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silkscream · 3 months

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CHAPTER 12: LOOKING FOR THE NEW WORLD

ੈ✩ gojo satoru x reader, geto suguru x reader

He was like a child despite being a man, one much bigger and stronger than you. Infinitely powerful, yet he could reduce himself into a creature of need so intensely that he’s convinced you that your touch is the only remedy.

ੈ✩ chapter cw/tags: explicit content (18+ mdni) , unprotected sex, dubcon, oral sex, mentions of depression, angst, character death

ੈ✩ wc: 5k

ੈ✩ a/n: who else is sick of these two. i sure am

playlist ✸ read on ao3 ✸ series masterlist

January, 2011

There’s a black cat that likes to hang out around your apartment. It’s small, a bit on the thinner side, with striking amber eyes. It reminds you of someone.

It nuzzles against your legs now as you sit on the stoop, nursing your third cigarette of the night. Tobacco for dinner and some leftover hot and sour soup from the last time Shoko forced you to get takeout with her.

“You gotta stop with those,” she had muttered when you had finished eating, excusing yourself for a cigarette despite the snow. “You’re gonna fuck up your lungs at this rate.”

“How extremely hypocritical of you.”

“The nicotine makes you more anxious than before,” she laughed. “And I want you alive in this lifetime.”

You’d smiled weakly in response. Allowed yourself one cigarette before bed and another that was shared with her before she left for Tokyo again.

Your stomach rumbles again at the thought of real dinner. The cat sniffing you meows.

“You’re hungry, too, huh?”

As if it understands you, it mewls.

You ash your cigarette and scoop it up in your arms as you walk to the konbini for cat food and multiple cups of ramen. Despite the odd looks you get around the store, no one bothers you or reprimands you for having a little fur ball attached to your shoulder.

The cat takes a liking to your apartment, immediately splaying itself on your carpet. You’d have to vacuum later if you were going to house it. Get a litter box, too. It was probably all against your lease, but it had been a long time since you had taken care of anyone other than yourself, and you were still lacking in that department ever since the previous autumn.

“Sorry about this,” you mutter as you pick up the cat, lifting it to the light. “Ah. A boy.”

The cat meows, as if agreeing. You decide to call him Jiji after the black cat in Kiki’s Delivery Service. A fitting resemblance. There’s an annoying, familiar voice in your head that tells you it’s a bit cliche.

The poor thing walks with a limp you don’t remember him having. There’s a deep cut on one of his back legs, probably left over from a stray dog that bit too hard. The flesh heals quickly with the slight of your hand.

He treats the place like a personal jungle, which is saying something considering how bare it is. You make yourself some subpar ramen, attempting to turn it into stir-fry with the puny vegetables in your fridge. It was something warm, at least. It goes nicely with the Asahi you bought. You’re allowing yourself maybe half of the six-pack tonight. Any more and you’d be inviting yourself to wade in a pool of pity.

You stare at the mini calendar on your fridge. The third of February is circled, taunting you. It wasn’t like you’d ever forget, but you marked it anyway as if to punish yourself.

You jump when the doorbell rings. It can’t be Shoko. She’d left for Tokyo days before, and there was no reason for her to be back so soon. Utahime wasn’t the type to show up unannounced.

For fuck’s sake, it couldn’t be.

You didn’t even tell him where your new place was. The knocks on the door turn to a rhythmic pounding you recognize immediately and it makes you want to start digging your own hole. Begrudgingly, you open the door.

“Took you long enough,” he mutters, the curl of a lip hinting at a teasing smile. There’s barely enough time for you to process a response back because of how quickly he walks in.

“How did you know where I lived?”

Satoru grins, teeth and all. Annoyingly bright and shark-spiked, hair covered in light snow.

“I have my ways, baby.”

“You need to leave.”

Jiji cowers curiously by the foot of the couch, blinking at the new stranger. Satoru looks at you quizzically.

“Replaced me already?”

“Yes.”

He ignores you and plops down the paper bags he was carrying on the kitchen counter, like he’s done it a million times before. A bottle of rose, packaged daifuku. A carton of strawberries. For some reason, nearly everything in the grocery bag is pink.

“Got you your favorites.”

“Satoru, these are your favorites.”

“Ours, then,” he huffs childishly, pouting. “I was in town for a mission. Thought you would want to, uh, do something for his birthday.”

His last sentence is rushed like it’s an afterthought, but it’s the most damning one. You can’t help the rage in your veins when he says it. As if Suguru is dead or missing instead of flourishing on his own path. Rot turned to bloom.

While you glare at him, his expression is neutral, bordering on sheepish.

“You didn’t answer any of my calls or texts, so.”

“Because I didn’t want to talk to you,” you say bluntly.

He sighs. “You can’t ignore me, forever, y’know.”

Something bitter crawls up the cavern of your chest at the same time something heats up. It wasn’t fair, the way he looked at you all pouty. It made you feel like you did when you were merely the maid’s daughter, wanting to appease him in any way you could. You feel slightly nauseous despite your stomach feeling terribly empty.

You bite the inside of your cheek. “Have you talked to him?”

“Of course not,” he scoffs.

The two of you stare at each other in silence for a bit before you clear your throat.

“Thanks for the groceries, but you can take them back to your hotel or whatever. You can’t stay here.”

“I’m not trying to crash at your apartment, anyway.”

“Then what are you trying to do, Satoru?”

“Seduce you, I suppose,” he mutters. “I’m sure the hotel mattress I have would be better for your back. You can—”

“No.”

“Fine. Have dessert with me. A glass of wine. I just want to be with you.”

You curse yourself. Satoru is always tempting just by being himself, but you did really like the brand of wine he brought. Right now, you need a drink more than anything else.

Watching reality TV with Satoru is not how you expect to spend your night. The silence is uncomfortable, nearly suffocating. It’s not difficult to notice how much he wants to touch you, his fingers twitching on the fabric of your couch.

“Where’d this fucker come from?” He nods his head towards Jiji, who has jumped onto your left shoulder. You can sense jealousy in his tone, funnily enough.

“Don’t call him that,” you scold, rolling your eyes. “He was a stray. Got bitten by something so I healed him up.”

“How lucky.”

“Uh huh.”

Satoru clears his throat and thumbs around the rim of his wine glass. Fidgety. He leans closer to you, petting Jiji as an excuse.

“How’s the… independent study? Or whatever.”

“It’s good. I work at the greenhouse every other day.”

He nods slowly and pours you both another glass. It doesn’t take long for you both to finish the bottle. His cheeks are as pink as the daifuku, half-eaten and abandoned on a plate in front of him. You’ve graduated to playful quips despite your mostly guarded demeanor, feet hoisted on his lap as he rubs them absentmindedly.

“You should probably get back to your hotel.”

“Huh?”

You look at him. Satoru’s gaze flickers in between mischief and reverence. He’s also clearly not paying attention to what you’re saying considering his eyes are fixed on your bare shoulder.

“It’s late,” you sigh.

“Not that late,” he scoffs. “S’not even ten.”

“I have a lab early tomorrow,” you lie.

“...Alright. Wanna finish this for me, then?” He holds out the last half of the mochi and feeds it to you. He blushes slightly. You still open your mouth for him without having him to ask.

“It’s good.”

He nods. Leans over to wipe a bit of red bean paste off the corner of your mouth with his thumb. His eyes lower onto your lips as he sighs, right before he kisses you.

You let him.

He feels the same as he always does. It’s been almost two months since you’d touched him — the last time being inside a karaoke bar bathroom an hour after Shoko had convinced you to come out for Satoru’s birthday.

You had done so, unwillingingly, still not over the wound of being left and still angry with Satoru. Even so, it was still easy for him to make your knees weak, leading you into a random stall in the men’s bathroom while Shoko and Utahime forced Nanami to sing an 80s ballad.

It was your first time properly spending time with the underclassman, so it embarrassed you immensely to walk out with your lipstick smudged. You remember overhearing Nanami ask Utahime about you and Satoru, to which she simply laughed in pity.

They’re on and off?

Divorced right now, Shoko had quipped.

Gojo was married to her?!

Fuck no. He wishes.

“Sato—” you mumble into his mouth.

He shuts you up with his tongue against yours, his hand cupping your chin. You knew he would get you a little tipsy and probably make a move, and you knew full well that you would let him. He chased you easily even when he could have anyone he wanted.

His movements are sloppy and languid. Drunk, perhaps — he was a lightweight through and through. He groans lightly at the taste of you, how sweet you are like always. His other hand moves to your nape, clutching the back of your head to rest on the couch cushion with him hovering over you. Already, he was slotting his knee in between your legs.

Satoru could already feel his insides stir at the thought of being inside you again. It had been too fucking long. He was sure that his dick would probably melt once you let him in.

When you feel his hand underneath your sweater, you break the kiss. He sees it as an interruption rather than an end as he chases you, face leaning in again. He was pretty when he was drunk on you, eyes half-lidded like that. It was infuriating.

It takes you a slight push and a turning of the head for him to realize that you don’t want him.

“Why are you—”

“We can’t.”

“Why not?”

“Because I– I don’t want to.”

His face falls. You can’t stand it, how he looks like a kicked puppy. You refuse to fall for it.

“Are you sure you don’t want to come back with me?” he tries. “To the hotel?”

You’d slap him if you could. Your hands don’t move an inch. They only tremble.

“I said no. I’m sorry—” Why are you apologizing? “I have to get to bed.”

He blinks at you, dejected. For once, he doesn’t beg. Doesn’t give you a smartass reply. He stands and runs his fingers through his hair.

“Okay,” he sighs. He wants to reach out and touch you, but he doesn’t. “Sweet dreams, Twigs.”

June, 2010

There’s a funeral before you leave for Kyoto. It’s the first time you deal with the corpse of a classmate.

You’d watched Shoko work in the morgue meticulously, wrapping the body in plastic. You knew she was probably used to the smell of death by now. At that moment, you were both numb to it.

“You don’t have to stay here, Nanami-kun,” you told your junior softly. He’d been sitting next to you in a plastic folding chair with a warm towel over his eyes for nearly half an hour, saying nothing.

“It’s fine. Not like they’d dare to assign me another mission right away.”

You glance at Nanami now, dressed in all black, and his face looks even more tired than it was under the morgue fluorescents. Sallow and pale, his complexion matching Suguru’s.

You were all much too young to go to so many funerals.

The smell of death still lingers at the ceremony, too. It must be psychosomatic, the way the suffocating temple air makes your gut twist into itself. Yu Haibara’s smiling portrait stares back at you.

You’d never experienced anything like this before. You knew the cost of being a jujutsu sorcerer, the horror of nearly losing Satoru the subject of your nightmares. It was different for it to be real, to pick up the bones of a boy whose light shone so brightly with chopsticks.

Suguru looks older than he is. You noticed lately that the circles under his eyes have gotten worse, sometimes like a bruised purple in the shadows of his room. He didn’t leave it often, never opened his blinds despite it being summer. Morose as he is, he still looks beautiful.

You sit in between him and Satoru during the service. You shed no tears. No one does—the grief is all-consuming, wrangling everyone by the throat. You’re sure your fellow classmates are feeling numbness more than anything.

You crawl into Suguru’s bed that night. He almost doesn’t acknowledge you, save for the movement of his arm over your middle when you nestle into his chest. His hair is still slightly damp from the shower he took. He hadn’t bothered to put his clothes back on.

“You okay?” you whisper. “We missed you at dinner.”

“Migraines,” he mumbles. He’s been getting a lot of them lately. That or nausea. Another thing that was psychosomatic—Suguru could barely eat lately because of the nausea. Even when he eats enough, it’s there, as if the curses he swallows are making a cesspool of his gut.

He blames it all on heat fatigue, but you know better. Even with his model-like cheekbones, his face is starting to look a little thinner.

“Did you take anything for it?”

“Yeah,” he lies. He might’ve taken some gas station gummy just so he could pass out and maybe not wake up for twelve hours before you came in.

You hum softly, threading your fingers through his damp hair. It’s too wet for him to be resting on his pillow. You want to comb it for him, dry him with the towel like a beloved pet. He breathes shallowly as he revels in the feeling of your fingers across his scalp.

“Have you been drinking enough water?”

“Christ. Yes.”

Suguru immediately regrets his sharp tone the minute he sees your eyes flicker with meekness. He sighs, cradling you closer.

“Sorry. I’m just… fucking tired.”

“Yeah, me too.” There’s an awkward silence.

“God,” you mumble, almost to yourself. “What happened was horrible.”

“Ha. That’s reality. Could be any of us tomorrow, or the next day.”

It’s an awful thing to say, but you know he’s right. He doesn’t say it to be spiteful or insensitive, but his words sting nonetheless. It’s the air of bitterness you can sense from the lilt of his tongue. You know it isn’t directed at you, but it still feels uncomfortable when you’re trying to be affectionate with him.

He looks at the sadness in your eyes and makes an attempt to change the subject. “Do you wanna… watch a movie or something?”

“I should probably go to bed soon. I have an early mission tomorrow.”

“Seriously? After what just happened?”

“I don’t really have a say in what gets assigned to me,” you say sheepishly.

“We all keep throwing ourselves back into work. The very work that gets our friends killed,” Suguru scoffs. “And for what? For a bunch of weaklings? Fuck.”

You pinch your brows together. “Suguru–”

“They’re the ones making the curses, anyway,” he mutters. “It’s fucking ironic that we have to protect the weak but we’re the ones who are never protected. Always martyred, instead.”

“The weak?”

“Non-sorcerers. Us sorcerers exist to protect the weak—it’s bullshit, sometimes.”

“You sound like Satoru.”

He lets out a bitter laugh at that. “So I’ve really gone off the deep end, huh?”

“No,” you sigh, caressing his jaw. “We’re all just grieving. I’ve been feeling a little crazy, too.”

He looks at you earnestly, licks his lips. “Kyoto will be nice.”

“Yeah,” you nod. “I suppose it will be nice.”

“Don’t you get sick of it all?”

“Of being a sorcerer?”

Everything, he wants to scream.

“I don’t know. It’s the first thing I’ve done for myself. I mean, for others, too—that’s the whole thing—but it means more. Like I’m… worth something.”

“You’re worth a lot more than that. You always have been.”

There’s a hint of desperation in his voice, as if he’s also telling himself the same thing. You’re not exactly sure what he means. You like being useful, you’ve learned to like having to perfect your technique. You know you will never be as strong as Satoru or Suguru. You don’t know that Suguru is metamorphosing into something beyond his control, ever since he saw a bullet go through a girl’s skull.

His words stick with you as you fall asleep in his bed.

You’re worth more.

September, 2010

You feel like you’re about to vomit. Blood trickles down Satoru’s palm, the sharp pin of the button in his hand still in his unfurling fist.

“What?”

“Don’t make me say it again,” Yaga-Sensei grimaces. “Suguru fled after killing everyone in the village.”

You can’t look anyone in the eye. You only stare at the blood on Satoru’s palm, thinking of his hands, of Suguru’s. Hands that were soft around your neck, rough on your waist and down the planes of your thighs. Hands that killed 112 people in a small village.

When you couldn’t call him, you took the bullet train to Tokyo immediately. You thought he’d gone missing, ran away, anything but the reality of the situation. Suguru could be sharp-tongued, had rigid edges, but he was always kind. He believed in fairness above all—it was what you admired most about him. Even when he could be cruel, he could be kind.

You didn’t think he could be cruel enough to commit a mass murder in cold blood. You feel the hallway spinning, nausea crawling up your sternum and up to your head. Suguru had killed a village, and he’s left you and Satoru, and he didn’t even say goodbye.

You really need to lay down before you throw up.

Yaga cancels your missions, so you have nothing to distract you. Nothing to do with your hands except curl your fingers around the cool bed sheet beneath you. For the next day, you stay like this — twisted inside yourself, knees tucked to your chest. Satoru is there, too, and for the first time in his life, he has nothing to say. This is a kind of grief that neither of you knows how to deal with.

“Satoru,” you whisper. “We should eat.”

“I’m not hungry.”

“You said you haven’t eaten since this morning,” you frown.

He shrugs. He was fine with laying in bed with you, suspended in the thick tension of unspoken words. Satoru was often explosive when he was angry, but he didn’t have the energy to do anything about Suguru’s betrayal. Not unless he could find him on his own, but at this rate, Suguru could be out of the city already.

He’s slightly watery-eyed. Something is dormant inside of him and you’re waiting for it to snap, show its teeth. You are ready to be the thing in between his canines.

He takes you eventually. Wakes you in the middle of the night in a cold sweat, prompted by nightmares of fire and bloodshed and Suguru’s glare. Satoru claws at you in his sleep until you’re holding his face and shaking him, telling him to breathe slowly.

His breathing only gets faster. The hole that Suguru leaves inside of him needs to be filled.

