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skeltnwrites · 1 month ago

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Tides at Moonrise ☾⁺˖⋆₊

After being attacked by demobats in the Upside Down, Steve experiences some supernatural changes.

vampire!steve, bf!steve, angst, fluff, hurt/comfort / TW season 4 spoilers, vomit, arguing, drinking blood, very minor descriptions of injury and gore, mentions of death and cannibalism, spooky elements 6k

a/n - steve and dustin are such a fun pair to write i miss the iconic duo that they are

── .✦

“Fuck,” Steve croaks, swiping at the thread of spit swaying from his lips. He glowers at his reflection in the toilet bowl, muddied brown from a piece of chocolate but mostly bile. The sting of acid coats the back of his throat and sours the length of his tongue.

It’s been four days, going on five, and he hasn’t been able to keep anything down. You’ve tried toast, soup, crackers, protein shakes, and every other sick food on the list. And now in a desperate attempt, you’ve ruined his favorite candy for him too.

You press a water bottle to his bicep, “Here.”

“No.” His hands tremble where they’re braced against the porcelain rim. “I can’t.”

“Stevie. It’s just water.”

“I will. Just, not yet.” His tone is callous. He’s not mad, at least not at you. A culmination of feelings fester in his chest like a swarm of bees gearing for attack. But he won’t take this out on you. Won’t let himself.

He sinks back on his heels, decidedly finished.

You snake an arm around his middle as if to say it’s okay. You’re both exhausted from a string of sleepless nights. Finding the proper words requires a level of energy you don’t have. He prefers your touch anyway.

The half-hearted embrace lacks the comfort you hope to find. The skin of his bare back is like ice against yours. It’s a foreign sensation, though becoming less and less so each day.

Steve sags into your warmth with the entire brunt of his weight. His strength fades with each passing night, as your worry grows in equal measure.

A finger scratches the coarse gauze plastered to his tummy. It’s still snug, exactly how you fixed it. You only trouble him with changing his bandages if it’s necessary. You’re thankful that the road rash across his back has scabbed over. It’s healing fine, but it’s not pretty. Like a pair of fiery wings hung from his shoulder blades.

You coax Steve back into your shared room. He’s averse but can’t afford a fight.

It’s late morning. Bright enough to project bars of sunlight across your sheets. Steve winces at them, among a number of other things, as he crawls into bed. Even through the glass pane, the sun stings. It’s not unbearable, but an uncomfortable heat, like a sunburn.

You reinforce the makeshift curtain where it’s unfastened itself. It’s a throw blanket you really miss now that you sleep beside a human ice pack. Someone is bringing blackout curtains to cover the blinds. You think it was Mike who offered, but you aren’t really sure. Your brain is fuzzy with fear and fatigue. The last week has tangled itself in your mind like an unraveled spool of thread. The only strand of it you’re focused on is what’ll help Steve.

He seeks your hand when you join him on the mattress. There’s enough indirect light seeping in to highlight the sickly shade he’s become. Signature golden, sun-baked hues have drained from his skin like a bleached photograph. And while he hasn’t eaten or seen the sun in days, it just doesn’t make sense. Nothing about this situation does.

You all have your theories– how this is linked to the Upside Down or a part of Vecna’s plan. But everything circles back to that night. Steve was shredded by demobats and took a chunk out of one with his teeth in revenge. Something about their bites or swallowing their blood did something to Steve. It changed him, right down to his DNA.

Dustin’s tried to present several possibilities from a scientific standpoint. Gene mutations, parasites, cellular regeneration, infections, but there are always holes in his explanations, always things that don’t quite add up. But you’re running out of time. You feel it, Steve feels it, everyone does. He’s grasping at a fraying rope, wilting like a dying flower in your palms.

Steve calls your name like a beacon from your thoughts.

“I can hear how anxious you are,” he says when you face him.

You have to be the strong one right now. You shake your head. “I’m not. It’s okay.”

He softens like melting snow and scoots closer until he’s more on your pillow than his. “Don’t lie. Please.”

“I’m not,” you whisper, not caring that he won’t believe you.

Steve sandwiches your fingers between both of his palms; draws soothing shapes across the marbled green and purple of your knuckles. “I can hear your heartbeat, you know. It’s racing.”

Your first instinct is to call his bluff, then shove away any embarrassment and lock it up in a box deep in your brain until all of this is over. But he’s not lying. He’s a stupendously bad liar. And at this point, he could tell you he has x-ray vision and you wouldn’t be that surprised.

“I can hear the blood pumping through your veins too.”

“Is that… new?”

“No. It was just so chaotic before. I couldn’t focus on it.”

You study his eyes. They’re a shade of brown you never expected to become your favorite. Hooded and half-lidded with the weight of too many things for one person to carry. You try hard to commit them to memory because you’re afraid if they close they may never reopen.

“I’m okay,” he murmurs.

“You’re not.” You blink away the salty sting as fast as it arrives. “You don’t know that.”

“I got it out of my system. I feel fine.”

“Bullshit.”

“It’s not,” he lies.

“It’s bullshit.”

He snaps you a harsh look, seemingly triggered by your tone or choice of words. “Okay– well, shit, babe. What do you suppose we do?”

You sit up, ripping out of his grasp. “I dunno, Steve. Go to the hospital? The fucking government lab people? Literally anyone– we clearly don’t know–”

He scoffs, wrenching himself up with the help of the headboard. “Yeah, because the nurses will totally believe the part about the sentient vines that tried to strangle me. I mean clearly something– fucked, has happened to me. Something they aren’t going to know how to fix!”

“Then the scientists! They might know! They’d have a better clue than us.”

“And where do you suppose we find these scientists who El said were killed with Brenner?”

“I don’t know, Steve! But it’s worth looking! You’re worth getting real help for!”

The yelling is squashed by an even heavier thing that is silence. Steve isn’t sure what to say and neither are you.

This is not the first time you’ve argued since that night. There’s enough stress between the two of you to stretch to the other side of the earth and back. And more than enough fear to turn both of your heads gray. You’re irritable and angry and so desperate for a night of sleep where you aren’t tormented by your loved one’s deaths. And you feel like your best friend in the whole world is walking a tightrope straight into death’s door.

“I am okay,” he promises quietly. “I’ve been through worse. I have.”

“What like getting in fist fights? Getting drugged by Russians? This is different, Steve. Something’s wrong.” Your voice raises and then wavers before breaking completely; like the keystone pulled from an arch, everything crumbles.

Steve gathers you into his arms like you’re made of putty, scooping and pulling like you’ll slip right out of his hold. You inhale a staggered belt of air and choke on a sob into his collarbone. He seals you against his chest, not caring about the scrapes and cuts and bruises; not caring if they reopen and stain the mattress red.

He cradles you for an innominate amount of time until you slacken and your sniffles morph into congested snores. His gaze flickers across your face, tracing the bend of your brows and the seam of your lips. He hates this; having to convince you he’s okay when he’s not. He needs to be stronger, to be there for you as much as you’ve been for him. Steve won’t lose you in this pit his body’s created. He can’t.

ᯓ★

It’s evening when you wake. You can tell because the white glow framing the window has ebbed into orange. There’s a pounding at the base of your skull and a sharper pain, like two barbs behind your eyes. You remember why your eyes are puffy, why you aren’t warm in Steve’s embrace, and why someone’s knocking very loudly on the door all between one shuddery breath. You feel sad but you should be grateful. That’s the longest bout of sleep you’ve had all week.

You tug away from your sleeping boyfriend and steal his water bottle off the nightstand. The static has to be shaken from your legs before you can drag yourself to answer the door. You know it’s Dustin before you open it because he’s the only one who knocks this impatiently.

“Okay, I think I’ve figured it out,” he starts as soon as your face slides into view. “I was looking through my monster manual– and I know what you’re gonna say– this isn’t some game, Dustin,” he mocks your voice in an inarguably awful impression. You’d chastise him if you didn’t have such a killer headache.

He prattles his way into the kitchen beside you while you search for that damn bottle of painkillers. Words are spilling out of Dustin’s mouth like a burst dam. You love him like a brother, and you appreciate him even more for what he’s saying, but you aren't catching a lick of it. The medicine is right where you forgot it beside the tower of dishes in the sink– mostly yours since Steve, well, you know. You take a swig of water and pop three pills.

