#dust is @dust-jar's rat

[thegloriouspapernapkin]

please ignore any mistakes i am eepy

(also, the templates are by @awfulalignmentcharts )

[mocchii-writes]

Hiiii! Could you do a Thanos x reader where the reader has a really shitty ex who’s in the games and is being cruel to her and Thanos just straight up wipes the floor with him?

Bonus points if he also gets him eliminated in the next game haha

In the Storm, I Stay Clear

Paring: Choi Su-bong (Thanos) x fem!reader

Summary: After your ex is unfortunately in the games, but Thanos doesn't hesitate to do you a favor.

Words: uhh a few

Warnings: Swearing, bullying :<

A/n: Grr, I know this is short, but I have a lot of req rn. I'm sorry ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

You really thought your day couldn't get any worse. You were practically kidnapped, stripped of your belongings, and thrown into a concrete cage with hundreds of other people. But luck had decided to leave you in the dust, apparently. You had survived the Six-Legged Pentathalon with little to no struggle, though it was totally jarring. You're trying to relax when you hear a chilling sound.

"I didn't know there was a rat problem here. Though I wouldn't put it past this place." It calls. You freeze. Why was your ex here? Your mind flows a tsunami of thoughts through you before you organize them and respond.

"Get lost, I don't want to talk to you." You think it seems direct enough that he'll scoff and leave, but that's really your mistake.

"Why so aggressive? The past is the past! C'mon, ease up!" By now, he's walked around to look at you. You simply continue eating your food, easily ignoring what he says and sniffling a laugh. "Hey!" He snaps, dropping his cocky demeanor. "Who the fuck do you think you are?"

You can't catch yourself when you let your guard down for a second. He swipes his hand across your tray, knocking the food down and onto the floor. It rattles with a loud clank that turns eyes to you two. He smirks and looks back at you.

"This isn't over, bitch. Do you think you can just run away from your problems?" He steps closer, lowering his voice as you keep your face stone. "I'll make sure you know what it feels to be hurt." He says. It's a stupid threat. It's much too vague to be taken seriously, and he looks really dumb at this angle. You snicker at him, which is a mistake, apparently.

You hear the gasps before the stinging on your face, but you're not surprised. He winds up to slap you again, but he's jerked by something. You finally lift your head back up to see him, but it's not him you see.

It was Thanos, though that's probably not his name. He had made himself quite popular, and you wouldn't deny the fact he had the face for fame. He's holding your ex by the collar, pulling him to look at his face. He mutters something you can't hear, and swiftly lands a punch straight to his jaw.

Unsurprisingly, your ex stumbles to the ground, rubbing his jaw as he starts to get up. He's stopped, though, by a hard kick to his gut. He groans in pain as Thanos stomps onto his hand. Thanos pulls him back up.

"You clearly never learned how to treat women, no?" He says lowly, the boy shaking his head quickly, muttering apologies. "Don't apologize to me, bitch." Thanos twists your ex's shoulders around and you're face to face with him again, only this time he's pathetic.

"I'm... sorry..." He whispers, looking down at his hands, bruising quickly. This was a sight you would surely never forget. You smile, tilting your head.

"I can't hear you." You coo, laughing at his state as he mutters another louder apology. Thanos throws him back to the ground before fixing his hair and approaching you.

"Senorita, you know I'd never treat you like that if you were mine, yeah?" He says, looking at you with a new tint in his eyes.

"I admire your effort, but you gotta give it a moment." You smile, bringing your hands to his forearms. "Thank you." You say, quieter. You can tell his attitude softens, though you're unsure what shows it. His eyes remain confident, and he nods at you, smiling.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Mingle? It sounded simple enough to you, but that's not in practice. You haven't made a lot of friends here, so you'll have to hope for a pity party or a desperate group. You're jerked out of your thoughts by the circular platform you're standing on suddenly begining to spin. Eerily cheerful children's music begins to echo through the area, and a number is called out.

"Five."

Well, that's four too many, as your luck would bring it. Seemingly for your ex, too, as he comes running to you immediately. He's got a busted lip, and he's pleading with you about something, but you're not listening, tracking your eyes to search for people.

You feel a hand on your arm pull you backwards, but your ex has a string hand on your arm. You outstretched your arms, turning to look at the person on your other side. To no surprise, it's Thanos. He has 4 people behind him, and they're all looking at you. You try to run, but your ex is really not letting up his grip. Okay, now you're panicking. You glance to the large red clock.

00:08

You're not going to make it unless something is done about your situation you're frozen in. Lucky for you, a kick is heaved to the chest of your ex, sending him backward as you're dragged away before you can process it. The door is quickly sut behind you, and you turn to Thanos, his hand still holding your wrist.

"Thank you." You whisper. He smirks cockily, but you let it slide. He pulls his hand from your wrist to your hand as you hear gunshots echo. One less problem for you, I guess.

Idk if I like this, but it was pretty fun to write ♡

~🍡🍡

[gaylordscooter]

Nightmare('s) Blunt Rotation

He almost laughed when Nightmare handed it to them, but then he realized that this was their torture for the day.

“a blunt?” Horror questioned.

“Weed, cannabis, marijuana, whatever you want to call it.”

“and you're giving this to us because?” He narrowed his eye sockets.

Killer snatched the blunt from over Horror’s shoulder. “yoink!” He examined it, smile curling up as he realized it was real.

Nightmare’s eyes flicked from Killer to Horror. “You are to share it—equally amongst yourselves. Decide who’s room you all want to stay in. I will not let you leave it until tomorrow.”

“you're trapping us all in the same room and expecting us to smoke weed?” Horror surmised.

Killer let out an exaggerated gasp, “like a sleepover?”

“oh hell no.”

“If that's what you want to call it, sure. A ‘sleepover’,” Nightmare confirmed. “Now if you excuse me, I have to hunt Dust down.”

Nightmare sunk into the ground as if he entered the shadows.

Killer diverted his attention to the blunt in his hands. “we don't have a lighter…you think a gaster blaster can light it?”

“i think you should try that while it's in your mouth,” Horror grumbled.

“great idea, buddy!” He patted Horror on the back, earning him a violent glare.

Dust was hiding somewhere in the castle. Nightmare could feel his presence. It was annoying that he had to seek him out, but the thrill of the hunt was almost worth it.

He was in the great hall, lying flat underneath one of the long tables.

Once Nightmare spotted him, he tried to teleport away, but he was able to grab him with a tentacle before he could. He dragged him closer by the leg with a sly smirk.

“Hiding is futile, Dust,” he reminded.

His mismatched eyelights stared at him, unamused.

“Oh, don't complain. I’m letting you three relax for the day, even though yesterday was supposed to be a calm day, yet Killer skewed things off course. Aren't I nice?” he asked. He picked Dust up and made his way over to the halls where Killer and Horror were in. He plopped Dust down on the floor in front of the two. His face contorted into confusion as he realized Killer had a gaster blaster aimed right at his own face. “What are you doing.” It didn't even come out as a question, because not a single answer could explain the display.

The blaster disappeared and Killer gave him a look of a child being caught with a hand in the cookie jar. “you didn't give us a lighter,” he said with his teeth still holding the blunt. He pointed at Horror with his thumb. “he gave me the idea.”

“he’s lying.”

“nuhuh! you told me to light it while it's in my mouth,” Killer retorted.

“it was a joke and you were the one who thought about using a blaster to light it in the first place,” he said through gritted teeth.

“oh so you tricked me!”

“i didn't trick you, you're just stupid!”

“at least my skull’s still intact, humpty dumpty!”

Horror lunged for Killer and the two ended up squabbling on the floor like two rats fighting over poisoned cheese.

Nightmare looked down at Dust as the two bickered. “Have fun.” He dropped a lighter next to Dust and disappeared into the ground.

Dust grabbed it and shoved it into his pocket before he stood up. He grabbed the two’s souls with a ping and wrenched them apart, practically launching them as he did so.

“fuck, dude, what the hell?!” Killer groaned as he recovered from the toss.

Dust walked over to him and extended a hand out to him.

“aw, you helping me up now?” Killer reached for his hand, but Dust smacked it away and snatched the blunt from his mouth.

He took out the lighter, put the blunt in his mouth and lit it. He proceeded to take a long hit from it.

Horror was almost impressed by his boldness, if he didn't see his desperation.

“hey! nightmare said to share it! and we gotta choose someone’s room to stay in,” Killer pointed out. He hopped up to his feet.

Dust blew the smoke in Killer’s face and turned to walk towards his room.

Killer walked ahead of him. “your room it is, then.” He opened the door and gestured for Dust to go ahead, “ladies first.”

Dust threw his fist at him, but halted right before he made contact, making Killer flinch. His shoulders rose and fell as he laughed silently and went inside while taking another hit.

“must be hitting him quick if he’s already joking around,” Horror said as he entered the room as well.

“pun intended?” Killer asked as stepped inside and closed the door.

“what do you take me for?” Horror quirked a brow bone.

“dust, stop hogging it.” Killer extended his hand out and motioned for Dust to give it to him.

Begrudgingly, Dust handed it over.

Killer giggled like a gossiping high schooler before taking a drag.

Dust chuckled.

Killer gave him a look, blowing the smoke out. “what? something funny ‘bout the way i smoke?”

“have you ever smoked weed before, killer?” Horror asked. Motioning for the blunt.

Killer slapped it into his hand. “‘course i have!”

“you gotta let the smoke get to your lungs—metaphorical lungs. you sipped on that shit like a straw, it's not a cigar.” Horror pressed the blunt to his mouth and inhaled deeply. He exhaled a couple of seconds later and passed it to Dust.

Dust made his way to his bed before taking another hit and laid down.

Killer tried to sit down near him but was kicked off and passed the blunt. “asshole,” he chided. He settled for sitting down on the carpet and leaning on the bed frame.

Horror sat down as well, leaning back against the door. “yeesh, it's strong,” he muttered. He wondered where the hell Nightmare got something like that.

Killer hesitated this time before taking a hit, taking Horror’s advice in mind. He immediately started coughing.

Dust chuckled at him.

“fuck—” he coughed some more, “you.”

Horror snorted in amusement as Killer's coughing finally died down but Dust’s laughter continued.

“ok, i’ve never smoked weed before,” he admitted. “but i have taken edibles!” he added with a bit too much pride.

“damn, we got an adult over here,” Horror joked.

“fuck off…” Killer crossed his arms.

“you get any in your system or did you cough it all out before you could?”

“i said fuck off!” He turned his head to Dust. “and stop laughing!”

“you two go ahead n keep smoking, ‘m good for now.” He leaned his head back, pressing it against the door. He was already pleasantly buzzed, taking another hit might be going overboard. Dust already took three. They had the same body so he doubted they had different tolerances.

“aw, tapping out now?” Killer teased. “i’m feeling fine after two.”

“that's cause you didn't smoke it properly.”

Dust hastily grabbed it out of Killer’s hands.

“yeesh, ok, junkie,” Killer mumbled. As he waited for Dust to hand it back, he got an idea. “hey, this is like a sleepover, right?”

“no.”

“we should play some games. y’know, to pass the time.”

“i say we skip right to the ‘sleep’ part,” Horror said, already closing his eye sockets.

Killer took a hit, inhaling slower and less this time. He managed to exhale without coughing, but he did clear his throat. “c’mon, bud, when's the next time we'll get to do this? just hanging out and chillin’.”

Horror sighed and opened his eye sockets. “truth or dare?” he asked.

“that's more like it! hmm…dare!” He handed the blunt to the impatient Dust behind him.

Horror took a second to formulate one. “next hit you take, hold it for five seconds.”

“you just want me to cough again!” he accused.

He winked, “what? you gonna chicken out?”

“hell no!” He motioned for Dust to hand it over. The hooded skeleton sluggishly handed it over. He took a deep breath in and out before bringing it to his mouth.

“gotta prepare?”

“shut,” he snapped. He inhaled deeply and held it.

Horror counted for him, “five. four. three. two…are you crying dude?”

He breathed out harshly, choking out a “one.” He coughed, once, and willed himself to stop there. “ok,” he composed himself, “truth or dare?”

“truth,” Horror answered.

He cleared his throat again, eliciting another laugh from Dust. He shot him a look before saying, “how many times you got laid?”

Horror chuckled. “what are you? twelve?”

“i ‘unno, dude! this shit’s hitting me harder than i thought it would! i can hardly think.” He felt tugging at the back of his neck and realized Dust was playing around with the fluff on his hood.

“‘m starting to think nightmare’s targeting you with this one. anyway, zero,” Horror responded.

Killer’s eye sockets widened, forgetting about Dust. “really?”

“nada, zip, zilch, never.”

“...huh.”

“why? have you?”

“i’m not inclined to answer that.” He looked down at his hands, noticing the blunt was gone. He turned to Dust. “you’re still going?!”

Dust shrugged and blew out a ring of smoke at his face.

Killer waved it away. “yer crazy…hey, how about you? truth or dare?”

“wasn't it my turn?” Horror asked.

“dare,” Dust responded aloud.

The other two froze like they'd blow up if they moved. Rarely did Dust ever talk. He must've been real high.

Killer smiled mischievously. “i dare you…to kiss me on the cheek!”

“ok, wow,” Horror said, eye sockets going blank. “that got weird quickly.” He was silently thankful he only took one hit. He expected Dust to punch him or something. He expected Dust to back out.

A second later Dust grabbed Killer by the collar of his shirt, bringing him onto the bed, and leaned in, clinking their teeth together.

Killer’s eyelights flickered on as the kiss continued. He didn't know if it was the weed that was affecting him but damn was he feeling euphoric.

Even though they were high out of their minds, it wasn't half-assed. There was passion.

His soul fluttered. He closed his eye sockets, letting ecstasy flow throughout his body in waves as he leaned into it.

When was the last time he felt like this? Has he ever even felt like this? He doubted it.

It was like he was flying or falling. Either way, it felt amazing. He was convinced he died and went to heaven, hallelujah.

There was warmth. There was peace.

Everything was nice. Everything was beautiful. He was beautiful. God, why couldn't he feel like this sooner—

“hello? you two have been making out for five minutes now,” Horror’s voice pierced through their illusion of heaven.

They opened their eye sockets.

Killer was looking at Dust; Dust was looking at Horror.

Hands he didn't notice until now gripped the back of his jacket and skull tightly.

Horror’s eye darted from side to side, as if looking directly at them was difficult. “if i remember correctly the dare was a kiss on the cheek…”

“oh yeah…” Killer whispered.

Dust let go of Killer and pushed him off the bed again.

It stung. It was like he ripped him from a hot tub and dunked him straight into a tub of ice.

Dust pulled his hood even further over his head and laid down, presumably not planning to get up until next morning.

“...yeah let's just. let's just move on to the sleeping part,” Killer said, completely out of it.

“...yeah,” Horror agreed.

No “goodnight”s were exchanged. No words in general were exchanged after that.

Despite sleeping on the ground with no cover or pillow, he managed to doze off pretty well. That wasn't that much of an accomplishment when any of them could sleep standing on hot coal.

WAKE UP.

His eyes snapped open at the command, and then he registered who spoke, in disappointment. It was in the middle of the night. No idea exactly what time it was, but he knew it had to be a few hours since they'd started sleeping because he could hear him again.

WERE YOU TRYING TO SMOKE ME OUT LIKE A BEE?

Yea.

I CANNOT BELIEVE YOU. ACTUALLY, YES I CAN. I JUST OVERESTIMATED YOU.

It was just a dare.

JUST A DARE—ARE YOU AWARE OF WHAT YOU ARE HOLDING RIGHT NOW, FIEND?

What was he holding right now?

Oh.

He was currently hugging another skeleton as if he was a body pillow. He could've sworn he kicked Killer off the bed…

YOU DID BUT YOU CARRIED HIM BACK UP HERE, HARLOT.

Harlot??

Yeesh, he did not remember doing that. Where was that blunt, did they ever put it out??

OH, GUESS WHERE THE BLUNT IS.

Where's the blunt.

YOU SMOKED IT ALL. THE REST OF THE BLUNT? YOU KNOW. THE WHOLE THING. BY YOURSELF. YOU SMOKED THE WHOLE THING.

Okay, sheesh.

YOU GREENED OUT, YOU IDIOT!

Now Papyrus certainly did not know that term.

AND YOU’RE STILL CUDDLING WITH HIM!

Oh yeah.

…

How the hell was he going to let go of him without stirring him?

YOU COULD KILL HIM.

He was not gonna kill him.

JUST PUSH HIM OFF AGAIN. BLAME IT ON HIM.

He was going to push him off.

….

WELL?

OH.

OH, DON’T TELL ME YOU DON’T WANT TO.

YOU’RE SICK.

tell me something i don’t know.

He let go of Killer and rolled to the other side of the bed, facing away from him.

Luckily Killer didn't stir.

Goodnight.

The next morning was rough.

Dust’s skull was screaming at him in more ways than one. He did not want to get up. He wasn't completely lucid, but he was thinking clearly enough to question what the fuck was wrong with him.

Killer woke up confused, having no idea how he got on the bed or how he got in Dust’s room or what transpired last night.

Horror was fine, physically. He was still reeling from seeing two alternate versions of himself makeout like there was no tomorrow. He was never playing truth or dare with them when high. Or ever.

None of them bothered getting up despite the fact they were all awake. There was a mutual agreement to stay silent and still for a bit longer.

