#as soon as i figure out how to write

[ive-been-quested]

I make up characters in my head and then I want to check their tag. But wait. There is no tag. There isn't even a character

[feelo-fick]

doodles from varying times :] kicking my feet and giggling. put your hand in my cage youre safe :]

[mediumgayitalian]

“Come here, you dweeb. Let me fix it.”

Will pouts, dragging his feet over and slumping half on top of him. Nico allows it with a smile and a roll of his eyes, pinching Will’s shoulder. He doesn’t react except for a wounded noise, muffled in Nico’s lap, so the situation is evidently quite dire.

“It’s just hair, Will.”

“But I worked on it!” He shifts around until he’s got his head in Nico’s lap, face turned towards him, body curled up on the grass around him. Nico brushes his tangled bangs off his forehead, meeting his big sad eyes. “I spent forty minutes with a stupid brush! And yet!”

“And yet,” Nico agrees, unable to appropriately school is face into one of somber understanding. Will scowls at him for his lack of proper sympathy, a little bit of genuine hurt in his eyes, so Nico leans down and kisses right between his brows in apology. He seems mollified, if only slightly, or at least he leans into Nico’s touch and stops mumbling quite so much.

“‘S’not fair.”

“Mhm.“

“Your hair listens to your instructions.”

“Yep.”

“Even Cecil’s hair listens to him, and no one listens to Cecil.”

Nico purses his lips thoughtfully. “I think Austin listens to Cecil.”

“Yes, I know. It’s an ongoing issue. I’m trying to train him out of it.”

“And how’s that going?” Nico murmurs, curling a strand of golden blond hair around his finger.

“Oh, well, I’m doing my best, so of course it’s going horribly.”

Nico snorts. He resists the urge to hold his palms to Will’s cheeks and kiss every single freckle at light speed, because he will screech something about how Nico is one-upping him in the romance department or something stupid like that. Instead he settles for looking at his dumb dramatic boyfriend’s face and marvelling over the fact that the cutest boy in the entire world, and Nico is being totally objective, hunts around camp until he finds whatever tree Nico is hiding under and curls up into a ball around him and trusts Nico to hold him while he complains about stupid things that genuinely hurt his feelings a little. It’s nice. So many people at camp are still so rigid around him, like he’s collecting information for their judgement day or something. Will prefers to exercise his lesser-known Apollonian talent of being a bigger drama queen than the god himself.

“Stay still,” Nico says softly, moving Will around so he’s laying perpendicular to Nico, now, head centered in his lap and staring up at the sky. Will sighs and squirms a little and turns his head to press a kiss to Nico’s knee, scrunching up his face and releasing it, and then settles in the position.

Humming something soft that exists on the fringes of his foggy memories, he sinks his hands into Will’s hair.

“It’s not that bad,” he promises, moving slowly and pausing whenever he comes across a knot.

Will harrumphs.

“I mean it, Marilyn Monroe. You can tone down the histrionics.”

“I used gel.”

Nico flicks a dried clump of it onto Will’s forehead, amused. “I can see that.”

“I followed every single one of Mitchell’s instructions!”

“I bet.”

“And yet!”

“And, yet.”

Nico has a sneaking suspicion that someone made a comment about Will’s hair, in the last few weeks. He can never confirm it and Will has been shifty about it every time he asks, but Nico has noticed the uptick in hoods and hats the past month and his little flinches every time Nico reaches up and tugs on it. Despite being oddly confident about the oddest things — why he is so proud of being able to fit his fist in his mouth, Nico will never know — Will is very sensitive to how people think of him. He needs to know he’s liked, and when people don’t like him, he gets…desperate, pleasing. The opposite of Nico, who becomes worse in an attempt to push them away on his own terms.

Nico leans down and presses a long, lingering kiss to his forehead.

“I like your hair, you know.”

“It’s a stupid mess.”

He smooths down a handful of it, pressing it over Will’s eye. He manages to keep a straight face for one, two, three seconds before he huffs a laugh, batting Nico’s hands away. Nico grins.

“I like the stupid mess.”

“Yeah, well, you like a lot of weird things.”

“Like you?” Nico suggests, pressing another kiss to the tip of his rounded nose.

“Shut up.”

Another strange thing about him, that Nico has to duck his head to hide his automatic smile: he gets embarrassed easily.

Nico never expected it of him, with all the dorky, medical-themed pickup lines and general shamelessness in his affection towards everybody on Earth, but especially Nico. When the poking, prodding attraction is turned on him, however, he shuts down like an overloaded Playstation. Nico can sometimes see the error messages playing behind its eyes. It’s hilarious.

“Will.” He pokes him in the cheek. “Hey.”

“What,” Will grumbles.

“I think you’re beautiful.”

Watching the slow spread of red from below the collar of his shirt to the roots of his hair is a delight. Nico watches in glee, wrestling Will’s hands away when he tries to slap them over his face.

“Shut up! Leave me alone! Go — flirt with somebody else!”

“You’d curse them to speak in rhymes for ten years,” Nico teases.

Will makes an agonised noise. “Who! Asked you! Shut up!”

“You’d sic Kayla on anyone who so much as winks at me, you jealous bitch.”

“I would not!”

“You would so. You rolled your eyes at everything Percy said for three weeks when you found out I used to crush on him —”

“I did not!”

“— and you didn’t even have the balls to ask me out, back then.”

“You are a — peddler of falsehoods! A prevaricator, a perjurer, and a fabulist!”

“And you sound like you swallowed a thesaurus,” Nico snickers. He catches the hand Will flails at him, pressing a kiss to the wrist, which only serves to fluster him more. He decides to take mercy when the kisses he trails down his arms result in one loud, long, tortured screech, pulling back and giving him some space.

Notably, he doesn’t move from Nico’s lap.

“I like it,” Nico admits, once Will has calmed down some. “I like that you’ve liked me for so long.”

Will peeks through the fingers he has covering his eyes. “It’s embarrassing.”

“Yes.” Nico squeezes his shoulders. “And endearing, which seems to be your sweet spot.” He presses a much softer kiss to the underside of Will’s ear, lingering there until he sighs, slumping under all the tension finally leaving his body. “I love you, Will. I love your clumsiness and your rambles and your nose and your freckles and your awkwardness and your jealousy and your hair and I love you, Will, all of you. Even the embarrassing weird parts.” He kisses him again. “Especially the weird parts.”

Will breathes slowly, carefully, evenly, face pressed to the inside of Nico’s thigh. His long eyelashes tickle his skin. Nico can feel the press of his Adam’s apple when he swallows, pulsing against his calf.