Dustin stops his spiel to ask, “Should you be taking that many?”

“Yes, unless you want me to bash my head into the wall.”

“Okay, fine. Whatever. As I was saying, if this really is the case, I think Steve’s a vampire!” He beams at you like this is great news; like he said something completely normal.

“Jesus fucking Christ,” Steve huffs from the other side of the counter, a blanket strung across his back and bunched in the front like a cloak. He scrubs his nose, either squinting from being woken up or narrowing his eyes at Dustin in irritation, you aren’t sure.

“I’m serious,” Dustin defends.

“I’m going back to bed.”

“Wait, Steve! Let me explain!”

Steve entertains an explanation for one reason only. You told him to. Seven hours of sleep does nothing when you haven’t eaten for as long as he hasn’t. His stomach is twisting itself in knots and frankly, he doesn’t want to spend the last days of his life hearing about characters from Dustin’s nerdy game.

But you both sit and listen and decide his theory actually kind of makes sense this time. Steve won’t admit it and you’re trying to be skeptical– raise all the right questions and find any holes– but your heart lurches at the possibility that you finally have an answer. A cure.

Steve’s aversion to sunlight, his paling complexion, not being able to keep human food down, hearing your goddamn heartbeat– it all clicks. He’s a fucking vampire.

“And vampires need blood!” You shout with Dustin.

“You can’t be serious,” Steve glares at you. “I’m not a vampire.”

“Weirder fucking things have happened here.” Your eyebrows knit together, mind swirling with endless thoughts. “I mean, how did we not consider this? You were bit by a bat!”

“Oh, I dunno, maybe because it’s crazy!”

“Steve!”

He shakes his head in disbelief. You love him so much you’re desperate for anything, even illogical answers. He refuses to play along.

“Will you just try it? See if it works first?” Dustin asks.

“Do you realize what you’re asking me? To drink someone’s blood? Are you out of your mind? Where would we even–”

Dustin cuts him off, shrugging, “I know a place.”

“You know a place?”

“Yeah. I know a place. Don’t question me.”

Steve stares, eyebrows raised.

“It’s pig’s blood, from a farm.”

“Christ, Henderson. I’m not drinking pig’s blood. You psycho.”

“Steve, don’t be like this,” you plead. “How can you know if you don’t try? Maybe you’ll like it?”

“‘Don’t be like this?’ Are you you kidding? I’m not doing it– that’s gross!”

“Okay, okay. What about a steak? Like a really bloody one? Will you compromise?”

Steve makes a funny face. “Fine.”

ᯓ★

“This is not the way to the grocery store,” Steve realizes out loud, heaving himself up in the backseat of his beamer.

It’s overcast and nearly sunset but he’s dressed in long sleeves and brought his blanket-cloak for extra protection. Steve always loved the sun– pool days, barbecues, beach vacations, all of it. Now he can’t enjoy the heat of it from his bedroom without hurting. It’s like a punch to the gut, realizing you may never see his sun-kissed hair or trace his moles by his parent’s pool again.

“Ding. Ding. Ding,” Dustin goads from the passenger seat beside you.

“You guys are assholes. Especially you, Henderson.”

“Wasn’t my idea.”

Steve meets your gaze in the rearview mirror. He supplies his signature Steve pout. But only the tiniest slice of your brain is worried about that. You’re fixated on how bloodshot his eyes are. How deep they sag, even after sleeping as much as he has. You can deal with Steve being mad at you; what you can’t deal with is Steve being dead.

You think he’s starting to come to terms with the plan because he doesn’t argue further. But he really just doesn’t have it in him to bicker. He thinks it’s a stupid idea. He’ll probably throw up, either at the smell or mind game of drinking it or whatever the hell’s wrong with his body. And pigs have all sorts of diseases, don’t they? It very well could make him more sick than he already is.

When you arrive, Steve’s cheek is smushed against the car door. He’s been dozing in reluctant fits for most of the drive.

The farm is fucking creepy, to say the least. It’s not dark yet, but the clouds are drawing shut over the last bit of light. And the long, gravelly path up to the house is freaking you out. This is the kind of place where people in movies get murdered.

“You’re sure this is the right place?” You ask Dustin, shifting the car into park.

“Yes, I’m sure.”

You crane over your seat. Steve’s curled in on himself like an earthworm. The long drive was just a catalyst to knock him out.

He’s been wired at night. You’ve spent hours up with him and the moon, trying any and everything that comes to mind– reading, movies, baths– none of it’s worked so far. But he’s exhausted during the day no matter how much he sleeps. At least the nocturnal-ness makes sense now.

“We can’t leave him in here,” you say.

“Why not?”

“What if he wakes up? Sees he’s in the middle of fucking nowhere by himself? He’ll think we left him.”

“What if he makes a scene in front of the farmer? He’s not exactly on board with this plan.”

You sigh, defeated. You can’t send Dustin alone. If he gets slaughtered, you don’t think you’ll be able to live with yourself. Plus Dustin already called this guy to arrange this and explained the pig’s blood was for a project for film school. Dustin doesn’t exactly look old enough to pass as a college kid so that parts up to you.

“Okay, come on.” You open and click the door shut as gingerly as the car allows.

Dustin isn’t spooked but he is cautious. He scans the pines beyond the house, the truck parked under the sycamore tree, and the underside of the porch. No murderers, yet.

You knock and put on your best film school student face.

A long-bearded man in his seventies at least, cautiously eyes you through the crack of the doorway. “Can I help ya?”

“Hi, we’re here to buy pig’s blood. For a school project,” you say.

“Oh,” he grumbles, setting aside a shotgun before unlatching the slide bolt. “Forgot you was comin’.”

The man ushers you inside. The foyer looks normal enough– framed family photos and wooden side tables and a floral rug. There’s no blood stains or screams or machetes lying around. That’s a good thing. But you can’t shake the uneasy feeling. It follows you through the house like a ghost.

“I sell it by the gallon. Five dollars for one. How many ya need?”

“Uhh. Two?” You glance at Dustin for reassurance.

He frowns and shrugs.

“Alrighty. Let me grab ‘em from the basement.”

The basement? Those are keywords in a scary movie. He probably keeps his victims in the basement. Or worse, his weapons.

“This place is creepy as shit,” Dustin leans over and whisper-yells as soon as the guy’s out of earshot. “We need to get this blood and get the hell out of here!”

You swallow hard and think of Steve alone in the car. He’s not being brutally murdered right now. He’s not running for his life through the cornfield. He’s not–

“Here ya are, kids.” He lugs two dark red jugs onto the kitchen table.

A thought crosses your mind that it’s human blood. How would you know? Are you about to force your boyfriend into cannibalism?

You fumble with your wallet, willing your hands not to shake as you pass him a ten.

“Now where’d ya say you go to school?”

“Bloomington.”

“Purdue.”

You blink stupidly at the man, scrounging your throat for excuses and pulling them up painfully by each word. “He’s going to Purdue– Well, he wants to. When he gets in he’ll go there! I go to Bloomington.” You purse your lips and nod excessively, like that’ll really top off the story's believability.

“Right,” Dustin chuckles nervously.

He cocks an eyebrow, “Well, okay then. Hope yer film goes well.”

“Thanks!”

You yank a gallon off the table and Dustin snatches the other.

Night has officially settled in, and the wooden porch steps creak loudly beneath your weight. For a moment before Dustin reminds you, you forget you left the keys in the car and convince yourself the old man has taken them and you’ve just become the star of the latest blockbuster.

Steve startles awake when Dustin slams his door. He lurches into the back of your seat as you floor it in reverse.

“What! What happened?” He shouts. “Guys, what the hell?”

Dustin releases a dramatic sigh, slumps into his seat, and lays the back of his hand over his forehead. “We almost died, Steve.”

“What!”

Your hands are slick against the steering wheel. You’re still half expecting the farmer to materialize in the middle of the road with an axe.

Steve bends over the center console and shakes your shoulder. “What happened?”

He pulls you back into reality. He’s good at that. Except for before when Dustin convinced you that this was a good idea in the first place.

You describe what happened in a poor attempt at good storytelling and Steve quickly determines that you and Dustin are just a pair of ‘paranoid idiots’.