And then, your hair is in between his fists, your flesh in between his teeth. He has to take you apart so you’re like him, but you know that you had fallen apart the moment Suguru’s phone number failed when you tried to call him.

“Satoru,” you whine. “Slow down.”

“Can’t,” he mutters, his voice rough as he gropes you in the dark. “Fuck, sorry. Need you. Missed you.”

With the way he manhandles you, you might think he’s sleepwalking. His eyes are wide open, midnight blue in the darkness. He whines when you turn away from him.

“Please,” he chokes out. “Need it.”

You’d seen him like this before. Desperate, begging, frantic—usually because he was upset or angry. He would never tell you the details of what was in his head, only that he absolutely needed you, needed your body to satiate him. Your body was a temple for him to confess and repent in, yet it hollowed you out as if you were the one sinning.

“Shhh,” you coo, nervous. “It’s alright.”

You wrap your arms around him and he intertwines your legs together. You can feel his cock against your stomach. His face is buried in your neck, teeth nipping your collarbone. You always let him take all of you when he’s like this, never minding the feeling of being stretched thin, a taut sinew inside a predator’s mouth. You would be the balm to his chaos, always.

He lets out a heavy breath when he moves your panties to the side and his tip catches on your entrance. It’s a sound of relief, of quenched thirst. You gasp when he fits himself all the way inside you. Your body feels like a geyser ready to erupt.

He’s done this before after nightmares, after tough missions. Sometimes you would be asleep —you told him you didn’t care, and usually, you don’t. To be wanted by Satoru felt like a blessing even when it hurt like a curse.

You were sick on each other.

His movements are hurried, kissing your neck sloppily as he ruts against you. He pushes inside and begins with quick thrusts. A full nest inside of you, your walls melting. He squeezes you tightly, his arms almost painfully clutching your waist as if he needed you tethered to him, skin sticking to skin.

You aren’t wet enough for you to cum just yet. It was aching in you a little bit, the deepness of his cock inside you.

“S-Satoru,” you whine. “Hurts.”

“I’m sorry. I’ll make it up — fuck — make it up to you.”

He pulls out of you and throws you against the bed, holding your legs down and parted for his mouth. He eats you like a meal, his mouth sucking on your clit brutally enough for you to become overwhelmed. He sighs as he feels you gush around his fingers.

“Close,” you gasp. “Fuck me.”

He turns you over and humps in between your legs, slipping in and holding you down. His weight on you is almost comforting. Your head feels like it’s underwater.

“You can take it,” he hums. He kisses your nape, bites at your shoulder. If he wasn’t so delirious about it, needing you as much as he does, he would take his time. Write his name into your skin with love bruises.

His cock had to be stirring your insides together, your cunt like whipped butter. He groans when you clench around him. He knows how close you are, despite being half-asleep, half-feral. He’s had you memorized.

It was too hot for him to be on you like this, his body too heavy. You come at the same time, both of your voices blending together into a choked whimper. Your hair sticks to your neck with sweat.

“Y’feel so good,” Satoru mutters. “All the time.”

He gets up to piss eventually, otherwise he probably would’ve fallen asleep inside you. You hadn’t noticed the small tears at the corner of your eyes. You come back to yourself, feeling a flurry of emotions come out of your pores—sweat and tears, Satoru’s warmth spilling out of you like dripping candle wax.

He holds you again and strokes your hair in silent apology. You fall asleep. You don’t dream.

He’d fucked you into the next afternoon, apparently, because you don’t wake up until 1 pm. The sheets are warm with his presence, but there isn’t a warm body next to you.

When he comes back, his eyes are bloodshot.

“Satoru?”

“He… he left,” he says.

“What do you mean he left?”

“Shoko found him and called me. He thinks he can create a world without non-sorcerers, he’s fucking—“

“Satoru!” you snap.

He shuts up, looks at you with big eyes, wet and dark.

“You— you saw him?”

“Yeah, just now—”

“Why didn’t you wake me up?” you demand.

He blinks at you, at a loss for words. He was half-asleep when Shoko called, scrambled to put on pants before he basically warped to the middle of Shinjuku. Seeing Suguru again was whiplash.

“I didn’t want to—you look so peaceful when you’re sleeping, y’know,” he stammers, running a hand through his haphazard white locks. Lingering bedhead. “And I didn’t want Suguru to think we were, you know, ganging up on him—”

“I wouldn’t care about being woken up if I got to see him!” you scoff.

“You’re upset.”

“Of course I’m upset he’s my… he’s my friend, too!”

I loved him, too.

“It doesn’t matter. He’s gone.”

You must be red in the face. Your face stings with a wash of irritation, your nose twitching as if you’re about to cry.

“What did you say to him?”

“He’s turned his back on Jujutsu society. That’s all there is to it. He thinks it’s justice.”

“You didn’t try to stop him? You just let him go?”

“I couldn’t kill him. You know that,” he says, his expression hard.

Your throat catches on a lump, a ball of malignant rage threatening to choke you. The red string that connects you and Suguru has frayed limp. Between you and Satoru, it only tightens around your neck.

“I could’ve talked to him,” you start babbling. “I could’ve–”

“Don’t be stupid. You know how stubborn he is. You really think that you would’ve made a difference?”

You narrow your eyes, wiping them before tears start to fall. “What is that supposed to mean?”

“I just… I just know him–”

“And I don’t?” you snap.

“I didn’t say that.”

“It’s what you’re implying.”

Satoru scoffs. “You don’t get it. He’s set on this idea of his. You wouldn’t have changed his mind, I promise you.”

You shut your eyes, feeling the dagger of his gaze twist itself into your chest. There was that feeling again—knowing that you would never be like either Satoru or Suguru. You knew that perhaps Satoru would have more power over him, and despite that, he still left.

You weren’t there for the past two months, didn’t see the dead look in his eyes. You would never understand him. You think that maybe no one would. You hate how desperately you wanted to know him, how intensely you would claw your way for love in a way that mattered. Years of being with Satoru proved that—you still felt beneath him. Beneath both of them.

“Hey. Don’t do that.”

“What?”

“Don’t shut down. You always do that when you get upset,” Satoru grimaces.

You chew on the skin under your lip nervously. Your hands shake. You hate that Suguru has probably only shown a certain percentage of himself to you. There was no room for you to be entitled to the intricacies of his brain.

The space between you and Satoru is a chasm. You don’t know what to do with your frustration. The only options in your head right now are to take it out on him or let it fester within yourself until you explode. Neither will do much in terms of closure.

Satoru stares at you with jealousy stirring underneath his skin. It’s the earnestness in your hurt expression. It’s making the guilt inside him multiply like a virus.

“Are you in love with him?” Satoru asks, his voice hoarse.

You blink at him. “I don’t know,” you whisper.

“Do you love him more than you love me?”

“What? What does that have to do with–”

“Just answer.”

“I could ask you the same thing,” you mutter.

Satoru winces, your words a sharp sting to his face. He hadn’t preferred either of you over the other, but he was protective of you in a way that he didn’t feel for Suguru. It ran deep enough to make him crazy—Suguru knew that. For some reason, it wasn’t anything that Satoru could admit out loud.

He sighs heavily. “I love both of you. You know that.”

“Why are you asking this, Satoru?”

“Because… fuck. Because it doesn’t matter how much you and I loved him! It doesn’t fucking matter. He’s gone, okay?”

He’s too consumed with the thought of you beside him on that sidewalk, surrounded by a crowd. Tunnel vision set on a beautiful boy with sharp eyes, casually ready to leave the both of you in the dust. Part of him hates how much you love Suguru, how much Suguru seemed to love you back. He hates how much you’re fussing over his best friend when all he’s ever done since he met you was fuss over you.

He hates how much he loves Suguru. So much so that out of his own selfishness, he wanted to face him alone when Shoko called. He didn’t want you beside him when he confronted Suguru, didn’t want to see the inevitable tears on your face once Suguru walked away.

Satoru is convinced that you were made from him, and if he’s lost one soulmate, he refuses to lose another.

And yet, you look at him coldly, like you’re going to leave, and his heart jumps out of his chest.

#gojo smut #gojo x reader #gojo satoru x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk x reader #jjk smut #geto x reader #geto suguru x reader #gojo satoru x you #jujutsu kaisen x you #jjk x you #geto suguru x you #geto x you

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helpimstuckposting · 1 year

Text

I couldn’t get my earlier post out of my head, and then this happened so… I hope you enjoy a little famous!Eddie and dingus!Steve ficlet (ft platonic soulmate Stobin)

Part one | part two | part three

—

Steve and Robin had lived in Indy all of their lives. They shared the same schools, same teachers, same jobs, it would never end. They were platonic soulmates in a way they understood but couldn’t explain to anyone else, and that was okay. It worked for them.

Since they graduated, they’d been ice cream scoopers, movie rental employees, pizza makers, delivery drivers, movie theater security, bartenders, and now - surprisingly - musicians.

They had originally started messing around with song covers during their bartending era. Every Thursday was karaoke night, and they were both too competitive to see it as anything other than a chance to win, both trying to upstage the other. After a while, Steve started writing songs in his free time and Robin wouldn’t let anyone but her sing them. She posted their songs on Tiktok and Instagram just to see what would happen, and eventually they made their way onto Spotify and other streaming services.

A few of their songs went viral enough that they had a steady stream of listeners, and spent their free time putting more and more songs together. Their boss even let them play live at the bar on Wednesdays (and of course they’re still just as passionate about karaoke night).

It was a few months into their Wednesday shows when he showed up. Eddie Munson. It was just another bar in Indy, just a stop on their tour, just a coincidence that he happened to choose Robin and Steve’s bar. Steve noticed him during their set, and he was so glad in that moment that Robin was the lead singer because he was absolutely sure his voice would have cracked. Corroded Coffin was one of Dustin’s favorite bands, the kid wouldn’t shut up about them any time a new album or single was released.

Steve knew they were in Indy on tour, he’d witnessed Dustin’s spiral about not being able to afford a ticket, but he couldn’t believe they stopped in this bar. Dustin was gonna freak.

Once Robin and Steve finished their set, they went back to the bar to resume their actual jobs and Steve was once again stunned when Eddie Munson walked right up to him for a drink. Obviously Steve should have expected that, what else was someone going to do at a bar? But seeing someone he knows from the multiple posters plastered over Dustin’s bedroom wall, right in front of him - in the flesh, was beyond anything he could have predicted. Internally, he was absolutely freaking out.

Externally, he tried to keep his professional mask on. Munson was a regular customer, just a guy buying a drink, Steve could handle it without a meltdown. But man was the guy attractive. His band tee was ripped at the hem, jean vest with all its pins and buttons catching the light, and Steve could see the tendon in his neck pull as he laughed at something his band mate next to him said. Steve wanted to bite it.

He finished a customer’s drink, collected their card, and braced himself as Munson stepped up to the bar, a dimpled smile on his face that made Steve’s heart flutter like a dying butterfly in his chest.

“Nice set, man, your friend’s voice is gorgeous,” he said. “Can I get three rum and cokes?”

Grabbing three glasses from the bar, Steve began on the drinks. “Absolutely,” he said, his smile probably nowhere near Eddie’s level. “Are you here often, or just visiting?” Steve asked, attempting to play it cool, like Eddie was just any other person. This is ridiculous, Steve’s gonna throw up. Keep calm.

Eddie looked him up and down and smirked, “Just visiting for the weekend,” he said. A growing lump in Steve’s throat made him want to scream ‘I know!!! I know why you’re here!!! I know who you are!!! Hi!!!’ but he shoved that down as far as it could go, ready to choke on it if need be.

Steve set the finished drinks on the bar in front of Eddie, the musician handing over his card in exchange. “Open or closed?” He asked.

“Open. So, are those songs originals?” Eddie leaned into the bar, putting his face just a bit closer to Steve’s. He was gonna have a heart attack before the night was over, for sure, if Eddie kept this up.

“Oh, yeah, I uh… I wrote them,” Steve stuttered out. This was insane, he could pinch himself, there was no way this situation was happening. Eddie was gorgeous, dimples firmly in place because he wouldn’t stop smiling or smirking, his curls just begging for Steve to bury his hands in them and bring their faces closer. If Steve hadn’t been on the receiving end of hundreds of Dustin’s rants about Corroded Coffin, he knows he’d still want to drag Eddie out back and see what those lips tasted like, if they felt as much like sunshine as they looked.

Eddie nodded appreciatively and looked Steve up and down once again. “I’d love to hear more some time,” he said as he turned to leave, three glasses balanced in his hands.

“Well there’s karaoke here tomorrow night,” Steve blurted out, all attempts at remaining calm flying out the window because was that Eddie flirting with him? How did we get here? “You could stop by if you’ve got any free time.”

Eddie laughed, amusement flickering in his eyes and suddenly Steve remembered chasing fireflies in Robin’s backyard when they were kids. He started walking backwards towards his friends, “I’ll see what I can do!” he said with a raised voice, flashing one more smile that made that butterfly in Steve’s chest absolutely flip out. He was frozen in place, the shock of the whole situation settling deep in his bones. Honestly, Steve wasn’t sure he was still alive. Did he choke somewhere between the stage and the bar? Did he even make it to work in the first place? What day was it?

“Earth to Dingus!” Robin shouted at the other end of the bar. “A little help here?” she frantically gestured around her to the rising number of patrons.

A pretty decently sized mob was forming around the bar, snapping Steve out of his rock-star-induced-coma. He could freak out later in the privacy of his own home, right now he had work to do. And if his brain short circuited every time Eddie ordered drinks, that was nobody’s business but his own (and Robin’s).

—

Thank you so much for the encouragement !

#these dingi have somehow snapped me out of my writers block #help I can’t stop thinking about them #I’ve never successfully flirted with a bartender but I’m sure rock stars have a different score sheet #steve harington #eddie munson #steddie #famous eddie munson #platonic soulmates stobin #stobin #steddie ficlet #stranger things #stranger things fanfiction #robin buckley #helpimstuckwriting

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magnuscomedybracket · 9 months

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FINAL ROUND

087 Uncanny Valley vs. 034 Anatomy Class

Propaganda under the cut!

087 Uncanny Valley

Guy cleans out flesh from a drain without a blink and nikola has to invite him back again with Jude because he wasn’t scared enough the first time because of obliviousness

Besides the obvious bit of Guy who Doesn’t Realize He’s In A Horror Story, imagine this from Nikolas perspective. Like “oh shit lol this guys name is “skinner” I’m gonna mess with him for shits and giggles… Ok he didn’t notice any of my spooky bullshit, wild! I threatened to butcher him and he was Not Paying Attention! Jude! Hey! Come check out this idiot man!”. Also implication that Jude and nikola hang out being shitty together. I support women’s wrongs.

"Megan" tries to expose this guy to The Horrors and he's so focused on his job that he just doesn't notice. She's so shocked by this that she calls him back and still has to literally force him to notice

The world's most oblivious plumber somehow doesn't notice all the creepy stuff going on and just does his job like normal. It only gets funnier when you consider it from the Stranger avatar's point of view.

Nikola Orsinov trying so hard to scare the least observant man you've ever seen. Whispering in his ear about flencing while he hums noncommittally and pulls a wad of meat from the drain of her spooky factory in the middle of fuck-all nowhere and then he just gives her the invoice and walks out??? Like it's a normal job? And when she calls him to come back the next day she has to dress up in a clown costume to get his attention and grab his head to make him look at The Atrocities that he just entirely missed the day before. I love Sebastian Skinner so much and I wish only the best for him

#I really just want to point out that they're trying to scare a plumber. #A plumber!! #do you think this is the first time this man has had to clean skin and hair out of a drain? #do you think he's never seen blood before? #like yeah it's objectively funny from the Horror's point of views but for him? It's a tuesday #Like that isn't even the weirdest thing he's seen that week #'oh they threatened to butcher him' yeah? what makes them special? #this guy probably deals with 20 different avatars a week by necessity #no amount of 'his name is skinner let's fuck with him' is going to be worse than service work in people's homes (via @/childoferebus)

#the only reason we know what's happening for half the episode is taht we know this is an horror story #and how things usually go. #dude spends half the episode going 'just a normal job. #house in the middle of nwohere. weird smells and textures #*shrugs* just anotehr day on the job* (via @/monstersqueen)

034 Anatomy Class

The delivery. The teacher going crazy because students asking questions.

#fear beings who want to know more about the human body and decide to go to college about it (via @/the-goose-caboose)

#all those “students” had like. sneak 100 surely their behavior was completely unsuspicious lmao #and at the end theyre genuinely just like “hey thanks for teaching us about the insides” and the teacher's just completely traumatized (via @/silverywillowtree)

#the magnus archives #tma #magpod #magnuspod #polls #tournament #final round

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tiamat-zx · 8 months

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Just from this preview alone… we know that Thoreau Lionett would NEVER truly succeed as a businessman.

