#<- stash it in the tree /silly

[thrpr0phetuseek]

[ they heard his sigh, then listened intently as he recounted what they saw ]

“You don’t have to continue, dear. You’ve suffered enough.”

[ they shift, pressing a light kiss to his cheek, then going back to rubbing his hand ]

“You were in the right. Sometimes it just needs a shift in the light to see, and then a whole new world of understanding opens up.”

ooc: I see the anons are still tormenting Tir - feel free to save this until after or place it in a separate time. Up to you! (Spoilers for the Ithaca saga, of course. When does a man become a monster? /silly)

Time in the underworld was imperceptible. Somehow, against that well-known fact, this break felt longer. Odysseus had been gone; his voice silent and his presence invisible. The only remaining piece of him was the seashell threaded charm that clicked on Tiresias' staff when shifted.

Then, he was back. The king stepped onto the island with sandal-clad feet, approaching the prophet with a small, weak smile. His cape is back, clipped over his shoulder with an old pin he had long forgotten. The depiction of the owl had been carved away, redesigned with scales.

"Hey there, star." He greets. Odysseus' voice is heavy with the weight of so much left unsaid. Tales of monsters and mistakes. Mortal and familiar. His heart is still fighting against his mind each night, and his eyes reflect the tiredness. Guilt clawing silently at scars.

[ the prophet, sat at the bottom of one of the cliff faces, barely moved. Even looking up, it didn’t feel like they even were looking. Everything about them seemed just as tired, but they seemed more broken than before, and their voice reeked of desperation to get out of their self-fed isolation ]

“What? Who—? Oh. Ody. Oh not now, please love, I can’t— not today, okay. You’re tired and I’m— . . . you don’t need to keep visiting, now. After everything. You made it back. Go enjoy your time, will you? Be with your family. For me.”

[goldenlikedayl1ght]

one time, on a trip into town, you buy a hammock from the camping supplies store.

it’s a quick trip, insignificant. but, you’d argue that any time you get to spend with logan is significant.

you ride into town on his motorcycle, your front pressed into his back, your head resting against his shoulder, wind whipping your hair. he tells you to stay put while he runs into the general store— being two of the older residents of the x-mansion, you often go into town and buy a stash of stuff for your rooms.

logan gets beer, cigars, beef jerky, crossword puzzles, cards, razors, and a new pair of aviators.

you get pencils, oranges, iced teas, rolling papers, batteries, sunscreen, and lavender body wash.

you also get condoms, bandages, painkillers, and whatever else the mansion’s infirmary might need.

and one day, you get a hammock.

logan finds you leaning against his motorcycle, a small brown bag in your grasp. he nods to it, asking what it is silently.

you’re fluent in his language.

“it’s a hammock,” you beam, “it’s supposed to be 90 degrees tomorrow. i figured i can set it up on the edge of the woods and relax.”

he just smirks and shakes his head at you.

“cmon. we’ll be late to supper.”

the next day, he finds you just where you said you’d be. you’re dressed in shorts and a tanktop, lounging with one of your iced teas and your sketch book.

logan throws a sandwich at you, startling you.

“lounging about, spitfire?” he wonders and you roll your eyes.

“you’re just jealous that you don’t let yourself relax.”

he scoffs, defensively.

“of course i do.” he grumbles, and you shake your head.

“okay, prove it. come sit.” you say, moving to sit up, patting the area on your hammock where he can sit.

he saunters over, letting himself sit down, and—

immediately, the straps that are wrapped around two parallel trees snap, causing both of you to fall down, right onto the ground.

right. his skeleton alone weighs 200 pounds.

both of you sit there for a minute before you’re laughing at how silly it, leaning against him as you laugh your ass off.

your hammock was nice while it lasted.

but, you wind up laying on the hammock’s fabric, the sun shining just a bit through the shade of the trees. you wind up sketching him as he naps, focusing on the curve of his nose, his side burns, and his hands.

your sketchbook is full of drawings of his hands.

[soracities]

"Persephone Writes a Letter to Her Mother", by A.E. Stallings

First – hell is not so far underground – My hair gets tangled in the roots of trees & I can just make out the crunch of footsteps, The pop of acorns falling, or the chime Of a shovel squaring a fresh grave or turning Up the tulip bulbs for separation. Day & night, creatures with no legs Or too many, journey to hell and back. Alas, the burrowing animals have dim eyesight. They are useless for news of the upper world. They say the light is “loud” (their figures of speech All come from sound; their hearing is acute).

The dead are just as dull as you would imagine. They evolve like the burrowing animals – losing their sight. They may roam abroad sometimes – but just at night – They can only tell me if there was a moon. Again and again, moth-like, they are duped By any beckoning flame – lamps and candles. They come back startled & singed, sucking their fingers, Happy the dirt is cool and dense and blind. They are silly & grateful and don’t remember anything. I have tried to tell them stories, but they cannot attend. They pester you like children for the wrong details – How long were his fingernails? Did she wear shoes? How much did they eat for breakfast? What is snow? And then they pay no attention to the answers.

My husband, bored with their babbling, neither listens nor speaks. But here there is no fodder for small talk. The weather is always the same. Nothing happens. (Though at times I feel the trees, rocking in place Like grief, clenching the dirt with torturous toes.) There is nothing to eat here but raw beets & turnips. There is nothing to drink but mud-filtered rain. Of course, no one goes hungry or toils, however many – (The dead breed like the bulbs of daffodils – Without sex or seed – all underground – Yet no race has such increase. Worse than insects!)

I miss you and think about you often. Please send flowers. I am forgetting them. If I yank them down by the roots, they lose their petals And smell of compost. Though I try to describe Their color and fragrance, no one here believes me. They think they are the same thing as mushrooms. Yet no dog is so loyal as the dead, Who have no wives or children and no lives, No motives, secret or bare, to disobey. Plus, my husband is a kind, kind master; He asks nothing of us, nothing at all – Thus fall changes to winter, winter to fall, While we learn idleness, a difficult lesson.

He does not fully understand why I write letters. He says that you will never get them. True – Mulched-leaf paper sticks together, then rots; No ink but blood, and it turns brown like the leaves. He found my stash of letters, for I had hid it, Thinking he’d be angry. But he never angers. He took my hands in his hands, my shredded fingers Which I have sliced for ink, thin paper cuts. My effort is futile, he says, and doesn’t forbid it.

[melanchol1cs]

CHERRY FLAVORED

childhood friend!leon x reader

wc: 1.6k summary: sweet and sour motivation, wish i could keep concentration. masterlist | taglist | wips

no warnings. just alot of angst, mentions of marriage, cheating/infidelity, kissing. based on ‘cherry flavored’ by the neighborhood.

a/n: daddy’s home ;) super happy to be back, missed you guys so much mwaa! so i was actually working on this piece before i decided to take a break and i’m super happy i finally finished. but be warned, this doesn’t make any sense and i strongly encourage you to ignore the grammatical errors and my horrible writing. p.s. i swear the next part of ltts is almost done, just need to fix a few things and proofread (yes, this is for u @lottiies)

he had always liked cherries.

ever since you we’re kids, he would go out of his way just for those silly fruits.

you used to tease him about how much he loved them, but deep down, you enjoyed his enthusiasm too. he claims to remember how cherries were your favorite too, which is why he'd share his stash with you, and you'd pretend to savor each bite, even though they always made your face scrunch up in an exaggerated grimace.

you never really liked cherries. you found them too sticky, too sweet, but you had always made an effort for his sake.

the sticky fingers and cherry pits were all worth it though, just to see that slight, knowing smile on your face when you humored him. those small, secret moments were like little treasures he'd collect in his heart, each one more precious than the last.

he remembered the times when they'd steal a few from the farmer's market, giggling as the juice stained your fingers and lips. now, as adults, the habit remained. sometimes, on late summer mornings like these, he'd swing by your place with a bag of fresh cherries, a nostalgic smile on his face.

"hey," he'd say softly, as you opened the door to greet him, the sunlight catching the wisps of hair escaping your bun.

"thought you might like these. still got a sweet tooth, right?" he'd hand over the bag, watching as your expression transform from a sleepy haze to something short of appreciation.

“leon,” you rub your eyes begrudgingly, stepping aside as to let him in. “it’s like.. six in the morning. you can’t keep doing this,”

“i know, i know,” he chuckled, stepping into the dimly lit foyer, the overpowering scent of the fruit carrying over to you. "sorry, couldn’t help myself," he said with a shrug, his eyes crinkling at the corners. "old habits die hard, you know." he set the bag of cherries down on the entry table, the red fruit seeming to glow in the morning light that filtered through the front window.

“no, seriously.” you deflect, hands on your hips.

“you’re getting married next month, leon.”

he winced at the reminder, his free hand raking through his hair. "i know," he sighed, his shoulders slumping slightly.

his smile faltered slightly, the corners of his mouth dipping into a small, regretful frown. the cheerfulness draining from his features like water down a drain.

"can't wait." he forced a smile, but you were certain it looked more like grimace. "ada’s been planning everything for months... i’m just along for the ride at this point." he laughs awkwardly, trying to deflect the underlying tension in the air. but he trailed off, unsure of what to say next, the words sticking in his throat like a cherry pit.

he swallows hard, adam’s apple bobbing in his throat. his eyes dart away from yours, unable to hold your gaze any longer. he fidgets with the strap of his bag, his knuckles turning white from the pressure.

“okay,” you try to ease the awkwardness. “do you.. wanna go sit on the porch? i can make us coffees,”

a small, relieved smile tugs at the corners of his mouth as he looks up at you, some of the tension dissipating from his frame. "coffee sounds great, thanks,"

he follows you to the kitchen, the silence between you thickening like a dense fog that clung to the trees outside. he’s perched on one of the bar stools, his long legs stretching out before him as he watched you move around the kitchen with practiced ease. the morning light highlighted the subtle lines of fatigue around your eyes, the tiny creases on your forehead, your shoulders hunched slightly in a gesture of quiet contemplation.

you hand him a steaming cup of coffee, the warmth of it seeping into your palms as you slid it across the counter. he took a sip, the flavor both bitter and sweet on his tongue. a small, contented sigh escaped him, his eyes closing briefly in appreciation.

“c’mon,” you tilt your head towards the door, and he’s quick to follow behind.

the morning air is crisp against his skin as he stepped outside, the chill of it seeping into his bones. he followed you to the porch steps, its wooden planks worn smooth with years of use. the world seemed to come alive in the golden glow of dawn, the leaves rustling in the gentle breeze and the smell of petrichor carried by the wind.

he sat down beside you, the cool wood biting into his thighs as he shifted to get comfortable. you were quiet for a moment, the only sound being the soft crunch of cherries as he munched on the fruit. his fingers stained a deep red from the juice, the color matching the rosy hue of your cheeks in the soft morning light.

"i— i know i shouldn't keep doing this, i'm not supposed to still have feelings for you." his words trailed off, lost in the gentle lapping of the breeze against the porch railing.

he took a deep breath, steeling himself. "but i do." he admitted, his voice trembling slightly. "i always have. and i probably always will,”

“leon,”

"you're still my best friend, you know? my person." he let out a short laugh, the sound a little shaky. “and—“

“leon.” you know what’s about to come next, and you don’t know if you can handle it.

“i love you.”

“i know.”

“i…” he lets out a strangled laugh, the bitterness of it written plainly across his features. “i’m sorry, don’t know why i’m like this,” he bowed his head, his elbows resting on his knees as he buried his face in his hands, his long fingers tangling in his hair. “i’m awful.”

“yeah,” you scoff, offering a pitiful smile. “yeah, you are.”

he laughed mirthlessly at your words, the sound raw and broken. “i know." he shook his head, his hair swishing against his wrists.

"never thought i was good for you, ‘ts why i stayed away for so long." he laughs bitterly, the sound hollow and empty. "i thought i could move on, forget about you.” he breathes, his shoulders sagging under the weight of his own inadequacies.

he turned to you, his eyes, normally a bright, warm blue, were dark and heavy-lidded, the rims a deep shade of red. "please," he whispered, his voice barely audible over the rustling of the leaves. "just one kiss. for the sake of what we could've been."

"please?” he repeated, his hands dropping to his knees, fingers curling like he wanted to crawl towards you and envelop you in his arms. your shoulders form something short of a shrug, your mouth dry, unable to respond.

he leaned in, hands coming to cup your cheeks, eyes closed, his lips pressed against yours in a soft, chaste press of mouth to mouth. he lingered for a moment, every fiber of his being silently begging you to reciprocate, praying that you'd meet him half way, that you'd kiss him back.

and for a moment, you really do think of doing so, to kiss back and feel him as more than a friend one last time. but you didn't. your lips were cold and unresponsive under his, your body stiff and unyielding. he taste of cherries and bitter regret that eventually seeps into your very core.

the warmth of his breath ghosted against your lips, lingering, yearning. he didn't move away, didn't pull back, just held himself there, suspended in the moment of his foolish hope. after what felt like an eternity, he broke the contact, his eyes fluttering open to meet yours.

"okay," he whispered, his voice small and defeated. "okay, i get it." he pulled back, sitting up straight and wiping his lips with the back of his hand, the ghost of your lips lingering there. "i shouldn't have..." he trailed off, unable to bring himself to finish the sentence.

“know what, i think i should go,” he stood up, his movements stiff and jerky, like a puppet with its strings cut.

“you should,” you swallow.

he nodded, not trusting himself to speak. his eyes downcast, feet shifting nervously on the porch steps. "yeah," he mumbles, voice barely audible. "yeah, probably for the best." he picks up his bag and turns to leave, but hesitates, his hand on the railing. he spares you one last glance, his eyes a deep, aching blue. you look down, not being able to bear the weight of his gaze.

he’s out of sight the next time you look back up.

he doesn’t call or text after that, his visits become infrequent, until he they stop completely.

the world didn't slow down for you, nor did it wait for your heart to catch up. everything seemed to keep spinning, the sun rising and setting, the seasons changing, though your feelings remained stagnant. you tell yourself its for the best, that moving on is inevitable. reality is cruel that way — it never delivers on the promises of our fantasies.

eventually, you’ll start to miss him a little less, the hollow ache in your chest slowly starting to dull. life will move on, and so will you.

though the thought of him would still occasionally cross your mind, it no longer feels like a stab to the chest, but a nostalgic memory from a bygone era. something that could’ve been.

maybe you did like cherries after all.

tags: @crowleyco

[cloudcountry]

SUMMARY: ryis has been hiding something from you.

COMMENTS: nobody asked for this. this one is for ME.

Scrambling to hide blueprints from you, rushing you out of his room, having his uncle stall you by the front door with a wink and a nudge to the fact that Ryis himself was intent on keeping you out of his room for the foreseeable future, you knew something was up.

After befriending Ryis, he’d told you about the hemlock tree outside of his house that housed the birds he loves so much, and how the earthquake had taken that away from him. You’d provided your support wholeheartedly, and side by side, you two had planted a sapling where the old tree once stood. He’d been so happy that day, vowing to check on the tree every single day, and you vowed to yourself that you would do the same.

