#but what’s Last Twilight LIVE on stage all about?
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scrumptiousstuffs · 1 year ago
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I’m not keen for this 🙃 - urghh why?
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happy74827 · 7 months ago
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Fate’s Design
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[Carlisle Cullen x Female!Reader]
Synopsis: Not even fate can stop forbidden love. {GIF Credits: Pinterest}
WC: 2051
Category: Angst (with a side of fluff)
Can you tell I rewatched Twilight? 👀 Edward? Jacob? Nah, I’m team Carlisle all the way.
In all seriousness, this took me so long to write out since I’m in that stage of life where there’s no free time 😭
But, regardless, here’s a fic that no one asked for (and hopefully won’t mind 👀). So, uh… enjoy :)
『••✎••』
Funny, how the world works, how fate works.
The day you had first laid eyes on him, you could tell immediately there was something different about him, something... strange. Stranger than strange.
A simple hospital visit, a clumsy fall down the stairs, and here you were, stuck in a place of healing with the smell of antiseptics and disinfectant all around you. For a simple wrist sprang, being around deathly ill people who had no sense of common courtesy was the last thing you wanted to experience.
Still, it couldn't be helped, and so you endured. Endured until that one fateful encounter.
When the nurses brought him into the room, you couldn't help but stare. A young, handsome man who looked barely a few years older than you, pale, cold skin that reminded you of the snowy tundras, and bright eyes you swore turned gold in the light.
Strange, yes. Very strange. But a very good kind of strange, the kind of strange that was captivating.
Carlisle Cullen.
You couldn't help but smile as you thought of the name, as the memories came back to you. The first meeting, the second, and then the third. You remembered all of them, every single one, and the way your heart fluttered like a caged bird each time, wanting to break free.
How long had it been since that first meeting? Five months? Six?
You couldn't be sure, but it was enough.
Enough for you to know that you loved him.
How funny, how ironic, how cruel fate was, giving you someone to love and then making it impossible to be with him.
You were just an average girl with average interests and average talents who had a boring, average job that didn't pay much and was living an average life.
But you were human; he was not.
You were a creature that could live, grow, age, and eventually die while he was frozen in time, a beautiful, timeless statue with an old soul that lived a hundred years in the span of one.
You knew this, he knew this, and that was what held you both back.
Even though you loved him, even though when he looked at you, his eyes burned with the same emotions you felt, the two of you were still unable to come together.
You would’ve given up had it not been for your own stubbornness, your own will to hold on, to see this through to the end.
He was worth it, and you knew it.
And so, you decided it didn’t matter if your time with him would be short because you would spend it happily, without regret.
After all, a few months spent with him was better than none at all.
You found yourself storming into the hospital, pure determination set on your face as you went up to the reception desk and demanded to know where Carlisle Cullen was.
The nurse gave you an odd look but didn’t question you further, and after giving her the information she needed, she directed you to his office.
You were assured he was filing papers, so you didn’t bother with knocking. Instead, you barged in with the burning desire to make your mark, to make your presence known, to show him, without any doubt, how you felt.
You didn't care if he was startled by your sudden entrance, and as you approached him, he stood up, surprise written on his face.
"I’m done, Carlisle," you said, your tone final, a declaration. "I’m so done."
He tilted his head in confusion.
Your hands came to a fist as you rested them against his desk, eyes narrowed and burning.
"I'm done holding back," you said, voice steady. "If you don’t kiss me right now, I'll never forgive you."
Your name came out as a soft sigh from his lips, and you couldn’t stop the shudder that ran through you at the sound of it. The mellow, gentle tone that held your entire being was always catching you off guard, even after all this time.
It wasn’t fair; it really wasn't.
"Kiss me, goddamnit!" You yelled at him, the demand clear in your tone.
And, like always, he denied you. In fact, he practically told you to shut up in his own way by bringing attention that you were still… quite literally, in the hospital.
You didn’t care. It was obvious by the way you kept going at him, demanding he take action.
And then, a gush of wind.
Your eyes widened, and before you could utter a word, the door from behind slammed shut. Not enough to create a loud bang, but enough to get your attention, and when you looked over, his arm was extended out, hand resting on the door.
Just inches away from your head.
Your heart skipped a beat as you looked up at him.
He was towering over you completely, and the proximity made your breathing hitch. His gaze was intense and golden, and it burned right through you like it always did. But you weren’t scared, not even the slightest bit.
This was what you wanted, after all.
So you kept silent and waited for him to make the first move. Any move, really.
A few seconds passed, and then, ever so slowly, he lowered his head. But he didn't lean down far enough, no. Instead, his face inched closer and closer to yours until, finally, all you could see were his eyes.
And all you could think about was his lips.
"As much as I want to," he began, voice soft and smooth. "You and I both know it's not that easy."
"Yes, it is," you retorted, stubborn. "You're just making it hard."
"I'm being realistic."
"Realistic? Really?" Your face twisted into a scowl. "Says the man who's not even human."
"That's precisely why," he said. "You’re…"
His voice quivered, just slight enough to be noticeable. It made your heart ache, and you were ready to interrupt him, to say that it didn’t matter; nothing else did.
But you stopped yourself.
It was only right to hear what he had to say.
"You truly wish to want… this? To give up the happiness of your future, the family you deserve, to be drowned in sorrow, all for me?"
His words were sincere, his voice quiet, and the expression on his face was one you could barely comprehend.
"Drowned…? Drowned?!" You echoed his words; brows knitted in a deep frown. "Carlisle, I'm already drowning! Right now!"
You paused, trying to calm yourself, but you could feel tears prickling your eyes. This wasn’t how you had imagined it going.
"It hurts," you confessed, voice low. "It hurts me that you don’t understand, that you think so little of yourself."
Carlisle's breath caught, and his lips parted in surprise, but you weren’t finished yet.
"It hurts me that you think I could ever be happy without you," you continued, your voice rising a bit. “Carlisle, I have found happiness in you. I am happy with you. The day we met, I was a wreck; my wrist was a wreck… everything was a wreck. But then you came, and now, now I'm happy. You make me happy."
The look on his face was unreadable, but it didn’t deter you from speaking your mind.
"Why can’t you see that? Why can’t you see that you’ll always be twice the man than any other human being out there?"
Silence.
He didn’t answer, and the longer the silence stretched, the more your heart hurt. Carlisle was a good man; he was. He was a good doctor, a good father, and, of course, a good-looking guy.
He deserved the world.
And if the world couldn't give it to him, you would.
"If you can't see it, then fine," you finally spoke, and it was almost a whisper. "Then I'll do it for you. I'll tell you every day. I'll keep telling you until it sticks."
The corners of your mouth tugged upwards into a shaky smile.
"Even if I have to keep yelling at you."
He exhaled, and suddenly, he looked much more relaxed, and you realized that you had gotten through to him.
It made the tears that were gathering in your eyes spill over.
"At least I know you wouldn’t toss me aside when my personality eventually overpowers my looks," you mumbled, laughing.
"Toss you aside?"
There was a sudden, sharp edge to his tone, and when his hand came to rest under your chin, gently, carefully, your eyes shot up, staring into his own.
You didn't realize it, but the way you looked at him, the expression on your face, it made him see something different, something he never expected.
A woman who loved him. Truly, sincerely, deeply, and completely.
He couldn’t believe it, and yet, you were right there, in front of him, your eyes shining and reflecting nothing but adoration and admiration.
Your eyes were shining, but not with sadness, no, not anymore.
It was a beautiful sight, one he would remember for all of eternity.
"I'd be a fool to do that," he whispered, his tone sincere, and when his other hand came up, his fingers brushing over your cheek, a featherlight touch, he could hear your breath catch.
"A complete and utter fool."
You watched the smile grow on his lips, and it was so beautiful, it was unreal.
But this, the feeling of his hand on your skin, the coldness contrasted by the warmth of your own body, the gentleness of his touch, it was surreal.
"Carlisle," you murmured, and he was still staring at you, but there was a new intensity in his gaze. "Let me give you the happiness you deserve. Let me."
You took a small step forward, and his hand was still resting under your chin. You didn't dare move or speak again, not until you could read his face, the expression on his features.
It was difficult, however, and just when you thought he wouldn't say anything, he spoke.
"I can't guarantee the future or the happiness," he admitted. "Not for myself, and not for you, but-"
"But?" You couldn’t help but smirk.
"I can try," he answered. "For your sake, I'll try."
You should’ve expected the response after that, the speed at which his hand moved from your cheek to the back of your neck, pulling you forward, and his other hand, moving downwards to rest on the small of your back.
You should've, but you didn't.
All you could do was stare at him, your eyes widening, and just when you opened your mouth to speak, to say something, anything, his lips were on yours, and all the coherent thoughts left you.
You could hear the thumping of your heart, loud, thundering, and it drowned out all the other sounds around you.
He was gentle and careful, and the kiss was nothing more than a brief, feather-light press of his lips, but it was enough. It was enough to set your whole body on fire, to have you lean in, to have your hands come up, grasping onto his lab coat for dear life.
You could feel the coldness of his skin, but the taste of his lips was indescribable.
He tasted sweet, like vanilla, and the longer his lips were on yours, the more the flavor lingered until you couldn’t remember how your own lips had ever tasted.
When he finally pulled away, it was as if the world was spinning and all the strength left your body.
"We're not in the clear just yet," he murmured, his gaze still intense, and it sent a shiver down your spine. "There are many things we have to talk about and many things to work out, but-"
"Carlisle," you breathed out, your grip on his coat tightening. "Don’t talk. Just relish."
You leaned forward, and he did the same, his eyes fluttering shut, and as your lips connected with his, your mind was filled with a single thought.
This.
This was right.
It was perfect, and the world was a better place.
The funny thing about fate is that if two people are meant to be, no matter the time, the place, or the circumstances, they'll find each other.
The two of you were living proof.
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sidekick-hero · 2 months ago
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Phoenix
(steddie | explicit | 7.4k | AO3 | tags: porn with fluff, rock star eddie, roadie steve, canon divergence - eddie lives and cc gets famous)
The most talented @firefly-party drew some gorgeous art of Eddie enjoying some cake 😏🍑 and this inspired this fic. Lots of love go out to @hbyrde36 and @pearynice for being amazing cheerleaders and beta readers 💜
Excerpt
A loud throat-clearing cuts through the haze, and Steve opens his eyes to see Gareth, sitting with a wicked grin, tossing a crumpled-up piece of paper at Eddie’s back. “Oi, lovebirds,” he says, “save those bedroom eyes for the actual bedroom, Munson.”
Eddie grins, unashamed, flashing Gareth a mock salute. “I don’t need a bedroom for bedroom activities, losers.”
Jeff leans casually against the wall, arms crossed, smirking. “Can’t say I’m surprised. You two always manage to bring your own kind of encore,” he teases, waggling his eyebrows in a way that’s both exaggerated and somehow fond.
From across the room, their sound tech, Lucy, chuckles as she shoves a bag into her duffel. “Guess the ‘Phoenix’ isn’t the only thing heating up tonight,” she jokes, grinning at Steve’s half-embarrassed, half-amused expression.
“And he'll rise again and again and again,” tones Frank’s dry voice, making Eddie cackle and waggle his eyebrows at Steve.
Jeff groans at the horrible innuendos. “Don’t mind us, we’re heading out anyway. Figured we’d leave you two to, ah, continue the celebration?”
Eddie flashes them all a shameless grin, winking as he wraps an arm around Steve’s waist. “You all sound jealous,” he quips, barely missing a beat.
Gareth laughs, grabbing his jacket. “Oh, trust me, I’m good. Those pants are enough of a show by themselves,” he teases, smirking. “But seriously—thanks for sparing us the rest.”
As the last few crew members file out, tossing in good-natured jabs and rolling their eyes, Jeff gives Steve a pat on the back. “You’ve got him all to yourself now, Harrington,” he says with a smirk. “Don’t wear him out too much. We’ve still got another show tomorrow.”
And with a final chorus of laughter and a few mock wolf whistles, the door swings shut, leaving them in blissful privacy.
Steve sighs, his forehead still resting against Eddie’s, his own grin breaking through as they’re finally alone. “Well,” he murmurs, voice low, “now, where were we?”
“You mean before you were trying to ravage me in front of our friends?” Eddie says with a shit-eating grin, as if Steve were the only one acting like a love-struck teenager.
Read the rest on AO3
For everyone who rather reads on here, have the whole fic under the cut.
Phoenix
The arena is almost silent as the lights go out, the applause fading into a hush as everyone around him holds their breath. It’s as if they’ve all merged into one living entity, one organism waiting for the band to return and deliver the encore they’re all craving.
Corroded Coffin’s encores have become legendary among their fans. Mostly because of Eddie.
Of course.
Steve can’t blame them. He’s never been able to take his eyes off him either. In any room, no matter what was happening, the moment Eddie came alive, when that inner light blazed through, Steve was captivated. It’s no surprise he isn’t the only one, but he finds comfort in knowing he was one of the first.
They all fell in love with Eddie Munson, the rock star. Steve fell in love with Eddie Munson, the nerd. The part-time drug dealer, the super senior, the dungeon master. He fell for the brave man who was willing to die for a town that hated him and the man his kids trusted and looked up to.
That very man is now strutting back onto the stage, his silhouette barely visible in the dim twilight of the arena. But Steve would recognize him anywhere. Besides, he knows what’s coming—he’s heard Eddie excitedly ramble about his plans while they lay in bed, Eddie’s head resting in Steve’s lap as his fingers combed through damp curls, untangling them before they dried after his shower.
This is the first time they’re playing this particular song, Phoenix. It’s about someone dying so they can finally live, and only their tight-knit circle knows just how much truth is behind it. The song is Eddie’s way of processing what happened during that fateful week in the spring of '86. But, like most of Eddie’s songs, it’s also a love song.
A love song for Steve.
Eddie sings about a man burning in hell to rise from the ashes, hands lifting him to soar again, flying higher and higher, fueled by love instead of air beneath his wings. It’s classic Eddie—telling Steve he loves him in front of thousands of people, with words that sound like they’re straight out of one of those fantasy novels Eddie and the kids all love so much.
The whole band is on fire—literally—because their show features some wild pyro effects. Steve hadn’t been thrilled when Eddie first floated the idea of setting parts of the stage ablaze. He was even less enthusiastic when Gareth and Eddie began talking about adding flames to their outfits. To Steve, that was practically asking for disaster. But, as usual, he hadn’t been able to resist Eddie’s big brown puppy eyes for long.
Now, watching them perform, Steve has to admit it works. The fire dances across the stage in time with the music, bursts of flame punctuating every explosive guitar riff. Smoke swirls in sync with the pounding drums, and sparks rain down like stars during the climactic solo, making it feel as though the whole arena is caught in the heat of the moment. It’s pure chaos, and yet, somehow, it’s beautiful.
As Phoenix reaches its crescendo, Eddie steps into the heart of the flames, the light catching his silhouette as though he’s rising from the ashes himself. His voice soars above the roaring crowd, each note carrying both the weight of the past and the promise of a future. The audience, already mesmerized, holds its breath as Eddie holds the final note, arms outstretched, as if he’s daring the fire to consume him.
There’s a beat of stunned silence, and then the whole arena erupts into a roaring applause. People are whistling and cheering, Steve among them. Sue him, but even after a year of doing this with Eddie, he’s still in awe of how good Eddie and the other guys are. They’re a garage band from some small town in bumfuck Indiana, but the moment they step on stage, they have the crowd completely under their spell. Steve had read an article about Corroded Coffin that said all guys want to be them and all girls want to be their lovers.
He disagrees. He’s pretty sure some of these girls wouldn’t mind rocking on stage themselves, and Steve knows from experience that some of the guys definitely want to be their boyfriends, too.
The only difference between Steve and those guys? While they all want Eddie, Steve is the one who gets to take him home every night.
How he got so lucky is still beyond him. For months, Steve had been convinced he’d ruined everything between them before they ever got a real chance. And now he’s the one Eddie Munson calls sweetheart, darling, princess. The one he calls Love.
“Thank you, ladies and gentlemen, you’ve been wonderful tonight. Your high esteem has fed us well, and we’ll repay the favor with another firestorm of a concert very soon. So keep your eyes peeled for the announcement. Until then, remember to be the menaces you’re meant to be, and rock on! We are Corroded Coffin, the devil’s own jesters, and this has been another glorious night of our Rituals tour!”
The lights go out after Eddie’s final words, and with another round of thunderous applause, a single spotlight highlights each band member, giving them their moment to shine before darkness swallows the stage. Steve knows it gives the band time to slip away before the crowd starts to disperse.
Back when Steve first started at their shows as a roadie, a fan had somehow tricked security into believing she was part of the crew. In the general chaos of people leaving, no one questioned her as she followed them all the way to the green room. She’d launched herself at Eddie, knocking him over onto the hard concrete. He’d only ended up with a few bruises, but he hit his head, and the headache lasted well into the next day, making him feel miserable. Worse still, it made his old scars ache in sympathy.
Steve had been livid.
After, Steve had been adamant that the band needed to invest in more security—less access for the public, stricter controls, the whole nine yards. Eddie, Frank, and Jeff didn’t want to hear any of it. To Steve’s surprise, it was Gareth who found a compromise for them. The head start they get now is part of it. Another is the presence of Sam and James, two guys built like tanks, who travel with the band and keep things secure backstage, on the tour bus, and everywhere in between.
Except for Eddie, who’s Steve’s to keep safe—and he takes that job seriously.
Which is why he packs up on stage as fast as humanly possible, only to be shooed away by Anna, the head of stage design. She oversees cleanup and can tell Steve is practically vibrating out of his skin to get to Eddie.
“You’re stressing me the hell out, Harrington. Go check on your man before you have a heart attack or something equally dramatic that’ll keep us here longer than necessary. And take that amp with you—put those guns to use,” she adds, gesturing at his biceps.
It’s a testament to how desperately he wants to see Eddie that he doesn’t protest, just salutes her and grabs the amp. “Thanks, Anna. I’ll make it up to you.”
“Yeah, yeah,” she says, waving him off. “To be young and in love again.”
“You’re 34, not ancient.”
“I’m not Munson, Harrington—flattery doesn’t work on me. Now shoo, before I change my mind and leave you to clean up the whole stage yourself.”
That's all the encouragement he needs to make a hasty retreat. As fast as he can, he heads backstage to the green room, where the band is no doubt coming down from their post-show high.
As Steve nears the green room, he can already hear laughter and excited chatter. Eddie’s voice rings out the loudest—it always does—but he can also pick out Jeff’s deep rumble and Gareth’s indignant “Oi!” He’s probably been teased again. The happy sounds make Steve pick up his pace, and as he rounds the last corner, he nearly barrels into Sam.
“Careful, Ozzy,” Sam laughs, dodging aside with surprising grace for someone his size. When Steve had first started tagging along, the crew had looked a little skeptical of his preppy outfits, which stuck out among the metalheads and crew members, who dress more for comfort and utility. Eddie, in his usual fashion, had vouched for him, regaling everyone with a heavily edited story about how Steve had once bitten the head off a bat to save them. Steve's scars, which matched Eddie's own, had helped sell the story. It had earned him coolness points and the nickname "Ozzy”.
Steve rolls his eyes. “Oh, please. You probably wouldn’t even feel it if I charged you with a battering ram.”
“Stop flirting with my boyfriend, Ozzy,” comes James’ teasing voice. “I think you’ve got your hands full with your own.” Steve knows James isn’t actually jealous—anyone with eyes can see he’s completely gone on Eddie. Robin’s words, not his. She’d visited them about three months ago during a break in the tour and had teased him mercilessly. Steve plans to return the favor once she finds someone who steals her heart. It’s what best friends do.
“Speaking of—think you could open the door for me?” Steve nods at the amp he’s still carrying. “My hands are full, and this thing’s getting heavy.”
“Sure thing,” Sam says, already moving to open the door as James smirks at Steve.
“Your game’s slipping, Oz. Pretty soon you won’t even be able to toss Munson around.”
“What a sad day that would be,” chimes a familiar voice as the door swings open, revealing Eddie’s grinning face. He winks at Steve. “But that day’ll never come, right, big boy?”
“Never,” Steve promises as he sets the amp down and immediately sweeps Eddie off his feet, pulling him into his arms. Eddie whoops loudly, then breaks into manic laughter, clearly riding high on adrenaline and endorphins.
Steve lets Eddie slide down his body, his hands resting firmly on Eddie’s hips, holding him close as Eddie beams down at him.
“Hey, sweetheart,” Eddie says, voice warm and a bit breathless.
“Hey, baby. You look happy.”
Leaning in until their noses are almost touching, Eddie grins and says, “That’s because I am! Did you see us, Stevie? We rocked! I told you, Phoenix needed fire. They loved it, didn’t they?”
Steve rubs their noses together, his heart swelling at how excited—and just plain adorable—Eddie is after a good show.
“They loved you,” he says proudly, his voice going rough. “But they can’t have you.”