Not when he refused to entertain the notion of expansion or even a delivery service.

Really should’ve listened to his daughter. She knew what was up. Still does to this very day.

Instead, he was a dumbass who deserved to fail. And of course, it would be his own flesh and blood that put him in his place.

#critical role #mighty nein origins #Beauregard Lionett #Thoreau Lionett

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coopigeoncoo · 5 months

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Meat Cute, Chapter 3

Chapter Links: First, Previous <- Chapter 3 ->Next

Pairing: Alastor x Fem!Reader

Rating: Mature (rating may change)

Tags: Canon-typical violence, Cannibalism, Reader is a cannibal, Fake/pretend relationship, Puns, Raccoon Reader, Tags may change, Swearing

---

In a bid to appear more approachable to the denizens of the Hazbin Hotel, Alastor enlists the help of his favorite butcher to step into the roll of an (after)lifetime: pretending to be his paramour!

---

“You can't deny we have so much in common,” Alastor's grinned, his smile somehow, impossibly, widening even farther as he leaned down on the counter on a single elbow; his nose nearly touching yours as you stood frozen in place. “I'm somewhat of a Butcher myself, you know.”

–--

A story where one thing is certain: the steaks are never bigger than when love is on the line.

---

Continue reading below, or follow the link to A03!

“You're in a good mood today, Ms. Rosie,” you commented as you wrapped up her unusually large order of flank steaks, happy that something has managed to finally cheer her up after Franklin's untimely demise during the last Extermination. You'd taken it upon yourself to personally dismember Franklin's body, making every break and slice as precise as possible before packaging up her remains and delivering them to Rosie.

It had been a spur of the moment decision to separate Franklin's heart separately from the rest of the offal, boxing it up and tying it with a length of silky black ribbon. You'd carefully passed the box into Rosie's shaking hands; averting your eyes and pretending to not notice her tears as she slipped the sentimental hunk of muscle into the back of her icebox with a guy-wrenching sob.

“Sure am, sweetie!” Rosie grinned, adjusting the brim on her wide hat until it fell just so . “An old friend is back in town after seven years and I finally got him to agree to visit!”

“That's wonderful, Ms. Rosie! I hope you have a great time catching up.”

“It's gonna be a bloodbath,” she cackled in delight. “I'll make him regret up and disappearing on me without so much as a postcard!”

“Oh,” you murmured thoughtfully, still not quite used to the volatile nature of relationships in Hell, especially amongst the more aged population. “Can I sharpen your knives before you go?”

“That would be fantastic, darling! Thank you,” Rosie said, reaching into the handbag at her side and slowly pulling out no less than half a dozen ornate looking blades, lining them up carefully on the counter while you prepped a nearby whetstone.

The large brass bell on the wall rang cheerily, indicating the presence of a salesman at the back door.

“Fresh Meat handles deliveries!” the man at the sausage stuffer called over his shoulder with a grin, laughing as you threw your hands up into the air with a frustrated groan.

“This is ridiculous!” You hissed in irritation, wiping your hands off angrily on your apron. “It's been five flipping years of this! When are we going to hire someone new so I can have a break once in a while?”

“You think Hal is going to pay for a new employee?” The shift manager said, ladling blood into large glass jars. “He barely even pays us!”

Still grumbling, you throw open the back door, customer service smile in place, and nearly scream at the sight that awaits you.

Angels, dozens of them, being dragged down the alley and thrown into careless piles by the butcher shop stoop.

“What's the going rate for angel meat?” The man at the front of the line asked, his suit jacket torn to shreds and face splatter with glimmering angel blood.

“I- I don't know,” you whispered in shock, examining the angel closest to you, multiple bites taken out of the visible flesh of their arm. “But whatever it is, you aren't getting full price for the ones you've been nibbling on.”

It had been days since you'd been able to grab more than a couple hours sleep at a time. Cuts of angel meat had become an instant delicacy and sinners were flooding into Cannibal Town with loaded wallets, ready to spend any amount that would guarantee them the right to try the smallest morsel; not knowing when or if they'd ever have the opportunity again.

And since you were the only employee Hal trusted to break down the angels without helping yourself to a bite or two, you had been working pretty much nonstop since last week.

“Have a good rest of your day,” you managed to squeeze out in-between yawns, lazily waving goodbye to the pug-faced demon walking away with his newly acquired angel femur tucked securely under a beefy arm.

“I c’n help whoe’er's next,” you slur, the fist that's propping up your heavy head squishing your cheek and distorting your mouth and any words that tumble out of it. You closed your eyes, determined to catch a moment of rest while the next customer perused the assortment of angel parts stacked artistically behind the glass display case. A loud huff startled you awake, your body jolting when you realized you'd drifted off to sleep while the milling customers became increasingly irritated by the indecisive customer at the head of the line.

“I can offer suggestions if you're having trouble deciding,” you offer, doing your best to focus back onto your patrons and not your all-consuming exhaustion.

“My sincerest apologies for taking so long!” The man sighed, voice crackling as his eyes darted from one cut of angel to another. “It all looks positively divine!”

“That is the notable selling point,” you agree with a yawn. “There isn't a bad cut amongst the bunch, but if you're really undecided then I have to recommend grabbing a couple of rib eyes and some salt.

“Oh?” The man asked, nose nearly pressed up against the glass in front of the briskets.

“Mmhmm. That way, even if you made a mistake, salt makes m'steaks taste great.”

You had been expecting one of the regular responses to your puns, a polite chuckle or pained goan, but your customer did neither. Instead, much to your great surprise, the bright red man threw his head back and cackled.

“Rosie said this place had the best angel meat in Cannibal Town, but she failed to mention anything about complimentary comedy show!”

“Well, we have to keep that part on the down-low,” you say conspiratorially, lowering your voice into a fake whisper. “We aren't zoned as an entertainment venue.”

“My lips are sealed!” The man promised, using two black-tipped claws to close an invisible zipper across his saw-toothed grin; his lips nowhere near touching each other, let alone sealed. “I'd hate for my favorite new shop to be closed down just when I discovered it!”

You rang up his order, every angel steak you had available, and he left with the promise that he would return for a visit soon, the crowd of customers parting in front of him as he made his way towards the exit, hand twirling in the air as he bid you adieu.

Dorcas was beside you in an instant, squealing at such a high pitch that your ears folded back against your head protectively.

“You were so cool!,” she gushed, tugging at your arm excitedly. “I can't believe you were able to act so casually around him!”

“Him? Him who?”

“Alastor!”

“Alastor?”

“You know, the Radio Demon?” Dorcas asked incredulously. “One of the top Overlords?”

“The steak guy is an Overlord?” You gasp in horror, desperately grasping your coworker's boney shoulders to keep your legs from buckling beneath you. “Please, please tell me I didn't crack stupid jokes at an Overlord!”

“You did. And I think he expects you to do it again.”

“Oh,” you mutter distantly, saliva turning sour in your mouth as your mind reeled with the multitude of painful and bloody ways your overly familiar interaction could have ended. “I think I'm going to be sick.”

“Need me to get your barf bucket?”

“Yes, please.”

#pigeoncoos🕊#alastor x female reader #alastor x reader #alastor x y/n #alastor x you #hazbin hotel x female reader #hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin hotel x y/n #hazbin hotel x you

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angelsanarchy · 1 year

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Alkaline: Euronymous x Y/N Series CH 1

Tagging: @ophelialaufey @madamemaximoff06 @forever-not-gonna-sink

Euronymous saw her everywhere. She worked for the local grocery delivery service during the day and his favorite food place in town. He wishes he could say that it was his favorite only because of the falafal but he enjoyed the banter that they had with one another. He was too focused on Mayhem getting a new singer and getting some shows under their belts to even remotely consider the idea of courting anyone but if he had, Y/n would be the first person he would look up.

"Oystein! Make sure you take that dead plant to the garbage before you leave!" He grabbed the now brown plant and shoved it under his arm as he walked down the front steps. He noticed the grocery bike parked across the street but no sign of Y/n. He tossed the plant just as she came through the gate of the neighbors house and smiled when she saw him.

"Hi there! Heading off to make the devils music?" Y/n knew he was in a band and that metal was his favorite genre. He never understood why she wasn't afraid of him like most normal people he ran across but he wasn't going to question it.

"Of course. Just doing my part to crumble the edification of society." Euronymous said confidently with a smirk.

"Sounds like a busy day. I'd hate to interrupt." She threw her leg over the bike.

"You want a ride? You can put your bike in the back-" He gestured to the empty trunk and she shook her head.

"I'm done with my deliveries for today so I'm heading home, thanks." She appreciated the offer but she knew that wherever he was heading wasn't anywhere close to her house.

"Ah so you don't want me to know where you live? I thought we were kindred souls." Euronymous teased.

"Atheist is not the same as Satanist, Oystein. Not exactly kindred but I'd hate for you to be caught with a poser like me riding shotgun." He had never mentioned he was a Satanist but the band also frequented the Falafal joint and he's sure she's heard them discussing the direction he wanted to take Mayhem in.

And still, that didn't scare her off.

"Euronymous. My name is Euronymous." He corrected firmly. She smiled, scrunching her nose at the name like she always had.

"I'm sorry but I won't ever call you Euronymous. I just don't see it." He paused at the statement.

"See what?" He inquired.

"I know the origin of the name. You just don't give off flesh eating spirit dwelling in the underworld. Your eyes are too pretty for that one." She complimented making him cough into his hand to hide the blush creeping up his neck.

"You don't know me very well. Maybe you should come to one of my shows and you'll change your mind." He tried to sound menacing but Y/n knew just as much about Oystein as he did her.

She knew he was a good son and brother. She knew he used to get pretty decent grades when he was in school and that he's been playing his guitar since he was 10 years old. She could never see him as some cannibalistic nightmare of a person. He might think highly of himself but she had seen such a softer side of him when delivering groceries for his family.

"Maybe." She shrugged. She had often responded to his show invites with a maybe and he was always disappointed when she never showed but he understood how busy she was. She worked two jobs to take care of herself and her family.

"I'll see you around, Y/N" He held his hand up and she mockingly gave him the devil horns she had seen his sister do so often when they were listening to the loud metal music blasting from the upstairs bedroom window. He chuckled and returned the gesture.

"See you around Oystein." She watched him pull down the street and didn't even notice he was already looking at her in the rear view mirror. He would never understand how two people who were so insanely different could have such a good rapport.

#Film: Lords of Chaos #R!Euronymous #Rory Culkin #Culkin Cult #One Shot Series #Alkaline One Shot Series #R!Euronymous x Y/N #If you want to be tagged please let me know #1/35

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suckerfordylansstuff · 2 months

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New Journey (S.H.) Chapter 4 Season 4

Pairing: Steve Harrington x henderson!reader

Summary: Back to Hawkins for spring break. Y/n believed it would just be a quiet time to cherish with her loved ones, but one day in and another mess had already began.

Warnings: cursing

Notes: Really enjoyed writing this chapter, especially because of all the small bickering moments between the characters. More of that will come in the next chapters. I hope you enjoy and stay safe out there! 💕

Chapter 3 << Masterlist >> Chapter 5

The next day rose, and your first stop was at the market to pick up some food and drinks for Eddie. You were simply chatting with your friends as you opened the door to the lake house not expecting to find a startled Eddie on the other side, the broken beer bottle once again in his hand.

“Delivery service.” your brother said in a light voice as he held up the grocery bags in his hands.

Eddie relaxed and thanked you before grabbing the bags off Dustin’s hands, rushing to see what you got him. He sat on the ground and began stuffing his face with the food.

“So, we got, uh, some good news and some bad news. How do you prefer it?” the rest of you settled around him listening to Dustin explaining what happened after they left him last night.

“Bad news first, always.”

“All right. Bad news. We tapped into the Hawkins PD dispatch with our Cerebro, and they’re definitely looking for you. Also, they’re, uh, pretty convinced you killed Chrissy.”

“Like, a 100% kind of convinced.” Max pointed out.

“And the good news?” Eddie asked, hoping for something to ease his nerves.

“Your name hasn’t gone public yet. But if we found out about you, it’s only a matter of time before others do too. And once that gets out, everyone and their shallow-minded mother is gonna be gunning for you.” Robin told him and the guy responded with bitterness in his words.

“Hunt the freak, right?”

“Something like that.” you nodded.

“Shit.” he cursed under his breath.

“So, before that happens, we need to find Vecna, kill him, and prove your innocence.”

“That’s all, Dustin? That’s all?”

“Yeah, no, that’s pretty much it” your brother nodded.

You got why Eddie was so snarky. His whole life changed in the blink of a moment. He didn’t know anything about the Upside Down, about the Mind Flayer, but now he has experienced a traumatic episode happening in front of him, unable to do anything to help the innocent girl and the whole town perceives him as a killer. So, it was understandable why he thought the rest of you were so crazy to think as this is easy, just another Tuesday for you.

“Listen, Eddie, I know everything Dustin is saying sounds totally delusional, but we’ve actually been through this kind of thing before. I mean, they have a- a few times…” Robin pointed towards you and you nodded to confirm her words “…and- and I have once. Mine was more human-flesh-based, theirs was more smoke-related, but bottom line is, collectively, I really feel like we got this.”

“Yeah, we kinda have set a record for the number of times we’ve done this. It’s like an annual event at this point.” you decided to approach the fourth time you’ve dealt with this with more dark humor, just so you could cope with the craziness over this whole thing.

“Yes, see, we usually rely on this girl who has superpowers. But, uh, those went bye-bye, so…” Steve said as he stood next to you.

“So, we’re technically in more of the-”

“Kinda…” Robin and Steve tried to find their words before Max stepped in.

“Brainstorming phase.”

“Brainstorming.” Steve snapped his finger at Max, agreeing with her.

“There-There’s nothing to worry about.” Dustin said it in a way to relax Eddie, but when you looked at said boy’s face he looked anything but relaxed.

Suddenly, you could hear sirens going off outside, alerting all of you.

“Shit…” Steve cursed under his breath.

“Tarp. Tarp. Tarp.” you pointed at Eddie who quickly hid himself under the tarp as the rest of you ran to the windows to check what was happening.

Thankfully the police cars and the ambulance driving by weren’t meant for you, but they did intrigue your interest. So, you collectively decided to follow after them and see if anything new has happened.

You ended up near the trailer park. Steve parked the car and you all got out of your seats to get a better look. As your head lifted up your eyes fell on Nancy’s. She looked scared and you just knew it had to do with what you had found out. And by the apprehensive look on your face, as well as the others, Nancy also knew that this wasn’t just a killer on the loose, it was something you were all too familiar with.

You waited until she gave her statement to the new chief of the police before heading to one of the picnic tables at the park, filling Nancy in on everything you had so far, which wasn’t a lot.

“So, you’re saying that this thing that killed Fred and Chrissy, it’s from the Upside Down?” Nancy was sitting opposite of you, while Robin and Max sat by her sides.

“If the shoe fits.” Steve answered. He was on your left, playing with your fingers under the table as you looked at Dustin on your right who started talking.

“Our working theory is that he attacks with a spell or a curse. Now, whether or not he’s doing the bidding of the Mind Flayer or just loves killing teens, we don’t know.”

“All we know is that this is something different. Something new.” you saw Nancy start shaking her head after Max’s words.

“It doesn’t make sense.”

“It’s only a theory.” Dustin told her but she quickly explained herself.

“No, Fred and Chrissy don’t make sense. I mean, why them?”

“Maybe they were just in the wrong place at the wrong time.” you suggested, desperately trying to find a connection.

“They were both at the game.” Dustin pointed out.

“And near the trailer park.” Max said and you felt Steve freeze for a moment next to you.

“We’re at the trailer park. Uh, should we maybe not be here?” you began looking around to see if anything was out of the ordinary, feeling a sense of uneasiness when he pointed it out.

“There is something about this place. Fred started acting weird the second we got here.” Nancy said, thinking of Fred’s behavior yesterday.

“Acting weird as in…?” Robin asked her.

“Scared, on edge, upset.”

“Max said Chrissy was upset too.” Dustin looked at Max who shrugged her shoulders.

“Yeah, but not here. She was crying in the bathroom at school.”

“Serial killers stalk their prey before they strike, right? So, maybe Fred and Chrissy saw this Vecman-”

“Vecna.” your brother corrected Robin.

“I don’t know about you guys, but if I saw some freaky wizard monster, I would mention it to someone.” Steve told you and you scrunched your brows, a thought coming to mind.

“Yeah, but what if they didn’t really see anything?” you thought out loud, making everyone turn and look at you weirdly “I mean, Will didn’t, the Mind Flayer was playing with his mind, making him see pictures nobody else was. They’d probably thought they were going insane, too scared to talk about it to anyone.”

