#all of the Horror World key chains

[micechicken]

Even though I have many GHS merch items I forget there is more that I need.

[stervrucht]

[AO3]

David Bowie plays on the radio and Steve drums his fingers along the steering wheel of his car as he contemplates. He is truly too good for this world. Now he is running errands for Dustin like some common soccer mom. The kid only had to give him one pout – one! – and Steve felt all his resistance crumbling. So, there he is on a Friday evening, seated in his still-running car in a Hawkin’s trailer park.

He stops his car in front of Eddie’s trailer and listens to the music as he gathers the willpower to leave the car.

Laughed at his long black hair, his animal grace, Bowie sings on the radio. 

How fitting

Outside, dusk is setting in and the world colors purple. Closing up Family Video had taken longer than he anticipated due to a difficult customer who couldn’t decide between The Thing and The Nightmare on Elm Street and had asked Steve extensive questions to make up his mind. 

Steve used to be fine with horror movies, but given recent developments (give or take his life the past few years), he isn’t into horror anymore. Out of the two, The Thing is probably the worst offender. Those crazy fleshy monsters hit a bit too close to home. Although, Freddie Krueger does have some vague Vecna vibes to him.

Steve is so lost in thought he doesn't notice the door of the trailer open until Eddie knocks on his window with his knuckle. With a jolt, Steve turns to roll his car window down. Once it is fully open, Eddie leans forward, his arms resting on the car.

“Sup Harrington.” Eddie’s hair falls forward and the low-cut tank top reveals his chest, framed by the silver chain of a guitar-pick necklace. 

Shaved, Steve notes.  Then, realizing he is staring, he tears his eyes away, coming face to face with Eddie Munson who gives him an amused look.

“Oh uh, right” – Steve coughs nervously – “Dustin asked me to give you this…” he unbuckles his seatbelt and leans over to the passenger seat where he grabs the cardboard box of some nerdy game.

“Here–” He hands the box to Eddie’s outstretched hands.

“Hell yeah, Talisman. Took Henderson long enough.” Eddie pushes himself away from the car and inspects the box for a moment. When he turns back to Steve, his eyes move towards the car radio.

“I didn’t take you for a Bowie fan.”

“Oh, I’m not really … Robin must have left it in. It’s … alright, I suppose.” 

“And what type of music does Steve find more than alright?” 

Eddie flashes him a cheeky smile and Steve finds himself somewhat intimidated. Whatever his answer, someone like Eddie will probably find it lame. Steve isn’t all that passionate about music anyway and mostly listens to whatever is on the radio.

“Maybe Queen, The Bee Gees…” he lists in no particular order.

Eddie tuts. “Such a proper boy.”

Although he expects it, Steve still winces.

“I should introduce you to some real music,” Eddie says thoughtfully, then – “Wanna come in?”

Steve takes a moment to think. His parents are out, so it isn’t like he’s expected at home. He has nothing to do tonight except watch some movies (perks of the job). Although the prospect of hanging out with Eddie doesn’t thrill him, it might be the more interesting option.

“Sure,” Steve turns his car off, rolls the window back up and opens the car door. Eddie takes a step back, giving Steve some room to get out. 

Eddie’s eyes move to his chest and Steve realizes he is still wearing the stupid Family Video vest. He quickly takes it off, crumples it and unceremoniously throws it in his car before shutting the door again. With a quick turn of his key, the car is locked.

Steve follows Eddie towards the trailer. It is a warm summer’s night and the shadows of the trees grow long under the purple sky. The trailer park is surrounded by ample woods and fields from which the sound of crickets flares up.

“You coming?” Eddie waits for him at the door. Steve doesn’t realize he stopped moving and quickly makes his way to where Eddie is standing.

“After you, King Steve,” Eddie says, holding open the door with a dramatic bow.

Damn, Eddie is kind of annoying, isn’t he? No wonder Dustin gets on so well with him. Two peas in a pod. Steve lets out an unamused scoff.

Once inside, Steve stands in the middle of the…living room? Kitchen? He isn’t sure what to call such multifunctional rooms. He crosses his arms and shifts his weight from one leg to the other as he waits for Eddie to put the game away.

The main room is crowded and messy. It is the complete opposite of his parents’ living room, which is kept meticulously clean and organized – with the help of their cleaning lady of course. The coffee table is stained with water circles from mugs and the like. Something unthinkable to Steve. If he ever puts a glass down without a coaster, he will face his mother’s wrath.

“Beer?” Eddie calls from the kitchen. He already turned his back to him to make his way to the under-table fridge.

“Sure.” 

Steve is getting sick of standing around and decides to move to the small beige sofa. It is littered with clothes and after a moment of hesitation, he shoves them aside and sits down.

“You’re fucking tense,” Eddie says as he hands Steve a can of beer. He looks down at the pile of clothes and without hesitation grabs them and throws them in a different corner of the room. Then he lets himself fall onto the sofa next to Steve, which objects with a loud creak.

The sofa really is quite small and granted, a bigger one probably wouldn’t fit. The middle of it sagged considerably too, dragging its occupants to the center.

Steve feels the warmth of Eddie’s jeans-clad legs against his own. They are probably sitting a bit too close and Steve shifts uncomfortably in his seat. 

The can lets out an audible hiss as Eddie opens it and takes a quick sip from his beer. Then, he puts it down on the table and jumps up again.

“Fuck, I was gonna play you some music.” He hurries past the kitchen into a separate room. 

Steve opens his own can – cheap store-brand beer – and takes a nervous gulp as he waits for Eddie to return.

He is starting to reconsider his choices this evening. Perhaps he should just have watched Back to the Future again. Instead, he is in the trailer of some guy he kinda-sorta knows because they have shared custody of some annoying kid (one of Steve’s best friends).

“Oh yes, this will be good.” Eddie re-emerges cradling a few cassettes in his arms like he is holding a baby. He squats in front of the coffee table and releases the collection of plastic cases on top of it. Steve eyes the contents, but he recognises none of it. Then he looks over at Eddie – the flesh of his knee peeks through the hole of his jeans and Steve wonders if Eddie made it himself or if it had naturally torn by use. 

Eddie shifts through the cassettes with ring-clad fingers, picking a few up and turning them around to look at the back of the plastic cases.

“Let’s start with Rainbow,” he mumbles to himself, grabbing the cassette (a hand holding a rainbow over mountains on its front). He walks over to a small side table next to the front door where an old-school cassette player stands.

With a loud click, the front of the cassette player opens and Eddie puts the cassette in and closes it again. Immediately, music starts playing.

“Fuck, hold on.”

Eddie rushes over to the kitchen, rummaging through some drawers until he finds what he is looking for.

Victoriously, he holds up a pencil to Steve and clicks his tongue. Steve takes another gulp of his beer as he watches Eddie move through the trailer with a skip in his step. He is actually excited to let Steve hear his music. Steve feels strangely flattered and he lets himself fall back on the sofa. 

The music stops and Eddie takes the cassette out. Using the back of the pencil, he rewinds the tape. Steve looks at Eddie’s hands as he works. The rings are kinda cool. Maybe he should let Robin pick out a ring for him too. Although perhaps not with skulls and crosses like Eddie wears. Maybe something more simple, like a signet ring or something.

Steve is pulled from his thoughts when he hears the cassette player click shut again. 

“Your player doesn’t rewind?” Steve asks.

“Steve” – Eddie puts the pencil behind his ear and turns to look at him – “I live in a trailer…”

Steve feels heat rise to his cheeks. 

Shit, sometimes he forgets his parents are very well off and some things are considered luxuries instead of the default. He made the same mistake with Robin too – multiple times – but it was hard to prevent. He thinks back on his car – not particularly expensive, but also not as beat-up as Jonathan’s. Does Eddie think he is some spoiled rich boy?

“Right, sorry.” Steve takes another mouthful of beer. Eddie turns around again to put the cassette in the cassette player. 

A song begins to play, the sound reminds Steve of something alien – not really like music at all. Once the drums kicks in Eddie begins to bob his head on the beat, his hands hitting an invisible drum. He dances across the room, drumming his invisible drumsticks along the wall before falling back onto the sofa, stringing his fingers as if playing a guitar.

“Shit, I should really learn this on the guitar.” He leans forward to grab his can of beer. Condensation forms on the outside and when he picks it up, a wet circle is left on the table.

Eddie kicks his feet up, white sneakers hitting the wood of the coffee table and the cassettes rattle. He takes a deep swig of his beer and audibly sighs. 

Steve leans forward, arms resting on his thighs and can between his knees. Once the music actually began, it wasn’t too bad. He didn’t understand the long intros though, and preferred it if music would just start.

“So, what do you think?” Eddie asks.

“Not bad.”

“Not bad” – Eddie scoffs – “You, my friend, have not been exposed to nearly enough good music.”

Steve chuckles. “I thought Bowie was pretty acceptable by –” he looks Eddie up and down demonstratively, “ – your kind.”

“My kind, huh?” a smile plays at the corners of Eddie’s lips. “And what would that be, exactly?” 

Well, shit. Steve drove himself straight into possible-insult town. Eddie eyes him curiously, one elbow resting on the sofa’s backrest and his hands holding his can in a way Steve could only describe as cool. 

“Well, you know…” he trails off.

“I know…?”

“Eh, metalheads, I guess?”

“Ziggy Stardust isn’t metal, you know that right?”

Steve sighs exasperatedly. “I know, ugh. I mean he’s–”

“Weird?” Eddie finishes.

Steve takes another gulp of beer, desperate to compose himself. “Yeah,” he answers lamely.

“I suppose he’s pretty weird, huh?” Eddie eyes the ceiling of the trailer while taking a lazy sip from his beer. “Did you know he used to be gay?”

Steve looks to Eddie, who is still eying the ceiling, head lying back against the sofa’s backrest. 

“Used to be?” If Steve is to believe Robin, there is no ‘used to be ’ when it comes to being gay. You either are or you aren’t. Now he thinks about it, Bowie seems somewhat queer with his tight suits and styled hair, but that is what girls dig, isn't it? He has heard countless girls swoon over men just like that.

“You never had a gay phase, Harrington?” 

Steve nearly drops his can.

“Gay….phase?”

“You know, live a little, try some shit, see what sticks –”

“I can’t say I have,” Steve mumbles, his eyes now firmly fixed on the can in his hands. He plays nervously with the lip, pulling it in tandem with the music before taking another sip.

“With a pretty face like yours, you might actually get some good ones.”

Steve chokes on his beer. Actually chokes, and he hits his chest with a fist to get himself to breathe again.

“W-what?”

“How can you know what you like when you never tried it?” Eddie sits up straight, pulling one leg to his chest as he turns to Steve. His dark eyes seem like a bottomless lake and Steve feels small under his gaze.

“H-have you?” Steve stutters and it is utterly embarrassing. Why is he so rattled by some stupid revelation? 

Wait, did Eddie just call him pretty?

Eddie smirks at him like they are sharing in a secret, and perhaps they are.

“Fuck yes, if someone tells me not to do something you can bet your ass I will do it. Besides, humans are humans, big fucking deal.” 

“So – was it a phase? In your case?” Steve asks carefully. He isn’t really sure why he asks. Maybe it is part curiosity. He never seriously considered relationships with men. Some are nice enough to look at, sure, but marriage, a house, children – that is only meant for a man and a woman right? A world in which someone just casually tries homosexuality seems…foreign. 

“Hm, I guess so … Wow, don’t look at me like that Harrington. Are you disappointed?”

“W-what, no!” Steve really doesn’t know why he is getting so flustered. He suddenly feels self-conscious under Eddie’s piercing eyes and runs a hand through his hair – a nervous habit.

“Fuck, you are – well, alright, maybe for you I can arrange an encore.”

Before Steve has time to respond, Eddie pushes himself upright and leans one knee on the sofa between Steve’s legs. He feels the cold metal of Eddie’s rings under his chin as he lays a sprawled hand on his throat and tilts his head. 

Steve freezes, air caught in his chest as Eddie leans over his face, his breath hot on his lips. Steve’s right hand uselessly holds on to the near-empty can – afraid to spill it – while his left hand digs into the sofa next to his thighs. Then, Eddie leans down, capturing his lips with practiced ease. Steve feels his long hair tickle his cheeks and the scruff of a five-o-clock shadow grace his chin. 

Eddie’s lips move over his, slightly chapped and rough in a way that couldn’t possibly be a girl. Without meaning to, Steve feels his own lips move against Eddie’s. 

Well, now he couldn't pretend it was just something happening to him. He had graduated to an active participant. 

Kissing Eddie Munson. Eddie freaking Munson.  

Robin was going to have a field day.

Perhaps the most surprising part is how he doesn’t hate it. He likes the feeling of stubble on his chin, the hard corners of Eddie’s jaw, the way Eddie pushes him back onto the sofa and he wills Steve’s mouth open with a sweep of a thumb and the cold metal of rings on his face. A hot tongue explores his mouth, stroking it against Steve’s in a way that makes him gasp.

Steve has never experienced anything like it. Usually with the girls he dated, he took the lead. Kisses were usually shy and timid. Eddie is completely different. He knows what he wants and he isn’t afraid to get it. Steve feels something stir in him as he presses back.

Eddie bites his bottom lip, taking it between his lips, and breaks away from him. Steve feels breathless and blinks up at Eddie. His hand reaches over to Steve’s right side, gently taking the can from his hand and setting it away on the coffee table. He turns back, eyes dark and Steve wills his mouth close as he regards him. 

Was he gay? Shit, he doesn’t really want to think about it now. Humans are humans was what Eddie had said right?

Steve reaches out, sliding his hands behind Eddie’s neck, and pulls him back. Eddie moves himself into a more comfortable position, placing a knee on either side of Steve’s thighs and straddling him. Eddie’s hands reach for Steve’s temples, threading themselves through Steve’s hair – rings catch on the strands but Steve doesn’t mind the painful sting as it pulls. He just wants to get Eddie’s lips back on his – and so he does.

Their lips meet, fiery and hot. Open-mouthed Steve explores every corner of Eddie. He lowers his hands to Eddie’s back, playing on the edge of his tanktop and the hot skin underneath. If it works for girls, surely it works for guys too right?

He runs his hands up the side of Eddie’s chest, a thumb over a nipple, and Eddie gasps into his mouth. Steve feels heat settle in his crotch and he is glad he chose to wear jeans made of thick fabric rather than thin trousers. Steve’s hands move over Eddie’s chest, feeling the smooth muscle of it and the roughness of regrowing chest hair.