It wasn't until Nightmare barged in that they had to get up.

“Seems like some of you enjoyed that,” he stated.

“yea? didn't go according to plan?” Killer asked, despite having no clue what “that” was.

Dust shoved a pillow against his face, he couldn't handle hearing his grating voice right now.

Nightmare ignored his question. “You three should eat soon, it's already noon.” And with that, he left.

“leave,” Dust managed to say.

Horror was already on his way out the door.

Killer scrambled out of the bed to follow after him.

Once the door closed behind them, Dust brought his hands to his face and let out a shuddering breath.

What

The

Fuck!?

What the hell was wrong with him?!

[verysium]

please write something about blue lock as cat dads, like we have cat and its batshit insane <3

my cat was furiously scratching at my bedroom door this morning, so i'm taking that as a sign to write this. here you go anon:

rin owns a void. black fur with bluish green eyes and sharp little fangs. rin adopted him as an emotional support animal after sae left for spain. his name is kuro (黑) which means "black" in japanese because the itoshis are just unoriginal with all pet names. sometimes the cat camouflages with the furniture, but rin knows its habits too well to accidentally sit on him. they have an almost telepathic bond. kuro follows a very strict routine. feeding times are 7 in the morning before rin's football practice and 6 in the evening during dinner. he is calm and quiet most of the time but hisses whenever there are birds in the window. very shy around strangers. will curl his tail around rin's leg and peek out from time to time but does not have the courage to actually approach. sometimes if rin has free time, he takes kuro out to the park and lets him chase after the butterflies. kuro is also very intelligent. knows how to unlock doors, fetch the newspaper, and clean up after using the potty. sometimes spaces out when rin watches his horror movies at night. will blink at the screen owlishly. he's not very skittish when it comes to jumpscares. he just doesn't understand what's going on in the film. his favorite time of the year is during the holidays when rin goes back to kamakura to visit his parents. mama itoshi always sneaks kuro an extra fish bone.

oliver has a cat with heterochromia. his name is björn which is swedish for bear because he is a massive maine coon. flirts with all the tabby cats in his neighborhood and purrs loudly to show off. incredibly fluffy but sheds a lot. very strong physically. one time he moved oliver's entire closet because he did not like how it was blocking his cat door. secretly the leader of a cat gang, but oliver doesn't know. pretty chill most of the time and enjoys large family gatherings. multilingual because he can respond to commands in swedish, japanese, and german. he also knows a little bit of danish. oliver taught him a few tricks as a kitten. he can twirl around, roll over, and give high-fives. despite his large size, björk is very flexible and light on his feet. one time he got into the cookie jar on the top pantry shelf, and oliver's mom had to shoo him out.

shidou has an orange cat named ryu (竜) which is an alternative form of the kanji for "dragon" (龍). it is also adapted from the first character in his name "ryusei." his cat looks exactly like how mcdonald's sprite tastes. very spicy. does not sleep at night. his business hours are from three in the morning to whenever he passes out. drifts like a literal race car and makes vrooming sound effects. ryu took one whiff of catnip as a kitten and has never been the same since. all of his toys are shredded. prefers taking the head off first. you will find cotton stuffing everywhere. he destroyed the brand new cat bed shidou got for him, so now he's been downgraded to a cardboard box. ryu is prohibited from all open windows especially the ones with pull-down blinds because he once saw a squirrel and went absolutely feral. only eats raw meat and refuses to even touch dried kibble. sits beside shidou whenever he orders yukhoe from the local korean restaurant. feasts on all the scraps.

barou has a tuxedo cat. her name is mimi, and she is the sweetest cat in existence. claws are always trimmed. licks herself clean. unusually calm at the vet and groomer and is one of the few cats who actually enjoys baths. sometimes helps barou with cleaning by catching all the dust bunnies. his apartment is also insect-free thanks to her. she is, in fact, a baddie. the tomcat next door has tried to get her attention for over a year now, but she refuses to be swayed. he gave her a dead rat once, but mimi swatted it away before telling him he better start paying some bills and look somewhat hygienic before she even looked his way. the only man in her life is barou, and it will stay that way. mimi is also a polydactyl cat, so it looks like she's wearing white mittens. sometimes barou comes home from practice exhausted and collapses face first into bed, and mimi will crawl onto his back to knead his muscles for him.

nagi has a scottish fold. she has white fur and brown eyes, hence her name yuki which is japanese for "snow." she is very similar to nagi. lazy and sleeps all day. their favorite activity together is sunbathing. eats a lot but somehow still manages to stay in shape. she often sits upright like a human and kneads the fur on her tummy. as a kitten, she mirrored nagi's actions, so he got her a mini video game controller. it doesn't actually work, but she gets to press on the buttons whenever nagi is gaming. makes her feel very involved. scientists have also classified her as a liquid. she can get herself through every nook and cranny. even the two millimeter crack under the bedroom door. her favorite place in the house is her bed. has two fluffy blankets and a teddy bear. during winter, she moves her bed closer to the heater. has unofficial beef with choki because she tried to eat him once. ended up with spines in her mouth and never touched a houseplant after that. choki still has a giant missing chunk from where his arm was bitten off.

reo has a persian cat. her royal title is kana-hime because she is a spoiled princess. she has silky fur that smells like perennial roses. has an entire room to herself and a private chef. reo has like 3134736845 pictures of her on his phone. she is even included in the holiday cards and family portrait above the fireplace mantel. her collar is made of sterling silver with a diamond in the nameplate. very coquette. pink bows are her favorite. sensitive paws so reo customized a pair of small fur booties for her. clingy and has attachment issues (just like her owner.) sometimes goes on playdates with yuki. said playdates involve yuki just sitting there while kana-hime gives her a full body grooming session and makeover.

sae owns a siamese. light blue eyes and a dark patch of fur on her face and paws. she does not have a name because sae never formally adopted her. one morning he had gone to practice and returned to a mother and her kittens on his fire escape. sae did not keep the kittens, but unfortunately the mother was very persistent, so he let her stay. despite originally being a stray, she is very clean. always licking herself and sae's hands. not very picky but has a preference for seafood, specifically surume. very productive during the day. rearranges her bed and water bowl. scratches her post five to six times. takes a daily stroll on the rooftops of madrid. she doesn't have a collar, but somehow always manages to return safely to sae's window. has an almost sixth sense when it comes to his emotions. if she senses he is tired, she will hop onto his lap and force him to lay down and give her pets. if she sees that he is stressed, she rubs her head under his chin to calm him down. probably the only emotional attachment sae has had ever since he left japan.

kaiser has a norwegian forest cat. it has golden fur, dark stripes, and blue eyes. has a little mane around his neck, so he resembles a small lion. his name is klaus. basically a mini kaiser. preens in front of the mirror every morning alongside michael. prances around as if he owns the entire establishment. bullies other cats but is scared shitless in the presence of dogs (even chihuahuas). has a little habit of gently biting kaiser's finger. not enough to draw blood but enough to leave a little imprint from his fangs. it's his way of showing love. nuzzles against kaiser's neck tattoo when he picks klaus up. a very needy baby at night. cannot sleep well in any place that is not michael's bed. needs to be tucked in like a child with his stuffed animals and blankets. ends up sleeping on kaiser's face by the time the morning rolls around. has perfect loafs, as in 11/10 if it was a competition. side-eyes ness whenever he comes to visit. extremely judgmental to the point kaiser suspects klaus must have been a human in his past life. knows how to pose for photos and even tilts his head to capture a good angle.

[howlsofbloodhounds]

I see an ask and became curious too, how is YOUR 🫵 opinion about the murder time trio? For a long time I thought they were just a fandom delusion, and only recently did I realize that there is a LOT about them (even though none of them have any canon relationship). I know your focus is on Killer, but I think it's interesting to know what you think of these two additions the fandom gives him (additions being Dust/Murder and Horror)

This one’s gonna be kinda short ‘cause I really agree with @signanothername’s interpretation of the trio quite a lot.

I do think Murder will always be a flight risk and Killer is pretty much placed on babysitting/warden duty. I doubt Killer truly gives a single flying fuck about their histories or pasts, but that doesn’t mean he won’t use the information he knows against them whenever he wants to be a bitch. Or even if he just wants to figure out what would happen.

I wouldn’t be surprised at all if Killer had a loathsome tendency to fuck around with them both, like they’re interesting lab rats. Killer’s SOULs in jars, except they still get to keep their SOULs.

I’m sure Killer will occasionally divulge information and tips about Nightmare, the castle, whatever he’s learned. Simply because he likes controlling the flow of information, and he likes being able to have some control over others’.

He might take up a “teacher” role at some point just for the hell of it, assuming he doesn’t quickly lose interest in Dust and Horror and fucks off somewhere on his own again. I doubt he’d really care to listen to or follow either Dust or Horror on the field unless Nightmare enforces it or it’d be more beneficial to do so.

I’m sure Dust and Horror would keep their distance from him, simply because Nightmare always seems to have an eye on Killer and they don’t want to be involved in that. Killer would notice, but wouldn’t care all that much. The other two likely view him as Nightmare’s toy or pet, so they keep away.

I’m sure Dust would have a problem with how Killer doesn’t care or even attempt to escape. (Assuming this is something Dust or Horror even know. Maybe Killer keeps that a little secret, instead just allowing/wanting everyone to think he chose to join Nightmare. Let people think he has more control than he does.)

Dust and Killer might occasionally talk shit about the human together and Killer might make an idle comment on how he sees Papyrus too, but I doubt it’d really go anywhere.

Killer doesn’t like talking about his past or being reminded of it, and he doesn’t even consider himself Sans anymore—he’s unlikely to connect to the concept of Papyrus, a brother, friends, or family the way Dust and Horror do and can.

He probably knows, logically, he once was Sans—and so therefore he likely had a brother, a Papyrus. But he also doesn’t..connect to those fragmented memories, so long ago and so alien to him he struggles to tell if they’re real or not.

In Killer’s eyes, not killing somebody is probably a sign of tolerance. Friendship is..something more complicated, tainted by foggy memories of Papyrus and his experiences with his closest and longest “friend,” Chara. So at most he probably just considers Dust and Horror coworkers he likes to fuck around with for fun—because considering them friends has implications for Killer.

There’s probably also this sense of unspoken “if you break them, you fix them” thing between Killer and Nightmare. Like, Killer’s allowed to play and mess around with the new additions, but he cannot push them too far that they become useless to Nightmare. And if he does, he has to put them back together.

So I’d imagine that whenever Killer manages to drag Murder back from his escape attempts, he’s also kinda required to play nurse for a bit and get Murder back into working shape. It’s a humiliating and dehumanizing experience for Murder, but Killer does pretty well in the physical sense of caring for someone—not so much on the emotional and mental front though.

Horror and Killer also have their “not eating” issues. Horror because of his famine and 7 year starvation, Killer for undisclosed canon reasons—possibly because of his own food trauma (such as food triggering sudden emotions or memories, like ketchup or spaghetti), perhaps his dissociation and unawareness of his limits, maybe eating doesnt inspire any emotions in him very often, maybe starving himself helps gain a sense of control. Who knows, but it’s something that they have in common.

They’d probably all work together when they have to—they’re all dealing with the same shitty boss—but I doubt their idea of friendship would be typical. These guys probably torment eachother and it’s taken as something almost affectionate even.

But they’ll probably be some invisible, unspoken line between Horror & Murder and Killer. They view Killer as Nightmare’s. Horror will likely be disgusted by both Killer and Murder’s actions, what they did to their brothers—Murder will likely see far too many similarities between Killer and the human to be comfortable with him completely, and meanwhile Killer just isn’t capable of caring.

Meanwhile, Horror and Murder have that “you scratch my back, I’ll scratch yours” thing, but they both ultimately have their own goals.

Murder wants to get back to his AU and would probably ditch Horror in a heartbeat if it means doing so. Horror still has his brother to look after, so I’m sure he’ll rat Murder out if it keeps his Papyrus and AU safe. I’m sure they both understand that about eachother, though.

Sorry if this wasn’t really all that interesting. I’m kinda basically just repeating another’s views on it because I already agree with that interpretation 💀.

On another note, should Killer ever go into Stage 1 while in a Bad Sanses AU, I’m sure he’ll keep his distance from the others; either by staying in his room or leaving the castle frequently. I’m sure it’ll be quite a long time before Killer allows himself to be Stage 1 around the others, and Stage 1 would do his utmost to avoid them, and it’s possible that if they ever did encounter him like that, it’d be an unplanned, unpleasant accident.

( @qin-qin16 ).

[gin-juice-tonic]

dont read this if you dont want mild (but random) spoilers for the dating game.

It all started when I had been doing some digging in an unusually large patch of dead grass outside of town. Through my efforts I had uncovered a strange artifact appearing ancient Egyptian in origin, the bottom of which held a strange set of glyphs.

I'm not quite sure why, but for as long as I've lived here the Gravity Falls Town Hall has had an abandoned ancient Egypt exhibit down in its basement. The kid who locks up at night always forgets to lock the side door, so I've taken to helping myself to it when necessary. (Though I always make sure to fully lock up when I leave, so really I'm only doing them a favor.)

While comparing hieroglyphs of the various kingdoms to the inscription on my artifact, I heard a strange clattering noise. Yet when I turned to look around to see if I'd been caught, there was no one there.

Perhaps it was out of my proclivity for seeking out the supernatural, perhaps it was from watching too many monster movies as a kid, but either way I felt the need to open up the nearby sarcophagus to check inside.

In it was nothing more than dust, sand, and a petrified heart.

Cautiously I returned to my study, believing the source of the sound was likely rats. But before I knew it, something grabbed me by the neck from behind!

Quickly, I reached up to free myself, but instead of feeling someones hands or a rope or anything else one might use to choke someone, I felt something slimy. Pulling it just far enough off my neck to see, I looked down and realized I was being choked by a set of intestines.

This realization was immediately followed by a myriad of loud clashing sounds. I whipped around and realized two more things: 1) The crashing sound had been canopic jars falling over and breaking, and 2) I was not being choked by someone using intestines on me, but by the intestines themselves! The adrenaline from the shock was enough for me to escape and throw them to the floor, where they started inching their way back towards me.

Joining them now were the other organs, all free from their respective jars. They made their way towards me to begin their assault. (It was rather disgusting to watch).

... and yknow. to be continued.

[steviewashere]

Hi possible prompt for your ask box celebration (congrats on 330 btw!!)

Eddie is one of those street poets w/ a typewriter that will write people on the street a poem abt anything they ask for, in exchange for tips or like $5

& Steve walks by & asks for a poem & Eddie is immediately like 😍😍😍

& then maybe Eddie flirts outrageously through the poem, or he tries so hard to keep it #professional but he’s so goo-goo over this (Adonis of a man) guy that he fails miserably, or whatever direction you would want to take it

anyway Steddie meetcute street poetry 🥰🥰🥰

This was such a fun prompt. And before we get anywhere with this, I did have to write a little poem here and it does sort of suck. Apologies in advance for it. Steve Harrington is usually not my main muse, lol. But I still enjoyed this <3

Tags: Alternate Universe - No Upside Down, Alternate Universe - No Supernatural, Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, Meet-Cute, Set in New York, Strangers to Lovers, Mild Angst, Fluff, Steve Harrington Has Self Esteem Issues, Brief Mentions of Car Accidents, Poet Eddie Munson, Muse Steve Harrington, Eddie Munson is a Sweetheart, Steve Harrington is a Sweetheart, Robin Buckley & Steve Harrington's Friendship, Eddie Munson Calls Steve Harrington Sunshine

Also on AO3 (because this one got long)

📝————————📝 Eddie Munson doesn’t sell drugs anymore. Nope. He’s a refined, renewed, reorganized man. That being said, he still needed to make money somehow. It wasn’t enough to do just mechanic work on the weekdays; something had to happen over the weekends, else he wouldn’t make it for his bills.

So he picks up a few new hobbies. Cycling, because that was the cheapest way for him to get around—he’s not particularly good at that one, but he still tries anyway. Photography, because his neighbor was selling his older cameras and the opportunity just couldn’t pass by. Then, there was his new found little business/career/dilly-dally.

Poetry.

On weekends, Eddie Munson, the guy who can’t afford to go to jail because of some rat-faced little tell-all not liking his product, writes poetry for a bit of extra cash. He sets up in Central Park with a little collapsable table and a few stools, a heavy as shit typewriter that his uncle off-loaded onto him, and enough paper to whoever is buying. There’s a tip jar dutifully set up by his feet. And the pay rate is whatever people can afford or want to afford.

One time, he wrote poems for a group of six giggly, drunk girls coming back from brunch mimosas—they gave him $30 each. Another, a little old man who had just beat a group of preteens at basketball—he could only afford the $3.50 that was rattling around in his shorts. Sometimes kids would come up and ask about getting a poem about their mom or their puppy or the little daisy they had just picked—they got theirs for free (they need to save their money for ice cream. And, also, he’s not going to get in trouble for a kid choosing to spend their lunch money. No sir-ee).

The weekends could be dry, though. They could get boring. But the sun hits him nice. And he usually sees a few beautiful pooches. And, well, he gets to work on his craft. A passion of his that he held onto since being a little kid. And people appreciate him for it, which is…nice to put it in simple terms.

This Saturday, though, is a rather dry day for customers. It’s overcast. There are less people out, though Central Park is never completely empty. And his tip jar is basically just flies and dust.