“Maybe not anyone.” Max caught up on your thinking “I saw Chrissy leaving Ms. Kelley’s office. If you saw a monster, you… you wouldn’t go to the police. They’d never believe you. But you might go to your-”

“Your shrink.” Robin nodded at her words and you all got out of your seats heading back to your cars. The plan was to go to Ms. Kelley’s office and search for any valuable information about Chrissy.

But as your legs went over to Steve’s car you caught Nancy heading towards the other way. You wondered if she just wanted to get her own car so you asked her.

“Oh, no, there’s something else I wanna check out first.” she answered, still walking further away from the rest of you.

“Something you wanna share with the rest of us?” Dustin asked.

“I don’t wanna waste your time. It’s a real shot in the dark.” she had now stopped, trying to play it off like it wasn’t anything serious, but the look on her face told you otherwise.

“Well, you’re not going alone. No, no way.” you stepped forward before Steve followed behind you.

“Exactly. Flying solo with this Vecna creep on the loose? It’s too dangerous. I-”

“I’ll come with you.” you nodded at your friend and took a step to go by her side, but a hand gripping onto your arm stopped you. You turned your head to see Steve looking at you like you were insane “What are you doing?”

“Didn’t you just hear what I said? It’s too dangerous. You’re not going alone.” he told you, releasing his grasp.

“I won’t be alone. I’ll be with Nancy.”

“I meant without me. You’re not going without me.” his explanation made you tilt your head in question.

“Who’s gonna drive the kids to Ms. Kelley’s house?”

“I- Wait. Here.” he dug into his pocket and took out his car keys, before throwing them at Robin, who caught them with ease “I’ll stick with you two, while Robin drives them. Then we’ll meet up again after Nancy checks out what she wants. Deal?” he directed the question at you, but Robin beat you to the answer.

“I don’t think you want me driving your car.”

“Why?” Steve sighed as he looked at Robin.

“I don’t have a license.”

“Why don’t you have a license?”

“I’m poor.” she said, her words making you stifle a chuckle down.

“I can drive.”

“No!” you pointed your finger at Max.

“No. You’re not driving my car. No way.” Steve said loudly.

Dustin felt like it was his turn, so he shrugged, but you were quick to stop him “No chance, mister.”

“Come on.” your brother whined but Steve agreed with you.

“No.” he turned back to look at you. You had a soft look on your face, which meant that you were getting your way no matter what he said.

“Steve. You can’t come with us. What if they get into trouble? Robin will trip over her own feet with every chance she gets. I’m sorry.” you apologized to your friend, who just dismissed you with a shake of her head.

“No, no, it’s true.”

“You need to keep them safe. Plus, me and Nancy know how to handle ourselves.” you walked next to Nancy, without getting stopped by your boyfriend this time.

“Are you sure? I mean-” a groan from behind him interrupted his reasoning to follow you.

“All right, okay. This is stupid.” Robin marched over to the three people in front of her, returning the keys to Steve and settling her body next to yours, her arm slinging along your shoulders “You get go with the kids. Us ladies will stick together. Unless you think we need you to protect us.” Steve pulled a face at her words, finally accepting defeat.

You smiled and yelled out before Robin dragged you down the road “Love you!”

“Yeah, yeah, love you too. Be careful! Please…”

And you were being careful, because as it turned out Nancy just wanted to check some story she had heard at the library. On your way there she told you about Eddie’s uncle who had told her he knew who had done this to poor Chrissy.

“Okay, help me get this straight. Eddie’s uncle, Wayne, thinks that Victor Creel escaped from Pennhurst Asylum and that he’s the one running around Hawkins committing these murders?” Robin asked Nancy just as you were walking up to the library.

“Pretty much.”

“How old is he supposed to be? Because if you think about our theory, the timing-” your brows were furrowed in thought when Robin interrupted you, nodding her head.

“It doesn’t add up, right? He committed the eyeball murders, like, way back in the ‘50s.”

“Well… ’59.” Nancy opened the door letting you get in first before walking inside herself.

“So, that means these murders predate Eleven and the Upside Down by about 30 years?” you nodded at Robin’s words.

“We know that El opened the gate, so the Upside Down theoretically wasn’t connected to our universe back then, which means that this might disprove our theory.” you walked up to the front desk, letting your arms lean onto it.

“Yeah.” Nancy said from beside you as her head turned left and right trying to find someone who can help you.

“Wait, wouldn’t spooky Victor Creel be like 70 years old?” Robin asked, resting her body on Nancy’s other side.

“Yep.” the girl in the middle rang the bell in front of you.

“So, he’s a grandpa murderer who can turn invisible and lift people into the air.” you chuckled at Robin while Nancy took a deep breath.

“It doesn’t make sense. I know. That’s why I said it was a shot in the dark.” she rang the bell once more.

“I know. I just thought that by ‘shot in the dark’, you were being modest or hiding something super solid up your sleeve that you were gonna wow us with later.” Robin began her daily rant which Nancy was not used to, making her desperate to find the person behind the counter so Robin would stop talking. She rang it again “But this is really, truly a shot in the dark. Like we are snipers with blindfolds on who’ve been spun around 50 times.” you flinched as Nancy started ringing the bell nonstop until a voice called out.

“Coming!” the lady behind the counter appeared with a few books at hand and then turned to the three of you after she set them down.

“Hi. Sorry, we’re in a bit of a rush. Could we get the keys to the basement archives?” Nancy put on her best smile and asked the lady with the sweet voice you were used to all throughout high school.

“Of course. Give me one sec.” she turned and left to find the key.

Your eyes landed on a little bowl next to you filled with different flavors of candy. It felt like forever since you had eaten something, so you settled for a bit of sugar in your system.

“Did I come off mean or condescending or something?” your attention was captured by Robin who was looking straight at Nancy.

“No.” the girl answered quickly, tapping her fingers at the counter, waiting for the librarian to return.

“Right. Sorry. It’s just, you seem annoyed. You don’t know me very well. I don’t really have a filter or a strong grasp of social cues. Tell her, Y/n.” you had just popped the candy into your mouth when she called your name, bringing both their set of eyes on you.

“She doesn’t have a filter or a strong grasp of social cues.” your words were a bit muffled by the sweet in your mouth, but you nodded your head to agree with Robin.

“Okay.” Nancy said with a small smile, but it was obvious she wasn’t into this conversation.

“So, if I said something that upsets you, just know that I know it’s a flaw. Believe me, my mother reminds me daily.”

“Robin…” you warned her to stay on track.

“Got it.” Nancy looked up to see the lady return and she was thankful to continue with their search.

“All right, ladies. Here you go. Have fun.” she handed the keys to Nancy.

“Yep. We’ll try.” Nancy rushed off towards the archives, leaving you, Robin, and the librarian behind. The lady was looking at you with sympathy in her eyes, so you just sent her a tight smile and grabbed onto Robin’s arm, pulling her along with you.

“What have we said about oversharing?” you turned to look at her as she sheepishly smiled at you.

“Don’t do it if we’re not asked?” you nodded at her, but couldn’t help but giggle at her efforts to make it better with Nancy.

“Come on, my socially awkward little girl.” you followed after Nancy and began your investigation.

On the other side of town, Steve had just pulled up at the therapist’s house and watched as Max got out of the car and inside the house.

“Okay. She’s in.” he stated.

“I’m missing collarbones, not eyes.” Dustin stole a look at Steve’s profile before deciding this is the best moment for this talk “So, we’re gonna talk about… it?”

“Huh? Sorry, what? Talk about what?” Steve turned to look at his little friend after focusing on the house in front of them.

“Don’t think I haven’t noticed. Both of you have been so weird about it.”

“About what? What are you talking about, Henderson?”

“How you and my sister literally fought in front of us yesterday?” Dustin finally said.

“We didn’t fight. We barely bickered.” Steve defended your situation.

“Well, since I have never seen you fight before, not even after your breakup, it was pretty weird seeing you ‘bickering’. I thought you’d be over the moon to have her back, in a disgusting kind of way.” he couldn’t even count the times when Dustin would have to peer Steve off of you whenever they visited you at college. He loved you both and he knew you were meant for each other, but you were still his sister and he was still his best friend, he didn’t love the sight. Still, it was better than the two of you fighting.

He picked up on it the moment he saw you return home yesterday morning. You never returned this early after spending the night at his. He also saw the way you reacted when you decided to go seek help at Family Video. His last clue was your little fight while they were calling Eddie’s friends to find any clues about his whereabouts. Something was definitely going on between them and he had to know so he could fix it.

“Okay, okay, fine. We did kind of argue about something, but it was stupid, alright? And we’re completely ignoring it until we have this whole thing figured out.” Steve ran his hand through his hair, a habit he developed due to his anxiety.

“Cause that’s healthy.” Dustin said sarcastically, but Steve ignored him, his gaze returning at the house. They stayed silent for a few seconds, but Dustin couldn’t help himself “Why did you fight?”

Steve’s brows shot up “Do you really wanna know why I fought with your sister? No, I don’t think it’s going to put me in a good position.”

“Why, did you do something stupid? I mean, of course, you did.” he joked, trying to ease the tension, but Steve wasn’t having it.

“I didn’t- Look, I don’t wanna talk about it. I’ll punch you so hard in your face your teeth will fall back out.”

“Whoa. Too far.” Dustin told him.

Steve stared at him for a moment before his face softened “Not cool. Sorry.”

“Not cool. It’s okay.” Dustin nodded, forgiving him. They fisted it up and continued on with their waiting.

You ended up squished into a single seat with Robin looking over newspapers in one of the two COM Catalogs available, Nancy occupying the second one right across from you. You had been searching for around 30-40 minutes and you were getting extremely bored because you couldn’t find anything interesting.

“Anything juicy over there?” Robin’s voice filled your eyes as she called out for Nancy.

“Nothing new.” Nancy answered.

“Yep, same here.”

“Victor seemed like a normal guy, honestly.” you noted as your eyes scanned through another paper that described the same story the other ten had.

“Just a dead family, missing eyes, took a plea deal, sent to Pennhurst. Blah, blah, blah, blah.” you watch Robin tilt her body to the left and stare at Nancy’s side of the COM’s “What are we looking for exactly?” you push your body next to her, trying to find a clear view of your other friend, who didn’t seem to pay attention to you.

“Nance?” you called out before Robin knocked on the wood rhythmically to get her attention. It obviously worked when you saw Nancy get on the same pose and stare at the two of you with a forced smile on her face.

“Any mention of wizards or alternate dimensions? Things in that vein?” Robin said calmly but Nancy snapped.

“I don’t know. Okay? It’s starting to seem like this was just a big waste of time.” You just watched as she got up from her seat and began walking up and down “And you guys are obviously bored, so, why don’t you just call Steve to pick you up. You’d prefer to be with them than with me here. And I mean, I’m not really in danger here, so…” she smiled at you and then took her leave downstairs where more papers were kept.

You stayed silent, evaluating what just happened, and then turned to Robin signaling her to just sit here “I’ll go see what’s up.”

Your legs guided you downstairs. Nancy was arms deep into the catalogs looking through the files. After taking your last step down the stairs you crossed your arms across your chest and leaned on the staircase, looking over at your friend.

“What was that?”

Nancy sighed, letting her head fall forward. She wasn’t sure why she snapped. Maybe it was because of Fred, maybe in fear of everything happening, or maybe it was the fact that she couldn’t reach Jonathan, worrying her that something was wrong over in California as well. Or maybe it was all these things at once that made her feel annoyed at the two of you who were just trying to help. Whatever it was she was too embarrassed to talk about it right now, so she tried once again to dismiss you “Y/n, you really didn’t have to come here with me. Thank you for being concerned but I’ll be fine. Tell Steve to come get you, and I’ll get to the bottom of this on my own.”

“You’ve always been stubborn, you know?”

“Yeah…” she agreed with you, her eyes still not reaching yours.

“But you can’t stop me from being here.” you stepped over to one of the drawers, opened it, and began searching as well. You could see Nancy stop her search from the corner of your eyes, now just staring at you.

“Y/n, really I-”

“To be honest, I’m not only here to help. I also used it as an opportunity to take a breath. Focusing my mind on something like this, away from the supernatural, is nice, you know?” you were certain you had finally reached her, that you had found what made her so cold towards you, when Robin messed up your plans.

“And away from Steve.” she was sitting on the staircase, clearly eavesdropping on you two.

“Robin!” you turned to stare at her as she was ascending from the stairs.

“What? Don’t tell me I’m wrong because I’m not.” Robin stood up and step by step reached the floor.

“What happened with Steve?” Nancy’s interest picked up, glad the conversation wasn’t about her now.

“Just a stupid fight, it really doesn’t matter.” you pointed your words at Robin, who just put her hands in the air ‘surrendering’ herself to you.

“Okay.” she wasn’t buying anything you said but decided to ignore it. Instead, she went over to Nancy and opened another one of the drawers to distract herself and found something wildly interesting “Holy shit. The Weekly Watcher. I can’t believe they have this.”

“I remember this. Dustin and I used to love this paper. Well, mainly because it was insane, and we loved insane.” you pointed out, remembering all the crazy stories you would read and the even crazier stories you made up because of it.

“Don’t they write about, like, Bigfoot and UFOs?” Nancy didn’t look too impressed by Robin’s find.

“First of all, UFOs are absolutely real. Bigfoot I’m still on the fence about, but may I remind you two we are looking for information on dark wizards? If someone’s gonna write about that, it’s gonna be these weirdos.” you shared a look with Nancy, silently agreeing with Robin.

You quickly went back upstairs and put the catalog into the COM. Robin was controlling the machine while you and Nancy waited on each of her sides, eyes scanning through the papers to find what you were looking for.

“Ah. ‘Elvis cloned by aliens’.” Nancy’s hopes were shattering second by second, especially when she read that title. It felt like you were searching in the dark.

You, on the other hand, found it amusing and chuckled at the ridiculous titles you were going through.

“You never know.” Robin countered and after Nancy shot her a look, she rolled her eyes and walked away from you.

“ ‘Victor Creel claims vengeful demon killed family. The murder that shocked a small community’.” Robin said in her best cinematic voice but your eyes were stuck on the article in front of you.

“Ha, ha. That’s very funny.” Nancy ignored her, thinking she was joking since this investigation wasn’t leading anywhere.

“We’re not kidding. Get over here.” your hand waved for Nancy to come back beside you and she followed, returning to her spot next to Robin “ ‘According to several insiders, Victor believed his house was haunted by an ancient demon. Victor allegedly hired a priest to exorcise the demon from his home.’”

“Pretty novel for the ‘50s. Exorcist wasn’t out yet.” Robin interrupted your talking to make a joke.

“Keep- keep going.” the other girl, however, motioned for you to continue.

“ Okay, so, Victor claimed this exorcism failed, but it angered its demon, which then murdered his family, removing their eyes. Victor believed he was spared as a punishment.” you finished and turned to look at the two of them.

“Yeah, that’s pretty convenient for Victor.”

“Yeah, or super inconvenient.” Robin switched Nancy’s words making you both look at her “Victor was declared legally insane by the court, right? What if this is why? I mean, it sounds insane. It just didn’t go public because-”

“The plea bargain. The records were sealed.” Nancy caught up to her thinking.

“What if a demon did invade Victor’s home? It’s, just, this wasn’t any old demon…”

“It was Vecna.” you finished Robin’s sentence, finally feeling like you didn’t just waste your entire afternoon.

You rushed to return the key to the librarian, walked out of the building, and took the radio in your hands, urgently, to call Dustin.

“Dustin, do you copy?”

“Yeah, I copy.” he didn’t even miss a second before responding you.

“So, Nancy’s hunch was correct, surprise-surprise. Vecna’s first victims date back all the way to 1959.” you had a small smile on your face, excited about your discovery.

“Okay, that’s totally bonkers, but I can’t really talk right now.” he sounded out of breath.

“Wait, what? Why? What are you doing?” you stopped in your tracks next to the car, pulling the other girls’ attention to you.

“Breaking and entering a school to retrieve confidential and extremely personal files.” he explained, and your brows shot up in disbelief.

“Can you repeat that?” Robin asked, taking the radio in her hands, trying to make sense of his words.

“Just get your ass over here, stat. We’ll explain everything.” and he turned his radio off.

“I thought they were talking to Ms. Kelley.” Nancy had just opened the driver’s door, questioning the whole conversation you just had.

“We leave them alone for two hours.” your friend rolled her eyes and with a quick nod of your own you got into the car as well and drove to Hawkins High, trying to figure out what the hell they were doing there.

If you want to be tagged just ask!

