#he is so sun codes that now he's a black hole

[chaoticdelinqueerwithglitter]

Technically, he focused Mikey's dark impulses and made them useful, so... He fixed him in a twisted way?

I mean... Look at Bonten Mikey in the eyes and tell me he's darkness is better without any type of leash, c'mon, do it!

Kisaki about Mikey: "I cant fix him" that's cute. I can break him. I can leave him a shell of a man.

[wakeup01]

Playing It Straight

“Roomieee. I need your help with something.” I hear the telltale high pitched cry from my twinky roommate Yuan’s bedroom. The last thing I need right now is his whiny ass distracting me.

“What it is? I have a date with this hot chick in half an hour. You better have clothes on this time dude.” My hand pushes the door to his room ajar and I see him laying down on the bed facing away from me. There was some upbeat trashy pop song playing on his sound system. Yuan begins to gyrate to the beat. “Don’t dance. No dancing.” I order bluntly, turning off his music.

There was being gay and then there was Yuan, who seemed to make it his whole identity. It was bad enough his room was colour coded in pastel purples to match his dusty lavender hair. But he had now painted the whole door too.

“It’s my big butt, I think there’s something wrong with it.” He announces with fake concern, rolling his hips on the bed sheet - revealing more of his smooth slim body than I ever dared wish to see. I make a internal note to ‘mace own eyes later’.

Yuan was not as innocent as he liked to make out and had on numerous occasions attempted to trick me into indulging in his fantasies. Gifting me a bright crop top and calling it a ‘fashionable tank top’ - it certainly turned heads at the gym the one day I wore it, or inviting me to a progressive club with the promise of scoring ‘lots of ass’. And the less said about ‘locktober’ the better, that was NOT a halloween costume. Only last week he had convinced me to listen to some gay as fuck audio tapes while I slept; obviously that crap didn’t work on a man like me. His justification always being ‘you’ll like it, I swear’. This one was a bit on the nose, even for him.

“Dude we talked about this, I’m flattered, really. I get it, I’m a gay bottoms wet dream. I can’t blame you for eying my superior meat.” I puff out my well built chest, barely contained in my tank top. “But fuck, it ain’t gonna happen.” I attempt to not make eye contact with him as he looks over his shoulder at me.

“No, like seriously. Something feels wrong, can you pleeease juth take a looksee. Pretty please.” He pulls down his shorts and moons me as I shield my eyes. It’s like the sun, you’re safe if you don’t look directly at it, right? Internal note: ‘buy more mace’.

“Serious like when you said we were in a ‘mandatory hand holding zone?” I hear muffled giggling coming from his pillow. “Bro it’s probably from all the things you shove up it.” I shudder, trying not to picture THAT in my head. “I’ll look but only if you promise me that you’ll drop that ‘I know you’re secretly gay bullshit.’ My friends at the gym heard that crap last time.”

“Hehe. Ooo thuch a manly jock. Geez, I pwromise. Meathead.” Yuan winks at me and I hated him for it. Hated the weird way it made me feel in my chest.

I sigh loudly for effect and bend down until the cleft of his…cheek is at eye level. I felt so self conscious, how on earth did he talk me into this? I look at my chiseled body just to remind myself, yes I am a man. A masculine man. God, here we go. My eyes briefly glance across his—ew—his raised butt before I quickly look away.

“Bruh I don’t see a thing. It’s a mans butt. Congratulations.” What the hell am I even looking for? I’m sat on the floor checking out a dude’s��posterior. And for what?

“Come on, look clother.” Yuan insists with a slight lisp, curving his back and pushing his rear higher.” Again, I look at my thick biceps, yes, still a man.

His hands pull at his buttocks and slowly part them, revealing his tight hole to me. Woah. One glimpse was all it took. I should have recoiled but instead I was fascinated. I’d never seen a man’s hole before, it was different…

I hear him say something to me but whatever it was, it didn’t seem too important. I couldn’t stop staring, it was like looking into a black hole, and the more I looked the more enraptured I became. It was distorting my worldview, it made me feel like I had been missing out on something all these years.

“Helloooo! See anything?”

“Uuhhh. Maybe.” I mumble, my head getting closer to his rear.

I pull away his hands and replace them with my own, laying my fingers across his round cheeks and spreading them wider. Wow, it was…dare I say, enticing? The rest of the room faded from my mind as my eyes fall deeper into his needy, winking hole. I lean in and my nose makes contact with his crack. I can’t help myself, I inhale and suck up his scent, it acts like an immediate aphrodisiac. My cock wakes up, poking against the edge of the bed.

“You have been lithening to your programming for me then. Good Meathead. Remember when you were the stuck-up clever one, going to college? That was thuch a bore.”

“Say what bro?” College? Did I…? Nah. That smart shit wasn’t for me bro, my head was like beef central. I haven’t a clue what he’s talking about but I was happy to be a good fucking meathead. Something in my mind told me I was supposed to be. It made me even more pumped about the gym session tomorrow, I gotta bulk up my pecs.

“Make sure to take lots of selfies tomorrow ‘bro’, I need to see your gains.” I continue to breathe in the sweet aroma emanating from his behind. What was I doing again? “So, anything there dummy? How about now?” giggle “Isn’t it likth so big.”

He wiggles his hips and pushes back into my face, my lips making contact with his boy pussy. My eyes go wide. Fuck, this was soo gay. I should be revolted, why am I still down here? I could get up and walk away whenever…whenever I wanted to. Suddenly my mouth felt parched, like I had spent a week in the desert. It became clear where this was going. I’m not sure if I could even stop myself at this point, one tiny thing could tip me over the edge and disintegrate my own self image. It was as If I was having an out of body experience, seeing myself pressed against him. I wouldn’t, I was stronger than this. I was straight. Straight as an arrow… straight as a…

“Eat up jock.”

F—fuck. My lips open and my tongue presses up against his rear, dragging up and down between his cheeks and then swirling around his inviting hole. It was like a dam breaking, once I started I couldn’t stop. I didn’t want to stop. He tasted too good. Ready for the main course, my tongue dives deep into him and begins to eat him out in earnest, my mouth sucking at his entrance like I’m slurping on a ice cream filling.

While giving him a very manly rimjob I think of a solution to our problem. I finish up indulging in his sweet cake and pull my face out, slapping his jiggly butt cheeks.

“So what’s the issue?” He asks impatiently.

“It’s empty for one. Huhuhu. But I can fix that bro.” I say confidently, rushing to remove my underwear so I can finally nut inside him.

I push his skinny back down against the bed and line up my monster cock with his lubricated hole. Yuan moans into his pillow like he should. I slide into him with ease and flex my arms, feeling proud at ‘conquering’ my roommates hole.

“Good Meathead.” He praises between loud panting. “Mmm. But I thought you were straight.”

“I am. Unff. Just helping a bro out. No homo. Though I do need to see if there’s anything wrong with your throat after I plant my seed in your hole.”

______________________________

The next day.

“Man that was a fucking lit workout.” I exclaim, marvelling at my bulging muscles. I tense my arms and see my veins pop, sweat dripping to the floor. “Though you losers sure focused a lot on your glutes today. Hey—aren’t you ‘queens’ gonna shower?” I turn as my gym bros stop behind me in the locker room.

“Well… we spoke to your roommate about your progress yesterday.” Xavier states, removing his damp muscle tee - his dark shiny skin reflecting the harsh lights from overhead.

Yesterday…for some reason my memories from the day before were a blur. For the life of me I can’t remember what happened. There was some strange taste lingering in my mouth that had been making my dick hard all day. My roommate was certainly in a suspiciously good mood this morning too and made some strange comments about me ‘being hungry for more’.

“About what bro? That Yuan can kiss my ass. Huhuh. Come on, stop checking out each others dicks and let’s go!”

“Uh see, he thinks you’re now ready to be our…” I’d never seen him so unsure of himself before, I roll my eyes at him and slam my locker closed.

“Y’all acting like a bunch of girls.” I swear if Yuan is back to spewing his gay bullshit again…

“Go on. Say it.” One of the others insists, nudging Xavier’s shoulder.

Xavier hesitates and then looks away from me, his cheeks flushing red. “There’s uh, there’s something wrong with my…butt…so could you?” The others fail to stifle a laugh.

I do a double take as Xavier turns and points his toned ass at me, his jockstrap framing it like a wrapped gift. “What the fuck? Bruh what are you doing? Put that shit away.”

“Be a good Meathead.”

I see a flash of my roommates butt cross my minds eye. Uhhh. My cock throbs at the image. Before I know it my legs are kneeling behind my friend, what am I doing? My body certainly seems to be one step ahead, my hands grab at his muscled legs for support. “What the actual fuck. Guys…” I’ve never felt so embarrassed, how am I ever gonna live this down?

A hand pulls on the strap hugging Xaviers left buttock and lets go, letting it snap back into place, a slight jiggle vibrates over his firm rear. Was it my hand? I couldn’t even tell.

“Holy shit. I can’t believe those tapes actually worked. He’s come a long way since he was that scrawny nerd, thinking he was above everyone. Now he’s dumber than all of us. We just need Yuan to join us next. Damn someone make sure to record this” It was hard to take in what they were saying, my mind was fixated…elsewhere. One of them leans down to my side and points their phone camera at my zoned out face. “Dude, we stink…I’m next after you.” Someone pats my back as another hand holds my shoulder in place. “Nothing more manly than licking the salty sweat off a bro’s butt.”

No….

Xavier bends forward, his pert dark cheeks pulling apart - sweat glistening on their surface. And then I see it. What my body craved. His hole. Everything falls into place, my mouth watering at the sight, my eyes entranced. I could no longer deny what I wanted, deny the inevitability of what I was about to do. The depravity would be immortalised on camera too, my dumb face shoved in a mans ass. Oh fuck.

The perfect black void nestled between his tight buttocks seems to suck away my shame as I lick my lips. “So manly.” I repeat to the crowd that had gathered around me. Mmm. Rimming a man’s ass was almost as good as fucking it. I wanted a taste of all the guys, their shiny sweaty bodies, their musk. It was my place in the group, I was their meathead after all. My cock was already throbbing at the thought. Maybe Yuan was onto something with this whole ‘gay’ thing. Yeah, let’s try going full homo. Huhuhuh. Anything for the bros, bro.

Looking down at me confidently, Xavier grips the back of my head.

“Clean my hole bruh.”

_____________________________

A few days later I check in on Yuan to see his progress after a few nights obliviously listening to his ‘jocking’ tapes. Dude, I’m going to enjoy watching him slowly bulk up and dumb down. He’s sat up in bed casually tugging at his cock, mouth agape. The heavy thumping bass of trap music is blaring from his speakers. His room is a complete mess.

“How’s it hanging lil bro?”

“Just…mm—wanking.”

“Can see, Meathead. Hung and dumb, nice. I think you’re about ready to join us at the gym.”

“Hmm. Roomie, I—I need your help with something. It’s my big dick…”

“Huhuhu, there’s something wrong with it, let me be a bro and give you a hand with that stick.” I climb over him and wrap my lips around his cock.

“Thuck…ahem. Fuck yeah brooo!”