Sometimes he seemed a bit nervous about the tree and the birds, even with you reminding him over and over again that his ambition wasn’t silly at all, that his room was just fine, that he didn’t have to be someone he wasn’t when he was with you. He didn’t have to be different.

Each time he seemed so relieved, like he expected you to say anything different, anything that wasn’t I think you’re so cool, your room is cozy, I look forward to spending time with you.

As if the stash of hardwood you kept in your chest was for anyone but him.

You’d brought him hardwood daily ever since you gave that first piece to him. It was inspiring, seeing how his eyes lit up, like there were a hundred ideas and a hundred ambitions and an endless supply of love inside of him. Knowing him now, you have no doubt about what you saw. Ryis was full of each one of those things and so much more.

You have hardwood in your backpack again, exactly ten pieces, freshly chopped that morning. Your arms don’t ache from the strain, you’re used to labor, but you find yourself trudging along the path of the Carpenter’s at a much slower pace than usual.

Are you Ryis deprived? You very well could be.

The creak of the shop’s front stairs are familiar enough to you. You instinctively look over at the workbench, even though Ryis has been holed up in his room for the past couple days and likely won't be there.

You're not surprised to find it empty.

His uncle greets you warmly as you come in through the front door, tacking a Ryis is in his room at the end of his sentence because he knows very well who you’re here for.

Your heart warms as you ascend the stairs, clinging to the hope that maybe, maybe Ryis will finally be done with whatever he’s been hiding from you. His door is open like always and you see him, sitting at his desk with a pencil in hand, scribbling notes and flowery designs on a notepad. You knock softly on the door frame, hoping your smile doesn’t look at nervous at you feel.

His warm eyes look up and meet yours, and a smile blossoms across his face. He says your name fondly and extends his right arm out to you, an invitation you take as soon as it comes. Your hand slips into his and he tugs you inside, almost bouncing in his chair as he presses his lips against each other tight.

It looks like he's trying very hard to keep a secret.

“What are you hiding?” you ask dryly, raising a suspicious brow at him.

“Oh, nothing!” he grins, looking like he’s about to burst with happiness, “Just some updates on the birdhouses for the hemlock tree.”

He doesn’t wait for you to respond before he turns his back, carefully taking a cloth covered in pencil shavings off of a mass of something—

You gasp, a hand flying to your mouth. Your heart is thundering in your chest as you take in the sight of two bird houses, one a bright red and the other your favorite color.

Ryis looks nervous—as if he has any right to be when his craftsmanship is this beautiful, when he did something this thoughtful, when he’s taken the time to include you in something so dear to him.

“They’re beautiful,” you breathe, so happy you feel your eyes start to water, “Is this what you were hiding?”

“I wanted to surprise you.” he says sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck, “Did it work?”

“Yes! Yes it worked!” you grab him by the shoulders and shake him before pulling him right into you, his feet stumbling at the force of your excitement. His gloved hands find their way around you and oh, he smells so nice you think you really might start to cry.

“I’m glad.” he laughs.

He’s right next to your ear and you can feel his breath.

“You’re unbelievable. Unbelievable! We should hang these up the second the tree is big enough!” you pull away, holding him at arm's length, “You’re amazing, Ryis!”

“They’re just birdhouses.” he says softly, cheeks warming at the praise, “But thank you. It was a lot of fun making them. They’re made out of the hardwood you gave me too, just so you know. I didn’t waste a single bit of it.”

Your heart swells impossibly larger.

“When it comes to you, nothing could ever be a waste.” you say softly, more intimately than you intended, but in the silence that follows you don’t take it back.

Ryis still looks bashful, the prettiest sight you’ve ever seen, and you know right then and there you want to stay in Mistria forever.

[coffeegnomee]

I feel like Ls!pangi doesn’t get talked about a lot like tr!pangi and I see analysis of other Lifestealers(mostly zam) and pangi just feels like a side piece for character development and want to see some love to ls!pangi

So Pangi on lifesteal doesn't get involved in the lore for like 90% of the time he is online. He used to a hell of a lot more back in s4, but around s5 he really started to hit his stride with his silly, more laid back video style. And in s6 he well full-out on making silly videos because he wanted to publish a video every single week from the start of the season to the end of the year. And in order to make people feel comfortable coming to his recordings, he became a pacifist and did not enter into the lore unless he found it absolutely necessary.

So that's the backstory on why people don't really write about ls!pangi. There just isn't that much to write about. And he isn't active, spending a lot of time on the realm (which is great).

He joked to Flame on the last session (saturday) that on lifesteal he is the weakest player, but on the realm he is the strongest. And that makes him approach the realm so completely differently.

That being said, his pacifism has strangely endeared himself to Flame, who generally hates pacifists but also loves Pangi's silly videos and wants to make sure Pangi can record. He went out of his way to help with the warden situation when mapicc dropped a bunch of wardens on Pangi's Christmas set, he helped stop the fire on the Christmas tree when Mane burnt it down and reprimanded Mane for being too much of a menace, and he is borrowing Pangi hearts (from his own secret backup in-case-i-get-banned-off-the-server-and-need-hearts stash) so all the chunguses involved in his Hunger Games will have 10 hearts.

Charmander duo is amazing and pangi's origin story with the lore is one of my favorite times of ls!pangi

In the early days of the season Flame decided to blow up spawn and Pangi decided to take it upon himself to talk to Flame, give him pseudo-therapy which turned into a really good mutual-understanding session that genuinely transformed Flame's mindset towards blowing up spawn more. He had Flame build a house and was incredibly supportive as Flame reluctantly approached building, and gently encouraged him to think about how much care people put into builds and how much pride you can have in your own accomplishments in building.

Flame was dead set in not playing along. Dead set in not getting any attachments to this house. Determined to say none of it mattered.

Pangi says he will blow up the house, to see what Flame really thinks. Flame gets really sad and asks him not to, and eventually Pangi relents giving the obvious analogy that clearly Flame care about this house and would rather not see it blown up, just as they would rather not see spawn be blown up.

The next day Flame threatens and does blow up spawn because nobody shows up for the fight, but when zam goes to investigate the damages, it is no where near as bad as the first time.

A couple days later, Pangi has been trying to coordinate the server into doing the 10v1 that Flame wants, but when he logs on, Mane starts being a menace to him. Mane stops being a menace to have a convo with Flame and Pangi about the fight, and everything is set. Pangi gets Flame to promise to make sure spawn doesn't get blown up again before the fight.

Pangi leaves but soon enough wemmbu shows up as well and starts threatening to blow up mapicc's castle. Pangi tries to get Flame to see that this is his responsibility, as a teammate of wemmbu, to prevent the destruction as per their agreement. Flame is lackluster and basically taking absolutely zero responsibility for wemmbu and mane, only saying he will not blow up spawn. Wemmbu is his ally, not teammate, he insists. This isn't good enough for Pangi, but Pangi leaves saying anything more and the deal is off.

Five minutes later Flame calls him back to his house, the one they built together. Wemmbu has blown it up. He mocked Flame for having a house then destroyed it in front of him despite Flame's pleas to stop. Flame is absolutely despondent about not being able to stop wemmbu in the slightest and doesn't know what to do. Pangi can see this is a huge struggle for Flame, but still insists Flame is the only one who can do anything; he can't and the server can't. They part for the evening.

Well, low and behold, mapicc was not happy in the slightest that wemmbu blew up his castle (for the second or third time at this point) and he tnt minecarted the circle of fighters that Pangi got together: 6 kills in one cart. It was legendary. Best cart in lifesteal history.

With the failure of this fight, Pangi gave up trying to be involved in the lore. He did what he could. Flame also more or less let go of the spawn battle, waiting a few weeks for a session and arriving with 1000 dogs and just killing whoever was around.

This was an Amazing series of Pangi lore, honestly one of my favorite couple of streams of the season. Watching Pangi genuinely approach the lore without great seriousness, actually using all of his brain to come up with ways to convince Flame and Mane and Wemmbu to stop, dealing with being helpless but pushing though despite it all because he believed Flame had a good heart. It was amazing pangi lore.

It was also in August. (8/25 to 8/29)

So.

Not too recent.

[keeksandgigz]

in the wind and in the water

eddie munson x reader

a/n: This came from my headcanon that Eddie is a Sagittarius close to Christmas and hates his birthday so uhh enjoy (can be read as being in the same universe of one breath in, three breaths out) for context, you and Eddie have moved out of Hawkins and are now going back for the holidays.

cw: 3.2k words, sad language, mention of parental death, mention of alcoholism, mention of PTSD, some fluffy bits, mention of younger Eddie being sad (that deserved a tw), just overall angst with a happy ending, no y/n, no physical description of reader

baby taglist: @kellyxo1, @cryingglightningg, @tlclick73 (do let me know if you wanna be tagged in any future works!)

inspired by chemtrails over the country club by lana del rey

please like, comment and reblog! feedback is always appreciated and my ask box is always open <3

December 21st, 1990

The snow is unforgiving. Much like the passage of time. He turns 24 today.

He's alone in his bed. The heating in the trailer hasn't been working properly for years, he shudders in the layers he wore to sleep, in the mountains of blankets Wayne had given him once he'd decided to retire for the night. His uncle had even offered to give him his heater, Eddie declined.

You'd arrived in Hawkins early in the afternoon, Eddie's van once again withstanding the drive to your parents' house, where he'd dropped you off.

He'd been offered to stay, but the thought of Wayne being alone even if he was in the same town made his heart shrivel like the gray leaves in your pretty front yard decorated for Christmas.

You'd asked if he needed you to stay with him, in case of any night terrors, but he'd refused. He didn't want to put you through the arctic temperatures of his room in the winter. Once he'd dropped you off with your family he drove off towards Forest Hills.

That place felt haunting during Christmastime. Not that it was any less creepy all- year round, but there was an eerie feeling in the dirty, grey snow, the holiday spirit that attempted to come alive over their side of town felt more like the last dying breath of Father Christmas.

The flickering colorful lights, empty, barren Christmas trees. He saw a bunch of kids playing in the dirty snow.

He prayed there weren't any glass shards from the bottle of some drunken father, coming home to screams and cries. He still remembers the feeling.

He'd eaten crappy TV dinners, missing your warm stews and soups you'd make around this time. Wayne had insisted he took the armchair. He sank into it with guilt overtaking him.

The only part of Hawkins he'd never wanted to leave behind.

He gets out of bed, carrying a makeshift cape made out of a blanket. He smiles to himself, his mom would've called him Superman, and he would've started running around the house with his fist straight in the air.

But today there's just him. Him and a fancy cupcake with a candle stabbed in it Wayne must have spent at least $30 on. A sticky note reads 'In the next town over for a job, will be home by 6. Happy Birthday, kid'

He exhales, he's tempted to drive over to you, but it's still too early and you, ever the late bird, are still asleep.

He pictures you in your small twin bed in some silly pajamas you found in your drawers, happily snoring in the warmth of your home. He misses you in the kitchen making coffee, dancing around to some jazz record you found in his pile.

He runs in his room, grabbing a lighter from his old weed stash, which now contains a dirty bong and a broken glass pipe and a yellow lighter with barely any fluid in it. He grabs it and goes back into the kitchen, lighting the candle on the small chocolate cupcake.

Make a wish! his mom would have said. Make a wish, Eddie!

His mind scrambles to find something. A do- over. To do his life again. Choose a better dad. Let his mom live. Be able to see his mom's smile again.

The wax falls over the white frosting while he ruminates. What good is a wish if it never comes true?

He blows the candle. "Happy Birthday to me" he's sarcastic about it. There's nothing happy with the way the Christmas tree in the corner seems to be staring back at him, as barren and as empty as his mind.

The white smoke from the candle envelops the kitchen as he sets it back down on a plate. He'll share it with you later.

Then he goes back into his room and lays on the floor, enveloped by three quilted blankets, and just stares at the ceiling.

Nobody ever remembered Eddie’s birthday. Except his mom. 

When he turned six she took him to get pancakes. She made sure they were extra special for him, a smiley face made out of chocolate chips adorned his breakfast as he drowned it in maple syrup. December 1972, there’s a polaroid of the two of them from that day he’d kept in an old run- down copy of The Hobbit. The one she’d gotten him that same day. 

When his mom died and he went to live with his dad, December 21st, 1973 was the year his birthday began to cease existing. “What do you need a birthday for, Junior? Christmas is right around the corner” his dad bellowed over a cup of spiked hot chocolate that was more whiskey than milk. 

Christmas 1973, Eddie's dad taught him to pick locks as a gift.

Sometimes, his dad wasn’t even around for his birthday. He spent his day cooped up in his home, scrounging for whatever he could eat. He’d learned to hate Christmas. And his birthday. 

One December, after being left at home for a week, on Christmas day, Wayne came to visit. He came to wish Al and Eddie Merry Christmas, bringing some socks for the kid.

When he opened the door, Wayne found Eddie on the couch eating stale cereal dust.

“Where’s your dad, kid?” Wayne had asked. Eddie just shrugged.

“He’ll be back.” Christmas 1975.

Wayne looked around the house. Eddie had learned to use a stove, but not to wash the dishes. A pile of them sat precariously in the sink, the odor emanating from there made the man assume Eddie had grown nose blind to it.

He’d also not been taught to shower regularly, as he found a ball of matted hair in the back of Eddie’s skull. Grown nose blind to his own smell, too. He sighed.

“My mommy would brush my hair for me” the kid protested.

After many wails and I hate yous, Eddie was brought back to Wayne’s trailer, where they spent the rest of Christmas day trying to get rid of the matted hair.

After a couple hours, Wayne had grown tired, seeing little to no progress. As a man of not really much patience and resources, he’d grabbed his razor and some kitchen scissors and shaved Eddie’s head.

Christmas 1975, the year Eddie got a buzz cut as a present.

He'd kept that same buzz cut all through the end of elementary until seventh grade. "Good for lice," Wayne explained.

Eddie had mentioned in passing that his dad always forgot his birthday. Wayne’s ears perked up.

“When’s your birthday, kid?” he’d asked, leaning forward on the armchair while Eddie was playing with some sort of action figures he’d drawn on paper.

“Oh, December 21st” then he went back to his game.

Wayne ran to the calendar he kept hanging on the kitchen wall and scrolled through the pages. He grabbed a pen and wrote Eddie’s Birthday in bold red letters. He never forgot another one.

So when you came around, after everything that had happened in Hawkins, his birthday was the last of his problems. You'd met in one of the makeshift infirmaries spread throughout the town. He called you his 'cot buddy.' After the summer, you both were able to move back into your houses.

You hung out pretty much almost every day, not really bothering to put a label on whatever it was that was happening between the both of you. Enjoying and reveling in each other's company, healing. Also kissing.

Unprompted you’d asked him “So… what are we doing next week?”

The hairs on his neck stood straight, in fear he’d forgotten a date. 

“Sorry, sweetheart, I don’t mean to be stupid, but what’s next week?” he’d asked, sheepish, scared you were gonna get mad at him. 

“Your birthday, silly. I asked around. Tell me why Dustin had to hack into your old student files to get that information. Nobody knew when your birthday was” you laughed “I literally asked everyone. It’s like you’ve never been born” you said. 