Eddie’s fingers reach the hair on the back of Steve’s head and yank it back, exposing Steve’s throat. He lets out a surprised yelp when he feels Eddie’s mouth latch to the delicate bow of his neck and suck. 

Steve is learning a lot about himself in the span of less than an hour. The way Eddie tugs his hair, and has his way with him is sending a pleasant jolt straight to his cock.  And Steve can’t help but moan under the ministrations of Eddie’s mouth as he sucks and bites. 

“Y-you’re gonna leave a mark,” Steve breathes.

“That’s the plan,” Eddie mouths against his neck. Then, he licks his way up into Steve’s mouth again.

Shit, he is kinda into this. Steve isn’t sure how he could ever go back to girls now he knows what it feels like to be touched by calloused fingers and kissed with such force. 

Eddie’s hand leaves his hair and travels down to the rim of his jeans, pulling out his shirt in the process. Steve feels the ghost of fingers running along its edge and the muscles in his stomach tense pleasantly in response.

Eddie breaks away from him, his breath ghosting over his lips as he searches Steve’s eyes. 

“You wanna take this further?” Eddie asks, his eyes flitting over Steve’s face.

Steve feels drunk, even though half a can of beer isn’t nearly enough to even get him close to being buzzed. He is also turned on. Ridiculously so. But fuck, what does taking it further even mean in this context. Steve feels like a virgin all over again and shifts uncomfortably in his seat, trying to hide his arousal from Eddie.

Not that they are not actively engaged anymore, anxiety hits Steve like a bag of bricks.

“Uhh…” is all Steve manages to utter.

Eddie throws himself off Steve’s lap onto the empty spot next to him on the sofa. He puts his feet on the table again, hands behind his head.

“You’re right, maybe that’s enough for tonight.” 

It doesn’t escape Steve that Eddie’s jeans look a little tighter than usual.

They sit in silence for a moment, only the voice of Rainbow’s singer cutting through the tension. 

“I thought you said it was a phase,” Steve asks after he finally gets his breathing under control.

“Oh right, I should have clarified” – Eddie grins up at the ceiling – “The gay thing was a phase. I figured I was into both.”

Both? Wasn’t that something only hippies preached with their free love? Somewhere, Steve feels a wave of relief washes over him. He never seriously considered someone could like both. He has some serious soul-searching to do once he gets home.

“Huh,” is all Steve replies. Eddie’s eyebrow quirks in interest as he side-eyes Steve.

“I, uh…probably should get going.” Steve puts his hands on his thighs and pushes himself up. Eddie doesn’t move from his position, but his eyes follow him with interest.

“If you’re ever in the mood for a sequel, you know where to find me.” 

Steve nods, because what else can you do in reply to such a comment? He is baffled at the ease with which the words escape Eddie. There is no shame or self-doubt.

As he lays his hand on the door handle, Steve looks back one final time. Eddie’s feet are bouncing in tandem with the beat of the drums and his eyes are closed. He looks so absolutely unshaken by their encounter that Steve feels almost jealous.

Steve is anything but unshaken.

“See you around,” he offers.

“See you, Harrington,” Eddie’s voice is playful, even though he doesn’t move.

When Steve is safe and sound in the driver’s seat of his car, he leans his head against the steering wheel and stays there for a moment. 

What the hell just happened?

He turns his mirror to his neck and traces the hickey that Eddie left on his throat with a finger. He would have to ask Robin for some make-up to cover that up. 

She is going to love this story.

Steve sighs and pushes the mirror back into its original position. When he starts the car, Bowie continues to sing like nothing happened.

Yes, he was alright, his song went on forever, Bowie sings and Steve groans as he hits the gas.

***

It is Saturday morning when Steve walks up to the Buckley residence. He passes the garden fence and walks around the house to the backdoor.

Hawkins was struck by the beginning of a heatwave and at this point, the temperature was bearable as long as one didn't move too much. The perfect day for a visit to the pool, but too hot for videos. 

Which is why Steve is sure today won’t be too busy at Family Video. Fine by him. 

The quiet days he works with Robin are always his favorite. Sometimes Henderson comes over – either with his friends or alone – and they mess around with the cardboard cut-outs or watch a movie on the little TV screen hanging from the ceiling. Steve has zero regrets about missing out on college. Everything he loves is right here in Hawkins.

He pulls at the red handkerchief around his neck. It is against company policy to wear scarves (and probably too hot too) but Steve needs something to cover up the damage of his little adventure with Eddie. At least, until he gets his hands on some skin paint stuff – or whatever girls call that type of make-up.

He enters through the backdoor straight into the kitchen, where he finds Robin’s mother clearing the table of breakfast plates. The room smells faintly like toast.

“Morning, Ms. Buckley!” he calls, already moving towards the hallway. Steve hears her respond, but he's halfway up the stairs by then.

“Rob!”

“Just a second!” Her voice is muffled. She opens her door, fixing an earring. Her eyes flick to his scarf before meeting his gaze.

“Geez, you’re early.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Steve walks straight past her and throws himself on her unmade bed.  Robin pays him no mind and she walks over to her dresser again. From his spot on the bed, Steve can see Robin's face reflected in the mirror as she fusses with her hair. When she reaches for a pouch, Steve is suddenly reminded of why he is early to begin with. 

“Do you have that face-stuff?” he asks as he sees Robin pull a pencil from the pouch.

“I’m afraid you’ll have to be more specific than ‘face stuff’.”

“You know, the skin-colored goo.” Steve makes motions over his face as if he’s painting.

“Concealer?” Robin’s mouth is open in concentration as she lines her waterline with black.

“That’s it!” Steve throws himself off the bed and walks over to Robin.

“Sure, I’ve got some,” Robin puts down her pencil and rummages through the pouch again. She pulls out a small beige bottle and holds it up for Steve. He reaches for it, but Robin pulls away.

“Does this have anything to do with your avant-garde fashion statement today?” She looks at his scarf again.

Steve laughs sheepishly and pulls his scarf aside. Robin’s eyes widen at the dark hickey on his neck.

“Jesus, Steve! It’s massive” – she leans in closer – “Was it Rebecca? Never thought she’d be the type...” Robin reaches for his neck but Steve pulls away.

“What? No!” – Steve lets go of the scarf – “I stopped seeing her like five weeks ago. Get with the times, Rob.”

“Well, sorry I can’t keep up with your busy love life.” Robin turns back to the mirror. She definitely isn’t sorry and Steve wouldn’t exactly call the origin of the hickey ‘love’. A lapse of judgment, maybe, or something uniquely in the corner of Eddie ‘the freak’ Munson. 

“Can I get the stuff now?”

“Fine,” she says and she pushes the bottle in his hands.

***

Outside the car, the world passes in a flash of yellow fields. The windows are down and the scent of drying grass fills the air. Steve turns the music up to drown out the thundering sound of the wind as it enters the car and drums his fingers on the steering wheel while he uselessly mouths along with the music. He doesn’t know the lyrics, but that can’t stop him. The fact it annoys Robin when he does so makes it even more fun in his opinion.

“You’re in a good mood,” Robin remarks while she digs through her bag.

“It’s a beautiful day and I’m working with my best friend,” Steve chirps.

“Uhuh, right,” she replies skeptically. She puts her bag back between her legs on the car floor and fiddles with something in her hands.

Steve’s eyes are focused on the road before him when the music suddenly stops.

“Hey! I was listening to that!”

“I thought you said Bowie was ‘overrated trash’” Robin says while opening the case to another cassette. 

“I didn’t,”

“You so did, and you called his pants too tight,”

“Whatever, driver decides,” 

Robin sighs and pushes the cassette back in. “When I get my license, it will be Blondie all day every day. You better prepare yourself, dingus!”

Steve hums in satisfaction as the music comes back on. Maybe he found it somewhat grating in the beginning, but it was growing on him now. That, of course, had nothing to do with Eddie Munson.

“Did you know he used to be gay?” Steve suddenly says.

“Bisexual, Steve, and of course I know that. The question is, why do you?” From his periphery, he can see Robin staring at him.

“I just heard it somewhere,”

“Somewhere…” Robin repeated. She leans over to put the other cassette back in her bag. 

Steve is relieved when he sees Family Video come into view. It’s not like Robin will forget their conversation, she is far too smart for that. And he really does plan on telling her about what happened yesterday, he just has to find the right moment. Hell, maybe it wouldn’t even be today. 

Steve pulls into the parking space and hops out of the car. He locks his door and throws the keys over the car to Robin. She fumbles in her attempt to catch it and Steve is once again reminded that Robin is a band dweeb and not an athlete.

“Let’s open this baby up,” he says as he tosses the store keys into the air and catches them overhand.

“You’re such a show-off” – she walks past Steve into the store and continues without looking back – “For your information, there are no girls around…”

“Yet,” Steve finishes and Robin groans in response.

There wouldn’t be any girls around for most of the day as it turned out. 

As Steve expected, it was a slow day. The only people who visited were those who probably wouldn’t be found dead sunbathing, nerds who never stepped outside (except to rent a video, apparently), and old people looking for something nice to watch with their grandkids. 

Somewhere between the shelves, Robin is putting returned VHS tapes into their rightful place. Meanwhile, Steve sorts through new arrivals and adds them to the computer system. In the back of the shop,  a guy has been staring at some science fiction movies for probably half an hour by now. Category basement nerd, Steve decides.

They had been working in relative solitude. Steve looks up as he hears the bell signal someone’s entrance. He is greeted with a curly head of hair.

“Henderson!” Steve stands up and throws himself over the counter. The secret handshake is a must and cannot be skipped. 

Shake, box, Star Wars sword thing, guts.

Dustin smiles wildly at him. 

Just as Steve is spilling his guts, the bell chimes again. He looks up, readying himself to apologize to the poor customer he has no doubt scared off with his wild gestures when he comes face to face with dark bottomless eyes.

“Munson,” Steve is probably gawking, at least a little and Eddie looks amused at the scene in front of him.

Dustin, oblivious to it all, immediately starts talking. 

“I was just about to grab my bike when I ran into Eddie. He offered me a ride in his van. Mom’s at the pool today, says it’s too hot to stay indoors; she practically kicked me out of the house,”

“Right,” Steve wasn’t even looking at Dustin as he yapped on. He somehow couldn’t tear his eyes away from Eddie’s. It was strange seeing him in daylight now. The darkness of dusk had made their whole interaction the night prior seem like a dream. Now, face to face with Eddie, Steve was hit by the reality of what had transpired. He felt profoundly awkward.

“ – You should totally get a van, Steve!” Dustin’s voice pulls Steve from his thoughts and he tears his eyes away.

“Y-yeah, probably not. I like my car,” he composed himself, deciding to focus his attention on Dustin rather than Eddie.

“Hey Dustin”  – Robin walks from behind the shelves, carrying a now-empty crate. Her eyes land on Eddie with a hint of surprise – “Hey Eddie,”

“Got anything good yet?” Dustin asks Robin eagerly.

“You’re in luck–” Robin says as she puts the crate away, “We just added The Dark Crystal to our collection,”

“Sweet!” He hears Dustin call when Robin leads him away to one of the shelves in the back.

Steve is left alone with Eddie and doesn’t know how to compose himself. A part of him feels nervous under Eddie’s dark gaze. 

Eddie walks over to the counter and leans against it.

“Cool gig,” Eddie says as he looks around the store. “Do you ever get to keep the cardboard cut-outs?” Eddie points his finger at a life-size cut-out of Indiana Jones that stands proudly at the front of the store. Steve’s eyes involuntary drift back to his fingers again and he really ought to stop that. Sooner or later, Eddie will catch him staring.

“I don’t, but Keith does sometimes,” 

“Sweet,”

A silence falls between them and Eddie kicks his feet. The guy in the back still hasn’t made up his mind and a little distance away Dustin is eagerly explaining something about the ‘Gelflings’ to Robin.

“Hey, uh, are you doing anything next Friday?” Eddie asks suddenly. 

“Nothing yet,” Steve is desperately trying to stop his heart from beating at such an insistent pace and he hopes his voice comes out as nonchalant as he intends it to.

“You wanna…I don’t know…hang out or something?”

‘ Or something’. What does ‘or something’ mean ?

“Yeah, I– …yeah, sure” Steve fumbles a bit, but Eddie doesn’t seem to notice, or maybe he doesn’t care. A smile grows on his face.

“Cool,” Eddie says.

He pushes himself away from the counter and walks up to a shelf to inspect some of the movies. He leans forward, shifting his weight to the balls of his feet, and hums a song that sounds vaguely familiar. Steve stares at the interlaced fingers behind his back – adorned with silver rings – and shivers at the memory of their coolness against his neck.

“Cool,” Steve echoes.

***

The whole week, Steve had thought of countless excuses to cancel hanging out with Eddie on Friday, but in the end, none of them carried any weight. He couldn’t get Eddie of his freaking mind and the sappy romance movies that played on the television screen at work didn’t help either.

Eddie had visited Family Video again – once – with Dustin to return a movie. Apparently, they regularly hung out when Steve was busy at work and he felt something akin to jealousy. He had always been Dustin’s role model. Heck, the kid even started wearing his hair like him (thank you, Farrah Fawcett). That was until Eddie somehow inserted himself into the equation. Now, Dustin had grown out his hair and was wearing that ridiculous Hellfire shirt religiously; so often, Steve sometimes wondered if it was ever washed at all. 

Eddie had corrupted him, and maybe he had corrupted Steve a little bit as well.

“You seem nervous,” Robin remarks as she flips through a folder, biting in the back of a ballpen. 

“Well, I’m no–” Before Steve can finish his sentence, Robin continues.

“I haven’t heard you talk about your dates the whole week. Whoever gave you that ridiculous hickey has some serious hold over you –”

Steve feels his shoulders tense. The idea of Eddie having any kind of hold over him was crazy. Steve is cool, Steve is casual. Steve is definitely not nervous about his casual hangout with Eddie tonight.

“ –It’s Friday, aren’t you supposed to be on like three different dates tonight?” she continues.

“Uhm, well���”

“And you’ve been acting weird all week. Things are adding up to a very weird sum. The ‘buying thirty watermelons’ kind of weird sum.”

“You have such a way with words,” Steve rolls his eyes as he finally regains his composure.

“Steve!” Robin throws her pen at his head. He ducks, but the pen hits him anyway.

“Robin!” he mimics her tone.

“It’s someone’s mom, isn’t it? God, Steve–” Robin pulls a face in disgust.

