#The Cave Of The Yellow Dog

[cemyafilmarsiv]

The Cave Of The Yellow Dog directed by Byambasuren Davaa

[igwanasuchus]

today's the day fnaf 1 came out and what better way to commemorate this once in a lifetime occasion is by drawing each character in the artstyle of the popular artists around the time fnaf took it's steps, god bless fnaf, scott, and the many friends/enemies i've made along the way because of it

SPEEDPAINT SOON

[reflect-force]

i was looking through pikipedia for something and i noticed one pikmin type was never required for anything in pikmin 4. so i checked the other pikmin type pages and

there are only 3 types that you actually need to use to 100% the game (4 types without using glitches). red, purple, and ice (and winged if glitchless)

i hate oatchi

[lovelyyandereaddictionpoint]

Yandere Coyote Hybrid x Small Dog Hybrid Reader

When we talk about hybrids being brought to a loving and caring home 

from the cold facilities or the dangerous streets

But what about the other way around

You are the hybrid

Pampered and adored by your owners in the comfort of their home

Let out to play in the gated back yard filled with toys all specially chosen just for you 

But recently you’ve heard something or someone call for you

For all the attention your owners give they’re still human 

Shorter attention spans, less energy, and just a lack of interest in anything that you enjoy

But the one who’s calling out there understands

The howling and yipping just like your littermates from way back when

Just begging for you to come out and play 

So one day you’ll sneak through the door 

Excited to finally play with the one who’s been calling for you for weeks now

When you do meet him you had no expectations 

But his rough coat and skinny body say he’s nothing like you

“I’m so glad you came out, I’ve been calling to you forever.”

It’s so much fun 

He plays just like the dog hybrids you see on their walks

It’s such a fun time you don’t even realize how late it gets

Or how much you’ve ventured past the hole in the fence 

And by the time you realize 

It’s too late

“You dumb dog, you make it far too easy.”

The coyote who you’d been tricked by takes your disoriented confusion to drag you into the woods

The coyote who’s watched you from afar and found that they’d love nothing more than to add you to their pack

Even though they’ve massacred and fed hundreds of other unfortunate dog hybrids to their pack 

This one 

You are mighty special

He’ll easily latch onto your collar and pull you along 

Your measly kicking and yelping are drowned out as you're taken into the deep patch of the woods

The coyote hybrid–Kyte doesn’t let up in his insults to you

“So helpless without your human owners aren’t you? Bet they’ll be happy to know I’ll be taking you off their hands!”

“But I’m good! They love me!”

“Ha if they loved you they never would have let you out!”

Kyte means that as he shoves you down a ledge deeper into the cave his pack calls home

Swarmed by coyote pups and curious members of the family 

All you get are a few curious nips before Kyte chooses to take you aside

With no other familiar faces just glowing yellow eyes you retreat to Kyte’s side as he takes you to his area in the cave

“Y-you tricked me! And abducted me!”

“Hm is that what you think dumb dog, I’ve courted you and you were stupid enough to resist.”

Kyte while shoving his nose into your neck will explain how his playing was an offer 

“Don’t you see it’s as much your fault as mine. Won’t you accept me?”

If you are foolish enough to refuse with his larger stature

And those sharpened teeth lightly gliding over your skin

He’ll squeeze you tight 

“I guess you prefer to let your loyalties lie with your living owners. Well, I guess we’ll just have to fix that.”

[yandereunsolved]

𐂂 .𖥔 ݁ ˖ Yandere ??? — Wendigo 𐂂 .𖥔 ݁ ˖

𓄃 From the depths of the forest, it appeared. They told you not to walk alone at night, and you did. It'd eat you; it'd kill you. The Wendigo. The cannibalistic, once-human creature that stalked your local woodlands during the winter. No one would dare forage or play in the icy white droplets near the woodlands. Too many human carcasses had turned up for people to think of it as a simple legend.

You thought yourself safe. It's fall; the creature is only ever seen in the winter. It once looked more human, you were told, but it took on the appearance of a crytpid deer creature. It towered over you at fifteen feet tall. Glowing yellow eyes shining through its deer skull pierce through your soul. 

Its elongated claws almost caringly scratched against your neck. Its lips are nonexistent on its deer skull, but its tongue lulls out, the length of your arm. It's coated in dried blood and forked at the tip. It crouches so it's on its haunches, its head tilting towards you as its antlers rub against your stomach.

You're frozen, petrified by the horrifying monster that stunk of rotted flesh and wet dog.

𓄃 It let you go that night after what felt like an eternity. It ended up sitting near you, pawing at you like a lost animal. It would tilt its head to the side every once in a while. Although it never spoke, it simply met your eyes, its gaze unceasing. 

You refused to walk within five hundred feet of the forest after that. You'd see it's yellow eyes watching you whenever you walked near the woods. It was any woods, any.

One night, it dragged you back into the forest and sat next to you. It made cooing sounds and cuddled up to you. Its gut-wrenching fetor seemingly tamer. It now smelled faintly of mint and spring blossoms.

𓄃 It became routine for you to visit it. It'd bring you dead animals and pieces of human flesh. Its claws would tear the flesh up and try to place it in your mouth. It'd open its skull and flick its tongue out to show you. Every time you refused, it seemed dejected and would angrily huff.

It made it clear that it wanted you to become a wendigo.

If you willingly ate human flesh, the thought made you shudder.

It even gifted you deer skulls, as well as other animal skulls. It'd place them near your head, as if appraising each one for a transformation you refuse to allow to happen.

𓄃 It'd curiously observe whatever you did. It'd point to your human technology and growl softly. It'd roar in an unpleased manner whenever your human interests took you away from it. 

However, it loved your sketchbook and the sticky things you called stickers. It'd purr when you decorated its skull with whatever stickers you had. It tried to eat them, and you did your best to explain not to. It still did. By the end of your nights together, it was adorned with many silly stickers all over its skull and antlers. It was elated, from what you could tell. It'd lick you happily.

It is even more excitable when you draw it. It doesn't matter if you have the artistic skills of Picasso or a toddler who can't color within the lines. It loves all of your renditions of it. It hangs them up in its cave and coats them in energy so they don't wrinkle or lose their vibrancy.

𓄃 It can smell your hormones and tell when you are most fertile. It becomes increasingly aggressive towards other people, even dragging those you interact with during the day to be its midnight snack. Its possessiveness becomes nearly unbearable. It will scream in the woods when the sun is still out. It demands you come to see it. People begin to connect the dots and practically force you to see it just so it doesn't harm anymore people where you live.

It touches you like you are made out of brittle bone. It caresses your chest down to your navel. It asks if it can help you when your hormones are high. It does this by palming at your clothes and purring out a high-pitched and barely discernible "yes... no...? help you...?"

If you allow it to help you, then you won't be leaving its nest within its cave until your hormone cycle switches to its next stage. It will bring you everything you need and keep you tucked into its figure. Its fur keeps you warmer than any blanket could. It's like sleeping in some place heavenly.

Its scent changes during this time. It smells like cranberries and pineapple, which only gets stronger the longer you are near it.

𓄃 No spiritual practitioner could help you get rid of it. Priest? They end up dead. Psychic? Dead. Reiki Master? Dead. Only a shaman managed to ward it from you for a handful of weeks.

It comes back even more violent and drags you into its cave. It refuses to let you go. It foams at the mouth and bares its deer teeth when you try to leave it. It can't let you go. It won't ever let you go. It needs to keep you with it until you turn into a Wendigo. Then you'll be its mate forever.

𓄃 This was all because you helped it once in its deer form. You accidentally hit it and then brought it to an animal hospital. Never had a mortal treat it with such kindness and softness. It became attached to you, and then decided to take the next step that fateful day. 

You're perfect for it—such a pure soul for its twisted being to corrupt.

[via-the-cryptid]

snow queen Betty au where she puts on the crown instead of Simon, but instead of chasing her beloved away and having him jump through to the future a thousand years later, she freezes him in a spire of ice.

she doesn’t remember freezing him. Betty thinks that Simon ran away because he finally realised that she was too gung-ho, too reckless, too much. she never considers that maybe, he’s still here.

somewhere over the course of the mushroom war and onwards, Betty becomes the Snow Queen and the Snow Queen only retains one single purpose: rather than the Ice King’s goal of finding a princess to love him, the Snow Queen is looking for her Prince, and this time, she knows he’s out there somewhere. she doesn’t want a prince, she wants her Prince. she’s broken into countless castles, searched all across the land, kidnapped countless people to interrogate, but the answer always comes up the same: no Prince anywhere to be found.

he isn’t dead, and she knows he isn’t. the Snow Queen would know if something happened to her Prince. right?

and somewhere in a deep cave, hidden amongst the ruins of what used to be a human city, sunk deep beneath the earth after its fall, a spire of ice is waiting, with a single man still standing inside.

———————————————————————

A thousand years after its creation, the spire is broken by a human boy, a yellow dog, and a vampire queen wandering through the nearby dungeons for fun, and for the first time in a millennium, Simon Petrikov is awake.

[moominsuki]

✎ᝰ. REMEMBER THOSE TIMES WHEN YOU WERE LAUGHING, AND NAKED ON MY COUCH ; — silly sex tropes with the boku no hero academia boys.

FEATURING: bakugou katsuki, midoriya izuku, todoroki shoto + kirishima eijirou.

࿄ ! warnings — f!reader, all characters aged up 20+, suggestive, sex talk but silly all around, crack lowkey. / note. this was fun to write. pls take this as a bit of filler while i finish up my super mega bkg fic. loves ya!

✎𓂃BAKUGOU KATSUKI。°˖⌕

it was a rare occasion for bakugou to actually want to show up to a hero gala - when you usually caught wind of any formal event, your blond haired man would vehemently oppose going, opting to stay at home and order some food instead. you couldn’t place what spurned bakugou’s sudden interest in attending the annual convention but as you get into your car, all dressed up and ready to go, you understand why.

“come on, they’re not gonna care if we’re a few minutes late,” pleads bakugou when you arrive at your seats, pressing displaced kisses on your done up face and swat him away slightly.

you whine at him to behave, grabbing at the hand groping at your thighs, your breasts, anywhere he can put his big hands on and you always resort to placing his hands back into the culprit’s lap.

unfortunately for you, bakugou knows how easily turned to mush you are by sweet nothings and fondling because it only takes you 8 minutes for you to cave in, inconspicuously meeting your husband at the rendezvous point. it then takes another 5 for bakugou to have your chest pressed against the mirror, lifting up your gown to touch at your most intimate parts.

“tell me how badly you want it,” he grunts, pulling down his own slacks while you grind your ass and whimper at him.

“be a good girl and take it,” bakugou breathes out gruffly, desire running through his voice and he’s just about to dip inside you-

“i’ve been holding my damn piss in all day - what the fuck? bakugou?!” yells out kaminari and bakugou practically launches himself at the cubicle door to throw the yellow blond out while you’re scrambling to cover up your indecency.

with kaminari sporting a fresh bruise on his jaw as a shameful reminder, you and bakugou vow to never get down and dirty in public spaces. bakugou still adamantly swears to this day that the door was locked.

✎𓂃MIDORIYA IZUKU。°˖⌕

you roll your eyes when you hear another pitiful groan come out of izuku, who’s sprawled out on the couch with a bandaged leg propped up on multiple pillows. he has been out of action with a broken leg for a few weeks now due to an unprecedented villain attack at the agency. it’s rendered him useless, and quite frankly bored and horny out of his mind.

that being said, you outright refuse to have sex with izuku now that he has a broken leg but it hasn’t stopped him from pleading with his big green eyes, pink lips pouting as he guilt trips you from across the house.