Eddie’s grin turns mischievous. “Oh? Is that so?”
“Yes,” Steve almost growls. He knows exactly where this is headed, but he can’t resist. Something about the way Eddie commands the stage and the way people respond to him always stirs Steve’s more possessive side.
Good thing Eddie loves it.
“And why is that?” Eddie asks, already knowing the answer, but playing along. It feels like they’re the only two in the room, though Steve knows everyone else is well-accustomed to their little ritual by now.
Another growl rises in Steve’s chest. “Because you’re mine.”
“I’m yours,” Eddie agrees, and finally leans in to kiss him.
It stays gentle and innocent for all of five seconds before Eddie, ever the troublemaker, lets out a quiet moan against Steve’s lips. It’s a sound that’s practically Pavloved Steve into instant reaction; he bites down on Eddie’s lower lip, slipping his tongue into Eddie’s willing mouth when he gasps in response. The familiar shock of Eddie’s tongue piercing, cool and metallic against his own tongue, is addictive, a reminder of just how intoxicatingly Eddie he is. And as soon as he catches that taste of energy drink Eddie always downs like water before a show, Steve is completely done for.
He couldn’t say exactly why—certainly not in this moment, when he’s all lust and love and instinct, and not even later when his head isn’t so full of EddieEddieEddie. Maybe it’s because that taste, coupled with the playful brush of that piercing, makes everything feel so real. Tangible. No one else knows the slightly off-putting tang of that artificial drink on Eddie’s tongue, or the way the cold steel feels against his lip as Eddie’s tongue brushes past it. It’s not something he could’ve imagined back when he used to daydream about kissing Eddie in Hawkins, when they’d still been circling each other. Watching, waiting, pining.
They let themselves get carried away, hands wandering over sweat-soaked clothes, slipping beneath them and feeling slick skin, neither of them having had a moment to shower or change. Not that they care. They’ve seen, touched, tasted each other like this a hundred times, and to Steve, it’s just one more part of this that feels undeniable. Real.
Eddie’s right hand finds its way into Steve’s hair, gripping just the right amount of tight, while his other hand explores the skin beneath Steve’s tank top. His fingers skim along the waistband of Steve’s pants, light and teasing, and it’s maddening how much Steve wants him to dive deeper, to put those skilled fingers to use. Steve’s own hands are busy, shoved down the back pockets of Eddie’s nearly scandalous leather pants, kneading the flesh beneath as he pulls Eddie even closer.
It’s only when Eddie slips a leg between Steve’s spread ones, his thigh pressing deliciously against him, that Steve feels his knees go weak. Pulling away from Eddie’s mouth takes what feels like Herculean strength, and he only just manages to break the kiss, his forehead pressed to his boyfriend’s as they both pant, breaths coming in heavy and warm. The sound is loud enough to almost drown out the creaking of someone shifting in an old chair nearby.
That’s when Steve remembers they’re not alone in the room.
A loud throat-clearing cuts through the haze, and Steve opens his eyes to see Gareth, sitting with a wicked grin, tossing a crumpled-up piece of paper at Eddie’s back. “Oi, lovebirds,” he says, “save those bedroom eyes for the actual bedroom, Munson.”
Eddie grins, unashamed, flashing Gareth a mock salute. “I don’t need a bedroom for bedroom activities, losers.”
Jeff leans casually against the wall, arms crossed, smirking. “Can’t say I’m surprised. You two always manage to bring your own kind of encore,” he teases, waggling his eyebrows in a way that’s both exaggerated and somehow fond.
From across the room, their sound tech, Lucy, chuckles as she shoves a bag into her duffel. “Guess the ‘Phoenix’ isn’t the only thing heating up tonight,” she jokes, grinning at Steve’s half-embarrassed, half-amused expression.
“And he'll rise again and again and again,” tones Frank’s dry voice, making Eddie cackle and waggle his eyebrows at Steve.
Jeff groans at the horrible innuendos. “Don’t mind us, we’re heading out anyway. Figured we’d leave you two to, ah, continue the celebration?”
Eddie flashes them all a shameless grin, winking as he wraps an arm around Steve’s waist. “You all sound jealous,” he quips, barely missing a beat.
Gareth laughs, grabbing his jacket. “Oh, trust me, I’m good. Those pants are enough of a show by themselves,” he teases, smirking. “But seriously—thanks for sparing us the rest.”
As the last few crew members file out, tossing in good-natured jabs and rolling their eyes, Jeff gives Steve a pat on the back. “You’ve got him all to yourself now, Harrington,” he says with a smirk. “Don’t wear him out too much. We’ve still got another show tomorrow.”
And with a final chorus of laughter and a few mock wolf whistles, the door swings shut, leaving them in blissful privacy.
Steve sighs, his forehead still resting against Eddie’s, his own grin breaking through as they’re finally alone. “Well,” he murmurs, voice low, “now, where were we?”
“You mean before you were trying to ravage me in front of our friends?” Eddie says with a shit-eating grin, as if Steve were the only one acting like a love-struck teenager. Steve would be more annoyed if it weren’t for the happy flutter in his chest when Eddie says, “our friends.” An image flashes through his mind, unbidden—Dustin, animated and in charge, leading a round of their fantasy game, the same one Eddie used to lead. Steve remembers watching, his heart aching like an open wound, because by then, Eddie had been gone for three months.
Steve had let him go.
Eddie had asked Steve to come with him, his head on Steve’s chest as they lay tangled in Eddie’s bed, his voice barely above a whisper. “I have to go, Stevie. This town is killing me. But I don’t want to go without you. Please, come with me. Let us be free together.”
But Steve had said no. He'd told himself it was for the kids, that they needed someone to stay and look after them. But deep down he knew that wasn't the real reason. At least not the whole reason. He didn't say no because he didn't want to go with Eddie, but because he wanted it too much. Wanting things, wanting people too much had left its mark, and some of those scars still ached some days, worse than his physical ones, the phantom pain of a broken heart and shattered dreams. Eddie had asked him why, his voice trembling, and Steve had lied, making Eddie believe there was nothing between them that warranted uprooting his whole life. It was the only way to set Eddie free, even if it meant breaking both their hearts. His own fears and insecurities were not going to be the thing that stopped Eddie from making his own dreams come true.
“I think I was telling you about the show,” Eddie says, breaking Steve from the painful memory with a grin. “What’d you think, Stevie? Rockstar-worthy?”
The question brings him back, though the ache of the past lingers in his chest. His voice is quieter, more earnest than he intended. “More than that. I always knew you were born for this, Eds. That people should hear your stories, see you, and the wonder you are.”
He knows he’s gone too deep, missed the playful mark by a mile. But Eddie, who’s all brashness and boldness on the surface, can read Steve better than anyone. Sensing the shift, he meets Steve’s gaze with a softness that’s rare and achingly sincere.
“I only ever needed one person to see me, Stevie.”
Now, Steve believes Eddie. It hadn’t always been like that, though. He’d struggled to accept that Eddie truly wanted him—Steve Harrington, the guy who’d peaked in high school, who didn’t have much to show now that the world wasn’t ending and no one needed him to swing his nail-studded bat, or throw himself between monsters and the people he loved.
His doubts had almost cost him the chance to be loved the way he’d always dreamed.
Gazing into Eddie’s warm, dark eyes, filled with so much love and sincerity it almost hurt to look at, Steve decided to push down the strange wave of melancholy that had crept over him. Eddie was here, they were here, and Steve wasn’t going to waste another second thinking about the past and the what-ifs. He’d focus instead on showing Eddie just how rockstar-worthy he truly was.
“Is that so?” Steve asks, his tone coy as he ducks his head just enough to look up at Eddie from beneath his lashes. His fingers trail slowly up Eddie’s stomach and chest, and with his voice dropping to a low, inviting register, he murmurs, “What if he wants to see more of you?”
Eddie searches his face, the shift in mood not lost on him. For a moment, it looks like he’s deciding whether to let Steve get away with it or press him about the strange melancholy that had surfaced just moments ago. But then a slow smile spreads across those full lips, and Steve feels the thrill of Eddie giving in.
“Mmm,” Eddie muses aloud, his gaze mischievous. “I think he’ll have to wait for that. Earn it, really.”
“How?” Steve asks, his voice barely more than a breath, eager and completely captivated.
Eddie leans in, nosing his way along the line of Steve’s jaw until he reaches his ear. “Be a good boy, of course.”
A shiver ripples through Steve’s body, though he couldn’t say if it’s from Eddie’s warm breath on that sensitive patch of skin or from the words themselves.
Steve’s breath hitches, and he fights to keep his composure, a smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth. “And if I’m not?” he teases, his voice low but challenging, tilting his head to give Eddie even better access to his neck.
Eddie chuckles, his lips ghosting just below Steve’s ear. “Then I’ll have to remind you who’s in charge here,” he murmurs, voice warm and rough, a promise wrapped in mischief.
Steve lets out a shaky laugh, his fingers curling into the leather of Eddie’s jacket. “Guess I’ll have to be extra good, then,” he replies, his tone daring but with that undeniable note of surrender only Eddie could pull from him.
The sharp nip of Eddie’s teeth sinking into the tender skin just above Steve’s pulse point quickly gives way to pleasure as his tongue soothes over the bite. “That’s right,” Eddie murmurs against the spit-slick skin, his voice low and warm. “So be a good boy and lay down on that amp you oh-so-helpfully carried in here.”
It takes Steve a beat to process, his brain a little scrambled from the emotional whiplash of the past few moments—pride, love, possessiveness, melancholy, lust, and back to love, all tumbling through him. He blinks up at Eddie, parsing out the command, and Eddie arches an eyebrow, giving the amp a pointed look.
With a playful bite of his lower lip, Steve nods and, after stealing one more quick kiss, saunters over, hips swaying just enough to make Eddie’s gaze darken. The back-and-forth between them is new to Steve, something he never had with the girls he dated before, this easy way they can trade roles, each giving and taking as they like, slipping between comfort and thrill with ease.
Right now, Steve’s perfectly ready to take whatever Eddie has in mind.
The amp’s just high enough that he doesn’t have to contort too much to lie on it, bracing his upper body on his forearms comfortably. Not exactly nap material, but he isn’t here to relax. It lets him tilt his hips, though, and he pushes his ass out in invitation, casting a look over his shoulder to find Eddie watching him with wide, hungry eyes, his hand pressed firmly against himself.
“You wanna take a picture?” Steve teases, wiggling his ass with a grin. “Or are you finally gonna put your money where your mouth is?”
Eddie’s startled laugh echoes in the empty room, and Steve’s grin widens, his heart racing at how fun it is to let loose with Eddie like this.
At last Eddie moves, taking off his leather jacket before closing the distance between them, and his hands settle on Steve's hips, firm and possessive. “Oh, I’m definitely putting my mouth somewhere, princess.”
With a teasing slowness, Eddie’s hands slide from Steve’s hips around to his front, fingers working open the button on his cargo pants. He takes his time, drawing out each motion—the button popping, the zipper sliding down, every small movement building up the anticipation until the air between them practically hums. Bit by bit, Eddie tugs Steve’s pants and underwear down over his hips, savoring every inch of skin he exposes to the cool air and his hungry gaze.
Steve’s patience frays fast, and with a breathless whine, he finally mutters, “Eddie, come on.”
Eddie just chuckles, then nips at the small heart-shaped tattoo on Steve's left buttock. While Eddie's body is littered with black ink, this is Steve's only one so far. Eddie had talked Steve into it when he came with him to get the Phoenix tattooed on his left arm. “I’m unwrapping my favorite present here, babe. Gotta savor it.”
Steve barely has time to roll his eyes before Eddie’s mouth descends once again, and this time it’s warm lips and tongue tracing a slow line along the curve of his lower back, licking up the faint sheen of sweat gathered there. The heat of Eddie’s mouth steals the words right from him, and instead a rough “Fuck” slips out, loud and unfiltered.
“That’s the idea, sweetheart,” Eddie murmurs, sounding downright smug. “But first? I’m treating myself to a sweet little appetizer.”
Steve finds out exactly what Eddie means when his tongue dips lower, slipping between his cheeks with a slow, tantalizing precision. His pants are still bunched around his upper thighs, limiting his movement, but as always, Eddie makes the most of the space he has.
The heat of Eddie’s tongue leaves a burning trail down his skin, edging closer to where Steve wants him most, while Eddie’s hands grip his hips and pull up his tank top, his hold firm and anchoring, as if grounding them both in the pleasure building between them. But just as Steve expects Eddie to go further, he pulls back, taking his time sliding Steve’s pants all the way off, leaving him bare from the waist down.
“God, would you look at this? Fuck, I still can’t believe it sometimes,” Eddie mutters, his voice thick with reverence. “Eddie ‘The Freak’ Munson gets to have the most gorgeous guy in the world. Part of me wishes I could show you off to everyone right now, do this to you up on stage, so they’d know exactly how lucky I am.”
The thought sends a thrill through Steve—a fantasy he’s toyed with more than once. It’s one of those ideas they’ll never act on, but one that he loves to imagine just the same.
“But hey, this is the next best thing,” Eddie continues, still kneeling behind him, his hands sliding up Steve’s legs, fingertips pressing into the sensitive skin of his inner thighs. “Right here, where anyone could walk in, could see you with your ass up like this for me. And they’d be so damn jealous. But they don’t get you—you’re mine, just like I’m yours.”
As if sealing his words, Eddie spreads him open and lets a warm trail of saliva slide down, glistening as it slips toward his entrance. Steve can’t see him from this angle, but he can feel Eddie’s gaze, heavy and possessive, just before he leans back in, his tongue pressing deep, the metal of his piercing gracing the sensitive skin of his entrance, sending a shiver down Steve’s spine.
Steve feels like he’s going out of his mind, the way Eddie holds him down, keeping his hips pinned firmly in place, letting Steve have only as much as he’s willing to give. It’s torture—he wants to push back, to make Eddie’s tongue delve deeper, faster. But Eddie’s having none of it. For all his usual impatience and impulsiveness, in moments like this, Eddie becomes a master of restraint, driving Steve up the wall with it.
It’s infuriating. It’s maddening. It’s also the single hottest thing Steve’s ever experienced.
His breathing is rough, coming in shallow pants that mix with the filthy, wet sounds filling the room as he loses himself in the relentless, almost lazy pace Eddie keeps. Eddie’s tongue teases, sliding in with agonizing slowness, while his content, low hums add a pulse of heat through Steve’s body. Eddie pauses now and then to add more spit, until Steve’s slick, almost dripping, every nerve thrumming with need.
“Edd-die,” he gasps, his voice thin with desperation, almost lost beneath the steady, obscene rhythm. “Pleasepleaseplease.”
He’s shamelessly begging now, but doesn’t care. Eddie lives to hear him beg, and maybe, just maybe, Steve can get what he wants, too.
Eddie chuckles low, his tone one of pure satisfaction. “Please what, my love?”
Of course, he’d make Steve say it. Typical. Alright then, two can play this game, Steve thinks and decides to see just how steady Eddie’s self-control really is.
“Please,” he says, his tone turning breathy, edging into desperate pleading. “Please, give me that thick cock. Fill me so deep I can taste it. Make me take it, make me yours. Make me forget everything—everyone—but you, fucking me so good.”
Eddie growls, the sound low and guttural, and Steve smirks, triumphant.
Checkmate.
A finger suddenly presses at his entrance, sliding in easily where he’s already loose and wet from Eddie’s mouth and tongue. Steve arches back, pushing onto the finger, forcing it deeper with a groan that earns him a low chuckle.
“So greedy,” Eddie murmurs, his voice thick with approval as he works his finger in and out with a steady rhythm. Soon, he adds a second finger, stretching him open, sliding in with only the slightest resistance. There’s a slow burn, one he welcomes, letting it remind him how real this all is.
“Look at you,” Eddie muses, voice dark and low. “So needy, taking it so well. I wanted to take my time with you tonight—take you apart, bit by bit, until you were wrecked.” He pauses, letting his fingers curl inside. “But you just wouldn’t let me, huh?”
Steve shudders, Eddie’s words digging deeper than his touch, leaving him desperate and tingling all over. Eddie’s tone is playful, a tease threaded with adoration, and Steve knows he’s on the edge of getting everything he wants, even if Eddie just can’t resist drawing it out. Clenching down on Eddie’s fingers, he says with a challenging grin, “There’s lube in my pocket. Right side.”
Eddie’s breath hitches, his fingers stilling just for a moment before he drops his forehead onto the small of Steve’s back with a heartfelt groan. “You’ll be the death of me, Stevie. God, I love you.”
Steve laughs, even as his voice comes out shaky. “I love you, too. Now, would you please hurry up and fuck me already before I die of old age?”
Eddie’s laugh vibrates against his spine as he reaches down and into Steve’s pocket, retrieving the lube with a triumphant little sound. “Oh, sweetheart, don’t worry. I’m about to make sure every second counts.”
Steve is counting on it.
He watches as Eddie tears open the corner of the small lube satchel with his teeth, his other hand still buried deep inside Steve. Their eyes lock, and Eddie throws him a cheeky wink before drizzling the cool liquid directly over where his fingers are working him open. The sharp contrast of the chill against his heated skin sends a shiver racing up Steve’s spine.
Eddie spreads the lube with practiced ease, his thumb joining in to work it deeper. His movements are confident, deliberate, and Steve can’t help but marvel at how well they’ve come to know each other’s bodies. He thinks back to their first time: the fumbling hands, lube smeared everywhere, hesitant stops and whispered reassurances, mixed with laughter and tender kisses. Now, there’s a rhythm between them, a deep familiarity that doesn’t dull the edge of excitement but makes it sweeter, more profound.
Steve’s awareness narrows to the sensation of Eddie’s fingers stroking inside him, teasing just right. Meanwhile, Eddie’s mouth and tongue explore every inch of skin they can reach, leaving trails of wet heat in their wake. Time becomes meaningless, and Steve lets go completely, unbothered by the sounds spilling from his lips or how desperately he’s moving into Eddie’s touch. He’s pliant, undone, surrendering himself fully to the moment.
And then, suddenly, Eddie’s fingers withdraw. Steve lets out a whine of protest, his body already aching for more.
Placing a soothing kiss over Steve’s heart tattoo, Eddie murmurs, “Shhh, sweetheart, I’m just giving you what you want.”
Anticipation coils tight in Steve’s belly as the emptiness makes him hyper-aware of every nerve ending. Seconds stretch into agonizing hours before he feels the thick head of Eddie’s cock pressing against his slick entrance.
“Ready, love?” Eddie asks, his voice low and warm.
“Please,” Steve breathes, his entire body taut with need.
Eddie doesn’t waste another moment. He pushes in slowly, steadily, until his hips are flush against Steve’s. Even with the careful preparation and Steve’s eagerness, it’s still a lot, and he sucks in a sharp breath, needing a moment to adjust. Sensing this, Eddie stills, his hand sliding forward to find Steve’s. He intertwines their fingers, squeezing gently, a silent reminder that they’re in this together.
A bead of sweat trickles down Steve’s temple as he exhales deliberately, forcing his body to relax. He squeezes Eddie’s hand in return, grounding himself in the connection.
“I’m ready,” he says softly, his voice steady. “You can move.”
Months ago, Eddie might have asked again, just to be sure, but now he trusts Steve’s word implicitly. He responds with a reassuring squeeze to Steve’s hip before pulling out almost entirely and sinking back in just as slowly. The deliberate drag of Eddie’s cock has Steve’s nerves sparking like live wires, every inch of the stretch intense and maddeningly good.
Steve lifts their joined hands to his mouth, pressing a kiss to Eddie’s knuckles. His voice comes out wrecked, raw with need.
“Faster,” he pleads, his breath hitching. “Please.”
As much as Eddie loves to tease, drawing out both their pleasure until Steve feels like he’s teetering on the edge of madness, he loves giving Steve what he wants even more. And tonight, Steve has been a very good boy—just like Eddie had asked. So when Eddie withdraws again only to slam back in without hesitation, setting a relentless pace, Steve knows this is his reward.
“Fuck, how are you always so tight?” Eddie mutters, his voice hoarse and awestruck.
The question isn’t meant to be answered, and Steve is far too gone to respond anyway. Instead, he pushes back into every thrust, letting the intense, repeated sensation of Eddie filling him wipe away any semblance of coherent thought. His cock hangs heavy and aching, no doubt dripping pre-cum onto the floor beneath them. For a fleeting moment, a hysterical image pops into his head: one of them slipping in it, both crashing down, stark naked.
But then Eddie’s next thrust slams right into his prostate, obliterating the thought entirely. What escapes Steve’s lips isn’t laughter but a long, shameless moan.
“There—fuck, there,” he gasps, his voice raw with need, urging Eddie to do it again.
Eddie doesn’t disappoint. Now that he’s found the perfect angle, his thrusts hit that spot with precision, sending sharp jolts of pleasure coursing through Steve’s body. Each impact wrings high-pitched, breathless ah, ah, ahs from him as he clings to the amp for stability, every muscle taut and trembling. The pleasure is building fast, a searing heat that coils tight in his belly, but it’s not enough.