“It’s not someone’s mom! Geez, Rob, what kind of person do you take me for?”

“The kind that acts all mysterious and weird, and suddenly listens to music he hates!”

Maybe going out of his way to buy a Rainbow cassette had been somewhat uncharacteristic. Of course, Robin would pick up on that.

“A guy can expand his tastes…” he trails, hit by the ambiguity of his statement.

Robin sighs, picks up her pen from the floor and gives him an irritated glance. 

Steve hears the bell chime just as he closes the door to the vault in which they store cash overnight. It is only a couple of minutes before closing time and Steve grunts audibly as he raises himself into a standing position. Entering a shop this close to closing time is a certified dick move and Steve is not above sending whoever entered away, customer service be damned. 

“We’re closed!” he yells as he walks back into the shop from the backroom. 

“Eddie’s here for you,” Robin calls without looking back at Steve. 

Sure enough, Eddie is standing at the counter. He is wearing a tank top and his hair is pulled up into a messy bun; his skin gleams with sweat from the heat outside and around his neck hangs a wiry set of headphones. Wind from the air conditioner pulls at his hair. When their eyes meet, a smile creeps on his face.

“Sup, Harrington…I’ve brought the van.” He holds the keys up demonstratively, dangling them from his index finger.

"He brought the van!" Robin exclaims looking back at Steve, her eyebrows raised and a sly smile playing on her lips. Steve can almost see the moment of realization dawn upon her as if a lightbulb had been switched on in her mind.

Steve scratches the back of his head. “I promised Robin a ride back–” 

“No problem, We’ll drop her off. I’ll bring you back to pick up your car later.” 

Steve casts Robin a quick glance and she shrugs in response.

“If Robin’s fine with it…” he trails.

“A van,” Robin whispers as Steve joins her at the counter and elbows him in his arm.

Steve rolls his eyes at her, but still can’t fight the smile that tugs at the corners of his mouth.

***

Twigs crack under Steve’s shoes as he follows Eddie through the forest. The canopy of the trees offers ample shadow and Steve finds the heat more bearable here than when they had been walking alongside the road. Still, his shirt clings to his back and sweat is slicking his hair as Steve runs a hand through it. 

When Eddie asked him to hang out, he didn’t expect they would be hiking through the forest behind the trailer park during a freaking heatwave. 

He looks over to Eddie. His bangs cling to his forehead and the veins on his arms are thick as his body fights to keep cool. Despite the oppressive heat, there's a glint of excitement in Eddie's eyes.

“There it is.” Eddie stops and looks somewhere in the distance. Steve squints and follows Eddie’s gaze. Between the trees, he can see the shimmer of water, and he realizes Eddie has taken them to Lover’s lake. 

When they near the water, Eddie ups his pace, stepping around some of the bigger rocks and boulders near the lake’s edge like he has done it a thousand times before. Steve tries to keep up, but his unfamiliarity with the landscape slows him down.

At last, he is standing on the pebbled lakeside. The sun is already lowering itself into the embrace of dusk and Steve thinks they have maybe two hours of light left before sundown. He looks to his right where he sees Eddie standing above a pile of wood. When he gets closer, Steve realizes it is actually an old stranded fisher’s boat.

“Pretty cool, huh?” Eddie remarks.

Steve looks the boat over. It’s medium sized and some of its wood has rotted away. A good portion of it is covered in graffiti, and half of it sits in the water. It has probably been there for years.

“You bring all your conquests here?” Steve asks as he watches Eddie climb onto the boat. The question is mostly meant to be lighthearted, yet he feels a sense of anticipation as he waits for Eddie to reach the deck. 

Eddie squats and looks down on him. “Nah, just you.” 

Somehow, those words make Steve’s heart flutter and his cheeks heat up. He quickly looks away, pretending to search for footing to scale the boat.

When Steve reaches the deck, Eddie is sitting cross-legged facing the lake. 

“This is a nice place,” Steve says, sitting next to Eddie. He lets his feet dangle from the side and follows Eddie’s gaze. Across the lake, some people linger, cooling down before heading back to their hot homes. Some children are playing in the shallows and their joyful screams carry over the water.

“Your work?” Steve asks as he gestures to some of the writing on the boat. The wood is covered in crude phrases, names, and dates – some of them are carved, but most look to be written with a sharpie.

“Some of it is.” Eddie pulls out a pocket knife from his jeans and hands it to Steve. “You can add to it if you want.”

Steve turns the knife in his hand. It is a classic red Swiss knife and it lays heavy in his hand. 

“Here–” Eddie twists around and Steve follows suit. Eddie’s fingers are tracing the wood behind them, running them over the carvings in the wood. “– I think I did this about a year ago.”

Eddie removes his hands and Steve can finally get a good look. It’s nothing crazy, just a simple ‘Eddie was here’ carved in crude scratches – eternalised in some rotting wood in a town no one cares about.

Eddie holds up his hand to Steve and he realizes he is asking for his knife back. Steve hands it over.

Eddie flips out the knife and bends himself over the carving. Steve turns back around, looking over the lake again as the sound of scratching fills his ears.

“All done!” Eddie says after a while.

When Steve turns back, he sees his name freshly carved into the wood, right above Eddie’s original carving.

Steve + Eddie was here

“You wanted to immortalize this?” Steve asks amused.

Eddie flips the knife closed again and shoves it into his pocket. “A year ago, I’d never thought I’d be sitting here with Steve ‘the hair’ Harrington. Guess that’s pretty fucking special.” Eddie casts him a toothy grin. 

Steve had to agree though. If someone had told him a year ago he would be hanging out with Eddie ‘the freak’ Munson on a Friday evening – rather than spend his night on a date or at a party – he would have declared them crazy.

“I suppose so,” Steve replies.

All is quiet for a moment, save the sound of leaves rustling by a welcome breeze. Steve closes his eyes as the wind kisses his sweaty skin.

“I got you something,” Eddie says, breaking the silence and he stands up. Steve’s gaze follows him and his eyes widen when he sees Eddie move his hands over his head to pull his tank top off. 

“But let's take a dip first…it’s hot as balls.” He throws the sweaty tank top at Steve, who slaps it out of the air before it can hit him. The fabric lands heavily on the wooden deck.

“I didn’t bring my trunks,” 

“You don’t need those here.” Eddie gives him a knowing smile as he kicks on his shoes.

Eddie is lean and he has a nice back, Steve thinks. Not particularly broad like some of his former teammates on the swimming team, but not bad for a guy who spends his time playing board games. His torso is littered with fading scars from the Upside Down and Steve has a fair amount of those himself.

“Get on with it, Harrington!” Eddie is already stripped to his underwear when Steve tears his eyes away and finally tugs his own shirt over his head.

A dip in the lake was a fantastic idea and Steve felt himself relax now that he was slowly but surely cooling down to more humane temperatures.

Steve tries to keep his eyes away from Eddie as they make their way back to the boat. The fabric of his boxers is clinging to his skin.

Eddie lays himself down on the deck, using his jeans as a pillow while he fiddles with his headphones. 

“C’mere Steve.” Eddie pats the space next to him and Steve reluctantly seats himself. Eddie is working the buttons of a walkman.

“Remember when I said I got you something?”

“That was like twenty minutes ago,” Steve feels borderline offended at the implication.

Eddie gestures for Steve to lay down as well and Steve complies begrudgingly, resting his head next to Eddie’s on his crumpled jeans while he stares up at the blue sky. He feels exposed in just his boxers and now Eddie wants them to lay side by side.

“Here.” Eddie hands him one half of the headphones while holding the other side to his own ears. Suddenly it dawns on Steve why they’re lying as they are. Eddie wants to let him listen to music. Steve moves half of the headphones to his ear and sure enough music starts playing.

“I put some things together I thought you might like.” Steve can see Eddie turn his head towards him from his periphery and study his face.

“You made me a mixtape?” Steve asks. The idea of Eddie putting together a mixtape for him was…well, really thoughtful.

“Now you say it out loud it sounds kinda lame,” Eddie laughs.

“No, it– it’s really nice.” Steve offers. 

He closes his eyes and listens to the unfamiliar tunes. Eddie did quite a good job at picking music that he might like. It is definitely less intense than Rainbow – the voices are less shrill, the guitar less cutting, and the drums beat at a lower frequency. It’s nice, ridiculously nice, and Steve can’t think of an instance when someone has ever taken the time to put something together for him like this – not even his ex-girlfriends.

They lay there for a while, each holding one end of the headphone. The people on the other side of the lake must have left by now because the only things Steve can hear are birdsong, the sound of rustling leaves, and the music that comes from the walkman. The breeze feels cool against his damp body, and he wonders why he had never done this before – stay at the lake until the sun went down.

Steve can almost feel himself drift asleep when Eddie nudges him.

“Steve.” Eddie shakes him gently by his shoulder.

“Hm, lemme be…” he whines without opening his eyes.

“You’re gonna be mosquito food.” Beside him, he hears Eddie getting up and when Steve finally opens his eyes, Eddie is already wearing his tank top. 

Steve hadn’t realized how long they had laid there. Only a small line of sun was visible in the distance and Eddie’s figure was dark against the pastel sky.

“I’m afraid I’m gonna need my pants,” Eddie says as he points at Steve’s head.

“Oh right.” Steve finally sits up, handing Eddie the makeshift pillow of his jeans.

Once they’re both dressed, Eddie leads them back through the forest. The sky is pink and the trees form black outlines against it. Steve walks after Eddie, who points out when to be mindful of a hidden boulder or a sudden dip in the forest floor. 

They take Eddie’s van back to Family Video so Steve can get his car. The whole car ride, Steve can’t help the feeling of nervousness that sits in his stomach. 

Today kinda felt like a date. 

Normally he would be on the other end of it – driving a girl home after a movie or something. And then, once he stops the car in front of her house, the girl would fidget and Steve would place his arm on the back of her car seat, confident and reassuring. He would tell her he had a good time and if she did as well, he would seal the deal with a kiss.

But this was Eddie, and they had been just two guys hanging out. 

Two guys that had made out a week ago. 

But that didn’t mean anything. It had just been Steve’s one-day gay phase and he got it out of his system now, hadn’t he? Eddie had only offered out of a misunderstanding, or maybe some weird kindness.

Shit, this train of thought was not helping Steve whatsoever. If anything, it had just made the nervous flutter in his stomach worse.

Eddie stops the van and the red neon light of Family Video plays with the curves of his face.

“There we are.” Eddie pushes himself back into his seat with his arms stretched on the steering wheel. Steve makes no movement to get out. They sit in silence for a while.

“About last week–” Steve starts. If he doesn’t acknowledge it now, he feels like he might go crazy. Besides, he doesn’t know when or if they’ll have another moment alone.

“Don’t worry, I didn’t tell anyone. We can forget about it if you want…” Eddie says without looking at him. His shoulders are tense and his grip on the steering wheels seems to harden.

“No…it’s not–” Steve tries, but Eddie cuts him off.

“Don’t worry Steve, I get it. I know what people say about me –”

“But–”

“ –and it doesn’t have to mean anything. People make out all the time–”

Steve unbuckles his seatbelt. He’s kind of sick of Eddie not letting him finish his sentences and is ready to return the favor.

He leans over, turning Eddie’s head towards him and kisses him. Hard.

Eddie’s mouth is parted, mid-sentence, and Steve feels teeth beneath his lips. By all accounts, it’s a shoddy kiss – not his best work – but it seems to do the trick.

Eddie loses his grip on the steering wheel, hands moving to Steve’s shoulders instead as he eagerly returns the sentiment.

“Fuck, Harrington, aren’t you full of surprises,” Eddie breaths against his lips.

Steve leans back into his chair and runs a hand through his hair.

“You talk too much,” he says as he opens the door of the van.

By the time he hears Eddie get out of his van, Steve is already opening the door to his  BMW.

“Wait, Steve,” Eddie calls as he jogs over. When he’s standing in front of Steve, he pulls at Steve’s arm, running his hand down and urging Steve’s palm up. He shoves something square in his hand and closes Steve’s fingers around it.

“Next Friday, same time?” Eddie asks him, searching his eyes.

Steve nods silently. He stares after Eddie as he walks back to his van. He opens the door and turns one last time, giving Steve a two-fingered salute before getting in. 

Steve hears the sound of the motor swinging on and looks at his hand. In the dim neon light, he stares down at a small cassette. Steve can hardly read the black letters in the red light, but he realizes Eddie has written something on its white label.

From Freak, to Hair. 

[AO3]

[lokischocolatefountain]

Savior

Fandom: The Last of Us (HBO) Pairing: dark!Joel Miller x captive reader Rating: 18+ Dead Dove Do Not Eat Warnings: I repeat, DDDNE. Kidnapping, non-con, dub-con, face fucking, bondage, objectification, dehumanisation, captivity, drug and alcohol abuse, boot licking (literally), boot kissing, master/slave dynamics, name calling (bitch), loss of identity, Stockholm syndrome, really messed up dynamics, mention of spitting, mention of boot fucking, mention of watersports but not performed. Word count: 1.7k words Summary: Joel saves you from the horrors of the world only to inflict another horror on you. A/N: *slaps roof of this fic* This fic has everything (again, heed the warnings) I’ve been away for a while now and I’ll probably taken long to post my next fic. But I hope this is a fun read 🥺

The world was a big place and you knew nothing about it. You wanted to. You wanted to go beyond the walls of the QZ and inside those buildings people said were tall enough to touch the sky. You wanted to see the remains of museums. You wanted to see trees and sit on the grass and eat fresh fruits.

In a mockery of this daydream, the universe decided that not only would you never step outside but that you will be confined in a space smaller than the QZ.

You knew nothing about the world, but you knew everything about him. Many people passed by the doors of his apartment throughout the day. But you identified his strides. The heaviness of his boot against the floor, the speed at which he walked, how big his strides were. When you heard the grating sound of metal against metal, you knew he’d slotted his key in the door. You began trembling just at the sound of the door opening, your body fearing everything he would inflict on you.

Yet your cunt throbbed with anticipation. Your heart fluttered with joy. He was cruel, yes. But you knew he cared about you. He shared his food, traded to get you a few clothes, even got your medicines when you were ill. He was violent with you, but that was only because of the hard work he had to do all day.

As he walked in, you took in his appearance. Hands stained black, a thin sheen of sweat on his face and arms. He was tired again. He downed some of the brownish liquor he brought back a week ago and popped in a few pills. Sometimes he even shared them with you.