“please, y/n, you can just sit on it. i won’t even move a bit. you look so pretty, baby,” izuku whines as you rub lotion into his hands and arms. and what kind of girlfriend would you be to deny him in his time of recovery.

it’s rushed the way that you’re both still half clothed; already grinding on his cock and you’re doing everything in your power to make sure you don’t rest even a little bit of weight on his leg. izuku has never been good at preventing the buck of hips when you clench down on him and today is no different.

he starts subconsciously rutting into you - as he does when his orgasm starts to creep up on him - and one tight clench of your walls forces his lower body to jolt and practically throw you on to his right leg… i.e. the leg that is currently out of action.

a howl of pain emits from your boyfriend and you frantically run to your phone to call the physiotherapist, butt jiggling on the way and izuku doesn’t know what hurts more: his leg or the blue balled dick.

the next time you have sex isn’t until the cast finally comes off and no matter how many puppy dog eyes the man lays on you, you stay resolute on the decision. you even so kindly send him some nudes so he finds solace in his left hand instead of you.

izuku vows to never get another injury again; though his incentives might be slightly skewed.

✎𓂃TODOROKI SHOTO。°˖⌕

it is never a smart idea to have sex in your partner’s childhood home. it’s one thing to fuck in their bedroom; but it’s a whole other bridge to cross when it’s in their parents’ bedroom.

that being said, todoroki hates needlessly having to go to his childhood home. however, fuyumi is out of town for work; being that none of his siblings except for him could house sit and that shoto has a soft spot for his older sister, he decided to just suck it up.

luckily for him, you offer to keep him company for the next few days at his childhood home and shoto would never pass up an offer for the chance to be alone with you - considering both your inflexible work schedules and the fact that you both have roommates, shoto knew this would be a once in an annual experience.

so it was inevitable, really, that shoto would come home from a long day of patrolling and to see you donned in sexy, red lingerie, strolling up to him with your manicured hands placed delicately on his chest. and, being the succubus that you are, you both decided to do the deed in the nicest bedroom in todoroki estate: his father’s bedroom.

with every flex of his hips, shoto has you and the bed nearly folded into one being - you're moaning, begging for him to go faster as you grapple pathetically onto his shoulders while he grunts, grabbing the headboard to speed up his movements.

“that's it, pretty girl, just like that,” shoto groans, lifting your thigh to place it on his shoulder and this new position means that you feel it so much more; but it also means that the legs of the bed start scraping on the hardwood floor... and has the headboard always been so creaky?

you get your answer when a snap! releases above your head and you're about to look up when the middle of the bed caves in with a pitiful oomphh. at this point, the duochrome haired man is still snug inside you and he quickly wraps a hand behind your head to cushion the fall. the silence is ridiculously loud until you both look at each other and burst out laughing.

“my dad is going to kill me,” shoto sighs into your neck and you comfort him with a few soft touches to the nape of his head.

naturally, the pair of you continue your romp in other places of the todoroki home and by the time fuyumi comes back, she's met with a raging enji todoroki holding a sketchy, sprawled out note of:

“sorry >:] - shoto.”

✎𓂃KIRISHIMA EIJIROU。°˖⌕

kirishima regards himself as someone with high restraint and while that does dwindle when he's around you, he's still able to control himself, despite the lust-filled glances and borderline sexual touches you throw at him.

today is not one of those times.

he’s already very pent up, extremely touch starved from this three week long mission away from you. yeah, they bagged the villain, as to he expected. but at what cost? he’s found company in two pillows and pictures of you in the meantime but they do little to quell his thirst for you.

it’s around 5am when you pick him up from the airport and even though you’re both tired as hell - kirishima being jet lagged and you not being used to waking up at these ungodly hours, - the way you touch him is not that of an exhausted woman. and given the days, weeks he’s had, who was he to deny you?

throwing his suitcases haphazardly in the trunk of his your car, nary a word is said as he throws you on to his lap in the backseat, touching and fondling every bit of you to relieve himself. the red head is rockhard in mere minutes (no pun intended) and the two of you don’t even bother to partake in foreplay, both pent up from the time apart.

kirishima grunts into your neck, the back of your thighs sat in his wide palms as he hammers into you, “missed this pussy so damn m-much, fuck.” it’s desperate and the windows start fogging as an effect of the rushed ministrations but you can’t find it in yourselves to care much.

kirishima lets go of one of your thighs to hoist it around his hips, opting to place a palm on the window and unknowingly leaving a incriminating handprint.

it was just his luck that the paparazzi caught wind of the heroes that would be leaving this airport, camping outside of the building all morning. it was just their luck that they recognised red riot’s car sat idol in the parking lot. with their cameras set to burst multiple frames a second, they make a beeline to the car… and upon further inspection, they notice the car shaking slightly, as if there were somebody inside.

it’s a shame that all the paps didn’t exactly get the memo of what was going on, with a bright faced obvious newbie giddily taking a photo, flash and sound click on at full blast.

the shaking stops and muffled shuffling ensues. the group of shutterbugs are mortified to see a ragged kirishima exit the car, brows furrowed and lips pursed.

the paps didn’t really lose much out of this equation, though: who even needs those photos when a hefty check was on offer instead?

࿄ ! — all rights reserved © moominsuki. please do not copy, translate, repost nor recommend my work outside of tumblr. this is strictly prohibited.

[farfromstrange]

Fictober Day 3: Getting a Pet

Fictober Masterlist | Main Masterlist

Pairing: Matt Murdock x F!Reader

Prompt: Finding a pet/Getting a pet (it was originally finding a pet, but I changed things up a bit)

Summary: You think it's time for you and Matt to get a cat.

Warnings: Fluff. Established relationship. Cats. Mentions of future children.

Word Count: 2k

A/n: This is solely based on me wanting a cat. I did have a different version of this already written, decided I didn't like it, and whipped this up in, like, two hours today. I hope you're not mad at me, but the first draft really wasn't it, so I decided to interpret the prompt differently/change it.

Read Me On AO3!

It’s been three years since Matt Murdock stumbled into your life, broken and bruised. A normal person would have run if they had seen The Devil of Hell’s Kitchen knock at their window, but not you. You invited him in and fixed him to the best of your abilities. 

Three years ago, you met the man you fell head over heels in love with. The man who broke your heart then put it back together. The man who once believed he would never love again, that he didn’t deserve it, finally allowed himself to find some peace in your arms. Comfort. Love. 

You moved in together two years ago, and you haven’t looked back since. In fact, you only seem to be moving forward. 

Since he’s been with you, he has been using you as an excuse to Foggy and Karen for why he doesn’t need a dog. He thought he would never have to worry about getting a pet ever again. Until a week ago. 

You were sitting on the couch, head resting on his chest to listen to the steady beating of his heart, when you suddenly blurted out, “I think we should get a cat.”

Suddenly, Matt didn’t have to worry about telling people why he didn’t need a dog anymore, but he had to face you, the love of his life, and talk to you about getting a cat. 

Up to that point, you hadn’t often seen him too stunned to speak, and the times you had, he was facing a greater evil—a greater evil than a cat. 

“What?” you remember him asking.

You nodded against his chest. “Dead serious,” you said, lifting your head to look up at him. You had that determined look on your face, the one that always made Matt’s defenses crumble like wet paper. He could feel it as he brushed his fingers over your soft skin, trying to gauge what you were thinking. 

“I’ve always wanted one,” you continued your reasoning, “and I think we’re ready. You know… for a fur baby.”

Because the idea of a baby was and still is very far in the future.

Matt could feel the excitement radiating off of you that night, and though he had never imagined himself as a cat person, there was no denying he was wrapped around your finger. “You really want a cat?” he asked. 

“I do,” you answered, with an almost childlike excitement.

“I just… are you sure?”

“Why wouldn’t I be?”

“Well, it’s a cat,” he emphasized.

“Your point being?”

“They’re… stealthy. And needy, sometimes.” That was the only argument he could come up with. 

You snorted at that. “So, they’re you,” you said, “just… smaller.”

Matt opened his mouth, closing it just as fast. You got him, fair and square. “Alright, I can respect that,” he said.

It was so serious to you that you sat up straighter to look at him. “Of course you would. Think about it. They’re independent, low-maintenance, and they purr. Plus, Foggy and Karen will forever shut up about you getting a guide dog ‘cause we’ll already have a cat,” you said.

He couldn’t possibly argue with that logic. But deep down, he knew. He knew the moment you brought a cat home, he’d be doomed. But he couldn’t say no to you.

“Okay, fine,” he caved, though the smile tugging at his lips gave him away. “Let’s get a cat.”

Fast forward a week, and you have dragged him to one of New York’s animal shelters to find a cat. Fall has fully settled over the city, the air crisp with a slight chill, and the streets lined with leaves of red, orange, and yellow. Matt’s hand is intertwined with yours as you step inside, and though he tries his best to act casual, you can feel the subtle tension in him. The smell of hay and litter toy with his heightened senses. It’s a lot all at once, but he promised that for you, he would do anything. 

This is a decision you will have to make together. So, he forces a smile when you look at him with that worried crease between your brows, and he tells you it’s okay. He’s got this. You choose to believe him. 

“This is exciting,” you murmur as a volunteer leads you through to the room where the cats are held. “We’re getting a cat!” You want to jump up and down and screech like a banshee, that’s how happy you are he said yes, even though you know he did it more for you than for himself, but if you start acting crazy now, they might never let you leave. 

“I like to say, ‘let the cat choose you’,” the volunteer says once you have reached your destination. “So, please, take your time. Also,” she turns around again, toward Matt, “if one of them tries to nibble on your cane, just tell them no.”

You swallow a giggle that threatens to escape. “Thanks,” you smile at her as she leaves, leaving you alone in a room full of… well, cats. 

You have never been closer to heaven. 

“I don’t want anyone nibbling on my cane,” Matt mutters beside you.

You shake your head, laughing. “Relax. They’re just cats.”

Cats of all shapes, sizes, and colors lounge around the room, some curled up in cozy beds, others batting lazily at toys hanging from strings. You take note of the numerous cat trees, some attached to the wall. It looks like a feline paradise. 

A few cats are eyeing you already, but most of them seem rather unimpressed. They must get a lot of potential new parents every day. 

Matt can feel your pulse quicken as you take a few steps forward, letting go of his hand to crouch down near one of the more adventurous kittens—a fluffy gray one with bright eyes.

“Hi,” you almost squeak, reaching out carefully to offer your hand. The kitten sniffs at your fingers before deciding to nuzzle into them. “Oh, you’re so cute. What’s your name?” You read the tag around his neck. “Bruno. Nice to meet you.” You’re not sure why you are telling him your name, but it seems like the right thing to do. 

You feel so warm inside, like you are taking the one step you have been wanting to take from the start. Getting a pet with the man of your dreams. Though you seem to be enjoying yourself a lot more than Matt is. 

He’s hesitant as he steps closer, folding his cane now that he is out of anyone’s eyesight, and he tilts his head slightly to listen to the kitten’s movements—the soft rustle of his fur, the tiny pitter-patter of paws on the floor, and the barely audible purring that you seem to be coaxing from him.