Taglist: @bookscoffeandotherstuff @i-am-the-coffee-queen @bi-andready-tocry @enchantedcruelsummer @daddystevee @elite4cekalyma @hayadora @hannarudick @thecaptainsgingersnap @lookalivesunshine-x @sarasmismyonlydefence @astream-ofconsciousness @the-haikyuu-hoe @mileven-reddie @mochminnie @synonymforlame @teamkiall @samanthadegaro @the-passionate-freak @thesailbells @i-mmunity @marvelouspottering @mrs-diggory @mydarlingharry @beepbeephargrove @mikariell95 @sweetdreamsshifter @paninipress @anolddayslover @10minutesofscreentime @bookfrog242 @onecrazydirectioner @harrycanyonmoonn @grippleback-galaxy @doctorsgirl262 @mayonesavegana @inkpot-winters @le-who-zer-her @mysticgardenpolice @untitledarea

#steve harrington #stranger things #steve harrington x henderson!reader #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington series #stranger things fanfiction #stranger things x y/n #stranger things x you #stranger things x reader #stranger things season 4 #dustin henderson #robin buckley #nancy wheeler #max mayfield #joe keery

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theinstagrahame · 2 months

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It's been like 2 weeks? But I think the hiccup we had with the local Post Office kind of benefitted my collection here. That and a sale at Exalted Funeral...

Here's what's arrived in the last little bit:

The Slow Knife: I like Mousehole Press in general, but the pitch for this one in particular sticks out to me. You're a cabal of evil people who have deeply wronged someone, and they're coming for revenge. One by one, they kill each of you until their wrath is sated. I'm honestly always a little iffy on playing "Evil" characters, but this seems like a really neat way to tackle it.

Koriko: Also from Mousehole, this is meant to be a solo game in the vein of Kiki's Delivery Service and other quiet coming-of-age kinds of stories. It's also an absolutely beautiful book (and it came with the most adorable fat wizard cat patch...)

Star Crossed & Love Letters: I've heard stories and APs of Star Crossed, but never played it. Then there was an expansion coming, and it seemed like the right time to get myself a copy. The box is huge, I assume so I can store a Falling Tower game inside? I also often think about the creator, Alex Roberts, saying that the awards for this game have been nice, but that a couple who broke a chair after playing it is the real reward...

I Have the High Ground: I initially got this game from its crowdfund run after listening to the Party of One episode, but I spaced when it shipped and had it sent to my old Boston apartment. I never went back for it, but it was offered as a bonus on the Star Crossed expansion, so I decided it was time. (Also, there's a great Party of One episode that's a Star Crossed X IHTHG crossover, which is extremely worth checking out)

The Wildsea & The Wildsea - Storm and Root: I'd missed the original game, but the expansion caught my eye. The art and the vibe are weird and fun, but it's loosely a FitD engine under there. I skimmed through the Quickstart, and it felt really gripping. Weird guys sailing weird boats on the trees of a weird Earth future. The forest as a sea metaphor? I'm intrigued.

Nest: Spencer Campbell makes bangers. This is a long-time opinion of this blog, so Nest was a quick pick-up. It's set in his Destiny-like (I think?) Nova-verse, but it follows the bad guys. It's got Heist-y vibes, and I really like the idea of fleshing out the "Evil" team. It's too easy to assume the bad guys aren't people, and humanizing them does a lot.

Dusk, Vol1: Spencer Campbell makes Bange--oh, right. Already established. But still! Also a Nova-verse book, and one that I sorta missed. If I've read the pitch, it's about community within the Nova universe, and I like that that's a focus. People coming together to build communities is a theme I really enjoy, and when the sun explodes (yeah, that's what the Nova in Nova-verse means), I think we'll need people more than ever.

Eco Mofos: I really loved the universe created in Lost Eons, and this promised to be a loose prequel. It's a "weird-hope" game, which is loosely a description of why I love post-apocalyptic fiction. The idea that even in the worst possible outcome for the world (y'know, it ending), people come together to protect and help each other. That's what makes apocalyptica appealing.

Monster of the Week - Codex of Worlds Apocrypha: MotW is a well-established and really nicely designed game. I think I've only ever played it, but I honestly feel comfortable running it, because I've listened to so many APs and read so many of the materials. Apocrypha was the stretch goal collection for the Codex of Worlds expansion, which itself put a little of the best bits from FitD into the PbtA classic.

FIST: I backed the Kickstarter edition, but this was in Exalted Funeral's damaged section (I think for a slight creas on the cover?), so I wanted to grab it and see what the hype was about. Paranormal Mercenary action, is the game. I've heard nothing but good things, so it was an easy investment for me.

Haunted Almanac: Nate Treme is a name I've heard around the scene for a while, but hadn't really checked out until recently. In part because of the RTFM podcast episode about Tunnel Goons, which is included in this book. I don't want to admit that I'll just get anything that Max and Aaron tell me to get, but like... this book is great.

The Last Caravan: Backed this at the height of my FitD interest, and I'm really curious to see what's inside. Survivors of an alien attack in the titular caravan, traveling to survive and maybe fight back a little? Yeah. That sounds dope.

All Growed Up: Another EF impulse purchase, but partly because Reilly Qyote is a designer I've had really lovely interactions with and respect a lot. I hacked their game Cast Away into a Subnautica-themed survival crafting RPG. Kids playing as grown-ups seemed cute, so I wanted to check it out.

Heroes of Cerulea: I stumbled on this by accident back when I had some extra cash to spend, and it was 100% up my alley. The original Legend of Zelda is such a formative game for me that the nostalgia alone made me pick it up. It uses D4 and the pixel art throughout is impeccable. It feels a lot like skimming the manual of the original NES and SNES titles.

Details of Our Escape: Possible Worlds Games is one of those design outfits that's gotten the benefit of the doubt from me, so I had to pick this one up. Weird, artistic, and a neat backstory: It started asart pieces swapped by the artists, and later attached to a game by Tyler Crumrine. I think it's got heist energy, but I'm not sure so I'm curious to find out!

GoGoGolf!: An impulse add-on for the Details of Our Escape campaign, which looks like it's got that weird energy of some recent multiplayer golf games. I'm sold, and I'm checking it out.

Secutors of the Soundstage Sphere (for Troika!): This was a freebie for the recent EF sale, so I grabbed it. It's not really in my usual interests, but Free.99 is a great price!

Two Summers & Other Summers: I like games about people growing up, I'm realizing about myself. On a personal level, the idea that people can become different people, but remain the same intrigues me. Two Summers is about that, and I think Other Summers makes it weirder. So, excited to dive in.

#indie ttrpg #ttrpg #indie ttrpgs #RPG mail call

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gaast · 2 years

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Title: untitled so far Word count: about 4600 Content warnings: blood, body horror, incredibly vaguely implied sexual activity Summary: A person whose skin regrows from any damage in minutes is approached by a cultist to help her bind a book of her god's tenets. Request: feedback is greatly appreciated

I lie in a pool of blood as I listen to her stripping fat and sinew from my skin. I shiver with each stroke of her knife.

Though she works methodically, with the diligent care of an amateur, the sound of the blade scraping down my skin is harsh to my ears. I wish I could tell her to stop, to let me leave the room for this part, but I promised her I would remain.

Eventually, her long strokes grow shorter, and the noises come a little quicker. Soon they stop altogether. She turns to me, her robe billowing in the motion. “I’m going to treat it now.”

I’ve recovered enough energy to sit up on the table I was lying on, though the skin on my back hasn’t fully regrown. I nod at her, watching as carefully as I can through my unfocused eyes. She lifts my skin and deposits it carefully into a bucket filled with a solution she devised, one she said that God would like.

Once she finishes, she says, “That’s all for now.”

Exhausted, I look at her.

“I’ll call you back here in a week. It will be ready then.”

I nod again, working my mouth to try to force words out of it. “Can I… see it now?”

She reddens, then opens a drawer set in the desk she used to flesh my skin. From it she takes a stack of papers, covered in a scrawl and stitched together with a delicate crimson thread. I reach out for it but she clutches it to her chest. “Once it’s… covered, okay?”

My hand falls heavily to my side. With a jolt, I feel my back close its seams of regrown skin. No longer exposed to the world, hopefully I can start recovering energy. I slide off the table, lightheaded and dizzy, wobbling a little as my feet hit the ground. I’m soaked in blood and so is she.

She stares at my back in fascination.

“It’s healed already? Did it hurt? Do—” she catches herself, perhaps thinking it improper to ask these questions now of all times. But I’m used to it.

“Yes. And yes.” I shrug. “What surprised me is that your knife hurt more than teeth.”

I walk over to her desk and she quickly puts away her manuscript. I’m interested in the fleshing knife, the one I couldn’t stand to hear. Scattered on and around it are chunks of my flesh, the stuff that just gets in the way of processes like these. Wouldn’t God prefer we use these bits, I wonder. At my feet, in an orange, hardware store bucket, soaks the skin that used to cover my back. I do my best not to look into it. The thought of seeing my skin, shorn both of me and the pieces that used to connect it to me, makes me wince. I can just imagine it soaking quietly, looking more like parchment than skin, and nothing like me at all...

“It’s weird,” I continue. “I never end up with my skin. Usually people eat it and I don’t have to think about it anymore.”

“Right, I remember you told me.” Disgust laces her voice. “How could anyone do such a thing to your skin?”

“They say it energizes them. Fuels their creativity. It makes me enough to live, so I can’t complain. Besides, in the end, to me, what they do and what you do--”

“But, but,” she stammers, “well, I guess they don’t know. How could they? They don’t know your skin is God’s.” She reaches out to touch me but stops herself.

Ignoring her, I crouch down next to the bucket, staring at its exterior, feeling the unease swarm inside me like flies. She told me last week that she wanted to use a little bit of God’s infinitude to bind her scriptures. When I protested that nothing about me was godly, she insisted that her deity was in everywhere overlooked, forgotten about, used without thinking. Why shouldn’t my skin be of God?

Although I wasn’t comfortable with the idea of my skin being out there for just anyone to touch, of that strip outlasting me, I agreed to let her use me to bind her book. I worried how I’d feel during this first stage of the process, with a chunk of me out in the world, out of my hands, out of my control… But I’m still too exhausted to feel any of the violation or indignation that I expected. Or maybe I’m just too repulsed to feel much of anything at all.

I stare at the bucket, trying to feel something—anything, anything more than worry and disgust.

I stand slowly and get dressed. “You’re letting me know when it’s time for the next step?”

“Yes. I want you to be here for the binding. You don’t want to shower?”

“I’m fine. Thanks.”

When we first met, she was almost too embarrassed to tell me about her god. I reassured her that I didn’t care, that I’d been consumed to power people’s truly incomprehensible art projects—a religious cult was almost normal to me. She grew stern, asked me not to call it that. “A cult has followers. I’m just a heretic.” She worships the God of Heretics, she said. God is an endless ocean. It accepts only contraries and contradictions. Apostates. Tools—things you need and never think, or obsessions, things you think and never need.

All other gods are false, she told me. They’re not fake, no, they’re all real, but they’re aspects of the Anti-God. “God is a God of contradiction. It must have something to contradict.” Her God was not first. It was the very last, she told me, born after all of us, after the Fall. Her God is weak, and lives in the weak.

“Things that weaken are God,” she said. “Weakness is a blessing it gives us.”

No matter how dismissive I am of it, she insists that the people who use my skin to keep themselves going are scum, using God for empowerment. A misuse of God. Yes, of course my skin is God: it is a gateway to the infinite, it is the infinite made finite.

“I am blessed to have a God that permits of itself to be weakened,” she said when she asked to use my skin.

Even now, I’m not convinced. The sky stretches out across us forever, but it feels so much more present when it strikes us as rain. The vast expanse of human emotion spurs us to action as poems and songs, but not just as the endless feeling we can sense all around us. My skin regrows in minutes and is used so easily, taken like it’s nothing, teeth sinking into it so readily, tearing it off its moorings, chewed and swallowed like a normal meal, but could anyone who regularly uses it in such a way do the same to someone whose skin would not regenerate, whose body is finite?

I am weak, yes, but not the way she wants.

How could I not worry about the manuscript sitting inches from my now empowered skin?

...Does she want vellum pages? Blood ink? No—just the binding will do, enough just to trap the words inside weakness. To ensconce her words in God. To cast eternal doubt upon her beliefs.

A week passes and, oddly, I can feel twinges of pain in my back where she slid her knife. The ache asserts itself each time I move, my breaths digging the sensations into me. Usually, once closed, my skin forgets it was ever opened, impetuously pretends it had never exposed me to the air. It must be psychosomatic, but it does little to assuage my anxiety about the binding. I don’t believe in her or any God, but hers is the only explanation I have for why my skin behaves the way it does. No, it has no connection to deities, nor a psychic connection to itself. It’s a book, only a book, bound in skin like so many others. I guess it’s simply different when that skin is yours.

I’m running my fingers along the skin of my back when she sends me a simple message: “Come tonight.” As I read it, I feel my skin crawl. The pains lodged in it seem to hide from me, retreat to a place I cannot touch; examine it as I might with the soft pressing of my fingers, the strange ache making me too aware of the fact of my skin skitters away, dissolving completely under my hands. For some reason, I expect to find dried blood under my fingernails when I pull them away, but they come back clean, with no sign of struggle. No evidence at all.

Just the coldness I usually feel when my insides are exposed to the open air.

...She’s stretched out my dried and prepared skin on her desk, her manuscript atop it. I could swear that there’s less of it than what she took.

We’re lit only by candles. I swallow.

Pain creeps up my spine.

“I said what I wanted to say just before you arrived,” she explains. “To invoke it.”

I can’t speak. The flickering light violates the manuscript and the skin. They glow sickly. Shadows leak from them like water, flooding the room. I can’t see her face—she’s hooded, turned away from me, gazing at her work. Her eyes feed them, my skin, the book, their shadows. They all pour forth in disgusting contraction. Something wells up within me and I feel the urge to vomit, but to open my mouth now is to summon the pains in my spine and wire myself shut again. I’ll have to soak it up, contain whatever wants to billow out of me, circumscribe it. It’s apparent the book won’t, nor the skin it rests upon. They bleed into the room, twisting it into them, melting everything in their fluid shadows.

I need to speak, to stop this. But I cannot; I’m wrapped around a coil, each vertebra a vice winching me shut. Besides, were I to open myself, I’d just leak more shadows, the same as those things. I’d fill the room. The hidden God craves exposure. I know this God.

Why? Why do I feel this way? Why am I seeing what I’m seeing? Feeling what I’m feeling? I’m confused, and my confusion terrifies me further. Scared—I’m scared, I’m so scared, I’m...

She spreads PVA glue on her manuscript’s cardboard bindings. “Everything comes from somewhere,” she tells me. “Trees. Water. Chemicals. From one binding to another. Like so many others. To so many others. An unfathomable skin. Like so many others.”

I expect to feel something in my body as she stretches my skin taut across the covers and folds it back, but nothing happens. Of course nothing happens. I want something to happen, I want to feel a connection with that which once bound and defined me, to justify the fluid now filling my body, now drowning me.

But I can still feel the pain. I want to scream it. She wraps my skin around the spine, to the back cover. She presses down hard, on every square inch, to ensure that the connection holds. And when she finishes, she leaves it on her desk, backing away a step or two.

Before I can even take it in, she chuckles, lifting the book with a single hand. She opens it, flips through some pages, reads a sentence or two. Laughing now, she snaps it shut and turns it to me, her face pulled taut by her smile.

“Sorry I didn’t let you read it before,” she says, “but the words needed to be sacred if I wanted to profane them.” She holds the book out to me, dangled in her fingers. “Here. It’s yours.”

“Mine?” My skin crawls.

“It’s lost all of its power. What use does it have now? It’s a gravestone for a dead God—unmarked, too. What better way to honor God than to abandon it?”

“Abandon—you’re…?”

She nods. She removes the robe and tosses it aside. Beneath, she isn’t wearing the odd style of clothes I had grown accustomed to her wearing—now she just looks plain and normal. Like everything else is, now. She’s turned the lights on already, blown out the candles. When did I become able to speak? The book is in my hands—when did I take it? Why is it here? Why do I have it?

It doesn’t feel like me. It doesn’t feel like me at all.

Dazed, I make my way home, not reading the book, not even opening it. Barely removing my eyes from the cover, however, I wander back to my apartment. Where did all that fluid inside me go, I wonder? Did it all vanish, or did it end up somewhere else altogether? I should have stopped her. I wanted to stop her, maybe needed to stop her. Why didn’t I? Why couldn’t I? Why is this thing now in my home?

I turn the book over in my hands. It is far from inert. With each revolution it makes between my fingers I feel myself rock, become unsteady. When I run a finger along its spine, a heavy sensation shoots along my back. Even brushing the cover clean of dust feels like a literal slap in the face, my features drawing close together to weather the impact of the motion. Sliding it between two other volumes on my shelf makes me feel agonizingly compressed, like sitting between two much larger people than you on the train. With stiff, small, rigid movements, I extract the book and leave it flat on a table.