He thought it was irrelevant. All his friends would go on winter vacation after final exams, there was no one to celebrate his birthday with but Uncle Wayne. He’d take him to see a movie, use his savings to treat him to something that wasn’t TV dinners or Spaghettios.   

After that conversation you two had, you’d made it a tradition to bake him a cake. Chocolate with cream cheese frosting. You’d put together a party for him at your house. Invited all his friends. You’d get him two presents. One for his birthday, one for Christmas. 

On Christmas day you’d handed him a box, he looked at you confused. 

“What’s all this about? I already got my gift, hon. Literally four days ago, that new vest was really cool, see I’m wearing it right now” he said, pointing at his new denim battle  vest. 

“That was your birthday gift, Ed. This is Christmas” you smiled at him. 

He’d never felt more loved before. His friends pitched in and had gotten him a new record player as both a birthday and Christmas present. You’d gotten him a bunch of new records. Megadeth, Anthrax, Slayer.

His eyes did light up like a kid on Christmas day.

Christmas 1986, the year Eddie got a girlfriend. And some sick presents.

A knocking startles him. He’d fallen asleep on the floor, wrapped up in blankets.

He looks at his watch. 2:00 pm.

Groggy, he stands up and slides his hands in the pockets of his sweater and goes to see who it is.

“Ed!! Ed, c’mon open up! I'm freezing out here” it’s you.

He opens the door and you run in, seeking refuge from the snow. You’re holding a small box. You look so pretty, face bitten by the cold, making the tips of your ears and nose a pretty blushy shade.

"Took you long enough" you huff "I was about to get hypothermia"

“Why’d you drive all the way here, hun? That snow looks pretty bad” he says, rubbing your coat to get the snowflakes off of you.

“Well, yeah, but it’s your birthday! I made a cake” you gesture towards the white box in your hands.

“Sweetheart, you didn’t have to” he smiles, and pressed a kiss to your cold forehead, riddled with snow. You never have to. The fact that you want to do such nice things to him is still something he struggles to wrap his head around. He helps you out of your puffy coat, grabbing you a warm blanket from his room.

"Why'd you bring it here? I thought we were gonna go to your house?" he said as you shed the layers you'd wrapped yourself in.

"Too much family at my house, we have my aunt from Virginia staying with us, and my grandparents. You don't wanna meet 'em, trust me" you laugh.

"You told everyone to meet here? You could've told me, baby, the trailer's a mess" he scrambles to pick up some dirty mugs from the coffee table.

"It's okay, Ed, I'll help you. Come here for now" you circle the counter to put the cake down.

He huffs, giving you a kiss on top of your head.

“So, what have you been doing here, birthday boy?” you nudge him, opening the cake box.

“You know, the usual. Despair about the passage of time, be sad about my mom, be sad about my dad, blow a candle and make a wish” he smiles half-heartedly. It makes you sad that he’s never able to fully enjoy his birthday.

“I’m sorry, Ed. I know your birthday is never an ideal date for you. Anything I can do to help?” you quip, smiling at him from the counter.

“The cake you made looks like it could be a good contender,” he smiles. You open the box, a simple chocolate cake with frosting says “Happy Birthday Eddie!” in bold chocolate letters. His heart feels like it's doubled in size since he woke up.

He gives you a kiss on the crown of your head as you reach into your purse, a packet of candles in your hand.

“Do you have a lighter?” you ask, kicking yourself for forgetting it. He tosses the almost- dead yellow lighter at you.

You stab the cake with the candles. You’d bought 24. He smiles, no one had ever done something like that for him before you.

You sing to him. The lights of the candles hitting your cold bitten face, making your eyes look shiny, like you had the sun from within.

Happy birthday to you,

Happy birthday to you,

Happy birthday dear Eddie.

Happy birthday to you!

He breathes in, then blows out the candles while you clap contentedly, the white smoke of the candles dissolving into the air between the two of you. Setting the cake down, he gives you a kiss.

It's a soft kiss, full of gratefulness. Full of the thank yous he'll never get to tell you, just because you'll jokingly roll your eyes with the amount of times he'll say it. It's a sad kiss, a kiss that makes you remind him of his mom, the softness and gentleness with which she'd hold him. The kindness she'd show him, the same kindness you gave and continue to give him.

The kindness he wasn't allowed to have throughout his life, with the names and the threats and the beatings.

A whole town turning on a twenty year- old kid.

The kindness his dad had never given him, coming back whenever he needed money, or a place to hide. His rainy day funds raided, with no trace of Al Munson in sight.

Your kisses taste like summer, summer of '86, when he kissed you for the first time. High and clumsy in the back of his van, being too much of a pussy to ask you if you wanted to be with him.

His eyes become watery, almost like his thoughts materialize in the reflection of your eyes, where he can see himself. Tall, sad, Eddie the freak. Eddie the freak who just wanted to be loved, who wanted to be accepted.

He isn't a religious guy by any means, but your kisses feel like a baptism. Everything has been washed away by your love, forgiven for things he's never done. Sins he'd never committed, absolved by the taste of your lips, the feeling of his hands holding your waist, as if to never let you go.

The way you hold his face, cold, shivering hands against the feel of the slight stubble of his jaw. He'd manipulate the weather so you'd never feel cold, he'd bring down the heavens and hell to not make you feel any pain.

A tear falls down his cheek, too many emotions, too many thoughts. It collides with your thumb, you break away from the kiss.

"You okay, Ed?" you press your lips to his cheek, kissing the lone tear away.

He's okay, he just gets overwhelmed by all the love you have for him. He nods.

"Just miss my mom, 's all" he sniffles, then smiles.

"I'm sure she would've been so happy to see her baby turn twenty- four" you reach for a knife to cut the cake.

"No, split this with me" he says, showing you the small cupcake "Save the cake for when everyone gets here, Wayne probably spent a fortune for this one single cupcake" he chuckles.

You cut the cupcake in half, clinking the two halves together as one would two overflowing cups of champagne.

"They'll be coming in a couple hours. I already took care of food and everything, but I came here 'cause I wanted to give you my gift" you say, it never gets easy, getting him gifts. He's so tight lipped about needing things sometimes you just don't know what to get him.

"You didn't have to do that. The cake and the party are enough, sweetheart" he whispers, giving you a soft kiss between chocolate crumbs.

You reach for your bag on the counter, extracting a small black box from it.

"Happy Birthday, Ed" you say, nervous he might not like it.

Words become hard to fabricate, so he gives you a tight smile, almost embarrassed, guilty, you did this for him.

He opens the small, square box. He's not really sure what it is at first, but the nylon and cotton feeling feels familiar. The leather ends, with a loop in between. The red stitching. It's a guitar strap.

He gingerly takes it out of the box, bated breath, holding it horizontally.

The red stitching on the strap says Corroded Coffin, with a red border. But his favorite thing is his initials and yours on the end of the strap, right above the leather bit. He smiles. A smile so wide that you could have been blinded by it.

"I didn't know what to get you, just everything felt so, like, obvious and cliche. I had my mom help me" you rambled timidly.

"It's perfect, honey, thank you" he goes to hold you, guitar strap still in hand. As if it held the fabric of time and space itself, he refused to let it go.

Once he lets go of you, muttering thank you, baby's and i love it, it's so perfect's he grabs his guitar, crackled red and black paint chipped by the passage of time. He changes the straps and plays a few riffs, deft fingers moving across the fretboard, the sadness of the twenty minutes before seems to have vanished, as he spends the rest of his afternoon playing around with his guitar.

You clean up, and at around 6, Wayne comes back with the food you'd requested him to go pick up. All of Eddie's favorites from the diner he'd used to go with his mom. The smiley pancakes, the spaghetti and meatballs, the little sausage and eggs and pizza pockets. His smile is as wide as you've ever seen it, thoroughly shocked that you'd remembered everything he'd told you.

At 7, all his friends start to arrive, bringing him baskets of sweets, cookies, presents. The parties the years before had never been this large- scale. Or maybe the trailer is just small.

Everyone goes outside, wrapped up in their winter clothes that quickly become too hot as they play with the dirty snow, checking for glass shards in every one. In the lights of the shitty street lamps, Eddie is throwing a snow ball at Steve, and Robin throws one back at Eddie. You have a video camera in your hand, documenting every single moment of Eddie's night. His night.

He's frost bitten, his nose and the tips of his ears sticking out from the knitted hat Nancy had gotten him. His smile infectious as he hides behind a car after having thrown a ball at Steve's team. Everyone's on a sugar high, giggly and happy, reveling in the snow, the looming holidays making everything feel a bit lighter.

He opens up birthday presents and eats pancakes until he feels sick. But he's never felt better.

Everyone leaves at the late hours of the night. You decide to stay over, albeit the bite of the cold that forces the both of you to huddle close for warmth. Neither of you complain. Your house is too crowded anyway.

December 21st, 1990. Eddie Munson has had the best birthday of his life.

[annaizscribbling]

The Farmer is a Cryptid (pt 6) Penny

(Pt 1)

The farmer was doing that … thing again.

Penny tried not to judge, it was just something that happened. She just waited it out.

Everybody had their little quirks, even herself. When reading an especially engaging novel, she may sometimes accidentally find herself making faces based off whatever feeling the characters in the book were having. Sam laughed at her once, and she was too embarrassed to read in public for what was probably an amount of time more embarrassing than the original incident. But Sam had silly habits too! He always sticks his tongue out in concentration when skateboarding or licks the side of his pint at the bar to get the condensation off like an animal. He can hardly make fun of her, not that that stops him. Oh, she doesn’t do well being teased.

What was she thinking about? Oh. Yes. Silly her. The farmer.

The farmer was lovely. Always so helpful, ready to lend a hand with pretty much any favor Penny had ever asked of her. And oh how the children adored her. The farmer was a quiet sort, which could mean empty air when they were alone, as Penny (most especially when they first met) was too shy for her own good. But in that quiet, she showed such care. The farmer usually had a few treats on hand for the children. Penny nearly lost Vincent a few times because he spotted the farmer and darted off to go grab her hand and drag her over to tell him all about a rock or bug he found.

And then the farmer would usually do that thing. If Vincent cared, he didn’t say so. Really, nobody seemed to ever bring it up. But Penny found it so odd.

Anway, Jas loved her too. She would hold onto little wild flowers to trade with the farmer, who always seemed to keep a small stash of fairy roses on hand. They would exchange flowers, one tiny, wilted daffodil or sweet pea for a rose that Penny suspects is quite valuable. She’s pretty sure the farmer has done rather well for herself and Sebastian. After all, the farmer built a house for she and her mother, and probably much more than she’d take credit for. The farmer really was a gem. Being kind, generous, hardworking, and of course, being great with children was so important, and for them to love her that much? Truly lovely.

And she was so strong! Penny once saw the farmer lift Leah into a tree on her shoulders without so much as breaking a sweat. It was impressive, because the farmer was not very large, though she did seem pretty toned. Not that Penny can estimate strength very well, she herself was rather delicate. Mom always called her fragile and a bit too pale. She meant well at least, and admittedly, it was true. Penny was rather weak …

The same couldn’t be said of the farmer. Sigh. With her golden tanned skin dotted with warm sun freckles. Those steady, capable hands. Her defined arm muscles, always visible thanks to the sleeveless little shirts she wears. Penny could only wish to look so capable—and confident! So confident. Not brash like Alex or larger than life like Caroline. But a self-assuredness she wished she could have too. The farmer was different, she stuck out in a way no other villager seemed to. That sort of feeling would have Penny hiding her face and staying away forever if in the farmer’s shoes.

But the farmer didn’t hide. Didn’t change. She was unapologetically different. She—

She’s still doing it?

Penny pressed her thin lips into a line, looking at the farmer.

How is she still doing the thing? Penny had been lost in thought staring at the farmer for some time now, and the farmer hadn’t so much as twitched. Was she even breathing? Blinking?

The thing that the farmer seemed so fond of doing was such a puzzle. It usually happened when asked a question, though sometimes even when unprovoked. She’ll just stare into space. Sometimes for a few seconds, which Penny would find pretty normal, everybody gets lost in though from time to time. But usually, the farmer did it for minutes at a time. Just stared into the sky, or at the floor. Or worse, sometimes directly at somebody. Her face would stay completely blank despite her eyes being open. Minutes at a time, once for 30 whole minutes. Completely idle.

Penny shyly waved a hand in front of the farmer’s eyes. Nothing.

Just still staring … the farmer was still staring. This time at the sun. Surely, she was blinding herself … right?

Penny had just been making conversation, she had run into the farmer outside of Pierre’s after picking up a few groceries, including some rhubarb for a recipe she was going to try. Cooking was so hard, and lately, nothing had been turning out right. So she wanted to get out of her comfort zone (well, maybe saying “comfort zone” sort of implied she was comfortable with how any of her regular dishes turned out. She was not, and other people don’t seem to comfortable either) and cook with something new. Rhubarb seemed exciting enough. Penny explained all this, then causally asked if the farmer had grown much rhubarb on her farm.

The farmer had nodded agreeably, blowing her curly bangs out of her face. Her beautiful hair, always perfect, even after a long day of working the field to fishing by the ocean. How does she do it …?

What had she been saying? Right. Rhubarb Penny smiled, “oh you have grown it? How much?”

Then she did that thing. Again.

The farmer paused to think, then just … checked out. She stared into space for what was going on two or three minutes now. Penny nervously smiled at Evelyn across the town square, who smiled back and waved, either oblivious to the farmer staring into the void or simply unbothered. Perhaps aging just meant not caring so much. Pemnny sometimes wondered what type of elderly person she would make. Probably a shy one.

Penny fretted awkwardly, shifting on the balls of her feet. Maybe Sebastian was around? Her husband probably knew what to do.

Penny was about to try calling the farmer’s name to snap her out of it, but she suddenly blinked for the first time since originally zoning out. Her eyes must be so dry.

“138,” the farmer said at last, acting as if the minutes of silence hadn’t happened at all.

“Oh. Um. 138 what …?” Penny asked hesitantly, wringing her hands. She craned her neck to look over the farmer’s shoulders, trying to catch a glimpse of Dr. Harvey near the door to the clinic, maybe the poor farmer was having some sort of medical episode?

“138 rhubarb sold,” the farmer says matter of factly.

“You … right. Okay.” Penny nodded slowly, eyebrows pinched together. “Are you feeling alright?”

The farmer nodded once, tilting her head inquisitively as if ignorant of Penny’s confusion.

“… okay.” Penny managed a smile, because that was the second half of the farmer’s thing. She would know or remember things after zoning back in. Penny once read a novel where a genius would retreat into his own mind to find information he stored away. Maybe the farmer was some sort of … rhubarb farming genius.

The farmer stayed in comfortable silence. Not comfortable for Penny, but the farmer certainly seemed at ease. Penny wasn’t sure she’d ever seen her look remotely uncomfortable.