“I never thought you were a freak.”

Nico brushes his knuckles over his cheek. “I know.”

“I used to — talk about you. All the time. And your oxytocin levels.”

He smiles.

“I know.”

“Lee had a — chart.” Some of the flush rises back up in his cheeks. “A ‘Days Since We’ve Heard About Di Angelo’ chart.”

Nico bites his lip. Hard.

“The number never got higher than six.”

“…I am trying really, really hard, Will.”

Will sighs.

“You can laugh.”

Nico cracks up, trying desperately to muffle his giggles in his bitten fist. It doesn’t work very well, but the glare Will sends him is somewhat softened by the smile twitching at the corner of his mouth.

“Gods, you are — a mess.”

“Mhm.”

Nico cups the side of his face. Will turns, slightly, enough to press a kiss to the centre of his palm and then stay there, eyes closed, breathing against his sword-callused skin.

“I love you too, by the way. Obviously.”

“I know.”

“Don’t Han Solo me, you bastard.”

“Go ahead and try to stop me,” Nico challenges, grinning into the passionately indignant kiss Will presses to his lips, finally, letting Nico curl his hands in his hair.

[gomzdrawfr]

"Don't cry."

Simon said this whenever he knew you were about to cry, eyes glossy and watery, lips trembling.

trigger warnings: angst, childhood abuse (referenced + mentioned), canon-typical violence (referenced)

notes: this is an x reader fic, also apologies for the grammar and errors if any

read more to continue this short drabble

“Don’t cry.”

His voice was hollow, rough, forced out before the words had a chance to settle.

Simon said this whenever he knew you were about to cry, eyes glossy and watery, lips trembling.

It wasn’t gentle, nor a plea. It wasn’t meant for comfort or to keep you from falling apart. It was rough, low, and scratched at your ears in a way that made it hard to bear.

It felt more like an order, one you weren’t sure was meant for you or for himself.

“Just… don’t.” He repeated, the words more for himself than for you. Something swirled in his eyes behind the mask, a faint glint catching the light, like shattered glass.

“Simon,” you whispered, voice cracking, but he cut you off with a sharp edge, ending the conversation before it even began.

You thought it was because of the life he led—the danger and discipline that flowed through his blood. You thought he was telling you not to cry because he needed you to be strong. After all, he was a soldier—a man who had seen more violence, death, and despair than you could ever imagine. You assumed he couldn’t stand to see weakness, the vulnerability that came with it.

But there was more.

There was always more with him.

You didn’t know what those words really meant to him, how deep they ran, how they had been carved into his very bones, how they play on repeat in his head like a broken cassette tape on those colder nights.

You didn’t know that those two words were all he had ever heard growing up, the only comfort he could muster when his mum sobbed after another bad night, when Tommy curled up in the corner of the kitchen, scared and bruised, whispering into the dark.

Don’t cry. Don’t cry. Don’t cry.

He had felt helpless as a boy, kneeling before his family, wanting more than anything to do something—anything—but lacking the strength or power to act. He couldn’t make the pain go away. He couldn’t make the tears disappear.

Hearing those heart-wrenching sobs, those sniffles, those whimpers—it made him feel like that little boy again: lost, powerless, useless.

But the tears always came, and they never fixed anything. Crying didn’t make the bruises disappear. It didn’t quiet the screams. It didn’t make the shouting stop. All it did was twist his stomach inside out, wring his heart until he didn’t even recognize it anymore, and made his breathing all the more suffocating, like he was drowning in someone else’s grief.

It made him feel small.

Seeing those same tears in your eyes brought him back to that place. And he didn’t know how to deal with it. How to make it better.

He hated it. He hated feeling like that small boy again, hopeless, like he was failing all over.

Because Simon loves you, he truly does, more than himself, and yet he can’t bring himself to face you in these moments. 

Turning his back away from you, his head dipped lower, as if he were willing himself out of the memory that bubbled up, out of the pain that no amount of time or distance could dull.

Tears didn’t fix the past. They didn’t heal the scars that had been left on his soul.

“Simon-”

“Don’t cry… please.”

When he turned away, when he avoided your tears, when he grew distant whenever you broke down in front of him—it wasn’t because he didn’t care.

He just didn’t know how to handle it.

[i-love-ptv]

You can’t remember how many drinks you’ve had tonight. Everything started getting blurry after the third.

You and your boyfriend had been invited to a get-together at the local pub. Whose idea was it? Farleigh’s? No, he had just thrown a party the other day. Maybe it was Oliver’s suggestion. After all, he was eyeing that brunette the other day. Maybe he was looking for a hook-up.

You don’t know how or when you were in his arms and taken back to his dorm; But what you do know is that your feet hurt from your heels, and that your boyfriend’s bed was calling your name.

The thought of wiping the smudged makeup off of your face flew out the window as soon as your warm head hit the pillow.

But don’t worry, because as soon as he steps through the door, Felix is already rushing to find the makeup remover and cotton pads that he had stored away somewhere on his desk.

He flips you over and begins the process of removing your makeup. He can’t help but smile to himself.

He finds this situation so domestic; despite the deep snores escaping your body.

Felix gently changes you out of your outfit; trying his very hardest not to jolt you awake. You had looked so sleepy before the two of you left.

After putting you in one of his shirts, and cooing you back to sleep after you deliriously called out to him once you had woke up, he quickly strips himself down to his boxers and scoots himself under the covers with you.

He holds you close and coddles your head. He giggles softly at the sight of your small puddle of drool dripping down your face and onto your pillow. He presses a feathery-light kiss to your forehead, and grimaces a bit when he feels a light layer of sweat coating you.

But he grins, knowing that no amount of sweat, dirt, or grime could pull him away from his angel; that he swore, was ‘sent down to earth from heaven, just for him.’

Felix thought that this type of love was only something that one would find in the movies, and god is he so glad that he was wrong.

An: Made this blurb in 20 minutes for you lovelies!

Feedback always appreciated. <333

[mintypsii]

guys i love them i promise i just have the urge to put them through the grinder sometimes

umm on the bright side here's the alternate good ending version lol!!!!!

[tblsomedoodles]

The Preferable Alternative - part 12

Start - Previous - next

: )

[eldragon-x-moved]

[ACT 1]

{On your way to the Favor Tree, you walk into Odile and ask if she wants to come along. She considers for a moment before agreeing, and following you.}

{You approach the Favor Tree.}

Odile 👓 The Favor Tree, huh… Isabeau showed me how to ask them for a favor a while ago. I take it that’s what you’re here for?