Steve’s cock pulses painfully, desperate for attention, but he can’t reach it. His arms are trapped beneath him, and trying to shift even a fraction risks toppling them both. The need is maddening, almost unbearable, and his whimpers grow louder as frustration mixes with the overwhelming stimulation.
When the constant onslaught skirts the edge of too much, his moans turn to pleading whines, raw and vulnerable. He’s close, so close, but he needs just a little more.
“Shhh,” Eddie coos, slowing his thrusts as his hand rubs soothing circles over Steve’s back. “What is it, baby?”
The change in pace gives Steve a reprieve from the relentless pounding against his prostate. He sags forward, caught in the strange limbo of both relief and frustration, his need to come still burning hot and bright in his groin.
“I’m so close, but I need…” he trails off, his voice cracking with emotion. The sound mortifies him, and the tears edging into his tone threaten to spill over. Eddie stills entirely, his concern immediate.
“What do you need? I’ll give you everything, love, anything you want.” Before Steve can manage a response, Eddie drapes himself over his back, the weight of him grounding, the motion pushing him deeper inside. His lips brush the shell of Steve’s ear, and he whispers, “You need my hand? Want me to touch that pretty cock of yours, gorgeous?”
Steve lets out a soft, desperate whine, his body trembling. It’s all the answer Eddie needs.
Eddie’s arm snakes around Steve’s chest, his palm resting gently against his throat—not squeezing, just holding, steadying him. His other hand slides down and wraps around Steve’s aching cock. Steve shudders at the first firm stroke, the slickness of pre-cum making each movement smooth and electric.
“I—I won’t last long,” Steve manages, his voice wrecked as the coil in his belly winds tighter with each pump of Eddie’s hand.
Eddie nips at Steve’s earlobe, his voice rough with lust. “Don’t worry, baby. Me neither. I’ve been on edge since you walked in carrying that stupid amp, wearing that indecent outfit, showing off those arms like some kind of wet dream.”
Despite the intensity of the moment, Steve laughs, the motion jolting Eddie’s cock inside him. He clenches involuntarily, drawing a deep moan from Eddie that vibrates against his skin. “What the hell is indecent about a black tank top and cargo pants?”
“You wearing them.” Eddie’s tone is all duh, and it sends another wave of laughter spilling from Steve’s lips.
“You fucking sap,” Steve teases, the love in his voice unmistakable.
“Oh no, you’re fucking a sap, sweetheart,” Eddie shoots back, his cheekiness undiminished. “Now, how about you take what you need, huh? Fuck yourself on my cock, use my hand while you’re at it.”
Only Eddie could turn cheesy banter into something this hot, and Steve has no intention of arguing.
With Eddie’s arm propping him up, Steve finds just enough leverage to move. He thrusts forward into Eddie’s hand, the tight circle of his boyfriend’s fingers sparking pleasure through him, before shifting back to impale himself again. He angles his hips, seeking that perfect spot, brushing it just enough to send sparks shooting up his spine. Combined with the steady friction of Eddie’s hand, it’s almost too much to bear.
The improvised rhythm of his movements grows frantic as he races toward the edge. Behind him, Eddie’s breaths come hot and fast against his neck, and his grip tightens, keeping Steve grounded even as he comes undone.
“You’re so sexy, baby,” Eddie pants, his voice raw with emotion and lust. “Fuck, I’m the luckiest guy alive. I love you so much.”
Trust Eddie to pour his heart out in the middle of this. And trust Steve to have those words be what finally pushes him over the edge.
Steve’s orgasm tears through him like a wildfire, leaving him shaking and breathless. It feels like it goes on forever, each wave dragging him deeper into a blissful haze until his legs threaten to buckle beneath him. Eddie’s arms tighten around him, steadying him as he continues thrusting, fucking Steve through his release, drawing out every last drop of pleasure.
When the high begins to fade, Steve’s nerves flare with overstimulation. Eddie’s movements, once perfect, now teeter on the edge of too much. A shudder ripples through Steve, a mix of cooling sweat and discomfort making him tremble.
Eddie stills immediately, in tune with him as always. “Want me to pull out?” he asks softly. “I can finish in my hand. Two pulls, max.” His voice is gentle, full of love and concern, and it makes Steve’s heart ache in the best way.
“No,” Steve murmurs, voice still shaky. “I want to feel it. Want to know I’m yours—wet and dripping with your cum while we walk to the car.”
“Jesus, Stevie,” Eddie groans, his hips twitching involuntarily.
“Come on, baby,” Steve encourages, voice husky and teasing. “Fuck me like you mean it.”
That’s all Eddie needs. He grips Steve tighter, hauling him upright so their bodies are flush. His chest presses against Steve’s back, his arm locks around Steve’s waist, and he moves with renewed intensity. Eddie’s hips snap against him, each thrust urgent, driven by need and love. He buries his face in Steve’s neck, grunting and panting, entirely lost in the moment.
It doesn’t take long. Eddie’s rhythm falters, his breath catching. “Fuck, Steve—fuckfuckfuck,” he groans, voice breaking as he spills inside him, warmth flooding between them.
They collapse together, Steve barely catching himself on trembling arms before he face-plants into the amp. Eddie slumps against him, muttering a soft, “Sorry—can’t feel my legs.”
Steve bursts into laughter, his body shaking with it. Eddie joins in moments later, his laugh raspy and infectious. The movement dislodges Eddie’s softening cock, and Steve grimaces at the inevitable sensation of cum leaking out. It’s a mess, but he wouldn’t change a thing.
After a few beats of shared laughter and steadying breaths, Eddie peels off his own shirt, using it to clean them both.
“You’ll get cold,” Steve says, voice softer now, even as he leans into Eddie’s tender touches.
“I’ve got you to keep me warm, don’t I?” Eddie quips with a grin.
“Only if you cuddle me first,” Steve counters, mock-serious. “You can’t just use me for my body heat. I have standards, you know.”
“Sure you do, sweetheart,” Eddie replies with a chuckle, pulling Steve into his arms and leading them toward the worn couch in the corner of the room. They sink down together, Eddie sprawling on his back with Steve sprawled across him, their bodies fitting together like puzzle pieces.
They continue to lay there, tangled together in the lazy, sated warmth of post-coital bliss. Steve is already half-asleep, his head resting on Eddie’s chest, lulled by the steady rhythm of Eddie’s heartbeat and the gentle stroke of his fingers through Steve’s hair. Eddie presses a kiss to his temple, a smile tugging at his lips as he breaks the comfortable silence.
“So,” Eddie begins, his voice soft, curious, “you gonna tell me what had you in such a weird mood earlier?”
Steve hums, the sound vibrating through Eddie’s chest. He considers brushing it off, but Eddie’s been patient, and he deserves the truth. “Got an invitation from Dustin and the kids,” Steve says finally. “To their graduation. It’s for both of us, actually.”
Eddie stills, his hand pausing mid-stroke. “Oh.”
“Yeah,” Steve says, his voice low. “Made me think about stuff, I guess. Like… leaving Hawkins. Leaving them.” He tilts his head to look up at Eddie, his expression thoughtful. “And whether I regret it.”
Eddie’s breath catches, his hand resuming its motion in Steve’s hair as he braces himself for Steve’s answer. “Do you?”
Steve doesn’t hesitate. “No. Not even for a second.” He shifts so he can meet Eddie’s eyes fully, a soft smile curving his lips. “If anything, I’m grateful Dustin kicked my ass into following you. The little shit was right—they’re fine without me. But I’m not sure I’d have been okay if I stayed.”
Steve sits up slightly, his fingers tracing idle patterns on Eddie’s chest, tracing tattoos and scars alike. “I’ve been thinking about how lucky I am. That I’m here. With you. That it all worked out the way it did.”
Eddie blinks, his throat working as he processes Steve’s words. “You’re not the only one who got lucky, Stevie,” he says, his voice tinged with raw honesty. “Leaving without you broke me. Felt like I’d left my heart in Hawkins while the rest of me moved to LA. The day you showed up? It was like the last puzzle piece finally slid into place. Like the universe had been holding its breath, waiting for us to figure it out.”
Steve’s smile widens, his hand cupping Eddie’s jaw as he leans up to press a tender kiss to his lips. “I love you,” he murmurs, the words soft but fierce, carrying every ounce of emotion he feels.
“I love you, too,” Eddie replies, his voice steady and sure, as if he’s been waiting his whole life to say it.
They settle back into each other’s arms, the greenroom quiet save for the hum of fluorescent lights and the distant sounds of the venue being cleaned up. The world outside feels a million miles away, and for now, that’s exactly where it can stay.
Here, with Eddie, Steve is home.
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hamsterclaw · 1 year ago
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Desecrate
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A fall from grace causes you to stumble into the hands of a demon prince. Inspired by Lilith.
Pairing: Yoongi x f! reader
Word count: 2.6k
Rating: 18+
Warnings: Sex, swearing, mention of murder, non-explicit attempted assault, angels and demons
Min Yoongi is older than most creatures to walk this Earth, this much he knows. It’s been years since he last felt that any of the petty skirmishes mortals involve themselves in was worth any of his interest or his time. 
Even though time, for him, stretches out, almost infinitely. 
He doesn’t know your face at all, but you catch his attention, and hold it. He can sense your mortality slipping through your fragile grasp as you grapple with the men holding you down. 
You’re not going to win, though he admires your grit. 
Yoongi’s no stranger to blood but he has no desire to watch you get used and torn to shreds. He’s moving on when your eyes meet his. 
You plead with him wordlessly, desperately, as the light dims in your eyes. 
Yoongi knows that this is a dangerous time, the twilight between living and dying. You’re straddling both worlds, dying even as you push uselessly at the hands around your neck. 
It would be facetious to say that Yoongi kills without a shred of remorse. It’s more truthful to say that he kills without a thought. 
He’s standing amidst the mess he made, you at his feet, your face pressed to the ground. 
You’re unconscious, but you’ll live, unlike the men Yoongi dispatched on your behalf. 
There’s something unbearable to him about the way the lovely line of your cheek is touching the dirt of this human dumping ground. 
Yoongi doesn’t know what possesses him, but he takes you with him as he leaves. 
***
You wake in stages, in a very human way. 
Your eyes flicker open, shut. Yoongi can hear your heart accelerate, your breathing quicken, he can see your muscles tense. 
Your mouth opens on an inhale, and your eyes flicker open again. 
‘Where am I?’ you rasp. 
Your voice is soft, plaintive, your vocal cords swollen from your assault. 
‘You’re in my home,’ Yoongi replies. 
When you turn your head to look at him, your eyes are more focused. 
‘And who are you?’ 
‘I saved your life,’ Yoongi tells you. 
He watches as your eyes scan the domed ceiling, the painted frescoes, the stained glass. Your gaze stops at a scene of the Madonna. 
Yoongi studies your profile, the dirt smudged on your cheekbone he’d not bothered to wipe off.
Your gaze returns to him.
‘You’re Min Yoongi.’
It’s not a question, but Yoongi’s compelled to answer anyway, because the fact that you’ve guessed his identity means there’s more to you than he first thought.
You sit up, and Yoongi wonders how he managed to miss the celestial aura emanating from you. 
Lords and beings.
You’re an angel.
Seokjin is never going to let him live this down.
Min Yoongi, ancient slayer of humans, demonic legend from the mediaeval history of man, saved an angel.
Yoongi gets up, lets a tiny fraction of his darkness show. His voice deepens, resonating through the chapel.
‘Leave.’
You’re frightened, he can see it in the way you’re tensed, body held taut like a bow.
‘I can’t. It’s the night of Pandemonium.’
Pandemonium marks the beginning of when the Gates of Hell open each year. From your reaction, Yoongi guesses you’re a young angel, limited in power, incapable of cloaking or protecting yourself.
He laughs sardonically. ‘I don’t think the home of the bulgasari Prince is the right place for an angel on the night of Pandemonium, do you?’
You clasp your hands.
‘I’m not an angel.’
Yoongi stares at you.
‘Not anymore. I was cast out.’
For the first time, Yoongi feels a flicker of interest.
He can feel the scales in his mind threaten to tip by the tiniest of margins. 
For the first time, he thinks he might not kill you.
Seemingly unaware of his internal debate, you take a step closer to him.
Towards the most dangerous being in the room.
Yoongi flicks his tongue over his lower lip, steps forward so you can see him in the red glow.
His human form is beautiful, drawing others in. Leading them to their own destruction.
He can see the way your pupils dilate, your tongue wets your bottom lip, as you see him clearly for the first time.
‘You want to stay with me?’ he asks, silky. He takes another step.
You tilt your chin so you can keep looking at him.
‘Show me how much you want to stay.’
Yoongi turns his head towards the painting above the hearth.
‘Destroy it.’
You turn to the painting. 
It’s from the 14th century, by a little known Italian painter called Diavollo, depicting the death of Santa Lucia. He was gifted it by a corrupt nobleman in exchange for his life. Yoongi had taken both. 
You cast a defiant look at him, rush towards the painting. You stop, head bowed, before it.
‘I can’t.’ 
‘You can,’ Yoongi says, pitching his voice low, letting the heat of it flare out to you.
You clasp your hands together again, despairing. ‘I can’t.’
Steps heavy, head bowed, you head for the door. 
You stop just inside the front entrance to the chapel, as if giving him a chance to change his mind before he sends you to certain death.
Yoongi’s had countless beings plead for mercy from him in his long life and he has never once given in.
There’s a stirring in the recesses of his mind as he admires your profile for the last time. It feels like longing.
Then you’re gone, door swinging closed behind you.
***
Yoongi dislikes gatherings like this, when the princes of Hell and their delegates celebrate their misdeeds in front of the beings who serve them.
If Seokjin hadn’t asked him to attend as a personal favour, Yoongi would be in his home.
Oddly, he’s not been able to look at the Diavollo since you gave your life rather than destroy it.
He wonders if that sort of foolishness is what got you exiled.
He’s thought about your face so much that when he sees you, he’s momentarily stilled.
You’re knelt at the feet of Malvarius, the highest ranking demon of Yeomna’s court, save for Seokjin, and Yoongi himself.
Yoongi watches with revulsion as Malvarius scratches a bloodstained nail along the line of your neck, stopping at the iron collar around your throat.
Malvarius wraps his fist in the chain attached to your collar, tugs.
You fold to the ground in a heap of loose limbs and the sheer drapery he’s dressed you in.
Yoongi finds he still doesn’t care to see your face against the ground.
He approaches the demon, and you.
When you see him, there’s a flicker in your eyes.
‘She’s mine,’ Yoongi says, unceremoniously, to Malvarius.
Malvarius, the treacherous devil, says smoothly, ‘Pardon me?’
‘I made her a deal,’ Yoongi replies, preternaturally calm. ‘She owes me.’
Malvarius sits up, and Yoongi realises there’s a crowd gathering.
It doesn’t take much to have demons baying for blood.
Malvarius draws himself up to his full height.
‘Do you mean to say, Yoongi, that you own the soul of Azariel’s only daughter?’
Yoongi blinks.
Azariel, the most revered of the archangels, is a name that strikes fear even in the hearts of the most seasoned of demon princes.
You’re Azariel’s daughter? 
Yoongi remembers the way you cried over the Diavollo as you walked to your death.
You’d not used your father’s name as a bargaining chip. 
Yoongi says, coolly, ‘One fallen angel is just like any other.’
‘She’s a lusty slut,’ Malvarius remarks. ‘Can’t stop opening your legs for me, can you, angel?’
You gasp in pain as he pulls up on the chain, making you dance on your toes to keep from being choked.
Yoongi finds he doesn’t care for the sight of you in pain, either.
‘Give me what’s mine,’ he says, bored. ‘Or we can ask Yeomna to mediate.’
At the mention of the lord of Hell, Malvarius scowls. The last time he clashed with Seokjin, Yoongi had come very close to removing his power, Yeomna’s rules be damned.
He tosses the chain on the stone floor with a clang.
‘To your new master,’ he says, with little grace.
Yoongi removes the collar from around your neck.
‘Follow me,’ he commands.
Yoongi leads you through the debauchery, ignoring your gasps and sobbing breaths as you step through blood, entrails, sex. 
It’s only when you’ve followed him all the way back to his door that he speaks to you.
‘I’m deciding what to do with you,’ he tells you. ‘You will stay here, whilst I decide.’
‘My father won’t engage in barter for me,’ you say immediately. ‘He’d as soon as I was dead as alive.’
‘You must have done something terrible, angel.’ 
Your mouth clamps shut, lips flattening into a straight line.
‘Did you kill?’ Yoongi asks. ‘Maim?’
You barely react to his taunting tone.
‘Were you envious? Greedy?’
You’re quiet.
‘You’re not wrathful,’ Yoongi observes. 
He waits until your eyes meet his.
‘That leaves pride, and lust?’
From the way your face tightens he knows he’s stumbled upon his answer.
Yoongi lets his eyes travel to your beautiful form in the sheer silk you’re draped in.
Your breasts press against the material, rounded, enticing, and as he looks, your nipples tighten visibly.
‘Ah,’ Yoongi says, voice dropped to barely a whisper. ‘He said you were lustful.’
Yoongi leans down, close to your cheek, and enjoys the way you shiver as he breathes on your skin.
He flicks the tip of his tongue against your skin, and your pupils dilate so much your eyes are practically black.
Your lips part on his name, and Yoongi, for the first time in a long while, feels a surge of lust.
You stay completely still as he touches your cheek.
‘What do you want from me, angel?’ Yoongi taunts. ‘Aren’t you fallen enough?’
Your breath trembles in your chest as his fingers tighten on your face.
‘Come,’ says Yoongi. ‘Show me how you fell.’
He lets go of your face to caress the swells of your breasts, and you gasp, but you don’t stop him.
Instead, you arch your back to press your breasts into his palms.
‘You want more?’ Yoongi asks. He knows you do.
He grasps the front of your gown, rips it all the way down.
Your thighs tighten on his hand as he reaches between your legs.
Yoongi’s hand explores you, leisurely, slow, until you’re twitching and trembling.
Your nipples are so sensitive now that when Yoongi rolls his tongue around one you buck your hips into his hand.
‘Uhngh,’ you moan. 
Yoongi thumbs the bud at the top of your sex, and your warmth pulses around his fingers.
Wet, hot, tight.
Yoongi drags his tongue along the round of your breast, and your breathing hitches.
Your nipples are so puffy and erect they almost look painful.
You whine as he grasps your rounded flesh. The sound causes a stirring, low in his belly.
Yoongi’s cock swells at the sounds you make. You’re so pleasured, breathless, and he’s barely making any effort.
He’s already almost fully erect when your soft hand brushes the front of his groin.
‘Bold for an angel,’ he says.
There’s a spark in your eyes, clouded with lust. 
‘How many angels have you defiled, Lord Min?’
Yoongi considers your question as his eyes roam your beautiful body.
‘None,’ he tells you.
You smile, and you’re so pretty he can’t take his eyes off you.
‘Luckily, I’m not an angel any more.’
Yoongi smirks. ‘Let me show you how the other side lives.’
He turns, and you follow.
***
You’re lost, Yoongi isn’t sure when it happened, probably between your fourth, maybe fifth peak.
He’s covered in your arousal, he can taste you on his lips, on his tongue. His cock’s still so rigid inside you he’s aching, caught in the delirium between pleasure and pain.
He plunges into your wet warmth, rocking his hips against yours.
Your arms are limp, one draped around his neck, just barely holding on, the other splayed out, fingers uncurled. You look dazed, fucked out, teetering on the edge of consciousness.
You cry out as Yoongi moves, dragging his cock against the walls of your cunt, and he notes with grim satisfaction how hoarse your voice now is.
‘Yoongi,’ you beg, ‘wanna feel you.’
‘You’ll feel me,’ he promises.
You shake your head. ‘I want to feel your pleasure.’
Yoongi groans as you hold your legs apart for him, letting him see exactly how he cleaves you apart , the way he looks entering your core.
He wraps a hand around your neck, tight, and your eyes close. Your hand snakes around his wrist, urging him on.
You’re clenching around him so sweetly Yoongi’s disarmed, and when you press a kiss to his temple he releases, shouting your name, spilling inside you.
Belatedly, he remembers to loosen his grip around your neck, and as you remain still he feels an unnerving wave of fear that he might have hurt you.
He says your name, and you stir. Relief floods through his chest. 
‘Stay,’ you mumble into his chest. ‘Stay.’
Yoongi curls his arm around you, a display of skinship he’s unused to but that you seem to want.
He wonders, curious, why he’s swayed to want to give you what you want.
***
You wake during the night. 
Yoongi’s flat on his back, arm propping up his head. He watches with dark amusement as you look your fill at his naked form. 
‘You’re too wide-eyed considering you have my seed all over you,’ he drawls. 