He perks up on the way back, offering to drive and booting Dustin to the backseat when you agree. Dustin gets dropped off at his house on the way to yours, leaving you, Steve, and two gallons of pig’s blood in your kitchen.

“Should I heat it up, or like, mix it with something?” You ask.

“It was your crazy idea, honey.”

“It was Dustin’s. And I’m asking how you’d like it. You’re the one drinking it.”

“I’d like you to throw it out.”

“Steve.”

“Mhmm?”

“I can put it in a shot glass?”

A wide smile divides his lips; the kind that makes your tummy flip. You ache for it as soon as it fades.

“I hate you,” is said with such affection it can’t mean anything but the opposite.

“I love you too. Seriously, though. How do you want it?”

He takes it raw. Too afraid that combining it with real food will upset his stomach regardless and too afraid heating it up will trick his brain into thinking it’s human blood. You take a small glass from the cabinet and fill it halfway. Enough for a few big sips but not enough to set any absurd expectations either.

Steve gags when you pass him the cup. You can’t blame him. It smells the farthest thing from appetizing. There’s a musky, metallic quality to it, like a box of screws that have been sitting in a garage for ages.

“I can’t do this,” he decides.

“Come on, Stevie. It might help.”

“No. You’re insane. Do you smell that? It’s rancid.”

“It’s not rancid. You tore that bat's throat apart with your teeth. You’re telling me you didn’t taste its blood? At all?”

Steve clicks his tongue. “I don’t remember! It was a heat of the moment thing– not supposed to be my dinner!”

“I can count you down?”

“No, no. Just,” he lines his nose over the cup for another whiff and scrunches his face in disgust. “Give me a minute.”

A minute turns to three which turns to ten. But you can be patient.

“I can try it first,” you offer.

“Absolutely not.”

You don’t insist. You weren't exactly keen on offering in the first place; the smell really is strong.

Without warning, he launches the cup up to his lips and takes several hefty gulps like he’s chugging a beer. And Steve’s determined, he empties it in one attempt, peeling the glass away and leaving a crimson mustache behind. A fist shoots up to stifle a burp and scrub his mouth after.

After dating for so long, you can read Steve like a book; sometimes, you think you know him better than yourself. But this is the first time in a long time, you truly cannot decipher his expression. His lips twitch into a weird satisfied almost-frown and his lashes flutter like hummingbird wings.

“What? How was it?”

“It was… it…” He shakes his head, “I dunno.”

“You don’t know?”

“Yeah, I don’t–” He snags the jug off the counter to pour another glass.

You gawk, open-mouthed and floundering as much as a fish on the shore. “You like it?” You manage to ask.

He takes another few sips, smacking on the aftertaste and analyzing. “I mean it’s… I really hated it at first. And it doesn’t taste good still. But, I don’t know, it’s like filling, I guess.”

“That’s good, right? You don’t feel nauseous?”

“No.” He grins, relief washing over his features. “What the fuck.”

“Dude, you’re a fucking vampire.”

“Does that mean I’m like, immortal and shit.” Steve blinks at his hands like they might grow an extra set of fingers.

You aren’t ready to process that possibility and instead, turn to open the fridge. “Do we have garlic?” You ask. Glasses clink as you card through the side door, retrieving the jar of minced garlic. You pop the lid and shove it under Steve’s nostrils.

He wrenches away at the sudden potency of it. But it’s not repulsive. It’s the same scent he remembers.“Maybe I’d have to eat it?”

“Or it might be a myth?”

“I hope it is. I really like garlic bread.” He licks his lips, fishing for leftovers. “Is it bad if I have another glass?”

Steve drinks half a gallon of pig’s blood like it’s orange juice. And weirdly, it doesn’t gross you out one bit. You’re just grateful to see him smile. To see him digest something and not immediately chuck it up.

After four glasses, he belches accidentally and tumultuously with a groan. A strong hand grips your waist for support, the other propped against the countertop behind him.

“You okay? Are you gonna be sick?”

He shakes his head, pinching his eyes closed.

“Are you sure? What’s wrong?”

“Dizzy,” he mumbles, searching for you in the sliver of vision still there. It’s like somebody’s strapped anchors to his eyelids.

Heat flashes the inside of your body like lightning. Your first thought is poison. Some kind of poison. The farmer poisoned him? No. Drinking that much blood would poison anybody, right? Should you call poison control? Force Steve to throw up? Several trains of thought overlap and intersect into one inescapable explosion of anxiety.

“Here, come here. Come sit.” You encourage Steve’s full weight into your side, underestimating how heavy he is. You stagger sideways, catching yourself on the stovetop with your free hand. On the way to the living room, he rams a shin into the coffee table and nearly takes you both out when you fail to warn him to step over a shoe. He’s easier to manage when he’s shitfaced, you think. Maybe this is like being drunk for him on some level. Blood drunk.

But you make it to the couch; collapse into the cushions with the full force of two adults and pretend it doesn’t hurt when Steve headbutts your chin. Your limbs get organized for optimal comfort– Steve’s legs slung across your lap and his face tucked against your collarbone.

He’s deadweight against you. Awake but just barely. And only fending off sleep for your sake; he can feel how scared you are.

“‘s like a sugar rush,” he says, slow as a drop of honey. “‘m so tired.”

“You feel tired? That’s all? Not sick?” You press a cheek into his crown, combing the untamed mop of bedhead starting at the roots.

There’s an attempt to shake his head but all you feel is a twitch. He hums no and sighs, “Feels good.”

His breath is freezing. You can’t help but shiver. Your fingers rake through his hair. One trails down to linger over his pulse point. It’s steady, not abnormally slow. At least if he is dying, he’ll die content.

Steve isn’t the only person you love. You love the kids like they’re your siblings and some of their parents like they’re your own. But your love for Steve is uniquely distinct. You love him in a way you aren’t sure you could love anyone else. And you can’t lose that. You can’t lose Steve.

He tilts his face up and he unsticks his eyelashes like they’ve been brushed with glue. “Relax.”

You nod, too afraid to rely on your voice. A fingernail scratches the crusted stripe of blood cutting his chin in half. He looks peaceful, for once. “Sleep,” you whisper.

That’s about the easiest thing anyone’s asked him to do all week. He feels as light and full as a balloon, trusting you to tether him to earth if he floats—your arms are a string of safety. He feels okay for the first time since that night. More than okay, even.

Steve staples you against the couch but he’s more of a weighted blanket than a barrier. You have no intention of leaving his side anyway. You’d swear you aren’t tired but you fall asleep anyway.

ᯓ★

It’s warm, uncharacteristically warm. You’re pinned on your side in a tight-knit cocoon of blankets. And you feel great, for once– no headache, no nightmares, nothing of the sort. It’s tempting to go right back to sleep but you begrudgingly open your eyes because this can’t be right. It’s not. You’re alone. Even in the dark, that’s obvious. Steve’s a restless sleeper and more often than not is holding some part of your body for comfort. What’s weirder, you’re in bed. You definitely didn’t fall asleep in bed.

It’s too hot. You miss the unfamiliar cold of Steve’s skin. Where is he?

You shove the layers off your body and sit up, blinking harshly, and swallowing harsher to chase the dryness away. Your feet are flimsy under your weight so you grip the bedpost for balance. You feel brittle as a pie crust, like you’ve been baking under that duvet for years.

For a brief moment, you consider that you actually have woken up from a nightmare. Which parts are real and which parts aren’t, well, that’s hard to distinguish. But that still doesn’t explain Steve’s absence.

You fumble around on the carpet beneath the bed for Steve’s bat. Stack one hand on top of the other, choke it at the base, and always point away– exactly how Steve showed you. You try not to fixate on the blood-rusted nails, but the image of a mangled demobat sticks to the forefront of your memory like a tattoo. You don’t think you’ll ever forget the squeal it made when you struck it.

It’s eerily silent in the hall and just as black as your bedroom. Steve’s not on the couch where you hoped to find him but his keys hang from their rightful home by the door. He wouldn’t leave on foot, right?

You slink into the kitchen and when it also comes up empty, you panic. You check inside a cabinet and then another, but he couldn’t fit inside if he tried. You realize the sink has been emptied and the countertops cleared. But why make the effort to clean it just to leave? Some kind of twisted goodbye favor?

Something frigid skims the bare back of your arm and your heart stops. You lurch forward a few feet before barrelling around, bat outstretched between you and… Steve.