Mirabelle 🎀 That’s right! I know a lot of people already asked for Vaugarde to be saved, but I thought I’d ask too, since…

Odile 👓 Are you worried about tomorrow? 

Mirabelle 🎀 Hmrgh… 

{You nervously clasp your hands together. Odile looks up at the tree.}

Odile 👓 The Favor Trees aren’t really part of the Change belief, right?

Mirabelle 🎀 No… The Change God doesn’t grant favors. It’s more of a myth here in Vaugarde, but lately people have taken it more seriously because of the King…

{You take a breath.}

Mirabelle 🎀 Are you going to ask for a favor, Madame?

Odile 👓 Probably not… Forgive my pessimism, but I don’t see the point in relying on a mere myth.

Mirabelle 🎀 Oh…

{You both remain silent for a moment}

Mirabelle 🎀 Is there something you believe in?

Odile 👓 Religiously you mean? Well, in Ka Bue, we don’t really have Gods. They’re more like… Expressions? You’d pray to the ones you need the most currently in your life. I have been reaching out to the Expression of Battle and the Expression of Victory among others, for example.

Mirabelle 🎀 …Do you believe we will beat the King tomorrow?

Odile 👓 …Do you want my honest answer?

{You bite your lip. Odile looks to the ground. You don’t want to dwell on this.}

Mirabelle 🎀 Um, you know, Siffrin actually showed me how to wish on a tree once!

Odile 👓 Is that any different than asking for a favor?

Mirabelle 🎀 I think? You do it differently and he seems to believe in it more than most people…

Odile 👓 And how would that work?

{You smile, relieved that Odile goes along with the change in subject. You look around, pick up a leaf from the floor, and hold it up to show it to her.}

Mirabelle 🎀 First, you have to pick a leaf that represents yourself!

{Odile listens curiously.}

Mirabelle 🎀 Then you have to breathe your wish into the leaf three times and fold the leaf.

{To demonstrate, you hold the leaf close to your mouth and whisper.}

{You wish for the King to be defeated. You wish for all of you to make it. You wish for Vaugarde to be saved.}

{You fold the leaf, holding it like this for several moments, before letting it be carried away by a breeze.}

Odile 👓 Hm… I take it this isn’t a Vaugardian practice. Has Siffrin ever told you where they learned this ritual?

Mirabelle 🎀 They haven’t. But I thought it might be worth trying, seeing as he puts more faith into it, and I… I shouldn’t be saying this, I know it’s on me to bring about change, but I don’t think I can do this alone. 

{Odile gave you a look and for a moment, you were worried she was judging you. Instead, her expression shifted into a smirk.}

Odile 👓 You’re not planning to go to the House alone, are you?

Mirabelle 🎀 HUH?!?

Odile 👓 Because unless you are, you aren’t alone.

Mirabelle 🎀 MADAME!!

{Odile laughs, and you sigh.}

Mirabelle 🎀 Don’t scare me like this again!

Odile 👓 I didn’t mean to. But it snapped you out of something, no?

Mirabelle 🎀 I suppose…

{She isn’t wrong. You feel… not calmer, but not as anxious either.}

Odile 👓 Now then,

{To your surprise, Odile picks up a leaf.}

Mirabelle 🎀 Are you going to make a wish?

Odile 👓 As you said, Siffrin puts more faith into it than Vaugardians have for the Favor Trees. No harm in trying.

{You watch as Odile repeats the ritual you showed her. You are a little curious about what she whispers into the leaf, but decide not to ask. After folding it, Odile lets go of the leaf, letting it fly off.}

Odile 👓 Now, I still have to stock up in the shop for tomorrow. I’d like to rely on more than a wish for us to make it to the King. I’ll be seeing you in the clocktower, Mirabelle.

{You nod with a smile.}

Mirabelle 🎀 I’ll see you then!

[strangersteddierthings]

Porcelain Steve - Part 7

Part One🦇Part Two🦇Part Three🦇Part Four🦇Part Five🦇Part Six🦇Part Seven🦇Part Eight🦇Part Nine

((TW for this part; period typical slurs and internalized homophobia. Read the tags before clicking readmore if you want the details))

Steve has been a porcelain doll for seven weeks when disaster strikes.

"What is that," Jeff says, because even though the words are in an order which would suggest that it's a question, the tone of voice Jeff uses decidedly is not questioning.

"What is whaaa-AH! Nothing! It's nothing!" Eddie, who was torso deep into his closet throwing things around to find his backup amp cord, turns to look at what Jeff was talking about, and is now launching himself across his room to stand between Jeff and Porcelain Steve. Porcelain Steve, who Eddie had lain on his bed, propped slightly on a pillow, headphones carefully perched on his little head, hooked to a cassette player currently playing the first hour of last week's Top 40 countdown that Eddie had taped for him (all three hours of it, leaving out the chatter of the radio show host. He'd had to use two tapes to get it all).

"Nothing sure looks a lot like a doll in headphones, Munson," Jeff has an amazing poker face but Eddie's certain he can see a bit of judgement underneath the carefully blank expression Jeff is wearing.

"I don't know what you're talking abo- hey! Hey, no, no, don't!" Eddie tries to bodily block Jeff when he moves forward and the two end up wrestling, a match that Eddie almost wins, if not for the hazard that is his messy room. He gets Jeff walked almost to the door before he steps wrong on something, ankle rolling and sending him down sideways. He clutches at Jeff but can't make purchase and Jeff, the bastard, does fuck-all to try and catch him. Instead, Jeff leaps out of arm's length, then lunges onto the bed as Eddie collapses to his floor.

Eddie frantically tries to stand and, in his haste, ends up with his feet tangled in a pile of dirty laundry and that sends him crashing down again, this time forward onto his hands and knees, so he gives up on standing and crawls the few short feet to the bed, finally looking up to see that the damage has been done.

Jeff has picked up Steve, holding him inches from his own face, eyes squinted in suspicion. Eddie is frozen, horrified and afraid, and can't bring himself to do anything as Jeff examines Steve closely, turning him around, poking his torso, flipping him upside down to examine his shoes more thoroughly. It's only when Jeff reached for the shirt, pinching the hem of it between two fingers that Eddie kicks back into action.

He lunges up, one knee on the bed, leaning over to grab Steve and yank him from Jeff's grip. His first instinct is to throw Steve over his shoulder, out of sight out of mind mentality, but as soon as he does, he realizes his mistake and twists, lunging to catch Steve in midair. He does manage to catch Steve, but it sends him bouncing off his dresser and almost back to the floor before he manager to regain his balance, where he proceeds to cradle Steve to his chest, which is heaving from the adrenaline, wrestling match, and subsequent dive after Steve.