He can’t deny that he is a little jealous. You’re so enamored with him. If he could purr, he would.

“This was a great idea,” you say, turning to grin at Matt, who still hasn’t quite moved past the threshold of the room. You can tell he’s trying to maintain his usual composed demeanor, but his body language betrays him. 

It’s funny to see your usually so stoic boyfriend nervous and almost scared of a few tiny kittens. The smell must be overwhelming, you know, but it can’t be the only thing holding him back.

“Matt,” you hold out a hand for him to take, “come on, don’t be shy. They’re not gonna bite.”

“Maybe not bite,” he says.

“You fight crime on a nightly basis, and you’re scared of cats?”

He frowns. “I’m not scared.”

“Sure,” you say. With a smile, you take his hand in yours again, guiding him toward a small black kitten that’s been quietly observing from a perch by the window. You’re not sure why, but the little guy reminds you of him. Calm, reserved, but always alert. 

The kitten’s sleek fur gleams in the light, and when you bring Matt closer, he lets out a tiny, curious meow. The volunteer said to let the cats choose you, but you have never seen a more beautiful specimen—except for the human-cat right next to you.

“Meet potential fur baby number two,” you murmur.

You guide his hand toward the kitten.

Matt crouches down beside you, but he’s hesitant. For a second, you think he’s going to pull back, but then the kitten nuzzles right into his hand, and he stops dead in his tracks.

A soft smile spreads across Matt’s face—one of those rare, unguarded smiles that makes your heart flutter. 

“He likes you…”

He chuckles softly. “I don’t know… seems like this one might be too calm for me.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Too calm? Suddenly, you want a high-maintenance cat? A second ago, you wouldn’t even touch him.”

“Just saying… might be nice to have a challenge.”

“I think we, but especially you, have enough challenges in your life,” you retort. “Maybe a calm cat is exactly what we need.”

He doesn’t respond, just keeps stroking the kitten’s fur as he curls up even more. Matt has something about you that puts both humans and cats at ease, you notice. The same thing that makes you want to curl up in his arms is making this tiny kitten trust him after not even a minute together. You watch the scene unfold, your heart swelling with affection. He’s so good at this.

You join in eventually. The kitten doesn’t shy away; he seems oddly content with the two of you already.

“So, what do you think?” you ask softly after a moment.

Matt tilts his head, considering, and for a second, you wonder if he’s really thinking about the question or if he’s just stalling. But then, he lets out a quiet sigh and says, “I don’t know… what do you think?”

You smile. He’s been through so much, been so used to carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders. Something as simple as getting a pet—something that brings warmth and comfort—might feel strange to him. 

You remember how it was when you started growing closer. When he asked you to move in with him. When he told you he loved you after you told him first, afraid you might still slip away from him as most people in his life have. Dealing with something small and fragile scares him. Having something to look after and care for scares him. Maybe that’s why you haven’t talked about children yet; he’s scared of making a mistake, of hurting the people he loves and has sworn to protect. But that’s not who Matt Murdock is to anyone but himself.

“I think,” you say, slipping your arm through his and leaning your head against his shoulder, “that you deserve everything good in your life. That’s why you should decide.”

He’s quiet for a moment, his fingers still brushing through the kitten’s fur. Finally, he nods, and the smile on his face turns just a little softer, a little more real.

“I love you,” he says, his voice barely above a whisper. 

“I love you too.”

The kitten meows. His collar says ‘Pumpkin’, and that is oddly on the nose, you think. The two of you, finding a cat in October, and his name is Pumpkin. 

Matt chuckles. “Okay, I heard that.” And then, turning toward you, he says, “Let’s take him home.”

Your face lights up. “Yeah?” you ask.

“Yeah. I mean, I already have the best thing I could have in the world, right here,” his chin tips toward you, “but… you’re right. We could use a little calm in our life.”

You press a kiss on his shoulder. “Then let’s do this. Let’s take him home.”

Pumpkin. 

Pumpkin Murdock. 

That doesn’t sound so bad. Now all you need is his last name, too. 

Soon.

Very soon. 

@ebathory997 @the-b33skn33s @scoliobean @drmeghanjones @lanae111 @gpenguin666 @linamarr @itwasthereaminuteago @norestfortheshelbywicked @yarrystyleeza @littlenerdyravenclaw @etanordoesbullsh1t @thychuvaluswife @harleycao @schneeflocky @imjustcal @pipsqueakkitten @merlinbtch @sya-skies @thatonegamefish @amberritonicole @pigeonmama @bohemianrhapsody86 @a-gir1-has-n0-name @winkev1 @callsign-ember @chittaphonstar @buckyyyismahhlife @trublu2u @xnatyx @zomtart @ethereal-blaze @littleagxs @lucienofthelakes @steve-chandler

[faeriekit]

Salt Mirror

phic phight fill with two prompts; for @echoghost1 and @fuyuthefoxwriter

(Sister fics are Snow Day, Snowdrift Sanctuary, and Frozen Out)

********

The first thing Danny noticed was the teeth. 

Or. Well. The first thing Frostbite noticed were the teeth. What Danny noticed was that suddenly he was being offered bigger and bigger bones with his meal, which were very much not typical human-appropriate food. 

“You break them,” Frostbite showed him, pinning the bone between two sharp canines and biting down. The bone broke clean in two. Hot-dog style. “Then you are free to eat the marrow inside.”

Danny stared. “I don’t… I don't think my teeth do that.”

“Try it,” his guardian encouraged. 

…Well. He hoped Far Frozen had as good a dentistry practice as they did medicine. Danny shoved the bone between his canine teeth, and clamped down—

—And the bone broke clean through. 

Huh. That was…new. 

Well. Marrow tasted good, anyway, and scooping the butter-soft marrow out with a spoon was easy. Danny might have clunked the wooden spoon against his teeth a couple times (man, was he clumsy today) but he was very happy with the results. 

The next day Frostbite offered him an arm-length rib bone, Danny didn’t even hesitate to chomp down. 

He ate through four ribs before he felt full. He was happy. 

*

The second thing Danny noticed was how pale he got. 

Like. As in ‘his arm matched the snow-white fur of his tundra-proof coat’ level pale. ‘White as a glacier and just as blue’ level pale. Like. There was no red left in his skin. 

He pressed his thumb to his palm. It went yellow, and then flushed back to white as his blood went back in. 

…Spooky. Uh. Danny blinked loudly. Maybe he was…sick…?

There wasn’t a mirror in their cave dwelling, and nothing was shiny enough to reflect in— everything that wasn’t medical was cast iron, or not quite mirror smooth, like Frostbite’s round cooking knives. 

Danny needed a mirror. 

He bundled up and walked through fresh snow drifts to the closest medical facility: an ice cave across from Ledyanoy and Avalanche’s home, carved into one of several dozen pillars of ice embedded into the floating island. Danny knew that there was a mirror there, since Frostbite went in for mirror therapy every time his ice-carved arm began to itch psychosomatically. 

He darted inside. Pritla was the only one in there, so they ignored him in their quest for additional data. Great. All Danny needed was the mirror set up in the corner, ready and waiting to be rolled into place for Frostbite’s next session. 

Danny peeked at his reflection. He looked…wow. 

For one, Danny looked spooky as hell. The blue went all around his eyes, now— no whites to be seen, creating an uneasy, inhuman look. He was pale. He was very pale. He looked like the printer had run out of any colors that might have given him some sort of standing to wander reality with. 

The insides of his lips were blue. The wet inner linings around his eyes were blue. 

…What. 

And. Speaking of…lips…his gums were a deep, sapphire blue, as was his tongue. None of that was as important as his huge freaking fangs, though!

Like! Huge! Not yeti huge, of course, but still!! Danny had no idea how they weren’t sticking straight out of his mouth when he closed it. Big, pearly fangs. 

What the heck was happening to him? 

*

“I think you’re turning into a Yeti,” Tundra decided primly, and flung himself at Arctic without any further thought. The teenage Yeti— still taller than Danny by two heads and a half— squawked, barely seeing the projectile cub in time to dodge appropriately. 

“No,” said Danny. It was more outright denial than certainty. He wrapped his coat tighter around himself. 

Avalanche, who was the closest to adulthood out of all of them, watched the two wrestle balefully. Tundra was barely out of cub age, and Arctic wasn’t much better than Sidney Poindexter when it came to having his crap together, so it was kind of like watching two frogs mud-wrestle in knee-high snow. 

“I mean,” said Avalanche, mostly bored by the spectacle of Arctic getting his butt whipped by what amounted to a kid, “I’m pretty sure it’s normal for human-born ghosts to adapt to their Obsessions after they form. You have to change a little to match your environment. And we have a lot of snow.” 

“So much!” Tundra howled from where he was perched on top of Arctic. His victory lasted as long as it took for Arctic to get his legs underneath himself, push himself to standing, and launch Tundra into a snow drift with a surprised squeal. 

Arctic shook himself off. His fur fluffed up with the effort, which made him look larger in size than usual. “I think that if you were turning into a yeti, Frostbite would have noticed. Or said something. Or done something.”

Avalanche shook her head, gamely ignoring how Tundra had turned from a fallen-in-the-snow position to a crouching-and-ready-to-pounce position. Danny had seen this a million times now; either Arctic would notice (he wouldn’t) and dodge, or he’d once again fall victim to Tundra’s childish enthusiasm. 

Danny and Avalanche largely had no comment on Tundra’s second leap of faith, nor for their mutual struggle for pubescent dominance that ensued. 

There were other questions to ask. 

*

“Am I turning into a yeti?” Phantom asked. 

Frostbite looked down. 

The half-ghost looked nervous— picking at his lip until green beaded under his teeth, his hands in the sleeves of his coat. 

“No,” Frostbite confirmed. He didn’t smile, as it would have seemed condescending in the face of Phantom’s genuine worry. It was better to keep calm. “Why are you worried about turning into a yeti?” 

Phantom stared up at him, eyes deep and luminous. Frostbite had seen similar coloration on deep-sea creatures, long-travelled things desperate for any sort of light. The sight was compelling, yes, but could not substitute for a verbal answer. 

“...Because I’m changing colors and now I have sharp teeth and I think I’m growing claws,” Phantom pointed out. All of these things were true. They were very good, sturdy teeth, and very good, sturdy claws, which was a good sign; anything otherwise would have indicated a lack of support on Frostbite’s end. 

“It is a very normal thing to want to explore other forms of expression at your age,” Frostbite pointed out. He threaded his paws through Phantom’s pale hair, and found, to his pride, little buds of ice horns. “And I am very flattered that you think so highly of us that you are interested in mimicking some of our more obvious traits; that being said, if it distresses you, you are always free to change back.” 

Phantom’s face turned…lost. “Oh.” 

Frostbite continued petting. More explanation would come, or it wouldn’t— but in the meantime, the human tinge returned to his charge’s cheeks, flush with red blood, and the bud horns collapsed where they grew. His charge’s hair turned dark once more, his teeth flat and human. 

Phantom’s eyes were always blue. The human color was not as deep, but was just as nice. Now, there were tears in them. 

“What is wrong, little one?” Frostbite rumbled, concerned. Phantom took his paw and pressed his face to it in search of tactile comfort. 