As she said goodbye to the farmer, giving her a quick hug, Penny couldn’t help but wonder if she really was a genius of some type. Eccentric people often are in the books she reads. Well, she supposed it didn’t really matter. The farmer was just different. Strange. Strong. Different

She ended up finding a poppy in her pocket as she unlocked the front door to her house.

Genius or not. The farmer was kind.

[osamucide]

ADA secret santa . . . .ᐟ

wc: 1.4k

cw: crack, everyone is a menace, no reader included, probably some ooc, language, alcohol, drug mentions, suggestive gifts but nothing strictly nsfw, this is really just silliness

reid: happy christmas to those who celebrate! this was fun to write and think about i hope you guys enjoy and get a kick out of imagining this chaotic group being a dysfunctional family as much as i do

. . . .ᐟ

first things first: who gets who?

just like everything else at the agency, it’s a fucking ordeal.

dazai writes down everyone’s names to draw out of kenji’s hat, but he’s given them all nicknames, some more horrendous than others, and kunikida’s standing at the whiteboard writing down everyone’s favorite colors and t-shirt sizes when naomi pulls a name and asks, “who is ‘bawss bitch’?”

“president fukuzawa, duh,” dazai chirps.

cue face-palms and eye-rolls around the room.

“naomi, draw again. the whole point is that no one else kn-“

“thanks, ranpo, we know the point.” yosano reaches into the hat for herself. “who is . . . ‘tightass’?”

everyone glances to kunikida, who freezes and turns slowly, threateningly, toward the bandaged menace.

dazai tries so hard to contain his laugh, but ends up snorting unceremoniously.

so, commence kunikida choking him out and demanding he write down everyone’s proper goddamn names so they all know what the hell is going on. atsushi’s on it, copying everyone’s legal, government-registered first and last name down onto one sticky note each, and the drawing restarts.

names are distributed. instructions follow. yosano lovingly requests the biggest bottle of tequila the budget will allow.

the office party will start on christmas eve at 6pm.

. . .

naomi’s forcing junichiro into the ugliest, most uncomfortable-looking matching sweater anyone in the office has ever seen in all of their days (it’s got glitter-hot glue balls and messily sown-in sequins all over it. it’s hard to tell if it depicts something festive or if it’s the cover of lil wayne’s 1999 studio album tha block is hot).

yosano has cracked into the bottle of wine she’s kept stashed under her desk all day and is drinking straight from it.

ranpo’s encouraging her to chug while he makes a sizable dent in the huge tray of cookies provided by fukuzawa.

atsushi’s on the verge of tears because he’s never celebrated christmas with anyone who cares about him before, and kenji’s doing a mediocre job at consoling him.

dazai has brought eggnog and announces to everyone, at the exact moment that kunikida finishes off his third glass, that it’s spiked.

kyoka’s dragging haruno toward the group, where she places a reindeer antler-headband atop the older girl’s head. kyoka smiles so purely at her. it puts the fear of god into poor haruno.

it is 6:08pm.

once junichiro’s in his sweater and thoroughly suffering and atsushi’s stopped hiccuping, fukuzawa summons everyone around the tiny office tree for secret santa.

and here’s who got who.

. . .

president fukuzawa has drawn ranpo’s name for the third year in a row. he always goes with some sort of snack, but this year he found these on etsy and couldn’t resist.

the boss lets out a chuckle. everyone is jazzed. atsushi covers kyoka’s eyes. ranpo sticks his tongue out at fukuzawa (but cracks into the bag immediately).

. . .

ranpo drew yosano.

yosano lets out an unhinged laugh and puts it on. ranpo, mouth full of gummy dicks, lovingly retrieves a bottle of tequila from hiding. already half a bottle of wine and two glasses of eggnog in, yosano throws her arms around the great detective for a siblingly hug. atsushi is covering kyoka’s eyes again. he wonders if he’ll have to do this for every present.

. . .

yosano got kunikida.

“sorry, I couldn’t find an actual prescription.” kunikida’s lips are pursed in disappointment, not out of lack of appreciation but for shame in her joke. everyone knows it holds weight. dazai is on his ass laughing. kunikida remarks how he’s been needing a back pillow for his desk chair anyway. atsushi has his head in his hands.

. . .

kunikida got junichiro.

dazai and ranpo are nodding solemnly. no one is laughing because it’s true other than naomi who insists kunikida really does have a sense of humor. wow!

. . .

junichiro drew dazai’s name.

“awww!” dazai croons, holding it to his chest before going to place it on his desk next to his nameplate. “tanizaki, I’m so glad you think so.” again, everyone knows it’s true and laughs because of it this time.

. . .

dazai got fukuzawa.

it’s extra funny to dazai at this point because the boss is such a cat guy and also he and yosano have already snuck off cousins-at-thanksgiving style outside to smoke whatever (all while he’s on his way to being plastered. yosano’s the resident alcoholic, yes, but no one can ever truly contain dazai’s festive substance use). fukuzawa laughs - it has to be an effect of the alcohol on him too, everyone thinks, because no way would the stoic man ever crack a smile at such a gift let alone actually use this fucking mousepad. dazai tells him he’ll cry if he doesn’t see it on his desk next week.

. . .

a break proceeds because kunikida swears something got fucked up in the drawing process now that half of them have looped around. yosano, dazai, and ranpo are doing tequila shots. haruno explains to kunikida that it’s fine - someone had to go first - and they should just pick someone to start the second round of gifts. kunikida’s scribbling in his notebook trying to figure out what they screwed up. kenji insists that they’re already playing the game, there’s no point in trying to rewrite it now as long as everyone has a gift! kunikida looks visibly intoxicated like he’s about to pop a vein in his forehead, so kenji just laughs nervously and takes the reins. he tells kyoka to go next.

. . .

kyoka drew haruno.

it’s in a pretty purple bag, christmas spirit somewhat lost upon the child. atsushi almost starts crying again (dazai’s been slipping him eggnog). kyoka’s already assembled and glued the flower together. haruno smiles appreciatively. it will go on the front desk.

. . .

haruno got naomi.

no one expects this from haruno but it’s a huge hit, especially juxtaposed with junichiro’s gift from kunikida. it’s a book cover over a blank notebook and the only thing she apologizes for is that it doesn’t say “sibling.” naomi is red in the face and forcing a laugh. dazai and yosano are a second away from hoisting the girl up on their shoulders like she just made a winning touchdown. atsushi’s head is in his hands again.

. . .

naomi got atsushi.

it’s him if he was a single-celled organism, kenji remarks. atsushi is wholeheartedly pleased with this gift and gives naomi an extremely awkward hug. he holds onto it like a lifeline for the rest of the night.

. . .

atsushi pulled kenji’s name.

he wasn’t sure how seriously to take the gift, but he thought these were fitting. kenji beams and jumps up and down and hugs atsushi so tight the older boy starts to go blue in the face.

. . .

and finally, kenji drew kyoka.

kyoka wants the spiderman one. kenji obliges.

. . .

new and old traditions alike arise; yosano and ranpo each gift each other $20. fukuzawa has given both of them the $20. it's a ritual they refuse to let die. dazai tries to get kunikida to do a shot out of his mouth which leads to shouting and beating. atsushi sits both of them down on the couch and forces them to drink water and be nice to each other. naomi, haruno, and junichiro pick out a christmas movie to project onto the wall as background noise; they settle on a cheesy musical hallmark movie suspiciously similar to the one they put on last year. kyoka and kenji join ranpo in raiding the dessert table. yosano is singing! she is trying to get everyone to sing with her. dazai is the only one who joins. he is wearing the i ♥️ cock(tails) hat. they start with silent night and end with skeeyee by sexyy red.

before long, drunken detectives fall into their chairs and couches with blankets and plates of sweets to get comfy for home alone 2. dazai wants a whole couch to himself but that's unfair, so he settles for stretching his gangly ass legs across kunikida and tanizaki. kyoka and kenji curl up on the floor in a pile of blankets; the girl looks on the verge of sleep. naomi and haruno squeeze into a chair; yosano finds herself flat on the ground, nearly finished bottle of wine in hand; ranpo's feet are kicked up on the nearest desk and he sits in his chair near fukuzawa, who overlooks his employees with tired satisfaction. atsushi glances around at his his colleagues, and for as unhinged as they are, he feels lucky to have a group of people so welcoming to call his friends. all is peaceful and happy, except for ranpo's incessant burping and yosano's eventual snoring. it's fine.

merry fucking christmas.

[bluedilute]

I got bored so I decided to share some of my headcanons for Venture. I can't stop thinking about them so I thought this would help

I'll also probably add more as I think of them, so this list might change a little over time

Also no warnings, completely sfw

¤ Their background says they constantly come back from assignments covered in dirt and bruises, which makes me think they probably forget to drink water or eat food often

¤ They're either autistic or have ADHD or both. There's no way this person is neurotypical

¤ I read someone saying that they think Venture is kinda closed-off, and I honestly find that hard to believe. They have an interaction where they told a literal stranger (Lúcio) that they've always wanted to be eaten alive by scarabs. That's not a closed-off or normal thing to say

¤ They're definitely an oversharer. They obviously have the foresight that there's some things they shouldn't tell certain people (I.E. telling an enemy/rival key information) but if it's an everyday acquaintance they'll talk about anything

¤ Eats rocks

¤ That was a joke but seriously they'd definitely fw those chocolate rocks and might have a stash of them somewhere for snacking. I used to eat those all the time but I had them so much I eventually got sick of them. Haven't had one in a few years

¤ I feel like they were one of those kids who couldn't wait to find out what their Christmas presents are so their older family members had to keep an eye on them so they didn't snoop around the tree

¤ Related, they don't seem religious at all, but I think they and their family would still celebrate Christmas anyways, as a family holiday

¤ Also related, their family is probably pretty huge. I like to think their parents are both from Mexico and they just moved to Canada where they had Venture, and all of their family is in Mexico. Probably Dorado

¤ Their Abuelita they mention in Dorado is probably some kind of Historian or even also an archeologist, and loves hearing her grandbaby talk about their passion

¤ They definitely like old people. They always have a bunch of stories from when they were younger, and Venture would love hearing about them

¤ They'd like old music. 1970s-1990s for the most part, since it would technically be old music by then (it is 2077 in the ow universe). Their favorite band from back then is probably Queen

¤ Would love learning about unsolved mysteries. They'd totally watch those essay videos about weird unsolved crimes, and would honestly probably crack a case or two

¤ Their background says they had an affinity for finding lost things since they were a child, so I feel like they'd pick up on things that most people don't, which most of the time happens to relate to things from the past

¤ They would cuddle their friends. Based on their dialogue, they're a very open and kind person, so I think they'd view cuddling as more of an act of trust rather than something you do with a romantic partner

¤ I think they drink alcohol, but never that much. Even on special fancy occasions or whatever, I don't think they'd have too much to drink. They'd probably stick with mocktails mostly

¤ They have a ton of tattoos from cultures all over the world, mostly with some kind of symbolism of the past

¤ Being a historical archeologist, I think they also dabble in natural history. They'd think the titanoboa skeleton is super cool

¤ Also queer history, they'd probably be knowledgeable about that. Destroys homophobes and transphobes with historical facts and logic

-- --

Thank you for taking some time to read my silly little headcanons! I hope ya liked them

[intothedysphoria]

“You’re telling me that the shit that snapped her out of it was Kate fucking Bush? God, that’s embarrassing.”

Steve wasn’t quite sure how they’d found Billy but they’d found him regardless. Sleeping in the trees, eating demobat meat for food. Hopper thought he’d just lost it, like his buddy had in Vietnam. Billy seemed fine though, perfectly lucid and no injuries that had the potential to be fatal.

So they took him in. He took a swing at several of the doctors who tried to have a look at him, until only Joyce was allowed to help. From what Steve understand, he’d spent most of the past week with his feet on the couch, being fed chicken soup.

Well, if anyone deserved the royal treatment it was Billy. God knows Steve had tried to give it to him. That is until he fucked up and Billy threw the promise ring into a bonfire.

Steve still replayed that night on a loop, alone in his bed. All the wrong things he’d said, bad decisions he’d made.

He was going to have many knarly scars draped across his back and spilling onto his chest. The Party, even though they would never officially admit to liking Billy, talked admiringly about them constantly. Steve had even heard Dustin call him a badass. Far, far cooler than Steve.

They were part of a small few who’d been allowed to know that Billy was alive, which led Steve to where he was now. Awkwardly perching on a chair in Joyce Byers sitting room, listening to Billy hold court to a raggedy pack of fifteen year olds and a fussing Joyce Byers.

She’d put some peonies in a jar for him. They’d always been Billy’s favourite flower. Steve still remembered Billy threading them into his hair, a proper crown for King Steve. It was what he’d brought to Billy’s grave too. After the funeral. A faggot like Steve wasn’t worthy of his son, Neil had said.

Max was loudly protesting, insisting that Kate Bush was cool. She’d cut her hair shorter so that it came just shy of tickling her shoulders. The doctors weren’t sure if she’d ever walk again. Steve didn’t think she seemed to care. Not now that she’d got her brother back.

Jonathan was fiddling with the radio, changing the station every other song because the past one had been too mainstream. Steve had been happy to tune it out as background noise until The Beatles came on and he winced.

From across the room, Billy winced too.

The months of Steve wearing out his record of Stawberry Fields Forever as he painted Billy. Just his face and chest, even though Billy had suggested post coitus and wiggled his eyebrows. Steve would pretend to be disgusted and push him away, only to pull him back and kiss him silly five seconds later.

They were high most of that spring of course, with the occasional dip into shrooms from Eddie’s stash. Of course being high was no excuse, but it was the only one Steve had.

The feeling of wailing into Neil with his bat had been goddamn euphoric until Billy pulled him off, face puce. He’d yelled for a good hour about how the police could have got involved (Billy hated cops), his income kept them from homelessness and maybe Steve, Billy didn’t fucking want to be saved. That, and the incident had ended up outing Billy completely.

They hadn’t talked since then. Billy wasn’t exactly quick to forgive and Steve hadn’t much felt like testing his luck. Until they were in the same room together, Steve with a chunk torn out of his side by a demobat and Billy with more scars than Steve could even count.

And Billy was looking at him. Not glaring, just considering. The Party had gone through what song they all thought could have saved them and then turned to pestering Steve who mumbled something about the new WHAM album.

Billy snorted from the corner. They both knew that wasn’t the real song Steve would have chosen.

To keep up appearances, Steve pivoted and said in a voice far more confident than he actually was:

“Oh and what metal crap would your song be Hargrove?”

Billy could have hit him. Maybe should have. But he didn’t. Instead he did something he hadn’t done in a long time.

He cocked his head knowingly and smiled at Steve, the way he’d used to before Steve had violated his trust and ruined what they had.

“Oh and for the record Harrington- the song that would have saved me is Strawberry Fields forever. Got a soft spot for The Beatles ya know.”

Only Steve knew what that really meant.

Steve, baby, everything is forgiven.

[techhasmjolnir]

Fill in the Blank

The Bad Batch (all members) x GN! Reader

Plot: It's not too long after you and the boys rescue Omega from Kamino, and you're trying to lie low until the heat on all of you dies down. The forest moon of Endor is your current hideaway, and you're trying to kill time one night by playing a simple game...