You blink at him. ‘I was surprised to wake, my lord.’
‘You thought I’d kill Azariel’s fallen daughter?’ Yoongi muses, not bothering to acknowledge how close to the truth you are. 
‘You do have a reputation, Lord Min,’ you say, so seriously that it takes him a moment to realise you’re teasing him. 
He’s startled into laughter that sounds rusty even to him. 
You turn over, breasts spilling onto the silk bedcovers, lush and beautiful like you were made to tempt him. 
His cock stirs, and it doesn’t escape your notice, minx that you are. 
You reach for him, gentle, soft against his hardness. 
Yoongi groans, eyes never leaving you as you stroke him. Your lips part on a breath, tongue flicking between. The cavern of your mouth feels like the heaven Yoongi will never know. 
He’s never rued being born a demon prince until this moment. 
Yoongi pulls you off his rigid shaft, seeks the warmth between your legs. You’re already gasping, spreading to take him, so soft and slick and willing he can barely hold himself back. 
His hand finds its way around your neck again, squeezing, and the pleasure ramps up a thousandfold. 
Your back arches as you peak, and this time Yoongi doesn’t have the patience to deny himself. He groans into your hair as he fills you, remembers to loosen his grip. 
You’re emboldened to press a kiss to his lips, a moment of contact so searing Yoongi’s jolted out of his post-pleasure daze. 
Neither of you speak, and neither of you makes a move to leave. 
***
It’s just past dawn when Yoongi stirs to the back of your entirely naked body. 
You’re getting re-dressed, helping yourself to his clothes. 
‘I should go,’ you say. 
Yoongi hadn’t realised you’d noticed he was awake. 
Pandemonium has passed, but Yoongi finds he doesn’t care for any possibility that you might get hurt. 
He rises, unclasps a chain from around his neck, fastens it around your own. The ancient rune now hanging between your collarbones is distinctly, identifiably, his. 
There aren’t many who would seek his wrath. 
‘My father will —--’ 
‘Rue the day he let you fall into the hands of a demon prince?’ suggests Yoongi. 
The hint of a smile plays around your lips, and Yoongi can’t tear his eyes away. 
‘I’ll be back,’ you say. There's a faint question in your voice.
‘See that you are,’ Yoongi replies. 
You bow slightly. ‘My lord.’ 
You take your leave, and Yoongi allows himself to watch you go until you slip between two buildings, and then you’re gone. 
©hamsterclaw 2023
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katyawriteswhump · 7 months ago
Text
the freak in the penthouse
Eddie became an accidental millionaire, coming up with creative content for a video game for his techy best bud Dustin. It's great at first… but not his dream. He winds up living in a hotel room, depressed he let his music hopes slip.
Steve, meanwhile, works in the hotel, and is desperately in debt for medical bills. When his boss asks him to get a male hooker for the ‘freak in the penthouse,' he can’t really let the ‘chance’ pass. After all, the 'freak' didn't look so bad to him, and he's done this kind of thing before when he had to...
Set in the early 90s with some period-typical homophobia. Shamelessly trope-y! This will probably go up to ‘E’ rated next chapter, but ‘M’ for now as this chapter isn’t too spicy yet ;)
also here on AO3 or search the tumblr tag #thefreakinthepenthouse
Chapter one: the freak
Eddie lingered in that warm, fuzzy twilight zone between sleep and wakefulness. He didn’t want to wake up.
His dream—at least, the parts of it trickling back to him—had been hot, hot, hot. He’d been killing it live to an insane sell-out crowd at the Hollywood Bowl and…
…what the hell?
More of Eddie’s dream filtered back. The part which explained his epic boner. He’d not been thrashing out a nine-minute-long power ballad. On that dream-stage, in front of that sell-out crowd, he’d been fucking a deadly hot, deadly cute guy.
Holy shit! That’s almost as unbelievable as anybody paying to come see me play.
He began to wake up for real. A keening sound escaped his throat. On the other hand, the joys of the night hadn’t quite evaporated.
Possibly because he’d gotten his nose buried in a mass of slightly sticky hair. 
He was spooning ANOTHER GUY.
The reality of last night rushed back. Every muscle in Eddie’s body locked up. Wow, wow, wow! And also, Shiiiiiit! 
Steve. That was the guy’s name. Eddie rubbed his nose in the nape of Steve’s neck, inhaling cheap hair gel.
Steve had been good. He’d kissed like a demon and offered up that to-die-for ass like a fallen angel. Eddie recalled rutting deep into Steve’s tight, pulsating body, till sweat stung his eyes. Yup, pure carnal pleasure was a decent distraction from being rich beyond your wildest dreams and too miserable as fuck to enjoy it.
On the flip-side, Eddie had few gripes about life at this particular moment. Slowly, careful not to wake Steve, Eddie crawled an arm over him, wandering fingers through the tangle of hair on Steve’s chest.
Bleeeeeep.
Steve cried, “Wha—?” and sat bolt upright, whacking Eddie’s arm out of the way. He blinked around, raking soft curls from his eyes. Damn. Steve was even cuter with his hair all natural, no longer slicked back.
Steve glanced at his watch and silenced the bleeps. “Crap! I’m on shift for breakfast. Gotta go.”
Steve was rushing around the room already, butt naked. Eddie sighed longingly at Steve’s ass. When Steve yanked some dark blue uniform pants from his knapsack and pulled them on, Eddie sighed even harder.
His focus drifted to the enormous clock-face painted directly onto the hideous pink paisley walls. 
“It’s 6 o’clock? In the morning?” He flipped his lank-feeling hair from his brow. “Uuuuugh. I’d forgotten there were two 6 o’clocks in the day.”
“Some of us have gotta earn a living.” Steve shoved his arms into a not particularly well-pressed white shirt then fiddled with the buttons at his throat. “Talking of which… Can I have my two-hundred bucks, please?”
Twelve hours earlier
“Got a job for you, Harrington,” said Kline, head concierge at the Beverly Hills Yorkshire. “Try not to mess this one up.”
Steve looked up from where he was emptying ashtrays into the trash. His least-loved superior drew close and dropped his usually bark-like voice to an undertone:
“Freak in the penthouse wants a hooker. Tonight. 8pm sharp.”
“Oh. Right.” Steve humoured Kline, answering in an equally conspiratorial tone. “Do I call the usual agency?”
“Hell, no. Freaks a freak! Wants a guy. Goddamn dirty queer.” Steve was still tipping ashtrays—best to always look busy when this sleazebag was around. Unfortunately, this meant Kline stuffed a note into the waistband of Steve’s pants, forcing Steve to suppress a shudder. “Deirdre gave me some numbers to call around. Whatever the dirty dogs quote, triple the number—no, quadruple it—before you tell the freak. We can turn a fat profit here. Reckon you can handle that? Or will the figures be too much for that air-brain little head of yours?”
After Kline departed, Steve pulled out the crumpled note. He stared at the numbers and chewed his lip. Fuck, fuck, FUCK. Could he really afford to pass this over?
He wasn’t allowed to wait tables in the silver-service grill anymore—he’d gotten one too many table orders muddled up. He was really feeling the pinch without those tips.
And the ‘freak’ had to be richer than God.
Dude had been shacked up in the penthouse for nearly three weeks now. That place cost over a thousand bucks a night. On the couple of occasions Steve had taken up room service, the guy had lurked in the gloom and behind a curtain of rocker hair. A pale hand with long, slender fingers offered out a ten-dollar bill.
He had to be a rockstar, right? Thought nobody had figured out what band he was in, and guys like that only buried themselves away to drink too much, do drugs, trash stuff, and… fuck whores.
Steve crumpled Kline’s note in his fist and resigned himself to it.  His medication had doubled in price this year, and he was reduced to sleeping in one of the hotel linen closets.
An extra hundred dollars or so would help a lot.
Eddie wished he hadn’t answered the phone. It was goddamn Dustin, berating him as ever:
“Eddie! Do I have to stick a firework up your butt or something? Suzie and I have got all the gameplay coding sorted for ‘Vecna’s Doom Quest II’ ready to rock and roll. All we want is for you to sprinkle your magic over the creative content, and we’ll be home and dry for another monster hit.”
“There’s the rub, Henderson. I’m not feeling wildly creative right now.”
“Then get out of that doily-saturated dumpster! Travel! Meet people! Honestly, what was the point of becoming a millionaire at twenty-four if you can’t enjoy yourself. If you’re still cut up about your music, then hire yourself another studio and—”
“You need to get off my back. After your hour-long lecture about how I needed to get laid, I went and did something stupid and now—”
“You did get a date?”
“No, I… Look, this is really not a good time, Henderson.” 
Eddie hung up. 
He instantly felt bad. Jesus, he spent his whole life feeling bad about something these days. 
He knew Dustin meant well. In his own arrogant-little-shit kinda way. Eddie probably should take his advice, go to a club, meet guys he’d like to date, and he would. If the thought of simply leaving the hotel didn’t shred his nerves ragged.
And there was no way he could tell Dustin he’d gone and ordered a rent boy on room service. After a couple of way-too-early-in-the-day shots of vodka, it’d seemed like a good idea. 
Not anymore.
Eddie picked up one of his many guitars, which lay propped alongside the ornate couch. He struck a miserably dissonant chord. The shady guy who’d sold it claimed it’d once belonged to Hendrix. Eddie hadn’t really fallen for that shit then paid a dumb price for it anyhow. On the off-chance it’d inspire some of that metal magic he’d let slip.
“Magic, Munson? You always sucked balls and you know it.”
Jesus, he was talking to himself now, and he knew he was wallowing. These past three weeks, it was all he’d done. Worse, he knew he was an ungrateful dick, not appreciating the journey he’d made from his uncle’s trailer to this.
Which made him hate himself even more.
He tossed the guitar down on the couch—would’ve smashed it, if not for just the teeniest chance Jimi did once deign to touch it. Instead, he punched one of the penthouse’s many fake-marble pillars, then whimpered, blowing on his damaged knuckles.
He was about to call down for ice—and to cancel his ‘date’—when the knock sounded at the door. He considered ignoring it. Then he noticed the time.
8pm.
Rent-boy o’clock.
He’d not realised the day had slid away so fast. It sure as heck dragged till now. He was still considering ignoring the knock, when it came again.
“Mister Munson?”
Eddie dithered a moment longer then went to the grand double doors and opened one a crack. 
His jaw dropped.
The guy waiting on his doormat was good-looking, for sure. Striking was the word that sprung next into Eddie’s mind. His slicked back hair was a touch too yuppy-frat-boy for Eddie’s taste. Eddie totally dug his eyeliner, though, which set off big chocolate eyes to perfection. A vest top revealed leanly muscled arms and was also cropped at his midriff to display a swatch of trim, lick-able flesh, intersected by a trail of wispy hair. His ripped jeans were so tight they might’ve been spray-painted on, and…
…he was also slightly familiar. Eddie was so busy gawking, he genuinely jumped when the guy spoke again.
“Hey. I’m Steve. You, uh, asked for—”
“Look, I was gonna call down and cancel. This was a friend’s idea.”  Yeah, blame Henderson, you snivelling coward. “I changed my mind, okay?”
“Oh.” Steve’s shoulders slumped, although something shifted in his eyes that might’ve been relief. “I’ll be off then… Oh hey, are you okay? What happened to your hand?”
Eddie had made the mistake of pinching the bridge of his nose with his puffy red fingers. “Oh, I’m fine. I whacked myself.”
“You want me to get you some ice?”
“Uuuuuh, hookers can do that?”
Steve winced slightly. “I actually work in the hotel. I mean, as a day job. Breakfast buffet, elevator, room service, odd jobs, that kinda thing.”
“Right.” That raised more questions that it answered. Eddie opted not to pry. “Thought you looked familiar. You look different out of—”
“Out of the shitty bellboy outfit?” Steve rolled those way too pretty eyes, and dumped a bulging knapsack by the doors. “I’ll grab that ice.”
Steve dashed to the nearest ice-dispenser, grabbed a first-aid kit too. He rushed back to the penthouse. His heart raced, and he felt kinda flushed, despite the arctic setting on the air con.
Up close, the ‘freak’ was pretty good-looking, if slightly Goth-y and pale. And Steve had to get out of the nasty-ass habit of thinking of him as ‘the freak.’ Now he’d gotten face-to-face with the guy, it seemed mean and douchy.
One of the doors was ajar when he returned. Eddie sat on one of several luxuriant couches, his head in his hands. The place smelled faintly of weed, but nothing worse. Steve coughed, cleared his throat: “Got the ice, Mister Munson, Sir.”
“Jesus, none of that shit. It’s Eddie.”
“Wow. My favourite name.”
Eddie snorted. “Horseshit.”
Steve wrapped some ice chips in a napkin, sat down beside Eddie, who downed a glass of clear liquid that Steve suspected was vodka. Then, hesitantly, Eddie stretched out an elegant, long-fingered hand. Steve took it one of his and pressed the ice to Eddie’s swollen knuckles. Eddie appeared reluctant to look him in the eye, which made Steve feel dead awkward too.
He noticed a massive crack in one of the pillars. Had to be recent. Plaster dust sprinkled the otherwise immaculate Persian carpet beneath.
“You wanna talk about it?” he said, returning his attention to Eddie’s hand. “Did you have an argument with your girlf… boyfriend.”
“Ain’t got no one, brother. Went and ordered you, didn’t I?”
Steve felt like he’d been slapped. Yeah, he’d been ordered on room service, like a platter of meat. Okay, he’d kinda chosen this but… Choices, real choices, had been out of his league for what felt like forever.
He gritted his teeth. “You want me to bandage this, or should I just leave?”
That got Eddie looking up sharply. “Leave?”
“You said you were gonna cancel? Not in the groove for booty calls, huh?”
Steve watched Eddie’s Adam’s apple bob as he swallowed hard. He tugged his hand away from Steve, picked up the glass with tips of those delicious fingers and offered it to Steve. “Changed my mind. Drink?”
“I feel I should pour, right?” said Steve, nerves fizzing.
Eddie was finally looking at him again, eyes narrowed to simmering slits: “If you like.”
...
anyone here for this? <3 likes reblogs and comments much appreciated and will feed the bunnies🐰💕🐰💕🐰💕🐰💕
Chapter 2 on tumblr
Chapter 2 on AO3
I've added a hashtag #thefreakinthepenthouse for ease of finding the earlier parts. I can also tag if anybody is interested... please let me know.
zero pressure and one-off tag @sidekick-hero who kindly asked about this one in the WIP tag game and just got a surprised blurble as I'd not typed anything up then...
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heartofwritiing · 1 year ago
Text
Kiss me (beneath the milky twilight)
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paring: musicanbur x fem!reader
summary: you're the backup singer for lovejoy, the fans don’t know you and wilbur are together, but one duet changes that.
authors note: trying to practice dialogue, so sorry if it is a little wired and doesn’t make sense idk how to write good conversation lmao, also i thought this idea was cute hope you guys like it :)
warnings: short, a make-out on stage, fluff, unedited!
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“Okay, someone ate the last poptart this morning on the bus, fess up, who was it?”
Mark, who was twirling his drum stick a few times questioned amongst the group as you and the rest of lovejoy stood in a circle backstage minus Wilbur; who was still asleep in his dressing room. Pre-show naps were a ritual for him now.
Being on tour was an experience to say the least. You never thought you’d be sharing a small space with four grown men, but here you were living on a tour bus for the next four months with them. Most days it wasn’t complete chaos, you all had your respective bunks and areas but a lot of times you thought you’d somehow died and were sent to purgatory until whoever decided to send you to actual hell.
“I don’t know but I have a stash in the bus so I know it’s not me,” you raise your hands up in innocence.
“Why do you get your own secret stash?” Mark frowns.
Wilbur liked to spoil you with snacks to hide around the bus so the other boys wouldn’t find them just to tease them, All in good fun of course.
“Perks of being the lead singer’s girlfriend,” you smirk with your chin held high.
“Im convinced now that you’re the pop tart thief,” Joe added, thumb and pointer finger fiddling with the tuning pegs on his guitar while standing off to the side. “I know all the little hiding spots on the bus and I haven’t seen any secret stash of pop tarts anywhere,”
“That was completely sus of you to say, now i think it was you!” you pointed.
Stupid moments like this made up for all the times you got annoyed with them. Though you loved them all to death they drove you absolutely insane.
“So where’s your secret stash then?”
“Ill never tell, you thief.”
A pair of arms suddenly came to snake around your waist and pull you further back until a head rest on your shoulder. A very sleepy Wilbur yawned and pressed a tender kiss to your shoulder. You smiled sinking back into your lovers arms and reached your hand up to pet his soft curls. Almost instantly he hummed and it mimicked a cats pur.
“What are you guys arguing about now?” he mumbled against your shirt.
“I wouldn’t say we’re arguing, just pointing blame for whoever stole the last pop tart this morning,” you explain.
“It was probably Ash,” Joe quips. Ash looks offended with his arms raise in confusion.
“Oh no, that was me,” Wilbur states nonchalantly.
“WHAT?!” The group erupted into protests.
“I was hungry,” Wilbur shrugs. “we can afford more guys.”
“very true,” you piped.
“well i guess this solves the great pop tart thief mystery,” Mark shrugs.
“Case closed.” you remark.
Soon the argument dissolved, and everyone spoke amongst themselves. You rocked with Wilbur side to side as you hummed no tune in particular as you leaned against him.
“How was your nap honey?” you asked.
“lonely,” he states. “I missed you,”
Your heart jumps at his sentiment. It had only been a few hours since you both woke up tangled in each other’s limbs, maneuvering out of the small bunk trying not to roll out and fall. Still, you missed him when he wasn’t around too.
“I missed you too,” you brought his hand up to your lips and gave it a kiss before placing it back down against your waist.
“you still wanna go through with tonight?”
You knew what he was referring to. Wilbur had come to you with the idea of you both singing a duet on stage at one of the gigs. At first you weren’t so sure, it was his bands time to shine and you didn’t want to take away from that. You’re the back up singer for Wilbur, you felt out of place trying to share the spotlight. After some convincing; more like brain washing you with his puppy dog eyes, you eventually caved and agreed to do it.
Now that it was so close to the performance, the nerves in your body weren’t going away. You had never really been front and center on stage before. Always in the back round hidden in the stage lights. So the thought of being in-front of a crowd of a thousand people staring at you, probably waiting for you to possibly mess up, was fucking you up in the brain just a bit.
Wilbur could practically feel how tense you suddenly got and perked his head up and looked at your face with a slightly worried expression.
“We don’t have to if you’re not ready darling,”
“No, I’ll be fine,” you shook your head. “I wanna do this with you, It’ll be fun.”
Your smile didn’t seem to convince him. He didn’t want to push you into anything but, he could sense how anxious you had seemed the past couple of days. One word from you and he would cancel the whole show if you asked. which of course was very silly of him.
You were determined to get over this fear and just go with it. With one last final hug you both pulled apart and began getting prepared for the show in an hour.
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The show was so explosive. The energy of the crowed was strong tonight, it made your adrenaline buzz with excitement. You had almost completely forgotten about your nerves when you stepped onto that stage.
The band had just finished One Day and cheers and screams rang out through the venue. You watched as Wilbur reached down to grab the towel sat beside his mic stand and whip his brow clean from sweat. He threw the towel back down and leaned into the microphone.
Wilbur had told you after One Day was the time slot you had to sing the duet with him.
“Alright, so we have something special planned,” Wilbur spoke. “I wanna welcome to the front of the stage Y/N, my incredible backing vocalist!”
Cheers rang out for you as you stepped center stage into the light clutching your microphone. You smiled and wave at the crowd shakily, you could practically feel your heartbeat out of your chest.
“Were gonna play a song for you, and I need you guys to sing the lyrics if you know them, and be nice to Y/N, shes super nervous,”
A chorus of ‘awes’ rang out from the crowd and you blushed bashfully as you heard a bunch of various shouts of support.
“Thanks Will,” you playfully roll your eyes at him revealing your secret.
The song you had chosen was Kiss Me by Sixpence Non the Richer, one of your favorites. The opening chords rang out as Joe began the melody. Soon, Mark kicked in the drums and you were bobbing your head to the beat.
You glanced over at Wilbur and saw a smile on his lips as he began playing as well. He looked over at you and saw the panic glossing over your eyes in the light. Somehow it made you forget everything once you connected eyes.
Look at me. he mouthed. just keep your eyes on me.
You took a deep breath and began to sing the lyrics, keeping your eyes locked with Wilbur. Somehow it made you forget everything around you and be in the moment with him.
Kiss me out of the bearded barley
Nightly, beside the green, green grass
Wilbur saw how stiff you were, barely moving your limbs. In an attempt to get you to be more comfortable he moved towards you while continuing to play.
Swing, swing, swing the spinning step
You wear those shoes and I will wear that dress, oh
He leaned forward until he was practically kissing your mic. Shocked at the close proximity you kept your composure as you both sang the chorus of the song in harmony.