[urhoneycombwitch]

heated touch

Eddie Munson x Reader summer edition.

foreword: “but Lulu it’s not even summer yet how come you wrote a pool fic” okay first of all global warming. it’s absolutely summer rn. hush up and eat up. 👼

cw: R wears bikini top + skirt, Eddie is Down Bad™️, and is also touchstarved, brief use of the awkward miscommunication trope, R’s baby hairs mentioned but no color or texture, weed mention (Robin is a stoner canon change my mind u can’t), R uses sunscreen (no skin color mentioned), implied plus-sized reader

wc: 3.4k

___

It’s the first real, normal, non-apocalyptic summer that anyone can remember having in a long, long time. 

With the heat index at a sizzling 97 today, various members of the Party have taken over Steve’s half-shaded, half-pool extravaganza of a backyard. The kids are jumping in and out of the bright blue water, splashing and cackling, while you and Robin stretch out like house cats in a sunny patch of grass nearby.

You, mere yards away, in a swim top and sweet little pleated tennis skirt. All that lovely skin on display, glistening in the light. 

And Eddie is sulking, indoors, frozen with lovesickness. There’s condensation dripping from the forgotten can of beer in his left hand; through the window above the kitchen sink, Eddie observes the scene in mournful silence.

“Christ, you really are a pussy.”

Eddie whips around with a glare that would level a normal human being, shushing Steve with a panicked fierceness that only makes the guy chuckle harder at Eddie’s expense. 

“Y’know,” Steve continues with the insults, dipping into the fridge and reappearing with a Fanta and a shit-eating grin- “You might want to try leering like a creep from the garage window. That way no will hear you jack off-”

“Oh, shut the fuck up, Harrington.” Eddie interrupts with a grade-A scoff and eye roll combo, rivaling Steve’s own bitchiness. “Wasn’t your last successful date back in high school, like, six years ago when you had better hair?”

Steve doesn’t even flinch. With condescending sympathy, he sighs and shakes his head of (beautiful-even-when-wet, damn him) hair, snapping the soda can tab with a flourish. “Might wanna hurry up and make a move. Can’t suppress my charm forever just ‘cuz you’re too chicken to man up- it’s not natural to keep all of this hidden away.”

Steve gestures to the broad expanse of his golden chest, dark thicket of hair sitting proud, the scars that he seems to have no qualms over showing off criss-cross along the flex of muscle at his sides. 

Realistically, Eddie knows Steve wouldn’t go after you, not even as a joke. It would defy the honorable and unmentioned Bro Code they’ve lived by ever since Eddie almost died in an alternate hell dimension and Steve valiantly pulled him back topside. 

Teasing, though? It’s Harrington’s godgiven right- especially since Eddie’s so hopelessly in love. It’s almost too easy to get him riled up, to light a fire under his ass to maybe finally get the situation some forward movement. 

Flames lick at the kindling. Steve walks backwards, shooting Eddie one last finger gun and wink before rejoining the boisterous outdoors crowd. Through the crack Steve’s left in the sliding glass door, Eddie can hear that asshole’s cheery voice ring out- “Lookin’ good, ladies!”- and your subsequent peal of laughter. 

Eddie can feel the heat through the black denim at his ass, sweat rushing to prickle at his pits underneath the light layer of tanktop- the one with a high-necked collar and sides long enough to conceal most of his scars. 

Not that he’s trying to hide ‘em, perse... they’re just sensitive to the sun. Plus his black jeans have holes in them, so they totally count as summer attire. He’s basically wearing shorts right now. Steve can suck it.

“Suck it, Steve,” Eddie grits out to no one for good measure, before taking a steadying gulp of beer and stepping bravely out beyond the glass doors. 

It’s shockingly bright, sun bouncing off the surface of the pool and rendering Eddie momentarily blind; he shields his eyes with his free hand in time to catch the tail end of Sinclair’s mid-air somersault.

“Five,” Max calls out, lounging safely out of the splash zone, waves from Lucas’s cannonball lapping at her pink donut pool float. Thick black prescription sunglasses take up half her face, expression unmoved even as her boyfriend splutters in the deep end.

“Are you kidding?” Lucas is indignant as he huffs and treads water. “Gimme at least an eight. Did you even see the flip?” 

“I saw it.” Unimpressed, Max shrugs a freckled shoulder. While Lucas devolves into swearing out his complaints (already with one elbow planted on the concrete to get out and make another attempt at a higher score), Max zeros in on Eddie, one brow arched high in searing appraisal. “You gonna swim with your boots on, too?”

“I’m- shut up, Red. Nice donut.”

Max’s triumphant smirk confirms what Eddie already knows (he totally bombed that comeback), but if there’s one thing in the world Eddie’s good at, it’s Pretending. A trait forged and perfected over the years of being reigning Dungeon Master; it’s served him well during D&D sessions, and when running from the law. 

And it’s coming in handy now, too, as Eddie walks past Steve (half-snoozing in a lounger) and the table of Baby Byers and Wheeler Jr. (playing an intense game of Slapjack), pretending to be totally Normal and Chill as he approaches you and Robin, a ways off from the bustling pool.

Go with what you know, Eddie tells himself, because if he focuses for more than two seconds on the fact that you’re stretched prone, sunlight filtering through the big tree overhead and illuminating the soft curves of your thighs just visible under the Spandex hem of your skirt, he’s gonna have a pressing issue that will be anything but pretend.

Robin’s lying on her back on the beach towel next to yours, a tattered copy of Pride and Prejudice held up close, obscuring her field of vision. Using this to his advantage, Eddie crouches on his haunches, then leans in to press his cold can of beer to the tender arch of Robin’s bare foot.

She yelps, kicking out on instinct (which Eddie was expecting). He manages to take the brunt of the hit with a forearm block, but doesn’t see the paperback coming until it’s hitting the side of his face.

“Ow, christ, Buckley,” he moans, slumping to sit on Robin’s towel, hamming up the victim act for your sake and sympathy while Robin snatches up her book and gives him another solid thwack, pages fluttering.

At the commotion, you’d lifted your head from your arms, leaning into them now with the weight of your upper half. Eddie tries really, really valiantly to not stare at your swimsuit top (practically a bra), and instead distracts himself with the fact that you were giggling. At him. 

Give the boy an inch and he’ll take a mile, Wayne is wont to say of his nephew. Never been truer than now, as Eddie gets drunk off your attention and humors, crowding familiarly and rudely into Robin’s space just to piss her off more and to keep your twinkling-eyed focus.

“Yech.” Robin gags. “I’m not gonna sit here and watch you two flirt up close. I just ate lunch.”

Eddie’s worried that comment will embarrass you into pulling away but apparently, you’re not shying from the accusations of his affection anymore. 

A snort and a sardonic eye roll is what you dish back, and Eddie latches on, delighted to have a Shit Starter in Crime, pushing an honest hand to his chest in faux-shock- “Flirting? Me? I’d never. What an accusation. You’re getting crazier by the day, Buckley.”

The peal of laughter that ripples from you is like a song, vibrating the frequencies between Eddie’s ears, scrambling all the channels with its aching beauty.

Goddamn addictive, he thinks, as the white-out of his hearing fades back to normal. A light, warm wind rustles through the big oak overhead, leaves shushing together; allowing himself a glance at your stretched form, Eddie’s (un)luckily close enough to see the smattering of goosebumps rise on the skin of your arms. 

To observe the way sweat curls the baby hairs near your temple, at the nape of your neck. To see the little creases near the corner of your eyes as you close them, turning your face into the wind, a quiet expression of summer bliss on your face.

Eddie could sit here for hours like a (happy) creep just taking in every minute detail, but Robin starts bitching at him about the weed he still owes her from ages ago, poking her cold toes into the holes of his jeans, mischievous and irritating.

Eddie smacks at her ankles until she pulls them back, matching her argument point for point; it’s not about the weed, of which he’d gladly give- it’s about keeping that smile on your face even as you sit up to start digging through your nearby tote bag.

“And plus,” Robin’s saying, sticking a finger into the dimple of Eddie’s left cheek like the obnoxious little sister he never asked for, “You scratched the everliving hell out of my bike last month when you insisted you were sober enough to ride it home.”

“What’d you want me to do, drink and drive? Not very Just Say No Club of you.” Eddie is operating on autopilot with his responses, absorbed in the way your delicate fingers move inside the canvas of the bag. 

“I wanted the same thing that I currently. Want.” Two more ice-cold prods of her toes into the same spot of his exposed knee. “Three grams, pre-rolled, plus an apology.”

Eddie is about to give in with the promise of the rest of his sizable stash and a bike waxing regimine with his own spit thrown into the mix to get Robin off his case, when the sound of your voice cuts through the bickering. 

In your hand, held aloft and out between the three of you, is a bottle of sun lotion. Your focus is fixed on shaking displaced items back into your bag, not looking as you make a request:

“Babe, would you do my back?”

Eddie moves on instinct before he even has time to process the ask, reaching out towards the palm tree-printed plastic- but for some reason, Robin’s hand collides with his mid-air. Goddammit, Buckley. 

His annoyance at Robin quickly gives way to confusion, then roiling embarrassment as two sets of eyes whip to him, your mouth slightly parted in an o shape and Robin making a squeak of awkward alarm.

You were talking to Robin. Obviously, you were talking to your girl friend to rub you down with lotion. 

Jesus christ, Munson, get a grip.

Eddie lets go at the same time Robin and you draw back, the three of you stammering half-sentences over the thunk of the bottle hitting the ground.

“I meant- sorry, god, sorry, I meant Robin-”

“Fucking- jesus, of course you meant Robin, I’m sorry-”

“Oh god! I can do it! It’s fine!”

There’s a brief pause where all of you stare down at the bottle, as if it holds some great mystery of the world. Or is perhaps concealing a time-bending device that will let Eddie go back twenty seconds to kick himself in the head.

He’s just about to make some lame excuse to fuck off forever when Robin beats him to it, jumping up with a spastic, nervous energy. “Um. Steve’s calling me. So I gotta… see what that dingus wants. You’re good?”

This last part, directed at you; with a quick, reassuring nod, you say “I’m good.” 

Seemingly recouped from the whole debacle, you squint up at Robin- “Eddie’s got it,” and then fixing Eddie with a disarmingly beatific smile- “Right?”

It’s like looking into the sun. Eddie is pretty sure his neurons haven’t been firing properly ever since he caught a glimpse of your thighs earlier. By some miracle, he manages coherence- “Uh-huh. Yep. Right.”

“O-o-kay.” Robin lets the word expand, then gives a dorky two-finger salute and makes for the empty pool lounger next to a snoring Steve.

Then it’s just you and Eddie, blinking at each other from your seats on opposing towels, until you lean to pick up the bottle, this time handing it directly to him. 

An invitation, paired with a smile that still pulls at the corners of your mouth.

Someone jumps noisily into the pool, a few scattered cheers accompanying the crashing water. Red’s distant “Nine-five!” echoes through the backyard and this, of all things, spurs Eddie into unfreezing.

He takes the proffered lotion, shifting to kneel in the strip of grass not covered by either of your towels, waiting and watching for your approval. 

Like something out of a dream, you lower yourself face-down again, hands tucking themselves sweetly into the space between the hollows of your shoulders and the ground. Eyes half-lidded as Eddie scooches closer.

“Just on your back?” He asks, soft, like you’re a deer about to spook (although based on the way his hands are trembling, Eddie’s the more likely candidate for chickening out and running for the hills).