Until, fortunately, a man approaches him. He seems timid, a bit shy, even if his smile is all charm. His hair is swooped over and curling at his shoulders, brunette with blonde highlights. The man’s skin is tanned from the most recent summer, not quite fading into this early fall. Dotted with moles, poking out from the collar of his polo and the sleeves, down to his wrists, a few on his face. He has a gorgeous nose: greatly geometric and centered between all his features, sun kissed on the tip, a little crooked on the bridge—aquiline. His lips are a soft pink, a bit pouty, stretching wonderfully around his straight, white teeth. And his eyes are a tad downturned, hooded, shiny with excitement; hazel, but leaning more towards a light shade of brown, fanned by long, dark eyelashes, and squinting with his smile. He’s tall—probably around Eddie’s height, 5’11”. Pretty fit—his arms are toned and his hands are large and he’s broad on the shoulders, but he’s not bean pole thin like Eddie is, just a little chunkier. And, Eddie’ll never admit this out loud, but the dude’s got a great ass, perfectly squeezed in by a pair of Levi’s—light wash, edging on skinny, but not entirely form-fitting. His polo is a darling yellow ochre; rich and warm and perfect to his skin tone.

He doesn’t know what kind of poem he’ll write for this guy, but fuck him, he just wants to wax on and on about this literal slice of heaven that’s standing over him. Smiling. Hands clasped together in front of him. His bright, sunshine eyes. And…yeah, that’s a word to describe this guy.

Sunshine.

“Um—hey, you’re the guy that does the little typewriter poems, right?” The guy asks, his knuckles turning white as he squeezes his hands tighter together. He shifts from one foot to the other, a quick nervous tic that you’d miss if you weren’t looking at him. And now that he’s stepped closer to the makeshift “booth”, Eddie can smell him. There’s a rich earthy undertone to him—the bark of freshly wet pine trees, a drop or two of eucalyptus, and there’s a touch of citrus to him, too; orange or vanilla-lemon, it’s hard to tell.

Eddie wants to stick his nose in the crook of this guy’s neck. Wants to suckle on his skin. Lick a stripe from the underside of his jaw, down to his ankles, and back up all over his face.

But he just smiles, soft and pulling, and blinks up at him. “Yeah, that’s me,” he states softly. “Want me to write you one? It costs however much you’d like to pay.”

“However much?” His face goes a little complicated. The biggest, Muppet-esque frown Eddie’s ever seen, the pinch of his eyebrows, and a tilt to his head. He’s gauging the near empty tip jar, from where his eyes seem to trail. “Isn’t that a bad rule for business?”

Eddie shrugs. “I dunno. I know nothing about business. But…It’s kept me afloat most of the time, so it’s not terrible.”

The guy makes a short grunt of assessment. “Hm, okay,” he murmurs, “do I pay you now or after?”

“After.”

“Okay,” he murmurs again. Even his voice is doing things to Eddie. It’s all deep at the base of his throat. A little raspy as if he smokes cigarettes; probably does based on the curl of stale smoke Eddie smells from him as he settles into a stool. “I know that you usually do whatever prompt the customer gives, but I’m sort of…I’m pea for brains, so I can’t really think of anything. Is it okay if…Can you just pick something?”

Eddie tilts his head and looks off of the guy’s shoulder. Miffed at how downtrodden this stranger is on himself. He gazes back and asks, “Can I write about you?”

His eyes widen and he jolts in his seat just a fracture. “I mean, sure. If that’s really the muse you want to go with.” And then he gives a self-deprecating chuckle. Eddie kind of wants to shake him by the shoulders and scream to the whole fucking galaxy about how beautiful he is. But he restrains. “Nothing about the scars on the backs of my arms, though, please,” guy adds a moment later, so quiet that Eddie almost misses it. “It’s from a bad car accident and I—I’m just now getting back into the swing of wearing short sleeves.”

Nodding, Eddie says, “You got it. And hey—“ He takes the sleeve of his t-shirt and rolls it up. The shirt’s from an old club in high school, the Hellfire Club. Quarter sleeves to his elbows. But right above the crease of his left elbow is a long, scraggly, winding scar that creeps from the base of his neck. He even points to the side of his face, at the large swatch of scarring on his jaw. How Mr. Beautiful Stranger didn’t notice it, Eddie’s unsure. “—I understand,” he states gently. “Also from a bad wreck. It happens to the best of us,” he tries to joke.

And even his laughter melts Eddie. High pitched and unrestrained, giggles coming straight from his heart. “Yeah, okay,” he sighs. “Sure, I’ll be your muse.”

Eddie sets up his typewriter, at the start of the paper, two fingers down, not indented. “Do you care if I use your name as the title?”

“Steve,” he softly says, “and yours?”

The corners of Eddie’s mouth curl upwards lightly, just a little thing. “I’m Eddie. Some people around here will call me Ed, but you call me whatever you want.”

Steve hums. “How about Eds? Actually…Unless that’s—That might be stupid, never mind.”

Barreling, Eddie just asks, “How ‘bout I call you Stevie?” He grins with it. “We can be Eds and Stevie, the unlikely duo.”

Another little fit of giggles, Eddie’s never felt so full. “Okay, Eds and Stevie, The Unlikely Duo. Thanks for not making me feel dumb.”

“You’re only dumb if you’re a bigot. And, I could be wrong, but every aspect of you does not spell bigot. You seem like a nice guy, all things considered.”

Instead of a verbal response, all Eddie receives is a slow lull of silence. But when he looks up, Steve is staring right back. A soft, pleased smile on his face. Cheeks flushed. It’s like he’s bursting at the seams with the approval. Maybe he is, Eddie considers, maybe nobody’s ever told him that. And that thought gets shut down almost as fast as it formed, makes Eddie’s chest hurt just a little too much to work through.

“So, Steve, what’s got you out here this morning?” He works better with conversation, so hopefully Steve will give him this.

“Oh,” Steve softly exclaims as if he wasn’t expecting Eddie to talk to him. Or to acknowledge him. Or to even exist with him past this poem. “I come out here and feed birds on Saturday mornings. Technically, I don’t think I’m supposed to, but nobody’s stopped me. Just ran out of seed and was sort of wandering around and remembered that you were here. I’ve never had interest in coming over here, but I’ve seen you, so it was just what my best friend told me that drew me over.”

“Mm, word from mouth. All good things, I can only hope.”

Steve snorts. “Yeah, amazing things, actually. She said you were really nice to her. She had come home from brunch with a few of her friends and they were tipsy.” He sighs, chuckling through it. “It was noon on a Saturday when she came back to our apartment. And I could smell the alcohol on her. Think I was…I had been sleeping—I’m a heavy sleeper and I’m chronically fatigued all the time, so I tend to sleep in late. But she came into my room, shook my shoulder, and was a crying mess when I finally saw her. Asked her what was wrong. She just blubbered on and on about how a really nice guy wrote something really nice for her about her little friendship. And I just…I don’t know. I wanna read something that makes me feel better about the world and maybe also reduces me to tears.”

Eddie stops where he’d been softly clacking away on his typewriter. He tends to type loud, but something about Steve makes him stop and appreciate even the air around him. Something about him just soothes Eddie. Also, the fact that he rambles is cute. He’s good at silences. And he’s good at just talking.

“Well, I can’t promise that it’ll be the best thing you’ve ever read,” Eddie slowly states. “I can try, though. I can try to write something beautiful.”

“You’re writing about me, so I’m not expecting it to be beautiful,” Steve quickly says. He backtracks though, stopped in his seat and wide-eyed. His mouth is agape and his cheeks are completely red now. “Forget I said that. That’s—I struggle a lot with that and I promised my best friend that I’d stop being so hard on myself, but it just is…automatic.”

As nonchalant as possible, Eddie begins to type again. He confesses more towards his paper, trying to avoid the eye contact, “You are beautiful, so this’ll come easy.” And then he’s met with that same slow lull of silence. The romantic kind of silence that Steve seems entirely attracted to. And, yeah actually, Eddie kind of appreciates it. The curve of the silence and the warmth of its face, the plushness of its lips in the ways it kisses the both of them. If Steve is so inclined to sit in this silence after admittances like that, maybe Eddie can learn to love them. If Steve wants more than just this poem.

He’s at the final stanza when Steve begins to speak again.

“Have you ever written about yourself?”

“Mmm, no,” Eddie murmurs, typing away, “no I don’t think I have.”

Steve takes a grand breath. “Y’know, if you like writing about the beauty in things, you should write about yourself, too.” He’s fiddling with his hands, focus elsewhere, when Eddie is openly staring at him again.

“Yeah?” Eddie asks. Steve nods carefully, eyes shiny with nerves now. He’s chewing on the inside of his right cheek. Eyes darting back and forth and back and forth. “You think I’m beautiful?” He meekly questions.

“Yeah, I think so. You’ve got these…huge brown eyes that pull me in and they’re sort of soft on your face, kind of like a deer, maybe a baby cow? I love those two, so don’t be insulted. And…You’re always sitting in the sun, but you’re still sort of pale and it makes it easier to see all the little freckles you’ve got. And—I, for one—love freckles. I think that your hair is just wonderful. And I—I don’t know, I’ve seen you around. Maybe I’ve thought about you a little too much.” His smile is sheepish and cute. Absolutely adorable.

Eddie grins. “If I didn’t know better, I’d say you’re hitting on me.” He works the paper out of the typewriter, smooths the fine wrinkles at the bottom of the sheet, and then looks his writing over.

Steve gains a manly kind of confidence to him now. He leans forward, just a hair away from seeing what Eddie wrote, and talks low and smooth. “And if I was?”

He glances up, warming on the face. “I’d say that I like it and…y’know, if my poem doesn’t suck, I know a good cafe around here. Only if this is good and only if you’re interested.”

“Show me what you got, Eds. I’ll probably take you up on that lunch offer after.”

In the short few years Eddie’s been doing this, he’s never been nervous to present his work. But he hands the paper over, hands shaking and palms sweating. And waits, with bated breath, as Steve reads it over:

————— There is a glow to him. A cast of light that brightens the world as I know it. From just one glance of his smile—all pearl and pink and new I could tell there was something special to him.

He’s sunshine, I believe.  The very ball of light, the all encompassing warmth of a celestial body, the very thing that continues to sustain. There is love through him, within everything he does.

Just one look at him and I’m refreshed. Even with very little, even with just appearances alone. May he know the way I was drawn in—maybe that makes me Icarus. To want to know something so much, you’re ready for everything that comes with it; Even the chance to burn up, even the chance to merge with it, even the chance to only see it once.

May he know that before I knew his name, I knew his smile. Before I knew his name, I knew his trepidation. Before I knew his name, I knew his warmth.

It’s not enough, to say he’s gorgeous. That’s not a strong enough word. But he is. Oh, how he is.

He’s painted my world golden— I see sunlight with him.

May he know that I’ll carry his light in my chest, May he know that I selfishly want more. ————— Finally, Steve’s attention goes back to Eddie’s face directly.

“I tried,” Eddie says, “it got away from me, though. And I…I didn’t write exactly how you’re beautiful. But there’s something about you—Something so out of this world, beyond what anybody could ever possibly comprehend. You seem like somebody worth knowing, worth being around.” He swallows hefty when Steve continues to just stare. His face is completely unreadable. “You approached my table and I couldn’t keep my eyes off of you. Just sucked me right in, every part of you. Sorry if this…If this wasn’t what you were looking for.”

Though, when Eddie is only met with that silence from earlier, he takes the opportunity to stare a little longer. At the high flush of Steve’s cheeks. The fine sheen of his eyes. There’s a little pinch between his eyebrows and a twist to his mouth.

“My best friend,” Steve wetly murmurs, “she always tells me that I’m the light of her world. And I—“ He sighs, the sound a lot choked and stuttering. “—I don’t know. I’ve never been able to believe her. I always just thought she was biased or something.” He looks down at the paper again, his thumbs running along the margins reverently. Steve sniffles. “I used to not be a very good person. Used to say things just because I heard them, because I knew they were bad. And it took…God, it took so long to relearn everything. To find myself, to figure out who I was outside of my bigoted family. Even then, I always thought I was just…” He shrugs. “I thought that I was destined for a lifetime of loneliness or something because nobody wanted to be around me. Because they thought I was one way, when I was really the other. Or they could only see me as I was, not who I am.”

Steve looks up to Eddie again. There are tear streaks down his cheeks. Wet and glistening in the little bit of light breaking through the clouds. With the sunlight on him, he’s even brighter than Eddie anticipated. It’s sort of unfair, too, how beautiful he is even when he cries.

“Thank you for this, Eds,” Steve quietly says, “you have no idea how much this means to me.”

“You wanted to feel better about your world. I wanted to show you something that’s changed mine, I suppose.” Eddie sits slumped in his stool, hands between his knees, pulling and twisting at his rings. He chews on his bottom lip. “And I meant what I said earlier, Stevie. You seem like a really nice guy. A good guy.”

Slowly, and oh so gently, Steve places a tentative hand to Eddie’s left forearm. His gaze has softened, sweetened. He’s smiling this small, appreciative, pleased thing. And Eddie can already feel the sun burn developing. “You are, too. Really, Eds. You have no idea what your art does for the world, who you’re helping.” His thumb absentmindedly is stroking over Eddie’s skin. Hand heavy and warm and firm, comforting. Grounding. Sustaining Eddie. “If you meant the other thing you said earlier, I’d like to get something with you at that cafe. I’d like to get to know you.”

“Stevie, you’d be doing me an honor. Just let me pack up here, yeah?” He pulls away, hesitantly, unfortunately. And he begins to collapse all his equipment. Putting the typewriter in its case. The stools folded neatly under his arm.

“Oh, let me pay you first before you put—“

“Don’t worry about that. I’m getting a nice lunch date and a beautiful guy out of this, I don’t need the money.”

Steve grunts. He pops a hip out, crosses his arms over his chest with the poem still carefully held in his grip, and pouts. Eddie kind of likes that he’s a bit bitchy, too. Good guys can have fun, too. “Fine,” Steve huffs. “Let me pay for the lunch, though. My treat.”

Eddie gently rolls his eyes and smirks. “You’ve got a little spice to you, sunshine. I like that. Burn me up and maybe I’ll write more about you.”

“Keep it in your pants, Eds. We haven’t even left the park.”

“No promises.”

📝————————📝 Thank you again for this prompt, it was a lot of fun <33

[brittle-doughie]

i mean in the nicest way possible because I know the house isn’t exactly in the best of condition but the shadow witch REALLY needs an assistant 😭

The jars filled with stale cookies, RATS, the broken refrigerator that place needs a deep cleaning asap

She’s a baddie, but the dust and stale food in her castle is badder!

[catgirlmeowska]

you walk into my office. im in a dark office with expensive mahogony pannelling. my grand desk intimidates you, the new intern, as you approach. The back of my leather office chair is illuminated with a fammiliar navy-blue-ish tone.

You hesitate, if only for a moment, until my hand pops out tapping out a fat cigar onto the floor. I spin my chair around and cross one leg over the other, staring at you inquisitively. You approach with today's reports. You move to explain your findings on current stats and trends that are blowing up, but i shush you with a single finger.

"Do you think I got as far as i did giving a rats-ass about any of that?" I say, kicking my feet off the desk before you can notice I am wearing a pair of tastefully dinosaur themed crocs. "I only care about two things, Kid. Open today's review".

You sigh, knowing your manager wont be pleased to know you couldn't get through to me, but you're at your wits end with this job none the less. You root through the folders until you can find one labelled "PERFORMANCE" in thick, black sharpie. You dust off loose glitter that fell out of a jar when i kicked the desk trying to put my feet down casually, and open to a single page.

"What does it say. Tell me."

"....8 likes."

"And the reblogs?"

"....2."

You expect disappointment, but recoil as i let out a menacing howl of laughter. I dive over the desk, tackling you to the ground and shaking your shoulders in a state of euphoria.

As I slowly raise myself off of you, my face is darkened by the shadows cast by your long-forgotten flashlight. I turn around and walk towards an open window, balancing on the ledge as a helicopter flies frighteningly close to the building. As i hope on, I leave you and the company with one final message:

"That beats my record!"

"By how much?!" you shout over the whirring of the blades.

"........Two."

[linkemon]

Beauty and the Beast (Bakugō Katsuki x Reader) 5

ʙᴀᴋᴜɢᴏ ᴋᴀᴛꜱᴜᴋɪ ʜᴀꜱ ʙᴇᴇɴ ᴄᴜʀꜱᴇᴅ ɪɴᴛᴏ ᴀ ʙᴇᴀꜱᴛ. ʟᴏᴄᴋᴇᴅ ɪɴ ᴀ ᴄᴀꜱᴛʟᴇ ᴡɪᴛʜ ᴍᴀɢɪᴄᴀʟ ᴏʙᴊᴇᴄᴛꜱ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ᴡᴇʀᴇ ᴏɴᴄᴇ ʜɪ��� ꜱᴜʙᴊᴇᴄᴛꜱ, ʜᴇ ꜱʟᴏᴡʟʏ ʟᴏꜱᴇꜱ ʜᴏᴘᴇ. ᴜɴᴛɪʟ ᴏɴᴇ ᴅᴀʏ, [ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ], ꜰᴇᴀʀɪɴɢ ꜰᴏʀ ʜᴇʀ ꜱɪꜱᴛᴇʀ'ꜱ ʟɪꜰᴇ ᴀɴᴅ ɪɴᴛɪᴍɪᴅᴀᴛᴇᴅ ʙʏ ᴏᴠᴇʀʜᴀᴜʟ ᴀʀʀɪᴠᴇꜱ ᴀᴛ ᴛʜᴇ ᴄᴀꜱᴛʟᴇ. ɪɴɪᴛɪᴀʟ ʀᴇʟᴜᴄᴛᴀɴᴄᴇ, ʙᴏʀɴꜱ ᴀ ꜱᴛʀᴀɴɢᴇ ꜰʀɪᴇɴᴅꜱʜɪᴘ ꜰᴜʟʟ ᴏꜰ ᴀᴅᴠᴇɴᴛᴜʀᴇꜱ, ꜰʀᴏᴍ ᴡʜɪᴄʜ ꜱᴏᴍᴇᴛʜɪɴɢ ᴍᴏʀᴇ ɢʀᴏᴡꜱ ᴏᴠᴇʀ ᴛɪᴍᴇ.