He’s in a fresh pair of pajamas and his hair is slicked back behind his ears. His complexion is dewy, glowing with the moonlight spilling in from the window. He looks alert.

“What the hell! Where the fuck were you?”

Wide eyes comb over you. A warmness has returned to them, a sweetness too. And suddenly you don’t really care about where he was when he tells you, “I was just in the bathroom.”

“With the light off?” You bark, still upset and climbing your way down the defensive fence you put up. Outbursts aren’t limited to just him, you have your reasons, and he knows that. But you know you need to reel yourself in before this turns into something it shouldn’t.

“Yeah,” he says softly. “Did I wake you? I just– hey.”

The bat clinks against the tile where you drop it. You lunge into Steve, interlacing your arms across his shoulders in a fierce hug.

“Hey, hey. What’s wrong?” He spreads each palm across opposite ends of your back.

“I thought– I thought you left or– or you died, or something.” You gasp wetly into his sternum, clinging to him like he might blow away if you breathe too hard.

“I didn’t leave. I’m here. I’m right here. I’m not going anywhere, I promise.”

He shushes and soothes you for a long period before you lean back for a better look at him. “You’re okay?” You blubber.

“Yeah, I feel way better,” he promises. “Are you okay? I’m sorry I scared you.” The pad of his thumb strokes a loop from the end of your brow to the bridge of your nose and back.

“I almost took your head off with that bat.”

He chuckles but it lacks any real amusement; he can’t find a joke through all his concerns. A set of kisses are sewn from your hairline to your chin. “I’m sorry. Are you hungry?”

“It’s like four AM,” you wipe your nose with the flat of your hand.

“So? You’ve been busy taking care of my ass. When was the last time you ate?”

You make a noncommittal noise. You really can’t remember.

“Exactly. Let me make you something. What do you want?”

You let Steve cook for you. He’s happy to return the favor, take care of you for a change. And you’re just happy he’s happy.

All vigor appears to be restored. He stands tall, moves swiftly, and works sprightly, maybe even more so than before. It feels too good to be true. Perhaps you’re dreaming now.

He doesn’t notice he’s cooking with the lights off until you mention it. And he swears they don’t bother him like the sun does when you question him, just another newfound ability that he can see in the dark. But he flicks the light on for you and you find his face is a shade that is much more Steve. Not as golden as before, but not as lifeless, either.

When you get situated at the dining room table under dim lights with a plate full of steaming food, you thank him.

“Don’t thank me. I should be thanking you, dummy.”

You shake your head. Gratitude is not needed. “I missed you.”

“I know. I’m sorry.”

Silly apologies aren’t needed either. “Don’t be, please. Nothing you could do.”

“No, I should’ve listened to you, from the start. I hate to admit it, but you and Dustin were right.”

A touch of a smirk finds your lips. He’s so stubborn, you love it as much as you hate it. “We need to call him. Tell him it worked.”

“Inflate his ego some more?”

“Exactly,” you crack into a grin and he watches fondly, despite your mouth full of food. “But seriously, he cares about you, Steve.”

“No, I know. I know. I’ll call him.”

There’s a dip in the conversation. You observe each other like you might never have the chance again. A mutual understanding eclipses any prior tension. You’re both alive and you’re both endlessly grateful.

“We should visit Max. The others too. I’d like to see them.”

You nod, an attempt to self-soothe more than a confirmation of his request. Tears prick your waterline like sand spurs and spill in quicksilver lines down your cheeks before you can stop them.

Steve scoots his chair against yours, shovels you into his lap, and begs you to tell him what’s wrong in one fluid motion.

“I’m just so glad you're okay, Stevie. That’s all.”

“I’m okay,” he assures and he repeats it again and again until you believe it.

His fingers are icicles where they sweep the length of your arm. It’s a stark reminder of what’s changed.

The love of your life, Steve Harrington, is a vampire. The idea is peculiar, sticks out in your thoughts like caution tape. But it presents some sense of consolation too.

Steve’s a vampire. He moves like a mouse and can see in the dark and hears your heartbeat from across the room. Admittedly, you hate that last part a little bit. It’s fucking bizarre and something that’ll take time to get used to; even more for Steve than for you. Most importantly, he’s still sweet on you. Still selfless enough to nurse your wounds before his. Still loving enough to kiss your tears as they fall.

This new phase is just that– a new phase. It brings things to learn and even more things to love about Steve. It’ll take a lot worse to tear you apart.

#vampire steve harrington #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x you #steve harrington angst #steve harrington fluff #steve harrington #stranger things #stranger things fic #stranger things x reader #skeltnwrites

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tadfool · 1 year ago

Text

thinkin about Astarion mending Wyll's clothes for him but also embroidering something on them when he does. I imagine with all the fighting and traveling Wyll ends up with rips and holes in his clothes pretty often and eventually Astarion gets sick of watching him walk around in tattered clothes (most people likely wouldn't even notice but of course Astarion isn't most people). the first couple times he does it he just mends the damages and gives it back, but maybe one time Wyll ends up with a particularly large rip in his shirt and Astarion decides to take the opportunity to cover the damage with a small bit of embroidery to tidy up the repair. Wyll thanks him for repairing his shirt (again) but then he notices the embroidery and pauses for a moment in both surprise and marvel. "did you do this?" he says, carefully running his thumb over the delicate stitches, he knew it was a bit of a stupid question but he couldn't seem to think of anything else to say. (cont. under the cut bc this got kinda long)

"it was a pretty nasty rip, even with my skillful hands," Astarion flashes Wyll a suggestive grin to emphasize his innuendo but Wyll is still to busy admiring the embroidery in his hands, "I wasn't able to make the repair look presentable on its own, but a bit of embroidery does well enough to cover it up"

"it's beautiful." Wyll breathes.

"yes, well, you're welcome." Astarion retorts, his voice thick with snark to hide how much Wyll's earnest praise flustered him.

Wyll chuckles and thanks him again before they part ways.

the next time Astarion repairs some of Wyll's clothes when he returns the item Wyll once again notices a small patch of embroidery but this time it's somewhere totally unrelated to the damaged area. it's lovely, and he spends a moment admiring it before giving Astarion a questioning look. "there was a stain, I couldn't wash it out so I just covered it up. you're welcome, by the way." Astarion defends, and it's almost believable. it might have been more believable if it didn't keep happening.

every time Wyll hands over a damaged piece of clothing to be repaired, it's returned to him with some new embroidery adorning it. it starts off subtle but after some time he has a collage of embroidery along his left pant leg, starting at his hip and extending further down towards his knee with every repair. the collar and both shoulders of his shirt are adorned with delicate designs in colourful thread. he also, notably, becomes a bit more careful in battle, not wanting to damage Astarion's embroidery.

once, an opponent manages to graze his shoulder with their blade, the cut isn't deep but it slices through his shirt. and through the embroidery. as soon as he glaces over and catches sight of the torn thread, he's furious. he dispatches the enemy quickly and rather ungracefully. when he hands the shirt over to Astarion to be repaired he's positively dejected. "swiped at my shoulder, I didn't manage to deflect it in time, cut straight through the embroidery..."

Astarion clicks his tongue, assessing the damage, "no respect for craftsmanship these days..."

when he returns the shirt most of the old design has been picked out and replaced with a new one. a simpler design, Wyll notes, likely easier to repair if it were to get damaged again. he admires it with the same appreciation as the first. "is your shoulder alright, by the way?" Astarion asks rather suddenly.

"hm? oh, yes, barely grazed it. nothing a bandage and a night or two's rest won't fix."

"good." the silence that follows is almost palpable. so many unspoken words, concern, affection, hanging in the space between them. "well. do try to be more careful." Astarion finally says, then hastily adds "at this rate I'm going to run out of thread before I get a chance to get more."