Kiss me beneath the milky twilight
Lead me out on the moonlit floor
staring deeply into each others eyes nothing else seemed to matter. The pit in your stomach making your knees weak with the look in his eyes as they flickered down to your own lips as he sang.
You rested your left hand on his bicep, the fabric of his silky black button up grounding you before you got too light headed.
Lift your open hand, strike up the band
And make the fireflies dance, silver moon's sparkling
So kiss me
You broke apart and suddenly felt weightless. You danced around the stage as Wilbur watched you with awe and adoration. Your cheeks were hot feeling his eyes on you the entire time. You sang the next line;
Kiss me down by the broken tree house
Swing me upon its hanging tire
Bring, bring, bring your flowered hat
You moved towards Wilbur and he turned to wiggle his hips to the beat. Trying so hard to hold back a laugh, you copied his movements. You couldn’t wait to see all the videos on your timeline the next day.
leaned against his side and began singing together once more;
We'll take the trail marked on your father's map
Kiss me beneath the milky twilight
Lead me out on the moonlit floor
Lift your open hand, strike up the band
And make the fireflies dance, silver moon's sparkling
So kiss me
You dance around the stage again feeling yourself in the moment as the last notes rang out. You didn’t even process the cheers and screams as you felt a pair of hands cup your cheeks and press their lips against yours.
Your eye’s opened in shock to see Wilbur was the one who pulled you into a kiss. On stage. in front of a whole crowd of his fans. Fuck it, you thought, and melted into his touch. His lips moved against yours softly and you could feel your skin set aflame.
Your arms looped around his middle and pulled him closer to you. Hours could have passed and you could’ve kept kissing him, but eventually you pulled away for the lack of oxygen in your lungs. Chocolate eyes peered down at you with such love you had ever felt. Wide smiles broke the two of you into infectious giggles you could barely hear over the whole crowd of people screaming all around you.
Wilbur took your hand and walked back over to his mic. All your friends were cheering you on as well, Causing you to blush harder at all the attention on you but it didn’t matter anymore.
“Well, that was a heat of the moment sort of thing guys, sorry about that,” his giggle echoing through the venue speakers, everyone ‘wooed’ in response. “Had to take my moment, y’know?”
Wilbur gazed at you out of the corner of his eye to see your bashful state. Squeezing your hand he said one last thing to the crowd before he had to move onto the next song on their line up.
“Everyone please give it up for my beautiful, wonderful, talented, girlfriend!”
You were most certainly redder than a cherry at this point. The crowd was loving every second of it. Hiding your face in Wilbur's shoulder from his side, he kisses your forehead before having to send you back over to your place on stage. You very certain your twitter feed will be insane the next day.
It wasn’t long before the next song started up and you were dancing along with Leandra. Wilbur gave you one final glance behind him and you blew him a kiss to which he beamed at you before he turned forward to continue on with the show.
-
taglist: @trashcanduck @merakiwi @addxms @ax-y10 @scenefaez @joviepog
let me know if you wanna be added or removed! :)
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s-che · 4 months ago
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Monsterhearts 2: Plotting Anti-Plot
Last week I had the fortune to MC (and play) Monsterhearts 2 for the first time as the Dream Library begins a unit on monsters, monstrosity, and monsterfucking which will carry us through November, and boy howdy am I glad we managed to do it. 
For those who (somehow) don’t know, Monsterhearts is a game that bills itself as being about “the messy lives of teenage monsters.” It cites Twilight, Buffy, Ginger Snaps, The Vampire Diaries, and The Craft as media touchstones, it’s not joking when it says that these monsters are 1. messy and 2. teenagers. Monsterhearts is angsty, horny, frightening and, above all else, extremely fun to play. On top of that, Monsterhearts is also one of those games that, if you’re in a certain sector of the indie RPG scene, people will remind you is extremely fun to play all the fucking time. It feels sometimes like every designer I know has a good Monsterhearts story, and as much as Avery Alder’s reputation on a larger stage has been defined by The Quiet Year, I get the sense that for people who like what Monsterhearts is doing it’s an extremely hard game to beat. 
So to be totally honest, I was more than a little anxious MCing for my first time actually playing the game. There’s a sense in which hosting a game which you know is great can be way harder than hosting games you think might be bad — after all, if the session goes poorly, there’s nobody to blame but yourself. On top of that, Monsterhearts moves through some tricky territory: underage sex is a core element of the game, and the eight “Small Towns” (short, pre-prepped settings for quick starting the game) all deal more or less explicitly with histories of racism and colonialism in communities across North America. While these are interesting places to go in play, the idea of taking them on myself as host made me shy away a little bit (and I’m excited in the next session to look at things from a player’s perspective). 
All in all, though, I think the session was a resounding success. I went in with basically no prep and as much familiarity with the book as I could get (not enough to realize the quick reference sheet we were using for the first half of the session was from Monsterhearts 1, but so it goes), relying on the game itself — which leans away from strictly organized plots and encourages you, in true PBTA fashion, to let characters and their needs bounce off each other until the conversation goes somewhere interesting — to get us smoothly into play. I would call my efforts there a mixed success: while Avery has a real skill for writing pedagogically, giving you the explicit frameworks you need to get into play (if you’ve never begun a session of The Quiet Year by reading the rules book aloud to each other, you should go fix that now), the session was hampered a little by some awkward pacing and uncertainty: partially driven by my chronic tendency to waste time on slowly establishing things in one-shots rather than swinging as hard as I can in the first five minutes and letting the players lead from there and partially by player character relationships that lead to clear, decisive actions... which left one of our players bored at work while the other two went off adventuring. We ended up taking a moment, after returning from the normal mid-session bio-break, to chat and refocus ourselves, figuring out where we wanted to go and what we wanted to see in the last hour or so of the session, and then jumping back in and — thankfully — playing hard to reach a strong conclusion. In the end, I’m not interested in tracking down exactly where the first half of our session lost its footing (although I have some ideas for how I could have hit harder as an MC). I’m more interested in celebrating the way the table was able to come together, talk explicitly about what we wanted, and get the game somewhere satisfying for everyone involved. We closed on, among other things: an underwater fight between the Fairy (Mermaid?) Queen and a Kraken-Leviathan-Hellmonster, a throuple sneaking off from a beach party to hook up, and the messy end of a South Jersey summer (complete with a tsunami and a beached whale front of the boardwalk). It was a good time. 
Most striking to me in this moment, however, is the way thinking about Monsterhearts as a plotless game positions both me as MC and the other players. It really speaks to the way that capital-T The capital-C Conversation works in Powered by the Apocalypse games (good ones, anyway) to let play flow not according to the rules of a paced narrative, but along lines of player interest and highly-charged emotional incident. It is, I think, part of what makes all the PBTA games we’ve played in the Dream Library sing (in no small part because we pruned the last unit and didn’t play any PBTA games I think are bad, but that’s a different conversation) and it suits this game — with it’s emphasis on sex and messy desire — extremely well. It also fits in nicely with a point I’ve heard a couple of people make recently: that thinking of RPGs as first and foremost collective narrative engines is, at the very least, a narrow view. 
Anyway, this week I’m fortunate enough to be joined by a new host (hi @jdragsky) so I can check out MH as a player, then we’ve got a couple of two-shots planned for the end of the month before we move on to our next monstrously intimate game: Bluebeard’s Bride. You want in on an upcoming game? Have a link. You want to hear more about Monsterhearts? One of my players wrote up some of her thoughts as well.
Otherwise, well, get out of here. Scram.
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Getting more writing done these days. It feels nice.
A little bit more from my current WIP:
Lost in the lines of her body, it seemed that the evening had given way to twilight in little more than a blink of an eye.
“I don’t think I ever commented on just how lovely your piano playing is.” Augustine’s voice nearly shocked him out of his stupor. She cast him a kindly glance over her shoulder. “Is there an end to your talents, Erik, or are you this naturally astonishing?”
He was too floored to admonish her for moving out of position, let alone properly process her words.
“It’s muscle memory and craft that make a good artist.” So said Mama, almost every time she found him sitting at her precious piano. To this day, whenever he happened to feel a little more charitable about his existence, he could hear her voice scolding him across the decades, practically feel the metronome clicking away as she beat every hard lesson into him. “For as much as the world loves its Mozarts and Beethovens and whatever little novelties it calls genius, perfection does not just spring forth from the ground like Moses divining water from a rock. If you expect praise and adulation without practice and failure—” (and here, even after all these years, he would wonder how she thought he’d ever leave the house, let alone expect praise from other people) “—if you perform for compliments and applause and not for the purpose of making music, you have already proven yourself a mediocrity.”
Erik would never admit it—not to his dear Daroga, not to the Shah, not to Charles, not to long dead Nelus, nor poor Mama. And certainly not to any woman off the street, hungry for his money or otherwise; the unfortunate truth, however, was that in spite of everything, there still lay some part of him which longed for a sincere and kind word.
“It’s for the best, mademoiselle. I did not ask you here to flatter me. I asked you here to sit still, if that’s even possible—”
“I don’t flatter people I dislike.” She turned sharply to face him, her gaze locked on his for the briefest of moments before it dropped down to his hands. An involuntary gesture most people made in front of him when confronted with his face, to be sure, but now—why was he so charmed? “‘You play twice as well as most of the musicians I’ve ever met, and I’ve sat through enough concerts to last me three lifetimes.” Her words were slow and soft—less of an intrusion, more of an unraveling. “What else can you do, Erik? Sing? Write music? You might as well be a one-man show.”
“Hush.”
She was far too clever for her own good, and moreover, far too kind. And kindness was the sharpest blade a woman like her could possess. Yet when he looked at Augustine, he once again heard the opening chords of last Friday’s music ringing in his ears. The sound of something strange and wonderful and ruinous. To be a man who lives as he pleases, who loves as he might dare—
“If you must know, I am in the beginning stages of writing something.”
“Are you?” She smiled, cordially tossing her long hair over her shoulders.
“Yes—just the very beginning of a project, if you please. A song cycle. Perhaps an opera, if I end up feeling ambitious. Now, please—turn around and be quiet, won’t you?”
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lemonjestercoffee · 9 months ago
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so i said something about alicorns being funky in my last mlp redesign post yeah? well before i get into that-
the beautiful bride and the ugly ass groom
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okay okay jokes aside here's Shining's real sheets and Cadance on her own
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starting off with design choice notes
Shining Armor - his was like- really hard to figure out and i didn't really know what i was doing, but i did like the concept of him having lost a leg in some sorts of battle. one thing i did know what i was doing with tho was his armor, i never really liked the canon armor so i decided to take my own stab at it. decided to make it cover the more important areas better, added gambeson underneath, put a royal crest on it, and gave them a head weapon. yes the metal horns are on all species armor, it's there not only to protect real horns from oncoming attacks but also give all soldiers an emergency weapon if they get disarmed. the tassels would be colored differently depending on rank
Cadance - the only through i really had going into her design was i wanted her to have a cloud and heart motif, but i'm unsure if the way i handled it is the best. her cutiemark is meant to resemble a Mexican sacred heart because deity of love- like come on. i also wanna kinda change the color of the carnation in her hair to stand out more, but white carnations have a different meaning so it's fiiiinee
okay now what we really wanna hear about, what the fuck did i do to the alicorns?
i decided to tamper with their lore quite a bit, as i was inspired to by the Skyscraper Gods Au by Shirecorn. now mine is no were near as drastic as that au, obviously, but it did inspire me to come up with my own quirks for them.
i went more "alicorns are more like the elves of ponies but because they can only be made by some unexplained rare mystical intervention and live for fuck off long, normal ponies see them as demigods of sorts". i've even given them things like groups or locations that they act as patrons of and prioritize above other things, but that stuff gets a little rambley so imma not do that on this post
for the anatomy tho, i can talk. i'll be using Twilight as a visual example because she's the one i've drawn in all stages
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so basically the concept here is pretty similar to the canon, but with some funky add-ons.
first up- when an alicorn ascends, not only do they gain the wings/horn combo and grow an inch, they also gain some other unique anatomy from the other species.
Unicorn- along with the horn, they also receive the ear tip tufts i gave unicorns. these actually have a purpose, they're sensitive to magic energy and allow unicorns to tell where magic is coming from. depending on the unicorn they vary in sensitivity but alicorns are by far the most sensitive Pegasus- along with the wings, the get some of the extra feathers pegasai have on their bodies, namely the ones on their ankles that are used for finer trajectory adjustments in flight. they also receive the sensitivity of their hooves that's used to pick up changes in cloud texture and sense their stability Earth Pony- earth ponies may seem like they don't add shit, but they actually give two very important things. the first thing is a strength boost, as they're stronger than the other two pony species by nature. the other thing is dense as fuck hooves. that sounds kinda lame but they have rock hard hooves that allow for them to dig into dense materials and have a kick with some real bite in it that the others just can't replicate and might tear their own hooves up trying. they also add the visible fluff in the ear canal. but that's just a dust filter and if isn't cleaned properly might actually be more of hindrance
it's worth noting- if you look at Cadance and Twilight side by side- that despite being given extra anatomical traits from the other species they will always look more like the species they were before ascension. this is mostly visible in the ears, tails, and hoof shapes -unicorns have long tails with hair only growing from the underside, basic ears, narrower hooves, and usually have long fetlocks as part of their culture. -pegasai have short tails that are completely covered with hair and have rudder feathers at the base, pinned back feathery ears with restricted movement, and really shallow hooves with no fur around them -earth ponies have medium tails with even hair growth around a third of the way down, basic ears, and slightly taller hooves with varying fetlock sizes.
second up- the only uniquely alicorn physical traits that they really have (aside from height) are their hair and beards. unlike normal pony beards that are made of the same hair as their manes, alicorn beards are made of coat fur and will grow a specific length each year that marks how old they are kinda like tree rings. due to this the alicorns don't try to cut them. the manes are kinda funky cause they start out at the roots as normal hair, but then become more "ethereal" after a few inches or so. they tend to start to become ethereal roughly 10 years after ascension
they do have one more weird trait but it's less noticeable and that's the thing with the patterns. when an alicorn is first ascended they gain an extra pattern on their legs, and that pattern gains a second layer around the time they start to get their ethereal manes. you can see it happening on Twilight's lineup.
there's also a bonus thing here that has nothing to do with alicorns as much as it does unicorns- but i like the idea of Unicorn tails (flesh/bone, not hair) getting longer with age. it's usually not too noticeable because they don't normally live long enough for it to be really noticeable compared to younger unicorns, but alicorns do- so former unicorns can end up with some long ass tails in their 1000's
that's all i really got now- if i added in magic and social stuff this would have been way longer. i'm done with my rambles
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cerastes · 2 years ago
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I haven't played the game, can you tell us what Mudrock is like, like her personality and backstory?
The first impression you'll get from Mudrock based on her fanart, is that she's cute or attractive, and probably nothing else. I do enjoy Mudrock art a lot, but part of me feels like there's definitely a lot of potential for more serious art involving her (which exists, in minimal quantities). That's because she's a very solemn character. Mind you, she does have a silly side to her, but it lives alongside this solemn side I speak of. Let's talk about Mudrock.
Mudrock is a Sarkazian warrior that possesses great might and magic both, being a highly skilled spellblade, or, well, spellhammer, owing to her own expertise of Originium Arts (particularly those that manipulate ground and rock) as well as her time in the battlefield. She made her debut on the event Grani And The Knights' Treasure, the game's very first sidestory event, on a cutscene after the very last optional map, where she receives a letter from that story's main antagonist, Big Bob, her sworn brother, who informs her that he's doing alright after getting part of the treasure. It wouldn't be until Twilight of Wolumonde that she'd take to the stage again, where she is not playable and is, in fact, the main antagonist (though not the villain) of the story. Just like Big Bob, Mudrock is ex-Reunion (Reunion being the first part of the game's main antagonist), and she, alongside Big Bob and their respective squadrons, of which they were leaders, deserted Reunion after it rotted from the inside and strayed from its supposed objective to protect and fight for the Infected: They both realized that Reunion had become yet another pawn in the international war games between the bigger countries, and the Infected had become little more than cannon fodder and easily swayed soldiers to Reunion more than the people they sought to protect. Big Bob and Mudrock both are characterized by having a well-attuned moral compass, and this wasn't what they signed up for. They weren't simply lashing out at an uncaring world and letting their rage loose, they seriously were fighting for the freedom and well-being of the Infected. So they deserted... But they couldn't leave together.
Here's the first big important aspect of Mudrock: Big Bob invited her and her Mudrock Squad to come with him, since they were sworn siblings and their squads also got along really well. It seemed natural to walk the walk together, right? Big Bob's plans were to find the Knights' Treasure in the outskirts of Kazimierz, and use those riches to buy land in Columbia, where oppression against the Infected isn't as prevalent as in most other places, and money speaks louder (for context, the Infected are usually secluded into special Infected neighborhoods in other countries, or even executed outright, so while Columbia still oppresses them to some degree, it is leagues better than other places) and the Infected are allowed to own land and businesses, so long as they have the capital. Big Bob then intended to make a business with this money, and then be able to provide housing, employment and profits for his "family" (what he calls his squadmates and close friends), and for any other Infected that needed help.
However, Mudrock politely declined, because the Sarkaz in her squad simply couldn't live a life that wasn't one of blood and steel: Sarkaz from Kazdel are known to live short, fast mercenary lives, and those who see a longer life, can only live in the battlefield. It's all they know. Mudrock knew this, more so the older Sarkaz in her Mudrock Squad. To subject them to a civilian life would be to simply put them in a pressure cooker until they snapped, until PTSD or incompatibility with the lifestyle became too much, until their grave Oripathy claimed them anyway, and Kazdel Sarkaz tend to prefer a end in the field of battle. They needed a leader, and Mudrock was that leader. Not only that, Mudrock didn't want to leave any other Infected dry out there, a sentiment shared by her Sarkaz, who figured, hey, if we're going to keep fighting, we should do it to rescue as many Infected as we can.
So she traveled. Even though Reunion might as well be dead, rotten from the inside, Mudrock took matters into her hands. She knew her scope would never compare to that of an organized movement... But she had to do whatever she could, even if it was minimal in scale.
Twilight of Wolumonde is a whole can of worms and a half, so let me summarize it by saying this: Mudrock fought Rhodes Island entirely because she demanded there be justice for the Infected that were unjustly killed in Leithanien (or, well, that small corner of) in what basically was a mystery novel plot of whodunit. Once justice had been doled out and responsibility was taken, she took what oppressed Infected would be fine with leaving with her, and quietly left. Her stay was anything but quiet, however, as she summoned several Colossi of stone and soil in order to fight. At one point, she even summoned a particularly gigantic one, akin to a mountain, which she proceeded to transplant her consciousness into to 'pilot' it herself.
Afterwards, however, they were hounded by several Infected Hunters from Leithanien, who had the complete advantage in terms of terrain, who kept picking them off one by one, survivors and fighters both. As Mudrock and company finally arrived at the frontier with Kazdel, just one bridge away, she ordered all stragglers and survivors to cross the bridge, telling them that they could eke out a free, if hard-earned and arduous, living in the Kazdel outskirt towns. Mudrock and her Sarkaz warriors, however, would not accompany them, they would stand their ground by the bridge, to stop their pursuers. Mudrock was ready to die. She put it in no uncertain terms, if anyone wanted to leave with the survivors, they could, and those who stayed with her would die alongside her defending the survivors. Her men and women stayed with her. If it meant saving those, even though they weren't many, that was what counted, she'd seen her personal duty to the best of her abilities. She was fine dying in these terms.
Of course, she didn't die: Elite Rhodes Island Operator Logos had come across this little kerfuffle recently and tailed both groups, and then took action to support and rescue Mudrock and what remained of her squad. They fought. They won.
Mudrock and her crew went to Rhodes Island afterwards, where Human Resources struck a deal with her: If she worked as an Operator for them, they'd provide for her and her Squad, giving them jobs in the field as well as Oripathy treatment. Mudrock wasn't initially sure, but a chance encounter with Grani led to both of them conversing initially about Big Bob and then about other stories, and, plus encouragement and endorsement from Folinic and Suzuran (who knew Mudrock from the Wolumonde incident), Mudrock ended up accepting the deal.
Besides her very full, sincere intention to do anything she can for the Infected and her Sarkaz brethren, Mudrock is a bit... Weird. She'll usually go on bizarre tangents about the weirdest things, or simply say strange things with the utmost serious expression. Not random stuff, just actually letting her thoughts drift along with whatever thought comes to mind, in a contemplative manner. She also likes making little clay dolls of people and talking to them, but feels very embarrassed when seen doing this (though it is implied she actually can just talk to the earth). Mudrock is also popular among Rhodes Island logistics personnel (which includes plenty of Sarkaz from the Babel days, the precursor to Rhodes Island) because she'll offer to help them move heavy things whenever she sees them, given that she's both immensely strong physically as well as a powerful caster whose earth Arts make moving things around easy. She also very rarely isn't wearing full armor, meaning that while you likely usually see her like this in fanart:
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She actually looks like this most of the time:
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In fact, a lot of people in her very own squad didn't know what she looked like. There were rumors about an unknown Sarkaz girl that would wander around Mudrock's camp now and then. That was actually Mudrock in the rare occasions where she didn't wear her armor.