The whole series can be found here. Part 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 here | 6

When you find out something interesting about him

[Reader] entered the dining room behind her companions. The journey to the kitchen felt like it dragged on for ages, especially after learning just how far apart these two places were. She knew it was a testament to immense wealth. Even Overhaul couldn’t afford such extravagance in his vast estate. It only made her more aware of how different her status was compared to Katsuki's.

She grabbed a few logs and added them to the fireplace. Embers from the previous day still glowed faintly. It only took a few sticks placed atop them for the flames to come alive, slowly consuming the wood. She preferred not to think about how much soot she’d have to carry out of the palace in the coming days.

She moved toward the door. The sight of bones scattered across the floor sent a shiver down her spine.

— What’s for breakfast, anyway? Meat? — the girl asked.

She didn’t dare to ask directly, especially after the disastrous meeting with her new employer. From now on, she needed to tread carefully.

— Whatever you want! — La Brava shouted enthusiastically.

— I think our dear colleague means something entirely different, my love — Gentle interjected, stopping in the middle of the room.

The piercing gaze of the teapot made her uncomfortable, as if he were peering into her very soul.

— Did you enjoy our tea? — The teapot moved closer to her.

— Of course… but what kind of question is that? — [Reader] was completely taken aback.

Purple amethyst eyes stared at her intensely.

— Then you can’t be a bad person! Right? Right? Right? — The teacup bounced up and down.

A moment of silence fell.

— You’re alright — Gentle concluded. — So, I’ll tell you the truth — he lowered his voice to a whisper. — Those are rat bones. The cat of the queen lived quite a while after we were cursed. He used to hunt here and there. His Majesty decided that leaving the remains around would deter unwelcome guests.

He knows what he’s doing, she admitted silently.

— That’s a relief. — The girl let out a long-held breath. — I thought you only ate meat… or worse… well, you know… — she trailed off awkwardly.

— He eats just like you! — La Brava corrected proudly.

After those words, they headed down another corridor. Dust floated in the pale morning light. The new maid lit fires in the hearths and drew back the curtains, glad it was only a few chambers. Otherwise, it could have taken her all day. She didn’t bother with the king’s quarters, as her companions mentioned he wouldn’t let her in anyway. Besides, it would be unwise to touch anything in his room.

Finally, she stood before the kitchen door.

— Alright! Let’s see how bad it is! — she said, not too enthusiastically and pushed the door open.

To her surprise, it wasn’t as terrible as she had imagined. Sure, the floor was filthy, cobwebs adorned the corners of the walls and the countertops were coated in dust. But the room seemed functional. She lit fires in the hearth and the stove before deciding to explore.

The shelves held an array of spices she’d never seen before. She sniffed one of them — red threads with such an intense aroma that it made her sneeze again. She replaced the jar and noticed bottles of jam and honey nearby. Their labels were scrawled in hasty, crooked handwriting. She thought something had grabbed her head until she realized it was the bundles of herbs hanging from the ceiling. She moved a bit further. Behind one door, she found the pantry. It was enormous, though its contents were rather sparse. The cool room held a few sausages, wheels of cheese and slabs of meat — venison, she guessed, though she couldn’t be sure. Nearby, colourful vegetables and fruits were neatly arranged. At the very end, bottles of wine rested in abundance.

Returning to the kitchen, she was genuinely puzzled.

— Where did you get all this? — she asked, sitting on a low stool.

They couldn’t possibly grow crops or harvest. Cursed servants weren’t suited for such work.

— My Gentle has connections — the teacup gurgled proudly.

The red hearts adorning her porcelain seemed to swell.

— And what connections! You see, dear [Reader], I had a shameful past. Beyond seven plates, beyond seven silver trays…— he began his tale.

[Reader] found herself engrossed. She’d never have guessed that the man before her was once a thief. Gentle had always wanted to be a hero but never had the chance, being too poor. He resorted to stealing to pay for fencing lessons. Quick and intelligent, he became a promising contender in an upcoming tournament. Unfortunately, his lack of knightly status disqualified him. He was ready to give up until he met Lady Aiba, a noblewoman. Of course, this was La Brava, then known as Manami. They fell in love, which rekindled his determination. Disguising himself as a deceased knight, he entered and won the tournament. When the audience learned the truth, they demanded punishment. However, King Katsuki, against his mother’s wishes, knighted the impostor and allowed his engagement to Manami.

Gentle accepted the honour but soon decided to change his ways. He vowed never to take up arms again. Shedding his former titles of Tobita Danjūrō and Gentle Criminal, he became simply Gentle — a daily reminder of the man he wanted to be. In solidarity, his beloved adopted the name La Brava, determined to be a valiant defender of her fiancé. With little else to occupy them, the couple dedicated themselves to mastering the art of tea. Eventually, they became experts and joined the royal court.

— As a thief, my dearest met many people. It so happens that he once encountered Hatsume Mei. She lives outside the village, on the edge of the forest. She loves inventing things, which makes her a recluse. The others don’t want anything to do with her — La Brava said sadly. — She needs money for her work. Luckily, there’s plenty of it in the treasury. We regularly exchange it for food. She’s invented some kind of super-fast harvest machine and has plenty of supplies. His Majesty hunts for the meat. That’s the whole story — she concluded.

— Those tournaments… they were something else — the teapot reminisced, clearly still lost in the earlier topic. — Like the one young Izuku competed in. What a thrill! Such a shame…

The mention of a familiar name snapped [Reader] to attention. Could they be talking about the boy from the portrait?

— Shh! — The teacup’s red trim pursed into a sharp line. — We’re not allowed to mention him.

— Ah, yes… right — the teapot said meekly. — So… how about breakfast for our dear guest?

— More like lunch — [Reader] commented, peeking outside.

It had been bright for quite some time. Her suspicion was confirmed by the arrival of Kirishima. The reliable clockwork mechanism in his chest indicated it was already afternoon. Shortly after the Captain of the Guard appeared, the rest of the enchanted objects followed.

— First, this place needs cleaning — the girl declared. — Nothing can be done in this mess.

— That’s not a good idea — Eijirō said.

— But that’s what I’m here for! — she protested.

— You can do it later. You must be hungry — Ochako added.

— What’s going on this time? — [Reader] asked.

Everything seemed suspiciously strange.

The objects gathered in a tight circle, whispering among themselves.

— Nothing’s wrong. We’ll help you. It’ll go faster — Kirishima spoke on everyone’s behalf.

She shrugged. They got to work. She knew she wouldn’t get anything out of them now. Sooner or later, though, she’d learn what was going on. They were a talkative bunch. Perhaps years of isolation made them that way. A new person surely provided some entertainment.

[Reader] pulled a broom from the corner. It was barely holding together but it was the best she had. She began sweeping the floor. Porcelain duo La Brava and Gentle followed, spilling warm water in large puddles to clean after her. She avoided them, trying not to slip. Cobwebs rained down on her from above. The maid deftly wielded her feathers, sweeping them out of every corner, paying little attention to where they landed.

The worst part was the clinking of glass and metal. Kirishima, considering himself the strongest, enthusiastically rearranged jars and pots to dust underneath. The noise grated on her nerves. She wasn’t sure if she should be grateful for their help. On the one hand, it was kind; on the other, she’d rather they sat still, like Kaminari. Denki perched above the hearth, waving candles to point out where dirt remained, at least staying out of her way. Occasionally, he tossed her compliments. She doubted she looked stunning with cobwebs in her hair, sleeves rolled up, and covered in dust — not to mention the water stains. But the candlestick seemed to think otherwise.

They were nearly finished when loud footsteps echoed. She hadn’t expected to see Katsuki in the kitchen. Trouble was brewing…

[sehtoast]

Aphrodisiac (Homelander x OC)

18+ | 5k, marathon sex, mild degradation, face fucking, aphrodisiac use, aggressive sex, ruined orgasm, orgasm denial, ceiling sex, floor sex, couch sex, bed sex, window sex, every flat surface sex basically, semi-public sex, elevator groping, multiple orgasms, overstim, dry humping, thigh humping, Homelander being Homelander, spidersona oc, porn without plot | Fic Directory

Inspired by the spider lotion debacle

There was never a day where the incessant bitching didn't grate on his nerves. Every fucking minute around Ashley seemed to consist of listening to her grind an entire department to dust over product error or oversights that even the world's least talented dipshit could notice. 

On one hand, he enjoyed watching her get worse. Seeing each and every little strand of hair fall out, piece by piece, literally pulling it out over her role as manager. On the other, it was fucking annoying. 

Until now. 

“And it's attracting horny fucking spiders!” Ashley shrieks into the receiver. “I don't care if you have to stay here all night– fix it now! If I see another wolf spider running around R&D to go fuck a bottle of lotion, you can forget giving your kids a Christmas this year.”

The words went in one ear and right out the other, but he did catch one phrase in particular that was oh so relevant to his needs and wants. 

Horny fucking spiders!

Not in the literal sense, of course. The last thing he needed was those eight legged pests vying for a piece of him, but he did have one spider in particular that he was more than happy to attract. 

One spidery man named Benjamin, that is. 

“What was that?” He asks with a lilt of amusement and true curiosity. Only one of those wasn't fake. 

“Oh, sorry, sir!” She shrimps away slightly. “Those idiots in research and development were making a new lotion for Spider-Man's upcoming cosmetic line, but, for whatever reason, it's attracting a bunch of spiders– I hope you're not arachnophobic!” She gives a nervous laugh. “Look up some time, there's cobwebs everywhere!”

He hums and purses his lips, shaking his head with a roll of his eyes. 

“Ashley,” he says lowly. “Do apex predators need to look up?”

There's that spark of fear, that helplessness that he fucking loves. She squeaks a negative noise. 

“No, sir.” 

“Then why the fuck would I care about cobwebs?” He snaps. “Or bugs for that matter?”

As he turns on his heel to go do his own research, he can't help the devious grin on his face. 

Horny spiders? What kind of cocktail of mistakes attracts such unpleasant pests– and, better yet, what are the odds that it would work on his spider?

The nerds in the lab give him some long winded explanation about chemicals. Something about compounds mimicking pheromones in sexually responsive female spiders, but his smile grew like the cat that got the cream. 

He plucked a jar of it from a staging table, giving it a deep, savoring whiff. 

It didn't smell half bad. Citrus scented, like Benjamin prefers his products. Lime and a hint of something… herbal– basil, perhaps. But, overall, very soft. Gentle even on his bloodhound nose. 

“Not bad,” he shrugs. “Mind if I keep this? I don't really give a fuck about the spiders.” 

The lab rat had little to say in the way of protest. Really, though. Who the fuck was going to tell him no? 

Homelander decides to grab a second jar on his way out. 

Back in his penthouse, he strips down in front of a mirror.  Stares for but a moment to take in the sight of himself.

The contradiction between his suit and his real body always did disappoint him, but he’s a little less harsh on himself these days.  Benjamin’s influence, he supposes.

With a sigh, he dips his fingers into a jar and pulls out a healthy glob of lotion.  He slathers it on his neck, where he knows his skin will remain exposed.  Homelander applies slightly less on his upper body, and barely bothers with his legs at all.  He does, however, apply it heavily to his core, painting his inner thighs, his cock, his sack, even his hole and cheeks with the gentle scent.  He can already sniff out the unique bond it creates with his natural smell and he hopes with every fiber of his being that his plan will work.

For good measure, he rolls his slicked body around in their bed a little.  Maybe the lingering scent will help him get lucky again when they lay down to sleep at the end of the day.

He doesn’t have to wait long at all to test his plan.  Tuesday was generally considered a boring day, full of meetings and stupid shit that none of them ever liked to bother with.  However, it couldn’t possibly stoke more excitement in Homelander at the realization he’d be standing before his little spider discussing boring old numbers.  It was the perfect opportunity to see if it works.

It didn’t take long at all for the team to trickle in.  Benjamin, with his mask on, greeted him with a hidden wink and a wave before taking his seat beside Noir.  The stragglers trickled in and he began.

“Now, you guys,” he started.  “I’m not one to lecture, but can any one of you tell me what the fuck is going on that we all collectively dropped a percent?”

The Deep raised his hand– because of course he did.

He hardly listened to anything that fish fucking moron had to say, instead focusing on the sound of something so very beautiful.  Something that was picking up in intensity bit by bit, damn near unnoticeable at first.

Thump thump.

Homelander’s almost kicking himself by the time he realizes.

Thumpthump. Thumpthump.  Thumpthump. Thumpthump.

When the deepened breaths kick in, he knows.

While A-Train and The Deep begin to bicker over whose most recent stunt was at fault for tanking their numbers, Homelander instead takes a minute to peer over at Benjamin.  He lets only the faintest smile crack his all-business expression.

Even those cute little emotive lenses were wide.

Benjamin’s heart rate had gone up quite a bit– blood pressure, too.  Underneath that red mask were a pair of cheeks flushed damn near the same color.  Dilated eyes.  

He can practically hear the bug gulp.

The web-head was more than well aware of his innate ability to clock his arousal at any given time.  God knows Homelander abuses the power on the regular, but it plays a special role today.

It makes him far more excited  to see how this goes. 

Homelander meaders innocently around the V shaped table for a time as he takes over the conversation once more, making his way to stand behind his little spider.

“Tell you what, though.” Homelander smirks.  “Bug boy here has been doing a great job with his assignments.”  He drops his hands on top of Ben’s shoulders, giving light squeezes that surely felt much more powerful to the receiver. He takes a deep breath, inhaling the sweet scent of Benjamin’s arousal.  “Does everything I say, never misses details.  Doesn’t launch fucking dolphins out of windshields.”

Across the room, The Deep averts his gaze to the ground.

“He’s a good boy.”

Benjamin begins to sweat at the mere fucking contact.  Something was different, something was very fucking different, and he wanted to jump Homelander’s bones like never before.  Whatever it was, he couldn’t name it.  At first, maybe he thought it was something about his appearance.  He did look extra handsome, but nothing seemed… different?  Same undercut, same suit, same handsome smile.

He still dominated the room just as he always did.  Still toyed with each of the members in his own cruel ways– well, playful ways with him, cruel only to the others.  

Ben simply couldn’t figure it out.

Until he said that.

The way he moved when he said it.  Homelander had leaned down to say it right next to his ear and he’d caught a whiff of something.

He had no idea what it was, no clue at all, but the intensified smell made his entire body go rigid and his cunt clench.  Ben tried to be subtle about his building arousal, but he knew that extra deep inhale didn’t go unnoticed.

Not with the way Homelander winked at him as he took his place at the head of the table once more.

Worse yet, now that Ben had caught that scent, he couldn’t stop smelling it.  It seemed to permeate the room.  It was everywhere.  Like it had embedded itself into his olfactory bulbs and it was all he could fucking smell.  Not even the complimentary Vought brand coffee with its typically overpowering odor could dominate his senses.

He squirmed through the whole meeting. Crossed his legs, clenched them tight.  Heard his heartbeat in his ears for the whole duration.  By the end, he knew he’d soaked a small patch right into his suit, and thank fuck the fabric was dark enough that it wouldn’t be visible or he’d be truly mortified.

Benjamin remained in his seat as the others left the room.  Used to be they’d give him sympathetic looks every time Homelander directed him to stay afterward, but it had become the norm over the past year.  Once they’d all left, he pulled his mask off.

“Did you hear a word I said?”  Homelander teased, pressing a button on the table to lock the conference room doors.  “Or were you too busy leaving a snail trail on your seat to notice?”

“I did, I–” Ben stopped as soon as his voice quivered.

“Really?” Homelander inquired, stalking over to stand behind him.  “On your feet.  Tell me what today was about.”  He was thrilled to the point of bursting to know it was working.  Oh the fun he was going to have with this…

Ben rose from his seat, head light and clouded with lust.  The wet fabric of his underwear grazed his hardened clit and he all but stumbled.  Before he could even speak, Homelander’s hands were upon him and that scent was fogging his senses tenfold.

“You can’t tell me, can you?”  John smirked, pressing himself against the web-head’s rear.  He discards his gloves and reaches around to swipe his fingers over Ben’s clothed cunt, chuckling darkly at how wet he was already.  The other hand trails up to lodge his thumb in the bug’s mouth and he feels Ben’s entire body react to the taste.  “Feels like you were too busy making a mess of yourself to care.  You’re fucking drenched.”

Ben’s hips rock back against him, head tipping to make room for the lips beginning to peck at his neck.  The taste of Homelander’s skin is sweeter than he normally tastes. Sweeter than anything he’s ever had in his life.