Wyll smiles softly at him. (so softly it makes Astarion's chest ache) "of course." (the idea that Astarion cares about his safety makes Wyll's chest ache as well)

#holy shit this ended up. way longer than I originally intended #concept had a mind of its own #sorry my bloodpact brain worms took over #bg3 #baldur's gate 3 #wyll ravengard #astarion #astarion ancunin #wyllstarion #bloodpact #bloodfrontier

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dottores · 2 years ago

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HELIOTROPES

pairing: dottore x fem!reader & segments

summary: the gods were sick and twisted. for five hundred years, he believed he was fated to be alone. he had long accepted it—embraced it, even. that is, until a midwinter night when that elusive red thread finally appeared on his finger. but as much as he wants to ignore it, the pull of a soulmate simply cannot be ignored.

genre: soulmate au, canon compliant for the most part, forbidden love, slow burn.

warnings: fem!reader, age gap, lots of worldbuilding for snezhnaya & the fatui & fontaine, dottore is his own warning, angst and romance, none others that i can think of off the top of my head. each chapter will have its own warnings, it is self-ship coded, and i will take liberty with dottore’s known lore.

status: incomplete. updates sporadic, at least monthly.

taglist: 50/50 (CLOSED. if you would like to be on it, still comment here—i’m going to periodically go through and remove people who don’t interact, and then i’ll add you)

notes: sigh i wanted to give my beluved a little series. this is something i’ll be working on in my free time for fun, so updates will be sporadic, i was gonna post the reincarnation fic butttt that one is a little too dear to my heart ALL SEGMENTS THAT SHOW UP IN THIS SERIES ARE MINE ‼️ i created them, do not take them to use for yourself.

00. THE SEGMENTS

01. MIDWINTER

02. JOY

03. THE COLOR PURPLE

04. THE FAMILY JEWELS

05. AN INEXORABLE DEATH

06. RISE OF A KING, FALL OF A QUEEN

07. A WARM WELCOME

08. THE DOCTOR

09. THE TIES THAT BIND

10. GENESIS

11. DOWN THE RABBIT HOLE

12. SPIT IN MY FACE

13. ALEA IACTA EST

… TBA

SIDE STORIES

THREE TIMES THE SEGMENTS MET YOU WITHOUT REALIZING IT, AND ONE TIME THEY DID.

rbs appreciated!

#dottore x reader #dottore smut #dottore x you #genshin x reader #genshin smut #genshin x you #genshin impact x reader #genshin impact smut #genshin impact x you

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coryosbaby · 11 months ago

Note

anal / rimming with coryo? skip if you don’t feel comfortable!

♡ Content Warning . 18+ mdni !! Switch but mainly sub coryo <3

— Coryo’s got his hands plastered at his sides, blonde curls sticking to his forehead in sticky strands. He’s so whiny, regardless of the dominance over you, as he watches you take the tip of his cock into your mouth. Your tongue laves over the underside of his cock, tasting the stringy precum soaking his aching cockhead. He breathes out a heavy sigh, his head tilted back against the headboard.

“Feels so good,” he murmurs, licking his lips sweetly. “Feels so, so good, baby. Keep doing it juuust like that.”

You hum, and teasingly you pull your tongue away. He lets out a gasp of breath, his hand threading in your hair as he tries to shove you back down onto him. You grab his hand, quick to shove it down beside his lean hips. He chuckles, something low and dark, and heat creeps up your neck.

“What? You wanna try and be the one in charge this time? Go ahead, sweetheart, you won’t last a second.”

Your jaw clenches. Coryo knows you’ll throw him into subspace as quick as lightening. His challenge doesn’t go unnoticed to you, and you reach down to grasp his balls in your hand. His lashes flutter, a surprised gasp escaping him, as you move your mouth over them, too. You nuzzle your face into him, breathe in his scent with a deep sigh.

“You think I won’t make you beg, Coryo?” You murmur softly to him. “Cmon, beg.”

“N-Not that easy,” he huffs, a small smile playing on his lips. “Try harder.”

“Hm.”

You bite your lip, leaving soft kisses on his inner thighs and his heavy sack. Your tongue moves lower, past the space behind his balls. Your hands grab his legs and pull him up, just a bit, to spread him out more. Your tongue presses in between his cheeks.

The boy suddenly whines, sweet and sultry, his mouth open into an o and his pale skin turning dusty pink.

“W-Wait—“ he stutters out, but you just grin. If he didn’t want this, he’d use the safe word. And as of right now, he isn’t.

“No, no. Have to try harder, right?”

“You’re so mean.” He says, pouting. His dominance has faded, as it always does. All it takes is one little swipe of your tongue against his hole to make him a whimpering, bratty mess.

“Oh? I am?”

You make a faux gesture of pulling away, but Coryo lets out a pathetic cry.

“No! No, please come back, mommy, ‘m sorry…”

And just like that, that name spilling past his lips, you know you’ve got him in your clutches.

You smile, your index finger trailing up in between his legs to touch that special place he’s reserved just for you. You tease his hole with your fingertip, not quite slipping it in yet because it isn’t wet enough— but you still have fun watching the boy squirm.

“Please, mommy,” he pleads. “Stick your fingers in me, please.”

Your fingers lave over his lips.

“Get them wet for me, sweet boy.”

He suckles the digit onto his pretty tongue, drooling all over them with ferocity and impatience. You pull them out and tease one over his hole again. You push in slowly, as to not hurt him, and you crook your finger just how he likes it. Watching his hole swallow your finger so greedily makes slick drip down your thighs.

“Oh,” he whines out, when you add another finger. “Baby. Baby baby baby…”

It’s all he can say, as you fingerfuck his tight little asshole with your mouth, whispering vulgar phrases against his ear. He groans when your head travels back down.

You pull out your fingers, much to his dismay, but not before you’re using your thumbs to pull his cheeks apart and expose his clenching hole. Your tongue lolls out, licking a long stripe up the skin there, and his legs shake.

“Mommy..” he cries, his hands burying themselves in your hair once again. You begin to prod at his hole with the warm, wet muscle, sliding in one finger beside your tongue so you can hit that special spot inside him that has him keening. Rubbing up against his rim, pushing your tongue back in— in and out, in and out. Coryo’s thighs practically wrap around your head like a girl, and you wonder how a powerful, usually dominant man can be reduced to such a whiny, needy slut.

His cock isn’t being touched, but it’s twitching against his stomach, red and flushed. He watches with fluttering lashes as pleasure courses through him and he cums, squirting weak ropes of spend all over his tummy.

And he’s so cute like that, cumming all over himself from just your tongue on his tight little hole <3 he just loses it whenever you touch him there.

#Coriolanus snow #bratty lxndry444 #Coriolanus snow x reader #Coriolanus x fem! reader #Coriolanus snow smut #sub! Coriolanus snow #bunny writes ͟͟͞☆#tbosas #the ballad of songs and snakes #the ballad of songs and snakes fanfic #thg #thg fanfic #the hunger games #hunger games #Tom blyth

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ghostlygraphist · 1 year ago

Text

ai generated mushroom guides could get people killed

'i'm not going to link any of them here, for a variety of reasons, but please be aware of what is probably the deadliest AI scam i've ever heard of: plant and fungi foraging guide books. the authors are invented, their credentials are invented, and their species IDs will kill you"

"update: i keep getting annoyed that the QTs are like "if this is true, it's horrifying" ..but you're right, you don't know me from a hole in the ground and you SHOULD worry about the veracity of anything you find online."

thread source

so i went looking

the full description:

How to quickly become a confident mushroom forager without fear of misidentifying poisonous lookalikes!

Have you dreamt about becoming more self-sufficient and sourcing your own fresh, local ingredients?

Do you want to start sustainably foraging so you can become healthier and happier?

Have you thought about harvesting wild mushrooms but afraid you won’t be able to tell the edible and poisonous species apart?

Then this book is for you!

Save money and enjoy the delicacies that nature has to offer. Mushroom hunting is easier than you think, and less dangerous than everyone assumes.

Wild plant foraging is increasing in popularity with celebrity chefs and small cafes jumping on the bandwagon and using locally foraged produce in their food.

There are so many benefits of foraging to your health (physical and mental) and even the environment!

In Fearless Foraging in the Rocky Mountains, you’ll discover:

Over 40 species of mushroom you can harvest all year round

Complimentary access to the mobile-friendly Digital Field Guide that includes high-resolution photos and descriptions of all edible mushrooms and any toxic lookalikes so you don’t have to worry about misidentifying species

How to correctly create (and use) spore prints to help you figure out what’s what

An annual mushroom calendar so you can keep track of the mushrooms by season and make the most of each foraging season

Detailed descriptions of the anatomical properties of fungi - gain the essential knowledge you need to correctly identify species

Tips on sustainable foraging - and ways to increase the natural mushroom count for next time you visit!