“I didn’t know why I was changing,” Phantom admitted, sniffing. His voice was wet and raw. “I was scared I couldn’t go back. Humans don’t just…change like that, 'cause we're made of matter. I was scared…”

Frostbite rumbled wordlessly. His charge had adapted very well to a non-human environment, but there were knowledge gaps that would have come naturally to any Realms-Borne being; most intuitively was knowledge of the self, as well as the rigidity (and fluidity) of one’s own manner of expression. 

Changing without realization would be distressing. Frostbite still remembered what it felt like to wake up some mornings and realize that his arm was gone. 

“You are alright,” Frostbite reaffirmed. “It it healthy to change, and it is a good time to find out how you will want to present yourself. That being said, there is no rush.”

Frostbite paused. 

“There is one rush. If you intend to partake in eating marrow with our dinner tonight, you may want to manifest your teeth again—”

Phantom laughed, little cub’s fangs poking out between his teeth. All would be well; but first, there was dinner to be had, and a good night’s sleep to be found.

[eggfriedricedwasian]

The batfam owning pets each

Alfred- a senior basset hound named Pugsley that uses a wheel chair(Like Pops from the secret life of pets)

Bruce- a german shepherd named Ace(We know this already)

Dick- he already has Haley aka bitewing, but he also has an illegal monkey Damian got for him as a birthday gift and he brings it to gymnastics when he teaches classes. It's a girl as well and her name is Penelope

Babs- 3 squirrels she named after Velma, Simon, and Donny and, somehow someway, she has a trained red tailed hawk named Dexter

Jason- A Burmese mountain dog and his name is Rex

Cass- She has a persian cat named Sofi whom she takes to ballet practice and learns how to step even more lightly than she already steps and also how to land lightly when jumping by watching Sofi play

Steph- She has a yellow and bright blue macaw named Astrid. She got Astrid after watching HTTYD and now Astrid knows how to fetch things from even the fridge(She sometimes helps on patrol when Bruce isn't out)

Tim- If you asked him if he has a pet he'd tell you he has 4 dogs and 2 cats which is understandable bc he's rich. He technically isn't lying but in actuality he owns 4 wolves, a snow leopard, and a tiger. No his family doesn't know about his precious babies, he tends to keep it that way because he doesn't want damian stealing them. He uses his money to advantage

Duke- He has a sugar glider he sometimes takes on patrol who he named Apollight. Dont ask him how he got that name, he's embarrassed to admit he mixed the name Apolli with the word light.

Damian- He has alfred the female tuxedo cat and titus the black great dane

Kate- Don't ask how she owns and tamed a bat, she just stole one from the bat cave and named it Luna

Selina- you know she has and picks up every stray cat she sees

Harley- She has her two hyenas named bud and lou

Ivy- she has a tarantula name Sweetie

[trashmouth-richie]

𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐬𝐢𝐱: 𝐬𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐦𝐲 𝐥𝐢𝐟𝐞 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐬

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: eddie stays until clove’s shift is over at the club despite her best efforts to get him to leave. jolene expresses her concerns, an old acquaintance reintroduces himself with eddie. a piece of the past is revealed.

𝐭𝐫𝐢𝐠𝐠𝐞𝐫 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: 18+ stripping, drug use/abuse, alcoholism, addiction, abusive relationships, prostitution.

𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: 18+ no minors, depictions of poverty, child neglect/ endangerment, drug use/abuse, alcohol use/abuse, endangerment, 18+ sex working, 18+stripping, violence, smut.

𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞: 6.8k and a rewrite 🫣; we are finally getting somewhere in this story and i am sorry it took so long to pass these awkward tense filled chapters! 😓 im really happy with the way this chapter turned out and i hope you enjoy it too.

A smile twists on your lips, and you can’t hide the funny tingling shift of your eyebrows as you test the numbness in your face. You felt as if the world was spinning with colors of orangey yellows and blushing pink.

“Slick…come. on.”

The sky moved above you in gentle waves, pulsing and vibrating. The tangle of tall grass around you felt like shaved butter beneath the pads of your fingers. A giggle bursts from your lips and you stretch your arms out, feeling the creamy splats of the chickweed on your elbows. You imagined that you were a piece of toast, becoming soft by a pat of butter and a smear of jelly.

Would you be flavored as Grape? Choke Cherry? Definitely Mulberry, you’d decided after moving your tongue against the dry membrane of your cheeks… willing for a drop of saliva to coat it, tasting the jam on it with every swirl.

“You’ve got to be shitting me!”

You look up, a drunken haze on your stoned eyes. Lids felt heavier with every blink upward towards the tendrils of caramel swaying above. A concerned look is painted on Eddie’s face and you couldn’t for the life of you understand why.

Sweat formed beneath his bangs, his temples dripping wet. He wanted to shout and scream as your finger reached up to poke him on the nose, a raspberried boop bubbles from your lips and a fit of laughter follows.

He was pissed when he finally found you at the party. Even more upset that the sweet freshman, Barbara, had distracted him by asking about the Chemistry test, trying to compare answers to see if she had gotten the questions right.

In that amount of time you had disappeared in the crowd of sweaty bodies, nowhere to be seen. He settled into an immediate panic. Crippling anxiety crawling up his spine.

This party was a bad idea, he should have never taken you here, but your puppy dog eyes never failed to make him cave. You were always good at that.

The rickety farmhouse now used for high school kids to drink beer and smoke weed was abandoned long ago. Paint had chipped from the wooden slat siding, the wallpaper was ripped to shreds in every room, graffitied over. Rumor had it, the class of ‘79 threw orgies in the basement.

He searched every face around the flames of the bonfire for you, called your name into the lonesome woods— but you were nowhere, and when he asked people if they had seen you, nobody knew who you were. He was scared, terrified— after what happened the last time you went missing at a party— he swore it wouldn’t happen again. His eye was still discolored from that fight.

An hour had ticked by then an hour and a half, and he felt full fledged crazy when he started searching in parked cars.

The sweet smell of weed hit him as he walked past a pickup he hadn’t recognized. The tailgate was laid down with a blanket laying across it in a rumpled mess. And he almost missed it.

Almost turned to leave when he spotted a hand, laying limp from beneath the flannel threads— and his stomach fell at the sight of a homemade tattoo sketched in the same spot as his, opposite hands.

He planned on leaving. Not wanting to see the way your life had trainwrecked out of control and off the rails. But his heart ached for the girl he knew, the one he once left behind.

Eddie planted himself on that barstool like he was a permanent fixture. Keeping quietly to himself. Politely telling the bartender he was fine with the water and cold basket of wings that sat untouched.

His stomach was uneasy, sick with worry about the truth he spilled and your reaction to it all, acting as if it had never happened—turning something serious into a party. Maybe that was easiest for you? Turning a blind eye to the truth.

Tonight, Eddie would stay for you, ensuring you got home safely. Something he should have done years ago but couldn’t.

▫️▪️▫️▪️

You were floating on a warm and buzzing kind of high, drunk on the cheap liquor and pills you consumed tossing them back like a child would candy.

Reckless was an understatement for the mask you wore tonight. The armor shield you bared to protect yourself from getting hurt was heavy, but you never let it slip from your shoulders.

Overly friendly, flirting with the regulars, the out of towners. Anyone with a swinging dick was game. The college guys who you would normally rather drop dead than spend any amount of time talking to— suddenly were the most interesting males you’d ever laid eyes on.

You laughed at their stupid jokes, pinched their cheeks and kissed their necks as you ground your hips into their laps. Their grabby hands roamed over your body freely and you never swatted them away.

You accepted singles in your g-string like a eucharist in a catholic church. Their warm breath on your neck and shoulders held whimpers and groans as you moved above their laps to the music, or ran your tongue along their ear.

Giving away bits of yourself you didn’t care about, a lazy smile on your lips as your eyes closed and your head swayed along with your hips to the sultry music that played for Wendy’s set.

They all wore the same face, their voices were different but their soulless expressions spoke to the tiny crumb you kept hidden away that you still carried around, singing to you like a prayer of hope.

The only thing you couldn’t do was look any of them straight in the eyes. It didn’t matter who they were, their eyes were always the same: doe like, a stain of muddy brown and surrounded with dark lashes. Eddie.

The conversation you had with him burned like a fiery wind in your chest, and you did the usual to extinguish the flames. But the sad bourbon eyes parked at the bar ignited it every time you caught them in a stare over a suit jacket shoulder, making you turn away with something stronger than guilt.

Tipping back shots of god knows what, you fell deeper and deeper into the pit of numbness, until you fully succumbed to it, shutting out everything around you, disassociating to another time.

Watching the swing of a chain bounce from left to right, your fingertips felt like lead as they dangled. Grass was on the ceiling being stamped down to the soil beneath large footsteps. A pair of black legs moved as you swung like a wind chime in a summer breeze. The skinny legged creature holding you was murmuring under its breath. It took you much too long to realize you were being carried and the thing holding you was Eddie.

Your face was level with his lower back, the black shirt he was wearing rode up enough to leave a sliver of navy checkered boxers hanging out. The pattern looked funny, like tic-tac-toe. The words forming on the tip of your tongues mind, tickling the muscle as you make up rhymes.

“linch-lactose, ditz-duck-toast, yic-yac- yo, pinch-punch post!”

Your fingers squeeze the band of his boxers and pull it way out, revealing the whitest ass you’d ever seen and you gasp in surprise as if your incoherent mind forgot what would be clothed beneath, letting the fabric snap back into place. Warranting an irritated yelp from Eddie that has you tipping upwards and upwards until you are falling downwards and downwards behind him.

Now you were wading on your back in a soft batter of cake, and Eddie swore under his breath.

“Up, get up.”

You shake your head at him, moving your fingers to try to make his frown tick up. “I’m having fun, you should try it sometime.”

He huffs in annoyance, “fun? You call running away from me at a party with some West Academy fuckheads fun?”

You blow a raspberry with your lips, tossing your body over to your front then your back again and again until you’ve rolled a few feet away from him further into the deep grass.

“Seriously?” Eddie groans in frustration following you crossing his arms once he faded into your peripherals, “quit acting like a little kid!”

Eddie never got mad at you. At his dad, the way you grew up, school… but not you.

You frown back at him, eyebrows curling inward, “what’s up your ass Munson?”

His eyes cloud with something you can’t recognize, not in your current state of mind at least.

“Nothing, let’s—can we go? I’m fucking exhausted, and you’re pissing me off.”

“Oh…” you sing, leaning up on your elbows, scowling, “I get it now, you can get high with Byers’ whenever you feel like it, but when I do it without you— it’s suddenly a problem.”

He doesn’t say a word, only sighing deep and running his hands through his hair til they snag on his neck, bangs shoved aside.

“You’re a real bastard y'know? A hypocritical, fuckass!”

“Me?!” he shouts, flabbergasted, “It’s been what? Three weeks since I punched Hagan until his mouth bled for what he tried to do to you… and now you’re just going around putting yourself in the same situation Clove! It’s stupid, you are being stupid! You’re just asking for something bad to happen, like you’re looking for it!”

It wasn’t easy to forget that night, the tears that slid down your face, the taste of blood and gravel in your mouth, or the rip in your clothes from being pushed down.

You spent nights lying awake, wondering what could have happened if Eddie wouldn’t have shown up when he did. White knuckling your blankets, you stayed that way until the sun shone through the ripped tinfoil on your window. The only reprieve you could find was altering your mind for an hour or two.

Looking for that tiny bit of relief, you jumped when the opportunity to let loose came up, hungry for the numbness to settle, for your mind to ease.