Jeff is giving him a concerned look but something else piques his interest; Jeff reaches over and picks up the headphones, holding them up to one ear. His face goes through every emotion a human could possibly experience in less than fifteen seconds as he listens to whatever track was at the forty-ish minute mark on the Top 40 countdown.

Slowly, Jeff lowers the headphones, letting them drop to the bed before he gives Eddie a new, more judgmental, yet infinitely more concerned, look. "Eddie. What. The fuck."

Honestly, he's not sure there's anything he can say in response.

"Why- I don't... are you okay, man?" Jeff sounds both scared for Eddie, and scared of him, at the same time.

"I'm fine," Eddie manages to squeak out.

"Eddie," Jeff says seriously, "this is not fine. This is- this is insane behavior. You know that, right?"

"I've no idea what you mean," Eddie doesn't even know what he's defending himself from but his default response to anything is to defend himself. He grips Steve tightly around the torso with one hand and then moves both his hands to be behind his back so Jeff will stop staring at Steve.

"I mean this fuckin' insane shrine you have dedicated to Steve fucking Harrington. How did you even get a doll that looks like him. Did you- did you make that?"

Fuck. Holy fuck. What can he say to defend himself here? Is there a single way for him to come out of this not sounding deranged? If he agrees, let's Jeff's drawn conclusion be the truth, then that's all but confirmation to Steve about his big fat crush, so when Steve's back to being Steve he'll never look at Eddie again. Jeff might think he needs mental help, but he'll be here for Eddie. If he tries to deny the accusation, then he'll need an explanation. He'll have to tell Jeff something that make him seem less like a creepy stalker, but what? He can't tell the truth, not without letting everyone know he's going to tell Jeff. There's a whole other secret he'd have to let out to even have a chance of Jeff believing him.

Jeff must take his silence for acceptance or guilt, because he's speaking again. "I.... man, this is not healthy. Please tell me you aren't, like, hoarding a lock of his hair or his clothes or something."

Involuntarily, damningly, his eyes dart to the closet, where several of Steve's sweaters hang from when he'd borrowed them and never returned them. And it's not like Steve doesn't have several of Eddie's own articles of clothing, like his battle vest and a few shirts. But Jeff doesn't know they easily, willingly, swap clothes, so his eyes go wide and dart towards the closet, as if he can pick out which pieces belong to Steve on sight.

Actually, he probably can.

"This really isn't what it looks like," Eddie says because he has to say something. Being silent is too incriminating.

"I don't think you're aware of what this looks like," Jeff says, wiggling himself off of Eddie's bed to stand at the foot of it. "Of all the boys in Hawkins.... I knew you liked Steve but this is.... creepy. That doll looks so much like him that I recognized it. Does Steve know you're in love with him, or is this like a way to process your crush without having to-"

"Jeff!" Eddie yells, mortified. He can feel his whole face heat up, knows he must be bright red. Because Jeff just said, out loud and for Steve to hear, the thing that Eddie very much hasn't even said out loud to himself, even if he knows how he feels deep down.

Jeff must know he's overstepped some invisible boundary he wasn't even aware of because his face immediately shows regret. He takes a step forward and Eddie takes a step back.

Immediately, Jeff stops his forward momentum. "Shit, I'm sorry, Eddie. I'm sorry."

When Eddie answers, his voice sounds like he's been eating gravel, "Just, can you go wait in the living room? I'll be right out, and we can talk, or whatever, but can you just..."

A nod, and then Jeff is gone, closing the door behind him.

With shaking hands, Eddie brings Steve back to the front of him. Looks down at him. He's not even aware he's crying until he watches his tears mark Steve's tiny polo. He can't keep holding Steve. Can't keep looking at him. Not when- not when his best friend just outed him in the worst way possible. And Eddie can't even be upset or hurt about it because Jeff didn't know. He's teased Eddie about his crushes before, and in the safety of his own room, there was no reason for Jeff to have to watch what he was saying.

Even knowing that Steve is okay with Robin, loves her anyway, without the ability to confirm that Steve doesn't hate him right now, Eddie's going to freak out. But he can't. Jeff is waiting in the living room, and the band is waiting back at Gareth's. This was just- they were supposed to just grab the amp cable and get back, a fifteen-minute job at most, and now.

Now Eddie is staring down at Steve, willing himself to not have a panic attack.

"I'm sorry, Steve. I'm so sorry. You shouldn't have heard it like that, it s-should have come from me. It should- you-I'm sorry," Eddie gently underhand throws Steve onto the center of the bed. He lands face up and Eddie sinks to the floor because he can't stand anymore, and he can't really breath.

Steve knows Eddie's a fucking faggot now, and that he wants Steve, and there's no way he'll get to keep the friendship they had before this. There's no universe in which Steve isn't creeped out by this information. There has never been an instance where a straight boy found out about his crush on them and didn't abandon him. Not always cruelly, he'll admit. He's had friends that learned and just... slid from his life with no words and no fuss. Eddie just never spoke to them again because they never came back around, but they also never outed him.

That's what will happen with him and Steve. He'll quit inviting Eddie around, or calling when he's bored, and eventually it will get to the point that Eddie only sees him at BBQ's that Joyce drags him to.

Fuck. FUCK!

He's not sure how long he's on the floor but eventually, he finds the will to get back up and resume digging through his closet to find the amp cord. It doesn't take long, he was ridiculously close to finding it earlier, it seems.

Before leaving his room, he picks back up the cassette player and headphones. Silence comes from them, so he pops the tape out before flipping it to the B side and popping it back in. He puts the headphones around Steve's head again and presses play, doing his best to not actually look at Steve. He'll just have another breakdown if he does.

He trudges out of his room, closing the door behind himself before taking the short walk to the living room, where Jeff waiting on the couch, elbows on his knees, fingers steepled under his chin, eyes faraway as he stares towards the wall in front of him.

"Hey," Eddie says, to get his attention.

"Hey," Jeff says, sitting up straight and turning towards Eddie. "I'm sorry. Whatever I did, I'm sorry."

"Why are you apologizing? I'm the fucking psycho here," he sighs, leaning sideways against the kitchen counter, arms folded across his chest, hand clutching at the amp cord just for something to ground him.