And much more!

Foraging is a tradition upheld for centuries by indigenous people who used ancient, respectful principles to live off the land. Connect with that history by embracing the artful skills and knowledge to confidently collect food for your meals.

Even if you're still worried about toxic mushrooms, let this guide reassure you. Included are incredibly high-level descriptions and details to use so you don’t get it wrong. NOTE: To keep it economically prices, our paperback version is printed in black and white. Premium color is available in our hardcover version. Both will provide the quality necessary to identify wild mushrooms and plants and both come with access to the full color, high-resolution Digital Field Guide.

If you want to learn the skillful art of foraging mushrooms and enjoy nature's nutritious bounties then scroll up and click the “Add to Cart” button now.

end description

wild harvest publications... no named author? i n t e r e s t i n g

"To keep it economically prices" hmm *the design is very human meme*

this book that promises highly detailed descriptions doesn't even have color images unless you pay a premium

"Mushroom hunting is easier than you think, and less dangerous than everyone assumes." hmm. hmmmmm. yeah the government definitely put out those 'if you don't know what it is don't put it in your mouth' PSAs for no reason

tldr don't buy foraging guides off amazon if you can't locate a human author and verify their credentials yourself

#mushrooms #fungi #fungus #ai #amazon #foraging #we live in the worst timeline #incorrect foraging guides is like something a hostile government would distribute to kill dissidents about to go into hiding in the woods #but no its idiots who want to make money #mushroom identification #mushrooming

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loaksbitch · 2 years ago

Note

i want neteyam’s head between my thighs. that’s it. that’s the thought. brought to you by midnight and tipsy 😖 anon

- 😖

“that’s it, that’s my girl.” — neteyam sully (⨳)

we all know neteyam is the good ol’ perfect soldier and warrior, but oh well, not only in fight but in tongue. — pretty anon, you just have gave me the best idea ever!

warnings : agedup!neteyam, puthy eating, slight teasing, licking, clit stimulation.. lmk if i gotta add anything!

“‘teyam.”

you’re going to be the death of him. neteyam takes your soft mewls as a boost and laps on your folds with more greed. “mm-hm.” he would moan onto your cunt, sending vibrations into you that have you curling your toes.

he loves how your hold tightens on his braids, pulling on his locks that sent him hissing and stuffing his face into your nub. fuck, you were hot mess for him.

neteyam brought his eyes up only to be met with your hazy amber eyes. both of you holding onto the fiery gaze for several moments, pouty lips parted and your moan surfacing to the air inside the hut your mate brought you.

neteyam leaned back, looking straight to your saturated folds and watching the beautiful mess he just created. “you’re so wet.” he tells you as if you’re not hyper aware of that. “sooo wet, princess.” he says, ghosting your clit with a kitten lick.

you gasp at the gesture, almost sitting on your hips when the pleasure strikes. “neteyam.” your tone was tinted with a glint of warning when the man between your thighs teases you.

whenever you wanted neteyam to go the right way? he always went to the right way but he needed to be begged. neteyam wanted to be begged by you. “tryna freak me out, baby?” his voice was so cutting edge and sharp with teasings.

“please, nete’ i need to feel you in me.” you manage to say and the gaze of the man in front of you darkens instantly. you bit your lips when his path towards your center came closer. neteyam’s pink tongue extended out, long and flat before it was dragged between your folds right to your sensitive cunt.

his eyes never left yours when he fucked your hole with his tongue.

you shuddered when you saw him tilt his head back, a clear and thin string of saliva connecting with your nectar. your throat hurts when you swallow hard, trying your hardest to not moan loudly and let the na’vi out from the hut know what’s going on inside.

“i love how you taste.” he was blunt with his words, whispering sweet nothings to you that only caused his hot breath to hit your folds.

neteyam held your body steady, swirling his tongue around your bud and flicking it softly but with the right amount of pressure. every time he did that, you felt the coil in your tummy tighten.

“hmgn..” you whimper and as the suction against your sex increased the strangled moans came out harsher and louder. neteyam was picking up on the early signs you’re showing, taking a hint that you’re close from your edge. “oh,” your mouth gaped in an ‘o’ shape when your mate slipped his finger inside your tight hole.

index and middle fingers still being inside of you neteyam curled his fingers in a ‘c’mere’ motion. he looked up at you, softly grazing his teeth on your nub while he fucked his fingers inside you.

your chest heaving up and down that overstimulation finding its way to your nerves which made you push neteyam’s head away but no, he only growled at you with annoyance. “don’t push me.” his fingers moved in ways you can’t just pinpoint.

your back arched and legs came closer, brain turned to mush and only a “i’m gonna, i’m g-gonna…” leaving your lips.

“come.” he demands, “c’mon, sweet girl, let go for me.” and you just did, you came just like you’re told and like a good girl you are.

neteyam watched you come undone with a carnal excitement and thread of pleasure. “that’s it.” he eased his finger out of you with a relieved sigh. “that’s my girl.” it felt like a pat on your head. neteyam was fast to cradle up to the hammock and take you into his arms while you collect your breath.

“you did so good for me.” a kiss was placed to your forehead and you on other hand just snuggle to his chest, too tired and spent, you just let yourself feel safe in his arms.

mooties taglist .. @justasimps-blog @love-chx @theycallmesia @fanboyluvr @sullyswife (lmk if i forgot you or want to be removed !)

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thewritetofreespeech · 1 year ago

Note

Could I request Atsushi, Dazai, and Chuuya with an s/o who has a thread manipulation ability?

Atsushi

“What are you doing?” Atsushi asked as he saw [Y/N] in the breakroom. Their hand waving over what looked like a cape.

“Oh, this is Ranpo-sama’s. He asked me to fix it for him.” The holes in the fabric stitching together like new from their ability, Ties that Bind. “It got nicked on the last mission he went on and he’s been upset about it ever since.”

Atsushi smiled. “It’s nice of you to fix it for him.”

“It’s really no trouble.” Invisible threads spread out from [Y/N]’s back, almost like wings, to pick up some tea & biscuits on the counter and place them on the table. “A thing like this is nothing.”

Atsushi continued to smile. “I wish I had a more useful ability like this. Mine just seems to have the power to destroy.” At least that was how he felt sometimes.

“Don’t say that Atsushi, your powers provide you with the ability to protect.” [Y/N] told them, as they poured the tea themselves with their own two hands. “Every ability has its pros & cons. I won’t say that I’ve used my ability for the best purpose all the time.”

Atsushi never asks them about how they use their ability on missions. They don’t go together often, but he knows enough that the ‘pros & cons’ they are talking about usually means people get killed. “Don’t say that your abilities aren’t useful though.”

He smiled again and sat down at the table, in front of his poured tea. “Ok. I won’t.” He promised. Enjoying the rest of the afternoon with [Y/N].

Chuuya

Chuuya growled as his opponent mocked him again. “What’s the matter Port Mafia-san? Can’t hit a target you can’t catch?”

This guy, this idiot, had the ability to teleport anywhere he chose. Chuuya figured it must be short range, or at least an area in sight, since he hadn’t left the building yet. But it was just getting really annoying because he could catch him if he just brought the whole building down! But apparently he wasn’t allowed to do that….anymore.

“You Port Mafia goons are all brawn and no brains! You need to get up pretty early in the morning to get one past Monsieur--!” The idiot stopped talking, cutting off what Chuuya had to assume was an annoying introduction, when his arm was suddenly caught in a mass of silvery string.

“My, my, so loud…” The annoying man looked alarmed as he saw [Y/N] come out of the shadows. He wanted to tell him that he should be alarmed. But he had been so annoying that Chuuya didn’t want to help him. “You know my mother always told me that people who just keep talking, usually have nothing of value to add to the conversation at all.”

The annoying man smirked at their reply. “Nothing of value, eh? We’ll see about that!”

He teleported again. Trying to come up behind [Y/N] for some alleged clever attack, but found himself caught in another bundle of threads. When [Y/N] cooly looked over their shoulder at him, the idiot became visibly scared and teleported again. This time away, but again in another mass of threads.

This continued over & over with the idiot trying to teleport out of his situation. Panic and fear apparently making it impossible that he had already fallen into [Y/N]’s literal web. The more he tried to get out the worse it became. Until all that was left was a silvery white mask of threads, suspended in mid air by their attachments, and the idiots muffled screams.