After all— you were just having fun. What’s the worst that could happen?

Lights flashed in every neon color imaginable as the night drug on. He was torturing himself watching you become clumsier, spilling drinks, and nearly tripping over your own two feet.

The clink of the beads from the back room made his stomach turn as they moved like clockwork, girls went in every thirty minutes and out almost at the exact second it was up.

Shots of a bubbly pink liquid floated around in your hands as you brought them to a table of younger guys. Squealing as one of them pulled you into their lap, shoving his face into your chest as you giggled and swatted at him playfully.

Eddie wanted to puke. Wanted to throw his knuckles into that guy's stomach until he gasped for air. As much as he wanted to give in to his urges and bust the teeth out from that guy's mouth, he didn’t. Not wanting to embarrass you by being overly protective. He didn’t have that right anymore.

So he sat back and simply watched with a sinking heart, swirling the bottle of a now warm beer in his hand. Waiting.

Waiting for what— he wasn’t quite sure. Maybe you would sober up and he could take you to get some food at an all night diner? The two of you could laugh about old times, and you’d get to know one another again, in better circumstances.

He held onto that thought as his knee bounced watching you go from lap to lap at that table of college boys, a smile pressed to your lips that didn’t meet your eyes. Your pupils were so large he could see them from where he sat, inky blacks taking over where your natural color pooled.

“Hey there handsome, gin and tonic?”

Eddie swirled to face the bar at the bartender’s voice, thinking she was speaking to him. Her eyes didn’t fall to him, they were focused on a guy leaning his elbow across the counter, a gaudy red jacket flanking his shoulders.

Slitting his own eyes into narrow strips, he recognized him immediately. Still too many freckles pocking across his face. Hair cut short on the sides, slicked back with stiff gel. A cocky smirk on his face as he eyed Eddie, puffing out his chest like an alpha male. Tommy Hagan.

The heels of your palms press into your eyes, creating shapes behind your eyelids as the tears slid out rolling down the apples of your cheeks, your head laying softly against the ground.

Eddie nearly broke when your chin quivered, your lips shaking as your lungs raked in a choked breath. He didn’t want to hurt your feelings, never wanted to be someone who made you cry.

He kneeled down next to you, reaching for your wrists to peel your hands from your eyes. You finally let him, but kept your eyes shut tight.

“C’mere,” he whispered, wrapping his arms under yours and hauling you up with him to stand.

Your tears wet his hands from where he held your face, wiping them as they fell. “Don’t shut me out,” he pleaded, worry spreading across his face, “you can tell me anything.”

Shaking your head you tried to pull yourself away from him. “It won’t go away, Eddie,” you sobbed.

You could hear his tantalizing words in your ear just like that night. Still feel his hands under your shirt, and when you pushed him away, running from him, Tommy had caught up to your drunken strides and shoved you onto the gravel, pinning you there.

“I’m tired of crying, I’m tired of being stared at… I wanted one damn night of not remembering, of feeling normal again!”

His arms squeeze around you like a vice, and you cry into the column of his throat, your tears coating the split ends of his hair.

Eddie murmurs your name as he runs his fingers down your back in a soothing pattern. Letting you cry it out. His heart shattering right along with yours.

He didn’t let go of you until your tears fell a little more silently, your sniffles scarce.

“I have a surprise for you.”

His dark eyes were wild. Wide in psychotic amusement at the scene in front of him. “Physics proves me wrong again,” Tommy sneered, “they really can stack shit six foot high.”

Eddie shifts away from him, searching the bar for you. But Tommy doesn’t let up.

Waltzing towards Eddie, Tommy’s stocky build and red jacket made him look like something from a cereal box. “Ah, man, cmon,” he chides, leaning an elbow beside Eddie’s arm, “‘m only playin’ round.”

“What do you want, Hagan?”

“Now Eddie… is that anyway to treat an old friend?”

He was trying to bait Eddie, get him to swing on him maybe, finish the fight that started years ago. But Eddie wouldn’t budge, ignoring him completely.

Tommy runs his tongue along his teeth, “I have to wonder just how Rick would react to finding out that The runaway Munson bastard was sitting in his club, staring at his girl.”

Eddie almost choked on the breath he took, but he managed to keep his face calm even though he was breaking apart on the inside.

“She didn’t tell you?” Tommy feigns surprise, “She’s been his whore since your old man started selling dope. Don’t worry though—Rick is pretty generous, he’ll let you fuck her in the private rooms for the right price.”

Eddie swallows thickly, holding back vomit.

Tommy leans in close, his cheap cologne stinging Eddie’s nose, “pricey, but trust me…that pussy is worth it.”

Eddie’s fingers curl into tight fists.

“Oh and before I forget, Rick will be happy to know you’re back in town. Your old man still had some business to take care of before he vanished like a fart in the windp, and Rick is looking to collect.”

He watched Tommy leave. Striding up to one of the girls and squeezing her ass before laying a sloppy kiss on her lips.

Dread filled his soul like a sandbag, weighing him down until he could barely move, hardly digesting what Tommy had said before Rocket Queen started blaring from the speakers.

The crowd whooped and hollered for the girl on the pole, catcalls and wolf whistles, meaty hands slapping the stage with singles.

The table you were sitting at now sat empty, and you weren’t anywhere around, the bartender screamed your name and he knew before he even looked that you were the one on stage.

“The treehouse?”

“The treehouse.”

What felt like a ten mile walk in your inebriation was barely even one as you followed behind Eddie. Your finger laced into one of his belt loops guiding you along with your eyes half open.

“When you mentioned having a sleepover, Slim— I thought it would be in one of our rooms, with blankets, a pillow maybe.”

It was a goldmine when you stumbled across it all those years ago. Deep in the woods behind Forest Hills, you couldn’t believe it was still standing.

He smiled and brushed hair from his neck, “ What’s wrong? Clovie wovie a wittle afraid of a dirt and some bird shit?”

You shove his shoulder and make a disgusted face, “mostly afraid of getting Hepatitis.”

“Relax,” he said, putting a foot on the first wooden rung, nailed to the tree trunk, “I was here last week and cleaned it out.”

He climbs the makeshift ladder with ease, all fluid motion like an ape at the zoo.

“There’s no way in hell I’m gonna be able to do this.”

Eddie gets to the stop and pokes his head down, “it’s not that high up.”

“Yeah but I am.”

Eddie rolls his dark eight ball eyes and lays on his stomach across the floor of the treehouse, partly dangling over the edge to reach for your hands. “Put your foot there, no— that one.”

It took longer than it should have but with great effort from Eddie and as much concentration as you could manage, you’d finally made it to the top, laying flat on your back huffing like you’d ran a marathon.

“Well, that was easy.”

Eddie glares at you with a sweaty brow, “yeah, you really aced it Slick.”

You raise a middle finger and he sends one back making you both laugh. “I’m gonna hire you to clean my house, it’s pretty nice up here.”

The floor was swept and a round rag rug laid in the center. A tarp covered the ceiling where rain always snuck through the roof.

“Yeah, yeah, figured this place shouldn’t go to waste just because we don’t use it anymore. Maybe Lolly could play up here with her friends.”

Eddie bends down to lift the lid to a large wooden box you don’t remember being there before. He hauls out a large sleeping bag, a folded quilt, and a flashlight.

Placing the flashlight under his chin to illuminate his face in creepy shadows, Eddie throws his voice into a creepy cackle, “know any good ghost stories?”

The room spun as you hung upside down from your ankles crossed against the pole. It was a blur, a blackening clouded storm piercing your barely conscious mind. Years of dancing on this stage, you could practically do it in your sleep.

When you seductively lowered your bra straps and revealed yourself, the men went crazy. Everybody loved the devil, and right now you could use a better disguise to mask the pain from Eddie’s spilled truths earlier.

Eddie. Eddie, Eddie, Eddie.

The more you tried to suffocate his name in your mind, soul, body, he remained. Always.

You hadn’t spoken to him since earlier when the bar was empty except for the two of you and seven year old secrets. His eyes burned into your skin whenever you saw him, and you wondered how far you’d have to go before he decided to leave again for good.

The answer you asked for left you feeling like you swallowed a Buick. It tasted wrong on your tongue like burnt iron, and it was too much to chew.

Throwing yourself on men’s laps like the true whore you’d grown into, you felt his stare on you all night, and no matter what you were doing, how loud you laughed or danced for dollars—Eddie stayed.

It should have charmed you, should have given you a little joy to know that despite your job, despite everything you’d been through with and without him, he wanted to be here. But those days had come and gone, and now the only thing you felt was burning rage.

Back in high school he would get so hurt when you’d show back up at the party having already smoked with someone else. You never forgot the way his eyes looked as you laid in the grass. Disappointment. The thing you couldn’t recognize in them at that time.

And disappointment was what you needed to find in his eyes tonight. But as you looked towards the bar where you knew he was sitting, the dark coal of his eyes weren’t looking at you at all. His head was lowered, picking at his nails.

The song played on, and the finale was coming up where you laid across the floor amongst the filthy cash and pretended like the moans from the woman in the song were your own, and that every guy in the bar was making you feel the ecstasy of an orgasm.

You wanted Eddie to be so uncomfortable he wouldn’t want to come back. He needed to hurt the way you had. He could have come back, Eddie knew you’d never leave Hawkins, and he— fuck, he promised that you’d both get out of here.

Maybe it was the drugs and the alcohol that were making you so irrational, but it never crossed your mind, and Eddie’s eyes never lifted to meet yours.

One hand was laid across his chest, your head resting on his right bicep, a bent leg between his. You’d been asleep for a half hour according to his watch, and it’d been twelve minutes of you curled into him the way you were.

Neither of you had any good ghost stories, your real life being scary enough there wasn’t anything to fantasize about being more terrifying than that.

The two of you talked for a long time, whispering stories back and forth, laughing about the shade of Higgin’s face when you had both egged his house on Halloween last year.

Quiet fell over you both and you tucked the blanket under your chin, a small yawn escaping your lips.

“Eddie? You awake?” you whisper.

His chest expands beside you, “yeah, are you?”

“Yeah.. I wanted to tell you—”

The high was gone and you laid stone sober. You needed to thank him for helping you, for never giving up on you when you were beginning to give up on yourself, but it fell flat, carried away on the cool breeze blowing through the treehouse.

“… your butt is really really white.”

Laughter fills the space between, and you and Eddie giggle until tears squeeze from your eyes.

“You’re such a pain in my ass, y’know that?”

Moonlight shines through the open doorway illuminating the smile on his face, it was then that you began to see him differently as if he suddenly became more to you than anyone ever had. But maybe he always was.

Crossing a line you never had before, you lean forward pressing into him your body over his. Your heart raced but not any faster than his was. He was so handsome like this, and right here in this moment you felt as if it was second nature. As if looking at Eddie this way wasn’t new or different.

“You’re my best friend,” you said to him, stroking his cheek, “always and forever.”

You lean forward just enough for your lips to brush against his. The most delicate of kisses like a butterfly wing flapping in the wind.

Before he can say anything or react, you lay your head on the crux of his shoulder, and close your eyes.

When he was certain you were asleep, Eddie’s throat finally untangled and he whispered into your hair before kissing your forehead, “til the end of the world, baby.”

He couldn’t look. Out of respect for you and for your dignity, Eddie wouldn’t watch your set. It made him feel wrong, dirty, as if he were just another sleazy guy hoping to get into your pants.