“Mhm. Please.”

Fumbling under your sidelong gaze, Eddie wiggles all the rings from his fingers, stuffing them into his pocket. 

“Too cold,” he explains, feeling fidgety from your eye contact, rubbing his hands together briskly to bring out the warmth and give them something to do other than shake.

Eddie pines for a cigarette, a quick burst of nicotine to steel his nerves. Instead, he picks up the sunscreen, squeezes a quarter-sized puddle into his left hand, and shifts to kneel close as he can without actually bumping his knees into your side.

The sunscreen is already warmed from being out in the heat of the day, so Eddie starts on your left shoulder. Dips his fingers into the puddle, spreads a thin layer on the blade of your shoulder, and rubs it in. 

At first, his touch is gentle and apprehensive, but when your eyes drift shut on the second pass of his fingers, Eddie gets a bit bolder. On your right shoulder, another layer of suncream goes on, but this time, Eddie lets his thumb slip into the grooves under your shoulder blade. 

He runs his thumb along the stripe of muscle next to your scapula, still with pressure light enough to feign keeping to his task, thrilled when you make a soft noise of satisfaction.

“I would’ve asked you, y’know.” 

Eddie pauses, hand resting at the top of your spine, the skin of your neck freshly glistening and tacky from his work. “Asked me what?”

“To do this.” You shrug a shoulder, pointing in a roundabout way at your back. “I just… I didn’t think you’d say yes.”

“Why the hell would I say no to this?” The words are out before Eddie can bite them back and find a much more cool and normal thing to say. He can feel your chuckle, the vibrations of it, the way it causes the muscles in your upper back to move.

Eddie tries to cover his lameness by refocusing on the mission he’s been given, like a heroic knight bestowed with a great honor by a fair maiden… on second thought, he’s got to cut out the fantasy metaphors. This situation is wild and tempting enough as-is without adding a potentially very horny layer to the mix.

“You can get under my top, if you want,” you murmur, lashes dark against your cheek in profile, voice all honeyed and fair-maiden-like. 

Eddie swallows hard. Distributes the rest of the lotion between two palms, rests them just below the black fabric, and then slides up. Underneath the top, your skin is the same- smooth and pliant and sweet. 

“Feels nice,” you whisper, eyes still closed in reverie, sounding sleepy and relaxed.

Eddie is entranced with the way your muscles move under his touch. He applies a bit more pressure to the mid-back area of your spine, dragging his thumbs down on either side. You make another noise, this one closer to a moan, and Eddie’s really glad he’s practiced at the skill of Boner Killer On Command because he wouldn’t dare sully the atmosphere with ill-timed arousal (though his limits are certainly being tested today).

“Sorry about the callouses,” he says, a bit of self-deprecation to fill the air because he’s gotta focus on something other than the way his hand fits perfectly in the center of your low back.

“S’okay. I like them, actually. You’re good with your hands.”

Not for the first time, Eddie is relieved that you’re not looking at him- his ears are burning, on their way to bright pink. Same with his cheeks. “Cool, yeah. That’s good. Um. I play guitar, y’know so… I get around.”

After cringing at himself, Eddie watches the apple of your cheek round upwards with a smile, a sharp flash of your teeth as you say, “I can tell.”

There’s an amiable quiet that falls over the two of you; in the background, splashes and chattering from the pool group float in the air, muted by the warm winds shushing through overhead branches. 

At one point, Eddie realizes he’s covered your whole back in sunscreen and is now just trailing his fingertips over the notches of your spine, starting low and ending near your neck, following the path down again in a loop. If you mind, you don’t say anything, seemingly sated by his touch. 

There’s an aching behind Eddie’s ribs. It squeezes at his heart, makes his next breath pinch- he wants to touch you like this all the time. He’s already hooked. 

All too soon, you’re peeling yourself from the blanket, sitting up with a sheepish smile. Eddie can’t tell if you’re getting shy on him from the touch alone, or if it’s the fact that he’s the one that’s been touching. 

Either way, if Eddie could find a more chill way to say “I’d like to do that every minute for the rest of my life if you’ll let me,” he’d say it to appease any worries you may have. 

Bare knees pulled to your chest, you gesture at the bottle still in Eddie’s hand. “I could… do you, if you wanted?”

Eddie scratches the back of his neck, through the heated curtain of curls. “Nah, that’s okay. My abs won’t be ready to debut until the end of summer. 1993.”

He’s expecting at least a chuckle out of you, but instead, he’s fixed with a kind, all-knowing look. 

The two of you are face to face, your shin close enough to brush Eddie’s ribs as you state, “Not a fan of the heat, are you.”

“What gave it away?” Eddie gestures animatedly at the humidity-fed frizz of his hair, then shakes his head like a wet dog. 

When you catch one of his curls between two fingers he freezes, heart slamming to a pause as you loop it around a knuckle.

“I have some deep conditioner at my place. Could help you out if you wanna come by some time.”

Mere inches from his cheek as you lean in, Eddie squeezes his eyes shut, trying to memorize how you smell- coconutty from the lotion, a bit sweaty, a faint hint of deodorant and the vanilla perfume you spray in the mornings. 

He’s never been this close before. 

He feels electric. Or more accurately, like he’s been electrocuted, and he’s waiting for you to restart his heart. 

“Does that sound good, Eddie? You, me, some hair care… maybe a movie? I can steal some from Family Video. I know a guy.”

At his ear now, your voice is low as you wrap a hand around the inside of Eddie’s arm- it’s his turn to break into goosebumps. “Oh yeah? Willing to steal for me already?”

This earns him a stellar laugh, head tipped back to show the curve of your perfect neck. You shove at him playfully, and he’s about to snap up your hand to bite as payback when your name is yelled from across the yard.

“Come on, we need another unbiased judge!” Max waves urgently from the pool as Lucas and Dustin get into an increasingly loud argument over the Olympic grading system. 

“Goddamn kids.” This comes out much more growly than Eddie intended; you just chuckle and squeeze his arm before pulling away to stand.

Eddie mourns the loss of your body heat until you extend a hand towards him, saying, “Let’s go humor our goddamn kids, and we can talk about dinner afterwards.”

It’s like your hand is made to fit inside Eddie’s. He follows close on your heels, heart thudding a steady, overjoyed rhythm once more. 

[calphalon]

always watching | jason todd headcanons

⤵ pairing: jason todd (red hood) x reader ⤵ tw: all lowercase, possessive behavior, stalking, breaking & entering, one-sided affections, yandere ⤵ note: acts of service are jason’s love language... that and maybe he might like scaring you ⤵ inspo song: black hole sun by soundgarden

hasn’t always gotten this close to you.

at first it was just watching you on the subway, taking note of your commute where it crossed paths with him. watching as you walked down dark streets on your way home from a night shift you picked up.

he didn’t intend to get so invested in a civilian, not so much that he used his patrol routes to keep an eye on you. the later you work, the worse he is about following your every step. so much so that he starts to follow you on foot opposed to watching from just balconies and rooftops.

sometimes he would even follow you during the day, hood up and wearing a mask. you never seemed to notice the man in a red hoodie who sat a few tables down from the dinner you liked, the one who would stare at you the entire time. the one who would order a meal just to pretend like he was sharing a meal with you.

sometimes he would even talk to himself, pretending the two of you were actually on some kind of date like this. other people would notice, but behavior like that in gotham was easily dismissed.

it gets to a tipping point when he notices that you keep a window open poorly locked in your apartment. one next to the fire escape, locks almost as old as the building itself. He tests it one day in the hopes you might want him inside your house, and he takes it as a sign.

his nights begin to end with waiting for you to fall asleep, sneaking in, and taking in a slice of the life he pretends to have with you. there is this delusion that somehow this is your way of silently letting him know you know he is there - watching your every move - and want something more. something real.

you start to notice that the dishes in the sink you left the night before are clean and put away. the hinges that used to squeak on the doors are greased up and no longer make noise. The sink in your bathroom that drips no longer causes you problems.

some things you dismiss as luck. others you try to dismiss as your landlord finally stepping up. there is this uneasy feeling you have now, this feeling of being watched.

maybe it’s when you notice the fridge is stocked up with groceries after you spent your check on bills. maybe it’s the fact your neighbor complained about you letting guests use the fire escape to loiter on. maybe it’s when you noticed the bathroom mirror still fogged up when the morning came despite not taking a shower the night before. maybe it’s that feeling of a second body in the bed even though you know you live alone.

jason has gotten comfortable with this routine. visiting you while you’re asleep, relaxing in your home as if it was his own - of course it was his now, you basically invited him in every night - and enjoying being so close to you.

he gets so comfortable he starts entering your place even when you’re awake. listening to you shower, watching you cook breakfast, taking note of how sweet you look so domestic. he can practically imagine what life would be like once you’re his.

something puts you on edge, causing you to call out of work. you start asking friends to stay over. you’ve even started to look at new apartments, worried that maybe someone has been secretly living in your cheap one-bedroom hole-in-the-wall while you’re away… and maybe while you’re still there.

he gets sloppy. purposely sloppy. jason thinks he might like the way you’re scared, constantly checking if other people have been having similar issues in your area. checking if any convicts escaped recently. looking over your shoulder even in your own home.

you do move, find a slightly better place with a code to get in the building and someone downstairs watching who enter and exits.

for a little while there is the ability to feel comfortable again…

then you wake up to a new coffee maker on the kitchen counter with a note attached, letting you know he likes the new place better than your last.

“the windows lock better here. enjoy the housewarming gift.”

[abibliophobiaa]

firstly I love your new blog layout it’s so fucking cute, secondly I love you 💕 thirdly, for your baby prompts, I’m thinking……… butterfly

happiness is a butterfly

got a little carried away with this one. 3k words of modern day!best friend!eddie munson x afab!reader. contains: fluff, alcohol, confessions of feelings, bisexual reader, two friends in a room who might kiss (they do), suggestive innuendo (eddie’s a sweetheart), and argyle’s matchmaking ways. thank you @breddiemunson and @ghost-proofbaby for always calming my wild thoughts, and katie’s line where eddie asks reader not to make him say what she already knows. genius, that one.

-

“happiness is a butterfly

try to catch it like every night

it escapes from my hands into moonlight…”

happiness is a butterfly - lana del rey.

-

Photo after photo. Swipe after swipe. Endless hopefuls that aren’t really hopefuls, because there aren’t many of those in Hawkins these days.

No—there are merely boys, wearing the skin of men, playing with hearts with a carelessness that leaves damage in their wake. Leaves your heart ripped to shreds; battered and bruised. Wounded, but not broken, with jagged lines where smooth surfaces had once been.

Tonight is no different. Tonight you mourn your relationship with Travis. Travis, who played hockey and apparently a different girl or guy in every state. You’d only found out through social media.

One of the girls he brought back to his hotel room had posted an image on her story while he slept, which then surfaced on another person’s social media account, and then eventually became a social media article on some gossip website you couldn’t, for the life of you, be bothered to remember.

You suppose the “Travis debacle,” as Eddie has been calling it, is your fault. A guy from out of town. The allure of some famous player with a broken down car in front of the Hideout, where you worked as a bartender, that you’d had your friend Eddie fix up as a favor.

You’d tossed him his keys as the sun set, burnt orange and red across the summer sky, and he’d asked, “How much?”