“I could have had him.” Chuuya remarked when it was all over.

“I know you could have dear.” [Y/N] cooed. Trying to soothe his pout. “But, leadership is so stingy against property damage these days. This way is much easier.”

They linked arms with Chuuya and walked out with him. An associate team already there to collect. “Don’t let that idiot get out!” He ordered them. “Let him rot in there for all I care.”

“That’s my big strong guy!”

Dazai

Dazai wheezed as he came out of the river. His left arm still handcuffed, but broken off from his right, giving him the opportunity to push his wet hair out of his eyes. ‘Damnit’ He thought. ‘Failed again. I was sure the barrel trick would have worked this time.’

“Have a nice little sail?” Dazai looked up the bank to see [Y/N] standing there. Pristine and infatuating as ever, but with that icky face they made when he tried one of these stunts. “Did you at least ask the shopkeeper this time before you stole his barrel?”

“He didn’t seem to mind.” Dazai replied as he walked up the bank. Sore, but alive. Like he hadn’t been punished enough for being alive. “I take it this is you then? My plan was surely fool proof this time.”

“Then it obviously wouldn’t work since you are a fool.”

They were avoiding the question, which gave Dazai all the information he needed to know. Of course it had been them.

Ties that Bind. A thread manipulation technique that had incredible defensive and offensive capabilities. Virtually limitless from distance. Practically indestructible bindings. And one other very special technique.

‘Threads’ were not only bestowed upon [Y/N] in the literal sense. They were also metaphorical. Through their ability they could connect and manipulate the secret threads of life between people for their own gain. Relationships. Consciousness. Memories. And yes, even, the intangible thread of life force. If they put their mind to it.

“Why won’t you just let me die?” Dazai asked them. He wasn’t begging. He was still too proud to beg for death. “It must be a terrible drain keeping my thread intact all this time.”

“Don’t act all pious by pretending it would be my benefit to let you die. If I can stop your idiocy, for as long as I can, I will.” They turned to walk away, and of course Dazai followed. He’d already tried to kill himself once today. He didn’t like a double show. “Where would I be without you, Dazai? You just plan to leave me alone?”

“I offered to have you come with me, but you refused.” He replied. Shrugging his shoulders like he’d asked them to come with him to a café, not the other side. “I even offered to let you choose how. Or to use your ability. Being bound together for all eternity by your invisible threads sounds like a wonderful way to go!”

[Y/N] hmphed. “I don’t want to die like you Dazai. I know I can’t stop it forever. But I don’t want to speed it along.”

The tall brunette shrugged at that. Respecting their decision. “I suppose, for now, I can’t either. With you keeping my thread whole, I guess I’ll have to stick around longer.”

“Is it really that horrible living Dazai?”

He wanted to tell them yes but…when he looked into their eyes, all he could think of was, “no. I guess not horrible.”

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cheesycatz · 4 months ago

Text

The Worm's Apple

(Spamton AU reference sheet) 1 2

Text ver and close ups below

This version of Spamton claims to be a spam program, but his credibility appears to be dubious. Covered from neck to toe and wearing a strange mask, the little of him that is visible doesn't quite match. But, the only thing more hated than spam is malware, so what reason would he have to lie?

- He walks stiffly. His torso barely moves, his legs don't bend, and his arms hang limply when he attempts to look normal.

- He purposefully wears baggy clothes to hide the abnormal shape of his body and limbs.

- While he attempts to make his legs look plantigrade, the actual digitigrade shape of his legs often shows through his pants.

- He keeps his long tail curled tightly behind him. However, it often unfurls when he experiences strong emotions or feels comfortable.

- His neck is unnaturally long and flexible, as though it lacks vertebrae.

- Not beating the cat allegations

- Spamton often hisses and spikes up his fur when angry or threatened. His suit limits his senses, physical defenses, and mobility, so he resorts to many threats.

- Even when alone in the city, Spamton usually leaves his suit on until he can bring it home. However, he won't pass up the opportunity for a meal along the way.

- (Tiny comparison of a real spam program, an addison, and Spamton in the bottom right corner)

- Spamton actually keeps himself as clean as possible, even if he can't clean his clothes. Regardless, he likes performing his self cleaning mechanisms as a stim, even while wearing his suit. He rubs his nose and rubs his arms together in the same way that insects clean dust off their antennae and legs.

- Spamton's hands are quite small, and his relatively long fingers often show up through his mittens. The fabric is damaged from the numerous holes that his claws have poked through them.

- He's around 5 ft (~150 cm) tall, with a 7ft (~215 cm) long tail

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I'm no character designer (Spamton's suit here is literally just the miniature outfit I made for my spam plush), but I like what Disguised Wormton has become over the past two years. While completely accidental, the five-petal shape and yellow thread of his button/pin perfectly represents an apple tree blossom, a nod to his symbolism. The rest of his attempt at an outfit is "hide as much as possible, but still look good doing it." ...as good as he thinks an untucked shirt and clothes ten sizes too big look. He's meant to appear incredibly uncanny when he puts effort into "being normal," looking more like a shuffling zombie than anything natural. I think the round and wide shapes of his suit contrasted with the long, thin, and sharp points of his only visible features adds to the untrustworthness he radiates. His animalistic tendencies look worse when performed by something trying to look humanoid. Even if it's more comfortable for him, the incorrect bend of his legs, the perpetual raptor arms, the absurdly long tail, and his awkwardly long neck highlight the concept of something trying so hard to look human (or humanoid in the case of Deltarune) yet always failing. That's what I was going for when designing him, at least. After writing like 50k words about disguised Wormton, he honestly might be creepier than normal Wormton. I'd rather deal with the obscure cryptid that hisses and runs away than be approached by this kidney stealer lookin mf trying to sell used cigarettes or something. He's definitely grown on me, though. In a "I would never want to be locked in a room with any of the characters I like" kind of way.

#spamton #spamton fanart #deltarune #deltarune chapter 2 #deltarune fanart #spamton g spamton #spamton au #wormton au #cheesycatz art posts #how did this guy pull an entire friend group of well adjusted addisons when he looks like this

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roseredsnow · 11 months ago

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Inspired by this post and a comment I've just realised it may be helpful for people just learning to sew and make clothes what's easier to start with and what's harder.

So offering my opinion as a cosplayer who's sewn a lot of things.

(Baring in mind this is as the most basic version, not taking into account pleats or collars etc)

Starting with easier.

- T-shirts and tops, fairly simple, you could literally a square/rectangle and leave bits unsewn for the sleeves and head and it'd still work, for the sleeves, it's just more rectangles.

(Will help to curve the holes though, especially for the neckline)

- Dresses honestly pretty similar just long rectangle, just means you're using more fabric.

With both of these if you want to take it in anywhere to make it more form fitting it tends just to be like a curve inward, just make sure it's all flat or you'll catch some fabric on the side you're not looking at and have to go over again and possibly have puncture holes depending on what fabric you're using.

-Skirts again pretty simple, it just depends how you want to do the waist, and making sure if it doesn't unfastened all the the way down that the top of the skirt can go over your hips.

- Trousers (pants) are hell, I know people that have degrees in fashion or costume making and still despise making trousers.

Important to remember that you're probably gonna need the back to come a bit higher up, if you find it riding too low add in a long triangle, you'll often find bought jeans with this done on purpose.

The inseam? Honestly I have no tips it's why I hate making trousers.

If you're using an elastic waistband pretty sure the rule is elastic the measurement of your waist, fabric to the measurement of your hips/the biggest oart it has to go over. Elastic will stretch but not all fabrics will.

- Jumpsuits/Dungarees, I haven't made many but the issues here is again the inseam plus making sure you don't give yourself a wedgie cause it needs to go over your shoulders as well, so probably like give extra length than you would for top + trousers and then take it in.

- Gloves are a nightmare, would not recommend, I only tend to make them for facepaint characters if I can't find some online that are long enough. You will have to unpick some thread between your fingers, I don't know what else to offer.

Almost anything that fits you when on and is just a pain to put on can be fixed with a longer zip, I have a dress that fits perfectly when on but because its fitted at the waist it won't go over my hips or shoulders unless the zip goes all the way to my hips, but it works.