He put the bottle down and walked towards you. It was summer and you didn’t need to wear clothes. So you didn’t. He said he wasn’t going to waste time washing them when you didn’t have to wear them. With your ankle chained to the radiator, there was nowhere for you to go.

You smelled the tasks of his day on his boot as he stood in front of you, his boot dangerously close to your face. You willed yourself to not throw up. Not again, not again, please no, not again. They were dirty, too dirty. You did everything he asked you to, but you couldn’t bear when he made you fuck yourself on his boot until you came. And you did, every single time.

A sharp sting pulled at every nerve ending on your face as his boot made contact with it.

“Thought you’d died,” he said, unbuckling his jeans. You pressed your palms on the floor and sat up on your knees.

“Still breathing? Let me check,” he said, pinching your nose between his fingers. You gasped when he cut your access to air, breathing through your fuckhole to keep yourself alive. “There’s my bitch… Still alive.”

He took his cock out of his pants, large and intimidating, just like him. You opened your mouth instinctively. Happened when you got the shit kicked out of you when you didn’t keep your holes accessible. Happened when food and water were conditional upon how satisfactory you were as his stress toy. Nose still pinched, he unzipped himself and plunged his cock inside you. Your legs kicked around as his thickness restricted your breath, your cunt tightening around nothing as he let you struggle for a few moments more.

Finally, he let go of your nose, allowing you to see another day. You looked up at him, gratitude filling your heart that he would allow you air. It wasn’t always like that. In the initial days of your captivity, all you wanted was death. But eventually he taught you to be grateful for everything he did. Grateful he gave you a purpose, grateful he grabbed you from the street, that he fed you his scraps and trained your fuckholes to be useful.

You moaned uselessly as your throat burned from his size. Thankfully, he didn’t mind your noises. He was good, merciful. So kind to let you make any sound at all though you were forbidden from talking. He’d fucked that notion out of you long ago. Called your mouth a fuckhole as he did your cunt and ass.

A mouth was for talking and eating. He reminded you often that you didn’t have one. The hole on your face was a hole to fuck, a pit for his cum and spit and piss. When you’d accepted that, you found you had no need to speak.

The small room filled with Master’s grunts and groans, punctuated by the involuntary moans from your fuckhole. You always hated blowjobs, finding the act demeaning and avoiding it until whatever boy you were dating annoyed you into sucking him off. But this wasn’t a blowjob. You didn’t suck cock, you simply complied as he fucked a hole he owned. Still, you tried to be as worthy as you could with the little freedom you had.

He bottomed out inside you, your nose pressed against his belly. Your hair was in a tight grip in his fist, a handle to make you more convenient. But you tried with the little space you had, licking his balls. He moaned and thrusted though he’d fed you all that he had. An animalistic need to seek sexual gratification no matter how. One hand in your hair became two and he began his brutal pace that would leave your fuckhole bruised and out of use for a few days until he deemed it fit to fuck again.

Your face hit his soft belly over and over and his balls slapped against your chin. Your cunt thrusted up into the air, begging for something, anything. It didn’t have to be Master’s cock. His hand, a kick from his boot you so hated, his pistol. It needed to be used, just as the rest of your body.

It didn’t take long for his cock to leave your fuckhole, ropes of sticky white fluid coating your face. Your hole gasped for air and Master, generous as he was, let you have air and water.

No, not water, you realized as the strong taste attacked your senses. The glass bottle you took from was an old beer bottle, the label worn off but a hint of color reminding you of the brand. But it wasn’t beer. Something that they brewed in the QZ that he was kind enough to share to keep your nightmares at bay. You kept the final sip in your mouth and looked up, your throat straight to accept the pills he threw in. You swallowed, tears flowing down your cheeks. You would sleep well tonight, untainted by images of your loved ones turning, of your gun putting a bullet in their heads before they could rip you into pieces.

You bent forward and pressed your lips to his filthy boots, silent tears growing into sobs. You kissed and licked the filth, hoping he knew how grateful you were for this one night of mercy. For thinking about you, noticing how you suffered when night came and the memories of a past life flooded in. With each second of worship, you showed him how grateful you were for the freedom he gave you by chaining you up in his room.

When his boots were clean, you gave it one final kiss and hugged his legs. You rested your cheek on his boots, shivering when he bent down and petted you.

“I know, I know,” he said quietly, his voice soft and kind. He let you weep at his feet for what felt like hours but you knew was only a few minutes. Eventually your sobs died down and he pried you off of him gently. He placed a bowl of slop in front of you and filled the other bowl with water. Sustenance. And you didn’t even have to work for it. You were hungry, god you were so hungry it hurt. But you waited. You were just a useless bitch with nothing left but the base needs of your belly and cunt. But you still had manners. You didn’t take anything Master gave for granted. He placed food and water in front of you, but it wasn’t permission to take them.

He deserved your respect, your obedience. You knew he suffered at night just like you did. Outside, he did backbreaking labor so you didn’t have to. And he always kept you fed, took care of you. You couldn’t give him as much as he gave you from where he kept you so you showed absolute deference.

“Eat.”

And that was when you began.

“My name’s Joel.” He said out of nowhere from his place in his bed. He didn’t look at you for a response. Just spoke it into the air. You left your food and water behind and crawled to the foot of his bed, nuzzling your head against his boots with no other way to show gratitude.

You never knew his name until then. You didn’t know if he knew yours, but he called you Bitch. Useless bitch, stupid bitch, ungrateful little bitch. Good bitch. You responded to Bitch. And soon enough, you were Bitch even in your innermost thoughts. But now you had a name for the man who rescued you, showed you mercy though you were so difficult in the beginning. Because of him, you were no longer a zombie walking the QZ and laboring night and day just for food and clothing. He freed you from the burdens of choice, from the efforts of survival, the agony of humanity.

You didn’t have to throw bodies in the fire, didn’t have to clean officers’ floor on your hands and knees as they leered at you. You didn’t have to fear the FEDRA officers who’d put you in jail just to fuck you. Being human was the worst fate in this world and Master saved you from it. With him, you were safe. Nothing was under your control, so you were now free from self-blame. You didn’t have to fight to keep living a life not worthy of living. You didn’t have to watch others with their children and parents and friends and feel the agony of not having yours anymore.

Here, he’d given you a place at his feet. He reduced you to Bitch, freed you from the humanity that came with the name people used to call you. The world wasn’t such a scary place anymore. After all, you were only his bitch and the world was your benevolent Master.

[bentwolioo]

Ok so why did Gerard wear the same costume for 6 shows???

Like a lot of people, I noticed the Aotearoa (NZ) & Australia tour drum head messages seemed to be about 9/11. The costume also tells a very specific story that lines up with this--and there was more to Melbourne Night 2 than Gerard deciding it was casual Friday. I'm gonna go through my personal interpretation and explain why I think MCR did this at the end of their tour. 

TLDR: This Is Not The End.

I will include image credits in the reblog since there are a lot!

AUCKLAND, March 11 2023

Based on the skirt suit and drumhead ‘FIX FAX FUCK YOU’, Gerard is dressed as an office worker. For simplicity I will refer to the costume as the Secretary, I see it as both a character and a metaphor. Auckland establishes the monotony and repetition of daily life prior to 9/11, ‘FIX FAX FUCK YOU’ showing an attitude of boredom unaware of the events to come. 

BRISBANE 1, March 13 2023

The main difference between Auckland and Brisbane 1 is the briefcase. This indicates the point in time--Auckland is the days before 9/11 and Brisbane 1 is the morning before the attacks begin. The secretary travels to work, thinking ‘Everything under Control’.

BRISBANE 2, March 14 2023

The drumhead message ‘Here Comes the AIRPLANE’ marks this as minutes or even seconds before the towers are hit. Brisbane 2 is the first time Gerard wears the coat, representing everyone taking cover. 

MELBOURNE 1, March 16 2023

I unfortunately could not find a good photo of Gerard wearing the coat from this show but you can see it on the floor behind him!

The Melbourne shows are as the towers collapse. Pretty straightforward from the Melbourne 1 drumhead ‘TERROR’. This show also had the only appearance of the umbrella, which I interpret as representing the rubble and destruction raining down. The umbrella is closed, showing the secretary is unprotected and ultimately killed when the towers fall. 

MELBOURNE 2, March 17 2023

It seemed odd at first that Melb 2 was the only show that Gerard didn’t wear a costume for, but I actually believe he still did. This is the key to my interpretation: Gerard is dressed as himself witnessing the towers collapse, on his way to work at Cartoon Network. This the only show on the Oceania leg where they played Skylines and Turnstiles*, the song Gerard wrote immediately after 9/11. The drumhead ‘BARK BARK BARK’ makes you picture, a chained dog, representing the powerless horror of only being able to watch as the destruction unfolds--the deeply personal experience that drove Gerard to form MCR. 

SYDNEY 1, March 19 2023

Blood!!!! At Sydney 1, we see the continuing aftermath of the 9/11 attacks. The secretary has died but keeps moving, picking up her briefcase and carrying on. This could be showing how a lot of people’s faith in the US government and in the world died, but life had to find a way to move on. 

SYDNEY 2, March 20 2023

At Sydney 2, the addition of Gerard’s white contacts shows the Secretary decaying--but she has not stopped. Frank changed the drumhead message from ‘UNKILLABLE’ to ‘UNKILLABLES’, expanding the meaning from the context of his accident in Sydney to include the band, the fans, and on a wider level everything MCR represents. 

I think all of this is a metaphor for the band’s career in multiple ways. Firstly, the Secretary being undead of course reflects MCR’s return, and her zombified appearance aligns with the imagery of their new era (decay, swarm, the destroyed buildings of the stage set). Secondly, it is very interesting to me that they did this sequence of costumes and drumheads at the end of their headlining tour, rather that at the start. The story they told seems to imply a rebirth--MCR was ‘born’ out of the trauma, pain and confusion of 9/11, so the fact that they represented the start of the band on stage signifies a second beginning. 

(Thank you for reading to the end and if I got anything wrong please let me know!)

*EDIT 1 (23/03/23): They actually also played Skylines at Brisbane 2. I do think the position of Skylines in the Melb 2 set is still significant. They played it as the first encore song which mirrors it being the first MCR song and written shortly after 9/11.

EDIT 2 (30/03/23): So actually 8 shows of Secretary Gerard when you include Japan! Tokyo and Osaka analysis here

[kayfabe-is-king]

I have thoughts from last night's Dynamite and this is all within kayfabe. It's disjointed and patchy but that's because my mind has been going a mile a minute for the past week. So once again, welcome to my Ted Talk!

It was very fitting that Mox and Co. (are we still calling them the Blackpool Combat Club because that doesn't seem extreme enough at this point) attacked during the match between The Elite and The Conglomeration. That match showed in stark detail the very best and the very worst of what AEW has become. The Elite concerned more with glory and money (literal money raining down on Okada as he walks down to the ring) than about what is best for the company as a whole. And truthfully, they're coming off like a joke now in comparison to Moxley's Death Squad. Meanwhile, The Conglomeration was born of betrayal and people coming together because they a) love this sport and b) still believe in All Elite Wrestling. I lost track of the number of times Excalibur, Nigel or Tony alluded to Orange Cassidy being a leader.

“Why aren’t they coming to help?” Schiavone asked. 

Because The Elite now represent exactly what Moxley is railing against - egos and fat paychecks. This new era is a direct response to The Elite's frankly laughable "take over" of AEW. Moxley watched them, said "hold my (non-alcoholic) beer" and then showed how you really take over a wrestling promotion.

During that horror movie trailer masquerading as a wrestling promo, Moxley mentioned all the wrestlers in the back not being given a chance while overblown egos are sitting atop the AEW food chain. This, to him, is a purpose... a cause. And if he has to hurt people to achieve said goal?

"It's the cost of doing business."

Thing is - Moxley's done this song and dance before. Remember this:

(credit to @softambrollins for the two gifs above)

Once again (much like with The Shield) in Moxley's mind, something he believed in has been corrupted. The difference is that now he has the power and the muscle behind him to do something about it. He feels like it's his moral obligation to stamp out the "corruption" that has infested AEW. Something he couldn't really do when The Shield fell apart. This is Moxley exorcising those ghosts... and you know, beating the shit out of people.

If you look at the people coming to The Conglomeration's aide last night, you'll see they have something in common. These are people in the back that haven't really been used properly in a while. Private Party, who really should have had a title run by now. The Dark Order, consistently being tossed around creative with no real direction since the death of Brodie Lee. Top Flight hasn't found it's groove even though they put on consistently great matches time and again (I did laugh my ass off when Action Andretti did that springboard from the ropes and Moxley was like "nah, bro" and clocked him in the back of the head).

And while Daniel Garcia has been given pushes lately, I don't think he's been properly and consistently booked until this angle (and if they don't take the belt off of Jack and give it to Danny, there's no justice in this world). I believe these choices were intentional. A way to pull people into a long running storyline that were floundering.

Even on the BCC's side, you have Marina Shafir - an excellent technical wrestler who AEW has batted around with no real direction. Moxley has said time and again how much he admires her, so of course he wanted her as a part of this angle. She is the perfect soldier - brutal, efficient and loyal. The look of devastation on her face when she was ejected from ringside at Wrestledream? That's the look of a dedicated soldier who has (in her mind) let down her commanding officer. She will go toe to toe against anyone who stands in Moxley's way. And am I the only one wondering about that key around her neck?

Here's something else to think about. Tony Schiavone has seen the attempted hostile takeover of a wrestling promotion before. He was ringside as the New World Order was born and watched their path of destruction in WCW. Imagine seeing history repeating itself and not being able to do anything about it. Even worse, imagine seeing history repeat itself... but worse. This is the nWo dialed to 11 and unencumbered by silly little things like laws against attempted murder. 

Someone at commentary also asked where the belt was. It was never about the belt and Moxley purposely handed it off to Claudio for that very reason. He doesn’t care about the glory. He genuinely believes what he’s doing is what is necessary. And there is nothing more frightening than someone so fine with committing acts of brutality because they truly believe that is the only way. 

Now we come to our most conflicted Moxley disciple. And if you don't think he's still very much conflicted, you haven't been paying attention. Wheeler using the Busaiku Knee on Orange Cassidy while dressed like Bryan was intentional. Sure, he may have drunk the new BCC’s kool aid, but he still very much respects Bryan. He saw what he did to Bryan at Wrestldream as mercy (whether or not you agree, it's still how he saw his actions). To him, he finally put Bryan to "rest" and now feels it is his responsibility to continue Bryan’s legacy.