"Forget that, whatever I did, or said, or whatever, you were- when you yelled my name. You looked terrified. Of me," Jeff almost whispers the last sentence, and if not for the stark silence in the trailer, Eddie wouldn't have heard.

"Not of you, Jeff," Eddie whispers back, but his voice doesn't stay quiet because 'quiet' isn't a thing Eddie does easily or often. "Of... of myself, and these- of how I feel- I'm a goddamned faggot and now that Ste- when Steve finds out I'll lose him! Like I've lost every fucking person who ever even suspected I was a fuckin' queer!"

Silence stretches between them, enough to make Eddie fidget, dropping his crossed arms to twist the amp cord about anxiously with both his hands.

"Look, man, I don't know what's, like, the appropriate thing to say so I'm just going for the honest thing. You got me. You'll never lose me. And all those other assholes that you think you lost? You're wrong. They lost you. And if Steve Harrington is gonna be another one of those, then you aren't losing him. 'Cause he was never really in your corner to begin with."

If this were anyone else, with the exception of his uncle, he would be able to hold it together better. But it's Jeff. His best friend. Who never believed Eddie committed unspeakable horrors over Spring Break last year. Who didn't question the strange, new friends he suddenly had afterwards; who accepted as the only explanation a softly spoken 'they saved me' and that was enough. Who had said 'ok, cool' in response to Eddie telling him he was gay, years ago now, and continued trying to find out if Eddie had a secret relationship, switching girlfriend for boyfriend like it wasn't a big deal (Eddie did not have a secret relationship; his good mood that week was the result of snooping for his birthday present and finding the guitar hidden under his uncle bed).

It's Jeff. So, Eddie does the most metal, manly thing he can and bursts into tears, blindly reaching for Jeff and pulling him off the couch so he can bear hug him and sob into his shirt.

"There, there, you big baby," Jeff rubs his back soothingly, "let it out. Then pull your sorry ass together, because Gareth and Brian are going to think we died in a car crash on the way here if we take much longer."

"Ah, fuck," Eddie manager to say around the sniffling he's trying to get control of, "you're right."

"You good, though?"

"Uh, I will be."

Jeff nods and steps back. "How about this. We go to practice, and then you can come to my place tonight and we can like, hangout and talk. If that's what you want."

He's already nodding as he says, "yeah. That would be good. I- uh, I have something to do after practice, but yeah, after that I'll come over."

Eddie tosses the amp cable to Jeff after they climb into the van and head off.

Halfway there, Jeff says, "you know Gareth and Brian are in your corner, too. If you ever feel like telling them one day."

"One day," Eddie agrees, "but today has already been... a lot."

Practice goes well, with some ribbing for their tardiness allowed. If Gareth and Brian notice Eddie's been crying recently, they keep it to themselves. Which is good, because Eddie cannot handle one more thing today.

A promise to meet up with Jeff later and Eddie's back home.

Back to where he left Steve, who will be laying in silence on his bed because it's been well over two hours since he and Jeff left, and the tape only held an hours' worth of music on each side. Back to the nightmare of not knowing if Steve hates him now, or if Eddie's, and this is the most likely scenario, being a bit overdramatic.

His uncle is home, so he greets him, asks after his day, gets told dinner is Fend For Yourself Night (which just means leftovers or a TV dinner), and gets asked about Steve. Because of course he does.

"You sure he went on a vacation willingly with those parents of his, and he ain't actually kidnapped and trapped somewhere?"

That's a little bit too true. If only Wayne knew. "Well, no. I'm not sure. All I know is what he said when he left."

Wayne gives him a look. One Eddie is used to seeing, that says 'I know more than you think but I'm waiting for you to tell me' and Eddie's a little afraid of what Wayne thinks he knows. So, instead of prying that box open, Eddie just says he's tired and goes to his room.

Steve is exactly where Eddie left him.

Suddenly, without reason or logic, Eddie is angry. He's so pissed at Steve for being gone for this long. For having transformed in the first place. For not being able to assure him they'll still be friends, regardless of Eddie's stupid crush.

He snatches Steve off the bed, hand clamping around one of Steve's arms and his torso so he can hold him up with one hand. Steve's face, permanently stuck into a blank expression, looks back. Even knowing that Steve sees and hears through this thing, Eddie's so angry at the doll. If Steve hadn't been turned into this stupid thing, if Eddie wasn't so helplessly in love with him, this wouldn't have happened. Eddie could have taken his own time telling Steve, instead of hearing his deepest secret spilled easily from Jeff's lips. Instead of this not knowing what Steve is thinking, or how he feels. Is he recoiling in disgust at the fact Eddie's making him look at his face? Or is Eddie being awarded the same kindness as Robin, a quiet acceptance that won't change their friendship?

Eddie doesn't know that answer and he hates it.

He's so angry with himself because he should know better. He's forcing his own insecurities onto Steve, about acceptance and caring, when nothing Steve's done since they've become friends is prove that he'll always be Eddie's friend and not even the apocalypse could change that.

"I'm going to hang out with Jeff, so you're gonna be alone a bit longer. Or maybe I should drop you off at Robin's when I go," Eddie goes to toss Steve back on the bed when something pinches his palm. It's a startling sharp pain, quick to fade, but it's surprising enough for Eddie to let go.

Eddie watches, horrified, as he falls to the floor. He twists in the air, landing with a dull thump and cracking sound on his left arm before falling onto his back.

"Shit. Shit! Fuck, Steve, I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to," Eddie is crouched, already in the process of reaching for Steve when he freezes.

There is a crack on Steve's left arm, a line that starts above his elbow on the inside of his arm and runs down and across his arm to his hand, where Steve's pinky finger is gone. Looking slightly to the side, Eddie can see the small porcelain piece that Steve is missing laying on the ground next to him. Eddie's own hand is hovering in the air above Steve, shaking.

This can't be- how did- Eddie wracks his brain. Was the crack there already? Did Eddie cause the crack when he bounced off his dresser earlier? When did it happen? Does that fucking matter when it's Eddie who broke a piece off him? If Steve didn't hate him before, he's got to now. Eddie doesn't have time to panic about this, he's got to- El. El can talk to Steve. Find out if he's okay. What if breaking him-

Eddie launches himself up and to his dresser, grabbing at the Walkie up there. He pulls the antenna up, clicks it on and tries not to actually shout as he says, "Code Red! Code fucking Red!" He lets off the talk button, counts to seven in his head, enough time, he reasons, for someone to respond before he repeats the process. "Code Red!! Code Red!"

He repeats this process for three minutes with no response. Where the fuck is everyone!? How is he supposed to- Oh! The phone!