And suddenly you’d spent the week welcoming him around Hawkins, as well as the intricacies of your susceptible heart. Had preened and praised him while he perused his options in the next town over on his problematic apps.

The same apps you’re now frowning at, watching the population around you continue to dwindle with every pass of your thumb.

“You know, they say insanity is—”

“Doing the same thing over and over again and expecting a different result.”

You shoot a glare Eddie’s way, watching his dexterous fingers pull his hair back into a makeshift bun at the back of his head. Those same fingers reach down to grab your glass, chipped black nail polish capturing your attention as he draws your drink up to his lips and takes a long sip.

“Tequila. Travis really fucked up.” He chuckles. The movement has his cropped shirt billowing around his hips, tattoos on his sides visible where the holes his arms extend through as he settles down beside you. “You know, I think you need to ditch the apps. I did, and I’m much better for it.”

“You got a puppy a few weeks ago,” you point out, finger jabbing him in the ribs. He hisses, cupping his pec. “Getting a puppy is code for throwing in the towel.”

“Ozz is the cutest puppy, I’ll have you know. Look—” He waves to Gareth as he passes by, drumsticks twirling in his hands. “Delete the apps. Take a break. Isn’t there some quote about happiness? That Nathaniel Hawthorne one. You know, the ‘happiness is a butterfly’ one you used in a paper back in school.”

“One, I can’t believe you remember that.”

Your nose wrinkles at the thought of your teenage years. Of you with braces and he himself being the first person to welcome you to sit with him on your first day of school, snapping at Jason Carver when he’d brushed by you and thumped your shoulder a little too hard for his liking.

“And two, the quote is actually ‘happiness is like a butterfly, which, when pursued, is always beyond our grasp. But, if you will sit down quietly, may alight upon you.’”

“So stop chasing it. Just let it happen. C'est la vie. Carpe diem. Voulez-vous coucher avec moi ce soir?”

You don’t even bother letting him know none of those things mean what he thinks they do.

“Eddie.”

He loops his arm around your neck. Presses a kiss against your temple. You lean into his embrace, comfortable warmth that seeps into your bones and floods you with familiarity.

He’s hard lines against your softer edges. Inky tapestries of collected memories that tell a tale of his adventurous life on the forearm tangled in your hair. His ring-clad fingers delight in toying with the tips, hair shifting between digits like water.

Calming and soothing Eddie. A constant in your life since you were teenagers, now going on ten years of friendship later. Someone you’ve always been able to turn to at the end of the day; someone who never once questions your motives, even if he might suggest you try different methods to your lifestyle habits.

And now, your dating habits.

“I’m just saying it’s worth a try.”

-

Maybe you don’t stop right away. Maybe it takes a date with Joe, Jim and Jessica to realize the truth of Eddie’s words. Maybe there’s some weight to pushing it all aside, stepping out of the way of your own preconceived timeline, and allowing someone to walk in at the right place and time.

And on a night such as this, where Corroded Coffin are getting set up on stage and citizens are packing out the bar to see the increasingly popular band play, it’s easy to remember why swiping on your phone has brought you here. To asshole Andy Lerman standing before you while you work. Basketball coach at Hawkins High and douchebag royalty from what you remember of him back in your years of teenage angst and adolescence.

He’s had a few drinks now. You know because you’ve served him. But all they’ve done is instill courage in him to step over to the girl who people teased in school for being a “freak fucker” by merely being associated with Eddie, claiming time ‘really did wonders for you.’

He’s staring at your tits when he says it, and it takes everything in you to not toss his next drink in his face. But in a town where money is hard to come by, and there’s not much to do by way of work, bartending pays the bills, and you’re not about to mess up one of the few good gigs left.

“Andy, it’s really not going to work,” you tell him, “but here. Your last one of the night…on me.”

With a quick pat to his shoulder, you send him on his merry way with a fuller pocket and a story to warp when regaling his friends with the time he pity-invited the “freak fucker” on a date.

“Don’t look now, my lady, but Eddie Munson is staring at you,” Argyle says, working on mixing a margarita beside you for a patron.

“He’s not staring at me,” you retort, sliding a vodka soda across the bar, thanking your customer for the hefty tip they toss your way. At Argyle’s raised brow, you reiterate, “he’s not.”

“He’s always staring. That’s the look Eden gives me. You know, the look of someone in l—”

Argyle’s words are cut short as Eddie appears on the other side of the bar, bare elbows pressing against the counter, hair falling out of his ponytail, bangs long overdue for a cut shifting every time he blinks.

“Are you okay?” He asks, thanking Argyle as he passes him the beer he knows he prefers. At your arching brow, he continues, “I saw Andy Lerman flirting with you. You looked uncomfortable.”

You snort, getting to work on a moscow mule. “That’s because I was uncomfortable. But I took care of it. I appreciate you always looking out, though.”

He reaches over and grabs your chin. Gives your head a little wiggle until you’re grinning against his palm. Then reaches his fingers over toward you, rests them so gently against your curled palm resting on the bar and pauses. He waits a moment and closes his ringed fingers into a fist, knocking his knuckles against yours.

Then he’s off toward the stage to get ready, leaving you with a knot in your throat and warmth prickling against your skin.

Argyle passes you a knowing smile and before you can yell at him to get back to work, embarrassment roiling in your chest, he announces he’s going to take a quick break and call his wife.

His words spin in your head once more. Comparing Eddie’s gazes to Eden’s. To the nature of the depth in which he cares for you. But you shake your head free of it.

You’ve been unlucky in love.

It couldn’t be so simple.

-

Argyle’s words don’t change much in regards to your Eddie conundrum.

They’re a phantom in the back of your mind. Wispy tendrils of a memory that feels distant now.

Weeks pass, and the warm heat of summer in Hawkins turns to a sweltering hell on earth.

The Hideout becomes quieter most evenings. Those with air conditioning prefer to stay home, remain by their pools, to host gatherings where alcohol and coolers are plentiful.

And you don’t blame them, letting out a long huff as you wipe down the counter, while Argyle counts your tips.

“Oh, how was that date with…Paul, was it?” He muses thoughtfully, beginning to split the money.

“Not great.”

“You said that about the last three. What was wrong with this one?”

And that’s the thing. You sit across from these people, trying to force a square into a circle, trying to sparse out the qualities that they’re lacking.

Not funny enough. Not the right hair color. They lack that unruly smile. That glimmer of brightness in their amber eyes. There’s no dimple in Paul’s cheek. No banter on your date with Jeremiah. Caleb doesn’t like metal, and Kayla thinks D&D is a breeding ground for satanism (you’d thought that one was left in the 80s, but it appears not).

“He said Dio was overrated.”

“Interesting,” Argyle laughs, shaking his head.

You whirl around, damp bar towel flicking water his way. “What’s so interesting?”

“Just funny when two people are so obviously similar and don’t even see it,” he says, humming to himself, conversation over.

And that was that.

-

It’s funny, you think, that it only hits you then.

Like the flutter of butterfly wings on your flowerbeds you’d managed to stumble upon earlier that morning, the flicker of wings on a bird in the sky. The soft beating of both, like the constant thump of a heart in a chest.

A constant.

It’s the word everything hitches on as you sit on that work table in your garage, watching the man who stopped everything he was doing when you’d called earlier at the drop of a hat. All just to make sure you were okay.

That same person who is now up to his elbows in grease, fingers stained an oily black. With his hair pulled away from his face, you catch the determined line of his mouth, the jut of his tongue pushing lightly against pink lips. The corded lines of his arms move as he works, barest hint of stomach on display when he reaches up to slam the hood of your car down once it’s finished.

You toss him a towel, grinning at the shadowy form of him blocking the sun from your eyes. “Sorry you’re doing this instead of the movies.”

“Stop that. You know I’m happy to spend any time with you, sweetheart,” he laughs, wiping the planes of his face that are streaked like the fingers pressing against terry cloth to keep it in place. “Fixed the alternator and did an oil change. Seeing as you always forget anyway.”

He walks over slowly, grunting when your sandaled foot kicks him playfully in the kneecap. “That was why my car made that awful sound and shut off?”

“Exactly.” He curls the towel around his neck. “Day is still young. How about we—”

“Why’d you delete all your dating apps?”

The words fall from you in a rush. A swift exhale that has Eddie’s back drawn ramrod straight. Rigid, but not with anger. Instead, you watch that full mouth part just slightly. Like the words he had been about to say were lost to the wind, left to titter away into nothingness.

He swallows audibly, palm sliding over the towel across his neck. “I…just didn’t see the point in them.”

Determination hardens your resolve. Brings to attention Argyle’s teasing these weeks. The wondering, questioning, burgeoning curiosities brimming. So you utter a simple, “Why?” and try your damndest to ignore the nerves welling up in your chest at the fear of what comes next.

“Just kind of felt like I was using them to get over someone else,” he admits, taking a step closer.

Your bare knees brush the tops of his thighs. Warmth seeps into your skin, bristles at his touch.

Dark eyes drag along your form. Along the dress you wore that evening, covered in flowers, a thin thing that would have fluttered in the wind if you and Eddie had been able to do what you’d planned for the day. Simple drive to the lake to eat some lunch, share a joint and fish (a new hobby he'd picked up from his uncle), then movies at the theater when the sun had set.

You meet his stare. Remind yourself of those eyes that had been on you the whole time Andy had leaned over the bar just weeks ago. Ready at any moment to come to your aid, should you have needed it. He’s never pushed you, never crossed the boundaries of your friendship, trusted you knew best.

But he’d always been there if you ever needed a hand.

You only ever needed to reach out.

Always.

You swallow thickly. “Who?”

“Don’t make me tell you what you already know.”

It’s quiet. A plea for pity that has your heart clenching within your chest.

But it’s not scary.

It’s not frightening at all.

Dozens of memories flash behind your eyes.

Of teenage years, laughing in the cafeteria, trading snacks, sneaking off to the woods between classes to smoke. Of you in community college, and his van screeching through the parking lot to take you to lunch between classes. Of nights at his place, your place, the movies, around town. Of ice cream at Lover’s Lake with his van doors swung wide, trying to make out the shapes of the clouds in the sky.

Birthday parties, milestones, weddings, grieved losses.

To highs and lows and everything in between. To all those shitty dates, to his own failed dating escapades. To that time you had to ice his lip in the back of the Hideout when Jeff had accidentally elbowed him in the face, or when you’d fallen off Max’s skateboard and ripped open your shin and he’d had to hold your hand while he disinfected it.

To this very moment, where he’s just finished fixing your car. To him with his dirty palm tapping lightly against your kneecap, feet shifting awkwardly beneath him.

Your head tips up and you catch the downturn of his lips, frozen in time by your prolonged silence.

Argyle was right.

“What?”

You hadn’t realized you spoke out loud, but confusion swirls behind Eddie’s gaze all the same, mollified only when your hand snakes up around the back of his neck and drags him downward to your level. Only when you pour your affection into him where you’re finally, lovingly, connected at last.

The fullness of his mouth against the softness of yours is hesitant at first, like his brain needs a moment to catch up to his current reality, before he’s tipping your head up with his hand. Until his fingers slide across your cheek, cupping you gently, easing you closer to him.

