graphite covered the side of his hand, staining it a metallic gray you had grown accustomed to seeing in him when he slipped the gloves off and sat before the sketchbook he kept. One that was nearly falling apart now, bindings getting looser with every time he pried it open to add another drawing to the collection. If not that, to slip pages of your own horrendous attempts at doodling him away for safekeeping.

Despite your protests to simply crumple the paper up and toss it away as the garbage you saw it as, Welt insisted otherwise. Said it was something precious to keep, memories embedded in the scribbles that could barely resemble a human face. Nothing like his art. Not from what you've seen, at least.

You had seen him make circles and lines into something more than what you could see them as. A circle turned into a head, a box into a ribcage, a line, and another line paired together to make tweezers. It was only when that item was added did it click in your mind he was drawing the picture he took of you earlier that day plucking your eyebrows. For some reason.

“I believe this means you owe me my own materials back.”

“Now why would I do that?” You asked, trying to hold out your arm even further so Welt couldn't slip it out of your hold. To pluck it from your hand like one would a loose string on a shirt. Or, as is the case with the two of you, his scarf. Though, it's not like your effort could do much against the man who could, quite literally, make the item float out of your hand and back into his own.

Surely that had to be classified as cheating.

“Are you going back on your word from before, honey? I distinctly recall you saying you could wait for me to finish what I was working on.”

Yet here you are, still trying to play keep away.

“Yeah, but then I got bored.”

A sigh. One that brushed against your skin from how close he was. Like this, you could even make out the sparkle in his eyes. Or it could just be a speck of lint on his lenses. One of the two. “I suppose that's fair.”

“Exactly. So….” You trailed off. Honestly, you weren't expecting to get this far, so it wasn't a surprise you found your own words to be suddenly falling flat. “Well, if you are so intent on focusing on art, why don't you teach me something?”

There, interactive. An olive branch offered to his outstretched hand, grasping something you can do together.

“Teach you?” Welt repeated, mulling over the words as they rolled over his tongue. “I can work with that.”

The pencil was pulled from your hand before you could even whine in protest as he pulled away. Leaving you to place it on his sketchbook only to return shortly after. Mattress creaking once again as hands, now free to do as they pleased, slid along your cheek. Thumb right under your eye.

“You're a hands-on student, aren't you? If I remember correctly…”

“I am.”

Welt muttered an “excellent” as his thumb brushed through your lashes. Your eye squeezed shut on instinct, but this didn't seem to deter him at all. “Then we can start with our first lesson now.”

“That being, professor?” You didn't miss his eyebrows burrowing ever so slightly at the nickname, but still you smiled up at him like nothing was wrong.

“Basic shapes. We can start through profiles as an example.” His touch moved to the eyebags you had been sporting that morning, running along the colored hue of the skin that gave away your bad sleeping habits. Again. “The head is not perfectly rounded, but the shape that resembles the dome of the skull the best is still a circle. Eyes are round under the lid, also best drawn using a circle first.”

“I'm getting some real creepy imagery here, teach.”

“I can understand that. It might have been easier to pull up images instead to give you something to see. To lead by example.”

“But?” You asked, head tilting ever so slightly as you watched Welt silently mouth words.

“But first, let me ask you something. When I ask you to pick something round, specifically on the human body, what do you think of first?”

Well, your first thought was balls, but you were going to keep that one under a tight lid. Maybe even in a trash can. Though that does risk the chance of Stelle rummaging through and finding your secrets.

Second? Well, that was easy.

“The callous on your finger.”

Accrued from hours, days, years even of leaning over pen and paper and letting the images in his mind come to life. Something that's not perfectly round, but it always caught your attention nonetheless. Your own fingers ran over the bump anytime you hold hands.

“I think of a ring.” Before you could question him on that, Welt slid his thumb over your lips. It was second nature to press a kiss to it, just like it was second nature for him to smile at the gesture. “Or that earring you always lose and I have to find for you.”

“No need to call me out like that.”

“Ah, I apologize.” The look in Welt's eyes was enough to tell you that even if he was sorry, he still knew he had a point.

“Yeah, yeah, what else? I can't learn to draw from circles alone, professor.”

“This 'professor’ is beginning to think the student is in a rush. Now that's no good way to get A’s in my,” He took a moment to look around the room again, taking in the place you two shared and made your own on the express, “class.”

“Oh, I'm terribly sorry.”

“Your tone tells me otherwise.”

You bit your lip, trying to stop the smirk that was hoping to overcome you.

“As for more lessons, there are topics we can focus on.”

As he spoke, Welt's hand slid down your neck, tracing the hollow where the skin met your collarbone. Your shirt shifted ever so slightly out of the way, brushing against your skin the same way he was as his lips fell to meet yours.

“Anatomy, for example.”

“Now that's a big step from shapes.”

A giant leap, actually. You couldn't even draw a perfect circle, but here he is suggesting something that you've seen even him struggle with. Reference photos had been pulled up countless times as he drew. It was that, or, you'd find Welt standing before the mirror to see how his body shifts in this new pose. He's even asked you to indulge him once or twice and move along with how he places you, pen in his mouth as he chews on it to help him think. Or so he claims.