He tears down the hall and to the phone. He must look a right state, because Wayne looks very concerned and is halfway to standing up when Eddie gets to the phone beside him. He yanks the phone up and dials the number for the Byers-Hopper household, holding up a shaking finger to Wayne, a silent plea to give him a moment.

It rings and rings and rings before the answering machine kicks in. Eddie presses down on the disconnect button before dialing the Wheelers' number next.

"Hello?"

"Mike! Code Red! Where the fuck is everyone and why aren't they answering!?"

"What?"

"Code Red! Where's Nancy. Put Nancy on."

"Dude, slow down, what's-"

"I broke St-it. I broke it and someone needs to get El here now. Code Red does not mean ask questions, Mike! It means Code. Fucking. Red."

"Shit, shit, right! I'll get Nancy and we'll get everyone- just- we'll be there soon."

Eddie slams the phone down and has to meet his uncle's eye now.

"Eddie. What is goin' on?"

Eddie inhales a breath and can feel his lower lip quivering. "It's- can we talk about it later? I promise I'm not the one hurt, or in trouble, or- it's not me, ok. I just-"

"Yer shakin' like a leaf boy. What's got you so spooked?"

Eddie just shakes his head and flees back to his room, slamming the door shut between him and his uncle. He can't bring himself to cross the room to Steve. He slides himself down the door to sit on the floor, pulling his knees up to hug.

"I'm so sorry, Steve. I'm sorry."

[kandadze]

Not what I was planning on posting, but this story got super persistent (and my editing sped up thanks to @hyog-blog's cheering me on :)), so...

Catharsis (1334 words) by kandadze

Chapters: 1/1

Fandom: 大梦归离 | Fangs of Fortune (TV)

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences

Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Relationships: Zhao Yuanzhou | Zhu Yan/Zhuo Yichen

Characters: Zhao Yuanzhou | Zhu Yan, Zhuo Yichen, Qing Geng

Summary:

Xiao Zhuo's arms should be getting tired right about now, Zhao Yuanzhou thinks, blinking up from his position on the ground at the man in question; he seems to be in a trance, but there's no malicious energy on him this time, and even Bing Yi's energy doesn't make an appearance. Zhao Yuanzhou is rather grateful -

Or, the missing scene in ep 31.

[originalarchivist]

Perspectives on Humanity: An analysis by Ivy Alexandria

There are many theories over what truly makes us human. Our skin? Our blood? Our brains? Our souls? Our common shapes and extremities?

Despite my years of archiving I am yet to find an answer. If skin and the basic human functionalities is what makes us human, than that would that make Brian?

If blood is what makes us human, what would that make Nastya? If our common shapes and extremities make us human, then what does that make Raph and Marius?

If our hearts make us human, then what would that make Jonny?

A more important question I've had time to ponder over is: If it's our brains that make us human, then what could that make me? (Truly I don't believe I ever had a chance to be human.)

I understand I'm dysfunctional. I was born dysfunctional and broken, and according to the anons, I will die dysfunctional and broken. (I believe the reboot was evidence enough for the crew to believe I am dysfunctional. I'd be surprised if they decided to keep me around after this. After I hurt Jonny. .)

I understand that the Doctor thought I should continue being disabled even if she could've fixed me completely. Some "Bullshit" "about accepting yourself." (Jonny D'Ville-1646281)

Truthfully, I feel as though her true intention was for her 'children' to suffer.

If I was normal. If she had saved my grey matter, instead of programming it.

If she had fixed the parts of my brain responsible for balance, speech, motor skills, I might finally have a chance to be something. To be someone. To be a human. Or as close as a mechanisms can get to being a human

(do we even have the humanity left to be human? I should know the answer. Are my processors down?)

She tore apart what she could hav- Quite frankly: ought to have saved, and replaced it with rusting hardwire.

Where half my neurons are meant to be. That used to be my only location of major fault.

Why couldn't she have just rebuilt that? Why couldn't she save me from the constant confusion? From the confusion over who I am, from the confusion on if I even quali- If I ever qualified as human.

Unfortunately I understand I was dysfunctional even before this due to how I was originally formed in my mother's womb, however why couldn't she have just rebuilt what needed to be fixed? Why must she have rebuilt the entirety of my brain?Did she not think how much agonizing pain and confusion she could have spared me from?

Carmilla. If you're reading this. Why? My centuries of work, the remains of your notes: I am yet to find an answer of satisfactory quality.

I must spend my 'eternal' prison sentence stuck, inhuman, as I always have been.

As I always will be.

You never truly saved me as you promised you would.

You refused to fix what truly was broken. And for that, I don't think I can forgive you. (I don't think any of us do.)

I will never be like my crewmates.

Forever I am to be stuck with this brain. With this faulty lump of metal I am doomed with: essentially hallucinating my emotions, hallucinating a sense of artificial love, until the day the universe will end (or I retire).

So thank you oh wonderfully kind doctor. For ruining your 'children' one 'spared' life at a time.

[tinglingfuckingsensation]

Researching modern cajun/louisiana culture for a WIP and getting derailed by the insanity of the new iberia haircut meme

And I...what if Gene...🤐🫥

[skyward-floored]

Downfall iau, more of Twi's escape. I've got another fic finishing up what's going on with him, but the transition felt weird, so consider this part one (or two? since there already was a part... hm. well anyway).

This is Wild's pov just for reference, since he just refers to himself as Link.

(The bit before this)

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

Link had no idea what he’d been thinking.

Actually, no, he knew the answer to that— he hadn’t been thinking. At all.

He’d seen a super run towards him and Zelda in those dull-colored sleep clothes everyone had, looking terrified and harried with his hands cuffed in front of him, and while Link’s first response had been to cover Zelda (of course), he’d looked into terrified blue-grey eyes that were panicked and obviously in pain, and his second response...

Had been to tug the super into an empty office as quickly as possible, and then help Zelda lie to the authorities as to where he’d gone.

And he was now helping said-super remain standing while Zelda tried to pick the lock of her father’s office.

I must be crazy.

“Almost got it,” Zelda murmured, her tongue sticking out a bit as she worked. “It figures today is the one time he doesn’t forget to lock his door.”

“That... happen a lot?” Twilight rasped, and Zelda shrugged.

“You’d be surprised,” she said, and Twilight hummed weakly in response. A twitch ran through him moments later, one he tried to hide, but Link was still holding him up and felt it plain as day.