Last call was hollered out and Eddie finally raised his eyes to see the stage now empty, only catching the shine of your heels walking to the dressing room.

The bar was emptying out, the bartenders had stopped serving. Overhead lights hissed as they illuminated around the bar, much like the club go-ers showing the true coyote ugly before a night of regret could begin.

The black haired bartender smiled big and set a glass of water in front of Eddie. “You okay to drive, sugar?”

Eddie smiles small, sliding his hands down his face, “Yeah, I’m just waiting for a friend, figured she needed a ride home.”

There weren't any other customers left in the club, and the bartender raised an eyebrow, “one of the girls?”

Eddie nods tiredly, taking a sip of his water.

“Yeah, I didn’t tell her that I was waiting, but.. don’t think she’s sober enough to drive.”

Jolene knew the other girls had already left, having had Kenny walk them all out to their vehicles, all but one.

“Clove?” she seemed a little startled, “you’re waiting for her?”

He rubs his hands together, “Yeah.” Her eyes narrow and she leans across the bar, waiting for an explanation on who he is. “I’m Eddie Munson. Slick— Clove, I mean, and I grew up together in Forest Hills.”

“Munson?” her eyebrows nearly cross, “Wayne? Or Al?”

“Al, un…fortunately,” he admitted, twisting his rings around his fingers, “back home for Wayne’s funeral.”

Lightbulbs clicked and Jolene spread a wide smile, “I remember you, Patty my aunt, babysat for Clove’s sister sometimes.”

“No shit? Swear this world gets smaller and smaller.”

Jolene sighs a bit of relief after connecting the dots on just who was waiting for you, a mother hen to her little chicks. “You and her kinda took care of each other back then, right? Looked after one another?”

He shrugged, not really comfortable talking about those times with a complete stranger, “kinda, I mean we really weren’t given a choice.”

Sighing deeply and looking worn out, Jolene shakes her head, “she needs a little of that right now, a lot of it actually.”

Eddie’s eyebrows raise, “choices? Or someone to take care of her?”

Before she can answer him, the dressing room door flies open with a clunk against the wall, likely to leave a hole where the doorknob hit the already crumbling drywall.

The fine powder around your nose was still dusted in a spot you had missed, and your slippers were back on your feet.

Looking from Jolene to Eddie and back again you scoff in annoyance, “what are you still doing here?”

Eddie looks a bit taken back but doesn’t let your hurtful words slice through him the way you had hoped they would.

“Gonna bring you home, make sure you get there, alive.”

Rolling your eyes, you bite a curt goodnight to Jolene and brush past Eddie, hitting him with your purse on the way out as you shuffle for your keys.

Jolene’s face is full of worry and she looks to Eddie with pity in her eyes, “she needs both.” Taking his glass she nods towards the door as you’re part way through it, “she’s been lost ever since she walked into this club…but lately, it’s gotten out of control.”

If his heart could plummet any further it would, but Eddie simply looked to Jolene and gave her a nod of understanding before he stood and jogged to follow you out of the doors.

▫️▪️▫️▪️

Gravel crunched beneath your slippers as you stumbled your way out to your car. The depths of your purse finally revealed the keys they’d been hiding and you pulled them out in a hissy fit, ignoring the calls of your name from the last person you wanted to see right now.

“—wait! Shit why are you walking so fast?” Eddie said pretending to be out of breath.

You nearly fell into the back end of your car as you shot him a glare refusing to answer him. Holding onto the sedan to make your way to the driver’s door, keys out.

“What are you—?” He realizes you’re trying to unlock the door so you could drive yourself home. His sober body being more agile than yours— he quickly finagles them from your fingers and puts them in his back pocket.

“Give them back!”

“No,” he says firmly, “you’re drunk, you’re not gonna kill yourself getting behind that wheel.”

“What are you the cops? A fucking pastor out east.. or west.. or wherever the hell you live at now? I’ve done it a thousand ti—” you groan in frustration when he backs away out of reach.

You reach for him again and again, holding onto his shirt and trying to yank him towards you. Eddie gets free and slams against the driver's door.

“Stop! I’m not letting you drive.”

All fight in you is lost. Instead you flip a switch and turn on the charm, batting your eyelashes like you would at any Sam, Dick or Harry at the club to get a good tip. Swinging your hips, pressing your body against his, your voice lilts into seduction.

“This what you want?” you ask sweetly, a sinister look in your eyes, “why you came home, right?”

Eddie’s lungs weren’t functioning, his mind blank, completely and utterly speechless at the way you were acting. He was repulsed, disgusted with how this night had turned out.

You walk your fingers against his chest, placing a manicured hand under his chin. His skin crawled, feeling the failure, the let down you had experienced seep out of you, because of him.

He was pissed, fuming with rage at the idea that you would think that this is what he wanted? To sexualize his own friend, you!?

You had been used to using your body to your advantage to get what you needed to survive. It had become almost thoughtless as you me body took over.

The alcohol, drugs, the provocative behavior, it was all a tangled web of coping. Of growing to be a product of your environment. Wearing a suit of spades from the same hand you were dealt.

He felt as if he was no better than those pigs in the bar who grabbed ass for freebies. Regret looming over him with each and every second that ticked by.

When your hands started to go south, Eddie’s brain zapped and he grabbed your wrists, halting you from touching him any further than you already had.

He searched into your eyes for a shred, an inkling of the girl he used to know. But came up with nothing but sadness and a glossy high.

“That’s enough.” His voice was firm, startling you into a gasp at his refusal to fall for whatever the hell you were trying to do, “get in the car, Clove… I’m taking you home.”

Rejection stung, but this was worse than that. Throwing yourself at Eddie, trying to make him so uncomfortable that he would leave the bar only for you to try to seduce him so you could drive your own car?

Pathetic. Self sabotage wins again.

Your face falls before you could whip up a response, or continue to argue with him. You didn’t see the way his eyes were wet or the way he was falling apart. Yanking your wrists from his light grasp, you march to the passenger side of the car, mountains of regret pressed heavy into your shoulders, but your face was painted in a false unbothered state.

His back is still turned away as your foot taps impatiently. A loud annoyed sigh from you finally renders Eddie free from the crestfallen place he’d seeped into.

He unlocks the door and gets in, adjusting your seat to accommodate for his longer legs, reaching across the center to pull the lock for you.

▫️▪️▫️▪️

Coming out of the shower you were surprised to see Eddie standing in your kitchen.

“I’m a grown woman… I don’t need you to coddle me.”

His flannel hung on the back of a chair and he wore a plain white shirt underneath, thin enough where you could barely make out more black swells of ink spread across his back.

He had insisted on walking you to your apartment despite you rolling your eyes so hard they could have fallen from your head.

“Heard you throwing up,” he said over his shoulder, flipping something in a pan, and moving to the fridge, bending low to retrieve something from the bottom shelf, “I’ve been with you almost all day and haven’t seen you eat a single thing—so get dressed and sit down while I make us some food, yeah?”

“Eddie,” you groan with thrown around explicits, stomping back to your room. You had thrown up while in the shower, entirely liquid your stomach purged itself until you were gasping for breath.

You grumbled as you fought your way into an oversized shirt and a pair of shorts. Foregoing the trouble of drying off properly, you throw open your door and smell the sweet scent of cinnamon.

“Y’know you don't have anything in your cupboards, right?” Eddie called from the kitchen.

Your head and your heart were fighting each other on how you felt about him here in your apartment. And you threw all rational thoughts out the window as you geared up with vinegar in your veins, ready to argue with him.

Rolling your eyes again you say, “didn’t know I would be hosting Julia Child.” The counters are filled with mixing bowls, the scarce amount of milk you had left and a carton of eggs. “I rarely eat here, besides… nobody asked you to do this. I’m fine, I can make my own food… and you can leave.”

He stops whisking the eggs and shakes his head before continuing, holding the bowl and turning to face you.

“My skin has grown pretty thick over the last few years, so if you think you can insult me enough to hurt my feelings, save your breath.”

Hands on your hips you stare up at him, “maybe your thick skin can tell your thick fuckin’ head that I don’t need you around.”

“Do you push everyone away, or is this a special thing you’ve saved just for me?” Eddie asks earnestly.

You stalk towards him, arms crossed, “well I’ve had seven years to come up with what I needed to say, so don’t flatter yourself.”

“By all means, lay it on me,” he retorts, spreading his arms wide, “I deserve it—but I told you why I had to leave,” he half pleads, “I didn’t have a choice.”

Rage pours from you thickly, and you can barely stand yourself as you scream at him.

“There’s always a choice! You’re only here now because you know you made the wrong one, and you can’t live with that!”

“I have one regret in my life— one… and you’re right, it was leaving Hawkins without you. I think about it every single day, but don’t think I never—” he pauses long and hard.

Would he ever tell you? Not like this, not right now.

“Don’t think what?” you poke, sticking a knife into his wound and adding salt until it festered, “c’mon Eddie don’t quit on me now.”

You were being awful, but it was the best shield you had.

“Really wanna go there? Wanna have this talk? Fine, we can do that,” he stood tall but his shoulders sagged and his voice was quiet, “but only when you’re sober. I’m not fucking talking to you about this while you’re drunk and high.”

“‘m not drunk,” you sulked.

Eddie turned back to the stove, placing the eggs in the hot pan and letting them sizzle before scraping them around with a spatula, “whatever you think, sit down… this is almost done.”

You slid into a chair at your table, “I’m not hungry.”

“Don’t care, you need to eat, and lucky for you,” he chides, turning off the burners, “I worked as a cook for about a week a few years ago, so I made due with what you had.”

You wait for him to say he was joking but he never does, “how did you manage that—learning the fine culinary skills from making grilled cheese and orange koolaid?”

He laughs and opens a cupboard looking for plates, “well, living on the streets, you find out real quick just how much you’re willing to lie to get a job.”

Eddie places two pancakes on each plate with a heap of scrambled eggs and a few slices of an apple.

For the first time since he’s been back you take in account just how scary it must’ve been for him when he left, and your heart sinks.

“How long did you do that?” you ask quietly, moving towards the coffee maker and placing a filter into it, adding the grounds.

“Work as a chef? Oh not long they figured out I didn’t know anything about cooking shortly after I burned the hard boiled eggs.”

“No, I mean… live on the streets.”

Eddie carries the plates to the small table, “a few months here and there… crashed on a lot of couches until I had enough money to rent a room from a guy I worked with… wasn’t too bad, the van was pretty roomy.”

Nodding, you watch as the coffee brews and begins to drip into the glass pot. He moves behind you and back to the fridge to get out a tub of butter.

The itch of him being in your apartment felt so beyond foreign but was starting to feel almost comforting. As if him being around was closing your own open wounds, and you were getting whiplash from listening to your mind and then your heart all in one night.

“I’m sorry you had to do that.”

He turns to see you looking at him with a sad look in your eyes, and it broke him to see you go from one extreme to another. Fighting mad like a cat in a bathtub one minute to crying the next. As angry as you had been at him, he understood because he experienced the same kind of light switch type of emotions.

Two kids who never learned how to properly handle feelings, now barely adults still navigating the waters of being an adult.

“Hey,” Eddie spoke softly, crossing over to you, he places large hands around your biceps, looking deep into your eyes, “I’m alright, Clove. I made it out just fine, okay? Someday you’ll see for yourself just how good life can be, I promise.”