He moans around the digit.

“Pretty little thing with my finger in your mouth.” Homelander purrs in his ear, fingers rubbing at his soaked core.  “Bet you wish it was my cock instead, right?”  He presses down against Ben’s tongue.  “Answer me, pretty boy.”

The bug nods furiously, hips pushing forward to seek more pressure from the hand between his thighs.  He bites against Homelander’s knuckle, drawing forth a deep, dark laugh from the man behind him.

Within seconds, he’s forced onto his knees and Homelander’s cock is lodged firmly between his lips, pounding the back of his throat without any buildup.  He gags twice, but ultimately takes little time at all to adjust to the girth filling him, moaning with every opportunity for breaths, hand dragging Homelander’s pants down enough to toy with his balls.

The taste from before is infinitely stronger and Benjamin feels his slick pool even more through his drenched underwear. But he wants this, wants this so fucking bad he can hardly stand it.  He wants to get used, wants to be fucked in every way imaginable.  Something more powerful than his own mind demands it.

“That’s right, fuckin’ choke on it,” John grits as he rams in hard, holding himself there.  “Fucking slut, all wet for me in a meeting of all things.”  He reaches down and lovingly taps against Ben’s cheek.  “Bet you’re so horny you’d have let me fuck you in front of them!  Claim you, take you apart with an audience.”  He draws out and drags his shaft across Ben’s flushed face.  “You were made for me– made for my cock.”

Ben nods, mouth open and tongue wagging out to catch his length once more.

Homelander begins to jerk himself off, tip pressed firmly to that needly little tongue that was just begging for his load.

“That’s it,” he growls between slick strokes.  “S-Swallow every drop and show me!  Show me how good you take it– ah!”

He moans freely through his orgasm, eyes fighting to stay open so he can watch every spurt that paints his lovely little Benjamin’s mouth and face.  He watches it pool along Ben’s tongue, shoot onto his upper lip, a little on the flare of his nostril.  With a hand in his hair, he tips Benjamin’s head back.

“Swallow,” he orders, pleased as can be when his little spider does so without any objection and shows him an empty mouth.

With a pleased pat to Ben’s cheek, Homelander pulls his pants up, smirking wickedly at the desperate, whining complaint from his love bug.

“Oh, you didn’t think I was gonna fuck you after this, did you?”  He muses playfully.  “I know I said you’re a good boy, but you’re too good.  Y’see, you ranked higher than me this month and that, babe, just hurts my feelings.”

“Wh– I didn’t mean to!”  Ben says desperately, crawling toward him on his hands and knees.  “Please, Johnny!  I need–”

“Mmm, nah.” He sighs theatrically.  “I don’t think I can right now.  Besides, the board of directors are gonna be using this room soon.  They’re probably already outside the door, so you should probably get cleaned up…”

With a whine bordering on truly pathetic, Benjamin wipes his face clean of come and saliva and rises to his feet.

“What a shame… I’d have liked to, though.  You just had to be such a good boy and outdo me.  Oh well,” Homelander lilts, unlocking the door and making his way out.  “Maybe next time.”

Next time comes fairly quickly, as does he.  Roughly an hour later, Benjamin cornered him in a hallway and dragged him into some random broom closet.  Webbed the door shut, jerked him stiff– not that it was difficult to do– and begged to get fucked.

So Homelander did exactly that.  Fucked him hard and fast against the wall, pace brutal and unrelenting, catering only to himself.  He spilled a thick load and slipped out, watching with satisfaction as it leaked from Ben’s sopping core and splattered onto the ground.

His little spider begged him for more, of course.  Begged for anything– fingers, his mouth, anything at all, to no avail.  Homelander left him there, desperate and nearly unhinged, to bring himself to an unsatisfying climax.  

Even then, it wasn’t nearly enough.

Homelander went about his daily bullshit duties for a time, relaxed and in such a great mood from having gotten off twice in one morning.  His little scheme had been more than rewarding and anything that came after was simply a bonus.

He slips into the elevator, deep in thought, but is pleasantly surprised to find his little love bug in there as well.  A glimpse through the mask lets him see just how feral the look in Ben’s eyes had become.

The elevator shuts.

“Lovely weather we’re ha–”  He tries to jest, but Benjamin pounces on him in an instant, forcing him back.  Homelander grins gleefully at the way Ben clings to the wall, effectively caging him.

“We’re going to your place,” Ben all but pants.  “And you’re going to make me come as many fucking times as it takes.”

What a delicious offer.

“Am I now?”  Homelander teases.  Ben lifts his mask just enough to expose his mouth before diving in on his neck.  Teeth sink into his flesh and the sensation tingles right down to his groin.  Never enough force to puncture, but just enough to make him fucking feel it.  “What’s got you thinking you can make me?”

The elevator was rising and anyone could come in at any moment.  They’d be caught red handed, but neither seemed bothered.

Those teeth bite even harder– probably as hard as his little spider possibly can– and he chuckles darkly.  

“Oooh, a bug bite,” he muses.  “Maybe they should call you Mosquito-Man inste– oh!”  He bites off a gritty moan.  In the midst of his tease, Ben reached down, pressed his fingers back to his taint, and pushed hard.  “Oh ff–”

The elevator dings and the doors open to the floor of his penthouse.  Benjamin, smirking, drags him down the hall.  As soon as they cross the threshold, the bug throws him against a wall.

“Do you,” Ben purrs with a trembling voice, “have any fucking clue how horny I am?”  He buries his nose in Homelander’s neck and takes a deep, long sniff.  “You smell like fucking sex!  That doesn’t even make sense, but–”  He licks a thick stripe from jugular to jaw. “You fucking do.”

With a dark chuckle, Homelander rips the mask off Benjamin’s head and takes a handful of his mussed hair.  He forces Ben to back up and throws him onto the leather couch, admiring the view of his spread legs and the darkened patch of slick soaking between them.

He leans forward until he’s crawling up the length of Ben’s body like a predator stalks its prey, fangs bared and eyes dark with the thrill of the hunt.

“I can still smell my come in you.”  

The statement alone is enough to make Ben’s cunt flutter with excitement.  In a flash, his suit and underwear are torn from his body and his dripping pussy is exposed to the voracious man before him. 

Homelander’s tongue swipes between his folds before he even has time to beg for it.  Ben’s head falls back with a cry of bliss, relief and excitement swirling in his head all at once.  His thighs are pinned to his chest and John makes the loudest fucking slurping sounds with every pass.

“F-Fuck!”  He mewls, trying desperately to rut against the tongue washing over his bud– but Homelander holds him in place.  When that warm, wet muscle delves into his hole, he keens and thrashes his head back and forth.  Ben’s hands grab desperately for anything, anything at all.  “Johnny, please!  I– No!”  He cries when it all halts abruptly.

Homelander comes back up with a slick soaked chin to kiss him, slotting right between his legs.  He swallows Benjamin’s complaint with a messy kiss, licking his taste inside.  Homelander was not a giving man by any means, but he wanted his little spider to indulge in the delicacy of himself.

He rocks his hips forward, mind hazing at the grind of the cup in his suit against his cock.  He mimes the act of flat out fucking Benjamin, grinding and humping against him with an otherworldly force.  If the bug were anyone else, his pelvis probably would’ve shattered by now.

Ben tangles his hands in Homelander’s hair and tugs harshly.  His hips rise and fall to meet each thrust and every brush of John’s suit against his clit makes him see stars.  He moans freely, unabashedly with each stroke and, oh, it feels so fucking good! 

He changes direction to start prying that stupid fucking suit off of Homelander.  All but shreds the cape, peels the top layer off and that scent hits him full force again.  With his legs around Homelander’s hips, Ben rolls them onto the floor with a heavy thud.

“Oooh,” John lilts.  He puts up no fight when his boots and pants are tugged free, and especially doesn’t complain when Ben suckles the tip of his cock through his briefs before ripping them clean off.  In seemingly a flash, the tip of his cock is breaching Benjamins’ cunt and that heat transcends his body and floods his mind.

With a needy little moan, he grips Ben’s hips and impales him in one sharp thrust.  His ego swells at the noises his little spider makes at the adjustment.  Ben is so wet he practically slid right in.  It’s always good, but now?  Seeing him so desperate, seeing such an unhinged look in his little spider’s eye– god, it made it even fucking better.

Benjamin starts riding him desperately.  There is no coordination to his movements, no sense of dignity or pride to be upheld with the frenzied way he fucks against him.  His eyes roll back, his head lolls around, and he moves like his life depends on it.  When Homelander tries to sit up, he shoves him back.

Ben digs his fingers into the tufts of hair on his love’s chest and lets the setae in his digits embed.  A dizziness rises from his cunt all the way to his head and the room fucking spins.  His breaths leave in frantic, heaving gasps.  He’s close, he’s close– he’s so fucking close!

Hands come down hard against his ass and grip with a punishing force to direct his movements.  He tries to fight it, tries to keep his own pace that was going to be enough, but Homelander would always win in a game of strength. 

His whimpering complaint becomes a pathetic moan as the cock filling him begins fucking him at a pace far more brutal that what he could accomplish himself.  Homelander fucks deep, fucks hard and furiously, strikes his cervix damn near every time and it hurts so good.  Ben falls against his chest, mind drifting away until he’s being rammed against a cold surface.

He peers from under heavy eyelids and the whole fucking room is upside down.  He’s pressed to the ceiling, whining and keening as he’s fucked raw.

“Think you’re gonna overpower me!?”

He doesn’t have it in him to even shake his head.

“Think I can’t take control from you in a fucking second?”  John grits between snaps of his hips.  Ben’s helpless sounds are like a fucking melody in his ear.  He reaches down and presses against Ben’s clit and gives the slightest rub that sends him over the edge.  His melody is a symphony screamed for him, only for him.  He doesn’t stop rutting, doesn’t stop fucking into him hard and fast even as Ben’s cunt flutters and clenches over and over again. By all means he should fucking let off and make Benjamin suffer the rest of the day for shoving him back like that.

“Think I can't take whatever I want!?” 

But he doesn’t.

Homelander drops down to the floor, keeping Benjamin impaled on his throbbing cock with ease.  He walks them to the window and slips out just long enough to spin him.

“Bet those fucks in the building across the street can see you,” he snarls.  He rams his cock into Ben so hard the glass creaks in protest.  Each thrust is pointed, accentuated by his words.  “Little.  Fucking. Slut! Show the world how good you take me. Let ‘em all see what a little whore you are!”

The cold from outside seeps through the fogging glass, penetrating Ben’s skin with an icy chill that contrasts the fire burning inside him.  He wonders if anyone can really see him like this.  Oh, if they only knew that their beloved Spider-Man was getting railed by The Homelander himself.  

Homelander leans back to take two bruising handfuls of Benjamin’s hips to push and pull him back and forth on his cock.  In turn, the web-head shoves his hands against the glass to push himself back into it.

“God, it’s fucking pathetic how bad you want me,” Homelander grits through clenched teeth.  “Dripping onto the fucking floor!”  

Ben squeezes his eyes shut and shoves back with all of his might, audibly cracking the glass and sending them both stumbling backward.  John catches him by the waist but doesn’t interrupt the motion.  They collide with the statue of Atlas, sending it and all of its beauty to the floor to shatter.

Homelander slips out of Ben and lifts him with one arm to the bedroom, shoving him onto the edge of the bed and yanking him just right to ram back inside with a throaty groan.  He reaches down and grasps a handful of those unruly brown locks and makes Ben stare into the mirror on the wall.

“Watch yourself get fucked.” He commands with an exceptionally sharp snap of his hips.  “Look  how fucking helpless you are!  I can do whatever I want to you, and you fuckin’ love it!”

Ben stares through lidded eyes.  He’s drooling, he’s got tear tracks down his face and handprint shaped bruises already forming at his hips.  And Homelander?

He looks like a fucking animal.  His eyes glimmer with specks of gathering crimson.  His fangs are bared, his brow is knit, and every muscle in his body flexes with restraint.

“Look at me!”  He demands.  As soon as Ben’s eyes meet his in the reflection, he slams into him hard once, twice, and a final third time before blowing his load deep inside.  His jaw tenses hard and his eyes screw shut.  A tense, rattling moan emerges from within his chest and he presses tight against Ben’s rear.  “That’s it– oh, fuck yeah!”

In Homelander’s blissful stupor, Ben seizes the opportunity to shove back and escape his grip.  There is always, always a point when John comes in which he is totally at ease– and the flicker of red behind his eyelids gives it away all too well.  Ben splays him out onto his back, right along the edge, and bends his legs toward his chest juuust enough to–

“O-oh, fuck–” Homelander keens.

Benjamin presses forward, taking his cock to the hilt in a position miming missionary with a special twist.  A reversal of sorts.

Maybe he’d let the switch up slide for a minute.  He always did like this position.

The web-head ruts forward and fucks John’s cock into himself with practiced ease.  Homelander’s legs wrap around his waist and the strokes deepen.

He can feel slick drooling down his balls and Ben looks like a glorious, fucked-out mess above him.  The bug’s clit grazes the base of his groin with each shallow thrust and he swears he sees something nearly rabid dance in those sweet, chocolate eyes

“Good boy!”  Ben gasps. “Lettin’ me fuck you– lettin’ me take what I want!  Knew you would, knew you’d let me have fun too– mmm, fuck!”

He wants to roll his eyes, but Benjamin feels so fucking good at this angle that he doesn’t know what to even do or say.  

“S-So good, baby,” he coos.  “So fucking hot!”

He relaxes a leg and shimmies a hand between to stroke his little spider’s nub and the stutter of his hips satisfies him to no end.

“That’s– ah– that’s good…” Ben mewls.  “Oh, fuck, rub my cock, baby!”

His fingers dance through the threads of come and slick between their bodies as he brings Benjamin higher and higher.  He watches his little love bug begin to hold his breath and thrust faster, harder, more and more until–

He all but screams, hips stuttering and legs quaking while his body practically fucking convulsed from his orgasm.  Ben heaves a sharp breath and his mind all but completely shuts down when that scent somehow floods his senses tenfold.  He collapses forward, engulfed entirely in the aroma.  His limbs twitch, his lower lip quivers, and his cunt doesn’t stop pulsing.  “Wh– what– I…” he tries, but no other words come out.  His vision starts to fade and the sheets hit his back.

He feels Homelander moving inside him again and he can’t even think.  He’s lost in the haze, lost in John, lost in whatever that fucking scent was.  Whatever it was– all of it– he just knew he fucking needed more and more.  Even when his vision whites out from his next climax, he needs more.

When he’s fucked with his head hanging off the bed, blood rushing to his skull, he needs fucking more.

Even when his cunt is overflowing and come soaks the mattress, when Homelander nearly lasers his fucking head off, when the walls are charred, when he’s confident he won’t be able to stand, when he’s fucked and eaten so raw he can’t even feel between his legs, he still needs more.

“Wh– What the fuck…” John pants weakly in his ear.  He’d finally collapsed, finally gone limp. Even his legs were beginning to tremble. “It was just fucking lotion, how are you–”

“Wha..?”  

Lotion?  

“The f-fucking– you know!  The cosmetic line. Your stuff.”

Ben peered up at him halfheartedly, barely coherent but just enough 

“S'fucking, I dunno. Hold on…” Homelander slung his arm over to the nightstand and palmed around for the jar. When he found it, his fingers dipped into the opening. He forgot to close it. 

Ben's eyes shot open the second the jar came near. 

“It's… Those dipshits in the lab fucked up. It's a horny spider magnet.” He explained with a weak grin. As if unconscious of his actions, Ben began to grind weakly against his leg. “I didn't think it'd work, but fuck… It worked.”

Ben looked at him in disbelief, but the way his body reacts to the simple change in proximity tells him it’s true.  How fucking funny, too, that the jar would sport his V-bodied spider crest.  Almost like it was designed specifically to reduce him to a begging wreck.

“You m-mean you– John!”  Ben whines and buries his face into Homelander’s neck.  The scent lingers strong there, making the throbbing between his legs begin once more.

“Not my fault you’re so fucking insatiable, babe.  That’s on you.”  He snorts a laugh.  Homelander trails his hand to Benjamin’s lower back and rubs soft, soothing circles.  “And no, I don’t know how long it lasts.  I just snagged it from the labs and uhh… slathered it all over myself… And rolled it onto the covers.”

“I’m gonna kick your ass– but later,” the bug promises playfully.  He slides his slicked core against Homelander’s thigh with languid rolls of his hips.  “Just… Lemme–”  If Homelander was somehow tired, then he’d just have to help himself.  “Fuck...  Thigh for now, dick later, okay?”

With a yawn, Homelander nods in agreement.  “Deal.”

It was going to be a long night.

[piecesofkatecreates]

The Bartender

By PiecesOfKate

The X-Files / AU / MSR / Mature

Characters: Fox Mulder, Dana Scully, Walter Skinner

3,304 words

Scully has just joined the FBI and begrudgingly attends the office Christmas party, where she encounters Mulder, a mysterious bartender.

Tagging @today-in-fic

Read on AO3

She stared at the plate of canapés. A thousand tiny suspicious breadcrumbed mysteries, speared with cocktail sticks. What was it about office gatherings that seemed to warrant this kind of awkward, unappealing food?

She hugged her paper plate and tried to move down the line, but something sticky caught on her shoe and yanked her back. Her arm brushed loudly against the cheap paper tablecloth and a few people turned to look. Elvis lamented from the stereo.