“No need to worry, we can start small. Besides, did you not just say you can't learn to draw from circles alone?”

Ahh, your own words. What a great way to turn them around and shove them back in your mouth. Something to choke on for fun.

“And what is this something small, professor?”

Fingers toyed with your shirt, unbuttoning it as Welt looked up at you, making sure this was okay. Just like he always did. With your nod, he continued, undoing the top three until the tank top you were underneath was peaking out.

“It's simple. Simple enough that I can show you.” Welt said. His lips met your chest, heart thrumming under him, beating wildly in an attempt to escape and give him what has already been his since the moment you first saw his smile at a stupid dad joke. Of all things.

“But something tells me this will be easier to do without these clothes in the way. Do you mind, honey?”

And of course you didn't mind at all.

[xmarchwarden-of-lothlorienx]

Two Halves of the Same Whole

Legolas x gn!elf!reader

Requested (Kinda): @legolastaint

Summary: “Ughhhh i NEED someone to write a legolas x reader fic where you just get to be feral little guys together. Please!!! I want running through the woods barefoot together, i want playing pretend!! I want catching bugs and frogs and the like and marvelling at their beauty!!! I want playing in a creek and catching fish and crawdads and shiny rocks!!! I want playing and making things out of all of our little found object collections!!! I want hanging out outside in the rain or during a thunderstorm!!! And i dont want it to be platonic!! I want this to be love!!!!!!!! I want this to be our affection for each other!!!!!!!”

Author’s Note: I hope I captured the vibe you wanted! As a feral little gremlin that grew up in the country, I’ve also wanted more fics like this :) It is a little short, but if you like it I can and will write more <3

The cold water of the creek was a direly needed refreshment. You had stripped off your boots, rolled up your pant legs, and were now wading in the shallow water. A splash from a few feet upstream told you that Legolas had decided to join you.

"Meleth nin, are you sure our friend won't mind us being late?"

"No, he will understand," you hummed. "Especially if we find a gift to bring him." The pair of you were on your way to visit a new friend, Willard, that resided in his own small corner of the Greenwood.

That is, you were on your way until you could no longer ignore the call of the creeks cooling waters. You intended to depart for Willard's home earlier, before the heat peaked for the day, but Legolas had been very particular when selecting wildflowers. He insisted the finishing touch for today's picnic be a marvelous bouquet that Willard could admire during the time before your next visit. After showing you the final product, you agreed with his vision, but now you needed a break from walking in the heavy heat of the afternoon.

"And what sort of gift would he like most," Legolas questioned.

"I think we will know when we find it." You scanned the creek bed for a glimmer of any long lost trinkets to gift your friend. The only thing to catch your eye was a school of small, shimmering fish coming to say hello in the water surrounding your legs. You softly laughed as they tickled and brushed against you.

"Do we have something that the little fish may enjoy," You called out to Legolas and gestured to your new acquaintances. A gentle smile, touched with affection at your care for even the smallest of creatures, spread across his face.

"I shall look, meleth nin." He returned to where he'd left the picnic basket on the shore, looking for something suitable to give the fish among what you packed. Legolas settled on some apples slices that he could further dice to a smaller size.

While bringing the bits of apple to you, something peeking out from the creeks sandy bottom caught his attention. He bent down and scooped it from the sand, gently swishing it around in the water to clean it off. The little treasure was a stone, more of a gem really, no bigger than a large coin, yet Legolas knew that this was it.

Legolas approached you, a grin plastered across his face as he presented the stone to you - its colorful and translucent surface resembling stained glass, smoothed and polished from the water. You let out a gasp, throwing your arms around him and nearly sending both of you tumbling into the water.

"It's perfect," you brushed a few stray strands of his hair away and pressed a kiss to his temple. "I know Willard will absolutely adore it."

-

You were walking side-by-side with Legolas, your hands intertwined while his free hand carried the picnic basket and yours carried the precious stone. The two of you were now approaching the large willow tree that marked Willard's dwelling.

You halted once you reached the tree, rapping the trunk with your knuckles a couple times, "Willard, we're here!" You shot a glance towards Legolas who had lowered and started to unpack the picnic basket. Kneeling down to a small gap where the tree's roots met the ground, you peaked inside, "Willard?" Your voice was met with a soft thud as Willard, the large toad that lived beneath the willow tree, hopped out of his abode to greet you.

"There he is," Legolas chimed in. "Perhaps we left him waiting too long and he laid down for his afternoon nap," he commented as he set plates and food down for the three of you.

"Maybe," You sighed, drawing your eyebrows together. "But I think our lateness will be forgiven once he sees his gift. Here," you placed the shiny stone several inches in front of Willard, who immediately hopped over to inspect it further.

"I think he loves it already, meleth nin," Legolas observed while passing you a flask of water to fill your cup with.

"I agree, I think you certainly have an eye for treasure, Legolas," a satisfied grace spread across your features.

He leaned in and pressed a kiss to your lips, "I think I most certainly do."