Author's Notes:

I apologize in advance for this, because it's exceptionally stupid, and I absolutely love it. I came up with this after having a conversation about what kinds of games the Batch might enjoy, and I casually mentioned it would be hysterical to play the classic silly party game, Mad Libs, with them. There's not much action in this story as it's heavy on dialogue, so if that's not really your thing, you might want to skip this one. If you want complete brain rot, then this is for you.

Important Notes: This can be considered a (mostly) SFW story. The NSFW content could technically constitute profanity, sexually suggestive terms, and straight up gross descriptions...you know, the way Mad Libs is supposed to be played! There's also an admixture of words from the SW universe along with common words we use on Earth. Just getting that out there before someone has to leave a comment of, “that doesn't exist in Star Wars...” Shhhh. This is my story. Be quiet.

Nobody was exactly thrilled with Tech's suggestion to seek refuge on the forest moon of Endor, but after liberating Omega from Kamino, you were left with few options for sanctuary. With credits low and rations even lower, Hunter relented, and now you've been in seclusion for nearly a galactic week while waiting to hear from a fixer you knew on Ord Mantell. Having Omega with you complicated everything, and it was a rude awakening trying to adjust to her boundless energy, enthusiasm, and curiosity. You and the guys tried to keep her occupied, but it became a struggle very quickly.

You planted the suggestion of having a bonfire one night to break the monotony of always piling back into the Marauder at nightfall, in addition to providing some type of enrichment for Omega. Omega was especially excited because she had never experienced one before, and Wrecker offered immediately to go look for kindling – with Omega in tow. You hoped this would be relaxing for everyone and at least for awhile, help take their minds off the gravity of the situation. It didn't take long for them to locate an assortment of downed branches and a few dry logs, and in minutes, Wrecker had the fire going.

“Don't get too close, 'Meg,” Wrecker cautioned. “It's real easy to burn yourself, and then you'll look like me!”

“Wrecker, don't tease her like that,” Echo chided as he slid down to the ground and leaned against a decaying tree stump. “More like, don't frighten her.”

“I'm not scared!” Omega interjected as she went to sit beside Hunter, stretching out her arms and legs, basking in the radiant heat. “I'll stay right here by Hunter, where it's safe.”

“It is safe everywhere as long as you stay close to us, Omega. For now, please try and relax,” Tech called as he emerged from theMarauder with datapad in hand, tapping on it as he sat down next to you, Crosshair on your other side.

“I see you didn't bring the spotchka with you, Tech,” you said with amusement as you nudged his shoulder. “Yes, I know all about the stash you guys have onboard. It's an unspoken rule that having a campfire means you're supposed to do at least a little imbibing. Maybe tell a few stories, dare people to do stupid things... You know, unwind and have fun.”

“Might I ask how you knew about –”

“It doesn't matter, Tech. I'll go get it. After the events of the past week, I think we could all use a drink,” Crosshair interrupted as he stood up and disappeared into the ship, and returned with not one, but several bottles cradled in his arms, and a small stack of cups balanced carefully in one hand.

Hunter glared at him disapprovingly, then looked down at Omega's small form nestled against him as if to say, “Really? In front of the kid?”

“What? One's for me and you can split the rest,” Crosshair said as he tossed a bottle to Wrecker and set the other down by you and Tech, then returned to his spot, not bothering to use a cup in favor of taking a long swig straight from the bottle.

“Well, I would say 'cheers,' but since there's not much to cheer about, how about “here's to surviving another day,” you said a little more solemnly than you intended as you raised your cup, the the rest of them following suit.

Silence reigned uncomfortably for awhile as you all started to loosen up, all the anxiety and tension leaching out with each mouthful of spotchka. You caught yourself staring across the fire at Hunter and Omega, his arm curled around her protectively. Shadows danced across her tiny face as she grew mesmerized by the way the flames licked at the firewood, and memories of you as a child sitting around fires with your friends flooded your mind. Then it dawned on you that there was a game you always used to play with them on nights like these that never failed to leave all of you exhausted from laughing.

“All right, this feels too much like a funeral, boys. This is not what having a fire is supposed to be like,” you said as you put down your cup. “I have something that should significantly lighten the mood.” You got up and everyone turned to watch you dash off to the ship, wondering what you were up to. When you returned, you held a few small books, a pen, and some water for Omega.

“Ta-da! I just remembered I had these. I keep them on hand for cheap entertainment during those long, boring hyperspace trips, when browsing the HoloNet won't suffice.”

“Hm? What do you have there?” Tech asked, adjusting his goggles as he tried to read the title of the topmost book.

“This,” you said triumphantly, “is only the greatest party game to ever exist. It's a classic on my homeworld, and I think you all might really like it. It's a word game—”

Wrecker groaned, then downed the rest of his spotchka. “A word game? That doesn't sound fun at all.”

“You didn't let me finish! This is a game for people who don't like games,” you said, purposely turning to look at Crosshair, who shrugged at you. You looked over at Wrecker and continued, “One person picks a story that has certain words omitted, and they don't tell the players what it's about. Instead, the players are asked to provide words to fill in the blank spaces in the story. When the story is finished, it's read back to the players and then they discover just how hilarious, shocking, gross, or just plain stupid their creation is. Sound like something you'd be interested in?”

“Well...when you put it like that...it doesn't sound so bad,” Wrecker replied as he poured himself another round. “Tech, you would be good at this.”

“Oh...there's just a few things you need to know before we do this,” you added. “I kind of made up my own rules with how to play, and I make it mandatory that you are to make your ideas as weird, vulgar, or...suggestive as possible. It's sort of tradition at this point.”

“Which means it's bedtime, Omega,” Hunter said. “This doesn't sound like this would be an appropriate game for you.”

“No, Hunter, please let me stay! I don't want to go to bed!” Omega protested as she stood up and brushed off her tunic, looking down at Hunter with the best pout she could muster.

“Let the kid stay, Hunter. She's been coddled enough,” Crosshair rasped after taking another long pull of spotchka. “Besides, she might come up with something better than any of us.”

“All right, fine. But if things get too out of hand, you're going to bed, Omega, and that's it,” Hunter sighed.

“That is such a dad response,” you snickered, not aware of the glare Hunter shot back at you. “All right, we're getting distracted, here. Are you guys in or out?” You started flipping through one of the books to find something that would be an easy introduction.

“I think we're in... Omega looks like she's about to launch out of excitement,” Echo chuckled.

“Good, because I've picked one out that's quite relevant. Do I need to go over the parts of speech, or is everyone set? Honestly, I think I might be more excited than Omega,” you laughed. “It's been a long time since I last played this. One thing before we begin – I don't usually ask each person individually for a word. You can all say whatever comes to mind, and I'll use the one I like best. Oh, Tech...before I forget...”

Tech turned to you with a quizzical expression on his face. “Forget what? It appears you have everything you will need, at least for the moment.”

“Remember what I said about making the stories as messed up as possible? That means I'm putting you on notice that you are going to have to offer up ideas that are completely tasteless.”

Crosshair spluttered and coughed violently, nearly choking on his spotchka. When he recovered, he started laughing so hard, you thought he was going to mess himself. “Tech speaking like a reg?! I'll believe it when I hear it! We heard him swear ONCE back when we were cadets, and we never heard him do it again.”

“I told those other cadets not to touch that droid, if you recall. It was their own fault what happened to them,” Tech replied huffily. He sighed and then looked at you. “Do I have to?” he asked, not sounding thrilled. “I do not prefer using crass language if at all possible.”

“Yes, you have to. Otherwise we are all going to goad you mercilessly all night until you do. Be a good sport, Tech. I promise it won't tarnish your reputation or insult your intelligence if you let slip a little vulgarity, okay?”

“Come on, Tech, play along and live a little,” Wrecker said as he gulped down the last of his drink, belching pleasurably and grinning at Omega, who was giggling helplessly.

“Okay, here we go. If anyone needs me to explain what a certain part of speech is, just stop me. For the first prompt, I need a plural noun.”

“Are you referring to common or proper nouns?” Tech asked. “We will require clarity before providing adequate responses.”

“Common noun, Tech. Proper nouns will be described specifically, like “a city,” or “name of person.” Stuff like that. So, guys...and Omega. What do you have? Don't be afraid to just say whatever comes to mind. That's the whole point of this game.”

It was silent for a moment until Crosshair chimed in a little too gleefully with, “street whores!”

Echo spit out his mouthful of spotchka and started coughing, while the others turned to look over at Crosshair, who had a complete shit-eating grin on his face. You, however, started laughing silently, already noting the story was destroyed with just one entry completed. Omega started giggling again and you couldn't tell if she was doing it because of Echo, or because of what Crosshair said. Your suspicions were confirmed when she leaned in and asked, “Hunter, what's a street whore?”

“I'll...tell you when you're older, kid,” he replied as he kneaded his temples, knowing by the end of the night he was going to have a massive headache, and not from the spotchka.

“Street whores, it is!” you confirmed, this time audibly laughing as you wrote it down. “For the next one, I need an adjective.” Wrecker and Omega looked at you blankly, and you added, “adjectives describe something or someone. For instance, “quiet.” As in, “Tech is being quiet.”

“Horny!” Crosshair blurted out, and this time the rest of the guys started laughing, because they finally caught on to how they were supposed to play.

“Crosshair, you're pretty good at this. Are you sure you haven't played this before?” you chuckled.

“No, but I understand the assignment better than the others, evidently. Come on, what's the next one?”

“Another plural noun. Omega, why don't you give it a shot? Don't let Crosshair have all the fun,” you encouraged.

She tapped her bottom lip and looked up at Hunter, who shook his head. You all waited patiently for her, and you saw her perk up before cheerfully offering, “pleasure droids!”

Hunter looked down wide-eyed at Omega, who was supremely proud of herself for coming up with an answer, even if she had no idea what it was she just said. He buried his face in his hands, shaking his head lightly, a muffled “what have I done” the only thing he could say.

“Pleasure...droids...” you repeated slowly, scribbling it down and inwardly laughing. “This might seem repetitive, but the next two entries are both adjectives. Are the rest of you going to play, or are Crosshair and Omega going to dominate this story?”

“Uhhhh...salacious?” Echo said with a hint of uncertainty. He looked over at Wrecker, who was deep in thought, scratching at his bald head idly.

“I have one, but...I don't know if I should say it,” Wrecker said sheepishly.

“Out with it, Wrecker. We don't have all night,” Crosshair grumbled as he peered down the neck of the bottle of spotchka, already half drained.

“Is “erotic” okay?”

You started snickering and jotted it down, trying to ignore the jeering laughter of the others over Wrecker's hesitance and inexperience. “Guys, shut the hell up, will you? At least he's trying, and for what it's worth, it works really well in the story. Now for something different, I need a regular old noun. Tech, why don't you give me something this time? You're too quiet and it's bugging me.”

“Why my silence is disconcerting to you, I do not know. I simply do not feel the need to—”

“Tech...” you warned.

He turned to look at you and it was always so evident he was plotting something because his eyes always narrowed in determination with a hint of mischievousness behind them – like right then. “While I will not indulge you with vulgarity at this moment, I will give you something that will likely surprise you, given that it is coming from me. My answer?” You watched as he cocked an eyebrow and smirked at you. “Anal probe.”

You blinked uncomprehendingly for a few moments, then came back with, “I'm sorry, but did you just say 'anal probe?'”

Everyone erupted into laughter and Tech nodded, a wry little smile on his face. “I think you will find this will be a satisfactory addition to the story, if my assumptions are correct. Please continue, for I am now most eager to hear the outcome.”

You couldn't think of a smart-ass retort as you wrote down his answer, now knowing you should never underestimate Tech's deviance ever again. Waiting to speak until everyone got themselves under control, you scanned the page and realized you're barely halfway through it and this story is fucked up. “Alright, guys, let's focus. The next one says 'person in room (last name),' but I'm the only one with a last name here, and we're not using it. So technically, I'll need the last names of two people for the next two entries.”

“This one's easy,” all eyes on Hunter as he finally spoke up. “Skywalker, and Kenobi.”

“Not bad! Not bad at all, although I wouldn't have been surprised if you had said Skywalker, and Amidala. Speaking of, didn't you guys use to have her as—”

“Uh, we don't like to bring that up. In fact, never mention this again,” Hunter cut you off, waving his hand in the universal sign of “zip it” while looking at Omega.

“Duly noted,” you replied as you penned in the next two entries. “Next up is a place, followed by another last name of a person.”

“79's!”

“Hoth!”

“The 'fresher?”

“Mos Eisley!”

“All right, everyone, enough! Omega, loved your idea about the 'fresher, but I think we're gonna go with Echo on this one, with Mos Eisley. What about the last name? You're on a roll now, so keep it going!”

A bunch of names were thrown out there, from Dooku to Chuchi, Windu to Palpatine. All of a sudden Crosshair piped up with, “Dickhead.” All chatter stopped and everyone looked over at him. “You heard me. That was what the other cadets and I always called that old sniping instructor we had. Couldn't stand that sack of sh—”

“Crosshair, enough,” Hunter said. “We'll be lucky if Omega doesn't pick up that particular habit.”

You cleared your throat loudly to get their attention, trying your hardest not to laugh. “Excellent choice, Crosshair. That fits...uh, perfectly?” You covered your face as you lost it, shaking in silent mirth, only stopping once Tech put his hand on your shoulder to see if you were all right. Wiping away tears, you gave them their next prompts. “Make these two REALLY good, okay? I need a part of the body, and a type of liquid.”

The amount of raucous laughter among the boys meant only one thing, and that it was obvious they were going to give you the most childish answers possible. When no one spoke up, you looked around and were met with sly grins. “Well? I'm waiting... I mean, if you're going the route I think you are, then I'll just write both words down right now and we'll move on,” you said, tapping your pen on the page. “All right, 'cock' it is for the body part, and cu—”

Hunter coughed loudly and you looked over to see him with his hands covering Omega's ears, although it didn't stop the girl from giggling while squirming and grabbing at Hunter's hands, trying to pry them off.

From an unlikely source came the response to your question. “Bantha piss!” Echo called out as he started laughing again, hiding his face in his hands.

“Hey, not bad, Echo! I like it! Random question – and I ask because I feel like there's probably a backstory here – but what gave you that idea?”

Crosshair sat up straight as an arrow, looking over at Echo and throwing invisible daggers at him. “Don't do it, Echo, I mean it. We agreed no one had to find out about that.”

Echo didn't have a chance to reply because Wrecker spoke up and spilled the beans. “What? You mean when we had that mission on Tatooine and you got too close to one, and then it let loose all over you? That was disgusting. You smelled for days after that!”

“Yes, thank you for reminding everyone,” Crosshair growled, returning to the bottle for a quick gulp. “Remind me to kill you later, Wrecker.”

“Children, please behave,” you teased as you turned to look at Crosshair, who was still beet red from embarrassment with a look of “if YOU fucking tell anyone else about this, I will end you” all over his face. “We're close to being done, so for the next few, I need an article of clothing, pluralized. I also need an example of a relative. As in, familial relations.” You looked over at Tech, answering the question before he could ask it.