This was awful. She hated these painful social mores. But since she was new to the division she figured she had to grin and bear it. Show willing. Smile for the camera.

And right on cue, there was that flash again. Now there was proof she had come, great. Everlasting, irrefutable evidence that Dana Scully was at an office Christmas party, sticking to the floor, an empty plate in hand, wishing she was at home feeling smug for not succumbing to this ritual, this kiss-ass dance.

Skinner tapped her on the shoulder.

“I’m glad you came, Agent Scully.” He popped a cheese ball in his mouth.

She pursed her lips, finally peeling her shoe from the floor.

“Your partner should be along soon.” He frowned and checked his watch. “I mean, he said he was coming.”

Scully raised her brows and nodded. What’s his excuse, she thought. She glanced around the room. Paper chains hung broken from the ceiling, sweeping the floor of debris, picking up dust, booze and remnants of the entrees she had been eyeing moments before.

She spotted a breadcrumb husk under the table. Somewhere around here was the corresponding naked prawn, chicken piece or whatever it was, alone and exposed. Kind of how she felt right now.

Just then, the door swung open.

“Here he is!” grinned Skinner.

Scully lazily turned her head to see Dawson saunter in. He held up a hand in greeting.

This can only get worse from here, she thought. She had only been working at the bureau for three weeks, but her senses already told her this guy was crushing on her, hard.

Sure enough, he made a bee-line for them.

“Agent Dawson,” she chimed.

He held out a hand, brushing his wave of beach-blond hair back with the other. He was wearing a pretentious pair of ridiculously snug denim jeans, coupled with a loose khaki shirt, the top button questionably left undone. He reeked of high school grade cologne.

Scully met his hand, holding her breath. The less of that pond water that makes it up my nose, the better, she thought.

Scully herself was wearing a sleeveless, fitted black number, trying for the dressy but still very much formal and unobtainable vibe, lest he think this was an easy win.

“You made it,” he said, eyeing her silhouette.

Just then, a rat pack of younger agents appeared behind Dawson, the frontrunner slapping him on the shoulder.

Scully took her chance and excused herself. If she was going to get through this she needed a stiff drink.

The bar was crowded. She surveyed the sea of gaggling office idiots, tracing her eyes from left to right, when they stopped sharp on the bartender. Something about him mesmerised her. He cruised the length of the bar with grace, deftly moving between each punter with such a casual, confident ease. He wore a crisp black shirt that was somehow impervious to his swift movements as he effortlessly poured, served and collected his dues.

Her eyes moved up to his face. He wore a calm but focused expression, the corners of his mouth curving upwards enough to be the start of a smile, but nothing surer than that.

He paused briefly to drop some coins in a tip jar. He looked up from the bar, straight at Scully.

She gasped as he caught her eye. His hand reached for a nearby whisky bottle and he slowly poured a measure for the next customer, his eyes still fixed on hers.

She swallowed.

Suddenly the row of people cleared, and she found herself standing right in front of him.

**********

Read the full fic on ao3:

https://archiveofourown.org/works/61379887

[eccentricgrace]

Spider in a Jar || IronDad

summary: tony rescues peter from an unhinged scientist.

tags: hurt/comfort, kidnapping, implied torture, implied human experimentation, protective tony stark

wc: 1,412

cross-posted to wattpad by the same name!

The air was dense, heavy with a thick coating of dust and spots of dried blood dotting along the rim hallway. Tony's palm is outstretched, a beam of light from the repulsor leading a trail forward for him.

He's following the heat signature in his helmet's visor, trailing down the abandoned, decrepit building with his nose upturned in disgust. Cement crumbled from broken walls littered cracked floors, the whole place looked as if it would fall apart with one determined gust of wind.

He remembered something the kid told him one night, a smile feeble on his tear-stained face and his tight-strung fingers clung around the sleeve of Tony's sweatshirt. He said how he didn't like buildings that looked like they were about to fall apart. Because, he said, as lightly as he could with the stress in his jaw, he didn't ever want to be under the rubble of one ever again.

There was no kid who deserved to be kept in a building like this, but the fact that Peter was here, in a place Tony knew he was hating, only stood to make his blood boil and even more violent red. He was leaving this place with Peter in his arms, whether the asshole who took him here ended up alive or dead.

Speaking of, he was rounding the corner now. Two heat signatures. One sitting, one standing beside. The one sitting was of a smaller frame. Tony narrowed his eyes.

"Run diagnostics," Tony muttered, low. "I want to see vitals."

Silently, FRIDAY brought up a reading of the two. As suspected, the standing one had every normal except for an elevated heart rate, Tony caught that up to psycho-induced adrenaline. The sitting one— Peter— his vitals were all over the place. Higher temperature than Tony would like, increased pulse. He'd have him checked better as he could get him to a hospital.

He wouldn't be waiting any longer.

He kicked through the door, raising his palms and striding forward. He didn't make any moves to actually blast anything, because again, this place was one wrong move from a detrimental collapse.

Tony could hear the laboured breathing coming from Peter beside him, but at that moment, his eyes were glued to the perpetrator who was scrambling backwards. A scrawny, ashen-faced man, wrinkles in his face and his hair a silvery, copper toned mess of waves, overgrown under his ears. His eyes wide behind wirey rectangular glasses, nose twitching like a rat while he scowled madly.

"Get back," Tony ordered. He was yelling. He could hear it, only after it fell from his tongue, and found he really didn't give a shit how loud he was. This man was too close, and he was going to fix it right now.

The man's back hit the wall. He had a white lab coat on, pristine compared to the rest of the building, except for the fresh and old crimson blooms around the sleeves and imprinted faintly across the front.

Tony's gaze flicked over the blood stains, and wildly, he felt every joint in his body tense with an indescribable rage. His ribs snapped, something feral taking over him, something fiercely protective. He wordlessly raised his palms and shot out a series of small mechanical anchors, pinning the man to the wall by his very skin.

The man seethed in pain, twisted, and then yelled when the movement only increased his pain. Good, Tony thought.

He opened his mouth to speak, but Tony was faster. He shot a band of metal his way, which immediately took refuge to clamp over the man's mouth, leaving any attempt at speech muffled.

With that taken care of, Tony finally turned to look at his kid.

On the way here, Tony had physically restrained himself from imagining what Peter may have looked like. Anything Tony's mind came up with, even in passing, was painful, nauseating, too much for him to bear. It was distracting, because any mental image he conjured of the kid in various states of distress had him weak in the knees, and he needed to be strong if he was going to rescue him.

And by god, Tony was going to rescue him.

But, now that he's looking at him, looking at the teenager who he's only ever been able to describe as 'bright' in every sense of the word, he couldn't help but admit that all of his mind's nightmares still couldn't compare to the shock of the real thing.

Peter's head was tilted, facing down so only a mess of sweaty, blood-soaked curly hair was visible rather than his face. His trembling shoulders heaved up and down, as he breathed in too fast, too shallow, and the kid was sniffling, making weak groans of pain when he did so.

The suit was torn at his waist, exposing his chest— full of methodical pin-prick marks, each about an inch apart. Some swollen and irritated looking, some bruised. He was hooked up to an IV, a dark, deep blue liquid flowing into the vein of his arm. His skin was blanched, with the exception of carefully crafted wounds that were lacklusterly cleaned, leaving flaked blood where Tony would usually see freckles.

He'd been used as a science experiment. That was clear. Peter Parker, reduced to just some creature to prod at, as if weren't the most deserving of everyone in the world to respect, safety, and— and love.

And Tony was...

He was...

"Kid," Tony's voice broke, so full of grief and guilt and horror that it splintered, crackled, like burning wood. He was caught between wanting to cradle him, or turning over to strangle the person who did this to him.

Of course, he chose Peter. He would always choose Peter.

His footsteps were fast and purposeful as they crossed the space. "FRIDAY, what do I do? What am I doing here? Help me get him out."

"Gently pull the IV," FRIDAY said immediately. "It may be needed later for analysis."

What went unsaid was haunting, that the fluid being pumped through his kid's blood could be something that needed an emergency antidote, as if this wasn't stressful enough. Tony cursed violently and let the nanoparticles of his suit fall away from his hands. This would require a delicate touch.

He took Peter's wrist with one hand and gently guided his arm up. Peter made a pitiful sound, something between an annoyed groan and a pained whimper.

"I know," Tony muttered. "I know, Underoos. Hang in there, I'm getting you out."

He carefully tilted Peter's arm, and then slowly pulled out the IV with a grimace.

Peter choked a breath, his arm twitching under Tony's hands. "Ow..."

Tony looked up in surprise, and relief, because Peter just spoke, and maybe he wasn't as horrifically injured as he looked. It wouldn't be the first time. "Pete?"

Peter's head tilted towards Tony. He still was looking down, for no other reason than he was simply too weak to lift his chin.

"My name?" He mumbled, sounding so confused, and so young that Tony's heart burned a pit deep in his chest.

"Yeah," Tony said. He forced a weak smile, and ran a hand up through the kid's hair. "Yeah, kiddie. That's your name."

"Mh."

He shifted to Peter's side, and thanked his past-self for making the suit so strong, if not for the very purpose of being able to safely pick Peter up.

"FRIDAY, I'm getting the kid out of here and back to the Compound. Get a doctor ready," Tony said carefully, maneuvering the two of them out of the room. He jaw grated with his next bitterly-chosen words. "And someone else to get the bastard who did this out of this building and out of this city before I send him out of this mortal plane."

"Yes boss."

With his left hand, still free of nanoparticles, he swept it over Peter's forehead, flushed with fever. His eyes were closed, eyebrows furrowed with a confused distress. Tony bit back as much of his concern as he could, but some of it escaped with a deep sigh.

Peter mumbled, curling into the cool metal of the Iron Man chest plate and placing his forehead firm against it. He let out a soft exhale, and the distress eased slightly.

"Okay, sickie," Tony said with a frown. "Let's get you home."

With that, he lifted off the ground and began his flight back to the Compound. 

[jokeringcutio]

Truthfully (Edwin Payne x Charles Rowland, Ratting: Teen)

Also on AO3: [JokeringCutio]

Summary:

During one of their cases, Charles gets affected by a truth spell.

Notes:

For The_IPRE.

(See the end of the work for notes.)

~ * ~

The musty scent of old books and arcane potions assaulted Edwin's senses as he surveyed the cluttered study. Dust motes danced in the dim light filtering through grimy windows, lending an ethereal quality to the haphazard piles of tomes and vials scattered about. His companions, Charles, Niko, and Crystal, stood beside him. The ghostly form of Charles emitted a comforting afterlife glow that Edwin knew he shouldn’t be gawking at. And so he tore his gaze from his best friend and forced himself to focus on the task ahead.

His ethereal hands drifted past the many knickknacks on a caved-in desk. He knew how Charles thought of him. Nothing had changed since his confession. They were still as they were before.

He should be joyful about that.

Still…

Charles's voice cut through the oppressive silence, tinged with a hint of exasperation. "How in the blazes are we supposed to find anything in this mess?" His smile belied the frustration evident in his tone. It wasn’t a proper, honest smile – as Edwin instantly and silently noted. Knowing what he did now about his friend’s troubled past, it was a miracle that Charles always managed to maintain that cheerful countenance. That mask of joy – of ‘do not worry’. Edwin could not help but admire that – and silently worship his friend for it.

Edwin straightened his blue bowtie, a habit born of his Edwardian upbringing, and responded with characteristic precision. "The evidence we seek pertains to the haunting of Mister Shrewburry. He can’t rest until we find proof that his business partner, Madame Lefebvre, was somehow responsible for the misfortune that led to Mister Shrewburry’s untimely death.”

“At the hands of criminals,” Niko helpfully provided.

Edwin cast her a short but reprimanding glance. “Yes. At the hands of common criminals collecting a debt.”

“Which he wasn’t responsible for,” Crystal supplied. She frowned and worried her lip with her teeth, pensively wandering between the rubble. “In his life, he never got to snoop around her house. And as a ghost, he hasn’t been able to pass the threshold. But he’s convinced there must be some incriminating evidence lying around here.” She hesitated. “Madame Lefebvre went missing a year before his death. Probably not murdered or we would have run into her already. Eloped with the money?” She suggested, looking up at Edwin and the others.

“Possibly,” Edwin answered, pushing himself away from the collapsed desk he’d been standing in front of. He looked around, studying his surroundings.

“Well, since Mister Shrewburry’s death was decades ago, and Madame Lefebvre never returned, we’re left grasping for straws,” Crystal sighed.

“I don’t think so,” Niko murmured in her sing-song voice. Crystal turned to look at her questioningly, and it was enough encouragement for Niko to continue. “Madame Lefebvre’s been very helpful really. Leaving in haste and leaving so much of her stuff behind.”

“She was a witch,” Edwin stated, not minding at all that he interrupted Niko’s speech.

“Huh?” Crystal titled her head and Edwin was aware of how Charles’s eyes had drifted to the curl of her lips. A cute pout, probably. Not that Edwin could tell. He tried to ignore the implication of his best friend’s gaze.

Just friends, remember, he told himself.

“Look,” he pointed a gloved hand at a shelf that remained upright through all the years – mostly because that part of the wall hadn’t crumbled down yet.

“Labels,” Crystal muttered as she stepped closer and studied the many bottles and jars on the shelf.

A pitiful sound came from Niko before she spoke, “I don’t like witches.”

“You and me both,” Charles added. He had folded his arms in front of his chest and looked anything but comfortable between the rubble in the rundown home.

“A witch she might have been,” Edwin said, “but whatever wards might have once been on her home clearly have gone.”

“How can you be so sure?” Crystal, always the skeptical one, asked.

“Because,” Edwin said as he looked at her from over his shoulder. “We would have set them off if they’d still been functioning.”

“Hence, the wicked witch is dead,” Niko summarized before a big smile of relief appeared on her face. “Okay, let’s do this, team!’

The excitement was infectious, though Edwin tried not to let it influence him too much.

“Whatever happened, Mister Shrewburry was certain the key to his haunting must be here. Let us help him find a way to pass into the afterlife more peacefully,” as he spoke, Edwin's mind raced, cataloging potential hiding spots and deciphering the faded labels on nearby bottles. The thrill of the chase, the puzzle waiting to be solved, sent a shiver of excitement through his incorporeal form.

Charles let out a resigned sigh. "Sure, we'll find it. Eventually." He leaned back against an ornate cabinet, his ethereal body barely making contact with the physical world. A small flask teetered precariously on the edge before tumbling to the floor with a resounding crash.

Crystal's sharp gaze snapped to Charles while Edwin pretended not to notice. "For heaven's sake, Charles,” Crystal snapped, slightly more irritated today than usual. Edwin knew she was hiding something again. Another demon visit perhaps? But he pretended not to have noticed, respecting her wish for secrecy. She’d come to them when the time was right – when she felt comfortable enough to entrust them with whatever had come across her path. He knew that today’s task was straining her mortal form. “Do be careful,” she continued. “We're here to investigate, not demolish the place."

"I didn't touch anything!" Charles protested, raising his hands in mock surrender. "Ghost, remember? Incorporeal and all that jazz."

Crystal rolled her eyes. “As if that ever stopped you.”

Right…

Edwin noticed the exchange from the corner of his eye but forced himself to focus on the task at hand. His fingers ghosted over the spines of ancient tomes, searching for any sign that could incriminate Madame Lefebvre.

“That’s not fair, mate,” he heard Charles complain. “Oi, Edwin, Tell her that isn’t fair.”

As he worked, a small smile played at the corners of Edwin’s mouth. Charles's antics never failed to inject a bit of levity into even the most serious of investigations.

"Perhaps," Edwin said, "that's why we make such an effective team. My analytical nature balanced by your irrepressible spirit." He paused, chuckling softly at his own unintentional pun. Even in death, it seemed, wordplay was inescapable.

He didn’t need to look at Charles to see him roll his eyes while he heard Crystal let out a triumphant little ‘hah!’

At the other side of – what once used to be a brilliant and spacious room – Niko shrugged and resumed her search. Edwin admired her attitude in all this. And for someone who always appeared to be so easily distracted, she always managed to keep her focus – fooling others into thinking she had none. She made a good detective, Edwin thought. He should not forget to remind her.

Edwin allowed himself a moment of quiet optimism as he dove back into his search, keenly aware of the others moving about the room. The weight of their shared purpose hung in the air, a tangible reminder of the importance of their spectral detective work. There must be a clue. Evidence. A hint. A letter. A knife. Anything that bound Mister Shrewburry’s ghost to this world and solved his violent death.

A thunderous crash shattered Edwin's concentration. He whirled around, his heart leaping into his throat – a purely metaphorical sensation, given his ghostly state. Through a haze of swirling dust, he spotted Charles sprawled on the floor, coughing and sputtering.

"Charles!" Edwin cried, rushing to his friend's side. The others converged as well, concern etched on their faces. Edwin knelt beside Charles, his hands hovering uncertainly. "Are you all right? What happened?"

Charles waved a hand dismissively, still coughing. "I'm fine, mate. Just took a bit of a tumble, that's all." He flashed a weak smile, but Edwin couldn't shake the worry gnawing at him.

"Let me help you up," Edwin insisted, grasping Charles's arm. As he pulled his friend to his feet, he took in the sight of the mess. Dust, particles, broken glass, shattered papers. As the ancient cabinet had come down, so had everything that had been on top of it. The wooden legs were rotten, Edwin noted. No wonder it gave away.  