Before long he’s gripping you closer. Deft fingers in the dough of your thighs, tugging you flush against him, skirt indecently high up on your hips. But you don’t care. Not as your ankles lock around his waist, nor as he hums into your throat while he leaves a sloven path along your skin, learning the sounds you make when he’s tender, sweet—when he scores his teeth against your pulse point and you melt like putty beneath his devotion filled fingertips.

Ten years. Ten years of watching that silly butterfly float away into the sky, only for it to have been there all along.

Only for it to have been the man with his forehead against yours, noses flush together, your fingers beneath his shirt and his around the bend of your kneecaps.

You’re not sure where you start and he ends, but even that incites a new thrill, a new world to explore further. A desire to know the depths of him beyond the limit of friendship.

“Argyle got to you too, huh?” At your nod, Eddie barks out a laugh. Kisses you softly. “Fuckin’ guy thinks he’s Cupid or something.”

“I don’t want to talk about Argyle right now.”

Eddie’s lips curl into a grin. The whites of his teeth flash in your gaze, your fingers trailing along his stubble-lined jaw.

“I don’t either.” His thumb comes to swipe at your cheek, dimple in his cheek twitching slightly. “Got you a little greasy. Just…ten years, you know? Got a little carried away.”

You nod, reaching out to lace your fingers with his. He watches as you hop down from the work table, brow arching curiously as you tug him toward the door leading into your home. “Well, like you said, we’ve got ten years to catch up on. So before I kiss you more, Edward Munson, we’re going to shower.”

“We?” He swallows, voice hoarse. “Like a two people conserving water shower?”

You enter the small laundry room, humming as his chest brushes your own, his weight just enough against yours to press you into the lip of your drying machine. Cool metal chills your skin at the open back of your dress, balanced by the heat of the knee that slides between your thighs to pin you in place. Your body both buzzes with life and oozes honey into your system as you melt into him, pliant under that smoldering dark gaze of your best friend in front of you.

“We,” you nod, grinning into his kiss. “After that we’re cuddling on the couch and ordering a pizza.”

“And tomorrow…I’m taking you on a date.”

-

🦋

[themoonweaversden]

Messeges that were found so far: AD ASTRA PER ASPERA (spoilers)

This is just to collect all the codes that you can type in in thisisnotawebsitedotcom.com and their effects only (please click images for better quality)

Masterpost with all messeges / codes

Transcript:

"CIPHER'S CORPSE?

I spent yesterday with Mabel applying apells, curses and unicorn hair to the base of Cipher's remains. Mabel is talking her role as my "Cipher Defense Squad Assistant" very seriously, but asked us both to wear witch hats for some reason, which I happily abliged! I have always seen Dipper as cut from a similar cloth as me, but I'm delighted to report that Mabel has a vibrant curious mind well suited to discovery and adventure. Anomalies are indeed present at the site of the statue. Nearbye shadows stretch into triangular shapes, compasses point directly away from Cipher, (as though he is the anti-North.) There is no sound, not even birds will come near. Mabel, perhaps sensiing my unease, threw an impromtu eulogy for Bill, which involved a lot more sock puppets than you usually expect at a funeral.

"Goodbye Cipher, you are dead. Blown up in my Grunkle's head. Too much power hurt your soul. Reincarnate as a vole. Amen.""

Transcript:

"←SOUVENIR PEN QUESTION MARKS DRAWN TOWARDS STATUE!

Wise words from my assistant.

His «funeral» gave me a bittersweet sense of closure. How strange it is to look back on it now. I once considered him the center of my life, the sun in my galaxy, when all along he was a black hole sucking everything bright into his bottomless ego.

Is this statue the lost, sun bleached husk of a powerless forgotten failure? Or a warning of something sinister yet to come? You tell me, dear reader.

What do YOU see when you look in Cipher's eye?

Ad astra per aspera, STANFORD and MABEL PINES"

Speech bubble: "No way! I like sweaters & writing in my diary too!"

[stormypasta88]

mike has this weird thing where he feels this urge to just be held and comforted but he feels guilty for craving comfort so he doesn’t ask anyone for it and just holds onto his pillow a little tighter that night when he goes to bed. will can always tell when mike gets like this, and sometimes catches it before mike does. and so he created a cheat code. 

it started one summer when they were around 9 years old, hanging out in mike’s basement as a desperate attempt to escape the evil indiana sun. their escape attempt only helped for so long, and will could see that mike was starting to grow restless with his need to be held. so will does the very first thing that comes to mind to get them out of this situation. he asks mike if his mom bought any popsicles.

mike, thoroughly confused, says yes and gets up and leads will upstairs to the freezer where they keep the popsicles. mike goes to grab one out of the freezer when will suddenly throws his arms around his waist. it’s way too hot for hugging, especially so close together, but it just feels right to hold onto mike. mike hesitantly wraps his arms around will too, about to ask what this is about when will cuts him off. 

“you’re a great friend mike, i’m so glad we’re best friends.” 

and suddenly 9 year old mike wheeler can breathe again and that random urge is gone.

there were very few instances where mike would get this urge since the very first popsicle, but will was always there to fix it. mike would get these urges out of nowhere, and will would always notice and hug/ show mike affection quietly and ask for a popsicle. 

no matter the weather, they would always have popsicles. whenever will asked for one, mike would always throw himself into will’s arms and make himself as small as possible, as if he were trying to fit inside of will’s ribcage. 

it was always accompanied with small words of praise and affection, small bandaids placed over the cracks in mike’s wilted self-esteem. will could never piece together why these urges were happening, and what made them so frequent but he always knew how to fix it.

when all the upside down nonsense started to happen, mike’s urges were doubled in frequency, but will couldn’t ever fix them because mike had el now. 

mike would never admit it, but el never soothed the urge as well as will ever did. she made it better, yes, but she didn’t make it go away like will did. 

when the byers and el moved away to california, mike started to ignore those urges and put his time into small time hobbies and lollygags to get his mind off the clawing ache in his chest.

the worst urge that mike and will had ever experienced together came shortly after vecna had put max in the hospital, mike and el had their big breakup fight and the world was generally going to shit. the wheeler family home was decided to be homebase, and there were always multiple bodies in multiple spaces in multiple times. except mike’s room, which only held mike and will. no one else. 

a few days after the california crew returned to hawkins, mike found himself sat on his bed facing the wall, and just feeling a hole carve itself into his chest, leaving a soul-crushing bitter emptiness in its place. wrapping his arms around himself and hugging a pillow didn’t help and so he continued to stare blankly at the wall. will walks in to find mike staring, absently clawing at his chest through his thin black t shirt.

he walks around the bed to sit next to mike before slowly wrapping his arm around his waist and putting his head on mike’s shoulder. the room is quiet, the only sound is the faint arguing of meaningless topics below, and mike’s quiet, shuddering breath. only to be interrupted with a quiet,

“hey mike? do you guys have any popsicles?”

[vuldak-juneau]

Who: @zagreusx Where: We didn’t talk about this, so an undisclosed location :’ )  When: Last full moon before the siege on Aventia Notes: Let me know if any of this doesn’t match with what we chatted about/needs changing. I yap yap yap and I give you nothing but we didn’t talk about how he’d make himself known in the morning so let me know if you prefer to discuss that and I can adjust the end here. 

Juneau still saw shifting under the full moon as a miserable burden since her soul had become corrupt and she’d become a vuldak. What had once been a liberating experience was now sobering and the sacrifice demanded to sustain herself felt like a heavy weight. The first months in her new form had been eased by Alder helping her find an unwilling victim for consumption, but Alder continuously pushed her toward independence. This month, they had discussed in great detail where she might find a soul for consumption that aligned with their moral code before Juneau was sent off to follow through on her own. Alder was available to her for support or as a fall back if needed, never quite too far from her, but never permitted by the blonde to witness her shift. That same sense of shame didn’t seem to permeate her abyssal, bestial form, but it resurfaced when the sun arose. Now, the moon hung high in an inky black sky, and regret was a long forgotten concept as blood and sinew dripped from her jaws. 

Steam still rose from the spilled blood strewn across Juneau’s feeding ground and, in her vuldak form, she had barely finished licking her chops when she sensed movement from not far in the brush. The blighted wolf emitted a low, guttural growl only to be met with the threat of flames that licked out toward her but did not quite touch her. Regardless, instinct overrode logic in her untrained form and her base, thoughtless reaction was to retreat. Whatever had produced the flames pursued her, driving her back but never going so far as to harm her. They seemed fully capable of the strategy that the abyssal beast lacked, easily driving Juneau to the sheer wall of a cliff cornering her with little option for escape. With few options but to attempt to fight back, the great demonic wolf felt the ground give way beneath her, sinking down into a deep pit, the top of which was nearly impossible to reach. As the wolf looked up at it, she found the perimeter was rimmed not with the illumination of the light of the moon, but the flames that had chased her this far.

Despite the near impossibility of scaling the walls of the pit and the threat of the fire, Juneau spent hours attempting to escape. Deep claw marks were scratched into nearly every inch of the surface of the walls around her, she snarled and howled until she could emit little more than a hoarse, unrecognizable lamentation, she paced and whined hour after hour after hour convinced of her impending, second death until slowly the great lumbering beast at the bottom of the hole depleted its every ounce of energy and collapsed under the weight of its own exhaustion. Silence finally overtook the sounds of struggle, the quiet lasting until the moon retreated and the light of dawn cut through the shadows of the deep pit.

Miraculously still alive and much more herself in her human form, Juneau did not wait for whoever or whatever might still be at the surface to come for her. Roughed up with bruises and blood in her nail beds from the struggle the night before, she managed to scale the walls of he pit and climb her way out now guided by logic rather than base instinct alone. She ignored the pain in her limbs and fingers--she'd be good as new in a matter of hours. Her exhaustion permeated her human form, made clear by the bags under her eyes and the hollow look in her eyes as she scanned the immediate surroundings suspecting she was not lucky enough to find herself alone.

[lunar-disillusionment]

Sideblog MasterPost:

Heyo! This is my Sideblog for TSAMS and DCA brainrot, actual this just FNAF in general with the exception of Undertale. Here I will reblogging or posting all things related these particular fixations at the moment.

I will also be further explaining TSAMS AUs a bit more throughly here as well so if you have questions you may them whenever!

Navigation: Moon Musing is for reblogs, Puppet Strings is for talking/lore for AUs, Storyweaver is for whenever I decide to drop a story out of thin air, Mix n’ Match is for Crossover ideas

My Main Rule: Don’t Start Nothing. Won’t Be Nothing

RP BLOGS:

Characters you can ask about/talk to:

[NEWST OC] Luminos Lunar Eclipse: My DCAsona/OC. They were salvaged from the PizzaPlex and taken to a different location. They sun code had been removed and the Eclipse and Moon one fused. Creating Luminos.

Marionette Moon: An advanced Moon/Puppet Model that is a being that likes to create things and has a messed up past

Wonder! Eclipse/Penumbra: A version of Eclipse that technically won. They are fusion of what used to be Sun and Moon, now formally known as Helios and Lunaris.