[morganbritton132]

Eddie doesn’t post much over Parents weekend. When he does post, it’s a picture to the Official Corroded Coffin twitter account of Wayne rocking a vintage CC sweatshirt (vintage as in Eddie made it for him before the band even existed).

Overly invested fans don’t have to fret though because whereas Eddie isn’t posting, the kids are.

Every year they fill out bingo cards with Very Specific Things that they think will happen over the course of the weekend and play to see who gets bingo first. This all plays out across their TikTok accounts because the rule is: if you don’t get a video, it didn’t happen (the rule was made after the cheating scandal of 2016).

The game is always centered around whoever is hosting so this round is Steddie-centric. So, no one makes it obvious that Steve’s mom clearly didn’t show up, but if you’re invested enough in his mama drama than you’d pick up on everybody’s effort to keep him engaged enough that he doesn’t really have to think about it.

(1) The first to get a piece on the board are El, Mike, and Lucas. They manage to catch on video Claudia Henderson fully lifting Steve off his feet when she hugs him. You get three different angles of Dustin next to them with the most ‘are you shitting me?’ look on his face because she hugged Steve first.  This is a staple of these events. It happens every time. Everybody had it on their bingo cards but the others didn’t get it on camera. 

(2) Will has ‘Karen says something that would’ve gotten Steve’s neighbor burned at the stake’ on his card. He posts a TikTok of Karen referring to Steve and Eddie’s salt and pepper shakers as ‘kitschy.’ Steve smiles and says, “I know! Eddie picked them out.”

(3) ‘Eddie stands on a table’ was banned from being on the card because it has happened at every single event ever. ‘Eddie falling off a table and being caught by Steve’ however? Very specific. Weird it happened. Lucas gets points, but also a little side eye.

(4)It’s not going to win Erica any points, but she posts a video of her mom talking to Robin about finding her a good man. Now, don’t get her wrong. Sue Sinclair’s LGBT+ ally-ship is only rivaled by Joyce Byers, but she never remembers that Robin is a lesbian and Robin is always too awkward to correct her. It’s like watching two robots have a conversation because Sue mentions that Dustin is single and Robin is just like, “And…short?”

Eddie is not in the video but you can hear his wheezy laugh next to her. Erica’s just like, “Would you use your inhaler or die somewhere else?”

(5)Dustin posts a video of Steve standing by the window, clearly lost in thought as he stares out at the road. You can see Eddie sneaking up from a distance but instead of scaring Steve, he takes him by the hand and spins him around so they’re facing one another. Dustin isn’t close enough to hear what they’re saying but you can hear him mutter ‘gross’ when Eddie presses Steve up against the window to kiss him.

Steve’s the one to pull Eddie towards the stairs going to the studio, but they don’t actually make it down them because Hopper pulls Steve away to talk to him. There’s an argument between the party in the comments of the video of if this counts as ‘Steve and Eddie sneak off to make out like teenagers in the studio’ because they don’t actually succeed in sneaking away.

(6) Every single person playing gets a video of Hopper looking at Eddie and asking if he’s on drugs. Eddie says, “I don’t doOoOo drugs, Dad. It’s just marijuana.”

Dustin gets an extra point for catching Steve’s eye roll. Eddie has repeated that phrase at least a hundred times since Dustin told him about the Russian elevator.

(7) Max and Dustin both score a point with ‘Steve and El pull a “prank” on Eddie’ and it’s just Steve very confidently claiming that he can roll a nat 20 easy-peasy just by rolling the dice in a special way. Eddie obviously calls bullshit and then Steve rolls a 20 three times in a row.

After the fourth time, Eddie narrows his eyes at Steve and then spins around until he spots El on the other side of the room and points at her like “YOU!!!” No one watching understands this video. There are fights in the comments about what the hell is even happening here.

(8) Max is the only one with ‘Eddie says ACAB’ on her card. She posts a video of her handwritten card and then pans the camera up to Eddie. They’re all sitting around a bonfire later in the evening. Steve’s practically in Eddie’s lap as Eddie says, “-exactly what I mean, ACAB! All cops are bastards!”

Steve: Not Hopper

Eddie: Especially Hopper! Are you kidding me? Do you know how much weed he stole from me?

(9) Mike catches Steve and Eddie sharing a cigarette on the front porch later that night. It’s only after someone edits the video to remove the sound of the wind that you can kinda hear Steve say ‘It’s just that this is kinda it, right? I opened the door and she slammed it in my face.’

Most of the conversation is inaudible, but Joyce catching them and taking the cigarette from them is not. Neither is her shooing them back inside and finishing the cigarette herself.

(10) The party members all end up staying the night and everybody sleeps in the living room since Hopper and Joyce have Steve and Eddie’s bedroom and Wayne has the guest room. Steve and Eddie sleep on the couch because Eddie’s back can’t handle the floor. Max and Lucas get an air mattress, and Dustin claims the other side of the couch with El since they’re the only single people there. Everybody else is on the floor

Max wins bingo with a one-two punch the following morning with Mike complaining that Steve stepped on him with his big ass sleepwalking feet and Dustin posting a picture to his Instagram of him, Claudia, and Steve with the caption “best moms a guy could have.”