Niko's voice cut through the settling dust. She was on her haunches between the rubble, holding something in her hands that she had picked up from the fallen mess around Charles’s feet.

"Hey guys," she called, her tone a mix of curiosity and apprehension, "you don't think this could cause any harm, do you?"

Edwin turned to her fully, eyebrows furrowing. "Why? What have you found?"

Niko bit her lip, hesitating. In her hand, he spotted a broken vial. "Just... It’s probably nothing."

Charles, seemingly recovered, puffed out his chest. "I'm a ghost, remember? I can handle a dusty old bottle."

Niko's lips quirked into a smile as she turned, holding up the shattered vial. "Sure," she said, her voice laced with an odd mix of amusement and concern.

Edwin's eyes narrowed as he focused on the label. His stomach dropped as he read the words ‘Truth Serum’ scrawled in faded ink. Well, that was a new thing. A witchy thing, but still. And who was to say such a concoction would cause any damage? It probably only worked when drunk by someone. It might not even work at all after having lain around for so many years. Did magical potions have expiration dates?

A chill ran through him as he glanced back at Charles, who was now grinning broadly, completely oblivious to the potential danger. Edwin's heart raced as he studied Charles, searching for any signs of distress. His friend's usually mischievous brown eyes seemed slightly glazed, and there was an uncharacteristic looseness to his posture.

"Are you absolutely certain you're all right?" Edwin asked, unable to keep the worry from his voice.

Charles waved him off with a lazy grin. "Oh, stop fussing, Ed. I'm right as rain, mate. Didn't I tell you? Ghosts are made of sterner stuff."

Edwin's brow furrowed. Ed? He decided to let that one slide. "You do realize that makes absolutely no sense, don't you?"

"When has that ever stopped me?" Charles quipped, his grin widening.

Reluctantly, Edwin turned back to the cluttered study. His mind raced, torn between concern for Charles and the pressing need to find evidence. The sooner they got out of here, the better. Something about this all just… didn’t feel right. He began rifling through stacks of ancient tomes and scattered parchments, all while keeping one ear tuned to Charles's movements behind him.

"This is madness," he heard Crystal say while she carefully examined a dusty ledger. “There’s just too much old junk. Most of it is moldy, rotting, or broken. How are we to find something that makes sense-“ She broke off her sentence, making Edwin believe that she must have somehow gotten hold of something that had given her a vision. But when he turned to look at her, he could see she had abandoned her quest to wave a hand in front of Charles’s eyes. And he could see why.

Charles stood with a smile plastered on his face, his eyes a million miles away. “Hey, earth to Charles,” Crystal said, her voice slightly higher. “Care to help us?”

Good grief, Edwin thought, his mind already racing through the possible implications. What if Charles was actually affected by the truth serum? This case just got infinitely more complicated.

Edwin groaned as he turned away from the display. How am I supposed to focus on the case when Charles might be... compromised? He paused, a chill running down his spine. And what if he starts speaking truths better left unsaid?

He wasn’t prepared to listen to a rant about how they were ‘just friends’. He could picture it now. ‘I really appreciate you, Edwin, but that’s why we’re buddies. Best mates. Never more.’ He shook the imagined scenario away.

Yes, he was grateful that Charles still wanted to be around him after everything that had occurred. But still, being reminded that his love – an emotion he was unexperienced with – was not reciprocated... that would surely kill him. Again. It might even be worse than any torture he had been through during all his times in hell.

God knows what else might come tumbling down from Charles’s lips.

Compliments for Crystal probably. How beautiful she looked.

A shiver ran down Edwin’s incorporeal spine. Pushing these thoughts aside, Edwin redoubled his efforts. He methodically combed through shelves and drawers, acutely aware of every shuffling step and muffled giggle from Charles.

Just as Edwin's frustration peaked, his fingers brushed against something unusual. Buried beneath a pile of moldering scrolls was a small, leather-bound book. As he pulled it free, a slip of paper fluttered to the floor.

"Aha!" Edwin exclaimed, triumph surging through him. He snatched up the fallen paper, his eyes widening as he scanned its contents.

The others crowded around, their earlier concerns momentarily forgotten. Edwin felt Charles's presence at his shoulder, the familiar scent of his friend mingling with the musty air of the study.

"Well?" Crystal prodded. "Don't keep us in suspense, Edwin. What have you found?"

Edwin cleared his throat, acutely aware of Charles's proximity. "It appears to be a confession," he explained, his voice steady despite the tumult of emotions within. "Our spectral client was right – his business partner was embezzling funds. This ledger," he held up the small book, "contains the falsified accounts. And this note... well, it's a rather detailed admission of guilt."

Seemed like the witch got away with the money after all and had Mister Shrewburry die for a crime she had committed and money that he hadn’t stolen. Tragic, really.

Niko whistled low. "Talk about smoking gun evidence. Nice work, Edwin!"

As the others murmured their agreement, Edwin felt a warm pressure on his shoulder. He turned to find Charles beaming at him, eyes shining with what looked suspiciously like pride.

"Brills as always, Edwin," Charles said softly. "You never cease to amaze me."

Edwin felt a blush creeping up his neck, his heart hammering in his chest. "Yes, well," he stammered, "we should probably inform our client post-haste."

As he spoke, Edwin couldn't help but wonder if the warmth in Charles's voice was genuine admiration or simply an effect of the truth serum. And more troublingly, he wasn't sure which possibility frightened him more.

Edwin's thoughts were interrupted by Charles's face contorting into an exaggerated grimace. It was as if his friend was trying to communicate in some bizarre, wordless language. It didn’t help that the other ghost’s shoulder was pressed against his own as he leaned in close.

It was… almost nice.

Too nice.

"Charles," Edwin said, brow furrowing, "are you quite all right?"

Charles's expression snapped back to normal, a lopsided grin replacing the strange contortion. "Yeah, man, I'm fine," he replied, leaning back just enough for their bodies to no longer touch. His voice was slightly slurred as he tried to convince Edwin. "Never better!"

Edwin exchanged a worried glance with Crystal. "Perhaps we should discuss who will fetch our client," he suggested, trying to keep his voice steady. "Given Charles's... current state, I believe—"

"I said I'm fine!" Charles interrupted, his face twisting into another comical expression. “What’s this current state you’re on about? I’m still me, ain’t I? I’m still normal.”

At seeing the doubtful stares of his friends, Charles’s shoulders sagged and he spread his arms, palms upward. “Unless I’ve grown another head or leg.” He paused, suddenly sounding doubtful. “Have I?”

Edwin opened his mouth to protest, but Crystal beat him to it. "Yeah, you're not fine," she said flatly, crossing her arms, leaving Charles to tug at the hem of his shirt and feel around for a second head. When he couldn’t find one, he continued his explorations to find an extra limb.

It was adorable, really, Edwin thought. But even without a physical second head, Charles was definitely having a different head on right now. If the truth serum was the only bottle to have broken and affected him.

He made a mental note to check the floor for more remnants. But first…

A tense silence fell over the group. Edwin's mind raced, torn between concern for Charles and the pressing need to complete their case. He cleared his throat. "I propose Niko and Crystal retrieve our spectral employer. They can brief him on our findings while I tend to Charles."

Niko nodded. "Sounds like a plan. We'll handle the ghost, you handle... whatever this is," she said, gesturing vaguely at Charles, who was now attempting to balance a dusty tome on his nose. Yep, Edwin should definitely check if there was more magical powder dust or liquid that had somehow affected his poor friend.

“Don’t worry,” he said, not quite certain who he was trying to reassure here. “I’ll take him home where he can recover.”

As Crystal and Niko prepared to leave, Edwin found himself simultaneously relieved and terrified at the prospect of being alone with Charles. What if the truth serum prompted his friend to reveal something that would irreparably alter their relationship?

"We'll be back soon," Crystal said, pausing at the door of the derelict house. It was fitting that walls next to the door still stood, creating a semblance of the home this place used to be. While all the walls around it had severely crumbled. To be truthful, the girls could easily step over one of the collapsed walls. That they took the door was… thoughtful, Edwin thought.

"Try not to let him swallow any more potions while we're gone," Crystal said, sharply. She pointed at Charles, the door already opened by her other hand. Edwin quickly glanced over his shoulder to find Charles staring at another bottle in his hands, and he quickly grabbed and confiscated it.

Charles let out a soft huff while Edwin turned back to Crystal and Niko. He managed a weak smile. "I shall do my utmost to prevent further alchemical mishaps."

As the door closed behind them, Edwin turned to face Charles, his heart pounding with a mixture of anticipation and dread. His brow furrowed as he studied Charles's flushed face. "Right then, I believe it's high time we got you home."

“It was a potion that fell upon me?” Charles asked, more demure than Edwin thought he ever heard him. “Some kind of witchy brew fell upon my hands. That it?”

Edwin followed Charles’s gaze, ready to deny and even lie to make his friend feel more at ease. He knew how their experiences with Esther and the other witches had changed him. But then he saw what Charles was looking at.

Charles’s eyes darted up to meet his as he showed the palms of his hands. “Got me hands all sticky,” he said with a scoff. “Thought it wouldn’t matter since I was a ghost. So what is it? Making me all light-headed.”

And making it impossible for me to lie, Edwin thought as he bit his cheek to keep from commenting. Instead of answering his best friend – being fully aware that Charles would keep pressing him until he had his answer – he grasped him by the elbow and started to lead him away.

He let go, only for a moment and only so he could take a last glance at the fallen vials and bottles as he had promised himself he’d do. The truth serum bottle was there. But nothing else that would alarm him.

Charles grinned lopsidedly. "Aw, come on, Eddie. I can walk just fine!" He took a wobbly step forward, nearly toppling over a stack of moldering grimoires.

Edwin instinctively reached out to steady him, his hands grasping Charles's shoulders. The contact sent a jolt through his incorporeal form, a reminder of the complex emotions he'd been struggling to suppress.

"Perhaps it would be wise if I carried you," he suggested, his voice wavering slightly.

As Edwin moved to scoop Charles up bridal-style, his friend's eyes widened with surprise and... was that delight?

While Edwin cursed Charles’s weight – wasn’t he the one supposed to be the brawns and carry Edwin? – he managed to pick him up. Charles wasn’t that heavy, but Edwin wasn’t that practiced. Still, he complimented himself mentally for succeeding in lifting his friend up in both arms.

"Oh! This is actually quite nice," Charles confessed, nestling into Edwin's arms with unexpected ease.

The words sent a wave of concern through Edwin. "Good lord, that is most unlike you. I fear this potion has addled your wits more severely than we initially surmised."

Edwin's gaze locked with Charles's, and he found himself drowning in those warm brown eyes. There was an emotion there, raw and unguarded, that he couldn't quite place. It stole his metaphorical breath away, leaving him feeling more alive than he had since, well, dying.

"You have such pretty eyes, Edwin," Charles mumbled, reaching up to trace the line of Edwin's jaw with his fingertips. Apparently, Charles had been doing the same, studying his eyes. Admiring. He should have known, should have recognized that penetrating gaze with an intensity that would, in life, have taken his breath away.

Edwin nearly dropped him in shock. "Now I'm absolutely certain something's amiss with you," he sputtered, gently setting Charles back on his feet. "Come on, up you get. We need to depart post-haste."

Charles pouted, swaying slightly. "But weren't you going to carry me? I rather liked that."

"I'm afraid you're far too heavy for such prolonged transportation," Edwin lied, desperately trying to maintain some semblance of composure. "Besides, a brisk walk will do you good. Help purge those nefarious juices from your system."

Charles stumbled forward, his legs wobbling like a newborn fawn's, though Edwin was fairly certain now that Charles did it on purpose. The boy took too much pleasure in being picked up in Edwin’s arms. He was sure of it. Yet, Edwin's arm shot out instinctively, wrapping around his friend's waist to keep him upright. The warmth of Charles's body against his side sent a jolt through Edwin's spectral form.

"Blimey," Charles groaned, leaning heavily on Edwin. "I feel bloody bewitched, mate. Like I'm under some barmy spell or summat."

Edwin grunted, adjusting his grip to better support Charles's weight. "That's likely because you are," he replied, his tone a mixture of concern and exasperation. "The truth serum appears to have some rather potent side effects."

“Ah, truth serum, eh?” Charles said, but then remained quiet.

As they shuffled along, Edwin's mind raced. He'd never seen Charles so vulnerable, so open. It was both thrilling and terrifying.

How, Edwin couldn’t tell. But they made their way back to familiar grounds. Away from the witch’s crumbling home. It felt good to be in the city again, to see their own home at the end of the street.

Just a few more steps and then…

Suddenly, Charles jerked to a stop, nearly toppling them both. "Wait, Edwin," he slurred, gripping Edwin's shoulders. "I need to tell you something. Something dead important."

Edwin's nonexistent heart leaped into his throat. "Charles, I'm not certain this is the most opportune moment for—"

"No, no, you don't understand," Charles interrupted, his eyes wide and earnest. "I never had the courage before but if anything, the time’s now. I love you, Edwin Payne. I love everything about you. Your posh way of talking, how you always know everything, the way your brow furrows when you're thinking really hard."

Edwin froze, shock coursing through him. Was this real, or merely the potion talking? Was another spell in place? Had there been a love potion he’d overseen? Anything else that he missed that could cause his friend to confess such a lie?

Charles continued, his words tumbling out in a rush. "I love how you're always there for me, how you make me feel safe even when we're knee-deep in ghostly nonsense. I love your stupid bow tie and your even stupider knickerbockers."

Okay, now that sounded like it could be right. Offensive, but sweet. Edwin felt his throat become dry, lips parched, as he listened to Charles’s rant. Perhaps Charles sounded more like himself than Edwin had wanted to admit.

Only then did he notice that his friend – his crush and afterlife-long companion – had paused, a look of wonder crossing Charles’s face. "Blimey, I don't know why I kept all this hidden for so long. It feels brilliant to say it out loud."

Edwin stood there, utterly flabbergasted, as Charles's confession washed over him. He'd dreamed of hearing these words, but never dared hope they'd become reality. Now, faced with the raw truth of Charles's feelings, he found himself at a complete loss for words.

Charles… loved him? Him?

Edwin cleared his throat, his analytical mind kicking into overdrive despite the emotional turmoil within. "Charles, I... I appreciate the sentiment, truly. However, this isn't quite the appropriate venue for such a conversation." Plus, it’s the witch who makes you say this, he thought with a pang of regret. Surely, it must be the spells talking. His eyes softened as he gazed at his friend's earnest face, unable to resist reaching out to brush a gentle hand past Charles's cheek. "Though I must admit, your words are... rather touching."

Charles leaned into Edwin's touch, a dreamy smile playing on his lips. "There you go again, Eds. All cold and aloof with your big words. It's funny, you know? It should put me right off, but instead, it just gets me all hot and bothered."

Edwin's eyebrows shot up, his cheeks burning with a ghostly blush. "I beg your pardon?"

"You heard me," Charles grinned, taking a wobbly step closer. "Your prim and proper act. It's dead sexy, mate."

Confusion swirled in Edwin's mind as he instinctively backed away. This was Charles, his best friend, under the influence of a truth serum. Only a truth serum? It wasn't right to... to what? Take advantage? But oh, how he wanted to believe every word.

"Charles, I really think we should—" Edwin's words were cut short as Charles lunged forward, enveloping him in a tight embrace. The familiar scent of his friend – a mix of old books and something uniquely Charles – filled his senses, making his head spin.

As he stood there, frozen in Charles's arms, Edwin's thoughts raced. Was this real? Did Charles truly harbor these feelings, or was it merely the potion speaking? And more importantly, what in the world was he supposed to do now?

Charles's lips brushed against Edwin's ear, sending a shiver down his spectral spine. "I've been such a bloody coward, Edwin," he whispered, his voice husky and raw. "But I can't hide it anymore. Everything I feel for you... it's all real. It's always been real."

Edwin's eyes widened, his mind reeling from the confession. Could it be true? The rational part of his brain fought to make sense of it all. "Charles, I... I don't know if—"

But then he remembered. The vial. The label. Truth serum. Charles could only speak the truth now. Why did he keep doubting? Why couldn't he accept that these feelings might be real? Because every word, every sentiment... it was all genuine.

Charles loved him.

Edwin's arms, which had been hanging limply at his sides, slowly rose to encircle Charles. He pulled his friend closer, feeling the solid warmth of Charles's form against his own ethereal one. It was a peculiar sensation, two ghosts embracing, but it felt more real than anything Edwin had experienced in his afterlife.

They stood there, basking in the moment, the musty air of the old study forgotten. Edwin's thoughts whirled like a maelstrom. He'd spent so long burying his own feelings, convincing himself that Charles could never reciprocate. And now...

"I say, this is rather nice," Edwin murmured, surprising himself with the casualness of his tone. "Though I must admit, I'm having a bit of trouble processing it all."

Charles chuckled softly, the sound vibrating through Edwin's chest. "You and me both, mate. Who'd have thought it'd take a dodgy potion to get us here?"

Edwin smiled despite himself. Leave it to Charles to find humor in the situation. It was one of the many things he adored about him. As they stood there, wrapped in each other's arms, Edwin felt a warmth blooming in his chest – a feeling he'd thought long lost to the grave.