Titan Moon: My DCA OC who was unfortunately discarded by Fazbear and now has trust issues and is incredibly envious of Sun and Moon (but his luck may change after meeting the individuals @stardusttheaters )

My iteration of Eclipse: FNAF SB DCA OC who is my take on Canon Eclipse. He’s a real sweetheart who simply loves his job and wants to help whoever he can (He’s in a relationship with his Sun and Moon)

Burning Eclipse: My version of Black Hole/Total Eclipse, who is a living code of the old Daycare Attendant. He isn’t evil just really eccentric due to being alone for a very long time

Eviscerate and The Terror Twins: Transformers OCs inspired by Killcode and Bloodmoon. Eviscerate is just a tired parent trying find his kids again and Butcher and Scythe are chaotic Energon siphoning urchins

DCA! Spring Bonnie: She assists Sun & Moon in the daycare, doing all she can to help them out. But she’s unfortunately got a little secret.

Volatile Sans: He’s a variant of Dust who’s pretty unpredictable at times and kills just for EXP. Only problem is that he can’t kill Papyrus’s…he’s tried many times and can’t do it

Callisto: Callisto is a version of Sun who lost her Moon to Vanny because their Moon was digging too much and got caught. So Callisto enacts her revenge for her partner but ends up getting trapped in a pit full of Disassemble Bots and had fought her way out.

(Newer) Camomile the Medic Sun: As the name implies Camomile is a repurposed Sun model who programmed to tend to humans and sometimes animatronics. She’s very grumpy but she cares.

(Newest) Rune: Rune is another Transformers OC inspired off of a TSAMS character, they happen to be inspired off Ruin.

[punkforkos]

Hi I adore your art and character designs so much!! If you are still open for the ask game,

🔥 - elemental symbolism(fire vs water, sun vs moon, etc)

🎵 - music symbolism(we all desire a musical soundtrack for our ocs, what instruments wpuld you choose for a theme? do you already have songs that you associate with them?)

🌷 - flower symbolism

For Solaire and Dante(any of your ocs tho, they're all great!)

hi!! aaa thank you so much!!!!! ;w; and ty for the ask!!

I have So Much to say about these symbolism questions so I'll include my responses below the cut!! <33

🔥 Elemental Symbolism 🔥 (How perfect!! These are my two most elementally aligned ocs hehe)

💙 Dante: Water/Ice --

Dante is a fathomless warlock pirate, with a heart that's been frozen over by his hatred. His body has become cold to the touch itself... and he now feels most at ease whenever he is near the water. Able to sink away and drown his problems. For Dante, their elemental symbolism comes from what they are deprived of... they have grown so cold because they are missing the warmth from their life and it has turned them into a cutthroat betrayer. With the abundance of water, they sink farther down away from the light of the surface, until they can no longer properly find their way back up... becoming more and more corrupted over time. Losing themself. Losing sight of what it was all for in the first place. And if I had to assign them a celestial body, I would say they feel like a black hole. Always wanting more, yearning, yet feeling so empty when it consumes. Black hole as a metaphor for their depression, grief, and despair and how hard it is to escape it once they've fallen into it. Now nothing else can escape it either.

🧡 Solaire: Fire, Sun --

He's a phoenix fire sorcerer who was named for the sun. To me, the thing that summarizes him best is that one post that's like "character who is sun-coded, in the sense that they burn hot, bright, and powerful." they're a raging fury of fire and passion but that power becomes oh so destructive. it destroys themself and it destroys those around them. Fire and the sun are both extremely versatile elements... they are necessary to live-- they keep us warm, they give us light, they grow and cook our food, and they are beautiful... but if used improperly or if you're overly exposed to them... you will burn. you will be hurt. That's Solaire. He has so much burning potential and power within him, but so frequently is that passion used for the wrong reasons, it has been nurtured in such a poor way that he can only destroy. He can only burn and burn and burn and it destroys everything around him, including himself.

^^ As a bonus, here's an outfit I made for Solaire based on the sun!

🎵 Music Symbolism 🎵 (This is gonna be more of an instrument symbolism/association moment haha... also I'll throw in their playlists here for fun too!)

💙 Dante: Guitars ---

Dante is like music that wants to be understood and oozes emotion and passion. A guitar is the perfect instrument to tell a story-- it can express quiet contemplation, somberness, a moment of calm peace, a meandering tune, a passion-filled adventure, and even anger if you play it right. A guitar has always been Dante's personal instrument of choice too, because of how versatile it is regarding sound and conveying what he wants to convey. It's an outlet. It speaks from the soul. EXTRA: This song is REALLY fitting for them though-- It's a guitar's final song, being played as it's taking on water. Creating a beautiful, yet somber song meant to be a goodbye. >> Dante's Playlist | Dante's Guitar Playlist <<

🧡 Solaire: Orchestral Music ---

If I had to give him a soundtrack, he'd definitely have a lot of orchestral music! Instruments like pianos, violins, cellos, and... harpsichords LOL. It's dramatic and grand, it's refined but captivating, it causes your soul to swell... generally speaking, these instruments require a lot of experience and training to master. They're held in high esteem, just like a certain noble tiefling sorcerer who places so much value in his powers, status, and image. >> Solaire's Playlist <<

^^ Another bonus!! Outfit designs for Dante based on the concept of 'Bleeding Hearts.'

🌷 Flower Symbolism 🌷

💙 Dante: Spider Lily (death, departure, and last goodbyes), Bleeding Hearts (their party is called The Bleeding Hearts! Bleeding hearts symbolize love and sorrow) 🧡 Solaire: Rose (beauty with thorns) << it seems simple but like. that's also the point!! for him, genuinely it's about the striking image of a rose, how classic it is, how it immediately draws forth the idea of passion and elegance. It's a flower that's all about image because of how strong its associations are!!

I'm trying out some new ways to represent a lot of text! Hopefully it reads well wahh !! Ty again for the ask!! I had fun thinking about these responses.

[vivanightcity]

Keep saying I'm going to do more oc stuff and then never do shit or post shit. That changes now!

NAME: Jonathan Benjamin Ody GOES BY: Jack AGE: 23-ish (No real set age, really, I go back and forth on what age I want to write him. I usually default to saying he dies at 23 though, but that's just the start of shit ya know.) SPECIES: Genetic witch (Very roman catholic coded stylized italian witchy stuff.) GENDER: Guy ORIENTATION: Gay INTERESTS: Magic, dogs, cooking, bikes PROFESSION: ???? He uses whatever gig economy app hasn't banned him or realized he's the same person yet. Both mundane and magical ones. Also runs an onlyfans (Or whatever the current equivalent is.) ABILITIES: Illusion magic comes naturally, the mind fucky kind. Mild conduit, nothing like his dad, but has an easier time absorbing wild magic or other external sources. Unknown, but like, an emotional intensity resonance with the weather. Extreme emotions will cause whatever the current weather is to become the more extreme version of its self. (Snow becomes a blizzard, clear skies triggers a heatwave) EYES: Green. Sun bleached grass. HAIR: Light brown/dark blonde, depends on where you want to put it. Also depends on how much sun he’s been getting. Just below his ears, messy, floppy, always looks a bit unwashed. SKIN: Cool pink undertone, light, often decently tanned from work. HEIGHT: 5ft10

TATTOOS: A stick and poke smoking alien on his left wrist, and an alien in a rainbow cowboy hat on his right. A neotraditional of a red yucca, fire wheel, and blue bonnets, on his right upper arm. CLOTHING: Everything is either too big, or too small. Worn down, second hand, full of tears and holes, everything could do with a wash. Stained, bit gross. His shirts are either weird thrift store finds or rude weird shit he thought was funny. PERSONALITY: Stubborn, bitter, angry, dumbass. But if you manage to get past him purposefully sabotaging a friendship and pushing people away, he's a confused idiot softie desperately trying to make anyone proud of him. COMPANIONS: Sometimes, depending on age or verse, he has a black and white sheltie named Lemonberry ANTAGONISTS: His dad? Himself? Anyone and everyone? SMELLS: Perpetual weed stink on all his clothes, stale beer, lingering smell of a storm and worn leather. FRUITS:  Cherries, pineapple DRINKS: root beer, anything cheap if he's buying ALCOHOLIC BEVERAGES? Yep. Has been a routine drinker from a young age.  SMOKES? Yes but not tobacco. DRUGS? Yeh. Like drink answer though, if he's buying it's just trash weed only, if someone else is footing the bill, he's adventerous and doesn't care about his family's history of addiction issues. It obviously isn't going to have any ramifications on him at all.

RANDOM HEADCANONS

His accent is a bit of a mess. There're bits of an affected 'texan' accent - he only lived in Austin for a few years - a lot of rural upstate NY, and raised by someone with a tidewater accent. So he will shift and alter as he talks and it's inconsistent. Somewhat intentional. He doesn't want people pinning down anything about him.

Reckless and self destructive, gets himself hurt a lot, especially if there's a level of plausible deniability that oh he didn't cause that, someone else did. Sure he picked a fight but the other guy is the one who beat him to shit. He didn't want that.

On that note, he will pick fights, chirp, front, and be a little shit. But the idea of causing actual harm to anyone, or anything, freaks him the fuck out. Shaking unwell panic levels. He's caused enough real harm, enough death. He can't be responsible for any more.

Owns a shearling lined denim jacket that originally belonged to his granddad, the man he's named after. It's been singed, ripped, repaired, patched, drawn on, for decades. But each stitch, each mark, has magic and protection woven into it. It kept his dad safe, and his dad gave it to him to keep him safe. He cut the arms off it and tore it apart when his dad died, then had that horrible sinking disgusting realization that he'd done something he couldn't repair. So he figured it out and did his best. It's huge on him. It was tight on his dad, and fit his granddad perfectly.

Needs glasses, usually wears contacts. Has big thick square framed black glasses though, a rare sight for most.

[abyssalpriest]

11/6/24

Leviathanism, always a comfortable home to come back to. Not made yet, but as it fits the role of a journey, it is a home even when it's just he and I in a plot of land with some as-of-yet untouched beams and screws around.

He and I. We sit in an old, dusty library of streams of code sorting through it in silence. It's hard to divide the scent in the air, the incense is earthy, dusty, the dust is imbued with incense, both are near-one-and-the-same. I look through smaller books, he sits with one pair of arms crossed, still, looking through the library at large with senses beyond the human body's.

Both of us share the same expression, the same look. Both of us look at very different information with the same eyes. Two boats on a sea moving in and out like synchronised-yet-oppositional sine waves.

I'm taking a break from social things, and so I move inwards; he moves with me, towards me. The notes I have on this religion in my new binder, new plastic sleeves, new, pristine white paper, are so old... The stage we're in is one of organising what comes through the Veil - that holds double-meaning, I mean we're deciding what comes through based on how we choose to organise this, and we are playing games with what comes out the other side, deciding how to process it when it does.

Red roses, I feel incense in the place where my nasal canals meet the head's interior. Red roses burned, organic matter, not a fake rose smell. This is a religion of genuineness, organic growth, embodiment. The Consciousness grasping itself so thoroughly and hands-on - the imagery he gives it of viscera, grasping darkness, overwhelming, the drowning of the ocean, and so on makes sense. Leviathan: A mass of bodies. Bodies, embodiment, manifestation. The emphasis he's been giving in what's been passed to me has been on conscious existence, of course: this is about existing. No wonder it's all written on paper.

The power he's been giving me to decide what this is about makes sense too. He keeps speaking about the role of the ("High") Priest and of each person involved as a "Priest", he keeps speaking about showing people what religion is and giving them the power to switch between scholarly learning of the science of the religion and the trance-like enactment of religious themes... It's about control through submission, gain through loss, all those good things... But it's about the role of the choice to be embodied and of Consciousness to submit to the Experience in order to progress.