Concern ran through him; he didn’t know how often Twilight was shocked on a daily basis, but even the people most used to it couldn’t handle several in rapid succession. And Twilight had been shocked once on the way here and at least twice before that.

Link didn’t know how much more he could take.

“Got it!” Zelda finally whispered with a triumphant smile, and Link wasted no time in pulling her and Twilight inside and immediately re-locking the door.

It was a nice office, if a bit stuffy. Zelda’s father didn’t spend much time here so it was neater than other spaces he occupied, which Link at least was grateful for. There was less to disturb, which meant less evidence they’d ever been in here.

Link pulled Twilight over to a chair while Zelda gathered her tools, Twilight sinking onto the cushion with a groan of relief. He was still tense, likely expecting another shock, but he looked better once he was sitting at least.

“Okay, this shouldn’t take long,” Zelda reassured, crouching at Twilight’s side. “I’ve disabled these before. Just let me know if you think another shock is about to go out, it could be bad depending on where I am in the process.”

Twilight nodded, and Zelda got to work.

Link stayed standing while Zelda worked, his hand kept near his weapon. The door may have been locked, but he still kept his gaze on it in anticipation of any threat, government or otherwise. At least they were safe from security cameras in here.

Link’s eyes went wide at the thought, and ice slipped into his stomach. The hallway they’d been traveling through mere minutes ago was filled with cameras. It was only a matter of time before someone checked them and saw him and Zelda helping Twilight.

Which would lead to Twilight being found, an eventual “accident” involving Zelda, Link would be arrested, or worse—

“Something wrong?” Twilight asked, voice raspy.

Link swallowed. “Security cameras. The hall outside is teeming with them.”

Somehow Twilight got paler. “That means they probably know where we are.”

“If not now then soon,” Link replied grimly. I can’t believe I forgot about the cameras, way to remember your training—

“I might be able to erase the feeds for the past hour or two,” Zelda spoke up, chewing nervously on her lip as she worked. “But it’ll still be sketchy, and if somebody already saw them...”

“You two should go,” Twilight whispered, looking terrible. “If you’re seen helping me then—”

“Not until I’m done,” Zelda said firmly, pulling something out of twilight’s band and setting it aside. “We still have some time. We can wait.”

Twilight went silent, and Link went back to watching the door, small clicks and fiddling sounds coming from Zelda’s hands. Link began plotting a route towards the control room in his head, going over what he knew of the security and how best to bypass it in a nondescript manner. Zelda’s status might help with that, but it would be too suspicious to bring her down there before they erased the footage. He could go alone and just race past mostly everything, but he didn’t know nearly as much about technology as Zelda did.

Maybe she could stay back and radio him the instructions... yes, that should work. He’d run fast enough that the cameras wouldn’t pick him up, and she could instruct him from somewhere safe. The shift would change soon, that would be the best time to plan their move.

Link inwardly sighed. This really hadn’t been what he’d been expecting to do when he’d woken up this morning.

Twilight suddenly stiffened behind him, and Link turned towards him. “Shock coming.”

Zelda’s eyes went wide and she rapidly finished screwing with something on Twilight’s wrist, her fingers flying. The band sparked to life, and Zelda jerked backwards with a small gasp of pain, clutching her hand. Electricity raced through Twilight yet again, and his back arched as he let out a cry, falling from his chair.

He convulsed violently on the floor, and after quickly making sure Zelda was okay, Link dropped to a knee beside him, knowing he couldn’t touch him yet, but preparing for when he could. Twilight screamed again, electricity shooting through him, and bile rose in Link’s throat at the blatant cruelty on display.

This was what they were trying to stop.

Twilight abruptly fell limp, twitching just a little, and Link put a hand on his arm, steadying him while he took his pulse again.

The beat felt erratic, and Link thought he felt it skip a beat, though he couldn’t be sure. Twilight whimpered, sweat on his brow, and Zelda hurriedly knelt beside him, taking Twilight’s wrist again and worked on finishing what she’d been in the middle of. Her face was white as she clutched her tools, and Link was beyond grateful she’d disabled the shocking mechanism in his own band ages ago.

“Surely he’s reached the limit by now,” Zelda whispered, Twilight’s breath softly wheezing. “I thought three was the max for one day.”

“It’s only a guideline. Technically there isn’t one,” Link murmured back, still feeling Twilight’s pulse. He’d passed out, but his pulse seemed a little stronger. “You might get a reprimand for doing it more, but nobody really cares.“

Zelda’s mouth pressed into a thin line, and she focused even more intently on her work, conversation silenced. The only sound was of Twilight’s rasps, and Link stayed close to his side, studying him a little.

Twilight looked about average height, which meant he was taller than Link was. He seemed like he would normally be quite a force to be reckoned with, muscled and broad-shouldered, and despite how pathetic he looked at the moment, Link could tell he’d be a tough fight. He wondered briefly how old he was, then realized he’d been not paying as much attention to the door, and fixed his gaze back on the handle.

He needed to focus. Things were getting tricky, and he didn’t have time to be distracted if he was going to keep everyone safe.

Twilight’s breath had settled closer to normal, and his eyes had reopened when Zelda finally exclaimed in victory, replacing the tiny panel she’d pulled up with a smile.

“There. I disabled the shocking mechanism. It shouldn’t be a problem anymore,” she explained happily, and Twilight closed his eyes again, letting out a wobbly sigh of relief.

“Thank you. Thank you so much,” he breathed, swallowing, and then taking in a deeper breath. He began to carefully sit himself up, and Zelda steadied him when he grimaced, but he made it up, and leaned against the desk behind him with a conflicted look. “I... you two should really get going. I don’t... want either of you to end up in my position.”

“I agree,” Link said, and tilted his head towards the door. “We need to move fast if we’re going to have any chance of keeping this a secret.”

Zelda sighed. “You’re right, as always. You should be able to rest here for a little longer,” she directed at Twilight, but he shook his head, gritting his teeth as he tried to stand on his shaking legs.

“I need to get moving... people will be coming in for work soon.”

Zelda sighed, but nodded again, and she extended her hand towards Twilight’s as he managed to get himself upright.

“I’m sorry we can’t help you more,” Zelda apologized, and Twilight took her hand and clasped it.

“You’ve done plenty. I can’t... thank you enough,” he said, eyes shining with gratitude. “Though... I have one small favor to ask.”

“Yes?”

Twilight swallowed. “The arrest order went... out for my whole family. I don’t doubt that they had enough time to get away, but if they didn’t... could you give them a message from me? O-only if you see them.”

“Of course,” Zelda reassured, and Link nodded.