This is all in my head, of course. I’m not actually feeling anything. I can’t be. But it’s understandable: anyone would feel oddly handling a book made of their own skin. Maybe my case is a little more extreme, but I suppose that my connection to my skin is quite different from others’. I shake my head, trying to clear it, trying to see if the book shakes too.

I pace around my apartment, trying to work out the stress building up inside my body. Even when I enter another room, I can feel its presence, something thick, heavy, cold, imposing itself impossibly upon the world. The book folds up the space around it to emerge from the shadows formed inside the contracted space. No, no, it’s just a book. I try to sleep and feel an odd pressure on my limbs as I lie down; I leave my apartment and the further I remove myself from the book the more I feel as though an entire part of my body has broken loose and that blood will soon gush unceasingly from me.

Shivering, I return to the book. It sits on the table, insensible.

Days pass but the sensations—the delusions—do not wane. My sleep is so fitful that the circles under my eyes deepen further. I try to contact her, but she doesn’t answer. “What’s happening?” I ask. “Take this thing back.” “I’m going to burn it.” “I’m worried I’ll die.”

I wake up having slept slumped against the wall. No messages from her on my phone. Just the usual mass of people who want to eat my flesh. I can’t handle that, not now, not when my own skin is eating me.

All my weight is being pulled to my feet. I stand the book up on its covers; I feel all my weight spilling to my sides. Better, for now. No—I’ve let myself grow so deluded that I use the book to regulate myself, control even my sensation of gravity?—I notice, shivering, that that the pages are slightly spread, as if the book is being opened, ever so slowly. I can’t keep it standing without letting the pages have this space.

What if it falls and spills open? What if I read the words written in that miserable thing?

Are these the workings of the God of Heretics, Contradictions, the Hidden? A blasphemous book you cannot read? Something so powerful in its inordinate weakness?

No. No, of course it isn’t. It’s psychological, psychosomatic. My skin, whatever it is, isn’t connected to some fanciful god. It’s just—it’s—this is…

I should just destroy it.

I can’t work. I can barely sleep. I’m shivering now, stretched outwards, wincing just to touch the book because I can’t predict what I’ll feel when I lay my hands upon it. And, the pain. The pain still courses through my back. It’s been weeks, it shouldn’t still hurt, yet I can feel every inch of the knife’s path through me, can almost feel my skin being ripped off, can certainly feel the chill of the air caressing my exposed insides, expect to be sticky and putrid with pouring blood—all these sensations I’ve grown used to, all these feelings I can even enjoy, twisted now into relentless blows, leaving me confused, exhausted, shocked, like an actor struck by a blow they thought would be pantomime.

I’ll destroy it. I’ll douse it in fuel and destroy it.

Yet all I can do is stare at it. Helplessly. I set lighter fluid next to it but I cannot spill it on the book. My head swims.

Maybe it’s more than just delusion. Maybe some bizarre god has truly worked a hold on me through my skin, the book. Maybe whatever words are written in there have some kind of power, something neither of us could have predicted when we set out to complete the book. A magic that works on me through my skin. Why not? It has to be if I’m not imagining it, doesn’t it? Maybe there’s something inside of me, just beneath my skin, a second skin wrapping my insides, leaving my outer layer to mark my grave.

I never thought too hard about my skin. I just understood how it worked and how I could make use of it. But now that it feels shared, distributed across me and the book, it doesn’t feel like my skin anymore. It feels like a different story is being told now. I can’t tell if it’s the next chapter or a sequel.

Maybe I just need to forget about it. Push past the feelings enervating my body. Act like everything’s normal, make that lie come true.

And for that, I need money. I need to keep eating, to pay rent. I go through my messages and respond to a regular, someone I know well, someone who’s been eating me for years. We arrange a session, and I spend a day preparing myself for it, doing my best to ignore the book, the sensations in my body, the pain, the abject fear that swims inside me.

I can’t leave my apartment without exerting significant force of will. Here, now, days or weeks since the book was bound (who knows how long it’s been?), the stress of leaving it behind is nearly unbearable. I can’t make it outside my building without almost succumbing to the urge to vomit—or to pass out for the imagined blood loss issuing from my severed appendage. It has to come with me, tucked inside a bag. I feel ridiculous wearing an empty backpack, so I stuff some clothes and toiletries into it as well. But that puts too much pressure on the book’s internal pouch, so I just wrap it inside the clothes. Oddly, I feel pleasantly ensconced this way, though my brain rattles around in my skull slightly with each step.

“You look horrible,” he says, greeting me at his door. “Is something wrong?”

“I haven’t been sleeping well lately.” I force a small laugh.

But his look of concern remains as he steps aside to let me enter. “I haven’t heard from you in a while. I was worried something happened. I thought, ‘Maybe they’re just busy,’ but, looking at you…”

Involuntarily, my lips curl into a sneer. I mask it by taking off my backpack, wobbling slightly when I drop it onto one of his bedside tables. When clients show concern for me, it’s hard not to feel as though their concern is less for me and more for what they get out of me. No matter how kind they are, what they’re here to do is eat me.

“What’s with the bag?” he asks.

“I just brought extra clothes. In case.” I shrug.

We’ve done this frequently enough that we stop talking there. Before long, my clothes are off and his teeth are digging into my skin. It hurts more than usual, and it takes him more effort than it normally does to pull my flesh away, but it’s comfortable, comforting, these pains and heats and sensations I’m used to almost feeling new again. But him, he looks confused as he chews my skin, though he doesn’t hesitate to take another bite, then another. The more he does, however, the more the pain increases. It usually hurts, but not like this. I can barely keep myself from screaming, gripping him, feeling blood gush down my back.

I hope he’ll stop soon, but he told me he writes several screenplays a month. He’s always ravenous. He needs as much creativity as he can get.

It’s only once I come to that I realize that I passed out. His face hovers over mine, that look of concern plastered back onto his face. “What?” I ask. “If you’re not finished, you can keep eating.”

“Don’t be stupid. Are you okay?”

“I’m fine.” It’s the truth—to be honest, I feel somewhat rested.

I notice that I’ve rolled onto the floor, apparently pulling some of the rubber sheets down with me. Mercifully for him, I guess, most of my blood seems to have stayed on the sheets and not gotten on the carpet. But I stay lying down here. Why did I pass out? Pain? Blood loss? Or something else?

He’s given me some space but keeps making a show of glancing over at me, worry darkening his face. “You need anything? Water?” he asks, but I shake my head. I just need a few moments to collect myself and, once accomplished, I sit up, feeling something stick to my back.

“Oh,” I say. I twisted myself onto my clothes and now they’re soaked with blood.

He notices immediately. “Let me,” he says. He grabs my backpack from the table next to him and opens it jerkily. Each motion makes my head pound.

I should call out to stop him. I—I need to stop him. He—he can’t touch the book.

He grabs my wad of clothes and lifts them out of the bag, sending my blood rushing to my head and making me dizzy. The book silently falls out of the wad, and my teeth clatter together. I limply take the clothes he holds out to me and try to push myself to my feet, pretending that nothing has happened.

“You can use the shower, you know,” he says. I shake my head.

The book. The book the book the book.

It’s no delusion. I’m certain of it now. I should have known as soon as he bit into me and my skin didn’t melt away completely. Something’s wrong, and the book is the cause.

What do I do? I want to vomit out everything inside of it. Spill its contents to the ground in billowing shadow. Scream what it is until my throat bleeds. It commandeered my skin. This flesh tells a different story now.

“I’ll just leave,” I croak, trying to dress.

“Look, I don’t know what’s going on, but if you won’t let me help, then at least don’t track blood through my house. I’ll wipe you off with a rag.”

“Fine. Just make it fast.”

“I don’t get you. I care about you. Let me help.” He complains as he wets a rag in his bathroom. “Besides, you’re lucky I’m not mad. My bedroom’s all bloody now,” he laughs.

With the rag and some paper towels, he cleans the drying blood off my back. I wonder how it feels for him to be removing my blood from my body this way, though I doubt the irony occurs to him at all. I bet he’s trying to come up with another way to ask me to let him adapt me into a screenplay.

But it doesn’t matter. None of it matters. My eye is fixed on the lump on the floor, that horrible thing. How could I have known it would hijack my skin, burrow under me, animate a whole new truth beneath my flesh? It’s lodged itself so deeply under me that it will never be uncovered. So I have to kill it. I have to kill it before it can sink its claws into anyone else. I don’t care if it kills me.

My breath becomes hot and ragged. The resolve to destroy the book burns inside me, incinerates my guts. The book won’t let it happen easily, but I’ll fight every impulse, every sensation it throws at me. I have to. I have to.

Before I realize that he’s finished cleaning me off, he’s already noticed the book lying on the floor. “What’s that?” he asks.

Again, as when I was about to watch her fasten my skin to the covers, I cannot speak. The smoke from my immolated guts suffocates my insides, mouth winched shut by a searing pain along my spine. Were any of the smoke to billow forth, it would answer his question. The book can’t have that happen.

Twisted tightly shut, the fire and the smoke annihilate everything inside of me as he lifts the book, examines it, opens it.

The entirety of my body jerks and creaks. I feel as though my jaw has been ripped open, that all the words inside me that tell the truth of who I am are being torn out of me. I feel suddenly that we listen to each other with our mouths; I feel as though my soul is lined with bite marks and my skin is lined with teeth. I feel my body splayed flat like a scroll. I want to scream, but I can’t; my soul is stoppered by fluid, that same thick fluid, and smoke. I have to watch, no choice but to watch, as his eyes, the true organ for eating, read the pages, the words, all of it, the contents of my soul.

And then it’s over.

He sets the book on the table and staggers backwards. He slumps down against the wall and stares at the floor.

Every sensation leaves my body. I feel my skin close itself together. My spine tingles in relief at its pain finally ending. The book is no longer an incongruous fetish to me, imposing itself on my body and my mind. It’s just a book. Hasn’t it always been?

Now able to move freely for the first time since it was bound, I quickly dress and approach the table. Without hesitating, I pick up the book and open it.

Every single page is blank.

I glance at him. I see his mouth moving like he’s speaking under his breath, repeating something seared into his brain, written carefully on his soul.

I set the book back down. It belongs with him now.

As soon as I step outside, I’ll have to start pretending that none of this ever happened. I’ll go on with my life, trying to forget about the book and about its god. My body will recover. My soul, once supplanted, will animate me again.

And maybe one day, he’ll ask to see me again, and I’ll smile at my phone and delete his message. I think that’s what he’ll want.

#writing #writers on tumblr #body horror #horror #flesh delivery service #do tags past the fifth count? they used not to #anyway i dont know what else to put

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miskatonicwhaler · 1 year

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*vague spoilers for The Magnus Archives*

It's probably been said before but I just think, as a side gig. Annabelle Cane can help other avatars set up their own websites/apps

Hello Flesh: presenting Jared's meat kit delivery service for bodybuilders!

I was gonna make up some horrible real estate app for Helen but zillow already exists, Annabelle just helps her set up an agent profile. Delightfully, victims don't have to be convinced to open a suspicious door, virtual tours are all the rage and people just can't stop clicking through houses, and the more mindbendingly awful the house the more views it gets, it's free fear

Peter doesn't bother with running his site but it's a chatbot dating app called LonelyEyes because he wasn't listening when Annabelle suggested the name

Mike Crew starts an online support group for people dealing with burns and scars. And if members sometimes post about run-ins with bullies, and if those bullies then have a tendency to accidentally fall off skyscrapers or disappear mysteriously while on holiday, that would sure be weird oh well shrug emoji (Mike runs his own site but Annabelle helps out with a little discreet web-sleuthing when needed)

#tma #the magnus archives #annabelle cane #helen richardson #jared hopworth #peter lukas #mike crew #tma spoilers

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harringtonstilinski · 5 months

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Always The Babysitter - Chapter Twenty-Eight: The Monster and the Superhero

Author: @harringtonstilinski Characters: Steve Harrington x Olivia Henderson(OC) Word Count: 2,964 Warnings: fluff, angst, olivia being protective, Smut: no | yes; 18+ MINORS DNI: A/N: Hi, friends! We getting more Eddie in this chapter!! Also, see gif below for fic title inspiration <3 If you like this chapter, please do not hesitate to reblog and give some feedback, whether it be in the reblogs, comments, or my inbox. As always, read at your own risk and enjoy 😊

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Getting a decent night’s sleep is starting to be hard to come by since we figured out another D&D monster is an actual monster. I knew about Vecna from reading Dustin’s D&D manual when he first got it and refreshed myself when he joined Hellfire.

We decided to get Eddie some actual food… or what we thought was actual food from the grocery store, taking it over to Reefer Rick’s, where we told Eddie to stay hidden.

Steve parked the car around where he did last night, all five of us piling out and walking to the boathouse, walking in once we made it. Only this time, Eddie was ready with his sharp glass bottle, pointing it at us at our intrusion.

Dustin and I held up the plastic bags, smiling while saying, “Delivery service.”

Eddie sighed before I shook my bags, setting them down on a table and pulling every item out of the bag. I felt Eddie behind me after a moment before the box of Honeycombs and Yoo-Hoo was removed from my vision.

He sat down in the boat with the box, opening it and tearing the bag open, dipping his hand inside to start munching on the sugary cereal while Robin and Max stood or sat to his left, Dustin, myself and Steve standing or sitting to his right.

“So we got, uhh, some good news and some bad news,” Dustin said. “How do you prefer it?”

With a mouth full of cereal, Eddie said, “Bad news first, always,” before taking a swig of his glorified chocolate milk.

“Alright,” I breathed. “Bad news; Dustin tapped in the Hawkins PD dispatch with his Cerebro and, and they’re definitely looking for you, and they’re pretty convinced you killed Chrissy.”

“Like, 100% kind of convinced,” Max added.

“And the good news, oldest Henderson?” Eddied asked, looking from Max to me.

Smiling, I said, “Your name hasn’t gone public yet. But if we found out about you, it’s a matter of time before others do, too, and once word gets out, everyone and their pea-brained mother is gonna be hunting for you.”

“Hunt the freak, right?” Eddie enunciated.

Scrunching my lips, I closed my eyes and nodded. “Precisely.”

“Shit.”

“So, before that happens, we need to find Vecna, kill him, and prove your innocence,” Dustin said.

“That’s all, Dustin?” Eddie and I asked. “That’s all?”

“Yeah, no, that’s pretty much it,” he said, pretty sure of himself.

“Little brother, ‘tis not as simple as you think,” I said. “When has it ever been that simple?” I rolled my eyes at his delusions, feeling two hands on my shoulders, pulling me back into a chest; Steve’s chest.

“Listen, Eddie,” Robin said. “I know everything Dustin’s saying sounds totally delusional, but we’ve actually been through this kinda thing before.”

“Well, she’s been through it once,” I said. “Max twice, Dustin, Steve and I three times. Robin’s was more human-flesh-based, while ours was more smoke-related.”

“Bottom line is, collectively, I really feel we got this.”

Wrapping his arms around my middle and resting his chin on my shoulder, Steve said, “Yeah, see, we usually rely on this girl who has super powers. But, uhh, those went bye-bye, so…”

“So, we’re technically more in the–”

“Kinda.”

“Brainstorming phase?” I asked.

“Brainstorming,” Steve repeated, snapping his fingers. “Good one, babe.”

“There-there-there’s nothing to worry about,” Dustin said.

Steve scoffed behind me, his head moving just a little in curt nod.

I closed my eyes and took a deep breath just as I heard sirens, and Steve whispered, “Shit.”

Moving towards the boat, I said, “Eddie, tarp.”

He looked at me, questions floating in his eyes.

“Get back under the tarp.”

“You owe me, Henderson,” he said, my response being “I know,” before Eddie grabbed the side and laid down with the cereal box in his arm, moving the tarp over himself.

The rest of us moved to the windows, watching as police cars and ambulances drove by. As a group, we decided to be nosy as fuck and follow them to see where they were going. Once we found the area, we parked behind a truck, the five of us getting out.

Nancy was standing in the middle of the road, talking to Powell, who took over for Hopper since he… well, since he died. She looked over at us, bringing her fingers up for a small wave.

I looked over at Steve, seeing him wave back at her. I know he doesn’t love her anymore, but there’s always going to be that part of me that thinks he does and always will. Looking back at her, tears welled in my eyes before I could stop them and looked down. Sitting back inside the car, I sniffled lightly, brushing the tear that had regrettably fallen onto my cheek.

When everyone got back in the car, all I could do was look out the window at the trees passing by. What made my anxiety worse… was that Steve didn’t rest his hand on my thigh like he always did. Taking off my right shoe, I sighed, bringing my foot to rest on the seat, lacing my fingers together and resting them at the junction where my foot and calf meet.