And that is where him and Daniel Garcia will clash in glorious battle. They are the ying and yang to each other - both love this sport and both see Bryan as their hero. One is just following the darker path that William Regal himself has laid for the likes of Moxley. While the other one believes in Bryan's way. They are the next generation of the power struggle between Bryan and Moxley - their proxies if you will. This is the most elaborate game of Risk come to life.

I have seen some people say this new storyline is "going too far". I get it - it's hardcore and some people didn't grow up watching ECW. They may not know that Terry Funk did the plastic bag spot long before they were even born. But I vividly remember those days (I was ringside for some of them - Terry Funk is hands down one of the nicest wrestlers I've ever met). And I for one, love where all of this is going. I watched the nWo from its rise to its demise and this new paradigm shift blows it out of the water. This is the evolution of that iconic angle and they picked the perfect people to do it. 

Side note - shout out to Renee for consistently doing her job with a high level of professionalism. And also pretending like her husband isn't committing attempted murder every week. Imagine how awkward it's been for her around the water cooler lately.

[st4rsinthenight]

★Y'know what I've been thinking about lately ?? Tinies witnessing crime scenes.★

TW: MURDER, KIDNAPPING, VERY BRIEF MENTION OF SOMEONE BEING CHAINED, MENTION OF WOUNDS, MENTION OF STARVATION, THIEVING, MENTIONS OF HOLDING SOMEONE AT GUNPOINT

|☆| A tiny being a witness to a murder, silently peering in horror as they find themselves heaving at the sight of the innocent victim on the ground, all bloodied and wounded thanks to the killer's vile attacks. Though they know for a fact that they can't do much to prevent the innocent citizen from dying, so that leaves them with the option of running to prevent themselves from being yet another addition to the killer's hit list. That is, unless the killer did notice them- and is now on the hunt for the tiny little creature that knows that they committed a murder.

|★| A tiny hearing the screams of a human who is pleading for help to get out of a kidnapper's grasp- or maybe they happen to live in said kidnapper's residence, being exposed to the horrific sight of the poor, and perhaps tortured victim who is kept away from the outside world by a human with ill intentions. Though, the tiny could try and help out on their situation, for instance trying to sneak in couple small bags of snacks to give to the hostage in order to fuel at least some of their energy if they are being starved- or swoop around the house to try and find a key to unchain- or unlock the victim. However, if they just so happen to be outside, the feeling of being helpless and at loss would be quite overwhelming for both the tiny, and the victim.

|☆| A little borrower staying hidden as they watch a thief break into the human's house that they live in- maybe they saw them while they were out hoarding for their survival and they just saw.. a bigger, more intimidating hoarder pick locking the front door. Who is also thieving either for survival, or pleasure. Now, this could be a little silly scenario— if the thief is not willing to harm anyone and is just there to take stuff, and the borrower would see it as a bit of a competition between them two, or maybe even view them as an aspiration, enging them on to continue their 'borrowing missions'. However, where it would be quite disturbing— is if they overhear said thief yell absurdities and threats at the human if they are awake, demanding to hand over all their belongings while having them at gun point. Now, if the borrower does not care about the human, they could just remained secured inside the wall until the hoarder left, though if they developed a little relationship with them, they could try and sabotage said thief with the help of little distractions and such, maybe knocking over something off of a shelf to catch the criminal's attention as their human friend takes the opportunity to call the police.

I might add more to this but. guys. guys. I am quite normal here. I do swear that I am quite normal about these type of tropes, honest guys.★

[skyartworkzzz]

AUS

hand em over

THE PANDORA'S BOX HAS BEEN OPENED UVE BEEN WARNED

List under the cut with me tryna be as brief as I can without spoiling a lot cuz I Will Prepare These Meals Eventuall-

GhostHunters AU

In this one, Lambert is a paranormal and horror youtuber alongside a few of my follower OCs, their content revolves around exploring abandoned places in search for ghost activities

The Bishops would be evil spirits here, possessed by vengeful desires

Eventually the ghosthunters go to an abandoned mansion famous for a family murder that happened in it long ago (smtng like the Amityville tragedy), which would be the Bishops mansion

As they spend time inside the house, they discover many secret passages, underground labyrinths and tombs, until coming to the dark realization that what seemed to have been an abandoned mansion actually turned out to be a secret spot for cult meetings, and with recent activity

I wanted to do this one in the style of camera-recording kinda shit yk, like told from the POV of somebody carrying a camera with night vision because there would be chases

There would be a time where everything goes dark in the mansion and the gang becomes trapped inside the house, so they try to find a way out through the basement, which is where they discover the secret passages to the cultists' ritual place

Throughout the journey, Lambert would've become accidentally attached to Narinder's ghost after finding a belonging of his which they were possessed into bringing along with them. Narinder then becomes a "personal guide" for Lamby as they make it through the mansion; he makes sure to keep them alive while showing little to no regard for their companions, much to Lambert's disdain (obv)

In actuality, Narinder's plan is to get Lambert out of the house in order to later possess their body, as a mean to come back to life himself

Lambert is the only one able to see Narinder....except for Felix. Ive now decided he would be the "I see dead people" guy hello

Beauty & The Beast AU

Lambert was given as sacrifice to appease Narinder’s hunger in order to avoid a prophecy from coming true, but in the end they did exactly what they were supposed to (this part is not too different from the game-)

Narinder is kept in a temple-castle kind of building, surrounded by a dead river and dense forests, with some of the nature already obstructing its way into the castle so you can find trees and moss in there on someplaces. The building is HUGE and used to be where Nari and his siblings lived in together, so there are many rooms

All Bishops are instead addressed as Lords. They are also huge, at least 3 meters and up taller than normal-sized creatures and still rulers of their respective domains. After the quarrel with Narinder, they all decided to live in their own lands inside their own temples and have been ruling the world likeso ever since

Lambert is the last of their kind, they were living with Ratau and Ratoo who are farmers, until the Bishops took them away to give to Narinder

Narinder was sealed in chains, his physical body is trapped inside of a room, until he eventually managed to project his eldritch self outside of it. So who Narinder is now is nothing more than the condensation of his power and soul. The sacrifices were offered to stop him from growing stronger and eventually lock him back into his carcass.

Narinder doesn't let anyone inside the room with his body inside, and carries the key for it wrapped around his ribcage

Narinder is cursed to stay within the grounds of his temple, he cannot leave to go beyond the bridge or even outside to his own yard, or else he gets burnt

Lambert eventually falls for the beast and promises to help him escape

Band AU

In this AU, the Bishops have a band known as (The) Bishops Of The Old Faith, until Narinder's plans for the band as a whole diverts from his mates, so he quits to make his own music group called The Ones Who Wait alongside Aym and Baal

Lambert is an orphan who was raised by Ratau (and Ratoo for a while). They work at his pub, The Lonely Shack, and play music for costumers from time to time on Fridays and Wednesdays

Both Ratau and Lambert have always been big fans of the BOTOF band, until Narinder split to create TOWW, which Lamby continued to listen to because Nari was in it. Eventually, auditions for a new member were open and Lamby decided to take the chance to sign up

They fail at first for being too nervous, but luckily the same night, Narinder (whilst undercover) visits the Lonely pub and perceives Lambert's performance, now more convinced of their abilities given how more naturally they played out compared to the audition. Lambert then joins TOWW's band as a roadie, doing what has to be done until Narinder is sure that they can handle the pressure of working with him

They eventually gain more recognition from the bandmates for their talents and manages to become an official member

The drama starts when TOWW becomes more and more popular, because although Lambert joined in, they hate the spotlight whilst Narinder is ambitiously seeking fame

Also in this AU, each Bishop has their own family! Nari included :D Which I may or my not design depending on how I feel about it UHANSJDMAKD

Royal AU

Fun fact about this one: was solely based on the fact that I wanted to see Lambert in this scene from the Cinderella movie Ever After, screaming about their family and getting viciously reprehended for it (love me angst <3)

Lambert is a peasant who had their family murdered by the Bishops for presumably not paying their taxes due to poverty, so they lived on the streets for a couple of years and lived off from stealing food and counting on luck to have a roof above their head for the night

The Bishops are addressed as Kings and Queens (except for Shamura, who is a Ruler) and each reign over their respective lands with their own castles to live in, but they govern under the same rules which are discussed in a communal temple at the middle of all the lands

Narinder is an exiled king who rules the lands of Limbo, which are smtng like a forbidden place of sorts. After his sibling quarrel, Nari was cursed to stay inside his own lands, being physically unable to leave his own territory, only its visitors are able to come and go unless they are blessed by the Red Crown

In the meantime he has been trapped, Narinder trained his armies for the day they are able to go forth from their barriers. He knows that they wouldn’t last against the power of 4 Crowns, but he cannot cast his own blessing upon his soldiers for it would prevent them to leave his kingdom as well, so he must break the curse first. He has been sending out thieves and spies in order to find the incantation and steal it away for him

One day, Lambert unknowingly sneaks into Narinder's room to hide away from guards who caught them stealing. When Narinder spots them, he is rather impressed by their abilities to make it past his own guards and him, so instead of giving them away he asks his army to train them (his plan is to eventually send them out as well to retrieve the curse incantation)

Lambert then becomes a knight apprentice under Ratau's care, who's a veteran and one of the most skilled warriors of Narinder

As time goes by, Lamby grows fond of their king and - ofc- falls for him, smtng which the King learns about through mind-reading and takes advantage of in order to increase Lambert's loyalty for him

Eventually, Lambert learns that their family was not killed for not paying their taxes, but rather because they were part of a resistance group that was against the Crowns. This will futurely make things harder for them to trust Narinder since he is a crown bearer and for Narinder to manipulate them, since he woudve developed feelings until there

Post-Apocalyptic AU

THIS ONE IS STILL FRESH NEW But I believe smtng like- hm Stranger Things, Last Of Us type of shit with how the monsters would look like

Maybe an apocalypse brought by literal Hell creatures, a lab failure or perhaps an organized doom

Maybe inspired by The Walking Dead games, how in some of them there were ppl who actually acted as if they ruled over the others, so like- I think the Bishops would be smtng amongst these lines "oh u want our resources? work for us" yk

Narinder would probably be an inbetween of that, but I like to imagine him as partially infected.....which is what makes him stronger than most

Whilst Lamb is one of the few, very rare few who is immune!

I think Lambert's family tried to get help with the Bishops once, but they didn't help them out, so Lambert grew resentful of them ever since and has lived on their own for a while alongside Ratau, until they eventually meet Aym and Baal who secretly work for Narinder, by scouting around the area to bring him food (which are. corpses........yeah)

Ill give this one some thought but it exists yes UINDJKLDAS

Rebellion AU

This one is also fresh new so I havent developed much of it aside from fantasizing about specific scenes, but basically: this AU explores the "what if the sheeps were stronger"

So every sheep here is much more violent than what I personally imagine them to be in the original game, they have a known base and village which is high-mid populated and are at constant war with heretics

The Bishops are also much stronger and beastial-like, succumbing fully to the power of the Crowns in order to resist against the sheeps' rebellion; their behavior is much colder and demonic, with little to no space for human emotions

The One Who Waits would be the sheeps' deity, which they worship and work their asses off in order to free

In this AU, Lambert's family is alive! But tragically more traumatized than their original selves

Maybe for the sake of the ship, I think the Lamb could either dream about Narinder every night for being very devoted to him, so they get ""divine interventions"" hehe, OR Narinder's presence could indeed be....lingering in the real world as a ghost of sorts or brief apparition, given that now the sheeps are fighting back the Crowns' power, that means that their influence wouldve been weaker. Which therefore could make way for their power over Narinder's prison to weaken as well, meaning that he could in fact be fred by simply killing the Bishops.

In Undertale language, this is basically a horror x fell version of COTL UDNJDSKDMASD

I THINK THESE ARE ALL THE ONES I CAN Say smtng about for now I still have to think more throughly about Role Swap, Pirates, maybe a Mafia one...................... not to mention the last 2 need more work to them as well

BUT THESE ARE THE AUS I HAVE IN STOCK FOR NOW I hope yall enjoy the read tysm for asking HURGHHK!!! 😭💜

[madeitlate37]

Vita Carnis by Darian Quilloy

Why yes I am giving my favorite series Halloween week, but consider this an advertisement for why it deserves it.

Vita Carnis is a relatively new, (in terms of Analog Horror), show that has gained a large following and has even been theorized on by MatPat—before he retired.

I think I mentioned in my first post that season one of The Mandela Catalogue was my favorite when I first got into the genre. To be specific, upon my first viewing, I had trouble falling asleep and would compulsively check every potential hiding place in my room before going to bed.

Upon my first viewing of Vita Carnis, that went on for months, instead. In fact, over a year later, I still do the routine “Mimic check” despite not living alone.

Now, before I risk spoiling the series, let’s get the spoiler-free qualities out of the way:

• Hive mind threats, the neat part is that this so far only applies to one section of the threat.

• Twisted security, we have security footage, documentaries, infomercials, and personal footage plenty of variety in where the story beats are coming from.

• Competent characters, not everyone, but do expect to see people/groups who actually try to do something about their situation.

• Biology lessons, the first thing you learn about the threats is how they function on an anatomical level, adds to realism and demonstrates added care and effort.

• Mini-retelling, about once per video—at least in season one—the audience is presented with a fragment of what’s “really” happening, and even then there’s the possibility of it being inaccurate. Untrustworthy sources are a major theme of season one.

• Not safe at home, one of the threats—being as vague as possible—is pretty much the sole reason I had trouble falling asleep for so long because it is entirely based around attacking it’s victims in their home.

• Safety guides, the threats have existed for decades, and the people living in this world behave like they have. As I said with untrustworthy sources, we have conflicting reactions and handlings of it, but the major players clearly approach them with knowledge.

• On-screen payoff, there is technically a scene or two which couldn’t have been recorded, but they have such visceral content in them that you don’t entirely notice. This is also played up through the use of very good effects.

• Varied but same threats, similar to Gemini, they are very different in how they are a threat—if they are a threat at all—but come from the same thing.

Now, onto the more risky analysis:

It’s a little hard to pinpoint exactly what I love best about this series, from the consistency in quality to the scientific facts to the secret videos throughout the new season that’s coming out now.