To your surprise, Hunter provided the next piece, although he made sure he was still covering Omega's ears before he spoke. “G-strings,” he said, a crooked grin spreading over his rugged features. His hands let go of Omega and it took a moment before everyone burst out laughing again, with the poor kid looking very confused as to what was so funny.

“Okay, I'm just going to throw this out there,” you replied as you jotted down Hunter's answer. “Next chance we get, we need to find a babysitter for Omega and then get to the nearest strip joint, because you guys are dropping a LOT of hints...”

Omega tugged on Hunter's sleeve, and he dreaded what she was going to ask. “Hunter, what's a strip joint? And why couldn't I go with you?”

Hunter groaned and rolled his eyes as he reached for his cup and took a long sip. “That's another “I'll tell you when you're older” thing, Omega. “It's not something for kids.”

“Oi, what are we supposed to pick for a relative? We don't really have relatives since we're clones,” Wrecker asked, trying to get everyone on task again.

“Irrelevant, Wrecker. Just because we do not have relatives, so to speak, does not mean you cannot choose from the list of common terms for a family's hierarchy,” Tech offered. “Although...given the way this story appears to be trending, it could be quite amusing to supply a word that is not entirely accurate. Would this be acceptable?”

“Fine by me. Just give me something so we can put this baby to bed. The anticipation's starting to kill me,” you replied.

“In that case, I would like to assist. Would 'sperm donor' suffice?”

You looked over at him, your eyebrow raised in momentary confusion. “Tech, what the hell?! Did you just...?”

He chuckled and nodded only once, shooting you a knowing wink as he brought his cup to his mouth, taking a delicate sip.

“All right, I see what you did there. Quite ingenious, might I add. However, we don't need...or want any more details,” you added, waving your open hand flippantly, cutting Tech off before he had a chance to offer up any justification. “Okay, just three more, and we're finally done. By the Maker, I feel like I'm going to have crippling anxiety after all this.”

“Give it six months,” Crosshair snickered. “You haven't been with us long enough to have developed it so soon. Now, what's left? I'm low on patience...and spotchka, it appears,” he said as he swirled the near-empty bottle around.

“Uhhh, let's see. I need a piece of furniture, a verb ending in “ing,” and one last adjective.”

Thankfully, you didn't need to wait because the responses started flying.

“Couch!” “Wrecker, that's stupid. What about “inflatable bed?”

“That's not any better, Echo. Now what's stupid?!”

“TOILET!” Omega shouted as she tried to make herself heard in the growing din.

“A toilet's not a piece of furniture, kid. Where did you come up with that?” Hunter laughed incredulously.

“I have got it!” Tech exclaimed, everyone immediately shutting up, all eyes trained on him as he looked around, that devious smile of his returning. He turned to you and you knew this was going to be good. By good, you knew it would be hysterical, considering the source. “Queening chair,” he proclaimed with a smirk.

Crosshair's jaw dropped so low it was almost on the ground. This time, you had no idea what Tech was talking about, and at the moment, you really didn't want an explanation, either. “A what, Tech? Judging by that look you're giving me, it's something indecent, isn't it?”

“Extremely. You should go ask the queen of Naboo about hers,” Crosshair muttered once he collected himself.

“That rumor is entirely unfounded, Crosshair,” Tech shot back, rolling his eyes. “Unless there's something you're not telling us?”

“Not now, you two. I think we've wasted more time talking and arguing than actually trying to play this game,” Hunter shot back. He looked down at Omega, searching for any sign she was tired and needed to go to bed. Much to his chagrin, she was more wide awake than ever. “You wanna do the next one, kid? You know what a verb is, right? It's an action word, like 'run' or 'jump.' But for this one, make sure you add 'ing' at the end,” he instructed, making sure to pronounce the syllable for her instead of spelling it out.

She nodded and carefully processed that information, everyone opting to stay quiet to let her think. What came out of her next would go on to become a treasured recording in Tech's archives and the subject of nostalgic stories for years to come.

“Fucking!” she declared happily, once more completely oblivious as to what she'd just said.

For a moment you thought the guys were going to pass out, especially Hunter, whose expression was somewhere between shock and severe indigestion. “Where...where did...who taught you that?!” he said hoarsely, grabbing his cup and swallowing the last of its contents before reaching for the bottle to slop more into it.

“Crosshair did! He says it all the time,” Omega replied. “Hunter? Are you okay? You look kind of...sick.”

Hunter sighed and rubbed his eyes, his look of shock replaced with quiet resignation, followed by a menacing glare in Crosshair's direction. “Why am I not surprised? Crosshair, you know kids are like sponges! What the f—”

That's all it took to break the sniper as he dissolved into uncontrollable laughter, all of you following suit thereafter. This time, no one was able to recompose themselves. Wrecker clapped Hunter forcefully on the back, almost propelling him into the fire as tears of merriment streamed down his face. Echo was laid out flat on his back, hands over his face as he shook silently. You looked through blurry eyes over at Crosshair, who had sunk down to the ground clutching his ribs as he gasped for breath, the sight of which made you laugh even harder. Tech was doubled over, one hand on your shoulder to steady himself as another paroxysm of laughter overtook him. Omega's high-pitched shrieks of glee were by far the best thing you heard tonight, her joy and spirit exceptionally infectious.

Minutes passed before you all eventually calmed down and you were about to put pen to paper when you realized what the context of the story would be if you put in Omega's idea as is...and it was beyond inappropriate in a really bad way. Time for an immediate course correction.

“Oh, uhh...oh boy,” you said hesitantly. “Um...I normally don't do this, but I have to add another word to this so it doesn't turn into something completely morally reprehensible.”

Tech stopped cleaning his goggles, which he had taken off to wipe at his eyes. “I do not understand. What could be so—”

“Trust me, you don't want to know. You'll figure it out when I read this back.” You jotted something down and then reached down for the bottle of spotchka to drink deeply, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand. “Captain Adverb to the rescue, thank the Maker. This is it, guys...one last word. All I need is an adjective. You got this?”

“Bring it on!” Wrecker said boisterously, waving the spotchka bottle around, nearly clipping Hunter in the back of the head with it.

Since Omega opened the door for it, no one bothered watching their language now as they threw out all sorts of outlandish ideas, none of them quite what you felt were funny enough to close out the story. Tech had gone quiet again, and you knew he had something up his sleeve. You looked over at him and that evil little grin was back.

“You advised me earlier that I needed to provide some kind of suggestive or vulgar response, correct?”

“Out with it, Tech. I know you've got something good cooking upstairs.”

“I thought that was obvious. I deduced that answers with...creative...terms involving body parts seem to be the most entertaining for all of you. Therefore, I would like to offer my response.”

“Tech, just say it! Why do you have to be so difficult?!” Crosshair griped as he quaffed the last of his spotchka.

Tech rolled his eyes and cleared his throat, solidly ignoring Crosshair's jab. “For your consideration, I would like to give you an adjective that is most...” He paused, trying to be dramatic in his own way as he looked around, seeing everyone waiting on him. “...Rectally stimulating.”

You looked down at the story for a moment, and realizing what that did to the context of it made you drop your pen on the ground. Immediately, both hands came to your face as you broke into helpless, muffled laughter.

“Tech, you'd better not have ruined the story,” Wrecker said accusingly.

You pulled your hands away from your face and sniffled as you rubbed your eyes and shook your head. “He didn't ruin anything, Wrecker. In fact, he provided the absolute perfect finish. Now, hold onto something, because— Wrecker, you can let go of Hunter...that was a figure of speech. Anyway, may I present to you a most entertaining narrative, called 'CAMPFIRE STORIES.'”

“Are you serious? That's a little on the nose, don't you think?” Crosshair groaned.

“Of course I chose this one on purpose! Now, check this out.” You made a production out of loudly clearing your throat, taking a deep breath and exhaling forcefully.

“It is always fun to chop up some street whores and use them to build a horny campfire. Then you get all of the pleasure droids to sit around the fire and tell scary stories. You can tell about Ichabod Crane, the salacious schoolteacher of Sleepy Hollow and his erotic adventures with the headless anal probe. Or you can tell “The Fall of the House of Skywalker,” which was written by Edgar Allen Kenobi. Or you can tell about vampires from Mos Eisley, like the terrible Count Dickhead, who bit people on the cock and drank their bantha piss. By this time, many of the young campers will start shaking in their G-strings and begin yelling for their sperm donor and go hide under the queening chair. Believe me, when it comes to fucking up a bunch of kids, there's nothing like a real rectally stimulating ghost story.”

*****

As you expected, the aftermath of reading that story was nothing short of utter chaos. Crosshair ended up laughing so hard, he disappeared somewhere into the darkness to vomit as quietly as he could before stumbling back to the ship. The others excused themselves quickly, still laughing as they almost tripped over each other in their haste as they made a mad dash back to the Marauder, leaving you and Omega behind wondering what just happened.

After everyone cleared out, you started hearing noises back in the forest that almost sounded like chittering laughter. Omega heard it too, and came to sit by you, pressing herself into your side as you wrapped your arm around her. A chill ran down your spine when you were sure you heard something rustling back in the undergrowth, and you didn't even have so much as your vibroblade with you for protection.

“Guys...please hurry! I think there's something out here!” you purposely yelled, hoping if there was some kind of animal lurking around, you would scare it away.

“I don't like this,” Omega whispered, nudging herself up so close to you, it felt like she was trying to crawl under your skin. “When are my brothers coming back?”

You did your best to try and keep her calm, squeezing her tightly. “I don't know, sweetheart, but stay calm. It'll be okay. Hunter should be back any moment now.”

As if on cue, the guys came filing back in with Hunter in the lead, his blaster drawn. “I heard you yelling. Did you see anything? Are you all right?”

“We're fine, but we definitely heard something that sounded like laughing, and like something walking around dangerously close to the camp site. Scared the shit of out of Omega and me. What took you guys so long?”

Then you noticed that Hunter wasn't wearing his blacks – he was wearing his sleep clothing, and as Wrecker and the others stepped closer to the fire, you could see the same thing, in varying configurations. No one was wearing what they previously had on, and then it dawned on you what happened. This would be a memory forever burned into your mind: the night when a ridiculous story made five grown men soil themselves from laughing.

You decided to spare them the embarrassment of asking why they changed clothes, and as Tech retook his spot next to you, he leaned close and whispered, “thank you for not asking the obvious...that would be a source of embarrassment that we would not want to try to explain to Omega.”

“I'll take this to the grave with me, Tech. Not a word.” You picked up one of the books and held it aloft, shaking it lightly. “Now...do I dare ask if you guys want to do another one? Someone else can write this time, because I want to play and show you how an old pro does this.”

Omega finally loosened her death grip on you and got up, going to Wrecker who gently picked her up, letting her settle in his arms as Tech reached over and took one of the books and your pen. “I would like to pick one, if it is quite all right.” He flipped through the pages and stopped as he found a blank story. “Yes...this will do nicely. Everyone, your first entry must be a plural noun.”

You stretched out your arms and cracked your knuckles, chuckling softly. “Two words, boys. Edible thongs.”

[metalmewtwo-kxb]

Special Pokédex Update:

Zoromun - The "OOC" pokémon. Type unknown. This chimera Zoroark is a loose representation of the mun, who interacts inside and outside of the blog's in-world setting via asks and independent side posts/images. It is rather elusive and prefers to avoid most direct encounters. However, it can be encouraged to be friendly if approached with tact and sincerity.

Quick notes:

Mother and mom-friend

Cranky when hungry or tired

Hisses

Bites

Fiercely territorial. ((Hippity hoppity- get the HECK off their property))

Possessive ((That tree is Zoromun's. So is that rock. And that twig. And those butterfree. And those flowers. If it touches the land you can't have it. Will fight you for stepping on their bug))

Squirrels away and adopts ALL the unattended babies. Snatches lonely stragglers also

Food aggressive due to upbringing with littermates. Only shares with babies and close companions. Will not take food from others

WILL Shadow-Claw trespassers

Defensive and protective

Likes to color

Cuddles and acts silly with people and pokémon it trusts and likes

Empath. Locks on to those who are in need or hiding something. Hates rancid vibes

Prefers the dark and the quiet. Also soft and glowy things

Sneaks around and explores for fun

Mischievous menace to society and (affectionately) adopted siblings

Knows who Team Skull is. Pesters the remaining members to show friendship and favoritism due to sharing similar marks, but hates their music

Picks up every random shiny thing like a crow and stashes them in their nest

Shows affection by gifting food, trinkets, and cool rocks.

Shapeshifts into a variety of pokémon. Mostly foxes, felines, and dragons

Spots and stripes on their leg are never consistent, but the splotches on its back stay the same

Most dangerous in the form of Bewear.

-------------------------------------------------------

I'm actually very happy to introduce my pokésona, Zoromun! I didn't really have an interest in making or having one before, but this design had me sold on it 👏 I also got the idea for the back pattern since irl I have 3 different Team Skull jackets (including the official) that I wear almost every day for work. It felt like a good opportunity!

Dominantly intend this to be used for silly things, but I might have some other ideas too! We'll see!

I flipped the pattern from the left leg to the right, but original design below was created by the sweet and lovely @dingbat-things 👇

[bg3daydream]

Wine and Blood (Astarion x Tav)

Astarion x named male Tav (half-drow fighter called Ivar) Fanfiction

Summary: One-shot narrating the first night Astarion and Ivar spend together after the tieflings party. Ivar is already crushing on Astarion and I wan to think there're some feelings flourishing in Astarion too.

Notes and tags: +18. There's blood drinking, sex (thigh riding and oral) and mentions of briefly dissociating during it but it's resolved. Also English not being my first language.

Words: 5k

Ivar smiled as he looked around the camp and the people celebrating. The party had been going for hours now and most people were already in different stages of drunkenness. Everyone seemed to be happy for once, having fun, which was good…

Well… Everyone but one, it seemed.

Astarion was standing outside his tent, looking around with a disdain better suited for a spoiled cat, grimacing as he took sips from a bottle of wine.

Ivar rolled his eyes at the sight but couldn't help his smile as he approached Astarion.

“Having fun I see…” He joked and Astarion scoffed.

“Not as much as you seemed to be having with Shadowheart before…”

Ivar should have seen it coming. Astarion was fond of teasing him about what he called his “silly crush on Shadowheart,” and Ivar wondered what would the vampire think if he knew that the silly flutters in his belly when he looked at him were even worse.

He'd tried to ignore it first, then fight it. It made no sense, it was ridiculous. No matter how attractive Astarion could be, he could also be just as mean, Ivar knew those feelings were a bad idea, he knew he shouldn't trust him the way he did.. Yet there he was.

“We were just talking and drinking,” he finally said. “Having fun, like everyone…besides you, it seems.”

“Oh, but I do want to have fun!” Astarion huffed. “But all I got is drunk tieflings and vinegar for wine.”

He gestured around dramatically with the bottle and Ivar reached to take it from his hand, taking a sip of the wine. It was good, Astarion had no reason to complain, although Ivar had a theory that he was not going to share and maybe get a grumpier vampire.