Two fun facts about Mudrock!
The first one is that her birthday is on the 21st of September, which is the International Day of Peace. It serves to reflect that ultimately, what she wants is peace for the Infected and Sarkaz, even if she has to fight for it.
The second one is that her hammer has an inscription if you look closely:
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In the trailer for Roaring Flare, we get a good look at it:
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"For evil men will be cut off". This is a short form of Psalm 37:9 from the Bible (King James edition): "For evildoers shall be cut off: but those that wait upon the Lord, they shall inherit the earth."
All in all, Mudrock is bundle of love and kindess in an awkward package (awkward in terms of how she socializes, not in that she's shy or anything), but when an injustice is present, she will fight tooth and nail until justice is meted out (as she did in Wolumonde) and is willing to die for her ideals, if it'll save just a few people.
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yoshi1517 · 11 days ago
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HAPPY NEW YEAR FROM MESMERTOWN
"HAPPY NEW YEAR, thank you for the support in these months with your subscriptions. I hope you liked the stories and I hope you'll like the next ones."
As usual, I was running late. Jack’s car horn blared impatiently from the driveway as I fumbled with the zipper of my bag. “Hold on!” I yelled, though I doubted he could hear me through the window. I grabbed my coat, threw it over my arm, and bolted downstairs, nearly tripping on the last step.
Jack had the window rolled down when I burst out the door, and he gave me an exaggerated shake of his head. “You’re always late. You know that, right?” he teased, a smirk playing on his lips.
“At least this time, we’re not late for work,” I shot back as I climbed into the passenger seat, slamming the door behind me.
“Yeah, but I still need to get there before everyone else. If I don’t, who’s going to open the house?” he retorted, putting the car into gear and pulling onto the street.
Jack and I had been friends since we both joined the company fresh out of college. We were the youngest hires in our department, and we’d bonded over late-night deadlines, coffee runs, and mutual grumbling about office politics. Every year, it was tradition for someone from the office to host the New Year’s party, and this year, the short straw had landed squarely on Jack.
He’d decided to hold it at his family’s mountain house, a place I’d heard about in passing but had never visited. According to Jack, it was a cozy getaway that his family had used for years, though it had fallen mostly to him in recent times.
“What’s the name of the town again? People are asking in the group chat,” I said, pulling out my phone and glancing at the flurry of messages.
“Mesmertown,” Jack replied, his eyes on the road.
“Mesmertown? Sounds like the setting of a mystery novel,” I joked.
He chuckled. “Yeah, it’s got a weird vibe. Not many people live there full-time, but it gets a decent number of tourists during the holidays. My family used to come here for Christmas sometimes. I remember the decorations, lights everywhere, wreaths on every door. It was magical.”
I glanced out the window as the car turned off the highway, the sprawling fields of the countryside stretching out before us. “Okay, you need to take this exit,” I said, pointing at the GPS.
We drove through fields that looked like they’d been plucked from a postcard, green pastures dotted with grazing cows, sheep, and the occasional horse. As we climbed higher, the landscape shifted. The air grew crisper, and patches of snow lined the roadside, glinting in the warm glow of the setting sun.
“Look at this,” I said, unable to resist snapping a photo of the sunbeams streaming through the trees.
“It gets even better,” Jack promised, his voice tinged with nostalgia.
The trees thinned as we rounded a bend, and suddenly, the town came into view. A weathered wooden sign greeted us: Welcome to Mesmertown.
Below us, the village sprawled like something out of a snow globe. String lights crisscrossed the streets, and wreaths adorned every lamppost. In the center of town, a towering Christmas tree glittered with ornaments, its star glowing faintly against the twilight. Beyond the town, the lake shimmered, its frozen surface reflecting the first hints of starlight.
“Wow,” I breathed, taking it all in.
“See that up there?” Jack said, pointing to a large building perched high on the mountainside. “That’s the Grand Hotel. Fancy place. It’s mostly for rich tourists, but the bar’s not bad. They make an amazing hot chocolate.”
“Noted,” I said, still marveling at the scene as we descended into the town.
The streets were alive with charm. Shops with frosted windows displayed handmade crafts and holiday treats, and families bustled about, their laughter and chatter carrying through the air. We passed the central square, where the tree stood proudly beside a small stage.
“Looks like they’ve been having some serious holiday celebrations,” I said, noticing footprints in the snow and the remnants of decorations.
“They take Christmas seriously here,” Jack replied, grinning as he maneuvered the car through the winding streets.
We drove past the town and along the edge of the lake until we reached Jack’s family home. I gasped when I saw it.
“Wow. Why don’t you host every New Year’s party here? This place is incredible,” I said, stepping out of the car and craning my neck to take it all in.
The house was massive, a modern cabin that managed to feel both rustic and luxurious. Large windows reflected the lake’s icy surface, and the porch was strung with soft white lights that gave the place a welcoming glow.
“Yeah, it felt like a palace when I was a kid,” Jack said with a laugh. “Come on, help me with the bags. We’ve got a lot to set up before everyone gets here.”
Inside, the house was just as impressive. Wooden beams framed the high ceilings, and a stone fireplace dominated the living room, its mantle already adorned with garlands. The kitchen was sleek and modern, with just enough wear to show it had been well-loved over the years.
We spent the next couple of hours transforming the space. Jack strung up more lights while I arranged the furniture and set up the bar area. By the time the first guests arrived, the house was warm, inviting, and ready for a party.
The evening was in full swing. I found myself chatting with colleagues, a drink in hand, while Jack tinkered with the music playlist. We were all comfortably settled into the warm, cozy house, waiting for the pizzas to arrive. The scent of pine logs burning in the fireplace mixed with the laughter and the faint hum of conversation around the room.
The doorbell rang, jolting me from my conversation. “I’ll get it!” I called out, weaving my way past a group gathered near the kitchen. I opened the door, expecting to see the delivery driver, but instead, a man stood there, pizzas in hand, a casual grin on his face.
“Hey,” he said, holding out the boxes. “I grabbed these for you.”
“Oh, thanks,” I replied, slightly puzzled. “Wait, who are you?”
“Connor,” he said, his voice warm and steady. “I just joined your team last week. Figured this would be a good way to break the ice.”
“Nice to meet you. I’m Mike,” I said, shaking his hand. His grip was firm, his palm warm against the cold air seeping in from outside. As our eyes met, something shifted, an instant connection, like the spark of a match in the dark. I couldn’t put my finger on it, but there was an energy about him that drew me in.
“Come on in,” I said, stepping aside.
Connor blended seamlessly into the group, chatting and laughing as if he’d always been part of our circle. Over pizza, I learned more about him. He was fresh from university, having completed his thesis with our company, and was already making a name for himself in the team. He was three years younger than me but carried himself with an easy confidence that belied his age. He’d been a volleyball player during his uni days and now kept up with running, which explained his athletic build.
As the night wore on, we moved to the living room and gathered around the fireplace for games. Connor and I ended up on the same team for Taboo, and to my surprise, we worked incredibly well together. It was like we were on the same wavelength, anticipating each other’s moves and guessing clues with uncanny precision.
At some point, the conversation took a turn toward local legends. Someone joked about taking a midnight dip in the lake.
“Are you out of your mind?” Jack said, laughing as he turned down the music. “That lake’s practically frozen solid. Besides, everyone knows it’s bad luck to swim there at midnight on New Year’s Eve.”
The room fell quiet for a moment. Someone asked why.
“It’s just an old story,” Jack said, leaning back in his chair. “They used to say that if you swam in the lake at midnight, you might free… something trapped under the ice.”
“Something?” I asked, raising an eyebrow.
Jack shrugged, a playful grin on his face. “Relax, Mike. It’s just superstition. Nothing to worry about.”
But as he spoke, a sudden gust of wind swept through the room, flinging the window open with a loud bang. The room fell silent, and a few people let out startled laughs. I got up to close it, glancing toward the lake as I did. For a brief moment, I thought I saw a faint light glimmering on the frozen surface. But when I blinked, it was gone.
The atmosphere quickly shifted back to lightheartedness. Someone set up a disco ball that pulsed colorful lights to the beat of the music, and the living room transformed into a makeshift dance floor. With the lights dimmed and the music pumping, we all let loose. The drinks flowed freely, and by the time midnight approached, the energy was electric.
Connor and I ended up dancing together, laughing and spinning in the middle of the room. He leaned in close, his voice just loud enough to cut through the music.
“Hey, want to step outside for a bit?”
“Where to?” I asked, curious.
“Let’s check out the lake,” he said, his eyes sparkling with excitement. “Jack’s story has me curious. Let’s see it for ourselves before the clock strikes twelve.”
I hesitated but found myself nodding. “Alright. Let’s go.”
We grabbed our coats, gloves, and scarves and slipped out into the crisp night air. The world outside was silent except for the crunch of snow beneath our boots. A narrow path led us toward the lake, its edges lined with frost-covered trees. The moon hung low in the sky, casting a pale silver glow over the frozen landscape.
When we reached the lake, the view took my breath away. The entire surface was a perfect sheet of ice, shimmering under the moonlight. The stars above were reflected on its surface, creating the illusion of a second sky beneath our feet.
“Wow,” Connor said softly, his voice almost a whisper.
“Yeah,” I replied, my breath visible in the frigid air.
We stood there for a moment, side by side, taking it all in. The world felt still, as if holding its breath. Somewhere in the distance, the faint sound of laughter and music drifted from the house.
Connor turned to me, a faint smile playing on his lips. “Ever wonder what’s really under the ice?”
I chuckled nervously. “Let’s not find out tonight.”
He laughed, the sound warm and genuine, and we stayed there a little longer, the lake stretching out before us, silent and mysterious under the midnight sky.
On one side, the town shimmered with festive lights, the faint sounds of distant laughter and celebration carried on the wind. On the other side, the forest stood in hushed stillness, its dark shadows blending into the silvery glow of the frozen lake.
Connor nudged my arm, his eyes glinting with mischief. “Hey, look over there,” he said, pointing to a narrow path that hugged the shoreline. “Want to see where it leads?”
“Why not?” I grinned, breaking into a run before he could react.
“Hey!” he called out, laughing as he chased after me.
The cold air burned my lungs as I sprinted, the sound of Connor’s footsteps crunching in the snow behind me. My heart pounded, not just from the exertion but from the thrill of being alone with him in this secluded, dreamlike world.
We finally stopped when we reached a small, hidden cove. The beach was quiet, framed by snow-dusted trees, and the frozen lake stretched endlessly before us, glistening under the stars.
“Looks like I win,” I teased, breathless. “You owe me coffee when we’re back at the office.”
Connor smirked, leaning forward with his hands on his knees to catch his breath. “Don’t get too cocky. The race back is what counts.”
I laughed, the sound echoing softly in the stillness. “Fair enough. But seriously, this place is incredible.”
Connor’s gaze drifted to the lake, his expression turning thoughtful. “Hey…” he said slowly, pointing to a patch of water near the shore. “What’s going on there?”
I followed his gesture and noticed a section of the lake that wasn’t frozen. Steam curled lazily from the surface, as if the water was warm.
“How is that possible?” I asked, stepping closer. “Why would it be warm?”
“Does it matter?” Connor said, his playful grin returning. “Come on, let’s do it. A midnight swim to ring in the New Year, it’ll be unforgettable.”
I blinked at him, incredulous. “You’re kidding, right? It’s freezing out here.”
“Exactly,” he said, already unzipping his jacket. “That’s what makes it epic. Plus, we’ll have bragging rights. Imagine telling everyone back home we swam in a lake in December.”
I hesitated, but his enthusiasm was infectious. Before I knew it, I was shrugging off my coat and kicking off my boots. The icy night air bit at my skin, but Connor’s laughter and excitement pulled me forward.
By the time I waded into the water, shivering and breathless, I couldn’t help but laugh. The warmth of the lake was unexpected and surreal, wrapping around me like an embrace.
“See?” Connor said, floating effortlessly on his back. “Not so bad, huh?”
“Okay, I’ll admit it,” I said, splashing water at him. “This is… amazing. Strange, but amazing.”
We swam closer to each other, our laughter mingling with the faint sounds of fireworks in the distance. The world beyond the lake seemed to blur, leaving just the two of us in this surreal, glowing oasis.
As we floated side by side, the celebration in the town reached its peak. Bursts of color lit up the sky, their reflections dancing on the water’s surface.
“Midnight,” Connor said softly, his voice almost a whisper. “Happy New Year, Mike.”
“Happy New Year,” I replied, my words barely audible over the distant cheers.
In that moment, the world felt impossibly still. The warmth of the water, the glow of the fireworks, the faint chill of the air, it all faded into the background as Connor turned toward me.
His eyes met mine, and the look in them was unlike anything I’d seen before. It wasn’t just the moonlight reflecting in their depths, it was something deeper, something that made my chest tighten and my breath catch.
He reached out, his fingers brushing against mine under the water. The touch sent a shiver through me, not from the cold, but from the undeniable electricity between us. Slowly, instinctively, we moved closer.
My heart raced as his hand slid up to cup my face, his thumb brushing lightly against my cheek. The air between us felt charged, heavy with anticipation. His gaze dropped to my lips, and I could feel the warmth of his breath as he leaned in.
The rest of the world disappeared. The distant fireworks, the cold night, the lake, all of it faded until there was only him.
Our lips were just a breath apart when, suddenly, a golden light erupted from beneath us, illuminating the water around us in a radiant glow.
“Mike,” Connor whispered, his voice trembling. “What’s happening?”
“I don’t know,” I said, my voice shaking as I stared into the blinding light.
What happened next was unlike anything I had ever experienced, terrifying and exhilarating in equal measure. As Connor and I floated in the strange, warm water, a glow began to rise from beneath the surface, faint at first but quickly intensifying until it bathed us in shimmering gold. The liquid itself seemed to transform, wrapping around our bodies like silk spun from sunlight.
“Mike, what is this?” Connor asked, his voice trembling as he reached out, his hand trailing through the glowing water.
“I don’t know…” I whispered, unable to tear my eyes away from the golden light. It wasn’t just light, it felt alive, as though it were watching us, testing us.
The water clung to our skin, warm and almost weightless, as if the lake itself were embracing us. Then, without warning, a sudden force pulled us under.
The world turned to chaos and beauty all at once. I was surrounded by swirling currents of light and shadow, my body suspended in a golden haze. I tried to struggle, but my limbs wouldn’t respond. And yet, I wasn’t drowning. I was breathing, no, more than breathing. It felt as though the golden liquid itself had seeped into me, filling my lungs with something richer, purer than air.
Connor was beside me, his eyes wide with the same mix of fear and awe that I felt. Around us, shimmering tendrils of golden light began to weave together, forming shapes, olive branches, their delicate leaves glowing with an otherworldly radiance. They wrapped around us gently but firmly.
“Connor!” I tried to call out, but my voice was swallowed by the light. He looked at me, his gaze steady, and I could see that he had stopped resisting. Slowly, I let go too, surrendering to whatever force had claimed us.
Then, as if in a dream, a figure emerged from the light. It was radiant, almost blinding, with hair like liquid fire cascading in waves of gold. The figure’s features were indistinct yet breathtaking, as though sculpted from pure light and warmth.
Before I could speak, or even think, the figure leaned down, its face inches from mine. Its lips brushed against mine in a kiss that felt like the essence of the sun itself, warm, consuming, and impossibly gentle.
I barely had time to process the sensation before the vision dissolved, and the next thing I knew, Connor and I were lying on the shore, both of us soaking wet and stripped down to our underwear.
Mike and Connor found themselves on the beach, and despite being dressed only in their underwear, they didn’t feel the cold of the night. They looked at each other and noticed a symbol of two olive leaves on their skin, as if it were a golden tattoo. As they dressed, their eyes slowly turned golden, and a small smile appeared on their faces as they locked eyes. They both knew what they had to do.
They put on only their pants and shirts, leaving behind their jackets and other belongings, and began walking back toward the village. Meanwhile, the villagers were witnessing something extraordinary. The lake, which had been frozen just moments ago, was now thawing. Everyone had seen a golden light emerge from the water, heading straight for the town hall, and watched as the ice melted away. Some had filmed the event, others claimed it was an omen of misfortune, while a few recalled the old legend of the lake.
"Would you like to discover what happened next in Mesmertown? Starting today, I’m opening the official Mesmertown server on Discord. If you’re curious about the secrets of the lake, the golden light, and the mysterious bond between Mike and Connor, come join us. The inhabitants of Mesmertown are waiting for you. (Available exclusively for VIP subscribers.) "
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ecargmura · 1 month ago
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PokeToon Episode 16 Review - Childhood Friend Charcadet
What a perfect way to end a season of PokeToon. Wow. They really did save the best for last because this was such a fantastic episode. The storytelling was splendid and the visual effects were amazing. This is legit the best episode of PokeToon and a masterpiece of an animated Pokemon media as a whole.
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Basically, the story is about two Charcadets that lived peacefully in the wild—I’ll describe the first Charcadet as ‘Charcadet’ and the second one as ‘Shiny Charcadet’ just so it’ll be easier to differentiate. One day, Charcadet encountered a lost Rotom Phone and saw a recording of a Pokemon tournament, implying to be the Academy Ace Tournament, and became enamored with what it saw. When encountering the phone’s owner, a boy named Yuto, the Charcadet is challenged to a battle for the device. When it lost to his Shroomish, Yuto makes an offer to come along with him as he could see potential in its strength. Charcadet accepts the offer and leaves Shiny Charcadet behind to fend for itself.
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The storytelling was brilliant in that it doesn’t have a lot of dialogue. The main characters are two Charcadets that later evolve into both Branch Evolution. Because they’re Pokemon, they just use Pokemon-speak and body language to communicate. A majority of this story lacks dialogue, yet the body language totally made up for it. I can easily tell one Charcadet was mischievous and the other was timid. Their personality changed once they evolved, as a sign of growing up, but how they changed is also different. I love that this story is actually based on a little story you can find in the in-game library about Charcadet fighting a Gengar and choosing the future it would take to stop it. Yuto tells this story to Charcadet as his family has been housing the Auspicious armor for generations, apparently.
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Despite this being a seventeen-minute short, it gives a lot of details regarding each character and the small amount of details that make them feel whole. Charcadet starts off mischievous and cheeky, yet it evolves into a noble and composed Amarouge. Shiny Charcadet, timid and very shy, evolves into a Ceruledge that held a grudge for being abandoned. In all honesty, Amarouge wasn’t a very good friend with the way it just up and ditched Ceruledge when they were in their first stages. It didn’t even think about his friend in its childhood and when it did remember it, it was only once until it showed up in the tournament.
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Yuto, the trainer, actually has a lot of character too. When he first met Charcadet, he sends out his Shroomish despite having a water-type in his party. It’s to show that he’s not willing to hurt it and that he is a kind and thoughtful person. He doesn’t even capture Charcadet after defeating it. All he did was ask if he wanted to join him to get stronger, to which Charcadet did. I love how small details about him shows off that he is a rich boy like his backpack and his poise. He’s also a good trainer because he spends time with his Pokemon, training them and evolving them and even caught a Rufflet that Charcadet fought. Props to the creators for giving him a Quaxwell. The Quaxly line definitely needs more love.
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The animation was superb. Studio Colorido needs start producing their original works or do anime adaptations because the way they animate is seriously amazing. If they’re able to make quality action sequences like the Amarouge vs Ceruledge fight, who know what else they’re capable of if they’re given larger projects! Just to let you know, this is the animation studio that also did previous PokeToon shorts like Blossom’s Dream and animated a majority of Twilight Wings.
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The ending is definitely one that brings in a lot of thoughts. Shiny Charcadet never really wanted a trainer and as a Ceruledge, I think wandering around with Gengar and the group of Bronzor it met at an abandoned building was a nice conclusion. Like the book Yuto read to Charcadet, the story is ultimately about the future a Charcadet chooses. Charcadet chose to be with Yuto and evolved into Amarouge while Shiny Charcadet evolved into Ceruledge and then when realizing its friend was content with the life it was living, it decided to walk its own path. Besides, the end credits show that Ceruledge is living a peaceful life befriending other wild Pokemon. It kind of shows that not all Pokemon want to be captured or have a Trainer. I feel like it would be too typical if the ending had Ceruledge join Yuto.
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The voice acting in this animated short was superb as well. Charcadet, and later Amarouge, is voiced by Yuki Sakakihara. I think this is the first time I’ve seen him in Pokemon, but he’s a rising star in that he’s known for his role in Hypnosis Mic as Jyushi Aimoto. Yumiri Hanamori voices Shiny Charcadet who later becomes Ceruledge. I think her take on Ceruledge is a nice difference from the Ceruledge seen in Horizons as Hanamori gives it an androgynous voice. Hanamori is known for voicing Sagiri from Hell’s Paradise. Yuto is voiced by Soma Saito who has been in Pokemon before. He was Trace in the eighth episode of Pokemon Evolutions and voices Cress in Pokemon Masters.