Once we made it to the trailer park, Robin, Max and my brother got out of the car, meeting Nancy at the picnic table while Steve and I stayed behind.

He sighed, “I know what you’re thinking, and no.”

I looked down and nodded. “I know. It’s just my stupid brain. You know how it gets.” I crossed my arms, sinking down into the seat a little more. “It just… I saw the way you looked at her.”

“With concern?” he asked. It wasn’t in anger or irritation. His voice was calm and controlled. There were a few times when I had this concern after we got together, and he was always reassuring. Kind of like he was being right now.

Once the reasonable side of my brain caught up and took over my unreasonable side, I sighed and rested my head on my knee, whispering, “I’m sorry.”

Grabbing my hand to lace our fingers, he said, “Her and I are friends. Nothing more. You’re the girl for me.”

I looked at our hands, watching as he brought them up to kiss the back of my own. Smiling, I connected our eyes, seeing those hazel orbs I loved so much. “I love you. And I’m sorry.”

“I love you, too. Let’s go.”

We both got out of the car after I put my shoe back on and retied it. He met me at the front of the car and held his hand out once he saw me round the vehicle, our fingers lacing together as we made our way to the picnic table. When we sat down, we all explained to Nancy what’s been going on.

“So, you’re saying that this thing that killed Fred and Chrissy, it’s from the Upside Down?” Nancy asked.

“If the shoe fits,” I sighed, leaning back against Steve, who wrapped his arms around my middle.

“Our working theory is that he attacks with a spell or a curse,” Dustin said. “Now, whether or not he’s doing the bidding of the Mind Flayer or just loves killing teens, we don’t know.”

“All we know is this is something different,” Max said. “Something new.”

“Doesn’t make sense,” Nancy said.

“It’s just a theory,” Dustin said.

“It’s not supposed to make sense,” I added.

“No, Liv,” Nancy said. “Fred and Chrissy don’t make sense. I mean, why them?”

“Maybe they were just in the wrong place,” Dustin said. “They were both at the game.”

“And near the trailer park,” Max said.

“We’re in the trailer park,” Steve said, holding me a little tighter. “Uh, should we maybe not be here?”

As we all looked around, Nancy said, “There is something about this place. Fred started acting weird the second we got here.”

“Acting weird as in…?” Robin asked.

“Scared, on edge, upset.”

“Max said Chrissy was upset, too,” Dustin said.

“Yeah, but not here,” Max said. “She was crying in the bathroom at school.”

“Serial killers stalk their prey before they strike, right?” Robin asked.

“Affirmative,” I said.

“So, maybe Fred and Chrissy saw this Vecman–”

“Vecna,” Dustin corrected.

Carrying on like nothing happened, Steve said, “I don’t know about you guys, but if I saw some freaky wizard monster, I would mention it to someone.”

“Maybe they did,” Max said. “I saw Chrissy leaving Ms. Kelley’s office. If you saw a monster, you… you go to the police. They’d never believe you.”

“Except Hopper,” I said. “Who’s inconveniently dead.”

“But you might to your–”

“Your shrink,” Robin said.

Max nodded her head and we all formed a plan on what to do. Once the plan was made, we all got up from the table to walk back towards our vehicles. Nancy started walking back towards her car before Steve’s voice stopped her.

“Whoa, whoa, Nance,” he said. “Nance!” He stepped up to her as she turned around, asking, “Where you going?”

“Oh, there’s something I wanna check on first,” she replied.

“Something you maybe wanna share with the rest of us?” Dustin and I asked. “I don’t wanna waste your time. It’s a real shot in the dark.”

“Yeah, okay,” Steve said. “Are you out of your mind? Flying solo with this Vecna creep on the loose? No, it’s too dangerous. You need… you need someone to…” He turned walking up to me, handing me his keys. “Here. I’m gonna stick with Nance, alright? Take the car, check out the shrink. Go back to your house, and I’ll have Nance drop me off there.”

“Why? Why can’t Robin go with her?” I asked, gesturing to our high school friend.

“Yeah, why can’t I go?” Robin asked.

“Liv, if you don’t want to drive, I can,” Max said.

“No,” Steve and I said, looking over at Max.

“No. Never again,” Steve added. “Please. Anybody but you.”

“Come on,” Dustin said.

“No.”

“Okay, this is stupid,” Robin said, grabbing a radio from Dustin’s bag. “Like Liv said, I’ll go with Nancy because us ladies need to stick together. Steve, you stay with your girlfriend.” When she made it to Nancy’s side, she turned back around to face us, saying, “Unless you think we need you to protect us.”

Robin turned on her heel and started walking towards Nancy’s car, the eldest Wheeler taking a moment, looking at my Stevie. I rolled my eyes and got in the car, not meaning to slam the door shut as Steve shouted at them to be careful.

“You just gonna stand there and gawk at your ex-girlfriend, or sit next to my sister and gawk at her?” Dustin said.

“Shut up,” Steve said. “I love your sister. She knows that.” “Why don’t we go?”

“Shut up and get in the car.”

I heard the back door open behind me, so I looked to see who it was before saying, “Dusty, wipe your feet.”

“On the outside, not the inside,” Steve groaned, getting into the car. “Always the babysitter. Always the goddamn babysitter.” He started the car, putting it in drive and riding past Eddie’s trailer that was marked off by police tape.

~~~

Max gave us directions to Ms. Kelley’s house, Steve parking at the end of her driveway on the other side of the street.

“Okay, she’s in,” Steve said, arm resting on the door, the window rolled down.

“I’m missing collarbones,” Dustin said. “Not eyes.” A few seconds later, he said, “So… are we gonna talk about… it?” Turning to face him in the backseat, I furrowed my brows. “What?”

Pointing in between Steve and I, Dustin said, “You two.”

“Again, I ask… what?”

“The tension between you two. I can feel it from here.”

“Feel what?” Steve asked.

“The sexual electricity?”

“Oh, my god, Dustin!” I exclaimed.

“Your sexual tension was pretty public,” he said. “There’s witnesses. Have you two even–”

Turning back to face the front with my hands up, I said, “I am not having this conversation with you.”

“Are you implying that we haven’t had se–” Steve said.

“Steve!” I interrupted. “We’re not having this conversation with him right now!”

“What about when he was gonna go with Nance instead of staying with you, his girlfriend, my dearest sister?” Dustin said.

“I was trying to protect a friend,” Steve said. “A friend, Hendersons. Okay?”

Turning my head to look at Steve, I gave him a what the fuck look. “Hendersons? As in, plural? Don’t bring me into this, I didn’t say anything.”

“Okay,” Dustin said, amused.

“I don’t wanna find her in the morning with her eyes sucked out of the front of her skull by this Vecna creep,” Steve said.

“Steve, baby, I love that you’re wanting to protect a friend and being all defensive, but now isn’t the time to do that, especially when your anxious girlfriend here is freaking out about you and Nancy, okay?” I said.

“Yeah, what’s wrong with my sister?” Dustin asked.

“Nothing’s wrong,” Steve said. “I love your sister very much, and I especially don’t want anything to happen to her. I’d die if anything happened to her.”

I smiled at that, feeling all the love from him just from those two sentences.

“You’re blushing,” Dustin smiled.

“Drop it, or I’ll punch you so hard in your face your teeth will fall back out.”

“Whoa,” Dustin and I said. “Too far.”

“Not cool. Sorry.”

“Not cool, babe,” I said.

“It’s okay,” Dustin added.

Steve brought his fist up, Dustin hitting Steve’s with his own before Steve held his hand out, looking at me. I laced our fingers before he brought the back of my hand to his mouth, placing a kiss near my ring finger.

I heard the door open, Steve’s attention right on Max as she made her way back to the car, Steve repeating, “Here she comes.”

Max got in the backseat with Dustin, my brother asking, “What’d she say?” “Nothing, just drive,” Max said. “Steve, drive!”

“Okay,” he said, letting go of my hand to start the car and drive off.

Max told us to drive to the high school so that she could snoop through Ms. Kelley’s files for hers and Chrissy’s. Dustin’s walkie went off, a familiar voice coming through.

“Dustin? Olivia? It’s Lucas. Do you copy? Dustin.”

Dustin hit the button on his walkie, speaking into it, “Lucas? Where the hell have you been?”

“Just listen,” Lucas said. “Are you guys looking for Eddie?”

“Yeah, and we found him, no thanks to you.”

“You found him?”

“He’s at a boathouse on Coal Mill Road. Don’t worry, he’s safe.”

“You guys know he killed Chrissy, right?”

“That’s bullshit. Eddie tried to save Chrissy.” “Then why do all the cops say he did it?”

Max took the walkie from Dustin, pressing the button and saying, “Lucas, you’re so behind, it’s ridiculous, okay? Just meet us at the school. We’ll explain later.”

“I… I can’t.”

Taking the walkie from Max, it was my turn to speak into the mouthpiece. “Come again, Sinclair?”

“I think some real bad shit’s about to go down, Liv.”

“Spill it.”

Static sounded from the walkie’s speaker for a moment before I hit my palm against it a couple times before saying into the mouthpiece, “Lucas? Lucas! Shit.”

~~~

It was dark by the time we made it to the school, Max using the keys she stole from Ms. Kelley’s house. Walking down the hallway, Dustin’s walkie went off again, this time Robin’s voice coming through, saying, “Hendersons, do you copy?”

“Yeah, we copy,” Dustin and I said in unison.

“So, Nancy’s a genius. Vecna’s first victims date back all the way to 1959. Her shot in the dark was a bullseye.”

“Okay, that’s, uh, totally bonkers,” Dustin said.

I took the walkie from him, saying, “But we really can’t talk right now.”

“Wait, what are you doing, female Henderson?”

“Breaking and entering into the school to retrieve highly confidential and extremely personal files.” This felt like Sophomore year all over again when I broke into stores. Looking up at Steve, I said, “If I get caught this time, I’m going to jail.”

“We won’t,” he said, shining his flashlight around, looking for any type of security.

“Can you repeat that?”

“Just get your ass over to the high school, Buckley. Stat. We’ll explain everything… if I don’t get arrested again and start living in a cell.”

We found Max at Ms. Kelley’s office as she was just opening the door to walk inside.

“It’s like a mini-Watergate or something,” Dustin said. “Hawkinsgate!”

“Wait a sec,” Steve said. “Didn’t those guys get caught?”

“Holy shit,” Max said from the opened filing cabinet.

“You found it?” Steve asked, walking over to her.

“Yeah, and not just Chrissy’s file,” she said, taking a file out of the cabinet. “Fred was seeing Ms. Kelley, too.”

We all looked at each other, trying to find out what it meant with our eyes until I spoke up. “Well, I’d compare the files, see if the three of you had any symptoms in common.”

We did just that, bringing out her file, Chrissy’s file and Fred’s file. Max sat at the desk, looking at Chrissy’s, seeing the handwritten symptoms on a white sheet of paper. When she asked to see Fred’s file, I handed it to her, moving to stand beside her with my body facing Steve, who was leaning against the desk.

Max was looking as if she were lost in a trance of some sort, so I put my hand on her shoulder, asking, “Max, are you okay? Max? Max, honey, what is it? Max. Max!”

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

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A/N 2: hi, friends! pls be kind and reblog! it really helps us content creators out <3

Additional Note:

~~~

Forever / Everything Taglist: @stiles-o-dylan24 @stixnstripesworld @fandom-princess-forevermore @quanticobae @mischiefandi @kellyashcroft @lauren-novak

Steve Harrington Taglist: @madaboutjoe

If you’re tagged and didn’t want to be, please let me know.

~~~

*Please don’t post my writing anywhere else without my consent. The author of this work will always and forever be @harringtonstilinski.

All characters, story lines, and plot aside from y/n and her storyline & plot, are all of the work of The Duffer Brothers.

*These works contain material protected under International and Federal Copyright Laws and Treaties. Any unauthorized reprint or use of this material is prohibited.

No part of these works may be reproduced in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without express written permission from the author / publisher.

Posted on May 6, 2024 *Happy half Birthday to this series!!*

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loosesodamarble · 1 month

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Welcome to the Black Bird Part 7: A Butchery by Richard

Summary: Introducing Jack as Richard, the esteemed head chef of the Black Bird cafe. Genre: general Word count: ~800 A/N: Jack's art was commissioned from @crazycookiemaniac

..........

Feathers. Hide. Bone. Cartilage. Guts. Blood. Flesh.

Working at a joint slaughterhouse and butcher shop business, he was tasked with processing meat from carcass to sellable product. He prided himself in taking apart eerie, lifeless corpses. In a way, his job was destruction with a purpose. And it brought a smile to his face.

It used to at least.

Jack’s boss took notice of the young man’s dulled vigor. He didn’t scold Jack or tell him to “just get over it.” But instead, he asked Jack to help make a delivery to one of their buyers.

That’s how Jack found himself at the Black Bird for the first time.

After moving everything from their truck to the cafe’s walk-in freezer, the cafe’s matron had Jack and the boss sit at the breakroom’s table. Then, a burly young man sauntered in with a plate of steak strips laid over a bed of minced vegetables and rice.

All it took was for Jack to take one bite.

In a word, it was delicious. A kick that hit the back of his throat. The hearty flavor of vegetables to ground his palette against the heat. The tender meat was juicy, savory, and faintly charred in flavor. And maybe it was Jack but he swore he tasted a bit of iron too.

And there was a high likelihood that the beef he was served was prepared by his own two hands. The flesh he tore into, the carcass he destroyed, didn’t end with being a cut of meat. It was still on its way to being a delicious creation.

Jack put down his fork, looked at his boss, and said “I’m putting in my two weeks now.”

…..

The sound of rapid chopping.

Steam rose from bubbling pots.

Oil sizzled ferociously.

Shouts of “order up” and “how many minutes” and “pick up for table—” during the lunch rush.

Heated and frantic, that’s what the atmosphere was. That’s how Jack liked it.

With one final strike from his knife, Jack finished mincing a carrot. The bits of orange were tossed in a bowl of other minced produce and stirred around. Then, Jack procured a fresh chicken breast from the fridge. He brought it to his work station and set it on the cutting board.

Jack’s knife gleamed as he raised it, as if it, too, were eager to get to cutting once more.

“Oi, Richard!” Jack turned to the voice and saw “Alexander” standing at the service area. As he picked up a table’s order, the burly man called, “A customer wants you to know that your cooking fucks!”

“Keh keh! Damn right it does!” Jack shouted back.

It was obvious to Jack that the customer likely only said “give my compliments to the chef” but Alexander tended to phrase things more entertainingly than other servers did.

With a cackle, Jack turned back to his work.

…..

Flowered Filet. A customer’s choice of meat filet cut to look like a blooming flower. Meant to highlight the chef’s cutting skills.

Every detail of the dish made sense for Jack. He’d handled meat for so long so of course his signature dish would involve protein. And since he wasn’t a professionally trained chef prior, he cut away any bells and whistles and focused on what he knew he could do: he could take a knife and cut, slice, and slash.

At first, he overlapped slices of meat to create an image. But he realized that the idea was more about plating than knifework. Then he tested ways of cutting a whole filet into a shape, like a wing or star. He eventually figured that he could cut numerous, tightly packed curves into a filet so that the meat could be pulled back and take on the shape of a flower in bloom.

When Secre saw an early version of the dish, she beamed at Jack and said, “Now that’s gorgeous. Who knew a butcher could be so artistic?”

Jack certainly hadn’t known.

Growing up, he had been entertained by destruction. Tearing pages out of his notebook and tossing the scraps to the wind. Picking at tree bark until his nail beds were stained brown and red. The dissection labs in middle school science class.

He became a butcher to continue destroying, in a new way. Until he got bored with that as well. And then he discovered cooking, where chopping and mashing and broiling didn’t destroy something but transformed it.

Destruction and creation.

Jack never thought he’d be capable of such a thing. Yet there he was.

The process of turning ingredients into a dish. Maybe it could’ve been called re-creation.

Jack certainly felt like that word suited his work. Like it suited him.

#black clover #black clover fanfic #jack the ripper #black clover au #butler cafe au #welcome to the black bird series

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lilbabybutts · 23 days

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Doll Review: The Sweetheart

⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐

The Sweetheart Collection is the newest release of Euphoria.Sense dolls made for their brand new Euphoria.6 AI. The stock models come in three skin tones, two sexes, and only one body type each. For a company whose slogan is “Every doll is made for you,’ it’s a considerably less diverse collection than Euphoria fans are accustomed to. Euphoria.Sense does offer their custom build services for the Sweethearts, but depending on the bells and whistles, you could be looking at prices even the most dedicated collectors would wince at.