“So, what would you do for fun, then?” Ivar asked. “Drain a couple of tieflings? Kill Gale perhaps?”

“Oh, darling, nothing so dramatic.” Astarion dismissed his words with a theatrical wave of his hand, smirking and looking him up and down. “I just want to have sex.”

Ivar almost choked on the wine. “Oh.”

“With you, I mean,” Astarion elaborated when Ivar didn't say anything. “Hells, you really can be dense.”

“Really?” Ivar gave him a doubtful look… If this was a joke he didn't want to fall for it and make a fool out of himself.

“I'm starting to reconsider, I think I deserve someone with a working brain…”

Ivar huffed. “With you, one never knows when you're serious and when you're laughing at us.”

“Darling, I can do both at the same time.” Astarion chuckled before smirking, giving him a look that made something twirl in Ivar’s belly. “So… Do you want to?”

Did he want it? Yes. Was it a good idea? No. Was he already nodding? Yes.

Astarion’s smirk went bigger, and he seemed so smug and pleased with himself that Ivar was almost tempted to say no. Almost.

“Then I'll see you later, when everyone else is a bit more…mellow. We'll find each other in the woods.”

Astarion waved towards the direction and Ivar nodded, wordlessly, before walking away, wondering if that conversation had really happened.

*

Ivar looked at the blanket he'd spread over the ground, the bottle of wine, and the glasses… he was already regretting it, why had he done that, Astarion was going to laugh at him…

But if he came back carrying everything after Karlach helped him sneak the bottle of wine from Shadowhear’s good stash, after admitting what he wanted it for, she was going to laugh in his face.

He decided to stop being an insecure idiot and go find Astarion. He didn't need to go far to see him, leaning against a tree. He was only wearing his trousers and Ivar tried not to stare at his body.

“There you are…” Astarion smiled as he approached. “I've been waiting… waiting since the moment I set eyes on you. Waiting to have you.”

His speech sounded rehearsed… And odd, considering the first time he saw him, Astarion tried to threaten him with a dagger, without much success. Ivar decided not to comment on that, though, let Astarion have his moment.

“You don't have me,” he said instead, as if that could cover how much he wanted to brush his hands over Astarion’s exposed skin, or the fact that he'd gotten them wine and all.

It didn't seem to sound convincing and Astarion arched an eyebrow, smirking.

“But you're here… And I don't think you want to talk.” Honestly? Ivar didn't think he would mind having a real talk with Astarion, but he kept going before he could say anything. “No. I think that you want to be known. To be tasted…”

The speech was still sounding rehearsed and it was making Ivar feel a bit odd. Besides, he was not the only one there.

“And what do you want?”

Astarion blinked at him, almost as if taken aback, his smile faltering for a second, but then he was smiling again. “Pleasure. Our… collective ecstasy. Isn't that what you want?”

Those words were still so odd and rehearsed, but maybe if he commented on it, Astarion would get upset, so Ivar decided not to say anything about it even if it was making him feel a bit weird.

“I, uh… Yeah but… Just…come here a moment,” he gestured towards where he’d left the blanket and the wine. He'd gone through all the trouble to get it ready and he was going to use it, even if at risk of Astarion laughing at him for that.

Astarion wasn't moving, his smile was gone and he was frowning. “What…where…what are you getting me into now.” He sighed disapprovingly.

“Nothing.” Ivar rolled his eyes. “Come on.”

He began walking and Astarion thankfully seemed to decide to indulge him, following him, and soon the blanket and everything else were on sight.

“Oh… You got us a picnic, how… Sweet.” Astarion’s words were as teasing as his smile.

“Don't you dare to laugh…” Ivar muttered, self-conscious, while he sat down on the blanket.

Astarion laughed anyway, but it didn't sound malicious. “Come on, darling… I think it's cute.”

Ivar scoffed, but he was glad Astarion wasn't openly making fun of the whole thing. As the vampire sat down too, Ivar took the wine and filled a glass, which he passed to Astarion.

Astarion took a sip and grimaced. “And you went to all this trouble to still bring me vinegar. Delightful.”

“This,” Ivar began, taking the glass from Astarion’s hand and sipping the rich wine. “It's probably one of our best bottles. I think it tastes like that for you because you're a vampire. For the blood thing and all that…” He wondered if he was being too blunt. He hoped not.

“Oh…oh…” Astarion scoffed. He seemed upset and Ivar regretted his words already. “Yes, wonderful. Just another thing that was taken away from me.”

“I'm sorry…” Ivar murmured and Astarion just scoffed again, giving him a smile that felt closer to a snarl.

“So, you knew that and still decided to bring me wine I couldn't drink when all I was asking for was sex. You really know how to woo someone.”

“It was just a theory.” Ivar really hoped he hadn't fucked this up already. “And I had something else in mind if it was true.”

He reached for a knife that he'd placed next to the blanket, and Astarion seemed alarmed for a second. Ivar wondered if he thought he might hurt him… The idea tasted bitter in his mouth.

With Astarion watching him carefully, Ivar held the pad of this thumb to the blade, carefully slicing it just enough to draw blood, ignoring the sting.

Astarion seemed confused and surprised, but it was nothing compared to how he looked when Ivar reached to smear the blood from his thumb over the vampire's pretty, plush lips.

In the second that it took for Astarion to react, a million panicking thoughts went through Ivar’s mind. Why had he done that, it was too odd, Astarion was going to think he was a weirdo or worse…

Then Astarion was licking the blood from his thumb before sucking it into his mouth, smiling, and the sight and feeling had warmth pooling in Ivar’s belly.

“Now…that's what I call a nice drink,” Astarion said before giving his thumb another lick, holding Ivar’s hand in place.

He sucked on his thumb again before brushing his lips to Ivar’s forearm. He expected a bite, he'd let Astarion feed from his forearm once after a fight, but instead now Astarion just kissed it, smirking as he looked at Ivar.

Then he let go of his arm and reached to place his hand at the back of Ivar’s neck, pulling him close while leaning to kiss his lips.

Ivar’d be embarrassed to admit that he almost melted at it, hands brushing over Astarion’s cold and soft skin, pulling him closer as they kissed.

Without breaking the kiss, Astarion pushed him to lie on his back, leaning over him, and Ivar felt him smile against his lips at the sound he let out when he pressed his body to his.

Ivar shuddered when he felt Astarion’s cold hand under his shirt, caressing over his stomach and up to his chest, pulling his shirt up as he went.

Ivar broke the kiss just enough to take off his shirt completely, discarding it to the side and letting Astarion push him to the ground again.

He was a bit embarrassed by the sound he let out at the feeling of Astarion’s chest brushing against his own as they kissed, but the thought was soon gone as Astarion moved from his lips to kiss down his throat, his collarbone, his chest…

He almost whined when Astarion stopped, leaning back.

“Let me drink,” he all but purred, eying his neck, his sharp nails caressing it as if there could be any doubt about where he wanted to drink from. “This,” he said as he held his hand, before sucking his thumb. “Was but a tease, darling…”

Ivar considered it… He’d let Astarion drink from him already, even if not from his neck, besides he was the one who had, indeed, teased him by bleeding his thumb, and he was giving him such a look…

It seemed he was thinking it too long for Astarion’s patience, he was already leaning to his neck, and Ivar was about to give him an earful about drinking without waiting for him to say yes, but instead of his fangs, he felt Astarion’s tongue licking a strip up his neck, making him gasp.

“Okay…” He gave in. “But… Ask nicely first.” If Astarion could turn him into a shuddering, embarrassingly needing mess, then at the very least he could try to tease him a bit.

“Oh?” Astarion pulled back to look at him with an arched brow, seeming amused. “And how would that be? Oh, strong warrior, let me drink your delectable blood?”

Astarion really had a gift for making beautiful words sound like he was laughing at you. It was admirable, really.

“I was thinking more about you saying please.” Ivar grinned, enjoying the look of disbelief on Astarion's face, his dignified huff. “Come on…” He stretched his neck, showing off the place where Astarion’s tongue was a minute ago, while his hands caressed his cold chest.

Astarion rolled his eyes with another huff but decided to indulge him. “Please?”

Ivar grinned at the victory, petty or not, choosing to ignore Astarion’s mocking tone. “Go ahead.”

“Cheeky little pup…” Astarion muttered as he buried his face into his neck.

Ivar felt the sharp pain of his fangs, then the blood flowing, but the pain was soon numbed… Yet, he could still feel every lick of Astarion’s tongue, every suck of his lips.

Astarion pressed against him even more as he eagerly drank, letting one of his hands drag down his chest, nails scratching ever so slightly, pressing him to the ground, while his other hand rested on his head, grabbing his hair, holding him in place.

The sounds that Astarion soon began making combined with the feeling of his tongue and lips, his body pressed to him, his hands… It was all going straight to Ivar’s dick and he writhed under Astarion, hips thrusting up helplessly.

When his growing cock brushed against Astarion's leg as he moved, Ivar let out a muffled moan, holding tighter to Astarion.

Astarion noticed and he tore himself from Ivar’s neck to look at him with a smirk. He didn't say anything, though, didn't tease him, instead he shifted to place his thigh between Ivar’s, rubbing it purposely against his groin, his devilish smirk growing at Ivar’s reaction, his moan as he hit back against Astarion’s thigh.

Ivar cursed as Astarion kept the motion of his thigh, tilting his head back, and Astarion took advantage of that to dive back into his neck.

Astarion went back to drinking, but Ivar was sure some of the sucks and licks with which he was lavishing his neck weren't strictly necessary to drink his blood… Not that he'd complain.

Ivar held to Astarion’s shoulder with one hand, the other flying to the back of the vampire's head, burying his fingers in his hair, which earned him an approving sound from Astarion, muffled against his neck.

Ivar didn't care about his own needy noises, grinding against Astarion’s thigh while the vampire responded in kind, rubbing against him.

It was too much, a lick of Astarion’s tongue had him shuddering, just at the same time his thigh pressed and rubbed against his straining dick in a particularly nice way, and before he even knew it, Ivar was coming, fingers digging into Astarion’s shoulder, pulling him even closer, which he let him do, burying his face even more into his bleeding neck.

Ivar panted, torn between enjoying the way he was feeling or trying to regain some semblance of control of himself.

Astarion was still drinking from his neck, but it was slower this time, lazy licks alternated with gentle kisses across his neck, and it felt so good Ivar was tempted to just lie there, eyes closed, and let Astarion do as he wished, but finally, the embarrassment won.

“I, uh…I don't… Don't usually…” He didn't usually what? Come inside his pants? Embarrassingly soon? Let vampires drink from his neck? Come while they drank his blood? Yeah, all of that.

Another lick and then Astarion pulled back from his neck to look at him. His smile was teasing but not mean.

“Darling… I really don't care.”

His lips were covered with Ivar’s blood, dripping down his chin, and it had smeared his cheeks and even nose too from rubbing his face against Ivar’s neck and bleeding wound.

“You're a mess…” Ivar murmured while he reached to train a droplet of blood on Astarion’s cheek. “How do you manage to look good even like this?”

Astarion’s smile grew. “Oh, darling… I always look good,” he purred. “I have to say, blood wasn't looking bad on you either today when you killed those goblins.”

Was Astarion paying him a compliment? Ivar felt like teasing him a bit for it but it wasn't worth the risk of Astarion maybe never doing it again.

He just smiled, cupping Astarion’s cheek, and the vampire leaned down to kiss him.

Ivar didn't care that Astarion’s lips were smeared with his blood. He was a fighter, he didn't mind blood anymore, and he had tasted his own already, from bleeding noses to broken lips. It was much, much better to taste it from Astarion’s lips.

Ivar made himself pull away from the kiss just so he could roll over, carefully dragging Astarion with him so now he was the one on his back with Ivar pressed against him.

Astarion seemed surprised by the sudden movement, his body going rigid, brows furrowing, and so Ivar pulled back to take a good look at him, in case he didn't like the change of position.

“Okay?”

He felt Astarion’s body relaxing under his again and the vampire nodded, sultry smile back on his face.

Before Ivar could ask him if he was sure, Astarion sat up to lick a droplet of blood that had dripped from Ivar’s neck down to his chest, trailing it with his tongue before burying his face in his neck to drink his blood again.

Ivar shuddered with a gasp. This was not what he had in mind, he was supposed to be the one making Astarion moan and feel good, beyond letting him drink his blood.

Ivar pushed Astarion back to the ground, looking at him to try and make sure he was okay with it, and when the vampire looked at him with a smirk and an arched brow, he leaned down, pressing his body to his again.

“Don't get greedy,” he whispered teasingly before kissing Astarion’s lips.

Ivar began sliding down Astarion’s body, hands caressing smooth, cold skin as he went, placing kisses on that chiseled body, over his chest, down his stomach…

“You don't have to…” Astarion murmured.

“I want to,” Ivar replied, looking up at Astarion’s face. “If it's okay. If you want to?” There was a beat before Astarion nodded. “Yeah?” Ivar asked again.

Another nod. “Yeah.”

Ivar went back to placing kisses over Astarion’s stomach, lips brushing down to his belly, kissing until he reached the waistband of his trousers.

“Can I keep going?” He asked, kissing Astarion’s lower belly when he whispered a yes. Another kiss and he pulled back to look at Astarion, hooking his fingers on the waistband of his trousers and underwear. “Can I?”

Astarion nodded, his eyes dark crimson as he looked at Ivar. “Yeah.” He lifted his hips to help Ivar peel both his trousers and underwear off him.

Ivar got situated between Astarion’s legs again. He kissed his thigh, then his hipbone, until he reached his cock, licking the length of it slowly.

Astarion’s shuddered moan as his hips hit up had Ivar smiling. He gripped the base of Astarion’s shaft with one hand, placing the other on his thigh, and he slid his mouth down Astarions cock, which rewarded him with another moan.

He looked up at Astarion’s face as he sucked on his tip and the sight of the vampire, eyes closed, brows furrowed in pleasure, mouth open with another strangled moan, almost made Ivar moan himself.

The noises that Astarion was making as Ivar kept going, mouth sliding up and down his cock, were music to his ears and, in all honesty, to his ego.

One of Astarion’s hands was clawing at the blanket under them and Ivar reached up to hold it, unsure of how Astarion might react and if he might just slap it away.

He didn't, instead, he held it, intertwining their fingers and squeezing his hand.

Suddenly, though, Astarion’s hand went limp on his. The way his hips were moving and even the sounds he was making felt… Different. Ivar couldn't explain why, but something didn't feel right.

He pulled back to look at Astarion, who at first didn't seem to notice but then gave him a sultry smile… It was so different from his face of pleasure before, though…

"Are you okay?" Ivar asked and Astarion frowned.

"Yeah."

"Really?" Ivar didn't want to be pushy or ruin the mood, but still, something didn't feel right.

"Yes… I just got… A bit distracted. Didn't mean to…" Astarion frowned, lips pursed, but soon he was wearing his devilish smile again. "I'm sorry, darling," he purred, sliding down his hand towards Ivar’s groin, but he stopped it.