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This marks the end of this year’s PokeToon season. Hopefully, there will be more next year or when Gen 10 comes! For now, I’ll do my best to review the older episodes of this season and the previous one! But seriously, I want every Pokemon fan to watch this episode at least once in their lives. It’s such a beautiful episode. If you have watched it, what are your thoughts on the storytelling and on the ending?
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ivanttakethis · 5 months ago
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Cosmic Love by Florence + The Machine (Lyrical Analysis for Tov)
I chose Cosmic Love as Tov’s song for Round 10 because of how well the lyrics align with her story and her relationships with those she cares about.
It also continues Tov’s established star motif, her belief in cosmic fate, and her recent revelations about what love means to her.
Because I’m a huge music appreciator (a.k.a. nerd), I’ve done a lyrical analysis to walk through what each line means in context.
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[Verse 1]
A falling star fell from your heart
And landed in my eyes
[Tov is singing about Tallis and the feelings he’s left her with.]
[The falling star represents his death, and she has stars in her dark irises.]
I screamed aloud as it tore through them
And now, it's left me blind
[When Tallis was killed, Tov started screaming and lashing out, blind with grief and rage.]
[Chorus]
The stars, the moon
They have all been blown out
You left me in the dark
[The stars are the people Tov cared for who died in previous rounds: Azure, Moran, Stasya, and Tallis.]
[The moon is Aurien, another person Tov cared about, who disappeared after Round 6.]
No dawn, no day
I'm always in this twilight
In the shadow of your heart
[Dawn and day are referencing Solei, a person that Tov admired and considered a close friend, who is missing/rogue.]
[Back in Anakt Garden, Tov used to follow Solei around like a shadow.]
[Verse 2]
And in the dark, I can hear your heartbeat
I tried to find the sound
[Tov sought out and focused on Himei and Tallis’s heartbeats when she hugged them.]
But then it stopped and I was in the darkness
So darkness I became
[Tallis’s heart stopped beating shortly after Tov heard it for the last time.]
[Chorus]
The stars, the moon
They have all been blown out
You left me in the dark
[Tov feels almost resentful towards those she’s lost for leaving her so soon and so close together.]
[She’s constantly in this state of grief because every round someone else is taken away from her.]
No dawn, no day
I'm always in this twilight
In the shadow of your heart
[Tov wonders if she’ll always be grieving someone in this “twilight” cycle of believing, losing, and mourning.]
[Bridge]
I took the stars from my eyes and then I made a map
And knew that, somehow, I could find my way back
[Referencing the constellations Tov named after each of her fallen classmates.]
[She knows she’ll be with them again in the stars someday.]
Then I heard your heart beating, you were in the darkness too
So I stayed in the darkness with you
[She’s singing about Himei’s heartbeat specifically, because Himei is still alive.]
[Alien Stage is the darkness.]
[Tov is going to stay in the competition and stay with Himei as long as she can.]
[Chorus]
The stars, the moon
They have all been blown out
You left me in the dark
[She hates not knowing what happened to Aurien. She hates not knowing what Solei was planning or where they’ve been since they disappeared.]
[Tov hates being left in the dark. It makes her question the bonds she thought she had with people; if she meant as much to them as they meant to her. It makes her angry.]
No dawn, no day
I'm always in this twilight
In the shadow of your heart
[Tov will always live with the shadow of Solei and Aurien in the wake of Round 6 until she knows their fate.]
The stars (The stars), the moon (The moon)
They have all been blown out
You left me in the dark (You left me in the dark)
[Tov sings this last refrain of the chorus louder and stronger than before, echoing all of the anger, grief, and sorrow that have consumed her for weeks.]
No dawn, no day
I'm always in this twilight
In the shadow of your heart (In the shadow of your)
[She knows she can’t escape these feelings, can’t escape the toll all of these deaths have taken on her, and resigns herself to living with the shadows of the ghosts she still loves.]
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Tov may be somewhat stoic on the outside, but she’s deeply affected by her relationships and very sentimental.
Everything she does in Round 10 has pieces of the people she cares about tucked away in it, including her song.
Tallis and Himei belong to @lookatmysillies.
Azure belongs to @azureitri.
Moran belongs to @geospiral.
Stasya belongs to @billwasnot.
Aurien belongs to @aurienneirua.
Solei belongs to @solei-eclipse.
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rebelrian · 1 year ago
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The Chasms We Cross - Spy x Family Twiyor One Shot
Biding my time until Chapter 86 releases on Sunday - we don’t know if Endo will resolve this arc in the next chapter so I’m putting this out here first as my speculation of how Twilight and Yor will reunite!!
Summary:
More than gripes, Twilight fears resentment will grow between him and Yor.
Note:
Picks up from Chapter 85 of the manga. Some characters’ fates are just speculated at and this fic may be completely way off from what Endo has in mind…but we’ll only find out when the chapter drops. More personal notes below the cut, only available to read on Tumblr for now.
Spy x Family manga spoilers ahead. For general audiences. Enjoy reading this fanfic!
The Chasms We Cross
by rebelrian
Between his front porch and the door to his apartment, Twilight felt a chasm had formed. Once he crosses the threshold, he would have no choice but to put on his mask as Loid Forger. To be Loid Forger would be to face Yor and Anya as an upstanding, even-tempered family man; a psychiatrist beloved by his colleagues and patients. After the events of that day, Twilight couldn’t say he deserved to be that man, let alone be welcomed in the space the Forgers called their home.
The bullet wound left by Yuri burned fresh on Twilight’s arm.
Ironically, Twilight had Yuri and Nightfall to thank for his escape from the SSS. Yuri, who would have not hesitated to end him if he was faster, even more resilient; Nightfall, who may never recover from the damage she inflicted on her own body trying to save Twilight.
A flash. A bloodied Yuri. “Yor…I’m so…sorry…”
Nightfall, bones breaking, still standing. “…But I’m not afraid. I believe in that man.”
“It’s what makes me strong.”
Twilight heard it all. Wheeler made sure he knew Nightfall’s words even if he hadn’t. In the eye of his adversary, Twilight tapped on the strengths of Yuri and Nightfall who had fallen before him. People who were unafraid to lean on others and be their support in return. He thought of Bond, leaping into a burning building for a stranger’s dog; Anya saving a drowning boy twice her height; Anya braving a full scale hostage attempt; Anya running into Yor’s arms after. Yor.
Yor chasing after a pickpocket; Yor stroking Anya’s hair, ever generous with her embraces; Yor singing a lullaby to him on a park bench, rustling leaves providing soft accompaniment. An autumn night’s breeze. His mother.
With that, he silenced Wheeler once and for all.
The damage done to WISE and Operation Strix is still unknown. He’ll hear more about it from Handler in time to come, but he’s doubtful the SSS lost all the intel with Wheeler. No matter how he looked at it, WISE is definitely compromised, with more agents down to boot.
So where does that leave him and the Forgers? “Lay low,” said Handler. “Carry on with your daily routines until we can ascertain the damage to our operations in Ostania. We got this far…it would be a pity to retreat at this stage.”
Even in disguise, Handler’s hooded gaze remained the same. Unreadable. “Set your family’s hearts at ease.” Those were her last words to Twilight before dismissing him.
He reached their front door. The man paused, unsure whether to enter. Would anyone be waiting for him at this late hour? Surely Anya would be asleep by now, no doubt dreaming of pandas and penguins. But Yor…would she wait for him like he does for her? Would she have had her dinner yet? Thinking back on how they parted earlier this morning, it’s possible she may not be so considerate of him. Could he blame her? If you can do one thing right today Twilight, it’s to not let Yor down anymore tonight. If she’s behind that door, you owe it to her to finish the morning’s conversation.
The man let go of the breath he didn’t realize he was holding, and regained composure.
The white light of their living room flooded his vision as the door creaked open. Sure enough, Loid’s wife was perched on the sofa, twirling her hair. Pensive.
Ruby eyes widened at the sound of footsteps and darted to the tall figure that was her husband. The first thing Yor noticed was the bandage wrapped around his head. Her hands flew to her mouth.
“Loid! What happened?”
Loid Forger gave an apologetic grimace, like it didn’t hurt at all. “Oh, today’s emergency patient was quite the challenge. But it’s nothing that won’t heal.”
In truth, his whole body was screaming to collapse; he was beaten, starving and thirsty. But this was important. This felt larger than him, or even Operation Strix. He owed it to this pure, beautiful woman to set her heart at ease, knowing he will only continue to hurt her once she finds out she almost lost her only living family today. Twilight mustered the last bits of energy and clarity for the day’s last mission.
Yor wasn’t too sure a blow to the head counted as a minor injury and kept a watchful gaze on her husband. Nevertheless, the tangled tension that wrecked her the whole day slowly unravelled and her body relaxed finally seeing Loid home safe and sound.
“O-oh…I suppose that’s why you’re back so late today.” She tugged at the sleeves of her red sweater nervously. Of course Yuri was wrong. Loid wouldn’t be out cheating on me…why do I always let other people doubt my trust in Loid?
Loid hung his hat and coat by the doorway and closed the distance between them in long strides. “I’m sorry I couldn’t call in the day and left you so abruptly this morning…a lot has happened since we…” Argued. If what happened counted as arguing. Twilight still couldn’t make sense of their morning predicament. Yor remained unusually stoic. In that moment, she almost looked…unfeeling.
He suddenly felt self-conscious and ran a hand through the tuft of hair left exposed on his head.
Yor finally responded. “It’s ok Loid, these things happen,” she said quietly.
A beat. A twin ache. Both lonely figures stood in the middle of their living room, appraising each other.
The lady took the first steps; she was now close enough to rest her hand on the man’s shoulder. He inhaled.
“Welcome home, Loid,” she said, standing on the tip of her toes. Ruby eyes met steel eyes, a question forming in the latter pair. But for the first time, Yor did not waver in front of her handsome, perfect husband.
She closed her eyes and kissed him.
Twilight was stunned. The last thing he expected was to be greeted with warmth. He kept his eyes open to see if it was true; that Yor Forger’s plush and soft lips were on his; that her cheeks were not flushed and her breathing was measured. She was not drunk. She was calm and her sincerity was as clear as day. His heart ached at this intimate gesture and he tentatively kissed her back.
When they pulled apart, Yor’s hand still rested on Loid’s shoulder, her other hand held close to her heart. Loid’s steel eyes softened, one hand hovering over her waist.
“Yor…”
And that one syllable did it. The only thing Twilight could do today was falter and falter. His knees gave way and the only thing that stopped him from hitting the ground was Yor’s iron grip. The last thing he saw was a halo shining above her.
———
Twilight woke up to the waft of tomatoes. He was bundled on the sofa and there on the coffee table, was a serving of Yor’s signature southern stew complete with cute chunks of misshapen potatoes. Strips of stubborn potato skin clung sparsely. A first aid box sat waiting in the wings of the accompanying jug of water and plate of warm loaf bread.
Just as Loid sat up, Yor returned to the living room with their tea and took a seat beside him.
“It’s nothing new and not nearly as good as any of your dishes…but you look like you haven’t eaten the whole day, Loid.” Yor’s brow was furrowed.
“I never get tired of your stew, Yor.” It was the truth.
After the first sip, Loid ate the rest of his meal ravenously. He took a bite of the loaf and groaned appreciatively. Yor giggled in spite of herself. She had never seen her husband so unrestrained. So relaxed.
With his appetite satiated, the man’s senses slowly came back to him. Here he was, enjoying food prepared by Loid Forger’s wife even when he abandoned her without a satisfactory explanation. Despite that, Yor Forger took a courageous leap and kissed him for the first time. Welcomed him home. Not knowing Yuri could have died by his hands if he didn’t stop himself. Twilight was starting to feel sick; he didn’t deserve any of it.
“Yor, we need to talk about what happened this morning.”
Yor’s fists were balled and resting on her knees. She seemed a bit stiff, but prepared.
“I-I’m sorry for confusing you earlier, Loid. The truth is…I was finding gripes with you because the girls said it was normal for couples to have them…”
Yor could feel the heat flush up her neck but she forced herself to continue.
“It was foolish of me picking a fight when you’ve been nothing short of perfect, Loid. I’m…actually the happiest I’ve ever been, married to you.”
She didn’t dare meet his eyes as she finished the sentence, so she couldn’t see the tender gaze Loid had for her with each admission. What she did see was his hand closing over one of her fists, his thumb making deep circles, coaxing her fist to unfurl. She flattened her palm on her thigh and let it be blanketed by his warmth. Slowly, she willed herself to meet his gaze.
“Yor, I’m nowhere near perfect.”
Loid looked unrecognizable to her in that moment. He was still…him, but there was a deep melancholy pushing through the surface. Just as sincere as whenever he told her she was already doing her best as his wife. She couldn’t help but tear. Is that really you, Loid? You look like a man who’s lost everything.
He gave a sad smile. “By gripes, do you mean not spending enough time at home with you, Anya and Bond?”
“Well…it could even be…unsweetened omelettes…” She wished a hole would open up beneath her and swallow her whole.
Loid gave a soft chuckle and brought his other hand to her hair, pushing away locks of hair from her eyes. “Bland omelettes and family time are things that can easily be resolved as long as we’re a team, Yor.”
“But if you ever resented me…I would definitely lose all of you. You…Anya…Bond…this home.” Again, the man rose to the surface.
“I’m not sure I’m prepared for that, Yor.”
When he willed himself to remember, the man was no stranger to discord in families. It was a reality he witnessed everyday in his childhood home. His parents wasted no breath firing ammunition at each other whenever they were together. Their words mentioned school, mollycoddling, awful dinner, but even as a boy, he knew his parents were stoking at a deeper ember. One that would never burn out. In the end, their resentment for each other manifested in chasms between all three of them; as fate would have it, his father was gone first; his mother followed after; the boy left alone, marooned on this damned Earth.
Until now.
Yor clasped both of Loid’s hands and mimicked the way his thumbs caressed hers. Her eyes were a different kind of ember, ones that beckoned and drew him in. Yet, he was afraid to approach her.
She spoke in hushed tones, but she did not stutter.
“Loid, I don’t regret being a Forger.”
“We were complete strangers when we first met…and yet you let me into your home and entrusted Anya with me. I’m sure I must have befuddled you many times before, but you never stopped trying to understand me. I never knew a place where I belonged before you and Anya. Both of you have always accepted me as I am.”
What Yor said next surprised him. “This resentment you speak of…I’m not afraid of it. I don’t believe in it.”
“For as long as I want to protect this peace we have together, I’ll never stop trying to understand you, Loid. Even if it’s selfish…I don’t want to leave the Forger family.”
Twilight let her words steep.
To protect this peace we have together…
”But what if you misjudged me, Yor? What if…I let you and Anya down?”
Yor considered this and something retreated in her; the empty stare teased at the coals of her ruby eyes once again.
“It’s possible you have misjudged me too, Loid.”
Her next words took all the bravery she could muster. “But would that stop you from being with me?”
Twilight looked at the lovely stranger before him. She, who always doubted how normal she passed off as when it was really her unfailing honesty and trust that dulled everyone else in comparison. She, a transparent soul that also hinted at an infinity of trick mirrors.
Perhaps she was like him too.
Perhaps there was hope for them still.
Perhaps the man could be selfish in indulging in Loid Forger’s cast.
Perhaps this doesn’t change the way Twilight can be, anymore than what has already changed in his last months as a Forger.
Loid pulled Yor closer to him until she almost fell into his lap. His eyes shone as clear as day, the fog cleared.
“No. I want to stay with you, Yor Forger. If you’ll let me.”
Their faces were inches apart, their breaths tickling each other. There was no more tentativeness. In that moment, they both saw each other. Yor’s words were a whisper before they were lost in the pull of their lips.
“I do.”
———
Notes:
I could be very wrong but I think Wheeler could be killed off soon. The man is too formidable a foil to Twilight and him surviving is danger on all fronts to all characters!! We still don’t know what info he stole!!!!
For weeks since this arc started getting stressful, I was so worried Loid would spiral after the whole incident and distance himself from his family, or even riddle himself with guilt over Nightfall. But after Chapter 85…I held onto a glimmer of hope that Twilight will be a bit more honest and more willing to change his views on relying on others as a spy.
Will Twilight and Yor kiss?? This fic says yes but my guess is as good as any. I’m not familiar with Endo’s other narratives or approaches to romance, but I doubt it’s as slow burn/ambiguous as Rumiko Takahashi (a personal observation since I’m more familiar with her romantic comedy dynamics in shonen stories). I have a feeling Endo might let Twiyor progress a bit and that Twilight will be more forgiving of the contradictions of his role earlier than expected.
Is Yor’s speech supposed to mirror Donovan Desmond? Yes. Could she be the answer to world peace? Probably (I kid). Though while we’re on the topic, wouldn’t it be wild if Melinda Desmond hires Garden to assassinate her own husband in later arcs? And instead of Twilight meeting the final boss first in the final showdown…it’s Thorn Princess.
I have so many feelings and I just can’t wait for Twilight and Yor to reunite!!!!
Perhaps I’ll get on AO3 once I receive the invitation email.
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volostogekiss · 2 years ago
Text
the tides of the sea (one-shot)
Warnings: Some mild self-deprecation. SAD, depressed reader. Mention of scars.
GN!reader, soft!Volo, emotional turmoil (you know it), praise from Volo though heh. This is based on that one credits festival screenshot.
Summary: The night after you’d closed the rift, you’d only wanted to be alone. You stray out of the village, where the festival roars your name, to find solace upon the cliffs at Prelude Beach—the place where everything had begun, and everything had ended. You don’t expect anyone else to come looking for you, but he still does.
Perhaps you don’t want to remain alone, if he’s the one who finds you.
           If you’d really thought about it, you shouldn’t be here right now.
           The Hero of Hisui, out alone, on the night meant for celebration.
           Celebration of your deeds in capturing both Dialga and Palkia, sealing the dangerous space-time rift, and allowing Hisui to be safe once more for its people.
           But are you one of its people?
           Do they consider you not to be a stranger any longer?
           For what you’ve done for them?
           You stare out at the ocean.
           …It’s not like you had had a choice, anyway.
           Stay exiled, or close the rift?
           Stay exiled, or take responsibility for what hadn’t even been your fault?
           You tuck your knees against your chest.
           You should be happy that you’ve been allowed to return to the village, and that no one looks at you as if you’re nothing more than a wretched anomaly, threatening their sheltered lives.
           You should be happy that people are celebrating what you’d done for them—that you’d risked your life for their safety.
           That should make you happy, right?
           But still, there is an awful emptiness in your heart.
           You think you hear the cheers of the villagers, off in the distance, along with the steady beat of drums. Perhaps Irida and Melli have welcomed a few others to joyfully dance with them on stage.
           Though you…
           You can’t be happy in this moment.
           How could I?
           The twilight waves, speckled with starlight, beat against the stones below the cliffs, and wearily, you nudge your chin between your hands.
           It’s as if doing all this for the villagers—sealing the rift and restoring magnificent blue skies to them—has exonerated you of a crime you’d never even committed.
           That after everything, now you are some savior, worthy of praise, and your wrongs have been forgiven.
           How fickle human nature is.
           But you’d never done anything wrong in the first place, nothing at all.
           You shake your head, and a sudden, scorching heat coils in your stomach.
           No, the one wrong thing you’d done was existing here in Hisui. You should’ve never been brought to the past.
           Your hands curl into fists upon your knees, and that angry flame flickers upward into your chest, twisting and gnawing at your heart.
           How was it my fault? Why me? Arceus, tell me why it had to be me!
           The waves tumble and crash against the shore, and it’s such a mundane thing that sets you off—
           screaming, pressing your hands to your eyes, and collapsing in on yourself as if you can’t take it any longer.
           You can’t.
           You can’t go home.
           After everything, you can’t go home, and somehow, you’re supposed to feel as if things are normal once again.
           You are not one of Hisui’s people.
           Nothing will ever be normal for you, as it is for them.
           “I can’t…” you sob, tears starting to well at the corners of your eyes.
           I can’t.
           You don’t even know what you mean anymore, but you don’t want any of it.
           You’re alone.
           You’re alone now, and you always will be, in a way that no one else could understand.
           After all, none of them had come to Hisui as you had. Even Ingo, despite his periodic, inexplicable moments of yearning for somewhere he couldn’t remember as home, had found a place in Hisui. The Pearl Clan needed him; Lady Sneasler had chosen him.
           But none of the people had chosen you.
           He hadn’t known the same blighted responsibility as you. You’d been their last hope—someone they never would’ve chosen if their desperate circumstances hadn’t forced you into your position.
           You wish you could look past it.