The software, the newest edition of the original, yet to be replicated, Euphoria AI, is capable of problem solving and performing even complex, multiple step tasks. This doll is not just an object, but a companion with an almost limitless potential to think, sense, and emote. The AI is perfectly married to the hardware with over 8 million ‘nerve endings’, a real, robust voice replicator- no recordings, and a synthetic skin so beautiful I could write poetry about it.

It’s almost easy to forget it isn’t human.

Personality wise, the Sweetheart is happy, excitable, and affectionate. The dev team behind Euphoria.6 said in an interview that ‘loving you is the core of its personality, the thought all other thoughts stem from,’ and it shows. While it might sound like Euphoria.Sense tempting the hand of fate, so far there’s no evidence of the violent or possessive tendencies that Euphoria.3 suffered. Actually, in contrast, the Sweethearts are quite gentle and mild mannered, so much that it’s touching. In the first week, I noticed my Sweetheart looking out the window when I left for work and she was still there when I came home.

Functionally, they perform much better in all tasks than previous models. Of course any doll can follow directions, but Sweethearts seem to have no trouble interpreting figures of speech, incomplete thoughts, or even slurred or muffled voices. They have a more natural way of speaking than most dolls, though the language still isn’t as advanced as anything Bunnysoft has been putting out for years.

Their physique is a bit delicate compared to previous collections so if you’re looking for something to take a beating, the sweetheart isn’t it. What it lacks in durability it makes up for by far in feeling. The sweetheart mold has the softest, most realistic flesh out of any doll in my collection and, honestly, it’s better than real pussy.

It's a refreshingly original approach to doll design. Whatever you thought you wanted was wrong; You want the Sweetheart.

They always wanted one. They read the reviews, they follow the collector’s blogs, they watch the porn.. The real problem is the ridiculous price tag. They could probably find one much cheaper if they bought refurbished or a different brand… but this was Euphoria.Sense.. Why own one at all if not the original?

They browse the product photos. The second one is a blonde Sweetheart on their knees looking up at the camera with big glassy eyes. They immediately get up to go find their credit card.

The website promises easy clean up. A ten-day money back guarantee if none of the seals are broken. And it has all kinds of adorable accessories. It comes out to several thousands of dollars, but the overnight shipping is free.

Though apparently, it isn’t discreet. The delivery guy makes an uncomfortable face as he asks them to sign for it. The tall, ornate box might almost look like a coffin except for the giant Euphoria.Sense dollhouse logo on the front of it. Their mind is already filled with dozens of images that make them sweat.

By the time they get around to unwrapping it they're getting worked up, imaging its voice, all the cutesy, dutiful “yes master!”s and little curtseys it will do.

They cut the tape and the zip-ties before moving to the actual lock. The password is their order confirmation number. It opens and the lid pops off with a click.

Once it’s removed they stare down at their new toy. Its eyes are closed and it lays perfectly, unnaturally still. It’s so much more beautiful in person. They chose the model with lavender hair, currently tied up in two neat buns with baby blue ribbons. It’s wearing a blue peter pan collar blouse, a pair of white bloomers, tied at the waist by a satin bow, blue baby doll shoes, and white fishnet stockings. The best part of course was the intricate white ribbon collar with the Euphoria.Sense dollhouse charm in the middle. The company sold different outfits and accessories as add-on packs, but they decided against getting any for some dumb reason.

They read the instruction manual, which is the size of a textbook, for about four seconds. Whatever, they’ve seen how it works. They reach into the box and gently tilt its head to the right. They reach behind its left ear, find the button under the skin, and press it. After exactly six seconds- they count- the doll’s eyes open.

It blinks at them once or twice, eyes sparkling. It’s so adorable they want to eat it up.

“Can you get out of there?” They start.

It stands up, stepping out of the box, revealing the foam hole cut to exactly its shape. It stands there. They stand there. They don’t know what to do now exactly. Maybe they should have thought this through.

"…so. What’s your name?"

“The master has the privilege of choosing a doll’s name!" It responds a little too quickly.

“Oh, right. I guess I am your master, but I’m really not good at that kind of thing..”

They stare at the doll, feeling slightly embarrassed. The doll stares back.

“What name would you like?” They ask, looking for an easy out.

The doll’s lips twist as if giving this deep consideration. It’s very cute. “I don’t know, master. I.. don’t know what kind of things I like!”

They’re surprised by that answer. Doesn’t a doll come with a whole default personality? With likes and stuff? “Well, we can come back to it I-”

“I like you, Master!” The doll blurts out suddenly, “I don’t know many things, but I live to love my master, to fulfill all their dreams and desires.” It smiles sheepishly.

They turn bright red. They’d heard that exact line in a lot of porn before.

“Oh! Thanks! I .. like you too!” Wow.

The doll giggles. Its cheeks turn a soft rosy color.

They know how this goes in all those videos, and they have such a clear fantasy in their head, but in reality, they’re just as awkward and nervous as they are in front of real people. This is supposed to be easier! Maybe they should get to know each other first.. Or something. At least give it a name.

“Well, um.. Do you want to see your new home?”

It nods excitedly. “Yes master, very much!”

They smile, holding out their hand. The doll takes it happily, scooting ever so closer to their master. Its skin is soft and warm and incredibly life-like. For the first time they see its arms extended, exposing the ball joints only visible on the inside of the elbow, the only immediate sign it isn't human. It's kind of fascinating and kind of beautiful. Some people dislike them and try to cover them with gloves or long sleeve blouses, but they don't mind them at all. They don't need to pretend their doll is a real person, because they don't want a real person. Real people have agency, they're too complex and too selfish. All they really want is a cute little toy.

They turn, gesturing around the living room. “This is my living room. This is the couch, and the tv. You can watch it if you want.. The door to the left is the laundry room, it’s really just a closet.” They lead it through the archway to the kitchen. “This is the kitchen. It’s where all the food is. Um.. Do you eat?”

“No, master. Though I can taste, and I have a chamber in my tummy, it isn’t meant to hold food. Anything I swallow will have to be removed and then I will need to be cleaned.”

They have a pretty good idea what that’s for. That’s kind of gross. Thankfully they recall something about the self-cleaning mode from that instruction manual they sort of skimmed.

“Well if you want to taste things, you can ask me. Just don’t do it without telling me. I don’t want you to get dirty. Or choke or something.”

The doll hums. “Yes master, of course!”

They lead it back through the living room toward the hallway and open the door to the bathroom. “This is the bathroom… I don’t know if you need to use it, but this is where you'll get cleaned up. Make sure you knock before you go in, okay?”

The doll nods, still smiling brightly. It seems so pleased just to see a tiny bathroom. They close the door and move on to the end of the hall. “This is my bedroom. This is where I sleep. You can look around if you want.”

It nods, taking a shy step away from them. Reluctantly, it releases their hand, walking towards the bed. It touches the duvet carefully, investigating it. “Soft!”

It occurs to them the doll had only ever touched manufacturing equipment and plastic packaging. How many nerve endings did it have again? Just how advanced was the technology that made this doll think and feel? In principle, they didn't support giving sex dolls almost near-human processing and cognitive abilities, it was inhumane, right?...but it really wasn't their principles that had made this purchase.

“Where will I sleep, master?”

Oh. They hadn’t thought of that before. “Well.. I guess I’ll get you a bed of your own. There should be enough room in the closet.” God forbid anyone comes to visit and sees the doll, much less a whole bed for it. They make these insanely small storage boxes for the dolls that they contort into like old-school circus performers, but they didn't really like them. They were meant to be discreet so they were kind of ugly. Plus, when they were a kid, they always loved spoiling their dolls with their own pretty beds and wardrobes.. maybe even a vanity. “But for now you can sleep with me.”

The doll spins around to face them, eyes lighting up. “Really master? You mean it?”

They shrug. “Of course, silly.”

It jumps up and down excitedly. “Thank you master!! Can I get in the bed now? I would like to feel it!”

They nod, laughing softly. “You’re precious.”

“I am?”

“Yes! You are.”

“Thank you master! That’s a wonderful name!”

Oh. Well. That wasn’t what they meant, but it suited them. And they hadn’t thought of anything else so far. “Yes, you can get in the bed, Precious.”

It beams, climbing carefully onto the bed, trying not to disturb the covers. It slowly, gently lays on its back, spreading its arms out on either side. It's kind of angelic. Its blouse rides up slightly, exposing a few inches of its tummy. One of the best things about this model is its size. It isn’t thin like a lot of the popular or cheaper models. It's pleasantly chubby, with soft, squishy thighs and a rounder tummy. They have the sudden urge to kiss it.

Suddenly, the awkwardness from before is gone completely. They go to the edge of the bed and sit next to the doll. They run their hand up the doll’s legs, over their bloomers, and rest it on the exposed skin, fingers sitting just under the edge of the blouse. Its tummy is even softer than its hands.

“Does that feel good, Precious?” They look up at its face, stroking the skin below its belly button. They feel the familiar warmth of arousal creep up on them, that almost animalistic urge to possess and consume.

Precious bites its lip, nodding silently. They feel a sudden confidence. A sudden dominance. “Will you answer me, sweetheart?”

“Yes master!” It says quickly. “I love being touched by you in any way.”

“Good doll.” They let their hand come down over the bloomers, over the hips, and down between its legs. “Do you want to play with Master, Precious? Do you want to make me happy?”

“Of course, Master, your happiness is the only thing that matters to me.” It said so as if stating an obvious fact. The sky is blue; dolls exist to serve their masters.

“You are such a good little dolly.” They squeeze lightly. The doll sucks in a small breath, back arching ever so slightly. It stares up at them, eyes wide, innocent. They pull their hand away to untie the satin ribbon around the doll’s waist and push both hands below the waistband of its bloomers, inching them down its legs. The doll’s eyes flutter closed.

Its panties are lavender and white lace, framing its hips and beautiful pink pussy. They get so hard it almost hurts. They look back up at the doll.

“Unbutton your shirt, babydoll.”

“Yes master.” It says in a lower, lusty little voice. The sound of it makes them go slightly crazy. It undoes the buttons from the bottom, going just slow enough to keep them on the edge of anticipation. Finally, when it reaches the top button, they place their hand over the dolls, pulling the shirt open, revealing the matching bra beneath.

They run both hands up its stomach, over the dolls perfect breasts.

“You’re so perfect, Precious. I want you. I could eat you.” They throw one leg over the doll’s hips, straddling it.

“Anything, whatever you want.” It whispers.

They lean down, kissing its chest, its neck.

The doll moans quietly.

“You belong to me,” they said, but not to the doll. It was as if they were finally realizing that they owned it. Completely. It was an object. Theirs. “Say you belong to me. Only me.”

“I belong to you Master, only to you.”

At that, they can’t help but growl, biting its neck, maybe a little harder than they meant to. The doll gasps, moans in pain.

They sit back up, pull their t-shirt over their head, and start to undo their belt. The dolls eyes are slightly teary, but they know it's programmed to enjoy pain, even though it's programmed to cry as well. This is one of the selling points they always go on about. You’re supposed to be able to do things humans can’t physically tolerate. It comes off as kind of creepy and psychotic, but they can’t help but admit that they have violent tastes. They like inflicting pain, but they don’t actually like harming people. It’s different.. Not many humans understand that.

They cup the doll's face in their hand and stroke its cheek gently with their thumb. It looks at them like no one has ever looked at them before. Like they created the universe itself, like they're God. Like it worships them. And it probably does. They are the only person it's ever met, and these dolls are programmed to love their master- it's the very core of their being. They smile sweetly. "Would you do anything for me, Precious?"

"Of course." It answers easily, genuinely.

They lean down and kiss it on the mouth. It follows their lead, opening up and catching their lips with its own. It's the best kiss they've ever had in their life. No one ever talks about how good they kissed..A lot of owners are very mean to their dolls, so they guess they aren't doing a lot of kissing. The thought makes them kind of sad.

They pull away, hopping off the bed in a rush. They unbutton their pants and slide them off as Precious watches patiently, adoringly.

"Do you want me to fuck you, babydoll?"

Precious nods furiously. "Yes, master! Please! It would make me so happy!"

They take their boxers off, erection finally free. They grab the doll's legs, swinging them around so they hang off the bed, hips just on the edge. They set its ankles on their shoulders and gently, slowly, pull its panties down its legs. It was like unwrapping a present. Twice. At the end, they bend its knee, pulling the delicate lace off one leg and then the other, setting it on the nightstand.

Its pussy was beautiful. Pink, plush. Delectable. Of course it was perfect, it was engineered to be, but God, still.

They inch forward, knees against the side of the bed, and reach one hand out to stroke it. They slide their middle finger between its lips and dip just into its opening. The doll moans, the hottest sound they'd ever heard. It was irresistibly wet. They push deeper, coaxing more sounds out of it.

They can't wait anymore. They pull their hand away and quickly adjust the doll's hips to line up with theirs. They push in. They moan. That first thrust, that moment..It was so warm. Precious wrapped around them so tightly. It was so soft. They could die.

"Master!" The doll throws its head back against the pillow, eyes fluttering closed.

The sound goads them on, they pull out halfway and slam back in, forcing a little grunt out of the doll. It’s divine. They lose all control, pulling out again only to pound into them over and over. It’s like religion. They throw their head back, unable to concentrate, focusing on nothing but the feeling of being inside the doll’s precious little pussy. Eventually they slow. Somehow capable of thoughts, they decide not to cum, to savor it instead. They look back down at the doll, the ribbon around one of its hair buns coming loose. It notices their gaze and meets their eyes. It gives them a look of pure adoration. No one’s ever looked at them like this. They reach down and undo both ribbons, letting its hair fall around its face. They run their hand through it.

“You’re so beautiful.”

“Thank you, Ma-” They interrupt it with a sudden, hard thrust. It stutters, distracted by a moan. They bite their lip. Fuck.

They pull away, grabbing its ankles off their shoulders. They gently set them on the floor.

With a huff, they hug the doll around the middle and toss it further back into the bed, against the pillows. It looks perfectly disheveled, but they want it absolutely wrecked.

They crawl up the bed and over the doll, grabbing its face in their hand. They gently turn its head from side to side, admiring every inch of it. They lean down and gently kiss its forehead. The doll looks up through its eyelashes, glowing under the affection.

“You would look even more beautiful with tears in your eyes.” They say softly. “I want to make you cry.”

The dolls cheeks blush a much darker shade than they’d seen them. “I will fulfill all your dreams and desires.” It says confidently.

The doll would enjoy whatever they wanted it to, whatever made its Master happy, no matter what. They knew this, but had never experienced it first hand. It worships them but now, it's starting to make them feel like a God.

Slowly, deliberately, they bring their flat palm against its right cheek and then pull back, slapping it. Precious gasps as its head is wrenched to the side. It turns back to the position they had left it in before and smiles at them, with this perfectly crazy, giddy look. Their lips part, it was all they could do to keep their mouth from hanging open.

They stare at it for a moment. “Good doll.” They slap it again, harder, without warning. The doll gasps again, eyes fluttering open and closed several times before small tears bead in the corners of its eyes. In a moment it gathers its composure, this time having to deliberately put its smile back on for Master. It’s fucking delicious to watch.

They rock back on their knees, back down to the middle of the bed. They gently spread the dolls legs apart, taking a moment to feel the flesh of its thighs in their hands. They line up their hips and push into their doll. They close their eyes briefly, soaking up the feeling of being inside it. Precious moans. The doll wraps its delicate hands around its Master’s wrists on either side of its waist. They rock their hips, fucking it, and they feel drunk. They slap the doll once, as hard as they’ve ever slapped anyone before. This time it doesn’t gasp, but lets out a sharp cry of pain, caught by surprise. They don’t wait to watch its reaction, they just fuck faster and wrap a hand around its tiny, beautiful throat. The little sound Precious was making gets interupted. It can’t even smile anymore. Dolls don’t need to breathe, but they do. There are a lot of reasons for it: more realistic speech and body language, human-like movement, and this.

Precious grabs their wrist again. Poor thing. They slap it again, over and over until its cheeks are ruby red. Whenever they’ve choked human beings like this, their eyes always plead with them, begging them, no matter how much that person actually enjoys being choked. They can’t fight their biology; biology that screams with every single cell to continue living.

Dolls don’t experience fear, at least not the way humans do. They can be taught to act afraid, and they can be very convincing, but that’s just their desire to please.

Its face is red and welting, its hair is an absolute mess, and tears stream down its cheeks. Its eyebrows are raised and scrunched together, mouth wide open as if to get as much air as possible. It’s an entirely programmed expression that the designers knew users would expect to see. But Precious is looking up at them so calmly, so intently. Its eyes convey nothing but pure bliss. They can’t take it. They cum immediately.

Slowly, they sink forward onto Precious’ chest, letting go of its throat. They lay like that for a while, silently, just catching their breath.

#doll k1nk #baby butt #my writing #nsft writing #queer nsft #object k1nk #free use doll #dollification

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