Anyway. I'm distracted. I know my role more and more as time passes on, I'm a thick-spiral shell through which his cold, oceanic body will emerge. I am a brain through which his thoughts are processed, even now I'm sitting here in his library as just one of his bodies, a fish in the school, a set of eyes in his mind.

I finally understand, too, why he keeps this religion anchored in things that cast deep, dark shadows. Viscera, disembowlment, swallowing, the ocean, the body horror, the dark, eldritch energies... I keep admiring the Aghori this life, he keeps speaking to me in terms of Destruction and embodying and finding love and home in the terrifying... Absolutely related. This is the art of finding oneself in the black of the soul, understanding all light and all brightness and all summer sunlight and all colour and all life as being suspended as tiny minority experiences in the swallowing emptiness that is the Abyss of space itself. The Sun exists only inside the unending body of the Black Hole Leviathan.

[the8moons]

HONESTLY I'M GONNA BE THE ONE SAYING IT. SHINE ON YOU CRAZY DIAMOND IS LITERALLY SO ECHO CODED.

I'm gonna drop my take on it, because yeaaah i have nothing better to do ig

Remember when you were young, you shone like the sun: this one's easy. Echo literally shone like the sun in his past, being an ARC trooper of what's most likely the most influential battalions in the clone wars (501st).

Now there's a look in your eyes, like black holes in the sky: *cue the scene where rex frees echo from his containment freeze chamber whatever the hell is it's name, where you can see his eyes rolling in his head* (on the other hand, this lyric could be also interpreted imo as referencing a thousand yard stare due to the trauma he went through)

You were caught in the cross fire of childhood and stardom: this one references his loss of the Domino squad, his "childhood", and the so called "stardom" (his promotion to ARC trooper)

Come on you target for faraway laughter: his new status as bad batcher and mockery of the 99's from the regs. Yeah this one's pretty obvious.

Come on you stranger, you legend, you martyr, and shine: "stranger" because of his newly found identity, making him a stranger in a way to those who knew him before, "legend" because of the whole "is it echo? Is he alive? We gotta figure out" situation that rex went through in 7×1/7×2 clone wars. He is in a way a legend, of someone who survived not only the citadel attack, but also two years of experimentation and trauma. "Martyr" do i truly have to explain this one?

You reached for the secret too soon, you cried for the moon: i like to think as this one not as a line referring to echo, but as a feeling that Echo himself HAS to have had at some point, regarding the situation with Fives. The secret is clearly the chip/order 66, while the moon in Pink Floyd's work is often associated with the idea of mental sanity/clarity, i feel like this in this case could be interpreted as a reference to the clear "sun/moon" dynamic fives seems to have with the brothers he is close with during the series, making the "moon" not necessarily only Tup, but also Echo himself.

Threatened by shadows at night, and exposed in the light: easy one. "Shadows at night" are memories, nightmares from his past. "Exposed in the light", referring to his new body, which holds memories (ex. His pale skin tone, his prothesis) of his trauma.

Anyways yeah this song imo is literally just so Echo coded it's insane.

[talonslockau]

Fire and Ice - Chapter 27

Chapter 26 || Index || Chapter 28

 Even though it was still a while until sunhigh, the heat of the sun was beating down as the camp bustled with activity. The arrival of greenleaf could not halt the preparation for Shadowclan's next attack; all cats, from the apprentices to the elders, had to work through the heat to make sure the camp was ready for any assault.

From where Firepaw was reinforcing the camp walls, he could see much of the camp as he was working. The queens were busy adding to the nursery, making sure the exterior was nigh-impenetrable. The elders were digging out a second freshkill store, while a newly-returned hunting patrol filed past with the first additions to it. No paw was left without a task under Bluestar's orders.

He watched as Dewpaw and Spottedleaf trotted past with mouthfuls of yellow flowers. The little silver molly had been growing ever anxious as greenleaf set upon them. They had all survived and thrived through their first season of training; under the warrior code, she could become a healer apprentice at any time. Spottedleaf hadn't yet asked Dewpaw to become her pupil, but the apprentice seemed to think it was only a matter of time.

Even Yellowfang was helping out, he thought with a touch of pride as she followed the other two healers. She might not be a Thunderclan cat, but now that her leg was better, she was doing all she could to help out around camp. She didn't go far from camp, though he didn't know whether that was due to her leg or fear of Brokenstar, but there was still plenty to do nearby.

The only rest any cat got was while sitting guard for the rest of camp. Firepaw couldn't help but feel a touch of envy as he watched Tigerclaw, Darkstripe, Dustleap and Longtail lounging close by, sharing tongues as they looked out upon the busy camp. As he wove fresh bramble into the camp wall, he inched close enough to hear what they were talking about.

"What I want to know is, how did Shadowclan know where our camp was?" Longtail growled, the black fur along his spine bristling. "Yellowfang's leg prevented her from leaving, and the elders are holed up in Tallpines. There's no way either could have communicated to Shadowclan where our camp is, and they couldn't have attacked so swiftly without that knowledge."

Darkstripe glanced at Tigerclaw, the two communicating something unspoken before looking back to Longtail. "Strange, isn't it?" He commented idly. "It certainly seemed like Shadowclan knew where our camp was. Like someone told them."

"You mean we have a traitor?" Dustleap snarled, claws digging into the ground below him. "But who would betray their own Clan like that?" He looked around to spy Firepaw, his eyes narrowing as he caught sight of the apprentice's ginger fur. "Unless you mean…"

"I would never betray the Clan!" Firepaw spat furiously, abandoning the bramble to defend himself. "Clawface nearly killed me because I defended Sandstorm! Doesn't seem like the sort of thing a traitor would do, does it?"

"You're the only outsider with knowledge of our camp." The tabby tom snarled back as he stood up, tail lashing as though itching for a fight. "And you'd been meeting with the Shadowclan elders for a moon without supervision. Not to mention you were being punished. You'd certainly have the means and the motive…"

"I was on punishment duty for attacking them!" He could scarcely believe what he was hearing. "Why would I turn around and help them? Especially when they see me as a lazy kittypet, just like you do!"

"Maybe you were hoping to get rid of them so you wouldn't have to take care of them anymore." Dustleap argued smugly as he advanced closer.

Did Dustleap really believe what he was saying? Firepaw found it hard to believe that anyone could make such illogical leaps to accuse him of such a heinous crime, yet here they were, nearly nose to nose. "If I was hoping to get rid of them, wouldn't I have told Shadowclan they were at Tallpines?" He hissed back furiously, his own ginger pelt bristling as he snarled in the other tom's face.

The brown tabby looked about to argue further when Tigerclaw interrupted them. "Stand down, Dustleap. I believe Firepaw."

Both toms gaped at the senior warrior. Had he heard right? Had the giant tabby actually defended him? "But he's the only one that could do it!" Dustleap protested. "He's an outsider! A kittypet, no less! You told me yourself that their kind know nothing of loyalty!"

The older warrior paused before dipping his head in acknowledgement to his son. "That I did." He admitted. "But Firepaw has earned my trust. He is not a mere kittypet."

"I have?" The ginger tom tried not to sound as surprised as he felt when he spoke. "I- er- Thank you, Tigerclaw."

The youngest warrior looked between the two, clearly as shocked as Firepaw himself. "But if he isn't the traitor, then who else could it be? No Thunderclan warrior would willingly betray their own!"

Tigerclaw sighed heavily as he gazed across camp. "Willingly may be the key word there." He rumbled mournfully.

Every cat's ears perked at his words. "What do you mean? Are you saying you know who betrayed us?" Longtail asked, tilting his head to one side as he regarded the mighty warrior. "Why haven't you told Bluestar?"

Dustleap's father shook his head slowly. "Because I do not know with absolute certainty." He replied steadily, despite the sadness tinging his words. "And because I hope I'm wrong."

"What do you mean?" His son pressed eagerly, his quarrel with Firepaw forgotten at the thought of a new target. "Who is it?"

Tigerclaw was silent for a long while as he gazed into nothingness, seemingly lost in his own thoughts. At last, it was Darkstripe who spoke. "Ravenpaw has been speaking with a strange cat in the forest."

They all stared at the sleek tom as his words sank in. "No!" Firepaw gasped as he realized what Ravenpaw's mentor was implying. "You can't mean that!"

Darkstripe tilted his head in confusion. "Why not, Firepaw? You were the one who told us in the first place." He pointed out, eyes narrow. "Are you saying that you lied?"

"I-" He paused, his mind reeling as he tried to figure out how to explain what he had seen. "Everything I told you was true. But it wasn't a Shadowclanner!"

Tigerclaw finally seemed to return to reality as Firepaw spoke. "But you never caught a scent, did you not?" He asked quietly. "And you didn't know who the cat was then. Are you saying you know who it is now?"

He hesitated at that. "I- no." He admitted. He hadn't seen the mysterious calico since that day with Ravenpaw. "But I didn't see them in the battle patrol! And Ravenpaw would never betray Thunderclan!"

Tigerclaw shook his head again with a heavy sigh. "Battles can be quite chaotic. You may have simply missed them." He glanced around camp for his youngest son, but he wasn't visible from where they were sitting. "You told us that the cat was pressuring Ravenpaw, did you not? He's always had a weak heart… While I want to believe my own son could withstand it, I have to protect my Clan at any cost. Surely you understand that."

That was a lie.

It was then that everything fell into place for Firepaw. Tigerclaw didn't want to believe in his own son. Or, more importantly, he didn't want anyone to believe his son. His behavior had seemed strange at the Gathering, but Ravenpaw's had been strange ever since Firepaw had met him- even Graypaw had said as much. He hadn't been the same since the day Firepaw had joined; the day of the battle for Sunningrocks, really.

And in telling Tigerclaw about the stranger, he had given him precisely what he needed to discredit Ravenpaw as a traitor to the rest of the Clan.

"I… I guess I do." He finally mumbled, realizing the others were still staring at him.

"I know it must be hard to see your own denmate as a potential traitor. It's almost impossible for me." Tigerclaw closed his eyes in grief, but Firepaw didn't miss the flash of suspicion before they did. He had no doubt the other tom sensed his manipulation of the newest Clan member had been just a little too easy. "That is why I haven't told Bluestar yet. I must be absolutely sure he cannot yet be saved."

"I hope he can." Firepaw's stomach turned at the thought of agreeing, yet he had to play along. "I-I should get back to repairing the camp walls."

"Yes, of course. We must be prepared." Tigerclaw opened an eye to watch as he scuttled away across camp. Firepaw's fur crawled as he left, but he knew he couldn't wait any longer. Ravenpaw was in danger because of him, and he had to make it right however he could.

And that started with the oldest apprentice himself.

He found the skinny black tom working on a hole behind the nursery, carefully weaving in additional ferns and brambles to fortify it. "Ravenpaw." He greeted, only to watch with a mixture of regret and sorrow as the other apprentice jumped into the air in surprise. "I need you to help me collect more bracken for the wall."

"Uhm." Ravenpaw glanced around, his white tail tip flicking uneasily as he realized they were alone. "Why- are you sure? Perhaps- I don’t- maybe Graypaw could help you instead? I'm kind of busy." He gestured to the hole he was working on, which was still large enough for the two apprentices to fit through.