Hanging your head you mumble, “there’s nothing good left for me, Eddie.”

His hand moves under your chin before he can even wonder if what he’s doing is alright, and a tear falls before he can wipe it from your cheek.

“Don’t say that.”

Your eyes lift to him as more tears leak out, “I’m stuck here…you don’t know the kind of shit I’m in.”

Eddie pulls you into him as you cry, rubbing your back as you sob into his chest. You didn’t know the last time that you’ve been hugged and you melt into his arms as you tuck yours further into him.

You needed Eddie home, as much as you hated how your lives ended up, this was exactly what you needed. Him. Here, with you.

“I’ll help you, Clove…” he whispers into your hair, “all you need to do is let me.”

For the first time in a long while you believed him. Putting hope or faith or whatever you could into that moment, into his words. Holding that little ball of light at the end of the tunnel close to your chest.

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[rainbowdaisy13]

*As always, these are my thoughts and connections Im making as I watch—I do not claim to know anything secret or for this to be taken as fact*

So we start out the Spotify Video with a pan out of the whole scene which is essentially Taylor-World with her as the centerpiece—song choice is Cruel Summer which is heavily Kaylor coded

The next scene is these two people in love in what we find out later is Taylor’s eye. Shes wearing Miss Americana and the other person is a taller woman with her face covered by leaves—why would her face need to be covered? The infamous red scarf is present which has now become a symbol for Taylor’s affections (IBYTAM video)

Next we see the clock moving closer to Midnight and a woman dressed in lavendar answering the phone upside down. Shes got clock earrings on and seems to be real excited about whatever she’s talking about

Next a close up of the Lover House burning in Taylors hand—this symbolism is so important to Taylor it’s *the* thing she has in her hand—could’ve been anything but it’s that

Pan out and we get another tall face covered (again why can’t we see who these people are?) stranger step into frame next to the Sunset and Vine street crossing—a Gorgeous reference, which is also heavily Kaylor coded

We switch to seeing the clock again move closer to Midnight and hear the lyrics “I’m always waiting for you to be waiting below” as we see this gentlemen covered in clocks checking both his watches—is it time yet?? Is it happening?? I believe the people in yellow represent us in this fandom constantly checking our watches asking WHEN TAYLOR

Next we get an Angel / Devil scene where the dice seem to add up to 89 and 13 at different times. What interests me more is that the Angel first aims for the dice—she’s gonna kill The Game—and at the last second changes her mind and decides nope she’s gonna take down the Devil who is playing the Game

After the Angel presumably takes out the Devil, the clock finally strikes Midnight and an ensuing earthquake appears shaking everyone up—this is wild to me—once we meet her after Midnight she knows the world will be shaken by her truth. But don’t worry! Tree is there measuring the aftershocks and noting how TS The Business is impacted

Next we get shots of a girl with her face covered playing guitar, 2 people fishing, and people dancing in the snow in a cave—if yall have any connections with those add on, nothing super jumped out to me. I DID love the Fox peaking out of the KT boot though

Then we see another person in yellow trying to see through the leaves in the snowglobe—again I think this represents this fandom. There’s also another woman in Orange, with her face covered, sitting next to a dog that resembles Karlie’s dog

And my fave part where it all comes together, the closing shot of all the small people in Taylor World is again focused on the 2 lovebirds—it’s revealed they are in Taylor’s eye, and she winks as we hear “I don’t wanna keep secrets just to keep you”

A Masterpiece as always well done Mastermind

[carolperkinsexgirlfriend]

Steddie Upside-down AU Part 31

Part 1 Part 30

It’s felt like hours since Eddie was left alone in the small room, but the large clock ticking away in front of his eyes is its own form of psychological torture, telling him it’s been less than fifteen minutes.

Is this the way time passes for dogs? Years passing within hours, until suddenly you’re on your deathbed. The clock ticks again. Eddie starts screaming to be let out. For the fourth time.

It must work because the door bursts open, random goon number five leading the way in, crouching behind Eddie and uncuffing him. His wrists feel raw from his tugging, fingers full of ants from his circulation being cut off. He cradles them to his chest, rubbing the feeling away.

“Get up,” Hopper says from where he’s standing at the door, Wayne by his side. “We’re wasting time.”

Eddie stands up slowly, eyes darting from person to person, trying to figure out what’s happening. “I don’t understand.”

Hopper turns and strides out of the room, not waiting for anyone to follow. Wayne gestures for him to hurry it along as Eddie rushes to his side. It’s only once he’s out of the small room that he realizes Hopper isn’t leading the charge but following two more goons with guns in their hands.

Eddie jogs to catch up, Wayne trailing behind. “What’s happening?” he asks, once he’s at Hopper’s side.

“We came to an agreement.”

“What?” Eddie demands loudly. At Hopper’s warning look, he lowers his voice and asks, “what agreement?”

Hopper sighs. “Look, everything that’s happened here, and everything that’s gonna happen? We don’t talk about it.”

“What?” Eddie asks, voice raised once more.

Hopper stops, sending their entire precession of goons with guns into an awkward fumble to keep them in sight and close ranks. “You want Steve back?” Hopper asks, glaring at Eddie like it’s somehow his fault that Steve is there in the first place. “This place had nothing to do with it. That’s the deal. You got it?”

Eddie glares incandescently furious at the thought of them getting away with it. All those days rotting alone in the Upside-Down, the way he can still feel ash coating his tongue, all these hours later. He bites his lip on the rage and says, “I’ve got it.”

They continue on.

The passage gets narrow and bright, more like a hospital than a shady government agency. It leads to an antechamber, just as full of white paint and emptiness, except the pops of color that are the three suits lined up – vacant and waiting.

They’re yellow and plastic-looking, like a cheap costume from a ‘60’s horror movie.

“What’s this?” Eddie asks.

There’s a man in a lab coat, holding a clipboard as he looks things over and makes little tick marks on his paper. He doesn’t look up from his task as he answers. “Protection,” he says casually, like they’re discussing the weather, “the atmosphere is toxic.”

“My boy was in there,” Wayne says gruffly.

“Steve is in there right now!” Eddie says, feeling his heartbeat tick up and skip around.

“Hey!” Hopper says, clapping to get their attention. “Put them on.”

Wayne and Eddie share a look, but both comply. The suit sticks strangely to his bare skin, like it’s a crappy rain jacket, and not a device that’s supposed to be able to protect their lungs and skin. The helmets are even worse – boxy and claustrophobic. Eddie wants to take his off immediately. As if sensing his thoughts, Wayne gives him a squint-eyed look. He leaves it on, grumbling about all the toxic fumes his already taken in.

They go, Wayne leading the charge with his shotgun in hand. Goons of both science and gun varieties watch them go from a distance that Eddie finds suspicious.

“How much do you want to bet that they don’t expect us to come back?” Eddie asks.

“Don’t matter,” Wayne says, keeping his eyes trained on the prize. “We’re getting your boy.”

Hopper twitches his head like he wants to glare at him, and Eddie’s suddenly grateful for the shelter the boxy helmets provide.

The gate, when it appears looks like the mouth of a cave, slimy and dripping, looking almost organic as is secretes and pulses in tandem to some heartbeat Eddie can’t even begin to comprehend. Ash is billowing out like snow. And it’s all that same, familiar red.

Eddie feels like he should be afraid, but it doesn’t come. Squeezing through the entrance behind Wayne feels like going home. Even as the other two look around at the wasteland of a place in shock, Eddie wants to take off his helmet and breath it in.

No one speaks as Eddie leads at a brisk pace that has his lungs burning immediately. Every snap of a twig under one of their boots has Wayne raising his shotgun and Hopper reaching for the holster at his hip as Eddie plows doggedly on.

It’s like now that he’s on the other side, the fishhook in his sternum is urging him on, faster, faster. Toward Steve.

The Harrington house looms large above them, but Eddie already knows it’s too late before they reach what’s left of the front door. It’s caved in, mahogany splintered straight down the middle. Anything could walk inside.

“He’s not here,” Eddie says, hoping the tug at his sternum means that Steve’s out there somewhere, and not just dead.

 Hopper doesn’t listen, just shoves his way past the shards of what’s left of the Harrington’s austere front door. Wayne waits for him, mutters a quiet, “we’ll make it quick,” as they follow.

Eddie knows where to go, leads the way up winding stairs to Steve’s empty plaid bedroom in this empty house. The closet door has been ripped clean off, bolts attaching it to nothing but air.

Eddie looks down at the next of blankets on the carpet, looks for blood by rote, doesn’t find any.

It looks just the same as Eddie last saw it, past the destruction. His dirty clothes are still puddled on the floor, somehow still wet days later. Eddie’s pillow is nestled into the same place in the closet, like Steve was saving him a place for when he came back.

“He’s not here,” Eddie repeats, leading the way back out of Steve’s empty bedroom and down the winding stairs.

Wayne and Hoppers footsteps follow, Hopper pausing to look around like he’s casing the joint. “It was hurt,” he calls.

It almost hurts to turn away from the front door, from that tug tug tug. Wayne and Hopper are both peering down at a spot on the Harrington’s white living room carpet. It’s pooled with blood black enough that it looks like a misplaced shadow.

“Where is it?” It sounds like Nancy’s voice, echoing over from the other side.

“It has to be dead.” And there’s Johnny boy.

“Wheeler?” Hopper calls, alarmed.

“She’s not here,” Eddie replies. “Her and Jonathan must have done something stupid.”

Wayne, who had only caught the tail-end of their mad-dash plan to lure the Demogorgon to the other side, eyes the stained carpet and says, “that explains the blood.”

Eddie reaches out, brushes his hand across a lamp as he passes, basking in the way the light feels almost warm in his palm before he walks back out into the broken world through the Harrington’s broken front door.

The fishhook pulls. Eddie follows.

Part 32

[adverbally]

Every Claim You Stake

Written for the @steddieangstyaugust prompt “‘Who did this?’” | wc: 1,364 | rated: E | cw: sexual content, slut shaming, unprotected sex | tags: friends with benefits, non-exclusive sexual relationship, jealousy, argument, not a happy ending | title from “Every Breath You Take” by The Police

———

Eddie is pretty proud of himself as he trudges up the walk to the Harringtons’ front door. He actually made it two whole weeks without caving in and calling Steve. That’s probably the longest he’s gone since they began their little arrangement.

It’s not like he hasn’t seen him. They’re friends, they hang out with the same people and shuttle the same kids around town. But it’s been two weeks since Steve last invited him over and sucked his brains out through his dick and then thanked him for it.

That’s what Eddie has the most trouble wrapping his mind around. If anything, Steve is doing him a favor by saving him a trip to Indy for his hookups. Plus, sex with Steve is basically like physical therapy, considering the amount of stretching and cardio involved. Eddie can actually touch his toes now, go figure. And even though they’re not dating and Steve doesn’t seem to know about Eddie’s big fat crush, he’s actually a very considerate and romantic lover. To get all of those benefits and the sight of Steve on his knees, grinning up at Eddie with come and spit dripping off his chin… well, maybe karma is real and the universe is trying to make up for the whole “almost getting eaten alive by demobats and dying in the Upside Down” thing.

He’ll take it.

Steve meets him at the door, looking unfairly beautiful for a guy wearing sweatpants and fuzzy socks and glasses. “Hey, man, come on in. Is it still snowing?”

“Barely,” Eddie responds, kicking off his shoes and shrugging out of his jacket. He shakes his damp hair like a dog to make Steve laugh. “Gonna warm me up?”