The fact that Astarion'd gotten distracted while he sucked his cock was a bit discouraging, but Ivar was most worried about how something felt off.

"Don't be, just… We can stop." He wouldn't mind and he hoped Astarion could see it. "It's okay, I don't mind."

Astarion opened his mouth as if to say something but closed it. His sultry smile was gone, frown on his face, and Ivar was about to move back when he spoke.

“No… No, I don't want you to stop.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah. Keep going.” Astarion’s hand went back to holding Ivar’s and his hips wiggled ever so slightly. “Please.”

“Okay…okay, just…tell me if I do something you don't like…” It was awkward to tell him that, but it was better than the alternative… Better safe than sorry.

“Wasn't you…” Astarion muttered but he didn't elaborate and Ivar decided not to press the matter more for now.

With his mind set on making sure Astarion was enjoying this, Ivar lowered his mouth to his cock again, eyes on Astarion’s face. He was slow at first, a bit tentative even, waiting to notice his reaction to everything.

As Ivar’s lips slid down his cock, Astarion hummed, eyes closed, his hand holding Ivar’s tighter when he dragged his lips back up, sucking, making him moan in a way that, thankfully, sounded good and real again.

Astarion’s free hand moved to Ivar’s head, seemingly of his own accord, but he moved it away when he realized it. Ivar reached for it, though, taking it to place it on his head again.

He was okay with it, let Astarion show him what he wanted from him, and he moaned on his cock when Astarions’ fingers grabbed his hair roughly.

Ivar kept going, letting Astarion guide him and take from him what he pleased, enjoying every sound that the vampire let out, every soft moan, quiet whimper, and grunt, until Astarion reached his climax with a strangled cry.

Astarion’s back arched up, hand holding Ivar’s head in place but he didn't mind, just swallowed his release as he kept licking and sucking until Astarion let go of his head.

Ivar kissed Astarion’s hip, then his thigh before moving back to look at him. He'd covered his eyes with his arm, the corner of his mouth lifting into a small smile, and he looked damn beautiful as always.

Ivar moved from between Astarion’s thighs to lie on his side next to him. He reached out a hand towards the vampire but stopped, even if it felt a bit foolish to be uncertain about touching him after he just sucked his cock.

“Was it… Okay?” Ivar asked even if he felt insecure and kind of stupid doing so. “Did you like it?”

Astarion moved his arm from his face, turning to face Ivar too. “Yeah…yeah, I actually enjoyed that.”

“You sound surprised…were you expecting me to be bad at it?” Ivar didn't know if he found it funny or embarrassing.

Astarion rolled his eyes at him but didn't say anything.

Ivar sat up, reaching to take a bottle of water he'd brought, besides the wine, taking a big gulp of it.

“What? No drink for me?” Astarion purred, looking at his neck.

“Gluttony doesn't look good on you,” Ivar joked and Astarion smirked.

“Darling, I thought we had agreed everything looks good on me.”

Ivar rolled his eyes again but his smile betrayed him. He looked around the blanket until he spotted the cloth he'd also brought and he picked it up, pouring some water from the bottle on it.

“What are you doing?” Astarion asked.

“Cleaning the mess we are.” Ivar reached the cloth towards Astarion’s face but didn't touch him. “If that's okay.”

Astarion nodded and so Ivar carefully dabbed at the dried blood on his face with the wet cloth, dragging it over his lips and chin, washing him clean, and Astarion let him do it with his eyes closed.

He opened them when Ivar stopped to refold the towel and pour water on it again. This time he reached towards Astarion’s groin, again stopping before touching him, waiting until Astarion nodded.

When he did, Ivar gently brushed the wet cloth over Astarion’s hips and thighs, his belly, his cock, cleaning him of cum and also blood that had dripped from Ivar’s neck.

Astarion let him do it in silence, looking at him intently, in a way Ivar couldn't quite place but that felt… Good.

Once he finished with Astarion, Ivar moved back to remove his own pants and take off his underwear, ruined from when he'd come before… He really hoped he could wash them without anybody seeing him.

Pouring more water on the cloth, he hastily washed his own mess. When he reached to press the cloth to the wound on his neck, though, Astarion stopped him with a hand on his wrist.

“I can take care of that, darling…” He moved to bury his face in Ivar’s neck.

“You're getting so greedy…” Ivar tried to sound teasing but the feeling of Astarion’s lips on his neck had him shuddering, eyes closed.

“Oh, but you like it…” Astarion said against his neck, licking over the wound. It had stopped bleeding but Astarion sucked on it as if trying to draw more blood. “I saw it.”

Ivar said nothing, sure that nothing dignified would make it past his lips, and he felt Astarion chuckling.

He looked up from his neck to kiss his lips again. Ivar wasn't expecting it and he hummed into the kiss, pleased, arms reaching to hold Astarion, who pushed him to lie down on his back on the ground again, with him between his open legs.

Another deep kiss, and then Astarion moved back to his neck, making the almost closed wound bleed again, just slightly.

Ivar fell asleep like that, with Astarion lying on top of him, face buried in his neck, lazily tonguing at the reopened wound.

*

The sunrise didn't wake Ivar, who was sure never had slept like that, almost like he was knocked out. It was Astarion’s body moving away from him as the vampire got up that woke him.

His eyelids didn't seem to want to cooperate and he had a bad headache but Ivar finally managed to open his eyes. When he tried to sit up on his forearms though the world spinned before focusing on Astarion.

He was facing the sun, body open to it, eyes closed, face relaxed… Ivar wondered if he'd ever get used to how beautiful he was.

There was a scar on his back, big, intricate, almost like some sort of scar tattoo, and Ivar wondered what the hells could it be. It looked odd on Astarion. He wasn't sure how the vampire might react if he asked him about it, though.

Ivar tried to get up but not only did the world spin again, it felt almost as if his head was going to fall off his shoulders. He felt so lightheaded and weak…

Just how much blood had he let Astarion drink from him? He should be more careful next time, or at least bring some scrolls of healing or restoration, maybe something to eat at the very least…

Would there be a next time, though? Was this just a post-party one-night thing for Astarion? Ivar didn't know… He didn't want it to be just that, but he didn't know what Astarion might think or how to bring it up to him.

He groaned, trying to get up again, giving up and falling back down, covering his face with his arm. Astarion heard him and he turned around to face him, arching an eyebrow.

“I definitely let you drink too much…” Ivar complained.

“Oh, way to be dramatic, dear.” Astarion dismissed him with a wave of his hand. “Is a fighter not used to a bit of blood loss? ”

Astarion reached to take his clothes, picking up Ivar’s trousers too and throwing them to his face

“Come on, it's past time we left.”

Ivar grumbled a complaint but sat up, squeezing his eyes tight and trying to put on his trousers blindly.

Astarion was already done with his own by the time Ivar was finished, and for a second Ivar considered reaching for the vampire's hand as he tried to get up, but decided against it.

He managed to get up, even if a bit wobbling, the world spinning again, head pounding.

His eyes landed on Astarion, standing closer than he'd realized, beautiful even looking like he was about to laugh at him.

“Fuck, I want to kiss you,” Ivar hadn't meant to say it aloud and he felt like face-palming.

“Oh… Do you, now?” Astarion was looking way too pleased with himself and Ivar wanted to kiss that smug look off his face.

“Yeah… Can I?” Ivar wondered if he should be embarrassed at being acting like that… he wasn't.

“Mmh…” Astarion made a show of thinking it over. “I’ll allow it,” he finally said in a way better suited for a spoiled cat allowing pets.

Leaning down, Ivar kissed Astarion’s lips, in a softer kiss than the ones they had shared last night, deepening it when he felt Astarion’s hands on his waist, holding to him. He could get used to this. He didn't want to think this might be the last time he kissed him.

Astarion was the first to pull back but his hands lingered on Ivar’s waist like a soft, cold touch.

“You know…” Astarion began, looking at Ivar in a way he couldn't quite place. “This was… Not what I had in mind last night. But it was nice. Really nice.”

Ivar wondered if he was smiling like a fool and found that he didn't care if he was.

“Now…” Astarion pulled back and waved a hand toward the blanket and everything else. “You better rush to pick all this up or by the time you get to the camp, hungover tieflings will have eaten all breakfast. See you later, darling.”

With that, Astarion began walking towards the camp.

It’d have been nice of him to offer to help him pick up everything and clean up, maybe offer to bring him some breakfast…but Ivar hadn't expected it.

He watched Astarion until he disappeared among the trees before he began picking up the wine and water, blanket, and everything else.

He wondered if and when he'd get to share another night with Astarion… He wondered too just how foolish his smile looked as he thought of it, but found he didn't care.

Now he just needed to find the right moment to ask Astarion.

*

NA:

Excuse Ivar sometimes, he just got charisma 8. But he's a sweetheart.

Thanks for taking the time to read this.

If you liked it, please let me know in a comment, and as always, reblogs are more than welcome.

This scene lived in my head and I had to write it, even if I know not many people would be interested in my own tavs. Thanks if you gave it a chance.

If you want to read more about Astarion and Ivar (or any other of my tavs) or have requests for Astarion fanfics, I'm all pointy ears.

Excuse my English, it’s not my first language.

[scarred0and-starry]

Halloween Night-The Valkyries

Lily Evans

Lily’s sleeves were rolled up, her wand held steady as she charmed a cluster of floating pumpkins to glow a faint green. The atmosphere in the greenhouse was magical and spooky, the warm orange of the jack-o’-lanterns contrasting with eerie, flickering lights she had enchanted.

“This is going to be perfect,” Lily said, stepping back to admire her work.

You glanced at the corner where she had arranged a set of enchanted, singing Venus Flytraps. They swayed to a haunting melody, their glowing mouths snapping in time with the tune. “Perfectly terrifying,” you teased.

She grinned, shoving you lightly. “It’s Halloween. It’s supposed to be terrifying!”

As the final touches came together—a trail of glowing mist snaking along the ground and spider plants that had been charmed to actually skitter like arachnids—Lily pulled you into the middle of the greenhouse.

“Dance with me,” she said suddenly, her cheeks pink.

“Dance? Here?”

“Why not?” She laughed, spinning you around in the misty air, her smile brighter than the pumpkins’ glow. “Every good haunted house needs a pair of ghouls twirling in the middle.”

Her laugh was infectious, and soon you were spinning and laughing too, the enchanted plants humming their eerie melody around you.

Marlene McKinnon

The night sky stretched wide above you, dotted with stars and a full moon glowing brightly. Marlene adjusted her scarf and swung her leg over her broom, her grin full of mischief. “Come on, scaredy-cat. It’s Halloween! What better night for a midnight ride?”

You hesitated for a moment, but her excitement was contagious. With a deep breath, you climbed onto your broom beside her.

The cool October air rushed past you as you soared over the darkened grounds. The Forbidden Forest loomed below, its trees whispering secrets to the wind. Marlene flew circles around you, her laughter echoing in the stillness.

“Alright, show-off,” you called, attempting a loop of your own and wobbling slightly as you landed back in formation beside her.

She grinned, her cheeks flushed from the cold. “Not bad. You might make a daredevil out of yourself yet.”

When the two of you finally landed on the Astronomy Tower, she pulled out a pair of chocolate frogs she had stashed in her pocket. Sharing the treat under the glow of the moon, you leaned against each other, the silence of the castle wrapping around you.

“I love nights like this,” she murmured. “Just the sky, the stars, and you.”

Mary Macdonald

The flickering light of the candles filled the small alcove you and Mary had claimed in the library. Shadows danced across her face as she shuffled a deck of tarot cards, her fingers moving deftly over the worn edges. The faint scent of beeswax and cinnamon hung in the air, adding to the ambiance.

“Alright,” she said, laying the deck in front of you. “Ask your question, and no peeking.”

You hesitated, feeling a bit silly. “Does it have to be serious?”

She smirked, her eyes glinting in the candlelight. “It’s Halloween. The spirits don’t take kindly to jokes tonight.”

Rolling your eyes, you thought for a moment before placing your hand on the deck. “Fine. What’s my future like?”

Mary grinned, spreading the cards in an intricate pattern. She took her time flipping them over, her expression carefully neutral.

“Interesting,” she murmured, tapping a card. “You’ve got a journey ahead of you. Might be a broomstick ride—or maybe something bigger.”

Her tone was teasing, but her eyes held a warmth that made you feel like she could truly see your future unfolding in the cards. As she continued her reading, her voice grew softer, more thoughtful, the magic of the moment wrapping around you both.

When the reading was done, she leaned back, her smile small and genuine. “Whatever’s ahead, you’re not going through it alone. That’s for certain.”

You reached out and squeezed her hand, the flickering candlelight illuminating her kind, steady gaze.

Dorcas Meadowes

The Great Hall had been transformed into a grand Halloween spectacle. Floating jack-o’-lanterns bobbed above long tables laden with treats, and ghosts drifted through the air, their translucent forms glowing faintly in the dim light.

Dorcas stood beside you, her wand at the ready, her smirk sharp as ever. “Alright,” she said, cracking her knuckles. “Let’s see who can out-duel Sir Nicholas first.”

The Gryffindor ghost bowed with exaggerated grace, his nearly-headless head tilting precariously to the side. “Prepare yourself for the duel of a lifetime!”

You laughed as Dorcas stepped forward, her wand slicing through the air. She conjured a string of harmless hexes, each one bouncing harmlessly off Sir Nicholas, who retaliated with an exaggerated boo and a cascade of glowing sparks.

When it was your turn, Dorcas cheered you on, her laughter ringing out as your spells grew more creative—and occasionally went hilariously awry.

Afterward, the two of you collapsed onto one of the benches, your sides aching from laughter. “You’ve got potential,” she teased, handing you a pumpkin pasty. “But you’ll never beat me.”

You raised an eyebrow, grinning. “Care to make it a challenge next Halloween?”

She smirked, her dark eyes glinting. “You’re on.”

As you shared sweets and watched the ghosts drift lazily through the hall, the warmth of her presence made the spooky atmosphere feel anything but cold.

[dollsonmain]

I also ordered myself some new kitchen towels

because the ones my MiL gifted me aren't absorbent at all. These are bright and pretty and similar style to the others. I'm sure the ones she gifted me are higher quality and they really do seem to be high quality, they're just tea towels and while they're good for wiping stuff off your hands while cooking or throwing over some rolls that just came out of the oven, don't really work for drying hands and that's generally what I reach for a towel for.

Also got a silly one to take to work.

It's only the one in the center, though, not a whole set. Pricey and reviews say it's not super absorbent, but it's more to see both Manager's and customers' reactions than anything.

I think I'll pop into Dollar Tree and see if they have a handful of holiday themed ones I can take for next week. Or maybe just one for Christmas day. If I'm going to be there anyway, might as well have a themed hand towel. It's too warm in there for me to wear a silly sweater.

I hang a hand towel from the tie on my apron so I'm not blitzing through the paper towel stash at work constantly washing my hands. I know I don't have to provide my own apron or my own towel, but I feel more like I'm "at work" with both and prefer to have control over them.

This is the apron I got and I do like it quite a bit.

I think I should get at least one more, but not right now.