So, I’m just going to try and begin with why I was so scared, more specifically. One threat in particular checks every box of aspects of a monster that I find scary: Uncanny valley (depending on age), silent but dangerous, solely focused on humans in a way that makes sense, etc..

The main thing that drew me into this now that I think about it, was how the foot chain was visibly affected in the world of Vita Carnis.

With every direct threat, the one I mentioned above especially, Darian has taken a lot of care to describe the science behind all of them and their dangerous mechanisms. All to demonstrate the key theme that humans, in that world, are no longer at the top of the food chain, and are in a prey position again. Something that instinctively strikes fear into humans as a species.

What makes it mire real and visceral is, as I mentioned above, the science and how the people in this world react to this. One can argue that humans are in that situation with other types of monsters like werewolves, vampires, demons, etc., but Vita Carnis has descriptive explanations for how these threats work, has safety guides for them, and despite that, still makes it clear that in that world, we still have to fear for out lives on a constant basis.

The new season that’s coming out is geared more towards learning the potential source of these threats, but the first season was all about understanding why the threats would be so unbeatable and terrifying in real life. Darian also does a great job with effects, mainly using practical effects in the first season. Granted, it doesn’t look great all the time, but it’s another example of just how much effort he puts into this series.

I mentioned that Midwest Angelica wasn’t my favorite because I was personally tired of seeing literal religious themes in stories, had a different guess as to what the threat was that killed momentum on my end, but Vita Carnis didn’t necessarily give me a chance to guess. At least not with the first few episodes, in fact, those first two episodes were a decent subversion in terms of introducing the main antagonists.

The current season is leaning more into the “cultish” and “researching” part of it, but it has kept its momentum nonetheless, at least for me.

It’s not for everybody. But on the Analog Horror subreddit praise it like crazy, and I’m holding back quite a bit because I could get into direct spoilers, but it’s just not everybody’s cup of tea, just like how Midwest Angelica wasn’t mine. You may find that the goofier/unrealistic moments effects wise ruin the immersion for you, or this second season will lose you, or maybe biology videos aren’t scary.

However, if you are like me and intrigued by these things, it is, just like Gemini and Midwest, on YouTube. Go check it out if you’re interested (but be warned that despite the first seven videos being put into one documentary, there is content cut and added)!

As for next week…

[my-insanity-is-an-artform]

A cut from a fic I’ll never finish:

“Throwback to the time I wished to be dead rather than go through exams!” Reader says, throwing themselves to on the ground with their soup.

“What the fuck are you talking about.” Legend asks.

“Just gotta remind myself that its better to be here than back home.” Reader replies.

“Thats fucked up.” Wild says, straight to the point.

Readers’ head turns. “No its not?” They say, questioningly.

Legend scowls. “It is too.”

“Listen man,” Reader turns back to their food, ignoring the looks of horror from the rest of the chain, “Say what you will, but this is infinitely better than back home.”

Twilight frowns. “You almost died half an hour ago.” He points out.

“And I'm pretty sure my old roommate was planning on killing me and selling my organs to pay off her student loan debt. Also she ate pineapple on pizza which is a whole other level of wrong that I’m not getting involved in.” They place their bowl on the ground. “At least here I won’t lose my only source of money if I sleep in for twenty extra minutes. And I don’t have to pay rent!”

Vaguely horrified looks from the rest of the chain.

“You don’t even have a house here?” From Warriors.

“Yeah!” Reader smiles. “Isn’t it great! Now I don’t have to worry about my landlord breaking into my apartment while I'm sleeping!”

“Your landlord does WHAT.” Twilight stands up, enraged.

“That cannot be legal” Four says, looking horrified.

“It’s allowed on the barest technicality.” Reader explains. “But dont worry! He might have the key to my apartment, but he doesn’t have the key to the six padlocks I added to the door!” All of this said with unnerving cheeriness.

Time places a hand on Twilight’s shoulder, calming him before turning back to Reader.

“He never did anything did he?” He asks. Menacingly.

Reader doesn’t seem to notice the eldests fury. 

“Oh he never got the chance. My most recent roommate was a terrifying sight to behold when angry.”

“Was she the one trying to steal your organs?” Wind asks, clearly in morbid fascination.

“No that was my first roomate. Freshman year in college. Weird times.”

The horror had not dissipated.

“What the Fuck.” Hyrule says. “Seriously, what the Fuck.”

“Yeah it sucks pretty bad.” Reader allows. “So you can see why I like it here.”

“We can see it.” Sky says, still looking vaguely terrified. “I just don’t think we want to.”

“Well you asked.” Reader says, shrugging. “Besides, what I have going on now is nothing compared to my early college days. And by early I mean last year.” 

“First off, we didn’t ask. Legend did.” This from Wild, drawing an offended ‘Hey!’ from Legend. “Second, what the fuck is wrong with your era.”

“Dont say capitalism.” Reader mutters to themself. “Its true but you shouldn’t say it.”

“What’s capitalism?” From Wild.

Oh Boy.

oh my god I love this so much. Just the absolute disbelief that Reader would prefer death over their own world.

Reader is such a whole mood. The good ol' days of crushing capitalism and living off of noodles. Nothing to see here, don’t worry.

Just imagine them telling the chain this and is promptly stuffed with food and muttered promises of various ideas

Please I need more. Im begging you.

[gatheredfates]

60. In Sync/Wordless Conversations

101 quick fluffy/soft/comfort prompts for brief fic snippets. I'm so sorry I intended for this to be fluffy but it IS my Thirteenth verse soooooooooo.

No matter what ruin comes of us. When I'm gone, promise me. Promise me when you sleep, when you dream of me, it'll be in colours of white.

There was a wreath of pearls in her hair. He noticed them like he noticed her, inoffensive and unobtrusive, daring to not make a spectacle as she lingered at the edges of the court, away from eyes like carrion birds overseeing a bloody affair. He watched the way she watched intently, encouraging smiles and polite handwaves as she ushered the other ladies to their entourages. She knew, as he knew, as they all knew, their place in the world.

A castle on the cliffs. A blasé ballroom. Piano keys struck as effortlessly as claws in skin, a tempo-count to the screams of the proletariat murdered beneath their barricades — a mercy granted to my chosen, their lord declared.

Here was the only place he saw white. The rest was a mash of purple-black stretching across the sky like a bruise, a pox of void that blotted the last few places of light. Infectious, it chased him from distant courts over shores and shelters; gorging, devouring, decimating until there was nothing left, and it hungered still.

The lord kept him because he was useful. He kept her because she was pretty.

He wondered if the pearls were plucked from maggots feasting on sticky oysters, an irony of value as desperate fisherman gnashed on the slime. Worthless as the gil that slipped between their bony fingers while snatched at chunks of bread. The lord knew how low they'd stoop — how little he'd have to offer before the pin-pricks of void in their pupils cannibalised them from the inside. A little waste for everything he wanted.

He laced them tenderly upon a crown of white-blonde hair. An offering. A dozen little souls chained in silk, so arrogant as to be loosely tied, priceless and worthless in the same breath.

'I can be frivolous,' it seemed to say. 'I can be apocalyptic.'

The boy didn't know his hunger then, mistaking it for foolishness. It was when his hand closed around her wrist and tugged her back from the crowd, when she jumped and tried to speak his name, when he silenced her with a finger to his lips. He knew he wanted her. He wanted her hands, her hair and her skin beneath his fingers. He wanted to know her, to love her. Devour her, pearlescent and magnificent in the white.

In the light.

He pulled her gently towards the door. Aryele turned her head, pale blue surveying the ballroom for just a moment, before her hand squeezed his. She looked to him, the expectation of her station abandoned for just a little while — the horrors of their pantomime discarded — and she grinned.

Lady turned memoriate. Pianist to murderer.

He grinned back, amber eyes crinkling in the corners.

No one noticed, no one cared, to watch them run. Only the lord residing over a dollhouse of doom, far too preoccupied with the dance — dead before he died. The first voidsent before the fall.

[house-foxglove]

alright you talked me into it, i'll post about my dark fantasy estern setting. (its unedited and my "double you" key is on the fritz but FUCK IT HERE"S MY THING:

The setting of Gut of the West is set in two epochs; the 1st is as the est is just beginning with its expansion into other directions, the God of the West promising his people that he would grant his power to one who proved himself holier than him. Then the 2nd here one of the god’s children sacrificed his life to make that possibility a truth. He spread his divinity in all directions so that any creature living, born, or dead could hold the power of a god and take his station, both in title and in function.

Directions

There are seven divine Directions in the world of Gut of the West: North, South, East, West, Down, Yonder, and the Center.

West

Color: Black (iron)

Topics and Themes: Colonialism, fanaticism, religious pressure, devotion, manifest destiny

The West is the most powerful growing direction in recent millennia. In the West the story of how a man gained the status and power of a god was when he tamed and bridle the Spirit of the West, a far more ancient and primal being than the man. But still he broke it. And as such earned mastery and ownership of the entire West. Since then the technology of the West had grown exponentially. The taming of iron and coal and steel led to the creation of machines powered by the minerals and treasures of the earth. Those that the God of the West found worthy he turned into Saints. Wise men of their craft and loyal to the point of giving their life in the name of the God.

The first was the Patron Saint of Arms, St. Gatling. A master engineer and savant in the combustive arts. He created many weapons that roared with the sound of God’s voice, and struck down others like lightning. When his people were under threat by foreign armies Gatling used his greatest weapon yet, but died along with the opposing forces. For his genius and sacrifice the God of the West raised him again so he may continue his work in devotion.

The est is pretty much looks like anywhere between late 1700’s and the very late 1800’s. The further est you go the more towards the current present it looks with even the Capital city of Horizon having automobiles.

The true history is that the God of the est as a warlord ho organized and army to bring don the Spirit and chain it. He then at the hole of it. Ate the entire body of the Spirit of the est and as imparted with the power of a god. From this power he rules the est, but is hungry for more, and he cannot be satiated. He oversaw and warped the development of technology so it would suit his purposes of extending his borders. To corrupt the iron of the Railroad to dig its nails in the ground and take root. Splintering spreading iron that digs into the soil, and it contracts. It pulls and drags the soil and ground of all other directions into itself. Devouring all land in all directions into the gut of the est.

Most citizens are religious to a degree. Some join certain branches of the faith of the est like the Church of St. Gatling and the Saint of Spirits. Both of whom have been stripped of their humanity, no turned into servitors and puppets of God. They ill play the part the people believe them to be, but its monstrous self is hat the God has made them. The curtain of sainthood covers the horror within.

This truth is hidden from all westerners. The citizens of the est are encouraged by their god to go into the w0rld and lay don roots that the west may eventually reach. Missionaries that move to other directions and prepare a way for the est to come. Servants of the Railroad and the Gun plotting and conspiring to spread the rails across the land, even so far as to build mine carts into the earth.

Notable steeds are horses in many varieties and breeds.

North

Color: White

Topics and Themes: Consuming, cannibalism, harsh environment,

A frigid archipelago made up of islands of dirt and ice. The people of the north are hardy and superstitious. There can be little vegetation found in the north, but the peoples of the north have extensive taboos surrounding eating flesh. The most severe taboo to break is cannibalism, to eat another person’s flesh is deemed an abomination, not just the act, but hat succumbing to that hunger does to a person. The more people a cannibal eats the more they grow, becoming a giant that hungers for human flesh and thirsts for human blood. Not many are able to quench or keep this desire don. Some are able to keep their composure and humanity after consuming it, but it takes a great amount of willpower. All monsters in the north are creatures that resorted to eating another one of their kind.

Northerners appearance and complexion depend on the region and islands they are from. Their skin color can range from a deep tan and caramel across the hole of it, to a pallid hite tone in the northwest. Those in the northwest There are a number of different tribes, peoples, and clans in the north. One of which lives with living stones of ice, nomadic glaciers that travel along currents.

The notable steeds of the north are musk oxen, buffalo, ice bulls, and moose.

East

Color: Yellow

Topics and Themes: Poaching, corruption, stewardship, sisterhood,

A windblown desert, crags and canyons, pillars of stone jut from the earth like fingers of a hand hose palm lies beneath the soil.

The Spirit of the East manifests through the ind and weather. Dominating the skies are giant eagles ho mastered the ind and could fly with and against it. The eagles earned the respect of the ind and gave them the power to wield it. The greatest of eagles could create tornadoes and bring rain. Warriors caught lightning in their talons like a fish in a lake.

One day a woman found an eagle’s egg fallen from a nest. She wanted to return the egg to the nest in order to not draw the eye or ire of the eagle, but she could not climb up the cliff to return it. So she brought it to her home. There she made a nest of her for the eagle egg, she fended off thieves both animal and man who wanted to eat the eagle egg. Eventually it hatched and the sky thundered. The mother eagle heard it hatch and flew down in a rage only to see a human woman throwing her on body on top of her hatched child, protecting it from snakes, coyotes, and men. The mother eagle cried splitting the air and deafened all the attackers sending them fleeing. The mother eagle as thanks offered to teach the woman how to master the wind. So the first of witches as made. An art and spiritual practice passed don from mother to daughter, master to student. The oldest of witches ere called crones. Their faces beaten by the ind after years of dancing with and mastering it.

The peoples of the east typically have rich brown skin and deep black hair, their eye colors range from the darkest colors of the night sky. They live in family units, but seasonally all come together to a community camp here the wind is light and not harsh. Here they can harvest seasonal foods and compete against each other in daring sports of kite surfing.

Notable steeds are hippogriffs, and itch brooms.

South

Color: Red

Topics and Themes: Debts (emotional and monetary), servitude/enslavement, intimacy, devotion,

This direction has seen much turmoil among many ages. From a deep canyon of beasts to a massive ocean ruled by salt, and then the receding of the ocean against the land rising up from its once buried position. No the south is a massive samp and bayou, ith salt ponds and grottoes the further south you go toards the horizon and the ocean. The soil of this land as magic, suffused ith the poer of the Spirit of the South. Those that are buried in the ground and owe a debt may be raised as revenants ith human bones and dirt fat and skin. They may be raised due to a promise or agreement they made with someone in life that can be evoked and enforced by a miracle orker. Or from the sheer emotional eight and poer associated ith that promise raising them.

In the South there are those ith the rare vocation of being a miracle orker. One ho has a connection ith the earth and the south and its people. Ith faith and devotion they can enact miracles, such as raising someone from the dead by invoking their promise as ell as using a number of tokens, trinkets, and objects chosen by the miracle orker for their subject specifically.