"I'm sure. Let's go through this hole." Firepaw flicked his tail for Ravenpaw to follow as he slipped through. For a moment, he thought the other apprentice would ignore him, but after a moment he heard the rustling of ferns and a black figure emerged.

"C'mon. There should be a good spot up here." Firepaw picked his way up the shallow ravine walls, Ravenpaw quickly scrambling after him. Each paw step made his heart ache with shame. If only he'd realized sooner…

"This isn't about bracken, is it?" The other tom spoke as the hubbub of camp died away. "You could've just taken some of mine."

"Yea. It's not." He spun around to the oldest apprentice's worried gaze with his own. "I need you to tell me the truth, Ravenpaw."

Ravenpaw hesitated, but he could see the panic flash through the black tom's eyes. "You- I don't know what you're talking about." He mumbled, looking away from Firepaw's intense green gaze.

"Yes, you do." He pressed as gently as he could. "Why is your father calling you a traitor?"

"What?" His dark fur bristled in shock. "That can't be true!"

"He was talking about it with Darkstripe, Longtail, and Dustleap." The ginger tom decided to leave out his own involvement for the time being; it would only make the other more withdrawn if he knew the extent of Firepaw's involvement. "It has something to do with that day at Sunningrocks, doesn't it? You saw something you shouldn't have."

Ravenpaw was silent for a long time, and for a moment he thought the other tom might have clammed up entirely. Just as he was about to prod him further, the dark apprentice looked up, his eyes filled with a fire he hadn't seen before. "You're right. I did." He admitted, his voice clear and unwavering. "I saw Tigerclaw kill Redtail."

Even though he had expected something big - some reason for Tigerclaw to lie - he couldn't have possibly expected this. "He what?" Firepaw asked dimly, even though he had heard the first time.

"I saw Tigerclaw kill Redtail." Ravenpaw repeated, his voice even stronger this time. "I was going to tell the Clan when I fainted. And when I came to, Tigerclaw had already lied and said Oakheart had killed him so- I just stayed quiet instead."

His mind reeled at the revelation. The Clan had been furious at Riverclan for the death of Redtail. What would they do if they knew the deputy's murderer skulked about their camp? "And Tigerclaw didn't know you remembered what happened until the Gathering." He realized slowly.

"He threatened me after the Gathering and told me if I didn't keep it to myself, he'd kill me too." Ravenpaw laughed hollowly. "But he was never going to let me stay, was he? I'm too much of a threat. Just like the elders and Brokenstar."

The ginger tom nodded. It made sense - in an awful, twisted sort of way. "So he's trying to discredit you so no one will realize the truth. To me, the other apprentices, the rest of the Clan…" If he told Bluestar, would she believe him? Would she believe Tigerclaw's lies? He didn't know. He wasn't sure he wanted to know.

"But it's not like I've done anything wrong. The worst he can do is make vague threats and suggestions." Ravenpaw snorted defiantly. "Even if his posse believes him, the rest of the Clan won't."

Firepaw winced at that. "Actually…"

The other tom paused, his ears swiveling and anxiety pouring back into his eyes. "I've done nothing! If he makes up lies, I can prove him wrong." His voice was desperate now, almost pleading to be right.

"I'm sorry, Ravenpaw." He couldn't hold it back any longer. "I told him about your meeting with the calico. But I didn't know! I swear if I'd known I would never have told anyone!"

There was silence for what seemed like an eternity as the oldest apprentice looked at him, emotions swirling in his eyes. "The calico?" He asked finally.

"From that morning in the woods. I thought they were threatening you- that they could do something about it-" His words, excuses really, tumbled out of his mouth faster than he could think. "I'm so sorry, I didn't know. I wish I could take it back!"

Ravenpaw studied him for another impossible eternity. "You mean you can see him too?"

Firepaw blinked in confusion. "Of course I can." He responded. "Why wouldn't I?"

"Because he- he's…" The black tom trailed off and looked past the other apprentice, his eyes focusing on something past him. As he turned around to see what Ravenpaw was looking at, his heart skipped a beat when he caught sight of another figure.

It was the mysterious calico from before. Now that Firepaw was up close, he could see every detail; the tom's bright yellow eyes, like twin suns, watched him stoically. His fur was fluffy, helping the blacks and reds and browns to blend smoothly together. But his most prominent feature was his tail, bright ginger like a fox's.

Now he understood Ravenpaw's question. Why would he be seeing the cat standing in front of him, when Redtail was supposed to be dead?

[astronomyforastrologers]

2024 - A Year of Possibilities ~ 01 Dec 2023

2024 - A Year of Possibilities ~ 01 Dec 2023, Philip Sedgwick

Now that we’re in the final month of the Gregorian Year, it’s that time when Father Time and the holidays pile on with emotional interrogatives like: “How’d you do this last year? Any gold stars or meritorious awards to report? Why not proudly post your completed tasks list on social media?”

Maybe some new earbuds should be on your gift list to assist in blocking out nagging voices, both internal and external. It remains important to remember that the Sun inches toward solar maximum. This means more and more blasts of titillating solar intensity impact Earth as is happening today. The need to chill, have time for repose and connecting with nature top the list of soul-restorative processes during these energetic times.

Even with solar max approaching, 2024 offers heaps of potential. Consider that Jupiter and Uranus conjoin in Taurus on 21 April. All bets are off and all possibilities are on the table. Better to approach this transit with unassuming innocence. Uranus tends to show up presenting circumstances, conditions and opportunities that you’ve not been able to preconceive or imagine. Remaining open to anything certainly enhances the transit.

On 25 May, Jupiter bounds into Gemini. From then until June 2025, Jupiter engages, amplifies and embellishes galactic insight from quite an extensive collection of black holes in Gemini and Sagittarius, as well as aligning with the Great Attractor and Galactic Center. Innovative thought, inspirations, cosmic solutions to mundane problems abound and are free downloads for receptive humans.

Speaking of the Galactic Center, for all intents and purposes, Neptune in Pisces squares the galactic core for the entirety of next year. Inspiration, revelation and the not previously imagined being imagined are all part of provocative imaginings. The possibilities of new psychological and spiritual doctrines dropping from the heavens are endless. So too, with inventions, gizmos and an app to deal with all the apps and QR codes life forces upon a traveler.

Saturn’s transit in Pisces adds soothing balm to all emotional conditions. This is a softer placement for the massively ringed one. From this position he tends to empathize and assures that despite sensitivities, reactions and responses progress continues to unfold with determination and far-reaching vision.

And there’s another biggie too. Later in the year (19 November) Pluto leaves Capricorn behind and commits to obsessing over all things Aquarius uninterrupted for nearly two decades. Finally a shift away from pure plutocracy and all its manifestations into something a bit more comfortable for all of humankind. Bottom lines slowly migrate from “will it make any money?” to “what contributive difference is this going to make in the world?"

Yes, Virginia, there is a Santa Claus... now appearing in the form of transits that challenge sensibilities, stir status quo, and incite a soul to reach for and travel toward fulfillment of the incarnation in progress.

More soon to address capitalizing on Capricorn transits ahead!

One Stop Shopping Order Form Astrological Textso

Meteoric the Movie on Vimeo ZAP! on Vimeo

[kitauthor]

Excerpt: Finding Pack #SnippetSunday

I really like to reach into the history of my Musimagium world, so please enjoy this short story set in the Ozarks around 1917. I write short stories for my Muse Happens group who get to read them early and for free. I hope you enjoy Hiram, and I feel like we'll have more stories with him in the future.

Excerpt

On the floor by the door, Remus whined as the howl of the local red wolf pack rose into the trees. Family. The thought skirted Hiram’s mind, and he nodded before taking another sip of the moonshine. “They ain’t your family no more,” he said. “But it still hurts. I know.” Hurt like the dull throb of his thumb, the nail black and threatening to peel from where he’d missed the nail he’d been hammering because he’d been thinking about the letter that had come nearly a week ago now. Hurt like the reminder he wasn’t wanted. The increased lanterns he saw coming from the direction of Gemini Lacus, headquarters to Armis, the Musimagium’s law enforcement arm, told him something not very good was going to happen. He still read the dits and dahs like he had during the great war, the cadence of morse code somewhat soothing, even as they talked about the schisms happening in the Musimagium. People like him weren’t welcome. Not fancy enough. Not cultured enough. Damn prohibitionists doing more than trying to outlaw the drink. They really didn’t like people who didn’t meekly follow the rules, people like him who asked too many questions. Even tonight, with the burn of moonshine in his veins and the howl of wolves making Remus itchy to go out and run with the pack that had refused him, the sound of those same dits and dahs coming from the receiver didn’t soothe him either. Not wanted. The foreman at Gemini Lacus had said as much the last time he’d been by to repair their radio transceivers. Not a lot of call for the skills he’d learned during the Great War down in the Ozarks, but they’d needed him where the agents listened to the radio signals and tried to ferret out those who were using magic to harm. But the official letter that his contract had ended put a stop to that. Someone else would fix their radios now, someone a bit more cultured, someone not bonded to a three-legged wolf. A grin turned Hiram’s lips, and he took his third and final sip for the night, before putting the cork back in the bottle and setting it on the table beside him. Remus whined again. The thunder, and the howls, were getting louder. Family. This time the images sent to his mind were a flash of red fur darting between spindle-trunked oak trees, the scent of loam with a hint of warm sunshine he associated with rabbits, filling his nostrils. Remus rose onto his three good legs, the paw of his right front not quite long enough to support his weight. He went to the door and nosed it once, twice, then sat, tail thumping gently against the cabin’s wooden floorboards. “You know you can’t run with them. Can’t keep up and you smell too much like me.” He held out his arm, the sleeve rolled up to reveal forearms tanned from the sun and thick with graying black hair, as if to let Remus smell him and remember where he belonged. Remus sniffed and his tail thumped a little faster. “Okay, boy. But don’t go far and come right back.” A crack of lightning and rumble of thunder nearly drowned out his words and for a moment Remus hunched down. But he had the door opened and the red wolf darted out without hardly making a sound. He stepped onto the porch that looked off to the east and toward the road. From the ridge he could barely see it through rows upon rows of trees, but he thought about Remus, saw the trunks flashing past as he raced down hill, tongue lolling out of his mouth, and sheer joy in the movement. Electricity crackled in the air. Any other wild creature would be holed up in its den, but not Remus. It’d been on a night like this when he’d found the pup, his paw caught in a bear trap someone set and forgot about. The pup had been weak, and he hadn’t thought it’d survive. But Remus had. Hiram’s leg twinged with the change in weather. He reached down to rub his thigh, then stopped, hand hovering mid-air when the image of the grey and red pelt flashed through Remus’ vision. His wolf had stopped, hunkered low in some blackberry vines, ignoring the thorns in the hopes of not being seen. The bigger wolf looked like a cross between a gray and a red, and when he sat and howled even the rumble of thunder stopped to listen. Shivers ran down his spine. The Moko Pack. This short story was previously exclusive to the Muse Happens subscription program (paid tiers) is now available for sale only here at the Kit Author website. When you purchase it for $0.99 you'll receive a coupon for $1 off your first month of membership at Muse Happens. Grab the short story here! Read the full article