When he finally pulled away, his analytical mind whirring with possibilities. A mischievous glint sparked in his eyes, so uncharacteristic that it made Charles raise an eyebrow.

"Well, my dear Charles," Edwin began, adjusting his bowtie with an air of faux formality, "since you're under the influence of a truth serum, it would be remiss of me not to take advantage of this unique opportunity for some... investigative questioning."

Charles let out a snort. "Blimey, Ed. You make it sound like an interrogation."

As they began to walk closer to their house, Edwin's curiosity got the better of him. "Tell me, what's the most embarrassing thing you've ever done as a ghost?"

Charles's face contorted comically as he fought against the serum, but the truth spilled out. "I once tried to possess a suit of armor at a museum. Got stuck for three days. Had to endure countless children poking me and saying 'Ew, this knight smells funny.’" He let out an embarrassed little chuckle. "Was when you were gone on the Candy case," he clarified at Edwin's bewildered expression. "Don’t know if you remember.”

“I was gone for five days,” Edwin mused. “And you’d been stuck for three?” He knew one of his eyebrows quirked at that. Charles must have noticed it too for his cheeks flushed and he quickly looked away.

“Yeah well, glad you never noticed. Made such a fool of myself.”

“Pity I couldn’t come and rescue you.”

Charles chuckled. “You’ve rescued me so many times. I feel like a darn princess.”

“The feeling’s mutual,” Edwin said.

“What?” Charles loudly said as they both morphed through the walls of their home and entered it. “You feel like a princess?”

Edwin rolled his eyes. “With how many times you came to save me, perhaps I should. But no,” he paused, allowing a small grin to curl his lips. “I meant, I agreed with you being the princess.”

“Princess my arse,” Charles scoffed, plopping down on their desk once they entered their study. “I’m the brawls here. I do the protecting,” then he lowered his voice and leaned closer to Edwin – who had sat down on the chair behind the desk, as always. Coming real close, he whispered to him, “I protect you, you got it, mate?”

“Got it.” Edwin couldn’t help the smile that showed a glimpse of itself for just a moment.

“Good,” Charles said, “Otherwise I’ll show you how well this princess can kick arse.”

Edwin burst into laughter, a rare sound that filled their study. "Oh, that's priceless! Well, here's another: were you jealous when Monty asked me on a date?”

“You ask me that while you didn’t even notice he was asking you on a date!” Charles cried out, undignified. “You didn’t even notice he was flirting his arse off.”

“You and arses today,” Edwin commented, shaking his head as if in distaste – but clearly making a show of it. “Now, answer the question, Charles.” Edwin stared at him, their eyes connecting, his gaze stern.

“I,” Charles swallowed. “Bloody jealous.” He finally settled for. Then let out a deep sigh. “But not as madly jealous as when that bloody cat King got you chained.”

Edwin reached for his wrist, unaware of the movements he made, and gently started rubbing the now unbound skin. “You… You didn’t like that?”

“Didn’t like that?” Charles’s eyes were ablaze with a dark fire. An emotion that Edwin had seldom seen in his best friend. Only when his emotions ran high.

Exceptionally high.

“That’d be an understatement,” Charles said through gritted teeth. “Once I found out what was going on… I wanted to murder that bloody cat.”

Edwin hummed, pursing his lips as he placed both of his hands on top of the desk and tapped his fingers to the surface. “That would have been a challenge, I imagine.”

“Could have easily taken one of his nine lives,” Charles scoffed as he kicked one of his legs against the empty chair at the other side of the desk, nearly making it topple. He said with his arms folded in front of his chest, a stormy expression twisting his features.

“You’re free to take one of his six remaining lives,” Edwin casually stated, turning over a torn-out leaf on the desk and frowning at the scribbled words on the other side of the paper.

“He’s got only six left?” Charles sounded honestly surprised as he faced his friend, arms still folded but posture relaxing somewhat.

“If my memory serves me correctly,” Edwin muttered.

Charles’s gaze drifted to a point on the wall, falling into deep a thought. “Bloody well wouldn’t have minded it,” he muttered.

"So, no male crushes on him?" Edwin probed, carefully. "Or Monty?"

Charles let out another chuckle while he rubbed a finger past his chin. "Nah. Monty's pretty, I suppose. But that Cat King, he's got something. I dunno. Something like passion, determination. Control? Was dead scared you'd fall for him." "So a competitor," Edwin edged him on, but Charles only hummed and leaned back on the desk.

"He's got something," Charles finally relented. "But nothing more but curiosity. No boyfriend material, him."

“Crystal,” Edwin started, not looking up from the papers on the desk – not even when Charles’s attention was fully upon him. “You like her?”

“Do I like her?” Charles deflected. “Sure! What is not to like? She’s nice, a good friend, clever-“

“Pretty,” Edwin hated how small his voice sounded and hoped Charles hadn’t heard the little nuance – the slip-up.

“Yeah, well, she is attractive,” Charles started, then brought himself to a halt and frowned, eyeing Edwin with an aggrieved frown. “You’re making me say that!”

“It’s the truth,” Edwin stated flatly, still avoiding eye contact with his friend. Colleague. Crush.

Lover?

What was the best word right now?

“And yet you said you are in love with me,” finally, his eyes darted up to meet Charles’s brown ones, only to find concern in them.

“That’s not fair,” Charles winced. “Love is not exclusive.”

“Isn’t it?” Edwin flatly stated. He wouldn’t know, would he? Had he ever truly loved anyone before? Not in the way he felt toward Charles, that’s one thing he knew for certain.

“Mate,” Charles started, leaning onto one hand on the desk, inching closer to him. “Edwin. What I feel is…”

“Attraction,” Edwin stated. “To her.”

It took Charles a moment to collect his thoughts, parting his lips and licking them a few times before he finally got to reply. “Yes, but, it’s different. It’s like. If I had to choose..”

“You don’t have to,” Edwin said, clearly puzzling his friend.

“I don’t have to?” Charles asked, confused.

“No,” Edwin said, sharper than he intended. He stacked papers into a pile and tapped them onto the desk, his eyes leaving Charles’s. “Because, like you said, we can still be friends. Nothing's changed. There's no need for choosing.”

That caught Charles’s tongue, and for a moment, both young men sat in silence. Edwin feigned to organize paper and leaflets, Charles stared at his hands as he lost himself in his thoughts.

“What if I want to choose?”

“What?” Edwin’s gaze snapped up at his friend.

“What,” Charles said again, “if I wanted to make a choice? What if I wanted to choose you?”

Edwin stared at Charles, his lips slightly parted in shock. “You... want to choose me? Whyever would you do that?”

Because he could not imagine it. Of all the possible sensible choices, Edwin knew he wasn’t the one. Not only was he damaged goods – being dragged to hell (twice!) and in need of being rescued – but he also wasn’t… well… perfect. He wasn’t like Crystal – a beautiful young woman. And most importantly, he wasn’t alive.

He could see many flaws in Charles choosing him. No matter how much he wanted it.

Charles fidgeted with the hem of his sleeve, apparently aware of Edwin’s train of thought. His cheeks flushed despite his spectral nature. “I know it sounds mad, but hear me out. I’ve always known I could fall in love with women. I’ve done it before—or thought I had, anyway.” He glanced up nervously, catching Edwin’s sharp gaze. “Crystal’s brilliant, and yes, I liked her. A lot. But it was... fleeting, I think. She’s alive,” he finished with a laugh.

“Alive,” Edwin stated flatly. “You mean to say that any affair with a living being would be fleeting?”

“No, no,” Charles quickly said, raising his hands. “I don’t mean it like that. I know the living die.”

“And then you’d have eternity with her,” Edwin hesitated, “or however long any afterlife would last...” His voice trailed off.

“I meant,” Charles pressed on, not easily derailed by Edwin’s cynicism. “I’ve fancied lots of gals before. That was easy, you know?”

He didn’t.

Charles seemed to realize this and his voice softened. “It was what was expected of me. My dad would have hit home a lot harder if he’d found out… if he’d known…” Charles's voice dwindled and Edwin found himself wanting to reach for his friend’s hand, to show some form of support. But as he contemplated on how to do this, how to show Charles that he cared, the other boy had already continued.

“Well, I suppose boys were off the agenda,” Charles laughed, bitterly. Pain-filled. Edwin felt it in his phantom heart. He looked up, locking eyes with Charles, only to see the embers within them. Passionate. Burning bright.

So full of warmth.

“In other words, I’ve never let myself go as far. Never allowed myself to think about it. Even with you.”

Edwin’s brow furrowed. “So you’re saying—”

“I’m saying,” Charles interrupted, his voice firming as he leaned forward, “that while I was busy chasing things that didn’t matter, I didn’t see what was right in front of me. You, Edwin. You’ve been there through everything. All the stupid mistakes, the bickering, the disasters, the close calls. I—I can’t picture my afterlife without you. And I’d very much like us to be an item.”

“An... item,” Edwin repeated, confused but clearly trying to hide it. “An item of what?”

This made Charles laugh, an unbridled and carefree laugh. “Of course, you wouldn’t understand,” he said, wiping a tear from the corner of his eyes. “I want us to try being something more.”

Edwin blinked several times, as if processing this required the same mental energy he used for solving their toughest cases. “Something more?”

“A couple,” Charles clarified, his lips quirking in a tentative smile. “Boyfriends. Partners. An item, as they say.”

“An... item,” Edwin repeated, his voice flat but his eyes sparkling faintly.

“Yes! I know you’re terribly repressed and probably about to tell me you don’t ‘do items,’ but I’m pretty sure I can get you to 'do boyfriends'.”

When Edwin merely blinked at him, Charles’s grin grew. “That was an innuendo, in case you were wondering,” he added. “I could explain it to you in more detail if you’d like—”

“I think I’m catching the drift,” Edwin cut in, his tone measured. But the corner of his mouth twitched. “You might have to explain how you’re imagining things to be between us. Since I have, well,” he paused, swallowing, “little experience in this field.”

“Oh, you know.” Charles grinned, finally finding his footing. “The usual: solving mysteries together, keeping each other alive—or, well, less dead. Annoying each other endlessly. And kissing, of course. Lots of kissing.”

Edwin gave him a level look. “You’re not joking?”

“Do I look like I’m joking?” Charles spread his arms dramatically. “I’ve just spilled my spectral guts to you, Edwin. I’d very much like to seal the deal, so to speak.”

That earned him a rare, genuine laugh from Edwin, who shook his head as if baffled by his friend’s audacity. “You’re absolutely insufferable.”

“Ah, but you love that about me, don’t you?” Charles teased, winking.

Edwin paused, his lips forming a small, almost imperceptible smile. “I suppose I do.”

“Well, then,” Charles said, leaning back in mock triumph. “That settles it. We’re an item. Boyfriends. A bona fide thing.”

The two laughed, the tension melting away between them. It was the kind of laughter that felt lighter than air, untethered by fear or doubt.

Such a rollercoaster this day has been.

When the laughter subsided, Edwin’s expression softened into something rare and vulnerable. “Charles,” he said quietly, “what do you really think of my bowtie collection?”

The truth serum worked faster than Charles’s brain. “Bloody hideous, the lot of them,” he blurted out, then slapped a hand over his mouth, his eyes widening in horror. “I mean, they’re... very you?”

Edwin raised an eyebrow, his calm veneer cracking just enough to reveal a glimmer of amusement. “I see.”

Charles groaned, sinking onto the desk. “This is going to be held against me forever, isn’t it?”

Edwin’s lips twitched as he stood, straightened his bowtie, and patted Charles on the shoulder. “Oh, absolutely. Boyfriends or not, some things will never change.”

Charles chuckled despite himself, watching Edwin move to organize their case notes. And for the first time in a long while, everything felt exactly as it should be.

Notes:

~FIN ~ Written as a fill for the prompt: put a truth spell on charles! king of ignoring every non-positive emotion he's ever had, lets see what comes out when he isn't able to push it aside! would love if they dont know that a truth spell has been cast on him at first and aren't sure exactly why he is saying the things he is saying :3c pre-ship leading to them getting together hopefully, although i would love a bit of non-edwin-crush truths to be revealed as well!

[palushiemalis-fr]

Dergtober -- Day 21 -- Gloom

Antigony, the shade doctor.

"Why, yes, I trained way out in a remote part of what they now call the Harpy's Roost." Anti pauses to prod at her concoction, "It was called something different back then, but I don't recall. This was pioneering alchemy that called for wild and beguiling magicks..." She drops in a fistful of feathers that sizzle to a crisp upon touching the surface of the molten brew, her beady eyes narrow down on the developing skin of the potion before she wriggles the blackened wooden spoon to test for viscosity. The mother dragon in front of her curls her tail about her hatchling, in her paws a single egg covered in something dark and sticky. They daren't speak, all there is to hear is the pop and gurgle of the cauldron and the huff of enchanted bellows beneath it. "What was I saying again? Blood moon dust? Rat's milk? Something about alchemy, perchance? Was that it? Well, it's all nonsense, all of it. I've looked under every magical rock in Sornieth before I looked up, I took training in the Arcane Isles, upon the Focal Point, and when I looked up I saw not the stars, but the important things!" She digs at the spoon no firmly rooted in the cauldron, "Yes, the wretched black curlicews of the shade. The shade alone is the root of our woes, it hides in your ears and tangles up your mane at night, it takes a nap between your toe-pads and you wake up entirely made of crystal!" She tries to wildly gesture with the spoon but almost falls in due to the solidification that has taken hold of the spoon. She has a brief burst of cackling before collecting herself. The mother dragon was recommended this odd witch from a reputable source, but she was beginning to wonder if she'd just wandered in on a crazy old dragon making her dinner. "Hand me the ingredient-- I mean, err, the egg. The egg." She says. The mother reluctantly hands the tiny Fae her poor shade-touched egg, Antigony embraces it and flutters her frills against the shell, she kisses it tenderly. "Poor wee babe, we'll soon have you right." She drops the egg into the stodgy sludge, much to the Mother's horror. It sinks into the mass and it changes its consistency almost immediately to something ashy and pale; there is a low hissing noise as Antigony flits up to open a tiny window to open it, a gush of black tears through the room and into the outside. The hissing rises to a crescendo before stopping, the candles flicker for a moment and then settle. Antigony jumps into her dusty, grey cauldron and stands inside with the newly purified egg held above her head. The mother begins to weep as she cradles her egg to her breast. "Now, my payment..." The mother dragon sticks her paws in her pouch before taking out what was requested of her; a handful of dead moths and a pair of spectacles for the short-sighted. "Ahahahaha, perfect." She says, taking her payment and pouring it all into a jar. "I'm always losing these." The mother ushers out her hatchling with a quiet thank you, leaving before asking whether she meant the moths or the spectacles.

[blackjackkent]

I do love that if you take a side route through the Gauntlet you just end up in a random corner of the Underdark and have to fight this thing:

Which appears nowhere else in the game and has no impact on anything.

It very much entertains me that sometimes you can explain parts of this game from a D&D perspective, like "Oh, the DM didn't have a plan for this corner of the dungeon so they just tossed a random monster in it." :P

Following this route on takes us into the north portion of the temple by a different route than I've taken before and gives Rakha a chance to loot 1234151234 mushrooms from a random storeroom before going to talk to Balthazar.

Also got a banter between Shadowheart and Wyll:

Rakha watches Wyll for his reaction to this but his expression is carefully neutral. (Later, she will look back on this conversation and think that it must have subtly cut him to the quick - for this is exactly what his father thought that he did, when he took Mizora's deal and was not allowed to explain himself.)

A ratty journal lies next to a long-dead corpse in another side room:

Given the use of the word "beast," this is briefly an incredibly jarring thing for Rakha to read, but she quickly parses it as referring to the devil that Raphael mentioned outside. Whatever the thing is, it killed all the Sharran warriors here at some indeterminate time in the past. Minthara was right - however annoying Raphael might be, he wasn't lying about how dangerous this thing is. They will have to tread carefully.

On the opposite side of this side room, they find a simple, candle-lit altar coated in dust. A small group of rats stand around it in a semi-circle. Rakha watches them warily, but they seem to take no notice of the disturbance; their attention seems focused on the altar.

Shadowheart laughs softly. "Even the rats have the good sense to pay homage to Lady Shar."

Stepping carefully around the small creatures, Rakha and the others approach the altar. "A place of offering to the Dark Lady," Shadowheart explains softly. "May she embrace the entire world."

Rakha looks the altar over curiously. If she had any sense of how such things are done, she might try to pray. As it is, she steps aside and lets Shadowheart take the lead.

There is a long silence while Shadowheart hunches her shoulders and turns her gaze inward. Rakha watches as she squeezes her eyes shut, clasping her hands. Her face twists with a sudden air of pain... then relaxes in a spasm of relief.

When she opens her eyes, Rakha gives her a questioning look - but she volunteers nothing, just turns and walks out of the room.

(A/N: As Shadowheart, interacting with this altar gets you the prompt "Offer prayer and devotion to the Dark Lady."

Narrator: Your prayers fade away. Nothing comes to you in return. No soothing presence, no spiritual embrace. Only darkness and silence. Your efforts must be inadequate. You must do more to please Shar going forward.

[RELIGION] Silently swear your body and soul to Shar. Give yourself over entirely.

Narrator: The faintest sensation of approval quickens your heart. A hard-won blessing from your Mistress.

Obviously though, Rakha doesn't know any of this. All she knows is that Shadowheart experienced something, but not what.)