           Part of you wants to learn to love Hisui as its people do, wants to sincerely enjoy every friendship you’d built so far.
           You should give yourself that, shouldn’t you?
           To be happy?
           But even as you try to, even as you want to, you can’t. Not entirely.
           Even if you can hardly remember anything of your past now, from where you’d really come from, you can’t find it in yourself to just… forget it all.
           What little there is.
           Perhaps you won’t have a choice in that either, however, for all your memories have nearly faded into nothing but a dim haze of longing and lost hope.
           Wiping your damp eyes on your sleeves, you peer down at the silky gray fabric. You follow the swirling gold and white patterns, vibrant under the moonlight, and then you pinch at them, as if convincing yourself that they’re real.
           Yes, very much so.
           Anthe had sewn the ornate haori draped across your shoulders.
           “For the Hero of Hisui.”
           Your lips quiver. Subconsciously, your hands move to your hair.
           Arezu had placed an intricately woven headband, decorated with a myriad of rich dyes and a carefully lacquered pin, upon your head.
           “For the Hero of Hisui!”
           You stroke a finger against the wooden pin, then fold your arms over your knees again.
           But I’m alone, still.
           …!
           That sudden, uncontrollable heat—that furious, resentful fire—abruptly consumes your thoughts, and then you’re screaming, frustrated, tired, and alone—
           “I can’t do this anymore!”
           You shout the words out at the sea, half expecting it to mercifully answer you with any wisdom its boundless age may provide, and half expecting it to only splash and break on the rocks, lamentably unable to assuage you.
           Neither, it seems, is what you receive.
           “What can you no longer do?”
           You whirl around faster than you’d thought yourself capable, the haori flitting around you with the sharpness of your movement. Your heart jumps up into your throat. You’d really thought you’d be quite secluded here, and you’re not in the mood to deal with anyone else but—
           there’s a familiar figure waiting just a few paces behind you.
           Your heart settles into place once more, but its frantic beating doesn’t slow. He always puts you in such a state, causing a stammer to pluck at your words and an occasional heat to fan over your cheeks.
           You aren’t sure if you want him to stay, or to go.
           “Volo, I…” Splaying a hand across your chest, you turn around fully to face him. “I didn’t expect you.”
           You never could expect his capricious arrivals, after all. Volo has an uncanny ability to appear wherever you are, and you’ve never particularly questioned it; it’s become a bit of a routine thing to you. It’s no surprise that you hadn’t heard him either then, not with your fractured state of mind, hardly capable of helping you piece together a coherent response.
           “I apologize if I startled you,” he replies quietly, sensing that perhaps you aren’t feeling quite yourself at the moment, “but I had wondered where you had disappeared to.”
           “I didn’t mean to worry anyone.”
           Volo tenses at your words, but you don’t notice. You’ve turned around again, barely even having taken note of his lack of festival attire—that he’s still wearing his uniform as if he’d just returned from an assignment himself.
           “No, no.” Hearing the apology in your voice, he hurries to correct you. “It’s just I hadn’t a moment to speak with you all night.”
           He steps toward you, but bites back his true thought: No one else would worry about you like I would.
           Somberly amused by the notion, you huff lightly. “You’re right.”
           Still, Volo remains where is, and as the truth of his remark painstakingly hits you, you concede that you’d much rather prefer his company now.
           At least… at least you won’t be alone, when you should be as happy as the others in the village are.
           And Volo—he’s special to you, no matter how much you don’t want to admit that to him.
           You make up your mind then.
           He should stay.
           “You can sit, if you want.”
           With a drooping arm, you gesture limply somewhere to your right.
           He walks silently—you think he’d at least make a sound this time, but he does not—and gratefully accepting your invitation, he seats himself beside you.
           Your eyes haven’t left the ocean, not even when he sits so close to you.
           You can feel the heat of his body just against your arm, and somewhere in the back of your befuddled, dejected mind, you entertain the idea of simply falling against him. To revel in his warmth, his comfort.
           The cool sea breeze buffets against your cheeks, and you remind yourself that such a thing would be improper for your relationship.
           Your friendship, at where it currently stands.
           Perhaps Volo is one of the few who truly cares about you. He’d sought you out now, after all.
           He must care, right?
           Are you so alone, then?
           How pathetic, you think, as you nearly permit every insecurity to rise to the churning surface of your sea of anguished thoughts.
           “I haven’t spoken with you at all tonight, and then I find you alone here.”
           Ah.
           There’s a question in his statement, but you’re glad he doesn’t say anything more than that.
           Something tugs at your heart, and you want to tell him more. To admit to him you’d wanted to be alone because you are alone in Hisui.
           Your Pokémon would stay at your side, but they couldn’t change the way you’d felt alone all this time.
           So alone in your experience in Hisui, and why you had ended up here.
           Perhaps it’s too self-deprecating to think of it as so, but you don’t know what else to believe anymore. How can you come to terms with people so willing to throw you away, then beg for your assistance, but only for the necessity of your service?
           “Maybe it’s foolish that I want to be alone,” you rasp out.
           You shrug off the haori over your shoulders, and your hands strip the headband from your hair. Shedding their leaden, overbearing weight, you set them aside on the grass.
           You don’t cast them another glance.
           You hardly notice that you shiver as the next sea breeze rolls in; it’s the end of summer, but the wind is cold.
           And once more, you’re grateful that Volo doesn’t ask a thing of you.
           “But at the same time, I don’t want to be alone, either.”
           It’s a hoarse whisper that he still manages to hear.
           He doesn’t need to ask why you feel so alone. He had been there at your lowest point, when he’d rescued you from the darkness threatening to toss you into the unrelenting abyss of your exile.
           And then, he had grown too attached to you for his own good.
           How defenseless you are now, how trusting of him that you will admit such a thing to him, how he can’t find it in himself to just let you be…
           Volo decides he would regret it if he didn’t take this chance to pull you closer, deeper into his very being.
           …Even if he shouldn’t.
           You almost yelp when Volo shifts beside you, when he’s suddenly bundling you up in a hug. His arms wind around your own as he deftly pulls you into the space before him, his legs shifting to settle outside yours. He curves around you just so, his chin resting upon the top of your head.
           “You’re cold,” he observes plainly, as if that somehow explains everything.
           There’s not an inkling of shame or embarrassment in his tone, but you wish that there was. You wish there was, for his heat is nestled against every part of you, and you can smell the faint scent of earthy trees and fragrant flowers on his clothes and feel his breath against your prickling skin.
           You’re abashed at how close he is, and yet…
           you don’t want him to let go.
           Perhaps this is his answer to your confession. That he won’t allow you to be alone, if you’ll have him.
           You want to let him stay. You want to have him.
           Shivering at the thought, and the fact that he’s so close, you exhale shakily. You know he’d felt it, and you know he can feel your rapidly thumping heartbeat.
           You can’t hide it.
           “You’re shivering still,” Volo points out with a thoughtful hum.
           Clearly not from the cold, though.
           As if he understands what you want, however, he gently gathers your hands in his own.
           It’s with a start then, do you realize this is the first time you’ve held his hands.
           They’re calloused, obviously from the more demanding labor of his work with the guild and his escapades into various ruins. They’re rough in some areas on his palms, but when your fingers tentatively explore the rest of his hands, you’re surprised by how soft they are. How warm, how kind, and how lovely they feel in yours.
           “Your hands… They’re soft,” you say absently, a mild note of astonishment echoing in your words.
           Then, struck by another thought, you stare down at your own hands, so rugged and bruised and scarred.
           Nothing like his.
           A smooth chuckle quavers against your back as Volo leans into you, his pleasant warmth healing some exhausted, ravaged remnant of your beaten soul.
           He laughs shortly, though not intending to demean you. Right along with his words, you feel his laugh run through your body, soothing you. “Thank you. But I quite like your hands.”
           Before you have a chance to even ask what he means, Volo moves to hold your hands completely in his.
           “They show how hard you’ve worked.”
           Fuck.
           You feel those pitiful tears returning again.
           Laying his head against yours, Volo continues on, unmistakable tenderness sighing beneath his words, “And I see how hard you’ve worked, even if no one else has. I always will.”
           His thumbs brush over yours.
           The action is so compassionate, so soft, that you almost want to give up and break down, without a care in the world.
           It’s true.
           Volo has. It’s why he’d been the only one who’d scoured the land searching for you after you’d been exiled, to offer you a safe haven when no one else could. When no one else would.
           But now, sitting in his embrace, feeling so warm and loved in his care, you think you hadn’t even needed that, as long as you could remain with him.
           He is your safe haven.
           How had you not thought of it before?
           “Thank you, for saying that.” Gradually, you relax against him, a wobbling breath easing its way into the night. “I don’t think anyone else here has ever spoken to me like this.”
           Volo hums again, this time moving impossibly closer, his cheek nearly touching yours. His blond tresses tickle your skin, and you marvel at the warm feeling that consoles your aching, splintering heart. Is this how you’d felt in your life of the past? Did you have someone else important to you back then?
           Strangely enough, you don’t know if you want to remember.
           Not when Volo is here now, with you. Not a fleeting figment of what you’d left behind, not a ghost of your past, but a friend at your side, in the present.
           A friend.
           But is that all he is?
           You know the answer already.
           You’ve wanted him to be more than that, but whether it’s because you want someone to fill the void of loneliness in your heart or because you really are attracted to him, you can’t readily say.
           Perhaps it’s a bit of both, then.
           “Then I will.”
           You fight against your tears, and if Volo can feel you trembling once more, he says nothing of it.
           Instead, he only goes on.
           “Your arms as well, so firm and unyielding, to help you overcome every obstacle in your way,” murmurs Volo, his hands leaving yours to idly push your sleeves upward with each of his words.
           Your breath stutters.
           His fingers trace the scars marking your skin, as they meander up toward your shoulders.
           Another shudder, one that you don’t even try to suppress.
           Volo nuzzles against your hair, and you welcome his caress; if he will be here for you like this, then you don’t want to push him away.
           “Strong, just as your shoulders are”—his fingers press into your shoulders lightly, and you stifle a gasp—“to be able to carry burdens that are not even yours.”
           Undeniable veneration rings in his words. You can’t comprehend it for a moment—how he seems to hold you in such high regard, with a staggering amount of unfettered awe for you that is unheard of in Hisui.
           “But most of all,” Volo begins, just before sighing, and the noise almost sounds wistful—loving, even.
           He hesitates, his hands still upon your shoulders, as though he’s debating speaking honestly or not.
           You sit, motionless, despite how quickly your heart is racing.
           At last, he gives in, one hand gliding over your left arm, before cautiously angling in, toward you.
           Your eyes remain fixed on the ocean. You can’t breathe, you don’t know what you should do at this moment, he’s just so close to you—
           His hand presses over your heart, and you freeze.
           “But most of all, your heart is what has drawn me to you.”
           …What?
           The heat of his hand suddenly burns at the frigid loneliness gripping your deprived heart. Something gives, then, as your heart reaches fiercely for that warmth, and finally, a noise escapes you.
           A miserable, defeated noise. A whimper, a cry, something you’d never let anyone else hear, and yet, Volo is the first and only one to hear it.
           “Your heart, so full of kindness for the people who you don’t even know.” You’re vaguely aware of Volo’s lips upon the back of your neck, a fluttering kiss gently placed just below your hairline. “So stout, so resilient, even after everything that they’ve done to you.”
           The tears nearly spill down your cheeks.
           Volo, I—I don’t think I deserve you.
           “I sometimes wonder if I deserve you,” chuckles the man wrapped around you, as he says your name, the heat against your back and over your chest suddenly so evident to you now.
           Did I say that out loud?
           Had you been more aware, you would have thought there to be something else in his hushed praise—something else that almost seems like too much, in the way that he’d spoken your name.
           Your hand clamps down over his on your heart, but you don’t spare it another thought. He doesn’t do anything to halt you, instead parting his fingers for yours to lace between them.
           Then, Volo guides a hand to brace your chin, with a delicate touch meant to direct you only toward him, and nothing else.
           “Volo,” you start quietly, with wavering eyes, as you blink up at him, “I think I—”
           You stop when you see that there’s nothing but affection in his gray eye, startling in how it matches the intensity with which he’s holding you to him.
           Prompting you to continue, he says your name again, as if it’s the sweetest melody one could sing.
           But you can’t say what you want to, just yet.
           Instead, you only close your eyes and squeeze his hand in yours.
           “Please don’t leave me.”
           Volo smiles delightfully, lowering his head to rest his forehead against yours. He wants to be true to you, to tell you that he won’t go, but inside, his heart is tearing at him savagely. He cannot.
           Then why did you come here? a voice seems to ask him, and he shuts his eyes in a silent reply, hoping you won’t see the conflict on his stricken face.
           How can he leave you like this, so shattered and fragile, wearing a look of suffering you’d never shown anyone else before?
           You, the unparalleled Hero of Hisui?
           A jaded part of him should rejoice at your weakness, the part of him which knows what he must eventually do.
           But he cannot do that, either.
           You’ve trusted him with your vulnerability. You believe him to be so genuine, his heart in the right place.
           Volo loves you. He really does.
           And while he cradles you close, could he say that he doesn’t know a thing of your loneliness?
           He’s been lonely for his whole life.
           Lonely, in his childhood, when the unfair cruelty of the world had made it clear to him that he had no one else to turn to. Lonely, when he had learned he would then be the only one who could change the world to be what he—no, what everyone, even you—would need.
           But maybe with you, and you with him, neither of you will be so lonely anymore.
           And perhaps that’s why, as you curl into his embrace, with a broken expression, Volo smiles again, whispering so softly that he wonders if he should have even bothered to speak such a beautiful lie at all,
           “I won’t leave you. I promise.”
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c0ntr0lledchaos · 2 years ago
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oh god the brain rot.
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generation loss brain dump under the cut as I go back and analyze the vod
so, my first thoughts are the set is very different in this episode, and we see that the more gl!ranboo moves around. The first episode was very much a stage-like set while this one was set in what looks like a mall. if that has anything to do with this episode showing more characters becoming aware of their situation and it not being just a show anymore idk.
It's fairly obvious that while looking for the key in gl!Charlie something happened so that the act was dropped for a couple seconds and what was 'really' happening was shown. I wonder if that was due to the person who has been communicating with gl!ranboo (I'm assuming they're 'the savior') trying to hack in.
that last point also makes me wonder if at the end of this, we will see clips from the first episode shown in a 'new light' and see what was actually happening. I already saw someone point out that the bowl of slime looked the same as the guts. was gl!charlie covered in blood actually? Were some of the ingredients not what they seemed?
Mr squiggles saying 'Hey new friends!' to a group of people tied up with bombs around their necks was just the start of all the creepy vibes I was getting from them this episode
THE HAT. Mr squiggles did not like the hat. the hat is defiantly the one gl!Sneeg wore in episode 1 but it is also implied it was planted in this episode since Mr. Squiggles says 'Who put that there.' (That is later confirmed by the savior as he was trying to save gl!Sneeg as well) as soon as gl!Sneeg put the hat on he immediately started freaking out and his eyes start darting around the room. we already saw that the slime was guts but what else did he see I wonder
the chills I got when the showfall masks came into view
gl!Sneeg gets back in place, the mind-control mask is removed, a new hat is put on his head, and the person doesn't even bother to handcuff him again before leaving, confident that he wouldn't try to escape. then everything goes back to normal and gl!Sneeg is notably using his 'streamer voice'
in that scene the camera also focuses on the puzzler's face a few times, showing a look of what I believe was confusion. he didn't know what was going on but was aware of what was happening unlike everyone else
Mr squiggles also goes on as if this is the first time they are acknowledging gl!Sneeg
again, Mr squiggles with a cute little animation saying 'I like them all, I wish they could all live' just unsettling now
The puzzler seems to have just a little bit of knowledge about what is actually going on, hinting to Chat being in control of helping during the choosing of who gets to live and also when gl!Sneeg and gl!Niki are about to go through the tunnel
shout out to @twilight-trix who translated the winding:
"Ah it's simple you just have to find the cage"
"The cage that's in Charlie remember?"
"Another piece is in a jar of something sweet"
"The last one comes at a price :/"
the fact that all the other victims were kept alive means they planned for all of them to die in the games and puzzles. for gl!Niki's death even though Mr squiggles had already said a price needed to be paid, the puzzler still acts surprised that she had to die even though he was the one who killed her
also, I scanned the QR code, it just takes you to the genloss website. buy their merch, this shit is fantastic
this fucking screenshot has no business being that creepy
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so showfall grabbed the back of the mask and the light on the logo came on but what exactly did that do? did it just up the filtering considering what was 'really' about to happen would have been pretty gruesome. EDIT: so I didn't notice before but the mask flashed and turned off as Ranboo went to leave the room. maybe the mask only works for so long before it has to be turned back on?
again, the puzzler seems as if he is talking about chat, saying that someone is saying his puzzles are too easy and 'is this one too easy' before another pipe puzzle shows up on the screen. he even finish the puzzle for us
gl!ranboo said a few things threw out the episode that sounded like generic videogame protag dialogue but it felt strange having the prompts like 'where should I search?' but not giving us the option to actually choose. I wonder if that is due to the first episode being a point-and-click style while this one was more dedicated to puzzles. is he still stuck on point-and-click mode? or are the other NPCs searching before we even get the option?
speaking of protag dialogue, gl!ranboo says 'It must not be the way, maybe there is somewhere else' in the same tone while staring hard at gl!Ethan, the next person to die. I've been thinking about how much control showfall has over everyone in this episode since they seem to have at least a little control over everyone except the savior trying to help gl!ranboo. I don't think gl!ranboo knew that gl!Ethan was next to die but I also don't think he is the one talking when he says stuff like that. just like a game's dialogue is supposed to prompt the player in the right direction, I think showfall is using him to prompt their show in the direction they want it to go. not all the time but at least sometimes
he also does not react at all to gl!Ethan dying or the pool of blood, speaking again in the same tone
and now that gl!Ethan has died, gl!ranboo is the first to say the other door is the exit even though he had just said that it must not be that door. he even volunteers to go first! I wonder if in the next episode, gl!ranboo will feel guilt over the deaths he was forced to help cause
the puzzler is fiddling with the detonator, working on it for some reason. why?
'I hope he's ok' gl!ranboo says in the same unfeeling protag voice. there is a chance he is just doing it whenever to drive home the fact of he is a protag but whatever
gl!ranboo solves a freaking Rubix cube in less than a minute then immediately says that he doesn't know what to do. yes, it might have been just an excuse to flex his Rubix cube skills but him saying that after makes me think. Gl!ranboo is a really smart person but is being controlled by showfall to forward the plot whenever they see fit. just how much of the actual gl!ranboo have we seen and how much has been showfall speaking through him?
I think this is further proven when he declines to solve the other cube in favor of looking around more even though we saw how fast he could do it the first time
the puzzler says he had been prototyping toys that go on people's heads, could he have helped make the mask gl!ranboo is wearing? what if he is an ex showfall employee and that's why he seems to know a little bit about chat
I think the fact that the camera remains on the empty chair for so long means that showfall was not prepared for us to go into that room. gl!ranboo was not supposed to go in there
the puzzler knew he was going to die but didn't know how. he knew that showfall was going to kill him
the puzzler tells gl!ranboo to go, to be set free, and gl!ranboo ignore it. once again showing how he is under Showfall's control
even while the savior talks Mr squiggles is trying to tell gl!ranboo and us not to trust him
gl!ranboo looks at all the cameras, looking at the one that was following him just as it fades out
closing thoughts:
the cast is made up of npcs, gl!ranboo (who is the only playable character), and the savior who is not under showfalls control.
the 'vilians' are not actually villains, seen as gl!charlie (and I do mean gl!charlie and not cc!charlie) played a random person this episode and also the villain from the first episode. the npc's are random people who have had personalities programed by snowfall to help push the protagonist forward, like most story. I made a joke to my partner about gl!sneeg being 'factory reset' when the mask was put on him but I think that is more true than I realized.
the puzzler is still an npc but is special, he was on showfalls hitlist for some reason. I am going to go ahead and guess he was a former employee and because of that he has managed to retain some of the information even after being put in the show. that is why he knew he was going to die and spoke to chat a couple times.
finally, gl!ranboo, the only playable character but not to us. I belive it is showfall who is 'playing' gl!ranboo and is simply letting us make a few choices along the way. that would explain why we didn't get to control gl!ranboo as much as we did in the first episode. we are the viewer's, not the players. why we get to control him at all? I'm sure that will be discovered in the next episode now that the fourth wall is gone.
also, the mask is definitely who gl!ranboo is being controlled so storywise it would make sense if at the end of this, when he truly brakes free, he takes it off. while I'm not entirely sure if that is going to happen I have two guesses on what might happen if it does.
he takes the mask off and this is the biggest fucking face reveal ever that will be extremely difficult to beat
or he has some really cool gory sfx makeup under it that will be horrifying.
I will not be disappointed no matter what happens though so until then, we will just have to wait for the next episode.
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