“I’m gonna send you back home if you try another cheesy line like that,” Steve threatens, though he’s still smiling. He steps closer and settles a hand on Eddie’s hip.

Eddie only has time for a single suggestive eyebrow wiggle before Steve is suddenly in his space, guiding Eddie back against the entryway wall. His lips follow shortly thereafter, licking into Eddie’s mouth with more enthusiasm than finesse. Eddie likes it like this, a little sloppy, like Steve wants him so badly that he doesn’t have the brainpower to coordinate his movements.

When Eddie breaks away for a breath, he trails his lips across Steve’s jaw, lingering on the two little moles high on the side of his neck. It’s one of Eddie’s favorite places on Steve’s body, the X marking the spot where Steve will shiver and gasp at the scrape of teeth over delicate skin.

Steve manages to slip his hands under the hem of Eddie’s t-shirt and flannel, coming to rest in his back pockets. It probably says something about Eddie that he really likes when Steve does this, just grabs his ass and steers Eddie into grinding their hips together.

“Fuck,” Eddie mutters into the skin of Steve’s throat. He uses the hand at the nape of Steve’s neck to grab a chunk of hair and pull his head back, maybe a little too hard. When Steve groans his approval, Eddie feels the vibration against his lips. “Yeah, you missed me?” he teases, bringing his other hand to the opposite side of Steve’s neck with a gentle squeeze.

His stomach swoops when Steve flinches and hisses an inhale through his teeth.

“Shit, sorry, did I hurt you?” Eddie releases his grip on Steve’s hair and pulls away.

Steve’s worn t-shirt, with its stretched out neckline and holey hem, has been tugged into just the right position to reveal a truly massive hickey.

It looks a couple of days old but it’s still deep purple at its center, nearly black, with a sickly green-yellow fading at the edges. If Eddie looks closely enough, he thinks he might even see teeth marks.

Someone else’s teeth marks. On Steve.

The sight makes Eddie’s stomach churn with jealousy he knows he has no right to feel. This thing between them is just casual sex, they definitely haven’t discussed whether they’re exclusive. Apparently, while Eddie assumed they were, Steve did not. Somehow that makes it hurt even more. What would Steve want that he couldn’t ask Eddie for? Was he not good enough for him?

“What the fuck?” he whispers, reaching out to pull Steve’s shirt collar even farther down his shoulder.

“Eddie–”

“Who did this?”

“Just some guy at the club in Indy.”

Steve and Robin had gone just last weekend, Eddie remembers. He had stayed home and ate dry cereal out of the box while Steve was apparently getting partially cannibalized. He can’t help but picture it. Probably some hulking blonde jock who could pick Steve up and fuck him against the wall while he begged for it. Maybe he bent him over the sink, making Steve look at himself in the mirror, all pink-cheeked and hazy-eyed.

“Just some guy who used you like a chew toy,” Eddie scoffs.

Steve scowls at him. “Are you angry about this? Sorry, I didn’t know I was supposed to get you to sign my permission slip first.” He shrugs his shoulder violently enough to dislodge Eddie’s hand.

“Fuck you.” Eddie shoves Steve so hard he stumbles a couple steps backwards. “Who was it?”

“Why are you acting like I cheated on you? You’re not my boyfriend, or my dad, or-or my babysitter.” Steve’s eyes are shiny in the dim light of the foyer. “It’s none of your business who I sleep with.”

Eddie is so angry he’s shaking now. It’s one thing to have sex with someone else, but it’s another to put Eddie’s health at risk without so much as a heads up. “It really is! Were you fucking them bare, too?” He puts on a TV commercial voice. “‘The full cumslut experience, now including AIDS. Share it with your partner today!’”

Steve has the nerve to look hurt that Eddie would question him. “We used condoms. You’re the only one I didn’t…”

Boy, they sure didn’t. Steve wanted to be filled with everything Eddie had, in whatever hole was available. Many a lazy evening was spent with Eddie idly pushing his come back into Steve’s ass or licking it out of his mouth or painting it across his face. The mere thought of Steve doing that with someone else infuriated him. He wanted to make him forget that anyone but Eddie had ever touched him, to show him that Eddie had everything he needed.

“Well, I guess the whore isn’t as stupid as he looks,” Eddie spits.

“I was stupid enough to think you liked me!” Steve pinches the bridge of his nose. “Stupid enough to trust you, stupid enough to start falling for you… Stupid enough to fuck someone else just to make sure I wasn’t imagining how good it was with you.” He closes his eyes and sniffs. “I guess I won’t have to worry about any of that now.”

Eddie freezes. Rarely does life present you with a blinking neon sign telling you “YOU FUCKED UP,” but here is one if he’s ever seen it. Regret floods him until he feels like he’s drowning in it. What can he even say to try to salvage this? He clears his throat tentatively, trying to shift some of the heaviness in his chest. “I didn’t mean… You don’t… Steve.” So much for his improv talents.

The house is silent for a moment before Steve glances back up at Eddie. His face is wet, his eyes red and puffy. Then he returns his gaze to the floor and calmly says, “I think you should go home.”

“Steve–”

“Please don’t call me again.” Steve hugs his arms around himself. “You can see yourself out.” He squeezes past Eddie to go upstairs.

Eddie watches him ascend, then turn the corner and disappear out of view. His brain feels like it’s full of static as he picks up his shoes and his jacket, putting neither of them on before going back outside. The snow may have stopped, but the ground is still cold and wet, soaking Eddie’s socks. He doesn’t really feel it.

He doesn’t really feel anything right now but regret.

[popironrye]

The Lost Boys

Doggo Headcanons.

My thoughts on the boys getting a pair of hellhounds. Let's go!

Max gifted the puppies to the boys.

Two rotties. Slightly different colored fur patterns, but the biggest difference was one had pretty blue eyes while the other had striking yellow eyes.

David was against the idea from the get go. His reasoning was they didn't need dogs around.

One week later, he's the Brooklynn-99 meme. "If anything happened to them, I'd kill everyone in this room and then myself."

Laddie, Marko, and Paul took the pups immediately. They're thrilled about it. Dwayne and Star took little convincing and quickly came around to. David acted like he wanted nothing to do with the pups. At least until they were constantly taking naps in his lap.

Everyone, including Star and Laddie, argued frequently on name ideas.

They finally got their names when Paul pulled a puppy out of his music collection, and she had gotten a Heart cd in her mouth. They opted on naming the dog sisters after the Wilson sisters after Paul called the blue eyed pup Nancy and she responded to it.

The yellow eyed pup is named Ann but everyone, including David have gotten used to calling her Annie. Ann just sounded too formal for them.

While both dogs are equally excitable and playful, Nancy is the more party dog. Often at Pauls and Markos side. Jumping around a howling along to the boys music.

Annie is the more mellow of the two. Often playing gently with Laddie or just laying at the side of Dwayne and David during quieter activities like reading or card games.

David thinks it's ridiculous, but the rest of the boys and Star often dress up the dogs in accessories and even paint their claws. The dogs absolutely love it. The most David will do will get them an assortment of dog collars. Mostly black leather.

Star and David are the only ones the dogs let bathe them.

While Star and the older boys hang upside down deep into the cave, Annie and Nancy curly up with Laddie. Always on alert to possible intruders.

Feel free to add more! This is all I can think of. 🥰🐾

[ntls-24722]

It's about time I made new refs for these 3 c:

They're this polyamorous trio of Debu who I love dearly. Lepit fled to Lewes, their village, to escape his death sentence, Rinkalla fled to Lewes to escape her fame and adoring fans, and Sindeer's... always been here. Now they're all dating eachother, under the scrutiny of everyone, making stupid bank as an iron trio with Sindeer bringing in lionfleas, Lepit making never-before seen dye out of them, and Rinkalla using them in her artwork that would become prized artifacts of the modern world.

Breakdown of designs and general loredump below the cut:

*rated on how easy they are to acquire, not how common they are in Debu art/fashion

So, a big thing with these 3 is that they've gotten famous for dealing with their last competent predators - the lionfleas (bottom of post), these bipedal pack-hunting bugs that take advantage of their enourmous size, and their dye isn't just desired because it's made from lions but also because the color is valuable in general, similar to how purple was prized and usually reserved for royalty because of how difficult it was to get.

The first 2 sections of colors are really common with the first one being found constantly in the rocks they're constantly quarrying to make their caves, and the second one being a really prominent color in their plants' "flowers." Yellows, greens, and cyans aren't usual plant/organic colors, so they're very hard to get as pigments, at least for Debu who need a lot more of it. Usually they can only get it through trading Zebrapeople who can create these pigments much more efficiently than Debu, as zebrapeople have domesticated bugs who create them. But these lionfleas' shells produce a surprising golden yellow hue from the vesigial wings that got incorporated into their elytras, and this dye is used in the fabric Sindeer makes as a huge moneymaker and a giant ass flex in their stoles.

Speaking of which, Valley Debu have 3 big ideals - heritage, your in-group, and history/recordkeeping. The second of which I'm about to show off rn:

*The right side is the right side of all of their stoles to show they're all a part of the same group, and each of their left sides show their role in it.

Also, the fertility symbol - I went over this in the first try of this post, but the debu fertility symbol is kinda universally known as this centermost circle within the object it's on, since it's supposed to resemble a yolk from an egg. A lot of societies have a specific sigil but it's very easily recognized from the aforementioned center circle thing. The damn thing is everywhere on account of fertility being a very big ideal for Debu - their environment is harsh, arid, and susceptible to frequent famine, and prospering crops and other Debu is something they look forward to.

Valley Debu really like grouping themselves, establishing and aligning themselves with communities, on the broader and individual scale. Yes they're very nationalistic, but they're also extremely proud of even just friendgroups, they love to show the pride and demonstrate their exclusivity within groups as niche as possible(which leads to a LOT of polarization and wars within Valley Debu). These 3 are no different and when they're out and around other Debu they wear a stole around their hump+shoulders showing off how they're the freaks who keep surviving their equivalent to lions and live to make them into dye. Usually though, around the house they're just naked :P

Also, Extra notes on some of the stuff I added as their professions!

Sindeer is a huntress but she's specifically a whistleblower one, and also carves whistles, and here's why. On Bolur, all 3 species domesticated cloes instead of something like a dog, these bird-like creatures who originally were domesticated to keep bugs off them and their crops, who can often be trained to respond to specific whistles that mimic the ones they use naturally. The cloes Debu domesticated act a lot like hunting hounds for Debu, they can locate and kill game. So basically, she hunts with flying dogs and makes dogwhistles.

Then there's Rinkalla, who among other things, makes cement?

On Bolur, they have have land coral, these photosynthetic things with a soft, marrow-y pith and a hard limestone outside. The homo mousike (3 sapient species) really like using it in their cement and concrete since it's really widespread, and Rinkalla... does that! The original reason was because Bolur didn't have wood, but I'm realizing that wood as a concept for plants is so incredibly simple that I don't think I can make it Not canon, even though it was a fun design constraint.

Also, last names: Valley Debu societies are generally patriarchal, but their love of recordkeeping extends past this - they prefer the mother's last name to be passed down since the mother is the most reliable parent. If someone gives birth, no matter what they say who's the father, you can never be sure. But whoever gave birth is DEFINITELY the parent, you know? Their last name also doesn't change even with marital status.

Lepit made his last name up