Will eventually do like a proper guide to making stuff as simple as possible, I have both a top, trousers and cloak to make for an upcoming cosplay so that's gonna be fun.

#solarpunk #hopepunk #solar punk #clothes #sewing #diy #handmade clothes #crafting diy #beginer sewing

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dsknsk · 23 days ago

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E.G.O Analysis - Hex Nail

NOTE: This will mainly go over the E.G.O on Rodion and on Sinclair, because there already is an excellent analysis of it on Faust.

Has no Canto 7 spoilers and will not talk about the Abnormality/E.G.O in a Canto 7 context. Please do NOT add it for the sake of people who want to remain unspoiled.

I have done it. I said I would go write E.G.O analysis posts and here we are - starting with Hex Nail because, with the two new examples of it, it's been on my mind for a while.

But before we analyze the E.G.O, we must first go to the source Abnormality and observe it.

Source

Hurting Teddy Bear is an Abberation of the Happy Teddy Bear. The Happy Teddy Bear was once a regular teddy bear, who was owned by a girl who loved him. Until, one day, for some unknown reason, it was left behind and abandoned - the girl presumably never coming back. But, and here's the important thing: it was and is still a teddy bear. Even though it and Hurting Teddy Bear are, well, Abnormalities, they are also very clearly plush animals.

And plush animals are created to be loved. To be hugged. Thus, both Hurting and Happy Teddy Bear still sit there, waiting for people who it can hug.

The difference with them is the type of experience they went through. While it is stated that Happy Teddy Bear (hence its name) was very much loved while it still had an owner, Hurting Teddy Bear is not told to have had an owner. It sits in a space reminiscent of a daycare instead. And from the text, we can infer that the way that it was treated was very much not loving and that it is, in fact, suffering:

A teddy bear suffers from having nails lodged into its body.

This teddy bear was mistreated, as it was staked, impaled, and its eyes presumably ripped out, torn apart and then haphazardly stitched together with thread. From what is visible it is clear that such damage cannot simply be from a single moment. No, this is a built up torment, a result from long-term abuse.

But because it's a teddy bear, and thus made to be loved, it knows nothing else than that it should be loved. Being essentially an inanimate object (its status as an Abnormality aside), it can't do anything but sit there and wait until someone gives it love. And it's clear that that hasn't happened at all. When you encounter it, you can decide to help it, either by bandaging its wounds or removing its nails. Both lead to an effect that is beneficial to you (either a heal to your allies or its E.G.O gift if you win the check, and some cost if you lose). Even so, it's not stated that this fixed it up. It leaves behind "an empty void" after bleeding out if you remove its nails, and if you bandage its wounds, you make sure to give it an extra good dressing because after some surface treatment, the wound still seems sore.

But most damning, if you fail the check for removing its nails, it is said that it doesn't look like it minds - and that it perhaps is unable to feel pain anymore.

Hear me out.

Happy Teddy Bear represents abandonment, still wanting for that loved one to come back, and clinging to anyone who shows any kind of attention.

Hurting Teddy Bear represents a toxic relationship (not just with one other person, also with society in general), the wanting for love of someone and the things you do for it, only to be hurt over and over again, yet still remaining there without any kind of protest, slowly having become unable to feel the pain anymore.

The nails in specific perhaps symbolize a deep trauma, one that's lodged so deeply that, when removed, they leave behind nothing at all:

You removed the nails from the teddy bear. Bloody pus pours out of the holes. Once the plush had finished its copious exudation, only a dark cavity remained within. It is an empty void.

Sinclair

Now, Sinclair already has his own theme going on within his past concerning impalement, nails and abuse, so it is only natural for him to get this E.G.O. Similar to Faust, he also is positioned turned away from the viewer, as if he doesn't want to show the viewer what his body looks like from the front.

Combined with what the Abnormality symbolizes, it is safe to say that this E.G.O resonance stems from Kromer's abuse. This is also implied with his Awakening line:

Why don't you try impaling yourself then? Feel what it's like to have someone curse you…

Kromer is known for impaling others. And it's almost as if it's an answer to her acts, to what she did to him. He feels like she "cursed" him. Meanwhile, the Corrosion line is him taking up the abuse instead and returning it back to sender:

Now that you're torn, I'll sew you up! Heheh... get over here!

After Kromer tore him apart, all that she had to do was attempt to "sew him up", i.e taking him in and "undoing" the damage in that way, in her twisted view. And now he's taking that violence and sending it back - it's a nod towards his own violent thoughts. Even after his chapter concluded and Kromer is dead, he still harbors feelings of hate towards her (maybe especially since he couldn't deal the finishing blow or made her death more torturous). On another note, in Cavernous Wailing's Awakening line it's also implies he still thinks of the people who died, wishing he could've taken all their sorrow on himself instead.

Speaking of impaling. The "button" at his throat is in fact a nail, as becomes clear in the Corrosion where his eyes are torn out (almost as if he doesn't (want to) see), and he is staked in a similar way.

Rodion

Rodion's E.G.O differs from the other two in a very substantial way.

First off, her attire. It looks more like a doll version of the teddy, or alternatively, the dress of the little girl that might've roughed it up so much. It also seems the least hurt, only having stitches.

Secondly, the Abnormality is much smaller in the art, small enough for Rodion to puppet it around. Through this, it also appears in the attack itself on her sprite, during which she also explicitly puppets it and seemingly makes it do her bidding.

While the connection was very obvious with Sinclair in that it led back to the abuse he went through himself, Rodion's connection is a little deeper.

Similar to her namesake, Rodion has a continuing conflict in that she wants to show to the world that she's special somehow. The way that the fandom seems to know her is the trope she's a parody of, the "ara-ara hard drinking and partying big sister with motherly tendencies". A frivolous character type without a care in the world.

Rodion is trying to control how people perceive her, by putting on this facade. During the Awakening attack as well as in the art, Rodion puts on an exaggerated happy expression. Note that in the normal sprites, happiness tends to be shown by a simple smile. She is really, really trying to show to others that she is a happy person, and trying to control people's opinion and thoughts of her in this way.

The thing is...it's very much not working. Well, apparently not on a part of the fandom aside.

And we can see that in the Corrosion - it is a reversion of what she did in the Awakening. Instead of her seemingly controlling the bear, it is in control of her now, even literally swapping the position by making her the doll with the bear being bigger, looming over her.

Note that in the idle sprite, her smile has disappeared. She has her eyes open and is no longer wearing an exaggerated look on her face. That is, except for when you hover over with your mouse over the sprite when she's standing there, and when she is clashing. Even during the Corrosion attack itself she momentarily snaps back to a sad expression before switching back to that exaggerated smile again.

Resources

Faust's Hex Nail needed 6 Envy - just a large amount of Envy. However, these two E.G.Os need three types of resources instead, and Envy is merely one of them.

We already sorta kinda explained Envy above, in that Envy is a Sin that relates to what others did to you. You can see its symbol as thorns as representatives - thorns don't harm by themselves, it is only when someone touches them that they hurt.

Sinclair needs 2 Envy and Rodya needs 4. This might perhaps be because Rodya's own issue (which I described in her section) is very much ongoing, whereas Kromer is dead and not present to hurt her anymore. Rodya still feels the need to put on a facade to get the impressions others have of her under control; Sinclair "merely" still harbors memories of his past abuse and he's showing signs of healing (like him not really minding Christmas decorations anymore).

Both of them need 2 Lust. This can be chalked up to the both of them wanting something that isn't physical - Sinclair wants Kromer to suffer as much as he did (notably not Wrath, as standing up and acting can't do anything since Kromer is dead, so it remains a desire), and Rodya wants others to see her as a good, special person.

And lastly, the both of them need Pride - Sinclair needing 2 Pride, while Rodya needs 1. I think that in here, Pride should be read as the ignoring of consequences, and Sinclair needs more because for him, the consequences could be much more grave. If he really did decide to double down on N Corp, the force behind Kromer, he could send a whole bunch of misfortune on his path for the sake of following that "desire" (Lust). While Rodya's issue, while she treats it as very important, could result "merely" in people seeing her as just a try-hard who is just a wannabe.

And so, that's it for this time. I didn't go over the resistances since I haven't found a good explanation for those, but this should be enough for the time being.

#limbus company

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