But some miracle orkers are orkers for debt collecting companies and banks. If someone oes a debt then in their contract it states that they ould be risen and continue to ork in order to pay off their debt. These revenants are knon as “poor sods”, indentured servants in death that are not alloed to lie in their grave to sleep. Hen their debt is paid off it is up to them if they ish to keep living again. Their ork may have worn down their bones and injured them, causing them to have a painful existence therefore choosing to rest. Others ill keep on, taking solace in joy in their loved ones, their hobbies, and their living.

Down

Color: Green

Topics and Themes: Freedom, debauchery, sympathy, rebellion, mean spiritedness, temptation

The only direction a fall may take. And all ho live don in the ground is fallen in a ay. The Spirit of Don is knon as the Pit Mammoth, a titan ith shaggy black fur, Long shark tusks, a trunk that is the body and head of a venomous snake, and and deep fire that burns from its eyes and mouth. The mammoth hears all ho are desperate deep inside the earth. All ho are buried under the eight of the orld, in the ground or standing on it. Those trapped and crushed, the confined and claustrophobic ho scream to anything and anyone that ill listen. Once the names of their family runs out, the names of their friends, and the names of hatever gods they orship. Hen they pray to anything at all, the mammoth listens, and it offers a ay out, a ay don. If they accept the mammoth’s invitation they are fall through the earth into the mammoth’s fire and is permanently changed. They gro horns, their skin turns green, and fire burns from their eyes, but the darkness of their irises still pierce through the fire. They typically take on a number of animalistic features; ranging from cloven hooves, eyes of goats and frogs, scales, cat ears, heifer noses, and tails of all sorts.

Many devils despise being referred to as “below, beneath, and under” they don’t ant to be referred to as lower than something else, that nothing else is inherently better than them. A devil’s freedom is one of the most valuable things they have. Many take the stance of live and let live. And some devils do return to the surface and atch as the people ith the blue above them go about their lives. Sometimes interferring. These anderlusting devils observe and/or interact ith those they have taken a fixation of. It could be someone ho ent through similar experiences as them in their old life and feel sympathy for them, so they may try to establish a friendship ith them, or even extend an invitation don themselves. This invitation does not turn the invitee into a devil, hoever.

Though devils revere freedom andto restrict another’s freedom is looked don upon, there are some devils ho relish in wielding their power and freedom against others. Those that play with another’s life as though it were a toy to be abused and discarded. Devils avoid tunnels near their dens.

Yonder

Color: Blue

Topics and Themes: Grudges, family ties, xenophobia, passing as something else, song and history

Hanging in the sky shines the moon, its milky blue shape changing ith the days, and by doing so changing the territories that shine toards the surface. The lands of the moon in Yonder are not physically concrete. The phases of the moon changing are in truth hich territory of the moon canids shines toards the orld, and therefore connects them. Hile one phase of the moon shines, hen not shining don on all other directions the other phases of the moon life in perpetual night. Hen the full moon shines the olves look don on the orld, for the half moon are the coyotes, and for the foxes the crescent moon. These boundaries and territories of the moon were established over years of war and feuds between clans of canids against their own kind and others. In addition to their peoples’ howls and songs the canids of the moon could speak language like a human, and were sentient in their own right, their own people.

Among those ho live on the moon the oldest story of the great blue Yonder’s creation is hen the sky as still black. One day a fox that lived on the dark side of the moon began to hop and dig into the midnight sky, and as it dug it found light. It shoed other foxes ho to leap into the night and find ells of starlight. This is ho the foxes made the stars in the sky. But one fox dug too deep and too ide, its tail got caught in the starlight and caught fire. The fox tried to find anything that ould put it out, but the brightness of the sun blinded the fox, so it runs across the sky to this day.

Regardless of its origin the sun’s light shines on the moon and gives it shape and tangible borders. Once the sun shone on the moon olves, coyotes, and foxes began to establish territory as opposed to the unified survival in the dark of perpetual night. Years and centuries of ars over lands beteen packs and clans of canids led to the no current borders and lands of the moon. Set for the olves like a table as the Full Moon, here the most of the sun’s light shone. Next as the Half Moon for the coyotes, not as strong as the olves but ith tricks of their on. They could race across beams of light cast by the moon to the surface and hunted there. Then the Crescent Moon for the foxes, the ones ho gifted light in the first place. But foxes adapted and continued their art of sneaking through the darkness, and using the shadows to protect themselves.

There was a clan of humans that would wear the skin and fur of animals and would take on some of their power. One day a man wore the skin of a coyote he had killed and approached another who was departing back to his home. The man in the coyote skin asked how the coyote could travel to and fro to the moon. The coyote thought he was looking at a sagging elder who had forgotten how to return to his homeland, so patiently he showed the man wearing the skin of his kind how to tread upon the moonbeams back to the moon. Later more men with skins of coyotes came to hunt on the moon, making traps for all the beasts and taking their skins to sell or wearing them to fight them. In these skirmishes the wolves took a man and forced him to show how they skinned a creature and how they gained power from it. Once the man had fearfully instructed them how to do it properly they killed him and took his skin. And so wolves learned by the humans’ example.

Some canids found a way to poison themselves and their skins so that any human that wears it will go into a fit of sneezes, having a cursed allergic reaction to the fur and cause them to go feral and behave as a rabid animal. Those that stray too far from the moon for too long, are banished from it, or damn it entirely lose the spark it gives them, dimming their mind and turning them wild. These became the wild beasts of the wilderness, as well as the first dogs.

Center

Color: Purple Humans are creatures from the center and in ancient days spread in nearly every direction. Human ancestry, and Directional ancestry. The center only created the valley, where all humans came from. All other directions created their own life, trees and animals, to match their whims and the materials they had to work with.

The 2nd epoch began when the God of the West attempted to consume the Center and destabilize the borders between all Directions. But when he did, his son, the Railroaded, threw himself in front of the tracks. The spilling of his blood as the center was no more led to the divine nature of his life was spread across all directions. With the loss of the center all of Order is destabilized though it is difficult to tell. [[Wayward Chaos]] begins to take form once again, one manifestation is the [[Silver Saltfields]] which serve as a purgatory and transition realm where living beings are broken down and cast into the chaos to feed it and make it grow and return to the world to the state of existence it was once in before the Directions were created.

[not-alien-girl-v]

hi please, could you right some sweet hurt/comfort about reader comforting kit walker? ty :)

warning: language, excessive gooey lovey dovey bullshit if that’s your thing, angst

note: this got sappy as shit in the end idc tho its cute

You hate walking home alone. You hate the way you jump at each unsettling noise you hear on the journey. The wind picking up leaves to scrape them along the sidewalk, some reptilian entity rustling around in a bush. It frightens you more than you like to admit to anyone, especially a smug Kit, who ‘insists’ on walking you home everyday, as if you wouldn’t beg him to otherwise.

The walk is brief, but its cold, and on a night like this, when Kit got caught up at work for a few extra hours after sundown, lonely. It was fine. He called you on the payphone at the shop, his euphonic drawl with an added rasp from the last cigarette in his pack smoked. You thought it was your lucky day, getting a call from the love of your life in the middle of a crappy workday, but less so when he revealed you would have to walk by yourself.

You can handle yourself fine, and you did, all the way home in the cold, in the dark, the middle of the night, and other downsides to the situation you’d have to remember to give Kit shit about when he got home. 

The night air swirls around you in a big gust of bone chilling wind, wracking through your body, blowing the skirt of your waitress uniform. You work 6 to noon on weekdays but 4 to 10 on weekends for the dinner rush at your local seedy diner. Sometimes Kit comes in before he heads in to work, half for a barely palatable cup of coffee, half so he can sit at the counter on a stiff stool and stare at you for 30 minutes.

He seemed so worn, so spent over the phone that you were under the impression he had a long stretch of work ahead of him before he could clock out, so you’re a bit confused when you see his truck in the driveway and the lights on in the living room through the window. 

Your key turns in the lock and you peel the open, hinges squeaking eerily like a scene from a bad horror movie. That damn door, you’d fix it had you obtained the ability to do so. That was more Kit’s area of expertise, but he’s been so busy lately, you didn’t want to stress him further.

He’s there, reclined in his favorite chair, cigarette hanging out of his mouth, he must of had the time to run to the store and buy another pack, and television turned on to some kitschy old movie.

“Babe?” You ask, and he’s jolting awake from a light slumber, sullen eyes fixing on you, looking like a man much older than 25. He’s so often like this, so worried or stressed over things he looks years older than he is.

He scans you up and down, admiring for just a moment before panic sets into his face. “Shit, did you have to walk?”

“Yeah, it’s alright, I didn’t bring you dinner though. Why are you off so early? Thought you said you’d be late,” your last words are posed as a question, though you mean to be a simple statement, as that is what he told you. 

“Ah, I’m sorry, sweetie, boss had some personal emergency, everyone got let off early cuz he didn’t want the trouble of us unmanaged, I must have fell asleep,” he follows you into the kitchen where you hang your purse on a dining chair. You trifle through the bag, trying to find your wallet, but to no avail, it’s not in there.

“It’s fine, hun, um, I think I dropped my wallet outside, I’m gonna go grab it, but lay down, go back to sleep. You’re so stressed lately, you deserve some good rest.”

He looks a bit unconvinced that you’re not upset with him in any way but if there’s one thing he can agree on, it’s that sleep sounds magnificent for him right now, especially now knowing you’re home safe with him.

As you open the mahogany slab of wood that opens to the outside world, you can’t help but cringe a bit at the loud creaking noise, but one glance back at a relaxed Kit in his chair again stops you from saying anything to him. It’s almost like a chain reaction, the two of you. Kit works so much, causing him stress, which makes you worry about him like a concerned mother rather than a troubled girlfriend, and then you’re both running around like chickens without heads because of it.

You hug your thick jacket tighter around your body, well, Kit’s thick jacket, as the unforgiving night air welcomes you back in to the cold like a menacing embrace. One quick glance around, and you find your wallet right on the doorstep, it must have fallen to the ground when you were searching for your keys. 

You chuckle at your mindless stupidity, and open the door quickly to escape the frigid temperature and there it is again, that goddamn squeak. It almost seems louder once you realize how fucking annoying it is. You’ve had enough of this.

Slamming it shut behind you, “this isn’t gonna work, Kit.” 

Your back is turned to him, but his is turned to you as well, so you don’t notice the way he jumps then freezes in his chair, eyes wide in panic, and he doesn’t notice how you’re regarding the door rather than him. 

“What?” Still, not turning around, as if he can make you change your mind as long as he doesn’t look at you, like he can make you stop.

“Look, I mean, I didn’t want to say anything yet because of work and the stress, I know it’s a lot for you, and I didn’t want to add more bullshit to your plate, but I really can’t deal with this anymore. I’m sick and tired of it,” you come and stand in front of him now, and he can’t deny you anymore, he has to stand up and face you like a man, though he really, really doesn’t want to. 

“Why can’t things just stay the way they are?” His eyes are welling up with tears, and you’re shocked, you didn’t know he cared this strongly about the door. 

“Because it’s a nuisance! Everyday I get home, I mean, first thing I see, I can’t just ignore it! It’s driving me fucking insane? Isn’t there something you can do to fix it?”

It seems the more fired up about the door you get, the more emotional he becomes, and it’s a weird chain reaction, much different from your usual stress-related one. You’re not sure why he cares so much about it, but seeing as you have strong feelings about it as well, you can’t blame him.

“I’m sorry, baby, I’m sorry! I can fix this, I can be better, I swear, just please don’t break up with me,” he’s dropped on his knees now in a begging stance, and your eyes are wide in horror, realizing a massive misunderstanding has taken place in your home. 

You mean to do something, but soon, you realize you’ve simply been standing there staring at him with an unreadable expression on your face. His tears are streaming down his own, a common sight to see from him, though it still breaks your heart to see every time he gets emotional, which is often, seeing as he’s so open with his feelings.

He’s gazing up at you with fear and sorrow and so much love in his eyes, it almost overwhelms you, how much he loves you, once you really think about it. But that’s not the point here.

You kneel down to meet his level, to meet his eyes, and your slow to come in contact, you start with his fingers, lifting them one by one until his hands rest in your own, when you slide yours up his arms, coming to a halt on his shoulders, and his damp eyes follow your fingertips as they explore his clothed skin, leaving goosebumps under the sleeves of his work shirt that you can’t see, but somehow are aware of.

Pulling him in, you wrap him in a hug, your arm working under his own to rub up and down soothingly on his back, another going over to rest on the back of his head, cradling him to your shoulder which you can feel becoming wet due to his teary-eyed state, but you allow it as you stroke his hair. 

You mainly want him to calm down first before you begin to explain this all, but when he doesn’t seem to be slowing his breathing, when his tears are at full force into your shoulder, you change your plans. Lightly pushing him by the shoulders to break free from the hug, you rest one hand on the back of his neck, letting the skin on skin contact soothe him, and digging your hand into the hair on the back of his head, you make him look at you.

“Hey, hey, it’s okay, my love, you’re okay,” you massage his scalp for a moment, feeling awful knowing that your inability to be precise in your words led to this, and you’re really not sure what to say or do to make this better.

“No, how can we be okay? If you’re tryin’ to leave me 'cos I work so much? How can I fix this? Don’t know how,” he cries to you and you continue to hold him tenderly.

You just nod your head, struggling to find words. “Okay, um, a few things I need to say baby. You ready to listen?” He desperately nods his head and you feel like crying too.

“First of all, I love you. I love you so much, baby, too much. It’s ridiculous, truly,” he opens his mouth to say something but you won’t have it. “Ah, not done. Okay, um, second of all, I wasn’t trying to break up with you. But, I totally see where you’re coming from, looking back at it, I could have been clearer. I was talking about the door, you know that stupid squeak it makes when it opens? Yeah, pisses me off, not that I know how to fix it. That’s your job, huh baby?”

When he realizes you’ve finally opened the floor for commentary, he decides to indulge in it. “Yeah, ‘s my job. What you keep me around for.” His sad little smile is a beautiful sight to see, like a prayer of no words to the damned. You giggle, and he mirrors your emotion, a small laugh emitting from his handsome face.

“Feeling better now?” You stand up off the ground, reaching your hands out to pull him up with you, and he accepts. He nods and stares at you in adoration. “Good, now will you fix that door before I lose my marbles again?”