“Okay. Well... Infrared and Malanya are my brother and mom,” Twilight said quietly. Link twitched an ear at the familiar names. “If you see them, just... tell them the beast is still divine. They might have two kids with them too, blond, fairly young. Go by Wind and Four. They won’t understand, but they can pass it on.”

“The beast is still divine, got it,” Zelda nodded. “We’ll pass it on if we can.”

Twilight smiled at them, still trembling, sweaty and pale and barely standing, but determined. “Thank you again. I owe you two.”

“You don’t owe us anything,” Zelda assured as she packed up her tools, giving him a small curtsy.

“Just get yourself out of here,” Link added quietly, and Twilight nodded, taking a wobbling step forward so he could shake Link’s hand.

Link shook it back, and Twilight smiled at him, and even though the edges were strained and Twilight looked a bit like death walking, it was a nice smile. Link briefly wondered if they were friends now.

“Nearest exit is up the hallway and to the left, it’s after you pass this especially big poster on the wall. It should be easy to find,” Zelda said, and Twilight nodded.

“Up the hall, to the left, after the big poster. Got it. ...Good luck with the cameras,” he said quietly, and Zelda nodded.

“Good luck to you too. I hope you make it somewhere safe,” she said worriedly, and Twilight smiled, and nodded in return.

Link checked the time on his band, then quickly explained his idea to Zelda while she helped Twilight to the door. This goodbye was taking much too long. Twilight would be okay. He was certain of it.

Zelda agreed to his idea as he quickly laid it out, though she was worried what would happen if he got caught. Link waved away her concerns, reminding her they didn’t have time for a better plan, and she agreed with a sigh.

“You’d better not get caught,” she said with a huff, though Link could hear the worry in her voice. “Either of you.”

“I’ll be fine,” Link said at the same time as Twilight, and they exchanged somewhat bemused looks.

Zelda cracked a worried smile. “Prove me right, then.”

They didn’t speak any more, Link turning one way down the hall while Twilight went the other. Link looked back at him before he ran off, the other hero leaning on the wall for support, his steps determined despite how they shook, and sent up a quick prayer to whoever was listening that he would make it.

Then he raced off down the hall, making a beeline for the computer control room.

[pigeonstab]

Me showing up in your inbox every other day to ask about the vampire and werewolf au lol

Are there people who know about vampires and werewolves and shifters? Like is it a known and normal thing or are they trying to keep it secret? If it is/was known would it be dangerous for them? Like people hunting them?

Also you said they know Killer’s been hurt before, what happened to him? :o

Also also do you have any ideas about what Killer and Cross are studying at college?

AND— how are you?? I hope you’re having a nice day \(^-^)/

Thank u!!! Very nice getting these hehe

1) This is like THE world building element I wasn't really sure about. I've thought about it and I think like, people know about vampires and werewolves and there are still some modern day hunters but they're a minority? (In a drawing I made you can see Killer has a AHAB (all hunters are bastards) sticker lol). I really don't know yet. I think society accepting them is like out of the question lol, you lose a lot of adversity and interest doing that I think. It's also just sort of weird to me? Idk that's just not a story I'd like to read.

Maybe it's more of a 'we saw a werewolf attack in this little village outback' and people are worried and stuff but it's always out in the middle of nowhere and it's not happening to them so they don't really give it that much thought. It's the news you see horrors all the time right? Mostly they just... Don't think anyone in their college classes would even be a vampire/werewolf. Maybe there aren't that many creatures out in the city at all. Like a hiding in plain sight thing. i think that's something I like more already. It's probably not going to be a huge part of the story at all. Maybe a few mentions that can leave the characters feeling like outsiders or a little anxious but not a major plot point y'know?

2) I Imagine someone who's like twenty something and already a vampire hasn't had the best circumstances lol. He definitely was not turned with his consent, I haven't really thought of specifics yet but when Nightmare found him he was not laughing and being cute. He was closed off and depressed. Didn't talk much at all. (He's better now y'all

3) wahhh I haven't thought about that! That's a good question. I don't... Actually know how American colleges work but I think Killer would probably be in like history or english? Cross maybe in computer science? Maybe audio-visual stuff. Is that cinematography? Idk what it's called. Maybe they can be like. History of arts+cinematography so they have classes together maybe. Again this is without knowledge of how any of it works. I'll get back to you on that.

I'm good! Pretty tired. College maybe isn't.......... As cool.... As I first thought....... But it's chill! some of my classes are still super interesting and I love learning. And anyway I have plans and ideas and stuff on the side that make me happy! And my Kitty is drooling on me so really what more can I ask for?

And how are youuuu?

[thatharringrovehoe]

Like, maybe Steve gets bitten by a radioactive spider in the secret Russian base. Developes powers and does what he's always done, protect people. He and Robin go to New York and rent a shoe box apartment and when Dustin gets accepted to University there he becomes *obsessed* with the local web slinging vigilante that saved him from muggers and then gave him a (terrifying) lift to his classes.

Meanwhile Billy wakes up in the back of a government van with a hole in his chest and a broken mind, probably on his way to be dissected in a creepy lab. No one really knows what happened. Just that the van crashed and went up in flames, Billy's body written off as a loss by the feds. He travels, never staying in one place for to long and minding his own fucking business as much as an undead mutant freak with super strength and impossible healing powers can. He goes to Cali for a while, but that turns out to be a mistake. His mom has a whole new family now, complete with two kids and a golden retriever, not a single picture of Billy in the entire house. It taints everything, and within a week he's gone, on a bus headed who knows where. He eventually finds himself in New York, doing shitty odd jobs for whoever can get past the scowl and faint black veins across his entire body. Not like he shows anyone his body. The scars alone are enough that he's permanently covered with a hoodie and jeans. Through one way or the other Billy finds himself working as a mercenary. The ability to regrow limbs and lift a car over your head really puts you on the fast track. Go figure. He's on his way back from a job when he hears a woman's muffled scream down a dark alley and without thinking he takes off like a shot. Billy ends up beating the shit out of some low life purse snatcher only for her to recoil and run the second she sees his face. Rolling his eyes he pulls up the scarf around his neck so just his eyes are visible. A voice he would know anywhere sounds from behind him.

"Wow, that was fucking rude of her. You alright?"

Billy turns around and his brain short circuits.

Get possessed by a demon shadow monster?

Check ✓

Come back from the dead?

Check ✓

His highschool crush turns out to be a god damn superhero?!

Check ✓

[deathbyfalldamage]

am i a lil bugger?

"If that's what you want to be, then sure."