He laughs, throwing his head back in the moment and he realizes he would probably do anything you told him to, as long as it would make you happy. Whatever that feeling is, that emotion that’s just a little past love, he wants to savor it, bottle it, put it on a page of a book he can read over and over again, he wants to taste it every morning and every night for breakfast and dinner, he wants to feel it on his skin, in his brain, deep down inside him for as long as you’d let him.

As he fixes the hinges of the door, you sit on the floor before him, watching his strong hands do what they seemingly were made to, you feel so lucky to have him, so glad to be his, here, on his living room floor, where he looks so tender and domestic that you might just die if you looked at him for a moment longer but you can’t tear your eyes away from him, you never want to let him out of your sight for as long as you live. 

“There we are, honey. All better. Come give it a try,” he must not have noticed your excessive staring, for he seems all fine now, and you trap him in a hard kiss once he turns around to face you, not bothering to try the door, trusting his skills alone. 

You kiss him rough, passionate, so hard that he fears you may just suck the soul out of him through his lips, only hoping it will be safely kept in your loving hold. 

Oh, who was he kidding? He’d gladly give his soul to you if you asked, if it was possible. He’d do anything for you. 

[battlemaiden13]

Hello again, my friend! So I was reading through some of the recent asks you have answered, and I have to say, I still love this house of yandere skeletons, I hope you might run with the idea for a story with that concept someday (if you haven't already :3 )

So my question. Let's say for fun, it is an entire yandere house, the MC in question has caught the attention of the boys, S/O or not, however you feel with this one, MC has played nice and gone along pretty much with everything the skeletons have asked/demanded, all the while plotting escape. Eventually, someone messes up, a window or door unlocked, a key forgotten, something, and MC finally makes their move.

How would the skeletons react to this, gasp, betrayal, and how quickly would they track the MC down? Might it be possible for them to actually get a bus out of town before being tracked down and.. what if they encounter some lovely mafia skeletons in the process? Might they be able to sweet talk their way into some help/ be used a a means for the mafia boys to get something / or are our mafia boys just as (or maybe more) as scary?

Love your writing! (Sorry this one was so long!)

WARNING: Yandere, Blood, gore, toxic Relations 

Yandere Escape

I didn’t do the mafia because I feel like if these skeletons are corrupted then they would be too. It’d be a glitch that skeletons become yandere. You’d escape only to be put in a different horror house. 

Sans -Oh you make it home. Sans isn’t too concerned. His expertise are computer based. Even if you make it home or to the other side of the world. He knows where you are and can absolutely bring you back anytime he wants. Basically with Sans you are ‘free’ to go wherever you want but if you betray him, or refuse to listen to him then he will systematically ruin your life and the life of those you care about. 

Papyrus -You manage to make it to the next town over before he tracks you down. It’s soul crushing, he does it so casually and everyone just seems to know him and believe him over you. Papyrus was always good at manipulating others and he knows exactly how to use it to his advantage. 

Red -He gets mad when he realizes you’ve tricked him, like he trusted you. When Red gets angry he has a hard time controlling himself. He easily hunts you down before you make it to the end of the driveway. In his rage he may just break a few of your bones. He’ll apologize for it later but he just can’t let you leave. 

Edge - You feel like you’ve made it, you're free. Then you enjoy some food, a nice drink and you wake up back in the mansion like a bad dream. It happens again and again and the worst part is Edge doesn’t say anything about it. It’s like you never left. 

Blue -He’s going to hunt you down in the forest like it’s a game because for him it is a game. At least you better hope he keeps thinking it’s a game because while it’s still scary, him hunting you down, if he finds out it’s real you are so dead, or at least seriously maimed so that you can never leave again. 

Orange - You don’t make it far. His panic after noticing you were gone gets him to track you down pretty fast. He doesn’t like showing anyone his true side and he trusted you which he now sees as a mistake. He won’t be making a mistake twice. Hope you like chains, cause you are going to be chained to a wall. 

Berry -you won’t get far and Berry knows it. He isn’t co-captain of the royal guard for nothing after all. There’s some magic trickery around here, no matter how far you run or which direction you always end up back at the mansion. It’s annoying to watch the brat drink tea in the garden calmly as you try to escape only to always make it back. Berry thinks your attempts are very entertaining. 

Syrup - If you want to leave you just have to ask. Syrup isn’t keeping you at the mansion to make you miserable, that’s the last thing he wants. He’s more about treating you so well that you don’t want to leave in the first place. Or if you do leave you realize just how good your life was with him. 

[6-maranatha-scours-the-universe]

Loving the Angels of Kill Six Billion Demons

I'm just going to use examples from the earlier volumes of KSBD (from a limited area because I haven't read much). I can't help but love the angels in KSBD not just from the fact of the intense creativity of the artist (Tom Parkinson-Morgan) working on the webcomic but from the fact that it kind of embraces the duality of angel depictions that internet culture has been meming about for a little bit. You know what I'm talking about. The biblically accurate angels memes. (Also I'm largely unaware of the pronoun conventions of the angels in KSBD but I'll just use nonbinary pronouns for them all.)

As much as I enjoy these memes because they are funny, they actually create a pretty inaccurate image of what angels look like in the Bible because they just choose to over-represent angels like the Ophanim and Cherubim from the Book of Ezekiel.

Depiction of Ezekiel's Vision from the first chapter of the Book of Ezekiel (there are four angelic figures in the chapters but this one only shows two) by an unknown artist. But in the Bible, the majority of angelic figures other than these ones are just... dudes, I mean that in that they are non-cosmic horror-looking figures. While the majority of angels aren't particularly well described we can tell who are, and who aren't angels because of the Hebrew word Malakh which means "messenger." And it sort of makes sense that the majority of the time these messengers sent by God would generally be amiable-looking humanoids when interacting with humans as opposed to always looking like cosmic horrors inspiring nigh madness-like awe. I think a good example of an angel is the(or an) angel of the Lord who appears multiple times in the Bible at key points to relay messages from God to humans at multiple key points. For bringing Manoah's barren wife, then Manoah, (Judges 13:12-18, 13:21) that she's going to give birth to Samson and instructions as to what to do with Samson. This dude probably looked normal to them, or normalish in their context. Look this isn't trying to be professional because I just want to give some proper appreciation for KSBD for towing that line between cosmic horror and normalish looking human (or humanoid) in the context they live. The specific points in KSBD that I want to bring attention to are 82 White Chain (full name "82 White Chain Born in Emptiness Returns to Subdue Evil") and their form in the Void. With the more recognizably "biblically accurate" angels appearing as their true forms in the Void while they await reincarnation or release from their banishment.

Incarnate

In the Void

Some other angels in KSBD also at the very least have the appearance of "maybe they're just going to say hi and not kill me" in their incarnate forms (in the context of the multiversal world) of KSBD. Like 2 Michael.

Incarnate

Form in the Void 1 Metatron and 6 Juggernaut Star Scours the Universe are imo the angels that are universally the most alien (even in the context of the multiversal reality they inhabit). Juggernaut for being metal as fuck looking in all forms and Metatron for their size to be representative of their closeness to divinity

In the Void (Juggernaut)

Incarnate (Juggernaut)

Void (Metatron)

Idk. This isn't meant to be a professional examination of these characters in relation to biblical angels. Hell, the angels in KSBD aren't even directly relatable to biblical angels in a metaphysical sense because of the mix of Gnosticism and Dharmic religious theology influencing worldbuilding. Fuck it lol. It's good art..... also I stole some of Juggernaut's name for this Tumblr account name lol. Sources for the Art: https://knowyourmeme.com/editorials/guides/what-are-biblically-accurate-angels-and-why-are-they-a-meme https://knowyourmeme.com/memes/biblically-accurate-angels-be-not-afraid https://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/File:Ezekiel%27s_vision.jpg https://killsixbilliondemons.com/comic/wielder-of-names-1-8/ https://killsixbilliondemons.com/comic/ksbd-1-14/ https://killsixbilliondemons.com/comic/wielder-of-names-1-5/ https://killsixbilliondemons.com/comic/wielder-of-names-3-56/ https://killsixbilliondemons.com/comic/wielder-of-names-1-10/ https://orbitaldropkick.tumblr.com/post/82091686323/the-angel-called-6-juggernaut-star-scours-the https://killsixbilliondemons.com/comic/wielder-of-names-2-24-incarnate/

[kingwithpaintedfingers]

"Samples"

(Author's Note: @relax-and-read-on and I were talking about another Primarch AU and the subject of an old headcanon I share with my IRL best friend about the nature of the Bararan Overlords. This "driblet" (tiny little fic) more or less sums it up and includes some writing I'm proud of.

This scene comes from a larger AU I share with my IRL friend where Magnus the Red was raised by Trazyn the Infinite instead of humans. I'm not ready to turn this into a full fic at the moment, so this is sadly all I've got for now.

Very mild spoilers for The Buried Dagger; the usual Trazyn-y shenanigans.)

Mortarion sat in the middle of the floor, bound in chains of necrodermis.  At the sight of his brother, he struggled against them.  It was a futile gesture—even he could not break through these bonds.  Magnus knelt before him, bringing them level to each other.

"Where are we?  Why did you take us?  Where is Calas?!" Mortarion snarled.

Magnus held up a hand.  "We are on Solemnace.  And I did not take you.  Trazyn the Infinite did."

"Who the hell is he?"  Mortarion tried to kick out with his legs, but they were bound as well as his hands.

Magnus took a deep breath.  "Trazyn the Infinite, Overlord of Solemnace, is the archivist of the Nihilakh Dynasty."  He noticed the way his brother twitched at his father's title.  "He's the…person who raised me."

Mortarion stared at him, a look of shock and disgust on his face.

Magnus shifted.  "Pops—Trazyn—he's a Necron.  An empire of undying metal beings.  The Necrons were flesh and blood, just like we humans are, once.  They were once the Necrontyr.  Then the Star-Gods betrayed them with the curse of biotransference.  They were all put into metal bodies millions of years ago."  Magnus played with the hem of his robe.  "Almost all of them.  One minor dynasty was spared.  They were far away from all the rest, and they had pledged their souls to a different god, one who protected them from biotransference."

Suspicion dawned in Mortarion’s eyes.  He swallowed.  "And these…Necrontyr…the ones who survived biotransference…who…who were they…?"

"A small cult.  The Dewerekh Dynasty.  They settled on a small, savage world and ruled it, undisturbed, for millions of years."

Mortarion shivered.  "What does this have to do with me.  Or with Calas?  Where is he?!"

"In a stasis cell for now."  Magnus took another deep breath.  "Mortarion…the Dewerekh Dynasty…they were the Overlords of Barbarus.  You are the last person in the entire galaxy to be raised by a Necrontyr.  The Necrons barely remember their adult lives before biotransference, let alone their childhoods.  As debased and barbaric as he was by Necrontyr standards, Necare was one of the last members of their species, and the last one to raise a child.  And even better, you have an eidetic memory.  You remember it all!  You hold the key in your mind to uncover priceless insights of a lost culture!"  Magnus was leaning in closer, consumed, in spite of himself, with enthusiasm for their rare find.

Mortarion stared at him in horror, his body pulled away from Magnus.  He licked his lips.  "And Calas…his father was a, a Necrontyr…"

Magnus nodded.  "The last biological child of a Necrontyr.  His blood is diluted with human, and corrupted by your geneseed, but it still might hold the secret to their genetic past."

Mortarion clenched his fists.  "So what will your father do with us?  Experiment on us?  Torture us for information?"

Magnus shook his head.  "No.  You're too valuable to damage.  He'll interview you.  Find out what you know.  Take tissue samples from Typhon.  And when he's done, he'll put you on display."

His brother's fists tightened.  "No.  I will not let it happen."

"That's the thing, brother," Magnus sighed.  He reached into his interdimensional pocket and pulled out two mindshackle scarabs.  "You won't have a choice."

[crimsonlyinglilly]

Inner child - Mother

Elijah is undaggered and wishes he wasn't, while Esther attempts to justify actions to herself

-----

Elijah wakes from the familiar feeling of the dagger slowly and for a blessed moment he didn’t remember why he had been daggered.

Opening his eyes to find mother’s current body smiling down at him brought it all back.

The mental torture, the nightmares, the view into his past in the form of his younger self and what came after him.

Terror filled him as he found himself torn between his rightful anger and hate for her and the desperate need to please her, she was safe, she would fix everything. 

That wasn’t him, not anymore. 

He remembered the way the world floated away at Finn’s words at the dinner table. 

“Mother don’t” he started. Don’t do this please he wouldn't have begged for anything but he couldn't face that feeling again; of losing control of himself, of losing who he was under the need to please her and Finn.

The terror that he'd never be able to recover himself again afterwards.

“Hush child.” She told him gently cutting off any chance to beg as she reached towards him. 

His mouth shut as he found himself leaning into her touch while his mind screamed. 

“Don’t you trust me?” she asked, and it took Elijah everything he had to stall the words that wanted to escape. 

Of course mother. But they weren’t his, they were the words of a long dead child. 

He didn’t, she had proved she couldn’t be trusted, this was just more proof. 

Her smile flickered for a moment and his remaining self control vanished under the horror of disappointing her. 

“Mother?” The word came out he forgot why he had been hesitant the moment before as he followed her withdrawing hand. 

“Do you want to help me convince your sibling to do the right thing?”

“Of course,” he smiled as she stepped back to let him climb from the coffin. 

 She waited as he straightened her eyes on the red stain on his chest. 

“you’re a good son, I’m sorry I had to do this.” 

“It was for the best.” He told her and ignored the mix of emotions twisting in his chest so sharply that it hurt and the screaming in his mind. 

Nothing could be wrong if he was helping mother. 

—--

It had to be done, she kept reminding herself, as if that would erase the memory of Elijah in chains begging her to stop, the sheer terror in his eyes when he had woke from the dagger to see her or the hitch in his voice before he could finish begging her.

She loved her children, she didn’t enjoy bringing them pain she had done that enough without meaning to.

Elijah was the key to her remaining children, truly he had been since she had placed that responsibility onto his far too small shoulders. This way was far quicker and easier, Klaus and Rebekah would follow once Elijah was on her side, Finn and Kol would understand and return.

Elijah smiled at her in a way he hadn’t since he was a child, an open one that had become reserved for his younger siblings but even Esther noticed the absence in his eyes.

When she had cast her spell a thousand years ago and made her children into the monsters they were now she had turned her caring boy into a cold beast now she had turned her intelligent son into a puppet to fix it.

It had to be done, Elijah could have the love and family she had denied him, this horror would pass and be forgotten in the face of that.